admiration before that bit of protoplasm. If anything could be more
wonderful than the orange seed with which we started, your protoplasm is
certainly it. It is a miracle of a million miracles.
"But there is one thing you forgot to tell me--the only thing of any
real interest or importance to the average mind in such a theory. What
sublime intelligence conceived the plan of that bit of protoplasm--and
what kind of sublimely skilful craftsman was able to fashion it?"
"Oh that," says the scientific intellect--"that just happens to be one
point which our chain of reasoning has not yet been able to demonstrate
in a logical and satisfactory way. We have left that out of our theory."
"Well then," say I, "here are trees and flowers and animals and mankind,
each perfectly adapted for the special function on earth for which they
were apparently designed. The plan of them appears to have been
determined, somewhere, somehow, by a sublime intelligence which
surpasses understanding, for some sublime purpose, apparently, which I
am yearning to know. All the details, complications and assumptions of
your theory when boiled down to simple terms seem more or less of a
quibble on words and meanings.
"Your conclusions are of much the same sort as those of the intellectual
cynic whom we quoted in connection with sympathy and affection. He
undertook to prove with a chain of reasoning that I obey only motives of
selfishness when I shed tears of grief because my friend has lost his
only son."
Here we are living together on earth to-day, and here were our fathers
and forefathers living, in the same general way with the same general
instincts and feelings, as far back as we have any record of; and here
presumably will our children and their descendants continue to be
living, as far as our imagination can carry us. Whether the process of
our creation involved a bit of protoplasm in the midst of chaos, or
whether we were evolved from a thought and a breath of an Almighty God,
is of very slight consequence as a human consideration.
In view of the wonderful harmony and fitness of the countless processes
and things which we see everywhere about us in nature, it is not strange
that mankind seems always to have taken it for granted that a supremely
wise and a supremely resourceful intelligence of some sort is
responsible for it all. The beginning, the end, the scheme and purpose
of so many miracles, extend into the beyond, the unknown, the
incomprehensible. What the Supreme Being is like--how or why He came
into existence--where matter or life first came from--or even what the
connection is between the creatures of this world and the countless
stars and planets which may be other worlds--all this is shrouded in the
mystery of mysteries.
If we get to thinking very much about it, one of the effects is to make
the affairs of man and the like of man seem tiny and unimportant in
comparison to the whole--one kind of little creatures on one little
globe, when we know there are thousands upon thousands of bigger globes
in the firmament and possibly millions and billions of larger and more
exalted creatures on many of them.
But it is only man's intellect that gets tangled up and discouraged by
that kind of reasoning. Another side of man's nature comes to the fore
and disposes of this tangle with more inspiring sentiments. These
sentiments tell us that a marvellous scheme of life is at work in our
world, every detail of which from the lowest to the highest appears to
have received exactly the same sort of sublime consideration--and that
of this entire scheme, the spirit of man has been constituted the leader
and master. On this earth at least man is a kind of divine lieutenant,
the captain, the commander, the generalissimo of all living things.
Somehow, somewhere, there must be a sublime purpose to it all, because
it is dominated throughout by a sublime intelligence, an apparently
all-wise Providence. Somehow, somewhere, the spirit of man has a never
ending responsibility and an awe-inspiring, exalted destiny.
Whether this be true or not, and however, the scientific intellect may
be inclined to quibble with arguments and conclusions, there is
something inside of each and every one of us to a greater or less
extent, which makes us feel that this is so. This something within us,
which responds to such a feeling, is a function quite apart from the
intellect--the most highly developed intellects often have the least of
it; it is equally removed from the loves and hates, sympathies and
antipathies of our heart life; and equally far away from the perceptions
and appetites of our senses. It is the side of man's nature which for
the want of a better name, we call the soul. And the feeling of the soul
that there is somewhere an all-wise Providence, sublime purpose in
everything, an exalted destiny for man--irrespective of proof, or
science, or calculation or demonstrations of any sort--that feeling in
its simplest essence is what we call faith.
"In God We Trust"--that is the motto which appears on American coins.
Without great exaggeration, it might be called the motto of humanity,
everywhere, at all times. It is a soul feeling; an expression of
fundamental faith.
Now as this feeling is not dependent on the reasoning faculty, there
should be nothing amazing in the fact that it has been found susceptible
of being developed and led far afield in the direction of credulity. All
sorts of fairy-tales have been invented by man's imagination, in
different countries, at different periods, and imposed upon the simple
faith of the masses in order that they might be guided and controlled in
a manner that the leading spirits considered best for them. Idols,
divine revelations, oracles, prayers, sacrifices, confessionals,
priests, prophets, medicine men, sacred dances and prostrations,
awe-inspiring rites and ceremonies of almost every conceivable kind have
been resorted to, in order to attain results which were considered
beneficial.
In nearly every case, it is safe to say the effort was inspired by an
intense soul feeling on the part of an individual, however much it may
have been seasoned with shrewdness and calculation and understanding of
the people for whose good it was intended.
It is generally admitted that the age in which we live is a scientific
age. Scientific investigations, scientific explanations, scientific
inventions, scientific methods and theories, are dominant factors in the
progress to which modern civilization has been devoting so much of its
energy. In our schools, and colleges and text-books, the growing mind is
being taught to approach all subjects and questions from a reasonable,
practical and scientific point-of-view.
One of the first principles of all science is to take as little as
possible for granted, but to investigate and prove everything, without
prejudice, in strict accordance with the facts. This is the typical
attitude of to-day, encouraged and absorbed on every side and becoming
more wide-spread with each passing year.
Suppose a young man or woman, trained in this way, in school and
college, by books of science, magazine articles, newspapers and
discussions of one sort or another connected with modern progress, is
prompted one fine day to turn his attention to this question of religion
and undertake an enquiry into that? Sooner or later, this is very apt to
happen to any one, because the churches and ceremonies are all about;
and when an individual mind reaches a stage where it wants to think for
itself, it can hardly escape from arriving at some conclusion concerning
them.
A modern person so trained, is apt to perceive very quickly that many of
the statements and assumptions made in the name of any particular
religion are unscientific and inaccurate and not much more reasonable
than Aladdin and his wonderful lamp, or Jack and the Beanstalk. They
pre-suppose an amount of childlike credulity and ignorance on the part
of the worshipper, which can only be explained to his mind by the
primitive state of the people for whom they were originally intended.
In view of this, the natural tendency for a practical scientific mind of
the present generation is to regard the church question as a rather
curious and perplexing survival which, for family and personal reasons,
it might be just as well to leave alone.
As science cannot discover how the first protoplasm was created, and as
the preaching of the various religions is interwoven with fanciful and
unsound assumptions, the most logical solution is to cease bothering
one's head about it.
One trouble with this is, that the soul is an important part of man's
life and it has need of faith of some sort. To a great extent,
civilization depends upon it. If all the people about us had no soul and
no faith, it is hard to imagine what the world would be like.
We can imagine, in a way, by turning our attention to the criminal
classes. Consider for a moment the make-up of a typical crook--a thief,
a burglar, a kidnapper, a hold-up man--a so-called "enemy of the law."
What is the underlying difference between him and a worthy citizen? Is
it simply that one breaks the law, while the other does not? That is
only an apparent, superficial difference, based on results. A worthy man
might break the law repeatedly, without becoming in the least a crook; a
crook might stay within the law, most carefully and cautiously, without
altering in the slightest degree, the essence of his crookedness.
The real significant difference lies deeper down, in his nature and
attitude--attitude toward his fellow men, toward himself, toward the
mystery of life. A crook usually has the same sort of appetites and
desires as anybody else. He may have the keenest perceptions and
excellent taste in matters of beauty and other pleasure-giving
refinements. As far as the sensations of life go, and the development of
the senses, he may be far above the average, and many of them
undoubtedly are.
As for brains, many crooks of the higher order are remarkably quick and
resourceful, while not a few have had superior education and book
learning.
It is also undoubtedly true that they may have warm hearts and loving
natures, and be capable of an unusual amount of loyalty and devotion to
their pals.
In addition to that, they are frequently very patient, self-controlled
and fearless.
But there is just one quality, one side of their natures, that is
deficient--the soul, with its faith. They have no feeling of
responsibility within them toward an unknown but holy purpose, toward an
all-wise Being, who created the world and entrusted to man a spirit
capable of leading it.
Without this feeling, there is no real meaning to the words right and
wrong; and that is the essential mark of a crook. Outside of a few
intimates whom he is attached to, the rest of mankind with its laws and
aspirations, represents nothing more than a hostile force to be preyed
upon and gotten the best of. Provided he can avoid punishment, a crook
feels no objection to cheating, stealing, or cutting a throat.
This appears to be the natural principle of life among wild animals, the
fish in the sea, the spider and the fly; and it would presumably be the
same among men, if man were without a soul and devoid of faith.
There is no feeling of right and wrong among animals, when left to
themselves. They merely try to get what they want, by any means at their
disposal. In doing this, their only concern is to save their own skins
and to avoid a mix-up with another animal or animals stronger than
themselves.
In the case of crooks and criminals, these other animals which concern
them are usually the representatives of the law.
Certain kinds of animals--dogs, horses, pets--may be tamed and trained
by man into an imitation notion of right and wrong. But it is only a
superficial imitation, essentially different in composition from the
genuine article.
A dog may learn in time that if he chases the pet cat, his master will
give him a beating. After learning this lesson, he may still
occasionally give himself the satisfaction of chasing the cat up a tree,
but after he has done so, he will show his training by looking guilty,
hanging his tail and sneaking off into the bushes. He knows he has done
wrong. In this case, however, it simply means that he is anticipating
and seeking to mitigate an expected beating. The pain of a beating is
bad; a lump of sugar is good, any animal can grasp that, and some
animals may be trained to connect the cause and effect.
But that is not at all the same kind of thing as the conception of right
and wrong that grows up in man and finds its true explanation in a soul
feeling.
This vague, but fundamental, feeling of faith in a divine purpose of
some sort for the life of each individual is not dependent upon any
particular religion, or creed, or doctrine. It appears to have found
expression at all stages of civilization in all countries of which we
have any record.
It was found to exist among the savage American Indians and the Aztec
Mexicans, as it existed in the earliest mummy age of ancient Egypt, and
among the earlier warriors of Europe, as depicted by Homer. Among the
yellow races of China and Japan, the recognition of this same faith
extends back to the farther-most records of time.
Whether it evolved from a protoplasm, or was implanted in man by the
Creator, it may be regarded as an essential part of the all-wise
scheme--which is, which was, and which presumably always will be.
By some such process of observation and reasoning as we have been going
through, it is possible to arrive at a relatively safe and satisfactory
conclusion to the first soul question: "Has my life any purpose in the
great, everlasting scheme of things?"
The answer is: "Undoubtedly. A feeling to that effect is to be found
universally among mankind. The intention of the Creator, which surpasses
understanding, in this one respect, at least, appears to be
unmistakable."
Attached to this conclusion is the second part of the question, to which
an answer may be found by a similar process of observation and
reasoning:
"Granted that I am assured by an inner feeling that my life has some
purpose--what is that purpose?"
It is not difficult to discern a general and practically uniform purpose
in normal human beings. First, of course, is the primal instinct of
self-preservation, a feeling that life itself is precious and must be
held on to as long as possible. Along with this, goes another primal
instinct--to create new life and protect that--and thus continue your
race and kind on earth indefinitely.
It is easy enough to see that if these two instincts were lacking, or if
any other considerations were allowed to impair their force, the scheme
of the world would come to an end. Whatever the purpose of a human life
might be, that purpose would be futile, if there were no human lives to
accomplish it. So that these two instincts are necessary conditions of
any other plan or design. They are the first and foremost considerations
in all life, in all civilizations. Not only are they instinctive
impulses of man's animal nature, which he shares with brute beings, but
they also appeal to his innermost soul with the strongest feelings of
which he is capable.
It is right for him to protect himself; it is right for him to protect
his wife and children; it is right for him to protect his relatives and
friends and fellows from any and all enemies. In order to do this he
will kill other human beings, if necessary, in case of war, or attack;
and his conscience will not reproach him; it will tell him he has done
right.
This feeling has been implanted in all normal human beings--it has
always been and presumably always will be. It may be regarded as part of
the divine intention. It is also an unmistakable purpose for each
individual--to preserve his own life and strive for its continuation in
his off-spring.
That is the first and foremost thing for you to live for. Why? Because
the strongest feelings of your whole nature, in accord with your
conscience, tell you so.
If we consider woman as distinct from man, we find her strongest
instinct and deepest inner feelings impel her to care for and protect
her off-spring; but that instead of an impulse to go out and fight
against the enemy, she feels in her conscience that it is right and
natural for her to rely upon the husband and father to do that. It is
for her to stick close to the babies and pray for his success.
That is the only difference--a fundamental difference in the innermost
feeling of the male and the female--which appears to have existed
always, and may therefore be regarded as a part of the divine intention.
Now, after the continuation of life on earth is safeguarded in this way,
is there any other deep and general feeling of man's inner nature which
might furnish an indication of a further purpose for his life?
Is there not in each and every one of us a deep-rooted desire, which is
wholly in accord with conscience, to make good in the rôle which has
been assigned to us in the mystery of creation? Does not each individual
feel moved to accomplish something beyond the mere continuation of life?
Is there not within us a vague aspiration to do well and be something
good and fine, according to our means and tastes? Do we not want to be a
success rather than a failure, both for our own sake and for the sake of
those we love, who also love us, and cannot help being affected by what
we do?
If by any chance you are deficient in this feeling yourself, or confused
about it, you have only to look about any where, at any time, and you
will find it in evidence among normal individuals from the days of early
childhood.
A little girl likes to be pretty, to dance well, to sew neatly, to be
helpful to her mother, to be petted, loved, approved.
A little boy wants to be a fast runner, a fine swimmer, a good
fighter--he wants to be strong and brave and self-reliant and many other
things, besides. He admires these qualities in other boys; a feeling of
his inner nature, in accord with his conscience, tells him he would
like to be that kind of a boy, himself. He feels it is the kind that
every one ought to want to be.
And if he is a normal, healthy boy, this feeling arises within him just
as naturally and spontaneously as the feeling which comes to a sensitive
soul in the presence of a sunset, or musical harmonies and tells it they
are beautiful. It is quite apart from any far-sighted calculations of
the intellect concerning the practical use which those qualities may, or
may not, have in after life.
The same thing is true of the little girl and what she admires and
aspires to.
As the youngsters grow up to be men and women, they are still
susceptible to the same sort of feeling, in spite of the fact that many
other more practical and material considerations are liable to creep in
and confuse it, alter it, distort it.
Somewhere, in the inner nature of almost everybody, there persists a
feeling of admiration for the fine and noble qualities of mankind. Some
of those qualities, experience may have demonstrated, are beyond our
personal strength and reach--others may have practical disadvantages,
which our self-interest and our reason over-rule, but as long as the
feeling is there, it keeps whispering to us, however faintly, that we
ought to try to live up to the best that is in us and not be satisfied
with less.
Let us take care to note that this differs completely from another sort
of feeling which cold-blooded cynics are apt to confuse it with. This
other feeling is inspired by greed and controlled by selfish
calculation, and tells certain individuals that by closing their eyes to
what is beautiful and admirable in human nature, and by taking advantage
of any and every opportunity, they may obtain a greater portion of
worldly goods and material pleasures.
This latter feeling is not in touch with conscience and neither to
ourselves, nor to others, does it inspire ennobling sentiments. A proper
name for it is ambition--a selfish quality, whose essence bears no
relation to the aspiration of boy and girl, man and woman, toward what
is finest and best.
This feeling of aspiration, which exists in the soul and appears to be
innate in human beings everywhere, offers a clear and indisputable
revelation of a purpose for man's life, above and beyond the mere
continuation of it. It is one very solid answer to the second part of
the great question: What is the purpose of my life? To strive toward
betterment and excellence, in accordance with your lights and
conscience. Why? Because, just as a feeling within you tells you that a
sunset is beautiful, so there is this other feeling within you, which
tells you this is fine and right.
Those are fundamental feelings, planted in all mankind, not accidental
exceptions. They are surely a part of the all-wise design, an essential
part of your purpose in being here.
The finest types of men, the leading spirits of humanity, in all ages
and climes, from the earliest savages to the most advanced civilization,
have always had that kind of feeling and responded to it. It is a
fundamental fact of the soul life, which leaves no room for doubt.
Is there any other feeling of this sort which appears to be so
fundamental and world-wide that it may be regarded as an innate and
essential part of human nature, independent of climate, or race, or
intellectual development?
Is there not a sentiment deep down in all mothers and fathers, to want
their children to be finer, better, more nearly perfect than they
themselves have been? Has not this sentiment something in it which is
quite apart from self-interest, or reason, or the impulses of affection?
Suppose a normal mother is on her death-bed, with but an hour to live?
As far as she is concerned, all considerations of self-interest in this
world are at an end. After one hour, nothing that happens can make any
difference to her, personally. Her children are in an adjoining room and
her thoughts and feelings are full of them. That is only natural--almost
inevitable.
What is the essence of her feelings? Love, in the first place. They are
inexpressibly dear to her and she feels glad and thankful that all is
well with them. What next? A prayerful hope that they will be happy and
successful and live to a ripe old age. For her sake? No, for theirs.
Does she wish them to be liars and cheats and ingrates, dissipated and
corrupt, if by so doing they can have most pleasure and satisfy
themselves? Oh no--not that. Why not? Because there is something within
her which wants them to be fine and good and worthy of their birthright.
She wants them to cling fast to the best that is in them, not the worst;
to do right and be right, whether it serves their pleasure or not.
If a mother would naturally feel this way on her death-bed, so might a
father, or a grandmother or a grand-father, in any country--in almost
any state of civilization--irrespective of any particular creed or
doctrine, to which they might subscribe.
This is not to be taken as saying that all mothers or fathers would be
conscious of this feeling--or would have this feeling in them to any
appreciable extent--or that all individuals may be said to have any of
the fundamental soul feelings to which we have referred.
Throughout all nature, and in human life as well, there are to be found
individual deficiencies and perversions. Since this is as true to-day,
as it has been always, in all departments of creation, we can be content
to regard it as part of the all-wise but mysterious scheme.
To the best of our knowledge and belief, in practically all communities
of human beings of which there is any record, these few self-same
feelings of man's innermost nature have become plainly, unmistakably,
evident. They appear to be inborn fundamentals of the human soul. As far
as they go, they may be safely and confidently accepted as indications
of man's purpose here on earth: the preservation of life, the
continuation of life, an aspiration in one's own development toward what
is admirable and right, and an equally great aspiration to inculcate and
develop in one's children the essence of what is best in oneself.