cynical and selfish mind is not slow to make the most of. "If this is
the palpable intention and design of an all-wise Creator, how does it
happen that so many human beings fail to carry out the purpose? How
does it happen that so many are relatively deficient, or totally
unconscious of the feelings themselves? If the general aim and
aspiration is toward constant betterment and an ideal of perfection,
why, after all these centuries of endeavor, haven't we arrived somewhere
near the goal? Why do we find among the individuals of to-day in our
country less aspirations toward what is fine and right and honorable
than were felt a hundred years ago? Why, when these feelings reached so
high a standard in the classic days of Greece, did they decline and
shrivel and give way to barbarism? Why did the same thing happen in
Rome? If the divine intention is toward progress and betterment and an
ideal of right, why has the intention failed so miserably and repeatedly
to be carried out? Why haven't I just as much reason to assume that the
divine intention, if there be any, is the gradual corruption, decay and
disintegration of the human being? Were the motives and behavior of the
average man ever more corrupt, immoral and baser than they are
to-day--all over the world? If we consider the results, where is the
evidence of a constant betterment in man's spiritual nature? My
observations and judgment tell me there are no grounds for any such
assumption and there probably never was any such divine intention."
The answer to such objections is fairly simple:
"You are attempting to pass judgment, by means of the reasoning
processes of the intellect, on questions which man's intellect is
incapable of understanding. As we found to be the case when considering
the affections, the result of such an endeavor is a misconception and
distortion.
"Although you are well aware that neither reason nor science can offer
the faintest glimmer of an explanation as to how, or why, the first
essence of life came into existence, or the first elemental matter, or
as to what is the ultimate intention or end of a single thing in this
world, or any other, yet you have the presumption to criticize the means
and methods being employed for the attainment of those ends by an
all-wise Creator, who presumably did know, and does know, what they are.
"Underlying your questions and comments is a complete misunderstanding.
In considering man's purpose in life, I had no thought of determining
God's purpose in creating man, or in creating life, or in creating the
world in which the life of man is to be found. That surpasses my
understanding. That there is an all-wise design and purpose of some
sort, behind and above it all, I have no doubt. This conviction comes
principally from a feeling of my innermost nature, which has been found
among mankind, in all ages--faith. It is confirmed and strengthened by
the evidence of my perceptions and intellect--the beauty and wonder and
fitness in all the processes of creation.
"But even in the simplest facts of nature all about us, there are
countless principles at work whose intention cannot be penetrated by
human reason. Why were wolves permitted and urged by their instincts to
devour innocent lambs? Why were the germs of disease and corruption
created with the same bewildering perfection of design and the same
mysterious, vital force as the good and beautiful creatures which they
infest? Why were exquisite flowers and fruit-bearing trees allowed to be
overcome by foul fungus and poisonous weeds?
"If our reason is unable to discern the underlying intention in such
simple, every-day occurrences as these, by what right does it pretend to
pass judgment on the great complexities and developments of human
civilization?"
What good is accomplished by the rise and fall of an empire? Or by the
rise and fall of a human individual? What all-wise intention is
fulfilled in the deterioration and decay of any thing which has once
seemed admirable and worthy? The human intellect cannot tell.
As long as the intellect cannot grasp the beginning of creation, or the
end, the original cause of man's existence, or the final result--how can
it presume to criticize and doubt, without getting out of its element
and beyond its depth?
God's purpose for man, from the point-of-view of God, is an entirely
different thing from an individual's purpose in life, from man's
point-of-view. As this difference is something which appears to give
rise to a certain amount of confusion in some people's minds, it is
worth clearing up by a simple illustration.
Suppose a commanding general, in the midst of a campaign, gives orders
for a brigade to occupy a certain ridge and defend it at all costs?
Suppose these orders are carried out and, after a heroic defence lasting
several days, the entire brigade is wiped out by the enemy?
In such a case, when an order comes, what is, and ought to be, the
purpose of each individual soldier composing the brigade? To obey
orders, do his duty as well and bravely as he can, and hope for the
best--which may be victory, glory and promotion.
What, now, was the purpose of the general, in issuing the orders? Was it
to enable those individual soldiers to win victory and gain promotion?
Quite the contrary. His purpose was to delay the enemy advance at that
point for forty-eight hours, for reasons of high strategy.
What was the purpose of God in designing mankind in such a way that
millions of fine individuals should go forth to maim and exterminate
each other, to the accompaniment of untold suffering and misery?
Because the private does not know the purpose of the general; and
because neither the private, nor the general, knows the purpose of God,
is that a reason to conclude, or imagine, that there is no purpose?
Is that a reason to conclude, or imagine, that the private cannot have
and know a purpose of his own--a fine and worthy purpose of which his
conscience approves? Does not that same observation apply to the general
and to all other individuals, high or low?
Because certain individuals are born blind or deaf, does that imply that
mankind was not designed to see or hear? Because certain individuals,
through the effects of disease or abuse, lose their sight, does that
disprove a purpose for the eye? Because certain communities, or certain
civilizations, decline and decay, through corruption, does that prove
anything with regard to the intention and design of the Creator--except
that such happenings are apparently a part of the mysterious plan?
It may be that in that plan the soul life of a single individual has
more lasting significance than the rise and fall of an empire. Such a
conception is apt to strike a matter-of-fact intellect as the height of
absurdity. But even in the material world, when it was first suggested
that the earth was round, that conception also struck the matter-of-fact
intellect as the height of absurdity. So did the idea of Columbus--that
he might set sail from Spain, going West, and arrive back at Spain,
coming from the East. Nearly all the great discoveries and conceptions
of genius have struck the matter-of-fact intellect as the height of
absurdity. They dealt with an unknown principle which was different from
accepted notions.
But the meaning of a human soul in the eternal plan, or of a certain
phase of civilization in the unknown plan, are also unknown principles
and the opinions of the intellect concerning them are purely guess-work.
If, however, we feel inclined to use our imaginations, there is a line
of thought which might seem to have a remote bearing on this part of the
puzzle.
In the material world, and the intellectual world, and the esthetic
world of art and beauty, we may form a matter-of-fact opinion concerning
things of which we do know something. We can see the effects of certain
occurrences and judge of their relative importance, from man's
point-of-view.
Which was more significant and important for the good of
civilization--that countless millions of men and women, for countless
generations, in Mexico and in Persia, talked and thought and exchanged
ideas--or that one single individual, named William Shakespeare, had
some ideas which it occurred to him to put on paper?
The brain effort of a single individual more significant for future
humanity than the rise and fall of an empire! That kind of
conception--dealing with something we know about--does not strike the
matter-of-fact intellect as the height of absurdity.
Was a single painting, the Mona Lisa, of a single individual, Leonardo
da Vinci, less important than the millions of paintings made during
countless generations throughout the entire empire of China?
Do we measure the achievements of a Napoleon, an Alexander, a
Washington, by the manner of their decline and death?
It seems simple enough to us that one short life may have more meaning
for the rest of humanity in this world, than millions of other lives. We
can see and understand and measure the effects of such occurrences as
these, with the intellect.
But in regard to man's inner feelings, the soul life, because the
achievement may not be visible--because its record is not written on
paper--because its true significance is entirely shrouded in the
mysterious intention of creation, how can the intellect know that the
conscientious effort of one short life on earth, however humble, may not
have a bigger meaning and a more lasting value in the divine scheme than
the accomplishments--material, intellectual, artistic--of millions?
The spiritual side appears undoubtedly to be the highest and finest part
of man's nature--why then is it not possible that the spiritual struggle
of each and every single soul, however inconspicuous in a worldly way,
may be the thing that counts most in the everlasting scheme?
This is a question, we repeat, which all the science of all the wise men
of all the generations is completely incapable of deciding. No amount of
reasoning can disprove it, any more than it can prove it. That is the
special point I have been trying to make clear. Because the cold
processes of the intellect are inclined to dismiss as absurd all kinds
of beliefs and conceptions which they cannot verify, they need not be
abandoned on that account.
VI
SCIENCE AND THE INTELLECT
No amount of reasoning can alter the fact that certain spontaneous and
fundamental feelings of man's inner nature inspire him to conscientious
effort and, as they presumably owe their origin to an all-wise Creator,
they may be safely relied on to indicate his part and responsibility in
the mysterious scheme.
It seems to me that nothing in the whole problem of life is more
important than a thorough realization of this undoubted truth--that the
big fundamental feelings of man's better nature are absolutely
independent and apart from the working of his intellect, or any
calculation of self-interest, conscious or implied, just as they are
independent of his material appetites and instincts. A clear
understanding of this truth will answer many of the questions which are
so apt to confuse the reason and trouble the peace of mind of the
average much instructed person.
If a scientific doubter asks us how we can be sure of this, we can
answer without hesitation that the evidence of our own inner feelings is
unmistakable proof of it. The only proof of a feeling is the feeling
itself. We have it--we are conscious of it--it is, as far as we are
concerned, and it is futile for any outsider to deny it.
If any one is so constituted that he cannot get the force of this, we
may make the understanding of it easier by turning his attention to the
feelings of man's esthetic nature, which operate in a somewhat similar
way. We have already had occasion to refer to them, but we may be
permitted to do so again, with added emphasis. They are an illustration
and a confirmation of the vitally important principle which we have just
been stating.
If a setting sun, or a harmony, or musical notes, appeal to my sense of
beauty and give rise to a vague but delicious emotion of my inner
nature, all the arguments of all the intellects on earth are powerless
to alter the essence and meaning of that feeling, so far as my nature is
concerned. To me that feeling of beauty is a fact, and it would remain
just as much a fact, even if no other person in the world shared it with
me; and every other person in the world undertook to deny its existence.
The only proof I have of it, the only proof I need for it, is that I
feel it.
Now when the intellect takes upon itself to meddle with such things, a
learned professor may explain that a certain musical note is composed of
vibrations--so many thousand per second--which are communicated to
particles of matter in suspension in the air and carried by them to the
tympanum of the ear, which acts thus-and-so upon the various components
of the hearing apparatus, and finally arrives through a system of
ganglia to a certain nerve centre, located somewhere in a brain cell, or
the spinal column. He may use a great many other big words and display
various kinds of scientific devices for measuring sound waves and
calculating vibrations, but when he has finished, all his science will
not enable him to compose a touching melody, or feel the beauty and
inspiration of it. A little child, or a negro mammy, with a soul for
music, will feel and give out something, whose very essence has nothing
to do with the intellect and which the most formidable intellect is
powerless to grasp.
The same thing is true of painting and poetry and sculpture. The
feelings which inspire them and the feelings which they arouse in
receptive souls are totally independent of the intellect.
The reason may argue that as one leg of the Venus de Milo is found by
measurement to be considerably shorter than the other, it is absurd to
call that a beautiful figure of a woman--or that it should excite as
much admiration as a scientifically constructed statue in which all the
proportions would be in accord with carefully tabulated statistics.
As a photograph of a young and healthy girl is more accurate and more
pleasing in subject than a painting of an old woman, what reason is
there for it to arouse less esthetic feeling than an immortal portrait
by Rembrandt?
If a description of a small water course, drawn up by a surveyor and a
lawyer, is exact and comprehensive, why should it not appeal to the
imagination and sense of beauty more satisfactorily than a poem by
Tennyson, entitled "The Brook?"
The obvious answer is that in all such questions the intellect is out of
its element, trying to lay hands on something which has no tangible
substance.
If this point-of-view is not enough to give your intellect food for
thought and suggest its very decided limitations in the life of man, you
may turn its light upon the simplest and most material sensations and
feelings which belong to the animal nature and are common to all
mankind.
What reason is there for my brother to dote on fried onions, while I
cannot endure them? Why does my uncle like pig's feet and eels and
snails, while my wife is made almost ill at the sight of them? Your
intellect may tell you that you ought to like the taste of castor oil,
because it is good for you; but all the intellect in the world cannot
make you like the taste of castor oil.
The taste, the savor, the feel of things--whether it be in the material
world, or the esthetic world, or the spiritual world--is a part of life
in which the intellect is forever condemned to remain an outsider. It
may be very much interested in what is going on, it may reason with the
causes and effects and characteristics of what it sees; it may make
suggestions to the will-power and argue against the impulses which are
prompted by the feelings; but it cannot prevent the feelings, or the
impulses, from being there and having their say.
The life and say of the feelings mean much to the welfare of each
individual. Let us suppose that the circumstances of my life were such
that I could truthfully express myself as follows:
"I _feel_ well and strong; I _feel_ that I love my wife devotedly and my
wife returns that love; I _feel_ immense affection for my children; I
_feel_ I would make any and every sacrifice to protect them and my wife
from harm; I _feel_ very hopeful about the future, both for my family
and myself; I _feel_ I have done my best, in accordance with my ability;
I have a feeling of loyalty to my friends and a feeling of honor in my
dealings with my fellow men; I _feel_ content with my lot, in
particular, and the way of the world, in general; and whether my life
was evolved from a monkey and a protoplasm, or came into being as a
divine and perfect conception, I _feel_ an abiding faith in an all-wise
but mysterious purpose for everything."
There are no material considerations, or calculations of self-interest,
or reasoning processes, in this kind of summary. It is made up
exclusively of fundamental and spontaneous feelings which are in
existence, to a greater or less extent, among all sorts and manners of
individuals, in any known stage of civilization. A peasant living in a
hut, in a vineyard in Sicily, is just as capable of having them, as a
millionaire living in a city palace, or a scientist presiding over an
academy of learning. A native Patagonian, or a Swede, or a Chinaman, may
be just as susceptible to them as a French artist, or an American steel
king. As they come from the inner nature, and as all men have an inner
nature, it is possible for them to be experienced by all men.
There are, of course, countless other beautiful and inspired feelings
that may come to life in the inner nature of an individual, but the few
simple ones which we have suggested are sufficient for an illustration.
Now let us imagine, for a moment, another illustration. Let us imagine
that a modern intellect, scientifically trained and enlightened,
undertook to investigate, analyze, dissect, in a methodical and accurate
way, the facts which gave rise to my feelings, or are implied by them,
in an effort to determine the reason and reasonableness of such
interesting phenomena.
I _feel_ well and strong. "But," says he, "that does not necessarily
prove that you are well or strong. It may be merely an assumption
founded on ignorance of scientific facts." The proper way to determine
how well and strong I am is to have my health and strength tested and
rated in an expert way. According to the report of such an expert, my
state of health is only 63 per cent normal and my strength is less than
50 per cent of standard for my weight and age.
Strictly speaking, I am neither well _nor_ strong, and my feeling in
that respect may be dismissed as unwarranted by the facts and
consequently unreasonable.
"I _feel_ that I love my wife devotedly and that my wife returns that
love."
"But," says the intellect, "those are only words. As a matter of fact,
how severe and accurate a test have either of those devotions been
submitted to? Have you ever been thrown into contact, alone and
undisturbed, with a woman who is more beautiful and more appealing than
your wife--who yearns for you and invites you with abandoned intensity?
Has your wife's devotion been subjected to a corresponding test? Until
that has been done, it is only reasonable to assume that there may be a
good deal of exaggeration and self-delusion in the conclusions which you
have arrived at. As there are certain prejudices and difficulties in the
way of having these tests made, and as neither you nor your wife appear
willing for the other to try them, any satisfactory estimate of your
reciprocal devotions must remain in abeyance. Our statistics show,
however, that in 87 per cent. of the cases where a mutual and
unalterable devotion is supposed to exist, the determining factor on one
side or the other, is the accidental absence of a sufficiently appealing
opportunity. The evidence of the divorce courts offers a valuable source
of information on this phase of the subject. Purely as a matter of
averages, the conjecture may be hazarded that your assumption in this
regard, as in the other, may be founded on a misconception."
In the same way, the intellect may introduce reasons and deductions in
criticism of my hopes for my children, and the fallacies which may have
crept into my theories of loyalty and honor and aspiration.
Finally, he might say: "Permit me to observe that you made a curious and
somewhat amazing statement, just now, in reference to faith and an
all-wise purpose. Is it possible that you are still under the influence
of an out-grown mediaeval superstition? The only reasonable assumption
with regard to man's place in the universe has been quite clearly and
scientifically established by the modern theory of evolution. It appears
from that, that you and I are descended from an ape, which in turn is a
second-cousin-once-removed, so to speak, of the bat, the spider, and the
shark. We are all animals together, slowly passing through different
phases of evolution, and man owes his existence entirely to the
accidental results of natural selection and survival of the fittest.
Man's tribe happens to be more numerous than that of the elephant, or
the whale, which are larger animals; but less numerous than that of the
ant, which is almost his equal in intelligence and decidedly more
industrious, though it is so much smaller than man. Millions of ants
come into existence and go out of existence, every day, without making
any appreciable difference in the gradual processes of evolution. The
same thing may be said of man--or bats and whales. Surely it is high
time that a well-educated person of the twentieth century should
consider such things from a reasonable, scientific point-of-view."
When he has finished with this, if I am still in a receptive mood, he
may condescend to explain to me that self-interest and enlightened
reason supply the true and underlying motives for all conduct; and that
this is the only conception of life which is susceptible of intelligent
explanation.
As a matter of fact, although this illustration is entirely fanciful, I
was given a book to read, the other day, a modern book on morals, in
which this was the gist of the argument throughout--enlightened
self-interest, or selfishness, as the only sound and sufficient motive
for everything we do. The friend who gave it to me had accepted it as
scientific and authoritative and was thoroughly in accord with its
conclusions. I may add that this particular "friend," as far as I have
been able to observe, is the quintessence of selfishness.
My purpose, in imagining these illustrations, was to render obvious and
palpable the limitations of the intellect, when it attempts to translate
feelings into terms of reason, or when it attempts to substitute
scientific calculations for spontaneous emotions. The essence of one is
feeling; the essence of the other is logic; and the idea of replacing
the former by the latter is about as incongruous as an attempt to paint
the perfume of a violet with an adding machine.
In the heart and soul and even in the esthetic nature of every
individual is that mysterious element, which goes back to the beginning
of creation. In many of the finest and most important acts of man, it
may supply either the determining cause, or the principal effect. It
cannot be explained in terms of material self-interest, or enlightened
reason, because its essence is neither material nor reasonable. It has
in it a touch of the ideal and divine, which was implanted in man, or
has evolved in man, in accordance with the all-wise intention.
When we have succeeded in arriving at a clear realization of this
fundamental truth, and imagine we have put man's intellect back in the
place where it properly belongs, we must pause a moment to make equally
clear that we must not under-estimate the wonder and importance of that
same intellect, in the life of every individual and the life of mankind
in general.