I
In the history of human thought and social organization there is an
interesting pendular swing between conflicting ideas so that, about the
time we wake up to recognize that thought is swinging one way, we may
be fairly sure that soon it will be swinging the other. Man's social
organization, for example, has moved back and forth between the two
poles of individual liberty and social solidarity. To pick up the
swing of that pendulum only in recent times, we note that out of the
social solidarity of the feudal system man swung over to the individual
liberty of the free cities; then from the individual liberty of the
free cities to the social solidarity of the absolute monarchies; then
back again into the individual liberty of the democratic states. We
see that now we are clearly swinging over to some new form of social
solidarity, of which tendency federalism and socialism are expressions,
and doubtless from that we shall recoil toward individual liberty once
more. It is a safe generalization that whenever human thought shows
some decided trend, a corrective movement is not far away. However
enthusiastic we may be, therefore, about the idea of progress and the
positive contributions which it can make to our understanding and
mastery of life, we may be certain that there are in it the faults of
its qualities. If we take it without salt, our children will rise up,
not to applaud our far-seeing wisdom, but to blame our easy-going
credulity. We have already seen that the very idea of progress sprang
up in recent times in consequence of a few factors which predisposed
men's minds to social hopefulness. Fortunately, some of these factors,
such as the scientific control of life through the knowledge of law,
seem permanent, and we are confident that the idea of progress will
have abiding meaning for human thought and life. But no study of the
matter could be complete without an endeavour to discern the perils in
this modern mode of thought and to guard ourselves against accepting as
an unmixed blessing what is certainly, like all things human, a blend
of good and evil.
One peril involved in the popular acceptance of the idea of progress
has been the creation of a superficial, ill-considered optimism which
has largely lost sight of the terrific obstacles in human nature
against which any real moral advance on earth must win its way. Too
often we have taken for granted what a recent book calls "a goal of
racial perfection and nobility the splendour of which it is beyond our
powers to conceive," and we have dreamed about this earthly paradise
like a saint having visions of heaven and counting it as won already
because he is predestined to obtain it. Belief in inevitable progress
has thus acted as an opiate on many minds, lulling them into an elysium
where all things come by wishing and where human ignorance and folly,
cruelty and selfishness do not impede the peaceful flowing of their
dreams. In a word, the idea of progress has blanketed the sense of
sin. Lord Morley spoke once of "that horrid burden and impediment upon
the soul which the Churches call Sin, and which, by whatever name you
call it, is a real catastrophe in the moral nature of man." The modern
age, busy with slick, swift schemes for progress, has too largely lost
sight of that.
Indeed, at no point do modern Christians differ more sharply from their
predecessors than in the serious facing of the problem of sin.
Christians of former times were burdened with a heavy sense of their
transgressions, and their primary interest in the Gospel was its
promised reestablishment of their guilty souls in the fellowship of a
holy God. Modern Christianity, however, is distinguished from all that
by a jaunty sense of moral well-being; when we admit our sins we do it
with complacency and cheerfulness; our religion is generally
characterized by an easy-going self-righteousness. Bunyan's Pilgrim
with his lamentable load upon his back, crying, "What shall I do! . . .
I am . . . undone by reason of a burden that lieth hard upon me," is no
fit symbol of a typically modern Christian.
Doubtless we have cause to be thankful for this swing away from the
morbid extremes to which our fathers often went in their sense of sin.
It is hard to forgive Jonathan Edwards when one reads in his famous
Enfield sermon: "The God that holds you over the pit of hell, much as
one holds a spider, or some loathsome insect, over the fire, abhors
you, and is dreadfully provoked; . . . you are ten thousand times so
abominable in his eyes, as the most hateful and venomous serpent is in
ours." Any one who understands human nature could have told him that,
after such a black exaggeration of human depravity as he and his
generation were guilty of, the Christian movement was foredoomed to
swing away over to the opposite extreme of complacent
self-righteousness. Unquestionably we have made the swing. In spite
of the debacle of the Great War, this is one of the most unrepentant
generations that ever walked the earth, dreaming still of automatic
progress toward an earthly paradise.
Many factors have gone into the making of this modern mood of
self-complacency. _New knowledge_ has helped, by which disasters, such
as once awakened our fathers' poignant sense of sin, are now attributed
to scientific causes rather than to human guilt. When famines or
pestilences came, our fathers thought them God's punishment for sin.
When earthquakes shook the earth or comets hung threateningly in the
sky, our fathers saw in them a divine demand for human penitence. Such
events, referred now to their scientific causes, do not quicken in us a
sense of sin. _New democracy_ also has helped in this development of
self-complacency. Under autocratic kings the common people were common
people and they knew it well. Their dependent commonality was enforced
on them by the constant pressure of their social life. Accustomed to
call themselves miserable worms before an earthly king, they had no
qualms about so estimating themselves before the King of Heaven.
Democracy, however, elevates us into self-esteem. The genius of
democracy is to believe in men, their worth, their possibilities, their
capacities for self-direction. Once the dominant political ideas
depressed men into self-contempt; now they lift men into
self-exaltation. _New excuses for sin_ have aided in creating our mood
of self-content. We know more than our fathers did about the effect of
heredity and environment on character, and we see more clearly that
some souls are not born but damned into the world. Criminals, in
consequence, have come not to be so much condemned as pitied, their
perversion of character is regarded not so much in terms of iniquity as
of disease, and as we thus condone transgression in others, so in
ourselves we palliate our wrong. We regard it as the unfortunate but
hardly blamable consequence of temperament or training. Our fathers,
who thought that the trouble was the devil in them, used to deal
sternly with themselves. Like Chinese Gordon, fighting a besetting sin
in private prayer, they used to come out from their inward struggles
saying, "I hewed Agag in pieces before the Lord." But we are softer
with ourselves; we find in lack of eugenics or in cruel circumstance a
good excuse.
Undoubtedly, the _new theology_ has helped to encourage this modern
mood of self-complacency. Jonathan Edwards' Enfield sermon pictured
sinners held over the blazing abyss of hell in the hands of a wrathful
deity who at any moment was likely to let go, and so terrific was that
discourse in its delivery that women fainted and strong men clung in
agony to the pillars of the church. Obviously, we do not believe in
that kind of God any more, and as always in reaction we swing to the
opposite extreme, so in the theology of these recent years we have
taught a very mild, benignant sort of deity. One of our popular
drinking songs sums up this aspect of our new theology:
"God is not censorious
When His children have their fling."
Indeed, the god of the new theology has not seemed to care acutely
about sin; certainly he has not been warranted to punish heavily; he
has been an indulgent parent and when we have sinned, a polite "Excuse
me" has seemed more than adequate to make amends. John Muir, the
naturalist, was accustomed during earthquake shocks in California to
assuage the anxieties of perturbed Eastern visitors by saying that it
was only Mother Earth trotting her children on her knee. Such
poetizing is quite in the style of the new theology. Nevertheless, the
description, however pretty, is not an adequate account of a real
earthquake, and in this moral universe there are real earthquakes, as
this generation above all others ought to know, when man's sin, his
greed, his selfishness, his rapacity roll up across the years an
accumulating mass of consequence until at last in a mad collapse the
whole earth crashes into ruin. The moral order of the world has not
been trotting us on her knees these recent years; the moral order of
the world has been dipping us in hell; and because the new theology had
not been taking account of such possibilities, had never learned to
preach on that text in the New Testament, "It is a fearful thing to
fall into the hands of the living God," we were ill prepared for the
experience.
Many factors like those which we have named have contributed to create
our modern negligence of the problem of sin, but under all of them and
permeating them has been the idea that automatic progress is inherent
in the universe. This evolving cosmos has been pictured as a
fool-proof world where men could make and love their lies, with their
souls dead and their stomachs well alive, with selfish profit the
motive of their economic order and narrow nationalism the slogan of
their patriotism, and where still, escaping the consequences, they
could live in a progressive society. A recent writer considers it
possible that "over the crest of the hill the Promised Land stretches
away to the far horizons smiling in eternal sunshine." The picture is
nonsense. All the progress this world ever will know waits upon the
conquest of sin. Strange as it may sound to the ears of this modern
age, long tickled by the amiable idiocies of evolution popularly
misinterpreted, this generation's deepest need is not these dithyrambic
songs about inevitable progress, but a fresh sense of personal and
social sin.
What the scientific doctrine of evolution really implies is something
much more weighty and sinister than frothy optimism. When a preacher
now quotes Paul, "as in Adam all die," not many of the younger
generation understand him, but when we are told that we came out of
low, sub-human beginnings, that we carry with us yet the bestial
leftovers of an animal heritage to be fought against and overcome and
left behind, well-instructed members of this generation ought to
comprehend. Yet in saying that, we are dealing with the same
fundamental fact which Paul was facing when he said, "as in Adam all
die"; we are handling the same unescapable experience out of which the
old doctrine of original sin first came; we are facing a truth which it
will not pay us to forget: that humanity's sinful nature is not
something which you and I alone make up by individual deeds of wrong,
but that it is an inherited mortgage and handicap on the whole human
family. Why is it that if we let a field run wild it goes to weeds,
while if we wish wheat we must fight for every grain of it? Why is it
that if we let human nature run loose it goes to evil, while he who
would be virtuous must struggle to achieve character? It is because,
in spite of our optimisms and evasions, that fact still is here, which
our fathers often appraised more truly than we, that human nature, with
all its magnificent possibilities, is like the earth's soil filled with
age-long seeds and roots of evil growth, and that progress in goodness,
whether personal or social, must be achieved by grace of some power
which can give us the victory over our evil nature.
In past generations it was the preachers who talked most about sin and
thundered against it from their pulpits, but now for years they have
been very reticent about it. Others, however, have not been still.
Scientists have made us feel the ancient heritage that must be fought
against; novelists have written no great novel that does not swirl
around some central sin; the work of the dramatists from Shakespeare
until Ibsen is centrally concerned with the problem of human evil; and
now the psycho-analysts are digging down into the unremembered thoughts
of men to bring up into the light of day the origins of our spiritual
miseries in frustrated and suppressed desire. We do not need
artificially to conjure up a sense of sin. All we need to do is to
open our eyes to facts. Take one swift glance at the social state of
the world to-day. Consider our desperate endeavours to save this
rocking civilization from the consequences of the blow just delivered
it by men's iniquities. That should be sufficient to indicate that
this is no fool-proof universe automatically progressive, but that
moral evil is still the central problem of mankind.
One would almost say that the first rule for all who believe in a
progressive world is not to believe in it too much. Long ago Plato
said that he drove two horses, one white and tractable, the other black
and fractious; Jesus said that two masters sought man's allegiance, one
God, the other mammon; Paul said that his soul was the battle-ground of
two forces, one of which he called spirit and the other flesh; and only
the other day one of our own number told of the same struggle between
two men in each of us, one Dr. Jekyll, the other Mr. Hyde. That
conflict still is pivotal in human history. The idea of progress can
defeat itself no more surely than by getting itself so believed that
men expect automatic social advance apart from the conquest of personal
and social sin.