PRAYERS FOR THE LIVING
(From the editorial page of the New York _Sun_, December 31, 1916)
It is a holy and wholesome thought to pray for the dead that they
may be loosed from their sins; and it is as holy a prayer that begs
from the god of chance his pity for the living. Aye! it is those who
are about to live, not to die, that we should salute. Life is the
eternal slayer; death is but the final punctuation of the vital
paragraph. Life is also the betrayer. A cosmical conspiracy of
deception encircles us. We call it Maya, and flatter our finite
sense of humour that we are no longer entrapped by the shining
appearance of things when we say aloud: Stay, thou art so subtle
that we know you for what you are--the profoundest instinct of life:
its cruel delight in pretending to be what it is not. We are now,
all of us who think that we think, newly born Fausts with eyes
unbandaged of the supreme blinders, Time and Space. Nature clothes
the skeleton in a motley suit of flesh, but our supersharpened ears
overhear the rattling of the bones. We are become so wise that love
itself is no longer a sentiment, only a sensation; religion is
first cousin to voluptuousness; and if we are so minded we may jig
to the tune of the stars up the dazzling staircase, and sneer at the
cloud-gates of the infinite inane. Naught succeeds like negation,
and we swear that in the house of the undertaker it is impolite to
speak of shrouds. We are nothing if not determinists. And we believe
that the devil deserves the hindmost.
We live in order to forget life. For our delicate machinery of
apperception there is no longer right or wrong; vice and virtue are
the acid and alkali of existence. And as too much acid deranges the
stomach, so vice corrodes the soul, and thus we are virtuous by
compulsion. Yet we know that evil serves its purpose in the vast
chemistry of being, and if banished the consequences might not be
for universal good; other evils would follow in the train of a too
comprehensive mitigation, and our end a stale swamp of vain virtues.
Resist not evil! Which may mean the reverse of what it seems to
preach. The master modern immoralist has said: Embrace evil! that we
may be over and done with it. Toys are our ideals; glory, goodness,
wealth, health, happiness; all toys except health; health of the
body, of the soul. And the first shall be last.
The human soul in health? But there is no spiritual health. The
mystic, Doctor Tauler, has said: "God does not reside in a vigorous
body"; sinister; nevertheless, equitable. The dolorous certitude
that the most radiant of existences ends in the defeat of disease
and death; that happiness is relative, a word empty of meaning in
the light of experience, and non-existent as an absolute; that the
only divine oasis in our feverish activities is sleep; sleep the
prelude to the profound and eternal silence--why then this gabble
about soul-states and the peace that passeth all understanding?
Simply because the red corpuscles that rule our destinies are, when
dynamic, mighty breeders of hope; if the powers and principalities
of darkness prevail, our guardian angels, the phagocytes, are
dominated by the leucocytes. Gods and devils, Ormuzd and Ahriman,
and other phantasms of the sky, may all be put on a microscopic
slide and their struggles noted. And the evil ones are ever victors
in the diabolical game. No need to insist on it. In the heart of
mankind there is a tiny shrine with its burning taper; the idol is
Self; the propitiatory light is for subliminal foes. Alas! in vain.
We succumb, and in our weakness we sink into the grave. If only we
were sure of the River Styx afterward we should pay the ferry-tax
with joy. Better Hades than the poppy of oblivion. "Ready to be
anything in the ecstasy of being ever," as Sir Thomas Browne sagely
remarks.
The pious and worthy Doctor Jeremy Taylor, who built cathedral-like
structures of English prose to the greater glory of God and for the
edification of ambitious rhetoricians, has dwelt upon the efficacy
of prayer in a singularly luminous passage: "Holy prayer procures
the ministry and services of angels. It rescinds the decrees of God.
It cures sickness and obtains pardon. It arrests the sun in its
course and stays the wheels of the chariot of the moon. It rules
over all God's creatures and opens and shuts the storehouses of
rain. It unlocks the cabinet of the womb and quenches the violence
of fire. It stops the mouths of lions and reconciles our sufferance
and weak faculties with the violence of torment and sharpness of
persecution. It pleases God and supplies all our needs. But prayer
that can do this much for us can do nothing at all without holiness,
for God heareth not sinners, but if any man be a worshipper of God
and doth His will, him He heareth."
It should not be forgotten that Taylor, perhaps the greatest English
prose-master save John Milton, was a stickler for good works as well
as faith. He was considered almost heterodox because of his violence
of speech when the subject of death-bed repentance became a topic of
discussion; indeed, his bishop remonstrated with him because of his
stiff-necked opinions. To joust through life as at a pleasure
tournament and when the dews of death dampen the forehead to call on
God in your extremity seemed to this eloquent divine an act of
slinking cowardice. Far better face the evil one in a defiant spirit
than knock for admittance at the back door of paradise and try to
sneak by the winged policeman into a vulgar bliss: unwon, unhoped
for, undeserved. Therefore the rather startling statement, "God
heareth not sinners," read in the light of Bishop Taylor's fervent
conception of man's duty, hath its justification.
But this atmosphere of proverbial commonplaces and "inspissated
gloom" should not be long maintained when the coursers of the sun
are plunging southward in the new year; when the Huntsman is up at
Oyster Bay and "they are already past their first sleep in Persia."
What a bold and adventurous piece of nature is man; yet how he
stares at life as a frowning entertainment. Why must we "act our
antipodes" when "all Africa and her prodigies are in us"? Ergo, let
us be cheerful. God is with the world. Let us pray that during the
ensuing year no rust shall colour our soul into a dingy red. Let us
pray for the living that they may be loosed from their politics and
see life steadily and whole.
Let us pray that we may not take it on ourselves to feel holier than
our neighbours. Let us pray that we be not cursed with the itching
desire to reform our fellows, for the way of the reformer is hard,
and he always gets what he deserves: the contempt of his fellow men.
He is usually a hypocrite. Let us pray that we are not struck by
religious zeal; religious people are not always good people; good
people are not envious, jealous, penurious, censorious, or
busybodies, or too much bound up in the prospect of the mote in
their brother's eye and unmindful of the beam in their own.
Furthermore, good people do not unveil with uncharitable joy the
faults of women. Have faith. Have hope, and remember that charity is
as great as chastity.
Let us pray for the misguided folk who, forgetful of Mother Church,
her wisdom, her consolations, flock to the tents of lewd, itinerant,
mumbo-jumbo howlers, that blaspheme the sacred name as they
epileptically leap, shouting glory-kingdom-come and please settle at
the captain's office.
Though they run on all fours and bark as hyenas, they shall not
enter the city of the saints, being money-changers in the Temple,
and tripe-sellers of souls. Better Tophet and its burning pitch than
a wilderness of such apes of God. Some men and women of culture and
social position indorse these sorry buffoons, the apology for their
paradoxical conduct being any port in a storm; any degrading circus,
so it be followed by a mock salvation. But salvation for whom? What
deity cares for such foaming at the mouth, such fustian? Conversion
is silent and comes from within, and not to the din of brass-bands
and screaming hallelujahs. It takes all sorts of gods to make the
cosmos, but why return to the antics and fetishes of our primate
ancestors, the cave-dwellers? This squirming and panting and brief
reform "true religion"? On the contrary it is a throwback to
bestiality, to the vilest instincts. A "soul" that has to be saved
by such means is a soul not worth the saving. To the discard with
it, where, flaming in purgatorial fires, it may be refashioned for
future reincarnation on some other planet.
Abuse of drink is to be deplored, but Prohibition is more enslaving
than alcohol. Paganism in its most exotic forms is preferable to
this prize-ring Christianity. One may be zealous without wallowing
in debasing superstition. Again, let us pray for these imbeciles and
for the charlatans who are blinding them. Neither arts and sciences
nor politics and philosophies will save the soul. The azure route
lies beyond the gates of ivory and the gates of horn.
Let us pray for our sisters, the suffragettes, who are still
suffering from the injustice of Man, now some million of years. Let
us pray that they be given the ballot to prove to them its utter
futility as a cure-all. With it they shall be neither happier nor
different. Once a woman, always a martyr. Let them not be deceived
by illusive phrases. If they had not been oppressed they would
to-day be "free"! Alas! free from their sex? Free from the burden of
family? Free like men to carry on the rude labours of this ruder
earth? To what purpose? To become second-rate men, when nature has
endowed them with qualities that men vainly emulate, vainly seek to
evoke their spirit in the arts and literature! Ages past woman
should have attained that impossible goal, oppression or no; in
fact, adversity has made man what he is--and woman, too. Pray, that
she may not be tempted by the mirage into the desert, there to
perish of thirst for the promised land. Nearly a century ago George
Sand was preaching the equality of the sexes, and rightly enough.
What has come of it? The vote? Political office? Professions,
business opportunities? Yes, all these things, but not universal
happiness. Woman's sphere--stale phrase!--is any one she hankers
after; but let her not deceive herself. Her future will strangely
resemble her past.
William Dean Howells was not wrong when he wrote: Woman has only her
choice in self-sacrifice. And sometimes not even the choosing. Why?
Why are eclipses? Why are some men prohibitionists? Why do hens
cluck after laying eggs? Let us pray for warring women that their
politically ambitious leaders may no longer dupe them with
fallacious promises--surely a "pathetic fallacy." But, then, females
rush in where fools fear to tread.
And lastly, beloved sisters and brothers, let us heartily pray that
our imperial democracy (or is it a democratic empire?), our
plutocratic republic (or should we say republican plutocracy?) may
be kept from war; avoid "the drums and tramplings of three
conquests." But by the Eternal Jehovah, God of battles, if we are
forced to fight, then let us fight like patriotic Americans, and not
gently coo, like pacifists and other sultry south winds. A billion
for "preparedness," but not a penny for "pork," say we.
And by the same token let us pray that those thundering humbugs and
parasites who call themselves labour leaders--the blind leading the
blind--for ever vanish. Because of their contumacious acts and
egregious bamboozling of their victims, because of their false
promises of an earthly paradise and a golden age, they deserve the
harshest condemnation.
Like certain Oriental discourses, our little Morality which began in
the mosque has rambled not far from the tavern. Nevertheless, let us
pray for the living as well as the dead. Oremus!
* * * * *
BOOKS BY JAMES HUNEKER
_What some distinguished writers have said of them_:
Maurice Maeterlinck wrote, May 15, 1905: "Do you know that
'Iconoclasts' is the only book of high and universal critical worth
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* * * * *
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* * * * *
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* * * * *
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* * * * *
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* * * * *
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* * * * *
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* * * * *
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* * * * *
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* * * * *
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* * * * *
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* * * * *
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* * * * *
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* * * * *
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* * * * *
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, NEW YORK
* * * * *
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES
The original punctuation and spelling were retained, with the
exception of a few printer's mistakes. The text contains also
inconsistently spelled words. The oe ligature is indicated by
[oe].
* * * * *
The full list of changes to the text is as following:
p. 10
"Lizst" changed to "Liszt"
p. 24
"Henri de Regnier" changed to "Henri de Regnier"
p. 40
"immediable" changed to "irremediable"
p. 66
"Maurice Barres" changed to "Maurice Barres"
p. 77
"idylic" changed to "idyllic"
p. 83
"a critic should be ever so. (Consider" changed to
"a critic should be ever so. Consider"
Explanation: the opening bracket (with no corresponding closing
bracket) was removed.
p. 108
"hippogrifs" changed to "hippogriffs"
p. 112
"misanthrophy" changed to "misanthropy"
p. 116
"Huysman's" changed to "Huysmans's"
p. 117, p. 276
"Barbey d'Aurevilly" changed to "Barbey d'Aurevilly"
p. 127
"promegranates" changed to "pomegranates"
p. 133
"Musica" changed to "Musical"
p. 156
"Cujol" changed to "Cajal"
p. 165
"Facino Cano" changed to "Facino Cane"
p. 168
"Frederic Chopin" changed to "Frederic Chopin"
p. 244
"I'm a Social-Democrat now." changed to ""I'm a Social-Democrat now."
Explanation: opening double quote added.
p. 246
"sich" changed to "such"
p. 246
"exclaims Maeterlinck," yet" changed to "exclaims Maeterlinck, "yet"
Explanation: the double quote was moved to the next sentence.
p. 327
"De Beriot" changed to "De Beriot"
* * * * *
Please note that the text contains inconsistently spelled words or
phrases that were not changed. The following is a list of those
words. The number in brackets denotes the number of occurences of
each such word or phrase.
- Cafe (1), Cafe (1)
- Eugene Ysaye (1), Eugene Ysaye (1)
- Karl Heymann (1), Carl Heyman (1)
- Trocadero (1), Trocadero (2)
- bird-like (1), birdlike (1)
- bric-a-brac (1), bric-a-brac (1)
- free-will (1), free will (1)
- ruse (1), ruse (1)
- shadow-land (1), shadow land (1)