In the death of Mr. W. J. Gunning theology incurred a serious loss.
The deceased was an intelligent and painstaking collector of gods, and
at the time of his death was in the service of the Committee on Gods,
of the “World’s Fair” in Chicago. He had already got together about
five hundred deities, some of them exceedingly powerful, and was on
his way around the world on the lookout for more. It is believed that
he would have enriched the pantheon of the fair with some singularly
fine exhibits if he had been spared, for he was a most accomplished
theologian, knew exactly where to lay his hand on any deity that he
needed in his business, and whenever he went godding was blessed (under
Providence) with a large take. He was an honest collector, a kind and
considerate provider, and left behind him a wide circle of Celestial
Powers bewailing their loss.
The advantage of having a first-rate collection of gods at a world’s
fair is obvious. Hitherto the study of comparative theology has been
beset with dispiriting difficulties, many of which will vanish in the
light that such a collection will pour upon the science. In actual
presence of the wood and stone which the heathen in his blindness
bows down to we shall be able to trace resemblances and relationships
hitherto undiscerned and even unsuspected. We shall know, perhaps,
why the religion of the Inquots is somewhat similar to that of the
Abemjees when we see (if such is the fact) that the gods of both these
widely separated tribes have availed themselves of the advantages of
the tail. We shall perhaps find the missing link between the Hindu’s
mild disposition and his adoration of the “idol of hope and slaughter.”
Better than all, we shall by actual scrutiny of the mongrel and measly
gods of other and inferior nations be confirmed in the True Faith, as
in this favored land we have the happiness to know it.
That the goddery will be a point of chief attraction goes without
saying. A temple in which, satisfying the two mightiest needs of his
spiritual nature, one may both scoff and pray will have a powerful
fascination for the truly religious. There the visiting stranger from
the overseas can perform appropriate rites before the deity of his
fathers and execute feats of contumelious disdain—short of actual
demolition—before the hideous and senseless images adored of those not
delivered from error’s chain. Even to the wicked person who has justly
incurred the ancient reproach that he “tears down but does not build
up,” the god-show will have a certain value as displaying everywhere
the kind of things he tears down and nowhere the kind he is expected
to build up—whereby he shall be put into better esteem and kicked and
cuffed with abated assiduity. There is one disquieting possibility—one
haunting thought that grows amain to apprehension: What will be the
effect of setting up a multitude of gods in a city which has not
hitherto tolerated one? It was well, though, to make the experiment,
even as a missionary measure; and if the lakeside pantheon had served
to lure the world’s pious to their financial doom the Chicagonese might
have become a profoundly religious people, attentive to pilgrims and
blandly assuring them that it was no trouble to show gods.
1892.