A lecture delivered at many Chautauquas and religious
gatherings, in, America, beginning in 1904; also in Canada, Mexico, Tokyo,
Manila, Bombay, Cairo and Jerusalem.
I OFFER no apology for speaking upon a religious theme, for
it is the most universal of all themes. I am interested in the science of government,
but I am more interested in religion than in government. I enjoy making a
political speech—I have made a good many and shall make more—but I would rather
speak on religion than on politics. I commenced speaking on the stump when I
was only twenty, but I commenced speaking in the church six years earlier—and I
shall be in the church even after I am out of politics. I feel sure of my
ground when I make a political speech, but I feel even more certain of my
ground when I make a religious speech. If I addressed you upon the subject of
law I might interest the lawyers; if I discussed the science of medicine I
might interest the physicians; in like manner merchants might be interested in
comments on commerce, and farmers in matters pertaining to agriculture; but no
one of these subjects appeals to all. Even the science of government, though
broader than any profession or occupation, does not embrace the whole sum of
life, and those who think upon it differ so among themselves that I could not
speak upon the subject so as to please a part of the audience without
displeasing others. While to me the science of government is intensely
absorbing, I recognize that the most important things in life lie outside of
the realm of government and that more depends upon what the individual does for
himself than upon what the government does or can do for him. Men can be
miserable under the best government and they can be happy under the worst
government.
Government affects but a part of the life which we live here
and does not deal at all with the life beyond, while religion touches the
infinite circle of existence as well as the small arc of that circle which we
spend on earth. No greater theme, therefore, can engage our attention. If I
discuss questions of government I must secure the cooperation of a majority
before I can put my ideas into practice, but if, in speaking on religion, I can
touch one human heart for good, I have not spoken in vain no matter how large
the majority may be against me.
Man is a religious being; the heart instinctively seeks for
a God. Whether he worships on the banks of the Ganges, prays with his face
upturned to the sun, kneels toward Mecca or, regarding all space as a temp]e,
communes with the Heavenly Father according to the Christian creed, man is
essentially devout.
There are honest doubters whose sincerity we recognize and
respect, but occasionally I find young men who think it smart to be skeptical;
they talk as if it were an evidence of larger intelligence to scoff at creeds
and to refuse to connect themselves with churches. They call themselves
“Liberal,” as if a Christian were narrow minded. Some go so far as to assert
that the “advanced thought of the world” has discarded the idea that there is a
God. To these young men I desire to address myself.
Even some older people profess to regard religion as a
superstition, pardonable in the ignorant but unworthy of the educated. Those
who hold this view look down with mild contempt upon such as give to religion a
definite place in their thoughts and lives. They assume an intellectual
superiority and often take little pains to conceal the assumption. Tolstoy
administers to the “cultured crowd” (the words quoted are his) a severe rebuke
when he declares that the religious sentiment rests not upon a superstitious
fear of the invisible forces of nature, but upon man’s consciousness of his
finiteness amid an infinite universe and of his sinfulness; and this
consciousness, the great philosopher adds, man can never outgrow. Tolstoy is
right; man recognizes how limited are his own powers and how vast is the
universe, and he leans upon the arm that is stronger than his. Man feels the
weight of his sins and looks for One who is sinless.
Religion has been defined by Tolstoy as the relation which
man fixes between himself and his God, and morality as the outward
manifestation of this inward relation. Every one, by the time he reaches
maturity, has fixed some relation between himself and God and no material
change in this relation can take place without a revolution in the man, for
this relation is the most potent influence that acts upon a human life.
Religion is the foundation of morality in the individual and
in the group of individuals. Materialists have attempted to build up a system
of morality upon the basis of enlightened self-interest. They would have man
figure out by mathematics that it pays him to abstain from wrong-doing; they
would even inject an element of selfishness into altruism, but the moral system
elaborated by the materialists has several defects. First, its virtues are
borrowed from moral systems based upon religion. All those who are intelligent
enough to discuss a system of morality are so saturated with the morals derived
from systems resting upon religion that they cannot frame a system resting upon
reason alone. Second, as it rests upon argument rather than upon authority, the
young are not in a position to accept or reject. Our laws do not permit a young
man to dispose of real estate until he is twenty-one. Why this restraint?
Because his reason is not mature; and yet a man’s life is largely moulded by
the environment of his youth. Third, one never knows just how much of his
decision is due to reason and how much is due to passion or to selfish
interest. Passion can dethrone the reason—we recognize this in our criminal
laws. We also recognize the bias of self-interest when we exclude from the jury
every man, no matter how reasonable or upright he may be, who has a pecuniary
interest in the result of the trial. And, fourth, one whose morality rests upon
a nice calculation of benefits to be secured spends time figuring that he should
spend in action. Those who keep a book account of their good deeds seldom do
enough good to justify keeping books. A noble life cannot be built upon an
arithmetic; it must be rather like the spring that pours forth constantly of
that which refreshes and invigorates.
Morality is the power of endurance in man; and a religion
which teaches personal responsibility to God gives strength to morality. There
is a powerful restraining influence in the belief that an all-seeing eye
scrutinizes every thought and word and act of the individual.
There is wide difference between the man who is trying to
conform his life to a standard of morality about him and the man who seeks to
make his life approximate to a divine standard. The former attempts to live up
to the standard, if it is above him, and down to it, if it is below him—and if
he is doing right only when others are looking he is sure to find a time when
he thinks he is unobserved, and then he takes a vacation and falls. One needs
the inner strength which comes with the conscious presence of a personal God.
If those who are thus fortified sometimes yield to temptation, how helpless and
hopeless must those be who rely upon their own strength alone!
There are difficulties to be encountered in religion, but
there are difficulties to be encountered everywhere. If Christians sometimes
have doubts and fears, unbelievers have more doubts and greater fears. I passed
through a period of skepticism when I was in college and I have been glad ever
since that I became a member of the church before I left home for college, for
it helped me during those trying days. And the college days cover the dangerous
period in the young man’s life; he is just coming into possession of his
powers, and feels stronger than he ever feels afterward—and he thinks he knows
more than he ever does know.
It was at this period that I became confused by the
different theories of creation. But I examined these theories and found that
they all assumed something to begin with. You can test this for yourselves. The
nebular hypothesis, for instance, assumes that matter and force existed—matter
in particles infinitely fine and each particle separated from every other
particle by space infinitely great. Beginning with this assumption, force
working on matter—according to this hypothesis—created a universe. Well, I have
a right to assume, and I prefer to assume, a Designer back of the design—a
Creator back of the creation; and no matter how long you draw out the process
of creation, so long as God stands back of it you cannot shake my faith in
Jehovah. In Genesis it is written that, in the beginning, God created the
heavens and the earth, and I can stand on that proposition until I find some
theory of creation that goes farther back than “the beginning.” We must begin
with something—we must start somewhere—and the Christian begins with God.
I do not carry the doctrine of evolution as far as some do;
I am not yet convinced that man is a lineal descendant of the lower animals. I
do not mean to find fault with you if you want to accept the theory; all I mean
to say is that while yon may trace your ancestry back to the monkey if you find
pleasure or pride in doing so, you shall not connect me with your family tree
without more evidence than has yet been produced. I object to the theory for
several reasons. First, it is a dangerous theory. If a man links himself in
generations with the monkey, it then becomes an important question whether he
is going toward him or coming from him—and I have seen them going in both
directions. I do not know of any argument that can be used to prove that man is
an improved monkey that may not be used just as well to prove that the monkey
is a degenerate man, and the latter theory is more plausible than the former.
It is true that man, in some physical characteristics
resembles the beast, but man has a mind. as well as a body, and a soul as well
as a mind. The mind is greater than the body and the soul is greater than the
mind, and I object to having man’s pedigree traced on one-third of him only—and
that the lowest third. Fairbairn, in his “Philosophy of Christianity,” lays
down a sound proposition when he says that it is not sufficient to explain man
as an animal; that it is necessary to explain man in history—and the Darwinian
theory does not do this. The ape, according to this theory, is older than man
and yet the ape is still an ape while man is the author of the marvelous
civilization which we see about us.
One does not escape from mystery, however, by accepting this
theory, for it does not explain the origin of life. When the follower of Darwin
has traced the germ of life back to the lowest form in which it appears—and to
follow him one must exercise more faith than religion calls for—he finds that
scientists differ. Those who reject the idea of creation are divided into two
schools, some believing that the first germ of life came from another planet
and others holding that it was the result of spontaneous generation. Each
school answers the arguments advanced by the other, and as they cannot agree
with each other, I am not compelled to agree with either.
If I were compelled to accept one of these theories I would
prefer the first, for if we can chase the germ of life off this planet and get
it out into space we can guess the rest of the way and no one can contradict
us, but if we accept the doctrine of spontaneous generation we cannot explain
why spontaneous generation ceased to act after the first germ was created.
Go back as far as we may, we cannot escape from the creative
act, and it is just as easy for me to believe that God created man as he is as
to believe that, millions of years ago, He created a germ of life and endowed
it with power to develop into all that we see to-day. I object to the Darwinian
theory, until more conclusive proof is produced, because I fear we shall lose
the consciousness of God’s presence in our daily life, if we must accept the
theory that through all the ages no spiritual force has touched the life of man
or shaped the destiny of nations.
But there is another objection. The Darwinian theory
represents man as reaching his present perfection by the operation of the law
of hate—the merciless law by which the strong crowd out and kill off the weak.
If this is the law of our development then, if there is any logic that can bind
the human mind, we shall turn backward toward the beast in proportion as we
substitute the law of love. I prefer to believe that love rather than hatred is
the law of development. How can hatred be the law of development when nations
have advanced in proportion as they have departed from that law and adopted the
law of love?
But, I repeat, while I do not accept the Darwinian theory I
shall not quarrel with you about it; I only refer to it to remind you that it
does not solve the mystery of life or explain human progress. I fear that some
have accepted it in the hope of escaping from the miracle, but why should the
miracle frighten us? And yet I am inclined to think that it is one of the test
questions with the Christian.
Christ cannot be separated from the miraculous; His birth,
His ministrations, and His resurrection, all involve the miraculous, and the
change which His religion works in the human heart is a continuing miracle.
Eliminate the miracles and Christ becomes merely a human being and His gospel
is stripped of divine authority.
The miracle raises two questions: “Can God perform a
miracle?” and, “Would He want to?” The first is easy to answer. A God who can
make a world can do anything He wants to do with it. The power to perform
miracles is necessarily implied in the power to create. But would God want to
perform a miracle?—this is the question which has given most of the trouble.
The more I have considered it the less inclined I am to answer in the negative.
To say that God would not perform a miracle is to assume a more intimate
knowledge of God’s plans and purposes than I can claim to have. I will not deny
that God does perform a miracle or may perform one merely because I do not know
how or why He does it. I find it so difficult to decide each day what God wants
done now that I am not presumptuous enough to attempt to declare what God might
have wanted to do thousands of years ago. The fact that we are constantly
learning of the existence of new forces suggests the possibility that God may
operate through forces yet unknown to us, and the mysteries with which we deal
every day warn me that faith is as necessary as sight. Who would have credited
a century ago the stories that are now told of the wonder-working electricity?
For ages man had known the lightning, but only to fear it; now, this invisible
current is generated by a man-made machine, imprisoned in a man-made wire and
made to do the bidding of man. We are even able to dispense with the wire and
hurl words through space, and the X-ray has enabled us to look through
substances which were supposed, until recently, to exclude all light. The
miracle is not more mysterious than many of the things with which man now
deals—it is simply different. The miraculous birth of Christ is not more mysterious
than any other conception—it is simply unlike it; nor is the resurrection of
Christ more mysterious than the myriad resurrections which mark each annual
seed-time.
It is sometimes said that God could not suspend one of His
laws without stopping the universe, but do we not suspend or overcome the law
of gravitation every day? Every time we move a foot or lift a weight we
temporarily overcome one of the most universal of natural laws and yet the
world is not disturbed.
Science has taught us so many things that we are tempted to
conclude that we know everything, but there is really a great unknown which is
still unexplored and that which we have learned ought to increase our reverence
rather than our egotism. Science has disclosed some of the machinery of the
universe, but science has not yet revealed to us the great secret—the secret of
life. It is to be found in every blade of grass, in every insect, in every bird
and in every animal, as well as in man. Six thousand years of recorded history
and yet we know no more about the secret of life than they knew in the
beginning. We live, we plan; we have our hopes, our fears; and yet in a moment
a change may come over anyone of us and this body will become a mass of
lifeless clay. What is it that, having, we live, and having not, we are as the
clod? The progress of the race and the civilization which we now behold are the
work of men and women who have not yet solved the mystery of their own lives.
And our food, must we understand it before we eat it? If we
refused to eat anything until we could understand the mystery of its growth, we
would die of starvation. But mystery does not bother us in the dining-room; it
is only in the church that it is a stumbling block.
I was eating a piece of watermelon some months ago and was
struck with its beauty. I took some of the seeds and dried them and weighed
them, and found that it would require some five thousand seeds to weigh a
pound; and then I applied mathematics to that forty-pound melon. One of these
seeds, put into the ground, when warmed by the sun and moistened by the rain,
takes off its coat and goes to work; it gathers from somewhere two hundred
thousand times its own weight, and forcing this raw material through a tiny
stem, constructs a watermelon. It ornaments the outside with a covering of
green; inside the green it puts a layer of white, and within the white a core
of red, and all through the red it scatters seeds, each one capable of
continuing the work of reproduction. Where does that little seed get its tremendous
power? Where does it find its coloring matter? How does it collect its
flavoring extract? How does it build a watermelon? Until you can explain a
watermelon, do not be too sure that you can set limits to the power of the
Almighty and say just what He would do or how He would do it. I cannot explain
the watermelon, but I eat it and enjoy it.
The egg is the most universal of foods and its use dates
from the beginning, but what is more mysterious than an egg? When an egg is
fresh it is an important article of merchandise; a hen can destroy its market
value in a week’s time, but in two weeks more she can bring forth from it what
man could not find in it. We eat eggs, but we cannot explain an egg.
Water has been used from the birth of man; we learned after
it had been used for ages that it is merely a mixture of gases, but it is far
more important that we have water to drink than that we know that it is not
water.
Everything that grows tells a like story of infinite power.
Why should I deny that a divine hand fed a multitude with a few loaves and
fishes when I see hundreds of millions fed every year by a hand which converts
the seeds scattered over the field into an abundant harvest? We know that food
can be multiplied in a few months’ time; shall we deny the power of the Creator
to eliminate the element of time, when we have gone so far in eliminating the
element of space? Who am I that I should attempt to measure the arm of the
Almighty with my puny arm, or to measure the brain of the Infinite with my finite
mind? Who am I that I should attempt to put metes and bounds to the power of
the Creator?
But there is something even more wonderful still—the
mysterious change that takes place in the human heart when the man begins to
hate the things he loved and to love the things he hated—the marvelous
transformation that takes place in the man who, before the change, would have
sacrificed a world for his own advancement but who, after the change, would
give his life for a principle and esteem it a privilege to make sacrifice for
his convictions! What greater miracle than this, that converts a selfish,
self-centered, human being into a center from which good influences flow out in
every direction! And yet this miracle has been wrought in the heart of each one
of us—or may be wrought—and we have seen it wrought in the hearts and lives of
those about us. No, living a life that is a mystery, and living in the midst of
mystery and miracles, I shall not allow either to deprive me of the benefits of
the Christian religion. If you ask me if I understand everything in the Bible,
I answer, no, but if we will try to live up to what we do understand, we will
be kept so busy doing good that we will not have time to worry about the
passages which we do not understand.
Some of those who question the miracle also question the
theory of atonement; they assert that it does not accord with their idea of
justice for one to die for all. Let each one bear his own sins and the
punishments due for them, they say. The doctrine of vicarious suffering is not
a new one; it is as old as the race. That one should suffer for others is one
of the most familiar of principles and we see the principle illustrated every
day of our lives. Take the family, for instance; from the day the mother’s
first child is born, for twenty or thirty years her children are scarcely out
of her waking thoughts. Her life trembles in the balance at each child’s birth;
she sacrifices for them, she surrenders herself to them. Is it because she
expects them to pay her back? Fortunate for the parent and fortunate for the
child if the latter has an opportunity to repay in part the debt it owes. But
no child can compensate a parent for a parent’s care. In the course of nature
the debt is paid, not to the parent, but to the next generation, and the
next—each generation suffering, sacrificing for and surrendering itself to the
generation that follows. This is the law of our lives.
Nor is this confined to the family. Every step in
civilization has been made possible by those who have been willing to sacrifice
for posterity. Freedom of speech, freedom of the press, freedom of conscience
and free government have all been won for the world by those who were willing
to labor unselfishly for their fellows. So well established is this doctrine
that we do not regard anyone as great unless he recognizes how unimportant his
life is in comparison with the problems with which he deals.
I find proof that man was made in the image of his Creator
in the fact that, throughout the centuries, man has been willing to die, if
necessary, that blessings denied to him might be enjoyed by his children, his
children’s children and the world.
The seeming paradox: “He that saveth his life shall lose it
and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it,” has an application
wider than that usually given to it; it is an epitome of history. Those who
live only for themselves live little lives, but those who stand ready to give
themselves for the advancement of things greater than themselves find a larger
life than the one they would have surrendered. Wendell Phillips gave expression
to the same idea when he said, “What imprudent men the benefactors of the race
have been. How prudently most men sink into nameless graves, while now and then
a few forget themselves into immortality.” We win immortality, not by
remembering ourselves, but by forgetting ourselves in devotion to things larger
than ourselves.
Instead of being an unnatural plan, the plan of salvation is
in perfect harmony with human nature as we understand it. Sacrifice is the
language of love, and Christ, in suffering for the world, adopted the only
means of reaching the heart. This can be demonstrated not only by theory but by
experience, for the story of His life, His teachings, His sufferings and His
death has been translated into every language and everywhere it has touched the
heart.
But if I were going to present an argument in favor of the
divinity of Christ, I would not begin with miracles or mystery or with the
theory of atonement. I would begin as Carnegie Simpson does in his book
entitled, “The Fact of Christ.” Commencing with the undisputed fact that Christ
lived, he points out that one cannot contemplate this fact without feeling that
in some way it is related to those now living. He says that one can read of
Alexander, of Caesar or of Napoleon, and not feel that it is a matter of
personal concern; but that when one reads that Christ lived, and how He lived
and how He died; he feels that somehow there is a cord that stretches from that
life to his. As he studies the character of Christ he becomes conscious of
certain virtues which stand out in bold relief—His purity, His forgiving
spirit, and His unfathomable love. The author is correct Christ presents an
example of purity in thought and life, and man, conscious of his own
imperfections and grieved over his shortcomings, finds inspiration in the fact
that He was tempted in all points like as we are, and yet without sin. I am not
sure but that each can find just here a way of determining for himself whether
he possesses the true spirit of a Christian. If the sinlessness of Christ
inspires within him an earnest desire to conform his life more nearly to the
perfect example, he is indeed a follower; if, on the other hand, he resents the
reproof which the purity of Christ offers, and refuses to mend his ways, he has
yet to be born again.
The most difficult of all the virtues to cultivate is the
forgiving spirit. Revenge seems to be natural with man; it is human to want to
get even with an enemy. It has even been popular to boast of vindictiveness; it
was once inscribed on a man’s monument that he had repaid both friends and
enemies more than he had received. This was not the spirit of Christ. He taught
forgiveness and in that incomparable prayer which He left as a model for our
petitions, He made our willingness to forgive the measure by which we may claim
forgiveness. He not only taught forgiveness but He exemplified His teachings in
His life. When those who persecuted Him brought Him to the most disgraceful of
all deaths, His spirit of forgiveness rose above His sufferings and He prayed,
“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do!”
But love is the foundation of Christ’s creed. The world had
known love before; parents had loved their children, and children their
parents; husbands had loved their wives, and wives their husbands; and friend
had loved friend; but Jesus gave a new definition of love. His love was as wide
as the sea; its limits were so far-flung that even an enemy could not travel
beyond its bounds. Other teachers sought to regulate the lives of their
followers by rule and formula, but Christ’s plan was to purify the heart and
then to leave love to direct the footsteps.
What conclusion is to be drawn from the life, the teachings
and the death of this historic figure? Reared in a carpenter shop; with no
knowledge of literature, save Bible literature; with no acquaintance with
philosophers living or with the writings of sages dead, when only about thirty
years old He gathered disciples about Him, promulgated a higher code of morals
than the world had ever known before, and proclaimed Himself the Messiah. He
taught and performed miracles for a few brief months and then was crucified;
His disciples were scattered and many of them put to death; His claims were
disputed, His resurrection denied and His followers persecuted; and yet from
this beginning His religion spread until hundreds of millions have taken His
name with reverence upon their lips and millions have been willing to die
rather than surrender the faith which He put into their hearts. How shall we
account for Him? Here is the greatest fact of history; here is One who has with
increasing power, for nineteen hundred years, moulded the hearts, the thoughts
and the lives of men, and He exerts more influence to-day than ever before.
“What think ye of Christ?” It is easier to believe Him divine than to explain
in any other way what he said and did and was. And I have greater faith, even
than before, since I have visited the Orient and witnessed the successful
contest which Christianity is waging against the religions and philosophies of
the East.
I was thinking a few years ago of the Christmas which was
then approaching and of Him in whose honor the day is celebrated. I recalled
the message, “Peace on earth, good will to men,” and then my thoughts ran back
to the prophecy uttered centuries before His birth, in which He was described
as the Prince of Peace. To reinforce my memory I re-read the prophecy and I
found immediately following a verse which I had forgotten—a verse which
declares that of the increase of His peace and government there shall be no
end. And, Isaiah adds, that He shall judge His people with justice and with
judgment. I had been reading of the rise and fall of nations, and occasionally
I had met a gloomy philosopher who preached the doctrine that nations, like
individuals, must of necessity have their birth, their infancy, their maturity
and finally their decay and death. But here I read of a government that is to
be perpetual—a government of increasing peace and blessedness—the government of
the Prince of Peace—and it is to rest on justice. I have thought of this
prophecy many times during the last few years, and I have selected this theme
that I might present some of the reasons which lead me to believe that Christ
has fully earned the right to be called The Prince of Peace—a title that will
in the years to come be more and more applied to Him. If he can bring peace to
each individual heart, and if His creed when applied will bring peace
throughout the earth, who will deny His right to be called the Prince of Peace?
All the world is in search of peace; every heart that ever
beat has sought for peace, and many have been the methods employed to secure
it. Some have thought to purchase it with riches and have labored to secure
wealth, hoping to find peace when they were able to go where they pleased and
buy what they liked. Of those who have endeavored to purchase peace with money,
the large majority have failed to secure the money. But what has been the
experience of those who have been eminently successful in finance? They all
tell the same story, viz., that they spent the first half of their lives trying
to get money from others and the last half trying to keep others from getting
their money, and that they found peace in neither half. Some have even reached
the point where they find difficulty in getting people to accept their money;
and I know of no better indication of the ethical awakening in this country
than the increasing tendency to scrutinize the methods of money-making. I am
sanguine enough to believe that the time will yet come when respectability will
no longer be sold to great criminals by helping them to spend their ill-gotten
gains. A long step in advance will have been taken when religious, educational
and charitable institutions refuse to condone conscienceless methods in
business and leave the possessor of illegitimate accumulations to learn how
lonely life is when one prefers money to morals.
Some have sought peace in social distinction, but whether
they have been within the charmed circle and fearful lest they might fall out,
or outside, and hopeful that they might get in, they have not found peace. Some
have thought, vain thought, to find peace in political prominence; but whether
office comes by birth, as in monarchies, or by election, as in republics, it
does not bring peace. An office is not considered a high one if all can occupy
it. Only when few in a generation can hope to enjoy an honor do we call it a
great honor. I am glad that our Heavenly Father did not make the peace of the
human heart to depend upon our ability to buy it with money, secure it in
society, or win it at the polls, for in either case but few could have obtained
it, but when He made peace the reward of a conscience void of offense toward
God and man, He put it within the reach of all. The poor can secure it as
easily as the rich, the social outcasts as freely as the leader of society, and
the humblest citizen equally with those who wield political power.
To those who have grown gray in the Church, I need not speak
of the peace to be found in faith in God and trust in an overruling Providence.
Christ taught that our lives are precious in the sight of God, and poets have
taken up the thought and woven it into immortal verse. No uninspired writer has
expressed it more beautifully than William Cullen Bryant in his Ode to a
Waterfowl. After following the wanderings of the bird of passage as it seeks
first its southern and then its northern home, he concludes:
Thou art gone; the abyss of heaven
Hath swallowed up
thy form, but on my heart
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,
And shall not soon depart.
He who, from zone to zone,
Guides through the
boundless sky thy certain flight,
In the long way that I must tread alone,
Will lead my steps
aright.
Christ promoted peace by giving us assurance that a line of
communication can be established between the Father above and the child below.
And who will measure the consolations of the hour of prayer?
And immortality! Who will estimate the peace which a belief
in a future life has brought to the sorrowing hearts of the sons of men? You
may talk to the young about death ending all, for life is full and hope is
strong, but preach not this doctrine to the mother who stands by the death-bed
of her babe or to one who is within the shadow of a great affliction. When I
was a young man I wrote to Colonel Ingersoll and asked him for his views on God
and immortality. His secretary answered that the great infidel was not at home,
but enclosed a copy of a speech of Col. Ingersoll’s which covered my question.
I scanned it with eagerness and found that he had expressed himself about as
follows: “I do not say that there is no God, I simply say I do not know. I do
not say that there is no life beyond the grave, I simply say I do not know.”
And from that day to this I have asked myself the question and have been unable
to answer it to my own satisfaction, how could anyone find pleasure in taking
from a human heart a living faith and substituting therefor the cold and
cheerless doctrine, “I do not know.”
Christ gave us proof of immortality and it was a welcome
assurance, although it would hardly seem necessary that one should rise from
the dead to convince us that the grave is not the end. To every created thing
God has given a tongue that proclaims a future life.
If the Father deigns to touch with divine power the cold and
pulseless heart of the buried acorn and to make it burst forth from its prison
walls, will he leave neglected in the earth the soul of man, made in the image
of his Creator? If he stoops to give to the rose bush, whose withered blossoms
float upon the autumn breeze, the sweet assurance of another springtime, will
He refuse the words of hope to the sons of men when the frosts of winter come?
If matter, mute and inanimate, though changed by the forces of nature into a
multitude of forms, can never die, will the imperial spirit of man suffer
annihilation when it has paid a brief visit like a royal guest to this tenement
of clay? No, I am sure that He who, notwithstanding his apparent prodigality,
created nothing without a purpose, and wasted not a single atom in all his
creation, has made provision for a future life in which man’s universal longing
for immortality will find its realization. I am as sure that we live again as I
am sure that we live to-day.
In Cairo I secured a few grains of wheat that had slumbered
for more than thirty centuries in an Egyptian tomb. As I looked at them this
thought came into my mind: If one of those grains had been planted on the banks
of the Nile the year after it grew, and all its lineal descendants had been
planted and replanted from that time until now, its progeny would to-day be
sufficiently numerous to feed the teeming millions of the world. An unbroken
chain of life connects the earliest grains of wheat with the grains that we sow
and reap. There is in the grain of wheat an invisible something which has power
to discard the body that we see, and from earth and air fashion a new body so
much like the old one that we cannot tell the one from the other. If this
invisible germ of life in the grain of wheat can thus pass unimpaired through
three thousand resurrections, I shall not doubt that my soul has power to
clothe itself with a body suited to its new existence when this earthly frame
has crumbled into dust.
A belief in immortality not only consoles the individual,
but it exerts a powerful influence in bringing peace between individuals. If
one actually thinks that man dies as the brute dies, he will yield more easily
to the temptation to do injustice to his neighbor when the circumstances are
such as to promise security from detection. But if one really expects to meet
again, and live eternally with, those whom he knows to-day, he is restrained
from evil deeds by the fear of endless remorse. We do not know what rewards are
in store for us or what punishments may be reserved, but if there were no other
it would be some punishment for one who deliberately and consciously wrongs
another to have to live forever in the company of the person wronged and have
his littleness and selfishness laid bare. I repeat, a belief in immortality
must exert a powerful influence in establishing justice between men and thus
laying the foundation for peace.
Again, Christ deserves to be called The Prince of Peace
because He has given us a measure of greatness which promotes peace. When His
disciples quarreled among themselves as to which should be greatest in the
Kingdom of Heaven, He rebuked them and said: “Let him who would be chiefest
among you be the servant of all.” Service is the measure of greatness; it
always has been true; it is true to-day, and it always will be true, that he is
greatest who does the most of good. And how this old world will be transformed
when this standard of greatness becomes the standard of every life! Nearly all
of our controversies and combats grow out of the fact that we are trying to get
something from each other—there will be peace when our aim is to do something
for each other. Our enmities and animosities arise largely from our efforts to
get as much as possible out of the world—there will be peace when our endeavor
is to put as much as possible into the world. The human measure of a human life
is its income; the divine measure of a life is its outgo, its overflow—its
contribution to the welfare of all.
Christ also led the way to peace by giving us a formula for
the propagation of truth. Not all of those who have really desired to do good
have employed the Christian method—not all Christians even. In the history of
the human race but two methods have been used. The first is the forcible
method, and it has been employed most frequently. A man has an idea which he
thinks is good; he tells his neighbors about it and they do not like it. This
makes him angry; he thinks it would be so much better for them if they would
like it, and, seizing a club, he attempts to make them like it. But one trouble
about this rule is that it works both ways; when a man starts out to compel his
neighbors to think as he does, he generally finds them willing to accept the
challenge and they spend so much time in trying to coerce each other that they
have no time left to do each other good.
The other is the Bible plan—“Be not overcome of evil but
overcome evil with good.” And there is no other way of overcoming evil. I am
not much of a farmer—I get more credit for my farming than I deserve, and my
little farm receives more advertising than it is entitled to. But I am farmer
enough to know that if I cut down weeds they will spring up again; and farmer
enough to know that if I plant something there which has more vitality than the
weeds I shall not only get rid of the constant cutting, but have the benefit of
the crop besides.
In order that there might be no mistake in His plan of
propagating the truth, Christ went into detail and laid emphasis upon the value
of example—“So live that others seeing your good works may be constrained to
glorify your Father which is in Heaven.” There is no human influence so potent
for good as that which goes out from an upright life. A sermon may be answered;
the arguments presented in a speech may be disputed, but no one can answer a
Christian life—it is the unanswerable argument in favor of our religion.
It may be a slow process—this conversion of the world by the
silent influence of a noble example but it is the only sure one, and the
doctrine applies to nations as well as to individuals. The Gospel of the Prince
of Peace gives us the only hope that the world has—and it is an increasing
hope—of the substitution of reason for the arbitrament of force in the
settlement of international disputes. And our nation ought not to wait for
other nations—it ought to take the lead and prove its faith in the omnipotence
of truth.
But Christ has given us a platform so fundamental that it
can be applied successfully to all controversies. We are interested in platforms;
we attend conventions, sometimes traveling long distances; we have wordy wars
over the phraseology of various planks, and then we wage earnest campaigns to
secure the endorsement of these platforms at the polls. The platform given to
the world by The Prince of Peace is more far-reaching and more comprehensive
than any platform ever written by the convention of any party in any country.
When He condensed into one commandment those of the ten which relate to man’s
duty toward his fellows and enjoined upon us the rule, “Thou shalt love thy
neighbor as thyself,” He presented a plan for the solution of all the problems
that now vex society or may hereafter arise. Other remedies may palliate or
postpone the day of settlement, but this is all-sufficient and the
reconciliation which it effects is a permanent one.
My faith in the future—and I have faith—and my optimism—for
I am an optimist—my faith and my optimism rest upon the belief that Christ’s
teachings are being more studied to-day than ever before, and that with this
larger study will come a larger application of those teachings to the everyday
life of the world, and to the questions with which we deal. In former times
when men read that Christ came “to bring life and immortality to light,” they
placed the emphasis upon immortality; now they are studying Christ’s relation
to human life. People used to read the Bible to find out what it said of
Heaven; now they read it more to find what light it throws upon the pathway of
today. In former years many thought to prepare themselves for future bliss by a
life of seclusion here; we are learning that to follow in the footsteps of the
Master we must go about doing good. Christ declared that He came that we might
have life and have it more abundantly. The world is learning that Christ came
not to narrow life, but to enlarge it—not to rob it of its joy, but to fill it
to overflowing with purpose, earnestness and happiness.
But this Prince of Peace promises not only peace but
strength. Some have thought His teachings fit only for the weak and the timid
and unsuited to men of vigor, energy and ambition. Nothing could be farther
from the truth. Only the man of faith can be courageous. Confident that he
fights on the side of Jehovah, he doubts not the success of his cause. What
matters it whether he shares in the shouts of triumph? If every word spoken in
behalf of truth has its influence and every deed done for the right weighs in
the final account, it is immaterial to the Christian whether his eyes behold
victory or whether he dies in the midst of the conflict.
“Yea, though thou lie upon the dust,
When they who
helped thee flee in fear,
Die full of hope and manly trust,
Like those who fell
in battle here.
Another hand thy sword shall wield,
Another hand the
standard wave,
Till from the trumpet’s mouth is pealed,
The blast of
triumph o’er thy grave.”
Only those who believe attempt the seemingly impossible,
and, by attempting, prove that one, with God, can chase a thousand and that two
can put ten thousand to flight. I can imagine that the early Christians who
were carried into the coliseum to make a spectacle for those more savage than
the beasts, were entreated by their doubting companions not to endanger their
lives. But, kneeling in the center of the arena, they prayed and sang until
they were devoured. How helpless they seemed, and, measured by every human
rule, how hopeless was their cause! And yet within a few decades the power
which they invoked proved mightier than the legions of the emperor and the
faith in which they died was triumphant o’er all the land. It is said that
those who went to mock at their sufferings returned asking themselves, “What is
it that can enter into the heart of man and make him die as these die?” They
were greater conquerors in their death than they could have been had they
purchased life by a surrender of their faith.
What would have been the fate of the church if the early
Christians had had as little faith as many of our Christians of to-day? And if
the Christians of to-day had the faith of the martyrs, how long would it be
before the fulfillment of the prophecy that “every knee shall bow and every
tongue confess?”
I am glad that He, who is called the Prince of Peace—who can
bring peace to every troubled heart and whose teachings, exemplified in life,
will bring peace between man and man, between community and community, between
State and State, between nation and nation throughout the world—I am glad that
He brings courage as well as peace so that those who follow Him may take up and
each day bravely do the duties that to that day fall.
As the Christian grows older he appreciates more and more
the completeness with which Christ satisfies the longings of the heart, and,
grateful for the peace which he enjoys and for the strength which he has
received, he repeats the words of the great scholar, Sir William Jones:
“Before thy mystic altar, heavenly truth,
I kneel in manhood,
as I knelt in youth,
Thus let me kneel, till this dull form decay,
And life’s last
shade be brightened by thy ray.”
