32
THE VARIETIES OF RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCE
Now it would be too absurd to say that the inner experiences
that underlie such expressions of faith as this and impel the writer
to their utterance are quite unworthy to be called religious experi-
ences. The sort of appeal that Emersonian optimism, on the one
hand, and Buddhistic pessimism, on the other, make to the indi-
vidual and the sort of response which he makes to them in his life
are in fact indistinguishable from, and in many respects identical
with, the best Christian appeal and response. We must therefore,
from the experiential point of view, call these godless or quasi-
godless creeds “religions”; and accordingly when in our definition
of religion we speak of the individual’s relation to “what he considers
the divine,” we must interpret the term “divine” very broadly, as
denoting any object that is godlike, whether it be a concrete deity
or not.
But the term “godlike,” if thus treated as a floating general qual-
ity, becomes exceedingly vague, for many gods have flourished in
religious history, and their attributes have been discrepant enough.
What then is that essentially godlike quality — be it embodied in
a concrete deity or not — our relation to which determines our
character as religious men? It will repay us to seek some answer to
this question before we proceed farther.
For one thing, gods are conceived to be first things in the way of
being and power. They overarch and envelop, and from them there
is no escape. What relates to them is the first and last word in the
way of truth. Whatever then were most primal and enveloping and
deeply true might at this rate be treated as godlike, and a man’s
religion might thus be identified with his attitude, whatever it might
be, towards what he felt to be the primal truth.
Such a definition as this would in a way be defensible. Religion,
whatever it is, is a man’s total reaction upon life, so why not say
that any total reaction upon life is a religion? Total reactions are
different from casual reactions, and total attitudes are different from
usual or professional attitudes. To get at them you must go behind
the foreground of existence and reach down to that curious sense of
the whole residual cosmos as an everlasting presence, intimate or
alien, terrible or amusing, lovable or odious, which in some degree
every one possesses. This sense of the world’s presence, appealing as
it does to our peculiar individual temperament, makes us either
CIRCUMSCRIPTION OF THE TOPIC
33
strenuous or careless, devout or blasphemous, gloomy or exultant,
about life at large; and our reaction, involuntary and inarticulate
and often half unconscious as it is, is the completest of all our
answers to the question, “What is the character of this universe in
which we dwell?” It expresses our individual sense of it in the most
definite way. Why then not call these reactions our religion, no
matter what specific character they may have? Non-religious as
some of these reactions may be, in one sense of the word “religious,”
they yet belong to the general sphere of the religious life, and so
should generically be classed as religious reactions. “He believes in
No-God, and he worships him,” said a colleague of mine of a student
who was manifesting a fine atheistic ardor; and the more fervent
opponents of Christian doctrine have often enough shown a
temper which, psychologically considered, is indistinguishable from
religious zeal.
But so very broad a use of the word “religion” would be incon-
venient, however defensible it might remain on logical grounds.
There are trifling, sneering attitudes even towards the whole of life;
and in some men these attitudes are final and systematic. It would
strain the ordinary use of language too much to call such attitudes
religious, even though, from the point of view of an unbiased crit-
ical philosophy, they might conceivably be perfectly reasonable ways
of looking upon life. Voltaire, for example, writes thus to a friend,
at the age of seventy-three: “As for myself,” he says, “weak as I am, I
carry on the war to the last moment, I get a hundred pike-thrusts,
I return two hundred, and I laugh. I see near my door Geneva on
fire with quarrels over nothing, and I laugh again; and, thank God,
I can look upon the world as a farce even when it becomes as tragic
as it sometimes does. All comes out even at the end of the day, and
all comes out still more even when all the days are over.”
Much as we may admire such a robust old gamecock spirit in a
valetudinarian, to call it a religious spirit would be odd. Yet it is for
the moment Voltaire’s reaction on the whole of life. Je m’en fiche
is the vulgar French equivalent for our English ejaculation “Who
cares?” And the happy term je m’en fichisme recently has been
invented to designate the systematic determination not to take
anything in life too solemnly. “All is vanity” is the relieving word
in all difficult crises for this mode of thought, which that exquisite
literary genius Renan took pleasure, in his later days of sweet decay,