THE VALUE OF SAINTLINESS
283
In these remarks I am leaning only upon mankind’s common
instinct for reality, which in point of fact has always held the world
to be essentially a theatre for heroism. In heroism, we feel, life’s
supreme mystery is hidden. We tolerate no one who has no capacity
whatever for it in any direction. On the other hand, no matter what
a man’s frailties otherwise may be, if he be willing to risk death,
and still more if he suffer it heroically, in the service he has chosen,
the fact consecrates him forever. Inferior to ourselves in this or that
way, if yet we cling to life, and he is able “to fling it away like a
flower” as caring nothing for it, we account him in the deepest way
our born superior. Each of us in his own person feels that a high-
hearted indifference to life would expiate all his shortcomings.
The metaphysical mystery, thus recognized by common sense,
that he who feeds on death that feeds on men possesses life super-
eminently and excellently, and meets best the secret demands of
the universe, is the truth of which asceticism has been the faithful
champion. The folly of the cross, so inexplicable by the intellect,
has yet its indestructible vital meaning.
Representatively, then, and symbolically, and apart from the
vagaries into which the unenlightened intellect of former times
may have let it wander, asceticism must, I believe, be acknowledged
to go with the profounder way of handling the gift of existence.
Naturalistic optimism is mere syllabub and flattery and sponge-cake
in comparison. The practical course of action for us, as religious
men, would therefore, it seems to me, not be simply to turn our
backs upon the ascetic impulse, as most of us to-day turn them,
but rather to discover some outlet for it of which the fruits in the
way of privation and hardship might be objectively useful. The
older monastic asceticism occupied itself with pathetic futilities,
or terminated in the mere egotism of the individual, increasing
his own perfection.
1
But is it not possible for us to discard most of
these older forms of mortification, and yet find saner channels for
the heroism which inspired them?
Does not, for example, the worship of material luxury and wealth,
which constitutes so large a portion of the “spirit” of our age, make
somewhat for effeminacy and unmanliness? Is not the exclusively
1
“The vanities of all others may die out, but the vanity of a saint as regards his sainthood
is hard indeed to wear away.” Ramakrishna, his Life and Sayings, 1899, p. 172.
284
THE VARIETIES OF RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCE
sympathetic and facetious way in which most children are brought
up to-day — so different from the education of a hundred years
ago, especially in evangelical circles — in danger, in spite of its
many advantages, of developing a certain trashiness of fibre? Are
there not hereabouts some points of application for a renovated
and revised ascetic discipline?
Many of you would recognize such dangers, but would point
to athletics, militarism, and individual and national enterprise and
adventure as the remedies. These contemporary ideals are quite
as remarkable for the energy with which they make for heroic
standards of life, as contemporary religion is remarkable for the way
in which it neglects them.
1
War and adventure assuredly keep all
who engage in them from treating themselves too tenderly. They
demand such incredible efforts, depth beyond depth of exertion,
both in degree and in duration, that the whole scale of motivation
alters. Discomfort and annoyance, hunger and wet, pain and cold,
squalor and filth, cease to have any deterrent operation whatever.
Death turns into a commonplace matter, and its usual power to
check our action vanishes. With the annulling of these customary
inhibitions, ranges of new energy are set free, and life seems cast
upon a higher plane of power.
The beauty of war in this respect is that it is so congruous
with ordinary human nature. Ancestral evolution has made us
all potential warriors; so the most insignificant individual, when
thrown into an army in the field, is weaned from whatever excess
of tenderness towards his precious person he may bring with him,
and may easily develop into a monster of insensibility.
But when we compare the military type of self-severity with that
of the ascetic saint, we find a world-wide difference in all their
spiritual concomitants.
“ ‘Live and let live,’ ” writes a clear-headed Austrian officer, “is
no device for an army. Contempt for one’s own comrades, for the
troops of the enemy, and, above all, fierce contempt for one’s own
person, are what war demands of every one. Far better is it for an
1
“When a church has to be run by oysters, ice-cream, and fun,” I read in an American
religious paper, “you may be sure that it is running away from Christ.” Such, if one may
judge by appearances, is the present plight of many of our churches.