| If it did not much matter whether man be- |
| lieved in God or not, there can be little doubt |
| that many more would acknowledge their |
| belief in Him than actually do. If men could |
| be allowed to accept God and still live exactly |
| as they pleased, if they could treat Him as a |
| power who belonged to a quite different sphere |
| and had no concern with this world, or as a |
| friendly neighbour, or an acquaintance, or a |
| distant relation, who looked to his own affairs |
| and left us free to look after ours, then it is |
| probable that the proofs and signs of |
| His existence would be received with less |
| questioning and opposition; indeed, there is |
| scarcely a man who lays claim to common |
| sense, and is not the victim of his own violent |
| mind, but acknowledges at least a Supreme |
| Being somewhat of this nature. When the old |
| paganism had outgrown its many gods, and |
| had settled down to a life of self-indulgence, it |
| still accepted the belief in a God who cared |
| little or nothing for mankind; and the modern |
| paganism, impatient of all interference from |
| without, believes in much the same way, and |
| in the same way buries its God behind a cloud. |
| Is there a priest, with any experience of so- |
| called unbelievers, but has again and again |
| heard this profession of faith: "I believe in |
| Something Supreme "; to which, however, this |
| corollary has been added or implied: Who is |
| no concern of mine "? |
| But it is precisely because an explicit act ot |
| faith in God cannot stop at that and be done |
| with, that to many it comes so much against |
| the grain. If we say positively that God is, |
| there follow no end of consequences; conse- |
| quences by no means congenial to the man who |
| wishes and intends to manage his life according |
| to his own sweet will. So that, rather than |
| commit itself by making this first admission, |
| rather than allow itself to be convicted of |
| falsehood or inconsistency, human nature in- |
| stinctively prefers to make no admission at all, |
| or to set the question aside and to substitute |
| others in its stead. To make no admission, to |
| assume an attitude of doubt, to say one has |
| not been able finally to decide, is the commonest |
| and easiest course; for this a man can do with |
| an abundant show of reasonnay, more, with |
| an abundant show of honesty. He can appeal |
| to a sense of duty, and declare that his life is |
| too full to allow him time and opportunity to |
| arrive at a final conclusion about God; he can |
| be diffident and humble, and say that he is |
| too dull of understanding, too lacking in tech- |
| nical training, to attempt so intricate a problem; |
| he can claim to be broadminded and unbiassed, |
| and therefore, to avoid over-emphasis, to appre- |
| ciate too keenly the gropings of other minds |
| to be sternly dogmatic himself; or he may be |
| studious, learned, a hard reader, and maintain |
| that the doubts of greater minds than his own |
| justify his own hesitation, while the almost |
| infinite succession of blunders on this point in |
| past ages, justifies even his disbelief in a definte |
| solution, justifies even his leaving the question |
| altogether alone In countless ways, when |
| driven to speak, the man who says he doubts |
| the fact of God can make out a good defence |
| yet more often he prefers to say nothing, but |
| to let the question die unanswered. |
| For as a matter of fact, men know that there |
| are other proofs of truth than those of argu- |
| ment; upon argument alone men accept very |
| little, by it they do not even arrange their |
| lives. In their hearts they know that to deny |
| God outright, no matter with what show of |
| reason, is merely foolish. Where the most a |
| man can claim is ignorance, it is foolish posi- |
| tively to deny; there is no greater folly than to |
| argue from one's ignorance of a thing to the |
| conclusion that the thing is not. But common |
| sense does not stop there; not only does it |
| prove downright atheism to be no more than |
| arrogant folly, but it also compels other ad- |
| missions." The man who confesses his own |
| ignorance implicitly confesses that others may |
| know better than himself. The man who |
| acknowledges that he never gives the matter a |
| thought must also acknowledge that others |
| who do may probably have reached conclusions |
| that he has not. Common sense makes him |
| suspect that, in that case, they are more likely |
| to be right; while his common instincts in- |
| stantly drive him to act on the assumption |
| that God ia, and that he matters to God, and |
| that God matters to him. At many a sudden |
| turn to his life his very human nature betrays |
| him into acting as one who believes, even while |
| he affects not to care, and the man who did not |
| he would despise as one who had debased hia |
| manhood. |
| This is no place for theological discussion. |
| We have no need here even to summarize the |
| proofs of the fact of God. We are addressing |
| those who know; though, in any case, to very |
| few people indeed does the fact of God depend |
| upon proof, as the word is commonly under- |
| stood. To most it is a "certainty greater than |
| reason"; on that account are men and women |
| willing to die for it, who would not die for the |
| conclusion of a syllogism. One has only to |
| sit back and watch human nature, at all times, |
| under all circumstances, in every condition of |
| life, either writhing and resisting under the |
| intolerable burden of God, or gladly accepting |
| Him and finding Him a yoke that is sweet and |
| a burden that is light, we shall then realize |
| how great a confession of the fact of God is |
| human life itself. Man is too terribly conscious |
| of God, for God not to be or not to matter. |
| However independent and self-governed he |
| may be, he cannot leave God alone. He can |
| scarcely act without the wonder coming to |
| him as to what that Other One may think; |
| he cannot follow his own likes or dislikes as he |
| wills, simply because Something else says he |
| must not. Whichever way he turns God con- |
| fronts him; even if he looks into his heart he |
| finds Him there; if he leaves God aside he |
| knows he does so by convention, not by con- |
| viction. So it has always been; this, at least, |
| evolution has not mended, and so he knows it |
| always will be, whatever evolution may say. |
| In face of this fact, as has just been said, |
| man is driven to one of two attitudes. "He |
| who is not with Me is against Me." He may |
| indeed claim a third position, he may claim to |
| follow a middle course; but to pass God by is |
| to refuse Him. Either man finds God an in- |
| tolerable burden, and does all he can to shake |
| Him off; or he believes that the burden is a |
| blessing, that truth, rightly understood, cannot |
| be tyrannical or cruel, accepts God, and has a |
| happy heart as his reward. One man chooses |
| what he sees, blinds himself to what he does |
| not, makes for himself a working creed, a work- |
| ing code of moral action, a conventional under- |
| standing of life, based on the assumption that |
| this world is all there is, and that no other |
| concerns him. By signing that convention, |
| by abiding to that code, he succeeds in hemming |
| himself within a charmed circle, which may |
| serve him as long as he lives, and which may |
| hide from him for that length of time the weird |
| visions that haunt the space without. But his |
| security he knows to be unsound; his peace of |
| mind is unreal, for he has not known the things |
| that were to his peace, he cries for it and there |
| is none. Another knows of no such charmed |
| circle. He does not believe that life is made |
| more true by any confinement of horizon. He |
| is open to the truth from whatever side it may |
| come; he believes life is deeper than convention, |
| that this world is not all existence; he has more |
| reverence for right and wrong than to think |
| that it can be fixed, or sanctioned, or regulated, |
| by any human code; as a vessel is most itself |
| when out on the ocean rather than when cooped |
| up in the stocks, so is the life of man most real |
| when it lies and is tossed on the infinite ocean |
| of God. |
| Such a man lets this life dictate to him the |
| fact of God, and its evidence is overwhelming. |
| He lets the fact of God be to him the key to |
| life, and it solves every mystery; and, accept- |
| ing the key, he accepts the consequences of its |
| possession. If God is. God counts; if God |
| counts. He counts for more than man, for more |
| than all creation put together; if He counts |
| for more than all this, then His mind must be |
| considered. His will must be fulfilled, and the |
| finding of that mind, the fulfilment of that |
| will, somehow explains the riddle of the world. |
| And if it explains that riddle, then it is also |
| the secret of the happiness of life. Human |
| nature may, at times, resent; it may long to |
| shake off its harness, but it knows very well |
| and too often experience has confirmed the |
| knowledgethat to live without God leads to |
| death and to lasting fetters, even when the |
| death of life has no more than cast its shadow |
| over it. |
| "The fear of the Lord is honour, |
| and glory, and gladness, |
| and a crown of joy. |
| The fear of the Lord |
| shall delight the heart, and shall give joy, |
| and gladness, and length of days. |
| With him that feareth the Lord |
| it shall be well in the latter end, |
| and in the day of his death |
| he shall be blessed. |
| The love of God |
| is honourable wisdom " (Ecclus. 1, 11-14). |
| (THE MEANING OF LIFE; Rev. A. Goodier, S.J.; 1919) |