"For merit lives from man to man,But not from man, O Lord, to thee."
"For merit lives from man to man,But not from man, O Lord, to thee."
Once put aside all question of merit and demerit, of praise and blame, and more especially (but this will shock Mr. Wells) of salvation and damnation—and nothing can be easier than to pay to the works of the Veiled Being the meed of an illimitable wonder. When we think of the roaring vortices of flame that spangle the heavens night by night, at distances that beggar conception: when we think of our tiny earth, wrapped in its little film of atmosphere, spinning safely for ages untold amid all these appalling immensities: and when we think, on the other hand, of the battles of claw and maw going on, beneath the starry vault, in that most miraculous of jewels, a drop of water: we cannot but own that the Power which set all this whirl of atoms agoing is worthy of all admiration. And approbation? Ah, that is another matter; for there the moral element comes in. It is possible (and here lies the interest of the enigma) that the Veiled Being may one day justify himself even morally. Perhaps he is all the time doing so behind the veil. But on that it is absolutely useless to speculate. Light may one day come to us, but it will come through patient investigation,not through idle pondering and guessing. In the meantime, poised between the macrocosm and the microcosm, ourselves including both extremes, and being, perhaps, the most stupendous miracle of all, we cannot deny to this amazing frame of things the tribute of an unutterable awe. If that be religion, I profess myself as religious as Mr. Wells. I am even willing to join him in some outward, ceremonial expression of that sentiment, if he can suggest one that shall not be ridiculously inadequate. What about kneeling through the C Minor Symphony? That seems to me about as near as we can get. Or I will go with him to Primrose Hill some fine morning (like the Persian Ambassador fabled by Charles Lamb) and worship the Sun, chanting to him William Watson's magnificent hymn:—
"To thee as our Father we bow,Forbidden thy Father to see,Who is older and greater than thou, as thouArt greater and older than we."
"To thee as our Father we bow,Forbidden thy Father to see,Who is older and greater than thou, as thouArt greater and older than we."
The sun, at any rate, is not a figure of speech, and is a symbol which runs no risk of being mistaken for a portrait. If Mr. Wells would be content with some such "bright sciential idolatry," I would willingly declare myself a co-idolater.But alas! he is the hierophant of the Invisible King, and prayer to that impotent potentate is to me a moral impossibility. I would rather face damnation, especially in the mild form threatened by Mr. Wells, which consists (pp. 148-149) in not knowing that you are damned.
And if Mr. Wells maintains that in the worship of the non-moral Veiled Being there is no practical, pragmatic comfort, I reply that I am not so sure of that. When all is said and done, is there not more hope, more solace, in an enigma than in afaçon de parler? I should be quite willing to accept the test of the reeling aeroplane. The aviator can say to his soul: "Here am I, one of the most amazing births of time, the culmination of an endless series of miracles. Perhaps I am on the verge of extinction—if so, what does it all matter? But perhaps, on the contrary, I am about to plunge into some new adventure, as marvellous as this. More marvellous it cannot be, but it may perhaps be more agreeable. At all events, there is something fascinating in this leap in the dark. Good bye, my soul! Good-bye, my memory!
'If we should meet again, why, we shall smile;If not, why then this parting was well made.'"
'If we should meet again, why, we shall smile;If not, why then this parting was well made.'"
I cannot but think that there is as much religion and as much solace in such a shaking-off of "the bur o' the world" as in the thought that the last new patent God is going to die with you, and that you, unconsciously and indistinguishably merged in him, are going to live for ever.
THE NEWEST BORZOI BOOKSLUSTRABy Ezra PoundDANDELIONSBy Coulson T. CadeA CHASTE MANBy Louis WilkinsonGOD AND MR. WELLSBy William ArcherMARTIN RIVASBy Alberto Blest-GanaBEATING 'EM TO ITBy Chester CornishA BOOK OF PREFACESBy H. L. MenckenTHE THREE BLACK PENNYSBy Joseph HergesheimerINTERPRETERS AND INTERPRETATIONSBy Carl Van VechtenMR. GEORGE JEAN NATHAN PRESENTSBy George Jean NathanOTHERS: AN ANTHOLOGY OF THE NEW VERSEEdited by Alfred Kreymborg1917 Issue
LUSTRABy Ezra PoundDANDELIONSBy Coulson T. CadeA CHASTE MANBy Louis WilkinsonGOD AND MR. WELLSBy William ArcherMARTIN RIVASBy Alberto Blest-GanaBEATING 'EM TO ITBy Chester CornishA BOOK OF PREFACESBy H. L. MenckenTHE THREE BLACK PENNYSBy Joseph HergesheimerINTERPRETERS AND INTERPRETATIONSBy Carl Van VechtenMR. GEORGE JEAN NATHAN PRESENTSBy George Jean NathanOTHERS: AN ANTHOLOGY OF THE NEW VERSEEdited by Alfred Kreymborg1917 Issue
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTESOther than the corrections listed below, printer's inconsistencies in spelling, punctuation, hyphenation, and ligature usage have been retained:"blackslides" corrected to "backslides" (page 40)"annhilated" corrected to "annihilated" (page 119)
Other than the corrections listed below, printer's inconsistencies in spelling, punctuation, hyphenation, and ligature usage have been retained:"blackslides" corrected to "backslides" (page 40)"annhilated" corrected to "annihilated" (page 119)