rained down upon humanity by
some mysterious, unseen, and awful power. Could man believe that God
wished him well, who racked him with cruel pain, sent plagues among his
cattle, swept away those whom he loved, destroyed his crops with hail
and thunderbolts, and at the end of all dragged him reluctant and
shuddering into the darkness, out of a world where so much was kind and
cheerful, and where, after all, it was sweet to live?

He turned in his despair to any one who could profess to hold out any
shield over him, who could claim to read the dreadful mind of God, and
to propitiate His mercy. Even then a demand created a supply. Men have
always loved power and influence; and so spirits of sterner and more
tenacious mould, who could perhaps despise the lesser terrors of
mankind, and who desired, above all things, to hold the destinies of
others in their hands, to make themselves felt, naturally seized the
opportunity of surrounding themselves with the awe and dignity that the
supposed possession of deeper knowledge and more recondite powers
offered them.

Then as the world broadened and widened, as reason began to extend its
sway, the work of the priest became more beneficent, and tended to
bless and hallow rather than to blast and curse. But still the
temptation remains a terribly strong one for men of a certain type, men
who can afford to despise the more material successes of the world, who
can merge their personal ambition in ambitions for an order and a
caste, still to claim to stand between man and God, to profess to
withhold His blessings, to grasp the keys of His mysteries, to save men
from the consequences of sin. As long as human terror exists, as long
as men fear suffering and darkness and death, they will turn to any one
who can profess to give them relief; and relief, too, will come; for
the essence of courage is, for many timid hearts, the dependence upon a
stronger will. And if a man can say, with a tranquil conviction, to a
suffering and terrified comrade, "There is no need to fear," the fear
loses half its terrors and half its sting.

Now, when religion of any kind becomes a part of the definite social
life of the world, there must of course be an order of ministers whose
business it is to preach it, and to bring it home to the minds of men.
Such men will be set apart by a solemn initiation to their office; the
more solemn the initiation is, the more faithful they will be. The
question rather is what