xistence of God to the goodness of God they tread
upon much less firm earth. How can one see any proof of that goodness in
the senseless and intolerable sufferings of man--his helplessness, the
brief and troubled span of his life, the inexplicable disproportion
between his deserts and his rewards, the tragedy of his soaring
aspiration, the worse tragedy of his dumb questioning? Granting the
existence of God, a house dedicated to Him naturally follows. He is
all-important; it is fit that man should take some notice of Him. But
why praise and flatter Him for His unspeakable cruelties? Why forget so
supinely His failures to remedy the easily remediable? Why, indeed,
devote the churches exclusively to worship? Why not give them over, now
and then, to justifiable indignation meetings?

Perhaps men will incline to this idea later on. It is not inconceivable,
indeed, that religion will one day cease to be a poltroonish
acquiescence and become a vigorous and insistent criticism. If God can
hear a petition, what ground is there for holding that He would not hear
a complaint? It might, indeed, please Him to find His creatures grown
so self-reliant and reflective. More, it might even help Him to get
through His infinitely complex and difficult work. Theology has already
moved toward such notions. It has abandoned the primitive doctrine of
God's arbitrariness and indifference, and substituted the doctrine that
He is willing, and even eager, to hear the desires of His creatures--_i.
e._, their private notions, born of experience, as to what would be best
for them. Why assume that those notions would be any the less worth
hearing and heeding if they were cast in the form of criticism, and even
of denunciation? Why hold that the God who can understand and forgive
even treason could not understand and forgive remonstrance?

XL

THE ROOT OF RELIGION

The idea of literal truth crept into religion relatively late: it is the
invention of lawyers, priests and cheese-mongers. The idea of mystery
long preceded it, and at the heart of that idea of mystery was an idea
of beauty--that is, an idea that this or that view of the celestial and
infernal process presented a satisfying picture of form, rhythm and
organization. Once this view was adopted as satisfying, its professional
interpreters and their dupes sought to reinforce it by declaring it
true. The same flow of reasoning is familiar on lower planes. The
average man does not get