ting that their stick's a mock horse,
And they really carry what they say carries them.

The rugged truth is, that we first of all reach our conclusions. That
is the starting-point. Then, amazed at our own temerity in doing so,
we hasten to tack on a few reasons as a kind of apology to ourselves
for our own intrepidity, a tardy concession to intellectual decency and
good order. But whether we recognize it or not, we do most things
_because_. As Pascal told us long ago, 'the heart has reasons which
the reason does not know. It is the heart that feels God, not the
reason.' When old Samuel Wesley lay dying in 1735, he turned to his
illustrious son John, saying: 'The inward witness, son, the inward
witness! That is the proof, the strongest proof of Christianity!' 'I
did not at the time understand him,' says John, in quoting the words
with approval long afterwards. But the root of the whole matter lies
just there.

My reference to Dr. Grenfell reminds me. The good doctor was
questioned the other day as to his faith in immortality. 'I believe in
it,' he replied, 'because I believe in it. I am sure of it, because I
am sure of it.' Precisely! That is the point. We believe _because_.
And then, on our sure faith, we pile up a stupendous avalanche of
Christian evidences. Emerson tells us of two American senators who
spent a quarter of a century searching for conclusive evidence of the
immortality of the soul. And Emerson finishes the story by saying that
the impulse which prompted their long search was itself the strongest
proof that they could have had. Of course! Although they knew it not,
they already believed. They believed _because_. And then, finding
their faith naked, and feeling ashamed, they set out to beg, borrow, or
steal a few rags of reasons with which to deck it. It is the problem
of Professor Teufelsdrockh and _Sartor Resartus_ over again. It all
comes back to Carlyle's 'Everlasting Yea.' The shame is mock modesty;
and the craving is a false one. A woman's reason is the best reason.
As the years go by, we become less and less eager for evidence. We are
content to believe _because_. 'I was lately looking out of my window,'
Martin Luther wrote from Coburg to a friend, 'and I saw the stars in
the heavens, and God's great beautiful arch over my head, but I could
not see any pillars on which the great Builder had fixed this arch; and
yet the heavens fell not, and the great arch stood firmly.