THE BETTER WAYS* 
 CHARLES WAGNER 
 
 imple Life
 
 / 
 
 *********
 
 THE BETTER WAY
 
 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 BY CHARLES WAGNER 
 
 Author of The Simple Life 
 
 Translated from the French by Mary Louise Hendee 
 
 ALDI 
 
 McClure, Phillips $ Co. 
 
 New York 
 
 1903
 
 COTTRIOHT, 1903, BY 
 McCLUEE, PHILLIPS & CO. 
 
 Published, April, 1903
 
 DEDICATION 
 
 2133659
 
 To 
 
 Paris, February #4, 1884 
 Montana-sur-Seine, August 20, 1899 
 
 MY child, I began this book by your 
 bed of pain and in my lonely walks 
 on the mountain. 
 
 Many a time I interrupted the 
 writing to go and do for you one of those in- 
 numerable little services at once so sad and so 
 sweet; and away from you, in the Alpine path- 
 ways, in the high pastures and solitary midlands, 
 my aching heart was filled with your image. 
 
 To you then I dedicate these pages. May they 
 be offered you not as sad tokens of what no longer 
 is, but as an eternal pledge between our insepara- 
 ble souls, and as an act of homage, that I would 
 were purer and fuller of consolation, rendered 
 from the midst of a transitory world to that which 
 never dies.
 
 PREFACE
 
 PREFACE 
 
 I HAVE known solitude, but never abandon- 
 ment. However remote my way there has 
 always come to fare with me an unknown 
 companion, of unfailing goodness. He 
 has been strong in the stress of life, tender in 
 pain, paternally severe in the hours of carelessness. 
 Never have I fought a battle that he was not 
 by my side. Into all life we have gone together; 
 we were two who spoke in public, two who took 
 counsel by the fireside. I have come to know 
 him as another self, a good genius, a near and 
 superior spirit who untangles from the perplexi- 
 ties of life that which is sure and essential. 
 
 He has shared my joy in bright days, and in 
 dark ones he has cheered me. Wandering per- 
 plexed in the wilderness of ideas or of passions 
 I would see him appear suddenly in the very heart 
 of the labyrinth, and his glance opened the way. 
 In the hours of youth and expansion, when one
 
 xii THE BETTER WAY 
 
 sings and vibrates like a harp, he sang loudest of 
 all. When the hours came in which one cannot 
 speak to grief, silent he rvept with me. 
 
 Who this mysterious Friend is I do not know. 
 I claim for him neither prestige nor any privilege 
 of infallibility. My purpose is simply to let my 
 fellows profit by what he has brought me. 
 
 It is not hard to perceive that he borrows almost 
 everywhere the light he throws along my path, for 
 his face radiates universal human sympathy. For 
 myself, I venerate him as a Knight of God. Cer- 
 tainly he has seen far distant times, but he is in- 
 fused with the vigorous current of life that stirs 
 under the bark of ancient oaks. He has been in 
 all good fights; his heart bears the scars of all 
 blows at truth and justice. Along Sinai and 
 Judea he has listened to the Prophets, and he has 
 prayed on Calvary; but he also loves the good 
 Homer, Plato, and all things largely human. He 
 has a decided bent for scientific research and social 
 questions; he interests himself passionately in 
 those who follow unbeaten paths over the vast 
 stretches of the unknown. But, when they would 
 deny the Spirit, he laughs in his long beard. 
 Stifling in confinement, he seeks equilibrium and
 
 PREFACE xiii 
 
 wide horizons. He abhors the sectarian spirit, and 
 openly declares that if the chiefs should return 
 by whom men swear and anathematize, not one of 
 them would be of his own creed. 
 
 What distinguishes him above all else is Faith. 
 
 He believes in the profitable flight of days, in 
 the high destiny which, without knowing how to 
 name or define it, suffering and militant humanity 
 pursues across its laborious career. He believes 
 in the mystery that opens in a flower, shines from 
 the stars, pierces the conscience, sobs in our tears, 
 vibrates in our songs, sleeps in the cradle, and 
 hides in the grave. He believes in the Spirit be- 
 yond measure, in the ultimate downfall of evil, in 
 the triumph of love, in expiation for sin; he be- 
 lieves in heaven, but he believes also in earth; he 
 believes in man, because he believes ardently in 
 God, not alone the God of splendid creations, of 
 transcendant power, of unapproachable light, but 
 the God who works in human guise, trembles in 
 our hope, suffers from our griefs; a God who has 
 chosen like a device this magnificent cry of Ter- 
 ence's " I am man, and nothing human is alien 
 to me." Surely the best that the Friend possesses 
 comes to him from the Son of Man.
 
 xiv THE BETTER WAY 
 
 Alas! I despair of ever characterizing the 
 spirit that inspires him, but I must needs force 
 myself, under pain of treachery, to stammer after 
 him some of the things he has said to me. If 
 these fragmentary and disconnected pages may 
 contain here and there bits of true life, crumbs 
 of the nourishing bread on which the soul feeds; 
 if someone shall owe it to them that he is less high 
 for the lowly, less the creature of his own narrow 
 affirmations and negations, less self-sufficient and 
 less faint-hearted, less sad in his mourning, hap- 
 pier in his work for the future, and more confident 
 during our blind and painful seed-times, it will be 
 precious fruit of a labor that already in itself has 
 brought so much consolation. 
 
 La Commanderie, July 25, 1902. 
 Saint Christopher's Day.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 SOUVENIRS 1 
 
 IN TROUBLOUS HOURS . . . .43 
 THE GATES OF DEATH . . . .71 
 
 WITH THE YOUNG 105 
 
 GIRD UP THY LOINS! . . . .121 
 
 FORERUNNERS 171 
 
 BY FAITH . .215
 
 SOUVENIRS
 
 SOUVENIRS 
 
 I THINK OF THEE 
 
 DEAR child, I speak to thee from the 
 heart of a perishable world; thou dost 
 listen from a world where there is no 
 more death. In God we are near each 
 other. It is three years since we and you were 
 living alone in the mountains, three years since, 
 after five months of suffering, you fell asleep one 
 evening in our arms. Only God knows what your 
 poor mother has suffered since then. 
 
 I wish thought of you to be attached always to 
 this book, begun during your illness, and dedicated 
 to you. Perhaps it will carry a bit of brotherly 
 sympathy and moral support to others whom sor- 
 row puts to the proof. 
 
 O my son! the years roll by, and each one 
 makes you dearer and more real to our hearts. 
 Your name is ever on our lips, your dear image 
 mingles in all our life. Your little brother and 
 your sisters go to sleep at night naming you 
 3
 
 4 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 in their prayers. Your little room, full of the 
 things that belonged to you, is always garnished 
 with flowers. The first violets from the garden 
 and the last chrysanthemums are offered you, with 
 an affection as simple and as trustful as though 
 you were visible to our eyes. 
 
 Love is stronger than death. 
 
 May our souls remain faithful and confident, 
 that courage may never forsake them. 
 
 May God give us the grace to weep for you 
 with hope. 
 
 MY SON! 
 
 1884 
 
 AFTER the first emotions aroused by your 
 birth mere stilled, the new fact of having 
 a son which had slowly found place in 
 my mind, began little by little to pervade my whole 
 inner life and to mingle with all the events stored 
 up in my memory. 
 
 The great event, then, had taken place. To 
 the farthest recesses of my being unknown and 
 mysterious, like the heart of a wood where no 
 chance-comer ever strays a strange light shed
 
 SOUVENIRS 5 
 
 over everything, showed that the news had passed 
 that way. 
 
 At length we possessed him, this dear expected. 
 The long months of his mother's patient seclusion, 
 the sacrifice of movement and liberty, the doubts, 
 the dejection, the solitude, the fear, were all for- 
 gotten. In the front rank of thought, in the full 
 radiance of happiness, the event stood forth with 
 a triumphant intensity. 
 
 I attributed the merit of our happiness to the 
 entire universe. I sent measureless gratitude up- 
 ward to God. I took it kindly of the passers-by 
 that I had a son. And suddenly I loved them all 
 better than before, young and old, happy and 
 miserable, whosoever went my way in the street. 
 Why did they not seem to remark something ex- 
 traordinary in my heart and face? Reserve, no 
 doubt, and friendly discretion. 
 
 And, as I strode about this great Paris in all 
 directions, every man I met seemed a brave fel- 
 low. More than once, perched on top of some 
 omnibus, I felt myself carried along by the strong 
 swing of the horses as though across a dream. 
 
 Those who have not travelled this road will 
 never understand anything about it. Words can
 
 6 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 make those who feel tvhat we feel understand us, 
 but they cannot create what does not exist. Shall 
 I regret the intoxication of that time, now that 
 joy, hope, and the sweet emotions of the heart 
 have been followed by so much grief? No, I re- 
 gret nothing. For nothing in the world could I 
 wish that this past had not been. 
 
 WHAT a new outlook is opened upon 
 the world by this title of father! 
 A man draws nearer to his ancestors 
 when he himself has a son, and he takes hold 
 on humanity by a thousand new and sensitive ten- 
 drils, capable of revealing to him the secret of 
 joys and sorrows of which hitherto he has had 
 no suspicion. 
 
 BLESSINGS on the hours of tenderness 
 that I have consecrated to thee! If I 
 had charged others to love thee in my 
 place, a pure treasure would be wanting in my 
 memory. To carry one's children one's self, even 
 in the street; to play with them, tell them stories, 
 give them personal care, watch their development 
 from every point of view, it is a good thing.
 
 SOUVENIRS 7 
 
 The nation as well as the family depend upon 
 this that fathers be really fathers. 
 
 But when tve lose them, these dearly beloved 
 ones, it is a comfort to have enjoyed them well. 
 Love well while we may, profit from the hours of 
 grace, when our darlings are with us. The time 
 may come when they will be far off. Then from 
 these souvenirs the thirsting heart draws refresh- 
 ment as the flower does from a dewdrop. 
 
 BEYOND THE WALL 
 
 WE were in Switzerland, where we had 
 arrived in the morning. I had charge 
 of Pierre, who was just entering his 
 third year. He was trotting about near me, ex- 
 amining everything and asking questions. Sud- 
 denly, without my knowing how, the child disap- 
 peared. 
 
 Near at hand were rocks, precipices, all sorts 
 of dangers. I ran in search, I accosted every- 
 body. No one had seen him. A madness of terror 
 seized me. 
 
 Then, going along a high garden-wall, I heard
 
 8 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 from the other side a child's voice in conversation 
 with the deep voice of a man. 
 
 It was Pierre; they were offering him straw- 
 berries and asking about his father and mother. 
 He, all unconcerned, was eating the fruit, and, 
 encouraged by his welcome, was prattling away, 
 quite at home. 
 
 NOW the wall between him and us is of 
 another height. But the scene of child- 
 hood comes back to me, when I be- 
 lieved him lost, fallen into some abyss, while in 
 truth he was happy, welcome, cared for; and I 
 see in it a symbol of what is passing on the other 
 side of the wall. 
 
 MY SON! 
 
 1899 
 THE FRIEND: 
 
 OOK about this secluded mountain re- 
 cess. It is only a few weeks since the 
 snow vanished. Now all the flowers 
 of springtime have burst their buds: blue gen- 
 tians, yellow primroses, pink hare-bells nodding 
 
 L
 
 SOUVENIRS 9 
 
 in cascades and outspread in carpets; painted 
 anemones and the dwarf lilies graceful as a 
 child. As a foundation for all this, see the 
 greensward whose grass grows fine and small, as 
 if to leave the glory to the flowers. All around 
 hang gray rocks overgrown with old bearded pines, 
 and overhead the sky seems cut from a single 
 sapphire. . . . 
 
 What! . . . You weep? 
 My son! 
 
 THE FRIEND: Poor father! 
 
 Nature is waking to her new birth. His youth 
 is blighted. Is not his brow pure, his soul white 
 as the lilies? Candor smiles in his starry eyes; 
 he is good, he has known no evil; and the enemy 
 blasts him. Oh! this paleness and then this fever 
 glow, this young life withering under a breath of 
 fire, this cough that racks and tears! 
 
 I can no longer think of other things. The 
 songs of the birds, the smiling sun, the sight of 
 the flowers rend my soul. An invisible hand has 
 tightened round my heart; I wander over the 
 mountain like a somnambulist; I look at the for- 
 est, and do not see it; I listen to the torrent, and 
 do not hear it. I am not here, but down there
 
 10 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 beside his bed of suffering. my child! my poor 
 child! 
 
 THE FRIEND: / weep with your tears. He 
 merits love, and plaint, and regret, the dear boy! 
 Fifteen years and a half! A companion already, 
 a friend for his mother, a beautiful hope of the 
 future. . To see him sapped at the root what tort- 
 ure for you! 
 
 And yet, if you love him well, should you not 
 master yourself? Have you not need of being 
 twice a man? Have you thought of the choice 
 offered you in these grave moments either to let 
 your grief make inroads and vanquish you, and so 
 become for those belonging to you, for your son 
 himself, a source of suffering, an additional bur- 
 den; or to be brave and virile, to stand firm, and 
 become for the others and for this dear little one 
 who suffers, a sure refuge, a good and calm hid- 
 ing-place always near? 
 
 It is not right to let grief have this mastery, 
 and set its signs on your brow. What will your 
 face say to your son? Will he read from it a 
 story of despair? You owe him something better 
 than this. Do not you add to his misfortunes, but 
 protect him against them. Do not look at him
 
 SOUVENIRS 11 
 
 with eyes which say that he is lost. No one is ever 
 lost. We are God's; that is unchanging. You must 
 reinvigorate the spirit of your son by strengthen- 
 ing your own; let him feel himself protected, sup- 
 ported, guarded, in perfect security. 
 
 Consider this illness, in spite of its evident 
 gravity, as a circumstance, not as the principal 
 thing. Treat the child like an ordinary child who 
 is interested in everything, and who shares in life 
 like the rest. Do not keep bringing his attention 
 back to the point of defect. We do not make what 
 is unstable the centre of all the rest, but we 
 strive to attach all manifestations of our life, 
 happy and unhappy, to that which alone remains 
 firm. Acting otherwise we become enemies and 
 oppressors of those we love best; we make our- 
 selves incapable even of caring for them phys- 
 ically. 
 
 Your son loves flowers. If he could but see 
 this splendor round about us, a smile would light 
 his face; he would have a moment of pleasure, of 
 forgetfulness of pain. The spirit that sustains 
 and saves us in our distresses would speak to him 
 in the soft breath stirring on these heights. 
 
 Since he cannot come here, the flowers must go
 
 12 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 to him. Let us fill our arms with them, and, if 
 possible, offer them to him with a smile. To those 
 whom we love we should not give shadow, but light. 
 To carry them real comfort and relief in their pain 
 and weakness, we must love them with faith, with 
 confidence; love them with a steadfast will to res- 
 cue them in spite of everything. 
 
 PORTRAIT 
 
 THY great blue eyes of infinite sweetness 
 seemed to look upon the beyond oftener 
 than upon the present, and, even when 
 a little child, thy questions and ideas showed a sin- 
 gular openness toward the spiritual world. 
 
 Why wert thou never quite reconciled to thy 
 part of boy? Thy altogether feminine grace ac- 
 corded ill with rough sports. When alone, thou 
 didst seek more quiet pleasures. Perhaps thou 
 hadst unconsciously the presentiment of thy prema- 
 ture death, and felt thyself set apart for other 
 destinies. 
 
 Thou didst not make thy pact with the earth. 
 It seemed as if thou hadst known that it was but 
 an inn by the way, and not thy habitation. Its
 
 SOUVENIRS 13 
 
 dust and its defilement remained unseen by thee. 
 At the age when others lose the bloom of their 
 ingenuousness, and take pleasure in rude actions 
 and ungentle speech, thou didst become more open 
 still, with more of conscience. 
 
 Ill-sounding words slipped thy memory; noth- 
 ing impure was fixed there. Thy candor increased 
 with the years, and, having attained almost the 
 stature of a man, thou didst preserve without con- 
 straint or effort the white innocence of a child. 
 " Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see 
 God." Thy youth was like the fragrance of these 
 words. 
 
 To be ill-tempered, angry, domineering all that 
 was unknown to thee. Thou didst simply turn 
 toward the good. Every harsh judgment upon 
 others, every exchange of heated speech, was hate- 
 ful to thee. Thou hadst natural justice and in- 
 nate charity. That each show consideration for 
 others, and that no injustice be committed or suf- 
 fered this was thy heartfelt wish. 
 
 And thy unfailing tact and fine taste made thee 
 a companion full of charm and good counsel, one 
 who breathed peace and communicated it. With 
 thy little sisters and thy brother thou didst enjoy
 
 14 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 undisputed the rights of an elder, founded on the 
 simple magic of perfect kindness. 
 
 For thy mother already thou wert becoming a 
 companion, a resource, a confidant. Discreet and 
 docile, like a respectful son, thy opinion mas con- 
 sulted like that of a big brother. 
 
 And I, charged with the weight of a formidable 
 ministry, saw thee growing up clear-sighted, peace- 
 loving, spiritually-minded, a future companion in 
 arms, a disciple to dream of. 
 
 From this choice soul, open to beauty, sensitive 
 to grace, vibrating in answer to everything noble 
 and pure, I saw the eternal Gospel reflected in 
 new lights; and already, outstripping time with 
 the cherished hope, the father heard the son pro- 
 claim the message of love, and spread the good 
 news welcome to wounded hearts. 
 
 Oh, how we loved thee! 
 
 UNFORESEEN, as a bolt falls from the 
 blue sky, the evil was upon thee. In a 
 few days we had to break the family 
 circle and set out for the mountains to seek an 
 ally against the enemy. 
 
 We were vanquished. But you never murmured
 
 SOUVENIRS 15 
 
 or made complaint. Where, pray, had you learned 
 patience, the hard art of suffering, serenity in dis- 
 tress, and simplicity in the face of death? God 
 alone knows. 
 
 TO feel that thou art in His hands, as the 
 living are too, this is our final refuge in 
 our grief. God guard us in it, increase 
 our trust for the days to come, and preserve it to 
 our last hour! 
 
 Dear lad, gone before thy time from our arms 
 where thou tvast and art so beloved, thy empty 
 place will cause us many tears. But how sweet 
 thy face was in death, how patiently thou didst 
 suffer, how thy brave smile and thy caresses lighted 
 up those dark hours! Thou hast sown with rays 
 of white light the pathway to the grave, and left 
 at the gates of death a gleam as of the dawn. 
 God give us to remember thee when we must suffer 
 and pass on!
 
 16 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 I ASK only to be like thee, as simply resigned, 
 as trustful, as natural. Thou hast not lived 
 for nothing, my dear little Pierre. Thou 
 milt remain living and active among us till the day 
 when rve find one another again in the invisible 
 world of which all visible form is but the far-off 
 symbol.
 
 SOLITUDES AND RESTING-PLACES 
 
 Tag, wenn deine Farben blassen, 
 Und wenn erlosch dein hunter Schein, 
 Dann kann sich erst die Seelefassen, 
 Der Oeist kehrt in sich selber ein I 
 Wenn Stille sinkt auf Wald und Triften, 
 Und Schatten ruht auf Stadt und Feld, 
 Dann hort der Mensch aus dunklen Liiften 
 Die Stimmen einer andren Welt. 
 
 Gerok (Palmblatter). 
 
 day, when first thy colors fail, 
 And when thy garish light grows pale, 
 The soul knows self within the breast, 
 The spirit is its own true guest ! 
 When stillness sinks on wood and meadow, 
 And town and field lie dusk in shadow, 
 Man hears from out the darkling air 
 The voices of a world elsewhere.
 
 SIT THOU SILENT 
 
 f~ ~"^HE future seems afar off. We toil 
 
 toward it with slow, painful steps; 
 
 our task is heavy, our means pitifully 
 
 small, and there are hours in our lives 
 
 when utter weariness overwhelms us. 
 
 THE FRIEND: At such times you must stop and 
 
 take heart. When you have passed the point of 
 
 freshness and enthusiasm, even in a cause to which 
 
 your life is consecrated, do not go doggedly ahead, 
 
 or you will do inefficient work that will discourage 
 
 you and hurt the cause. Call a halt and look for 
 
 relief. 
 
 You should have for retreat some quiet place 
 you love, where your aims are understood, where 
 you find solace from the rude shocks of life, from 
 men's scorn and their evil-speaking. Sit down 
 again at that fireside of friendship which gives 
 grateful warmth to the spirit. Let the wholesome 
 sunlight shine upon your soul and the dew fall 
 on it and refresh it. Quit for a time the consum- 
 18
 
 SOUVENIRS 19 
 
 ing crowd, that when you return you may be able 
 to cope with it again, full of new vigor. Leave 
 those who criticise you on the threshold of the 
 retreat that gives you peace and welcome. 
 
 O Bethany! O Tabor! O holy nights in the 
 mountain ! O sweet reunion with those whose 
 hearts beat in unison with our own ! We need you 
 as the child its mother's breast, the wayfarer 
 shelter for the night, the exile sight of his father- 
 land! 
 
 O selige OecT auf sonniger Hohl 
 
 IN THE DESERT 
 
 THE FRIEND: It is all wrong to think that by 
 fleeing the world you can find freedom. Salva- 
 tion never lies in flight. It lies in the fierce and 
 noble strife, in that gift of self which is the 
 very leaven of life. And yet of what use is a 
 bow that has been so long bent as to lose all its 
 supple strength, or yeast whose power is ex- 
 hausted ? 
 
 Three-fourths of our work is done within us. 
 The fundamental condition of every effective act 
 is that we should get a firm grasp on its ideal
 
 20 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 aspects and prepare to perform it with a full 
 faith. Every worker in the world ought there- 
 fore to habituate himself to sojourns in the desert, 
 to which he should return ever and again to seek 
 inspiration, to renew his armor, to listen to the 
 voice of silence, and to let the waves aroused by 
 the storm of strife roll unfelt across the quiet 
 deeps of the world within. 
 
 NARROWED HORIZONS 
 
 ^ERE are days when the infinities and 
 immensities of the universe mean noth- 
 ing to us. Then the whole landscape 
 recedes and is obscured in an impenetrable mist, 
 and the spirit seems less able than at other times 
 to see things in their larger relation. 
 THE FRIEND: On such days, if you would have 
 contact again with the more permanent realities 
 of life, go sit down by some mossy path or among 
 the roots of a tree and watch the ants running 
 hither and thither among the tiny blades of grass. 
 The dewdrop that trembles on the toothed leaf 
 of the strawberry vine is akin to Sirius sparkling 
 on the fringe of heaven. God is so great that
 
 SOUVENIRS 21 
 
 we find Him on every level; His voice often rises 
 from the dust. 
 
 If we cannot send a message by overhead wires 
 we use those underground. If both fail us, we 
 still have wireless telegraphy. The breaking of 
 a cable now is far from being an irremediable 
 disaster. 
 
 SPIRITUAL DEARTH 
 
 MY soul is as arid as the steppe. I am 
 no longer conscious of anything astir 
 or alive within it. A kind of winter 
 seems to have come over it, a sombre, frozen win- 
 ter, which holds everything benumbed in its grip. 
 THE FRIEND: The soul, like the earth, has its 
 seasons. This is natural, and you should not so 
 much ponder the fact itself as try to adjust 
 yourself to meet it. Make hay while the sun 
 shines, and lay in your store against this winter 
 of the soul. There is a time to sow, a time to 
 reap, and still another to get you into winter quar- 
 ters and live on the harvest of the fruitful days. 
 When every bush blossoms with sweet-brier, who 
 would suspect that a single rose could give such 
 pleasure in the heart of winter?
 
 22 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 Bind then the sheaves, cull souvenirs of sum- 
 mer from every wayside, and make the most of 
 that happy time when the mind bears its fruit, 
 when life is lived to some avail, when portals seem 
 to open on the supernal mysteries. The hour 
 of famine will arrive, the hour of drought, when 
 you will no longer prosper and all your affairs 
 will be at a standstill. If you await that hour for 
 laying in your store, you will be like the fool who, 
 lacking bread, puts plough to frost-bound soil. 
 When we have once established a connection be- 
 tween ourselves and the sources of our life, every 
 hour is an hour of plenty. Let us profit by these 
 hours, that we may not come to want when the 
 source is barred against us. 
 
 Experience undergone in times of hardship may 
 save you from satiety in success; and good hours 
 of repose, of expansion, of free, calm happiness 
 shall keep your heart warm when the snow lies 
 three feet deep upon your happiness. Love your 
 friends while you have them with you, love them 
 with usury, so that the memory of this love may 
 remain rich and inexhaustible in the hour of sepa- 
 ration. 
 
 While you may, fortify yourself in hope, in
 
 SOUVENIRS 23 
 
 trustfulness toward God. Do not delay knocking 
 at your Father's door until want and suffering 
 come; who knows if then you will be able to find 
 the way? It is so sad to know that we are want- 
 ing, to find ourselves face to face with spiritual 
 poverty, yet to be unable to get what we need, and 
 to have the terrible assurance borne in upon us 
 that it is too late. 
 
 THE NEED OF CONTENTMENT 
 
 THE FRIEND: We should learn to be frugal, to 
 live on little, and not, like spoiled children, to 
 deny ourselves naught. We should accustom our- 
 selves to everything that life may bring, and learn 
 in the evil days to keep faith in God! It is more 
 necessary to believe in Him then than in the days 
 of gladness. All right-minded men have a won- 
 derful power of adaptation to circumstances; they 
 understand how to adjust themselves to the de- 
 mands conditions make upon them. Wisdom raises 
 them above mere events. Others wait for a favor- 
 able wind to fill their sails; if it shifts, they lose 
 their bearings; if it dies out, they lose all head- 
 way. Mere reeds that bend with every breeze,
 
 24 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 they do not know the secret of the will. They 
 do not live, they merely exist. 
 
 We must exert ourselves to find terra firma, the 
 ground of Faith in ourselves and God. 
 
 God loves us. Since this is so, it matters little 
 what the days bring forth. Evil things, even, must 
 bend to His will and do our service. All things 
 work together for good to them that love God: 
 or, in Luther's fine way of putting it: Dennen die 
 Gott Lieben, miissen alle Dinge zum Besten dienen. 
 
 Hands that strike us, dogs that bite us, disease 
 that wastes us, burdens that bow us down, are all 
 turned into blessings unawares. Every blow re- 
 ceived becomes a helping hand; every snare set to 
 entrap us becomes an instrument of preservation 
 and of safety. Even the stones hurled to crush 
 us heap into ramparts for our defence. 
 
 STA VIATOR! 
 
 THE FRIEND: Sta Viator! passer-by, bowed un- 
 der your burden, stop, stop by this mountain- 
 stream rushing to the valley. Sit down on this 
 old tree-trunk. Your soul is distressed within 
 you. Why do you put off seeking a place of rest
 
 SOUVENIRS 25 
 
 in God until you have assured your material well- 
 being? Do you not know that you are becoming 
 the slave of your anxieties, and that once en- 
 chained you can never regain freedom and peace 
 of mind? Grant that you realize your heart's 
 desire, and that the misfortune you fear is 
 averted; how long do you imagine that the sky 
 will stay clear? The fairer its blue, the more 
 you will tremble lest you see it overcast. The 
 pact that you must make is not conditional, but 
 above all conditions. Trust in God, not because 
 the road is sure and the horizon bright, but 
 whether the way be sure or not, the heavens 
 charged or not; let your peace of mind hang on 
 no single ray of sunlight. Your faith in God, the 
 one thing that really counts, make stronger in you, 
 and the passing shadows of life will disturb you 
 less and less. 
 
 THE MAIN THING 
 
 THE FRIEND: The main thing is to have a firm 
 faith in God. The rest follows naturally. Don't 
 wait for a smiling sun to give you a sense of se- 
 curity, or for some high human power to decide
 
 26 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 in your favor, or for the postman to bring you 
 happiness in a letter. No more should you fear 
 lest ill-fortune fall upon you from the clouds, or 
 seize you by the hand of an enemy, or unexpectedly 
 break into your home. Fortune or misfortune, 
 every mischance that lies in wait for you at a turn 
 in the road, behind closed doors, in human intrigue 
 directed against you, or below the horizon of the 
 future, depends for its power to harm you on what 
 is in your heart. Know this: there is a peace that 
 the world cannot give and- which it cannot take 
 away. 
 
 THE TROUBLE IS IN OURSELVES 
 
 THE FRIEND: Why not surrender to the evi- 
 dence? Does man's peace lie in circumstances? 
 Can events give it or take it away ? That they can 
 is the old and fatal illusion. Here are the facts: 
 When one cause for anxiety departs, another, un- 
 noticed before, is at hand to take its place. The 
 trouble is in ourselves. You cannot remove anxiety 
 by removing the specific objects with which it is 
 from time to time associated. It will always find 
 reasons for being. Let our timid, trembling hearts
 
 SOUVENIRS 27 
 
 be but reassured and we shall enjoy a peace that 
 nothing can destroy, since it is God who gives it. 
 I am quite certain that there is such a peace and 
 that the true principle of life is not beyond our 
 reach. Everywhere it borders this poor and frag- 
 mentary world in which we wander. When now 
 and then for a single moment it is revealed to us, 
 everything around becomes luminous. If we could 
 only grasp it, make it operative throughout, there 
 would be no situation, however sad, complicated, 
 and apparently hopeless, to which it would not 
 bring a light to illumine our way. 
 
 I love thee, O Son of Man! for Thy strength 
 and Thy sweetness, for Thy simplicity, Thy cour- 
 age, Thine infinite tenderness, for Thy glance 
 which strengthens and pardons us, quickens us 
 and lifts us up; for all that Thou hast brought 
 us of consolation, of peace and of warmth of 
 heart. Abide Thou with us. Teach us to see the 
 divine spark imprisoned in every stone of the 
 highway.
 
 28 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 MEMENTO 
 
 THE FRIEND: Once and for all, bear this in 
 mind: no perfect peace can be brought you by 
 events. The causes of our griefs and cares change 
 even as the days, and happiness will affright you 
 if misfortune lets you out of its clutches. Whether 
 your children are young or old, at home or else- 
 where, sick or well, they will always be a source 
 of anxiety to you; and so it is with everything 
 that we can keep or lose, acquire or wish for. If 
 you wait for chance to bring you peace of mind, 
 you will never know what it is to enjoy it. Be a 
 man and aspire to a higher peace. You will then 
 walk with a firmer footstep along the changing 
 ways of life, for you will have a shelter within 
 yourself and something stable on which you can 
 always rest. No detached event, no combination 
 of circumstances, however grave, can then threaten 
 the whole future of your existence. Found your- 
 self firmly in the one thing that is necessary to 
 your life, the infinite love of the Father; and all 
 other good things shall be added unto you. And 
 moreover you will become a place of refuge to 
 other men and women, to those whom you love
 
 SOUVENIRS 29 
 
 and even to those unknown to you whose path 
 may happen to cross your own. 
 
 ON THE HEIGHTS 
 
 AFTER the long and difficult ascent the 
 rest here is full of charm. Such a hori- 
 zon more than makes up for all the 
 fatigue, and the pure, crisp air gives us a new 
 sense of living. 
 
 On every side, as far as eye can reach, rolling 
 pastures stretch away, covered with thick grass 
 and brilliant little flowers. We see all sorts of 
 butterflies, countless beetles, and birds unknown 
 to the plain. Lower down the mountain-side lies 
 the beautiful forest through which we just passed, 
 while lower still are the vineyards, the golden 
 grain-fields, and the river running out of sight in 
 the distance. But the eye always returns to that 
 zone of glaciers ringing the horizon. There, right 
 in front of us, girdling the winding vale of An- 
 niviers, is the glacier of the Rothhorn. It looks 
 like a great stream of frozen lava descending upon 
 the valley. Great white jagged walls hem it in, 
 and along the masses of snow run crests of spotless
 
 30 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 white. Following them the eye crosses glistening 
 fields, rises to the peaks and drops down again 
 into deep valleys. It is all a silent desert covered 
 with an eternal shroud of virgin snow. 
 
 Away at the extreme right, beyond Mont 
 Pleureur and the red needles of Arolla, lies an 
 enchanted land of splendor. Crests rise from the 
 fluffy snow fields, towers and spires spring in air, 
 domes arch, a multitude of lofty and forbidding 
 rocks, armor-clad in gleaming ice. It is Mont 
 Blanc that we see, bristling with peaks, rent into 
 precipices and yawning crevasses, and stretching 
 away to the vast snowy plains of the glacier of 
 Trient. 
 
 The impression is of length of time, of massive 
 strength and majestic calm. From these heights 
 how great the world seems, and man how small ! 
 
 THE FRIEND: Fill your soul with the spectacle 
 and take the memory of it away with you. Then 
 when you breathe the stifling air of the great 
 cities, of the crowded theatres, of sick-rooms, or 
 the poisonous miasma in which diplomats sit in 
 council, churchmen shape their plots, money- 
 makers count their stakes, pedants prate, and 
 fools parade, shut your eyes and return here in
 
 SOUVENIRS 31 
 
 spirit. It will revive you. And if, peradventure, 
 pride should possess you, compare your stature 
 with this stateliness! You will draw wholesome 
 lessons from it that will put you back into your 
 place, and keep you from becoming in your vanity 
 of the flesh like the gnat in its impudent fragility, 
 drunk with the sunshine. 
 
 But do not go too far in this prostration of the 
 spirit. Do not lessen the true value of the soul 
 by abasing it before the immensity of matter. 
 Do not go to the length of measuring human worth 
 by the ell or the value of your life by the number 
 of its years. Do you estimate the painter's can- 
 vas by the yard or the work of the poet by the 
 pound or bushel? 
 
 Your stature is but a few cubits and the dura- 
 tion of your life is but a span. Yet you have no 
 right before these mountains, giants in space and 
 time, to proclaim yourself small or mean by com- 
 parison. Within you dwells a sublimity not theirs, 
 were it only that of your misery. Whatever the 
 majesty of their contour, the beauty of their land- 
 scapes, they are only signs destined to reveal you 
 to yourself, to symbolize to you that spiritual world 
 of which you bear the impress in your own soul.
 
 32 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 Such as you are, a little creature frail and mortal, 
 you can none the less form thoughts and perceive 
 realities which were before the mountains were 
 brought forth, and shall be after they return to 
 dust. Through action or through suffering you 
 can attain to heights and depths for which there is 
 no measure in the visible world. 
 
 The poor woman overwhelmed with cares, but 
 still hoping, loving, and working; the thinker and 
 the believer, who in the darkness keep neverthe- 
 less their faith in the existence of the light; the 
 poor relieving the poor; the afflicted consoling the 
 afflicted; the injured pardoning the injurer; the 
 martyrs in the cause of knowledge, faith, justice, 
 or country all these are greater than these peaks. 
 There dwells in them a beauty purer than the blue 
 of heaven or the whiteness of snow. The man 
 who remains steadfast in his soul before all ob- 
 stacles or the essays of the wicked, as inaccessible 
 to threats as to corruptions, fearing not to stand 
 alone in the face of hostile numbers, is a ram- 
 part more firmly founded and worthier of your 
 admiration and wonder than the sheer walls of 
 the abyss rising there and seeming to say, " Thou 
 shalt not pass."
 
 SOUVENIRS 33 
 
 LOVE YOUR FRIENDS 
 
 THE FRIEND: Love your friends and do not 
 put them from you. Tell them of your love 
 not once, but often; and do not merely tell it, but 
 prove your words to them and repeat the proof. 
 Open your heart and love them kingly-wise. 
 Make merry for them, make them happy, give 
 them brightness, make your home cheery for them ! 
 All moments are propitious. The lost opportuni- 
 ties we most regret were opportunities for loving. 
 
 A WORD WITH THE BIRDS 
 
 IS what you say so very serious, little linnet, 
 and what you sing in mounting " higher still 
 and higher," light- winged lark, since you re- 
 peat it so often? Are you afraid that all its mes- 
 sage has not been caught and comprehended? 
 How sure we feel when we hear you that all is 
 well ! I wish you could make man believe it.
 
 34 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 IN THE FOREST 
 
 AMONG the sweetest moments of life are 
 those spent eating cherries \n the tree or 
 wild strawberries in the forest. First of 
 all, they remind us of our youth, that time of smil- 
 ing aspect when we lived in harmony with all 
 nature, understood by the trees, the insects, and 
 the flowers, and understanding them in return. No 
 subtilized pleasure of refined life equals that of 
 keeping one's balance in the top of a tree in com- 
 pany with the sparrows and orioles. To remember 
 it afterward is pure joy in which the heart basks 
 like a lizard in the sunshine. 
 
 Whether from affection for the early years, or 
 from profound attachment to simple ways of life, 
 I love these pleasures now no less than I did then. 
 Here in this little nameless valley I seem to taste 
 a moment of eternity. 
 
 Ancient pines lift their solitary tops amid rocks 
 hoary with time. A close growth of broom covers 
 the ground with a golden fleece, and here and 
 there among the bushes, which are giving up their 
 warm odors- to the sun, some shoots of the wild 
 strawberry have pushed their heads. The ripe
 
 SOUVENIRS 35 
 
 fruit perfumes the air, and I accept of the bounty 
 which they offer for my picking. 
 
 I pick the first for you, dear child, who lie 
 helpless on your bed of pain. You will seem to 
 find in their aroma a thought from the soul of 
 the great woods. 
 
 The next are for me, and I eat them with de- 
 light, communing at the universal table, a guest 
 of the good God, fellow-feaster with the linnet 
 and with the cricket that sips the dew from the 
 humid hollow of the leaves. The saxifrage and 
 harebell make bouquets for the table, and could 
 there be a better seat than this mossy root which 
 holds you like an arm? 
 
 THE FRIEND: Enjoy this moment without dis- 
 quiet, without regret. Become a child again. 
 Drink in strength and simplicity, and let the 
 flowers and the woods tell you what they know 
 better than man knows with his short-sighted and 
 timid wisdom. Take root in the heart of things. 
 Store up energy against future struggles and con- 
 troversies and sights of suffering and sin. Purge 
 your soul and clarify it in these soft rays of fall- 
 ing day. The mystery of consolation is aflame 
 in the broom and trembles in the dew on the
 
 36 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 branches. May the spirit that inspires and sus- 
 tains breathe from this corner of the forest across 
 the pages of your soul and leave a lasting mes- 
 sage upon them. 
 
 THE ETERNAL IN THIS EPHEMERAL 
 
 THE sun plays over the pines. From 
 their green boughs, sweating bark, and 
 cones swollen by the heat, exudes balmy 
 resin, and even the ground, covered with dead 
 and sun-baked needles, distils a subtle fragrance. 
 At the threshold of the wood the alpine meadow 
 is vibrant with the chant of crickets and the 
 merry whirr of locusts. Here is joy, life, love; 
 the insect folk are making holiday; the atmos- 
 phere is theirs. The forest, grave and old, hums 
 with flies. 
 
 WHERE shall we look for you when 
 half a year is gone, frolic butter- 
 flies, pearl-armored beetles, sonorous 
 thorough-basses? You frantic little musicians, 
 whirling madly in a ray of noonday sun, where 
 will your rattles be, your pipes, your tambourines?
 
 SOUVENIRS 37 
 
 Between the arches of the pines over there I catch 
 a glimpse of snow-fields. They warn me that all 
 this joyousness will have a winding-sheet. The 
 forest will still sing its song, but its song will be 
 the sound of torment; and the capricious flight of 
 snowflakes dancing down the whistling north wind 
 will replace that of the bees and dragon-flies. 
 
 THE FRIEND: Your soul seems a prey to gloomy 
 thoughts. Must you have katydids even in win- 
 ter, and butterflies to live for a hundred years? 
 Is not their frailty the secret of their charm? 
 What would become of the freshness of roses if 
 they were strong as steel, or of the beauty of 
 sunsets if the sun were always setting? Must a 
 thing last to give you pleasure? A lightning- 
 flash would gain by lasting longer what a heart- 
 cry gains by expansion into words, or an hour of 
 intense joy by dilution into a constant experience. 
 When you are ironic I hardly know you. You 
 have always stood to me for what is enduring, 
 and now you show yourself in a new light. The 
 thought of these passing joys grieves me and op- 
 presses me. My mind reaches out after a joy 
 that shall never die. 
 
 THE FRIEND : Whatever is at all, is enduring. A
 
 38 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 thing need not be eternal to have a share in eter- 
 nity; it suffices that it be complete in itself time is 
 not an element. Nothing is wanting to this feast 
 of sunshine, and if there seems a shadow on the 
 picture it is in your own heart. Do not let these 
 little ephemeral creatures sadden you; if you will 
 lend your ears you will learn a lesson from them. 
 Notice that there is not a discordant sound but 
 that all is blended in a harmony, full, vibrant, 
 and intelligible. This universal song sings of the 
 intoxication of life, of peace, of trust. They have 
 but a single drop of the ocean, but that drop is 
 pure. Why should you pity them? 
 They are unconscious of their happiness; they 
 might as well not have it. 
 
 THE FRIEND: Undeceive yourself. Does the 
 star know its own splendor, the child its grace, 
 heaven the depth of its blue vault? Has not the 
 soul that is unconscious of its beauty one beauty 
 the more? To be generous and kind, must we 
 know that we are so? Do the heroes whose calm 
 strength we admire think themselves heroic? 
 
 Knowledge is not all; besides, what do we 
 know? Very little, to be sure, and not enough 
 to live on. Joy comes to these little creatures by
 
 SOUVENIRS 39 
 
 other routes than knowledge. They live upon the 
 exhaustless funds that nourish all created things. 
 They are suckled by nature, like an infant at the 
 breast. If they had minds to reason with as you 
 do, they too would live in a world of darkness; 
 their joy would vanish in air and their song would 
 cease. 
 
 But can I keep from thoughts and prophecies? 
 To what end am I endowed with the gift of re- 
 flection? And, indeed, are you not always urging 
 me to use it? 
 
 THE FRIEND: To use it for clearer sight, not 
 to make night of noonday. Your reason should 
 strengthen, not dishearten you. If it spoils your 
 life, it is because you set it at tasks with which it 
 is not competent to deal. You discourage it, try- 
 ing to harness it to the impossible. How can it 
 aid you to live if you exhaust it? You ask it to 
 furnish you an explanation of the universe, and 
 when you have installed yourself in the product 
 of its futile effort, the lack of air and space 
 stifles you and your joy fades like a flower in 
 a cavern. The result is that the tiniest cricket 
 singing under a spear of grass is more assured 
 than you.
 
 40 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 How often have I felt with grief the full force 
 of what you say. But I am consumed with anxi- 
 ety. How can one live tranquil in this unstable 
 world? Nothing is firm under our feet, and the 
 sky threatens to fall about our heads. Even joy 
 makes us fear. 
 
 THE FRIEND: Poor child! I pity your distress. 
 If only you knew how sweet it is to trust, and 
 how vain to invite care! If you had predicted 
 every misfortune, signalled every storm on the 
 horizon, something would still have happened 
 whose coming you had not foreseen, from the blue 
 of heaven a bolt would have fallen on your head. 
 Give over then this useless trepidation. Gird 
 your loins. Why build up a fabric of cares wherein 
 to exercise your best energies to your own un- 
 doing? 
 
 Are you not more than an ant or a fire-fly? If 
 these, that a night's frost takes off, drink at the 
 chalice of pure joy, will you save for yourself 
 the lees amassed in some impure and troubled 
 cup? Learn the lesson of divine carelessness of 
 the morrow that speaks to you from this mountain. 
 The world must indeed pass away, and doubtless 
 there are good reasons why it should. Do not
 
 SOUVENIRS 41 
 
 spend yourself deploring it, but seize from each 
 moment what it brings you. 
 
 Does all this movement, the unanimity of this 
 vibrant concert mean nothing to you? No, though 
 it is a sign that lies on the surface only, it has its 
 meaning deep down in the heart of things. The 
 base of the world is solid enough for you to build 
 upon it that is what the star says, riding in the 
 heavens, and the insect creeping in the grass; this 
 it is which sets humming in the sun these innu- 
 merable swarms of life. Be a man as the ant is 
 an ant; live the life of a man, go his way. Do 
 thine own work, and be not disturbed about the 
 rest, and thou, too, shalt know peace, joy, and 
 the pleasure of all good things.
 
 IN TROUBLOUS HOURS
 
 Tell me thy grief.
 
 IN TROUBLOUS HOURS 
 
 KING OF MISERY 
 THE FRIEND: 
 
 CHRIST said, " I am not alone, the 
 Father is with me." In certain hours 
 you, too, are able to say it, and with 
 joyfulness. Why, then, in others, in 
 the dark hours when your court of miseries as- 
 sembles round you, should you say in sadness, I 
 am not alone? 
 
 What have you done to condemn yourself to 
 such society? Has God given you a soul for 
 you to make of it a grim guest-chamber, filling 
 its highest seats with visitors of evil aspect, whose 
 discourse and reflections chill your heart and take 
 the courage out of you? 
 
 What is it that these dark-faced friends whis- 
 per so low to you? So they say that life is evil, 
 that there is no hope, that the bad has vanquished 
 45
 
 46 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 the good, that it is useless to struggle in any noble 
 cause? They recall all the bitterness of the past, 
 and point out new enemies preparing to descend 
 upon you in the future. And, afterward, do these 
 lords of care offer you a helping hand? Not 
 they! They only know how to make complaint. 
 You are wrong to harbor such dreary courtiers al- 
 ways ready to intrude upon your solitude when 
 you are harassed and weary. Like undutiful sons, 
 they have a way of making themselves beloved 
 for the evil they have wrought. Clear your mind 
 of them as you would a room of cobwebs. 
 
 INGRATITUDE 
 
 AH, ingratitude, how it tortures the heart 
 eats into it like a corrosive ! 
 THE FRIEND: Yet, judging from the 
 number of ingrates, there must be some pleasure 
 in its practice. There are people whose wine and 
 whose gratitude make them morose, but whose in- 
 gratitude is fairly jovial. If they are obliged to 
 thank anyone they do it with bad grace; but they 
 practise ingratitude with a smiling countenance, 
 with spontaneity, with unconstraint, with the per-
 
 IN TROUBLOUS HOURS 47 
 
 feet ease of ducklings on the water; for they are 
 in their element. 
 
 Other vices thrive in certain latitudes only, but 
 this vice is cosmopolitan. It flourishes in every 
 stage of society, at all ages, in the garret or in 
 the cellar; it is at home everywhere. To-day you 
 find it in blond ringlets, and think it a child; to- 
 morrow it confronts you under gray locks, in that 
 revolting old-age at the close of a life that has 
 been one long fall. When its wounds come from 
 the great you take it for a fine lady; but beware 
 of metamorphoses, for at the first provocation 
 she will show you the features of a hag. 
 
 There is the ingratitude of children and that 
 of parents, of peoples and of kings, or of the 
 ruling classes; of chiefs and of subordinates, of 
 masters and of servants, of the public and of 
 those before it, of the rich and of the poor. 
 
 And there are special forms of ingratitude prac- 
 tised toward special classes; as, for example, 
 ingratitude toward doctors, toward ministers, tow- 
 ard old servants worn by hardships, toward sing- 
 ers with lost voices, toward devoted citizens ruined 
 in the public behalf, toward heroes dead on all the 
 fields of honor and sacrifice. And finally there is
 
 48 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 that worst of all ingratitudes, that of man for 
 woman: go question the forgotten, the abandoned, 
 the heart-broken, the despairing. 
 
 The propagation of ingratitude is inevitable. 
 A plant that flourishes in every soil, whose winged 
 seed flutters on every breeze, cannot fail to find 
 abundant root. If you perform a good deed or 
 expend yourself in any fashion, you cultivate in- 
 gratitude. Even the man who does no service to 
 anyone cannot escape it. 
 
 Nothing is so hard to bear as ingratitude. It 
 is a heavy cross, to which are sometimes added 
 the tortures of a Calvary. It is ingenious, full of 
 novel resources and of inexhaustible invention. 
 It inflicts upon humanity much of its most poign- 
 ant suffering, breaks many a heart and ruins many 
 a life. In very truth it would seem harder for 
 men to forgive favors done them than to pardon 
 injuries. 
 
 But the saddest thing of all is that ingratitude 
 discourages us from well-doing. 
 
 THE FRIEND: In that we are wrong. It is a 
 question of the aim and of the point of view. If 
 you sow kindness for the sake of reaping grati- 
 tude, the after-taste is certain to be bitter and in
 
 IN TROUBLOUS HOURS 49 
 
 the end, disgusted with the results, you will aban- 
 don the business which brings such poor returns. 
 Do good, follow the right, give your labor and 
 open your arms to affection, without counting too 
 much on your reward. But do not show the sad 
 countenance of certain well-intentioned people who 
 go about anticipating ingratitude and weeping 
 over it in advance. That is one way to provoke 
 it. There are many other ways, however. For 
 example, we arouse ingratitude by doing our good 
 at the wrong time, by rushing into it, by cheap- 
 ening it through an over-readiness to bestow it. 
 To make a man appreciate the favor we do him 
 is to render him a service in itself. Envelop 
 your kindness in a little dignity, brusqueness even. 
 But, above all, do not hide yourself when those 
 under obligation to you, your friends, those 
 younger than yourself, wish to thank you. Stay 
 and take their acknowledgments. It may be an 
 ordeal for your modesty, but there are some or- 
 deals you must learn to bear for the sake of others. 
 The victims of ingratitude should not lose sight 
 of the fact that of all benefactors, in every age 
 and every country, God is oftenest forgotten. 
 Yet never on this account has He ceased to mani-
 
 50 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 fest His love. And in the death of His Son 
 Jesus on the cross of shame, symbol for all time 
 of human ingratitude, the culmination is reached. 
 Here, too, the Man of Sorrows may say to his 
 brethren, Come unto me, and I will refresh you. 
 
 BITTER MEMORIES 
 
 THE FRIEND: Do not condemn yourself to bit- 
 ter recollections. 
 
 Why so honor the offence as to write it on the 
 tablets of your memory? Is your heart so large 
 that you can afford to give so much place to re- 
 sentment? What a pity that the little man saves 
 from the wreck of forgetfulness should consist 
 first of all in the wrongs which have been done 
 him! There are deeds that are unpardonable; 
 people who merit neither excuse, nor good-will, 
 nor forbearance. Is this sufficient reason for re- 
 membering them forever? Let the injury fall to 
 the ground and do not stoop to recover it. Stoop 
 rather to pick the flower, however humble, that 
 smiles up at you here in this valley.
 
 IN TROUBLOUS HOURS 51 
 
 FORGET AND FORGIVE 
 
 IN the very depths of yourself dig a grave. 
 Let it be like some forgotten spot to which 
 no path leads; and there, in the eternal si- 
 lence, bury the wrongs that you have suffered. 
 Your heart will feel as if a weight had fallen 
 from it, and a divine peace will come to abide 
 with you. 
 
 BE SILENT 
 
 PUT thy finger on thy lip, suffer and be 
 silent. Who art thou to speak before His 
 dread and holy Majesty? 
 I am His child. 
 
 THE POTTER AND THE CLAY 
 
 SHALL the thing formed say to him that 
 formed it, Why hast thou made me thus? 
 THE FRIEND: Not if you do it in the 
 vain spirit of criticism and contention; nothing is 
 so sterile as the spirit of controversy. But who 
 shall forbid us to speak ? When one suffers he has
 
 52 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 the right to murmur, even to cry out. His very 
 silence becomes a cry, for when suffering can 
 neither protest nor lament, it has attained the 
 height of eloquence. Do not hesitate, frail ves- 
 sel of clay, to tell your Creator everything. Be 
 openly sincere. Do not call yourself handsome 
 if you are ugly, or happy if you are miserable. 
 Do not seek to please a Greater than yourself by 
 approving what your conscience condemns. Do 
 not offer your Father the dishonor of confusing 
 Him with that rich man of whom the aged Sirach 
 speaks when he says : " The rich doeth a wrong, 
 and he threateneth withal; the poor is wronged, 
 and he must entreat besides." Tell Him your 
 trouble; say to Him: Behold how I am made! 
 Who knows if perhaps your feeling is not shared 
 beyond the reach of man's imagination. The heal- 
 ing of all infirmities, the making of the blind to 
 see and of the deaf to hear, the freeing of captives, 
 the winning of the wicked from the evil of their 
 ways, and the bringing of the dead back to life 
 this is the hidden design working out in the mys- 
 teries of our life. There is one thing certain, and 
 that is, that however poor and mean the vessel, 
 however magnificent the Potter, they should act
 
 IN TROUBLOUS HOURS 53 
 
 in accord, not for the preservation of things as 
 they are, but for their bettering. 
 
 TELL ME THY GRIEF 
 
 GUARD thy secret carefully, poor heart, 
 thou hast nothing more precious; let not 
 the gaze of the profane pollute it. But 
 why hide from Me the thing that I know, the 
 thing which it would be well for thee to show 
 Me? Bring forth all thy pain, cover nothing be- 
 fore Me, and thou shalt be comforted. I know 
 thee, I have taken thy measure. For all that thou 
 dost suffer I love thee. 
 
 REGRET 
 
 REGRET for the right object is very 
 precious, but so many people employ it 
 wrongly. We find them adhering to the 
 evil thought and regretting the good. Regret the 
 days you lose, the hours you fritter away; regret 
 the speech that wounded, the unjust suspicion, the 
 hasty judgment. But never regret that you fol- 
 lowed your heart when it led you toward confidence,
 
 54 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 toward sincerity, toward kindness. Regret neither 
 the tears you have shed, nor the service you have 
 rendered the ungrateful, nor that you have kept 
 your illusions, preserved your human tenderness, 
 your hope, and even your grief. For all these 
 things, it is well to live and die impenitent. 
 
 THE WICKED 
 
 THE FRIEND: I see you wounded in soul, be- 
 smeared with blood, your garments muddied, 
 scratched and torn as though by claws. You 
 come from among your fellows as one escaped 
 from the hands of brigands. There are indeed 
 evil men in the world. 
 
 And yet these are the very men you would have 
 me love. 
 
 THE FRIEND: My poor child; I understand you 
 and pity you. You wish to flee their commerce, 
 a quite legitimate desire, which does not surprise 
 me. You hate their wickedness because it is ugly, 
 and you think it is not honest for me to represent 
 them to you as worthy of your love. 
 Then let me despise and hate them. 
 
 THE FRIEND: Why add one more to the ills
 
 IN TROUBLOUS HOURS 55 
 
 they have done you? To despise makes you suf- 
 fer, to hate does you wrong. To despise is to blot 
 out of the book of life, to weigh and find want- 
 ing, to examine and reject. Can you cast your 
 neighbor out and not suffer? Do you not live by 
 hope? To despise is the act of despair; and so it 
 is to hate. He who hates, excommunicates and de- 
 livers over to perdition. Can you pronounce the 
 supreme sentence, declare another lost, and not 
 agonize with the pity of it? 
 They are past all hope. 
 
 THE FRIEND: And if they are, is not theirs 
 the misfortune? Since of themselves they roll 
 into the abyss, why should you suspend the stone 
 of your contempt around their necks? 
 So be it. Then let me turn away and forget 
 them. 
 
 THE FRIEND: If you turn away it will be 
 only to lament their fate. Can yu forget the 
 fate itself? Is not that the great shadow which 
 looms between us and all light? What a mis- 
 fortune to be wicked and evil-minded! Only one 
 sentiment is possible in the face of such a calam- 
 ity pity. Do you not pity them? Are they not 
 to be pitied?
 
 56 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 They are, and in truth I do pity them. But 
 what good does my pity do them? 
 
 THE FRIEND: To pity is better than to scorn 
 and hate, it is truer, more just. They will jeer 
 at your pity, but it is good for you to feel it, 
 good for you and for the cause of humanity. To 
 pity is to preserve hope, to care, and implies that 
 all is not lost. 
 
 I see nothing but night, and not a star. Men's 
 iniquity is as bottomless as the abyss and as im- 
 possible to remove as mountains. 
 
 THE FRIEND: Look into the abyss and say, " I 
 know not who shall fill you up." Look toward 
 the hills and say, " I know not who shall pull you 
 down." But have pity on the wicked; and the 
 way of this pity will lead you slowly to the 
 heights where one comes to understand how the 
 abysses are filled and the mountains made low.
 
 IN TROUBLOUS HOURS 57 
 
 SCHISM 
 
 MY brothers fall on one another tooth 
 and nail; even when they are away 
 from each other they hurl anathemas 
 and injuries. And what an affliction it is to me 
 who love them all. It seems as though my heart 
 were their battle-field. 
 
 Oh ! the schism of minds, the horrid breach 
 that tears to tatters the tissue of humanity ! It 
 has torn me asunder, and the living parts cry out 
 to be joined together again. From the midst of 
 disruption I stretch out my arms toward unknown 
 friends. I would break down obstacles, cross 
 chasms ; and I suffer, I suffer ! 
 
 THE FRIEND: Unhappy lot! But Another, who 
 makes His sun to rise on them all, shares it with 
 you. Let the remembrance of this console you 
 but see, too, that your pain be not fruitless. In 
 every grief borne courageously a new world is 
 fashioning and slowly developing for the future. 
 Build up in your soul the lofty city of Peace, 
 well within sound of the battle that is waging, in 
 the midst of its discordant cries. Unite in se- 
 cret what the world parts asunder; broaden your
 
 58 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 thought, take in what has been shut out, trans- 
 form rivalry into collaboration: draw together, 
 associate, fuse, preserve the Faith, and prepare 
 for Unity. 
 
 IN DISTRESS 
 
 THE FRIEND: Peace be with you! Why this 
 face all discomposed, these tired hands? 
 My heart is torn with the great grief of living; 
 my whole being is nothing but an open wound. 
 Everything that exists seems tainted with death. 
 Men appear shadows, their thoughts dreams, their 
 undertakings chimeras. Our suffering has no 
 limit, we can get no balance for our burdens, our 
 offences pass all count, and what is our strength? 
 The force of a reed against the granite hills. 
 Can there be such a thing as joy for a man who 
 knows life? confidence in the future for him who 
 is sure of nothing? Has humanity a morrow? 
 We are like ants whose habitation is destroyed by 
 the foot of a careless or brutal passer-by. The 
 poor things rush about, toil to bring the wreck 
 together again, succor the wounded, and restore 
 their devastated galleries. And when they have
 
 IN TROUBLOUS HOURS 59 
 
 barely finished, another kick overturns the fruit 
 of all their labors. I lack the strength to begin 
 again. I sit by the ruins and weep, and I envy 
 the deep peace of the dead. 
 
 THE FRIEND: Let me weep with you; I under- 
 stand your tears. For ages they have burned my 
 cheek. Poor humanity, buffeted by every wind! 
 times unnumbered have your accumulated suffer- 
 ings melted my soul. Your weariness is sacred 
 to me. Would that I might put my hands beneath 
 your bleeding feet, lift you in my arms, and 
 soothe you as mothers do, that you might forget 
 your pain. I love you for all your hurts; but still 
 more do I admire you for your patient courage. 
 
 That, burdened, broken, on a desert way and 
 under a brazen heaven, you should still move on- 
 ward is the finest thing I know. That ideal be- 
 ings, pure and happy, should live lives of radiant 
 perfection is beautiful because it conforms to our 
 conception of an intelligent order in the universe; 
 but that you and your children, misshapen with 
 evil, grief-stricken, consumed by fever, poisoned 
 by pestilence, physical and moral, should still 
 drag yourselves toward the goal; that in the dust 
 where death lays you low you should plant the
 
 60 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 banner of hope; that within the dark shadow you 
 should preserve your faith this is sublime, it is 
 divine. Neither the splendor of suns nor the 
 hymn of their creation holds me now. My eyes 
 have turned away from Olympian visions; they 
 no longer behold aught but your Calvaries. Come, 
 weary pilgrim, spent with vigils and strife, lay 
 thy head on my heart, and let me guard thy sleep 
 as one guards a treasure. May it be profound 
 and sweet, and may my hands, caressing thy burn- 
 ing brow, and my being hovering over thine, bear 
 in upon thee the sense of a boundless Pity for- 
 ever inclined toward man. . . . 
 
 He sleeps. How many questions does sleep 
 resolve ! Happy are they who can still sleep ! 
 Asleep the prisoner is free, the sick man well, the 
 exile by his fireside. There are afflictions in whose 
 presence every attempt at comforting is vain and 
 every word an offence. There is nothing to offer 
 but open arms " Come unto me all ye that labor 
 and are heavy laden." 
 
 Mortal weariness and heaviness of heart, dis- 
 mal loneliness, with no longer anything left to 
 relieve it this is the end of so many martyrs in 
 a good cause! The unequal effort has exhausted
 
 IN TROUBLOUS HOURS 61 
 
 everything willingness, courage, patience, and 
 even the faculty of suffering. It is a rout, a 
 shipwreck. The stars have set below the horizon 
 of the soul, and a night has descended which 
 promises no morrow. The vanquished have drunk 
 the cup to the dregs; they have lain down in the 
 dust, their eyes vacant from that last dread con- 
 viction that everything is over. " My God, my 
 God, why hast Thou forsaken me? " 
 
 They stretched their arms toward their help, 
 and it came not. They counted on Someone hid- 
 den behind the visible world, and this Someone 
 did not disclose Himself. Like a man forgetful 
 of his word, He failed at the critical moment; 
 and yet, God of the vanquished, if they have kept 
 their faith in Thee, what a demonstration for us 
 of how Thou dost draw men ! As the compass to 
 the north, they turned instinctively toward Thy 
 light: they believed in Thee rather than in life, 
 in death, in realities that the hands may touch 
 and the eyes see. Their ashes proclaim Thee. 
 
 God of the vanquished, if the trace of Thy 
 passing is left resplendent on the face of the 
 stars; if Nature in flower has kept the perfume 
 of it; if space be but the reflection of Thy great-
 
 62 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 ness, there is a spot where Thou shouldst rather be 
 found than in any one of these it is where Thy 
 children fall, overcome by superhuman struggles 
 and labors. Elsewhere Thou sendest Thy messen- 
 gers, here Thou art Thyself. Here Thy presence 
 glows like a fire. These vanquished ones are the 
 touchstones of a world more beautiful than this. 
 There is that within them which shall remain when 
 all the rest has vanished like a vapor. So it is 
 that when they have gone down into the gulf, those 
 left hear a voice come out of it, saying, Here 
 am I. 
 
 Life issues from their death, light from their 
 tomb; their bones flourish like Aaron's rod, and 
 where they were struck down indomitable courage 
 and hope spring up, as seed from the furrow. 
 
 INTERRUPTIONS 
 
 MY time is broken into bits. Too many 
 little duties and anxieties claim a 
 share, and troublesome people are al- 
 ways waiting to spoil any precious moments that 
 are left. Oh, days without a break, in which the 
 workman may delve undisturbed, giving free rein
 
 IN TROUBLOUS HOURS 63 
 
 to the thoughts that possess him; days of crea- 
 tion, of peace, forgetful of the flying hours, that 
 attain almost the stature of eternity, I love you 
 and long for you; shall I ever know you again? 
 
 I am like a race-horse ready to run his course, 
 setting out full of life. But scarcely has he gone 
 ten paces when a brutal hand reins him in, drag- 
 ging on his bit, and spoiling his effort. When 
 he starts to follow his impulse he is made to curb 
 it, only to dash forward once more at a cut of 
 the whip. What will become of his zeal under 
 such treatment? 
 
 THE FRIEND: It is in truth demoralizing. But 
 in this very bondage one may find a certain new 
 liberty of mind. If, in spite of all your efforts, 
 you can get only scraps of time for the beloved 
 work, save all these scraps piously. Time is so 
 precious that its smallest particles are valuable, 
 and for him who knows how to utilize them the 
 hours acquire a singular capacity in one of them 
 years may be condensed, even centuries. 
 
 Have you not sometimes in wandering over 
 these heights encountered a fog? The distance 
 is cut off, and you do well to make your way, 
 forced as you are to test each rolling stone with
 
 64 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 foot and stick lest you take a tumble. Then 
 from time to time the curtain is torn apart, only 
 to be quickly drawn again. But what a pro- 
 found impression that rapid vision leaves upon 
 you ! Do you remember one day when, our shoes 
 heavy with moist earth, our backs soaked with 
 frequent downpours, and our eyes drowned in 
 chill vapors, we saw between two ragged clouds 
 of gray a bit of brilliant blue sky? Do you re- 
 member in a flash of sunlight over the alpine vast- 
 ness, millions of wild pansies and golden butter- 
 cups? Did not that moment pay for the toil of 
 the tramp, and would it not have lost something 
 of its charm had it lasted longer? In fact, life 
 seen from one point of view is the art of seizing 
 stealthy moments, of utilizing remnants. 
 
 The sculptor finds a bit of marble, and carves 
 a masterpiece. On a scrap of waste-paper the 
 poet in an idle hour writes an immortal song. 
 Collect the stones that lie helter-skelter in this 
 gorge, and you might build a cathedral. Is not 
 the earth made from a fragment of the sun, and 
 man from a breath of the Infinite? 
 
 Courage then ! Put your soul into the few 
 scattered moments that remain. You will never
 
 IN TROUBLOUS HOURS 65 
 
 regret it. Would that as this poor drop of time 
 falls into the abyss, a ray of beauty or a smile 
 of kindliness might be reflected in its passing! 
 
 TRANSGRESSION 
 
 SIN is a great revealer. " And the eyes of 
 them both were opened, and they kne\r 
 that they were naked." Especially does it 
 mark the discovery of some wretchedness. But a 
 general human truth is contained in this symbolic 
 utterance, as in this verse of the poet: 
 
 And no man knows himself till he hath suffered. 
 
 Grief over wrong-doing throws an unexpected 
 light on the thing that we are. Through our pain 
 we learn to know of our original nobility and of 
 our share of initiative in our own affairs, which 
 is, properly speaking, our liberty. Were we only 
 children of the dust, the result of mechanical 
 forces, we should not know the pain of having 
 done evil, because for us there would be no evil. 
 Do not say this pain is hereditary, for if my dis- 
 tress come from my ancestors, from custom and 
 education, whence, pray, do they have it to pass
 
 66 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 it on to me? Moreover, though it were ingrafted, 
 the plant of repentance could not flourish in our 
 souls unless it found nourishment there. And 
 sometimes, appalled at the majesty of evil, I have 
 regained courage from the thought that after all 
 this very evil is the surest proof of a higher life. 
 How should we say it is night, unless we had 
 known the day? how should evil have any exist- 
 ence in our minds if we were not akin to the 
 good? Thus one proves the existence of the 
 other. In the very sentiment of guilt, with its 
 poignancy and tragedy, is a stir, sum corda. 
 
 He who has never trembled before the evil he 
 has done, or shed tears over his past sins, is igno- 
 rant of one entire aspect of the world and of the 
 soul. He lacks just so much of being the man 
 that another is who has had these experiences. I 
 cannot fancy what humanity would be without 
 sin. It would lose at one stroke, along with its 
 misery, the great beauty of its upward striving, 
 which is its chief charm. I would I were able to 
 sound the depth of truth in this exclamation of 
 Saint Augustine's Felix culpa!
 
 67 
 
 THE GOD OF POOR SINNERS 
 
 GOD is great, fathomless, adorable, whether 
 He shine from the face of the stars or 
 smile in the chalice of a flower. He is 
 beautiful in the dark night as in the splendid 
 noonday, beautiful in the conscience of just men, 
 more beautiful still in pity for the suffering. 
 But there is no God comparable to the God of 
 poor sinners. 
 
 REPENTANCE 
 
 THE FRIEND: What are you doing there in the 
 dust? 
 
 I am covering my face and weeping for shame. 
 Can it be I who have done this thing? I am 
 overcome with self -disgust. If only I might hide 
 away forever, disappear in my repentance! I 
 would I had the power! 
 
 THE FRIEND: You are wrong. Passive regret 
 is only an addition to your fault. A bad kind of 
 pride is hidden under this astonishment at having 
 failed. Yes, it is indeed you who have done this 
 thing, and it will be well for you to remember it,
 
 68 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 in order not to judge others. But what good can 
 come from being disgusted with yourself? Not 
 disgust, but care, courage, and foresight are 
 needed for healing the sick. 
 
 Raise yourself out of the dust, and dry your 
 eyes that you may see more clearly. Endure 
 your misery like a man. God will remit your 
 fault; do you make reparation, profit from the 
 experience, sow and toil, watch and pray, march 
 and fight. Woe to those who stagnate in sterile 
 repentance and enervating tears! They pass the 
 half of their days lamenting the faults of the 
 other half, and their life falls back useless into 
 the abyss of the past. 
 
 AND JESUS LOOKED ON PETER 
 
 THAT look! charged with shadow at the 
 sight of suffering, of uncleanness, of 
 wickedness, of all the burdens poor 
 humanity bears, all the chains, galling or shame- 
 ful, that she drags along! Our dim souls seem 
 to Him as the great vacant eyes of the blind, 
 those poor caverns filled with sombre gloom like 
 mourning worn for the departed light. And in
 
 IN TROUBLOUS HOURS 69 
 
 His eyes the disciple saw dimly now and again 
 the shadow of some mysterious Calvary, before 
 which their hearts grew big with fear. 
 
 But his eyes were open also upon the world 
 above, with remembrance of which they seemed 
 filled. They radiated that peaceful certitude which 
 the Divine Presence gives to the heart, and their 
 calm said: Be of good cheer, I have overcome the 
 world. 
 
 Lights from the realm of justice, the dawn of 
 a transformed future, peace, tenderness, pity, 
 pardon all this lived in His glance. No paean 
 of song, no inspired word of the Prophets, no 
 beauty of form created by the Arts to represent 
 the splendor of the invisible, has ever brought to 
 man the revelation that dwelt in that glance. We 
 live from its light, and when its splendor fades 
 for us the shadows creep in, joy vanishes, a fear- 
 ful twilight invades all our paths, and the cold 
 of death envelops us, of that other death which 
 knows no hope. 
 
 May this glance find thee out, whoever thou 
 art; fallen, may it raise thee; wounded, may it 
 heal thee; lost, may it lead thee home. If only 
 it be fixed upon thee when thy own eyes close, to
 
 70 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 die shall be for thee to fall asleep under the 
 watch of Him who has said: I am the resurrec- 
 tion and the life. 
 
 UNDERNEATH THY WING 
 
 OGOD, save me from the world I com- 
 prehend not, the world of fatality and 
 fearful shadows. Lead me into Thy 
 luminous realm, where all is clear through trust 
 in Thee. Let not my living soul fall into the 
 grasp of necessities insensible and dead. What 
 though I be afflicted, if I know that Thou know- 
 est it that Thou art its beginning and its end ! 
 What though I walk in the dark, if Thou art 
 there! Give me inward calm, and if not joy, 
 then such surrender as befits a son. When the 
 whirlwind passes hide me underneath Thy wing, 
 and make my weakness strong by Thy presence. 
 If I am lost, find me; if I fall, stay Thou near by.
 
 THE GATES OF DEATH
 
 To live is not all ; to die, still less. 
 
 The essential is that the Spirit shine forth through life 
 and death ahke.
 
 THE GATES OF DEATH 
 
 THE TWO SLEEPS 
 
 SIT down by the cradle where childhood 
 slumbers. 
 Sit down by the couch where the dead 
 sleep. 
 
 In the child the future is cradled, like seed in 
 the furrow. Each curly head is a promise. About 
 it is a beating of wings; hopes swarm there and 
 dreams murmur like bees in the heather. 
 
 Some day it will all end in the other sleep. 
 Have you ever watched the dead as they lie in 
 their calm, and wondered whom they await? 
 
 For they do wait, and on their silent lip hovers 
 this appeal: 
 
 " Our days are accomplished. We have marched, 
 we have fought, we have suffered. Where is He 
 who shall tell us why ? " 
 The dead wait for God. 
 
 And now, Lord, the word is Thine. Thou 
 73
 
 74 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 knowest what man knows not. Thou knowest 
 what the cradle promises, what the grave hides. 
 In Thee is our hope. 
 
 If we had not this assurance the smiles of chil- 
 dren would pierce our hearts we must needs weep 
 over cradles even more than over graves. 
 
 OH! DEATH! 
 
 OH, the death of those we love! First 
 this suffering, this poor body worn with 
 pain, these sunken eyes, these breath- 
 less words ! Then this silence, this night, this 
 dust! With what brutal insistence is the fact 
 forced upon us that we are nothing ! What rage 
 for effacing our very footprints, so that all may 
 clearly see that naught remains of us and all our 
 hope! And even after death the proofs pursue 
 us. To the living, everything cries: You are dust! 
 To the dead, the tomb rehearses the tale. What 
 is left us but eyes to weep? 
 
 THE FRIEND: Hope lives in your tears: even 
 the despair that no longer sheds them is a form 
 of deathless hope. To despair is to have seen 
 one's star eclipsed. But behind the cloud it shines
 
 THE GATES OF DEATH 75 
 
 still. Your hope holds fast. The powers of de- 
 struction multiply their evidences to little pur- 
 pose: their triumph over you is one of those vic- 
 tories that are so loudly trumpeted because they 
 are doubtful. There are those who, even dead, 
 have yet to be slain; you are of their number. 
 And what arguments can be brought to bear upon 
 them? Repeat to them that they are dead? Does 
 not that rather prove that they are living? 
 
 World-old is the lesson of things that proves 
 and proclaims your insuperable nothingness. But 
 in spite of all it has made you suffer, it is a lesson 
 you speedily forget. You exist, and therefore you 
 do not believe that you are nothing. Had you 
 given credence to the revelation of death written 
 across creation, glaring in the flame, howling in 
 the tempest, yawning in the gulf, you would have 
 fared according to your faith. Convinced of an- 
 nihilation, you would have been annihilated. But 
 that after being consumed in a thousand mortal 
 fires you still live, comes from your faith in life. 
 Whence have you this faith? From this great 
 mechanism of a universe that grinds you to pow- 
 der? No, you have your faith from God. It is 
 His ineffaceable signature within you. Do not
 
 76 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 yourself protest it. God dwells in you; this is 
 your secret. You are of His race; His thought 
 is active underneath your dust. You are a hope 
 of God. 
 
 How shall that be which is no longer? How, 
 when we are swallowed by the tomb, shall we 
 subsist? Our life is wiped out like writing on 
 a slate. 
 
 (THE FRIEND: You can destroy the writing, but 
 never the spirit, the sense of it. Though the per- 
 ishable matter in which for a space a divine 
 thought was incarnate be blotted out by time, 
 vanish forever, the hope which is in you, the divine 
 thought that animates your dust, remains. You 
 are spirit, by the eternal Spirit active within you. 
 In God is your life, your guaranteed identity: 
 His remembrance, wherein nothing dies, preserves 
 your remembrance. Have you ever meditated 
 upon the transparent and infinite depth of this 
 old-time word from the Psalms: in thy light shall 
 rve see light? 
 
 If our outward and visible life is in time and 
 space, that is, in the ephemeral, our inward and 
 spiritual life is in God, that is, in the eternal. 
 In His light we see light. We should be blind
 
 THE GATES OF DEATH 77 
 
 and dead, notwithstanding the perfection of our 
 organism, were it not shot through with divinity. 
 This marvel would be but a dead letter; now, on 
 the contrary, it is a living word. The letter is 
 effaced, but the spirit persists. Do not entangle 
 yourself in the ruin of what has passed, as the 
 outward aspect of this world shall pass away. 
 Lift your eyes toward the light. Those whom you 
 weep are not in the shadow and the dust. They 
 are in God, as you also by the breath breathed 
 into you are in God. The bond is not broken. 
 
 Our beloved never die. Do not admit their non- 
 existence. The tenderness that follows therq. be- 
 comes for our hope a bridge reaching out from 
 these mortal shores toward the imperishable land. 
 You will see again all those you have loved; you 
 will recognize them. Did you know them here 
 by the fragile clay beneath which their life trem- 
 bled ? No, you knew them by the image impressed 
 upon the clay, the life breathed into it. And 
 often you sighed because of some vague wall of 
 separation between them and you. You tried to 
 come near them, yet were held off by something 
 that, though still part of them in the flesh, was 
 not they. In that great day when we meet again
 
 78 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 the veil will have fallen away. No longer shall 
 any mortal thing separate us. The union whose 
 incompleteness here torments every strong, pure 
 soul shall there be consummated. Learn to know 
 yourself better; do not confound yourself with 
 that which is not you. Compared to you this me- 
 chanical universe, with all things in it, is only a 
 symbol, a perishable similitude of an immortal 
 thought. Behold yourself in what you signify, 
 since it is through this that you shall live here- 
 after. You should weep, because everything that 
 is simply and sincerely human is good. Tears are 
 the dew on that flower of the skies called hope. 
 Weep, my son, but hope, dare to hope. Hoping 
 is the finest sort of courage, and you can never 
 have enough of it. It is not possible to expect 
 too much of God: every anticipation will be in- 
 finitely surpassed. The purest light which for 
 our souls falls on the beyond, the most blissful 
 picture of the future meeting, is but poor imagery, 
 a far and pale twilight in comparison with the 
 morning of immortality. 
 
 How good you are ! Say all this again and 
 again. I am the dusty wayfarer, you are the 
 oasis. I am thirst, you are the spring; give to me
 
 THE GATES OF DEATH 79 
 
 abundantly. Away from you, I doubt; with you, 
 I believe, and the saying is fulfilled: " My sheep 
 hear my voice." 
 
 THE SMILE 
 
 WHAT a smile my dear mother had in 
 those last days! 
 THE FRIEND: Do not lose the re- 
 membrance of that smile. It is a reflection of the 
 victory over death. To proclaim the gospel of 
 freedom a dying voice is more potent than ringing 
 words. 
 
 Every beautiful life remains among us like a 
 gift of God: let the incense of it be to us as a 
 sweet savor. What these dear ones who have 
 flown away have left us, remains an imperishable 
 treasure. Their peace enwraps us, calms our 
 heart in the midst of struggles and steels our 
 purpose in the hours that try our strength. Pa- 
 tient courage, imperturbable cheerfulness, trust in 
 God all these smile upon you from your mother's 
 face. 
 
 Nor do we enter alone upon the final mystery; 
 all the beloved dead are with us. Their presence
 
 80 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 upholds us, their souls receive ours, and say to 
 us: Good courage, friends! the trial grows sterner, 
 but the end is near; behold the eternal peace, be- 
 hold the harbor, behold the " blessed country ! " 
 
 THROUGH the shadows that gather along 
 our way, the watch of the dead shines 
 star-like. It is a source of comfort and 
 hope, helping us to endure and to push onward 
 in assurance of the invisible, and in freedom from 
 the perishable vanities of the world. 
 
 WHAT SHALL WE SAY? 
 
 WHAT can one say to those who are 
 down and have nothing left to hope 
 for, those upon whom death already 
 has a hold, and who know not how to hope, to 
 pray, or to believe? 
 
 THE FRIEND: Love them, and hold your peace. 
 All questions are resolved by love. The silence 
 of genuine love contains the infinitude of all rev- 
 elation. Hold your peace. If you speak, no one 
 will understand, and you will add a misery to the
 
 THE GATES OF DEATH 81 
 
 burden of misery. You can explain nothing, prove 
 nothing, to this being in torment. He cannot lis- 
 ten to you; you would only plunge him deeper 
 into the night. You would think, perhaps, that 
 you had spoken to the point, and you would go 
 away from him satisfied with yourself. Oh, the 
 cruel irony of offering aphorisms to those sinking 
 in a sea of misfortune! Your offer is likely to 
 prove to them this alone that while they struggle 
 in the waters, you are on shore. 
 
 Hold your peace. The sublimity of silence is 
 unrecognized in the world, but it dwells in the 
 marches of the realm of peace; it is one of the 
 attendants of the Spirit. Where there is perfect, 
 unprofaned silence you may know that God is 
 near. Hold your peace. 
 
 But love these sufferers. Love them well and 
 take their burden upon you. Enter with them 
 into the furnace, share their suffering; and in this 
 sacred silence of active devotion you shall shatter 
 the stifling crucible in which misfortune isolates 
 and imprisons its victims. They will be conscious 
 of you beside them in their anguish, and when 
 we are near one who loves us we are not far from 
 God. They may not know this, but they will feel
 
 82 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 an ineffable sweetness pass like a breath of heaven 
 across their burning brows. 
 
 THE FRIEND: Lay the dead to sleep in His 
 arms, however terrible their end. 
 
 GOD HAS TAKEN AWAY MY CHILD 
 
 GOD has taken my child from me. 
 THE FRIEND: Say not so. 
 But Job said: The Lord gave, and the 
 Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of 
 the Lord. 
 
 THE FRIEND: We should take care not to mis- 
 use another man's words. Job found himself en- 
 gulfed in inexplicable misfortunes. Knowing that 
 everything is in God's hands, he preserved his 
 faith, and blessed Him also in the evil days. In 
 this he was right. But read the text again. Does 
 it say that God had decided to take away from 
 Job first his goods, then his children, and last of 
 all his health? Does it consider God as the author 
 of his misfortunes ? No. Behind everything were 
 the machinations of Satan. Could Job suspect 
 this? Evidently he was deceived. 
 But is there not some consolation in applying
 
 THE GATES OF DEATH 83 
 
 his words to one's own case? What refuge re- 
 mains, in the complexities of life, unless we con- 
 sider ourselves entirely in God's hands? Is it not 
 the last resource of the believer? 
 
 THE FRIEND: Assuredly: here we are of one 
 mind. It is well to know that in the end every- 
 thing leads back to God. But take care! You 
 go too far when you say with the assurance of 
 an eye-witness that God did this or that. To 
 speak with such authority we should need a range 
 of mind of which we fall far short. Can a man 
 put his thumb on the Silberhorn and his fore- 
 finger on the Davalaghiri? Yet to undertake it 
 would be far less rash than to think to compass 
 within the limits of the mind certain domains of 
 the divine activity apparently contradictory. Be- 
 lieve in the Father, in His love. It is the thing 
 that best satisfies at once both mind and heart. 
 Let no disordering of your life, no misfortune, no 
 disgrace, no heart-break, mean to you or even 
 suggest that the Father has forgotten you and 
 loves you no longer. Keep His face fixed upon 
 you, that face which consoles and reassures. 
 
 But if you see in Him a despoiler of children, 
 you change His face. His brow threatens, He
 
 84 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 becomes the despot who plays with our affections 
 and our destinies, and admits in return nothing 
 but silent obedience. 
 
 Here some good instinct guides us better than 
 words fallen into formulas. If your son is mur- 
 dered you do not say that God has killed him. 
 Or if he dies a victim of his own rashness, do you 
 attribute this to God? No, although God is some- 
 how back of it all. But if your son dies from ill- 
 ness, you say ordinarily that it is His will and that 
 He sent this evil. 
 
 f Did God organize life as we live it to-day? 
 
 , Did our hygiene form part of His creation ? 
 
 f Were our great cities in His plan? Do women 
 and children, stifling in unsanitary factories, down 
 the dark alleys and in the noisome courts of air- 
 less city quarters, suffer and die according to a 
 fixed law of God? Surely God is behind these 
 things also, and therein lies our hope of doing 
 away with them. God's spirit will lead us from 
 these sinks of corruption to the purity of the 
 heights. But if I could believe evil and wretched- 
 ness to be conformable to His will all my zeal for 
 attacking them would fail. 
 
 That a man should think of God as causing
 
 THE GATES OF DEATH 85 
 
 directly everything that happens, just as he him- 
 self forms and executes his own plans, is an in- 
 tolerable idea, subversive of all activity, trans- 
 forming the religious life into an utterly penal 
 existence. One can make no just estimate of the 
 anguish and tortures that such a conception of 
 religion has inflicted on the heart of man. From 
 the pit of what hell did Job cry out such words 
 as these ? " If I had called and he had answered 
 me; yet would I not believe that he had heark- 
 ened unto my voice. For he breaketh me with a 
 tempest, and multiplieth my wounds without cause. 
 
 . . Though I be perfect, he shall prove me 
 perverse. . . . He destroyeth the perfect and 
 the wicked. . . . He will mock at the trial of 
 the innocent. The earth is given into the hand 
 of the wicked; he veileth the faces of the judges 
 thereof; if it be not he, who then is it? " 
 
 How many other men have lived in the asphyxi- 
 ating furnace of like ideas; and these ideas are 
 so horrible that, in the face of certain forms of 
 evil, the dual conception of the world, in spite of 
 its terrors, appears to me more reassuring, more 
 conformable to our minds, and, above all, less 
 dubious than this impracticable tentative of ma-
 
 86 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 noeuvring with the first cause, as though it were 
 a force limited and understood. We pray with 
 more conviction, Deliver us from evil, when we 
 keep out of those blind alleys of the mind where 
 we are constrained to look upon God as the re- 
 sponsible author of it. There are propositions 
 which, brought together, form an explosive. 
 They cannot be confined in the same head with- 
 out causing an irruption. Men cannot support 
 the thought that God is at once in the innocent 
 man under persecution and the unjust judge who 
 condemns him. If it be He who is the sower of 
 bacilli and the shepherd of microbes, how shall 
 we invoke Him against sickness and death? For 
 my part I would rather say, " An enemy hath done 
 this." Otherwise one is in a fair way to go mad. 
 What then shall I say to myself in my afflic- 
 tion? How calm my own soul? 
 
 THE FRIEND: Say first that a misfortune has 
 come upon you, a great misfortune. For to lose 
 a beloved child is a misfortune, and to attempt to 
 deny it would be an unworthy sophism. And 
 then recall this word of the Psalmist: Many are 
 the afflictions of the righteous, but Jehovah deliv- 
 ereth him out of them all. Invoke God against
 
 THE GATES OF DEATH 87 
 
 the disorders of Nature and her brutalities. In- 
 voke Him against death; against all the powers 
 of destruction and discouragement. Cry: To my 
 aid, O God! behold the enemy! Do not say, 
 God has taken away my child. Say, rather: My 
 child has succumbed to a dreadful malady, but 
 neither the disease nor the death can snatch us 
 from the hand of God or disturb our place in His 
 plan. Then think that God is ready to strengthen 
 you, to calm you, to give back to you in spirit 
 what you have lost from the sight of the eyes. 
 The misfortune which has come to you should 
 bear fruit and contribute to your well-being. 
 Light and strength should issue out of this dark- 
 ness. Then think to yourself very simply, and 
 with absolute certitude, this: The Father makes 
 His own the sorrows of His children; He suffers 
 with me, He came with me under the rod. In 
 this way you may weep for your son, following 
 that leading of the heart from which it is always 
 disastrous to turn away. Know, poor father, that 
 The Father understands. Remain a man. Do 
 not violate your nature. Do not fear to offend 
 God by your grief. Do not perform the pro- 
 digious feat of finding bitter things sweet and
 
 88 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 misery happiness. Avoid what is inhuman and 
 monstrous and contrary to the light which God 
 Himself has given us and the sentiments He has 
 made legitimately ours. Let us keep common- 
 sense along with our faith. We need a God who 
 offers us life, not a being coldly, implacably 
 cruel, who crushes us without flinching, strikes us 
 down without a tremor, and yet demands that we 
 rejoice in our suffering. He is The Father. 
 It is not said often enough; I fear it never will 
 be. For it is not so much your misfortunes, poor, 
 suffering humanity, as your false gods that de- 
 stroy you ! 
 
 THE FRIEND: If only out of love for those it 
 has ravished from you, do not honor death by 
 assigning it too high a place surely not the first 
 in your heart and at your fireside. Ask hope 
 to come to you, and human tenderness, with faith. 
 Invite God to visit you, and all the friendly pow- 
 ers. Then those whom you weep will be with you.
 
 THE GATES OF DEATH 89 
 
 PASSIVE GRIEF 
 
 THE FRIEND: There is a passive suffering that 
 aggravates grief and contaminates it, just as a 
 neglected wound becomes mortified. Be on your 
 guard against it. Accept active suffering, which 
 is suffering transformed into a moral impetus. It 
 is not well that a sorrow should become the dom- 
 inant note in a life; paralysis or dementia must 
 result from it. Can one give over the government 
 of the house to childish tears, even though they 
 be not the tears of caprice? Disorder and de- 
 moralization would follow. Uncontrolled grief 
 does irreparable damage. It must be combated 
 like an evil. Whatever is without curb or law be- 
 comes inevitably an agent of destruction. Let us 
 face our griefs and put them in their place. 
 
 Work is an excellent counterpoise for grief, 
 but it does not of itself suffice. If you neglect, 
 or suppress, or smother your heart by plunging 
 into ceaseless activity you fail in your duty tow- 
 ard yourself. A grief has a right to our atten- 
 tion: we should give it its due, heed its lessons; 
 but we should find an element to counterbalance 
 it, to help maintain our equilibrium.
 
 90 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 What strength do I not get from the remem- 
 brance of my mother's courage under her many 
 trials! What would have become of her if she 
 had taken to her bed with her sorrows? She 
 would have died of melancholy. Grief without 
 work engenders legions of harmful thoughts. It 
 delivers us up to fears and dark presentiments 
 that are worse than any misfortune. If need be, 
 go work the roads, but do not stagnate in your 
 sorrow. If the dead could speak to us they would 
 give this . counsel. 
 
 Let us honor them in our accomplishment; and 
 let us mourn them on our feet, diligent about some 
 worthy business. 
 
 And remember that for those who give their 
 time up to hatreds or vanities the dead are twice 
 dead. Every day they pass farther into oblivion. 
 But living in fraternity, in the things of the 
 higher life, we draw nearer to all, the living and 
 the dead alike. 
 
 LET us prepare for that eternal meeting 
 which our wavering faith realizes but 
 imperfectly, by a life tending gradually 
 toward the higher Union.
 
 THE GATES OF DEATH 91 
 
 nl fln? |* the whole truth. WP alone 
 possesses it in its measureless compass. 
 As for us, we can only pray to be 
 
 brought nearer and nearer to its light, as close as 
 
 our eyes will bear. 
 
 THIS is a mysterious and truthful say- 
 ing of Christ's : " It is expedient for 
 you that I go away; for if I go not 
 away, the Comforter will not come unto you." 
 
 That we must lose in the flesh in order to pos- 
 sess verily in the spirit is a grievous truth estab- 
 lished by a thousand facts. 
 
 It is through his regret for the dear ones gone 
 from the sight of his eyes, through the going out 
 of his thoughts toward those he has lost, that man 
 has drawn most of his certitude about life beyond 
 this sensible world. Through the sacred cult of 
 remembrance he has come to look out upon a world 
 huge in its vastness, the existence of whose thresh- 
 old eveu, the man immersed in the visible does not 
 suspect.
 
 92 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 THE CHILD AND DEATH 
 
 THE FRIEND: We should not fear to speak of 
 death to our children while they are well, if the 
 subject arises of itself and unavoidably; but we 
 should accustom them to see in death a return to 
 God, and teach them to know its liberative side 
 rather than that aspect which inspires in men the 
 sentiments of a slave. Happy the child who, 
 through the discerning love of his parents, learns 
 early so to think of death. In its role as one of 
 the powers of destruction death has been given 
 an absolutely scandalous place in human thought, 
 religious thought included that is, an unnatural 
 and deformed kind of religious thought, directed 
 away from its clarifying source. The nobler 
 teachings of our sacred traditions ought to arm us 
 against the fear of dying ; but, alas ! who knows a 
 God that saves from death? Our God handles 
 death as Jupiter does his thunder-bolts: it is his 
 principal weapon. Too often have religious beliefs 
 cultivated the fear of death, assigning it a lead- 
 ing place among our motives for action. Fear is 
 a demoralizing force, a generator of craven sen- 
 timents. We poison our souls with it. If you
 
 THE GATES OF DEATH 93 
 
 love us, teach us to combat the fear of death with 
 faith in God: instead of reducing us to servitude, 
 free us ! 
 
 Nowhere else does the horrid wrong done by 
 terrorizing souls so clearly show itself as in the 
 critical moments of grave illness or great danger. 
 
 THE LAST HOUR 
 
 IN my last hour it shall be as God wills, if 
 only that grace remain in me which recom- 
 penses for all else. And yet certain deaths 
 which are beautiful make me envious. Why am I 
 so moved reading of this poor newsboy, killed while 
 he was crying his journal? 
 
 THE FRIEND: It is because he died at his post, 
 in the midst of his work. He recalls the courier 
 of Marathon who fell announcing the victory; he 
 recalls to each of us some obscure hero or heroine 
 toiling valiantly to the end through untold suf- 
 fering. Such lives electrify us. We should all 
 like to die in harness. But after all it doesn't 
 matter how we die, and, even if it did, we could 
 still have no choice. We may only ask to die 
 peacefully and courageously, accepting the suffer-
 
 94 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 ing and the weakness. Let us not give to the 
 thought of death the time that life demands. Lost 
 days make a poor pillow for slumber. 
 
 IMPRESSIONS OF EASTER 
 
 EASTE R is here, the feast of renewal. 
 For those who have IceptTsbme contact 
 with tradition, if only through early mem- 
 ories, such a celebration brings its own reflec- 
 tions. For others, at this particular moment of 
 the year, when in our climate the awakening of 
 nature is seen on all sides, similar impressions 
 come from other sources. To both classes the 
 grave question out of which come all others, the 
 question of life, offers itself in a guise more com- 
 pelling and more insinuating than its wont. 
 
 I shall give free vent to the feelings of my 
 heart. More than one sympathetic reader will be 
 with me in spirit. 
 
 My heart, whether it be touched by the grace 
 of spring or by that breath of eternity which the 
 festival of Easter symbolizes, is specially near to 
 those whose hope wavers or has gone out in suf- 
 fering and in weeping. For many, life is a great
 
 THE GATES OF DEATH 95 
 
 shadow, a long night. They move through it, 
 not knowing whence they come or whither they 
 go, staggering under blows whose meaning they 
 do not understand, bleeding from wounds whose 
 origin escapes them. And everything that brings 
 them face to face with the fact of existence stirs 
 in the depths of their being unutterable anguish. 
 Life, that nightmare which each day begins anew, 
 becomes more poignant with every springtide. 
 What do they want with us, these buds that swell 
 and burst, these flowers piercing the ground and 
 opening into bloom? Bird songs wake in the 
 wood, the air is full of the whir of wings, nests 
 are built and made ready for the brood. And 
 why is all this so? Is it not the same old error 
 over again? To what end save suffering and the 
 grave is this colossal and vain effort for being? 
 What is behind this inconceivable attempt? The 
 bee returning to the golden flower-cups, the spar- 
 row gleaning among the grass broken bits to 
 weave the house of her little ones do they bring 
 together aught but the proof of our irremediable 
 end? O Life! flower and bird possess you, and 
 know it not. If the morning smiles upon them, 
 they do not foresee the night. " They toil not,
 
 96 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 neither do they spin." That is much; but they 
 think not, neither do they search, nor doubt, nor 
 feel disquiet about their end. This is their peace. 
 Man knows nothing like it. To him belongs the 
 sad privilege of sums that add up to zero, of bal- 
 ance-sheets establishing a deficit. He has the 
 terrible faculty of sensing active destruction, even 
 in the seed. 
 
 He stumbles over the graves of children, over 
 grass-grown ways once full of life and movement, 
 over the cold marble that covers the vanquished 
 in the struggle for justice, for mercy, for liberty. 
 The most he knows of life is the pain of living. 
 Those whom the spring makes melancholy have 
 the greatest need of the Easter message. It 
 brings joy with it, but not the joy of beings who 
 flourish in the sunshine, in health, and prosperity. 
 It is a joy that has its source in the crucible of 
 pain. 
 
 EASTER is the oasis in the desert, the rose 
 on the thorn-bush. Easter is life issuing 
 from death, having first triumphed over 
 it. The beast dies, but has no conception of 
 death; man conceives it, and succeeds in turning
 
 THE GATES OF DEATH 97 
 
 it into life by entering it with all his faculties. 
 He quaffs it, savors it, exhausts its bitterness, and 
 at last consumes it. 
 
 The just man dies, no longer constrained there- 
 to, but willing it. Through love he gives himself, 
 casts himself into the gulf, and lo ! the gulf is 
 filled! So it is that from death comes light. He 
 is dead in despite of death. Let such as weep 
 over the old-time fatality and disaster turn tow- 
 ard this new fact. 
 
 Only in suffering, in willing sacrifice, and in 
 death transformed into action, does the higher life 
 appear. Elsewhere are the rudiments; here is the 
 finished science; elsewhere are the steps that 
 mount toward some far-off height; here is the 
 height itself. 
 
 "TT AM the way, the truth, and the life." 
 
 This is equivalent to saying, I am the 
 
 -^ way of the true life. To suffer, to 
 
 strive, to love, to believe; to take up the cross 
 
 and bear it hopefully; to renounce self, that is to 
 
 say, to renounce life for life: to sacrifice self, that 
 
 it may bring forth fruit herein is the secret, 
 
 human and holy, of true living. Herein is every-
 
 98 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 thing transformed. Instead of the outward show 
 transitory, already judged, hopelessly decrepit 
 and miserable of an existence which seems to us 
 an impotent effort to endure and to remain, we 
 possess ourselves of the spirit of life. The 
 prophet of old compassed this twofold experience 
 in a single cry: All flesh is grass and all the 
 goodliness thereof is as the flower of the fields; 
 . . . but the word of our God shall stand 
 forever. 
 
 THE path to these heights is long and 
 waste, but it is not solitary. Whoever 
 has done something more than simply 
 to be here and cling to existence, waiting till he 
 should be torn away from it in spite of himself, 
 has left along this way the best he had, to en- 
 courage those who follow. Easter is the day of 
 all who have sown themselves like grain in the 
 furrows of the future. There is more here than 
 one who was dead coming forth from a tomb; 
 there is a vast chain of life, conquered from the 
 grave, because given in love. All the world and 
 all human history trembles with renewed life, fil- 
 tered through the deep stratum of death, where
 
 THE GATES OF DEATH 99 
 
 no impure thing can pass. When this hopeless 
 age-old existence seems to grasp you and hold 
 you fast, it is there the ascent begins. From 
 every halting-place, from every impasse, a pos- 
 sible way leads toward the happy issue. The life- 
 giving spirit forms with any sort of situation, 
 even the most desperate, a combination capable of 
 bringing it to a definite result. 
 
 THERE are old-time superstitions, very 
 easily explained, which have transformed 
 " The Life to Come " into a simple 
 continuation of what seems to their votaries the 
 appointed human round a round they would pro- 
 long even beyond the stars. As in olden times a 
 man, if he were a great lord, might enter church 
 on horseback, so they look forward to entering 
 the banquet-halls of eternity with titles, arms, 
 and baggage, to find hierarchies still in vogue, 
 and to having the already ingrained satisfaction 
 of feeling themselves first, still ahead of them. 
 One might say in that case, " the sitting is con- 
 tinued." Those who have sometimes had enough 
 of the session have ceased to think it would gain
 
 100 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 by indefinite extension. But these are not unbe- 
 lievers; they are men who have directed their ex- 
 periments toward a higher end. 
 
 No, the fierce desire to keep a clutch on the 
 things of this world, which is the inspiration of 
 all human meanness and cruelty, could not guide 
 us toward that higher life whose meaning appears 
 in the more luminous moments of this one. It is 
 a desire that leads to disenchantment, and weighs 
 down our flight. We must learn to love life, not 
 for its own sake, as one loves a luscious fruit, 
 but as useful material. From the cross of Calvary 
 and the Garden of Gethsemane we learn that life 
 is the reward of a science which consists in know- 
 ing how to die. 
 
 If you do not learn to spell out the principles 
 of this science you will be condemned to wishing 
 to arrest the flight of time, to stem the torrent as 
 it rushes onward. You will undergo day by day 
 the torture of feeling yourself fall, without ever 
 having the power to seize in passing the branch 
 of safety that your hand grasped at. You will 
 grasp smoke that will vanish, and in the teeth of 
 your wisdom and prudent foresight every calcula- 
 tion you make will miscarry. From very fear of
 
 THE GATES OF DEATH 101 
 
 grazing them you will run your bark on all the 
 rocks you try to steer clear of. 
 
 Raise your eyes toward another ideal. Do not 
 take to shelter; walk not too warily; choose the 
 high hazard rather than the discredited way 
 pointed out by the fear of losing your life or 
 your chattels. Collect your forces and give your- 
 self with all your heart! Knowing joy and free- 
 dom, you will quit the role of trembler, in which 
 you are a prey to every ill-omened foreboding, 
 and join ranks with those who have lightened 
 baggage that they may march swiftly and un- 
 trammelled under the order: "Be not afraid, only 
 believe." 
 
 To these belong the world and the future. 
 Through the spirit which inspires them they see 
 in the dark, are warm in the cold, are rich in 
 what is beyond purchase. The victims of man's 
 justice are for them the great conquerors, and the 
 dead whom they love are alive. 
 
 If we could only celebrate Easter in this spirit, 
 how the dead would arise and the granite jaws 
 of those tombs be broken wherein we are held 
 fast by inertia, routine, untruth, the love of what 
 destroys us, and the time-honored formulas that
 
 102 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 our lips still repeat, though their flame has gone 
 out on the altar of our hearts! How our closed 
 and blinded eyes would open to look upon that 
 which offers peace ! 
 
 Man proclaims life perishable, because his mind 
 seizes upon the vanity within it. If he perceived 
 the value of the passing hour, the splendor of 
 the task ahead, the grain hidden in every human 
 husk, the use that he might make of what he has, 
 he would strike out the divine spark from the very 
 stones of the highway. 
 
 Ancient vestiges of a faith forever new, faint 
 old symbols of a mysterious hope, words of heal- 
 ing and of life, shake off the cerements in which 
 time has bound you and rise .up out of the ashes. 
 In our wretchedness we need your morning radi- 
 ance. You make us to remember our immortality. 
 Bear us up in the journey toward the splendid 
 goal in the distance. 
 
 And you, too, little flowers, that each spring- 
 time opens, be to us the angels of good tidings. 
 Say to those worn out in the fight that the issue 
 will be favorable, that there will never be an end 
 of love. Here in the shadow where we dwell be 
 witnesses to us of the eternal stars. Bring into
 
 THE GATES OF DEATH 103 
 
 darkened homes and darkened hearts the reflec- 
 tion of heaven's blue that dwells captive in your 
 corollas. 
 
 MY PEACE I GIVE UNTO YOU 
 
 FATHER, I believe in Thee, I trust Thee; 
 stay Thou with me. I do not ask Thee 
 to lift the veil. If always I know that 
 Thou art there, for life or for death, what do I 
 need beside? When I am very weary take me in 
 Thy arms and close them round me. Give peace 
 to those I love, and the courage to march on and 
 to fight.
 
 WITH THE YOUNG
 
 WITH THE YOUNG 
 
 YOUNG AND OLD 
 
 THE FRIEND: 
 
 WHY do you look so compassionately 
 on this young and joyful company? 
 I seem to see the movements of 
 pitiful fools. 
 
 THE FRIEND: What do you mean? 
 The world is full of misery and calamities. 
 Here, they are dying of famine; there, heroism 
 and freedom are no match for numbers; else- 
 where, massacre is rife, or the earth vomits flames 
 upon its inhabitants. Evil passions are let loose 
 among men and the future is dark. What have 
 these young people to hope for? The youths 
 will soon be sacrificed in unrighteous war; the 
 young girls will become wives ill-treated or neg- 
 lected, and mothers who, faded before the time 
 from griefs and cares,- will raise their young with 
 107
 
 108 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 pain and difficulty. Where are they who gayly 
 danced twenty years ago ? The wheels of life have 
 caught them and ground them down, and all their 
 joyous folly has taken wings. Over the wall of 
 yonder cemetery I see the crosses on graves dug 
 all too soon. How many of you who danced in 
 early days are lying there? It all makes me un- 
 utterably sad. You do not know how I suffer as 
 I watch this bright-eyed, careless crowd entering 
 upon life with a confidence doomed to the worst 
 disillusionment. 
 
 THE FRIEND: I understand you. Your pain is 
 not imaginary, and I share it; but what then? 
 Shall we propose to them to put on mourning in 
 anticipation of future woe, to lie down and wait 
 for the enemy's bullets, or for the development 
 of the diseases whose subtle beginnings are per- 
 haps already undermining their forces? Are we 
 able even to tell each of these striplings to what 
 to dedicate his future tears whether to prema- 
 ture death or to a lingering, solitary old age? 
 And suppose they should burden their hearts with 
 the presentiment of all misfortunes united, and 
 imagine themselves dead in advance, victims of all 
 the epidemics, a prey to all. the warring microbes ;
 
 WITH THE YOUNG 109 
 
 and suppose they should see themselves in their 
 future careers, betrayed, persecuted, slowly break- 
 ing under the stress of heartache what good 
 would it do them? Would the picture upon which 
 we had invited them to look inspire them to effort ? 
 I follow the drift of your remonstrance, but 
 my heart contracts with sorrow before this care- 
 less joy so soon to rush over unnumbered pitfalls. 
 THE FRIEND: There is grief which does only 
 harm, both to him who feels it and to others: I 
 fear yours is of that kind. It will never prevent 
 one of these far-away and unsuspected evils; all 
 it can do is to destroy the peace of the present. 
 To rejoice is an excellent thing. Your sadness 
 is a proof of distrust toward God Himself. The 
 tiny linnet that in spite of present dangers and 
 future tempests and winters, sits on its eggs, feeds 
 its little ones, and chants its loves from the frag- 
 ile bough, is nearer the truth than you. The 
 graveyard is never far away, I know, and sooner 
 or later everything in the visible world must end 
 there; but is it such a dreadful end of all things 
 to fall asleep some day under the watch of God? 
 I do not care even to speak of the luminous space 
 on which this dark hole that is the grave opens.
 
 110 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 The dead are not of -your opinion. They are 
 gracious toward misfortune; indulgent and clem- 
 ent toward laughing youth. The broken trunks 
 lying under the moss are a part of the forest, 
 and those who sleep are with us in heart. When 
 fresh and ringing voices celebrate life, anima- 
 tion, joy, the dead chant the bass and make the 
 harmony. Do you not love flowers? 
 I delight in them. I believe they have souls. 
 They tell us with ingenuous grace of things splen- 
 did and undreamt of. They are the little sisters 
 of the stars, and, like their elders, they shed 
 heavenly light along our dark ways. 
 
 THE FRIEND: But where are they lovelier than 
 on the mossy stumps of old oaks or on crumbling 
 walls? Do you know of anything more cheering 
 than this contrast between nodding swarms of 
 bell-flowers and wild pinks, and the wrecks and 
 ruins over which they clamber? Lay aside your 
 melancholy: the thoughts it inspires in you are of 
 doubtful quality. If your heart is like the crum- 
 bling ruin do not forbid the springtime to open 
 its buds there. Get into harmony with it. Do 
 better, if you can, by becoming a convert to joy. 
 The foolishness in this matter belongs to your
 
 WITH THE YOUNG 111 
 
 dark mood. You would be much less the fool if 
 you went among these children. A grown-up who 
 loves young people well enough to be young with 
 them is a man after my own mind. If your seri- 
 ous affairs leave you some leisure, there is no 
 better way of employing it. To smile at youth, 
 under your gray locks, with the traces of sorrow 
 on your brow, and to rejoice when it rejoices 
 such is the business of age as I understand it. 
 Life is obscure; you carry about the proofs of 
 its obscurity. But this is only one more reason 
 for flooding its morning with light. Love well 
 these young folk, and so far as you can, encour- 
 age them, comfort them, and illuminate them with 
 the inner light. There is in youth a vein of hope 
 that God Himself renews with each generation. 
 Take care not to breathe over this gracious and 
 fragile flower the breath of a false wisdom. 
 You should rather light again your torch at its 
 torch. If you know how to smile with them, they 
 will know how to be serious with you when the 
 hour comes to put into the heady wine of their 
 cup a little fresh water from the well of your 
 experience.
 
 112 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 ON GROWING OLD 
 
 IS it not sad to grow old? 
 THE FRIEND: Say rather that it is a very 
 difficult art, and one which few men have 
 ever acquired. But where is he who understands 
 his trade? Do the young know how to be young? 
 the rich to be rich? Graciously to bear health is 
 perhaps as rare as it is so to bear illness. Each 
 one dabbles in the business of others and gives 
 them advice. 
 
 To grow old is sad indeed, if what you want is 
 to hold back the receding years, to keep your 
 hair from growing white, your eyes from becom- 
 ing dim, and the wrinkles from chiselling their 
 way across your brow. But if from all these 
 vicissitudes to which life subjects you, you draw 
 a bit of wisdom, of profit, of goodness, to grow 
 old is to become free and large. One of the 
 most beautiful things in the world is an old per- 
 son who, made better by experience, more indul- 
 gent, more charitable, loves mankind in spite 
 of its wretchedness and adores youth without the 
 slightest tendency to mimic it. Such a person
 
 WITH THE YOUNG 113 
 
 is like an old Stradivarius whose tone has be- 
 come so sweet that its value is increased a hun- 
 dredfold, and it seems almost to have a soul. 
 
 UNEASY FATHERS 
 
 YOUTH is right hardy, nothing escapes 
 its revolutionary spirit. My big lads say 
 at table the most preposterous things; it 
 is an every-day matter to have them advance the 
 most subversive ideas, to their own delight and 
 my thorough discomfiture. What can I do to put 
 an end to it? 
 
 THE FRIEND: These lordly youths have the 
 temper of their age: see that you keep that of 
 your own. They are hot-headed: you must be 
 well-balanced and moderate. Why should you re- 
 strain their speech? Because they talk rank fool- 
 ishness, threatening to the peace of family life 
 and to established order? First of all, are you 
 quite sure that their ideas are always bad? Truth 
 itself can be offensive, and you know that it is 
 sometimes on the lips of babes. But if all they 
 say were foolishness, it is infinitely less danger- 
 ous said than thought and kept hidden. Keep
 
 114 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 them from talking! would you have them perish 
 from suppressed confidence? 
 
 You should be very careful about quelling their 
 exuberance. Let it have free vent under your 
 eyes. If a bomb explodes, don't cry out. Listen 
 and ponder. Get your wisdom in readiness to 
 serve their inexperience when, the fireworks once 
 let off, hours of calm reasonableness arrive. Do 
 not attempt to assail their position on the spot, 
 when they are transported with ardor and intox- 
 icated with the sound of their own voices. If 
 you do you will be overborne, like a straw in a 
 torrent. If you have patience, and know how to 
 detect the propitious moment, you shall cross the 
 torrent at a ford. There is in each of these 
 young fellows two persons: the one a radical, who 
 is often apparently most disrespectful and takes 
 pleasure in questioning whatever is accepted, and 
 contesting all recognized authority; the other, a 
 disciple, full of deference, who asks nothing bet- 
 ter than to follow a master. The radical is a dis- 
 turber of the peace, but he is necessary. His 
 function is to prevent the young from becoming 
 the chattels of the old. His bombs sometimes 
 break windows, but such misdeeds give us better
 
 WITH THE YOUNG 115 
 
 air to breathe. Let him accomplish his mission. 
 Watch him playing his part, ready to do battle for 
 whatever he presents as true. It is the best fash- 
 ion of contending against that which is false and 
 abnormal. Let him have full liberty to unpack 
 his arsenal, to expose its contents to the noontide, 
 to that good light of day in which everything 
 takes true form and proper place. So we shall 
 keep his confidence in us, which he would lose if 
 we rebuffed him and tyrannized over him. What 
 is more, our cordial fashion of treating the radical 
 will keep intact the good-will of the disciple, a 
 precious ally in his place, but faithful comrade 
 of the other, whose exile and disgrace he is ever 
 ready to share. 
 
 THE MOTHER'S SIDE 
 
 OUR daughters want to discuss everything 
 with us. It was different in our time; 
 we had more respect for our parents. 
 How can we avoid these painful clashes of opin- 
 ion, this hasty exchange of words that one after- 
 ward regrets, if only because it disturbs the fam- 
 ily quiet and destroys good understanding?
 
 116 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 THE FRIEND: It takes at least two to make an 
 argument. The dispute begins when the daugh- 
 ter replies to the mother by advancing a different 
 opinion. The mother thinks this is wrong, and 
 says so, and endeavors to lead her daughter upon 
 her own ground. The daughter defends her po- 
 sition, and there is no end in sight. 
 And yet one must not leave the last word to 
 an inexperienced child. 
 
 THE FRIEND: To have the last word is the 
 most passionate desire of youth. In fact it is a 
 mark of childishness. We should make no ac- 
 count of it, but try to set them a different example. 
 Let them have the last word, but let this word 
 be at the beginning of the discussion. Set clearly 
 forth your own idea, so that there shall be no mis- 
 understanding. This done, you may set your mind 
 at rest. Useless words always make mischief. 
 Then the child has the better of it. 
 
 THE FRIEND: Not if we know how to be firm. 
 One word to the point, backed by an unruffled 
 spirit and calm resolution, is worth more than a 
 flood of words, hasty and vehement, whose in- 
 tended meaning, however true, becomes disfigured 
 and distorted in the heat of discussion. You
 
 WITH THE YOUNG 117 
 
 spoke just now of other times, of our own moth- 
 ers. Formerly mothers were more serene, and by 
 this very difference their ascendency was surer. 
 Resistance on the part of their children made 
 them suffer, but they kept cool, and did not con- 
 descend to dispute with them. Their method was 
 preferable to ours. Children should be allowed 
 to make their ideas known; we should listen, medi- 
 tate upon their objections, and draw fair conclu- 
 sions: but we should never measure ourselves with 
 them in words; if we do they will prove the 
 stronger, since they are the less hampered with 
 reason. Discussion cultivates obstinacy. When 
 we dispute we run the risk of uttering sentiments 
 that are mixed up with our own personal prej- 
 udices. If we reflect and say nothing, the oppos- 
 ing ideas have a better chance of meeting at a 
 common point later on. 
 
 A PROPHET OF JOY 
 
 THE FRIEND: True joy is a great liberator, a 
 marvellous alembic wherein all impurity is elim- 
 inated. But its secret is concealed from us as 
 surely as are the riddles of the universe. Our
 
 118 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 hearts are like silent harps. What we need is a 
 prophet of true joy. I picture him to myself as 
 old, his face seamed with the scars of life, his 
 heart torn by the thorns of the way wherein he 
 met its rude encounters. His joy would not be 
 the joy of life's morning, pure and sparkling be- 
 cause it has as yet known no storms; it would be 
 an inner serenity, proved in the crucible, some- 
 thing like the golden glow on beautiful evenings 
 after the heat of the day. His smile, unlike that 
 of a man of a complacent mood, could not be read 
 as a return of thanks to the kindly fates that had 
 tossed him the coin of privilege in passing; it 
 would be a sign of spiritual victory over the 
 powers that oppress. Such a man would be com- 
 forting, encouraging, beneficent for all. He would 
 re-illumine in each one the poor, snuffed-out, and 
 smoking torch of joy. From the most intricate 
 destinies he would unravel a luminous meaning. 
 He would teach youth a virile joy, the joy of 
 brave and militant hearts, freed from unworthy 
 fears and the love of unworthy pleasures. He 
 would give them somewhat of his own aspiration, 
 his own force, his own indomitable energy, and 
 his own faith, gentle as a child's. Under his
 
 WITH THE YOUNG 119 
 
 fingers the human soul would vibrate unknown 
 chords, golden and crystalline, that would sound 
 for us the song of unfathomed love and death- 
 less hope.
 
 GIRD UP THY LOINS!
 
 Man is very small and very great. He is great to God- 
 ward, on the side of his destiny ; and here he knows nothing 
 of himself, sets himself at naught. He is small on his own 
 side, in his role, his stage glory ; and it is here that he takes, 
 himself most seriously. He is as the fool who chose to live 
 in the kennel of his own castle.
 
 GIRD UP THY LOINS ! 
 
 RUST! 
 
 THE FRIEND : 
 
 IRON rusts and furniture becomes covered 
 with dust. Whoever has a piece of appa- 
 ratus, a delicate instrument, or a marble to 
 care for must fear this slow invasion of oxides 
 and dust. 
 
 There are spiritual as well as material oxides. 
 Rust lies in wait for the entire man. The limbs 
 are subject to ankylosis, the mind to routine, the 
 will to an imperceptible enfeebling of its powers. 
 No one is safe unless he is constantly on guard. 
 We must rouse ourselves, furbish up our accoutre- 
 ments and exercise our faculties. Man can never 
 flatter himself with being equipped for more than 
 one day at a time. On the morrow he must begin 
 123
 
 124 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 all over again. If indolence has charms for him, 
 so much the worse; it is the forerunner of all de- 
 cadence. If I did not sound the alarm to your 
 laggard will, I should be your enemy. 
 
 Consider the men who are neglectful of them- 
 selves, the peoples that rest on their laurels, the 
 churches that rest on their doctrines. Their death- 
 sentence is written by the finger of destiny in the 
 dust that covers them. The future is to the val- 
 orous who let no breath dim the shining surface 
 of their armor. 
 
 Relax not your vigilance, my son ! Every hand 
 that bestirs you is the hand of a friend. Death to 
 indolence! Death to rust! 
 
 GOOD-HUMOR 
 
 THE FRIEND: The bad humor into which things 
 plunge us is a proof of their victory over us. 
 They force us to wear the gray garb of convicts. 
 
 Preserve your good-humor. It is a signal of 
 defeat for all the enemies of the soul. It is hom- 
 age rendered God from the midst of uncertainties. 
 It is among the highest and purest acts of faith.
 
 GIRD UP THY LOINS ! 125 
 
 CHAINS 
 
 OH ! these chains ! 
 THE FRIEND: Plunge them into the 
 fire, into the quenchless fire of love. 
 Forge them with a lusty hammer on the anvil of 
 patience. So shall your chains become arms. 
 What was a shackle shall become a force. 
 
 OFF GUARD 
 
 THE FRIEND: Our defencelessness in the face 
 of sorrow, and our lack of power to resist the 
 seduction of pleasure, both arise from the same 
 weakness. Yesterday you were drowned in grief; 
 to-day, the intoxication of the senses transports 
 you. On the surface all is changed, and you are 
 no longer what you were. And yet you have only 
 changed masters. Under your new livery beats 
 your old heart of a slave. 
 
 BE PREPARED! 
 
 THE FRIEND: Be ever ready! The unexpected 
 is on your track. Meet it under arms, and if it 
 overtakes you give it for countersign the words:
 
 126 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 Here am I ! Your chief concern is not to be 
 happy or unhappy, well or ill, but always ready. 
 Opportunity should never knock at your door to 
 find it bolted. Through the changeful phases of 
 life we are the executors of a will that is greater 
 than our will, and that by this very fact sustains 
 us. Give yourselves, with a good heart, to its 
 service, and let it work through you. Keep your 
 powder dry and your sword burnished! 
 
 THE HIGH HAZARD 
 
 THE FRIEND: Fear hinders us from knowing 
 happiness, for it is in the very undertakings it 
 discourages that the fine and strong emotions of 
 great-hearted men are developed. What a beauti- 
 ful, sane, and emancipated life it is to move on 
 calmly in portentous times, occupied solely with 
 the care of making for the goal. How many 
 humiliating miseries does that spirit escape which 
 knows how to accept manfully the high hazard!
 
 GIRD UP THY LOINS ! 127 
 
 FEAR 
 
 IF I might have a wish I would ask that fear 
 be taken from me, and that peace reign in 
 my heart. 
 
 THE FRIEND: You could wish for nothing bet- 
 ter or rarer. 
 
 That false security which sleeps with both ears 
 under cover, and fancies itself in possession of 
 " the price of peace," is common enough. The 
 majority of men are satisfied with that which has 
 only the appearance of surety. They never know 
 that peace of heart which comes from the assur- 
 ance that one may confide in the will which is at 
 the foundation of things, and accord it boundless 
 credit. From this fundamental distrust, that great 
 misfortune fear is born. Fear is the queen of 
 evils. Death has been called the king of terrors, 
 but without the terror where would the king be? 
 All his royalty comes from fear. And it is from 
 fear, too, that man's tyranny holds its power, and 
 that unhappiness, calamity, in fact, all evil men- 
 aces us. 
 
 Menace lives on bold borrowings; fear is its
 
 128 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 silent partner. If the lender shut his strong-box, 
 menace is no better than a worthless check. 
 
 Most men are the slaves of fear. If they were 
 only conscious of their slavery they might win 
 their liberty, but unfortunately they are so eaten 
 up with fear as to be no longer even sensible of 
 their thraldom. 
 
 I have sometimes tried to draw a parallel be- 
 tween the fears of a savage and those of civil- 
 ized man. Such a comparison should throw light 
 on what we call progress. The savage has cer- 
 tain rudimentary fears. Beasts of prey dispute 
 with him the freedom of the forest, he has to 
 fear their depredations. Other savages covet his 
 game, his weapons, his wife, the bear's skin that 
 protects him from the cold. Tempest, lightning, 
 flood, and frost he may well dread. Neverthe- 
 less, all told, the savage who, like the birds, is 
 always on guard, with ear alert and eye watchful, 
 like the birds also, knows peace and tranquillity 
 of mind. His fears, which are simple in nature, 
 are likewise small in number. 
 
 The civilized man, on the other hand, with his 
 extraordinary means of guaranty, protection, shel- 
 ter, should be more reposeful in mind than the
 
 GIRD UP THY LOINS ! 129 
 
 savage. So many laws watch over him, so many 
 institutions uphold his rights. In comparison with 
 the lot of the savage, he enjoys exceptional privi- 
 leges: in his place the savage would be entirely 
 reassured. 'And yet the civilized man's fears are 
 more numerous as well as more refined than those 
 of his ancestor of the forest. 
 
 If he is rich, what hasn't he to dread? In 
 vain he locks up his deeds; an income will dimin- 
 ish inside a strong-box without a hand opening it. 
 To-day, you shut up a fortune in it. To-morrow, 
 because some speculators have conspired at the 
 ends of the earth, you take out worthless paper. 
 The civilized man, if he is conservative, is deliv- 
 ered over to a nightmare of terrors. He trem- 
 bles for the present social order, which he sees 
 bombarded on all sides. In what tranquil retreat 
 can he hide himself? the innovators are every- 
 where! He fears the fall of the venerable edi- 
 fice of the creeds upon the unsubstantial roofs of 
 human institutions whose ramshackle shelters cover 
 walls full of breaches and lizards. That fear of 
 the skies' falling, which our Gaelic forefathers 
 found so foolish, he experiences and drains to the 
 dregs. He fears to see the heavens depart as a
 
 130 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 scroll rolled together, the stars pale and fall into 
 chaos with the dead gods. 
 
 The civilized man senses danger from so far 
 that he makes himself miserable about catas- 
 trophes to happen after his death, ff not after 
 the disappearance of the human race. He feels 
 the torture of one who sees the sun grow cold, 
 the earth lose its fruitfulness, the mines give up 
 all their coal from their heart. He has learned 
 so many things that his knowledge tracks and 
 pursues him like hounds on the scent. In each 
 drop of water myriads of microbes lie in wait for 
 him; he breathes them, he eats them, he drinks 
 them, he nourishes them with his blood. True, he 
 makes war on them with antiseptics, but he knows 
 only too well that this affords but imperfect pro- 
 tection. One cannot close the gates on an enemy 
 for which the least little fissure is a national high- 
 way and a microscopic corner a vast continent. 
 
 Does the civilized man cultivate letters? Dur- 
 ing his studies he fears the examination. After- 
 ward, he trembles before his superiors. Who can 
 measure the terrors of a subordinate in office, his 
 fear to displease this man or that, to satisfy both 
 of whom, of course, is impossible, since their re-
 
 GIRD UP THY LOINS ! 131 
 
 quirements are contrary? Looked at in one way, 
 civilization is the hotbed of disquiet and agitation 
 and unrest. There is no more repose or respite 
 for anybody. Wherever she reigns mistress there 
 is no longer day or night. She obscures the sun- 
 light by her smoke, her buildings, and her dust. 
 She profanes the night with her lighting appa- 
 ratus. From all this there results a somnam- 
 bulistic sort of mentality, confused, impatient, 
 fearful, excited to the limit, and disordered still 
 further by the use of strong liquors, the reading 
 of sensational literature, and the incessant appeal 
 to the passions made by the exploiters and leaders 
 of opinion. As for these last, they know their 
 public, and know, too, that it could never get 
 along without the fears that consume it. Like 
 children at night, clamoring for their nurses 
 to tell them ghost stories which are going to keep 
 them from sleep, we call for our newspapers to 
 frighten us. It is by fear, under one form or an- 
 other, that each party seeks to gain its ends. 
 Individuals, too, fear one another and attribute 
 to one another the darkest designs. In the 
 obscurity favorable to foolish imaginings every- 
 body appears to everybody else a monster. Our
 
 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 politics are the politics of fear. Our morality has 
 no more powerful spring. Fear is also the key- 
 stone of religion. The agitation of spectres in 
 various toggery is the method of most of those 
 who appeal to the people to convert them or to 
 make them better. So our progress in terror is 
 incessant. We have mounted so high in the art 
 of inducing and feeling fear that the moment has 
 come when we may hope to descend. 
 
 How convert ourselves from fear? Shall we 
 imitate the savage? We should lose our time in 
 regrets for what can never come back to us. But 
 have we no other means for recovering the peace 
 of the heart? Yes, for to recognize an evil is to 
 have taken a step toward some day being deliv- 
 ered from it. Let us try to gain confidence and 
 serenity. Fear deceives itself and us. To be 
 afraid is to be wrong. Our wisdom, made up of 
 innumerable fears, merits rather the name of folly, 
 based as it is on the belief in a universe deliv- 
 ered over to chance and anarchy. He is the wise 
 man who among all the voices that reach his ears 
 comes gradually to distinguish those which say to 
 him, fear nothing; for truth should always be 
 reassuring. The flower that opens in peace, the
 
 GIRD UP THY LOINS ! 133 
 
 bird that sings its song, the star that follows its 
 course, the man who follows his conscience, are in 
 accord with the source of being and repose in it. 
 Peace envelops them and by them is communi- 
 cated to him who knows how to understand their 
 significance. 
 
 To flee that which increases fear, to search for 
 that which brings forth and nourishes a lofty 
 confidence this is the rule for him to follow who 
 is weary of trembling. 
 
 VEXATIONS 
 
 THE FRIEND: We should not complain of trials 
 and vexations; it is the unpleasant things that 
 educate us. Doubtless a regular and easy life 
 would be the best condition for progress, had not 
 man need of being roused to action; but the nat- 
 ures that can get on without a spur are rare. We 
 may question whether they exist. 
 
 That which pushes us ahead almost always has 
 its source without. The inward force is unques- 
 tionably the more important, but will it operate 
 without a preliminary contraction and expansion? 
 The most energetic action is often reaction, and
 
 134 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 we owe a great part of the conquests we make to 
 the necessities that do us violence. 
 
 More than one man, reviewing his life, has said 
 to himself how much precious leisure have I had 
 at various times, and what indifferent use did I 
 make of it ! 
 
 We work not because we have the time to work, 
 but because life constrains us to it. An able man, 
 forced to action, will do more in his leisure hours 
 than a man of leisure in his whole day. Activity 
 once aroused has a tendency to increase, one en- 
 terprise provokes and sustains another; but when 
 life is all leisure there is never time for anything. 
 It is good to battle, to suffer, to be thrown over- 
 board and left to save ourselves. What we so lose 
 in comfort we gain in energy, and energy is the 
 most precious of man's weapons. 
 
 SLAVERY 
 
 I AM quite willing to struggle, but why these 
 shackles? I am ready to climb the steep^ 
 but let this burden be taken from my 
 shoulders. 
 
 THE FRIEND: You would not be a man if you
 
 GIRD UP THY LOINS ! 135 
 
 did not experience this desire, but would you be 
 like other men if it were fulfilled? Burdens, 
 great and small, have an accidental character in 
 life, but the accident, by its regular recurrence, 
 approaches the permanent. Who, pray, is exempt 
 from servitude? When great troubles depart from 
 us, little miseries take their place. We pass our 
 time in changing burdens. Demand of each of 
 them its secret. Do not detain them needlessly, 
 but profit by them in their passage. If they come 
 to stay, make them tractable and turn them to 
 some service. Let them cultivate your mind or 
 shine your shoes, according to their capabilities. 
 It takes embarrassments to initiate us into life, 
 and above all to make us understand the embar- 
 rassments of others. Every yoke is a revelation 
 to him who bears it worthily. All misery, high 
 or low, is a messenger to tell us of our brothers 
 whose misery is the same as ours. It offers us 
 the key to some mystery: let us profit by the key. 
 Open the closed door with .it. What you learn 
 will be the prize for what you have suffered. Do 
 not pity yourself for being tied down to vulgar 
 duties unworthy of a man of parts, for having to 
 attend to annoying details, or listen to the chatter
 
 136 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 of idle persons. If you are forced to sweep the 
 street every morning, sweep heartily, and frater- 
 nize with those who sweep beside you. It shall 
 be your morning prayer, your sursum corda of 
 brotherhood. Afterward, when occasion comes for 
 talking with your friends or taking up your pen, 
 your thought will have that stamp of authenticity 
 which is conferred by direct experience, and by 
 nothing else. It is to the broom that you will 
 owe it. 
 
 DISCONTENT 
 
 I AM discontented, passed master of discon- 
 tent. 
 THE FRIEND: Do you know why? For 
 if you do, it is only half an evil. There are nice 
 distinctions in the bad. The worst discontent is 
 that which is ignorant of its cause. 
 I'm not so bad as that. I know right well why 
 I am discontented, and you will see that I have 
 abundant reason. I gave warnings, they were not 
 heard; I signalled danger, it was rushed into; I 
 gave excellent advice to the young, which would 
 have kept them out of snares; my counsels were 
 disdained.
 
 GIRD UP THY LOINS ! 137 
 
 And now everything I feared has come to pass. 
 It is a sad thing to preach to the deaf, to display 
 evidence before the blind. When I reflect that 
 all they have brought upon themselves in their 
 folly might have been avoided, I am indignant. 
 
 And who is to suffer the consequence? Why, 
 I am! As surely as they scorned my advice, so 
 surely do they now count on me. They plunged 
 into the water with premeditation, almost derid- 
 ing me when I cried danger: now that they are 
 drowning they call me to the rescue. And must 
 I plunge in after them after people of that sort? 
 
 THE FRIEND: I admit that you have good rea- 
 son for discontent. Nevertheless you may be 
 wrong. 
 I think it would be hard to prove it. 
 
 THE FRIEND: And yet it is simple. There 
 may be excellent reasons for doing a thing, and 
 still better ones for not doing it. Your discon- 
 tent is justifiable could not be more so. What 
 has happened is simply disgusting. But here, as 
 under all circumstances, the rule to follow is this 
 do the best you can. 
 
 In the present case, is your just indignation 
 the most useful thing you can offer, and will the
 
 138 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 greatest good come of it of which you are capable 
 under the circumstances? 
 
 That is a question I haven't asked myself. 
 But I believe we have a right to feel indignation. 
 It is a relief. 
 
 THE FRIEND: Beyond question. And you have 
 full liberty to exercise this right; so much can- 
 not be disputed. But to renounce it might be 
 more worthy of you than to use it. First of all, 
 does discontent make you happy? Is it a state 
 of mind whose charms are worth succumbing to? 
 By no means. When I am discontented I am 
 unhappy. Everything seems to be out of tune; 
 every face looks awry. Moreover, I am disgusted 
 generally, and feel that I never want to under- 
 take anything again. 
 
 THE FRIEND: That's an abominable state of 
 mind; why inflict it on yourself? 
 It is too much for me. 
 
 THE FRIEND: So I see. But however irresist- 
 ible these movements within us prove themselves 
 should we not at least hate them for the harm 
 they do us? And why yield to them so com- 
 placently if they surprise us? 
 Perhaps you would have me content.
 
 GIRD UP THY LOINS ! 139 
 
 THE FRIEND: How could you be, without false- 
 hood? Be frank, above all things. I simply wish 
 to preserve you from the danger of submersion. 
 A black tide mounts against your spirit. An 
 assault is planned against your good will. The 
 enemy gets in under shelter of a just indignation. 
 Be on guard! Close in the ranks of all the 
 friendly powers. Raise your eyes to the heights. 
 Think of things that give you heart. Get out of 
 this atmosphere where, if you stay, you will 
 stifle. 
 
 And if evils that you foresaw have come, if 
 grave mistakes have been made by people duly 
 warned, try to make good the damage, even 
 though it has come through scorn of your advice. 
 Don't go about repeating these words of narrow 
 wisdom : " I told you so ! " Keep from such 
 commonplaces. If the havoc is reparable, repair 
 it; if not, regret it, but without bitterness. Go 
 about your business manfully, and don't lose time 
 in fuming. If they have made a mess of things, 
 do you go quietly about some matter for the 
 future: plant a tree, sow a seed. That is worth 
 more than the most magisterial discontent. 
 
 Above all, may God preserve you from becom-
 
 140 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 ing a professional malcontent: such people are 
 pests. 
 
 And if you must be discontented from time to 
 time to keep that faculty of the soul in working 
 order, be discontented with yourself. That at 
 least may have its good side, if only you do not 
 make it your daily bread. 
 
 RESIGNATION 
 
 WHAT is the right way to feel about 
 resignation ? 
 THE FRIEND: Let us consider the 
 subject. If we mean by this word a disposition 
 to passivity, an inclination to endure everything, 
 I should like to warn you against it as a vice. 
 To determine in advance upon submission, upon 
 an acceptance of whatever events may choose to 
 impose or the will of men decree, is not worthy 
 of us. Are you a tool in the hands of another, 
 dough for him to mould according to his whim? 
 No, you are somebody, and you ought to count. 
 Even in passing over you, superior forces are 
 conscious that you are there they have not the 
 power to annihilate you. Then be what you are,
 
 GIRD UP THY LOINS ! 141 
 
 a sentient energy, feeling yourself bound to act 
 for the right. Guard with care that passion for 
 the better which dwells within you. Dare affirm 
 what you love, what you know to be honest. Do 
 not fear to speak your convictions, and, if neces- 
 sary, to cry them aloud. Know that in some 
 hours to resign one's self to silence is a coward's 
 part. Rouse yourself to rebellion, and, if the 
 oppression increases, let your resistance increase 
 with it openly. 
 
 Resignation has been wronged by those who 
 mask under its name indolence of mind, indiffer- 
 ence, the love of peace at any price, a perpetual 
 capitulation before obstacles and threats, the pas- 
 sive humor which never resents being called good- 
 nature. This is all falsehood, to excuse souls 
 without stamina, and to leave an open road for 
 tyranny. An end to such resignation ! it is often 
 oh, the irony of it ! nothing else than resigna- 
 tion to the sufferings of others. There should be 
 cried from the house-tops an insurrection of the 
 mind against all unfriendly powers. We should 
 never be content with the status quo, under pre- 
 text that it is peace, order, respected convention- 
 ality; for it is a lap of luxury to the satisfied and
 
 THE BETTER WAY. 
 
 a crown of thorns for the oppressed. Resigna- 
 tion to the status quo is injustice perpetuated, 
 rights converted into ordinances, social iniquity 
 raised to the place of social order, old errors made 
 sacred in formulas and imposed as truths. 
 
 Who dares affirm that Christianity teaches such 
 a resignation? He who does is far from being 
 a follower of its founder. Jesus was an ever- 
 ready antagonist, a bow always strung, indomi- 
 table, fired with a great hope of some day van- 
 quishing the evil and transforming the earth into 
 the Kingdom of God. He Himself compared His 
 spirit to leaven, to the most active and energetic 
 force in the world, never at rest till it has leav- 
 ened the lump. And His spirit never made a 
 compromise with anybody or anything. Inviolable, 
 incorruptible, He did not lower His sublime ideal 
 to the level of the egoisms and pretensions of a 
 world resigned to its own meanness. No effort 
 seemed to Him too great, no combat too rude; no 
 suffering ever made Him flinch. Since His en- 
 trance into history He has had a part in all the 
 uprisings for liberty, fraternity, and light. The 
 good has always been accomplished by those who 
 could not resign themselves to a state of things
 
 GIRD UP THY LOINS ! 143 
 
 offensive to their conscience. Let us be found 
 among their number. 
 
 They are the only people who understand true 
 resignation. Let us see in what it consists. It 
 consists in accepting the conditions of life and 
 making the best of them. The rebellious do not 
 accept life; they curse and revile it, and pass 
 their time in recriminations. They lose life as 
 well as the too resigned. 
 
 True resignation takes life as it is for its in- 
 evitable point of departure, but begins forthwith 
 to transform it. I would compare existence, with 
 its sufferings and difficulties, to a field in need 
 of clearing. The passive man lies down in it. 
 The rebellious rage to and fro. The rest of 
 us accept it to expect another would be a vain 
 delusion but we attack it at once with pick and 
 plough. 
 
 And yet, are there not things we cannot change ? 
 The death of those we love, for example. 
 
 THE FRIEND: No. These facts do not exist. 
 Even death is transformable. Every calamity, 
 every pain, every bereavement is an unploughed 
 field. That which in your darkened mind you 
 call fatality is ground to cultivate. Our hope of
 
 144 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 overcoming has no limits. Everything depends 
 upon the form it takes in the mind. Even death 
 may there be transformed into life, and fatality 
 may become an element of freedom. We must 
 labor. 
 
 See this rock, bare, arid; it nourishes no life. 
 But to-morrow, thanks to a spore brought by 
 the wind, a lichen, almost microscopic, grows 
 upon it. In its dust some moss, taking root, lives 
 on the air and the rain and the particles the rock 
 gives up to it. After the moss, a grain springs 
 up, and vegetations die, one above another, leav- 
 ing after them that which shall nourish new ones. 
 Some day a forest will rise from this rock; the 
 plants will have created the earth. This is what 
 man does with fatality. Not a stone but nour- 
 ishes him in the end. 
 
 Then let us resign ourselves to the rigor of the 
 soil, to the rain and the wind; but let us till, till 
 always, till everywhere, and even the desert shall 
 blossom as the rose.
 
 GIRD UP THY LOINS ! 145 
 
 GOD'S WILL 
 
 HAPPY is he who can say with simplicity, 
 " Thy will be done ! " 
 THE FRIEND: Yes, for he rests in the 
 eternal, and the agitations of the passing days no 
 longer trouble his peace. He has anchored to the 
 rock. However, let us take care not to deceive 
 ourselves. To some people it is whatsoever is 
 that is the will of God. It is enough that a thing 
 happens for them to see in it His finger. He has 
 willed it, at least He has permitted it, otherwise 
 it would not be. Here is enough to bring us 
 to stagnation, to immorality, to horrible doubts. 
 But there is no denying that the reasoning is 
 simple and apparently irrefutable. It must be 
 judged rather by its fruits. 
 
 A country governs itself through the co-opera- 
 tion of its citizens, and enjoys perfect liberty. 
 Backed by a conspiracy, a tyrant undertakes the 
 overthrow of its native institutions. If the citi- 
 zens are on guard, his project falls through; but 
 if it happens, on the contrary, to succeed, will this 
 new government be legitimate from the fact of 
 its having tried usurpation successfully? Could
 
 146 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 one justly apply to it this saying, so easy to ex- 
 ploit All authority comes from God? Yesterday 
 it was the duty of all honest men to resist it, to- 
 day they must acclaim its victories. What upright 
 conscience does not rise against such pretensions? 
 It is time to follow conscience and oppose them. 
 
 You have built you a house by dint of economy, 
 and live there in peace with your children. The 
 fire of heaven falls on it and consumes it; what 
 will you do? 
 
 There are countries where such dwellings are 
 never rebuilt; not because their site has once 
 proved dangerous, but because the fire of heaven 
 seems a direct manifestation of the divine will. 
 To raise again what it has struck down seems an 
 act of revolt against God. 
 
 When Franklin conceived the lightning-rod his 
 invention was viewed askance in certain religious 
 quarters. Was not this man attempting to wrest 
 from God one of His principal weapons of chas- 
 tisement? Following out this reasoning, whose 
 form is far from being absurd or impious, we 
 should be forced to consider as sacrilege the wa- 
 tering of gardens or the irrigation of fields. If 
 it pleases God to refuse rain to the earth, by what
 
 GIRD UP THY LOINS ! 147 
 
 right do you make good the deprivation through 
 your industry? 
 
 In the same class of ideas, to drain a marsh, 
 pierce a tunnel, turn aside the course of a river, 
 are all infractions of the divine order. 
 
 Some people use no medicine and disapprove of 
 the physician's art. Others have their sick treated, 
 but, if they die, see in their death an accomplish- 
 ment of the will of God. If such is the case, why 
 do you nurse the sick at all? Is it not a fashion 
 of impeding the divine will? If that will is that 
 they be healed, they will be, even without care; 
 if that will is that they die, all your care will 
 come to naught. What objections can be made 
 to this reasoning? Absolutely none. Why, then, 
 has it never prevailed, even among men most re- 
 signed to the will of God? Because, while it may 
 seem to be just, it is in reality sacrilegious. No 
 one will succeed in raising fatalism to a rule of 
 life. If such theories are true, why, pray, have 
 you either will or intelligence? 
 
 It is the will of God that the good shall pre- 
 vail. For us this is salvation. Here you have 
 absolute truth. But it is a perilous undertaking 
 to try to interpret this will in detail and to use
 
 148 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 your own finger to point out the finger of God. 
 Grave error and cruel injustice result inevitably 
 from such pretension. It is especially hateful 
 when exercised upon the destiny of others. To 
 say that God has smitten this man, chastised that 
 nation; to interpret the divine intentions hidden 
 behind the events of history, as journalists inter- 
 pret the will of sovereigns and statesmen through 
 what appears in their measures what a work of 
 pride and folly on the part of the creature! How 
 well the prophet spoke who put into the mouth 
 of God this declaration, so significant of man's 
 humility " My thoughts are not your thoughts." 
 According to this we are absolutely incapable 
 of knowing the will of God. 
 
 THE FRIEND: Not so, but He has charged no- 
 body with explaining to us His plan in detail. 
 The key to the world and to human destiny is 
 too colossal for man to lift. Is it not enough 
 to know that God makes all things work together 
 for our good, even the evil our enemies do us con- 
 trary to His will? It is given to no one to step 
 outside of the universe and to organize a crea- 
 tion within creation. The poet says, " Even the 
 freest bird is caged within a climate."
 
 GIRD UP THY LOINS ! 149 
 
 The most wicked of men, the one in most abso- 
 lute revolt against humanity and against God, 
 lives and dies in the bosom of the eternal laws. 
 He succeeds in contributing to the equilibrium 
 which he tries to destroy, just as the liar by his 
 craft only gathers fagots for the day of enlight- 
 enment. Yet none could permit himself to say 
 that the liar lies in the service of God and by His 
 decree. No, he lies on his own account; but in 
 spite of himself he falls upon an addition which 
 results in his own downfall and the triumph of 
 the truth. 
 Sum up, then, my proper line of conduct. 
 
 THE FRIEND: Here it is. You are a cabin-boy 
 on board a vast ship, of whose very dimensions you 
 are ignorant. But you have your orders to execute 
 at your post. Act, under all circumstances, ac- 
 cording to the best light you have, and loyally. 
 Then you will surely be in the line pointed out by 
 Him at the helm. The ship is stanch, the Captain 
 good. You may trust them. No real evil can 
 happen to you or yours. The rudest storm-burst 
 is but an incident of the passage. The will which 
 guides us, and against which nothing shall pre- 
 vail, is that not one of us should perish. Even
 
 150 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 the hairs of our head are numbered. Labor and 
 strive in the sweat of your brow, and then lean 
 on the Eternal. And if sometimes you must say 
 with tears, Thy will be done, because you are 
 wounded and your heart is torn, you will not say 
 it as one overcome by grief and resigned to its 
 domination, but as the vanquished of to-day, sure 
 of future victory. 
 
 PRAYER 
 
 OGOD, my Father, save me from this 
 blind riddle of fatality ! Let not my 
 soul wear itself out in its strife against 
 the incomprehensible, the incoherent, the brutal, 
 the injustice of man and of things. Fill my heart 
 with the light that shows me Thy face. Give me 
 Thy peace, though I struggle in chaos. Make me 
 know that discord is in my ears alone, confusion 
 in the smallness of my vision. Higher up, the 
 harmony appears. Save me from the disorder of 
 my thought.
 
 GIRD UP THY LOINS ! 151 
 
 THE MASTERY OF IMPRESSIONS 
 
 THE FRIEND: One of your misfortunes is to 
 identify yourself completely with the impression 
 of the moment. 
 
 Is not that rather a source of strength, and 
 does not sincerity demand it? 
 
 THE FRIEND: There is no question but what it 
 is a sign of strength to vibrate with every con- 
 tact and to render faithfully and vigorously the 
 impressions you get: it is one of the conditions 
 of healthy life. Only those who feel deeply and 
 express their feeling with whole-souled directness 
 have force and are able to communicate it. 
 Then what would you have of me? When I 
 weep, I do not hide my tears; when I laugh, I 
 laugh heartily. I do not offer sympathy in whis- 
 pers, or show indignation in gloves. You find 
 fault with this? Such a judgment surprises me. 
 Did I not learn from you to speak without dis- 
 simulation, to do everything in the light of day? 
 Would you approve of me unless I offered myself 
 zealously and as I am? if I hid myself in reserves 
 and half-tones and hesitations? Would you clasp
 
 152 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 my hand if I offered it with the air of half with- 
 holding it? 
 
 THE FRIEND: We are quite of a mind there. 
 I do not ask you to dissemble. I merely ask you 
 to keep yourself in hand. If you are the slave 
 of your impressions, even your sincerity may harm 
 you. We should certainly neither ignore our im- 
 pressions nor do what we do as though we did it 
 not. This would be unnatural, not sane and right. 
 But it is quite another thing to be one with each 
 passing notion, to give ourselves over to it com- 
 pletely. If you would be just to your fellows, 
 govern your impressions, be master of yourself. 
 Remember that you are prone to error; remember 
 it especially if the impression you get brings 
 with it an unfavorable judgment. Has not ex- 
 perience taught you that contrary opinions often 
 follow one another? Nothing else has such mo- 
 bility as impressions, especially where they are 
 vivid. What result should you expect from aban- 
 doning yourself by turns and without restraint or 
 limit to contradictory sentiments? It would be 
 altogether incoherent, and what you call sincerity 
 would have served but to make you an enigma to 
 others. Control yourself, reflect, don't go head-
 
 GIRD UP THY LOINS ! 153 
 
 long into things; that is to be wanting in sincerity 
 no less than in wisdom. A trifling distrust of 
 one's self is part of the one as of the other. But 
 I confess that I was thinking of none of these 
 things when I offered my friendly criticism. It 
 was your reply that led to these reflections. What 
 concerns me with reference to the vividness of 
 your impressions is this : You follow all too easily 
 the dark suggestions of life and events; before 
 the sad and deplorable facts that confront you 
 your sight grows troubled. A cold, dark mist 
 enters your soul, and it seems to you that all is 
 lost because the sun is hidden and the familiar 
 outlines of things are changed. Confused, un- 
 done, you suffer a nameless martyrdom. The 
 cloud above you threatens to extinguish your hope. 
 This is all wrong, and must be remedied. Learn 
 to control your impressions, to keep them in place. 
 Shall all the light God has revealed to you be 
 blotted out by an hour of eclipse? Will you 
 give such credit to your impressions that it 
 suffices for the last. one to be dark, to destroy .all 
 the^rest? Shall your soul be as the surface of 
 water, that shows only the wake of the last ship? 
 You should not suffer this, but aspire to some- 
 thing better.
 
 154 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 You say this to me? I already suffer cruelly 
 from this ascendancy of passing moods. Every 
 clear-cut reality makes its impression so deep on 
 the sensitive ground of my being that for an hour 
 I am conscious of nothing else. And in an hour 
 one may commit a foolish deed, surrender to de- 
 spair, neglect a duty, or give way to a weakness. 
 There are days when I feel the world crumbling 
 round me. As the messengers of evil followed 
 one another before the face of Job, so unhappy 
 experiences, erroneous opinions, events wherein 
 the wrong triumphs, knock successively at the 
 doors of my soul, and in no time I am a prey to 
 their evil tidings. It is a malady. Though in 
 the midst of practical difficulties I often seem to 
 be encouraged and sustained in proportion to their 
 greatness, to the same degree inversely I find my- 
 self gradually growing more and more powerless 
 to react against this disposition toward pessimism. 
 I have come to think of men of equable mind as 
 heroes. 
 
 THE FRIEND: They are not always heroes. 
 Sometimes they are merely thick-skinned. You 
 cannot have their disposition, or change your own. 
 First understand yourself better, then rely more
 
 GIRD UP THY LOINS ! 155 
 
 upon God. Remember that if your impressions 
 of the moment are dark, their value is only rela- 
 tive, and that it is very limited. Do not let them 
 blot out the sun. They are only fragments of 
 fog-clouds trailing by. The darkness you see is 
 but a mote in the infinite sunshine. 
 
 LISTEN NOT TO THINE OWN COUNSEL 
 
 PREOCCUPATION with self becomes in 
 the end a slavery. The cultivation of self, 
 which is the cultivation of our vulnerable 
 surface, complicates both living and dying. To 
 be free from self is to live really, live largely, 
 capable of enjoying all things, because dependent 
 upon none. Heavens ! what an encumbrance is 
 that personage, " Myself," to us even more than 
 to others ! Erlose uns von dem Selbstiibel! 
 
 Know thyself, but hearken not to thyself! Go 
 ahead, and consult not thy liking! Monsieur is 
 not disposed? Let him go on just the same. 
 The disposition will come as he proceeds.
 
 156 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 MECHANICAL CONFESSION 
 
 THE FRIEND: I consider these formulas where- 
 in one accuses himself wholesale of all imagi- 
 nable sins, to be dangerous to the inner life. 
 Why? May we not hope to profit by this pain- 
 ful retrospect of our moral misery? 
 
 THE FRIEND: If it is a true retrospect, yes. 
 Yet even so, nothing must be exaggerated. The 
 accent must be put on the side of encouragement. 
 We should lift man by inspiring confidence in 
 his higher self, and not plunge him again and 
 again into his uncleanness, on the pretext of 
 sanctifying him. 
 
 Let us take our lesson from Jesus. He knew 
 our errors; but His methods were more optimistic. 
 When He says " go, and sin no more," we feel 
 that He believes us capable of it. 
 
 But these plenary avowals inspire me with only 
 moderate confidence. With a little practice you 
 come to repeat them without quitting the com- 
 fortable attitude of the soul of a just man hard- 
 ened. 
 
 If, to these devotees of all-around confession, 
 proclaiming themselves, in theory, monsters be-
 
 GIRD UP THY LOINS! 157 
 
 fore God, you point out a practical defect, a fresh 
 stain, see how they will receive you. It is a fact 
 of common observation that the people among 
 whom the general corruption of humanity is most 
 readily admitted and taught, are also the most 
 sensitive when there is question of acknowledg- 
 ing a simple error, a fault, a mere peccadillo. 
 Humility does not consist in accusing one's self 
 of the gravest generalities, but in acknowledging 
 one's little delinquencies. In this case I fear that 
 the general does wrong to the specific. 
 
 THE CRITERION 
 
 THE FRIEND: Do not conclude that a man is 
 modest because he lowers his eyes before eulogy: 
 nothing is more common, easier, or more fallacious. 
 
 Observe, rather, whether he holds his head 
 high before just criticism. You might apply the 
 rule to yourself. How do you bear blame? This 
 is the key to the whole matter. The people whose 
 modesty stands the test are rare.
 
 158 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 SURPRISES 
 
 LIFE surprises us at every turn. In the 
 ardor of action, in the quick succession 
 of events, one finds that he has said or 
 done things not justified by the best recognized 
 principles. What a humiliation! I am shame- 
 faced at the thought. 
 
 THE FRIEND: You would be wrong if you took 
 these inconsistencies lightly. Nothing is more 
 humiliating than to find our spontaneous move- 
 ments conflicting with our ideal. To make up 
 our minds to be moderate, equable, broad-minded, 
 free from petty vanities, and then to surprise our- 
 selves in the act of injustice, intolerance, vulgar 
 egotism or sensuality, is painful testimony to our 
 weakness. To aspire to a life noble and true, 
 and yet to feel ourselves hopelessly intractable 
 how can we be resigned to this without abdica- 
 tion? 
 
 The pain which we experience seems to me 
 justifiable. Up to a certain point it does us 
 honor. But it must be real sorrow at being 
 found wanting, unjust, weak, or wicked, and not
 
 GIRD UP THY LOINS .' 159 
 
 wounded pride. The best sentiments are exposed 
 to the worst counterfeits. 
 
 But even so, do not abandon yourself to grief 
 over your sins. You should smart under this 
 grief, not habituate yourself to it. A lingering 
 remorse is a further victory for evil. Accept 
 yourself as you are, and go bravely about better- 
 ing yourself then your very lapses become a 
 force, and to have erred may serve as an en- 
 lightenment. 
 
 A good conscience is an aid to peaceful sleep, 
 and nothing is more desirable. But if the con- 
 sciousness of having failed keeps us awake, pricks 
 us to better deeds, fires us with the wish to re- 
 pair and compensate, is not that good also? 
 
 The faults which teach us how to live are 
 preferable to a sterile uprightness full of self- 
 satisfaction.
 
 160 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 SIMPLICITY 
 
 Hid from the wise and prudent, revealed unto babes. 
 
 I LOVE simplicity. 
 THE FRIEND: You are a thousand times 
 right: it is the treasure of treasures. But 
 be on guard against its imitations ! The humble 
 are often eaten up with pride, and the trickery of 
 the simple sometimes outwits the most prudent. 
 Even in what one might call the simple walks of 
 life nothing is so rare as genuine simplicity. 
 Why should the pure spring nourish a poison- 
 ous plant and shelter a noisome reptile under its 
 crystal waters? 
 
 THE FRIEND: This is life. The intensest 
 light causes the blackest shadow. You remem- 
 ber Christ's saying about the things hidden from 
 the wise and revealed unto babes. A false sim- 
 plicity may transform this splendid and truthful 
 declaration into a source of error and imposture. 
 How, pray? 
 
 THE FRIEND: Behind such a statement misun- 
 derstood, the pretensions of ignorance defy knowl- 
 edge, and gross superstition laughs at authentic 
 faith. There are circumstances in which those
 
 GIRD UP THY LOINS ! 161 
 
 who have learned nothing have more assurance 
 than those who have taken the pains to study. 
 Though such a pretension appears crazy, not only 
 has it always existed, it has a fast hold on life, 
 and unbounded credit. We hear men talk of the 
 bankruptcy of Science. Ignorance is proof to all 
 such suggestions. Her affairs are always flour- 
 ishing. 
 
 We shall always see the charlatan and the 
 quack making pretensions in the face of medical 
 science, men with no idea of the origin and com- 
 position of the Bible defying those who have 
 toiled piously over the questions of criticism. 
 Incompetence in any matter gives, a confident 
 carriage unknown to discreet and modest learn- 
 ing. And if reserve and the fear of making 
 errors are a sign of weakness in the eyes of the 
 crowd, self-sufficiency is its symbol of power. 
 
 Hidden from the wise, revealed to babes ! An 
 odious parody of this thought is furnished daily 
 wherever children think themselves wiser than 
 their elders. Recall the authoritative speech of 
 certain young people at table, and how their 
 parents listen, mute with admiration if affection 
 blinds them, dismayed if their sight is clear.
 
 162 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 Heaven preserve us from such simplicity of 
 mind and from such children ! Are these men 
 simple? These others children? On the contrary, 
 they are all vainglorious, puffed up with puerile 
 pretensions. 
 
 The experienced and competent man of patient 
 research, a questioner of facts, who gives his life 
 to informing himself, is the truly humble per- 
 son. He never pretends to have a special gift 
 of knowledge. And it is from knowing how to 
 become a child again, from recognizing his igno- 
 rance, from diligence in patient labor, that he has 
 been able to lift a corner of the veil and learn 
 something. 
 
 THE FRIEND: None the less there remains 
 truth of the first order in this saying: Hidden 
 from the wise and prudent, revealed to babes. 
 First, there is a disposition of mind which does 
 not admit of profit or enlightenment. This I 
 should call the closed mind. In this category 
 are all those, however clear-sighted and intelli- 
 gent, who are men of systems and creeds, sec- 
 tarians beset with party spirit and prejudice. 
 They have nothing to learn; they know it all. 
 They do not search for truth, they possess it;
 
 GIRD UP THY LOINS! 163 
 
 they are its authorized trustees: they offer it, ex- 
 port it, but no longer import it. They only are 
 the true, the pure, the believing, the intelligent. 
 Therefore nothing can enter their minds here- 
 after. Obdurate, incorrigible, incapable of amend- 
 ing or of retrieving their errors, they perish armed 
 in the triple mail of their self-sufficiency. All 
 arbitrary claims of authority, all religions and 
 philosophic dogmatisms, are here included. They 
 are the despair of whoever toils to establish any 
 good thing outside of the officially recognized. 
 Every pioneer of the future finds them in his way. 
 There is no exaggerated pessimism in this com- 
 parison, however sharply its rigor gives us pause: 
 "Verily I say unto you, that the publicans and the 
 harlots go into the kingdom of God before you." 
 
 Have not the promoters of fresh scientific ideas 
 established the fact and tinctured with what bit- 
 terness that minds as yet untrained are more ac- 
 cessible to new truths than those occupied, en- 
 cumbered, glutted with fixed ideas? 
 
 To escape this danger requires strict daily self- 
 examination. It is the danger of dying in pov- 
 erty from overestimating our wealth. But now let 
 us turn to a sort of reverse of this; and I believe
 
 164 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 nothing is more essential to moral development and 
 to man's saneness than a clear conception of it. 
 Hidden from the wise, revealed to babes. 
 
 By instinct, by grace, by right of birth, by sim- 
 ple initiative, and sometimes without suspecting it, 
 we are the possessors of immense wealth, that 
 through too much reflection and analysis and the 
 rage for dissection and dialectics is lost to us. Not 
 to recognize this fact, or to forget it, is one of the 
 greatest misfortunes of life. 
 
 I have sometimes had a sense of this danger. I 
 fear it is one of the special evils of our own time. 
 
 THE FRIEND: The first condition of success 
 in battle is acquaintance with the enemy. Fore- 
 warned is forearmed. We take pains to learn, and 
 that is right and meritorious. The child is moved 
 by a happy curiosity, and this curiosity must be 
 kept awake. If well trained, it becomes in the man 
 thirst for knowledge, mother of all the conquests 
 of intelligence. 
 
 But if man as a result of toiling to know, were 
 to find that he had unlearned what he knew already, 
 he would suffer an irreparable loss, and he would 
 have good cause to regret his former childlike as- 
 surance. Acquire knowledge, use the light you
 
 GIRD UP THY LOINS ! 165 
 
 have; but do not stifle the child within you that 
 is, the confident, spontaneous, sincere being, whose 
 life of infinite riches is nourished through hidden 
 contact with the Source. "Through wisdom they 
 have come to be fools." 
 
 Simple and upright souls receive this idea 
 sooner than men cultivated to the point of over- 
 refinement and artificiality. For these doctrinaires, 
 things that are clear have become obscure. Jur- 
 ists who through excess of legal knowledge no 
 longer perceive justice; bewildered theologians, 
 who have pressed out the divine in the herbarium 
 of their subtleties; philosophers swallowed up in 
 the quicksands of scepticism, who end by ques- 
 tioning their own existence; moralists who have so 
 lost their bearings that they no longer distinguish 
 the right from the left in the face of these phe- 
 nomena of man's aberration, the saying of Jesus 
 reasserts itself. It was for such cases that it was 
 spoken. 
 
 It is the simple souls that see most clearly at the 
 four corners where we question our route. Com- 
 mon-sense in reasoning, integrity of life, true elo- 
 quence, the highest faculty in art, even the secret 
 of genius itself all these are in simplicity. And
 
 166 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 we may affirm that the supreme simplicity is that 
 of souls of broad comprehension who have searched, 
 thought, striven and had the power to remain chil- 
 dren, to become children again, to join to the con- 
 quests of the man the patrimony of freshness, in- 
 genuousness and sweet good faith that makes the 
 charm of the child. In comparison with these, the 
 sages of the world are put to confusion. 
 
 DON'T 
 
 THE FRIEND: Don't say, what can a word do? 
 It takes so little to help a soul. 
 Don't say, it was only a word. 
 It takes so little to hurt a soul. 
 To block the wagon going down hill, to prop the 
 wagon going up, needs only a pebble. 
 
 PATIENCE 
 
 THE FRIEND: I will teach you patience for 
 every-day use. It is possible to keep calm in the 
 midst of all disturbances. 
 
 Do you know the painful result of holding the 
 rein too long on your indignation? You restrain
 
 GIRD UP THY LOINS ! 167 
 
 yourself, control yourself, but you consume your- 
 self within. The waters gradually rise, and all at 
 once the dike bursts, and the flood is worse than if 
 there had been no dike. 
 
 THE FRIEND : Do not stop there ; this is merely 
 accidental to your novitiate. You will pass that 
 stage. For the novice, patience is an effort that 
 either wearies or excites him; he is patient against 
 his bent. When once we have made the necessary 
 advance, we are patient by our new nature, and pa- 
 tience becomes repose. 
 
 I long for this deep peace of the heart, but who 
 has it, whence does it come? 
 
 THE FRIEND: It comes from God, through the 
 sons of great love and deep trust. 
 And where are these? 
 
 THE FRIEND: Wherever a seed of eternal life 
 has sprung up and blossomed in a soul. I shall 
 approach the matter not as the advocate of a sys- 
 tem, holding that one medium alone can foster 
 them, but as an observer who has seen them living 
 almost everywhere, under wide differences of lati- 
 tude, of color and of creed. These men have under- 
 gone a transformation that has set everything to 
 rights within them. They have come to see clearly
 
 168 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 what matters, what is worth while, and are no 
 longer embarrassed by the rest. They have aban- 
 doned the lower self, the worst enemy of us all, to 
 abide with the higher self, where life consists in 
 loving. They were slaves; they have become free. 
 They were tremblers ; they are stout of heart. They 
 no longer spend their time in waiting or in appre- 
 hension; they are fast at their moorings. But no 
 established formulas saved them from the void of 
 fruitless days given over to the anxieties that make 
 up our misfortunes. A ray of soft light has fallen 
 into their souls of light so rich that a reflection 
 of it is left there forever. They have drunk at the 
 spring which quenches all thirst, and the desire to 
 drink at that which men dispute among themselves, 
 is forever lost. They have ceased to fear what the 
 crowd views with dismay, or to fix their hearts on 
 things perishable, and peace has flooded their souls, 
 bringing patience. They are serene, because they 
 know that all man needs has come to abide with 
 them. 
 
 These men do not resemble one another; each 
 is a new creation. Nevertheless, there is some- 
 thing common to them all. They have the gift of 
 pacifying other men. People seldom dispute in 
 their presence, and where they go, bad feeling
 
 GIRD UP THY LOINS ! 169 
 
 hides away. What is more, they respect the human 
 soul. It is not their business to vanquish, to 
 proselyte, to control. Yet by some inner force and 
 without constraint, hearts are turned toward them 
 as plants toward the sun. In them is fulfilled this 
 saying from the Mount: Blessed are the meek, for 
 they shall inherit the earth. 
 
 A WISH 
 
 THE FRIEND: For the good of those who live 
 with you, as well as for your own, I make this wish 
 for you : The disposition of a good soldier, warm- 
 hearted, cool-headed. After the battle, won or lost, 
 if he is unharmed he has his well-earned rest, then 
 furbishes up his arms and goes again afield; if he 
 is wounded, he takes care of himself and dreams 
 of going. If he falls, he leaves to others a gal- 
 lant example : at thought of him their courage burns 
 anew. 
 
 If only I might be a soldier like that ! I would 
 begin each day with a ringing song. That should 
 be my morning prayer, and the faintest hearts, 
 hearing it, would grow strong again. O God, is not 
 this life, happy life, true life, in spite of all its 
 miseries ?
 
 FORERUNNERS
 
 " Get thee out of thy country, and from thy kindred, 
 . . . unto a land that I will show thee." 
 
 Follow orders ; plough and sow, but do not ask why. Thou 
 mayest well pose the question, but art not at the level of the 
 answer. One alone knows why, and that One loves thee : let it 
 suffice.
 
 FORERUNNERS 
 
 SPEAK OUT! 
 THE FRIEND : 
 
 GO to them and speak out. . . . 
 I would that I might, but you ask 
 the impossible : these things are not to 
 be spoken of. 
 
 THE FRIEND : What do you mean when you say 
 a thing is not to be spoken of? I don't felici- 
 tate you on the expression. In some circles such 
 a declaration is final ; yet among the very same peo- 
 ple lying is perfectly proper, while to act against 
 conscience is the sign of suppleness of mind and 
 betrays an emancipated spirit. The society of 
 which I speak may be thus characterized: it wears 
 clothes made to order, but contents itself with 
 ready-made ideas. It would be better to have your 
 ideas fit you, and content yourself with ready-made 
 173
 
 174 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 clothes. Is what I ask you to do just? is there 
 some necessity for your speaking, some courage or 
 frankness in it? That is the question. If the 
 thing is still " not to be spoken of," you may 
 perhaps find in the formula itself, a new and 
 adequate motive for charging your memory with 
 it. 
 
 nr 
 
 BY WHAT RIGHT? 
 
 HE critic asks: "By what right do you 
 
 do this?" How shall I answer him? 
 -*~ THE FRIEND: Do not distress your- 
 
 self on his account. Perhaps there must be critics 
 also. "Es muss auch solche Kauze geben," Goethe 
 has said of another and a very malicious person. 
 The critic is the policeman of thought, and could 
 we get along without the police ? I grant you that 
 his hand is heavy, and his usual weapon a club. 
 To his mind every free-lance is a vagabond. He 
 would put an injunction on inspiration itself, if its 
 wings carried it beyond the regulations. But do 
 not trouble yourself about the critic. If you find it 
 convenient, answer him; but don't imagine that he 
 will listen to you. Answer him thus: "By what
 
 FORERUNNERS 175 
 
 right do I do this? By the right of the blade of 
 grass to become a torch under the rays of morning ; 
 by the right of the brook to murmur, of oaks to roar 
 in the tempest, of the pebble to fall, and of the 
 wing to soar upward." If this does not content 
 him, send him to ask the breeze for its papers, the 
 hurricane for its passport. 
 
 BEFORE THE BATTLE 
 
 IT will be a hard battle; and we must see at 
 least that we are out in full force. 
 THE FRIEND: What are we going to fight 
 for, sacks of rice and bags of gold? 
 No, we are going to fight for right, for truth, 
 for peace and liberty. 
 
 THE FRIEND: Then why look to our numbers? 
 When it is a matter of using violence, the number 
 is the great thing, and it is never large enough. It 
 is after the battle, when the danger is once past, 
 that the difficulty begins. The question then pre- 
 sents itself of how to make enduring what has 
 been established by force; how, by familiarizing 
 it, to transform iniquity into justice, untruth into 
 truth, spoliation into lawful possession. Colossal
 
 176 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 task ! No armed host is equal to it : it has always 
 to be done over again. 
 
 In battling for the right, the war is waged under 
 quite different conditions. If you have compan- 
 ions, so much the better, but if you have none do 
 not complain. One voice suffices to disclose an im- 
 posture, or to announce the sunrise. If this voice 
 is silent, the stones will cry out ; if it is raised, they 
 echo it! 
 
 DARE TO BE! 
 
 (F&ix Pecaut) 
 
 HOW difficult it is to keep our bearings in 
 the midst of criticism and attack, espe- 
 cially when we ourselves are afraid of 
 going wrong! If our assailants were unenlight- 
 ened and ill-intentioned, we should have but the 
 misfortune of being attacked unjustly or misunder- 
 stood. But what a trial to find ourselves opposed 
 by people of repute, by brave hearts and clear 
 heads ! The honesty of my antagonists impresses 
 me. I feel the force of their arguments. Some- 
 times I wish they were entirely in the right, so that 
 I might surrender my arms to them.
 
 FORERUNNERS 177 
 
 THE FRIEND: Listen! The linnet sings its 
 song, the rose gives out its fragrance : have you 
 observed that the lark has renounced its melody 
 or the pink changed its array, in order to become 
 like these? Follow their example and you will 
 come to understand that no one has a right to con- 
 tend against you, or you to resist him. Man's duty 
 to each of his fellows is to let him manifest him- 
 self through what is most individual in him, in or- 
 der to realize the greatest utility for the whole. 
 Show your own colors, sound your own note; it is 
 precisely for this that you are here. Stand firm, 
 do your duty ; be yourself and be true true, above 
 all, in your thought, and in the expression you give 
 it in word or action. Keep your veneration for the 
 stores of tradition, your attachment to the past, 
 but flee as the plague all empty conventions, dead 
 things that bring death with them. Keep out of 
 the ruts of life, where the strongest forces get stuck 
 in the mud; the ruts of thought, which turn you 
 aside from the straight way. To be yourself, to be 
 sincere, give out your own authentic thought this 
 is your salvation. But who, pray, is simple and 
 undisguised? Who dares to be? Who has dis- 
 covered that the truth will save him that it is all-
 
 178 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 beautiful, all-powerful? Life stirs in the seed of 
 the future which would come forth, but that the 
 weight of untruth crushes it back. Each follows 
 his own short-sighted wisdom, his own distorted 
 view of what is to his interest; each follows the 
 mirage of illusory greatness. And all the time, 
 but one thing is needful to make us truly greater, 
 and that is to be a witness, a willing sacrifice, to 
 that truth which saves alive all those who die for 
 it. Let no one intimidate you; trace your furrow 
 in peace. Neither say: "Those who come after 
 us will be better and stronger than we; they will 
 be younger men, men of a newer age, our sons 
 perhaps." Does this concern you? It is bad enough 
 to put off till to-morrow, but it is still worse to 
 relegate to the future that which belongs to the 
 present. This is the way of the bad citizen toward 
 his own city and the city of the future. How could 
 the flower appear, if the bud were not formed in 
 time? And dost thou, obscure germ of what the 
 future should unfold, find thyself too humble to 
 dare accomplish thy task? If the day does not 
 the day's work, how shall the future be brought 
 forth ? It will perish in the bud. 
 
 Take courage ! It is by the splendor of the light
 
 FORERUNNERS 179 
 
 within that the world's pioneers live, and not by 
 the splendor of their fame or their achievements. 
 They should walk by faith. A voice has called 
 them and they should answer: "Here we are!" 
 Let them follow their orders and be deaf to all 
 comment. Doubtless the sower of the future, hum- 
 ble laborer that he is, has the right to ask himself, 
 "Who am I, that I should accomplish this thing?" 
 But a greater than he inspires the sower, and re- 
 plies: "Fear not, for I am with thee." The world 
 is full of mysteries, history is full of enigmas. 
 The spirit bloweth where it listeth. What is that 
 to you? Let it work within you. It makes a man 
 capable of deeds that surpass his farthest reach. 
 
 DISCUSSIONS 
 
 THESE wretched disputes wear me out and 
 sadden me; and yet, how advance the 
 truth except by measuring ourselves with 
 our adversaries, refuting their arguments, and 
 pushing them into the last ditch? 
 
 THE FRIEND: Frequent discussion is a great loss 
 of time. Walk, if you would prove that there is 
 such a thing as movement, and others will follow
 
 180 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 you. If you attempt to show them its existence by 
 dialectics, a more subtle mind than yours may prove 
 by sophism that it has none. I have seen a lot of 
 discussions in my day. At their close, the van- 
 quisher triumphs, and the other, the vanquished, 
 goes away, put to confusion, but strengthened in his 
 idea. If good reasons are wanting, obstinacy sup- 
 ports him. 
 
 As to the onlookers, they talk of the tilt as though 
 it were a duel with swords. They take sides, but 
 the ground of the dispute concerns them little. 
 All they care about is to come out ahead, to have 
 their champion carry the day. To what does this 
 lead? It makes them worse than before. Mean- 
 while, where is the truth? She has covered her 
 face and turned aside to weep. 
 
 The sure method of making one's convictions 
 profitable to one's fellow-men is by living up to 
 them, seeing that they bear fruit. Our words 
 should be only commentaries on our acts. There 
 are two current forms of propaganda. One is to 
 instil our doctrines into some, and to brand them 
 with the mark of the herd to which we belong; 
 the other is to keep up a guerilla warfare on the 
 ideas of others, till they succumb from sheer weari-
 
 FORERUNNERS 181 
 
 ness. In the first, ideas serve as a bridle to guide 
 minds and hold them in check; in the second, they 
 are weapons with which we transfix our neighbor 
 or beat him down. If the rare good fortune of 
 having an idea has befallen you, what a pity to 
 employ it in such a business! How much greater 
 the profit to all concerned, if you let its light 
 shine forth through your way of living and in the 
 active kindness and the self-surrender that makes 
 a man free ! 
 
 In fine, don't argue. 
 
 FALSE GODS 
 
 THERE are those whose god is always on 
 the side of the strongest. When fortune 
 deserts one camp, he abandons it for an- 
 other. This god must be rich, for he sides against 
 the poor, and to demonstrate his majesty, he crushes 
 the weak. In clashes of interest, he is found among 
 the more crafty ; in conflicts of opinion or creed, he 
 is with the authorities; and when an innocent man 
 gets worsted, he approves, through deference to 
 established rule, the sentence that undoes him. 
 He is the god of diplomats, of conquerors, of
 
 182 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 vanquishers, of spoilers, of churchmen. He is the 
 god of the status quo. He apportions the earth; 
 he is the god of influence and place. He is mind- 
 ful of his adorers, aids them to advance in the 
 world, and makes them, moreover, on. very ad- 
 vantageous conditions, brilliant promises for the 
 future life. 
 
 THE FRIEND: Put no trust in this god, what- 
 ever patents of nobility his champions display. Do 
 not let yourself be intimidated by his thunder- 
 bolts. Prick the bubble of his impostures, brave 
 his wrath, and laugh his hatred to scorn. When 
 he calls you, flee from him; flee from him, for he 
 is a liar, he takes what is not his, and his hands 
 are stained with blood. A word judges him and 
 unseats him from the throne he has usurped: 
 This god is not a fair dealer. 
 
 REJOICE IN THE VANQUISHED 
 
 I AM a child of my age; but though I love it 
 with all my heart, it is very perplexing. Its 
 science establishes by the law of selection 
 the pre-eminence of the strongest ; it very seriously 
 establishes the principle that it is meet and right
 
 FORERUNNERS 183 
 
 for certain beings to disappear. But its heart is 
 tender toward the vanquished; it has a horror of 
 violence ; it deems it base to be found on the side of 
 the strong hand. How escape from this contradic- 
 tion? 
 
 THE FRIEND: Rejoice in the vanquished; they 
 are more interesting than the victors. Victory is 
 hideously proud. The best man and the best cause 
 degenerate through victory. There is a fatality in 
 triumph: the day of a man's glory is his judgment 
 day, and no sooner has he set foot in the high places 
 of dominion than his acts begin to deteriorate in 
 the eyes of the Spirit. Beaten to earth, the most 
 odious cause becomes, in a way, sympathetic; 
 triumphant, the most engaging cause becomes sud- 
 denly ugly, with an ugliness before unknown. The 
 gold is transmuted into lead. 
 
 Rejoice in the vanquished; give your heart to the 
 outraged and persecuted; be on the side of the 
 anvil and not of the hammer. 
 
 How atrocious the divinity that manifests itself 
 against the humble, the feeble, the outcast, the op- 
 pressed and miserable, but is propitious to the 
 strong and those whose measure is full! That 
 divinity I hate, with its temples, its altars, its in-
 
 184 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 cense, its priests and its worshippers ! Base sec- 
 taries of force, who go to and fro in the world 
 parading this device : We are the strongest because 
 we are the best in vain do you seek to array Sci- 
 ence on your side ! You will not convert us to the 
 God of Victory, to his religion of pomp, to his 
 false Te Deums! Since the cross has become a 
 symbol in the world, the vanquished appear to 
 men in a new light. 
 
 The truth is that the best men succumb in this 
 unjust and brutal life. The ground is fructified 
 by the blood of martyrs. The vanquished are the 
 salt of the earth and the light of the world. With- 
 out them humanity would have long ago perished 
 from its sorry victories. What ideas are most 
 tenacious in the world? Those that have been 
 most persecuted. What ideas decline and lose 
 ground in the soul? Those which have celebrated 
 the most triumphs, oppressed the most consciences, 
 reduced to silence the greatest number of inde- 
 pendent thinkers.
 
 FORERUNNERS 185 
 
 "GET THEE OUT OF THY COUNTRY" 
 
 I HAVE the deepest respect for the things of 
 the past; it extends even to old furniture 
 and old clothes; and as for the venerable 
 symbols of the Faith of the Fathers, my reverence 
 for them is still greater. Why has my whole life 
 consisted in farewells? 
 
 THE FRIEND: Do not complain. There are 
 those whom a voice calls to leave their kindred and 
 their country. Let each one listen to this voice, 
 since to those who know how to be faithful to it, 
 humanity owes all its places of refuge. But it is 
 often the lot of those who find them or construct 
 them, to sleep with the stars for cover. This, too, 
 you must make up your mind to, so that if you pay 
 the price in this wise, you will not regret it. After 
 all, the old symbols are worth only the spirit within 
 them, and that spirit will not be perpetuated unless 
 men are found courageous enough to follow it even 
 beyond the letter. The important thing is to re- 
 main faithful to the original inspiration. Have 
 you sometimes reflected that to obey the spirit of 
 the master who says to you: "Go!" you must sep- 
 arate yourself from him in the flesh? To betake
 
 186 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 yourself away, then, in order to remain near in 
 spirit and in truth this is your life of farewell and 
 of fidelity. Who is the more faithful to the tradi- 
 tions of the fathers : he who respects their dwelling- 
 place to the point of refusing to repair it, on the 
 ground that to do so one must touch what is sacred ; 
 or he who hardily puts his hand to it, and restores 
 it? And which of these two also is more faithful 
 to the same traditions: he who, seeing the com- 
 ing ruin of the home, quits it and builds one him- 
 self, as his fathers did before him ; or he who clings 
 to the crumbling walls and decaying rafters, 
 though it must cost him his health and his life and 
 the life of his children ? It is a question that needs 
 no answer. 
 
 Do not look back to the fathers with sadness. 
 Pioneers themselves, they love pioneers, and will 
 recognize their blood. 
 
 It is not the Fathers whom I fear, or Christ, or 
 the Prophets; it is my brothers of to-day, flesh of 
 my flesh, who think to serve God in calling us in- 
 fidels. I suffer from their exclusion much more 
 than if it were just. 
 
 THE FRIEND: Their brothers have never appre- 
 ciated the toilers for the future: 'tis a law of the
 
 FORERUNNERS 187 
 
 world to which one must submit manfully. Do not 
 ask the impossible of others, or even what is diffi- 
 cult. Love them, but do not listen to them. Listen 
 only to the voice which since Abraham's day has 
 said to the faithful: "I am the Almighty God, 
 walk before me." 
 
 IN PASTURE LANDS 
 
 THE vast alpine pastures undulate be- 
 neath the sky. From these heights the 
 scattered bands of grazers look like 
 colonies of ants ; and down in yonder desolate gulch, 
 a flock of black sheep gives the effect of a handful 
 of soot let fall by a sweep. To the tinkle of bells 
 and its echo from the rocks, there is everywhere 
 browsing, grazing, chewing of the cud. The grass 
 is the nursling of the earth, the beast eats the grass, 
 man drinks the milk of the beast and eats its flesh. 
 THE FRIEND: All this is only a figure: it trans- 
 lates and makes sensible facts of the inner world. 
 Elemental truth, truth not yet humanized, resem- 
 bles the solid earth with its inorganic matter. The 
 elements that nourish the spirit are shut up within 
 it, but inaccessible to ordinary mortals. Special-
 
 188 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 ized organs are needed to make them profitable to 
 one's self and assimilable for others. The vigor- 
 ous minds of certain men are provided with a spe- 
 cial faculty for performing this function. They 
 live where others would perish; they make bread 
 out of stones. When they have passed through a 
 domain hitherto inhospitable and sterile, they leave 
 it to some degree habitable and productive. They 
 are the initiators, the pioneers. Other men, liv- 
 ing in their shadow and from their hand, are their 
 nurslings. But the nursling is by nature ungrate- 
 ful ; he beats the breast that gives him nourishment. 
 So also does humanity persecute and put to death 
 those who give it life. 
 
 RESPECT THE SOUL 
 
 THE FRIEND: He who leads Orion like a flock, 
 has put as the limit of His power the freedom of 
 a soul: He forces none, not even for its salvation. 
 To reach a poor wretch who is staining his soul 
 and wandering astray, He makes Himself humble, 
 almost suppliant. What a lesson for man, always 
 inclined to impose his will; for the just, regard- 
 ing sinners from the height of their uprightness !
 
 FORERUNNERS 189 
 
 We are too great before the small, and it is the 
 surest sign of our moral mediocrity. To dominate, 
 to control, to direct, to restrain this is our method. 
 And the results are deplorable: feigned submission, 
 superficial allegiance, indifference and revolt. 
 
 It is the current practice to dominate the con- 
 sciences of others. Each one interferes to point 
 out the motives which he thinks should determine a 
 course of action. Parents override the consciences 
 of their children: they replace their rightful au- 
 thority by abuse of their privilege as elders: they 
 deform the character of their own flesh and blood. 
 The churches act in like manner. On all sides souls 
 are being sacrificed to conformity. Scripture says : 
 " Thou shalt not pass the razor over the heads of 
 my Prophets." But these are they whose heads 
 are shaven oftenest; nay, more, their mouths are 
 stopped. Coerce no one; do not seek to proselyte. 
 To dominate the spirit of another is an immoral 
 action. Simply make light; illumine life by that 
 clearness which the highest love sheds abroad. 
 Then your influence will be for freedom, will carry 
 life with it, will be creative of new activity and of 
 personal conviction. Then you will not quench the 
 light of the spirit, and instead of converting some
 
 190 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 of your fellows into automatons and certain soul 
 germs into mummies, you will help them to be born 
 anew into the higher life. 
 
 THE BIBLE AND CRITICISM 
 
 THE FRIEND: There are people who seem to 
 take pleasure in giving a bad account of these two 
 powers. According to some of them, the Bible pre- 
 tends to privileges; in the minds of others, Criti- 
 cism approaches the Bible with malicious intent. 
 
 All this is false rumor, nothing but smoke. Let 
 us state the whole matter fairly and squarely. 
 
 The Bible is. Criticism sets out to explore it in 
 itself and by itself, not on the faith of third per- 
 sons. You may naturally reason that the Bible 
 ought to gain by being known as it really is: 
 that such accurate knowledge should bring into 
 accord all right-minded men who have no private 
 interest to further. 
 
 I am quite of your opinion. But I have another 
 that no one shall take from me. The questions of 
 authenticity are very interesting: but before they 
 are solved, much water will flow under bridges. 
 Well, after applying myself to them to the best 
 of my ability, and strictly in accordance with the
 
 FORERUNNERS 191 
 
 demands of conscience, I take again my old Bible, 
 and I say to it : Just as thou art, I love thee, thou 
 who dost weep all our tears and shout aloud with 
 our joys ! It is sweet to read thee after the fash- 
 ion of the ignorant, so great thou art in thy anonym- 
 ity and thy eternity ! Thy authors and thy origins 
 are of small account: the human soul has brought 
 thee forth in suffering and in hope: thou makest 
 the measure of its misery and its nobility. And 
 I love in thee all those who have drunk at thy 
 sources, reposed under thy shade, and laid their 
 heads down upon thee for the last sleep. 
 
 THE Bible teems with words of life as the 
 heavens teem with stars: and like the 
 stars, these words are worlds. 
 
 HAVE A CARE ! 
 
 HOW much simpler is the Gospel than 
 councils and the Fathers, than theo- 
 logians of any sort : how much more help 
 can a word of Christ's give than all their learned 
 complexities! Who shall deliver us from the 
 hodge-podge of the critics, that we may listen again 
 to the Voice on the Mount?
 
 192 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 THE FRIEND : Have a care ! Do not commit an 
 injustice. It takes a great deal of good theology 
 to keep us from making bad. If you distrust the 
 doctor, you run the risk of falling into the hands 
 of the empirics. 
 
 The whole of man's patrimony needs to be cen- 
 sored. No good bread without good wheat, no good 
 wheat without sifting. Sifters of texts, sorters of 
 ideas their professions are indispensable. Let 
 us do them justice, though we must deny their abil- 
 ity to create. 
 
 Now and then, I must confess, their work be- 
 comes exasperating; it produces the effect of wind- 
 mills whose ticktack and creakings deafen us. At 
 such times avail yourself of your liberty, go else- 
 where. Become a child again, expand your soul 
 in God's sunlight and receive His dew without fur- 
 ther concern. 
 
 ATHEISM 
 
 HE is an atheist. 
 THE FRIEND: Hm! Just what do 
 you think you have said in saying that? 
 You must not confound the different kinds of athe- 
 ism; it is of capital importance to distinguish be-
 
 FORERUNNERS 193 
 
 tween them. There are as many atheisms as 
 there are fashions of believing in God. What God 
 is it, that your atheist is without? That is the 
 point to be determined. Socrates was called an 
 atheist, Jesus a blasphemer, God Himself should 
 be an atheist for all the false gods, that is to say, 
 for no few of the forms under which He is Him- 
 self caricatured and invoked. 
 
 Atheism springs from a deadly root when it is 
 the fruit of impiety: the whole man is vitiated by 
 it. It means the absence of all respect, of all rev- 
 erence, of every sentiment of the value of God's 
 creation. A spirit of impurity and profanation 
 animates it. Under this form atheism is not a 
 doctrine but a depravity. It is not legitimate to 
 confound it with respectable states of mind. More- 
 over, this atheism may be met with among men who 
 profess to believe in God. Do not be deceived. 
 Believing in God does not consist in pronouncing 
 His name and swearing by a creed. If the heart 
 is impure, if it cherishes hatred, scorns the rights, 
 the ideas and the creeds of others; if it is without 
 respect, tenderness or scruple, it harbors the worst 
 sort of atheism, the kind that is hypocritically 
 adorned with the insignia of religion. I fear the 
 form is widespread.
 
 194 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 Another form is even more so. Belief which 
 has become petrified through secular routine, is 
 retained, in thousands of cases, like a foreign 
 matter, having no connection with the organism, 
 no action on life. This is practical atheism. And 
 the majority of men have no better religion: they 
 are brothers of these routinary atheists, denying 
 God with the same indifference with which the 
 latter affirm Him. 
 
 Philosophic atheism arises from numerous causes. 
 Certain minds, caught in the mechanical concep- 
 tion of the world, consider the idea of God a super- 
 fluity. It seems to them to answer to nothing posi- 
 tive, consequently they eliminate it, or imagine that 
 they do so. Their atheism is frequently genial. 
 With others atheism is the result of an impossi- 
 bility to believe, of which they are grievously 
 sensible. 
 
 But at bottom, what god do they deny? Most of 
 them prove to us by their writings and conversa- 
 tion, that it is a pure abstraction, a vague image, a 
 deity still-born, like to a premature fruit fallen 
 from the tree. Their negations never destroy any- 
 thing but a phantom. They keep the indestructible 
 nucleus of the idea of God, and, under other names,
 
 FORERUNNERS 195 
 
 draw from it the essentials of their thought. The 
 death of the gods is one of their favorite theses, 
 but without knowing it, they labor for their resur- 
 rection. 
 
 The most interesting form of atheism is that 
 wherein a conception of Deity, hitherto accepted, 
 loses form before the progress of the human con- 
 science. When the man has become greater, more 
 disinterested, more just, in short, better than his 
 God, the image formed in his heart grows pale and 
 fades away. There are such cases of superior athe- 
 ism. Looking closely at the official God, one is 
 obliged to confess that he receives only his dues. 
 If Mythology attributed to the gods manners that 
 would shame any mortal with some slight idea of 
 propriety, we surprise but too often in current re- 
 ligious teaching, doctrines of God revolting to the 
 conscience. He is given a mentality like that of 
 an oriental despot with no account to render, pue- 
 rile, mischief-making, resentful, arbitrary. He ex- 
 acts a justice that He does not practise, imposes 
 sufferings from which He is Himself exempt. His 
 partiality is prodigious and His imperturbable 
 serenity makes a scandalous contrast with human 
 misery. By the side of a man sincere, devoted, up-
 
 196 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 right, just, charitable, this figure lacks moral at- 
 traction. And the attitude of its defenders achieves 
 its compromise. They have entangled their God 
 in too many unrighteous undertakings, they have 
 too often made his cause one with theirs, substi- 
 tuted for God's face, their own mask. 
 
 Who knows if the true God has not broken with 
 His accredited champions, to go dwell incognito in 
 the hearts of those who name Him not, but live from 
 His life? At all events, the situation is grave. 
 It demands the consideration and efforts of all 
 religious men, and particularly of those who have 
 the cure of souls. Through what filter of re- 
 pentance, grief and persistent travail must our 
 conception of God not pass, that it may come forth 
 again limpid, salutary, liberative, as it sprang from 
 the hearts of the Prophets and of Jesus ! 
 
 But the pronounced atheists, those who talk of 
 the disappearance of God, or think it their mission 
 to uproot the idea of God from our souls, in order 
 to weed out of them the tares of a mummified, de- 
 moralizing, schismatic, narrow religion, the foe of 
 liberty and of human progress, deceive themselves. 
 Man has need of God. Rather than do without 
 Him, he will clasp in his arms poor fetiches. If
 
 FORERUNNERS 197 
 
 you would free him from the slavery of doctrines 
 that stifle him, give him a conception of God in 
 which he may breathe. 
 
 The evil should not make us forget the good. 
 The idea of God has burst upon man in a wondrous 
 light. You yourself, by inheritance, are impreg- 
 nated with it. No one will ever replace it by any- 
 thing but itself, purified, made conformable to the 
 new level of conscience and of social life. Let all 
 men of good-will follow each his own way and do 
 his work disinterestedly. Some day they will all 
 have amassed, through toil and suffering, the mate- 
 rial for a new religious edifice, open to the air of 
 heaven, hospitable, worthy of humanity and of 
 God. 
 
 On that day we shall owe special gratitude to the 
 toilers of earlier times, including the pious atheists 
 whom the inadequacy of existing religions had 
 forced into negation and driven back upon them- 
 selves to search for something better.
 
 198 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 SOCIALISM 
 
 ARE you a socialist? 
 THE FRIEND: No. 
 Impossible! I believed you won, soul 
 and body, to this great cause of the people, of 
 woman, of all enfranchisements and all amends. 
 And you are not a socialist ? What a contradiction ! 
 
 THE FRIEND : It is logic rather. 
 You are a conservative, then? a liberal? 
 
 THE FRIEND: Still less. To avoid Charybdis, 
 shall I dash headlong upon Scylla? Listen. If 
 socialism were but a disinterested tendency toward 
 perfect justice for all, I should be a socialist to 
 the letter. But it is so many other things that I 
 must needs flee this ism like all the rest. I am with 
 the cause of the people; but those who arrogate to 
 themselves the sole knowledge of that cause and its 
 exclusive defence with them I am not. In one 
 camp they are violent, unjust, moved by hatred: 
 how should I join them? In the other they are 
 particularists to such a degree that their natural 
 tendency is forever leading toward division. There 
 is not even, except provisionally, a good under-
 
 FORERUNNERS 199 
 
 standing among them as partisans. Excommuni- 
 cation is one of their principal forms of activity. 
 When one of them distinguishes himself, he imme- 
 diately becomes a suspect. I find their fraternity 
 too quarrelsome, their equality too suspicious, their 
 liberty too much infected with toeing the mark. 
 Allowance must be made for faults. Everybody 
 commits them. But there is no inconsistency in de- 
 manding of a man that he have the mental eleva- 
 tion of his ideal. The more I am drawn and fas- 
 cinated by the splendid ideal of humanity, the more 
 thoroughly shoddy do its accredited champions 
 seem to me. I fear that the socialism of to-day is 
 anti-social in many of its ruling tendencies. 
 You are very severe. Think of all the difficul- 
 ties of the battle for the future, and of the misery 
 of the point of departure; think of the darkness in 
 the social conditions among which minds must oper- 
 ate. The men of whom you speak, coming from 
 the midst of these conditions, cannot help bring- 
 ing error with them. What would be the showing 
 of the middle classes measured by like standards? 
 THE FRIEND: Our greatest severity and our 
 most exacting scruples should be for the favored 
 cause. Against a crowd of socialists I have this
 
 200 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 that they are as bourgeois as the bourgeois, and 
 hypocritical into the bargain. They lay claim to 
 another kind of world, but they are conservers of 
 the chief vices of this one. Where is their disin- 
 terestedness? To desire a better condition of life 
 at the expense of somebody else, that you may reap 
 the benefit, does not seem to me particularly meri- 
 torious. How long has it been a virtue to arrive? 
 I see here in the crowd, appetites; in the leaders, 
 ambition. By what privilege are these appetites 
 more worthy of consideration than those of the 
 middle classes? By what grace is this ambition 
 less impure? The spirit of clamoring for some- 
 thing is no more a liberative force than is the spirit 
 of satisfaction or satiety. 
 
 You see only the evil. It is I, this time, who 
 must point out the good to you ? So much generous 
 bestowal of self, so much suffering endured for 
 the cause, so much of the spirit of sacrifice brought 
 into play and scattered broadcast in hope of better 
 times ! Such an incalculable sum of courage, of 
 endurance; such an invincible movement ahead, in 
 spite of the misery of the present and its crush- 
 ing burdens ! The people have won me completely. 
 I find them so kind, so great-hearted, so prompt
 
 FORERUNNERS 201 
 
 to pardon, so slow to wrath, so admirable in their 
 hope of a nobler humanity. 
 
 THE FRIEND: The people are one thing, the 
 politics and political economy of the socialistic 
 parties are quite another. To live on the people is 
 not to live the life of the people. To advertise 
 one's self of the people, is not to belong to the peo- 
 ple in heart. To exploit a cause is not to serve it. If 
 we could pass through the sieve of good sense and 
 equity all these socialisms, laic and ecclesiastic, 
 there would not be much good grain left for the 
 plantings of the future. Moreover, everywhere 
 here I see an unequal partition: some, in the van, 
 make the noise, and claim to conduct affairs : others 
 do the work, and are totally ignored. Shall we 
 travel in the band-wagon? 
 
 Unhappily there is no doubt much truth in these 
 criticisms ; but in spite of it, socialism remains one 
 of the greatest forces for good and for progress 
 active at the present time. 
 
 THE FRIEND: I agree with you: the trouble is 
 to steer clear of the patrons, the self-styled social- 
 ists and their dictums. But suppose the sole force 
 here were a spirit detached from base appetites and 
 vulgar ambitions; suppose it were an overwhelm-
 
 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 ing desire that the best should be realized and that 
 a society less criminal and more coherent should 
 come into being; what good could we expect of this 
 rage for theorizing? The greater number of these 
 self -proclaimed men of the future are drunken with 
 formulas, fanatics on the subject of equality. The 
 society of their dreams is a set of pigeon-holes. 
 Moreover, they sweep out of the mind everything 
 which at first sight does not square with their sys- 
 tem. Such processes as these dry up the springs 
 of life. At the beginnings of great movements, 
 come the forerunners, the scouts, the prophets, 
 much inspiration, much energy, much power of ex- 
 pansion. The functionaries come late. They dig 
 ditches for the idea to circulate in until the time 
 comes to dig it a grave which they shall seal with 
 their signet. But in the case of socialism, the doc- 
 trinaires, the formula-mongers, the scholastics and 
 pedants have choked the beginnings. Do you not 
 see also the incoherence of their philosophy? 
 Champions of the oppressed, defenders of the 
 feeble, the most of them adopt a complete mate- 
 rialistic doctrine. They are in a war against 
 egoism, against the right of the stronger, and yet 
 they proclaim a theory of life wherein weakness is
 
 FORERUNNERS 203 
 
 the supreme defect, and egoism chief of all the 
 virtues. To make a new society come forth, broad, 
 altruistic, fraternal, it is necessary to adopt an- 
 other ideal from the lower utilitarianism that 
 is waxing strong under our eyes, other motives of 
 action and a clearer, more correct view of human 
 nature. I see our profound defects, our social 
 plagues ; you will never find me in the ranks of the 
 satisfied or of those resigned to iniquity and 
 misery. This world must be vanquished not one 
 stone left upon another : but this wicked world will 
 be vanquished by the Spirit, injustice by justice, 
 hatred by love, slavery by freedom, rapacity by 
 sacrifice, falsehood by truth. It is not the brute 
 in man that is to found the City of the Future. 
 For these reasons, I cannot be converted to the so- 
 cialism of the day; on the contrary, I think it has 
 the utmost need of being converted to a superior 
 socialism, just as doctors have need of conversion 
 to hygiene, judges to justice, the Synagogue to the 
 Prophets, and Christians to the Gospel.
 
 204 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 THE FRIEND: If each one were willing to put 
 into his practical living, a hundredth part of his 
 socialism, we should be saved. The pipers are 
 legion, but the dancers are few, and by an unfort- 
 unate perversion of altruism, each one manufact- 
 ures socialism for his neighbor. 
 
 CHERISH THE IDEAL 
 
 IN the sanctuary of the soul, make ready the 
 Kingdom of Heaven. Put in the place of 
 honor at the bar of conscience, what is con- 
 demned at the bar of justice. Crown with beauty 
 what life dishonors and blights. Deliver the op- 
 pressed, give a country to the exile, a hearth to the 
 disinherited, a companion to the solitary. Wreath 
 the brows of the vanquished, right wrongs, bridge 
 chasms. It is in us that the victory over the world 
 begins, if first we have cleansed our hearts, blotted 
 out the old iniquity, rejected hatred, willed the 
 good with all the strength of our resolution, ac- 
 cepted the sacrifice. Do not haul down the flag 
 of the ideal before the demonstrations of a gross 
 reality. Lift up your heart, my son ! When brute 
 force triumphs without, when foolishness and
 
 FORERUNNERS 205 
 
 wickedness vaunt themselves and receive the 
 plaudits of the crowd, it is time to offer to the ideal 
 the homage of the soul. Do not love it half-heart- 
 edly, tamely, with regret, as something impossible 
 and condemned already. Give it all your faith. 
 Move in its light, and even the darkness around 
 you will become day. 
 
 The egg must be brooded on before it can hatch. 
 Loved and cherished in our hearts, the future, more 
 beautiful therefor, is slowly fashioned. Some day 
 the thick shell, the prison-house where the coalition 
 of its enemies holds it fast, will burst under the 
 impulse of the life within, and the ideal will open 
 its wings in the very heart of reality. 
 
 THE CHURCH CATHOLIC 
 
 THE FRIEND: To the holy Church, one, uni- 
 versal, all the others should be open ways, bring- 
 ing from north and south, from east and west, 
 across the diversities of life and of thought, the 
 fragments of humanity to humanity at one with 
 itself. Visible portals to an invisible sanctuary, 
 leading above and beyond themselves; humble 
 alone, but collaborators in a splendid design thus
 
 206 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 the churches appear to me in their ideal. Prac- 
 tically they are old and respectable social firms, 
 where under various guises and in competition, 
 formal religion is cultivated. They confine their 
 adepts in the vestibule, and the door that should 
 open upon the higher sanctuary is walled up. Piti- 
 ful abasement! But there is something that is 
 worse still. The churches form exclusive centres 
 of conservatism, where by the concentration of all 
 fears, the obstruction of all progress is compassed. 
 
 The very real good accomplished in these cen- 
 tres, is neutralized by their rivalries and their al- 
 most fatal spirit of narrowness. Their practice 
 is so far from their ideal, that it lacks little of be- 
 ing its negation. In fact, the churches may be 
 counted among the chief agencies of division among 
 men. There are no more considerable obstructions 
 in the way of universal brotherhood. 
 How pass from such a reality to the ideal? 
 
 THE FRIEND: The way is hard, for the evil is 
 of long standing, and it considers itself the highest 
 good. There is but one remedy: the distress of 
 those believers who are peaceful and fraternal. 
 Nothing is so ingenious as pain. I am going to 
 point out to you a means it has suggested to me.
 
 FORERUNNERS 207 
 
 You know what a bitter warfare men wage for 
 bread: it is one of their principal causes of con- 
 flict. What have they found that speaks above the 
 din, bringing uppermost other sentiments than the 
 enmity of this strife ? They have found hospitality. 
 Hospitality consists in saying for an hour to one's 
 fellow-man: "My house is thy house, my table thy 
 table, my bread thy bread." In the midst of the 
 struggle for "goods," hospitality seems the touch- 
 stone of a better society, a society of peaceful ac- 
 cord and mutual devotion. 
 
 The churches should give heed, should do the 
 same as individuals they should practise a broad, 
 generous and kindly hospitality, such as one meets 
 in certain families where the guest even of a day 
 feels at home, because he feels welcome, under- 
 stood, loved. 
 
 O my friend, how youthful you are you who 
 have seen so many men ! The pebbles of the river- 
 bank will spread wing among the white gulls, sooner 
 than hardened, embittered hearts, inclined to vio- 
 lent antagonisms, will follow the gentle slope along 
 which you think to lead them. 
 
 THE FRIEND : It pleases me to aspire with ardor 
 to what is difficult. We should know how to will
 
 208 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 what is legitimate, hope for what we love. All 
 human ills come from one source bad hearts. 
 We must purify the source, desire the good with 
 unfailing ardor, think about it, talk about it. For 
 myself, when gross realities shock my eyes, I 
 salute in spirit that which should be. I ask the 
 churches, then, to receive each other, to vie with 
 one another in courtesies. To-day the synagogue 
 would open its doors to faithful Christians, to-mor- 
 row the Christians would receive the Jews in their 
 churches and cathedrals. Something of the gen- 
 eral cordial spirit would then reign that must have 
 breathed beneath the tents of Abraham when he 
 entertained at night his mysterious guests. Should 
 there appear somewhere a new form of worship, 
 were a church built, there would be a spiritual hang- 
 ing of the crane, in the presence of brothers of 
 other cults. And all this, not for the purpose of 
 proselyting, and without weakening anyone's con- 
 victions, but to show that if there are still ideas 
 which separate us, there are many which unite us, 
 and that we feel our brotherhood in suffering as in 
 hope, in poverty as in splendor. 
 This is indeed very touching: but are you seri- 
 ous? Is it not purely a scheme for Utopia? Go
 
 FORERUNNERS 209 
 
 make your proposition to the chiefs of both sides. 
 You will meet with scorn and haughty refusals. 
 
 THE FRIEND: When one has a good cause, he 
 must not stop at rebuff and refusal. Rivalries, 
 clashing opinions and atavisms heap up around us 
 like mountain-peaks, with yawning gulfs between. 
 Far above all these, into the calm region of recon- 
 ciled humanity, we must direct our flight. Bask 
 in the gracious light which falls from the infinite 
 on the snowy heights and into the black abyss; live 
 in that which should be, and you will transform that 
 which is. You will bring back from your excursion 
 into the ideal, the strength to care for every detail, 
 even the least, which makes for betterment. The 
 virulence of the sectarian spirit is unbelievable ; the 
 world of to-day is poisoned with it. One reason 
 the more for devoting ourselves to the things which 
 have in them the force to make way against it. 
 To live and work by faith is better than 
 to let ourselves become demoralized by the 
 disconcerting things we see under our eyes. 
 Do you think yourself alone? Am I not 
 with you? Do you not share my opinion, hope 
 my hopes ? Dare foresee victory for that which 
 is the object of your deep and fixed conviction.
 
 210 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 And be sure that you have sympathizers: unfurl 
 your banner, and they will rally round it. Let 
 those who believe in the future pacification and the 
 brotherhood of mankind, escape now and then from 
 the scandals of sectarianism, to meet together and 
 share the best they have to give. The rights of the 
 ideal are imprescribable. Believe me, the ideal 
 Church, the Church of God, the Church of minds 
 not bound by the details which separate, exists, 
 though invisible. Almost everywhere, among the 
 most diverse surroundings, men live who have more 
 satisfaction in finding a single point in common, 
 than in unearthing a hundred reasons for division. 
 The stone is ready for the building of a lofty and 
 luminous city, not to be hid, where hearts now 
 weaned from brotherly love may begin anew to 
 chant hymns in praise of it. Make ready for this 
 praise, imposing and public, by warm friendliness, 
 by expansion of the heart, and the hour will come 
 when that which ye have spoken in the ear, shall 
 be proclaimed upon the house-tops.
 
 FORERUNNERS 211 
 
 HUMANITY TRIUMPHANT, HUMANITY 
 MILITANT 
 
 THE FRIEND: We may conceive afar off, like an 
 ideal figure, a perfected humanity. All who toil 
 for the future are lighted on their way by the radi- 
 ance of this vision. In the days of storm and stress, 
 as in those still more exhausting of dead calm, 
 the beauty of this lofty conception is their strength. 
 
 And yet, in spite of the splendor of the ideal, in 
 spite of this beneficent ray falling on our path, the 
 march interests me more than the arrival. 
 
 Humanity militant is humanity heroic: I find 
 her more beautiful in her wounds and her struggles 
 than encircled with the halo of victory. Aspiration 
 is infinitely more attractive to me than possession, 
 as the promise of daybreak has more charm to my 
 eyes than the golden light of noon. 
 
 NUNC DIMITTIS 
 
 TEACH me the art of retiring. 
 THE FRIEND: By the small number 
 of those who practise it, you may judge 
 of its difficulty. Many people know almost every- 
 thing except how to make an exit : they have no gift
 
 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 for vanishing at the timely moment. Their work 
 finished, they cannot resign themselves to pick up 
 their tools and be off. Frequently they spoil the 
 best thing they do by obstinately keeping at it. 
 
 We should know how to withdraw with a good 
 grace, and not wait for the force of circumstances 
 to uproot us, in intimation of a brutal ejection. 
 
 To the pulpit orator, Luther gives this counsel: 
 "Tritt frisch auf; thu' den Mund auf, und hor' 
 bald auf!"* It might well extend from the art of 
 speaking to the art of living. There are those who 
 cannot find their peroration: they go to sleep over 
 it, and their auditors with them. Like these orators 
 are the men who do not know how to withdraw at 
 the propitious moment. And institutions are like 
 individuals: the world is cumbered with anarchro- 
 nisms long since ripe for retirement. Their useful- 
 ness past, they cling to their ground, barring the 
 way to the future, showing scant courtesy to any 
 new thing that would spring up and wax strong 
 in the earth. 
 
 Nunc dimittis! Now let thy servant depart! 
 How beautiful in their mildness and serenity are 
 these words of the aged Simeon, who asks that 
 
 * Come forth apace ; open your mouth, and shut it betimes.
 
 FORERUNNERS 
 
 he may go in peace! Set out with enthusiasm, 
 plough your furrow vigorously, and, your labor 
 done, retire to the background, that your shadow 
 may not retard the growth of the sprouting grain. 
 This is the sole manly method, conducive alike to 
 the highest general interest and to personal hap- 
 piness. 
 
 Renounce in time, avoid a host of miseries, of 
 impotent efforts to ally these two incompatible 
 things to be and to have been. 
 
 But this art, like all others, is a long one. We 
 acquire its elements through unimportant happen- 
 ings. If you would initiate yourself into its se- 
 crets, train yourself not to linger over anything. 
 Long speeches, long letters, interminable fare- 
 wells, explanations without end, everything which, 
 meant to endure a limited time, takes permanent 
 root, becomes chronic, eternalizes itself, should be 
 severely passed by. Learn not to linger any- 
 where. It will give you an excellent impulse for 
 the decisive moments when it is a question of 
 weighing anchor for good.
 
 BY FAITH
 
 / am only a storm-tossed atom ; but at times I have caught 
 glimpses of the great reassuring calm which lies at the bottom 
 of things, and I know there is no ground for concern. 
 
 I believe ; help thou mine unbelief.
 
 BY FAITH 
 
 PRAYER 
 
 FATHER, defend us, enfolded in the 
 strength of Thy tenderness. Our in- 
 constant spirit has need of it. Too 
 many things perturb us; do Thou re- 
 assure us! Are we not Thine in the dark pas- 
 sages of life as in the luminous? in the incom- 
 prehensible as in that which to us seems clear? 
 
 WAVERING FAITH 
 
 THE FRIEND: Though the forms of our thought 
 should remain subject to endless modification, and 
 never reach the rounded truth, those of us will 
 be the least mistaken who have confidence, who 
 believe in the endless future, in all things that 
 inspire us, and that, enlarging our hearts and 
 widening our horizons, make us forget our mis- 
 217
 
 218 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 ery, and complete and illumine this fragmentary 
 life. Man's spirit lives and breathes in these 
 things; the soul expands in their warmth. The 
 humble faith, at once fearful and hardy, that 
 wavers like a child beginning to walk, has like 
 the child the future within it. There is nothing 
 to compare with it. Its simplicity confounds 
 the wise, enlightens the ignorant, steels the strong, 
 supports the weak. If life sometimes appears to 
 us like a fearful abyss, has not faith wings with 
 which to clear it? 
 
 TO REMOVE MOUNTAINS 
 
 NEVER shall we resolve all these prob- 
 lems ; there are too many ! 
 Tpe FRIEND: Then why number 
 them? Why persist in dealing with the whole? 
 It is by portions that we must attack and over- 
 come the world if we would know what is meant 
 by victory over its fearful mechanism, its deter- 
 minism, its fatalities. Every act of good inten- 
 tion and genuine faith is an act of redemption 
 and creation. It establishes a better condition of 
 things, and through the rift it makes in the web
 
 BY FAITH 219 
 
 of evil, hatred, and slavery wherein we are caught, 
 it lets us see the land of liberty. Do not neglect 
 the opportunities you have for doing what you 
 see to be possible, for the sake of some problem- 
 atic opportunity in the far future when you shall 
 be great enough to attempt even the impossible. 
 It is by the imperceptible and slow accumulation 
 of effort upon effort that the new universe is 
 building. By displacing atoms you will have re- 
 moved mountains. 
 
 SOLA FIDE 
 
 THE world is inexplicable, for it has no 
 limits and every explanation lies be- 
 tween two hedges. Absolute confidence 
 is the sole basis of large living: The just shall 
 live by his faith. There is no measure for the 
 tremendous meaning of these words; they are 
 universal. Those who first spoke them made a 
 landing on an unknown shore. But to have dis- 
 covered a new continent is not to have explored 
 it. What a way from the old prophet, Habak- 
 kuk, to Saint Paul, and from Saint Paul to 
 Luther! They set foot in a new world, but no
 
 220 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 one will ever make the round of it: there is room 
 for the procession of all the ages. 
 
 THE LIFE OF FAITH 
 
 BE not afraid, only believe. Thy faith 
 hath saved thee. The just shall live by 
 his faith. What have we to do with 
 these venerable sayings, worn with repetition, 
 and oftenest misunderstood? Their meaning, as 
 terse as it is comprehensive, is this Have the 
 courage to trust yourself to the power in which 
 the universe reposes. It is the great step, the 
 great thing. To trust thus largely and calmly 
 is an act of spiritual courage. But is it not by 
 launching into open space that the bird first 
 learns he has wings? 
 
 This act of initiative and daring, this resolute 
 step of entire confidence, is at the same time the 
 most reasonable proceeding that a creature may 
 undertake. Give credit to God; no wisdom, no 
 prudent calculation could be safer. It is not 
 going too far; it is not building on the sand; it 
 is choosing the rock. The solvency of God passes 
 the limit of our thought.
 
 BY FAITH 
 
 CONFIDENCE 
 
 FAITH is confidence in God. It is not the 
 compliance of a mind ready to accept 
 everything, or that elastic aptitude for 
 believing which admits the unlikely or even the 
 absurd. 
 
 The man of little faith is he who distrusts the 
 stability of the universe and of its organization. 
 He has but small confidence in the final result. 
 The impression he gets from the spectacle of the 
 universe, as well as from the life of man, is one 
 of disorder and incoherence to which he can offer 
 no counterpoise. 
 
 The man of faith also sees the chaos of life, 
 the impassive brutality of natural law. But he 
 is not resigned to the sentence of blind fatality. 
 The vestige of the Spirit of which he is conscious 
 within him hinders him from self-abandonment 
 and surrender. If he is lost in the dark, caught 
 up in the whirlwind, he has his compass and 
 keeps his bearings. He will not admit that the 
 cause is judged, but waits for an appeal. Even 
 under the stroke that fells him to earth and 
 seems to be the end, he says : I will stand my
 
 222 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 ground ! In essence, faith is audacity carried to 
 infinity. Faith is " the victory that overcometh 
 the world." 
 
 He who dies for his faith does not give his 
 life for an article of the catechism, even though 
 it has that appearance. In reality he offers him- 
 self a sacrifice to affirm that which alone gives 
 value to life, that which is its final end and its 
 higher aim, and without which life itself is only 
 death disguised. 
 
 To filch his faith from one's fellow-man is 
 worse than stealing his money or his house it is 
 to destroy the roof over his head and cut the 
 ground from under his feet. You tremble at the 
 idea of your children's finding themselves some 
 day without food or shelter; how then can you 
 bear the thought of their being without faith ! 
 He only who does not believe in his destiny is 
 homeless, without a place. 
 
 The most precious thing that a man has is 
 faith. It embraces all things else. Love is so 
 great only because it holds implicit faith within 
 it. If you believe neither in the world, nor in 
 man, nor in the future; if your credo is the cry, 
 " All is vanity," your love has no root and comes
 
 BY FAITH 223 
 
 from an inconstant heart. They who love once 
 and for all have put into their love somewhat of 
 that bread of life which nourishes unquenchable 
 faith. 
 
 Wherein lies the good, wherein the evil? Where 
 is the standard of thought and action? It is here. 
 
 Everything that increases our faith, broadens 
 our view, gives us a higher conception of the 
 value of life, and stouter courage to toil on hope- 
 fully, is good. 
 
 Everything that shakes our confidence, damp- 
 ens our ardor, narrows our view, lowers us in our 
 own eyes and discourages us, is bad. 
 
 CREDULITY INCREDULITY 
 
 CREDULITY is a disposition to accept 
 readily whatever is presented to us. Its 
 chief characteristic is a notable absence 
 of judgment. 
 
 Faith is an act of enlightened confidence in 
 the Power which conducts the world, in the des- 
 tiny of man, in just causes that are linked with 
 the very cause of humanity. 
 
 Credulity is of all the ages. As it is a part
 
 224 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 of the policy of letting things take their own 
 course, it falls within the programme of the 
 greater number. 
 
 Faith also is of all the ages; but as it involves 
 resolution, energy, an extraordinary expenditure 
 of self, it is the portion of an elite. 
 
 When incredulity consists in forming no con- 
 victions without good and valid reason, in distrust 
 of dogmatic assertion and of authorities that con- 
 science does not approve, it is a virtue of the first 
 rank: when, on the contrary, it consists in setting 
 at naught the Universe, the Spirit, and man's 
 destiny, it is no longer anything but an infirmity 
 of the mind. 
 
 CONFUSION OF IDEAS 
 
 THE questionings of faith do not arise 
 solely from the obscurities of life or 
 from the number and extent of the 
 problems that rise before us. One of their most 
 abundant sources is the confusion of ideas. 
 
 There are in the minds of men strange pre- 
 possessions and misunderstandings on the subject 
 of faith.
 
 BY FAITH 
 
 The simple expression, " I believe," by the va- 
 riety of interpretations it admits of, may easily 
 give rise to all sorts of mistakes. " I believe " 
 may mean, I suppose. In this case faith would 
 be hypothesis. And many people understand it 
 to be just that. But hypotheses offer only a rela- 
 tive security, and many prefer not to make them. 
 Then there is the blind faith that accepts on the 
 word of another, without verification. Not every- 
 body is ready to practise that either. 
 
 Furthermore, faith is confounded with belief. 
 At times this is a dangerous error. Belief is the 
 intellectual envelope of faith. 
 
 By a process quite legitimate and conformable 
 to our needs, faith, from age to age, gives birth 
 to belief. Faith in itself secret, incommunicable 
 in its essence, manifests itself and is spread 
 abroad in the world by symbols. Every belief is 
 a symbol, and its value depends upon the en- 
 ergy with which it expresses, feeds, and inspires 
 faith. 
 
 But belief if indispensable is also variable. 
 Beliefs pass, faith remains. 
 
 It is a great misfortune when belief so crys- 
 tallizes as to lose the flexibility which permits it
 
 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 to interpret faith conformably to the changing 
 mental states of successive epochs. Its office is 
 to speak all tongues, be all things to all men, in 
 order that the voice of eternity may vibrate across 
 the passing voices of the generations. But the 
 greatest misfortune arrives where belief remains 
 after faith has fled. There we have a lie set up 
 in the very sanctuary. Dead belief puts faith to 
 death, and forbids its resurrection. 
 
 FAITH AND SIGHT 
 
 A VERY old conflict is still going on be- 
 tween Faith and so-called positive 
 knowledge. The source of this con- 
 flict is the inveterate abuse certain men make of 
 Faith when they describe it as the science of the 
 unknowable. Then the knowledge which rests on 
 observation arrays itself against the knowledge 
 that knows what it has not learned and what can- 
 not be tested by experiment. 
 
 Such a conflict, though inevitable, wrongs Faith 
 and positive knowledge alike. It is of capital 
 importance to mankind that each of its propensi-
 
 BY FAITH 
 
 ties be respected in its proper place. Man has 
 need of all his practical discernment and all his 
 powers of intuition. 
 
 If Faith is a science to be set forth in para- 
 graphs wherein the secret workings of things are 
 laid bare and explained in detail, then its labor 
 is an unlawful competition with that of experi- 
 mental reason, and the Universe it builds is at 
 the mercy of every chance. A late discovery may 
 overturn the edifice. 
 
 If positive science pretends of herself to fur- 
 nish souls with the bread of life, she risks dry- 
 ing up the sources whence we draw our spiritual 
 vigor, a loss she would in no wise be able to make 
 good. 
 
 Here we touch the central knot of the inner 
 life. In trying to undo it nothing essential with- 
 in us must be mutilated. There must be medita- 
 tion. We need a solution that shall be impartial 
 and respectful of man's equipoise; it must be an- 
 tagonistic neither to this need of searching, of 
 weighing, of seeing, of defining, out of which has 
 come Science with all its fruits, nor to the thirst 
 for fundamental certitude regarding that which 
 touches the sum-total of our destiny, a thirst that
 
 228 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 Science is as incapable of satisfying as of destroy- 
 ing. Man is greater than his Science. 
 
 Science, although splendid in its achievements, 
 a great power, and worthy of all our acknowledg- 
 ments, is, however, limited in its scope and cannot 
 sustain this infinity called life. He who would 
 live from what he knows, and provision his being 
 with nothing but certitudes of the so-called posi- 
 tive order, would perish of inanition. 
 
 So long as Faith is confused with a body of 
 doctrines regarded as complete, definitive in char- 
 acter, and asserting itself in the face of history 
 or nature, there will be a sort of secession in the 
 soul, an open war between things all of which 
 are equally worthy of survival and equally in- 
 dispensable. 
 
 What struggles, what suffering this confusion 
 has brought, what ruins it has heaped up ! For 
 the believer there can result from such confusion 
 only agitation and perpetual fear. To scientists 
 Faith appears like a power of obstruction. In- 
 stead of a fruitful collaboration between different 
 aspirations which should complement one another, 
 we have two hostile powers seeking mutual de- 
 struction.
 
 BY FAITH 229 
 
 We must go on living. We cannot wait for 
 problems to be resolved. Nor, for that matter, 
 have we the right or the power to install humanity 
 definitely in a fabric of beliefs henceforth exempt 
 from revision, or in a scientific system. 
 
 The situation of the religious conservative is 
 terrible. He has identified his salvation with a 
 particular conception of the world. 
 
 The situation of the man who has resolved 
 never again to go outside the limits of positive 
 knowledge is equally terrible. There are among 
 our contemporaries men who compass within one 
 soul these two miseries. 
 
 THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES 
 
 SHALL a doubt on a mere point of doctrine 
 and how many just and legitimate doubts 
 there are, inspired by reason and conscience, 
 that it were not well to be rid of! shall such a 
 doubt suffice to cut a man off from his base of 
 spiritual supplies? A discovery in the physical 
 world, a question in authenticity of texts, settled 
 against our belief shall this have the power to 
 compass the ruin in our soul of that which makes 
 its strength, its support, its life?
 
 230 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 Is it admissible that out of a retort in the 
 laboratory should come the declaration that there 
 is neither future nor hope for humanity? that 
 an authentic parchment should be unearthed from 
 a monastery in Asia, a papyrus from an Egyp- 
 tian tomb, to sap at the root our ideas of the 
 Gospels and the chief of their miracles, includ- 
 ing facts in the life of Jesus hitherto unques- 
 tioned? Is it tolerable to think that through 
 such an event, whatever its bearing and impor- 
 tance, humanity can be struck in a vital spot? 
 No, we cannot admit such a state of affairs. 
 
 The sword of Damocles may be suspended over 
 our heads in particular enterprises; but the Uni- 
 verse and the Destiny of Man do not hang by a 
 thread which may break or hold. 
 
 Yet so long as the downfall of an article of 
 belief may involve in its ruin the foundation on 
 which we stand; so long as the setting of a star, 
 however brilliant it may have been, however long 
 its career, can bring with it for us eternal night, 
 just so long do we live under the sword of 
 Damocles. 
 
 Where is our Salvation? It is in Faith alone.
 
 BY FAITH 231 
 
 MIRACLES 
 
 Das Wunder 1st des Glaubens liebstes Kind. Goethe. 
 
 THE FRIEND: Miracles are like the flowers of 
 the field, which, hay to the cattle, to the bee with 
 his subtle organs are honey-cups. A marvellous 
 story contains a soul's treasure which is appreci- 
 able alone to the soul that derives its living from 
 it. A miracle ground under the mill-stone and 
 cast into the crucible of ponderous verifications 
 does not give up its divine secret. It remains a 
 common fact or an absurd fiction. 
 
 At bottom the miracle is the affirmation of this 
 truth: no situation lacks an issue. In spite of 
 the bonds of fatality and the blind alleys of de- 
 spair, there is always a way out. The Spirit 
 here affirms its victory over the world. 
 But has it actually happened? Is it possible? 
 
 THE FRIEND: Questions beside the purpose. 
 Ask, rather, what is the meaning? Spurious mir- 
 acles are recognized by this they have no inner 
 meaning.
 
 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 NOBLE AND COMMONER 
 
 THE FRIEND: Nobility is descended from the 
 people. That which is sacred, twice sacred, was 
 at first laic and common. 
 
 If the nobility does not from generation to gen- 
 eration reinvigorate itself in the commonalty, it 
 becomes anaemic and dies. 
 
 If the sanctuary does not reinvigorate itself at 
 the source of laic and domestic life, it becomes 
 transformed into a sacristy. 
 
 The sacristy is to the sanctuary what the ex- 
 tinguisher is to the sacred fire. I should not 
 hesitate to say, Profane as a sacristan. 
 
 THE QUESTION 
 
 THE FRIEND: In reality the question of ques- 
 tions is this: 7* the Universe living or is it dead? 
 If the Universe is nothing but a great machine, 
 then man feels himself the greater of the two by 
 virtue of his thought. Alone awake in the uni- 
 versal night, he is seized upon by the awful an- 
 guish of wretches buried alive. Man sees, the 
 universe is blind; man hears, the universe is deaf;
 
 BY FAITH 233 
 
 man thinks, the universe gravitates. How can the 
 one be the child of the other? Nothing is so 
 fatal and so exact as a machine. By what aber- 
 ration of its law has it brought forth its opposite? 
 If the universe is dead, man is inexplicable. He 
 has no father. We are living in a state that is 
 all miracle, or all incoherence, rather. 
 
 Then let us believe in a living world. Mind 
 worketh at the bottom of things. This is not 
 simply one more hypothesis; it is the one and 
 only truth. 
 
 Why cry out against anthropomorphism? Why 
 be disturbed at the assertion that our God is in 
 our image? Is not all that passes through our 
 thought reproduced in our image? You speak 
 humanly of the cell, and not as a cell would 
 speak of itself. You think humanly of God, not 
 as God knows Himself to be. What else is pos- 
 sible? And is it a weakness? No, it is strength. 
 Were you to try to think as though you were not 
 men, but rocks, gases, molecules, you would fall 
 to a level below yourself. Your universe would 
 take on the awkward and artificial look that dis- 
 tinguishes the manikin from the living man. How 
 pitiful it would be!
 
 234 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 Then have the courage to be men and to think 
 like men. How should we learn better than 
 through ourselves and the infinite riches centred 
 in us, to mount slowly back toward heaven whence 
 we came? To believe in God is human. And the 
 more our God is broadly, simply, sacredly hu- 
 man, the more will He be divine or the more will 
 He approach at least the mysterious and tender 
 Divinity who when He would speak to us bor- 
 rows signs on a level with our understanding. 
 
 Toward the Father! It is all in that. Heap 
 up powers, cluster majesties together, let the 
 spirit gleam, set the infinite ajar nothing is 
 beautiful enough, nothing great enough. But all 
 this is only the fringe of His mantle. Go to the 
 very heart there you will find the Father. 
 
 WHEN THOU THINKEST OF GOD 
 
 WHEN thou thinkest of God, be not 
 disturbed by thy hemmed-in horizon, 
 by the flaws in the mirror of thy 
 soul which reflects Him. Above all, say to thy- 
 self that He is the great favorable Divinity, and 
 think of Him only with tranquil spirit. For He
 
 BY FAITH 235 
 
 is only terrible to the wicked, or rather, to the 
 evil which is in the wicked. Even His hatred of 
 the evil is only His love for the evil-doer. The 
 love of one's enemies is a love that man essays 
 and God practises. If He hated one of His chil- 
 dren, He would hate Himself. 
 
 THE QUEST FOR GOD 
 
 THE quest for God is the movement of 
 the soul toward its source and toward 
 the general soul. 
 
 All beings are nourished from the Universal 
 Substance and borrow their living from it. The 
 soul feeds upon an inner nutriment which, under 
 various forms, is but the penetrating eternal and 
 spiritual essence that pervades individual souls. 
 To be cut off from one's source is the great 
 calamity. 
 
 Happily there are ways without number, con- 
 scious and unconscious, in which man provisions 
 himself. If we could discern in each soul the 
 manner and processes of its nutritive function, we 
 should see that through the strangest aberrations 
 of conduct, the grossest superstitions, the most
 
 236 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 fanatical practices, our souls, after all, are seek- 
 ing the source of life. 
 
 As falling bodies seek the centre of the earth, 
 as the plant in the cellar seeks the daylight, as 
 the swallow seeks the south, and the electric- 
 needle the pole, the creature seeks God invincibly, 
 through the very nature of his spirit. 
 
 The aspiration for plenitude, union, and har- 
 mony, from out the midst of poverty, isolation, 
 and chaos, is the consummate resultant to which 
 in the end are reduced so many of those move- 
 ments and strivings in which life expends itself. 
 
 PESSIMISM 
 
 ALL intellectual pessimism is a sign of 
 the rupture of vital connections. Man 
 becomes pessimistic when he has lost 
 touch with the forces that sustain the world. 
 
 WHERE IS THE TRUTH? 
 
 THE truth by which man is nourished 
 cannot belong exclusively to any one 
 of the domains upon which he depends, 
 or in these domains to any one province, or in 
 these provinces to any one parish. We could
 
 BY FAITH 237 
 
 not be asked to live by thought, in a universe 
 reduced to the proportions of a system of phi- 
 losophy, of an exclusive religious doctrine, or of 
 a conception of science. For all theories halt 
 and all catechisms are one-eyed. And if we are 
 led into natural science as a place of refuge, we 
 only change prisons. What hardihood to attempt 
 to make us thinking creatures, to make us live in 
 a simply chemical and mechanical universe ! We 
 are in such a universe, on one side of its consti- 
 tution; we know it, and suffer from the knowl- 
 edge; and that is the proof that we are not of it. 
 Those who are wholly of it, not perceiving the 
 fact, do not suffer from it. They are at home. 
 
 No, however interesting the story of the rocks 
 and the plants may be, it does not suffice to ex- 
 plain man to himself. The observation of apes 
 and ants takes him farther, but there still remains 
 a long way to the end. 
 
 If we did not know by our inner experience 
 that the brain is the organ of thinking, we should 
 still be ignorant of the fact. If the unswerving 
 bent of our minds did not lead us to hold every 
 man to a certain degree responsible for his ac- 
 tions, we should not yet have discovered that there
 
 238 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 is good and evil. One cannot draw these notions 
 out of a retort or lay them bare with a scalpel. 
 To acquire knowledge on the subject of human- 
 ity we must address ourselves to her in the best 
 of her children. The truth about us, about our 
 aim, our duty, our destiny, is found in the con- 
 science of the noblest of our brothers. From 
 their ideal, from the common property of their 
 thoughts, from the treasure-house of their deeds, 
 comes the clearest light on our nature and our 
 conduct. There, too, is for us the summing up, 
 the synthesis, of all our information about the 
 universe, the true focus of revelation. 
 
 CONVERGING RAYS 
 
 WE must not exclude from this focus a 
 single element of light; we must for- 
 get no one; we must lose nothing. 
 All human truths, from whatever domain they 
 come, are convergent. In vain do their discov- 
 erers ignore one another; they are collaborators; 
 in vain do they stigmatize one another; they be- 
 long to one brotherhood. Let us keep this fact 
 before us; let us ventilate our souls with it that
 
 BY FAITH 239 
 
 we may drive out the close air, the narrow sec- 
 tarianism, and that passion for putting our path- 
 finders into a rivalry which makes us lose the 
 
 best fruits of their labors. All sorts of minds 
 
 
 are necessary. But they remain truly beneficent 
 
 only when the largeness of their conceptions per- 
 mits them to co-operate. Isolated from the others, 
 each is harmful and inadequate. The most it 
 can do is to make us lose that balance which is 
 the very condition of life. 
 
 THE UNIVERSE EXPLAINED? 
 
 THE FRIEND: The bird, in the mechanical con- 
 ception of the world, is greater than the cage, 
 man is greater than the world; the effect supe- 
 rior to the cause. Too much explanation destroys 
 the charm, besides which it is pure illusion. To 
 explain is to be above. We explain only what 
 is inferior to us. To comprehend ourselves per- 
 fectly, together with our destiny, we should needs 
 be able to gain a coign of vantage above our- 
 selves. As if we could! If then out of elements 
 at our command we build a theory of our own 
 nature, the man we construct is our creature. Is
 
 240 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 it astonishing if we despair of ourselves reduced 
 to such proportions? Moreover, each time the 
 mind shuts itself up in a system, our explanations 
 arrive at the same end. Neither the philosophies 
 nor the religions that explain avoid the shoal. 
 The thing which we explain is beneath us. The 
 spiritualist, the man of a creed, shut up in his 
 doctrine, will perish there in the end. Air is 
 wanting, space is wanting, light is wanting. 
 
 The universes built by the hand of man are 
 card-houses. A few good shocks, and the world 
 comes to an end! 
 
 Would it then be better to forego the explana- 
 tion? Is the thirst to understand pernicious? 
 The torture in the thought of the infinite, the 
 anguish of destiny who then shall quench them? 
 As for me, I rise up and lie down in their com- 
 pany, and every action, every thought, has them 
 hidden in the background. 
 
 THE FRIEND: No one can hold in check what 
 is fundamentally human. Therefore do not re- 
 nounce making explanations and trying to account 
 to your own satisfaction for what goes on within 
 you and around you. But, at the same time, take 
 account of your means no less than of your con-
 
 BY FAITH 
 
 ditions. Investigate, explain; it is good and 
 salutary to do so. But to be contented with what 
 you have found, to stop there, to deprive yourself 
 of what others around you have encountered in 
 other paths this is evil. To make a copy and 
 then think that one has created the original 
 there is the illusion. Our explanations are effort, 
 not achievement; aspiration, not fulfilment. Their 
 inferior character should never be lost sight of. 
 Then all is uncertainty, speculation: never any- 
 thing definite, no thought but is erroneous. 
 
 THE FRIEND: Why, no; that would be scep- 
 ticism of the worst kind. Every just thought is 
 on the way to truth; every just explanation on 
 the road to the solution. It is of such concep- 
 tions like ourselves, capable of improvement 
 that we, also en route, have need. Life is perpetual 
 evolution. But in the midst of this shedding of 
 ideas, one point remains fixed: Faith. That point 
 we shall never leave behind us. We could not live 
 by sight alone. All our explanations suffer from 
 insufficiency. No one of them alone could nour- 
 ish us. It would not contain that element of the 
 infinite which must enter as an essential part 
 into all the nourishment of the soul. Faith con-
 
 242 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 tributes this element; it gives credit to God. And 
 surely it is not going too far to believe Him sol- 
 vent. Here is what every man should strive to 
 be: An ardent seeker, open to every dawning 
 light; a believer strong in God. 
 
 HUMBLE AND FIRM 
 
 tHERE is sufficient reason for the world 
 as it exists; otherwise it would have 
 crashed back into chaos. The equilib- 
 rium of life comes from an acquiescence in this 
 law. At bottom every normal and well-balanced 
 existence has unconsciously the weight of it as 
 ballast. It harmonizes every destiny, and makes 
 peace possible even in the breast of ignorance, if 
 only it be admitted that Someone knows what we 
 do not, and that the meaning and aim of our life, 
 all unexperienced as they are by us, exist for 
 Him " for whom are all things and through whom 
 are all things." The slightest thing in creation 
 should with study and thought appear to us as a 
 little window open upon the incommensurable. 
 We should see in it a sign of the profundity of 
 things and the greatness of our own destiny; and
 
 BY FAITH 
 
 day by day we should conceive a higher and more 
 reverential idea of all realities, even the humblest. 
 In a grain of sand, a drop of water, a ray of 
 light, an electric spark, there are more things to 
 be observed and comprehended than the mind of 
 man can seize. But if we are unable to fathom 
 what is inferior to us, how far must our powers 
 of comprehension be inferior to our own person- 
 ality? Man is greater than his capacity to un- 
 derstand. All those who pretend that they have 
 seen to the bottom of things, mechanicians full 
 of self-sufficiency, materialists or spiritualists, be- 
 lievers or atheists, in attempting to point out the 
 wheel- work, have put their pretensions high above 
 their power. They take their formulas for reali- 
 ties. Their affirmations, like their negations, are 
 marked by a presumption to which reserve, even 
 timidity, is preferable. Before the grandeur of 
 these problems, modesty is not simply becoming, 
 it is both salutary and strengthening. Assurance 
 is not the equivalent of true confidence, and hu- 
 mility does not exclude firmness. A certain self- 
 restraint is inherent in the mentality of very 
 learned men as well as of believers at first hand. 
 Contact with the source of things makes a man
 
 244 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 discreet, and at the same time gives him confi- 
 dence. There is no incredulity in establishing 
 the fact that there are depths past our sounding, 
 that there is space which does not answer to our 
 measures. Human reason has its limits. They 
 are found on all sides, in science as well as in 
 belief, in the axiom as well as in the symbol. But 
 reality has no limits. Shall we be wanting in 
 respect to science, on the one hand, and to belief, 
 on the other, if we acknowledge with sincerity 
 that they both exist below the level of their ob- 
 ject, and below it not by some infinitesimal frac- 
 tion, but by a whole infinitude? Is there not 
 rather a sign in it of perfect respect, and in this 
 respect do we not find a new motive for courage? 
 The pretension of knowing everything, whether 
 by observation or intuition, is at once irreverential 
 and fatal. It gives a final solution to that which 
 demands to be perpetually renewed, purified, 
 broadened, and sanctified. It accustoms us to 
 moving about in a fictitious creation where the 
 life-giving contact with the inexhaustible source 
 becomes rarer and rarer. The infinite riches of 
 a reality whose foundation nobody has reached 
 are more satisfying than those quite relative and
 
 BY FAITH 245 
 
 only apparent, of systems which have a reply 
 for everything. It is a perpetual incentive for 
 the searcher to feel that he has infinity before 
 him, and a refreshment for the believer to per- 
 ceive the truth in the words of the Prophet: For 
 as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are 
 my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts 
 than your thoughts. 
 
 A SUGGESTION 
 
 THE FRIEND: To end the matter, will you hear 
 my advice regarding all these different fashions, 
 laborious, ingenious, contradictory, earthy or sub- 
 lime, of conceiving this world where we are ? It 
 is that each one shall put his mind to the prob- 
 lem, and exercise it thereon to the best of his abil- 
 ity; but that he shall not become a slave to it, or 
 find in it a pretext for disturbing, molesting or 
 persecuting his neighbor: above all, in hours of 
 weariness, when all these systems have brought 
 confusion to the mind, that he should have the* 
 courage to rise serenely above them. 
 
 Hast thou created the world ? Art thou charged 
 with its government, responsible for it?
 
 246 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 No. Then calm thyself. Take an hour of 
 respite. 
 
 It is fatiguing beyond all comparison to agitate 
 these vast thoughts, to bear the movement of their 
 gigantic masses across the soul, to plunge into the 
 unknown and to explore space. And is there not 
 a certain abuse and some delusion in the idea of 
 the accomplishment of these titanic operations by 
 beings of our stature? After all, who hinders you 
 from laying down now and then the reins of uni- 
 versal government, and ceasing to think of every- 
 thing at one time? What harm can come from 
 demeaning yourself as if you were not overseer of 
 the route of the suns? Will they rise a moment 
 later for that? Let us learn to let alone those 
 things which transcend us and confuse us ; and not 
 to talk of what we do not comprehend, not to 
 justify God and offer Him our counsels. 
 
 These vast speculations are indeed one of the 
 ornaments of the human mind; but it is also hon- 
 orable to be occupied with what concerns us, to busy 
 ourselves about what we understand, to quit the 
 orbits of the stars and walk the path under our 
 feet. Let us be, for a moment at least, if not al- 
 ways, men; let us accept ourselves as we are and
 
 BY FAITH 247 
 
 make the best use of ourselves that we can. Be 
 it only as an experiment, and without renouncing 
 the incommensurable, let us remain sometimes in 
 our place and work at our trade. Let us return to 
 ourselves and become children again. Be faithful 
 in little things; so Christ taught us. How good it 
 would be to sit down at His feet, when, crushed 
 under the burden of cosmic orderings, exhausted 
 with combining, reconciling, foreseeing, encom- 
 passing, we no longer know which way to turn! I 
 see His calm regard, alight with divine confidence 
 and pity for all our weariness; I see His kindly, 
 quickening smile, and I seem to hear Him say to us : 
 Little children, let each one do his part. The Father 
 filleth the world with His Presence, He knoweth all 
 things and guideth all things aright. Do you have 
 faith in Him, and love and serve your brethren. 
 This is the road which leads from our weakness to 
 strength, from our shadow to light. 
 
 It would all be so simple, if we had not all, 
 through an old-time aberration, been seized with 
 the giddiness of grandeurs. Each one labors on a 
 big scale, reforms society, rules empires, regents 
 the world. Very few are occupied with their own 
 affairs ; such occupation is beneath them. Religious
 
 248 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 people have these worrying anxieties like the rest. 
 We are men. We belong to the family. We smack 
 of the soil. Have you noticed with what lofty dis- 
 dain certain people contemplate humble morality 
 from the height of their dogmas ? One is not more 
 disdainful from mountain-peaks of the little folds 
 in the valleys. 
 
 Surely they are right who labor to widen man's 
 horizon. Every thought that gives us more air, 
 more light and more room, is a messenger from the 
 world above us, and no one will ever succeed in 
 closing the rift through which we look up into the 
 infinite. In vain you clip the wings of the soul ; in 
 vain you say to the spirit: so far shalt thou blow, 
 and no farther ! By instinct it penetrates the coun- 
 try of the Unknown and the Mysterious. But why 
 transform into chains these intangible cords that 
 bind us to the beyond? Why wander and stifle in 
 regions whose air is too rare for us to breathe? 
 
 Through what delusion does man believe him- 
 self nearer to God when he has scaled several scaf- 
 foldings of dogma? Is the humble road of the 
 heart too earthy? Concern to mend his ways, 
 care of the house and of children, the serving of 
 those who suffer, the scrupulous use of time and
 
 BY FAITH 249 
 
 strength are these things without their grandeur ? 
 Leave to God the mysterious and the future, in or- 
 der that you may apply yourself with energy to 
 the clearly defined present duty. Is not this a surer 
 method than to put off the practical tasks till the 
 doubtful morrow when we are to know at last that 
 of which we are now ignorant? 
 
 CONTRADICTIONS 
 
 WHEN there are contradictions between 
 the legitimate aspirations of man's 
 heart and the assertions of positive 
 science, there must be some error. Hope and real- 
 ity are made for accordance. A discouraging truth 
 would be nonsense. The supreme reality, alone 
 true, is an absolute plenitude that defies all hope 
 and passes all conception. No wing is stout enough 
 to reach its limit, for it has no limit. We come forth 
 out of being, it flows round us and bears us up. In 
 its infinite riches is that which can satisfy every 
 true and just aspiration. No contradictions then 
 should stay us or disturb us. The only conclusion 
 to draw is this: either hope must find another route 
 or reality another interpretation. 
 Sometimes both are desirable.
 
 250 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 THE UNPREACHED GOSPEL 
 
 THE widest habitation offered to the soul, 
 the spiritual country most comprehen- 
 sive, is the Gospel. Its spirit is not an- 
 tagonistic to any fundamentally human tendency. 
 It offers a platform on which all the higher inter- 
 ests may meet, all forms of intelligence fraternize, 
 all effort be bound together in a single aim. Alas ! 
 What has been made of this habitation by short- 
 sighted men, ready to cut knots and close questions, 
 that they may break the ranks of their adversaries ? 
 They have walled up the windows, barred the doors, 
 strengthened the ramparts. They have trans- 
 formed it into a prison-house for the mind, a citadel 
 bristling and threatening, whence anathema is 
 launched at those without. And from time to time 
 some brother inside, who has ceased to think ac- 
 cording to rule, is hurled over the wall. 
 
 As they have proceeded with the house, so have 
 they with the Master. 
 
 Jesus declared himself to be the Son of Man. 
 They have made of Him a party chief, or at least, 
 even while preserving His divinity, a man like the 
 rest, tenacious of His individuality, His name, His
 
 BY FAITH 251 
 
 ego, with all its privileges. Who then has under- 
 stood that the Son of Man is neither to be compared 
 with another nor to be put into any competition? 
 For of all that has been great or holy throughout 
 the ages, in no matter what contingent of humanity, 
 He would have said : It is with Me and I am with 
 it : nay, much more than this, it holds something of 
 Me in it, and I am its very self. 
 
 Did He not make Himself one with the humble, 
 with children, with the sick, the poor, prisoners? 
 Who is this Me to whom is done all that one does to 
 others, good or ill ? Is He a private individual with 
 private interests, the director of some association in 
 rivalry with others ? No, He is the Son of Man, and 
 nothing human is foreign to Him. 
 
 When his fanatical adherents attack science, it 
 is He whom they attack. When they persecute men 
 in his name, it is He whom they persecute. When 
 you disregard the humble and the simple, it is He 
 whom you disregard. When you belittle the 
 Prophets in order to add to His stature, when you 
 decry the pagan sages to make greater His glory, 
 it is He whom you belittle and decry and obscure. 
 He never contended for the prize of holiness, or 
 for that of wisdom, or for that of grandeur. Your
 
 252 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 comparisons, your petty rivalries, your snatching of 
 crowns from others to cast at His feet all these 
 things are odious and deserve the rebuke in the 
 words, "Ye know not what manner of spirit ye 
 are of." 
 
 I AM THE WAY, THE TRUTH, AND THE 
 LIFE 
 
 THE essence of the Christian faith is the 
 assurance that the Invisible is made man. 
 The most perfect outcome of the Spirit's 
 workings behind the veil of things sensible, is found 
 by man in the conscience of man, animated by its 
 breath and filled with its presence. Faith in the 
 Nature-God is difficult. There is too great a dis- 
 tance between him and us. If he is gracious, gen- 
 tle, reassuring to-day, to-morrow he is violent, a 
 devastator, without bowels of compassion. His 
 brutalities shock our conscience. We cannot be 
 nourished from the rock. The formidable divinity 
 of Nature, active in the mechanic forces of the 
 world, offers man a stone when he asks for bread. 
 Nearer to us is the God interpreted in terms of 
 humanity. God visits man in man's image. Justice,
 
 BY FAITH 253 
 
 holiness, tenderness, pardon not the stars nor the 
 plants nor the beasts and birds, nor any spectacle 
 of creation, reveal to us these realities as does a 
 human being inspired by the higher life. To him 
 we might say: In thee my problems are resolved, 
 my discords harmonized, the obscure passages of 
 life, of history, of writings, interpreted. You ren- 
 der God, the world and myself veritably assimila- 
 ble and nourishing to me. 
 
 ONE THING IS NEEDFUL 
 
 YET in all this, nothing is essential except 
 life and power. The words with which to 
 speak, the formulas in which to enshrine 
 these experiences, are rich and varied. Their office 
 is to interpret the uninterpretable, to express with 
 stammerings, the ineffable. Their true attitude is 
 one of entire humility, I would almost say of self- 
 effacement. They are never more effective than 
 when they seem to wait, ready to fade out before 
 the glory of that which they attempt to prefigure. 
 If the word, the doctrine, the belief is substi- 
 tuted for the living faith, they are usurpers. 
 
 Observe the life and teachings of Christ. He
 
 254 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 never indoctrinated. He kindled hearts by His con- 
 tact. His Gospel is not a body of doctrines which 
 He imposes, and which He confides to the care of 
 scribes jealous of the letter. It is a force of tender- 
 ness, light, courage, joy and peacefulness. It is 
 life infinite and divine, beating in the heart of a 
 man, vibrating in his voice, shining in his face. 
 There the soul, troubled by the strangeness and 
 contradictions of the world, seems to inhale a 
 breath of its home; the eyes open wide, the heart 
 dilates and hope is reborn. Under this beneficent 
 influence old stains and old iniquities are blotted 
 out as ice melts under spring sunshine. Even the 
 passer-by, conscious of some breath of freedom in 
 the air, says within himself: "God hath visited 
 his people. They that dwell in the land of the 
 shadow of death, upon them hath the light shined." 
 
 GOOD TIDINGS 
 
 GOD loves thee, and the world is God's. In 
 the final reckoning, all things should turn 
 to good. 
 
 Poor humanity, lost, astray, worn with fatigue, 
 burdened with faults and miseries, the Father speaks
 
 BY FAITH 255 
 
 to thee, He calls thee. Rise from thy dust. Lift 
 thine eyes toward the heights. 
 
 Thou art a hope of God, therefore thou canst not 
 perish. Thy destiny, begun in pain and tears, will 
 end in immortal light. All thy sufferings will be 
 forgotten in the glory which shall be manifested in 
 thee. Believe this. Honor God in the thought that 
 your affairs are His, and that no power, no misfort- 
 une, no crisis can wrest you from His hand, or 
 hinder His plan of love from being realized for you. 
 Search, toil, fight and sow; but fear not, neither 
 be dismayed. 
 
 In the midst of your ignorance, find peace in the 
 thought that God knows what escapes your knowl- 
 edge. He does not ask you to come before Him 
 with a correct explanation of the universe. He is 
 not the Sphinx, proposing a riddle, devouring 
 those who cannot solve it. Trust Him, give your- 
 self up to Him.
 
 256 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 YE BELIEVE IN GOD, BELIEVE ALSO 
 IN ME 
 
 THERE are those who believe in God and 
 despair of man. 
 Not to believe in man, in life, in use- 
 ful labor, in the effect of intelligence and conscience 
 combined; to consider the earth a lost colony, an 
 enterprise fallen through; not to believe in the 
 triumph of justice, of brotherliness, of the Good 
 under all its forms this is the worst incredulity. 
 
 Incredulity does not consist in the inability to 
 fix in one's head certain forms of doctrine or certain 
 facts presented as historic. It consists in thinking 
 that life is only a great, vain show, from which no 
 good will ever be got, and whose end were well 
 wished for. 
 
 We are here to do a work, to work with God. 
 
 ' We have for us that Someone whose great shadow 
 Passes from time to time before our vision, 
 Across the enormous wall of the abyss." 
 
 The honor of God is concerned in our affairs. In 
 spite of the faults and errors of men, He is the re- 
 sponsible author of the world. Thus we cannot end 
 in failure. 
 
 Our skiff, buffeted by every tempest, has better
 
 BY FAITH 257 
 
 guarantees than the famous general offered the 
 frightened pilot when he said: "Thou bearest 
 Caesar and his fortune." 
 
 Lift up your hearts ! Shake out the sails to the 
 winds of hope. Everything that encourages, 
 strengthens, increases zeal and joy, is good, is true. 
 Every cheering doctrine is a torch of life lighted at 
 the altar fires of eternity. 
 
 Error is what discourages, burdens, darkens, 
 makes man drop his arms and shrug his shoulders 
 when he is confronted by the task life imposes on 
 him. 
 
 We must have Faith. It is the greatest of our 
 treasures, the root of life, the way of nourishment 
 from the source of being. Nothing great, beautiful, 
 enduring, nothing human, is done without faith. 
 
 Faith removes mountains. Belief itself is often 
 a mountain to remove. Belief then should amend, 
 purify itself and remain always the humble instru- 
 ment of Faith. 
 
 Faith quickened and spread abroad through vis- 
 ible signs and transitory things, must in the end 
 become independent of these. Born of certain con- 
 ditions, she must rise above all conditions. So falls 
 the protective shell when the bird is hatched.
 
 258 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 GOD IN CHRIST 
 
 THE FRIEND: The best there is in God is man. 
 A God not interpretable in terms of humanity, 
 would not exist for us. He would be a being within 
 Himself, too high and too remote. He must needs 
 put Himself on our level and yet be above us by the 
 measure of the infinite. Herein lies the mystery 
 brought upon our horizon by the revelation in 
 Jesus. 
 
 The God who looked at us through those eyes, 
 touched us with that hand, called us by that voice, 
 is greater than all the visible world. No force in 
 Nature, no majesty terrible or smiling, no thunder 
 of Sinai or serenity of Olympus, can be compared 
 with Him. 
 
 But He is here, near to us. He suffers with us, 
 weeps in our tears, and so that the grave may be 
 less dark, He does not desert us even there. He 
 beholds our life, grievous and sublime, and says of 
 each stage I too have part in it !
 
 BY FAITH 259 
 
 THE SON OF MAN 
 
 WHO then art thou? 
 I am the Son of Man. Every spot- 
 less virgin is my mother. 
 
 Each blow that strikes the innocent and the weak, 
 mars my countenance. No tear, that I am not con- 
 cerned in its shedding ; no ray of sunshine but I re- 
 joice in it. 
 
 I am in the gathering together of those who love 
 one another, in the solitude of the forgotten. 
 
 I die with the just who are outraged and perse- 
 cuted, and from their ashes I rise again. How 
 many times have I not died in your ranks ! With 
 you have I been hung on gibbets, burned at stakes. 
 But from all prisons I escape, from all tombs I 
 come forth. I shall be with you even to the end 
 of the world! 
 
 The eucharist symbolizes a sublime truth. So 
 long as there shall remain a being lost, God will 
 sacrifice Himself to save him. So long as men seek 
 Him in darkness, He will be ready to come down to
 
 260 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 them, to put on humanity, in order that He may 
 transform their perishable life into life eternal. 
 
 Creation is not finished. The best is yet to be 
 brought forth. Were it not so, interest in the great 
 universal labor would fail, and the world would be 
 crushed under the weight of its dead matter, like 
 a "successful" man under the accumulation of his 
 successes. 
 
 GOD MADE MAN 
 
 GOD becomes man in everything that sus- 
 tains us, keeps us living and active, en- 
 lightens the soul, and strengthens the 
 will. It is part of our duty to see that we neglect 
 nothing of this near and humble revelation. 
 
 The long look of the soul into the beyond, is not 
 possible at all times or with all men. Let us learn 
 to look at that which lies along our path. What 
 goes on there, is of the first importance. The little 
 things also are great, infinitely great. Let us be 
 faithful in what, with our narrow view, we deem 
 little things. Nothing is profane. Filled with a 
 great and sacred respect for all that lives, suffers, 
 dies, we are in communion with the holy of holies.
 
 BY FAITH 261 
 
 As one may live in a material sanctuary with a soul 
 empty of God, it is possible to move among things 
 apparently without a sacred character and have the 
 soul full of Him. If the wide horizons become 
 shut in, if the curtain fall, if you are reduced to 
 spiritual poverty, to dearth within, be faithful. If 
 your eyes are closed so that you must grope your 
 way, make your touch and your hearing serve you, 
 as they serve the blind ; be faithful. Use your mis- 
 ery as you would happiness. Use your poverty as 
 you would riches, and keep your faith, your good 
 confidence. Preserve your equanimity. It is not 
 enough to believe in the God of rising suns, - o 
 astral lights, of the splendid radiation of the spirit 
 from within. You must believe in the God of long 
 nights, of evil days. In the most obscure by-way, 
 may He meet thee and say : I am here. 
 
 THE REDEEMING SACRIFICE 
 
 ON the terrible night when this man came 
 to me, I felt that he was ready to share 
 my lot, and it gave me the courage to bear 
 it myself. 
 
 THE FRIEND: Words offered to those who suf-
 
 262 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 fer by those who do not, are vain words. They 
 speak another language. They call across an abyss, 
 and the voice sinks into the gulf. The virtue of 
 consolation is given only to him who makes our lot 
 his own, who is ready to take our burden upon him- 
 self. This is what you felt that night. You met 
 in your own experience, one of the profound truths 
 of life. In an hour of anguish, the power of re- 
 deeming sacrifice made itself known to you. 
 
 Humanity has been forever renewing this experi- 
 ence through the centuries. Isaiah so expresses it: 
 "He hath borne our grief and carried our sorrows 
 . . . and with his stripes we are healed." The 
 cross of Calvary has become its symbol. The 
 sight of Him "crucified through love," has given 
 more courage to wounded hearts than the finest 
 counsels of wisdom. 
 
 CADENTIA SIDERA 
 
 THERE are castes among dogmas, as 
 among men. Some dogmas of many 
 titles, but more brilliant than useful, 
 have always filled the front of the scene, to 
 the detriment of those modest and active ones rele-
 
 BY FAITH 263 
 
 gated to the background and the wings, after the 
 fashion of Cinderella. These high and mighty 
 lords, excommunicating and persecuting whosoever 
 did not bow low enough before them, have prac- 
 tised hateful tyrannies. Meanwhile the others, un- 
 seen, were consoling the afflicted, righting wrongs, 
 commanding only through kindness. 
 
 I am tired of watching the parade of useless 
 pomps. Their stars, now descending to the hori- 
 zon, do not excite my regret, and I dream in the 
 twilight, looking forward to the dawn of proletarian 
 dogmas. 
 
 THE POWER OF THE SPIRIT 
 
 THE FRIEND : Do not expect me to decry the value 
 of man's hopes of the life beyond. They are among 
 his most precious possessions. It is well to lift our 
 faces from the dark furrows above which we are 
 toiling for the future, toward this full accomplish- 
 ment, when every wound shall be healed, every abyss 
 filled. Woe to him who would close to man the 
 opening in the blue upon eternal life. I would 
 rather be a poor beast, and die to-night, than a man 
 without eternal hope, with cycles of assured ex-
 
 264 THE BETTER WAY 
 
 istence before me, cycles wherein the insupportable 
 sense of my nothingness should sink always deeper 
 into my being. 
 
 And yet, it is not in this firm expectation that the 
 power of the Spirit consists. That has its own 
 force, is sufficient in itself. There is a certain 
 manner of conceiving the world, which shows us 
 that all things have their compensation, and makes 
 us participants in the divine plenitude. 
 
 If Paul was able to say, "For I could wish that 
 I myself were anathema for my brethren's sake," 
 he was under the sway of a spiritual idea higher 
 than that of eternal happiness considered as a far- 
 off good, anticipated in the future. To speak as he 
 did, one must be inspired by this idea himself. 
 
 The peace of the soul is the key to the world. 
 Through it all things are ordered and disposed in 
 their places. In it the painful problem of life 
 resolves into harmony.
 
 BY FAITH 265 
 
 CREDO 
 
 I TRUST Thee, not to the third day, not to 
 the Easter dawn, but to the end of time. 
 Thy day cometh; that sufficeth me. 
 It is my calm in unrest, my light in the dark, my 
 consolation in distress and defeat. 
 
 I have been led to Thee by the flower of the 
 fields, by the star of the skies, by the voice of the 
 Prophets and of the Gospel, by the radiance from 
 the obscurity of the humble, as from the brow of 
 the Heroic and the Just. 
 
 But henceforth Thou hast no more need of wit- 
 nesses, or of fresh proofs. It is on Thee alone that 
 I believe, in Thee that I would have my assurance 
 for Life, for Death, for Eternity. 
 
 THE END
 
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