is true of the man as a whole and not simply of any part of him. It is not well to break up our nature into parts any more than it is sound to think of the mind as made up of different faculties. Considered in another way, and from another viewpoint, we may get some light on the subject from a remark of Carlyle. He says that man's unhappiness comes from his greatness and as he puts the matter we can hardly quarrel with his conclusion. The theory is that there is a continual conflict between what we are or have, and what we would be, or desire. There is this craving in us all for perfection, and when we fall short we seem to miss the only mark that is worth hitting. The sense of defeat discourages and disheartens us. This was the case of the apostle precisely. He knew what he ought to be, what he was capable of being, what God meant him to be, and yet he counted himself not to have attained. So he asked, "Who shall deliver me from the body of this death?" But his greatness was that he could conceive perfection, desire it, and press forward to it. And that is the greatness of man-the greatness out of which his unhappi ness grows. Here, then, is the source of the discord which so greatly distresses and disturbs even the humblest and weakest of those who are honestly trying to do their duty in this world. It is no mere war between intelligence and will, but rather war between the lower and higher parts of their own nature-between the sin which would master them and the God in them who would vanquish the sin. The struggle is between man as he is and man as he would be, and might be. Most great men, great even in earthly affairs, have been sad men, and for precisely the same reason—namely that they have had this sense of being balked in their purposes. No matter what they do their goal seems far ahead of them. The same thing. is true in the spiritual life. And the higher the man's aspiration the more conscious is he of failure. But one can fight the fight and keep the faith, and so enjoy something of peace and harmony. THE PROBLEM OF PRAYER `HERE can, of course, be no doubt that THE the change which science has wrought in the view that men have of the universe has greatly modified their theories of prayer, and perhaps weakened the instinct which once led men to pray. We now know that the world is a world of law, that nothing happens by chance, and so people no longer believe, as they once did, that all prayer is answered in the sense that whatever is prayed for is granted. We no longer look on the ill that may happen to those we think of as our enemies as punishment inflicted on them by God in response to our prayers. Nor do we feel at least it is to be hoped we do not that whatever blessing comes to us comes because we deserve it-because we are favored by God above our brothers. In these ways, and in many others, our attitude has suffered a very marked change. So it is that some men have ceased to feel that there is any value in prayer, while others have refined it into a mere indefinite communion with "whatever gods there be"-into a sort of merging of ourselves into the divine nature. Yet it seems fair to say that if, as is true, the discoveries of science have not overthrown religion, neither have they made prayer, even in the sense of asking for something, a futile and foolish thing. The trouble is, not so much with science and its effects, as with the false idea that religious people have had of prayer. The subject is important, and so a brief discussion of it may be helpful. Nothing whatever is to be said against prayer considered as communion with God, except that that is not all there is of it. Probably that is the highest form. The best prayers are those that are general, those in which there is the minimum of request and the maximum of the pouring out of the heart and soul to God. Prayer which is an approach to the divine is better than prayer which is a vehicle for the transmission of gifts. It is manifest that, thus considered, prayer can never be done away with as long as we are permitted to believe in the existence of a divine being. Doubtless this is the theory which appeals most strongly to noble souls. The man who has the root of the matter in him thinks much more of what he ought to do and to be than of what he would like to get. His longing is to establish and maintain close relations with the infinite perfection, and to draw help and⚫ strength and inspiration from that inexhaustible source. He looks for an answer to prayer, not so much in what he receives, as in the divine influence on his own life. This was what Sir Henry Wotton meant when he wrote of the man: "Who God doth late and early pray More of His grace than gifts to lend." It was what Tennyson meant when he makes King Arthur say: "Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice Rise like a fountain for me night and day. |
