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securely proved in the sacred writings, there
still remain the essential facts of the Christian revelation, and more
deep and fruitful principles than a man can keep and make his own in
the course of a lifetime, however purely and faithfully he lives and
strives. To myself the doubtful matters are things absolutely immaterial,
like the debris of the mine, while the precious ore gleams and sparkles
in every boulder.
What, in effect, these critics say is that a man must not discuss religion
unless he is an expert in theology. When I try, as I have once or twice
tried, to criticise some current conception of a Christian dogma, the
theological reviewer, with a titter that resembles the titter of Miss
Squeers in Nicholas Nickleby, says that a writer who presumes to
discuss such questions ought to be better acquainted with the modern
developments of theology. To that I demur, because I am not
attempting to discuss theology, but current conceptions of theology. If
the advance in theology has been so enormous, then all I can say is that
the theologians fail to bring home the knowledge of that progress to the
man in the street. To use a simple parable, what one feels about many
modern theological statements is what the eloquent bagman said in
praise of the Yorkshire ham: "Before you know where you are,
there--it's wanished!" This is not so in science; science advances, and
the ordinary man knows more or less what is going on; he understands
what is meant by the development of species, he has an inkling of what
radio-activity means, and so forth; but this is because science is making
discoveries, while theological discoveries are mainly of a liberal and
negative kind, a modification of old axioms, a loosening of old

definitions. Theology has made no discoveries about the nature of God,
or the nature of the soul; the problem of free will and necessity is as
dark as ever, except that scientific discovery tends to show more and
more that an immutable law regulates the smallest details of life. I
honour, with all my heart, the critics who have approached the Bible in
the same spirit in which they approach other literature; but the only
definite result has been to make what was considered a matter of blind
faith more a matter of opinion. But to attempt to scare men away from
discussing religious topics, by saying that it is only a matter for experts,
is to act in the spirit of the Inquisition. It is like saying to a man that he
must not discuss questions of diet and exercise because he is not
acquainted with the Pharmacopoeia, or that no one may argue on
matters of current politics unless he is a trained historian. Religion is,
or ought to be, a matter of vital and daily concern for every one of us; if
our moral progress and our spiritual prospects are affected by what we
believe, theologians ought to be grateful to any one who will discuss
religious ideas from the current point of view, if it only leads them to
clear up misconceptions that may prevail. If I needed to justify myself
further, I would only add that since I began to write on such subjects I
have received a large number of letters from unknown people, who
seem to be grateful to any one who will attempt to speak frankly on
these matters, with the earnest desire, which I can honestly say has
never been absent from my mind, to elucidate and confirm a belief in
simple and essential religious principles.
And now I would go on to say a few words as to the larger object
which I have had in view. My aim has been to show how it is possible
for people living quiet and humdrum lives, without any opportunities of
gratifying ambition or for taking a leading part on the stage of the
world, to make the most of simple conditions, and to live lives of
dignity and joy. My own belief is that what is commonly called success
has an insidious power of poisoning the clear springs of life; because
people who grow to depend upon the stimulus of success sink into
dreariness and dulness when that stimulus is withdrawn. Here my
critics have found fault with me for not being more strenuous, more
virile, more energetic. It is strange to me that my object can have been
so singularly misunderstood. I believe, with all my heart, that happiness
depends upon strenuous energy; but I think that this energy ought to be

expended upon work, and everyday life, and relations with others, and
the accessible pleasures of literature and art. The gospel that I detest is
the gospel of success, the teaching that every