Thoughts on religion at the front | Page 3

and file who fought the first battle of Ypres--when
the whole of the British forces came to be strung out from Ypres to La
Bassée in one line without a reserve--formed a general apprehension of
and as to their position, they would have been 'rattled' and broken. They
were not beaten, in part because they did not think of being beaten.
"You can't," as they sing, "beat the boys of the bull-dog breed," but this
invincibility has not altogether the virtue of facts understood, faced,
and triumphed over. In short, British qualities and defects of qualities
are closely interwoven. But my point is, that this being so, any verdict
about what is going on in British souls during a war must be humble
and tentative and patient of qualification.

III
On the whole, I venture to say, there is not a great revival of the

Christian religion at the front. Yet I am eager to acclaim the wonderful
quality of spirit which men of our race display in this war, and to claim
it as Christian and God-inspired. Deep in their hearts is a great trust and
faith in God. It is an inarticulate faith expressed in deeds. The top
levels, as it were, of their consciousness, are much filled with
grumbling and foul language and physical occupations; but beneath lie
deep spiritual springs, whence issue their cheerfulness, stubbornness,
patience, generosity, humility, and willingness to suffer and to die.
They declare by what they are and do that there is a worth-whileness in
effort and sacrifice. Without saying so, they commit themselves to "the
Everlasting Arms."
The metaphor of human nature being hardened or caked over by war
must be modified so as to allow that war lays human nature bare. It is a
grand fibre or grain of British nature which the war has exposed. It is
inwrought with Christian excellences of humility, unselfishness,
fortitude, and all that makes a good comrade. It is precious stuff. Let
there be no talk hereafter of the decadence of the race. Let no one dare
to disparage the masses of our people; nor let any one, through class
ignorance or prejudice or fear, speak of them contemptuously. They are
priceless raw material. As I have hovered in seeming priestly
impotence over miracles of cheerful patience lying on stretchers in
dressing-stations, I have said--I have vowed to myself--"Here are men
worth doing anything for."
There is a great heart in the people. It is not a great mind. In officers
and men there is little intellectual grip upon what we are fighting for.
Every one nearly is without a saving touch of rhetoric. Ideas are under
suspicion. "Padre, what you say is just ideal, it's all in the air." But the
objectors stick it and die for the unformulated and unexpressed ideal.
They are far wiser and better than they know.

IV
I must modify, then, and say that on the whole there is not a great
articulate revival of the Christian religion at the front. But further I

must add that there is religion about, only, very often it is not the
Christian religion. Rather it is natural religion. It is the expression of a
craving for security. Literally it is a looking for salvation. It is a very
unnatural man who does not feel at any rate more inclined to pray when
danger abounds and anxiety presses, than at other times. Naturally, then,
chaplains find a readier response to their efforts right at the front than
farther back. Men come to a service before they go to the trenches.
Communicants increase before a fight. Chaplains are frequently told of
prayer being resorted to under this or that strain of this terrific war.
There is in short a general association of ideas about religion and, as I
have said, it may be called the association of a craving for security.
I would say nothing disrespectful of it. I would not pretend for a
moment to be void of this very natural craving. I would recognise that
impressions made by strain and anxiety are often the means whereby
God brings men home to Himself. I thought it a hard saying of an
ardent salvationist lad, who told me of a transport sergeant's prayers
one night in a ditch by a shrapnelled roadside, and of the same
sergeant's reversion to apparent irreligion on return to safety. "I call it,"
said the boy, "cowardice." But what I do say about it is, firstly, that
religion thus mainly associated with danger, is not the Christian
religion, and secondly, that many of the best men of all ranks have little
to do with it, or what little they do have is intermittent and rather
shamefaced.
I leave the first statement for the moment. About the second I