Tracks Of A Rolling Stone by Henry J. Coke (top ten books of all time .TXT) 📕

For My Part,  Though Immeasurably Preferring The Pantheism Of

Goethe,  Or Of Renan (Without His Pessimism),  To The

Anthropomorphic God Of The Israelites,  Or Of Their Theosophic

Legatees,  The Christians,  However Inconsistent,  I Still

Believe In Prayer.  I Should Not Pray That I May Not Die 'For

Want Of Breath'; Nor For Rain,  While 'The Wind Was In The

Wrong Quarter.'  My Prayers Would Not Be Like Those

Overheard,  On His Visit To Heaven,  By Lucian's Menippus:  'O

Jupiter,  Let Me Become A King!'  'O Jupiter,  Let My Onions

And My Garlic Thrive!'  'O Jupiter,  Let My Father Soon Depart

From Hence!'  But When The Workings Of My Moral Nature Were

Concerned,  When I Needed Strength To Bear The Ills Which

Could Not Be Averted,  Or Do What Conscience Said Was Right, 

Then I Should Pray.  And,  If I Had Done My Best In The Same

Direction,  I Should Trust In The Unknowable For Help.

Then Too,  Is Not Gratitude To Heaven The Best Of Prayers? 

Unhappy He Who Has Never Felt It!  Unhappier Still,  Who Has

Never Had Cause To Feel It!

It May Be Deemed Unwarrantable Thus To Draw The Lines Between

What,  For Want Of Better Terms,  We Call Material And

Spiritual.  Still,  Reason Is But The Faculty Of A Very Finite

Being; And,  As In The Enigma Of The Will,  Utterly Incapable

Of Solving Any Problems Beyond Those Whose Data Are Furnished

By The Senses.  Reason Is Essentially Realistic.  Science Is

Its Domain.  But Science Demonstratively Proves That Things

Are Not What They Seem; Their Phenomenal Existence Is Nothing

Else Than Their Relation To Our Special Intelligence.  We

Speak And Think As If The Discoveries Of Science Were

Absolutely True,  True In Themselves,  Not Relatively So For Us

Only.  Yet,  Beings With Senses Entirely Different From Ours

Would Have An Entirely Different Science.  For Them,  Our Best

Established Axioms Would Be Inconceivable,  Would Have No More

Meaning Than That 'Abracadabra Is A Second Intention.'

Science,  Supported By Reason,  Assures Us That The Laws Of

Nature - The Laws Of Realistic Phenomena - Are Never

Suspended At The Prayers Of Man.  To This Conclusion The

Educated World Is Now Rapidly Coming.  If,  Nevertheless,  Men

Thoroughly Convinced Of This Still Choose To Believe In The

Efficacy Of Prayer,  Reason And Science Are Incompetent To

Confute Them.  The Belief Must Be Tried Elsewhere,  - It Must

Be Transferred To The Tribunal Of Conscience,  Or To A

Metaphysical Court,  In Which Reason Has No Jurisdiction.

This By No Means Implies That Reason,  In Its Own Province,  Is

To Yield To The 'Feeling' Which So Many Cite As The

Infallible Authority For Their 'Convictions.'

We Must Not Be Asked To Assent To Contradictory Propositions. 

We Must Not Be Asked To Believe That Injustice,  Cruelty,  And

Implacable Revenge,  Are Not Execrable Because The Bible Tells

Us They Were Habitually Manifested By The Tribal God Of The 

Israelites.  The Fables Of Man's Fall And Of The Redemption

Are Fraught With The Grossest Violation Of Our Moral

Conscience,  And Will,  In Time,  Be Repudiated Accordingly.  It

Is Idle To Say,  As The Church Says,  'These Are Mysteries

Above Our Human Reason.'  They Are Fictions,  Fabrications

Which Modern Research Has Traced To Their Sources,  And Which

No Unperverted Mind Would Entertain For A Moment.  Fanatical

Belief In The Truth Of Such Dogmas Based Upon 'Feeling' Have

Confronted All Who Have Gone Through The Severe Ordeal Of

Doubt.  A Couple Of Centuries Ago,  Those Who Held Them Would

Have Burnt Alive Those Who Did Not.  Now,  They Have To

Console Themselves With The Comforting Thought Of The Fire

That Shall Never Be Quenched.  But Even Job's Patience Could

Not Stand The Self-Sufficiency Of His Pious Reprovers.  The

Sceptic Too May Retort:  'No Doubt But Ye Are The People,  And

Wisdom Shall Die With You.'

Conviction Of This Kind Is But The Convenient Substitute For

Knowledge Laboriously Won,  For The Patient Pursuit Of Truth

At All Costs - A Plea In Short,  For Ignorance,  Indolence, 

Incapacity,  And The Rancorous Bigotry Begotten Of Them.

The Distinction Is Not A Purely Sentimental One - Not A

Belief Founded Simply On Emotion.  There Is A Physical World

- The World As Known To Our Senses,  And There Is A Psychical

World - The World Of Feeling,  Consciousness,  Thought,  And

Moral Life.

Granting,  If It Pleases You,  That Material Phenomena May Be

The Causes Of Mental Phenomena,  That 'La Pensee Est Le

Produit Du Corps Entier,' Still The Two Cannot Be Thought Of

As One.  Until It Can Be Proved That 'There Is Nothing In The

World But Matter,  Force,  And Necessity,' - Which Will Never

Be,  Till We Know How We Lift Our Hands To Our Mouths,  - There

Remains For Us A World Of Mystery,  Which Reason Never Can

Invade.

It Is A Pregnant Thought Of John Mill's,  Apropos Of Material

And Mental Interdependence Or Identity,  'That The Uniform

Coexistence Of One Fact With Another Does Not Make The One

Fact A Part Of The Other,  Or The Same With It.'

A Few Words Of Renan's May Help To Support The Argument.  'Ce

Qui Revele Le Vrai Dieu,  C'est Le Sentiment Moral.  Si

L'humanite N'etait Qu'intelligente,  Elle Serait Athee.  Le

Devoir,  Le Devouement,  Le Sacrifice,  Toutes Choses Dont

L'histoire Est Pleine,  Sont Inexplicables Sans Dieu.'  For

All These We Need Help.  Is It Foolishness To Pray For It? 

Perhaps So.  Yet,  Perhaps Not; For 'Tout Est Possible,  Meme

Dieu.'

Whether Possible,  Or Impossible,  This Much Is Absolutely

Certain:  Man Must And Will Have A Religion As Long As This

World Lasts.  Let Us Not Fear Truth.  Criticism Will Change 

Men's Dogmas,  But It Will Not Change Man's Nature.

My Confidence Was Restored,  And With It My Powers Of

Endurance.  Sleep Was Out Of The Question.  The Night Was

Bright And Frosty; And There Was Not Heat Enough In My Body

To Dry My Flannel Shirt.  I Made Shift To Pull Up Some Briar

Bushes; And,  Piling Them Round Me As A Screen,  Got Some

Little Shelter From The Light Breeze.  For Hours I Lay

Watching Alpha Centauri - The Double Star Of The Great Bear's

Pointers - Dipping Under The Polar Star Like The Hour Hand Of

A Clock.  My Thoughts,  Strange To Say,  Ran Little On The

Morrow; They Dwelt Almost Solely Upon William Nelson.  How

Far Was I Responsible,  To What Extent To Blame,  For Leading

Him,  Against His Will,  To Death?  I Re-Enacted The Whole

Event.  Again He Was In My Hands,  Still Breathing When I Let

Him Go,  Knowing,  As I Did So,  That The Deed Consigned Him

Living To His Grave.  In This Way I Passed The Night.

Just As The First Streaks Of The Longed-For Dawn Broke In The

East,  I Heard Distant Cries Which Sounded Like The Whoops Of

Indians.  Then They Ceased,  But Presently Began Again Much

Nearer Than Before.  There Was No Mistake About Them Now,  -

They Were The Yappings Of A Pack Of Wolves,  Clearly Enough, 

Upon Our Track Of Yesterday.  A Few Minutes More,  And The

Light,  Though Still Dim,  Revealed Their Presence Coming On At

Full Gallop.  In Vain I Sought For Stick Or Stone.  Even The

River,  Though I Took To It,  Would Not Save Me If They Meant

Mischief.  When They Saw Me They Slackened Their Pace.  I Did

Not Move.  They Then Halted,  And Forming A Half-Moon Some

Thirty Yards Off,  Squatted On Their Haunches,  And Began At

Intervals To Throw Up Their Heads And Howl.

My Chief Hope Was In The Coming Daylight.  They Were Less

Likely To Attack A Man Then Than In The Dark.  I Had Often

Met One Or Two Together When Hunting; These Had Always

Bolted.  But I Had Never Seen A Pack Before; And I Knew A

Pack Meant That They Were After Food.  All Depended On Their

Hunger.

When I Kept Still They Got Up,  Advanced A Yard Or Two,  Then

Repeated Their Former Game.  Every Minute The Light Grew

Stronger; Its Warmer Tints Heralded The Rising Sun.  Seeing,  

However,  That My Passivity Encouraged Them,  And Convinced

That A Single Step In Retreat Would Bring The Pack Upon Me,  I

Determined In A Moment Of Inspiration To Run Amuck,  And Trust

To Providence For The Consequences.  Flinging My Arms Wildly

Into The Air,  And Frantically Yelling With All My Lungs,  I

Dashed Straight In For The Lot Of Them.  They Were,  As I

Expected,  Taken By Surprise.  They Jumped To Their Feet And

Turned Tail,  But Again Stopped - This Time Farther Off,  And

Howled With Vexation At Having To Wait Till Their Prey

Succumbed.

The Sun Rose.  Samson Was On The Move.  I Shouted To Him,  And

He To Me.  Finding Me Thus Reinforced The Enemy Slunk Off, 

And I Was Not Sorry To See The Last Of My Ugly Foes.  I Now

Repeated My Instructions About Our Trysting Place,  Waited

Patiently Till Samson Had Breakfasted (Which He Did With The

Most Exasperating Deliberation),  Saw Him Saddle My Horse And

Leave His Camp.  I Then Started Upon My Travels Up The River, 

To Meet Him.  After A Mile Or So,