Robert Collier – The Life Magnet Volume 2 of 5

1928

 

CONTENTS

Chapter 1 – Discouragement

Chapter 2 – The Black Mountain

Chapter 3 – The Dragon’s Teeth

Chapter 4 – The Unifying Fire—Love and Marriage

Chapter 5 – The Moulting Period

 

Chapter 1

Discouragement

“Keep thy heart with all diligence, for out of it are the issues of life.” —Proverbs 4:23.

YEARS ago I read a story about a man who had become so discouraged that he decided to commit suicide.

He had married a widow, and she not only made life a burden for him at home, but spent all his savings, ran him into debt and discredited him with his employers.

He could see only one way out—to jump into the river and end his troubles.

It was Saturday night, so, waiting until late, he slipped out of the house and down through the deserted streets to the bridge.

Imagine the grim humor of it when, from out of the shadow of one of the great stone towers, a man with a gun stepped forth and commanded—”Hands up!”

Automatically, the discouraged man obeyed, then brought his hands down again as the humor of it gripped him. If this highwayman wanted to save him the trouble of killing himself, let him!

But the highwayman wasn’t that obliging. Being a bigger man, he seized the other, held him tightly while he went through the pockets the wife had emptied hours before, then turned him loose and looked him over curiously.

“What’s the joke?” he asked roughly, as the intended suicide yielded to another paroxysm of laughter.

Between gasps, the man told him.

“Hum,” mused the highwayman, immediately interested, “you ought not to do that. Why don’t you just leave the woman? Leave her and start fresh somewhere else.”

But the other was too discouraged. His mind was made up. He was going to put an end to his troubles once and for all.

“Well, do this much, anyway,” suggested the highwayman. “Give fate a chance. Don’t just jump off the bridge, but climb up on the railing there and see how far you can walk. You’ll fall over before you’ve gone far. If you fall on that side—all right, you’re a goner and that’s the end of it. But if you fall on this side, go back home and give life one more try.

The would-be suicide agreed—so the other boosted him up on to the rail and he started. Before he had gone twenty feet, he was down—and glad enough, if the truth were told, to fall on the bridge side after looking so close into the jaws of death.

His new-found friend picked him up and helped him home, where Fate chose that opportune moment to show him that the greater the obstacle, the bigger stepping-stone to success it can be made.

But perhaps you will say that only happens in stories. Read the lives of the great and you will never say it again. The difference between failure and success is measured only by your patience and faith—sometimes by inches, sometimes by minutes, sometimes by the merest flash of time.

Take Lincoln, He went into the Black Hawk war a Captain —and came out a private. His store failed—and his survey­or’s instruments, on which he depended to eke out a livelihood, were sold for part of the debts. He was defeated in his first try for the Legislature. Defeated in his first attempt for Congress. Defeated in his application for Commissioner of the General Land Office. Defeated for the Senate. Defeated for the nomination for the Vice Presid­ency in 1856. But did he let that long succession of defeats discourage him? Not he. He held the faith—and made perhaps the greatest President we have ever had.

“He shall not fail nor be discouraged,” promised Isaiah (42:4,6), “till he have set judgment in the earth; and the isles shall wait for his law. Thus saith God the Lord: I the Lord have called thee in righteousness, and will hold thine hand, and will keep thee.”

Then there was Grant. He failed of advancement in the army. Failed as a farmer. Failed as a business man. At 39, he was chopping and delivering cord-wood to keep body and soul together. Nine years later he was President of the United States and had won a martial renown second in this country only to Washington’s.

Search the pages of history. You will find them dotted with the names of men whom the world had given up as failures, but who held on to their faith, who kept themselves prepared—and when their chance came they were ready and seized it with both hands.

Napoleon, Cromwell, Patrick Henry, Paul Jones—these are only a few out of thousands.

When Caesar was sent to conquer Gaul, his friends found him one day in a fit of utter despondency. Asked what the matter was, he told them he had just been comparing his accomplishments with Alexander’s. At his age, Alexander had conquered the entire known world—and what had Caesar done to compare with that?

But he presently roused himself from his discouragement by resolving to make up as quickly as might be for his lost time. The result? He became the head of the Roman Empire.

“Behold, the Lord thy God hath set the land before thee; go up and possess it, as the Lord God of thy fathers hath said unto thee; fear not, neither be discouraged.”

—Deuteronomy 1:21.

The records of business are crowded with the names of

middle-aged nobodies who lived to build great fortunes, vast institutions. No man has failed as long as he has faith in the Father, faith in the great scheme of things, faith in himself.

But it takes the kind of simple faith that F. S. Shinn tells of in The Game of Life and How to Play It. . .

A woman was looking for an apartment in New York at the time when apartments were scarcely to be had for love or money.

Her friends told her she would have to store her furniture and live in a hotel. But she held on to her fath. She knew that somewhere was just the apartment she was seeking— and that the Father knew exactly where that apartment was. So she prayed to Him to open the way—prayed in the full confidence that there is a supply for every demand, that her eyes had only to be opened as were Hagar’s in the desert.

She knew that if she found the apartment she was going to need new blankets for the winter. But caution said—wait until you find an apartment to put them in. Faith made answer—”Whatsoever ye ask for when ye pray, believe that ye receive it!”

What would the first thing be that she would do if she had the right apartment? Buy blankets. All right, if she had Faith in the Father, she must show her belief. So she went out and bought the blankets.

Needless to say she got the apartment—in what F. S. Shinn describes as a “miraculous way” and in spite of the fact that there were 200 other applicants for the same apartment. She had shown her faith.

Yesterday Ended Last Night

When Robert Bruce faced the English at the battle of Bannockburn, he had behind him years of failure years of fruitless efforts to drive the English out of Scotland, years of heart-breaking toil in trying to unite the warring elements among the Scotch themselves. True, at the moment a large part of Scotland was in his hands, but so had it been several times before, only to be wrested from him as soon as the English brought together a large enough army.

And now in front of him stood the greatest army England had ever gathered to her banners—hardy veterans from the French Provinces, all the great English nobles with their armored followers, wild Irish, Welsh bowmen—troops from all the dominions of Edward II, over 100,000 men— to conquer whom Bruce had been able to muster but 30,000 men, brave and hardy, it is true, but lacking the training and discipline of the English.

Was Bruce discouraged? Not he. What though the English had the better archers. What though they were better armed, better trained, better disciplined. He was fighting for freedom—and he believed in himself, he believed in his men, he believed in the God of battles.

And, as always, weight, numbers, armament, proved of no avail when confronted with preparation and faith. The vast English host was completely defeated and dispersed. Bruce was firmly seated upon the throne of Scotland, and never more did an invading English army cross its borders.

In Joshua (6 and 7) the Scriptures tell how the Midianites and the Amalekites lay along in the valley like grass­hoppers for multitude, and had driven the children of Israel into caves in the mountains. And how Gideon gathered the Israelites together to the number of 30,000 to fight them.

But the Lord said unto Gideon: “The people that are with thee are too many for me to give the Midianites into their hands, lest Israel vaunt themselves against me, saying, Mine own hand hath saved me.”

So Gideon told all who were fearful and afraid to depart. And 20,000 left. But still there were too many. So Gideon put the 10,000 that remained to another test, until of the original 30,000, he had only 300 men!

“And the Lord said unto Gideon: By the three hundred will I save you, and deliver the Midianites into thine hand.

“And it came to pass the same night, that the Lord said unto him: Arise, get thee down unto the host; for I have delivered it into thine hand.

“And the three companies blew the trumpets, and brake the pitchers, and held the lamps in their left hands, and the trumpets in their right hands, to blow withal; and they cried, The Sword of the Lord and of Gideon.

“And they stood every man in his place around about the camp; and all the host ran, and cried, and fled.”

Never mind how many defeats you have suffered in the past. Don’t be concerned about how great the odds may be against you. Below put it well when he said—”It’s not the size of the dog in the fight that counts, so much as the size of fight in the dog.” And the size of fight in you depends upon your faith—your faith in yourself, in your Father and in your cause. Just remember that yesterday ended last night, and yesterday’s defeats with it.

The power which counts is not wealth or weight or numbers or any power that comes from without—but the power that comes from within, the power of the Father. With Him arrayed on your side, you are always in the majority. You don’t need to become a success—you are a success from the moment you become at one with the Father. “Acquaint now thyself with God and be at peace.” Cast your burden upon the Father—and go free. He can carry it. In fact, from the moment you can truly cast it upon Him, it ceases to be a burden.

“Come to me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” Time after time throughout the Bible we are told that the battle is not ours—but the Lord’s. But like all children, we know so much better than the Father how our affairs should be handled that we insist upon running them ourselves.

Is it any wonder they get so tangled as to leave us in the depths of discouragement?

We insist upon having our birthright, and we go into a far country (away from the Father) and lose it. And then how few of us have the courage to come back to the Father, to own up that we have sinned and are unworthy to be called His sons. We would rather feed upon the husks of discour­agement and despondency than come back and throw our­selves upon the Father’s mercy, leaving the future in His hands, taking His yoke upon us. Yet he assures us—”My yoke is easy and my burden light.”

Have you ever, as a child, got into mischief, tried to conceal it from your parents, then gotten in deeper and deeper until finally, in despair, you went to them and made a clean breast of the whole thing? Remember what a relief it was to transfer that load of worry and fear from your small shoulders to their strong ones? Remember how willing you were to assume any “yoke,” to suffer any pun­ishment they might inflict, in order to get rid of that crushing weight of worry?

The Father above is as loving, as tender, as merciful as any earthly parent can possibly be, so why not carry your worries to Him in the same spirit?

“A crowd of troubles passed him by As he with courage waited,

He said: “Where do you troubles fly When you are thus belated?’

‘We go,’ they said, to those who mope,

Who look on life dejected .

Who meekly say good-bye to hope .

We go—where we’re expected!”

—F . E . Allison

When the Black Prince with his little army was penned in by Philip of France, most men would have felt discouraged. For the hosts of France seemed as numerous as the leaves on the trees, while the English were few, and mostly archers. And archers, in that day, were believed to stand no chance against such armored knights as rode behind the banners of Philip.

The French came forward in a great mass, thinking to ride right over that little band of English. But did the Black Prince give way? Not he. He showed the world that a new force had come into warfare, a force that would soon make the armored knight as extinct as the dodo. That force was the common soldier—the archer.

Just as the Scotch spearmen overthrew the chivalry of England on the field of Bannockburn, just as infantry have overthrown both cavalry and artillery in many a later battle, so did the “common men” of England—the archers— decide the fate of the French at Crecy. From being despised and looked down upon by every young upstart with armor upon his back, the “common men”—the spearmen and archers—became the backbone of every successful army. And from what looked like certain annihilation, the Black Prince by his faith in himself and his men became one of the greatest conquerors of his day.

Troubles flocked to him, but he didn’t recognize them as troubles—he thought them opportunities. And used them to raise himself and his soldiers to the pinnacle of success.

“Have I not commanded thee? Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed; for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.”

—Joshua 1:9.

There are just as many prizes in business as in war—just as many opportunities to turn seeming troubles into blessings. But those prizes go to the men like the Black Prince who don’t know a trouble when they meet it—who welcome it, take it to their bosoms, and get from it their greatest blessings.

I know a man who was “stuck” with 50,000 traveling bags —and the bank was pressing him to repay the money it had loaned on them.

Did he weep? Did he get discouraged and quit? Not he! He developed a brand new market, an entirely new list he had never even thought of before, and not only sold his 50,000, but a lot more besides.

I know another man who was selling a special kind of poultry feed shortly after the war. And poultry feed seemed so in demand that he contracted for ten carloads of it. A few months passed, and the bottom dropped out of the market—leaving him with a warehouse full of poultry feed, and five more cars to come!

Did he get discouraged and quit? Not he! He got up a prize contest, that so stimulated the interest in poultry feed that he sold not only all that he had, not alone the five cars on the way, but three additional carloads!

Nearly every man can look back—and not so far back either with most of us—and recall cases like that where, by facing seeming troubles determinedly, he opened up entirely new resources, turned seeming troubles into his greatest blessings.

You can treat ALL troubles that same way, if you will just hold the faith, resist discouragement, and call upon the Father for help.

But yield to discouragement, and even though good come of your trial, you will lose the key to it. You will be like the man who knew that somewhere along the ocean shore was a pebble that would turn iron into gold. He started out full of hope and enthusiasm, picking up pebbles and touching them to the iron bracelet he wore.

But after a time he became discouraged. He still walked on, picking up pebbles, touching them to the bracelet and throwing them down again, but he did it mechanically, paying no attention to what he was doing.

As the sun was setting, he glanced down at the bracelet—to find, to his astonishment, that it was turned to gold!

But, alas! The stone that did it was lost, somewhere back along his way. He had held it—used it—and thrown it away!

What is the use of holding on to life—unless you at the same time hold on to your faith? What is the use of going through the daily grind, the wearisome drudgery—if you have given up hoping for the rewards, and unseeing let them pass you by?

Suppose business and industry did that? How far would they get? It is simply by holding on hopefully, believing, watchfully—as Kipling put it: “Forcing heart and nerve and sinew to serve your turn long after they are gone, and so hold on when there is nothing in you except the will which says to them: ‘Hold on’!”—that many a business man has worked out his salvation.

Take the metal mines, as an instance: Supposedly worthless mines have now become productive, slag heaps have sud­denly become worth millions, all through a froth that was discovered almost by accident!

Writing in The Compressed Air Magazine, Gail Martin says: “Froth is raising millions of tons of minerals each year to a state of high commercial value. An oily, fluffy, dirty-grey froth is separating complex minerals into valuable products. Difficult smelting problems have been overcome; waste has been converted into profitable ore; and all through the discovery that froth can he made to accomplish what no other known agency will do as effectively. Three years ago, plants in Salt Lake Valley poured on their slag dumps daily about 100,000 pounds of zinc—$2,000,000 worth annually. Today, the greater part of this metal is saved.”

But do you suppose it would ever have been saved if industry had simply sat back discouraged, or if, like the man on the seashore, its efforts had been merely mechanical?

It is not enough to work. The horse and the ox do that. And when we work without thought, without hope, we are no better than they. It is not enough to merely hold on. The poorest creatures often do that mechanically, for lack of the courage to let go.

If you are to gain the reward of your labors, if you are to find relief from your drudgery, you have got to hold on hopefully, believingly, confidently—knowing that the answer is in the great heart of the Father, knowing that He is not only willing but anxious to give it to you, the moment you have prepared yourself to receive it.

It is never the gifts that are lacking. It is never the Father who is backward in answering our desires. It is we who are unable to see, who fail to recognize the good, because our thoughts are all of discouragement and lack. We dwell on the evil we see around us—and troubles come a-flocking around our heads. When all we need to do is to disclaim the evil and look for the good that is rightfully ours—and the Father’s good gifts will compass us about.

“This book of the law shall not depart out of thy mouth; but thou shall meditate therein day and night, that thou mayest observe to do according to all that is written therein: for then thou shall make thy way prosperous, and then thou shalt have good success. ” —Joshua 1:8.

Chapter 2

The Black Mountain

“If thou faint in the day of adversity, thy strength is small.”

—Proverbs 24:10.

“Let not him that wavereth think that he shall receive anything from the Lord.” —James 1:7.

IN ANCIENT days, there was believed to lie far out in the South Seas an island on which stood a great black mount­ain. This mountain was so highly magnetized that if a ship approached within miles of it, the attraction of the mountain would draw to it all the iron work—even the nails—right out of the ship, with the result that the vessel would speedily fall to pieces.

The story goes that a certain Sultan Agib, setting sail with his fleet to explore those seas, was caught by a typhoon and blown far out of his course until, when the clouds lifted, he found himself and his ships headed straight for the Black Mountain.

Before they could change their course, the attraction of the mountain began to make itself felt. First their swords and spears and the loose pieces of iron round about the decks, then the nails and ironwork of the boats themselves, were picked up as by a magic hand and whirled toward the mountain, where they attached themselves with a resound­ing whang! In a few minutes the ships began to go to pieces, and the Sultan and his men found themselves struggling in the waves.

Agib managed to fasten himself to a plank, and with its aid after a desperate struggle reached the shore of the island.

Finding no other of his men there, he undertook to climb the mountain, which with much labor he succeeded in doing. At the top he discovered a great dome of brass, set up on brazen pillars. On it stood a horse and rider of brass, the rider bearing on his breast a leaden plate with talismanic characters engraved upon it.

Agib entered the dome, and casting himself upon his knees, gave fervent thanks to God for his deliverance. Then, worn out, he lay down and slept. In his sleep a gray-bearded old man appeared to him and bid him arise, dig up the ground at a certain spot, and he would there find a bow of brass and three arrows of lead. “Shoot the arrows,” the old man commanded him, “at the lead plate on the statue’s breast. If but one hit there, horse, and rider will tumble over into the sea, and thereafter the Black Mountain will lose all power for evil.”

Agib awoke and did as he had been commanded. With the third arrow he struck the leaden plate, and immediately horse and rider tumbled into the sea. Thereupon the sea began to rise until it completely covered the Black Moun­tain. Only the dome of brass was left above the waves. There the Sultan took refuge, until a boat came that way and carried him back toward his own dominions.

So ended the Black Mountain (or so the ancient legend has it).

Would that the Black Mountain of today were as easily disposed of. For there is a Black Mountain. And every craft that comes within its influence has all the iron (all the courage) drawn out of it.

Its name is FEAR.

What is it that makes the boa constrictor’s prey so still and powerless—unable to save itself by flight? Fear.

What is it sends the horse back into the burning barn to its death? Fear.

What is it makes men helpless in emergencies, unnerves them, turns them into panic-stricken mobs in fires or dis­asters? Fear.

Fear is the Black Mountain that robs those under its influence of manhood, of courage, of reason. And the Man of Brass who sits so proudly mounted on its dome is the Devil—the only Satan there is—the Devil of Fear.

But to every man is given a brass bow and three leaden arrows which can overthrow that devil. To every man is given a sea of courage which can drown the Black Mountain, once its ruler is overthrown. The brass bow is named Faith—faith in the Father. “For He hath said, I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee. So that we may boldly say, the Lord is my helper and I will not fear what man shall do unto me.”—Hebrews 13:5-6.

The three leaden arrows are:

1st—The Arrow of Light—bringing the thing feared out into the light of day so it can be seen in all its nakedness. The psycho-analysts, with all their overemphasis of sex, have brought out one valuable thing—the harm that repression causes. If they would study fear more and sex less, they would get further.

Take the shell-shocked veterans of the war. You will find some of them creeping miserably around the walls of the room, never daring to cross the open. Why? Trench fear. Fear of death in the open places.

Doctors have told me that many of those most successful in treating shell-shocked cases were not medical men at all, but sympathetic, understanding men and women from all walks of life who could win the soldiers’ confidence, get them to talk, to confide in them, to tell them exactly what it was they feared.

Bringing the spectre out into the open destroyed it. They slew the Demon of Darkness with the Arrow of Light.

“God hath not given us the spirit of fear, but of POWER and of love and of a sound mind.”—II Tim. 1:7.

2nd—Walking up to the thing you fear. Nine times out of ten you find it is stuffed—a scarecrow—an image of straw.

You have probably heard the story of the lame man and the bully. The bully had such a reputation that whenever he started after a man, the other ran. And, of course, the bully jumped on him from behind and had him whipped before the fight really began.

But one day he went after a lame man. And the lame man realized he couldn’t get away by running. His only chance lay in fighting. So he stood his ground. And so desperately did he fight that it was the bully who ran.

One of the few genuine ghost stories I have heard was told me by an old Civil War veteran years ago. Jim Youell was his name. He had enlisted in the war as a drummer boy at sixteen and stayed in it for four years. When the war was over he went back to his West Virginia mountain home.

One night, calling on some friends, the talk drifted around to ghosts. Youell laughed at the idea. But it developed that a number of people in the neighborhood had seen a headless ghost near a little cemetery Youell would have to pass on his way home. So he promised them he would pay the ghost a call.

‘Twas a blustery winter night, the ground covered with snow, the moonlight peeking out for brief intervals from behind the clouds.

Youell got as far as the cemetery, in a scoffing mood still, and stood looking down at the graves. Nothing there, cer­tainly, that looked like a ghost. And he turned to start home. But the sight that met him froze him in his tracks!

Over among the trees, some fifty yards away, was some­thing that moved silently toward him, pausing ever and again—but coming nearer and nearer. It was white, and it looked like the figure of a small man—without a head!

Youell was a brave man, but he could feel the hair on his head rising, and he had an almost irresistible impulse to turn and run. Almost he did it—but the thought of his scoffing friends held him back, and the courage gained in a dozen battles soon nerved him anew. He decided to stalk this ghost—but from the side, and from the shelter of the graveyard wall!

Gun in hand, he crept silently along until he felt sure he was behind and to the side of the phantom. Then looked cautiously out—and dropped his gun, swearing with heartfelt relief. The ghost was a white “muley” cow!

Jim Youell was well over sixty when I knew him—lean and wiry, yet tireless as a wolf. He had been foreman and mine superintendent for years in as lawless a country as ever made the West famous. He had worked his mines peacefully through a dozen feuds, when to hire a man from one side was to enlist every man on the other as your enemy. He carried a gun—and knew how to use it. Yet he never had to. Why? Because he believed in walking right up to every danger and facing it openly. And each, in turn, faded silently away.

One instance I saw. A man named Jenkins—a mountaineer, with a reputation for meanness, and a rifle that wasn’t above shooting from ambush.

Jenkins had bluffed his way with so many mine foremen that he felt he could get anything he wanted—merely by being ugly enough about it. One day he tried it on Jim Youell—to find himself presently on his way home, out of a job.

He went into executive session with his wife and a jug of “white mule,” and the upshot of the conference was that Youell must be removed.

Youell by then was far away in the depths of the mine, but late that afternoon a telephone call reached him. There was another exit a mile to the south of the tipple. Hadn’t he better take it home that evening? Why? Because Jenkins was waiting at the tipple with his rifle, vowing to “get” him the moment he came down, and drunk enough not to care how he did it.

“Waiting for me, is he?” flared up the old man. “Well, you just keep him there for ten minutes. I’ll show him all of me he’ll ever want to see again.” And made for the drift mouth and tipple as fast as he could go.

When the ten minutes were up, Youell was very much present, but the “bad man” had taken his rifle and his reputation and departed to parts unknown.

A man of straw—but he lorded it over those around him until one came along with the courage to walk up to the scarecrow and pull out the straw.

“And David said to Solomon, his son: Be strong and of good courage, and do it. Fear not, nor be dismayed. For the Lord God, even my God, will be with thee. He will not fail thee, nor forsake thee, until thou hast finished all the work for the service of the house of the Lord,”

—I Chronicles 28:20.

3rd—The last and the surest arrow is casting the burden upon the Father. There are times when the most fearless facing of our troubles, when talking them over most freely, still seems to leave them insuperable as before. Those are the times when we must use our last arrow—and go free!

Whether it be sickness, or lack, or trouble, there is always a way out for the determined soul. And casting the burden upon the Father opens that way out.

“You have won,” wrote a subscriber in South Carolina a short time ago. “Your books came at a time when impatient creditors were pressing us on every side. I could see no way out, and I told myself that if your philosophy could solve the problem, it would have stood the acid test. So I shot my last arrow.

“The next morning the Referee in Bankruptcy was to hold the hearing.

“When I left to attend that meeting nothing had happened. Two hours later our local banker appeared at the meeting and announced that he would advance every penny necessary to pay urgent obligations and carry on the business—without a promise from us, without having examined our books, without taking any precautions for the security of his money!”

He stopped worrying. He felt that he had done everything humanly possible, He cast the burden upon the Father— and went free!

The greatest successes have been built upon such tempo­rary failures as his—failure that still left people with every confidence in his integrity, his ability, his courage. At the very point of failure and discouragement, you are often nearest to success.

“January 1, 1926,” writes another friend from Pasadena, “found me very nearly broke, with immediate requirements for money. I sat down by myself and realized that help was always available and would speedily come.

“At five o’clock one of my friends called. I had never mentioned my need to him. He dropped ten $100 bills and a check for $1,000 on my desk, saying—

‘It’s the least I can do. I felt somehow that you could use it, and if it helps out any, I am glad.’ That was all!”

All through Lindbergh’s story of his amazing flight, you sense the fact that he was depending not merely on his inadequate instruments, not alone upon his mechanically perfect machine, but upon that higher Power “who hath gathered the winds in His fists”—the Father. The “We” he so constantly referred to was not only the plane and he— but the Father, too.

It was through no accident that in the ancient story of the Black Mountain, the Sultan was shown as having missed with his first two arrows—but the third went true. It is the one arrow that never misses, that can always be depended upon to topple over the devil of fear.

“For I thy God will hold thy right hand, saying unto thee, fear not; I will help thee.”—Isaiah 41:13.

I know a man who was faced with the threat of an expensive lawsuit. There seemed nothing he could do to prevent it, so he shot his third arrow. He put the situation in the Father’s hands, realizing that there is only one Mind— not minds a-many—and that there can be no conflict in Divine Mind. And there he left it.

The case was settled out of court without the cost of a penny!

There is nothing to fear in life. It is “our own hand that smites us”—not the hand of God. Today can always be managed. It is because we pile the memory of past troubles and the fear of future ones upon our backs that our load seems heavy.

The purpose of this entire universe is the working out of the supreme good of every soul in it.

Just remember that when troubles assail you. It is all right. Keep your grip on that principle, and it will turn seeming evil into the most certain good. Say to every trouble that confronts you—”You may not be a very pleasant thing to look upon now, but I am going to turn you into one of the best little workers I have.”

Then use it—use it to good purpose. Like Jacob and the angel, make it bless you.

A great American once said—”Get rid of your regrets. You are what you are because of the obstacles you have over­come. Rightly applied, even errors can be a blessing.”

And one of the country’s greatest neurologists says—”The three main classes of destructive moods are: 1, Harboring a grudge. 2, Dwelling upon the past. 3, Playing the martyr.”

The past is dead and done with. Forget it! Forget its grudges and resentments as well as its regrets.

Mankind’s journey through life is an exploring journey—a forward-looking journey. There will be obstacles in your way, there will be savage tribes to fight and conquer—but you have an impenetrable shield in the protection of the Father. “Fear not, I am thy shield and thy exceeding great reward.”—Genesis 15:1. You have a weapon nothing can withstand in your bow of brass and three leaden arrows.

So never worry about the ‘morrow. Live today to its fullest. Joy in it. Serve in it. Know that you cannot expect too much from the Father, for— “The Father loveth the son and hath given all things into his hands.”—John 3:35.

Then shall you be like the Psalmist of old:

“Though an host should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear: though war should rise against me, in this will I be confident.

“One thing have I desired of the Lord, that will I seek after; that I may dwelt in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to inquire in his temple.

“For in the time of trouble he shall hide me in his pavilion: in the secret of his tabernacle shall he hide me: he shall set me up upon a rock. “—Psalms 27:3-5

Chapter 3

The Dragon’s Teeth

“Be strong and of good courage. Be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed. For the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest. ” —Joshua 1:9.

“Then shalt thou walk in thy way safely, and thy foot shall not stumble.

“When thou liest down, thou shalt not be afraid: yea, thou shalt lie down, and thy sleep shall be sweet.

“Be not afraid of sudden fear, neither of the desolation of the wicked, when it cometh.” —Proverbs 3:23-25.

THERE was once a King’s son named Cadmus. Sent forth on a certain mission by his father, he was so fortunate as to overcome a great dragon.

Prompted thereto then by a soothsayer, he cut out the dragon’s teeth and sowed them in the ground. What was his astonishment to see these strange seeds spring up as full­armed warriors!

Espying him, they immediately started in his direction, and so threatening did they look that Cadmus ran and concealed himself among the trees. From that safe hiding place he threw stones among them until he started the warriors fighting among themselves, which they did so fiercely that they soon killed each other off.

Or so the ancient tale avers. But there is nothing ancient in the application of it. It belongs to you and me and all of us. For there is nothing we are more prone to than sowing dragon’s teeth, to spring up and threaten ourselves.

When the Prophet of old told his people—”It is thine own hand that smiteth thee,” he uttered a truth that is worldwide in its application.

Sounds unbelievable, I know, to say that the only evils we meet are those of our own making, but incredible as it may sound, it is nevertheless true. Emerson had the same idea when he wrote—”My children, on life’s highway you will meet nothing worse than yourself.”

How do we do it? By sowing the dragon’s teeth of fear, by imaging disaster—fire and flood and sickness and want, by charging our mental magnets with thoughts of all the evil things that may happen to us and thus actually drawing them upon ourselves.

There are two worlds—the House of our Father, and the Far Country to which the Prodigal Son ventured. The one is the world that God created, the other is the one made by man. It is yours to choose which you shall live in.

The House of the Father is everywhere. In it is no sickness, no accident, no want. “In my Father’s house there is bread and to spare.” It extends everywhere. It protects under any circumstance. You can live in it, you can keep your loved ones secure under its roof.

The Far Country, too, is all around you. You have but to step outside the House of the Father to be in it. And there you can find all the excitement you may wish—fire and flood and accident, disease and poverty and want. There is riotous living there—and abject poverty. Sorrow and pleasure and trouble. But real happiness—no! There is no room for happiness because of the ever-present fear of loss.

Fear is the one universal visitant in that Far Country. It stalks through every shadow. It lurks in every corner. It is the skeleton at every feast.

Does a man meet good fortune? “Look out for the rainy day,” whispers Fear. “It is just around the corner.”

Is he strong, healthy, full of the joy of living? “The very kind that fall easiest victims to the most dread diseases,” chuckles Fear at his elbow.

Has he a happy family, a loving wife, wonderful children? “Careful,” admonishes Fear, “a lot of accidents these days. Something may happen to them any minute,”

Fear keeps the people of that Far Country in daily, hourly dread. Yet, like the prisoner so accustomed to his chains that he hugs them to him and refuses to be released, many delight in it. They get a morbid pleasure from recounting their troubles, from dwelling upon them; they delight in reading all the intimate, gruesome details of the troubles of others, never realizing or perhaps not caring that they are thus insuring the continuance of their own difficulties, and often bringing upon themselves disasters similar to those they gloated over.

They read articles, they scan advertisements, they listen to long talks describing in detail every symptom, every characteristic, of the things they fear—and immediately think to see these Dragon’s teeth springing up in their own bodies or those of their children. Words crystallize thought, you know. Words are great forces in the realm of life. Be careful of their use. Who talks of hate, of poverty, of sickness, but sets rife these very elements to mar his fate.

And yet—it is all so unnecessary. “In my Father’s House there are many mansions,” said Jesus. Plenty of room for all. Plenty of “bread.” Plenty of protection. Plenty of life and health and happiness. Why not at least put our loved ones there, out of danger?

How to do it? How to win the blessings so lavishly prom­ised in the Scriptures? The directions are plain:

“For he that will love life, and see good days, let him refrain his tongue from evil, and his lips that they speak no guile.

“Let him eschew evil, and do good; let him seek peace, and ensue it.

“For the eyes of the Lord are over the righteous, and his ears are open unto their prayers: but the face of the Lord is against them that do evil.

“And who is he that will harm you, if ye be followers of that which is good?”—I Peter 2:10-13.

The most valuable characteristic of the mind is its ability to attract to itself whatever it is charged with. It is, in effect, a powerful magnet. But when you charge your mental magnet with thoughts or fears of evil, you turn that very power against yourself or your loved ones.

When sickness and epidemics are rampant, when “the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about seeking whom he may devour,” don’t sow the Dragon’s teeth of fear in your children, don’t put them in the way of the “devil” by being fearful for them.

“It is not the will of your Father that one of these little ones should perish,” said Jesus.—Matthew 18:14.

Have confidence in that promise. Put them in the Father’s House. Know that He is in them, even as they are in Him, that they are dwelling “in the secret place of the Most High, abiding under the shadow of the Almighty,” and that where He is, no evil—no devil—can remain. Then calmly rest in that faith, no matter what threatens.

“One prays,” said Marcus Aurelius, “how shall I not lose my son? Do thou pray thus—how shall I not fear to lose him.”

If the Pagan Emperor of the Romans, who could find no idol in which to trust, could sense the fact that it was the fear of loss which brought the loss about—how much more we, with “a God who carries us,” should cast out fear, should place our children in the care of the Father, should give His angels charge over them —and calmly trust.

Your son or daughter has a definite place in the Father’s plan. He didn’t “just happen.” He has certain work to do, which no other can do as well. He has a definite niche to fill, which will go empty if aught happens to him.

When the Father imaged him, He did it because He wanted him, He needed him. Don’t you suppose, then, that He did all that was necessary to insure his safety until his work should be done? Don’t you know that “He gave His angels charge over him, to lead him and to keep him in all his ways?”

Remember David’s adjuration to Solomon, his son. “Fear not, nor be dismayed. For the Lord God, even my God, will be with thee. He will not fail thee, not forsake thee, until thou hast finished all the work for the service of the house of the Lord. ”—I Chronicles 28:20.

Every good is for “the service of the house of the Lord,” for the House of the Father is everywhere. The work your child has to do is just as important, in the Father’s eyes, as was Solomon’s. So have no fear for him. The Father will not fail him, nor forsake him, until he has finished it.

Why, then, do sickness and epidemics, fire and flood and accident, take such toll of children, of young men and women whose work is still all before them?

Why? Because we take them out of the Father’s house, we refuse His care and protection, we sow the Dragon’s Teeth of Fear all around them, and those Dragon’s Teeth spring up and destroy them.

We can’t serve two masters, you know. As Jesus said—”We hate the one and love the other.”—Luke 16:13.

Of course, we would all vigorously deny that we hate the Father. But what better is it than hate when we put our trust in His opposite—Fear—the Devil? Did Fear ever bring us anything of good? Did Fear ever help us in danger? Did he ever fail to do us harm when we entertained him?

The Father, on the other hand—has He ever failed us when we really put our trust in Him? In fire, or storm, or acci­dent, or disease—when we abandoned all dependence upon material means and put our trust utterly in Him, have you ever known Him to refuse His help?

“And when the servant of the man of God was risen early, and gone forth, behold, an host compassed the city both with horses and chariots. And his servant said unto him, Alas, my master! how shall we do?

“And he answered, Fear not: for they that be with us are more than they that be with them.

“And Elisha prayed, and said, Lord, I pray thee, open his eyes, that he may see. And the Lord opened the eyes of the young man; and he saw: and, behold, the mountain was full of horses and chariots of fire round about Elisha.”

—II Kings 6:15-17.

In the House of the Father, mankind has been given an absolute protection from all evil—from sickness, from dis­aster, from want. And the password that carries you into that house is Faith, utter faith in the Father within.

In olden times, such simple faith was common. Today the age is too sophisticated. It would rather depend upon the efficacy of a rabbit’s foot to ward off evil—on pills, on the virus of diseased animals, on the hair of the dog that bites them.

It has substituted for the protection of the Father every device of man, forgetting that the devices of each generation are laughed at by succeeding ones, as being efficacious only insofar as they relieve the mind of fear.

Ten plagues were visited upon the Egyptians, but, though the Israelites were in and among them, not a single one of the plagues touched them. Why? Because they had placed themselves under the protection of the Father.

“And I will sever in that day the land of Goshen in which my people dwell, that no swarms of flies shall be there.”

—Exodus 8:22.

Plagues of blood, of toads, of lice, of flies, of boils, of murrain, of hail, of locusts, of darkness and of death—all these were visited upon Egypt—but all of these the chosen people escaped.

And though all the ten plagues were visited upon the world again today, those who enter into His house may just as surely escape.

“When he seeth the blood upon the lintel, and on the two side posts, the Lord will pass over the door, and will not suffer the destroyer to come in unto your houses to smite you.”—Exodus 12:23.

“When God gave man life upon this earth,” writes Albert C. Grier in Truth’s Cosmology, “He gave him perfect pro­tection against every one of its seeming evils. He gave him a kind of protection he does not need to go to the university to discover—he does not need to wait thousands of years for inventions to show it to him. God gave him the kind of protection a baby can and does have. He gave him the kind of protection the simplest mind in all the world can discern and the astutest mind might find difficulty in discovering. He gave him the power of absolute safety from every wind of adversity, from every form of disaster the world can bring upon him.”

Why doesn’t the Father forcibly prevent us from getting into evil? Because that way no progress lies. And man’s mission here on earth is to progress, to prove his Sonship to God.

Just as the mother bird throws its young from the nest to make them learn to fly, so does the Father throw you upon your resources to make you learn how to live.

Just as the mother bird flutters around her young, watching over them, urging them on, so is the Father ever behind you, ready to lend a helping hand, asking you only to do your best—then lean on Him in perfect faith for anything else you may need. “The eternal God is thy refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms.”

—Deuteronomy 33:27.

Go through the Bible from Genesis to Revelation and see how many pages you will have left if you tear out the records of men and nations that were protected by God in answer to their faith and prayer.

“They that trust in the Lord shall be as Mount Zion, which cannot be removed, but abideth forever.”—Psalms 125:1.

When evil threatens you, when everything looks dark and there seems no way out, enter into the House of the Father—put the situation in His hands and let go! Realize that He is all about you—in the very air you breathe—His arms beneath you, His hand at once your shield and your support.

“Acquaint now thyself with Him, and be at peace; thereby good shall come unto thee.” —Job 22:21.

Realize that evil is not an entity in itself—merely the absence of good. You have lost your connection with the source of all good. So get back into the House of the Father, recognize and claim your sonship, ask of Him what you need, and auguries of evil will be turned into har­bingers of good. The good is always there, if you will but recognize it. The evil has no power, except the power your belief and that of those around you give to it.

“Observe and hear all these words which I command thee, that it may go well with thee, and with thy children after thee forever, when thou doest that which is good and right in the sight of the Lord thy God.” —Deuteronomy 12: 28.

Cease from worrying about your health, about your affairs, about your children. Don’t you know that your very fears and worries are responsible for the diseases and accidents and failures that come into your life? Don’t you know that you are sowing Dragon’s teeth? Fear pictures these conditions in the mental realm, and what you mold there is sooner or later objectified in your physical surroundings.

Know that the Father has an antidote for every poison, a panacea for every ill, an answer for every prayer. “There shall no evil befall thee, neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling.”—Psalms 91:10.

But merely to know that He has the answer is not enough. You must visualize it—see it as YOURS in your own thoughts—KNOW THAT YOU HAVE IT in the realm of the REAL, the realm wherein you have all power, the realm that can be reached only on the wings of faith. Realize that you HAVE it there, and you will speedily find that your mental crucible has brought it into being in the realm of the physical as well.

When? Now! The very minute you can show perfect faith, that minute you can manifest the object of your desires. It matters not how remote they may seem, how hopeless they may appear to those around you. If it is right for you to have them, you can manifest them right there and now.

“Say not ye, there are yet four months and then cometh the harvest? Behold I say unto you, lift up your eyes and look in the fields. For they are white already to harvest.”

—John 4:35.

All of good is already yours in the House of the Father. Don’t wait to claim it—enter there now on the wings of faith—enter and take possession as His son, His rightful heir.

“And Hezekiah wrought that which was good and right and true before the Lord his God.

“And in every work, that he began in the service of the house of God, and in the law, and in the commandments, to seek his God, he did it with all his heart, and prospered.

“And Hezekiah had exceeding much riches and honour: and he made himself treasuries for silver, and for gold, and for precious stones, and for spices, and for shields, and for all manner of pleasant jewels;

“Storehouses also for the increase of corn, and wine, and oil; and stalls for all manner of beasts, and cotes for flocks.

“Moreover he provided him cities, and possessions of flocks and herds in abundance: for God had given him substance very much.

“This same Hezekiah also stopped the upper watercourse of Gihon, and brought it straight down to the west side of the city of David. And Hezekiah prospered in all his works.”

—II Chronicles 31:20, 21; 32:27-30.

Chapter 4

The Undying Fire—Love and Marriage

“There be three things which are too wonderful for me, yea, four which I know not:

“The way of an eagle in the air; the way of a serpent upon a rock; the way of the sea; and the way of a man with a maid.”

—PROVERBS 30:18,19.

LAST Spring when the Mississippi was in flood and the government sent its warnings throughout the adjoining states, an old negro preacher in Louisiana conceived the idea that he was a second Noah. Calling his flock together, he told them that the flood was coming and he had been commissioned by God to build the ark that would save them.

So they set to work, constructing a great ark which should hold all their possessions, their cattle, their horses, every­thing that was theirs. When the waters drew near and relief boats came, they sent them contemptuously away. Embark on those old flat boats when they had an ark all their own? They laughed at the idea.

The waters came and the preacher and his flock withdrew into the ark—their cattle and their chickens and all that was theirs with them.

The waters rose, the while the relief boats stood anxiously by, but all went well—until the waves lapped the sides of the ark. Then that frightened flock discovered they had overlooked one important essential—they had failed to caulk the seams! The water poured in between them faster than it could be bailed out.

And so it often is with marriage. To the lonely man or maid, to one craving love or companionship, to those looking for a haven of refuge from a work-a-day world, marriage seems an Ark of Happiness.

But when rainy days come, when the waters of trouble and sickness and poverty rise around it, too often it is found that the seams have not been caulked. Instead of an ark, it was merely a few planks of self-gratification, nailed together by passion, and temporarily roofed over by mutual infatuation. A few heavy storms will unroof it, a few waves of adversity break it apart and set the two voyagers crying shrilly for the relief boat—”Divorce.”

That is no way to build an ark that will carry you safely all through life.

It would be foolish to lay down rules for happiness, but there are four cardinal principles that every couple, young or old, can well bear in mind:

First, you must lay a keel of mutual respect. Without it, any high wind may upset your craft.

Second, you must have a framework of love. Not mere infatuation, mind you, not selfish passion only, but the kind of love that delights in giving—that seeks first the happiness and the good of the one loved.

Third, to make your craft water-tight, it should be boarded with planks of mutual tastes, of a liking for the same things —above all, similar views on religion. These make mental bonds of comradeship which reinforce the physical ones. But the whole must be caulked with the oakum of liberal­mindedness—of each recognizing the other’s individuality and not trying to foist his ideas or opinions upon her.

Fourth, your craft should be decked over with generous appreciation on the part of each for everything about the other.

Neither these nor any other rules can be called sure guides to wedded bliss. For, like Greek verbs, there are more irregular than regular cases. But at least they offer you a seaworthy craft which, with ordinary care, will ride through any storm you may meet on life’s way.

“And now abideth Faith, Hope, Love, these three; but the greatest of these is Love.”—I Corinthians 13.

In an old newspaper clipping, I remember reading of a fire on the hearth of a farmhouse in Missouri, that has not been out for eighty years.

When the builder of that old homestead left Kentucky with his young bride eighty years before, he took with him some live coals from the home fireplace, swinging in an iron pot slung from the rear axle of his prairie schooner.

Matches were unknown in those days, and the making of fire from flint and steel was too uncertain. So all through the long trek from Kentucky to Missouri, he kept that little fire alive, finally transferring it to his new log cabin home.

There his children grew and prospered. There he lived and there he died —by the light and warmth of that living fire.

So it must be with love—an undying fire. There will be scorched fingers at times, of course. There will be gusts of anger that blow the embers in all directions, there will be tempests that seem to quench the flame entirely—but you must never let them be quenched. You must nurse them back into life with forgiveness, bring back the glow with forbearance, keep the fire alive with undying faith.

“Love suffereth long, and is kind;
Love envieth not;
Love vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up .
Doth not behave itself unseemly
Seeketh not her own,
Is not easily provoked,
Thinketh no evil;
Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth;
Beareth all things; believeth all things,
Hopeth all things, endureth all things . ”

—I Corinthians 13:4-7.

Have you ever read the story of Procrustes? Procrustes was one of the most notorious robbers of olden days. He kept an inn into which he enticed the unwary traveler. In that inn was a certain bed which every traveler had to fit.

Procrustes would tie the traveler in it and measure him. If he proved too short, that was unfortunate, for Procrustes would stretch him until he was the right length. If he were too long, that was still more unfortunate, for the robber would trim off either end of his person until he fitted.

Sounds gruesome, but is it any more so than the constant nagging some husbands and wives subject their partners to, in their efforts to make them fit their particular standards?

The ancient Greeks had a legend that all things were created by love. In the beginning, all men were happy. Love reigned supreme, and life was everywhere. Then one night while Love slept, Hate came—and everything became discordant, unhappy, dying.

Thereafter, when the sun of Love rose, life was renewed, happiness abounded. But when the night of Hate came, then came discord also, and sorrow and ashes.

And truly, without love, life would be dead—a thing of wormwood and death. Ask some of these selfish old bachelors, with none to share their loneliness, with none to care whether they live or die. No worse fate can befall a man than to live and grow old alone—unloved and unloving.

“Better a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled ox and hatred therewith.”—Proverbs 15:16.

Why do you want to live tomorrow? Because there is someone you love—who loves you—whom you want to see, to be with, to watch and serve. To love much is to live much. To love forever is to live forever.

Easy enough to speak platitudes, I hear you say, but how shall we go about picking the right mate?

First, there must be some physical attraction. By that, I don’t mean that the girl must be a reigning beauty, or the man an Apollo. Beauty, while an asset, is in no way an essential to desirability and charm. Girls do not win happiness by looks alone—they never have and never will.

The most fascinating women in history—Cleopatra, Helen of Troy, Catherine the Great, Queen Elizabeth, the Pompa­dour—none of them had beautiful features. Cleopatra’s nose was much too big—but that didn’t keep her from hold­ing the ruler of the then-known world under her thumb for ten long years, and after his death, subjugating Antony in his turn.

Of course, she had something else—as did all these famous women of history—something stronger, more subtle, more fascinating than beauty. She had charm—that enticing, bewildering thing called feminine charm. The same charm that is born in every daughter of Eve who has the brains to use it.

What is charm? Charm is that something in the glance of your eyes, the turn of your head, the touch of your hand, that sends an electric thrill through every fiber of the one man at whom it is directed. Charm is taking the gifts that God has given you and keeping them supernally young and fresh and vivid. Charm is being so exquisitely alive and buoyant, keeping the magnet within you so surcharged with the joy of life, that even poor features are lost sight of in the bewitching attraction of the whole.

James Montgomery Flagg once spoke of the age where every girl not sick or a cripple is lovely. Charm is keeping that loveliness all through life. It can be done—is being done every day.

“Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful,” wrote Emerson, “we must carry it with us or we find it not.” Charm is not to be bought in jars or bottles. Nor is beauty. Both must come from within. Both spring from that magnet of life which is in your subconscious mind.

There are women who seem to have been born tired—never exactly sick, never entirely well. They don’t go out because they don’t get any fun out of play. They are sallow, listless, having neither charm nor personality, because they have allowed the magnet of life within them to run down. To them I would say—renew your health first, renew your energy and vigor, renew your interest in those around you—then begin to look for a fit mate. For love, says Browning, is energy of life.

“For life, with all it yields of joy or woe And hope and fear,
Is just our chance of the prize of learning love—
How love might be, hath been indeed, and is.”

As for men, beauty of face or feature is even less important than with women. Character, strength, a cheeriness that shines through storm and cloud—these are the attributes that attract, these are the characteristics that most women admire. And mutual admiration, mutual attraction, are the first essentials of a happy marriage.

How to inspire that feeling in another? By first cultivating it in yourself. Love begets love, you know. Charge your mental magnet with thoughts of unselfish love and devotion, give to the loved one in your thoughts the admiration, the appreciation, the idealized service you would like to give in reality—and as you give, love will come back to you. It may not be the one you first admire, but it will be one with the very qualities you think to see in your first love.

Love is giving. Real love asks no return. It cannot be jealous, for it seeks only the good of the one loved.

Love such as that is never lost or wasted. It comes back as surely as the morrow’s sun—oftentimes not from the one to whom you send it, but it comes back, nevertheless, blessed and amplified. As Barrie says—”Those who bring hap­piness into the lives of others, cannot keep it from themselves.”

You read in the papers of some man or woman dragging the other through the filth of a sensational divorce, and then ending up by declaring that he still loves her—or she him. And the pitiful part is that in their way, they still do. But it is a sad way.

Love such as that is merely selfish desire. The difference between it and hate is measured by gratification or refusal. Neither side gives anything. Both are trying to gratify themselves. Is it any wonder they go on the rocks?

You cannot receive what you do not give. Give an unselfish love—and an unselfish, idealistic love will come back to you. Give only passion, and the ashes of passion are all that will be left to you.

“Though I speak with the tongue of men and angels, and have not Love, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not Love, I am nothing. And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned and have not love, it profiteth me nothing.”

—I Corinthians 13:1-3.

To every man and woman there comes the opportunity for happiness. It is yours—yours by Divine right. Demand it! Know that somewhere there exists a perfect mate for you.

“He is the half part of a blessed man, left to be finished by

such as she; and she a fair devoted excellence, whose fulness of perfection lies in him,” —Shakespeare.

The Spirit Within knows exactly where this mate is, so put it up to Him to bring you together. Know that He has the answer—know that He is supplying it—know that you HAVE it!

And when you have found your love, don’t settle back like the man who has caught his car—and feel that you have done all that is required of you. That’s only the beginning. To hold that love, you must work just as hard as you did to get it. When you stop giving, you will stop getting. There is no place where the Law of Compensation works more surely.

There is a story in Cappers Weekly of a small boy who was puzzled over the girl problem and so consulted his pal Joe.

“I’ve walked to school with her three times,” he told Joe, “and carried her books. I bought her ice-cream sodas twicet. Now, do you think I ought to kiss her”?

“Naw, you don’t need to,” Joe decided after a moment “of deep thought “You’ve done enough for that girl already.”

Too many of us think we have done enough for “that girl” when we provide her with food and lodging and a reason­able amount of clothes.

Man, man, that’s only a start—and an unimportant start, at that. There is many a woman bedecked with jewels and fine clothing who would cheerfully change places with her cook if thereby she could win back the honest love and attention and thousand and one little evidences of affection her husband showed her when they first married.

Marriage is a business, and to win happiness from it, you have got to work at it just like any other business.

Your wife is your customer. You have sold her a certain machine which is you—a combination of radio and automobile and Don Juan and automatic provider. That machine has to keep running, doing all those things reasonably well that you promised in your sales talk it would do, else your customer will junk it or send it back.

And you, Mrs. Customer, you have certain duties too. It is a delicate machine that has been put in your charge. It needs the most constant care to perform at its best. It must be used continually to keep it from rusting. It must be wound regularly. It must be provided with the best fuel. Above all, it must be handled with the utmost care—never imp­atiently, never angrily—if you would keep its parts in order, if you would get the utmost of satisfaction and use from it.

At the Oklahoma Agricultural and Mechanical College, a new course has recently been inaugurated. Not only are the girls taught how to run a home, but the boys are learning how to appreciate all the work their mothers or wives do. And there is no better way of insuring a happy home than for each party to it to thoroughly appreciate all that the other contributes toward the making of that home.

A home is a partnership and it should be an equal partner­ship. No man expects to work all day and every day, with­out change and without rest. No more should he expect it of his wife.

Why do many married women grow old so quickly, lose their youthful lines and rounded cheeks, grow sallow and wan while their husbands are still in their prime?

Bearing children? I know hundreds of women with three and four and five children who still look as youthful as when they married.

Work? A reasonable amount of work is good for every woman.

Then what is the reason?

Strain—unending, unceasing strain. There is not a servant in this country that you could hire to work every day and all day, without any period of freedom, any day of rest. Yet many men think nothing of making their wives do it.

When Taylor, the great efficiency engineer, was called in to re-organize the work of a certain foundry, he found a number of men with wheel-barrows engaged in carting pig iron from the pile in the yard to the cupola. They worked continuously, without rest except for lunch, and careful checking showed that each man carted from twelve to fifteen tons of pig iron a day. At the end of the day they were worn out.

Taylor took one of the men (an entirely average man), stood over him with a watch, and had him work exactly in accordance with his directions. He would have him load his barrow with pig iron, wheel it over to the cupola, dump it— then sit down and rest, utterly relaxing for a minute or more. When the minute was up, he would go through the same performance—and again rest.

It took two or three days to figure out the best periods of rest, but at the end of the week, Taylor’s man was carting forty-five tons of pig iron every day, where before he had carted twelve to fifteen! And at the end of the day he was still fresh, where before he had been worn out.

There is not an organ in the body that does not require and take its period of rest, from the heart and lungs to the stomach and digestive tracts. Yet many a wife and mother goes all day and every day with never a moment of relaxation, never a minute when her nerves are not taut with strain. Is it any wonder they grow old years before their time? Is it any wonder they are nervous and irritable, unhappy themselves and making those around them depressed and unhappy?

To every such mother, I would say, first—relax! Sit down, lie down, every chance you get—and just let go! Don’t listen for the baby—don’t worry about dinner. Just blissfully relax—even if only for five minutes at a time. If you can multiply those five minutes by a dozen times a day, you will be surprised how much better you feel when night comes.

And for the husbands of those tired mothers, I have this word of advice:

Give your wife a few hours’ vacation at least once a week. The poorest domestic gets that much. Make her go out, away from the children, away from all the cares of the household, where her mind can rest, where her nerves can be renewed. If you can get no one else to help out for that rest period, take charge yourself. It won’t hurt you, and you will be rewarded a dozen times over in the good it will do your wife.

Marriage is a give and take affair, you know. The more you give, the less you will have to take. You may consider it undignified to do these little menial jobs around the house, but to the really great soul, nothing is undignified. It is your little man who is worried about his dignity.

The story is told of a soldier on leave in Paris, longing for a smoke, but without a match. Spying another soldier walking ahead smoking a cigar, he caught up to him, slapped him on the shoulder and accosted him with— “Gimme a light, will you, buddie?” The other obligingly held out his cigar, and the first soldier puffed his cigarette alight. What was his horror, on looking up to thank his friend, to see on his collar the star of a General. He started to sputter apologies and cigarette smoke, but the General patted him reassuringly on the shoulder. “It’s all right son,” he said. “No harm done. But thank your lucky stars I’m not a second lieutenant.”

The Decalogue

To advise those whose wedded life has already gone on the rocks is, for the most part, playing Job’s comforter. When Empedocles, the Greek statesman, sought a separation from his wife, his friends gathered about to advise him against undue haste. Empedocles said nothing, but took off his sandal and handed it to them. “Can any of you,” he asked, “tell me where this sandal pinches?”

But to those who have merely met with storms and rough sailing, let me offer this:

See your mate in your mind’s eye as the ideal husband or wife you would have him to be. See him doing all those things you would most like him to do—and whenever he does one of those things, praise him for it, thank him, give it a prominence out of all proportion to its importance.

Pick the one or more respects in which he does shine and hold these ever before him (and before yourself), using them as a framework or foundation upon which to graft other good qualities.

Then slowly, persistently build—and all the while hold the faith. Know that he has all the qualities of a perfect mate— know that it is up to you merely to bring them out. And by telling him (and yourself) that he HAS them, you will be adopting the surest means of bringing them out.

Judge Joseph Burke of the Court of Domestic Relations in Chicago has had so much experience in patching up domestic quarrels that the decalogue he gives for husband and for wife merits more than passing attention. Here it is:

For Husbands:

1. Don’t hesitate to admit you are in the wrong. It is a matter of small importance and the reward is great.
2. Don’t nag.
3. Only the very rich can buy good liquor. The other stuff renders you blind, deaf and dumb—perhaps forever. Let it alone,
4. Make it a rule in your home never to let the day close unhappily. Wipe out the score before you go to sleep.
5. Prolonged arguments are horrible. There is no torture like the one which lasts for years.
6. Indulge liberally in compliments. They raise a wife’s spirits, make her a better cook, a finer mother, and a more loving companion.
7. If your wife had the money for clothes that the other woman spends she would probably make her look like a dowd. Remember that.
8. Give your wife a diversion from domestic routine. Take her to a show, often if possible.
9. Tell your wife the exact amount of your income. Plan together how to spend it. Be fair about it.
10. Lock petty business troubles in your office at night. Talk over the big troubles with your wife.

For Wives:

1. In an argument it softens the husband to tell him you were wrong, especially when you know you are not.
2. Don’t nag.
3. Don’t drink with your husband and then complain that he drinks too much. It never fills a man with admiration to see a woman drink.
4. Don’t go to sleep at night with an aching heart. Ask forgiveness. Women do that much easier than men.
5. Arguments are distasteful and destructive. Men have too many of them at work to enjoy them when they get home.
6. If your husband has money, insist upon dressing well. If he hasn’t, don’t make life miserable for him scolding about it.
7. Don’t refuse to go out with your husband. It is your duty to improve your disposition by relief from drudgery now and then.
8. Don’t waste money. Have a budget system in your home.
9. Don’t bother your husband with petty household annoy­ances at night.
10. Tell him he is the world’s greatest husband, and he will be.

About Rule 4: Every Psychologist will tell you that the old Biblical adjuration—”Let not the sun go down upon your wrath”—Ephesians 4:26—is the finest psychology there is.

For anger and fear impress themselves on the subconscious more surely than any other emotion. And for a husband or wife to go to sleep thinking angry thoughts of the other, means that the subconscious will go on working over those thoughts all night long, with the result that the conscious mind will awaken ready to quarrel all over again, and more disgruntled and sore than ever.

Wonder of God

But enough of the unhappy marriages. We read so much of these in the daily news that we forget the vast majority of marriages that come as near to heaven on earth as ordinary man could ask.

Have you ever read O. Henry’s “Gift of the Magi” or Jack London’s “Wonder of God”? Simple love stories, both of them, but they show the heights to which ordinary men and women will rise for love of a man for a maid, or maid for a man.

“What is thy love more than another beloved”? asked the daughter of Jerusalem of the bride. “My beloved is mine,” she answered quite sufficiently, “and I am his.”—Songs of Solomon 3:9,16.

That is all that really counts—love. “Love is the fulfilling of the law,” said Paul. Possessions are relatively unim­portant. They are as nothing to love and health and cheer­fulness and comradeship. They frequently help, but the only love worthwhile is the love that comes in spite of possessions or the lack of them. Happiness is not in having or in getting—but in giving.

The story is told of an Eastern potentate whose son seemed wasting away with melancholia. The soothsayers and doctors, on being consulted, announced that the only cure for him was to find a really happy man, take his shirt and put it upon the Prince.

So the search started. And at last, after many months, a really happy man was found. But alas—he had no shirt! Many a happy marriage has started with but little more. Yet happiness and reasonable success usually go hand in hand.

For happiness is based on mutual love, mutual esteem, and no man can fail when some loved one sees him successful. Love knows that there is some talent or ability in the loved one which, given a chance for expression, will carry him up the ladder of success.

Love never seeks the easy way. Love is always looking for the best way to help the loved one, regardless of the cost to itself. Love is like a magnet—it draws the loved one into and makes it one with itself. It is like a flower—it opens and expands in the sunlight of love and grows towards the sun. Love never fails.

“And Ruth said, Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God:

“Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried: the Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me.” —Ruth 1:16, 17.

Viscount Cowdray, oil and industrial magnate of Great Britain, who has been characterized as the world’s greatest contractor and the man who by repute might have been King of Albania had he accepted an offer of that romantic throne, in his last speech gave his wife credit for his success in life.

“Of all the influences which shape one’s life,” he said, “nothing comes into the same category with the great crowning influence which man possesses in that perfect partner—a well-mated wife.

“To have one by you who shares with head and heart successes and failures; who gives due encouragement, but has the courage to administer home truth, unpalatable but necessary sometimes; who is never afraid of responsibility, but is prepared to start life afresh should the need arise— such a partner is beyond praise or price.

“She is simply one’s needed life blood and I make no apology for this due tribute to mine.”

And science bears him out. Every man has had the experience of going to his work downhearted, discouraged, after a quarrel or misunderstanding with his wife. Every man remembers how irritable he was that day, how little worthwhile work he accomplished.

Contrast that with the days he goes down happy and cheerful, with the belief in himself that moves mountains— and credit the difference to a good wife.

“Above all things,” says Peter (I Peter 4:8) “have fervent love among yourselves.”

The earth moves eighteen miles each second, yet we are never conscious of any strain, any effort. Neither is there any effort, any strain, when a man loves—and is loved. He cannot remain inert, useless. He must do something for others. He must serve. He feels the irresistible urge to do big things. He must progress. He must show his loved one what her love means to him. And therein lies the hope of the world.

“I shall pass through this world but once. Any good thing therefore that I can do, or any kindness that I can show to any human being, let me do it now. Let me not defer it or neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again.”

Two thousand years ago, for the first time in the world’s history, a religion was founded based not on fear, not on harrowing fetich or priestly ceremonial, but on love. “A new commandment I give unto thee—that ye love one another.”—John 13:34.

Countless generations have broidered their forms upon that religion, but again we are coming back to the simple teach­ing of the Master—a religion of Love, a life of Service to our fellow men.

“Diversity of worship has divided mankind into seventy- two nations,” wrote Omar Khayyam. “From all their dogmas I have selected but one—Divine Love.”

“I pray the prayer the Easterns do,
May the peace of Allah abide with you .
Wherever you stop—wherever you go—
May the beautiful palms of Allah grow;
Thru days of love and nights of rest
May the love of sweet Allah make you blest .
I touch my heart as the Easterns do

Chapter 5

The Moulting Period

“I hate, I despise your feast days, and I will not smell in your solemn assemblies.

“Though ye offer me burnt offerings and your meat offerings, I will not accept them: neither will I regard the peace offerings of your fat beasts.

“Take thou away from me the noise of thy songs; for I will not hear the melody of thy viols.

“But let judgment run down as waters, and righteousness as mighty stream.”

—Amos 5:21-24.

FORTY million people in these enlightened United States do not belong to any Church. Most of them never attend any form of religious service.

Atheist societies have been organized in twenty of our biggest Universities. A national Atheist Association has been legally chartered and is now operating with the avowed intention of destroying every form of religion. Make no mistake—this is not a joke! It is a countrywide movement that is making rapid strides, especially among the younger element who aspire to be regarded as of the “Intelligentsia.”

What is the reason for this sudden wave of unbelief?

There have been atheistic movements before, but never anything like this. If we knew what was behind this one, perhaps we could supply the remedy.

To find the answer, it is necessary to go back to the beginnings of religious teaching, among the early peoples. One of man’s primary impulses is the search for the Supreme Being. Even the most savage peoples, the most degraded races, believe in God, and in their fashion offer sacrifice to Him.

But in primitive times, as in savage communities today, the shadow that stalked ever at man’s elbow was the spectre of fear. Fear of wild beast, fear of savage neighbor, fear of lightning and wind and cold, fear of hunger and thirst. We who live in well-heated homes, protected by every device that modern ingenuity can contrive, have no conception of the fear that abode in the hearts of our savage ancestors. To them, the unknown was something to be afraid of. To them, the Hand that sent the lightning, the wind and the hail, was a Power to be feared, to be appeased at any cost.

So they offered to Him whatever was most desirable in their eyes—the fruits of the trees, the products of the chase—even their own children! Gladly would they have given Him anything to ward off His supposed wrath as evidenced in the uncontrolled elements.

After a time, some of the most prized fruits and animals came to be considered the especial property of God, to be used only as sacrifices to Him. They were called “taboo”— marked for God—and to appropriate any of them to one’s own use was to bring down the wrath of God upon oneself and possibly upon one’s whole tribe. While to sacrifice them regularly to the Power above would keep Him appeased and perhaps induce Him not to unloose the fury of His elements.

But sometimes it wasn’t possible or convenient to sacrifice. Sometimes one journeyed far from the home over which one had bought God’s protection. How protect oneself then? By taking along a charm in which dwelt some of the good properties of the Power above—a stone whose markings happened to attract the eye—an amulet contain­ing some part of a tabooed animal, anything which by any stretch of the imagination could be supposed to contain magic properties.

Thus began the traffic in “fetiches”—charms and amulets to keep off evil spirits.

Fed upon fear, naturally it grew. And with it grew up a class known as shamans or medicine men. Their original province was to drive out evil spirits, to make and sell amulets and the like to ward off evil; but gradually, as their power grew, their shrewdness increased also, and soon they undertook not only to drive the evil spirits out of those who had purchased their help, but to drive them into their enemies!

Around this shaman, the whole cult of worship grew. The more fearful and awe-inspiring he could make it, the greater he seemed in the eyes of his tribe. Until presently even the boldest chief hesitated to make a move without the sanction and approval of his witch-doctor.

And because people needed some tangible evidence of the reality of their gods, the witch-doctors erected idols—fierce and terror-inspiring creatures, all of them—housed them on islands or in temples and made their habitations “taboo.” No one but the shaman could commune personally with their god—to all others it was sure death.

Others might see him on the occasion of public festival, but only after going through certain ritual, only after being “purified” and introduced by the witch-doctor.

Thus did primitive religion grow. And as shaman followed shaman, each intent on his own aggrandizement but all united on the one idea of keeping their class supreme, there gradually grew up a ritual so involved that none but regularly “qualified” witch-doctors could acquire it, so awe-inspiring that common folk could not but be impressed by the ceremonial which even his shamans must go through before they could approach their tribal god.

A god so unapproachable must be a terrible creature, one to be appeased at every turn. And it was thus that most ancient peoples regarded Him. They made no move without first casting furtive glances around to see if the “Powers” were still well disposed towards them. They lived in constant fear. They prayed to a god of fear. And their priestcraft, realizing that their power was built upon fear, cultivated it in every way they knew. Religion became a matter of forms—and woe betide the man who failed to observe those forms! You might get away with robbing your neigh­bor, you might win the witch-doctor’s intercession for having killed a man, but there was no pardon for the man who scorned his gods by failing to observe the ritual his priests had laid down. Cursed he would be in his waking, cursed in his sleeping. Cursed he should be until his death (which was soon and sudden if the witch-doctors laid hands on him or his food), and thrice accursed after his death, for there the “Devourers” would get him and rend him limb from limb through all eternity.

A pleasant religion—truly. And yet, with the exception of a small strip of Palestine, most of the world struggled along under some such religion as that for thousands of years. A religion of fear. A religion of taboos and fetiches. A religion of rituals and forms.

The record of the Old Testament is the record of the progress of a people in grasping the true idea of God.

Beginning with the idea of the One God—unseen and not to be worshipped through idols—its conception of His natures and quality rose from that of a God who had to be persuaded by argument and sacrifices, first to a God of Justice, then to a God of Mercy, and finally in Jesus to a God of Love.

Two thousand years ago, there came to this earth a Man who taught a religion unhedged by fetich or taboo—a Religion of Love. His was no God of wrath, to placate, whom it was necessary to sacrifice cattle or doves or treasure. No—His was a joyous, happy Father-God, whose good pleasure it is to give His children the Kingdom.

He required no ritual, no ceremonial. When He “called” His disciples, He did not even require them to be baptized. He taught in the Temple, or on the street corners or on the mountain—for Him the House of God was everywhere, and he condemned as “whited sepulchres” the ritual-loving priestcraft of that day, upright in the sight of men, adhering strictly to the letter of the law, but rotten and foul within. Their precious ritual was less acceptable in the sight of God, He told them, than the cry for mercy of the untaught publican.

The religion that Jesus taught was a religion of service, of love. His God was a God of Love—not locked up in a house, approachable only through certain men and certain forms—but everywhere and in all mankind!

“As ye have done unto the least of my brethren,” He taught, “ye have done unto me.” —Matthew 25:40.

No need of ritual or priest for that. You can serve God anywhere, anytime, merely by serving your neighbor.

“Whosoever shall give a cup of water in my name shall not lose his reward.” —Mark 9:41.

Service, service—always service. “Whatsoever will be great among you shall be your minister; and whosoever of you will be the chiefest, shall be servant of all.”

—Mark 10:43, 44.

Imagine what the chief priests of Jupiter or of Ishtar would have had to say of that. Imagine how the High Priest Caiaphas must have taken it. The idea—for him to become servant to the common people—’twould be laughable if it were not so dangerous. This Man must be stopped—at any cost!

And then—His idea of prayer. What would become of established religion if everyone followed His teaching? The Temple would be ruined!

“Thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut the door, pray to thy Father which is in secret, and thy Father which seeth in secret, shall reward thee openly.¹‘—Matthew 6:6.

In short, when you want anything of the Father, you need only go commune with Him in secret—ask of Him as you would ask of any loving earthly Father! No intermediary necessary. No charms. No magic.

Everything simple, easy—a religion that any child could understand. Altogether too simple, too easy, for those in authority. Anyone could practice it. If the common people were to look up to the Temple followers, there must be more to religion than that. There must be some things priests could do that no one else could. There must be special powers vested in them—special favors from the

Almighty that could be gained only through their inter­cession.

And so, as Christianity grew older, as it grew in power and the inevitable desire for personal gain and glory animated some of its followers, certain of the old Jewish and pagan ritual was grafted upon it, certain forms and ceremonial used until they came to be considered a necessary part of it.

Then in the days of Constantine, Christianity became the state religion of the entire Roman Empire. And to popular­ize it among peoples who knew nothing of Jesus’ teachings and were accustomed only to forms and rituals, still other ceremonials were added until some branches of it have become as thoroughly ritualized as were ever the pagan rites of the Egyptians or Romans.

But today people no longer believe that the lightning is the wrath of God, searching them out for their sins. They no longer believe they are surrounded by evil spirits, just waiting to pounce upon them, kept off only by virtue of the amulet or fetich that they wear. People understand the forces of nature. They have harnessed many of them to be their servants. They confidently look forward to the time when they shall harness all of them.

So the day of a religion of fear is past. People can’t be frightened into church. They cannot be fetiched or tabooed into doing right. They can see through the empty forms and ceremonials.

But—and here, I think, is the reason for so many empty churches—while people have become better educated, while they have advanced far past the stage of fetiches and taboos, many well-intentioned but narrow-minded ministers are still back in the Middle Ages as far as their teaching of religion is concerned. Hell and damnation, fire and brimstone, seem to be the only terms they know. Naturally the young scoff at that. Naturally they think that if this is all religion has to offer, religion is not for them.

Revivals? Of course. You can work people into a religious hysteria. You can trade upon their fears until they “profess religion.” But have you ever checked up how long that “religion” stays with them? I have—and I wouldn’t give the snap of a finger for that sort of convert.

There is nothing radically wrong with the younger generation. They are in no essential different from the young people of your day or of mine. They are more accustomed to look at facts—that’s all. They are not interested in forms or ritual. They have no reverence for a thing simply because it is old.

It may shock you to learn that your young son or daughter has joined the ranks of the “Devil’s Angels” or some such wild-sounding order. But it need not alarm you. It is just their method of rebelling against the shams and taboos of established religion. And youth, you know, always goes to extremes.

In reality, they are going through the “moulting period” that every man of sincere convictions must go through. They have seen through the ritual and forms with which the simple teachings of Jesus have become beclouded. They have not yet worked out for themselves a satisfying belief of their own. And being without “feathers,” without the solace, of any belief, they want company. They want companionship in their misery. Hence these societies of “Damned Souls,” of “God’s Black Sheep” and the like. They think they are very wicked, very cynical, but give them half an excuse and they will flock back like moulting chickens to their mother hen.

Perhaps the best explanation of what is wrong with them is contained in an interview with the 18-year-old National Secretary of the Junior Atheist League, on her trip to New York to enlist school infidels: “I have never really studied the Bible,” she acknowledged, “but I have read enough of it to feel that it is false, and 1 want to enlighten other people.”

Ridiculous enough, of course—but not half as ridiculous as the author of some of our recent “best sellers” who got up in the pulpit one Sunday, and defied God to strike him dead! A noble gesture—truly. Because God did not strike him dead, there is no God. Like the man who announced triumphantly that he had searched the entire heavens with a telescope and found no God there—therefore there was no God.

Can you imagine on Napoleon’s march into Russia, some little child running in front of him and defying him in such wise? Can’t you almost see the pitying smile on the face of the Emperor of the French as he motions some soldier to gently remove the child from his path?

The Straight Line to God

When Peter the Great planned to build a road from Moscow to St. Petersburg, his engineers spent long hours in wordy discussions as to whether it should take in this town, or go out of the way to stop at that town. When they finished plotting it, the result was a zigzag that wandered over most of Russia.

Peter gave it one glance—then called for a map. Laying a ruler upon it, he drew a straight line from Moscow to St. Petersburg. “The object of this road,” he told his engineers drily, “is not to explore Russia, but to get from Moscow to St. Petersburg and back. There is the line of your road. Now build it!”

What is the object of religion? Not merely to keep up the Churches or to support men of God. Those things are incidental. The object of religion is to enable all men to get in touch with the Father-God—in the straightest and easiest way.

Priests and Ministers are a help, but except in teaching the young and the ignorant, they are in no wise essential.

Churches are a help, but they too are in no way essential. Jesus more often worshipped outdoors than in the Temple. His greatest sermons were delivered outdoors. He used no ritual. He required no ceremonial. Reminded by the woman of Samaria that “Our fathers worshipped in this mountain, and ye say that in Jerusalem is the place where men ought to worship,” He told her:

“Woman, believe me, the hour cometh when ye shall neither in this mountain, nor yet at Jerusalem worship the Father.

“God is a Spirit; and they that worship Him must worship Him in spirit and in truth.” —John 4:20, 24.

Then what is the straightest path to God? The straightest way to the Father above is exactly the same as the straight­est way to any earthly father—to take our hopes and our fears and our desires directly to Him, to take Him entirely into our confidence, to ask Him confidently, believingly, for anything of good we may wish.

The word religion is derived from the Latin—re and ligo— to bind together, to bring the soul into union with God. And the principal value of a Church is just that—to bind its members together in a common cause, for a common purpose, for, as Jesus said: “Again I say unto you, that if two of you shall agree on earth as touching, anything that they shall ask, it shall be done for them of my Father which is in Heaven. For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.”

—Matthew 18:19-20.

The original Apostles and Ministers of Christianity were

teachers—teachers and demonstrators of the healing power of the Truth. They showed their followers definite results— definite answers to prayer.

And what Churches are making progress in this country today? What Churches are largely increasing their member­ship?

According to the report of the Inter-church Conference, the Protestant communions are facing appalling losses, nearly half a million people yearly leaving the Church, many of them “passing out of the back door.” Only one large denomination is showing consistent gains.

Why? What is there about it that sets it apart from the others?

Just one thing—it offers its members help, not merely in some future state, but right here and now.

It offers health, relief from sickness, surcease from bodily pain. It offers harmony in the home and business life. It says to each man—I give you a new conception of your body, the perfect conception of it that is in Divine Mind. I give you a new idea of your surroundings—the peace and plenty so often promised you in the Scriptures.

Against these, what do most Churches offer? Salvation in the hereafter—and in exchange for it, a rough, hard road here below, beset with thorns and briars, every crossroad marked “Danger!”, every sickness and tribulation just a cross sent by the Father to chasten you and prepare you for the hereafter.

Is it any wonder that people prefer to grasp what pleasures they can here below rather than wait for it in such a problematical future state, especially when they are taught that even after a whole lifetime of careful plodding, they may be eternally damned by one false step at the end?

With such a theology as that, it is not surprising that the Bishop of Ripon should be asking the scientists to take a ten-year holiday so that the world might catch up with them. It is not the world that needs to catch up. It is some of the Churches—or, rather, some of their Ministers,

Religion has never needed to ask any favors of science. The greatest scientists have been and are the most sincere believers in God. Newton, Faraday, Pasteur, Kelvin—can you think of any greater names in the annals of science? Yet they were every one sincerely religious men—intense believers in God.

“There is a world filled with spiritual realities,” says Professor Pupin, who last year was President of the Association for the Advancement of Science, “to the deeper understanding of whose meaning the new Physical revelations will contribute. So it is not the scientist but the fool, as was written in ancient wisdom, who says in his heart that there is no God.”

“The fool hath said in his heart, There is no God. The Lord looked down from Heaven upon the children of man, to see if there were any that did understand and seek God.

“Have all the workers of iniquity no knowledge? Who eat up my people as they eat bread, and call not upon the Lord.”—Psalms 14:1, 2,4.

Listen to most sermons and what do you hear? Dogma— ritual—”Was Jesus born of a virgin?” “Should one be bap­tized by sprinkling or by immersion?” “Are unbaptized children eternally damned?”

Reminds one of the debates that stirred the theologians of mediaeval days. “How many angels can stand on the head of a pin?” was one of the favorite subjects, and the heat and rancor that could be aroused over so academic a question were wonderful to behold.

Did you ever read of Jesus preaching upon such a subject? When He enlisted Matthew among the disciples, did He first ask him if he believed in the Virgin birth? No—it was to get away from dogma, from ritual, from unnecessary forms that He enlisted simple fishermen, tax-gatherers and the like to spread His gospel.

He didn’t worry about slight differences of creed. One of the disciples found a man doing good in Jesus’ name, but he was an outsider and not one of their number, so they hastened proudly to Jesus to tell Him of it. “And John answered Him, saying, Master, we saw one casting out devils in Thy name, and he followed not us; and we forbade him, because he followed not us.”

“But Jesus said, Forbid him not; for there is no man which shall do a miracle in my name, that can lightly speak evil of me.

“For he that is not against us, is on our part.”

—Mark 9:38-40.

Small comfort there for the bigoted or narrow minded creedist. “He went about doing good. ” There is the story of His life. There is the example He left for all who would be His Ministers to follow.

“Have we not all one Father? Hath not one God created us? Why do we deal treacherously every man against his brother, by profaning the covenant of our fathers?”

—Malachi 2:10.

The feeling with which one leaves after many a sermon is much like that which Demosthenes imputed to his great rival orator Aeschines. “You,” said Demosthenes, “make them say—’How well he speaks.’ I make them say—’Let us march against Philip!'” Whereas what one goes to Church to hear is how to find the straightest road to the Father. When that is more often taught, when Jesus’ example is more generally followed, there will be no need to worry about atheism or agnosticism, for everyone—even the most confirmed infidel—wants to believe, wants something, someone, on which to hang his faith.

Go back to the simple teachings of Jesus. Go back to His life, His works. Go to the Father in the way that He directed. You will never again lack faith. You will never again listen to any religion of fear.

“At the same time came the disciples unto Jesus saying, Who is the greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven?

“And Jesus called a little child unto Him, and set him in the midst of them. And said, Verily, I say unto you, except ye be converted (turned about), and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the Kingdom of Heaven.”

— Matthew 18:1-3.

And what does being “converted” entail? Becoming baptized? Joining the Church? Not necessarily. That in itself will not make you “as a little child.” A child’s most common characteristic is faith, trust—utter dependence upon its father, utter faith in him, utter love for him.

Those are the traits you must “turn about” and cultivate if you would enter into the Kingdom of Heaven—utter dependence upon your Father above, utter faith in Him, utter love for Him.

When Athens was still a village, Rome not even dreamed of, all of Europe nothing better than a savage playground, China was already a highly civilized country.

People rode in carriages, lived in well-built houses, dressed in silks, wore leather shoes, sat at tables to eat food from plates, measured time by sundials, even had umbrellas!

And the reason?

Because China, alone among all the earlier nations, had developed a religion without fear and without priests. Every man was free to progress in whatever way offered the greatest opportunity. Every man could call upon his Maker in his own way. There were no taboos, no fetiches to hold him back.

But then suddenly all progress stopped. For 2,000 years, China stood still while all the world passed her by. Today she stands—a tragic figure—one of the most backward of nations, the football of the Powers.

Why?

Because that fearless, forward-looking religion of hers was turned backward—was ritualized! It became a religion of forms and ceremonies. “Three hundred points of ceremony and three thousand points of behavior”—instead of means, these became the aims and ends of life. Every action, under every circumstance, was worked out in advance. No initiative, no individual thinking was wanted or tolerated. Men became merely animated figures.

No longer was the common man encouraged to better his condition. On the contrary, he was told by China’s “greatest” religious teacher that there was no grosser guilt than to be discontented with his lot.

No longer was the ambitious youth permitted to experi­ment, to progress; he was assured by China’s most orthodox teacher that all change was injurious—that salvation was to be attained only if none tried to disturb the religious, social or political order that was already established! Whatever had been, whatever their ancestors had done—was good. Whatever was new, untried, novel—was bad.

Imagine the effect of such teachings, inculcated into the young of the nation for more than 2,000 years! A wonder­ful thing for those already rich, already in authority—yes. But how about the others? Is it any wonder China is back­ward? Is it any wonder she lacks a leader?

Orthodoxy, ritualism, carried to its logical conclusion—that is China. And it is just such orthodoxy, just such ritualism, that is now meeting its death in the Christian Churches of today. Should we mourn it? Should we try to delay its quick demise? Should we not rather hasten it, that we may the sooner replace it with the real Christianity that Jesus lived and taught?

“He hath shewed thee, O man, what is good; and what doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?”—Micah 5:8.

“Withhold not good from them to whom it is due, when it is in the power of thine hand to do it.

“Say not unto thy neighbor, Go, and come again, and tomorrow 1 will give; when thou hast it by thee.

“Devise not evil against thy neighbor, seeing he dwelleth securely by thee.

“Strive not with a man without cause, if he have done thee no harm. “—Proverbs 3:27-30.

 

The End