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“I Am 7he Way, The Truth, and The Life. Why Christianity is a Permanent Religion. A student of religion cannot help being struck with certain moving motives which are apparent in the various great religious cults which have arisen from time to time. There is no doubt that every religious movement, from the primitive worship of the sun and moon to the present day elaborate church services, has had as its acting principal some commotion in the human heart. They have all been attempts at heart-expression. It is mere lack of investigation that leads some zealous souls to scoff at “heathenism.” We cults do not mean to pose as the champion of these, for many of them are very crude and much mixed with superstition. Still even Mohammedanism, the “religion of blood,” was actually the outgrowth of a hearty religious zeal on the part of its adherents. Before its corruption by “worldliness” it contained much that was pure and good, and did much towards unifying and humaniz ing the nomadic hordes in the deserts of Asia and the bloody tribes of Southeastern Europe. But we did not set out to discuss the good of Mo hammedanism, Budhism nor Brahamanism. They are all founded on something good if we study them closely enough to find it. Their great fault is not of kind but of “quantity.” They are inadequate. Self-effacement as taught by Buddah, aside from the question of its practicability, is good; but it is not good enough. We think that the greatest dis tinction between the Christian religion and other religions lies here. Christianity is so valid and vital, not because of its goodness, but because of its good enough-ness; if we may coin a slightly harsh word. Buddah saw what was needed, but he could not supply “the one thing needful.” No one was able to do it until the Galileean Carpenter lived and walked up and down among men, A vital religion for humanity must be founded on an attribute of the human heart. All natural things change and decay save one. Mountains rise up and again seek the level plain; kingdoms flourish and decay; biologic species mature and vanish from the earth forever; continents assume shape and fade away, but the old, old human heart remains the same. Men loved and hated at the first and they will love and hate to the last. The heart of a man in the twentieth century can feel the same things that Adam’s heart could feel, varying perhaps a little in intensity in different individuals. If we wish a steadfast, unshakable religion, then, why not let it take root in the one unchangeable part of man. If we root it elsewhere it must go, for even the brain, that god among the faculties, changes, grows old and forgets. Since a lasting religion must find its earthly rest ing place in the human heart, the truest religion must be rooted in the truest, tenderest corner of the human heart. If, for example, it is based on fleet ing emotions, which are of the heart, it cannot be as steadfast as if it were founded on something more enduring. What, then, is the “truest, tenderest, noblest at tribute of the heart of man? Is there not something that this unchangeable organ is capable of that * 1 never faileth ?’ ’ From the brute creation we learn to classify as the highest in order those which are most conscious of the existence of other things than 31311111 slb3 The Golden Age for May 31, 1906. themselves. To be plain, regard for others is higher than simple selfishness. A mother’s care for her child is more beautiful than her care for herself. If we carry this point to its conclusion we will see that personal love is the noblest feeling of which our nature is capable. Much might be said here, but the point is so obvious that it is useless to dis cuss it further. Our contention is that a vital and lasting religion must embrace personal love. Christianity has as its fundamental basis the love of the God-Man for humanity. His unselfish sacri fice for the individuals of the human race reacts on their hearts and there springs up a bond of affection, gratitude and humble love, which is the most pro found and sacred feeling of which the heart is cap able. Just as long as the personality of Christ per sists this love will be possible. And this feeling is as universal as it is lofty. Since the human heart is the same for all ages, it is the same, practically, for all individuals. There fore the Carpenter’s religion fits all. One does not have to be of high degree nor of low; of great in tellect nor of poor. Love springs from the heart and we all have one. Then our religion is the last one. tl fits the case of every man and will fit the case of every man yet to be born, if the laws of human nature remain intact. It is founded on a principal that is un changeable, and it is thereby everlasting. Creeds will come and go, expositors will differ and still be right or wrong, but facts remain the same. We need have no fear for ultimate ends. We have a working principle that is the best and all now left is to “do out the duty.” What a trust is com mitted to us! Our religion cannot die; it must ultimately triumph, but we can be false to it. Hawkinsville, Ga. H. P. Knowles. The Peacemaker. One day a workman, aboard a trolley car, noticed that every time the door was pushed open it squeaked. Rising from his seat he took a little can from his pocket, let fall a drop of anti-irritant on the offending spot and sat down again, quietly re marking: “I always carry an oil-can in my pocket, for there are so many squeaky things that a drop of oil will correct.” Now, the squeakiness that he dealt with is only a sort of parable of another species of the same kind of thing that proceeds from the contacts of one man with another. And just as I suppose that one object God had in making oil was to render it possible for two adjacent parts of a machine to rub together, without getting hot or stopping the machine, so He made love in all its modifying varieties as a contrivance to enable ad jacent parts of the social or of the domestic machine to rub together without heat or stoppage. But whether in one order of mechanism or in the other it requires only a very slight application to do the work. The oil-can need not be large, and one drop goes a great way. One of the first things that Christ said to the world was, “Blessed are the peacemakers,” and that was a benediction upon those who go around doing precisely the same thing between man and man, or between ourselves and others, that our trolley car man was doing between the door and the rusty groove that it ran upon.— Charles H. Parkhurst. A Search For Self. By G. A. Nunnally. I often go looking for myself. We sometimes try to find out others when we have not found ourselves. Egoism, not egotism, is a wise assertion. Selfhood is not simply a name, a combination of sounds, a freak in etymology. A name is only the label at tached to this specimen, in the museum of humanity —useful for classification and arrangement; but is not the substance, nor its essence, nor its shadow, nor its likeness. My name possibly may give some idea of my geography, my latitude and longtitude, and at least indicate the starting point in the jour ney of my life. But the difference between my name and me, my real selfhood, is as great as the dif ference between the name of the city and the pal aces and houses and people which constitute the city. The name may be changed and the self remain the same. In fact, many have changed their names, but the identity is not affected by the process. Who am I? The real self stands behind the name and responds when the name is mentioned. I may think that I am so much flesh and blood and bone— so much avoirdupois. But that is only the form, a visible manifestation of selfhood. The body is only the house, the tabernacle. The tenant, the self, is not the house. The form is only the veil behind which the real self is concealed. Who ami? Baek behind the name and within the form or body a real personality truly exists. It is that stranger within w T e should meet. Every man should meet himself and get acquainted with himself and know himself. We have sailed the seas searching for islands. Have we ever found that floating island, called Self, swim ming about in the ocean of Humanity? We have soared above the clouds and chased the stars across the heavenly plains, but have we ever found that wandering star, that uncatalogued comet, swimming across the galaxy in its unending parabola, that dashing meteor called Self shooting athwart the eternal sky, whence, whither no man knows? We know of the moon and its changes better than we do of that silent Self that goes through many transformations while spiralling about the center of all being. We know more of the men who lived beyond the flood than we do the self that breathes in this bosom of flesh. I ask only one question: who am I? Oh, that I knew the secret place where I might find myself. I had rather meet myself than a king, and know myself than be possessed of the knowledge of all the sciences. I wish I had a pic ture of my true Self, so that when we meet we might know each other. Go, find yourself in the gallery of God’s Word, the picture was painted by an artist who uses the brush and the tint with unfailing ac curacy. Look!! See yourself as you are, as God sees you, and be shocked at the hideous deformity; then turn and see in the same gallery the picture, the real Self of another, who is the fairest among ten thousand, the one altogether lovely, and looking with a steadfast and loving and trustful gaze find your Self transformed into His likeness. The great revival in South Wales resulted in 90,000 converts, and a great deal of general religious en thusiasm. While all of these converts did not, of course, maintain permanent “change of heart” much good resulted from the revival. “The Entrance of Thy Words Giveth Light." 3