nish him
with anything. He does not wonder. He takes everything for granted. He
does not see clearly and deeply enough to appreciate the marvel. Let me
illustrate from a specimen of barbaric life itself. A few years ago the
chief of an Indian tribe was brought from the plains of the West to
visit Washington. The idea was to impress him as much as possible with
the idea of our civilization, so that he might report it to his people
when he went home. After they had crossed the Mississippi on their way
to the West, the gentleman in whose care he was travelling asked the
chief what the one thing which he had seen during his trip was which
had impressed him the most; and he said at once the St. Louis bridge.
But his companion said, Are you not astonished at the Capitol of
Washington? "Yes," he said, "but my people can pile stones on top of
each other; but they cannot make a cobweb of steel hang in the air."

You see how that perception lifted him above the average level of his
people? He was showing his capacity for higher and nobler civilization.
It is just this ability in the man to wonder, to see something to
wonder at, to worship, to admire, which lifts him one grade higher than
that of the average level of his tribe. So that which makes man a man
is the capacity in him to admire. All admiration is the essence, the
root, of worship. And, the more things a man admires, the greater and
nobler type of man he is seen to be. If he can admire music, if he can
admire painting, if he can admire sculpture, if he can admire poetry,
if he can admire literature of every kind, if he can admire grand
architecture, the beautiful monuments of the world, we say, Here is a
large, all-round type of man. We estimate his dignity, his greatness,
by the capacity that he shows for worship in its lower type; for
worship is simply looking up with admiration.

There is another quality about this worship that I wish to speak of. It
is the power that is capable of transforming a man, making him over
into the likeness of that which he admires. You find the man without
this capacity, and you know it is hopeless to appeal to him, hopeless
to set up ideals, hopeless to place before him enticing examples. There
is nothing in him to which these things appeal. Take Alexander the
Great. It is said he carried around with him a copy of the Iliad, and
that Achilles was his ideal of a hero. Do you not see how this
admiration transformed the life of the young k