ion for our
head-master, because he caned culprits so hard, and I suppose that one
of the germs of religious feeling is the admiration of the Creator
because the forces of nature make such havoc of human precautions.
Perhaps it is a necessary stage through which we all must pass, the
stage of admiring something that is just a little stronger and more
effective than ourselves. Our admiration is based upon the fact that
such strength and effectiveness is not wholly outside our own powers of
attainment, but that we can hope that under favourable circumstances we
may acquire equal or similar energies. But even if it is a necessary
stage of progress, I am quite sure that it ought not to be an ultimate
stage, and that a man ought not to spend the whole of his life admiring
limited human performances, however august they may be. That is the
great and essential force of religion in human lives, that it tends to
set a higher standard, and to concentrate admiration upon Divine rather
than upon human forces. Even when we are dealing with emotions, the
same holds good. The writer of romances who lavishes the whole force of
his enthusiasm upon the possibilities of human love, its depth, its
loyalty, its faithfulness, is apt to lose the sense of proportion. One
ought to employ one's sense of admiration for the august achievements
of humanity as a species of symbolism. Our admiration for athletic
prowess, for art, for literature, ought not to limit itself to these,
but ought to regard them as symbols of vaster, larger, more beautiful
truths.

The difficulty is to know at what point to draw the line. These limited
enthusiasms may have an educative effect upon the persons who indulge
them, but they may also have a stunting effect if they are pursued too
long. A boy passes my window whistling shrill a stave of a popular
song. He is obviously delighted with and intent upon his performance,
and he is experiencing, no doubt, the artistic joy of creation; but if
that boy goes on in life, as many artists do, limiting his musical
aspirations to the best whistle that he can himself emit, his ideal
will be a low one, however faithfully pursued. The ugly part of thus
limiting our aspirations is that such petty enthusiasm is generally
accompanied by an intense craving for the admiration of other people,
and it is this which vitiates and poisons our own admirations. We do
not merely think how fine a performance it is; we think how much we
should l