contemplate this
ideal wholeness and happiness far more than he ought; he may
contemplate it to the neglect of exclusion of essential THINGS he may
contemplate it until he has become a dreamer or a driveller; but still
it is wholeness and happiness that he is contemplating. He may even go
mad; but he is going mad for the love of sanity. But the modern student
of ethics, even if he remains sane, remains sane from an insane dread
of insanity.

The anchorite rolling on the stones in a frenzy of submission is a
healthier person fundamentally than many a sober man in a silk hat who
is walking down Cheapside. For many such are good only through a
withering knowledge of evil. I am not at this moment claiming for the
devotee anything more than this primary advantage, that though he may
be making himself personally weak and miserable, he is still fixing his
thoughts largely on gigantic strength and happiness, on a strength that
has no limits, and a happiness that has no end. Doubtless there are
other objections which can be urged without unreason against the
influence of gods and visions in morality, whether in the cell or
street. But this advantage the mystic morality must always have--it is
always jollier. A young man may keep himself from vice by continually
thinking of disease. He may keep himself from it also by continually
thinking of the Virgin Mary. There may be question about which method
is the more reasonable, or even about which is the more efficient. But
surely there can be no question about which is the more wholesome.

I remember a pamphlet by that able and sincere secularist, Mr. G. W.
Foote, which contained a phrase sharply symbolizing and dividing these
two methods. The pamphlet was called BEER AND BIBLE, those two very
noble things, all the nobler for a conjunction which Mr. Foote, in his
stern old Puritan way, seemed to think sardonic, but which I confess to
thinking appropriate and charming. I have not the work by me, but I
remember that Mr. Foote dismissed very contemptuously any attempts to
deal with the problem of strong drink by religious offices or
intercessions, and said that a picture of a drunkard's liver would be
more efficacious in the matter of temperance than any prayer or praise.
In that picturesque expression, it seems to me, is perfectly embodied
the incurable morbidity of modern ethics. In that temple the lights are
low, the crowds kneel, the solemn anthems are uplifted. But that upon