FullReads

Believe–and our whole argument breaks up.
Enthusiasm’s the best thing, I repeat;
Only, we can’t command it; fire and life
Are all, dead matter’s nothing, we agree:
And be it a mad dream or God’s very breath,
The fact’s the same–belief’s fire, once in us, 560
Makes of all else mere stuff to show itself;
We penetrate our life with such a glow
As fire lends wood and iron–this turns steel,
That burns to ash–all’s one, fire proves its power
For good or ill, since men call flare success.
But paint a fire, it will not therefore burn.
Light one in me, I’ll find it food enough!
Why, to be Luther–that’s a life to lead,
Incomparably better than my own.
He comes, reclaims God’s earth for God, he says, 570
Sets up God’s rule again by simple means,
Re-opens a shut book, and all is done.
He flared out in the flaring of mankind;
Such Luther’s luck was: how shall such be mine?
If he succeeded, nothing’s left to do:
And if he did not altogether–well,
Strauss is the next advance. All Strauss should be
I might be also. But to what result?
He looks upon no future: Luther did.
What can I gain on the denying side? 580
Ice makes no conflagration. State the facts,
Read the text right, emancipate the world–
The emancipated world enjoys itself
With scarce a thank-you: Blougram told it first
It could not owe a farthing–not to him
More than Saint Paul! ‘t would press its pay, you think?
Then add there’s still that plaguy hundredth chance
Strauss may be wrong. And so a risk is run–
For what gain? not for Luther’s, who secured
A real heaven in his heart throughout his life, 590
Supposing death a little altered things.

“Ay, but since really you lack faith,” you cry,
“You run the same risk really on all sides,
In cool indifference as bold unbelief.
As well be Strauss as swing ‘twixt Paul and him.
It’s not worth having, such imperfect faith,
No more available to do faith’s work
Than unbelief like mine. Whole faith, or none!”

Softly, my friend! I must dispute that point.
Once own the use of faith, I’ll find you faith. 600
We’re back on Christian ground. You call for faith;
I show you doubt, to prove that faith exists.
The more of doubt, the stronger faith, I say,
If faith o’ercomes doubt. How I know it does?
By life and man’s free will. God gave for that!
To mould life as we choose it, shows our choice:
That’s our one act, the previous work’s his own.
You criticise the soul? it reared this tree–
This broad life and whatever fruit it bears!
What matter though I doubt at every pore, 610
Head-doubts, heart-doubts, doubts at my fingers’ ends,
Doubts in the trivial work of every day,
Doubts at the very bases of my soul
In the grand moments when she probes herself–
If finally I have a life to show,
The thing I did, brought out in evidence
Against the thing done to me underground
By hell and all its brood, for aught I know?
I say, whence sprang this? shows it faith or doubt?
All’s doubt in me; where’s break of faith in this? 620
It is the idea, the feeling and the love,
God means mankind should strive for and show forth
Whatever be the process to that end–
And not historic knowledge, logic sound,
And metaphysical acumen, sure!
“What think ye of Christ,” friend? when all’s done and said,
Like you this Christianity or not?
It may be false, but will you wish it true?
Has it your vote to be so if it can?
Trust you an instinct silenced long ago 630
That will break silence and enjoin you love
What mortified philosophy is hoarse,
And all in vain, with bidding you despise?
If you desire faith–then you’ve faith enough:
What else seeks God–nay, what else seek ourselves?
You form a notion of me, we’ll suppose,
On hearsay; it’s a favorable one:
“But still” (you add) “there was no such good man,
Because of contradiction in the facts.
One proves, for instance, he was born in Rome, 640
This Blougram; yet throughout the tales of him
I see he figures as an Englishman.”
Well, the two things are reconcilable.
But would I rather you discovered that,
Subjoining–“Still, what matter though they be?
Blougram concerns me naught, born here or there.”