suggestions, and our whole future attitude through unconscious memory of
the acts which it demands. But it does more than this. It has as perhaps
its greatest function the providing of a concrete artistic expression
for our spiritual perceptions, adorations and desires. It links the
visible with the invisible, by translating transcendent fact into
symbolic and even sensuous terms. And for this reason men, having bodies
no less surely than spirits, can never afford wholly to dispense with
it. Hasty transcendentalists often forget this; and set us spiritual
standards to which the race, so long as it is anchored to this planet
and to the physical order, cannot conform.

A convert from agnosticism with whom I was acquainted, was once
receiving religious instruction from a devout and simple-minded nun.
They were discussing the story of the Annunciation, which presented some
difficulties to her. At last she said to the nun, "Well, anyhow, I
suppose that one is not obliged to believe that the Blessed Virgin was
visited by a solid angel, dressed in a white robe?" To this the nun
replied doubtfully, "No, dear, perhaps not. But still, you know, he
would have to wear _something_."

Now here, as it seems to me, we have a great theological truth in a few
words. The elusive contacts and subtle realities of the world of spirit
have got to wear something, if we are to grasp them at all. Moreover, if
the mass of men are to grasp them ever so little, they must wear
something which is easily recognized by the human eye and human heart;
more, by the primitive, half-conscious folk-soul existing in each one of
us, stirring in the depths and reaching out in its own way towards God.
It is a delicate matter to discuss religious symbols. They are like our
intimate friends: though at the bottom of our hearts we may know that
they are only human, we hate other people to tell us so. And, even as