Empire." I will not indulge in any cheap sarcasm as to the result,
though one would probably be right in saying that, if the end be
deferred to the year 1917, they will still believe that their prayers
had effect. What it is more material to notice is that the prelates
think that "these are days of great spiritual opportunity." It seems
that "the shattering of so much that seemed established reveals the
vanity of human affairs," and that "anxiety, separation, and loss have
made many hearts sensible of the approach of Christ to the soul." It is,
perhaps, unkind to examine this emotional language from an intellectual
point of view, but one feels that there is a subtle element of apology
in it. These spiritual advantages may outweigh the secular pain; may
even justify God's share in the great catastrophe. I have examined, and
will discuss more fully in the next chapter, the theistic side of this
plea. Intellectually, it borders on monstrosity: it is the survival of
an ancient and barbaric conception. The notion that "the approach of
Christ to the soul" is felt especially in time of affliction is merely a
statement of a certain type of emotional experience, while the
revelation of "the vanity of human affairs" is sheer perversity. Human
affairs have for ages been so badly managed, in this respect, that we
cannot in a decade or a century rid ourselves of such a legacy. The real
moral is to discover who were responsible for that legacy of disorder
and violence, and to put our affairs on a new and sounder basis.

A considerable number of clerical writers proceed on the suggestion
discreetly advanced by these Anglican prelates. Let us wait, they ask,
until the clouds of war have rolled away, and then estimate the
spiritual gain to men from the trial through which they have passed, and
the closer association of the Churches which it may bring about. Now I
have no doubt that many who really believe the doctrines of
Christianity, yet have for years neglected the duties which their belief