the interest on our investments of virtue, but we wish not to
appear ridiculous by having counted on them too securely."[12]

[12] Feuilles detachees, pp. 394-398 (abridged).



Surely all the usual associations of the word "religion" would
have to be stripped away if such a systematic parti pris of irony
were also to be denoted by the name. For common men "religion,"
whatever more special meanings it may have, signifies always a
SERIOUS state of mind. If any one phrase could gather its
universal message, that phrase would be, "All is not vanity in
this Universe, whatever the appearances may suggest." If it can
stop anything, religion as commonly apprehended can stop just
such chaffing talk as Renan's. It favors gravity, not pertness;
it says "hush" to all vain chatter and smart wit.

But if hostile to light irony, religion is equally hostile to
heavy grumbling and complaint. The world appears tragic enough
in some religions, but the tragedy is realized as purging, and a
way of deliverance is held to exist. We shall see enough of the
religious melancholy in a future lecture; but melancholy,
according to our ordinary use of language, forfeits all title to
be called religious when, in Marcus Aurelius's racy words, the
sufferer simply lies kicking and screaming after the fashion of a
sacrificed pig. The mood of a Schopenhauer or a Nietzsche--and
in a less degree one may sometimes say the same of our own sad
Carlyle--though often an ennobling sadness, is almost as often
only peevishness running away with the bit between its teeth.