Let us remind ourselves, however, that St. Paul, and Jesus Christ before him, had deposited the germ of a conception of religious inspiration more human, more psychological, and, at the same time, more real. Paul, who had ecstasies, visions, "tongues," always spoke of these doubtful privileges with a certain modesty, and that only when he was constrained to it, as if he had the feeling that there was something abnormal and morbid in these phenomena. On the other hand, he opposes to them a theory of true Christian prophecy conceived as a forcible, eloquent, irresistible proclamation of the mercy and justice of God; prophecy on the lips of the apostle, the poet, or the orator, springing from the assurance given him by the inward witness of the Holy Spirit that he is in perfect harmony with the divine thought. The force of this inspired prophecy comes from the luminous evidence which springs up within, which warms and kindles up the spirit like an inward fire. Under the influence of this illumination the apostle feels his strength increase tenfold; he rises at a mighty bound above himself. His faculties are carried to their maximum of energy and power. So far from being an inert, passive instrument, his intellect has never been intenser, richer; his thoughts more clear and more coherent; his words more fluent, more abundant, more pictorial and expressive; his voice more firm and resonant; his gestures more imperious. It is the hour when he is most himself, when his particular genius has freest play, when his moral originality is greatest, when he is most certainly the organ of eternal truth. Thus understood, religious inspiration does not differ psychologically from poetic inspiration. It presents the same mystery, but it is not more miraculous. It is not produced like a trouble violently introduced into the psychical life from without, but as a really fruitful force, acting from within, in harmony with all the laws and forces of the mind.
Does not experience establish and piety confirm this? When does an Amos, an Isaiah, a Jeremiah, a St. Paul, or a St. John, appear to us as the most authentic bearer of the word of truth and life, but in their most eloquent pages, where their personal genius, their faith, their thought, shine forth most freely? Religious inspiration is simply the organic penetration of man by God; but, I repeat, by an interior and indwelling God, and in such wise that when that penetration is complete, the man finds himself to be more really and fully himself than ever. It is with this mysterious action of the Spirit in the bosom of humanity as it is with the solar heat upon the plants that spring up from the soil. In regions where the heat is greatest and the other conditions favourable, plants which elsewhere are stunted attain their richest development and their greatest fecundity.
The inner root of this inspiration is only found in the piety common to religious men. It differs from it not in nature, but simply in intensity and energy. Prophetic inspiration is piety raised to the second power. There is no other mystery in it than the religious mystery par excellence. That is why this inspiration is essential to and promotes effectually the progress of the moral and religious life. They advance together through the ages as we now shall see.
CHAPTER IV
THE RELIGIOUS DEVELOPMENT OF HUMANITY
1. The Social Element in Religion
Religion is not merely a phenomenon of the individual and inner life: it is also a social and historical phenomenon. Psychology lays bare its root, but history alone reveals its power and range.
This social action of religion springs from its very essence. The phrase "communion of souls" is of religious origin and hue. The thing expressed by it—one of the most wonderful phenomena of collective moral life—is never perfectly realised save in religion and by religion. An identic faith, a common act of adoration, not merely brings souls together: it makes them live in each other, blends them into one soul in which each of them finds itself, multiplied, as it were, by all the rest. That is what is properly called "edification," by which I mean that feeling of joy, of force, of fulness of life, produced by the common act of worship in those who sincerely take part in it. That is the reason why men of the same religion have no more imperious need than that of praying and worshipping together. State police have always failed to confine growing religious sects within the sanctuary or the home. Their members have never been resigned to this comparatively solitary life; they have braved all interdicts and persecutions in order to turn it into social life and fraternal communion.
God, it is said, is the place where spirits blend. In rising towards Him man of necessity passes beyond the limits of his own individuality. He feels instinctively that the principle of his being is also the principle of the life of his brethren; that that which gives him safety must give it to all. In the same Religion, souls the most diverse, being affected in the same manner, become related to each other, and form a real family, united by closer, stronger bonds than those of blood. The religious life is a higher region. Those who rise into it feel the barriers fall which hemmed in their existence. They become free; they penetrate the souls of their neighbours and feel themselves to be penetrated by them; and all live one life, which, although it be larger and almost universal, is none the less very personal and very intense. Have you ever been present in a crowd excited and exalted by religious enthusiasm? Have you felt the contagion? Then you can never forget it. It is said the early Christians were of one heart and one soul. Their community of faith, of hope, of love, went so far as to make them forget the idea of property and put their goods in common. In how many monastic orders or mystic sects has not this same need of equality and unity gone to the point of identity in costume and deportment, and even of the loss of name and personal individuality?