There is, by the way, in this panegyric of Buddhism as a beautiful model (to the shame of the unmentioned Catholics) one little gem which I cannot pass over, though it has nothing to do with the subject. I mention it because it is so characteristic of the whole book. It is on page 243, and runs thus:
“Modern science has made clear to us that there is no such exact recurrence as we are apt to suppose; every day is by an infinitesimal quantity a little longer than the day before; no generation repeats the previous generation precisely.”
If a man wanted to take a sample out of this book to show the futility of its Author as a thinker, I do not think he could get a better six lines. Only look at the mass of false statement and confusion of thinking packed into this little space!
First of all, there is the assertion that we—you and I—are apt to suppose exact recurrence in human affairs. When on earth was there any human being who imagined any such thing?
Then we have the alarming folly that this imaginary idiocy is corrected by a God called “Modern Science.” It would be corrected, if ever it arose in the mind of a lunatic, by simple daily experience; it is so corrected, or rather prevented from ever arising, in the mind of every man or woman, learned or unlearned.
Then there is the statement that “modern science teaches us that every day is slightly longer than the day before.” That again is characteristic. No “modern science” teaches us anything of the kind. On the contrary, the theory of tidal drag and of a gradual lengthening of the terrestrial day, for which there is a good deal to be said, has provokingly failed to furnish sufficient proof. It looks probable, on the face of it, and we have the moon as an example where apparently the thing has worked itself out. But when you come to the establishment of concrete definite proofs, that the day is longer by such and such a fraction than it was for the Alexandrian astronomers, you do not get it. You can find arguments for and against. Nothing is yet decided. One new discovery might destroy the whole hypothesis—and hypothesis only it remains. It is the very opposite of science. It is probability, and an interesting hypothesis. Science it is not, and it will not be science until the day when conclusive proof is advanced.
Then there is the characteristic fact that Mr. Wells, who here affirms as scientific fact that interesting (but unimportant) statement of the possible lengthening of the terrestrial day, on an earlier page was more cautious.
Lastly, we have the monumental phrase: “Modern science has made clear to us that no generation repeats the previous generation precisely.” You might just as well say that “modern science” has proved to us that the weather on Tuesday is never exactly the same as the weather on Monday.
This is a digression, but a digression worth making, for it is a most illuminating example of the sham culture I have to deal with.
But to return to the use of Buddhism as a stick to beat the Catholic Church with. After the glorification of the pure doctrine we get the “awful example” business of the ritual. First we are told (on page 244) that it was the fate of Gautama to have marvellous falsehoods told about him—as has been the fate of “most religious founders” since his days.