There are moments of discouragement in us
all, when we are sick of self and tired of vainly striving. Our own
life breaks down, and we fall into the attitude of the prodigal son.
We mistrust the chances of things. We want a universe where we can
just give up, fall on our father's neck, and be absorbed into the
absolute life as a drop of water melts into the river or the sea.
The peace and rest, the security desiderated at such moments is
security against the bewildering accidents of so much finite
experience. Nirvana means safety from this everlasting round of
adventures of which the world of sense consists. The hindoo and the
buddhist, for this is essentially their attitude, are simply afraid,
afraid of more experience, afraid of life.
And to men of this complexion, religious monism comes with its
consoling words: "All is needed and essential--even you with your
sick soul and heart. All are one with God, and with God all is well.
The everlasting arms are beneath, whether in the world of finite
appearances you seem to fail or to succeed." There can be no doubt
that when men are reduced to their last sick extremity absolutism is
the only saving scheme. Pluralistic moralism simply makes their
teeth chatter, it refrigerates the very heart within their breast.
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