No; if you would see how low man can fall, you must go to the tropic
jungle, where geniality of climate, plenty and variety of food, are
in themselves a cause of degradation to the soul, as long as the
Spirit of Christ is absent from it. Not in the barren desert, but
in the rich forest, wanders the true savage, eating and eating all
day long, like the ape in the trees above his head; and (I had
almost said), like the ape, too, with no thoughts save what his
pampered senses can suggest. I had almost said it. Thank God, I
dare not say it altogether; for, after all, the savage is a man, and
not an ape. Yes, to the lowest savage in the forests of the Amazon,
comes a hunger of the soul, and whispers from the unseen world, to
remind him of what he might have been, and still may be. In the
dreams of the night they come; in vague terrors of the unseen, vague
feelings of guilt and shame, vague dread of the powers of nature;
driving him to unmeaning ceremonies, to superstitious panics, to
horrible and bloody rites--as they might drive, to-morrow, my
friends, an outwardly civilized population, debauched by mere peace
and plenty, entangled and imprisoned in the wilderness of a great
city.
I can imagine--imagine?--Have we not seen again and again human
souls so entangled and opprest by this vast labyrinth of brick and
mortar, as never to care to stir outside it and expand their souls
with the sight of God's works as long as their brute wants are
supplied, just as the savage never cares to leave his accustomed
forest haunt, and hew himself a path into the open air through the
tangled underwood.
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