Since these views of God come from Anglican vicarages I can only conclude that this kind of belief is quite orthodox and permissible in the established church, and that I am charging orthodox Christianity here with nothing that has ever been officially repudiated.  I find indeed the essential assumptions of Mr. Landseer Mackenzie repeated in endless official Christian utterances on the part of German and British and Russian divines.  The Bishop of Chelmsford, for example, has recently ascribed our difficulties in the war to our impatience with long sermons—­among other similar causes.  Such Christians are manifestly convinced that God can be invoked by ritual—­for example by special days of national prayer or an increased observance of Sunday—­or made malignant by neglect or levity.  It is almost fundamental in their idea of him.  The ordinary Mohammedan seems as confident of this magic pettiness of God, and the belief of China in the magic propitiations and resentments of “Heaven” is at least equally strong.

But the true God as those of the new religion know him is no such God of luck and intervention.  He is not to serve men’s ends or the ends of nations or associations of men; he is careless of our ceremonies and invocations.  He does not lose his temper with our follies and weaknesses.  It is for us to serve Him.  He captains us, he does not coddle us.  He has his own ends for which he needs us. . . .

4.  God is not providence

Closely related to this heresy that God is magic, is the heresy that calls him Providence, that declares the apparent adequacy of cause and effect to be a sham, and that all the time, incalculably, he is pulling about the order of events for our personal advantages.

The idea of Providence was very gaily travested by Daudet in “Tartarin in the Alps.”  You will remember how Tartarin’s friend assured him that all Switzerland was one great Trust, intent upon attracting tourists and far too wise and kind to permit them to venture into real danger, that all the precipices were netted invisibly, and all the loose rocks guarded against falling, that avalanches were prearranged spectacles and the crevasses at their worst slippery ways down into kindly catchment bags.  If the mountaineer tried to get into real danger he was turned back by specious excuses.  Inspired by this persuasion Tartarin behaved with incredible daring. . . .  That is exactly the Providence theory of the whole world.  There can be no doubt that it does enable many a timid soul to get through life with a certain recklessness.  And provided there is no slip into a crevasse, the Providence theory works well.  It would work altogether well if there were no crevasses.

Tartarin was reckless because of his faith in Providence, and escaped.  But what would have happened to him if he had fallen into a crevasse?