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Theosophy House
My Path to Atheism
By
Annie Besant
The
Secret Doctrine by H P Blavatsky
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[Third
Edition]
Freethought
Publishing Company,
63,
Fleet Street, E.C.
1885.
TO
THOMAS
SCOTT,
WHOSE
NAME IS HONORED AND REVERED WHEREVER
FREETHOUGHT
HAS--
WHOSE
WIDE HEART AND GENEROUS KINDNESS WELCOME
ALL
FORMS OF THOUGHT, PROVIDED THE THOUGHT
BE
EARNEST AND HONEST;
WHO
KNOWS NO ORTHODOXY SAVE THAT OF HONESTY, AND
NO
RELIGION SAVE THAT OF GOODNESS;
TO
WHOM I OWE MOST GRATEFUL THANKS,
AS
ONE OF THE EARLIEST OF MY FREETHOUGHT FRIENDS,
AND
AS THE FIRST WHO AIDED ME IN MY NEED;--
TO
HIM
I
DEDICATE THESE PAGES, KNOWING THAT,
ALTHOUGH
WE OFTEN DIFFER IN OUR
THOUGHT,
WE ARE ONE IN OUR DESIRE FOR TRUTH.
ANNIE
BESANT.
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PREFACE
TO FIRST EDITION.
The
Essays which form the present book have been written at intervals
during
the last five years, and are now issued in a single volume
without
alterations of any kind. I have thought it more useful--as
marking
the gradual growth of thought--to reprint them as they were
originally
published, so as not to allow the later development to mould
the
earlier forms. The essay on "Inspiration" is, in part, the oldest
of
all; it was partially composed some seven years ago, and re-written
later
as it now stands.
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The
first essay on the "Deity of Jesus of Nazareth" was written just
before
I left the Church of England, and marks the point where I broke
finally
with Christianity. I thought then, and think still, that to
cling
to the name of Christian after one has ceased to be the thing
is
neither bold nor straightforward, and surely the name ought, in all
fairness,
to belong to those historical bodies who have made it their
own
during many hundred years. A Christianity without a Divine Christ
appears
to me to resemble a republican army marching under a royal
banner--it
misleads both friends and foes. Believing that in giving up
the
deity of Christ I renounced Christianity, I place this essay as the
starting-point
of my travels outside the Christian pale. The essays
that
follow it deal with some of the leading Christian dogmas, and are
printed
in the order in which they were written. But in the gradual
thought-development
they really precede the essay on the "Deity of
Christ".
Most inquirers who begin to study by themselves, before they
have
read any heretical works, or heard any heretical controversies,
will
have been awakened to thought by the discrepancies and
inconsistencies
of the Bible itself. A thorough knowledge of the Bible
is
the groundwork of heresy. Many who think they read their Bibles never
read
them at all. They go through a chapter every day as a matter of
duty,
and forget what is said in Matthew before they read what is said
in
John; hence they never mark the contradictions and never see the
discrepancies.
But those who _study_ the Bible are in a fair way to
become
heretics. It was the careful compilation of a harmony of the
last
chapters of the four Gospels--a harmony intended for devotional
use--that
gave the first blow to my own faith; although I put the doubt
away
and refused even to look at the question again, yet the effect
remained--the
tiny seed, which was slowly to germinate and to grow up,
later,
into the full-blown flower of Atheism.
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The
trial of Mr. Charles Voysey for heresy made me remember my own
puzzle,
and I gradually grew very uneasy, though trying not to think,
until
the almost fatal illness of my little daughter brought a sharper
questioning
as to the reason of suffering and the reality of the love of
God.
From that time I began to study the doctrines of Christianity from
a
critical point of view; hitherto I had confined my theological reading
to
devotional and historical treatises, and the only controversies
with
which I was familiar were the controversies which had divided
Christians;
the writings of the Fathers of the Church and of the modern
school
which is founded on them had been carefully studied, and I had
weighed
the points of difference between the Greek, Roman, Anglican, and
Lutheran
communions, as well as the views of orthodox dissenting schools
of
thought; only from Pusey's "Daniel", and Liddon's "Bampton
Lectures",
had
I gathered anything of wider controversies and issues of more vital
interest.
But now all was changed, and it was to the leaders of the
pain
had been so! rude when real doubts assailed and shook me, that I
had
steadily made up my mind to investigate, one by one, every Christian
dogma,
and never again to say "I believe" until I had tested the object
of
faith; the dogmas which revolted me most were those of the Atonement
and
of Eternal Punishment, while the doctrine of Inspiration of
Scripture
underlay everything, and was the very foundation of
Christianity;
these, then, were the first that I dropped into the
crucible
of investigation. Maurice, Robertson, Stopford Brooke, McLeod,
Campbell,
and others, were studied; and while I recognised the charm
of
their writings, I failed to find any firm ground whereon they could
rest:
it was a many-colored beautiful mist--a cloud landscape, very
fair,
but very unsubstantial. Still they served as stepping stones away
from
the old hard dogmas, and month by month I grew more sceptical as
to
the possibility of finding certainty in religion. Mansel's Bampton
lectures
on "The Limits of Religious Thought" did much to increase the
feeling;
the works of F. Newman, Arnold, and Greg carried on the
same
work; some efforts to understand the creeds of other nations, to
investigate
Mahommedanism, Buddhism, and Hinduism, all led in the same
direction,
until I concluded that inspiration belonged to all people
alike,
and there could be no necessity of atonement, and no eternal
hell
prepared for the unbeliever in Christianity. Thus, step by step,
I
renounced the dogmas of Christianity until there remained only, as
distinctively
Christian, the Deity of Jesus which had not yet been
analysed.
The whole tendency of the
to
increase the manhood at the expense of the deity of Christ; and with
hell
and atonement gone, and inspiration everywhere, there appeared
no
_raison d'etre_ for the Incarnation. Besides, there were so many
incarnations,
and the Buddhist absorption seemed a grander idea. I now
first
met with Charles Voysey's works, and those of Theodore Parker and
Channing,
and the belief in the Deity of Jesus followed the other dead
creeds.
Renan I had read much earlier, but did not care for him; Strauss
I
did not meet with until afterwards; Scott's "English Life of Jesus",
which
I read at this period, is as useful a book on this subject as
could
be put into the hands of an inquirer. From Christianity into
simple
Theism I had found my way; step by step the Theism melted into
Atheism;
prayer was gradually discontinued, as utterly at variance with
any
dignified idea of God, and as in contradiction to all the results
of
scientific investigation. I had taken a keen interest in the later
scientific
discoveries, and
my
old bonds. Of John Stuart Mill I had read much, and I now took him up
again;
I studied Spinoza, and re-read Mansel, together with many other
writers
on the Deity, until the result came which is found in the essay
entitled
"The Nature and Existence of God ". It was just before this was
written
that I read Charles Bradlaugh's "Plea for Atheism" and his "Is
there
a God?". The essay on "Constructive Rationalism" shows how we
replace
the old faith and build our house anew with stronger materials.
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The
path from Christianity to Atheism is a long one, and its first steps
are
very rough and very painful; the feet tread on the ruins of the
broken
faith, and the sharp edges cut into the bleeding flesh; but
further
on the path grows smoother, and presently at its side begins to
peep
forth the humble daisy of hope that heralds the spring tide, and
further
on the roadside is fragrant with all the flowers of summer,
sweet
and brilliant and gorgeous, and in the distance we see the promise
of
the autumn, the harvest that shall be reaped for the feeding of man.
Annie
Besant. 1878.
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ON
THE DEITY OF JESUS OF
"WHAT
think ye of Christ, whose son is he?" Humane child of human
parents,
or divine Son of the Almighty God? When we consider his purity,
his
faith in the Father, his forgiving patience, his devoted work
among
the offscourings of society, his brotherly love to sinners
and
outcasts--when our minds dwell on these alone,--we all feel the
marvellous
fascination which has drawn millions to the feet of this
"son
of man," and the needle of our faith begins to tremble towards the
Christian
pole. If we would keep unsullied the purity of our faith
in
God alone, we are obliged to turn our eyes some times--however
unwillingly--towards
the other side of the picture and to mark the human
weaknesses
which remind us that he is but one of our race. His harshness
to
his mother, his bitterness towards some of his opponents, the marked
failure
of one or two of his rare prophecies, the palpable limitation of
his
knowledge--little enough, indeed, when all are told,--are more
than
enough to show us that, however great as man, he is not the
All-righteous,
the All-seeing, the All-knowing, God.
No
one, however, whom Christian exaggeration has not goaded into unfair
detraction,
or who is not blinded by theological hostility, can fail
to
revere portions of the character sketched out in the three synoptic
gospels.
I shall not dwell here on the Christ of the fourth Evangelist;
we
can scarcely trace in that figure the lineaments of the Jesus of
I
propose, in this essay, to examine the claims of Jesus to be more
than
the man he appeared to be during his lifetime: claims--be it
noted--which
are put forward on his behalf by others rather than by
himself.
His own assertions of his divinity are to be found only in the
unreliable
fourth gospel, and in it they are destroyed by the sentence
there
put into his mouth with strange inconsistency: "If I bear witness
of
myself, my witness is not true."
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It
is evident that by his contemporaries Jesus was not regarded as God
incarnate.
The people in general appear to have looked upon him as a
great
prophet, and to have often debated among themselves whether he
were
their expected Messiah or not. The band of men who accepted him
as
their teacher were as far from worshipping him as God as were their
fellow-countrymen:
their prompt desertion of him when attacked by his
enemies,
their complete hopelessness when they saw him overcome and put
to
death, are sufficient proofs that though they regarded him--to quote
their
own words--as a "prophet mighty in word and deed," they never
guessed
that the teacher they followed, and the friend they lived with
in
the intimacy of social life was Almighty God Himself. As has been
well
pointed out, if they believed their Master to be God, surely when
they
were attacked they would have fled to him for protection, instead
of
endeavouring to save themselves by deserting him: we may add that
this
would have been their natural instinct, since they could never
have
imagined beforehand that the Creator Himself could really be taken
captive
by His creatures and suffer death at their hands. The third
class
of his contemporaries, the learned Pharisees and Scribes, were as
far
from regarding him as divine as were the people or his disciples.
They
seem to have viewed the new teacher somewhat contemptuously at
first,
as one who unwisely persisted in expounding the highest doctrines
to
the many, instead of--a second Hillel--adding to the stores of
their
own learned circle. As his influence spread and appeared to be
undermining
their own,--still more, when he placed himself in direct
opposition,
warning the people against them,--they were roused to a
course
of active hostility, and at length determined to save themselves
by
destroying him. But all through their passive contempt and direct
antagonism,
there is never a trace of their deeming him to be anything
more
than a religious enthusiast who finally became dangerous: we never
for
a moment see them assuming the manifestly absurd position of men
knowingly
measuring their strength against God, and endeavouring to
silence
and destroy their Maker. So much for the opinions of those who
had
the best opportunities of observing his ordinary life. A "good man,"
a
"deceiver," a "mighty prophet," such are the recorded
opinions of his
contemporaries:
not one is found to step forward and proclaim him to be
Jehovah,
the God of
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One
of the most trusted strongholds of Christians, in defending their
Lord's
Divinity, is the evidence of prophecy. They gather from the
sacred
books of the Jewish nation the predictions of the longed-for
Messiah,
and claim them as prophecies fulfilled in Jesus of Nazareth.
But
there is one stubborn fact which destroys the force of this
argument:
the Jews, to whom these writings belong, and who from
tradition
and national peculiarities may reasonably be supposed to be
the
best exponents of their own prophets, emphatically deny that these
prophecies
are fulfilled in Jesus at all. Indeed, one main reason for
their
rejection of Jesus is precisely this, that he does not resemble in
any
way the predicted Messiah. There is no doubt that the Jewish nation
were
eagerly looking for their Deliverer when Jesus was born: these very
longings
produced several pseudo-Messiahs, who each gained in turn
a
considerable following, because each bore some resemblance to the
expected
Prince. Much of the popular rage which swept Jesus to his
death
was the re-action of disappointment after the hopes raised by the
position
of authority he assumed. The sudden burst of anger against one
so
benevolent and inoffensive can only be explained by the intense hopes
excited
by his regal entry into
those
hopes by his failing to ascend the throne of David. Proclaimed
as
David's son, he came riding on an ass as king of
himself
to be welcomed as the king of
of
the prophecies ended, and the people, furious at his failing them,
rose
and clamoured for his death. Because he did _not_ fulfil the
ancient
Jewish oracles, he died: he was too noble for the _rôle_ laid
down
in them for the Messiah, his ideal was far other than that of a
conqueror,
with "garments rolled in blood." But even if, against all
evidence,
Jesus was one with the Messiah of the prophets, this would
destroy,
instead of implying, his Divine claims. For the Jews were pure
monotheists;
their Messiah was a prince of David's line, the favoured
servant,
the anointed Jehovah, the king who should rule in His name: a
Jew
would shrink with horror from the blasphemy of seating Messiah on
Jehovah's
throne remembering how their prophets had taught them that
their
God "would not give His honour to another." So that, as to
prophecy,
the case stands thus: If Jesus be the Messiah prophesied of
in
the old Jewish books, then he is not God: if he be not the Messiah,
Jewish
prophecy is silent as regards him altogether, and an appeal to
prophecy
is absolutely useless.
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After
the evidence of prophecy Christians generally rely on that
furnished
by miracles. It is remarkable that Jesus himself laid but
little
stress on his miracles; in fact, he refused to appeal to them
as
credentials of his authority, and either could not or would not work
them
when met with determined unbelief. We must notice also that the
people,
while "glorifying God, who had given such power unto _men_,"
were
not inclined to admit his miracles as proofs of his right to claim
absolute
obedience: his miracles did not even invest him with such
sacredness
as to protect him from arrest and death. Herod, on his trial,
was
simply anxious to see him work a miracle, as a matter of curiosity.
This
stolid indifference to marvels as attestations of authority is
natural
enough, when we remember that Jewish history was crowded with
miracles,
wrought for and against the favoured people, and also that
they
had been specially warned against being misled by signs and
wonders.
Without entering into the question whether miracles are
possible,
let us, for argument's sake, take them for granted, and see
what
they are worth as proofs of Divinity. If Jesus fed a multitude with
a
few loaves, so did Elisha: if he raised the dead, so did Elijah and
Elisha;
if he healed lepers, so did Moses and Elisha; if he opened
the
eyes of the blind, Elisha smote a whole army with blindness
and
afterwards restored their sight: if he cast out devils, his
contemporaries,
by his own testimony, did the same. If miracles prove
Deity,
what miracle of Jesus can stand comparison with the divided Red
the
rushing waters of the
these
men worked by _conferred_ power and Jesus by _inherent_, we can
only
answer that this is a gratuitous assumption, and begs the whole
question.
The Bible records the miracles in equivalent terms: no
difference
is drawn between the manner of working of Elisha or Jesus; of
each
it is sometimes said they prayed; of each it is sometimes said
they
spake. Miracles indeed must not be relied on as proofs of divinity,
unless
believers in them are prepared to pay divine honours not to Jesus
only,
but also to a crowd of others, and to build a Christian Pantheon
to
the new found gods.
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So
far we have only seen the insufficiency of the usual Christian
arguments
to establish a doctrine so stupendous and so _prima facie_
improbable
as the incarnation of the Divine Being: this kind of negative
testimony,
this insufficient evidence, is not however the principle
reason
which compels Theists to protest against the central dogma of
Christianity.
The stronger proofs of the simple manhood of Jesus remain,
and
we now proceed to positive evidence of his not being God. I
propose
to draw attention to the traces of human infirmity in his noble
character,
to his absolute mistakes in prophecy, and to his evidently
limited
knowledge. In accepting as substantially true the account
of
Jesus given by the evangelists, we are taking his character as
it
appeared to his devoted followers. We have not to do with slight
blemishes,
inserted by envious detractors of his greatness; the history
of
Jesus was written when his disciples worshipped him as God, and his
manhood,
in their eyes, reached ideal perfection. We are not forced to
believe
that, in the gospels, the life of Jesus is given at its highest,
and
that he was, at least, not more spotless than he appears in these
records
of his friends. But here again, in order not to do a gross
injustice,
we must put aside the fourth gospel; to study his character
"according
to S. John" would need a separate essay, so different is
it
from that drawn by the three; and by all rules of history we should
judge
him by the earlier records, more especially as they corroborate
each
other in the main.
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The
first thing which jars upon an attentive reader of the gospels is
the
want of affection and respect shown by Jesus to his mother. When
only
a child of twelve he lets his parents leave
home,
while he repairs alone to the temple. The fascination of the
ancient
city and the gorgeous temple services was doubtless almost
overpowering
to a thoughtful Jewish boy, more especially on his first
visit:
but the careless forgetfulness of his parents' anxiety must be
considered
as a grave childish fault, the more so as its character is
darkened
by the indifference shown by his answer to his mother's grieved
reproof.
That no high, though mistaken, sense of duty kept him in
felt
that "his Father's business" detained him in
is
evident that this sense of duty would not have been satisfied by a
three
days' delay. But the Christian advocate would bar criticism by an
appeal
to the Deity of Jesus: he asks us therefore to believe that
Jesus,
being God, saw with indifference his parents' anguish at
discovering
his absence; knew all about that three days' agonised search
(for
they, ignorant of his divinity, felt the terrible anxiety as to
his
safety, natural to country people losing a child in a crowded city);
did
not, in spite of the tremendous powers at his command, take any
steps
to re-assure them; and finally, met them again with no words of
sympathy,
only with a mysterious allusion, incomprehensible to them, to
some
higher claim than theirs, which, however, he promptly set aside to
obey
them. If God was incarnate in a boy, we may trust that example as a
model
of childhood: yet, are Christians prepared to set this early
piety
and desire for religious instruction before their young children
as
an example they are to follow? Are boys and girls of twelve to be
free
to absent themselves for days from their parents' guardianship
under
the plea that a higher business claims their attention? This
episode
of the childhood of Jesus should be relegated to those "gospels
of
the infancy" full of most unchildlike acts, which the wise discretion
of
Christendom has stamped with disapproval. The same want of filial
reverence
appears later in his life: on one occasion he was teaching,
and
his mother sent in, desiring to speak to him: the sole reply
recorded
to the message is the harsh remark: "Who is my mother?" The
most
practical proof that Christian morality has, on this head,
outstripped
the example of Jesus, is the prompt disapproval which
similar
conduct would meet with in the present day. By the strange
warping
of morality often caused by controversial exigencies, this want
of
filial reverence has been triumphantly pointed out by Christian
divines;
the indifference shown by Jesus to family ties is accepted as a
proof
that he was more than man! Thus, conduct which they implicitly
acknowledge
to be unseemly in a son to his mother, they claim as natural
and
right in the Son of God, to His! In the present day, if a person is
driven
by conscience to a course painful to those who have claims on his
respect,
his recognised duty, as well as his natural instinct, is to try
and
make up by added affection and more courteous deference for the pain
he
is forced to inflict: above all, he would not wantonly add to that
pain
by public and uncalled-for disrespect.
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The
attitude of Jesus towards his opponents in high places was marked
with
unwarrantable bitterness. Here also the lofty and gentle spirit
of
his whole life has moulded Christian opinion in favour of a course
different
on this head to his own, so that abuse of an opponent is now
commonly
called _un_-Christian. Wearied with three years' calumny and
contempt,
sore at the little apparent success which rewarded his labour,
full
of a sad foreboding that his enemies would shortly crush him, Jesus
was
goaded into passionate denunciations: "Woe unto you, Scribes and
Pharisees,
hypocrites... ye fools and blind... ye make a proselyte
twofold
more the child of hell than yourselves... ye serpents, ye
generation
of vipers, how can ye escape the damnation of hell!" Surely
this
is not the spirit which breathed in, "If ye love them which love
you,
what thanks have ye?... Love your enemies, bless them that curse
you,
pray for them that persecute you." Had he not even specially
forbidden
the very expression, "Thou fool!" Was not this rendering evil
for
evil, railing for railing?
It
is painful to point out these blemishes: reverence for the great
leaders
of humanity is a duty dear to all human hearts; but when homage
turns
into idolatry, then men must rise up to point out faults which
otherwise
they would pass over in respectful silence, mindful only of
the
work so nobly done.
I
turn then, with a sense of glad relief, to the evidence of the limited
knowledge
of Jesus, for here no blame attaches to him, although _one_
proved
mistake is fatal to belief in his Godhead. First as to prophecy:
"The
Son of man shall come in the glory of his Father with his angels:
and
then shall he reward every man according to his works. Verily I say
unto
you, There be some standing here which shall not taste of death
till
they see the Son of man coming in his kingdom." Later, he amplifies
the
same idea: he speaks of a coming tribulation, succeeded by his own
return,
and then adds the emphatic declaration: "Verily I say unto
you,
This generation shall not pass till all these things be done." The
non-fulfilment
of these prophecies is simply a question of fact: let
men
explain away the words now as they may, yet, if the record is true,
Jesus
did believe in his own speedy return, and impressed the same belief
on
his followers. It is plain, indeed, that he succeeded in impressing
it
on them, from the references to his return scattered through the
epistles.
The latest writings show an anxiety to remove the doubts which
were
disturbing the converts consequent on the non-appearance of Jesus,
and
the fourth gospel omits any reference to his coming. It is worth
remarking,
in the latter, the spiritual sense which is hinted at--either
purposely
or unintentionally--in the words, "The hour... _now_ is when
the
dead shall hear the voice of the Son of God, and they that hear
shall
live." These words may be the popular feeling on the advent of the
resurrection,
forced on the Christians by the failure of their Lord's
prophecies
in any literal sense. He could not be mistaken, _ergo_ they
must
spiritualise his words. The limited knowledge of Jesus is further
evident
from his confusing Zacharias the son of Jehoiada with Zacharias
the
son of Barachias: the former, a priest, was slain in the temple
court,
as Jesus states; but the son of Barachias was Zacharias, or
Zachariah,
the prophet.* He himself owned a limitation of his knowledge,
when
he confessed his ignorance of the day of his own return, and said
it
was known to the "Father only." Of the same class of sayings is
his
answer to the mother of James and John, that the high seats of
the
coming kingdom "are not mine to give." That Jesus believed in the
fearful
doctrine of eternal punishment is evident, in spite of the
ingenious
attempts to prove that the doctrine is not scriptural:
that
he, in common with his countrymen, ascribed many diseases to the
immediate
power of Satan, which we should now probably refer to natural
causes,
as epilepsy, mania, and the like, is also self-evident. But on
such
points as these it is useless to dwell, for the Christian believes
them
on the authority of Jesus, and the subjects, from their nature,
cannot
be brought to the test of ascertained facts. Of the same
character
are some of his sayings: his discouraging "Strive to enter
in
at the strait gate, _for_ many," etc.; his using in defence of
partiality
Isaiah's awful prophecy, "that seeing they may see and not
perceive,"
etc.; his using Scripture at one time as binding, while he,
at
another, depreciates it; his fondness for silencing an opponent by an
ingenious
retort: all these things are blameworthy to those who regard
him
as man, while they are shielded from criticism by his divinity to
those
who worship him as God. There morality is a question of opinion,
and
it is wasted time to dwell on them when arguing with Christians,
whose
moral sense is for the time held in check by their mental
prostration
at his feet. But the truth of the quoted prophecies, and
the
historical fact of the parentage of Zachariah, can be tested, and on
these
Jesus made palpable mistakes. The obvious corollary is, that being
mistaken--as
he was--his knowledge was limited, and was therefore human,
not
divine
.
·
See
Appendix, page 12.
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In
turning to the teaching of Jesus (I still confine myself to the three
gospels),
we find no support of the Christian theory. If we take his
didactic
teaching, we can discover no trace of his offering himself as
an
object of either faith or worship. His life's work, as teacher, was
to
speak of the Father. In the sermon on the Mount he is always striking
the
keynote, "your heavenly Father;" in teaching his disciples to
pray,
it is to "Our Father," and the Christian idea of ending a prayer
"through
Jesus Christ" is quite foreign to the simple filial spirit
of
their master. Indeed, when we think of the position Jesus holds in
Christian
theology, it seems strange to notice the utter absence of any
suggestion
of duty to himself throughout this whole code of so-called
Christian
morality. In strict accordance with his more formal teaching
is
his treatment of inquirers: when a young man comes kneeling, and,
addressing
him as "Good Master," asks what he shall do to inherit
eternal
life, the loyal heart of Jesus first rejects the homage, before
he
proceeds to answer the all-important question: "Why callest thou _me_
good:
there is none good but one, that is, God." He then directs the
youth
on the way to eternal life, and _he sends that young man home
without
one word of the doctrine on which, according to Christians,
his
salvation rested_. If the "Gospel" came to that man later, he would
reject
it on the authority of Jesus, who had told him a different "way
of
salvation;" and if Christianity is true, the perdition of that young
man's
soul is owing to the defective teaching of Jesus himself. Another
time,
he tells a Scribe that the first commandment is that God is
one,
and that all a man's love is due to Him; then adding the duty of
neighbourly
love, he says: "There is _none other_ commandment greater
than
these:" so that "belief in Jesus," if incumbent at all, must
come
after
love to God and man, and is not necessary, by his own testimony,
to
"entering into life." On Jesus himself then rests the primary
responsibility
of affirming that belief in him is a matter of secondary
importance,
at most, letting alone the fact that he never inculcated
belief
in his Deity as an article of faith at all. In the same spirit of
frank
loyalty to God are his words on the unpardonable sin: in answer
to
a gross personal affront, he tells his insulters that they shall be
forgiven
for speaking against him, a simple son of man, but warns them
of
the danger of confounding the work of God's. Spirit with that of
Satan,
"because they said" that works; done by God, using Jesus as His
instrument,
were done by Beelzebub.
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There
remains yet one argument of tremendous force, which can only
be
appreciated by personal meditation. We find Jesus praying to
God,
relying on God, in his greatest need crying in agony to God for
deliverance,
in his last: struggle, deserted by his friends, asking why
God,
his God, had also forsaken him. We feel how natural, how true to
life,
this whole account is: in our heart's reverence for that noble
life,
that "faithfulness unto death," we can scarcely bear to think of
the
insult offered to it by Christian lips: they take every beauty
out
of it by telling us that through all that struggle Jesus was
the
Eternal, the Almighty, God: it is all apparent, not real: in his
temptation
he could not fall: in his prayers he needed no support: in
his
cry that the cup might pass away he foresaw it was inevitable: in
his
agony of desertion and loneliness he was present everywhere with
God.
In all that life, then, there is no hope for man, no pledge of
man's
victory, no promise for humanity. This is no _man's_ life at all,
it
is only a wonderful drama enacted on earth. What God could do is no
measure
of man's powers: what have we in common with this "God-man?"
This
Jesus, whom we had thought our brother, is after all, removed from
us
by the immeasurable distance which separates the feebleness of man
from
the omnipotence of God. Nothing can compensate us for such a loss
as
this. We had rejoiced in that many-sided nobleness, and its very
blemishes
were dear, because they assured us of his brotherhood to
ourselves:
we are given an ideal picture where we had studied a history,
another
Deity where we had hoped to emulate a life. Instead of the
encouragement
we had found, what does Christianity offer us?--a perfect
life?
But we knew before that God was perfect: an example? it starts
from
a different level: a Saviour? we cannot be safer than we are with
God:
an Advocate? we need none with our Father: a Substitute to endure
God's
wrath for us? we had rather trust God's justice to punish us as
we
deserve, and his wisdom to do what is best for us. As God, Jesus can
give
us nothing that we have not already in his Father and ours: as man,
he
gives us all the encouragement and support which we derive from every
noble
soul which God sends into this world, "a burning and a shining
light":
"Through such souls alone
God stooping shows sufficient of
His light For us in the dark to rise
by."
As
God, he confuses our perceptions of God's unity, bewilders our reason
with
endless contradictions, and turns away from the Supreme all those
emotions
of love and adoration which can only flow towards a single
object,
and which are the due of our Creator alone: as man, he gives us
an
example to strive after, a beacon to steer by; he is one more leader
for
humanity, one more star in our darkness. As God, all his words would
be
truth, and but few would enter into heaven, while hell would overflow
with
victims: as man, we may refuse to believe such a slander on our
Father,
and take all the comfort pledged to us by that name. Thank God,
then,
that Jesus is only man, "human child of human parents;" that
we
need not dwarf our conceptions of God to fit human faculties, or
envelope
the illimitable spirit in a baby's feeble frame. But though
only
man, he has reached a standard of human greatness which no other
man,
so far as we know, has touched: the very height of his character is
almost
a pledge of the truthfulness of the records in the main: his life
had
to be lived before its conception became possible, at that period
and
among such a people. They could recognise his greatness when it was
before
their eyes: they would scarcely have imagined it for themselves,
more
especially that, as we have seen, he was so different from the
Jewish
ideal. His code of morality stands unrivalled, and he was the
first
who taught the universal Fatherhood of God publicly and to the
common
people. Many of his loftiest precepts may be found in the books
of
the Rabbis, but it is the glorious prerogative of Jesus that he
spread
abroad among the many the wise and holy maxims that had hitherto
been
the sacred treasures of the few. With him none were too degraded
to
be called the children of the Father: none too simple to be worthy of
the
highest teaching. By example, as well as by precept, he taught that
all
men were brothers, and all the good he had he showered at their
feet.
"Pure in heart," he saw God, and what he saw he called all to see:
he
longed that all might share in his own joyous trust in the Father,
and
seemed to be always seeking for fresh images to describe the freedom
and
fulness of the universal love of God. In his unwavering love of
truth,
but his patience with doubters--in his personal purity, but his
tenderness
to the fallen--in his hatred of evil, but his friendliness
to
the sinner--we see splendid virtues rarely met in combination. His
brotherliness,
his yearning to raise the degraded, his lofty piety, his
unswerving
morality, his perfect self-sacrifice, are his indefeasible
titles
to human love and reverence. Of the world's benefactors he is the
chief,
not only by his own life, but by the enthusiasm he has known to
inspire
in others: "Our plummet has not sounded his depth:" words fail
to
tell what humanity owes to the Prophet of Nazareth. On his example
the
great Christian heroes have based their lives: from the foundation
laid
by his teaching the world is slowly rising to a purer faith in God.
We
need now such a leader as he was--one who would dare to follow the
Father's
will as he did, casting a long-prized revelation aside when
it
conflicts with the higher voice of conscience. It is the teaching
of
Jesus that Theism gladly makes its own, purifying it from the
inconsistencies
which mar its perfection. It is the example of Jesus
which
Theists are following, though they correct that example in some
points
by his loftiest sayings. It is the work of Jesus which Theists
are
carrying on, by worshipping, as he did, the Father, and the Father
alone,
and by endeavouring to turn all men's love, all men's hopes, and
all
men's adoration, to that "God and Father of all, who is above all,
and
through all, and," not in Jesus only, but "_in us all_."
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APPENDIX:
"Josephus mentions a Zacharias, a son of Baruch ('Wars of
the
Jews,' Book iv., sec. 4), who was slain under the circumstances
described
by Jesus. His name would be more suitable at the close of the
long
list of Jewish crimes, as it occurred just before the destruction
of
death
of Jesus, it is clear that he could not have referred to it;
therefore,
if we admit that he made no mistake, we strike a serious
blow
at the credibility of his historian, who then puts into his mouth a
remark
never uttered."
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A
COMPARISON BETWEEN THE FOURTH GOSPEL AND THE THREE SYNOPTICS
EVERY
one, at least in the educated classes, knows that the authenticity
of
the fourth gospel has been long and widely disputed. The most
careless
reader is struck by the difference of tone between the simple
histories
ascribed to Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and the theological and
philosophical
treatise which bears the name of John. After following
the
three narratives, so simple in their structure, so natural in their
style,
so unadorned by rhetoric, so free from philosophic terms,--after
reading
these, it is with a feeling of surprise that we find ourselves,
plunged
into the bewildering mazes of the Alexandrine philosophy, and
open
our fourth gospel to be told that, "In the beginning was the word,
and
the word was with God, and the word was God." We ask instinctively,
"How
did John, the fisherman of
Greek
schools, and why does he mix up the simple story of his master
with
the philosophy of that 'world which by wisdom knew not God?'"
The
general Christian tradition is as follows: The spread! of
"heretical"
views about the person of Jesus alarmed the "orthodox"
Christians,
and they appealed to John, the last aged relic of the
apostolic
band, to write a history of Jesus which should confute their
opponents,
and establish the essential deity of the founder of their
religion.
At their repeated solicitations, John wrote the gospel which
bears
his name, and the doctrinal tone of it is due to its original
intention,--a
treatise written against Cerinthus, and designed to
crush,
with the authority of an apostle, the rising doubts as to
the
pre-existence and absolute deity of Jesus of Nazareth. So far
non-Christians
and Christians--including the writer of the gospel--are
agreed.
This fourth gospel is not--say Theists--a simple biography
of
Jesus written by a loving disciple as a memorial of a departed and
cherished
friend, but a history written with a special object and to
prove
a certain doctrine. "
echoes
Dr. Liddon. "These are written that ye may believe that Jesus
is
the Christ, the Son of God," confesses the writer himself. Now, in
examining
the credibility of any history, one of the first points
to
determine is whether the historian is perfectly unbiassed in his
judgment
and is therefore likely give facts exactly as they occurred,
un-coloured
by views of his own. Thus we do not turn to the pages of a
Roman
Catholic historian to gain a fair idea of Luther, or of William
the
Silent, or expect to find in the volumes of Clarendon a thoroughly
faithful
portraiture of the vices of the Stuart kings; rather, in
reading
the history of a partisan, do we instinctively make allowances
for
the recognised bias of his mind and heart. That the fourth gospel
comes
to us prefaced by the announcement that it is written, not to give
us
a history, but to prove a certain predetermined opinion, is, then,
so
much doubt cast at starting on its probable accuracy; and, by the
constitution
of our minds, we at once guard ourselves against a too
ready
acquiescence in its assertions, and become anxious to test its
statements
by comparing them with some independent and more impartial
authority.
The history may be most accurate, but we require proof
that
the writer is never seduced into slightly--perhaps
unconsciously--colouring
an incident so as to favour the object he
has
at heart. For instance, Matthew, an honest writer enough, is often
betrayed
into most non-natural quotation of prophecy by his anxiety to
connect
Jesus with the Messiah expected by his countrymen. This latent
wish
of his leads him to insert various quotations from the Jewish
Scriptures
which, severed from their context, have a verbal similarity
with
the events he narrates. Thus, he refers to Hosea's mention of the
Exodus:
"When
out
of
"prophecy"
of an alleged journey of Jesus into
as
this shows us how a man may allow himself to be blinded by a
pre-conceived
determination to prove a certain fact, and warns us to
sift
carefully any history that comes to us with the announcement that
it
is written to prove such and such a truth.
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Unfortunately
we have no independent contemporary history--except a
sentence
of Josephus--whereby to test the accuracy of the Christian
records;
we are therefore forced into the somewhat unsatisfactory task
of
comparing them one with another, and in cases of diverging testimony
we
must strike the balance of probability between them.
On
examining, then, these four biographies of Jesus, we find a
remarkable
similarity between three of them, amid many divergencies of
detail;
some regard them, therefore, as the condensation into writing
of
the oral teaching of the apostles, preserved in the various Churches
they
severally founded, and so, naturally, the same radically, although
diverse
in detail. "The synoptic Gospels contain the substance of the
Apostles'
testimony, collected principally from their oral teaching
current
in the Church, partly also from written documents embodying
portions
of that teaching."* Others think that the gospels which we
possess,
and which are ascribed severally to Matthew, Mark, and Luke,
are
all three derived from an original gospel now lost, which was
probably
written in Hebrew or Aramaic, and variously translated into
Greek.
However this may be, the fact that such a statement as this has
been
put forward proves the striking similarity, the root identity, of
the
three "synoptical gospels," as they are called. We gather from them
an
idea of Jesus which is substantially the same: a figure, calm, noble,
simple,
generous; pure in life, eager to draw men to that love of the
Father
and devotion to the Father which were his own distinguishing
characteristics;
finally, a teacher of a simple and high-toned morality,
perfectly
unfettered by dogmatism. The effect produced by the sketch of
the
Fourth Evangelist is totally different. The friend of sinners has
disappeared
(except in the narrative of the woman taken in adultery,
which
is generally admitted to be an interpolation), for his whole time
is
occupied in arguing about his own position; "the common people"
who
followed and "heard him gladly" and his enemies, the Scribes and
Pharisees,
are all massed together as "the Jews," with whom he is in
constant
collision; his simple style of teaching--parabolic indeed, as
was
the custom of the East, but consisting of parables intelligible to
a
child--is exchanged for mystical discourses, causing perpetual
misunderstandings,
the true meaning of which is still wrangled about by
Christian
theologians; his earnest testimony to "your heavenly Father"
is
replaced by a constant self-assertion; while his command "do this and
ye
shall live," is exchanged for "believe on me or perish."
* Alford.
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How
great is the contrast between that discourse and the Sermon on
the
Mount.... In the last discourse it is His Person rather than his
teaching
which is especially prominent. His subject in that discourse is
Himself.
Certainly
he preaches himself in His relationship to His redeemed; but
still
he preaches above all, and in all, Himself. All radiates from
Himself,
all converges towards Himself.... in those matchless words all
centres
so consistently in Jesus, that it might seem that "Jesus Alone is
before
us."* These and similar differences, both of direct teaching and
of
the more subtle animating spirit, I propose to examine in detail; but
before
entering on these it seems necessary to glance at the disputed
question
of the authorship of our history, and determine whether, if it
prove
apostolic, it _must_ therefore be binding on us.
I
leave to more learned pens than mine the task of criticising
and
drawing conclusions from the Greek or the precise dogma of the
evangelist,
and of weighing the conflicting testimony of mighty names.
From
the account contained in the English Bible of John the Apostle, I
gather
the following points of his character: He was warm-hearted to his
friends,
bitter against his enemies, filled with a fiery and unbridled
zeal
against theological opponents; he was ambitious, egotistical,
pharisaical.
I confess that I trace these characteristics through all
the
writings ascribed to him, and that they seem to be only softened by
age
in the fourth gospel. That John was a warm friend is proved by his
first
epistle; that he was bitter against his enemies appears in his
mention
of Diotrephes, "I will remember his deeds which he doeth,
prating
against us with malicious words;" his unbridled zeal was rebuked
by
his master; the same cruel spirit is intensified in his "Revelation;"
his
ambition is apparent in his anxiety for a chief seat in Messiah's
kingdom;
his egotism appears in the fearful curse he imprecates on those
who
alter _his_ revelation; his pharisaism is marked in such a feeling
as,
"we know _we_ are of God, and the whole world lieth in wickedness."
Many
of these qualities appear to me to mark the gospel which bears
his
name; the same restricted tenderness, the same bitterness against
opponents,
the same fiery zeal for "the truth," i.e., a special
theological
dogma, are everywhere apparent.
* Liddon.
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The
same egotism is most noticeable, for in the other gospels John
shares
his master's chief regard with two others, while here he is
"_the_
disciple whom Jesus loved," and he is specially prominent in the
closing
scenes of Jesus' life as the _only_ faithful follower. We should
also
notice the remarkable similarity of expression and tone between
the
fourth gospel and the first epistle of John, a similarity the more
striking
as the language is peculiar to the writings attributed to
John.
It is, however, with the utmost diffidence that I offer these
suggestions,
well knowing that the greatest authorities are divided on
this
point of authorship, and that the balance is rather against the
apostolic
origin of the gospel than for it. I am, however, anxious
to
show that, _even taking it as apostolic_, it is untrustworthy and
utterly
unworthy of credit. If John be the writer, we must suppose
that
his long residence in
memories,
so that he speaks of "the Jews" as a foreigner would. The
stern
Jewish monotheism would have grown feebler by contact with the
subtle
influence of the Alexandrine tone of thought; and he would have
caught
the expressions of that school from living in a city which was
its
second home. To use the Greek philosophy as a vehicle for Christian
teaching
would recommend itself to him as the easiest way of approaching
minds
imbued with these mystic ideas. Regarding the master of his youth
through
the glorifying medium of years, he gradually began to imagine
him
to be one of the emanations from the Supreme, of which he heard so
much.
Accustomed to the deification of Roman emperors, men of infamous
lives,
he must have been almost driven to claim divine honours for _his_
leader.
If his hearers regarded _them_ as divine, what could he say to
exalt
_him_ except that he was ever with God, nay, was himself God? If
John
be the writer of this gospel, some such change as this must have
passed
over him, and in his old age the gradual accretions of years must
have
crystallised themselves into a formal Christian theology. But if we
find,
during our examination, that the history and the teaching of this
gospel
is utterly irreconcilable with the undoubtedly earlier synoptic
gospels,
we must then conclude that, apostolic or not, it must give
place
to them, and be itself rejected as a trustworthy account of the
life
and teaching of Jesus of Nazareth.
The
first striking peculiarity of this gospel is that all the people
in
it talk in exactly the same style and use the same markedly peculiar
phraseology,
(a) "The Father loveth the Son and hath given all things
into
his hand." (b) "For the Father loveth the Son and showeth him all
things
that Himself doeth." (c) "Jesus, knowing that the Father had
given
all things into his hand." These sentences are evidently the
outcome
of the same mind, and no one, unacquainted with our gospel,
would
guess that (a) was spoken by John the Baptist, (b) by Jesus, (c)
by
the writer of the gospel. When the Jews speak, the words still run in
the
same groove: "If any man be a worshipper of God, and doeth His will,
him
He heareth," is not said, as might be supposed, by Jesus, but by the
man
who was born blind. Indeed, commentators are sometimes puzzled, as
in
John iii. 10-21, to know where, if at all, the words of Jesus stop
and
are succeeded by the commentary of the narrator. In an accurate
history
different characters stand out in striking individuality, so
that
we come to recognise them as distinct personalities, and can even
guess
beforehand how they will probably speak and act under certain
conditions.
But here we have one figure in various disguises, one voice
from
different speakers, one mind in opposing characters. We have here
no
beings of flesh and blood, but airy phantoms, behind whom we see
clearly
the solitary preacher. For Jesus and John the Baptist are two
characters
as distinct as can well be imagined, yet their speeches are
absolutely
indistinguishable, and their thoughts run in the same groove.
Jesus
tells Nicodemus: "We speak that we do know and testify that we
have
seen, and ye receive not our witness; and no man hath ascended
up
to heaven, but he that came down from heaven." John says to his
disciples:
"He that cometh from heaven is above all, and what he hath
seen
and heard that he testifieth, and no man receiveth his testimony."
But
it is wasting time to prove so self-evident a fact: let us rather
see
how a Christian advocate meets an argument whose force he cannot
deny.
"The character and diction of our Lord's discourses entirely
penetrated
and assimilated the habits of thought of His beloved Apostle;
so
that in his first epistle he writes in the very tone and spirit of
those
discourses; and when reporting the sayings of his former teacher,
the
Baptist, he gives them, consistently with the deepest inner truth
(!)
of narration, the forms and cadences so familiar and habitual to
himself."*
It must be left to each individual to judge if a careful and
accurate
historian thus tampers with the words he pretends to narrate,
and
thus makes them accord with some mysterious inner truth; each
too
must decide as to the amount of reliance it is wise to place on a
historian
who is guided by so remarkable a rule of truth. But further,
that
the "character and diction" of this gospel are moulded on that of
Jesus,
seems a most unwarrantable assertion. Through all the recorded
sayings
of Jesus in the three gospels, there is no trace of this very
peculiar
style, except in one case (Matt. xi. 27), a passage which comes
in
abruptly and unconnectedly, and stands absolutely alone in style
in
the three synoptics, a position which throws much doubt on its
authenticity.
It has been suggested that this marked difference of style
arises
from the different auditories addressed in the three gospels and
in
the fourth; on this we remark that (a), we intuitively recognise such
discourses
as that in Matt. x. as perfectly consistent with the usual
style
of Jesus, although this is addressed to "his own;" (b), In this
fourth
gospel the discourses addressed to "his own" and to the Jews are
in
exactly the same style; so that, neither in this gospel, nor in
the
synoptics do we find any difference--more than might be reasonably
expected--between
the style of the discourses addressed to the disciples
and
those addressed to the multitudes. But we _do_ find a very marked
difference
between the style attributed to Jesus by the three synoptics
and
that put into his mouth by the fourth evangelist; this last being a
style
so remarkable that, if usual to Jesus, it is impossible that its
traces
should not appear through all his recorded speeches. From which
fact
we may, I think, boldly deduce the conclusion that the style in
question
is not that of Jesus, the simple carpenter's son, but is one
caught
from the dignified and stately march of the oratory of Ephesian
philosophers,
and is put into his mouth by the writer of his life. And
this
conclusion is rendered indubitable by the fact above-mentioned,
that
all the characters adopt this poetically and musically-rounded
phraseology.
* Alford.
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Thus
our first objection against the trustworthiness of our historian
is
that all the persons he introduces, however different in character,
speak
exactly alike, and that this style, when put into the mouth of
Jesus,
is totally different from that attributed to him by the three
synoptics.
We conclude, therefore, that the style belongs wholly to the
writer,
and that he cannot, consequently, be trusted in his reports of
speeches.
The major part, by far the most important part, of this gospel
is
thus at once stamped as untrustworthy.
Let
us next remark the partiality attributed by this gospel to Him Who
has
said--according to the Bible--"all souls-are Mine." We find the
doctrine
of predestination, i.e., of favouritism, constantly put
forward.
"_All that the Father giveth me_ shall come to me." "No man can
come
to me except the Father draw him." "That of all _which He hath given
me_
I should lose nothing." "Ye believe not, _because_ ye are not of
my
sheep." "Though he had done so many miracles before them, yet they
believed
not on him: _that the saying_ of Esaias the prophet _might be
fulfilled._"
"Therefore, they _could not believe because_ that Esaias
said,"
&c. "I have chosen you out of the world." "Thou hast given
him
power
over all flesh, that he should give eternal life to _as many as
Thou
hast given him?_" "Those that thou gavest me I have kept and none
of
them is lost, but the son of perdition, _that the Scriptures might
be
fulfilled._" These are the most striking of the passages which teach
that
doctrine which has been the most prolific parent of immorality and
the
bringer of despair to the sinner. Frightfully immoral as it is, this
doctrine
is taught in all its awful hopelessness and plainness by this
gospel:
some "_could not_ believe" because an old prophet prophesied
that
they should not-So, "according to
were
pre-ordained to eternal damnation and the abiding wrath of God.
They
were cast into an endless hell, which "they _could not_" avoid. We
reject
this gospel, secondly, for the partiality it dares to attribute
to
Almighty God.
We
will now pass to the historical discrepancies between this gospel and
the
three synoptics, following the order of the former.
It
tells us (ch. i) that at the beginning of his ministry Jesus was at
Bethabara,
a town near the junction of the
here
he gains three disciples, Andrew and another, and then Simon Peter:
the
next day he goes into
the
following day--somewhat rapid travelling--he is present, with
these
disciples, at
afterwards
with them to
he
goes for "the Jews' passover," he drives out the traders from the
temple,
and remarks, "Destroy this temple, and in three days I
will
raise it up:" which remark causes the first of the strange
misunderstandings
between Jesus and the Jews, peculiar to this Gospel,
simple
misconceptions which Jesus never troubles himself to set right.
Jesus
and his disciples then go to the
departs
into
he
is becoming more popular than the Baptist (ch. iv. 1-3). All this
happens
before John is cast into prison, an occurrence which is a
convenient
note of time. We turn to the beginning of the ministry of
Jesus
as related by the three. Jesus is in the south of
hearing
that John is cast into prison, he departs into
resides
at
"Jesus
_began_ to preach." He is alone, without disciples, but, walking
by
the sea, he comes upon Peter, Andrew, James, and John, and calls
them.
Now if the fourth gospel is true, these men had joined him in
seems
strange that they had deserted him and needed a second call, and
yet
more strange is it that Peter (Luke v. i-ii) was so astonished and
amazed
at the miracle of the fishes. The driving out of the traders from
the
temple is placed by the synoptics at the very end of his ministry,
and
the remark following it is used against him at his trial: so was
probably
made just before it. The next point of contact is the history
of
the 5000 fed by five loaves (ch. vi.), the preceding chapter relates
to
a visit to
seem
written of two men, one the "prophet of
cities,
the other concentrating his energies on
of
the miraculous, feeding is alike in all: not so the succeeding
account
of the conduct of the multitude. In the fourth gospel, Jesus
and
the crowd fall to disputing, as usual, and he loses many disciples:
among
the three, Luke says nothing of the immediately following
events,
while Matthew and Mark tell us that the multitudes--as would be
natural--crowded
round him to touch even the hem of his garment. This is
the
same as always: in the three the crowd loves him; in the fourth it
carps
at and argues with him. We must again miss the sojourn of Jesus in
to
the one, and pass to his entry into
notice
a most remarkable divergence: the synoptics tell us that he
was
going up to
Bethphage,
he sent for an ass and rode thereon into
fourth
gospel relates that he was dwelling at
for
fear of the Jews, he retired, not into
into
the place where John at first baptised," i.e., Bethabara, "and
_there
he abode_" From there he went to
putrefying
corpse: this stupendous miracle is never appealed to by the
earlier
historians in proof of their master's greatness, though
"much
people of the Jews" are said to have seen Lazarus after his
resurrection:
this miracle is also given as the reason for the active
hostility
of the priests, "from that day forward." Jesus then retires
to
Ephraim near the wilderness, from which town he goes to
thence
in triumph to
heard
that he had done this miracle." The two accounts have absolutely
nothing
in common except the entry into
events
of the synoptics exclude those of the fourth gospel, as does the
latter
theirs. If Jesus abode in Bethabara and Ephraim, he could not
have
come from
in
the south. John xiii.-xvii. stand alone, with the exception of the
mention
of the traitor. On the arrest of Jesus, he is led (ch. xviii.
13)
to Annas, who sends him to Caiaphas, while the others send him
direct
to Caiaphas, but this is immaterial. He is then taken to Pilate:
the
Jews do not enter the judgment-hall, lest, being defiled, they could
not
eat the passover, a feast which, according to the synoptics, was
over,
Jesus and his disciples having eaten it the night before. Jesus is
exposed
to the people at the sixth hour (ch. xix. 14), while Mark tells
us
he was crucified three hours before--at the third hour--a note of
time
which agrees with the others, since they all relate that there
was
darkness from the sixth to the ninth hour, i.e., there was thick
darkness
at the time when, "according to
Here
our evangelist is in hopeless conflict with the three. The accounts
about
the resurrection are irreconcilable in all the gospels, and
mutually
destructive. It remains to notice, among these discrepancies,
one
or two points which did not come in conveniently in the course of
the
narrative. During the whole of the fourth gospel, we find Jesus
constantly
arguing for his right to the title of Messiah. Andrew speaks
of
him as such (i. 41); the Samaritans acknowledge him (iv. 42); Peter
owns
him (vi. 69); the people call him so-(vii. 26, 31, 41); Jesus
claims
it (viii. 24); it is the subject of a law (ix. 22); Jesus speaks
of
it as already claimed by him (x. 24, 25); Martha recognises it
(xi.
27). We thus find that, from the very first, this title is openly
claimed
by Jesus, and his right to it openly canvassed by the Jews.
But--in
the three--the disciples acknowledge him as Christ, and he
charges
them to "tell no man that he was Jesus the Christ" (Matt. xvi.
20;
Mark viii. 29, 30; Luke ix. 20, 21); and this in the same year that
he
blames the Jews for not owning this Messiahship, since he had told
them
who he was. "from the beginning" (ch. viii. 24, 25); so that, if
"John"
was right, we fail to see the object of all the mystery about it,
related
by the synoptics.
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We
mark, too, how Peter is, in their account,
praised
for confessing him, for flesh and blood had not revealed it to
him,
while in the fourth gospel, "flesh and blood," in the person of
Andrew,
reveal to Peter that the Christ is found; and there seems little
praise
due to Peter for a confession which had been made two or three
years
earlier by Andrew, Nathanael, John Baptist, and the Samaritans.
Contradiction
can scarcely be more direct. In John vii. Jesus owns that
the
Jews know his birthplace (28), and they state (41, 42) that he comes
from
distinctly
say Jesus was born at
the
right knowledge of those who attribute his birthplace to
instead
of setting their difficulty at rest by explaining that though
brought
up at
apparently-ignorant
of their accounts. We reject this gospel, thirdly,
because
its historical statements are in direct contradiction to the
history
of the synoptics.
The
next point to which I wish to direct attention is the relative
position
of faith and morals in the three synoptics and the fourth
gospel.
It is not too much to say that on this point their teaching is
absolutely
irreconcilable, and one or the other must be fatally in the
wrong.
Here the fourth gospel clasps hands with Paul, while the others
take
the side of James. The opposition may be most plainly shown by
parallel
columns of quotations:
"Except your righteousness "He that _believeth on the_ Son
exceed that of the scribes and hath everlasting life."--iii. 36.
Pharisees, ye shall _in no
case_ enter Heaven."--Matt. v. 20.
"Have
we not prophesied in
"He that believeth on Him _is
thy name and in thy name done not condemned_."--iii. 18.
many wonderful works?"
"Then will I profess unto them...
Depart...ye that work iniquity."
--Matt. vii. 22, 23.
"If thou
wilt enter into life,
"He that believeth not the Son
keep the commandments."--Mark shall not see life."--iii. 36.
x. 17-28.
"Her sins, which are many, are "If ye believe not that I am he
forgiven, _for she loved_ much."-- ye shall die in your sins."--viii.
Luke vii. 47. 24.
These
few quotations, which might be indefinitely multiplied, are
enough
to show that, while in the three gospels _doing_ is the test of
religion,
and no profession of discipleship is worth anything unless
shown
by "its fruits," in the fourth _believing_ is the cardinal matter:
in
the three we hear absolutely nothing of faith in Jesus as requisite,
but
in the fourth we hear of little else: works are thrown completely
into
the background and salvation rests on believing--not even in
God--but
in Jesus. We reject this gospel, fourthly, for setting faith
above
works, and so contradicting the general teaching of Jesus himself.
The
relative positions of the Father and Jesus are reversed by the
fourth
evangelist, and the teaching of Jesus on this head in the three
gospels
is directly contradicted. Throughout them Jesus preaches the
Father
only: he is always reiterating "your heavenly Father;" "that
ye
may be the children of your Father," is his argument for forgiving
others;
"your Father is perfect," is his spur to a higher life; "your
Father
knoweth," is his anodyne in anxiety; "it is the Father's good
pleasure,"
is his certainty of coming happiness; "_one_ is your Father,
which
is in heaven," is, by an even extravagant loyalty, made a reason
for
denying the very name to any other. But in the fourth gospel all is
changed:
if the Father is mentioned at all, it is only as the sender of
Jesus,
as _his_ Witness and _his_ Glorifier. All love, all devotion, all
homage,
is directed to Jesus and to Jesus only: even "on the Christian
hypothesis
the Father is eclipsed by His only begotten Son."* "All
judgment"
is in the hands of the Son: he has "life in himself;" "the
work
of God" is to believe on him; he gives "life unto the world;" he
will
"raise" us "up at the last day;" except by eating him there
is "no
life;"
he is "the light of the world;" he gives true freedom; he is the
"one
shepherd: none can pluck" us out of his hand; he will "draw all men
unto"
himself: he is the "Lord and Master," "the truth and the
life;"
what
is even asked of the Father, _he_ will do; he will come to his
disciples
and abide in them; his peace and joy are their reward. Verily,
we
need no more: he who gives us eternal life, who raises us from the
dead,
who is our judge, who hears our prayers, and gives us light,
freedom,
and truth, He, He only, is our God; none can do more for us
than
he: in Him only will we trust in life and death. So, consistently,
the
Son is no longer the drawer of believers to the Father, but the
Father
is degraded into becoming the way to the Son, and none can come
to
Jesus unless Almighty God draws them to him. Jesus is no longer the
way
into the Holiest, but the Eternal Father is made the means to an end
beyond
himself.
* Voysey.
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For
this fifth reason, more than for anything else, we reject this
gospel
with the most passionate earnestness, with the most burning
indignation,
as an insult to the One Father of spirits, the ultimate
Object
of all faith and hope and love.
And
who is this who thus dethrones our heavenly Father? It is not even
the
Jesus whose fair moral beauty has exacted our hearty admiration. To
worship
_him_ would be an idolatry, but to worship him--were he such as
"John"
describes him--would be an idolatry as degrading as it would
be
baseless. For let us mark the character pourtrayed in this fourth
gospel.
His public career begins with an undignified miracle: at a
marriage,
where the wine runs short, he turns water into wine, in order
to
supply men who have already "well drunk" (ch. ii. 10). [We may ask,
in
passing, what led Mary to expect a miracle, when we are told that
this
was the first, and she could not, therefore, know of her son's
gifts.]
The next important point is the conversation with Nicodemus,
where
we scarcely knew which to marvel at most, the stolid stupidity
of
a "Master in
familiar
to him, or the aggressive way in which Jesus speaks as to the
non-reception
of his message before he had been in public many months,
and
as to non-belief in his person before belief had become possible.
We
then come to the series of discourses related in ch. v. 10.
Perfect
egotism pervades them all; in all appear the same strange
misunderstandings
on the part of the people, the same strange
persistence
in puzzling them on the part of the speaker. In one of them
the
people honestly wonder at his mysterious words: "How is it that he
saith,
I come down from heaven," and, instead of any explanation, Jesus
retorts
that they should not murmur, since no man _can_ come to him
unless
the Father draw him; so that, when he puts forward a statement
apparently
contrary to fact--"his father and mother we know," say the
puzzled
Jews--he refuses to explain it, and falls back on his favourite
doctrine:
"Unless you are of those favoured ones whom God enlightens,
you
cannot expect to understand me." Little wonder indeed that "many
of
his disciples walked no more with" a teacher so perplexing and so
discouraging;
with one who presented for their belief a mysterious
doctrine,
contrary to their experience, and then, in answer to their
prayer
for enlightenment, taunts them with an ignorance he admits was
unavoidable.
The next important conversation occurs in the temple,
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and
here Jesus, the friend of sinners, the bringer of hope to the
despairing--this
Jesus has no tenderness for some who "believed on him;"
he
ruthlessly tramples on the bruised reed and quenches the smoking
flax.
First he irritates their Jewish pride with accusations of slavery
and
low descent; then, groping after his meaning, they exclaim, "We have
one
Father, even God," and he--whom we know as the tenderest preacher
of
that Father's universal love--surely he gladly catches at their
struggling
appreciation of his favourite topic, and fans the hopeful
spark
into a flame? Yes! Jesus of Nazareth would have done so. But
Jesus,
"according to
sonship
he elsewhere proclaims, and retorts, "Ye are of your father,
the
devil." And this to men who "believed on him;" this from lips
which
said,
"_One_ is your Father," and He, in heaven. He argues next with the
Pharisees,
and we find him arrogantly exclaiming: "_all_ that ever came
before
me were thieves and robbers." What, all? Moses and Elijah, Isaiah
and
all the prophets? At length, after he has once more repulsed some
inquirers,
the Jews take up stones to stone him, as Moses commanded,
because
"thou makest thyself God." He escapes by a clever evasion, which
neutralises
all his apparent assertions of Divinity. "Other men have
been
called gods, so surely I do not blaspheme by calling myself God's
son."
Never let us forget that in this gospel, the stronghold of the
Divinity
of Jesus, Jesus himself explains his strongest assertion "I and
my
Father are one" in a manner which can only be honest in the mouth of
a
man.* We pass to the celebrated "last discourse." In this we find
the
same peculiar style, the same self-assertion, but we must note,
in
addition, the distinct tritheism which pervades it. There are
three
distinct Beings, each necessarily deprived of some attribute of
Divinity:
thus, the Deity is Infinite, but if He is divided He becomes
finite,
since two Infinites are an impossible absurdity, and unless
they
are identical they must bound each other, so becoming finite.
Accordingly
"the Comforter" cannot be present till Jesus departs,
therefore
neither Jesus nor the Comforter can be God, since God is
omnipresent.
Since, then, prayer is to be addressed to Jesus as God,
the
low theory of tri-theism, of a plurality of Gods, none of whom is
a
perfect God, is here taught. In this discourse, also, the Christian
horizon
is bounded by the figure of Jesus, the office of the Comforter
is
sub-servient to this one worship, "he shall glorify me." Jesus, at
last,
prays for his disciples, markedly excluding from his intercession
"the
world" he was said to have come to save, and, as throughout this
gospel,
restricting all his love, all his care, all his tenderness to
"these,
whom Thou hast given me." Here we come to the essence of the
spirit
which pervades this whole gospel. "I pray for them; I pray not
for
the world: not for them who are of their father the devil, nor for
my
betrayer, the son of perdition." This is the spirit which Christians
dare
to ascribe to Jesus of Nazareth, the tenderest, gentlest,
widest-hearted
man who has yet graced humanity. This is the spirit, they
tell
us, which dwelt in _his_ bosom, who gave us the parables of the
lost
sheep and the prodigal son. "No," we answer, "this is not the
spirit
of the Prophet of Nazareth, but" (Dr. Liddon will pardon the
appropriation)
"this is the temper of a man who will not enter the
public
baths along with the heretic who has dishonoured his Lord."
* "For a good work we stone thee not,
but for blasphemy;
and because that thou being a man makest
thyself God." Jesus
answered them, "Is it not written in
your law, I said, ye
are gods? If he called them gods unto whom
the word of God
came (and the scripture cannot be broken),
say ye of him
whom the Father hath sanctified and sent
into the world,
Thou blasphemest, because I said I am the
son of God?"
This
is the spirit of the writer of the gospel, not of Jesus: the
egotism
of the writer is reflected in the words put into the mouth of
his
master; and thus the preacher of the Father's love is degraded into
the
seeker of his own glory, and bearing witness of himself, his witness
becomes
untrue. I must also draw attention to one or two cases of
unreality
attributed to Jesus by this gospel. He prays, on one occasion,
"because
of the people who stand by:" he cries on his cross, "I thirst,"
not
because of the burning agony of crucifixion, but in order "that
the
Scriptures might be fulfilled:" a voice answers "his prayer,"
"not
because
of me, but for your sakes." This calculation of effect is very
foreign
to the sincere and open spirit of Jesus. Akin to this is the
prevarication
attributed to him, when he declines to accompany his
brethren
to
also
up to the feast, not openly but as it were in secret." All this
strikes
us strangely as part of that simple, fearless life.
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We
reject this gospel, sixthly, for the cruel spirit, the arrogance, the
self-assertion,
the bigotry, the unreality, attributed by it to Jesus,
and
we denounce it as a slander on his memory and an insult to his noble
life.
We
may, perhaps, note, as another peculiarity of this gospel--although I
do
not enter here into the argument of the divinity of Jesus,--that when
Dr.
Liddon, in his celebrated Bampton Lectures, is anxious to prove
the
Deity of Jesus _from his own mouth_, he is compelled to quote
exclusively
from this gospel. Such a fact as this cannot be overlooked,
when
we remember that "St. John's gospel is a polemical treatise"
written
to prove this special point. We cannot avoid noting the
coincidence.
We
have now gone through this remarkable record and examined it in
various
lights. At the outset we conceded to our opponents all the
advantage
which comes from admitting that the gospel _may_ be written
by
the Apostle John; we have left the authorship a moot point, and
based
our argument on a different ground. Apostolic or non-apostolic,
Johannine
or Corinthian, we accept it or reject it for itself, and not
for
its writer. We have found that all its characters speak alike in a
marked
and peculiar style--a style savouring of the study rather than
the
street, of Alexandria rather than Jerusalem or Galilee. We
have
glanced at its immoral partiality. We have noted the numerous
discrepancies
between the history of this gospel and that of the three
synoptics.
We have discovered it to be equally opposed to them in morals
as
in history: in doctrine as in morals. We have seen that, while it
degrades
God to enthrone Jesus in His stead, it also degrades Jesus,
and
so lowers his character that it defies recognition. Finally, we
have
found it stands alone in supporting the Deity of Jesus from his own
mouth.
I
know not how all this may strike others; to me these arguments are
simply
overwhelming in their force. I tear out the "Gospel according to
St.
John" from the writings which "are profitable" "for
instruction
in
righteousness." I reject it from beginning to end, as fatally
destructive
of all true faith towards God, as perilously subversive of
all
true morality in man, as an outrage on the sacred memory of Jesus of
Nazareth,
and as an insult to the Justice, the Supremacy, and the Unity
of
Almighty God.
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ON
THE ATONEMENT.
THE
Atonement may be regarded as the central doctrine of Christianity,
the
very _raison d'être_ of the Christian faith. Take this away, and
there
would remain indeed a faith and a morality, but both would have
lost
their distinctive features: it would be a faith without its
centre,
and a morality without its foundation. Christianity would be
unrecognisable
without its angry God, its dying Saviour, its covenant
signed
with "the blood of the Lamb:" the blotting out of the Atonement
would
deprive millions of all hope towards God, and would cast them
from
satisfaction into anxiety from comfort into despair. The warmest
feelings
of Christendom cluster round the Crucifix, and he, the
crucified
one, is adored with passionate devotion, not as martyr for
truth,
not as witness for God, not as faithful to death, but as the
substitute
for his worshippers, as he who bears in their stead the wrath
of
God, and the punishment due to sin. The Christian is taught to see in
the
bleeding Christ the victim slain in his own place; he himself should
be
hanging on that cross, agonised and dying; those nail-pierced hands
ought
to be his; the anguish on that face should be furrowed on his own;
the
weight of suffering resting on that bowed head should be crushing
himself
inta the dust. In the simplest meaning of the words, Christ is
the
sinner's substitute, and on him the sin of the world is laid: as
Luther
expressed it, he "is the greatest and only sinner;" literally
"made
sin" for mankind, and expiating the guilt which, in very deed, was
transferred
from man to-him.
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I
wish at the outset, for the sake of justice and candour, to
acknowledge
frankly the good which has been drawn forth by the preaching
of
the Cross. This good has been, however, the indirect rather than the
direct
result of a belief in the Atonement. The doctrine, in itself, has
nothing
elevating about it, but the teaching closely connected with
the
doctrine has its ennobling and purifying side. All the enthusiasm
aroused
in the human breast by the thought of one who sacrificed himself
to
save his brethren, all the consequent longing to emulate that love by
sacrificing
all for Jesus and for those for whom he died, all the moral
gain
caused by the contemplation of a sublime self-devotion, all these
are
the fruits of the nobler side of the Atonement. That the sinless
should
stoop to the sinful, that holiness should embrace the guilty in
order
to raise them to its own level, has struck a chord in men's bosoms
which
has responded to the touch by a harmonious melody of gratitude
to
the divine and sinless sufferer, and loving labour for suffering and
sinful
man. The Cross has been at once the apotheosis and the source of
self-sacrificing
love. "Love ye one another _as_ I have loved you: not
in
word but in deed, with a deep self-sacrificing love:" such is the
lesson
which, according to one of the most orthodox Anglican divines,
"Christ
preaches to us from His Cross." In believing in the Atonement,
man's
heart has, as usual, been better than his head; he has passed over
the
dark side of the idea, and has seized on the divine truth that the
strong
should gladly devote themselves to shield the weak, that labour,
even
unto death, is the right of humanity from every son of man. It is
often
said that no doctrine long retains its hold on men's hearts which
is
not founded on some great truth; this divine idea of self-sacrifice
has
been the truth contained in the doctrine of the Atonement, which has
made
it so dear to many loving and noble souls, and which has hidden its
"multitude
of sins"--sins against love and against justice, against God
and
against man. Love and self-sacrifice have floated the great error
over
the storms of centuries, and these cords still bind to it many
hearts
of which love and self-sacrifice are the glory and the crown.
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This
said, in candi d'homage to the good which has drawn its inspiration
from
Jesus crucified, we turn to the examination of the doctrine itself:
if
we find that it is as dishonouring to God as it is injurious to man,
a
crime against justice, a blasphemy against love, we must forget all
the
sentiments which cluster round it, and reject it utterly. It is well
to
speak respectfully of that which is dear to any religious soul,
and
to avoid jarring harshly on the strings of religious feeling, even
though
the soul be misled and the feeling be misdirected; but a time
comes
when false charity is cruelty, and tenderness to error is treason
to
truth. For long, men who know its emptiness pass by in silence the
shrine
consecrated by human hopes and fears, by love and worship, and
the
"times of this ignorance God (in the bold figure of Paul) also winks
at;"
but when "the fulness of the time is come," God sends forth some
true
son of his to dash the idol to the ground, and to trample it into
dust.
We need not be afraid that the good wrought by the lessons derived
from
the Atonement in time past will disappear with the doctrine itself;
the
mark of the Cross is too deeply ploughed into humanity ever to be
erased,
and those who no longer call themselves by the name of Christ
are
not the most backward scholars in the school of love and sacrifice.
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The
history of this doctrine has been a curious one. In the New
Testament
the Atonement is, as its name implies, a simply making at one
God
and man: _how_ this is done is but vaguely hinted at, and in order
to
deduce the modern doctrine from the Bible, we must import into
the
books of the New Testament all the ideas derived from theological
disputations.
Words used in all simplicity by the ancient writers must
have
attached to them the definite polemical meaning they hold in the
quarrels
of theologians, before they can be strained into supporting a
substitutionary
atonement. The idea, however, of "ransom" is connected
with
the work of Jesus, and the question arose, "to whom is this ransom
paid?"
They who lived in those first centuries of Christianity were
still
too much within the illumination of the tender halo thrown by
Jesus
round the Father's name, to dream for a moment that their redeemer
had
ransomed them from the beloved hands of God. No, the ransom was paid
to
the devil, whose thrall they believed mankind to be, and Jesus, by
sacrificing
himself, had purchased them from the devil and made them
sons
of God. It is not worth while to enter on the quaint details of
this
scheme, how the devil thought he had conquered and could hold Jesus
captive,
and was tricked by finding that his imagined gain could not
be
retained by him, and so on. Those who wish to become acquainted
with
this ingenious device can study it in the pages of the Christian
fathers:
it has at least one advantage over the modern plan, namely,
that
we are not so shocked at hearing of pain and suffering as
acceptable
to the supposed incarnate evil, as at hearing of them being
offered
as a sacrifice to the supreme good. As the teaching of Jesus
lost
its power, and became more and more polluted by the cruel thoughts
of
savage and bigoted men, the doctrine of the atonement gradually
changed
its character. Men thought the Almighty to be such a one as
themselves,
and being fierce and unforgiving and revengeful, they
projected
their own shadows on to the clouds which surrounded the
Deity,
and then, like the shepherd who meets his own form reflected
and
magnified on the mountain mist, they recoiled before the image they
themselves
had made. The loving Father who sent his son to rescue his
perishing
children by sacrificing himself, fades away from the hearts of
the
Christian world, and there looms darkly in his place an awful form,
the
inexorable judge who exacts a debt man is too poor to pay, and who,
in
default of payment, casts the debtor into a hopeless prison, hopeless
unless
another pays to the uttermost farthing the fine demanded by the
law.
So, in this strange transformation-scene God actually takes the
place
of the devil, and the ransom once paid to redeem men from Satan
becomes
the ransom paid to redeem men from God. It reminds one of the
quarrels
over the text which bids us "fear him who is able to destroy
both
body and soul in hell," when we remain in doubt whom he is we are
to
fear, since half the Christian commentators assure us that it refers
to
our Father in heaven, while the other half asseverate that the devil
is
the individual we are to dread. The seal was set on the "redemption
scheme"
by Anselm in his great work, "_Cur Deus Homo_" and the doctrine
which
had been slowly growing into the theology of Christendom was
thenceforward
stamped with the signet of the Church. Roman Catholics
and
Protestants, at the time of the Reformation, alike believed in the
vicarious
and substitutionary character of the atonement wrought by
Christ.
There is no dispute between them on this point. I prefer to
allow
the Christian divines to speak for themselves as to the character
of
the atonement: no one can accuse me of exaggerating their views, if
their
views are given in their own words. Luther teaches that "Christ
did
truly and effectually feel for all mankind, the wrath of God,
malediction
and death." Flavel says that "to wrath, to the wrath of an
infinite
God without mixture, to the very torments of hell, was Christ
delivered,
and that by the hand of his own father." The Anglican homily
preaches
that "sin did pluck God out of heaven to make him feel the
horrors
and pains of death," and that man, being a firebrand of hell and
a
bondsman of the devil, "was ransomed by the death of his own only and
well-beloved
son;" the "heat of his wrath," "his burning wrath,"
could
only be "pacified" by Jesus, "so pleasant was this sacrifice and
oblation
of his son's death." Edwards, being logical, saw that there was
a
gross injustice in sin being twice punished, and in the pains of
hell,
the penalty of sin, being twice inflicted, first on Christ, the
substitute
of mankind, and then on the lost, a portion of mankind. So
he,
in common with most Calvinists, finds himself compelled to restrict
the
atonement to the elect, and declared that Christ bore the sins, not
of
the world, but of the chosen out of the world; he suffers "not for
the
world, but for them whom Thou hast given me." But Edwards adheres
firmly
to the belief in substitution, and rejects the universal
atonement
for the very reason that "to believe Christ died for all is
the
surest way of proving that he died for none in the sense Christians
have
hitherto believed." He declares that "Christ suffered the wrath of
God
for men's sins;" that "God imposed his wrath due unto, and Christ
underwent
the pains of hell for," sin. Owen regards Christ's sufferings
as
"a full valuable compensation to the justice of God for all the sins"
of
the elect, and says that he underwent "that same punishment which....
they
themselves were bound to undergo."
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The
doctrine of the Christian Church--in the widest sense of that
much-fought-over
term--was then as follows, and I will state it in
language
which is studiously moderate, _as compared with the orthodox
teaching_
of the great Christian divines. If any one doubts this
assertion,
let him study their writings for himself. I really dare
not
transfer some of their expressions to my own pages. God the Father
having
cursed mankind and condemned them to eternal damnation, because
of
Adam's disobedience in eating an apple--or some other fruit, for the
species
is only preserved by tradition, and is not definitely settled
by
the inspired writings--and having further cursed each man for his own
individual
transgressions, man lay under the fierce wrath of God, unable
to
escape, and unable to pacify it, for he could not even atone for his
own
private sins, much less for his share of the guilt incurred by his
forefather
in Paradise. Man's debt was hopelessly large, and he had
"nothing
to pay;" so all that remained to him was to suffer an eternity
of
torture, which sad fate he had merited by the crime of being born
into
an accursed world. The second person of the Trinity moved to pity
by
the helpless and miserable state of mankind, interposed between the
first
person of the Trinity and the wretched sinners; he received into
his
own breast the fire-tipped arrows of divine wrath, and by suffering
inconceivable
tortures, equal in amount to an eternity of the torments
of
hell, he wrung from God's hands the pardon of mankind, or of a
portion
thereof. God, pacified by witnessing this awful agony of one who
had
from all eternity been "lying in his bosom" co-equal sharer of his
Majesty
and glory, and the object of his tenderest love, relents
from
his fierce wrath, and consents to accept the pain of Jesus as
a
substitute for the pain of mankind. In plain terms, then, God is
represented
as a Being so awfully cruel, so implacably revengeful,
that
pain _as_ pain, and death _as_ death, are what he demands as a
propitiatory
sacrifice, and with nothing less than extremest agony can
his
fierce claims on mankind be bought off. The due weight of suffering
he
must have, but it is a matter of indifference whether it is undergone
by
Jesus or by mankind. Did not the old Fathers do well in making the
awful
ransom a matter between Jesus and the devil?
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When
this point is pressed on Christians, and one urges the dishonour
done
to God by painting him in colours from which heart and soul recoil
in
shuddering horror, by ascribing to him a revengefulness and pitiless
cruelty
in comparison with which the worst efforts of human malignity
appear
but childish mischief, they are quick to retort that we are
caricaturing
Christian doctrine; they will allow, when overwhelmed with
evidence,
that "strong language" has been used in past centuries, but
will
say that such views are not now held, and that they do not ascribe
such
harsh dealing to God the Father. Theists are therefore compelled to
prove
each step of their accusation, and to quote from Christian writers
the
words which embody the views they assail. Were I simply to state
that
Christians in these days ascribe to Almighty God a fierce wrath
against
the whole human race, that this wrath can only be soothed by
suffering
and death, that he vents this wrath on an innocent head, and
that
he is well pleased by the sight of the agony of his beloved Son,
a
shout of indignation would rise from a thousand lips, and I should be
accused
of exaggeration, of false witness, of blasphemy. So once more I
write
down the doctrine from Christian dictation, and, be it remembered,
the
sentences I quote are from published works, and are therefore, the
outcome
of serious deliberation; they are not overdrawn pictures taken
from
the fervid eloquence of excited oratory, when the speaker may
perhaps
be carried further than he would, in cold blood, consent to.
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Stroud
makes Christ drink "the cup of the wrath of God." Jenkyn says,
"he
suffered as one disowned and reprobated and forsaken of God." Dwight
considers
that he endured God's "hatred and contempt." Bishop Jeune
tells
us that "after man had done his worst, worse remained for Christ
to
bear. He had fallen into his father's hands." Archbishop Thomson
preaches
that "the clouds of God's wrath gathered thick over the whole
human
race: they discharged themselves on Jesus only;" he "becomes a
curse
for us, and a vessel of wrath." Liddon echoes the same sentiment:
"the
apostles teach that mankind are slaves, and that Christ on the
Cross
is paying their ransom. Christ crucified is voluntarily devoted
and
accursed:" he even speaks of "the precise amount of ignominy and
pain
needed for the redemption," and says that the "divine victim"
paid
more
than was absolutely necessary.
These
quotations seem sufficient to prove that the Christians of the
present
day are worthy followers of the elder believers. The theologians
first
quoted are indeed coarser in their expressions, and are less
afraid
of speaking out exactly what they believe, but there is no
real
difference of creed between the awful doctrine of Flavel and the
polished
dogma of Canon Liddon. The older and the modern Christians
alike
believe in the bitter wrath of God against "the whole human race."
Both
alike regard the Atonement as so much pain tendered by Jesus to the
Almighty
Father in payment of a debt of pain owed to God by humanity.
They
alike represent God as only to be pacified by the sight of
suffering.
Man has insulted and injured God, and God must be revenged by
inflicting
suffering on the sinner in return. The "hatred and contempt"
God
launched at Jesus were due to the fact that Jesus was the sinner's
substitute,
and are therefore the feelings which animate the Divine
heart
towards the sinner himself. God hates and despises the world. He
would
have "consumed it in a moment" in the fire of his burning wrath,
had
not Jesus, "his chosen, stood before him in the gap to turn away his
wrathful
indignation."
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Now,
how far is all this consistent with justice? Is the wrath of God
against
humanity justified by the circumstances of the case, so that we
may
be obliged to own that some sacrifice was due from sinful man to his
Creator,
to propitiate a justly incensed and holy God? I trow not. On
this
first count, the Atonement is a fearful injustice. For God has
allowed
men to be brought into the world with sinful inclinations, and
to
be surrounded with many temptations and much evil. He has made
man
imperfect, and the child is born into the world with an imperfect
nature.
It is radically unjust, then, that God should curse the work
of
His hands for being what He made them, and condemn them to endless
misery
for failing to do the impossible. Allowing that Christians are
right
in believing that Adam was sinless when he came from his Maker's
hands,
these remarks apply to every other living soul since born into
the
world; the Genesis myth will not extricate Christians from the
difficulty.
Christians are quite right and are justified by facts when
they
say that man is born into the world frail, imperfect, prone to sin
and
error; but who, we ask them, made men so? Does not their own Bible
tell
them that the "potter hath power over the clay," and, further, that
"we
are the clay and thou art the potter?" To curse men for being men,
_i.e._,
imperfect moral beings, is the height of cruelty and injustice;
to
condemn the morally weak to hell for sin, _i.e._, for failing in
moral
strength, is about as fair as sentencing a sick man to death
because
he cannot stand upright. Christians try and avoid the force of
this
by saying that men should rely on God's grace to uphold them, but
they
fail to see that this _very want of reliance_ is part of man's
natural
weakness. The sick man might be blamed for falling because he
did
not lean on a stronger arm, but suppose he was too weak to grasp
it?
Further, few Christians believe that it is impossible in practice,
however
possible in theory, to lead a perfect life; and as to "offend in
one
point is to be guilty of all," one failure is sufficient to send the
generally
righteous man to hell. Besides, they forget that infants are
included
under the curse, although _necessarily_ incapable of grasping
the
idea either of sin or of God; all babies born into the world and
dying
before becoming capable of acting for themselves would, we are
taught,
have been inevitably consigned to hell, had it not been for the
Atonement
of Jesus. Some Christians actually believe that unbaptized
babies
are not admitted into heaven, and in a Roman Catholic book
descriptive
of hell, a poor little baby writhes and screams in a red-hot
oven.
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This
side of the Atonement, this unjust demand on men for a
righteousness
they could not render, necessitating a sacrifice to
propitiate
God for non-compliance with his exaction, has had its due
effect
on men's minds, and has alienated their hearts from God. No
wonder
that men turned away from a God who, like a passionate but
unskilful
workman, dashes to pieces the instrument he has made because
it
fails in its purpose, and, instead of blaming his own want of skill,
vents
his anger on the helpless thing that is only what he made it.
Most
naturally, also, have men shrunk from the God who "avengeth and
is
furious" to the tender, pitiful, human Jesus, who loved sinners
so
deeply as to choose to suffer for their sakes. They could owe no
gratitude
to an Almighty Being who created them and cursed them, and
only
consented to allow them to be happy on condition that another paid
for
them the misery he demanded as his due; but what gratitude could
be
enough for him who rescued them from the fearful hands of the living
God,
at the cost of almost intolerable suffering to himself? Let us
remember
that Christ is said to suffer the very torments of hell, and
that
his worst sufferings were when "fallen into his father's hands,"
out
of which he has rescued us, and then can we wonder that the
crucified
is adored with a very ecstasy of gratitude? Imagine what it is
to
be saved from the hands of him who inflicted an agony admitted to be
unlimited,
and who took advantage of an infinite capacity in order to
inflict
an infinite pain. It is well for the men before whose eyes this
awful
spectre has flitted that the fair humanity of Jesus gives them a
refuge
to fly to, else what but despair and madness could have been the
doom
of those who, without Jesus, would have seen enthroned above the
wailing
universe naught but an infinite cruelty and an Almighty foe.
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We
see, then, that the necessity for an atonement makes the Eternal
Father
both unjust in his demands on men and cruel in his punishment of
inevitable
failure; but there is another injustice which is of the
very
essence of the Atonement itself. This consists in the vicarious
character
of the sacrifice: a new element of injustice is introduced
when
we consider that the person sacrificed is not even the guilty
party.
If a man offends against law, justice requires that he should be
punished:
the punishment becomes unjust if it is excessive, as in the
case
we have been considering above; but it is equally unjust to allow
him
to go free without punishment. Christians are right in affirming
that
moral government would be at an end were men allowed to sin with
impunity,
and did an easy forgiveness succeed to each offence. They
appeal
to our instinctive sense of justice to-approve the sentiment that
punishment
should follow sin: we acquiesce, and hope that we have now
reached
a firm standing-ground from which to proceed further in our
investigation.
But, no; they promptly outrage that same sense of justice
which
they have called as a witness on their side, by asking us to
believe
that its ends are attained provided that somebody or other is
punished.
When we reply that _this_ is not justice, we are promptly
bidden
not to be presumptuous and argue from our human ideas of justice
as
to the course that ought to be pursued by the absolute justice of
God.
"Then why appeal to it at all?" we urge; "why talk of justice in
the
matter if we are totally unable to judge as to the rights and wrongs
of
the case?" At this point we are commonly overwhelmed with Paul's
notable
argument--"Nay, but, O man, who art thou that repliest against
God?"
But if Christians value the simplicity and straightforwardness
of
their own minds, they should not use words which convey a certain
accepted
meaning in this shuffling, double sense. When we speak of
"justice,"
we speak of a certain well-understood quality, and we do not
speak
of a mysterious divine attribute, which has not only nothing in
common
with human justice, but which is in direct opposition to that
which
we understand by that name. Suppose a man condemned to death for
murder:
the judge is about to sentence him, when a bystander--as it
chances,
the judge's own son--interposes: "My Lord, the prisoner is
guilty
and deserves to be hanged; but if you will let him go, I will
die
in his place." The offer is accepted, the prisoner is set free, the
judge's
son is hanged in his stead. What is all this? Self-sacrifice
(however
misdirected), love, enthusiasm--what you will; but certainly
not
_justice_--nay, the grossest injustice, a second murder, an
ineffaceable
stain on the ermine of the outraged law. I imagine that,
in
this supposed case, no Christian will be found to assert that justice
was
done; yet call the judge God, the prisoner mankind, the substitute
Jesus,
and the trial scene is exactly reproduced. Then, in the name of
candour
and common sense, why call that just in God which we see would
be
so unjust and immoral in man? This vicarious nature of the Atonement
also
degrades the divine name, by making him utterly careless in
the
matter of punishment: all he is anxious for, according to this
detestable
theory, is that he should strike a blow _somewhere_. Like
a
child in a passion, he only feels the desire to hurt somebody, and
strikes
out vaguely and at random. There is no discrimination used;
the
thunderbolt is launched into a crowd: it falls on the head of the
"sinless
son," and crushes the innocent, while the sinner goes
free.
What matter? It has fallen somewhere, and the "burning fire of
his-wrath"
is cooled. This is what men call the vindication of the
justice
of the Moral Governor of the universe: this is "the act of
God's
awful holiness," which marks his hatred of sin, and his immovable
determination
to punish it. But when we reflect that this justice
is
consistent with letting off the guilty and punishing the innocent
person,
we feel dread misgivings steal into our minds. The justice of
our
Moral Governor has nothing in common with our justice--indeed, it
violates
all our notions of right and wrong.
What
if, as Mr. Vance Smith suggests, this strange justice be consistent
also
with a double punishment of sin; and what if the Moral Governor
should
bethink himself that, having confused
morality by an
unjust--humanly
speaking, of course--punishment, it would be well to
set
things straight again by punishing the guilty after all?
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We
can never dare to feel safe in the hands of this
unjust--humanly
speaking--Moral Governor, or predicate
from
our instinctive notions of right and wrong what his requirements
may
be. One is lost in astonishment that men should believe such things
of
God, and not have manhood enough to rise up rebellious against such
injustice--should,
instead, crouch at his feet, and while trying to hide
themselves
from his wrath should force their trembling lips to murmur
some
incoherent acknowledgment of his mercy. Ah! they do not believe it;
they
assert it in words, but, thank God, it makes no impression on their
hearts;
and they would die a thousand deaths rather than imitate, in
their
dealings with their fellow-men, the fearful cruelty which the
Church
has taught them to call the justice of the Judge of all the
earth.
The
Atonement is not only doubly unjust, but it is perfectly futile. We
are
told that Christ took away the sins of the world; we have a right to
ask,
"how?" So far as we can judge, we bear our sins in our own bodies
still,
and the Atonement helps us not at all. Has he borne the physical
consequences
of sin, such as the loss of health caused by intemperance
of
all kinds? Not at all, this penalty remains, and, from the nature
of
things, cannot be transferred. Has he borne the social consequences,
shame,
loss of credit, and so on? They remain still to hinder us as
we
strive to rise after our fall. Has he at least borne the pangs of
remorse
for us, the stings of conscience? By no means; the tears of
sorrow
are no less bitter, the prickings of repentance no less keen.
Perhaps
he has struck at the root of evil, and has put away sin itself
out
of a redeemed world? Alas! the wailing that goes up to heaven from a
world
oppressed with sin weeps out a sorrowfully emphatic, "no, this
he
has _not_ done." What has he then borne for us? Nothing, save the
phantom
wrath of a phantom tyrant; all that is real exists the same as
before.
We turn away, then, from the offered atonement with a feeling
that
would be impatience at such trifling, were it not all too
sorrowful,
and leave the Christians to impose on their imagined
sacrifice,
the imagined burden of the guilt of the accursed race.
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Further,
the Atonement is, from the nature of things, entirely
impossible:
we have seen how Christ fails to bear our sins in any
intelligible
sense, but can he, in any way, bear the "punishment" of
sin?
The idea that the punishment of sin can be transferred from one
person
to another is radically false, and arises from a wrong conception
of
the punishment consequent on sin, and from the ecclesiastical guilt,
so
to speak, thought to be incurred thereby. _The only true punishment
of
sin is the injury caused by it to our moral nature_: all the indirect
punishments,
we have seen, Christ has not taken away, and the true
punishment
can fall only on ourselves. For sin is nothing more than the
transgression
of law. All law, when broken, entails _of necessity_ an
appropriate
penalty, and recoils, as it were, on the transgressor. A
natural
law, when broken, avenges itself by consequent suffering, and so
does
a spiritual law: the injury wrought by the latter is not less
real,
although less obvious. Physical sin brings physical suffering;
spiritual,
moral, mental sin brings each its own appropriate punishment.
"Sin"
has become such a cant term that we lose sight, in using it, of
its
real simple meaning, a breaking of law. Imagine any sane man coming
and
saying, "My dear friend; if you like to put your hand into the fire
I
will bear the punishment of being burnt, and you shall not suffer." It
is
quite as absurd to imagine that if I sin Jesus can bear my consequent
suffering.
If a man lies habitually, for instance, he grows thoroughly
untrue:
let him repent ever so vigorously, he must bear the consequences
of
his past deeds, and fight his way back slowly to truthfulness of
word
and thought: no atonement, nothing in heaven or earth save his own
labour,
will restore to him the forfeited jewel of instinctive candour.
Thus
the "punishment" of untruthfulness is the loss of the power of
being
true, just as the punishment of putting the hand into the fire is
the
loss of the power of grasping. But in addition to this simple and
most
just and natural "retribution," theologians have invented certain
arbitrary
penalties as a punishment of sin, the wrath of God and hell
fire.
These imaginary penalties are discharged by an equally imaginary
atonement,
the natural punishment remaining as before; so after all we
only
reject the two sets of inventions which balance each other, and
find
ourselves just in the same position as they are, having gained
infinitely
in simplicity and naturalness. The punishment of sin is not
an
arbitrary penalty, but an inevitable sequence: Jesus may bear, if his
worshippers
will have it so, the theological fiction of the "guilt of
sin,"
an idea derived from the ceremonial uncleanness of the Levitical
law,
but let him leave alone the solemn realities connected with the
sacred
and immutable laws of God.
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Doubly
unjust, useless, and impossible, it might be deemed a work of
supererogation
to argue yet further against the Atonement; but its hold
on
men's minds is too firm to allow us to lay down a single weapon which
can
be turned against it. So, in addition to these defects, I remark
that,
viewed as a propitiatory sacrifice to Almighty God, it is
thoroughly
inadequate. If God, being righteous, as we believe Him to be,
regarded
man with anger because of man's sinfulness, what is obviously
the
required propitiation? Surely the removal of the cause of anger,
_i.e._,
of sin itself, and the seeking by man of righteousness. The old
Hebrew
prophet saw this plainly, and his idea of atonement is the
true
one: "wherewith shall I come before the Lord," he is asked, with
burnt-offerings
or--choicer still--parental anguish over a first-born's
corpse?
"What doth the Lord require of thee," is the reproving answer,
"but
to do justly and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?"
But
what is the propitiatory element in the Christian Atonement?
let
Canon Liddon answer: "the ignominy and pain _needed_ for the
redemption."
Ignominy, agony, blood, death, these are what Christians
offer
up as an acceptable sacrifice to the Spirit of Love. But what have
all
these in common with the demands of the Eternal Righteousness, and
how
can pain atone for sin? they have no relation to each other; there
is
no appropriateness in the offered exchange. These terrible offerings
are
in keeping with the barbarous ideas of uncivilized nations, and we
understand
the feelings which prompt the savage to immolate tortured
victims
on the altars of his gloomy gods; they are appropriate
sacrifices
to the foes of mankind, who are to be bought off from
injuring
us by our offering them an equivalent pain to that they desire
to
inflict, but they are offensive when given to Him who is the
Friend
and Lover of Humanity. An Atonement which offers suffering as
a
propitiation can have nothing in common with God's will for man, and
must
be utterly beside the mark, perfectly inadequate. If we must have
Atonement,
let it at least consist of something which will suit the
Righteousness
and Love of God, and be in keeping with his perfection;
let
it not borrow the language of ancient savagery, and breathe of blood
and
dying victims, and tortured human frames, racked with pain.
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Lastly,
I impeach the Atonement as injurious in several ways to human
morality.
It has been extolled as "meeting the needs of the awakened
sinner"
by soothing his fears of punishment with the gift of a
substitute
who has already suffered his sentence for him; but nothing
can
be more pernicious than to console a sinner with the promise that
he
shall escape the punishment he has justly deserved. The Atonement
may
meet the first superficial feelings of a man startled into the
consciousness
of his sinfulness, it may soothe the first vague fears and
act
as an opiate to the awakened conscience; but it does not fulfil the
cravings
of a heart deeply yearning after righteousness; it offers a
legal
justification to a soul which is longing for purity, it offers
freedom
from punishment to a soul longing for freedom from sin. The true
penitent
does not seek to be shielded from the consequences of his past
errors:
he accepts them meekly, bravely, humbly, learning through pain
the
lesson of future purity. An atonement which steps in between us and
this
fatherly discipline ordained by God, would be a curse and not a
blessing;
it would rob us of our education and deprive us of a priceless
instruction.
The force of temptation is fearfully added to by the idea
that
repentance lays the righteous penalty of transgression on another
head;
this doctrine gives a direct encouragement to sin, as even
Paul
perceived when he said, "shall we continue in sin that grace may
abound?"
Some one has remarked, I think, that though Paul ejaculates,
"God
forbid," his fears were well founded and have been widely realised.
To
the Atonement we owe the morbid sentiment which believes in the holy
death
of a ruffianly murderer, because, goaded by ungovernable terror,
he
has snatched at the offered safety and been "washed in the blood of
the
lamb." To it we owe the unwholesome glorying in the pious sentiments
of
such an one, who ought to go out of this life sadly and silently,
without
a sickening parade of feelings of love towards the God whose
laws,
as long as he could, he has broken and despised. But the Christian
teachers
will extol the "saving grace" which has made the felon die with
words
of joyful assurance, meet only for the lips of one who crowns
a
saintly life with a peaceful death. The Atonement has weakened that
stern
condemnation of sin which is the safeguard of purity; it has
softened
down moral differences, and placed the penitent above the
saint;
it has dulled the feeling of responsibility in the soul; it has
taken
away the help, such as it is, of fear of punishment for sin; it
has
confused man's sense of justice, outraged his feeling of right,
blunted
his conscience, and misdirected his repentance. It has chilled
his
love to God by representing the universal father as a cruel tyrant
and
a remorseless and unjust judge. It has been the fruitful parent of
all
asceticism, for, since God was pacified by suffering once, he would,
of
course, be pleased with suffering at all times, and so men have
logically
ruined their bodies to save their souls, and crushed their
feelings
and lacerated their hearts to propitiate the awful form
frowning
behind the cross of Christ. To the Atonement we owe it that God
is
served by fear instead of by love, that monasticism holds its head
above
the sweet sanctities of love and home, that religion is crowned
with
thorns and not with roses, that the _miserere_ and not the _gloria_
is
the strain from earth to heaven. The Atonement teaches men to crouch
at
the feet of God, instead of raising loving, joyful faces to meet his
radiant
smile; it shuts out his sunshine from us, and veils us in the
night
of an impenetrable dread. What is the sentiment with which Canon
Liddon
closes a sermon on the death of Christ? I quote it to show the
slavish
feeling engendered by this doctrine in a very noble human soul:
"In
ourselves, indeed, there is nothing that should stay His (God's)
arm
or invite his mercy. But may he have respect to the acts and the
sufferings
of his sinless son? Only while contemplating the inestimable
merits
of the Redeemer can we dare to hope that our heavenly Father will
overlook
the countless provocations which he receives at the hands of
the
redeemed." Is this a wholesome sentiment, either as regards our
feelings
towards God or our efforts towards holiness? Is it well to look
to
the purity of another as a makewight for our personal shortcomings?
All
these injuries to morality done by the atonement are completed
by
the crowning one, that it offers to the sinner a veil of "imputed
righteousness."
Not only does it take from him his saving punishment,
but
it nullifies his strivings after holiness by offering him a
righteousness
which is not his own. It introduces into the solemn
region
of duty to God the legal fiction of a gift of holiness, which is
imputed,
not won. We are taught to believe that we can blind the eyes
of
God and satisfy him with a pretended purity. But that every one whose
purity
we seek to claim as ours, that fair blossom of humanity, Jesus
of
Nazareth, whose mission we so misconstrue, launched his anathema at
whited
sepulchres, pure without and foul within. What would he have said
of
the whitewash of unimputed righteousness? Stern and sharp would have
been
his rebuke, methinks, to a device so untrue, and well-deserved
would
have been his thundered "woe" on a hypocrisy that would fain
deceive
God as well as man.
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206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
These
considerations have carried so great a weight with the most
enlightened
and progressive minds among Christians themselves, that
there
has grown up a party in the Church whose repudiation of an
atonement
of agony and death is as complete as even we could wish.
They
denounce with the utmost fervour the hideous notion of a "bloody
sacrifice,"
and are urgent in their representations of the dishonour
done
to God by ascribing to him "pleasure in the death of him that
dieth,"
or satisfaction in the sight of pain. They point out that there
is
no virtue in blood to wash away sin, not even "in the blood of a
God."
Maurice eloquently pleads against the idea that the suffering
of
the "well-beloved Son" was in itself an acceptable sacrifice to the
Almighty
Father, and he sees the atoning element in the "holiness and
graciousness
of the Son." Writers of this school perceive that a moral
and
not a physical sacrifice can be the only acceptable offering to the
Father
of spirits, but the great objection lies against their theory
also,
that the Atonement is still vicarious. Christ still suffers _for_
man,
in order to make men acceptable to God. It is, perhaps, scarcely
fair
to say this of the school as a whole, since the opinions of Broad
Church
divines differ widely from each other, ranging from the orthodox
to
the Socinian standing-point. Yet, roughly speaking, we may say that
while
they have given up the error of thinking that the death of
Christ
reconciles God to-us, they yet believe that his death, in
some
mysterious manner, reconciles us to God. It is a matter of deep
thankfulness
that they give up the old cruel idea of propitiating God,
and
so prepare the way for a higher creed. Their more humane teaching
reaches
hearts which are as yet sealed against us, and they are the
John
Baptist of the Theistic Christ. We must still urge on them that an
atonement
at all is superfluous, that all the parade of reconciliation
by
means of a mediator is perfectly unnecessary as between God and his
child,
man; that the notion put forward that Christ realised the ideal
of
humanity and propitiated God by showing what a man _could_ be, is
objectionable
in that it represents God as needing to be taught what
were
the capacities of his creatures, and is further untrue, because the
powers
of God in man are not really the equivalent of the capabilities
of
a simple man. Broad Churchmen are still hampered by the difficulties
surrounding
a divine Christ, and are puzzled to find for him a place in
their
theology which is at once suitable for his dignity, and consistent
with
a reasonable belief. They feel obliged to acknowledge that some
unusual
benefit to the race must result from the incarnation and death
of
a God, and are swayed alternately by their reason, which places
the
crucifixion of Jesus in the roll of martyrs' deaths, and by their
prejudices,
which assign to it a position unique and unrivalled in the
history
of the race. There are, however, many signs that the deity of
Jesus
is, as an article of faith, tottering from its pedestal in the
Broad
Church school. The hold on it by such men as the Rev. J. S. Brooke
is
very slight, and his interpretation of the incarnation is regarded
by
orthodox divines with unmingled horror. Their _moral_ atonement, in
turn,
is as the dawn before the sunrise, and we may hope that it will
soon
develop into the real truth: namely, that the dealings of Jesus
with
the Father were a purely private matter between his own soul and
God,
and that his value to mankind consists in his being one of the
teachers
of the race, one "with a genius for religion," one of the
schoolmasters
appointed to lead humanity to God.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
The
theory of M'Leod Campbell stands alone, and is highly interesting
and
ingenious--it is the more valuable and hopeful as coming from
Scotland,
the home of the dreariest belief as to the relations existing
between
man and God. He rejects the penal character of the Atonement,
and
makes it consist, so to speak, in leading God and man to understand
one
another. He considers that Christ witnessed to men on behalf of God,
and
vindicated the father's heart by showing what he could be to the son
who
trusted in him. He witnessed to God on behalf of men--and this
is
the weakest point in the book, verging, as it does, on
substitution--showing
in humanity a perfect sympathy with God's feelings
towards
sin, and offering to God for man a perfect repentance for human
transgression.
I purposely say "verging," because Campbell does not
_intend_
substitution; he represents this sorrow of Jesus as what he
must
inevitably feel at seeing his brother-men unconscious of their sin
and
danger, so no fiction is supposed as between God and Christ. But he
considers
that God, having seen the perfection of repentance in Jesus,
accepts
the repentance of man, imperfect as it is, because it is _in
kind_
the same as that of Jesus, and is the germ of that feeling of
which
his is the perfect flower; in this sense, and only in this sense,
is
the repentance of man accepted "for Christ's sake." He considers that
men
must share in the mind of Christ as towards God and towards sin, in
order
to be benefited by the work of Christ, and that each man must thus
actually
take part in the work of atonement. The sufferings of Jesus he
regards
as necessary in order to test the reality of the life of sonship
towards
God, and brotherhood towards men, which he came to earth to
exemplify.
I trust I have done no injustice in this short summary to a
very
able and thoughtful book, which presents, perhaps, the only view of
the
Atonement compatible with the love and the justice of God; and this
only,
of course, if the idea of _any_ atonement can fairly be said to
be
consistent with justice. The merits of this view are practically that
this
work of Jesus is not an "atonement" in the theological sense at
all.
The defects of Campbell's book are inseparable from his creed,
as
he argues from a belief in the deity of Jesus, from an unconscious
limitation
of God's knowledge (as though God did not understand man
till
he was revealed to him by Jesus) and from a wrong conception of the
punishment
due to sin. I said, at starting, that the Atonement was the
_raison
d'être_ of Christianity, and, in conclusion, I would challenge
all
thoughtful men and women to say whether good cause has or has not
been
shown for rejecting this pillar "of the faith." The Atonement has
but
to be studied in order to be rejected. The difficulty is to persuade
people
to _think_ about their creed, Yet the question of this doctrine
must
be faced and answered. "I have too much faith in the common sense
and
justice of Englishmen when once awakened to face any question
fairly,
to doubt what that answer will be."
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
ON
THE MEDIATION AND SALVATION OF ECCLESIASTICAL CHRISTIANITY.
THE
whole Christian scheme turns on the assumption of the inherent
necessity
of some one standing between the Creator and the creature,
and
shielding the all-weak from the power of the All-mighty. "It is a
fearful
thing to fall into the hands of the living God;" such is the
key-note
of the strain which is chanted alike by Roman Catholicism, with
its
thousand intercessors, and by Protestantism, with its "one Mediator,
the
man Christ Jesus." "Speak _thou_ for me," cries man to his
favourite
mouthpiece,
whoever it may be; "go thou near, but let me not see the
face
of God, lest I die." The heroes, the saints, the idols of humanity,
have
been the men who have dared to search into the Unseen, and to gaze
straight
up into the awful Face of God. They have dashed aside all that
intervened
between their souls and the Eternal Soul, and have found it,
as
one of them quaintly phrases it, "a profitable sweet necessity to
fall
on the naked arm of Jehovah." Then, because they dared to-trust Him
who
had called them into existence, and to stretch out beseeching hands
to
the Everlasting Father, they have been forced into a position they
would
have been the very first to protest against, and have been made
into
mediators for men less bold, for children less confiding. Those
who
dared not seek God for themselves have clung to the garments of the
braver
souls, who have thus become, involuntarily, veils between
their
brother-men and the Supreme. There is, perhaps, no better way of
demonstrating
the radical errors from which spring all the so-called
"schemes
of redemption" and "economies of Divine grace" than by starting
from
the Christian hypothesis.
We
will admit, for argument's sake, the Deity of Jesus, in order that we
may
thus see the more distinctly that a mediator of any kind between
God
and man is utterly uncalled for. It is mediation, in itself, that
is
wrong in principle; we object to it as a whole, not to any special
manifestation
of it. Divine or human mediators, Jesus or his mother,
saint,
angel, or priest, we reject them each and all; our birthright
as
human beings is to be the offspring of the Universal Father, and we
refuse
to have any interloper pressing in between our hearts and His.
We
will take mediation first in its highest form, and speak of it as if
Jesus
were really God as well as man. All Christians agree in asserting
that
the coming of the Son into the world to save sinners was the result
of
the love of the Father for these sinners; _i.e._, "_God_ so loved the
world
that _He_ sent His Son." The motive-power of the redemption of the
world
is, then, according to Christians, the deep love of the Creator
for
the work of His hands. This it was that exiled the Son from the
bosom
of the Father, and caused the Eternal to be born into time.
But
now a startling change occurs in the aspect of affairs. Jesus has
"atoned
for the sins of the world;" he "has made peace through the blood
of
his cross;" and having done so, he suddenly appears as the mediator
for
men. What does this pleading of the Son on behalf of sinners imply?
Only
this--_a complete change in the Father's mind towards the world_.
After
the yearning love of which we have heard, after this absolute
sacrifice
to win His children's hearts, He at last succeeds. He sees His
children
at His feet, repentant for the past, eager to make amends in
the
future; human hands appealing to Him, human eyes streaming with
tears.
He turns His back on the souls He has been labouring to win; He
refuses
to clasp around His penitents the arms outstretched to them so
long,
unless they are presented to Him by an accredited intercessor,
and
come armed with a formal recommendation. The inconsistency of such a
procedure
must be palpable to all minds; and in order to account for
one
absurdity, theologians have invented another; having created one
difficulty,
they are forced to make a second, in order to escape from
the
first. So they represent God as loving sinners, and desiring to
forgive
and welcome them. This feeling is the Mercy of God; but, in
opposition
to the dictates of Mercy, Justice starts up, and forbids any
favour
to the sinner unless its own claims are first satisfied to the
utmost.
A Christian writer has represented Mercy and Justice as standing
before
the Eternal: Mercy pleads for forgiveness and pity, Justice
clamours
for punishment. Two attributes of the Godhead are personified
and
placed in opposition to each other, and require to be reconciled.
But
when we remember that each personified quality is really but a
portion,
so to speak, of the Divine character, we find that God is
divided
against Himself. Thus, this theory introduces discord into the
harmonious
mind which inspires the perfect melodies of the universe. It
sees
warring elements in the Serenity of the Infinite One; it pictures
successive
waves of love and anger ruffling that ineffable Calm; it
imagines
clouds of changing motives sweeping across the sun of that
unchanging
Will. Such a theory as this must be rejected as soon as
realised
by the thoughtful mind. God is not a man, to be swayed first
by
one motive and then by another. His mercy and justice ever point
unwaveringly
in the same direction: perfect justice requires the same
as
perfect mercy. If God's justice could fail, the whole moral universe
would
be in confusion, and that would be the greatest cruelty that
could
be inflicted on intelligent beings. The weak pliability, miscalled
mercy,
which is supposed to be worked upon by a mediator, is a human
infirmity
which men have transferred to their idea of God.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
A
man who has announced his intention to punish may be persuaded out
of
his resolution. New arguments may be adduced for the condemned one's
innocence,
new reasons for clemency may be suggested; or the judge may
have
been over-strict, or have been swayed by prejudice. Here a mediator
may
indeed step in, and find good work to do; but, in the name of the
Eternal
Perfection, what has all this to do with the judgment of God?
Can
His knowledge be imperfect, His mercy increased? Can His sentence be
swayed
by prejudice, or made harsh by over-severity?
But
if His judgment is already perfect, any change implies imperfection,
and
all left for the mediator to do is to persuade God to make a change,
_i.e._,
to become imperfect; or, God having decided that sin shall
be
punished, the mediator steps in, and actually so works upon God's
feelings
that He revokes His decision, and--most cruel of mercies--lets
it
go unnoticed. Like an unwise parent, God is persuaded not to punish
the
erring child. But such is not the case. God is just, and because He
is
just He is most truly merciful: in that justice rests the certainty
of
the due punishment of sin, and, therefore of the purification of the
sinner!
and no mediator--thanks be to God for it!--shall ever cause to
waver
for one instant that Rock of Justice on which reposes the hope of
Humanity.
But
the theory we are considering has another fatal error in it:
it
ascribes imperfection to Almighty God. For God is represented as
desiring
to forgive sinners, and this desire must be either right or
wrong.
If it be right, it can at once be gratified; but if Justice
opposes
this forgiveness, then the desire to forgive is not wholly
right.
Theologians are thus placed in this dilemma: if God is
perfect--as
He is--any desire of His must likewise be flawlessly
perfect,
and its fulfilment must be the very best thing that could
happen
to His whole creation; on the other hand, if there is any barrier
of
right--and Justice _is_ right--interposed between God and His desire,
then
His Will is not the most perfect Good. Theologians must then choose
between
admitting that the desire of God to welcome sinners is just, or
detracting
from the Eternal Perfection.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
It
is obvious that we do not weaken our case by admitting, for the
moment,
the Deity of Jesus; for we are striking at the root-idea
of
mediation. That the mediator should be God is totally beside the
question,
and in no way strengthens our adversaries' hands. His Deity
does
nothing more than introduce a new element of confusion into the
affair;
for we become entangled in a maze of contradictions. God, who is
One,
even according to Christians, is at one and the same time estranged
from
sinners, pleading for sinners, and admitting the pleading. God
pleads
to Himself--but we are confounding the persons: one God pleads to
another--but
we are dividing the substance. Alas and alas for the creed
which
compels its votaries to deny their reason, and degrade their
Maker!
which babbles of a Nature it cannot comprehend, and forces
its
foolish contradictions on indignant souls! If Jesus be God, his
mediation
is at once impossible and unnecessary; if he be God, his will
is
the will of God; and if he wills to welcome sinners, it is God who
wills
to welcome them. If he, who is God, is content to pardon and
embrace,
what further do sinners require? Christians tell us that Jesus
is
one with God: it is well, we reply; for you say he is the Friend of
sinners,
and the Redeemer of the lost. If he be God, we both agree as to
the
friendliness of God to sinners. You need no mediator between you
and
Jesus; and, since he is God, you need no mediator with God. This
reasoning
is irrefragable, unless Christians are content to assign to
their
mediator some place which is less than divine; for they certainly
derogate
from his dignity when they imagine him as content to receive
those
whom Almighty God chases from before His face. And in making this
difference
between Jesus and the Father they make a fatal admission that
he
is distinct in feeling from God, and therefore cannot be the One God.
It
is the proper perception of this fact which has introduced into
the
Roman Church the human mediators whose intercession is constantly
implored.
Jesus, being God, is too awful to be approached: his mother,
his
apostles, some saint or martyr, must come between. I have read a
Roman
Catholic paper about the mediation of Mary which would be accepted
by
the most orthodox Protestant were Mary replaced by Jesus, and Jesus
by
the Father. For Jesus is there painted, as the Father is painted by
the
orthodox, in stern majesty, hard, implacable, exacting the uttermost
farthing;
and Mary is represented as standing between him and the
sinners
for whom she pleads. It is only a further development of the
idea
which makes the man Jesus the Mediator between God and man. As the
deification
of Mary progresses, following in slow but certain steps
the
deification of Jesus, a mediator will be required through whom to
approach
_her_; and then Jesus, too, will fade out of the hearts of
men,
as the Father has faded out of the hearts of Christians, and this
superstition
of mediation will sink lower and lower, till it is rejected
by
all earnest hearts, and is loathed by human souls which are aching
for
the living God.
-------Cardiff Theosophical Society
in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
We
see, then, that mediation implies an absurd and inexplicable change
in
the supposed attitude of God towards man, and destroys all confidence
in
the justice of the Supreme Ruler. We should further take into
consideration
the strange feeling towards the Universal _Heart_ implied
in
man's endeavour to push some one in between himself and the Eternal
Father.
As we study Nature and try to discover from its workings
something
of the characteristics of the Worker therein, we find not only
a
ruling Intelligence--a _Supreme Reason_, before which we bow our heads
in
an adoration too deep for words--but we catch also beautiful glimpses
of
a ruling Love--a _Supreme Heart_, to which our hearts turn with a
glad
relief from the dark mysteries of pain and evil which press us in
on
every side. Simple belief in God at all, that is to say, in a Power
which
works in the Universe, is quite sufficient to disperse any of
that
feeling of fear which finds its fit expression in the longing for
a
mediator. For being placed here without our request, and even without
our
consent, we have surely, as a simple matter of justice, a right to
demand
that the Power which placed us here shall provide us with means
by
which we can secure our happiness. I speak, of course, as of a
_conscious_
Power, because a blind Force is necessarily irresponsible;
but
those who believe in a God are bound to acknowledge that He is
responsible
for their well-being. If any one should suggest that to
say
thus is to criticise God's dealings and to speak with presumptuous
irreverence,
I retort that the irreverence lies with those who ascribe
to
the Supreme a course of action towards His creatures that they
themselves
would be ashamed to pursue towards their own children, and
that
they who fling at us the reproach of blasphemy because we will not
bow
the knee before their idol, would themselves lie open to the charge,
were
it not that their ignorance shields them from the sterner censure.
All
good in man--poor shallow streamlet though it be--flows down from
the
pure depths of the Fountain of Good, and any throb of Love on
earth
is a pulsation caused by the ceaseless beating of the Universal
Father-Heart.
Yet men fear to trust that Heart, lest it should cease
beating;
they fear to rest on God, lest He should play them false.
When
will they catch even a glimpse of that great ocean of love which
encircles
the universe as the atmosphere the earth, which is infinite
because
God is infinite? If there is no spot in the universe of which
it
can be said, "God is not here," then is there also no spot where love
does
not rule; if there is no life existing without the support of the
Life-Giver
and the Life-Sustainer, then is there also no life which is
not
cradled in the arms of Love. Who then will dare to push himself in
between
man and a God like this? In the light of the Universal Reason
and
the Universal Heart mediation stands confessed as an impertinent
absurdity.
Away with any and all of those who interfere in the most
sacred
concerns of the soul, who press in between the Creator and His
offspring;
between the heart of man and the parent Heart of God. Whoever
it
may be, saint or martyr, or the king of saints and martyrs, Jesus of
Nazareth,
let him come down from a position which none can rightly hold.
To
elevate the noblest son of man into this place of mediator is to make
him
into an offence to his brethren, and to cause their love to turn
into
anger, and their reverence into indignation. If men persist in
talking
about the need of a mediator before they dare to approach God,
we
must remind them that, if there be a God at all, He _must_ be just,
and
that, therefore, they are perfectly safe In His hands; if they begin
to
babble about forgiveness "_for the sake of Jesus Christ?_ we must
ask
them what in the world they mean by the forgiveness of sin?" Surely
they
do not think that God is like man, quick to revenge affront and
jealous
of His dignity; even were it possible for man to injure, in any
sense,
the Majesty of God, do they conceive that God is an irascible and
revengeful
Potentate? Those who think thus of God can never--I assert
boldly--have
caught the smallest glimpse of _God_. They may have seen
a
"magnified man," but they have seen nothing more; they have never
prostrated
themselves before that Universal Spirit who dwells in this
vast
universe; they have never felt their own littleness in a place so
great.
How _can_ sin be forgiven? can a past act be undone, or the hands
go
back on the sun-dial of Time? All God's so-called chastisements are
but
the natural and inevitable results of broken laws--laws invariable
in
their action, neither to be escaped or defied. Obedience to law
results
in happiness, and the suffering consequent on the transgression
of
law is not inflicted by an angry God, but is the simple natural
outcome
of the broken law itself. Put your hand in the fire, and no
mediator
can save you from burning; cry earnestly to God to save you,
and
then cast yourself from a precipice, and will a mediator come
between
you and the doom you have provoked? We should do more wisely if
we
studied laws and tried to conform ourselves to them, instead of
going
blundering about with our eyes shut, trusting that some one will
interpose
to shield us from the effects of our own folly and stupidity.
Happily
for mankind, mediation is impossible in that beautiful realm of
law
in which we are placed; when men have quite made up their minds that
their
happiness depends entirely on their own exertions, there will at
last
be some chance for the advancement of Humanity, for then they will
work
for things instead of praying for them. It is of real practical
importance
that this Christian notion of mediation should be destroyed,
because
on it hang all the ideas about trusting to some one else to do
our
own work. This plan has not answered: we judge it by results, and
it
has failed. Surely we may hope that as men get to see that prayer has
not
succeeded in its efforts to "move the arm which moves the world, to
bring
salvation down," they may turn to the more difficult, but also
the
more hopeful task, of moving their own arms to work out their own
salvation.
For the past, it is past, and none can reverse it; none
can
stay the action of the eternal law which links sorrow with
transgression,
and joy and peace with obedience. When we slip back on
our
path upward, we may repent and call on God or man for forgiveness
as
we list, but only through toil and suffering can the lost way be
recovered,
and the rugged path must be trodden with bleeding feet; for
there
is none who can lift the sinner over the hindrances he has built
up
for himself, or carry him over the rocks with which he has strewed
his
road.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
Does
the sentimental weakness of our age shrink from this doctrine, and
whimper
out that it is cold and stern? Ay, it is cold with the cold
of
the bracing sea-breeze, stringing to action the nerves enfeebled by
hot-houses
and soft-living; ay, it is stern with the blessed sternness
of
changeless law, of law which never fails us, never varies a hair's
breadth.
But in that law is strength; man's arm is feeble, but let him
submit
to the laws of steam, and his arm becomes dowered with a giant's
force;
conform to a law, and the mighty power of that law is on your
side;
"humble yourself under the mighty hand of God," who is the
Universal
Law, "and He shall lift you up."
So
much for mediation. We turn with a still deeper repugnance to study
the
Christian idea of "Salvation." Mediation at least leaves us
God,
however it degrades and blasphemes Him, but salvation takes us
altogether
out of His Hands. Not content with placing a mediator between
themselves
and God, Christians cry out that He is still too near them;
they
must push Him yet further back, they must have a Saviour too,
through
whom all His benefits shall filter.
"Saviour,"
is an expression often found in the Old Testament, where it
bears
a very definite and noble meaning. God is the Saviour of men from
the
power of sin, and although we may consider that God does _not_ save
from
sin in this direct manner, we are yet bound to acknowledge that
there
is nothing in this idea which is either dishonouring or repulsive.
But
the word "Saviour" has been degraded by Christianity, and the
salvation
He brings is not a salvation from sin. "The Lord and Saviour,
Jesus
Christ" is the Saviour of men, not because he delivers them from
sin,
but "because he saves them from hell, and from the fiery wrath
of
God." Salvation is no longer the equivalent of righteousness, the
antithesis
of sin; in Christian life it means nothing more than the
antithesis
of damnation. It is true that Christians may retort that
Jesus
"saves his people from their sins;" we gladly acknowledge the
nobleness
and the beauty of many a Christian life, but nevertheless this
is
_not_ the primary idea attached by popular Christianity to the word
"salvation."
"Being saved" is to be delivered out of "those hands of
the
living God," into which, as they are taught by their Bible, it is
so
fearful a thing to fall. "Being saved" is the _immediate_ result of
conversion,
and is the opposite of "being lost." "Being saved" is being
hidden
"in the riven side of Jesus," and so preserved from the awful
flames
of the destroying wrath of God. Against all this we, believers in
an
Almighty Love, in a Universal Father, enter our solemn and deliberate
protest,
with a depth of abhorrence, with a passion of indignation which
is
far too intense to find any adequate expression in words. There is no
language
strong enough to show our deeply-rooted repugnance to the idea
that
we can be safer anywhere or at any time than we are already here;
we
cannot repel with sufficient warmth the officious interference which
offers
to take us out of the hands of God. To push some one in between
our
souls and Him was bad enough; but to go further and to offer us
salvation
from our Maker, to try and threaten us away from the arms of
His
Love, to suggest that another's hands are more tender, another's
heart
more loving than the Supreme Heart,--these are blasphemies
to
which we will not listen in silence. It is true that to us these
suggestions
are only matters of laughter; dimly as we guess at the
Deity,
we know enough not to be afraid of Him, and these crude and
childish
conceptions about Him are among ourselves too contemptible to
refute.
"Non ragione di lor, mai guardo e
passo."
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
But
we see how these ideas colour men's thoughts and lives, how they
cripple
their intellect and outrage their hearts, and we rise to trample
down
these superstitions, not because they are in themselves worth
refuting,
but simply because they degrade our brother-men. We believe in
no
wisdom that improves on Nature's laws, and one of those laws, written
on
our hearts, is that sorrow shall tread on the heels of sin. We are
conscious
that men should learn to welcome this law, and not to shrink
from
it. To fly from the suffering following on broken law is the last
thing
we should do; we ought to have no gratitude for a "Saviour" who
should
bear our punishment, and so cheat us out of our necessary lesson,
turn
us into spoiled children, and check our moral growth; such an offer
as
this, could it really be made, ought to be met with stern refusal.
We
should trust the Supreme so utterly, and adore His wisdom with a
humility
so profound, that if we could change His laws we should not
dare
to interfere; nor ought we, even when our lot is saddest, to
complain
of it, or do anything more than labour to improve it in
steadfast
obedience to law. We should ask for no salvation; we should
desire
to fall--were it possible that we _could_ be out of them--into
the
hands of God.
Further,
is it impossible to make Christians understand that were Jesus
all
they say he is, we should still reject him; that were God all they
say
He is, we would, in that case, throw back His salvation. For were
this
awful picture of a soul-destroying Jehovah, of a blood-craving
Moloch,
endowed with a cruelty beyond human imagination, a true
description
of the Supreme Being, then would we take the advice of Job's
wife,
we would "curse God and die?" we would hide in the burning depths
of
His hell rather than dwell within sight of Him whose brightness would
mock
at the gloom of His creatures, and whose bliss would be a sneer at
their
despair. Were it thus indeed--
"O King of our salvation,
Many would curse to thee, and I for one!
Fling Thee Thy bliss, and snatch at Thy
damnation,
Scorn and abhor the rising of Thy sun.
"Is
it not worth while to believe," blandly urges a Christian
writer,
"if it is true, as it is true, that they who deny will suffer
everlasting
torments?" No! we thunder back at him, _it is not worth
while_;
it is not worth while to believe a lie, or to acknowledge as
true
that which our hearts and intellects alike reject as false; it is
not
worth while to sell our souls for a heaven, or to defile our honesty
to
escape a hell; it is not worth while to bow our knee to a Satan or
bend
our heads before a spectre. Better, far better, to "dwell with
everlasting
burnings" than to degrade our humanity by calling a lie,
truth,
and cruelty, love, and unreasonableness, justice; better to
suffer
in hell, than to have our hearts so hard that we could enjoy
while
others suffer; could rejoice while others are tormented, could
sing
alleluias to the music of golden harps, while our lyrics are echoed
by
the anguished wailing of the lost. God Himself--were He such as
Christians
paint Him--could not blot out of our souls our love of truth,
of
righteousness, of justice. While we have these we are _ourselves_,
and
we can suffer and be happy; but we cannot afford to pay down these
as
the price of our admission to heaven. We should be miserable even as
we
paced the golden streets, and should sit in tears beside the river
of
the water of life. Yet _this_ is salvation; _this_ is what Christians
offer
us in the name of Jesus; _this_ is the glad tidings brought to
us
as the gospel of the Saviour, as the "good news of God;" and this we
reject,
wholly and utterly, laughing it to scorn from the depths of
our
glad hearts which the Truth has made free; this we denounce, with a
stern
and bitter determination, in the name of the Universal Father, in
the
name of the self-reliance of humanity, in the name of all that is
holy,
and just, and loving.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
But
happily many, even among Christians, are beginning to shrink from
this
idea of salvation from the God in whom they say they place all
their
hopes. They put aside the doctrine, they gloss it over, they
prefer
not to speak of it. Free thought is leavening Christianity, and
is
moulding the old faith against its will. Christianity now hides its
own
cruel side, and only where the bold opponents of its creeds have not
yet
spread, does it dare to show itself in its real colours; in Spain,
in
Mexico, we see Christianity unveiled; here, in England, liberty is
too
strong for it, and it is forced into a semblance of liberality. The
old
wine is being poured into new bottles; what will be the result? We
may,
however, rejoice that nobler thoughts about God are beginning to
prevail,
and are driving out the old wicked notions about Him and His
revenge.
The Face of the Father is beginning, however dimly, to shine
out
from His world, and before the Beauty of that Face all hard thoughts
about
Him are fading away. Nature is too fair to be slandered for ever,
and
when men perceive that God and Nature are One, all that is ghastly
and
horrible must die and drop into forgetfulness. The popular
Christian
ideas of mediation and salvation must soon pass away into the
limbo
of rejected creeds which is being filled so fast; they are already
dead,
and their pale ghosts shall soon flit no longer to vex and harass
the
souls of living men.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
ON
ETERNAL TORTURE.
SOME
time ago a Clergyman was proving to me by arguments many and
strong
that hell was right, necessary and just; that it brought glory
to
God and good to man; that the holiness of God required it as a
preventive,
and the justice of God exacted it as a penalty, of sin.
I
listened quietly till all was over and silence fell on the reverend
denunciator;
he ceased, satisfied with his arguments, triumphant in the
consciousness
that they were crushing and unassailable. But my eyes were
fixed
on the fair scene without the library window, on the sacrament
of
earth, the visible sign of the invisible beauty, and the contrast
between
God's works and the Church's speech came strongly upon me. And
all
I found to say in answer came in a few words: "If I had not heard
you
mention the name of God, I should have thought you were speaking of
the
Devil." The words, dropped softly and meditatively, had a startling
effect.
Horror at the blasphemy, indignation at the unexpected result of
laboured
argument, struggled against a dawning feeling that there must
be
something wrong in a conception which laid itself open to such
a
blow; the short answer told more powerfully than half an hour's
reasoning.
The
various classes of orthodox Christian doctrines should be attacked
in
very different styles by the champions of the great army of
free-thinkers,
who are at the present day besieging the venerable
superstitions
of the past. Around the Deity of Jesus cluster many
hallowed
memories and fond associations; the worship of centuries has
shed
around his figure a halo of light, and he has been made into the
ideal
of Humanity; the noblest conceptions of morality, the highest
flights
of enlightened minds, have been enshrined in a human personality
and
called by the name of Christ; the Christ-idea has risen and expanded
with
every development of human progress, and the Christ of the highest
Christianity
of the day is far other than the Christ of Augustine, of
Thomas
à Kempis, of Luther, or Knox; the strivings after light, after
knowledge,
after holiness, of the noblest sons of men have been
called
by them a following of Jesus; Jesus is baptized in human tears,
crucified
in human pains, glorified in human hopes. Because of all this,
because
he is dear to human hearts and identified with human struggles,
therefore
he should be gently spoken of by all who feel the bonds of
the
brotherhood of man; the dogma of his Deity must be assailed, must be
overthrown,
because it is false, because it destroys the unity of God,
because
it veils from us the Eternal Spirit, the source of all things,
but
he himself should be reverently spoken of, so far as truthfulness
permits,
and this dogma, although persistently battled against, should
be
attacked without anger and without scorn.
There
are other doctrines which, while degrading in regard to man's
conception
of God, and therefore deserving of reprobation, yet enshrine
great
moral truths and have become bound up with ennobling lessons; such
is
the doctrine of the Atonement, which enshrines the idea of selfless
love
and of self-sacrifice for the good of humanity. There are others
again
against which ridicule and indignation may rightly be brought to
bear,
which are concessions to human infirmity, and which belong to the
childhood
of the race; man may be laughed out of his sacraments and out
of
his devils, and indignantly reminded that he insults God and degrades
himself
by placing a priesthood or mediator between God and his own
soul.
But there is one dogma of Orthodox Christianity which stands
alone
in its atrocity, which is thoroughly and essentially bad, which is
without
one redeeming feature, which is as blasphemous towards God as
it
is injurious to man; on it therefore should be poured out unsparingly
the
bitterest scorn and the sharpest indignation. There is no good human
emotion
enlisted on the side of an Eternal Hell; it is not hallowed by
human
love or human longings, it does not enshrine human aspirations,
nor
is it the outcome of human hopes. In support of this no appeal
can
be made to any feeling of the nobler side of our nature, nor does
eternal
fire stimulate our higher faculties: it acts only on the lower,
baser,
part of man; it excites fear, distrust of God, terror of his
presence;
it may scare from evil occasionally, but can never teach good;
it
sees God in the lightning-flash that slays, but not in the sunshine
which
invigorates; in the avalanche which buries a village in its fall,
but
not in the rich promise of the vineyard and the joyous beauty of
the
summer day. Hell has driven thousands half-mad with terror, it
has
driven monks to the solitary deserts, nuns to the sepulchre of the
nunnery,
but has it ever caused one soul of man to rejoice in the Father
of
all, and pant, "as the hart panteth after the water-springs, for the
presence
of God"?
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
It
is only just to state, in attacking this as a Christian doctrine,
that,
though believed in by the vast majority of Christians, the most
enlightened
of that very indefinite body repudiate it with one voice.
It
is well known how the great Broad-Church leader, Frederick Denison
Maurice,
endeavoured to harmonize, on this point, his Bible and his
strong
moral sense, and failed in so doing, as all must fail who would
reconcile
two contradictories. How he fought with that word "eternal,"
struggled
to prove that whatever else it might mean it did _not_ mean
everlasting
in our modern sense of the word: that "eternal death" being
the
antithesis to "eternal life" must mean a state of ignorance of
the
Eternal One, even as its opposite was the knowledge of God: that
therefore
men could rise from eternal death, aye, did so rise every
day
in this life, and might so rise in the life to come. Noble was
his
protest against this awful doctrine, fettered as he was by undue
reverence
for, and clinging to, the Bible. His appeal to the moral sense
in
man as the arbiter of all doctrine has borne good fruit, and his
labours
have opened a road to free thought greater than he expected or
even
hoped. Many other clergymen have followed in his steps. The word
"eternal"
has been wrangled over continually, but, however they arrive
there,
all Broad Churchmen unite in the conclusion that it does not,
cannot,
shall not, mean literally lasting for ever. This school of
thought
has laid much stress on the fondness of Orientals for imagery;
they
have pointed out that the Jewish word Gehenna is the same as Ge
Hinnom,
or valley of Hinnom, and have seen in the state of that valley
the
materials for "the worm that dieth not and the fire that is not
quenched:"
they show how by a natural transition the place into which
were
thrown the bodies of the worst criminals became the type of
punishment
in the next world, and the valley where children were
sacrificed
to Moloch gave its name to the infernal abode of devils. From
that
valley Jesus drew his awful picture, suggested by the pale lurid
fires
ever creeping there, mingling their ghastly flames with the
decaying
bodies of the dishonoured dead. In all this there is probably
much
truth, and many Broad Churchmen are content to accept this
explanation,
and so retain their belief in the supernatural character
of
the Bible, while satisfying their moral sense by rejecting its most
immoral
dogma.
Among
the evangelicals, only one voice, so far as I know, is heard
to
protest against eternal torture; and all honour is due to the Rev.
Samuel
Minton, for his rare courage in defying on this point the opinion
of
his "world," and braving the censure which has been duly inflicted on
him.
He seems to make "eternal" the equivalent of "irremediable"
in some
cases
and of "everlasting" in others. He believes that the wicked will
be
literally destroyed, burnt up, consumed; the fact that the fire is
eternal
by no means implies, he remarks, that that which is cast into
the
fire should be likewise eternal, and that the fire is unquenchable
does
not prove that the chaff is unconsumable. "Eternal destruction" he
explains
as irreparable destruction, final and irreversible extinction.
This
theory should have more to recommend it to all who believe in
the
supernatural inspiration of the Bible, than the
explanation;
it uses far less violence towards the words of Scripture,
and,
indeed, a very fair case may be made out for it from the Bible
itself.
It
is scarcely necessary to add to this small list of dissentients from
orthodox
Christianity, the Unitarian body; I do not suppose that there
is
such a phenomenon in existence as a Unitarian Christian who believes
in
an eternal hell.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
With
these small exceptions the mass of Christians hold this dogma, but
for
the most part carelessly and uncomprehendingly. Many are ashamed of
it
even while duteously confessing it, and gabble over the sentences in
their
creed which acknowledge it in a very perfunctory manner. People
of
this kind "do not like to talk about hell, it is better to think of
heaven."
Some Christians, however, hold it strongly, and proclaim their
belief
boldly; the members of the Evangelical Alliance actually make the
profession
of it a condition of admittance into their body, while many
High
Church divines think that a sharp declaration of their belief in
it
is needed by loyalty towards God and "charity to the souls of men." I
wish
I could believe that all who profess this dogma did not realize
it,
and only accepted it because their fathers and mothers taught it to
them.
But what can one say to such statements as the following, quoted
from
Father Furniss by W. R. Greg in his splendid "Enigmas of Life:" I
take
it as a specimen of Roman Catholic _authorized_ teaching. Children
are
asked: "How will your body be when the devil has been striking it
every
moment for a hundred million years without stopping?" A girl of
eighteen
is described as dressed in fire; "she wears a bonnet of fire.
It
is pressed down all over her head; it burns her head; it burns into
the
skull; it scorches the bone of the skull and makes it smoke." A
boy
is boiled: "Listen! there is a sound just like that of a kettle
boiling....
The blood is boiling in the scalded veins of that boy. The
brain
is boiling and bubbling in his head. The marrow is boiling in his
bones."
Nay, even the poor little babies are not exempt from torture:
one
is in a red hot oven, "hear how it screams to come out; see how it
turns
and twists about in the fire.... You can see on the face of this
little
child"--the fair pure innocent baby-face--"what you see on the
faces
of all in hell--despair, desperate and horrible." Surely this
man
realized what he taught, but then he was that half-human being--a
priest.
Dr.
Pusey, too, has a word to say about hell: "Gather in mind all that
is
most loathsome, most revolting--the most treacherous, malicious,
coarse,
brutal, inventive, fiendish cruelty, unsoftened by any remains
of
human feeling, such as thou couldst not endure for a single hour....
hear
those yells of blaspheming, concentrated hate as they echo along
the
lurid vault of hell."
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
Protestantism
chimes in, and Spurgeon speaks of hell: "Wilt thou think
it
is easy to lie down in hell, with the breath of the Eternal fanning
the
flames? Wilt thou delight thyself to think that God will invent
torments
for thee, sinner?" "When the damned jingle the burning irons of
their
torment, they shall say, 'for ever;' when they howl, echo cries,
'for
ever.'"
I
may allude, to conclude my quotations, to a description of hell which
I
myself heard from an eminent prelate of the English Church, one who is
a
scholar and a gentleman, a man of moderate views in Church matters,
by
no means a zealot in an ordinary way. In preaching to a country
congregation
composed mainly of young men and girls, he warned them
specially
against sins of the flesh, and threatened them with the
consequent
punishment in hell. Then, in language which I cannot
reproduce,
for I should not dare to sully my pages by repeating what
I
then listened to in horrified amazement, there ensued a description
drawn
out in careful particulars of the state of the suffering body in
hell,
so sickening in its details that it must suffice to say of it that
it
was a description founded on the condition of a corpse flung out on
a
dungheap and left there to putrefy, with the additional horror of
creeping,
slowly-burning flames; and this state of things was to go
on,
as he impressed on them with terrible energy, for ever and ever,
"decaying
but ever renewing."
I
should almost ask pardon of tender-hearted men and women for laying
before
them language so abominable; but I urge on all who are offended
by
it that this is the teaching given to our sons and daughters in the
present
day. Father Furniss, Dr. Pusey, Mr. Spurgeon, an English Bishop,
surely
these are honoured names, and in quoting them I quote from the
teaching
of Christendom. Nor mine the fault if the language be unfit for
printing.
I _quote_, because if we only assert, Christians are quick to
say,
"you are misrepresenting our beliefs," and I quote from writers of
the
present day only, that none may accuse me of hurling at Christians
reproaches
for a doctrine they have outgrown or softened down. Still, I
own
that it seems scarcely credible that a man should believe this and
remain
sane; nay, should preach this, and walk calmly home from his
Church
with God's sunshine smiling on the beautiful world, and after
preaching
it should sit down to a comfortable dinner and very likely
a
quiet pipe, as though hell did not exist, and its awful misery and
fierce
despair.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
It
is said that there is no reason that we should not be contented in
heaven
while others suffer in hell, since we know how much misery there
is
in this world and yet enjoy ourselves in spite of the knowledge.
I
say, deliberately, of every one who does realise the misery of this
world
and remains indifferent to it, who enjoys his own share of the
good
things of this life, without helping his brother, who does not
stretch
out his hand to lift the fallen, or raise his voice on behalf of
the
down-trodden and oppressed, that that man is living a life which is
the
very antithesis of a Divine life--a life which has in it no beauty
and
no nobility, but is selfish, despicable, and mean. And is this the
life
which we are to regard as the model of heavenly beauty? Is the
power
to lead this life for ever to be our reward for self-devotion
and
self-sacrifice here on earth? Is a supreme selfishness to crown
unselfishness
at last? But this is the life which is to be the lot of
the
righteous in heaven. Snatched from a world in flames, caught up in
the
air to meet their descending Lord, his saints are to return with him
to
the heaven whence he came; there, crowned with golden crowns, they
are
to spend eternity, hymning the Lamb who saved them to the music
of
golden harps, harps whose melody is echoed by the curses and the
wailings
of the lost; for below is a far different scene, for there the
sinners
are "tormented with fire and brimstone in the presence of the
holy
angels and the presence of the Lamb; and the smoke of their torment
ascendeth
up for ever and ever, and they have no rest day nor night."
It
is worth while to gaze for a moment at the scene of future felicity;
there
is the throne of God and rejoicing crowds: "Rejoice over her, thou
heaven,
and ye holy apostles and prophets," so goes out the command, and
they
rejoice because "God has avenged them on her," and again they
said
"Alleluia, and her smoke rose up for ever and ever." Truly God
must
harden the hearts of his saints in heaven as of old he hardened
Pharaoh's
heart, if they are to rejoice over the anguished multitude
below,
and to bear to live amid the lurid smoke ascending from the
burning
bodies of the lost. To me the idea is so unutterably loathsome
that
I marvel how Christians endure to retain such language in their
sacred
books, for I would note that the awful picture drawn above is not
of
my doing; it is not the scoffing caricature of an unbeliever, _it is
heaven
as described by St. John the divine_. If this heaven is true I do
not
hesitate to say that it is the duty of every human being to reject
it
utterly and to refuse to enter it. We might even appeal to Christians
by
the example of their own Jesus, who could not be content to remain in
heaven
himself while men went to hell, but came down to redeem them from
endless
suffering. Yet they, who ought to imitate him, who do, many
of
them, lead beautiful lives of self-devotion and compassion, are
suddenly,
on death, to lose all this which makes them "partakers of the
Divine
Nature," and are to be content to win happiness for themselves,
careless
that millions of their brethren are in woe unspeakable. They
are
to reverse the aim of their past lives, they are to become selfish
instead
of loving, hard instead of selfless, indifferent instead of
loving,
hard instead of tender. Which is the better reproduction of the
"mind
of Christ," the good Samaritan tending the wounded man, or the
stern
Inquisitor gloating over the fire which consumes heretics to the
greater
glory of God? Yet the latter is the ideal of heavenly virtue.
Never
will they who truly love man be content to snatch at bliss for
themselves
while others suffer, or endure to be crowned with glory while
they
are crowned with thorns. Better, far better, to suffer in hell and
share
the pains of the lost, than to have a heart so hard, a nature
so
degraded, as to enjoy the bliss of heaven, rejoicing over, or even
disregarding,
the woes of hell.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
But
there is worse than physical torture in the picture of hell; pain is
not
its darkest aspect. Of all the thoughts with which the heart of man
has
outraged the Eternal Righteousness, there is none so appalling, none
so
blasphemous, as that which declares that even one soul, made by the
Supreme
Good, shall remain during all eternity, under the power of
sin.
Divines have wearied themselves in describing the horrors of the
Christian
hell; but it is _not_ the furnace of flames, _not_ the undying
worm,
_not_ the fire which never may be quenched, that revolt us most;
hideous
as are these images, they are not the worst terror of hell. Who
does
not know how St. Francis, believing himself ordained to be lost
everlastingly,
fell on his knees and cried, "O my God, if I am indeed
doomed
to hate thee during eternity, at least suffer me to love thee
while
I live here." To the righteous heart the agony of hell is a far
worse
one than physical torture could inflict: it is the existence of
men
and women who might have been saints, shut out from hope of holiness
for
evermore; God's children, the work of his hands, gnashing their
teeth
at a Father who has cast them down for ever from the life he might
have
given; it is Love everlastingly hated; good everlastingly trampled
under
foot; God everlastingly baffled and defied; worst of all, it is
a
room in the Father's house where his children may hunger and thirst
after
righteousness, but never, never, can be filled.
"Depart, O sinner, to the chain!
Enter the eternal cell;
To all that's good and true and right,
To all that's fair and fond and bright,
To all of holiness and right,
Bid thou thy last farewell."
Would
to God that Christian men and women would ponder it well and think
it
out for themselves, and when they go into the worst parts of our
great
cities and their hearts almost break with the misery there, then
let
them remember how that misery is but a faint picture of the endless,
hopeless,
misery, to which the vast majority of their fellow-men are
doomed.
Christian
reader, do not be afraid to realise the future in which you
say
you believe, and which the God of Love has prepared for the home of
some
of his children. Imagine yourself, or any dear to you, plunged
into
guilt from which there is no redeemer, and where the voice cannot
penetrate
of him that speaks in righteousness, mighty to save. In the
well-weighed
words of a champion of Christian orthodoxy, think there is
no
reason to believe that hell is only a punishment for past offences;
in
that dark world sin and misery reproduce each other in infinite
succession.
"What if the sin perpetuates itself, if the prolonged misery
may
be the offspring of the prolonged guilt?" Ponder it well, and, if
you
find it true, then cast out from your creed the belief in a Jesus
who
loved the lost; blot out from your Bible every verse that speaks of
a
Father's heart; tear from your Prayer-books every page that prays to a
Father
in heaven. If the lowest of God's creatures is to be left in the
foul
embraces of sin for ever, God cannot be the Eternal Righteousness,
the
unconquerable Love. For what sort of Righteousness is that which
rests
idly contented in a heaven of bliss, while millions of souls
capable
of righteousness are bound by it in helpless sin; what sort of
love
is that which is satisfied to be repulsed, and is willing to be
hated?
As long as God is righteous, as long as God is love, so long is
it
impossible that men and women shall be left by him forever in a
state
to which our worst dens of earth are a very paradise of beauty and
purity.
Bible writers may have erred, but "Thou continuest holy, O Thou
worship
of Israel!" There is one revelation that cannot err, and that
is
written by God's finger on every human heart. What man recoils from
doing,
even at his lowest, can never be done by his Creator, from whose
inspiration
he draws every righteous thought. Is there one father,
however
brutalized, who would deliberately keep his child in sin because
of
a childish fault? one mother who would aimlessly torture her son,
keeping
him alive but to torment? Yet this, nothing less,--nay, a
thousand
times more, for it is this multiplied infinitely by infinite
power
of torture,--this is what Christians ask us to believe about our
Father
and our God, a glimmer from the radiance of whose throne falls on
to
our earth, when men love their enemies and forgive freely those who
wrong
them If this so-called orthodox belief is right, then is their
gospel
of the Love of God to the world a delusion and a lie; if this is
true,
the teaching of Jesus to publicans and harlots of the Fatherhood
of
God is a cruel mockery of our divinest instincts; the tale of
the
good Shepherd who could not rest while one sheep was lost is the
bitterest
irony. But this awful dogma is not true, and the Love of God
cradles
his creation; not one son of the Father's family shall be left
under
the power of sin, to be an eternal blot on God's creation, an
endless
reproach to his Maker's wisdom, an everlasting and irreparable
mistake.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
No
amount of argument, however powerful, should make us believe a
doctrine
from which our hearts recoil with such shuddering horror as
they
do from this doctrine of eternal torture and eternal sin. There is
a
divine instinct in the human heart which may be trusted as an arbiter
between
right and wrong; no supernatural revelation, no miracle, no
angel
from heaven, should have power to make us accept as divine that
which
our hearts proclaim as vile and devilish. It is not true faith
to
crush down our moral sense beneath the hoof of credulity; true faith
believes
in God only as a "Power which makes for _Righteousness_" and
recks
little of threats or curses which would force her to accept that
which
conscience disapproves. And what is more, if it were possible that
God
were not what we dream, if he were not "righteous in all his ways
and
holy in all his works," then were it craven cowardice to worship him
at
all. It has been well said, "that to worship simple power, without
virtue,
is nothing but devil-worship;" in that case it were nobler to
refuse
to praise him and to take what he might send. Then indeed we
must
say, with John Stuart Mill, in that burst of passion which reads so
strangely
in the midst of his passionless logic, that if I am told that
this
is justice and love, and that if I do not call it so, God will send
me
to hell, then "to hell I'll go."
I
have purposely put first my strong reprobation of eternal hell,
because
of its own essential hideousness, and because, were it ever
so
true, I should deem myself disgraced by acknowledging it as
either
loving or good. But it is, however, a satisfaction to note the
feebleness
of the arguments advanced in support of this dogma, and to
find
that justice and holiness, as well as love, frown on the idea of an
eternal
hell.
The
first argument put forth is this: "God has made a law which
man
breaks; man must therefore in justice suffer the penalty of his
transgression."
This, like so many of the orthodox arguments, sounds
just
and right, and at first we perfectly agree with it. The instinct
of
justice in our own breasts confirms the statement, and looking abroad
into
the world we see its truth proved by facts. Law is around us on
every
side; man is placed in a realm of law; he may-strive against the
laws
which encircle him, but he will only dash himself to pieces against
a
rock; he is under a code which he breaks at his peril. Here is perfect
justice,
a justice absolutely unwavering, deaf to cries, unseducible
by-flatteries,
unalloyed by favouritism: a law exists, break it, and
you
suffer the inevitable consequences. So far, then, the orthodox
argument
is sound and strong, but now it takes a sudden leap. "The
penalty
of the broken law is hell." Why? What common factor is there
between
a lie, and the "lake of fire in which all liars shall have their
part?"
Nature is absolutely against the orthodox corollary, because hell
as
a punishment of sin is purely arbitrary, the punishment might quite
as
well have been something else; but in nature the penalty of a broken
law
is always strictly in character with the law itself, and is derived
from
it. Men imagine the most extraordinary "judgment." A nation is
given
to excessive drinking, and is punished with cattle-plague; or
shows
leanings towards popery, and is chastised with cholera. It is as
reasonable
to believe this as it would be to expect that if a child fell
down
stairs he would be picked up covered with blisters from burning,
instead
of his receiving his natural punishment of being bruised.
Why,
because I lie and forget God, should I be punished with fire and
brimstone?
Fire is not derivable from truth, nor is brimstone a stimulus
to
memory. There is also a strange confusion in many minds about the
punishment
of sin. A child is told not to put his hand into the fire,
he
does so, and is burnt; the burning is a punishment, he is told; for
what?
Not for disobedience to the parent, as is generally said, but for
disregarding
the law of nature which says that fire burns. One often
hears
it said: "God's punishments for sin are not equal: one man sins
once
and suffers for it all his life, while another sins twenty times
and
is not punished at all." By no means: the two men both break a moral
law,
and suffer a moral degradation; one of them breaks in addition some
physical
law, and suffers a physical injury. People see injustice where
none
exists, because they will not take the trouble to distinguish
what
laws are broken when material punishments follow. There is nothing
arbitrary
in nature: cause and effect rule in her realm. Hell is then
unjust,
in the first place, because physical torture has nothing in
common
with moral guilt.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
It
is unjust, secondly, because it is excessive. Sin, say theologians,
is
to be punished infinitely, because sin is an offence committed
against
an infinite being. Of course, then, good must logically be
rewarded
infinitely, because it is duty offered to an infinite being.
There
is no man who has never done a single good act, so every man
deserves
an infinite reward. There is no man who has never done a single
bad
act, so every man deserves an infinite punishment. Therefore every
man
deserves both an infinite reward and an infinite punishment,
"which,"
as Euclid says, "is absurd." And this is quite enough answer to
the
proposition. But I must protest, in passing, against this notion of
"sin
against God" as properly understood. If by this expression is only
meant
that every sin committed is a sin against God, because every sin
is
done against man's higher nature, which is God in man, then indeed
there
is no objection to be made to it. But this is not what is
generally
meant by the phrase. It usually means that we are able, as it
were,
to injure God in some way, to dishonour him, to affront him, to
trouble
him. By sin we make him "angry," we "provoke him to wrath;"
because
of this feeling on his own part he punishes us, and demands
"satisfaction."
Surely a moment's reflection must prove to any
reasonable
being that sin against God in this sense is perfectly
impossible.
What can the littleness of man do against the greatness of
the
Eternal! Imagine a speck of dust troubling the depths of the
ocean,
an aphis burdening an oak-tree with its weight: each is far
more
probable than that a man could ruffle the perfect serenity of God.
Suppose
I stand on a lawn watching an ant-heap, an ant twinkles his
feelers
at me scornfully; do I fly into a passion and rush on the insect
to
destroy it, or seize it and slowly torture it? Yet I am far less
above
the level of the ant than God is above mine.
But
I must add a word here to guard against the misapprehension that
in
saying this I am depriving man of the strength he finds in believing
that
he is personally known to God and an object of his care. Were I
the
ant's creator familiar with all the workings of its mind, I
might
regret, for its sake, the pride and scorn of its maker shown by
its-action,
because it was not rising to the perfection of nature of
which
it was capable. So, in that nature in which we live and move,
which
is too great to regard anything as-little, which is around all and
in
all, and which we believe to be conscious of all, there is--I cannot
but
think--some feeling which, for want of a better term, we must call
a
desire for the growth of his creatures (because in this growth lies
their
own happiness), and a corresponding feeling of regret when they
injure
themselves. But I say this in fear and reverence, knowing that
human
language has no terms in which to describe the nature we adore,
and
conscious that in the very act of putting ideas about him into
words,
I degrade the ideas and they no longer fully answer to the
thought
in my own mind. Silent adoration befits man best in the presence
of
his maker, only it is right to protest against the more degrading
conceptions
of him, although the higher conceptions are themselves far
below
what he really is. Sin then, being done against oneself only,
cannot
deserve an eternity of torture. Sin injures man already, why
should
he be further injured by endless agony? The infliction of pain
is
only justifiable when it is the means of conveying to the sufferer
himself
a gain greater than the suffering inflicted; therefore
punishment
is only righteous when reformatory. But _endless_ torture
cannot
aim at reformation; it has no aim beyond itself, and can only
arise,
therefore, from vengeance and vindictiveness, which we have
shown
to be impossible with God. Hell is unjust, secondly, because its
punishment
is excessive and aimless. It is also unjust, because to avoid
it
needs an impossible perfection. It is no answer to this to say that
there
is an escape offered to us through the Atonement made by Jesus
Christ.
Why should I be called on to escape like a criminal from that
which
I do not deserve? God makes man imperfect, frail, sinful,
utterly
unable to keep perfectly a perfect law: he therefore fails,
and
is--what? To be strengthened? by no means; he is to go to hell. The
statement
of this suffices to show its injustice. We cavil not at the
wisdom
which made us what we are, but we protest against the idea which
makes
God so cruelly unjust as to torture babies because they are unable
to
walk as steadily as full-grown men. Hell is unjust, in the third
place,
because man does not deserve it.
To
all this it will probably be retorted, "you are arguing as though
God's
justice were the same as man's, and you were therefore capable
of
judging it, an assumption which is unwarrantable, and is grossly
presumptuous."
To which I reply: "If by God's justice you do not mean
justice
at all, but refer to some Divine attribute of which we know
nothing,
all my strictures on it fall to the ground; only, do not commit
the
inconsistency of arguing that hell is _just_, when by 'just' you
mean
some unknown quality, and then propping up your theories with
proofs
drawn from human justice. It would perhaps tend to clearness in
argument
if you gave this Divine attribute some other name, instead of
using
for it an expression which has already a definite meaning."
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
The
justice of hell disposed of, we turn to the love of God. I have
never
heard it stated that hell is a proof of his great love to the
world,
but I take the liberty myself of drawing attention to it in this
light.
God, we are told, existed alone before ought was created; there
perfect
in himself, in happiness, in glory, he might have remained,
say
orthodox theologians. Then, we have a right to ask in the name of
charity,
why did he, happy himself, create a race of beings of whom the
vast
majority were to be endlessly and hopelessly miserable? Was this
love?
"He created man to glorify him." But was it loving to create those
who
would only suffer for his glory? Was it not rather a gigantic, an
inconceivable
selfishness?
"Man
may be saved if he will." That is not to the point; God foreknew
that
some would be lost, and yet he made them. With all reverence I say
it,
God had no right to create sentient beings, if of one of them it can
ever
be truly said, "good were it for that man that he had never been
born."
He who creates, imposes on himself, by the very act of creation,
duties
towards his creatures. If God be self-conscious and moral, it
is
an absolute certainty that the whole creation is moving towards
the
final good of every creature in it. We did not ask to be made; we
suffered
not when we existed not; God, who has laid existence on us
without
our consent, is responsible for our final good, and is bound by
every
tie of righteousness and justice, not to speak of love, to make
the
existence he gave us, unasked, a blessing and not a curse to us.
Parents
feel this responsibility towards the children they bring into
the
world, and feel themselves bound to protect and to make happy those
who,
without them, had not been born. But, if hell be true, then every
man
and woman is bound not to fulfil the Divine command of multiplying
the
race, since by so doing they are aiding to fill the dungeons of
hell,
and they will, hereafter, have their sons and their daughters
cursing
the day of their birth, and overwhelming their parents with
reproaches
for having brought into the world a body, which God was thus
enabled
to curse with the awful gift of an immortal soul.
We
must notice also that God, who is said to love righteousness, can
never
crush out righteousness in any-human soul. There is no one so
utterly
degraded as to be without one sign of good. Among the lowest and
vilest
of our population, we find beautiful instances of kindly feeling
and
generous help. Can any woman be more degraded than she who only
values
her womanhood as a means of gain, who drinks, fights, and steals?
Let
those who have been among such women say if they have not been
cheered
sometimes by a very ray of the light of God, when the most.
degraded
has shown kindness to an equally degraded sister, and when the
very
gains of sin have been purified by being; poured into the lap of a
suffering
and dying companion. Shall love and devotion, however feeble,
unselfishness
and sympathy, however transitory in their action, shall
these
stars of heaven be quenched in the blackness of the pit of hell?
If
it be so, then, verily, God is not the "righteous. Lord who loveth
righteousness."
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
But
we cannot leave out of our impeachment of hell that it injures man,
as
much as it degrades his conceptions of God. It cultivates selfishness
and
fear, two of his basest passions. There has scarcely perhaps been
born
into the world this century a purer and more loving soul than that
of
the late John Keble, the author of the "Christian Year." Yet what a
terrible
effect this belief had on him; he must cling to his belief in
hell,
because otherwise he would have no certainty of heaven:
"But where is then the stay of
contrite hearts?
Of old they leaned on Thy eternal word;
But with the sinner's fear their hope
departs,
Fast linked as Thy great name to Thee, O
Lord;
That Name by which Thy faithful hope is
past,
That we should endless be, for joy or
woe;--
And if the treasures of Thy wrath could
waste,
Thy lovers must their promised heaven
forego."
That
is to say in plain English: "I cannot give up the certainty of
hell
for others, because if I do I shall have no certainty of heaven for
myself;
and I would rather know that millions of my brethren should
be
tormented for ever, than remain doubtful about my own everlasting
enjoyment."
Surely a loving heart would say, instead, "O God, let
us
all die and remain unconscious for ever, rather than that one soul
should
suffer everlastingly." The terrible selfishness of the Christian
belief
degrades the noblest soul; the horror of hell makes men lose
their
self-control, and think only of their personal safety, just as
we
see men run wild sometimes at a shipwreck, when the gain of a minute
means
life. The belief in hell fosters religious pride and hatred, for
all
religious people think that they themselves at least are sure of
heaven.
If then they are going to rejoice through all eternity over
the
sufferings of the lost, why should they treat them with kindness or
consideration
here? Thus hell, becomes the mother of persecution;
for
the heretic, the enemy of the Lord, there is no mercy and no
forgiveness.
Then the saints persuade themselves that true charity
obliges
them to persecute, for suffering may either save the heretic
himself
by forcing him to believe, or may at least scare others from
sharing
his heresy, and so preserve them from eternal fire. And they
are
right, if hell is true. Any means are justifiable which may save man
from
that horrible doom; surely we should not hesitate to knock a man
down,
if by so doing we preserved him from throwing himself over a
precipice.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
Belief
in hell takes all beauty from virtue; who cares for obedience
only
rendered through fear? No true love of good is wrought in man by
the
fear of hell, and outward respectability is of little worth when the
heart
and the desires are unpurified. We may add that the fear of hell
is
a very slight practical restraint; no man thinks himself really bad
enough
for hell, and it is so far off that every one intends to repent
at
the last and so escape it. Far more restraining is the proclamation
of
the stern truth that, in the popular sense of the word, there is no
such
thing as the "forgiveness of sins;" that as a man sows, so shall he
reap,
and that broken laws avenge themselves without exception.
Belief
in hell stifles all inquiry into truth by setting a premium
on
one form of belief, and by forbidding another under frightful
penalties..
"If it be true, as it is true, that all who do not believe
this
shall perish everlastingly, then, I ask, _is it not worth while to
believe?_"
So says a clergyman of the Church of England. Thus he presses
his
people to accept the dogma of the Deity of Jesus, not because it
is-true,
but because it is dangerous to deny it. And this-difficulty
meets
us every day. If we urge inquiry, we are told "it is dangerous;"
if
we suggest a difficulty, we are told "it is safer to believe;" and
so
this doctrine of hell chains down men's faculties and palsies their
intellects,
and they dare not seek for truth at all, lest he who is
Truth
should cast them into hell for it.
It
may perhaps be said by many that I have attacked this dogma with
undue
vehemence, and with excessive warmth. I attack it thus, because I
know
the harm that it is doing, because it saddens the righteous heart
and
clouds the face of God. Only those who have realised hell, and
realising
it, have believed in it, know the awful shadow with which it
darkens
the world. There are many who laugh at it, but they have not
felt
its power, and they forget that a dogma which is only ludicrous
to
them is weighing heavily on many a tender heart and sensitive brain.
Hell
drives many mad: to others-it is a life-long horror. It pales the
sunlight
with its lurid flames; it blackens the earth with the smoke of
its
torment; it makes the Devil an actual presence; it transforms God
into
an enemy, eternity into an awful doom. It takes the spring out of
all
pleasures; it poisons all enjoyments; it spreads gloom over life,
and
enshrouds the tomb in horror unspeakable. Only those who have
felt
the anguish of this nightmare know what it is to wake up into the
sunlight,
and find it is only a disordered dream of the darkness; they
only
know the glorious liberty of heart and soul, with which they lift
up
smiling faces to meet the smile of God, when they can say from the
depths
of their glad hearts, "I believe that God is Light, and in Him is
no
darkness at all; I believe that all mankind is safe, cradled in the
everlasting
arms."
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
ON
INSPIRATION
THERE
is a certain amount of difficulty in defining the word
Inspiration:
it is used in so many different senses by the various
schools
of religious thought, that it is almost necessary to know the
theological
opinions of the speaker before being quite sure of his
meaning
when he talks of a book as being inspired. In the halcyon days
of
the Church, when faith was strong and reason weak, when priests had
but
to proclaim and laymen but to assent, Inspiration had a distinct and
a
very definite meaning. An inspired man spoke the very words of God:
the
Bible was perfect from the "In the beginning" of Genesis to the
"Amen"
of Revelation: it was perfect in science, perfect in history,
perfect
in doctrine, perfect in morals. In that diamond no flaw was
to
be seen; it sparkled with a spotless purity, reflecting back in
many-coloured
radiance the pure white light of God. But when the
chemistry
of modern science came forward to test this diamond, a
murmuring
arose, low at first, but irrepressible. It was scrutinised
through
the microscope of criticism, and cracks and flaws were
discovered
in every direction; then, instead of being enshrined on
the
altar, encircled by candles, it was brought out into the searching
sunlight,
and the naked eye could see its imperfections. Then it was
tested
anew, and some bold men were heard to whisper, "It is no diamond
at
all, God formed in ages past; it is nothing but paste, manufactured
by
man;" and the news passed from mouth to mouth, until the whisper
swelled
into a cry, and many voices echoed, "This is no diamond at all."
And
so things are to-day; the battle rages still; some maintain their
jewel
is perfect as ever, and that the flaws are in the eyes that look
at
it; some reluctantly allow that it is imperfect, but still consider
it
a diamond; others resolutely assert that, though valuable for its
antiquity
and its beauty, it is really nothing but paste.
To
take first the really orthodox theory of inspiration, generally
styled
the "plenary" or "verbal" inspiration of the Bible. It was
well
defined
centuries since by Athenagoras; according to him the inspired
writers
"uttered the things that were wrought in them when the Divine
Spirit
moved them, the Spirit using them as a flute-player would blow
into
the flute." The same idea has been uttered in powerful poetry by a
writer
of our own day:--
"Then thro' the mid complaint of my
confession,
Then thro' the pang and passion of my
prayer,
Leaps with a start the shock of His
possession,
Thrills me and touches, and the Lord is
there.
Scarcely
I catch the words of His revealing, Hardly I hear Him, dimly
understand;
Only the power that is within me pealing, Lives on my lips
and
beckons to my hand."
The
idea is exactly the same as that of the Pagan prophetesses: they
became
literally possessed by a spirit, who used their lips to declare
his
own thoughts; so orthodox Christians believe that it is no longer
Moses
or Isaiah or Paul that speaks, but the Spirit of the Father that
speaks
in them. This theory is held by all strictly orthodox believers;
this
and this only is from their lips, inspiration; hard pressed on the
subject
they will allow that the Spirit inspires all good thoughts "in
a
sense," but they will be very careful in declaring that this is only
inspiration
in a secondary sense, an inspiration which diners in kind as
well
as in degree from the inspiration of the writers of the Bible. By
this
mechanical theory, so to speak, it is manifest that all possibility
of
error is excluded; thus, when Matthew quotes from the Old Testament
an
utterly irrelevant historical reference--"when Israel was a child,
then
I loved him and _called my son out of Egypt_", as a prophecy of the
alleged
flight of Jesus into Egypt, and his subsequent return from that
country
into Palestine--we find Dr. Wordsworth, Right Reverend Father
in
God, and Bishop of Lincoln, gravely telling us that "the Holy Spirit
here
declares what had been in His own mind when He uttered these words
by
Hosea. And who shall venture to say that he knows the mind of the
Spirit
better than the Spirit Himself?" Dr. Pusey again, standing
valiantly,
after the manner of the man, to every Church dogma, however
it
may be against logic, against common sense, against reason, or
against
charity, makes a very reasonable inquiry of those who believe
in
an outward and supernatural inspiration, and yet object to the term
verbal.
"How," he asks, "can thought be conveyed to a man's mind except
through
words?" The learned doctor's remark is indeed a very pertinent
one,
as addressed to all those who believe in an exterior revelation.
Thoughts
which are communicated from without can only become known
to
man through the medium of words: even his own thoughts only become
appreciable
to him when they are sufficiently distinct to be clothed
in
words (of course not necessarily _spoken_ words); and we can only
exclude
from this rule such thoughts as may be presented to the mind
through
mental sight or hearing: e.g., music might probably be composed
mentally
by imagining the _sounds_, or mechanical contrivances invented
by
imagining the _objects_; but any argument, any story, which is,
capable
of reproduction in writing, must be thought out in words.
A
moment's thought renders this obvious; if a man is arguing with a
Frenchman
in his own language, he must, to render his arguments clear
and
powerful, _think_ in French. Now, if the Bible be inspired so as to
insure
accuracy, how can this be done except through words; for many
of
the facts recorded must, from the necessity of the case, have been
unknown
to the writers. Suppose for a moment that the Biblical account
of
the creation of the world were true, no man in that case could
possibly
have thought it out for himself. Only two theories can
reasonably
be held regarding this record: one, that it is true, which
implies
necessarily that it is literally true and verbally inspired,
since
the knowledge could only have come from the Creator, and, being
communicated
must have come in the form of words, which words being
God's,
must be literally true; the other, that it ranks with other
ancient
cosmogonies, and is simply the thought of some old writer,
giving
his idea as to the origin of the world around him. I select
the
account of the Creation as a crucial test of the verbal theory of
inspiration,
because any other account in the Bible that I can think of
has
a human actor in it, and it might be maintained--however unlikely
the
hypothesis--that a report was related or written down by one who had
been
present at the incident reported, and the inspiration of the final
writer
may be said to consist in re-writing the previous record which he
may
be directed to incorporate in his own work. But no one witnessed
the
creation of the world, save the Creator, or, at the most, He and
His
angels, and the account given of it must, if true, be word for word
divine;
or, if false--as it is--must be nothing more than human
fancy.
We must push this argument one step further. If the account was
communicated
only to the man's _mind_, in words rising internally to
the
inward ear alone, how could the man distinguish between these
divine
thoughts rising in his mind, and his own human thoughts rising in
exactly
the same manner? Thoughts rise in our minds, we know not how; we
only
become conscious of them when they are there, and, as far as we can
judge,
they are produced quite naturally according to certain laws. But
how
is it possible for us to distinguish whence these thoughts come?
There
they are, ours, not another's--ours as the child is the father's
and
mother's, the product of their own beings. If my thought is not
mine,
but God's, how am I to know this? it is produced within me as my
own,
and the source of one thought is not distinguishable from that of
another.
Thus, those who believe in the accuracy of the Bible are step
by
step driven to allow that not only are words necessary, but spoken
words;
if the Bible be supernaturally inspired at all, then must God
have
spoken not only in human words but also in human voice; if the
Bible
be supernaturally inspired at all, it must be verbally inspired,
and
be literally accurate about every subject on which it treats.
-------Cardiff Theosophical Society
in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
Unfortunately
for the maintainers of verbal inspiration, their theory is
splendidly
adapted for being brought before the bar of inexorable fact.
It
is worth while to remark, in passing, that the infallibility of
the
Bible has only remained unchallenged where ignorance has reigned
supreme;
as soon as men began to read history and to study nature,
they
also began to question scriptural accuracy, and to defy scriptural
authority.
Infallibility can only live in twilight: so far, every
infallibility
has fallen before advancing knowledge, save only the
infallibility
of Nature, which is the infallibility of God Himself.
Protestants
consider Roman Catholics fools, in that they are not able to
see
that the Pope cannot be infallible, because one Pope has cursed
what
another Pope has blessed. They can see in the case of others that
contradiction
destroys infallibility, but they cannot see the force of
the
same argument when applied to their own pope, the Bible. Strong in
their
"invincible ignorance," they bring us a divinely-inspired book;
"good,"
we answer; "then is your book absolutely true, and it will
square
with all known truth in science and history, and will, of course,
never
be self-contradictory." The first important question which arises
in
our minds as we open so instructive a book as a revelation from on
high,
refers naturally to the Great Inspirer. The Bible contains, as
might
indeed be reasonably expected, many statements as to the nature
of
God, and we inquire of it, in the first place, the character of its
Author.
May we hope to see Him in this world? "Yes," answers Exodus.
"Moses
in days gone by spoke to God face to face, and seventy-four
Israelites
saw Him, and eat and drank in His presence." We have scarcely
taken
in this answer when we hear the same voice proceed: "No; for God
said
thou canst not see my face, for there shall no man see me and live;
while
John declares that no man hath seen Him, and Paul, that no man
neither
hath nor can see Him." Is He Almighty? "Yes," says Jesus.
"With
God
all things are possible." "No," retorts Judges; "for He
could not
drive
out the inhabitants of the valley, _because_ they had chariots of
iron."
Is He just? "Yes," answers Ezekiel. "The son shall not bear the
iniquity
of the father; the soul that sinneth _it_ shall die." "No,"
says
Exodus. "The Lord declares that He visits the iniquity of the
fathers
upon the children." Is He impartial? "Yes," answers Peter.
"God
is
no respecter of persons." "No;" says Romans, "for God loved
Jacob and
hated
Esau before they were born, that His purpose of _election_ might
stand."
Is He truthful? "Yes; it is impossible for God to lie," says
Hebrews.
"No," says God of Himself, in Ezekiel. "I, the Lord, have
deceived
that prophet." Is He loving? "Yes," sings the Psalmist. "He
is
loving unto every man, and His tender mercy is over all His works."
"No,"
growls Jeremiah. "He will not pity, nor spare, nor have mercy on
them."
Is he easily pacified when offended? "Yes," says the Psalmist.
"His
wrath endureth but the twinkling of an eye." "No," says
Jeremiah.
"Ye
have kindled a fire in His anger that shall burn for ever." Unable
to
discover anything reliable about God, doubtful whether he be just or
unjust,
partial or impartial, true or false, loving or fierce, placable
or
implacable, we come to the conclusion that at all events we had
better
be friends with Him, and surely the book which reveals His will
to
us will at least tell us in what way He desires us to approach Him.
Does
He accept sacrifice? "Yes," says Genesis: "Noah sacrificed and
God
smelled
a sweet savour;" and Samuel tells us how God was prevailed on to
take
away a famine by the sacrifice of seven men, hanged up before the
Lord.
In our fear we long to escape from Him altogether and ask if this
be
possible? "Yes," says Genesis. "Adam and his wife hid from Him
in the
trees,
and He had to go-down from His heaven to see if some evil deeds
were
rightly reported to Him." "No," says Solomon. "You cannot
hide from
Him,
for His eyes are in every place." So we throw up in despair all
hope
of finding out anything reliable about Him, and proceed to search
for
some trustworthy history. We try to find out how man was made. One
account
tells us that he was made male and female, even in the image of
God
Himself; another that God made man alone, and subsequently formed
a
woman for him out of one of his own ribs. Then we find in one
chapter
that the beasts were all made, and, lastly, that God made "His
masterpiece,
man." In another chapter we are told that God having made
man
thought it not good to leave him by himself, and proceeded to make
every
beast and fowl, saying that he would make Adam a help-meet for
him;
on bringing them to Adam, however, none was found worthy to mate
with
him, so woman was tried as a last experiment. As we read on we find
evident
marks of confusion; double, or even treble, accounts of the same
incident,
as, for instance, the denying a wife and its consequences.
Then
we see Moses fearing Pharaoh's wrath, and flying out of Egypt to
avoid
the king's wrath, and not venturing to return until after his
death,
and are therefore surprised to learn from Hebrews that he forsook
Egypt
by faith, _not fearing_ the wrath of the king. Then we come across
numberless
contradictions in Kings and Chronicles, in prophecy and
history.
Ezekiel prophecies that Nebuchadnezzar shall conquer Tyrus, and
destroy
it and _take all its riches_; and a few chapters afterwards it
is
recorded that he did accordingly attack Tyrus but failed, and that as
he
got _no wages_ for this attack he should have Egypt for his failure.
In
the New Testament the contradictions are endless; Joseph, the
husband
of Mary, had two fathers, Jacob and Heli; Salah is in the same
predicament,
for although the son of Canaan, Arphaxad begat him. When
John
was cast into prison, Jesus _began_ to preach, although He had been
preaching
and gaining disciples while John was still at large. Jesus
sent
the Twelve to preach, telling them to take a staff, and yet bidding
them
to take none. He eat the Passover with His disciples, although He
was
crucified before that feast. He had one title on his cross, but
it
is verbally inspired in four different ways. He rose with many
variations
of date and time, and ascended the same evening, although He
subsequently
went into Galilee and remained on earth for forty days.
He
sent word to His disciples to meet Him in Galilee, and yet suddenly
appeared
among them as they sat quietly together the same evening at
Jerusalem.
Stephen's history contradicts our Old Testament. When Paul
is
converted, his companions hear a voice, although another account says
that
they heard none at all. After his conversion he goes in and out at
Jerusalem
with the Apostles, although, strangely enough, he sees none of
them,
except Peter and James. But one might spend pages in noting these
inconsistencies,
while even one of them destroys the verbal inspiration
theory.
From these contradictions I maintain that one of two things must
follow,
either the Bible is not an inspired book, or else inspiration is
consistent
with much error, as I shall presently show.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
I
am quite ready to allow that the Bible _is_ inspired, and I therefore
lay
down as my first canon of inspiration, that: "Inspiration does
not
prevent inaccuracy." I turn to the second class of orthodox
inspirationists,
who, while allowing that verbal inspiration is proved
impossible
by many trivial inconsistencies, yet affirm that God's
overruling
power ensures substantial accuracy, and that its history
and
science are perfectly true and are to be relied on. To test this
assertion,
we--after noting that Bible history is, as has been remarked
above,
continually self-contradictory--turn to other histories and
compare
the Bible with them. We notice first that many important
Biblical
occurrences are quite ignored by "profane" historians. We
are
surprised to see that while the Babylonish captivity left marks on
Israel
which are plainly seen, Egypt left no trace on Israel's names
or
customs, and Israel no trace on Egypt's monuments. The doctrine of
angels
comes not from heaven, but slips into Jewish theology from the
Persian;
while immortality is brought to light neither by Hebrew prophet
nor
by the Gospel of Jesus, but by the people among whom the Jews
resided
during the Babylonish captivity. The Jewish Scriptures which
precede
the captivity know of nothing beyond the grave; the Jewish
Scriptures
after the captivity are radiant with the light of a life
to
come; to these Jesus adds nothing of joy or hope. The very central
doctrine
of Christianity--the Godhead of Jesus--is nothing but a
repetition
of an idea of Greek philosophy borrowed by early Christian
writers,
and is to be found in Plato and Philo as clearly as in the
fourth
Gospel. Science contradicts the Bible as much as does history;
geology
laughs at its puny periods of creation; astronomy destroys its
heavens,
and asks why this little world took a week in making, while the
sun
and moon and the countless stars were rapidly turned out in twelve
hours;
natural history wonders why the kangaroos did not stay in Asia
after
the Deluge, instead of undertaking the long sea voyage to far
Australia,
and enquires how the Mexicans, and Peruvians, and others,
crossed
the wide ocean to settle in America; archaeology presents its
human
bones from ancient caves, and asks how they got there, if only
six
thousand years have passed since Adam and Eve stood alone in Eden,
gazing
out on the unpeopled earth; the Pyramids point at the negro
type
distinct and clear, and ask how it comes that it was so rapidly
developed
at first, and yet has remained stationary ever since. At last,
science
gets weary of slaying a foe so puny, and goes on its way with a
smile
on its grand, still face, leaving the Bible to teach its science
to
whom it lists. Evidence so weighty crushes all life out of this
second
theory of inspiration, and gives us a second rule to guide us in
our
search: "Inspiration does not prevent ignorance and error." We may
pass
on to the third class of inspirationists, those who believe that
the
Bible is not given to man to teach him either history or science,
but
only to reveal to him what he could not discover by the use of his
natural
faculties--_e g._ the duties of morality and the nature of God.
I
must note here the subtilty of this retreat. Driven by inexorable fact
to
allow the Bible to be fallible in everything in which we can test its
assertions,
they, by a clever strategic movement, remove their defence
to
a post more difficult to attack. They maintain that the Bible is
infallible
in points where no cannonade of facts can be brought to bear
on
it. What is this but to say, that although we can prove the Bible
to
be fallible on every point capable of proof, we are still blindly to
believe
it to be infallible where demonstrated error is, from the nature
of
the case, impossible? As regards the nature of God, we have already
seen
that the Bible ascribes to him virtue and vice indifferently. We
turn
to morality, and here our first great difficulty meets us, for when
we
point to a thing and say, "that is profoundly immoral," our opponents
retort,
"it is perfectly moral." Only the progress of humanity can prove
which
of us is in the right, though here, too, we have one great fact on
our
side, and that is, the conscience in man; already men would rather
die
than imitate the actions of Old Testament saints who did that which
was
"right in the eyes of Jehovah;" and presently they will be bold
enough
to reject in words that which they already reject in deeds. Few
would
put the Bible freely into the hands of a child, any more than
they
would give freely to the young the unpurged editions of Swift and
Sterne;
and I imagine that the most pious parents would scarcely see
with
un-mingled pleasure their son and daughter of fifteen and sixteen
studying
together the histories and laws of the Pentateuch. But taking
the
Bible as a rule of life, are we to copy its saints and its laws?
For
instance, is it right for a man to marry his half-sister, as did the
great
ancestor of the Jews, Abraham, the friend of God?--a union, by the
way,
which is forbidden by Jewish law, although said to be the source of
their
race. Is the lie of the Egyptian midwives right, because Jehovah
blessed
them for it, even as Jael is pronounced blessed by Deborah, the
prophetess,
for her accursed treachery and murder? Is the robbery of the
Egyptians
right, because commanded by Jehovah? Are the old cruel laws
of
witchcraft right, because Jehovah doomed the witch to death? Are
the
ordeals of the Middle Ages right, because derived from the laws
of
Jehovah? Is human sacrifice right, because attempted by Abraham,
enjoined
by Moses, practised by Jephthah, efficacious in turning away
God's
wrath when Saul's seven sons were offered up? Is murder right
because
Phineas wrought atonement by it, and Moses sent his murderers
throughout
the camp to stay God's anger by slaying their brethren? Is
it
right that the persons of women captives should be the prey of the
conquerors,
because the Jews were commanded by Jehovah to save alive the
virgins
and keep them for themselves, except the sixty-four reserved for
himself?
Is the man after God's own heart a worthy model for imitation?
Are
Jehu's lying and slaughter right, because right in the eyes of
Jehovah?
Is Hosea's marriage commendable, because commanded by Jehovah?
or
are the signs of Jeremiah and Ezekiel the less childish and indecent
because
they are prefaced with, "thus saith Jehovah?" Far be it from me
to
detract from the glorious morality of portions of the Bible; but if
the
whole book be inspired and infallible in its moral teaching, then,
of
course, one moral lesson is as important as another, and we have no
right
to pick and choose where the whole is divine. The harsher part of
the
Old Testament morality has burnt its mark into the world, and may
be
traced through history by the groans of suffering men and women, by
burning
witches and tortured enemies of the Lord, by flaming cities and
blood-stained
fields. If murder and rapine, treachery and lies, robbery
and
violence, were commanded long ago by Almighty God; if things are
right
and wrong only by virtue of His command, then who can say that
they
may not be right once more, when used in the cause of the Church,
and
how are we to know that Moses speaks in God's name when he commands
them,
and Torquemada only in his own? But even Christians are beginning
to
feel ashamed of some of the exploits of the "Old Testament Saints,"
and
to try and explain away some of the harsher features; we even hear
sometimes
a wicked whisper about "imperfect light," &c. Good heavens!
what
blasphemy! Imperfect light can mean nothing less than imperfect
God,
if He is responsible for the morality of these writings.
So,
from our study of the Bible we deduce another canon by which we may
judge
of inspiration:
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
"Inspiration
does not prevent moral error." There is a fourth class of
inspirationists,
the last which clings to the skirts of orthodoxy, which
is
always endeavouring to plant one foot on the rocks of science, while
it
balances the other over the quicksands of orthodox super-naturalism.
The
Broad Church school here takes one wide step away from orthodoxy,
by
allowing that the inspiration of the Bible differs only in degree and
not
in kind from the inspiration common to all mankind. They recognise
the
great fact that the inspiring Spirit of God is the source whence
flow
all good and noble deeds, and they point out that the Bible itself
refers
all good and all knowledge to that one Spirit, and that He
breathes
mechanical skill into Bezaleel and Aholiab, strength into
Samson's
arms, wisdom into Solomon, as much as He breathes the ecstacy
of
the prophet into Isaiah, faith into Paul, and love into John. They
recognise
the old legends as authentic, but would maintain as stoutly
that
He spoke to Newton through the falling of an apple, as that He
spoke
of old to Elijah by fire, or to the wise men by a star. This
school
try and remove the moral difficulties of the Old Testament by
regarding
the history recorded in it as a history which is specially
intended
to unveil the working of God through all history, and so to
gradually
reveal God as He makes Himself known to the world; thus the
grosser
parts are regarded as wholly attributable to the ignorance of
men,
and they delight to see the divine light breaking slowly through
the
thick clouds of human error and prejudice, and to trace in the
Bible
the gradual evolution of a nobler faith and a purer morality.
They
regard the miracles of Jesus as a manifestation that God underlies
Nature
and works ever therein: they believe God to be specially
manifested
in Jewish history, in order that men may understand that He
presides
over all nations and rules over all peoples. To Maurice the
Bible
is the explainer of all earth's problems, the unveiler of God, the
Bread
of Life. There is, on the whole, little to object to in the Broad
Church
view of inspiration, although liberal thinkers regret that, as a
party,
they stop half way, and are still trammelled by the half-broken
chains
of orthodoxy. For instance, they usually regard the direct
revelation
of morality as closed by Jesus and His immediate followers,
although
they allow that God has not deserted His world, nor confined
His
inspiration within the covers of a book. To them, however, the Bible
is
still _the_ inspired book, standing apart by itself, differing from
all
other sacred books. From their views of inspiration, which contains
so
much that is true, we deduce a fourth rule:
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
"Inspiration
is not confined to written words about God." From a
criticism
of the book, which is held by orthodox Christians, to be
specially
inspired, we have then gained some idea of what inspiration
does
_not_ do. It does not prevent inaccuracy, ignorance, error, nor
is
it confined to any written book. Inspiration, then, cannot be an
overwhelming
influence, crushing the human faculties and bearing along
the
subject of it on a flood which he can neither direct nor resist. It
is
a breathing--gentle and gradual--of pure thoughts into impure hearts,
tender
thoughts into fierce hearts, forgiving thoughts into revengeful
hearts.
David calls home his banished son, and he learns that, "even as
a
father pitieth his children, so is the Lord merciful unto them that
fear
Him." Paul wishes himself accursed if it may save his brethren,
and
from his own self-sacrificing love he learns that "God will have
all
men to be saved, and to come to the knowledge of the truth." Thus
inspiration
is breathed into the man's heart. "I love and forgive, weak
as
I am; what must be the depth of the love and forgiveness of God?"
David's
fierce revenge finds an echo in his writings; for man writes,
and
not God: he defaces God by ascribing to Him the passions surging
only
in his own burning Eastern heart: then, as the Spirit moves him to
forgiveness,
his song is of mercy; for he feels that his Maker must be
better
than himself. That part of the Bible is inspired, I do not deny,
in
the sense that all good thoughts are the result of inspiration, but
only
as we share the inspiration of the Bible can we distinguish between
the
noble and the base in it, between the eternal and that which is
fast
passing away. But as we do not expect to find that inspiration,
now-a-days,
guards men from much error, both of word and deed, so we
should
not expect to find it otherwise in days gone by; nor should we
wonder
that the man who spoke of God as showing His tender fatherhood by
punishing
and correcting, could so sink down into hard thoughts of that
loving
Father as to say that it was a fearful thing to fall into His
hands.
These contradictions meet us in every man; they are the highest
and
the lowest moments of the human soul. Only as we are inspired to
love
and patience in our conduct towards men will our words be inspired
when
we speak of God.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
Having
thus seen what inspiration does not do, we must glance at what
it
really is. It is, perhaps, natural that we, rejecting, as we do,
with
somewhat of vehemence, the idea of supernatural revelation, should
oftentimes
be accused of denying all revelation and disbelieving all
inspiration.
But even as we are not atheists, although we deny the
Godhead
of Jesus, so are we not unbelievers in inspiration because we
refuse
to bend our necks beneath the yoke of an inspired Bible. For we
believe
in a God too mighty and too universal to be wrapped in swaddling
clothes
or buried in a cave, and we believe in an inspiration too mighty
and
too universal to belong only to one nation and to one age. As the
air
is as free and as refreshing to us as it was to Isaiah, to Jesus, or
to
Paul, so does the spiritual air of God's Spirit breathe so softly and
as
refreshingly on our brows as on theirs. We have eyes to see and
ears
to hear quite as much as they had in Judea long ago. "If God
be
omnipresent and omniactive, this inspiration is no miracle, but a
regular
mode of God's action on conscious Spirit, as gravitation
on
unconscious matter. It is not a rare condescension of God, but a
universal
uplifting of man. To obtain a knowledge of duty, a man is not
sent
away outside of himself to ancient documents for the only rule of
faith
and practice; the Word is very nigh him, even in his heart, and
by
this word he is to try all documents whatever.... Wisdom,
Righteous-ness,
and Love are the Spirit of God in the soul of man;
wherever
these are, and just in proportion to their power, there is
inspiration
from God.... Inspiration is the in-come of God to the
soul,
in the form of Truth through the Reason, of Right through the
Conscience,
of Love and Faith through the Affections and Religious
Element....
A man would be looked on as mad who should claim miraculous
inspiration
for Newton, as they have been who denied it in the case of
Moses.
But no candid man will doubt that, humanly speaking, it was a
more
difficult thing to write the Principia than to write the Decalogue.
Man
must have a nature most sadly anomalous if, unassisted, he is
able
to accomplish all the triumphs of modern science, and yet cannot
discover
the plainest and most important principles of Religion and
Morality
without a miraculous inspiration; and still more so if, being
able
to discover by God's natural aid these chief and most important
principles,
he needs a miraculous inspiration to disclose minor
details."*
Thus we believe that inspiration from God is the birthright
of
humanity, and to be an heir of God it needs only to be a son of man.
Earth's
treasures are highly priced and hard to win, but God's blessings
are,
like the rain and the sunshine, showered on all-comers.
"'Tis only heaven is given away;
'Tis only God may be had for the asking;
No price is set on the lavish summer;
June may be had by the poorest
comer."
* Theodore Parker.
If
inspiration were indeed that which it is thought to be by the
orthodox
Christians, surely we ought to be able to distinguish its
sayings
from those of the uninspired. If inspiration be confined to the
Christian
Bible, how is it that the inspired thoughts were in many cases
spoken
out to the world hundreds of years before they fell from the
lips
of an inspired Jew? It seems a somewhat uncalled for miraculous
interference
for a man to be supernaturally inspired to inform the world
of
some moral truth which had been well known for hundreds of years to
a
large portion of the race. Or is it that a great moral truth bears
within
itself so little evidence of its royal birth, that it cannot be
accepted
as ruler by divine right over men until its proclamation is
signed
by some duly accredited messenger of the Most High? Then, indeed,
must
God be "more cognizable by the senses than by the soul;" and then
"the
eye or the ear is a truer and quicker percipient of Deity than the
Spirit
which came forth from Him."* Was Paul inspired when he wished
himself
accursed for his brethren's sake, but Kwan-yin uninspired, when
she
said, "Never will I seek nor receive private individual salvation;
never
enter into final peace alone?" If Jesus and the prophets were
inspired
when they placed mercy above sacrifice, was Manu uninspired
in
saying that a man "will fall very low if he performs ceremonial acts
only,
and fails to discharge his moral duties"? Was Jesus inspired when
he
taught that the whole law was comprehended in one saying, namely,
"Thou
shalt love thy neighbour as thyself?" and yet was Confucius
uninspired
when, in answer to the question, "What one word would serve
as
a rule to one's whole life?" he said, "Reciprocity; what you do not
wish
done to yourself, do not to others." Or take the Talmud and study
it,
and then judge from what uninspired source Jesus drew much of His
highest
teaching. "Whoso looketh on the wife of another with a lustful
eye,
is considered as if he had committed adultery."--(Kalah.) "With
what
measure we mete, we shall be measured again."--(Johanan.) "What
thou
wouldst not like to be done to thyself, do not to others; this
is
the fundamental law."--(Hillel.) "If he be admonished to take the
splinter
out of his eye, he would answer, Take the beam out of
thine
own."--(Tarphon.) "Imitate God in His goodness. Be towards thy
fellow-creatures
as He is towards the whole creation. Clothe the naked;
heal
the sick; comfort the afflicted; be a brother to the children of
thy
Father." The whole parable of the houses built on the rock and on
the
sand is taken out of the Talmud, and such instances of quotation
might
be indefinitely multiplied. What do they all prove? That there is
no
inspiration in the Bible? by no means. But surely that inspiration
is
not confined to the Bible, but is spread over the world; that much
in
all "sacred books" is the outcome of inspired minds at their highest,
although
we find the same books containing gross and low thoughts.
We
should always remember that although the Bible is more specially
a
revelation to us of the Western nations than are the Vedas and the
Zend-Avesta,
that it is only so because it is better suited to our modes
of
thought, and because it has-been one of the agents in our education.
* W. R. Greg.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
The
reverence with which we may regard the Bible as bound up with
many-sacred
memories, and as the chosen teacher of many of our greatest
minds
and purest characters, is rightly directed in other nations to
their
own sacred books. The books are really all on a level, with
much
good and much bad in them all; but as the Hebrew was inspired to
proclaim
that "the Lord thy God is one Lord" to the Hebrews, so was the
Hindoo
inspired to proclaim to Hindoos, "There is only one Deity, the
great
Soul." Either all are inspired, or none are. They stand on the
same
footing. And we rejoice to-believe that one Spirit breathes in all,
and
that His inspiration is ours to-day. "The Father worketh hitherto,"
although
men fancy He is resting in an eternal Sabbath. The orthodox
tells
us that, in rejecting the rule of morality laid down for us in the
Bible,
and in trusting ourselves to this inspiration of the free Spirit
of
God, our faith and our morality will alike be shifting and unstable.
But
we reck not of their warnings; our faith and our morality are only
shifting
in this sense, that, as we grow holier, and purer, and wiser,
our
conception of God and of righteousness will rise and expand with our
growth.
It was a golden saying of one of God's noblest sons that "no man
knoweth
the Father save the Son:" to know God we must resemble Him,
as
we see in the child the likeness of the parent. But in trusting
ourselves
to the guidance of the Spirit of God, we are not building the
house
of our faith on the shifting sand; rather are we "dwelling in a
city
that hath foundations, whose builder and maker is God." Wisely was
it
sung of old, "Except the Lord build the house, their labour is but
lost
that build it." Vain are all efforts of priestly coercion; vain
all
toils of inspired books; vain the utter sacrifice of reason and
conscience;
their labour is but lost when they strive to build a temple
of
human faith, strong enough to bear the long strain of time, or the
earthquake-shock
of grief. God only, by the patient guiding of His love,
by
the direct inspiration of His Spirit, can lay, stone by stone, and
timber
by timber, that priceless fabric of trust and love, which shall
outlive
all attacks and all changes, and shall stand in the human soul
as
long as His own Eternity endures.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
ON
THE RELIGIOUS EDUCATION OF CHILDREN.
IN
every transition-stage of the world's history the question of
education
naturally comes to the front. So much depends on the first
impressions
of childhood, on the first training of the tender shoot,
that
it has always been acknowledged, from Solomon to Forster, that to
"train
up a child in the way he should go" is among the most important
duties
of fathers and citizens. To the individual, to the family, to the
State,
the education of the rising generation is a question of primary
importance.
Plato began the education of the citizens of his ideal
Republic
from the very hour of their birth; the nursing child was taken
from
the mother lest injudicious treatment should mar, in the slightest
degree,
the perfection of the future warrior. On this point modern and
ancient
wisdom clasp hands, and place the education of the child among
the
most important duties of the State. The battle at present raging
between
the advocates of "secular" and "religious" education--to
use the
cant
of the day--is a most natural and righteous recognition of the vast
interests
at stake when Church or State claims the right of training the
sons
and daughters of England. No one has yet attempted to explain why
it
should be "irreligious" to teach writing, or history, or geography;
or
why it should "destroy a child's soul" to improve his mental
faculties.
It is among the "mysteries" of the faith, why it is better
for
our poor to leave' them to grow up in both moral and intellectual
darkness,
than to dissipate the intellectual darkness by some few rays
of
knowledge, and to leave the moral training to other hands. If we left
a
starving man to die because we could only give him bread, and were
unable
to afford cheese in addition, all would unite in declaiming at
our
folly: but "religious" people would rather that our street Arabs
grew
up both heathens and brutes, than that we should improve their
minds
without Christianizing their souls. Better let a lad grow up a
thief
and a drunkard, than turn him into an artizan and a freethinker.
There
can scarcely be a better proof of the unreasonableness of
Christian
doctrine, than the Christian fear of sharpening mental
faculties,
without binding them down, at the same time, in the chains
of
dogma. Only a religion founded on reason can dare to train children's
minds
to the utmost, and then leave them free to use all the power and
keenness
acquired by that training on the investigation of any religious
doctrine
presented to them. We, who have written Tekel on the Christian
faith,
share in the opinion of the Christian clergy, that man's carnal
reason
is a terrible foe to the Christian revelation; but here we begin
to
differ from them, for while they regard this reason as a child of
the
devil, to be scourged and chained down, we do homage to it as to the
fairest
offspring of the Divine Spirit, the brightest earthly reflection
of
His glory, and the nearest image of His "Person"; we would cherish
it,
tend it, nourish it, as our Father's noblest gift to humanity, as
our
surest guide and best counsellor, as the ear which hears His voice,
and
the eye which sees Him, as the sharpest weapon against superstition,
the
ultimate arbiter on earth between right and wrong. To us, then,
education
is ranged on the side of God; we welcome it freely and gladly,
because
all truth, all light, all knowledge, are foes of falsehood, of
darkness,
of ignorance. If we mistake error for truth a brighter light
will
set us right, and we only wish to be taught truth, not to be proved
right.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
Most
liberal thinkers agree in recognizing the fact that the duties of
the
State in the matter of education must, in the nature of things, be
purely
"secular:" that is to say, that while the State insists that the
future
citizen shall be taught at least the elements of learning, so as
to
fit him or her for fulfilling the duties of that citizenship, it has
no
right to insist on impressing on the mind of its pupil any set of
religious
dogmas or any form of religious creed. The abdication by the
State
of the pretended right of enforcing on its citizens any special
form
of religion, is not at all identical with the opposition by the
State
to religious teaching; It is merely a development of the very wise
maxim
of the great Jewish Teacher, to render the things of Caesar
to
Caesar, and the things of God to God. To teach reading, writing,
honesty,
regard for law, these things are Caesar's duties; to teach
religious
dogma, creed, or article, is entirely the province of the
teachers
who claim to hold the truth of God.
But
my object now is not to draw the line between the duties of Church
and
State, of school and home; nor do I wish to enter the lists of
sectarian
controversy, to break a lance in favour of a new religious
dogma.
The question is rather this: "What are the limits of the
religious
education which it is wise to impose on the young? Is any
dogmatic
teaching to be a part of their moral training, and is the
dogmatism
against which we have rebelled to be revived in a new form?
Are
the fetters which we are breaking for ourselves to be welded
together
again for the young limbs of our children? Are they to be fed
on
the husks which have starved our own religious aspirations, and which
we
have analysed, and rejected as unfit to sustain our moral and mental
vigour?
On the other hand, are our children to grow up without any
religious
teaching at all, without a ray of that sunshine which is
to
most of us the very source of our gladness, and the renewal of our
strength?"
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
I
think the best way of deciding this question is to notice the gradual
development
of the childish body and mind. Nature's indications are a
sure
guide-post, and we cannot go very far wrong in following her hints.
I
am now on ground with which mothers are familiar, though perhaps few
men
have watched young children with sufficient attention to be able to
note
their gradual development. The first instincts of a baby are purely
personal:
the "not-I" is for it nonexistent: food, warmth, cleanliness,
comprise
all its needs and all our duties to it. The next stage is
when
the infant becomes conscious of the existence of something outside
itself:
when, vaguely and indistinctly, but yet decidedly, it shows
signs
of observing the things around it: to cultivate observation, to
attract
attention, slowly to guide it into distinguishing one object
from
another, are the next steps in its education. The child soon
succeeds
in distinguishing forms, and learns to attach different sounds
to
different shapes: it is also taught to avoid some things and to play
with
others: it awakes to the knowledge that while some objects give
pleasure,
others give pain: so far as material things go, it learns
to
choose the good and to avoid the evil. This power is only gained by
experience,
and is therefore acquired but gradually, and after a time,
side
by side with it, runs another lesson; slowly and gradually there
appears
a dawning appreciation of "right" and "wrong." This
appreciation
is
not, however, at first an appreciation of any intrinsic rightness or
wrongness
in any given action; it is simply a recognition on the child's
part
that some of its acts meet with approval, others with disapproval,
from
its elders. The standard of its seniors is unquestioningly
accepted
by the child. The moral sense awakes, but is completely guided
in
its first efforts by the hand of the child's teacher, as completely
as
the first efforts to walk are directed by the mother. Thus it comes
to
pass that the conscience of the child is but the reflex of the
conscience
of its parents or guardians: "right" and "wrong" in a
child's
vocabulary are in the earliest stages equivalent to "reward"
and
"punishment;" its final court of appeal in cases of morality is the
judgment
of the parent.*
* The moral sense does show itself,
however, in very young
children, in a higher form than this; for
we may often
observe in a young child an instinctive
sense of shame at
having done wrong. But the moral sense is
awakened and
educated by the parents' approval and
disapproval. This may
be proved, I think, by the fact that a
child brought up
among thieves and evil-livers will accept
their morality as
a matter of course, and will steal and lie
habitually,
without attaching to either act any idea
of wrong. The moral
sense is inherent in man, and is in no way
_given_ by the
parent; but I think that it is first
aroused and put into
action by the parent; the parent accustoms
the child to
regard certain actions as right and wrong;
this appeals to
the moral sense in the child, and the child
very rapidly is
ashamed of wrong, as wrong, and not simply
from dread of
punishment. I would be understood to mean,
in the text, that
the wish for reward is the first response
of the child to
the idea of an inherent distinction between
different
actions; this feeling rapidly developes
into the true moral
sense, which regards right as right, and
wrong as wrong.
I append this note at the suggestion of a
valued friend, who
feared that the inference might be drawn from
the text that
the moral sense was implanted by the
parent instead of
being, as it is, the gift of God.
It
is perhaps scarcely accurate to call this motive power in the child
a
_moral_ sense at all; still, this recognition of some thing which
is
immaterial and intangible, and which is yet to be the guide of its
actions,
is a great step forward from the simple consciousness of outer
and
material objects, and is truly the dawn of that moral sense which
becomes
in men and women the test of right and wrong. So far we have
considered
the growing faculties of the child as regards physical and
moral
development, and I particularly wish to remark that the moral
sense
appears long before any "religious" tendency can be noted. There
is,
however, another side of the complete human character which is very
important,
but which is slow in showing itself in any healthy child; I
mean
what may be called the _spiritual_ sense, in distinction from the
moral;
the sense which is the crowning grace of humanity, the sense
which
belongs wholly to the immortal part of man: the outstretched hands
of
the human spirit groping after the Eternal Spirit; the yearning after
that
all-pervading Power which men call God. I know well that in many
precociously-pious
children this spiritual sense is forced into a
premature
and unwholesome maturity; by means of a spiritual hot-house
the
summer-fruit of piety may be obtained in the spring-time of the
childish
heart. The imitative instinct of childhood quickly reproduces
the
sentiments around it, and set phrases which meet with admiration
flow
glibly from baby-lips. But this strongly developed religious
feeling
in a child is both unnatural and harmful, and can never, because
it
is unreal, produce any lasting good effect. Yet is it none the less
true
that, at an early age, differing much in different children, the
"spiritual
sense" does show signs of awakening; that children soon begin
to
wonder about things around them, and to ask questions which can only
find
their true answer in the name of God. How to meet these questions,
how
to train this growing sentiment without crushing it on the one hand,
and
without unduly stimulating it on the other, is a source of deep
anxiety
to many a mother's heart in the present day. They are unable
to
tell their children the stories which satisfied their own childish
cravings:
no longer can they hold up before the eager faces the picture
of
the manger at Bethlehem, or dim the bright eyes with the story of the
cross
on Calvary; no longer can they fold the little hands in prayer to
the
child of Nazareth, or hush the hasty tongue with the reminder of
the
obedience of the Virgin's son. To a certain extent this is a loss.
A
child quickly seizes the concrete; the idea of the child Jesus or the
man
Jesus is readily grasped by a child's intellect; the God of the Old
Testament,
the "magnified man," is also, though more dimly, understood.
These
conceptions of the childhood of humanity suit the childhood of the
individual,
and it is far more difficult for the child to realize the
idea
of God when he is divested of these materialistic garments. Yet I
speak
from experience when I say that it is by no means impossible to
train
a child into the simplest and happiest feelings as regards the
Supreme
Being, without degrading the Divine into the human. By one name
we
can speak of God by which He will be readily welcomed to the child's
heart,
and that is the name of the Father. Most children are keenly
alive
to natural beauties, and are quick to observe birds, and flowers,
and
sunshine; at times they will ask how these things come there, and
then
it is well to tell them that they are the works of God Thus the
child's
first notions of the existence of a Power he cannot see or feel
will
come to him clothed in the things he loves, and will be free from
any
suggestion of fear.* Even those who regard God from the stand-point
of
Pantheism may use natural objects so as to train the child into a
fearless
and happy recognition of the constant working of the Spirit
of
Nature, and so guard the young mind against that shrinking from, and
terror
of God, which popular Christianity is so apt to induce. The lad
or
girl who grows up with even the habit of regarding God as the calm
and
mighty motive-power of the forces of Nature, changeless, infinite,
absolutely
trustworthy, will be slow to accept in later life the crude
conceptions
which incarnate the creative power in a virgin's womb, and
ascribe
caprice, injustice, and cruelty to the mighty Spirit of the
Universe.
* The ordinary shrinking of a child from
the idea of a
Presence which he cannot see, but which
sees him, will not
be felt by children whose only ideas about
God are that He
is the Father from whose hand come all
beautiful things. In
any home where the parents' thoughts of
God are free from
doubt and mistrust, the children's
thoughts will be the same;
religion, in their eyes, will be
synonymous with
happiness, for God and good will be
convertible terms.
There
is a deep truth in the idea of Pantheism, that "Nature is an
apparition
of the Deity, God in a mask;" that "He is the light of the
morning,
the beauty of the noon, and the strength of the sun. He is the
One,
the All... The soul of all; more moving than motion, more stable
than
rest; fairer than beauty, and stronger than strength. The power of
Nature
is God... He is the All; the Reality of all phenomena." The child
fed
on this food will have scarcely anything to unlearn, even when he
begins
to believe that God is something more than Nature; "the created
All
is the symbol of God," and he will pass easily and naturally on from
seeing
God in Nature to see Him in a higher form.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
Of
course, as a Theist, I should myself go much further than this: I
should
speak of all natural glory as but the reflection of the Deity,
or
as the robe in which He veils His infinite beauty; I should bid
my
children rejoice in all happiness as in the gift of a Father who
delights
in sharing His joy with His creatures; I should point out that
the
pain caused by ignorance of, or by breaking natural laws, is God's
way
of teaching men obedience for their own ultimate good: in the
freedom
and fulness of Nature's gifts I should teach them to see the
equal
love of God for all; through marking that in Nature's visible
kingdom
no end can be gained without labour and without using certain
laws,
they should learn that in the invisible kingdom they need not
expect
to find favouritism, nor think to share the fruits of victory
without
patient toil. To all who believe in a God who is also the Father
of
Spirits such teaching as this comes easily; as they themselves learn
of
God only through His works, so they naturally teach their children to
seek
Him in the same way.
The
questions, so familiar to every mother, "Can God see me?" "Where
is
God?"
can only be met with the simple assertion that God sees all, and
is
everywhere. For there are many childish questions which it is wisest
to
meet with statements which are above the grasp of the childish mind.
These
statements may be simply given to the child as statements which it
is
too young either to question or to understand. Nothing is gained
by
trying to smooth down spiritual subjects to the level of a child's
capacity;
the time will come later when the child must meet and answer
for
itself all great spiritual questions; the parent's care should be to
remove
all hindrances from the child's path of inquiry, but not to give
it
cut-and-dried answers to every possible question; religion, to be
worth
anything, must be a personal matter, and each must find it out for
himself;
the wise parent will endeavour to save the child from the pain
of
unlearning, by giving but little formal religious teaching; he cannot
fight
the battle for his child, but he can prevent his being crippled by
a
fancied armour which will stifle rather than protect him; he can give
a
few wide principles to direct him, without weighing him down with
guide-books.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
But
even the most general ideas of God should not be forced on a
childish
mind; they should come, so to speak, by chance; they should be
presented
in answer to some demand of the child's heart; they should
be
inculcated by stray words and passing remarks; they should form the
atmosphere
surrounding the child habitually, and not be a sudden "wind
of
doctrine." Of course all this is far more troublesome than to teach
a
child a catechism or a creed, but it is a far higher training. Dogma,
_i
e_., conviction petrified by authority, should be utterly excluded
from
the religious education of children; a few great axiomatic truths
may
be laid down, but even in these primary truths dogmatism should be
avoided.
The parent should always take care to make it apparent that he
is
stating his own convictions, but is not enforcing them on the child
by
his authority. So far as the child is capable of appreciating them,
the
reasons for the religious conviction should be presented along with
the
conviction itself. Thus the child will see, as he grows older, that
religion
cannot be learned by rote, that it is not shut up in a book, or
contained
in creeds; he will appreciate the all-important fact that free
inquiry
is the only air in which truth can breathe; that one man's faith
cannot
justly be imposed on another, and that every individual soul has
the
privilege and the responsibility of forming his own religion, and
must
either hear God with his own ears, or else not hear Him at all.
We
have noticed that the moral sense awakes before the religious (I must
state
my repugnance to these terms, although I use them for the sake of
clearness;
but morality _is_ religion, although religion is more than
morality,
and the so-called religion which is not morality is worthless
and
hateful). There remains then to consider what we will call the
second
side of religion, although it is by far its most important side.
True
religion consists not only in feelings towards God, but also in
duties
towards men: the first, noble and blessed as they are, should, in
every
healthy religion, give place to the second; for a morally good man
who
does not believe in God at all, is in a far higher state of being
than
the man who believes in God and is selfish, cruel or unjust. Error
in
faith is forgiveable; error in life is fatal. The good man shall
surely
see God, although, for a time, his eyes be holden; the evil man,
though
he hold the noblest faith yet known, shall never taste the joy of
God,
until he turns from sin, and struggles after holiness. Faith first,
and
then morality, is the war-cry of the churches; morality above all,
and
let faith follow in good time, is the watch-word of Theism; so,
among
us, the principal part of the religious training of our children
should
be morality; religious feeling may be over-strained, or give rise
to
self-deception; religious talk may be morbid and unreal; religious
faith
may be erring, and must be imperfect; but morality is a rock which
can
never be shaken, a guide which can never mislead. Whether we are
right
or wrong in our belief about God, whether we are immortal spirits
or
perishable organizations, yet purity is nobler than vice, courage
than
cowardice, truth than falsehood, love than hate. Let us, then,
teach
our children morality above all things. Let us teach them to love
good
for its own sake, without thought of reward, and they will remain
good,
even if, in after life, they should, alas! lose all hope of
immortality
and all faith hi God. A child's natural instinct is towards
good;
a tale of heroism, of self sacrifice, of generosity, will bring
the
eager blood flushing up to a child's face and wake a quick response
and
a desire of emulation. It is therefore well to place in children's
hands
tales of noble deeds in days gone by. Nothing is easier than to
train
a child into feeling a desire to be good for the sake of being so.
There
is something so attractive in goodness, that I have found it more
effectual
to hold up the nobility of courage and unselfishness before
the
child's eyes, than to descend to punishment for the corresponding
faults.
If a child is in the habit of regarding all wrong as something
low
and degrading, he quickly shrinks from it; all mothers know the
instinctive
ambition of children to be something superior and admirable,
and
this instinct is most useful in inculcating virtue. Later in life
nothing
ruins a young man like discovering that morality and religion
are
often divorced, and that the foremost professors of religion are
less
delicately honourable and trustworthy than high-minded "worldly
men;"
on the other hand, nothing will have so beneficial an effect on
men
and women entering life, as to see that those who are most joyful in
their
faith towards God, lead the purest and most blameless lives. "Do
good,
be good" is, as has been well said, the golden rule of life;
"do
good, be good" must be the law impressed on our children's hearts.
Whatever
"eclipse of faith" may await England, whatever darkness of most
hopeless
scepticism, whatever depth of uttermost despair of God, there
is
not only the hope, but the certainty of the resurrection of religion,
if
we all hold fast through the driving storm to the sheet-anchor of
pure
morality, to most faithful discharge of all duty towards man to
love,
and tenderness, and charity, and patience. Morality never faileth;
but,
whether there be dogmas, they shall fail; whether there be creeds,
they
shall cease; whether there be churches, they shall crumble away;
but
morality shall abide for evermore and endure as long as the endless
circle
of Nature revolves around the Eternal Throne.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
NATURAL
RELIGION VERSUS REVEALED RELIGION.
ONE
is almost ashamed to repeat so trite an aphorism as the well-worn
saying
that "history repeats itself." But in studying the course taken
by
the advocates of what is called "revealed religion," in seeing their
disdain
of "mere nature," their scornful repudiation of the idea that
any
poor natural product can come into competition with their special
article,
hall-stamped by heaven itself, I feel irresistibly compelled
to
glance backwards down the long vista of history, and there I see
the
conflict of the present day raging fierce and long. I see the same
serried
ranks of orthodoxy marshalled by bishops and priests, arrayed
in
all the splendour of prescriptive right, armed with mighty weapons
of
authority and thunderbolts of Church anathemas. Their war-cry is the
same
as that which rings in our ears to-day; "revelation" is inscribed
on
their banners and "infallible authority" is the watchword of their
camp.
The Church is facing nature for the first time, and is setting her
revealed
science against natural science. "Mere Nature" is temporarily
getting
the worst of it, and Galileo, Nature's champion, is sorely
pressed
by "revealed truth." I hear scornful taunts at his presumption
in
attacking revealed science by his pretended natural facts. Had they
not
God's Own account of His creation, and did he pretend to know more
about
the matter than God Himself? Was he present when God created the
world,
that he spoke so positively about its shape? Could he declare, of
his
own personal knowledge, that it was sent hurtling through space in
the
ridiculous manner he talked about, and could he, by the evidence of
his
own eye-sight, declare that God was mistaken when He revealed to man
how
He "laid the foundation of the earth that it never should move at
anytime?"
But if he was only reasoning from the wee bit of earth he
knew,
was he not speaking of things he had not seen, being vainly
puffed-up
in his fleshly mind? Was it probable, _à priori_, that
God
would allow mankind to be deceived for thousands of years on so
important
a matter; would in fact--God forgive it!--deceive man Himself
by
revealing through His holy prophets an account of His creation
which
was utterly untrue; nay, further, would carry on the delusion for
century
after century, by working miracles in support of it--for what
but
a miracle could make men unconscious of the fact that they were
being
hurried through space at so tremendous a rate? Surely very little
reverence,
or rather no reverence at all, was needed to allow that God
the
Holy Ghost, who inspired the Bible, knew better than we did how
He
made the world. But, the theologian proceeds, he must remind his
audience
that, under the specious pretext of investigating the creation,
this
man, this pseudo-scientist, was in reality blaspheming the Creator,
by
contradicting His revealed word, and thus "making Him a liar." It
was
all very well to talk about _natural_ science; but he would ask this
presuming
speculator, what was the use of God revealing science to us if
man's
natural faculties were sufficient to discover it for himself? They
had
sufficient proofs of the absurdities of science into which reason,
unenlightened
by revelation, had betrayed men in past ages. The idea of
the
Hindoo, that the world rested on an elephant and the elephant on
a
tortoise, was a sad proof of the incapacity of the acutest natural
intellect
to discover scientific truth without the aid of revelation.
Reason
had its place, and a very noble placer in science; but it must
always
bow before revelation, and not presume to set its puny guesses
against
a "thus sayeth the Lord." Let reason, then, pursue its way with
belief
not unbelief, for its guide. What could reason, with all its
vaunted
powers, tell us of the long-past creation of the world? Eye hath
not
seen those things of ages past, but God hath revealed them to us by
His
Spirit. A darkness that might be felt would enshroud the origin of
the
world were it not for the magnificent revelation of Moses, that "in
six
days God created the heaven and the earth." He might urge how our
conceptions
of God were enlarged and elevated, and what a deep awe
filled
the adoring heart on contemplating the revealed truth, that this
wonderful
earth with its varied beauty, and the heavens above with their
countless
stars, were all called forth out of nothing within the space
of
one short week by the creative fiat of the Almighty. What could this
pseudo-science
give them in exchange for such a revelation as that? Was
it
probable, further, that God would have become incarnate for the sake
of
a world that was only one out of many revolving round the sun? How
irreverent
to regard the theatre of that awful sacrifice as aught less
than
the centre of the universe, the cynosure of angelic eyes, gazing
from
their thrones in the heaven above! Galileo might say that his
heresy
does not affect the primary truths of our holy faith; but this is
only
one of the evasions natural to evildoers--and it is unnecessary
to
remark that intellectual error is invariably the offspring of moral
guilt--for
consider how much is involved in his theory. The inspiration
of
Scripture receives its death-blow; for if fallible in one point, we
have
no reason to conclude it to be infallible in others. If there is
one
fact revealed to us more clearly than another in Holy Scripture, it
is
this one of the steadfastness of our world, which we are distinctly
told,
"cannot be moved." It is plainly revealed to us that the earth was
created
and fixed firmly on its foundations; that then there was formed
over
it the vast vault of heaven, in which were set the stars, and in
this
vault was prepared "the course" for the sun, spoken of, as you will
remember,
in the 19th Psalm, where holy David reveals to us that in the
heavens
God has made a tabernacle for the sun, which "goeth forth from
the
uttermost part of the heaven, and runneth about unto the end of
it
again." Language has no definiteness of meaning if this inspired
declaration
can be translated into a statement that the sun remains
stationary
and is encircled by a revolving earth. This great revealed
truth
cannot be contradicted by any true science. God's works
cannot
contradict His word; and if for a moment they appear mutually
irreconcileable,
we may be sure that our ignorance is to blame, and that
a
deeper knowledge will ultimately remove the apparent inconsistency.
But
it is yet more important to observe that some of the cardinal
doctrines
of the Church are assailed by this novel teaching. How could
our
blessed Redeemer, after accomplishing the work of our salvation,
ascend
from a revolving earth? Whither did He go? North, south, east, or
west?
For, if I understand aright this new heresy, the space above us
at
one time is below us at another, and thus Jesus might be actually
descending
at His glorious Ascension. Where, too, is that Right Hand of
God
to which He went, in this new universe without top or bottom? How
can
we hope to rise and meet Him in the air at His return, according to
the
most sure promise given to us through the blessed Paul, if He comes
we
know not from what direction? How can the lightning of His coming
shine
at once all round a globe to herald His approach, or how can the
people
at the other side of the world see the sign of the Son of Man in
the
heavens? But I cannot bring myself to accumulate these blasphemies;
all
must see that the most glorious truths of the Bible are bound up
with
its science, and must stand or fall together. And if this is so,
and
this so-called natural science is to be allowed to undermine the
revealed
science, what have we got to rely upon in this world or in the
next?
With the absolute truth of the Bible stands or falls our faith in
God
and our hope of immortality; on the truth of revelation hinges all
morality,
and they who deny to-day the truth of revealed science
will
tamper tomorrow with the truth of revealed history, of revealed
morality,
of revealed religion. Shall we, then, condescend to accept
natural
science instead of revealed; shall we, the teachers of
revelation,
condescend to abandon revealed science, and become the mere
teachers
of nature?
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
Thunders
of applause greeted the right reverend theologian as he
concluded--he
happened to be a bishop, the direct ancestor in regular
apostolical
succession of a late prelate who inherited among other
valuable
qualities the very argument which closed the speech above
quoted--and
Galileo, the foolish believer in facts and the heretical
student
of mere nature, turned away with a sigh from trying to convince
them,
and contented himself with the fact he knew, and which must surely
announce
itself in the long run. _E pur si muove!_ Fear not, noble
martyr
of science: facts alter not to suit theologies: many a one may
fall
crushed and vanquished before the Juggernaut-car of the Church, but
"God
does not die with His children, nor truth with its martyrs;" the
natural
is the divine, for Nature is only "God in a mask." So, looking
down
at that first great battle-field between nature and revelation I
see
the serried ranks break up and fly, and the excommunicated student
become
the prophet of the future, Galileo the seer, the revealer of the
truth
of God.
It
is eternally true that nature must triumph in the long run.
Theories
are very imposing, doubtless, but when they are erected on a
misconception
the inexorable fact is sure to assert itself sooner or
later,
and with pitiless serenity level the magnificent fabric with
the
dust. It is this which gives to scientific men so grave and calm an
attitude;
theologians wrangle fiercely and bitterly because they wrangle
about
_opinions_, and one man's say is as good as another's where both
deal
in intangibles; but the man of science, when absolutely sure of his
ground,
_can afford to wait_, because the fact he has discovered remains
unshaken,
however it be assailed, and it will, in time, assert itself.
When
nature and revelation then come into contact, revelation must go to
the
wall; no outcry can save it; it is doomed; as well try and dam the
rising
Thames with a feather, as seek to bolster up a theology whose
main
dogmas are being slowly undermined by natural science. Of course
no
one nowadays (at least among educated people, for Zadkiel's Almanac
I
believe still protests on Biblical grounds against the heresy of the
motion
of the earth) dreams of maintaining Bible, _i e_., revealed,
science
against natural science; it is agreed on all hands that on
points
where science speaks with certainty the words of the _Bible must
be
explained so as to accord with the dictum of nature_; _i e._, it
is
allowed--though the admission is wrapped up in thick folds of
circumlocution--that
science must mould revelation, and not revelation
science.
The desperate attempts to force the first chapter of Genesis
into
some faint resemblance to the ascertained results of geological
investigations
are a powerful testimony to the conscious weakness of
revealed
science and to the feeling on the part of all intelligent
theologians
that the testimony graven with an iron pen on the rocks
cannot
be contradicted or refuted. In fact so successfully has science
asserted
its own preeminence in its own domain that many defenders of
the
Bible assert loudly, to cover their strategic movement to the rear,
that
revelation was not intended to teach science, and that scientific
mistakes
were only to be expected in a book given to mankind by the
great
Origin of all scientific law. They are freely welcome to find
out
any reasons they like for the errors in revealed science; all
that
concerns us is that their revelation should get out of the way of
advancing
science, and should no longer interpose its puny anathemas
to
silence inquiry into facts, or to fetter free research and free
discussion.
But
I challenge revelation further than this, and assert that when the
dictates
of natural_ religion_ are in opposition to those of revealed
_religion_
then the natural must again triumph over the revealed.
Christianity
has so long successfully impressed on human hearts the
revelation
that natural impulses are in themselves sinful, that in "the
flesh
dwelleth no good thing," that man is a fallen creature, thoroughly
corrupt
and instinctively evil, that it has come to-pass that even those
who
would be liberal if they dared, shrink back when it comes to casting
away
their revelation-crutches, and ask wildly _what_ they can trust
to
if they give up the Bible. Their teachers tell them that if they let
this
go they will wander compassless on the waves of a pathless ocean;
and
so determinedly do they fix their eyes on the foaming waters,
striving
to discern there the trace of a pathway and only seeing the
broken
reflections of the waving torches in their hands, that they do
not
raise their heads and gaze upwards at the everlasting stars, the
silent
natural guides of the bewildered mariner. "Trust to mere nature!"
exclaim
the priesthood, and their flocks fall back aghast, clutching
their
revelation to their bosom and crying out: "What indeed is there to
rely
on if this be taken from us?" Only God. "Mere" God indeed, who
is
a
very feeble support after the bolstering up of creeds and dogmas,
of
Churches and Bibles. As the sunshine dazzles eyes accustomed to the
darkness,
as the fresh wind makes shiver an invalid from a heated room,
so
does the light of God dazzle those who live amid the candles of the
Churches,
and the breath of His inspiration blows cold on feeble souls.
But
the light and the air invigorate and strengthen, and nature is a
surer
medicine than the nostrums of the quack physician.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
"Mere"
God is, in very truth, all that we Theists have to offer the
world
in exchange for the certainties of its Bibles, Korans, Vedas, and
all
other revelations whatsoever. On points where they each speak with
certainty,
our lips are dumb. About much they assert, we confess our
ignorance.
Where they know, we only think or hope. Where they possess
all
the clearness of a sign-post, our eyes can only study the mistiness
of
a valley before the rising sun has dispelled the wreathing clouds.
They
proclaim immortality, and are quite _au fait_ as to the particulars
of
our future life. They differ in details, it is true, as to whether
we
live in a jewelled city, where the dust is gold-dust and the gates
pearls,
and spend our time in attending Sacred Harmonic Societies with
an
archangelic Costa directing perpetual oratorios, or whether we lie in
rose-embowered
arbours with delights unlimited, albeit unintellectual;
but
if we take them one at a time they are most satisfactory in the
absolute
information afforded by each. But we, we can only, whisper--and
the
lips of some of us quiver too much to speak--"I believe in the life
everlasting."
We do not pretend to _know_ anything about it; the belief
is
intuitive, but is not demonstrable; it is a hope and a trust, not an
absolute
knowledge. We entertain a reasonable hope of immortality; we
argue
its likelihood from considerations of the justice and the love
which,
as we believe, rule the universe; we, many of us--as I freely
confess
I do myself--believe in it with a firmness of conviction
absolutely
immovable; but challenged to _prove_ it, we cannot answer.
"Here,"
the revelationists triumphantly exclaim, "is our advantage; we
foretell
with absolute certainty a future life, and can give you all
particulars
about it." Then follows a confused jumble of harps and
houris,
of pasture-field and hunting-grounds; we seek for certainty
and
find none. All that they agree in, _i e_., a future life, we find
imprinted
on our own hearts, a dictate of natural religion; all they
differ
in is contained in their several revelations, and as they all
contradict
each other about the revealed details, we gain nothing from
them.
Nature whispers to us that there is a life to come; revelation
babbles
a number of contradictory particulars, marring the majesty of
the
simple promise, and adding nothing reliable to the sum of human
knowledge.
And the subject of immortality is a fair specimen of what is
taught
respectively by nature and by revelation; what is common to all
creeds
is natural, what is different in each is revealed. It is so with
respect
to God. The idea of God belongs to all creeds alike; it is the
foundation-stone
of natural religion; confusion begins when revelation
steps
in to change the musical whisper of Nature into a categorical
description
worthy of "Mangnall's Questions." Triune, solitary, dual,
numberless,
whatever He is revealed to be in the world's varied sacred
books,
His nature is understood, catalogued, dogmatised on; each
revelation
claims to be His own account of Himself; but each contradicts
its
fellows; on one point only they all agree, and that is the point
confessed
by natural religion--"God is."
-------Cardiff Theosophical Society
in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
From
these facts I deduce two conclusions: first, that revelation does
not
come to us with such a certainty of its truth as to enable us to
trust
it fearlessly and without reserve; second, that revelation is
quite
superfluous, since natural religion gives us every thing we need.
I.
Revelation gives an uncertain sound. There are certain books in the
world
which claim to stand on a higher ground than all others. They
claim
to be special revelations of the will of God and the destiny of
man.
Now surely one of the first requisites of a Divine revelation is
that
it should be undoubtedly of Divine origin. But about all these
books,
except the Koran of Mahomet, hangs much obscurity both as regards
their
origin and their authorship. "Believers" urge that were the proofs
undoubted
there would be no room for faith and no merit in believing.
They
conceive it, then, to be a worthy employment for the Supreme
Intelligence
to set traps for His creatures; and, there being certain
facts
of the greatest importance, undis-coverable by their natural
faculties,
He proceeds to reveal these facts, but envelopes them in
such
wrappings of mystery, such garments of absurdity, that those of
His
creatures whom he has dowered with intellects and gifted with subtle
brains,
are forced to reject the whole as incredible and unreasonable.
That
God should give a revelation, but should not substantiate it, that
He
should speak, but in tones unintelligible, that His noblest gifts of
reason
should prove an insuperable bar to accepting his manifestation,
are
surely statements incredible, are surely statements utterly
irreconcileable
with all reverent ideas of the love and wisdom of
Almighty
God. Further, the believers in the various revelations all
claim
for their several oracles the supreme position of the exponent of
the
Will of God, and each rejects the sacred books of other nations as
spurious
productions, without any Divine authority. As these revelations
are
mutually destructive, it is evident that only one of them, at the
most
can be Divine, and the next point of the inquiry is to distinguish
which
this is. We, of the Western nations, at once put aside the Hindoo
Vedas,
or the Zendavesta, on certain solid grounds; we reject their
claims
to be inspired books because they contain error; their mistaken
science,
their legendary history, their miraculous stories, stamp them,
in
our impartial eyes, as the work of fallible men; the nineteenth
century
looks down on thee ancient writings as the instructed and
cultured
man smiles at the crude fancies and imaginative conceits of the
child.
But when the generality of Christians turn to the Bible they lay
aside
all ordinary criticism and all common-sense. Its science may be
absurd;
but excuses are found for it. Its history may be false, but
it
is twisted into truth. Its supernatural marvels may be flagrantly
absurd;
but they are nevertheless believed in. Men who laugh at the
visions
of the "blessed Margaret" of Paray-le-Monial assent to the
devil-drowning
of the swine of Gadara; and those who would scorn to
investigate
the tale of the miraculous spring at Lourdes, find
no
difficulty in believing the story of the angel-moved waters of
Bethesda's
pool. A book which contains miracles is usually put aside as
unreliable.
There is no good reason for excepting the Bible from this
general
rule. Miracles are absolutely incredible, and discredit at once
any
book in which they occur. They are found in all revelations, but
never
in nature, they are plentiful in man's writings, but they never
deface
the orderly pages of the great book of God, written by His own
Hand
on the earth, and the stars, and the sun. Powers? Yes, beyond our
grasping,
but Powers moving in stately order and changeless consistency.
Marvels?
Yes, beyond our imagining, but marvels evolved by immutable
laws.
Revelation is incredible, not only because it fails to bring proof
of
its truth, but because the proofs abound of its falsehood; it claims
to
be Divine, and we reject it because we test it by what we know of
His
undoubted works, for men can write books of Him and call them His
revelations,
but the frame of nature can only be the work of that mighty
Power
which man calls God. Revelation depicts Him as changeable, nature
as
immutable; revelation tells us of perfection marred, nature of
imperfection
improving; revelation speaks of a Trinity, nature of one
mighty
central Force; revelation relates interferences, miracles, nature
unbroken
sequences, inviolable law. If we accept revelation we must
believe
in a God Who made man upright but could not keep him so; Who
heard
in his far-off heaven the wailing of His earth and came down to
see
if things were as bad as was reported; Who had a face which brought
death,
but Whose hinder parts were visible to man; Who commanded and
accepted
human sacrifice; Who was jealous, revengeful, capricious, vain;
Who
tempted one king and then punished him for yielding, hardened the
heart
of another and then punished him for not yielding, deceived a
third
and thereby drew him to his death. But nature does not so outrage
our
morality and trample on our hearts; only we learn of a power and
wisdom
unspeakable, "mightily and sweetly ordering all things," and
our
hearts tell of a Father and a Friend, infinitely loving, and
trustworthy,
and good. The God of Nature and the God of Revelation are
as
opposed as Ormuzd and Ahriman, as darkness and light; the Bible and
the
universe are not writ by the same hand.
II.
Revelation then being so utterly untrustworthy, it is satisfactory
to
discover, secondly, that it is perfectly superfluous.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
All
man needs for his guidance in this world he can gain through the use
of
his natural faculties, and the right guidance of his conduct in this
world
must, in all reasonableness, be the best preparation for whatever
lies
beyond the grave. Revelationists assure us that without their books
we
should have no rules of morality, and that without the Bible man's
moral
obligations would be unknown. Their theory is that only through
revelation
can man know right from wrong. Using the word "revelation"
in
a different sense most Theists would agree with them, and would
allow
that man's perception of duty is a ray which falls on him from the
Righteousness
of God, and that man's morality is due to the illumination
of
the inspiring Father of Light. Personally, I believe that God
does
teach morality to man, and is, in very deed, the Inspirer of all
gracious
and noble thoughts and acts. I believe that the source of all
morality
in man is the Universal Spirit dwelling in the spirits He has
formed,
and moving them to righteousness, and, as they answer to His
whispers
by active well-doing--speaking ever in louder and clearer
accents.
I believe also that the most obedient followers of that inner
voice
gain clearer and loftier views of duty and of the Holiest,
and
thus become true prophets of God, revealers of His will to their
fellows.
And this is revelation in a very real sense; it is God
revealing
Himself by the natural working of moral laws, even as all
science
is a true revelation, and is God revealing Himself by the
natural
working of physical laws. For laws are modes of action, and
modes
of action reveal the nature and character of the actor, so that
every
law, physical and moral, which is discovered by truth-seekers and
proclaimed
to the world is a direct and trustworthy revelation of God
Himself.
But when Theists speak thus of "revelation" using the word as
rightfully
applicable to all discoveries and all nobly written religious
or
scientific books, it is manifest that the word has entirely changed
its
signification, and is applied to "natural" and not
"supernatural"
results.
We believe in God working through natural faculties in a
natural
way, while the revelationists believe in some non-natural
communication,
made no one knows how, no one knows where, no one knows
to
whom.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
Where
opposing theories are concerned an ounce of fact outweighs pounds
of
assertion; and so against the statement of Christians, that morality
is
derived only from the Bible and is undiscoverable by "man's natural
faculties,"
I quote the morality of natural religion, unassisted by what
they
claim as their special "revelation."
Buddha,
as he lived 700 years before Christ, can hardly be said to
have
drawn his morality from that of Jesus or even to have derived any
indirect
benefit from Christian teaching, and yet I have been gravely
told
by a Church of England clergyman--who ought to have known
better--that
forgiveness of injuries and charity were purely Christian
virtues.
This heathen Buddha, lighted only by natural reason and a pure
heart,
teaches: "a man who foolishly does me wrong I will return to him
the
protection of my ungrudging love; the more evil comes from him the
more
good shall go from me;" among principal virtues are: "to repress
lust
and banish desire; to be strong without being rash; to bear insult
without
anger; to move in the world without setting the heart on it; to
investigate
a matter to the very bottom; to save men by converting them;
to
be the same in heart and life." "Let a man overcome evil by good,
anger
by love, the greedy by liberality, the liar by truth. For hatred
does
not cease by hatred at any time; hatred ceases by love; this is an
old
rule." He inculcates purity, charity, self-sacrifice, courtesy, and
earnestly
recommends personal search after truth: "do not
believe
in guesses"--in assuming something at hap-hazard as a
starting-point--reckoning
your two and your three and your four before
you
have fixed your number one. Do not believe in the truth of that to
which
you have become attached by habit, as every nation believes in the
superiority
of its own dress and ornaments and language. Do not believe
merely
because you have heard, but when of your own consciousness you
know
a thing to be evil abstain from it. Methinks these sayings of
Buddha
are unsurpassed by any revealed teaching, and contain quite as
noble
and lofty a morality as the Sermon on the Mount, "natural" as they
are.
Plato,
also, teaches a noble morality and soars into ideas about the
Divine
Nature as pure and elevated as any which are to be found in the
Bible.
The summary of his teaching, quoted by Mr. Lake in a pamphlet
of
Mr. Scott's series, is a glorious testimony to the worth of natural
religion.
"It is better to die than to sin. It is better to suffer wrong
than
to do it. The true happiness of man consists in being united to
God,
and his only misery in being separated from Him. There is one God,
and
we ought to love and serve Him, and to endeavour to resemble Him
in
holiness and righteousness." Plato saw also the great truth that
suffering
is not the result of an evil power, but is a necessary
training
to good, and he anticipates the very words of Paul--if indeed
Paul
does not quote from Plato--that "to the just man all things work
together
for good, whether in life or death." Plato lived 400 years
before
Christ, and yet in the face of such teaching as his and
Buddha's,--and
they are only two out of many--Christians fling at us the
taunt
that we, rejectors of the Bible, draw all our morality from
it,
and that without this one revelation the world would lie in moral
darkness,
ignorant of truth and righteousness and God. But the light
of
God's revealing shines still upon the world, even as the sunlight
streams
upon it steadfastly as of old; "it is not given to a few men in
the
infancy of mankind to monopolise inspiration and to bar God out of
the
soul.... Wherever a heart beats with love, where Faith and Reason
utter
their oracles, there also is God, as formerly in the heart of
seers
and prophets."*
* Theodore Tarker.
It
is a favourite threat of the priesthood to any inquiring spirit: "If
you
give up Christianity you give up all certainty; rationalism speaks
with
no certain sound; no two rationalists think alike; the word
rationalism
covers everything outside Christianity, from Unitarianism to
the
blankest atheism;" and many a timid soul starts back, feeling that
if
this is true it is better to rest where it is, and inquire no more.
To
such--and I meet many such--I would suggest one very simple thought:
does
"Christianity" give any more certainty than rationalism? Just
try
asking your mentor, "_whose_ Christianity am I to accept?" He will
stammer
out, "Oh, the teaching of the Bible, of course." But persevere:
"As
explained by whom? for all claim to found their Christianity on
the
Bible: am I to accept the defined logical Christianity of Pius IX.,
defiant
of history, of science, of common sense, or shall I sit under
Spurgeon,
the denunciator, and flee from the scarlet woman and the cup
of
her fascinations: shall I believe the Christianity of Dean Stanley,
instinct
with his own gracious, kindly spirit, cultured and polished,
pure
and loving, or shall I fly from it as a sweet but insidious poison,
as
I am exhorted to do by Dr. Pusey, who rails at his 'variegated
language
which destroys all definiteness of meaning.' For pity's sake,
good
father, label for me the various bottles of Christian medicine,
that
I may know which is healing to the soul, which may be touched with
caution,
as for external application, and which are rank poison."
All
the priest will find to answer is, that "under sad diversities
of
opinion there are certain saving truths common to all forms of
Christianity,"
but he will object to particularise what they are, and
at
this stage will wax angry and refuse to argue with anyone who shows
a
spirit so carping and so conceited. There is the same diversity in
rationalism
as in Christianity, because human nature is diverse, but
there
is also one bond between all freethinkers, one "great saving
truth"
of rationalism, one article of faith, and that is, that "free
inquiry
is the right of every human soul;" diverse in much, we all agree
in
this, and so strong is this bond that we readily welcome any thinker,
however
we disagree with his thoughts, provided only that he think them
honestly
and allow to all the liberty of holding their own opinions
also.
We are bound together in one common hatred of Dogmatism, one
common
love of liberty of thought and speech.
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It
is probably a puzzle to good and unlearned Christians whence men,
unenlightened
by revelation, drew and still draw their morality. We
answer,
"from mere Nature, and that because Nature and not revelation is
the
true basis of all morality." We have seen the untrustworthiness of
all
so-called revelations; but when we fall back on Nature we are
on
firm ground. Theists start in their search after God from their
well-known
axiom: "If there be a God at all He must be at least as
good
as His highest creature;" and they argue that what is highest and
noblest
and most lovable in man _must_ be below, but cannot be above,
the
height and the nobleness and the loveableness of God. "Of all
impossible
thing, the most impossible must surely be that a man should
dream
something of the Good and the Noble, and that it should prove
at
last that his Creator was less good and less noble than he had
dreamed."*
"The ground on which our belief in God rests is Man. Man,
parent
of Bibles and Churches, inspirer of all good thoughts and good
deeds.
Man, the master-piece of God's work on earth. Man, the text-book
of
all spiritual knowledge. Neither miraculous or infallible, Man is
nevertheless
the only trustworthy record of the Divine mind in things
pertaining
to God. Man's reason, conscience, and affections are the only
true
revelation of his Maker,"** And as we believe that we may glean
some
hints of the Glory and Beauty of our Creator from the glory and
beauty
of human excellence, so we believe that to each man, as he lives
up
to the highest he can perceive, will surely be unveiled fresh heights
of
righteousness, fresh possibilities of moral growth.
* Frances Power Cobbe.
** Rev. Charles Voysey.
To
all men alike, good and evil, is laid open Nature's revelation of
morality,
as exemplified in the highest human lives; and these noble
lives
receive ever the heavenly hall-mark by the instinctive response
from
every human breast that they "are very good." To those only
who
live up to the good they see, does God give the further inner
revelation,
which leads them higher and higher in morality, quickening
their
moral faculties, and making more sensitive and delicate their
moral
susceptibilities. We cannot, as revelationists do, chalk out
all
the whole range of moral perfection: we "walk by faith and not by
sight:"
step by step only is the path unveiled to us, and only as we
surmount
one peak do we gain sight of the peak beyond: the distant
prospect
is shrouded from our gaze, and we are too fully occupied in
doing
the work which is given us to do in this world, to be for ever
peering
into and brooding over the world beyond the grave. We have light
enough
to do our Father's work here; when he calls us yonder it will be
time
enough to ask Him to unveil our new sphere of labour and to
cause
His sun to rise on it. Wayward children fret after some fancied
happiness
and miss the work and the pleasure lying at their feet, and
so
petulant men and women cry out that "man that is born of woman... is
full
of misery," and wail for a revelation to ensure some happier life:
they
seem to forget that if this world is full of misery _they_ are put
here
to mend it and not to cry over it, and that it is our shame and our
condemnation
that in God's fair world so much sin and unhappiness are
found.
If men would try to read nature instead of revelation, if they
would
study natural laws and leave revealed laws, if they would follow
human
morality instead of ecclesiastical morality, then there might be
some
chance of real improvement for the race, and some hope that the
Divine
Voice in Nature might be heard above the babble of the Churches.
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And
Nature is enough for us, gives us all the light we want and all that
we,
as yet, are fitted to receive. Were it possible that God should now
reveal
Himself to us as He is, the Being of Whose Nature we can form
no
conception, I believe that we should remain as ignorant as we are
at
present, from the want of faculties to receive that revelation:
the
Divine language might sound in our ears, but it would be as
unintelligible
as the roar of the thunder-clap, or the moan of the
earthquake,
or the whisper of the wind to the leaves of the cedar-tree.
God
is slowly revealing Himself by His works, by the course of events,
by
the progress of Humanity: if He has never spoken from Heaven in human
language,
He is daily speaking in the world around us to all who have
ears
to hear, and as Nature in its varied forms is His only revelation
of
Himself, so the mind and the heart alone can perceive His presence
and
catch the whispers ot His mysterious voice.
Never yet has been broken
The silence eternal:
Never yet has been spoken
In accents supernal
God's Thought of Himself.
We are groping in blindness
Who yearn to behold Him:
But in wisdom and kindness
In
darkness He folds Him
Till the soul learns to see.
So the veil is unriven
That hides the All-Holy,
And no token is given
That satisfies wholly
The cravings of man.
But, unhasting, advances
The march of the ages,
To truth-seekers' glances
Unrolling the pages
Of God's revelation.
Impatience unheeding,
Time, slowly revolving;
Unresting, unspeeding,
Is ever evolving
Fresh truths about God.
Human speech has not broken
The
stillness supernal:
Yet ever is spoken
Through silence eternal,
With growing distinctness
God's Thought of Himself.
ON
THE NATURE AND THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
IT
is impossible for those who study the deeper religious; problems of
our
time to stave off much longer the question which lies at the root
of
them all, "What do you believe in regard to God?" We may controvert
Christian
doctrines, one after another; point by point we may be driven
from
the various beliefs of our churches; reason may force us to see
contradictions
where we had imagined harmony, and may open our eyes
to
flaws where we had dreamed of perfection; we resign all idea of a
revelation;
we seek for God in Nature only; we renounce for ever the
hope
(which glorified our former creed into such alluring beauty) that
at
some future time we should verily "see" God, that "our eyes
should
behold
the King in his beauty" in that fairy "land which is very far
off."
But every step we take onwards towards a more reasonable faith
and
a surer light of Truth leads us nearer and nearer to the problem of
problems,
"What is That which men call God?" Not till theologians have
thoroughly
grappled with this question have they any just claim to
be
called religious guides; from each of those whom we honour as our
leading
thinkers we have a right to a distinct answer to this question,
and
the very object of the present paper is to provoke discussion on
this
point.
Men
are apt to turn aside somewhat impatiently from an argument about
the
Nature and Existence of the Deity, because they consider that
the
question is a metaphysical one which leads nowhere; a problem the
resolution
of which is beyond our faculties, and the study of which
is
at once useless and dangerous; they forget that action is ruled by
thought,
and that our ideas about God are therefore of vast practical
importance.
On our answer to the question propounded above depends our
whole
conception of the nature and origin of evil, and of the sanctions
of
morality; on our idea of God turns our opinion on the much-disputed
question
of prayer, and, in fact, our whole attitude of mind towards
life,
here and hereafter. Does morality consist in obedience to the will
of
a perfectly moral Being, and are we to aim at righteousness of life
because
in so doing we please God? Or are we to lead noble lives because
nobility
of life is desirable for itself alone, and because it spreads
happiness
around us and satisfies the desires of our own nature? Is our
mental
attitude to be that of kneeling or standing? Are our eyes to
be
fixed on heaven or on earth? Is prayer to God reasonable and helpful,
the
natural cry of a child for help from a Father in Heaven? Or is it,
on
the other hand, a useless appeal to an unknown and irresponsible
force?
Is the mainspring of our actions to be the idea of duty to God,
or
a sense of the necessity of bringing our being into harmony with the
laws
of the universe? It appears to me that these questions are of such
grave
and vital moment that no apology is needed for drawing attention
to
them; and because of their importance to mankind I challenge the
leaders
of the religious and non-religious world alike, the Christians,
Theists,
Pantheists, and those who take no specific name, duly to test
the
views they severally hold. In this battle the simple foot
soldier
may touch with his lance the shield of the knight, and the
insignificance
of the challenger does not exempt the general from the
duty
of lifting the gauntlet flung down at his feet. Little care I
for
personal defeat, if the issue of the conflict should enthrone more
firmly
the radiant figure of Truth. One fault, however, I am anxious
to
avoid, and that is the fault of ambiguity. The orthodox and the
free-thinking
alike do a good deal of useless fighting from sheer
misunderstanding
of each other's standpoint in the controversy. It
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appears,
then, to be indispensable in the prosecution of the following
inquiry
that the meaning of the terms used should be unmistakably
distinct.
I begin, therefore, by defining the technical forms of
expression
to be employed in my argument; the definitions may be good or
bad,
that is not material; all that is needed is that the sense in which
the
various terms are used should be clearly understood. When men fight
only
for the sake of discovering truth, definiteness of expression is
specially
incumbent on them; and, as has been eloquently said, "the
strugglers
being sincere, truth may give laurels to the victor and the
vanquished:
laurels to the victor in that he hath upheld the truth,
laurels
still welcome to the vanquished, whose defeat crowns him with a
truth
he knew not of before."
The
definitions that appear to me to be absolutely necessary are as
follows:--
_Matter_
is used to express that which is tangible. _Spirit (or
spiritual_)
is used to express those intangible forces whose existence
we
become aware of only through the effects they produce.
_Substance_
is used to express that which exists in itself and by
itself,
and the conception of which does not imply the conception of
anything
preceding it.
_God_
is used to represent exclusively that Being invested by the
orthodox
with certain physical, intellectual, and moral attributes.
Particular
attention must be paid to this last definition, because the
term
"atheist" is often flung unjustly at any thinker who ventures
to
criticise _the popular and traditional idea_ of God; and different
schools,
Theistic and non-Theistic, with but too much facility, bandy
about
this vague epithet in mutual reproach.
As
an instance of this uncharitable and unfair use of ugly names, all
schools
agree in calling the late Mr. Austin Holyoake an "atheist," and
he
accepted the name himself, although he distinctly stated (as we find
in
a printed report of a discussion held at the Victoria Institute) that
he
did not deny the possibility of the existence of God, but only
denied
the possibility of the existence of that God in whom the orthodox
exhorted
him to believe. It is well thus to protest beforehand against
this
name being bandied about, because it carries with it, at present,
so
much popular prejudice, that it prevents all possibility of candid
and
free discussion. It is simply a convenient stone to fling at the
head
of an opponent whose arguments one cannot meet, a certain way of
raising
a tumult which will drown his voice; and, if it have any serious
meaning
at all, it might fairly be used, as I shall presently show,
against
the most orthodox pillar of the orthodox faith.
It
is manifest to all who will take the trouble to think steadily, that
there
can be only one eternal and underived substance, and that matter
and
spirit must therefore only be varying manifestations of this one
substance.
The distinction made between matter and spirit is then
simply
made for the sake of convenience and clearness, just as we may
distinguish
perception from judgment, both of which, however, are alike
processes
of thought. Matter is, in its constituent elements, the same
as
spirit; existence is one, however manifold in its phenomena; life is
one,
however multiform in its evolution. As the heat of the coal differs
from
the coal itself, so do memory, perception, judgment, emotion, and
will,
differ from the brain which is the instrument of thought. But
nevertheless
they are all equally products of the one sole substance,
varying
only in their conditions. It may be taken for granted that
against
this preliminary point of the argument will be raised the
party-cry
of "rank materialism," because "materialism" is a doctrine
of
which
the general public has an undefined horror. But I am bold to say
that
if by matter is meant that which is above defined as substance,
then
no reasoning person can help being a materialist. The orthodox are
very
fond of arguing back to what they call the Great First Cause. "God
is
a spirit," they say, "and from him is derived the spiritual part of
man."
Well and good; they have traced back a part of the universe to
a
point at which they conceive that only one universal essence is
possible,
that which they call God, and which is spirit only. But I then
invite
their consideration to the presence of something which they
do
not regard as spirit, _i e._, matter. I follow their own plan of
argument
step by step: I trace matter, as they traced spirit, back and
back,
till I reach a point beyond which I cannot go, one only existence,
substance
or essence; am I therefore to believe that God is matter only?
But
we have already found it asserted by Theists that he is spirit only,
and
we cannot believe two contradictories, however logical the road
which
led us to them; so we must acknowledge two substances, eternally
existent
side by side; if existence be dual, then, however absurd
the
hypothesis, there must be two First Causes. It is not I who am
responsible
for an idea so anomalous. The orthodox escape from this
dilemma
by an assumption, thus: "God, to whom is to be traced back all
spirit,
_created_ matter." Why, am I not equally justified in assuming,
if
I please, that matter created spirit? Why should I be logical in one
argument
and illogical in another? If we come to assumptions, have not
I
as much right to my assumption as my neighbour has to his? Why may he
predicate
creation of one half of the universe, and I not predicate it
of
the other half? If the assumptions be taken into consideration at
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all,
then I contend that mine is the more reasonable of the two, since
it
is possible to imagine matter as existing without mind, while it is
utterly
impossible to conceive of mind existing without matter. We all
know
how a stone looks, and we are in the habit of regarding that
as
lifeless matter; but who has any distinct idea of a mind _pur et
simple?_
No clear conception of it is possible to human faculties;
we
can only conceive of mind as it is found in an organisation;
intelligence
has no appreciable existence except as-residing in the
brain
and as manifested in results. The lines of spirit and matter are
not
one, say the orthodox; they run backwards side by side; why then, in
following
the course of these two parallel lines, should I suddenly bend
one
into the other? and on what principle of selection shall I choose
the
one I am to curve? I must really decline to use logic just as far as
it
supports the orthodox idea of God, and arbitrarily throw it down
the
moment it conflicts with that idea. I find myself then compelled
to
believe that one only substance exists in all around me; that the
universe
is eternal, or at least eternal so far as our faculties are
concerned,
since we cannot, as some one has quaintly put it "get to
the
outside of everywhere;" that a Deity cannot be conceived of as apart
from
the universe, pre-existent to the universe, post-existent to the
universe;
that the Worker and the Work are inextricably interwoven, and
in
some sense eternally and indissolubly combined. Having got so far, we
will
proceed to examine into the possibility of proving the existence
of
that one essence popularly called by the name of _God_, under the
conditions
strictly defined by the orthodox. Having demonstrated, as I
hope
to do, that the orthodox idea of God is unreasonable and absurd,
we
will endeavour to discover whether _any_ idea of God, worthy to be
called
an idea, is attainable in the present state of our faculties.
The
orthodox believers in God are divided into two camps, one of
which
maintains that the existence of God is as demonstrable as any
mathematical
proposition, while the other asserts that his existence
is
not demonstrable to the intellect. I select Dr. McCann, a man of
considerable
reputation, as the representative of the former of these
two
opposing schools of thought, and give the Doctor's position in his
own
words:--"The purpose of the following paper is to prove the
fallacy
of all such assumptions" (i e., that the existence of God is an
insoluble
problem), "by showing that we are no more at liberty to deny
His
being, than we are to deny any demonstration of Euclid. He would be
thought
unworthy of refutation who should assert that any two angles of
a
triangle are together greater than two right angles. We would content
ourselves
by saying, 'The man is mad'--mathematically, at least--and
pass
on. If it can be shown that we affirm the existence of Deity
for
the very same reasons as we affirm the truth of any geometric
proposition;
if it can be shown that the former is as capable of
demonstration
as the latter--then it necessarily follows that if we are
justified
in calling the man a fool who denies the latter, we are
also
justified in calling him a fool who says there is no God, and in
refusing
to answer him according to his folly." Which course is a very
convenient
one when you meet with an awkward opponent whom you cannot
silence
by sentiment and declamation. Again: "In conclusion, we believe
it
to be very important to be able to prove that if the mathematician be
justified
in asserting that the three angles of a triangle are equal to
two
right angles, the Christian is equally justified in asserting,
not
only that he is compelled to believe in God, but that he knows Him
(sic).
And that he who denies the existence of the Deity is as unworthy
of
serious refutation as is he who denies a mathematical demonstration."
('A
Demonstration of the Existence of God,' a lecture delivered at the
Victoria
Institute, 1870, pp. I and II.) Dr. McCann proves his very
startling
thesis by laying down as axioms six statements, which, however
luminous
to the Christian traditionalist, are obscure to the sceptical
intellect.
He seems to be conscious of this defect in his so-called
axioms,
for he proceeds to prove each of them elaborately,
forgetting
that the simple statement of an axiom should carry direct
conviction--that
it needs only to be understood in order to be accepted.
However,
let this pass: our teacher, having stated and "proved"
his
axioms, proceeds to draw his conclusions from them; and as his
foundations
are unsound, it is scarcely to be wondered at that his
superstructure
should be insecure, I know of no way so effectual to
defeat
an adversary as to beg all the questions raised, assume every
point
in dispute, call assumptions axioms, and then proceed to reason
from
them. It is really not worth while to criticise Dr. McCann in
detail,
his lecture being nothing but a mass of fallacies and unproved
assertions.
Christian courtesy allows him to call those who dissent from
his
assumptions "fools;" and as these terms of abuse are not considered
admissible
by those whom he assails as unbelievers, there is a slight
difficulty
in "answering" Dr. McCann "according to his" deserts. I
content
myself with suggesting that they who wish to learn how pretended
reasoning
may pass for solid argument, how inconsequent statements
may
pass for logic, had better study this lecture. For my own part, I
confess
that my "folly" is not, as yet, of a sufficiently pronounced
type
to enable me to accept Dr. McCann's conclusions.
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The
best representation I can select of the second orthodox party, those
who
admit that the existence of God is not demonstrable, is the late
Dean
Mansel. In his 'Limits of Religious Thought,' the Bampton Lectures
for
1867, he takes up a perfectly unassailable position. The peculiarity
of
this position, however, is that he, the pillar of orthodoxy, the
famed
defender of the faith against German infidelity and all forms
of
rationalism, regards God from exactly the same point as does a
well-known
modern "atheist." I have almost hesitated sometimes which
writer
to quote from, so identical are they in thought. Probably neither
Dean
Mansel nor Mr. Bradlaugh would thank me for bracketing their names;
but
I am forced to confess that the arguments used by the one to prove
the
endless absurdities into which we fall when we try to comprehend the
nature
of God, are exactly the same arguments that are used by the
other
to prove that God, as believed in by the orthodox, cannot exist.
I
quote, however, exclusively from the Dean, because it is at once novel
and
agreeable to find oneself sheltered by Mother Church at the exact
moment
when one is questioning her very foundations; and also because
the
Dean's name carries with it so orthodox an odour that his authority
will
tell where the same words from any of those who are outside the
pale
of orthodoxy would be regarded with suspicion. Nevertheless, I
wish
to state plainly that a more "atheistical" book than these Bampton
Lectures--at
least, in the earlier part of it--I have never read; and
had
its title-page borne the name of any well-known Free-thinker,
it
would have been received in the religious world with a storm of
indignation.
The
first definition laid down by the orthodox as a characteristic of
God
is that he is an Infinite Being. "There is but one living and true
God...
of _infinite_ power, &c." (Article of Religion, 1.) It has been
said
that _infinite_ only means _indefinite_, but I must protest against
this
weakening of a well-defined theological term. The term _Infinite_
has
always been understood to mean far more than indefinite; it means
literally
_boundless_: the infinite has no limitations, no possible
restrictions,
no "circumference." People who do not think about the
meaning
of the words they use speak very freely and familiarly of the
"infinitude"
of God, as though the term implied no inconsistency. Deny
that
God is infinite and you are at once called an atheist, but press
your
opponent into a definition of the term and you will generally find
that
he does not know what he is talking about. Dean Mansel points out,
with
his accurate habit of mind, all that this attribute of God implies,
and
it would be well if those who "believe in an infinite God" would try
and
realise what they express. Half the battle of freethought will be
won
when people attach a definite meaning to the terms they use. The
Infinite
has no bounds; then the finite cannot exist. Why? Because in
the
very act of acknowledging any existence beside the Infinite One you
limit
the Infinite. By saying, "This is not God" you at once make him
finite,
because you set a bound to his nature; you distinguish between
him
and something else, and by the very act you limit him; that _which
is
not he_ is as a rock which checks the waves of the ocean; in that
spot
a limit is found, and in finding a limit the Infinite is destroyed.
The
orthodox may retort, "this is only a matter of terms;" but it is
well
to force them into realising the dogmas which they thrust on our
acceptance
under such awful penalties for rejection. I know what "an
infinite
God" implies, and, as apart from the universe, I feel compelled
to
deny the possibility of his existence; surely it is fair that the
orthodox
should also know what the words they use mean on this head,
and
give up the term if they cling to a "personal" God, distinct from
"creation."--Further--and
here I quote Dean Mansel--the "Infinite"
must
be conceived as containing within itself the sum, not only of all
actual,
but of all possible modes of being.... If any possible mode can
be
denied of it... it is capable of becoming more than it now is, and
such
a capability is a limitation. (The hiatus refers to the "absolute"
being
of God, which it is better to consider separately.) "An unrealised
possibility
is necessarily (a relation and) a limit." Thus is orthodoxy
crushed
by the powerful logic of its own champion. God is infinite;
then,
in that case, everything that exists is God; all phenomena are
modes
of the Divine Being; there is literally nothing which is not God.
Will
the orthodox accept this position? It lands them, it is true,
in
the most extreme Pantheism, but what of that? They believe in an
"infinite
God" and they are therefore necessarily Pantheists. If they
object
to this, they must give up the idea that their God is infinite
at
all; there is no half-way position open to them; he is infinite or
finite,
which?
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Again,
God is "before all things," he is the only Absolute Being,
dependent
on nothing outside himself; all that is not God is relative;
that
is to say, that God exists alone and is not necessarily related to
anything
else. The orthodox even believe that God did, at some
former
period (which is not a period, they say, because time then was
not--however,
at that hazy "time" he did), exist alone, _i e._, as what
is
called an _Absolute_ Being: this conception is necessary for all who,
in
any sense, believe in a _Creator_.
"Thou, in Thy far eternity,
Didst live and love alone."
So
sings a Christian minstrel; and one of the arguments put forward for
a
Trinity is that a plurality of persons is necessary in order that God
may
be able to love at the "time" when he was alone. Into this point,
however,
I do not now enter. But what does this Absolute imply? A simple
impossibility
of creation, just as does the Infinite; for creation
implies
that the relative is brought into existence, and thus the
Absolute
is destroyed. "Here again the Pantheistic hypothesis seems
forced
upon us. We can think of creation only as a change in the
condition
of that which already exists, and thus the creature is
conceivable
only as a phenomenal mode of the being of the Creator."
Thus
once more looms up the dreaded spectre of Pantheism, "the dreary
desolation
of a Pantheistic wilderness;" and who is the Moses who has
led
us into this desert? It is a leader of orthodoxy, a dignitary of the
Church;
it is Dean Mansel who stretches out his hand to the universe and
says,
"This is thy God, O Israel."
The
two highest attributes of God land us, then, in the most thorough
Pantheism;
further, before remarking on the other divine attributes, I
would
challenge the reader to pause and try to realise this infinite and
absolute
being. "That a man can be conscious of the infinite is, then,
a
supposition which, in the very terms in which it is expressed,
annihilates
itself.... The infinite, if it is to be conceived at all,
must
be conceived as potentially everything-and actually nothing; for
if
there is anything in general which it cannot become, it is thereby
limited;
and if there is anything in particular which it actually is, it
is
thereby excluded from being any other thing. But again, it must also
be
conceived as actually everything and potentially nothing; for an
unrealised
potentiality is likewise a limitation. If the infinite can
be"
(in the future) "that which it is not" (in the present) "it is
by
that
very possibility marked out as incomplete and capable of a higher
perfection.
If it is actually everything, it possesses no characteristic
feature
by which it can be distinguished from anything else and
discerned
as an object of consciousness." I think, then, that we must be
content,
on the showing of Dr. Mansel, to allow that God is, in his
own
nature--from this point of view--quite beyond the grasp of
our
faculties; _as regards us he does not exist_, since he is
indistinguishable
and undiscernable. Well might the Church exclaim
"Save
me from my friends!" when a dean acknowledges that her God is a
self-contradictory
phantom; oddly enough, however, the Church likes
it,
and accepts this fatal championship. I might have put this argument
wholly
in my own words, for the subject is familiar to every one who has
tried
to gain a distinct idea of the Being who is called "God," but I
have
preferred to back my own opinions with the authority of so orthodox
a
man as Dean Mansel, trusting that by so doing the orthodox may be
forced
to see where logic carries them. All who are interested in
this
subject should study his lectures carefully; there is really no
difficulty
in following them, if the student will take the trouble of
mastering
once for all the terms he employs. The book was lent to me
years
ago by a clergyman, and did more than any other book I know to
make
me what is called an "infidel;" it proves to demonstration the
impossibility
of our having any logical, reasonable, and definite idea
of
God, and the utter hopelessness of trying to realise his existence.
It
seems necessary here to make a short digression to explain, for
the
benefit of those who have not read the book from which I have been
quoting,
how Dean Mansel escaped becoming an "atheist." It is a
curious
fact that the last part of this book is as remarkable for its
assumptions,
as is the earlier portion its pitiless logic. When he ought
in
all reason to say, "we can know nothing and therefore can believe
nothing,"
he says instead, "we can know nothing and therefore let us
take
Revelation for granted." An atheistic reasoner suddenly startles
us
by becoming a devout Christian; the apparent enemy of the faithful
is
"transformed into an angel of light." The existence of God "is
inconceivable
by the reason," and, therefore, "the only ground that can
be
taken for accepting one representation of it rather than another
is,
that one is revealed and the other not revealed." It is the
acknowledgment
of a previously formed _determination_ to believe at any
cost;
it is a wail of helplessness; the very apotheosis of despair. We
cannot
have history, so let us believe a fairy-tale; we can discover
nothing,
so let us assume anything; we cannot find truth, so let us take
the
first myth that comes to hand. Here I feel compelled to part company
with
the Dean, and to leave him to believe in, to adore, and to
love
that which he has himself designated as indistinguishable and
undiscernable;
it may be an act of faith but it is a crucifixion of
intellect;
it may be a satisfaction to the yearnings of the heart, but
it
dethrones reason and tramples it in the dust.
We
proceed in our study of the attributes of God. He is represented as
the
Supreme Will, the Supreme Intelligence, the Supreme Love.
_As
the Supreme Will_. What do we mean by "will?" Surely, in the usual
sense
of the word, a will implies the power and the act of choosing.
Two
paths are open to us, and we will to walk in one rather than in the
other.
But can we think of power of choice in connection with God? Of
two
courses open to us one must needs be better than the other, else
they
would be indistinguishable and be only one; perfection implies that
the
higher course will always be taken; what then becomes of the power
of
choice? We choose because we are imperfect; we do not know everything
which
bears on the matter on which we are about to exercise our will; if
we
knew everything we should inevitably be driven in one direction, that
which
is the _best possible course_. The greater the knowledge, the more
circumscribed
the will; the nobler the nature, the more impossible the
lower
course. Spinoza points out most clearly that the Divinity _could
not_
have made things otherwise than they are made, because any change
in
his action would imply a change in his nature; God, above all, must
be
bound by necessity. If we believe in a God at all we must surely
ascribe
to him perfection of wisdom and perfection of goodness; we are
then
forced to conceive of him--however strange it may sound to those
who
believe, not only without seeing but also without thinking--as
without
will, because he must always necessarily pursue the course which
is
wisest and best.
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_As
the Supreme Intelligence_. Again, the first question is, what do
we
mean by intelligence? In the usual sense of the word intelligence
implies
the exercise of the various intellectual faculties, and gathers
up
into one word the ideas of perception, comparison, memory, judgment,
and
so on. The very enumeration of these faculties is sufficient to show
how
utterly inappropriate they are when thought of in connection with
God.
Does God perceive what he did not know before? Does he compare one
fact
with another? Does he draw conclusions from this correlation
of
perceptions, and thus judge what is best? Does he remember, as we
remember,
long past events? Perfect wisdom excludes from the idea of God
all
that is called intelligence in man; it involves unchangeableness,
complete
stillness; it implies a knowledge of all that is knowable;
it
includes an acquaintance with every fact, an acquaintance which has
never
been less in the past, and can never be more in the future. The
reception
at any time of a new thought or a new idea is impossible
to
perfection, for if it could ever be added to in the future it is
necessarily
something less than perfect in the past.
_As
the Supreme Love_. We come here to the darkest problem of existence.
Love,
Ruler of the world permeated through and through with pain, and
sorrow,
and sin? Love, mainspring of a nature whose cruelty is sometimes
appalling?
Love? Think of the "martyrdom of man!" Love? Follow the
History
of the Church! Love? Study the annals of the slave-trade! Love?
Walk
the courts and alleys of our towns! It is of no use to try and
explain
away these things, or cover them up with a veil of silence;
it
is better to look them fairly in the face, and test our creeds by
inexorable
facts. It is foolish to keep a tender spot which may not
be
handled; for a spot which gives pain when it is touched implies the
presence
of disease: wiser far is it to press firmly against it, and,
if
danger lurk there, to use the probe or the knife. We have no right
to
pick out all that is noblest and fairest in man, to project these
qualities
into space, and to call them God. We only thus create an ideal
figure,
a purified, ennobled, "magnified" Man. We have no right to
shut
our eyes to the sad _revers de la medaille_, and leave out of our
conceptions
of the Creator the larger half of his creation. If we are
to
discover the Worker from his works we must not pick and choose amid
those
works; we must take them as they are, "good" and "bad." If
we only
want
an ideal, let us by all means make one, and call it _God_, if thus
we
can reach it better, but if we want a true induction we must take
_all_
facts into account. If God is to be considered as the author of
the
universe, and we are to learn of him through his works, then we
must
make room in our conceptions of him for the avalanche and the
earthquake,
for the tiger's tooth and the serpent's fang, as well as for
the
tenderness of woman and the strength of man, the radiant glory of
the
sunshine on the golden harvest, and the gentle lapping of the summer
waves
on the gleaming shingled beach.*
* "I know it is usual for the
orthodox when vindicating the
moral character of their God to say:--'All
the Evil that
exists is of man; All that God has done is
only good.' But
granting (which facts do not substantiate)
that man is the
only author of the sorrow and the wrong
that abound in the
world, it is difficult to see how the
Creator can be free
from imputation. Did not God, according to
orthodoxy, plan
all things with an infallible perception
that the events
foreseen must occur? Was not this accurate
prescience based
upon the inflexibility of God's Eternal
purposes? As, then,
the purposes, in the order of nature, at
least preceded the
prescience and formed the groundwork of
it, man has become
extensively the instrument of doing
mischief in the world
simply because the God of the Christian
Church did not
choose to prevent man from being bad. In
other words, man is
as he is by the ordained design of God,
and, therefore, God
is responsible for all the suffering,
shame, and error,
spread by human agency.--So that the
Christian apology for
God in connection with the spectacle of
evil falls to
pieces."--Note by the Editor.
The
Nature of God, what is it? Infinite and Absolute, he evades our
touch;
without human will, without human intelligence, without human
love,
where can his faculties--the very word is a misnomer--find a
meeting-place
with ours? Is he everything or nothing? one or many? _We
know
not. We know nothing._ Such is the conclusion into which we are
driven
by orthodoxy, with its pretended faith, which is credulity, with
its
pretended proofs, which are presumptions. It defines and maps out
the
perfections of Deity, and they dissolve when we try to grasp them;
nowhere
do these ideas hold water for a moment; nowhere is this position
defensible.
Orthodoxy drives thinkers into atheism; weary of its
contradictions
they cry, "there is _no_ God"; orthodoxy's leading
thinker
lands us himself in atheism. No logical, impartial mind can
escape
from unbelief through the trap-door opened by Dean Mansel: he
has
taught us reason, and we cannot suppress reason. The "serpent
intellect"--as
the Bishop of Peterborough calls it--has twined itself
firmly
round the tree of knowledge, and in that type we do not see, with
the
Hebrew, the face of death, but, with the older faiths, we reverence
it
as the symbol of life.
There
is another fact, an historical one, still on the destructive side,
which
appears to me to be of the gravest importance, and that is the
gradual
attenuation of the idea of God before the growing light of true
knowledge.
To the savage everything is divine; he hears one God's voice
in
the clap of the thunder, another's in the roar of the earthquake,
he
sees a divinity in the trees, a deity smiles at him from the clear
depths
of the river and the lake; every natural phenomenon is the abode
of
a god; every event is controlled by a god; divine volition is at the
root
of every incident. To him the rule of the gods is a stern reality;
if
he offends them they turn the forces of nature against him; the
flood,
the famine, the pestilence, are the ministers of the avenging
anger
of the gods. As civilisation advances, the deities lessen in
number,
the divine powers become concentrated more and more in one
Being,
and God rules over the whole earth, maketh the clouds his
chariot,
and reigns above the waterfloods as a king. Physical phenomena
are
still his agents, working his will among the children of men; he
rains
great hailstones out of heaven on his enemies, he slays their
flocks
and desolates their lands, but his chosen ure safe under his
protection,
even although danger hem them in on every side; "thou shalt
not
be afraid for any terror by night, nor for the arrow that flieth by
day;
for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the sickness
that
destroyeth in the noon-day. A thousand shall fall besides thee, and
ten
thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee....
He
shall defend thee under his wings, and thou shalt be safe under his
feathers."
(Ps. xci., Prayer-Book.) Experience contradicted this theory
rather
roughly, and it gave way slowly before the logic of facts; it is,
however,
still more or less prevalent among ourselves, as we see when
the
siege of Paris is proclaimed as a judgment on Parisian irreligion,
and
when the whole nation falls on its knees to acknowledge the
cattle-plague
as the deserved punishment of its sins! The next step
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forward
was to separate the physical from the moral, and to allow that
physical
suffering came independently of moral guilt or righteousness:
the
men crushed under the fallen tower of Siloam were not thereby proved
to
be more sinful than their countrymen. The birth of science rang the
death-knell
of an arbitrary and constantly interposing Supreme Power-.
The
theory of God as a miracle worker was dissipated; henceforth if God
ruled
at all it must be as in nature and not from outside of nature; he
no
longer imposed laws on something exterior to himself, the laws could
only
be the necessary expression of his own being. Laws were, further,
found
to be immutable in their working, changing not in accordance with
prayer,
but ever true to a hair's breadth in their action. Slowly, but
surely,
prayer to God for the alteration of physical phenomena is being
found
to be simply a well-meant superstition; nature swerves not for our
pleading,
nor falters in her path for our most passionate supplication.
The
"reign of law" in physical matters is becoming acknowledged even by
theologians.
As step by step the knowledge of _the natural_ advances,
so
step by step does the belief in _the supernatural_ recede; as the
kingdom
of science extends, so the kingdom of miraculous interference
gradually
disappears. The effects which of old were thought to be caused
by
the direct action of God are now seen to be caused by the uniform and
calculable
working of certain laws--laws which, when discovered, it is
the
part of wisdom implicitly to obey. Things which we used to pray for,
we
now work and wait for, and if we fail we do not ask God to add his
strength
to ours, but we sit down and lay our plans more carefully.
How
is this to end? Is the future to be like the past, and is science
finally
to obliterate the conception of a personal God? It is a question
which
ought to be pondered in the light of history. Hitherto the
supernatural
has always been the makeweight of human ignorance; is it,
in
truth, this and nothing else?
I
am forced, with some reluctance, to apply the whole of the above
reasoning
to every school of thought, whether nominally Christian or
non-Christian,
which regards God as a "magnified man." The same
stern
logic cuts every way and destroys alike the Trinitarian and the
Unitarian
hypothesis, wherever the idea of God is that of a Creator,
standing,
as it were, outside his creation. The liberal thinker,
whatever
his present position, seems driven infallibly to the above
conclusions,
as soon as he sets himself to realise his idea of his God.
The
Deity must of necessity be that one and only substance out of which
all
things are evolved under the uncreated conditions and eternal laws
of
the universe; he must be, as Theodore Parker somewhat oddly puts
it,
"the materiality of matter, as well as the spirituality of spirit;"
_i
e._, these must both be products of this one substance: a truth which
is
readily accepted as soon as spirit and matter are seen to be but
different
modes of one essence. Thus we identify substance with the
all-comprehending
and vivifying force of nature, and in so doing we
simply
reduce to a physical impossibility the existence of the Being
described
by the orthodox as a God possessing the attributes of
personality.
The Deity becomes identified with nature, co-extensive
with
the universe; but the God of the orthodox no longer exists; we may
change
the signification of God, and use the word to express a different
idea,
but we can no longer mean by it a Personal Being in the orthodox
sense,
possessing an individuality which divides him from the rest of
the
universe. I say that I use these arguments "with some reluctance,"
because
many who have fought and are fighting nobly and bravely in the
army
of freethought, and to whom all free-thinkers owe much honour, seem
to
cling to an idea of the Deity, which, however beautiful and poetical,
is
not logically defensible, and in striking at the orthodox notion of
God,
one necessarily strikes also at all idea of a "Personal" Deity.
There
are some Theists who have only cut out the Son and the Holy Ghost
from
the Triune Jehovah, and have concentrated the Deity in the Person
of
the Father; they have returned to the old Hebrew idea of God, the
Creator,
the Sustainer, only widening it into regarding God as the
Friend
and Father of all his creatures, and not of the Jewish nation
only.
There is much that is noble and attractive in this idea, and it
will
possibly serve as a religion of transition to break the shock of
the
change from the supernatural to the natural. It is reached entirely
by
a process of giving up; Christian notions are dropped one after
another,
and the God who is believed in is the residuum. This Theistic
school
has not gained its idea of God from any general survey of nature
or
from any philosophical induction from facts; it has gained it only
by
stripping off from an idea already in the mind everything which is
degrading
and revolting in the dogmas of Trinitarianism. It starts, as
I
have noticed elsewhere, from a very noble axiom: "If there be a God at
all
he must be at least as good as his highest creatures," and thus
is
instantly swept away the Augustinian idea of a God,--that monster
invented
by theological dialectics; but still the same axiom makes
God
in the image of man, and never succeeds in getting outside a human
representation
of the Divinity. It starts from this axiom, and the axiom
is
prefaced by an "if." It assumes God, and then argues fairly enough
what
his character must be. And this "if" is the very point on which the
argument
of this paper turns.
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"If
there be a God" all the rest follows, but _is there a God at all_
in
the sense in which the word is generally used? And thus I come to the
second
part of my problem; having seen that the orthodox "idea of God is
unreasonable
and absurd, is there any idea of God, worthy to be called
an
idea, which is attainable in the present state of our faculties?"
The
argument from design does not seem to me to be a satisfactory
one;
it either goes too far or not far enough. Why in arguing from the
evidences
of adaptation should we assume that they are planned by a
mind?
It is quite as easy to conceive of matter as self-existent, with
inherent
vital laws moulding it into varying phenomena, as to conceive
of
any intelligent mind directly modelling matter, so that the
"heavens
declare the glory of God, and the firmament showeth his
handy-work."
It is, I know, customary to sneer at the idea of beautiful
forms
existing without a conscious designer, to parallel the adaptations
of
this world to the adaptations in machinery, and then triumphantly to
inquire,
"if skill be inferred from the one, why ascribe the other to
chance?"
We do not believe in chance; the steady action of law is not
chance;
the exquisite crystals which form themselves under certain
conditions
are not a "fortuitous concourse of atoms:" the only question
is
whether the laws which we all allow to govern nature are immanent in
nature,
or the outcome of an intelligent mind. If there be a lawmaker,
is
he self-existent, or does he, in turn, as has been asked again and
again
by Positivist, Secularist, and Atheist, require a maker? If
we
think for a moment of the vast mind implied in the existence of a
Creator
of the universe, is it possible to believe that such a mind is
the
result of chance? If man's mind imply a master-mind, how much more
that
of God? Of course the question seems an absurd one, but it is quite
as
pertinent as the question about a world-maker. We must come to a
stop
somewhere, and it is quite as logical to stop at one point as at
another.
The argument from design would be valuable if we could prove,
a
priori, as Mr. Gillespie attempted to do,* the existence of a Deity;
this
being proved we might then fairly argue deductively to the various
apparent
signs of mind in the universe. Again, if we allow design we
must
ask, "how far does design extend?" If some phenomena are designed,
why
not all? And if not all, on what principle can we separate that
which
is designed from that which is not? If intellect and love reveal
a
design, what is revealed by brutality and hate? If the latter are not
the
result of design, how did they become introduced into the universe?
I
repeat that this argument implies either too much or too little.*
* "The Necessary Existence of
Deity."
There
is but one argument that appears to me to have any real weight,
and
that is the argument from instinct. Man has faculties which appear,
at
present, as though they were not born of the intellect, and it seems