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WILL CHRIST
SAVE US?
AN EXAMINATION OF
THE CLAIMS OF JESUS CHRIST TO BE CONSIDERED
THE SAVIOR OF THE WORLD.
BY
G. W. FOOTE.
Price Sixpence.
LONDON :
R. FORDER, 28 STONECUTTER STREET, E.C.
1893.
��M17I
NATIONAL SECULAR SOCIETY
WILL
CHRIST SAVE US?
G. W. FOOTE.
LONDON:
R. FORDER, 28 STONECUTTER STREET, E.O.
1892
�LONDON :
PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY G. W. FOOTE,
28
STONECUTTER STREET, E.C.
�Will Christ Save Us?
----------♦----------
Christian Churches are big firms in the soul-saving business.
The principal of all these firms is a person who is said
to have established the trade nearly nineteen hundred years
ago. Some sceptics have doubted his very existence, but
they are generally held to be obstinately blind or wilfully
captious. Yet in any case it is indisputable that if Jesus
Christ ever lived he died, and though he is declared to
have risen from the dead, he is also said to have ascended
into heaven. He is no longer on earth, except in a theological
or mystical sense. The salvation business is carried on
by his agents, real or fictitious, appointed or self-appointed.
They charge various rates, and issue diverse prospectuses.
It seems impossible that the founder of the business can
authorise such contradictory advertisements or such various
price-lists; nevertheless the many different firms, who all
pretend to be branches of the original house, and sometimes
to be the original house itself, are all busy, and some do
a roaring,, profitable trade.
Soul-saving, as we have said, is the business of all these
Christian establishments or branches. Many people, however,
are doubtful whether they have souls to save, and they are
not the least moral and intelligent members of the human
species. Science is leaving little room for souls in our
economy. Evolution shows a gradual line of development
from the lowest to the highest orders of life, and it is more
and more difficult to see where the soul comes in. The very
Churches, indeed, are beginning to appreciate the growing
indifference on this subject, and are issuing manifestoes
about their intention to save men’s bodies as well as their
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Will Christ Save Us?
souls. General Booth himself was obliged to follow this
line when he wanted to raise £100,000 for the promotion
of his scheme of Salvation.
All these Christian establishments or branches profess
to be powerless in themselves. Their strength and efficacy
are derived. They do all things through Christ. It is he
who works in them. They vend salvation medicine, but he
is the patentee. We may therefore set them aside, and deal
with him, his recipe, its virtues, and its testimonials.
We will consider, first, the disease for which he offers
a remedy. He is to save us, but what is it he is to save us
from? We are told it is from sin, and its consequences.
What then is sin ?
If sin is offence against our fellow men, inflicting misery
upon them for our own interest or gratification, or with
holding assistance when we might render it without greater
injury to ourselves, it is hard to see how Christ can save
us from it. Preaching appears to be of little avail. Didactic
morality has always been barren. Many a boy has written
“honesty is the best policy” all down the length of his
copybook, and gone to the playground and sneaked another
boy’s marbles. Have all the billions of sermons fiom the
pulpit had any appreciable effect on the morale of human
society? But culture, wise conditions of life, examples of
actual heroism, flashing utterances from the brooding depths
of genius, an arresting picture, a pregnant poem, a story
of love stronger than death, of virtue stronger than doom;
these have improved and elevated men, and quickened
the springs of goodness in millions of hearts.
Selfishness is the root of much evil. In the natural sense
of the word it is the only sin. But how will Christ save us
from selfishness ? We are told that he gave his life for us
and this should make us kind to our fellows, out of mere
gratitude. He did not die for us, however; every man
has to die for himself. If it be meant that he gave his
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life as an atonement to God, we reply that such a transaction
is unintelligible. Jurisprudence does not allow one person
to atone for another ; and how can the suffering of innocence
diminish the selfishness of guilt ? Supposing Jesus Christ
to be merely a man, he could n ot bear the sins of the world
upon his own shoulders. Supposing him to be God, does
it not seem farcical for God to atone to himself, satisfy
himself, pay himself, and discharge himself?
Sin, in the form of selfishness, vitiates our nature ;
its consequences afflict our fellow men; and neither the
interior mischief noi’ the exterior evil can be remedied by
theological hocus-pocus.
Setting aside the huge improbabilities of the Crucifixion
story, and treating it as substantially true, it is impossible to
regard Jesus Christ as a real martyr. He died for no prin
ciple. He was not called upon to renounce his convictions.
The slightest exercise of common sense would have saved his
life. His end was rather a suicide than a martyrdom. His
trial and execution are an incomparable tragic picture, which
has made the fortune of Christianity; but if we allow reason
to operate in the midst of terror and compassion, we cannot
fail to perceive that the tragedy involves no ethical lesson or
heroic example.
We are equally disappointed if we turn to the teaching of
Jesus Christ. Nearly all his ethics have a selfish sanction.
Future reward and punishment, the lowest motives to right
conduct, are systematically proffered. Those who forsook
family and property for his sake were to receive a hundred
fold in this life, and a still greater profit in the next life.
“ Great is your reward in heaven ” Was his highest incentive,
except in occasional moments when he was truer to the
natural instincts of sympathy and benevolence. Not in such
teaching is the cure for selfishness, but rather its intensifica
tion. A finer spirit breathed in the Pagan maxim that
“ Virtue is its own reward.”
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Christ cannot save us from selfishness, because he appeals
to selfish motives. Still less, if possible, can he save us from
the consequences of selfishness. No man or god can do thatWhat is said is said, what is done is done. The lie, the
slander, the innuendo; the harsh word, the malicious smile,
the savage frown; the fraud, the curse, the blow; these have
passed from effects into causes, and produce misery in ever
widening circles, as the stone dropped into a still lake pro
duces an extending circle of ripple, whose vibrations continue
when lost to the perception of human eyes.
Even if we admit the blamelessness of Christ’s life, for the
sake of argument, without laying stress on many high
qualities that were lacking in his nature, it is impossible to
regard him as our “ great exemplar,” and in that sense as
our Savior. Regarded as God, he is beyond our imitation.
We have not his means, he had not our weakness. If he was
“ tempted as we are, yet without sin,” he was not tempted as
we are. The external solicitation is powerless without the
internal proclivity. Public-houses are the same to drunkards
as teetotallers, yet they alternately attract and repel. On
the other hand, if we regard Jesus as a man, how are we to
imitate him then ? Most of his life-story is miraculous. We
cannot cure the sick, give sight to the blind, hearing to the
deaf, speech to the dumb, or restore dead sons and brothers
to their mothers and sisters. Our powers and duties are
more prosaic. VTe want incentive and guidance as husbands
and wives, fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, friends
and citizens: and here the example of Jesus fails us as utteily
as his teaching.
Let us first look at the example and the teaching of Jesus
from the domestic standpoint, which is of incalculable impor
tance.
The unit of the human race is neither the man nor the
woman; it is the family. Here the supplementary natures
of men and women find free scope, as husband and wife, and
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as parents, whose various functions, alike on the physical
and on the moral side, are equally necessary to the nurture
and education of their offspring. The family, indeed, is the
ark of civilisation, containing the sacred elements of
humanity, and preserving the germ of all social organisation
amidst the worst disasters that flow from the folly and
wickedness of nations or their rulers.
In this respect the example of Jesus is worthless. He
was certainly not remarkable for filial devotion. Of his
relations with his brothers and sisters we know next to
nothing. He was not married, * and was therefore unac
quainted with the duties of a husband and a father. What
ever else his example may be worth, it is entirely valueless
in regard to domestic obligations. Men, and even gods, can
only be an example to us so far as they have been in our
position. Without this qualification their very advice is
apt to provoke laughter or impatience; a truth which is
reflected in the proverb that bachelor’s children are always
well brought up.
The teaching of Jesus, on this point, is as barren as his
example. It is a singular fact, which rarely attracts the
attention of believers, that the domestic ethics of Christianity
are not to be found in the Gospels, but in the epistles of
Saint Paul. Jesus does occasionally condescend to touch the
question of sexuality, which lies at the basis of all our social
life; but on such occasions he is either enigmatic or repulsive.
He appears to have regarded sexual relations in the spirit of
an Essenean. One of his sayings went still farther; it
prompted the great Origen to emasculate himself as a candi
date for the kingdom of heaven. Another fervent disciple
of Jesus in our own age, the great Russian writer, Count
Tolstoi, argues that no true Christian can enter into the
marriage relation. He quotes a number of the sayings of
Jesus in support of his argument. And what is the answer
of the Churches ? Their only answer is silence. They dare
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not meet him on this ground. They trust his article will bo
forgotten, and they act on the maxim “ the least said the
soonest mended.”
In a certain sense the virtue of industry is a part of
domestic morality. Although every worker may be regarded
as a cell of the entire social organism, it is not for society
that he primarily labors, but for his own subsistence and
the maintenance of his family. Now Jesus never taught
the virtue of industry. “How could he,” asks Professor
Newman, “ when he kept twelve religious mendicants around
him?” Here again it is to Saint Paul that we must go
for ethical teaching. So far as Jesus can be understood,
he taught a doctrine of special providence which cuts at
the roots of thrift and foresight. “ Take no thought for
the morrow,” and similar maxims, would, if acted upon,
reduce civilised communities to the condition of the lowest
savages, who live from hand to mouth, and feast to-day
and starve to-morrow.
The only escape from this difficulty is to treat such
maxims as mystical, hyperbolic, or allegorical. It is difficult,
however, to regard them in this light, when we remember
the whole drift of Christ’s teaching. We have not a few
isolated texts to deal with, but a whole body of inculcations,
culminating in the advice to a rich young man to sell all
he possessed and give the proceeds to the poor; advice,
indeed, which was universally acted upon by the primitive
Church, if we may trust the narrative in the Acts of the
Apostles.
We may further remark that if Jusus did not mean
precisely what he said in these numerous instances, the
Churches are bound to tell us two things; first, what he
did mean; secondly, why he spoke in a misleading or
perplexing manner. Was it worth while to cloud the path
of salvation with dark sayings ? And if a writer or speaker
does not mean what he says, is it really possible for anyone
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to be certain what he does mean ? Unless language is used
with its ordinary significance, every man will interpret it
according to his fancy, and the conception of its meaning
will vary with taste and temperament.
So much for Christ’s example and teaching with respect
to domestic morality. We will now, before examining his
other teaching, briefly consider his claim as “the great
exemplar ” in the more general sense of the words.
Not only is it impossible for us to imitate his miracles;
not only does he afford us no practical example in the
ordinary duties of life; his example in all other respects
is perfectly useless. As a god, we cannot imitate him;
as a man we cannot imitate him either, since it is impossible
to ascertain his real character; and the very fact that he
has been worshipped as a god precludes his serving as a
human model.
Let us elaborate these propositions a little. When a king
is dethroned it is undignified for him to take part in public
affairs. He should retire into private life. In the same way, as
Professor Bain observes, a dethroned God should not set up
as a great man, but retire into the region of poetry and
mythology. “ He who has once been deified,” says Strauss,
“ has irretrievably lost his manhood.” This is the reason
why Unitarianism, despite wealth, learning, and ability
achieves no success amongst the people. It is also the reason
why Christian panegyrists of the character of Jesus indulge
in such hectic eloquence. They must maintain a certain
feverishness; a lapse into cool reason would betray the
hollowness of their cause.
Jesus as a man is one of the most shadowy figures in
history, and his outlines perpetually shift as we read the
gospel narratives. It was this confusing fact which prompted
the following objection of Strauss to regarding the Prophet
of Nazareth as a human model:—
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“ I must have a distinct, definite conception of him in whom I am to
believe, whom I am to imitate as an exemplar of moral excellence. A
being of which I can only catch fitful glimpses, which remains obscure to
me in essential respects, may, it is true, interest me as a problem for
scientific investigation, but it must remain ineffectual as regards practical
influence on my life. But a being with distinct features, capable of
affording a definite conception, is only to be found in the Christ of faith,
of legend, and there, of course, only by the votary who is willing to take
into the bargain all the impossibilities, all the contradictions contained in
the picture; the Jesus of history, of science, is only a problem; but a
problem cannot be an object of worship or a pattern'¡by which to shape
our lives.”
Thus the “great exemplar” vanishes in the light of
rationalism; it can only exist in the twilight of faith.
There is, however, a more subtle and plausible aspect of
this “ great exemplar ” fallacy, which imposes on some who
are entirely free from orthodox superstition. It imposed
even on John Stuart Mill. That great man’s essay on Theism
was published after his death by Miss Helen Taylor, who
confesses that it had “ never undergone the repeated exa
mination which it certainly would have passed through
before he would himself have given it to the world,” and that
even its style is “ less polished than that of any other of his
published works.” At the close of this unfortunate essay
there occurs the famous panegyric on Christ. It is an
unusually rhetorical piece of writing for Mill; its statements
betray a great want of information on the subject, and its
reasoning is remarkably loose and inconsequent. Neverthe
less it has been eagerly seized upon by Christian apologists ;
and, as Professor Bain remarks, the inch of concession to the
existing Theology has been stretched into an ell. Mill dis
misses contemptuously the doctrine of Christ’s divinity, and
declares that the Prophet of Nazareth “ would probably have
thought such a pretension as blasphemous.” Yet he treats
it as “ a possibility ” that Christ was “ a man charged with a
special, express, and unique commission from God to lead
mankind to truth and virtue.” “ Religion,” he says—meaning
of course Christianity—“ cannot be said to have made a bad
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11
choice in pitching on this man as the ideal representative
and guide of humanity.” And he adds that even the un
believer would have difficulty in finding “ a better translation
of the rule of virtue from the abstract into the concrete,
than to endeavor so to live that Christ would approve our
life.”
“ My dear sir,” might the unbeliever reply to Mill, “ your
illustration and argument are alike arbitrary and fantastic.
Profound scholars like Strauss, and patient, well-informed
thinkers like George Eliot, plainly declare (and who can
seriously dispute it?) that the materials for a biography of
Jesus Christ do not exist. The ideal Christ is a creation of
centuries ; nay, the process still continues, each generation of
Christians. adding to, subtracting from, or in some way
modifying the never-finished portrait. The real Christ, if he
ever existed, is lost beyond all hope of recovery; he is buried
under impenetrable mountains of dogma, legend, and
mythology. In vain will you search the New Testament for
any coherent conception of his personality. The protean
figure is ever passing into fresh shapes; a hundred contra
dictory aspects flash upon your baffled vision. The total
impression upon the beholder is, as it were, a composite
photograph, representing types and qualities, but no individu
ality. To make it one’s ideal is only self-delusion. Even if
this objection be waived, and the intelligible personality of
Christ be conceded for the sake of argument, why should a
rational, self-respecting man bind himself to the perpetual
study and emulation of one type of character ? The seeker
for moral beauty, like the seeker for intellectual truth, should
gather honey from every flower that blooms in the garden of
the world. And why should Christ be made the ideal critic
of our actions ? Many a man devotedly loves his mother, or
cherishes her memory. Would it not be a safe rule for him
to act so that the dear dead or living parent would approve
his conduct ? But even this rule, in the wisest and loftiest
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estimate, is too personal and limited. It would be better to
act so that every honest man would approve our conduct;
better still, to act so as to secure our own approval. Let
men be true to themselves, let them broaden and deepen
their intellectual light, let them gain what help they can
from the example of great and beautiful lives, let them con
sider the consequences of their deeds; and having acted, let
them practise the benign art of self-reflection, bringing
their conduct before the inner tribunal of a sensitive con
science, whose judgment, if sometimes mistaken, will always
be pure and nearly always decisive. For every man who
takes the trouble to think (and without thinking what avails?)
will always know himself better than he can be known by
others; and thus the verdict of his own conscience is not only
superior to the brawling judgment of the ignorant world
outside him, but even superior to the judgment of the wisest
and best, who can never know exactly his motives, his powers,
and his necessities, or the myriad circumstances of his
position.”
Having seen that Christ is no real exemplar, and that fie
cannot save us from sin in the form of selfishness^ let us now
consider his power to save us from sin in its theological
significance.
The Christian theory is delightfully simple, and at the
same time brutally crude. It is not entirely derived from
the Gospels, but the Epistles are an integral part of the
Christian revelation, and a successful attempt to discard the
inspired authority of Saint Paul would eventually wreck the
entire structure of Christianity.
We must start with Adam, in whom all men sinned, as in
Christ all men are saved, who will be saved. The grand old
gardener, as Tennyson calls this mythical personage, was
created as the father of the human race. He was placed in
the Garden of Eden, and allowed to eat of the fruit of every
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tree except one, which was strictly forbidden. He was also
given a wife, who was made from one of his ribs, extracted
while he lay in a deep sleep. These two were the only
inhabitants of the garden, but there came a visitor, called
Satan, a powerful rival of the creator. This subtle and wily
adversary tempted the woman to taste the forbidden fruit;
she yielded, and induced her husband to taste it also. For
this act of disobedience they were expelled from the garden;
they were cursed by -their offended God, and the curse fell
upon all their posterity. Sin had vitiated their once pure
natures, and this vitiation was necessarily transmitted to their
offspring. Thus the whole human race is corrupt; in other
words, full of original sin.
This original sin puts enmity between God and his
creatures. God hates sin and must punish it. Every
sinner, therefore—and all men are sinners—owes God an
infinite debt, not because his sin is infinite, but because he
sins against an infinite being. But finite men can never
pay an infinite debt; therefore they are doomed to eternal
imprisonment in Hell, where the God of infinite justice
and mercy immures and tortures his wicked children.
This theory is set forth by hundreds of Christian divines,
in thousands of treatises, but no one puts it more cleaily
than the once-famous Rev. Charles Simeon in Nine Ser
mons on 1 he Sorrows of the Son of God, preached before
the University of Cambridge.
“ We, by sin, had incurred a debt, which not all' the men on earth, or
angels in heaven, were able to discharge. In consequence of this, we
must all have been consigned over to everlasting perdition if, Jesus had
not engaged on our behalf to satisfy every demand of law and justice.
.... Jesus having thus become our surety, our debt ‘ was exacted of
him, and he was made answerable ’ for it. . . . Hence, when the time
was come, in which Jesus was to fulfil the obligations he had contracted,
he was required to pay the debt of all for whom he had engaged ; and to
pay it to the very utmost farthing. It was by his sufferings that he dis
charged this debt.”
The suffering of Jesus was but for a time, but as an infinite
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being he suffered infinitely, and hence his death was “ a full,
perfect, and sufiicient propitiation for the sins of the whole
world.
Such is the metaphysical juggling of Christian
dogmatists!
Now if this orthodox scheme of salvation be closely
examined, it will be found to be rotten to its foundation.
Adam never fell, and we are not inheritors of his vitiated
nature, nor participators in his curse. No such persons as
Adam and Eve ever existed. Their very names are not per
sonal but generical. Only modern ignorance or ancient
mythology speaks of the “ first parents ” of mankind. Evolu
tion does not admit the conception of a first man and woman.
The simian progenitors of the human race did not suddenly
develop into the genus homo. They did not wake up one
morning and find themselves men. Their progress was slow
and gradual, precisely like the psychical progress of humanity
since it virtually became such. Nature does not advance by
leaps and bounds, but by infinitesimal changes which only
amount to decisive alterations in vast periods of time. This
is the teaching of modern science, and in the age of Darwinism
the old story of the special creation of man falls into its proper
place, beside the other guesses of ancient ignorance.
If Adam did not fall, because he never existed, there is an
end to the Christian doctrine of original sin. The just and
merciful God, of whom we hear so much, did not curse his
children in the Garden of Eden for violating a prohibition
which had no moral significance; nor did he involve in the
curse the whole of their unborn posterity. The idea is only
mythological. Yet it adumbrates a certain truth. We now
perceive the great law of heredity, which applies in the
mental and moral as well as in the physical world. Children
do inherit something from their parents; not sin, for that is
an act, but tendency, disposition, or whatever name it passes
under. And in all of us there are passions inherited from
our far-off brute ancestors, that do war against our highest
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interests. But these passions are not in themselves a curse.
The evil is one of excess, or want of equilibrium, which it is
the business of social and individual culture to rectify. Take
away our passions, volcanic and insurgent as they sometimes
are, and you would reduce us to nonentity. Passion is our
motive power. Let the intellect and conscience employ this
natural force, directing it to the permanent good of each and
all, which in the long run are identical.
The new truth supplants the old error, at the same time
preserving whatever grain of verity it concealed. Only the
most docile and degraded slaves of superstition now believe
the hideous doctrine of original sin as it was preached by our
Puritan forefathers, and is still set forth in the creeds of the
Churches. Generous natures always revolted against it.
Loving mothers, bending over their little ones, never thought
them reeking masses of spiritual corruption. The answering
love in the child’s eye, the clasp of its little fingers, its
appealing helplessness, and its boundless trust, nursed the
holy flame in the mother’s heart, until it grew into a fire of
affection that consumed the evil dogma of birth-sin with
which the priest sought to over-lay her natural instinct.
Stern old Jonathan Edwards, that consummate logician of a
devilish creed, was not deflected from “ God’s truth ” by the
smiles of his children; but it is said that he never quite
convinced their loving mother. The logic of her heart was
better than the logic of his head.
Obliged to dismiss, as we are, the story of the Fall and the
doctrine of Original Sin, what becomes of the Atonement ?
Must it not go with them? Every student of religion
perceives that the doctrine of the Atonement is a last subli
mation of the old theory of Sacrifice. Men were once
slaughtered to appease the wrath of the gods; animals were
substituted for men as civilisation progressed; finally a
compromise was effected in the death of a man-god, whose
blood was a universal atonement.
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The savage origin of this central dogma of Christian
theology is betrayed in its nomenclature. “ Without shedding
of blood there is no remission.” “The blood of Christ
cleanseth from all sin.” “ Washed in the blood of the Lamb.”
Such are the flowers of speech in the garden of the Atone
ment. And who that has ever heard it fails to remember the
famous hymn ?—
There is a fountain filled with blood
Drawn from Immanuel’s veins,
And sinners plunged within that flood
Lose all their guilty stains.
This language of the shambles would never be adopted by
civilised people. It comes down to us from ages of barbarism.
We lisp the words before we comprehend their meaning, and
familiarity in after years deadens our sense of horror and
disgust. Only when we break through the mesh of custom
do we realise the shocking nature of the “ holy ” language of
our hereditary faith.
Having once begun to reflect upon it, we soon perceive the
absurdity of the doctrine it expresses. We see it is false,
immoral, and foolish. Punishment is justifiable only as it
aims at the protection of society or the reformation of the
criminal. Having satisfaction out of somebody is simply
vengeance. Jesus Christ, therefore, could not be “ a propitia
tion ” for our sins, unless God were a brutal tyrant, who went
upon the principle of “ so much sin, so much suffering,”
regardless upon whom it was inflicted. Nor could the suffer
ings of Jesus Christ, borne for our sins, even if they appeased
our angry God, either remove the consequences of our illdoing in human society or prevent the inevitable deterioration
of our characters. And when we consider that God the Son,
who makes expiation, is “ of the same substance ” with God the
Father, who exacts it; and that the discharge of this “ debt ”
is like robbing Peter to pay Paul; we lose all control of our
risible muscles, and drown the demented dogma in floods of
laughter.
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What honest man would be saved by the loss of another ?
It were noble for a friend to offer to die for me; it were base
for me to accept the sacrifice. He who hopes for heaven
through the sufferings of an innocent substitute, is not worth
saving, and scarcely worth damning. People are growing
ashamed of the advice to “ lay it all upon Jesus.” Selfrespecting men and women prefer to bear their own respon
sibilities. It is disreputable to sneak into heaven in the
shadow of Jesus Christ.
According to orthodoxy, Jesus saves us from the wrath of
God, who seems to be in a permanent passion with his
children. To speak plainly, he saves us from hell. But the
belief in future torment is dying out in the light of civilisa
tion and humanity. Men have advanced, and their god must
advance with them. Hell is being recogniseds^as “ the dark
delusion of a dream ” by the most educated, thoughtful, and
humane of our species ; and the progress of this emancipation
may be measured by the desperate efforts of the more astute
clergy to “ limit the eternity of hell’s hot jurisdiction,” or to
explain away a literal hell altogether as a false interpretation
of metaphorical teaching.
Salvation from hell in another fifty or a hundred years will
be universally laughed at, if not forgotten, in all civilised
countries. And the fate of the Devil is no less certain.
“ Deliver us from the evil one ”—as the Lord’s Prayer now
reads in the Revised Version—will only be a monument of
old superstition. The great bogie of the priest is going the
way of the . bogies of the nursery. We do not need to be
saved from Old Nick. Our real peril is in quite another
direction. The suggestions of evil do not come from Satan,
but from our own faulty and ill-regulated natures. Stupidity,
ignorance, sensuality, egotism, and cowardice; these are the
devils against which we must carry on an incessant warfare.
It may of course be plausibly argued that Christ was (and
is) God; that, being so, his ability to save us, here and hereB
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Will Christ Save Us?
after, is unquestionable; that, having the power to save us,
he may be presumed to have the desire; that he is the Son
of “ our Father which art in heaven,” and that we may—and
indeed ought to—rely upon his mercy and generosity for our
salvation.
Now there are two fatal defects in this argument. In the
first place, it is not clear that Christ was God; in the second
place, it is not clear that, if he was, he will certainly save us.
The deity of Christ has always been rejected by a more or
less numerous section of professed Christians. Learned
books have been written to prove that the doctrine is incon
sistent with the teaching of Christ and the utterances of the
primitive Church. Even an outsider, who studies Christianity
as he studies Buddhism or Brahminism, sees that the doctrine
of the deity of Christ—or the dogma of God the Son—was
slowly developed as primitive Christianity made its way
among the Gentiles. It required centuries to reach its per
fection in the metaphysical subtleties of the great Creeds,
which are accepted alike by Protestant and Catholic. Peter,
in the Acts of the Apostles, speaks to his countrymen of “ the
man ” Jesus whom they had slain; the god Christ was an
after construction of the Grasco-Oriental mind.
We do not propose, however, to trouble the reader with
laborious proofs of this position. We prefer to leave the
historical ground—at least in the present inquiry—and to
tread the ground of common knowledge and common sense.
Apart from history and metaphysics, for which the popular
mind has neither leisure nor inclination, and in which it is
often as easy for a skilled intelligence to go wrong as to go
right—there are only two ways in which the belief in Christ’s
divinity can be supported. It may be argued that he was not
born, and that he did not live or die, like a mere human
being; and that his supernatural career proves his deity. Or
it may be argued that he taught the world what it did not
know, and could never have discovered for itself.
�Will Christ Save Us?
,19
We will take the second argument first; and in reply w©
have simply to observe that a very slight acquaintance with
the teachings of antiquity will convince us of the truth of
Buckle’s statement, that whoever asserts that Christianity
revealed to mankind truths with which they were previously
unacquainted is guilty either of gross ignorance or of wilful
fraud. The note of absolute originality is lacking in the
utterances of Christ; what he said had been said in other
words before him; and it is inconceivable that God should
come upon earth, and go through all the painful and un
dignified stages of human life, merely to inform his creatures
of what they had already discovered.
Let us now take the first argument—the supernatural career
of Christ. We are told that he was born without a father;
but whoever will read the Gospels critically, without the
slightest reference to any other authority, will see that they
do not contain the first-hand testimony of any valid witness.
If the Gospels were written in the second century (as they
were) they are no evidence at all. If they were written
by Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, they are still no
evidence of the miraculous birth of Jesus; for neither of
those writers was in a position to know the facts. The
only persons who could know anything about the matter
were Joseph and Mary. Joseph himself could only know
he was not the father of Jesus; he could not know who
was, Mary, indeed, knew if there was anything uncommon ;
but she does not appear to have informed any one; in fact,
she is said to have kept all these things hidden in her heart.
How then did the Gospel writers—or rather two of them, for
Mark and John were ignorant or silent—how, we ask, did
they discover the minute details of the annunciation and
miraculous conception ? Joseph and Mary appear to have
kept the secret, if there was one to keep; and during all the
public life of Jesus, as recorded in the Gospels, not a whisper
transpired of his supernatural birth ; on the contrary, he is
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TPzZZ Christ Save Us ?
unsuspectingly referred to as “ the carpenter’s son ” by his
neighbors and fellow citizens.
Were such “ evidence ” as this tendered in a court of law,
it would damnify the case for which it was adduced; and
Catholics are sagacious in reminding the Protestants that the
witness of the Bible is insufficient without the living wit
ness of the Church.
A miraculous birth is necessarily suspicious. The advent
of a Cod should be entirely supernatural. It is not enough
to dispense with a father; he should also dispense with a
mother. Both are alike easy in physiology. But when there
is a mother in the case, it is natural to suppose that there is
a father somewhere.
With regard to the miracles of Christ’s life, however they are
acceptable to faith, they are not acceptable to reason. There
is an utter lack of evidence in their favor—at least of such
evidence as would be admitted in a legal investigation. It
is this fact, indeed, which induces advocates like Cardinal
Newman to lay stress upon the “ antecedent probability ” of
the New Testament miracles; which is only supplying the
deficiency of evidence by the force of prepossession. Even
the Resurrection is unattested. There is no first-hand evi
dence, and the narrative is full of self-contradiction. This is
perceived by Christian apologists, who have abandoned the
old-fashioned argument. They say as little as possible about
the Gospel witnesses. They stake almost everything on Paul,
who is not mentioned in the Gospels, who never saw Jesus in
the flesh, who only saw him in a vision several years after the
Ascension, and whose testimony (if it may be called such)
would be laughed at by any committee of inquiry. They
also argue, in a supplemental way, that the early Christians
believed in the resurrection of Christ. Yes, and they believed
in all the miracles of Paganism. But in any case belief is not
evidence; it is only, at best, a reason for investigation. The
resurrection was a fact or it was not a fact, and the disincli-
�Will Christ Save Us ?
21
nation of Christian writers to face this plain alternative is an
indication of their own misgivings. A counsel does not resort
to subtleties when he has a good case upon the record.
The deity of Christ, therefore, is very far from proved; it
is even far from probable. Faith may cry “ He was God,”
but Reason declares “He was man.” Even, however, if he
were God, it does not follow that he will save us. What he
may do behind the curtain of death is only a conjecture. In
this world it is patent that God only helps those who help
themselves; he also helps them as far as they help them
selves ; that is, he does not help them at all. Prayer is no
longer a hearty request for divine assistance. Christians ask
on Sunday, but they do not expect to receive on Monday.
Their supplication is formal and perfunctory. They know
that it will not deflect the lightning from its path, or turn
the course of the avalanche, or divert the lava’s stream, or
change the line of an explosion, or banish a pestilence, or
bring rain in drought, or draw sunshine for the crops, or
quicken the growth of a single blade of grass, or diminish
by one iota the statistics of human crime.
It is, of course, impossible to prove that Jesus Christ did
not work miracles; nor is it incumbent upon the unbeliever
to attempt such an undertaking. He who asserts must
prove; other persons have only to try his arguments and
weigh his evidence. Is not every prisoner in the dock
presumed to be innocent until he is proved to be guilty? And
should not the career of every being in the form of humanity
be presumed to be natural until it is proved to be super
natural ?'
This much, however, may be safely asserted by the
unbeliever—that whatever miracles were wrought by Jesus
Christ were only useful to his contemporaries; that he does
not posthumously save their successors from pain and
hunger, and disease and death; and that he certainly has
not through the Religion he came to promulgate, and the
7
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Will Christ Save Us ?
Church he came to establish—in the least degree succeeded
in saving the world, or any part of it, from evil and mianry
Let us expatiate a little upon each of these assertions; so
that, if they are disputed, they may first be understood.
There is no suggestion in the Gospels, or elsewhere in the
New Testament, that Jesus wrought any miracle on an
extensive scale, except the feeding of some thousands of
people at a religious picnic, by supernaturally multiplying a
few leaves and fishes, so that they served as an ample repast
for the hungry multitude. This was very convenient—for
that particular assembly. But of what service was it after
wards to the rest of mankind ? Has it ever filled out the
pinched cheek of want, put fresh blood in the blue lips of
famine, or new fire in the dull eyes of despair ? Babes have
died at the drained and flaccid breasts of their mothers, and
strong men have withered into shadows, for whom a little of
the miraculous food of Christ would have meant a real and
blessed salvation.
The other alleged miracles of Jesus Christ were entirely
personal. A blind man has his sight restored and a deaf
person his hearing; a dumb man is made to speak, who
might, perhaps, as usefully have remained silent; a cripple
is enabled to walk, a diseased person is healed, a widow’s
dead son and a sister’s dead brother are restored to their
loving embraces. All this was very interesting—at the time;
though it seems to have had a marvellously feeble effect upon
the Jews. But of what interest is it now ? Jesus did, indeed,
promise that his faithful disciples should work miracles
even greater than his own, and for a while they are said to
have done so; but their powers in this direction very
curiously declined as they came into contact with the educated
classes, and except in the most ignorant parts of Catholic
countries it is impossible to find a trace of the miraculous
virtue that was to be the “ sign of them that believed.”
Accordingly, the apologists of Christianity seek refuge in
�Will Christ Save Us 7
23
an arbitrary assertion, and a vague, unsustainable, and irre
futable argument. The arbitrary sssertionis (not in Catholic,
but in Protestant countries) that the miraculous powers of
the disciples of Christ ceased at some time aftei* his Ascen
sion. They do not say when; and it is easy to prove that
the miracles of the Church since the days of Constantine (for
instance) are better substantiated than the miracles of the
primitive ages. Still more extravagant, if possible, is the
argument that, whatever may be said as to individual cases
of miracle, the establishment of Christianity and its perpetual
maintainance is a miracle of miracles, a colossal and perma
nent proof of the ceaseless care of Christ for the salvation
of mankind. Logic, indeed, is powerless against the
assumption of something supernatural behind the Christian
Church—proof and disproof being alike impossible; but so
far as its history can be traced, its growth and progress are
entirely natural, like the growth and progress of Buddhism,
Mohammedanism, or any othei’ system that has arisen within
the historic period.
In any case the Christian Church has not saved the world.
Christianity lives upon the falsification of history in the past,
and irredeemable promises in the future. Its apologists
have systematically blackened the ancient civilisations; they
have taken credit for such improvement in human society as
was inevitable in the progress of two thousand years; and
against the objection that the world is still in a very wretched
condition, they have replied that Christianity has not had
time enough to produce all its beneficial fruits. Give it
another two thousand years, and it will turn the wilderness
into a paradise, and make the desert bloom with roses!
Now no one can give Christianity another two thousand
years; and if prophecy is easy, it is also unprofitable. What
will be will be, at the end of two thousand years as to-morrow,
but none of us will live to see it. Let us, therefore, take a
more practical course. We will take a few broad character
�24
Will Christ Save Us ?
istics of progress, and see what has been the effect of
Christianity upon European civilisation. In other words,
we shall ask whether Christ has saved the world; and the
result will help us to answer—as far as it can be answered—
the further question whether he will save the world.
There is one indispensable condition of all progress—
Liberty of Thought. Truth is the highest interest of man
kind ; it cannot be found unless we are free to search for it,
and even if it were found we could nevei- be sure of it without
examination. And it is impossible to say which of us will
find the next truth that may revolutionise the belief and
practice of society. Wise man was he, wrote Carlyle, who
said that thought should be free at every point of the com
pass. The wider the area of selection the greater the
variety; and he who seems one of the most insignificant of
men may link his name with a great discovery, a splendid
invention, or sublime principle. You cannot tell where your
Arkwright, Watt, or Stephenson will come from; your
Edison may be a street-arab selling newspapers; your
Shakespeare and Burns are born in unknown poor men’s
houses; your philosopher of the century may be unknown,
or half contemptible, until he flashes his truth upon the
minds of the few, who become his apostles to the many;
your social regenerator may live and die despised, or perish
in the prison or on the scaffold, and only earn fame and
gratitude when his ashes cannot be gathered from the
general dust of death.
Let thought be free then; free as the air, free as the
sunshine. Set it no limits. Let its only limit be its power
and opportunity. Let genius contribute its wealth, and
mediocrity its mite, to the treasure-house of humanity.
This priceless freedom of thought has always been hated
by Christianity. No religion has ever equalled it in steady,
relentless oppression. In every age, and in every nation, it
has called unbelief a crime. It has punished honest thinkers
�Will Christ Save Us?
25
with imprisonment, torture, and death; and threatened
them with everlasting hell when beyond the reach of its
malice. It has blessed ignorant faith and damned earnest
inquiry ; it has prejudiced the child and terrorised the man;
it has protected its dogmas with penal laws after usurping
authority in the schools; it has excluded Freethinkers from
universities, parliament, and public offices, when it could
not murder them; and even in the most civilised countries
it still clings to enactments against blasphemy and heresy.
It has fought Science, trampled upon Freethought, and
opposed every step of Progress in the name of God.
Christianity has always lent itself to the arts of pi'iestcraft.
All its ethical teaching—which is scattered, various, and
sometimes self-contradictory—has been overshadowed by its
supernatural elements. There have ever been some, it is
true, who have made a faith for themselves out of the finer
maxims of the Hew Testament, and held it up as the real
Christianity. But these have been only as a few loose stones
lying about a mighty edifice. The great mass of Christians,
in every age, have been under the dominion of priests; a
body of men who, except in very low states of barbarism,
where superstition comes to the aid of such culture as is then
possible, are always in a common conspiracy against the
progress of mankind. Strife for precedence and authority
took place at a very early period in the primitive Church, and
continued until Christendom was a vast hierarchy. Popes,
cardinals, archbishops, and bishops, have lorded it over the
common herd. Even in our own age, when the spirit of
democracy is abroad, the most successful novelty in Christian
organisation—namely, the Salvation Army—is a sheer
tyranny; a fact which shows that Christianity, despite a few
convenient texts paraded by “ advanced ” Christians, is in
natural harmony with the principles of despotism.
It is idle to cite particular texts against this perennial
tendency. We must judge a system by its general spirit»
�26
Will Christ Save Us ?
and its general spirit by its prevalent practice. Even if we
were to admit, for the sake of argument, that there is no
obvious connection between the doctrines of Christianity and
the existence of priestcraft, it would still remain a fact that
the religion of Jesus Christ has been manipulated by priests
for their own advantage, and the robbery and oppression of
the people; and surely a religion which, during eighteen
centuries, has not been able to save itself from this disgrace,
is never likely, either in the immediate or in the remote
future, to effect our salvation.
Everywhere in Europe, America, and Australia, at the
present moment, Priestcraft, in some form or other, directs
the energies of the Christian faith. If they were ever
separate, the two things are now in absolute alliance. Prac
tically, they are one and the same; they stand or fall
together. Do we not see that those who break away from
Churches, swim or drift down the stream of Rationalism ?
Quakerism itself, after two centuries of sturdy protest against
priestcraft, is now dwindling. Christianity arose quite
naturally in a superstitious age, when the old national
religions of the Roman Empire had fallen into discredit, and
the populace was ready to embrace a more universal religion;
but it never could have been upheld in subsequent ages with
out the combined arts of political and ecclesiastical despotism •
the altar supporting the throne, and the throne the altar; and
both exploiting the ignorance and credulity of the people.
Had freedom prevailed, and free scope been allowed to
inquiry, the Church would long ago have perished, with the
whole system of Christian supernaturalism.
After Liberty of Thought comes Education. The one is
necessary to make the other fruitful. And Christianity has
never been a true friend of education. We are often pointed
to the colleges it established in the dark ages; but it made
the darkness of those ages, and it did not establish the
colleges. It simply took possession of them, and made all
�Will Christ Save Us ?
27
permitted learning its subject. Even the study of ancient
literature, which followed the Reformation, was a sheer
accident, at least in religious circles. In order to maintain
their challenge of Rome, the Reformers had to appeal to
antiquity; and thus, as Bacon observed, the “ ancient authors,
both in divinity and humanity, which had long time slept m
libraries, began generally to be read and revolved.” Those
sleeping authors were only roused for the purpose of contention, not from any desire to extract their wisdom for the
welfare of mankind.
Why, indeed, were those ancient authors allowed to sleep
so long in libraries ? Why was the dust of so many centuries
allowed to accumulate upon them P The proper answer to
this question is to be found in an appeal to Christian
Gibbon remarks that the primitive Christians “ despised
all knowledge that was not useful to salvation.” Some of
their leaders, in the second century, were obliged to study
“human wisdom” inorder to reply to their Pagan adversaries; but a great majority were opposed to this policy.
They wished, as Mosheim observes, to “ banish all reasoning
and philosophy out of the confines of the Church.” After
the triumph of Christianity under Constantine it became
unnecessary to oppose the advocates of Paganism by any
other weapons than proscription and imprisonment. From
that moment the darkness crept over the face of Europe.
The Council of Carthage, in the following century, forbade
the reading of Pagan books. “ The bishops,” says Jortin,
“ soon began to relish this advice, and not to trouble their
heads with literature.” Some of the Byzantine emperors,
less bigoted than the Church dignitaries, tried to cherish
learning; but they were defeated by the ecclesiastics, who,
as Mosheim tells us, “ considered all learning, and especially
philosophic learning, as injurious and even destructive to
true piety and godliness.” What wonder that in the fifth
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�28
Will Christ Save Us?
century “learning was almost extinct” and “only a faint
shadow of it remained ” ?
After a dismal lapse of hundreds of years the clouds of
intellectual darkness began to lift from the face of Europe.
Mohammedan learning slowly spread through Christendom.
All the knowledge of mathematics, astronomy, medicine
and philosophy, propagated in Europe from the tenth cen
tury onward,” says Mosheim, “was derived principally
from the schools and books of the Arabians in Italy and
Spain.”
After the Reformation the Jesuits carried on the work of
education among Catholics. Their object was simply to train
promising young men for the service of the Church. And
the same policy obtained in Protestant seminaries. The
clergy and the privileged classes, as far as possible, mono
polised the extant learning. The wealthier middle-class
gradually gained a share of it, but the common people were
left m the outer darkness. Even in the early part of the
present century they were still excluded. The student of
history is aware that the Christian Churches steadily opposed
popular education. English bishops, in the House of Lords,
voted against the first Education Acts; a famous Bishop of
Exeter remarking in debate that the education of the lower
classes would render them proud and discontented, and
unwilling to work for their superiors.
When it was seen that popular education was bound to
come, the Churches resolved to take time by the forelock.
To prevent Secular education they set up schools for Christian
education. And this is still the secret of their interest in
the working of the present Education Acts. Their real
anxiety is about their own dogmas; they care not for educa
tion, but for theology. Church and Dissent fight each other
at School Board elections. The real issue between them is
what sort of religion shall be taught to the children. Were
religion banished from public schools; were State education
�Will Christ Save Us ?
29
made purely secular; parsons and ministers would cease to
display any interest in the matter.
With respect to education, as in the case of every other
element of progress, we shall of course be met with the
hackneyed objection that Christ has not opposed it. The
crim A will be laid to the charge of the Christian priesthood.
Be it so. We must then ask if there is anything in the
teaching of Christ in favor of education. Where is it to
found, even by the fondest partiality? Jesus himself,
in all probability, was but poorly instructed. His disciples
belonged to the ignorant and unlettered classes. Nor is
it likely that he ever conceived the value of any other
education than the reading of the Jewish Scriptures. The
curriculum of the great schools of Greece and Rome would
have astonished him; he might even have regarded it
as a waste of time, or a wicked self-assertion of the human
intellect.
Cardinal Newman has said that Christianity was always a
learned religion. In a certain sense this is true, though
purely accidental. A kind of learning was needed by
Jerome, who translated the Old Testament into Latin;
a higher learning was required when the Greek of the New
Testament became practically a dead tongue; and a still
higher learning when the Bible and the Fathers were
minutely discussed by the opposed schools of Protestant and
Catholic divinity. Giants of such learning arose in this
mighty contest. But it must be admitted that their learning
was entirely subsidiary to theological disputes. We have
already observed that it was confined to the clergy; we
must now add that it was not very profitable, except in
quite an indirect way, to the general civilisation of Europe.
The vital spring of modern civilisation is science; the
study of nature and of human nature. Shakespeare was as
much a scientist as Newton. We must never narrow science
down to the investigation of physical phenomena. Psycho
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Will Christ Save Us ?
logy and sociology are as noble and fruitful as astromony
and chemistry. It must be admitted, however, that the
study of physical science gives power and precision to our
study of mental science; accuracy in objective investigation
must, in the main, precede accuracy in subjective investi
gation; and as physics precede biology, so biology must
precede sociology.
The methods and conclusions of physical science are there
fore indispensable, apart altogether from their practical value
in providing the material basis of civilisation. Let us inquire
then, what is the relation of Christianity to this requisite of
all real and durable progress.
We shall pass by the fatuous argument that Christianity is
a friend to science because many eminent men of science have
been Christians. Suffice it to say that they were not pro
duced by Christianity. They were born and reared in
Christian countries, and hence they became Christians. Men
of genius have arisen in all civilisations. They were the
gift of Nature to the human race. Scientists, artists, poets,
historians, and philosophers, were born with genius; they were
taught to be Christians, Mohammedans, Jews, Brahmans, or
Buddhists. Genius belongs to no creed; it belongs to
Humanity.
Should it be argued that the fact of men of science having
been professed Christians shows that there is no real opposi
tion between science and Christianity, we should reply that
this is taking a very narrow view of the situation. The real
questions to be considered are these; first, is there anything
in Christianity calculated to make it hostile to science ;
secondly, has it displayed hostility to science through its
chief teachers and great organisations ?
There is something in Christianity calculated to make it
hostile to science. Its sacred books are defaced by a puerile
cosmogony, and a vast number of physical absurdities ; while
�Will Christ Save Us ?
31
its whole atmosphere, in the New as well as in the Old
Testament, is in the highest degree unscientific.
The Bible gives a false account of the origin of the world ;
a foolish account of the origin of man; a ridiculous account
of the origin of languages. It tells us of a universal flood
which never happened. And all these falsities are bound up
with essential doctrines, such as the fall of man and the
atonement of Christ; withimportant moral teachings andsocial
regulations. It was therefore inevitable that the Church,
deeming itself the divinely appointed guardian of Revelation,
should oppose such sciences as astronomy, geology, and
biology, which could not add to the authority of the
Scripture, but might very easily weaken it. Falsehood
was in possession, and truth was an exile or a prisoner.
Even the science of medicine was hated and oppressed.
It was seen to be in opposition to the New Testament
theory that disease is spirit ual—which is still the current
theory among savages. Medical men saw that disease
is material. Hence the proverb “Among three Doctors
two Atheists.”
Christianity has been called by Cardinal Newman “a
religion supernatural, and almost scenic.” It is miraculous
from beginning to end. Setting aside the extravagances
of the Old Testament, the Gospels and the Acts of the
Apostles are replete with prodigies. Scarcely anything
is natural. Not only is the career of Jesus entirely
superhuman; his very disciples suspend the laws of nature
at their pleasure; they miraculously heal the sick and
raise the very dead.
A history so marvellous fed the superstition of the multi
tude, confirmed their credulous habit of mind, and prejudiced
them against a more scientific conception of nature. It also
compelled the Church to oppose the spread of rational inves
tigation. The spirit of science and the spirit of Christianity
were mutually antagonistic. A conflict between them was
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Will Christ Save Us ?
inevitable. The natural and the miraculous could not dwell
together in peace. The conquests of the one were necessarily
at the expense of the other. This was instinctively felt by
the Church, which could not help acting as the bitter enemy
of Science.
Accordingly we find that the splendid remains of ancient
science were speedily destroyed. The work of demolition
was almost completed within a century after the conversion
of Constantine. Hypatia was murdered by Christian monks
at Alexandria. The magnificent Museum of that city was
also reduced to ruins, and its superb Library was
burnt to ashes or scattered to the winds. Astronomy,
physics, geography, optics, physiology, botany, and
mechanics were annihilated. Before another century had
elapsed they were utterly forgotten. Oosmas Indicopleustes,
a Christian topographer, gravely taught that the earth was
not round, but a quadrangular plane, enclosed by mountains
on which the sky rests; that night was caused by a northern
mountain intercepting the rays of the sun; that the earth
leans towards the south, so that the Euphrates and Tigris,
which run southward, have a rapid current, while the Nile
has a slow current because it runs uphill!
Science simply ceased to exist in Christendom, and it did
not revive for hundreds of years; not, in fact, until Christian
torches were lit at Mohammedan fire. The light of Alexan
drian science was followed by the long darkness of Christian
superstition. “ Looking at the history of science,” says Dr.
Tylor, “ for eighteen hundred years after this flourishing
time, though some progress was made, it was not what might
have been expected, and on the whole things went wrong.”
Things went wrong. Yes, and Christianity was the principal
cause of the mischief. There is no clearer fact in the course
of human history. And it is equally clear that when Science
reappeared in Europe, after an absence of a thousand years,
the Church once more attacked it with tiger-like ferocity.
�Will Christ Save Us ?
33
Astronomy was the first object of the Church’s wrath. It
gave the lie to the Bible theory of the earth being the
centre of the universe; the sun, moon, and stars merely
existing to give it illumination, or to decorate the sky. It
opened up vistas of time and space in which the Christian
ideas of the universe were lost like drops of water in the ocean.
Farther, by diminishing the relative importance of this
world, it tended to discredit the notion that God was chiefly
occupied with the sins, the repentances, and the destiny of
mankind.
Astronomy came to Christendom from the Mohammedans.
Like other sciences it was unknown in Europe after the
triumph of Christianity, during “the long dead time when
so much was forgotten ”—to use the forcible language of Dr.
Tylor. “ Physical science,” the same writer says, “ might
almost have disappeared [from the world, that is] if it had not
been that while the ancient treasure of knowledge was lost
to Christendom, the Mohammedan philosophers were its
guardians, and even added to its store.” Galileo invented
the pendulum three hundred years ago ; but Dr. Tylor tells
us that “ as a matter of fact, it appears that six centuries
earlier Ebn Yunis and other Moorish astronomers were
already using the pendulum as a time-measurer in their
observations.” According to Professor Draper, the Moham
medan astronomers made catalogues and maps of the stars,
ascertained the size of the earth, determined the obliquity of
the elliptic, published tables of the sun and moon, fixed the
length of the year, and verified the procession of the
equinoxes. “ Meanwhile,” says Draper, “ such waB the
benighted condition of Christendom, such its deplorable
ignorance, that it cared nothing about the matter. Its atten
tion was engrossed by image-worship, transubstantiation, the
merits of the saints, miracles, shrine-cures.”
This indifference lasted till the end of the fifteenth century,
when it was broken by the great navigators, like Columbus
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De Gama, and Magellan, who settled the true shape of the
earth, practically demonstrated its rotundity, and struck a
death-blow at the old teaching of the Church. Then came
the great astronomers, Copernicus, Kepler, and Galileo, who
completed the work of destruction by restoring the true
theory of the universe.
The treatment of these great men shows us the real spirit
of Christianity. Copernicus was called “ an old fool ” i»y
Martin Luther. His great work On the Revolutions of the
Heavenly Bodies, kept back from publication for thirty-six
years through fear of the consequences, was condemned as
heretical by the Inquisition, and put upon the Index of
prohibited books, his system being denounced as “that
false Pythagorean doctrine utterly contrary to the Holy
Scriptures.”
Galileo invented the telescope, and with it perceived the
phases of Mercury and "Venus, the mountains and valleys of
the moon, and the spots on the sun. He demonstrated the
earth’s orbit and the sun’s revolution on its own axis. A
terrible blow was given to the cosmogony of the Church and
the book of Genesis. Galileo was accused of heresy, blas
phemy, and Atheism. The Inquisition told him his teaching
was “ utterly contrary to the Scriptures.” He was required
to pledge himself to desist from his wickedness. Tor sixteen
years he obeyed. But in 1632—only 260 yearB ago—he
ventured to publish his System of the World. He was again
brought before the Inquisition, and compelled to fall upon his
kneeR and recant the truth of the earth’s movement round
the sun. Then he was thrown into prison, and treated with
great severity. When he died, after ten years of martyrdom,
the Church denied him burial in consecrated ground.
Giordann Bruno, the poet-prophet of the new astronomy,
was imprisoned for seven years, mercilessly tortured, and at
last burnt to ashes on the Field of Flowers at Borne.
It will be said that these persecutions were the work of
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Catholics. But were the Protestants more friendly to science ?
Martin Luther railed at Copernicus, and John Calvin hunted
Servetus to a fiery death at the stake.
Christianity has now lost its power of opposing science.
But even in the present century it has barked where it cou d
not bite. It was Christian bigotry which made the author of
the Vestiges of Creation conceal his identity; it was orthodox
prepossession which so long prevented Sir Charles Lyell from
admitting the truth of evolution; it was Biblical teaching
which inspired all the pulpit diatribes against Charles Darwin.
Evolution has practically triumphed, but where its evidences
are still imperfect the clergy continue to trade upon the con
jectures of ancient ignorance.
The effect of Christian doctrine upon the lay mind, even in
a high state of development, may be seen in Mr. Gladstone’s
defence of the Bible. His labored absurdities, and unscru
pulous special pleading, show a deep distrust, not only of the
teachings, but of the very spirit of Science.
There is, indeed, an essential opposition between Science
and Christianity. The whole atmosphere of the Bible is
miraculous. Nor is the New Testament any improvement in
this respect upon the Old Testament. It incorporates the
savage theory of disease as the work of evil spirits. Its
stories of demoniacal possession belong to the ages when
madness was treated as a spiritual disorder. The narrative
of Jesus casting devils out of men and sending them into pigs
is an aspect of the same superstition which inspired the
terrible text “ Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.” And
the healing of disease by Paul with magic handkerchiefs, or
by Peter with his Bhadow, goes down to the lowest depths of
credulity.
Net a single sentence is to be found in the New Testament
showing the slightest appreciation of science or philosophy.
It is clear that the writers of those books looked for the
speedy second coming of Christ. Nothing therefore was of
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any importance in their eyes except an earnest preparation
for “ the great and terrible day of the Lord.”
This superstition of the Second Advent is not yet extinct
in Christendom. It still retains a hold upon millions of the
most stupid and illiterate; and its strength, after so many
centuries, and amid such hostile influences, enables us to
realise its tremendous power in the early ages of Christianity.
The great majority of Christians are, of course, emanci’
pated from this superstition. They take it for granted that
the earth and the human race will exist for thousands and
perhaps millions of years. They are reconciled to the idea of
mental, moral, and material progress in this world. Never
theless, their inherited instincts, the teaching of their religious
instructors, and the reading of their sacred scriptures, make
the most pious and zealous among them look askance at
Science, even while they are ready to enjoy her benefactions.
They feel that she is the natural enemy of their faith.
The clergy themselves treat science in precisely the same
spirit, only their hatred is sometimes tempered by discretion.
The more ignorant and presumptuous still denounce “ science
falsely so called,” preach against Darwinism, and dread every
new scientific discovery. They share the feeling (in their
small way) of Leibniz, who declared that “ Newton had robbed
the Deity of some of his most excellent attributes, and had
sapped the foundation of natural religion.” They also share
the feeling of those who asserted that the use of chloroform
in cases of confinement was an impious interference with
God’s curse on the daughters of Eve. The better instructed
and more cautious clergy profess a certain respect for science.
But it is a respect of fear. You may tell by their faces, tones,
and gestures, that they detest it while they sing its praises.
They are unable to disguise their real sentiments. When
they are most successful they merely treat Science as the
prodigal son, who has too strong a taste for husks and swine
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37
and is to be coaxed into renting a pew and taking the com
munion.
Let us pause for a moment to see how Science, having
grown to manhood in spite of the murderous hostility of the
Church, has completely subverted the ideas that were the
very foundation of Christianity. The notion that God was
solely concerned with the salvation or perdition of the inhabi
tants of this little planet was connected with, and supported
by, the belief that this world is the centre of the universe,
and that all the other heavenly bodies existed for its
advantage. That belief is for ever annihilated, and with it
the religious conception it countenanced and cherished. The
notion of the world’s antiquity, based upon the Bible
genealogies from Adam to Christ, is dwarfed and made
ridiculous by the discovery that the world has existed for
myriads of ages, and man himself for a period immensely
greater than the orthodox chronology of six thousand years.
But the most terrible blow at the Genesaic theory has been
struck by Darwinism. It is now certain that Adam was not
the first man; nay, that there never was a first man. Man
is not a special creation, but the highest product of a long
process of evolution. The story of the Ball, therefore, is
only a piece of ancient mythology. Man is not a fallen
creature, but a risen organism. He did not degenerate from
a paradisaical condition; he was not cursed by God; he did
not need an atonement. Thus the historic doctrine of Chris
tian salvation is deprived of its basis and meaning. Man did
not die in Adam, and cannot live again in Christ. The
salvation which was proffered to the world was founded upon
a complete misunderstanding of its history, its nature, and
its necessities.
Seeing, then, how fantastic is the religious salvation of
Christianity, let us pursue our inquiry into the character of
its natural salvation. Let us see, that is, in what respect it
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has aided or hindered the political and social progress of
Europe.
It has already been shown that Christianity opposed
liberty of thought and the advance of science, and did not
befriend the education of the masses of the people. We shall
now see that its political and social influence has always been
conservative, and never progressive.
Misty-minded sentimentalists affect to regard Jesus Christ
as the most illustrious of democrats. It is difficult, however»
to find the slightest justification of this view. He himself
paid tribute to the Roman tax-gatherer, and taught “ Render
unto Caasar the things which are Csesar’s.” His language to
his disciples was that of a would-be tyrant, as the word was
understood in the vocabulary of the free people of Greece.
He promised them that when he came into his kingdom they
should sit upon twelve thrones judging the twelve tribes of
Israel. It was a promise as magnificent, and as empty, as
Don Quixote’s promise of a governorship to Sancho PanzaNevertheless, as we may presume it was made in good faith,
it must be held to indicate something very different from a
republican sentiment.
Simon Peter enjoins us to “ Pear God and honor the King ”
— quite irrespective of his deserts. “ Let every soul,” says
Paul, “ be subject unto the higher powers : for there is no
powei’ but of God. The powers that be are ordained of God.”
He adds that whoever resists any established authority “ shall
receive unto themselves damnation.” According to tradition
this was uttered in the reign of the cruel and detestable
Nero, who would have been a greater scourge than he was if
the Romans had not acted on other maxims than Paul’s, and
forcibly terminated his sanguinary career.
Professor Sewell, who once filled the chair of Moral Philo
sopher at Oxford, in a work of considerable ability, entitled
Christian Politics, quotes many other texts from the New
Testament in corroboration of Paul’s teaching. He then
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39
declares that 41 It is idle, and worse than idle, to attempt to
restrict and explain away this positive command. And the
Christian Church has always upheld it in its full extent.
With one uniform unhesitating voice it has proclaimed the
duty of passive obedience.”
There is no disputing Professor Sewell’s dictum on this
point. He spoke as a Churchman, not as a sceptic; he knew
the history of Christianity, and was competent to pronounce
an authoritative judgment.
Gibbon had previously remarked, in his sarcastic way, that
it was this feature of Christianity which attracted the
admiration of Constantine. “ The throne of the emperors,
he wrote, “ would be established on a fixed and permanent
basis if all their subjects, embracing the Christian religion,
should learn to suffer and obey.”
The doctrine of passive obedience is strongly enforced in
the sermon “ Against Disobedience and Wilful Rebellion ” at
the end of the Book of Homilies, which, according to the
thirty-fifth Article of the Church of England, is full of “ a
godly and wholesome doctrine,” and is therein appointed “ to
be read in Churches by the Ministers, diligently and dis
tinctly, that they may be understanded of the people.”
The first rebel, according to this Homily, was Satan him
self, who was expelled from heaven. “We shall find,” it
says, “ in very many and almost infinite places, as well of the
Old Testament as of the New, that kings and princes, as well
the evil as the good, do reign by God’s ordinance, and that
subjects are bounden to obey them.” “ A rebel,” it declares,
“ is worse than the worst prince, and rebellion worse than
the worst government.” And in proof of this doctrine it
cites many passages of scripture, and many illustrations from
Bible history.
The universality of Christian teaching on this subject is
strikingly exhibited in the History of Passive Obedience
Since the lieformation, dated Amsterdam, 1689. It is a rare
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and curious book, written with energy and great learning.
The author ransacks the theological literature of two cen
turies, and shows that the doctors of all schools, including
the Puritans, upheld the doctrine of passive obedience, and
the absolute unlawfulness, nay, the heinous sin, of rebelling
against any prince, however weak, vicious, cruel, or
despotic.
Christians who have rebelled against tyranny have violated
the teaching of the New Testament. They have acted on the
impulses of their own nature. Oliver Cromwell disobeyed
the injunctions of Peter, Paul and Jesus. John Hampden
was more of a Jew than a Christian, and more of a Roman
than either, when he drew his sword against his king.
Mazzini, Garibaldi, Victor Hugo, and Kossuth, if the Chris
tian scriptures be true, were guilty of insurrection against
the ordinance of God.
George Pox and the Quakers were consistent Christians.
They obeyed the order of Jesus to “ resist not evil.” If they
were smitten on one cheek they turned the other to the
smiter. Count Tolstoi preaches, and as far as possible prac
tises, the same doctrine. Every form of violence, he says, is
inconsistent with the teaching of Christ. Not only the
soldier, but the policeman, is in opposition to the Sermon on
the Mount. Count Tolstoi believes it would be an un
Christian act to kill or injure the wretch he might find
ravishing his wife or slaying his child. Active resistance to
evil must never be offered; passive resistance is all that is
permitted; and the rest must be left to Providence.
To certain minds of a soft, peaceful, and humane disposi
tion this doctrine is attractive. But it would never quell
the world’s tyrannies. Wolves do not care for the pious
bleating of sheep.
Inquiry shows us that political freedom has been systemati
cally opposed by the Christian Church, and always won in
spite of it. The English bishop who once declared in the
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House of Lords that “ all the people had t>o do with the laws
was to obey them,” voiced the real spirit of Christianity.
Political freedom is, indeed, a very recent phenomenon in
modern society. A hundred years ago it was as unknown
in other parts of Europe as it is to-day in Russia. Czars,
emperors, kings, and aristocracies held the multitude in sub
jection. The people were outside the pale of such constitu
tions as existed. Prussia and Austria were sheer autocracies.
Spain and Italy had less civil freedom than a province of the
Roman Empire. France had no constitution before 1789.
England had a parliament, but the House of Commons was
filled with nominees of the House of Lords. The suffrage
was confined to a handful of citizens. For this reason Shelley
described the House of Commons as a place
Where thieves are sent
Similar thieves to represent.
“ Infidels ” won political liberty for France. Rousseau
was a Deist; Mirabeau, Danton, and many other leading
spirits of the Revolution were Atheists. Christianity is still
on the side of reaction in the land of Voltaire, while Republi
can and Freethinker are almost convertible terms.
“ Infidels ” were the chief fighters for political freedom in
England. Thomas Paine, who wrote the Age of Reason,
was found guilty of treason for penning the Rights of Man.
Bentham was a Freethinker, and probably an Atheist.
James and John Mill were Freethinkers. Shelley, Byron,
Leigh Hunt, Landor, and most of the Chartist leaders were
all tainted with “ infidelity.” Christian leaders were gene
rally on the side of wealth and privilege, while Freethought
leaders were always on the side of the people.
Ebenezer Eliot, the Corn-Law rhymer, exclaimed—
When wilt thou save the People,
0 God of mercies, when ?
Not thrones, 0 Lord, but peoples,
Not kings, 0 God, but men !
This exclamation was uttered eighteen hundred years after
the death of Jesus Christ, in a land which boasted of being
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the most Christian on earth. This is itself a proof that
Christ had not saved the people. Their salvation since has
been due to other causes ; chiefly, it must be said, to the
progress of science, which is the great equaliser. Was it not
Buckle who declared that “ the hall of science is the temple
of democracy ” ?
One of the most significant facts in recent history was the
the attempt of the German Emperor to strengthen his power
over his subjects. Feeling that the democratic movement
was threatening his throne, he introduced a Bill in the
Reichstag by his ministers, providing that Christian instruc
tion should be given in the public schools, even when scholars
were children of Freethinkers. Happily the Bill was defeated.
King-deluded ” as Germany is, she has outgrown such
illiberalism. Yet the very fact that the Emperor sought
to Christianise the young more completely, in order that
they might grow up his very obedient slaves, is a striking
proof of the essential antagonism between Christianity and
political freedom.
Christian apologists are often obliged to confess that their
faith has cherished, or certainly countenanced, the super
stition of the divine right of kings ; a superstition that is
even now Btamped on our English coinage, although in a
dead language which makes it less obstrusive. Nor can they
deny that the maxims of free government are rather found
in the writings of the philosophers and historians of Greece
and Rome than in the pages of the New Testament. They
sometimes contend, however, that it is not the object of
Christianity to meddle with political polities ; that its prin
ciples and sentiments enter as a leaven into human life; and
that its influence is to be traced in the gradual improvement
of human society. In other words, Christ saves us individually
and socially, and the outcome of this in the sphere of politics
is left to the ordinary course of things.
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Now it is plain to every candid student of history that
Christ has not saved the world from social evils, and equally
plain to the student of philosophy that he is incapable of
doing so. The Civilisation of modern Europe is not the
creation of Christianity, nor has it conformed to Christian
methods. Comparatively speaking, it is a thing of yesterday.
It came in with the dawn of modern Science. We have little
in common with our Christian forefathers of the Middle
Ages, still less with our Christian forefathers of the Dark
Ages. The Grgeco-Roman world, as Mr. Cotter Morison
observes, went down into an abyss after the days of Con
stantine. “ The revival of learning and the Renaissance,” he
says, “ are memorable as the first sturdy breasting by
humanity of the hither slope of the great hollow which lies
between us and the ancient world. The modern man,
reformed and regenerated by knowledge, looks across it, and
recognises on the opposite ridge, in the far-shining cities and
stately porticoes, in the art, politics, and science of antiquity,
many more ties of kinship and sympathy than in the mighty
concave between, wherein dwell his Christian ancestry, in
the dim light of scholasticism and theology.” This truth
was in Shelley’s mind when he wondered how much better
off we might have been if the Christian interregnum had not
occurred, and civilisation had been carried on continuously
from the point reached by the Pagan world.
What a picture is drawn by Professor Draper of the
squalid life of our ancestors only a few hundred years ago.
In Paris and London the houses were of wood daubed with
clay, and thatched with straw or reeds. They had no
windows and few wooden floors. There were no chimneys,
the smoke escaping through a hole in the roof. Drainage
was unknown. A bag of straw served as a bed, and a wooden
log as a pillow. No one washed himself; the very arch
bishops swarmed with vermin, and the stench was drowned
with perfumes. The citizens wore leather garments which
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lasted for many years. It was a luxury to eat fresh meat
once a week. The streets had neither sewers, pavements,
nor lamps. Slops were emptied out of the chamber shutters
after nightfall, Hlneas Sylvus, afterwards Pope Pius II.,
visited England about 1430. He describes the houses of the
peasantry as built of stones without mortar: the roofs were
of turf, and a stiffened bull’s-hide served for a door. Coarse
vegetable products, including the bark of trees, were the
staple food; bread was quite unknown in some places. Is it
any wonder that famine and pestilence raged periodically ?
In the famine of 1030 human flesh was cooked and sold; in
that of 1258, fifteen thousand people died of hunger in London;
in the plague of 1348 all Europe suffered, and one-third of the
population of France was destroyed. Nor was the moral
prospect a whit superior. “ Men, women, and children,” says
Draper, “ slept in the same apartment; not unfrequently,
domestic animals were their companions; in such a confusion
of the family, it was impossible that modesty or morality
could be maintained.” Sexual licentiousness was so universal
that, on the introduction of the dreadful disease of syphilis
from America, it spread with wonderful rapidity, and infected
all ranks and classes, from the Holy Father Pope Leo X. to
the beggar by the wayside.
For this wretched state of things the only remedy was
knowledge. Science was necessary to alter the environment,
and produce the conditions of a happier and purer life.
Christianity had nothing to offer but charity. This is an
admirable virtue in its proper sphere, but a poor substitute
for independence and self-respect. Charity will go to a
plague-stricken city; it will tend the sick and comfort the
dying. Science will guard the city and drive the plague
from its gates.
Christ has not, therefore, been our social savior any more
than our political savior. The modern (in fact, very recent)
improvement in the general condition of the people, is solely
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45
owing to the conquests of Science. Were our vast accumula
tion of scientific knowledge and appliances to be lost, it is
easy to see that Christianity could not save us from falling
back into a state of barbarism.
It is frequently alleged that Christ has saved the Western
world from the curse of Slavery. This is a most ridiculous
assertion. Slavery has nearly always been under a religious
sanction. There is no instance in the history of the world of
religion having abolished the ownership of men and women
and the traffic in human flesh and blood. The great causes
of emancipation have been economic and material.
His
tory,” says Mr. Finlay, the great historian, “affords its
testimony that neither the doctrines of Christianity, nor the
sentiments of humanity, have ever yet succeeded in extin
guishing slavery, where the soil could be cultivated with
profit by slave-labor. No Christian community of slave
holders has yet voluntarily abolished slavery.” Mr. Finlay’s
assertion is profoundly true, though the fact is disguised to
superficial observers. Slavery was abolished in the West
Indies by England, who compensated the slave-owners. True,
but not until England had completely outgrown her own
slavery of the feudal system. In the United States, also, the
Confederate party of the South tried to maintain slavery,
with the sanction and blessing of the ministers of religion.
The Federalists of the North were against slavery, and they
put it down within the Union, because they had reached a
higher stage of industrial development.
So much for the fact, and now for the theory. What right
has anyone to say that Slavery could be abolished by Chris
tianity ? Christ himself never uttered a word against the
institution. His object was personal piety, and not social
reformation. Not a single Apostle so much as hinted a
dislike of Slavery, though it was condemned by the leading
Stoics as unjust and inhuman. St. Paul sent a runaway slave
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back to his master, with words of kindness, bat without one
word against Slavery itself. All the great Christian writers,
from Basil to Bossuet, through a period of thirteen hundred
years, taught that Slavery was a divine institution. It was
defended as such by Christian jurisprudists in the eighteenth
century. Mrs. Beecher Stowe, in America, said that the
Church was notoriously in favor of Slavery. “ Statesmen on
both sides of the question,” she said, “ have laid that down
as a settled fact.” Theodore Parker showed that 80,000
slaves were owned by Presbyterians, 225,000 by Baptists, and
250,000 by Methodists. He declared that if the whole
American Church had “ dropped through the continent and
disappeared altogether, the anti-Slavery cause would have
been further on.” Professor Moses Stuart, the greatest
American divine since Jonathan Edwards, announced that
“ The precepts of the New Testament respecting the demeanor
of slaves and their masters, beyond all question recognise
the existence of slavery.” Mrs. Beecher Stowe, in her Key to
Uncle Tom's Cabin, prints a great number of resolutions in
favor of Slavery as a Bible Christian institution, passed by
all sorts of Churches in the Southern States. One sample of
these precious documents may suffice ; it emanated from the
Harmony Presbytery of South Carolina—
“ Resolved, That slavery has existed from the days of those good old
slaveholders and patriarchs, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob (who are now in
the kingdom of heaven), to the time when the apostle Paul sent a runa
way home to his master Philemon, with a Christian and fraternal letter
to this slaveholder, which we find still stands in the canon of the
Scriptures ; and that slavery has existed ever since the days of the
apostle, and does now exist.
“ Resolved, That as the relative duties of master and slave are taught
in the Scriptures, in the same manner as those of parent and child, and
husband and wife, the existence of slavery is not opposed to thé will of
G»d ; and whosoever has a conscience too tender to recognise this
relation as lawful, is ‘righteous over much,' is ‘wise above what is
written,’ and has submitted his neck to the yoke cf men, sacrificed his
Christian liberty of conscience, and leaves the infallible word of God for
the fancies and doctrines of men.”
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Equally striking facts are cited in the series of Anti
Slavery Tracts, edited by Wilson Armistead, of Leeds, in
1853, and apparently published for the English Quakers.
Pronouncements in favoi’ of Slavery are given from a host of
American ministers. Bishop Hopkins, of Vermont, for
instance, was asked, “ What effect had the Bible in doing
away with slavery ?” He replied, “ None whatever.” Mis
sionary, Tract, and Bible Societies, were all abettors of
Slavery. Fred Douglass, the runaway slave, cried out thus
in one of his eloquent speeches: “ They have men-stealers
for ministers, women-whippers for missionaries, and cradle
plunderers for church-members. The man who wields the
blood-clotted cowskin during the week fills the pulpit on
Sunday, and claims to be a minister of the meek and lowly
Jesus. . . . We have men sold to build churches, women
sold to support the gospel, and babes sold to purchase Bibles
for the poor heathen! . . . The slave auctioneer’s bell and
the church-going bell chime in with each other, and the bitter
cries of the heart-broken slave are drowned in the religious
shouts of his pious master. . . . The dealer gives his blood
stained gold to support the pulpit, and the pulpit, in return,
covers his infernal business with the garb of Christianity.”
Enough has been said to show that the Bible has been used
as the slaveholder’s manual, that Christianity did not abolish
Slavery, that the institution flourished for centuries under
the sanction of the Christian Church, that Christian divines
blesBed it and approved it with a text wherever it was
possible and profitable, and that it only disappeared in very
recent times under the influence of a higher type of
material civilisation. It Bhould be added, however, that
Slavery has always found an enemy in Freethought. It was
the sceptical Montaigne who first denounced the villainies of
the Spanish Conquest of America; it was the sceptical
Montesquieu who first branded negro slavery as wicked; it
was the sceptical Voltaire who took up the same attitude in
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•a later generation; and the first pen couched against Slavery
in America was wielded by the sceptical Thomas Paine. Let
it also be remembered that Christian England was not the
first emancipator of slaves. “The first public act against
slavery,” says Professor Newman, “ came from Republican
France, in the madness of atheistic enthusi&sm.”
Christ has been no savior of the world in respect to the
condition of woman, which is one of the best criteria of
civilisation. The ordinary Christian, seeing polygamy prevail
beyond the borders of Christendom, and monogamy within
them, imagines the difference is due to Christianity; and his
clerical guides, who know better, confirm him in the delusion.
Here again it is obvious that religion only consecrates the
established social order. It sanctions polygamy in the East
and monogamy in the West. Christianity found monogamy
existing, and did not create it. Greeks, Romans, and even
Jews, in spite of the Mosaic law, had become monogamists
by a natural evolution. Polygamy was illegal in the Roman
Empire at the advent of Jesus Christ. Nor did any dis
turbing influence arise from the conversion of the Northern
barbarians, for monogamy existed among the Teutonic tribes,
who held women in high honor and esteem, and allowed them
to participate in the public councils.
Had monogamy not prevailed before the triumph of Chris
tianity, it is difficult to see in what way the new faith would
have established it. There is not a word against polygamy,
as a general custom, from Genesis to Revelation. Jehovah’s
favorites were all polygamists, neither did Christ command
the marriage of one man with one woman. The Mormons
justify polygamy from the Bible, and the United States
government answers them, not by argument, but by penal
legislation. Concubinage is also justified from the Bible.
The more a man is steeped in the Christian Scriptures, his
sexii.,1 and domestic views become the more patriarchal.
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Christianity, indeed, has been woman’s enemy, and not her
friend. Christ’s own teaching on sexual matters is much
disputed. His language is very largely veiled and enigmatic,
but it gives a strong plausibility to the opinion of Count
Tolstoi, that sexual intercourse is always more or less sinful,
and that no one who desires to be Christlike can think of
marrying. St. Paul’s language is more precise. He plainly
bids men and women to live single; only, if they cannot do
so without fornication, he allows of marriage as a concession
to the weakness of the flesh. Essentially, therefore, he
places the union of men and women on the same ground as
the coupling of beasts. Further, he orders wives to obey
their husbands as absolutely as the Church obeys Christ;
coating the pill with the nauseous reminder that the man
was not made for the woman, but the woman for the man.
Following Christ and Paul, as they understood them, the
Christian fathers lauded virginity to the skies, emphasised
woman’s dependence on man, and treated her with every
conceivable indignity. Their language is often too foul to
transcribe. Let it suffice to say that they were intensely
scriptural in thought and expression. Taking the story of
the Fall as true, they regarded woman as the door of sin and
damnation. Logically, also, they saw in the birth of Christ
from a virgin, a stigma on natural motherhood. Under the
old Jewish law, every woman who brought forth the fruit of
love was “ unclean.” This sentiment survived in the Chris
tian Church. It was deepened by the miraculous birth of
Christ, and strengthened by contact with the great oriental
doctrine of the opposition between matter and spirit; a
doctrine which lies at the root of all asceticism, and is the
key to the sexual morbidity of all the creeds.
These are debateable matters, and it is easy for Christian
rhetoricians to find ways of escape by subtle methods of
interpretation. The Bible becomes in their hands “ a nose
of wax,” as Erasmus said, to be twisted into any shape or
D
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Will Christ Save Us ?
direction. Plain matters of fact, however, are not so easily
perverted; and an appeal to history will show that Chris
tianity lowered, instead of raising, the whole status of women.
Principal Donaldson (and it is well to take a clerical
authority) is the author of an important article in the Con
temporary Review for September, 1889, on “ The Position of
Women among the Early Christians.” It is very unflattering
to Christian vanity, and it has been answered by silence.
“ It is a prevalent opinion,” says Principal Donaldson, “ that
woman owes her present high position to Christianity, and
the influences of the Teutonic mind. I used to ¿believe this
opinion, but in the first three centuries I have not been able
to see that Christianity had any favorable effect on the
position of women, but, on the contrary, that it tended to
lower their character and contract the range of their
activity.” He points out that at the dawn of Christianity
women had attained great freedom, power, and influence in
the Homan Empire. “They dined in the company of
men,” he says, “they studied literature and philosophy,
they took part in political movements, they were allowed
to defend their own law cases if they liked, and
they helped their husbands in the government of pro
vinces and the writing of books.” All this was stopped
by Christianity. “ The highest post to which she rose ”
in the Christian Church “ was to be a door-keeper and
a message-woman.” A woman bold enough to teach was in
the eyes of Tertullian a “ wanton.” The duties of a wife were
simple—“ She had to obey her husband, for he was her head,
her lord, and superior; she was to fear him, reverence him,
and please him alone; she had to cultivate silence; she had
to spin and take care of the house, and she ought to stay at
home and attend to her children.”
Sir Henry Maine had previously observed, in his remark
able Ancient Law, that Christianity tended from the first to
narrow the rights and liberties of women. Not Homan juris
�Will Christ Save Us ?
51
prudence, but the Canon Law, was responsible for the dis
abilities on married women that obtained in Europe down
to the present century. The personal liberty conferred on
married women by the middle Roman law, in Sir Henry
Maine’s opinion, was not likely to be restored to them by a
society which preserved “ any tincture of Christian institu
tion.” Married women, however, in every civilised country
are now rising into a position of legal independence; and this
is but a revival of the best Roman law, which prevailed before
the triumph of Christianity.
It must be a remarkable fact, to any thoughtful Christian
who is interested in the great problem of woman’s emancipa
tion, that the most strenuous advocates of her rights during
the past century have belonged to the sceptical camp. The
first striking essay on the subject was written by Condorcet.
It was Mary Wollstonecraft, the wife of William Godwin,
and the mother of Mrs. Shelley, who wrote the first important essay on the subject in England. Shelley himself
was an ardent champion of sexual equality. His poignant
cry, “ Can man be free if woman be a slave ?” expresses the
very essence of the question. Jeremy Bentham, Robert
Owen, and John Stuart Mill, are a few of the names in the
subsequent muster-roll of custodians of the high tradition;
indeed, it is hardly too much to say that Mill’s great essay
on The Subjection of Women marks an epoch in the history
of social progress. Let it be added that the Ereethought
party has steadily upheld the banner of common rights, making
absolutely mo distinction in position or service between men
and women. The Christians are but slowly and timidly
following in the wake of a party they affect to despise.
Descending from the mothers of the race to its criminal
members, who are still a large section of the community, let
us see what Christ or Christianity has done for them; or
rather for the society which they curse and disgrace. The
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Will Christ Save Us ?
Christian method of reform is preaching. Sublime, pathetic»
or ridiculous, as you happen to regard it, is the Christian
belief in exhortation. It is a legacy from the pre-scientific
ages. A clergyman mountB a pulpit, informs people that
they ought to be good, tells them that in view of a future
life and a day of judgment honesty is the best policy, and
imagines that he has done a good stroke of work for the
moral elevation of society. How profoundly is he mistaken!
It is not thus that human beings are really acted upon. The
way to empty gaols, said John Ruskin, is to fill schools; and,
although this is a partial and exaggerated statement, as
epigrams are wont to be, it expresses truth enough to show
the utter futility of the common “ spiritual ” recipes for
human salvation.
Let our yearning for social improvement be ever so intense,
it is only by scientific methods that we can do any lasting
good. Social diseases must be studied like bodily diseases,
and the proper remedies discovered and applied. To preach
at sinners, either by the way of promises or threats, is in the
long run, and in a general way, as idle as to preach at
persons who suffer from fever or rheumatics.
“Man,” said D’Holbach, “will always be a mystery for
those who insist on regarding him with the prejudiced eyes
of theology.” “ The dogma of the spirituality of the soul,”
he added, “ has turned morality into a conjectural science,
which does not in the least help us to understand the true
way of acting on men’s motives.” Accordingly, it was not
until the Christian view had largely given place to the
scientific view, in ethics and in jurisprudence, that any
radical reform was possible m the treatment of crime; which
is, by the way, a very different thing from the amelioration
ppisons, with which we associate the name of John Howard.
Criminology is an impossible science while we are under the
dominion of Christian ideas. The criminal is merely endowed
with an extra quantity of original sin, which must be
�Will Christ Save Us ?
53
counteracted by spiritual agencies; indeed, it is still set
forth, in the language of indictments, that the prisoner in
the dock was instigated by the Devil. Madness itself, while
Christianity was dominant, was “ an intolerable exaggeration
of this perversity.” “ It is certainly true as an historical
fact,” says Mr. John Morley, whose words we have jusi
quoted, “ that the rational treatment of insane persons, and
the rational view of certain kinds of crime, were due to men
like Pinel, trained in the materialistic school of the eighteenth
century. And it waB clearly impossible that the great and
humane reforms in this field could have taken place before
the decisive decay of theology.”
Science is indeed far more humane than Christianity. It
does not boast so much about its “ great heart,” but it keeps
its eye upon the problem to be solved. At the present
moment the science of Criminology is almost exclusively in
the hands of materialists, who smile at the notion of “ sin ”
and scorn the idea of “punishment”; regarding crime as
moral insanity, and aiming at its treatment by scientific
methods, without cruelty to the criminal, but rather with
the same constant firmness and gentle skill which we have
learnt to apply to the victims of mental insanity.
The jurisprudence of Christian ages was savage and
scandalous. When madmen were beaten to drive the Devil
out of them, it is no wonder that criminals were treated with
monstrous severity. Torture, for instance, was common and
systematic; it was not only applied to accused persons, but
even to witnesses. “ It is curious to observe, says Mr.
Henry C. Lea, “that Christian communities, where the
truths of the gospel were received with unquestioning
veneration, systematised the administration of torture with
a cold-blooded ferocity unknown to the legislation of the
heathen nations whence they derived it. The careful restric
tions and safeguards, with which the Roman jurisprudence
sought to protect the interests of the accused, contrast
�4
54
Will Christ Save Vs?
strangely with the reckless disregard of every principle of
justice which sullies the criminal procedure of Europe from
the thirteenth to the nineteenth century.” The death
penalty was inflicted with shocking frequency in every part
of Christendom. Until the early years of the present cen
tury it was common, in England, to see men and women
hung in batches, some of them for petty o fiences, such as
stealing goods to the value of five shillings; and when the
great Romilly attempted to reform this ferocious law, he
was opposed by the whole bench of bishops in the House of
Lords. Since then we have witnessed a vast improvement;
not in consequence of Christ’s teaching, or the spirit of
Christianity, but in consequence of the general spread of
science, education, mental liberty, and democracy; or, in
other words, the progress of secular civilisation.
Coincidently with this movement there has been a diminu
tion in the statistics of crime. What could not be effected
by pulpit anathemas and penal cruelty, has been effected by
wiser and nobler agencies. In England, for instance, since
the passing of the Education Act of 1870, the number of
convicted prisoners has largely decreased, despite the con
siderable growth of population; and it is worthy of special
notice that the principal decrease is among the youthful
offenders.
Christian nations are fond of boasting their superior
virtue, yet it is among Christian nations that we find the
worst developments of th& three great vices of gambling,
drink and prostitution. The present Archbishop of Canterbury,
in a volume entitled Christ and His Times, confesses that
“ Intemperance is in far greater rage and ravage ” in England
than it was “ among those Gentiles ” denounced by St. Peter.
His Grace confesses, also, that England is debauching whole
populations of “heathen.” “The earth’s long-sealed dark
continent, stored with her grandest products,” he declares,
�Will Christ Save Us ?
55
“ is being developed for the wealth of the world through the
application of intoxication to its innumerable tribes by
civilised traders and Christian merchants.” With regard to
prostitution His Grace admits that we are in a sorry plight.
“ The streets of London,” the Archbishop says, “ fling temp
tation broadcast before youth and inexperience,” and “ Our
medical authorities speak of a river of poison flowing into the
blood of this nation.”
These are shameful words to come from the highest
dignitary of the richest Church in the world. And the
shame lies in their truth. After eighteen hundred years of
Christianity, it is very questionable, if allowance be made
for mere differences of manners as distinguished from morals,
whether the Christian nations do in practice exhibit a higher
level of morality than many of the “ heathen ” nations. The
general practice of Christian apologists is to single out some
particular virtues in which we have an advantage, to the
neglect of other virtues in which we are distinctly inferior;
and then to bid us plume ourselves on our superiority. But
this special pleading is abashed by such admissions as those
of Archbishop Benson. Christian nations are the greatest
gamblers and drunkards. Christian nations have. almost
a monopoly of prostitution. The vice of Christian cities is as
bad as any recorded of the worst imperial cities of antiquity.
Perhaps the corruption is not so widespread, and it is
covered with a thicker veil of decorum. Some improvement
has no doubt taken place, especially amongst the middle and
upper-lower classes; but some improvement might be
expected in the course of two thousand years. What there
is of it is not enough to establish any great ethical claim on
behalf of Christianity. It has not reformed the world, as a
divine revelation should do ; in other words, Christ has not
saved us morally ; and what he has not done in such a long
past, he is not likely to do in any possible future.
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Will Christ Save Us?
Poverty is another curse of Christian countries. From the
point of view of material comfort, there are myriads of our
pauper and semi-pauper population who are far worse off
than the slaves of ancient Greece and Rome. St. Peter
spoke of a suffering population. “ We know of one,” says
Archbishop Benson, “ which can only just exist, hanging on
a sharp edge of illness, hunger, uncleanness physical and
moral, incapacity mental and bodily, in full sight of abund
ance, luxury, and waste.”
Christianity promises many fine blessings to the poor, but
they are only realisable in heaven. Poverty is represented as
a blessing in itself. Jesus seems to have regarded it as a
permanent characteristic of human society, and the Church
has been ready to do everything for poverty except to remove
it. But its abolition is the chief object of modern reform.
Poverty is not a blessing; it is a curse. It is “ an imprison
ment of the mind, a vexation of every worthy spirit,” wrote
Sir Walter Raleigh; nay more, it “provokes a man to do
infamous and detested deeds.” Poverty is one of the chief
secrets of popular abasement. Even in the sphere of
economics, strange as it may sound to the superficial, it is
not low wages that are the cause of poverty, but poverty
that is the cause of low wages. Yes, it is absolutely
indispensable to a civilisation worthy of the name, that
poverty—the want of the necessaries and decencies of lifeshould be exterminated. But there is nothing in the teaching
of Christ, or in the traditions of Christianity, to be helpful
in the accomplishment of this great object; indeed, it would
appear from a study of Christian writings that the poor are
providentially kept in that position as whetstones for the
rich man’s benevolence. The Gospel of Giving has been
preached with incredible vigor and unction, and even now
it is the pride of Churches to act as rich men’s almoners.
But giving, if excellent in crises, is bad as a policy; it pre
supposes folly or injustice, or perhaps both, and it perpetuates
�Will Christ ¡Save Us ?
57
and intensifies the evil it affects to mitigate. The true,
deep, and lasting charity is justice ; and for that the world
has looked to Christianity in vain. It will be a glorious
moment when the poor despise the “ charity” which wealth
flings to them as conscience-money or ransom, when they
acorn the eleemosynary cant of the Churches, when they cry
“ Keep your bounty, and give us our rights.”
Meanwhile it is well to observe the industry with which
the apostles of Christ shun the “blessings” of poverty.
They do not take it themselves, they recommend it to others;
it is good for foreign export, bad for domestic consumption.
Blessed be ye poor ” is the text. The clergy never say
«< Blessed are we poor.” They preach with their tongues in
their cheeks, and an Archbishop is the greatest harlequin of
all. How Christ has saved the world from poverty may be
seen in the fact that, nearly two thousand years after his
advent, an Archbishop is paid £15,000 a year to preach
“ Blessed be ye poor.”
There is nothing in the teaching ascribed to Christ which
indicates that he understood poverty to be a curse, or that he
had the slightest appreciation of its causes or its remedies*
He was a preacher and a pietist, with the usual knowledge of
secular affairs possessed by that description of persons. Wellmeaning he may have been; there is no reason whatever to
dispute it; but good intentions will never, by themselves,
■effect the salvation of mankind.
On one occasion the Prophet of Nazareth gave a counsel of
perfection to a wealthy young man. It was to sell his
property and give the proceeds to the poor. Can anyone
conceive a greater economical absurdity? Most assuredly
we want a better distribution of wealth, but this is not the
method to bring it about. It would simply plunge all who
have anything into the slough of poverty. Such advice is a
counsel of ignorance or despair : of ignorance, if the teacher
thinks it would help the poor; of despair, if he regards
�58
Will Christ Save Us ?
poverty as irremediable, and aims at nothing but an equality
>
of misery.
Christ’s teaching as to poverty, if reduced to practice,
would pauperise and ruin society. Of course it may be
contended—it has been contended—that the advice to sell
out for the benefit of the poor, was solely meant for the
individual to whom it was tendered. But this is inconsistent
with the practice of Christ’s disciples, who must surely have
been in the most favorable position to understand his meaning.
They held all things in common, and those who had posses
sions sold them and paid the price into the common exchequer.
Here again, however, the later disciples of Christ find a
convenient explanation. According to Archbishop Benson,
for example, it was “ no instance of Communism,” but “ au
extraordinary effect to meet a sudden emergency.” Such
are the devices by which it is sought to escape from a
palpable difficulty ! Whenever the plain meaning of Scrip
ture is unpleasant, it is always nullified by artful interpreta
tions. But the slippery exegetes, in this particular instance,
overlook the fact that they are explaining away the only
practical bit of Christ’s teaching with respect to poverty.
They remove a difficulty and leave a blank. And there we
will leave them.
So great is the practical failure of Christianity to save
mankind in this world—so great its failure to save us
from the evils that too often make a hell on earth—that
two distinct lines of apology are pursued by its advocates.
According to the first, it was not the object of Christ to save
us from mere worldly evils; according to the second, we
might have been saved in this very sense of salvation, but we
have obstinately rejected our Redeemer.
As a representative of the first line of apology we select Mr.
Coventry Patmore, who is a Roman Catholic, and a poet of
some distinction. “ Some,” he remarks, “ who do not consider
�Will Christ Save Us ?
59'
that Christianity has proved a failure, do, nevertheless, hold
that it is open to question whether the race, as a race, has been,
much affected by it, and whether the external and visible
evil and good which have come of it do not pretty nearly
balance one another.” Mr. Patmore denies that it was the
main purpose of Christ, or any part of his purpose, that
“ everybody should have plenty to eat and drink, comfortable
houses, and not too much to do.” Neither material nor
moral amelioration was to be expected: on the contrary,
Christ was so far from prophesying “ that the world would
get better and happier for his life, death, and teaching, that
he actually prophesied “ it would become intolerably worse.
“ He tells us,” says Mr. Patmore, “ that the poor will be
always with us, and does not hint disapproval of the institu
tion even of slavery, though he counsels the slave to be
content with his status.” Christ came to save those who.
would, could, or should be saved from their sins, and fitted
for the Kingdom of Heaven. “ It was practically for those
few only that he lived and died,” and, shocking as it may
seem, it is the teaching of the New Testament.
This is clear, emphatic, and straightforward. With such a
defender of Christianity as Mr. Patmore even an Atheist can
have no quarrel. They may salute each other respectfully
across an impassable chasm.
It is not so easy to select a representative of the second
line of apology. The name of such is now Legion. They
tell us that Christ has been blindly misunderstood or wilfully
misrepresented. He was the great, the sublime preacher,
they say, of the doctrine of human brotherhood, which, if
reduced to practice, would make earth a heaven. His Sermon
on the Mount, they add, is the charter of our secular
redemption.
Now if Christ has been misunderstood, or even misrepre
sented, for two thousand years, some at least of the blame
must surely attach to himself. Why did he not expiess
�60
Will Christ Save Us ?
himself with the clearness of a Confucius. a Cicero, a Seneca,
a Marcus Aurelius? We are told that he used oriental
metaphors; true, and metaphors are good adornments, but
bad foundations. Something plain, solid, and satisfying
should form the basis of every structure.
As for the doctrine of human brotherhood, it was taught
before Christ, and after him by moralists who owed nothing
to his influence. Besides, such a doctrine is but a poor
truism or a barren platitude unless it takes a practical shape
in government and society. Louis the Fourteenth would
have allowed that the meanest peasant in France was his
brother in Christ. Such a broad generalisation means any
thing or nothing, according to individual circumstances.
What is wanted is something more precise, something
addressed to the intellect as well as the emotions. What is
the real value of a doctrine of brotherhood which saw nothing
wrong in slavery? What is the worth of it when the agri
cultural laborer and the landlord sit and listen to it in the
same church, and go their several ways afterwards with no
sense of incongruity, the one to slave for a bare pittance, and
the other to live in comparative idleness on the fruits of his
“ brother’s ” labor ?
With regard to the Sermon on the Mount—which, of
course, is no sermon, but a disorderly collection of maxims—
it has well been described as a series of “ pathetic exaggera
tions.” The moment it is discussed as a basis of action,
nearly every sentence has to be explained, qualified, or hedged
in with reservations. “ Resist not evil ” means, resist evil,
but resist it passively. “ Take no thought for the morrow ”
means, take as much thought as is necessary. “ Blessed are
the poor in spirit ” means, blessed are the rich who do not
keep their noses too high in the air. “ Blessed are the
meek ” works out as, blessed are those who stand up for their
rights. The way in which Christian Socialists turn and
twiBt, amplify and contract, explain and obscure this Sermon
�Will Christ Save Us?
61
on the Mount, is a fine illustration of how men will trim and
decorate their gods sooner than discard them altogether,
Morally, it may be “ touching.” Intellectually, it is contemp
tible. In any other cause it would be treated as downright
dishonesty. We are bound to tell these Christian Socialists
—or Social Christians, as some of the species would prefer to
be designated—that they are lacking in subtlety. Archbishop
Magee knew what he was about in declaring that any society
which tried to base itself upon the Sermon on the Mount
would go to ruin in a week. This he knew was indisputable,
except by softs, cranks, or lunatics. But he did not there
fore abandon the Sermon on the Mount. He sheltered it
behind a pretty, convenient theory; namely, that its injunc
tions are meant for the Church, not for the State—for the
individual, not for society—for Christians, not for citizens.
Jeremy Taylor also knew what he was about in declaring
that the clauses of the Sermon on the Mount are not com
mands, but counsels of perfection. Intellectually, this is not
contemptible; it is very clever—whatever else we may think
of it; whereas our Christian Socialists, or Social Christians,
play the confidence trick too clumsily, being as open as a hat
through the whole performance.
From any rational point of view, it is impossible to regard
Jesus Christ as the savior of the world. For a god, his
failure is egregious. His apostles were to go into all the world
and preach the gospel to every creature; according to the
last chapter of Mark, those who believed were to be saved, and
those who disbelieved were to be damned. Eighteen centuries
have rolled by, and little more than a quarter of the world’s
inhabitants even profess Christianity. Missionaries are still
laboring to convert the “ heathen,” but the proselytes they
make are not a tithe of those who are lost to the Churches
at home through scepticism or mere indifference. Further,
the “ revelation ” through Christ is so obscure, so compli-
�«2
cated, or so self-contradictory, that Christendom is split up
into a multitude of sects, each declaring itself the only true
custodian of “ the faith once delivered unto the saints.” The
only points on which they are universally agreed, are the
cardinal doctrines of pre-Christians religion. To imagine
such a poor, confused result as the work of a deity, is to sink
gods below the level of men. To bid us regard it as the work
of a being at once omnipotent and omniscient, is to insult
the very meanest intelligence.
Christ is a failure also as a man; though, perhaps, it is
less his fault than his misfortune. The true story of his
life—if, indeed, he ever lived at all—has been buried under
a monstrous mass of myths and legends. The sayings
ascribed to him have given rise to endless disputes and
bitter quarrels, in the course of which blood has flowed like
water and tears have fallen like rain. His very name has
been an instrument of terror and oppression. Priests and
kings, age after age, and century after century, have used it
to delude and despoil the people. The nails of his hands and
feet have been driven into the brains of honest thinkers; the
blood from his wounds has been turned into a poison for the
veins of society. Could he see all the frauds and crimes done
in his name, he would wish it to perish in oblivion.
In no sense has this Galilean saved the world. As a simple
man, and no god, how could he possibly do so ? The world’s
salvation is far too huge a task for any man, let him be ever
so wise and great. It is a task for the soldiers of liberty,
truth, and progress in every age and every land. Why
should millions of men be constantly bending over the tomb
of a single dead young Jew ? Is not the whole world a
sepulchre of poets, artists, philosophers, statesmen, and
heroes? Do not the stars shine like night-lamps over the
slumbers of our mighty dead ? And why confine ourselves
to one little country, one petty nation, and one type of cha
racter ? Kot in Palestine, not in Jewry, not in Christ, shall
�. TP7ZZ Christ Save Us?
63
we find all the elements of human greatness and nobility.
Let us be more catholic than our forefathers. They were
narrowed by a creed; we will be as broad as humanity. It is
a poor, cowardly spirit that dreads the cry of “Lo here!” or
“ Lo there!” The wise, brave man will be curious and eclectic.
He will store the honey of truth, beauty, and goodness from
every flower that blooms in the garden of the world.
�TT
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Victorian Blogging
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A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library & Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span>
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Conway Hall Library & Archives
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2018
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Conway Hall Ethical Society
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Will Christ save us?
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Foote, G. W. (George William) [1850-1915]
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Place of publication: London
Collation: 63 p. ; 18 cm.
Notes: Cover subtitle: An examination of the claims of Jesus Christ to be considered the savior of the world. Publisher's series list on back page. Part of the NSS pamphlet collection.
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R. Forder
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1893
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N271
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Christianity
Jesus Christ
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<a href="http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/"><img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /></a><span> </span><br /><span>This work (Will Christ save us?), identified by </span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk"><span>Humanist Library and Archives</span></a><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span>
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application/pdf
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Text
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English
Jesus Christ
NSS
Salvation
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NATIONALSECULAR society
INGERSOLLISM
DEFENDED AGAINST
ARCHDEACON FARRAR.
G. W. FOOTE.
Price Twopence.
LONDON:
R. FORDER, 23 STONECUTTER STREET, E.0.
1892.
�i
�£ 2-4-^ O
INGERSOLLISM AND DR. FARRAR.
What a swarm of Christian apologists flutter round Colonel
Ingersoll 1 He is a perfect nobody; he has no learning, and
no brains to speak of; nothing he says is new, and it has all
been answered before; in brief, he is a smart pretender, a
showy shallow-pate, and every sensible Christian should
leave him alone. But somehow they cannot leave him alone
He requires no answer, but they will answer him. He is
not worth a thought, but they shower their articles upon
him. Meanwhile the Colonel smiles that great, genial smile
of his, and never loses his temper for a minute. He knows
his own strength, and the strength of his cause, and he knows
the meaning of all this pious blague.
Judge Black tilted at Ingersoll, and would not try a
second round. Then came Dr. Field, then Mr. Gladstone,
then Cardinal Manning, then Dr. Abbott and some smaller
fry, and now comes Archdeacon Farrar with “A Few Words
on Colonel Ingersoll ” in the North American Review. Dr.
Farrar is a prolix gentleman, with a style like a dictionary
with the diarrhoea, and his “few words” extend to fifteen
pages. All he has to say could have been put into a third of
the space. On Mr. Gladstone’s admission, Colonel Ingersoll
“ writes with a rare and enviable brilliancy.” Archdeacon
Farrar writes effeminately, with a vehemence that simulates
strength, and a glare that apes magnificence. He revels in
big adjectives and grandiose sentences, and is a striking
specimen of literary flatulence.
This is not a complimentary description, but the Arch
deacon has invited it. To prove the invitation we quote his
opening sentence. “ Although the views of Colonel Inger
soll,” he says, “ lie immeasurably apart from my own, he will
not find in this paper a word of invective or discourtesy.”
�( 4: )
Now this sentence is loose in style and false in statement.
“ Although ” implies that invective and discourtesy might
well be expected by anyone who differs from Dr. Farrar.
“Immeasurably” is nonsense, for Colonel Ingersoll and Dr.
Farrar both have definite views, and the difference between
them is easily ascertained. “ Discourtesy,” at least, is infe
licitous. Dr. Farrar speaks of Colonel Ingersoll’s “ enormous
arrogance of assumption ” ; of his looking down “ from the
whole height of his own inferiority ”; of thousands of intel
lects that, compared with his, are “ as Dhawalaghari to a
molehill.” Here is “ courtesy ” for you I But this is not all.
With his customary extravagance of language, the Arch
deacon speaks of “ those myriads of students of Holy Writ,
who probably know ten thousand times more of the Scriptures
than Colonel Ingersoll.” What delightful good breeding!
It seems that the Christians have so long enjoyed the right
of “ immeasurably ” abusing Freethinkers, that they fancy
themselves quite polite when they are impudent enough to
invite a kicking.
Let us now see what Dr. Farrar’s “ few words ” amount to.
He accuses Ingersoll of asserting] instead of arguing, of
indulging in “ the unlimited enunciation of immense gene
ralities,” of “ tossing aside the deepest and most permanent
convictions of mankind as though they were too absurd even
to need an answer,” and generally of putting forth arguments
which have been killed by the theologians, and really ought
to feel that they are dead, and to get decently buried. Dr.
Farrar evidently regards Ingersoll aS a sceptical Banquo
who indecently haunts the supper-room of the theological
Macbeth.
But when he condescends to details the Archdeacon cuts a
sorry figure. He takes some of Ingersoll’s “ immense gene
ralities ” and tries to explode them, with shocking results to
himself. Here is number one.
I. The same rules or laws of probability must govern in
religious questions as in others.
This would have been regarded by the great Bishop Butler
as an axiom. But Dr. Farrar is not a Bishop Butler, so he
calls it “ an exceedingly dubious and disputable assertion.”
Revelation appeals to man’s spirit, and - Colonel Ingersoll
�ignores that “ sphere of being.” He is therefore like a blind
man arguing about colors, or a deaf man arguing about
music. In other words, Dr. Farrar cannot prove the truth of
his religion. He knows it intuitively, by means of a high
faculty which Ingersoll does not possess, or only in an
atrophied state. But this piece of fatuous impudence is far
from convincing. Besides, Dr. Farrar is shrewd enough to
see that the sceptic may reply, “ Very well, then, what is the
use of your talking to me ?” Consequently he falls back
upon the contention that the evidences of Christianity are
“ largely historical.” But instead of adducing these evi
dences, and firmly defending them, he flies back immediately
to his special faculty. “ Men of science tell us,” he says,
“ that there are ultra-violet rays of light invisible to the
naked eye. Supposing that such rays can never be made
apprehensible to our individual senses, are we therefore
justified in a categorical denial that such rays exist ?’*
Certainly not. Those ultra-violet rays of light can be
demonstrated. They are apprehensible, though not to the
naked eye. The analogy, therefore, is perfectly fallacious.
Nor would anyone but a hopelessly incapable logician have
adduced such a mat a propos illustration. Dr. Farrar is
affirming the existence of a spiritual faculty as common as
sight, and whose absence is as rare as blindness, and he
adduces an instance of a fact which is only known to
specialists.
II. There is no subject—and can be none—concerning
which any human being is obliged to believe without evi
dence.
This proposition of Ingersoll’s is indisputable. Dr. Farrar
allows its truth'. But he says it “ insinuates that Christianity
is believed without evidence, and this is “ outrageous and
historically absurd.” We will not discuss “ outrageous,” but
we venture to say that “ historically absurd ” is a great
absurdity. Nothing is clearer than that the mass of man
kind, whether Christian or heathen, do believe without
evidence. Their religion is simply a matter of education,
and their faith depends on the geographical accident of their
birth. Dr. Farrar may deny this, but every man of sense
knows it is true.
�( 6 )
We will not follow Dr. Farrar’s tali talk about “ the divine
beauty of Christianity,” the “unparalleled and transcendent
loveliness ” of Christ, and the “proved adaptation ” (heaven
save the mark!) of Christianity “ to the needs of every branch
of the human race.” All this is professional verbiage. It is
like the cry of “ fresh fish!” in the streets, and is perfectly
useless in discussion with Freethinkers.
III. Neither is there any intelligent being who can, by any
possibility, be flattered by the exercise of ignorant credulity.
Dr. Farrar cannot deny this, but again he complains of
insinuation. What right has Colonel Ingersoll to stigmatise
as ignorant credulity “ that inspired, inspiring,” etc., etc. ?
IV. The man who, without prejudice, reads and understands
the Old and New T estaments will cease to be an orthodox
Christian.
Dr. Farrar flies into a passion over this proposition, though
the Catholic Church has always acted upon it, and tried to
keep the Bible out of the people’s hands. He also flies off on
the question of “ what is an orthodox Christian ?” Colonel
Ingersoll, he says, would probably include under the word
orthodox “ a great many views which many Christians have
held, but which are in no sense a part of Christian faith, nor
in any way essential to it.” But who constituted Dr. Farrar
the supreme authority on this question ? Colonel Ingersoll
judges for himself. He follows the sensible plan of taking
the Bible as the Christian’s standard. After that he takes
the accepted and published doctrines of the great Christian
Churches. He is not bound to discuss the particular views
of Dr. Farrar. Indeed, it is ludicrous that at this time of
day, nearly two thousand yearB after Christ, *a discussion on
Christianity should be stopped to settle what Christianity is.
V. The intelligent man who investigates the religion of any
country without fear and without prejudice will not and cannot
be a believer.
Ingersoll’s opinion may be unpalatable to Christians,
though they would endorse it with regard to every religion
but their own. His language, however, is perfectly courteous.
Having to convey such an opinion, he could not have chosen
less irritating words. But this moderation is lost on Dr.
�( 7 )
Farrar, who bursts into a characteristic storm of sound and
fury.
“ Argal, every believer in. any religion is either an incompetent idiot
[did you ever know a competent idiot?] or a coward with a dash of pre
judice ! If Colonel Ingersoll really takes in the meaning implied in his
own words [really!], I should think that he would have [grammar!!]
recoiled before the exorbitant and unparalleled hardihood of thus brand
ing with fatuity, with craven timidity, or with indolent inability to
resist a bias, the majority of mankind, as well as the brightest of human
intellects. Surely no human being can be taken in by the show of self
confidence involved in such assertions as this ! It is as useless to combat
their unsupported obstreperousness as it is to argue with a man who
bawls out a proposition in very loud tones [could he bawl in soft tones ?]
and thumps the table to emphasise his own infallibility. We have but to
glance at the luminous path in the firmament of human greatness to see
thousands of names of men whose intellect was, in comparison with the
Colonel’s, as Dhawalaghari to a molehill, who have yet studied each his
own form of religion with infinitely [infinitely ?] greater power than he
has done, and have set to their seal that God is true.”
Hallelujah! But after all this sputter the question remains
where it was. Dr. Farrar is too fond of “words, words,
words,” and like Gratiano he can “ talk an infinite deal of
nothing.” He would do well to study Ingersoll for a month
or two, and prune the nauseous luxuriance of his own style.
Dr. Farrar gives a curious list of these gentlemen -who have
given God a certificate. It includes Charlemagne, who had
such a fine notion of “ evidence ” that he offered the Saxons
the choice of baptism or instant death, and so converted them
at the rate of twenty thousand a day. It includes Shake
speare, whose irreligion is a byword among the commentators.
It also includes Dr. Lightfoot and Dr. Westcott, two highlyfeed dignitaries of the Church. Among the scientific names
is that of Faraday, who “ had the Christian faith of a child,”
which is a very happy description, foi’ Faraday deliberately
refused to submit his faith to any test of reason. Dr. Farrar
mentions Darwin, Huxley and Tyndall as “ exceptions.” But
they cease to be exceptions when the names of Haeckel,
Buchner, Clifford, Maudsley, Galton, and a score of others
are added. Among the poets, Tennyson and Browning may
be called believers, but Swinburne, Morris, and Meredith are
not; and in France the foremost living poet, Leconte de
Lisle, is a pronounced Atheist. Sir William Hamilton was a
�( 8 )
believer, but John Stuart Mill was not. Dr. Gardiner, the
historian of England, is a believer, but Grote, the greater
historian of Greece, was an Atheist. After all, however, this
bandying of big names is perfectly idle. Propositions must
ultimately rest on their evidence. What is the use of discus
sion if we are not to judge for ourselves ?
Not only does Dr. Farrar give us a scratch list of eminent
believers—as though every creed and every form of scep
ticism did not boast its eminent men—but he gives another
list of assailants of Christianity, and declares that it has
survived their attacks, as it will survive every assault that
can be made upon it. It survived “ the flashing wit of
Lucian,” which, by the way, never flashed upon the ignorant
dupes who were gathered into the early Christian fold. It
survived “the haughty mysticism of Porphyry.” Yes, but
how ? By burning his books, and decreeing the penalty of
death against everyone who should be found in possession of
his damnable writings. It survived “ the battering eloquence
and keen criticism of Celsus.” Yes, but how ? By destroying
■his writings, so that not a single copy remained, and all that
can be known of them is the extracts quoted in the answer
of Origen. Then there are Hobbes, Spinoza, Bayle, Lord
Herbert of Cherbury, Voltaire, Diderot, Strauss and Renan
—and “ what have they effected ?”
This is what they have effected. They have broken the
spirit of intolerance, and made it possible for honest thinkers
to express their opinions. They have crippled the power of
priests, tamed their pride, and compelled them to argue with
heretics instead of robbing and murdering them. They have
leavened Christian superstition with human reason, and made
educated Christians ashamed of the grosser aspects of their
faith. They have driven Dr. Farrar himself to juggle with
the words of Scripture in order to get rid of the infamous
doctrine of everlasting torture. They have compelled the
apologists of Christianity to alter their theory of Inspiration,
to discriminate between better and worse in the Bible, and to
practise all kinds of subtle Bhifts in order to patch up a
hollow treaty between religion and science. They have
loosened the Church’s grasp on the mind of the child, and
very largely secularised both private and public life, which
�were once under the domination of priestcraft. They have
made millions of Freethinkers in Christendom, shaken the
faith of the very worshippers in their pews, and helped to
create that ever growing indifference to religion, which is a
theme of wailing at Church Congresses, and bids fair to
absorb all the sects of theology, as the desert absorbs water
or the ocean a fleet of sinking ships.
What have they effected ? Dr. Farrar’s article furnishes
an answer. Fifty years ago what dignitary of the Church
would have replied to an “ infidel ” except with anathemas
and the terrors of the law ? Now the proudest of them rush
to cross swords with Colonel Ingersoll, and, although they
do it with a wry face, they shake hands with him before
beginning the combat. Fifty years ago what “ infidel,” if he
openly avowed his infidelity, had the remotest chance of
occupying any public post? Now Mr. John Morley is Mr.
Gladstone’s first lieutenant, and Mr. Bradlaugh himself was
marked out as a member of the next Liberal administration.
All this may be “ nothing ” to Dr. Farrar, but it is much to
Freethinkers, and they need not argue who has the best
reason to be satisfied.
Dr. Farrar proceeds to tackle Ingersoll’s agnosticism. In
doing so he explains why he introduces the word “ infidel.”
He does not desire “ to create an unfair prejudice.” Why
then does he use the word at all ? Certainly he is incorrect
in saying that “ the word has always been understood to
mean one who does not believe in the existence of God.”
“ Infidel ” was first used by the Christians as a name for the
Mohammedans. It was afterwards applied to the unbelievers
at home. The Deists of last century were called infidels. Vol
taire and Thomas Paine are arch-infidels, and both believed
in the existence of God. Johnson defines “ infidel ” as “ an
unbeliever, a miscreant, a pagan ; one who rejects Chris
tianity.” Bailey as “ a Heathen, or one who believes nothing
of the Christian religion.” A similar definition is given
in Richardson’s great dictionary. It is clear that Dr. Farrar’s
etymology is no improvement on his manners. He covers a
bad fault with a worse excuse. We are ready, however, to
make allowance for him. His mind is naturally loose, and
he is rather the slave than the master of his words. In the
�( 10 )
very next paragraph he says that “ our beliefs are surrounded
by immense and innumerable perplexities,” forgetting that
if they are immense they cannot be innumerable, and if they
are innumerable they cannot be immense.
Ingersoll’s arguments against theology are reduced by Dr.
Farrar under four heads : “ first, the difficulty of conceiving
the nature of God; secondly, the existence of evil; thirdly,
the impossibility of miracles; and fourthly, the asserted
errors and imperfections of the Bible.”
“ Is it possible,” asks Ingersoll, “ for the human mind to
conceive of an infinite personality ?” Dr. Farrar replies,
“ Why, certainly it is ; for human minds innumerable have
done so.” But have they? Dr. Farrar knows they have not.
He knows they cannot. Otherwise he would not argue that
we are bound to believe in the existence of things which are
inconceivable.
“ Can the human mind imagine a beginningless being ?”
asks Ingersoll. Dr. Farrar evades the question. He gives
us another dissertation on conceivability. He asks whether
Ingersoll believes “ there is such a thing as space,” and
presently calls it “ an entity.” We venture to say that Inger
soll believes in nothing of the kind. You may call space “ a
thing,” but it is only indefinite extension, as time is indefinite
succession. The metaphysical difficulty arises when we try
to use the word infinite in a positive sense. Then we are
brought face to face with antinomies because we are trying
to transcend the limits of our faculties. Still, it is absurd to
affirm that “ space is quite as impossible to conceive as God.”
We know extension by experience, and increasing it ad
infinitum is rather an exercise in transcendent geometry
than in practical reason. But what experience have we of
God ? Is it not easier to conceive that to be unlimited of
which we have knowledge than that of which we have no
knowledge at all ? And if God be considered as a personality
—without which he is not God—is it possible to combine in
finitude and personality in the same conception ? Dr. Farrar
affirms that it is. We say it is not, and we appeal to the
judgment of every man who will try to think accurately.
With regard to the existence of evil, all Dr. Farrar can
say is that it is a mystery. Now a mystery, in theology, is
�( u )
simply a contradiction between fact and theory, and arguing
from mystery is only justifying a particular contradiction by
a general contradiction. Dr. Farrar must also be exceedingly
simple to imagine that it is any reply to Ingersoll to appeal
to St. Paul. Nor is it permissible to argue from the assumed
“ restoration of all things ” which is to take place in the
future, unless conjecture and argument are the same thing,
in which case it is idle to discuss at all, for every time the
Christian is beaten he has only to start a fresh assumption.
It is foolish, likewise, to complain that the argument from
evil is an old one, and that there is “ nothing new in the
reiterated objection,” for there is nothing new in the reiter
ated reply, and the objection remains unanswered. The
Catholic theologian would address Dr. Farrar in the same
futile fashion. He would reply to objections against Transubstantiation, for instance, that they are musty with age
and have been answered again and again.
Dr. Farrar finally sees he has a pool’ case and resigns the
argument. After trying to explain away a great deal of the
world’s evil by saying it is “ transitory,” which is question
able; or “phantasmal,” which is a mockery; he ends by
throwing up the sponge altogether. He admits he has “ no
compact logical solution of the problem,” and cries out in
despair that the theologians “ are not called upon to construct
theodicaaas.” But that is precisely what they are called upon
to do, and if they cannot do it they should have the modesty
to be silent. It is their function to “ justify the ways of God
to men.” Let them perform it, or confess they cannot, and
retire from their pretentious business.
But we must be just to Dr. Farrar. He does supply two
arguments, not for God’s goodness, but for God’s existence.
The first is “ the starry heavens above.” Did they come by
chance ?■—as though God and chance were the only possible
alternatives, or as though chance were anything but contin
gency arising from human ignorance!
“ The starry heavens above.” “ It is all very well, gentlemen, but who
made these?’ asked the young Napoleon, pointing to the stars of heaven,
as he sat with the French savans on the deck of the vessel which was
carrying him to Egypt, after they had proved to their satisfaction that
there is no Grod. To most minds it is a question finally decisive.
�(12)
Colonel Ingersoll must smile at this childish logic. No
doubt to most minds it is finally decisive. Who made the
world or the stars? is a pertinent question to those who have
been taught that they were made. It is an idle question to
anyone with a moderate acquaintance with astronomy. On
that subject the French savans were better informed than
Napoleon.
Dr. Farrar is erroneous in supposing that the Atheist or
Agnostic is bound to “ account for the existence of matter
and force.” Accounting for them can only mean explaining
how they began, and the Atheist or Agnostic is not aware
that they had a beginning. The “ source of life ” is a question
that biology must solve. Until it does, the “ infidel ” waits
for information. No light is shed upon the problem by
supernatural explanations. Still less is the “infidel” called
upon to account for “ the freedom of the will.”' He knows of
no such freedom as Dr. Farrar means by this phrase. As
for “ the obvious design which runs through the whole of
nature,” it is so obvious that Charles Darwin wrote, “ the
longer I live the less I can see proof of design.”
The second of the two things that are “ ample to prove
the being of a God ” is “ the moral law within.” Dr. Farrar
asserts that Conscience “ is the voice of God within us.”
But assertion is not proof. Colonel Ingersoll would reply
that Conscience is the voice of human experience. No student
of evolution would admit Dr. Farrar’s assertion. The origin
and development of morality are seen by evolutionists to be
perfectly natural. It is futile to make assertions which your
opponent contradicts. Argument must rest upon admitted
facts. Dr. Farrar strikes an attitude, makes dogmatic state
ments, draws out the conclusion he has put into them, and
calls that discussion. He has yet to learn the rudiments of
debate. The methods of the pulpit may do for a pious
romance called the Life of Christ, but they are out of place
in a discussion with Colonel Ingersoll.
Misled by his fondness for preaching, Dr. Farrai* has for
gotten two of the four heads under which he reduced Colonel
Ingersoll’s arguments. He says nothing about “ the impos
sibility of miracles ” or “ the errors and imperfections of the
Bible.” But these are the very points that demanded his
�( 13 )
attention. The existence of God, and the problem of evil,
belong to what is called Natural Religion. Dr. Farrai’ is A
champion of Revealed Religion. He is not a Deist but a
Christian. He should therefore have defended the Bible.
His omission to do so may be owing to prudence or negli
gence. He has given us fifteen pages of “ A Few Words on
Colonel Ingersoll.” We should rejoice to see a “ Fewer Words
on Dr. Farrar ”
ARCHDEACON FARRAR’S SEVEN SILLY
QUESTIONS.
“ Archdeacon Farrar’s Seven Questions ” is the title of
a paragraph in the current number of The Young Man,
a paper which is proving the certitude of Christian truth,
after nearly two thousand years of preaching, by carrying
on a symposium on “What is it to be a Christian?” We
have interpolated the word “ Silly,” which is quite accurate,
and for which we owe Dr. Farrar no apology, since he
does not shrink from applying the description of “ stupendous
nonsense ” to the belief of his opponents.
Our method of criticism shall be honest. We shall give
the whole of the paragraph, and then answer the seven
silly questions seriatim.
“If you meet with an Atheist, do not let him entangle you into
the discussion of side issues. As to many points which he raisesyou must make the Rabbi’s answer: ‘I do not know.’ But ask him
these seven questions : 1. Ask him, What did matter come from ? Can
a dead thing create itself ? 2. Ask him, Where did motion come from ?
3. Ask him, Where life came from save the finger tip of Omnipotence ?
4. Ask him, Whence came the exquisite order and design in nature?
If one told you that millions of printers’ types should fortuitously
shape themselves into the divine comedy of Dante, or the plays of
Shakespeare, would you not think him a madman ? 5. Ask him, Whence
�( 14 )
came consciousness ? 6. Ask him, Who gave you free will ? 7. Ask
him, Whence came conscience ? He who says there is no God, in
the face of these questions, talks simply stupendous nonsense.”
These questions, be it observed, are put with great
deliberation. With regard to many points, not one o"
which is specified, Dr. Farrar admits that he can only
say “ I do not know.” But on these particular points
he is cocksure. His mind is not troubled with a scintillation
of doubt. He has no hesitation in saying that those who
differ from him are guilty of “ stupendous nonsense.” It
is a matter for regret, however, that he did not answer
the questions himself. By so doing he would have saved
Christian young men the trouble of hunting up an Atheist,
good at answering queries, in order to get the conundrums
solved; while, as the case now stands, the Christian young
men may go on for ever with a search as weary as that
of Diogenes, unless they happen to light on this number
of the Freethinker.
First (a) Question (we leave out “ Silly ” to avoid
repetition) : What did matter come from 7—First prove
that matter ever came, and we will then discuss what (or
where) it came from. Matter exists, and for all that anyone
knows to the contrary, it always existed. Its beginning
to be and its ceasing to be are alike inconceivable. The
question is like the old catch query, “ When did you leave
off beating your father ? ” the proper answer to which is,
“ When did I begin to beat my father ? ”
First (6) Question: Can a dead .thing create itself?—
The question is paradoxical. “Create itself” is a selfcontradiction. Creation, however defined, is an act, and
an act implies an actor. To create, a thing must first exist;
and self-creation is therefore an absurdity. The question
is consequently meaningless.
Second Question : Where did motion come from ?—Another
nonsensical question. Motion does not “come” as a special
change. Motion is universal and incessant. Molecular
movement is constantly going on even in what appear stable
masses. The presumption is that this was always so in the
past, and will be always so in the future.
Third Question : Where did life come from save the finger
�( "15 )
*
U,„
tip of Omnipotence ?—Why not the big toe of Omnipotence ?
Life is not an entity, but a condition. Its coming from any
where is therefore nonsensical. A living thing might “ come,”
because its position in space can be changed. Then arise
fresh difficulties. Can any man conceive the finger of an
infinite being, or form a mental picture of life, as a some
thing, flowing from the tip of that finger ? The question of
the origin of life pertains to the science of biology. When
biology answers it, as it has answered other perplexed ques
tions, Dr. Farrar will be enlightened. Meanwhile his
ignorance is no excuse for his dogmatism.
Fourth (a) Question : Whence came the exquisite order and
design in nature?—This is tautology. Design in nature
includes order in nature. And the question invites a Scotch
reply. Is there design in nature? No one disputes that
there is adaptation, but this is explained by Natural Selection.
The fit, that is the adapted, survives. But the unfit is produced in greater abundance than the fit. Theologians look
at the result and blink the process. Darwin, who studied
both, said, “ Where one would most expect design, namely,
in the structure of a sentient being, the more I think the less
I can see proof of design.” Dr. Farrar must catch his hare
before he cooks it. He must prove design before he requires
the Atheist to explain it. Perhaps he will begin with idiots,
cripples, deaf mutes, fleas, bugs, lice, eczema, cancers, tumors,
and tapeworms.
Fourth (6) Question: Could millions of printers' types
fortuitously shape themselves into the works of Dante or
Shakespeare ?—No, nor even into the works of Dr. Farrar.
But who evei’ said they could? Why not ask Atheists
whether the moon could be made of green cheese? Dr.
Farrar is no doubt alluding to what is called Chance. But
Atheists do not recognise chance as a cause. Chance is
contingency, and contingency is ignorance. The term
denotes a condition of our minds, not an operation of external
nature.
Fifth Question : Whence came consciousness ?—This is a
very silly or a very fraudulent question. Putting the
problem in this way insinuates a theological answer. Con
sciousness, like life, is not an entity, and did not come from
�( 16 )
anywhere. The only proper question is, What is tw\J
of consciousness ? This is an extremely difficult and in
problem. It will be solved, if at all, by the Darwi/s of
physio-psychology, not by the Farrars of the pulpit. The
worthy Archdeacon and the Christian young men must wait
until their betters have explained the development of con
sciousness. The supposition that they understand it is simply
ludicrous. Nor is any theory to be built on the bog of their
ignorance.
Sixth Question : Who gave you free will ?—Ay, who ? Has
man a free will, in the metaphysical sense of the words?
Martin Luther replied in the negative. He would have
laughed, or snorted, at Dr. Farrar’s question. Atheists are
all with Martin Luther on this point; although, of course,
they reject his theory that Clod and theDevjl are always con
tending for the rulership of the human will. They hold that
the will is determined by natural causes, like everything else
in the universe. To ask an Atheist, therefore, who gave him
free will, is asking him who gave him what he does not possess.
Seventh Question : Whence came conscience ?—This, agaim
is stupidly expressed. Conscience did not “ come ” from any
where. Further, before the Atheist answers Dr. Farrar’s
question, even in an amended form, he requires a definition.
What is meant by Conscience ? If it means the perception of
right and wrong, it is an intellectual faculty, which varies m
individuals and societies, some having greater discrimination
than others. If it means the recognition of distinct, settled
categories of right and wrong, it depends on social and
religious training. In a high state of civilisation these
categories approximate to the laws of social welfare and
disease; in a low state of civilisation they are fantastic and
fearfully distorted by superstition. There is hardly a single
vice that has not been practised as a virtue under a religious
sanction. Finally, if conscience means the feeling of obliga
tion, the sense of “ I ought,” it is a product of social evolu
tion. It is necessarily generated among gregarious beings,
and 'in the course of time Natural Selection weeds out the
individuals in whom it is lacking or deficient. Social types
of feeling survive, and the‘anti-social perish. And this is the
whole “ mystery ” of conscience.
�
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Ingersollism defended against Archdeacon Farrar
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Foote, G. W. (George William) [1850-1915]
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Notes: Reply to Archdeacon Farrar's article A few words on Colonel Ingersoll, published in the North American Review. Part of the NSS pamphlet collection.
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R. Forder
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1892
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Free thought
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Frederick William Farrar
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Robert Green Ingersoll
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6
INFIDEL
FOOTE.
Idle Tales of Dying Horrors.
—CAffiLYEE.
PUBLISHING
28 Stonecutter Street, E.C.
��NATIONAL SEOUL' ' —'THIY
INFIDEL DEATH-BEDS.
BY
G. W. FOOTE.
■>
“ Idle Tales of Dying Horrors."
—Carlyle.
LONDON:
PROGRESSIVE PUBLISHING COMPANY,
28 Stonecutter Street, E.C.
1886.
�LONDON:
FEINTED AND PUBLISHED BY G. W. FOOTE,
AT 28 STONECUTTER STREET, E.C.
�INFIDEL DEATH-BEDS.
----------- f-----------
Infidel death-beds have been a fertile theme of pulpit elo
quence.
The priests of Christianity often inform their
congregations that Faith is an excellent soft pillow, and
Reason a horrible hard bolster, for the dying head. Freethought, they say, is all very well in the days of our health
and strength, when we are buoyed up by the pride of carnal
intellect; but ah! how poor a thing it is when health and
strength fail us, when, deserted by our self-sufficiency, we
need the support of a stronger power. In that extremity the
proud Freethinker turns to Jesus Christ, renounces his wicked
scepticism, implores pardon of the Savior he has despised,
and shudders at the awful scenes that await him in the next
world should the hour of forgiveness be past.
Pictorial art has been pressed into the service of this plea
for religion, and in such orthodox periodicals as the British
Workman, to say nothing of the horde of pious inventions
which are circulated as tracts, expiring sceptics have been
portrayed in agonies of terror, gnashing their teeth, wringing
their hands, rolling their eyes, and exhibiting every sign of
despair.
One minister of the gospel, the Rev. Erskine Neale, has not
thought it beneath his dignity to compose an extensive series
of these holy frauds, under the title of Closing Scenes. This *
work was, at one time, very popular and influential; but its
specious character having been exposed, it has fallen into
disrepute, or at least into neglect.
The real answer to these arguments, if they may be called
SBich, is to be found in the body of the present work. I have
narrated in a brief space, and from the best authorities, the
“ closing scenes ” in the lives of many eminent Freethinkers
during the last three centuries. They are not anonymous
persons without an address, who cannot be located in time or
space, and who simply serve “to point a moral or adorn a
tale.” Their names are in most cases historical, and in some
�4
INFIDEL DEATH-BEDS.
cases familiar to fame; great poets, philosophers, historians,
and wits, of deathless memory, who cannot be withdrawn
from the history of our race without robbing it of much of its
dignity and splendor.
In some instances I have prefaced the story of their deaths
with a short, and in others with a lengthy, record of their
lives. The ordinary reader cannot be expected to possess a
complete acquaintance with the career and achievements of
every great soldier of progress; and I have therefore-; con
sidered it prudent to afford such information as might be
deemed necessary to a proper appreciation of the character,
the greatness, and the renown, of the subjects of my sketches.
When the hero of the story has been the object of calumny
or misrepresentation, when his death has been falsely related,
and simple facts have been woven into a tissue of lying ab
surdity, I have not been content with a bare narration of the
truth ; I have carried the war into the enemy’s camp, and
refuted their mischievous libels.
One of our greatest living thinkers entertains “ the belief
that the English mind, not readily swayed by rhetoric, moves
freely under the pressure of facts.”* I may therefore venture
to hope that the facts I have recorded will have their proper
effect on the reader’s mind. Yet it may not be impolitic to
examine the orthodox argument as to death-bed repentances.
Carlyle, in his Essay on Voltaire, utters a potent warning
against anything of the kind.
“ Surely the parting agonies of a fellow-mortal, when the spirit
of oui- brother, rapt in the whirlwinds and thick ghastly vapors of
death, clutches blindly for help, and no help is there, are not the
scenes where a wise faith would seek to exult, when it can no longer
hope to alleviate ! For the rest, to touch farther on those their idle
tales of dying horrors, remorse, and the like ; to write of such, to
believe them, or disbelieve them, or in anywise discuss them, were
but a continuation of the same ineptitude. He who, after the imper
turbable exit of so many Cartouches and Thurtells, in every age of
the world, can continue to regard the manner of a man’s death as a
test of his religious orthodoxy, may boast himself impregnable to
merely terrestrial logic. ”f
There is a great deal of truth in this vigorous passage. I
fancy, however, that some of the dupes of priestcraft are not
absolutely impregnable to terrestrial logic, and I discuss the
* Dr. E. B. Tylor: Preface to second edition of Primitive Culture.
t Essays, Vol. II., p. 161 (People's edition).
�INTBODUCTION.
5
subject for their sakes, even at the risk of being held guilty
of “ineptitude.”
____
Throughout the world, the religion of mankind is determined
by the geographical accident of their birth. In England men
grow up Protestants-; in Italy, Catholics ; in Russia, Greek
Christians ; in Turkey, Mohammedans ; in India, Brahmans ; >
in China, Buddhists or Confucians. What they are taught
in their childhood, they believe in their manhood; and they
die in the faith in which they have lived.
Here and there a few men think for themselves. If they
discard the faith in which they have been educated, they are
never free from its influence. It meets them at every turn,
and is constantly, by a thousand ties drawing them back to
the orthodox fold. The stronger resist this attraction, the
weaker succumb to it. Between them is the average man,
whose tendency will depend on several things. If he is iso
lated, or finds but few sympathisers, he may revert to the
ranks of faith ; if he finds many of the same opinion with
himself, he will probably display more fortitude. Even
Freethinkers are gregarious, and in the worst as well as the
best sense of the words, the saying of Novalis is true—“ My
F
11
1
''
”’
jther.”
Lut m all cases ot reversion, the sceptic invariably returns
to the creed of his own country. What does this prove ?
Simply the power of our environment, and the force of early
training. When “ infidels ” are few, and their relatives are
orthodox, what could be more natural than what is called “ a
death-bed recantation ?” Their minds are enfeebled by dis
ease, or the near approach of death; they are surrounded by
persons who continually urge them to be reconciled to the
popular faith ; and is it astonishing if they sometimes yield to
these solicitations ? Is it wonderful if, when all grows dim,
and the priestly carrion-crow of the death-chamber mouths his
perfunctory shibboleths, that the weak brain should become
dazed, and the poor tongue mutter a faint response ?
Should the dying man be old, there is still less reason for
surprise. Old age yearns back to the cradle, and as Dante
Rossetti says—
“ Life all past
Is like the sky when the sun sets in it,
Clearest where furthest off.”
The “recantation” of old men, if it occurs, is easily under
�6
INFIDEL DEATH-BEDS.
stood. Having been brought up in a particular religion, their
earliest and tenderest memories may be connected with it;
and when they lie down to die they may mechanically recur
to it, just as they may forget whole years of their maturity,
and vividly remember the scenes of their childhood. Those
who have read Thackeray’s exquisitely faithful and pathetic
narrative of the death of old Col. Newcome, will remember
that as the evening chapel bell tolled its last note, he smiled,
lifted his head a little, and cried “ Adsum 1”—the. boy’s answer
when the names were called at school.
Cases of recantation, if they were ever common, which
does not appear to be true, are now exceedingly rare ; so rare,
indeed, that they are never heard of except in anonymous
tracts, which are evidently concocted for the glory of God,
rather than the edification of Man. Sceptics are at present
numbered by thousands, and they can nearly always secure
at their bedsides the presence of friends who share their un
belief. Every week, the Freethought journals report quietly,
and as a matter of course, the peaceful end of “ infidels ”
who, having lived without hypocrisy, have died without fear^.
They are frequently buried by theirTieterodox friends, and
never a week passes without the Secular Burial Service, or
some other appropriate words, being read by sceptics over a
sceptic’s grave.
. Christian ministers know this. They usually confine
themselves, therefore, to the death-bed stories of Paine and
Voltaire, which have been again and again refuted. Little,
if anything, is said about the eminent Freethinkers who
have died in the present generation. The priests must wait
half a century before they can hope to defame them wiih
success. Our cry to these pious sutlers is “ Hands off 1”
Refute the arguments of Freethinkers, if you can ; but do
not obtrude your disgusting presence in the death chamber,
or vent your malignity over their tombs.
Supposing, however, that every Freethinker turned Chris
tian on his death-bed. It is a tremendous stretch of fancy,
but I make it for the sake of argument. What does it prove ?
Nothing, as I said before, but the force of our surroundings
and early training. It is a common saying among Jews,
when they hear of a Christian proselyte, “ Ah, wait till he
comes to die !” As a matter of fact, converted Jews generally
die in the faith of their race; and the same is alleged as to
�INTRODUCTION.
7
the native converts that are made by our missionaries in
India.
Heine has a pregnant passage on this point. Referring to
Joseph Schelling, who was “an apostate to his own thought,”
who “ deserted the altar he had himself consecrated,” and
“ returned to the crypts of the past,” Heine rebukes the “ old
believers ” who cried Kyrie eleison in honor of such a con
version. “ That,” he says, “ proves nothing for their doctrine.
It only proves that man turns to religion when he is old and
fatigued, when his physical and mental force has left him,
when he can no longer enjoy nor reason. So many Free
thinkers are converted on their death-beds ! . . . But at least
do not boast of them. These legendary conversions belong
at best to pathology, and are a poor evidence for your cause.
After all, they only prove this, that it was impossible for you
to convert those Freethinkers while they were healthy in
body and mind.”*
Renan has some excellent words on the same subject in his
delightful volume of autobiography. After expressing a
rooted preference for a sudden death, he continues : “ I should
be grieved to go through one of those periods of feebleness,
in which the man who has possessed strength and virtue is
only the shadow and ruins of himself, and often, to the great
joy of fools, occupies himself in demolishing the life he has
laboriously built up. Such an old age is the worst gift the
gods can bestow on man. If such a fate is reserved for me,
I protest in advance against the fatuities that a softened
brajp iiMiy-.TXLa.kft thr say or sign. It is Renan souncHrTheart
and head, such as I am now, and not Renan half destroyed
by death, and no longer himself, as I shall be if I decompose
gradually, that I wish people to listen to and believe.”f
To find the best passage on this topic in our own literature
we must go back to the seventeenth century, and to Selden’s
Table Talk, a volume in which Coleridge found “ more
weighty bullion sense ” than he “ ever found in the same
number of pages of any uninspired writer.” Selden lived in a
less mealy-mouthed age than ours, and what I am going to
quote smacks of the blunt old times; but it is too good to
miss, and all readers who are not prudish will thank me for
citing it. “ For a priest,” says Selden, “ to turn a man
* De L'Allemagne, Vol. I., p. 174.
JU
(M-
f Souvenirs D'Enfance et de Jeunesse, p. 377.
�8
INFIDEL DEATH-BEDS.
when he lies a dying, is just like one that hath a long time
solicited a woman, and cannot obtain his end; at length he
makes her drunk, and so lies with her.” It is a curious thing
that the writer of these words helped to draw up the West
minster Confession of Faith.
For my own part, while I have known many Freethinkers
who were stedfast to their principles in death, I have never
known a single case of recantation, The fact is, Christians
are utterly mistaken on this subject, It is quite intelligible
that those who believe in a vengeful God, and an everlasting
hell, should tremble on “the brink of eternity ” ; and it is
natural that they should ascribe to others the same trepida
tion. But a moment’s reflection must convince them that this
is fallacious. The only terror in death is the apprehension
of what lies beyond it, and that emotion is impossible to a
sincere disbeliever. Of course the orthodox may ask “ But
is there a sincere disbeliever ?” To which I can only reply,
like Diderot, by asking “ Is there a sincere Christian ?”
Professor Tyndall, while repudiating Atheism himself, has
borne testimony to the earnestness of others who embrace it.
“ I haygjinown.some of the most pronounced among them,” he
* C-says, “not only in lHeT5uFm"3feath-—seen them approaching
with open eyes the inexorable goal, with no dread of a hang
man’s whip, with no hope of a heavenly crown, and still as
mindful of their duties, and as faithful in the discharge of
them, as if their eternal future depended on their latest deeds.”*
Lord Bacon said “ I do not believe that any man fears to
be dead, but only the stroke of death.” True, and the
physical suffering, and the pang of separation, are the same
for all. Yet the end of life is as natural as its beginning,
and the true philosophy of existence is nobly expressed in
the lofty sentence of Spinoza, “A free man thinks less of
nothing than of death.”
~
“ So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, which moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.”!
Fortnightly Review, November, 1S77.
t Bryant, Thanatopsis.
�LORD AMBERLEY.
Viscount Amberley, the eldest son of the late Earl Russell,
and the author of a very heretical work entitled an Analysis
of Religious Belief, lived and died a Freethinker. His will,
stipulating that his son should be educated by a Sceptical
friend, was set aside by Earl Russell; the law of England
being such, that Freethinkers are denied the parental rights
which are enjoyed by their Christian neighbors.
Lady
Frances Russell, who signs with her initials the Preface to
Lord Amberley’s book, which was published after his death,
writes : “ Ere the pages now given to the public had left the
press, the hand that had written them was cold, the heart—
of which few could know the loving depths—had ceased to
beat, the far-ranging mind was for ever still, the fervent
spirit was at rest. Let this be remembered by those who
read, and add solemnity to the solemn purpose of the book.”
LORD BOLINGBROKE.
Henry St. John, Viscount Bolingbroke, was born in 1672
at Battersea, where he also died on December 12, 1751. His
life was a stormy one, and on the fall of the Tory ministry,
of which he was a distinguished member, he was impeached
by the Whig parliament under the leadership of Sir Robert
Walpole. It was merely a party prosecution, and although
Bolingbroke was attainted of high treason, he did not lose a
friend or forfeit the respect of honest men. Swift and Pope
held him in the highest esteem; they corresponded with him
throughout their lives, and it was from Bolingbroke that Pope
derived the principles of the Essay on Man. That Bolingbroke’s
abilities were of the highest order cannot be gainsaid. His
political writings are masterpieces of learning, eloquence, and
wit, the style is sinewy and graceful, and in the greatest heat
of controversy he never ceases to be a gentleman. His philo
sophical writings were published after his death by his literary
executor, David Mallet, whom Johnson described as “a beggarly
Scotchman ’’who was “ left half-a-crown ” to fire off a blunder
�10
INFIDEL DEATH-BEDS.
bus, which his patron had charged, against “ religion and moral
ity.” Johnson’s opinion on suchasubject is, however, of trifling
importance. He hated Scotchmen and Infidels, and he told
Boswell that Voltaire and Rousseau deserved transportation
more than any of the scoundrels who were tried at the Old
Bailey.
Bolingbroke’s philosophical writings show him to have been
a Deist. He believed in God but he rejected Revelation. His
views are advanced and supported with erudition, eloquence,
and masterly irony. The approach of death, which was pre
ceded by the excruciating disease of cancer in the cheek, did
not produce the least change in his convictions. According
to Goldsmith, ‘ ‘ He was consonant with himself to the last;
and those principles which he had all along avowed, he con
firmed with his dying breath, having given orders that none
of the clergy should be permitted to trouble him in his last
moments.”*
GIORDANO BRUNO.
This glorious martyr of Freethought did not die in a
quiet chamber, tended by loving hands. He was literally
“ butchered to make a Roman holiday.” When the assassins of
“ the bloody faith ” kindled the fire which burnt out his
splendid life, he was no decrepit man, nor had the finger of
Death touched his cheek with a pallid hue. The blood
coursed actively through his veins, and a dauntless spirit
shone in his noble eyes. It might have been Bruno that
Shelley had in mind when he wrote those thrilling lines in
Queen Mab :
“ I was an infant when my mother went
To see an Atheist burned. She took me there:
The dark-robed priests were met around the pile,
The multitude was gazing silently;
And as the culprit passed with dauntless mien,
Tempered disdain in his unaltering eye,
Mixed with a quiet smile, shone calmly forth:
The thirsty fire crept round his manly limbs;
His resolute eyes were scorched to blindness soon;
His death-pang rent my heart! The insensate mob
Uttered a cry of triumph, and I wept.”
Giordano Bruno was born at Nola, near Naples, in 1548,
Life of Lord Bolingbroke; Works, Vol, IV, p. 248. Edition: Tegg, 1835.
�GIORDANO BRUNO.
11
ten years after the death of Copernicus, and ten years before
the birth of Bacon. At the age of fifteen he became a novice
in the monastery of San Domenico Maggiore, and after his
year’s novitiate expired he took the monastic vows. Study
ing deeply, he became heretical, and an act of accusation was
drawn up against the boy of sixteen. Eight years later he
was threatened with another trial for heresy. A third pro
cess was more be to dreaded, and in his twenty-eighth year
Bruno fled from his persecutors. He visited Borne, Noli,
Venice, Turin and Padua. At Milan he made the acquain
tance of Sir Philip Sidney. After teaching for some time in
th® university, he went to Chambery, but the ignorance and
bigotry of its monks were too great for his patience. He
next visited Geneva, but although John Calvin was dead, his
dark spirit still remained, and only flight preserved Bruno
from the fate of Servetus. Through Lyons he passed to
Toulouse, where he was elected Public Lecturer to the
University. In 1579 he went to Paris. The streets were still
foul with the blood of the Bartholomew massacres, but Bruno
declined a professorship at the Sorbonne, a condition of which
Was attending mass. Henry the Third, however, made him
Lecturer Extraordinary to the University. Paris at length
became too hot to hold him, and he went to London, where
he lodged with the French ambassador. His evenings were
mostly spent with Sir Philip Sidney, Fulke Greville, Dyer,
and Hervey. So great was his fame that he was invited to
read at the University of Oxford, where he also held a public
debate with its orthodox professors on the Copernican
astronomy. Leaving London in 1584, he returned to Paris,
and there also he publicly disputed with the Sorbonne. His
safety being once more threatened, he went to Marburg, and
thence to Wittenburg, where he taught for two years. At
Helenstadt he was excommunicated by Boetius. Bepairing
to Frankfort, he made the acquaintance of a Venetian noble
man, who lured him to Venice and betrayed him to the
Inquisition. Among the charges against him at his trial were
these : “ He is not only a heretic, but an heresiarch. He has
Witten works in which he highly lauds the Queen of England
and other heretical monarchs. HeThas written divers things'
touching religion, which are contrary to the faith.” The
Venetian Council transferred him to Borne, where he languished
for seven years in a pestiferous dungeon, and was repeatedly
�12
INFIDEL DEATH-BEDS.
tortured, according to the hellish code of the Inquisition.
At length, on February 10, 1600, he was led out to the
■church of Santa Maria, and sentenced to be burnt alive, or,
as_the Holy Church hypocritically phrased it, to be punished
'~77as mercifully as possible, and without effusion of blood.”
Haughtily raising his head, he exclaimed : “ You are more
afraid to pronounce my sentence than I to receive it.” He
was allowed a week’s grace for recantation, but without avail;
and on the 17th of February, 1600, he was burnt to death
on the Field of Flowers. To the last he was brave and
'defiant; he contemptuously pushed aside the crucifix they
presented him to kiss; and, as one of his enemies said, he
died without a plaint or a groan.
Such heroism stirs the blood more than the sound of a
trumpet. Bruno stood at the stake in solitary and awful
grandeur. There was not a friendly face in the vast crowd
around him. It was one man against the world. Surely the
knight of Liberty, the champion of Freethought, who lived
such a life and died such a death, without hope of reward on
earth or in heaven, sustained only by his indomitable man
hood, is worthy to be accounted the supreme martyr of all
time. He towers above the less disinterested martyrs of
Faith like a colossus ; the proudest of them might walk under
him without bending.
HENRY THOMAS BUCKLE.
The author of the famous History of Civilisation believed in
God and immortality, but he rej ected all the special tenets of
Christianity. He died at Damascus on May 29, 1862. His
incoherent utterances in the fever that carried him off showed
that his mind was still dwelling on the uncompleted purpose
of his life. “Oh my book,” he exclaimed, “ my book, I
shall never finish my book I ” * His end, however, was quite
peaceful. His biographer says : “ He had a very quiet night,
with intervals of consciousness ; but at six in the morning a
sudden and very marked change for the worse became but
too fearfully evident; and at a quarter past ten he quietly
breathed his last, with merely a wave of the hand.” f
* Pilgrim Memories, by J. Stuart Glennie, p. 508.
t Life and Writings of Henry Thomas Buckle, by A. Huth; Vol. II. 252.
�LORD BYRON.
LORD
13
BYRON.
No one can read Byron’s poems attentively without seeing
that he was not a Christian, and this view is amply corrobo
rated by his private letters, notably the very explicit one to
Hobhouse, which has only been recently published. Even
the poet’s first and chief biographer, Moore, was con
strained to admit that “ Lord Byron was, to the last, a
sceptic.”
Byron was born at Hoiles Street, London, on January 22,
1788. His life was remarkably eventful for a poet, but its
history is so easily accessible, and so well known, that we need
not summarise it here. His death occurred at Missolonghi
on April 19, 1824. Greece was then struggling for indepen
dence, and Byron devoted his life and fortune to her cause.
His sentiments on this subject are expressed with power and
dignity in the lines written at Missolonghi on his thirty-sixth
birthday. The faults of his life were many, but they were
redeemed by the glory of his death.
Exposure, which his declining health was unfitted to bear,
brought on a fever, and the soldier-poet of freedom died with
out proper attendance, far from those he loved. He conversed
a good deal at first with his friend Parry, who records that
“ he spoke of death with great composure.” The day before
he expired, when his friends and attendants wept round his
bed at the thought of losing him, he looked at one of them
steadily, and said, half smiling, “ Oh questa e una bella
scena 1”—Oh what a fine scene ! After a fit of delirium, he
called his faithful servant Fletcher, who offered to bring pen
and paper to take down his words. “ Oh no,” he replied,
“ there is no time. Go to my sister—tell her—go to Lady
Byron—you will see her, and say------ .” Here his voice be
came indistinct. For nearly twenty minutes he muttered to
himself, but only a woi;d now and then could be distinguished
He then said, “ Now, I have told you all.” Fletcher replied
that he had not understood a word. “ Not understand me ?”
exclaimed Byron, with a look of the utmost distress, “ what a
pity !—then it is too late ; all is over.” He tried to utter a
few more words, but none were intelligible except “my sister
—my child.” After the doctors had given him a sleeping
draught, he muttered “ Poor Greece !—poor town !—my poor
servants !—my hour is come !—I do not care for death—but
�14
INFIDEL DEATH-BEDS.
why did I not go home ?—There are things that make the
world dear to me : for the rest I am content to die.” He
spoke also of Greece, saying “ I have given her my time, my
means, my health—and now I give her my life! what could I
do more ?” About six o’clock in the evening he said “ Now
I shall go to sleep.” He then fell into the slumber from
which he never woke. At a quarter past six on the following
day, he opened his eye3 and immediately shut them again.
The physicians felt his pulse—he was dead.
*
His work was done. As Mr. Swinburne wrote in 1865,
“ k little space was allowed him to show at least an heroic
purpose, and attest a high design; then, with all things un
finished before him and behind, he fell asleep after many
troubles and triumphs. Few can have ever gone wearier to
the grave ; none with less fear.”f The pious guardians of
Westminster Abbey denied him sepulture in its holy precincts,
but he found a grave at Hucknall, and “ after life’s fitful fever
he sleeps well.”
RICHARD CARLILE.
Richard Carlile was born at Ashburton, in Devonshire, on
December 8, 1790. His whole life was spent in advocating
Freethought and Republicanism, and in resisting the Blas
phemy laws. His total imprisonments for the freedom of
the press amounted to nine years and four months. Thir
teen days before his death he penned these words : ‘ The
enemy with whom I have to grapple is one with 'who m no
peace can be made. Idolatry will not parley ; superstition
will not treat on covenant. They must be uprooted for
public and individual safety.” Carlile died on February 10,
1843. He was attended in his last illness by Dr. Thomas
Lawrence, the author of the once famous Lectures on Man.
Wishing to be useful in death as in life, Carlile devoted his
body to dissection. His wish was complied with by the
family, and the post-mortem examination was recorded in
the Lancet. The burial took place at Kensal Green Cemetary, where a clergyman insisted on reading the Church
Service over his remains. “ His eldest son Richard,” says
Mr. Holyoake, “ who represented his sentiments as well as
* Byrons Life and Letters by Thomas Moore, pp. £84—688.
t Fieface (p. 28, to a Selection from Byron's poems, 1865.
�WILLIAM KINGDON CLIFFORD.
15
his name, very properly protested against the proceedings, as
an outrage upon the principles of his father and the wishes
of the family. Of course the remonstrance was disre
garded, and Richard, his brothers, and their friends, left
the ground.”* After their departure, the clergyman called
the great hater of priests his “ dear departed brother,” and
declared that the rank Materialist had died “ in the sure and
certain hope of a glorious resurrection.”
WILLIAM KING-DON CLIFFORD.
Professor Clifford died all too early of consumption on
March 3, 1879. He was one of the gentlest and most amiable
of men, and the centre of a large circle of distinguished
friends. His great ability was beyond dispute ; in the higher
mathematics he enjoyed a European reputation. Nor was his
courage less, for he never concealed his heresy, but rather
proclaimed it from the housetops. A Freethinker to the
heart’s core, he “utterly dismissed from his thoughts, as
being unprofitable or worse, all speculations on a future or
unseen world ” ; and “as never man loved life more, so never
man feared death less.”' He fulfilled, continues Mr. Pollock,
“ well and truly the great saying of Spinoza, often in his
mind and on his lips : Homo liber de nulla re minus quam
de mortc cogitat. [A free man thinks less of nothing than
of death.J’t Clifford faced the inevitable with the utmost
calmness.
“ Foi’ a week he had known that it might come at any moment, and
looked to it stedfastly. So calmly had he received the warning which
conveyed this knowledge that it seemed at the instant as if he did not
understand it. . . . He gave careful and exact directions as to the
disposal of his works. . . . More than this, his interest in the outer
world, his affection for his friends and his pleasure in their pleasures,
did not desert him to the very last. He still followed the course of
events, and asked for public news on the morning of his death, so
strongly did he hold fast his part in the common weal and in active
social life.”J
Clifford was a great loss to “ the good old cause.” He was
a most valiant soldier of progress, cut off before a tithe of
his work was accomplished.
* Life and Character of Richard Carlile, by G. J. Holyoake.
t Lectures and Essays, by Professor Clifford. Pollock’s Introduction, p. 25.
t Ibid, p. 26.
�16
INFIDEL DEATH-BEDS.
ANTHONY COLLINS.
Anthony Collins was one of the chief English Freethinkers
of the eighteenth century. Professor Fraser calls him “ this
remarkable man,”* Swift refers to him as a leading sceptic
of that age. He was a barrister, born of a good Essex family
in 1676, and dying on Dec. 13, 1729. Locke, whose own cha
racter was manly and simple, was charmed by him. “ He
praised his love of truth and moral courage,” says Professor
Fraser, “ as superior to almost any other he had ever known,
and by his will he made him one of his executors.”* Yet
f bigotry was then so_ rampant, that Bishop Berkeley, who,|
7 according to Pope, had every—virtue under heaven,|
| actually said in the Guardian that the author of AT(
j Discourse, on Freethinking—“ deserved—io—he—deniecL the_>
common benefits of air and water.” Collins afterwards
engaged in controversy with the clergy, wrote against
priestcraft, and debated with Dr. Samuel Clarke “ about
necessity and the moral nature of man, stating the argu
ments against human freedom with a logical force unsur
passed by any necessitarian.”j" With respect to Collins’s con
troversy on “ the soul,” Professor. Huxley. says : “I do not
think anyone can read the letters which passed between
Clarke and Collins, without - admitting that Collins, who
writes with wonderful power and closeness of reasoning, has
by far the best of the argument, so far as the possible materiality of the soul goes ; and that in this battle the Goliath
of Freethinking overcame the champion of what was con
sidered Orthodoxy.’’^ According to Berkeley, Collins had
announced “ that he was able to demonstrate the impossibility of God’s existence,” but this is probably the exaggera
tion of an opponent. We may be sure, however, that he was
a very thorough sceptic with regard to Christianity. His
death is thus referred to in the Biographia Britannica
“Notwithstanding all the reproaches cast upon Mr. Collins as an
enemy to all religion, impartiality obliges us to remark, what is said,
and generally believed to be true, upon his death-bed he declared
‘ That, as he had always endea vored to the best of his abilities, to serve
his God, his king, and his country, so he was persuaded he was going
to the place which God had designed for those who love him ’: to
which he added that ‘ The catholic religion is to love God, and to love
* Berkeley, by A. O. Fraser, LL.D., p. 99.
t Critiques and Addresses, p. 324.
t Ibid, p. 99.
�17
CONDORCET.
man’; and he advised such as were about him to have a constant
regard to these principles.”
There is probably a good deal apocryphal in this passage,
but it is worthy of notice that nothing is said about any
dread of death. Another memorable fact is that Collins left
his library to an opponent, Dr. Sykes. It was large and
curious, and always open to men of letters. Collins was so
earnest a seeker for truth, and so candid a controversialist,
that he often furnished his antagonists with books to confute
himself.
CONDOBCET.
Marie-Jean-Antoine-Nicolas, Marquis de Condorcet, was
born at Bibemont in Picardy, in 1743. As early as 1764 he
composed a work on the integral calculus. In 1773 he was
appointed perpetual secretary of the French Academy. He
was an intense admirer of Voltaire, and wrote a life of that
great man.
At the commencement of the Bevolution he
ardently embraced the popular cause. In 1791 he represented
Paris in the Legislative Assembly, of which he was imme
diately elected secretary. It was on his motion that, in the
following year, all orders of nobility were abolished. Elected
by the Aisne department to the new Assembly of 1792, he
was named a member of the Constitutional Committee, which
also included Danton and Thomas Paine. After the execu
tion of Louis XVI., he was opposed to the excesses of the
extreme party. Always showing the courage of his convic
tions, he soon became the victim of proscription. “ He cared
as little for his life,” says Mr. Morley, “ as Danton or St. Just
cared for theirs. Instead of coming down among the men of
the Plain or the frogs of the Marsh, he withstood the Mountain
to its face.” While hiding from those who thirsted for his
blood, and burdened with anxiety as to the fate of his wife
and child, he wrote, without a single book to refer to, his novel
and profound Esquisse d'un Tableau Historique des Proges de
I’Esprit Humain. Mr. Morley says that “Among the many
wonders of an epoch of portents this feat of intellectual
abstraction is not the least amazing.” Despite the odious law
that whoever gave refuge to a proscribed person should suffer
death, Condorcet was, offered shelter by a noble-hearted womam.
. who said “ If you are outside the law, we are not outside
humanity.” But he would not bring peril upon her house
B
�J8
INFIDEL DEATH-BEDS.
and he went forth to his doom. Arrested at Clamart-sousMeudon, he was conducted to prison at Bourg-la-Reine.
Wounded in the foot, and exhausted with fatigue and priva
tion, he was flung into a miserable cell. It was the 27th of
March, 1794. “On the morrow,” says Mr. Morley, “when
the gaolers came to see him, they found him stretched upon
the ground, dead and stark. So he perished—of hunger and
weariness, say some; of poison ever carried by him in a ring,
say others.”* The Abbe Morellet, in his narrative of the
death of Condorcet (Memoires, ch. xxiv.), says that the poison
was a mixture of stramonium and opium, but he adds that
the surgeon described the death as due to apoplexy. In any
case Condorcet died like a hero, refusing to save his life at
the cost of another’s danger.
ROBERT COOPER.
Robert Cooper was secretary to Robert Owen and editor of
the London Investigator. His lectures on the Bible and the
Immortality of the Soul still enjoy a regular sale, as well as
his Holy Scriptures Analysed. He was a thorough-going
Materialist, and he never wavered in this philosophy. He died
on May 3, 1868. The National Reformer of July 26, 1868,
contains a note written by Cooper shortly before his death.
“ At a moment when the hand of death is suspended over me, my
theological opinions remain unchanged; months of deep and silent
cogitation, under the pressure of long suffering, have confirmed rather
than modified them. I calmly await therefore all risk attached to
these convictions. Conscious that, if mistaken, I have always been
sincere, I apprehend no disabilities for impressions I cannot resist.”
It may be added that Robert Cooper was no relation to
Thomas Cooper.
DANTON.
Danton, called by Carlyle the Titan of the Revolution, and
certainly its greatest figure after Mirabeau, was guillotined on
April 5, 1794. He was only thirty-five, but he had made a
name that will live as long as the history of France. With
all his faults, says Carlyle, “ he was a Man ; fiery-real, from
the great fire-bosom of Nature herself.” Some of his phrases
are like pyramids, standing sublime above the drifting
MUcellantei.
Y.j John Morley. Vol. I., p. 75.
�DALTON.
19
sand of human speech. It was he who advised “ daring, and
still daring, and ever daring.” It was he who cried “ The
coalesced kings of Europe threaten us, and as our gage of
battle we fling before them the head of a king.” It was he
who exclaimed, in a rapture of patriotism, “Let my name be
blighted, so that France be free.” And what a saying was
that, when his friends urged him to flee from the Terror,
“ One does not carry his country with him at the sole of his
shoe!”
Danton would not flee. “ They dare not ” arrest him, he
said ; but he was soon a prisoner in the Luxembourg. “ What
is your name and abode ?” they asked him at the tribunal.
“ My name is Danton,” he answered, “ a name tolerably known
in the Revolution : my abode will soon be Annihilation ; but
I shall live in the Pantheon of History.” Replying to his
infamous Indictment, his magnificent voice “reverberates
with the roar of a lion in the toils.” The President rings his
bell, enjoining calmness, says Carlyle, in a vehement manner.
“ What is it to thee how I defend myself ?” cries Danton;
“ the right of dooming me is thine always. The voice of a
man speaking for his honor and life may well drown the
jingling of thy bell!”
Under sentence of death he preserved, as Jules Claretie
says, that virile energy and superb sarcasm which were the
basis of his character. Fabre d’Eglantine being disquieted
about his unfinished comedy, Danton exclaimed “Des vers ! Des
vers ! Dans huit jours tu en feras plus que tu ne voudras !”• Then
he added nobly, “We have finished our task, let us sleep.”
Thus the time passed in prison.
On the way to the guillotine Danton bore himself proudly.
Poor Camille Desmoulins struggled and writhed in the cart,
which was surrounded by a howling mob. “ Calm, my
friend,” said Danton, “heed not that vile canaille.” Herault
de Sechelles, whose turn it was to die first, tried to embrace his
friend, but the executioners prevented him. “ Fools,” said
Danton, “you cannot prevent our heads from meeting in the
basket.” At the foot of the scaffold the thought of home
flashed through his mind. “ 0 my wife,” he exclaimed, “ my
well-beloved, I shall never see thee more then !” But recover
ing himself, he said “Danton, no weakness!” Looking the
executioner in the face, he cried with his great voice, “ You
will show my head to the crowd; it is worth showing ; you
�20
INFIDEL DEATH-BEDS.
don’t see the like in these days.” The next minute that
head, the one that might have guided France best, was severed
from his body by the knife of the guillotine. What a man
this Danton was ! With his Herculean form, his huge black
head, his mighty voice, his passionate nature, his fiery cour
age, his strong sense, his poignant wit, his geniality, and his
freedom from cant, he was a splendid and unique figure. An
Atheist, _hg__ perished in. trying to arrestbloodshed. Eobespiere, the Deist^ continued the bloodshed till it drowned him.
The two men were as diverse in nature as in creed, and Danton
killed by Eobespierre, as Courtois said, was Pyrrhus killed by a
woman!
[The reader may consult Carlyle's French Revolution, Book vi.,
ch. ii.; and Jules Claretie’s Camille Desmoulins et les Dantonistes, ch. vi.,
DENIS DIDEEOT.
Earely has the world seen a more fecund mind than
Diderot’s. Voltaire called him Pantophile, for everything
came within the sphere of his mental activity. The twenty
volumes of his collected writings contain the germ-ideas of
nearly all the best thought of our age, and his anticipations
of Darwinism are nothing less than extraordinary. He had
not Voltaire’s lightning wit and supreme grace of style, nor
Eousseau’s passionate and subtle eloquence; but he was
superior to either of them in depth and solidity, and he was
surprisingly ahead of his time, not simply in his treatment
of religion, but also in his view of social and political prob
lems. His historical monument is the great Encyclopcedia.
For twenty years he labored on this colossal enterprise,
assisted by the best heads in France, but harassed and
thwarted by the government and the clergy. The work is
out of date now, but it inaugurated an era : in Mr. Morley’s
words, “ it rallied all that was then best in France round
the standard of light and social hope.” Diderot tasted im
prisonment in 1749, and many times afterwards his liberty
was menaced. Nothing, however, could intimidate or divert
him from his task ; and he never quailed when the ferocious
beast of persecution, having tasted the blood of meaner
victims, turned an evil and ravenous eye on him.
Carlyle’s brilliant essay on Diderot is ludicrously unjust.
The Scotch puritan was quite unable to judge the French
�DENIS DIDEROT.
21
atheist. A greater than Carlyle wrote: “ Diderotis Diderot,
a peculiar individuality; whoever holds him or his doings
cheaply is a Philistine, and the name of them is legion.”
Goethe’s dictum outweighs that of his disciple.
Diderot’s character, no less than his genius, was misunder
stood by Carlyle. His materialism and atheism were in
tolerable to a Calvinist steeped in pantheism ; and his freedom
of life, which might be pardoned or excused in a Scotch
poet, was disgusting in a French philosopher. Let not the
reader be biassed by Carlyle’s splenetic utterances on Diderot,
but turn to more sympathetic and impartial judges.
Born at Langres in 1713, Diderot died at Paris 1784. His
life was long, active and fruitful. His personal appearance
is described by Mr. Morley :—“ His admirers declared his
head to be the ideal head of an Aristotle or a Plato. His
brow was wide, lofty, open, gently rounded. The arch of
the eyebrow was full of delicacy ; the nose of masculine
beauty; the habitual expression of the eyes kindly and
sympathetic, but as he grew heated in talk, they sparkled
like fire ; the curves of the mouth bespoke an interesting
mixture of finesse, grace, and geniality. His bearing was
nonchalant enough, but there was naturally in the carriage
of his head, especially when he talked with action, much
dignity, energy and nobleness.”*
His conversational powers were great, and showed the
fertility of his genius. “When I recall Diderot,” wrote
Meister, “ the immense variety of his ideas, the amazing mul
tiplicity of his knowledge, the rapid flight, the warmth, the
impetuous tumult of his imagination, all the charm and all
the disorder of his conversation, I venture to liken his cha
racter to nature herself, exactly as he used to conceive her—
rich, fertile, abounding in germs of every sort, gentle and
fierce, simple and majestic, worthy and sublime, but without
any dominating principle, without a master and without a
God.”
Diderot was recklessly prodigal of his ideas, flinging them
without hesitation or reticence among his friends. He was
equally generous in other respects, and friendship was of the
essence of his life. “ He,” wrote Marmontel in his Memoirs,
“ he who was one of the. most enlightened men of the century,
* Diderot and the Encyclopaedists. By John Morley, Vol. I., pp. 39-40.
�22
INFIDEL DEATH-BEDS.
was also one of the most amiable ; and in everything that
touched moral goodness, when he spoke of it freely, I cannot
express the charm of his eloquence. His whole soul was in
his eyes and on his lips; never did a countenance better
depict the goodness of the heart.”
*
Chequered as Diderot’s life had been, his closing years were
full of peace and comfort. Superstition was mortally wounded,
the Church was terrified, and it was clear that the change the
philosophers had worked for was at hand. As Mr. Morley
says, “ the press literally teemed with pamphlets, treatises,
poems, histories, all shouting from the house-tops open
destruction to beliefs which fifty years before were actively
protected against so much as a whisper in the closet. Every
form of literary art was seized and turned into an instru
ment in the remorseless attack on L’Infame.” Diderot rejoiced
at all this, as largely the fruit of his own labors. He was
held in general esteem by the party of progress throughout
Europe. Catherine the Great’s generosity secured him a
steady income, which he had never derived from his literary
labors. His townsmen of Langres placed his bust among the
worthies in the town hall. More than a hundred years later
a national statue of Diderot was unveiled at his native place,
and the balance of subscriptions was devoted to publishing a
popular selection of his works. Truly did this great Atheist
say, looking forward to the atoning future, “ Posterity is for
the philosopher what the other world is for the devout.
In the spring of 1784 Diderot was attacked by what he felt
was his last illness. Dropsy set in, and in a few months the
end came. A fortnight before his death he was removed
from the upper floor in the Rue Taranne, which he had occu
pied for thirty years, to palatial rooms provided for him by
the Czarina in the Rue de Richelieu. Growing weaker every
day, he was still alert in mind.
“He did all he could to cheer the people around him, and amused
himself and them by arranging his pictures and his books. In the
evening, to the last, he found strength to converse on science and
philosophy to the friends who were eager as ever for the last gleanings
of his prolific intellect. In the last conversation that his daughter
heard him carry on, his last words were the pregnant aphorism that
the first step towardsphilosophy is incredulity^^
“ Orf the evening of the 30th of July, 1784 he sat down to table, and
at the end of the meal took an apricot. His wife, with kind solicitude,
remonstrated. Mais quel diable de mal veux-tu que cela me fasse 1 fHow
�DENIS DIDEROT.
23
the deuce can that hurt me ?] he said, and ate the apricot. Then he
rested his elbow on the table, trifling with some sweetmeats. His
wife asked him a question ; on receiving no answer, she looked up and
saw that he was dead. He had died as the Greek poets say that men
died in the golden age—they passed away as if mastered by sleep’'
*
Grimm gives a slightly different account of Diderot’s death,
omitting the apricot, and stating that his words to his wife
were, “ It is long since I have eaten with so much relish.”!
With respect to the funeral, Grimm says that the cure of
St. Eoch, in whose parish he died, had scruples at first about
burying him, on account of his sceptical reputation and the
doctrines expounded in his writings ; but the priest’s scruples
were overcome, partly by a present of “ fifteen or eighteen
thousand livres.”
According to Mr. Morley, an effort was made to convert
Diderot, or at least to wring from him something like a
retractation.
“ The priest of Saint Sulpice, the centre of the philosophic quarter,
came to visit him two or three times a week, hoping to achieve at least
the semblance of a conversion. Diderot did not encourage conversation
on theology, but when pressed he did not refuse it. One day when
they found, as two men of sense will always find, that they had ample
common ground in matters of morality and good works, the priest
ventured to hint that an exposition of such excellent maxims, accom
panied by a slight retractation of Diderot’s previous works, would have
a good effect on the world. ‘ I dare say it would, monsieur le cure,
but confess that I should be acting an impudent lie.’ And no word of
retractation was ever made.”J
If judging men by the company they keep is a safe rule, we need
have no doubt as to the sentiments which Diderot entertained
to the end. Grimm tells us that on the morning of the very
day he died “ he conversed for a long time and with the
greatest freedom with his friend the Baron D’Holbach,” the
famous author of the System of Nature, compared with
whom, says Mr. Morley, “ the most eager Nescient or Denier
to be found in the ranks of the assailants of theology in our
own day is timorous and moderate.” These men were the
two most earnest Atheists of their generation. Both were
genial, benevolent, and conspicuously generous. D’Holbach
_was learned, eloquent, and trenchant; and Diderot, inTlbnrtff-s——_
opinion, was the greatest genius of the eighteenth century.
* Morley, Vol. II., pp. 259, 260.
t Quoted, from the Revue Retrospective in Assfeat's complete edition of Diderot.
j Morley, Vol. II., p. 258.
�24
INFIDEL DEATH-BEDS.
GEORGE ELIOT.
Marian Evans, afterwards Mrs. Lewes, and finally Mrs.
Cross, was one of the greatest writers of the third quarter of
this century. The noble works of fiction she published under
the pseudonym of George Eliot are known to all. Her earliest
writing was done for the IFesYmmsfer Tfm’ew, a magazine of
marked sceptical tendency. Her inclination to Freethought
is further shown by her translation of Strauss’s famous Life
of Jesus and Feuerbach’s Essence of Christianity the latter,
being the work of a profound Atheist. George Eliot was, to
some extent, a disciple of Comte, and reckoned a member of
the Society of Positivists. Mr. Myers tells us that in the last
conversation he had with her at Cambridge, they talked of
God, Immortality and Duty, and she gravely remarked how
hypothetical was the first, how improbable was the second,
and how sternly real the last. Whenever in her novels she
speaks in the first person she breathes the same sentiment.
Her biography has been written by her second husband, who
says that “ her long illness in the autumn had left her no
power to rally. She passed away about ten o’clock at night
on the 22nd of December, 1880. She died, as she would
herself have chosen to die, without protracted pain, and with
every faculty brightly vigorous.”* Her body lies in the next
grave to that of George Henry Lewes at Highgate Cemetery ;
her spirit, the product of her life, has, in her own words,
joined “ the choir invisible, whose music is the gladness of
the world.”
FREDERICK THE GREAT.
Frederick the Great, the finest soldier of his age, the
maker of Prussia, and therefore the founder of modern
Germany, was born in January, 1712. His life forms the
theme of Carlyle’s masterpiece. Notoriously a disbeliever in
Christianity, as his writings and correspondence attest, he
loved to surround himself with Freethinkers, the most con
spicuous of whom was Voltaire. When the great French
heretic died, Frederick pronounced his eulogium before the
Berlin Academy, denouncing “the imbecile priests,” and
declaring that “ The best destiny they can look for is that
Zife and Letters of George Eliot, by J. W. Cross, Vol. III., p. 439.
�LEON GAMBETTA,
25
they and their vile artifices will remain forever buried in the
darkness. o£ oblivion,, while the fame of Voltaire .will., in.er.eaae__
from age., toage, and transmit his name to immortality.” , , ,
When the old king was on his death-bed, one of his
subjects, solicitous about his immortal soul, sent him a letter
full of pious advice. “Let this,” he said, “be answered
•civilly ; the intention of the writer is good.” Shortly after,
on August 17, 1786, Frederick died in his own fashion.
Carlyle says:
“For the most part he was unconscious, never more than half
conscious. As the wall clock above his head struck eleven, he asked :
‘ What o’clock ?’ ‘ Eleven,’ answered they. ‘ At four,’ murmured he,
I will rise.’ One of his dogs sat on its stool near him ; about mid
night he noticed it shivering for cold : ‘ Throw a quilt over it,’ said or
beckoned he ; that, I think, was his last completely conscious utter
ance. Afterwards, in a severe choking fit, getting at last rid of the
phlegm, he said, La montagne est passe, nous irons mieux—We are on
the hill, we shall go bettei’ now.’ ”*
Better it was. The pain was over, and the brave old king,
who had wrestled with all Europe and thrown it, succumbed
quietly to the inevitable defeat which awaits us all.
LEON GAMBETTA.
Gambetta was the greatest French orator and statesman
of his age. He was one of those splendid and potent figures
who redeem nations from commonplace. To him, more than
to any other man, the present Republic owes its existence.
He played deeply for it in the great game of life and
death after Sedan, and by his titanic -organisation of the
national defence he made it impossible for Louis Napoleon
to reseat himself on the throne with the aid of German
bayonets. Again, in 1877, he saved the Republic he loved
so well from the monarchical conspirators. He defeated their
base attempt to subvert a nation’s liberties, but the struggle
sapped his enormous vitality, which had already been im
paired by the terrible labors of his Dictatorship. He died
at the early age of forty-four, having exhausted his strength
in fighting for freedom. Scarcely a dark thread was left in
the leonine mane of black hair, and the beard matched the
whiteness of.his shroud.
France mourned like one man at the hero’s death. The
Frederick the Great, Vol. VI., p. 694; edition, 1869.
�26
INFIDEL DEATH-BEDS.
people gave him a funeral that eclipsed the obsequies of
r
I
kings. He was carried to his grave by a million citizens.
Yet in the whole of that vast throng, as Mr. Frederic
Harrison remarked, “ there was no emblem of Christ, no priest
of God, not one mutter of heaven, no hollow appeal to the
mockery of the resurrection, no thought but for the great
human loss and human sorrow. It was the first time in the
history of Europe that a foremost man had been laid to rest
/ by a nation in grief, without priest or church, prayer or
hymn.”
Like almost every eminent Republican, Gambetta was a
Freethinker. As Mr. Frederic Harrison says, “ he systemati
cally and formally repudiated any kind of acceptance of
theology.” During his lifetime he never entered a church,
even when attending a marriage or a funeral, but stopped
short at the door, and let who would go inside and listen to
the mummery of the priest. In his own expressive words,
he declined to be “rocked asleep by the myths of childish^
religions.’’. He professed himself an admirer And^a'disciple
of Voltaire—Vadmirateur et le disciple de Voltaire. Every
member of his ministry was a Freethinker, and one of them,
the eminent scientist Paul Bert, a militant Atheist. Speaking
at a public meeting not long before his death, Gambetta
called Comte the greatest thinker of this century ; that Comte
who proposed to “ reorganise society, without God and with
out king, by the systematic cultus of humanity.”
When John Stuart Mill died, a Christian journal, which
died itself a few weeks after, declared he had gone to hell,
and wished all his friends and disciples would follow him.
Several pious prints expressed similar sentiments with regard
to Gambetta. Passing by the English papers, let us look at a
few French ones. The Due de Broglie’s organ, naturally
anxious to insult the statesman who had so signally beaten
him, said that “ he died suddenly after hurling defiance at
God.” The Pays, edited by that pious bully, Paul de Cassagnac, said—“He dies, -poisoned by his own blood. He
set himself up against God. He has fallen. It is fearful.
Bat it is just.” The Catholic Univers said “While he was
recruiting his strength and meditating fresh assaults upon
the Church, and promising himself victory, the tlivine Son
of the Carpenter was preparing his coffin.”
These tasty exhibitions of Christian charity show that
�LEON GAMBETTA.
27
Gambetta lived and died a Freethinker. Yet the sillier sort
of Christians have not scrupled to insinuate and even argue
that he was secretly a believer.
One asinine priest, M.
Feuillet des Conches, formerly Vicar of Notre Dame des
Victoires, and then honorary Chamberlain to the Pope, stated
in the London Times that, about two years before his death,
Gambetta came to his church with a brace of big wax tapers
which he offered in memory of his mother. He also added
that the great orator knelt before the Virgin, dipped his finger
in holy water, and made the sign of the cross. Was there
ever a more absurd story ?
Gambetta was a remarkable
looking man, and extremely well known. He could not have
entered a church unobserved, and had he done so, the story
would have gone round Paris the next day.
Yet nobody
heard of it till after his death. Either the priest mistook
some portly dark man for Gambetta, or he was guilty of a
pious fraud.
According to another story, Gambetta said “ I am lost ”
when the doctors told him he could not recover. But the
phrase Je suis perdu has no theological significance. Nothing
is more misleading than a literal translation. Gambetta
simply meant “It is all over then.” This monstrous per
version of a simple phrase could only have arisen from sheer
malice or gross ignorance of French.
While lying on his death-bed Gambetta listened to Rabelais,
Moliere, and other favorite but not very pious authors, read
aloud by a young student who adored him. Almost his last
words, as recorded in the Tinies, were these—“Well, I have
suffered so much,, it will be a^deliverance/’ The words are
calm, collected, and truthful. There is no rant and no quail
ing. It is the natural language of a strong man confronting
Death after long agony. Shortly after he breathed his last.
The deliverance had come. Still lay the mighty heart and
the fertile brain that had spent themselves for France, and
the silence was only broken by the sobs of dear friends who
would have died to save him. No priest administered “ the
consolations of religion,” and he expressly ordered that he
should be buried without religious rites. His great heroic
genius was superior to the creeds, seeing through them and
over them. He lived and died a Freethinker, like nearly all
the great men since Mirabeau and Danton who have built
up the freedom and glory of France.
�.28
INFIDEL DEATH-BEDS.
ISAAC GENDRE,
The controversy over the death of this Swiss Freethinker
was summarised in the London Echo of July 29, 1881.
“A second case of death-bed conversion of an eminent Liberal to
Roman Catholicism, suggested probably by that of thp great French
philologist Littre, has passed the round of the Swiss papers. A few
days ago the veteran leader of the Freiburg Liberals, M. Isaac Gendre,
died. The Ami du Peuple, the organ of the Freiburg Ultramontanes,
immediately set afloat the sensational news that when HL Gendre
found that his last hour was approaching, he sent his brother to fetch
n priest, in order that the last sacraments might be administered to
him, and the evil which he had done during his life by his persistent
Liberalism might be atoned by bis repentance at the eleventh hour.
This brother, M. Alexandre Gendre, now writes to the papei’ stating
that there is not one word of truth in this story. What possible
benefit can any Church derive from the invention of such tales ?
Doubtless there is a credulous residuum which believes that there
must be ‘ some truth ’ in anything which has once appeared in print.’’
It might be added that many people readily believe what
pleases them, and that a lie which has a good start is very
hard to run down.
EDWARD GIBBON.
Edward Gibbon, the greatest of modern historians, was
born at Putney, near London, on April 27, 1737. His
monumental work, the Decline and Fall of the Homan Empire,
which Carlyle called “ the splendid bridge from the old world
to the new,” is universally known and admired. To have
your name mentioned by Gibbon, said Thackeray, is like
having it written on the dome of St. Peter’s which is seen by
pilgrims from all parts of the earth. Twenty years of his
life were devoted to his colossal History, which incidentally
•conveys his opinion of many problems. His views on Chris
tianity are indicated in his famous fifteenth chapter, which
is a masterpiece of grave and temperate irony. When
Gibbon wrote that “ it was not in this world that the primitive
Christians were desirous of making themselves either agree
able or useful,” every sensible reader understood his meaning.
The polite sneer rankled in the breasts of the clergy, who
replied with declamation and insult. Their answers, how
ever, are forgotten, while his merciless sarcasms live on, and
help to undermine the Church in every fresh generation.
Gibbon did not long survive the completion of his great
�GOETHE.
29
work. The last volumes of the Decline and Fall were pub
lished on M4y 8, 1788, and he died on January 14, 1794.
His malady was dropsy. After being twice tapped in
November, he removed to the house of his devoted friend,
Lord Sheffield. A week before he expired he was obliged,
for the sake of the highest medical attendance, to return to
his lodgings in St. James’s Street, London. The following
account of his last moments was written by Lord Sheffield :
“ During the evening he complained much of his stomach, and of a
feeling of nausea. Soon after nine he took his opium draught and
went to bed. About ten he complained of much pain, and desired that
warm napkins might be applied to his stomach.’ He almost inces
santly expressed a sense of pain till about four o’clock in the morning,
when he said he found his stomach much easier. About seven the
servant asked whether he should send for Mr. Farquhar [the doctor].
He answered, No ; that he was as well as the day before. At about
half-past eight he got out of bed, and said he was ‘ plus adroit ’ than
he had been for three months past, and got into bed again without
assistance, better than usual. About nine he said he would rise. The
servant, however, persuaded him to remain in bed till Mr. Farquhar,
who was expected at eleven, should come. Till about that hour he
spoke with great facility. Mr. Farquhar came at the time appointed,,
and he was then visibly dying. When the valet-de-chambr'e returned,
after attending Mr. Farquhar out of the room, Mr. Gibbon said,
‘ Pourquoi est ce que vous me quittez ?’ [Why do you leave me ?]
This was about half-past eleven. At twelve he drank some brandy
and water from a teapot, and desired his favorite servant to stay with
him. These were the last words he pronounced articulately. To the
last he preserved his senses ; and when he could no longer speak, his
servant having asked a question, he made a sign to show that he
understood him. He was quite tranquil, and did not stir, his eyes half
shut. About a quarter before one he ceased to breathe. The valetde-chambre observed that he did not, at any time, evince the least
sign of alarm or apprehension of death.”
Mr. James Cotter Morison, in his admirable monograph on
Gibbon, which forms a volume of Macmillan’s “ English Men
of Letters ” series, quotes the whole of this passage from
Lord Sheffield with the exception of the last sentence. It
is not easy to decide whether Mr. Morison thought the sen
tence trivial, or hesitated to affront his readers’ susceptibilities.
In our opinion the words we have italicised are the most im
portant in the extract, and should not have been withheld.
GOETHE.
The greatest of German poets died at a ripe old age on
March 22, 1832. He was a Pantheist after the manner of
�30
INFIDEL DEATH-BEDS.
Spinoza, and his countrymen called him the “ great pagan.”
In one of his epigrams he expresses hatred of four things—
garlic, onions, bugs, and the cross. Heine, in his De I'Allentrigne, notices Goethe’s “ vigorous heathen nature,” and his
“ militant antipathy to Christianity.” His English biographer
thus describes his last moments :
“His speech was becoming less and less distinct. The last words
audible were: More light.' The final darkness grew apace, and he
whose eternal longing had been for more Light, gave a parting cry for
it, as he was passing under the shadow of death. He continued to
express himself by signs, drawing letters with his forefinger in the
air, while he had strength, and finally as life ebbed away drawing
figures slowly on the shawl which covered his legs. At half-past
twelve he composed himself in the corner of the chair. The watcher
placed a finger on her lips to intimate that he was asleep. If sleep
it was, it was a sleep in which a great life glided from the world.”*
Let us add that infinite nonsense, from which even Lewes
was obviously not free, has been talked and written about
Goethe’s cry “ More light.” His meaning was of course
purely physical. The eyesight naturally fails in death, all
things grow dim, and the demand for “more light” is
common enough at such times.
HENRY HETHERINGTON.
Henry Hetherington, one of the heroes of “ the free press,”
was born at Compton Street, Soho, London, in 1792. He
very early became an ardent reformer. In 1830 the Gov
ernment obtained three convictions against him for publishing
the Poor Man’s Guardian, and he was lodged for six months
in Clerkenwell gaol. At the end of 1832 he was again im
prisoned there for six months, his treatment being most
cruel. An opening, called a window, but without a pane of
glass, let in the rain and snow by day and night. In 1841
__ he was a third time incarcerated in the Queen’s Bench prison
for four months. This time his crime was “ blasphemy,” in
other words, publishing Haslam’s Petters to the Clergy. He
died on August 24, 1849, in his fifty-seventh year, leaving
behind him his “ Last Will and Testament,” from which we
take the following extracts :
“ As life is uncertain, it behoves every one to make preparations
for death; I deem it therefore a duty incumbent on me, ere I quit
this life, to express in writing, for the satisfaction and guidance of
Life of Goethe, by G. H. Lewes, p. 559.
�HENRY HETHERINGTON.
31
•esteemed friends, my feelings and opinions in reference to our com
mon principles. I adopt this course that no mistake or misapprehen
sion may arise through the false reports of those who officiously and
«
obtrusively obtain access to the death-beds of avowed infidels to
priestcraft and superstition; and who, by their annoying importuni
ties, labor to extort from an opponent, whose intellect is already worn
out and subdued by protracted physical suffering, some trifling ad
mission, that they may blazon it forth to the world as a Death-bed
Confession, and a triumph of Christianity over infidelity.
“ In the first place, then, I calmly and deliberately declare that I
4© not believe in the popular notion of the existence of an Almighty,
All-Wise and Benevolent God—possessing intelligence, and conscious
of his own operations ; because these attributes involve such a mass
of absurdities and contradictions, so much cruelty and injustice on
his part to the poor and destitute portion of his creatures—that, in my
opinion, no rational reflecting mind can, after disinterested investiga
tion, give credence to the existence of such a Being. 2nd. I believe
death to be an eternal sleep—that I shall never live again in this
world, or another, with a consciousness that I am the same identical
person that once lived, performed the duties, and exercised the func
tions of a human being. 3rd. I consider priestcraft and superstition._____
the greatest_obstacle to human improvement and happiness. During
' mf life I have, to the best of my ability, sincerely'anastrenubusly ex
posed and opposed them, and die with a firm conviction that Truth,
Justice, and Liberty will never be permanently established on earth
till every vestige of priestcraft and superstition shall be utterly de
stroyed. 4th. I have ever considered that the only religion useful to
man consists exclusively of the practice of morality, and in the mutual
interchange of kind actions. In such a religion there is no room for
priests—and when I see them interfering at our births, marriages,
and deaths, pretending to conduct us safely through this state of
being to another and happier world, any disinterested person of the
least shrewdness and discernmentmust perceive that their sole aim
js to stultify the minds of the people by theirincohipi-ehensTbre 4oc=------- Ti-ines,' that theymayYhre more eiteef ua Uv fleece the poor deludecTsheep
who listen to their empty babblings and mystifications. 5th. As I have
lived so I die, a determined opponent to their nefarious and plundering
system. I wish my friends, therefore, to deposit my remains in un
consecrated ground, and trust they will allow no priest, or clergyman
of any denomination, to interfere in any way whatever at my
funeral. My earnest desire is, that no relation or friend shall wear
black or any kind of mourning, as I consider it contrary to our
rational principles to indicate respect for a departed friend by com
plying with a hypocritical custom. 6th. I wish those who respect
me, and who have labored in our common cause, to attend my re
mains to their last resting-place, not so much in consideration of
the individual, as to do honor to our just, benevolent and rational
principles. I hope all true Rationalists will leave pompous disp ays
to the tools of priestcraft and superstition.”
Hetherington wrote this Testament nearly two years before
his death, but he signed it with a firm hand three days before
�82
INFIDEL DEATH-BEDS.
he breathed his last, in the presence of Thomas Cooper, who
left it at the Reasoner office for “ the inspection of the curious
or sceptical.” Thomas Cooper is now a Christian, but he
cannot repudiate what he printed at the time, or destroy his
“ personal testimony,” as he called it, to the consistency with
which Hetherington died in the principles of Freethought.
THOMAS HOBBES.
The philosopher of Malmesbury, as he is often called, was
one of the clearest and boldest thinkers that ever lived. His
theological proclivities are well expressed in his witty aphorism
that superstition is religion out of fashion, and religion super
stition in fashion. Although a courageous thinker, Hobbes
was physically timid. This fact is explained by the circum
stances of his birth. In the spring of 1588 all England was
alarmed at the news that the mighty Spanish Armada had
set sail for the purpose of deposing Queen Elizabeth, bringing
the country under a foreign yoke, and re-establishing the
power of the papacy. In sheer fright, the wife of the vicar
of Westport, now part of Malmesbury, gave premature birth
to her second son on Good Friday, the 5 th of April. This
seven months’ child used to say, in later life, that his
mother brought forth himself and a twin brother Fear. He
was delicate and nervous all his days. Yet through strict
temperance he reached the great age of ninety-one, dying on
the 4th of December, 1679.
This parson’s son was destined to be hated by the clergy
for his heresy. The Great fire of 1666, following the Great
Plague of the previous year, excited popular superstition, and
to appease the wrath of God, a new Bill was introduced in
Parliament against Atheism and profaneness. The Committee
to which the Bill was entrusted were empowered to “ receive
information touching ” heretical books, and Hobbes’s Levia
than was mentioned “ in particular.” The old philosopher,
then verging on eighty, was naturally alarmed. Bold as he
was in thought, his inherited physical timidity shrank from
the prospect of the prison, the scaffold, or the stake. He
made a show of conformity, and according to Bishop Kennet,
who is not an irreproachable witness, he partook of the
sacrament. It was said by some, however, that he acted
thus in compliance with the wishes of the Devonshire family,
�THOMAS HOBBES.
*
33
who were his protectors, and whose private chapel he attended.
A noticeable fact was that he always went out before the
sermon, and when asked his reason, he answered that “ they
could teach him nothing but what he knew.” He spoke of
th® chaplain, Dr. Jasper Mayne, as “ a very silly fellow.”
Hated by the clergy, and especially by the bishops ; owing
hig liberty and perhaps his life to powerful patrons ; fearing
that some fanatic might take the parsons’ hints and play the
part of an assassin ; Hobbes is said to have kept a lighted
candle in his bedroom. The fact, if it be such, is not men
tioned in Professor Croom Robertson’s exhaustive biography.
*
It is perhaps a bit of pious gossip. But were the story
authentic, it would not show that Hobbes had any super
natural fears. He was more apprehensive of assassins than
of ghosts and devils. Being very old, too, and his life pre
carious, he might well desire a light in his bedroom in case of
accident or sudden sickness. The story is too trivial to de
serve further notice. Orthodoxy must be hard pushed to
dilate on so simple a thing as this.
According to one Christian tract, which is scarcely worth
mention, although extensively circulated, Hobbes when
dying said “he was about to take a leap in the dark.”
Every dying man might say the same with equal truth. Yet
the story seems fictitious. I can discover no trace of it in
any early authority.
Hobbes does not appear to have troubled himself about
death. Bishop Kennet relates that only “ the winter before
he died he made a warm greatcoat, which he said must last
him three years, and then he. would have such another.”
Even so late as August, 1676, four months before his decease,
he was “ writing somewhat ” for his publisher to “ print in
English.” About the middle of October he had an attack of
strangury, and “ Wood and Kennet both have it that, on
Bearing the trouble was past cure, he exclaimed, ‘ I shall be
glad then to find a hole to creep out of the world at.’
This story was picked up thirty years after Hobbes’s death,
and is probably apocryphal. If the philosopher said anything
©f the kind, he doubtless meant that, being very old, and
without wife, child, or relative to care for him, he would be
glad to find a shelter for his last moments, and to expire in
* Hobbes. By George Croom Robertson. Blackwood and Sons; 1886.
t Robertson, p. 203.
C
�34
INFIDEL DEATH-BEDS.
comfort and peace. At the end of November his right side
was paralysed, and he lost his speech. He “ lingered in a
somnolent state ” for several days, says Professor Robertson,
and “ then his life quietly went out.”
Bishop Kennet was absurd enough to hint that Hobbes’s
“ lying some days in a silent stupefaction, did seem owing to
his mind, more than his body.”* An old man of ninety-one
suffers a paralytic stroke, loses his speech, sinks into unconsciouness, and quietly expires. What could be more natural ?
Yet the Bishop, belonging to an order which always scents a
brimstone flavor round the heretic’s death-bed, must explain
this stupor and inanition by supposing that the moribund
philosopher was in a fit of despair. We have only to add
that Bishop Kennet was not present at Hobbes’s death. His
theory is, therefore, only a professional surmise; and we may
be sure that the wish was father to the thought.
AUSTIN HOLYOAKE.
This stedfast Freethinker was a younger brother of George
Jacob Holyoake. He was of a singularly modest and amiable
nature, and although he left many friends he left not a
single enemy. He was entirely devoted to the Freethought
cause, and satisfied to work hard behind the scenes whilfi
more popular figures took the credit and profit. His assiduity
in the publishing business at Fleet Street, which was osten
sibly managed by his better-known and more fortunate
brother, induced a witty friend to call him “ Jacob’s ladder.”
Afterwards he threw in his lot with Charles Bradlaugh, then
the redoubtable “Iconoclast,” and became the printer and
in part sub-editor of the National lieformer, to whose columns
he was a frequent and welcome contributor. He died on
April 10, 1874, and was interred at Highgate Cemetery, his
funeral being largely attended by the London Freethinkers,
including C. Bradlaugh, C. Watts, G. W. Foote, James Thomson,
and G. J. Holyoake. The malady that carried him off was
consumption; he was conscious almost to the last; and his
only regret in dying, at the comparatively early age of forty
seven, was that he could no longer fight the battle of freedom,
nor protect the youth of his little son and daughter.
* Afemoin of the Cavendiih Family, p, 108.
�VICTOR HUGO.
35
Two days before his death, Austin Holyoake dictated his
last thoughts on religion, which were written down by his
devoted wife, and printed in the National Reformer of April
19, 1874. Part of this document is filled with his mental
history. In the remainder he reiterates his disbelief in the
cardinal doctrines of Christianity. The following extracts are
interesting and pertinent:
“ Christians constantly tell Freethinkers that their principles of
‘ negation,’ as they term them, may do very well for health ; but when
the hour of sickness and approaching death arrives they utterly break
down, and the hope of a ! blessed immortality ’ can alone give con
solation. In my own case I have been anxious to test the truth of
this assertion, and have therefore deferred till the latest moment I
think it prudent to dictate these few lines.
“ To desire eternal bliss is no proof that we shall ever attain it;
and it has long seemed to me absurd to believe in that which we wish
for, however ardently. I regard all forms of Christianity as founded
in selfishness. It is the expectation held out of bliss through all
eternity, in return for the profession of faith in Christ and him cruci
fied, that induces the erection of temples of worship in all Chris
tian lands. Remove the extravagant promise, and you will hear very
little of the Christian religion.
“ As I have stated before, my mind being free from any doubts on
these bewildering matters of speculation, I have experienced
for twenty years the most perfect mental repose ; and now I find that
the near approach of death, the ‘ grim King of Terrors,’ gives me not
the slightest alarm. I have suffered, and am suffering, most
intensely both by night and day; but this has not produced the least
symptom of change of opinion. No amount of bodily torture can
alter a mental conviction. Those who, under pain, say they see the
error of their previous belief, had never thought out the subject for
themselves.”
These are words of transparent sincerity; not a phrase is
strained, not a line aims at effect. Beading them, we feel
in presence of an earnest man bravely confronting death, con
sciously sustained by his convictions, and serenely bidding the
world farewell.
VICTOR HUGO.
The greatest French poet of this century, perhaps the
greatest French poet of all time, was a fervent Theist,
reverencing the prophet of Nazareth as a man, and holding that
“ the divine tear” of Jesus and “ the human smile” of
Voltaire “compose the sweetness of the present civilisation.”
But he was perfectly free from the trammels of' creeds, and
he hated priestcraft, like despotism, with a perfect hatred.
�36
INFIDEL DEATH-BEDS.
In one of his striking later poems, Religion et les Religions, he
derides and denounces the tenets and pretensions of Chris
tianity. The Devil, he says to the clergy, is only the monkey
of superstition ; your Hell is an outrage on Humanity and a
blasphemy against God ; and when you tell me that your
deity made you in his own image, I reply that he must be
very ugly.
As a man, as well as a writer, there was something magni
ficently grandiose about him. Subtract him from the nine
teenth century, and you rob it of much of its glory. For
nineteen years on a lonely channel island, an exile from the
land of his birth and his love, he nursed the conscience of
humanity within his mighty heart, brandishing the lightnings
and thunders of chastisement over the heads of the political
brigands who were stifling a nation, and prophesying their
certain doom. When it came, after Sedan, he returned to
Paris, and for fifteen years he was idolised by its people.
There was great mourning at his death, and “ all Paris ”
attended his funeral.' But true to the simplicity of his life,
he ordered that his body should lie in a common coffin, which
contrasted vividly with the splendid procession. France
buried him, as she did Gambetta; he was laid to rest in the
Church of St. Genevieve, re-secularised as the Pantheon for
the occasion ; and the interment took place without any
religious rites.
Hugo’s great oration on Voltaire, in 1878, roused the ire
of the Bishop of Orleans, who reprimanded him in a public
letter. The freethinking poet sent a crushing reply :
“ France had to pass an ordeal. France was free. A man traitor
ously seized her in the night, threw her down, and garroted her. If a
people could be killed, that man had slain France. He made her dead
enough for him to reign over her. He began his reign, since it was a
reign, with perjury, lying in wait, and massacre. He continued it by
oppression, by tyranny, by despotism, by an unspeakable parody of
religion and justice. He was monstrous and little. The Te Deum,
Magnificat, Salvum fac, Gloria tibi, were sung for him. Who sang
them ? Ask yourself. The law delivered the people up to him. The
church delivered God up to him. Under that man sank down right,
honor, country; he had beneath his feet oath, equity, probity, the glory
of the flag, the dignity of men, the liberty of citizens. That man’s
.prosperity disconcerted the human conscience. It lasted nineteen
years. During that time you were in a palace. I was in exile. I pity
you, sir.”
Despite this terrible rebuff to Bishop Dupanloup, another
�DAVID HUME.
37
priest, Cardinal Guibert, Archbishop of Paris, had the temerity
and bad taste to obtrude himself when Victor Hugo lay dying
in 1885. Being born on February 26, 1802, he was in his
eighty-fourth year, and expiring naturally of old age. Had
the rites of the Church been performed on him in such cir
cumstances, it would have been an insufferable farce. Yet
the Archbishop wrote to Madame Lockroy, offering to bring
personally “ the succor and consolation so much needed in
these cruel ordeals.” Monsieur Lockroy at once replied as
follows:
“ Madame Lockroy, who cannot leave the bedside of her father-in?
law, begs me to thank you for the sentiments which you have ex
pressed with so much eloquence and kindness. As regards M. Victor
Hugo, he has again said within the last few days, that he had no wish
during his illness to be attended by a priest of any persuasion. We
should be wanting in our duty if we did not respect his resolution.”*
Hugo’s death-chamber was thus unprofaned by the presence
of a priest. He expired in peace, surrounded by the beings
he loved. According to the Times correspondent in Paris,
“ Almost his last words, addressed to his granddaughter,
were, ‘ Adieu, Jeanne, adieu!’ And his last movement of
consciousness was to clasp his grandson’s hand.”
The
hero-poet bade his charming grandchildren adieu ; but the
world will not bid them adieu, any more than him, for he
has immortalised them in his imperishable A’Art d’etre Grandpere, every page of which is scented with the deathless per
fume of adorable love.
DAVID HUME.
Professor Huxley ventures to call David Hume “ the most
acute thinker of the eighteenth century, even though it pro
duced Kant.”t Hume’s greatness is no less clearly acknow
ledged by Joseph De Maistre, the foremost champion of the
Papacy in our own century. “ I believe,” he says, “ that
taking all into account, the eighteenth century, so fertile in
this respect, has not produced a single enemy of religion who
can be compared with him. His cold venom is far more
dangerous than the foaming rage of Voltaire. If ever, among
men who have heard the gospel preached, there has existed a
veritable Atheist (which I will not undertake to decide) it is
he.”J Allowing for the personal animosity in his estimate
* London Times, May 23, 1885: Paris Correspondent’s letter,
t Lay Sermons, p. 141.
J Lettres sur V Inquisition, pp. 147, 148.
�38
INFIDEL DEATH-BEDS.
of Hume, De Maistre is as accurate as Huxley. The immor
tal Essays attest both his penetration and his scepticism ; the
one on Miracles being a perpetual stumbling-block to Christian
apologists. With superb irony, Hume closes that portentous
discourse with a reprimand of “ those dangerous friends or
disguised enemies to the Christian Religion, who have under
taken to defend it by the principles of human reason.” He
reminds them that “our most holy religion is founded on
faith, not on reason” He remarks that Christianity was “ not
only attended by miracles, but even at this day cannot be
believed by any reasonable person without one.” For
“whoever is moved by faith to assent to it, is conscious
of a continued miracle in his own person, which subverts all
the principles of his understanding, and gives him a deter
mination to believe what is most contrary to custom and ex
perience.”
Hume was bom at Edinburgh on April 26, 1711. His life
was the uneventful one of a literary man. Besides his Essays,
he published a History of England, which was the first serious
effort in that direction. Judged by the standard of our day
it is inadequate ; but it abounds in philosophical reflections of
the highest order, and its style is nearly perfect. Gibbon,
who was a good judge of style, had an unbounded admiration
for Hume’s “ careless inimitable beauties.”
Fortune, however, was not so kind to him as fame. At the
age of forty, his frugal habits had enabled him to save no
more than £1,000. He reckoned his income at £50 a year,
but his wants were few, his spirit was cheerful, and there
were few prizes in the lottery of life for which he would have
made an exchange. In 1775 his health began to fail.
Knowing that his disorder (hemorrhage of the bowels) would
prove fatal, he made his will, and wrote My Own Life, the
conclusion of which, says Huxley, “ is one of the most cheer
ful, simple and dignified leave-takings of life and all its con
cerns, extant.” He died on August 25, 1776, and was buried
a few days later on the eastern slope of Calton Hill, Edinburgh,
his body being “ attended by a great concourse of people, who
seem to have anticipated for it the fate appropriate to wizards
and necromancers.”*
Dr. Adam Smith, the great author of the Wealth of Nations,
Ilume, by Professor Huxley, p. 43.
�M. LITTRE.
39
was one of Hume’s most intimate friends. He tells us that
Hume went to London in April, 1776, and soon after his re
turn he “ gave up all hope of recovery, but submitted with
the utmost cheerfulness, and the most perfect complacency
and resignation.” His cheerfulness was so great that many
people could not believe he was dying. ft Mr. Hume’s mag
nanimity and firmness were such,” says Adam Smith, “ that
his most affectionate friends knew that they hazarded nothing
in talking and writing to him as a dying man, and that, so
far from being hurt by this frankness, he was rather pleased
and flattered by it.” His chief thought in relation to the
possible prolongation of his life, which his friends hoped,
although he told them their hopes were groundless, was that
he would “ have the satisfaction of seeing the downfall of
some of the prevailing systems of superstition.” On August 8,
Adam Smith went to Kirkcaldy, leaving Hume in a very
weak state but still very cheerful. On August 28, he received
the following letter from Dr. Black, the physician, announcing
the philosopher’s death.
“ Edinburgh, Monday, Aug. 26,1776. Dear Sir, Yesterday, about
four o’clock, afternoon, Mr. Hume expired. The near approach of
his death became evident in the night between Thursday and Friday,
when his disease became excessive, and soon weakened him so much,
that he could no longer rise out of his bed. He continued to the last
perfectly sensible, and free from much pain or feelings of distress. He
never dropped the smallest expression of impatience; but when he
had occasion to speak to the people about him, always did it with
affection and tenderness. I thought it improper to write to bring you
over, especially as I heard that he had dictated a letter to you, desiring
you not to come. When he became weak it cost him an effort to speak,
and he died in such a happy composure of mind that nothing could
exceed it.”
“Thus,” says Adam Smith, “died our most excellent and
never to be forgotten friend. . . . Upon the whole, I have
always considered him, both in his lifetime and since his death
as approaching as nearly to the idea of a perfectly wise and
virtuous man as perhaps the nature of human frailty will
permit.”*
M. LITTRE.
This great French Positivist died in 1882 at the ripe age
of eighty-one. M. Littre was one of the foremost writers in
* Letter to William Strahan, dated November 9, 1776, and usually prefixed to
Hume’s History of England.
�40
INFIDEL DEATH-BEDS.
France. His monumental “ Dictionary of the French Lan
guage ” is the greatest work of its kind in the world. As a
scholar and a philosopher his eminence was universally recog
nised. His character was so pure and sweet that a Catholic
lady called him “ a saint who does not believe in God.”
Although not rich, his purse was ever open to the claims of
parity. He was one who “did good by stealth,” and his
benefactions were conferred without respect to creed. A
Freethinker himself, he patronised the Catholic orphanage near
his residence, and took a keen interest in the welfare of its
inmates. He was an honor to France, to the world, and to
the Humanity which he loved and served instead of God.
M. Littre’s wife was an ardent Catholic, yet she was
allowed to follow her own religious inclinations without the
least interference. The great Freethinker valued liberty of
conscience above all other rights, and what he claimed for
himself he conceded to others. He scorned to exercise autho
rity even in the domestic circle, where so much tyranny is
practised.
His wife, however, was less scrupulous. After
enjoying for so many years the benefit of his steadfast tolera
tion, she took advantage of her position to exclude his friends
from his death-bed, to have him baptised in his last moments,
and to secure his burial in consecrated ground with pious
rites. Not satisfied with this, she even allowed it to be under
stood that her husband had recanted his heresy and died in
the bosom of the Church. The Abbe Huvelin, her confessor,
who frequently visited M. Littre during his last illness, assisted
her in the fraud.
There was naturally a disturbance at M. Littre’s funeral.
As the Standard correspondent wrote, his friends and dis
ciples were “ very angry at this recantation in extremis, and
claimed that dishonest priestcraft took advantage of the dark
ness cast over that clear intellect by the mist of approaching
death to perform the rites of the Church over his semi
inanimate body.” While the body was laid out in Catholic
fashion, with crucifixes, candles, and priests telling their
beads, Dr. Galopin advanced to the foot of the coffin and
spoke as follows :—
“ Master, you used to call me your son, and you loved me. I remain
your disciple and your defender. I come, in the name of Positive
*
Philosophy, to claim the rights of universal Freemasonry. A deception
has been practised upon us, to try and steal you from thinking
�M. LITTRE.
41
humanity. But the future will judge your enemies and ours. Master
we will revenge you by making our children read your books.;"
At the grave M. Wyrouboff, editor of the Comtist review,
La Philosophic Positive, founded by M. Littre, delivered a
brief address to the Freethinkers who remained, which con
cluded thus—
“ Littre proved by his example that it is possible for a man to
possess a noble and generous heart, and at the same time espouse a
doctrine which admits nothing beyond what is positively real and
which prevents any recantation. And gentlemen, in spite of deceptive
appearances, Littre died as he had lived, without contradictions or weak
ness. All those who knew that calm and serene mind—and I was of
the number of those who did—are well aware that it was irrevocably
closed to the ‘ unknowable,’ and that it was thoroughly prepared to
meet courageously the irresistible laws of nature. And now sleep in
peace, proud and noble thinker ! You will not have the eternity of a
world to come, which you never expected ; but you leave behind you
your country that you strove honestly to serve, the Republic which
you always loved, a generation of disciples who will remain faithful
to you; and last, but not least, you leave your thoughts and your
virtues to the whole world. Social immortality, the only beneficent
and fecund immortality, commences for you to-day.”
M. Wyrouboff has since amply proved his statements.
The English press creditably rejected the story of M.
Littre’s recantation. The Daily News sneered at it, the
Times described it as absurd, the Standard said it looked untrue. But the Morning Advertiser was still more outspoken.
It said:—
s‘ There can hardly be a doubt that M. Littre died ■ a steadfast ad
herent to the principles he so powerfully advocated during his laborious
and distinguished life. The Church may claim, as our Paris corres
pondent, in his interesting note on the subject, tells us she is already
claiming, the death-bed conversion of the great unbeliever, who for
the last thirty-five years was one of her most active and formidable
enemies. She has attempted to take the same posthumous revenge
on Voltaire, on Paine, and on many others, who were described by
Roman Catholic writers as calling in the last dreadful hour for the
Spiritual support they held up to ridicule in the confidence of health
and. the presumption of their intellect.”
In the Paris Gaulois there appeared a letter from the Abbe
Huvelin, written very ambiguously, and obviously intended to
mislead. But one fact stands out clear. This priest was
only admitted to visit M. Littre as a friend, and he was not
allowed to baptise him. The Archbishop of Paris also, in
his official organ, La Semaine Religieuse, admitted that “he
received the sacrament of baptism on the morning of the very
�42
INFIDEL DEATH-BEDS.
day of his death, not from the hands of the priest, who had not
yet arrived, but from those of Madame Littrg.” The Arch
bishop, however, insists that he “ received the ordinance in
perfect consciousness and with his own full consent.” Now
as M. Littre was eighty-one years old, as he had been for
twelve months languishing with a feeble hold on life, during
which time he was often in a state of stupor, and as this was
the very morning of his death, I leave the reader to estimate
the value of what the Archbishop calls “ perfect consciousness
and full consent.” If any consent was given by the dying
Freethinker, it was only to gratify his wife and daughter, and
at the last moment when he had no will to resist; for if he
had been more compliant they would certainly have baptised
him before. Submission in these circumstances counts for
nothing ; and in any case there is forceful truth in M. Littre’s
words, written in 1879 in his “Conservation, Revolution, et
Positivisme”—a whole life passed without any observance of
religious rites must outweigh the single final act.”
Unfortunately for the clericals, there exists a document
which may be considered M. Littrd’s last confession. It is an
article written for the Comtist review a year before his death,
entitled, “ Pour la Derniere Fois ”—For the Last Time.
While writing it he knew that his end was not far off. “ For
many months,” he’says, “my sufferings have prostrated me
with dreadful persistence. . . Every evening when I have
to be put to bed, my pains are exasperated, and often I have
not the strength to stifle cries which are grievous to me and
grievous to those who tend me.” After the article was com
pleted his malady increased. Fearing the worst, he wrote to
his friend, M. Caubet, as follows :—
“ Last Saturday I swooned away for a long time. It is for that
reason I send you, a little prematurely, my article for the Review.
If 1 live, I will correct the proofs as usual. If I die, let it be printed
and published in the Review as a posthumous article. It will be a
last trouble which I venture to give you. The reader must do his
best to follow the manuscript faithfully.”
If I live—If I die ! These are the words of one in the
shadow of Death.
Let us see what M. Littre’s last confession is. I translate
two passages from the article. Referring to Charles Greville,
he says:
“ I feel nothing of what he experienced. Like him, I find it im
�HARRIET MARTINEAU.
43
possible to accept the theory of the world which Catholicism prescribes
*
to all true believers; but I do not regret being without such doctrines,,
and I cannot discover in myself any wish to return to them.”
And he concludes the article with these words :
“ Positive Philosophy, which has so supported me since my thirtieth
year, and which, in giving me an ideal, a craving for progress, the
vision of history and care for humanity, has preserved me from being
a simple negationist, accompanies me faithfully in these last trials.
The questions it solves in its own way, the rules it prescribes by virtue
of its principle, the beliefs it discountenances in the name of our igno
rance of everything absolute ; of these I have in the preceding pages
made an examination, which I conclude with the supreme word of the
commencement: for the last time.”
So much for the lying story of M. Littre’s recantation. In
the words of M. Wyrouboff, although his corpse was accom
panied to the grave by priests and believers, his name will go
down to future generations as that of one who was to the end
servant to science and an enemy to superstition.”
HARRIET MARTINEAU.
This gifted woman died on May 27, 1876, after a long
a®d useful life, filled with literary labor in the cause of
progress. On April 19, less than six weeks before her death,
she wrote her last letter to Mr. H. G. Atkinson, from which
the following is taken.
“ I cannot think of any future as at all probable, except the ‘ annihila
tion’from which some people recoil with so much horror. I find
myself here in the universe—I know not how, whence, or why. I see
everything in the universe go out and disappear, and I see no reason
for supposing that it is an actual and entire death. And for my part,
I have no objection to such an extinction. I well remember the passion
with which W. E. Forster said to me ‘ I had rathei- be damned than
annihilated.’ If he once felt five minutes’ damnation, he would be
thankful for extinction in preference. The truth is, I care little about
it any way. Now that the event draws near, and that I see how fully
my household expectmy death pretty soon, the universe opens so widely
before my view, and I see the old notions of death, and scenes to follow
so merely human—so impossible to be true, when one glances through
the range of science,—that I see nothing to be done but to wait, without
fear or hope or ignorant prejudice, for the expiration of life. I have
no wish for future experience, nor have I any fear of it. Under the
weariness of illness I long to be asleep.”f
These are the words of a brave woman, who met Death
• To a Frenchman, Catholicism and Christianity mean one and the same thing
t Autobiography of Hariiet Mart/neaw, Vol. Ill, p. 454; edition 1877.
�44
INFIDEL DEATH-BEDS.
with the same fortitude as she exhibited in the presence of
the defenders of slavery in the United States.
JOHN STUART MELL.
Mill was born in Rodney Street, Pentonville, London, on
May 20, 1806, and he died at Avignon on May 8, 1873. Not
withstanding the unguarded admissions in the one of his
three Essays on Religion which he never prepared for the
press, it is certain that he lived and died a Freethinker. His
father educated him without theology, and he never really
imbibed any afterwards. Professor Bain, his intimate friend
and his biographer, tells us that “ he absented himself during
his whole life from religious services,” and that “ in every
thing characteristic of the creed of Christendom he was a
thorough-going negationist. He admitted neither its truth
nor its utility.”* Mr. John Morley also, in his admirably
written account of the last day he spent with Mill,! says that
he looked forward to a general growth of the Religion of
Humanity. There is no extant record of Mill’s last moments,
but there has never been any pretence that he recanted or
showed the least alarm. One Christian journal, which died
itself soon after, declared its opinion that his soul was burn
ing in hell, and expressed a pious wish that his disciples
would soon follow him. We may therefore conclude that
Mill died a Freethinker as he had always lived.
MIRABEAU.
Gabriel Honore Riquetti, son and heir of the Marquis de
Mirabeau, was born on March 9, 1749. He came of a wild
strong stock, and was a magnificent “ enormous ” fellow at
his birth, the head being especially great. The turbulent
life of the man has been graphically told by Carlyle in his
Essays and in the French Revolution. Faults he had many,
but not that of insincerity ; with all his failings, he was a
•gigantic mass of veracious humanity. “ Moralities not a few,”
says Carlyle, “ must shriek condemnatory over this Mirabeau ;
the Morality by which he could be judged has not yet got
uttered in the speech of men.”
John Stuart Mill, by Alexander Bain, pp. 139,140.
t Miscellanies, Vol. III.
�MIRABEAU.
45
Mirabeau’s work in the National Assembly belongs to
history. It was mighty and splendid, but it cannot be recited
here. His life burned away during those fateful months,
the incessant labor and excitement almost passing credibility.
“ If I had not lived with him,” says Dumont, “ I never
should have known what a man can make of one day, what
things may be placed within the interval of twelve hours.
A day for this man was more than a week or a month is for
others.” One day his secretary said to him “ Monsieur le
Comte what you require is impossible.” Whereupon Mira
beau started from his chair, with the memorable ejaculation,
“ Impossible ! Never name to me that blockhead of a word ”
—Ne me elites jamais ce bete de mot.
But the Titan of the Revolution was exhausted before his
task was done. In January, 1791, he sat as President of theAssembly with his neck bandaged after the application of
leeches. At parting he said to Dumont “ I am dying, my
friend ; dying as by slow fire.” On the 27th of March he
stood in the tribune for the last time. Four days later he
was on his death-bed. Crowds beset the street, anxious but
silent, and stopping all traffic so that their hero might not
be disturbed. A bulletin was issued every three hours.
“ On Saturday the second day of April,” says Carlyle, “ Mira
beau feels that the last of the Days has risen for him ; that
on this day he has to depart and be no more. His death is
Titanic, as his life has been! Lit up, for the last time, in the
glare of the coming dissolution, the mind of the man is all
glowing and burning; utters itself in sayings, such as men
long remember. He longs to live, yet acquiesces in death,
argues not with the inexorable. *
Gazing out on the Spring sun, Mirabeau said, Si ce n’est
pas Id Dieu, cest du moins son cousin germain—If that is not
God, it is at least his cousin german. It was the great utter
ance of an eighteenth-century Pagan, looking across the
mists of Christian superstition to the saner nature-worship of
antiquity.
Power of speech gone, Mirabeau made signs for paper and
pen, and wrote the word Dormir “ To sleep.” Cabanis, the
great physician, who stood beside him, pretended not to
understand this passionate request for opium. Thereupon,
* French Revolution Vol. II., p. 120.
�46
INFIDEL DEATH-BEDS.
writes the doctor, “ he made a sign for the pen and paper to
be brought to him again, and wrote,-‘Do you think
that Death is dangerous ?’—Seeing that I did not comply
with his demand, he wrote again,-' . . . How can you
leave your friend on the wheel, perhaps for days ?’ ” Oabanis
and Dr. Petit decided to give him a sedative. While it was
sent for “the pains became atrocious.” Recovering speech a
little under the torture, he turned to M. de la Marek, saying,
“ You deceive me.” “ No,” replied his friend, “ we are not
deceiving you, the remedy is coming, we all saw it ordered.”
“ Ah, the doctors, the doctors !” he muttered. Then, turn
ing to Oabanis, with a look of mingled anger and tenderness,
he said, “ Were you not my doctor and my friend ? Did you
not promise to spare me the agonies of such a death ? Do
you wish me to expire with a regret that I trusted you ?”
“ Those words,” says Cabanis, “ the last that he uttered,
ring incessantly in my ears. He turned over on the right
side with a convulsive movement, and at half-past eight in
the morning he expired in our arms.”* Dr. Petit, standing
at the foot of the bed, said “ His sufferings are ended.”
“ So dies,” writes Carlyle, “ a gigantic Heathen and Titan ;
stumbling blindly, undismayed, down to his rest.”
Mirabeau was an Atheist, and he was buried as became his
philosophy and his greatness. The Assembly decreed a
Public Funeral; there was a procession a league in length,
and the very roofs, trees, and lamp-posts, were covered with
people. The Church of Sainte-Genevieve was turned into a
Pantheon for the Great Men of the Fatherland, Aux Grands
Hommes la Patrie reconnaissante. It was midnight ere the
ceremonies ended, and the mightiest man in France was left
in the darkness and silence to his long repose. Of him, more
than most men, it might well have been said, “ After life’s
fitful fever he sleeps well.” Dormir “ To sleep,” he wrote
in his dying agony. Death had no terror for him ; it was
only the ringing down of the curtain at the end of the drama.
From the womb of Nature he sprang, and like a tired child
he fell asleep at last on her bosom.
ROBERT OWEN.
Robert Owen, whose name was once a terror to the clergy
* Journal de la Maladieet de la Mort d'Honors—Gabriel Mirabeau. Paris, 1791;
p. 263.
�ROBERT OWEN.
47
and the privileged classes, was born at Newtown, Mont
gomeryshire, on May 14, 1771. In his youth he noticed the
inconsistency of professing Christians, and on studying the
various religions of the world, as he tells us in his Auto
biography, he found that “ one and all had emanated from
the same source, and their varieties from the same false
imaginations of our early ancestors.” We have no space to
narrate his long life, his remarkable prosperity in cotton
spinning, his experiments in the education of children, his
disputes with the clergy, and his efforts at social reform,
to which he devoted his time and wealth, with sin
gular disinterestedness and simplicity. At one time his in
fluence even with the upper classes was remarkable, but he
seriously impaired it in 1817, by honestly stating, at a great
meeting at the City of London Tavern, that it was useless
to hope for real reform while people were besotted by “ the
gross errors that have been combined with the fundamental
notions of every religion.” After many more years of labor
for the cause he loved, Owen quietly passed away on No
vember 17, 1858, at the great age of eighty-eight. His last
hours are described in the following letter by his son, Robert
Dale Owen, which appeared in the newspapers of the time,
and is preserved in Mr. G. J. Holyoake’s Last Days of Robert
Owen.
“ Newtown, November 17, 1858. My dear father passed away this
morning, at a quarter before seven, and passed away as gently and
quietly as if he had fallen asleep. There was not the least struggle,
not a contraction of a limb, of a muscle, not an expression of pain on
his face. His breathing gradually became slower and slower, until at
last it ceased so imperceptibly, that, even as I held his hand, I could
scarcely tell the moment when he no longer breathed. His last words
distinctly pronounced about twenty minutes before his death, were
‘Relief has come.’ About half an hour before he said ‘Very easy
and comfortable.’ ”
Owen’s remains were interred in the churchyard of St.
Mary’s, Newtown, and as the law then stood, the minister
had a right, which he exercised, of reading the Church of
England burial service over the heretic’s coffin, and the Free
thinkers who stood round the grave had to bear the mockery
as quietly as possible. In Owen’s case, as in Carlile’s, the
Church appropriated the heretic’s corpse. Even Darwin’s
body rests in Westminster Abbey, and that is all of him the
' Church can boast.
�48
INFIDEL DEATH-BEDS.
THOMAS PAINE.
George Washington has been called the hero of American
Independence, but Thomas Paine shares with him the honor.
The sword of the one, and the pen of the other, were both
necessary in the conflict which prepared the ground for
building the liepublic of the United States. While the
farmer-general fought with unabated hope in the darkest
hours of misfortune, the soldier-author wrote the stirring
appeals which kindled and sustained enthusiasm in the sacred
cause of liberty. Common Sense was the precursor of the
Declaration of Independence. The Rights of Man, subse
quently written and published in England, advocated the
same principles where they were equally required. Replied
to by Government in a prosecution for treason, it brought
the author so near to the gallows that he was only saved by
flight. Learning afterwards that the Rights of Man can
never be realised while the people are deluded and degraded
by priestcraft and superstition, Paine attacked Christianity
in The Age of Reason. That vigorous, logical, and witty
volume has converted thousands of Christians to Freethought.
It was answered by bishops, denounced by the clergy, and
prosecuted for blasphemy. But it was eagerly read in fields
and workshops ; brave men fought round it as a standard of
freedom; and before the battle ended the face of society was
changed.
Thomas Paine was bom at Thetford, in Norfolk, on January
29, 1736. His scepticism began at the early age of eight,
when he was shocked by a sermon on the Atonement, which
represented God as killing his own son when he could not
revenge himself in any other way. Becoming acquainted
with Dr. Franklin in London, Paine took his advice and emi
grated to America in the autumn of 1774. A few months
later his Common Sense announced the advent of a masterly
writer. More than a hundred thousand copies were sold, yet
Paine lost money by the pamphlet, for he issued it, like all
his other writings, at the lowest price that promised to cover
expenses. Congress, in 1777, appointed him Secretary to the
Committee for Foreign Affairs. Eight years later it granted
him three thousand dollars on account of his “ early, un
solicited, and continued labors in explaining the principles of
the late Revolution.” In the same year the State of Pen-
�49
THOMAS PAINE.
sylvania presented liim with £500, and the State of New York
gave him three hundred acres of valuable land.
Returning to England in 1787, Paine devoted his abilities
to engineering. He invented the arched iron bridge, and the
first structure of that kind in the world, the cast-iron bridge
over the Wear at Sunderland, was made from his model. Yet
he appeals to have derived no more profit from this than
from his writings.
Burke’s Reflections appeared in 1790. Paine lost no time
in replying, and his Rights of Man was sold by the hundred
thousand. The Government tried to suppress the work by
bribery; and that failing, a prosecution was begun. Paine’s
defence was conducted by Erskine, but the jury returned a
verdict of Guilty “ without the trouble of deliberation.” The
intended victim of despotism was, however, beyond its reach.
He had been elected by the departments of Calais and Ver
sailles to sit in the National Assembly. A splendid reception
awaited him at Calais, and his journey to Paris was marked by
popular demonstrations. At the trial of Louis XVI., he spoke
and voted for banishment instead of execution. He was one of
the Committee appointed to frame the Constitution of 1793,
but in the close of that year, having become obnoxious to
the Terrorists, he was deprived of his seat as “a foreigner,”
and imprisoned in the Luxembourg for no better reason. At
the time of his arrest he had written the first part of the
Age of Reason. While in prison he composed the second
part, and as he expected every day to be guillotined, it was
penned in the very presence of Death.
Liberated on the fall of Robespierre, Paine returned to
America; not, however, without great difficulty, for the British
cruisers were ordered to intercept him. From 1802 till his
death he wrote and published many pamphlets on religious
and other topics, including the third part of the Age of Reason.
His last years were full of pain, caused by an abscess in the
side, which was brought on by his imprisonment in Paris.
He expired, after intense suffering, on June 8, 1809, placidly
and without a struggle.
*
Paine’s last hours were disturbed by pious visitors who
wished to save his immortal soul from the wrath of God.
One afternoon a very old lady, dressed in a large scarlet-hooded
* Life of Thomas Paine. By Olio Rickman.
1819. P. 187.
D
�50
INFIDEL DEATH-BEDS.
cloak, knocked at the door and inquired for Thomas Paine. Mr
Jarvis, with whom Mr. Paine resided, told her he was asleep. ‘ I am
very sorry,’ she said, ‘ for that, for I want to see him particularly.’
Thinking it a pity to make an old woman call twice, Mr. Jarvis took
her into Mr.'Paine’s bedroom and awoke him. He rose upon one elbow;
then, with an expression of eye that made the old woman stagger back
a step or two, he asked ‘ What do you want ?’ ‘ Is your name Paine ?’
‘ Yes.’ ‘ Well then, I come from Almighty God to tell you, that if you
do not repent of your sins, and believe in our blessed Savior Jesus
Christ, you will be damned and—’ 1 Poh, poh, it is not true; you were
not sent with any such impertinent message: Jarvis make her go
away—pshaw! he would not send such a foolish ugly old woman
about his messages : go away, go back, shut the door.’”*
Two weeks before his death, his conversion was attempted
by two Christian ministers, the Bev. Mr. Milledollar and the
Bev. Mr. Cunningham.
“ The latter gentleman said, ‘ Mr. Paine, we visit you as friends and
neighbors : you have now a full view of death, you cannot live long,
and whoever does not believe in Jesus Christ will assuredly be
damned.’ ‘ Let me,’ said Mr. Paine, 1 have none of your popish stuff;
get away with you, good morning, good morning.’ The Rev. Mr.
Milledollar attempted to address him, but he was interrupted in the
same language. When they were gone he said to Mrs. Hedden, his
housekeeper, ‘ do not let them come here again; they intrude upon
me.’ They soon renewed their visit, but Mrs. Hedden told them they
could not be admitted, and that she thought the attempt useless, for
God did not change his mind, she was sure no human power could.”f
Another of these busybodies was the Bev. Mr. Hargrove,
a Swedenborgian or New Jerusalemite minister. This gentle
man told Paine that his sect had found the key for interpreting
the Scriptures, which had been lost for four thousand years.
“ Then,” said Paine, “ it must have been very rusty.”
Even his medical attendant did not scruple to assist in this
pious enterprise. Dr. Manley’s letter to Cheetham, one of
Paine’s biographers, says that he visited the dying sceptic at
midnight, June 5-6, two days before he expired. After
tormenting him with many questions, to which he made
no answer, Dr. Manley proceeded as follows :
“ Mr. Paine, you have not answered my questions : will you answer
them ? Allow me to ask again, do you believe, or—let me qualify
the question—do you wish to believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of
God ? After a pause of some minutes he answered, ‘ I have no wish,
to believe on that subject.’ I then left him, and know not whether he
afterwards spoke to any person on the subject.”
Hickman, pp. 182—18;.
t Rickman, p. 184.
�THOMAS PAINE.
51
Sherwin confirms this statement. He prints a letter from
Mr. Clark, who spoke to Dr. Manley on the subject. “ I
asked him plainly,” says Mr. Clark, “ did Mr. Paine recant
his religious sentiments ? I would thank you for an explicit
answer, sir. He said, ‘No he did not.'' ”*
Mr. Willet Hicks, a Quaker gentleman who frequently
called on Paine in his last illness, as a friend and not as a
soul-snatcher, bears similar testimony. “ In some serious
conversation I had with him a short time before his death,”
said Mr. Hicks, “he said his sentiments respecting the
Christian religion were precisely the same as they were
when he wrote the Age of Reason.'f
Lastly, we have the testimony of Cheetham himself, who
was compelled to apologise for libelling Paine during his life,
and whose biography of the great sceptic is a continuous
libel. Even Oheetham is bound to admit that Paine “ died
as he had lived, an enemy to the Christian religion.”
Notwithstanding this striking harmony of evidence as to
Paine’s dying in the principles of Freethought, the story of
his “recantation” gradually developed, until at last it was
told to the children in Sunday-schools, and even published
by the Religious Tract Society. Nay, it is being circulated to
this very day, as no less true than the gospel itself, although
it was triumphantly exposed by William Oobbett over sixty
years ago. “ This is nota question of religion,” said Cobbett,
“ it is a question of moral truth. Whether Mr. Paine’s
opinions were correct or erroneous, has nothing to do with
this matter.”
Cobbett investigated the libel on Paine on the very spot
where it originated. Getting to the bottom of the matter,
he found that the source of the mischief was Mary Hinsdale,
who had formerly been a servant to Mr. Willet Hicks. This
gentleman sent Paine many little delicacies in his last illness,
and Mary Hinsdale conveyed them. According to her story,
Paine made a recantation in her presence, and assured her
that if ever the Devil had an agent on earth, he who wrote
the Age of Reason was undoubtedly that person: When she
was hunted out by Oobbett, however, “ she shuffled, she evaded,
she affected not to understand,” and finally said she had “no
recollection of any person or thing she saw at Thomas Paine’s
* Sherwin’s Life of Paine, p 225.
t Cheetham’s Life of Paine, p. 152.
�52
INFIDEL DEATH-BEDS.
house.” Cobbett’s summary of the whole matter commends
itself to every sensible reader.
“ This is, I think, a pretty good instance of the lengths to which
hypocrisy will go. The whole story, as far as it relates to recantation,
. . is a lie from beginning to end. Mr. Paine declares in his last Will,
that he retains all his publicly expressed opinions as to religion. His
executors, and many other gentlemen of undoubted veracity, had the
same declaration from his dying lips. Mr. Willet Hieks visited hiifc to
nearly the last. This gentleman says that there was no change
of opinion intimated to him; and will any man believe that Paine
would have withheld from Mr. Hieks that which he was so forward to
communicate to Mr. Hicks's servant girl?”*
I have already said that the first part of the Age of Reason
was entrusted to Joel Barlow when Paine was imprisoned at
Paris, and the second part was written in gaol in the very
presence of Death. Dr. Bond, an English surgeon, who was
by no means friendly to Paine’s opinions, visited him in the
Luxembourg, and gave the following testimony :
“ Mr. Paine, while hourly expecting to die, read to me 'parts of his
Age of Reason; and every night when I left him to be separately
locked up, and expected not to see him alive in the morning, he always
expressed his firm belief in the principles of that book, and begged I
would tell the world such were his dying opinions.”!
Surely when a work was written in such circumstances, it
is absurd to charge the author with recanting his opinions
through fear of death. Citing once more the words of his
enemy Cheetham, it is incontestible that Thomas Paine “ died
as he had lived, an enemy to the Christian religion.”
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.
This glorious poet of Atheism and Republicanism was born
at Field Place, near Horsham, Sussex, on August 4, 1792.
His whole life was a daring defiance of the tyranny of Custom.
In 1811, when less than nineteen, he was expelled from Oxford •
University for writing The Necessity of Atheism. After writing
Queen Mob and several political pamphlets, -besides visiting
Ireland to assist the cause of reform in that unhappy island,
he was deprived of the guardianship of his two children by
Lord Chancellor Eldon on account of his heresy. Leaving
England, he went to Italy, where his principal poems were
composed with remarkable rapidity during the few years of
life left him. His death occurred on July 8, 1822. He was
Republican, February 13, 1824, Vol. IX., p. 221.
+ Hickman p. 194.
�PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.
53
barely thirty, yet he had made for himself a deathless fame
as the greatest lyrical poet in English literature.
Shelley was drowned in a small yacht off Leghorn. The
only other occupants of the boat were his friend Williams
and a sailor lad, both of whom shared his fate. The squall
which submerged them was too swift to allow of their taking
proper measures for their safety. Shelley’s body was re
covered. In one pocket was a volume of JEschylus, in the
other a copy of Keats’s poems, doubled back as if hastily
thrust away. He had evidently been reading “ Isabella ” and
“Lamia,” and the waves cut short his reading for ever. It
was an ideal end, although so premature ; for Shelley was
fascinated by the sea, and always expressed a preference for
death by drowning. His remains were cremated on the sea
coast, in presence of Leigh Hunt, Trelawney, and Byron.
Trelawney snatched the heart from the flames, and it is still
preserved by Sir Percy Shelley. The ashes were coffered,
and soon after buried in the Protestant cemetery at Rome,
close by the old cemetery, where Keats was interred—a beau
tiful open space, covered in summer with violets and daisies,
of which Shelley himself had written “ It might make one in
love with death to think that one should be buried in so sweet
a place.” Trelawney planted six young cypresses and four
laurels. On the tomb-stone was inscribed a Latin epitaph by
Leigh Hunt, to which Trelawney added three lines from
Shakespeare’s Tempest, one of Shelley’s favorite plays.
Percy Bysshe Shelley.
cor CORDIUM
Natus iv. Aug. MDOCXCII
Obit vii. Jul. MDCOOXXII
“ Nothing of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.”
And there at Rome, shadowed by cypress and laurel,
covered with sweet flowers, and surrounded by the crumbling
ruins of a dead empire, rests the heart of hearts.
Shelley’s Atheism cannot be seriously disputed, and Tre
lawney makes a memorable protest against the foolish and
futile attempts to explain it away.
“ The principal fault I have to find is that the Shelleyan writers
being Christians themselves, seem to think that a man of geniuo
cannot be an Atheist, and so they strain their own faculties to disprovs
�54
INFIDEL DEATH-BEDS.
what Shelley asserted from the very earliest stage of his career to the
last day of his life. He ignored all religions as superstitions. ... A
clergyman wrote in the visitors’ book at the Mer de Glace, Chamotmi,
something to the following effect: ‘No one can view this sublime
scene, and deny the existence of God.’ Under which Shelley, using a
Greek phrase, wrote ‘ P. B. Shelley, Atheist,’ thereby proclaiming his
opinion to all the world. And he never regretted having done so.”*
Trelawny’s words should be printed on the forefront of
Shelley’s works, so that it might never be forgotten that “ the
poet of poets and purest of men ” was an Atheist.
BENEDICT SPINOZA.
Benedict Spinoza (Baruch Despinosa) was born at Amster
dam on November 24, 1632. Hi^ father was one of the
Jewish fugitives from Spain who settled in the Netherlands
to escape the dreaded Inquisition. With a delicate constitu
tion, and a mind more prone to study than amusement, the
boy Spinoza gave himself to learning and meditation. He
was soon compelled to break away from the belief of his
family and his teachers ; and, after many vain admonitions,
he was at length excommunicated.
His anathema was
pronounced in the synagogue on July 27, 1656. It was a
frightful formula, cursing him by day and night, waking and
sleeping, sitting and standing, and prohibiting every Jew from
holding any communication with him, or approaching him
within a distance of four cubits. Of course it involved his
exile from home, and soon afterwards he narrowly escaped a
fanatic’s dagger.
The rest of Spinoza’s life was almost entirely that of a
scholar. He earned a scanty livelihood by polishing lenses,
but his physical wants were few, and he subsisted on a few
pence per day. His writings are such as the world will not
willingly let die, and his Ethics places him on the loftiest
heights of philosophy, where his equals and companions may
be counted on the fingers of a single hand. Through Goethe
and Heine, he has exercised a potent influence on German,
and therefore on European thought. His subtle Pantheism
identifies God with Nature, and denies to deity all the attri
butes of personality.
His personal appearance is described by Colerus, the Dutch
pastor, who some years after his death gathered all the inRecords of Byron and Shelley, Vol. I., pp. 243-245
�BENEDICT SPINOZA.
55
formation about him that could be procured. He was of
middle height and slenderly built; with regular features, a
broad and high forehead, large dark lustrous eyes, full dark
eyebrows, and long curling hair of the same hue. His
character was’worthy of his intellect. He made no enemies
except by his opinions. “Even bitter opponents,” as Mr.
Martineau says, “ could not but own that he was singularly
blameless and unexacting, kindly and disinterested. Children,
young men, servants, all who stood to him in any relation of
dependence, seem to have felt the charm of his affability and
sweetness of temper.”*
Spinoza was lodging, at the time of his death, with a poor
Dutch family at the Hague. They appear to have regarded
him with veneration, and to have given him every attention.
But the climate was too rigorous for his Southern tempera
ment.
!! The strict and sober regimen which was recommended by frugality
Was not unsuited to his delicate constitution: but, in spite of it, his
emaciation increased ; and, though he made no change in his habits,
he became so far aware of his decline as on Sunday, the 20th of Feb
ruary, 1677, to send for his medical friend Meyer from Amsterdam.
That afternoon Van der Spijck and his wife had been to church, in
preparation for the Shrovetide communion next day: and on their
return at 4 p.m., Spinoza had come downstairs and, whilst smoking
his pipe, talked with them long about the sermon. He went early to
bed; but was up again next morning (apparently before the arrival of
Meyer), in time to come down and converse with his host and hostess
before they went to church. The timely appearance of the physician
enabled her to leave over the fire a fowl to be boiled for a basin of
broth. This, as well as some of the bird itself, Spinoza took with a
relish, on their return from church about midday. There was nothing
to prevent the Van der Spijcks from going to the afternoon service.
But on coming out of the church they were met by the startling news
that at 3 p.m. Spinoza had died; no one being with him but his
physician. ”f
Mr. Martineau hints that perhaps “the philosopher and
the physician had arranged together and carried out a method
of euthanasia,” but as he admits that “ there is no tittle of evi
dence for such a thing,” it is difficult to understand why he
makes such a gratuitous suggestion.
Pious people, who judged every philosopher to be an
Atheist, reported that Spinoza had cried out several times in
dying “ Oh God, have mercy on me, a miserable sinner 1 ”
* 4 Study of Spinoza. By Dr. James Martineau, p. 104.
t Ibid, pp. 101 102
�56
INFIDEL DEATH-BEDS.
Colerus investigated this story and found it an invention.
Dr. Meyer was the only person with Spinoza when he died,
so that it was impossible for the scandal-mongers to have
heard his last words. Besides, his hostess denied the truth
of all such statements, adding that “ what persuaded her of
the contrary was that, since he began to fail, he had always
shown in his sufferings a stoical fortitude.”*
DAVID FREDERICK STRAUSS.
Strauss’s Life of Jesus once excited universal controversy
in the Christian world, and the author’s name was opprobrious
in orthodox circles. So important was the work, that it was
translated into French by Littre and into English by George
Eliot. Subsequently, Strauss published a still more heterodox
book, The Old Faith and the New, in which he asserts that
“if we would speak as honest, upright men, we must acknow
ledge we are no longer Christians,” and strenuously repudiates
all the dogmas of theology as founded on ignorance and super
stition.
This eminent German Freethinker died in the spring of
1874, of cancer in the stomach, one of the most excruciating
disorders.
“But in these very sufferings the mental greatness and moral
strength of the sufferer proclaimed their most glorious victory. He
was fully aware of his condition. With unshaken firmness he adhered
o the convictions which he had openly acknowledged in his last
work [The Old Faith and the IVew] and he never for a moment retpented having written them. But with these convictions he met
death with such repose and with such unclouded serenity of mind,
that it was impossible to leave his sick room without the impression
of a moral sanctity which we all the more surely receive from great
ness of soul and mastery of mind over matter, the stronger are the
hindrances in the surmounting of which it is manifested.”!
Strauss left directions for bis funeral. He expressly for
bade all participation of the Church in the ceremony, but on
the day of his interment a sum of money was to be given to
the poor. “On February 10 [1874] therefore,” says his bio
grapher, “ he was buried without ringing of bells or the pre
sence of a clergyman, but in the most suitable manner, and
amid the lively sympathy of all, far and near.”
* La Vie de Spinoza, par Oolerus: Saisset’s CEuvres de Spinoza, Vol. II.. p. xxxvii.
t Edward Zdier, David Frederick Strauss in his Life andWritings, p. 148.
�JOHN TOLAND.
57
JOHN TOLAND.
Toland was one of the first to call himself a Freethinker.
He was born at Redcastle, near Londonderry, in Ireland, on
November 30, 1670 ; and he died at Putney on March 11,
1722. His famous work Christianity not Mysterious was
brought before Parliament, condemned as heretical, and
ordered to be burnt by the common hangman.
One
member proposed that the author himself should be
burnt; and as Thomas Aitkenhead had been hung at Edin
burgh for blasphemy in the previous year, it is obvious that
Toland incurred great danger in publishing his views.
Among other writings, Toland’s Letters to Serena achieved
distinction. They were translated into French by the famous
Baron D’Holbach, and Lange, in Tris great History of Materi
alism, says that “ The second letter handles the kernel of the
whole question of Materialism.” Lange also says that
“ Toland is one of those benevolent beings who exhibit to us
a great character in the complete harmony of all the sides of
human existence.”
For some years before his death, Toland lived in obscure
lodgings with a carpenter at Putney. His health was broken,
and his circumstances were poor. His last illness was pain
ful, but he bore it with great fortitude. According to one
of his most intimate friends, he looked earnestly at those in
the room a few minutes before breathing his last, and on
being asked if he wanted anything, he answered “ I want
nothing but death.” His biographer, Des Maizeaux, says
that “ he looked upon death without the least perturbation
of mind, bidding farewell to those that were about him, and
telling them he was going to sleep.”
LUCILIO VANINI.
Lucilio Vanini was born at Taurisano, near Naples, in
1584 or 1585. He studied theology, philosophy, physics,
astronomy, medicine, and civil and ecclesiastical law. At
Padua he became a doctor of canon and civil law, and was
ordained a priest.
Resolving to .visit the academies of
Europe, he travelled through France, England, Holland, and
Germany. According to Fathers Mersenne and Garasse, he
formed a project of promulgating Atheism over the whole of
Europe. The same priests allege that he had fifty thousand
�58
INFIDEL DEATH-BEDS.
Atheistic followers at Paris ! One of his books was con
demned to the flames by the Sorbonne. Vanini himself met
eventually with the same fate. Tried at Toulouse for heresy,
he was condemned as an Atheist, and sentenced to the stake.
At the trial he protested his belief in God, and defended the
existence of Deity with the flimsiest arguments; so flimsy,
indeed, that one can scarcely read them, without suspecting
that he was pouring irony on his judges. They ordered him
to .have his tongue cut out before being burnt alive. It is
said that he afterwards confessed, took the communion, and
declared himself ready to subscribe the tenets of the Church.
But if he did so, he certainly recovered his natural dignity
when he had to face the worst. Le Mercure Franqais, which
cannot be suspected of partiality towards him, reports that
“ he died with as much constancy, patience, and fortitude as
any other man ever seen ; for setting forth from the Conciergerie joyful and elate, he pronounced in Italian these
words—‘Come, let us die cheerfully like a philosopher!’”
There is a report that, on seeing the pile, he cried out “ Ah,
my God !’ ” On which a bystander said, “ You believe in
God, then.” “No,” he retorted, “it’s a fashion of speaking.”
Father Garasse says that he uttered many other notable
blasphemies, refused to ask forgiveness of God, or of the
king, and died furious and defiant. So obstinate was he,
. that pincers had to be employed to pluck out his tongue.
President Gramond, author of the History of France Under
Louis XIII., writes: “I saw him in the tumbril as they led
him to execution, mocking the Cordelier who had been sent
to exhort him to repentance, and insulting our Savior by
these impious words, ‘ He sweated with fear and weakness,
_ . and L I die undaunted.”’ ... _
Vanini’s martyrdom took place at Toulouse on February
19, 1619. He was only thirty-four, an age, as Camille Des
moulins said, “ fatal to revolutionists.”
[The reader may consult M. X. Rousselot’s (Euvres Philosophique
de Vanini, Avec une Notice sur sa Vie et ses Ouvrages. Paris, 1842].
VOLNEY.
The author of the famous Ruins of Empires was a great
traveller, and his visits to Oriental countries were described
so graphically and philosophically, that Gibbon wished he
�VOLTAIRE.
59
miglit go over the whole world and record his experiences for
the delight and edification of mankind. I have not been
able to ascertain how he died, but I have tracked for exposure
a very foolish story about his “ cowardice ” in a storm in
America, which is still circulated in pious tracts. It is said
that he threw himself on the deck of the vessel, crying in
agony, “Oh, my God, my God !” “There is a God, then,
Monsieur Volney?” said one of the passengers. “Oh, yes,”
he exclaimed, “ there is ! there is ! Lord save me 1” When
the vessel arrived safely in port, says the story, he “ returned
to his Atheistical sentiments.” I have traced this nonsense
back to the Tract Magazine for July, 1832, where it appearsvery much amplified, and in many respects different. It
appears in a still different form in the eighth volume of the
Evangelical Magazine. Beyond that it is lost in obscurity.
The story is an evident concoction ; it bears every appearance
of being “ worked up ” for the pious public ; and it could not
be credited for a moment by any one acquainted with Volney’s
life and writings.
VOLTAIRE.
Francois Marie Arouet, generally known by the name of
Voltaire, was born at Chatenay on February 20, 1694. He
died at Paris on May 30, 1778. To write his life during
those eighty-three years would be to give the intellectual his
tory of Europe.
While Voltaire was living at Ferney in 1768, he gave a
curious exhibition of that diabolical sportiveness which was a
strong element in his character. On Easter Sunday he took
his secretary Wagniere with him to commune at the village
church, and also “ to lecture a little those scoundrels who
steal continually.” Apprised of Voltaire’s sermon on theft,
the Bishop of Anneci rebuked him, and finally “ forbade
everycurate, priest, and monk of his diocese to confess, absolve
or give the communion to the seigneur of Ferney, without his
express orders, under pain of interdiction.” With a wicked
light in his eyes, Voltaire said he would commune in spite of
the Bishop; nay, that the ceremony should be gone through
in his chamber. Then ensued an exquisite comedy, which
shakes one’s sides even as described by the stolid Wagniere.
Feigning a deadly sickness, Voltaire took to his bed. The-
�€0
INFIDEL DEATH-BEDS.
surgeon, who found his pulse was excellent, was bamboozled
into certifying that he was in danger of death. Then the
priest was summoned to administer the last consolation. The
poor devil at first objected, but Voltaire threatened him with
legal proceedings for refusing to bring the sacrament to a
dying man, who had never been excommunicated. This was
accompanied with a grave declaration that M. de Voltaire
“had never ceased to respect and to practise the Catholic
religion.” Eventually the priest came “half dead with
fear.” Voltaire demanded absolution at once, but the
Capuchin pulled out of his pocket a profession of faith, drawn
up by the Bishop, which Voltaire was required to sign. Then
the comedy deepened. Voltaire kept demanding absolution,
and the distracted priest kept presenting the document for
his signature. At last the L or d of Ferney had his way. The
priest gave him the wafer, and Voltaire declared, “Having
my God in my mouth,” that he forgave his enemies. Directly
he left the room, Voltaire leapt briskly out of bed, where a
minute before he seemed unable to move. “I have had a
little trouble,” he said to Wagniere, “with this comical
genius of a Capuchin ; but that was only for amusement, and
to accomplish a good purp ose. Let us take a turn in the
garden. I told you I would be confessed and commune in my
bed, in spite of M. Biord.”*
Voltaire treated Christianity so lightly that he confessed
and took the sacrament for a joke. Is it wonderful if he
did the same thing on his death-bed to secure the decent
burial of his corpse ? He r em embered his own bitter sorrow
and indignation, which he expressed in burning verse, when
the remains of poor Adrienne Lecouvreur were refused
sepulture because she died outside the pale of the Church.
Fearing similar treatment himself, he arranged to cheat the
Church again. By the agenc y of his nephew, the Abbe Mignot,
the Abbe Gautier was brought to his bedside, and according
to Condorcet he “confessed Voltaire, receiving from him a
profession of faith, by which he declared that he died
in the Catholic religion, wherein he was bom.”t This
story is generally credited, but its truth is by no means in
disputable : for in the Abbe Gautier’s declaration to the
Prior of the Abbey of Scellieres, where Voltaire’s remains
Parton’s Life of Voltaire, Vol. IL. pp. 410—415.
Condorcet's Vie de Voltaire, p. 144.
�VOLTAIRE.
61
were interred, he says that when he vis’ited M. de Voltaire,
he found him “ unfit to be confessed.”
The curate of St. Sulpice was annoyed at being forestalled
by the Abbe Gautier, and as Voltaire was his parishioner,
he demanded “ a detailed profession of faith and a disavowal
of all heretical doctrines.” He paid the dying Freethinker
many unwelcome visits, in the vain hope of obtaining a full
recantation, which would be a fine feather in his hat. The
last of these visits is thus described by Wagniere, who was
an eyewitness to the scene. I take Carlyle’s translation :
“ Two days before that mournful death, M. l’Abbe Mignot, his
nephew, went to seek the Cure of St. Sulpice and the Abbe Gauthier,
and brought them into his uncle’s sick room : who, on being informed
that the Abbe Gautier was there, ‘ Ah'; well!’ said he, ‘ give him my
compliments and my thanks.’ The Abbe'spoke some words to him,
exhorting him to patience. The Cure of St. Sulpice then came forward,
having announced himself, and asked of M. de Voltaire, elevating his
voice, if he acknowledged the divinity of our Lord Jesus Christ ? The
sick man pushed one of his hands against the Cure'’s calotte (coif),
shoving him back, and cried, turning abruptly to the other side, ‘Let
me die in peace (Laissez-moi mourir en paix).’ The Cure seemingly
considered his person soiled, and his coif dishonored, by the touch of
the philosopher. He made the sick-nurse give him a little brushing,
and then went out with the Abbe Gautier.”*
A. further proof that Voltaire made no real recantation lies
in the fact that the Bishop of Troyes sent a peremptory dis
patch to the Prior of Scellieres, which lay in his diocese,
forbidding him to inter the heretic’s remains. The dispatch,
however, arrived too late, and Voltaire’s ashes remained there
until 1791, when they were removed to Paris and placed in
the- Pantheon, by order of the N ational Assembly.
Voltaire’s last moments are re corded by Wagniere. I again
take Carlyle’s translation.
“ He expired about a quarter past eleven at night, with the most
perfect tranquility, after having suffered the ciuelest pains, in conse
quence of those fatal drugs, which his o wn imprudence, and especially
that of the persons who should have looked to it, made him swallow.
Ten minutes before his last breath he took the hand of Morand, his
valet-de-chambre, who was watching him; pressed it, and said,
1 Adieu, mon cher Morand, je me meurs'-—‘Adieu, my dear Morand, I
am gone.’ These are the last words uttered by M. de Voltaire.”f
Such are the facts of Voltaire’s decease. He made no re
cantation, he refused to utter or sign a confession of faith,
* Carlyle's Essays, Vol. II. (People’s Edition), p. 161.
t Carlyle, Vol. II. p. 160.
�€2
INFIDEL DEATH-BEDS.
but with, the connivance of his nephew, the Abbe Mignot, he
tricked the Church *nto granting him a decent burial, not
i
choosing to be flung into a ditch or buried like a dog. His
heresy was never seriously questioned at the time, and the
clergy actually clamored for the expulsion of the Prior who
had allowed his body to be interred in a church vault.
*
Many years afterwards the priests pretended that Voltaire
died raving.
They declared that Marshal Richelieu was
horrified by the scene and obliged to leave the chamber.
From France the pious concoction spread to England, until it
was exposed by Sir Charles Morgan, who published the
following extracts from a letter by Dr. Burard, who, as
assistant physician, was^constantly about Voltaire in his last
moments :
“ I feel happy in being able, while paying homage to truth, to
destroy the effects of the lying sto ries which have been told respecting
the last moments of Mons, de Vol taire. I was, by office, one of those
who were appointed to watch the whole progress of his illness, with
M. M. Tronchin, Lorry, and Try, his medical attendants. I never left
him for an instant during his last moments, and I can certify that we
invariably observed in him the sa me strength of character, though his
disease was necessarily attended with horrible pain. (Here follow the
details of his case.) We positive ly forbade him to speak in order to
prevent the increase of a spitting o f blood, with which he was attacked ;
still he continued to communicate with us by means of little cards, on
which he wrote his questions ; we replied to him verbally, and if he
was not satisfied, he always ma de his observations to us in writing.
He therefore retained his facult ies up to the last moment, and the
fooleries which have been attr ibuted to him are deserving of the
greatest contempt. It could not even be said that such or such person
had related any circumstance of his death, as being witness to it; for
at the last, admission to his chamber was forbidden to any person.
Those who came, to obtain intelligence respecting the patient, waited
in the saloon, and other apartments at hand. The proposition, there
fore, which has been put in the mouth of Marshal Richelieu is as
unfounded as the rest.”
(Signed) “ Bubabd.”
“ Paris, April 3rd, 1819.” f
Another slander appears to emanate from the Abbe
Barruel, who was so well infor med about Voltaire that he
calls him “the dying Atheist,” when, as all the world knows,
he was a Deist.
“ In his last illness he sent for Dr. Tronchin. When the Doctor
came, he found Voltaire in the greatest agony, exclaiming with the
utmost horror—‘ I am abandoned by God and man.’ He then said,
4 Doctor, I will give you half of what I am worth, if you will give me
* Parton, Vol. II., p. 615.
t Philosophy of Moralf, by Sir Charles Morgan.
�JAMES WATSON.
63
six months’ life.’ The Doctor answered, ‘ Sir, you cannot live six
weeks.’ Voltaire replied, ‘ Then I shall go to hell, and you will go with
me !’ and soon after expired.”
When the clergy are reduced to manufacture such con
temptible rubbish as this, they, must indeed be in great
straits. It is flatly contradicted by the evidence of every
contemporary of Voltaire.
My readers will, I think, be fully satisfied that Voltaire
neither recanted nor died raving, but remained a sceptic to
the last; passing away quietly, at a ripe old age, to “ the un
discovered country from whose bourne no traveller returns,”
and leaving behind him a name that brightens the track of
time.
JAMES WATSON.
James Watson was one of the bravest heroes in the struggle
for a free press. He was one of Richard Carlile’s shopmen,
and took his share of imprisonment when the Government
tried to suppress Thomas Paine’s Age of Reason and
several other Freethought publications. In fighting for the
unstamped press, he was again imprisoned in 1833. As a
publisher he was notorious for his editions of Paine, Mirabaud, Volney, Shelley and Owen. He died on November 29,
1874, aged seventy-five, “passing away in his sleep, without
a struggle, without a sigh.’’*
JOHN WATTS.
John Watts was at one time sub-editor of the Reasoner,
and afterwards, for an interval, editor of the National Reformer.
He was the author of several publications, including Half
Hours ivith Freethinkers in collaboration with Charles Bradlauc^^^I death took place on October 31, 1866, and the
His
] account of it was written by Dr. George Sexton,
ished in the National Reformer of the following week.
SO
|out half-past seven in the evening he breathed his last, so
gentlymat although I had one of his hands in mine, and his brother
the other in his, the moment of his death passed almost unobserved
by either of us. No groan, no sigh, no pang indicated his departure.
He died as a candle goes out when burned to the socket.”
George Sexton has since turned Christian, at least by
profession; but, after what he has written of the last
moments of John Watts, he can scarcely pretend that unIh^ievers have any fear of death.
James Watson, by W. J. Linton, p. 86.
�64
INFIDEL DEATH-BEDS.
WOOLSTON.
Thomas Woolston was born at Northampton in 1669, and
he died at London in 1733. He was educated at Sidney
College, Cambridge, taking Jp.is M.A. degree, and being elected
a fellow. Afterwards he was deprived of his fellowship for
heresy. Entering into holy orders, he closely studied divinity,
and gained a reputation for scholarship, as well as for
sobriety and benevolence. His profound knowledge of
ecclesiastical history gave him a contempt for the Fathers,
in attacking whom he reflected on the modern clergy. He
maintained that miracles were incredible, and that all the
supernatural stories of the New Testament must be regarded
as figurative. For this he was prosecuted on a charge of
blasphemy and profaneness, but the action dropped through
the honorable intervention of Whiston. Subsequently he
published Six Discourses on Miracles, which were dedicated
to six bishops. In these the Church was assailed in homely
language, and her doctrines were mercilessly ridiculed.
Thirty thousand copies are said to have been sold. A fresh
prosecution for blasphemy was commenced, the AttorneyGeneral declaring the Discourses to be “the most blas
phemous book that ever was published in any age whatever.”
Woolston ably defended himself, but he was found guilty,
and sentenced to one year’s imprisonment and a fine of £100.
Being too poor to pay the fine, Christian charity detained
him permanently in the King’s Bench Prison. With a noblejw
jjourage he refused to purchase his jelease by promising to
refrain from promulgating his views, and prison fever at length
released him from his misery. The following account of his
last moments is taken from the Daily Coura^. Don, thlay,
January 29, 1733
« On Saturday night, about nine o’clock, died Mr.
T
athor
of the ‘ Discourses on our Savior’s Miracles,’ in the si.x,
a year
of his age. About five minutes before he died he uttered tnese words :
This is?a struggle which all men must go through, and which I bear
not only with patience but'willingness.’ Upon which he closed his
eyes, and shut his lips, with a seeming design to compose his face
with decency, without the help of a friend’s hand, and then he
expired.” .
<
Without the help ofa friend's hand ! Helpless and friendlesj^
pent in a prison cell, the brave old man faced Death in
tary grandeur, yielding, for the first and last time, tci—
lord of all.
��BIBLE CONTRADICTIONS.
ARRANGED IN PARALLEL COLUMNS.
.Being Part I, of a
BIBLE HANDBOOK FOR FREETHINKERS & INQUIRING CHRISTIANS.
EDITED BY
G. W. Foote & W. P. Ball.
With a SPECIAL INTRODUCTION by G. W. FOOWS.
“ It is the,most painstaking work of the kind we have Jet seen.”—
Seculai Review.
“ A convenient and useful arrangement.”—Monro's Ironclad Age.
“ It is questionable whether a more effective impression could be
made on an ordinary Christian than by getting him to go through
this little handbook. . . . The collection has the merit of giving in
abundance the contradictions not only of the letter but of the spirit.
The antitheses are always precise and forcible.”—Our Corner
----- 0----In Paper Wrapper, FOURPENCE.
BIBLE
ABSURDITIES.
Being Part II. of “ The Bible Handbook,”
EDITED BY
G.
W.
FOOTE
and
B^LLige whatever''''
found guilty,
fcfme of £100.
■\y detained
~
—■
c
ztth a noble
him permanently in
*> —o
/promising to
.Qpurage he refused to purchase
z& fever at length
refrain from promulgating his view
nXg account of his
released him from his misery. Th |
last moments is taken from the JO ft, | (ur^C- 'Vtion, tday,
^pp&elieu
January 29, 1733 :—
-, -AyBURART ,
Containing all the chief absurd!/
tion, conveniently and strikinglid
(^headlines, giving the point of <
“ On Saturday night, about nine o’clocS^med Mr.
i
Jthor
n year
of the ‘ Discourses on our Savior’s Miracles,’ in the Si.\,
of his age. About five minutes before he died he uttered these words:
This is a struggle which all men must go through, and which I bear
not only with patience but'willingness.’ Upon which he closed his
eyes, and shut his lips, with a seeming design to compose his face
with decency, without the help of a friend’s hand, and then he
expired.” .
<
Without the help of a friend’s hand ! Helpless and friendles^ A
pent in a prison cell, the brave old man faced Death in p f f
tary grandeur, yielding, for the first and last time, tc-—
lord of all.
e
�
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Victorian Blogging
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A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library & Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span>
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Conway Hall Library & Archives
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2018
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Conway Hall Ethical Society
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Infidel death-beds
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Foote, G. W. (George William) [1850-1915]
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Place of publication: London
Collation: 64 p. ; 19 cm.
Notes: Includes bibliographical references. Publisher's advertisements on back cover. Annotations in pencil, red crayon and red ink. Part of the NSS pamphlet collection.
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Progressive Publishing Company
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1886
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N245
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Free thought
Death
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Freethinkers-Biography
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Text
NATIONAL SECULAR SOCIETY
ROYAL PAUPERS
A Radical’s Contribution
TO
THE
JUBILEE.
SHOWING
What Royalty does for the People
AND
What the People do for Royalty.
BY
G. W. FOOTE.
-------- ---------------
PRICE
TWOPENCE.
'•
■•
4
4
4
4
4
LONDON:
PROGRESSIVE PUBLISHING COMPANY,
28 Stonecutter Street, E.C.
1887.
�LONDON :
PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY G. W. FOOTE,
AT 28 STONECUTTER STREET, E.C.
�ROYAL PAUPERS.
-----------♦-----------
“ Our most gracious Sovereign Lady, Queen Vic
toria,” as the Prayer Book styles her, has occupied
the throne for nearly half a century, and as she is
blessed with good health and a sound constitution,
she may enjoy that exalted position for another
fifteen or twenty years, and perhaps prevent her
bald-headed eldest son from acceding to the illus
trious dignity of King of the United Kingdom of
Great Britain and Ireland, and Emperor of India.
Whether she does or does not linger on this mortal
stage, and whether the Prince of Wales will or will
not live long enough to succeed her, is a matter of
trifling importance to anyone but themselves and
their families. The nation will have to support “ the
honor and dignity of the throne,” whoever fills it,
without the least abatement of expense; unless,
indeed, the democratic spirit of the age should ques
tion the utility of all “ the pride, pomp, and circum
stance ” of royalty, and either abolish it altogether or
seriously diminish its cost.
This being the fiftieth year of Her Majesty's reign,
the hearts of all the flunkeys in the nation are stirred
to their depths. There is quite an epidemic of
loyalty. Preparations are being made on all sides
�4
to celebrate the Queen’s Jubilee. Busybodies
are meeting, discussing, and projecting. All
sorts of schemes are mooted, but the vital essence of
every one is—Cash ! The arts of beggary are devel
oped on the most magnificent scale, without regard
to the Vagrancy Act; and titled ladies, parsons’
wives, and Primrose Dames, condescend to solicit
pennies from sempstresses and charwomen. The
Prince of Wales, meanwhile, is devoting his genius
and energies to floating the Imperial Institute, which
promises to be a signal failure, unless the Chancellor
of the Exchequer comes to its assistance, because the
royal whim of fixing it in a fashionable quarter, in
stead of in the commercial centre of London, is a
barrier to its success.
How much of the money drained from British
pockets by such means will be spent on really useful
objects ? It may be safely predicted that a consider
able portion will flow into the pockets of the wire
pullers, but will any appreciable amount go to benefit
all classes of the community ? Will there, in parti
cular, be any advantage to the masses of the working
people, whose laborious lives contribute more to the
greatness and prosperity of the state than all the
titled idlers, whether scions of royalty or members of
the aristocracy, who live like gilded flies “basking in
the sunshine of a Court ” ? Time will prove, but
unless we are very much mistaken, the Jubilee will
be just as advantageous to the people as loyal move
ments have ever been.
It is a sign of the wholesome democratic spirit
which is beginning1 to animate the nation, that a few
�5
towns have absolutely refused to trouble their heads,
and still less to tax their pockets, with regard to the
Jubilee. But the most cheerful indication comes
from Wexford. The municipal council of that his
toric Irish city has ventured to make the following
sensible suggestion:
“ If the ministers of the Crown wanted to govern this
country in a quiet and peaceable manner, and not by fire and
sword, they would advise her Majesty to send to the starving
poor of this country, to relieve their distress, the half of that
eight millions which she has lying in the Funds, and which she
has received from the ratepayers. By this means they would
require no Coercion measure, but would make this one of the
most happy, peaceable, and law-abiding countries in the
world.”
This spirited though courteous suggestion implies
that Royalty has done less for the People than the
People have done for Royalty, that the balance of
profit is not on the national side of the account, and
that gratitude is not due by those who confer bene
fits, but by those who receive them.
During the present reign, the Royal family has
obtained from the nation nearly twenty-four million
pounds. What has the nation received in exchange
for that enormous sum ? I do not propose to reckon
in this place the value of the normal functions of
Royalty, as I intend to estimate it when I have calcu
lated the annual cost of the institution. I simply
inquire, at present, what special advantage has
accrued to us from her Majesty, and not another per
son, having worn the crown for the last fifty years.
Ireland may be dismissed from the inquiry at
once. She has no opportunity of gazing on the
Queen’s classical features, or even of being splashed
�6
with the mud of her carriage wheels; and, on the
other hand, the statistics of Ireland’s fifty years’ his
tory show that 1,225,000 of her children have died of
famine, while 3,650,000 have been evicted by the
landlords, and 4,186,000 have emigrated to foreign
lands.
There has, however, been considerable progress in
Great Britain. Our national wealth has immensely
increased, but Royalty has only assisted in spending
it. Science has advanced by gigantic strides, but
Royalty has not enriched it by any brilliant disco
veries ; for since George the Fourth devised a shoe
buckle, the inventive genius of the House of Bruns
wick has lain exhausted and fallow. Our commerce
has extended to every coast, and our ships cover
every sea; but the Prince of Wales’s trip to India,
at our expense, is the only nautical achievement of
his distinguished family, unless we reckon the Duke
of Edinburgh’s quarter-deck performances, and Prince
Lieningen’s exploit in sinking the Mistletoe. Our
people are better educated, but Royalty has not
instructed them. Our newspapers have multiplied
tenfold, but Royalty is only concerned with the Oourt
Circular. The development of the printing press has
placed cheap books in the poorest hands, and our
literature may hold its own against the world. But
what contributions do we owe to Royalty ? Her
Majesty has published two volumes of Leaves from
her j ournal, which had an immense sale, and are now
forgotten. They chronicle the smallest talk, and
express the most commonplace sentiments, the prin
cipal objects on which the Royal author loved to
�7
expatiate being the greatness and goodness of Prince
Albert and the legs and fidelity of John Brown.
Thousands of ladies, and probably thousands of
school-girls, could have turned out a better book.
And when we recollect that the Queers diary was
prepared for the press by the skilful hand of Sir
Arthur Helps, we may be pardoned for wondering
into what depths of inanity he cast his lines to fish
up such miraculous dulness. The only son her
Majesty has lost, and whose expenses the nation has
saved, was “ studious,” as that word is understood
in royal circles; but his speeches, although they were
furbished up by older and abler hands, will never
figure in any collections of eloquence, and it is
doubtful whether a lengthy life would have enabled
him to shine at Penny Readings without the advan
tage of his name. The Prince of Wales’s sons have
also put two big volumes on Mudie’s shelves (it
would be too much to say into circulation), yet their
travelling tutor acted as their literary showman; and
what parts of the exhibition were his and what theirs,
God alone knoweth except themselves.
It is not one of the stipulated functions of a
Queen, but it is reasonably expected, that she should
produce an heir to the throne. Her Majesty, in
obedience to the primal commandment, “Be fruitful,
and multiply, and replenish the earth,” which is
seldom neglected in royal families, has borne the
desired heir, and many other children to take his
place if he or his offspring should come to an untimely
end. Her progeny is, indeed, remarkably numerous,
if we reckon all the branches, and if they breed like
�8
wise it will ultimately become a serious question
whether they or we shall inhabit England. As it is,
everyone of them is kept by the nation, for Her
Majesty, although fabulously rich, or as Johnson said,
“ wealthy beyond the dreams of avarice,” is never
theless too poor to maintain her own children. We
support them, and in the most extravagant fashion.
Yet they have absolutely no public duties to perform.
The Queen's duties are not onerous, and still less
necessary, but they are real however light. Her
offspring and relatives, however, do nothing for their
pensions. They never did anything, and never expect
to do anything. They are the recipients of public
charity, which does not change its essence because it
is administered by special Acts of Parliament. Dr.
Findlater defines a pauper as “ a poor person : one
supported by charity or some public provision.” Does
not this exactly apply to all our Royal pensioners ? Am
I not strictly justified in calling them Royal Paupers ?
There are paupers in palaces as well as in workhouses,
and in many, if not most cases, the latter are the
more honorable. Thousands of men who have worked
hard in their younger days far scanty wages, hundreds
who have paid rates and taxes to support the state
burdens, have eked out the sombre end of their lives
in the Union, and have been buried in a parish egg
box. They were called paupers, and so they were,
for there is no disputing the fact. But are not they
worse paupers who have never worked at all, who live
on other people from the cradle to the grave, who add
impudence to their dependence, and glory in their
degradation ?
�9
Why should the people fling up their caps and
rend the air with their shouts ? They owe Royalty
nothing, and they have no particular occasion for
gladness. It is, however, perfectly natural that the
Queen and her family should rejoice over her Jubilee.
Fifty years of unearned prosperity is something to
be grateful for, and if the members and dependents
of the House of Brunswick wish to join in a chorus of
thanksgiving, by all means let them do so; but let
them also, out of their well-filled purses, defray the
expenses of the concert.
Let us now estimate the annual cost of these Royal
Paupers, and of the Royal Mother of most of the
brood; in other words, let us reckon the yearly
amount which John Bull pays for the political luxury
of a throne.
When Her Majesty came to the throne, in June,
1837, it was ordered by the House of Commons
ee that the accounts of income and expenditure of the
Civil List from the 1st January to the 31st December,
1836, with an estimate of the probable future charges
of the Civil List of her Majesty, be referred to a
Select Committee of 21 members/'’ Those gentlemen
went to work with great simplicity. They ascer
tained what it cost King William to support “ the
honor and dignity of the Crown” during the last,
year of his reign, and they recommended that Queen
Victoria should be enabled to spend as much money
and a little more, for they put the cost of the various
branches of the Civil List into round figures, and
always to her advantage. One ’of King William/s
bills was £11,381 for “ upholsterers and cabinet-
�1G
makers/'’ but they surely could not have imagined
that her Majesty could require nearly twelve thou
sand pounds* worth of furniture every year. Nor
could they really have thought that she would spend
£3,345 a year on horses, or £4,825 a year on carriages.
Probably they felt that the subject was too sacred for
criticism. At any rate, they speedily produced an
estimate of £385,000 per annum as the amount
necessary “ for the support of her Majesty's house
hold, and of the honor and dignity of the Crown of
the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland.”
The Civil List was settled at this figure by an Act of
Parliament, which received the Royal Assent on
December 23, 1837. No doubt Her Majesty signed
that precious document with the most cordial
satisfaction.
In February, 1840, Her Majesty married. Her
husband, of course, was imported from Germany.
The Queen was anxious that he should be hand
somely supported by Englishmen, Irishmen, and
Scotchmen. A desperate effort was made to procure
him an allowance of £50,000 a-year; but through
the patriotic exertions of a band of Radicals, headed
by Joseph Hume, the sum was reduced to £30,000.
On that paltry income Prince Albert had to live. It
was a severe lesson in economy, but his German
training enabled him to pass through the ordeal, and
in time he increased his scanty income by other
emoluments. He took £6,000 a-year as FieldMarshal; £2,695 a-year as Colonel of the Grenadier
Guards ; £238 a-year as Colonel-in-Chief of the Rifle
Brigade; £1,000 a-year or so in the shape of per-
�11
quisites as Grand Ranger of Windsor Great Park;
£500 a-year or so as Grand Ranger of the Home
Park; and £1,120 a-year as Governor and Constable
of Windsor Castle. Besides these posts, he filled
some which were honorary, and some whose value
was a secret to common mortals. When the lucky
German prince died he left a very large fortune, but
how much he contrived to amass is unknown, for his
will has never been proved.
Returning to the Civil List, we find it divided up
as follows :—Her Majesty's Privy Purse, £60,000;
Household Salaries, £131,260; Tradesmen's Bills,
£172,500; Royal Bounty and Special Services,
£9,000 ; Alms and Charity, £4,200 ; Unappropriated
Money, £8,040—Total, £385,000.
The £60,000 of Privy Purse money the Queen
spends as she pleases. She can say like Shylock,
“'Tis mine, and I will have it." The £8,040 of
Unappropriated Money appears to have been thrown
in to make up a round rum, or perhaps to provide the
Queen with pin-money, so that she might not go abroad
without small change in her pocket. The £13,200
for Bounty and Alms is supposed to be spent on
deserving objects of charity. How much of it is
spent we know not. But the fact that the sum is
voted for that purpose is calculated to lessen our
appreciation of Royal benevolence. When the ladies
get hold of the morning papers, and see by the Daily
Telegraph, or some other loyal newspaper, that Her
Majesty has sent so much to this charity, and so much
to that, they exclaim, “ What a dear good lady the
Queen is to be sure." They never suspect that her
�12
Majesty’s charity is exercised with other people’s
money. The poorest and the most penurious might
be charitable on the same easy conditions.
According to the Civil List Act, the other sums
were to be rigorously spent in maintaining the Royal
dignity; indeed, a clause was inserted to prevent
savings, except of trifling amount, from being carried
from one category to another. Yet it is well-known
that many sinecure offices in the Royal Household
have been abolished, while large reductions have been
made in the Household expenditure. Who benefits
by these savings ? Can any person do so but the
Queen ? Would she allow them to be appropriated
by others ? But if she “ pockets the difference ” it
is in violation of the Act. Whatever reductions are
made, so much less is admitted to be necessary for
the purposes specified by law, and it is the sovereign
who makes the admission.
Surely, then, these
savings, these reductions in the expenditure on
maintaining “ the honor and dignity of the Crown,”
should accrue to the State, and not swell the private
income of a fabulously rich old lady.
We shall peep into the Royal Household presently.
Before doing so, however, we must see the full extent
of the Queen’s resources. Besides what she derives
from the Prince Consort’s will, she has the income
accruing from the Nield legacy. Mr. J. C. Yield
died in 1852, and not knowing a more proper object
of charity, he left his poor Queen the sum of £250,000,
in addition to real estate. Her Majesty is reported
to have invested heavily in the Funds. She has also
private estates in England and Scotland, to say
�13
nothing of her estates in Germany. They are
returned as 37,643 acres, at an annual rental of
£27,995. Finally, there is the splendid revenue of
the Duchy of Lancaster, which, in 1886, amounted
to £45,000.
Being so enormously wealthy, her Majesty might,
taste the luxury of contributing, however slightly,
to the expenses of government. She voluntarily
undertook to do so in 1842, but never appears to
have kept her word. When Sir Robert Peel intro
duced his Income Tax Bill, in August of that year,
he made the following announcement:
“ I may take this opportunity of making a communication
which, I am confident, will be received by the House with
great satisfaction. When in an interview with her Majesty,
a short time since, I intimated that her Majesty’s servants
thought that the financial difficulties of the country were
such that it was desirable, for the public interest, to submit,
all the income of this country to a charge of £3 per cent.,
her Majesty, prompted by those feelings of deep and affec
tionate interest which she has always shown for the welfare
and happiness of her people, observed to me that if the
necessities of the country were such that, in time of peace,
it was necessary to impose a charge of £3 per cent, on income,
it was her own voluntary determination that her own
income should be subject to a similar deduction.”
There is no positive proof, but there is negative
proof, that this “ voluntary determination” was not
carried out. Mr. C. E. Macqueen, secretary of the
Financial Reform Association, wrote to Mr. J.
Wilson, Financial Secretary to the Treasury, on
December 1, 1855, inquiring “ whether her Majesty
and the Royal Consort contribute their respective
quotas to the income and property tax.’'’ Mr. Wilson
replied that it was contrary to practice to answer
�14
such inquiries. He was technically right, but his
official reserve would scarcely have prevented his
making the statement, if it could be made, that Her
Majesty had paid the tax in accordance with her
promise. So much for the Queen’s “ deep and affec
tionate interest in the welfare and happiness of her
people.”
It should be added that the Royal estates escape
all Probate Duty, and that none of the Royal Family
have to pay Legacy and Succession Duties. Every
thing is arranged by a loyal nation for their comfort
and profit.
But, strange as it may sound, we have not yet done
with the cost of a Queen. There is a long list of
further expenses which, for the sake of convenience,
and that the reader may get a bird’s-eye view of
them, I print in a tabular form. The figures given
are for the year 1884-5.
Pensions granted by hei’ Majesty
.............. £24,072
Royal Palaces, occupied wholly or partially by
her Majesty ..............................................
15,466
Royal Palaces, not occupied by her Majesty ...
19,783
Royal Yachts, etc.................................................
39,732
Royal Escort (Household Troops, etc.)..............
31,150
£130,203
Here we have £130,203 expended by or on the
Sovereign, in addition to the Civil List of £385,000
and the revenue of £45,000 from the Duchy of Lan
caster. This makes a grand total of £560,203.
What a sum to lavish on the pride and luxury of
one person ! The President of the United States
only receives £10,000 a year. It is evident, there
�15
fore, unless there is no truth in Cocker, that the
people of this old country fancy a Queen is worth
fifty-six Presidents. The Yankees, however, have
a very different opinion: they laugh at John Bull for
lavishing so much wealth on a single human being,
and facetiously ask him why he complains of bad
trade and hard times when he can afford to fool away
his money in that fashion.
Now, let us turn our profane gaze into the sacred
arcana of the Boyal Household, ft is a pity that
such a glorious Flunkey's Paradise cannot be accu
rately and graphically described by a master hand.
What a wonderful picture of sinecure sloth and
corruption it would be to posterity ! Some writer,
with the pen of a Dickens steeped in the gall of a
Carlyle, should have a carte blanche commission for
the task. He should have unlimited opportunity to
study the ins and outs of the establishment, and the
lives of its officers and servants; and he should be
free to write exactly what he saw and heard, as well
as his own reflections on the matter. Were that
done, there would be at least one imperishable
monument of “ low ambition and the pride of kings."
There is no accessible account of the detailed ex
penditure in this Flunkey's Paradise at present, but
we have a full account of the expenditure in 1836,
on which the amount necessary for Tradesmen's
Bills was calculated. In the Lord Chamberlain's
department there is a bill of £11,381 for “uphols
terers and cabinetmakers," and another of £4,119
for “ locksmiths, ironmongers, and armorers." £284
is paid to sempstresses, so there must be a deal of
�16
shirt-making and mending. The washing bill is
£3,014, and £479 is paid for soap. Doctors and
chemists receive £1,951 for attending and physicing
the flunkeys. Turning to the Lord Steward’s De
partment, we find £2,050 worth of bread consumed,
and £4,976 worth of butter, bacon, eggs, and cheese.
The butcher’s bill comes to £9,472, and the amount
is so great that one wonders there is not a royal
slaughter-house. The flunkeys and the cats con
sumed £1,478 worth of milk and cream, and perhaps
the cats helped the flunkeys to devour the £1,979
Worth of fish. Groceries come to £4,644, fruit and
confectionery to £1,741, wines to £4,850, liqueurs,
etc., to £1,843, and ale and beer to £2,811. Ifthere
is as much boozing now in the Royal Household, it
is high time that Sir Wilfrid Lawson turned his
attention to the subject. The New River Water
Company would supply Buckingham Palace, at least,
with a sufficiency of guzzle at a much cheaper rate.
The nation would gain by the change, and if the
superior flunkeys’ noses were compulsorily toned
down, it might not be very much to their disadvan
tage either.
The Household Salaries are allotted to hundreds
of flunkeys, from the Lord Chamberlain to the
lowest groom or porter. All the chief officials are
lords and ladies. These have to be in immediate
attendance, and Royalty could not tolerate the con
tiguity of plebeians. Pah I an ounce of civet, good
apothecary !
Chief of the flunkeys is the Lord Chamberlain.
This nobleman’s salary is £2,000 a year. He is the
�17
master of the ceremonies, and has to be perfect in
the punctilios of etiquette. Besides looking after
the other flunkeys, he oversees the removal of beds
and wardrobes, and superintends the revels, corona
tions, marriages, and funerals. Lest these onerous
duties should impair his health, he has a Vice
Chamberlain, who is also a nobleman, to assist him at
a salary of £924 a year. Undei’ these gentlemen
there is an Examiner of Plays. This person is paid
£400 a year, besides fees, to decide what plays shall
be placed on the stage. He is also authorised to
strike out from the plays he condescends to license
everything likely to contaminate the public morals,
or bring the Church and State into disrespect. This
official is almighty and irresponsible. There is no
appeal against his fiat. Thirty-five millions of people
have to be satisfied with what he permits them. He
is the despot of the drama; they are his slaves; and
they pay him "several hundreds a year by way of gild
ing their fetters. The result is precisely what might
be expected. While the most vulgar farces and the
most suggestive opera, bouffe are licensed for the pub
lic delectation, some of the noblest masterpieces of
continental dramatic literature are tabooed, because
they deal with profound problems of life and thought
in a manner that might affront the susceptibilities of
Bumble and Mrs. Grundy. Even Shelley's Cenci was
prohibited, and the Shelley Society was obliged to
circumvent the Examiner of Plays by resorting to a
“ private performance." No matter that the loftiest
names in current English literature were associated
with the production of this magnificent play; the
�18
authority of Robert Browning and Algernon Swin
burne was overshadowed by that of the autocrat of
the Lord Chamberlain’s office, who has no standing
in the republic of letters, whose very name is un
known to the multitude of playgoers, who belongs to
the ranks of what Shelley called “ the illustrious
obscure.”
Among the female flunkeys, if I may be allowed
the appellation, are the Mistress of the Robes, with
£500 a year, and eight Ladies of the Bedchamber,
with the same salary. They are required to keep
Her Majesty company for a fortnight, three times in
the course of each year, and when in attendance they
dine at the Royal table. There are also eight Bed
chamber women, at £300 a year each, to serve in
rotation; and eight Maids of Honor, at the same
salary, who reside with Her Majesty in couples, for
four weeks at a time. It was remarked, in the days
of Swift, that Maids of Honor was a queer title, as
they were neither the one nor the other. But let us
hope that a great improvement has taken place since
then.
There is a large Ecclesiastical staff attached to
the Royal Household, but it only costs £1,236 a year.
The smallness of the sum does not imply that clergy
men are cheap, but that many will gladly officiate for
little or nothing at Court, as such appointments are
always considered stepping-stones to valuable pre
ferments.
More than twice as much is expended on the
mortal bodies of the Royal Household as on their
immortal souls. £2,700 a year is paid to Court
�19
physicians, surgeons, apothecaries, and chiropodists,
some receiving salaries, and others fees when in
attendance.
The salaries of the Kitchen Department amount to
no less than £9,983 a year, enough to excite the
wonder of Lucullus. We have no space to recite the
interminable list of menials. Suffice it to say that
the wine-taster has a salary of £500, the chief con
fectioner £300, the chief cook £700, and three
master cooks £350 each. There are also three
well-paid yeomen in charge of the Royal plate,
the value of which is reckoned at two millions
sterling.
Lowest of all in the scale of payment is the Poet
Laureate. His post is a survival of Feudalism. The
Court used to keep a dwarf and a jester, but these
have been discarded, and only the versifier is retained.
His duty is to grind out loyal odes whenever a
member of the Royal family is born, marries, or dies.
A more wretched office could scarcely be conceived.
Yet it is held by Lord Tennyson, who bestows the ex
crements of his genius on the Court. His latest Jubilee
Ode might have been composed by a printer’s devil,
whose brains were muddled by two poems of Walt
Whitman and Martin Tupper set in alternate lines.
The salary of the Laureateship is £100 a year. Seven
hundred a year to the chief cook, and one hundred a
year to the poet! Such are the respective values of
cooking and poetry in the Royal estimation. When
Gibbon presented the second volume of his immortal
histoiy to George the Third, the farmer-king could
only exclaim, “ What, another big book, Mr.
�20
Gibbon ? ” The House of Brunswick has thus been
consistent in its appreciation of literature.
Having taken a rapid look at the Court Flunkeys,
let us come to the great brood of Royal Paupers.
Such a poverty-stricken woman as the Queen cannot
be expected to maintain her children; they are there
fore supported by the State on a scale commensurate
with the Civil List.
The Princess Royal, who is the wife of the Crown
Prince of Germany, receives £8,000 a year. When
she married the nation voted her a dowry of £40,000,
and £5,000 was devoted to fitting up the Chapel
Royal for the wedding.
The Prince of Wales has a pension of £40,000 a
year. He takes £1,350 for the colonelcy of the Tenth
Hussars, a purely sinecure office. Probably the regi
ment would not recognise him if they saw him in
uniform. He lives rent free in Marlborough House,
on which £2,120 was spent in repairs in 1884-5, and
there is a somewhat similar bill every year. The
revenues of the Duchy of Cornwall swell the Prince’s
income by £64,641. Those were the figures in the
year just referred to. During his minority the
revenues of the Duchy accumulated to the amount of
£601,721. A third of this sum was invested in the
purchase of his Sandringham estate, and the rest in
other ways. Returns show that the Prince has
8,079 acres in Norfolk, and 6,810 in Aberdeenshire,
the rental being given at the extremely low figure of
£9,727.
When the Prince of Wales married, the nation
voted him an extra grant of £23,455, and as he was
�21
too poor to support a wife £10,000 a year was secured
to her from the national purse, with a further pro
mise of its being made £30,000 if she survives her
husband. When the Prince visited India, in 1875,
he was allowed £142,000 for the expenses of the
trip, £60,000 being pocket money, for the exercise of
generosity. The presents he gave we paid for; the
presents he received are his. Evidently the Prince
of Wales has much to be thankful for, and he may
celebrate the Jubilee with the utmost cordiality.
Even if he never becomes king, he will have had a
fine old time, and his appearance shows how well it
agrees with him.
The Duke of Edinburgh was voted £15,000 a-year
on attaining his majority in 1866. When he married,
in 1874, the amount was increased to £25,000,
although a few brave and honest Radicals opposed
the additional grant to the Prince “ for marrying
the richest heiress in Europe
His wife is the Czar’s
daughter; she brought him a private fortune of
£90,000, a marriage portion of £300,000, and a life
annuity of £11,250. Being a royal pauper, the
Duke does nothing for his pension. He takes
£3,102 for his post in the navy. They give him
command of the Mediterranean Fleet in time of
peace, but in time of war his fiddling tunes might
be preferable to his shouting orders. Let us, however,
be fair. There are some who say that he handles a
fleet splendidly; yet there are others who believe
that if the Peers took a trip round the world in one
of our ironclads, under the actual command of the
Duke of Edinburgh, there would be no need to
�22
agitate for their abolition. We may add that the
Duke has a yearly allowance of £1,800 from SaxeCobourg, and on the death of his uncle, the reigning
Duke, he will inherit a fortune of £30,000 a year.
AVhen he comes into that windfall he will, perhaps,
resign the pension of £25,000 a year he draws from
us. It would be a graceful act. But, alas! the House
of Brunswick has never been noted for grace.
The Princess Christian receives £6,000 a year,
and £30,000 was voted to her on her mam'a,go, The
Princess Louise had a similar dowry, and her pension
is also £6,000 a year. The Duchess of Albany,
widow of Prince Leopold, has £6,000, the Princess
Mary £5,000, and the Princess Augusta £3,000.
The Duke of Connaught's pension is £25,000. His
military reputation was achieved in Egypt, where
Lord Wolseley officiated as his wet-nurse. He was
kept out of danger, and specially mentioned in a des
patch from the field of battle. At present he is
Commander-in-Chief in Bombay, a post whose
abolition was recommended by the Military Com
mission. He draws pay at the rate of £6,000 a year.
Sir John Gorst will ask Parliament to pass a Bill
authorising the Duke to come home to celebrate the
Jubilee without forfeiting his office. Of course the .
Bill will pass, but the cream of the joke is that we
shall have to pay the cost of his journey. The move
ments of princes are expensive. The national
exchequer trembles when they blow their noses.
Another Royal Paupei’ of the warrior caste is the
Duke of Cambridge, This Prince is the Queen’s
uncle. His pension is £12,000 a year. His salary
�23
and perquisites as Banger of St. James’s, Green, Hyde,
and Richmond Parks are estimated at over £2,000 a
year. As Field Marshal Commander-in-Chief he
takes £4,500 a year. He is also Colonel of the
Grenadier Guards at £2,132 a year. His military /
genius is renowned throughout the world, and
his noble brow is circled with the deathless laurels
he won in the Crimea. His corpulence makes him
a commanding figure, and although his sword is
not famous, his umbrella is the terror of our enemies.
It only remains to add that poverty prevents him
from maintaining a wife. The Duchess of Cambridge,
therefore, enjoys a separate pension of £6,000 a year.
Besides the Royal pensioners, there are a few of
the Queen’s relatives (Germans, of course) who
sponge on the British taxpayer. Prince Edward of
Saxe-Weimar draws £3,384 a year from the Army,
and his Dublin residence is worth another thousand.
Prince Deiningen takes £593 a year as a half-pay
Vice-Admiral. Count Gleichen receives £740 as a
retired Vice-Admiral, and £1,120 as Governor of
Windsor Castle.
There is always a make-weight, even in accounts.
Accordingly we find a lot of extra expense in the
£4,881 paid in pensions to various surviving friends
and servants of George III., George IV., William IV.,
and Queen Charlotte.
Directly and indirectly the Royal Family costs the
nation the stupendous sum of £808,316 a year. The
vastness of such an amount is difficult for ordinary
minds to realise. Let us, therefore, analyse it, and
see what it makes in detail. It would maintain
�24
10,365 families at £1 10s. a week. It represents
£2,215 every day, £92 an hour, and £1 10s. 6d. every
minute. We frequently hear it said that the payment
of Members of Parliament would be too expensive.
But £300 a year is the outside salary proposed by
Radicals; and the annual cost of the Royal Family
would suffice to pay every member of the House of
Commons that salary four times over.
Thick-and-thin loyalists sometimes urge that we
have no right to grumble at the expense of Royalty.
The sovereign, they say, accepts a Civil List in lieu
of the Royal Revenues, and the nation gains by the
contract. But this argument is unconstitutional.
The Crown Revenues are not private property; they
belong to the monarch, just as the crown does, by
virtue of Acts of Parliament, and all Acts of Parlia
ment can be modified or repealed. If the Crown
Lands, for instance, were personal estate, they could
not be alienated from the present possessor. Should
the Queen, however, turn Roman Catholic, she could
not continue to occupy the throne. The Prince of
Wales would succeed her at once, and if Tie turned
Roman Catholic, the next heir would immediately
succeed him. In each case the Crown Revenues
would change hands. It is obvious, therefore, that
those Revenues are the appanage of the Crown solely
by virtue of law ; and it necessarily follows that the
nation has the legal as well as the moral right to
settle the Civil List as it pleases.
Other Loyalists urge the spendthrift objection that
the cost of the Royal Family- is trifling when distri
buted over the entire population. Why make a fuss,
r
�25
they ask, about fivepence half-penny each ? It is less
than the price of a quart of beer, or two ounces of cheap
tobacco. True, but many mickles make a muckle. The
lavish expenditure on Royalty corrupts our national
'economy. The cost of government, the expenses of the
Army and Navy, rise higher and higher every year.
Since the Queen’s accession, indeed, they have nearly
quadrupled. A nation cannot waste its money on titled
idlers without lavishing it shamefully in other
directions.
There is another way of replying to this foolish
objection.
What good might be done with that
£808,316 a year if it were otherwise expended ! It
would maintain museums, art galleries, and public
libraries throughout the country on the most munifi
cent scale, as the following table very clearly shows.
Towns.
Per Year.
Total.
5 at £20,000 = £100,000
10,000 = 100,000
10 „
5,000 =
20 „
100,000
2,500 =
40 „
100,000
100 „
1,000 =
100,000
616 „
500 =
308,000
£808,000
This is only one illustration. The ingenious reader
will think of many more, and he can work out the
figures himself.
Now let us glance at the functions of Royalty. We
have seen its cost, and we must try to ascertain its
worth.
�26
“ The King reigns but does not govern," and
therefore “the King can do no wrong.’' These
maxims of constitutional monarchy imply that the
sovereign exercises no direct power.
Even Lord
Salisbury, who is a thorough-paced courtier, would
shrink from publicly maintaining “ the right divine
of Kings to govern wrong." The Queen rules through
her Ministers. What they resolve on is executed in
her name. But she herself has no choice in the
matter. She is nominally able to refuse her assent
to an Act which has passed both branches of the
Legislature, but the first time she ventured to exert
that cc right ” the Crown would be brought into^dangerous collision with the people. Nor can* her
Ministers act without the Consent of Parliament. The
monarchy has been gradually shorn of its perogatives,
until it has become a political fiction. We are
really living under a veiled Republic, and the sooner
the mischievous and costly disguise-is flung aside the
better for the welfare and integrity of the nation.
Calling one of her “ subjects ” to form a Ministry
is the Queen’s first function. But this involves no
wisdom or decision, for there is no choice. It is not
Her Majesty,‘but the electorate, that decides who
shall be Premier. The Queen simply summons the
acknowledged leader of whichever party triumphs at
the ballot. If the Conservatives win she calls Lord
Salisbury, if the Liberals win she calls Mr. Gladstone.
Her personal wishes count for less than those of the
humblest ratepayer, for he has a vote and she has none.
Her next business is to open and close Parliament.
This duty, however, is seldom performed. Her
�Majesty rarely emerges from her widowed seclusion,
except to give a fillip to a Tory government. For
many years after Prince Albert’s death she felt
unequal to the exertion, although she had strength
enough to participate in ghillie balls. If a washer
woman complained that she was so cut up by the
death of her husband that it was impossible to work,
and expected regular payment without sending home
any clean linen, she would quickly weary her patrons,
and find it prudent to return to the tub. Yet a
Queen can indulge in the luxury of woe for twenty
years, and her flatterers will account it a virtue.
Thomas Carlyle wrote a significant little sentence on
this subject. Acknowledging a presentation copy of
Gilchrist’s Life of William Blake, which Mrs. Gilchrist
bravely saw through the press after her husband’s
death, Carlyle wrote : “ Your own little Preface is all
that is proper—could but the Queen of these realms
have been as Queen-like in her widowhood I ”
As for the Queen’s Speech, it is a ridiculous farce.
The document is drawn up by the Ministry, and its
sentiments differ with the succession of parties.
Generally, too. it is read by proxy. Her Majesty,
therefore, neither reads it nor writes it.
It is no
more hers than mine.
When Parliament is opened or prorogued in the
Queen’s absence, the royal robes are thrown over the
royal chair, and the Lords bow in passing them,
precisely as though the sovereign sat there. The
garments do as well as the wearer. Why, then, go
to the expense of filling them out ? With all rever
ence, I make the following suggestion. Let half-a-
�dozen of our finest artists be commissioned to carve
and chase a Phidean statue in ivory and gold, tn
occupy the royal chair instead of the Queen. The
expense would be incurred once for all, and we
should know the full extent of our liability. The
present monarchical idol could then be discarded for
the cheaper substitute, which would probably be quite
as useful, and certainly quite as handsome.
Next, her Majesty signs Acts of Parliament. I
would undertake to sign them all for £50 a year, and
my handwriting is as good as the Queen’s. As a
matter of fact, it is not the Royal signature that gives
validity to statutes. During one of George the Third’s,
fits of insanity, it is said that Lord Eldon used acounterfeit of the King’s signature, which was
engraved for the purpose; yet the Acts of Parliament
thus ratified were no less operative than those which
bore the King’s autograph. Under the Common
wealth the Great Seal was broken up, and a new one
substituted. On one side was a map of England
and Ireland; on the other, the device, “ In the first
year of freedom, by God’s blessing restored.” AIL
resolutions and orders of the House were signed by
the Speaker as nominal Chief of the State. “ Mr..
Speaker ” is still the First Commoner, and why can
not his signature be attached to Acts of Parliament
instead of an hereditary official’s ? The laws of a freecountry are the expression of the people’s will, and
they depend on no individual’s concurrence for theirvalidity and force.
These are absolutely all the“ functions” of Royalty,,
though there are other reasons adduced in its favor..
�29
While we retain a throne, filled by hereditary right,
it is urged that we avoid an undignified scramble for
the highest position in the State. But what scramble
is there for the Presidency in France ? Or what
particular scramble is there for it in the United
States, where the President is elected by a kind of
plebiscite ? Whatever scramble there is, some very
good men manage to win. From Washington to
Cleveland there have been many illustrious names.
Have we had a single sovereign who could be men
tioned in the same breath with the best of them ?'
What is our boast ? George the Third, the madman
George the Fourth, the profligate; William the
Fourth, the ninny; and Victoria, whose loftiest virtue
is that, being a Queen, she has lived like an honest
woman. The single name of Lincoln outweighs a
thousand such; nay, compared with his greatness,
they are but dust in the balance.
We are further told that Society (with a capital S)
must have a head. But what' is this Society ? Does
it include the great thinkers and workers, th ez poets,
artists, philosophers, and scientists ? No; it com
prises the lazy, pampered classes, whose wealth and
titles are their only passports to esteem, whose highest
ambition is to be presented at Court and invited to
royal levees. These people are not a sign of national
health, but a sign of national disease. Let them, if
they must, pursue their idle round of foolish pleasure,
but let them elect and support their own “ head ”
without expecting the nation to countenance their
frivolity by maintaining the Head of the State as the
master or mista\ ss of their foppish ceremonies.
�Lastly, the monarchy is defended on the ground
that a State must have a figure-head. But this is a
fatal plea. When monarchy was a reality the King
stood at the helm. If the sovereign is to be an orna
mental figure under the bowsprit, why should he cost
us an admiral’s salary for painting and gilding ?
Besides, figure-heads become very expensive when
they beget little figure-heads, whose maintenance in
a proper state of decoration is a first charge on the
freightage.
There is one function which her Majesty, ever
since Prince Albert’s death, has been unconsciously
performing. She has been teaching the people that
the monarchy is not indispensable. By habituating
them to dispense with its forms and pageants, she
has shown them how unessential it is to our political
life. Without the least intention, she has been pre
paring the way for a Republic. A few timid Radi
cals, and many Liberals, may stand aghast at the
prospect, but they cannot escape the result of cen
turies of historic tendency. From the day when the
Long Parliament condemned to death ie the man
Charles Stuart,” and established a Commonwealth,
“without King or House of Lords,” the fire of
Republicanism has never been extinguished in the
heart of England. It was allayed by Cromwell, and
it almost expired under Charles the Second, but it
faintly revived under his successor, and it has
gradually strengthened ever since. It gleamed
in many an epigram of Pope, it shone in the
eloquence of Bolingbroke, it quivered in many a
line of Cowper, it kindled the young muse of Words-
�31
worth, it glowed in the songs of Burns, it coruscated
in the satire .of Byron, it flamed in the lyrics of
Shelley, it burned with a steady light in the prose of
Thomas Paine. Nor was the noble tradition lost in
the reaction after the French Revolution. For two
generations it survived in the genius of Landor, and
since his death it has inspired the genius of Swinburne.
Royalty is now moribund, and democracy is striding
to the throne. After centuries of slumber the
People are at length awake, and the noble words
of John Milton may be re-echoed in a later age.
“ Methinks 1 see in my mind a noble and puissant
nation rousing herself like a strong man after sleep,
and shaking her invincible locks. Methinks I
see her as an eagle mewing her mighty youth,
and kindling her undazzled eyes at the full
midday beam, purging and unsealing her longabused sight at the fountain itself of heavenly
radiance/'’ While she was asleep the privileged
classes, from the monarch to the meanest aristocrat,
battened upon her like vampires. But their night is
over. They lurk and wait in vain for her relapse.
They fancy the daylight an illusion, yet they are~
deceived. Democracy is like the grave, it yields
nothing back; and a nation once awakened does not
sleep again until she dies. The day of her freedom
is the day of her life. For as';the dull sense of the
brute grows into full consciousness in man, s® the
rude instincts of the multitude grow into the con
scious life of a people, widening and clearing for
evermore.
�THE
Shadow of the Sword.
SECOND EDITION,
REVISED
AND
ENLARGED.
BY
Gm Wm FOOTE.
PRICE
TWOPKWOE.
PRESS OPINIONS.
“ An ably-written pamphlet, exposing the horrors of war and
the burdens imposed upon the people by the war systems of
Europe. . . . The author deserves thanks for this timely publi
cation.”—Echo.
“ A trenchant exposure of the folly of war, which everyone
should read.”—Weekly Times.
“ A wonderfully eloquent denunciation of the war fever.”—
Birmingham Owl.
“ This pamphlet presents us with some startling truths that are
well worth preserving.”—The People (Wexford).
“ Should be in the hands of all advocates of peace.”—Our
Corner.
Progressive Publishing Co., 28 Stonecutter Street, London, E.C.
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Royal paupers : a radical's contribution to the Jubilee, showing what royalty does for the people and what the people do for royalty
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Foote, G. W. (George William) [1850-1915]
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Republicanism
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Text
NATIONAL SECULAR SOCIETY
GOD SAVE THE KING
AND OTHER
Coronation Articles
AN
ENGLISH
REPUBLICAN
( G. W. FOOTE)
“ God save the King ! ” It is a large economy
In God to save the like ; but if he will
Be saving, all the better ; for not one am I
Of those who think damnation better still.
Byron, Vision of Judgment.
PBIGE
TWOPENCE
London:
THE PIONEER PRESS,
2
Newcastle Street, Farringdon Street, E,C,
1903
�PRINTED BY THE PIONEER PRESS
AT
3 NEWCASTLE-STREET, FARRINGDON-STREET, LONDON, E.C,
�And, when you hear historians talk of thrones,
And those that sate upon them, let it be
As we now gaze upon the mammoth’s bones,
And wonder what old world such things could see,
Or hieroglyphics on Egyptian stones,
The pleasant riddles of futurity—
Guessing at what shall happily be hid,
As the real purpose of a pyramid.
—Byron, Don Juan.
Where kings first leagued against the rights of men,
And priests first traded with the name of God.
—Shelley, Queen Mab.
And thou, whom sea-walls sever
From lands unwalled with seas,
Wilt thou endure for ever,
O Milton’s England, these?
Thou that wast his Republic, wilt thou clasp their knees ?
These royalties rust eaten,
These worm-corroded lies,
That keep thine head stornubeaten
And sunlike strength of eyes
From the open heaven and air of intercepted skies ;
These princelets with gauze winglets
That buzz in the air unfurled,
These summer-swarming kinglets,
These thin worms crowned and curled,
That bask and blink and warm themselves about the world.
—Swinburne, A Marehing Song (“ Songs Before Sunrise ”/
�INTRODUCTION.
The articles in this little collection were all written between
June and October, 1902, and were published in a journal which
I have the honor and pleasure to edit. They all relate in some
way or other to the illness and Coronation of Edward VII.
Whatever else they lack, there is one merit I am sure they
possess. They are honest. Probably these are the only honest
articles that were penned and printed on their subject matter.
For that reason alone, if for no other, it is well that they should
be republished in a more permanent form. Generations or ages
hence—for who knows what will float down the stream of time ?
—this little pamphlet may assure the historian that all did not
bend the knee to the Baal of monarchy in England at the
beginning of the twentieth century ; that one voice, at any rate,
was raised, not only in protest, but in mockery, against a most
contemptible superstition.
When I call this superstition “contemptible” I am not speaking
in temper or haste, but calmly and deliberately. There is some
thing to be said for the worship of Mumbo Jumbo; he is
supposed to be able to make it very hot for those who offend him.
There is something to be said for the worship of the Sun; it is
an undoubted benefactor. But what is to be said for the worship
of the “ hereditary nothing ” who happens at any time to sit upon
the constitutional throne of Great Britain and Ireland ? A passion
for genius, for moral excellence,or personal beauty, is intelligible ;
but how is one to explain a passion for the incarnation of
mediocrity to which this nation has long been accustomed in its
sovereigns ? It is not merely a case of inherited folly, for the
loyal fever was less acute in the early years of Queen Victoria.
It seems, in truth, that loyalism is a form of religion ; and it has
all the common characteristics of religion—blind faith, headlong
zeal, and a hatred of heresy.
�V,
When I walked home after the Jubilee procession in London
in 1897, I remarked to a friend who was with me that 'we had
not seen the last of that incomparable circus-show. It was
designed to dazzle the multitude, and it succeeded. It was a
huge “imperialism” advertisement. It appealed to the fighting
and dominating instincts of the people. It was an evocation of
barbaric sentiment. And as the plain little stout old ladybrought up the rear the shouts that acclaimed her had a peculiar
ring. It was the applause of deification. . What the mob saw in
that royal carriage was not the real person who occupied it, but
a fictitious creature of their own imaginations.
On the death of Queen Victoria, Albert Edward Prince of
Wales became King Edward VII. He was just the same man as
before, but the mob (of all classes) felt there was a change.
Jocularities at his expense had been common; from that moment
they became blasphemies. It was another case of deification.
One saw a new divinity created under one’s very nose. And
now when the King speaks “ it is the voice of a god I ”
There is no need to blame the King for the superstition of
which he is the symbol. He probably smiles at it in private.
He was born to his lot like the rest of us ; and one may feel
contempt for the institution without ill-will for the man. One
may even be pleased to see from his jolly countenance that he
does not take his absurd position too seriously.
Having, avowed myself a Republican, I have also to warn the
reader that I am an Atheist. He must expect to find both earthly
and celestial superstitions laughed at in the following pages. My
ideal includes Reason and Humanity; it has no room for the
Ridiculous and the Barbaric.
April, 1903.
�God Save the King.
Believers in Special Providence—and there is no other
kind of Providence either honest or really conceivable—are
naturally concerned about the King’s illness and the post
ponement of the Coronation. What does it all mean ? What
is God particularly angry about ? What lesson does he intend
to convey ? Surely there is something more than meets the
eye in this startling calamity. See how Providence worked
up to it, like a cunning and well-practised dramatist. For a
long time it was feared that the cold damp weather would
be prolonged, and the Coronation be spoiled in that manner.
But the weather improved just in the nick of time. The
three Coronation days—Thursday, Friday, and Saturday—
were simply splendid. The sun shone gloriously in a grand
blue sky, yet the sudden great heat was tempered by a
delicious breeze. Yes, the weather was all right, but the
King was all wrong. Only a few hours (so to speak) before
the great event which all his life led up to, he was cast down
on a bed of sickness, the doctors were cutting him open and
operating on his internals, his very existence was imperilled,
and his subjects dreaded that the next bulletin would sound
the sad note of preparation, not for his crowning, but for his
funeral.
Fortunately the King seems likely to weather this worst
storm of his life. To use an American phrase, we take no
�7
stock in kings; but as Edward the Seventh is a man, and
we happen to know of his illness, we hope he will recover.
We extend the same sympathy to every sick person in this
metropolis. As the Queen is a wife and a mother, we respect
her sorrow, and wish her a happy issue out of this affliction.
Death is so great a fact that when it comes it dwarfs all
surroundings into insignificance. Whether it be in a cottage
or in a palace, the first cry of a widow’s grief has the same
tragic note, and the anguish of bereavement scorns the com
forts that money can purchase. But afterwards how much
harder it is for the poor widow 1 To the grief of the wife is
added the grief of the mother as the children pine for the
lack of bread, and a nameless horror broods on every day’shorizon, and the dear young faces lose their gladness, and
the dear little feet go wearily, as though walking to th’eir
graves.
But to return to the King. One would think that, as he is
the principal sufferer in this visitation of Providence, he is
also the principal offender. Has the Lord heard the voice
of the Nonconformist! Conscience protesting against King Edward’s visit to Epsom racecourse ? Have all the sins of
his younger days made so big a heap that the Lord cannot
overlook it ? Has he gazed too much upon the wine when
it was red? Have pretty women thrown themselves too
much in his way ? Has he smoked too many cigars ?—for
even smoking is a sin with the Salvation Army. Anyhow,
this illness seems a direct challenge to his Majesty; and,
indeed, the pious folk who got up the first big prayer-meeting
at St. Paul’s Cathedral were pretty much of that opinion, for
they hoped the King would be spared, and that the residue
of his life might be devoted to the Lord’s service—which was
a plain hint that so much of his life as had already expired
had been devoted to the service of some other personage.
Cardinal Vaughan is too much of a courtier to point in the
Lord’s name at the King. Still, he sees in this calamity the
finger of God. He should have said the hand of God. The
finger of God is an unfortunate expression. It is associated
�8
with the most disgusting miracle in the annals of supersti
tion. When the magicians of Egypt saw all the dust of their
country turned into lice, they declined to compete any further
with Moses and Aaron. They felt that one miracle of that
sort was quite sufficient. “ This,” they said, “ is the finger
of God.”
“ The finger of God,” Cardinal Vaughan says to his clergy,
“ has appeared in the midst of national rejoicing, and on the
eve of what promised to be one of the most splendid
pageants in English history. This is in order to call the
thoughts of all men to Himself.” King Edward, therefore,
is a sort of vicarious sacrifice. He is laid low and tortured
in order that careless people might be made to think of the
Lord.
Danton said in the French National Assembly, “ The
coalesced kings threaten us, and as our gage of battle we
fling before them the head of a king.” And poor, stupid
Louis the Sixteenth’s head was cut off by the guillotine.'
Cardinal Vaughan makes the Lord throw the hacked and
bleeding body of a King before the British people as his
(the Lord’s) challenge to their attention.
“ May it not be ?” all the men of God were asking on
Sunday. Every one of them had his “ tip ” with respect to
the Lord’s meaning in the King’s illness. The Bishop of
Winchester came up to London to let out his secret. “ May
it not be,” he said, “ that just because as a people we were
too light-hearted, too superficial, too formal about it all, God
solemnly laid his hand upon us and bade us stop ?” Of course
it may have been, and of course it may have been otherwise.
The Bishop of Winchester is only guessing. He is in the
guessing business.
The Bishop of Stepney gave his “tip” at St Paul’s
Cathedral. His idea was that we were too much excited
by outward show to discern the deeper lessons ; so the Lord
tripped up the King’s heels and set us all thinking. Still
more professional was the view of that burning and shining
Nonconformist light, the Rev. F. B. Meyer. “ God wanted
�9
the British nation to know,” he said, “' that when next he
gives it victory over its enemies, and grants peace from a war
that tried its resources, it should not celebrate it by the blow
ing of fog-horns and whistles, but by thronging the temples
of God and singing his praises.” Dr. Meyer keeps one of
these “temples”—and it keepshim. No wonder he wants
the “ temples ” to be thronged.
Pastor Spurgeon, of the famous Tabernacle, said the
nation had passed through a wonderful week, an awful
week. God’s hand had been stretched out—“ He had made
the nation to understand that he was supreme.” It does not
seem to have occurred to the preacher that this method of
proving the Lord is boss was rather rough on poor King
Edward.
We expected to find Mr. Sims (of the Referee) in fine form
over the Coronation postponement, and we were not dis
appointed. “We are suddenly hurled,” he said, “ from the
highest pinnacle of joy to the deepest abyss of gloom.”
How the great “ Dagonet ” must have thrust his tongue in
his cheek as he penned that sentence! The London crowd
has been enjoying itself as well as looked civil in the circum
stances ; “ Dagonet ” has also been doing the same thing,
judging from the later parts of “ Mustard and Cress.” But
when the royal bulletin is stuck up he says, “ Let us all look
unhappy ”—And as soon as he is round the corner he dances
a jig and makes all the bells ring in his jester’s cap.
“ Perhaps God put it off because the seats were so damp.”
So said a little girl who heard some groWn-up people discuss
ing what Providence meant by arresting the Coronation.
Mr. Sims, who tells the story, does not appear to think that
Providence had anything to do with the matter. “ Yet it is
quite within the bounds of reasonable argument,” he says,
“that the postponement of the Coronation has saved thou
sands of people from the evils that would have resulted from
sitting for many hours on saturated wood.” Probably there
is truth in this. It is as good a justification of the ways of
God to men as we have seen lately. King Edward had to
�10
undergo an operation for appendicitis in order to save crowds
of his subjects from stricture. We understand it now.
A very different explanation is given in a Radical news
paper :—
“It seems as if some calamitous Destiny overhung this
nation since our quarrel with the Boer States. That war
killed the Queen ; its anxieties, no doubt, fostered the illness
of the present monarch. The mills of God grind slowly, but
they grind exceeding small.”
Now if God is angry with this nation for quarrelling with
the Boer States, why did he not give them the victory?
What sense is there in letting us beat them and take away
their independence, and then killing members of our royal
family to punish us for our sin ? How did the war kill
Queen Victoria ? Is it the last straw that breaks the camel’s
back ? Very old people must die of something. And why
should God go for poor King Edward on account of the South
African war ? He had no more to do with it than any infant
in arms. It is commonly reported that he played the part of
a pacificator, and helped to bring about a settlement of that
unhappy quarrel. Thus the God of the Radical journal is no
wiser than the God of the clergy. Instead of going for King
Edward he should have gone for (say) Mr. Joseph Chamberlain. What justice is there in carving the King’s stomach
with operating knives, while the Colonial Secretary wears a
monocle in one eye and a smile in the other ?
And now for a few words on the “ intercession ” business.
When the present King was Prince of Wales he nearly lost
his life by typhoid fever. The nation prayed for his recovery,
and afterwards held a great thanksgiving service in St. Paul’s
Cathedral. God Almighty was publicly thanked for his kind
ness in saving the Prince’s life. But the doctors were not
forgotten ; two of them were knighted, and all were hand
somely rewarded. Now the Prince has become King, and is
again in danger, the doctors are judiciously associated with
the Lord in the work of his recovery. To leave his life in
the hands of the Lord exclusively would be too perilous ; the
doctors are there to supplement his efforts, and see that
�11
nothing is neglected. They keep an eye on Providence; and
everybody, including the King, feels that their vigilance is
requisite. With six doctors and one God all may yet
be well.
The Next Move.
The daily bulletins concerning the King’s health continue to
be so favorable that sanguine persons are already prophe
sying that the Coronation will take place very shortly. But
the case is one of great uncertainty. There is many a slip
twixt the cup and the lip, and there may be yet another slip
twixt the King and the Coronation. Not that we wish for
it; we are only reproving a certain rashness on the part of
the public vaticinators.
Whether the Coronation comes early or late, the clergy
will surely not let it be taken without a preparatory Thanks
giving. That is the next item on the program. King Edward
will have to go to St. Paul’s Cathedral and participate in a
service of thanks to God for his recovery. Nothing will be
said on that occasion about the doctors. They will have
done their work and received their rewards. It will then be
the Lord’s turn, and the clergy will see that he gets all the
credit. For his reputation, like their existence, is parasitical.
He takes all the glory of other persons’ successes. The
failures he leaves to their own account. It is, indeed, on this
very plan that Christianity is constructed. Man is left to
share all his sins with the Devil; but all the good in him is
�12
ascribed to the grace of God. Every time it is heads poor
man loses and tails the Deity wins.
We expect to find the clergy working that Thanksgiving
for all it is worth. It will give a much-needed lift to their
profession. They will receive a certificate of the efficacy of
prayer, signed by the King, and countersigned by the British
nation. And if they cannot trade profitably for a good while
on that basis, they must be very degenerate representatives
of the clerical interest.
Religion is worship, and worship is prayer. Piety is a
lively sense of favors to come. All over the world, and under
every form of faith, this is the everlasting verity. The old
story fold by Dr. Tylor goes to the root of the matter. A
missionary in Africa set up a little iron chapel, with a little
bell on the top. One day he was ringing the bell for the
morning service, and one of his “ converts ” came by at that
moment. “ Aren’t you coming in ?” asked the missionary.
“No,” said the convert, “ I don’t want anything just now.”
Someone has sent us a copy of a Roman Catholic organ,
the Irish Messenger of the Sacred Heart. It contains a
department headed “ Petitions,” and another headed “ Thanks
givings.” These are described as “ only a few ” out of the
“ thousands ” that reach the Editor. Not one of them is
accompanied by a name and address. The only place men
tioned is “ Tipperary,” and the petitioners and thanksgivers
sign themselves, “A Grateful Child of Mary,” “A Hopeful
One,” “ Hannah,” “ Three Orphans,” and so forth. We
suppose the registry of their names and addresses, with other
particulars, is kept in the beautiful land above. They pray
to the Sacred Heart of Jesus for some favor—a good situa
tion, or the recovery of a sick relative; and if their prayer
is answered they drop a “ thanksgiving ”—together, we sup
pose, with something more substantial—to the Messenger.
If their prayer is not answered they say nothing. And thus
the game goes on to the comfort of the faithful and the profit
of the Church.
Such victims as these are an easy prey. Even the King is
�13
not a difficult one. He cannot help himself. If he were to
pooh-pooh the clergy, and refuse to take part in a Thanks
giving, he would only be fighting against the common interests
of imposture and privilege—in which his own interest is
included. But there is nobler game to be run down. We
may instance Mr. Chamberlain. He meets with a cab
accident, and spends his sixty-sixth birthday in hospital.
Now the accident might have been a good deal worse; it
might even have been fatal. We may look upon it as a
“ mercy ” that the Colonial Secretary is still alive. True,
his wound is described as “ not dangerous,” but who can be
sure of such things ? There is clearly room for prayer; yea,
and for thanksgiving afterwards. We suggest, then, that the
clergy should try to tackle Mr. Chamberlain. He would be a
splendid catch if they could only land him. And now that
he has lost a lot of blood he may be amenable. Perhaps the
Archbishop of Canterbury is too old for an enterprise like
this, but the Bishop of London is younger and more
ambitious. He might take Mr. Chamberlain in hand, induce
him to show at least a little connivance, get up a special
service of prayer for his perfect recovery, and, finally, drive
him in triumph to the Cathedral. It would be a splendid
stroke for dear old Mother Church, and it should really be
attempted.
Mr. Chamberlain’s thanksgiving service should precede the
King’s. It would serve as a rehearsal. The royal affair
might then go through without a hitch.
Meanwhile it is to be noted that illnesses and calamities
are a golden harvest for the clergy. They live upon other
men’s misfortunes. The happy do not need them. That is
why they preach the religion of sorrow. Every man’s misery
is their opportunity. They work upon man’s mortality, and
trade upon his fear of death. Were he immortal he would
laugh at them. As it is they can afford to laugh at him.
The King’s illness, in particular, has been a god-send to
the soul-savers of every denomination, though especially to
the parsons of the State Church. By voicing the general
�14
desire for his recovery, by battering the ears of the Almighty
•with their loud petitions, by representing every improvement
in his condition as the result of divine intervention, and,
finally, by securing that he shall publicly return thanks to
God in one of their joss-houses, they have shown themselves
what we always said they were—past-masters in the art of
deception^and imposture.
The King’s Dinner.
We do not wish to depreciate the King’s generous intention
in providing a Coronation dinner for half a million poor
people. It is something that he thinks of the destitute in
the midst of his plenty. But it is very certain that the
money—some ^£30,000—could be more profitably invested.
A dinner is eaten, digested, and assimilated; and when the
force it gives is expended it disappears for ever. What
advantage has been gained if there is no dinner on the
morrow ? If a man has to die of hunger, he may as well
die one day as the next. Evidently, then, the King’s Dinner
—however well meant—is like a dab of ointment on a running
ulcer, springing from a chronic corruption of the blood. What
is wanted is the prevention of poverty—in the sense of desti
tution of the necessaries and decencies of life. Giving dinners
will not promote that object. On the contrary, the very fact
that one person is able to pay for thirty thousand dinners,
while another person is unable to pay for one, is in itself a
sufficient proof that our civilisation rests upon an absurd and
precarious basis. Luxury at one extreme balances poverty
at the other. The too-much involves the too-little. The
�15
pride of the prince is the other side of the wretchedness of
the pauper.
Fancy half a million people in the richest city in the
world, the capital of the greatest empire on earth, to whom
a dinner is an event 1 Something to be looked forward to,
schemed for, and almost fought for. What a satire on our
boasted civilisation 1 What a scandal to Christianity ! Was
it to this end that Christ brought salvation ? After nearly
two thousand years of the gospel of redemption the world is
still so unredeemed ! Myriads who have the “ bread of life ’'
offered to them by rich soul-saving societies look around in
despair for a crust to appease their bodily hunger; and little
children cry for food, though “ of such is the kingdom of
heaven.”
But if a dinner is an event to half a million people in one
city, how many more are there to whom a dinner is an un
certainty ? And what kind of civilisation is it when the
cravings of animal appetite bar the road to intellectual and
moral progress ?
But for all the homilies of social science the King’s Dinner
will be eaten by ravenous thousands. Well-fed people are
interesting themselves in the matter. Some of them have
the ethical and religious interests of the King’s Dinner
eaters so much at heart that they insist on the meal being a
dry one. No drinks, not even a mug^of small beer. And
this in the name of Jesus Christ, who turned seventy-five
gallons of water into wine to keep a spree going ! Was there
ever greater hypocrisy ? Surely ^in the case of these poor
wretches, the square meal of a lifetime might be washed
down with something palatable. Surely, in their case, the
Bible text might be quoted, “ Let him drink and forget his
poverty, and remember his misery no more.”
It is a pity, for their own sake, that the clergy did not
squash the proposal of a Coronation Dinner. It was a grave
mistake, from their own point of view, to emphasize the con
trasting luxury and poverty of London. Nor is it reasonable
to suppose that the poor will feel grateful. They will feel
�16
nothing of the kind. They know very well that there is
“ something rotten in the state of Denmark,” though they
don’t exactly know how to set it right, and dread jumping
out of the frying-pan into the fire.
Christianity has no message for the poor except that of
kingdom-come. It contemplates the perpetual existence of
poverty. “ The poor ye have always with you.” Its gospel
is not justice, but charity. Private charity there may well
be over and beyond justice. But the one is no substitute for
the other.
It is the boast of the New Testament that “ the poor have
the gospel preached unto them.” This is all they can ever
expect from Christianity. “ Blessed be ye poor,” said Jesus
Christ, “for yours is the kingdom of heaven.” A poor
kingdom! like Sancho Panza’s governorship of that
imaginary island. It is the kingdom of earth that really
matters. The wealthy and privileged classes keep it to
themselves, and they pay a lot of tragi-comic fellows in black
to preach the kingdom of heaven to the disinherited masses.
This is the moral of the King’s Dinner.
�17
Coronation Day.
Coronation Day has come and gone at last. - It was fixed for
the end of June, but “ Providence ” played the deuce with the
arrangements. Splendid weather was turned on, and the King
knocked over. It was a nasty sarcasm on the part of that said
<c
Providence,” and a postponement was inevitable. Fortu
nately the King was taken in hand by a strong detachment
of the best doctors in the nation. Everything that skill and
care could do was done for him ; everything that money could
command was available. It is not miraculous, therefore, that
His Majesty pulled through the worst of the trouble with more
than usual celerity ; nor is it quite astonishing that his con
valescence has been remarkably rapid, for a magnificent yacht
in the Solent is certainly an ideal hospital. Science has saved
the King. But it would never do for him to say so. He has
to play his part as head of the Church as well as head of the
' State. Accordingly, in his message “ To My People ” he
gives Science the go by. Not so much as an allusion is
made to the doctors or the nurses. They will get their
rewards, of course; but they must not be thanked publicly.
Thanks have to be rendered elsewhere. The clergy must be
recognised. They got up prayers for the King’s recovery,
and they expect to receive all the credit. They are so exact
ing in these matters that the King was obliged to humor
them. “ The prayers of my people for my recovery,” he
says, “ were heard, and I now offer up my deepest gratitude
to Divine Providence.” Perhaps the King half believes this ;
he can hardly be such a fool as to believe it altogether. It is
a discreet mixture; a big sop to the clergy, and a little blague
on his own account.
We have asked this question before, and we ask it again:
Why should God save the King more than any other man in
this nation ? Monarchs are no longer indispensable. Queen
Victoria’s loss was “ irreparable,” but it was found that the
�18
earth still turned on its axis. After the lapse of a year and
a-half she is almost forgotten. King Edward’s death would
equally have left no unfillable void. The Prince of Wales
would have mounted the throne, and the loyalists would have
worshipped a new God. For loyalism is really a form of
religion. When the Prince of Wales becomes King we can
see a deity created under our very eyes. He is sanctified by
“ the divinity that doth hedge a king.” He becomes a totally
new being in the twinkling of an eye. Before, he could even
be chaffed ; now, to speak lightly of him is a species of blas
phemy. This is all nonsense, however, to the eye of reason.
Klings are but men. However high your seat, as old Mon
taigne says, you actually sit on your own posteriors. Nor,
we repeat, are kings in any way indispensable. One king
disappears—and another takes his place—“ The King is
dead—Long live the King.” And what difference is there,
from the point of view of the Infinite, between the greatest
king and the meanest of his subjects ? A dead lord, as Gray
said, ranks with commoners ; and a dead king ranks with the
mob of “ the illustrious obscure.” Unless, indeed, he is some
thing more than a king. But how few monarchs have been
able to claim the title of great men; Most of them are small
enough—except in their own estimation, or in the flattery of
their parasites. It was this truth that made Byron exclaim,
in reference to “ God save the King ” in connection with
George the Third, that it was “ a great economy in God to
save the like.” Poor men, working men, breadwinners of
families, die every day, and many of them prematurely.
They have no troop of doctors round their sick beds, no
crowd of nurses to attend to all their wants. They have to
fight death alone, and they succumb. Why does not God
save them ? Why save the father of princes and princesses,
and not the father whose death leaves his children to penury
or destitution ?
Whatever be the reason of the King’s recovery, he has
recovered, and gone through his Coronation. The Arch
bishop of Canterbury has dabbed His Majesty’s bald head>
�19
his breast, and the palms of his hands with holy oil, and
thus “ consecrated ” him in the name of the Lord. He is
now a full-blown sovereign, King in the sight of God, as well
as in the sight of men. The one thing wanting is added.
Edward the Seventh was King de facto already, but the
Church has made him King by the grace of God. He is now
both crowned and anointed—and much good may it do him !
The men and women who “assisted” at the Coronation in
Westminster Abbey were not the British nation. Neither did
they represent the British nation. Most of them were drones
or parasites. Some of them had attained to their positions by
hard work, of a kind, but these were a very small minority.
As for the idle crowd outside, one need not speak of it with
the slightest respect. There is more loyalism—perhaps we
should say royalism—to-day than ever. There is also, more
rowdyism. Forty years ago it was not common to hear lads
swearing in the streets ; it is common enough now ; and these
lads doff their hats with grotesque reverence at the sound of
“the King!” Various “odes” have appeared in the more
“ respectable ” papers. Mr. John Davidson even has joined
in the melancholy chorus. But the popular Coronation poet
laureate is the author of a tipsy song which has been shouted
on the music-hall stages, and shouted still more lustily in the
public thoroughfares :—
Drinking whisky, wine, and sherry,
We’ll all be merry
On Coronation Day.
The sentiment and poetry of these lines are worthy of the
occasion; the humbug at one end is matched by the vulgarity
at the other; and one is tempted to say that to be King over
such a mob is not an honor for which any man should thank
God too vigorously.
Humbug and vulgarity! These are the chief characteristics
of present-day loyalism. There is not a note of sincerity in
it. Journalists who should know better, and do know better,
are swept along by the popular flood. The Daily News, the
organ of the Nonconformist Conscience, put on one of its best
�20
homilectic scribes to write on “ The King’s Thanksgiving.”
There were many blunders in his article, but nothing quite
so bad as the reference to that great and noble Emperor
whose very name is music to the students of humanity.
“ The burden of Marcus Aurelius,” the Writer said, “ was not
so heavy as the burden of the ruler who presides over the
destinies of the British Empire.” - What a prostitution of
scholarship on the altar of political superstition ! Marcus
Aurelius was not a sham ruler, but a real one; the actual
burden of empire rested upon his shoulders. He governed in
fact, notin theory ; lie wielded power and bore responsibility ;•
and in all serious fighting he went through the oampaign at
the head of its army, sharing its hardships no less than, its
dangers. Such a man needed no hocus-pocus of anointing to
make him a true Emperor. The finest head and the noblest
heart in the Roman Empire, resting on the bare ground of
the tented field, wrapped in a cloak whose only distinction
was that its color was the imperial purple, and thinking out.
some point in moral philosophy before falling off into a sleep
well earned by the day-long cares of a mighty rulership,
ought not to be mentioned in the same breath with a common
place “ constitutional ” monarch, who is not the helm, but the
gilded figure-head, of the ship of State. Christendom has
never produced such rulers as the great Pagan Emperors.
The throne shed no lustre on them : they shed lustre on the
throne. They were eminent and conspicuous not only by
station, but by intellect, and character, and public ’ service.
And now, after the lapse of nearly two thousand years, and
all the pretended uplifting influence of Christianity upon the
Western world, we have nothing but “ Edward, R. and I.” to
set beside Marcus Aurelius 1 It is really too absurd. We
drop our pen in amazement at human folly.
�21
The King’s Chaplain.
This title is an Hibernicism. It should really be “the
King’s no chaplain.” But that looks and sounds odd, and
we have sacrificed strict accuracy to appearance and euphony.
The case is this. A gentleman—probably in the soul-saving
business himself—has been writing to the newspapers, com
plaining that King- Edward does not keep a chaplain on
board the royal yacht. There is a doctor to look after the
crew’s bodies, if anything goes wrong with them, but no
priest, minister, preacher, or man of God of any description,
to look after the salvation of their immortal souls. The
result is that Captain Lambton actually takes charge of
divine service when it has to be celebrated. No doubt he
gets through the job with all the proverbial dexterity of a
“handy man.” Yet he is only an amateur, after all; and
the -job requires the services of a professional. Captain
Lambton has never been consecrated. He is not endowed
with the Holy Ghost. Probably, being a sailor, he swears as
often as he prays—perhaps oftener. There is something in
the salt water, or the open sea, or the atmosphere of a ship,
or whatever it is, that encourages the use of superlative
epithets and other striking forms of expression. All the
greater, therefore, is the need of a tame Christian on board,
to dilute the nautical language down to the proper strength
for a set interview with the Almighty. Besides, a parson is
as necessary as a doctor. Not only is he required as a soul
saver, but he has his living to get, and an opening should be
made for him somewhere. It is a sad. spectacle to see a lean
curate looking longingly at the royal yacht from a distance,
when he might be pursuing his trade on board of her, and
enjoying a fine opportunity of becoming both fat and useful.
It is clear, therefore, at least from the clerical point of view,
that the King is acting improperly in sailing about without
the company of a clergyman. Nevertheless, it is conceivable
�22
that the King is acting quite properly from his own point of
view. Not that we have any right to speak for him ; only
we think that something could be said if we had the right
to say it.
Let us venture to suggest a few considerations. It will be
conceded, we imagine, that after all that Coronation ceremony
(or tomfoolery) in Westminster Abbey, following so soon upon
his severe and well-nigh fatal illness, the King is very much
in need of rest. Now a doctor is more conducive to his rest
than a clergyman. The former would say “ Take your ease,
eat and drink well, keep on deck all you can, and sleep sound
at nights.” The latter would say, “ Prepare to meet thy
God.” But we may be sure that the King is not at all
anxious to meet his God, or to spend a superfluous amount
of time in getting ready for the encounter. He was quite
near enough to meeting his God a couple of months ago. A
very distant acquaintance will do for the next ten years.
Any man, even a king, who has just narrowly escaped death,
will object to being pestered with reminders of his mortality.
In the next place, it must be admitted that the King has
been to church a good many times already, that he has
listened to a lot of sermons, and that he has heard plenty of
lessons, prayers, and hymns. He has had enough to last him
for a while. What he wants now is a holiday. He should
leave his land-life entirely behind him; and, as the parson is
a part of it, the parson is rightly told to stop on shore. When
a man is seeking new health and strength, after a very trying
illness, he does not want a soul-worrier constantly at his
elbow; but may very well say, with the gentleman in the
Acts of the Apostles, I will hear thee at a more convenient
season.
In the third place, it can hardly be assumed that the King
is in love with clergymen. As a man of the world, he must
be pretty well aware of what they are driving at. He must
know that they pursue their profession (or “ calling ”) for
ordinary business reasons. He must recognise that they
preach heaven in order to live on earth. He must have a
�23
poor opinion of them as a class, and in all probability he
loves them so that he dotes upon their very absence.
Why, in the fourth place, should the King have a chaplain
on the royal yacht for the sake of the crew ? Sailors are
seldom enamored of clergymen. They think it unlucky to
have a clergyman on board. They have an idea that it
means bad weather. We do not know why, but such is the
fact. Perhaps it is a tradition that has come down from the
days of Jonah. There was no peace till the prophet was
thrown overboard. And it may be that sailors are still of
opinion that the proper place for a chaplain is the belly of
any fish that will entertain him.
The advocates of the clergy may object that the King has
shown himself in other respects a friend of religion. Did
he not declare that it was to his people’s prayers that he
owed his recovery ? Did he not express his gratitude in con
sequence to Almighty God? Did he not “hurry up” his
Coronation, and give the clergy a chance of signalising their
services to the throne and the nation ? Did he not show his
opinion that he was only half a king until he had received
the Church’s blessing ? Yes, he did so; but it must be
remembered that he has a part to play as head of the Church
as well as head of the State. It is a very rash assumption
that his heart speaks every time he goes through a bit of
public hocus-pocus with the clergy. They play the panto
mime, and so does he ; it is a part of the “ business ” of both
their professions. They dispense the grace of God, and he
reigns by the grace of God; but when the pantomime is over
it is not surprising that he prefers their room to their company.
For our part, we commend the King’s common sense in
taking his sea-trip without a ghostly companion—a person
who habitually wears black to suggest a funeral, and occa
sionally puts on a cassock to suggest a shroud. It will be
time enough to resume touch with the mystery-mongers
when his holiday is over. Sufficient unto the day is the evil
thereof.
�24
The Thanksgiving Comedy.
The great Coronation farce is drawing to a close. Soon
after this article meets the readers’ eyes the curtain will be
rung down, the .performers will be disrobing, and the spec
tators will be streaming home. What the performers think
of the spectators, and what the spectators think of the
performers, will not appear in the newspapers. The con
ventional platitudes and unctuosities will be printed. No
body will talk sense or truth. It will be all fireworks and
“ God save the King.”
On Saturday the King and Queen will drive into the City
and home again by way of South London. Those who wish
to bask in the sunshine of the royal countenance will enjoy
their opportunity. They will find it cheap this time. Seats
can now be had for the price of an old song. The first fine
careless rapture is gone. It is impossible to bring back the
loyal ecstacy of June. The psychological moment went by,
and the psychological moment never returns.
On Sunday the King will take another drive. Accom
panied by the Queen and other members of the Royal
Family (capitals, please), he will attend a Thanksgiving
Service (more capitals, please) at St. Paul’s Cathedral.
There is to be a “ small procession,” but nothing very “loud.”
For did not “ Providence ” humble the King’s or the nation’s
pride in June ? And is it safe to offer another provocation ?
His Majesty, however, will be met at the west door, at the
top of the great flight of steps, by the Bishop, the Dean, and
the Canons Residentiary; a procession will then be formed
by the Lord Mayor, bearing the pearl sword, immediately
preceding the King and Queen; and the whole troupe will
appear before the Lord in a highly distinguished and effective
manner.
The two Psalms selected for the service are the thirtieth
and the hundred and eighth. The former opens as follows:—
�25
“ I will extol thee, 0 Lord ; for thou hast lifted me up, and
hast not made my foes to rejoice over me. 0 Lord, my God,
I cried unto thee, and thou hast healed me. 0 Lord, thou
hast brought up my soul from the grave : thou hast kept me
alive, that I should not go down to the pit.”
We presume this will be regarded as the King’s address
Jehovah. Certainly he has been spared from the “ grave ”
and the “ pit,” which mean precisely the same thing. In
other words, he has had his trip to heaven postponed. He
would rather not take it while the royal yacht holds out for
better excursions. He has a good taste in personal enjoy
ment. “ If you want a good thing keep near me,” might be
his motto. But he is obliged to adopt something more
“respectable.” So absurd is the divinity that doth hedge a
King.
It must be admitted that the Lord has let a good many go
down into the pit since he reprieved King Edward. Some of
them, too, were of much more importance to the world.
Zola, for instance—a great writer and a noble man—might
have been saved from that absurd death by suffocation, and
allowed to complete the work of his genius. Nor should
humbler instances be overlooked. How many a bread
winner’s life has been cut short disastrously since the month
of June. How many widows and orphans have been cast
amongst the wreckage of society. Why, O why, should the
Lord be careful of kings and careless of poor working men ?
We thought he was no respecter of persons. Yes, that is
the text; and the flunkey Thanksgiving Service is the com
mentary.
The Bishop of London is to bo the preacher at this
Thanksgiving Service. He was done—by “ Providence ”—
out of the five minutes that he was to have had for a sermon
at the Coronation. But now he is to have his revenge.
“ Providence ” will have to put up with it, and the King will
have to listen. It is to be presumed, however, that Dr.
Ingram is courtier enough to “ cut it short.” God will think
twice, a French lady said, before he damns a gentleman of
�26
quality; and the Bishop of London will think twice before
he inflicts a long sermon upon his King.
We read of provision to be made at St. Paul’s Cathedral
for all sorts of persons, including pressmen, who are all sorts
in themselves. But we see nothing about provision for the
King’s doctors. It was they, and not the ghost behind the
curtain, who kept him out of the “ pit.” Everybody with a
grain of common sense knows that if it had not been for
their skill and attention, backed up by the finest nursing and
other adjuncts that could be had for love or money, all the
prayers in the world would never have saved King Edward
from becoming a corpse. An operation was absolutely
necessary, and that particular operation has only been prac
tised for a few years. Not so long ago, even the doctors and
the parsons together could not have saved the King’s life.
And prayer was just as efficacious then as it is now. It is
science that has improved.
Probably the King himself knows why he is still alive.
But his position is an awkward one. He must satisfy the
clergy or make them his implacable enemies. The per
formance at St. Paul’s Cathedral must therefore be gone
through. But we dare say no one will be happier than him
self when it is all over.
�27
The “ D.T.’s.”
The Daily Telegraph was once said to be run by a Jew in
the interest of Christianity. The original Hebrew of the
tribe of Levi who got hold of it traded a good deal on the
eheap, shallow, popular writing of George Augustus Sala.
And thereby hangs a tale. Mr. Sala (it is said) in the early
days of the connection was instructed to write a rousing
article on the Crucifixion. It was to appear the day before
Good Friday, and the great G. A. S. wrote it at home, and
took it down to Fleet-street himself—which was the cause of
all the trouble. For on the way down Mr. Sala, who was
not, a teetotaller, met several friends, and the journey was
broken by the usual adjournments. When he arrived at the
D. T. office he was eagerly received by the aforesaid Hebrew
gentleman of the tribe of Levi, who had begun to despair of
that particular contribution. “Ah, Mr. Sala,” he said, “I’m
very glad to see you. Have you brought the article ? ”
f Yes,” replied the welcome contributor, and he held it out.
But just at that moment he was seized with a fit of maudlin
compunction. “You sha’n’t have it,” he stammered; “it
was you----- Jews who crucified the Savior. You shan’t
have it! You shan’t have it I ” And he reeled over and
dropped the article into the fire. There was consternation
in the editorial office, and weeping and wailing and gnashing
of teeth on the part of the self-disgusted contributor, when
he was able to realise the terrible sacrifice he had made on
the altar of a too-well stimulated piety.
Many, many years have rolled by since the probable,
possible, or mythical date of that touching incident. But the
Daily Telegrph still maintains its pious reputation. Was it
not the D. I7., in the early seventies of last century, when
Albert Edward Prince of Wales was down with typhoid
fever,, that invited us all to watch the great national wave
of prayer surging against the throne of Grace ? Was it not
�28
the D. T. that almost told God he would forget himself if he
let the Prince die ? And was it not the D. T., when the
Prince recovered, that sang the loudest in the Thanksgiving
Chorus ? The D. T. “ caught on ” to British piety on that
occasion, and it has held on ever since.
Our Jew-Christian or Christian-Jew contemporary came
out on Monday with a magnificent article on the Thanks
giving Service at St. Paul’s Cathedral. It was written in
the fine bold style that Matthew Arnold so much admired,
and so celebrated in the Dedicatory Letter of Friendship's
Garland. Yes, Adolescens Leo, Esq., is still the same.
Time has not impaired his youthful vigor. It has not even
mellowed him. He roars with the same robust music. He
displays the same unction in his moments of piety. The
voice breaks, the tears fall; and a large admiring public
gazes spellbound at the pathetic spectacle.
“ If the King’s life,” our contemporary said, “ was pre
cious to his people before his grave illness, it is doubly so
now, in that his subjects throughout the world devoutly
believe that he was restored to health in direct answer to
their supplications and intercessions.”
We doubt if the writer believes a word of this. Probably
he had his tongue in his cheek from the beginning to the
end of the sentence. Anyhow it is not true that all the
King’s subjects “ devoutly believe ” in the supernatural
character of his recovery. Many of them believe they could
have recovered themselves—with or without prayer—in the
same circumstances. With a number of the first doctors in
the land, with the best nursing skill obtainable for love or
money, and with every other conceivable advantage that
ample wealth and lofty position could afford, it is very diffi
cult to see much room for divine assistance in the King’s
case. When there are six doctors and one God, will some
one tell us how the celestial share in the patient’s treatment
is to be calculated ?
According to the Bible, the doctors are a sort of interlopers
in any kind of illness. But upon this point our contemporary
�29
is discreetly silent. There is no reason, however, why we
should practise the same hypocrisy. We beg to observe,
therefore, that the Bible persistently sneers at doctors. In
.the Old Testament we read that things went wrong with
King Asa because in his sickness he sought unto the physi
cians instead of unto the Lord. In the New Testament we
read of the woman who had “ suffered much of many physi
cians,” and was made worse rather than better, until at last
she was healed by the power of faith. Definite directions
also are given about what should be done by believers in
time of sickness. There is the calling in of elders, the
anointing of the sick, and the praying over them ; but there
is no reference to calling in a doctor. Indeed, it is expressly
said that “the prayer of faith shall recover the sick,” so that
all the other proceedings are purely formal. Such is the
teaching of the Bible-—the book which both Church and
Chapel force into the hands of the children in our public
schools ; yet no one has the honesty to admit it except Free
thinkers and a handful of Peculiar People—so called, per
haps, beeause they have the peculiarity of squaring their
practice with their profession.
Let us ask- our, contemporary a question. If it be true
•that the King’s restoration to health is owing to the prayers
of his people, is it honest to send poor parents to prison for
■relying upon prayer to save their sick children? If the
doctrine of the efficacy of prayer be true at Buckingham
Palace, how does it become false at Barking ? And if it be
right to thank God in a Cathedral for saving the life of a
King, how is it wrong to trust the same God to save the life
of a little child in a poor man’s cottage ?
So much for the Daily Telegraph. And now a few words
on the Bishop of London. This right reverend Father-inthe-Lord was allowed five minutes for his Thanksgiving
Sermon. That was all the King could spare him. But the
Bishop made good use of the time. Never was there a worse
exhibition of flunkeyism. Dr. Ingram expressed no end of
astonishment that King Edward had twice—yes, actually,
�30
twice—been near death. Such things, of course, are never
heard of in the case of ordinary men. God meant some
thing by saving the King’s life a second time; yes, it
was to be thought that “ God had some plan for that life
of special service and usefulness and strength.” Altogether,
if we may judge by the rest of the preacher’s observations
on this head, the Almighty has been thinking of little else of
late but the respectable, though not very brilliant, gentleman
who happens to occupy the throne of Great Britain and
Ireland. All the rest of the world has presumably to look
on and wonder—and wait for its share of divine attention.
Dr. Ingram thought it necessary to refer to “ the instru
ments God used.” Courtier-like he mentioned first “the noble
lady who was constantly by the patient’s side ”—just as
though it were an uncommon thing for wives to tend their
husbands. Then came “the surgeons and physicians, whose
untiring skill and care were of so great avail,” and last “ the
nurses who were so faithful in their service.” Yet the
object of the Thanksgiving Service was not to sing their
praises, but to “ honor God.” For without his spoken word
“ all skill and all nursing is unavailing.” Now what is the
legitimate inference from these expressions ? Why, this.
Doctors and nurses must attend the sick; it is not safe to
leave a patient entirely in the Lord’s hands; God can do
nothing without instruments; but, on the other hand, if the
doctors and nurses pull the patient through his trouble, it is
really not their doing, for all their skill and attention is
useless if God does not give the word for the patient’s
recovery. Such is the mental muddle in which we find a
Bishop and a most “ distinguished ” congregation at the
beginning of the twentieth contury.
�SOME WORKS BY G. W. FOOTE
A Defence of Free Speech. Three Hours’ Address
to the Jury before Lord Coleridge.
4d._
Bible Handbook for Freethinkers and Inquiring
Christians. New edition, revised. Cloth, 2s. 6d.; paper,
Is. 6d.
Bible Heroes. New edition. Cloth, 2s. 6d.
Bible Romances. New edition, revised. Cloth, 2s.
Book of God in the Light of the Higher Criticism.
Cloth, 2s. ; paper, Is.
Christianity and Secularism. Four Nights’ Public
Debate with the Rev. Dr. James McCann. Cloth Is. 6d.
paper, Is.
Crimes of Christianity. Cloth, 2s. 6d.
Flowers of Freethought. First series, cloth, 2s. 6d. ;
Second series, cloth, 2s. 6d.
Grand Old Book, The.
A Reply to the Grand Old
Cloth, Is. 6d.; paper, Is.
Is Socialism Sound ? Four Nights’ Public Debate
with Annie Besant. Cloth 2s.; paper, Is.
Man.
Letters to the Clergy. Is.
Theism or Atheism. Public Debate between G. W
Foote and the Rev. W. T. Lee. Neatly bound, Is.
Letters to Jesus Christ. 4d.
Peculiar People. An Open Letter to Mr. Justice
Wills.
Id.
Philosophy of Secularism. 3d.
Royal Paupers. 2d.
Sign of the Cross, The. A Candid Criticism of Mr
Wilson Barrett’s Play.
6d.
Christianity and Progress. A Reply to the Rt. Hon
W. E. Gladstone.
Id.
Comic Sermons and Other Fantasias. Paper, 8d.
Darwin on God. 6d.
Dropping the Devil. 2d.
The Passing of Jesus. 2d.
What is Agnosticism ? 3d,
�Progressive People should read
THE FREETHINKER
(EDITED BY G. W. FOOTE )
The Oldest and Liveliest Freethought Paper in England
Established in 1881
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY.
PRICE TWOPENCE
2 Newcastle-street, Farringdon-street, London, E.C.
The New Paper
THE
PIONEER ;
A POPULAR PROPAGANDIST
ORGAN
OF
ADVANCED IDEAS
PUBLISHED MONTHLY.
PRICE ONE PENNY.
The Pioneer Press, 2 Newcastle-street, Farringdon-street, London, E.C:
�
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Victorian Blogging
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A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library & Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span>
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Conway Hall Ethical Society
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God save the king, and other coronation articles, by an English Republican (G.W. Foote)
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Foote, G. W. (George William) [1850-1915]
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Place of publication: London
Collation: v, [6]-30, [2] p. ; 19 cm.
Notes: Publisher's advertisements ("Some works by G.W. Foote") on unnumbered pages at the end. First published in The Freethinker, June-October 1902. Part of the NSS pamphlet collection.
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The Pioneer Press
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1903
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N241
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Republicanism
Monarchy
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Republicanism-England
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national secular society
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DEATH'S TESTt^
OR
CHRISTIAN LIES ABOUT DYING INFIDELS.
“Those thetr idle tales of dying horrors.”— Carlyle.
There has recently been hawked about the streets of
London a penny pamphlet, called “ Death’s Test on
Christians and Infidels—Echoes from Seventy Death Beds.”
It is not an original performance, but has been “compiled
by R. May,” who appears to be a city missionary, and who
evidently possesses about as much intelligence and know
ledge of literature as usually belongs to that class of men.
Intrinsically, the pamphlet is beneath contempt, but it may
deceive many unsuspecting minds, and in response to
numerous invitations I have decided to honor it with a
reply. Reuben May is an insignificant person; yet like
other venomous little creatures he may cause annoyance to
his betters. I detest all vermin and would gladly shun
them. But sometimes they pester one beyond endurance,
and then one is obliged to sacrifice his dignity and to act
in the spirit of Swift’s maxim, “ If a flea bite me I’ll kill it
if I can.”
Before, however, I reply to Reuben May’s ridiculous com
pilation, let me deal briefly with the subject of
Death-Bed Repentance.
Carlyle, in his essay on Voltaire, has a memorable passageon this subject.
Reuben May, with other Christian
scribblers, is probably alike ignorant and careless of its
existence; but the great authority of Carlyle will have its
due weight in the minds of unprejudiced seekers for truth.
“ Surely the parting agonies of a fellow-mortal, when the
spirit of our brother, rapt in the whirlwinds and thick _ ghastly
vapours of death, clutches blindly for help, and no help is there,
are not the scenes where a wise faith would seek to exult, when
it can no longer hope to alleviate! For the rest, to touch
farther on those their idle tales of dying horrors, remorse, and the
�2
death’s test.
like ; to write of such, to believe them, or disbelieve them, or in
anywise discuss them, were but a continuation of the same
ineptitude. He who, after the imperturbable exit of so many
Cartouches and Thurtells, in every age of the world, can continue
to regard the manner of a man’s death as a test of his religious
orthodoxy, may boast himself impregnable to merely terrestrial
logic.”—“ Essays,” vol. ii., p. 161.
Reuben May and his silly coadjutors are no doubt “ im
pregnable to merely terrestrial logic.” It would probably
require a miracle to drive common sense into their heads.
But I trust there are other readers more accessible to reason,
and it is for them I write, even at the risk of being thought
guilty of “ the same ineptitude ” as those who manufacture
or believe the “ idle tales of dying horrors.”
Suppose an “ infidel” recants his heresy on his death-bed,
what does it prove ? Simply nothing. Infidels are com
paratively few, their relatives are often orthodox; and if,
when their minds are enfeebled by disease or the near
approach of death, they are surrounded by persons who
continually urge them to be reconciled with the religion they
have denied, it is not astonishing that they sometimes yield.
But such cases are exceedingly rare. Most men die as they
have lived.
Old men form the majority of these rare cases, and them
recantation is easily understood. Having usually been
brought up in the Christian religion, their earliest and
tenderest memories are probably connected with it; and
when they lie down to die they may naturally recur to it,
just as they may forget whole years of their maturity and
vividly remember the scenes of their childhood. Old age
yearns back to the cradle, and as Dante Rossetti says—
“Life all past
Is like the sky when the sun sets in it,
Clearest where furthest off.”
It is said that converted Jews always die Jews ; and mission
aries in India know well that converts to Christianity
frequently, if not generally, die in their native faith. The
reason is obvious. Only strong minds can really emanci
pate themselves from superstition, and it needs a lifetime of
settled conviction to undo the work of the pious misguiders
-of our youth.
Christians who attach importance to the “ death-bed
�DEATIl’S TEST.
3
Decantations of infidels ” pay their own religion a poor com
pliment. They imply that the infidel’s rejection of their
creed while his mind is clear and strong is nothing to his
acceptance of it when his mind is weak and confused. They
virtually declare that his testimony to the truth of their
creed is of most value when he is least capable of judging
it. At this rate Bedlam and Colney-Hatch should decide
our faith. There are some people who think it could not
be much more foolish if they did.
Cases of recantation are rarer now than ever. Sceptics
are numbered by thousands and they can nearly always
secure the presence at their bedsides of friends who share
their unbelief. Freethought journals almost every week
report the quiet end of sceptics who having lived without
hypocrisy have died without fear.
Christians know this. They therefore abandon the idea
of manufacturing fresh death-bed stories, and stick to the
old ones which have been refuted again and again. But
surely it is time we had some fresh ones. Voltaire and
Paine have been dead a long time, and many great Free
thinkers have died since. Why do we hear nothing about
them 2 Why have not the recantation-mongers concocted a
nice little story about the death of John Stuart Mill, of
Professor Clifford, of Strauss, of Feuerbach, or of Comte ?
Because they know the lie would be exposed at once. They
must wait until these great Freethinkers have, like Voltaire
and. Paine, been dead a century, before they can hope to
defame them with success. Our cry to such pious rascals is
“Hands off!” Refute the arguments of Freethinkers if
you can, but do not obtrude your disgusting presence in the
death chamber, or vent your malignity over their graves.
On the Continent, however, there have been a few recent
attempts in this line. One was in the case of
Isaac Gendre,
the
Swiss Freethinker.
The controversy over this gentleman’s death was sum
marised in the London Echo, of July 29th, 1881.
“A second case of death-bed conversion of an eminent
'Liberal to Roman Catholicism, suggested probably by that of
the great French philologist Littre, has passed the round of the
Swiss papers. A few days ago the veteran Leader of the Frei
burg Liberals, M. Isaac Gendre, died. The Ami du Peuple, the
�4
death’s test.
organ of the Freiburg Ultramontanes, immediately set afloat the
sensational news that when M. Gendre found that his last hour
was approaching he sent his brother to fetch a priest, in order
that the last sacraments might be administered to him, and the
evil which he had done during his life by his persistent Liberalism
might, he atoned by his repentance at the eleventh hour. This
brother, IV!. Alexandre Gendre, now writes to the paper stating
that there is not one word of truth in the story. What possible
benefit can any Church derive from the invention of such tales ?
Doubtless there is a credulous residuum which believes that
there must be ‘some truth ’ in anything which has once appeared
in print.”
It might be added that many people readily believe what
pleases them, and that a lie which has a good start is very
hard to run down.
Another case was that of
M. Littee,
the great French Positivist, who died a few months ago at
the ripe age of eighty-one. M. Littre was one of the fore
most writers in France. His monumental “ Dictionary of
the French Language ” is the greatest work of its kind in
the world. As a scholar and a philosopher his eminence
was universally recognised. His character was so pure and
sweet that a Catholic lady called him “ a saint who does not
believe in God.” Although not rich, his purse was ever
open to the claims of charity. He was one who “ did good
by stealth,” and his benefactions were conferred without
respect to creed. A Freethinker himself, he patronised the
Catholic orphanage near his residence, and took a keen
interest in the welfare of its inmates. He was an honor to
France, to the world, and to the Humanity which he loved
and served instead of God.
M. Littre’s wife was an ardent Catholic, yet she was
allowed to follow her own religious inclinations without the
least interference. The great Freethinker valued liberty of
conscience above all other rights, and what he claimed for
himself he conceded to others. He scorned to exercise
authority even in the domestic circle, where so much tyranny
is practised. His wife, however, was less scrupulous. After
enjoying for so many years the benefit of his steadfast tole
ration, she took advantage of her position to exclude his
friends from his death-bed, to have him baptised in his last
�DEATH S TEST.
O
moments, and to secure his burial in consecrated ground
with pious rites. Not satisfied with this, she even allowed
it to be understood that her husband had recanted his heresy
-and died in the bosom of the church. The Abbe Huvelin,
her confessor, who frequently visited M. Littre during his
last illness, assisted her in the fraud.
There was naturally a disturbance at M. Littre’s funeral.
As the Standard correspondent wrote, his friends and
-disciples were “ very angry at this recantation in extremis,
and claimed that dishonest priestcraft took advantage of the
■darkness cast over that clear intellect by the mist of
approaching death to perform the rites of the church over
his semi-inanimate body.” While the body was laid out in
Catholic fashion, with crucifixes, candles, and priests telling
their beads, Dr. Galopin advanced to the foot of the coffin,
•and spoke as follows :
“ Master, you used to call me your son, and you loved me. I
remain your disciple and your defender. I come, in the name of
Positive Philosophy, to claim the rights of universal Freemasonry.
A deception has been practised upon us, to try and steal you
from thinking humanity. But the future will judge your enemies
and ours. Master, we will revenge you by making our children
read your books.”
At the grave, M. Wyrouboff, editor of the Comtist review,
La Philosophic Positive, founded by M. Littre, delivered a
‘brief address to the Freethinkers who remained, which con
cluded thus:—
“ Littre proved by his example that it is possible for a man to
possess a noble and generous heart, and at the same time espouse
a doctrine which admits nothing beyond what is positively real,
and which prevents any recantation. And, gentlemen, in spite
of deceptive appearances, Littre died as he had lived, without contra
dictions or weakness. All those who knew that calm and serene
mind—and I was of the number of those who did—are well
aware that it was irrevocably closed to the ‘ unknowable,’ and
that it was thoroughly prepared to meet courageously the irre
sistible laws of nature. And now sleep in peace, proud and noble
thinker! You will not have the eternity of a world to come
which you never expected; but you leave behind you your
■country that you strove honestly to serve, the Republic which
you always loved, a generation of disciples who will remain
faithful to you, and last, but not least, you leave your thoughts
And your virtues to the whole world. Social immortality, the
�f
q
death’s test.
only beneficent and fecund immortality, commences for you
to-day.”
M. Wyrouboff has since amply proved his statements.
The English press creditably rejected the story of M.
Littre’s recantation. The Daily News sneered at it, the Times
described it as absurd, the Standard said it looked untrue.
But the Morning Advertiser was still more outspoken. It
said—
“ There can hardly be a doubt that M. Littre died a steadfast
adherent to the principles he so powerfully advocated during his
laborious and distinguished life. The Church may claim, as our
Paris correspondent in his interesting note on the subject tells us
she is already claiming, the death-bed conversion of the great un
believer, who for the iast thirty-five years was one of her most
active and formidable enemies. She has attempted to take the
same posthumous revenge on Voltaire, on Paine, and on many
others who are described by Roman Catholic writers as calling
in the last dreadful hour for the spiritual support they held up to
ridicule in the confidence of health and the presumption of their
intellect.”
In the Paris Gaulois there appeared a letter from the
Abbe Huvelin, written very ambiguously and obviously
intended to mislead. But one fact stands out clear. This
priest was only admitted to visit M. Littre as a friend, and
he was not allowed to baptise him.
The Archbishop of
Paris also, in his official organ, La Semaine lleligieuse,
admits that “ he received the sacrament of baptism on the
morning of the very day of his death, not from the hands of
the priest, who had not yet arrived, hut from those of Madame
LittreT The Archbishop, however, insists that he “ received
the ordinance in perfect consciousness and with his own
full consent.” Now as M. Littre was eighty-one years old,
as he had been for twelve months languishing with a feeble
hold on life, during which time he was often in a state of.
stupor, and as this was the very morning of his death, I
leave the reader to estimate the value of what the Arch
bishop calls “ perfect consciousness and full consent.” If
any consent was given by the dying Freethinker it was only
to gratify his wife and daughter, and at the last moment
when he had no will to resist; for if he had been more com
pliant they would certainly have baptised him before. Sub
mission in these circumstances counts for nothing ; and in
any case there is forceful truth in M. Littre’s words, written.
�death’s test.
in 1879 in his “Conservation, Revolution, et Positivisme ”
—“ a whole life passed without any observance of religious rites
must outweigh the single final act.”
Unfortunately for the clericals there exists a document
which may be considered M. Littre’s last confession. It is
an article written for the Comtist review a year before his
death, entitled “Pour la Derniere Fois”—For the Last
Time. While writing it he knew that his end was not far
off. “For many months,” he says, “my sufferings have
prostrated me with dreadful persistence. . . . Every evening,
when I have to be put to bed my pains are exasperated, and
often I have not the strength to stifle cries which are
grievous to me and grievous to those who tend me.” After
the article was completed his malady increased. Fearing
the worst he wrote to his friend, M. Caubet, as follows :—
“ Last Saturday I swooned away for a long time. It is for
that reason I send you, a little prematurely, my article for the
Review. If 1 live, I will correct the proofs as usual. If I die,
let it be printed and published in the Review as a posthumous
article. It will be a last trouble which I venture to give you.
The reader must do his best to follow the manuscript faithfully.”
If I live—If I die ! These are the words of one in the
shadow of Death.
Let us see what M. Littre’s last confession is. I trans
late two passages from the article. Referring to Charles
G-reville, he says :—
“I feel nothing of what he experienced. Like him, I find it
impossible to accept the theory of the world which Catholicism
*
prescribes to all true believers; but I do not regret being with
out such doctrines, and I cannot discover in myself any wish to
return to them.”
And he concludes the article with these words :—
“Positive Philosophy, which has so supported me since my
thirtieth year, and which, in giving me an ideal, a craving for
progress, the vision of history and care for humanity, has pre
served me from being a simple negationist, accompanies me
faithfully in these last trials. The questions it solves in its own
way, the rules it prescribes by virtue of its principle, the beliefs
it discountenances in the name of our ignorance of every thing
absolute ; of these I have, in the preceding pages made an ex* To a Frenchman Catholicism and Christianity mean one and the
same thing.
�8
death’s test.
amination, which I conclude with the supreme word of the com
mencement : for the last time.”
So much for the lying story of M. Littre’s recantation.
In the words of M. Wyrouboff, although his corpse was
accompanied to the grave by priests and believers, his name
will go down to future generations as that of one who was
to the end “ a servant of science and an enemy to super
stition.”
Having disposed of M. Littre’s case I return to Reuben
May’s trumpery pamphlet, dealing first with
His Pkefa.ce,
which is a wonderful piece of writing. His fitness to write
on any subject is shown by the following passage:
“I have avoided selecting cases which some would call ‘dying
fancies,’ ‘imagination,’ and ‘ visions.’ Such cases there are, both
on record and within the observation of many of those who have
widely attended the sick and dying; and although we refrain
from entering into the subject here, this is remarkable about
such cases, viz., that they are generally of two distinct classes—
(1) visions of angels, hearing beautiful music, seeing beautiful
places, etc.; (2) of those who have great fear, despondency, and
alarm; seeing fiends, smelling brimstone, feeling scorched by a
huge fire, etc. I believe invariably the first are those who have
professed religion in health, and the latter those who have
neglected it. Anyhow, my personal observation confirms this
opinion.”
If ever a Colney Hatch Gazette is started the proprietors
would do well to engage Reuben May as editor.
Another passage is very interesting:
“There is an intelligent man, close upon fourscore years of
age, now residing in the centre of London, and who I hope is a
Christian, who has for the greater part of his life—for reasons
not necessary to mention here—been conversant and mixed up
with, the followers of the leading infidel lecturers, past and
present, who says, that he has had an opportunity to watch very
many such to their closing earthly days, and that never has a
single instance come under his notice but that there was a
desire to turn from infidelity and in most to receive the con
solations of religion.”
Why is not this “ intelligent man’s ” name given ? Be•cause the lie might then be exposed. Why has he watched
so many infidel death-beds, and how did he obtain so many
opportunities ? Why does Mr. May only hope the man is a
�death’s test.
9
Christian ? If he does not know him well enough to be
sure, how can he have the audacity to publish such a
sweeping assertion on the man’s bare word ? Against this
anonymous and general testimony I put the specific fact that
our journals constantly publish cases of Freethinkers who
have died thoroughly convinced of the truth of their prin
ciples, and without the slightest misgiving ; cases in which
the names and addresses are given, not only of the deceased,
but also of the friends who were with him to the last. For
my own part, I have known many Freethinkers who were
steadfast unto death, but I have never known a single case of
recantation. Nor do I believe Reuben May has. If he has
let him give name, address, place and time, so that it may
be authenticated.
A word as to this pious scribbler’s method of compilation.
He says that “ the cases selected are from various published
and acknowledged authentic works.” What does the man
mean ? An authentic work is simply one written by the
author whose name it bears. Am I to suppose that Mr.
May believes everything he sees in print ? If not, I should
like to know what trouble he has taken to verify the stories
he has printed. My belief is that he has taken none. He
seems to have become possessed of a few antiquated works,
and to have spoiled a quantity of good paper in copying
from them what suited his purpose. What are
His Authorities?
Dr. Simpson’s “ Plea for Religion,” the Rev. Erskine
Neale’s “ Closing Scenes,” and a few more works of that
kind. They are all written by special pleaders ; not one of
them has any authority in the world of literature ; and at
the very best they are worth very little, since none of their
authors witnessed the scenes which are alleged to have taken
place at the death-beds of infidels. Mr. May should have
gone to original sources. No doubt his meagre acquaintance
with literature prevented him from doing so, and perhaps he
thought any stick was good enough to beat the infidel dog.
In exposing him, however, I shall go to original sources, and
the information I give may be useful to ignorant Reuben
May as well as to other readers.
.Erskine Neale’s “ Closing Scenes ” is first laid under con
tribution in the case of
�10
death’s test.
Thomas Paine
The author’s strong bias is apparent in almost' every line.
He describes “ Common Sense ” as a “ clever but malignant
pamphlet.” He states that Paine, when he returned to
America in 1802, was suffering from “intemperance and a
complication of disorders.” He does not cite any authority
in support of the charge of intemperance, nor does he inform
the reader that hard drinking was the custom in Paine’s
time. Fox, the great Whig statesman, was frequently
inebriated, and his great Tory rival, William Pitt, the
Premier of England, was often carried drunk to bed. Mr.
Neale also omits to mention the honorable circumstance
that Paine’s “ complication of disorders ” was brought on by
his long imprisonment in a dungeon of the Luxembourg, for
having, as a member of the National Assembly, spoken and
voted against the execution of Louis XVI.
Mr. Neale cites “an eyewitness” of Paine’s “closing
scene,” but this anonymous person does not pretend that
*
Paine recanted.
He dwells on the fact that the dying
infidel “ required some person to be with him at night, urging
as his reason that he was afraid he should die unattended.”
There is, however, nothing wonderful in this. Few men, I
presume, would like to be left alone on their death-bed.
He further states that Paine called out, in his paroxysms of
pain, “ O Lord, help me 1 God, help me I Jesus Christ,
help me I O Lord, help me ! ” But surely no man would
attach any importance to ejaculations like these. Hospital
attendants will tell you that patients utter all sorts of cries
in their agony, without meaning anything by them. Vanini,
who was burnt to death as an Atheist at Toulouse, in 1619,
is reported to have cried out on seeing the stake, “Ah, my
God 1 ” On which a bystander said, “ You believe in God,
then ; ” and he retorted, “ No, it’s a fashion of speaking.”
This anonymous eyewitness himself refutes the story of
Paine’s recantation, in the following passage:—
“ I took occasion, during the night of the 5th and 6th of June,
to test the strength of his opinions respecting revelation. I pur
posely made him a very late visit; it was a time which seemed
to suit my errand ; it was midnight. He was in great distress,
constantly exclaiming the words above-mentioned, when, after a
Probably Dr. Manley.
�death’s test.
11
considerable preface, I addressed him in the following manner,
the nurse being present:—
“ ‘Mr. Paine, your opinions, by a large portion of the com
munity, have been treated with deference ; you have never been
in the habit of mixing in your conversation words of coarse
meaning; you have never indulged in the practice of profane
swearing ; you must be sensible that we are acquainted with
your religious opinions, as they are given to the world. What
must we think of your present conduct? Why do you call
upon Jesus Christ to help you ? Do you believe that he can
help you? Do you believe in the divinity of Jesus Christ?
Come, now, answer me honestly; I want an answer as from the
lips of a dying man, for I verily believe that you will not live
twenty-four hours.’ I paused some time at the end of every
question. He did not answer, but ceased to exclaim in the above
manner. Again I addressed him: ‘Mr. Paine, you have not
answered my questions : will you answer them ? Allow me to
ask again, do you believe, or—let me qualify the question—do
you wish to believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?”
After a pause of some minutes he answered, ‘ I have NO WISH TO
believe on that subject.’ I then left him, and know not whether
he afterwards spoke to any person on any subject, though he
lived, as I before observed, a few hours longer—in fact, till the
morning of the Sth.”
Reuben May probably thought it impolitic to rest here.
He therefore made another extract from “ The Life and
Gospel Labours of Stephen Grellet.” This pious worthy
states that a young woman, named Mary Roscoe, frequently
took Paine some delicacies from a neighbor. To this young
woman, according to Stephen Grellet, he confided a secret
which he never revealed to his dearest friends. He told
her, With respect to his “Age of Reason,” that “ if ever the
devil ■ had • any agency in any work, he has had it in my
writing that book ; ” and she repeatedly heard him exclaim
“ Lord Jesus, have mercy on me ! ”
Now this young woman is no doubt Mary Hinsdale, the
servant of . Mr. Willett Hicks, a Quaker gentleman who
showed Paine great kindness during his last days. Her
story was published and widely circulated by the Religious
Tract Society in 1824. William Cobbett, who admired
Paine as a politician although he dissented strongly from his
religious views, published a conclusive reply.
While in
America he had investigated the affair. He had called on
Mary Hinsdale herself, at the instance of Charles Collins,
who wanted him to state in his contemplated Life of Paine
�12
death’s test.
that he had recanted. She shuffled, evaded, and equivo
cated ; she said it was a long time ago, and she could
not speak positively. Cobbett left in disgust, thinking the
woman a match for the Devil in cunning. He concludes his
exposure of the recantation story thus:
“ This is, I think, a pretty good instance of the lengths to
which hypocrisy will go. . _ . . . Mr. Paine declares in his last
will, that he retains all his publicly expressed opinions as to
religion. His executors, and many other gentlemen of un
doubted veracity, had the same declaration from his dying lips.
Mr. Willett Hicks visited him to nearly the last. This gentleman
says that there was no change of opinion intimated to him ; and
will any man believe that Paine would have withheld from Mr.
Hicks that which he was so forward to communicate to Mr.
Hicks’s servant girl ? ”
Cheetham, who libelled Paine in everything else, acknow
ledged that he died without any change in his opinions.
And this Mary Hinsdale, subsequently trying to play the
same trick on the reputation of an obnoxious young lady,
Mary Lockwood, as she had played on Paine’s, was proved
by the young lady’s friends to be a deliberate liar.
Perhaps the best answer to the lying story of Paine’s re
cantation, is to be found in the fact that he wrote the
second part of his “Age of Reason” in the Luxembourg, while
under apprehension of the guillotine. He states this in the
Preface. “ I had then,” he writes, “ little hope of surviving.
I know, therefore, by experience, the conscientious trial of
my principles.” Clio Kickman (p. 194) gives also the
testimony of Dr. Bond, an English surgeon in the suite of
General O’Hara, who said:
“Mr. Paine, while hourly expecting to die, read to me parts
of his “ Age of Reason and every night when I left him to be
separately locked up, and expected not to see him alive in the
morning, he always expressed his firm belief in the principles of
that book, and begged I would tell the world such were his
dying opinions.” .
The subject may be left here. I think I have disposed of
Reuben May’s authorities, and satisfactorily shown that
Thomas Paine died as he lived “ an enemy to the Christian
religion.”
Next comes the case of
V OLTAIRE.
This splendid Freethinker, whose name is a battle-flag in
�death’s test.
13
the hottest strife between Reason and Faith, has been the
•subject of more malignant slander than even Thomas Paine.
Superstition has reeled from the blows of his arguments and
writhed from the shafts of his wit, but it has partly avenged
itself by heaping upon his memory a mountain of lies.
Reuben May does not name the author of his section on
Voltaire. Most of it is a translation from the Abbe Barruel,
■who evidently wrote for pious readers ready to believe any
thing against “ infidels.” His diatribe bristles with false
hoods and absurdities.
Voltaire is charged with “ a want of sound learning and
.moral qualifications,” which will “ ever prevent him from
being ranked with the benefactors of mankind by the wise
■and good.” The writer meant by hypocrites and fools!
Voltaire’s reputation is too firmly established to be over
thrown by Christian scribblers. Our greatest living poet,
Robert Browning, salutes him thus—
Ay, sharpest shrewdest steel that ever stabbed
To death Imposture through the armor-joints! *
'Carlyle, who is very grudging in his admissions of Voltaire’s
worth, says “ He gave the death-stab to modern supersti
tion,” and adds “It was a most weighty service.”f Else
where Carlyle reluctantly admits his nobility of character:
“ At all events, it will be granted that, as a private man,
his existence was beneficial, not hurtful, to his fellow-men :
the Calases, the Sirvens, and so many orphans and outcasts
whom he cherished and protected, ought to cover a multi
tude of sins.”j:
Buckle, the historian of civilisation, writes:—
“No one could reason more closely than Voltaire, when
reasoning suited his purpose. But he had to deal with men im
pervious to argument; men whose inordinate reverence for
antiquity had only left them two ideas, namely, that everything
old is right, and that everything new is wrong. To argue against
these opinions would be idle indeed; the only other resource
was, to make them ridiculous, aud weaken their influence, by
holding up their authors to contempt. This was one of the
tasks Voltaire set himself to perform, and he did it well. He,
therefore, used ridicule, not as the test of truth, but as the
scourge of folly. And with such effect was the punishment
* “ The Two Poets of Croisie.”
t “Essays.” Vol. II., p. 181.
St. 107.
J Ibicl.
P. 154.
�14
DEATH S TEST.
administered, that not only did the pedants and theologians of
his own time wince under the lash, but even their successors feel
their ears tingle when they read his biting words; and they
revenge themselves by reviling the memory of that great writer,
whose works are as a thorn in their side, and whose very name
they hold in undisguised abhorrence........... His irony, his wit,
his pungent and telling sarcasms, produced more effect than the
gravest arguments could have done ; and there can be no doubt
that he was fully justified in using those great resources with
which nature had endowed him, since by their aid he advanced
the interests of truth, and relieved men from some of their most
inveterate prejudices.”—“ History of Civilisation,” Vol. II.,
p. 308-9.
Taking him as a whole, Buckle thinks he is probably the
greatest historian Europe has produced. Lamartine cha
racterises him as “ ce genie non le plus haut, metis le plus vaste
de la France ”—not the loftiest but the greatest genius of
France. And lastly, Brougham, in his “ Life of Voltaire,”
says—
“Nor can any one since the days of Luther be named, to
whom the spirit of free inquiry, nay, the emancipation of the
human mind from spiritual tyranny, owes a more lasting debt of
gratitude.”
What does Reuben May think now ? These great writers
regard Voltaire as a “ benefactor of mankind.” Surely they
are as “ wise ” as Reuben May’s anonymous author, and
probably as “ good.”
The Abbe Barruel’s first misstatement is glaring and
unpardonable. He writes of Voltaire as “ the dying
Atheist.” Now, Voltaire was a Theist, and he penned
arguments in favor of the existence of God such as few
theologians have equalled. He is 'credited with the saying
that “ If God did not exist it would be necessary to invent
him.” He described an Atheist as a monster created by
nature in a moment of madness. He quarreled with some
of the most eager spirits engaged on the great Encyclo
pedia for going too far in a negative direction. During his
last visit to Paris, only a few weeks before his death, when
Benjamin Franklin’s grandson was presented to him, he
said “ God and Liberty, that is the only benediction which
befits the grandson of Dr. Franklin.”* Yet the Abbe
Condorcet, Vie de Voltaire, p. 111.
�death’s test.
15
Barruel calls Voltaire an Atheist. A writer so grossly
inaccurate is scarcely worth notice.
He also says that Voltaire in his famous phrase Ecrasez
L’Infame (crush the Infamous) referred to Jesus Christ.
This is another gross mistake. Voltaire had great respect
and admiration for Jesus as a man. By the Infamous he
meant the Church with its dogmas, its priestcraft, its op
pressions, and its crimes.
He states that the Abbe Gauthier, with the curate of St.
Sulpice, was unable to gain admission to Voltaire’s apart
ment, in consequence of Diderot, D’Alembert, and other
“ conspirators ” surrounding him. This is another false
hood, as the sequel will show.
Now for the story of Voltaire’s “ recantation.” In those
days every Freethinker wrote with the halter round his
neck. Voltaire was always in peril, from which only his
wonderful adroitness saved him. He disliked martyrdom,
had no wish to be burnt to please the faithful, and thought
he could do Truth more service by living than by courting
death. Consequently, his whole life was more or less an
evasion of the enemy. Many of his most trenchant attacks
on Christianity were anonymous; and although everyone
knew that only one pen in France could have written them,
there was no legal proof of the fact. When Voltaire came
to die, he remembered his own bitter sorrow and indigna
tion, which he expressed in burning verse, at the ignominy
inflicted many years before on the remains of the poor
actress, Adrienne Lecouvreur, which were refused sepulture
because she died outside the pale of the Church. Fearing
similar treatment himself, he is said to have sent for the
Abbe Gauthier, who, according to Condorcet, “ confessed
Voltaire, and received from him a profession of faith, by
which he declared that he died in the Catholic religion
wherein he was born.” This story is generally credited,
but its truth is by no means indisputable ; for in the Abbe
Gauthier’s declaration to the Prior of the Abbey of Scellieres,
where Voltaire’s remains were interred, he says that “when
he visited M. de Voltaire he found him unfit to be confessed!
The Curate of St. Sulpice was annoyed at being fore
stalled by the Abbe Gauthier, and as Voltaire was his
parishioner, he demanded “ a detailed profession of faith
and a disavowal of all heretical doctrines.” He paid the
�16
death’s test.
dying Freethinker many unwelcome visits, in the vain hope
of obtaining a full recantation, which would be a fine
feather in his hat. The last of these visits is thus described
by Wagniere, one of Voltaire’s secretaries, and an eye
witness of the scene. I take Carlyle’s translation :—
Two days before that mournful death, M. l’Abbe Mignot, his
nephew, went to seek the Cure of Saint Sulpice and the Abbe
Gauthier, and brought them into his uncle’s sick-room ; who, on
being informed that the Abbe Gauthier was there, “Ah, well! ”
said he, “ give him my compliments and my thanks.” The
Abbe spoke some words to him, exhorting him to patience. The
Cure of Saint Sulpice then came forward, having announced
himself, and asked of M. de Voltaire, elevating his voice, if he
acknowledged the divinity of our Lord Jesus Christ? The sick
man pushed one of his hands against the Cure’s calotte (coif),
shoving him back, and cried, turning abruptly to the other side,
“ Let me die in peace (Laissez-moi mourir en paix) !” The
Cure seemingly considered his person soiled, and his coif dis
honored, by the touch of a philospher. He made the sick-nurse
give him a little brushing, and then went out with the Abbe
Gauthier.
A further proof that Voltaire made no real recantation
lies in the fact that the Bishop of Troyes sent a peremptory
dispatch to the Prior of Scellieres, which lay in his diocese,
forbidding him to inter the heretic’s remains. The dispatch,
however, arrived too late, and Voltaire’s ashes remained
there until 1791, when they were removed to Paris, and
placed in the Pantheon, by order of the National Assembly.
Having disposed of the “ recantation,” I must refute
another lie. Reuben May’s pamphlet states that—
“In his last illness he sent for Dr. Tronchin. When the
Doctor came, he found Voltaire in the greatest agony, exclaiming
with the utmost horror—I am abandoned by God and man.’
He then said, “Doctor, I will give you half of what I am worth,
if you will give me six month’s life.’ The Doctor answered,
‘Sir, you cannot live six weeks.’ Voltaire replied, ‘Then I
shall go to hell, and you will go with me! ’ and soon after
expired.”
Was there ever a sillier story ? Who, except a lunatic or a
Christian, could believe it ? Why did Voltaire want exactly
six months’ life? He was then in his eighty-fifth year,
and had surely lived long enough. Why did he say he was
going to hell when he believed there was no such place ?
And why did he suppose the Doctor would go to hell too for
�death’s test.
17
being unable to prolong his existence ? The person who
invented this story was a fool, and Reuben May is a ninny
to print it.
The story is an evident lie. After this funny conversa
tion, Voltaire “ soon expired.” Now Wagniere has left
an account of Voltaire’s end which disproves this. Carlyle
translates it thus :—
“ He expired about quarter past eleven at night,
the most
perfect tranquillity, after having suffered the cruelest pains, in
consequence of those fatal drugs, which his own imprudence, and
especially that of the persons who should have looked to it,
made him swallow. Ten minutes before his last breath, he took
the hand of Morand, his valet-de-chambre, who was watching
him ; pressed it, and said, “ Adieu, mon cher Morand, je me meurs ”
Adieu, my dear Morand, I am gone.” These are the last words
uttered byM. de Voltaire.”
Wagniere’s narrative looks true, unlike the rubbish of Dr.
Tronchin, the Abbe Barruel, and Reuben May.
Further on in Reuben May’s pamphlet we read of a parson
who was told by another parson that a friend of his had
seen an old nurse who waited on Voltaire in his last illness,
and who declared that “ not for all the wealth of Europe
would she see another infidel die.” But as no one who
visited Voltaire mentions this woman, and as no nurse is
alluded to by friend or enemy, I unceremoniously dismiss
her as “ a mockery, a delusion and a snare.”
My readers must, I think, be fully satisfied that Voltaire
neither recanted nor died raving, but remained a sceptic to
the last, and passed away quietly to “ the undiscovered
country from whose bourne no traveller returns.”
I take next a foolish story about
Volney,
another great Frenchman, and author of the famous “ Ruins
of Empires ” :—
“ Volney in a Storm.—Volney, a French infidel, was on board
a vessel during a violent storm at sea, when the ship was in
imminent danger of being lost. He threw himself on the deck,
crying in agony, ‘ Oh, my God ! my God 1 ’ “ There is a God,
then, Monsieur Volney ?’said one of the passengers to him.
‘Oh, yes,’ exclaimed the terrified infidel, “there is! there is!
Lord, save me! ’ The ship, however, got safely into port. Volney
was extremely disconcerted when his confession was publicly re
�18
death’s test.
lated, but excused it by saying that he was so frightened by the
storm that he did not know what he said, and immediately
returned to his atheistical sentiments.”
Reuben May gives no authority for this story. He seems
to think that his readers, like himself, will believe anything
they see in print. I have traced it back to the “ Tract Maga
zine ” for July, 1832, where it appears very much amplified
and in many respects different. It appears, in a still dif
ferent form, in the eighth volume of the “ Evangelical
Magazine,” where it professes to be taken from Weld’s
“ Travels in America ” This date is a great many years
after Volney’s time. I cannot find any earlier trace of the
story, and I therefore ask the reader to reject it as false
and absurd.
The next case is that of “ the noble Altamont,” but as I
cannot discover who the noble Altamont was, and suspect
him to be the aristocratic hero of some eighteenth-century
romance, I pass on to the case of
Hobbes.
This great thinker, who knew Bacon, Selden, and Ben Jonson
in his youth, and Dryden in his old age, lived to be upwards
of ninety. Reuben May’s pamphlet states that, when dying,
he said “ he was about to take a leap in the dark.” Well,
that was only an emphatic way of expressing his doubt
whether there is a future life or not. We are also told that
he always had a candle burning in his bedroom, as he was
afraid of the dark. So are thousands of true believers. In
Hobbes’s case, this was partly due to an accident which
caused his premature birth, and partly to the fact that at
the time of the “ candle” story he was a very old man, and
in dread that some religious fanatic might carry out the
threats of assassination which were frequently made. He
knew that the Church of England wanted to burn him
alive, and that he was saved from martyrdom only by the
protection of eminent personages in the State.
Cooke, the Leicester Murderer
is the next case. He attributed his wickedness to “ infidel
associations.” But we have no statement from his own
hand, and his “ confession,” like that of Bailey, the
Gloucester murderer, was no doubt fabricated or improved
�death’s test.
19
by the chaplain. All the other murderers of this century
have been undoubted Christians.
David Hume
comes next. Reuben May gives an extract from one of his
essays, but says nothing about his end. I will supply the
omission. Dr. Adam Smith, author of the “Wealth of
Nations,” received the following letter from Dr. Black,
Hume’s physician, the day after his death:—
“Edinburgh, August 26th, 1776.—Dear Sir,—Yesterday,
about four o’clock, Mr. Hume expired. The near approach of
his death became evident in the night between Thursday and
Friday, when his disease became excessive, and soon weakened
him so much that he could not rise out of bed. He continued
to the last perfectly sensible, and free from much pain or feelings
of distress. He never dropped the smallest expression of im
patience, but, when he had occasion to speak to the people about
him, he always did it with affection and tenderness............. When
he became very weak it cost him a great effort to speak, and he
died in such a happy composure of mind that nothing could
exceed it.”
Adam Smith, in sending this letter to his friend William
Stratham, wrote:
“Upon the whole I have always considered him, both in his
life-time and since his death, as approaching as near to the ideal
■of the perfectly wise and virtuous man as perhaps the nature of
human frailty will admit.”
What a contrast to Doctor Johnson, his great contem
porary, the champion of piety as Hume was of scepticism,
who had such a morbid horror of death I While the pious
Johnson quailed at the very thought of death, the sceptical
Hume confronted it placidly, regarding it only as the ringing
down of the curtain after the great drama of life.
Let us take another sceptic, whom Reuben May does not
mention, the great historian,
Edward Gibbon.
Lord Shaftesbury, his confidential friend, wrote thus of
his death:
“ To the last he preserved his senses, and when he could no
longer speak, his servant having asked him a question, he made
a sign to him that he understood him. He was quiet, tranquil,
■and did not stir; his eyes half shut. About a quarter of an hour
before one he ceased to breathe. The valet-de-chambre observed.
�20
death’s test.
that he did not, at any time, evince the least sign of alarm or
apprehension of death.”
In his second pamphlet Reuben May gives a long extract
on the death of
Frederic the Great.
He admits that the old king remained a sceptic to the
last, and when a pious Christian wrote to him on his death
bed about the prospects of his soul, he only remarked, “ Let
this be answered civilly : the intention of the writer is
good.”
Reuben May fills up the rest of his stupid pamphlets with
cases of dying Christians. The first of these is unfortunate.
Addison, when nearing his end, sent for his noble son-inlaw to “See in what peace a Christian can die.” Now Joseph
Addison was a frightful brandy-drinker, and it has been
satirically hinted that in order to go through this pious and
edifying performance he braced himself up with half-a-pint
of his favorite liquor.
The rest I leave without comment. Christians, like other
people, doubtless die in the religion of their childhood.
The adherents of every other creed do the same. My
purpose is simply to show that Freethinkers neither recant
their heresy nor quail before inevitable death, and I think I
have succeeded.
When Mirabeau, the mighty master-spirit of the Revolu
tion, lay dying in Paris amid the breathless hush of a whole
nation, he was attended by the great Cabanis. After a
night of terrible suffering, he turned to his physician and
said, “My friend, I shall die to-day. When one has come
to such a juncture there remains only one thing to do, that
is to be perfumed, crowned with flowers, and surrounded
with music, in order to enter sweetly into that slumber from
which there is no awakening.” Then he had his couch
brought to the window, and there the Titan died, with his
last gaze on the bright sunshine and the fragrant flowers.
He was an Atheist. Why should the Atheist fear to die ?
From the womb of nature he sprang and he will take his last
sleep on her bosom.
PRICE
TWOPENCE, j
London: Freethought Publishing Company, 28, Stonecutter St., E.C-
�
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Death's test, or: Christian lies about dying infidels
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Foote, G. W. (George William) [1850-1915]
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Free thought
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Death
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Text
WHAT WAS CHRIST?
JL REPLY
TO
JOHN
STUART MILL.
BY
1
:
:
:
TWOPENCE,
PRICE
i
4
J
:
♦
♦
4
4
4
4
4
t
LONDON :
PROGRESSIVE PUBLISHING COMPANY,
28 Stonecutter Street, E.C.
1887.
�LONDON :
POINTED AND PUBLISHED BY G. W. EOOTE,
AT 28 STONECUTTER STREET, E.C.
�11
national secular society
WHAT WAS CHRIST?
Thebe are many passages in John Stuart Mill’s Three
Essays on Religion which the apologists of Christianity very
prudently ignore. Orthodoxy naturally shrinks from the descrip
tion of a God who could make a Hell as a “ dreadful idealisa
tion of wickedness.” Nor is it pleasant to read that “ Not even
on the most distorted and contracted theory of good which
ever was framed by religious or philosophical fanaticism, can the
government of nature be made to resemble the work of a being
at once good and omnipotent.”
But Christian lecturers are never tired of quoting the pane
gyric on their blessed Savior, which occurs in another part of
the same volume. They never mention the fact that the Essay
which contains this eulogium was not revised by the author for
publication, while the other two essays were finally prepared
for the press. It is enough for them that the passage is found
in a volume of Mill’s. Whether it harmonises with the rest of
the volume, or whether the author might have considerably
modified it-in revision, are questions with which they have no
concern. “ Here is Mill’s testimony to Christ,” they cry, “ and
we fling it like a bombshell into the Freethought camp.” We
propose to pick up this bombshell, to dissect and analyse it, and
to show that it is perfectly harmless.
Mill’s panegyric on Christ, as Professor Newman says, “ caused
surprise.”* Professor Bain, who was one of Mill’s most
intimate friends, and has written his biography,f uses the very
same expression. The whole of the Essay on Theism “was a
surprise to his friends,” not for its attacks on orthodoxy, but for
its concessions to “ modern sentimental Theism.” Professor
Bain observes that these concessions have been made the most
of, “ and, as is usual in such cases, the inch has been stretched
to an ell.” Speaking with all the authority of his position,
Professor Bain adds that the “ fact remains that in everything
* “ Christianity in its Cradle,” p. 57.
f “ John Stuart Mill: A Criticism; with Personal Recollections.”
�(4 )
characteristic of the creed of Christendom, he was a thorough
going negationist.
He admitted neither its truth nor its
utility.”
How, then, did Mill come to write those passages of his
Three Essays which caused such surprise to his intimate friends ?
The answer is simple. “ Who is the woman ? ” asked Talley
rand, when two friends wished him to settle a dispute.
There
was a woman in Mill’s case.
Mrs. Taylor, afterwards his wife,
and the object of his adoring love, disturbed his judgment in
life and perverted it in death. He buried her at Avignon, and
resided near her grave until he could lie beside her in the eternal
sleep. No doubt the long vigil at his wife’s tomb shows the
depth of his love, but it necessarily tended to make his brain the
victim of his heart. There can be no worse offence against the
laws of logic than to argue from our feelings; and when Mill
began to talk about “ indulging the hope ” of immortality, he
had set his feet, however hesitatingly, on the high road of senti
mentalism and superstition. How different was his attitude in
the vigor of manhood, when his intellect was unclouded by
personal sorrow ! In closing his splendid Essay on fhe Utility
of Religion, he wrote :
“ It seems to me not only possible, but probable, that in a higher, and,
above all, a happier condition of human life, not annihilation, but immor
tality, may be the burdensome idea; and that human nature, though
pleased with the present, and by no means impatient to quit it, would find
comfort and not sadness in the thought that it is not chained through
eternity to a conscious existence which it cannot be assured that it will
always wish to preserve.”
How great is the range of egoism, even with the best of us!
Writing before his own great loss, Mill sees no argument for
immortality in the yearning of bereaved hearts for reunion with
the beloved dead ; but when- he himself craves “ the touch of a
vanished hand and the sound of a voice that is still,” he perceives
room for hope. His own passion of grief lights a beacon in the
darkness, which his sympathy with the grief of others had never
kindled.
We can easily understand how Mill’s profound love for his
wife affected his intellect after her death, when we see how it
deluded him while she lived. In his Autobiography he describes
her as a beauty and a wit. Mr. Maccall says that she was 'not
brilliant in conversation, and decidedly plain-looking; and the
same objection appears to be hinted by Professor Bain. Carlyle
refers to her several times in his Reminiscences, always as a light
gossamery creature.
It is notorious that the Grotes regarded
�( 5 )
Mill’s attachment to her as an infatuation. And certainly he
did a great deal to justify their opinion. In the dedication of
his Essay on Liberty, he refers to her “ great thoughts and noble
feelings,” and her “ all but unrivalled wisdom.
This eulogium
a little astonished those who had read her Essay in the West
minster Review, reprinted by Mill in his Dissertations and Dis
cussions, which revealed no very wonderful ability, and assuredly
did not place her beside Harriet Martineau or George Eliot.
But in his Autobiography this panegyric was completely eclipsed.
Mill informs the world in that volume that her mind “included
Carlyle’s and infinitely more,” and that in comparison with her
Shelley was but a child. Apparently seeing, however, that
sceptics might inquire why a woman of such profound and
original genius did not leave some memorable work, Mill con
fidingly tells us that she was content to inspire other minds
rather than express herself through the channels of literature.
In other words, she played second fiddle in preference to first,
which is exactly what men and women of original genius will
never do. But whom did she inspire ? We know of none but
Mill, and on examining his works chronologically we find that
all his greatest books were composed before he fell under her
influence. Mr. Gladstone explains Mill’s “ ludicrous estimate of
his wife’s powers,” by saying that she was a quick receptive
woman, who gave him back the echo of: his own thoughts, which
he took for the independent oracles of truth.
Over the tomb of this idolised wife, whom his fancy clothed
with fictitious or exaggerated attributes, Mill wrote his Essay on
Theism. Miss Helen Taylor says it shows “the carefullybalanced results of the deliberations of a life-time.” But she
allows that—
“ On the other hand, there had not been time for it to undergo the
revision to which from time to time he subjected most of his writings
before making them public. Not only, therefore, is the style less polished
than of any other of his published works, but even the matter itself, at
least in the exact shape it here assumes, has nevei' undergone the
repeated examination which it certainly would have passed through
before he would himself have given it to the world.”
If Mill had lived, he would perhaps have made many improve
ments and excisions in this unfortunate essay. As it stands it is
singularly feeble in comparison with the two former Essays. He
“hopes” for immortality, and “regrets to say” that the Design
Argument is not inexpugnable, as though this were the language
of a philosopher or a logician. After writing several pages on
the “Marks of Design in Nature,” he passingly notices the
�( 6 )
Darwinian Theory and admits that, if established, it “would
greatly attenuate the evidence ” for Creation. Yet he drops
this great hypothesis in the next paragraph, and talks about
“ the large balance of probability in favor of creation by intel
ligence ” in the present state of our knowledge. What he meant
was, in the present state of our ignorance. Mill neither under
stood nor felt the force of Darwinism. We shall find, in
examining his panegyric on Christ, that he understood that
subject just as little, and that, where his knowledge did apply,
he flatly contradicted what he had written before.
Let us now ascertain what were Mill’s qualifications for the
task of estimating the teachings and personality of Christ. He
had a subtle logical mind, strong though restricted sympathies,
a singular power of mastering an opponent’s case, and remark
able candor in stating it. But his intellect was of the purely
speculative order. He possessed a “ rich storage of principles,
doctrines, generalities of every degree, over several wide depart
ments of knowledge,” as Professor Bain says ; but he “ had not
much memory for detail of any kind,” although “ by express
study and frequent reference he had amassed a store of facts
bearing on political or sociological doctrines.” In short, “ he
had an intellect for the abstract and the logical out of all pro
portion to his hold of the concrete and the poetical.” He was
cut out for a metaphysician, a political speculator and a
sociologist. But he never could have become an historian or a
man of letters. He had little sense of style, no faculty of
literary criticism, a dislike of picturesque expression, a scanty
knowledge of human nature, and an extremely feeble imagina
tion. He was a great philosopher, but perhaps less an artist
than any other thinker of the same eminence that ever lived.
Now the faculties required in dealing with the origin of
Christianity, including the character of its founder, are obviously
those of the literary critic and the historian, in which Mill was
deficient. He was, therefore, not equipped by nature for the
task.
Had he even the necessary knowledge ? Certainly not.
There is not the slightest evidence that he had studied the
relation of Christianity to previous systems, the growth of its
literature, the formation of its canon, and the development of
its ethics and its dogmas. He probably knew next to nothing
of the oriental religions, and was only acquainted with the name
of Buddhism. Nay, if we may trust Professor Bain (his friend,
his biographer, and his eulogist), he knew very little of Chris-
�( 7 )
inanity itself. He “ searcely ever read a theological book,” and
he only knew “ the main positions of theology from our general
literature.” Just when Mill’s Three Essays on Eehgwn ap
peared, Strauss’s Old Faith and the New was published m
England, and Professor Bain justly remarks that Anyone
reading it would, I think, be struck with its immense superiority
to Mill’s work, in all but the logic and metaphysics. Strauss
speaks like a man thoroughly, at home with his subject.
Mill
does indeed say, in his Autobiography, that Ins. father made
him, at a very early age, “a reader of ecclesiastical history ;
but he does not tell us that he continued so in his after lite, and
even if he did, ecclesiastical, history begins just where the
problem of the origin of Christianity ends.
.
Another thing must be said. Professor Bain states, and we
can well believe him, that Mill was “ not even well read, m the
sceptics that preceded him.” He was really ignorant on both
sides of the controversy. His idea of Christ was formed from
a selection of the best things in the New Testament. A most
uncritical process, and in fact an impossible one ; for the New
Testament is not history, but an arbitrary selection from a
mass of early Christian tracts, of uncertain authorship, different
dates, and various value. The literature on this subject, even
from the pens of eminent writers, is vast enough to show, its
immense complication. Unless it is read m a cluld-like spirit
which in grown men and women is childish, the New. Testament
needs to be explained ; and when the process has fairly begun,
you find all the familiar features shifting like the pieces in. a
kaleidoscope, until at last they reassume an organic, but a dif
ferent, form and color. Twenty Christs may be elicited from
the New Testament as it stands. Mill deduced one, but the
nineteen others are just as valid.
.
Strictly speaking, our task is completed. It would logically
suffice to say that Mill’s panegyric on Christ is a mere piece of
fancy. Like other men of genius, he had his special aptitudes
and special knowledge, and his authority only extends as far as
they carry him. Mr. Swinburne’s opinion of Newton is of no
particular importance, and Newton’s famous ineptitude about
Paradise Lost in no way affects our estimate of Milton.
Let us go further, however, and examine Mill’s panegyric on
Christ in detail. In justice to him, as well as to the subject, it
should be quoted in full:
“Above all, the most valuable part of the effect on the character
which Christianity has produced by .holding up m a Divine Person a
�ÉTotíe ufnbpH±nCe Td a m°del f01’ÍmÍtatÍOn’ bailable even to the
absolute unbellever and can never more be lost to humanity. For
is Christ, lather than God, whom Christianity has held up to
believers as the pattern of perfection for humanity.
It is the God
ideahsede’hTs°teithan
Gfd °/ tbe JeWS or °f Nature, who being
AndhXbdfh ^ken so,great and salutary a hold on the modern mind,
is stiH íeft T 6lS-e mac be tak<3n aWay fr°m US by rational criticism, Christ
hL fnii
’ Umq?K figUre’ n0t more unlike a11 his precursors than 4»
Ins followers even those who had the direct benefit of his personal teachhiSoric« «nA th
tOi Say tha\Ohrist as exhibited in the Gospels is not
sunerad/lía h
7® ^°W n?tbow much of what is admirable has been
suffice« Í
7 t tradition of his followers. The tradition of followers
miSelf?
any number °f marvels’ and may have inserted all the
dSS™hlCh
.rePutedt°have wrought. But who among his
ascGbld + among their proselytes was capable of inventing the sayings
SV i,eT.01; Of lma«lnin& the life and character revealed in the
p ? /
ertamly not the fishermen of Galilee; as certainly not St.
Sil í J th® cbara<^®rand idiosyncracies were of a totally different sort:
fb?f th the TTly1 9bristlan writers m whom nothing is more evident than '
fXiS F? wbicb.was m timm was all derived, as they always professed that it was derived, from a higher source. What could be added
XJ^w rd?y a dlsclPle we may see in the mystical parts of the
gospel of St John, matter imported from Philo and the Alexandrian
himSí t
mt° the mouth of the Savior in long speeches about
tffi?™h S as?be/tber Gospels contain not the slightest vestige of,
though pretended to have been delivered on occasions of the deepest
interest and when his principal followers were all present; most promt,
nently at the last supper. The East was full of men who could have
stolen any quantity of this poor stuff, as the multitudinous Oriental sects
of Gnostics afterwards did. But about the life and sayings of Jesus there •
13vVa-?P of Per®onal originaiity combined with profundity of insight,
which if we abandon the idle expectation of finding scientific precision
wheie something very different was aimed at, must place the Prophet of
Nazareth, even m the estimation of those who have no belief in his
inspiration, m the very first rank of the men of sublime genius of whom
our species can boast. When this pre-eminent genius is combined with
the qualities of probably the greatest moral reformer, and martyr to that
mission, who ever existed upon earth, religion cannot be said to have
made a bad choice in pitching on this man as the ideal representative
ana guide of humanity; nor even now, would it be easy, even for ail un•
a better translation of the rule of virtue from the abstract
into the concrete, than to endeavor so to live that Christ would approve
our life.
Our first complaint is that the whole passage is too vague and
rhetorical. What is the meaning of “ the absolute unbeliever ”
m the first sentence ? If it means a person who rejects all the
pretensions of Christ, the sentence is absurd. If it means a
person who rejects his divinity, it is practically untrue ; for. as a
matter of fact, those who have thought themselves out of Chris
tianity (which Mill did not, as he was never in it) very seldom
do take Christ as “ a standard of excellence and a model for
�(9)
imitation,” much less as “ the pattern of perfection for
humanity.” When the supernatural glamor is dispelled, we
see that Christ is no example whatever. He is simply a
preacher, and his personal conduct fails to illustrate a single
public or private virtue, or assist us in any of our practical diffi
culties as husbands, fathers, sons, or citizens. Mill has himself
shown that even Christians do not attempt to imitate their
Savior ; and we are puzzled to understand how he could speak
of Christ’s having “ taken so great and salutary hold on the
modern mind ” after telling us, in his Essay on Liberty, that he
has done nothing of the kind. He there says:
“ By Christianity, I here mean what is acconnted such by all churches
and sects, the maxims and precepts contained in the New Testament.
These are considered sacred, and accepted as laws by all professing Chris
tians. Yet it is scarcely too much to say that not one Christian in a
thousand guides or tests his individual conduct by reference to those
laws. . . . Whenever conduct is concerned, they look round for Mr. A
and B to direct them how far to go in obeying Christ.”
Had Mill forgotten this passage when he wrote the Essay on
Theism, or had Christendom changed in the interval ? Scarcely
the latter. John Bright has justly said that the lower classes
in England care as little for the dogmas of Christianity as the
upper classes care about its practice.
Until Christians follow their Savior’s teachings, it is idle to
expect unbelievers to do so. Yet it is perhaps as well they do
not, for there are many things recorded in the Gospels which are
far from redounding to his credit. It is a great pity that Mill,
before eulogising Christ, could not read the chapter on “Jesus
of Nazareth ” in Professor Newman’s last work. Why did Jesus
consort with Publicans (or Roman tax-gatherers), rhe very sight
of whom was hateful to every patriotic Jew ? .Why did he herd
with Sinners, who so far despised ceremony as to dip in the dish
with dirty fingers ? Why did he avoid all who were able to
criticise him ? Why did he exclaim, “Ye hypocrites, why put
ye me to proof?” when the Jews sought to test his claims, and
to act on his own advice to “ Beware of false prophets ” ? Why
did he rudely repel educated inquirers, and then solemnly thank
God that “ he had hidden these things from the wise and pru
dent, and revealed them unto babes ” ? Why did he denounce
inhabitants of cities he could not convince, and prophesy that
they would fare worse in the Day of Judgment than the filthy
inhabitants of Sodom and Gomorrah ? Why did he assail his
religious rivals with invectives which, as Professor Newman
�( 10 )
says, “ outdo Tacitus and Suetonius in malignity,, and seem to
convict themselves of falsehood and bitter slander ?” Why, in
short, did he so constantly display the vanity and passion of a
spoilt child ? Surely these are not characteristics we should
emulate, but glaring blots in a “ pattern of perfection.” When
the arrogance of Christ is countenanced by a writer like Mill,
these defects must be insisted on. Professor Newman rightly
says that
“ If honor were claimed for Jesus as for Socrates, for Seneca, for Hillel,
for Epictetus, we might apologise for his weak points as either incident
to his era and country or to human nature itself—weakness to be forgiven
and forgotten. But the unremitting assumption of super-human wisdom,
not only made for him by the moderns, but breathing through every
utterance attributed to him, changes the whole scene, and ought to
change our treatment of it. Unless his prodigious claim of divine
superiority is made good in fact, it betrays an arrogance difficult to
excuse, eminently mischievous and eminently ignominious.”
But this prodigious claim cannot be made good. As Pro
fessor Newman says : “It is hard to point to anything in the
teaching of Jesus at once new to Hebrew and Greek sages, and
likewise in general estimate true.” The same view was ex
pressed by Buckle, with more vigor if less urbanity. “ Whoever,”
he said, “ asserts that Christianity revealed to the world truths
with which it was previously unacquainted, is guilty either of
gross ignorance or of wilful fraud.”
Mill had himself, in the Essay on Liberty, shown the evil of
taking Christ, or any other man, as “the ideal representative
and guide of humanity.” He there charged Christianity with
possessing a negative rather than a positive ideal; abstinence
from evil rather than energetic pursuit of good constituting its
essence, in which “ thou shalt not ” unduly predominated over
“ thou shalt.” He accused it of making an idol of asceticism,
of holding out “ the hope of heaven and the threat of hell as
the appointed and appropriate motives to a virtuous life, and
of thus “ giving to human morality an essentially selfish
character.” And he added that—
“ What little recognition the idea of obligation to the public obtains in
modern morality, is derived from Greek and Roman sources, not fiom
Christian; as, even in the morality of private life, whatever exists of
magnanimity, high-mindedness, personal dignity, even the sense of honor,
is derived from the purely human, not the religious, part of our educa
tion, and never could have grown out of a standard of ethics in which the
only worth, professedly recognised, is that of obedience.”
Mill does indeed throw a sop to orthodoxy by allowing that
Christ and Christianity are different things ; but he is obliged
�(11)
to add that the Founder of Christianity failed to provide for
“ many essential elements of the highest morality.” He main
tains that “ other ethics than any which can be evolved from
exclusively Christian sources must exist side by side with
Christian ethics to produce the moral regeneration of mankind.”
And he deprecates ihe policy of “formingthe mind and feelings
on an exclusively religious type.” Surely these arguments are
quite inconsistent with Mill’s later notion of taking Christ as our
ideal, and living so that he would approve our life.
Besides, as Professor Bain points out, the morality of Christ
belongs to this exclusively religious type. Its sanctions are all
religious, and if religion is dispensed with they “ must lose their
suitability to human life.” Professor Bain very justly observes
that “the best guidance, under such altered circumstances,
would be that furnished by the wisest of purely secular
teachers.”
That Christ was “ probably the greatest moral reformer ”
that ever lived is a statement easy to make and difficult to
prove. When Mill, in the Essay on Liberty, twits the Chris
tians with professing doctrines they never practise, he furnishes
■a catalogue of the duties they neglect.
“ All Christians believe that the blessed are the poor and humble, and
those who are ill-used by the world ; that it is easier for a camel to pass
through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of
heaven; that they should judge not lest they should be judged; that
they should swear not at all; that they should love their neighbors as
themselves ; that if one take their cloak, they should give him their coat
also ; that they should take no thought for the morrow; that if they
would be perfect they should sell all they have and give it to the poor.”
Surely Mill was aware that all these absurd and impracticable
maxims were taught by Christ. Hgw, then, except on the
theory we have advanced, could he call him the greatest moral
reformer in history ?
The “rational criticism ” by means of which Mill obtains
the “ unique figure ” of Christ is a purely arbitrary process.
George Eliot, who knew the subject far better, said in one
of. her letters that the materials for any biography of Jesus
do not exist.
The Unitarians have tried Mill’s process
with small success ; and, as Professoi’ Bain maliciously observes,
“ It would seem in this, as in other parts of religion, that what
the rationalist disapproves of most the multitude likes best.”
Professor Bain’s remarks on Mill’s construction of his “ unique
figure ” from the Gospels are so pertinent and happy that we
venture to give them in full:
�(12)
“ We are, of course, at liberty to dissent from the prevailing view,
which makes Christ a divine person. But to reduce a Deity to the human
level, to rank him simply as a great man, and to hold ideal intercourse
with him in that capacity is, to say the least of it, an incongruity. His
torians and moralists have been accustomed to treat with condemnation
those monarchs that, after being dethroned, have accepted in full the
position of subjects. Either to die, or else to withdraw into dignified isola
tion, has been accounted the only fitting termination to the loss of royal
power. So, a Deity dethroned should retire altogether from playing a
part in human affairs, and remain simply as an historic name.”
Mill finds in Christ “ sublime genius ” and “ profundity of
insight.” Surely it did not require any very sublime genius to
teach those peculiar doctrines which Mill catalogued for back
sliding Christians, nor any very great profundity of insight to
see that none but paupers and lunatics could evei’ practise them.
Many of the best sayings ascribed to Jesus were the common
possession of the East before his birth ; but many of the worst
seem more his own. “ Leave all and follow me ” is a vain and
foolish command. “ Give to everyone that asketh ” is an excel
lent rule for pauperising society. “ That industry is a human
duty,” says Professor Newman, “ cannot be gathered from his
doctrine: how could it, when he kept twelve religious men
dicants around him ?” “ Resist not evil ” is a premium on
tyranny. “ Blessed be ye poor ” and “• Woe unto you rich ” are
the exclamations of a vulgar demagogue, a cunning agent of
privilege, or an irresponsible maniac. “ By shovelling away
wealth,” says Professor Newman, “ we are to buy treasures in
heaven. Unless our narrators belie him, Jesus never warns
hearers that to give without a heart of charity does not prepare
a soul for heaven nor ‘ earn salvation ’; and that ¿elfish pre
speculation turns virtue into despicable marketing. To forgive
that we may be forgiven, to avoid judging lest we be judged, to
do good that we may get extrinsic reward, to affect humility
that we may be promoted, to lose life that we may gain it with
advantage, are precepts not needing a lofty prophet.” - It is also
from the words of Christ alone, according to the New Testa
ment, that the doctrine of Eternal Punishment can be estab
lished ; and he is responsible for the intellectual crime of
identifying Credulity with Faith, which has been a fatal rotten
ness at the very core of Christianity.
As for the “personal originality” of Mill’s “ unique figure,
**
he might be safely challenged to demonstrate it from the
Gospels.
We shall have something more to say about the
originality of Christ’s teaching presently ; we confine our-
�( 13 )
«elves now to his personal character. Take away from the
Gospel story the pathetic legend of Calvary, which throws around
him a glamor of suffering, and what is there in his whole life of
a positive heroic quality ? He is a tame, effeminate, shrinking
figure, beside hundreds of men who have not been made the
-object of a superstitious cultus. His brief, ineffective career, so
■soon closed by his own madness or ambition, will not bear a
moment’s comparison with the long and glorious life of Buddha.
It pales into insignificance before the mighty genius of
Muhammed. Doctrine apart, the Nazarene is to the Meccan as
a pallid moon to a fiery sun. With the single exception of
•Cromwell, who was a more original character than twenty Christs
rolled into one, where shall we find Muhammed’s equal in
history ? As Eliot Warburton well said, he stands almost alone
in “ the sustained and almost superhuman energy with which he
carried out his views, in defiance, as it would seem, of God and
man.” Christ quails in his Gethsemane. Muhammed struggles
through his seven years’ ordeal of obloquy and danger like a
resolute swimmer, who scorns to turn back, and will reach the
■other shore or die. When his followers faint under the burning
desert sun, he tells them that “Hell is hotter,” and silences
their murmurs. Christ cries in ah agony of despair, “My
■God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me ? ”
When
Muhammed’s assassination is resolved on at Mecca, each of
the tribes devoting a sword to drink his blood, and Abubekar,
the companion of his flight, says “We are but two,” the
indomitable prophet answers “We are three, for God is
with us.” Christ implores “ 0 my' father, if it be possible,
let this cup pass from me.” When Muhammed is threa
tened by the Koreishites, so that his most devoted followers
remonstrate against his projects, he makes the sublime answer,
“ If they should place the sun on my right hand, and the moon
on my left, they should not divert me from my course.” Within
a century after the Hegira, the empire of Islam had spread from
Arabia eastward to Delhi and westward to Granada. Oh, it is
•said, Muhammed used the sword. True, but not before it was
drawn against him. The man who rode to Jerusalem, and
-called himself King of the Jews, would have used the sword too
had he dared. “ The sword indeed,” snorts Carlyle at this
rubbish, “ but where will you get your sword ? Every new
■opinion, at its starting, is precisely in a minority of one. In one
man’s head alone there it dwells as yet. That Ae'take a sword
•and try to propagate with that will do little for him. You
�( 14 )
must first get your sword. On the whole, a thing will propa
gate itself as it can. We do not find, of the Christian religion
either, that it always disdained the sword, when once it had gotone.” True, thou sarcastic old sage of Chelsea, and the sting
is in the tail. From Constantine downwards, Christianity has
not been imposed on mankind without, as Sir James Stephen
remarks, exhausting all the terrors of this life as well as the
next.
Mill tells us that Christ was a “martyr” to his “mission ”
as a “moral reformer.” We should like to know how he dis
covered the fact. Certainly not from the Gospels. It was not
the Sermon on the Mount, but his vagaries at Jerusalem, that
led to the crucifixion. Christ deliberately chose twelve disciples,
the legendary number of the tribes of Israel, and told them that
when he came into his kingdom they should sit on twelve
" thrones as judges. Professor Newman answers those who call
this language figurative with the just remark that “ we should
call a teacher mad who used such words to simple men, and did
not expect them to understand him literally.” When the dis
ciples ask him, “ Lord, wilt thou at this time restore the kingdom '
unto Israel ?” he does not rebuke them (although it is after his
resurrection), but simply says that the time is a secret. His
triumphal entry into Jerusalem can only be considered as a
, declaration of sovereignty, and his countenancing the shout
' of Hosanna! (the war cry of previous insurrections, and an
appeal to Jehovah against the foe) could only be construed as
rebellion against Rome. His conduct inside Jerusalem was that
of a man intoxicated with vanity and ambition, without judg
ment, policy, or purpose. The very inscription on the cross shows
that he was believed to aim at earthly royalty. Pontius Pilate
tried to save Jesus, acting wisely and humanely as the repre
sentative of an empire that was always tolerant in matters of
religion. He would not receive a charge of blasphemy, but he
could not overlook a charge of sedition. Yet he still gave Jesus
an opportunity of escaping. “ Come now,” he seems to say,
“ your enemies want your blood. Your blasphemy is no businessof mine, and I shall not decide a squabble between your rabid
sects. But I must try you if they accuse you of sedition. You
are young, and cannot wish to die. Plead ‘not guilty.’ Deny
the charge. Say you are not the King of the Jews and do not
contemplate rebellion. One word, and I save you from death. You
shall go free though all the rabbis in Jerusalem howled like mad
dogs. Rome shall stand between bigotry and blood.” But-
�( 15 )
Jesus actually admits the indictment, and afterwards remains
contumaciously silent. Pilate had no alternative ; he sentenced
Jesus to execution ; but amid all the absurd fictions of the nar
rative, the fact shines out clearly that he did so with the utmost
reluctance. To call the death of Christ, in these circumstances,
a martyrdom, is to degrade the name. He died for no principle.
The truth would have saved him, and he would not utter it.
Either he was in a stupor of despair, or so crazed with the
Messianic delusion that he still trusted to the legion of angels
for his rescue. In any case it was an act of insanity. He
courted his doom. It was not a martyrdom but a suicide.
We may also observe that, if a cultus had not been formed
around it, and men’s imaginations suborned in its favor from
the cradle, the “ martyrdom ” of Christ would be obviously lesssevere than that of many persecuted reformers.
Giordano
Bruno’s Gethsemane was an Inquisition dungeon, where he
languished in solitude for seven years, and was tortured no one
knows how often. What was Christ’s few hours’ agony of
weakness before death compared with this ? Bruno died by.
fire, the most cruel form of murder, whilst Christ suffered the
milder doom of crucifixion. Christ was watched by weeping
women, whose sympathy must have alleviated his pain; and it
was not until the hand of death touched his very heart that he
despaired of assistance from heaven. Bruno stood alone against
the world, without any sources of courage but his own quench
less heroism. Christ quailed before the inevitable. Bruno met
it with a serene smile, for he had that within him which only
death could extinguish—a daring fiery spirit, that nothing could
quell, that outsoared the malice of men, and outshone the flames
of the stake.
Mill’s remarks on the originality of Christ’s teaching betray
his utter ignorance of the subject. It is of no use, he says, to
assert that the Christ of the Gospels is not historical. Begging
his pardon, that is the most important factor in the problem.
If the Gospels are what we allege (and no scholar would dispute
it), George Eliot is right in saying that the materials for a
biography of Jesus do not exist, and Mill’s “ rational criticism ”
is a purely fantastic process. But the reason he assigns for his
position is still more absurd. Who, he asks, could have in
vented the sayings ascribed to Jesus ? Certainly, he says, not
St. Paul: a sentence which alone stamps him as an incompetent
critic. No man who understood the subject would ever have
thought of anticipating such a preposterous objection. “Cer
�( 16 )
tainly not the fishermen of Galilee,” is equally futile, for no
student of the origin of Christianity supposes that the Gospels
were written by the first disciples. They are of much later
date. But except for that fact, why might not the “ fishermen
of Galilee ” have been able to invent the logia of the Gospels
as well as Jesus ? He was only a carpenter, and there is no
reason in the nature of things why fishermen should not equal
carpenters as prophets, preachers, and moralists. Mill is alto
gether on the wrong scent. There was no need for Christ or
his disciples to invent the sayings ascribed to him. As we have
already remarked, they were the common possession of the East
before his birth. The Lord’s Prayer is merely a cento from the
Talmud, and, as Emanuel Deutsch showed, every catchword of
Christ’s was a household word of Talmudic Judaism before he
began his ministry. There is not a single maxim, however good
or bad, however sensible or silly, in the whole of Christ’s dis
courses that cannot be found in the writings of Pagan moralists
and poets or Jewish doctors who flourished before him; and his
best sayings, if they may be called his, were all anticipated by
Buddha several centuries before he was born. It is also well
known that the Golden Rule, as it is called, was taught by Con
fucius long before the time of Christ, without any of the
absurdities with which the Nazarene surrounded it. “ Love
your enemies,” says Christ, as though it were wise or possible to
do so. Confucius corrected this exaggeration. “No,” he said,
“ if I love my enemies, what shall I give to my friends ? To
my friends I give my love, and to my enemies—justice.! ”
We think we have said enough to show that Mill’s panegyric
on Christ is utterly valueless. Mr. Matthew Arnold is far more
subtle and dexterous in his eulogy; but he knows the subject
as well as Mill knew it badly. If the apologists of Christianity
are prudent, they will cease to make use of Mill’s tribute to
their Blessed Savior, or at least employ it only before people
who are in that blissful ignorance which fancies it folly to be
•wise.
�
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What was Christ? a reply to John Stuart Mill
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Foote, G. W. (George William) [1850-1915]
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Notes: Reply to passages in Mill's Three essays on religion. Part of the NSS pamphlet collection. Printed and published by G.W. Foote.
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1887
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Jesus Christ
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Jesus Christ
John Stuart Mill
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NATIONAL SECULAR SOCIETY
LETTERS
TO
JESUS
CHRIST.
BY
G. W. FOOTE.
LONDON
PROGRESSIVE PUBLISHING COMPANY,
28 Stonecutter Street, E.C.
1886.
�LONDON:
PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY G. W. FOOTE,
AT 28 STONECUTTER STREET, E.C.
�^50
THE INCARNATION.
-------- ♦--------
Dear Sir, dear Ghost, or dear God,—
You are reputed to be everywhere, and therefore I
presume you will see this letter, although I am unable
to send it through the post. I would have ventured
on that method of conveyance, but I was deterred by
the failure of a pious gentleman in Germany, who
posted a letter to “God, in Heaven,” and had it re
turned as “ insufficiently addressed.” A similar
difficulty occurred to me a few years ago, when I was
prosecuted by your zealous admirers for doubting your
absolute perfection. I wished to call you as a witness
in the case, but I found no one to serve the subpoena.
When you were on earth, more than eighteen centu
ries ago, you advised people to “ search the scriptures.”
Following your recommendation, I have searched them,
and I have paid the penalty which is generally exacted
from those who are in any respect wiser than their
neighbors, or their neighbors’ priests. Yet my zeal for
knowledge is unabated ; and as my study of the Bible
has opened up an endless vista of curious problems,
^vhich none of the commentators are able to solve, I
take the liberty of communicating with you person
ally, and seeking the assistance of the only being who
can help me in my perplexity.
My inquiries will be restricted to the New Testa
ment. When I desire the aid of an infallible guide
through the mazes of the Old Testament, I shall apply
to your heavenly father. But as his temper was al
ways violent and irascible, and may not have im
�4
LETTERS TO JESUS CHRIST.
proved with age, I shall naturally postpone my inves
tigations in that direction until my thirst for informa
tion can no longer be resisted.
I shall, in the present letter, confine myself to the
subject of your nativity. When a week has elapsed, I
shall trouble you with a fresh communication, and
subsequently perhaps with others, dealing with various
aspects of your marvellous career.
Judging from many passages in the Gospels, I should
say that, in the opinion of your contemporaries, you
were born like other babies. They called you “ the
carpenter’s son,” referred to Mary as your natural
mother, recited the names of your four brothers, and
alluded to your sisters, who completed the family
circle. Nor does it appear, from the report of the trial
which preceded your execution, that your friends or
your enemies breathed a whisper of your miraculous
birth. What is still more surprising, two of your four
biographers fail to mention the circumstance. Had
the gospels of Matthew and Luke been lost in the
stream of time, we should never have learnt from
Mark and John that your entrance into the world was
at all uncommon.
Will you kindly explain their silence ? At present
it puzzles me. Did they think your being born without
a father was too trivial a fact to record ? Did they
disbelieve the story, and treat it with quiet contempt ?
Or had they never heard of it, and is their silence due
to their ignorance ? I cannot conceive of another al
ternative, and whichever I accept, the mystery remains
unsolved. Yet truth is so simple and perspicuous, that
when you disclose it on this subject I shall doubtless
comprehend it at a glance, and wonder I had not un
derstood it before.
At present, however, I am in a dilemma. If Mark
and John disbelieved the story of your miraculous
birth, they neutralise the testimony of Matthew and
Luke. It is two against two, and the Lord (that is,
yourself) only knows whom to believe. If Mark and
John never heard of the story, it could not have been
widely prevalent, and this militates against its truth,
for so tremendous a fact could hardly have been con-
�THE INCARNATION.
0
cealed, or confined to the notice of a few. There
remains the supposition that they regarded the fact
itself as trivial. If they did so, it could only be for
one reason. You were born without a father, but
other boys have been in the same plight. Illegitimacy
has in all ages been too frequent to be wonderful, and
it is a topic on which those immediately concerned
are discreetly reticent. Yet it is no one’s fault if his
parents anticipated or neglected the rites of matrimony;
and if, as Celsus declared in the second century, there
was a bar sinister in your escutcheon, you cannot be
blamed for a transaction in which you were involved
without being consulted. Considering this, therefore,
you may deign to tell me how the matter stands. Still,
if the theme is painful, I refrain from pressing you for
an answer.
Personally, I have long thought that being born
without a father is no miracle. Had you been of divine
origin, you or your progenitor might have demon
strated the fact by dispensing with the assistance of a
mother. Such a miracle would have been too obvious
for disbelief, and the greatest sceptic would have been
convinced. But when there is a mother in the case,
common sense will always conclude that there is a
father somewhere.
Matthew and Luke, I find, differ from each other, as
well as from Mark and John. One makes Joseph dis
cover Mary’s premature pregnancy, while the other
says it was revealed to him in a dream. One relates
the Annunciation, while the other omits it. One
affirms that your birth was heralded by angels who
appeared to some shepherds, while the other declares
that it was heralded by a star which the Magi followed
from the east, probably from Persia. One records the
massacre of the innocents, while the other ignores it.
Two such witnesses would damn any case, when they
both appear on the same side.
Supposing Matthew is right, will you inform me
how the Magi followed a star, the nearest being millions
of miles distant ? And how did the star “ stand over ”
the place where your mother was literally in the
straw ? Was it a meteor, expressly provided for the
�6
LETTERS TO JESUS CHRIST.
occasion, or an angel with an electric light or a dark
lantern ?
You might also inform me (for it is a point of some
interest) whether there is any truth in the legend that
your parents were too poor to pay for decent accom
modation ; or whether, as Luke intimates, they were
obliged to occupy a stable because the hotel was “ full
up,” and no gentleman would go outside to oblige a
lady ?
I should also be obliged by your telling me when
you were born. Luke says it was when Cyrenius was
governor of Syria, but that was ten years after the
beginning of our era. Some scholars maintain that
you were born two, and others four, years before the
orthodox date ; while the Jews place the event nearly
a century earlier. Nor is the day of your birth settled
to my satisfaction. Your worshippers say it was the
25th of December, but that is not a season when sheep
pasture out at night. Neither your brethren, your
apostles, your biographers, nor the Fathers of the early
Church, knew that you were born on that day. It was
not recognised until the second half of the fourth
century, and that very date was the birthday of all the
sun-gods of antiquity. I am not apprising you of
these facts, for of course you know them. I am
simply stating the grounds of my dubiety. Probably
you know when you were born ; I do not. You cer
tainly were present; I was not. I am, therefore,
justified in asking you to settle the question for me,
and for other inquiring spirits. Lighten our darkness,
we beseech thee, 0 Lord.
With regard to your godhead, I am dying for news.
Your biographers are very unsatisfactory on this point.
They evidently wrote for a credulous age, when every
fable and legend was swallowed without a question.
But this age is more critical, and you will pardon my
curiosity, which is shared by millions.
Other children begin their existence when they enter
this world, but your career began milleniums before
you were born. According to your own statement, you
lived before Abraham. What were you doing all this
time, and where did you reside ? Were you really the
�THE INCARNATION’.
7
hero of the Song of Songs which is Solomon’s ? Was
it yon and your prospective Church, as the headings
of the chapters indicate, who exchanged all those
amorous greetings, and indulged in all that voluptuous
imagery ? Did you liken your mystical bride, still
unborn, and hidden in the womb of time, to a lily
among thorns ? Did you resemble her neck to the
tower of David, her breasts to twin roes, her eyes to
the fishpools of Heshbon, and her nose to the tower of
Lebanon which looketh toward Damascus ? Did you
expatiate still more lusciously on her hidden charms,
in the manner of Ovid or Catullus ? And did she, the
unborn beauty, reciprocate the strain, and chant a
poetical inventory of your manly graces ? If she was
not blinded by passion, but spoke the simple truth,
you must have been a regular lady-killer. Perhaps
this explains the number of your female devotees in
Palestine, including pretty Mary Magdalene, and the
rich women who ministered unto you of their sub
stance.
When you write, if you vouchsafe me a reply, you
might answer these questions. You might also inform
me whether such glowing strains are fit to be read by
children, as part of the word of God. The children
of this age, at least, are precocious enough. There is
no necessity for the Bible to teach the young idea how
to shoot. Still, the Canticles are splendid poetry, and
if you wrote or inspired them, you are entitled to a
place in the hierarchy of genius. How miserably you
had degenerated when you took to preaching I The
passion was left, but the poetry was gone.
According to Matthew your father and mother were
espoused, but before the knot was tied Mary astonished
her husband with an unexpected rotundity. Not
liking the aspect of affairs, he “ was minded to put her
away privily.” I suppose the poor fellow was going to
emigrate, and sing “ The girl I left behind me.” But
one night an angel visited him in a dream, told him it
was all correct, warned him not to decamp, and bade
him marry the girl. When he awoke he believed it.
He had a right to, yet he could hardly expect his
friends to show the same credulity. I confess I am
�8
LETTERS TO JESUS CHRIST.
not so satisfied as he was, and I doubt whether the
most pious carpenter in Christendom would believe
such a story about his own sweetheart, on similar evi
dence. But that was the age of faith, and judging
from the tales of old mythology, Joseph was not the
first husband who fathered the offspring of a ghost.
Luke’s narrative, however, seems inconsistent with
Matthew’s. According to his story there was no such
contretemps. Joseph’s felicity was not marred by any
doubt of his bride’s chastity. He appears (I beg par
don for speaking so of your father, but it was long ago)
to have been an easy wittol. Perhaps, after all, as a
friend of mine once heard a Jesuit preacher say in
Italy, he was not deceived, for Joseph was your carnal
father, and the miracle of your incarnation, like all
other miracles, was operated by natural agency. This,
however, is quite incompatible with Matthew’s express
statement (i., 25) that Joseph was merely a nominal
husband until after your birth.
Your actual father, or, if I may so express it, your
ultimate father, was not an ordinary ghost, but the
Holy Ghost. Like the peace of God, this mystery
passes all understanding. How could a ghost, however
holy, become the father of a bouncing boy ? Catholic
divines have discussed this point elaborately, but their
speculations are too obscene for repetition. I will not
imitate their filth or their blasphemy. Yet I may re
mark, that when they speak of the holy pigeon or dove,
they suggest the Pagan pictures of Leda and Jove.
Between a paternal dove and a paternal swan, the
difference is only one of ornithology. Correggio’s
magnificent picture of Jupiter and Io may be an
adumbration of the truth, but I leave the mystery for
your solution. When you illuminate my natural dark
ness on this sacrosanct wonder, I shall, with your
permission, enlighten my fellows, and close the most
bestial chapter of religious controversy.
At present I cannot understand a baby God. Did
God mewl and puke in his nurse’s arms ? Did God
kick and squeal in his bath ? Did God stare foolishly
at his little toes ? Did God howl when he was pricked
by a nasty pin ? Was God suckled by his mother, or
�THE INCARNATION.
9
brought up on the bottle ? Did God increase the family
washing bill ? Was God put in a cradle and rocked
to sleep ? Did God have the measles ? Did God have
a bad time in teething ? Did God learn to walk by
the domestic furniture ? Did God tumble down on
his nose or on the broader part he once displayed to
Moses ? Did God learn his A B C ? Was God spanked
• when he misbehaved ? Did God play at marbles and
-make mud-pies ? Did God fight other boys in the
street, sometimes thrashing, and sometimes being
thrashed ? Did God run home to his mother with a
sanguinary nose ? Did God, as he grew up, enter a
carpenter’s shop to learn the trade ? Did God cut his
alm ighty fingers with the chisel, and shave his celestial
skin with the jack-plane ?
These are pertinent questions. No one but a bigot
would call them blasphemous.. If those things really
happened, I am ready to believe them ; if they did
not, the world should be disabused. I put my queries
in the interest of truth. Your priests may howl, but
that is their profession.
Your incarnation is nothing unique. We find its
parallels in Oriental avatars, and in the heroes of Pagan
mythology. The sons of God have always seen the
daughters of men that they were fair, and on reading
the reports of the Divorce Court we find they still
exhibit the same old taste.
Centuries before you were born the Egptian goddess
Isis was depicted holding the divine child Horus in
her arms. Christian paintings of the madonna and
bambino are merely copies of ancient iconography.
The type varies like the artist’s genius, but the subject
is the same. Nay, the whole story of the Annuncia
tion related by Luke, was chiselled on the walls of the
sanctuary in the Temple of Luxor before the Jewish
scriptures were written, before Rome arose on her
seven hills, before Athens “ gleamed on its crest of
columns,” a beacon of civilisation to a barbarous
world. Your holy nativity seems a legend borrowed
from “ the motherland of superstitions.” I can come
to no other conclusion, and if I am to be damned for
my unbelief I protest against the injustice of my fate.
�10
LETTERS TO JESUS CHRIST.
If you were only a man, I have nothing to fear ; if
you are a god, you should satisfy my scruples before
censuring my scepticism. Belief does not depend on
will, but on evidence. A word from you would make
the dark path of faith luminous. If you leave it in
obscurity you cannot wonder if I stray. Surely the
being who said Let there be light, and there was light,
could easily dispel my darkness ; nor can I believe he
will, at the end of my journey, flash on me the illumi
nation of hell.
THE CRUCIFIXION.
Dear Sir, dear Ghost, or dear God,—
Last week I addressed you on the subject of your
Incarnation. You have not yet replied, but I do not
despair of an answer, for your movements were always
slow. Eighteen centuries ago you began to redeem the
world, and you have made little progress yet. If you
are so long fulfilling your solemn promises, I need not
wonder at your tardiness in answering my letter.
Besides, I am in no particular hurry. My questions
will keep, and I shall quietly await your convenience.
Some day you may have a spare hour to attend to
my communication. But I beg you will not send
a reply by lightning, to make up for lost time, as
my life is not heavily insured, and my wife would
not like the bother of an inquest. You need not even
incur the expense of a long telegram. The penny
post will do. Meanwhile I venture to address you
again on the subject of your Crucifixion. You can
answer both letters at once.
Your four biographers were badly chosen. Their
narratives are so discrepant, that no sensible man can
credit them without corroborating evidence from other
�THE CRUCIFIXION.
11
sources. That, however, is not forthcoming. Your
birth, your life, and your death, were all attended by
prodigies, yet none of them is mentioned by a single
profane writer, and they were disbelieved by the very
people among whom they occurred. Will you explain
this scepticism, and this conspiracy of silence ?
Matthew, Mark, and Luke bring you before Caiaphas
for examination, while John places the trial in the house
of Annas. Their account of the proceedings is simply
grotesque. From beginning to end it is contrary to
Jewish law and custom. The Sanhedrim was not a col
lection of roughs, but the great council of the State,
subject only to the ultimate authority of the Roman
governor ; and the idea that “ the chief priests, and all
the council,” not only violated every rule of procedure,
but actually surrounded a prisoner in court, and struck
fond spat upon him, is too utterly ridiculous for belief.
Why are your biographers so inaccurate ? Like your
self, X was accused of blasphemy ; I was tried, sen
tenced, and imprisoned, by your disciples. But I did
not leave the report of my trial to the hazard of acci
dent. 1 engaged a competent shorthand-writer, whose
notes were printed ; and on my release from the clutches
of your bigoted friends, I published a full account of
my imprisonment. What a pity you failed to take
Similar precautions 1 Still, the mischief is not irre
parable, and it is never too late to mend. You can
acquaint me with the truth, the whole truth, and
nothing but the truth, and I will circulate the information. Or you can authorise Convocation to appoint a
new Revision Committee, and preside in person over
their sessions. This would enable them to dispense
with the assistance of the Holy Ghost, who invariably
confuses and misleads his confidants. I say his, not in
a dogmatic spirit, but because I am obliged to use a
pronoun. I have no wish to decide whether the Holy
Ghost is masculine, feminine, or neuter ; he, she, or it.
Until I am instructed on this point, I hold my judg
ment in suspense. Yet I am desirous to know th©
truth, and I shall be obliged if you will satisfy my
curiosity.
Your biographers all agree that you were crucified,
�12
LETTERS TO JESUS CHRIST.
but doubts are suggested by other portions of the New
Testament. Paul, whom you converted by a miracle or
a sunstroke, preached Christ and him crucified. Yet,
in his epistle to the Galatians, he says that you became
a curse for us, “ for it is written, Cursed is every one
that hangeth on a tree.” Peter (you will remember
him—cock-crowing, S’elp me God, Peter) in the Acts of
the Apostles and in his first Epistle, repeatedly says
that you were hanged on a tree. I am therefore unable
to decide whether you were crucified or hung, but in
either case you are to be pitied. Julius Csesar, and
other brave men, have agreed that a sudden death is
the best. But the death of a malefactor in ancient
times was both painful and ignominious. I really
wish you had been allowed to die a natural death on a
good feather-bed, and that the rich women, who sub
scribed largely to your expenses while you were on
circuit, had given you a decent funeral.
One of the early Christian sects, the Basilidians,
denied that you were executed at all. According to
their theory, Simon the Cyrenean was crucified in your
stead. You disappeared when he shouldered the Cross,
and poor Simon, being miraculously made to resemble
you, became a vicarious sacrifice. The idea is amusing,
but I reject it. You were not remarkable for courage,
but I scarcely believe you played the poor devil such a
shabby trick. Another Christian fancy was that Judas
Iscariot was obliged to act as your proxy. That at
least implies a kind of poetical justice, and it might
be called “Judas for Jesus, or the biter bit.”
By the way, you might inform me what became of
Judas. Did he bring back the price of your betrayal,
and did the priests buy a field with it, as Matthew
asserts ; or did he keep the money, and purchase the
field himself, as is distinctly stated in the Acts of the
Apostles ? Did he hang himself, according to the first
authority ; or did he fall down, and rupture his bowels,
according to the second ? And if both accounts are
true, will you tell me whether the rupture preceded the
hanging, or the hanging the rupture ? I should also
like it explained why Papias, in the second century,
having (as it is alleged) the Gospel of Matthew before
�THE CRUCIFIXION.
13
him, stated that Judas “ walked about in this world a
great example of impiety,” grew terribly corpulent,
and was killed by being crushed between a chariot and
a wall.
._ _
Your biographers tell us that you were crucified on a
Friday, and all of them, with the exception of John,
describe it as the first day of the Passover. They must,
however, have been mistaken ; for no trials or execu
tions took place among the Jews on any feast day ;
and, according to the Jewish calendar, the first day of
the Passover never was, and never can be, on a Friday.
It is a singular thing that the anniversary of your
Crucifixion varies every year. You must have died,
if you ever lived, on a particular day, which should be
regularly celebrated. But Good Friday, as your
devotees call it, is determined by the phases of the
moon, a planet which is sacred to lunatics. Being
decided by astronomical signs, the anniversary is
probably borrowed from ancient sun-worship. Why
do you not set our minds at rest on this point ?
It would cost you little trouble, and give us much
satisfaction.
The hour of your Crucifixion is equally uncertain.
Two of your biographers say that you expired at three
in the afternoon. According to Mark, you were cruci
fied at nine ; according to Luke, you were tried that
morning ; and according to John, the court was still
sitting at mid-day. Some discrepancies may be recon
ciled, but you could not have been tried at twelve and
executed at nine. Here is another point on which you
might enlighten us.
While you were on the cross, were you wounded in
the side by a Roman spear? Matthew, Mark, and
Luke, omit the circumstance. John is the only writer
who mentions it, and he seems to have had a special
reason for doing so. After your Resurrection, he intro
duces Thomas Didymus, who was entirely unknown to
the Synoptics ; and there are sceptics who urge that he
devised the spear-thrust simply that Doubting Tommy
might have a ready-made hole when he probed your
side. This appears to me irreverent, if not blas
phemous, and I merely mention it that the truth may
�14
LETTERS TO JESUS CHRIST.
be established, and a subject of jest taken from these
impious witlings.
John alleges that the spear drew blood and water.
No blood would flow if you were dead, and if you were
living no water, unless you suffered from the dropsy.
May I suggest that this point deserves your atten
tion ?
With respect to the two thieves who were crucified
with you, John barely alludes to them, and Matthew
and Mark say they both mocked you. Luke, however,
declares that one of them rebuked the other, and
gained from you a ticket for heaven. Kindly tell me
which I am to believe.
Pilate set an inscription on your cross in three differ
ent languages, which was perhaps a subtle compliment
to the Trinity. Your biographers read it clearly, and
wrote it in four different ways. Matthew says it was,
“This is Jesus the King of the Jews”; Mark, “The
King of the Jews”; Luke, “This is the King of the
Jews ”; and John, “ Jesus of Nazareth the King of the
Jews.” Even on a point like this, where accuracy
might be expected, they are in hopeless disagreement.
Will you explain the discrepancy ? Which evangelist
is right, or are they all wrong ?
Three hundred years after your Crucifixion the cross
on which you suffered was found by St. Helena, the
mother of Constantine. The inscription upon it was
still fresh, but it was never copied. Had the clergy
shown less discretion, or more solicitude, the world
would have known the truth. As it is, we are still
puzzled by the variance of your biographers, and unless
you assist us we shall be puzzled till the day of judg
ment, when the truth will be too late.
Multitudes of sermons have been preached on the
enigmatical words “ It is finished,” which, according
to John, were the last you uttered. According to
Luke, however, your last words were, “ Father, unto
thy hands I commend my spirit,” while Matthew and
Mark say that you uttered a loud cry and gave up the
ghost. A centurion standing by exclaimed, “ Truly
this man was the son of God.” Truly he was easily
convinced. I hope I am not expected to show the
�THE CRUCIFIXION.
15
same credulity ; yet if you repeat the same cry in my
hearing it may produce the same effect.
Your biographers inform us that the sun was eclipsed
for tibree hours at your Crucifixion. Will you kindly
explain why no J ewish or Pagan annalist ever heard
of this supernatural darkness ? Matthew informs us,
in addition, that many dead saints rose from their
graves, walked into Jerusalem, and publicly exhibited
themselves. How is it that this unparalleled marvel
escaped the notice of every profane writer ? Did it
really occur ? And if so, did those resurrected saints
return to their graves, or are they still an army of
Wandering Jews ? I am emboldened to ask these
questions, because three of your biographers do not
record the grave-splitting earthquake. I hope my
curiosity is not blasphemous. I am sure it is natural.
If the old telephone between heaven and earth is destroyed, Madly send a special messenger, and I will pay
his expenses. But please warn him not to leave Ms
message with the servant. If I am out when he calls,
he can make an appointment for the next day, and I
Will pay his hotel bill. If he calls at my office, warn
him against the printer’s devil.
You. might also tell me whether you cried out on the
cross <• My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me ?”
If y&a. did utter that ejaculation, were you calling to
yourself or to another ? Was it the cry of a deity play
ing a part, or the cry of a deluded enthusiast in the
hour of despair ? Was it a tragedy or a farce ?
Pardo©, me also for inquiring why you allowed
yourself to be crucified at all. It is obvious that
Pilate tried to save you. Had you denied the charge
of rebellion, he would have acquitted and protected
yon. But you rejected his assistance ; you courted
your doom ; and your death was less a martyrdom than
a suicide. What was the reason of this strange con
duct ? Were you stupefied with fear ? Were you afraid
to face the mob again, after their experience of your
divinity ? Or were you disillusioned, and had life no
further charm ?
Such questions proceed on the supposition that you
were a man. If you were a god, your death is still
�16
LETTERS TO JESUS CHRIST.
more amazing. You gained nothing by it, andwehavS
profited as little. It may be possible, as the priests of
your creed tell us, that your sufferings on the cross will
mysteriously confer some benefit upon us in another
world. But until you distinctly inform me so yourseM
I shall venture to doubt it. It appears to me that your
omnipotence, and certainly your omniscience, would
have been more judiciously displayed, had you exer
cised the creative faculty with which you brought the
universe into existence from nothing. Surely the
being who produced all things by the fiat of his almighty
will, could as easily have regenerated the human
race, without designing a monstrous drama in which
one man betrayed his friend with a kiss and thousands
of others assisted or connived at a judicial murder.
Judging from the history of the world since Chris
tianity was established, I should say that your cruci
fixion has been more of a curse than a blessing. In
stead of your sufferings moving the heart to pity,
they have too often moved it to hatred and cruelty.
The Crusaders captured Jerusalem on Good Friday,
and entered the doomed city at the very hour of your
Passion. They immediately proceeded to offer up a
bloody sacrifice to their deity. Seventy thousand
“ infidels ” were slaughtered, the Jews were burnt in
their synagogue, and in the Mosque of Omar the blood
was knee-deep and dashed up to the horses’ bridles.
Your holy champions, who were all decorated with a
cross, interrupted their orgie of blood to pay their
devotions. After piously kneeling on the various spots
they supposed to have been hallowed by your presence,
they resumed the massacre of your enemies, beginning
with three hundred prisoners whose safety had been
solemnly assured. The Saracens were flung from the
tops of houses and towers ; women with children at
their breasts, girls and boys, were indiscriminately
slaughtered. It was a hell of rapine, murder, and lust.
No heart, among the warriors of the cross, melted with
compassion. Where your blood was shed to save, they
sacrificed myriads of victims ; where you are said to
have forgiven your enemies, they exhibited the cruelty
of fiends. The carnage lasted a week, and when the
�THE CRUCIFIXION.
17
victors were tired of slaying, they sold the survivors as
slaves.
Such were the deeds of the “ Soldiers of Christ,”
who fought under the symbol of your Crucifixion.
How different was the conduct of the Saracens when
they recaptured Jerusalem a century later ! Not a
superfluous drop of blood was shed, and the noble
Saladin softened the rigors of the capitulation to thou
sands, whose only claim on his generosity was that they
were human. He ransomed a multitude of captives
from his private purse, restored the mothers to their
children, and the husbands to their wives. A Moham
medan infidel, he regarded your divinity as a supersti
tion, but his humanity compels our admiration and love,
and stands out in bold relief against the uniform
savagery of your devotees.
Your Crucifixion had done no good for the Crusaders.
What has it done for mankind? Worshipping “dead
limbs of gibbeted gods,” the world grew fouler; its
mind was debased by associating images of carnage
with its loftiest ideals ; and history attests that the
Cross never gleamed so brightly as when it rose above
the fires of the stake, or shone over seas of blood.
Every red drop that fell from your hands and feet and
brows, turned into deadly poison, with which your
priests have infected humanity. Heart and mind have
been alike degraded, cruelty and superstition being
twin curses ; and at this day, the Christians who most
closely resemble your first disciples, assume the watch
word and trade-mark of “ Blood and Fire,” while their
religious antics are worthy of the fetishists of Africa.
Were you a god, and did you foresee this ? I shrink
from the terrible conclusion. It is too appalling. It
makes the universe an infinite hell. Until you expressly
tell me otherwise, and assure me that the only philo
sophy is despair, I shall prefer to think that the Jesus
who perished on a Roman cross was a Jewish enthu
siast, weak like most men, and mortal like all.
�18
LETTERS TO JESUS CHRIST.
THE
RESURRECTION.
Dear Sir, dear Ghost, or Dear God,—
You have not yet vouchsafed an answer to my pre
vious letters. I am a little disappointed, but I shall
continue my epistles. When you have the leisure and
inclination you will doubtless respond. Perhaps your
heavenly messengers are fully occupied at present, and
I must wait till one of them is disengaged. If the
rest of the universe is as disordered as this planet, with
its volcanoes, earthquakes, wars, diseases, starvation,
misery, and political revolutions, I fancy they will not
lack employment for a considerable time. Yet the
matters on which I am addressing you are of vast im
portance, and I trust you will give me your earliest
convenient attention.
This letter will deal with your Resurrection. Ac
cording to the clergy, this event is the corner stone of
Christianity. It should, therefore, be indisputable.
The evidence for it should be clear, positive, and over
whelming. I am sorry to say it is not. Faith “ believeth
all things,” as Paul says, and those who possess that
virtue can dispense with proof. But my stock of faith
is limited. You, or your father, or the Holy Ghost,*
gave me a sceptical turn of mind, and if you expect
me to believe, you should proportion the evidence to
my incredulity.
Some' have doubted whether you really died on the
cross. Pilate marvelled that you expired so soon, and
when your body was taken down, your legs were not
broken, like those of the two thieves. Considering
this, some have held that your Resurrection and Ascen
sion were arranged between yourself and your disciples,]
that you were never buried as the Gospels relate,
because you were not dead, and that you retired to an
Essenean monastery, where you spent the rest of your
days in quiet obscurity. Such a notion seems far
fetched, however ; and I take it for granted that you
�THE RESURRECTION.
19
“gave up the ghost,” as your biographers assert. Not
that I quite understand what ghost you resigned. That
is a point on which I crave a little information.
According to your biographers you were buried at
the expense of your friend, Mr. Joseph of Arimathsea.
He appears to have done the thing handsomely, and
your obsequies were a little above your station in
life. He laid your body in a new tomb, rolled a
big stone against the entrance, and went home to
supper. No doubt he wished you an eternal fare
well. I cannot conceive that he expected to see you
again, or he would have left you a free exit when
you took it into your head to walk out.
In that sepulchre you performed a marvellous feat.
You spent three days there between late on Friday
night and early on Sunday morning. Many who are
engaged on day work would like to know how you
did it* Perhaps you reckoned according to the rules of
your father’s shop—I refer to Joseph, and not to the
Holy Ghost. Saturday was one day, and the nights
counted as two more.
The Apostles’ Creed states that you—I suppose it
means your soul—descended into hell during your
burial | and it was then, I presume, that you “ preached
unto the spirits in prison.” Indeed, one of the
apocryphal gospels, in use by some of your early
followers, gives a lively account of how you harried
the realm of Old Harry, emptying hell wholesale, and
robbing the poor Devil of his illustrious subjects,
from Adam to John the Baptist. If this story be
true, how do you explain your promise to the peni
tent thief—“To day shalt thou be with me in
Paradise ” ? Did you really say “ To day shalt thou
be with me in hell ” ? Or did you forget your in
tended trip to Gehenna, and had the poor thief to
linger outside the gate of heaven until you arrived
to pass him in ?
With respect to the Jerusalem big-wigs who com
passed your death, and proved that a single company
of Roman soldiers were more than a match for a
legion of angels, one of your biographers tells an as
tounding story. They informed Pilate that you had
�20
LETTERS TO JESUS CHRIST.
promised to rise again after three days, and requested
him to take precautions against your disciples’ play
ing the part of body-snatchers. Pilate gave them a
watch of soldiers. But there was an earthquake on the
Saturday night, and an angel flew down from heaven
and rolled away the stone, which he sat on, frightening
your keepers into fits. In the confusion you seem to
have walked off and borrowed a suit of clothes. Mean
while the soldiers went and told the chief priests and
elders what had happened. Those gentry gave them
“ large money,” told them to say that your disciples
stole the body while they slept, and promised to make
it all right with Pilate.
Now this is a wonderful story, and I hope I am not
impious in wishing it explained. How did the Jeru
salem big-wigs know that you had prophesied your
Resurrection when your disciples, as John tells us (xx.,
9), were ignorant of it themselves ? How could their
deceiving the people be any protection against you?
Why did they continue to treat you as “a deceiver”
after you had convinced them to the contrary ? Had
they really the superhuman courage, or the asinine
stupidity, to oppose and vilify one who had proved
himself the lord of life and death? Did a company
of Roman soldiers actually take a bribe to confess
that they had slept at their posts, and had thus com
mitted an offence punishable with death ? And how
came they to trust for their safety to the Sanhedrim,
when that body was notoriously at loggerheads with
the Governor ?
Until you enlighten me on these points I shall
decline to believe the story; and when Matthew says
that “this saying is commonly reported among the
Jews until this day,” I fancy I see an indication
that the narrative was concocted long after your
lamented decease.
Will you also kindly inform me which of your
friends first visited your tomb on the morning of your
Resurrection ? Matthew brings two women, Mary
Magdalene and “ the other Mary.” Mark brings these
two with a third called Salome. Luke ignores
Salome, and substitutes Joanna. John brings Mary
�THE RESURRECTION.
21
Magdalene alone. In presence of these contradictions
I know not what to believe. I am, indeed, inclined
to ‘tliiiik that Mary Magdalene, your hysterical
adorer, dreamed the whole thing and imposed it on
your disciples.
May I also ask to whom you first appeared ?
Matthew says you appeared to the ladies; Mark and
John to Mary Magdalene ; Luke to two gentlemen on
the road to Emmaus. Not being endowed with
miraculous powers, I cannot believe them all. Will you
inform me which speaks the truth ? You might also sot
my mind at rest as to your subsequent interviews with
your friends, for my ingenuity is not capable of recon
ciling1 the statements of your biographers. Matthew
says you appeared once, Luke twice, Mark thrice, and
John four times. Were you, let me ask, a spectre or a
resuscitated corpse ? You gave doubting Thomas pal
pable proof of your substantial character, but on the
Other hand you crept through the keyhole of a closed
door and vanished like a hedge-row ghost. I am
Btill further puzzled by the statement that you ate a fish
dinner before you travelled to heaven. These things
are too hard for me, and I crave your assistance.
Your friend Paul complicates the matter still more,
for h® Says that you appeared unto five hundred of the
brethren at once, some of whom were alive when he
TOte. Yet, according to the Acts of the Apostles, the
total number of the brethren after your Ascension was
only a hundred and twenty. Were Paul’s wits, or at
least his arithmetic, disordered by that sunstroke ; or
did you return to earth after your Ascension, when the
brethren had multiplied, and give another farewell
performance, positively for the last time ?
I do not wish to bore you, but I venture to ask
you another question. Why did you appear only to
your disciples ? How was it that no outsider ever
caught sight of you ? Your Resurrection, according to
Paul, is the central fact of Christianity, the pledge
Of our immortality, and the promise of our redemp
tion. Why did you not substantiate it beyond dis
pute ? You might have challenged the whole city of
Jerusalem to the proof. You might have publicly
�22
LETTERS TO JESUS CHRIST.
appeared to your enemies as well as your friends,
and Pilate might have forwarded a full account of the
miracle to Rome, where it would have been preserved
in the imperial archives. The whole world would then
have been convinced. But, instead of this, you flitted
about mysteriously, concealing a fact, which it was
everyone’s interest to know, from all but a favored few,
who needed very little convincing. The Jews, among
whom your Resurrection occurred, denied it, and they
deny it to this day. Yet you could have easily con-vinced them, and your neglecting to do so has cost
that unhappy people ages of misery and rivers of
blood. When the great Czar Nicholas, one Easter
morning, was walking round his palace, he passed a
sentinel who happened to be a Jew. The lord of all
the Russias gave the morning’s salutation “ Christ is
risen.” But the Jewish sentinel grounded his musket
and said “Christ is not risen.” The two men gazed
at each other—czar and sentinel. They typified the
conflict of centuries. “ Christ is risen ” say millions
of aliens to the land of your birth. “Christ is not
risen,” say your countrymen. They have asserted it
through ages of awful persecution. They have affirmed
it through incredible sufferings and tortures. They
have maintained it amidst the ruin of their homes,
the massacre of their families, the violation of their
wives and daughters, and the flames of a myriad
stakes. Are they or their persecutors in the right ?
If you have the power to tell us, exercise it. Speak
and set the weary world at rest.
THE ASCENSION.
Still no answer ! You were always talking on earth,
but now you have returned to heaven you are silent as
the grave. Yet I will not despair. You may reply
�THE ASCENSION.
23
Wme day, Meanwhile I prosecute my inquiries. This
letter will, deal with your Ascension.
Matthew and Mark say that an angel at your sepulchre
told your disciples to go into Galilee, where you would
meet them. Luke knows nothing of this message ; he
keeps them in Jerusalem, and says you told them to
remain there. John also omits the message, although
he takes them to Galilee. Yet the Acts of the Apostles,
like Luke, distinctly states that you appeared to your
disciples, and personally “ commanded them that they
should not depart from Jerusalem.” Pray do some
thing to improve this defective harmony. I am not
like Tertullian, who believed a thing because it was
impossible, and considered its credibility enhanced by
its absurdity. Not until a miracle is operated in my
system can I rise to this altitude.
The Gospels and the Acts vary beyond reconciliation
as tn the time, the place, and the circumstances of your
Ascension. I am obliged to put them all aside as
worthless until you inform me which I may rely on.
Of your four biographers, two were admittedly not
present at your Ascension. Mark and Luke were not
among the twelve apostles. They do not even appear
to have been among your disciples. Tradition marks
them as followers of Peter and Paul. They were
therefore not eye-witnesses of your celestial flight.
They merely repeated hearsay, and their testimony is
not worth a rush. Matthew and John, however, are
said to have been present. Yet they do not mention
your trips to heaven. Two writers who were not there
tell us all about the event, while two writers who were
there are absolutely silent !
"Will you explain this startling difficulty ? By
the standard of carnal reason, it is a powerful,
nay an invincible objection to the reality of
your Ascension. Many scholars, and those the best,
within and without the Church, consider the second
half of the last chapter of Mark as spurious. It does
not appear in the earliest manuscripts. Let it be dis
carded, and Luke becomes the only authority for your
Ascension. Yet he did not witness it, and he is reputed
to have been a disciple of Paul, who did not witness it
�24
LETTERS TO JESUS CHRIST.
either. Second or third hand rumor is poor evidence
Of a miracle. At the very best, therefore, without
questioning (as I well might) that the third Gospel was
written by Luke in the first century, I have reduced
the authenticity of your Ascension to a vanishing
point. If it did occur, another miracle is necessary to
substantiate it, owing to the deficiencies of your bio
graphers. Why not repeat the performance ? You
Could do it publicly from an elevated position, com
manding a wide prospect, so that myriads might see it.
I would gladly act as your agent, and the gate money
would compensate me for my losses and sufferings in
probing these matters to the bottom.
Luke says that you ascended from Bethany, a short
distance from Jerusalem, on the very day of your
resurrection, or at the latest the next morning, Mark
is not precise as to the time, but he positively asserts
that you ascended from Galilee, which is at least sixty
miles from Jerusalem. Only God can be in two places
at the same time. If you were the deity you could
accomplish the feat, and in that case you might have
ascended from Bethany, Galilee, and fifty other places
at once. But I fail to see how your disciples could
have witnessed your Ascension at more than one point.
There is a very different story in the Acts of the
Apostles. According to the first chapter you appeared
to the eleven apostles (Judas having hung himself,
burst his bowels, or ratted) several times during forty
days. Finally, at Mount Olivet, in the midst of an
interesting little discourse, you were “ taken up,” and
<ca cloud received ” you “ out of their sight.” That is,
you were lost in a cloud, as they were, and all who have 1
since believed them.
I ask you whether, in common honesty, I can be
expected to believe in your Ascension on such contra
dictory authorities ? If the event really occurred, j
please tell me when and where. Was it on the day of
your Resurrection, or the next day, or forty days after ?
Was it at Jerusalem, at Bethany, at Mount Olivet, or
somewhere in Galilee ? I am willing to believe, but I
must have the event fixed in time and space. Surely
you will accede to this modest condition.
�the ascension.
25
According to the fourth Article of the Church of
England, which is fairly based on Scripture, you as
cended bodily, “ with flesh, bones, and all things ap*
pertaining to the perfection of Man’s nature.” Yet
Paul says that “flesh and blood cannot inherit th®
kingdom of heaven.” Mark asserts that you went
Straight up to heaven, and “ sat on the right hand of
God.” Subsequently you changed your position. When
the heavens obligingly opened to give Stephen a view
of 44 the glory of God,” he saw you standing on the
father’s right hand. But from the Article just referred
to it appears that you have taken to sitting again. Per
haps you vary your postures, like human beings when
they are tired. I wish you could vary them still further,
for th® alternation of sitting and standing must be very
monotonous, not to say fatiguing. What a pity your
heavenly upholstery does not include the luxurious
couches of the paradise of Mohammed.
If you actually sit or stand at the “ right hand of God,”
you and he must be local and finite ; nay, he must be
COganised like yourself. How does this accord with
his infinitude ? Heaven must also be local. Will you
Inform me where it is, or at least in what direction ?
How long did it take you to get there ? How did you
breathe in the interstellar ether ? Did you digest the
broiled fish and honeycomb on the way, or was the
process completed in heaven ? Have you taken any
food since, and if not, how is your body supported ?
Kindly answer these interesting questions when you
reply.
Let me also enquire how you travelled to heavsn ?
Did you go by balloon ? Did you sprout wings and
fly? Were you carried by angels? Did you climb
th® ladder which Jacob saw in his dream ? Or were
you conveyed by the fiery horses and chariot that took
Elijah to glory ?
Before your Ascension, according to John, you gave
your apostles the Holy Ghost ; not the whole of that
being, of course, but as much as they could entertain.
According to the Acts of the Apostles, however, they
were filled with the Holy Ghost” after your Ascen
sion. Is not this a contradiction ? Being already
I
�42S
LETTERS T0 JESUS CHRIST.
freighted, how could they take in a fresh cargo of the
Holy Ghost ?
Did you also, before your Ascension, utter..those ex
traordinary words in the last chapter of Mark ? Did
you say that all who believed the Gospel should cast
out devils, speak with new tongues, play with serpents,
and drink poison with impunity ? How is it that none
of your modern devotees can perform these feats ? I
heard of one lunatic at large who boasted such signs
of faith. H i nf or med me of his miraculous capacities
by letter, and wanted me to pay him a visit. Shrink
ing from such a dangerous enterprise, I requested him
to call at my office, where a few tests were provided,
but he never made his appearance. Can you produce
& single Christian who manifests any of the signs
which, according to your own declaration, should
“ follow them that believe ” ? Would the Archbishop
of Canterbury trust himself in the serpent-house of the
Zoological Gardens, with the door locked and all th®
cases open ? Would Mr. Spurgeon swallow a dose of
arsenic, prussic acid, or strychnine, if a sceptics mixed
the draught ? Only in one respect has your prediction
been fulfilled. Some of your disciples in the Salvation
Army, and in other revival bodies, do speak with
strange tongues, which are probably as intelligible to
themselves as they are to their neighbors. I infer,
therefore, that these are the only professing Christians
with a modicum of true belief.
According to Matthew (xxviii., 17), when yon
appeared to your apostles on a mountain in Galilee,
some believed, but “ some doubted.” If they were
sceptical with the evidence before them, my scepticism
cannot be heinous when I have nothing to trust to but
loose tradition and popular rumor. Your second
coming was foretold by yourself before your death,
and by two angels after your Ascension ; and the event
was to take place within the lifetime of many persons
of that generation. Such is the clear meaning of the
text, and it was so understood by the primitive Church.
“ The coming of the Lord draweth nigh,” exclaimed
James, while Paul taught that some who read his words
would be “ alive and remain unto the coining of the
�THE ASCENSION.
27
Lord,” when they would be caught up in the clouds to
meet the Lord in the air. Generation has followed
generation, yet you have not come. You are eighteen
centuries behind date. If the error was yours, what
reliance can be placed on the rest of your words ? If
it was your biographers’, how can we trust them with
respect to other incidents in your career ? Personally,
I can no more believe in your Ascension than I can
believe that Mohammed ascended to the third heaven
on the horse Borak, with a peacock’s tail and a woman’s
face. Both stories appear fabulous. Yet I am open to
conviction, and if you furnish me with the requisite
evidence I am ready to yield my assent. Were I to
yield it for any other reason, it would be credulity or
Slavishness on my part, and imposture or tyranny on
yours. I will not think you so dishonorable ; I cannot
imagine myself so base.
THE MIRACLES.
You still maintain an obstinate silence. Yet I recol
lect that you were always loth to answer embarrassing
questions. When on earth you evaded them, and now
you are in heaven you disregard them. Perhaps I
ought to relinquish my task, but as this is the last
letter I contemplate (at least for the present), I may as
well give it the same chance as the rest.
I shall address you in this letter on the subject of
your Miracles. They give your biography the air of
an Oriental romance, but do they add to the truth or
Utility of your doctrine ? Propositions that commend
themselves to our reason, and admonitions that find an
echo in our hearts, do not require the assistance of
miracles. There is always a presumption that state
ments and maxims which need such support are false,
because they are unable to stand upon their own
merits. Nor do miracles prove anything except the
�28
LETTERS TO JESUS CHRIST.
power of the worker. You yourself admitted that the
Devil could work them as well as the Deity. A being
who achieves what transcends my power may excite
my wonder, but he does not necessarily evoke my
respect. That sentiment can only be elicited by his
magnanimity and his benevolence. Still less does his
ipse dixit enable me to dispense with proof. He may
be powerful, but not omnipotent; wise, but not omni
scient. His knowledge in one direction may be
balanced by ignorance in another ; and even if omni
scient, he may be malignant, and bent on deceiving
me to my ruin.
Besides, the age when you lived on earth abounded
in miracles. They had no power to startle or surprise.
You were 44 carrying coals to Newcastle,” and there
was no market for your wonders. They absolutely
failed to impress the very people among whom they
occurred. Even in your private circle, they produced
such profound conviction, that your brethren held
aloof, and when you were arrested your disciples for
sook you and fled.
It is a curious fact that all your chief miracles are
variations on well-known miracles of the Old Testa
ment. Jehovah rebuked the Red Sea, and you rebuked
the waves of Gennesareth. The Jews crossed the river
Jordan dryshod, and you walked upon the lake of
Tiberias. Moses fed the people in the wilderness with
miraculous food, and you fed a multitude in the desert
by the same agency. Moses struck water out of a rock,
and you turned water into wine. Elisha made an iron
axe swim, and you kept Peter from sinking. The
same prophet cured leprosy, and so did you. Elijah
raised from death a widow’s son at Zarephath, and you
raised from death a widow’s son at Nain. Other
instances might be given, but these will suffice. Your
Miracles were not even original, and that at least should
be expected when God enters the lists in person.
Your Miracles are said to be beautiful and edifying.
Will you point out in what respect the cursing of the
barren fig-tree merits, the description ? You were
hungry, but it was not the season for figs, and to expect
fruit was an absurdity. Yet you cursed the tree for its
�THE MIBAOLES.
l
r
*
’ 11
I
'
fl.
29
regular habits, and it withered at your frown. Was
not the action childish and wilful ? Was it worthy of
a man, much less of a God ? Was it not a wanton
destruction of good property ? Might not the food it
produced have saved the life of a starving wretch, who
perished because you lost your temper ?
You fed thousands of people with five loaves and
two fishes. How was it done ? Was the miracle
achieved by their enthusiasm or your divinity ? Was
it anything more than a big imitation of Elisha’s feat
with the widow’s cruse of oil ? Did you create the
•extra bread and fish out of nothing, or did you instan
taneously grow the corn, grind, leaven and bake it, and
develope the ova into fresh fish, and artificially cook it ?
Why do you not repeat such a happy performance ?
Blight and famine occasion the miserable death of
millions of the human race in every decade, not to
mention those who die every year of slow starvation ;
yet you, who could supply their necessities without
impoverishing yourself, never lift a finger to save them.
When you were tempted in the wilderness by Old
Nick you refused to turn stones into scones. Did you
drink anything ? Were you able to anticipate Signor
Succi’s fluid? How did you feel during the forty
days’ fast ? Were you very fat before or very thin
after ? And how is it you fasted exactly the same
time as Moses ? You might surely have managed another day or two, for Moses was an old man, and you
were in the prime of life. What a pity you did not
-eclipse all record ! You have not even beaten Dr.
Tanner, and he was watched, which is more than can
be said of you.
While you were fasting you were also feasting, for
on the third day of the exhibition you were at a wed
ding party in Cana. This follows from the statements
of the first and the fourth of your biographers. I can
not reconcile them, but I must believe them both. If
I disbelieve Matthew I am lost; if I disbelieve John
I am damned. Lord, I believe ; help thou mine un
belief.
' This wedding party ran short of wine. It was time
to cease drinking, for the guests had evidently paid
�30
LETTERS TO JESUS CHRIST.
their due devotions to Bacchus. But, perhaps reflect
ing that it was a pity to spoil the spree for want of
liquor, you obligingly turned more than a hundred
and thirty-five gallons of water into wine, which was
probably enough to make them all blind drunk. How
Christians can be teetotallers after this passes my com
prehension. But that is their business. What I am
curious about is, how the miracle was done. Water
contains oxygen and hydrogen in definite proportions,
and nothing else. Wine contains these elements, and
also carbon and other ingredients, being in fact a com
plex mixture. How did you supplement the oxygen
and hydrogen ? Were the other constituents of wine
created on the spot ? And is it possible to make wine
by a swift chemical process ?
You cast devils out of people who, if science be true,
never possessed them. Miss Mary Magdalene was cured
of seven. What a nice young lady for a tea party,
especially if the seven came on at once ! You cast a
“ legion ” of devils out of one man, according to Mark
and Luke, or two men according to Matthew. The
demons entered the bodies of a herd of swine, and the
animals bolted into the sea. It was a pretty miracle,
but you forgot to pay for the pigs. Naturally, there
fore, the inhabitants sent a large deputation, desiring
you to move on, for it was obvious that if you remained
you would extinguish the pork trade. If you ever
think of repeating this miracle, pray do not attempt it
in Ireland. When you reply, kindly say if the devils
perished with the pigs.
Some of your miracles of healing may have been
due to excitement in the patients. Such tricks hath
strong imagination, that it can make healthy people sud
denly sick and sick people momentarily well. Para
lysed persons have been known to rise from their beds
on an alarm of fire. But leprosy is not a nervous dis
order. It results from the vitiation of all the fluids of
the body, and cannot be affected by imagination. Your
leprous patients were not even washed, like Captain
Naaman, who, by Elisha’s order, dipped seven times in
the Jordan. I cannot conceive how you cured them.
Yet you may have had hereditary skill in the treat
�THE MIRACLES.
31
ment of this disease, for your father Jehovah had a
great deal of practice in that line among the Jews.
Your method of curing blindness was very singular.
Clay plaster and spittle ointment were the chief arti
cles in your pharmacopoeia. I do not understand what
effect these compounds could have on disordered
optics, nor am I aware that any of the blind men you
restored to sight were examined, before and after the
miracle, by competent physicians. In any case, the
miracle was personal ; it began and ended with the
individual who was cured; it threw no light on the
general subject of blindness ; nor could it afford any
guidance to a single doctor, or any help to his patients.
Nay, your miracle is eclipsed every day in our hospi
tals, where skilful operations are performed for cata
ract, and total blindness is often cured without the
disgusting manoeuvre of spitting in the patients’ eyes.
When you cured that infirm Hebrew at the miracu
lous pool of Bethesda (which, by the way, was quite
unknown to Josephus and the Rabbis, and to all your
biographers except John), you said to him “ Sin no
more, lest a worse thing come unto thee.” Do you
really mean that disease is the result of personal sin ?
How, then, do you account for inherited disease ? Did
its victims sin in their mothers’ wombs ? Why also
is there so little disease in prisons, where there is more
sin to the square yard than anywhere else in the world ?
Besides healing diseases, you raised people from the
dead. I have already mentioned the widow’s son.
Another case was that of the ruler’s daughter. Mark
says that you strictly enjoined the spectators to tell no
man, while Matthew says it was famed abroad. Per
haps the injunction of secrecy was the best advertise
ment. The raising of Lazarus is only recorded by
John. It was the most startling and dramatic of your
Miracles, and according to John, it led to your Cruci
fixion. Yet it never reached the fairly-long ears of
Matthew, Mark, and Luke. That is a greater miracle
than the miracle itself.
What became of Lazarus after his resuscitation ?
Did he die again ? Did he relate his experiences
during the three days his body was entombed ? Why
�32
LETTERS TO JESUS CHRIST.
was he not produced at your trial ? And why, if the
miracle was notorious, did the priests and scribes con
spire against one who was stronger than Death ? Why
also are the persons who are raised from the dead
insignificant before, and unheard of after ? The
answer is obvious. Because if Homer and Shake
speare, Caesar and Cromwell, rose from the dead, they
would be expected to write and act according to their
genius and character.
You produced money from a fish’s mouth, but more
astonishing tricks are performed by modern conjurors.
Yet your walking on the water was a unique achieve
ment. It was imitated by Peter, but he needed your
assistance. Does faith, then, alter the specific gravity
of bodies ? What Christian has faith enough to de
monstrate it from the top of a fifty-foot ladder ?
Here I terminate my inquiries. I have said all I
wish to for the present. At some future time I may
address you another series of letters on your teachings
and influence. Meanwhile let me conclude by asking
why you took so much trouble to such little purpose.
You were born of a virgin, your career was full of
miracles, you allowed yourself to be crucified with
thieves, you rose from your tomb, and you ascended to
heaven. You did all this to redeem the world.
Eighteen centuries have elapsed, yet the world is not
redeemed. Poverty and vice, misery and disease, im
posture and superstition, tyranny and slavery, still
afflict the earth. Churches are built for your worship,
while poor men die in garrets and hovels ; and your
priests live in honor and luxury, while the genius
which is to enlighten and purify the world too often
languishes under penury and reproach. Civilisation
advances slowly from the impulsion of science and
humanity ; and while it moves forward, where are the
watchdogs of religion ? Biting in front or barking
behind, filling the earth with persecution and slander,
and showing their love of God by their hatred of Man.
Can any good come out of Nazareth ? was asked long
ago. With all sincerity I repeat the question and await
the answer.
�
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Text
SIGN OF THE CROSS
A CANDID CRITICISM
BARRETT’SaPLAS
LONDON
R. FORDER, 28/STONECUTTER STREET,
1896
\ SIXPENCE
��BXSo /
NATIONAL SECULAR SOCIETY.
THE
SIGN OF THE CROSS
A CANDID CRITICISM
OF
MR. WILSON BARRETT’S PLAY
O.
W.
FOOTE
LONDON :
R. FORDE R, 28 STONECUTTER STREET, E.C.
1896
��THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
London has lately been placarded with a singular
theatrical advertisement; a red cross stands out vividly
from a black background, and the accompanying letter
press informs the public that a play called The Sign of
the Cross is being performed at the Lyric Theatre.
The picture is of extreme simplicity, and is very
striking.
It may be merely an advertising device,
intended to catch the eye of the swiftest passenger, or
it may be emblematic of the author’s purpose. In the
latter case, it is felicitous or otherwise, according to
the spectator’s point of view. The red may signify the
blood of Christ which saves us from the everlasting
■darkness of hell, but it may also signify the cruelty
of a superstition which is based upon the darkness of
ignorance.
The Sign of the Cross is written by Mr. Wilson
Barrett, the
well-known author,
actor, and stage
manager. However others may take him, Mr. Barrett
takes himself seriously. He has a mission in the world,
or, rather, a twofold mission—namely, to purify the
stage, and to hold up the loftiest ethical and religious
ideals. By means of interviews and letters in public
journals, Mr. Barrett has sought to impress upon the
world the highly important fact that in writing and
staging his newest play he had quite other ideas than
�4
THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
making money or providing a suitable part for his own
histrionic abilities.
It is also, I presume, with his
permission that a very intimate, though anonymous,
friend of his gives a history of the play in the March
number of The Idler
*
According to the writer of this
article, it was two years ago that the dramatic idea of
The Sign of the Cross began to take shape in Mr.
Barrett’s mind. The “ germs ” of it were “ then work
ing at the back of his brain ”—a part which is not
too intimately associated with intellectual activity.
“ There lay in Mr. Barrett’s mind,” we are told, “ a
resolve to simplify the situation”—the unfortunate
situation of a stage running rapidly to vitiation—“ by
a fervent dramatic appeal to whatever was Christlike
in woman or man.” .“ My heroine,” said Mr. Barrett,
“ is emblematic of Christianity: my hero stands for the
worn-out Paganism of decadent Rome.”f
And since
the play has been produced, and has achieved a remark
* As this article is unsigned, and the only unsigned, one in
this number of the magazine, the responsibility for it rests
with the editor, Mr. Jerome K. Jerome.
+ This “decadent Rome” business has been immensely
overdone ; first, by doctrinaire Republicans, who are . so
enamored of mere names and forms that they ascribe
Republican virtues to the greedy aristocrats who assassinated
Julius Cassar ; and, secondly, by Christian apologists, who
strive to show that Christianity arose just in the nick of
time to save the world from irretrievable moral ruin. As a
matter of fact, Rome produced, after the period of Mr.
Barrett’s play, a succession of the greatest, wisest, and.most
magnanimous rulers the world has ever seen ; and it is the
deliberate judgment of Gibbon, which he has placed on
record in his matchless and immortal work, that “ If a man
were called upon to fix the period in the history of the world
during which the condition of the human race was most
happy and prosperous, he would, without hesitation, name
that which elapsed from the death of Domitian to the
accession of Commodus ”—that is, from the end of the first
century to nearly the end of the second century.
�THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
5
able success—having, indeed, to use the language of
the inspired eulogist, “ conquered the pulpit, the press,
and the peoples of two great continents ”—to wit, the
eastern United States, and the southern half of the
little island of Great Britain—Mr. Barrett cele
brates its religious character more lustily than ever.
Ministers of religion, in every great town, have given
it handsome and even rapturous testimonials. On the
first night of its production in London the “ audience
included some score of the leaders of the Church,”
Mr. Barrett has received piles of congratulatory epistles,
and laying his hand upon them he “ smiles content
edly,” exclaiming that “ Baffled agnostics cannot hurt.”
It is obvious, therefore, that Mr. Barrett is not
simply a playwright and an actor, with the legitimate
ambition of catering to a wide public taste. He sets
up as a moral reformer. and a spiritual teacher; he
poses as a champion of religion; he challenges atten
tion as an apostle of Christianity. And it is because
of these pretensions that I feel justified in subjecting
his play to a most drastic criticism.
There is a special reason why I should publish this
criticism.
It appears tojbe held that I have committed
blasphemy against
Mr. Wilson Barrett, and I am
naturally anxious to state the facts of the case, so that
I may not lightly be foundJguilty of such an infamous
sin.
Long before The Sign of the Cross was produced in
London I had seen its praises in provincial newspapers.
Ministers of religion gave it their approval; I believe
it was even blessed by bishops.
Such unusual tributes
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THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
to a stage-play excited my interest.
It would never
occur to me to cross the road, even with a free ticket,
to witness one of Mr. Barrett’s melodramas for its own
sake. Even if I were miraculously tempted to do so,
I have other work in the world than criticising such
productions. But when I saw Mr. Barrett’s new play
advertised as a fresh piece of Christian Evidence, I
resolved to test its merit and ascertain its worth.
Accordingly I witnessed it at the Lyric Theatre.
went alone, to avoid all distraction.
I
I sat, pencil in
hand, and made such notes as were possible in the dim
religious light which was deemed appropriate. For
several days afterwards I turned the play over in my
mind. I refreshed my memory—which hardly needs
much refreshment—with regard to early Christianity
and its trials and tribulations.
I went over again, with
ample authorities before me, the old story of the
Neronic persecution. Finally, I lectured on The Sign
of the Cross at St. James’s Hall. What I said of it I
said openly, not surreptitiously, nor even anonymously;
and an opportunity for discussion was allowed after my
lecture, if any of Mr. Barrett’s friends or admirers cared
to defend his play against my criticism. I have my
failings, of course, like other men ; but I never scamped
a bit of work, I never lectured on any subject with
out trying to master it, and I never advanced an
opinion without being prepared to defend it in open
debate.
Mr. Barrett’s friends did not reply to me on that
occasion, but the one who writes in the Idler, after
pages of dithyrambic laudation, suddenly turns upon
two critics who have dared to cross the popular current.
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THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
Of whole-hearted attacks by able men. ; attacks stop
ping short at nothing in the way of adroit mud
throwing and fiery abuse, there were but two—the
rancorous onslaughts of Messrs. William Archer and
G. W. Foote. The latter delivered his in the familiar
and offensive accents of blasphemous “ Freethought ”
from the hired rostrum of St. James’s Hall. The former
hurled his contempt and contumely from a brief but
comprehensive column in the World. Mr. Foote’s in
vective will not bear reproduction in the pages of the
Idler, but Mr. Archer’s attitude as the outraged critic
is worthy of note.
Mr. William Archer does not need my defence.
is well able to take care of himself.
He
As far as this
paragraph concerns me, however, I call it an outrage.
The writer hints what he dares not assert, that I in
dulged in scurrilous or indecent language.
This, I
presume, is “ criticism,” in opposition to my “ abuse.”
He is careful not to give his readers the least idea of
what I actually said.
Had he done so, he might have
been put to the trouble of a reply.
It was so much
easier to bid his readers cry “ Pah!” and call for “ an
ounce of civet.”
“ Mud-throwing,” “ fiery abuse,” “ rancorous,” “ offen
sive,” “ blasphemous ”—all mean that Mr. Barrett’s
champion is hard-pressed, and, instead of arguing with
me, he calls me names.
I have really not enough interest in Mr. Barrett to
be “ rancorous.”
My lecture was perhaps rather sar
castic and satirical. When this anonymous writer
cries “ blasphemous,” I recognise a familiar trick of in
competent prejudice. “ Blasphemy!” was flung at
Jesus Christ, afterwards at Paul, and afterwards at all
the early Christians; and when their religion triumphed,
the Christians flung it at their adversaries.
And they
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THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
fling it still.
It is a cry of bigotry and hatred; it is
an abnegation of reason, and an appeal to passion; it
is the first step on the road which leads to dungeons,
torture chambers, and the fires of persecution.
The
word “blasphemy” should be banished from the
vocabulary of civilisation.
But enough of Mr. Barrett’s champion!
Let me
proceed to give the reader the substance of my lecture
at St. James’s Hall, in just the sort of language I used
on that occasion.
He will then be able to judge for
himself, and upon the facts, between me and Mr. Wilson
Barrett.
Mr. Wilson Barrett’s new play has certainly been a
striking success from a popular and managerial point
of view.
By appealing to the sentimental and religious
public, instead of to the more limited public with some
dramatic taste and experience, he has drawn crowds to
hear his fine if somewhat monotonous voice, and to
witness his statuesque posings in the scanty costume
of ancient Rome. When I saw the performance at the
Lyric Theatre I was struck by the novel character of
the audience, which might almost be called a congrega
tion. It seemed to be the emptyings of the churches
and chapels of London. Most of the people appeared
to be unused to such surroundings. They walked as
though they were advancing to pews, and took their
seats with an air of reverential expectation. Clericals,
too, were present in remarkable abundance.
There
were parsons to right of me, parsons to left of me,
parsons in front of me—though I cannot add that
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THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
they volleyed and thundered. All the men and women,
and all the third sex (as Sidney Smith called them) of
clergymen, wore their best Sunday faces; and when
the lights were turned very low in the auditorium, and
pious opinions were ejaculated on the stage, it was
remarkably like a religious exercise.
“ Ahs ” and “ hear,
hears ” were distinctly audible, and I should not have
been surprised at an “ amen ” or a “ hallelujah.”
This impression of mine is strongly corroborated by
Mr. Barrett’s champion in the Idler.
The imagination
of this writer does, indeed, run away with his arithmetic;
he says that The Sign of the Cross charms and moves
“ a multitude in number as the sands of the sea shore,”
which is a noble enough image in the Bible, though
grotesque as applied to the spectators, within twelve
months, of a particular drama; and he declares that
Mr. Barrett has brought within the sphere of the
dramatist’s
influence
“ millions
of aliens hitherto
antagonistic to the stage and all its works.” This sort
of rhetoric does not create respect for the writer’s
accuracy; nevertheless, his opinion may be taken on
one point—namely, that Mr. Barrett’s audiences con
sist very largely of non-playgoers—which is precisely
my own conclusion.
General Booth should be delighted with The Sign of
the Cross.
It is a Salvation Army tragedy.
Setting
aside pecuniary motives, it is designed in the interest
of that species of Christianity which is generally styled
“ primitive,” and, in my judgment, the play is
as
primitive as the religion it advocates. It is melodrama
from beginning to end. There is plenty of incident,
but no real plot; much movement, but no real progress.
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.THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
Men. and women are brought on the stage and taken
off; they talk and act, and talk and act again; but as
they are at the rise of the curtain they remain at its
fall; there is absolutely no development of character,
which is the one thing that gives a serious interest to
dramatic composition.
Proselytising and didactic plays are always a blunder.
There are profound lessons in Shakespeare’s tragedies,
but they do not lie upon the surface, and are not picked
up and flung at you.
Preachers may be as direct as
they please; that is their method, and we know its
actual effect, after all these ages, upon the morals of
mankind.
But the poet’s method is indirect.
He
excites our sympathy, which is the vital essence of all
morality, and our imagination, which gives it intensity
and comprehensiveness. He produces a definite effect
on those who are fit to understand him ; but were
he to declare that he intended to produce that effect,
and expected to witness its immediate results, he would
ensure his own failure. An organic whole, like one of
Shakespeare’s tragedies, suggests as life suggests; the
lesson is borne in upon us unobtrusively yet irresist
ibly, like a lesson of our personal experience. In a
certain sense Shakespeare has a purpose, but it is
secondary and subordinate; the poetic impulse is
primary and supreme.
But if ethical intention is the
source of inspiration, the poet sinks into a preacher,
and falls from heaven into a pulpit. He arouses our
critical faculty, and our very obstinacy is enlisted
against him, if we have any positive character. If we
have no positive character, but belong to the senti
mentalists, the drama with a purpose is still a blunder,
�THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
11
though it move us ever so strongly; for, as Flaubert
said, a writer of equal power comes along, invents
characters, situations, and effects to prove the opposite
thesis—and where are you then ?
Mr. Barrett informs the world, in a letter to the
Newcastle Chronicle, that he has “ sought ” in his new
play to “ make vice hideous.” It is really very good of
him to be so solicitous about her appearance, but his
anxiety is somewhat unnecessary.
Was it not Pope
who said that vice to be hated needs but to be seen ?
Mr. Barrett tickets her carefully, and paints her like a
scarecrow; in doing which he overreaches himself, foi
it is not brazen, riotous vice that is dangerously
seductive. Temptation comes to average human nature
in a more plausible fashion. It may be good preach
ing to “ make vice hideous,” but it is bad drama. The
business of the playwright, as the great Master said,
is to “ hold the mirror up to nature.” Do that, if you
can; give us a faithful image of good and evil, and
you need not fear as to which will be loved or hated.
But if you cannot do this, it is idle to plead your
excellent intentions.
Far more pertinent, though still more essentially
absurd, is Mr. Barrett’s statement, in the same letter,
that “ it was necessary to introduce the darker side of
the life of the time, in order to show the value of
Christianity.” This he has done with a vengeance.
His playbill gives two lists of characters “ Pagans
and “ Christians.” All the Pagans are wicked people
—tyrants, sycophants, intriguers, assassins, drunkards,
thieves, and prostitutes.
All the Christians are good
people—pure, benevolent, and merciful.
Look on this
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THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
picture and on this !
Oh yes, but both are painted by
a partisan. We all know the lion was nowhere in the
picture of his fight with the man, but a lion who saw
it remarked that it might have been different if lions
could paint.
Mr. Barrett’s method is too “ simple ” to deceive any
man or woman of the least practised intelligence. His
dramatic confidence-trick could only be played upon
the greenest innocence.
His philosophy is simply the
sheep-and-goats nonsense over again—as though the
world, in its religious, political, or social disputations,
was ever sharply divided into two categories of absolute
virtue and absolute wickedness.
Not thus are the
elements of human nature ever mixed and distributed.
The fact is that Mr. Barrett has just availed himself
of the ancient trick of the Christian apologist. He
does not merely introduce the “ darker side of the life
of the time ”—he excludes all its brighter side. It is
nothing to him that Seneca, the Pagan philosopher,
and Lucan, the Pagan poet, were sent to death by the
same Nero who is said to have murdered Christians.
That may be history, but it is not partisanship. Mr
Barrett makes the life of Paganism as black as mid
night, and the life of the little handful of Christians
the one gleam of light piercing the darkness.
His
simplicity is really childish. And only to think that
this should be accepted as fair and accurate by
thousands of apparently rational people-—though they
do attend churches—a hundred years after the death of
the great author of the Decline and Fall of the
Roman Empire ! It is enough to make Gibbon turn
and groan in his grave.
�THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
13
“ Religions,” says Schopenhauer, “ are like glow
worms ; they require darkness to shine in.
Mr.
Barrett may not have read this epigram, but he felt its
truth instinctively; so he painted a black sky, and
called it “ Paganism,” and then he painted in one star,
which could not help being brilliant, and called it
“ Christianity.”
Had the author of The Sign of the Cross been a
real dramatist, instead of a melodramatist, he would
have taken the same human nature on both sides,
neither miraculous in its heroism nor subterhuman in
its weakness ; he would have taken men and women of
this composition, and exhibited them as husbands and
wives, fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, lovers,
friends, and citizens ; and then have shown how these
universal and eternal relationships were affected by a
difference of religious conviction.
Mr. Barrett has not
done this ; he has not even attempted it ; no doubt he
felt it beyond the scope of his powers. Yet he might
at least have displayed conviction on both sides, and he
has not even done that.
But, without sincerity, while
there may be comedy, there cannot be tragedy ; and
thus Mr. Barrett’s play is on the one side farce, and on
the other side melodrama.
Now, I have no objection to melodrama, at the proper
time and in the proper place ; it ministers to a certain
childish or semi-savage and uneducated element of
average human nature, demanding much gratification
both in literature and on the stage.
It was this
element which Coleridge had in mind when he spoke
of the soul being “ stupefied into mere sensations, by a
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THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
worthless sympathy with our own ordinary sufferings,
or an empty curiosity for the surprising, undignified by
the language or the situations which awe and delight
the imagination ”—and of the spectators having “ their
sluggish sympathies ” excited by “ a pathos not a whit
more respectable than the maudlin tears of drunken
ness.”
Klopstock rated highly the powei’ of exciting
tears, but Coleridge replied that “ nothing was more
easy than to deluge an audience—it was done every
day by the meanest writers.” This is true enough, but
melodrama holds its own still, appealing widely to
“ the groundlings,” and in lax moods even to “ the
judicious.” And for my part, when I do take a
dose of melodrama, I confess I prefer the real, unadul
terated article.
Many years ago, in the early seventies, I visited an
East-end theatre which was famous for its melodrama.
The audience took the play as sterling tragedy ; they
cheered the hero and howled at the villain; while I
cried with laughter, and shed more tears than I ever
dropped at a serious performance.
The villain of the
piece had as many lives as a cat, or would have had
as many had there been time for nine acts. At the
end of one act he fell down a precipice several hundred
feet deep; but he turned up again smiling and bent
on further mischief. At the end of another act he
stood all alone on a block of ice in a northern sea; the
ice sank, and he went down with it; but he turned up
again as though nothing had happened. At the end of
another act he was shot by a platoon of soldiers. That
should have settled him, but he turned up again.
Finally, in the last act, he was (as Carlyle would say)
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THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
accurately hung. As the life was squeezed out of him,
a breathless messenger rushed in with a reprieve.
This was the hero’s last great opportunity.
Standing
in the centre of the stage, with his right hand uplifted
to heaven, he exclaimed : “Too late ! too late ! the ends
of justice can no longer be defeated
That is how I like my melodrama, and if Mr. Wilson
Barrett played in such a piece, I would go to see him
with pleasure. His melodramas are not as good as the
one I saw at the “ Brit.” Take Claudian, for instance.
That was considered a highly moral play, and was even
said to have won words of praise from Mr. Ruskin.
But it was merely a spectacular melodrama, and only a
most orthodox Christian could discover its morality.
Claudian was a gentleman who could not die, being
under a curse of longevity, which could only be broken
by a pure and disinterested love. Age followed age
without this precious boon being discoverable by our
hero, who roamed the eastern world as a posturing and
(to some of us) a rather nauseous mixture of Manfred
and the Wandering Jew,
Claudian was constantly
standing amidst the wreckage of mankind.
vived earthquakes that ruined whole cities.
He sur
We saw
him standing alone on tumbling masonry that would
not kill him.
And all this slaughter was apparently
designed to complete his spiritual development, so that,
at last, when the curse of longevity was broken, he
might be perfectly ripe for paradise.
What the multi
tudes who perished were ripe for—what became of
their immortal souls after tragic separation from their
mortal bodies—neither the dramatist nor the majority
of the spectators condescended to consider.
It was
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THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
enough for them to inhabit the earth with the noble
Claudian, and quite a privilege to constitute the groan
ing pyramid of which he was the sublime apex.
Such,
indeed, was the morality of Claudian, and surely it
must be contemptible to all healthy men and women
unperverted by the doctrine of vicarious sacrifice.
The hero of a melodrama must never do anything
wicked, but he must be thought capable of doing it,
and it rather heightens the interest if he lies under a
certain suspicion; for the virtue of the multitude is
like that of some of the fine ladies in old comedies,
who flared up at a positive attack on their virtue, but
despised the man who never excited their apprehensions.
All this is provided for in The Sign of the Cross, as it
was provided for in Claudian. In both pieces Mr.
Barrett plays the part of a good man gone w'rong—not
too wrong, but just wrong enough.
You know he will
come out right in the end, but meanwhile there is an
appearance of uncertainty, which raises a half-pleasant
alarm. Mr. Barrett’s part in the new play is that of
Marcus Superbus, Prefect of Rome. This high and
mighty gentleman is also Manfredian.
He is in very
bad company, and there are hints of his questionable
past. But his inherent nobility breaks through every
hindrance and shines through every disguise, and
eventually he dies in the fullest odor of sanctity.
Now let the reader observe the simplicity of Mr.
Barrett’s methods as a playwright. I have said that
all his Pagans are wicked and all his Christians virtuous.
As a general statement it was true, but I have now to
furnish the requisite qualification. Marcus Superbus
�THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
17
is in the list of Pagans, but he is a good man gone
wrong, who is bound to come right, and in the end he
joins the list of Christians. Thus the exception only
emphasises the rule. There was but one good man
among the Pagans at the beginning, and he was obliged
to leave them at the finish; which shows, not only that
all the Christians were good, but that every good man
was sure to become a Christian.
Marcus Superbus is Prefect of Rome under the
Emperor Nero.
This wicked ruler persecutes the
Christians, and one of these unfortunates is a beautiful
girl named Mercia.
Sweetness and purity were not
enough—beauty was also indispensable; for Marcus
had to fall in love with her, and what was the use of a
plain face under a Salvation bonnet ? - The part of
Mercia is played charmingly by Miss Maud Jeffries.
It is not an active, but a passive character. Mercia
cannot strike into the course of events and modify it,
but she can suffer the worst it may bring.
And as I
saw her devotion to “ her people,” and beheld her
renunciation of earthly joys, and watched her growing
resignation to martyrdom, I thought of how the Church
has always exploited woman, and how it has pressed
her natural maternity into the service of its sinister
supernaturalism.
Marcus desires this Christian girl.
is a condiment to his jaded palate.
Her innocence
He tries solicita
tion, he attempts violence; both fail, and at last he is
touched by the passion of love.
as his wife.
He would have Mercia
She is in the dungeon of the amphi
theatre ; her companions have gone out to the lions,
and she is to follow them.
A judicious interval is
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THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
allowed by the officials for stage purposes.
Marcus
enters and begs her to save her life, and let him be her
husband. She also confesses that she loves him—for
he has twice rescued her from deadly peril. But how
is her life to be saved now ? Marcus tells her; let her
renounce Christ.
She
refuses, and prefers death;
whereupon Marcus becomes a Christian himself, claims
Mercia as his bride for all eternity, and goes forth
hand in hand with her to the hungry lions in the
arena.
All for Love; or, the World Well Lost was the title
of John Dryden’s finest tragedy.
Mr. Barrett’s play
might be called All for Love; or, the Gods Well Lost.
From an emotional, amatory point of view, the conver
sion of Marcus is intelligible ; from a spiritual point of
view it is simply ridiculous.
Christian in three minutes ?
Can a man become a
Is Christianity to be
learnt from a woman’s eyes ? Has it no doctrines, no
history; nothing which makes any sort of appeal to the
understanding ?
I have been told that Marcus was becoming a
Christian all through the play; to which I reply that
he was falling in love all through the play. He was
not a Christian when, in the altercation with Berenis,
who taxes him with unfaithfulness 'to her, and with
being trapped by a Christian girl, he exclaims: “ What
this Christianity is L know not, but this I know, that
if it makes many such women as Mercia, then all Rome,
nay, the whole world, would be the better for it.”* He
* Mr. Barrett forgets having made his hero profess
ignorance of Christianity; in a later part of the play
Marcus and Nero talk about Christ and Christianity as
�THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
19
was not a Christian when he pleaded with Nero to
spare Mercia; for he begs the life of “ but one girl,”
heedless of the fate of all the other martyrs.
He was
not a Christian when he besought Mercia to renounce
Christ. But he was a Christian three minutes after
wards, and the suddenness of the change is beyond all
rational explanation.
After all, however, Marcus was cheated at the finish,
apparently through Mr. Barrett’s imperfect acquaint
ance with the teachings of Jesus Christ. Mercia could
not be his bride for all eternity.
There is no justifica
tion in the New Testament for supposing that a man
who misses a wife here will gain her hereafter. This
is the world in which we must marry, if we marry at
all.
Jesus Christ distinctly taught that there is neither
marrying nor giving in marriage in the kingdom of
heaven, where all are as the angels of God—that is, of
the neuter gender.
*
Having followed the hero and heroine of this play to
the point of their doom, I now turn back to consider
a special incident which is connected with its very title.
The third scene of the third act is laid in Marcus’s
palace, where a number of Christians are imprisoned,
and among them Mercia. Marcus comes out from a
noisy crew of male and female revellers, and talks to
though both were perfectly familiar. Pilate’s name is
mentioned as the official who ordered Christ’s execution,
and the emperor is reminded that Christ said his kingdom
was not of this world. The inconsistency is glaring; and
what would any competent historian think of such a, con
versation about Christ and Christianity between an emperor
and his metropolitan prefect in a.d. 64 ?
* Mark xii. 25 ; Luke xx. 34-36.
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THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
himself about the beautiful Christian girl, contrasting
her with the lewd women he has left (of course the
women were all lewd in Rome—except the Christians),
and finally orders her to be brought into his presence.
After some rather fantastic conversation, they are
suddenly surrounded by the revellers who have burst
out to find the absent Marcus. The women proceed to
rate Mercia like fishfags. One of them actually invites
her to work a miracle—as though that were a Christian
speciality ! Mr. Barrett is probably ignorant of the
fact that the Pagans had as many miracles as the
Christians. Neither side denied the actuality of the
other’s miracles ; the point in dispute was this—Which
were wrought by divine, and which by demonic agency ?
However, the wanton crew are driven away by Marcus,,
who then (curiously enough) solicits Mercia to impurity,
and, on being repulsed, actually attempts outrage. The
stage is darkened for this struggle, at the crisis of
which comes a flash of lightning; and Mercia, having
found a crucifix about her, holds it up in the limelight;
whereat Marcus shrinks aghast and crouches in terror
It was a “ fetching ” piece of stage business, but it will
not bear criticism. There is really not the slightest
evidence that the cross was used as an emblem by
the Christians at all as early as the reign of Nero.
*
* The negative evidence on this point is quite overwhelm
ing—and, of course, a negative cannot be proved by positive
evidence. “I question," says Dean Burgon, “whether a
cross occurs on any Christian monument of the first four
centuries.” Mrs. Jameson finds no traces of the use of the
cross “ in the simple transverse form familiar to us ” at any
period preceding or closely succeeding the time of Chrysos
tom, who flourished in the second half of the fourth century
Dr. Farrar, m his latest work on The Life of Christ as Repre
�THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
21
Even had it been so, what sort of an impression would
it have made on a Pagan ?
If it meant anything at all
to him, it would be significant of the powers of genera
tion—a most awkward thing to appeal to at such a
crisis!
I can understand a cross being held up by a
Christian maiden to a Christian wooer who should
attack her virtue; it might remind him of principles
calculated to restrain his passions.
But to hold up a
cross to a “ heathen ” ravisher seems to me grotesque.
Had nothing stood between Mercia and outrage but a
crucifix, her honor would not have been worth
moment’s purchase.
a
Have the Turks and Kurds spared
Armenian girls on account of the crosses they wear on
their breasts ?
The fact is that this sign of the cross
—Marcus cowering, and Mercia holding aloft a crucifix
—is simply a bit of stage clap-trap, quite in harmony
with the sentimentality of the whole melodrama.
The sign of the cross is introduced again in the last
act.
The boy Stephanus—a part admirably played
by Miss Haidee Wright—shrinks from following his
Christian companions from the dungeon of the amphi
theatre to the bloody arena. He has been lashed and
racked already, in a most brutal scene, which makes
no appeal whatever to the intellect and imagination,
sented in Art (p. 19), admits that the symbol of the cross was
not generally adopted, even if it appeared at all, until “after
the Peace of the Church at the beginning of the fourth
century.’ Elsewhere (p. 24) he says—“The cross was only
introduced among the Christian symbols tentatively and
timidly. It may be doubted whether it once occurs till after
the vision of Constantine in 312 and his accession to the
Empire of the East and West in 324.” The curious reader
will find much interesting information on the whole subject
in a very able little book recently published—The Non
Christian Cross, by John Denham Parsons.
�22
THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
but is a direct appeal to mere sensation; its interest,
in short, if it has an interest, being not psychological,
but purely physical.
Stephanus is still suffering from
the effects of that torture, and the consciousness of
having betrayed his friends while under it, and Mercia
tries in vain to arouse his fortitude ; but at last he
sees a vision of Christ beside him, and of the Cross
before him, and he follows it cheerfully to his doom.
This, again, is very pretty, though it is susceptible of
improvement.
It is easy to bring invisible characters
and objects upon the stage.
Something more definite
should be produced at the end of the nineteenth
century. Surely the resources of science are equal to
throwing a phantom Christ beside the boy Stephanus,
and a phantom cross before him. I make this sug
gestion in good faith. Even melodrama should be as
good as possible: it is as well to “ go the whole hog ”
in everything.
While the boy Stephanus was being lashed in front
of the curtain, and racked behind it-—while his shrieks
rang through the theatre—I am quite sure the Christian
spectators were saying to themselves—“ Ah ! that is
Paganism
Few of them are conversant with the
records of the past. History begins for them at the
time when they first read the newspapers. They do
not know, therefore, that it is not so very long since
their Christian forefathers left off perpetrating the
very same atrocities that were inflicted on the boy
Stephanus—not to mention others of a still deeper
damnability.
Stephanus was not lashed and racked
as a Christian, but as a refractory witness; and this
�THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
23
method of treating witnesses and accused persons was
afterwards universal in Christendom.
J oseph de
Maistre, indeed, in his apology for the Spanish Inquisi
tion—the most terrible tribunal that ever existed on
earth—argues that in inflicting torture it was only
conforming to the usage of all modern nations.
*
No
one who values his sanity, unless he is particularly
strong-minded, should dive too deeply into the horrors
of torture inflicted by Christians, and principally eccle
siastics, on persons accused of witchcraft or suspected
of favoring them. It cannot be denied that Christianity
added new and most ingenious horrors to the torture
system of antiquity, especially in its treatment of
heretics.
This infamous
system
only declined as
science and freethought slowly permeated the mind of
Europe.
From the days of Montaigne to those of
Voltaire the voices of great and good men were raised
against it. But it did not die in a hurry. Calas was
broken alive as late as 1761. Frederic the Great, the
free-thinking monarch, issued a Cabinet order abolishing
torture in 1740, though its use was still reserved in
Prussia for treason, rebellion, and some other crimes.
It was swept away in Saxony, Switzerland, and Austria
between 1770 and 1783.
Catherine the Great restricted
its use in Russia, where it was finally abolished in 1801.
It lingered in some parts of Germany until it was
abolished by Napoleon, after whose fall it was actually
restored. George IV. consented to its abolition in
Hanover in 1819, but it existed in Baden until 1831.
* Lettres à un Gentilhomme Russe sur i Inquisition
Espagnole, p. 50.
�24
THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
It was in 1777 that Voltaire begged Louis XVI. to
abolish torture in France; in 1780 it was very greatly
restricted by a royal edict; but as late as 1788, at
Rouen, Marie Tison was crushed with thumbscrews,
and was allowed to hang in the stappado for an hour
after the
executioner had reported that both her
shoulders were out of joint. As a matter of fact,
torture was finally swept out of French jurisprudence
by the tempest of the Revolution.
It was not legally
abolished in Spain until 1812. Being inimical to the
spirit of the common law, it was very little used in
England before the days of Tudor and Stuart absolutism.
Racking warrants were executed under Elizabeth, and
were sanctioned by Coke and Bacon under James I.,
but were almost swept away by the Great Rebellion.
The press, however, was still reserved for prisoners
refusing to plead guilty or not guilty; weights being
placed upon their chests until they were crushed to
death.
Giles Cory was pressed to death in this way
in America in 1692, and it was not until 1722 that this
relic of barbarism was abolished by Act of Parliament.
*
It is perfectly true that modern Europe inherited
the torture system from Greece and Rome, but Chris
tianity aggravated instead of mitigating the iniquity.
“ It is curious to observe,” says Mr. Lea, “ that Christian
communities, where the truths of the Gospel were
received with unquestioning veneration, systematised
the administration of torture with a cold-blooded ferocity
unknown to the legislation of the heathen nations
whence they derived it.
The careful restrictions and
* Henry C. Lea, Superstition and Force, pp. 510-523.
�THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
25
safeguards, with which the Roman jurisprudence sought
to protect the interests of the accused, contrast strangely
with the reckless disregard of every principle of justice
which sullies the criminal procedure of Europe from
the thirteenth to the nineteenth century.”
Christianity has never in practice been an enemy to
cruelty. During the Dark Ages, when Christianity
was entirely supreme, two things disappeared together
—-Freethought and Humanity. Modern humanitarian
ism is a very recent growth.
revival of scepticism.
It came in with the
A hundred years ago Christian
society was inexpressibly callous.
The jurisprudence
of England itself was simply shocking.
Men and
women were hung for trifling offences, and mutilations
were frightfully common.
Historians are too apt to
hide the real facts with abstract declamation; I pro
pose, therefore, to give my readers a sample of the
tender jurisprudence of England two hundred and
thirty-six years ago.
I have in my library a rare volume published in
1660.
It is a full report of the indictment, arraign
ment, trial, and judgment (according to law) of “nine
and twenty Regicides, the murtherers of his late Sacred
Majesty,” Charles the First.
The volume was published
“ for the information of posterity.”
The Church and
State party evidently thought the condemned Regicides
were treated with proper justice, according to the best
principles of morality and religion. Historians tell us
that these unfortunate men, who had tried and con
demned to death “ the man Charles Stuart ” in 1649,
were cruelly executed. But they do not tell us how;
they do not give us the facts. Now the volume I refer
�26
THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
to gives (with full approval) the details of the execution
of Major-General Harrison, and states that the others
were “ disposed of in like manner.”
Harrison was
hanged on the spot where Charles the First was
beheaded ; while only “ half-dead ” he was “ cut down
by the common executioner, his privy members cut off
before his eyes, his bowels burned, his head severed
from his body, and his body divided into quarters,
which were returned back to Newgate upon the same
hurdle that carried it.” The head was set on a pole
on the top of the south-east end of Westminster Hall,
and the quarters of the body were exposed on four of
the city gates.
This brutal act was done deliberately and judicially;
not in a moment of excitement, but in cold blood. Its
perpetrators were not ashamed of it; they were proud
of it; and they put it carefully on record for “ posterity.”
And they were Christians, and it was only a little over
two hundred years ago.
History is indeed the greatest stumbling-block of
Christian
apologists, and Mr. Barrett is
no
more
fortunate than the general run of his brethren.
This
will be still more clearly seen, I think, in a careful
examination of the part of his play which comes into
direct contact with Roman and Ecclesiastical history.
In his letter before cited, to the Newcastle Chronicle,
Mr. Barrett mentions a jumble of ancient and modern
names as authorities for his picture of Nero. It is
certain, however, that all the modern historians have
mainly relied upon Tacitus and Suetonius.
What
these relate of Nero is enough to stagger credulity.
It is difficult to conceive that Rome, for so many years,
�THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
tolerated such an unnatural monster.
27
This much, at
least, must be admitted, that the Nero of Tacitus and
Suetonius, but especially of Tacitus, is a study in
degeneration, reaching at length to absolute insanity.
Such a pathological case is profoundly interesting to
the students of morbid psychology; but its historical
interest is very slender, for it can scarcely be argued
that the character or actions of Nero had any serious
influence on the development of the Roman empire ;
while as for the burning of Rome, in which it is hardly
credible that he was implicated, it is certain that the
catastrophe was as much a blessing in disguise as the
Great Fire of London, since a finer Rome, as later a
finer London, sprang from the ashes of its predecessor.
It should also be remembered that the career of Nero
was not terminated, and never could have been termi
nated, by Christian efforts. The teaching of Paul, in
the very height of Nero’s despotism, was one of passive
obedience. Nero’s power was ordained of God, and to
resist him was to incur damnation. Such was the
teaching of Paul in his epistle to the Romans.
*
But
such was not the old spirit of Roman liberty, which
fired the hearts of Pagan senators to declare Nero a
traitor to the State and worthy of death ; and the
suicide of the monster only anticipated the executioners
sent to carry out the national sentence.
Mr. Barrett does not give the least idea of the vices
of Nero. He represents him, indeed, as quite a model
husband, fondly devoted to Poppea; and dwells almost
exclusively on his cruelty and hatred of the Christians.
* Romans xiii. 1-4
�28
THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
The subtle characteristics of neurotic vanity seem to
be chiefly contributed by Mr. McLeay, who acts the
part of Nero, and
whose performance is certainly
powerful, although it is marred by overacting.
Nero s vices, as depicted by orthodox historians,
would have made a shocking entertainment.
Mr,
Barrett shrinks from presenting them; they are not
even insinuated.
The drunkards and wantons are all
assembled around Marcus Superbus.
marvellously tame.
And they are
A red-faced, paunchy devotee of
Bacchus amuses the audience with his hackneyed
jocosity, while a few ladies expose naked arms and
indulge in frivolous
conversation about marriage—
which immensely tickled the listeners, and brought
out a curious leer on some sedate faces. On the whole,
the vice in Mr. Barrett’s play—the vice that was to
show the darker side of Pagan life—is about as dread
ful as that in Tennyson’s Vision of Sin, which was so
fiercely satirised by James Thomson. In short, it is
mere commonplace immorality, such as abounds in
every city of Christendom.
Dreadful as is the picture of Nero’s vices in the
pages of Tacitus, it is not so singular as Mr. Barrett
seems to imagine, nor need we ransack the records of
antiquity for parallels. Modern history will supply us
with all we require. Royal courts, even in England,
have not been remarkable for purity. What Dryden
had witnessed and heard reported of the seething lust of
high society in the time of Charles II. amply justified
his stigmatising “ this lubrique and adulterous age.”
The satirists of the time branded practices which were
not inferior in infamy to anything denounced even in
�THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
the sixth satire of Juvenal.
29'
Bad as England was, how
ever, it was eclipsed by France. Nothing could well
be filthier than the picture which Brantome drew—and
drew quite lovingly—of the lives of the princes, prin
cesses, and aristocrats of his period. Indeed, one fails
to see, as Mr. Cotter Morison justly observes, how “ the
court of the later Valois differed, except for the worse,
from the court of Caligula or Commodus.”* Some of
the worst sinners were dignitaries of the Church, whose
scandalous lives brought upon them no sort of discredit,
so common was the most unbounded profligacy. Yet
these lay and clerical debauchees were intensely reli
gious.
lust.
The fervor of their piety was as intense as their
They were ready to kill or be killed in the
maintenance of Christianity.
And if we turn from
France to Italy, the prospect becomes still darker..
Some of the Popes were guilty of the dirtiest vices and
the vilest crimes; murder and incest being by no
means the worst of their iniquities.
Christian apologists systematically represent the old
Pagan world as infinitely immoral, and their own reli
gion as the divine agency which rescued mankind
from utter degradation. But this is not history; it is
partisanship.
Europe grew steadily worse as Chris
tianity rose to undisputed supremacy, and the ages of
faith were the ages of filth.
Mr. Barrett displays in all directions his profound
ignorance of history. He seems to believe that the
Roman Empire was governed like Turkey. He appears
* Service of Man, p. 132.
�I
THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
30
to know nothing of its courts of law and its criminal
jurisprudence. He imagines that men were commonly
put to death without trial.
By virtue of a mere
rescript from Nero, Christians are slaughtered in this
play as
unceremoniously as
Armenians.
the Turks dispose
of
At the end of the second act a band of
Christians arrange a secret meeting for worship in the
Grove by the Cestian Bridge.
By way of concealing
themselves more effectually (I presume) they indulge
in congregational singing. Before they have time to
disperse they are pounced upon by a party of soldiers,
headed by no less a person than Tigellinus, chief
counsellor to Nero. Swords flash, shrieks are heard,
and presently all the Christians (except Mercia, wdio is
theatrically rescued by Marcus) lie about in various
attitudes of dissolution.
I shall have to discuss, presently, whether Nero ever
murdered or molested any Christians; meanwhile I
must observe that, if he did so, there is no record of
how they were dealt with by the tribunals. But there
is such a record with respect to the more authentic
persecutions of the second and third centuries, and it
lends no countenance to the summary methods of The
Sign of the Cross.
“A modern Inquisitor,” says
*
Gibbon, with keen and polished sarcasm, “ would hear
with surprise that, whenever an information was given
to a Roman magistrate of any person within his juris
diction who had embraced the sect of the Christians,
the charge was communicated to the party accused,
and that a convenient time was allowed him to settle
* Decline and Fall^ chap. xvi.
�THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
31
his domestic concerns, and to prepare an answer to the
crime which was imputed to him.”
No such con
sideration was shown by the Inquisition, which butchered
myriads of heretics.
Over its prisons might have been
inscribed the terrible sentence : “ All hope abandon, ye
who enter here.”
It was a rule of the Holy Office
never to inform a prisoner of the charges laid against
him, nor even to disclose the identity of his accusers.
He was questioned —that is, tortured—and accusations
were based upon the wild and wandering words he
uttered in his agony.
It was the modern Inquisition,
too, which devised the crowning cruelty of seizing a
condemned heretic’s possessions, after burning him to
ashes, and leaving his widow and children to absolute
beggary.
The temper of Roman magistrates in dealing with
Christians is illustrated in the following passage from
Gibbon:—
“ The total disregard of truth and probability in the
representation of these primitive martyrdoms was occa
sioned by a very natural mistake. The ecclesiastical
writers of the fourth and fifth centuries ascribed to the
magistrates of Rome the same degree of implacable and
unrelenting zeal which filled their own breasts against
the heretics or the idolaters of their own times. It is
not improbable that some of those persons who were
raised to the dignities of the empire might have imbibed
the prejudices of the populace, and that the cruel
disposition of others might occasionally be stimulated
by motives of avarice or of personal resentment. But
it is certain, and we may appeal to the grateful con
fessions of the first Christians, that the greatest part of
the magistrates who exercised in the provinces the autho
rity of the emperor or of the senate, and towhose hands
alone the jurisdiction of life and death was entrusted,
behaved like men of polished manners and liberal
�32
THE SIGN OF THE .CROSS.
educations, who respected the rules of justice, and who
were conversant with the precepts of philosophy. They
frequently declined the odious task of persecution, dis
missed the charge with contempt, or suggested to the
accused Christian some legal evasion by which he might
elude the severity of the laws. Whenever they were
invested with a discretionary power, they used it less
for the oppression than for the relief and benefit of the
afflicted Church. They were far from condemning all
the Christians who were accused before their tribunal,
and very far from punishing with death all those who
were convicted of an obstinate adherence to the new
superstition. Contenting themselves, for the most
part, with the milder chastisement of imprisonment,
exile, or slavery in the mines, they left the unhappy
victims of their justice some reason to hope that a
prosperous event, the accession, the marriage, or the
triumph of an emperor, might speedily restore them
by a general pardon to their former state.”
Anonymous charges could not be received ; the Chris
tians were confronted in open court by their accusers.
Even if these succeeded in their prosecution, they had
to face the ignominy which has always attended the
character of an informer; and, if they failed, they “ in
curred the severe and perhaps capital penalty, which,
according to a law published by the Emperor Hadrian,
was inflicted on those who falsely attributed to their
fellow-citizens the crime of Christianity.”
The zeal of many fanatical Christians for martrydom,
in the hope of obtaining a heavenly crown, was some
times very embarrassing to the tribunals. They rushed
to the courts, without waiting foi' accusers, and called
upon the magistrates to inflict the sentence of the law.
“ Unhappy men!” exclaimed the proconsul Antoninus
to the Christians of Asia, “ unhappy men ' if you are
thus weary of your lives, is it so difficult for you to
find ropes and precipices ?”
�THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
33
It is as well to note, also, that the harmless sim
plicity, which is so generally ascribed to the early
Christians, and which is held to render their persecu
tion so gratuitous, is inconsistent with the temper dis
played by Christians ever since they obtained power.
Sheep are not so easily transformed into wolves. The
fact is that the early Christians were not satisfied with
the toleration granted by the Roman law to every form
of opinion. “ Liberty of thought,” says Renan, “ was
absolute. From Nero to Constantine, not a thinker,
not a scholar, was molested in his inquiries.” The
epicurean philosophers were as hostile as the Christians
to the Pagan superstitions, yet they were never per
secuted.
Why was this ?
The answer is simple.
Although the Christians were few in number, and their
position, as Renan aptly observes, was like that of a
Protestant missionary in a most Catholic town in Spain,
preaching against saints and the Virgin, they acted
with the greatest imprudence. Their attitude was one
of obstinate disdain, or of open provocation.
“ Before a temple or an idol, they blew with their
mouths as though to repel an impurity, or they crossed
themselves. It was not rare to see a Christian pause
before a statue of Jupiter or Apollo, interrogate it,
strike it with a stick, and exclaim to the bystanders,
‘ See now, your God cannot avenge himself !’ The
temptation was then strong to arrest the sacrilegious
Christian, to crucify him, and to say to him, ‘ Well now,
does your God avenge himself ? ”*
Christians who acted in this way had only themselves
to thank if they fell victims to the fury of the populace.
And the Christians of to-day should recollect that they
* Renan, Marc-Aurèie, p. 61.
�34
uphold
THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
Blasphemy
Laws, which were designed to
protect their religion, not only from insult, but even
from public criticism; that, under those laws, men
have been burnt and hung in England ; and that, under
the same laws, Freethinkers are still liable to imprison
ment.
Mr. Barrett caps his travesty of Roman jurispru
dence in a fashion which is positively ridiculous. The
rescript from Nero, already referred to, is brought to
Marcus Superbus, the Prefect of Rome, stating that the
Christians conspire against the emperor’s throne and
life, and ordering their extermination. Kill them all,
says Nero—men, women, and children. Mr. Marcus
Barrett, or Mr. Barrett Marcus, drops his voice, tremu
lous with horror and pity, at the word “ children ”—
and the audience (or congregation) shudder in turn,
as though it really happened. But it never did happen.
No ruler of a civilised state ever issued such an order.
What is related in the New Testament of Herod is
simply a Christian falsehood.
Certainly no Roman
emperor ever wrote out an order for the indiscriminate
massacre of men, women, and children. Such an order
was written once, and Mr. Barrett forgot where he had
read it. It is to be found in the book of Deuteronomy,
and is the direct command of Jehovah. In the case of
certain cities, the Jews were to kill all the males and
married women, and keep alive the virgins for them
selves ; in the case of other cities, they were to slay all,
men, women, and children, and leave alive nothing that
breathed.
Roman jurisprudence was not perfect, but it was
�THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
35
more humane than the jurisprudence of Christendom
until within a very recent period. At any rate, it
should not be saddled with the responsibility of J ewish
atrocities; and that this transference of guilt should
be made in a Christian play, before an audience of
Bibliolaters, is a surprising illustration of ignorance or
hypocrisy.
The more we examine Mr. Barrett’s history the more
extraordinary it appears.
I have already noticed that
he makes Nero and Marcus talk about Christ and Chris
tianity as though both were perfectly familiar.
Now
this is simply absurd, as I will proceed to demonstrate.
Orthodox sources of information are all suspicious.
Mr. Becky, in a famous passage, deplores the fables and
falsehoods which have ever disgraced the literature of
the Church, and quotes with melancholy approval the
dictum of Herder that “ Christian veracity ” deserves
to rank with “ Punic faith.”* The fervid and reckless
Tertullian, writing within two centuries of the death
of Christ, not only tells the Roman authorities that
they had preserved in their archives a circumstantial
relation of the astounding eclipse which is said to have
occurred at the Crucifixion, but impudently adds that
Tiberius proposed to enrol Christ among the gods, but
was unable to obtain the sanction of the Senate.^
When such stuff as this passed amongst the Christians
as history, after the lapse of only a few generations, we
may well refuse to believe anything advanced by their
apologists, unless
it
is supported by independent
evidence.
* European Morals, vol. ii., p, 212.
+ Apology, ch. v., ch. xxi.
�36
THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
A century after the death of Nero a great and good
man occupied the throne of the Roman empire. His
Thoughts is one of the most precious books in the
world’s literature; and Mr. George Long, his classical
translator, says that “ it is quite certain that Antoninus
did not derive any of his Ethical principles from a re
ligion of which he knew nothing.”*
Renan is only a
little less emphatic. “ It is most likely,” he says, “ that
no redaction of the evangelical texts had passed under
his eyes; perhaps the name of Jesus was unknown to
him.”-J-
Now, if Marcus Aurelius may never have heard the
name of Jesus, and if it is certain that he knew nothing
of Christianity,. it is incumbent upon Mr. Barrett to
explain the knowledge of both Jesus and Christianity
which he attributes to Nero in the middle of the pre
vious century.
It is extremely doubtful whether Christianity had
penetrated to Rome before Paul went there as a
prisoner, and this was in the reign of Nero. Aube is
evidently misled on this point by a passage in Sueto
nius, who relates that Claudius “ expelled from Rome
the Jews, who, at the instigation of one Chrestus, were
always making disturbances.” This refers to A.D. 49,
and Aube regards it as “ the first mention, obscure but
incontestable, of the advent of Christianity in Rome.”!
But the name of Chrestus was then in common use,
and the passage cannot possibly refer to Christ, who
was never in Rome himself, and whose followers, if they
* P. 22.
+ Ma/rc-Aurele, p. 55.
| Aube, Histoire des Persecretions de VEglise jusqu' a la fin
dies Antonins, p. 82.
�THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
37
existed there so soon after the crucifixion, could not
have been numerous enough to engage in a dangerous
conflict with the Jews.
Lardner admitted that learned
men were not agreed that this Suetonius passage related
to Christ, and Ludwig Geiger says—“ How this passage
could have been applied to Christ, I cannot conceive.”*
It is stated in the Acts of the Apostles (xxviii. 15),
which is of very questionable historical value, that the
“ brethren ” came out to meet Paul as he approached
Rome.
But these “ brethren ” disappear as soon as
they have given a kindly touch to the narrative; for
it was “ the chief of the Jews ” that Paul called together
when he had been three days in the city, and to whom
he preached “ concerning Jesus.”
Apparently they
had been unable to learn anything “ concerning this
sent ” from the mysterious Christian “ brethren ” who
came out to meet Paul as far as “ The Three Taverns.”
Paul’s treatment in Rome is a curious commentary
on Mr. Barrett’s text. A declaration is put into the
mouth of Poppea, “ that Nero gives liberty of worship
to all his subjects but the Christians.”
Now, according
to the Acts of the Apostles, Paul had appealed unto
Caesar against the malicious bigotry of his own country
men, the Jews.
It was because he had embraced
Christianity, and had become its principal champion,
that they accused him as a pestilent fellow and a
stirrer-up of tumults.
Yet on reaching Rome, the city
of Nero, and the alleged scene of a terrible and infamous
persecution of the Christians, he found himself in a
haven of safety. He was “ suffered to dwell by himself
* Gill, Notices of the Jews in the Classic Writers of Anti
quity, p. 164.
�38
THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
with a soldier that kept him,” and “ dwelt two whole
years in his own hired house,” preaching Christianity
every day under the very nose of his janitor, without
the slightest molestation.
It is not a fact that Nero interfered with the liberty
of worship of any of his subjects; it is not true that
he ever issued an order against the Christians on
account of their faith ; it is false that he ever charged
them (as Mr. Barrett represents) with conspiring against
his throne and life.
Rome had been more than half destroyed by a
frightful conflagration, and it was rumored that Nero
was the incendiary of his own capital. Absurd as the
rumor was, it is said that Nero was alarmed, and that
he looked about for a victim to offer as a sacrifice to
the angry multitude. What followed is related in the
famous passage in Tacitus
“ With this view he inflicted the most exquisite
tortures on those men who, under the vulgar appellation
of Christians, were already branded with deserved
infamy. They derived their name and origin from
Christ, who, in the reign of Tiberius, had suffered death
by the sentence of the procurator, Pontius Pilate. For
a while this dire superstition was checked, but it again
burst forth : and not only spread itself over Judsea, the
first seat of this mischievous sect, but was even intro
duced into Rome, the common asylum which receives and
protects whatever is impure, whatever is atrocious. The
confessions of those who were seized discovered a great
multitude of their accomplices, and they were all con
victed, not so much for the crime of setting fire to the
city as for their hatred of human kind. They died in
torments, and their torments were embittered by insult
and derision. Some were nailed on crosses; others
sewn up in the skins of wild beasts, and exposed to
the fury of dogs ; others again, smeared over with com
bustible materials, were used as torches to illuminate
�THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
39
the darkness of the night. The gardens of Nero were
destined for the melancholy spectacle, which was accom
panied with a horse-race, and honored with the presence
of the emperor, who mingled with the populace in the
dress and attitude of a charioteer. The guilt of the
Christians deserved, indeed, the most exemplary punish
ment, but the public abhorrence was changed into
commiseration, from the opinion that those unhappy
wretches were sacrificed, not so much to the public
welfare as to the cruelty of a jealous tyrant.”*
This passage occurs in the Annals (xv. 44) of Tacitus.
Gibbon regards it as genuine; but let us look at the
facts.
The Annals of Tacitus was first printed at Venice
between 1468 and 1470. There is not a trace of the
existence of this work prior to the fifteenth century.
Mr. W. R. Ross has written a learned book to prove
that it was forged by Bracciolini.f He shows, by a
wide appeal to Christian and Pagan authors, that the
History of Tacitus was well known, but that there is
not a single reference to the Annals during thirteen
hundred years. He says that this long, unbroken
silence is inexplicable, except on the ground that the
work was not in existence; and he then gives a variety
of reasons, personal, historical, and philological, for
concluding that the writer was not Tacitus, but
Bracciolini.
I do not desire to take a side in this controversy;
I do not know that I am entitled to.
But, in the
circumstances, I do question the authenticity of the
* This is Gibbon’s translation. There are many others,
but his combines elegance and accuracy, as might be
expected from such a scholar and such a writer.
T Tacitus and Bracciolini.
�40
THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
particular passage which relates the persecution of the
Chiistians by Nero. It contains a reference to Jesus
Christ, which would have been invaluable to the apolo
gists of Christianity; but not one of them, from
Tertullian downwards, until fourteen hundred years
aftei the death of Christ, ever lighted upon it, or
caught a glimpse of it, or even heard of its existence.
And knowing what we do of the forgery practised in all
ages on behalf of the Christian faith, I say that this
particular passage—whatever may be the case with
respect to the entire Annals—lies under very grave
suspicion.
It is not generally known how very recent is the
Christian appeal to Tacitus. Mr. Ross says that the
Annals, though printed in the fifteenth century, was
“ not generally known till the sixteenth and seven
teenth.” A singular corroboration of this statement
may be found in John Foxe’s Book of Martyrs—as it
is commonly (though incorrectly) called. This work
was first published in 1563, and I find that Foxe knows
nothing whatever of this (since) famous passage in
Tacitus.
He does relate that Nero slaughtered
the
Christians, but his
Hegesippus,
Sulpicius
authorities
Severus, and
are Eusebius,
Orosius.
He
refers in a footnote to Suetonius, and the reference
to Tacitus is supplied, within brackets, by the modern
editor.
This suspicious passage in Tacitus was probably
based upon a very similar passage in Sulpicius Severus,
a Christian writer who flourished about A.D. 400. I
give the latter in full, so that the reader may, if possible,
judge for himself:—
�THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
41
“ In the meantime, when the number of the Christians
was greatly increased, there happened a fire at Rome
while Nero was at Antium. Nevertheless, the general
opinion of all men cast the blame of the fire upon the
emperor. And it was supposed that his aim therein
was that he might have the glory of raising the city
again in greater splendor. Nor could he by any means
suppress the common rumor that the fire was owing to
his orders. He therefore endeavored to cast the re
proach of it upon the Christians. And exquisite tortures
were inflicted upon innocent men ; and, moreover, new
kinds of death were invented. Some were tied up in
the skins of wild beasts, that they might be worried to
death by dogs. Many were crucified. Others were
burnt to death; and they were set up as lights in the
night-time. This was the beginning of the persecution
of the Christians.”*
Lardner supposes that Sulpicius Severus had read
Tacitus, but it is first necessary to prove that the
Annals, or the special passage in it, existed to be read.
Lardner also supposes that
Sulpicius Severus had
“ other authorities,” but who they were is left
obscurity.
in
As a matter of fact, the farther back we go
beyond this writer (a.d. 400) the less precise does the
information become concerning theNeronic persecution
of the Christians. The earliest Christian writers were
ignorant of details with which later Christian writers
were so familiar. And it is curious that, although the
later Martyrologies are so circumstantial, not a single
name was preserved by the Church of any Christian
who perished in Nero’s massacre. Paul is said to have
been beheaded at Rome at some time, and Peter is said
to have been crucified (upside down) there ; but every
student knows that these are mere traditions, which
* Lardner’s translation, Works, vol. vi., p. 630.
�42
THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
abound in supernatural incidents that deprive them of
all historical value.
Supposing, however, that the Tacitus passage
be genuine, still it lends no countenance to Mr.
Barrett’s statement that Nero persecuted the Chris
tians as Christians, or slew them for conspiring against
his throne and life. Nero’s action, as Lardner remarks,
was “ not owing to their having different principles in
religion from the Romans, but proceeded from a desire
he had to throw off from himself the odium of a vile
action—namely, setting fire to the city.”* “ The reli
gious tenets of the Galileans, or Christians,” says
Gibbon, “ were never made a subject of punishment, or
even of inquiry.”
Mosheim states that “ Nero first
enacted laws for the extermination of Christians,”f but
later on he admits that “ the Christians were con
demned rather as
grounds
incendiaries
than on
religious
and his English editor, Murdock, is obliged
to point out that Nero did not enact public laws
against them. It is impossible to refute the conclu
sion of Gibbon, that there were “ no general laws or
decrees of the senate in force against the Christians,”
when Pliny, in the beginning of the second century,
wrote to the Emperor Trajan for instructions with
respect to those who were accused at his tribunal of being
worshippers of Christ. “ Trajan’s rescript,”says Long, “is
the first legislative act of the head of the Roman state
with reference to Christianity, which is known to us.”
Pliny’s translator, the elegant and learned Melmoth,
remarks that his author’s letter to Trajan “ is esteemed
* Vol. i., p. 206.
+ Ecclesiastical History (Murdock’s edition), vol. i., p. 65.
�THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
43
as almost the only genuine monument of antiquity
relating to the times immediately succeeding the
Apostles” —which is rather severe on
the . other
Melmoth adds that the
Christians
“ monuments.”
came under the Roman law against unlicensed assem
blies ; and that, as they met just before the dawn, the
very unusualness of the hour laid them open to the
suspicion that they indulged in Bacchanalian practices.
But it is not my purpose to write a disquisition on the
reasons why the Christians of the second centuiy were
persecuted by a government renowned for its religious
toleration. My object is to demonstrate the truth that
the Christians were not molested by Nero on account
of their religion, and in this I think I have fully
succeeded.
Whether the Christians were really put to death m
the atrocious manner described by Sulpicius Severus,
and in the forged passage of Tacitus, no man can
determine.
Personally, I do not believe it. I am of
opinion that the story, as it stands, is an orthodox
invention, like the ten persecutions, and the martyro
logies, and the dreadful fate of the persecutors. But
in what, I ask, did Nero’s butchery of Christians (if it
happened) differ from Christian butchery of heretics
and infidels ? Nero is alleged to have covered some of
his victims with combustibles, and used their burning
bodies to illuminate his gardens.
This strikes the
imagination, which counts for so much in these matters.
Yet it scarcely adds to the cruelty of the burning. I
believe there is no way of roasting a man agreeably.
His suffering is not affected by the use that may be
made of the fire for other purposes. And when I read
�44
THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
of the death of Servetus, who was hunted to his doom
by John Calvin; when I read that he was burnt with
green wood to prolong his sufferings ; when I read that
he vainly begged his murderers to throw on dry wood,
m order to end his agony; when I read all this, I
perceive that these Christian butchers had nothing
to learn of Nero m the arts of torture and assassination.
Two blacks do not make a white. I am aware of it.
But I do not hold a brief for any persecutors.
I
merely say that one black has no right to denounce the
other’s nigritude.
I would also observe that the Christians who
butchered systematically for a difference of opinion,
from the time of Constantine down to the end of last
century, had not even the poor excuse of the Pagans
who persecuted the Christians at intervals during the
much shorter period of about two hundred years.
After the burning of Rome, for instance, how natural
it was that people should say they had seen men
going about with torches and setting fire to the
city. And if it be true that Nero fastened the
guilt,
of
which he was
himself suspected, upon
the Christians, how easy was it to excite the Pagan
populace against a new sect, whose members were
so fond of prophesying the speedy end of the world,
and that too by a universal conflagration.
*
SubSir Richard Davis Hanson, late Chief Justice of
z
kls ai>e 1W0rk on T.he AP°^e. Paul, remarks
\P-: Although,, then, there is no existing evidence to
justify the. accusation made against the Christians, of
having originated or assisted to spread the conflagration
we are not, perhaps, entitled to regard it as altogether
without foundation.” Chief Justice Hanson points out that
it Irish Christians m London could blow down the walls of
�THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
45
sequently, when the Christians constituted a kind of
international secret society, when they openly displayed
their hatred of the empire, and gloried in its mis
fortunes, and were never weary of foretelling its ruin—
was there not some excuse for the action of the govern
ment against them ?
But the Christians were never
in any danger from the heretics and infidels they
massacred. They never even raised such a pretext.
They killed and tortured for points of faith, and not on
any ground (however mistaken) of self-preservation.
A correspondent of mine, Mr. J. W. Hillier, having
witnessed The Sign of the Cross, and feeling that
Mr. Barrett had approached the subject in a spirit of
partisanship, wrote to him suggesting that he should
follow it with another play, dealing with later times
and the persecutions inflicted by Christians on those
who differed from them.
Mr. Barrett’s reply is as full
of• sentiment as a speech by Joseph Surface. “No
good,” he says, “ would accrue from such a play as you
describe. It must engender bitterness. The cause of
humanity could not be served by showing that many
who professed Christianity neglected the first prin
ciples of its teaching. No mud thrown at St. Paul’s
Cathedral injures the Christian religion or helps the
cause of truth. No false priest destroys the beauty of
Christ’s teaching.”
a prison to liberate a member of their society, it is possible
that Christianised slaves or Jews in Rome might set fire to
a prison or a palace to facilitate the escape of a valued
brother. Of the crime of setting fire to Rome it is “ almost
proved ” that Nero could not have been guilty. Whether the
Christians were guilty or not, the populace “obviously thought
the accusation credible, and probably believed it to be true.”
�46
THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
Whatever are the “ first principles ” of Christianity,
according to Mr. Barrett, it is certain that one of its
first principles, according to the teaching of its principal
divines in all ages, is the doctrine of salvation by faith;
and any man of sense can see that this doctrine leads
—as, in fact, it has always led—to persecution.
This
doctrine, however, is probably not included among the
“ beauties ” of Christ’s teaching. Mr. Barrett would
doubtless refer me to such texts as “ Blessed are the
merciful.” Well, I admit that the “beauty” of this
utterance cannot be destroyed by any false priest.
But, on the other hand, could the crimes of Nero
destroy the “ beauty ” of the teaching of Seneca or
Epictetus ? It seems to me that Mr. Barrett’s methods
are very illogical.
To show how Christians were per
secuted by Pagans is to help humanity, but to show
how Christians have persecuted independent thinkers
is to engendei’ bitterness ! Why does not Mr. Barrett
honestly say that it pays better to flatter Christians
than to tell them the truth ?
Mr. Barrett must be well aware that the Cross has
played other parts in the world than the protector of
virtue and the stimulator of fortitude. It was the sign
of the Cross (we are told) visible in the heavens that
led Constantine to worship the God of the Christians,
and to force then.’ religion upon his Pagan subjects.
Within three hundred years of the death of Jesus, the
Christian preachers had only succeeded in converting
about a twentieth part of the inhabitants of the
empire; but within another hundred years the greater
part of the rest were converted by the gentle arts of
�47
THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.
bribery, proscription, and persecution. Those who spoke
evil of Christ were condemned to lose half their estates,,
the writings of the opponents of Christianity were
committed to the flames, and men were soon burnt
alive for dissenting from the Church. It was the sign
of the Cross, centuries afterwards, that led the brutal
horde of Crusaders to pollute with cruelty and massacre
the very land that had been trodden by the feet of
their “ Savior.” It was the sign of the Cross that in
spired the Spanish Christians to annihilate the Moorish
civilisation, which they have never been able to equal. It
was the sign of the Cross that blessed the bloody work
of the Spaniards in America, where they destroyed
millions of inoffensive natives by every conceivable
species of cruelty. It was the sign of the Cross that was
most frequently painted on the shirts of the poor
wretches who were burnt for heresy by the Inquisition.
Sometimes, by a crowning infamy, a red crucifix was
presented to the victim to kiss. It was pressed against
his lips, and it made them smoke, for it was red-hot.
These are not facts to be forgotten.
Whoever seeks
to hide them is an enemy to civilisation.
History has been called
example.
philosophy teaching by
In the name of history, thus understood, I
protest against Mr, Barrett’s play, and the ridiculous
(and, perhaps, venal) reception it has met with in the
so-called organs of public opinion.
My writing may be
weak, but it is not anonymous ; my voice may be feeble,
but I raise it openly; and I invite the clericals who.
laud The Sign of the Cross to answer my criticism.
FINIS.
����
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The Sign of the Cross : a candid criticism of Mr Wilson Barrett's play
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Foote, G. W. (George William) [1850-1915]
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Place of publication: London
Collation: 47 p. ; 21 cm.
Notes: Includes bibliographical references. The Sign of the Cross is an 1895 four-act historical tragedy, by Wilson Barrett. Barrett said its Christian theme was his attempt to bridge the gap between Church and Stage. It was the basis for the 1932 film adaptation directed by Cecil B. DeMille: the first DeMille sound film with a religious theme. Part of the NSS pamphlet collection.
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1896
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Theatre
Christianity
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Drama
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Wilson Barrett
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THE
BY
Q-. W. FOOTE.
. Second Edition, with a New Introduction.^
PRICE ONE PENNY.
' -j.
..
~~
■
------------------------------------------~
LQNDON:
PROGRESSIVE PUBLISHING COMPANY,
28 Stonecutter Street, E.C.
1884.
�INTR OR U C TI 0 N.
The following Essay was originally published, four years ago, under
the title of “ The Futility of Prayer.” I now republish it under the
more forcible title of “ The Folly of Prayer.” My object in this
change is not simply, as Hosea Biglow says, to “combine morrul truth
with phrases sich as strike,” although a great deal may be said for
that policy. The longer I live, the more deeply I feel the necessity of
attacking superstition in the plainest language. I am also convinced
that Heine was right when he said “ the superfluous is harmful.” Pro
gress is so huge a task, so arduous and painful, that any diversion of
human energy into unprofitable channels is a disaster. If Prayer is
futile, it is a folly.
This new edition gives me an opportunity of adding a little to my
Essay, of bringing it, so to speak, up to date. My space is limited,
and I must be succinct.
We are now in the midst of a political crisis. The Peers are showing
their historic qualities of selfishness, stupidity and arrogance. They
are trying to thwart the nation’s will with respect to the Franchise as
they have tried to thwart it with respect to every great reform in the
past. They seem bent on holding true to their evil traditions, and
proving themselves to the very end the obstinate foes of progress.
Fortunately, however, their day of doom is rapidly drawing near.
Never since the Long Parliament locked the door of the Upper House
and turned the Lords adrift has there been such a storm of indigna
tion against the Peerage. Mend them or end them, says Mr. Morley ;
and “ End them ” is the responsive shout from the people. Yes, the
Lords are happily wrecking their own craft. They will lose both ship
and cargo in the end. With their political power will go all hope of
retaining their bloated estates. Was there ever such fatuity since
the French nobles invited the Revolution ? If this is the way God
endues them with “ grace, wisdom and understanding,” it is a very
remarkable proof of the efficacy of prayer.
Candor compels me to admit, however, that her Majesty continues
to flourish in “ health and wealth,” according to the formula of our
Church Prayer Book. Yet we need not resort to prayer for an expla
nation of this fact. Her Majesty’s wealth is provided by the nation,
without any contribution by Providence ; and her health is protected
by the ease which our constitutional monarchy allows her to enjoy.
So far from trusting in the Lord, except at church, she never fails to
appeal to us for the support of her numerous offspring and their
extensive families. When our lavish generosity is considered, there
seems remarkably little scope for the bounty of Providence.
I omitted in my Essay to mention the recovery of the Prince of
Wales, many years ago, from gastric fever, and the national Thanks
giving Service held in St. Paul’s Cathedral. What wild orgies of
religious excitement were worked up by the London press, and notably
by that eminently pious journal the Daily Telegraph ! How we were
bidden to watch the great national wave of prayer surging against the
�THE FOLLY OF PRAYER.
“ These was,” says Luther in his Table Talk, “ a great
drought, as it had not rained for a long time, and the grain
in the field began to dry up, when Dr. M. L. prayed con
tinually and said finally with heavy sighs: 0 Lord, pray
regard our petition in behalf of thy promise. ... I know
that we cry to thee and sigh desirously ; why dost thou not
hear us ? And the very next night there came a very fine
fruitful rain.” From Luther to Sammy Hicks the Yorkshireman is a far cry, but an episode of his history somewhat
resembles this naive story of the great lieformer. Sammy
Hicks was a miller and a Methodist, and once while looking
forward to a Love Feast, at which cakes were consumed, he
was sorely troubled by a dead calm that lasted for days
together, and caused a complete stoppage of his windmill.
It so happened that all the flour was exhausted before the
calm was broken, and on the very eve of the Love Feast there
was none left for the cakes. In this extremity recourse was
had to prayer. Sammy himself, who excelled in that line,
petitioned Heaven for a breath of wind to fill his sails. In a
few moments the cheeks of the suppliants were fanned by a
gentle zephyr, which rapidly grew to a strong breeze.
Around went the sails of Sammy’s mill until enough flour
was ground to make the Love Feast cakes, when the wind
suddenly subsided and died away as miraculously as it came.
How amusing are both Luther and Sammy Hicks, in these
instances, to the educated minds of to-day! Yet amongst
the ignorant and those who are not imbued with the spirit
of Science, the old superstition of prayer still lingers, and ever
and anon betrays itself in speech and act. Whatever remnant
of superstition exists the priests are very careful to foster.
Accordingly, whenever an opportunity occurs, they stimulate
popular folly and make themselves the laughing-stock or
contempt of the wise and thoughtful. In Catholic countries
the miracles of the Middle Ages are even now, in this age
�Introduction.
iii.
throne of grace 1 Well, the Prince recovered, thanks to a good con
stitution and the highest medical skill. But the sky-pilots saw their
chance. They insisted that the Prince’s recovery was due to prayer.
They organised a huge farce at St. Paul’s, where in the nation’s name
they thanked God for his marvellous mercy. But curiously, amidst all
this delirium, the authorities retained a little sagacity. God was duly
thanked, but the doctors were not forgotten : one of them was knighted,
and all were handsomely rewarded. Deity had the empty praise, and
the physicians the solid pudding.
Since then we have seen the United States praying for the recovery
of their President. Week after week Science fought with Death over
his sick bed, and the awful struggle was watched by a trembling world.
Would he live, would he die ? “0 God, let him live,” prayed millions
in church and chapel. “ 0 God, spare him, my husband, my darling,”
cried the agonised wife. But his life ebbed slowly away amidst a
nation's prayers for his recovery. Why did not God save General
Garfield ? Is the Almighty a respecter of persons after all ? Or is he
so monarchical that he will not aid the President of a Republic? Can
Christians explain this without denying the efficacy of prayer or im
peaching the character of God ?
Now a word for the cholera. This frightful scourge has ravaged
France and Italy this summer and roused the latent superstition of the
people. In some cases the Catholics demanded religious processions
through the streets and public prayers to the Virgin. But the Secular
authorities firmly resisted this clamor, and they were sometimes backed
up by the higher priests, who knew that undue excitement and con
sequent exhaustion would only make the multitude easier victims to
the plague. The English press chronicled these cases of superstition
as they might record the eccentricities of the worshippers of Mumbo
Jumbo. Yet our Church Prayer Book has a definite form of “ prayer in
time of sickness.”
This leads me to enquire whether our sky-pilots are sincere. I fancy
not. Let us judge them by their practice instead of their profession.
What swarms of them invade our health resorts in summer! How
they all take a long holiday when they can ’ Go to fashionable water
ing-places like Bath, and observe the large floating population of sky
pilots in search of health and rich widows. When they fall ill they
act like other men. They consult Dr. Science instead of Dr. Provi
dence, and if possible scuttle off from the Lord’s vineyard to the seaside.
Faith is the same in both places, but the air is different. Prayer
works better with oxygen than with carbonic acid gas.
Trust in God and keep your powder dry, said Cromwell, Yes, but
will faith help you if you get your powder wet ? This is a very onesided doctrine. Well does James Thomson sing in “ Bill Jones on
Prayer”:—
Which seems to mean—You doth work.
God helpeth him who helps himself,
Have all the trouble and pains,
They preach to us as a fact,
Which seems to lay up G od on the shelf, While God, that ind o 1 en t grand 0 Id Turk,
Gets credit for the gains.
And leave the man to act.
I despair of improving on that.
can, once for all.
November 1, 1884.
It sums up the matter, as genius only
G. W. FOOTE.
�The Folly of Prayer.
5
of railways and electric telegraphs, repeated before the
shrines of new-fangled saints. Pilgrims journey to Lourdes
and other holy places, where the credulity of the multitude is
equalled by the imposture of their priests. The blood of St.
Januarius still liquifies annually at Naples, precious relics
heal all manner of diseases, and the Virgin appears to prayer
ful peasants and hysterical nuns. In England these things do
not happen, for there is not faith enough to make them
possible. Yet here also the Catholic priest gets souls out of
purgatory by the saying of masses which have to be duly
paid for; and our own Protestant priests, who have re
linquished almost every peculiar function of their office, still
retain one, that of standing between us and bad weather.
We may call them our Rain Doctors, a name applied to the
African medicine-men, who beat gongs and dance and shout,
to scare off the sun and bring down rain when the land is
parched with drought. The difference between a bishop of
the English Church praying for sunshine and an African
medicine-man howling for wet, is purely accidental and no
wise intrinsic. Intellectually they stand, on the same level,
the sole difference being that one goes through his perform
ance in a vulgar and the other in a high-bred fashion.
Perhaps there is another difference ; one may be honest and
the other dishonest, one sincere and the other hypocritical.
Cato wondered how two augurs could meet without laughter,
and probably it would be comical to witness the meeting of
two friendly parsons after a lusty bout of prayer for fine
weather.
In 1879 we were afflicted with a descent of rain scarcely
paralleled in the century. Through the spring and
through the summer the deluge persisted, and each month
seemed to bring more violent storms than its predecessor.
Yet our Rain Doctors kept quiet as mice. Perhaps they
reflected that it was scarcely politic to pray for sunshine
until the Americans had ceased to telegraph the approach of
fresh tempests. How different from the African Rain
Doctors, who will pray for rain while the sun glares torrid
and implacable, and no cloudlet mitigates the awful azure of
heaven! But, deceived by a brief spell of fine weather in
the middle of July, they suddenly plucked up courage and
proceeded to counsel Omniscience. The result was woeful.
On the very next Sunday after prayers for fine weather
�6
The Folly of Prayer.
began to be offered, a terrific storm burst over the land, and
for weeks after the rain was almost incessant. During one
week in August only seventeen hours of sunshine were
registered in London. The harvest was spoiled, about forty
million pounds’ worth of produce was lost to the country, and
farmers looked in the face of ruin. This was the answer to
prayer !
Yet the votaries of superstition and their priestly abettors
will not admit the futility of prayer. Their reasoning is like
the gambler’s “heads I win, tails you lose ” ! All the facts
that tell for their case are allowed to count, and all that
tell against it are excluded. If what they pray for happens,
that proves the efficacy of prayer ; if it does not happen, that
proves nothing at all. Such is the logic of superstition in
every age and clime.
Notwithstanding the occasional outbursts of our Rain
Doctors, it is evident that the doctrine of Prayer is being
gradually refined away, like many other doctrines of theology.
It originated in simpler times, when people thought that
something tangible could be got by it. Whenever danger or
difficulty confronted our barbarous ancestors, they naturally
looked to the. god or gods of their faith for assistance. If
any transcendental philosopher or mystical theologian had
told them that prayer was not a practical request but a
spiritual aspiration, they would have answered with a stare of
astonishment.
Even the New Testament embodies the
belief of the savage, although in a slightly refined form, and
the Lord’s Prayer contains a distinct request for daily bread.
Before the advent of science, when men ignorantly and
unskilfully wrestled with the manifold evils of life, their
prayers for aid were grimly earnest, and often the last cry of
despair. Fire, earthquake, flood, famine, and pestilence
afflicted them sorely; often they gazed blankly on sheer
ruin ; and in lifting their supplicating hands and eyes and
voice, they besought no spiritual anodyne, but a real outward
relief. The hand of supernatural power was expected to
visibly interpose on their behalf. Now, however, the idea of
prayer is greatly changed for all save a few fools or fanatics.
Educated Christians, for the most part, do not appear to think
that objective miracles are wrought in answer to prayer.
They think that now God only works subjective miracles, and
by operating upon men’s hearts, produces results that would
�The Folly of Prayer.
not happen in the natural course of things. According to
this subtler form of superstition, outward circumstances are
never interfered with, but our inward condition is changed to
suit them. Thus, if a ship were speeding onward to some
fatal danger of simoon or sunken reef, God would not alter
the circuit of the storm, or remove the rocks from the ship’s
path, but if he deigned to interpose would work upon the
captain’s mind and induce him to deviate from his appointed
course. If an innocent man were sentenced to be hung, God
would not break the rope or strike the executioner blind, but he
might influence the Home Secretary to grant a reprieve. Or
if in a thunder-storm we had sought the shelter of a tree,
God would not divert the lightning, although he might, just
before it struck the tree, whisper that we had better move on.
This last refinement of the doctrine of the efficacy of prayer
is very intelligible to the psychologist. Physical science has
thoroughly demonstrated the reign of law in the material
universe, and educated people are indisposed to look for
miracles in that direction, notwithstanding the occasional
attempts of our rain doctors to cure bad weather with spiritual
medicines. But mental science has produced much less effect.
Man’s mind is still supposed to be a chaos, haunted and
mysteriously influenced by a phantasmal free-will. Save by
a few philosophers and students, the reign of law is not sus
pected to obtain there. Accordingly, the miracles which
were thought to occur in the material world are now rele
gated to the spiritual world—a ghoul-haunted region wherein
there survives a home for them. Yet progress is being made
here also, and we may confidently predict that as miracles
have been banished from the domain of matter, so they will
be banished from the domain of mind. The reign of law, it
will be perceived, is universal within us as without us. It is
manifested alike in the growth of a blade of grass and in the
silent procession of the stars ; alike in tumult and in peace,
in the loud overwhelming storm or engulphing earthquake,
and in the soft-falling rain or golden sunshine, nurturing the
grass in a thousand valleys and ripening the harvest on a
thousand plains : and no less apparent in the noblest leaps of
passion and the highest flights of thought, but binding all
things in one harmonious whole, so that the brain of Shake
speare and the heart of Buddha acknowledge kinship with the
mountains, waves and skies.
�8
The Folly of Prayer.
Meanwhile the sceptic asks the believer in prayer to justify
it, and show that it is not a mere superstitious and foolish
waste of energy. The proper spirit in which to approach
this subject is the rational and not the credulous. The
efficacy of prayer is a question to be decided by the methods
of science. If efficacious, prayer is a cause, and its presence
may be detected by experiment or investigation. The ex
perimental method is the best, but there is difficulty in apply
ing it, as the believers perversely refuse to undertake their
share of the process. Professor Tyndall, on behalf (I think)
of Sir Henry Thompson, has proposed that a ward in some
hospital should be set apart, and the patients in it specially
prayed for, so that it might be ascertained whether more
cures were effected in it than in other wards containing
similar patients, and tended by the same medical and nursing
skill. This proposal the theologians fought shy of ; and one
of them (Dr. Litttedale) gravely rebuked Professor Tynda.ll
for presuming to think that God Almighty would submit to
be made the subject of a scientific experiment. Theologically
there is much force in this objection, although scientifically
and morally there is none. A universal Father would as
suredly welcome such a test of his goodness, but the proud
irascible God of theology would be sure to frown upon it, and
signalise his preference for the fine old plan of closing our
eyes while opening our mouths to receive his benefactions.
There is, however, a way to take him as it were by a side-wind.
There are certain things impossible even to omnipotence.
Sidney Smith (I think) said that God himself could not make
a clock strike less than one. Nor can any powei' revoke what
has already occurred.
“ Not heaven itself upon the past has power,”
as Dryden tells us. The past is irrevocable, and we may in
vestigate it for the purpose of ascertaining whether prayer
has been efficacious, without the least fear of being baffled by
any power in the heavens above, in the earth beneath, or in the
waters under the earth. People have prayed enough in the
past—far more, indeed, than they are likely to pray in the
future—and if we find that their prayers have been futile,
the whole question at issue must be considered as practically
decided in the negative.
Let us dismiss all appeals to individual experience, and deal
only with broad classes of facts. It is quite impossible in any
�The Folly of Prayer.
9
particular case to determine whether prayer has been answered
or not, even when the object besought has been wholly ob
tained. A single result is so often produced by a combination
of causes, some obvious and direct, and others obscure and
indirect, that we cannot absolutely say whether the natural
agencies have operated alone or in conjunction with a super
natural power. If after long and fervent prayers a precious
life has been spared, it cannot be affirmed that prayer was a
cause of the recovery, since the sick person might have re
covered without it. Nor, on the other hand, can it be affirmed
that prayer was not a cause, since the sick person might have
died without it. Our ignorance in such cases precludes us from
deciding one way or the other. The only way to neutralise this
is to examine general categories, to take whole classes of persons,
and see whether those who pray get what they ask for any
more than those who do not pray, or if classes of persons who
are prayed for by others are more favored than those who
enjoy no such advantage.
Pursuing this line of inquiry, Mr. Francis dalton, the author
of a remarkable work on “Hereditary Genius,” was led many
years ago to collect and collate statistics relative to the subject
of prayer, which he subsequently published in the Fortnightly
Review of August, 1872. Mr. Galton’s article did not, so far
as I am aware, attract the attention it deserved. Its facts and
conclusions are of great importance, and the remainder of my
own essay will be largely indebted to it.
Let us take first the case of recovery from sickness. It has
been frequently remarked that sickness is more afflictive than
death itself, and it is common for persons who suffer from it,
if they are at all of a religious turn of mind, to pray for relief
and restoration to health. Their relatives also pray for
them.
However pious men may be, they always submit
to Omniscience their own view of the case when their lives
are in the least degree endangered ; and however fer
vently they believe in the eternal and ineffable felicities of
heaven, they are scarcely ever content to leave this vale of tears.
They desire as long a continuance of life on this earth as the
sceptic does. Often, indeed, they repine far more than the
sceptic at the ordinance of fate. Now, as a matter of fact, is
it found that pious persons of a prayerful disposition recover
from sickness more frequently than worldly persons who are
not in the habit of praying at all ? If so, the medical pro
�10
The Folly of Prayer.
fession would long ago have discovered it, and prayer would
have taken a recognised place among sanative agencies. On
this point Mr. Galton writes as follows :—
“ The medical works of modern Europe teem with records of in
dividual illnesses and of broad averages of disease, but I have been
able to discover hardly any instance in which a medical man of any
repute has attributed recovery to the influence of prayer. There is
not a single instance, to my knowledge, in which papers read before
statistical societies have recognised the agency of prayer either on
disease or on anything else. The universal habit of the scientific world
to ignore the agency of prayer is a very important fact. To fully
appreciate the ‘ eloquence of the silence ’ of medical men, we must bear
in mind the care with which they endeavor to assign a sanitary value
to every influence. Had prayers for the sick any notable effect, it is
incredible but that the doctors, who are always on the watch for such
things, should have observed it, and added their influence to that of
the priests towards obtaining them for every sick man. If they abstain
from doing so, it is not because their attention has never been awakened
to the possible efficacy of prayer, but, on the contrary, that although
they have heard it insisted on from childhood upwards, they are unable
to detect its influence.”
It thus appears that prayer is a medicine only in the
pharmacopoeia of the priests. Many doctors rather dislike
it. A medical friend of mine, who hated the sight of a
parson, used always to keep any member of the clerical
fraternity waiting outside the sick-room door in extreme
cases, until it was certain that death would supervene. He
would then allow the reverend gentleman to go through his
performance, knowing that he could do no harm. My friend
said that when his patients required absolute repose their
nerves were often agitated in his absence by obtrusive and
officious priests.
A class of persons who are specially and generally prayed
for are kings and queens and other members of royal
families. A high value is always set on things which cost
a great deal. Royal personages are very expensive, and we
naturally esteem and love them according to their cost.
Animated by an amiable desire that they may long live to
spend the money we delight to shower upon them, we pray
that God will prolong their existence beyond that of ordi
nary mortals, “ Grant her in health and wealth long to
live,” is the prayer offered up for the Queen in our State
churches, and the same petition is made in hundreds of
Nonconformist chapels. If, then, there be any efficacy in
�The Folly of Prayer.
11
prayer, kings should enjoy a greater longevity than their
subjects. We do not, however, find this to be the case.
The average age of ninety-seven members of royal houses
who lived from 1758 to 1843, and survived their thirtieth
year was 54-04 years, which is nearly two years less than
the average age of the shortest-lived of the well-to-do
classes, and more than six years less than that of the longest.
Sovereigns are literally the shortest lived of all who have the
advantage of affluence. In their case it is evident that
prayer has been absolutely of no avail.
Another class of men very much prayed for are the
clergy. They pray for themselves, and as they all profess to
be called to the ministry by the Holy Ghost their prayers
should be unusually efficacious. If there be any faith capable
of removing mountains, they should possess it. If the
fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much, the fervent
prayer of a parson should avail exceedingly.
Now the
clergy pray not only for spiritual light and help, but also
for temporal blessings. They like to prosper here as well
as hereafter, and are adepts in the sublime art, reprobated
by Jesus but luminously expounded and forcibly commended
by Dr. Binney, of making the best of both worlds. They
believe in heaven, but are in no haste to get there, being
content to defer occupation of the heavenly mansions in
store for them until they can no longer inhabit the snug
residences provided for them here. With a laudable desire
to enjoy the bird-in-the-hand to the uttermost before resort
ing to the bird-in-the-bush, which is sure to await their
convenience, they naturally pray for health, and therefore
for long life, since health and longevity are inseparable
friends. Yet we do not find that they live longer than
their less pious brethren. The average age attained to by
the clergy from 1758 to 1843, according to Mr. Galton’s
statistics was 69-49 years, while that of lawyers was 68-14,
and of medical men 67-31. Here is a slight advantage on
the side of the clergy, but it is amply accounted for by the
greater ease and comfort so many of them enjoy, and the
general salubrity of their surroundings. The difference is,
however, reversed when a comparison is made between dis
tinguished members of the three classes—that is to say,
between persons of sufficient note to have had their lives
recorded in a biographical dictionary. Then we find the
�12
The Folly oj Prayer.
respective mean ages of the clergy, lawyers and doctors, are
66'42, 66
5
*1
and 67
0
*4,
the clergy being the shortest lived
of the three. Thus they succumb sooner than the members
of secular professions to a heavy demand on their energies.
Prayer does not protect them from sickness, does not recover
them when they are laid low. or in the least prolong their
precious lives. They are no more favored than the ungodly ;
one fate befalls them both. In their case also prayer has
been absolutely of no avail.
The same law obtains with regard *o missionaries. They
t
are not miraculously protected from sickness or danger,
from perils by night or the pestilence that walketh by day,
The duration of life among them is accurately proportioned
to the hazards of their profession. Yet theirs is a case
wherein prayer should be peculiarly effectual. Arriving in
a remote region of the earth, they are almost powerless until
they have acquired, a thorough knowledge of the language
and habits of the people. They are engaged in the Lord’s
work, ahd if any persons are watched over by him they
should be. Yet at dangerous stations one missionary after
another dies shortly after arrival, and their efforts are thus
literally wasted, while the work naturally suffers because
the Lord does not economise the missionary power -which
has been provided for it.
Ships also have sunk with
missionaries on board before they could even reach their
destination; and the Lord has so far refrained from work
ing subjective miracles on their behalf, that missionaries
have been in some cases digested in the stomachs of the
very savages whose souls they had journeyed thousands of
miles to convert.
Parents are naturally very anxious as to their offspring,
and it is to be presumed that the children of pious fathers
and mothers are earnestly and constantly prayed for. This
solicitude antedates birth, it being generally deemed a mis
fortune for a child to be still-born, and often a serious evil
for death to deprive it of baptism, without which salvation is
difficult if not impossible. In extreme cases the Catholic
Church provided for the baptism of the child in the womb.
Yet the prayers of pious parents are not found to exercise
any appreciable influence. Mr. Galton analysed the lists of
the Record and the Times of a particulai period, and the pro
*
portion of still-births to the total number of deaths was dis-
�The Folly of Prayer.
13
covered to be exactly the same in both. A more conclusive
test than this could scarcely be devised.
Our nobility are another class especially prayed for. The
prescription for their case may be found in the Church
Liturgy. In a worldly sense they are undoubtedly very
prosperous ; they live on the fat of the land, and enjoy all
kinds of privileges. But these are not the advantages we
ask God to bestow upon them; we pray “ that the nobility
may be endued with grace, wisdom and understanding.”
And what is the result? The history of our glorious
aristocracy shows them to have always been singularly
devoid of “grace,” in the religious sense of the word; and
they have manifested a similar plentiful lack of “ wisdom
and understanding.” Even in politics, despite their excep
tional training and opportunities, they have been beaten by
unprayed-for commoners. Cromwell, Chatham, Pitt, Fox,
Burke, Canning, all arose outside the sacred precincts of
nobility. Gladstone is the son of a Liverpool merchant,
and Earl Beaconsfield was the son of a literary Jew. In science,
philosophy, literature and art, how few aristocrats have dis
tinguished themselves 1 Further, as Mr. Galton points out,
“wisdom and understanding ” are incompatible with insanity.
Yet our nobility are not exempted from that frightful scourge.
On the contrary, owing to their intermarriages, and the lack
of those wholesome restraints felt in humbler walks of life,
they are peculiarly liable to it. Clearly the aristocracy have
not been benefited by our prayers.
Let us now turn to another aspect of the question. How
is it that insurance companies make no allowance for prayers ?
When a man wishes to insure his life, confidential questions
are asked about his antecedents and his present conditions,
but the question, “ Does he habitually pray ?” is never
ventured. Yet, if prayer conduces to health and longevity,
this question is of great importance; nay, of the very
greatest; for what are hereditary tendencies to disease, or
the physical effects of previous modes of living, to a man
under the especial protection of God ? Insurance offices, how
ever, eliminate prayer from their calculations.
They do
not recognise it as a sanitary influence, and this fact proves
that there is no efficacy in prayer or that its efficacy is so
slight as to be altogether inappreciable.
Suppose the owner of two ships, similarly built and rigged,
�14
The Folly of Prayer.
and bound for the same port, wanted to insure them for the
voyage ; and suppose the one ship had a pious captain and
crew taken red-hot from a Methodist prayer-meeting, while
the captain and crew of the other ship, although excellent
seamen, never entered a place of worship, never bent their
knees in prayer, and never spoke of God except to take his
name in vain. Would any difference be made in the rate of
insurance ? Assuredly not. And if the owner, being a
soft-headed sincere Christian, should say to the agent: “ But,
my dear sir, the ship with the pious captain and crew, who
will certainly pray for their safety every day, runs much
less risk than the other, for the Lord has promised that he
will answer prayer, that he will watch over those who trust
him, and that whatsoever they ask, believing, that they shall
receive,” what would the answer be ? Probably this : “My
dear sir, as a Christian I admit the truth of what you say,
but I can’t mix up religion with my business. That sort of
thing is all very well in church on Sunday, you know, but it
doesn’t do any other day of the week down in the City.”
The decline and final extinction of belief in ordeals and
duels is an episode in the history of prayer. Both these
superstitious processes were appeals to God to decide what
was indeterminable by human logic. In the ordeal of jealousy,
so revoltingly set forth in the fifth chapter of Numbers,
the same curious concoction was given to all suspected wives,
and the difference in the effect produced was attributable
solely to the interposition of God. The same idea prevailed
in other forms during the chaotic Middle Ages, notably in
connection with the witch mania. Some idea of the critical
ability which accompanied it may be gathered from the fact
that “ witches” were often tied at the hands and feet,
and thrown into the nearest pond or river: if they swam
they were guilty, and at once burnt or hung, and if they
sank they were innocent, but of course they were drowned!
The duel was explicitly sanctioned and sometimes com
manded by the ecclesiastical and secular authorities, and it
■was devoutly believed that God would give the victory to
the just and overthrow the wrong. This belief has died out,
but a reflex of it exi-ts in the fond idea, not yet wholly
discarded, that the God of battles fights on the side of his
favorites. Only the simpletons think thus, and only the
charlatans of clericalism abet them. All the praying in the
�15
The Folly of Prayer.
world is powerless against superior tactics, more scientific
arms, greater numbers, and better discipline. Victory, as
Napoleon remarked, is on the side of the heaviest battalions ;
and prayer, as a counteractant to such advantages, is just as
efficacious as the celebrated pill to cure earthquakes.
Driven from all tangible strongholds by inevitable logic,
the believers in prayer take final refuge in their cloudcitadal of faith. They maintain that there is a spiritual if not
a material efficacy in prayer, that communion with God exalts
and purifies their inner nature, and thus indirectly influences
the course of events. “Certainty,” says a man of magnificent
genius, though not a Materialist, “it does alter him who
prays, and alters him often supremely, changing despair into
hope, confusion into steady light, timidity into confidence,
cowardice into courage, hatred into love, and the genius
of compromise into the spirit of martyrdom. * Far be it.
from me to deny this. It is attested by the life and death of
many a patient saint and martyred hero. But the God
communed with has been aftei’ all not a person, but a lofty
ideal, varying in each according to the greatness and
purity of his nature. A similar communion, in essence
the very same, is possible to the Humanitarian, who feels
himself descended from the endless past, bound to the
living and working present, and in a measure the paren'i
of an endless future. His ideal of an ever-striving and ever
conquering Humanity, emerging generation after generatiointo loftier levels, and leaving at its feet the lusts and follie
of its youth, serves him instead of a personal God; and i
moments snatched from the hot strife of the world he ca.
commune with it, either through its great poets and prophe"
or solely through the vision of his own higher self, which
essential humanity within him, and thus find serenity r
the ennoblement of resolve. This communion, into wh i
religions prayer may ultimately merge, will survive, beca X
while inspiring it does not outrage intellect and fact. Tlie
laws of nature will not be suspended to suit our needs for—
“ Nature with, equal mind
Sees all her sons at play;
Sees man control the wind,
The wind sweep man away!
Allows the proudly riding and the foundered bark.” f
(
* Dr. Garth Wilkinson: “ Human Science and Divine Revelation,” p. 380.
t Matthew Arnold: “ Empedocles on Etna.”
J
-
qq
�16
The Folly of Prayer.
But “the music born of love,” as another poet tells us, will
“ ease the world’s immortal pain.” Finding no help outside
ourselves, seeing no Providence to succor and comfort the
afflicted, no hand to lift up the down-trodden and establish
the weak, to wipe the tear from sorrowing eyes and convey
balm to wounded hearts; knowing that except we listen the
wail of human anguish is unheard, and that unless we give
it no aid can come ; we shall feel more imperative upon us
the duties and holy charities of life. If the world’s misery
cannot be assuaged by fatherly love from heaven, all the more
need is there for brotherly lo^e on earth.
A P .P E N I) I X.
The following table of longevities was prepared by Mr.
Galton from a Memoir by Dr. Guy in the Journal of the Sta
tistical Society (Vol. xxii., p. 355) :—
Mean Age attained by Males of various classes who had
survived their 30th year, from 1758 to 1843. Deaths
by Accident or Violence are excluded,
Average. Eminent
*
Men.
Members of Royal Houses
97 in number
Clergy...................................... 945
Lawyers
294
99
Medical Profession
244
English aristocracy
1,179
Gentry ...
1,632
"rude and Commerce ...
513
fficers in tho Royal Navy ... 366
higlish Literature and Scionco 395
99
\ fficers of the Army ...
569
99
A me Arts
239
99
64-04
69-49
6814
67-31
67-31
70-22
68-74
68-40
67 55
67-07
65-96
66-42
66-51
67-07
65-22
64-74
* The eminont mon are those whoso lives are recorded in Chambers’s
Biography, with some additions from the Annual Register.
Printed and Published by Rainsey and Foote at 2S Stonecutter Stree', E.C
�
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The folly of prayer
Description
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Edition: 2nd ed.
Place of publication: London
Collation: iii, [4]-16 p. ; 18 cm.
Notes: Includes bibliographical references. New introduction by the author, signed November 1 1884. First published 1880 under title 'The futility of prayer'. Part of the NSS pamphlet collection.
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Foote, G. W. (George William) [1850-1915]
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1884
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N238
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Religious practice
Prayer
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Prayer