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Text
A SERMON,
PREACHED AT ST. GEORGE’S HALL, LANGHAM PLACE,
MAY 11th, 1873, by the
REV. CHARLES VOYSEY.
[From the Eastern Post, May 17th, 1873.]
On Sunday (May 11), at St. George’s Hall, the Rev. C.
Voysey took his text from John i., 9., “ That was the true light,
which lighteth every man that cometh into the world.”
The religious differences which have made, and are yet making,
such fierce discord in the world lie far deeper down than the mere
surface of various doctrine. The real root of these differences is
to be found in the method of enquiry into religious truth, in the
means by which it is believed to be discoverable. So long as men
keep on trying to substitute one set of dogmas for another, and to
impose, as dogma, any new doctrine because it is less false or more
true than its predecessor, so long shall we have the strife oftongues
and the endless confusion of conflicting sects. Not until we have
perceived the only true basis of unity, shall we cease to fight with
one another for the ascendancy of our own particular beliefs.
The votaries of all religions in turn claim that in their own creeds
lies the only pathway to God, and it stands on the face of it, that
when these creeds are opposed to each other, they cannot all be
true, though they may be all false. If one be true, who can test
its truth ? What witness could we have that would be infallible
to make the choice for us out of so many claimants ? Moreover,
if only one be true, and only one lead to God, what a frightful
injustice is done to the millions on millions who have no access to
it, who by the accidents of birth and education, have been not
only shut out from hearing of it, but have had their minds pre
occupied from childhood by false beliefs, and have been prejudiced
�2
against all other beliefs, (and among them, of course, the true
belief) by the most solemn sanctions ! Then again, supposing that
the truest belief were discoverable to day, and enforced upon a
growing and advancing posterity in consequence, posterity would
be hampered by our decrees, fettered and enslaved by our creeds
and articles, kept tied and bound in swaddling clothes instead of
having the freedom of men. What to us had served all the pur
poses of truth, because it was the truest we could discover, would
inflict all the hardship and hindrance of falsehood upon our child
ren’s children. Look at it how w’e will, in dogma and creed we
find no sure resting place for our anxious souls, no safe road to lead
us heavenward, no sure light to bring us to God. But we have
not therefore been left in darkness because errors and falsehoods
have clouded our sky. God hath not left himself without witness,
because we have neither infallible Bible, nor infallible Pope, nor
infallible heresy. Still brightly shines over us, still leads us ever
onward and upward, the true light which lighteth every man that
cometh into the world. For all purposes of a true redemption—or
to speak more correctly—of a true progress towards God, men have
now as ever the light of life, the steady burning gleam that draws
us ever onwards, and guards our wayward and storm-tost souls from
wreck and ruin.
But I should be sailing under false colours were I to use the
text which I have chosen without disowning the sense in which it
is generally understood. I quite agree with the writer in this,
that that only is the true light which is universal—•“ which lighteth
every man that cometh into the world.” Any light which fails
thus to illumine all hearts is not the true light, and cannot safely
be trusted. A partial light may serve its purpose for a while, just as
we use a lantern in the darkness while the wanton earth turns her
face from the sun, but its weak and slender rays can only lighten
a narrow circle, and by its flickering may even add to our error
and perplexity.
As the rush-light to the sun, so are the various systems of belief
to that true light which God has sent to lighten every man that
cometh into the world. But some will tell us that the author of
this text meant that Christ was that true light; and I do not see
how we can deny this to have been his meaning. In the opening
�verses of this gospel the author unmistakeably refers to the Alexan
drine doctrine of the Logos which some one has aptly termed “Pla
tonism spoilt.” He speaks of the true light as “ he” and “ him;
as “ coming into the world,” as “being received,” and being rejected
as having the glory of the Great Father, and yet as being made
flesh and dwelling visibly among men. Now we unhesitatingly
refuse to accept Christ as the true light, on the simple ground that
he does not answer to the definition, he certainly does not lighten
every man that cometh into the world. He did not lighten a
single soul of the countless generations before him, nor many
millions of his fellow-creatures in his own generation. Whatever
liaht they wanted down in Judea that Christ could give (and we
do not hesitate in saying that that light was great and glorious)
they wanted also in the uttermost parts of the, earth and in the
Antipodes to Galilee, of the very existence of which Christ had no
conception. No one who is not a theologian would attempt the
folly of making-believe that Christ was the light that was
lighting every man all over the world at the very time that he was
wandering over the hills of Capernaum or disputing with Pharisees
in the streets of Jerusalem. That the soul of Jesus, and in like
manner, the souls of the rest of the world’s greatest men shed a
glorious light over humanity, wherever their names and histories
have travelled, is undeniably true; but it is not at all the same
thing as being a universal light, or even an infallible one. For
whether Christ could help it or not, there was more than one dark
band on his spectrum, and some have been led into darkness, and
even despair by sayings attributed to him by his friends. No one
human being, no one human life, has ever been bright enough to
lighten all mankind, nor sufficiently clear and unclouded never to
lead them astray. If there is one thing that God has stamped
upon all his works, and especially upon his noblest work—man, it
is the stamp of imperfection. Nothing is absolutely perfect—
though He may behold everything which He has made and say
“ It is very good. It is exactly what I intended it then and there
to be and so far very good,” He can never say “ It is perfect, “ It
is finished,” “ It is incapable of improvement.” This must ever be
the difference between the Creator and the created. While He
alone is absolutely perfect and incapable of change or progress—
�4
the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever—all we his creatures are
in the very infancy of our existence, and have an eternity oi
change and growth before us. So the “ brightest and best of the
sons of the morning ” are each in turn displaced by a brighter and
better successor. However vast the interval between their rising
over the world’s darkness, the glory that has set is eclipsed by the
glory that has arisen anew. However, long and glad may have
been the zenith of such a star, its turn for fading lustre will surely
come, and a more brilliant orb shall take its place.
With the deepest reverence for the excellency of Jesus of
Nazareth, and with sincere gratitude for what light he brought
into the world, we, nevertheless, deliberately say of him as the
Evangelist said of John the Baptist. “ He was not that light,
but was sent to bear witness of that light.” Christ was not the
true light which lighteth every man that cometh into the world,
but was only one among the great cloud of witnesses on whom the
true light shone, and by whom it was most splendidly reflected.
It that light was not Moses, nor Menu, nor Christ, nor Paul, nor
Confucius, nor Sakya Mouni, nor Odin, nor Zoroaster, nor Socrates,
nor Mahommed, nor any one, nor all of the great world teachers,
because none of them were universal, what is the true light ? It
is not far to seek if the definition be accepted. If the true light
really lightens every man that cometh into the world—
ever did, ever does, and ever will give him all the light he
can ever get—then it must be found in man, in men universally,
and neither outside of them, nor in only a few rare specimens
of the race. And this is easy to find j for as in water face
answereth to face, so the heart of man to man.
We
know humanity by knowing ourselves—know it very imper
fectly, but what we do know is truth' and fact. And in
human nature we find an universal principle, instinct or affection,
call it what you will, which is the love of truth and right. In spite
of all the texts and Confessions and Catechisms, I affirm that the
heart of man is not “ desperately wicked above all things,” but,
on the contrary, is almost the only thing about him that is
thoroughly sound and good. Man, at heart, is good, because he
loves goodness, and true because he loves truth. As soon as ever
he discovers that there is such a distinction as good and evil, or
�5
truth and falsehood, his inmost heart turns with desire towards
goodness and truth. Of the idiotic and insane I here say nothing
because I know nothing; they are not only beyond the reach of
adequate tests, but they are so exceptional, and abnormal, as to
form no solid objection to the universality of the statement that
all men love goodness and truth. Of the great bulk of humanity,
from the best to the worst, from the most cultured to the most
ignorant, from the holiest saint to the most depraved sinner, it is
only the honest truth to say that they all at heart love goodness
and truth. They may love them in varying degrees, for the more
goodness and truth are known by practice, the more they are
loved, the less men know of goodnesss and truth, the less they
care for them. But at heart every sane man has some love for
goodness and truth. No man ever yet believed a lie knowing or
even suspecting it to be a lie. It is a contradiction in terms.
However false may be a man’s conviction, it is his conviction only
because it seems to him to be true. All he cares to get hold of
is truth and fact j and though he should seem to us to hold the
most absurd fancies, or cherish, even unto dying for them, beliefs
which we cannot but scorn, yet to him they are sacred, because
they seem true and because he has not begun to question or sus
pect their accuracy. From the darkest days of Fetichism, through
all the corrupt fables of Polytheism, and down the turbid stream
of Christendom to this hour, men have been ever loyal to truth—
loyal to such truth as they could discover. They have toiled to
find it; and when found, as they think, they would fight for it
and die for it, giving up all this world below and risking all that
world above for the sake of it. They might have been happy
together as one family, but no ; they loved the truth better than
peace; and they welcomed the fire and sword which laid waste
their lands and made their streets run blood rather than sacrifice
the sacred treasure which they believed God had entrusted to their
keeping. Could they have done this, could they have suffered
what was far worse than the crusader’s steel, the cruel rupture of
their domestic love, for what they thought to be a lie 1 Impossible 2
a thousand times No ! They bore it all for truth, for what they
believed to be true. But what of the persecutors ? Greater still
was the sacrifice for truth which some of these men made. The
�6
persecutors forced themselves to trample on their holiest affections
and tenderest instincts before they could put their fellow-men to
torture and cruel death. They had to stiflle every relenting sigh,
to crush their pitying breasts against the stone walls of misguided
conscience, and to train themselves to the maddening sport of
witnessing horrors of torment without a flinching eye or a quiver
ing lip. They had to lay down their manhood for the time, and
clothe themselves in the fury—not of beasts, never was wild beast
so cruel as man—but in the fury of fiends, and all for truth !
What will not men do for truth ? In spite of all counterfeits
which claim our regard, in spite of all usurpers of her rightful
throne, men are loyally, though blindly, bent on serving truth ' on
finding it if they can, and on believing it, and living and dying,
and becoming devils for it, when found.
.And as of truth so of goodness, it is true that men at heart love
goodness. It is no answer to point to the enormous crimes that
have been done and are still being done; at the vices which infest
our fields and markets and towns, our highways and byways alike;
it is no answer to take me to the prisons and galleys, and to the
dark places of the earth, where evil reigns unchecked by such
means of restraint and discipline. I still tell you these men are
not lovers of evil for evil’s sake, as you suppose, but they are
mistaken utterly mistaken—lovers of goodness. Do you suppose
God has made man such a fool as to prefer evil to good if he knows
it ? Why, even the most fiendish of all human passions—revenge__
is a thirst for gratification, for something which seems to him
exquisitely desirable in itself, or the man would not seek it. It
is at the very root of it an excessive love of justice, an exaggerated
and therefore mistaken desire for what is right. I know that men
do wrong, knowing it to be wrong, and liking it for the passing
pleasure that it may afford; but I never knew one such who
loving it called it evil, or hating it called it good. Men hate the
evil in themselves, and think that they would be better if they
could. Men’s ideas of what is good or evil may be as numerous as
the stars. Some condemning what others approve ; but they are
all alike in condemning wrong as wrong, and upholding goodness
as goodness. If a man approves what I condemn, the difference is
not a moral one, but one of judgment. To him it seems right, and
�7
he can call it by no other name. To me it is evil and I cannot call
it good. Every man in one respect is a law unto himself, however
deficient he may be in what is called ethical science, however,
outwardly indifferent he may be to the well-being of otheis, he is
nevertheless, at heart, convinced that goodness is right and evil is
wrong, and up to the dim intelligence of his feeble mind would
bear his modicum of testimony on the side of goodness.
Now what have not these instincts for goodness and truth done
for man ? They are the very foundations of all civilization, the very
root of all religion. All the progress of the world, from the first
dawn of humanity, is due to the desire after goodness and truth.
Only try to realise the changes through which our race has passed
and you can come to only one conclusion, that 11 the true light
which lighteth every man that cometh into the world,” is this love
of right and truth by which we have ever been led onwards. Have
not we been mending since the world of man began ? Have not
we often and often learnt to change our moral code according as
experience or circumstance showed that it was good and right so
to do ? Do we not condemn what our forefathers deemed innocent,
and add to the number or cogency of pre-existing rules? We
could only do this, because our aim was goodness, and not mere
reverence for past law-givers. Is not the standard of virtue for
ever rising, not merely by improving on the models of the past, but
by leading us to think with greater reverence of their noblest
traits ? It is only because we love goodness, and carry with us the
true light which sheds light on that which has gone as well as on
that which is to come. Religious beliefs have come and gone in
like manner, perpetually but imperceptibly being modified by our
love of truth. The love of truth ever remains, no matter what the
creed with which it is associated. The false is hugged so long
as it is thought to be true j but [once exposed as falsehood, its
day is over. Down, down, it must go ; first into lower strata of
humanity who catch it and clutch at it as it falls, and then at last
to the very lowest ground on which human feet can tread and be
trampled into dust. A new or unfamiliar truth dawns on the
horizon, and straightway the foremost lovers of truth lift their
thirsting eyes to greet its advent, and welcome it with shouts of
joy. But some will shut their eyes, and hide themselves in their
�§
inner chambers, lest it should make them dissatisfied with the old
truths which they have loved so long; and so the world becomes
divided into foes and factions, each partizan forgetting the tie that
really binds them all—their common love of truth. Let them rail
at each other’s notions as much as they please. We are barbarians
still, and know no better mode of pressing on progress, or of
keeping it within a safe rate of movement; but while we do this,
let us not forget that we are both alike loyal 'to the truth which
neither of us has really found; that we, with our more con
spicuous sacrifices for the new truth, are not alone in our costly
virtue, but they, too, have much to bear and much to lose in the
perilous and somewhat ignoble task of fighting for a mummy, and
exposing their names to the ridicule of posterity for a mere shadow.
Let it be understood on both sides that both alike love truth and
goodness, and our contests of opinion will soon lose all their bitter
ness, and our controversies their sting.
But best of all is the assurance that however wicked and erring
men have been and are, God has made them to love goodness and
truth. The time will come when that deep seated love of goodness
will assert its mastery over the whole man, and present us fault
less before the Eternal Throne, just as that radical love of truth
will bring every one at last into that glorious region where
falsehood and error are unknown.
Then shall be fulfilled that grand old prophecy, “ After those
days, saith the Lord, I will put my law into their inward parts, and
write it in their hearts, and I will be their God, and they shall be
my people. And they shall teach no more, every man his neigh
bour, and every man his brother, saying, Know the Lord : for they
shall all know me from the least of them even unto the greatest.”
EASTERN POST Steam Printing Works, 89, Worship Street Finsbury, 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 Library & Archives
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2018
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Conway Hall Ethical Society
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The true light: a sermon, preached at St. George's Hall, Langham Place, May 11th, 1873
Creator
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Voysey, Charles [1828-1912]
Description
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Place of publication: [London]
Collation: 8 p. ; 19 cm.
Notes: Printed by Eastern Post May 17th, 1873. Part of Morris Miscellaneous Tracts 6.
Publisher
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[Eastern Post]
Date
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[1873]
Identifier
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G3417
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Religion
Sermons
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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 (The true light: a sermon, preached at St. George's Hall, Langham Place, May 11th, 1873), 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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Text
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English
Morris Tracts
Religion
Sermons
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d26b300a4f6f12489e8692dd5fff1835
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Text
THE ENGLISH MONARCHY
AND
AMERICAN REPUBLICANISM.
Reply to the Speech of the Right Hon. Benjamin Disraeli by
CHARLES
WATTS,
VICE-PRESIDENT OF THE LONDON REPUBLICAN CLUB.
On April 3rd, 1872, the Right Hon. Benjamin Disraeli delivered
a political manifesto in the Free Trade Hall, Manchester. His
statements On the occasion were endorsed generally by the Tory
press throughout the country, and accepted by them as indicat
ing the programme of that “ enlightened ” party. Whatever is
publicly uttered by the hon. gentleman is deemed of more than
ordinary importance in consequence of the prominent position
he occupies as chief of English Conservatism. The principal
topic chosen by Mr. Disraeli for his speech was English Monarchy
and the American Republic ; his object being to show that the
form of Government in this country has certain advantages that
the American Republic does not possess. The reason for the se
lection of this subject maybe given in the speaker’s own words:—
“ The fundamental principles of the [English] Constitution have
been recently impugned and assailed. The flag of the Republic
has been raised, and therefore, gentlemen, I think it is not in
appropriate to the present hour and situation if I make to you
one or two brief remarks on the character of those institutions.”
It is evident that Mr. Disraeli had not only become conscious
of the rapid growth of Republican principles in England, but
that he had made up his mind to do his best to prevent their
further extension. Now there can be no objection to a person
stating why he differs from the Republican programme, supposing
he considers that programme wrong ; but no man has a right to
misrepresent facts, and utter statements before a public audience
which have no authority, and that are unsupported by statistics
or records of history. To show that Mr. Disraeli did this in his
Manchester speech is the object of the present reply.
�2
Before noticing the hon. gentleman’s fallacies, it may conduce
to the better understanding of the question under consideration
to inquire briefly into the nature of Monarchy. Generally
speaking, there are four kinds—absolute, constitutional, heredi
tary, and elective. In addition to these, we have in England an
imported Monarchy, that is, when the throne, being vacant, and
no one of native growth was found to occupy it,we sent to Holland
and Germany, andimported an occupant. True, these importations
have proved expensive, but then that is an “ advantage” shared
principally by the “ people,” and therefore it has commanded
official silence. The present Monarchy in England is supposed
to be a limited, constitutional, and hereditary one. Strictly speak
ing, however, it is not hereditary, because on several occasions that
principle has been set aside in the history of England, and some
of the best writers upon constitutional government agree that,
whenever the people pronounce in favour of an elective Monarchy,
they can have one in strict accordance with the law under which
they live. The hereditary principle is unwise, inasmuch as it pre
supposes that good and intelligent parents must necessarily have
good and intelligent children. This, however, is not so. The late
Prince Albert possessed some excellent qualities that the Prince
of Wales shows no inclination to emulate. Thus,as Dr. Vaughan
observes : “ In a hereditary Monarchy the worst men may come
into the place of the best.” To guard against such an evil is the
duty of every Republican. Moreover, the principle is unjust.
We are not justified in urging that because one generation
prefers a King or Queen, therefore succeeding generations
should do likewise. Each age should be at liberty to elect that
kind of Government which it finds most in accordance with the
genius of the time, and the aspirations of the people who have
to be ruled. There is some truth in designating the English
Monarchy limited. In one particular its limitation is very
perceptible. This, of course, is no reproach to the Queen, who,
from the best of motives, has for some years lived a life of seclu
sion. Her Majesty is a far-seeing woman, and can discern that
in the future of England a Republican form of Government will
obtain; and as a thoughtful sovereign, she absents herself, so that
her subjects may get initiated into the art of self-government,
that when they come to fulfil the duties thereof, they shall not be
taken unawares, but shall be able to perform such duties with
credit to themselves and with a benefit to the commonwealth.
Whilst opposed to all Monarchies, that form certainly may be
pronounced the best which recognises the right of election.
Kings and Queens should win their position by their ability, and
not rule because they have descended from royal parents, whose
only claim to Royalty was that of birth.
To prove the superiority of the English Monarchy over the
American Republic, Mr. Disraeli said that for two centuries
Monarchical governments had prevented a revolution in this
country, and had established order, public liberty, and political
rights. Now, accepting the term revolution in the limited sense
�3
used by Macaulay, it is true that in this country for nearly two
hundred years it has been unknown. But taking revolution, in
its comprehensive signification, as embodying the elements of
public discontent at, and rebellion against, official artifices and
governmental opposition to the people’s rights, England has
experienced many such outbreaks since 1688. What was the
American rebellion but a revolt against the wicked and unjust
obstinacy and oppression of the English Monarchy ? If it had
not been attempted to enforce taxation without representation
upon the inhabitants of America, they might still have been
bound to us by national ties, and then England would have been
saved the disgrace of an expensive and unnecessary war. The
numerous uprisings and manifestations against injustice in India,
in Jamaica, and in Ireland were so many revolutionary pro
tests against the cruel and tyrannical acts of Monarchical mis
rule. And if in England during the last two centuries revolution
has not broken out in its worst forms, it has not been in conse
quence of an enlightened and amicable policy adopted by our
Governments, but ’ rather the result of the forbearance of the
people, who desired to advance their cause by peaceable means.
The Monarchical policy has too often provoked anarchy and
public discord, by withholding reforms from the nation until it
was driven to despair, by insults and procrastination. Where is
the proof that Monarchical Governments have established order
and promoted public liberty, as stated by Mr. Disraeli? Not
in the history of the Derbyshire outbreak and Snow Hill riots of
1816 and 1817 ; not at the Peterloo massacre of 1819 ; not at the
riots of Bristol, Nottingham, and other towns in ^832; not
during the struggles for Free Trade, Catholic Emancipation, the
admission of Jews into the Legislature, and for Parliamentary
Reform. In connection with these movements, the conduct of
the Governments was such as to produce the very opposite of
order. They refused to grant what the people required until
there was “ no alternative but concession, or the horrors of civil
war.” At the close of the last, and in the early part of the present,
century, great efforts were made to obtain Parliamentary Reform
and an improvement of the land laws. And how were these
efforts met by the “ powers that be ?” Public petitions were
unheeded, supplications were disregarded, and traps were laid
by the Government to catch within the clutches of the law the
leading agitators of the time. Dr. Vaughan says the Govern
ment “ instituted a spy system, which was made to spread itself
everywhere; and miscreants, who could not detect treason to
satisfy their employers, were careful to stimulate and sometimes
to invent it. Hence came a long series of State prosecutions, in
which law was so perverted, or so openly violated, that each one
of them, in place of removing disaffection, multiplied it mani
fold........ Men of the most worthless character were accepted as
witnesses ; and juries who wanted evidence managed to pro
nounce the verdict of ‘ guilty ’ in the absence of it.” Even Sir
Samuel Romilly declared that “he believed in his conscience
�4
the whole of the Derbyshire insurrection was the work of persons
sent by Government.”
The State prosecutions that took place a little more than half
a century since will prove how reliable Mr. Disraeli’s statement
is, that Monarchical rule has favoured political rights and public
liberty. The trials of Muir and Palmer in Scotland, and Hardy,
Tooke, Thelwall, Cobbett, and Leigh Hunt in England, reveal
to us the fact that when Monarchical influence was paramount,
the solitude of a prison and heavy fines were the rewards of
those who sought to advance the social and political condition
of society. When and where has the throne of England ever
pleaded for the liberty of the people ? When has it attempted
to vindicate the rights of man ? or to extend that national freedom
which is the birth-right of every citizen ? Upon what page of
history is it recorded that modern progress has sprung from
Monarchy ? The liberties we now have were dearly bought by
the energies and self-sacrifice of those brave men whose aspira
tions and labours were sought to be crushed by royalist intrigues
and aristocratic exclusiveness. The lever that impelled forward
political and social freedom was found among the masses, apart
altogether from the occupants of the throne. For, as recorded
by Cassell, in his “ History of England,” “ whilst Royalty sat in
emblematic darkness, the people were breaking into light and
power by the efforts of genius born amongst them.”
The right hon. gentleman, in order to prove that Monarchy is
a national benefit, referred to the reign of George III. Now,
it is only reasonable to suppose that in Mr. Disraeli’s opinion
this sovereign was the best that could be cited as illustrative of
the alleged advantages of Royalty. A glance, therefore, at the
condition of society under George III. will enable us fully to
appreciate the value pf Monarchical “influence” on the progress
and well-being of the country. The following facts are taken
from pages 570, 571, and 572, vol. vi., of Cassell’s “ History of
England —-“George III. could not comprehend the right of
America to resist arbitrary taxation; he could as little comprehend
the right of his subjects to have full freedom of conscience, but
opposed doggedly the emancipation of the Catholics on account
of their creed. To all other reforms he was equally hostile, and his
Government and his son had, to the hour of his death, rigidly main
tained the same principles of rule. They had, as we have seen,
done their best to destroy the freedom of the press, the freedom
of speech, and the right to assemble and petition for the redress
of grievances. They had turned loose the soldiery on the people
exercising this right, and had armed the magistracy with full
powers to seize any person whom they pleased to suspect of free
ideas ; and having shut them up in prison had suspended the
Habeas Corpus Act, to keep them there without a hearing during
their pleasure. Never in the history of England, since the days
of the Stuarts, had there been so determined an attempt to
crush the national liberties as toward the end of this reign.......
The same reluctance had always marked the mind of George
�5
III. to reform the penal code as to reform political abuses.
During his period of sanity he continued to behold unmoved
the frightful ferocity of the criminal code, and to sign, unshudderingly, death-warrants for men and women, some of the
latter with children in their arms, for the theft of a sheep, or of
a few yards of calico.......The same darkness and apathy existed
on the subject of education. The great bulk of the people during
the Georgian period were almost wholly unable to read.” This
monarch’s “ influence,” no doubt, was great on the religion of
the time, for the same historian records that “ the Christianity
of the reign of George III. was a bloody farce, and an abomina
tion.” If this is the state of society to result from the influence of
Royalty, England will do well to get rid of it as speedily as
possible. For a full and correct account of what George III.
did for this nation, the reader is referred to Mr. C. Bradlaugh’s
“ Impeachment of the House of Brunswick,” where the deeds of
that worthy monarch are faithfully recorded.
Mr. Disraeli’s next statement in favour of Monarchy was that
this country “ is properly represented by a Royal Family.” This
sentence is the very opposite of truth. When has Royalty re
presented the intelligence, the industry, or the poverty of the
people ? What great literary or scientific production has ever
emanated from the wearer of the English Crown ? Indolence
and luxurious wealth have too often surrounded the throne, while
those who have been compelled to support it have had to “ toil
night and day ” amidst penury and squalid wretchedness. As
a nation we boast, among our characteristics, virtue, honour,
domestic purity, and benevolence. But in what Royal Family,
within the two hundred years mentioned by Mr. Disraeli, have
these characteristics found their representative ? Was virtue
represented by Charles II., who kept so many mistresses, and
had such a host of illegitimate children that no historian has
committed himself by naming the number of either? “No
man,” says Cassell, “ ever saddled the country with such a troop
of bastards ” as did Charles 11. Among the numerous progeny
resulting from his licentiousness may be mentioned the Dukes
of Monmouth, Southampton, Grafton, Northumberland, St.
Albans, and Richmond. Truly, these aristocratic families had
a noble origin ! Writing of this king, Buckle says : “ With the
exception of the needy profligates who thronged his Court, all
classes of men soon learned to despise a king who was a
drunkard, a libertine, and a hypocrite ; who had neither shame
nor sensibility ; and who in point of honour was unworthy to
enter the presence of the meanest of his subjects.” Did James
II. represent the honour of the country when he made secret
arrangements with Louis of France, whereby he sacrificed
England’s prestige and integrity for so many bribes, one alone
amounting to 500,000 crowns, which was followed by a second
remittance of two million livres ? His dishonour was only
equalled by his hypocrisy, for when he wanted sums of money
voted him by Parliament, he declared that he had “ a true
�6
English heart;” and when soliciting bribes from the French’
monarch, he proclaimed that his “ heart was French.” James 11,
represented nothing that was noble and true. “ He hoped to
turn a free Government into an absolute Monarchy,” but in this
he failed; and having disregarded the rights of the people, and
defied their wishes, he was driven from the throne. His fate
should be a warning to future would-be monarchs. Were the
wishes of the country represented by William III., in whose reign
commenced an extensive warfare, a reckless expenditure, and
the official inauguration of our National Debt ? In the twelve
years Queen Anne occupied the throne, she not only sided with
the Tories in their frequent quarrels with the Whigs, but she
raised the funded debt in that period from ^12,600,000 to
^36,000,000. Was this the Royal mode of illustrating the progress
and economy of the country ? Of domestic purity, as exhibited
within the domain of Royalty, but one instance shall be given,
and that from Mr. Disraeli’s king par excellence, George III.,
of whom Washington Wilkes, on pages 130—1 of his history of
the first half of the present century, writes :—“ It is generally
supposed that he was a model of domestic morality ; whereas he
was either a seducer or a bigamist........ It is not common for
virtuous parents to bring up a whole family of licentious profli
gates ; and yet what family ever exhibited such a troop of the
most shameless and sensual ones as that of George III. ? He
saw his sons seduce and abandon one woman after another, and
he could not reprimand them ; for he knew his own story better
than they who now act the historian seem to do.” No doubt,
by some, Queen Victoria is supposed to be a true representative
of benevolence. Well, if to give away portions of the money
that has been annually voted by Parliament for that purpose,
constitutes benevolence, then Her Majesty may be entitled to
that honour. But the record of sums given from the Queen’s
private .purse for benevolent purposes is difficult to find. View
ing, apart from class interest, the characteristics of the country,
and the conduct of Monarchy, it will require a Conservative
genius to discover how the former have been represented by the
latter.
Mr. Disraeli’s attempt to prove that the English Monarchy
was less expensive than the American Republic was a perversion
of facts, and a misrepresentation of figures. He said that her
Majesty had a considerable estate in the country which she had
given up, and the revenues from them had gone into the public
exchequer. The hon. gentleman did not inform us what estates he
alluded to. At the present moment the Queen is in possession of
large estates at Balmoral, at Osborne, and in the West of London,
the revenues of which the country does not receive. Did Mr.
Disraeli refer to the Crown lands ? If so, they never belonged to
the Queen, and, therefore, she could not have given them up.
Is it, however, correct to allege that the revenues derived from
the Crown lands are equal to the annual sum we pay to the Royal
Family ? That sum, according to the Blue Book and other
�official'documents, amounts to £692,373. This does not, it should
be observed, include the entire cost of Monarchy, but simply
represents the net cash paid in one year to and for the Royal
Family. Now, towards this £692,373, what is obtained fromthe
Crown lands? There was paid into the Exchequer in 1847,
.£68,000; in 1854, £272,000; in 1855—6, .£260,000 ; in 1870—1,
£385,000 ; and for the present financial year the amount named
is £375,000. Thus it will be seen that until the last few years,
the Crown land receipts were exceedingly low, and even now
they do not equal half the cost of the Queen and her family.
Mr. Disraeli said : “ I will deal with the cost of sovereignty in
the United States of America. Gentlemen, there is no analogy
between the position of Queen Victoria and the President of the
United States.” There is much truth in this remark; there is no
analogy between the two. The President of the United States
has to work; and the Queen as the right hon. gentleman re
marked on a former occasion, had become “physically and morally
incapacitated from performing her duties.” A man who aspires
to the Presidential chair must possess political ability, while a
knowledge of politics has not been deemed a necessary qualifica
tion in the occupant of the English throne. Besides, the Queen’s
salary is £385,000 a year, and the President’s is but £3,750.
In dealing with the relative costs of the two forms of Govern
ment, Mr. Disraeli did not put the case fairly. He was careful
to speak of the cost of the American Cabineg, but he never men
tioned the cost of our English Cabinet. The English Cabinet is
composed of sixteen members, who receive annually between
them in salaries £66,000. The American Administrative Depart
ment is composed of seven members, who receive among them
£8,400. In England some members get £5,000, others £7,500,
and one as much as £10,000 per year. In America no member
gets more than £1,200. Then we have the entire administration,
for which we pay, in salaries alone, £176,718, which, with the
£45,023 for expenses of the House of Lords, and £49,806 for the
House of Commons, together with £692,373 paid to the Royal
Family, make the cost of the English Government to be
.£963,920, while, as admitted by Mr. Disraeli himself, the
Republic in America costs only between £700,000 and
£800,000. And out of this sum the Americans pay their
representatives, an advantage we should do well to emulate ;
for if men are sent to Parliament to do our work, they ought to
be paid for it. If that were done, we should not find so many
empty benches as we do when the money of the country is being
voted away. In America, moreover, the sovereignty is the people.
There the people pay to rule themselves, while here we pay
Royalty to rule us. In America the sovereignty supports itself; in
this country it is supported by something outside of itself. Surely
then that which is self-supporting is more economical than that
which depends on something extraneous for its existence.
In
America its £700,000 or £800,000 are distributed among nearly
five hundred persons, but in England the £963,920 are given to
�8
less than one hundred individuals. So that in this country about
one hundred Government officials cost over £ 163,000 more than
five times that number in America.
There is a striking contrast also in the expenditure for diplo
macy in the two countries. As shown by Mr. Bradlaugh, in his
recent letter to Mr. Disraeli, America pays her Ambassador in
London a yearly salary of £3,215, and the total cost of the
American Embassy here is £4,336. Our Ambassador at New
York receives the sum of £5,000 per year, and an annual allow
ance of £1,000 for house rent, and the total cost of our Embassy
in America is ,£8,150, or nearly double. The Americans pay their
Ambassador at Paris £3,670, and the total cost of the Embassy
is ,£4,146. We give our Parisian Ambassador £10,000, and the
total cost of our Embassy is £13,595. Thus diplomacy in France
costs America less than one-third of our expenditure. In Eng
land the Lord Chief-Justice receives an annual salary of £8,000,
while the same functionary in America is paid £1,700 a year.
Many other instances could be given to show that Mr.
Disraeli was decidedly inaccurate in his comparisons of the ex
penses of the two countries. But, leaving particular departments,
what is the total cost of each nation ? The general cost of the
Governmentof Americafor 1871 was£s8,012,584,while the general
cost of England was £69,698,539 12s. 2d. The advantage to
America will appear the greater when we remember that last year
her population was 38,555,983 persons ; Great Britain and Ire
land 31,817,108. Territory of Great Britain and Ireland is about
119,924 square miles ; United States, 2,933,588 square miles.
Notwithstanding the much larger population, and the greater
extent of territory, the Republic has a much less expenditure
than the Monarchy.
Too much importance is not here attached to what has been
termed the “ cheap argument.” Because an article is cheap, it
does not therefore follow that it is preferable to that which is
more expensive. And the present examination of the relative
costs of the American and English forms of Government has
been to show, that in his speech the Right Hon. Benjamin Dis
raeli stated the very opposite of facts. True economy consists
in the usefulness of that which is purchased. Monarchy is dear
at any price, because it lacks the elements of good government.
The basis of all sound legislation is the public will, made known
through a fair and comprehensive system of representation; and
as this advantage is recognised and enforced by Republicanism,
its claims are established as superior to Royalty, even if it were
not less expensive.
PRICE ONE PENNY.
London : Printed and Published by Austin & Co., 17, Johnson’s
Court, Fleet Street, E.C.
�
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The English monarchy and American republicanism. Reply to the Speech of the Right Hon. B. Disraeli
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Watts, Charles
Disraeli, Benjamin [1804-1881]
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Place of publication: [London]
Collation: 8 p. ; 18 cm.
Notes: [Disraeli's speech delivered April 3rd, 1872 in the Free Trade Hall, Manchester].
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[1873]
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G4944
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Monarchy
Republicanism
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Monarchy
Republicanism
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Text
“WHAT IS CHRISTIANITY?”
A SERMON,
.
JI •
■
PREACHED AT THE REV. C. VOYSEY’S SERVICE, ATj
ST. GEORGE’S HALL, LANGHAM PLACE,
* '
AUGUST |3rd, 1873, by an
M.A.,
OF
OXFORD.
[From the Eastern Post, August 9th, 1873.]
Summary :—The Question and the Answer. Not the Answer
of the Churches. Two objections anticipated. Religious wars and
hostile Churches are proofs that the Church has not answered the
question correctly. The position further illustrated by two
instances in which Christianity apparently breaks down. True
Christianity not easy.
Father—ff indeed to Thee we owe our longing to raise the veil
that hides Thee from our understandings, pardon our imperfect
service. .We speak of righteousness, striving against sin—help us
Father. We speak of truth, struggling in the toils of our ignor
ance—teach us Father. May that which is untrue perish in the
speaking; may that which is true be preserved for the use of Thy
children until, perchance, the veil is removed, and this our hour
of darkness gives place to Eternal Light.
What is Christianity? A strange question to ask, perhaps,
after eighteen centuries of experience.
“Have I been so
long time with you, and yet hast thou not known me Christen
dom ?” It would almost appear so. For there is no Church that
tells us truly and distinctly what is Christianity. If we go by
what Churches sec forth in their Confessions of Faith, and by what
the members of those Churches are most vehement about, we must
suppose that Christianity means believing something, having some
clear and strong convictions about God and Jesus Christ. If we
go by what Churches set forth in their formularies, and by what
their members are most particular about, we must suppose that
Christianity means observing some religious rite or ceremony,
�2
adhering to some one form of worship rather than another—but
this is not Christianity. Believing and worshiping are very
secondary aspects of the Christian religion. Christianity is not
believing something, but being something; not worshipping in a
particular way, but living in a particular way. Christianity is
not a Creed but a Life, the Life of Love.
And when I say Life, of course I do not mean anything so
superficial and imperfect as a mere external life. You may tie good
fruit and beautiful flowers to a dead tree, but that fruit will soon
perish, and those flowers will soon fade. You may be constantly
taking the chair at public meetings on behalf of the distressed, you
may build schools and endow churches, or, as St Paul puts it, you
may give all your goods to feed the poor, and even give your body
to be burned, and yet know nothing of the Life of Love. By Life
of Love I mean the inner life of heart-kindness from which
beneficent acts proceed as a matter of course and necessity, even as
from the living tree there grow the leaves and fruit. That is
Christianity. Christianity in its most essential aspect is a Life of
heart-kindness.
This is mere assertion. It requires proof, but I shall not have
time to go into the proofs to-day. I must be satisfied with trying
to explain in a few simple words what I mean by saying that
Christianity is before all things a Life of Love, but that the
Churches do not set it forth to us as such.
We must give all their due. Churches would agree in admitting
that the Life of Love is an important feature in Christianity; but
the Christianity that remains to be tried is not a Christianity of
which Love is an important feature, but a Christianity which is
Love. You see the difference, I am sure. It is what we are in
the habit of calling 1 all the difference in the world.’ I will try to
illustrate it. You have a dear friend to whom your heart is knit,
but from whom you have to part for a time. You do not take
with you, photographed, the fold of the dress, the hands, or the
hair, but you take the face, and why ? Because that is herself, she
speaks to you in that—and in a like sort of way Love is not an
adjunct of Christianity, not an accident of Christianity, not even
an important feature of Christianity, Love is the sweet face of
Christianity—her own blessed self.
�3
It might occur to you to object that this is no new aspect of
Christianity. That numbers of believers in all ages have cherished
it and lived in its sunshine. Quite so, and thank God for it.
Marvellous would be the presumption and ignorance of any one
who supposed that he could reveal a new aspect of a religion which
has bee n before the world so long. God be thanked that thousands
of saintly men and women, whose shoe’s latchet I should be un
worthy to unloose, have known that Christianity is Love, and in
the power of that conviction have led lives which we can but con
template with tears of mingled shame, veneration, and joy. But
they drew their knowledge from the words of Jesus, not from the
declarations of their Church. Churches have been very silent
about the Life of Love, very eloquent about their beliefs, their rites
their ceremonies, and the consequence ha3 been that whilst
individuals here and there have risen to higher things, the masses
have been content to suppose that what the Church took most
care of and made most fuss about, was the most important element
in their religion, and so zeal has been hot and love has been cold.
Again you might be inclined to say that the love aspect of
Christianity has been very well known to the Churches, but that
being of one mind with regard to it they have not cared to talk much
about it. To some extent this is true. In her earliest years the
Church kept love in her proper place, that is the first place, and
by that she conquered. But before long, and more because of the
infirmity of our nature than for any other reason, love was put
in the background, and other things were brought to the front. In
any case it is a misiake not to talk much on a point that is vitally
important. If we agree not to speak of anything we generally
come not to think about it. It is not easy to keep up a strong and
perpetual interest in an idea to which we seldom give expression
and of which we are seldom visibly reminded. But, however,
without, going now into the question as to how it came about, the
fact encounters us on nearly every page of history, that the Church
lost sight to a great extent of the truth that Christirnity is love.
Religious wars and persecutions are a proof that she did lose sight
of it. Religious wars! Curious collocation of incompatible ideas!
A war in behalf of the Christian religion is an absurdity. It
proves at once that the Christianity in question is not the real
�thing. Am I to fight with my brother to make him love me 1 It
is true we are weak and inconsistent creatures, but men would
scarcely have been so irrational and obtuse as to engage in religious
wars if they had been alive to the truth that Christianity is love.
Again the very fact of Christendom breaking up into hostile
Churches is a proof that the Church- whatever we mean by that
much debated word—had come to forget or to deny that religion
is essentially a Life,—Christianity essentially a Love.
National Churches may be a practical necessity, but there is no
necessity for their being hostile, hostile even in the extremely
mitigated sense that a minister of one may not regard himself as
the minister of another j much less hostile in the sense that half
the energy of one is spent in trying to neutralise the efforts of
another. It surely is a great mistake that there should exist
Churches hostile in this sense ! It leads to waste of power, and
worse than waste, to misuse and abuse of time, energy, money, and
all our talents, until the devil’s own work, which is strife, is done,
as is profanely said, for the Glory of God. If the test of disciple
ship is love for one another, as was once stated on the highest
authority, we don’t want many Churches. One would be
sufficient. The flocks indeed might, be many, but the fold could
be one. When the heart of this city is stirred on some great
question, and the people hold a meeting in the Park, they may form
into separate gatherings, guided by the necessities of the ground,
or drawn towards a favourite speaker, but it is still one meeting,
having one object, animated by a common purpose. So might it be,
so should it be, with all who profess and call themselves Christians.
But suppose those scattered crowds, forgetful of their great
object, their common purpose, should take to fighting about matters
of secondary importance, and when they had fought themselves
tired, should build barriers, and dig trenches to keep themselves
away from their neighbours and their neighbours away from
themselves—what a melancholy spectacle ! Melancholy at least for
the friends of the cause. This is the spectacle presented by the
Christian wor.d.
Yes ! I repeat, the fact that Christendom broke up into hostile
Churches, the fact that parties hostile to each other, jealous of each
other, exist in the same Church, are proofs that we have not
�5
sufficiently taken in the idea that Christianity is love. And what
about the oure? Is there a remedy for all this ? Is there a solvent
before which these hapless barriers will melt away ? Can » “ Peace,
be still I” be uttered to the broken waters of the world ? There
is ! There can ! And they will be—the solvent will be applied, the
word will be spoken when a Church has the brave simplicity to
declare.
Creeds matter little, Forms matter little, we priests and our
functions matter little—little, aye nothing!—nothing by the side of
that which is the essence, and sweetness, and glory, and treasure of
Christianity, the Life of Love.
It is sometimes said that Christianity has fai'ed, and no doubt
there are some facts which look like failure, 1 ub they need not
really frighten us ; you cannot truly say of anything that it has
failed before it has been tried, and I do not doubt that Christianity
will succeed, will establish its place in the hearts of men, will get
the better of human weakness and human selfishness when it is
fairly tried. But a man cannot reasonably complain of losing a
race if he ride3 the wrong horse. Let us consider two cases in
which it would look as if Christianity had failed ; it will help us
to see still further what the real thing is, and also what comes of
not trying it. .
One illustration shall be taken from the individual life, the
other from social life in one of its broade;t manifestations. And
bear in mind that I am net now contemplating those departures
from the Christian life which result either from indifference to it
or from great empba ion. To do so would be beside our present
purpose, for they might co-exist with any Development of Christi
anity. The phenomena we are now concerned with are the c trious
anomalies that arise—not from wilful divergence from Christianity
but from the cultivation of a wrong or secondary form of it.
How often this is seen. An earnest, well-intentioned, mtn is
appointed to a parish where the people are fairly intelligent, re
spectable, and well-affected. He might have it all his own wav with
them, for a new parson is generally looked at with a sort of kindly
interest; we have the prospect of listening t> him for some years
perhaps, and it is well to think the best of him. In a short time,
to use a familiar expression, parson and people are at loggerheads
with each other; confusion and strife take the place of order and
goodwill, a Samaria is established in the parish, and a new
temple is probably built on Gerizim. And why? Because the
clergyman is a bad man, or especially silly, or unkind ? Not at
all—but he has probably introduced something new, something
new in his service, or in the arrangement of the Church furniture,
or in his own personal get up. The people don’t like it and obj ict.
�He, instead of saying—“friends, this doesnot matter, the Christian
life is what we are concerned about, loving hearts are the crown of
my ministry,” he insists upon his crotchet, and excuses himself by
calling it a, principle. And this is just where Church Christianity
breaks down, that it permits men to call those things principles
which are no principles, and to lose sight of the principle of
Christianity, which is love. What should we say of a scheme for
increasing our sense of the sanctity of human life if it encouraged
us to cut off each others heads whenever we objected to the colour
of each others hair ?
Some will try to excuse themselves on the ground that all this
sort of difference and opposition may go on without loss of love.
Vain delusion ! In human strife he alone may fancy he loves his
brother who gets the better of him. If we could be sure of a
candid answer, I should not mind bringing the master to this test.
I would say to the controversialists ‘ do you love your brother when
you find he is too much for you ?’ When there is motion
without heat we may have theological strife without ill-will.
Did John love Cerinthus when (accoraing to the legend) he would
not stay in the same baths with him. Do we love our brother
when we will not go under his roof, will not take him by the hand,
will not bid him God-speed, and pass him when we meet him, on
the other side. If you suspect this to be an exaggerated view
turn to “Phases of Faith” and see the treatment experienced by
Mr Newman when he began to question the doctrines of the Church.
There probably has been no delusion more fatal to Christian life
and to the happiness of men than that which has permitted our
poor hearts to hide their rottenness from themselves, and to
indulge in ill-will, grudging, envy, pride, and all uncharity, under
cover of the pretence that it is zeal for the Lord. We may hold
it to be a certain truth that the pearl of Christianity, which is
Love, will get mislaid when men take to squabbling about the
shell.
Another point at which Church Christianity has broken down
is exposed in the condition of our poor. Individuals here and
there are kind-hearted and self-sacrificing, but where is that thought
of class for class which could not but be generated in a truly
Christian society. The facility with which we bear the distresses
of the poor, the reluctance of the powerful to legislate in the
interests of the weak, of the rich to legislate in the interests of the
poor, I attribute, not so much to the selfishness of our nature as
to the fact that the Church does not keep steadily before our
faces and close to our eyes the love aspect of Christianity.
Look at the dwellings of the poor in our large cities. The
desire for a good investment will cover the country with
�7
a network of railways, for which land is taken and money found,
but Christianity has not induced our rich and influential classes
to insist that the homes of the poor shall be made a State
question, to go to Parliament for power to take land and find
money, so that our poor may live decently in the presence of
their brethern. Call ourselves Christians ! Do you thiuk that
Jesus would call it a Christian land if he walked about the.
West-end in the morning and about the East-end in the aftere
noon. Do you think he would accept the trumpery excuses w>
make for letting our brothers and sisters starve, and rot, and sin K
into abysses of degradation, or at the best live lives of mono
tonous toil, in wretched homes, with scarce a motive to industry
their future being without hope ? I know the wretched objections
which Dives makes to getting up from his table when his servants
tell him that Lazarus is really in a bad way. “I cannot help
him ; Political economy forbids.” Christianity says, “ So much
the worse for political economy.” “The poor shali never cease out
of the land.” “No Reason for not doing our best for them, there need
not be such poor, and scripture you know can be quoted by the
most disreputable people.” “They must help themselves.” “True
in some things, but in some they depend on you.” “ Charity
demoralises.” “Notall charity.” The fact is, it is easy to see why
Dives is slow to go out to Lazarus. The mothers here would tell
me. Your child is ill, he has brought it on himself, he will get
better if he does what he is told; but you do not like to leave
him to himself, you do not neglect him, you take every care of him,
and if you scold, you scold him gently, and why? Ah ! you know.
And Dives, whose name now is Legion, whose habitations in this
city are stree’S of palaces, would Dives leave his brothers and
sisters to themselves and their sufferings if he loved them ? Yet
to love them is Christianity.
If he loved them, how could he bear the luxuries of his home,
the ample board, the cheerful fire, the sunshine of the presence he
loves, the music of the laughter of his little ones, remembering
those outside, cold, and hungry, and ignorant, and degraded, sick,
and in misery, and unloved ? May God forgive us—we cannot
forgive ourselves.
Yet, as I said at starting, those to whom Christianity is dear need
not be cast down. The real thing has not failed because it has not
been fairly tried. The Church has fought her battle against the
world with the scabbard, she has yet to try the sword. We have
yet to see what Christianity might do for us in our conflicts with
temptation, in all our warfare with evil within and without, if from
the dawn of understanding we were taught to feel that Christianity
was love. We have yet to see the mighty effects that might be
�produced upon society if the religion of love and love only were
preached from every pulpit in the land. Then should we see the
rich and influential amongst us, those who have time on their hands,
and balances at their bankers, forming themsel es into societies to
consider what they could do for their poor brothers and sisters ; then
should we see Parliament overwhelmed with petitions from leisured
men. Take counsel ye that are wise and prudent, ye Bezaleels and
Aholiabs of the State, what can ye do for this congregation ? Here
we are ready for the work, and here are witling offerings,—our
bracelets and earrings, and any amount of income tax, our rings
and tablets, and heavy succession duties; only find ye the
knowledge and understanding to devise and do for these our
brethren. For how can we enjoy the sweetness and light of life,
whilst they are in bitterness and gloom 1 our purple and fine linen
are robes of shame to us whilst they are naked and cold, our bread
is turned to ashes in our teeth when we think of them that perish
for lack of food.
Ah ! my friends, when Christianity is tried we shall stand in
no fear of Socialism or revolution. We shall indeed have agita
tion, there may be monster processions in the streets and mass
meetings in the parks, but it will not be the agitation of them that
toil, bent on wrenching some measure of power, or some crumbs of
comfort, from the superfluities of privilege and wealth—it will be
the agitation of the powerful and rich, yearning to diminish some
thing from the sadnesses of the poor.
One last thought, Christianity is Love. Does any one feel
inclined to say “ Is that all 1”—It is enough my brother—more
than enough for most of us. There is much to learn in that school.
In fact, down here, I suspect we may be always learning, and still
have to look for the completion of the course in the upper school.
For all that it sounds so simple the life is very hard. The spirit
I spe*k of is coy to win, and difficult to keep. If it is to abide
with us for ever it must be cherished with no transient courtship,
but with the devotion of a life. To seek each others good, to shun
each others harm, to wrestle with the temptarions that are breaches
of love, to keep under and stamp out all the unloving thoughts
that are so easily engendered in the friction and turmoil of life, to
nuture in the place of them feelings of forbearance, gentleness,
ami good-will—this is not easy. Yet our religion requires no less.
For the creed of Christianity begins with these words, “ Whoso
ever will be saved before all things it is necessary that he live the
Life of Love.
Eastern Post Steam Printing Works, 89, Worship Street, Finsbury E.C.
�
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Victorian Blogging
Description
An account of the resource
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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"What is Christianity?": a sermon, preached at the Rev. C. Voysey's service, at St. George's Hall, Langham Place August 3rd, 1873 by an M.A. of Oxford
Description
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Place of publication: London
Collation: 8 p. ; 22 cm.
Notes: From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. Two corrections, in ink, to typos. From the Eastern Post, August 9th, 1873
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[Eastern Post]
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[1873]
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G5372
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[Unknown]
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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 ("What is Christianity?": a sermon, preached at the Rev. C. Voysey's service, at St. George's Hall, Langham Place August 3rd, 1873 by an M.A. of Oxford), 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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English
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Sermons
Conway Tracts
Sermons
-
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9dcd9cec59f8b1e872457765e0932b3f
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Text
. ’ '>4
-IB
MY REASONS
FOR RETIRING FROM THE
OF THE
CATHOLIC APOSTOLIC CHURCH.
Having been engaged in the Ministry of the Catholic Apostolic
Church in one of the seven Churches in London for more than
twenty years past, I think it my duty, on retiring, to explain my
reasons for so doing.
I never was a convert to the Apostolic faith, but was trained up
in it from a child, and I received it as true on the authority of those
who were over me. For some years before I was in the Ministry
and still more afterwards, I was glad of any opportunity of convers
ing with those who took an interest in theological subjects; and in
order to be prepared to answer the questions they put to me, I found
it necessary to make myself acquainted with other forms of faith.
This I did, not with the slightest idea that they were true, but
solely to enable me to expose their weak points. In this I think I
was rather successful, and until recently I never felt any difficulty
in replying to any objection made against the Apostles’ doctrine;
but at last, like Bishop Colenso, I met my Zulu, and his objections
were put in such a manner as to lead my thoughts and investigations
into a totally different channel, and I found my position not so
tenable as I formerly thought it. I still think the Apostles’ faith
more scriptural than the Romish or orthodox Protestant, but X regard
the Scriptures now from quite a different point of view.
�Following the example of those above me in the Ministry, I had
been celling’ on people to exercise their reason on the truths*revealed
in Scripture, and complaining that they did not make use of their
common sense in reference to religious subjects; but I did not
suspect that I had not followed this rule myself to its legitimate con
sequences. 1 had been complaining that Protestants made the Bible
an idol and regarded it in a superstitious manner, but I did not
suspect we were doing the same, until recently my eyes were open to
the fact that, like the heathen priests, we were making our idol sanc
tion anything we pleased to teach. By our system of literal and
spiritual, prophetical and typical interpretation we were finding
twenty texts in favour of any doctrine where others could only
find one. I believe that such a system of interpretation is falla
cious. I believe that the words of Scripture should be taken to
mean precisely what they say, and no more. The idea of any
miraculous or supernatural inspiration of the writers of the Books
contained in the Bible is utterly indefensible. The only, view of in
spiration that appears to me reasonable is that propounded by
Theodore Parker. My limits will scarcely enable me to do justice to
his view, but briefly it is this : God is everywhere, and therefore not
only in every place but in every man. Whatever ability a man has
it is the gift of God, and everything good which he does is by the
inspiration of Godj but this inspiration, we all know by our own
experience, does not involve infallibility.
The belief in miraculous inspiration ages ago has led us to put
forward similar claims now. If ever men were inspired, why should
they not be so now 1 But it appears to me that we should rather
say men are not so inspired now, and we see no reason to suppose
that they ever were.
In my experience of the Catholic Apostolic Church I have seen
no evidence of anything miraculous or supernatural. It is but a
well-meant attempt to remedy the present unsatisfactory state of
Christendom ; but being based on suppositions, instead of facts, it has
met with but little success, and at the present time it appears to be
rapidly approaching a crisis, which must lead to a collapse or else to
a re-organization. I have heard some thousand so-called prophetic
utterances, but (with two exceptions) they have contained nothing
beyond the ability of any ordinary man to speak. They were largely
composed of quotations from Scripture, and all else they contained
has been better expressed from the pulpit. The two exceptions were
poetical utterances, and although it is beyond the ability of ordinary
men to extemporise poetry, the gift is not so rare as to require us to
suppose that any other than human agency was concerned in it.
The only thing remarkable about these utterances is the unnatural
�way in which they are spoken. They seem to me to be merely th
result of a kind of excitement very prevalent among the Primitive
Methodists.
It is commonly admitted by us that there is no essential differ
ence between the prophetic utterances now and those which were
heard among the Society of Friends in their early days. If these
are, as we admit, the work of the same Spirit, is it not remarkable
that they have led to such a different result ? If the Society of
Friends have been led by the same Spirit, may not their view of the
Sacraments be more divine, as it is certainly more reasonable, than
ours ?
x
Concerning the Second Advent, we know that the first Apostles
were mistaken in supposing it would take place in their life time.
The same has been the experience of nine of the twelve Apostles of
the present generation. This event has been continually promised.,
or threatened, for forty years as being about to take place immediately,
but on what grounds do we expect it 1 It depends entirely upon the
supposition that our Lord was the Messiah expected by the Jews,
and this idea has been unnecessarily connected with the doctrine of
our Lord’s divinity. The Jews, as an oppressed people, naturally
looked for a deliverer; but a careful examination of the prophecies
concerning their Messiah will show that not one of them had any
necessary reference to our Lord’s life on earth. Certain words have
been applied to Him by His first disciples because they were Jews,
and had Jewish ideas and Jewish hopes and expectations. The words
of the Old Testament applied to our Lord are nearly all in the past
tense, and, according to all principles of grammar and common sense,
are not prophecies at all, but necessarily referred to events which
had happened before the words were written.
It appears to me that we have no sufficient ground for teaching
the doctrine of the Trinity.
It may be true, but it is quite im
possible for us to ascertain whether it be so or not. We cannot
even ascertain with any certainty what was the primitive faith of
Christians on this subject. It was a debated point in the time of
the Emperor Constantine, and the Trinitarian party prevailed only
through the aid of the secular power. The lapse of centuries has
increased the difficulty, so that the doctrine is still merely an infe
rence which may be drawn from Scripture. One of the stiongest
texts on this subject is admitted by all parties to be an interpolation,
or—as straightforwrad men would say—a forgery.
The doctrine of eternal punishment seems to me the most
repugnant of all the doctrines taught in the Catholic Apostolic
Church. I cannot suppose that a loving Father would punish His
�children otherwise than for their good. Temporary punishment is
quite consistent with the love of God, but eternal punishment is
cruel and vindictive. The most horrible part of the doctrine is that
this punishment is threatened for an error in judgment—a mistaken
opinion. A man may be as just and upright and kind as possible to
his fellows, but if he does not think rightly concerning certain doc
trines, he will perish everlastingly. While a gambler, a forger, a
thief, and a murderer, if he repent at the last moment, and assent to
certain doctrines which he cannot possibly understand, will enter into
an eternal life of happiness. Can anything be more repugnant to
our ideas of the justice or love of God? The other doctrines of the
Apostles may be true, although they cannot be proved; but it seems
to m,e that this frightful doctrine of .eternal punishment cannot b@
true.
t
I cannot teach such doctrines, but, in retiring from the work in
which I have been engaged, I desire to express my thanks to those
with whbm I have been so long associated for their uniform kindness
to me. All my wishes and my interest would lead me to remain
with them, but my regard for the truth will not allow me. I have been
now four months in communication with the Angel of the Church
respecting this change in my views, and during that time have had
five interviews with him and one with an Elder whom he deputed to
see me. The result is this explanation.
I am still ready to hear any proof of the authority of the Apostles
and those associated with them; but I think that if there were any
proofs I should have heard of them before making this painful though
necessary change.
H. M. PRIOR.
1, Sander’s Terrace, Chobham Road,
Stratford, E.
2J/th February, 1873.
�
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Title
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Victorian Blogging
Description
An account of the resource
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
Date
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2018
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Conway Hall Ethical Society
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Pamphlet
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My reasons for retiring from the ministry of the Catholic Apostolic Church
Creator
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Prior, Henry Measures
Description
An account of the resource
Place of publication: Stratford, London
Collation: [4] p. ; 19 cm.
Notes: From the library of Dr Moncure Conway.
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[s.n.]
Date
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[1873]
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G5224
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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 (My reasons for retiring from the ministry of the Catholic Apostolic Church), 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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Text
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English
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Catholic Church
Apostolic Church
Catholic Church
Conway Tracts
-
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PDF Text
Text
[
169
J
( ,
Of fife of Cl)nrlc5 Jickrns.
A
biography which represents the many-sidedness of an individual
with any character at all is a performance given to few men to achieve
—a monument seldom erected to any of the great and memorable.
The “ subject ” is to his biographer what he sees him, and there is no
help for the public to whom the biographer tells his tale. It is for
him to choose, among the facts of the subject’s life, which he will put
forward or suppress—which among the feasible impressions of the
subject’s character he will suggest and substantiate. In no branch of
literature are the total failures more numerous—is the average of
imperfection and unsatisfactoriness larger. In certain cases, where
the “ life ” cannot be supposed to possess a widely-extended public
interest—where it is a demand as well as a product of cliqueism—
narrow views and extravagant estimates, foolish exaggerations and
eccentric theories, may be allowed to pass with a smile. They do not
hurt the public, who do not think about them ; they do not injure
their judgment, lower their standard of criticism, or do violence to
their common-sense.
The transports of the Mutual Admiration
Society harm nobody but the persons of talent who have established
it, whether they indulged so as to lead the rational rest of the world
to laugh at the living, or pity the dead. But it is a very different
case when a biography is put forward with such claims to general
importance and public interest as that of Mr. Dickens, written by
his friend Mr. Forster. These claims are more readily and heartily
acknowledged than those of the biographies of many men who were
great in spheres of more elevated influence, work and weight, than
that of any novelist. The interest and curiosity felt about even
such lives are much magnified by their writers, and, at their keenest,
are of brief duration, the books passing rapidly into the category of
mémoires pour servir. But the story of the life of the humourist who
had afforded them so much pleasure by the fanciful creations of his
brain, was eagerly welcomed by the public, coming from the pen of the
friend to whom Mr. Dickens had entrusted the task ; for he had, at a
very early stage of his career, foreseen that he should need a bio
grapher, and had no shrinking from what Mr. Palgrave, pleading the
poet’s right to immunity from it, calls the intrusion of “ biography.”
Regarded from the point of view of that disinterested and impartial
public whose eyes are not shut by the promptings of cliqueism nor
their ears beguiled by its jargon—who know nothing of the fatuous
A
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flattery of “ sets,” but who hold literary men amenable to the same moral
and social laws as any other class of men who do their work in the
world and are paid for it—the book could hardly be more damaging
to the memory of its subject if it had been written by an enemy
instead of a friend. Without impeaching Mr. Forster’s sincerity in
any respect or degree—without imputing to him a particle of the
treacherous ingratitude and deadly damaging cunning which made
Leigh Hunt’s ‘ Life of Byron ’ notorious—it may be gravely doubted
whether the little poet dealt the great one’s memory a more cruel
blow than Mr. Forster, in the character of a mourning Mentor out of
work, has dealt the memory of Telemachus Dickens. To all un
prejudiced persons, with just notions of the relations of men with
their fellows, he presents the object of his preposterously inflated
praise in an aspect both painful and surprising. Who is to correct
this impression ? We are forced to believe that Mr. Forster, from his
long and close association with him, is the person who can best paint
Mr. Dickens as he was in reality; we are forced to accept the man
whose writings so charmed and delighted us on the evidence of a close
and long-sustained correspondence with Mr. Forster, to whom he
apparently assigned the foremost place in his literary and private life
as guide, friend, companion, and critic. Mr. Dickens might have had
no other intimate associate than his future biographer throughout the
long term of years during which he was constantly appealing to his
judgment, adopting his corrections, yielding to his advice, and gushing
about walks, rides, dinners, and drinks in his company. There are
no people in the book but these two; the rest are merely names, to
which casual reference is made in records of jovial dinners and meet
ings for purposes of unlimited flattery. Even Jeffrey is only occa
sionally permitted to offer a modest criticism in a foot-note. In one
instance Mr. Forster relates how Mr. Dickens pooh-pooh’d the criti
cism, and referred it to him, that he too might pooh-pooh as heartily
the idea of Jeffrey’s having presumed to pronounce an opinion on
Miss Fox and Major Bagstock while only three numbers of ‘ Dombey
and Son’ had yet been issued to the world. By every device of
omission, as well as by open assertion, Mr. Forster claims to represent
Mr. Dickens as he was—to be the only licensed interpreter of the
great novelist to the world. The world grants his claim, and, judging
his book by it, is surprised by the nature of the information which is
the outcome of so many years of close and unreserved intercourse.
Not only is the one-sidedness common to biographies conspicuous in this
one, but the two large volumes published up to the present time are as
scanty in one sense as they are diffuse in another. Did Mr. Dickens
correspond with no one but Mr. Forster ? Has no one preserved
letters from him to which his biographer might have procured access ?
Were there no side-lights to be had ? The most fantastic of his own
�THE LIFE OF CHARLES DICKENS.
171
creations is hardly less like a living responsible man than the excited,
restless, hysterical, self-engrossed, quarrelsome, unreasonable egotist
shown to the world as the real Charles Dickens throughout at least
three-fourths of these two volumes; shown, it is true, upon the evi
dence of his own letters — perhaps the most wonderful records of
human vanity which have ever seen the light of print—but shown
also, through the fault of his biographer, in appalling nakedness, by
hisi strict limitation of Mr. Dickens’s “life” to the chronicle of his
relations with Mr. Forster.
It is a property of genius to raise up a high ideal of its possessors
in the minds of men who derive pleasure from its productions: it
seems to be too frequently the main business of its biographers to
pull this ideal down. That Mr. Forster has done so in the case of
Mr, Dickens every reader will admit who is not infected with the
arrogant ideas or carried away by the inflated jargon of the cliqueism
of light literature—an essentially insolent and narrow cliqueism
which, when contemplated from a philosophical or practical stand
point, seems to be the modern rendering of the satirical fable of the
fly upon the wheel. The members of this clique live in an atmosphere
of delusion, in which no sense is preserved of the true proportions
in which various employments of human intellect respectively aid
the development of human progress and social greatness. The people
who form the clique have no notion of the absurd effect they produce
on the big world outside it, which takes account of and puts its trust
in talent and energy of many kinds other than the literary; hence
it is generally a mistake that the life of a man of this kind of letters
should be written at all, and doubly so that it should be written by
one who has done it in the spirit of a clique inside a clique. The
reader’s notions of the life and character of a great humourist, who
was flattered, and who flattered himself, into the belief that he was
also a great moralist, are painfully disconcerted by Mr. Forster, who
leaves the most diverting of jesters, the most strained of sentimentalists,
no loophole of escape, by strongly insisting, in the before-mentioned
jargon, that he lived “ in ” his books and “ with ” his characters.
Thus the reader finds himself obliged to conclude that, if that state
ment be correct, Mr. Dickens was a foolish, and if it be not correct, he
was an affected person. His own letters confirm it; but then all the
letters he ever wrote to everybody were by no means so exclusively
occupied with himself and his sensations as those by which only he
is interpreted to the public, and which, instead of being quite repul
sive, would have been pardonable, and sometimes pleasing, if they had
been episodical—if the reader could believe that their writer had not
unconsciously sat for the portrait, drawn by his own pen, of the
individual who was “ so far down in the school of life, that he was
perpetually making figures of 1 in his copybook, and could not get
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THE LIFE OF CHAKLES DICKENS.
any further. A fair test of the effect of such a posthumous picture
of a man who deservedly gained a vast popularity is to imagine its
being drawn and exhibited in the case of any other man who had
achieved a similar reputation by similar means. Let us take, for
instance, the death of Colonel Newcome, the finest piece of pathos in
all Mr. Thackeray s writings, and try to imagine the author writing
to the closest of his friends, while the end was coming in the strain
of Mr. Dickens’s letters about the death of Nelly Trent: “ I went to
bed last night utterly dispirited and done up. All night I have been
pursued by the old man, and this morning I am unrefreshed and
miserable. I don’t know what to do with myself. I think the close
of the story will bo great. . . . The difficulty has been tremendous,
the anguish unspeakable. I think it will come favourably ; but I am
the wretchedest ol the wretched. It casts the most horrible shadow
upon me, and it is as much as I can do to keep moving at all.” In
the impossible case of Mr. Thackeray’s having written such effusive
rant, he would surely have cautioned his pre-ordained biographer
that it was not intended for publication. It is equally difficult to
imagine Mr. Trollope signing his letters, “ Yours truly, John Eames,”
or “ Ever yours, Phineas Finn.” But Mr. Forster prints letter after
letter in which Mr. Dickens calls himself “the inimitable” (a joke
which really does not bear so much repetition), quotes his own books
in illustration of all such incidents as, seeing that they concern him
self, he thinks worth mentioning, and signs himself “ Pickwick ” and
“Wilkins Micawber.” He is in “Dombeian spirits” or “Chuzzlewit
agonies,” or he is “ devilish sly,” or his wife is thrown from a carriage,
and laid on a sofa, “chock full of groans, like Squeers.” In short, he
is always quoting or suggesting quotations from himself, while his
voluminous letters are remarkable for their silence concerning any
other writer of the day. Then we have an overdone dedication of a
book to Mr. 1< orster, and a letter, accompanying a present of a claret
jug, which for pompousness might have been written in the Augustan
age. It is not wholly inconceivable that humour of this kind may
have had its charm for friends who conducted their relations on the
mutual admiration principle, but it is wholly inconceivable that Mr.
Forster should believe its details to be interesting to the public, and
surprising that he should fail to see that just in proportion as it is
*’ characteristic ” it is injurious to their ideal of Air. Dickens.
Was it also characteristic of Mr. Dickens to act, in all the grave
circumstances of life, with a hard self-assertion, an utter ignoring of
everybody’s rights, feelings, and interests except his own—an assump
tion of the holy and infallible supremacy of his own views’and his
own claims which are direct contradictions of all his finest and most
effusive sentimonts ? If not, then his biographer has to answer for
producing the impression upon the mind of the reader, who looks in
�THR LIFE OF CHABLES DICKENS.
173
vain throughout these volumes for any indication that Mr. Dickens’s
fine writing about human relations has any but a Pecksniffian sense.
In every reference to Mr. Dickens in his filial capacity there is
evident a repulsive hardness, a contemptuous want of feeling. His
parents were poor, in constant difficulties, and their son made capital
of the fact for some of his cleverest and some of his least pleasing
fictions; the Micawbers among the former, the Dorrits among the
latter. Every allusion to his father grates upon the reader’s feel
ings. A very amusing but exaggerated description of the difficulties of
stenography, and of the steam-engine-like strength and perseverance
with which Mr. Dickens worked at the art, is transferred from ‘ David
Copperfield’ to the biography, with such a flourish of trumpets
that readers unversed in the jargon of mutual admiration, might
suppose no man but Mr. Dickens had ever thoroughly mastered such
difficulties, and that he alone had invented and patented the “ golden
rules,” which he promulgates apropos of his becoming a shorthand
writer: “ Whatever I have tried to do in life, I have tried with all
my heart to do well. What I have devoted myself to, I have devoted
myself to completely. Never to put one hand to anything on which
I could not throw my whole self, and never to affect depreciation of my
work, whatever it was.” Of any inclination to depart from the second
of these “ golden rules,” no reader of Mr. Forster will suspect Mr.
Dickens; but of falling on the other side into an outrageous glorifi
cation of his work, whatever it was, he is convicted in countless
instances by his cruel biographer.
Voltaire’s cynical conceit of the chorus who sang incessant praises
of the poor prince until they made him laughable to all mankind
and loathsome to himself, is reflected in Mr. Forster. Pages are
devoted to the energy with which a young man of nineteen, with
a “ Dora ” in view to stimulate him, engaged in the acquisition of
an art which hundreds of quiet, industrious, well-educated gentle
men practised; but the fact that his father, who was not young,
and who had gone through much toil and care, had conquered
the same stubborn art, and was working hard at it, is mentioned
as “ his father having already taken to it, in those later years, in
aid of the family resourcesand again, as “ the elder Dickens having
gone into the gallery.” When Mr. Dickens writes to his friend that
he has been securing a house for his parents, the tone of the letter is
singularly unpleasant; and people who are not literary or gifted, but
merely simple folks, who hold that the God-formed ties of actual ¡life
should rank above the creations of even the brightest fancy, must
condemn the publication of the letter which Mr. Dickens wrote on the
31st of March, 1851, the very day of his fathers death, in which he
points out that he must not let himself be “ distracted by anything,”
though he has “ left a sad sight!”—(he was present when his father
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THE LIFE OF CHARLES DICKENS.
expired)—from “ the scheme on which so much depends,” and “most
part of the proposed ^Iterations,” which he thinks “ good.” He is
going up to Highgate at two, and hopes Mr. Forster will go with him.
The scheme was the Guild of Literature and Art, and the chief matter
under discussion was Bulwer’s comedy, written in aid of it. Mr.
Forster was going to Knebworth, and the son, just come from the
father’s deathbed, and going to buy his father’s grave, would “ like to
have gone that way, if ‘ Bradshaw ’ gave him any hope of doing it.”
There are men of whom this might be published without conveying
the disappointing, disenchanting effect which it conveys in this instance,
though in itself it is hard and shocking; but in the case of Mr. Dickens
the terrible frankness of it is much to be regretted. Such testimony
as this to the practical want of feeling of the man who described him
self as utterly good for nothing, prostrated with anguish, pursued by
phantasmal misery when Little Nell and Paul Dombey were dying,
whose hysterical sensibility about every fancy of his imagination was
so keen, is overwhelming. Mr. Forster ought to have shown us
one side of the medal only—his friend in fantastic agonies over a
fiction—“ knocked over, utterly dejected,” for instance, by “ the Ham
and Steerforth chapter,” or his friend eminently business-like over one
of the most solemn events possible in a human life. When he exhibits
him in both characters to plain people, he, no doubt unintentionally,
paints the portrait of a charlatan.
In another instance the biographer shocks yet more profoundly the
moral sense of persons who believe that genius is not less, but more,
bound by the common law of duty in feeling and in action. There
is a vast amount of sentiment, there are numerous prettinesses about
mothers and babies, and about motherhood and sonhood in the abstract,
in Mr. Dickens’s works; and in this case also, he, for whom it is so
persistently claimed that he lived in and with his books that he must
needs incur the penalty of this praise, is made by Mr. Foster to
produce the effect of falseness and inconsistency. The slight mention
made of Mr. Dickens’s mother by the biographer is contemptuous,
and his own solitary direct allusion to her is unjust and unfilial.
Could not Mr. Forster recall anything, ever so slight, in all that long
intimacy, so close and constant that it seems to have left no room and
no time in the novelist’s life for any other, to counterbalance that
impression ? The temptation, which no doubt strongly beset the
litterateur, to colour as highly as possible the picture of the “ blacking
bottle period,” has been too strong for the biographer, who has failed
to perceive that in making the episode exceedingly interesting, very
alluring to public curiosity, he has made the subject of it con
temptible. The picture is a paintul one, not altogether and only
from the side on which alone it is contemplated by Mr. Dickens and
Mr, Forster ; it is pervaded by the characteristics of all the pictures
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175
of Mr. Dickens’s earlier years, and of all dealings with everybody on
occasions when they did not turn out to his entire satisfaction.
Neither Mr. Dickens nor his biographer regard this period of the
celebrated novelist’s life justly ; they both look at it from the stand
point of accomplished facts, of mature life, developed genius, and
achieved fame. The truth is, that the poor parents of a large and
helpless family were naturally glad to accept the proposal of a rela
tive who offered to give the means of existence to one of their
children, a boy of weak frame, indifferent health, and odd “ ways,” in
which they were too dull, too troubled, and too busy to suspect arid
look for genius. They were not clever, literary, or fanciful; they
were struggling and common-place. Mrs. Dickens was promised
that the child should be taught something, and given the precedence
of a relative of the master among the boys in the blacking ware
house. Both promises were kept for a time ; when they came to be
disregarded the family turmoil had subsided into the temporary
repose of imprisonment for debt. It is very sad that respectable
decent people should be reduced to being glad to have one child lodged
and fed, ever so meagrely, away from them ; but the man who was that
child, who laid claim afterwards to an exceptional and emotional sym
pathy with poverty, and comprehension of all its straits, could not
sympathise with his parents’ poverty. He could not comprehend that
to them to be spared the lodging and the feeding of one child was an
important boon, and he has been so unfortunate as to find a biographer
who records, as the only utterance of Mr. Dickens concerning his
mother, this, deliberately spoken in his full manhood, when he was
relating how his father and the relative who had given him his
wretched occupation had quarrelled about him : “ My mother set her
self to accommodate the quarrel, and did so next day. She brought
home a request for me to return next morning, and a high character
of me, which I am very sure I deserved. My father said I should go
to school, and should go back no more. I do not write resentfully
or angrily, for I know how all these things have worked together to
make me what I am; but I never afterwards forgot, I never shall
forget, I never can forget, that my mother was warm for my being
sent back. . . . From that hour until this my father and my mother
have been stricken dumb upon it.”
A great deal of public feeling upon this point has been taken for
granted in perfect good faith by a great many people, for want of plain
matter-of-fact comprehension of the case on its real merits. Mr. and
Mrs. Dickens were in deep poverty. “ All our friends were tired
out ”—these are their son’s own words. His sister Fanny, who was
gifted with musical talent, was a pupil in an academy of music,
as a preparation for earning her own livelihood; and when he was
sent to the employment which he so bitterly resented afterwards he
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THE LIFE OF CHARLES DICKENS.
describes the family home thus : “ My mother and my brothers and
sisters (excepting Fanny) were still encamped with a young servant
girl from Chatham workhouse in two parlours of the house in Gower
Street. Everything had gone gradually; until at last there was
nothing left but a few chairs, a broken table, and some beds.” The
mother who sent her child to earn seven shillings a week in a
blacking warehouse from such a home—to be exchanged only for
her husband’s prison—was not, we think, quite a monster. What
became of the “brothers and sisters”? Did any one outrage the
family by offering help equally ignoble to another individual in whom
Sam Weller’s “ double million gas-magnifying glasses ” themselves
could hardly then have detected an embryo genius? When Mr. '
Dickens left the prison it was as a bankrupt, and though he imme
diately began the toil which was merely “ praiseworthy industry ” in
him, while it was magnified to heroism m his son, there is nothing
heinous, to our thinking, in the mother’s endeavour to keep those
seven weekly shillings wherewith one child might be fed, and in her
demur to a “ cheap school,” which, however cheap, must be paid for
out of nothing. Stripped of verbiage, this is the literal truth, and
Mr. Forster makes one of his gravest mistakes when he dwells with
would-be pathos upon the effect of this childish expression upon Mr,
Dickens’s mind and manners in after life. The picture, if true, is a
sorry one, for it is full of vanity, self-engrossment, and morbid feeling.
That a man who had achieved such renown, had done such work,
had so employed his God-given genius, should be awkward and ill at
ease in the society of well-bred unpretending people, should go about
under a kind of self-compelled cloud, because, being the child of poor
parents, he had, in his childhood, pursued, for a short time, a lowly
but honest occupation, is, to simple minds, an incomprehensibly foolish
and mean weakness.
If Mr. Dickens were represented as having been proud of the fact
that as a small and feeble child he had worked for his own living
with the approbation of his employers, and thus eased off her shoulders
some of the burthen his 4 mother had to carry, it would be con
sistent with the self-reliance of David Copperfield, the devotion of
Little Nell, the helpfulness of Jenny Wren, in short, with a number
of the virtues of the personages “ with ” and “ in ” whom we are told
his real life was to be found. Mr. Forster looks upon the childhood
and youth of Mr. Dickens with the eyes of his fame and maturity,
and cries out against the ignoring of a prodigy before there had been
anything prodigious about him, just as Mr. Dickens himself complains
of the publishers, to whom he owed the opportunity of making a
reputation, for ill-treating a famous author, and fattening on his
brains. Mr. Foster is emphatic in his blame of every one who was
concerned in the matter-—or indeed who was not, for “ friends ” are
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177
taken to task—that Charles Dickens was not given a good education,
and eloquent about the education which he afterwards gave himself.
Here, again, the besetting temptation of the biographer to invest his
subject with attributes which do not belong to him, as well as to
exaggerate those which do, assails Mr. Forster. There are no facts
in his narrative to prove that Mr. Dickens ever was an educated man,
and all the testimony of his works is against the supposition. No
trait of his genius is more salient than its entire self-dependence ; no
defects of it are more marked than his intolerance of subjects which
he did not understand, and his high-handed dogmatic treatment of
matters which he regarded with the facile contempt of ignorance.
This unfortunate tendency was fostered by the atmosphere of flattery
in which he lived ; a life which, in the truly educational sense, was
singularly narrow; and though he was not entirely to blame for the
extent, it affected his later works very much to their disadvantage.
As a novelist he is distinguished, as a humourist he is unrivalled in
this age; but when he deals with the larger spheres of morals, with
politics, and with the mechanism of state and official life, he is absurd.
He announces truisms and tritenesses with an air of discovery im
possible to a well-read man, and he propounds with an air of convic
tion, hardly provoking, it is so simply foolish, flourishing solutions of
problems, which have long perplexed the gravest and ablest minds in
the higher ranges of thought.
We hear of his extensive and varied reading. Where is the evidence
that he ever read anything beyond fiction, and some of the essayists ?
Certainly not in his books, which might be the only books in the
world, for any indication of study or book-knowledge in them. Not a
little of their charm, not a little of their wide-spread miscellaneous
popularity, is referable to that very thing. Every one can understand
them; they are not for educated people only ; they do not suggest com
parisons, or require explanations, or imply associations; they stand
alone, self-existent, delightful facts. A slight reference to Fielding
and Smollett, a fine rendering of one chapter in English history—
the Gordon riots—very finely done, and a clever adaptation of
Mr. Carlyle’s ‘ Scarecrows ’ to his own stage, in ‘ A Tale of Two
Cities,’ are positively the only traces of books to be found in the long
series of his works. His ‘ Pictures from Italy ’ is specially curious as
an illustration of the possibility of a man’s living so long in a country
with an old and famous history, without discovering that he might
possibly understand the country better if he knew something about
the history. He always caught the sentimental and humourous
elements in everything; the traditional, spiritual, philosophic, or
¿esthetic not at all. His prejudices were the prejudices, not of one
sided opinion and conviction, but of ignorance “ all round.” His mind
held no clue to the character of the peoples of foreign countries, and
vol. xxxviii.
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THE LIFE OF CHARLES DICKENS.
their tastes, arts, and creed were ludicrous mysteries to him. His
vividness of mind, freshness and fun, constitute the chief charm of his
stories, and their entire originality is the ‘ note ’ which pleases most;
but when he writes “ pictures ” of a land of the great past of poetry,
art, and politics, with as much satisfied flippancy as when he describes
the common objects of the London streets (for which he yearned in
the midst of all the mediaeval glories of Italy), he makes it evident
that he had never been educated, and had not educated himself. If
we are to accept Mr. Forster’s version of his friend’s judgment and
intellectual culture, apart from his own art as a novelist, we get a sorry
notion of them from the following sentence, which has many fellows.
At page 82 of the first volume, Mr. Forster writes : “ His (Mr. Dickens’)
observations, during his career in the gallery, had not led him to form
any high opinion of the House of Commons or its heroes; and of the
Pickwickian sense, which so often takes the place of common sense,
in our legislature, he omitted no opportunity of declaring his contempt
at every part of his life.” This is unkind. We do not like to believe
that the famous novelist was so insolent and so arrogant as his
biographer makes him out to have been, and it is only fair to remark
that it is Mr. Forster who represents his ‘ subject’s ’ contempt for
men and matters entirely out of his social and intellectual sphere as
something serious for those men and those matters. That Mr. Dickens
was rather more than less unfortunate than other people when, like
them, he talked of things he did not understand, is abundantly
proved by his £ Hard Times,’ the silly Doodle business in ‘ Bleak
House,’ the ridiculous picture of an M.P. in ‘ Nickleby,’ and the in
variable association of rank with folly and power with incompetence
in all his works. He knew nothing of official life; he had no com
prehension of authority, of discipline, of any kind of hierarchical
system, and his very humour itself is dull, pointless, laboured, and
essentially vulgar, when directed against the larger order of politics;
it becomes mere flippant buzzing, hardly worth notice or rebuke.
It is not only in the education of books that we perceive Mr.
Dickens to have been defective. Mr. Forster’s account of him makes
it evident that he was deficient in that higher education of the mind, by
which men attain to an habitually nice adjustment of the rights of
others in all mutual dealings, and to that strictly-regulated considera
tion which is a large component of self-respect. If this biography is
true and trustworthy; if the public, to whom the author of books
which supplied them with a whole circle of personal friends was an
abstraction, are to accept this portrait of Mr. Dickens as a living
verity, then they are forced to believe that, though a spasmodically
generous, he was not a just man. According to the narrative before
the world, he had a most exacting, even a grinding estimate, of the
sacredness and inviolability of his own rights. To under-estimate his
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179
claims was the unpardonable stupidity ; to stand against liis interests
was the inexpiable sin. This deplorable tendency was lamentably
encouraged by Mr. Forster—who in 1837 made his appearance on the
scene which thenceforward he occupied so very conspicuously as a party
to Mr. Dickens’s second quarrel in the course of a literary career then
recently commenced. He had already quarrelled with Mr. Macrone,
the publisher of ‘ Sketches by Boz,’ and his subsequent kindness to
that gentleman’s widow by no means blinds a dispassionate observer
to the fact that the strict right—not the fine feeling, not the genius
recognising disinterestedness, but the mere honest right—was, not
with the author, but with the publisher. His second quarrel was
with Mr. Bentley, his second publisher ; his third quarrel was with
Messrs. Chapman and Hall, his third publishers. His fourth quarrel
is recorded in the second volume ; with the proprietors of the Daily
News, after a very brief endurance of the ineffable stupidity, the
intolerable exaction, and the general unbearableness of everybody con
cerned in the management of that journal—qualities which, by an
extraordinary harmony of accident, invariably distinguished all per
sons who came into collision with Mr. Dickens in any situation of
which he was not absolutely the master. We know that there is a
fifth quarrel—that with Messrs. Bradbury and Evans—yet to be re
corded ; and we submit, that to plain people, who do not accord ex
ceptional privileges to men of genius with regard to their dealings
with their fellows, those facts indicate radical injustice and bad temper.
The pages of Temple Bar are not the place in which the merits of
the indictment of Mr. Bentley at the bar of public opinion by Mr.
Forster ought to be discussed. They form matter for fuller dis
closure and more abundant proof ; but the editor must permit us an
allusion to this case so pompously stated by Mr. Forster, because it
differs in kind from the subsequent instances. In 1836 Mr. Dickens
was what his biographer calls “ self-sold into bondage,” i.e. he was
employed by Mr. Bentley to edit the ‘ Miscellany,’ to supply a serial
story, and to write two others, the first at a specified early date, “ the
expressed remuneration in each case being certainly quite inadequate
to the claims of a writer of any marked popularity.” We have only
to refer to the letter written by Mr. George Bentley, and published
in the Times on the 7th of December, 1871, to perceive the absurdity
of this statement, unless Mr. Forster’s estimate of the claims of rising
young littérateurs be of quite unprecedented liberality, in which case
it is to be hoped he may make numerous converts among the pub
lishers ; while the notion that a man so keenly alive to his own value
would have made a bad bargain, is à priori totally inconsistent with
his whole portrait of Mr. Dickens. But Mr. Dickens never seems to
have understood practically at any time of his life that there were two
sides to any contract to which he was a party. The terms of the first
n 2
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THE LIFE OF CHARLES DICKENS.
agreement which he made, and did not carry out, were as follows:
Mr. Dickens was to write two works of fiction, ‘ Oliver Twist,’ and
another, subsequently entitled ‘ Barnaby Budge,’ for £1000, and toedit the ‘ Miscellany’ for £20 a month; this sum of course not toinclude payment for any of his own contributions. No rational person
can entertain a doubt that these conditions were exceedingly advan
tageous to Mr. Dickens at the then stage of his career. The term»
of the second agreement which he made, and did not carry out, were,
that he should receive £30 a month as editor of the ‘ Miscellany?
The terms of the third agreement which he made, and did not carry
out, were, that he should receive £750 for each of the two novels and
£360 per annum as editor of the ‘ Miscellany.’ The story of the fourth
agreement which he made, and did not carry out, will be told elsewhere.
It suffices here to say that he had his own way in all. Throughout
the whole of this affair, as Mr. Forster relates it, Mr. Dickens was
childishly irritable and ridiculously self-laudatory; and it never seems
to have occurred to either of them that a writer of books, employed
by a publisher, is a man of business executing a commission, by
business rules and under business laws. If Mr. Dickens, writing
‘ Pickwick ’ for Messrs. Chapman and Hall and ‘ Oliver Twist ’ for
Mr. Bentley at the same time, “ was never even a week in advance
with the printer in either,” outsiders will think that neither Messrs?.
Chapman and Hall nor Mr. Bentley were to blame for the circum
stance, that it was no business whatever of theirs, and that it had
nothing to do with Mr. Dickens’s objection to furnish the works he
had contracted to write, at the price for which he had contracted to
write them. The truth is, that Mr. Dickens was not a famous author,,
on whose brains Mr. Bentley designed to fatten, when he made thefirst agreement of that “ network in which he was entangled ” (Mr.
Forster’s astounding description of a series of contracts, each made on
Mr. Dickens’s own terms, and each altered at his own request,) for
he had written nothing but the ‘ Sketches by Boz ’ (‘ Pickwick,’ had
not even been commenced) and he had never edited anything, or
given any indication of the kind of ability requisite in an editor,
while he was evidently not an educated man. In fact, the first bar
gain strikes impartial minds as a rather daring speculation on Mr.
Bentley’s part; and there can be only one opinion that, when the
whole matter was concluded, it was on extraordinarily advantageous
terms to Mr. Dickens. For £2250 Mr. Bentley ceded to him the
copyright of ‘Oliver Twist’ (with the Cruiksliank illustrations,
whose value and importance Mr. Forster vainly endeavours to decry,
but on which public opinion cannot be put down), the stock of an
addition of 1002 copies, and the cancelled agreement for ‘Barnaby
Budge.’ We have the progressive figures which tell us what Mr.
Dickens’ salary as editor of ‘ Bentley’s Miscellany ’ had been. We
�THE LIFE OF CHARLES DICKENS.
181
have the records of his early experience, and of his exact position when
Mr. Bentley employed him in that capacity. Taking all these things
into account, the discretion of his biographer in recording his poor
joke when he relinquished the editorship, saying, “it has always
been literally Bentley’s miscellany, and never mine,” may be denied
without impertinence.
From a more general point of view than merely that of this bio
graphy and its subject, the story of Mr. Dickens’s frequent quarrels
with everybody with whom he made contracts is lamentable. Mr.
Forster seems seriously and genuinely to regard the persons who
expected Mr. Dickens to keep his engagements, merely because he
had made them, as heinous offenders. In vol. ii. page 42, we find
a story about Messrs. Chapman & Hall’s having ventured to hint
their expectation of his fulfilment of a contract by which, in the event
■of a certain falling off in a certain sale, which falling off actually did
take place, he was to refund a certain sum, and this conduct is de
scribed with a sort of “ bated breath ” condemnation, as though it were
a dreadful departure from honour and decency, which, having been
atoned for, is merely referred to, pityingly, under extreme pressure of
biographical obligation. And all this because one of the contracting
parties is a novelist, whose fame is built upon the very articles which
he has supplied by the contract! Why do publishers employ authors ?
Is it that they may write successful or unsuccessful books ? Fancy a
man undertaking to write a serial novel—which must be a venture for
his publisher, who purchases it unread, unwritten—for a certain sum of
money, writing it well, so that it succeeds, and that his publisher is a
gainer by it—the writer’s gain being of course, in the nature of things,
a foregone conclusion, and the transaction being described as “ an obli
gation incurred in ignorance of the sacrifices implied by it.” What an
absence of commercial morality and of a sense of fair dealing is implied
by the notion! If we could suppose this line of argument to be
transferred to the productions of other orders of genius than the
literary, its uncandidness would come out with startling distinctness.
Supposing an artist were to contract with a picture dealer to paint a
picture for him within a given time and for a stated sum, and that
during the painting of that picture the artist’s reputation were to rise
considerably, in consequence of his excellent execution of another task,
so that not only would the picture be of greater value to the purchaser
than he had had reason to believe it would be at the date of the com
mission, but the artist would be entitled to ask a larger sum for his
next work. What would be thought of the artist, if he denounced
the dealer as everything that was mean and dastardly, because he
proposed to pay him the price agreed upon, and not a larger price ?
What would be thought of the same artist if, an agreement to paint
a second picture on the same terms as the first having Leen changed
�182
THE LIFE OF CHALLES DICKENS.
at his request and to his advantage, he deliberately instructed a friend
to cancel that agreement also, and bemoaned himself in terms so un
manly and so unbusinesslike as the following: “The consciousness
that I have still the slavery and drudgery of another work on th©
same journeyman terms,” Azs own terms, “ the consciousness that my
work is enriching everybody connected with it but myself, and that i,
with such a popularity as 1 have acquired, am struggling in old toils,
and wasting my energies in the very height and freshness of my fame
in the best part of my life, to fill the pockets of others, while for those
who are nearest and dearest to me I can realise little more than a
genteel subsistence; all this puts me out of heart and spirits............
I do most solemnly declare that morally, before God and man, I hold
> myself released from such hard bargains as these, after I have done
so much for those who drove them.” It is impossible to conceive any
great man in the world of art or any other world, which involves
production and purchase, writing in such a style as this, and no
blame can be too severe for the indiscretion which has given to the
public such a picture of mingled vanity and lack of conscience. If
this view of the business relations of author and publisher were to be
accepted as the just view, the success of the author would be the
misfortune of the publisher, and the grand object of the trade would
be to supply Mr. Mudie with a placid flow of mediocrity, by which
they could count on a certain moderate profit without risk; but they
would shun rising geniuses like the plague. We protest against all
the unworthy, unbusinesslike, and untrue jargon in which this story,
and the others like it are set forth, not only because it gives an
impression of the character of Mr. Dickens extremely disappointing
to the admirers of his genius—of whom the present writer is one of the
most fervent—but also for a much more serious and far-reaching reason.
Everything of the kind which is believed and adopted by the public
as true of literary men, is degrading to their status and demoralising
to their class. Why should a business transaction to which a man of
letters is a party, be in any moral or actual sense different from any
other business transaction whatsoever ? The right divine of genius
is to be better, honester, higher minded, than mediocrity, because it
has truer insight, a nobler, loftier outlook and ideal, and greater aims.
At least this is the common notion of the great privileges of genius,
and to controvert or degrade it is to inflict on the public a misfortune
entailing a loss. No man can claim of himself or be held by his friends
to be outside, above, or released from any common moral law, without
a failure of true dignity, a violation of common sense, and an offence
to the great majority of respectable and reasoning people who make
up that public whose word is reputation. Seldom has a more un
fortunate phrase than “ the eccentricities of genius ” been invented.
It has to answer for many a moral declension, which, if the phrase
�THE LIFE OF CHARLES DICKENS.
183
had not existed, would have been avoided, because toleration would not
have been expected—for many a social impertinence, which would have
been too promptly punished for repetition. The “eccentricities of
genius ” are always its blemishes, frequently its vices, and the suffer
ance of them by society is a mistake, the condonation of them is a
fault, the laudation of them is a treacherous sin.
Next to Mr. Dickens’s indignation that his publishers should
presume to make money by his work, Mr. Forster exposes most
mercilessly his disgust at the possibility of his illustrators getting any
credit in connection with his books. It would be unprofitable to reca
pitulate the controversy between Mr. Cruikshank and Mr. Forster
about the artist’s share in the production of ‘ Oliver Twist,’ but in
connection with the subject it may be observed, that if Mr. Cruikshank’s Bill Sykes and Nance did not realise Mr. Dickens’ wish, every
reader of ‘ Oliver Twist ’ thinks of the housebreaker and his victim as
Mr. Cruikshank drew them, and knows that, in the case of Nance, the
author’s was an impossible picture (a fact which no one, as Mr.
Thackeray ably pointed out, knew better than NIr. Dickens), while the
artist’s was the coarse, terrible truth. On which side the balance of
suggestion was most heavily weighted it is not easy or necessary to
determine, but nothing can be clearer than that Mr. Cruiksliank
followed no lead of Mr. Dickens, in his wonderful pictures, but
saw the villainous components of that partly powerful yet partly
feeble romance of crime with a vision entirely his own. Mr. Halbot
Browne is allowed a little credit; but, though Mr. Forster presides
over the production of each book in succession, and all he suggests
and says is received with effusive respect and gushing gratitude,
though he reads and amends sheets hardly dry, and makes alterations
which require separate foot notes to display their importance, and
italics to describe their acceptation, every hint of counsel from any one
else is treated with offensive disdain. To Mr. Forster the world is
indebted for the Marchioness’s saying about the orange-peel and water,
that it would “ bear more seasoning.” Mr. Dickens had made it
“ flavour,” but the censor considered that word out of place in the
“ little creature’s mouth,” though the little creature was a cook, and
so it was changed. What a pity he did not suggest that Dick
Swiveller might have been quite as delightful, and yet considerably
less drunken I To him the world owes Little Nell’s death, but Mr.
Dickens would probably have acknowledged the obligation on his own
part less warmly if he had foreseen the publication of the absurd
rhapsody in which he announced the event as imminent; declaring
that he trembles “ to approach the place more than Kit; a great deal
more than Mr. Garland; a great deal more than the Single Gentle
man.” Then with ingenuous vanity, and forgetting grammar in
gush, he protests: “ Nobody will miss her like I shall. What the
�184
THE LIFE OF CHARLES DICKENS.
actual doing it will be, God knows. I can’t preach to myself the
schoolmaster’s consolation, though I try.” Only the pachydermatous
insensibility which comes of mutual admiration could have prevented
a biographer’s perception of the inappropriateness of such reve
lations, and of scores of similar ones; only such insensibility can
account for his complacent sacrifice of every one else to the glorifica
tion of that leviathan in whose jaws he could always put a hook.
That Mr. Dickens may be made to praise Mr. Mark Lemon patronisingly, Mr. Forster prints a statement concerning Mrs. Lemon, which
that lady has contradicted in the press; and that Mr. Dickens’s gene
rosity and delicacy may be duly appreciated, Mr. Forster tells how he
deputed Mr. Wills to make Mr. Sala a present of £20. It is neces
sary to keep constantly before one’s mind that it is Mr. Forster who
is speaking for Mr. Dickens, if one would escape from an overwhelm
ing conviction that the great novelist was a very poor creature, and
that it would have been far better for his fame had he been made
known to the public only by his novels. It is especially necessary to
remember this when we find a school of morals imputed to him, when
he is represented as a great teacher who adopted the method of
apologue, and we are gravely assured that “ many an over-suspicious
person will find advantage in remembering what a too liberal applica
tion of Foxey’s principle of suspecting everybody brought Mr. Sampson
Brass to; and many an over-hasty judgment of poor human nature
will unconsciously be checked, when it is remembered that Mr. Chris
topher Nubbles did come back to work out that shilling.”
When we read scores of similar passages, we ask ourselves, Can this
be in earnest ? Can it be possible that this is intended to be serious ?
Or is Mr. Forster, getting occasionally tired of the perpetual swing of
the censor of praise before the image of the friend who, in his lifetime,
never wearied of sniffing the enervating perfume, and swung lustily
for himself, poking ponderous fun at the public ? Even the humour of
the great humourist suffers by the handling of his ardent but undis
criminating worshipper. The rubbish by which the tradition of Mrs.
Gamp is continued, the silly letters in dubious French, which exhibit
Mr. Dickens’s absolute incapacity to comprehend any foreign country,
and the unpardonable nonsense, in which he was encouraged by wiser
men, of his pretended admiration for the Queen, are flagrant examples
of injudiciousness, which heavily punishes the folly it parades. Mr.
Dickens’s letter about her Majesty, written thirty years’ ago, was a
sorry jest. Mr. Forster’s publication of it now is supreme bad taste.
Mr. Dickens’s sentimentalism, always exaggerated and frequently
false, suffers at the hands of his biographer even more severely than
his humour. Mr. Forster as confidant, and Mr. Dickens as Tilburina, in intercommunicated hysterics over the ‘ Christmas Stories,’
‘ Dombey and Son,’ and ‘ David Copperfield,’ become so very weari
�THE LIFE OF CHARLES DICKENS.
185
some, especially when Mr. Forster solemnly declares his belief that the
* Christmas Carol ’ “ for some may have realised the philosopher’s
famous experience, and by a single fortunate thought revised the whole
manner of a life,” that it is a positive relief when they are parted.
Mr. Dickens’s ‘ Letters from America ’ form the least disappointing
portion of this work ; in them his egotism is less persistently offensive
and his humour is displayed to great advantage. The reverse of this
is the case in his ‘ Letters from Italy.’ In them he is in a perpetual
state of ebullition, fussiness, impatience, effervescent vanity, and self
engrossment. It is amusing to observe that the great humourist was
so little accustomed to recognise humour in others, that it never oc
curred to him he could be quizzed. When a witty consul warned him
not to let his children out of doors, because the Jesuits would be on
the watch to lead their innocent feet into popish places, he swallowed
the warning with the docile credulity of a Vansittart.
It must be acknowledged that Mr. Forster’s advice was very sound
and valuable in many instances. Perhaps his consciousness of that
fact has blinded him to the extent to which his exposure of his friend’s
weaknesses has gone. Was it, for instance, worth while, in order to
record that he rejected the proposition, to let the public know that
Mr. Dickens ever proposed as a title for his projected weekly mis
cellany, “ Charles Dickens : A Weekly Journal, designed for the
instruction and amusement of all classes of readers. Conducted by
Himself ” ?
In one more volume this warmly-welcomed, eagerly-read biography
is to be completed. That volume must necessarily be a more difficult
and responsible task than its predecessors. It is to be hoped that it
will fulfil the expectations of the public more satisfactorily, and that
it will do more justice to Mr. Dickens by doing less injustice to all
with whom he was concerned. It is to be hoped that it will put before
the world a more substantial representation of the great novelist who
was so variously gifted; that it will leave its readers able in some
measure to respect and esteem its subject as a man, for real qualities,
while ceasing to urge an imaginary claim to misplaced consideration,
and especially that it will be free from the faint suggestion which
pervades the present volumes, that, essentially, “ Codlin was the friend,
not Short.”
�[
186
]
£ lluire from tlje pusl),
O ! milii prseteritos ....
High noon, and not a cloud in the sky to break this blinding sun!
Well, I’ve half the day before me still, and most of my journey
done.
There’s little enough of shade to be got, but I’ll take what I can get,
For I’m not as hearty as once I was, although I’m a young man yet.
Young ? Well, yes, I suppose so, as far as the seasons go,
Though there’s many a man far older than I down there in the town
below,—
Older, but men to whom, in the pride of their manhood strong,
The hardest work is never too hard, nor the longest day too long.
But I’ve cut my cake, so I can’t complain; and I’ve only myself to
blame.
Ah ! that was always their tale at home, and here it’s just the same.
Of the seed I’ve sown in pleasure, the harvest I’m reaping in pain.
Could I put my life a few years back would I live that life again ?
Would I? Of course I would ! What glorious days they were !
It sometimes seems but the dream of a dream that life could have been
so fair,
So sweet, but a short time back, while now, if one can call
This life, I almost doubt at times if it’s worth the living at all.
One of these poets—which is it ?—somewhere or another sings
That the crown of a sorrows’ sorrow is the remembering happier
things ;
What the crown of a sorrows’ sorrow may be I know not, but this I
know,
It lightens the years that are now, sometimes to think of the years
ago.
Where are they now, I wonder, with whom those years were passed ?
The pace was a little too good, I fear, for many of them to last;
And there’s always plenty to take their place when the leaders begin
to decline.
Still I wish them well, wherever they are, for the sake of ’auld lang
syne!
�A VOICE FROM THE BUSH.
187
L I Jack Villiers—Galloping Jack—what a beggar he was to ride!—
f I Was shot in a gambling row last year on the Californian side;
LI And Byng, the best of the lot, who was broke in the Derby of fifty
eight,
I ’ Is keeping sheep with Harry Lepell, somewhere on the Biver Plate.
Do they ever think of me at all, and the fun we used to share ?
It gives me a pleasant hour or so—and I’ve none too many to spare.
This dull blood runs as it used to run, and the spent flame flickers up,
As I think on the cheers that rung in my ears when I won the
Garrison Cup!
!
■
'
I. And how the regiment roared to a man, while the voice of the fielders
shook,
! As I swung in my stride, six lengths to the good, hard held over
Brixworth Brook;
Instead of the parrots’ screech, I seem to hear the twang of the horn,
As once again from Barkby Holt I set the pick of the Quorn.
Well, those were harmless pleasures enough; for I hold him worse than
an ass
Who shakes his head at a ‘ neck on the post,’ or a quick thing over
the grass.
Go for yourself, and go to win, and you can’t very well go wrong;—
Gad, if I’d only stuck to that I’d be singing a different song!
7
,
As to the one I’m singing, it’s pretty well known to all;
We knew too much, but not quite enough, and so we went to the wall;
While those who cared not, if their work was done, how dirty their
hands might be,
Went up on our shoulders, and kicked us down, when they got to the
top of the tree.
«
But though it relieves one’s mind at times, there’s little good in a
curse.
) I One comfort is, though it’s not very well, it might be a great deal worse.
A id A roof to my head, and a bite to my mouth, and no one likely
to know
In ‘ Bill the Bushman ’ the dandy who went to the dogs long years
ago-
I
Out there on the station, among the lads, I get along pretty well;
It’s only when I get down into town that I feel this life such a hell.
Booted, and bearded, and burned to a brick, I loaf along the street;
, I watch the ladies tripping by and I bless their dainty feet;
�188
A VOICE FROM THE BUSH.
I watch them here and there, with a bitter feeling of pain.
Ah! what wouldn’t I give to feel a lady’s hand again!
They used to be glad to see me once, they might have been so to-day;
But we never know the worth of a thing until we have thrown it away.
I watch them, but from afar, and I pull my old cap over my eyes,
Partly to hide the tears, that, rude and rough as I am, will rise,
And partly because I cannot bear that such as they should see
The man that I am, when I know, though they don’t, the man that I
ought to be.
Puff! With the last whiff of my pipe I blow these fancies away,
For I must be jogging along if I want to get down into town to-day.
As I know I shall reach my journey’s end though I travel not over
fast,
So the end to my longer journey will come in its own good time at
last.
�
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Victorian Blogging
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An account of the resource
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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The life of Charles Dickens
Creator
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Hoey, Frances Sarah Johnston
Description
An account of the resource
Place of publication: [London]
Collation: 169-188 p. ; 23 cm.
Notes: From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. Article from Temple Bar magazine, May 1873; attribution from Virginia Clark catalogue. A review of vol. 1-2 of John Forster's biography of Dickens.
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[Bentley]
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[1873]
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Book Reviews
Charles Dickens
Conway Tracts
English Literature
Fiction in English
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Text
CHRISTIANITY
A FORM OF
THE GREAT SOLAR MYTH.
FROM THE FRENCH OF DUPUIS.
“ Light and Life to all he brings,
Risen with healing in his wings.’’
PUBLISHED BY THOMAS SCOTT,
NO. 1.1, THE TERRACE, FARQUHAR ROAD,
UPPER NORWOOD, LONDON, S.E.
Price Ninepence.
�7
�PREFACE.
Ei’kwp
tov
Geov
tov
aoparou. —PAUL AD Ool. I. 15.
^THE Roman Empire embraced within its extensive
J- boundaries almost every religion of the ancient
world; and compelled each one of them to meet face
to face all the rival beliefs. The natural result was to
discredit them all. Mutual contact produced at first
an exceeding fermentation, and then a rapid decom
position. One nation only preserved its faith; and
being more in earnest (from its political condition)
than the rest of the Roman world, managed—as the
fanatics generally do—to establish for itself a sect in
almost every city of the Empire. But Judaism, as it
■existed in its purity, was quite unfit to conquer and
overrun the world. It was designed indeed by its
great legislators to keep the people of the Jews separate
and distinct from all other peoples; and its laws and
customs were adapted only to a small nation living in a
■compact territory. But when the Jewish people were
conquered, in the first instance, by Antiochus and
■Greek civilization, Greek ideas gradually began to
�IV
Preface.
influence a portion of the Jewish people. And this
was especially the case in that part of Palestine which
was called Galilee of the Gentiles. In this country it
was that Jesus was "bred,—a man destined to he the
founder of a new and nearly universal religion,—
although, as proved eventually, it came to be quite of
a different character from the simple theism which he
had endeavoured to impress upon his first disciples.
Jewish fanaticism, in view of the coming struggle
with Rome, inspired some fervid patriot poet or pro
phet to compose that singular Politico -Astrological
Drama which is known to us as the Apocalypse. This
book struck the popular mind at once. It was taken
up also by the followers of Jesus, who turned it to
account in a way suitable to their own ideas. It was
everywhere read in their secret assemblies; and the
fierce spirit which inspired it soon filled every congre
gation with a fire of intense enthusiasm, and the ex
pectation of the immediate advent of a conqueror and
saviour, who should be their Messiah.
All the religions of the world (as we said) were at
this time in a state of decay and decomposition. All
were being reduced to fragments or resolved back
again into their elements. A new faith was required
for the world, and, being needed, it was gradually
evolved. Paul, “the apostle of Jesus Christ,” as he
styles himself, gave the first impulse to the new faith
by extricating the belief in Jesus from the narrowness
of Judaism; and he very soon had his sect of disciples,
�Preface.
V
—now separated from the Jewish congregations,—in
•every city of the empire. Paul’s companion and
friend, Apollos, introduced the first mixture of Alex
andrian Theosophy into the new faith (in the Epistle
to the Hebrews, of which he is almost certainly the
author;) and in a generation or two later this element
received an immense development by the publication
■of the Eourth Gospel, which “ transfigured ” Jesus of
Nazareth into the Logos of God.
The Apocalypse gradually fell into disuse, from the
failure of its prophetic announcements; and the religion
■of Jesus was floated by means of this new development.
But in order that this growing refigion should become
popular with the vulgar it needed that there should be
infused into it some popular elements of mystery, and
some festival occasions. And many such there were
everywhere around,—ready to hand,—mysteries and
festivals, which belonged in common to all the decayed
religions, and were held and celebrated in every
•country of the world. These constituent, elements
were gradually adopted into the New Faith ; and all
the legends and dogmas of Christianity, as we now
know it, have been in this way superadded to the
original simpler teaching of Jesus—and were trans
ferred to it from the hidden myths and allegories
of the old nature-worship. It is the glory of the
French astronomer, Dupuis, that he has been at the
pains of drawing forth to our view in a wonderful
manner the curious mythology of the Chaldean astro-
�vi
nomy, and of explaining to us the meaning of thesemost ancient and interesting allegories. It is from theninth chapter of Dupuis’ abridged work that we have
made the following translation, which we now leave totell its own story to our readers.
�INTERPRETATION OF THE FABLE WITH
REFERENCE TO THE SUN WORSHIPPED
UNDER THE NAME OF CHRIST.
F there be any religion which ought, one would
think, to be proof against the analysis to which,
with the aid of natural philosophy and astronomy, we
have undertaken to submit the religious poems and
sacred legends of antiquity, it is assuredly that of
Christ, or the legend which has the sun for its object
under this name. The followers of this religion, in
their zeal for pre-eminence, have a sworn enmity against
the worshippers of Nature-power, the sun, moon, and
stars, against the Greek and Roman divinities, whose
temples and altars they have overthrown. This might
give rise to the idea that their religion was no part of
the universal religion. But a mistaken notion of the
object of a people’s worship proves nothing more than
the ignorance of that people. The worship of Hercules,
Bacchus, and Isis, is none the less worship of the sun
and moon, because the Greeks held Hercules and
Bacchus to be mortals deified, and the Egyptians
thought Isis was a gentle princess, who had reigned
over Egypt in olden time.
The Romans mocked at the deities worshipped on the
Nile banks. They denounced Anubis, Isis, and Serapis,
and honoured Mercury, Diana, Ceres, and Pluto.
These are the same deities under other names; but such
I
�8
The Sun Worshipped
is the influence of names over the ignorant. Plato said
that the Greeks were worshippers of the sun, moon, and
stars from the earliest ages ; but Plato failed to see that
they still kept to the same deities in his own day,
under the names of Hercules, Bacchus, Apollo, Diana,
Aesculapius, &c. In full conviction that the opinion of a
nation as to the character of its religion proves no more
than its own belief, without changing the nature of the
religion itself, we shall pursue our researches even into
the sanctuaries of modern Borne. The Lamb-God there
worshipped is the Boman Jupiter, who often took the
form of the Bam or Lamb of Spring, with the title of
Ammon. The vanquisher of the Prince of Darkness at
Easter, is the same God who in the Bacchic legends
triumphs over Typhon at this season, undoing the evil
brought by him into the world under the form of a
serpent. Here also we recognise, under the name of
Peter, old Janus, with his keys and his skiff, at the
head of the twelve deities of the twelve months with
their altars at his feet. There are prejudices to be
overcome; many persons will readily allow that
Bacchus and Hercules are nothing but the sun, yet by
no means admit that the worship of Christ is nothing
else than sun-worship. Let such persons bear in mind
that the Greeks and Bomans would have readily con
ceded this point to us, on the evidence we have to pro
duce ; whereas they would not so easily have given up
their conception of Hercules and Bacchus, as heroic
princes deified for their mighty deeds. Every one is
on the alert against all attacks upon prejudice,
strengthened by education, habit, and example. Not
withstanding all the luminous proofs, with which we
shall maintain our statement, we do not expect any
disciples, except such wise and sincere friend's of truth,
as are willing to sacrifice prejudice to conviction. Eor
such alone we write; the masses are victims of ignor
ance, led away like sheep by the priests, that fatten
upon their credulity.
�Under the name of Christ.
g
We shall not enter upon the question, whether the
Christian religion is a revealed religion, or not. Philo
sophy has1 made too great advance in our day to re
quire us to argue about any other communications from
God to man, than such as are provided by the light of
reason, and the contemplation of nature. We shall not
even at present examine into the question of the actual
existence of a philosopher, or impostor, named Christ,
the founder of the religion known by the name of
Christianity. For even if we were to concede this
point, Christians would not be satisfied unless we were
to acknowledge Christ to be an inspired man, a son of
God, nay, himself a God, crucified for our sins. They
require a God, who once took food upon earth, and is
now the food of his people. Now we are far from
granting so much as ^liis, but we invite all who are
content to regard him as a human philosopher, to enter
upon this question, when we have analysed the religion
of Christians, independently of its possible founder or
founders. Whether it owes its institution to one man
or to many ; whether its origin dates from the time of
Augustus or Tiberius according to the commonly re
ceived legend, or goes back to a much more remote
antiquity, deriving its source from the worship of
Mithra established in Persia, Armenia, Cappadocia, and
even in Pome, as we ourselves believe, the chief point
is thoroughly to investigate the nature of Christian
worship, whoever its author may have been. We
shall be able to show that it is the worship of nature
and of the sun; and that the hero of the legends
known by the name of gospels, is the same who has
been celebrated with far more genius in the poems
written in honour of Bacchus, Osiris, Hercules, Adonis,
and others.
We have here the pretended story of a God born of
a virgin at the winter solstice, and rising again at
Easter or the vernal equinox, after a descent into hell;
a God who takes about with him a retinue of twelve
�io
“The Sun Worshipped
apostles, whose leader has the attributes of Janus; a
God who vanquishes the Prince of Darkness, introduces
mankind into the realnls of light, and remedies the ills
of nature. When we shall have shown that this isnothing more than a solar myth like the rest, it will be
almost as unnecessary to enquire, whether a man named
Christ ever lived, as whether there was a real chieftain
called Hercules. Only let the proof hold good that the
Being worshipped under the name Christ is the sun,
and that the miraculous part of the legend refers to
this heavenly body. Then it will be seen that
Christians are only sun-worshippers, and their priests
hold the same religion as the Peruvians whom they
massacred. Let us proceed to examine the dogmatic
basis of this religion.
The first point is the introduction of great disorder
into the world by means of a serpent inviting a woman
to pluck forbidden fruit. The result of this fault was
the knowledge of evil, to which man had been so far a
stranger ; it could only be undone by the victory, of a
God over death and the Prince of Darkness. Such is
the fundamental dogma of the Christian religion;
Christ’s incarnation became necessary to remedy theevil brought into the world by the serpent that seduced
the first woman and the first man. These two dogmas
cannot be separated one from the other; were there no
sin there need be no salvation; were there no sinner
there need be no saviour. Now this fall of the first
man involves the supposition of a twofold state; he
was created originally by the good principle in the full
enjoyment of all the blessings he bestows upon the
world; then he passed under the dominion of the evil
principle, into a state of misery and degradation, out of
which he could only be delivered by the principle of
goodness and light. This is a cosmogonical fable of
the same kind as those of the Magians about Ormuzd
and Ahriman, or rather a copy from them. Their
books say that the Magians represented the world.
�Under the name of Christ.
11
under the emblem of an egg divided into twelve parts,,
six of which belonged to Ormuzd, the divine author of
good and light, and six to Ahriman, the author of evil
and darkness. The good and evil of nature result from
the twofold action of these principles. The six parts
under the sway of the good principle comprised the
six months from the vernal to the autumnal equinox;
the six parts under the rule of the evil principle em
braced the six months of autumn and winter. In thisway the circle of the year was divided between these
two powers, of whom the one organised life and ripened
the fruits of the ground; while the other destroyed the
works of his predecessor, and marred the harmony dis
played in earth and heaven during the six months of
spring and summer. This cosmogonical idea has been
presented again in another form by the Magians. They
suppose that out of infinite time or eternity is born a
finite period which perpetually renews itself. Thisperiod they divide into twelve thousand small parts
which in allegorical phraseology they call years. Six
thousand of these parts belong to the good principle,
and the other six to the evil one. To- prevent mis
understanding they associate each of these millennial
divisions, with one of the signs traversed by the sun
.. successively in the twelve months. The first thousand,
they say, corresponds to the Lamb, the second to the
Bull, the third to the Twins, &c. Under these first six
signs, or under the signs of the first six months of the
year divided by the equinoxes, they place the genial rule
of the principle of light, under the other six signs the
sphere of the evil principle. With the seventh sign,
corresponding to the Scales, the first autumnal constella
tion, they make the reign of darkness and evil begin.
This reign lasts until the sun’s return to the sign of
the Lamb, corresponding with March and Easter.
Such is the foundation of their theological system, as
regards the distribution of the opposing forces of the
two principles, by which man is affected in each solar
�12
‘The Sun Worshipped
revolution. This is the tree of good and evil under
which nature has placed him.
To quote their own language, “ Time,” says the author
of the Boundesch, “ comprises twelve thousand years.
The thousands of God contain the Lamb, the Bull,
the Twins, the Crab, the Lion, and the Ear of Corn,
or Virgin; in all six thousand years. Substitute
for the word years, periods of time, and for the names
of the signs those of the months, and you will have
April, May, June, July, August, and September, the
months of periodical vegetation. After the thousands
of God came the Scales, when Ahriman broke loose in
the world, afterwards Sagittarius, when Afrasiab shed
his evil influence. Substitute respectively for the
signs of Libra, Scorpio, Sagittarius, Capricornus,
Aquarius, and Pisces, the names of the months October,
November, December, January, February, and March,
and you will get the six periods appropriated to the
evil principle and his works, frost, snow, wind, and
excessive rain. It is worthy of note that in October,
or the apple season, the evil principle begins to spread
his fatal influences in the world, viz., cold and decom
position of vegetable life. Then man realises the evils
he did not feel in spring and summer, the fair season
of the northern hemisphere. This is the idea to
which the author of Genesis has sought to give expres
sion in the fable of a woman seduced by a serpent to
pluck the fatal apple, which, like Pandora’s box, proved
a source of evil for all mankind.”
“ The Supreme God,” says the author of Modimel el
Tawarik, “ in the beginning created Man and the Bull in
some place above the earth, where they remained three
thousand years free from evil. These three thousand years
comprise the Lamb, the Bull, and the Twins. Then
they dwelt on the earth three thousand years more,
without labour or sorrow. These three thousand years
correspond to the Crab, the Lion, and the Ear of Corn,
or the Virgin.” These are the six thousand years men
�Under the name of Christ.
13
tioned above under the title of Thousands of God, and
the signs appropriated to the dominion of the good
principle. “ After this in the seventh thousand, answer
ing to the Scales, f.e., in Vendemiaire, according to the
French revolutionary calendar, evil made its appearance,
and man began to till the ground.”
Elsewhere in this same cosmogony we read, “ that the
duration of the world, from the beginning to the end,
has been fixed at twelve thousand years. Man re
mained without evil three thousand years in the higher
region, i.e., in the northern hemisphere. He was also
exempt from evil for a second period of three thousand
years. Then appeared Ahriman, the author of evil and
strife, in the seventh thousand, i.e., under the Scales,
over which the celestial serpent presides.” This was
the beginning of the intermixture of good and evil.
Here in fact the boundaries of the domains of the two
principles approach each other. This is the point of
contact between good and evil; or, in the allegorical
language of Genesis, there was planted the tree of
knowledge of good and evil, which man could not
touch without passing under the dominion of the evil
principle, the lord of the signs of autumn and winter.
Till then he had been favoured of Heaven; Ormuzd
had loaded him with every blessing. But Ahriman his
rival and foe was fated to poison his best gifts;-man
fell a prey to him at the moment of the retreat of the
Day-God to southern climes. Night assumed its kingdom; and the deadly breath of Ahriman in the form
or else under the ascendant of the serpent of the con
stellations blasted the fair garden, where Ormuzd bad
placed mankind. Such is the theological idea, which the
author of Genesis has taken from the Persian cosmogony
and presented in his own style. Zoroaster, author of
the Magian Genesis, describes the successive action of
the two principles in the world, as follows:—
Ormuzd, the Light God, and good principle, is ex
plaining to Zoroaster that he has given to man a place
�14
The Sun Worshipped
of delight. 11 If I had not bestowed upon him this
place, no other being could have done so. This place
is Eiren, which in the beginning was fairer than all the
world created by me; the beauty of it is beyond com
parison. I acted first, and after me Petiareh (i.e.,
Ahriman, or the evil principle). This Petiareh, fraught
with death, set in the river the mighty snake, mother
of winter, to diffuse cold over sea and land.” Accord
ing to the phrases of this cosmogony, winter is the evil
which was brought into the world. The restorer is the
God of Spring, or the Sun on his entrance into the
sign of the Lamb ; whence the Christ of the Christians
takes his forms: for he is the Lamb that takes away
the evils of the world, and he is represented under this
emblem in early Christian monuments.
Evidently nothing more is here meant than physical
and periodical evil, of which the earth feels the shock
every year on the retreat of the sun, the source of life
and light to all the inhabitants of our globe. So this
cosmogony contains only an allegorical picture of natu
ral phenomena, and of the influence of zodiacal signs.
The serpent which brings in the winter is, like the
Scales, one of the constellations set over the boundary
line betwixt the two principles, z.e., in this case the
-autumnal equinox. This is the real serpent, whose
form is assumed by Ahriman in the Magian and Jewish
legends, for the purpose of bringing evil into the
world. Accordingly, the Persians call this maleficent
power the constellation serpent, the celestial serpent,
Eve’s serpent. They set the track of Ahriman in
the heavens under the likeness of a serpent. The
Boundesch, or Persian Genesis, says—“Ahriman, or
the evil principle, by whom evil comes into the world,
made his way into the heavens in the form of a snake,
accompanied by the Dews or evil genii, who seek only
to destroyand elsewhere, “ when the evil genii were
wasting the world, and the constellation serpent was
making himself a pathway between heaven and earth,
�Under the name of Christ.
15
i.e., was rising above the horizon.” Now the serpent
of the heavens rises above the horizon in conjunction
with the sun when the sun enters Libra, over which
the constellation of the serpent extends : this is the
seventh sign, in sequence from the Lamb, in which the
Magians have been shown to fix the commencement of
the reign of the evil principle, and the introduction of
-evil into the world.
Genesis, the cosmogony of the Jews, brings the ser
pent on the scene with the man and the woman, and
endues him with power of speech. This is evidently
in keeping with Oriental idiosyncrasy and the character
of allegory. The foundation of the theological idea is
absolutely the same. True, the Jewish legend does not
say that the serpent brought in winter to destroy the
good gifts of nature ; but it does say that man felt the
need of' clothing, and was reduced to till the ground;
and this points to the autumnal season. This change
in man’s state is not said to have taken place in the
seventh thousand, or under the seventh sign; but the
good principle is said to have worked for six periods,
and to have rested in the seventh : so also the fall of
man and the introduction of evil by the devil, or evil
principle in the form of a serpent, took place in the
season of fruit. The scene of the legend is laid in the
very regions known under the name of Eiren, or Iran,
and towards the sources of the great rivers Euphrates,
Tigris, Pison, or Araxes; only instead of Eiren the
Hebrew copyists have written Eden; the two letters
r,
and d, “I, being much alike in this language. The
Hebrew Genesis does not introduce the millennial
phraseology of the Persian. But the Genesis of the
ancient Tuscans, which is couched in the same terms
in other respects as that of the Hebrews, has kept this
allegorical denomination of the divisions of time, during
which the all powerful action of the Sun, the soul of
nature, is in full force. “ The divine architect of the
universe has consecrated twelve thousand years to the
�16
The Sun Worshipped
work of creation. He has divided, them into twelve
periods, distributed in the twelve signs or houses of the
sun. In the first thousand he created the heaven and
the earth: In the second the firmament, which he
called heaven: In the third the sea and the waters
which flow in the earth: In the fourth the two great
lights of nature : In the fifth the soul of birds, reptiles,
beasts, and of every living creature in earth, air, and
water : In the sixth thousand he created man.”
The author adds—“ It seems that as there were six
thousand years before the creation of man, the human
race must last for six more thousand ; so that the con
summation of this great work may be accomplished in
twelve thousand years.” We have seen that this
period was a fundamental dogma in Persian theology,
and was equally divided between the two principles.
The thousands have been replaced by days in the
Hebrew Genesis; but the number six has been retained,
as in the Tuscan and Persian. Thus the ancient Per
sians, according to Chardin, took the months of the
year instead of the six days of the week, during which
God worked. Hence it follows that in allegorical and
mystical phraseology, the expressions thousand years,
days, ghaambars, mean simply months ; since they are
taken to correspond with the signs of the zodiac, the
natural measurement of months. Moreover, the Hebrew
Genesis uses identically the same expressions as the
Tuscan, and besides retains the distinction of the two
principles, and of the serpent, so conspicuous in the Per
sian Genesis, under the name of Ahriman and Constel
lation Serpent. The Persian cosmogony seems to be
the original, inasmuch as it unites the common features
of the other two, and gives us the key to them. So
we shall see in the sequel that the Christian religion
owes its origin especially to the Magians.
We shall look for nothing more in the Hebrew
Genesis than in the Magian. In its wondrous tales
we shall not see the history of the first men, but the
�Under the name of Christ.
17
Persian, allegory upon, the state of man here below
under the rule of the two principles. This great
mystery of the government of the universe has been
held sacred in the theology of every people, repro
duced under ever-varying forms in ancient rites, and
taught by legislators, philosophers, poets, and sacred
writers, as Plutarch has shown. Sancthoniathon would
have us believe that allegory was in those days a veil
thrown over sacred truths to increase the reverence of
the initiated.
Hebrew Rabbis and Christian divines are agreed that
the books attributed to Moses are written in the alle
gorical style. They often have an esoteric meaning
quite different from the letter. We should be receiv
ing false and foolish conceptions of the Deity unless
we penetrated the outer rind of sacred teaching. The
first and second chapters of Genesis, especially, are
acknowledged to conceal an allegorical meaning, which
ought not to be rashly confided to the common people.
Maimonides, that most learned of the rabbis, said—
“The Book of the Creation is not to be understood liter
ally according to common acceptation; otherwise our
ancient sages would not have charged us with so much
care to conceal its meaning, and respect the veil of
allegory which covers its truths. Taken literally this
work gives most absurd and extravagant notions of the
Deity. Whoever divines the true meaning must take
good heed not to divulge the same. This is a maxim
inculcated by all our sages, especially as regards the inter
pretation of the six days’ work. Possibly by his own
lights, or another’s, a man may come to a true conception
of the meaning; in that case, let him hold his peace, or
speak obscurely, as I do, leaving the rest to be divined
by such as may understand me.” Maimonides adds that
this enigmatical style was not peculiar to Moses and
Jewish rabbis, but common to all the sages of antiquity;
and he is right, at all events, in the case of Orientals.
Philo, the Jewish writer, held the same view with
B
�18
The Sun Worshipped
regard to the character of the sacred books of the He
brews. He has written two separate treatises on
allegories, and attaches an allegorical meaning to the
tree of life, the rivers of Paradise, and other fictions of
Genesis. Though not happy in his interpretations, he
has none the less discovered the folly of taking these
stories literally. Origen says, It is acknowledged by
all who have any acquaintance with Scripture, that
every truth there is veiled under enigma and parable.
This teacher and all his disciples treated the whole
history of Adam and Eve, and the fable of Paradise on
earth in particular, as allegory.
Augustine, in his 11 City of God,” allows that the
accounts of Eve and the serpent, and the earthly para
dise, were often held to be allegorical. After quoting
several explanations based upon the morality then in
vogue, he goes on to say, that better interpretations might
be found, and he had nothing to say against them, pro
vided that their historical reality were conceded also.
It is hard for Augustine to reconcile fable with history,
allegorical fiction with real fact. If he clings to this
reality at the risk of being inconsistent, it must be
because he has fallen into a still greater contradiction,
in acknowledging the reality of Christ’s mission as
repairer of the first man’s sin, while at the same time
recognising in the first two chapters of Genesis nothing
more than simple allegory. As he would have the
atonement made-by Christ for sin to be a historical fact,
he was bound to maintain the story of Adam and Eve
and the serpent as equally historical, for they are essen
tially connected one with the other. But, on the other
hand, the improbability of this story draws from him
an important avowal of the necessity of recourse to
allegorical interpretation in order to defend such a mass
of absurdity. Beausobre said with some truth, that
Augustine gives up the Old Testament to the Manicheans, who pleaded that the first three chapters of
Genesis were untrue, owning himself unable to main
�Under the name of Christ.
19
tain their literal meaning without offending religious
feeling by ascribing improper conduct to God. So that
an allegorical interpretation becomes absolutely neces
sary for the credit of Moses and his history. “For what
man of sense,” says Origen, “ will ever persuade himself
that there was a first, and second, and third day, with
■evening and morning, but without sun, or moon, or
stars 1 Who is so simple as to believe that God, in
the character of a gardener, planted a garden eastward ?
Or that the tree of life was a real palpable tree, bear
ing fruit able to prolong life for ever ? ” This teacher
goes on to compare the fable of Adam’s temptation
with that of the birth of Love, whose father was
Porus, or plenty, and his mother Poverty. He main
tains that there are many narratives in the Old Testa
ment which could not have taken place as the sacred
authors record, and are only fictions conveying some
hidden truth.
The Fathers of the Christian Church, who were any
thing but philosophers, in spite of their unconquerable
tendency to believe anything, were unable to digest
these difficulties, and required the key of allegory to
unlock these sacred mysteries. So we, who live in an
age more ready to reason than believe, may be allowed
to apply to these marvellous records the character
which all antiquity has assigned to religious dogmas,
and lift the veil of allegory thrown over them. Every
part of this narrative must be a shock to those who are
resolved to receive it as a history of events which really,
took place in the dawn of the world. The eternal God
■and Supreme Cause assumes a body for the pleasure of
walking in a garden. A woman holds converse with
a serpent, listening to him and taking his advice. A
man and woman, destined to immortality, and organ
ised to produce to infinity other beings immortal as
themselves, organised likewise for reproduction, are
placed in a garden which is to hold them all and feed
them all throughout eternity. An apple is plucked,
�20
The Sun Worshipped
which, causes death, and fixes the hereditary taint of sin
in all generations of mankind, though they had no share
in the theft. This is a crime which is not to be for
given until another has been committed, one immeasur
ably greater, a Deicide, if it were possible there should
be such a crime. The woman ever after is condemned
to bring forth with pain; as though the pangs of
child-birth were not a result of her organisation, and
common to other animals who never tasted the deadly
fruit. The serpent is bidden to crawl, as though a
reptile without feet could move in any other way.
Such a mass of foolish and strange ideas, as are found
in one or two chapters of this marvellous book, cannot
be taken for history by any one who has not quenched
the light of reason in the mire of prejudice. Should
there be any among our readers hardy enough to digest
all this, we pray them to lay us aside, and go back to
Jack the Giant-killer, Blue Beard, Hop o’ my thumb,
the Lives of the Saints, and the Oracles of Balaam’s ass.
Philosophy is for men, fairy tales for children. As tothose who agree to acknowledge in Christ an atoning
God, but cannot make up their minds to receive thenarrative of Adam and Eve, and the serpent, and of the
fall which necessitated the atonement, we must invitethem to clear themselves, if they can, of the reproach
of inconsistency. Eor if the sin is not real, what
becomes of the atonement ? Or if the facts occurred
otherwise than is announced in the text of Genesis, what
confidence can we place in an author who deceives us
in his very first pages, and whose work, nevertheless,
serves as the basis of the Christian religion? Toadvocate a hidden meaning is to acknowledge the
necessity of recourse to an allegorical interpretation.
This is what we are doing; and the next step is, toexamine whether the allegorical explanation we give is
sound, and so to estimate our work fairly. This is all
we askj for we are far from wishing that admission of'
our opinions should be demanded as an act of faith.
�*
Under the name of Christ.
21
We quote original authorities, we furnish celestial con
figurations ; let them be verified: we draw our con
clusions from them; let them be appreciated : in short,
•Ocr explanation is as follows :—
The cosmogony of the Magians closely resembles that
•of the Jews in principle. Both alike place man in a
garden of delight, into which evil is brought by a
serpent. Out of infinite time a finite period arises, and
is divided into twelve parts. Of these six belong to
light, and six to darkness ; six to creative operations,
and six to destructive; six to good, and six to evil in
mature. This period is the annual revolution of the
dieaven or rather of the earth. It is represented among
the Magians by a mystic egg, divided into twelve parts,
six for the Lord of life and light, six for the power of
evil and darkness j among the Jews, by the tree of
knowledge of good and evil, with twelve kinds of
fruit, as is shown in the gospel of Eve. Elsewhere it
is represented by twelve thousand years, six of which
-are called thousands of God, and six thousands of the
Devil. All these are so many emblems of the year,
during which man passes under the dominion of light
and darkness in succession, according to the compar
ative length of day and night. The blessings and the
evils of nature advance and retire or intermingle in
-dependence on the approach or retreat of the sun to or
from our hemisphere. He either organizes sublunary
matter by vegetation, or abandons it to its principle of
inertia; hence results that disorganization of matter
• and elemental disturbance, which winter causes in the
world, till the spring time brings back the harmony of
nature. At this season, under the equinoctial Lamb,
the earth is fecundated by the warmth of the sun and
the action of the atmosphere, and becomes an abode of
•delight for man. But when the orb of day arrives at
the Scales and the Serpent, he passes into the other
hemisphere; and our regions are delivered up by his
.retreat to the rigor of winter, to hhe storms and devas
�22
The Sun Worshipped
tations, which the evil principle of darkness brings
upon the world. No hope is left for man, bnt in the
return of the sun at spring-time to the constellation of
the Lamb. This is the Saviour whom man expects.
Let us enquire, in the next place, if the God of the
Christians, whom John calls “ the Light that lighteth
every man that cometh into the world,” really has the
characteristics of the Sun-God, the object of worship
in every nation with various names and attributes;
also if the account given of him has the same founda
tion as the other solar fables, which we have taken to
pieces. Two seasons in the sun’s march have attracted
general attention. The first is the winter solstice, when
the sun, after seeming to abandon us, enters afresh
upon his course towards our abode; from this time the
day, now in its infancy, increases gradually. The second
is the vernal equinox, when the mighty orb sheds his
life-giving warmth over nature ; for then he crosses
the equinoctial line, which separates the luminous
empire of Ormuzd, from the darkness of Ahriman. The
worshippers of the orb which dispenses life and light
to the world, have always associated their principal
festivals with these two seasons.
The sun in reality has neither birth nor death; he
always maintains the same majestic brilliancy ; but in
the relative length of .days and nights there is a
gradual process of increase and decrease, which has
given occasion to fictions of sufficient ingenuity on the
part of ancient theologians. They have likened this
periodical process of diurnal increase and decrease to
the case of man, who is born, grows to manhood, and
then decreases and decays, until at length he comes to
the end of his career. The god of day was personified
in sacred allegories, and subjected to human destiny.
He had his cradle and his tomb under the names of
Hercules, Bacchus, Osiris, and Christ. He was an
infant at the winter solstice, when the days begin to
increase. Under this form, his image was displayed in
�Under the name of Christ.
23
temples for the worship of his votaries. For then,
says Macrobius, when the days are shortest, the god
seems to be but a feeble infant. This is the infant of
the mysteries, whose image the Egyptians used to pro
duce from the recesses of I their sanctuaries on the
appointed day every year. The goddess of Sais called
herself the mother of this infant in that well-known
inscription, “ The sun is the fruit of my womb.” This
is the weak and feeble infant, born in the darkest mid
night, of which the Virgin of Sais was delivered about
the winter solstice according to Plutarch. This god
had his mysteries, his altars, and his statues, which
represented him in all the four ages of human life.
The Egyptians are not the only nation who havecelebrated at the winter solstice the birth of the sun-god
to renovate nature every year. The Bomans assigned
to the same period their grand festival of the sun’s
renewal, and the celebration of the solar games of the
circus. They placed it on the eighth day before the
Calends of January, the very day which corresponds to
our 25th December, or the birthday of the sun, wor
shipped under the name of Mithra or Christ. Proof
of this may be found in a Calendar, printed in the
Uranologia of Father Petau, where we read, “ On the
eighth day before the Calends of January, Natalis
Invicti.” This Invincible one was Mithra or the
sun. a Some days before the new year, says Julian
the philosopher, we celebrate magnificent games in
honour of the sun under the name Invincible. May
mine be the happiness long to celebrate them, oh
thou sun, king of the universe, thou whom the primal
god begat out of his own pure substance !” This ex
pression is Platonic, for Plato used to call the sun
the Son of God. The title Invincible is given on all
the monuments of the Mithraic religion to Mithra or the
Sun, the chief deity of the Persians, “ To the Sun-God,
Mithra the Invincible.” So Mithra and .Christ were
both born on the same day, and this day was the birth
�24
The Sun Worshipped
day of the sun. Of Mithra it was said that he was the
same god as the sun, of Christ that he was the Light
that lighteth every man that cometh into the world.
To Mithra a grotto was assigned as his birth-place, to
Bacchus and Jupiter a cavern, to Christ a manger.
Justin himself has drawn the same parallel. Christ
was said to be laid in a manger, when the Magi came
to worship him. But who were these Magi? Wor
shippers of Mithra or the sun. What gifts did they
bring to the new born god ? Three kinds of offering
consecrated to the sun in the religion of the Arabs,
Chaldeans, and other Orientals. How are they warned
of this birth ? By means of astrology, their favourite
science. What was their faith ? They believed, says
Chardin, in the eternal existence of a primeval Being,
identified with Light. What are they represented as
doing in this narrative ? Fulfilling the first duty of
their religion, which enjoined on them the worship of
the rising sun. What name do the prophets give to
Christ? He that shall rise, the Rising One, they say, is
his name. They see his image in the eastern skies, not
in the country ’’of the east. The planisphere of the
Magians and Chaldeans, depicted in the heavens a new
born infant called Christ and Jesus. He was placed in
the arms of the celestial Virgin, the same to whom
Eratosthenes gives the name of Isis, mother of Horus.
To what point of the heavens did this virgin of the
spheres and her infant correspond ? To the hour of
midnight on the 25th December, the identical moment
to which the birth of the year-god, the new sun or
Christ has been assigned, on the eastern horizon, at the
very point where the sun of the first day arose.
It is a fact independent of all hypotheses and of all
deductions, that at the precise hour of midnight, on the
25th December, when Christianity made its appearance,
the celestial sign in ascendant on the horizon, to pre
side over the opening of the new solar revolution, was
the constellation Virgo. It is also a fact, that the
�Under the name of Christ.
25
sun-god born at the winter solstice, is again in conjunc
tion with her, folding her in his rays, at our feast of
the Assumption, or reunion of the mother and child.
It is yet again a fact, that she issues out of the solar
rays heliacally, at the time when we celebrate her first
appearance on earth, or nativity. We have nothing
to do with the motive for placing these feasts at these
times. Enough that we have three facts, which cannot
be reasoned away. From these an attentive student of
the ancient mystagogues may derive important results,
unless, indeed, he ascribe them to mere chance ; which
he will scarcely persuade those men to believe, who are
on their guard against all which may mislead their
reason, and strengthen their prejudice. At least it is
■certain that this virgin, who alone can become a mother,
according to the allegory, without losing her virginity,
fulfils the three chief functions of the Virgin mother of
Christ, as regards her son’s birth, and her own, and her
reunion with him in the skies.
Her function as
mother is the chief point before us. The ancients,
when they personified the sun, made him pass through
the several stages of human life, and invented for him
marvellous adventures, the subjects of song and legend.
It was usual, especially among the Chaldeans and
Magians, to cast the horoscope of children at the pre
cise moment of their birth ; so they would naturally
cast the horoscope of the sun. The day of birth was
kept as a festival, and called Dies Natalis. Now, the
celestial virgin who dominated the birth of the day-god
personified, was held to be his mother, in fulfilment of
the prophecy, a virgin shall conceive and bear a son;
i.e. she shall bring forth the sun-god, like the virgin of
■Sais. This is the origin of the figures represented on
the celestial globe by the Magians ; of which Abulmazar has given us a description, and of which Kirker,
■Selden, Pic, Roger Bacon, Albertus Magnus, Blaeu,
Stotler, and many others have written. Abulmazar
says, “ according to the earliest traditions of Persians,
�26
The Sun Worshipped
Chaldeans, Egyptians, Hermes and ^Esculapius, a
young girl may be seen in the first decan, or ten first
degrees of the sign of the Virgin. Her name in the
Persian language is Seclenidos de Darzama, expressed
in Arabic by Adrenedefa. She is a virgin, chaste, pure,
spotless, of comely stature and pleasant countenance,
with long hair and modest mien. She sits on a throne
with two ears of corn in her hand, and suckles an
infant, called Jesus by some writers and Christ by the
Greeks.” The Persian planisphere, published by Scaliger
at the end of his notes on Manilius, describes the
celestial Virgin in nearly the same language. It places
a man by her side, who can be no other than Bootes,
the nursing father of Horus, the son of the Virgin Isis.
There is an Arabic manuscript in the Bibliotheque
nationale of Prance, containing an illuminated repre
sentation of the twelve signs ; the virgin here has an
infant at her side, and is depicted like our virgin and
child, or the Egyptian Isis. Astrologers of old, with
great semblance of truth, set the image of the new-born
sun in the heavens, in that constellation which presided
over his own birth and that of the year, at the winter
solstice. This constellation was Virgo ; hence arose the
legend that the Day-God was conceived in the virgin s
womb. This idea is more natural than that of those
who are determined to believe that a living virgin once
became a mother, without losing her virginity, and that
the child she bore was. the author and ruler of all
creation. Thus the Greeks said that their ram-shaped
god, Jupiter Ammon, was brought up by Themis,
another name of the celestial virgin. She bears also
the name of Ceres with the title Holy Virgin ; this
was the mother of Bacchus or the sun, whose infant
image was shown in the temples at the winter solstice
according to Macrobius. His testimony is confirmed
by the author of the “ Alexandrine Chronicle ’ in these
terms, “The Egyptians down to this day, have held
sacred the offspring of a virgin’s womb, and present the
�Under the name of Christ.
27
child in a cradle for the people to worship. Ptolemy
once asked the reason, and was told that it was a
mystery, entrusted to their forefathers by a venerable
prophet?’ A prophet in their country is well known
to be a presiding officer at initiations.
It is maintained, but I know not by what authority,
that the ancient Druids also paid divine honours to a
virgin, with this inscription, Virgini Pariturce, on her
statue near Chartres. On the monuments of Mithra
or the Sun, whose worship was established of yore in
Great Britain, a woman is to be seen suckling an in
fant ; and she must be the mother of the Day-God.
The English author, who has written a dissertation on
this monument, brings together the features necessary
to establish the analogy between the festivals of the
birth of Christ and of Mithra. But being more pious
than philosophical, he thinks them prophetical antici
pations of the Christ to come. He remarks with
reason that the Mithraic worship was spread through
out the Roman empire, especially in Gaul and Great
Britain. He quotes the complaint of St Jerome, that
Pagans celebrated the festival of the new-born sun, that
is, of Adonis or Mithra, in the very locality at Beth
lehem which was believed to be the birth-place of
Christ. This religion we have shown to be the same
under another name, in the legend of the death and
resurrection of Adonis.
Now that we have shown the astronomical basis of
the legendary incarnation of the sun, under the name of
Christ, in the virgin’s womb, we proceed to investigate
the legend of his death and resurrection at the vernal
equinox under the type of the Pascal Lamb. The Sun
is the sole repairer of the evils of winter; sacerdotal
fiction supposes him to be born at the winter solstice ;
three months more he must remain in the lower signs
appropriated to darkness and evil, and be subjected to
the power of their lord, before he can advance at the
vernal equinox to his triumph over night, and his
�28
•
The Sun Worshipped
renovation of the world. Accordingly, he is supposed
to suffer all this time under the infirmities of human
life, until he reassumes in triumph the prerogatives of
the Godhead. The allegorical genius of the mystagogues proceeds to construct a life for him, full of
imaginary adventures all tending towards the purposes
of the initiation. Just as JEsop, wishing to depict the
oppression of the weak by the strong, puts upon his
stage animals of different characters, with an imaginary
action adapted to the moral of his fable, so in Egypt
was constructed the fable of Osiris, or the beneficent
sun traversing the universe to dispense the countless
blessings of which he is the source ; to him is opposed
Typhon, the prince of darkness, who resists his opera
tions, and puts him to death. This simple idea is the
basis of the fable of Osiris and Typhon, in which one
is presented to us as legitimate monarch, the other as
tyrant of Egypt. Over and above the fragments of
these old priestly fictions, preserved to us by Isiodorus
and Plutarch, we have a life of Osiris and Typhon,
the work of Bishop Synesius; for in those days bishops
fabricated legends. In this work the adventures, the
character, and the delineation of the two principles of
Egyptian theology were drawn from imagination, but
yet in accordance with the leading idea of the part
which each of them should play in the legend, the ob
ject being to express in a fable the working of the
contrary principles in nature. The Persians also had
their account of Ormuzd • and Ahriman, and their
warfare ; also of the victory of the good over the evil
principle. The Greeks had a life of Hercules, and of
Bacchus, with the history of their glorious exploits and
the blessings which ensued; these tales were learned
and clever poems. The history of Christ, on the con
trary, is only a tiresome legend, of the same dry and
melancholy character as the legends of the Indians,
which are only concerned with devotees and penitents
and Brahmins absorbed in contemplation. Their God
�Under the name of Christ.
29.
Vishnu, incarnate in Krishna, has many features in
common with Christ. There are certain childish
fancies with regard to Krishna, closely resembling what (
is said of Christ in the gospel of the infancy: when
grown up like Christ, he brings the dead to life.
The Magians, too, had their legend of the founder of
their religion. His birth was announced by prodigies.
He was exposed to danger from early childhood, and
obliged to fly into Persia, like Christ into Egypt; like
him he was persecuted by a hostile king, who wished
to be rid of him; an angel carried him up to heaven,
whence he brought back the book of his law. Like
Christ, he was tempted by the devil, who made magnifi
cent promises in order to attach him to himself. He
suffered calumny and persecution from the priests, as
Christ did from the Pharisees: he answered them by
working miracles in confirmation of his divine mission,
and doctrine. The author of the legend of Christ
brought the Magi to his cradle under the guidance of
the far famed star, which is said to have been foretold
by Zoroaster, the founder of their religion. This
parallelism leads us to believe that he would not shrink
from introducing into the legend many features which
belong to the author of the Persian religion.
Christianity, indeed, is only a branch of this religion,
and bears a great resemblance to it, as we shall have
occasion to show in our discussion of the worship of
Mithra, the chief deity of Persia.
The authors of this legend had neither learning nor
genius enough, to produce such poems as those about
Hercules, Theseus, Jason, Bacchus, and others. More
over, the clue of astronomical science had been lost,
and the legends were necessarily constructed out of the
debris of ancient fictions no longer understood. Be
side all this, the object of the presiding masters of the
Christian mysteries was purely moral. They did not
wish to represent a conqueror of giants and of all the
evils of nature. Eternal Light was the subject of their
�30
The Sun Worshipped
4
mysteries, and their hero was a mild, long-suffering,
beneficent being, -who came down on earth to preach by
his example the practical virtues, which they sought to
teach their neophytes. Accordingly he is made to live
in this character, and to prescribe the ascetic practices
of the Essenes, which are like those of the Indian
Brahmins. He had his disciples like the, Sommonakodon of the Siamese, who was also a god born of a
virgin by solar action. The number of his apostles re
produced the grand duodecimal division, repeated again
and again in all solar religions. But his legend is too
miraculous to be interesting, and gives tokens of adapta
tion to Jewish ignorance and credulity. As the author
of the sacred story made him a Hebrew by birth, he had
to subject him, and his mother likewise, to the religious
rites of this people. Like all Jewish male-children, he
was circumcised on the eighth day; and like other
Jewish women, she had to present herself in the temple
for purification. These results naturally follow from the
original idea, that he was born and taught, and died,
with a view to future resurrection; for without death
there can be no rising from the dead. Having assumed
humanity, he was made to pass through the stages of
childhood and youth, and when twelve years old, he
astonished the doctors with his understanding. The
moral lessons which the authors wished to convey he was
made to prescribe by precept in his discourses, and by
example in his life. Miracles were alleged by way of
confirmation, and fanatics were produced who said they
had seen them; for miracles are always forthcoming,
where people .are to be found ready to believe them.
They have been seen, or thought to be seen, at the tomb
of the sainted Paris, in an enlightened age like our own,
and in the midst of a dense population, which might
supply a few critics, but many more enthusiasts and
impostors. They are attributed to the founders of all
religions. Among the Chinese, Eo works miracles,
and forty thousand disciples proclaim to the world that
�Under the name of Christ.
31
they saw them. Odin, also among the Scandinavians
raises the dead, goes down into hell, and bestows upon
new-born children a kind of baptism. The marvellous
is the main-spring of all religions ; nothing is so firmly
believed as that which is incredible. Bishop Synesius,
a good authority on this subject, used to say, that
miracles were necessary for the masses at any cost,
otherwise it would be impossible to kebp them in order.
The whole life of Christ has been composed accordingly
in this spirit. Its fabricators have associated its ficti
tious events, not only with well-known places, as all
ancient poets have done, in the fables upon Hercules,
Bacchus, Osiris, &c., but also with the well-known
names of a historical period, like that of Augustus,
Tiberius, and Pontius Pilate. This does not prove the
real existence of Christ, but only that the priestly
fiction is of later date than this period; a fact we do
not call in question. There have been many such
fabrications; so many as fifty gospels or Lives of
Christ have been enumerated. So many marvels were
ascribed to him, that “ the world itself would not con
tain the books that might be written,” as the author of
one has said. Full swing has been given to the powers
of the mystagogues, nevertheless all are agreed on two
fundamental points, the Incarnation, and the Death, and
Resurrection. The first point we have already shown
to apply to the sun only ; we shall proceed to show the
same thing with regard to the second. It is no more
than the reproduction of a tragical event, repeated in
all the mysteries, and described in all the poetic legends
of sun-worshippers under a multitude of different names.
We have shown already that Christ has all the
characteristics of the Sun-God, in his birth or incarna
tion in the virgin’s womb ; also that this birth is
placed at the season when the ancients celebrated the
birth of the sun, under the ascendant of a constellation
which carries a young child called Jesus in her arms,
according to the Magian planisphere. We have now
�22
The Sun Worshipped
to show that he has also the characteristics of the SunGod in his resurrection, both as regards the time when
it is supposed to have taken place, and the aspect which
he assumes in his triumph.
Now the triumph of Christ and redress of the ills
of mankind is placed exactly at the vernal equinox, in
the sacerdotal legend of the Christians called the Life
of Christ. They have associated with this season the
annual festivals in commemoration of this great event;
for the Christian passover, like the Jewish, is always
kept at the full moon of the vernal equinox; this is
the very time when the sun makes his transition from
the domain of darkness to that of light, and reappears
with life and light to all nature in our countries.
Jews and Christians alike call this feast the Pass-over,
for then the Sun-God, the Lord of Nature, passes over
to our hemisphere, bringing back his good gifts of
which man had been deprived all the winter by the
autumnal serpent. Then bright Apollo triumphs over
the serpent Python, in the fulness of youthful energy.
Then is the Lord’s feast; this title of honour has been
given to the sun '} Adonis or Adonai designates the
Sun-God as Lord of the world, in the oriental fable
which describes him like Christ, as lamented in death,
and triumphant in resurrection. In the dedication of
the seven days to the seven planets, the Sun-day js
called the Lord’s Day. It precedes Monday or Moon’sday, and follows Saturday or Saturn’s day; these two
planets are the first and last notes of the musical scale,
in which the sun is the central note. Thus the title
Lord is duly applicable to the sun under all aspects.
This feast of the Lord’s Passover was originally fixed
on the 25th March, three months to the day after the
feast of his birth, which is also that of the Sun s
birth.
This orb then resuming its creative and
fertilizing power, was thought to restore youth to
nature' by beginning a new order of things. He
creates, so to speak, a new world on the ruins of the
�Under the name of Christ.
33
old; and makes men pass over into the light and joy
of his presence, under the influence of the equinoctial
Lamb.
All these mystic ideas are found together in the fol
lowing passage from Cedrenus. “ The first day of the
* ■ first month/’ says this historian, “ is the first of the
month Nisan : it answers to the 25th March of the
Romans, and the Phamenot of the Egyptians.
On
this day Gabriel announces to Mary her conception of
the Saviour.” It may be remarked here that in this
same month Phamenot, Osiris impregnated the moon
according to Egyptian theology. “ On this day,” adds
Cedrenus, “ our divine Saviour having ended his life,
rose again from the dead, and the early fathers have
called it Pascha, or the Lord’s Passover. On the same
day also early theologians have fixed his return, or
second advent: the new age may be expected to begin
at this epoch, for the universe was called into being on
this day.” This agrees well with , the last chapter of
the Apocalypse, which makes the throne of the Lamb
the starting point of the new age, which is to govern the
destinies of the world of light and friends of Ormuzd.
The same author, Cedrenus, makes Christ die on the
23d March, and rise again on the 25th. Hence comes,
he says, the Church custom of celebrating Easter on the
25th March, i.e., on the eighth day before the calends
. of April, or three months after the eighth day before
the calends of January, the season of the birth of the
sun-god. These eighth days before the calends of
January and April, were the days on which the
Romans fixed the arrival of the sun at the winter
solstice and the vernal equinox respectively. As the
eighth day of the calends of January was a festival in
the religion of the sun-worshippers, so the eighth of the
calends of April, 25th March, would naturally be
another. On this day the great mysteries were cele
brated in commemoration of the sun’s triumph.at this
season every year over the long nights of winter.
c
�The Sun Worshipped
34
The sun was personified in sacred legends : for some
days he was lamented as dead; and then on the 25th
March his resurrection was announced with songs of
joy. Macrohius is our informant; the same who tells
us that the sun-god is represented at the winter solstice
as a new-born child, and in the spring as a lusty and
vigorous youth. He adds that these commemorations
of the passion, or the death and resurrection of the daygod, at the vernal equinox, are met with in every form of
sun-worship. The Egyptians had the death and resur
rection of Osiris, the Phoenicians the death and resur
rection of Adonis, the Phrygians the tragical adventures
of Atys. In all religions the sun-god suffers as Christ
did, and triumphs over the grave, as he did, at the same
season of the year. Let those persons who are deter
mined to make out Christ to be a different being from
the sun, furnish us with the reasons for this singular
coincidence. As to ourselves, we do not believe in
chance, and so maintain that the passion and resurrec
tion of Christ, commemorated at Easter, are a part of
the old solar mysteries, or universal nature-worship.
In the religion of Mithra, or the sun-god worshipped
under this name by the Magians, we find the nearest
resemblance to the Christian mysteries of the death and
resurrection of Christ. Mithra was horn on the 25 th
December, like Christ; he died like him, and was
buried, and his disciples came to weep at his tomb.
His priests carried his image in the night to a sepulchre
prepared for him : he was laid out on a litter, like the
Phoenician Adonis. This procession, like our own on
Good Friday, was accompanied with funeral chants and
the wailing of priests. Some time was spent in feigned
sorrow, then the sacred torch or paschal candle was lit,
the image was anointed with cream or perfumes, and a
priest uttered the solemn words, “ Be of good cheer,
holy brotherhood, your God is risen, his sufferings have
worked out your salvation.* “ Why,” says the Chris* Cf.
“ The pain which he endured
Our salvation hath procured.”
�Under the name of Christ.
35
tian, writer from whom we take these details, 11 why do
you exhort these unhappy persons to he of good cheer ?
Why deceive them with false promises 1 The death of
your God is known, his resurrection is unknown : there
is no oracle to guarantee the fact: he has not shown
himself to man after his death in proof of his godhead.
This is an idol that you bury, an idol that you mourn
over, an idol that you take from the tomb with sorrow
changed into joy.” ... “ Tell me,” says Firmicus,
“ who has ever seen this God with bull’s horns, whose
death you lament ? ” Let Firmicus answer his own
question ; “ you, too, who mourn over the death of the
Lamb slain to wash away the sins of the world with his
blood, who has ever seen your Lamb-God, whose
triumphal resurrection you celebrate ? Do you not
know that two thousand years before the Christian era,
at the origin of the Persian religion and the worship of
Mithra’s bull, the sun crossed the equinoctial line under
the sign of the Bull ? It is only by reason of the pre
cession of the equinoxes that he now crosses it in the
sign of the Lamb. There is no change except in the
zodiacal signs, and in names. The religion is absolutely
the same.” In his assault upon the older faiths, Firmicus seems to have intentionally brought together all the
points of analogy between their mysteries and those of
Christians. He draws a fair parallel between the
Mithraic religion especially and that of Christ, the cause
of resemblance being that the latter religion is only a
sect of the former. True, Firmicus explains all this re
semblance between the two religions, by saying with Tertullian and Justin that long before the Christian era,
the devil used to take delight in causing its still future
mysteries and ceremonies to be travestied by his wor
shippers. An excellent reason this for such Christians
as may be found even now in abundance, but simply
pitiful for men of sound sense. We do not believe in
the devil, and are not in his secrets; so we shall only
say that the Christian religion, being founded, like all
�36
The Sun Worshipped
tlie others, upon sun-worship, has retained the same
dogmas, the same practices, the same mysteries, with
little variation in form. These points are the same,
because the God is the same; the accessories only
admit of change, the foundations remain. The earliest
apologists of Christianity allow that the Mithraic reli
gion had its sacraments, its baptism, its penance, its
eucharist, and mystic words of consecration. The cate
chumens of this religion had to pass through preparatory
tests severer than those of the Christians. The faithful
or initiated used to mark their foreheads with a sacred
sign ; they held the doctrine of resurrection, and won
the crown of martyrdom. Their sovereign pontiff might
not have been married more than once ; they had their
virgins and their rule of chastity; in short, the same
practices were found among them which afterwards
became current among Christians. True, Tertullian
calls up the devil again to account for such an exact
resemblance. But without the devil, it is easy to see
that the elder of two religions, which are so much alike,
is the mother, and the younger the daughter. And the
worship of Mithra is far more ancient than that of
Christ, and his ceremonies long anterior to those of
Christians; so we shall draw the conclusion that Chris
tianity is undoubtedly either a sect or an imitatiqn of
Magianism.
The learned Hyde tells us, that the Persians had a
theory about angels more complete than the Jewish or
Christian; they admitted the distinction of angels of
light, and angels of darkness; they were acquainted
with the story of their battles, and with the names of
the angels that have passed into our religion; they
named their children at baptism ; they had the same
fiction of paradise and hell, which is met with among
Greeks, Romans, and many other nations. They had
a hierarchical order, and all the ecclesiastical constitu
tion of Christians ; which in their case may be traced
back, according to Hyde, more than three thousand
�Under the name of Christ.
37
years. We cannot, however, agree with him that this
resemblance is the effect of a providential decree that
the Persians should do by anticipation, and in a spirit
of prophecy, what the Christians were to do afterwards.
Hyde was born in an island, where superstition almost
always ranges itself with philosophy in monstrous alli
ance ; and unless he was restrained by the fear of
shocking the prejudices of his time and country, in
thus disguising the opinion to which so striking a re
semblance must of necessity have given birth, it must
be allowed that learning is not always the same as good
sense, or of the same value. We agree with Hyde,
that the two religions are like each other in almost
every point; but our inference is, that the two are one,'
or at any rate two sects of the ancient religion of Ori
ental sun-worship, and that the institutions of both, with
their cardinal doctrines, have, at least as regards their
foundation, a common origin. The sun is always the
god of this religion, whether he be called Christ or
Mithra, Osiris, Bacchus, Adonis, Atys, &c. Let us now
pass on to the examination of the principal forms which
the sun-god of the Christians assumes in his triumph.
These forms are naturally taken from the zodiacal
sign, under which the sun passes, when he brings back
warmth and length of days to our hemisphere. When
Christianity made its appearance in the West, and for
more than fifteen centuries before, this sign was the
Pam, called the Lamb by the Persians in their cosmo
gony. This was the sign of the sun’s ascendant in
astrological systems, and ancient Sabseanism fixed its
chief festival at this season. The sun’s return to the
zodiacal Lamb brought fresh life to nature every year ;
hence the form which he took in his triumph was, in
mystical language,—the Lamb that taketh away the sins
of the world.
Just as Ahriman, lord of darkness, took the shape of
the autumnal constellation which brought back the
long nights’of winter ; the God of light, his conqueror,
�28
The Sun Worshipped
would duly assume in spring the form of the sign
under which his triumph was achieved. This follows
quite naturally from the principles adopted in our in
terpretation of the mythical introduction of evil by the
serpent. We know the sun-worshippers loved to re
present this orb with the shape and the attributes of
the zodiacal signs, with which he was in conjunction
month after month. Hence the various metamorphoses
of Jupiter among the Greeks, and Vishnu among the
Indians. He was painted as a young man leading a
ram, or carrying a ram on his shoulders, or armed with
rams’ horns; this last was the form under which
Jupiter Ammon revealed himself. Christ also took the
name and form of a lamb ; and this animal became his
symbolical expression. The name in use was not the
sun of the lamb, but simply the lamb, just as the sun
of the lion, or of Hercules, was usually called the lion.
These are only different expressions of the same idea,
and various representations of the same zodiacal crea
ture in the person of the sun of spring.
The special name of Lamb given to Christ as God of
light at his equinoctial triumph, is found everywhere
in the sacred books of Christians, but chiefly in their
book of initiations called the Apocalypse. The faith
ful are therein styled the disciples of the Lamb. The
Lamb is represented as slain in the presence of four
beasts, which are also amongst the constellations, at the
four cardinal points of the heavens. The twenty-four
hours, in the form of elders, fall down before the Lamb,
saying, as we read, “ Worthy is the Lamb that was slain,
to receive power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength,
and honour, and glory, and blessing.” The Lamb also
opens the book of fate, described as a book sealed with
seven seals.
All nations of the earth stand before the throne, and
before the Lamb ; they are clothed in white, with
palm branches in their hands, and cry with a loud
voice, “ Salvation to our God, which sitteth upon the
�Under the name of Christ.
39
throne.” We are reminded that the Lamb is the sign
of the sun-god’s ascendancy, when his orb seems to be
lifted up on high in triumph. The Lamb is surrounded
with a retinue consisting of multiples of twelve, over
whom he rules in the zodiacal signs. He appears stand
ing upon a mountain; the twelve tribes surround him,
ready to follow whithersoever he goeth. The conquer
ors of the dragon sing the song of the Lamb. It would
be superfluous to quote other passages: everywhere
the God of light, under the name of the Lamb, was the
great divinity to whom the neophyte consecrated himself in the initiatory rites of Christians. The mysteries
of Christ are neither more nor less than the mysteries
of the sun-god in his equinoctial triumph, under the
aspect of the zodiacal lamb. So the figure of a lamb
was the characteristic mark of the initiated, the tessera
or symbol by which the brethren of this religious free
masonry recognised each other. The Christians of that
day used to make their children wear the symbolical
figure of a lamb round their necks; every one has
heard of the well-known Agnus Dei.
The earliest representation of the God of the Chris
tians was a lamb, sometimes shedding its blood into a
vessel, sometimes stretched at the foot of a cross. This
custom lasted until the year 680, down to the pontifi
cate of Agathon, and the reign of Constantine Pogonatus.
The sixth synod of Constantinople (canon 32) decreed
that the old symbol of the lamb should be superseded
by another of a man fastened to a cross. This was
confirmed by Pope Adrian I. This symbol is seen to
this day on the tabernacle or small chest in which the
priests keep the circular image of their sun-god in gold
or silver, and also upon the frontal of their altars. The
lamb is often represented as lying down upon a cross
or upon the book of fate with seven seals. The number
seven is that of the seven spheres, of wrhich the sun is
the soul, whose revolution is reckoned from Aries, or
the equinoctial lamb.
�40
The Sun Worshipped
This, is the Lamb slain, from the foundation of the
world, according to the Christian saying; it furnishes
antitheses for the Easter ritual, Victimoe Paschall, &c.,
Agnus redemit ores, Ac. All the chants of this joyous
festival, corresponding with the Hilaria of the older sun
worshippers celebrated at the same season, recite the
victory of the Lamb over the Prince of Darkness. The
paschal candle is lit to show the triumph of light. The
priests are dressed in white, the colour of Ormuzd, the
god of light. Fresh fire and lustral water are conse
crated. Everything is made new in the churches as in
nature. The ancient Romans had the same custom in
March; they put up fresh laurels in the houses of
their flamens and their places of assembly. In like
manner the Persians, at their festival of Neurouz, or
the entry of the sun into the vernal lamb, celebrate in
song the renewal of all things, and the new day of the
new month of the new year of the new age, which is to
renew all that is born of time. They also have their
commemoration of the cross a few days earlier, followed
some days later by that of the victory.
Perseus, the ancient demigod, set over the node of
the vernal equinox, was believed to have drawn down
from heaven the eternal fire, which the Magians keep
up in their fire-shrines; the same which the Vestals
watched at Rome, to re-light the temple-fires every year
at spring-time. An ancient monument shows us that the
same ceremony was in use in Egypt. It represents a
funeral pile, made of three heaps of wood, each contain
ing ten pieces, the numbers answering to those of the
decans, and the division of the signs into parts of ten
degrees each. Thus there are thirty pieces of wood
corresponding with the number of degrees in a sign.
On each of the three piles lies a lamb or ram, and above
is a great image of the sun with rays reaching to the
ground. The priests touch these rays with the tips of
their fingers, thus receiving the sacred fire to kindle the
funeral pile of the Lamb, and give light to the world..
�Under the name of Christ.
■
4l
This scene recalls the equinoctial feast kept in Egypt
under Aries, in remembrance of the fire from heaven
that lights the -world. In this festival red, the colour
of fire, was used as a badge, as in the Jewish passover
or feast of the Lamb. This resurrection of the sacred
fire, which has its source in the sun, and returns every
year at springtime, to restore life to nature in our
hemisphere is the real resurrection of the sun-Christ,.
With this idea in view the Bishop of Jerusalem shuts
himself up every year in a vault, called the tomb of
Christ. He has with him bundles of tapers; he
strikes a light, and kindles them; then there is a sud
den burst of light, such as we see at the opera, to make
people believe that holy fire has fallen from Heaven to
earth. Next the Bishop comes out of the vault crying
aloud, “ the fire of heaven has fallen and the sacred
taper is lit.” The people rush in crowds to buy these
tapers, for they are everywhere the dupes of priests.
• The Lamb has been given to Christ as his name and
symbol, only because Christ is the sun, and the triumph
of the sun takes place every year under the sign of the
Lamb, which was then the first of the twelve, and the
one in which the vernal equinox occurred. The Trojans
consecrated the white Lamb to the sun and theircountry was famous for the mysteries of Atys, in which
the equinoctial Lamb plays a leading part. Just as
Christians suppose that their Sun-God Christ was
fastened to the wood of the cross j the Phrygian sun
worshippers under the name of Atys, represented him
in his passion as a young man bound to a tree, which
was cut down in their sacred rites. At the foot of the
tree was the Lamb or Bam of the equinox. These
mysteries of Atys lasted three days; there were
three days of mourning followed immediatelyfby the
joyous festival of the Hilaria, in commemoration of the
return of the sun Atys to his dominion.
This feast was that of the 25th March, the same day
on which the Passover and triumph of Christ were
�4^
The Sun Worshipped
originally kept; then was sung Hallelujah, the true
voice of the Hilaria, and How dies, “ This is the day the
Lord hath made, let us rejoice and be glad in it.” The
well known chant, 11 0 filii et filiaz,” was also sung.
There is no difference between these two festivals, ex
cept in the name of the hero of the tragedy, who is the
same God in both. That famous book of initiation
into the mysteries of the Lamb, called the Apocalypse,
was written in Phrygia. The Emperor Julian examines
the reasons for placing this solemnity at the vernal
equinox. He says it is because the sun then crosses
the line between him and us, and brings back long days
to our hemisphere. This takes place, he adds, when
the sun-king passes under the Earn or Lamb. “ At his
approach we celebrate in the mysteries the presence of
God our Saviour and Bedeemer.”
The Earn or Lamb plays such an important part in
Christianity, only because he fills the place which was
held before by the Bull in the mysteries of Bacchus,
and Mithra. Osiris and Bacchus, both represented
under the form of the Bull, the equinoctial sign of the
olden time, died and rose again like Christ. The
mysteries of their passion are reproduced in their
sanctuaries, like those of Atys among the Phrygians,
and of Christ among the Christians. Bathers of the
Church and Christian writers often allude to these
feasts of Osiris, who died and rose again, drawing a
parallel between them and the adventures of their God.
Athanasius, Augustine, Athenagoras, Minutius Felix,
Lactantius, Firmicus, as well as the ancient authors who
have written about Osiris, the Sun-God of Egypt, all
agree in their account of the universal mourning in
Egypt, at the commemoration of his death every year,
just as we commemorate the death of the Sun-Christ
on Good Friday. They describe the ceremonies in use
at his tomb, the mourning there for several days, and
the joyful festival afterwards, when his [resurrection
was proclaimed. He went down into hell, and thence
�Under the name of Christ.
43
returned to unite himself with Horus, the God of
Spring, and triumph over Typhon, the Prince of Dark
ness, the enemy who had done him to death. The
mysteries of his passion were called mysteries of night.
Macrobius says these ceremonies were the same in
meaning as those of Atys. They refer to the victory
of the sun over darkness represented by the serpent;
this was the shape which Typhon took in autumn,
when the sun entered Scorpio.
The story of Bacchus is the same—he was the Osiris
of Egypt and the Sun-God whose image was offered
every year at the winter solstice for the worship of the
people ; ancient writers are agreed upon this. Bacchus
died and went down to hell, and rose again; the
mysteries of his passion were celebrated every year,
under the name of Titanic feasts, or the Perfect night.
He was supposed to be torn to pieces by the Titans;
his mother Ceres reunited his limbs, and he came to
life again in youth and vigour; a bull was killed in
memory of his passion, and the flesh eaten raw, because
Bacchus, or the Sun-God with bull’s horns, had been
torn to pieces by the Titans. These mysteries do not
present to view the Lamb that was slain, but the Bull
that was torn to pieces. At Easter in Mingrelia the
prince tears a roast lamb to pieces with his own hands,
and distributes it amongst his courtiers.
Julius Firmicus gives us the Cretan legend of the
life and death of Bacchus : he will have him to be a
man, as he will have Christ to be ; but he confesses,
the Pagans regarded these stories as solar fables. True,
he is deaf to his own arguments, as many other people
are th ours : whether it be from ignorance or from love
of calumniating what they do not understand, all the
Fathers of the Church have criticised Paganism in the
same style. Firmicus even undertakes the defence of
the sun. He makes the day-god complain of the dis
honour done him by such impertinent fables. He says
he is drowned in the Nile, under the names of Osiris
�44
The Sun Worshipped
and Horus, torn to pieces as Atys and Adonis, boiled
in a cauldron, or roasted on a spit as Bacchus. He
might have added, he was crucified under the name of
Christ. At any rate, it is clear from Firmicus that
there was a tradition among the heathen that these in
credible tragedies were mysterious fables about the sun,
the very same thing that we are establishing here in
our interpretation of the legend of Christ’s death and
resurrection at the vernal equinox.
The name of Saviour was given to Bacchus no less
than to Christ; so also to Jupiter, the god with ram’s
horns, whose statue stood in the temple of the virgin,
Minerva Polias, at Athens. Moreover, the notion of
a god coming down upon earth was neither new nor
peculiar to Christians. The ancients believed the
Supreme Being had sent out his sons or grandsons on
several occasions for the .welfare of the human race.
Amongst these were Hercules and Bacchus, or the sun
god under two different names. Bacchus worked
miracles like Christ; he healed the sick, and foretold
things to come. He was threatened with death in
early infancy, as Christ was by Herod.
The miracle of the three pitchers, which filled them
selves with wine in his temple, may be set against that
of the marriage feast of Cana. The festival in com
memoration of this Christian miracle takes place on the6th January : on the nones of the same month a similar
miracle used to be worked in the temple of Bacchus in
the isle of Andros. Every year a fountain was seen to
flow, the water of which tasted like wine. It would
seem as if the author of the Christian legend had
collected sundry marvellous fictions, prevalent among
sun-worshippers under other names. Bacchus, like
Christ, was said to be himself God, the son of God,
and the wisdom of God, associated with matter, and
incarnate. Like Christ, Bacchus established mysterious
rites, in which the serpent, so conspicuous in the fable
of the Lamb, was brought upon the scene, as also the
�Under the name of Christ.
45
-apples of the Hesperides. These rites pledged men. to
a life of virtue. His disciples expected him to come
again; they hoped that he would one day take to him
self the government of the universe, and restore mankind
to their original blessedness. They were often perse
cuted, like the followers of Christ and Serapis, or rather
-of the sun worshipped under these two names. Many
crimes were imputed to those who came together for
these mysteries, as to the early Christians, and in general
to all the celebrants of unknown secret rites. Some
legends make Ceres, the celestial virgin, his mother;
but the most ancient say that Proserpine, daughter of
Ceres, conceived him by the supreme Being in the shape
of a serpent. This is the'far-famed serpent of (Esculapius,
which healed all manner of diseases, like that of Moses
in the wilderness, to which Christ compares himself.
The offspring of their loves was the horned Bacchus;
because in reality whenever the sun Was in conjunction
with the autumnal serpent, then the Bull of the Spring
rose on the horizon, the same that lent its forms to
Bacchus, and bore his nurses, the Hyades, on his brow.
In later ages he had to take the forms of the Lamb,
and then Ceres, or the constellation Virgo, became his
mother, in the sense of presiding at his birth. Por we
have already seen that he was represented under the
symbol of a new-born infant at the winter solstice, by
way of expressing the infancy of the sun-god, who was
worshipped under the name of Bacchus in Greece,
Thrace, Asia Minor, India, and Arabia, of Osiris in Egypt,
of Mithra in Persia, and of Adonis in Phoenicia; for
Adonis is the same as Osiris and Bacchus, by consent
of ancient authors. But under this latter name his legend
is different from that of Osiris and Bacchus, and less
pretentious. He is no longer a king or conqueror, but
a youth of rare beauty, like the sun in spring time.
The Goddess of nature falls desperately in love with
him. He is torn from her by death: an enormous
wild boar in the hunting season wounds him in the
generative organs. The ill-fated lover of Venus dies,
�46
‘The Sun Worshipped
and goes down, into hell, and is mourned as dead upon
the earth. The Goddess of hell, mother of Bacchus,
and visited by Bacchus also in the infernal regions,
keeps him with her for six months. At the end of
six months he is restored to life, and to his mistress,
who in turn delights in his presence for six months, only
again to lose and again to recover him. The same suc
cession of mourning and joy was repeated every year.
All writers about this sacred fiction have agreed that
' Adonis is the sun : his death is his departure from our
regions ; his sojourn in hell for six months is the time
he passes in the lower hemisphere, when nights are
long ; his return to light is his transition to the upper
hemisphere, where he remains also for six months, and
the earth clothes herself the while with all the beauties
of vegetation and love.
This is Macrobius’ interpretation of the legend. He
judged rightly that this legend, like the similar tales of
Osiris and Atys, had no other meaning than the sun’s
advance through the zodiac, with the relative effects of
his approach or departure upon the earth. These
annual phenomena were the cause of joy and sorrow in
succession, and gave rise to religious ceremonies in
commemoration of the death and resurrection of the
sun-god Adonis. A handsome bed was made ready for
him, by the side of the Goddess of generation and
spring time, mother of the Loves and Graces. Baskets
of flowers, perfumes, cakes, and fruits were offered him,
the first fruits of those blessings which the sun brings
to life. He was called upon in song to hear the vows
of mortals. There was a mournful celebration of his
sufferings and death before the rejoicings over his return
to life. His disciples first sharing the grief of Venus
and then her joy. The festival of his resurrection,
according to Corsini, was placed on the 25th March, the
eighth day before the calends of April.
The funeral rites of Adonis were kept with much
ceremony at Alexandria, and also at Athens. In his
life of Alcibiades and Nicias, Plutarch tells us that the
�Under the name of Christ.
47
Athenian fleet set out on the ill-fated Sicilian expedi
tion at the time of the commemoration of the death of
Adonis. His image was being carried to the tomb,
accompanied by women weeping and beating their
breasts, as at a funeral. Sinister auguries were drawn
from this which the result justified only too well. The
women of Argos (for the women everywhere are the
'mainstay of superstition) went to weep, like Martha and
Mary at the tomb of Adonis, in a shrine of the Saviour
God, otherwise the Earn, or Jupiter, invoked by the
name Saviour.
Procopius and St Cyril also mention the mournful
celebration of the death of Adonis, and the joyful
festivals afterwards in honour of his resurrection.
Lamentation was made for the lover of Venus ; and
his gaping wound was shown like the spear-thrust in
the side of Christ. These fictions and these ceremonies
were meant to attest the truth of the legend. Men
believe such tales when supported by such evidence.
Nevertheless, in spite of all the prestige of ritual, the
pagans, so called, refused to believe that Adonis was a
real man, as our teachers would have us believe in the
. case of the sun-christ. They always held Adonis to be
a personification of the sun, and have explained the
miraculous legend of the lover of Venus, by the natu
ral phenomena of the sun’s revolution. The poems of
Orpheus and Theocritus show plainly enough that
Adonis is the god who governs.the seasons of the year.
They call upon him to come with the new year, to
make nature rejoice and earth bring forth her blessings.
The hours and the seasons are charged to bring him
back at the right time. Orpheus calls Adonis the god
of a thousand names, the nursing father of nature, the
god whose light is quenched and lit again by the revo
lution of the hours, who goes down to hell and rises
again to heaven, bringing life and warmth to nature.
Under the name of Horus also, the seed of the virgin
Isis, the sun underwent the same trials. He was per
�.48
The Sun Worshipped
secuted by Typhon in the form of a serpent, over
whom he triumphs, but not until he has been first cut
to pieces like Bacchus, and brought back to life by his
goddess-mother, who bestows immortality upon him.
We find the chief features of this legend in Christian
writers, fathers of the church. They describe the
sorrow of Isis at her son’s death, and the mourning
that gave place to joy at his resurrection. But Horus,
by consent of all early writers, is the same as Apollo,
and Apollo is the sun-god. Hence it follows that the
sun was the object of the festivals in commemoration of
the death and resurrection of Horus. Thus it was a
fundamental part of sun-worship, to make him die and
rise again, and to commemorate either fact with reli
gious rites and sacred legends. Hence the tombs
erected everywhere for the sun-god under different
names. There was one for Hercules at Cadiz, where
his bones were shown; one for Jupiter in Greece, one
for Bacchus, many for Osiris in Egypt. The tomb of
Apollo is shown at Delphi, in which he was laid when
slain by the serpent Python. Thither came three women
to weep, like the three women who wept at the tomb
of Christ. Apollo afterwards triumphed over his
enemy Python ; and his triumph was celebrated every
year in spring with solemn games. The Hyperboreans,
whose chief deity was Apollo, celebrated the sun’s
return to the sign of the Lamb, at the vernal equinox,
and kept up their festival till the rising of the Pleiades.
Apollo also took the name of Saviour, a name given
him by the Ambraciots. Eestivals were held in his
honour .at Athens and Sparta, at the full moon of
spring, the paschal full moon of Jews and Christians.
Many northern nations sacrificed to the sun at the
beginning of spring; and in all the Greek islands
feasts were*kept in honour of the genial god, conqueror
•of winter and the serpent Python. It would be useless
to bring forward other instances of festivals celebrated
throughout our hemisphere, in thankful commemora-
�49
Under the name of Christ.
. >
"lion, of the sun’s approach, and of the blessings which
he brings.
We have given proof enough that almost every
where these joyful festivals were preceded by some days
•€f mourning. The death of the sun personified was
first commemorated, and then his allegorical resurrec
tion and triumph over the prince of darkness. The
Phrygians used to call them the festival of the sun’s
awaking j for they pretended that he was asleep during
the six months of autumn and winter. The Paphlagonians imagined him as bound in chains during the
winter, and in the spring celebrated with songs the
happy moment of his deliverance from captivity. The
. prevailing usage was to bring him to life, after an ex
hibition of the tragical circumstances of his supposed
death. All these mystic fictions had no other object,
as we have seen, than to represent the alternate victory
of night over day, and day over night, together with
the earth’s successive action and repose under solar
influences. These annual phenomena were described
in allegorical language, under the tragical metaphors
of death, crucifixion, and dismemberment, always fol
lowed by resurrection. So the legend of Christ’s birth
nt the winter solstice, and his triumph at the vernal
equinox, under the forms of the Lamb, has all the fea
tures of the ancient solar fictions, with which it has
been compared. The festivals of Christianity, as of
all solar religions, are inseparably connected with the
cardinal points of the sun’s orbit. Whence we con
clude that Christ as man bears a strong resemblance to
the personification of the sun. His mysteries have all
the^ characteristics of sun-worship • or rather, to speak
plainly, the single object of the Christian religion, in its
legends and in its ceremonies, is the worship of eternal
light, revealed to man by the sun.
This idea with regard to the religion of Christians
has been entertained by other writers before us. Tertullian allows that from the earliest appearance of this
D
�50
The Sun Worshipped
religion in the Western world, enquirers of partially
enlightened minds have maintained that it was only an
offshoot of Mithraic worship, and that the sun was the
deity of Christians, as well as of Persians. Many
Christian customs have been thought to disclose such
an origin. When praying, Christians always faced
towards the east where the sun rises. All their
churches, and the places of their religious meetings,
were of old directed towards the rising sun. Their
weekly festival answered to the sun’s day, called Sun
day, or the day of the lord sun. The ancient Franks
called Sunday the sun’s day. These customs were
essentially connected with the very nature of their re
ligion.
The Manichseans, whose religion was made up of
Christianity and Magianism, always in their prayers
turned to the quarter where the sun was. Zoroaster
had given the same precept to his disciples. The
Manichseans had not altogether lost the thread of
ancient Persian belief, with regard to the two principles
and the sun-god Mithra, of whom Christ is an imita
tion. Accordingly they maintained that Christ was
the sun, or that he made his abode in the sun, as the
ancients said of Apollo and Hercules. This fact is
attested by Theodoret, Cyril, and Leo. In consequence
of this opinion, the more orthodox, because more igno
rant, Christians would not admit them to their com
munion, unless they abjured their heretical dogma,
that Christ was the same as the sun. There exist to
the present day in the East two Christian sects of re
puted sun-worshippers. The Gnostics and the Basilidians, the most learned and almost the most ancient
sectaries of this religion, have preserved many features
which betray the origin of this solar worship. They
give their Christ the name of Iao, which the oracle of
Claros in Macrobius gives to the sun. They had their
three hundred and sixty-five ZEons or genii, in number
equal to the 365 days, which the sun begets, and their
�Under the name of Christ.
»
5 1.
ogdoad, representative of the spheres. In short, Chris
tianity had so much in common with sun-worship, that
the Emperor Adrian called the Christians worshippers
of Serapis, that is to say, of the sun; for Serapis was
the same as Osiris; and the antique coins which hear
the impress of Serapis, have this legend, Sun Serapis.
So we are neither the only writers, nor the first, that
have classed Christians with sun-worshippers; and if
our assertion seems to be a paradox, at all events it is
not new.
The result of our arguments is that Christianity,
whose origin, at all events in the west, is of recent date,
has borrowed everything from the ancient religions.
The fiction of paradise on earth, and the introduction
of evil by the serpent, which is the groundwQrk of the
doctrine of Christ’s Incarnation, and his name Re
deemer, is taken from the books of Zoroaster. It is no
more than an allegory upon physical good and evil,
which intermingle in equal proportions in the opera
tions of nature every year. The Redeemer from evil
and the conqueror of darkness is the sun of Easter.
The legend of Christ’s death and resurrection resembles
all the legends and ancient poems about the personifi
cation of the sun : and their mysterious rites are the
same as those of Osiris, Bacchus, Adonis, and above all
of Mithra, or the sun worshipped under many differe-rft
names. The doctrinal .system is far more ancient
than Christianity.
It is found in the Platonists,
Plotinus in Macrobius, and other writers, who were
strangers to Christianity and imbued with Platonism
centuries before its existence; the same principles
were held by their disciples in the days of the earliest
Christian writers. In short the Christians have nothing
which they can say is their own work, still less which
is the work of God.
Now that we have proved that the incarnation of
Christ is a personification of the sun, that his death
and resurrection are also to be referred to the sun, and
�52
The Sun Worshipped
that Christians are as really sun-worshippers, as the
Peruvians whom they massacred, we come to the grand
question, whether Christ ever existed or not. If the
question be understood to be, whether Christ, the ob
ject of Christian worship, is a real or ideal Being, he
is evidently a real Being; since we have proved that
he is the sun. Nothing can be more real than the
orb that lighteth every man that cometh into the
world ; he was, and is, and is to be. But if the ques
tion is, whether there ever was a man, called Christ,
impostor or not, who established, under the name of
Christianity, the ancient mysteries of Mithra and
Adonis ; it matters little to our work, whether he did
or did not exist. Nevertheless we believe he did not;
and we think that as the worshippers of Hercules were
wrong in believing in the existence as man of the hero
of the twelve labours, simply because he was the sun ;
so the worshippers of Christ are wrong in ascribing
existence as man to the personification of the sun in
their legend. Bor what proof have we of the existence
of such a man ? The general belief of Christendom,
from the origin of the sect, or at any rate of its litera
ture ! But it is evident they know no other Christ,
than him who was born of the virgin’s womb, died,
went down into hell, and rose again; whom they call
the Lamb, that taketh away the sins of the world.
Now we have proved that this is the sun, and no man
at all, impostor or philosopher; and they themselves,
in their ignorance, would be no more willing to allow
that they worshipped a man as God, than that they
worshipped the sun as Christ.
If we look for evidence of the existence of Christ
in heathen authors, we shall find that not one, of those
at least whose works have come down to us, professes to
give any account of the subject. For a century after the
date of his birth, according to the legend, we scarcely
find any historian who says a word about him; and
even what they do say is less about him than the
�Under the name of Christ.
53
Christians so-called. Tacitus mentions the name, only
to give the etymology of the word Christian ; this, he
says, was derived from the name of one Christ, who
was put to death under Pilate ; in other words, Tacitus
repeats what the legend says, and we have seen that
this legend was a solar fiction. If Tacitus had men
tioned the Brahmins, he would have said, that they
derived their name from a certain Brahma, who lived
in India; for so ran the legend. Nevertheless this
would have been no proof of the existence of Brahma
as man; for Brahma is only the name of one of the
three attributes of the Godhead personified. Tacitus
had to speak in his Annals of Nero and the Christian
sect ; and gave the received etymology, without caring
to enquire, whether Christ was a real man, or the hero
of a sacred legend; such an enquiry was foreign to his
purpose.
Suetonius, also speaking of the Jews, supposes that
they caused great disturbance at Pome, in the reign of
Claudius, and that they were stirred up by one Christ,
who was the cause of their banishment from Rome by
this Emperor. Which of the two historians are we to
believe, Tacitus or ’Suetonius, seeing that they are
so much at variance as to the place and time in which
this supposed Christ lived ? Christians will prefer
Tacitus, as he seems to agree better with the solar
legend. As to ourselves, we shall say, that these two
historians only mentioned Christ on the faith of vague
rumours, without attaching any importance to them;
and their testimony is not sufficient evidence of Christ’s
existence as man. If his existence had been an un
questionable fact, writers of the age of Tertullian,
who had seriously enquired into the origin of
Christianity, would not have maintained, that the
Christian religion was worship of the sun, and not
worship of a man who had lived in bygone days. Let
us honestly confess that- men make Christ to be a legis
lator or impostor, only for want of faith to make him
�54
The Sun Worshipped
a God, or of knowledge enough of solar fictions, to
recognise in him the hero of a priestly legend. Thus
men who are unable to accept the exploits of Hercules
as real facts, or to allow him to be a God, are reduced
to make him a great prince, whose life has been em
bellished with a colouring of the marvellous. This way
of explaining things is very simple, but yields no true
result; and Hercules is none the less a personification
of the sun. The age assigned to Christ is nearer to our
own, than that of Hercules. But when an error is
once established, and enlightened criticism placed on
the list of crimes; when authorities are fabricated,
and some are tampered with, and others destroyed,
there is no wray left to recover truth after a lapse of
time.
If there be some ages of light to the wise and free,
all ages are dark to the many, above all in matters of
religion. We may measure the credulity of the masses
in those days by the impudence of the authors of the
earliest legends. If they are to be believed, they do
not speak from hearsay, but were eye witnesses of the
facts they relate—facts so absurdly miraculous as to be
impossible of belief to any one who understands the
course of nature. The writers are said to have been
simple persons, and the legend is in fact simple enough;
but if men are so foolish as to believe everything, and
to say that they have seen, when they cannot see at all,
their testimony is no historical guarantee. Besides, the
writers of the Gospels were far from being entirely
without education and enlightenment, traces of impos
ture may be found in them. One of them, after going
through nearly the same story as the other three,
declares that Jesus worked so many other miracles, that
if they should be written, every one, “ even the world
itself couldnot contain the books that should be written.”
The metaphor is a little strong; but how is it that of
all these miracles not one has come down to us, and
that the four evangelists confine themselves to nearly
�Under the name of Christ.
55
the same round of events ? Has there been no adroit
ness on the part of those who have transmitted these
writings to us ? no effort to secure harmony enough to
establish the probability of accounts, supposed to be
written independently of each other ? There are thou
sands of remarkable events in the life of Christ, never
theless the four writers of his life are agreed only to
speak of the same facts. The rest are passed over in
silence by all the disciples of Christ; tradition and
sacred history have no word to say. The author of the
legend known as St John’s Gospel doubtless reckoned
upon having none but good believers to read him. To
admit the testimony of these books as proof of the ex
istence of Christ, is in fact to undertake to believe all
they say. For if they are to be believed, when they
say that Christ lived among them, what reason have we
for refusing to believe that he lived as they say, and
that his life was signalized by the miraculous works
ascribed to him ? Good Christians do believe all this;
and if they are credulous, at least they are consistent.
It might be possible that they should deceive themselves
and us as to the details of the life of Christ, and still
'their mistake might not tell fatally against the fact of
his existence. But again, what reliance can be placed
upon authors, even as regards his existence, who deceive
themselves and others upon every other point, especially
when there is a legend, of which the sun, under the
name of Christ, is the object? Are we not naturally
driven to believe that the worshippers of the Sun-Christ
have created for him a historical existence, just as the
worshippers of the same sun, under the names of
Adonis, Bacchus, Hercules, and Osiris have done,
although the principal teachers of these religions well
knew that Bacchus, Osiris, Hercules, and Adonis never
existed as men, and were nothing more than personifi
cations of the Sun-God ? Moreover, there never could
be persons so ignorant and so credulous as to be easily
induced, like the early Christians, to adopt an oriental
�56
The Sun Worshipped
legend about Mithra or the sun, without any suspicion
on the part of their teachers, who had received it them
selves from other priests of an earlier age, that they
were still worshipping the sun. The older fable was
revived by men of defective education, whose intention
was to associate with it the elements of morality, under,
the name of the doctrine which Christ, the Son of God,,
delivered to man. Its mysteries had been celebrated
in the obscurity of sanctuaries for many ages, under the
names of Mithra and Adonis. The moral lessons might
have been put into the mouth of this latter personage,
had not his love adventures been too well known. One
of the less common mystic names of the sun was chosen,
and the authors of the legend adapted to it the events
of their own age, with no fear of criticism from a sect,,
in which credulity is a sacred duty.
It would be impossible to push the impudence of
imposture further than was done by the first Christian,
writers, men who were either fanatics themselves, or
tried to make others so. A letter is quoted from.
Dionysius the Areopagite, which testifies that he and
the sophist Apollophanes were at Heliopolis, when the
pretended solar eclipse occurred which, at full moon,
in opposition to all the laws of nature, took place at
the death of the sun, or Christ; a miracle of course..
He affirms that they distinctly saw the moon come and
place herself before the sun, remain there for three
hours, and then return to the point of opposition in the
east, where she would not be due until fourteen days
afterwards. Wherever there are forgers so shamelessas to make up such stories with any hope of acceptance,
there must be foolish persons ready to believe anything,
and anything may be ventured. Phlegon has collected
a number of marvellous tales, which show the shame
ful credulity of those ages. The history of Dion
Cassius is no less fruitful in prodigies of every kind;
which proves the readiness with which miracles were
then received. The pretended miracles of Simon
�Under the name of Christ.
57
Magus, ancl the ready credence apparently given to
this tissue of imposture, show that the common people
were ready to believe anything in those days; and Chris
tianity first rose and spread among the common people.
The careful reader of the martyrologies of the first
three centuries, and of the history of Christianity, may
well blush for shame at the dishonour done to human
nature by imposture on the one hand and credulity on
the other. Nevertheless, such is all the evidence given
of the history, and even the existence, of a God or
divine person, who is not so much as mentioned by
any writer out of his own sect, at the very time when
he might be expected to have startled the world with
his miracles. The evidences of Christ’s existence arethe etymology of the word Christian, given by Tacitus,
a century after his birth, and a passage interpolated by
a pious fraud in Josephus. If this latter author had
known of Christ, he would not have failed to expatiateupon the life of a man, who had played so great a part
in his own country. Recourse to such means shows,
the difficulty of persuading men who are resolved to
have a reason for the faith that is in them. If there
had been in Judaea a man, who had set his mark on
his age, either as a great legislator and philosopher, or
as a notable impostor, Tacitus would not have limited,
himself to the simple statement, with regard to Christ,
that he died in Judaea. The execution of such an extra
ordinary man would have furnished such a philosophi
cal historian with much matter for reflection. Tacitusevidently thought the name of Christ of no interest,
except as giving the etymology of Christians, a sect
recently known at Rome, and marked from the first
with hatred and contempt. He related simply what
he had heard, on the authority of credulous Christians,
and nothing more. So here again we have the guar
antee of Christian credulity, not of Tacitus or Suetonius..
Much weight will assuredly be claimed for the general
belief of Christ’s worshippers, who from age to age
�58
The Sun Worshipped
have attested his existence and his miracles, just as
they have attested those of many martyrs and saints,
which no one now believes. But it has already been
shown in the case of Hercules, that the belief of genera
tions in matters of religion proves nothing more than
the credulity of believers; Hercules is none the
less the sun, whatever the Greeks may have said or
thought. A great error is more easily propagated than
a great truth because it is easier to believe than
to reason, and because the marvels of romance are
preferred to simple history. Were we to adopt this
rule of criticism, we should oppose to Christianity the
firm belief which every nation has had and still has
in the miracles and oracles of its religion, by way of
proof of their truth; a proof which Christians would
scarcely allow; and we shall do no more when their
religion is in question. They will say, no doubt, that
they alone have the truth all to themselves. But
other religions will say so too. Who shall decide
between them ? Common sense, rather than received
opinion, however general it may be. To disbelieve the
existence of Christ, and the truthfulness of sacred
historians, would be to destroy the very foundations of
history. So they say. Cicero’s brother said also that
it would destroy the foundations of history if the truth
of the Delphic oracles were denied. Let Christians
say whether they think they would be destroying
the foundations of history by an assault upon these
pretended oracles ; and whether the Roman orator
would have thought he was destroying the foundations
of history by denying the truth of their prophesies,
supposing he had known anything about them. Each
party stands up for its own chimaera, and not for historic
truth.
Astrology has met with wide spread and long con
tinued acceptance; but its basis is futile, and its results
false. It has set its mark upon almost all the monu
ments of antiquity. It predicts everything except the
truth; yet the whole world has believed in it, or believes
�Under the name of Christ.
59
in it still. Cicero proves the reality of divination by a
number of facts brought together in support of his
assertion ; he alleges especially the universal acceptance
and great antiquity of the science. There has never
been a nation without oracles, divinersj augurs, prophets,
without belief in dreams and in lots. This may be
true ; but what inference must be drawn ? That cre
dulity is an inveterate disease of the whole human,
race; and that the world consists of two classes, knaves
who lead, and fools who let themselves be led. The
reality of ghosts could be equally well proved by anti
quity and general consent, and the miracles of St Roch
and JEsculapius by the votive offerings in their temples.
Human reason has narrow limitations ; but credulity is
a bottomless abyss, which swallows all that is thrown
in, and refuses nothing. The science of augury is not
substantiated, because A coins Nsevius is said to have fore
told with truth that Tarquin could accomplish the wish
in his mind, which was to cut a whetstone with a razor.
A statue erected in the forum perpetuated the remem
brance of this miracle, and was a proof to every Roman
of the infallibility of augurs. The swaddling clothes
■of Christ and the wood of his cross no more prove his
real existence, than the print of Hercules’ foot proves
that he ever lived, or the columns in the plain of St
Denys, that the saint walked there with his head in his
hands. St Denys or Dionysius is only the Bacchus of
Greece or Osiris of Egypt, whose head sailed every
year from the Nile to Byblus, like the head of Orpheus
on the river Hebrus. This is a good instance of the
effects of imposture and ignorance, when the priest has
established his supremacy over the human mind.
The Greeks worshipped Bacchus under the name of
Dionysius or Denys ; he was celebrated as the founder
of their mysteries under the name of Eleutherius,
translated into Liber by the Latins. Two principal
festivals were kept in his honour, one in spring, and
one in the vintage season. The latter was a rustic,
�60
dbe Sun Worshipped
the former an urban ceremony. A day was added in
honour of Demetrius, king of Macedonia, who held his
court at Pella on the Gulf of Thessalonica ; he was
only another name of Bacchus. The feast of Bacchus
was designated in the pagan calendar by these words,
Festum Dionysii Eleutherii Rustici. Our good fore
fathers made of these names three saints, Denys and
•his companions, Eleutherius, and Rusticus. On the
day before they read the feast of Demetrius; so on the
eve of St Denys they placed the festival of St Deme
trius, and made him a martyr of Thessalonica. He is
also said to have been put to death by Maximine, in
despair at the death of Lygeus : Lyeeus as well as
Demetrius is a name of Bacchus. On the day before
this they placed the festival of St Bacchus, and made
him too to be an Eastern martyr. So in the Latin
calendar, the priests’ guide for the commemoration of
saints and the celebration of festivals, we find on the
7th October, feast of St Bacchus; on the Sth, feast of
St Demetrius; on the 9th, feast of Saints Denys, Eleu
therius, and Rusticus. Thus they have made saints of'
several different names or epithets of the same god, and
given them to him as so many companions. It has been
shown in the explanation of the poem of R onnus, the
Dionysiacs, that Bacchus married the Zephyr, or gentle
breeze, under the name of the Nymph Aura. Well,
two days before the feast of Denys or Bacchus is that
of Aura Placida the Zephyr, under the names St Aura
and St Placida.
In like manner'the expression of good will, perpetua,'
felicitas, gave rise to two female saints, Perpetua and
Felicitas, whose names are taken together in the invo
cation; and rogare and donare, to pray and to give,
became St Rogation and St Donatian, whose names are
also taken together. Another joint festival was that of
St Flora and St Lucy, flowers and light. St Bibiana
had her day at the season in which the Greeks kept
their Pithoegia, or opening of the tuns : St Apollinaria
�Under the name of Christ.
61
had hers some days after the dayoftheApollinariangam.es
at Rome. Even the ides of the month were canonized
by the name of St Ides. The real face or image of
Christ, vera eicon or wonzca, became St Veronica. The
beautiful star of the Corona, Margarita, over the serpent
of Ophiuchus, was changed into St Margaret, repre
sented with a serpent or dragon under her feet: her
festival is kept a few days after this star sets. There is
a feast, also of St Hippolytus dragged by horses, like
the son of Theseus and favourite of Phoedra. His
remains were said to have been brought from the island
of Scyros to Athens by Cimon. Sacrifices were offered
to these pretended relics, as if Theseus himself had re
turned to the city. This solemnity was repeated every
year, on the 8th of November. Our calendar appoints
the same day for the Feast of the Holy Relics. It is
evident that the pagan calendar, with its impersonations
of nature and life, has entered largely into the Christian
calendar without much hindrance. These reflections
need not be carried further, because the object of this
work is not to expose the blunders of ignorance, or the
impudence of imposture. Our task is rather to trace
back the Christian religion to its real origin, to point
out its descent, to show its connection with all other
religions, and to prove that it is embraced within the
circle of the universal worship of nature and of the sun.
The mass of mankind must be abandoned to the priests,
but our object will have been attained if a few readers
are convinced that Christ is only the sun; that light
is the object of Christian mysteries, as well as of those of
Mithra and Adonis and Osiris ; that this religion differs
from all the other religions of antiquity in its names,
and forms, and allegories, while the substance is the
same; in short, that a good Christian is a sun-wor
shipper. • For the future, if men determine to believe
in the existence of a personage, who is neither the
Christ of the legend nor the Christ of the mysteries, it
matters little to us. There is no necessity for this
�62 Sun Worshipped under the name of Christ.
second Christ, since he would not be the central figure
of the Christian religion, whose nature we are interested
in defining. As to ourselves, we believe that this
, second Christ has no existence; and we think that
more than one judicious reader will agree with us that
Christ was no more a real personage than Hercules.
Undoubtedly there will be others who will admit our
interpretation of the fundamental mysteries of Chris
tianity, and yet persist in believing that Christ was
either a legislator or impostor; because they had made
up their minds beforehand, and it is not easy to change
a fixed opinion. As this is the extent of their philo
sophy, there is no need for us to labour at length to call
their attention to the absence of historic evidence for
Christ’s existence as man.
�
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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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Christianity: a form of the great solar myth from the French of Dupuis
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Dupuis, Charles Francois [1742-1809]
Description
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Place of publication: London
Collation: vi, 62 p. ; 18 cm.
Notes: Translated from 'the ninth chapter of Dupuis' abridged work' (p. vi) - presumably Abrege de l'origine de tous les cultes (Paris : Lebigre Freres, 1836), by Charles Francois Dupuis, 1742-1809. From the library of Dr Moncure Conway.
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Thomas Scott
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[1873]
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CT204
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Christianity
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English
Christianity
Conway Tracts
Mythology
Sun Worship
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Text
“ATHEIS M.”
I.
A SERMON,
PREACHED AT ST. GEORGE’S HALL, LANGHAM PLACE,
JANUARY 12th, 1873, by the
REV. CHARLES VOYSEY.
From the Eastern Post, January Y&th, 1873.
On Sunday'(Jan. 12th) at St. George’s Hall, the Rev. C. Voysey
took his text from Ephesians ii., 12., “ Having no hope and without
God in the world.”
I was speaking last Sunday of our special mission to the
Orthodox Christians, and how it lies in our power to liberate them
from their present position of doubt and dissatisfaction, by winning
them over to our more rational, simple, and consoling belief in God.
But we have another high duty to perform, another mission to
fulfil. There are around us on every hand, almost in every home,
men who are practically Athiests, who ■without actually denying,
in open speech, that there is a God, yet are totally indifferent to
the subject, and care nothing at all whether there be a God or not.
Some of these have joined the school of thinkers who look upon
one question at least as definitively settled; who, at all events, have
satisfied themselves that if there be a God it is impossible for man
to know anything about him ; and who, therefore think it is a
waste of time, energy, and thought to pursue any enquiry into
things Divine. I believe that by far the largest number of
Atheists are men of this school, and the obvious causes of. their
Atheism may be found in the wide-spread diversity of religious
opinion, which shows that even those who believe m a God cannot
agree among themselves as to his nature, or attributes, or dealings
with mankind'; and also in the entire failure of Christianity to
present us with a religious belief in harmony with the Reason, the
Conscience, and the Affections of man,
�The breaking up of their old belief has landed them in a waste
howling wilderness. They have nothing in exchange for what they
have lost, They are “ Without hope and without God in the world. ”
Now it is a fact which I never contemplate without the deepest
delight, that there are some amongst us, some even of our most
devoted friends and supporters, who were for a time Atheists, and
whose hearts were clouded over by utter infidelity, but who
recovered for themselves the blessed solace of a firm faith in a good
God, and whose religious instincts have found new life and fresh
occupation.
Years and years ago many of us must have foreseen what one
of the immediate consequences of the downfall of Orthodoxy
would surely be, viz. : “ The temporary but total eclipse of faith
in the hearts of thousands.” Francis W. Newman, foreseeing this,
prefaced all his work of destruction by sending forth his book
entitled, “The Soul; Her Sorrows and Aspirations,” which was, in
reality, an “ Essay on the Positive Foundations of Practical
Religion.” And his instinctive desire to furnish a. foundation for
true faith in place of the old one, which he was about to remove,
has been shared by other great reformers in this age. In the
works of Theodore Parker and of Francis Power Cobbe, and even
in the purely critical works of Bishop Colenso, the same desire to
establish a pure and true faith is everywhere manifested. The
spirit which has animated the movement with which we are
specially connected is essentially the same, and no libel could be
more unjust than to say we only want to pull down errors and
have nothing to put in their place.
I conceive it to be, then, a very important part of our work to
endeavour to stop the further progress of that Atheism -which
threatens to become so popular, and to win back the poor
wandering souls who have no Divine shepherd to feed, to guide, and
to defend them.
But before we can undertake such an important task we must
carefully consider how it is best to set about it. There are always
two or more ways of doing everything, and we may do more harm
than good if we adopt the wrong method.
Experience of certain wrong methods will furnish us with
one or two excellent cautions -which I will now briefly touch
upon.
�o
1. It was the custom for religious people to approach the un
believing and the hetrodox with an air of superiority; to treat
them as if they were wicked, or, at least, greatly to blame for their
unbelief or their heresy. Now, if we would do any good, if we
wish to be true to our own principles, we must forswear such a
grave mistake as that. The Atheist is, for the most part, on a level
with ourselves, morally and intellectually, not unfrequently our
superior in what is noblest in man. He, at least, has made the
greatest sacrifice which a human heart could make for the sake of
Truth. In his loyalty to what he believed to be true he gave up
all the bright possibilities of a believer’s joy, and abandoned all
hope of a life to come.
We cannot, without folly, as well as impertinence, lecture such a
man as a missionary lectures his idolatrous savage. We cannot,
without indecency, approach such a man with our patronage and
address him with a lofty commiseration.
'lire best attitude we can wear is that which most truly accords
with our inmost humility as seekers after truth. What are we
ourselves but learners 1 We may be very sure that the highest
truth we clasp to day with fond and grateful emotion will one
day have to give place to a truth far higher still, and we may be
sure that if we are ever so much nearei’ to the truth than the
Atheist is, we must have some admixture of error. So if we betake
ourselves to the Atheist it must be to hear and to learn quite as
much as to speak and to teach.
Even granting that the truth is on our side, we may be very
sure that he has some truth to tell, some correction of error to
impart which is of priceless value. Let us argue with him (and
argument means fair play on both sides), and not dictate to him.
Let us remember that our dogmatising is just as unwelcome and
useless to him as his dogmatism is to us. We must not be afraid
to argue even -with the Atheist; for an opinion or belief that will
not bear hard reasoning is in a rapid decline and will soon have to
be buried. If our Faith be true, it will out-match all falsehood.
If our belief in God be worth anything it will be armour-proof
against the most subtle denials. So dearly, so intensely, do we love
truth, that we would give up God Himself if God were a lie, and
we would hug our own despair rather than be the dupes of a fake
hope. Let the Atheist see, then, that we arc quite as much in
�4
earnest as lie is; quite as desirous of learning from him, as that he
should learn from us. Such respect given can only win respect in
turn. It is painfully true that many Atheists are the most vain
and conceited of men—quite as pharisaical as the old chief priests
and scribes down in Judea—quite as scornful in their pity of us
“ blind believers ” as we have ever been towards them. But what
has made them so ? And who is to blame for it ? Why, the
scornful attitude of religious society during the last hundred years.
Voltaire, Tom Paine, and the long list of their successors,
though falsely called Atheists, were considered by Christians as
the offscouring of the world, and a disgrace to mankind, not for
blemishes in their lives, but for heresy in their opinions ; and the
real Atheist, in the present day, is, by religious people, looked
down upon as contemptible, or dreaded as dangerous. It is,
therefore, the fault of believers if Atheists have grown vain and
conceited. False blame always tends to exaggerate the sense of
our own importance, while merited praise tends to remind us of
our shortcomings. If possible, we must change this state of
irrational hostility, and drive out the pharisaism of Atheism, by
first expelling the pharisaism of Belief. Mutual respect is the
key to mutual understanding, and, without that, discussion and
argument are vain.
(2) Another caution I would mention is that against supposing
that modern Atheism is necessarily connected with domestic im
morality or social anarchy. I would not, myself, dare to prognos
ticate the results were the belief in God entirely to fade out of
the hearts of our nation. There might be, for a time, a most fear
ful insurrection of men and women against the moral laws by which
Society is bound together ; but it is impossible to say with accuracy
what would be the result, because men and women are so illogical.
Believing, as I do, in God, and assured, as I am, by the past history
of our race thatwe are ever going forwards, I should expect that God
would provide in the future, as he has ever done in the past, for
the moral government of his children. At all events, so far, the
modern A theist is no ruffianly breaker of laws, or violator of the
sanctity of human rights. Some of them, indeed, are among the
world’s most righteous men, most fond and affectionate husbands
and fathers, most true and generous friends of mankind. Most of
them are lovers of order as well as of freedom, and “ use their
�5
liberty ” as if they believed themselves to be the servants of God.”
It will not do, then, to make the mistake of assuming that the
Atheist is at all our moral inferior. It is false in fact; and to go
upon that assumption is not only to insult a body of highly honour
able men, but to ruin our own work at the outset.
(3.) In the third place, we cannot be too candid in our discus
sions. It is a very common fault in theologians to shut their eyes
to unpleasant facts, and to refuse to draw obvious conclusions.
If we desire to influence reasoning men we must show our own
knowledge of the laws of the game, and use skilfully and fairly
the weapons of logic. Nothing helps sooner to confirm any one
in his own opinion than to hear it feebly assailed, or unfairly
opposed. The weapons of modern Atheism are very powerful and
finely tempered. We cannot, with a wave of the hand, or a shrug
of the shoulders, get rid of the army of unpleasant facts and
stubborn difficulties in the condition of humanity and of nature
around us, which will be arrayed against our belief. AVe must
ignore nothing, we must not gloss over a single flaw in our
reasoning, or make any leaps such as delight theological con
troversialists. The battle of argument must be fought inch by
inch, and there must be no strategem, no surprises.
(I.) As our real aim must be the discovery of the truth,
it will never do to give undue weight to the personal value
of our own convictions. That value is enormous, and of its
weight, as an argument, I shall presently speak ; but it must not
be used in its wrong place. The pleasantness of a conviction, by
itself, is no more proof of the truth of that conviction than the
pleasantness of an action is a proof that that action is right.
<•' Pleasant but false ” is quite as good a proverb as “ pleasant but
wrong.” To believe a doctrine only because it consoles, is to
confess that it has no other logical basis, and therefore is not to
be accepted by reasonable men. We must be prepared to be
utterly loyal to reason and truth, remembering that if there be no
God it is our manifest duty to ascertain and prove the fact, and
if there be a God—a God of truth and equity—it will not please
Him to deceive ourselves, or to prop up our belief by false argu
ments. If there be a God, the very Atheist commends himself to
the Divine approval whenever he is true tq himself.
For what other purpose was our Reason given us than to be
�6
supreme in all intellectual inquiries. It was surely intended to
raise us into a condition superior to all fear, and far above all
bribes. It was given to be the master of our spiritual emotions as
well as the governor of our animal passions, and we cannot,
honour God by renouncing our own Reason, or suffering ourselves
to be carried away from the stern truth, however terrible, by the
allurements of a false hppe, or by the terrors of a dismal certainty.
But, then, if truth be our chief aim, and not our own mental
enjoyment, we must gain by it in the end ; it will make our souls
more heroic ; it will prepare us the better for that clearer know
ledge of God Himself, which may await us as our reward, But if,
on the other hand, we let the Atheist see that we only believe in
God because we want to be comfortable, we put a stumbling block
in his way, and shew ourselves to be unworthy and selfish in
our aims, and no true seekers after truth. The moral effect
upon him, of such a discovery, would be quite fatal to his
conversion.
(•5) The last caution I would name is that against mistaking the exact limits of our inquiry. It must ever be borne
in mind that the Atheists and ourselves stand on the same ground
in denying that the existence of God can be demonstrated in the
same way as we demonstrate a mechanical fact or a scientific
proposition.
Time and breath would be spent in vain if the disputants were
to miss the main point of the question. We do not want to do the
impossible task of demonstrating or defining the existence of God.
We w^nt only to make it clear that the balance of probability is on
the side of Belief—that it is far more likely that 'there is a perfectly
good and capable God, in whose hands every real oi’ apparent evil
is sure to issue in final good to every conscious creature who is the
subject of that evil, than that there is no God at all; Stillmore
probable than that there is a God to whom the sufferings and
failures of his creatures is a matter of unconcern.
If we will only bear in mind that the Atheist can never prove
that there is no God ; and that we can never prove to him that
there is one, we shall more easily confine our discussion to the
balance of probalities, and that, in all conscience, is wide enough to
occupy the deepest and most laborious thought.
It is the province of Reason to examine these probabilities
�awl con; it is not the province of Reason to believe anything.
That we have, most of us, a faculty of believing in God which is
not mere credulity but a reliance of a dependant creature on the
goodwill of its Creator, is one of the facts of the universe which
it will be impossible for the Atheist to ignore ; but that faculty is
not called upon to reason about its object any more than the eye
is called upon to reason about what it sees.
We may first reason upon probabilities and thus call into exer
cise onr sense of Faith ; or we may first believe and then justify
our faith by the exercise of our Reason.
In conclusion, I will say a few. words on the immense value of
our personal convictions as to the existence of God and the hope
which they inspire. Having in the most unqualified manner
asserted that truth must stand first in our regard, that all ease and
comfort and even hope itself must be given up if they clash with
the claims of truth, I trust I shall not seem inconsistent if I say
that the joy and consolation of believing God is one of the strongest
arguments in favour of His real existence. For this joy and
consolation, this perfect peace in the present and hope for the
future, are exactly what we needed to make us to bear up under
the pains and evils of our mortal life, and to watch with submissive
hope the fearful sufferings in the world around us. The strongest
argument the Atheist has against our belief lies in the sin and
misery which abound. I do not see how men and women can
behold all this, believing it to be the work of blind Nature, and yet
preserve their reasons. To take such a view of life, as that described
in the last pages of the Martyrdom of M an, by Mr. Winwood
Reade, and to have no God in whose good purposes to confide, no
hope for a future in which present evil shall work itself out in
everlasting good, would be to darken the whole atmosphere of life
and thought, to paralyse moral energy, and never to smile again.
What conclusion could we draw from all we see and suffer, if there
is to be no beneficent issue to it all, but that we are the sport of a
malignant fiend who has not only amused himself thus at our
expense but mocked at us with false hopes and fond delusions,
creating us, indeed, unspeakably nobler than he is himself, and
worthy to put our feet upon his neck.
If there be no redress, if all these woes, and stragglings, and
sorrows, and irreparable losses are purposeless, the universe itself
�8
is cursed ; it has stultified aud degraded itself by evolving such a
creature as man, who can sit in judgment on the morality of its
course. All its starry gems, its gorgeous drapery, its siren songs,
its fascinating forms, its entrancing magic, its lustrous light and
heat all those, its enticements and allurements, testify, not to the
benevolence, but to the infinite perfidy of the whole design. They
are no better than the deadly gaze of the venomous snake, or the
treacherous blandishments of the harlot. All nature is a foul
cheat, if the aspirations of moral man are false. But I turn from
this dark picture, which is, after all, but a hideous passing dream,
to the fact that under all trials, under every degree of suffering,
physical and moral, men and women have been sustained by a
belief in a God who is filled with all the tenderest and purest
feelings of humanity without sharing any of its faults or ignor
ance. Their minds resting on God, they have not only borne
unspeakable tortures, but they have looked full and steadily in the
face of the world’s worst moral corruption, and their hearts have
told them, “ Bear it all; it will all yet turn to good. Be patient;
God’s ways are mysterious and, to our eyes, often entangled, but
good shall come at last to all. We know not how, or when, or
where. But He who made us what we are, to long only for good
—not for mere happiness but goodness—must Himself do good,
and only good. And in Him wc rejoice. Yea ! and will rejoice
with joy unspeakable and full of glory.” Without God we are
without hope, and the whole world is “a blunder infinite’ and
inexcusable
but with God we can abound in hope, and the
mysterious dealings of God with us and with nature are made, not
only bearable, but even appear as steps unto Heaven for every
suffering creature. Verily, God is as real a necessity to the life of
reasoning moral men as the glorious sun to the planets around
him.
Let us not, then, forget the enormous value of this personal
experience as an argument to meet the strongest arguments on the
other side. The world is only seen to be hopelessly wretched and
base where the Light of God’s righteousness has been shut out
from the soul of man. But everywhere and in everything there
is ground for hope when the fearful shadow has been withdrawn,
and the beams of His Eternal Love burst forth upon us once more
and turn our night into day.
�A SERMON,
PREACHED AT ST. GEORGE’S HALL, LANGHAM PLACE,
JANUARY 19th, 1873, by the
REV. CHARLES VOYSEY.
From the Eastern Post, January 25th, 1873.
------ -c -----*
On Sunday (Jan. 19 th) at St. George’s Hall, the Roa-. C. Voysey
took his text from Psalm viii., G., “Thou rnadest him to have
dominion over the works of thy hands; thou lust put all things in
subjection under his feet.”
In undertaking a task of such magnitude and difficulty as that
of supplying reasonable grounds for belief in a Perfect God, I am
deeply conscious of the inadequacy of my own powers and know
ledge ; and it is only natural for me to approach the work with
fear and trembling lest through my feebleness or errors I should
give a new occasion for the Atheist to triumph. But while I thus
flinch, and am full of diffidence, I am unspeakably consoled and
strengthened by the fact that whatever is really true will prevail
at last, and cannot suffer permanently from the strongest opposition,
or from the feeblest support; it is also an encouragement to remember
that mine is only one poor voice out of many; that no one is pledged
or compromised by what I may say; that I speak for myself alone;
and that, should I fail in my effort, the only logical'conclusion to
be drawn from it by the Atheist is, that one man has tried with
out success to convince the unbelieving world of the reasonableness
of his faith, not that his faith is unreasonable. My failure will
not prove that Atheism is true, though it might in the eyes of
sowe persons be thought to damage Theisrri,
�2
iTow, our first step must be to describe, if possible, what we
mean by the term God. The Christian, the Theist, the Pantheist,
all use the same term, but each in a different sense. I pass over
the first, with which all of us are familiar, to notice the difference
between the Theistic and Pantheistic senses of the term God.
The Pantheist denies self-consciousness to God, while the Theist
affirms it. The Pantheist affirms, not merely the co-extension of
God with the universe, but their absolute identity • the Theist,
denying this identity, affirms that God is distinct from the universe,
however inseparably they may be united. The Theistic idea of God is
of a Being without form, without material substance, one whole and
indivisible; a Being who is self-conscious, and who possesses
intelligence, power, and love, only in a degree far more exalted
than we can comprehend or describe ; and who, therefore, exercises
will and works from design. The Theist confesses that he has no
other means of gaining a conception of God than that which is
affordedhim by the contemplation of the works of God, and
especially of His noblest work—man. Prom a contemplation of
the highest part of man’s nature, viz., his intellect, conscience, and
affection, he rises by a single step into a conception of a Being who
possesses all these faculties in their fullest perfection, without any
of the limitations of matter, time, and space.
It is in vain that an opponent hurls at us his taunts about
anthropomorphism. It cannot be avoided. We have reached the
loftiest peak on which human feet have stood, when we have found
what man can do and be. Man is our only key to the problems
of nature, our only ladder from earth to Heaven. And in no
other way is his present greatness attested, or his glorious future
promised, so distinctly as in his own power to make, as it were, a
God in his own image and after his own likeness, and yet One,
stripped absolutely of every flaw and defect, and even of the
remotest tendency to human weakness. Men have never invented
a God morally inferior to themselves, the idols have only outlasted
*4r.
�3
their time, and have become anachronisms.
As men grew loftier
in mind and morals, the once revered images became first grotesque
and then hideous. I therefore defend the anthropomorphism of
the Theist as a merit, and do not apologise for it as a defeat, of his
system. Used with fidelity to the principles of progress m which
he believes, his anthropomorphic conception of God is a constant
guarantee of higher and higher knowledge, till he shall arrive at
the innermost sanctuary of the Divine presence. . At all events, if
there be a God, it is clear enough that He has given us no other
means of conceiving of Him at all. Man knows his own superiority
to the beasts of the field, the fowls of the air, the fishes m the
sea; to the trees and flowers, the rocks and hills, the towering
mountains and the foaming sea. He knows his own superiority
of nature, even in his extremest physical helplessness, to the wild
and fierce forces which play about him. The winds and the waves,
the roaring cataract, and even the burning lava, he turns to his
own service and becomes their lord; the very lightning becomes
the swift messenger of his thoughts, and the blazing sun itself,
though enthroned afar in unapproachable glory, is made to unfold
the secrets of its awful flame. A human mind which has mastered
its subtle beams, draws them through a fragment of crystal, and
reads the chemistry of the stupendous conflagration. Wonderful
as are the resources, even in organic matter, yet . with
our little fragment of knowledge, and our sense of spiritual
activity we have come to call the great masses of worlds around us
“ inert matter,” and to regard the physical forces every where in
operation as inferior to the emotions and aspirations of the human
soul. From all this, but one conclusion can be drawn, viz., that
there is something even in ourselves radically superior to that
visible universe, from which we, ourselves, were evolved. Man is
thus forced to feel the gulf between the seen and the unseen—
between the grandest exhibitions of power in the world of nature
and the spiritual forces at work within his own soul. It is m vain
that you tell him how he has been evolved m the natural course of
things from the simplest form of animal life, you will only increase
�4
Ills wonder at tlie powers thus originated without shaking for ohe
moment his confidence in their possession, or his faith in their
grandeur. He does not care, except as he may care for every grain
of true knowledge, how he came to be what ho is, what chemical
or molecular changes in inorganic matter produced his compound
and complex organism j but he docs care supremely to know hiraself
as a man, and to wield the royal sceptre over that portion of the
visible universe in which he woke up—a king.
In vain, too, will it be to show him the dissected brain of one of
the world’s great teachers and say, “ We cannot find anything but
wbat you see. All that made the man what he was lies now in
those bony hemispheres; in a few days it will rot and be dissolved
for ever.” He will turn round upon you and say, “This is only
what I expected you would find in the noblest head that lifted itself
proudly above the intellects of men; what I have felt all my life,
is that I am not identical with my body or any of my organs • that
I am something superior to what I see and feel, and that this body
is nothing more to me than the house in which I have dwelt, and
shall dwell till I die. Even, if I never live again, it cannot alter
the conviction of my life; that I have had a something, either the
product of my brain, or the impalpable and nndiscoverable germ
from which my brain was produced, which is myself, as dis
tinguished from the body in which I now speak and hear.
All that can be handled with your forceps, and seen through your
microscope is, of course, doomed to utter and irrevocable dissolution
—the particles will never again be united in their former con
dition. But if they sprung but yesterday from a mollusc, and are
doomed to utter dispersion to-morrow, one fact remains, I am that
I am. I have come into possession of these batteries of cerebral
matter, and I shall have to lay them down ; but they and I are
not one and never were. However essential to our speech and
action upon earth—to our communion with each other as fellow
beings, I have always felt that I was something greater than thev,
that by my will I could keep them in health, give them rest when
weary, and alas make them ache with pain by over-exertion, or by
senseless folly.”
�•J
Should this seem to be a digression, let me remind yoti
of what I am driving at, I want to state with emphasis
the fact, not merely of man’s superiority to the visible Universe,
but also of his own consciousness of his superiority.
With
the materialist he can go all lengths in the admission of the
entirely physical origin of his bodily frame, and of all its organs,
and consequently he can go all lengths with the materialist in
saying that there is nothing discoverable by the eye as a basis of
immortality. But he is no less certain that he is superior to the
body in which he dwells, than certain that he is superior to the
sun, without whose beams his body could not have come into
being at all.
' Now, if this superiority, which is instinctive in thousands and
millions of our race, and in the highest portion thereof, be
admitted, we haVe ground for justifying our search for God by
studying man. Of course, it would not do to study man alone
without studying also the othei’ and inferior works of God, foi that
*
would make our conclusions too visionary and speculative; but it
would be more erroneous still to study only the physical phenomena,
and leave the soul of man out of the range of our enquiry. If
we studied only the physical phenomena we could hardly come to
any other than the conclusion of the modern Pantheist, whereas,
if we study both the phenomena and the human soul, we naturally
arrive at Theism. There is not much, if any, token of conscien
tiousness in the outei world. Individuals are simply ignored by
*
the forces of nature, pain and pleasure are scattered about in what
seems to be wild caprice, i.e., in utter disregard of the merits or
demerits of the individuals on whom they fall. But the whole
thing apparently works pretty well so as to produce a constant
supply of flowers and butterflies who are not expected to stay too
long in their little patch of sunshine, and who must always be
expecting to be done to death at any moment by a sudden change
in temperature, oi' downfall of rain and hail. Still, no matter, a
thousand dead things are soon replaced. The laboratory is always
open, resources are abundant, the workmen never rest, and so far
as a perpetual transformation-scene is the order of the day,
nature certainly does her work with infinite skill and industry.
But you don’t want a moral God to do all this, it does itself
�6
apparently; once set going—no one cares to enquire how—it can’t
help going, till some fine day it will, perhaps, go to pieces and
begin all over again, taking the first employment that offers
itself.
I, for one, do not wonder at the Pantheism or, as
it may truly be called, the Atheism which comes of regarding
only the outside of things, i.e., of studying only physical
phenomena with a determined blindness to the moral and
spiritual nature of man. If nature outside of us were all we had
to lean upon for instruction concerning God, I confess we should
be driven eithei’ to attribute to Him frightful want of conscien
tiousness, or—what is more logical—to do without the hypothesis
of a God at all.
On the other hand, if we take both together, and explain the
one by the other, searching for all that nature has to tell, and
remembering that if God works there, he also works in human
hearts and souls, we shall be able at length, if not to explain
every seeming moral anomaly, at all events, to give Him as much
credit for good intentions, as we do to our fellow-men when we
cannot exactly see what their aims really are, and when we cannot
help finding fault with their methods.
The old maxim “Never let children or’fools see half-done deeds,”
should have its weight in the correction of any impatient
a
*gainst
murmuring
the course of Providence. To Him we are
but as children; by the side of His wisdom, our greatest knowledge
is but folly; and therefore, if we arepermitted to stand by His side,
and follow His dealings as the world’s great artificer, a becoming
silence should mark our reverence, and a patient watchfulness
should be our tribute to His wisdom and skill. “ God is in
Heaven, and thou upon earth, therefore let my words be
few,” contains a profound caution, which we shall do well to
remember.
Having attained a clear perception of the superiority of man—
as the highest product of nature yet known to us—our first
question must be “ Is there, or is there not, some Being higher
still 1” Now, most men, and even Atheists, readily admit the
possibility of the existence of creatures higher than man. They
do not know what other worlds contain, of course, but they think
it quite possible, if not probable, that there are highei’ intclli-
�gences, some where but still evolved like ourselves from the
Universe. They will not take the next step, and say with me
that it is possible that there is one Being, not evolved, but the
source of evolution, above all other Beings, who has perfect
knowledge of the Universe; but it seems to me but a very short
step indeed, from the admission that possibly higher intelligences
than our own exist somewhere. But if they have a right to
assume there are higher intelligences, we surely have the right to
assume that there is one Highest and Supreme.
Here, however, we must use the method of balancing proba
bilities. Supposing that there were no supreme and perfect intelli
gence, then as fax' as we know, man would be the Supreme Being
of the universe—the one intelligent creature who stands on the
highest, pinnacle of knowledge. He knows more about the world
than any other being. Bnt what does he know as yet ? He is only
just beginning to find out how little he knows by comparison with
the sum total of things actually present and visible. He knows
very little about the past, next to nothing about the regions of the
world which are invisible, and nothing at all about the distant
future. A creature only of yesterday, not so long ago an ignorant
savage, a little earlier still only an ape, how should he know more
than he knows at present? But he has, nevertheless, learnt that
there are system and law prevailing in every part of the universe,
that invariable sequences attend given actions and mutations of
force. Man has at least learnt to banish from scientific language
the names of “accident” and “chance,” and he has tacitly admitted
the presence of active intelligence in the evolution of all things.
Nature has taught him all he knows. All his sciences, of which
he is justly proud, are records of facts and phenomena actually
observed, discoveries on his part of what had been done, or is now
being done, without his aid, not inventions of his own or results of
his interference. Nature is so manifestly controlled by intelligence,
that the mind of man has its most exquisite delight in reading the
secrets of nature, and watching her wondrous developments.
Man further admits that we ourselves are products of this care
fully designed whole. That we are the latest, noblest, and fairest
fruit of Nature’s skill; and yet some men will hesitate to confess
that the intelligence which arranged this grand evolution is grander
�far than one of its products. If there be no higher mind than the
mind of man, how could man have ever been evolved ? ‘
nihilo
nihil Jit' stands good yet, and we can never be persuaded that the
intellect of man is the offspring of that which had no intelligence.
A perfect knowledge of all the sciences, and of thousands of things
yet unknown to us, was required to produce even this little globe
on which we live. Had there been false Chemistry, or deficient
Mathematics, or ignorance of the laws of Astronomy, or of Optics,
what hopeless chaos would have ensued ! One false step would
have ruined the whole. Can we then, who attach so much
importance to our own tiny share in this knowledge, pretend that
no knowledge at all was needful to produce the stupendous whole?
It must be infinitely more probable that a Supreme mind is in
existence who knows the whole, while we only know a small part,
than that man is the supreme intelligence himself.
Moreover, if there were no such supreme intelligence, the universe
supposing it to be self-evolved (and of course unconscious, since it is
not intelligent) has only just come into self-consciousness through
one of its parts, viz., man. It had been, so to speak, asleep all these
eycles of ages till man was born, and his intellect dawned upon
the world, and for the first time the Universe realised its own
existence through the intelligent consciousness of one of its pro
ducts I I do not think absurdity could go further than that. If
there be no God then man is the supreme intelligence, and the
product of what vye must admit to be the most profound wisdom
must then be wiser than the wisdom from which he sprang. And
if there be no self-conscious intelligence but man, then the
Universe is only just now, through man, becoming aware of its
own existence.
I throw out these fragmentary hints for abler men to take up.
They are only a specimen of what may be said for and against the
probability that there is a self-conscious supreme intelligence at the
root of, and behind, all visible and invisible things. But, if we
take man as our key to the solution of the problem, we shall find
much more in him than his mind, which justifies his belief in God;
and of this I will speak another day. I conclude by saying that
I shall be thankful to any one who will write to me, to correct my
errors and to point out any flaw in my arguments,
�“A T II E I S M.”
III.
A SERMON,
PREACHED AT ST. GEORGE’S HALL, LANGHAM PLACE,
JANUARY 26th, 1873, by the
REV. CHARLES VOYSEY.
From the Eastern Post, February Is#, 1873.
......
On Sunday (Jan. 26th) at St. George’s Hall, the Rev. C. Voysey
took his text from Psalm xl., 10., “Thy law is within my
heart.”
He said :—Last Sunday we were considering the argument for
the existence of a Supreme intelligence, which may be drawn from
the intellectual part of man’s nature. Our next step is to examine
the moral part, and to endeavour to show that the Conscience of
man furnishes strong ground for our belief in a Perfectly Good
God.
Let us first inquire what is the proper function of the Con
science. In the first place it seems to be a faculty distinct from
the ordinary reflective powers of the mind, which we sum up
under the term Reason. I do not now enquire how Conscience is,
in the first instance, generated, or whether or not it be some
phrenological organ, more or less conspicuous as a bump on the
human head. It is neither my province, nor within my grasp, to
settle such questions as to its origin or physical construction, I
have only to deal with it as it seems to most men to act- a part in
our complex nature, and to influence our conduct. In affirming,
then, the distinctness of Conscience from the Reasoning faculties,
I only speak of it as it appears -to my thought. It does not, and
cannot, teach me what is right or what is wrong. Only my
�2
Reason can tell me that, but as soon as I perceive what is right
my Conscience commands me to do it; as soon as I perceive what
is wrong, my Conscience forthwith commands me not to do it.
Many have been the strifes in the world owing to the confusion
between Conscience and Reason. Our knowledge being defective,
our reasoning must be sometimes fallible, our conclusions as to
right and wrong, must be sometimes false, and yet the Conscience
only sanctions what seems to be right, and forbids only what seems
to be wrong. It follows, as a matter of course, that people will
sometimes do wrong conscientiously, i.e., not as wrong, but believing
it to be right.
“ The time will come when he that killeth you
will think that he doeth God service,” is a good illustration of this
perversion of mind. Many persons will thereupon jump at the
conclusion that Conscience is not to be trusted, and that it must
be over-ruled by superior authority external to itself—whereas the
fault lies not with the Conscience but with the Reason which is
imperfectly enlightened. The Conscience has nothing whatever to
do with drawing the conclusions of the Reason; its only function
is to endorse with all the weight of its sanction whatever the
Reason has pronounced to be right. Conscience, even in its
apparently worst perversions, is not perverted at all, is still loyal
to the best that is put before it. It cannot help us to makeup Our
minds in the least degree ; it waits quietly till this process is com
pleted by the Beason, and then steps in with its powerful mandate,
to demand that the best alternative should be adopted and pursued.
It has always seemed to me a great mistake to blame the Con
science for those moral errors which have been perpetrated in its
name. Conscience is evex loyal to duty as duty, never sanctions
*
any "wrong as wrong, is a perpetual witness in the soul of man for
all righteousness, and it differs in different men only in strength
and intensity, in its power to control the life ; it does not differ in
being morally inferior and superior.
If my Conscience sanctions what another man’s Conscience
�3
would condemn, tliat only shows that there is a moral difference of
opinion in our respective minds, not that his Conscience is more
loyal to what is right than my Conscience, nor mine than his.
Looseness of language is largely responsible for many popular
errors. We often speak of one man as conscientious, and another
as unconscientious, when the real difference we wish to describe is
the difference of their moral opinions. We ought never to use
these terms “ conscientious and unconscientious,” except to dis
tinguish between the man who obeys his Conscience and the other
who disobeys it. W e take too much for granted that our estimate
of what is right and wrong is shared by every one else alike; and
then come to the false conclusion that those who do not do what we
believe to be right are acting against their' Consciences.
Whole races of men we have heard stigmatised as wanting in
conscientiousness because they are remarkably untruthful; othei’S
because they are habitual thieves ; others because they love to
shed innocent blood and their land groans with murder ; others
because they are frivolous, fickle and vain ; others because
polygamy is their law ; others because they practice polyandry.
In all these cases you find conscience quite as much at work as in
ourselves, commanding what is believed to be right, for bide, ing
what is believed to be wrong. They lie, and steal, and murder,
&c., through their want of clear and vigorous perception that lying,
stealing, and murder are wrong. Their education has been defi
cient, and the inherited tendency to these habits has not been
resisted; they are ever ready with reasons to justify their conduct,
or to make very light of it. Otherwise, it would have been
impossible for whole populations to connive at these outrages, and
to shield the guilty heads from the penalties of the law. But
these same people taught from their youth up to regard some act
of religious observance as the highest of all duties, and the neglect
of it the most wicked of crimes, are very very conscientious in the
discharge of that duty, and manifest the functions of Conscience
in that particular, in a striking degree.
�4
If ever the question is raised ‘‘ Why does the Conscience bid
you do this,” the sole answer always is, “ Because it is right.”
Never in any case is it “ Because it is wrong, ”
The Conscience is, I grant, not equally strong in all men. In
some natures it has more, in others less, power to influence the
conduct. But this is only like all other faculties in man. The
Reason, the imagination, the affections, the hopes, and the fears
vaiy considerably in strength and degree in different men, and so
also the Conscience varies; in some it is the lord of the whole
life, in others it is hustled into a corner and seldom suffered to raise
its voice. But it is sufficiently universal to be argued from as
the common property of human nature, and in reasoning about the
source and fountain of all things, the Conscience is as much entitled
to be considered as the intellect.
Moreover, if we would argue fairly, wo must take the average
quality of the Conscience rather than the mor® rare instances of
those who hardly exhibit any Conscience at all. In a treatise
on the Reason of man, it would be manifestly unfair to
take only the undeveloped state of it, as it appears in a
child, 01 the diseased condition of it as it appears in an idiot; so
in speaking of the Conscience of man we ought to take it in
its more complete and perfectly healthy development, in the
noblestmoral examples, rather than its earlier and undeveloped
state.
We are searching for indications of a Divine Being among the
works of the universe, we have found, so far, that man is the
noblest of them, by Reason of his Intellect alone, but we find that
he has something else, which, in his own estimation, he reckons
nobler still than Intellect—viz., Conscience, or the faculty which
urges him to do what is right and avoid what is wrong, and this
faculty is, In its normal exercise, one of the greatest blessings
which man could possess.
In thd first place, it marks afresh our superiority to the physical
world. While everything around us is by the laws and constitution
of its nature designed for selfishness, to win its way, if it can, in
the struggle for existence ; while even the body of man, with all
its functions, has precisely the same nature, and might lawfully
(were it not for the Reason and Conscience) study its own comfort
�and well-being alone, and without the smallest scruple, enrich
and adorn itself at the ruin of others ; while the unbridled indul
gence of our physical instincts would lead us to the most profound
animalism and beastiality, the Conscience is the chief faculty of
our being, which rescues us from this degradation, and actually
alters the whole natural course and tendency of our lives. That
we should, to some extent, lead animal lives is not merely inevitable,
but necessary and good, and, therefore, we find the Conscience, duly
enlightened by Reason, sanctioning a certain degree of animalism
for the very purpose of carrying out a benevolent design; but the
checks and limits, which the Conscience puts upon our indulgence,
are of a nature to cause us, at times, positive pain and annoyance.
We cannot obey the Conscience in everything without trampling
on our physical nature, and sometimes not without permanent
injury to our health and brain. Self-denial and mortification of
the flesh, (and I use this term in the very widest sense, and not
merely in the sense of asceticism) are absolutely necessary to the
perfect supremacy of the Conscience when enlightened by Reason,
If my Reason tells me that such and such a thing is wrong, i.e.,
will inflict, injury on others, that does not necessarily prevent my
wishing to do it. I cannot help wishing to do it, if the gratification
be very great, and do it I should to a certainty, but for that
wonderful monitor within, who says “ How can I do this great
wickedness and sin against God.”
The collision is so complete between the higher voice and the
impelling instinct, that one can only feel that the two are radically
different in nature, and must have had a different source. This
struggle between a strong desire and a higher law within the same
breast if it gives any witness, bears testimony to the exalted
nature of man, and almost drives him in thought to the threshold
of that Heavenly Home, where he was born and cradled. To have
the power of doing intentionally what one shrinks from doing, and
to deny oneself the pleasure which is so fascinating, and which one
longs to do, is to prove the immense superiority of our inner selves
over the visible universe.
Here I must pause to notice an objection which may be urged,
that whenever we obey the Conscience we only do so to gain a
greater pleasure than we relinquish. It is said that we are still
�6
selfish after all, and dread remorse more than the present pain of
self-denial. Now I cannot, of course, speak for others, but for my
self I deny this with my whole soul. I am perfectly certain that
it is neither fear of greater pain, nor hope for greater joy, that
makes me endeavour to obey my conscience. Many a time in my
life I have had nothing at all but pain for doing what I thought to
be right, and I did it too, grudgingly, half regretting my own self
denial, at the time wishing that I had not been so Conscientious.
It is unfair to mankind to put such a construction upon their sub
mission to that imperious call of conscience. To us, perhaps, the
hope of being perfectly conformed to God’s will, in some far-off
future, may be an attraction entering into more than half our
moral struggles but nothing can be more false than to say it is
always so, or to deny the possibility of a man doing what his
Conscience demands from the most disinterested motives. For does
not Conscience itself sit in judgment with Reason upon motives as
well as conduct ? Does it not condemn, as unworthy, all motives
of action, the. core and kernel of which is selfishness ? No doubt in
our imperfect state our motives are not always pure and perfectly
disinterested, but the soul of man has at all events risen up to
that height in which it deliberately distinguishes pure from impure
motives ; and while she gives her solemn approval to the nobler,
she condemns and denounces the baser. There is all the difference
between seeking to be true to one’s higher nature and seeking
greater happiness. It is true we cannot avoid the happiness, but
we disqualify ourselves for its attainment the moment we fix upon
it a longing eye. What often determines our choice is the strength
of our conviction that a thing is right, not the possibility of our
being the happier for it afterwards. The efforts made by some to
depreciate the force and value of Conscience are unworthy of men
who profess to be students of facts and phenomena; for if there
had been no cases of genuine disinterested doing of duty for duty’s
sake, we should never have been able to discover the difference
*
between that and seeking our own happiness. Man has detected
the superiority of the one motive over the other, only after having
witnessed or experienced the higher motive in himself. Had it
never been done, man would never have imagined that it could be
done.
�I
And this brings me to notice that the Conscience, enlightened by
Reason, always urges us to do good to our fellow-men, rather than
to make them happy. An unenlightened benevolence, such as the
animal instinct of an indulgent parent, which leads to the spoiling
x of a child, is a mere impulse to give happiness, and is on that
grouud actually condemned by the enlightened Conscience, because
that happiness not only does not tend to the child’s real and lasting
good, but tends to his present and future degradation. In its
higher state the Conscience bids us aim exclusively at the culti
vation of all virtue in ourselves and in others. It teaches us
always to subordinate happiness to holiness, and often deliberately
to forego and withhold happiness, that goodness may ensue. Truth
and righteousness would be preferred, not only before wealth and
comfort here below, but even before an eternity of mere enjoyment
without personal holiness. Thus, on every side, it seems that the
superiority of our inner nature becomes an antagonism to the out
ward and visible. “ The flesh warreth against the spirit, and the
spirit against the flesh, and these are contrary the one to the other.”
The contrast and hostility between them we all feel, but which of
the two do we reckon the higher, the nobler, the truer part of
man 1 Surely the Conscience—the Conscience which makes us
mortify our flesh with its affections and lusts, which often and
often mars our happiness and embitters our pleasure, upbraids us
with reproaches, and stings us with remorse—that voice which
hushes our cry for happiness, which will not endure a single selfish
plea, but demands unquestioning obedience, and bids us fall down
in the very dust before the majesty of duty. We all in our secret
hearts revere this power, whether or not we obey it as we should.
At least we pay it the homage of our inmost souls and feel how
great and grand it is to be its slave.
We have here, then, something in man which we cannot find in
the physical universe, where happiness is the aim of every living
thing. Every single being in every class of animal life, including
the body of man, is constituted to seek its own happiness first, but
in man we find a principle entirely at war with this universal
instinct, a power that forces us to break the natural law of mortal
life, and to seek for that which is supremely higher than mere
animal safety and enjoyment. For the sake of goodness, men have
�learnt, not merely to suffer pain and loss themselves, but to
undergo the still worse pain of inflicting suffering upon others.
We would deliberately hurt their bodies and mortify their
desires, if by so doing we could raise them into the exalted con
dition of goodness.
Now to me, I confess, this fact is a greater revelation of a Divine
Being than even the intellect of man. For ignoring altogether
the fact that men have almost universally regarded the Conscience
as the vicegerent of God—the mere possession of a power which
claims the mastery over our whole natures, which disturbs our
animal repose, and which demands the deliberate surrender ot
happiness for the sake of truth, righteousness, and every form of
duty, brings us face to face with a power—call it human oi
*
Divine—which, whatever it be, is absolutely transcendent over
nature, and suggests to our minds the existence of another world
altogether, in and around us, in which the laws and forces of the
visible universe have no place. Were we to grant that our intellect
is only an animal organism, we should still be at our wits’ end to
account for the Conscience on purely physical grounds; and we
would never get over the anomaly and absurdity of the Universe
evolving and evolving itself cycle after cycle till it produced an
element at variance with its own laws, a power and a force which
deliberately set them at defiance, and a conscious being who calmly
rejected, for the sake of virtue, the most enticing happiness placed
in its path. If we could get over the intellectual difficulty of
Atheism, we could never get over the difficulty which is presented
by the Conscience. I do not den> that there is antagonism in the
physical universe ; it abounds everywhere ; it is in accordance with
its own principle of “ Everyone for himself;” but that antagonism
is wholly different from that which exists between two distinct
portions of one and the same being; greater still is the difference
when we observe that the higher law often condemns as morally
wrong what nature herself tempts us to do.
I cannot pursue the enquiry further at present, it is enough that
the human Conscience is not merely superior, but antagonistic, to
the selfish principle in nature, to prove that if we would search for
indications of the Deity, we must make man the field of our
enquiry.
�“ATHEIS M.”
IV.
A SERMON,
PRE ACHED AT ST. GEORGE’S HALL, LANGHAM PLACE,
FEBRUARY 2.nd, 1873, by the
REV. CHARLES VOYSEY.
From the Eastern Post, February 8th, 1873.
On Sunday (Feb. 2nd) at St. George’s Hall, the Rev. C. Voysey
took his text from 1 John iv., 16, “God is love; and he that
dwelletli in love dwelletli in God, and God in him.”
He said—We now come to the third branch of our enquiry into
the nature of man, in search for indications of a Supreme and
Perfect Divine Being.
We have perceived, in the intellect of man, manifest tokens of
a supreme intellect from which it sprang. AVe have discovered in
the Conscience a power, not only superior, but antagonistic, to the
forces in Natureand we must now direct our attention to Human
Love.
What is Love ? This sacred name has alas ! been shamefully
misapplied. It has been made t^stand for its very opposite
selfishness. It has been used to denote the most imperious of our
animal instincts, the gratification of merely physical desire j even
the mere desire to attain such enjoyment, has been profanely called
Love. Far be it from me to deem anything which God has placed
in the nature of man as unholy or unclean. The animal instinct
referred to is exquisite and sacred, the source of untold happiness,
and the fountain of domestic virtue, but then it is not Love.
When people talk of “ making Love ” and “ falling in Love,” they
are using expressions of profound inaccuracy, for which the
poverty of our language is the only excuse. The affection which
�2
subsists between lovers, husbands and wives, parents and children,
brothers and sisters, is
nothing more than a merely
animal attachment to each other, which they share in common with
the birds of the air and the beasts of the field. It is - all called
“ Love,” and we cannot in a day—no, not in a generation—change
its name. But the time seems to have come for us to make long
and loud our protest against the use of ambiguous terms. Words
do re-act more or less upon those who use them, and if we persist
in applying one and the same term to two or more absolutely
distinct things, we shall come in time to lose sight of the distinc
tion between them, and in that case the higher sense will be
forgotten, and the lower one alone remain.
Now, to discern what Love is, we must contrast it with what it
is not.
We find everywhere reigning in nature the law of self-love, of
self-preservation, self-indulgence, and self-advancement. We own
its necessity. No living thing is safe without it. It is given to
us that we may live as long and as happily as we can, and that we
may promote our own earthly advantage. In the struggle for
existence this law bids us without scruple trample on the rights
of others if they have any, and then might becomes right. In
reference to self-indulgence, it bids us get all the pleasure we
possibly can; it takes no account of the pleasure of others, except in
so far as it may minister to our own. And as for self-advancement
its maxim is to be first in the race if we can. Its cry is, “ Every
man for himself.”
Now it is easy to see without illustration that were this the
only law which governed humanity our time would be divided
between avarice, lust, and war. We should have nothing else to
do but to give free play to our appetites and to smite and murder
every one who stood in the way of our gratification. Supposing
that a certain amount of civilisation had been reached by mutual
concessions for the attainment of happiness, then you would have
�still a state of soiety, if society it might be called, in which selfish
ness would prevail, only somewhat refined and gilded over by
conventionalities. You would still have men seeking to make
themselves rich at the ruin of others, to indulge their animal
passions at the cost of their neighbours’ felicity, and to do each
other to death only in a slower and less brutal manner than by
bloodshed. They would still unscrupulously push themselves to the
front if possible, not caring whom they crushed or trampled under
foot in the struggle.
Bret Harte, an author to whom I shall again presently refer,
among other' writers has given pictures of life in the Far West of
America, wherein all that we could imagine of such a state of
society has been enacted within this century. Lawless, ruffianly,
selfishness has been the rule, because most of the men gathered in
those regions were mere animal men, carrying their whole animalism
with them into a district where they had no law but themselves.
This was the coarse and brutal picture of the reign of selfishness.
But we need not go so far as to San Francisco to see the same
selfishness under a more refined aspect. There are men and women
in all our great cities, aye, and in the country too, (let us hope
there are but few of them), who behave as if they were animals
and nothing more—human animals with the cunning and resources
of human skill, education, and prudence—who live for themselves
alone, and who seldom feel what it is to love. They follow their
strong instincts for pleasure and ease, their unscrupulous desire to
enrich themselves on the race-course or at the gambling tables,
their studious regard for their own health and the supply of every
luxury; and they do not hesitate in the pursuit of their own
indulgence to force their rivals or dependents down into unspeak
able misery, or leave others to die in disease and poverty, rather
than forego one of their accustomed pleasures. •
We may fairly hope that such are extreme and most rare
instances ; but dress it up as finely as you can, you will only get
�4
one result out of entire obedience to the natural law of selfishness,
you must have avarice, lust, murder, and all manner of crime.
Now true Love is that principle which we find almost universal
in human nature, which impels us to resist in a measure this law
of selfishness, to overcome its dictates whenever they tend to
entrench on the rights and welfare of others. Love will go long
lengths in sanctioning the law of selfishness j but there is a point
where it will stand up and resist it. It will sanction self-preservation
until another’s life is in peril. It will sanction self-indulgence
until that indulgence becomes robbery of the happiness or
well-being of another. It will sanction ambition, and even
gathering of gold, so long as the means employed do not hinder a
companion in the race.
Love will hide itself beneath an apparently selfish disguise, and
all at once it will leap out upon you in all its glory, melting your
eyes and your heart. It is that in man which redeems him from
being a beast—for man without Love is worse than any beast which
Lord God hath made; and when he Loves he becomes more than
animal, more than man, I had almost said, and stands forth in the
very image of God.
With the world so full as it is of real Love, if we will only look
for it, illustrations would be endless. But every wish felt, every
word spoken, every deed done for the sake oj others is a witne s
of true Love.
Some may say this is only the function of conscience over again.
But, in reply, I say that the brilliancy of Love outshines that of
conscience as the sun outshines the moon. Love is conscience in an
ecstasy—it is a perfect enthusiasm of goodness, because it does not
stop to reason out with itself, and to balance the pros and cons of
right and wrong, but with eager bound rushes to its goal and acts
without reflection, the slave of inspiration. Conscience says, 11 Do
this because it is right.” Love says, “ I will do this for you.”
Conscience mercifully keeps us mindful of oui’ responsibility when,
�Love is absent or cool. But Love has no responsibility, and acts
upon its own Divine impulse, needing no reminder, no prompting,
no command. We fall back upon Conscience, only when deficient
in Love.
By Love, we pass out of ourselves into our object, as it were;
we seem to have merged almost our own consciousness, sympathies,
and desires, in the soul of another ; till we live a new life in hers,
and become her saviour and her shield. When Paul said, “ Love
worketh no ill to his neighbour, therefore Love is the fulfilling of
the law,” he stated feebly and negatively the exact truth, fie
should have said, “ Love worketh all possible good to his neigh
bour, therefore Love is the fulfilling of the law.” It will not do
to leave our neighbour alone, and do him no harm ; love bids us
be active and attentive, and do him all the good we can. Then
Love is the fulfilling of all human obligations. If we were wholly
and continually under the influence of Love, and not sometimes
under the sway of selfishness, our whole lives would be blameless,
sin would be no more, and human life—ah ! it would be too sweet
ever to lay it down.
But Love teaches us that goodness is identical with the supremest
happiness of man. It is not identical with physical happiness, it
is often at war with that, and its terms with our animal nature are
unshrinking submission, and if need be, the self-sacrifice of life
itself. Yet strange—-most strange—when we suffer most for one
we love, we reap our highest joys, every wound is a healing of the
spirit, and as we lie on Love’s altar, bleeding, gasping, dying, v e
reach the sublimest region of human joy.
Think what the old poets have sung, what the Bibles of all lands
have enshrined, what tradition prizes as its noblest treasure. They
all sing in praise of Love—Love which began by heroic self-con
quest and ended in death. But one and all bear the same testi
mony, the joy of dying for Love was worth all that life itself
CQuld ever purohase.
�6
In those tales of the Far West, by Bret Harte, to which I have
alluded, there is unfolded a perfect gospel of this human triumph.
Amidst scenes of appalling horror, of the most brutal savagery,
and the most abandoned lawlessness, he brings to view this one
exquisite flower of humanity, and shows how Bove was at the
bottom of these fierce hearts; how it stayed the murderer’s hand ‘
how it softened the impious tongue; and brought men whose lives
had been fouled by the worst of crimes to die the noblest martyr
death. No Christ could do more than those and hundreds and
thousands of our fellow-men have done for each other, and are doing
daily—and all for Love.
That fearful catastrophe to the Northfleet, off Dungeness, which
has awakened so much sympathy throughout the land, brought
out afresh the glorious powers of self-sacrifice which belong to man.
To some, the touching incidents of the Captain’s farewell of his
wife might seem a conflict between Love and Duty. But Love and
Duty are one, they can never clash. It is always a duty to
do what Love desires. And Love itself is best proved by
doing oui Duty. Just think of those few minutes of parting
agony.
Amid the roar and screaming of rough men and women, all
struggling for their lives, some so fierce and frantic in their terror
that they must be kept back from swamping the boats by the cap
tain’s revolver, his young wife, a bride ef seven weeks, pleads to
be allowed to stay and die at her husband’s side. Her Love, how
ever, made her lose herself in him, and to make him happy she
would do his bidding, and live in bitter grief all her days. Her
Love and duty were one. She would have stayed and died for
Love; she left him for a life of woe—no less for Love. It was all
she could do for him, to live because he asked it; and he, in his
keen sense of duty, knew that to desert his ship even for his
wife’s sake would have been no act of Love to her. To bring with
him into safety a soiled reputation and an honour stained would
�7
have been far more cruel than to have bid her farewell for ever.
So for Love of her, as well as for duty’s sake, he stands firm as a
rock ; and fighting God’s battle for the weak, against the strong
until the surging waves engulph him, he dies a hero and a martyr,
and around his cross let us say in solemn reverence, “ Truly this
was the Son of God.”
Are there no more like him ? Yea ! thousands on thousands.
The earth is full of such heroes, though we know them not,
and their lives and deaths have been done in secret—no
plaudits to give them courage; no eulogies spoken over their
graves. Ask the generals who lead armies, the captains who
carry their vessels all over the world, search the records of
the Royal Humane Society, look into the hospitals, the theatres,
and the homes of the poor. Enquire at the police stations; yes,
and search the gaols and the galleys. Everywhere you find such
Love as makes men and women Divine; raises them above them
selves, i.e., above all that selfish nature would make them. If
you will only look for it, I believe every one you meet can show
it, or has some heavenly story to tell of how it was shown to
them. Let us not say, then, that God has deserted his world,
while he has given us love. “ He left not himself without wit
ness in that he did us good,” says the Apostle. But he
goes on to say, “ in giving us rain and fruitful seasons,
filling our hearts with food and gladness.”
I will not
question the general benevolence of the arrangements of nature;
but they are not worth looking at by the side of the marvellous
gift of Love which God has given to men to make them fruitful in
all virtue, triumphant over all appetites and passions, and full of joy
unspeakable, and full of glory. This great gift, I say, is so
antagonistic to the laws and forces of nature that it cannot have
had its origin in the visible universe whose laws it sets at defiance.
It cannot be “ of the earth, earthy,” it must be “ the Lord from
Heaven,” it must be an afflatus which is Divine, We
�8
cannot deny the influence winch, it wields. To see and hear
of any noble act of Love warms and melts the most frozen
nature, and breaks the heart of stone. All mankind, in various
ways, bears testimony to the supremacy of Love. Just as we admire
a conscientious fool more than a clever rogue, so do we admire him
who is impelled by Love more than one who is only guided by a
cold sense of duty. Among the faculties of man, then, Love holds
the very highest place. It is the instinct of doing the best possible
good. "While conscience is our authority for doing it, Love leaps
into the act without needing any sanction at all. To do anything
for Love is to justify the deed without any further plea.
I have only then to urge once more, that as man is the noblest
work in the universe, and as Love is the noblest part of man, so
we must infer that God cannot be a Being inferior to the most
Loving of men. He may be, and to our adoring eyes of faith He
really is, far and high exalted ovei his noblest creature ; but less
*
than that He cannot be. Whenever, therefore, we would conceive
of Him, we must make the noblest part of the noblest man’s
character our starting point, or else we shall do violence to the first
principles of Reason, and contradict the universal testimony of the
human Consciousness.
I believe it can be shown that, with the light of human Love
shed upon the scene, all that is most dark, and sad, and dismal in
the world can be reconciled with the existence of a Perfectly Holy
and Loving God; and more than that, the miseries of the world
become proofs and tokens of what God is, and unfold to us His
nature in a more complete and intelligible manner than had we
been living in a fairyland, or had we been all our lives happy
citizens of some Golden Jerusalem. If you shut out sorrow you
shut out the highest, purest, forms of Love. And if you shut out
Love you shut out God. So we come back, out of our clouds
of sorrow, to praise His glorious Name for every wounded heart,
for- every scalding tear, for every last farewell I
�■k
“A T H E I S M.”
V.—ON
£
“THE MARTYRDOM OF MAN.”
A SERMON,
PREACHED AT ST. GEORGE’S HALL, LANGHAM PLACE,
FEBRUARY 16th, 1873, by the
R EV. CHARLES VOYSEY.
From tits Eastern Post, February 22nd, 1873.
On Sunday (Feb. 16th) at St. George’s Hall, the Rev. C. Voysey
took his text from Hebrew xii, 11, “ Now no chastening for the
present seemeth to be joyous but grievous j nevertheless afterward
it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness unto them which
are exercised thereby.”
He said :—In my last sermon I endeavoured to describe what
true Love is ; how it differs from merely animal attachment, how
complete is its triumph over the natural desires, and how it raises
us into the highest happiness in the supreme act of self-sacrifice.
It is my purpose now to point out the process by which Love is
venerated or brought out into manifestation j to show that Love
cannot be developed at all except under the conditions of suffering
or sin, and therefore that that which we deem the most beautiful
flower of humanity Is the result of those very conditions on which
the Atheist bases his strongest arguments against the existence of
a Good God. The Atheist, as represented by Mr Winwood
Reade in his Martyrdom of Man, argues thus :—
“ The conduct of a father towards his child appears to be cruel
but it is not cruel in reality. He beats the child but he does it
I
�2
for the child’s own good; he is not omnipotent; he is therefore
obliged to choose between two evils. But the Creator is omnipotent;
He therefore chooses cruelty as a means of education or develop
ment ; He therefore has a preference for cruelty, or He would not
choose it; He is therefore fond of cruelty, or He would not prefer
it; He is therefore cruel, which is absurd.”
“ Again, either sin entered the world against the will of the
Creator, in which case He is not omnipotent, or it entered with His
permission, in which case it is His agent, in which case He selects
sin, in which case He is fond of sin, in which case He is sinful,
which is an absurdity again.”—(pp, 518-519.)
It would be easy to dispose of this argument by at once disputing
the hypothesis that God is omnipotent. The so-called “ omnipo
tence” of God has assumed the most extravagant shapes in the
human imagination. We could name a score or two of things
inherently impossible, which God Himself has no power to do
He cannot make the phenomena of noon and midnight to coincide.
He cannot so alter the nature of a thing as to make it at the same
moment both a cube and a sphere. He cannot confound the parts
of a thing with each other, or put any part for the whole. God
could not make my hand to be my eye j nor my eye to be my handNever could a single limb be a whole human body. Never can
God undo the past or break the sequence of time. God Himself
could not make any material thing to be in two places at once.
God’s power is limited—by what, we do not know—possibly bv
His own will; i.e.—if he wills a thing to be such and such, He
cannot at the same time make it to be absolutely different. We
have no difficulty whatever in giving up the notion of God’s
omnipotence, when the idea of that omnipotence is stretched
beyond the limits of common sense. But this is not quite the
point in the passage quoted from Mr. Reade’s book which I desire
to take up. He manifestly assumes and elsewhere affirms, that if
there be a God, He cannot be either cruel or sinful. Mr. Reade
�3
calls it “ an incontrovertible n axim in morality that a God has no
right to create men except for their good.” We would go further
still, and say, “ God has no right to create any self-conscious
creatures at all, except for their good.” The author then turns to
man and nature, and finds visible tokens of suffering and sin;
from which he draws the conclusion that there is no God. It is
perfectly logical, because his suppressed premiss is, “ that suffer
ing and sin are evils per se, and what is more, they are unnecessary
evils”
If this were true, then with the facts before us, we could draw
no other conclusion than that an evil God caused the unnecessary
evils; but when we confront this conclusion with the axiom that
an evil God is a contradiction in terms; or more plainly, that “ if
there be a God, lie must be good,” it follows at once that if
suffering and sin are unnecessary evils, there is no God at all.
What, then, we have to dispute is the assumption that suffering
and sin are evils, per se, and unnecessary evils.
If we can show that suffering and sin are not evils, per se, but
only relatively evils compared with other conditions ; and further,
that they are not unnecessary, but absolutely indispensable to our
highest good, then, instead of going to prove that there is no God,
suffering and sin will go far to prove that there is a God; and
moreover, a good and holy God, who would not create any creature
except for its good. Now, as I must not attempt too many things
at once, I must leave on one side for the present the sufferings of
the lower orders of animals, and confine myself only to the subject
of the sufferings and sin which are endured by man.
Of the various functions which suffering and sin serve in the
economy of the moral world, I have elsewhere written at some
length ; I now only desire to dwell upon one function, the chiefest
of all, viz.,—they are the agents by which the purest Love is called
forth. If they do originate or call into activity this noblest, most
beautiful part of man’s nature, they cannot be evils per se; and if
�as far as we know, such Love could never have birth apart from
suffering and sin, then they are necessary.
You will remember that true Love is the very opposite of
selfishness—it makes us do sometimes the most painful things ; it
is most exalted and supreme in a perfect self-sacrifice.
Now, what do we find, e.g., in the relations between husband
and wife. Granted that there has been much animal attachment
between them, and that true Love has not been yet elicited. Let
one or the other be in sickness or pain, or in any trouble of mind,
body, or estate, and then, if there be a germ of Love in the other,
it will come forth in thoughts, words, and deeds, of exquisite
sympathy and self-devotion. We need not lift the sacred veil
which covers wedded life, but surely all husbands and wives must
know that their real Love first made itself heard and seen in some
season of suffering and pain; they know what holy sacrifices it has
demanded and received. Suffering is the cradle of Love.
See, too, how the mother’s love, even as a mere animal affection,
surpasses the Love which first made her a bride; and how it quickens
her into activity of devotion; giving, and toiling, and watching;
watching, and toiling, and giving, day and night, to her own cost
of health, rest, and ease; and why ? because her infant is feeble,
dependent, suffering. Its cries lacerate the mother’s heart, and fill
her eyes with tears ; but the same sting kindles a Love which is
Divine, making her ready to give her life for her babe.
You see the same thing in the family. How selfish, how
quarrelsome, children often are; till the hour comes when there
is an accident, a terrible bruise, or a broken bone; and up the
little wranglers run and are like ministeiing angels to the sufferer.
Toys that were once fought for are now heaped on the sick-bed
without being asked for, and the dreariness of the siek-chamber is
willingly endured by sturdy ruddy boys who would ten times
rather have been out at play. But Love has made them stay by
the sick-bed, drawn thither by her handmaid—Suffering. It is
�5
almost invariable that the weakest, sickliest, membei of a family
receives the most love, and is served with the greatest self
sacrifices. And it often happens that a son who has brought the
family into trouble, or a daughter who has put it to shame, is the
object of the parent’s tenderest, most anxious, self-denying Love.
The old story of the Prodigal Son is not only exquisitely true to
nature,but a most powerful illustration of the theory that suffering
and sin are the very cradle of the Highest Love.
By very instinct we look on sin as a terrible kind of suffering
—a fearful moral disease—and it hag a tendency to call out Love,
in spite of its first tendency to call out hatred. We are angry
and indignant if any injury be done to ourselves it is true, but the
highest and rarest forms of Love—viz., mercy and forgiveness,
are very often developed by the wrong doing of others. What
sight more pretty among children than the making up of some
quarrel, the sweet overtures of tiny arms around tiny necks, and
the smothering kisses all wet with tears, which tell of the birth
of the highest Love in their little souls !
In domestic life it often happens that sin, as well as sorrow, calls
forth this noblest virtue. Neglected duties, careless accidents,
even want of fidelity and honesty on the part of servants, have
been overlooked, or forgiven and forgotten out of true pity and
charitv, which “ hopeth all things.” In like manner lovingservants have borne long and patiently with the provocations of
of their masters, forgiving their harsh and inconsiderate treat
ment and their surly tempers, and covering with a sacred privacy
their worst failings. Old and young, all around in turn, have to
bear and forbear, i.e., to bear gently the injuries cf others and to
forbear from revenge, to return good for evil, and thus to rise into
man’s most exalted condition because of the sin which is being con
tinually committed. Love cannot rise higher than this—to render
good for ill, to overcome all evil with good. And where, we ask,
would such Love be but for the evil which calls it into exercise ?
But go abroad and look on men and women beyond the home
which is but a microcosm, and you will see the same beautiful
sights if you knew how to look for them. Sin and sorrow every
�where—but sin and sorrow followed by the holiness and joy of
Heaven-born love. What man or woman who had ever felt the
bliss of it would wish it had never been ?
To have received an injury, and yet to have pardon freely, and
to have turned our foe into a friend, is unspeakably better than to
have received no injury at all. To have kindled Love—true Love
in the breast of another, is worth doing at the cost of much
suffering. And although no one would be so mad as to incur
disease on purpose to arouse sympathy, or so idiotic as to commit
an injury for the sake of being forgiven; yet, for all that, the
suffering and the sin do raise the hearts of those who come in
contact with them, and teach them what they could not otherwise
learn. As Miss Cobbe says in her Intuitive Morals. “ Instead of
an evil nature, oui' lower nature is a necessary postulate of all
our virtue.” Every word you use to denote the highest human
qualities implies the conditions of pain and sin. You speak of
patience ? How could you be patient if there were no trials to
bear, no cruel suspense to undergo, no provocation to irritate your
temper, or to prompt your revenge? You speak of mercy and
forgiveness ? How could you be merciful to those who have done
you no wrong, or forgive those who have never sinned ? You
speak of generosity of heart and hand ? What generosity of
heart could you feel for those who never failed in duty, who never
transgressed the exact limits of their own rights ? What
generosity of hand could you show to those who never needed
your bounty, and what happiness was already full ? You speak
of sympathy, but sooner could the light be severed from the sun
than sympathy be detached from suffering. How could you know
what this perfectly holy feeling is, had there been no suffering to
feel for, no pains to lament, no sin to degrade and distress ? And
you speak of Love—the word which gathers up patience, mercy,
forgiveness, generosity, sympathy, and surpasses them all ? How
could you have known the bliss of it unless human feeling had
been, as it were, bruised and trampled on, to spread its fragrance,
and to shed its life-giving wine? Humanity has indeed been
martyred. Its flesh has been given for the life of the world. Its
sacrifice was needed before men could grow out of the human into
the Divine. Sin and sorrow must rend it, pain and shame must
�7
tread it down, before Love can grow out of it. Your animal
affections, mis-called Love, are only the products of physical ease,
of undisturbed selfishness ; but you had to mortify the flesh with
its affections and lusts before true Love could take its throne in
your soul. You must see and feel what sin and suffering are ;
you must feel them in your own proper person that you may
know what they mean in others, and then you shall enter by that
gate through which all must pass who would fain be Divine. As
fast as one set of sins and sufferings are overcome, new ones arise
in their place. Generation succeeding generation finds the
martyrdom of man taking new shape ; but this is only that man
may not die eternally, but share the life which is endless and
divine. Each age must bear and be hung upon its own cross, that
everyone may learn how to love and be loved.
Evils, you call them ? Well 1 so they are, if, by evil, you mean
that which makes one uncomfortable, The rod, the medicine, and
the surgeon’s knife, are, in this sense, evils. But not so do I
define evil. I call that an evil which works only for harm and
incurable misery ; and of such kind of evil I do not know one
single specimen in the whole universe. Relatively, many things
are evil, nay, almost all things but Love, because they are
imperfections, and constantly under the correction of something
better; but so long as they are working for final good, all things
are good, and to dispense with any one of them while it thus works
would be our bitter loss.
But granting that sin and suffering are evils—not absolute but
relative, we must admit that they are necessary to the development
of that which is highest and most lovely in man’s nature. Because,
as I have tried to show, Love in its highest and purest forms has
no existence apart from the conditions of sin and sorrow which
call it into exercise.
I do not say that this, therefore, proves the existence of God,
but it removes one of the most common and powerful arguments
against it. It destroys the objection of the Atheist which is based
on the sin and misery of the world.
There remains one more objection to meet, and that is contained
in Mr. Reade’s question, “ If God is Love, why is there any bad at
all ?’ Because, I answer, there would have been no more love in
�8
God than love in man, but for the bad. Had there been no
conditions like ours in the universe, the Creator’s heart could have
known nothing of that feeling which we call Love.
Rightly or wrongly, we ascribe to the Divine Being a divine
conquest of Love over what are to us the difficulties and obstacles
in nature. We believe He is taming and subduing all things to
His purposes, and making all things work together for good
to every creature which He has made. Our own highest attitude
in our difficulties of sin and sorrow is that of patient, untiring
Love; and this it is, only in its supremest exaltation that we
ascribe to Him when we say “ God is Love ”
To do the final good at once, instead of to prolong the precess
through painful stages, even if it were possible, would be to achieve
something quite foreign to our best conceptions of good. But it is
a begging of the whole question to imply that it could- be done
*
To make men good at once, without the intermediate processes of
pain and sin, would be to make another kind of creature altogether,
of whom and of whose happiness we have neither experience nor
conception. As well might you try to imagine a man who had
*
never been a child, as a man made perfect without the discipline of
sin and sorrow.
I rejoice in it all, as I have often said, with unspeakable and
glowing delight. My frail flesh would fain escape some of its
dreadful pangs, would fain lay the heavy burden of its cross upon
the shoulders of others. I shudder when I see and think of the
martyrdom of pain, and the worse crucifixion of shame, which
have been the portion of some, and might have been my own •
but I would not have one grain of the world’s burden lightened
by evasion, or one pang dulled by the deadly anodyne,''' so as to
■miss the Heaven-sent blessing which comes to us in disguise,
or to interfere even in thought with the perfect arrangements of
the most Loving Will. I would still say of it all,
“ It is the Lord, let him do what seemeth him good.”
* In the present controversy about Euthanasia, I wish it to be understood that
the term “deadly anodyne” has na reference to the humane and perfectly
justifiable methods of preventing or alleviating physical suffering. I have been
for years an earnest advocate of Euthanasia, and I deem it right to use all means
in our power to diminish or prevent pain. Pain and sin are things to be conquered
and got rid of by all means short of injury to others, or to our higher nature;
but not to be considered unr.ecessarj/ when they are inevitable.
�
Dublin Core
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Title
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Victorian Blogging
Description
An account of the resource
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>
Creator
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Conway Hall Library & Archives
Date
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2018
Publisher
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Conway Hall Ethical Society
Text
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text.
Original Format
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Pamphlet
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Atheism
Creator
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Voysey, Charles [1828-1912]
Description
An account of the resource
Place of publication: [London]
Collation: 5 parts ; 19 cm.
Notes: 5 pamphlets on Atheism delivered at St. George's Hall, Langham Place and printed by the Evening Post. 1: January 12th, 1873 from the Evening Post, January 18th, 1873. II. January 19th, 1873 from the Evening Post, January 25th, 1873. III. January 26th, 1873 from the Eastern Post, February 1st, 1873. IV: February 2nd, 1873 from the Evening Post, February 8th, 1873. V: subtitled 'On the Martyrdom of Man' February 16th, 1873 from the Eastern Post, February 22nd. 1873. Part of Morris Tracts 6.
Publisher
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[Eastern Post]
Date
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[1873]
Identifier
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G3412
Subject
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Atheism
Rights
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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 (Atheism), 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>
Format
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application/pdf
Type
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Text
Language
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English
Atheism
Morris Tracts
-
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Victorian Blogging
Description
An account of the resource
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>
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Conway Hall Library & Archives
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2018
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
Conway Hall Ethical Society
Text
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text.
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
Pamphlet
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
The missing links to Darwin's origin of species
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Merriam, A.W.
Mistick Krewe of Comus
Description
An account of the resource
Place of publication: [New Orleans]
Collation: [38] p. : ill. (engravings) ; 22 cm.
Notes: From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. Text printed within decorative ruled borders. "Keepsake, in verse, distributed to guests at the ball given by the Mistick Krewe of Comus on Mardi Gras, Feb. 25, 1873. Instead of the traditional float, the members marched in costumes that were not only a satire on the Darwinian theory, but made fun of carpetbaggers who were then in control of New Orleans. In 1873 the captain of Comus, whose duty it was to design, produce and manage the pageant and ball, and who presumably wrote the keepsake, was A.W. Merriam. Cf. One hundred years of Comus (New Orleans, 1956)." [From Worldcat, accessed 11/2017]. Adolph Zenneck was a German-born engraver active and living in Louisiana.
Publisher
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[s.n.]
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
[1873]
Identifier
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G5451
Contributor
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Zenneck-Buckingham (ill)
Subject
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Poetry
USA
Rights
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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 (The missing links to Darwin's origin of species), 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>
Format
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application/pdf
Type
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Text
Language
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English
American Poetry
American Reconstruction
Charles Darwin
Conway Tracts
Origin of the Species
Poetry in English
Satire
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The Religious Orders of the Middle Ages.
vanity had helped to spread so deadly an influence. If he had lived a
little longer she might have changed him. So she thought; but Alice
knew better, and when she wept because she had been too late, the
dead man’s daughter knew that any time since Paul’s funeral would
have been too late. If she had talked to Lock every day it would not
have changed him. Only one thing, only Paul’s example, would have
taught him better, and that had gone to strengthen him in his folly.
(2’o be continued.)
IRelitjious ©tiicrs of tlje IfBititile
BY DENHAM ROWE NORMAN, VICAR OF MIDDLETON-BY-WIRKSWORTH.
The Monastic Orders.—The Benedictines.
E are not for a moment to imagine that such a vast and
I
I long-lived system as that which is known as ‘Monasticism,’
I
j sprung up in the Church at short notice or without signs
i of its approaching advent. On the contrary, in the
earliest pages of Church history there are unmistakable
traces of a desire for a holier life than that which could be lived in
the world. The worries and anxieties of daily occurrence were a
burden too heavy for some, who panted after a nearer approach to a
true Christian life. These sensitive people fretted, and chafed, and
pined, in the presence of so much evil as they saw around them; and
thus uneasy and unhappy,
‘ Each was ambitious of the obscurest place.’
From Apostolic times there was a class of Christian converts who
exercised greater self-denial, lived after a stricter rule, than their
fellow-men; and as it would appear, the austere and hard lives led
by these members of the Church, instead of causing a decrease, led to
an increase in their numbers. A danger seems to have been threat
ened to the peace of the Church by some of the customs and doctrines
of these more rigid and exacting Christians; for we find, in a set of
rules of great authority, called the ‘ Apostolic Canons,’ this command:
‘ If any bishop, presbyter, or deacon, or any other of the clergy,
abstain from marriage, flesh, or wine, not for exercise sake, but as
abominating the good creatures of God, &c. . . . let him either reform
himself or be deposed and cast out of the Church.’
By-and-by, not only did Christians crave to live thus severely,
but desired to give up all they had in the world and lead a life of
absolute poverty. Events happened presently which were favourable
to those who felt such desires. In the terrible times of the Docian
persecution, a.d. 249—251, when Fabianus, Bishop of Rome, Alexander
of Jerusalem, and Babylas of Antioch, suffered death, when the learned
Origen with others were imprisoned, very many Christians fled to the
deserts, woods, and caves for safety. These refuges were so prized,
became so dear to the fugitives, that'even, when all dangers had passed
away, they were chosen rather than dwellings in towns and cities.
There was now to be a fresh and strong movement in favour of
the solitary or monastic way of life. About the year a.d. 251 there
was born at the village of Coma, in Upper Egypt, one whose life
became the model of all who aimed at perfection in this point. Anthony,
�The Religious Orders of the Middle Ages.
■*
;
or, as he is sometimes styled, St. Anthony, gave up all his possessions,
retired from the society of men, dwelt in a hole of a rock, and spent
his time in acts of devotion. Crowds of admirers soon came to his
retreat, seeking counsel, desiring to settle down near to him, and spend
their lives after his pattern.
The first seeds of this system of solitary life having thus been
sown, there was soon an appearance of an abundant crop. Hilarion,
a disciple of Anthony, was ready to plant the system of monastic life
in Palestine ; whilst Basil the Great of Caesarea, the friend and fellow
student of Gregory Nazianzen, helped on the cause amongst Christ
ians in Syria and Asia Minor. The first religious house where monks
of various degrees and estates lived under the rule or guidance of a
chief or abbot was founded by Pachomius, in Egypt. ‘ Pachomius,’
as a quaint author writes, ‘ by the help of God effected this.’
It is generally supposed that Athanasius introduced this solitary
life into Europe. Living in banishment at Borne, a.d. 341, this bold
champion of the faith wrote a life of St. Anthony. This biography was
translated into Latin, and was most eagerly read by numerous citizens.
This sketch of a life of self-denial and seclusion attracted many and
convinced some. There was a company ready to adopt this life. One
by one the names of those who are familiar to us as leading Churchmen
in the fourth and fifth centuries appear as countenancing this isolated
and austere life,—St. Ambrose of Milan, St. Martin of Tours, and
St. Jerome. The last-named writer often in his letters speaks of the
joys of this life, and compares the sweetness of happiness he derived
from dwelling in the village of Bethlehem with the splendours and
attractions of Borne. ‘ At Bethlehem, Christ’s little village, there was
nothing to be heard but psalms; one could not go into the field but he
heard the ploughman singing his hallelujahs, the mower comforting
himself with hymns, and the vine-dressers tuning David’s Psalms.’
Jn the East and in the West the system had found a home within
the Church, and its friends were not slow in trying to prove what
could be done by men thus withdrawn from the business of life in
spreading the Christian religion far and wide. In France, in Britain,
in Ireland, zealous and tried members wrought, and prayed, and taught,
with little to cheer them but a strong sense of duty. Scattered far
and wide as sheep without a shepherd, under no general law, respon
sible to no central head, with many individual members of depraved
and unruly life, there needed some strong and firm master to stand
up among the monks as governor. About the year a.d. 480 such
a man was born at Norsia, in Italy, by name Benedict. Whilst at
Borne receiving his education, he became so uneasy at the evils he
saw on every side, that at the early age of fifteen he left Borne and
retired to a solitary rock, where he was supported by a daily meal
from the scanty store of a monk of Subiaco, whose name was Bomanus.
Discovered at length in his retreat by some shepherds, Benedict spent
his time in instructing them, and persuading them to devote themselves
to the service of God. When about thirty years of age, a.d. 510,
Benedict was chosen as abbot of a monastery near his retreat; but
he soon gave such offence to the brethren by his austere and holy
living, that they tried to take his life by poison.
Betiring again to his rock, there were soon vast numbers seeking
7
�The Religious Orders of the Middle Ages.
his company and desiring his advice. Shortly he was able to found
twelve monasteries or homes, with an abbot and twelve monks in each
dwelling, a.d. 528, owing to misunderstandings with a priest named
Florentius, St. Benedict left Subiaco, and after a while came with his
A bENEblCTINE, FliuM DL’GJJALE’S ‘WARWICKSHIRE.’
companions to Monte Cassino. In the neighbourhood of this small
town there was a lofty eminence, where stood a temple of the heathen
god Apollo, and a sacred grove. Benedict presently so far prevailed
that the heathen god was destroyed, the grove cut down, and a Christian
oratory, or church, was erected, which was dedicated to St. John and
St. Martin. Above the church was eventually founded the celebrated
Monastery, which has ever since been regarded as the chief and central
home of the Order.
Whilst completing his buildings in this retired spot, Benedict
S
�The Religious Orders of the Middle Ages.
drew up the laws of his famous 1 Rule of Life,’ which for a long course
of years was regarded as the model of all such religious codes. Ac
cording to the provisions of the Rules, those who after long and
anxious probation were admitted to fellowship, took upon themselves
the vows of poverty, chastity, obedience, and readiness for manual
labour, which vows were to be regarded as irrevocable. Each Monastery
BATTLE ABBEY AS IT WAS ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY YEARS AGO.
adopting the Rule of St. Benedict, was to be governed by an abbot
chosen by the monks and approved by the bishop. The Brethren of
the Order were to rise two hours after midnight for matins, and if at
the monastery, to attend eight services daily: they were to be at manual
labour seven hours. The Psalter was to be repeated each week ; a
book was to be read aloud at every meal; two kinds of cooked vege
tables were permitted; to each monk was allowed a small measure of
wine. The Abbot of each Monastery was to discriminate and moderate
the labours which he imposed on each individual. He was to take for
his pattern the example of prudence presented in the words of the
9
�The Religious Orders of the Middle Ages.
patriarch, Gen. xxxiii. 13, ‘If men should overdrive them one day, all
the ilock will die.’ Hospitality was to be shown to all, and especially
to the poor: even the Abbot was required to share in washing the feet
of guests. It should be remembered that those monks, living thus
away from the world in retirement under the guidance of St. Benedict,
were laymen, not clergy. It is not known that even Benedict himself,
the founder of the Order, was ever ordained. The members of the
Order wore a distinctive dress or habit, usually black, but always of
a coarse and plain character.
For about fourteen years St. Benedict was spared to set a pattern
of industry, humiliation, and devotion, to his disciples, beseeching them
continually to avoid the sins of pride, idleness, and covetousness.
Finding that his life was drawing to a close he ordered his grave to
be dug; which order having been executed, he asked to be conveyed
to the spot. Looking at this narrow cell in silence, he after a while
said, ‘ Am I here to await, in this strait bed, a joyful resurrection?’
He rapidly sank, and died on March 21,543, being, as the old chroniclers
state, the eve of Passion Sunday.
The Benedictine Order from this time rapidly grew in the esteem of
devoted men. Members of influence soon founded monasteries in
Sicily, France, and Spain. In the year a.d. 596 the Order was intro
duced into England by Augustine, who was himself a member;
and it was not very long before almost every religious house in
England adopted, either by persuasion or compulsion, the Rule of the
famous Order. Gradually there sprang up in the several counties of
England noble homes of the Order, in which were presently gathered
sons of nobles and chiefs, ready to devote themselves to this life of
religious exercises. Thus we find, in a.d. 677, St. Peter’s at Wearmouth,
and St. Paul’s at Jarrow, were raised by Benedict, or Bennet Biscop, one
of whose pupils was the Venerable Bede. In a.d. 714 Croyland Abbey,
one of the very noblest of the many honies of the Order in Eng
land, was commenced. Every century saw some new house built,
and even when the Saxon rule was ended the Order of St. Benedict
was not left friendless or without a patron. Speed, in his history,
thus speaks of William the Conqueror as a supporter of the monks
of St. Benedict, p. 435:—‘Besides his many other stately buildings,
both for fortification and devotion, three Abbeyes of chiefe note he is
sayd to have raised, and endowed with large priviliges and rich pos
sessions. The first was at Battle in Sussex, where he wonne the
Diademe of England in the valley of Sangue-lac, so called in French,
for the streames of blood therein spilt. Most certain it is, that in the
very same place where King Harold’s Standard was pitched, and
under which himself was slain, there William the Conqueror laid that
foundation, dedicating it to the Holy Trinity and to S. Martin, that
ther the Monks might pray for the soules of Harold and the rest that
were slain in that place.’
From the reign of William, 1066, to the time of Henry VIII., 1546,
when all the Religious Houses of the Order were seized, there was a
gradual increase of the Order in England, so that at length a traveller
had not far to go who wished to visit the Benedictines from house to
house. Westminster Abbey was a Benedictine foundation, ro like
wise were Abingdon, St. Alban’s, and Glastonbury. Though energetic
10
�A Hint Well Taken.
and desirous of planting their Order ever in some new home, it would
be untrue to describe the Benedictines in these words:—
1 Like zealous missions, they did care pretend
Of souls in show, but made the gold their end ; ’
for it is to mon that England owes much of her mediaeval prosperity
and early civilisation. Forests were cleared by these monks, roads
were made, wastes reclaimed, fields tilled, churches built, schools taught,
books copied over and over again, heathenism rooted out. These were,
some of the many works which were done by these pioneers of enlight
enment. Though they have been styled by an eminent Frenchman,
M. Guizot, ‘ The Clearers ’ of Europe, yet their special work was the
*
foundation of schools of learning. Two silent but truthful witnesses
to the untiring zeal of the Benedictine Order on behalf of education
are those facts,— that in the precincts of their Abbey at Westminster
the first printing-press was set up in England, and that in Italy the
first printing-press which was put together was for the Order of
St. Benedict, at a small house at Subiaco, where St. Benedict had dwelt.
Though the Order was suppressed in England at the time of the
Reformation, yet it has existed in various countries of Europe; its
members toiling on still in their own line of literature, and giving the
world from time to time some of the noblest writings of ancient days,
edited with all that care and precision for which the Order has become
famous. The Benedictine edition of the early Church writers, such as
St. Augustine, is regarded as the standard edition. Though Monte
Cassino has passed through many troublous changes since the death of
the devoted Benedict, yet its substantial buildings in these days can
assure the traveller that the ‘ Benedictine Order ’ still survives, and
can welcome guests with a generous hospitality.
What an important part in the pages of history this noble Order
has played may be judged of when it is stated, that from its ranks
there have been chosen no fewer than forty popes, two hundred cardinals,
fifty patriarchs, one hundred and sixteen archbishops, four thousand
six hundred bishops, four emperors, twelve empresses, forty-six kings,
and forty-one queens.
& îWint toril Œafcen.
R. LOCKHART, of Glasgow, when travelling in Eng
land, was sojourning in an inn when Sunday came round. .
On entering the public room, and about to set out for 1
church, he found two gentlemen preparing for a game
at chess. He politely said to them : ‘ Gentlemen, have
you locked up your portmanteaus carefully?’
‘ No. What 1 are there thieves in this house ? ’
‘ I do not say that; only I was thinking that if the waiter comes
in and finds you making free with the fourth commandment, he may
think of making free with the eighth commandment.’ The gentlemen
said, ‘ There is something in that,’ and laid aside their game.
* Les Défricheurs de l’Europe.
11
�3acfc anti tije Hangman.
MOW, Jack, row fair and softly,’
i * The landsman gravely said,
‘We City men, at weary desk,
Work precious hard for bread.
Long hours, and barely room to turn,
While you are gay and free,
It makes it seem one holiday,
Your life, my friend, at sea.’
‘Aye! tis a famous life, sir,
When skies are blue and bright,
And winds are soft and favouring;
But come some stormy night
And stand beside me on the deck
Of our good ship Renown,
I wager you will heave a sigh
For your snug place in town.
I couldn’t stand your work, sir!
I grant you that, I own ;
But then you have your people round,
Yom family, your home:
While I, in sailing out of port,
Leave all I love behind,
And know my mother breaks her heart
With every puff of wind.
You take your walk o’ Sundays,
The girl a-near your heart,
Whom you will promise some fine day
To hold till death do part;
You saunter through the flowery lane
’Mid talk of that same day,
While I may whistle for my Jane
Some thousand miles away!
We're pretty much alike, sir—
Our lives are none too soft—
You sitting on your long-legged stool,
And I, poor Jack, aloft;
You gasping for a freer air,
I blown across the deck,
Both praying, if in different tongue,
“ Lord! keep our ship from wreck.”
I sometimes like to think, sir,
That He was once afloat,
Along with His disciples,
In that poor fisher-boat,
And saw tlie gale rise fierce and fast
In far-off Galilee,
Just as I've watched it on the deck
Of our good ship at sea.
12
�The Happiest Life.—The Religious Orders of the Middle Ages.
grew so fond of him that whenever, from his barking, they apprehended
danger, they would rush towards him for protection, and seek shelter
in his kennel. A farmer’s wife had a young duck which, by some
accident, was deprived of its companions, and attached itself to her.
Wherever she moved it followed her so closely that she was in constant
fear of treading upon and crushing it to death. It laid itself by the
fire and basked on the hearth, and when noticed seemed delighted.
This went on till some other ducks were procured, when, being con
stantly driven out of the house, it gradually associated with its more
natural companions.
Oe iWavincst ¡Life.
RATHER, I know that all my life
Is portioned out for me ;
And the changes that will surely come
I do not fear to see :
But I ask Thee for a present will
Intent on pleasing Thee.
I ask Thee for a thoughtful love,
Through constant watching wise,
To meet the glad with joyful smiles
And wipe the weeping eyes:
And a heart at leisure from itself
To soothe and sympathise.
I would not have the restless will
That hurries to and fro,
Seeking for some great tiling to do,
Or secret thing to know.
I would be treated like a child
And guided where to go.
Wherever in the world I am,
In whatsoe’er estate,
There is a fellowship with hearts
To keep and cultivate :
And a work of lowly love to do
For the Lord on Whom I wait.
I
I ask Thee for the daily strength,
To none that ask denied,
And a mind to blend with outward things
While keeping at Thy side:
Content to fill a little space
So Thou be glorified.
And if some things I do not seek
In my cup of blessing be,
I would have my spirit filled the more
With grateful love to Thee;
And careful less to serve Thee much
Than to please Thee perfectly.
There are briers besetting every path
Which call for patient care,
There is a cross in every lot,
And an earnest need for prayer:
But a lowly heart that leans on Thee
Is happy anywhere.
In service which Thy love appoints
There are no bonds for me ;
For my secret heart is taught the truth
Which makes Thy children free :
And a life of self-renouncing love
Is a life of liberty.
M. L. Waking.
Keligious ©rtrers of tfje IBüftile
BY DENHAM ROWE NORMAN, VICAR OF MIDDLET0N-BY-WIRK3W0RTH.
The Monastic Orders.— II. The Augustins.
the history of the ‘ Benedictine Order ’ it was stated that
the members of the Order were chiefly, if not entirely, lay
men ; Benedict himself, the founder, never having been
ordained. In the sketch now given of another famous
religious community, it is well to remark that the ‘Augus
tins’ were chiefly ordained men, or men who were looking forward to
ordination.
If, on several important matters, there were different opinions held
by the great doctors of the Christian Church, there seems to have been
but one opinion about the need of special homes, retired from the world,
�The Religious Orders of the Middle Ages.
for those who would devote themselves wholly to God’s service. On
this point of Christian order and discipline there appears to have been
a complete unity of sentiment. There were reasons why such a manner
of common life was then most desirable and most necessary.
It was in the earlier years of the fifth century that the movement
in favour of this retired life received a great impetus. There had
been signs of a desire for such a mode of life manifest for many years,
and these signs had become more and more evident as time went on ; but
now circumstances arose in which it was no longer possible to delay the
formation of companies of earnest and holy men, who might live together
apart from the cares and worry of the world.
From the year a.d. 400, the Christians living within the limits of
the Roman empire had to endure so many terrible and crushing evils,
that unless some such provision as that afforded by the foundation of
homes for study or retirement had been made, the fate and fortune of
Christianity in those countries would have been in imminent peril. In
the years a.d. 408-410 there came three separate invasions by the Visi
goths under Alaric. A little later there came the Vandals, under
Genseric; and, after a very brief interval, the Huns, under Attila,
who called himself ‘ the Scourge of God.’ In such times as these, when
armed and savage men were ever near at hand to spoil churches and
murder clergy and people without mercy, there was need of such places
of refuge as were now being formed.
Besides the troubles which came from without—which came from
heathen hands—in Northern Africa, there was another foe. Vast num
bers of men who called themselves Christians, but who in reality were
heretics, were continually harassing the members of the Church. These
Circumcelliones (vagrants), or, as they styled themselves, Agonistici
(combatants), were such a source of constant anxiety to the faithful,
that Augustine, bishop of Hippo, determined to collect into societies
those whose desire it was to become ordained servants of the Church.
In view of such trials as then pressed on Christians, when it is remem
bered that churches were desecrated, that clergy were imprisoned and
put to death, when the holy vessels were destroyed, is it a matter for
surprise if we find that such men as Augustine sanctioned and helped
to found homes,
‘ By shady oak, or limpid spring,
where faithful and self-denying men might keep alive and free from
error the religion of Jesus Christ ?
If, as there are some reasons for believing, Eusebius, bishop of
Vercelli, in the North of Italy, who flourished about the year a.d. 354,
and Hilary, bishop of Arles, 430-449, lived together with their clergy a
i common fife, yet it is to the widely known and venerated name of
1 St. Augustine that the fame attaches of having founded an Order of
religious men whose lives were to be passed in a home specially set
apart for their use. The strong and practical mind of this great Church
leader recognised the necessity of such an institution, and at once set
about its foundation. There must be such a brotherhood living under his
eye, listening to his teaching, yielding to his guidance, each and all of
which society were to aim at fulfilling, not only the precepts of the Gospel
but its COUNSELS.
One great idea of his life—an idea which Augustine had enter4
�The Religious Orders of the Middle Ages.
tained before his conversion to Christianity—was now carried out ; he
had established a community of religious men, but now, with that
shrewd good sense for which he is noted, he would guard against evils
which were likely to beset this company and hinder them in their
AN AUGUSTINIAN.
(FROJI DUGDALE’s ‘WARWICKSHIRE.’)
spiritual duties. The kind of life he designed for his brotherhood had
attractions for numbers who would have been but indifferent and, per
chance, unworthy members, and Augustine, with jealous care, provided
strict rules for the regulation of these unpromising postulants. He
saw men coming for admittance, many of whom were of the lower and
lowest classes, to whom
‘ The shining cincture and the broidered fold ’
of the monk were of more importance than the inner life of piety and
holiness. These he would not reject. ‘ These,’ said he, ‘ may become
5
�The Religious Orders of the Middle Ages.
honoured instruments in the hands of God ; for as it is written (1 Cor. i.
26-28) “ Not many wise men after the flesh, not many mighty, not
many noble, are called ; but God hath chosen the foolish things of the
world to confound the wise, and God hath chosen the weak things of
the world to confound the things that are mighty, and base things of
the world and things which are despised hath God chosen.” ’ But for
all who were admitted to the Order or Community there was to be a
full occupation. For every member there was to be set out a measure
or portion of work. Hard, daily manual labour, in some shape or other,
was to be done by every monk. And besides the requirement of daily
tasks from each, there was a strict rule of life laid down, which went far
to secure order, usefulness, and spiritual growth in the members.
It was thus by drawing themselves together, and when formed into
compact bodies, that these servants of the Church would carry on the
work of teaching the people in the towns and villages, and train up
6ome of their brethren for the special work of going out into heathen
lands with the offer of salvation and eternal life. Those who had been
ordained, or who were expecting to be ordained, would in this way, by
living a retired, and holy, and self-denying life, win the hearts of men
and gain them over to the faith.
What had the sanction of such names as Eusebius of Vercelli, of
Hilary of Arles, and of St. Augustine of Hippo, soon became widely
known, and in a short time there was, in a vast number of dioceses,
similar communities. Bishops, in almost every European country,
founded and presided over bodies of their clergy; and hence what had
been commenced as an absolutely necessary institution in one, two, or
three countries, soon spread its branch-houses throughout the whole of
the Western Church, until ‘ The Augustins,' or those clergy who pro
fessed to live after the plan of life drawn up for the seminary at Hippo,
became a most important and considerable organised body of Church
workers .
From the fact that St. Augustine drew up his scheme for the regu
lation of the lives of his clerical community or ‘ Order,’ so as to be in
accordance not only with the distinct teaching of Holy Writ but with the
canons which had received the sanctions of General Councils of the
Church, those who adopted and carried out his rule became known as
‘ Canons,’ and a little later as ‘ Regular Canons.’ In the early days of
the foundation of the Order, when they were called sometimes ‘ The
Lord’s Brethren’ (Jratres Dominici),those bitter lines of Chaucer could
hardly have been a faithful description, when, in the Ploughman's Tale,
he says—
i
1
,
‘ And all such other Counterfaitors,
Chanons, Canons, and sueh disguised,
Been Goddes enemies and traytours,
His true religion hav some despised.’
It was only to be expected that an important, learned, and zealous
body of men, whose lives and labours for the good of men were well
reported of, and whose kindly offices were constantly sought after,
would, in the end, come into possession of lands and money. And as a
fact of history, these Augustins did thus draw to themselves an everincreasing number of gifts and presents. Benefactors became so many
*nd so liberal, that within a while the riches of the community became
6
�The Religious Orders of the Middle Ages.
z
a burden, hindering the members in the spiritual warfare on which they
had entered. There was a falling away in these Augustins, from that
plain, hard life, from that sharp discipline, which had been insisted on
by him whose name they bore. Indeed, the loose morals, the corrupted
condition of many societies of the Order, became so notorious, that respect
and regard were rapidly fading away.
About 750 a.d. the general state of the ' Augustin Order’ was so
serious as to attract the attention of a man of noble birth—Chrodegang,
a nephew of Pepin, and Archbishop of Metz. This prudent man,
observing the very different life led by these Augustins or Canons to
that which he knew to be the rule of the Order as drawn by St. Augus
tine, set himself the task of a reformation of these Canons. After a
time of consideration, Chrodegang issued a set of rules which are known
as the ‘ Sincere Rules of Metz,—Regulce Sincerce apud Mansi.' By these
rules there was to be a common refectory, a common dormitory, an uni
form dress. The clerical members—those, that is, who had already
been ordained—were bound to attend Divine service so many times aday, and each was to spend so much time in manual labour and so much
in study. Youngers were to show respect for elders. All .were to
receive Holy Communion every Sunday and high festival. Stripes and
confinement were inflicted for certain neglects or wrongs. The code, as
drawn up by Chrodegang, was laid before a council of the Church held
at Aix-la-Chapelle (about fifty years after the death of its author),
a.d. 816, under the presidency of Louis the Pious, and having obtained
the approval of the bishops and divines there assembled, it was soon
generally received and recognised as the Augustin Rule for Canons
Regular.
In the course of the next two or three centuries these ‘Canons’
increased again rapidly, both in numbers and influence, and living more
closely to their rule, they were able to draw into their Order many noble
and religious men. In Italy, Spain, France, Germany, and England,
these Augustins founded homes. The precise date when a branch of
the Augustin Order was first introduced into England is a matter of
uncertainty. Some would have us understand that the event took place
a.d. 640, when Birinus was Bishop of Dorchester. Others, following the
Chronicon Augustin,, compiled by Josephus Pamphilus, assert that the
Augustins were settled in London a.d. 1059, before the Norman Con
quest. The most probable date is a.d. 1105, in the reign of Henry I.,
when one Eudo introduced the Order to this country. For some time
St. John’s, at Colchester, was one of their chief houses; but these
Augustins, or Black Canons as they were sometimes called from the
colour of their habit, soon gained a large amount of favour and in
terest among the English, and obtained grants of land in almost every
county.
It has been observed, that to the ‘ Benedictine Order ’ we owe many
of our noble cathedrals; it may now be stated that it is to the ‘Augustin
Order ’ that we are indebted for the cathedrals of Oxford, Lincoln, Salis
bury, Lichfield, Carlisle, and Hereford. Whatever was done by these
Canons, however, in the way of teaching, or building, or civilising, was
of no avail when the day of trouble came. One of their own Order
Martin Luther—commenced his labours, and in a brief period the
storm which he raised became so violent, not only in Germany but in
7
�Faith—Use of Time.
England, that the ‘ Augustin Order,’ like all other religious communi
ties, was suppressed, and its lands and houses alienated.
The end of the Order is thus described by Fuller, in his Holy War,
p. 252:—‘For an introduction to the suppression of all the residue,
the King had a strait watch set upon them, and the regulars therein tied
to a strict and punctual observation of their orders, without any relax
ation of the least liberty ; insomuch that many did quickly unnun and
disfriar themselves, whose sides, formerly used to go loose, were soon
galled with strait lacing. Then followed the great dissolution or judgment-day on the world of abbeys remaining ; which, of what value
soever, were seized into the King’s hands. The Lord Cromwell, one of
excellent parts, but mean parentage, came from the forge to be the
hammer to maul all abbeys; whose magnificent ruins may lesson the
beholders, that it is not the firmness of the stone nor fastness of the
mortar maketh strong walls, but the integrity of the inhabitants.'
dTaitl).
HE substance of things hoped for
By Christians high and low—
Hoped for! how fondly hoped for
Only our God can know.
For only our God can see
Each inmost hope and fear;
No man hath power to see and know
What is to God so clear.
T
See the great cloud of witnesses
In solemn sequence rise;
Proclaiming each the power of Faith,
They pass before our eyes.
We grasp the truth they showed in life,
And show in death again;
We thank the Lord of Heaven and earth
They witness not in vain.
The evidence of things not seen,
Things past and things to come,
By some believed, to some unknown,
And disbelieved by some.
Things written in God’s Holy Word,
Which, though by faith received,
Nor eye hath seen, nor ear hath heard,
Nor heart of man conceived.
Then let us lay aside each weight,
Each strong besetting sin,
And let us run with patience
That we the prize may win;
That, looking unto Jesus,
We may follow where He trod,
And together be set down with Him
Beside the throne of God.
God’s words and works to finite sense
May hard and dark appear;
His ways are not our ways, yet all
By Faith seem plain and clear.
Even that holy mystery
By Faith we understand—
How the worlds were framed by the
Word of God,
And His glory filled the land.
Faith, Hope, and Charity— these three
Shall be with us alway—
Shall be to us a fire by night,
A guiding cloud by day.
By Faith our Love is cherished,
By Faith our Hope we see ;
We’ll live in Hope, we’ll live by Faith,
And Love our life shall be.
R. S. R. A.
of &ime.
Lord Coke wrote the subjoined distich, which he religiously
observed in the distribution of his time :—
‘ Six hours to sleep; to law’s grave study, six;
Four spend in prayer; the rest to Nature fix.'
Sir William Jones, a wiser economist of fleeting hours of life,
amended the sentiment in the following lines :—
‘Seven hours to law; to soothing slumber, seven;
Ten to the world allot; and all, all, to Heaven.’
8
�Church Proverbs.
voiced proclamation. Who does not remember the bc,y that said at
school, with head erect and fiery tongue, that the master had ‘ better
not touch me, I can tell him,’ and on turning round and seeing the
master behind him, very properly begged his master’s pardon, and put
his bluster in his pocket lor a time? ¡¿o is it with the man who talks
loudly before the battle, that boasts himself when he puts on his
armour instead of waiting till, victorious and having given proof of
better stuff than boasting, he takes it off. A red coat and a swagger
ing gait do not make a soldier any more than Cucullus facit monachum.
For there are such things as wolves in sheep’s clothing. Holy
Scripture appeals, in saying this, to our common experience and ob
servation. There were bad men in good monks’ attire in former
days, and there are still wolves in skins of sheep and lambs. This
tells us, doubtless, to beware of others, but it tells us also to take heed
to ourselves. If, for example, we meet our neighbour No. 1 with a
a smile and a handshake of warmest welcome, see we to it that we do not
go and say to our neighbour No. 2 anything unfriendly about No. 1. For
a smile and a handshake do not make friendship. A staunch word behind
the slandered back is more like true friendship. There is a saying in
9
�The Religious Orders of the Middle Ages.
this same Latin tongue which runs over with wise sayings, of which
the English is, ‘ A true friend is tested in a doubtful matter.’ That
is to say, if you get into trouble, and the world shakes its head at you
without cause, then comes the time for you to see what makes friend
ship, and what is only the outside cowl of friendship. When the sun
shines and fortune smiles, as the saying is, then everybody is smiling
too, and the world is pleasant as pleasant can be. But that does not
make friendship any more than the cowl makes the good monk.
What really did make the monk was his obedience, his poverty, his
holiness, his sincerity, and other such consistencies, added upon his
formal and due admission to the fraternity he belonged to. Then came
his cowl. That was all well enough, a part of his uniform and pro
fession. But it did not make him what he was. There are essential
parts of a character, parts, that is, which if you take away, the char
acter is altered altogether; and there are not essential parts. The
cowl or hood was a mere sign of monkery, and the monk was a monk
when he took it off as truly as when he wore it on. The hood did
not make the monk.
Œfje ïUIioious ©rïira of tïje iMiWe
BY DENIIAJI ROWE NORMAN, VICAR OF MIDDLETON-BY-WIRKSWORTH,
The Monastic Orders.—III. The Cistercians.
1 the troubled and unsettled years of the ninth and tenth
centuries, a.d. 800-1000, the strict rule of life which had
been drawn up by St. Benedict for the monks of his Order
was gradually relaxed. In some monasteries the standard
set up by the master was far too high to be reached, and
upon various pleas dispensations of the rule were constantly granted.
The well-known and rigid piety of the founder and the earlier mem
bers for a long time sustained the popularity of the Benedictines; but
when faults and failings of later monks became known to the laity, who
made no profession of peculiar devotion to God, there were numerous
expressions of discontent.
But though the state of many of the religious houses had thus
grown into such unsavoury repute, there was at that time so much real
need for these homes of learning—these centres of religious life—that
rather than allow them to decay and perish, wise, holy, strong-minded
men determined, from time to time, to reform them, and, if possible,
to revive the love of study and prayer among those who had devoted
themselves to such a life. That which was becoming to a monk, and
pleasant in the eye of God, and useful to the Church, was retained.
That which was unprofitable and unbecoming was to be cast away.
That which had even the appearance of evil was to be avoided with
utmost care. Very bold, stern, and firm, were some of these Reformers;
and little pity had they for the follies and weaknesses of the inmates of
the cloister. A quaint old English historian, writing his account of these
numerous efforts to amend the lives of monks and make them such men
as they professed to be, thus puts the mattery—‘ Now as mercers, when
their old stuffs begin to tire in sale, refresh them with new names to
make them more vendible; so, when the Benedictines waxed stale in the
10
�The Religious Orders of the Middle Ages.
world, the same Order was set forth in a new edition corrected and
amended.’ It is quite true, as Fuller states, that there are a number of
Orders all springing from the parent Benedictine rule; but it must he
remarked that each separate name given is a fresh testimony on behalf
of the earnest desire there was that the rule of life designed by
St. Benedict should be observed and adhered to.
One of these attempts to i refine the drossy Benedictines,’ was made
by Robert de Molesme. This man was of noble birth, and at a very
early age (15) was received into a monastery. The manner of life led
at this first religious house did not suit his ascetic turn of mind, and
long did he search for a monastery in which the laws were sharp enough
to satisfy his yearnings. In the end, he joined a congregation at
Molesme, in the diocese of Langres, in the north-east of France ; and
here for a time, as head of the house, he enforced with utmost rigour
the original rule of St. Benedict. This exact and punctual observance,
enforced with unflinching zeal, was too much for the monks; they urged
the differences of climate and situation as excuses for neglects, and
refused to obey their abbot. Robert, discovering that his labours were
likely to be in vain, with the consent of Hugh of Lyons, the Pope’s
legate, withdrew from Molesme.
In the year a.d. 1098, Robert, with about twenty followers, set out
to found a new home. This company took a fancy to a wild and barren
spot at Cistercium, or Citeaux, not far from the town of Dijon. In a
little while this band of holy men—the founders, the originators of the
far-famed ‘ Cistercian Order ’—obtained from the Duke of Burgundy a
tract of land whereon they might build a home and pasture their cattle.
Robert had not been at Cistercium many months when he was sum
moned back to Molesme. The young society was now left to the
guidance of Abbot Alberic, who drew up a set of rules for his monks.
On the death of Alberic, an Englishman, named Stephen Harding, suc
ceeded as abbot, and he added fresh regulations, which obtained the
sanction of the Pope, and became known under the title of the ‘ Charter
of Love.’
By the authority of Calixtus a special dress was worn by the Cis
tercian monks, which was to be made, says an old chronicler, ‘ in
accordance with a pattern which Alberic, the second abbot of the Order,
had been shown in a vision by the Blessed Virgin Mary, and from a
white cloth fabric.’
The utmost simplicity of food was to be used, as may be imagined
when it is stated that one of the rules was that only a single meal daily
was-to be taken between September and Easter. Their homes were
always to be chosen in retired and waste places, such as those described
by Goldsmith in his poem, The Hermit:—
* Far in a wilderness obscure
The lonely mansion lay;
A refuge to the neighbouring poor
And stranger», led astray.'
It would appear that these monks of Citeaux—these Cistercians—
were so wonderfully exact in their lives and so austere in their devo
tions that for some years they were not increased in numbers.
‘ The scrip, with herbs and fruit supplied,
And water from the spring,’
11
�The Religious Orders of the Middle Ages.
was too hard a fare to attract men to the ranks of the fraternity. Byand-by, however, Stephen Harding was to see a result of his untiring
labours, his unceasing prayers. The little community in their seclu
sion was one day surprised by the appearance of a large company of
more than thirty men, who came under the influence of Bernard to
seek an admission. Bernard (or, as he is generally called, St. Bernard),
born at Fontaines, near Dijon, a.d. 1091, had been trained by a holy
mother, Alice or Aletha, and early in life, in a retired chapel, had
‘ poured out his heart like water before the sight of God,’ and given
himself up to God’s service for life. Having prevailed on his brothers,
father, and sister, and others, to give up the world and join him, Ber
nard with his company set out for Citeaux, drawn to that monastery
by the reports of the holy and devoted lives of its inmates. The arrival
of this large number was welcome; but now the cloisters of Citeaux
were so full that other homes were needed. In a.d. 1113 Bernard
arrived; in that same year one company went out and founded a settle
ment at La Ferte. In 1114 another band established a home at
Pontigny. In 1115 another society took up its abode at Morimond.
The Cistercians having now commenced in earnest to send forth
from the parent house at Citeaux bands of holy men, in the latter end
of a.d. 1115 parted with a company under the lead of St. Bernard, who
was to prove one of the most renowned and illustrious members of the
Order. This congregation came, after a time of search, unto a deserted
spot which had been in former years the resort of a gang of robbers,
and went by the name of Vallis Absinthialis—The Valley of Worm
wood. Here a settlement was made in this unpromising, uninviting
wilderness, which, under the more pleasing title of Clara Vallis, or
Clairvaux, or Bright Valley, has become known as the scene of the
labours of one of the most noted men of any period.
At the early age of twenty-five St. Bernard found himself Abbot
of Clairvaux ; and everything which an abbot ought to be he seems to
have striven after with untiring zeal. He prayed standing till he
became faint and exhausted. Though of a weak and frail constitution,
he laboured in the fields and woods with his monks till he fell—looking
in his work, as one record of his life has it, ‘ as if a lamb were yoked to
the plough and compelled to drag it.’ His charities were abundant, pro
viding, among other outlays, food for numbers of poor during a famine in
Burgundy. His studies, and more especially of the Word of God, were
severe and long-continued. It is hardly to be wondered at if, under the
control and direction of such an uncommon abbot as St. Bernard, the
Cistercian Order rapidly increased in numbers, wealth, and consider
ation. The monastery of Clairvaux, though its inmates had to live
upon ‘ porridge made of beech-leaves, with no other seasoning but what
was given to it by hunger or the love of God,’ was resorted to by
hundreds who were unable to gain an admission, and was regarded as
the very model of such homes. Pope Innocent II., a.d. 1131, visited
this Cistercian home at Clairvaux when Bernard was abbot; and
so well-pleasing in his eyes were these ‘ poor in Christ,’ that he granted
to Clairvaux and to the whole Cistercian Order special exemptions
and peculiar privileges. The mean chapel with its bare walls, the refec
tory or dining-room with its earthen floor, the coarse food, the scant
clothing, these were no hindrances to men of high birth—even
12
�The Religious Orders of the Middle Ages.
A CISTERCIAN.
(FROM DUGDALE’8 ‘WARWICKSHIRE.’)
royalty in the person of Henry, the king’s brother, asking for mem
bership among the monks. There was a special charm which drew
men, a charm described in a few words by St. Bernard himself, and
which have thus been translated by Wordsworth :—
« Here man more purely lives; less oft doth fall;
More promptly rises ; walks with nicer tread;
More safely rests ; dies happier ; and gains withal
A brighter crown.’
In a short time, chiefly through the wonderful repute of St. Ber
nard, the Cistercian Order became most popular in every country in
Europe. France supplied many homes, and detachments soon found
settlements in England and Germany. During the time of St. Ber
�The Religious Orders of the Middle Ages.
nard, a.d. 1115-1153, as many as one hundred and sixty branch houses
had been founded, and within a hundred years it is reckoned that there
were as many as three thousand monasteries inhabited by monks of this
Order.
These strict, austere, abstemious Cistercians—or Bernardines, as they
were sometimes called, after the great light of the Order—were intro
duced into England a very few years after the foundation at Citeaux.
In the year 1128 William Giffard, who had been chancellor to three
successive monarchs—William I., William IL, and Henry I., and at
length was consecrated Bishop of Winchester—invited over some Cister
cians, and built for them a home at Waverley, in Surrey. Another
early and liberal patron of the Order in England was William l’Epée,
who encouraged a company to come north and settle down at Rievaulx
in Yorkshire.
Besides these two earlier homes, the Cistercians had numerous
branch-houses in various parts of England, such as Woburn, Furness,
Fountains, Kirkstall, Tintern,“ Buckland, Bindon, whose ruins now tell
what men of mark these monks must have been.
Though the Cistercians were bound by rule to be in strict obedi
ence to bishops, yet they do not seem to have been careful in their con
duct to kings. Speed in his history gives an instance of want of loyalty.
King John had just been present at the funeral of St. Hugh at Lin
coln, by which act the historian supposes great humility was shown; he
then goes on with these observations, pp. 537-8,—‘ Yet here the king
rested not to give proof in so great a height of his lowly mind, and then
benigne (however afterwards averted) to the Clergie ; when twelve
Abbots of the Cisteaux Habit (whose whole Order had displeased him,
by refusing to give Ayde towards his great payment of thirtie thousand
pounds), came now to Lincolne, and all prostrate at his feete, craved his
gracious favour, for that his Forresters had driven out (for so the King
had given command) of his Pastures and Forrests all their Cattell,
wherewith themselves and Christ’s poore were sustained. The King
touched with remorse att so venerable a troope of Suppliants (though so
great offenders), commanded them to rise, who were no sooner up, but
the King, inspired with Divine Grace, fell flat on the ground before them,
desiring pardon, adding that hee not onely admitted them to his love,
and their Beasts to his Pastures (a speciall favour which kings had
granted that Order) but would also build an Abbey for men of their sort
(if they would designe some choice seat), wherein himself meant to be
enshrined. Neither did he promise them more than he performed, nor
were those wylie “ Humiliates ” regardless of choosing a delicate plot for
the purpose, where hee built a goodly Abbey of their Order, deservedly
for the pleasance of the place named Beaulieu, and of rich Revenue and
exceedinge Priviledge. But this Cisteaux dis-Order was not alone,
either in those shamefull indignities or gamefull attonements.’
This Order has given to the Church many men of learning, and has
furnished her with popes, cardinals, bishops, and missionaries. For a
long time it was the most popular Order in Europe, and had a large
share of power in deciding the numerous questions which harassed and
perplexed the public mind. But after three centuries’ prosperity there
came a time of weakness and decay. At the Council of Pisa, held
vn March 1409, there was a public complaint made of the members of
14
�From India.
the Cistercian Order, that they were sadly wanting in those virtues
which their rules enjoined Robert Hallam, bishop of Salisbury, who
had been sent over by Henry IV. to the Council, made the charge
against the Order, and the only answer which came from the head of the
Order—the Abbot of Citeaux—was, that this falling away was caused by
the contentions and distractions of the times.
Various efforts were made to reform the Order and to regain for it
its old power and fame, but about the year 1500 there were so many
divisions amongst the members that in Spain, Italy, and Germany, there
was a complete breaking up of the old Order, with its annual chapters
under the presidency of the Abbot of Citeaux. Not many years after
came its suppression under Henry VIII. in England. There were
houses of Cistercians for two more centuries in France ; but these were
swept away in the great Revolution in a.d. 1789.
■- ♦
dfront
H, come you from the Indies ? and,
soldier, can you tell
Aught of the gallant 90th, and who are
safe and well ?
0 soldier, say my son is safe (for no
thing else I care),
And you shall have a mother’s thanks
—shall have a widow’s prayer! ’
O
‘ Oh, I’ve come from the Indies, I’ve
just come from the war,
And well I know the 90th, and gallant
lads they are:
From colonel down to rank and file, I
know my comrades well,
And news I’ve brought for you, mother,
your Robert bade me tell.’
‘And do you know my Robert now!
oh, tell me, tell me true—
0 soldier, tell me word for word all'
that he said to you !
His very words—my own boy’s words—
0 tell me every one !
You little know how dear to his old
mother is my son ! ’
‘Through Havelock’s fights and marches
the 90th were there;
In all the gallant 90th did your Robert
did his share:
Twice he went into Lucknow,untouched
by steel or ball;
And you may bless your God, old dame,
that brought him safe through all.’
‘ Oh, thanks unto the living God that
heard his mother’s prayer,
The widow’s cry that rose on high her
only son to spare !
O bless'd be God, that turned from him
the sword and shot away —
And what to his old mother did my
darling bid you say ? ’
‘ Mother, he saved his colonel’s life, and
bravely it was done;
In the despatch they told it all, and
named and praised your son :
A medal and a pension’s his; good luck
to him I say;
And he has not a comrade but will wish
him well to-day.’
‘Now,soldier.blessings on your tongue 1
O husband,that you knew
How w'ell our boy pays me this day for
all that I've gone through ;
All I have done and borne for him the
long years since you're dead !
But, soldier, tell me how he looked,
and all my Robert said.’
‘ He’sbronzed, and tanned, and bearded,
and you’d hardly know him, dame •.
We've made your boy into a man, but
still his heart’s the same ;
For often, dame, he talks of you, and
always to one tune;—
But there, his ship is nearly home, and
lie 11 be with you soon.’
‘Oh! is he really coming home? and
shall I really see
My boy again, my own bov, home ? and
when, when will it be ?
Did you say soon?'—‘Well, he is home;
keep cool, old dame; he's here.'—
‘O Robert, my own blessed boy! '—‘O
mother ¡—mother dear! ’
W. Bennett.
15
�Qtye forces of SEnglanU.
‘ Where’s the coward that would not dare
To fight for sueh a land ?’—Jiarmioii.
HE stately homes of England!
T How beautiful they stand,
Amidst their tall ancestral trees,
O’er all the pleasant land!
The deer across their greensward bound,
Through shade and sunny gleam;
And the swan glides past them with the sound
Of some rejoicing stream.
16
�Humility.—The Religious Orders of the. Middle Ages.
of some misty hill, afford more pleasure than a whole thicket full of
pheasants.’ It is not generally known that Paris is largely supplied
with pheasants from England. No less than 50,000 were sent to the
Paris market in the early part of last season.
^umiliti).
HE bird that soars on highest wing,
Builds on the ground her lowly
nest;
And she that doth most sweetly sing,
Sings in the shade when all things rest.
In lark and nightingale we see
What honour hath humility.
When Mary chose the ‘ better part,
*
She meekly sat at Jesus’ feet;
And Lydia’s gently-opened heart
Was made for God’s own temple meet.
T
Fairest and best adorned is she
Whose clothing is humility.
The saints that wear Heaven’s brightest
crown,
In deepest adoration bends ;
The weight of glory bows him down,
Then most when most his soul
ascends.
Nearest the throne itself must be
The footstool of humility.
J. Montgomery.
SHje Religious (©rtrers of tlje WW
BY DENHAM ROWE NORMAN, VICAR OF MIDDLETON-BY-WIRKSWORTH.
‘ What if some little pain the passage have,
That makes frail flesh to fear the bitter wave ?
Is not short pain well borne that brings long ease,
And lays the soul to sleep in quiet grave ?
Sleep after toil, port after stormy seas,
Ease after war, death after life, does greatly please.’
Spenser’s Faerie Queene, b. i. c. ix.
The Monastic Orders.— IV. The Carthusians.
HE life of Christian devotion could not be crushed out of
the Church even by the most wanton and worldly-minded
bishops and priests. Indeed, it often happened that the
very unworthiness in those holding high office was the
cause of a fresh revival of religious energy. Again and
again these more earnest and zealous men were provoked to act with
determined vigour by the careless and unsaintly lives of the clergy.
About the elose of the eleventh century, a.d. 1070, there was a
prelate of a covetous and aspiring turn of mind holding the Arch
bishopric of Rheims, by name Manasseh. This man was of so sordid a
disposition, was so forgetful of his sacred calling, as publicly to declare
‘ that the Archbishopric of Rlieims would be a very good post were it
not that masses had to be sung in order to receive its ample income.’
Such an open disregard for what is becoming in one placed as an over
seer and chief teacher in the Church roused the spirit of a man, who
for years had been closely watching the behaviour of Manasseh. This
zealot was Bruno, who in early years had been educated at Cologne.
Bom about 1030, he came after his school days to Rheims where he
was appointed master of the school attached to the Cathedral. Bruno
soon became famous-for his learning and piety, and drew around him
the youth of the city in large numbers. Indeed, his reputation became
so notable that scholars from afar were sent to his seminary ; amongst
3
�The Religious Orders of the Middle Ages.
others one who, in the course of a few years, became Pope under the
title of Urban II.
As may easily be supposed, there soon sprang up between men of
such totally opposite characters as Manasseli and Bruno serious and
sharp contentions. In the end Bruno grew so weary with what he saw
and heard, was so utterly disgusted with the conduct of the Arch
bishop, that he resolved to seek,
* In cloisters dim, far from the haunts of Folly,’
a retreat, where he might lead a life according to his own strong views
of duty to God. It was about the year 1084 a.d. when Bruno, with
a small company of like-minded men, hade farewell to Rheims, its
luxuries, its pomps, its ease, and found a resting-place in a wild and
barren spot in the vale of Chartreux, or Cartusium.
‘ Vainly directing his view
To find out men’s virtues, and finding them few,’
Bruno determined to secure in the members of this his little family as
near an approach to Christian perfection as possible. To this end he
caused to be built on the chosen site a set of separate cells, in which
each monk might live in retirement and seclusion. There was the
monastery proper for the celebration of divine worship on Sundays and
festivals, and other public acts of the fraternity, but the greater part of
the time every week was spent in isolation from the other members.
In this retired and elevated spot (about 4000 feet above the level of
the sea), which was some 14 miles north of Grenoble, hedged in by hills
and surrounded by lands of unpromising features, Bruno and his com
panions, the founders of the celebrated ‘ Carthusian Order’ of monks,
‘ Serene, and unafraid of solitude,’
devoted themselves with great fervour to their duties, under the friendly
prelate, Hugh, Bishop of Grenoble.
It would appear from the records of this Monastic Order, which
are found in various old chronicles, that nearly from the first, if not
from the first, there were laymen as well as clergy admitted as members
of the community; one writer asserting that the numbers, on account of
the poverty of the soil, were to be limited to thirteen or fourteen
clergy and sixteen laymen. It was understood that each of those
who had joined the company, and was living apart from the world,
had taken this step with a view of spending the rest of life in
contemplation, and in the hope that thus he might ‘ secure the
salvation of his soul.’
The Carthusians were an offshoot from the great ‘ Benedictine
Order,’ but the rule of St. Benedict was made much more severe
by Bruno and his successors. In addition to the three great demands
of Poverty, Chastity, and Obedience, there was a fourth requirement
from those who entered the Monastery at Chartreux—constant,
almost continual silence. Only once a-week was conversation per
mitted. Meals were not taken in a common room or refectory, as
■was customary with members of other Orders, but separately in the
cells, except on the great feasts of the Church. Three days in the
week bread and water were the only fare ; on high days, cheese and
fish might be added. Wine was permitted occasionally in small
■quantities, but it was always to be mixed with water. Next to their
4
�The Religious Orders of the Middle A ges.
skin they wore rough garments made from goatskins, and their clothing
was all made from materials of coarse texture and sober colour.
Bruno, after having spent about six years at ‘ Cartusium/ or
Chartreux, guiding and encouraging his associates, was summoned
A CARTHUSIAN.
(FROM DUGDALES ‘ WARWICKSHIRE.’)
to Rome by Urban II., his former scholar; but the holy man was soon
tired of the city. Having refused the offer of the Bishopric of Reggio,
which Urban urged upon his acceptance, Bruno retired to Sicily,
where he was welcomed by Roger the Count. In this wild and
desolate land Bruno sought ami found a home to his liking, and
set himself the task of building a suitable monastery for himself
and company. Sto. Stephano del Bosco, in the diocese of Squillace,
5
�The Religious Orders of the Middle Ages.
was the work of his hand; and here, in the year a.d. 1101, the pious
and unwearied monk passed away from earth at the age of seventy.
There is mention made in some old authors of writings of Bruno,
especially of some commentaries on the Psalms and Epistles of St.
Paul, but none of those fragments have come down to these days.
On the departure of Bruno from Chartreux the society enlarged
their house, improved their lands, and, above all, were diligent in
preparing for the day of death. Under Landuin, their head, these
Carthusian monks steadily increased in influence, and became more
widely known as self-denying men, and despisers of show and ex
travagant pomp. Simple they were in their demands, as may be
supposed when it is stated that, with the exception of the chalice,
which was to be of silver, all other vessels of the sanctuary were
to be of the plainest kind and least costly material. As a striking
piece of evidence on behalf of this rigid simplicity and exclusion
of expensive ornament, an incident is recorded by Guibert de Nogent,
the chronicler, which may thus be summarised : the Count de Nevers,
hearing of their fame for holiness and hatred of splendour, paid them
a visit one day. Seeing on his visit that the monks were most staid,
grave, and very austere in their mortifications, he tried to prove
their honesty. With this intent, on his return home he sent to
them a present of sundry silver vessels : the intended gift was at once
returned with this message, ‘ We want gold and silver neither to give
away, nor to decorate our church; to what use can we put them then?’
The good Count did, however, find a way to please these men, for
he sent them a roll of parchment-skins, on which they might use
their arts of writing and illuminating, for which they were famous.
About the year 1128, Guigo, fifth Prior of Chartreux, drew up
a set of ‘ Customs ’ for his fraternity, and after this date the Order
gradually rose into fame. So well was the community reported of,
that in 1178 Pope Alexander III. approved of the constitution
which had been drawn up for its governance. It is true that on
account of the strictness of the Rules, and the rigid obedience to the
Rule which was enacted, the numbers of the Carthusians were in
creased very slowly; but if, in comparison with other religious societies,
the Carthusian was a small one, it was select; its members were of
the most ascetic and pious of all monks. One witness on their
behalf, a trustworthy man, Peter of Clugni— Peter the Venerable—thus writes of them to the Pope :—‘ These holy men feast at the
table of wisdom ; they are entertained at the banquet of the true
Solomon, not in superstitions, not in hypocrisy, not in the leaven
of malice and wickedness, but in the unleavened bread of sincerity
and truth.’ However slow the progress made in the earlier years of the
Order, wise and learned Priors of Chartreux succeeded eventually, and
* Planted out their sapling stocks
Of knowledge into so«ial nurseries,’
in various countries of Europe, and established branch houses in the
midst of every nation.
Very shortly after the approbation of the Pope had been obtained
the Carthusians were invited into England, and a settlement was
effected at Witham in Somersetshire, a.d. 1181. Soon further de
tachments arrived. Amongst their most liberal benefactors in this
6
�The Religious Orders of the Middle Ages.
country was William Longespee, Earl of Salisbury, son of Henry II.
and Fair Rosamond. This nobleman gave them lands and endow
ments at Henton in Somersetshire. William, and Ella his wife, were
eager to assist in every way the labours of these holy and learned
men. In the reign of Richard II., a.d. 1398, the Carthusians
were settled by the munificence of Thomas Mowbray, Earl of Notting
ham, at Epworth in Lincolnshire, and subsequently other branch
houses were founded by other patrons at Coventry, Hull, Beauvale,
and elsewhere.
Perhaps the noblest and best-known house of the Order in Eng
land was that founded about a.d. 1371, in the reign of Edward III.,
by Sir Walter de Manny of Cambrey, at St. John’s Street,
Clerkenwell—the Chartreuse, or, as it is popularly called, the Charter
house. This home of the Carthusians was well endowed, and of very
considerable extent.
Times of change, however, came : grievous and troublous times for
these devout men. Little did they dream that their labours in writing
were hastening on those rueful changes; yet so it was, for the mighty
movement which came and dislodged them from their well-loved
homes may be traced back to the study of their manuscript Bibles.
In obedience to their Rules they had been most ready, and to no
requirement had they been more faithful than that which may thus
be translated from Dugdale’s Monasticon, vol. i. p. 951:—
‘ Now read, now pray, now work with a will,
So time shall be short, and toil itself light.’
In various kinds of occupation these Carthusians were found busy.
Indeed, if the impartial truth must be told, these men were the
most persevering, the most industrious, the most painstaking members
of society. Their motto almost seems to have been
* Get work, get work;
Be sure 'tis better than what you work to get
for, in some shape or other, these Carthusians would spend their time
in manual labour.
From the foundation of the Order the favourite work of the
members was that of writing, especially in writing out fresh copies
of the several books of the Old and New Testament. In their
solitary cells these men loved to reproduce that sacred treasure,
regarding their library as their chief earthly delight. Their cells
might be poor and mean, their fare might be coarse and hard, their
clothes might be simple and plain, but tlicir library must be well
stored with manuscripts: it was this craving of theirs for books —
more books—which made so acceptable the bundle of parchment
presented by the Count de Nevers. ‘ A cloister without books,’ says
one, ‘ is like a castle without arms.’
The Carthusians are also honourably known as among the first
and most successful horticulturists of their time. Wherever they
settled, their gardens soon became famous. Let the soil be what
it would, they had a reputation for being able to turn it into a
land of abundance and beauty. At Chartreux, as elsewhere, what
they found on arrival as a howling wilderness, they transformed into
a very paradise of delight. Nor can their skill as builders be over7
�The Religious Orders of the Middle Ages.
looked, some of their monasteries, as that of the Certosa, near Pavia,
being amongst the most splendid of religious houses.
A wonderful chorus of praise is bestowed by historians on these
Carthusians: one (Mosheim) thus delivering his verdict:—‘ Nor is
there any sect of monks which has departed less from the severity
THE CHARTERHOUSE.
of its original discipline .... indeed, it could never prevail much
among females, owing undoubtedly to the rigours and gloominess
of its discipline.’ Another (Robertson) thus giving his conclusions :—
‘ They preserved themselves from personal luxury more strictly than
any other Order ; thus they escaped the satire which was profusely
lavished on monks in general, and they never needed a reformation.’
Amongst the most illustrious men who have been members of the
‘ Carthusian Order,’ is one whose name is well known in English
history, St. Hugh of Lincoln. To this saintly man we owe one of
the most noble and glorious of our English cathedrals, Lincoln
■ 8
�Trust.
Minster. Arriving in England about a.d. 1130, he devoted himself
so zealously to the duties of his high office, that at his death he was
generally mourned, and as a tribute of respect to his memory, Speed
tells us that ‘ King John of England and King William of Scotland,
with their royall allyes, carried the hearse on those shoulders
accustomed to uphold the weight of whole kingdomes.’
The dread day came at length for those ‘ Carthusians ’ who had
settled in England. In the year 1535 Henry VIII. wreaked his
wrath upon these monks. In an old record of the times of this
strong-willed king, there is this touching entry: ‘ Also the same year,
the 3rd day of May was Holyrood day, and then was drawn from the
Tower unto Tyburn the three Priors of the Charter-Houses and there
hanged, headed, and quartered ; and one of the Prior’s arms was
set up at the gate into Aldersgate Street.’ Brave John Haughton,
the Prior of Charter-House, died a martyr — a martyr to a blood
thirsty tyrant’s temper; and died as a martyr should, without fear
or regret. Nor was this the only method found for getting rid of
the Carthusians, as several were cast into dungeons, and left to pine
away to death in the midst of all kinds of noisome filth.
After the suppression of the Order in England it still flourished
in Europe, retaining in a great degree its reputation for devotion,
wisdom, and industry amongst its members.
Besides the four Monastic Orders whose fortunes have been briefly
related, ‘ the Benedictine,’ ‘ the Augustine,’ ‘ the Cistercian,’ ‘ the
Carthusian,’ there were other fraternities of lesser mark,— the
Cluniacs, founded a.d. 900, by William, Duke of Aquitaine, sys
tematised by Odo, Abbot of Clugny, a.d. 927, introduced into Eng
land, a.d. 1077, by William, Earl of Warenne, son-in-law of the
Conqueror, who built them a home at Lewes, and were settled at Barn
staple and Pontefract; the Order of Camaldoli, founded about a.d. 1027
by Bomualdo, a man of high birth, a native of Ravenna; the Order
of Vallombrosa, founded by John Gualberto about 1073 ; and the
Olivetans, of which St. Bernard rtolomei was the founder.
&rust
The following Lines were written by Dr. Alford, the Dean of Canterburyt
shortly before his death.
I know not if dark or bright
My barque is wafted from the strand
Shall he my lot;
By breath Divine,
If that wherein my hopes delight
And on the helm there rests a Hand
Be best or not:
Other than mine.
One Who has known in storms to sail
It may be mine to drag for years
Toil’s heavy chain ;
I have on board ;
Or, day and night, my meat be tears
Above the raging of the gale
I have my Lord.
On bed of pain.
Dear faces may surround my hearth
He holds me when the billows smite:
I shall not fall;
With smiles and glee ;
If sharp, ’tis short; if long, ’tis light;
Or I may dwell alone, and mirth
He tempers all.
Be strange to me.
Safe to the land! ■ safe to the land!
The end is this,
And then with Him go hand in hand
Far into bliss.
9
�i £Intil Sebentg ITunes» £ebcn?
AY had not slipped away without making a change in the
life at Breezy Cottage. Two more inmates were added
to its number,—a young man, bearing so strong a likeness
to Ella that to say he was her brother was unnecessary,
and an old servant.
For these two Ella had made every preparation from the first;
all the comforts and elegancies of the cottage had been collected
together in the room intended for Malcolm Lindsay; while to old
Mary was allotted the large bed-room, in which little Eva also slept;
a tiny room near being Ella’s sleeping-apartment.
For two or three days after her brother’s arrival, Ella Lindsay’s
face wore a less harassed look ; whether she found it well to have him
constantly by her, or whether the nightly chats with old Mary relieved
her heart, certainly she was brighter and less anxious. But the cloud
came back all too soon.
‘ Master Malcolm’s breakfast, please,’ said the old woman, bringing
a tray into the room one morning when Ella was making the tea for
their early meal.
Ella’s quick glance met the stern face of Mary. She turned very
white, and sat down.
‘ It’s no use fretting,’ said the old servant. ‘ I knew it couldn’t
last; we must just bear it and say nothing.’
‘ Is Malcolm ill ?’ asked Eva.
‘ No, dear, he’s quite well, only tired,’ said Ella, with a heart
breaking sigh.
The trouble of her life was pressing heavily upon her; this one
son of the house, the brother who ought to have been her stay and
comfort, was her grief and trial, a slave to the terrible love of strong
drink.
By little and little it had crept upon him, marring all his prospects
in life; time after time he had foresworn the deadly thing, only to
return to it; and but for the command of the Lord to forgive a
brother ‘ until seventy times seven times,’ Ella’s love might hardly
have held out through the trying scenes she had had to witness, aye?
and to take a prominent part in, too !
Malcolm Lindsay’s fair face and clear blue eyes told so different a
tale to the looker-on, that few guessed the heart-break he was to
those who loved him.
Since their parents’ death, Ella had been the one person towards
whom he turned for guidance in the troubles he brought on himself;
twice she had obtained suitable situations for him, when his unsettled
habits had caused his employers to dismiss him; and at last, when
Malcolm declared his preference for the sea, and that there alone
could he find occupation and excitement likely to deter him from his
favourite sin, she made interest to get him on board a merchant-vessel,
draining their somewhat slender coffers to furnish his outfit.
One voyage was enough to show that a sea-life was no cure for
drinking habits ; no sooner was he on land shortly after the talcing of
Breezy Cottage, than his money all went in the old way, and old Mary,
who had been left in London to await his arrival, having missed the
first notice of the incoming of his ship, had a weary search for him
10
�‘ Mr. and Mrs. Broadlands—
See, they sweep along,
The important members
Of that bending throng.’
13
�&fje Religious ©mrs of tlje Wirtile &ges.
BY DENHAM ROWE NORMAN, VICAR OF MIDDLETON-BY-WIRKSWORTH.
‘ And more than prowess theirs, and more than fame ;
No dream, but an abiding consciousness
Of an approving God, a righteous aim,
An arm outstretched to guide them and to bless;
Fi-i m as steel bows for angels’ warfare bent,
They went abroad, not knowing where they went.’
Lyra Apostolica.
The Military Orders.—The Teutonic Knights.
WN the general excitement which prevailed in Europe about
O the Holy Places at Jerusalem, there were few towns in
which the cause of restoration to Christian use had not
SI been ably pleaded. Untiring enthusiasts had traversed
every country, stirring up the zeal and courage of believers.
Not by any means the last to be moved, or the least in importance,
were the inhabitants of that large tract of territory in central Europe
called Germany. Like France, Italy, England, and Spain, Germany
could spare numbers of her sons to go forth, some to fight for and
others to settle down in Jerusalem. Even the cool, stolid German,
took this fever of foreign enterprise, and could join in the spirit of
those words of Warton’s Ode:—
‘ Bound for Holy Palestine
Nimbly we brush’d the level brine,
All in azure steel arrayed ;
O’er the wave our weapons played,
And made the dancing billows glow.’
Pilgrims, or palmers, had gone forth to Palestine from Germany, as
from other Christian states, for purposes of devotion, for a long course
of years. As with the travellers from other nations, so also with these
Germans, it happened that many on their arrival at Jerusalem needed
both food and shelter. The increasing need of a settled home was felt
so keenly about the year a.d. 1120, that a pious German erected, and
to a certain extent endowed, a Hospital for the reception of men.
Nor was it long before this liberal and generous deed was imitated.
The wife of the founder of the Hospital, observing that female pilgrims
had not been provided for, built a similar refuge for the accommodation
of women. In a quiet, unobtrusive way, these refuges were used by
weary strangers until a.d. 1187, when, at the recapture of Jerusalem
by the Turks under Saladin, they were sharers of the common ruin
with the Christian institutions of every other nation. Though the
inmates at that time were forced to flee, they seem to have kept
together as a company in their subsequent search for a home.
1
Hopes, perchance, of a return to the well-loved sanctuary at Jeru
salem may have had an influence with the members of the community,
and constrained them to live on 1 a common life.’ Nor, as it would
appear, were these fond hopes without some degree of warrant. Almost
immediately after the loss of Jerusalem and their consequent flight, news
came to the East of the intended march of their Emperor, the brave
and invincible Frederic Barbarossa. Frederic, however, died from a
chill taken in bathing in the river Cydnus, when near to the work he
60 much wished to perform. Disappointed this little band of German
14
�The Religious Orders of the Middle Ages.
Christians must have been at this untoward and fatal accident; but
in a little while brighter days dawned upon them.
A temporary shelter had been found at A«re, on the coast, and during
the protracted siege of that famous town, a.d. 1190, the members of
this religious body rendered most effectual aid to their sick and
wounded fellow-countrymen. The numbers of invalids becoming daily
greater, the fraternity obtained from the camp several sail-cloth tents,
which were fitted up and used as infirmaries. It was whilst thus
engaged in these pious and patriotic labours of love that they attracted
the notice and won the esteem of Frederic, Duke of Suabia, who had
succeeded as leader of the German troops on the death of the Emperor
Frederic Barbarossa. Men capable of such self-denying, unrewarded
works of mercy, were worthy of encouragement, and Frederic shortly
determined to use the community of German Christians in a wider and,
as he thought, more honourable sphere of employment. The design was
soon carried out, and this humble band was raised to a rank, position,
and dignity, similar to what had been before secured by the Knights
Hospitallers and Knights Templars. Speaking quite seriously, one
of the admirers of the new Order observed on this act of Frederic in
founding it, with more of enthusiasm than reverence, ‘ It pleased
God to create this Third Order, because a threefold cord is not quickly
broken.’
An approval of this step was soon obtained; and now that this
German Order might not be a whit inferior to its elder rivals, rules
of guidance were sought, and a Grand Master desired. The choice
of the electors fell on Henry a Walpot, who had much distinguished
himself amongst his brother-members. But now all was not done.
The Emperor Frederic had been at open war with the Pope, and had
been placed under a ban of excommunication: it was doubted whether
Papal sanction to the formation of this Order could be obtained. This
difficulty, however, was overcome, for we find that Celestine IH., a.d. 1192,
not only entertained the applicatiofi, but gave to its members the rule of
St. Augustine as a code of discipline.
As there had been a Special solemn dedication of each of the elder
‘ Military Orders,’ so now a similar ceremony was observed; and hence
forward the community is known in history by the title of ‘ The
Teutonic Knights of St. Mary in Jerusalem.’ AU the members of this
Order were of German or Teutonic birth: were Teutons — that is,
‘ Thuath-duine,’ or North-men. As with the Hospitallers and Templars,
so in this Order there were members of noble birth and others of more
humble descent, divided into classes according to their rank. In order
still further to distinguish the members of this German fraternity a
special dress was assigned to them—a white mantle, and upon it a
black cross edged with gold.
Thus fully recognised as a ‘ Military Order,’ these Germans took
upon themselves a share of the work of maintaining the Christian
influence in the Holy Land during the century a.d. 1191-1291, and in
caring for the suffering poor and sick during that period of partial
occupation. Large benefactions of lands and money were made to
them, but these gifts of their countrymen were so profuse as to do
harm to the Order instead of good. That simplicity of life, that earnest
devotion, that rigorous self-denial, that plainness of dress, so character15
�The Religious Orders of the Middle Ages.
istic of the community in earlier days, became at length, as wealth
increased, utterly lost virtues. It is said, however, that with all its
shortcomings the Order of Teutonic Knights were more cordial to
the Christian cause than the Templars ; who, ‘ sometimes to save their
own stakes, would play booty with the Turks.’
The end of the long contest, however, drew near. The final battle
at Acre at length commenced; and we learn, that those of the Teutonic
Knights who were left in Palestine were at the post of danger. That
supreme moment, when ‘ God hath no need of waverers round His
shrine,’ arrived, and then called upon by Henry II., King of Cyprus
and nominal King of Jerusalem, to defend the tower near him to the
utmost, these brave men rushed to the rescue, but only to. stem the
tide of victorious onslaught for a little while, and then perish in the
fray.
Such Knights of the Teutonic Order as escaped from this last and
crushing fight returned to Europe; and with this character, as Fuller
describes them,—‘ Frequent mention hath been formerly made of the
“ Teutonic Order,” or that of Dutch Knights, who behaved themselves
right valiantly clean through the Holy War; and, which soundeth.
much to their honour, they cannot be touched either for treason or
faction, but were both loyal and peaceable in the whole service.’
Tennyson tells us in a couplet that —
‘ A slow-developed strength awaits
Completion in a painful school
which idea is thoroughly true of the future history of the ‘ Military
Order.’ As early in its history as the year a.d. 1230, the Grand
Master, Herman, had been invited to send part of his Order into
Europe, on an errand of war against some barbarous and heathen tribes.
Conrad, Duke of Massovia in Poland, had sent pressing messages, and
had made most tempting proposals: whatever territory was gained
by the Knights in the undertaking was to be held by them as their own
possessions, in right of war. Conrad, a prudent man, was so teased with
these savage troublers of his peace, that, having failed to rid himself
of thptu by the aid of a band he himself had raised, under the style of
‘ The Order of Knights-brethren of Dobrin,’ a company of ‘ sword
bearing brethren, brave, slashing lads,’ he now sends to the ‘ Teutonic
Knights ’ with proposals of a most generous sort, which in the end
were accepted. Herman, with a large number of the Knights of the
Order and men-at-arms, set out for Europe a.d. 1230, and entered on
the long campaign against the heathen and cruel inhabitants of Eastern
Europe. When Acre was lost in 1291, the few members of the
Order who survived hastened to join their companions in Europe,
whom they found now settled down in the possession of extensive
provinces.
If it be true,—
‘ Meet is it changes should control
Our being, least we rust in ease,’
then those Knights who returned from Palestine found only what might
have been expected. Little time was given them wherein to rest.
The Christian faith, even here in Prussia, and now at once on their
return, needed defenders and propagators, and these ‘ booted Apostles,
%s one writer calls them, were ready, under the sanction of the Church,
16
�The Religious Orders of the Middle Ages.
to go forth to the work. Avery terrible page of history is this, which
relates the struggle between the Teutonic Knights and the Pagan
Prussians. The conversion to Christianity of a race of barbarians,
one of whose customs was ‘ to destroy or sell all the daughters of a.
family excepting one,5 was a most laudable undertaking, but the means
used in that endeavour seem shockingly severe and harsh. But thi®
work the Teutonic Knights had commenced, and from it they did not
shrink, until, in outward appearance at least, those Prussians whom
they had conquered acknowledged the faith of Christ.
The daring and courage exhibited by these champions of the
Church in their conflicts with the enemy soon became noised abroad,
and attracted to their standard recruits from well-nigh every land.
Amongst those who ventured their lives in this holy but perilous
EFFIGY OF HENRY IV.
cause was one who eventually became Henry IV., King of England.
Speed, in his history, p. 735, thus narrates the incident:—‘ a.d. 1390,
Henry of Bullingbroke, Earle of Derbie, son of the Duke of Lan
caster, loath to spend his houres in sloath, but desirous to pursue
renown by martiall Acts in forraine parts, sailed over to the warres ira
Prussia, where in sundry enterprizes against tbe Lithuanians he won
great honour, which, by comparison of King Richard’s calmness, pre
pared a wav for him in the Englishes affections to poynts more
eminent.’ The result of these military exploits, continued through a
long course of vears, is thus very pithily summed up and stated by
Fuller, who, on p. 218 of the Helu Rom, says,—‘ By their endeavours the
Prussians, who before were but heathen Christians, were wholly con
verted, many a brave city builded . . . and those countries of Prussia
�The Religious Orders of the Middle Ages.
and Livonia which formerly were the coarse list, are now become the
rich fringe of Europe.1
In possession of such provinces, these Teutonic Ivnignts grew
haughty and self-indulgent, and lived with but small regard to the
strict rule of St. Augustine, which was the professed code of discipline.
Within a while those who liad for so long been conquerors had to
submit to defeat and humiliation. In the year 1410, in a great battle
near Tannenburg, their army was defeated, the Grand Master and
many of the Knights losing their lives. The influence of the Order
was on the wane. Little by little encroachments weie made on then
territories. About a.d. 14GG a large province was taken fiom them by
Poland. Nor did this signal warning of decaying power affect the
lives of these once austere but now luxurious Knights these soldiers
of the Church, these favoured children of the Pope. Irreligious and
immoral themselves, they cared not to see others zealous, holy, and
learned. Their treatment of the celebrated astronomer, Nicolas Coper
nicus, canon of Frauenburg, was utterly unworthy of men of honour,
to say nothing of men who were bound by clearest vows to defend the
cause of truth. In the years 1504—7 this famous man and leained
divine defended his rights against the arrogant and ambitious claims
which were made by these Teutonic Knights.
The doom of such a community could not long be uncertain ; their
acts were frequently of such a hard, merciless, unchristian character, that
enemies on all sides rose up against their unjust and inhuman rule. In
the year a.d. 1521 Brandenburg took another large portion of their
country, and from this time very little remained to them of all their once
vast domain. Dantzic and other seaports on the Baltic, which had once
flourished under their rule, were lost. Internal disputes and bitter
divisions ensued, until at last, in 1525, the Grand Master accepted the
position of a Prince of the Empire, and became a subject instead of an
independent ruler.
The Military Order of ‘The Teutonic Knights of St. Mary in Jeru
salem,’ after this fatal act, gradually sunk into a very weak and insig
nificant position, and entirely forsook their ancient patron the Pope.
The extinction of the Order is thus described by the historian Wad
dington :—‘ The Teutonic Order continued to subsist in great estimation
with the Church ; and this patronage was repaid with persevering
fidelity, until at length, when they perceived the grand consummation
approaching, the holy Knights generally deserted that tottering fortress
and arranged their rebellious host under the banners of Luther.’ The
\ Order is mentioned some times in the years that have succeeded, but in
no honourable way. Some few members have tried to keep up a show
of an existence for the Order, but only to earn for themselves the
repute of being a ‘ cheap defence of nations.’
18
�The Religious Orders of the Middle Ages.
It will be a pleasure to wear it, and to feel that you are doing it for
the sake of him that’s gone. There’s everything complete, and the
children’s things, too. I’ll run home and fetch them up after tea : it
will be well to try everything on to-night, or there'll be something to
alter, perhaps, just at last. It’s just tlie same with weddings : if you
don’t see to it all, there’s sure to be a fuss and trouble when you ought
to be starting ; and if your bonnet isn’t comfortable, or your gown is
too tight, you can’t give your thoughts properly to anything else all
the time you’ve got them on.’
{To be continued.)
ST. JOHN’S GATE, CLERKENWELL, 1841.
lAdigious ©rlira of tfjc
ages.
BY DENHAM ROWE NORMAN, VICAR OF MIDDLETON-BY-WIRKSWORTH.
The Military Orders.—Knights Hospitallers, or Knights of St. John.
HE desire to become members of this famous Order grew
so rapidly, that those who guided the counsels of the com
munity advised greater care in selecting candidates. The
rules of entrance were revised and made more stringent.
At length none but members of noble and ancient families
could hope for enrolment.
It was necessary as well as convenient, as the Order came to
embrace recruits from all parts of Europe, to divide the knights into
9
�The Religious Orders of the Middle Ages.
Ir
what were called ‘ Languages.’ These sections were inscribed, one for
England and one each for France, Provence, Auvergne, Italy, Germany,
Aragon. For every one of these seven divisions there was a separate
code of bye-laws and instructions, binding only on the knights of the
language for which it had been drawn up.
As time went on, the Order increased greatly in popularity, and
constantly rendered effective service to the weary pilgrims, as well
to the failing cause of Christian rule in Palestine But with this
esteem, ever on the advance, these Knights of St. John waxed proud
and overbearing. Aware of their importance as defenders of the
Christian Church and supporters of the Christian King, they became
most troublesome to King, Patriarch, and Clergy. Under cover of
an edict of the Pope of Rome they claimed exemption from payment
of tithes, not only in the Holy Land, but in whatever countries their
property might be situated. Nor was relief to be obtained from this
patent wrong. Fulcher the Patriarch travelled to Rome to seek
redress, but without avail. The Pope’s Bull was the final settlement
of the case.
The interests of the Order became so vast, and friends became so
numerous and lavish, that it was essential to have special homes in
every country, where selected recruits might be maintained until re
quired for service in the Holy Land. In England, several charitably
disposed and religious-minded men adopted the cause of these Hospi
tallers; the very foremost being one Jerdan or Jordan Briset, of
Wellinghall, in Kent According, to Speed the historian, this worthy,
with Muriel his wife, in the reign of Henry I., a.d. 1130, endowed
what was called a ‘ Commandery,’ or Religious House, at Clerkenwell.
This house eventually, when several additions had been made to the
first design, became a remarkably fine building, and was used by the
members of the Order who might happen to be in this country on the
business of the knights. It was called the Hospital of St. John, and
for centuries was noted for its beauty and grandeur.
Close by the Hospital of St. John at .Clerkenwell was an oratory,
or church, and this building was consecrated by Heraclius the Patriarch
of Jerusalem, a.d. 1185, in the presence of the Grand Master of the
Order, who was then in England as an embassy from the King of
Jerusalem
In course of time several smaller branch-houses were
built in England in connexion with this large home at Clerkenwell; as
for instance, at Carbrook in Norfolk, and Bucklands in Somersetshire.
Their wealth increasing continually, these knights were ready to
espouse the cause of Christians at all times, even when occasionally
those requiring succour were not very friendly disposed towards them.
It came to pass about the year a.d. 1237, that their rivals the Tem
plars had met with a crushing defeat. At once the Hospitallers
hastened to revenge the insult. Detachments of knights of the Order
hurried away to Palestine to the aid of the Templars. There is a
very imposing account given of the departure of the English con
tingent on that occasion. Starting from their House at Clerkenwell,
the company consisting of more than three hundred knights, and a
vast retinue of followers of various grades, the procession passed along
the roads and through the streets, receiving everywhere marks of
popular favour and approval. Hearty and long-continued wrere the
10
�The Religious Orders of the Middle Ages.
cheers that greeted those gallant men as they embarked for their dis
tant and perilous voyage.
The ending of this martial enterprise does not appear to have been
very satisfactory, for in less than two years the two Orders are found
to be taking different sides in the settlement of a question of succes
sion,—the Knights of St. John entering into a treaty with the ruler
of Egypt, pledging themselves to defend him against the ruler of
Damascus ; the Templars at the same time contracting with a subor
dinate of the ruler of Damascus to defend his master and himself
against the ruler of Egypt. Indeed it is clear that these two great
religious Orders were at constant feud. Much of the misery, many o!
the misfortunes, and the early collapse of the Christian kingdom in
Palestine, can be assigned to no other cause than the perpetual wranglings between these : Hospitallers ’ and ‘ Templars; ’ the former, as
was supposed, ever struggling to maintain Imperial views, and the
latter the desires of the Pope of Pome. On more than one occasion
the dispute between them was not settled by words. In the year
1259 there was such a fierce contention, that nothing short of open
combat could settle it; and so bitter was the enmity, that the
Hospitallers, who were victors, allowed scarcely a ‘ Templar to escape
their swords.’
Soon, however, there were enemies in the land, brave and thirsting
for conquest—the Mamelukes. These hardy and savage men, led by
their chief Bibars, came to ravage and lay waste the Holy Land, and
to destroy utterly what remained of the Christian Church and king
dom. Town after town was taken by these ruthless invaders. Caesarea
was captured At.Azotus there was a fortress, and in it a garrison of
a small'company of the Knights of St. John, about ninety in number
This handful of troops, with heroic courage, stood for days the assaults
of these Mameluke zealots. Death, however, so reduced their numbers,
that on entrance upon the walls few knights were found to defend
them, and of these, not one was left alive at the close of the contest.
From this time troubles multiplied, and little leisure was obtained
by these Soldiers of the Church, a.d. 1268, Jaffa, and the still more
important town of Antioch, fell into the hands of these Mameluke foQS.
The restless Bibars and his troops were ever on the march, engaged in
their mission of exterminating Christianity. At one small stronghold
of Christians—the tower of Karac, which was situated between the
seaports of Tripoli and Tortosa—the Knights of this Order of St.
John again distinguished themselyes by acts of intrepid bravery. Not
withstanding the valour and heroism displayed, the numbers of the
Mamelukes were too great, and Karac, as other citadels, shared the
common fate.
/
In the closing years of the Christian effort to retain a old
h
*
on
Palestine, there were unseemly disputes as to the succession to the
throne of Jerusalem : which conduct has drawn from Fuller this remark {Holy War, p. 238)—‘ Like bees, making the greatest hum
ming and buzzing in the hive, when now ready to leave it.’ It is,
however, to the credit of this Order of St. John that they declined
taking part in such uncalled-for strife. ‘ Better,' said they, ‘ first ob
tain possession of the land, and rid it of enemies, and then it will be
time to settle who shall be its sovereign.’
11
�anti tfje Strong Spirit.
IGHT not even onr religions conversation be more fruitful
than it is ? St. James, from whose Epistle we might derive
a complete code of rules for the government of the tongue,
says, ‘ Let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow
to wrath; for the wrath of man worketh not the righteousiK'hH of God.’
lie is speaking of religious things, of hearing and
speaking ‘the word of truth’ mentioned in the former verse. Does
not religion suffer often from our hot and impetuous advocacy ? We
are zealous for God, and that, we think, excuses everything; and we
are ready with the nickname or the good story against those whose
views differ from our own, and we separate readily from those that will
not go so far as we; and the lines that separate Church parties are
<htily more deeply marked. We meant to do what was righteous before
God ; our fault is only zeal. But ‘ the wrath of man worketh not the
righteousness of God.’ God's great purposes, in the growth of Ilis
kingdom, will gain nothing from our noisy warmth. Our righteous
ness before God would be to speak the truth, but to speak it in love ;
and to he slow to speak, lest perhaps we should utter the word of
poison instead of that of truth. It is a great misfortune if those that
arc firmest in the faith should disfigure the beauty of it by a want of
love. You despise tho gainsayer of your truth; you denounce him ;
you soo in him nothing but stupidity and perverseness, and you tell
tho world so. Yet he is your brother after all. Your Lord could pity
that porvcrsencss and stupidity which kindles in you so much irritation.
Is there, after all, anything more moving to a good man’s heart than
tho fact that many are losing sight, from one cause or another, of
Christ their only guide ? Tho world was redeemed, not by fiery indig
nation, but by a manifestation of unspeakable love. And what was
true of our redemption is still true. No man is ever reclaimed from
an error by more robuko and anger. Go to your Lord in prayer and
say to llim, 1 Lord, wo have kept Thy faith:’ ‘ Well done, good and
faithful servant I ’ ‘ Lord, we have been indignant against those who
kept it not; wo have smitten them, and degraded them, and brought
them into disrepute :’’Put up thy sword within thy sheath. The
wrath of man worketh not the righteousness of God. Judge not, that
ye bo not judged.’
The Archbishop of Y’ork.
-
0------
CTijc iJnoto-Storni.
Tp 11 ROUGH the hushed air the whitening shower descends,
At first thin, wavering, till at last the flakes
Fall broad and wide and fast, dimming the day
With a continual flow. Tho cherished fields
Put on their winter robe of purest white:
lis brightness all, save where the snow melts
Along the maiy current. Low the woods
Bow their hoar heads, and ere the languid sun,
Faint from the west, emits his evening ray,
Earth's universal face, deep hid and chill.
Is one wide daxxling waste, that buries wide the works of man.
�‘ Dust to Dust:
there’s many that will be so glad to be quiet they won’t scarce niindB
whether they are buried or not,’ said Alice, hardly heeding his words.
Paul looked at her as she spoke.
‘ You’ve seen trouble, Alice! Nay, Im not asking what it is—I
don’t want to know,’ he added hastily, seeing how she started and'
turned pale. 4 But there’s a deal of comfort for such as you in the'
burial part of the Prayer-book. Like leaving everything behind and!
starting afresh after a rest: that don't seem to make death so very
bad, does it?’
‘ Pm not afeard of dying; living is harder.’
‘ Maybe, but we’ve got to do what’s set us.’
‘ And what’s set you is none so hard,’ replied the worn wotnan;
‘ none so hard but what it’s easy done, I reckon.’
Paul looked at her again.
‘I suppose folk think so yet; whiles Im tired, Alice, works work,,
whether it brings in money or whether it only keeps folk from clam
ming and striving, and there are times when I m very weary.
‘ Are you, Paul? I’m sorry, it looks as if you had no care, notrouble, no sorrow; yet you’re kind to them as has lots of them. Go
and see father, and talk to him a bit, happen he’ll listen to you.’
But old Lock would not listen.
‘ It’s all very well for you, Paul Crowley ; if you was to die to
morrow, your burying would be the grandest bturton town has ever set
eyes on: you don’t need to lie awake nights thinking of the parish
coffin, and none to follow you to your grave.’
‘ If I was to die to-morrow I should have the plainest funerab
Sturton has seen this many a day,’ said Paul, quietly.
‘ Nay, now, would you ?’
‘ Yes.’
‘ How canst thou be sure ? ’
‘ Because I have left written word about it, and my wife knowswhat I think. Big funerals are the ruin of Sturton. Keep your
money, Ben; but don’t tie them down to spending it on a grand
funeral.’
‘ Well, my lad, if thee sets the example, I’ll follow,’ said the old
man with a slow chuckle; 1 but thee 11 have to look sharp if thee is to
be buried afore me.’
Four days later the sudden toll of the passing bell had startled
Ben Lock from his evening doze. He sat up counting the strokes as
they beat across the summer air.
‘ Who is it for, Alice ?’ he asked, as she came softly to his side.
‘ Who is it for ?’ he repeated, impatiently turning round when she did
not answer, and then he saw that her lips were trembling, and that;
heavy tears were falling down her thin cheeks.
‘ Can t thee speak ? Who’s gone?’
‘ Paul Crowley,’ she said, with a sob; and throwing her apron over
her head she passed swiftly away to her own room.
(Te be continued.)
�^Tlje Religious
of tijc
&grs.
BY DENHAM ROWE NORMAN, VICAR OF MIDDLETON-RY-WIRKSWORTH.
The Military Orders.— II. Knights Templars, or Red-Cross Knights.
‘ And on his breast a bloody cross he bore,
The dear remembrance of his dying Lord,
For whose street sake that glorious badge he wore,
And dead, as living ever, Him adored:
Upon his shield the like was also scored,
For sovereign hope, which in His help he had.
Right, faithful, true, he was in deed and word,
But of his cheere did seem too solemn sad ;
Yet nothing did he dread, but ever was ydrad (dreaded).’
Spenser, Faerie Queene.
¡HE spirit of enterprise liad been shown in such a marked
manner by the members of St. John’s Hospital at Jeru! salem, that it is nothing of a surprise to find that soon
the Hospitallers had imitators. Very quickly after those
religious knights had ventured to become ‘ Military Friars,’
there was another little knot of men ready to start a new community.
It may be, that these eager enthusiasts saw with some shade of envy
the public favour bestowed on the Hospitallers, and desired to obtain
for themselves a share of that respect and esteem.
The honour of being founders of this new ‘ Order’ is due to Hugh
de Payens and Geoffrey (or Ganfred) de Saint Omer, and six or seven
other individuals whose names have not come down to us. These
worthies had seen with shame the ills inflicted on pilgrims by the
Mahometan inhabitants of Palestine as they passed from the sea
coast to Jerusalem. Tales of oppression and hard usage had been
reported so frequently, that at last the step was taken of forming a
company of able and trustworthy Christians, whose duty it should be
to preserve order along the line of road from Acre and other seaports
to Jerusalem. It is said that for the first nine years, 1118-27, there
were only nine members of this brotherhood.
The kind of persons these Templars had to defend and procure
safe-conduct for, who were called Palmers, is thus described by one of
our most gifted early English poets, Spenser,—
‘ A silly man, in simple weeds foreworne,
And soiled with dust of the long dried way;
His sandales wore with toilsome travell torne,
And face all tand with scorching sunny ray,
As he had traveild many a sommer’s day
Through boyling sands of Arabie and Inde;
And in his hand a Jacob’s staffe, to stay
His weary limbs upon ; and eke behind
His scrip did hang, in which his needments he did bind.’
Faerie Queene. Book I.
Such a company was sure, however, to attract associates when it
had established itself and made known its purposes. The energy and
courage displayed in dealing with the Mahometan robbers by these
Christian worthies soon came to be favourably spoken of in Jerusalem,
and to be reported in the states of Western Europe. So praiseworthy
did the object appear in the eyes of men of mark, that in a little
while there were numerous applications for admission to the rau'.s of
the Order—applications, too, not from mere common folk, but from
members of good families in France, Italy, England, and other
18
�The Religious Orders of the Middle Ages.
■
J.
-■•di'
<.1V®
ir4]
,..<S
»
*
to
■jß|
countries. The re
nown and ability
of the first few
members were so
celebrated,
that
numbers of high
born men craved
admittance to the
Order.
A home was
given for the mem
bers of the Order
by King Baldwin
IT., who began to
reign a.d. 11 IS.
The spot assigned
was close to the
Temple of the HolySepulchre,and from,
the fact of their
residence being
nigh the Temple,
the title of Tem
plars was taken by
the knights.
In.
their earliest years
the members of the
Order are reported
to have been ex
tremely poor ; in
deed so poor, that
food and clothing
had to be found for
them by the Hos
pitallers. Matthew
Paris, an old chro
nicler, affirms that
A KNIGIIT TE3IPLAR.
the Order had a
seal, on which the figures of two men on one horse were engraven, as a
symbol of the narrowness of their means. They styled themselves
‘ Soldiers of Christ,’ and ‘ Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and the
Temple of Solomon.’
Finding them exceedingly useful as guardians of the peace in.
his kingdom, Baldwin treated them with favour, and conferred on
them gifts and honours. The Patriarch of Jerusalem — Stephen—
was also kindly disposed towards them, inasmuch as through their
assiduity travellers were able to come up to the Holy Places with
but little fear of harm.
The Hospitallers also regarded these
brave, active, and self-denying men with the utmost affection. The
Patriarch went so far in his zeal to assist them, that he prayed
Pope Honorius II. to confirm the Order; which request was grant©!
at the Council of Troyes, a.d. 1128. Everard was elected as first
�The Religious Orders of the Middle Ages.
■Grand Master of the Order, and held that office for about eight
years.
The vows taken on admission as a Knight Templar were 1 poverty,
chastity, obedience, and to defend pilgrims coming to the Holy Sepulchre.’
EFFIGIES ON THE TOMES OF KNIGHTS TEMPLARS.
What kind of life the knights were expected to lead may be judged of
by an exhortation addressed to them on a certain occasion by St.
Bernard. ‘ They were never to be idle, mending their old clothes
when wanting other work; never to hawk, hunt, play chess, or dice,
or witness plays. They were to arm themselves with faith within,
with steel without; to aim more at strength than pomp ; to be feared,
20
�The Religious Orders of the Middle Ages.
not admired; to strike terror with their valour, not stir covetousness
with their wealth in the heart of their enemies.’
Pope Honorius II., after the fashion of the times, sanctioned as
the peculiar habit of these Knights Templars a white mantle. In a
few years after, however, these valiant and daring men had shown
such an amount of readiness and promptitude in the discharge of
their duties, that Pope Eugenius III. honoured them with the special
privilege of wearing a cross of red cloth sewn on the mantle at the
breast. From this circumstance they are frequently spoken of as
‘ Bed-Cross Knights.’ From about this time in their history there
was a regular and withal rapid rise in wealth and popularity. Large
manors were conferred upon the community, and men of very highest
rank entered the Order. The fatigues and hardships and losses con
sequent on membership were no hindrance, but, on the contrary, appear
to have had a certain charm for resolute and high-minded soldiers.
In course of time, the Knights Templars, who regarded them
selves as allies of the king and not as his subjects, entered upon a
wider sphere of work. From being maintainers of a safe journey for
pilgrims between Acre and Jerusalem, they became a very strong and
well-trained body of troops, able to assist materially the forces of the
king in his battles with Mahometan enemies. Indeed, by the year
a.d. 1150, when a march was proposed against Damascus, it was
observed that the Knights of the Bed Cross were amongst the best
armed, best mounted, best drilled soldiers in the army. It is worthy
of remark, that occasionally this spirit of independence and selfreliance, which was constantly shown, suffered severe mortifications,
by defeat and humiliations at the hands of foes. An instance of this
rebuke occurred about a.d. 1154. The town of Ascalon was besieged.
Baldwin promised the Knights Templars, who were great favourites
with him, the spoil of the town if they could take it. The order
came—none but Templars were to make the attempt. Their rashness
or their lust of gain cost them their lives.
Henceforward, the Knights Templars may be regarded more
properly as an independent corps of the Christian army in Palestine
than as members of a small and insignificant Order. Frequently
they refused to act with the Boyal troops, and on certain occasions
they espoused the cause of men who had little love for Christ and
the Holy Places.
A very startling reminder that these knights at times were not
so prudent or faithful as their vows would bespeak them, is afforded
in a short sentence in Fuller’s Holy War, p. 311,—‘ 12 Templars
hanged for traitors, a.d. 1165.’ Very questionable also was their
behaviour when refusing King Almeric aid in his attack on Egypt.
It is more than probable that this conduct arose from jealousy of the
.rival Order of Hospitallers.
�BY W. R. CLARK, M.A. PREBENDARY OF WELLS AND VICAR OF TAUNTON.
Luke, ii. 49.—‘ Wist ye not that I must be about my
Father's business?'.
N the narrative of our Lord's manifestation in the Temple,
short as it is, there are many points of deep interest and
suggestiveness.
Every word is full of meaning, and
invites thoughtful study and devout meditation.
But
there are none more deeply significant than those which
have just been read. It would indeed be difficult to find any words
the whole range of human literature, sacred or profane, which express
a meaning more solemn, more profound, than that which is conveyed in
the answer of the youthful Jesus to His loving and anxious mother:
‘ Wist ye not that I must be about my Father’s business ?’
They tell us what is the true idea of man’s life and work here on
earth; they express the true meaning of that sense of responsibility
which ought to rest upon every moral and accountable being ; and they
exhibit a calm confidence in the habitual intention of the Speaker, which
is as beautiful as it is rare.
I. These words of our Lord tell us, first of all, what is the true idea
of man's life and work here on earth. It is, to be about our Father's
business. The question is often asked, and it needs to be asked oftener
than it is,1 What is our life ? ’ What is the meaning and object and end
of human life on earth ? What were we made for ? What ought we
to be and to do ? Many answers have been given to these questions.
Some of them are true, some of them are false, and some of them are
half true and half false. Well would it be for us all if we began life
with these words of our Lord as the answer to that question, ‘ I
must be about my Father’s business.’ How many false and baseless
theories it would dash to the ground ! From what aimless gropingin
the dark it would deliver us ! And yet, how few really receive this as
the true and complete answer to the great question of life !
In a certain sense, doubtless, we all perceive the beauty and confess
the truth of this thought. But our hearts do not feel it, and our
lives do not respond to it. With our lips we confess the vanity and
emptiness of mere worldly ideals, but in our lives we show that we
believe them to be real and substantial. Pleasure, we say—what a.
deception it is ! The favour of man—what a phantom! Wealth—what a
snare! Power—what a burden and anxiety ! Yet we go after pleasure
with all our might, and we wear ourselves out in the pursuit of
popularity ; and we treat money as a god, and we are eager for power
and wretched when we lose it; and amid the roar and tumult of lust, and
ambition, and avarice, how few hear the still small voice which says, in
the depth of our hearts, ‘ I must be about my Father’s business ! ’
Here, at least, in the house of God, we may listen to it for a
moment, and pray that it may not be silenced for a little while; that
it may be heard by us in the silent hour of prayer, when no one is with
us but God; in our family and social life, to give it a high and noble
character: in our days and hours of business and relaxation, to remind us
22
S
�
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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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The religious orders of the Middle Ages
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Norman, Denham Rowe
Description
An account of the resource
Place of publication: [London]
Collation: 6-10, 3-8, 10-15, 3-9, 14-18, 9-11, 18-21 p. ; ill. ; 22 cm.
Notes: From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. From seven issues of Parish Magazine [journal title from World Cat]. Date of publication from KVK.
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[Parish Magazine]
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[1873]
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G5557
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Religion
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English
Church History-600-1500
Conway Tracts
Middle Ages
Monasticism and Religious Orders
Religious Orders
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PDF Text
Text
THREE NOTICES
OF THE
SPEAKER’S COMMENTARY,
FROM THE DUTCH OF DR A. KUENEN,
rROFESSOR OF THEOLOGY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF LEYDEN.
Revised bij the $uthoty
AND TRANSLATED BY J. MUIR, Esq., D.C.L.
PUBLISHED BY THOMAS SCOTT,
NO. 11, THE TERRACE, FARQUHAR ROAD,
UPPER NORWOOD, LONDON, S.E.
Price Sixpence.
�Mottoes
of the
Conservative Theologian.
nX'zjp ye 8'r/ Un ovk aKpi^jj e^eraaT^v xP>r! etvai t&v vir8p rou
Pelov etc iraXaiov fiep-vOevfiivoiv. ra yap roi Ka.Ta to elute %vvri68vn ov TruTTa, 67rei3oir to Belov tis 7rpoa9rj Tip Xbyip, ov irdvry
&ti<tto, (palveTat.—Arrian, Anabasis, v. 1, 2.
“ But only, one should not scrutinize too rigorously the
stories which have been handed down from ancient times
regarding what is divine. For things which, judged by the
test of probability, are not credible, appear to be not alto
gether incredible when their divine element is taken intoaccount.”
ov88v ffo<f>t£o/J.ea6a rolai Salfioffi.
irarplovs irapaboxte, cis 6’ opi'qXiKas xpovip
KeKT"qp.ed', ovSeis airra KaTaflaXel Xoyos,
ov8’ el <5i’ &Kpuv to aocpov evpyrai ippevwv.
Euripides, Bacchse, w. 200ff.
“We never rationalize about the gods. No reasoning can
overthrow the hereditary traditions which we hold, and which
are as old as time itself,—not even although the ingeniousarguments have been discovered by the subtlest wits.”
Replies
of the
ovk
Unbiassed Searcher after Truth.
aih<f>povos 8’ d7ri<TTlas
tenv ovoev xPrl<r'-P-d>Tepov flporois.
Euripides, Helena, w. 1617ff.
“ Nothing is more profitable to mortals than a prudent
distrust.”
irdvTa 88 doKipcd^ere, t8 KaXov Kanye^e.
1 Thess. 5. 21.
“ But prove all things : hold fast that which is good.”
aXKd p.ot \p8v86s re
£uyxw/’Wat
Ka^ dXyOes atyavlaai ov8ap.lte Oep.is.
Plato, Thesetetus, p. 151.
“ But for me,” said Socrates, “it is by no means lawful to
admit falsehood and suppress truth.”
�THREE NOTICES OF THE “SPEAKER’S
COMMENTARY. ”
HE three volumes of the “ Speaker’s Commentary,’
(of which the proper title is “The Holy Bible,
according to the authorized version, with an explanatory
and critical commentary, by Bishops and other clergy
of the Anglican Church; edited by F. C. Cook, Canon
of Exeter.” London : Murray,) form the subject of
three notices from the pen of the eminent Hebrew
scholar and critic, Professor A. Kuenen, of Leyden,
in Holland, which have appeared in the Dutch theo
logical journal (Theologisch Tijdschrift) in January
1872, and May and September 1873. The essential
parts of these articles, as translated from the original,
with the sanction of the author, are as follows.
*
T
Volume I.
The circumstances which led to the composition and
publication of this work are well known. The minds
of many persons were disquieted by the “ Essays and
Reviews,” and by the critical investigations of Bishop
Colenso. The idea occurred to the Speaker of the
House of Commons that the difficulties which had been
raised in regard to the Bible, should be answered by
* Professor Kuenen wishes it to be understood that his
notices were contributed to a scientific journal, and written
principally for theologians. Had they been composed for the
perusal of the general public in England, they would pro
bably have been somewhat fuller, and more popular in their
■character.
�6
Three Notices oj
the Church in a sufficient manner. He entered into
consultation with the Bishops, and received from them
the desired support. A commission was formed, which
divided the entire Bible into eight sections, and for
each section chose the scholars who were most
competent to handle it. The editorship of the whole
work was entrusted to the Rev. Mr Cook, who, as often
as he deems it necessary, is assisted by the Archbishop
of York, and the Regius Professors of Theology at
Oxford and Cambridge. The first portion has now
been published in two parts, which embrace the entire
Pentateuch. The contributors to this are, Dr Harold
Browne, Bishop of Ely, (General Introduction, Intro
duction to, and Commentary on, Genesis); the editor,
Canon Cook, (Introduction to Exodus; Explanation of
Exodus i-xix.; Excursuses on the march to Sinai, on the
Pentateuch and Egyptian History, on Egyptian words
in the Pentateuch); the Rev. Mr Clark, (Explanation
of Exodus xx-xl., and Leviticus, besides an Introduction
to this book); the Rev. Mr Espin, (Introduction to,
and Explanation of, Numbers and Deuteronomy). The
arrangement of the work is this : under the text of the
common translation are printed the notes, in which
also the improvements in the translation are introduced;
whilst the more extensive notes on disputed or im
portant points are placed at the end of the chapters to
which they belong, and are separately referred to in
the index. The whole work has a princely appearance ;
paper and print are excellent; the two parts, making in
all 928 pages, form two handsome volumes : illustrative
woodcuts, too, are not wanting.
Much, indeed very much, is to be learned from
this book, especially by laymen, for whose benefit it
was written. Most of the composers of it are learned
men, well up to the level of their task. The editor,
Mr Cook, possesses great knowledge of Egyptian
matters, and is perfectly familiar with the most recent
geographical researches in the Peninsula of Sinai.
�the “ Speaker s Commentary.'”
7
Messrs Clark and Espin have, in general, shown a
"broad and able apprehension of the work they had to
do. But they lack one thing, and that vitiates the
whole. They are not free. The apologetic aim of the
work is never lost sight of; and constantly operates
to disturb the course of the enquiry. It is, in one
word, science such as serves a purpose that is here
put before us. The writers place themselves in opposi
tion to the critics of the Pentateuch, depreciate their
arguments, make sport, in the well-known childish
manner, of their mutual differences, and try to refute
them with proofs and reasonings which they themselves,
in any other case, would reject as utterly insufficient,
or regard as unworthy of notice. None of them sins in
this respect so naively and so grossly (sterft) as Dr
Harold Browne, the Bishop of Ely. Indeed, it was
no easy task which he had undertaken, the Intro
duction to the entire Pentateuch and to Genesis,
and the explanation of that book.
But they are
miserable demonstrations and farfetched and unna
tural suppositions to which he treats us.
*
As ex
amples, I note his reasoning (pp. 4-15) to prove that
the history of the post-Mosaic period presupposes the
existence of the Pentateuch; his observations (pp.
24-29) on the names of God in Genesis; his notes on
the days of the creation (p. 36), on the genealogies
in the fifth and eleventh chapters of Genesis (p. 64),
on the chronology of Jacob’s life (pp. 177 ff.) In this
last note Dr Browne does not hesitate to cook up again
an almost forgotten conjecture of Kennicot’s, and dis
tinguish the twenty years in Genesis xxxi. 41, from
those inverse 38, and thus to lengthen Jacob’s sojourn
in Haran to that extent! This one instance shows
better than a long demonstration how greatly dogmatical
considerations have clouded soundness of understanding
and exegetical perception in the case of this apologist.
On fitting occasions his fellow-labourers do not fall short
* See the note in p. 28.
�8
Three Notices of
of him in this respect. Thus, for example, the excursus
of Mr Clark on the Tabernacle (pp. 474-79), based, on
the investigations of Mr Ferguson, is an almost amusing
proof how the apologetic art, with the best intentions
and brilliant results, does violence to the text of
Scripture j here, in fact, a very handsome edifice is
constructed, and. delineated, which, however, alas ! does
not at all correspond with the description in Exodus
xxvi. And yet the notes of the same writer, on Exodus
xx. (pp. 335 ff.), and on Exodus xxviii. 30, on the
Urim and Thummim, prove that he is a man with a
clear head, to whom only one thing is wanting, viz.,
that he dare not overpass certain fixed limits—at least
entirely—for he really sets one foot across them. Or
can the position he maintains, that in Exodus xx. and
Deuteronomy v., we have before us not the original
Decalogue, but two expansions of one original, be con
sistent with the ecclesiastical doctrine of inspiration ?
But I must not expatiate further, partly because it
is not my object to take this opportunity of vindicating
anew the rights of modern criticism, and. partly because
I wish to draw attention to the English reviewers of
the ‘ Speaker's Commentary.’ Most of the reviewing
periodicals have already pronounced their opinions upon
it. They are, as was to be expected, more or less
favourable. But even the most favourable notices are
not composed in the tone of triumph which should
have been employed if the ‘ adverse critics ’ had indeed
been defeated. If I am not deceived, this Commentary,
entirely against the intentions of those who planned it,
will before all things have this result, that the intelligent
public will begin to look upon critical questions as open
questions, in the discussion of which the learned will
still have a good deal to do. The maxim nil scire tutissima fides is applicable to this case also. The ‘ believer ’
feels himself strong so long as he thinks that Satan
and his satellites are fighting against his belief. But
when he observes that it is assailed and defended, and
�the lt Speaker s Commentary.”
9
even very badly defended, with human arguments, he
becomes less at ease. I should be very much surprised
if, after the lapse of some years, it did not appear that
the ‘ Speaker’s Commentary ’ had powerfully co-operated
to make criticism indigenous in England.
First of all, this work already exercises influence in
this direction through the reply which it has called
forth. Dr Colenso has recently given to the world the
first part of his work, 1 The New Bible Commentary—
critically examined.’ It is occupied with the portion
contributed by Dr Harold Browne to the new Com
mentary, and adduces formidable objections against it.
Colenso follows the Bishop of Ely step by step, and
exposes the weakness and incorrectness of his criticism
and exegesis pitilessly and often strikingly.
This
examination is not exactly an entertaining piece of
reading. One would have asked any other writer why
he did not rather omit many details, and show, by
some clear proofs, the wrongness of Dr Browne’s
method. Such an essay would certainly have been
more instructive for the general public. But Dr Colenso
has evidently, and not without reason, thought that
he was not at liberty to pass over a single note, and
that he must avoid even the appearance of failing in
any instance to supply the necessary answer. The
succeeding parts of his reply I propose to take up along
with the sixth part of his work on the Pentateuch,
which is soon to appear.”—(Theologiscli Tijdsclvrift
for January 1872).
Volume II.
The second volume contains the explanation of the
books of Joshua, Judges, Ruth, first and second Samuel,
and first Kings. Of the contributors to vol. I., we
meet here only with Mr Espin, who has charged him
self with the treatment of Joshua. The following four
books are explained by Lord Hervey, Bishop of Bath
B
�io
Three Notices oj
and Wells; and first and second Kings are entrusted
to Professor G. Rawlinson, the well-known editor of
Herodotus, and author of “ The Five Great Monarchies
of the Ancient Eastern World?’
When, after reading the introductions to the several
books, and the notes on the most important passages, I
reflect how much time, labour, and money, have been
expended on the writing and printing of this work, I
receive a painful impression. Here learned theologians,
and such, too, as are high dignitaries, come forward to
instruct the educated participators in their religious
belief; and all that these learn from them they must
afterwards unlearn. It is a matter of course that in this
commentary many faults in the ‘authorised version’
are amended, and many points of an archseological and
geographical nature are correctly illustrated. But that
is not the question, when we are judging a work like
this. The point of importance here is, whether the
contributors to the work make their learning subservient
to the diffusion of a sound method of regarding and
estimating the Bible. The reverse is the fact. Filled
with reverence for “ God’s Holy Word,” afraid of every
thing that appears to do it injustice, apprehensive of
the consequences which in their opinion every deviation
from tradition must draw after it, they regard it as a
sacred duty to maintain that which appears to them to
be the sound view, and to reject all more reasonable
conceptions as “ unbelieving” and “ sacrilegious.” Now
and then the truth is too powerful for them, and they
have found themselves forced to give up the correctness
of the Biblical narrative or the complete harmony of
its parts. But when they communicate this to their
readers, the thing is done in such a way that the belief
in the infallibility of the Word of God is weakened as
little as possible, or not at all. The deviations which
they allow themselves, even those of the most con
sequence, are described as unimportant, so that the
reader receives the impression that really everything
�the il Speaker’s Commentary’’
11
'continues on the old footing. The concessions, how
ever, form the exception. As a rule, the traditional
view is in fact maintained, even in cases where it may
be said to be absolutely untenable: and then the
difficulties are either passed over in silence, or are not
recognized in their real force, or are answered with
childish arguments. Of course, no one who has once
obtained an insight into the actual state of the questions
at issue, will for a moment be shaken in his convictions
by anything that is thus urged. But the portion of the
public which is conservatively disposed is fortified in
its prejudices by such guides as these. The hindrance
which they occasion by their struggles can, it is true, only
be temporary. It will one day become manifest to every
one that the free, the strictly critical, treatment of the
Old Testament is the only true one, and at the same
■time the only one which renders full justice to the reli
gion of Israel, and either entirely removes, or confines
.within their proper limits, the difficulties which are
alleged against it. That which the “adverse critics”
now already know, must one day become clear to all,
that fearless criticism, and this alone, opens up an
access to Israel’s sanctuaries. Magna est veritas et prcevalebit. But, nevertheless, it is much to be lamented
that the dignitaries of the Anglican Church should
make use of their influence to oppose the general recog
nition of this truth, and waste their powers in throwing
up obstacles which, for the present generation at least,
will prove insurmountable.
But even the appearance of boasting must be avoided.
And therefore I must not omit in some measure to
justify my judgment. For this purpose some specimens,
a few handfuls out of an ample store, will more than
suffice.
The extermination of the Canaanites is discussed in
section seventh of the introduction to Joshua (pp. 13-16).
Mr Espin here proceeds upon the supposition that this
“destruction” is a fact. Are, then, the numerous
�Three Notices of
12
proofs of the contrary unknown to him ? No; lie
allows them a certain weight. 11 Ewald’s idea,” as he
writes in p. 12, “that the early campaigns of Joshua
were in the nature of sudden raids, overpowering for
the moment all opposition, hut not effectually subduing
the country, has probably much truth in it.” Never
theless, we do not perceive how this is to be reconciled
with the recognition of the credibility of Joshua x.
26-43, xi. 10-23, where just the contrary is taught.
The concession to Ewald stands there as the simplest
and most innocent thing in the world, and has then no
further consequences. In section seven, it is Joshua
who destroys the Canaanites. And this procedure,
now, is defended as worthy of God! It can be fully
justified, in its relation both to the Canaanites and to
Israel, and to the rest of mankind. Eor the Canaanites
are described as incarnate devils, who wilfully persevered
in idolatry and immorality, in spite of God’s warnings in
the deluge, and the destruction of Sodom and Gomorra,
in spite of the examples set them by the patriarchs.
As regards the Israelites, must not God’s command to
*
* [The Old Testament writers who ascribe these commands
to the Almighty, even although they knew that, at the time
when they wrote, these injunctions could no longer be carried
into effect, can hardly escape the charge of inhumanity, and
of conceiving their Creator to be “ altogether such an one as
themselves ” (Ps. L. 21); and to them may be applied the
words in which Iphigeneia charges the Taurians with imput
ing their own bloodthirsty disposition to the goddess Diana,
to whom they sacrificed all the foreigners who landed in their
country :—
p.ev oZv
Oeoiaiv e<mdp.aTa
diriara Kplvw, irat.88s •padriva.t. flopa,
toiis 8’ evOaS’, avroiis tovras av0pwiroKTOVOVS,
is t8v 0e8v to cpavKov avatfripew 8okG>.
oi/oeva yap olp.ai 3atp,6v<i>v etfai kok6v.
—Euripides, Iph. in Tauris,
ra TarrdXou
vv. 386 ff.
“I indeed regard the Tantalean banquet offered to the gods
as incredible—that they should be pleased with feasting upon
�the “ Speaker’s Commentary.”
ij
•exterminate the inhabitants of Canaan have had the
effect of rendering them cruel and bloodthirsty ? 0 no !
■“ No body of men ever acquired, or would be likely to
acquire, a relish for human slaughter, by being con
strained to put to the sword, in cold blood, all the
inhabitants of a country, city after city, even when, as
must many times have been the case in Joshua’s cam
paigns, no resistance had been, or could be, attempted.”
Mr Espin, truly, speaks—and here I have quoted
literally, since otherwise I might easily have been
■charged with exaggeration,—as if any thing were known
to him of the influence which such murdering in cold
blood would exercise!
He adds, that the war of
■extermination against the Canaanites was absolutely
necessary to inspire the people of Israel with aversion
to the sins of these races. But did Israel, then, learn
this aversion by its supposed work of butchery ? What
becomes of the accounts in the book of Judges of this
people’s repeated falling away from Jehovah? The
•entire reasoning of Mr Espin is out and out unreal.
But on another account, also, it makes a painful im
pression. However well meant, it tends in reality to
the recommendation of a morality above which Chris
tians, Mr Espin himself not excepted, are happily far
elevated. And this morality it ascribes to God,, to Him
whom Jesus has preached to us as the Father of the
whole of mankind. In truth, we are fully justified in
protesting, in the name of religion, against dogmatic
principles which lead to such consequences.
But how much soever Mr Espin can digest, the miracle
■of the sun and moon standing still (Joshua x. 12-15,)
is too strong for him. Some years ago, M. Baumgarten
wrote, that since Joshua’s bold prayer was sealed by
a boy. But I think that the men of this country, being them
selves homicidal, have imputed the same wickedness to the god
dess ; for I do not conceive that any of the deities is evil.”
Compare the Bishop of Natal’s Lectures on the Pentateuch,
p. 217.—J. M.]
�14
Three Notices of
Jehovah’s act and word, nothing remained for us butsimply to believe that such an event had actually
happened (“ so ist es an uns dasz solches geschehen
einfach zu glauben).” * This belief is all too huge for
the English expositor, and there is none of us who will
deal hardly with him on that account. But, the credi
bility of Joshua must not be endangered ! The reader is,
therefore, informed (p. 57, f.) that the interpretation of
Joshua x. 12, 13,a as a poetical hyperbole is maintained
not only by Maurer, Ewald, and Von Lengerke, but
also “ what is more important,” is regarded as admis
sible by such men as Hengstenberg, Keil, and Kurtz,
“ theologians whose orthodoxy upon the plenary
inspiration and authority of Holy Scripture is wellknown and undoubted.” So much, preliminarily, by
way of tranquillizing the reader’s mind ! After this
the pruning-knife is taken in hand, and the entire
paragraph,—verses 12-15,—is lopped off as an inter
polation. It is “a fragment of unknown date and
uncertain authorship, interpolated in the text of the
narrative, the continuity of which is broken by the
intrusion.” (p. 56).t Now everything is in order. We
are freed’ from the miracle,—which, nevertheless, would
very well admit of being vindicated—and have placed
the writer of Joshua in safety; he could not, in truth,
prevent another person from interpolating his narrative !
We have just spoken of the conquest of the whole
of Canaan, and the extermination of all the inhabitants
* Herzog’s Heal Encyclopsedie, vol. vii. 40.
f [It is but proper to add, however, that in Bunsen’s Bibelwerk, which is by no means an orthodox book, these verses are
spoken of as “forming an inserted (eingelegte) passage, with
a fragment from a collection of songs called ‘The Book of
the Righteous,’ and which is only once again quoted in 2
Samuel i. 18. Probably the national heroes in particular were
there celebrated. The original sense of our passage can thus
be poetically understood ; and so all the lies and dreams built
upon it, together with the persecution of honest science based
thereon, fall away of themselves.”—J. M.J
�the “ Speaker s Commentary
15
by, or in. the time of, Joshua. It appeared that Mr
Espin, does not understand too rigorously the very
positive declarations on that subject, in the book of
Joshua, and so can, in some degree at least, do justice
to the conflicting accounts both in Joshua itself and in
Judges. In passing, he recognizes, in reference thereto,
that in Judges, first chapter, events belonging to the
period after Joshua’s death are related. The Bishop of
Bath and Wells could, however, have instructed him
better on that point. From him, we learn (pp. 123-125)
that it was in Joshua’s lifetime that the tribes made
the conquests which are there ascribed to them. Rarely
has a statement fallen under my observation in which
things were represented in so distorted a shape, or
brought into relation with each other in a more wond
erful manner. The matter is otherwise simple enough.
The compiler of Judges himself takes up the story at
chap. ii. 6, connects his narrative with Joshua xxiv.,
and shows the reader the point of view from which he
should regard the history of the period of the Judges.
Or, to express the matter otherwise, chapters ii. 6 to iii.
5 form the introduction, from the compiler’s own pen,
to the book of Judges. That which precedes, chapter
i. 1 to ii. 6, is taken by him from some other source,—
perhaps from the same document as chapters xvii. to xxi.,
(compare Lord Hervey himself, pp. 117, 125,)—and
placed there in order that the passage may serve
to illustrate the history of the Judges. What, now,
does Lord Hervey do ? He brings forward a number
of arguments, in which the point in question—the
credibility of the representation in the book of Joshua
■—is assumed as proved. He points to the circumstance
that chapters i. 1 to ii. 5 precede the account of Joshua’s
death in chapter ii. 8. He calculates that from chapter ii.
8 to chapter i. 1, each following verse presupposes the
purport of the preceding; from which it appears as
clear as noon day that the enquiry made of Jehovah, in
chapter i. 1, is chronologically earlier than the rest, and
�i6
Three Notices of
thus also than the death of Joshua. But meanwhile, it
stands distinctly written in chapter i. 1, “It came to pass
after the death of Joshua,” &c. No matter ! The text
is without doubt corrupt: the mode of emendation
alone is uncertain. Perhaps it should stand, “ It came
to pass after the death of Moses,” &c. All difficulty
disappears at once. Or, let chapter i. la be connected
with chapter iii. 7, and chapters i. lb to iii. 6 be regarded
as a passage wrongly interpolated here.
Prom such wanton mutilation of the text we, negative
and unbelieving critics, shrink. But the apologists
look upon every thing as permitted, if thereby the
difficulties are only removed. In the introduction to
the book of Judges, from which my last specimen was
borrowed, the figures are treated with equal freedom.
The duration of the period of the Judges is reckoned at
150 or 160 years; the accuracy of Judges xi. 26, and
1 Kings vi. 1, is simply denied; the mention made
of the duration of the oppressions, and of the years
during which the individual Judges ruled, is regarded
comme non avenue. How any one who professes to
maintain the credibility of Judges can venture upon
such things, almost surpasses our comprehension. But
the finest thing is that, at the conclusion, a plaster is
applied to the wound. The table composed by Keil—
with the help of the well-known synchronisms—•
furnishes the proof that all the numbers in Judges,
chap. xi. 26, and 1 Kings vi. 1, included, are perfectly
in order. The reader may thus in any case be at ease,
whether the Egyptian chronology is confirmed by
further research, (in which case he throws the Old
Testament figures quam simplicissime overboard), or
whether it is not (because then he has in these figures
all that he can desire).
[Professor Kuenen has, at my request, given a fuller
explanation of the commentator’s procedure in refer
ence to the point just referred to, which I insert
here. Bishop Hervey, he writes, holds the num
�the li Speaker’s Commentary ”
*7
bers in 1 Kings vi. 1, Judges xi. 26, and elsewhere
in that book, to be corrupt, and thus to be rejected.
But after having said, and supported, this, he lays
before his readers the table composed by Keil (which
is to be found in his “Commentary on Judges,” p.
289, English translation). This table is intended to
show that the figures in 1 Kings vi. 1 and Judges xi.
26, are accurate, and harmonize with the numbers in
the book of Judges. With this view, Keil assumes
that in that book the periods described are not always
consecutive, but sometimes the same period is twice
presented, namely, when the writer first narrates the
history of the Transjordanic tribes, and then that of
Israel to the west of that river. Thus Judges x.-xii.
run parallel with Judges xiii.-xvi. (fie., the events
described in these two sets of chapters respectively, are
contemporaneous). This is an arbitrary, purely harmonistic supposition (as is shown more in detail in my
“ Historical and Critical Enquiry,” &c., vol. i. p. 219 f).
*
* [From this work I quote the following details : ‘ ‘ Start
ing from the 480 years which, according to 1 Kings
vi. 1, elapsed between the exodus from Egypt and the
commencement of the building of the temple, some have
endeavoured to reduce the data regarding the duration of
the period of the Judges by supposing that some of these
rulers were contemporary with each other. It is true that
the book of Judges itself gives some support to this sup
position ; but (1) it does not appear where and how it
ought to be applied; and (2) the uncertainty of the round
numbers (40 and 80) is not thereby removed. Besides, the
justness of the calculation which forms the basis of 1 Kings
vi. 1 is itself subject to doubt; above all, because it cannot be
made to harmonize with the genealogies which extend over
this period. An impartial investigation thus leads to the
conclusion that the chronology of the Hebrew history down to
Eli and Samuel, and even to the disruption of the kingdom
after Solomon’s death, is uncertain, except in so far as its
correctness is guaranteed by the history of the nations who
came into contact with Israel (the Egyptians and Assyrians.)”
In a note the author gives some account of the attempts made
to abridge the period of the Judges, by the supposition that
some of these governors were contemporaries. “Thus Keil
�18
Three Notices of
Now, Bishop Hervey takes over Keil’s table without
approving of it; but evidently in order to be, as it
were, safe in all eventualities; or to quiet the reader
who might have a difficulty in rejecting the biblical
figures. This is what I have, in the text, disapproved.
One of two things is plain. Either (1), Keil’s method
and table are good: in that case they should also
(Einl. § 49) makes the Judges follow each other up to Jair
inclusive (x. 3-5), and then regards the periods of the oppres
sion by the Ammonites (x. 8), and of the Judges Jepthah
(xii. 7), Ebzan (xii. 9), Elon (xii. 11), Abdon (xii. 14), as con
temporaneous with that of the forty years’ oppression by the
Philistines (xiii. 1), within which the twenty years of Samson’s
rule (xv. 20 ; xvi. 31) are also made to fall. This calculation
rests on a misunderstanding of the evident intention of the
writer, who, although (x. 6-18) he speaks also of the Philis
tines, yet certainly does not mean the forty years (xiii. 1) to
begin to be reckoned from Jair’s death. (See above, sect. 31,
note 2.) Others hold the data from Othniel to Ehud to be
consecutive, and refer the figures which follow partly to the
northern, partly to the transjordanic, and partly to the
southern tribes, thereby supposing that it was only under
Samuel that the entire nation was again united; Far better
founded is the hypothesis of Hoekstra (Chronology of the 480
years; Godg. Bijdr., 1856, 1-24). He assumes properly only
two sets of contemporaneous periods, 1st, that of Jabin and
Barak (Judges iv., v.) as contemporary with the rest following
on the deliverance by Ehud; and this on the ground of Judges
iv. 1, where mention is made, not of the end of that rest, but
of Ehud’s death. But according to v. 14, Benjamin also took
part in the contest against Jabin; from this tribe was Ehud
sprung: must not therefore the rest of eighty years under
Ehud’s rule have been at an end when Barak came forward ?
The second instance is that of Samson (Eli and Samuel), with
the forty years mentioned in xiii. 1. But in ch. xiii. 5, where
Samson’s approaching birth is foretold, the fact of Israel being
ruled by the Philistines is not announced, but supposed.
According to the intention of the writer Samson did not fill
the office of Judge during, much less at the beginning of, the
forty years of oppression, but only after its close. Let it not
be objected that according to all these calculations the most
perfect harmony is brought about between the chronology of
the book of Judges and 1 Kings vi. 1. Their great mutual
difference, while the result is the same, shews that Bertheau
(p. xviii.) has rightly disapproved the entire method.”—J.M.]
�the “ Speaker s Commentary.”
ig
be unreservedly followed; or, (2), they are of no
value: and then they can be of no service, in case
Bishop Hervey’s own explanation is judged to be
inadmissible. The Bishop himself certainly reasoned
otherwise, and in the following way, as regards the
accounts in the Bible (not as concerns the readings, but
the accounts themselves): every thing is in any case
correct: if this is not made manifest by the one pro
cess, it will be so by the other : if my view is not just,
then Keil’s will be the true one].
Professor Rawlinson, too, has convinced himself that
the numbers in the Old Testament offer no difficulty :
how readily may errors have crept into them! See
“Introduction to the two books of Kings,” p. 475 f.
They can, also, very well be later additions, e.g., the
troublesome synchronisms of the kings of Israel and.
Judah. In the explanation of 2 Kings which is to
follow afterwards, a formidable use is made, as is wellknown, especially in ch. xviii.-xx., of the freedom to
deal with figures at pleasure. And this by a writer who
otherwise holds strongly enough to whatever the text of
the Holy Scripture tells him, and—-to name one small
matter—ventures to deduce from 1 Kings xvii. 18, that
the title “man of God” was in use in Phoenicia also.
But I must be brief, and therefore will only add a
couple of remarks on 1 and 2 Samuel, and the Intro
duction to these books. Here, we immediately come
upon the following bold assertion : “ There are no con
tradictions or disagreement of any kind (N.B.) in the
statements of the books of Samuel, as compared with
each other, or (N.B.) with the books of Chronicles.
The only appearance of two different accounts of the
same event being given is to be found in 1 Sam. xxiv.
compared with xxvi., where see notes. The other
instances given by de Wette have no real existence.
See notes on 1 Sam. xvi. 21, xxvii. 2,” &c. After
reading this, one naturally begins with consulting the
notes on 1 Sam. xxiv. and xxvi. That on 1 Sam. xxvi.
�20
Three Notices of
1, specifies no less than thirteen points of coincidence
between the two narratives, and concludes that they
most probably represent the same fact. Excellent.
We expect now to see the points of difference pointed
out, or, if these are supposed to present themselves to
view with sufficient distinctness, then to learn the
result,. which naturally cannot be favourable to the
-credibility, either of both the accounts, or of one of the
two. .Nothing of all this. It seems as if Lord Hervey
has failed to remark that the two accounts, in spite of
the thirteen points, differ toto coelo, and therefore
regards all apology or further explanation as superfluous.
Only he offers us some proposals for a modified inter
pretation of this or that particular, the one as improbable
as the other, ending with the last refuge of harmom’stics : “ If we further suppose that one narrative relates
fully some incidents on which the other is silent, there
will remain no discrepancy of any importance ” (p. 351).
In this one case the premisses of the newer criticism
are recognized as true—and the inevitable conclusions
avoided. In every other case, Lord Hervey sees a
-chance of denying the premisses themselves. Some
times he does not esteem this to be necessary, and
passes by the difficulty in silence, for example, in the
notes to 1 Sam. xiii. 11-14, and xv. 23 ff; in those on
1 Sam. viii.; x. 17-27, compared with 1 Sam. ix. 1 to x.
16. Elsewhere we find him employing the well-known,
and repeatedly refuted, attempts at explanation. So, for
example, the connection between 1 Sam. x. 8 and xiii.
8-13, is denied in opposition to the evidence; the conflict
between 1 Sam. vii. 13, and ix. 16, is acknowledged,
and afterwards disguised with well chosen words; the
appointment of David to be Saul’s armour-bearer, in 1
Sam., xvi. 22, is placed after the combat with Goliath,
and in this way the discrepancy between 1 Sam. xvi.
51, 22, and xvii. 55-58, is explained away. “The
theory”—so it is said in p. 317—“ of two conflicting
traditions being followed here and in chap, xvii., is
�the “ Speaker's Commentary.”
z1
very unsatisfactory in every point of view.” Why ? I
pray. Unsatisfactory for dogmatic prejudice, but in
every other respect perfectly natural, and in harmony
with all the phenomena.
Where Lord Hervey takes his own course, he treats
us to singular hypotheses. In the introduction to
Samuel we are assured that the writer, after having
related Saul’s coronation (1 Sam xi. 14, 15) and stated
the age of the new king (xiii. 1) leaps over twenty
or thirty years of his reign, and communicates to us an
event belonging to its last quarter. We open chapter
xiii. , and find no trace of so remarkable a hiatus between
verses 1 and 2. What is more; at the conclusion of
the narrative which begins chap. xiii. 2, we read (chap.
xiv. 47): “ So Saul took the kingdom over Israel,”—
which thus, according to Lord Hervey, will have
occurred twenty or thirty years after his coronation 1
In the notes we learn that during all this time, he was
only nominally king, in consequence of the supremacy
of the Philistines. “ There is not the slightest indica
tion from the words whether this ‘taking of the
kingdom ’ occurred soon, or many years, after Saul’s
anointing at Gilgal” (p. 309). Indeed, “ not the slightest
indication.” Only it is here left out of sight that there
are some things which are self-evident. What it
was that led the commentator to this most singular
view, he tells us himself. Saul is called in chap. ix. 2, a
youth, and appears in chapters xiii., xiv., as the father of
a full grown son : therefore, between 1 Sam. ix. and xiii.,
many years have elapsed. Throughout, we find assumed
the thing that was to be proved—but at the same time
cannot be proved—that the narratives proceed from one
hand, or at least, are all without exception deserving of
credit.
As regards the text of the books of Samuel, the intro
duction expresses a comparatively favourable judgment.
“There are,” we read in p. 246, “a few manifest
corruptions of the text, such as the falling out of the
�22
Three Notices of
numerals in 1 Sam. xiii. 1; the numerals in 1 Sam.
vi. 19; 2 Sam. xv. 7 ; the putting Michal instead of
Merab, 2 Sam. xxi. 8; the corruption of the names
of Jasobeam, 2 Sam. xxiii. 8 ; and of some of the other
mighty men in the same list, the names Isbi-benob and
Jaare-oregim, in 2 Sam. xxi. 16-19 ; and perhaps
some others.”
I do not deny that these words
strongly raised my expectations: could Lord Hervey
see a chance of explaining satisfactorily the masoretic text of Samuel, except in these few passages?
Great disappointment awaited me. The deviations
from the Masora which in his notes he either esteems
to be absolutely necessary, or strongly recommends,
are very numerous. (See, for example, 1 Sam. i. 24,
ii. 10; 29 ; vi. 4, 18, 19, &c., &c.) Still yet they are not
numerous enough. In the case of 1 Sam. xiv. 18, the
writer might safely have been decided, instead of offer
ing a choice between the true reading and that of the
text; in 1 Sam. xiv. 41, he should have consulted and
followed the LXX, &c., &c. But why, then,—in the
words of the introduction quoted above—is the state of
things described in general terms as far more favourable
than, on investigation of particulars, proves to be
correct ? We have here, in reality, the same fault into
which the apologetic commentators are always falling
anew. Their judgment regarding the whole is not the
combined outcome of what the study of the particulars
has presented. It (their judgment) has been deter
mined beforehand. It controls the study, or remains
unchanged, in spite of the results which this study
offers. It is, in short, a prejudice, a foregone conclusion.
Who can free them from it 1—{fheologisch Tijdschrift
for May 1873.)
Volume III.
Since the first difficulties connected with the issue
of the “ Speaker’s Commentary ” have been overcome,
the work goes prosperously forward. The third volume
�the “ Speaker s Commentary”
23
now lies before us. The whole of it is written by
Professor G. Rawlinson, of Oxford, and embraces the
books of 2 Kings, Chronicles, Ezra, Nehemiah, and
Esther. What sort of exegesis is here offered, what
kind of criticism is here practised, what description of
apologetics is here carried out, is known to the reader
from our previous notices (“ Theologisch Tijdschrift”
for January 1872, and May 1873). In order to
characterize this volume in particular, it will suffice to
touch upon a few points.
The stand-point occupied by the expositor of the
Old Testament, can at once, and safely, be made out
from the manner in which he judges of the books of
Chronicles. The author of these books is an individual
with sharply defined outlines of character. His con
ceptions of persons and things can throughout be
compared with those of earlier writers. The difficulties
which this comparison reveals are palpable, and have,
besides, been repeatedly presented to view. If any one
shows that he has no eye to detect the unhistorical
element in the Chronicles, we may, without exaggera
*
tion, affirm that such a person is stone-blind on Biblical
ground. Now, Professor Rawlinson cannot escape this
judgment.
He has not, it is true, made himself
acquainted with K. H. Graf’s dissertation, “ The Book
of Chronicles as an historical source,” (‘ Historical
books of the Old Testament,’pp. 114-247,) i.e., with
the most thorough and excellent discussion of this
subject,—but he has read de Wette’s Introduction, and
Theodore Parker’s additions to that work. He has
not, therefore, lacked guidance. Yet, in spite of this,
he maintains—with the single exception which will
be referred to further on—the complete credibility of
the writer of the Chronicles. How is this possible ?
This question puzzles us, until we have learned the
* [Compare the Bishop of Natal’s recently published “ Lec
tures on the Pentateuch and the Moabite Stone,” Lecture
xxiv., “The fictions of the Chronicler.”—J. M.J
*
�24
Three Notices of
method which Rawlinson pursues. Then we are puzzled
no more, because the method explains the thing at once.
In the introduction to the Chronicles (Vol. iii., pp. 155
ff.) the ordinary questions regarding the title, the
object, the author, the sources, of these books, and their
relation to the other books of the Old Testament, are
handled. We there already find one and another thing
that justly creates astonishment, especially in section 5,
on the Sources. Bertheau’s investigation of this subject
(Chronicles, pp. xxxii. ff; and my own Historical
Critical Enquiry, i. 306 f.) appears entirely to have
escaped Rawlinson’s attention: at least, he neither
adopts nor controverts it. But we leave these and
other particulars, and turn to section 10, ‘Authenticity
of the history.’ After some introductory remarks, the
writer ranges the charges brought against the writer of
Chronicles in three groups. He is said, 1st, to con
tradict himself; 2d, to give accounts which conflict
with other books of the Old Testament; and 3rd, to
commit errors arising from ignorance or misapprehension
of his predecessors. This is the first application of
the maxim divide et impera. The second consists in
this, that the doubts which belong to one of these
groups are one after another taken in hand, and—
refuted?
No, not that, but answered by some
hypothesis excogitated in favour of the writer of
Chronicles, which may, in a certain degree, claim to
be listened to, so long as it is kept isolated, but which
at once appears to be inadmissible when we observe
that time after time such a supposition must be
called in and employed, in order to the acquittal, taliter
qualiter, of the Chronicle writer. The result is that
the four inconsistencies, the eighteen or nineteen in
stances of contradiction, and the six errors, are one
after another set aside, with a very few exceptions,
which are too unimportant to prejudice the historian in
the eyes of his readers, and on the other hand, place
the impartiality of the commentator in a clear light.
�the 11 Speaker’s Commentary''
25
Often, too, the exceptions are merely apparent, because
the fault is ascribable not to the author, but to his
copyists. In this way, Professor Rawlinson gives an
account of the discrepance between the figures in 1
Chronicles xxi. 5, and 2 Samuel xxiv. 9; in 1
Chronicles xxi. 25, and 2 Samuel xxiv. 24. In this
manner, he thinks, that he has fulfilled his task as
a critic. ... Is it not clear as noon-day that in this
way truth cannot be found ? That so the peculiarities
of the Chronicle-writer must be obliterated ?
But, let us stop a little to consider the so-called
corruptions of the text, which are sometimes caught at
as the last means of extrication from a difficulty. The
possibility of errors of transcription, particularly in the
figures, cannot of course, in the abstract, be denied. But
the manner in which Professor Rawlinson makes use of
it for his purpose, is, in the highest degree, arbitrary and
uncritical. The study of the Books of Chronicles in
their totality shows, namely, that their author through
out presents us with large figures, not only when he
determines the strength of the Israelitish armies and the
number of the slain in battle, but also when he com
municates the amount of sums of money. We have
thus to do not with a single phenomenon standing by
itself, but with a strongly pronounced peculiarity of
this Jewish historian.
See only my “ Historical
Critical Enquiry,” &c., i. 323 f. What now, does
Professor Rawlinson do ? When there is a possibility
of maintaining the exaggerated data, he maintains
them : if not, then the text is declared to be corrupt.
This last course is followed, for example, in 2 Chron.
xvii. 14-18; 1 Chron. xxii. 4; xxix. 4.
Every
where else, by the help of reasonings, which may not
see the light, the author of Chronicles is acquitted.
Can such procedure be vindicated 1 Does not the
dogmatic prejudice which leads to such a misconcep
tion of the requirements of the true method of criticism,
stand condemned before the tribunal of science ?
The value of the harmonizing process which is
�i6
Three Notiees oj
applied in the notes to Chronicles, does not require to
he illustrated by examples. The simple fact, that in
no passage is any disagreement acknowledged to exist
between this book and those of Samuel and Kings,
speaks with sufficient distinctness. Here and there
the difficulty is not solved even in appearance, but
simply passed over in silence. The difficulties con
nected with the narrative in 1 Chron. xvi. 7 ft. are
well-known, and, one would say, of sufficient importance
to be at least mentioned, and judged of. For Professor
Rawlinson they seem to have no existence. With the
greatest possible naivety he calls the hymn which is
there communicated “ apparently a thanksgiving service
composed for the occasion out of psalms previously
existing.” Indeed, it is no doubt of subordinate im
portance that those psalms, if not all, yet nearly all, are
post-exilic !
But where should I end if I should seek to char
acterize completely the critical work of Professor
Rawlinson? Any one who desires more, has only
to open the book. Let him not omit, then, to consult
the notes on 2 Kings xviii. to xx., where, on one
hand, the truth of the Assyrian accounts, and on the
other, that of the Biblical narrative, is maintained—•
of course, again at the expense of the copyists, who,
in 2 Kings xviii. 13, have put the 14th for the 29th
year of Hezekiah; and further, by the supposition
that 2 Kings xx., is chronologically prior to 2 Kings
xviii. and xix., and that this was not unknown to the
author himself.
*
Let him, then, also consider the
* I avail myself of this opportunity to draw attention to a
dissertation of A. H. Sayce, on 2 Kings xviii. to xx., in the
Theological Review for 1873, pp. 15-31. The writer judges
that the expeditions of Sargon and Sanherib are confounded
and mixed up with one another by the author of Kings, but
that at the same time his sources, in which these expeditions
were duly distinguished, may still be distinctly pointed out
in his narrative. The same scholar treats in the same journal,
pp. 364-377, the Chaldean account of the deluge discovered by
G. Smith.
�the li Speaker’s Commentaryip
introductions to Ezra, Nehemiah, and Esther, and the
notes on the most important passages of these books.
They made upon me a peculiarly painful impression,
e.y., the notes on Ezra iv., where Ahasuerus is identified
with Cambyses, and Artasahsta with the PseudoSmerdis. But why adduce individual examples ? The
whole method is utterly defective. Rawlinson repeatedly
requests attention to the circumstance that the negative
critics bring no objections against the credibility of
Ezra and Nehemiah, because in these books no miracles
are related. This is, in point of fact, incorrectagainst
more than one particular in Ezra i., ii. f., vii. 12 £,
Nehemiah viii. £, just objections are alleged, among
which some are of great importance. Rawlinson, never
theless, was not aware of them, and had, consequently,
full freedom to slumber. For when the “rationalists”
are not under arms and in the vicinity, the “ believers”
need not mount guard. They have nothing more to'
do than to repel assaults. That there is any thing to
investigate in reference to the Biblical narratives; that,
for instance, the chapters which have just been referred
to, on careful study present to the expositor all sorts of
problems—this cannot once occur to their minds. The
credibility of the books stands fast a priori: so long as
it continues uncontested, or, at least, so long as they
have no cognizance of its being contested—they have,
as critics, no further duty to perform. They may confine
themselves to the illustration of the text of the narrative.
This, then, is done in the notes to Ezra and Nehemiali.
But what does this avail to the reader ? In what
respect does all this learning, regarding Persian words,
for example, bring him any further ? It is, indeed, in
the highest degree saddening, as I expressed myself on
a former occasion, that so exceptionally fine an oppor
tunity to instruct the public as the “ Speaker’s Com
mentary ” offers, should be so badly used, or rather, sogreatly misused. Inspired by the best intentions, but
governed by their system, the writers dispute that
�28
The “ Speaker's Commentary f
which they ought to complete and to improve, and they
shut out from the sight of their readers the light by
means of which it would be possible for them to value
and love the Old Testament. Would that they could
at length learn to perceive that they have disowned
their true friends, and against their own will have
become the antagonists of truth and piety !—(Theologisch Tijdsclirift for Sept. 1873).
Note on p. 'I, line
21.
[a.7rXous 6
p.vf)os rrjs dX-rjOelas &j>v,
Koi ttoikLXuv Sei ravSif epp.7pvevp.aTwv'
fyei yap avrct, Katpov o S’ ttSi/cos Xoyos
voawv ’ v atrip (papp.dKwv Serai iroipwv.
e
Euripides, Phoenissae,
469 ff.
“ The language of truth is simple ; and a just cause requires
no subtle expositions, for it has an inherent propriety. But
an unjust claim, being in itself infirm, stands in need of arti
ficial supports, applied with skill.”
“ The words of truth will ever simple be ;
And justice, strong, scorns aid from subtlety.
But wrongful claims, by nature sick and weak,
The help of far-sought strengthening drugs must seek ”
J. M.]
TURNBULL AND SPEAKS, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.
�
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Three notices of the "speaker's commentary", from the Dutch of Dr. A. Kuenen
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Edition: Rev ed.
Place of publication: London
Collation: 28 p. ; 18 cm.
Notes: From the library of Dr Moncure Conway, Printed by Turnbull and Spears, Edinburgh. Reviews from Theological Tidschrift (January 1872, May and September 1873) of vols 1-3 of The Holy Bible edited by F.C. Cook. Revised by the author. Date of publication from KVK.
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Kuenen, A.
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Thomas Scott
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[1873]
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G5488
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Muir, J. (John) (tr)
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