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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
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Voysey, Charles [1828-1912]
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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.
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[Eastern Post]
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[1873]
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G3417
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Religion
Sermons
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Morris Tracts
Religion
Sermons
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6e76682918d0e8870d1da970b52245e4
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Text
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j2S£ . ilivt
THE TRANSFIGURATION
OF RELIGION:
A DISCOURSE
BY
J. ALLANSON PICTON, M.A.
DELIVERED AT
ffinsbmy,
On SUNDA Y, JUNE 2nd, 1878.
PRICE TWOPENCE.
�LONDON:
PRINTED BY WATERLOW AND SONS LIMITED
LONDON WALL.
�1
THE
RANSFIGURATION OF RELIGION.
We are told by the Gospels that on a certain
jojoccasion Jesus took three privileged disciples with
niihim to a high mountain apart; and there a wonder
[alhappened. For they saw no longer the carpenter
ilof Nazareth, or the heretical Rabbi of Capernaum,
Ini but a shining angel of God. “ An inner glory rent
srifi the veil ” that obscured his divine dignity, and they
rs| saw him, not as he seemed to be, but as he really
swwas. He had passed out of the shadows of time
loj into the open day of eternity. Therefore “his face
did shine as the sun, and his raiment was white as
)d| the light.” Therefore, also, he was no longer
oJ bound by the vulgar limits of the little sect that
qcj -oppressed him by their dulness. The spirits of bygone times appeared, and talked with him of a
�4
mysterious future. So strange and distant did he
seem, that at first the disciples could not speak;
and when they did, it was with a sort of trembling
joy, which only asked for time to know itself aright.
“ Master,” said Peter, “ it is good for us to be here;
and let us make three tabernacles”—“for,” says
one evangelist, “ he wist not what to say, for he
was sore afraid.”
Such is the gospel story, and it does not concern
us in the least now to enter into any critical
enquiries as to its origin. Its use to me is the same
in any case. It is a parable for the church to the
end of time. But, without adventuring any criticism,
I have my own thoughts about it, and I think we
may discern in this sacred legend the resultant, or
the relief, whichever you will, of two opposing
elements in the feelings of the disciples toward
their master. On the one hand were love, reverence, and devotion such as probably never were
felt by man for man, before or since. On the other
hand there was the familiarity which generally
brings about an occasional creeping of shame at
the suspicion of exaggerated feeling. On the one
side was the import of an amazing personal supremacy; on the other were the plain rough facts of
poverty and contempt. The highest expression of
their wonder and devotion was a half-formed, and,
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as they often felt, too daring hope, that this Jesus
might be the very Christ, the hope of all their
fathers. But the form of his ministry was utterly
on incongruous with their dreams of the Messiah.
n'J Thus there was a conflict between their feelings
and the facts. The facts could not be denied, and
srl the feelings would not be silenced. Yet they could
tor not live together, and it would have required little
prophetic insight to be assured that one or other
tffil must give way or be transformed. What happened
ti'A with some of Christ’s hearers we know. They said
“whence hath this man wisdom, having never
I
learned ? ” They said “ Is not this the carpenter’s
to^son?” “And they were offended in him.” The
son i
the offensive outward facts marred, in their ears, all
affj the music of his words, and impoverished the wonder
ic of his character. But the case of those who laid
adj the foundations of the church was very different.
flT They came to discern an inner worth and a spiritual
g.cc majesty which, shining from within, transfigured
tud outward circumstances of poverty and contempt
into raiment of purity, “ white as snow, so as no
Jd fuller on earth can white them.” And the visage
1 that was so marred more than any man s was, to
their fond contemplation, irradiated by the charac
ter, so that it shone like a very sun of righteous
ness. In other words, the feelings of the primitive
1 ‘?3
�6
disciples pierced the rude facts by the fire of love,,
and discovered an inward splendour that in process
of time transfigured unconformable surroundings
into spiritual miracles.
As I have said, it is not my purpose here to
elaborate or defend any particular theory of such
traditions as the transfiguration and the resurrection
of Jesus in a glorified form. In any case it will be
allowed that, in the view of Christian faith, the
transfiguration was not a disguise, but a revelation.
It was the unveiling of the real Christ. And,
whether regarded as historic visions or legends
gradually evolved, I take it that herein the Christian
faith is right. Whether it be to personal emotion
or to impersonal evolution that we owe these tradi
tions, there is no falsehood in them, except to the
thin, pragmatic intellect of the literals. In a
parabolic way they picture the real truth, that it
was the charm and the power of Christ’s spirit
which irradiated the mean surroundings of his
earthly life, and made him the very brightness of
God’s glory to the church.
Now it is from this point of view that I take the
transfig-uration as a type of much that is happening
to Christianity in these times. We have heard of
the phases of faith, and of the eclipse of faith, but
there is also such a thing as its transfiguration,
�7
and this is far more significant than either. For in
transfiguration, its life, hidden rather than revealed,
by insufficient symbols, irradiates those symbols
with its own brightness, and, without destruction of
their form, converts them into spiritual substance.
Let me try to make plainer the general process I
have in view, before I proceed to particular illustra
tion.
The growing schism between traditional theology
MU and the actual facts of the world’s history has
become a commonplace. But what is not so
much recognised is the incongruity between the
best inspirations of religion and the body of belief
imposed by authority. “ Whatsoever things are
true,” says religion, “ think on these things.” “ Buy
the truth, and sell it not,”—no, not for social comfort,
nor even for respectability. Not so, says the system
of opinion supposed to be inseparable from religion;
it is better not to think on material facts, lest they
stifle spiritual affections; and even truth may be
bought too dear if it is won at the loss of usefulness.
11 Behold, thou desirest truth in the inward parts,”
says religion, in a strain of real worship. But what
passes for Christian opinion insists that doubt is to
be commanded down, if need be, by a resolute
fits effort of the will. “ In every nation,” says the voice
of religion, “he that feareth God and worketh
1
�8
righteousness is accepted of him.” But ecclesias
tical systems explain this away by so defining
righteousness as to make it is impossible, and then
show that it is not the character but right belief, at
least on 11 fundamentals,” as they are called, which
makes a man acceptable to God.
The sense of sin, the solemn conviction' that it
always demands and gets its sacrifice, the feeling at
once of personal insignificance and of ultra-personal
grandeur that comes with a perception of the
divine unity of things, the enthusiasm of humanity,
the inspirations of progress, all of them surely are
religious affections. Their fountain is the infinite,
their temple is the universe, their shrine is the heart.
But they are first shocked, then paralysed by the
poor prosaic forms imposed by an emasculated
Westminster confession, or by the helpless meta
physics of the Athanasian creed. The results of
this incongruity have been generally worked out in
one or two directions. Either under its strain the
lessons of science and criticism receive a morbid
interpretation, and religion perishes in the ruins of
theology; or else these solvent forces are resisted
by an arbitrary effort of the will, and, to a greater
or a less extent according to circumstances, religion
is degraded into superstition. But I maintain that
•another alternative is possible, that which I have
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called the transfiguration of religion. In this pro
cess the old form in a great measure remains, if not
intact, at least sufficiently to preserve its identity.
But it is, so to speak, transformed from an earthly
to a spiritual substance, and becomes a trans
parency giving finite form to an infinite light.
It was thus that Philo and the Alexandrian school
treated the Mosaic religion; and their method has
been traditional among those who may be called
Platonic Christians. The Garden of Eden became
the pure life of reason, and the forbidden tree the
jdelights of sense. The national Jehovah was trans
figured into formless and eternal being. The
creative and prophetic word, the Jewish memra,
became the logos, the divine reason. The vitalizing
breath or spirit of God became the emerging love
that completed the Platonic trinity. The narratives
of the Old Testament were regarded as inter
pretable after a spiritual manner, so as to make
them parables of things heavenly, rather than
histories of things earthly. But this method was
usually applied in a hesitating, inconsistent, and
even arbitrary manner. The allegorical sense was
allowed, but the literal sense was almost universally
insisted on as well, and the incongruity of the tw’o
was often startling. Eden, and its rivers and groves,
might be a dream of the delights of reason; but to
�10
insist at the same time on the historical reality of
the talking serpent and the miraculous tree was to
refuse all relief to the understanding. The theory
of double, or treble, or even sevenfold senses to be
discovered in the sacred text was entirely irrational.
There was no touch of nature in such a forced and
arbitrary system. There was no attempt to find
out what it was in humanity or in the constitution of
the universe which had evolved the old traditions,
and so to find their significance in this root principle.
The light was not looked for from within, but from
without, and therefore no real tranfiguration was
possible.
But in modern times the study of religion has
been very greatly affected by the adoption of the
historic method. We are coming to believe that
continuity of development has been the law in the
story of mankind, as well as in the world about us.
No institution, no custom, no opinion springs sud
denly and causelessly into being without parentage,
or without passing" through the stages of germina
tion, embryo, infancy and youth. Even those
revolutions that startle the world like the rush of a
tornado, have been brooding silently in the air for
long before, or they are but the re-combination of
old. forces. Thus for instance, both the French
Revolution and Mahommedanism, for all they burst
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upon the world so suddenly, had their origins fatback in time and deep in the bosom of humanity’
-And such is far more evidently the case with re
ligious ideas, feelings and beliefs, that have spread
slowly and grown for ag-es by some inherent and
enduring force of life. In regard to these, neither
mind nor heart, if healthily constituted, finds any
satisfaction at all-in the coldly negative conclusion
that the belief is contrary to fact, or the idea in
congruous with modern progress. What we want
much more to know is the place that the feeling has
in the life of humanity, how it attained that place,
what has been its value, and what is its real relation
to the belief now shown to be false. Supposing
these questions answered, it will probably be found
that the answer throws considerable light on the
beliefs and ceremonies by which that feeling has
been expressed. At least they no longer appear
meaningless or absurd, and it is more than possible
that though they have to be surrendered as dogmas
or supernaturally imposed duties, they may still
commend themselves to us as convenient expressions
and exercises of spiritual life. Now in this case the
new light thrown upon them comes not from without
but from within. There is no far-fetched theory of
inspired allegory or divine condescension to human
forms of speech. The historic method has simply
�12
revealed the order of nature, and in doing so has
traced back the belief or the observance to some
permanent and universal element in human life.
Thus the belief or observance becomes luminous
with significance and may even be transfigured into
real sacredness and beauty.
Let me give now one or two definite illustrations
from Christianity itself, and then perhaps my
meaning will be plainer. Take for instance the
doctrines of the Fall and of Redemption, which
can hardly be separated one from another. The
former teaches in substance that in some primeval
period mankind were innocent, holy, and happy,
but by sin fell away into a state of corruption to
which the memory of Eden gave the bitter pang of
lost but unforgotten joy. The doctrine of re
demption teaches that the love of God did not
desert mankind in their low estate but extended,
and is extending help from heaven, by which at
last a new world shall be established where
righteousness shall be supreme. Now, as to the
former, the inductions legitimately drawn from
geological records and prehistoric remains, are, to
say the least, constantly accumulating difficulties
in the way of the historic theory required by the
alleged fall of man. And on the other hand, if by
redemption be meant a miraculous interference
�*3
hi with the order of the world, the difficulties of
ea believing it are steadily increasing toward the
nil limit of impossibility. But what do you gain by
•ra these negations ? Absolutely nothing more than
"il freedom to follow the teachings of geology,
uJ authropology, and physical philosophy, without
conscious inconsistency.
The gain is some
J
thing, but it is not much when the highest ends
d
of human life are considered. And that small
gain is swallowed up in utter loss if those negations
id cut you off from communion with the grandest
passions of human experience. It is satisfactory,
no doubt, to substitute a catarrhine ape for Adam
if Adam was a fiction and the catarrhine ape a fact.
But, O, my friends, Augustine was a fact, and
Thomas-a-Kempis was a fact, and there have been
many such. Nay more, the books they left behind
are living facts, and the feelings to which they
appeal are mightier and more living still. Those
homilies on St. John, can I recall them without
feeling again the almost infinite perspective of depth
they add to human life? Those confessions,—do
they not rush past you like a very torrent of life,
sweeping' you along with their emotion, and swallow
ing you up in the personality of the man ? But
such books were evolved from minds not only
impressed, but possessed by the ideas of a Fall and
�14
Redemption. And more than that, these con
victions were not individual peculiarities. They
were characteristic of a great human movement,
which in later times has been called progress, but
which then was known as the coming of the king
dom of God. Now if the discovery that the so
called history of the Fall is legend, and that the
miracles heralding redemption were imaginary,
involves an entire extirpation of the ideas both of a
Fall and of a redemption, then the career of men
like Augustine Tauler, Wycliffe and others was a
morbid perversion of human life. And as with the
pearl oyster so with man, the most splendid and
precious products of his organization are the out
come not of its healthy working but of disease.
But splendid,—precious ? No ; they cease to be
so when emptied of reality. And there is nothing
left for us but to lament the barren dreary centuries
that produced only apostles, prophets and martyrs.
I mean it for no sneer—I mention it only as a fact or
whatever it is worth, in the problem before me,
when I say that I do not feel the most luminous
exposition of my relationship to our ancestral
catarrhine ape to be a sufficient compensation for
the loss. I accept him as a fact. I cannot help it,
because the evidence is distinctly in his favour. But
if I cannot resist evidence, so neither can I suppress
�my spiritual sympathies, and I still feel that I should
have very much preferred Augustine and the City
of God.
And is the loss inevitable ? I say no ; not only
is it preventible, but it is not even possible. When
we put the question “ whether man be an ape or
an angel,” and declare ourselves “ on the side of
the angels,” we are only playing with words. What
is represented by the ape and what is represented
by the angel both remain in human nature, how
ever we toss about the counters that symbolize
them. And the changeful proportions in which
they exist are not in the least degree affected by
our words or our authropological theories, but they
are very much affected by our feelings and tempers,
our aspirations and appetites. When the calendar
in this country was reformed, one necessary part of
the process was an enactment that the 6th of
January should be called the 16th; whereupon the
mob thought that their lives had been shortened by
eleven days, and howled at the impiety of an
infidel government that dared thus to interfere with
the prerogatives of the Almighty. lt Give us our
eleven days! ” they shouted. It was of no use to
tell them that no Act of Parliament, unless indeed
it called in the aid of the hangman, could have any
influence on the number of their days; of no use
�i6
to explain that the 6th January was transfigured
into the 16th, but otherwise remained just as
available for all practical purposes. There was
nothing for it but to let them shout themselves
hoarse under proper guardianship; and when they
came to themselves they found spring, summer,
autumn and winter pursuing their course just as if
nothing had happened. It seems to me that there
is little more meaning in some of the theological
cries now plaintive, now menacing that rend the
air amidst inevitable readjustments of thought and
speech to actual fact. “ Give us back our souls ' ”
cry some. “ Give us back our father Adam and
the Garden of Eden 1 ” cry others. Above all and
with much more meaning the unspeculative but
suffering multitude wails aloud, “ Give us back the
hope of redemption I ”
Now as to the Fall and the Redemption, it is not
without reason that they have played so large a
part in the highest experiences of the greatest men.
For they represent certain permanent and funda
mental elements in humanity, so deep and vital
that the most intensely human of men realise them
■most; so essential that the logical revolutions have
as little effect upon them as political revolutions
have on domestic affection or social instincts. The
Fall—what is it but the pictorial projection of that
�contrast between an imperative ideal on the one
hand, and actual attainment on the other, which has
thrown such tragic shadows and heroic lights over
the story of mankind ? Classic poets sang of a
primeval golden age, and even the most barbarous
races will tell of a time when their forefathers were
bigger, braver, and better than themselves. So
universal a characteristic must have its root in a
common moral nation. However they come to be
so, mankind are as a matter of fact so constituted
that they always conceive as just beyond them
and above them, tantalizingly within their reach, a
mode of life at least a little better than that which
they actually lead. And this better way of life is
felt as a commanding law, which does not indeed
secure obedience, but at least rebukes disobedience
with hauntings of regret and with occasional pangs
of remorse. Take this fact together with the in
stinct of filial reverence, and it is not difficult to
understand how simple races have fabled to them
selves better times gone by, when the nobler life
from which the degenerate children shrink was
actually lived by their remote fathers. Such a fable
may take many forms, now of a golden age, now
of the city of As-gard, now of the Garden of Eden;
but in all forms alike its living germ is the contrast
which a moral nature feels between an imperative
�i8
ideal and actual conduct. It is this spiritual fact,
not the mythical serpent or miraculous tree, or
'easily beguiled woman—it was this spiritual fact
that kindled repentance in the soul of Augustine
and awoke the conflict that enthralls us in his con
fessions. It was this spiritual fact that harassed
Luther, and tortured John Bunyan, and fired the
passion of Whitfield. And though I no longer
believe in Adam or Eve, or the serpent, or the
stolen fruit, I feel myself as truly and as deeply as
ever in communion with those heroes of the warfare
against sin. I realise the discord, the shock, the
original sin of the fall from good to evil within
myself, whenever the ideal with which God inspires
me comes into sharp contrast with the lower life I
lead. I understand St. Paul, not by the study of
theology, but by the comment of life’s experience,
when he speaks of the old Adam, or of the
law of sin which is in our members bringing into
captivity our better nature. And every earnest word
written by such men on the calamity of the Fall
and the hope of Redemption, finds a sincere
response within me. For the doctrine that hitherto
trod the world in the homely garb of fable—“ the
truth embodied in a tale”—has been transfigured to
us, as it was to many before us. The light of the
inner truth has transfused the outer garment, and
�i9
rf| the familiar face shines self-luminous now without
need of miracle to brighten it.
As with the memory of the Fall, so with the hope
■of Redemption, the miraculous accidents are losing
their importance, but the essential truth remains
behind. What is this modern notion of progress,
so unfamiliar to the ancient world ? Surely it is
the secular and practical side of the Christian idea
of redemption. The race that was once so brutal,
so low, so stagnant, is inspired now by a veritable
breath from heaven, stands erect, marches on with
accelerating steps toward, what Jewish prophets
called the glory of the latter day. Now, if you
consider in detail the higher aspects of this human
progress, you will find it consist of innumerable
individual efforts to remedy the Fall, or in other
words, to give to the imperative ideal a force to
command the lower nature. John Howard, Wilber
force, Elizabeth Fry, and such people fought the
fight in themselves before they fought it for the
world. And the effort to give the better life
)<s| sovereignty within themselves, enlarged their sym.ql pathy with their kind so that their hearts were
w| wrung with desire to lessen some evils in the lot
X; of man. Their sufferings were not ended by their
ro| own victory over sin. Indeed, their crucifixion only
jjj then began. For just in proportion to their inten-
�20
sity of desire for human redemption was their
grief at human indifference and their agony at the
obstinacy of human sin. So it has always come
to pass in this great work of redemption that the
innocent suffer for the guilty, and vicarious sacri
fices are made from age to age. Nay, oftener than
not the madness of self-will has been irreclaimable
until it has been brought, as the Jewish prophet
said, to look on one whom it has pierced, and to
mourn for him with the bitterness of remorse.
This principle pre-eminently exemplified in the power
wielded over the hearts of men by the crucified
Jesus, is the vital truth which has made the doc
trine of atonement so prominent in the Christian
hope of redemption. And a right apprehension of
it is at least a great help in conversion from a
corrupt and selfish to a noble life supernatural.
Time soon fails in so vast a subject; and the
endeavour to accomplish too much easily betrays
us into the accomplishment of nothing. If I have
to any extent succeeded in explaining my own
strong belief in the vitality of what I have else
where called the “ Evangelical tradition,” I have
not spoken in vain. The disintegration of authority
and creed is proceeding, if not so fast as some of
us desire, at least quite as quickly as is safe for the
world. Another anxiety demands some earnest
�21
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thought,—the fear lest victorious analysis should
dissolve away the organic life that has made the
unity and continuity of human progress. I sur
render without regret the pretentious science and
feeble criticism of by-gone days. But if I find my
self cold to their spiritual aspirations, indifferent to
their moral struggles, then I begin to suspect myself
an alien from the commonwealth of humanity, and
to tremble at the outer darkness that gathers round
me. The true church and the true humanity are
not opposed, but identical, and the highest hopes of
both at the present time lie in the transfiguration of
religion.
�WORKS TO BE OBTAINED IN THE LIBRARY.
BY M. D. CONWAY, M.A.
PRICES,
s.
The Sacred Anthology; A Book
of Ethnical Scriptures ..
The Earthward Pilgrimage
Do.
do.
Republican Superstitions......
Christianity
.....................................
Human sacrifices in England ..
David Frederick Strauss ..
Sterling and Maurice
Intellectual Suicide
The First Love again.........................
Our Cause and its Accusers
Alcestis in England
Unbelief: its nature, cause, and cure ..
Entering Society ..
The Religion of Children
What is Religion?—Max Muller’s First
Hibbert Lecture..
cl.
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0
6
6
6
7
0
0 3
0 2
0 2
0 2
0 1
0 2
0 2
0 2
0 2
10
5
2
2
1
0
2
NEW WORK BY M. D. CONWAY, M.A.
Idols and Ideals (including the Essay
on Christianity^, 350 pp............................ 7 6
Members of the Congregation, can obtain, this
work in the Library at o/-.
BY A. J. ELLIS, B.A., F.R.8., &c., &o,
Salvation ..
Truth
Speculation
Duty
The Dyer’s Hand ..
......................... 0 2
......................... 0 2
t.
0
..
0
......................... 0
2
2
2
BY REV. P. H. WICKSTEED, M.A.
..
Going Through and Getting Over
0
2
BY REV. T. W. FRECKELTON.
The Modern Analogue of the Ancient
Prophet ..
..
..........................0
2
BY W. C. COUPLAND, M.A.
The Conduct of Life
Hymns and Anthems
................................ 0
••
2
1/-,2/-. 3j-
�
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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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2018
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Conway Hall Ethical Society
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The transfiguration of religion: a discourse ... delivered at South Place Chapel, Finsbury on Sunday, June 2nd, 1878
Description
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Place of publication: [London]
Collation: 21 p. ; 15 cm.
Notes: Part of Morris Miscellaneous Tracts 2. List of works available at the South Place Chapel Library on back page. Printed by Waterlow and Sons Limited, London Wall.
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Picton, J. Allanson (James Allanson)
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[1878]
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South Place Chapel
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Religion
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Morris Tracts
Religion
Sermons
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PDF Text
Text
THE TENDENCIES
OF
MODERN RELIGIOUS THOUGHT.
BY THE LATE
EEV. JAMES CRANBROOK,
EDINBURGH.
PUBLISHED BY THOMAS SCOTT,
MOUNT PLEASANT, RAMSGATE.
Price Threepence.
�■j
I
�THE
TENDENCIES
OF
MODERN RELIGIOUS THOUGHT.*
------- +-------
HERE can be no question, I suppose, that there is
a much
spread
Tearnestnessmore demonstrative and widely was some
in matters of religion than there
thirty years ago. In the more early part of the
century, the great wave of religious excitement which
had thrown up on its surface the Methodists, had
begun to retire, and the usual apathy and indifference
had succeeded amongst the masses, whilst routine and
formalism had taken possession of the sects it had
called forth. Here and there spasmodic efforts were
made to get up revivals; but they all failed, and what
the evangelicals called the Laodicean state seemed
all but universal. I say seemed, because I by no
means suppose that the want of a demonstration
which attracts attention and makes a great deal of
fussy noise is a real indication of a want of earnest
ness ; and, as a matter of fact, we know that whilst
this outward coldness prevailed there was a number
of thoughtful minds pursuing their course very
* This discourse was delivered by the late Mr. Cranbrook,
in the Hopetoun Rooms, Edinburgh, on the evening of Sunday,
February 24, 1S68.—one year after he had resigned connection
with the Independent Church. This explains the references
in the concluding paragraphs, which were specially addressed
to those of his audience who had left the church along
with him.
�2
The Tendencies of
earnestly, and to whose quiet, unostentatious labours
we owe very much of the greater zeal which charac
terises the present day. It was about the year 1830
that the first signs of a revived earnestness began to
•manifest themselves. A number of scholars connected
with the University of Oxford became alarmed at the
wide-spread influence of Dissent, and the prevalence
of Latitudinarian views within the Church of England.
They united together to stem and stop the adverse
current. They began to preach Christ, and in every
way within their power to propagate high-church
doctrines. Their teaching awakened antagonism in
the evangelical party within their church. It aroused
the opposition and indignation of the Dissenters, who
resented the denial that was given to the efficacy of
their sacraments, the ministerial character of their
pastors, and their right to be regarded as a part of
the Christian Church. The controversy called forth
the attention of the outer world. Statesmen, mer
chants, tradesmen paused in the middle of their secular
affairs to listen to the ecclesiastical din. The working
classes looked on sometimes with a sullen indifference
and sometimes with an intelligent contempt. The
questions debated became more' and more vital.
Philosophers and men of science began to mingle in
.the fray. The controversy passed from the learned
halls of Oxford, and the pulpits of Evangelical clergy
men and Dissenting ministers, from religious news
papers, magazines, and tracts, to the sphere of general
society and the. current literature of the day. We
are now living in the midst of it, but, I expect, shall
scarcely live long enough to see its close.
I have spoken of these manifestations of earnest
religious life as a controversy: They are so, inasmuch
as they assume the form of discussion, proof and
counter-proof, antagonism of thought and feeling,
divines railing against their brother divines, and
churches pitted against each other and divided in their
own midst. Yet the word controversy is insufficient,
�Modern Religious Thought.
3
defective, and unable to express the true character
of this great religious activity. For it affects the
whole life of men; brings out their deepest, inmost
thoughts and feelings—nay, is the coming out of their
inmost thoughts and feelings ; is the striving of man
in this our day to adjust his life, himself, to the great
facts of the universe revealed to him. It was not the
desire of Drs. Pusey, Newman, and the other Oxford
men to save their church which truly gave rise to it.
That was only an accidental, though most marked
expression of it under a form determined by special
circumstances. The real causes lay much deepei’ and
were more general. Nor is it the mere rivalries of
sects and parties which keep it alive. Its abiding
cause must be sought in the midst of the great changes
which the last few centuries have been producing in
society itself.
And I have no hesitation in saying that cause
consists almost entirely in the most wonderful progress
which has been made in physical science. Through
all the history of thought you will find that physical
science in past times exerted scarcely any influence
in determining any of the great questions of life.
Philosophy, comprehending within itself theology,
was the sole mistress of the human mind. And the
philosophy I mean was metaphysical, at the best
psychological. The physical sciences were deemed
poor, despised, beggarly elements, informing one of
nothing but a few facts relating to dead and inert
matter. Those who cultivated them were esteemed
as poor in spirit as were the sciences in their subjects.
No one cared to listen to them; no one honoured
them. If a man succeeded in making any great
discoveries which gave him a control over any of the
forces of nature, so much the worse for him; he did
it, not by research but by converse with the evil one,
and he might bless his fate if he had not to answer
before an ecclesiastical tribunal the charge of dealing
with the black arts. Within the last few centuries
�4
The Tendencies of
only has a change come over men’s notions in this
respect. By slow degrees at first, science won for
itself a hearing, then inquiry, then respect; within
the last hundred years it has made rapid progress,
and at last within our own day has obtained a position
which enables it to assert an equality to, if not a
superiority over, the philosophy which so long kept
it in the shade.
Now, this science affects modern thought in two
ways:—1st. By its actual discoveries it puts facts into
antagonism with many old and cherished opinions,
compelling those who are of a truth-loving nature to
give them up, and thus causes their whole system of
opinion to be shaken. Such, e.g., are the facts of
astronomy and geology, which no one can reconcile
with the explicit statements of the Bible; the facts
of ethnology and philology, to say. nothing of
criticism and history. Now these facts, established
by science, coming into direct collision with the long
cherished notions, compel men to re-examine and
seek to re-adjust their whole system of which these
notions are a part; and the process of re-adjustment
occasions the agitation and earnestness of religious
life in the present day.
But I have mentioned what I consider the weakest
influence of the physical sciences first; the second is
much more powerful, i.e., the method which physical
science pursues is directly opposed to the method of
the old philosophies with their theologies, and so far
as it prevails over the mind, must necessarily tend to
weaken the conclusions derived through their method.
The method of the old philosophies was subjective;
the method of physical science is objective. The
method of the first made clearness and consistency
of ideas the test of truth; the method of the second
depends entirely upon verification. Philosophy dares
to comprehend heaven as well as earth, the infinite
as well as the finite, within the range of its know
ledge ■ science modestly confines itself to the pheno
�Modern Religious Thought.
5
menal, and denies the possibility of all knowledge
beyond the sphere of experience. Now, I must not
stay to explain in full the antagonism thus created
between the older way of investigating truth and the
new; but you will all readily see how this scientific
method goes to the very roots of the long-cherished
philosophies and theologies and destroys them—
scatters all their beautiful ideas woven by fancy and
born of tender feelings; challenges to the proof of
their claims sentiments, opinions, and doctrines which
had been held as the most sacred verities.
And this antagonism, be it observed, is by no
means confined to religious questions, it pervades
the whole life. The scientific method is striving to
bring every thing under its control—politics, morals,
government in the family, education, all that comes
under the cognizance of man. That controversy,
e.g., just now agitated respecting the relations of
science and the study of the classical languages to
education is one form which it is taking. But, at
this time, we must confine ourselves to religious
aspects.
Now, it seems to me, in looking attentively upon
the manifestations of this newly-awakened religious
life, with its controversies and divisions, that there
are two, or perhaps I may say three, distinct ten
dencies clearly in action which will necessarily deter
mine the future; and if we can accurately ascertain
these tendencies we shall go far to foresee that future,
as well as to comprehend the present. I shall men
tion them successively :—
The first is a tendency which is purely and uncom
promisingly conservative. It falls back upon ancient
prestige and refuses to yield one iota to modern
innovations and methods. It finds its embodiment
in the Roman Catholic Church. The tendency is
seen in active operation all over the continent as
well as in England, and, if I am not forgetting,
the re-action which indicates its energy began in
�6
The Tendencies of
France before it was inaugurated at Oxford. Speak
ing, however, just now only of this country, the
number of conversions made within the last thirty
years to Roman Catholicism sufficiently proves to the
observer its strength. For, we must recollect whilst
a great number of the working classes (and of those
a large proportion was educated in Scotch Presby
terianism) have gone over to that Church, there have
also been converts made from the ranks of men of
great literary attainments and position, and of acute,
cultured, logical minds. And the tide is swelling
instead of diminishing, and I believe will go on
swelling for very many years to come.. Amongst
other evidences of it I might quote the great height
to which the High Church and ritualistic movement
in the Church of England has come. It is originated
by precisely the same cause, and is in precisely the
same direction; and merely seems to differ because
accidental limitations restrain an advance into the
Roman Catholic Church. I shall have to refer to this
again; but assuming the identity of tendency which
carries some into the extremes of High Church doc
trine and ritualism, and some others on into Roman
Catholicism, we cannot but recognise the great
strength of the tendency operating in all classes
alike and proved by the numbers borne along by it.
But now, what is the meaning of this tendency, its
soul, its real significance 1 It is easy to sneer and put
it all down to the love of millinery and parade,
childish . pomp and glare, as many do; and to de
nounce it all as hypocrisy and a love of priestly
power, as many of the evangelicals do; but it is
nothing of the kind. Doubtlessly some are brought
into sympathy with it through their sesthetical tastes.
They cannot believe that the eternal God who has
made this world so beautiful and full of delight is or
can properly be worshipped where the senses bear no
part, and everything which is beautiful and grand in
its sensuous effects is excluded. They turn, there
�Modern Religious Thought.
7
fore, with weariness from the cold, bare, abominably
ugly forms of the old Protestant worship to that
which, by the sweet perfumes of its incense, the rich
harmonies of its sublime old ecclesiastical tunes and
music, and by the gorgeousness of its ceremonial
satisfies the cravings of the taste, and reveals the
divineness of sense to the soul. And in thus turning
to what meets real wants of their nature, no one can
say that they are wrong.. The taste for art is re-awak
ened everywhere, and it would be strange if it did
not show itself under religious forms as well as others,
since art has always been allied with religion. It is
true that with much that is beautiful a great deal
which is absurd (to us) is mixed up in the Roman
Catholic forms ; but the earnest mind gets the knack
of disregarding the absurd and of.resting with joy in
the beautiful. Whether as the sesthetical tastes of
the country become more thoroughly developed and
cultivated something truer and more real than the
Roman Catholic forms will not be required, is a ques
tion I cannot now stay to discuss. But, at present, I
can have no doubt that the sesthetical culture which
has re-awakened the love of Art in this country is
bearing many along the path which leads to Roman
Catholic forms of worship.
Strong as this influence is, however, it is not the
principal one which is causing the great conservative
religious reaction. There is one which is affecting
the most earnest minds more powerfully still. I
mean the longing after intellectual certainty and rest in
those great questions which relate to God, the soul,
and eternity. The rise of the scientific spirit and
method having, as we have seen, undermined the
ground upon which men had rested their theological
beliefs, has compelled them to seek a more solid basis.
Many a one discovers that, after years of search, no
such solid basis is to be found, excepting in an
absolute submission of the intellect to divinely in
spired living authority, such as is presented only in
�8
The Tendencies of
the Roman Catholic Church. The attempt to make
the Bible such a basis entirely fails them, as it must
fail every one of logical and analytical habits of
thought. The evidences of its divine inspiration are
too imperfect to deceive persons of such habits. And
then the process of interpretation is too uncertain to
meet their wants. They are therefore shut up to the
alternative of renouncing all hope of obtaining a
basis for absolute beliefs, or of submitting their
intellect to the only church which pretends to have
authority from God to teach absolute, positive truth.
Several conditions determine them in embracing the
latter alternative. 1st. The assumption that absolute
certainty is necessary, and that God in himself, the
soul and its eternal destiny must be known. You
will find this most impressively illustrated in that
strangely painful and instructive book published a
few years since, the “ Apologia pro Vita sua,” by Dr
Newman. You there learn, that in the very beginning
of his career he started with the supposition that
absolute certainty in such solemn questions is essen
tial to the soul’s salvation, and that this supposition
inspired his inquiries to the end. At first he thought
he would find it in the Bible, but increasing know
ledge and the development of his reasoning faculties
undeceived him, and enabled him to see that certainty
is not to be had there. He then turned to the
Anglican church and hoped to discover in it a divine
authority which would meet his wants. But the
assaults of his opponents from the evangelical side
drove him back from one position to another, until
he found himself contending for principles which
demanded an unqualified surrender to the claims
of Roman Catholicism. His was too honest, -too
noble, too logical a mind not to make the surrender.
A few sentences have summed up his autobiography;
but it was a long process of heroic struggle, of
agonizing doubts and difficulties, of ardent efforts
and aspiration, towards the highest object that can
�Modern Religious Thought.
9
call forth the desires of man. No nobler, because no
more truth-loving soul of man has revealed itself to
us in this generation than is revealed in that book,
sacrificing itself to the conclusions of an irresistible
logic and abandoning all the fruits of its culture and
all the advantages of outward position because ab
solute certainty of faith can only be had upon such
terms. And Dr Newman represents a whole class of
minds which have gone through, or are going through,
a similar experience. They cry for certainty, and it
is nowhere offered to them with any show of con
sistency, excepting in connection with dogmas which
often at first horrify them—transubstantiation, the
immaculate conception of the Virgin Mary, and such
like. But in proportion to the intensity of the cry,
and the logical consistency of their minds, will they
be compelled to modify their horror, and accept of
the only conditions upon which they can possibly find
the rest they seek.
But this is not all. There is another influence
besides this longing after intellectual certainty which
is leading men in the same direction. What I have
been saying applies for the most part only to the
most thoughtful minds; what I now refer to applies
rather to those of a deep emotional nature. I mean
the sense of sin as a something not belonging to one,
but which has yet taken possession of one's life, for
which an account must be given, and punishment
endured, unless pardon can be obtained from God.
It is true that this sense of sin is founded upon very
vague notions, but in some meditative religious
natures, it becomes the deepest and strongest passion
of the soul. Consequently all churches attempt to
deal with it, and to find for their disciples terms of
forgiveness. The protestant churches, by the necessity
of their theological principles, can only offer terms
which are purely subjective. To be delivered from
sin you must come into the condition of faith. But
how am I, wrestling, groaning, agonizing under the
�io
The Tendencies of
sense of my sin, to know whether I have come into
this condition ? By certain signs and marks which
it requires an analytical process of the intellect, to
ascertain j or by certain feelings of assurance which
can only arise when the internal struggles are over,
and having no authority but their own existence, may
to many appear all delusions and snares of the devil.
Both processes are purely subjective and can only
satisfy the mind in a certain stage of its culture.
But the tendency to objective thought, superinduced
by the influence of physical science, is drawing the
mind out of, and beyond this stage; and conse
quently is leaving the protestant churches without
the means of appeasing this sense of sin. In its deep
agonysof remorse and fear, therefore, the sin-conscious
soul is turning to the Roman Catholic church, which
claims to have received authority from its divine
head to forgive sins upon earth. Not by a subjective
process impossible to the sorrow-stricken soul, but
by a solemn declaration pronounced by the priest in
the name of his God, that church sends home its
penitents cleansed, forgiven, and in peace.
And thus we see, that two most powerful crav
ings of human nature are sustaining and intensi
fying daily the tendency which is leading people to
Roman Catholicism, namely the cravings for rest and
peace to both the intellect and the conscience.
The one craving characterises the more masculine
minds, the other the more feminine ; but both alike
lead to the one result, and swell that great conser
vative religious-reaction which is one of the greatest
tendencies and characteristics of the present day.
The second tendency at work in society which we
have to notice, is. carrying people in quite the
opposite direction, and seems to prognosticate a com
plete revolution in religious thought and feeling. It
originates in those influences of the physical sciences
and the method they have introduced to which I have
�Modern Religious Thought.
11
already referred. By rigidly insisting that every
hypothesis, every belief, shall be brought to the test
of fact, and that nothing shall be received as a part
of our knowledge which has not been verified, it
necessarily excludes a large portion of theological
dogmas from the field even of our enquiries and
places the rest upon a basis that gives them a
character in which they are scarcely recognised as
the same. In other words, it limits our knowledge
to the phenomenal, and pronounces all which lies
beyond to be nothing but the object of a vague faith
and altogether uncertain.
The first form in which this tendency of thought
reveals itself in connection with religion is generally
in the questioning and the renouncing the validity of
the Christian evidences. Employing its method of
rigid proof in the. construction of the rules of
historical criticism, and applying them to the evi
dences it pronounces them to be purely fabulous and
untrustworthy; and thus, at one stroke, overthrows
the whole system of Christianity and leaves those
needing a religion to find for it some other base.
But it does not rest even here. It must not be
concealed that the scientific method re-opens the
whole question concerning the divine existence, and
necessitates the grounding of one’s faith upon some
other reasons than those which sufficed men in former
days. It would be presumptuous in any one to say
that the devout recognition of a personal God is im
possible to those thoroughly imbued with the scientific
method, and when one who is so great an expon
ent of it, and possesses so acute a mind as J. S. Mill,
has seemed to pronounce the Argument from Design
conclusive; but most certainly if we cannot transcend
phenomena and have no knowledge beyond that
acquired by our experience, that recognition of God
is founded upon something which is distinct from
knowledge and can never become absolutely certain.
Accordingly it must be owned that a large number
�12
The Tendencies of
of those who follow this method set aside the divine
existence as a question lying altogether beyond the
reach of their faculties. They do not deny it; but
they say they cannot affirm it. They are not atheists,
but they are intellectual sceptics, whilst on the
other hand those of them who still cling to the
belief in God, justify their position in tones which
indicate they feel that their conclusions are not final.
I hope to show you in the course of lectures I shall
commence next Sunday night some real grounds for
this recognition; but to-night I am merely the
historian, and indicate what is passing around us.
Now that this scientific and revolutionary tendency
in matters of religion is already strong and powerful,
no one who knows anything of what is passing
around him will deny. That it will become stronger
and more powerful there are abundant reasons to
lead us to conclude. Evidently science is only just
beginning its successful career. We are only on
the threshold of its discoveries and its triumphs.
As it progresses it will take firmer hold of society
and bring more and more of the people under the
influence of its spirit. As people are brought under
the influence of its spirit they will apply its methods
to all the spheres of their thought. And thus
religion itself must come more and more under its
control.
There are then two great tendencies at work in
modern society leading to the consolidation of two
great parties. The one is conservative and finds its
full embodiment in the Roman Catholic church.
The other is revolutionary, and finds its representa
tives in the Comtists, the Positivists, the men of
scientific pursuits and studies, and all those who
make experience the only source of their knowledge.
The first demands the submission of your intellect;
the second offers you proofs. The watchword of the
first is, Authority; the watchword of the second is,
Verification.
�Modern Religious Thought.
13
But now, between these two parties lying on the
extreme right and the extreme left, there is another,
scarcely the embodiment of a tendency, but the
representative of a struggle—the party of compromise
that organises itself into the protestant churches.
Ever since the rise of protestantism its churches have
represented the spirit of compromise. Renouncing the
authority of the Roman Catholic church, they have
endeavoured to establish an authority of their own.
Conceding the right of private or individual judgment,
they have restricted its exercise by anathematising
those who did not affirm the orthodox conclusions.
The living energies of thought which gave rise to
protestantism have never long found shelter within
the pale of its churches, but have from time to time
been cast out as heretical and dangerous. These
living energies have never served any good purpose
within the churches but to create schisms, which
when created generally leave those cast out to settle
down as compromising and dogmatic as the churches
they have left. In the meanwhile the men of real
living thought withdraw outside the churches and
look on with indifference or scorning.
In the revived religious life sprung up of late years,
these churches have been true to themselves. To
recede to the old ground of Roman Catholicism
would be too humiliating after three centuries of
schism. To advance upon the free, scientific ground,
would be their utter destruction. So they attempt a
compromise. This attempt is openly avowed by the
more courageous and advanced (so called) Broad
Church party; but not less is it made by others.
Their chief difficulty is in dealing with scripture, and
reconciling not only its historical and scientific facts,
but its dogmas and morals with modern knowledge.
The strictly evangelical sections endeavour to get
over the difficulty by a disingenuous system of inter
pretation, in which, through a juggle of words, they
would fain make it appear that all along the teaching
�14
The Tendencies of
of scripture has anticipated modern discoveries and
methods of thought. The Broad Church section dis
tinctly owns that the science and history of the Bible
are inaccurate; and that it is only the religious ideas
which can be deemed inspired. But with this inspir
ation of religious ideas they associate the stupendous
dogma of the incarnation, and thus necessitate the
belief in a miracle which is the most repulsive and
incredible to be found in the whole Bible. And
what makes the position of this party the more un
tenable is that they endeavour to sustain it, not upon
the ground of objective proof, but by appeals to
sympathies and subjective religious experiences. The
criticism which they boldly apply to the historical
and scientific facts of the Bible they lay aside when
they come to deal with its religious and moral ideas;
and thus by an abandonment of the outworks of the
old system of belief, they hope to retain the citadel.
The hope, however, is fallacious. The system of
Christianity is one complete whole ; it was the growth
of many centuries, consolidated and established under
special conditions and forms of thought, which gave
a complete unity to its doctrines and facts, its
theology and history. No one can separate the one
part from the other, without the destruction of the
authority of both. The Broad Church party is, in
consequence, the weakest amongst all the parties into
which the Protestant churches are divided.. They
are impotent against the evangelicals, because they
dare not deny the incarnation and the supernatural
authority of Christ; they are impotent against the
sceptics, because they dare not affirm the accuracy of
the historical and scientific facts. Their existence
can only last for a day.
But, indeed, that must be the fate of all parties
participating in this compromising spirit, whether
they carry it out boldly or timidly,, consciously or
unconsciously. Eclecticism is only the refuge of
weaker minds that dare not adventure themselves
�Modern Religious Thought.
T5
upon the consequences of principles. It is tolerated
only so long as the period of indecision lasts.
Whilst controversy is raging and victory is undecided
many find comfort in adopting so much of the beliefs
of both sides that when transition has to be made to
the side finally victorious, it can be made without
difficulty and apparently without sacrifice. Instantly
however, that one side has gained the victory all such
eclecticism disappears. The victorious truth draws
all thought within its own circle and all minds
become subordinated to its influence. When therefore
the Protestant Churches in the very first period of
the Reformation gave themselves up to the spirit of
compromise, and endeavoured in sharply defined
creeds to amalgamate the old principle of authority
and the methods of the subjective theologies with the
new spirit of free enquiry and the method of objective
proof, they doomed themselves necessarily to a
temporary existence, and declared themselves incap
able of serving more than the wants of the day. It
is impossible they should last beyond the controversy
between the conservative religious reaction and the
revolutionary scientific spirit. These are so diametri
cally opposed to each other that there can be no final
compromise between them. The one must conquer
the other; and when such conquest comes, the
Protestant Churches will cease to be. And which of
the two great systems, between which the real strife
lies, will ultimately conquer, I need hardly say.
Those cravings of our human nature, that the system
of Roman Catholicism alone can meet, are not
necessary to us. They have been superinduced under
special forms of culture. They arise out of misconcep
tions originated in the days of man’s infancy,
ignorance, and superstition. There are no facts in
the universe known to us which justify them. They
are the pure creations of a mind which has abandoned
itself to its own subjectivity, and lost all power of
.distinguishing between its fancies and objective facts.
�16
The Tendencies of
On the other hand, the progress of the scientific
spirit is sure. Its advance is irresistible. It rests
solely on verified facts. Once verified they can
never become false. It can never, therefore, be com
pelled to recede from a position it has gained. Its
method, too, takes entire possession of the mind when
once it is understood, and imparts to it a culture
which becomes universal. Then, all subjects come
under its investigation, and every idea is subjected
to analysis, testing, and proof. This culture, which
the most urgent wants and principles of human
nature will cause to be generally diffused, will thus
gradually uproot those abnormal but powerful
cravings which lead men towards Roman Catholi
cism ; and the system which they necessitate and
sustain will then of itself expire. It may take very
many generations before the work is done; but the
end is sure.
Now, I trust it is no egotism for me to say on this,
the anniversary of the commencement of the services
in these rooms, that it is because the tendencies I
have described as at work in society have been
working powerfully in our minds, we find ourselves
occupying our present position here. In the midst
of the old churches we sought for certainty to
find out God’s existence, our own destiny. We
felt the pressure of sin ; the sense of its guilt wrung
our hearts with agony; we cried to the churches for
succour. And what did the churches for us ? They
endeavoured to satisfy us with metaphysical dogmas,
fancied facts, dreams of peace. But that would not
do. We had come under the influence of the
scientific method and spirit. We analysed their
dogmas, and found they had no substance or base.
We investigated the evidence of their facts and found
it invalid. We endeavoured to realise their peace,
and it vanished into nothingness, and only sorrow
was left behind. Roman Catholicism, Protestantism,
�Modern Religious Thought.
17
failed to help us to the truth and give us rest of
intellect and conscience. Unless we were to abandon
ourselves to absolute scepticism, nothing remained
but to boldly follow the path along which the
scientific spirit led, and accept of its conclusions
whatever they might be. The course was a trying one!
Prejudices and old associations had to be rooted up;
intense feelings had.to be suppressed; dear friends
wounded. But what could we do 1 We were
perishing for the want of the truth. We saw it lay
in that course or in none at all. We dare not give
up the hope and duty of attaining it—no, by our
soul’s life we dare not. We resolved, not in the spirit
of compromise, but in the spirit of holy daring, to follow
it whithersoever it led. But the old churches could
not tolerate this. Their superstitions became alarmed.
Our earnestness disturbed their peace. In return,
they troubled and vexed us sore. We had no heart
for such paltry strifes. They had nothing to offer us as
compensation for enduring such evils, so we left them
to their' fate and came hither.. If I were a Hebrew
of the olden time, this night would I raise an altar in
this room, and inscribe thereon Ebenezer. The year
has been to us one of happy progress. As soon as
the first excitement had gone off, the congregation
settled down in numbers far exceeding my expecta
tion. It has not diminished since. A few have left
us whose tardy steps could hardly keep apace with
our advance, and are seeking now, I presume, by a
futile compromise, to satisfy the want of their souls.
But their places have been filled by others, whose
sympathies are closer with us, and who, it may be
presumed, have counted the cost the truth will incur,
But our satisfaction arises not from those outward
things. The absolute freedom we here enjoy has
given an earnestness and a power to our enquiries we
had never known before. We seem to ourselves to
have been as travellers previously toiling with painful
steps and wounded feet up steep ascents, through
�i8
The Tendencies of
bramble and through marsh, shut in by high hills or
thick woods, and only here and there getting glimpses
of the land beyond. Now, we have come on the open
spaces and the rich plateaux; the light of Heaven
falls clearly; far and wide the horizon spreads on
every hand on closing scenes of God’s beauty and
goodness ; we advance rapidly, and every breath is
full of joy. Our essential principles, indeed, have
not changed since the day we entered these rooms.
But they have been wrought out to their conclusions.
We have left, too, far behind us the cant phrases, the
technical language, the accommodating forms of
speech, the unmeaning shibboleths of the churches.
We speak plainly the thoughts which are within us ;
and the thoughts in the new language sometimes
themselves seem new. But whatever may be the
form of truth to which we have attained, we do not
hold it as final. We have learned that to us all truth
is not absolute, but relative. As we ourselves grow,
the truth itself is modified, and assumes higher and
purer forms. And we hope, as long as life lasts, to
grow. We enter, therefore, upon the second year of
the services here simply in the attitude of scholars,
not satisfied with the past, but crying unto the
Great Fountain of light, More light, 0 God ! give to
our souls more light!
TURNBULL AND SPEARS, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.
�
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The tendencies of modern religious thought
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Cranbrook, James
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Place of publication: Ramsgate
Collation: 18 p. ; 18 cm.
Notes: From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. Printed by Turnbull and Spears, Edinburgh. Date of publication from British Library catalogue.
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Thomas Scott
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1871
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RA1597
CT201
CT209
CT154
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Religion
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Conway Tracts
Religious thought-19th century
Religious Thought-Great Britain-19th Century
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ß ¿ ¿¿ 9
NATIONAL SECULAR SOCIETY
THE
SPONTANEOUS DISSOLUTION
ANCIENT CREEDS.
DELIVERED BEFORE THE
SUNDAY LECTURE
SOCIETY,
ST. GEORGE’S HALL, LANGHAM PLACE,
SUNDAY
AFTERNOON, 23rd JANUARY, 1876.
BY
De. G. G. ZERFFI, F.R.S.L., F.R. Hist. S.,
tßne ofthe Lecturers in H,M. Lepajtnient of Science and Art,
LONDON:
PUBLISHED BY THE SUNDAY LECTURE SOCIETY,
1876.
Price Threepence.
�SYLLABUS.
Definition of terms : ‘'Spontaneous” and “Creed.”-
Constituent elements in Humanity.
Mind and Matter. Imagination and Reason.
Superstition and Knowledge. Ignorance and Faith.
Intellect and Morals. Emotions and Convictions.
Analogy between Chemical and Intellectual Com
binations and Dissolutions.
Religious Reforms. Brahminism and Buddhism.
Magism and Zoroastrianism. Hesiod’s Theogony
and Greek Philosophy. Judaism and Christianity.
Religiousness and Irreligiousness.
St. Paul and St. John.
Christ’s Christianity.
Christian Unchristianity.
The Historical development of Religion based on
Reason and Science.
Polytheism, Anthropomorphism, Anthropopatism,
Acosmism, and Atheism.
Conclusion.
�THE
SPONTANEOUS DISSOLUTION
OF
ANCIENT CREEDS.
LL philosophers of ancient and modern times
agree that words are the principal instru
ments of thoughts. A correct knowledge and use
of these instruments alone can secure for us pro
fitable results of reasoning as the principal aim of
philosophy. I intend to discuss the Spontaneous
Dissolution of Ancient Creeds from an entirely ob
jective point of view. In this sentence there are
two words which I must beg you to accept in the
sense in which I intend to use them. I do not
mean to apply the word “ spontaneous ” colloquially
as something li sudden,” but scientifically as some
thing “ acting, by its own inherent energy, accord
ing to a natural law.” A spontaneous dissolution
will, therefore, be a dissolution to be traced to the
inherent constituent elements of the different creeds,
as the result of a natural law, according to which
antagonistic particles must dissolve in time so soon
as they lose the cause or force of cohesion. By the
word “ creed,” I do not signify “a summary of the
articles of the Christian faith,” but “ any system
of dogmas which is prescribed as necessary to be
believed, or, at least, to be professed.” In a former
Lecture I endeavoured to trace the influence of
natural phenomena on the formation of the different
A
�4
The Spontaneous Dissolution
religious systems or creeds. Nature in its infinity,
and man in his finiteness, are then the two princi
pal elements from which the different creeds of all
times have sprung; that is, from the very begin
ning of man’s consciousness, his notions con corning
the world, its Creator, and himself, spring from
two utterly antagonistic sources.
Man is formed of matter and endowed with mind,
This must be also the case with the whole universe.
Matter is acted upon by an inherent spirit, mani
festing itself as law—the law of causation, which
pervades space, wherever matter is existent, which
.assumes in time different shapes and forms. The
further constituent elements in humanity are man’s
utter helplessness as a single individual, and the
necessity that he should enter into a social bond
with his fellow-creatures, to render his existence as
an individual a possibility.
To make the existence of a collective social state
possible, man must submit to laws equally binding
on all. Exercising his in-born intellectual power,
man will frame such laws to facilitate the existence
both of the detached individual and of a collection of
individuals, brought together by geographical posi
tion, voluntary or forced influences, over which the
individual, as such, has little or no control. The
laws so framed are in all cases revealed; not re
vealed directly by the mouth of the Divinity, or by
some supernatural agent, but by that self-conscious
ness which, in its turn, is the result of man’s material
«organisation.
This brings us once more to the never-ending dis
cussion of mind and matter. History illustrates most
distinctly the fact that in humanity, as in electricity,
there are elements which will be negative, or positive,
or static, and dynamic. Neither the negative nor the
positive electricity, however, predominates by itself,
�of Ancient Creeds.
5
nor does a machine exist exclusively constructed on
the dynamic or static principle. A proper balance
between the two forces alone will produce action
and reaction, motion and resistance. What is static in
electricity or in a machine is moral in humanity—a
stationary element. Absolute morality, if there be
such a thing, can only be one and the same from
eternity to eternity. Relative morality may vary
with the intellectual “ plus ” or “ minus ” in man’s
social development; but “ wrong,” as wrong can only
be one in an absolute sense, and must be “ wrong ”
in all times under all circumstances. So it is with
virtue. To the philosopher “ murder ” is murder,
whether perpetrated by a single individual to satisfy
his passion, or by an army wholesale for the glory
of a nation; though relatively war, or wholesale
murder, pillaging, robbing and ravaging may be
excused under certain circumstances, and even de
serve a bright monument. To draw a sharp distinc
tion between the absolute and the relative in dialec
tics is of the very utmost importance. Absolute
morality can only be one immutable, unchangeable
element, which renders the existence of humanity
as such possible. This existence would be impossible
if theft, murder, and adultery were allowed. We
trace thus in humanity the existence of one con
stituent—a static element—morals.
The next element will be intellect—a pushing,
dynamic force, ever-changing, ever-growing, ever
varying ; to-day different from what it was yester
day, building up slowly the mighty temples of
science and art, to which every one may contribute,
consciously or even unconsciously, a small pebble or a
few grains of sand to form cement; whilst some place
the huge corner-stones, others raise a flag-staff on a
lofty spire from which a bright banner, floating in
the air, shows whence the cosmical wind blows.
�6
The Spontaneous Dissolution
These banner-bearers only become possible when
every-day working men have dug the foundations,
collected materials, mixed the mortar, heaped up
stones, constructed the edifice, and crowned it with
spires. All work according to the plan of the
grand, invisible, and still, through man’s intellectual
power, ever-present architect, who, in endowing
humanity with self-conscious intellect, ordained its
use to be continuous, leading to a correct application,
of morals by an understanding of the aim and pur
pose of humanity in its component individual
particles.
The process of constructing the progressive intel
lectual development of humanity underwent dif
ferent phases according as imagination or reason
predominated. Both are merely faculties of our
intellect; the one engendering superstition and
religious creeds, the other science and art. The
primary constituent elements begin to be subdivided,
and in their subdivision we find the first germs of
confusion, but also of activity, of action and reac
tion. Those who, by their superior intellectual
consciousness, assume the lead of humanity, begin
to be divided into two divergent groups, each
assuming that man has only to cultivate one of its
constituent elements.
The moralists presume that, with their superior
intellectual power, they have found out for eternity
the laws according to which man may be best
induced to be virtuous. They proclaim him to be
conceived in wrath, created full of wickedness and
sin, and propound that ignorance is his birthright
and faith in the system of the creeds, which they
have worked out in the name of the Divinity, his
only salvation. They pronounce the innate spirit of
inquiry to be of evil, wish us blindly to abide by
certain formulae, separate morals from intellect,
�of Ancient Creeds,
7
mind from matter, the static element from the
dynamic, and hinder the progress of our social
development, which they try to limit or altogether
to check by their dictates. . The despotic sway of
these dictates they deny, for they consider that
their wish to promote the welfare of humanity onesidedly palliates everything they say or do. They
create the first terrible rent in humanity by arbitra
rily separating the component parts of our spiritual
and material existence; they devote themselves to
the exclusive culture of morals and foster an inor
dinate contempt for intellect. The division is
brought about by their remaining stationary, and
ignoring the dynamic force as one of the compo
nent and indispensable elements in human nature.
Wherever this happens, superstition is fostered, and
knowledge is only so far promoted as it will serve
the general superstition. Faith will be exalted
as the best tool with which blind ignorance can be
made subservient to the system of an incredible
creed. Intellect will be looked down upon as of evil.
Morals in the garb of set dogmas thus often become
the greatest immorality, for they promote hypocrisy,
cowardice, and voluntary stupidity. Emotions are
excited, but convictions are silenced. Happily this
is a condition of humanity bearing the elements of
spontaneous dissolution in its unnatural and one
sided attempts.
In analysing a drop of water we know it to be
a compound of hydrogen and oxygen. Add to it
any other element, and the water loses its purity.
Take only hydrogen by itself, it may burn, but it is
not water without oxygen. Taking man as a mere
essence of morals, we have as unreal a being as a
mere essence of intellect would be. As purely moral
or intellectual he might be an angel, an imponderable
something, but not man, who is formed of dissoluble
�8
The Spontaneous "Dissolution
matter, endowed with mind. This mind is often
assumed to be an entity in itself, through itself, for
itself. This may, perhaps, be, but we cannot prove
it; we know only that it exists, thinks, reasons,
directs our motions, our will, in a certain limited
sense, but is nowhere to be found as a separate
entity. It has an analogous nature with electricity
in an electric battery. We have the machine before
us; the proper acids, the metallic elements are
there; we hear their working; we take one of the
conductors in our hand—no effect—we take the
other, and we feel the shocks, gradually and with
increasing force, passing through our body. All these
circumstances and combinations were indispensable
for the production of an effect of electricity on our
body. So it is with mind. It is there, under cer
tain circumstances and combinations of the material
elements of which we are formed; disturb these
particles, change their relative proportion or quan
tity and quality, and you have an explanation for
our different moral and intellectual faculties. Mind
is not a cause, but an effect—absolutely, it must
exist in the universe and pervade it as well as elec
tricity—relatively, it requires certain conditions,
under which it will alone come into entity and
activity. If mind be directed one-sidedly, it will
become superstition; if filled with mere emotions,
it will be driven to madness and engender ghost-seers,
spirit-rappers, ritualists, and lunatics; if left unin
structed, it will believe anything, and can be brought,
through a long training, to such a state that it will
look upon those who are anxious to enlighten or to
instruct it as its sworn enemies; hate, persecute,
murder, burn, and crucify them. Still, just as in the
external world, continuous combinations and dissolu
tions take place, forming the different phenomena, as
air, heat, water, minerals, metals, plants, animals,
�of Ancient Creeds,
9.
and human beings, so an intellectual process of the"
mind, forming and undoing religious systems andscientific theories, has been in operation since the ■
first dawn of human consciousness.
That this is the case no honest and unbiassedi
student of history can deny. The most spiritual
elements in humanity are the different religious
systems, by their very nature treating mostly of the
unknown and unknowable; and still, though every
one of them has been proclaimed as the direct or in
direct dictate of the Supreme Being, every one had
in the course of time to undergo changes, modifica
tions, to enter into different combinations, or to dis
solve into its component parts under the action of
the voltaic battery of intellect. All religions are
composed of certain elements, partly acting on our
moral, emotional, and partly on our intellectual
nature. All religions take their origin in the
natural tendency of the human mind to explain the
surrounding phenomena of nature, and to assign to
man his destiny, not only in this but often also in
another world. Religions originate in man’s imagi
nation, more or less enlightened by knowledge?
whether guided, as some teachers assert, by Divine;
inspiration or revelation, or whether as the mere
result of intellectual effort. The position of thosevwho assume a Divine revelation or inspiration is
very difficult one, and requires an immense amount
of credulity; for history furnishes us with unde
niable proofs that the Divine inspiration and re
velation of one period has often been not only
contradicted but altogether abolished by an equally
Divine inspiration and revelation at another periods
Brahma himself is asserted to have dictated the
Vedas, but he has couched his dictates in so unin
telligible a language that man, with his limited!
intellect, had continually to explain, to correct, and
B
�io
The Spontaneous Dissolution
to comment upon the utterances of the infinite
Spirit. Several times the second person of the
Indian Trinity had to assume the human form to
save humanity from utter destruction, and we may
congratulate ourselves that His Royal Highness the
Prince of Wales went to India, because one of the
religious enthusiasts has proclaimed him the last
“ Avatar,” or incarnation of Brahma. We may here
learn, in reading history backwards, how such incar
nations occurred in olden times; how they were
proclaimed by one or several poetical or fanatical
enthusiasts, and how by degrees such proclamations
were believed, and served as the bases of several
Eastern religious creeds.
Manu had in time to step into the world with a
new Code of Laws, which, as well as the Vedas,
were the breath of the Divinity in every chapter,
verse, word, and letter; and Buddha came at a later
period and had to correct again the dictates of
Brahma, and to proclaim, quite in opposition to the
Divinity, that men were not born in different castes,
but that they were all equal. How it could have
happened that the divine Being, in proclaiming His
will through Manu, should have made such a mis
take is perfectly incomprehensible. But the Divi
nity went even further in its incomprehensible
proceedings. For a thousand years the Buddhists
had been worshipping Brahma according to the
dictates of Buddha, who was Brahma himself; they
had constructed temples in honour of that BrahmaBuddha, which, in their splendour and grandeur, are
unsurpassed, and yet in the seventh century after
Christ this very Brahma-Buddha, who taught his
followers a more humane religion, and endowed
them with so much virtue, that they are still,
though the most numerous, the only sect on the
surface of the globe that has not shed one single
�of Ancient Creeds.
11
■ drop of human blood in the propagation of th.eir
faith—this very “ Brahma-Buddha ” allowed these,
his faithful worshippers, to be massacred, and to be
driven from the very birth-place of his divine mis. si on. The same occurred with the Magi and Zoroaster.
The whole religious system of the Magi was pro
claimed by means of the prophet Hom (Homanes),
who was also the great tree of life, the source of all
bliss and prosperity, the first revealer of the word,
the logos; the first teacher of the Magi, of the
learned in the Scriptures and the prophets ; and not
withstanding this another divinely-inspired master
was required to purify and to revise the revelation
of God made through Hom, and to found the
Zoroastrian creed.
In Hesiod we may trace an altogether different
process. The Asiatic gods, who assumed for cer
tain purposes, at certain times, human shape or
form; who, in fact, represented in monstrous con
ceptions the different phenomena of nature, were at
last deprived by Hesiod of their revolting material
and spiritual attributes. They were, for the first
time, represented in human shape by the humane
vand poetical Greek mind. Their beautiful outer
forms led to an elevated conception of their spiritual
. nature, and the Greek gods became mere men and
women endowed with higher bodily and intellectual
. faculties. Through the Greeks, humanity was en
abled to leave the regions of the supernatural and to
embark on the ocean of inquiry, and provided with
the compass of intellect, to make glorious voyages
of discovery in the realms of speculative philosophy,
and to furnish us with the models of rational in
quiry. When the Greeks proclaimed their “ yv^Qe
ffeawo/’—“Know thyself,” man’s spirit became
. conscious of its own self as part of the eternal divine
spirit, but not altogether freed from the fetters of
�12
The Spontaneous Dissolution
outer-fonn. . Intellect with the Greeks was yet
generalised,, and had to take a beautiful form, as
manifested in their immortal works of art; man was
not yet unfettered as pure individual intellect. We
must look for this spiritual development of humanity
elsewhere.
The historical importance of the Jews begins with
their bondage. In misery and wretchedness they
learned their higher aspirations. Their legend about
the creation of man in the image of God and the
forfeiture of his innocence in eating from the tree of
knowledge is a mighty truth, bearing in it all the
elements of future dissolution. For if man was
created in the image of God, why should the gods
have been jealous of Adam becoming as one of them,
“ knowing good and evil ?” With this antithesis the
Jewish misfortune for humanity began. They taught
us to be images of God, to long in boundless eager
ness for that Godhead, and condemned as sinful th iff
very yearning. Mankind had to undergo endless
bodily and intellectual sufferings in consequence of
this decomposing composition of heterogeneous ele
ments, placing reality in eternal opposition to the
ideal. The Jews always hoped to find a Messiah to
reconcile their old oriental antithesis, which they
had in reality borrowed from the Persians and
Egyptians; they always hoped that somebody
would redeem humanity from the fetters of spiritual
darkness or sin. It was clearly felt by the Persians,
as well as by the Jews, that this redemption could
only come through man.
Real religiousness consists in man’s consciousness
of his double attributes and his attempt to bring
harmony into the apparent dissonance of his divine
(intellectual) and human (material or animal)
nature. This pure process must not be disturbed,
interrupted, or checked by any secondary and arbi
�of Ancient Creeds.
13
trary element. Man embodies the eternal divine
spirit only in a transitional phase, that is for a
limited time. During that limited phase he has to
exert all his intellectual and moral powers to pro
mote his own as well as his fellow-creatures’ happi
ness. All those elements that hinder him in this
task through obscure verbiage, revealed and re
revealed incongruities, mystic symbolism, or theolo
gical hair-splitting, are irreligious.
The contradictions in the conception of God, the
transcendent materialism, and the complicated in
comprehensible spiritualism with which Jehovah
was conceived by the Jews; the half-Assyrian and
half-Egyptian mask which he wore—now Osiris, the
redeemer, then again Ahriman, the slayer, the de
stroyer, made him now a mystic tyrant, then again
a partial father. He promised his chosen children
plenty on earth, and many goodly things, and left
them continually in the bondage of the surrounding
Gentiles, who were proclaimed to be his abomina
tion. Now he appears in the Psalms, as in the
strains of the Vedas, to be a God after whom the soul
may thirst to lead us to holiness and righteousness,
then again it is 11 the Lord thy God ” who gives
away the cities of other people, which they built,
the trees which they planted, the wells which they
dug and the vineyards which they cultivated, as an
inheritance to the Jews, and tells them without
cause and reason: “ Thou shalt save alive nothing
that breatheth, but thou shalt utterly destroy them,
namely, the Hittites and the Amorites, the Canaan
ites and the Perizzites, the Hivites and the Jebusites, as the Lord commanded thee.” And if you
ask for an explanation of the morality of these
enactments, you receive the answer: “the ways of the
Lord are mysterious.” But this is no answer. The
mind of man cannot be satisfied with such replies,
�14
TAe? Spontaneous Dissolution
it finds them in their very mysteriousness irre
ligious.
The marble form of Zeus, in spite of its beauty,
had to give way to a more ideal conception of the
Divinity, and in a similar way the invisible God of
Moses had to assume another shape. Mosaism had
to undergo a reform after having long before divided
the Jews into different sects, who hated one another
with that intense fervour which is the natural out
growth of oppression and long slavery. The records
of the religious system of the Jews were more
favoured than those of the Indians or Egyptians;
for their tenets became sacred not only in the eyes of
the privileged priesthood, that kept all sacred and
profane knowledge to itself, but also in the eyes and
ears of the whole nation. Moses faithfully kept his
promise, and made the Jews “ a nation of priests; ”
in telling them, freed from all symbolism, what
made the Egyptian priesthood so powerful in their
sway over the ignorant masses for thousands of
years, he made every Jew a theologian. Notwith
standing all these advantages, the Hebrew records
had the element of dissolution as a mere formal
creed in them; for the mythic was treated as
historical; phenomenal facts were stated with an
utter ignorance of science, as was only natural in
times in which all sciences were in their infancy, or
as yet unborn. Though the spirit of inquiry was
fettered for centuries, the reform had to come as a
natural sequence of the historical progressive de
velopment of humanity. John the Baptist first
commenced it, Christ followed.
Christ again was followed by the two apostles, St.
Paul and St. John. It is an authenticated fact, that
the canonical writings of the New Testament con
tain different accounts of most important incidents,
and are the outgrowth of mighty minds who could
�of Ancient Creeds.
15
but impress with their powerful individuality what
they wrote. Next followed the Fathers, who did not
content themselves with commenting on Christ’s,
St. Paul’s, or St. John’s teachings, but added dogma
upon dogma, borrowing them from old forgotten
Egyptian mysteries, or from the writings of Greek
philosophers; so that in the course of a few cen
turies, when Christianity became the ruling faith of
the Roman empire, it comprised all the elements of
spontaneous dissolution in its heterogenous bor
rowed forms, symbols, dogmas, and articles of
faith.
Christ’s Christianity, the doctrine of love and for
bearance, of humility and self-sacrifice, of common
brotherhood, and the harrowing tragedy of his life
and death, were all turned into symbolic mysteries.
What was simple and intelligible was surrounded by
incomprehensible contradictions. Christ was to be
the mighty, royal, hoped-for Messiah of the Jews,
though he tried as amere teacher to reform Judaism
and to bring vitality into what had decayed into a
mere dead formalism. Not to abolish the old law
was His mission, but to purify it from its narrow
national particularism, and to restore its mono
theistic and moral universality.
St. Paul saw in Christ a dying God, who had to
atone for the sins of Adam, in order to satisfy the
demand of the Jewish law. Grace was everything
with him. St. John made of Christ the incarnation
of Plato’s Logos, and added that nobody could come
to God except through Christ, which was an un
charitable anathema against all those who were
honest and virtuous, but who either knew nothing
of Christ, or could not understand the mystic dogmas
under which Christ had been buried.
Christ’s
incarnation as the Logos could not have been diffe
rent to that of Brahma, as Krishna or Rama, or
�16
The Spontaneous Dissolution
Buddha, of Amn, as Osiris and Horus. Each - of
these incarnations took place under very analogous
circumstances, and for analogous purposes.
The Divinity to the student of ancient creeds
appears continually to assume new shapes and forms
and to succeed always only in a very partial redemp
tion of humanity. Did Christ, however, ever assume
a Godhead in a Buddhistic or Egyptian sense ? is a
question which will, in time, be differently answered
than at present. Christ the rigorous Jew who con
scientiously kept the spirit of the law, though He
opposed its dead meaningless formality, who ap
peared with scrupulous regularity at the grand
festivals at Jerusalem, could He have ever violated
the sacred monotheistic basis of the Jews so far as
to proclaim Himself as anything else but the “ Son of
Man,” to which title He had every claim, when He
declared the whole of humanity to be the children
of one Father in heaven ? Did Christ ever intend to
make Himself anything but the spiritual redeemer
of mankind, by proclaiming on high-ways and in
market-places what was kept as a secret by the
Esoteric teachers, that there was only one God, and
that man had one real aim, to unite whether poor or
rich, if only “ pure of heart,” into one bond of divine
love, pervading the universe ?
Love was with Christ the connecting element
between the divine and human in man. As attrac
tion is scientifically the vital element of the material
cosmos, so love is the binding element which was,
is, and will be the fundamental basis of any religion ;
and where this element of universal brotherhood is
discarded or stifled, by whatever dogmas, our en
lightened reason will never be persuaded that the
mystery is for our benefit; for the very assumption,
that morals can be fostered and best understood
through unintelligible types and symbols in antagon-
�of Ancient Creeds.
17
ism to intellect, is the very element of a spon
taneous dissolution of any creed, and always only a
question of time.
The sanguinary persecutions that disgraced the
religion of Christ would have horrified no one more
than Him, in whose name they were perpetrated.
And who were those who were most cruelly treated,
robbed, pillaged, insulted, and murdered ? Those
for whom He prayed in dying with his last breath :
<( Father, forgive them, for they know not what they
do.” Christ was said to have established eternal
hell-fire. He who commanded us to forgive our
enemies “ seventy times seven,” could He have con
ceived a Divinity less forbearing in His infinite love,
wisdom and mercy, than a finite human being ? In
this cruel and contradictory assumption we have
another element of spontaneous dissolution, because
it is an unchristian dogma borrowed from the Egyp
tians, with whom Osiris was more an infernal judge,
than a loving, supreme Being. With the Egyptians
gloomy unconscious fear, and not self-conscious love,
Was the beginning of wisdom and the motive element
of their gloomy creed, which element transferred to
Christianity changed its very essence, made Romish
idolatry a possibility, and worked as an antagonistic
dissolving element in Christ’s glorious and simple
code of morals.
Day by day the historical ground was cut from
under the feet of Christ’s Christianity. Dogmas,
ceremonies, rituals, and symbolic performances were
borrowed by the Christian priesthood from Indians
(Brahmans and Buddhists), Egyptians, Greeks, Per
sians, Hebrews, and Romans. The clergy of the
Romish Church strove to become, like the Brahmans
and Hierophants, the augurs, magi and bonzes of
old, masters of the minds of the ignorant masses,
who were kept purposely and systematically in igno-
�18
The Spontaneous Dissolution
rance; for the greater the ignorance of the people
the greater the influence of allegories, symbols, and
mystic incomprehensibilities. So it came to pass
that the clearest laws of humanity and common
sense were trampled under foot with reckless fero
city. From the times of Gregory VII. Christianity
became hourly more unchristian.
Unchristian Christianity persecuted, killed and
burned for nearly a thousand years, from Charle
magne, the Christian Mahomet, down to the year of
grace 1780, when the last witch was publicly burnt
at Glarus, in the Roman Catholic part of Switzer
land. To whatever Christian country we turn we
find the militant Church of Rome desiring pre
rogatives and immunities. The Church claimed the
right to punish those who spoke disrespectfully of
the clergy • the right to the luxury of burning here
tics ; theie were continual disputes as to whether
emperor or pope, cardinal or king, should be first
in authority. Deans and bishops quarrelled in open
courts with one another about images, postures, or
the right to possess a crucifix. The clear enactment
of Christ, “ Give unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s,”
was distorted and placed under mental reservation.
A dignitary of the already half-reformed English
Church (Archbishop Sandy) dared to proclaim that
we must obey princes “ usque ad aras,” as the
proverb is, “so far as we may without disobeying
God. .And who had to decide what was considered
disobeying God ? The priesthood—which cared
more for prerogatives, the right to fell timber, to seize
lands in mortmain, to receive such estates as were
forfeited for high treason, to have the right of inves
titure., and to possess authority in lay as well as in
ecclesiastical matters, than to educate the masses, to
teach them soberness and cleanliness, forbearance;
■peace, and goodwill.
�of Ancient Creeds.
19
The priests loudly proclaimed Christ s law : “ Do
unto others as you wish that they should do- unto
you; ” hut their deeds were in contradiction to the
ordinance, and they did unto others as they must
have wished that they should never be done unto.
They acted like the great mass of the Chinese, to
whom Confucius, more than four centuries before
Christ, gave the same law : “Do unto others as you
wish that they should do unto you” ; but as we are
cheated, we cheat ; as we are calumniated, we calum
niate ; as we are persecuted, we persecute ; as we are
robbed, we rob ; and as we are served with false
measures or sham goods, we do the same.
This
is certainly not Christianity, and though commen
tators, exegists, apologists, dogmatists, and inqui
sitors tried hard to smooth down and explain the
contradictions, the creed, that had served humanity
for 1,500 years, had to undergo a new reform.
Christian unchristianity was once more to become
pure, primitive Christianity.
In the eyes of the Romish Church Christianity
was no longer the doctrine of Christ, but the enact
ments of the Church. Christ’s personal commands
had for a thousand years to give way to the assumed
higher wisdom of councils or popes. These councils
and popes could, however,not avoid being influenced
by the spirit of their times, and were forced uncon
sciously continually to vary their doctrines, according
to the exigencies of the moment, always with one
clear aim—to keep the power and the means of being
the hieratic masters of the world. So long as the
priest could live with a wife, it was Christ’s com
mand to have one ; so soon as it was found that the
priest became too worldly, too humane with a wife
and family, it was Christ’s command to resign him
self to celibacy. So long as Platonism served them
the priests were Platonists. In the first three cen-
�20
The Spontaneous Dissolution
tunes they had no Trinity, they were (Ze facto
Arians, and then they became Athanasians or Trini
tarians, in imitation of the Indo-Egyptians, and
cursed all who were not of their incomprehensible
opinion. On one day Origen, on another St. Augus
tine, swayed their minds. They had deadly contro
versies on the Lord’s Supper, and about the use of
bread and wine, or the Real Presence, or the Transubstantiation, whilst often thousands were starving
around them for want of food. They forgave sins
but only to those who could pay for such remission"
lh?y 7 J?trodu<;ed self-abnegation, self-flagellation,
and selt-torture'for the masses, and lived in pomp and
vanity. They smiled and cursedin one breath: they
spoke immediately before the Reformation, but their
language was always ambiguous, for they tried to
please all parties; and still they attached more impor
tance to outward ceremonies, vestments, symbols,
types, and mere verbal professions without any
inward spiritual meaning, than tomoral reality and
real religiousness.
. Whilst the Romish Church was thus a house
divided against itself, many honest monks and more
enlightened laymen turned back to the old Greek
and Roman classics, and tried to take up the thread
ot the progressive historical development of
humanity, which appeared to have been rent
asunder and lost for ever. To re-unite it where
it had been broken, they revived sciences and arts ;
and dogmatists, mystics, and dry school-men were
more and more silenced. The Reformation was
nally victorious in the terrible struggle; but it
had to fight its way through torrents of blood.
When the peace of Westphalia left Europe in the
possession of religious freedom, Europe sealed her
right to scientific progress. The Romish Christian
creed was then dissolved, and no Vaticanism will
�of Ancient Creeds.
21
ever revive it. Christianity with the Reformation
ceased to be a special creed based on mere outer
signs ; it was once more made universal. Christ’s
God of Love and Reason who was enthroned
through the Reformation is the God of the Universe,
his existence, in one shape or another, is believed in
by Brahmans, Buddhists, Jews, Mahometans and
Christians.
Christ, if considered as the incarnate divine spirit
of self-sacrifice and love, has freed men of their finite
ness by teaching them to surrender their outerselves
to a pure moral and intellectual consciousness of
their innerselves, and thus only has redeemed
humanity, and dissolved all ancient and modern
creeds by establishing real religion based on reason
aided by science, promoting real morality, freed of
all dogmatic dross and from the unnatural bondage
of prejudices and the mystic fetters of ignorance.
Polytheism of old had to yield to a more refined
creed of one creative power; but Polytheism had
already borne the elements or constituent particles
of spontaneous dissolution in itself. However
poetical the deification of the different phenomena
of Nature may be, it was merely the outgrowth of
an ignorant and over-heated, an unconscious and
unbridled imagination. Bitterly, though poets and
artists bewailed this time, they had to surrender
their fanciful world of self-created gods. Man,
however, wishes at all times to have his emotions
taken into consideration. The culture of the emo
tional element seems to be the last retreat of those
who think that dry morals (as if morals did not
continually exercise our emotional elements), and
mere science (cold, calculating science, as they say
in turning up their eyes) cannot suffice to fill man’s
nature. They then turn to a vague and incompre
hensible anthropomorphism, man-worship, which in
�.2 2-
The Spontaneous Dissolution
■one form or another, has not yet ceased to be the
cherished creed amongst those who crave for the
merely emotional.
The Greeks were the first and most cultivated
anthropomorphists. Their creed has vanished, but
it contained much emotional element that, purified
of idolatry, might serve the masses of our modern
times as an element of unlimited artistic emotion;
for art will and must replace that fervid craving for
„emotion. Art will yet again shape beautiful forms
for their own sake, and ethics and aesthetics will
repair our loss of barren phrases referring to super
natural masters. The anthropomorphism of old will
revive again, though in another spirit; it will not
be sanctified as a creed, but hallowed, because it
will lead man, through love, to understand the ideal
beauty of everything created, from the tiny and
bashful daisy to the lofty-snow covered summits of
the Himalayan Mountains.
Ancient Creeds, after having gone through the
dissolution of Polytheism and Anthropomorphism,
enter upon a species of anthropopatism. The leaders
of this creed try to combine revelation and reason,
faith and science; they use all possible sophistical
contortions to prove that there are no contradictions
in the Sacred books of the Eastern nations ; that all
is clear. You have only to take the different pas
sages in their corresponding allegorical, parabolical,
tropological, anagogical or literal meanings. They
assert, with a mild gentleness, that there are no
difficulties except to the blind, to the heartless, and
to those who live to cold science and have no higher
aim than the “Fata Morgana” of a dreary materi
alism. These anthropopatists work out in their own
imagination a more or less lofty portrait of the
Divinity, and describe, praise, draw, model or paint
it according to their individual idiosyncrasies, their
�of Ancient Creeds.
23
sympathies or antipathies. They persecute, hate,
despise, or, if they are very kind-hearted, pity those
who fail to see a “personal” Father in their dim
half-theological, half-rationalistic colours. These
men are like some Protestants who deny to the
Romish Church the right to have miracles, but keep
certain miracles which must be believed in. They
do not see that in this very contradiction is a
thriving element of spontaneous dissolution. Before
a tribunal of logic these half-theologians and half
Rationalists could not pass a “ spelling-bee.” These
men feel that they have lost their historical basis,
and to find a new one would necessitate too much
study; they could only find it through a correct
appreciation of the gradual development of humanity,
to attain which they would have to make them
selves acquainted with the intellectual pressure of
mind brought to bear upon progress. Fortunately
the discharges from the electric theological clouds
that have gathered, or are gathering, have, since the
invention of the lightning conductor of tolerance,
become extremely harmless, though they may
occasionally be unpleasant. The anthropopatists
should base their ethics and metaphysics, if the
latter exist, on the ruling principles of the Cosmos,
but it is much easier to talk morals than to intro
duce a new creed in our times, after so many
spontaneous dissolutions of ancient creeds.
Who, indeed, wishes for a new creed ? We do
not want the ridiculous Acosmism which denies
the reality of the world, asserting that it had been
created out of nothing, and that matter is a non
entity. These modern apostles in tail-coats talk of
an “ Unseen Universe,” as though it could be.seen ;
if it can, then to call it “ unseen ” is nonsense, and
if it is invisible, to waste time in describing it with
copious verbiage, is still more absurd. Though we
�24
The Spontaneous Dissolution
may never know what the absolute essences of
matter or life are, we may still study matter in its
phenomenal results, and see the aberrations of mind
whenever it treats of the so-called supernatural, and
its glorious conquests in arts and sciences, when
man deals with given forms and quantities, either
transforming them into works of ideal beauty, or
discovering, after centuries of hard labour and keen
observation, more scientific explanations of the secret
workings of the hidden forces of nature, than the
theologians could find on the easy and lazy path of
an assumed revelation. The world belongs in future
to another body of priests, to the priests of science
and art'
The Indian philosophers already attained the con
sciousness of creation, preservation, and transforma
tion as the external actions of one force, in three
equally powerful emanations, and, notwithstanding
this philosophical starting point, free of every taint
of dogmatism and anthropomorphism, a connecting
link of different incarnate gods was worked out by
the priesthood to satisfy the emotional ignorance of
the masses.
The Jews set up a god of their own, a national,
jealous god, who was to be stronger than all the
others, which was a silent indirect admission that
there were other gods. Jewish monotheism reached
merely the notion of a mighty ruler, who was master
even over the false gods j and those gods who gave
comfort and hope for thousands of years to innumer
able generations, saw themselves hurled by Javeh
into the abyss of hell, where they had to rule as
mighty demons. But the i( immanence” or inherence
of a pervading spirit in the universe cannot be a
person in the sense of an anthropopatist or acosmist,
for omniscience and omnipresence is only pos
sible with an impersonal deity. The burning ques-
�of Ancient Creeds.
25
tion of modern thought is not, as Renan has it, a con
test between Polytheists,—namely, Roman Catho
lics, Protestants, Buddhists and Brahmans, and
Monotheists—namely, Jews and Mahometans, but
the struggle is between those who assume an all
pervading infinite spirit, and those who deny the
existence of any Deity, between Panmonotheists
and Atheists.
. ,
But who are those who deny the Divinity ? Such
men as either cannot or will not understand the
cosmos, who can see only matter, but do not grasp
the effects produced by matter in the universe as
well as in humanity, which is but its reflex. Those
who never will draw a line between cause and effect,
and most of all those who drag the Divinity down
to their own low level, transforming it into an idol
of their own, which they wish to force upon
humanity at large ; these proud, conceited theolo
gians promote atheism even more than some pro
fessed atheists. But who are atheists ?
Certainly not the scientific men as physicists,
who bow down their heads, and profess, with child
like lips : “ We are too humble, too finite to grasp
the infinite,; we shall be contented to trace here and
there some minute workings of the innumerable
elements forming phenomena that are, that must
have had an origin and must have an aim.’ Not
the philologists who, in languages freed from all the
trammels of a paradisiacal tongue, in which God
himself spoke, trace and systematize the phases
through which languages had to pass to attain
their different sounds; alphabets, words, _ concrete
and abstract expressions. Not the geologists, who,
unfettered by any Eastern cosmogony, follow
up the growth of our globe according to law and
order, and find in this very inherent law and order
the vestiges of an eternal first cause, which personi-
�26
The Spontaneous Dissolution
Ued becomes utterly unintelligible. Not the his
torian, who, in the complicated phenomena, of which
men are the units with all their passions, yearnings,
hopes, and fears,. traces the eternal laws of action
aaid reaction, which force humanity onward on the
path of continuous progress. To so great an extent
is this the case, that if we carefully consider the sub
ject, we are astonished at the relative progress of
humanity, and this improvement has been attained
since the reformation, since the revival of classic art
.and philosophy ; . since scientific inquiries have
silenced the grand inquisition, and stopped the burn
ing of witches and heretics; since logicians have
disproven the false and pernicious principles of the
reasoning of an infallible priesthood; since tolerance
&nd forboarancG Kavo clad themselves in ermine and
meted out justice with an even hand, regardless of
the creed to which those belonged who sought re
dress for wrongs inflicted upon them ; since even
bishops and deans dare to thunder at the gates of
narrow-mindedness, and to proclaim the right of
free investigation, not only for themselves, but also
for those who are under their sway; since the layauthority took upon itself to spread sciences and
arts amongst the ignorant and neglected masses,
■and to prevent through the strong arm of the law a
reactionary and anachronistic movement inaugu
rated by some of the priesthood, who, craving for
the. emotional, think to find in tapers, fancy em
broideries, monkish dresses, and the most childish
mimicry of a creed that went through the process of
its spontaneous dissolution more than 350 years
ago, a solution of the religious questions of our
days.
Mysticism has been for thousands of years the
bane of humanity. Ignorance is her cherished
foster-sister. Mysticism and ignorance presumed
�of Ancient Creeds.
27
not only to lead humanity on the path of emotion
to virtue, through different creeds, but also to regu
late man’s intellectual powers. Ignorance and
mysticism built up astronomical, zoological, and
geological hypotheses which had to be destroyed;
they prescribed to the Divinity how and when the
world must have been created ; science had to rectify
these errors of a natural ignorance. That such
errors should have been transformed into articles of
«reed, indispensable to the salvation of our better
intellectual nature, and that this deception should
and could have been practised for thousands of years,
is not a mysterious riddle, but the natural effect of
an equally natural cause. Whenever and wherever
ignorance assumes the mask of theological know
ledge, it leads men into error. The error once
having become, through continuous repetition, an
accepted truth (though it may be only negative
truth, viz., falsehood), it takes the positive shape
•of an indispensable entity for the happiness of man
kind, and it requires thousands of years to remove
such falsehoods, and historians testify to the fact
that the whole progressive development of humanity
•consists in the destruction of such falsehoods.
In England and Germany, as the two countries
most advanced in civilisation, the one politically,
the other intellectually, this process of undoing the
past is most apparent. In both countries set dogmas
appear to go down the stream of time with ever
diminishing buoyancy, form and bulk, till they must
sink altogether. Curates and pastors become rarer
and scarcer. In 1831 there were in the eight Prus
sian Universities 2,203 theological students, and in
1875 there were scarcely 560 (about 70 to a Uni
versity). In the Universities of Southern and
Western Germany the decline of theologians was in
the same ratio. In addition to this, one-third of the
�28
The Spontaneous Dissolution
matriculated th eological students abandoned theology
altogether, and entered other professions, tired of
asserting things they could not understand ; for they
had gone through a scientific training in Logie»
Mathematics, and Universal History. The ecclesi
astical authorities in Germany had to acknowledge
that, in one year or so, one-sixth of the vacant bene
fices would have no clergymen to fill them.
Yet, in the face of this growing dissolution, we
have our “ Burials Question,” as the result of Christ’s
command, “ Love thy neighbour as thyself.” After
1875 years of grace and Christian teaching, we find
men trying to. prevent some of their Christian
brothers from lying side by side in the same church
yard, in the same soil from which we have all
sprung, to which we all return, from which all our
pleasures stream, on which all our woes are concen
trated. And why ? Because these Christians
differ, on certain theological questions without real
distinction, from those in power. For this reason
Christians of another shade of thinking should be
carried in silence to their last resting-place. What
tyranny, what cruel tyranny, perpetrated in the
name, of Christianity! And these cruelties are
practised whilst words of piety, fraternal condescen
sion, and humble submission are used on one side,
and on the other the stern, indomitable “no sur
render ” is proclaimed with the blind obstinacy of
an Eastern despot. This intolerance is the more
remarkable, in the third quarter of the nineteenth
century, in our free and enlightened country, whilst
in Germany, Russia, and Austria tolerance is prac
tised, at least amongst the different members of the
Christian faith. In Germany, Roman Catholics and
Protestants often use the same sacred building, the
one for his mass, the other foi' his sermon, and both
for their prayers to their common God. In Russia
�of Ancient Creeds.
29
and Austria the Christian children of one ruling, per
vading spirit, may lie peaceably side by side when
fate has sealed their controversies, when they can no
more pronounce God’s anger and judgment against
one another, when they rest from their labours. But
we persecute one another even beyond the grave,
notwithstanding our great political and social move
ments. We are trying to bring education into the
hovels of our rural population, and to the gutter
children of our over-crowded towns. Our scientific
discoveries are teaching us day by day to distrust
our preconceived prejudices ; our historical inquiries
demonstrate how falsehoods were spread; how truth
was distorted; how dreams, fancies, myths, and
legends were taken for realities; how space and
time were filled with the tears and sufferings ot
men for the sake of false theories; how nations and
individuals lost themselves in dogmatic oyster
shells, and were unable to see beyond their narrow
ossified world—and yet we cannot let our fellow
men sleep their last long sleep in peace.
Philosophers and physicists may smile at this
with tears in their eyes, seeing how the self-contra
dicting elements in creeds not only lead to irreligi
ousness, but contain in themselves—through placing
the form above the spirit, matter above mind, emo
tion above reason—the elements of a spontaneous
dissolution. This inevitable dissolution can only be
directed into the right groove of a higher moral and
intellectual phase by a thorough understanding of
history, which teaches us that only a synthetical
combination of the Indian and Hebrew-Christian
creeds and their sublime ethics, divested of all
extraneous matter, may furnish us with real religion,
as a code of morals binding on the whole of humanity,
without fettering in any way our intellectual
nature.
�30
The Spontaneous Dissolution
, The bigoted and credulous, the fanatics and
ignorant in the Church and in our Universities, in
our colleges and educational establishments, do nottremble in vain at the very name of “ Universal
History” as the grand store-house of man’s immortal
deeds, follies, and crimes, committed for thousands
of years, partly in the name of the Divinity, and
partly to satisfy the religious emotions of a Torquemada, or a Calvin, or some false assumptions
based on some imaginary theory or divine revela
tion. Not in vain have our Universities shut their
doors on an honest, unbiassed study of the develop
ment of humanity on general principles. Were it
not for this,, we might lose our insulated position';
we might discover a continuous gradual growth and
decay of creeds as well as sciences, and see how
one system of ancient fallacies served another as
basis of development.
Not without grave reason does Cardinal Manning
clamour against an appeal to history, and brand it
as “heresy and treachery.” He does not stand
alone, he is supported by our own theologians and
the heads of our own Universities, who consider the
study of “Universal History” superfluous, per
nicious, leading to scepticism; for it might teach us
that man formed his own gods and dogmas, in
fluenced by the aspect of nature and his relative
amount of brain; that man has wasted his time and
energy in trying to answer questions “ d priori” (out
of his imagination) before he could gather informa
tion “ d posteriori” (by experience). We might learn
that every step in the progress of humanity had to
be fought for single-handed by independent men in
whom morals and intellect were well balanced. We
might become conscious that dogmatic superstitions
in India, China, Assyria, Babylon, Persia, Egypt,
Judaea, and Borne, during the Middle Ages and in
�of Ancient Creeds.
31
modern times, had caused the dissolution or station
ary state of all these Empires and times. _
For man, composed of the two constituent ele
ments of matter and mind, of morals and intellect,,
must cultivate both ; the one according to immu
table laws, necessitated by his very organisation,,
and the other unfettered by any capricious, emo
tional, and unintelligible self-created and seliimposed creed.
Man’s destiny lies in the perfect balance oi ins
moral and intellectual nature.
t
PRINTED BY C. W. REYNELL, LITTLE PULTENEY STREET, HAYMARKET.
�SUNDAY LECTURE SOCIETY,
To provide for the delivery on Sundays in the Metropolis, and
to encourage the delivery elsewhere, of Lectures on Science,
—physical, intellectual, and moral,—History, Literature,
and Art; especially in their bearing upon the improvement
and social well-being of mankind.
THE SOCIETY’S LECTURES
ABE DELIVERED AT
ST GEORGE’S HALL, LANGHAM PLACE,
On SUNDAY Afternoons, at FOUR o'clock precisely.
(Annually—from November to May).
Twenty-Four Lectures (in three series), ending 23rd April,
1876, will be given.
Members’ £1 subscription entitles them to an annual ticket
(transferable and admitting to the reserved seats), and to eight
single reserved-seat tickets available for any lecture.
Tickets for each series (one for each lecture) as below,_
To the Shilling Reserved Seats—5s. 6d.
To the Sixpenny Seats—2s.; being at the rate of Threepence
each lecture.
For tickets and the published lectures apply (by letter) to the
Hon. Treasurer, Wm. Henry Domville, Esq., 15 Gloucester
Crescent, Hyde Park, W.
Payment at the door:—One
(Reserved Seats) One Shieling.
Penny ;—Sixpence ;—and
�
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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 spontaneous dissolution of ancient creeds: a lecture delivered before the Sunday Lecture Society, St George's Hall, Langham Place, on Sunday afternoon, 23rd January, 1876
Creator
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Zerffi, G. G. (Gustavus George)
Description
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Place of publication: London
Collation: 31 p. ; 18 cm.
Notes: Part of the NSS pamphlet collection. Printed by C.W. Reynell, Little Pulteney Street, London.
Publisher
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The Sunday Lecture Society
Date
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1876
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N702
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Religion
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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 spontaneous dissolution of ancient creeds: a lecture delivered before the Sunday Lecture Society, St George's Hall, Langham Place, on Sunday afternoon, 23rd January, 1876), identified by </span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk"><span>Humanist Library and Archives</span></a><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span>
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application/pdf
Type
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Text
Language
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English
Creeds
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THE SERVICE OF MAN
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�Clairvaux,
Fitzjohn's Avenue, N. IK
May i6tll, 1886.
My dear Clodd.
The book which I wish to publish is entitled “ The
Service of Man: An Essay towards the Religion of the
Future. ”
It is, of course, largely founded on Positivist principles, but
by no means exclusively so. And, as a matter of fact, Comte
is never referred to or even named. Great harm has been done
to Positivism by forcing Comte crude and simple down people's
throats and winding tip every paragraph, like the prayers in
the liturgy, with “ through Auguste Comte our Lord."
But that is not the chief reason why I have chosen this
course. I differ often so deeply and completely from Comte
that I cannot take him as my sole authority; and, on the other
hand, to controvert him was not desirable or needed. The
object of the book is to show how the Service of God, or of Gods,
leads by natural evolution to the Service of Man ; from Tlieolatry to Anthropolatry.
Always yours most sincerely,
Jas. Cotter Morison.
�THE
SERVICE OF MAN
AN ESSAY TOWARDS THE RELIGION OF THE FUTURE
BY
JAMES COTTER MORISON
[issued for
the rationalist tress association, ltd., by arrangement
WITH MESSRS. KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER, & CO., LTD.]
WATTS & CO.,
17, JOHNSON’S COURT, FLEET STREET, LONDON, E.C.
1903
��JAMES COTTER MORISON : IN MEMORIAM1
James Cotter Morison is in a special
sense one who has left his work even
more in the memory of his friends than
in permanent fruit before the public.
At school and at college this man, who
in general acquaintance with ancient
scholarship and in wide historical know
ledge seldom met any superior, was, as
happens so often, unmarked by prizes
and the ordinary academic honours.
Like John Ruskin, John Morley,
Algernon Swinburne, and so many of
our best writers, he passed through
Oxford without official recognition or
public honour—gathering, perhaps, all
the more that he never entered into any
competitive race, a thirst for books, a
full harvest of knowledge, and a true
zest for historical literature. Though he
had no university distinctions, he made
many friends at Oxford, and was at once
marked by generosity of nature and
sympathetic charm in conversation.
With John Morley, his contemporary,
of the same college, he maintained a
life-long friendship, and perhaps a still
closer communion of literary interests
with the famous scholar, tutor, and ulti
mately Head of Lincoln College, Mr.
Mark Pattison. We can many of us
recall the graceful and sympathetic
account of his old tutor which Morison
wrote on the death of the Rector.
Sympathetic charm, affection, gene
rosity, fertility and grace in social
converse, were the leading qualities of
Morison’s nature. There have been of
course in our day many men of greater
learning; though Morison’s knowledge
was very wide and well possessed. There
have been many men of more brilliant
wit; though he would often delight a
room by the point and felicity of his
talk. There have been some men of
more astonishing fancy and poetic
imagination; though neither fancy nor
imagination was wanting in him. But
what in a really supreme degree was the
mark of Morison’s conversation was, not
so much its learning, its wit, its fancy,
its ingenuity, but that which is often
wanting when learning, wit, and fancy
are most abundant—I mean genuine
sympathy, the sense of contact of spirit
with spirit. He was no master of mono
logue, no habitual teller of stories, no
lecturer, no egotist in society. He loved
to find at their best those around him,
to put himself in contact with their
hearts, their brains, their experience;
he drew out what was in his companions,
he stimulated their curiosity, gratified
their interests, gathered from them all
he could, gave them all he knew,
exchanged with them knowledge, and
suggested to them fresh fields, new ideas.
There was keen intellectual activity in
this. But there was far more of affec
tionate sympathy. In this quality he
had no superior in the society in which
’This appreciation was originally delivered to the Positivist Society then meeting at Newton
llall, and is reproduced here in a slightly abridged form.
�6
JAMES COTTER MORISON: IN MEMORIAM
he lived. I almost doubt if he had an
equal.
Let us do full justice to this rare, this
beautiful quality. It is one very different
from that which is often admired as con
versational brilliance. I am not one of
those who would set much store by con
versational brilliance in itself, where the
brilliance is an end, the habit one of
display, the motive egoism. The sym
pathetic union of mind with mind, the
touch of one character upon another,
the genuine desire to give new life and
put fresh warmth into a friend’s spirit—
this is, surely, a moral faculty of singular
value and true social delight. And
how rare is it! There are learned
men, clever men, men of bounding
elasticity of mind and temper, who
instruct, amuse, dazzle us. But how
often do they stand apart by themselves
to themselves, from fastidiousness of
intellect, from self-absorption, from a
certain hardness and coldness of nature,
taught them in the long stern work of
their lives. How rare are those who,
having given their lives to study, have
the freshness and freedom of a college
lad, when for the first time in his life he
begins to feel all the charm, the uses, the
emotion of true conversation! How
seldom do the brilliant men really relish
the brilliance of others, at least in the
first comer or the stranger. How often
is the scholar dull, the wit irritating, the
student sententious, the great talker
fatiguing.
Now Morison, who was
certainly scholarly, witty, learned, and
brilliant, was never, I think, fatiguing;
for he was always first and foremost
sympathetic : his sympathy covered all
he did, coloured and warmed all he
said.
Sympathy is the bond of Humanity.
In the magnificent aphorism of Comte,
“ If the kingdom of Heaven belong to
the poor in spirit, the kingdom of Man
belongs to the rich in heart.” Though
men speak with the tongues of men and
of angels, and have not sympathy, it
profiteth nothing. Though men under
stand all mysteries and all knowledge,
and have not sympathy, it is nothing.
Sympathy covereth a multitude of sins.
Sympathy is but one side of the great
Apostle’s untranslatable and illimitable
dycon)—and Morison had sympathy.
Sympathy stands out in his social life,
in his friendships and his admirations,
and it stands out in his literary works.
It shines forth in his intense love of
music, the most sympathetic of the arts.
It shines out in his love of art, and his
study especially of architecture.
It
stands out in his early college life ; in his
life in Paris, where he lived long in the
centre of a Positivist group ; in his life
in London; in his devoted regard for
men who in turn taught, fascinated, and
delighted him—men so very different,
yet who each left impressions on his
mind :—first, I think, and earliest, Mark
Pattison; then perhaps Cardinal Man-|
ning ; afterwards Thomas Carlyle ; and,
lastly and finally, for the last five-andtwenty years of his life, our venerated
chief, M. Pierre Laffitte.
Few men of our time have ever
understood Paris and Frenchmen more
intimately than he. And it was by his
sympathy and affectionate instinct even
more than by his long experience and
incessant study. I well remember his
life in Paris, where he lived some years
with his wife and family, as a link
between literary Englishmen and French
republicans—a link, too, to some extent,
between classes of Parisians who are very
seldom seen in the same room, and who
are not very willing so much as to
�TF. rSmORISON: IN MEMORIAM
Bonverse or act together. Yet Morison, as
one outside the strife of class and party
in Paris, by virtue of his kindly and
genial bonhomie, would gather together
those who seldom met elsewhere. I
well remember his Paris home, where
there came men of mark in the world of
letters and the world of politics; Louis
Blanc and some of the older school of
socialists, some of the younger revolu
tionists, conservative politicians, and
young men already of promise in the
administration,
physicians, - lawyers,
journalists, and artists, mingled with
workmen, clerks, employes, typical men
of the Parisian democracy. All felt at
home—all were friendly, bright, and at
ease. In Morison’s home it was difficult
for any man not to feel at ease, not to
be bright and friendly. He led them to
feel what he was himself. He was
brilliant, sympathetic, genial, and the
source of brilliance, sympathy, and good
fellowship in others. There were but
few other houses in all Paris where such
men could meet and be at ease. It was
his gift. It is a rare gift, and a precious.
Sympathy, I have said, was the key
note of his nature; sympathy was the
keynote of his best work in letters.
It
is sympathy, even more than eloquence,
more than study, more than art, which
makes his St. Bernard a really fine and
permanent work. It is a beautiful book,
a true book, a conclusive book, what a
book ought to be. It is one of those
books which are, in a way, decisive
on a great crucial social problem.
The deepest question of our day is
thisDo men in society require
any spiritual guidance ? Is a spiritual
power a real thing; is it a possible
thing? Is a Church an evil or a
good ? And, as matter of history, was
the Catholic Church a blessing or a
7
curse ? As a matter of religion, had the
Catholic Church anypermanent residuum
of good in it at all ? I know no problem
in social science, in morality, in religion,
so crucial as this—no task which litera
ture can so usefully undertake.
On this great problem Morison’s St.
Bernard is decisive, final, crucial, so far
as history is able to decide. It is the
life of one of the most perfect natures
recorded by man, engaged in one of the
most central duties, in one of the most
typical epochs in all human story. It is
a life told with entire simplicity, the
most genuine enthusiasm, with exact
historic truth, with no unscientific weak
ness, with no foolish blindness to hard
fact, with perfectly rational sense and
self-possession. But a picture of a most
vivid personality, with complete under
standing of its meaning, and with all the
issues, the circumstances, all the problems
manfully faced and laboriously worked
out. It is no pedant’s work; it is no
mere student’s monograph; it is not a
literary tour-de-force. It is a noble
portrait of a real saint. And the brush
of the painter is dipped in sympathy.
Now, it is no slight thing to reach inwards
into the depths of the spirit of a true
saint.
When a famous painter was asked how
he mixed his colours, he answered, “Sir,
I mix them with brains.” If Morison
had been asked how he studied history,
he might have replied, “Sir, I study it
with sympathy.” His St. Bernard was
written in sympathy, and it was prepared
with sympathy, under the influence of
three men—how very different, and yet
each having much to tell us about an
Abbot of the Middle Ages—Cardinal
Manning, Thomas Carlyle, and Auguste
Comte. It was in preparing his book
on St. Bernard that Morison first acquired
�8
JAMES COTTER MORISON: IN MEMORIAH
that deep interest in the Catholic Church,
that real insight into the Catholic Church
as a historic power, which he retained
during life, and which breaks out in fine
fragments in his latest book. It was
then that he sought permission, and
obtained the privilege, of passing some
weeks within a Cistercian monastery,
where he submitted to the sternest and
most exacting form of monastic disci
pline. It was a teaching which coloured
and deepened his whole mind through
life. This fragment about twelfth-century
monasticism was dedicated to Thomas
Carlyle “ with deep reverence and grati
tude ; while writing it Morison was pro
foundly influenced by his intercourse
with the author of “Past and Present”;
but the moral or theory of the book is
already drawn from the teacher whom he
was soon to know more intimately, in
whose teaching he remained finally ab
sorbed—I mean Auguste Comte.
. The same spirit of sympathetic enthu
siasm glows throughout another picture
of Catholic zeal, the beautiful monograph
on Joan of Arc. It comes out in a
richer way in the address which he gave
in Newton Hall on the 31st of December,
the Day of the Dead, on the human
idea of subjective immortality. In a very
different vein, also, it essentially colours
those two excellent studies, the Lives of
Gibbon and of Macaulay, where the
effort to judge these famous writers at
their best so often appears through mani
fest disagreement with their judgment
and their tone. It is a curious example
how resolutely bent was Morison’s mind
on a really appreciative spirit (to use that
somewhat ill-favoured word) that he used
to say, in writing his Life of Macaulay,
that he was constantly in fear of rather
overdoing the effort to show abundant
justice to a writer for whose style, method,
and historical standpoint he himself had
so strong a distaste.
In his historical, as in his critical work,
there is always the same mark—if we
must use that clumsy word—the appre
ciative spirit, the irresistible eagerness to
get at the best side of an author, of a
book, of an institution, of a historical
character, to feel with their senses and to
place himself in their position. In how
many an essay, monograph, review—
now, alas I forgotten, or soon to be for
gotten; too many, I fear, unsigned, un
known even to his closest friends;—
through how many of them does this
appreciative spirit run! In such historical
monographs as I have mentioned, in his
graceful and thoughtful lectures, in his
enthusiastic estimate of Dr. Bridges’s
book on Richelieu and Colbert, in his
reminiscences of Mark Pattison, in his
essay on Art, in the piece on Madame
de Maintenon, in scores of short pieces
full of just judgment and various know
ledge.
It is mournful to think how scattered,
how unknown, how perilously near to
final waste and extinction, is so much
good fruit of head and heart, which was
not knit up into unity and system in
life. Most mournful of all is it to think
on the long years of labour that he gave
to his History of France, the fruit of so
much ripe study, of such instinctive
insight into character, of such grasp of
institutions—all now, we fear, gone to
waste, to uselessness, and final nothing
ness. It is the law of our life—a law
inexorable, solemn, and full of warning.
As the old Hebrew poet said : “ Let me
know mine end, and the number of my
days : that I may be certified how long
I have to live. For man walketh in a
vain shadow, and disquieteth himself in
vain : he heapeth up riches, and cannot
�JAMES COTTER MORISON: IN MEMORIAM
tell who shall gather them.” “In the
morning it is green, and groweth up :
but in the evening it is cut down, dried
up, and withered.”
Or, as the great Persian poet said :—
9
have been disposed to make, that the
book is in any sense an exposition of
the Positivist conception of what the
Service of Man may become. I cannot
myself look on it as an exposition of
Positivist opinion at all. It was not so
“ With them the seed of wisdom did I sow ;
And with mine own hand wrought to make it
designed by the author; it is not so in
grow ;
execution or result.
And this was all the Harvest that I reap’d:—
The book is a fragment, or rather a
I came like Water, and like Wind I go 1
collection of fragments, introductory to
“ There was a door to which I found no key :
a work that has never been written.
There was a veil past which I might not see :
Continually before the book appeared I
Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee
There was—and then no more of Thee and
can remember Morison explaining to me
Me.”
his purpose. The present book, he
Happily we have risen above the said, was in no sense to be a Positivist
mysticism of the Hebrew poet, the utterance. It should not contain Comte’s
scepticism of the Persian poet. In his teaching ; it should not refer to Comte.
thoughts about life and about death It should handle certain topics of religion
Morison was neither mystic nor sceptic, and social morals which stood on the
but Positivist. It would have been threshold of the question. Ultimately,
strange indeed if one so intensely sym he said, he hoped to complete a book
pathetic had not trusted in Humanity; on constructive lines, which was, in fact,
to be the substantive and positive view
and he did trust in Humanity.
I have said nothing of his last work— of the Service of Man—a far more
The Service of Man. It was but a important and far more extensive task,
fragment—indeed, not so much a frag as he felt it to be. The essays now
ment as a bundle of fragments—-some before the public wTere the critical, preli
what hastily thrown together into a minary part. The Service of Man in its
volume when he felt the approach of ultimate form, I can well remember his
death, arranged with little cohesion and saying, was to be a sort of “ Whole Duty
plan, and put out when his mortal of Man,” from the Positivist point of
disease had already insidiously sapped view, in simple words which the least
educated could understand.
his energy.
That book has not been written. I
I know nothing about it so excellent
know not if any portions of it exist.
as its beautiful title, a phrase which in
itself is worth many books, and will And, as that is the case, as the con
prove quite an epoch in the growth of structive and positive treatise on the
our faith. The Service of Man has Service of Man is wanting, I almost
many noble passages and fine sugges regret that the critical and controversial
tions ; but for my part I can hardly part has ever been put forth. Most
judge of its meaning or its tendency in assuredly, to my thinking, not a little in
the absence of the conclusive work to the book as we have it now is in no sense
which it was simply a collection of intro Positivist teaching, is not even compatible
ductory chapters. Most emphatically with Positivist teaching. We should be
do I deny the suggestion which some failing in our duty if we allowed it to be
�13
JAMES COTTER MORISON: IN MEMORIAM
publicly assumed that this book as it stands impressionable, so elastic, could not be
is in the remotest degree an embodiment rigid, would be over-indulgent to himself
of the Human Religion. It was not so and to others, would be too ready to
meant; assuredly it is not so in fact. yield, to receive, to assimilate, too care
There is much in it which, on moral and less of discipline, moral and mental, too
religious grounds, I should myself most eager to see truth anywhere and good in
emphatically repudiate, as entirely alien all things. A nature of inexhaustible
to the whole spirit of Comte’s teaching. sympathy like his, a brain of such vivid
I mean much that is said about the receptive impulsiveness, was far too
problem of population, and still more prone to submit to the impression of
much that is said as to the origin of the every powerful mind, of every fascinating
moral sense and the nature of man’s book, of every creative and fertile con
moral responsibility. Even at this ception, and in each case was too willing
moment, and on this occasion, and full to exaggerate its value. And Morison
as I am of affection and regard for my not seldom did exaggerate the value of
dead friend, I cannot pretend any sym things, and of books, and of men.
To the main conceptions of Humanity
pathy with the strange paradox : “ The
sooner the idea of moral responsibility he was uniformly true, to the great con
is got rid of, the better it will be for ception of the Service of Man, to “ the
society and moral education.” If these cultivation of the heart, as incomparably
words are to be taken literally, I say a the most important both to our own
thousand times—No ! Society and moral happiness and that of others,” and finally
education rest on the idea of moral re to the beautiful idea of Subjective
sponsibility as the very cornerstone of Immortality in Humanity. In the last
the entire edifice.
letter that I had from him—just before
In spite of this, Morison, as I say,
his death—he said : “ I am obviously in
accepted in its main spirit the faith in the last lap of life’s race, but how far
Humanity, and for the last twenty years through it I cannot say. I have been
of his life clung to it as a final and suf thinking much of Comte’s views on the
ficient basis of belief. But not, be it objective and the subjective life. And
said, without considerable reserves, much I seem never to have realised them
occasional fluctuation of mind, and some before. I feel that the transition will
definite antagonism. We here have no be rather a boon than a pain.” The
absolute standard of orthodoxy ; we pro same idea was finely worked out in his
fess no verbal adhesion to all Comte’s impressive discourse on the Day of the
utterances; we do not set up to judge
Dead.
each other’s orthodoxy, or to censure
He died in the faith of Humanity,
each other’s backslidings from the truth.
supported by the confidence and hope
that Man does not end here as the
I do not desire to be judged myself.
beasts that perish, but continues to live
Most assuredly I shall not presume to
judge him. He read and accepted in the memory of those who loved him,
Comte freely for himself, even as we claim in the continuance of much true work
and beautiful teaching, in the mighty
to read him and accept him for ourselves.
Like all of us, Morison had the defect of continuous life of Humanity itself. In
his qualities. A nature so versatile, so the absence of specific directions, his
�JAMES COTTER MORISON: IN MEMORIAM
family provided for his burial in the way
that they felt most congenial to their
feelings. And, in the absence of specific
directions, that is the natural and obvious
course that awaits us all. But none the
less it is our duty here to keep alive,
as we best are able, the memory and
the work of our departed friend and
brother. A life of such activity, of such
culture, of such varied accomplishments,
of such high designs and difficult tasks
—in so large a part marred, mutilated,
buried in the grave, by his long malady
and too early death—such a life has
profound and solemn lessons for us.
How truly does it speak in those
pathetic words of the teacher of old : “I
must work the works of him that sent
me, while it is day : the night cometh
when no man can work.” Let us, too,
work the works of Humanity, as our
dead friend yet speaks to us, in the
Service of Man ; for it is Humanity that
has sent each of us, which has taught us,
fed us, protected us, and has set us to
work—to work at what?—at what else
can man work but at the Service of
Man? The night cometh when no man
can work with his hands, when no man
can work visibly, no man can work con
sciously, but when we all work invisibly,
in the consciousness of others—unseen,
but really—when our brains, our hearts,
our good deeds continue to work in
Humanity. Death is for each of us not
the end of life, unless it be made the
end by the heartlessness, the indiffer
ence, the cruelty of those who survive
ii
on earth. The grave has not the victory,
unless we who stand beside it and live
deliberately choose to bury in it the
memory, the love, the work of our dead
friends, relations, and teachers, with tlH
same final abandonment with which we
bury in it their bones.
We are each of us some fraction,
some organ, some representative (how
ever humble and unknown) of the
Humanity which confers on every
worthy servant a truly immortal life.
Whether or not there be to any a lite
beyond the grave is a question which
depends on those who survive.
For
children, relatives, friends, contempo!
raries of all sorts, the higher duties of
Family, of Friendship, of Humanity, do
not end as the fresh sods are piled upon
the grave. They only then begin. Th J
last sad offices are over. The moral 1
the spiritual, the religious uses of death!
the moral, the spiritual, the religious
ideas of life after death, then truly begin
—not so much for our dead parent,
friend, teacher, fellow-worker—no, rather,
they begin for us.
Let us think of our dead friend and
fellow-labourer as we knew him at his
best, with his warm heart, with his
generous nature, with his bright vivacity!
with his intensely sympathetic impulses!
and think not that he is dead, but that
he sleepeth—that the best of him yet
lives and works in our lives, in our
thoughts, and finally in the bosom of
the Humanity which made him.
Frederic Harrison.
�CONTENTS
Pace
Chapter
I. Introductory
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II. The Decay of Belief
III. Wiiy Men Hesitate-
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......
...
.
.
.
IV. The Alleged Consolations of the Christian Religion
V. On Christianity as a Guide to Conduct
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32
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42
VI. Morality in the Ages of Faith -----
VII. Wiiat Christianity has Done
VIII. The Service of Man
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52
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69
......
94
IX. On the Cultivation of Human Nature
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16
29
•
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103
�THE SERVICE OF MAN
Chapter I.
INTRODUCTORY
A ruined temple, with its fallen columns
and broken arches, has often been taken
as a suggestive example and type of the
transitory nature of all human handi
work. “Here we see”—so runs the
parable of the moralist—“ the inevitable
end of man’s most ambitious efforts.
Time and the elements cast down and
consume his proudest fabrics. He
builds high, and decorates with sculp
tured ornament his palaces and fanes.
But his work is hardly finished before
decay begins to efface its beauty and
sap its strength. Soon the building
follows the builder to an equal dust, and
the universal empire of Death alone
survives over the tombs of departed
glory and greatness.”
The parable of the moralist is only
too true. Decay and death are stamped
not only on man and his works, but on
all that surrounds him, on all that he
sees and touches. Nature herself decays
as surely, if not as rapidly, as the work
of his hands. The everlasting hills are
daily and hourly being worn away.
Alps, Andes, and Himalayas are all in
process of a degradation of which there
is no repair. Nay, the Sun himself, the
universal author and giver of life in our
planet, is only a temporary blaze—a fire
perhaps already more than half burnt
out, hastening to its final consummation
of cold and lightless ashes. And pro
bably no other fate is in store for the
countless stars which bespangle the
nightly firmament. The animalcule,
whose existence is measured by a
summer’s day, and the galaxy which
illumines the heavens for millions of
ages, are alike subject to the common
law of all life—growth, decay, and death.
Some may think that an exception
ought to be made to this statement in
favour of the perennial vitality of Truth.
Truth, it will be said, does not wear
out, decay, and die. The Elements of
Euclid are as true now as they were two
thousand years ago. Truths obtained
by induction and verified by experiment,
or by correct deduction from true
principles, do not change and pass away
with the generations of men who hold
them. It is therefore rash, such objectors
would say, to assert that all things con
nected with man are destined to ultimate
extinction. His reason is independent
of time, and has that in it which belongs
to eternity. All must see this in regard
to the incontrovertible truths established
by science; many see it in tuitions of
the mind, and others in doctrines of
religion supposed to be divinely revealed.
It is often added that it is fortunate for
man that, amid the constant change
going on in the phenomenal world, a
permanent reality does exist, on which
he can lay hold—eternal truth.
It would be careless to overlook the
importance of this counter-statement.
About the permanence of truth there
can be no question. Whether it be
obtained by observation, generalisation,
or deduction, verified by experiment and
proof, we may safely assert that such
truth will last as long as the human
mind remains constituted as it is. But
does that entitle us to claim eternal
duration for any truth ? No one believes
that the human race will last for ever.
�M
THE SERVICE OF MAN
There is a probability, amounting almost
to a certainty, that neither man nor his
dwelling-place will exist beyond a certain,
though it may be a very large, number
of years. Now, when the human race
shall have ceased to exist, would it be
correct to say that the truths cognised
by the human mind will survive it ?
This could only be maintained by an
idealist, who should place their continued
existence in some extra-mundane Eternal
mind—as that of God—which may be
an article of faith, but hardly of reason.
Moreover, if true propositions can exist
after all the minds which could affirm
them have disappeared, why should they
not exist before the phenomenal ap
pearance of those minds ? Can we
consistently say that the propositions of
Euclid existed in the Carboniferous era ?
If so, why not assert that all the truths
yet to be discovered in the remote future
exist at present ? There is no question
that things undreamt of in the philosophy
and science of to-day will be trite
commonplaces two or three thousand
years hence. But are they truths now
or yet ? Not only they are not, but the
great probability is that, if they were
expressed in words now, they -would
be denounced as wild and dangerous
errors.
So that it is still legitimate to say that
even truth exists for a time, while we
admit that verified truth will have a
duration co-equal with that of the human
race.
It is to be observed that the only
truths that belong to this permanent
class are the truths of simple observa
tion, or of rigorous scientific inference.
They have always been few in number,
if compared with the multitude of pro
positions held to be true by the mass of
mankind. They are now increasing with
unprecedented rapidity, owing to the
great development of the scientific spirit
in modern times. They obviously stand
quite apart from the truths supposed to
be derived from divine revelation. The
latter differ from them both as to the
method by which they were obtained,
and especially in their durability.
Lengthy as may seem the existence of
the great religions of the world when
measured by our small scale of chro
nology, yet their transitory, not to say
ephemeral, character is manifest to
reflection, and even to observation. Go
where we will on the earth’s surface, we
find traces of bygone men—of their
tombs, of their ashes, their temples—
which testify to the former existence of
religious beliefs nowr extinct. These
beliefs embodied the most precious and
profound of all truths in the devout
conviction of those who held them, but
they were so far from permanent that
often they move the wonder and even
the laughter of after-ages. Perishable as
are brick, stone, and marble, they have
outlived in countless instances the faiths
which once wrought them into majestic
architecture in their own honour.
Temples often survive their creeds by
thousands of years. Wind, rain, and
frost disintegrate the roof and the walls
of a shrine with more or less rapidity,
according to climate; but they are not
so swift or potent to destroy the material
fabric as knowledge and science are to
undermine the conceptions and assump
tions on which the religious beliefs were
founded, and for which the sumptuous
fanes were erected in a spirit of reverence
and sacrifice.
Not less marked in another respect is
the difference between the truths derived
from religion and the truths derived from
science. The truths of science are found
to be in complete harmony with one
another. Where this harmony is wanting,
it is at once felt that error has crept in
unawares. We never give a thought to
the alternative hypothesis, that truths in
different sciences or departments of
knowledge may be inconsistent and
mutually hostile, and yet remain truths.
On the contrary, we find that the dis
covery of new truth has invariably among
its results the additional effect of corrobo
rating other and older truths, instead of
conflicting with them. In the history of
science it has often happened that a
�INTRODUCTORY
newly-discovered truth has proved incon
sistent with prevalent opinions, which
had the sanction of tradition in their
favour. But the position has always
been felt to be intolerable, and that one
of two things must happen—either the
new truth must reconcile itself with the
old opinions, by the necessary modifica
tion ; or the old opinions must reconcile
themselves with the new truth by a
similar process.
In astronomy the
heliocentric theory, and in biology the
circulation of the blood theory, produced
the latter result, and revolutionised those
two sciences by expelling a number of
previously unsuspected errors.
In
modern times, on the other hand, the
plausible theory of spontaneous genera
tion has been forced to beat a retreat
through its proven' inconsistency with
older truths firmly established.
Now, with regard to the truths
announced with the credentials of a
divine revelation, we find a very different
state of things. There seems to be no
exception to the rule that, the older
religions grow, the more infirm do they
become, the less hold do they keep on
the minds of well-informed and thought
ful men. Their truths, once accepted
without question, are gradually doubted,
and in the end denied by increasing
numbers. This fate happened to Greek
and Roman polytheism, and according
to all appearances it is now happening to
Hindooism, Islam, and to both Protestant
and Catholic theology. We have to
consider what a very surprising fact that
is, on the supposition that any one of
these religions is true. All the chief
dogmas of the Christian and Mohamme
dan creeds have been for several centuries
before the world. They once were not
v only believed, but adored. Now the
numbers of those who doubt or dispute
them are increasing every day. Time
has not been their friend, but their
enemy.
Instead of becoming more
firmly rooted in men’s esteem and con
viction, instead of revealing unexpected
connection and compatibility with other
truth, instead of being supported by an
1!
ever-growing mass of evidence which
would make their denial insane rather
than unreasonable, they are seen more and
more to lack the proofs and credentials
never wanting in the case of genuine
truth, from which they differ in this
important respect—that, whereas scien-l
tific truth, though often disputed and
opposed on its first presentation to the
world, invariably ends by becoming
absolutely certain and unquestioned,
religious conviction begins with un
doubting acceptance, and, after a shorter
or longer period of supremacy, with the
growth of knowledge and more severe
canons of criticism, passes gradually into
the category of questioned and disputed
theories, ending at last in the class of
rejected and exploded errors.
That the world, in its cultivated!
portions, has reached one of those great
turning-points in the evolution of thought
which mark the close of an old epoch
and the opening of a new one, will
hardly be disputed by any well-informed
person.
The system of Christian
theology and thought which arose out of
the ruins of the Roman empire has beejii
gradually undermined, and its authority]
so shaken that its future survival is
rather an object of pious hope than
of reasoned judgment.
Apologists,
indeed, are not wanting, they are per*
haps never so numerous; but they
cannot stem the torrent which is rushinsa
away from theology in the direction of
science, and that negation of theology!
which science implies. Regarded as a
question merely of speculation, the
crisis is one of the most interesting
which the world has seen, only to bq
compared to the transition from poly
theism to Christianity, in the early
centuries of our era, and to the great
Protestant revolt from Rome. But the
speculative interest pales before the
momentous practical interest of the
crisis. A transfer of allegiance from
one set of first principles to another,
especially on subjects relating to morals
and conduct, cannot be effected without
considerable loss of continuity and order
�16
THE SERVICE OF MAN
by the way.
Many will halt between Humanity. A common and lofty stan
the two regimes, and, owning allegiance dard of duty is being trampled down in
to neither, will prefer discarding all the fierce battle of incompatible prin
unwelcome restraint on their freedom of ciples.
The present indecision is
action. The corruption of manners becoming not only wearisome, but
under the decaying polytheism in the
injurious to the best interests of man.
Roman world, the analogous corruption Let Theology be restored, by all means,
during the Reformation and the Renais to her old position of queen of the
sance, offer significant precedents.
It sciences, if it can be done in the light of
would be rash to expect that a transition, modern knowledge and common-sense.
unprecedented for its width and diffi If this cannot be done frankly, on the
culty, from theology to positivism, from faith of witnesses who can stand crossthe service of God to the service of Man, examination in open court, let us
could be accomplished without jeopardy. honestly take our side, and admit that
Signs are not wanting that the prevalent the Civitas Dei is a dream of the past,
anarchy in thought is leading to anarchy and that we should strive to realise
in morals. Numbers who have put off I that Regnum Hominis which Bacon
belief in God have not put on belief in I foresaw and predicted.
Chapter II.
THE DECAY OF BELIEF
Opinions and systems of thought as
well as institutions, which enjoy a con
siderable lease of life in the world, have
many of the characteristics of organisms,
or at least of organs belonging to ani
mated beings. The fact that they came
into existence and survived during a
longer or shorter period proves that they
discharged a function of more or less
utility ; that they were in harmony with
the surrounding conditions, and hence
found both exercise and nourishment for
their support. If in time they gradually
cease to discharge a useful function,
become atrophied and disappear, their
case is almost exactly parallel to the
rudimentary organs found in so many
animals, which, having ceased to be of
use, become shrunken and meaningless,
and only persist in an abortive form by
virtue of the law of heredity. Such
■organs in the body politic resemble these
analogues in the body natural, in that
they often continue to exist long after
their presence has ceased to subserve
any useful purpose of life. The common
trait of rudimentary organs belonging to
either category, biological or sociological,
is that they survive their use, that they
are nourished and live at the expense of
the organism in which they exist, and
long after they have ceased to make any
return for the support they obtain. In
the animal world rudimentary organs
may or may not be noxious to the
organism in which they inhere; in the
social organism they unquestionably are
so, especially by their occupying the
room and preventing the development of
active and efficient organs which would
succeed and replace them.
That the Christian religion is rapidly
approaching, if it has not already reached,
this position, is a part of the thesis main
tained in these pages. The decay of
belief now general over Christendom
�THE DECA Y OF BELIEF
may be regarded from two points of view,
and traced up to two distinct causes—
one rational, the other moral. The current
faith has come increasingly into conflict
with science in proportion as the latter
has extended in depth and area. The
isolated points of collision of former
days have been so multiplied that the
shock now is along the whole conter
minous line between science and theo
logy ; and it would not be easy to name
a department of inquiry-which has not,
in some measure, contributed aid to the
forces arrayed against the popular belief.
More important still is the changed tone
of feeling with regard to this subject.
Time was, and even a recent time, when
the prestige of Christianity was so great
that even its opponents were overawed
by it. But now men are ready to openly
avow that they find a great deal in the
Christian scheme which is morally shock
ing ; and in the estimation of many
minds nowadays, probably the moral
difficulties outweigh the intellectual.
Nothing is more common than the
assertion that any objections now made
to Christianity are worn-out sophisms,
which have been answered and disposed
of over and over again by previous apolo
gists. Sometimes we are told that the
objections are as old as the time of Celsus,
and were refuted by Origen ; but, gene
rally, Bishop Butler is the favourite cham
pion who is credited with a preordained
victory over all opponents, past, present,
and future. Butler was so great a man,
and his work, considered as a reply to
the shallow deism of his day, was in
many respects so successful, that it
argues a certain irreverence for his
character to load him with false praise
and unmerited laurels. But these claims
often made for Butler and others have
their interesting and instructive side.
They show how little apt the theological
mind is to see the real points at issue,
and to recognise the full gravity of the
present crisis. To suppose that argu
ments directed against such disputants
as Toland, Collins, or Tindal—pertinent
as they might be, and, indeed, for the
17
most part were—are equally potent when
directed against the methods and results
of modern science, implies a complete
misconception of the true bearings of the
question under discussion. In the early
eighteenth century the light of science
had hardly got beyond the first glimmer
ings of dawn. Mathematics and as
tronomy were the only sciences which
had passed into the positive and final
stage.
Chemistry, geology, biology,
historical criticism, were not yet in a
position to speak with authority even on
subjects in their own province, and were
far from being in possession of vast stores
of verified truth obtained by rigorous
application of correct methods, such as
now impose respect on the most ignorant
and careless. The deists were, to say
the least, as unscientific as the theologians.
Their fancies about the “light of Nature,”
which was to replace the Christian re
ligion, were as arbitrary and absurd as
any mythological legend. Tindal de
clared the light of Nature to be a “ clear
and certain light which enlightened all
men,” and from this fact he inferred that
“our duty both to God and man must,
from the beginning of the world to the
end. remain unalterable, be always alike
plain and perspicuous”; a doctrine which
had the serious defect of being contra
dicted by the total experience of the
human race. Butler had no difficulty in
showing that to advance such opinions
was to “talk wildly and at random.”
No blame attaches to the deists, able
and worthy men most of them, for
not transcending the knowledge of the
age. They attempted prematurely to
solve a problem, before the means of
solution were at hand. What they would
have liked to do was to give a rational
explanation of Christianity as an historical
phenomenon ; but they had neither the
historical nor the scientific knowledge
requisite for such an undertaking. They
consequently fell back on such vague
metaphysical conceptions as the “light
of Nature,” and essayed to show that
Christianity was not mysterious, or that
it was as old as the creation—mere
c
�i8
THE SERVICE OF MAN
sophisms which they probably believed,
but which were quite incapable of scien
tific proof.
It is not a little surprising that
apologists in the present day should be
able to deceive themselves as to the
immeasurable distance which separates
arguments of this kind from the in
ferences unfavourable to theology de
duced from science. Theobjectof science
is not to supply hostile data for the use
of agnostics against religion; though
there is reason to think that many do
believe that to be its chief end and aim.
The object of science is knowledge, the
increased number of those truths which
are capable of verification and proof. If
here and there its conclusions conflict
with the current theology, the fact is of
secondary importance, and of no per
manent interest at all to science as such,
which is concerned with positive, not
negative, results. Every statement and
proposition in the most elementary
scientific primer probably conflicts with
some theology or other. Yet it often
seems to be assumed that the sole or the
chief object of the labours of scientific
men was to find means and arguments to
damage the Bible. Scientific men, a
most hard-worked and industrious class,
have a better appreciation of the value
of time, and of the wisdom of minding
their own business. They, ho doubt,
come upon results which are fatal to the
currently-received opinions about the
Bible. But these results interest them
much less than they do those who are
assured that the Bible is the Word of
God. The tables have been turned
since the days when Science timidly
sued for leave to examine nature, and to
draw a few conclusions of her own.
Then Theology was queen, and made
her power felt. Inquirers worked then,
so to speak, with a halter about their
necks, and were anxious, above all
things, to appease their mighty enemy
by every mark of deference and docility.
Now the old sovereign has become the
suppliant—a rather importunate and
intrusive suppliant—but still by her
demeanour, if not her -words, admitting
that she has been discrowned. She no
longer, with haughty bearing, issues her
anathemas on the progress of the human
mind, but she is in great anxiety to show
that, appearances notwithstanding, this
progress is not incompatible with her
pretension. Geology seems to contra
dict Genesis in a very direct and final
way. “That is all your mistake,” says
Theology; “ Geology and Genesis are in
most perfect union; in fact, the science
confirms the Scripture so wonderfully
that each reflects light on the other.”
The fact that the geology thus warmly
accepted now was once resisted with
energy and anger as an impious and
futile science is passed over. New light
as to its harmony with Scripture -was not
noticed until it had attained a position
of power which made it more desirable as
a friend than as a foe. The fact is
suggestive.
A convenient mode of showing the
way in which science has cut the ground
from under the feet of theology will be
a quotation from a once famous and
remarkable book, which in its day, and
for a long time after, was regarded, with
justice, as a powerful piece of argument
in favour of the current religion. Dr.
Samuel Clarke was a man of con
siderable ability and of very great
attainments ; he was also a man of high
and honourable character, and his Boyle
lectures, commonly known as his two
discourses, On the Being and Attri
butes of God, and on The Truth and
Certainty of the Christian Revelation,
enjoyed an immense popularity, not only
at home but abroad, all through the
eighteenth century. The book is now
read only by the curious in religious
archaeology. In an elaborate argument,
intended to show that, although the
Christian doctrines “ may not be dis
coverable by bare Reason unassisted by
Revelation, yet when they are discovered
by Revelation they are found most
agreeable to sound, unprejudiced
Reason,” Clarke proceeds to prove that
the account in Genesis of the formation
�THE DECA Y OF BELIEF
of the earth is entirely credible, in the
following passage : “ That, about the
space of six thousand years since, the
earth was without form and void—that is,
a confused chaos, out of which God
formed this beautiful and useful fabrick
we now inhabit, and stocked it with the
seeds of all kinds of plants, and formed
upon it man, and all other specimens of
animals it is now furnished with—is very
agreeable to right reason. For though
the precise time, indeed, when all this
was done, could not now have been known
exactly without Revelation; yet, even at
this day, there are remaining many con
siderable and very strong rational proofs
which make it exceedingly probable
(separate from the authority of Revela
tion) that this presentframe arid constitu
tion of the earth cannot have been
of a very much longer date. The
universal tradition delivered down
from all the most ancient nations of the
world, both learned and barbarous ; the
constant and agreeing doctrine of all
ancient philosophers and poets con
cerning the earth’s being formed within
such a period of time out of water and
chaos ; the manifest absurdities and con
tradictions of those few accounts which
pretend to a much greater antiquity; the
numbers of men with which the earth is
at present inhabited ; the late original
of learning and all useful arts and
sciences; the changes that must neces
sarily fall out naturally in the earth in
vast length of time, as by the sinking and
washing down of mountains, the consump
tion of water by plants, and innumerable
other such-like accidents—these, I say,
and many more arguments drawn from
Nature, Reason, and Observation, make
that account of the earth’s formation
exceedingly probable in itself, which,
from the revelation delivered in Scripture
history, we believe to be certain.”1
This passage shows what a compara
tively easy matter the defence of the Bible
was in Dr. Clarke’s day. He could,
1 Truth and Certainty of Christian Tci'etalicn, p. 187 ; edition 1724.
without fear of serious contradiction,
make assumptions which no one would
venture to make now. The “ strong
rational proofs,” which show that the
earth cannot be much more than six
thousand years old, would be hard to
find. Why the shrinking and washing
down of mountains was evidence of the
recent date of the earth is difficult tosee; and the “ consumption of water by
plants,” implying that the water of the
globe was being rapidly used up and
annihilated, is an interesting example of
old notions on chemistry. In the earlier
discourse on the existence of God,
Clarke had been enthusiastic over the
support given to his thesis by the dis
coveries of his day :—
“ If Galen, so many ages since, could
find in the construction and constitution
of the parts of the human body such
undeniable marks of contrivance and_
design as forced him then to acknow
ledge and admire the wisdom of its
author, what would he have said if he
had known the late discoveries in
anatomy and physics, the circulation of
the blood, the exact structure of the
heart and brain, the uses of numberless
glands and valves for the secretion and
motion of the juices in the body:
besides several veins and other vessels
and receptacles not at all known or so
much as imagined to have any existence
in his days, but which now are discovered
to serve the wisest and most exquisite
ends imaginable ?”T
Bacon’s famous maxim, that “a little
philosophy inclineth men’s minds to
atheism, but depth in philosophy
bringeth men’s minds back to religion,”
is now being reversed. The early
glimpses of the marvels of nature
afforded by modern science undoubtedly
were favourable to natural theology in
the first instance. Knowledge revealed
so many wonders which had not been
suspected by ignorance that a general
increase of awe and reverence for the
Creator was the natural, though not very
1 Page 103.
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THE SERVICE OF MAN
logical, consequence. But a deeper
philosophy, or, rather, biology, has rudely
disturbed the satisfaction with which
“ the wisest and most exquisite ends ”
were once regarded. It is now known
that, for one case of successful adaptation
of means to ends in the animal world,
there are hundreds of failures. If organs
which serve an obvious end justify the
assumption of an intelligent designer,
what are we to say of organs which
serve no end at all, but are quite
useless and meaningless ? Such are
the rudimentary organs in plants and
animals, the design of which seems only
to point to an unintelligent designer.
■ “Some of the cases of rudimentary
organs are extremely curious—the presence of teeth in foetal whales which,
when grown up, have not a tooth in their
heads, and the presence of teeth which
never cut through the gums in the upper
jaws of our unborn calves....... Nothing
can be plainer than that wings are
formed for flight; yet in how many
insects do we see wings so reduced in
aize as to be utterly incapable of flight,
and not rarely lying under wing-cases,
firmly soldered together.”1 Again: “Eyes
which do not see form the most striking
example of rudimentary organs. These
are found in very many animals, which
live in the dark, as in caves or under
ground. Their eyes often exist in a welldeveloped condition, but they are covered
by membrane, so that no ray of light can
enter, and they can never see. Such
eyes, without the function of sight, are
found in several species of moles and
mice which live underground, in serpents
and lizards, in amphibious animals
(Proteus, Cacilia), and in fishes; also in
numerous invertebrate animals, which
pass their lives in the dark, as do many
beetles,crabs, snails,worms,”etc.2 Another
strange instance is “ the rudiment of the
tail which man possesses in his 3-5 tail
vertebrae, and which, in the human
embryo, stands out prominently during
1 Origin of Species, p. 450.
a Haeckel, History of Creation, vol. i., p. 13.
the first two months of its development.
It afterwards becomes completely hidden.
The rudimentary little tail of man is an
irrefutable proof of the fact that he is
descended from tailed ancestors. In
woman the tail is generally by one vertebra
longer than in man. There still exist
rudimentary muscles in the human tail
which formerly moved it.”1
That facts of this nature, which have
only been a short time before the world,
should fail to convince theologians
brought up in a completely different
order of ideas is in no wise surprising.
The due weight of facts will no more be
allowed than the due weight of argu
ments, by minds which habit and educa
tion, and, perhaps, even a sense of duty,
have combined to bias against them.
But the effect on the younger and suc
ceeding generations is very great, and is
already perceptible. When theology was
attacked in front with metaphysical argu
ments, such as were used by the old
deists, it was able to make a very stout
and plausible resistance. But now its
position, in military phrase, has been
turned ; the heights around it and behind
are occupied by an artillery which render
further defence impossible. Take the
instance of the origin of man. The whole
scheme of Christian theology is mean
ingless except on the assumption of the
fall of man from a primitive state of
innocence and virtue. Unless theolo
gians are prepared to throw over St. Paul,
they must hold that “as in Adam all die,
even so in Christ shall all be made alive.”
Perhaps no one doctrine ever believed
by man has had a more terrible history
than that of “ original or birth-sin,’’which,
as the Ninth Article says, is “the fault
and corruption of the nature of every
man, that naturally is engendered of the
offspring of Adam ; whereby man is very
far gone from original righteousness, and
is of his own nature inclined to evil, so
that the flesh lusteth always contrary to
the spirit; and therefore in every person
born into this world, it deserveth God’s
1 Ibid, vol. i., p. 289.
�THE DECA Y OF BELIEF
wrath and damnation.” But if ever a
thesis was demonstrated, it is that man
has not fallen, but risen, and that from
the lowest level of animal existence. No
court of justice ever witnessed a more
complete discomfiture of an unfounded
claim to a noble title and estate
than the defeat of this theological
claim for man, that he was made in
the image of God, placed in Paradise
in a state of purity, from which he fell
through disobedience.
The result is
serious. The New Testament endorses
the fall in the most emphatic way ; the
Incarnation itself had no other object
than that of neutralising its effects. Yet
it is proved to be a mere fiction of a
primitive cosmogony.
The general rejection of miracles is
another symptom of the decay of belief.
The once active controversy as to the
possibility of miracles has become nearly
extinct, because one of the parties to it
has been growing steadily in numbers
and authority, while the other party has
declined. The refuters of Hume address
constantly-decreasing audiences, and the
belief in miracles will shortly (like the
belief in witchcraft in the seventeenth
century) die a natural death among the
educated classes. The notion that the
testimony of men, however worthy and
sincere, can suffice to establish a mira
culous event is no longer felt to be
serious.
The testimony of credible
witnesses is valueless, unless they be
competent witnesses as well—competent
to observe with patience, accuracy, and
coolness the alleged facts. Were such
observers present at the working of
the miracles in Palestine which Paley
patronises ?
The argument against
miracles has gained immensely in force
since Hume’s day through the growth of
the historic method, and the larger con
ceptions of human evolution which have
led to the incipient science of sociology.
Hume’s principle was tersely and fairly
enough stated by Paley thus : “ That it
is contrary to experience that testimony
should be true, but not contrary to
experience that testimony should be
21
false a true statement, but not beyond
the reach of plausible objection, as Paley
showed. The moment we introduce
the historic element, the question seems
transferred to a higher court. Primitive,
early, and unscientific man is at all
times and everywhere prone to see
miracle in everything that appears odd
or strange to his limited experience,
Ignorant of nature’s laws, he finds no
difficulty in assuming their violation ;
he lives in an atmosphere of fiction,
fable, and myth, and much prefers a
miraculous explanation of an event to a
rational or real one.
The belief in
miracles is universal in wholly unscien
tific times. With the growth of culture
it diminishes; with the extension of
science it disappears.
Miracles are
never supposed to occur except where
and when an antecedent belief in them
exists. In other words, the belief in
miracles depends not upon objective
facts, but on the subjective conditions of
the witnesses’ minds.
Paley tried to parry the obvious,
objection that the best way to silencethe gainsayers of miracles would be torepeat them. “ To expect, concerning
a miracle, that it should succeed upon
repetition is to expect that which would
make it cease to be a miracle; which is
contrary to its nature as such, and would
totally destroy the use and purpose for
which it was wrought
a remark less
acute than Paley’s remarks usually are.
Assuming that a miracle reveals the
presence of a supernatural power, why
should its repetition destroy its miracu
lous character; above all, why should
it destroy its use? If miracles are
intended to convert the stiff-necked
and hard of heart, what more likely
way of bringing them to submission
than the repetition of miracles? And,
according to Scripture, this was pre
cisely the way in which Pharaoh, King
of Egypt, was humbled. He resisted
the miracles wrought by Moses and
1 Paley's Evidences: Preparatory Considera
tions.
�22
THE SERVICE OF MAN
Aaron with stubbornness all through
the first nine plagues ; but the universal
slaying of the first-born broke even his
spirit. Such must always be the effect of
repeated miracles; and there can be no
doubt that even at this day, in the midst
of all this science and scepticism, if mira
cles were again wrought in a public place
and manner, so as to remove the sus
picion of trickery and legerdemain, the
effect of them would be greater than ever
it was. Suppose a prophet of God were
to appear among us, and announce that
he had a revelation to make. According
to Paley, his only way of making it would
be by miracle; he therefore would per
form miracles. As all difficulties vanish
before Almighty power, one miracle
would be the same as another to him;
and let us suppose him to walk on the
water, down the centre of the Thames,
from Putney to Mortlake. May we not
be sure that one such achievement would
produce a sensation perfectly over
whelming, not only in London, but to
the furthest limits of the civilised world ?
If he rapidly followed up this miracle by
others—fed with a few loaves the crowds
on Hampstead Heath on a Bank Holiday,
or those on Epsom Downs on the Derby
day ; gave sight to a man notoriously
blind from his birth, or raised from the
■dead a putrescent corpse which had lain
four days in the grave—can we remotely
conceive a limit to the excitement which
would ensue ? Would not such a re
action against current scientific notions
set in as would sweep everything before
it ? Supposing always that the miracles
were bona-fide miracles, such as are
assumed to have been wrought in Judsea
some eighteen hundred years ago, we
may even be sure that many, if not all, of
the chief men of science would be among
the most impressed, if not the most ex
cited, and be prompt to own that they
had made a great mistake in asserting
the invariability of nature’s laws. A
complete recast of the philosophy of the
inductive sciences would be one of the
least results of a manifestation of genuine
miracles. As for its effect on the cause
of religion, there can be little room for
doubt. The passionate yet hopeless
yearning, which now fills so many minds,
to retain a rational belief in the super
natural would be replaced by a serene
joy over the triumph of faith. It may
suit Paley to say that repetition of
miracles would destroy their use, but he
must be a lukewarm theologian who does
not at times wish from the depth of his
heart that an authentic miracle could be
produced. Yet it is at this momentous
crisis in the religious affairs of the world,
when the enemy is carrying one position
after another, and has all but penetrated
to the citadel of belief, that no miracles
occur—that no miracles are claimed,
except, indeed, of the compromising
species made at Lourdes, and now and
then of a fasting girl exhibited in Belgium
and in Wales. When no one doubted
the possibility or the frequency of
miracles they abounded, we are told ;
that is, when, by reason of their number
and the ready credit accorded to them,
their effect was the least startling,
then they were lavished on a believing
world. Now, when they are denied and
insulted as the figments of a barbarous
age, when the faith they might support is
in such jeopardy as it never was before,
when a tithe of the wonders wasted in
the deserts of Sinai and the “ parts
beyond Jordan ” would shake the nations
with astonishment and surprise—when,
in short, the least expenditure of miracle
would produce the maximum of result—
then miracles mysteriously cease. This
fact, which is utterly beyond contest, has
borne fruit, and will yet bear more.
Instead of a short chapter, a long
volume would be needed to set forth in
detail even a spicileghtm of the rational
istic arguments which have operated to
produce a decay of belief. Any one
interested in the subject will easily find
them in the appropriate quarters—in the
attacks on, and still better, in the defences
of, the Bible. The width of the breach
between reason and faith, between
theology and science, is hardly denied ;
and the noteworthy fact is that only one
�THE DECA Y OF BELIEF
of the parties hopes for, or believes in,
an ultimate reconciliation. Reason and
science have made up their minds on
the subject, and would gladly leave it
alone, and attend to their own affairs.
It is theology that cannot resign herself
to a permanent quarrel, and is always
pursuing science with a mixture of
entreaty and reproach, and begging the
latter to hear her cause over again, and
not to say with cruel harshness that the
separation is for good and all. We may,
therefore, leave this side of our subject
with a concluding observation.
On no point were apologists more
confident than on the impossibility of
explaining the uprise of Christianity
otherwise than by a supernatural principle.
In the words of Archbishop Whately,
“No complete and consistent account
has ever been given of the manner in
which the Christian religion, supposing
it a human contrivance, could have arisen
and prevailed as it did. The religion
exists—that is, the phenomenon; those
who will not allow it to have come
from God are bound to solve the
phenomenon on some other hypothesis
less open to objection; they are not,
indeed, called on to prove that it actually
did arise in this or that way, but to
suggest (consistently with acknowledged
facts) some probable way in which it
may have arisen, reconcilable with all
the circumstances of the case. That
infidels have ’never done this, though
they have had nearly two thousand years
to try, amounts to a confession that no
such hypothesis can be devised which
will not be open to greater objections
than lie against Christianity.”1 The
passage is interesting on other grounds
than the particular one with which we are
concerned, and leaves us the alternative
of a low opinion either of Whately’s
candour or of his perspicacity. The
suggestion that infidels had or could
have been “trying” for nearly two
thousand years to concoct an hypothesis
adverse to Christianity could only be
1 Logic, bk. iii., § 17.
23
based on a strange ignorance of the
state of the human mind during at least
three-fourths of that period, or on the
safety of such an innuendo in the dark
ages when the Logic was published
(1829). But this need not detain us.
The important point to observe is how
completely Whately’s assertion that a
rational explanation of the origin of
Christianity has never been given has,
by the Biblical and historical studies of
the last half-century, been overthrown.
Strauss, F. Ch. Baur, Keim, and
Hausrath, to name only the chief writers,
have made the early history of Chris
tianity at least as intelligible as other
scholars have made the early history oil
Rome. To the unhistoric minds of the
eighteenth century, the uprise of a
religion in Palestine in the first centurl
claiming supernatural authority, seemed
as extraordinary and unaccountable as d
similar phenomenon would have been in
Paris or London. The religious passions!
especially among uncivilised races, were
at once disliked and misunderstood.
Even Robertson the historian could only
see in the Crusades “a singular monu
ment of human folly.” There was sup
posed to be no alternative between a
truly divine relation and an artful fraud
designed by priests for their own benefit.
Whately’s phrase, “ supposing ChriB
tianity a human contrivance,” points to
this crude notion. With enlarged con
ceptions of the variety of man’s nature,
and historical development, the sponta
neous appearance of such a religion^as
Christianity is now seen to be quite
natural and regular in such an age as t®
first century. The mythopceic faculty of
the human mind at certain stages is
capable of more wonderful achievement
than any exhibited in the New Test®
ment, and is at this day in full operation
in British India, weaving legends and
creating gods with unchecked luxuriant®
Meanwhile, the historical character of the
Gospels and the Acts of the Apostles,
and the genuineness of several epistjjes
ascribed to St. Paul, have been grave®
impugned, and, in the opinion of many,
�24
THE SERVICE OF MAN
seriously damaged ; an opinion not
shaken by the counter-efforts of the
Christain apologists. Again, the fortress
of theology has been surrounded and
commanded by the forces at the disposal
of knowledge.
But mere rationalism, however cogent
to some minds, often remains power
less on others, and those frequently
possessing the best qualities of intellect
and character. The deepest change
which this age has seen in reference to
men’s attitude towards the current
theology has taken place, not in the
region of the understanding, but in that
of the heart. It is not so much that the
Bible, with its miracles and legends, is
felt to be untrue and incredible by the
trained reason ; a great number of
theological dogmas are felt to be
morally repulsive and horrible, by the
more humane conscience of modern
times. This change of sentiment is so
great and far-reaching that there is no
wonder that its import is imperfectly
seized, or even wholly missed by those
whom the accidents of education and
surroundings have preserved from its
influence. It is a change not less
momentous than that which placed the
Christian converts of the Roman period
in the position of passionate hostility to
the immoralities and indecencies of
decaying polytheism. Even divines are
becoming aware that the eternity of hell
torments is a doctrine of waning efficacy,
on which it is easy to insist too much.
Some are discovering that it lacks Scrip
tural authority, and beseech us not to
believe that anything so dreadful is
delivered in the Word of God. The
minimising of irksome tenets is a fre
quent resource and an unfailing symptom
of decaying faith. Julian and his pagan
sophists essayed to spiritualise offensive
Greek myths. There is no ground for
doubting the bona fides of such attempts,
but they rarely succeed. The obvious
question, “ If your new interpretation is
the right one, why was it not discovered
before ? why did what you admit to be
dreadful error receive apparently for a
j
I
I
!
1
I
long time Divine sanction ?” cannot be
answered; and the question is followed
by another: “If your predecessors
taught error in the dogmas you discard,
what guarantee have you to offer that
those dogmas which you still maintain
may not some day be discovered to be
equally untenable ? How can you be
sure that your successors, when hard
pressed by the science of their day,
will not, like yourselves, find good
reasons for throwing them over ?” The
eternity of hell torments is a doctrine
discarded by a number of divines, who
yet cling to the doctrines of the Incarna
tion and the Atonement. There is
nothing to assure us that, in a hundred
years’ time, these also will not be
discovered to be unscriptural.
The Christian theology, in its main
features, was evolved during the most
calamitous period which the human race
has lived through in historic times. The
decline and fall of the Roman Empire
still remains the greatest catastrophe on
record ; the slow death protracted over
five centuries of the ancient world.
Every evil afflicted men in that terrible
time : arbitrary power, the most remorse
less and cruel; a grinding fiscality, which
at last exterminated wealth ; pestilences,
which became endemic and depopulated
whole provinces ; and, to crown all, a
series of invasions by barbarous hordes,
who passed over the countries like a
consuming fire. It wTas in this age that
the foundations of Christian theology
were laid—the theology of the Councils
and the Fathers. The conception of
God, of his relation to and dealings
with the world, was evolved in a society
wThich groaned under unexampled oppres
sion, misery, and affliction. Needless
to say, it was an age of great and almost
morbid cruelty : the games of the circus
were a constant discipline of the inhuman
passions. After the empire had vanished,
for long centuries there was no great
improvement. The barbarism of the
Frankish period may be seen at full
length in the pages of Gregory of Tours.
The Carling empire was an oppressive
�THE DECA Y OF BELIEF
tyranny ; the Feudal Age, one of lawless
rapine on the part of the strong, and
cowering anguish on the part of the
weak. It was in this evil time that the
Christian Theology was evolved, com
mencing with the great doctrines defined
by the Fathers, and afterwards reduced
to a logical system by the scholastics,
especially by St. Thomas, the Angel of
the schools.
With such visible rulers of the world
before them, it is no wonder that men
formed very dark and cruel notions of
the invisible ruler, who disposed of all
things.
Cruelty, injustice, arbitrary
power, were too familiar to be shocking,
too constant to be supposed accidental
or transitory. The real world before
their eyes was taken as a dim pattern
and foreshadowing of the ideal world
beyOnd the grave. God was an Almighty
Emperor, a transcendental Diocletian or
Constantine, doing as he list with his
own. His edicts ran through all space
and time, his punishments were eternal,
and whatever he did his justice must
not be questioned. And thus those
words came to be written, “Therefore
hath he mercy on whom he will have
mercy, and whom he will he hardeneth.
Thou wilt say then unto me, Why
doth he yet find fault ? For who hath
resisted his will ? Nay but, O man, who
art thou that repliest against God ?
Shall the thing formed say to him that
formed it, Why hast thou made me thus?
Hath not the potter power over the clay,
of the same lump to make one vessel
unto honour and another unto dis
honour?”1 which, probably, have added
more to human misery than any other
utterances made by man. St. Paul’s
teaching fell on a fertile soil. For some
fifteen hundred years the human con
science was not shocked by it. Since
the rise of the Arminian theology there
has been a gradual and growing revul
sion of feeling, and now it is said plainly
that the “ potter has no right to be angry
with his pots. If he wanted them different
1 Romans ix. 18-21.
25
he should have made them different.”
The pretensions of an “ omnipotent devil
desiring to be complimented ” as all
merciful, when he is exerting the most
fiendish cruelty, are no longer admitted
in abashed silence. But if the great
difficulty of hell and eternal punishments
were happily surmounted, there remain,
in the whole Christian scheme of
redemption, moral iniquities and obli
quities which no good man of the present
day, whatever his religion or theology,
would willingly be guilty of himself.
The notion that God wanted to be pro
pitiated by the death of the innocent
Christ is a thoroughly base and barbarous
one; natural enough in rude ages, when
costly sacrifice was a recognised mode
of appeasing angry deities, but repellent
now. Hardly the most depraved man,
in his right mind, would accept the
vicarious punishment of one who had
not offended him in lieu of one who
had. A high-minded man would endure
almost anything rather than countenance
such an enormity. The idea is barbarous,
well worthy of Chinese conceptions of
justice, content if the executioner gets a
subject to operate on, but indifferent
whether it be the culprit or not. Yet
this cruel and barbarous notion is the
centre of the Christian religion; at
least, it has not yet been discovered
to be unscriptural, I believe. Again,
Satan may well give latitudinarian theo
logians trouble in this world as in the
next. When they have explained away
his eternal function of tormenting souls
in hell, they will have to extenuate his
strange temporal avocations on earth,
and to explain how they can be permitted
by a merciful God. A fallen angel of
vast skill, subtlety, and guile is allowed
to tempt men and women, even young
children, to commit sin, to allure them
away from Christ, to jeopardise their
hopes of Paradise.
And God, who
permits this, is supposed to hate sin. If
he had wished sin to abound, what could
he have done more than to allow the
arch-fiend, aided by legions of minor
devils, to go about like a roaring lion
�26
THE SERVICE OF MAN
seeking whom he may devour, with con
stant access to men, nay, to their most
inward minds, whispering evil thoughts,
stimulating criminal passions, and, how
ever often driven away by holy prayer,
ever renewing his assaults on poor
souls, up to the last moment of mortal
agony, when he oftener succeeds than
fails in carrying them off to his place of
torment? Christ’s petition, “Lead us
not into temptation, but deliver us from
the evil one,” has never been heard, or
it has not been granted. We are always
being led into temptation; we are never
delivered from the evil one on this side
of the gates of death. A supernatural
being who wrecked man’s felicity in
Paradise, and brought sin and death into
the world, is appointed to the office of
tempting men at all times, in all places,
throughout life; he is able to enter into
the minds of his victims and pervert
their souls, in society and in solitude, in
sleep, and even in prayer, capable of
assuming all disguises, even to appearing
as an angel of light. A human seducer,
however artful and vile, is restricted as to
times and opportunities in corrupting the
innocent. Satan has constant and in-,
visible access. Now, a parent or guardian
who allowed children under his charge
to associate with bad characters would
be justly condemned as wanting in a
sense of duty and humanity. But God
permits something infinitely worse, by
the whole difference between an immortal
evil spirit and the most profligate of
earthly tempters. Let any human father
try and imagine the anguish with which
he would see his innocent, inexperienced
daughter walking arm-in-arm with an
accomplished and fascinating seducer.
Would not his instantaneous step be to
put an end to such corrupting inter
course ? Would not public opinion
largely condone violent measures on his
part, if it should appear that the designs
of the villain had been crowned with a
calamitous success? Yet the heavenly
father is supposed to see this and far worse
every hour and minute of the day; to see
the young, the weak, the unprotected,
assailed by a supernatural tempter, his
own creature, his rebel angel, wholly evil
and malignant; and to see him succeed
in his attempt to ruin souls. And then
the betrayed, poor human victim, not the
fiend, is punished. The fiend, indeed,
is punished, but not for these acts against
humanity. The righteous God promptly
avenged insubordination and disrespect
to himself.
But ever since man’s
creation Satan has had compensations.
His dominion is ever extending (as all
orthodox theologians admit that the
number of the damned far exceeds that
of the saved), and he is well entitled to
boast in the words of the poet :
“ To reign is worth ambition though in Hell ;
Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.”
The old answer to such considerations
was that they were horribly profane, and
“ must be put down with a strong hand.”
They impiously meddled with “mysteries”
which man in his fallen state could not
fathom, but must reverently adore. To
which it is now replied that there is no
mystery at all in the matter. Barbarous
and cruel ages have ever generated bar
barous and cruel religions. Nay, obscene
and revolting rites and practices, which
cannot be named, have been, and still
are, sanctioned by religion. These were
outgrown by the progressive nations of
the West when Christian monotheism pre
vailed. And now Christian monotheism is
sharing the fate of its predecessors ; it is
being superseded by the growing con
science of mankind.
But the fact is that these somewhat
old-fashioned controversies about the
credibility of miracles, the evidences of
Christianity, the authenticity of portions
of Scripture, and similar topics, are now
dwarfed and overshadowed by a far
mightier question which has come to the
front with great rapidity in this age. The
being and attributes of a God have been
a subject of esoteric discussion in the
schools of philosophers for centuries, but
only recently have been seen to pass
from the closet to the market-place, and
to become one of the deepest questions
�THE DECA Y OF BELIEF
of the day. No more surprising change
of fundamental conceptions will be
recorded by the future historians of
philosophy than that which has super
vened in the last twenty-five or thirty
years in reference to the idea of God.
Up to a recent time the sturdiest sceptics
as to the truth of revelation were mostly
deists or pantheists, and often repudiated
atheism with warmth.
The wittiest
scoffer who ever attacked Christianity,
Voltaire, was a firm deist, and declared
that if God did not exist he would have
to be invented. The extreme school of
Diderot and D’Holbach, even in the
sceptical eighteenth century, failed of a
wide acceptance. Now the conception
of God is freely treated by many of the
leaders of philosophical and scientific
opinion as a transitory phase of thought
which the growth of knowledge has
finally terminated. The natural history
and evolution of the idea of God is
traced in calm outline from its cradle to
its grave—from its nascent form in
Animism to its metaphysical presenta
tion as an inscrutable First Cause, the
absolute, unconditioned, and unrelated
to the phenomenal world. The idea of
God has been “ defecated to a pure
transparency,” as one eminent writer
phrases it; it has been “ deanthropomorphised,” to use the language of another.
A new and widely-current word has been
invented to designate the large class of
persons (mostly persons of exceptional
knowledge and ability) who refuse to
entertain any more the idea of a single
divine Being, maker of all things in
heaven and earth. Agnostics are to be
met with on every side ; the place of
honour is given to their articles in the
most popular monthly reviews; and, just
as in the fourth century the mysteries of
the Trinity and the Incarnation were
discussed in the streets of Constantinople
by shopkeepers and their customers, so
now, at dinner parties and gatherings of
both sexes, the existence of God emerges
from time to time as a topic of conversa
tion, ending often in negative conclusions.
Every middle-aged man can remember a
2I
time when such a transformation of
sentiments and opinions would have
appeared beyond the pale of possibility.
As in the case of the Christian
theology, the difficulties are twofold!
intellectual and moral, which have extin
guished in many minds the traditional
belief in a Supreme Being. So long as
men were able and content to believe in
an anthropomorphic deity—an infinitely
glorified and exalted man—then difficul
ties were not perceived; a feeling also of
religious awe daunted the mind from
looking up and scrutinising even its
own conceptions with a steady gaze.
But the growth of knowledge and a
higher morality have made the concep
tion of an anthropomorphic God less
and less endurable, even to professed
theologians, who have been as ready as
philosophers to dehumanise the deity.
But the difficulty is that, in proportion
as the conception of God is stripped of
its human attributes and removed away
into the absolute, in the same proportion
does the conception cease to offer an
object capable of exciting human sym
pathy, and, what is not less important,
does it cease to be conceivable. “Simi
larly with the logical incongruities^
more and more conspicuous to growing
intelligence. Passing over the familiar
difficulties—that sundry of the implied
divine traits are in contradiction with
the divine attributes otherwise ascribed;
that a god who repents of what he has
done must be lacking either in power
or foresight; that his anger presupposes
an occurrence that has been contrary to
his intention, and so indicates defect
of means—we come to the greater
difficulty: that such emotions, like all
emotions, can exist only in a conscious
ness which is limited. Every emotion
has its antecedent ideas, and antecedent
ideas are habitually supposed to occur
in God. He is represented as seeing
and hearing this or the other, and as
being emotionally affected thereby.
That is, the conception of a divinity
possessing these traits of character
ntcessarily continues anthropomorphic,
�28
THE SERVICE OF MAN
not only in the sense that the emotions
ascribed are like those of human beings,
but also in the sense that they form
parts of a consciousness which, like the
human consciousness, is formed of
successive states. And such a con
ception of the divine consciousness is
irreconcilable with the unchangeableness
otherwise alleged, and with the omnis
cience otherwise alleged. For a con
sciousness, constituted of ideas and
feelings caused by objects and occur
rences, cannot be simultaneously occu
pied with all objects and all occurrences
throughout the universe. To believe in
a divine consciousness, men must refrain
from thinking what is meant by con
sciousness—must stop short with verbal
propositions; and propositions which
they are debarred from rendering into
thought will more and more fail to satisfy
them. Of course, like difficulties present
themselves when the will of God is
spoken of. So long as we refrain from
giving a definite meaning to the word
‘ will,’ we may say that it is possessed by
the Cause of all things, as readily as we
may say that love of approbation is
possessed by a circle; but when, from
the words, we pass to the thoughts they
stand for, we find that we can no more
unite in consciousness the terms of the
one proposition than we can those of
the other. Whoever conceives of any
other will than his own must do so in
terms of his own will, which is the sole
will directly known to him, all other wills
being only inferred. But will, as such,
is conscious, if it presupposes a motive,
a prompting desire of some kind;
absolute indifference excludes the con
ception of will. Moreover, will, as
implying a prompting desire, connotes
some end contemplated as one to be
achieved, and ceases with the achieve
ment of it; some other will referring to
some other end taking its place. That
is to say, will, like emotion, necessarily
supposes a series of states of conscious
ness. The conception of a divine will,
derived from the human will, involves,
like it, localisation in space and tinlfe;
the willing of each end excluding from
consciousness, for an interval, the willing
of other ends, and therefore being incon
sistent with that omnipresent activity
which simultaneously works out an
infinity of ends. It is the same with
the ascription of intelligence. Not to
dwell on the seriality and limitation
implied as before, we may note that
intelligence, as alone conceivable by us,
presupposes existence independent of it
and objective to it. It is carried on in
terms of changes primarily wrought by
alien activities—the impressions gener
ated by things beyond consciousness and
the ideas derived from such impressions.
To speak of an intelligence which exists
in the absence of all such alien activities
is to use a meaningless word. If to the
corollary that the First Cause, considered
as intelligent, must be continually affected
by independent objective activities, it is
replied that these have become such by
act of creation, and were previously
included in the First Cause; then the
reply is that, in such case, the First
Cause could, before their creation, have
had nothing to generate in it such
changes as those constituting what we
call intelligence, and must therefore have
been unintelligent at the time when
intelligence was most called for. Hence
it is clear that the intelligence ascribed
answers in no respect to that which we
know by the name. It is intelligence
out of which all the characters consti
tuting it have vanished.”1
On the moral side it is found impossible
to reconcile the attributes of mercy and
benevolence in the Creator with the con
dition of the animal world, which presents
an almost continued scene of carnage
and cruelty, and has done so from its
commencement. Not only are the
stronger carnivora fashioned and armed
for the purpose of hunting and killing
their prey—a gazelle or antelope, in a
state of nature, is compelled to fly three
times daily for its life—but innumerable
1 Herbert Spencer, Nineteenth Century Re
view, 1885.
�WHY MEN HESITATE
parasites exist in the bodies and at the
expense of animals generally much their
superiors. “ Of the animal kingdom as
a whole, more than half the species are
parasites.” If each individual species,
as Agassiz said, is an “ embodied creative
thought of God,” his benevolence must
be acknowledged to be of a singular
character.
The best apologists admit that a mere
metaphysical deity, an absolute First
Cause defecated to a pure transparency,
is not enough. What they wish to
restore is a belief in the God to whom
they learned to pray by their mother’s
knee. And they are abundantly justified
from their point of view in such a wish.
The only God whom Western Europeans,
with a Christian ancestry of a thousand
years behind them, can worship, is the
God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob ; or,
rather, of St. Paul, St. Augustine, St.
Bernard, and of the innumerable “blessed
saints,” canonised or not, who peopled
•, the Ages of Faith. No one wants, no
| one cares for, an abstract God, an Un
j knowable, an Absolute, with whom we
stand in no human or intelligible relation.
What pious hearts wish to feel and believe
is the existence, “ behind the veil” of the
visible world, of an invisible Personality,
friendly to man, at once a brother and
God. The unequalled potency of Chris
tianity as a religion of the heart has ever
consisted in the admirable conception of
the Man God, Jesus Christ. Even a
I power hostile to man, if conceived as
I embodied in a person, has been felt pre
ferable to vague, passionless, unintelligent
force; because a hostile person could be
propitiated, could be appealed to, could
be brought over to mercy and goodwill
; by prayer and sacrifice. That is to say,
I that an anthropomorphic God is the only
| God whom men can worship, and also
I the God whom modern thought finds it
increasingly difficult to believe in.
I
Chapter III.
WHY MEN HESITATE
The series of arguments and considera- : has Rationalism, after such brilliant
tions against the current theology, of j victories, not triumphed completely ?
which a very imperfect summary was Why is the British Sunday without a
attempted in the last chapter, might parallel in Europe ? Why on that day
seem sufficient to bring about a rapid are museums and theatres still closed,
extinction of the vulgar belief; and and the churches and chapels full ? The
possibly that extinction is not so far off obvious answer that we are the most
as both those who wish it, and those conservative of races is not satisfactory.
who deprecate it, may be apt to think. We can overturn quickly enough institu
Still, whatever may be the case in tions with which we arc really dis
France and Germany, Christianity, if contented. The inference is that the
moribund, is by no means dead, in this mass of Englishmen, in spite of the wide
country at least: the land which has prevalence of agnostic views, are not yet
done most to work out the philosophy satisfied in their hearts that an improved
of Evolution is perhaps still the most substitute for Christianity can be found.
Christian in faith and practice remaining Intellectually, their allegiance to it has
in the world. The question arises, Why been much shaken, but their feelings
�THE SERVICE OF MAN
have not been changed in a similar
degree. This may be explained in two
ways. First, a certain slow-footed sure
ness in the national character, which
refuses to move with haste in matters of
paramount importance. Among the
peoples who embraced the Reformation,
the English were the most tardy in their
open and general revolt from Rome.
Secondly, in no country has Christianity
of late years been less offensive to any
class of dissidents. Unlimited religious
liberty has permitted every shade of
religious or irreligious sentiment to assert
itself after its own heart, in its own
fashion. Even the Established Church,
once so insolent and oppressive, has,
on the whole, shown a wise spirit of
compromise and toleration, and is,
perhaps, less hated now than at any past
period of its history. A touch of genuine
persecution would long ago have caused
an explosion, which would not only
have annihilated the Establishment, but
have reacted injuriously on the other
sects.
In the absence of the stimulus
given by persecution even to unpopular
opinions, agnosticism has had to make
its way on its own merits, so to speak,
on a fair field, and certainly with no
favour. Among certain groups, with
whom intellectual cultivation is the main
business of life, it has had a great
success, far greater than could have been
expected in only a recent past; but it
has not extended and penetrated through
the great mass of the middle and upper
classes. And the obvious reason is that
agnosticism, so far, has not only not had
feeling with it, but it has had feeling
against it. A belief in the unknowable
kindles no enthusiasm. Science wins a
verdict in its favour before any competent
intellectual tribunal; but numbers of
men, and the vast majority of women,
ignore the finding of the jury of experts.
They cling passionately to the belief in
the supernatural; they listen even with
patience and flattering hope to the
deeply suspicious and suspected pro
fessors of spiritualism and thought-read
ing, athirst for a hint, a suggestion, an
evanescent fact, which would lighten the
gloom of the grave. Above all, they will
believe, in spite of science and the laws
of their consciousness, in a good God,
who loves them and cares for them and
their little wants and trials, and will, if
they only please him, take them at last
to his bosom, and “ wipe the tears for
ever from their eyes.”
“ A. l’enfant il faut sa mere,
A l’ame il faut son Dieu.”
In this respect, at least, Carlyle was a
true son of his age, and expressed one
of its deepest heart-pangs in that bitter
cry of the Everlasting No :—“ To me
the Universe was all void of Life, of
Purpose, of Volition, even of Hostility;
it was one huge, dead, immeasurable
Steam-engine, rolling on, in its dead in
difference, to grind me limb from limb.
O the vast, gloomy, solitary Golgotha,
and Mill of Death ! Why was the Living
banished thither companionless, con
scious ? Why, if there is no Devil; nay,
unless the Devil is your God ?” That
is the true voice of a Christian man who
has lost his faith. Some thousand or
fifteen hundred years of Christian train
ing has given this passionate turn to the
feelings, this infinite craving for sympathy
with the Invisible Lord; who must exist,
men fondly say, because to doubt him is
to despair. Again Carlyle is representa
tive : “ Fore-shadows, call them rather
fore-splendours—of that Truth, and
Beginning of Truth, fell mysteriously
over my soul. Sweeter than Day-spring
to the Shipwrecked in Nova Zembla;
ah ! like the mother’s voice to her little
child that strays bewildered, weeping, in
unknown tumults ; like soft streamings of
celestial music to my too exasperated
heart, came that Evangel. The Universe
is not dead and demoniacal, a charnelhouse with spectres; but godlike, and
my Father’s !”
How little the celestial music soothed
the exasperated heart of the care-laden
man, his tragic biography is a melancholy
witness.
�WHY MEN HESITA TE
Though perhaps the chief, the yearn
ing for divine sympathy is not the only
ground of men’s hesitation to follow the
guidance of intellect in this matter. The
idea still prevails that Christianity is,
after all, the best support of morality
extant. What system of ethics, it is
asked, can compare with the Sermon on
the Mount ? There are even some who
hold that paradise and hell can ill be
spared ; the one as incentive to good, the
other as a deterrent from evil. How can
you expect, it is inquired, self-sacrifice,
devotion to duty, if man is to die the
death of a dog, and to look for no here
after? It is assumed as obvious to
common-sense that in that case we shall
eat and drink, for to-morrow we die.
Self-indulgence the most gross, crime the
most unscrupulous, are taken for granted
to be the natural and spontaneous pre
dispositions of man, if he did not dread
having to pay dear for them in the next
world. Wickedness and sin are what he
naturally likes, virtue and righteousness
what he naturally detests. The pleasures
of lying, robbery, impurity, and murder
are beyond dispute j they would fill the
cup of enjoyment to the brim, could one
only get it without fear of after-conse
quences in the lake of brimstone. Who
can be so ignorant of human nature,
nay, of his own heart, as to doubt of
these all too fascinating temptations and
attractions ? As it is, even with the fires
of Tophet flaming in the distance, men
cannot resist their allurements, or prefer
“ The lilies and languors of virtue
To the roses and raptures of vice.”
Therefore, it is only too certain that a
general abrogation of Christianity would
be at once followed by a reign of universal
licence; and, by the lower order of
apologists, it is not seldom broadly hinted
that that is the desired result. Take
away the mingled fear and hope of a
future state of rewards and punishments,
and what possible check can be imagined
to the universal indulgence of unbridled
desires ?
Without staying to point out that
reasoners of this class, whatever their
other merits, cannot be complimented
on their estimate of human nature, and
that they, at least, can with little grace
reproach any opponents with degrading
man, we have to remark that the con
clusions of the reason, so far as they are
adverse to Christianity, are here met not
with arguments, but with threats, with
appeals to the passions of a very powerful
kind; and that it can excite no surprise
that, on the whole, passion has the
advantage in the conflict. We shall try
to examine these points with some care,
and inquire (i) if religion has really been
in the past the solace and consolation it
is asserted ; (2) whether Christianity is
such a stay and support to morality as it
is said to be; and (3) whether a general
outbreak of crime and debauchery may
be expected as a natural result of the
disappearance of the established theo
logy?
�32
THE SERVICE OF MAN
Chapter IV.
THE ALLEGED CONSOLATIONS OF THE
CHRISTIAN RELIGION
It is worthy of remark that, in propor
tion as Christianity has met with intel
lectual opposition, a progressive tendency
has been shown by divines to veil the
harsher and more inhuman features of
their creed. The older race of theo
logians, with no fear of criticism before
their eyes, spoke out freely; they preached
high doctrine, and found an austere
pleasure in dwelling on the awful judg
ments of God. The small number of
the saved, the multitude of the damned,
the narrowness of the way which leads
to life, the breadth of that which leads
to destruction, were topics on which
they loved to dwell and the congregation
to ponder. To a large extent this tone
has been dropped, and replaced by one
to which it is the direct contrary.
Preachers prefer to dwell on the cheerful
and bright side of religion—on its
glorious promises, on the delights of
the heavenly Jerusalem. They certainly
speak with much less unction of the
“wrath to come”; and if they say
nothing to impair the belief in God’s
justice, which leads him to punish sin
with endless torments, they enlarge more
on his “mercy” and “the things he
hath prepared for them that love him.”
In some cases religion is chiefly recom
mended as offering a graceful and
pleasing appendix to life, as depriving
death of its sting and the grave of its
victory, and opening a prospect up to
the sunlit heavens, amid clouds and glory
and the most sublime scenery that can
be imagined.
This change of tone, which, as a broad
matter of fact, cannot, I apprehend, be
denied, has followed on as a wide result
of the great humanitarian movement
which began towards the middle of the
eighteenth century. When legislation and
manners were equally marked by cruelty;
when criminals were tortured to death,
and prisoners kept in noisome dungeons
reeking with jail fever and swarming with
vermin; when popular sports largely
consisted in inflicting pain on men and
animals—it is no wonder that gloomy
and inhuman views of religion passed
without challenge, or even with favour.
The alteration of feeling, together with
its cause, were quaintly expressed by
an American divine, who had been
reproached by an English visitor for too
slight an insistence on the eternal damna
tion of the wicked : “ Our people would
not stand it, sir,” was the reply. But
the point which more immediately con
cerns us is whether the old religion of
terror, or its modified and softened
modern version, was or is such a source
of solace and inward joy as is commonly
assumed. Any one who has had the
privilege of knowing intimately one of
those rare and beautiful souls in whom a
single-hearted piety seems spontaneous
would be slow to deny that such solace
may exist. The meek and chastened
spirits do occasionally know that peace of
God which passeth all understanding.
But it is equally certain that that peace
is subject to painful interruptions, and
that in almost exact proportion with the
growth of a tender and watchful con
science does the liability to such eclipses
increase. It is the presumptuous, not
the truly devout, who dwell always in a
complacent conviction of their accep
tance and favour with God. All spiritual
doctors abound in warnings against the
two opposite dangers, on the one hand,
of over-confidence, self-righteousness,
Pharisaism ; on the other, of despair and
hopeless despondency of ever pleasing
God. The proud content of the Pharisee
�THE ALLEGED CONSOLATIONS OF THE CHRISTIAN RELIGION 33
can never be put to the credit of religion, not worthy of thy consolation, nor of
as it is the temper which is most of all any spiritual visitation; and, therefore,
thou dealest justly with me when thou
condemned by true piety. “ Humility,
leavest me poor and desolate. For if I
and modesty of judgment and of hope,
could shed tears as the sea, yet should I
arc very good instruments to procure
mercy and a fair reception at the day of not be wrorthy of thy consolation. Where
fore I am worthy only to be scourged
our death; but presumption or bold
and punished, because I have grievously
opinion serves no end of God or man,
and is always imprudent, even fatal, and and often offended thee, and in many
things greatly sinned; so, then, on a true
of all things in the world is its own
greatest enemy : for the more any man account, I have not deserved even the
presumes the greater reason he has to smallest consolation.”1
Cardinal Wiseman, in his preface to
fear.”1 Any solace, therefore, of this
kind, derived from religion, must be the English translation of the works of
repudiated and struck off the account as St. John of the Cross, has the following
illegitimate and in a manner fraudulent remarkable passage : “ It may be con
—a deadly spiritual sin seizing the reward sidered a rule in this highest spiritual
of perfected saintliness. It is the anxious life that, before it is attained, there must
and careworn penitent whom we have to be a period of severe probation, lasting
consider, those who, when they have often many years, and separating it from
done all that they can, still regard them the previous state, which may have been
selves as unprofitable servants. Theo one of most exalted virtue. Probably,
many whom the Catholic Church honours
logians prescribe elaborate remedies
against despair as a “ temptation and a as saints have never received this singular
horrid sin ”; but it is a sin to which the gift. But in reading the biography of
humble, the meek, and the truly devout such as have been favoured with it, we
shall invariably find that the possession
are exposed, and not the wicked and
worldly. How often it has been pushed of it has been preceded, not only by
to the destruction of reason, resulting a voluntary course of mortification of
in religious madness, the statistics of sense, fervent devotion, constant medi
insanity are there to show. Even when tation, and separation from the world,
it stops short of this fearful consumma but also by a trying course of dryness,
tion, and appears in the milder form of weariness of spirit, insipidity of devo
desponding anxiety, and fear lest the tional duties, and, what is infinitely
sinner has lost favour in the sight worse, dejection, despondency, tempta
of God, those moments of coldness tion to give up all in disgust and almost
and tediousness of spirit form a heavy despair. During this tremendous proba
deduction from the hours of peace and tion the soul is dark, parched, and way
happiness enjoyed between, as every less, as earth without water, as one
book of devotion, from the Psalms staggering across a desert, or, to rise to
downward, abundantly shows.
“ My a nobler illustration, like Him remotely
God, my God, look upon me; why hast who lay on the ground on Olivet, loathing
the cup which He had longed for, beyond
thou forsaken me: and art so far from
my health, and from the words of my the sweet chalice which He had drunk
complaint ? O my God, I cry in the with His apostles just before.” A prince
day-time, but thou hearest not: and in of the Church may, no doubt, be trusted
to speak correctly on this matter.
the night-season also I take no rest.”
In order to show that these afflictions
Thomas a Kempis denies that the
are not peculiar to Catholics, a few
truly contrite sinner has any ground even
sentences may with advantage be quoted
to hope for consolation. “ Lord, I am
’ Holy Dying, ch. v., § 6.
1 Imitation, iii. 52.
n
�34
THE SERVICE OF MAN
from that strange book of Bunyan’s,
Grace Abounding to the Chief of
Sinners:—“ And now was I both a
burden and terror to myself, nor did I
ever so know as now what it was to be
weary of my life and yet afraid to die.
Ob, how gladly now would I have been
anybody but myself, anything but a man,
and in any condition but my own, for
there was nothing did pass more fre
quently over my mind than that it was
impossible for me to be forgiven my
transgression and to be saved from wrath
to come........ I found it hard work now
to pray to God, because despair was
swallowing me up. I thought I was, as
with a tempest, driven away from God,
for always when I cried to God for
mercy this would come in, ‘ ’Tis too late;
I am lost: God has let me fall, not to
my correction, but to my condemnation.’
About this time I did light on that dread
ful story of that miserable mortal, Francis
Spira—a book that was to my troubled
spirit as salt when rubbed into a fresh
wound. Every sentence in that book,
every groan of that man, with all the rest
of his actions in his griefs; as his tears,
his prayers, his gnashing of teeth, his
wringing of hands, his twisting and
languishing and pining away under that
mighty hand of God that was upon him,
were as knives and daggers in my soul.
Especially that sentence of his was
frightful to me : ‘ Man knows the begin
ning of sin, but who bounds the issues
thereof?’ Then would the former sen
tence as the conclusion of all fall like an
hot thunderbolt against my conscience,
for you know how that afterwards, when
he would have inherited the blessing, he
was rejected, for he found no place of
repentance, though he sought it carefully
with tears.
“ Then should I be struck into a very
great trembling, insomuch that at some
times I could for whole days together
feel my very body as well as my mind to
shake and totter under the sense of this
dreadful judgment of God that should
fall on those that have sinned that most
fearful and unpardonable sin. I felt also
such a clogging and heat at my stomach,
by reason of this my terror, that I was
especially at sometimes as if my breast
bone would split asunder: then I thought
concerning that of Judas, who, by his
falling headlong, burst asunder, and all
his bowels gushed out.”
If we admit that such periods of
depression are at last more than com
pensated by the ecstasy which may follow
them, yet it is obvious that the religious
life, in its highest forms, is very far
from uniformly leading through paths of
pleasantness and peace, as is sometimes
assumed. A state bordering on despair,
which lasts for years, is no light matter;
and it would be no conclusive proof of a
carnal mind to hesitate before encounter
ing such anguish, even with the ultimate
certainty of its transmutation into ineffable
joy. But, as Cardinal Wiseman tells us,
there is no certainty of such in this life:
only in heaven can the Christian hope
for an adequate return for his spiritual
trials in this world. “ If in this life only
we have hope in Christ, we are of all
men most miserable,” said St. Paul of
himself and fellow Christians; and it
follows that neither in the design nor in
the result is Christianity adapted to confer
the highest earthly happiness : it is not a
present solace, but the promise of one
hereafter. A future life, however, is one
of the most enormous assumptions, with
out proof, ever made; and yet, on this
immense postulate, all the alleged con
solations of religion of necessity hang.
By considering the case of the truly
religious, we have discussed the question,
on the most favourable terms to Chris
tianity, as a source of happiness. The
profoundly pious are at times refreshed
with the “ beatific vision ” in the course
of their pilgrimage.
But there are
numbers of the half - converted, the
■worldly, the openly wicked, who believe
enough to be full of anxiety and fear,
and yet never attain to assurance of
complete peace with God; and perhaps
these constitute the majority of professing
Christians. If you obtain access to their
inmost thoughts, you will rarely find that
�THE ALLEGED CONSOLATIONS OF THE CHRISTIAN RELIGION 35
religion has been a consolation to them,
but a perpetual source of inward unrest
and alarm, though they never have had
the strength or the grace to turn finally
to God. These pains of the spirit are
by no means the only trials which the
Christian has to encounter. The preva
lence of heresy and schism has ever
afflicted devout men in proportion to
their devoutness. One of the peculiar
ities of this age, indeed, is the extra
ordinary cessation of controversy and
absence of new doctrines within the
Christian communion. Never, perhaps,
since the Council of Jerusalem, has
there been so marked an abeyance of
serious theological dispute.
Middleaged and old men, who can remember
the Tractarian controversy and the
Gorham controversy, when the coun
try was filled with tumult about
matters of faith, can appreciate the
strange, great calm which now prevails.
Whether true believers have any reason
to rejoice in the change may be doubted.
The differences within have been fol
lowed by far more serious hostilities
from without, and it is the deadly
war -with the sceptic and the
infidel which justly pre-occupies the
earnest thoughts of Christian men. This
last state, which is worse than the first,
tends to make us forget how painful
were the anxieties as to the threatened
prevalence of “grave error,” whenever
serious controversies arose: what fiery
pamphlets were published by deans,
archdeacons, and even by bishops; what
agitated letters appeared even in the
secular newspapers ; what meetings were
convened, and what danger to Christian
verity was apprehended if the faithful
did not see to it. The world has rolled
so far away from this state of things that
even those who witnessed it retain but
an imperfect recollection of the remote
scene. Who can easily recall the excite
ment consequent on the publication of
so anodyne a work as Professor Jowett’s
edition of St. Paul’s Epistles? How
difficult to remember the time when the
illustrious Master of Balliol was a perse
cuted man, considered more than passing
rich with forty pounds a year, for teaching
Greek as it had not been taught by a
Regius professor from time immemorial?
But faith was still lively and vigilant,
even in that recent past—a very pale
reflection of its former brightness, no
doubt. To realise what it once was, and
what mental distress it could cause, we
must have recourse to reading; and,
with such historical imagination as we
can command, revive an extinct con
troversy : not one of the mightier
disputes of the sixteenth century, the
dust-cloud of which reached up to the
heavens and obscured the stars; but a
relatively minor one, and only an episode
in that, the fate of Jacqueline Pascal.
Jacqueline, the younger sister of Blaise
Pascal, was remarkable for talent and
beauty even in her own family, in which
beauty and talent were hereditary gifts.
Like Pope, she lisped in numbers, and
composed verses which were not con
temptible before she had learned to read.
Her grace of person and manner caused
her to be invited to play in a comedy
before Richelieu, and, though only nine
years of age, she so charmed the Cardinal
that he recalled her father, who had
incurred his displeasure, from exile. We
have letters of hers written in her twen
tieth year, in which she gives to her
sister, Madame Perier, a lucid and
intelligent account of a conference
between her brother Blaise and
Descartes, when they discussed the
discovery of the barometer, and the
phenomena of atmospheric pressure.
But religion already occupied all her
thoughts, and she resolved to become
a nun of Port Royal, though, out of
deference to her father’s wish, she
refrained from taking the veil until after
his death. “ She made all her prepara
tions in my presence,” says her sister,
Madame Perier, “ and fixed the. fourth
of January as the day for entering the
convent. On the eve of that day she
begged me to speak about it to my
brother, to avoid taking him by surprise.
....... He was much touched, and retired
�36
THE SERVICE OF MAN
very sad to his room without seeing my
sister, who was in a small apartment
where she was wont to pray. She did
not leave it till my brother had gone,
fearing that the sight of her might give
him pain. I gave her the tender mes
sages he had charged me with, after
which we all went to bed. But I could
not sleep. Although I approved heartily
of her resolution, its magnitude so filled
my mind that I lay awake all night. At
seven the next morning, as I saw that
Jacqueline did not rise, I thought that
she also had not slept, and I found
her fast asleep. The noise I made
.awakened her, and she asked me the
time. I told her, and inquired how she
felt, and if she had slept well. She
replied she was well, and had had a good
night. Then she arose, dressed herself,
and went away ; doing this, as all things,
with a tranquillity and composure of soul
which cannot be conceived. We took
no farewell of each other from fear of
breaking down, and I turned away from
her path when I saw her ready to go out.
In this way she left the world; it was
the fourth of January, of the year 1652,
she being twenty-six years and three
months old.”
Sister Jacqueline, of Saint Euphemia
Pascal, was for nine years a nun at Port
Royal, and became subprioress and
mistress of the Novices. In the latter
character the duty of teaching young
children to read devolved upon her, and
she introduced into the convent the new
system of giving merely the phonetic
value of the letters and not calling them
by misleading names, which was the
invention of her brother Blaise, and
obtained afterwards great renown in the
“Grammaire Generale” of Port Royal.
But the pious Jansenist foundation was
already doomed. The Jesuits had not
yet avenged the Provincial Letters.
Strong with the support of the pope and
the king, they produced a formulary, the
signature of which was compulsory on
all ecclesiastics. It referred to the
eternal question of the Five Propositions,
ind declared that they were in the book
Augustinus of Bishop Jansenius, and
were contrary to the faith. Much
subtlety was employed to find a means
of signing it in a non-natural sense, and
the chiefs of the Jansenist party, to
escape destruction, visibly wavered. But
Jacqueline, like her brother Blaise, was
made of sterner stuff, and resisted all
compromise with passionate zeal. At
last the great authority of Arnauld and
Nicole prevailed upon their followers to
accept the bitter cup prepared for them
by their enemies. Pascal swooned away
when this decision was taken. Jacqueline
yielded at last to the pressure of her
superiors, and signed the formulary, but
with such grief and anguish of soul that
she predicted she would die of it; as,
indeed, she did in less than six months.
The affliction of the just and the
prosperity of the wicked has always been
a serious difficulty to pious persons
who combined reflection with devotion.
“ Wherefore do the wicked live, become
old,, yea, are mighty in power? Their
seed is established in their sight with
them, and their offspring before their
eyes. Their houses are safe from fear,
neither is the rod of God upon them.”1
And the prophet goes on to say in his
anguish : “ God hath delivered me to
the ungodly, and turned me over into
the hands of the wicked........ He breaketh
me with breach upon breach, he runneth
upon me like a giant........ My face is
foul with weeping, and on my eyelids
is the shadow of death ; not for any
injustice in mine hands : also my prayer
is pure.”2 Probably few religious persons
have escaped the bitterness of feeling
that they were unjustly chastened, that
the rod of God was upon them and not
upon the wicked. They no doubt
repelled the thought with an “ Aflage
Satana I ” regarding it as a snare of the
tempter. But because the thought was
banished from the mind, was the load
removed from the heart ? This is a
trial which theologians must admit is all
1 Job. xxi. 7-9.
2 Job. xvi. II, 14-17.
�THE ALLEGED CONSOLATIONS OF THE CHRISTIAN RELIGION 37
their own—a clear addition to the weary
weight “ of all this unintelligible world.”
Agnostics at least, when smitten by the
sharp arrows of fate, by disease, poverty,
bereavement, do not complicate their
misery by anxious misgivings and painful
wonder why they are thus treated by the
God of their salvation. The pitiless,
brazen heavens overarch them and
believers alike; they bear their trials,
or their hearts break, according to their
strength. But one pang is spared them,
the mystery of God’s wrath that he
should visit them so sorely. The
exceeding bitter cry of the dying Jesus,
“ My God, my God, why hast thou for
saken me?” never comes to their lips,
for it never rises in their hearts. “Jesus,
when he had cried again with a loud
voice, yielded up the ghost.” A fitting
yet terrible end of the Passion ; for what
more awful thought could come to a
devout believer in God than that he was
forsaken of God ? It may well have
been tin's, even more than the nails
through his feet and hands and the
spear in his side, which broke the heart
of the Son of man, and made Him yield
up the ghost. Christ’s followers have
discovered consolations and viatica in
the hour of death which were denied
Him. But the most truly humble and
devout at times find their chief anguish
there where they have most looked
for relief. A more pious, God-fearing
woman than the charming French
poetess, Madame Desbordes Valmore,
could not easily be found. But her life
was one long scene of bitter trial, poverty,
and bereavement. At last the cup runs
over, and this plaintive cry escapes her:
“Yes, Camille, it is very poignant; here
I am alone, without brothers or sisters,
alone and severed from all the dear
souls I have so loved, without the con
solation of surviving them and being
able to accomplish their desire, which
was ever to do some good........ What
can one say in the presence of these
decrees of Providence? If one has
deserved them, the case is more sad. I
often search my heart and try to find out
what may have caused me to be so
heavily smitten by our dear Creator ; for
it is impossible for his justice to punish
thus without a cause, and that thought
very often suffices to overwhelm me.”1
The above extracts will probably be
considered sufficient to show that it is
by no means so plain as it is often
assumed to be that the loss of the
Christian religion would deprive men of
immense consolation and an abiding
source of inward happiness amid the
trials of life. There is a serious set-off
on the other side, and this was admitted
with no difficulty in the days when the
faith was menaced by no danger. “ Do
not seek ” says Jeremy Taylor, “ for
deliciousness and sensible sweetness in
the actions of religion, but only regard
the duty and the conscience of it. For
although, in the beginning of religion
most frequently, and at other times
irregularly, God complies with our infir
mity, and encourages out duty with little
overflowings of spiritual joy and sensible
pleasure and delicacies in prayer, so as
we seem to feel some little nearer of
heaven, and great refreshment from the
spirit of consolation; yet this is not always
safe for us to have, neither safe for us to
expect and look for; and when we dor
it is apt to make us cool in our inquiries
and waitings upon Christ when we want
them ; it is running after him, not for
the miracles, but for the loaves; not for
the wonderful things of God and the
desire of pleasing him, but for the
pleasure of pleasing ourselves.”2 Now
adays the effort made is in the opposite
direction, and to dwell on the “ sensible
pleasures ” and “ delicacies in prayer,”
in order to enhance the contrast between
the bright glory and prospects afforded
by the religious life, and the gloomy and
hopeless future which are supposed to
afflict the infidel. The object now is to
make religion attractive, and it has been
pursued with very marked success. Let
any one compare the taste and beauty
1 Sainte-Bcuve,
Lundis, vol. xii.
2 ZfoZj' Living, cap. iv., § 7.
�38
THE SERVICE OF MAN
of a choral service in a modern church Meditations of James Hervey, which ran
or cathedral with the harsh and grating through numerous editions when it first
ugliness which made “ going to church ” appeared, and was still a favourite with
in the days of our youth an ascetic pious folk in the earlier portion of the
exercise. The coarse, untutored voice present century. Such pompous and
of the village shoemaker or tailor who tawdy fustian one would hope could
acted as clerk; the hideous boxes called hardly have been accepted for eloquence,
pews; the dolorous and droning music ; had it not been supposed to convey vital
the whole framed in a choice specimen religious truth. As a poetaster of the
of Georgian architecture, barbaric with day expressed it:
white-wash and clumsy ornament, will still
“ In these loved scenes what rapturous graces
return to the memory in a dreamy mood.
shine,
These things have gone, and are replaced
Live in each leaf, and breathe in every line ;
What sacred beauties beam throughout the
by what is very often a real artistic suc
whole,
cess ; good music and singing, the dim
To charm the sense and steal upon the soul.”
religious light of stained windows,
flowers, mosaics, or paintings, in Soul and sense are charmed in this wise:
churches often not untouched by the “The wicked seem to lie here, like
spirit of mediaeval beauty. This great malefactors in a deep and strong dun
reform in the ordering of divine service geon ; reserved against the day of trial.
has passed beyond the limits of the ‘ Their departure was without peace.’
■Establishment, and penetrated even Clouds of horror sat lowering upon their
among the dissenters, whose chapels no closing eyelids; most sadly foreboding
longer display the resolute deformity of the blackness of darkness for ever.
a past age. The outward change has When the last sickness seized their
been preceded and accompanied by a frame, and the inevitable change ad
deeper inward change; the doctrine of vanced ; when they saw the fatal arrow
terror has been laid aside, and replaced fitting to the strings; saw the deadly
by a doctrine of mildness and hope, so archer aiming at their life; and felt the
much so that few realise the gloomy envenomed shaft fastened in their vitals
horrors of the old creed. The younger —good God ! what fearfulness came
generation has hardly an idea of the : upon them ! What horrible dread over
dismal spiritual pit in which their fathers whelmed them ! How did they stand
lived. In the eighteenth century the shuddering upon the tremendous preci
case was still worse. The chill shade of pice, excessively afraid to die, yet utterly
religious dread spread beyond the circle unable to live.—O ! what pale reviews,
of the professedly devout, and darkened what startling prospects, conspire to
life and literature. Only profane revellers augment their sorrows I They look back
■ passed out of it, and their example was not ward ; and behold ! a most melancholy
edifying. In what a cavern of black scene! Sins unrepented of, mercy slighted,
thoughts did Samuel Johnson pass his
and the day of grace ending. They look
life, and what a fearful “ Horror of the
forward, and nothing presents itself but
Last” got hold of him in his latter days.
the righteous Judge, the dreadful tribunal,
Edward Young, who inveighed against and a most solemn reckoning. They
wealth and honours in order to obtain roll around their affrighted eyes on
them, adjusted with skill and care the attending friends, and, if accomplices in
-strains of his venal muse to the popular debauchery, it sharpens their anguish to
taste, and sang that
consider this further aggravation of their
guilt, That they have not sinned alone,
“A God all mercy is a God unjust.”
but drawn others into the snare. If
Few books in the last century were more religious acquaintance, it strikes a fresh
popular with serious persons than the gash into their hearts, to think of never
�THE^LLEGED CONSOL A ELONS OF THE CHRISTIAN RELIGION 39
seeing them any more, but only at an
unapproachable distance, separated by
the unpassable gulph.”1
Will any one presume to say that, for
one death-bed which has been smoothed
by religion, a thousand have not been
turned into beds of torture by such
teaching as this ?
But we must go back to the palmy
days of Calvinism, to Scotland in the
seventeenth century, to realise fully the
revolting devil-worship which once passed
under the name of Christianity, and, what
is more, really was Christianity, gospel
truth, supported by texts, at every point
taken from Scripture. No class of litera
ture lies buried deeper in oblivion than
old-fashioned theological literature. Its
brilliant but transitory life is followed by
a perennial death, from which there is
no resurrection. Dead divinity is the
deadest thing that ever lived. Only now
and then a literary historian recalls one
of these vanished spectres; the mass of
believers are content to ignore their
spiritual ancestry. Take the case of the
Rev. Thomas Boston, a minister of the
Church of Scotland, who lived in the
latter end of the seventeenth and begin
ning of the eighteenth century. Boston
was one of the most shining lights of
the Scottish Church, and his most famous
book, Human Nature in its Fourfold
State, was for a long period almost placed
on a level with Holy Scripture. It is
certainly a very wonderful book, written
with great power, and eloquence of a
kind which might well impose upon
readers who accepted the writer’s pre
mises. It seems written in a white heat
of sustained passion, in which the devil
worshipper (for Boston is nothing else),
persuaded that he had conciliated his
devil for his own purposes, deals dam
nation on all poor wretches not so
favoured, with an exultant and fiery joy
which is really astounding to witness.
The man would have delighted, one
would say, to be a stoker in the infernal
regions. Out of a volume of five hundred
* Meditations among the Tombs, vol. i., p. 94.
pages I select a page or two which are
nothing but average specimens of a tone
of thought which I apprehend would be
generally repudiated by theologians now
adays ; so far have we declined from
Christian verity1:—
“ Consider what a God he is with
whom thou hast to do, and whose wrath
thou art liable unto. He is the God of
infinite knowledge and wisdom; so that
none of thy sins, however secret, can be
hid from him. He infallibly finds out
all means whereby wrath maybe executed
towards the satisfying of justice. He is
of infinite power, and so can do what he
will against the sinner. How heavy
must the strokes of wrath be which are
laid on by an omnipotent hand ! Infinite
power can make the sinner prisoner, even
when he is in his greatest rage against
Heaven. It can bring again the several
parcels of dust out of the grave, put them
together again, re-unite the soul and
body, summon them before the tribunal,
hurry them away to the pit, and hold
them up with the one hand, through
eternity, while they are lashed with the
other. He is infinitely just, and there
fore must punish; it were acting contrary
to his nature to suffer the sinner to escape
wrath. Hence the execution of his wrath
is pleasing to him; for though the Lord
hath no delight in the death of a sinner,
as it is the destruction of his own
creature, yet he delights in it, as it is the
execution of justice. ‘ Upon the wicked
he shall rain snares, fire and brimstone,
and an horrible tempest.’ Mark the
reason : ‘ For the righteous Lord loveth
righteousness’ (Ps. xi. 6, 7); ‘I will
cause my fury to rest upon them, and I
will be comforted’ (Ezek. v. 13); ‘I
also will laugh at your calamity ’ (Prov.
i. 26). Finally, he lives for ever, to
pursue the quarrel. Let us therefore
conclude, ‘ It is a fearful thing to fall
into the hands of the living God.’ ”2
1 Boston’s book first appeared in 1720. It has
been republished by the Religious Tract Society.
2 T. Boston, Human Nature in its Fourfold
State. The Misery of Man's Natural State.
Motive 4.
�40
TIIE SERVICE OF MAN
Again, in another place of the same which makes them, like Pashur (Jen
chapter, Boston says : “ There is wrath xx. 4), ‘a terror to themselves.’ God
upon his soul. He can have no com takes the filthy garments of their sins,
munion with God ; he is ‘foolish, and which they were wont to sleep in securely,
overlays them with brimstone, and sets
shall not stand in God’s sight ’ (Ps. v. 5).
them on fire about their ears, so they
....... There is war between Heaven and
them (natural men), and so all commerce have a hell within them.”
It may be doubted if, among all the
is cut off........ God casts a portion of
worldly goods to them, more or less as a aberrations of the human mind, anything
bone is thrown to a dog; but, alas, his so horrible as this was ever attained
wrath against them appears, in that they elsewhere; and this was the creed of
the poor Scots for more than two hundred
get no grace........ They lie open to fearful
additional plague on their souls, even in years. In reading the works of such a
man as Boston, one is tempted to admit
this life. Sometimes they meet with
one of his favourite dogmas, that the
deadening strokes, silent blows from the
heart of man is deceitful above all things
hand of an angry god; arrows of wrath,
and desperately wicked. He evidently
that enter into their souls without noise.
‘ Make the heart of this people fat, and gloats and revels in the ideas of wrath,
make their ears heavy, and shut their brimstone, fiery strokes, stunning blows,
eyes, lest they see with their eyes ’ (Isa. and all the apparatus of his infernal
torture-chamber. There is a sort of
vi. 10). God strives with them for a
while, and convictions enter their con concupiscence of lust in his passion for
cruelty; it tickles his prurient appetite,
sciences ; but they rebel against the
light; and, by a secret judgment, they and reaches to a depravity almost insane.
receive a blow on the head; so that If he stood alone, the case would be
from that time they do, as it were, live merely one of pathology; but he was a
and rot above ground. Their hearts are representative man, and spoke in the
deadened, their affections withered, their names of millions in this country and
consciences stupefied, and their whole abroad. The power of the human mind
souls blasted ; ‘ cast forth as a branch to throw up and nourish poisonous
and withered ’ (John xv. 6). They are growths of this kind is a very sad and
plagued with judicial blindness. They regrettable one. It has stained with
shut their eyes against the light; and blood many pages of history, and is not,
they are given over to the devil, the one is sorry to say, an abomination con
god of this world, to be blinded more fined to Christians. The inhuman fana
(2 Cor. iv. 4). Yea, ‘ God sends them tics of the French Revolution—-Marat,
strong delusions, that they should believe Hebert, Fouquier-Tinville, and Robes
a lie ’ (2 Thess. ii. 11). Even conscience, pierre—are inferior specimens of the same
like a false light on the shore, leads breed. But their lust of cruelty, hideous
them upon rocks, by which they are as it was, had not the infinite scope and
broken in pieces. They harden them- ■ transcendental character of Boston’s ;
selves against God, and he leaves them I yet the Reign of Terror in France, which
to Satan and their own hearts, whereby ‘ lasted but a few months, is still pointed
they are hardened more and more.
to by Christians as a supreme instance
They are often ‘ given up unto vile affec of the wickedness into which unbelievers
tions ’ (Rom. i. 26)........ Sometimes they
inevitably fall. The reign of terror in
meet with sharp fiery strokes, whereby Scotland, which lasted two centuries, is
their souls become like Mount Sinai, quietly dropped out of memory, or
where nothing is seen but fire and smoke, certainly is never consigned to the ever
nothing heard but the thunder of God’s lasting infamy which is supposed to have
wrath, and the voice of the trumpet of a overtaken the atheists. On the whole
broken law, waxing louder and louder,
this is an advantage, and the less we deal
�THE ALLEGED CONSOLA LIONS OF THE CHRISTIAN RELIGION 41
in retrospective anathema the better;
but then all parties should benefit by
the amnesty. Even Carlyle, who ever
remained a sort of distorted Calvinist,
could see that nothing was gained by
“shrieking” over the horrors of the
French Revolution ; and agnostics would
do well to abstain from hard words about
Calvinists. Determinists and evolution
ists must hold that all phenomena of
the human mind, whether welcome or
otherwise, had a very good reason, for
their existence, in that they were caused
like any other phenomena. Calvinistic
or Terrorist principles cannot be too
forcibly condemned, discouraged, or
counteracted. Like frightful forms of
disease, they show what terrible evils
human nature is exposed to. But we
do not properly blame disease, if we are
wise; we strive to combat it and prevent
its recurring again. The poor victims
of disease, whether mental or physical,
rather deserve our pity than our scorn.
They contracted it because they were
exposed to its noxious germs. The
antecedent evolution of Scotland and
France had produced the moral miasma
and the minds ready to receive it, which
led to the breaking out of those two
dreadful pestilences, Scotch Calvinism
and French Terrorism. While they pre
vailed in their greatest virulence, the
minds of men were deformed and made
hideous, as their bodies might be by
small-pox or elephantiasis.
In this slight retrospect over the darker
side of theology, I should misrepresent
my meaning if I seemed to blame the
men who held opinions, according to
my view, very pernicious. Our war
should not be with men, but with dogmas,
principles. The dogmas, under the con
ditions, were inevitable, just as the Plague
of London, under the then conditions of
over-crowding and neglect of cleanliness,
was inevitable. But we cannot blame
the men who suffered from the Plague;
we cannot even blame their ignorance of
the laws of health, because they could
not then have known better. We now
do know better, and we keep down the
Plague. In the same way, Calvinism
was a creed held by men who could not
know better. The antecedent history
of Scottish thought had led to a super
stitious adoration of a fragment of old
oriental literature, the Bible, which was
supposed to contain the authentic will
and testament of the Creator of the
universe. This supposed divine word
had been, so it was thought, somewhat
kept in the background and slighted by
the powerful Catholic Church, which
had reigned supreme for centuries, and
pressed on men’s minds with no light
yoke. Every word of this old oriental
book, very interesting and valuable in
its way, as a specimen and picture of
primitive culture, was imagined to be
in the handwriting of the Most High.
Every bloody deed recorded, every
fantastic and horrible thought enun
ciated, such as must appear in such a
document or collection of documents
compiled in such an age, was regarded
as approved and authenticated by
Almighty Wisdom. When these and
similar facts are considered, it does not
seem inexplicable that the Scotch and
other Calvinists thought and acted as
they did. They came to horrible results
and conclusions, but these were logical
conclusions from the premises. Similarly
Rousseau and Robespierre were the most
logical of men. The fault lies in the
premises—in the one case, that the Bible
is the wTord of God; in the other, that
the Contrat Social is the utterance of
pure reason.
�42
THE SERVICE OF MAN
Chapter V.
ON CHRISTIANITY AS A GUIDE TO CONDUCT
The next point to be considered is
whether the Christian religion is really
so strong and efficient a support of
morality as it is common to suppose.
An affirmative answer is generally taken
for granted, as if the case were too
obvious to admit of doubt or even of
argument. The purity and elevation of
the ethics of the gospel are indeed often
asserted to be a sufficient proof of its
divine origin. Those theologians who
wince somewhat under the scientific
argument against miracles recover all
their self-possession when they dwell on
the ethical side of their creed. If the
casting out of devils from demoniacs is
admitted to present difficulties, on the
ground that it was and still is a common
Eastern superstition to regard lunatics as
possessed by evil spirits, a superstition
which the evangelists shared with their
countrymen and contemporaries, it is
maintained that the Sermon on the
Mount is its own evidence of divine
inspiration.
“ Never man spake like
this man.” The spiritual depth and
sublimity of Christ’s teaching must, it is
argued, be superhuman, from the fact
that to this day it has never been sur
passed or approached, and never will be
in the most remote future. It is agreed
that all the great changes and improve
ments that have been made in public
and private morals, between pagan and
modern times, must be set down to the
vivifying effects of Christianity, which
has raised women, struck the fetters from
the limbs of the slave, moralised war,
conquest, and commerce—in short, done
every good thing that has been done in
the last sixteen or eighteen centuries.
This is that moral evidence for Chris
tianity which is far more convincing
than the evidence derived from works
of power. Not that the latter is to be
slighted or ignored; but one speaks to
the heart, and must abide valid and
persuasive through all time; the other
addresses the head, and perhaps may
not always be equally cogent.
Now, it will not be necessary for the
purpose of this inquiry to dispute the
claims thus advanced. Many of them
indeed are obviously without foundation,
as the raising of the status of women
and the liberation of the slave. But,
for the sake of argument, and to avoid
complicated side issues, let them be
granted; and even then we maintain
that it can be proved that Christianity is
not favourable to morality in the way
and degree commonly supposed. And
by morality is meant right conduct here
on earth ; those outward acts and inward
sentiments which, by the suppression of
the selfish passions, conduce most to
the public and private well-being of the
race.
Paley, with that clear, but at times
somewhat cynical, common sense which
marked his acute intellect, is willing to
admit that “ the teaching of morality
was not the primary design ” of the
gospel. “ If I were to describe,” he
goes on to say, “ in a very few words,
the scope of Christianity as a revelation,
I should say that it was to influence
the conduct of human life, by establish
ing the proof of a future state of reward
and punishment—‘ to bring life and
immortality to light.’ The direct object,
therefore, of the design is to supply
motives, and not rules ; sanctions, and
not precepts. And these were what
mankind stood most in need of. The
members of civilised society can, in all
ordinary cases, judge tolerably well how
they ought to act; but without a future
state, or, which is the same thing,
without credited evidence of that state,
�ON CHRISTIANITY AS A GUIDE TO CONDUCT
■43
they want a motive to their duty; they which conduces, to happiness, either in
want, at least, strength of motive, suffi ourselves or others, here, is evidently a
cient to bear up against the force of trivial matter compared to the conduct
passion and the temptation of present which conduces to happiness hereafter.
advantage. Their rules want authority. An eternal future must, in minds capable
The most important service that can be of even remotely realising such an idea,
rendered to human life, and that, con overwhelm and crush into insignificance
sequently, which one might expect a minute, temporal present. Even a
beforehand would be the great end and long temporal future suffices to do this.
office of a revelation from God, is to The inconveniences, for instance, of a
convey to the world authorised assurances sea-voyage which is going to land us in
of the reality of a future existence. And an abiding home in the Colonies or
although doing this, or by the ministry India are borne with comparative
of the same person by whom this is equanimity or indifference, on the
done, moral precepts or examples, or ground that they will soon be over,
illustrations of moral precepts, may that it does not very much matter, as
be occasionally given, and be highly the real object is not to live happily at
valuable, yet still they do not form the sea, but to prepare for happiness and
original purpose of the mission.”1 In prosperity in the distant land for which
other words, the purpose of the mission we are bound. A colonist does not
was to make men fit for a future state of prepare the outfit of a seaman, does not
reward, and to supply sanctions which look upon the ship which carries him as
would deter them from conduct which his permanent dwelling-place. He no
would make them fit for a future state of doubt secures what comfort he can at
punishment. Salvation in the next sea ; but, if he is a wise man, his medi
world is the object of the scheme, not tations are directed to his future life on
morality in this; and, although the two land beyond the ocean. It would be
objects may occasionally coincide, it is very questionable prudence in him to
only a casual coincidence. Such dif learn seamanship or navigation, to study
ference of ends must lead to a difference charts, and make himself master of the
of means. The road which is intended position of shoals and rocks. He would
to lead to happiness in heaven must say that such matters concerned persons
diverge from the road which is intended who intended to pass their working lives
to lead to happiness limited to this on the sea, whereas he had wholly
earth. And if anybody says that he different objects in view; the soil, the
does not see the necessity of such climate, and the crops proper to the
divergence, that happiness in heaven country he intended to inhabit were the
may well be only a prolongation of things that concerned him. The parallel
happiness on earth, he may be asked only fails in the inadequacy of . the
to reflect on the inevitable dwarfing and analogy between the longest life in a
subordination of this life, a transitory colony and eternal life in heaven. If
space of a few years, to a prospect of life is only a short voyage, destined to
eternal life in heaven. Clearly, if this terminate in paradise or hell, what
life is only a short, probationary trial thoughtful person could care how he
scene, preparatory to entrance upon passed it? If, moreover, he were told
eternity; if, moreover, conduct here is on good authority, or such as he con
supposed to influence or decide our sidered transcendently good, as. being
status there, happiness in this life is not divine, that happiness during this life’s
a thing to be considered by prudent and voyage was more than likely to risk
thoughtful persons; and the conduct eternal happiness -hereafter, his in
difference to happiness here would
probably become enmity to it.
He
1 Evidences of Christianity, Part II., cap 2.
�44
THE SERVICE OF MAN
would lend but a careless ear to those utterances of representative Christian
doctors.
who urged him to study the conditions
It is admitted by all Christians that
and follow the conduct, often painful
and irksome, which conduced most to man is saved only through the merits
earthly happiness. He would say, as and passion of Christ. But difficulties
good Christians have always said: “That arise concerning the true doctrine of jus
is not the one thing needful. What do tification. The Protestants, speaking
I care for happiness in this vale of tears ? generally, hold that a man is justified by
My thoughts are naturally engrossed faith alone. The Catholics hold that co
with the means of securing eternal operation with grace is needed on the
happiness in the world which is to part of man to ensure salvation. It will
come.” And the reply would be dictated not be necessary to enter the labyrinth
by prudence and common sense. How of subtle disputations which have sur
it happens that, as a matter of fact, so rounded this question from the days of
few persons, who yet believe, or say they the Reformation. To the impartial
do, in the future state of reward and spectator itwouldappear that the Catholic
punishment referred to by Paley, by the view is the more rational, and the Pro
admission of all preachers, take this testant the more scriptural. But this
serious view of their position and duties, domestic quarrel among theologians does
is a matter of interesting inquiry, but not concern us at this moment, inasmuch
one which does not concern us at this as all Christian doctors agree that true
moment.
repentance and turning to God, however
If these arguments are sound, and I these may be brought about, are rewarded
scarcely apprehend that they will be by salvation. Past sins, nay, a whole
disputed, it follows that on a priori life of sin, if repented of before death,
grounds we should be justified in con are a far less obstacle to entrance into
cluding that morality would be waived paradise than the most exemplary and
as an end, in comparison with salvation, virtuous life, if unaccompanied by true
among the most devout Christians. faith in Christ. And this, surely, is to
And this is what we find does happen.
discountenance morality in the most
It happens also in all Churches and sects, direct way, making it the “ filthy rags ”
showing that it is not an accidental but of which the Calvinists have so much to
an essential characteristic of the Christian say. That this is the genuine doctrine
scheme. But this is a very inadequate of all Christians I proceed to show by a
statement of the case as it really stands. few quotations. The Established Church
It is not going too far to say that the may well come first with the eighteenth
doctrine of all Christians in the final article of her creed. “ They also are to
result is antinomian and positively im be had accursed that presume to say,
moral. They do not only not support and That every man shall be saved by the
strengthen morality as they claim to do ; Law or Sect which he professeth, so that
they deliberately reject and scorn it.
he be diligent to frame his life according
They place on a level the most virtuous to that Law, and the light of Nature.
and the most flagitious conduct, carried For holy Scripture doth set out unto us
on throughout a long lifetime; and this only the Name of Jesus Christ, whereby
certainly must be held to be putting as men must be saved.”
great an affront on morality as it is pos
True faith and repentance at the last
sible to inflict.
moment, even in articulo mortis, are suf
As these assertions may be regarded as ficient to blot out a life of sin. “ There
savouring of paradox, I proceed not to never was a doubt in the Church,” says
give more or less plausible reasons for
Dr. Pusey, “ that all who die in a state of
accepting them as true, but to prove grace, although one minute before they
them, and that by the most authoritative
were not in a state of grace, are saved.
�ON CHRISTIANITY AS A GUIDE TO CONDUCT
....... We know not what God may do in
one agony of loving penitence for one
who accepts His last grace in that almost
sacrament of death.”1 Thus penitence
is everything and morality nothing.
Years of sin which may, which are sure
to have caused widespread moral evils,
to have been a source of corruption and
leading astray to the weak and ignorant,
are all obliterated by one moment of
loving penitence ; that is, they are oblite
rated as regards their effects on the
sinner’s status in the next world. He is
washed in the blood of the Lamb, and
goes to glory. But the partners and
companions of his sins, whom he pro
bably seduced, the women he ruined, the
youths his example depraved, they sur
vive and will be punished, unless, indeed,
they follow his example to the letter, and
close a life of wickedness by an act of
timely repentance ; and in that case, like
him, they will be as well off as if they
had led the most virtuous of lives. Can
any one presume to say that such doc
trine encourages morality ? What could
discourage it more ?
The article just quoted, and the words
of Dr. Pusey, may be allowed to stand
warrant for the English Church in this
particular. Now let us turn to the
Catholic Church. And we will take as
her representative an illustrious Saint
and Doctor, whose works have received
the approbation of his superiors, St.
Alphonso de’ Liguori. In the first
chapter of a book called The Glories of
Mary, it is written: “We read in the
life of Sister Catherine, of St. Augustine,
that in the place where she resided there
was a woman of the name of Mary, who
in her youth was a sinner, and in her old
age continued so obstinate in wickedness
that she was driven out of the city, and
reduced to live in a secluded cave ; there
she died, half consumed by disease, and
without the sacraments, and was conse
quently interred in a field like a beast.
Sister Catherine, who always recom
1 What is of Faith as to Everlasting Punish
ment, p. 115.
45
mended the souls of those who departed
from this world, with great fervour, to
God, on hearing the unfortunate end of
this poor old woman, never thought of
praying for her, and she looked upon
her, as did every one else, as irrevocably
lost. One day, four years afterwards, a
suffering soul appeared to her, and
exclaimed, ‘ How unfortunate is my lot,
Sister Catherine ! Thou recommendest
the souls of all those that die to God ;
on my soul alone thou hast not com
passion?’ ‘And who art thou?’ asked
the servant of God. ‘ I am,’ she replied,
‘ that poor Mary who died in the cave.’
‘And art thou saved?’ said Catherine.
‘Yes,’ she answered, ‘by the mercy of
the Blessed Virgin Mary.’ ‘And how?’
‘ When I saw myself at the point of
death, loaded with sins, and abandoned
by all, I had recourse to the Mother of
God, saying, “Lady, thou art the refuge
of abandoned creatures : behold me at
this moment, abandoned by all; thou
art my only hope; thou alone canst help
me; have pity on me.” The Blessed
Virgin obtained me the grace to make
an act of contrition. I died, and am
saved ; and, besides this, she, my Queen,
obtained that my purgatory should be
shortened, by enduring, in intensity, that
which otherwise would have lasted for
many years. I now only want a few masses
to be entirely delivered; I beg thee to
get them said, and on my part I promise
always to pray for thee to God and
to Mary.’ Sister Catherine immediately
had the masses said; and after a few days
that soul again appeared to her, shining
like the sun, and said, ‘ I thank thee,
Catherine : behold, I go to Paradise, to
sing the mercies of my God, and to pray
for thee.’ ”z
Nothing can be more plain. A life
from youth to old age continued in
“obstinate wickedness” is cancelled by
an act of contrition, and, after a short
1 The Glories of Mary, translated from the
Italian of St. Alphonso de’ Liguori, founder of
the Congregation of the Most Holy Redeemer.
By a Father of the same congregation. Page 19.
(London, 1852.) .
�46
THE SERVICE OF MAN
purgatorial purification, the sinner appears
“ shining like the sun.” Could a life of
blameless self-denial and virtue have led
to a better result ? The book I quote is
full of such stories. Here is another :—
“ Belluacensis relates that in an
English city, about the year 1430, there
was a young nobleman, called Ernest,
who, having distributed the whole of his
patrimony to the poor, became a monk,
and in the monastery to which he retired
led so perfect a life'khat he was highly
esteemed by his superiors, and this
esteem was greatly increased by their
knowledge of his tender devotion to the
most Blessed Virgin. It happened that
the city was attacked by the plague, and
the inhabitants had recourse to the
monastery, in order that the religious
might help them by their prayers. The
abbot commanded Ernest to go and pray
before the altar of Mary, forbidding him
to leave it until he should have received
an answer from our Blessed Lady. The
young man, after remaining three days
in prayer, received an answer from Mary
to the effect that certain prayers were to
be said: this was done, and the plague
ceased. After a time Ernest cooled in
his devotion towards Mary: the devil
attacked him with many temptations,
and particularly with those against purity,
and also to leave his monastery. From
not having recommended himself to
Mary, he unfortunately yielded to the
temptation, and resolved to escape by
climbing over a wall. Passing before
an image of Mary which was in the
corridor, the Mother of God addressed
him, saying, ‘ My son, why dost thou
leave me?’ Ernest, thunderstruck and
repentant, sunk to the ground, and
replied, ‘But, Lady, dost thou not see
that I can no longer resist; why dost
thou not assist me?’ ‘And why hast
thou not invoked me?’ said our Blessed
Lady.
‘ If thou hadst recommended
thyself to me, thou wouldst not have
fallen so low; but from henceforth do so
and fear nothing.’ Ernest returned to his
cell, his temptations recommenced, again
he neglected to recommend himself to
Mary, and at last fled from his monastery.
He then gave himself up to a most
wicked life, fell from one sin into another,
and at length became an assassin; for,
having hired an inn, during the night he
used to murder the poor travellers who
slept there. Among others, he one night
killed the cousin of the governor of the
place. For this crime he was tried and
sentenced to death. It so happened
that before he was made a prisoner, and
while evidence was being collected, a
young nobleman arrived at the inn.
The wicked Ernest, as usual, determined
to murder him, and entered the room at
night for this purpose; but lo! instead
of finding the young man, he beheld a
crucifix on the bed, all covered with
wounds. The image cast a look of
compassion on him, and exclaimed,
‘ Ungrateful wretch! is it not enough
that I have died once for thee? Wilt
thou again take my life ? Be it so.
Raise thy hand, strike!’ Filled with
confusion, poor Ernest began to weep,
and, sobbing, said, ‘ Behold me, Lord;
since thou showest me such mercy, I
will return to thee.’ Immediately he left
the inn, to return to his monastery, there
to do penance for his crimes; but on
the road he was taken by the ministers
of justice, was led before the judge, and
acknowledged all the murders he had
committed. He was sentenced to be
hung, without having the time given him
to go to confession. He recommended
himself to Mary, and was thrown from
the ladder; but the Blessed Virgin pre
served his life, and she herself loosened
the rope, and then addressed him, saying,
‘ Go, return to thy monastery, do penance,
and when thou seest a paper in my hands,
announcing the pardon of thy sins, pre
pare for death.’ Ernest returned, related
all to his abbot, and did great penance.
After many years, he saw the paper in
the hands of Mary, which announced
his pardon; he immediately prepared
for death, and in a most holy manner
breathed forth his soul.”1
1 The Glories of Mary, p. 48.
�ON CHRISTIANITY AS A GUIDE TO CONDUCT
It is quite clear that an ardent zeal
to save souls is compatible with great
indifference as to bodies. One would
like to know what became of the poor
travellers whom the ruffian Ernest
murdered in their sleep. Was time
granted them to make an act of con
trition ? But it is absurd to take such a
narrative au serieux. What is serious is
the unmistakeable character of the teach
ing implied. And can anything be
imagined more cynically immoral ? Here
is a man represented as falling into the
most abominable anti-social crime which
it is possible to commit. The wretch
deserved a hundred deaths for his
dastardly midnight murders; conduct
more injurious than his to society simply
cannot be conceived. Yet he is not
only saved from the gallows by the
Mother of God herself, but his life is
prolonged in order that he may have
time to repent and to get his precious
soul taken to heaven — a place which,
by the way, if it contain many such
characters as he, would offer very un
pleasant company to moral men.
And let no one reject with impatience
the above specimens of Christian teach
ing on the ground that they are not
Christian at all, but abject popish
superstitions and inventions. Our next
witness to prove that in this matter all
Christians agree in vilipending a moral
life and conduct, and placing it below a
life of crime, provided the latter be
terminated by an act of repentance and
turning to God in time to cheat the
devil, shall be the Rev. C. H. Spurgeon,
who will not be suspected of any leaning
to Romish error. This is what he says :
“Regeneration is an instantaneous
work, and justification an instantaneous
gift. Man fell in a moment....... Shall
the devil destroy us in a moment, and
Jesus be unable to save us in a moment?”1
Again: “ My dear hearer, whoever thou
mayest be, whatever thy past life may
have been, if thou wilt trust Christ, thou
47
shalt be saved from all thy sin in a
moment; the whole of thy past life shall
be blotted out; there shall not remain
in God’s book so much as a single charge
against thy soul, for Christ, who died for
thee, shall take thy guilt away, and leave
thee without a blot before the face of
God.” Again : “ Ah ! my friend, let me
assure you....... that there is hope for the
vilest through the precious blood of
Jesus. No man can have gone too far
for the long arm of Christ to reach him.
Christ delights to save the biggest
sinners....... O ye despairing sinners,
there is no room for despair this side
the gates of hell.
If you have gone
through the foulest kennels of iniquity,
no stain can stand out against the power
of the cleansing blood....... You great
sinners shall have r.o back seats in
heaven! There shall be no outer
court for you. You great sinners
shall have as much love as the best, as
much joy as the brightest of saints.
You shall be near to Christ; you shall
sit with him upon his throne; you shall
wear the crown; your fingers shall touch
the golden harps; you shall rejoice with
the joy which is unspeakable and full of
glory....... Thirty years of sin shall be
forgiven, and it shall not take thirty
minutes to do it in. Fifty, sixty, seventy
years of iniquity shall all disappear as
the morning’s hoar - frost disappears
before the sun.”1
Two things are to be remarked in
connection with these quotations : First,
that we have here a singular agreement
on one particular point, among divines
who usually are in complete antagonism.
Dr. Pusey, St. Alfonso de’ Liguori, and
Mr. Spurgeon may be regarded as repre
sentatives of opinions as widely divergent
as could well be found among men
calling themselves Christians. Yet they
agree in the opinion that no amount or
duration of sin can be accounted as a
bar to salvation, provided a suitable act
of repentance or contrition has been
1 “ A Sermon to Open Negiectersand Nominal
1Jesus at Bethesda: a sermon delivered by
I Followers of Religion;” March 24th, 1867.
C. H. Spurgeon, April 7th, 1867.
�48
THE SERVICE OF MAN
performed on “ this side of the gates of
hell.” They differ at once if you ask
for details as to how the act of contrition
or repentance is to be carried out. Mr.
Spurgeon bids the sinner turn to Jesus.
St. Alfonso tells him to have recourse to
the Mother of God ; the mere words of
which precept the great Baptist minister
would probably regard as savouring of
blasphemy. But the result is the same. A
long life devoted to sin can be blotted
out in a moment by a change in the
sinner’s mind. Secondly, this result has
exclusive reference to the next world. By
the hypothesis in each case, the life in
this world is supposed to be as good as
over ; and it has been a life of iniquity,
says Mr. Spurgeon; of obstinacy in
wickedness, says St. Alfonso. But para
dise is attained, nevertheless. Now, can
this doctrine be regarded as one leading
to morality in this world? Must it not,
rather, have a directly opposite effect ?
As many as believe it—and how many
millionshave ?—are invited,nay entreated,
to believe also that it makes absolutely
no difference as to their future welfare
whether they lead virtuous lives here
below or the most profligate, provided
they repent a moment before death.
Preachers may insist as they will on the
dangers of deferring repentance to the
last, on the awful results which will follow
if the sinner is suddenly cut off, without
having had time to make his peace with
God. One part of their teaching destroys
the effect of the other part. They admit,
they proclaim that repentance, however
late, will take the sinner to heaven.
Human nature being as it is, we cannot
wonder that the result in this world is
varied, and on the whole very unsatisfac
tory. The minute minority of naturally
pious and tender minds embrace the
cross with passion and ardent love, not
unmixed with holy fear; they realise
fully that they stand in jeopardy every
hour; they work out their salvation in
fear and trembling, and not unfrequently
are exposed to a strain too severe for
their faculties, and they become, like
Pascal, morbidly anxious about their
future state, or, like Cowper, they pass
the limits of sanity, and fall for a longer
or shorter time into utter despair. But
these are the small minority of times
d'elite. The bulk of mankind are com
monplace all round, in their virtues and
vices equally ; and they languidly believe
and languidly practise their belief; but
so imperfectly and perfunctorily that it
is the universal complaint and lamenta
tion of preachers of all denominations
that the world lieth in wickedness and is
dead in its sins. Nothing could be more
frank and candid than Mr. Spurgeon’s
language to his congregation on this
head : “ You sin, and yet you come to a
place of worship, and tremble under the
word ; you transgress, and you weep and
transgress again....... You are as religious
as the seats you sit upon, but no more;
and you are as likely to get to heaven as
those seats are, but not one whit more,
for you are dead in sin, and death cannot
enter heaven.”1 Bourdaloue, the greatest
preacher in the classic age of French
pulpit eloquence, said : “ Nous sommes
Chretiens, et nous vivons en pai'ens ;
nous avons une foi de speculation, et
dans la pratique toute notre conduite
n’est qu’infidelite. Nous croyons d’une
fagon, et nous agissons de l’autre.......
Avoir la foi, et vivre en infideles, voila
ce qui fait le prodige....... Ah! Chretiens,
faisons cesser ce prodige, accordons nous
avec nous-memes ; accordons nos mceurs
avec notre foi; autrement que n’avonsnous pas a craindre de cette foi profanee,
de cette foi scandalisee, de cette foi
deshonoree ?”2
Again, he says: “ N’entend on pas
dire sans cesse que tout est renverse dans
le .monde, que le dereglement y est
general; qu’il n’y a ni age, ni sexe, ni
etat, qui en soit exempt; qu’on ne trouve
presque nulle part ni religion, ni crainte
de Dieu, ni probite, ni droiture, ni bonne
foi, ni justice, ni charite, ni honnetete,
ni pudeur; que ce n’est partout, ou
presque partout, que libertinage, que
1 “ A Sermon to Open Neglecters,’’etc.
2 “ Sermon sur la Religion Chretienne.”
�ON CHRISTIANITY AS A GUIDE TO CONDUCT
49
dissolution, que mensonges, que tromperies, qu’envie de s’aggran dir et de
dominer, qu’avarice, qu’usure, que concus
sions, que medisances, qu’un monstrueux
assemblage de toutes les iniquites.”1
“ The title of Christian,” says Wilber
force, “ implies no more than a sort of
formal general assent to Christianity in
the gross, and a degree of morality in
practice, little, if at all, superior to that
for which we look in a good Deist,
Mussulman, or Hindoo.”2
It seems difficult to reconcile these
candid admissions by eminent authori
ties with the current claim made for
Christianity as a supremely moralising
influence. But we can hardly be wrong
in tracing the general failure of preachers
to arouse their flocks to the fact, already
dwelt on, that they undo with one hand
what they do with the other; that,
anxious above all things to save souls in
the next world, and making that infinitely
the most important object, they one and
all present the doctrine of Justification,
though varying much from one another
in minor points, in a form which neces
sarily depreciates the value of morality
in this world. With one voice they tell
men that all they do is evil and wicked,
and that there is no health in them.
They dwell with exaggerated language on
the sinfulness of sin and the extent and
vileness of human corruption. But,
except in a few special cases of unusually
sensitive natures, they do not awaken the
prick of conscience; men feeling in a
dumb, inarticulate way, that their tone is
unreal and conventional, or even merely
professional. Even when they do alarm
the conscience they as promptly send it
to sleep again by their doctrine that a
moment’s repentance can put everything
straight, and that one plunge in the blood
of the Lamb will remove all the guilty
stains from a sinner’s soul. Mr. Spurgeon,
in the sermon from which I have already
quoted some passages, avows th's very
openly. “ It is the easiest thing,” he
says, “ in the world to impress some of
you by a sermon, but I fear me you never
will go beyond transient impressions.
Like the water when lashed, the wound
soon heals. You know, and you know,
and you know, and you feel, and feel, and
feel again, and yet your sins, your selfrighteousness, your carelessness and
wilful wickedness, cause you, after having
said, ‘ I go, sir,’ to forget the promise
and lie unto God.” But the eloquent
preacher had apparently forgotten what
he had himself said on the previous page,
or at least he had not sufficiently weighed
the natural effect of his words. “ Thirty
years of sin shall be forgiven, and it shall
not take thirty minutes to do it in.” It
is no wonder if men and women, with
hearts and minds made dull and heavy
with toil and trouble, should remember
more easily and pleasantly the consola
tion conveyed in the last remark than the
objurgation of the previous one; and
should dwell more on the efficacy of
repentance when once set about than on
its immediate need and urgency. Con
sequently, we find that it is the most
scrupulous and tender consciences which
have most difficulty in embracing the
great Protestant dogma of justification by
faith alone. “The essence of Luther’s
gospel is this : that a person so affected,
that is, with scruples of conscience, has
only one great struggle to go through in
order that he may attain the indefectible
promise of eternal salvation, and that
the struggle is not against those sins,
but against his own conscience, which
would fain impede his full assurance
of immediate pardon.”1 The records of
execution show, on the other hand, that
malefactors of the deepest dye have
often little or no difficulty in turning to
Jesus when circumstances compel it.
This is acknowledged by the Christian
Observer2: “Thousands of deeply peni
tent and humble-minded persons have
lived many years, and perhaps died, in
a state of deep depression, because they
1 Opuscules: Petit Nombrc des Plus.
2 Practical View, cap. iv.
1 Ward, Ideal of a Christian Church, second
edition, p. I712 January, 1884, p. 16.
E
�5°
TIIE SERVICE OF MAN
could not attain to that confident assur of the Jewish nation which made them
ance that their sins were, pardoned at last insupportable to the Roman
which they were told was essential to world. Yet, was he punished or made
salvation; while murderers have gone to do penance, to make amends to the
to the gibbet, exulting in strains of society he had injured ? The human
rapture, as though they were being law did indeed give him his deserts by
carried to the stake as faithful martyrs hanging him as a thief and probably
a murderer, and so far morality was
of Jesus Christ.”
But the most momentous authority avenged. A powerful deterrent was
for holding a life of wickedness on earth applied, not unlikely to prevent others
immaterial, and no impediment to the from doing otherwise. But Christ undid
promptest ascent into heaven, provided all the effect of that salutary severity in
an act of contrition has been performed a moment when he promised him imme
in time, has yet to be cited. It is that diate salvation, and for what ? For
of Christ himself as he hung upon the deferential speech to himself, which the
cross. “And one of the malefactors hypothesis that Christ saw to the bottom
which were hanged railed on him, saying, of his heart will not allow us to regard
If thou be Christ, save thyself and us. as a piece of artful time-serving, suggested
But the other answering rebuked him, as politic in his desperate circumstances;
saying, Dost not thou fear God, seeing but which, without that hypothesis, would
thou art in the same condemnation ? undoubtedly be open to such a suspicion.
And we indeed justly; for we receive Thus preachers have the very highest
the due reward of our deeds: but this authority for asserting that turning to
man hath done nothing amiss. And he God, even at the last moment, wijj save
said unto Jesus, Lord, remember me a soul in the next world, the admitted
when thou comest into thy kingdom. object of Christianity; and agnostics
And Jesus said unto him, Verily I say have equally a right to declare that
unto thee, To-day shalt thou be with me ; Christianity thereby shows itself hostile
to morality in this world. The penitent
in paradise.”1
This is almost exactly parallel with thief’s life, we may assume, was a per
the case cited by St. Alphonso of the nicious one as far as this world was
woman “ who was a sinner.” Though concerned. What good could his repen
it is not mentioned in the gospel, we tance do to any denizen of this earth ?
may suppose and grant that the penitent If it be said that it might lead others to
thief made a due act of contrition; that repent after a life of crime, the answer is
Christ was able to see to the bottom of that in proportion as they resembled him
his heart, and that he truly repented they also would be qualifying for heaven,
him of his sins. Does that in the least and not for well-doing in this world.
remove the slight which Christ passed Man may injure his fellows in their most
upon morality by taking him to paradise vital interests ; he may rob, murder, “ go
in spite of his past evil life ? What did through the foulest kennels of iniquity ”;
his repentance do to cancel that ? The there shall not remain in God’s book a
evil that he had done in the world was single charge against his soul, provided
still left working behind him : his bad he looks to the bleeding Lamb. On the
example; the insecurity to person and other hand, the best of good works are
property involved in his robber’s career; of no account, are worse than “filthy
the pain and suffering he had caused in rags,” and no doubt have the nature of
any case; all his immorality, in short, sin “ unless they be consummated in
was left to work on, and contributed, no real vital communion with Christ.” It
doubt, its share to that frightful depravity would not be easy to conceive a doctrine
more injurious to morality than this
Christian scheme, on which the morality
1 Luke xxiii. 39-43.
�ON CHRISTIANITY AS A GUIDE TO CONDUCT
5i
of the world, as on the surest foundation, men may become the worst, and vice
versa, as they may be touched by grace
is supposed to rest.
Indeed, this inherent opposition or not, it is obvious that morality is a
between morality and the gospel has figment of the fancy, having no sub
been held by large sections of Christians stantial existence or foundation in the
as an article of faith. “ Luther,” says nature of things. The difference is not
Moehler, “not only taught that Christ between good and bad men, whose
had not come to impart to men a purer goodness and badness depend on their
ethical code, but even maintained that moral endowment fins the training they
he had come to abolish the moral law, to receive, but between the recipients of
liberate true believers from its curse both grace and the non-recipients ; and thesefor the past and for the future, and in are interchangeable according to the
that way to make them free. The good pleasure of God. We can never
evangelical liberty which Luther pro tell, therefore, whether the greatest
pounded announces that even the sinner now may not become the greatest
decalogue shall not be brought into saint before his end; nor whether the
account against the believer, nor its best of men may not suddenly become
violation be allowed to disturb the prodigies of wickedness. This unknown
conscience of the Christian, for he is factor of Grace vitiates all calculation.
exalted above it and its contents.” No doctrine more inconsistent with the
Moehler goes on to say that the re facts of human nature can well be con
formers refer to Christ not as the ceived, and therefore no more misleading
strengthener and sanctifier, but exclu guide of conduct could be adopted.
sively as the forgiver of sins; “they Imagine such a theory applied to agri
regarded the mediator only in his culture, and that there was no reason,
capacity of pardoner.”
The great apart from the grace of God, why the
Catholic divine is at pains to show the most fertile soil should not become
superior moral tone of his communion the most barren, or the reverse. If
in this respect. But the extracts just such were the case, what inducement
cited from St. Alphonso de’ Liguori i would a farmer have to choose good
prove that the Catholic Church has no land and cultivate it with care ? The
advantage over the Protestant on this worst land might serve him as well as.
point. The Virgin takes the place of the best, and bring him overflowing,
Christ as a free pardoner of the grossest crops; and that with no effort on his
sins, in consideration of an act of con part, for “ God giveth the increase.” He
has only to wait or pray for fertilising
trition and genuine repentance.
To the above considerations it may grace. Or apply it to the raising of
be added that the doctrine of grace is horses or cattle. The grazier or breeder
presented in a way to become a standing cannot trust to the qualities of his stock.
rebuke and depredator of morality. His thoroughbreds may suddenly become
“Humility,” says Canon Liddon, “is valueless animals, which no one would
the condition and guarantee of grace; take at a gift; while his neighbour, who
and, as St. Augustine says, there is no had nothing but screws and low-breeds,
reason, apart from the grace of God, has all at once a magnificent collection of
why the highest saints should not be the superb cattle. Men differ at least as
worst of criminals.”1 In that statement much as animals in their inherited quali
I suppose all theologians would concur. ties; and to say that a man naturally
But it is easy to see how fatal such a courageous, high-minded, benevolent,
doctrine is to a systematic culture of and just can become vile and cruel,
morality. If, at any moment, the best cowardly or criminal, is not a whit less
irrational than to say that a thorough
bred Arab can become a cart-horse. The
1 Oxford Sermons ; VI.
�52
THE SERVICE OF HAN
faulty theory leads, as a matter of course,
to disastrous practice. It is no exaggera
tion to say that the vigilant, painstaking
cultivation of the moral side of man’s
nature has never been taken in hand with
earnest persistence, because theology has
always been celebrating the power of
grace, to the depreciation of ethics. A
miracle of grace, which removes the
heart of stone and replaces it by a heart
of flesh, might always be expected, or at
least hoped for. Punctual performance
of the moral law, social duty to the com
munity and individuals, could well be
postponed without harm, in view of the
celestial transfiguration which converts a
sinner from a bond-slave of Satan into a
saint of God. If this conversion takes
place in the last hour or minute of life,
we have seen that, by the unanimous con
sent of theologians of all schools, it is
enough; the object has been attained; a
soul has been saved ; the sinner’s past
wickedness has been blotted out, as
regards its effects upon him. But its effects
on society are not considered, and the
result must be, and is, solely injurious to
morality as far as it relates to conduct in
this world. That depends on the per
formance of social duty; salvation depends
on repentance and the subjective attitude
of the soul towards God. And this re
pentance is powerful to cancel any number
of previous breaches of the moral law.
In other words, morality is not the one
thing needful, but repentance is.
Chapter VI.
MORALITY IN THE AGES OF FAITH
In the previous chapter we saw on the
best evidence, that of eminent doctors in
various denominations, that true Christian
doctrine postponed morality to repen
tance; and that salvation in the next
world depended on other things than
good conduct in this. The obvious
inference was, that under such a scheme
morality must necessarily be more or
less slighted and undervalued, and that
the alleged support afforded to ethics by
the Christian religion must be either
denied or considerably diminished. It
will be perhaps useful to confirm this
abstract deduction by examples taken
from the past of the actual working of
Christian doctrine. If only a tithe of
the compliments which it is usual to pay
that doctrine be true, it is clear that the
more we retrograde into the ages where
it held undisputed sway over men’s
minds, the more moral we ought to find
the public and private life of the world.
Wickedness and crime are assumed to be
the natural result of neglected religion.
No other cause is usually thought of in
explaining the atrocities of the French
Revolution. Here we see, it is remarked,
the proper effect of atheism and for
saking of the divine light of the gospel.
Again, the corruption and immorality of
the lower Roman Empire show what
becomes of man when left to himself.
The line of argument is too familiar to
need further repetition of it. Now, we
may profitably consult history as to the
truth of these assumptions. Do we find,
as a matter of fact, that the Ages of
Faith were distinguished by a high
morality? Were they superior in this
respect to the present age, which is nearly
on all hands acknowledged not to be an
age of Faith ? The answer must be in
the negative. Taking them broadly,
the Ages of Faith were emphatically
ages of crime, of gross and scandalous
�MORALITY IN THE AGES OF FAITH
wickedness, of cruelty, and, in a word, of
immorality. And it is noteworthy that
in proportion as we recede backward
from the present age, and return into the
Ages of Faith, we find that the crime and
the sin become denser and blacker. The
temperature of faith rises steadily as we
penetrate into the past, almost with the
regularity which marks the rise of the
physical temperature of the air as we
descend into a deep mine ; but a neglect
and defiance of morality are found to
ascend in a corresponding ratio. This,
it must be owned, is an anomalous result,
if morality be indeed so dependent on
Christianity as is commonly supposed.
When all men believed and doubted not,
we should have found, according to the
Christian hypothesis, a godly world;
devout people living always with the great
Day of Judgment before their eyes,
crushing down the lusts of the flesh, in
view of the tremendous penalties pre
pared for those who indulged them. But
we find nothing of the kind. On the
contrary, we find a state of things to
which our imaginations are scarcely able
to do justice in these comparatively tame
and moral days. A progressive improve
ment has taken place in men’s conduct,
both public and private; but it has
coincided not with an increase, but with
a decay, of faith. This, beyond any
question, is the most moral age which the
world has seen ; and it is as certainly the
least believing age since Christianity
became the religion of the West. The
inference is plain, that Christianity has
not been so favourable to morality as is
usually assumed.
Let us turn back, and take a brief ex
cursion through the ages behind us.
The present century need not detain
us long. Most persons would admit that
the state of morals when George the
Fourth was king left much to be desired.
The scandals of the Court were bad
enough ; but no Court, however bad, can
compromise a nation. The mass of the
population was coarse, insolent, and cruel,
and permitted things which would not be
tolerated for a moment now. That there
53
were exceptions, not only of individuals,
but of whole though small classes, no one
would deny. The Clapham Sect was a
conspicuous example in a corrupt world ;
and many of the dissenters were truly
pious, God-fearing people, who had turned
away from the prevailing grossness. But
these were only fractions of the nation.
The general tone was low, violent, and
brutal. The drinking, gambling, prize
fighting, cock-fighting, bull-baiting Eng
land of the Regency is hardly to be
realised in these decorous days ; though
old men “ still creep among us,” who can
partly resuscitate it for us, if carefully
questioned. Let one of those venerable
seniors be induced to describe the con
dition of London in his youth, and no
hearer will have any doubt as to the'
extraordinary change for the better which
has taken place in the last two genera
tions.
From this century we pass into history;
and as the object is to ascertain the
moral tone of previous ages, let us quote
the following passages from a writer, who
was selected by common acclamation as
“ the great moralist,” and was one of the
most brave, noble, and conscientious
men who have ever lived, Samuel John
son :—“ He talked of the heinousness of the
crime of adultery, by which the peace of
families was destroyed. He said : ‘ Con
fusion of progeny constitutes the essence
of the crime; and, therefore, a woman
who breaks her marriage vows is much
more criminal than a man who does it.
A man, to be sure, is criminal in the sight
of God; but he does not do his wife a
very material injury, if he does not insult
her; if, for instance, from mere wanton
ness of appetite, he steals privately to
her chambermaid. Sir, a wife ought not
greatly to resent this. I would not receive
home a daughter who had run away from
her husband on that account.’ ”r This
was Johnson’s settled opinion, as, eleven
years after, we find Boswell recording
another conversation, in which the same
1 Croker's Boswell, chap. xxi.
�54
THE SERVICE OF MAN
thought recurs : “ I mentioned to him a cannibals in India, who subsist by
dispute between a friend of mine and plundering and devouring all the nations
his lady, concerning conjugal infidelity, about them. The president is styled
which my friend had maintained was by Emperor of the Mohocks, and his arms
no means so bad in the husband as in are a Turkish crescent. Agreeable to
the wife. Johnson : Your friend was their name, the avowed design of their
in the right, Sir. Between a man and i institution is mischief, and upon this
his Maker it is a different question ; but i foundation all their rules and orders are
between a man and his wife, a husband’s I founded. An outrageous ambition of
infidelity is nothing. They are connected doing all possible hurt to their fellow
by children, by fortune, by serious con creatures is the great cement of their
siderations of community. Wise married assembly, and the only qualification
women don’t trouble themselves about required in the members. In order to
infidelity in their husbands.”1
exert this principle in its full strength
Now, this is a very good instance of and perfection, they take care to drink
the improvement which has taken place themselves to a pitch that is beyond the
in the course of the last hundred years.
possibility of attending to any motive of
That very offence for which Johnson said reason and humanity, then make a
he would not receive his daughter home, general sally, and attack all that are so
if it were committed by a husband, is unfortunate as to walk the streets
now so universally admitted to be an through which they patrol. Some are
injury of the most serious kind that the knocked down, others stabbed, others
statutory law of the land does precisely cut and carbonadoed........ The particular
what Johnson said he would not do—give talents by which these misanthropes are
protection to the injured wife.
distinguished from one another consist
As we go further back in the century,
in various kinds of barbarities which
we make a visible approach to the state they execute upon their prisoners.
of nature. Cowardly murders and brutal Some are celebrated for a happy
outrages are perpetrated almost with dexterity in tipping the lion upon them,
impunity and very little loss of credit which is performed by squeezing the
by people of the highest rank. The nose flat on the face, and boring out the
exploits of the Mohocks must have eyes with their fingers. Others are
rendered the streets of London, in the called the dancing-masters, and teach
reign of Queen Anne, considerably more their scholars to cut capers by running
■dangerous and disgusting than any swords through their legs........ A third
Californian diggings frequented by the are the tumblers, wrhose office is to set
rabble and outlaws of Europe and women on their heads, and commit
America in the early days of the gold certain indecencies, or rather barbarities,
discoveries.
A contemporary says : on the limbs which they expose.”1 Slitting
“There are a certain set of persons,
noses, cutting people down the back, and
among whom there are some of too putting women in tubs which were rolled
great a character to be named in these down Snow Hill, were among their diver
barbarous and ridiculous encounters, did sions.
they not expose themselves by such
The manners and customs of persons
mean and ridiculous exploits ”; and their of quality were those of semi-savages.
portrait is thus drawn by the Spectator: Thackeray, who knew the period well,
“A set of men who have erected them does not go too far when he says : “You
selves into a nocturnal fraternity, under could no more suffer in a British drawing
the title of The Mohock Club, a name room, under the reign of Queen Victoria,
borrowed, it seems, from a sort of a fine gentleman or a fine lady of Queen
1 Ibid., chap. Ixix.
1 Spectator, No. 324..
�MORALITY IN THE AGES OF FAITH
Anne’s time, or hear what they heard
and said, than you would receive an
ancient Briton.” This is the manner
in which “gentlemen” quarrelled in the
good old times : Sir Cholmley Dering,
knight of the shire for Kent, and Mr.
Thornhill fought a duel, in which the
former was killed. This caused a judicial
inquiry, and “ the first Evidences were
such as related to the quarrel begun at
the Toy at Hampton Court, April 27th,
1711, who deposed that an assembly of
about eighteen gentlemen met there at
that time, a difference happened between
the deceased and the prisoner. Upon
their struggling and contending with
each other, the wainscot of the room
broke in, and Mr. Thornhill, falling
down, had some teeth struck out by Sir
Cholmley Dering’s stamping upon him.”1
Naturally a duel followed.
“ They
fought,” says Swift, “at sword and pistol
this morning in Tuttlefields, their pistols
so near that the muzzles touched.
Thornhill discharged first, and Dering,
having received the shot, discharged his
pistol as he was falling, so it went into
the air.” Thornhill was convicted for
manslaughter, but he was apparently
soon abroad again, as he was murdered
by two men, who stabbed him on horse
back, five months afterwards, at Turnham
Green.
The well-known case of the murder
of Will Mountford, the actor, by Lord
Mohun and Captain Hill, in a ruffianly
ambuscade, would seem well suited to
show the profligate temper and degraded
public opinion in the reign of William
the Third. The incident is thus related
by Thackeray:—
“ My lord’s friend, a Captain Hill,
smitten with the charms of the beautiful
Mrs. Bracegirdle, and anxious to marry
her at all hazards, determined to carry
her off, and for this purpose hired a
hackney coach with six horses and halfa-dozen soldiers to aid him in the storm.
The coach, with a pair of horses (the
1 Ashton, Social Life in the Reign of Queen
Anne, chap, xxxviii.
55
four leaders being in waiting elsewhere),
took its station opposite my Lord
Craven’s house in Drury Lane, by which
door Mrs. Bracegirdle was to pass on
her way from the theatre. As she passed,
in company of her mamma and a friend,
Mr. Page, the captain seized her by the
hand, the soldiers hustled Mr. Page and
attacked him sword in hand, and Captain
Hill and his noble friend endeavoured
to force Madam Bracegirdle into the
coach. Mr. Page called for help; the
population of Drury Lane rose; it was
impossible to effect the capture, and,
bidding the soldiers go about their
business, and the coach to drive off, Hill
let go his prey sulkily, and he waited for
other opportunities of revenge. The
man of whom he was most jealous was
Will Mountford, the comedian. Will
removed, he thought Mrs. Bracegirdle
might be his; and accordingly the
captain and his lordship lay that night
in wait for Will, and, as he was coming
out of a house in Norfolk Street, while
Mohun engaged him in talk, Hill, in the
words of the Attorney-General,- made a
pass and run him clean through the
body.”1
Mohun was tried for the murder by
his peers of the Upper House, and
acquitted by sixty-nine votes against
fourteen. “ One great nobleman,” says
Macaulay, “ was so brutal and stupid as
to say : ‘After all, the fellow was but a
player, and players are rogues.’ ”2 This,
on the first blush, seems downright
atrocious. But there are slightly extenu
ating circumstances connected with the
case which make it a degree less horrible.
In the first place, the murder and the
judgment, as Macaulay points out, were
generally condemned by public opinion.
In the second place, the Lords were
actuated by a violent esprit de corps,
and defending their privileges which
were being attacked by the Commons.
That which largely neutralises these con
siderations is the fact that Mohun was a
1 Lectures on the Humourists.
2 Macaulay’s History of England.
�56
THE SERVICE OF MAN
popular character in London, and that
the anecdotists speak very kindly of his
practical jokes. In the next reign he
was singled out for honourable dis
tinction, and accompanied “ Lord
Macclesfield’s embassy to the Elector
of Hanover when Queen Anne sent the
Garter to H.E. Highness.”
Were the men of that generation
infidels, despisers of God’s Holy Word,
and demoralised by a ■ dreary disbelief
in the unseen world ? On the contrary,
they were fanatically religious. Their
zeal about spiritual matters was fervid in
the extreme. A hint that the Church
was in danger filled them with gloomy
passion. As soon as Sacheverell’s trial
began “ it took up all men’s thoughts,
so that other business was at a stand.
It was clear from the very outset of the
trial that the popular favour was wholly
on the doctor’s side. He lodged in the
Temple, and came every day in solemn
procession through the Strand to West
minster Hall. A> he passed, great
crowds gathered round his coach, striving
to kiss his hand and shouting ‘Sacheverell
and the Church for ever!’ Those who
would not join in the shouts were often
insulted or knocked down. The ardour
of the multitude was even less justifiably
shown by their attacks on some meeting
houses,in which thepewsweredemolished
and burned.”1 The connection between
Christianity and morality does not seem
very plain here.
If we now cross the Channel and
examine the condition of morals under
the Old Monarchy of France, we shall
find that the record of Catholicism in
this respect is in no wise purer than that
of the rival communion. It is a common
opinion that the very great licence of
manners which distinguished the French
upper classes in the latter part of the
eighteenth century was one of the many
evil results of the prevalent infidelity
propagated by Rousseau, Diderot, and
Voltaire. But such an idea has no
1 Lord Stanhope, Reign of Queen Anne,
chap. xii.
foundation. Corrupt as was the society
which read the novels of Louvetand the
younger Crebillon, it was in a variety of
ways superior to the society to which
Bossuet and Bourdaloue preached, and
which flocked to hear the sacred dramas
of the spotless Racine. The whole of
the reign of Louis XIV. was marked by
a great depravity of manners, and his
depravity was found quite compatible
with an ostentatious and possibly sincere
attachment to religion. The king, in
spite of the gross immorality of his
private life, was a bigot in matters of
faith, and he was not an ungraceful or
inadequate representative of the people
who looked up to him as to an almost
supernatural being. No stress need be
laid on the laxity of the gay lords and
ladies who filled his brilliant Court,
although, if a firm belief in Christianity
were the safeguard of pure morals, as it
is supposed to be, their lives present an
unaccountable anomaly; for, as Bour
daloue said to their faces, they lived
like pagans though they believed like
Christians. The point of interest for us
is to note how largely Christianity failed
to overcome the flesh and the devil, even
in an age when it had entirely its own
way, was zealously supported by the
State, and able to wield its tremendous
sanctions without pause or hesitation.
And, again, what we have to take most
account of is the average tone and
temper of public opinion with regard to
crime and immorality. Sporadic and
exceptional crime may occur in any age,
and yet cast no reflection on the average
standard of morals. It is otherwise when
immorality is common, if not general,
and when a life of great licence and
scandal may be passed without attracting
discredit or remark. And this rule
applies especially to the conduct of
ministers of religion. If the clerical
order can indulge in abandoned courses
without exciting reprobation, we may
be sure that we do an age no injustice
in pronouncing its standard of morality .
to be low.
When the officers of an
army give an example of cowardice and
�MORALITY IN THE AGES OF FAITH
insubordination, we know what to expect
of the rank and file.
We have many instances during the
reign of Louis XIV. which show the
great corruption of the clergy in that
age, and the little resentment or surprise
which it caused. The lives of some of
the' most prominent ecclesiastics were
openly scandalous. The famous Cardinal
de Retz led a life of which any decent
layman would now be ashamed. But it
may be said that de Retz was one of
those political Churchmen who took
orders merely with ambitious views to
worldly advancement, and who ought
not to be considered as true clerics. He
also lived in times of revolution, when
men’s morality is apt to break down.
So we will pass him over. These
remarks do not apply to Harley de
Champvallon, Archbishop of Paris. He
lived in times of profound internal peace,
he never played any part in politics, and
he was for years the acknowledged leader
and representative of the French Church.
He was permanent chairman of the
Assembly of the French Clergy, and a
preacher of such popularity and power
that, during a course of his Lenten
sermons, the church was kept open at all
hours, and footmen, in order to retain
the best places, were forced to spend
the whole night in them. Yet he was a
man of profligate private life, and not
so very private, as his amours were
notorious.
“ Notre Archeveque de Paris,
Quoiqu’il soit jeune, a des faiblesses ;
Voyant qu’il en avait trop pris,
Il a retranche ses mattresses ;
Les quatre qu’il eut autrefois
Sont a present reduites a trois. ”
Several great ladies of the Court—la
Marquise de Gonville, la Marechale
d’Aumont, Madame de Brisseu—were
among his conquests, but Madame de
Bretonvilliers was his maitresse en titre,
as la Montespan was of Louis XIV.
He was not even content with these
irregularities, but carried off by force
Mademoiselle de la Varenne, a public
singer, the mistress of a gentleman
57
named Pierrepont. The latter avenged
himself in a way characteristic of the
age; he lay in wait with three men,
seized the faithless Varenne (who seems
to have made no objection to the
exchange of a poor for a rich lover) as
she was returning to the house the arch
bishop had given her, and had her
unmercifully beaten with rods. It was
probably his only mode of retaliation.
Meddling with Monseigneur and his
pleasures was attended with danger and
punished severely. Two priests who
had lampooned him were sent to the
galleys, one for life. One of the arch
bishop’s mistresses was the Countess of
Northumberland, a former favourite of
Charles II. The prelate used to visit
her in a convent of Benedictines at
Conflans. He died suddenly, at a good
old age, in the presence of his last
“amie,” la Duchesse de Lesdiguieres,
and had his funeral oration pronounced
by le pere Gaillard. It appears there
was some little trouble in finding a
preacher—a fact creditable to the time,
as far as it goes.
The convents, not without reason, had
a bad reputation. Louis XIV., who
was not a man to speak evil of religious
orders, said of the Carmelites : “Je savais
bien qu’elles etaient des friponnes, des
intrigeuses, des ravaudeuses, des bro
deuses, des bouquetieres, mais je ne
croyais pas qu’elles fussent des empoisonneuses.”1 “ There were often, says
Michelet, “twelve parlours in a convent,
in which each nun, without being heard,
could converse with her lover or a female
intriguer yet more dangerous.”2 But
Protestants and infidels are only too
ready to believe evil of convents as if
they all must necessarily be nests of
iniquity—a most unjust supposition. Port
Royal at this very time contained women
of angelic purity. We may therefore
leave them, and pass to the lower ranks
of the secular clergy.
A good example of the tone of public
1 Madame deSevigne, Lettres, Oct. 15th, 1677.
2 Histoire de France: Louis XIV., note iii.
�58
THE SERVICE OF MAN
opinion with regard to clerical irregu
larity will be found in the following
story :—
“On the 7th of November, 1665, the
cure of Saint-Babel was condemned to
death for a crime he had committed three
years before. He was a man of parts,
intelligent in matters of business, but
carried away by his passions, and not
particular in setting a good example in
his parish. He was especially ill-famed
for his amours—and amusing stories were
told about him, amusing if the tone had
not been connected with sin and wholly
unbecoming his sacred profession. He
was accused in the world of having
instructed his female parishioners in
an entirely novel manner, and having
inspired them with a love remote from
the love of God. His turn for gallantry
would show itself at such unseasonable
moments that on one occasion, having
been sent for by a good woman in
mortal sickness to hear her confession,
he neglected to administer to her the
Sacraments, in order to amuse himself
in winning the affections of a girl to his
liking, whom he found in the house;
and thought no more of the salvation of
the mistress in his design against the
honour of the maid. He forgot his
character as a priest as soon as he had
seen her personal charms, and love
overcame duty. Instead of listening to
the confession of the one, he employed
his time in making his declaration to
the other; and far from exhorting the
sick person to die piously, he solicited
her who was in good health to live in
sin; and, taking her by the hand and the
chin, he said : ‘ What a trial it is for me
to be called by a person whom age and
sickness have reduced to extremity, and
what a joy it would be to come and see
you who have youth and beauty. I
own that I do not like to hear the story
of past sins which these good old women
relate to us, and that the sins of youth
are much more agreeable. Let madame
your mistress think over the way in
which she has passed her years, and let
us consider how we will pass ours ; let
her examine and see if she has sinned,
and let me know if you can love one
who loves you. Do not be surprised if
you see me abandon my duties in order
to satisfy my inclination, and, if you
love me, regard me as a man and not as
a cure, and reflect that you can be at
once my mistress and my parishioner,
and that you will find in me a pastor
and a lover equally devoted.’ ”
This worthy priest was not interfered
with for this and similar indiscretions.
He came to an untimely end by being
hanged for the more serious offence of
murder, into which he was tempted by a
natural exasperation at having been
placed in a ridiculous and painful posi
tion by one of his flock. It happened
thus. At a short distance from his
parish he had a grange in which he
kept, not only his corn and fruit, but,
when occasion required it, the young
women whom he fancied. Hetook reason
able precautions to ensure privacy, and
even diverted a road which ran past the
grange, in order to escape the curiosity
of passers by who might feel a wish to
inquire what he was doing in his retreat.
Still suspicion was excited, and a peasant,
more enterprising and mischievous than
the rest, artfully closed the door of the
grange and fastened it on the outside,
when he had good reason to think that
the cure was within, as, indeed, he was,
with a young woman, whom he had
chosen out of his own church. . The
imprisoned pair were forced to wait till
liberated by a chance wayfarer, and the
exposure of the cure was complete.
He vowed a terrible vengeance on his
betrayer, and soon carried it out by
having him beaten to death. The very
next day he said mass for the defunct,
but the friends of the latter brought
the cure before a local tribunal, which
acquitted him. It was only three years
later, when a special commission of
judges, known as Les Grands-jours
d’Auvergne, were sent by Louis XIV.
to suppress the unbridled crime in.
Auvergne, that M. Guillaume Boyer, the
cure in question, came by his deserts.
�MORALITY IN THE AGES OF FAITH
The Church did all it could to save him.
But Colbert was at the head of affairs,
and lay-justice had its way.
Now, to whom are we indebted for
this interesting story? To no other
than the illustrious Flechier, the elo
quent preacher who became Bishop of
Nimes. His Memoires sur les Grandsjours <TAuvergne are among the choicest
pieces of French prose of the early
classical period, not without a flavour of
“bel esprit” and “ preciosite,” recalling
the Hotel de Rambouillet, but still, by
their finesse and style, worthy of the
Great Age. But all must admit that the
tone of sly humour in which the crimes
of the priest are recorded is very singular,
and conclusive that clerical irregularities
were considered objects rather of mirth
and pleasantry than of serious reproba
tion. Would any clergyman, especially
of so high a character as Flechier, dream
of speaking of them in such a strain
now ?
We will next take the case of the
famous Abbe de Choisy, as illustrating
the kind of life a Churchman might lead
under Louis XIV., not only without
discredit, but with general respect and
esteem. The Abbe de Choisy came of
a good family “ of the robe ”—that is to
say, he belonged to that rich and
powerful class of hereditary civil servants
who carried on the government of the
old French monarchy. His position in
the world is sufficiently shown by the
fact that his mother, a woman distin
guished by her wit and fine manners,
could say to the young Louis XIV. that,
if he wished to become a polished man,
he ought to frequent her society. One
may suppose she did not neglect the
education of her son, and we know,
indeed, that she loved him to excess.
This was the result of her bringing up.
After leaving the theological seminary—for he was intended for the Church from
the first—Choisy immediately became an
actor, or rather an actress, and for
several months appeared on the stage at
Bordeaux. His mother, in his child
hood, had taken pleasure in dressing
59
him as a girl, partly, perhaps, from
private whim, but more probably to
please the perverted tastes of Monsieur
(Duke of Orleans), the king’s brother,
who had a passion for wearing female
attire. Choisy was nothing loath, and
soon surpassed his Royal Highness in
his fondness for a woman’s costume. In
order to gratify his propensity, he bought
a house, as he himself tells us, in the
Faubourg Saint-Marceau, in the centre
of the “ bourgoisie of the people,” that
he might “ dress himself as he liked,
among folks who would not complain of
anything he did.” He soon became
noted for his elegant female attire, and,
though his sex was well known, no one
seems to have been scandalised. So far
from that, his services were requested in
the parish church to present the hoi)’
bread and collect the offertory. He
became one of the attractions of the
church, and a source of great profit
to his employers. In one day he
collected two hundred and seventytwo livres. People came from other
parishes when it was known he was
going to collect. “I will admit,” he
says, “ that in the evening at the salut
(the benediction) I experienced a great
pleasure. It was night, when the talk is
free. I heard several times, in different
parts of the church, people saying, ‘ But
can it be true that that is a man ? He
has good reasons for wishing to pass for
a woman.’ ”
It may well be supposed that this
comedy was continued beyond the walls
of the church, for objects less innocent
than making strangers stare. Choisy
took a large country house near Bourges,
where he passed as la Comtesse des
Barres, and spent four years in a round
of systematic seduction. Details cannot
be given ; they are to be found in his
own narrative by the curious in such
moral monstrosities. Even more singu
lar than his turpitudes is the chuckling
cynicism with which he relates them.
Yet he never lost caste for his rascality.
Once only, apparently, was he reproved,
by the Due de Montausier, who told him
�6o
THE SERVICE OF MAN
he ought to be ashamed of himself for
such conduct; but his clerical brethren
seem to have been as accommodating as
he could wish. When he went to Bourges
he imparted his secret to the cure, which,
as he says, it was only fair to do. But
the cure was not in the least scandalised,
and came to dine and sup at the rake’s
house, sitting at table with the innocent
little victims, mere children often, of the
latter’s licentiousness. But that is not
all. When the Cardinal de Bouillon went
to Rome to attend the Conclave for elect
ing a new Pope, he took Choisy with him
as his “ conclaviste.” He afterwards
occupied the same post in the service of
the Cardinal de Retz (a worthy pair),
and took a part, if we may believe him,
in the election of Odescalchi (Leo XL).
He lived till eighty, and was doyen of the
French Academy, when he died in great
honour as a man of wit and fine manners.
It is needless to add that he was “ con
verted ” before the end, with what profit
to the world does not appear.
Scotland and Spain share the bad pre
eminence of having been, each in their
way, the most fanatical nations in Europe.
It would be difficult to say in which of
the two religion was made most repulsive
and inhuman. In both countries nearly
every object was postponed to the pro
tection and propagation of the national
faith. But Calvinism in Scotland was
more blighting and deadly to all things
beautiful than Catholicism in Spain.
Terrible as it must have been to know
that the invisible eye of the Holy Office
was fixed upon your movements, and
even upon your thoughts, and that at
any moment you might disappear behind
its dreaded walls, only to emerge in a
San Benito in the ghastly procession to
an Auto da Fe, yet Spanish life was not
blackened and gnawed into hideousness
by the Spanish Inquisition as Scottish
life was by the Scottish Inquisition.
After all, there were joy, laughter, and
song in Spain; there were poetry and
painting; Cervantes, Calderon, and
Murillo, bright children of the South, in
whom the world still finds delight. But
in Scotland every green and wholesome
thing was smitten as by a black frost.
“To be poor, dirty, and hungry, to pass
through life in misery, and to leave it
with fear, to be plagued with boils and
sores and diseases of every kind, to be
always sighing and groaning, to have the
face streaming with tears and the chest
heaving with sobs; in a word, to suffer
constant affliction and to be tormented
in all possible ways—to undergo these
things was deemed a proof of goodness,
just as the contrary was a proof of evil.
....... It was a sin to go from one town to
another on Sunday, however pressing the
business might be....... No one on Sunday
should pay attention to his health, or
think of his body at all. On that day
horse-exercise was sinful; so was walking
in the fields, or in the meadows, or in
the streets, or enjoying the fine weather
by sitting at the door of your own house.
To go to sleep on Sunday before the
duties of the day were over was also
sinful, and deserved church censure.
Bathing, being pleasant as well as whole
some, was a particularly grievous offence ;
and no man could be allowed to swim
on Sunday. It was, in fact, doubtful
whether swimming was lawful for a Chris
tian at any time, even on week days, and
it was certain that God had, on one
occasion, shown his disapproval by taking
away the life of a boy while he was in
dulging in that carnal practice.”1 Life
must have been made intolerable by a
system of spies and informers who were
paid for delating breaches of the Sab
bath.2 “ Sometimes a brother and sister,
or a man and his wife, walking quietly
together, would find themselves under
the observation of the emissaries of the
Kirk. In short, if fanatical belief in
Christianity, coupled with the most
intemperate zeal in enforcing the pre
cepts of the Bible, could have made a
people moral, the Scotch should have
1 Buckle, History of Civilisation in England,
vol. ii., pp. 395-398. Buckle corroborates every
statement by redundant evidence.
2 Chambers’s Domestic Annals of Scotland,
vol. iii., p. 344.
�MORALITY IN THE AGES OF FAITH
been a moral people towards the middle
and end of the seventeenth century.
Nearly a century of gospel-teaching at
the highest pressure should, if Chris
tianity be as favourable to morality as
is commonly supposed, have produced
very marked results in the form of correct
and orderly living.
The reality does not correspond with
this pleasing inference. Indeed, to judge
from the accounts left us by Spalding
and other contemporaries, the country
districts of Scotland presented a savage
scene of lawless violence, frequently
ending in murder. Gentlemen, neigh
bours, and often relatives, quarrel and
fight and kill each other like barbarians,
with or without provocation. However,
homicide, which of all crimes in a
peaceful state of society is the most
injurious and detested, is often viewed
with strange leniency in periods agitated
by fervent religious and social or political
revolution. In the eyes of ferocious
partisans, killing is no murder when it
thins the ranks of their enemies. This
was the case in Scotland at the time
referred to; it was so in France, both
under the Red and White Terror; and
only recently it was the same in Ireland.
We will, therefore, pass over the Scotch
man-slaying of the seventeenth century,
and refer to that milder form of vice
which has nearly usurped' the name of
“ immorality ” for its own exclusive use
in familiar speech—illicit intercourse
between the sexes. On no part of ethics
have Christians of all denominations laid
greater stress that on chastity, yet with
far less result in the way of producing
purity of manners than might have been
expected, even among those who made a
particular display of religion.
In 1640 a portion of the Covenanting
army was under General Monro, on its
way from Banff to Aberdeen. “Then
Monro and his soldiers,” says Spalding,
marched that night (Friday) to Turriff;
Saturday, they marched therefrae to
Inverurie and Kintore; Sunday, they
marched therefrae to Aberdeen, and
by the way, at Bucksburn, they had a
61
sermon taught by their own minister.”
They no doubt “hungered and thirsted
by the way,” and could not pass the
Sabbath, though on military duty, without
hearing the Word. But when they
reached their quarters in Aberdeen, their
behaviour left much to be desired. “Of the
performances of the Covenanting troops
occasionally posted in Aberdeen, we
hear from the commissary clerk of‘daily
deboching ’ and ‘drinking,’ night walking,
combating and swearing, and bringing
sundry honest women-servants to great
misery. Sixty-five of this honest sister
hood were delated before the church
courts; twelve of them, after being
paraded through the streets by the hang
man, were banished by the burgh.
Several were imprisoned in a loathsome
vault, while others, more fortunate, found
safety in flight.”1 What was done to
the pious profligates who had brought
them to this “ great misery ” does not
appear. Later on in the century the
General Assembly felt called upon to
proclaim a general fast on account of
the backslidings of the people. “ There
hath been a great neglect,” they say,
“of the worship of God in public, but
especially in families and in secret.
The wonted care of sanctifying the
Lord’s Day is gone, cities full of vio
lence, so that blood touched blood.
Yea, Sodom’s sins have abounded among
us—pride, fulness of blood, idleness,
vanities of apparel, and shameful sen
suality.”2 And there is no reason to
believe that this is one of the rhetorical
exaggerations of sinfulness common to
religious persons in moods of depres
sion. Referring to a slightly earlier date,
Mr. Chambers says: “The number of
cases of uncommon turpitude in a time
of extraordinary religious purism forces
itself upon our attention....... Offences of
a horrible and unnatural kind continued
to abound to a degree which makes the
daylight profligacy of the subsequent
1 Burton, History of Scotland, vol. vi., p. 322.
2 Chambers’s Domestic Annals of Scotland,
vol. ii., p. 42.
�62
THE SERVICE OF MAM
reign (Charles II.’s) shine white in com
parison. ‘ More,’ says Nicoll, ‘ within
these six or seven years, nor within these
fifty ye irs preceding and more.’ Culprits
of all ages, from boys to old men, are
heard of every few months as burned
upon the Castle Hill of Edinburgh.
Sometimes two together—young women
who had murdered their own infants—
were frequently brought to the same
scene of punishment.
John Nicoll
states that on one day, October 15th,
1656, five persons—two men and three
women—were burnt on Castle Hill for
offences of the several kinds here glanced
at, while two others were scourged
through the city for minor degrees of the
same offences.”1
The meaner vices of fraud and cheat
ing, often supposed to be modern inven
tions from which the pious old times
were free, were not uncommon in Edin
burgh in the seventeenth century. “ The
beer, ale, and wine sold in the city were
all greatly adulterated. It was customary
to mix wine with milk, brimstone, and
other ingredients. Ale was made strong
and heady with hemp seed, coriander
seed, Turkish pepper, soot, salt, and by
casting strong wash under the cauldron
when the ale was brewing. Blown
mutton and corrupted veal, fusty bread
and light loaves, false measures and
weights, were common. In all these
particulars the magistrates were negli
gent, so that the people were abused
and neglected.”2
One does not see how, under the head
of morals, the people of the Ages of
Faith were superior to the people of
to-day. When we consider that the com
petition was much less severe than it is
now; that the size of the towns was
many degrees smaller than at present;
and that the opportunities of escaping
observation and punishment now
afforded by our immense cities were
then correspondingly less, we must
1 Ibid., vol. ii., p. 242.
2 Chambers’s Domestic Annals of Scotland,
vol. ii., p. 240.
admit that the average of morality was
singularly low, although the average of
religious belief and zeal was singularly
high. The few extracts quoted above
give a most inadequate impression of
the general violence, grossness, cruelty,
and licence of the period during which
every effort was made and almost every
other worthy object was sacrificed with
a view to making the people devoutly
Christian. We have surely a right to
say, after so large and protracted an
experiment, that the moralising element
in Christianity has been over-estimated.
Here was Christianity at work without
any competing principle; it was zeal
ously supported by the secular power;
yet we find crimes of “ uncommon turpi
tude ” co-existing with “ extraordinary
religious purism.” It is not an answer
to say that but for Christianity, matters,
bad as they were, would have been
worse; and for this good reason,
that a great improvement in decency,
order, and civilisation generally, co
incided in Scotland with a marked
decline in religious fervour, such as set
in about the middle of the last century.
What is true and quite fair to allege is,
that the Scottish people in the seven
teenth century were in that stage of
semi - barbarism in which no moral
principle is able to take a firm hold.
Only the slow growth of knowledge and
industry can civilise such a people. But
this is the doctrine of evolution, not of
grace. The latter, as emanating from
Almighty power, can no more be arrested
or withstood by imperfect development
in the race than by moral degradation
in the individual. At least, that is the
theory. In practice, we may observe,
the growth of morality depends on con
ditions widely remote from those which
favour the vigour and tenacity of theo
logical beliefs. As already shown, Chris
tianity preaches salvation in the next
world, not morality in this ; and accord
ing to the rules laid down we may not
doubt that numbers of the Scotch, in
the darkest period, after the commission
of every crime against human ethics,
�MORALITY IN THE AGES OF FAITH
were at last touched by grace and were
saved, or at least should have been. The
point does not admit of verification, and
we therefore cannot tell whether celestial
happiness did supervene as a compensa
tion for the miseries of a barbarous exist
ence on earth. The fact remains that
those miseries were not mitigated, but
were often very much increased, by a
fanatical belief in the words of Scripture.
The cruelty and injustice perpetrated in
obedience to the disgusting superstition
about witchcraft, a thoroughly scriptural
tenet, fill up one of the most horrible
pages in the history of mankind. Sor
cerers were burnt in batches of four, five,
and even of nine at a time on the Castle
Hill. But the more zealous spirits were
not satisfied. “There is much witchery
up and down our land,” says Robert
Baillie; “ the English be but sparing to
try it, but some they execute.”1 Our
sympathy is justly given, in the first
instance, to the wretched victims; but
the mental anxiety and terror of their
persecutors must have been no light
burden.
We will now, for a few moments, turn
our attention to Spain, the single Euro
pean country which rivalled Scotland in
its zeal for religion.
One of the liveliest accounts of that
interesting nation will be found in the
letters of a French lady, who went to
Spain in 1679 to attend upon the young
queen Henriette, the daughter of the un
fortunate Henrietta of England, sister of
Charles II. I confine my extracts to the
matter in hand—the union, or rather
the disconnection, of morality and reli
gion :—“The frequent assassinations in this
country, on account of some affront or
other, seem to authenticate these facts.
If a man receives a box on the ear or a
stroke in the face with a hat, nay, with a
handkerchief or a glove; if he be
called a drunkard; or a reflecting word
happens to pass on his wife’s virtue, these
1 Chambers’s Domestic Annals of Scotland,
vol. ii., p. 244.
63
must be wiped off with no less than the
blood of the aggressor, and that by
assassination. For they say it is not just
that, after a signal affront received, the
offended party should put his life in an
equal balance with the offender. They
are so tenacious of revenge that they will
not lay aside an injury for twenty years
after ; if they happen to die before they
accomplish it, they will recommend the
same upon their death-beds to be exe
cuted by their children. I had it from
credible hands that a certain person of
note, dreading the revenge of his enemy,
went to the West Indies, where he stayed
twenty years, till, hearing that both he
and his son were dead, he returned to
Spain, yet not without changing his name
for his greater security ; but in vain, for,
notwithstanding all his precaution, the
grandson of his enemy, though not above
twelve years of age, found means to hire
a ruffian, who assassinated him soon after
his return.
“ Most of their assassins are natives of
the city of Valentia, a wicked generation,
who will venture at anything for money,
and are always provided with firearms
that will discharge without noise, and
stilettoes....... I was told that a certain
Spaniard of note, having agreed with one
of these Bandoleroes, as they call them,
of Valentia, for a certain sum of money
to dispatch his enemy, but a reconcilia
tion being made soon after betwixt them,
he acquainted the Bandolero with it,
desiring him not to put his design into
execution, though at the same time he
allowed him the money as a voluntary
gift. But the assassin replied that he
scorned to have any of his money with
out deserving it, to do which he must
either kill him or his enemy. The gentle
man, being willing to preserve his own
life, was forced to let him put in execu
tion what he had designed against the
other, unless he would have resolved to
seize him—-a thing of dangerous conse
quence in Spain, where these ruffians are
so numerous and so closely united that
they are sure to revenge the quarrel of
any of their companions, which makes
�64
7'HE SERVICE OF MAN
Spain the most doleful theatre of tragical
scenes in the universe.
“ What is more surprising than all the
rest is, that as well those who leave no
stone unturned to put their revenge in
practice, as those who put them in
execution, should engage themselves in
certain devotions for the success of their
enterprises, at the very time they are
going to give the mortal wound to an
innocent person of their own religion and
country.”1*
Now, as regards the Spanish observa- •
tion of the seventh commandment:
“ The Spaniards are so kind-hearted to
one another in love affairs that, if a man
meets his mistress in a place where he
has no opportunity of conversing with
her in private, he need only go into the
next house and to request the master
(whether he know him or not) to give
him the opportunity of talking with a
lady of his acquaintance in private in his
house, and he is sure it will scarce ever
be refused.” What is meant by the
euphemistic term “talking ” is made clear
■by the following strange disclosure : “I
remember that, talking the other day
with the Marchioness d’Alcannizas, one
of the greatest and most virtuous ladies I
of the Court, she frankly told us that, if
a gentleman should be alone with her for
half an hour in a convenient place, and
not ask her the last favour, she should
think he despised her, though she should,
at the same time, not grant his request.”
Again, we have to notice the co-exist
ence of a very low moral tone with the
most exalted religious zeal and passionate
religious belief.
It is unnecessary to proceed through
the previous centuries with so much
detail, otherwise it would be easy to show
that the sixteenth century was far more
immoral, in the widest sense of the word,
than the seventeenth. The Court of the
later Valois is painted for us by the gar
rulous Brantome; and one fails to see
1 The Ingenious Letters of the Lady’s -------Travels into Spain, Harris’s Collection, ii.,
p. 756> ed. 1705.
how it differed, except for the worse,
from the Court of Caligula or Commodus.
The Italians were more refined, but
even more wicked, and impressed the
English of Elizabeth’s reign, by no means
a squeamish or fastidious folk, with a
“ sense of the rottenness of the country
whence they obtained their intellectual
nourishment, with a sense of frightful
anomaly, of putrescence in beauty and
splendour, of death in life, and life in
death.”1 No one would expect better
things of the fifteenth century, in which
the Wars of the Roses in England, and
the final struggle against English domi
nation in France, had the usual effect of
protracted warfare in injuring morality.
That the fourteenth century, the era
of the great Schism, of the captivity of
the Popes at Avignon, and of the Black
Death, should have been a period of
extraordinary licence and crime cannot
surprise us. Both civil and ecclesiastical
government were impaired by the events
of the time, and pestilence is usually
followed by moral irregularities.
So we pass these ages over, and stop
for a moment in the thirteenth century,
the age par excellence of beautiful things,
when chivalry is supposed to have been
in its noble prime, when the Church
exerted a calm and serene sovereignty
over the kneeling nations, when
mediaeval art reached its supreme and
chaste perfection, when the philosophy
and theology of the Latin Church cul
minated in works almost as intricate and
wonderful as the maze of pinnacles,
flying buttresses, arches, and columns
which, surviving still in the cathedrals of
Amiens or Chartres, sing us a deceptive
siren song of beauty which lures us to
their epoch as to a Golden Age. It was
very far from a golden age. On the
contrary, it was an age of violence, fraud,
and impurity, such as can hardly be con
ceived now. We will take it in its ideal
moment—in the reign of St. Louis, the
best of kings, and perhaps the best man
1 Euphorion, by Vernon Lee.
�65
MORALm' TN THE AGES OF FAITH
who ever lived. We will take as-' a
witness one of his most trusted and1
valued friends, Eude Rigaud, Arch
bishop of Rouen, and we will see what
he says of the morals of the clergy of
his own diocese, which, like a good
pastor as he was, he was constantly
visiting for the purpose of discipline and
reform.
The Regestrum Visitationum^ or the
diary of the pastoral visits of Archbishop
Rigaud, forms a quarto volume of up
wards of six hundred closely-printed
pages. It extends from the year 1248
101269. Rigaud had been a Franciscan
monk, a student at Paris of scholastic
philosophy under our famous countryman,
Alexander of Hales, and at an early
period acquired reputation as a preacher
of uncommon eloquence. . A tradition
obtained that he had been elevated to
the archiepiscopal see of Rouen, where
he had gone to preach, on account of the
impression produced by his piety and
learning on the Chapter. Rigaud wished
to refuse the proffered dignity, but his
professions were disregarded; the Pope,
Innocent IV., relieved him of his vows
to reject ecclesiastical honours, and he
was consecrated archbishop in the month
of March, 1248. In the month of July,
in the same year, he began his pastoral
visitations. He travelled about from
monastery to monastery, and sometimes
was entertained at the expense of the
monks, but more often at his own.
Indeed, the religious houses seem fre
quently to have been in debt, and hardly
in a position to give worthy hospitality
to so great a lord as an archbishop. He
often discovered, both among the secular
and the regular clergy, very unclerical
habits and amusements, sometimes inno
cent, at other times very much the con
trary. He found the nuns of St. Arnaud
had fallen into the evil practice of singing
the Psalms and Hours to the Virgin with
unbecoming haste—“ cum nimia festinatione et precipitatione verborum,” and
ordered, very properly, that one verse
should not be begun till a previous one
had been finished. The nuns, moreover,
did not observe the rule of silence; and
ate meat in the infirmary as often as
three times a week. A sick sister would
have two or three healthy friends to see
her, and regale them with a more dainty
repast than the usual convent fare.
They all had a measure of wine, but
some drank more than others, which
was not allowed. Some even gave wine
to persons outside the convent, with
out obtaining leave; for this offence
they were made to go without wine
the next day. The nuns also had a
fondness for linen chemises and sheets,
which were against the rule, and these
luxuries were forbidden. On the whole,
the convents for women, which Rigaud
visited, seem to have been fairly correct,
and certainly did not afford examples of
the gross licentiousness of the monks
and priests. Many of the latter fell
under episcopal censure for irregularities
which would not nowadays be considered
very serious, and give a notion of a
rollicking, schoolboyish tone, which has
an odd effect. Riding about on horse
back in an unclerical garb is noted with
disapprobation, and seems to have been
a common fault. Buying and selling
horses was hardly so venial in a priest;
no more, perhaps, was the keeping of
dogs for hunting purposes. But it was
easy to do much worse. One is surprised
to find charges of drunkenness constantly
recurring. Frequenting taverns and play
ing at dice were certainly unbecoming
in a clergyman, especially when carried
so far as to cause the priest to leave or
lose his clothes in the public-house,
“ aliquando amittit vestes suas in
tabernis.” One is glad to see that
Archbishop Rigaud would not. stand
such indecorum, and deprived the incum
bent who had been guilty of it of his
living. But these transgressions are
insignificant, both in number and gravity,
compared with the incessant sin of incontinency, which is alleged on nearly every
page in the most aggravated form.. Priest
after priest is charged with immoral
conduct, some with married women,
some with keeping two mistresses at
F
�66
THE SERVICE OF MAN
once, one with incest with his own
niece.1
Without a certain monotony of repeti
tion, it is impossible to convey the
impression produced by this protracted
catalogue of clerical disorders. “We
found the priest of Nesle in ill-repute,
on account of a certain woman who is
said to be pregnant by him; he also
trades, and ill-treats his father, who is
the patron of the church he holds. This
parson fought with a certain knight with
a drawn sword amid a clamour and con
course of his friends and relations.”2
“ The priest of Gonnetot was charged
with criminality with two women, and
he went to the Pope about the matter,
and when he returned he is said to have
offended again. The priest of Wanestanvilla was accused with reference to a
woman, one of his own parishioners, and
her husband on that account departed
over sea. He kept her eight years, and
she is pregnant; he also plays at dice
and drinks too much; he frequents the
taverns, does not abide in his church,
and goes with a hawk on his fist when
ever he likes. Also the priest of Braysur-Seine is accused with reference to a
certain woman; and because she refused
to live in the presbytery, he went to live
with her, and had his food and corn
brought to her house. Also the priest
of Saint-Just haunts taverns, and drinks
till he is full up to the throat. Also
Lawrence, priest of Longceil, keeps the
wife of a man who is abroad; she is
called Beatrice Valeran, and he has
a son by her. 3 We found that the
1 “ Item presbyter de Mesnilio David est
inobediens et habet pueros suos secum, et concubinam alibi: item duce se invenerunt in domo
ipsius et se verberaverunt invicem. Item pres
byter de Sancto Richario infamatus de quadam
conjugata, parochiana sua. Item presbyter
Sancti Remigii notatus de ebriositate, non defert
capam, ludit ad talos, frequentat tabernam,
et ibi multociens verberatur. Item Magister
Walterus presbyter de Grandi Curia, infamatus
est de propria nepte et de nimia potatione.”—Regest. Visitationum Arch. Rothomagensis, par
Th. Bonnin, Rouen, 1852, pp. 20, 21.
2 Ibid., p. 19.
3 Ibid., p. 29.
priest of Panlyu was famed for incontinency with a maidservant of his, and
likewise with two other women, who
afterwards bore him two sons; also he
is noted for inebriety; he sells his wine,
and makes his parishioners drunk. The
priest of Auberville is seriously noted
for incontinency,and he married a certain
woman with one of his servants, in order
that he might have free access to her.
Also he had relations with a certain
Englishwoman, whom he kept a long
time, and sinned with her again after
being corrected by the archdeacon;
also with the daughter of a poor woman
who lives hard by the cross.”1
Although the nuns, compared with the
priests, appear to have been well-behaved,
we occasionally meet with convents in
which there were great disorders. “ We
visited the convent of the Blessed Mary
of Almeneschiis. There are thirty-three
nuns. All are possessed of property:
they have saucepans, copper-kettles, and
necklaces. They contract debts in the
village, and eat and sit at tables in groups.
Each nun has money given her to provide
for her table and her kitchen. Many
are absent from Compline and Matins,
and drink after Compline. Sister Theophana is given to drink. They have
no regular time for confession or com
munication. Sister Hola lately had a
boy by one Michael of Vai Guido. Secular
persons freely enter the cloister and talk
with the nuns. They never dine in the
refectory. Dionisia Dehatim is accused
of ill-conduct with Nicholas de Bleve.
They quarrel finely in the cloister and
the choir. Alice, the cantatrix, had a
boy by a man named Christian. Also
the prioress formerly had one boy.
They have not got an abbess, as the last
recently died.”2 A most improper set
of ladies, certainly, considering their vows
of poverty, chastity, and obedience. The
strange thing is that Archbishop Rigaud
did not visit them, so far as appears,
with any censure; perhaps their wealth
1 Regest. Visitationum Arch. Rothomagensis,
2 Ibid., p 82.
p. 25.
�MORALITY IN THE AGES OF FAITH
67
and social position made it impolitic to no doubt because a refractory or litigious
do so. Indeed, the grosser sins of the priest, especially by appealing to Rome,
flesh are treated with what we should could give rise both to trouble and
consider singular mildness. Early lapses scandal.1
The next witness I would like to call
from virtue, and even later ones, are
pardoned on promise of reform. Only was a cardinal, an intimate friend and
in the case of hardened and persevering co-reformer of the great Hildebrand,
sinners are strong measures taken. “We Pope Gregory VII., the Blessed Peter
warned them,” says Rigaud—and in one Damiani. Unfortunately, the very nature
case “them” included Master Walter, of the crimes with which he charges the
the priest of Grandcure, who cohabited clergy is so monstrous that it is impos
with his niece—“ we warned and threat sible, even “ in the obscurity of a learned
ened them that if we found them again language,” as Gibbon said, to give an
accused of similar misdeeds we would idea of their character. Dean Milman
punish them severely.”1 And it would can only distantly refer to Peter Damiani’s
not be right to suspect the archbishop “ odious book,” the Liber Gomorof a weak toleration of vice for acting so rheanus; and quotes the title of the
leniently. The number of offenders was first chapter as an adequate indica
so great that, if he had suspended or tion of its contents. Any modern must
expelled them all, he would have had follow his example. It must suffice
few or no priests left to serve the diocese.
He probably did the best which the cir
1 “ Uni versis presentes litteras inspecturis,
cumstances permitted; which was, on Radulphus rector ecclesiae de Sana Villa Rotho
proof of repeated guilt, to obtain from magensis diocesis, salutem. Noverit universitas
quod cum super
the culprit a written promise of reform, vestra ut dicebatur, pro irregularitate commissa
a me,
eo quod, suspenses et
together with an undertaking to leave excommunicatus, dicebar celebravisse divina:
his church and the country in case of a item super crimine fornicationis et adulterii
relapse into his former depravity. Rigaud quod dicebar commisisse cum Robina penildore
has preserved for us a great number of de Nova-villa: item super eo quod dicebar lusor
ad taxillos, et frequentator tabernarum : item
these documents, signed, sealed, and super eo quod dicebar capellanum capellae de
sworn to, by the penitents, and they are Rocherobiis vulnerasse graviter cum falcone in
capite ; essem apud bonos et graves, et maxime
extremely curious. In the first place,
they show beyond doubt or cavil that apud reverendum patrem Odonem, Dei gratia,
Rothomagensem archiepiscopum adeo diffamatus,
the charges were true. Habemus confi- quod dictus pater, nolens dissimulare premissa,
tentes reos. In the next place, the poor nolebat super premissis ad inquisitionem contra
me procedere, et secundum inquisitionis exigenpriests seem heartily ashamed and sorry,
and own without ambiguity, in often tiam me canonicae subicere ultioni. Tandem
ego, queerens a dicto patre non judicium sed
crude language, the faults they have veniam, promisi, sine vi, sine dolo dicto patri
committed; though probably the draw spontaneus, quod praedictam ecclesiam meam
ing up of these confessions was not resignabo, et habebo pro resignata, quandocunque
entrusted to them, but confided to the dicto patri placuerit; volens et concedens quod
idem pater possit me privare eadem . ecclesia
sterner pens of the archbishop’s secre sine strepitu judicii et juris solemnitate in aliquo
taries ; they acknowledge that if they non observata, quandocunque suae sederit volunfall again they will have nothing to say tati. Renunciavi autem spontaneus quoad pre
exceptioni de vi et de metu et litteris a
for themselves; that they will give up missaapostolica contra premissa concedendis seu
sede
their curacies without the noise or fuss etiam impetrandis, et omni auxilio juris canonici
of a trial—sine strepitu judicii—and go vel civilis competenti seu competituro per quod
away. This appears to have been a dictae resignatio et privatio impedin valeant
great point, to get rid of them quietly; vel differi. Juravi praeterea spontaneus, tactis
sacrosanctis evangeliis, me contra premissa vel
1 Regest. Visitationum Arch. Rothomagensis,
p. 21.
aliquod premissorum per me nec per aliurn non
venturum” [^Regcst. Visitcitwivuni Arch. Rotho
magensis, p. 658).
�68
THE SERVICE OF MAN
to say that nothing in Aristophanes,
Athenaeus, or Petronius, gives a picture
of more bestial depravity than the one
drawn by a prince of the Church of the
manners of his clerical contemporaries.
It is “ unspeakable,” and with that
remark we must leave the subject. But
what about grace, what about belief in
God, Christ, and the Bible ? What
about the deterrent effect of the fear of
hell, of the purifying effect of the hope
of heaven? These are questions to
which an answer were desirable.
And now, what is the moral to be
drawn from this unpleasant but necessary
review? We have seen that not in one
country nor in one age, but all through
the Ages of Faith, the most flagrant
breaches of the moral law are quite
compatible with the most fervent and
complete belief in God, in the Bible,
and, in short, in Christianity. The
usual answer to this objection is that
these people may have had faith, but it
was not living and saving faith. They
believed like the devils, and perhaps
did not always tremble like them as
well. So let it be. Mere faith, unless
it be of a partitular kind, is not enough.
The heart must be touched by grace, as
well as the mind disposed to assent
to certain dogmatic propositions. But
agnostics say no more and no less. The
touching of the heart is everything, and
assent to propositions next to nothing.
It is abundantly plain that assent to
Christian dogmas offers the slenderest
guarantee that it will have the desired
effect in touching the heart. There
never was a moment, from the first
teaching of Christianity till the present
day, when sincere pastors have not
deplored the condition of the greater
part of their flocks. That the whole
world lieth in wickedness is the constant
burden of their complaint. Could better
proof be required or given that the
supposed connection between belief and
morality is illusory ? And it is easy to
see that this is not an accidental but a
necessary result.
By laying all the
emphasis of its teaching on repen
tance and the subjective attitude
of the soul towards God, and not on
good works performed to individuals
and society, Christianity has not applied
its force in the right direction for produc
ing the maximum of morality. As this
was not its aim, it cannot be censured for
not having attained it. But it is open to
us to point out that this misdirection of
force largely accounts for the low morality
of the past, and is one of the chief causes
of the decline of theology in the present.
It is proved by an experience of eighteen
hundred years, that the tremendous
sanctions which Christianity wields are
inoperative on the majority of minds.
They do not realise them; the threats
are not heard, as it were, by the inward
spirit.
The immediate connection
between wrong-doing and going to hell
is not grasped. Hell is a long way off,
is not visible, and its deterrent efficacy
is weakest when the attraction of sinful
pleasure is strongest. Only minds of a
fine, imaginative power, and naturally
tender consciences, seize the whole im
port of the Christian message. This
fact alone would put Christianity at a
disadvantage in dealing with the bulk of
mankind. Few persons care for remote
dangers or evils ; they banish them from
their minds, as suggesting gloomy
thoughts, and trust to the chapter of
accidents to escape them entirely.
When preachers enlarge every Sunday
on the peril of the unrepenting sinner’s
condition, and tell him that he may at
any moment be summoned before the
dread tribunal of an angry God, the
young and the strong and the giddy
accord to them but a languid assent.
They feel in robust health, sudden
death by accident or disease is the great
exception, and pleasure is very delightful,
and within reach. It is a maxim of
jurisprudence that prompt punishment
for wrong-doing is vastly more efficacious
than even severer penalties long delayed.
Suppose ordinary crime were punished,
not with the greatest dispatch compatible
with justice, but at a remote period in
after life, say, twenty or thirty years after
�WHAT CHRISTIANITY HAS DONE
69
its commission, would not the deterrent lever to keep men in the right way. But
effect of the criminal law be even less they were tied down by the terms of the
than it is ? But this is by no means all. divine deed and testament, and forced
In addition to this disadvantage, Chris to use very different language. The
tian priests have one and all placed a lamentable doctrine of Original Sin, and
greater one in their own way as teachers all that flowed from it, the washing away
of morality, by their doctrine of repen of sins, flight from the wrath to come,
tance and consequent salvation. When, forced them to show that, after all,
like St. Alphonso de’ Liguori or Mr. heaven was open, if certain conditions
Spurgeon, they teach that any amount were complied with—heartfelt repent
of crime and sin can be expunged in a ance, turning to Jesus, confession of sins,
moment by sincere contrition and turn receiving the sacrament; and that, in
ing to God, even in the last hour, they that case, previous crime or virtue made
remove from the cause of morality in no difference ; all men justly lay under
this world all the force and urgency of the sentence of God’s wrath, and if He
their exhortations, and transfer them to chose to pardon, it was only out of the
celestial happiness beyond the grave. unspeakable riches of His grace. It
If they had been able to preach that was not for man to make terms. So
good works, and good works only, would that, by exaggerating human depravity
take men to heaven, they would have and making all men worthy of hell, they
occupied a relatively strong position. If came to admit very bad characters into
they could have said to men, “It matters heaven. And quite rightly, from one point
not how sorry you are for having done of view. Salvation was their object, not
amiss, you must smart for it all the morality. They have not aimed at it,
same,” they would have had a powerful and they have not attained it
Chapter VII.
WHAT CHRISTIANITY HAS DONE
attempting to estimate the past, we
are exposed to two opposite temptations,
either of which may lead us into serious
error. We may be so impressed by the
recent advance of knowledge and the
enlarged power of man over nature, the
pomp and brilliancy of modern material
progress, that we turn with disdain
from the humbler science and perform
ance of our ancestors, and, comparing
their poverty with our own riches, com
placently draw flattering conclusions to
our own advantage. This disposition is
a common mark of energetic but unedu
cated minds, of people who have made
their way in the world by force of
In
character, and who nourish a sort of
grudge against learning and scholarship.
On the other hand, it is a tone so repul
sive to minds which have made them
selves acquainted with the past that
these are apt to fall into the opposite
extreme, and to see with over-clearness
the seamy side of the present. The
wealth and noisy progress of the present
do not impress persons of this type with
much respect. They pronounce them
to be vulgar and commonplace, and
purchased at far too great a cost; nay,
by the ruin of numerous lovely and
precious things, which the present age
does not miss, only because it is too
�70
THE SERVICE OF MAR
deeply buried in sordid cares and frivo
lous pleasures to know anything about
them. If one class points to the triumph
of industry and the victories of steam,
the other draws attention to the meanness
of our Art, and the foul defacement of
natural beauty, and even the polution
of the air we breathe and the water we
drink by factories, tall chimneys, and
the ubiquitous screaming tyrant, the
railroad. The admirers of the present
look out upon the world, which it is
their intention to subdue, as conquerors.
They are always for “ opening up ” new
countries, which they say conduces to
trade and the spread of civilisation.
The lovers of the past reply that the
march of the so-called civilisation should
rather be called the spread of ruin, vice,
and disease ; that the traders look upon
the world rather as buccaneers than as
honest men, that they regard it as their
oyster which they mean to open with a
steam hammer. The interchange of
taunts and reproaches goes on in amotbic
response, as of peasants in an idyll, and
no doubt will not readily be brought to
a close. It is referred to here in order
to exhibit the difficulty of a task which,
at one time or another, we are nearly all
of us compelled to undertake, to estimate
and fairly judge the past, if for no other
purpose than lighting up and enabling
us to direct the present.
A clear perception of the road we
have travelled is one of the best indica
tions of our probable course in the
future, whether that course be a straight
line or a curve. It is obvious, if society
be an organism—and few nowadays
would deny the fact—that, in order to
understand it, we must study its life,
behaviour, and habits, on the most
extended scale. The present is a transi
tory phase, which is as insufficient for
this purpose as a day or an hour would
be for the biological study of one of the
higher animals. Both those who wish
to break with the past and ignore its
teaching as so much dross—the revolu
tionists ; and those who on various
grounds can think of nothing better than
an impossible return to it—the reaction
aries ; will find, and indeed have found
already, though the extremes of neither
party are very docile to the lessons of
experience, that knowledge alone can
throw light on our path, and that to
take sentiment or passion as our guide
is to court catastrophe. Revolutionists,
who are too impatient and headstrong to
wait for the slow but sure effects of
evolution, and reactionaries, who are too
selfish or stupid to admit the changes
which evolution demands, are equal
enemies to progress and human well
being. Incessant and minute change
is one of the conditions of life, but
great and sudden change is disease,
and no change at all is incipient death.
One of the numerous misfortunes which
afflict mankind is the difficulty of in
culcating this truth; it appears to be
profoundly offensive to the vulgar of
all classes, the majority of the race.
A salutary change, let us suppose, is
obviously required ; it is announced and
advised by a reflective individual or
group here and there. If they are not
too obscure and insignificant to fail
wholly in attracting notice, a clamour
arises against their monstrous and un
heard-of opinions; for critical turningpoints occur in the speculative as well
as the practical order; modes of thought
and doctrines at times need reforming
as much as institutions; they cannot be
listened to, they are subversive, atheistic,
destructive of man’s best interests, and
so forth. The change does not take
place, or oftener it is not overtly admitted
as needed or salutary; it is kept down
and arrested, as far as possible even
ignored. But it is going on under
ground, as it were; its partisans increase,
and their anger also, till at last comes a
time when the dammed-up current has
accumulated an energy which overpowers
all obstacles, and it dashes furiously
forward, scattering devastation along its
course. This is the abstract history of
all revolutions in Church or State, in
thought or practice.
These considerations, even if they be
�WHAT CHRISTIANITY HAS DONE
deemed over-trite and obvious, are not
out of place as introductory to the
subject of. this chapter—an attempt to
estimate the action of Christianity in
the past. In the last chapter it was
viewed in relation to its effect on morals;
and facts were adduced which seemed
to show that in that respect its operation
had been far less salutary and decided
than it is customary to assume. At the
same time it was shown that morality
was never the special objective of Chris
tianity, and therefore any failure to foster
morality could not justly be made a
repwach against it. No system can
be Dlamed for not accomplishing what
it never attempted to do. Luther would
have read the previous chapter without
discomposure. He would have said:
“ No doubt the object of Christianity is
to save men’s souls in the next world,
not to make them moral in this. And
it does save. That is all I want.” On
this ground his position is unassailable.
Modern apologists have usually forsaken
his inaccessible heights, and put in
claims, which seem to be more than dis
putable, for their religion as a guardian
of morality.
But this is only one side of a large sub
ject. A doctrine so wide and powerful
as the Christian has many other sides,
and its energy as a social factor is not to
be limited to one point of view. Chris
tianity has had an immense influence on
politics, literature, and philosophy; it
has moulded the minds and characters
of many of the most distinguished
persons who have adorned the human
race. But neither its blind friends
nor its blind foes can be expected to
do it justice, and possibly full justice
will never be done to it till it has
ceased to exist. Still, an estimate of
its value as a social doctrine must ever
appear as one of the most important
problems presented by history, an at
tempted solution of which is almost
imposed on serious students who are
sufficiently withdrawn from theological
prepossessions to regard Christianity
neither with love nor hatred, but with
7*
that sympathy and respect justly due
to one of the greatest phases of human
evolution.
In the learned and profound investi
gations of continental scholars concern
ing the origin of Christianity and the
growth of the early Church, sufficient
attention has not always been accorded
to the precise time and place in the
order of human evolution in which that
religion arose. This is not intended as
a reproach to such illustrious men as
Strauss, F. C. Baur, Keim, Hausrath,
and Renan. They had more immediate
work of a specialist kind to do, and
might well leave the placing of Chris
tianity in world-history to others. But
the point is of great importance. It
may with reason be doubted, if the fact
is as often remembered as it should be,
that Christianity arose amid the corrup
tion and decay of the greatest civilisation
which the human race had seen, amid
the death-throes of the ancient world.
From the fact that the New Testament
was written before that corruption and
decay had assumed their final and fatal
form, that St. Paul lived and preached in
Antioch the Beautiful; visited Athens
while its citizens still retained enough
of the old inquiring spirit to “ spend
their time in nothing else but either to
tell or to hear something new ”; and at
last came to martyrdom in Rome while
the deceptive bloom of imperial splendour
still flushed the cheek of the dying mis
tress of the world—it is often assumed
that this proud heathenism and pagan
glory were overthrown by the meek and
unlearned disciples of the Galilean
prophet of God. Nothing can be less
true than this assumption. The soft
autumnal calm, and purple tints as of
an Indian summer, which lingered, up
to the Antonines, over that wide expanse
of empire, from the Persian Gulf to the
Pillars of Hercules, and from the Nile to
the Clyde, broken as it was by the year
of Revolution of a.d. 69 and the black
tyranny of Domitian’s reign, was only a
misleading transition to that bitter winter
which filled the half of the second and
�TIIE SERVICE OF MAN
the whole of the third century, to be
soon followed by the abiding dark and
cold of the Middle Ages. The Empire
was moribund when Christianity arose.
Indeed, Rome had practically slain the
ancient world before the Empire replaced
the effete Republic. The barbarous
Roman soldier who killed Archimedes
absorbed in a problem is but an instance
and a type of what Rome had done
always and everywhere by Greek art,
civilisation, and science. The Empire
lived upon and consumed the capital of
preceding ages, which it did not replace.
Population, production, knowledge, all
declined and slowly died. The Christian
apologists, headed by St. Augustine, were
justly indignant at the pagan slander
which attributed the fall of the Empire
to the spread of Christianity. Their
answer to the objection was complete,
as we can see far better even than they
did themselves. But what they could
not be expected to see, and what we can
see very well, is, that the fall of the
Empire, including the loss and ruin of
the old philosophy and knowledge, was
an indispensable condition of the spread
of Christianity. If the blood of the
martyrs was truly said to be the seed of
the Church, the decay of knowledge
was an equally needed pre-requisite. It
will not be denied that this decay of
knowledge was present and startlingly
rapid. After the silver age which ended
nobly with Tacitus and the younger
Pliny, Latin pagan literature almost
ceases to exist; and the falling off in the
form is not more striking than in the
value and quality of the contents. All
superstitions revived and flourished
apace in the ever-waning light of know
ledge. A shudder of religious awe ran
through the Roman world, and grew
more sombre and searching with the
progressive gloom and calamities of the
time. A spirit wholly different from the
light-hearted scepticism of the Augustan
age and later Republic stirred men’s
hearts, and the strongest minds did not
escape it. “ The pagans were not one
TV.hit bphind the Christians as regards |
belief in miracles and in a future life.”1
The sun of ancient science, which had
risen in such splendour from Thales to
Hipparchus, was now sinking rapidly to
the horizon; and when it at last dis
appeared, say in the fifth century, the
long night of the Middle Ages began.
But it was in this period of decaying
knowledge and civilisation that the Chris
tian religion was elaborated and consti
tuted in the historical form which it
practically still wears. The creeds and
chief dogmas of the Church were worked
out in the period which extends from
the Council of Jerusalem to the Councils
of Nice, Chalcedon, Alexandria, and
Ephesus. No evolutionist would think
of speaking in any but respectful terms
of the great Churchmen who laid down
the lines along which European thought
was destined to travel for a thousand
years. The sneering tone of sceptics in
the last age is wholly out of place, and
arose from pure ignorance of the laws
which govern social and intellectual
development. The Nicene Creed in
the fourth century after Christ was as
natural and legitimate a product of the
conditions of the time as was the
Socratic philosophy in the fourth century
before Christ. What we have to note is,
that the Nicene Creed was the product
of an age of decay, of disaster, and ap
proaching death, so far as civilisation and
science were concerned. In every light,
one of the most memorable, and in
many respects one of the most noble,
of human compositions, it yet, as it
could not fail to do, bears the marks of
its birth-time; and that time was one
of extreme calamity, of growing gloom,
ignorance, and misery.
Within two
centuries of its promulgation, the Graeco
Roman world had descended into the
great hollow which is roughly called the
Middle Ages, extending from the fifth
to the fifteenth century, a hollow in
which many great, beautiful, and heroic
things were done and created, but in
1 Hausrath, Neute$tani?ntliche Zeit^eschichte^
vol. iii. 489.
�WHAT CHRISTIANITY HAS DONE
which knowledge, as we understand it,
and as Aristotle understood it, had no
place. The revival of learning and the
;
Renaissance are memorable as the first
sturdy breasting by humanity of the
hither slope of the great hollow which
lies between us and the ancient world.
The modern man, reformed and regene
rated by knowledge, looks across it, and
recognises on the opposite ridge, in the
far-shining cities and stately porticoes,
in the art, politics, and science of
, • antiquity, many more ties of kinship and
sympathy than in the mighty concave
between, wherein dwell his Christian
ancestry, in the dim light of scholas
ticism and theology.
The birth of Christianity being on
this wise—viz., having taken place in
an era of decay and death of art and
philosophy, of knowledge, nf wealth, of
population, of progress in every form—
and the absence of these things having
!
been one of the chief negative conditions
of its growth and prosperity, we must
look for the sources of its nourishment
. in another direction than these; not in
knowledge, or the eager questioning
spirit which leads to knowledge, but in
the humble spirit which believes and
accepts on trust the word of authority;
not in regulated industry, wrhich aims at
constant increase and accumulation of
wealth, but in the resigned poverty
which, scorning this world, lays up riches
in heaven; not in political freedom and
I
popular government, which aims at the
progressive well-being of all, but in the
stern rigour of arbitrary power, which
coerces the vicious and refractory into a
little order during their brief sojourn on
earth. In the decline and fall of Rome,
or, as it would be better to say, in the
I
final ruin of ancient civilisation, the con
ditions favourable to this order of beliefs
or doctrines spontaneously emerged. It
is obvious that there could be no question
of free institutions or settled industry in
an age chastened by every scourge of
war, pestilence, and famine; by arbitrary
tyranny and military despotism. Know
ledge, agai n, is ever; more sensitive than
i
i
73
capital to the influence of public and
widespread calamities, inasmuch as the
love of knowledge is rarer and feebler
than the love of wealth in most minds.
To a man of the fifth century on the
lookrout for any sphere of activity for
his energies no prospect presented itself
in the least similar to what such a man
would see now, or would have seen in
Athens under Pericles, or in Rome
under the Scipios. Public life existed
as little as it does at this day in Russia.
The pursuit of knowledge for knowledge’s
sake was out of place in a time when
daily existence was not safe from the
swords of successive barbarian hordes,
or, failing these, from the more cruel
onslaught of the merciless tax-collector.
That is to say, all the outlets through
which modem energy is chiefly expended
were then closed; a man could not
serve the state as a citizen, he could not
serve knowledge as a man of science, he
could not augment wealth as an artisan
or master of industry.
There was only one thing left for him
to do—to serve God.
The last and perhaps the most impor
tant legacy left by the ancient philosophy
to the world was the doctrine of mono
theism, the belief in a single supreme
God. The evolution of this capital idea
has never yet been traced with the care
it supremely deserves. The common
notion that it was wholly derived from
the Jews is quite unfounded. The germs
of it may be found in Greece in the
earliest speculations of the Ionic and
Eleatic philosophers. It gradually made
its way, by the force of its inherent
rationality, against manifold opposition,
and among the Stoics reached a dis
tinctness and elevation little, if at all,
inferior to the highest Jewish conception
of Jehovah. The Christian deity was a
union of the two monotheistic concep
tions, the Greek and the Jewish. Each
element was necessary for the concep
tion to attain its full universality and
power. The Jew never quite trans
cended his notions of a tribal God, who
had been in an exclusive way the God of
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THE SERVICE OF MAN
his fathers from the beginning; the God
of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, in whom
he had a sort of ancestral right of
property, who was bound to him, and to
whom he was bound, by covenant and
mercies and promises, such as no other
nation ever imagined. The Jew was,
therefore, on a footing of familiarity and
intimacy, so to speak, with his God, to
which the metaphysical Greek, with his
wide discourse of reason, never attained.
To the Jew, God is the great companion,
the profound and loving, yet terrible,
friend of his inmost soul, with whom he
holds communion in the sanctuary of his
heart, to whom he turns, or should turn,
in every hour of adversity or happiness.
Hear the Psalmist: “ O God, thou art
my God; early will I seek thee. My
soul thirsteth for thee, my flesh also
longeth after thee, in a barren and dry
land where no water is. For thy lovingkindness is better than the life itself:
my lips shall praise thee. Have I not
remembered thee in my bed, and
thought upon thee when I was waking ?
Because thou hast been my helper,
therefore under the shadow of thy wings
will I rejoice.”1 On the other hand,
the very closeness and specialty of the
Jew’s relation to Jehovah made his con
ception of the deity unsuitable to the
office of a cosmopolitan God. I venture
to suggest that perhaps the opposition of
Peter and the Judaizing Christians to the
wider views of St. Paul arose as much
from a reluctance to part with their
national God as from the narrow, cere
monial scruples to which it is ascribed.
The Greek was as inferior to the Jew in
the depth and intensity of his religious
sentiment as he was superior in mental
reach and philosophic power. For him
God is the deity of the intellect rather
. than of the heart; He is the symbol of
“eternal law all-ruling,”2 and the Hel
lene all but attained to the impersonal
and unknowable reality behind pheno
1 Psalm lxiii. 1-4, 7, 8 (Prayer-book Version).
2 “...... iirel oilre ftporois ytpas <lXXo re /J-eifov
oilre Oeols, ?) Koivbv ael v6p.ov tv 31kt) vfivetv.”
CleanthisHymn., 37, 38.
mena, which the last word of recent
philosophy propounds as the only
rational object of worship.
When these two, each in its way
powerful and stimulating notions of God,
coalesced into one, as they did in the
teaching of St. Paul, the effect on the
moral and spiritual world was as that of
a new force, a new centre of gravity to
which all thoughts and feelings naturally
tended with an irresistible attraction.
The rationality of monotheism as com
pared with polytheism, of the idea of
one all-ruling deity, instead of the
anarchy of a crowd of gods and god
desses thwarting each other, recom
mended the doctrine to all superior
minds, as infinitely truer, simpler, and
better. Knowledge had progressed far
enough to make the uniformity of nature
a credible result of the operations of an
eternal mind; but it had not gone far
enough to exclude the notions of miracle
and of providential interference on the
part of the deity with human affairs.
Moreover, the God of the Jews had
become, through St. Paul, the God of
the universe, and the “Father of all; in
every age, in every clime adored.” The
influence of the combined ideas on
contemporary minds, as it is shown in
the writings of the Fathers, is very
striking. A tone of exultation and
radiant joy seems to possess them when
they refer to the new-found central
object of their worship, which contrasts
not only with the sad, desponding tone
of the pagans, but even with Israel’s
delight in Jehovah, which is rarely
without a touch of gloom and fore
boding, and with the meek resignation of
the Middle Ages, which tremble even
more than they believe. Compare the
Te Deum of St. Ambrose with the Dies
Ir<z of Thomas of Alano. The two
hymns are parallel, often nearly identical,
in thought, but profoundly divergent in
sentiment. The one bright, full of hope
and trust in God; the other sombre
and anxious and care-laden, almost to
the verge of despair. Such was the
difference between the fifth and the
�WHAT CHRISTIANITY HAS DONE
thirteenth centuries. The earlier Chris
tians, reminded, no doubt, by the
paganism which still survived, are never
weary of setting forth the superior
grandeur and consolation of their faith
as compared to that of polytheism; and
it is quite easy even for us to see how
incalculably the religious sentiment must
have been intensified when its scattered
rays, dispersed among a crowd of deities,
were all united in the barely tolerable
splendour of one Almighty God and
Lord. Nowhere does the passionate
adoration, and flow of unbounded
devotion, show itself with more fervour
and power than in the Prayer for all
Conditions of Men in the Alexandrian
Liturgy. The original makes the frag
ments of it which have survived in
modern Liturgies appear very pale and
tame. Here is a short specimen :—
“ O King of Peace, give us thy peace,
keep us in love and charity, be our God,
for we know none beside thee: we call
> upon thy name ; grant unto our souls
the life of righteousness, that the death
of sin may not prevail against us or any
of thy people. Visit, O Lord, and heal
those who are sick, according to thy pity
and compassion; turn from them and
from us all sickness and diseases ; restore
them to and confirm them in their
strength. Raise up those who have
lingered under long and tedious indis
positions ; succour those who are vexed
with unclean spirits. Relieve those who
are in prisons or in the mines, under
accusations or condemnations, in exile
or in slavery, or loaded with grievous
tribute.”1
With these intense and absorbing
feelings running in a deep but, after all,
narrow channel, the Western European
world turned to meet and advance into
that dread and frightful time designated
as the Fall of the Roman Empire. How
a fragment or a germ of civilisation
escaped destruction in that great catas
trophe it is not easy to say. It is
admitted on all hands that a great debt
* Bunsen, Analecta Ante-Nicena, pp. 24, 109.
75
is owing to the Christian bishops of
those days, who were the only officials
clothed with authority and honour,
who survived the wreck of the Roman
bureaucracy. Although this fact re
dounds rather to the credit of epis
copacy than of Christianity, still a fair
criticism must admit that as, without the
previous dignity and prestige obtained
by the Christian religion, bishops would
not have been there, or in a position to
discharge their functions, the final result
must be credited to the new faith. It is
the more incumbent upon us to acknow
ledge and assert this as at a later date
the part played by Christianity in politics
was very nearly wholly evil. In attempt
ing to estimate, as was proposed, the
utility of Christianity in the past, it will
simplify our task if we divide the subject
under three heads, and consider its
Political, Philosophical, and Spiritual
action in the world.
1. The Political action of Christianity.
Owing to well-known historical reasons,
the natural and legitimate action of the
politics suggested or approved in the
New Testament was a long time in
showing itself. The courtliness of the
bishops who incensed Constantine and
Theodosius was evidence that Christian
prelates, as such, had no objection to
arbitrary power. But that is hardly a
reproach, when nothing but arbitrary
power was possible. Under the Catholic
feudal regime the Church was more often
in an attitude of hostility to the secular
power than in alliance with it. While
the Church was the rival of the State,
and bid high for supremacy, it could not
coalesce with the State and support its
despotic pretensions. But when, at the
end of the Middle Ages, the monarchies
of Europe definitively got the upper hand,
and aimed straight at arbitrary power,
the Church, so far from opposing, was
only too ready to help them. A number
of texts, which had been overlooked
before, were cited to prove the absolute
duty of every Christian man to yield
passive obedience to kings and governors.
It was one of the most critical turning
�76
THE SERVICE OF MAN
points in human evolution. In the
sixteenth and seventeenth centuries the
battle of freedom was fought out. All
the monarchies of Europe were moving
with rapid strides towards despotism.
Nothing can deprive the Dutch of the
honour of having been the first to step
into the breach and defend, against
apparently overwhelming odds, the cause
of liberty. The English followed them,
nobly but somewhat tardily, under
Cromwell. All through this bad time
the Christian Church threw its whole
weight on the side of oppression; and
the point to be noticed is that it had
the fullest scriptural warrant for its action,
and could not conscientiously have done
otherwise. We have all long ago for
gotten the opposition of our Jacobites
to freedom, and the narrow escape we
had of falling under arbitrary power.
The weak and worthless Stuarts, with
their immense ambition and feeble
faculties, were not the chief danger.
That lay in the adherence to their pre
tensions of such saintly men as Bishop
Ken, and such noble champions of
moral purity as Jeremy Collier. And
these men, as they believed all scripture,
believed also these texts: “ Let every
soul be subject unto the higher powers.
For there is no power but of God: the
powers that be are ordained of God.”
“ Submit yourselves to every ordinance
of man for the Lord’s sake.” “ Servants,
be subject to your masters with all fear;
not only to the good and gentle, but
also to the froward.” Professor Sewell,
commenting on these passages, says
with complete truth: “ It is idle, and
worse than idle, to attempt to restrict
and explain away this positive command.
And the Christian Church has always
upheld it in its full extent. With one
uniform, unhesitating voice it has pro
claimed the duty of passive obedience.”1
It may be objected that the Puritans
and other Christian sects have taken a
different view of their religious duties,
and shown themselves brave champions
1 Christian Politics, p. iii.
of civil freedom. To which it may be
replied that the Puritans, when they
were oppressed by Laud and Charles,
showed the common human faculty of
looking away from and ignoring incon
venient facts which told against them
and their cause ; they passed over these
parts of Scripture. Even Locke, in his
answer to Filmer, never attempted to
expound these formidable texts in a
sense favourable to his arguments ; like
the able controversialist that he was, he
felt that the, less said on that subject the
better. But further, the Puritans, by
their partiality for the Old Testament,
became almost Jewish in sentiment, and
imbibed a portion of the anti-monarchical
spirit of the Hebrew prophets and priest
hood. It was not one of these who
would have said, “Let every soul be
subject unto the higher powers.” And
yet, again, the Puritans, when they
became supreme in America, showed
that they could be as oppressive and
intolerant as any Catholics or Anglicans
in Europe.
It is not necessary to expatiate at any
length on the import and effect of this
authentic Christian and scriptural teach
ing. We can easily afford to let bygones
be bygones. But when the most im
modest and unfounded claims are put
forward in behalf of Christianity as an
unfailing and universal benefactor to
mankind, we may certainly be allowed
to point out that for two centuries it was
a consistent and determined enemy of
human liberty and welfare. It took the
side of the Stuarts, Bourbons, and Hapsburgs against their subjects, and it was
bound to do so by its own principles.
An agnostic may pardon this, as one of
those errors of which the past is full.
But a Christian, who believes in the
perennial value and beneficence of his
doctrine, must, one would think, expe
rience certain qualms in moments of
retrospection.
2. The influence of Christianity on
speculative thought has been far more
salutary than it has been on politics, and
this not from any accidental circumstance,
�WHAT CHRISTIANITY HAS DONE
but in consequence of essential qualities
in the doctrine itself. It cannot be a
mere accident that, of the three mono
theistic religions, Christianity alone has
produced elaborate systems of theology,
which in depth and compass can com
pare with any systems of philosophy,
ancient or modern. The Jews and
Mohammedans have each had their
disputes and controversies inside their
own confessions, from which the odium
theologicum has not been wanting; but
their puny differences cannot be com
pared to the splendid, far-reaching dis
cussions which have repeatedly filled the
Christian Churches with the most vigorous
and brilliant intellectual life. The sub
ject cannot be treated adequately here.
It will suffice to point to the intellectual
revival which followed the spread of
Christianity, and gave to the world the
whole literature of the Fathers, Greek
and Latin, in the third, fourth, and fifth
centuries, at the very time when pagan
literature had fallen into sterility and
decrepitude. Even Gibbon, no favour
able witness, acknowledges this. Of all
writers who have used Latin as their
mother tongue, it is no exaggeration to
say that St. Augustine is by far the most
original, suggestive, and profound.' He
is a genuine thinker, not a mere rhetori
cian like Cicero, Seneca, and the rest.
The controversies of the fourth century,
which have given rise to much tasteless
ridicule, notably the Arian controversy,
and the witticism suggested that it was
preposterous that the world should be
divided into hostile camps by a diph
thong, these controversies were mentally
the most stimulating discussions, not
only which the age admitted of, but
which have ever occupied men’s minds.
All the faculties of the reason and logical
understanding were brought into play,
subtlety the most acute, and discourse of
reason the most lofty. When the
western world sank into barbarism in
the sixth, seventh, and eighth centuries,
theological controversy largely ceased;
it was a sufficient task for the West
to keep alive, and intellectual luxuries
77
had to be dispensed with. But the
moment the warmth of reviving civilisa
tion returned to the stiffened minds of the
West, deep and searching controversies
recommenced. It would be interesting
to show how all this mental activity
sprang immediately or remotely from the
central Christian doctrine, the Divinity
of Christ. A long struggle was needed,
to establish that doctrine, but it was,
worthy of a long struggle. The difference
between “ homoousion ” and “ homoiousion ” is only that of a single letter,,
but, as Emile Saisset well said, “ Probe
the matter to the bottom; between.
Jesus Christ, man, and Jesus Christ,.
man-God, there is infinity; there is, if
one may so speak, the whole thickness of
Christianity.” The subsequent contro
versies, the Monothelite, the Monophysite, and others, are obviously due to the
same origin; and all through the follow
ing ages, the Scholastic period, the Re
formation, the Jansenist and Jesuit
epoch, down to Strauss and Moehler, the
same great doctrine has been, in a greater
or lesser degree, a potent stimulus at
once of philosophical inquiry and his
torical research.
3. It is in the action of Christian
doctrine on the human spirit that we
see its power in the highest and most,
characteristic form. Neutral or injuriousin politics, favourably stimulating in the
region of speculative thought, its influ
ence on the spiritual side of characters,
naturally susceptible to its action, has
been transcendent, overpowering, and un
paralleled. The restriction to characters
“ naturally susceptible ” will probably be
resented, but it cannot be denied. The
great mass of men have at all times been
feebly sensitive to the higher _ spiritual
influences of Christianity. It is a fact
which all preachers of every denomination
are for ever denouncing and lamenting.
The true Christian saint is the rarest pro
duct in every Christian Church. What is
even more noteworthy is that the terrible
menaces of God’s wrath and damnation,
which, till quite recent times, have been
universally believed by Christian men,
�78
THE SERVICE OF MAN
have been equally inoperative; and this
to such a degree that the truly con
verted and repentant sinners, those who
have set about working out their salva
tion in fear and trembling, have ever
been lost in wonder and horror at the
reckless folly of the bulk of mankind in
leading the lives they did, coupled with
their nominal beliefs. Convinced and
earnest Christians are always compelled
to regard it as madness, or a superlative
proof of Satan’s power. Volumes of
quotations could be given from the
highest and best authorities in support
of this, as every one conversant with
religious literature will be aware. I will
restrict myself to two, taken from the
works of illustrious men, each in his own
confession among the brightest examples
of Christian virtue—Blaise Pascal and
Richard Baxter. Pascal says :—
“ Rien n’est si important a l’homme
que son etat; rien ne lui est si redoubt
able que l’eternite. Et ainsi, qu’il se
trouve des hommes indifferents a la perte
de leur etre, et au peril d’une eternite de
miseres, cela n’est point naturel. Ils sont
tout autres & l’egard de toutes les autres
choses: ils craignent jusqu’aux plus
legeres ; ils les pr^voient, ils les sentent;
et ce meme homme qui passe tant de
jours et de nuits dans la rage et dans le
d^sespoir pour la perte d’une charge, ou
pour quelque offense imaginaire a son
honneur, c’est celui-R meme qui sait
qu’il va tout perdre par la mort, sans
inquietude et sans emotion. C’est une
chose monstrueuse de voir dans un m£me
coeur et en meme temps cette sensibilite
pour les moindres choses, et cette etrange
insensibilite pour les plus grandes. C’est
un enchantement incomprehensible, et
un assoupissement surnaturel, qui marque
une force toute-puissante qui le cause.”
(Pensees, chap, i.)
Baxter says : “ Can you make so light
of heaven and hell ? Your corpse will
shortly lie in the dust, and angels or
devils will shortly seize upon your souls,
and every man or woman of you will
shortly be among other company and in
another case than you are now........ O
what a place you will be in of joy or
torment; O what a light will you shortly
see in heaven or hell; O what thoughts
will shortly fill your hearts with unspeak
able joy or horror ! What work will you
be employed in ? To praise the Lord
with saints and angels, or cry out in the
fire unquenchable with devils ? And
should all this be forgotten? And all
this will be endless and sealed up by an
unchangeable decree. Eternity, eternity
will be the measure of your joys or
sorrows, and can this be forgotten ?
And all this is true, sirs, most certainly
true. When you have gone up and
down a little longer, and slept and
awaked a few times more, you will be
dead and gone, and find all true that I
now tell you; and yet you can now so
much forget it. You shall then remem
ber that you heard this sermon, and
that this day, in this place, you were
reminded of these things, and perceive
these matters a thousand times greater
than either you or I could here con
ceive; and yet shall they be now so
much forgotten?”1
That these are only fair samples of
the tremendous -stimulants applied by
preachers to awaken Christian sinners to
a sense of their guilt and danger will be
admitted, I suppose, on all hands; and
yet it is equally admitted that they are
practically of very slight effect. Baxter,
a few pages before, had declared that
“the most will be firebrands in hell
for ever.” And no theologian with a
character to lose, till quite recent times,
would have had a doubt about it.
On theological grounds the matter is
sufficiently perplexing. True believers,
like Pascal and Baxter, have at all times
found that in this particular the con
duct of men was hardly to be explained.
If they believed God’s promises and
threats, why were their lives such a
practical denial of faith in them? The
real answer, which divines could not be
expected to give, was that the bulk
of men had neither sufficient logic,
1 Baxter’s Call to the Unconverted.
�WHAT CHRISTIANITY HAS DONE
imagination, or tenderness of heart and
conscience to assimilate the whole im
portance and bearing of the Christian
scheme. A strong head, which accepted
the premises of the Christian doctrine,
would not hesitate to work out the con
clusions. But the majority of men have
not strong heads. A powerful imagina
tion, which realised the awful prospect
of a future judgment, and the eternity
of bliss or woe consequent upon it,
would be only too much appalled by the
thought; as cases of religious madness
sufficiently show. The truly meek and
tender-hearted, again, have a natural turn
for piety; as we see by the negroes,
who seem to obtain a saintly spirit of
detachment and self-renunciation with
far greater ease than the more energetic
races of Western Europe. But when
among the Western Europeans the
saintly character, under the combined
influences of education and natural
endowment, is evolved, the result, as
might be supposed, is far more striking,
on account of their superior fibre and
temperament and general brain-power.
The true Christian saint, though a rare
phenomenon, is one of the most wonder
ful to be witnessed in the moral world;
so lofty, so pure, so attractive, that he
ravishes men’s souls into oblivion of the
patent and general fact that he is an
exception among thousands or millions
of professing Christians. The saints
have saved the Churches from neglect
and disdain. The hope, even the asser
tion, has always been that all men
could be like them, if only—the con
dition is not easily reduced to words,
and cannot be stated in a manner
generally satisfactory, but the implication
always is that but for some fault in man,
or the wiliness of Satan, sanctity might
be universal. It would be as rational to
say that the poetry of Shakespeare, the
music of Beethoven, and the geometry
of Lagrange were accessible to all men.
The genuine saint is a moral genius of a
peculiar kind ; he is born, not made;
though, like all men of genius, he is sure,
sooner or later, to acquire the best educa
79
tion and that most adapted to his powers.
Saintliness is not confined to Christianity.
There have been Pagan and Moham
medan saints; and it would not be easy
to find, even in the Christian Calendar,
men more naturally saintly than Marcus
Aurelius and Abu Beker. What needs
admitting, or rather proclaiming, by
agnostics who would be just is, that the
Christian doctrine has a power of culti
vating and developing saintliness which
has had no equal in any other creed or
philosophy. When it gets firm hold of
a promising subject, one with a heart
and a head warm and strong enough to
grasp its full import and scope, then it
strengthens the will, raises and purifies
the affection, and finally achieves a con
quest over the baser self in man, of
which the result is a character none the
less beautiful and soul-subduing because
it is wholly beyond imitation by the
less spiritually endowed. The “ blessed
saints ” are artists who work with un
earthly colours in the liquid and trans
parent tints of a loftier sky than any
accessible or visible to common mortals.
Perhaps there is a certain rashness in
attempting to illustrate these remarks by
concrete instances of saintly detachment
and self-renunciation. Hagiology is not
a favourite form of literature nowadays;
and it must be admitted that in the lives
of many saints, especially of mediaeval
times, unpleasant traits and circum
stances connected with the superstitions
of the age are often found in close
neighbourhood with virtues the most
beautiful and attractive.
Equity de
mands that we should make the same
allowance for men’s erroneous concep
tions of duty as we do for their erroneous
conceptions of intellectual truth, in
accordance with the standards and cul
ture of the times. We do not think
worse of a philosopher’s intellect, who
lived in antiquity or the Middle Ages,
because he held a number of absurd
opinions and theories in astronomy,
chemistry, and biology.
Those who
believe in the empirical origin of moral
truth are bound to be consistent and
�8o
THE SERVICE OF MAN
show the same charity in the one case
as in the other. If we take the case of
Saint Louis, King of France, we must
admit that a man of a more saintly
character never, perhaps, existed. If
we consider the temptations to which
his high position necessarily exposed
him, and the completeness with which
he surmounted every unholy and selfish
thought or act, it is difficult not to regard
him as the best man that ever lived.
Yet it is obvious that in many instances
his notions of duty were very wrong or
perverted. But though his conscience
may not have been always enlightened, his
heart was ever right. His abortive and
ruinous crusades were the cause of vast
misery and harm ; but we cannot wonder
that so devout a man strove to carry out
one of the great religious ideas and
duties of the time, and none the less so
because symptoms were arising that the
paramount nature of the duty was begin
ning to be questioned. In his private
life he saw sometimes amiss—saw duties
where none existed. I refer to his ex
aggerated submission to the imperious
temper of his mother, his excessive and
often repulsive self-mortifications. But,
this being fully allowed, there remains a
clear surplus of untarnished virtue rarely
surpassed.
There are few tests of a man’s spiritual
condition more searching and decisive
than the temper with which he bears
unmerited insult and railing speech. I
do not refer to mere self-command, to
the self-respect which forbids an answer
in kind, and imposes an external calmness
of manner on a swelling indignation
within. The man of the world, when it
suits him, can attain to this much, which
yet is not little, considering the common
“ impotentia” of mankind. The question
is not one of self-mastery under, but of
superiority to, insult, which feels no
anger or resentment at insolence or con
tempt ; and this not from an abject
and craven spirit, but from living in a
plane of feeling up to which personal
insult does not reach. This equanimity
in no wise prejudges the question whether
injurious language should not be reproved,
and in some cases punished, as by a judge
for a contempt of court. We are only
concerned with that serenity of spirit
which is not touched or wounded by
opprobrious speech, and all will admit
that it is a very rare gift. The following
anecdote told of St. Louis shows the
way in which he endured insult:—
As he was sitting in the Court of Par
liament, the highest tribunal in France,
a woman named Sarrette, who was
interested in a suit then being heard,
and perhaps dissatisfied with the decision,
exclaimed to the king : “ Fie, fie 1 a fine
king of France you are; much better
were it if another were king. You are
only the king of the monks and friars,
and the wonder is you are not turned
out of the kingdom.” The ushers wanted
to strike the woman, and expel her from
the court. But Louis would not allow
it, and said : “ What you say is very true,
and I am not worthy to be king. It
would have been much better had it
pleased God that another had been put
in my place, who knew better how to
govern the kingdom and he ordered
his chamberlains to give the woman
money. In this last act most moralists
would admit that Louis was mistaken.
To reward a scold for unseemly conduct
in a court of justice cannot be considered
justifiable. A fine and imprisonment
might have tarlght Sarrette a useful
lesson; it is clear that she needed
one. As a jurist the king was to blame.
But the meekness of spirit, which could
suggest such an answer to a king and
judge, in reply to a gross insult, was
surely very wonderful.
Louis’s justice, temperance, and entire
self-abnegation in every relation of life
are too well known from one of the
most charming of mediaeval chronicles,,
the Mtmoires of Joinville, to make it
needful to dwell upon the subject. But
to the above-cited example of his humility,
it may be well to add an equal proof of’
his firmness, and that in presence of that
very priesthood to whom he was accused
of being submissive. “ I saw hirm
�IVHAT CHRISTIANITY HAS DONE
another time,” says Joinville, “at Paris,
where all the bishops informed him that
they wished to speak with him ; and the
king went to the Palace—the law-courts
—to hear them. There was Guy, Bishop
of Auxerre, who spoke to him as follows,
in the name of all the prelates: ‘Sire,
the lords who are here, the archbishops
and bishops, have charged me to tell
you that the Christian faith is perishing
in your hands/ The king made the sign
of the cross, and said : ‘ But tell me how
this comes to pass.’ ‘Sire,’ resumed the
bishop, ‘ the reason is that people now
adays think so lightly of excommunica
tion that they allow themselves to die
rather than be absolved, and will not
give satisfaction to the Church. The
bishops request you, sire, for the love
of God, and because it is your duty,
to give orders to provosts and bailiffs
that all who have remained excom
municated for a year and a day should
be constrained, by the seizure of their
goods, to receive absolution.’ To
which the king replied, that he would
willingly command it in those cases in
which guilt was clearly proven. Where
upon the bishop answered, that the
bishops would not consent, at any price,
to that condition, and that the royal
power had no right to take cognisance
of ecclesiastical causes. Then the king
said that he would not interfere; and
that it would be against God and reason
to force people to obtain absolution when
the clergy did them wrong. ‘ And I will
give you an example of this,’ he went on
to say—‘ the case of the Earl of Brittany,
who pleaded in a state of excommunica
tion for seven years against the prelates
of his province, and with such effect that
the Pope has condemned them all. If,
therefore, I had compelled the Earl of
Brittany to seek absolution in the first
year, I should have sinned against God
and him.’ And the prelates had to sub
mit,” says Joinville; “and I never heard
that the subject was brought up again.”
There was no false humility here, but, on
the contrary, rare strength, for all it was
so softly spoken. Some years after
8i
Louis published the famous Pragmatic
Sanction, the French equivalent to our
English Statute of Praemunire, which laid
the foundation of the liberties of the
Gallican Church in opposition to the See
of Rome.
I do not merely admit, but strongly
maintain, that St. Louis was a man of
such moral elevation and tenderness of
nature that in whatever age of the world
he might have lived, and whatever creed
he had held, he would have been distin
guished as just, upright, and self-sacri
ficing in an unusual degree. But I think
it equally certain that living when he
did, at the brightest moment in the Ages
of Faith, when the emotional effect of
Christianity was at its height, and least
disturbed by intellectual opposition, his
spirituality was intensified by his creed,
till he seems more like one of the angels
who bow before the Great White Throne
than a denizen of common earth. And
this is the legitimate and consistent
result of Christian training carried to its
final perfection by lofty and heroic spirits;
a complete transcending, not only of the
sin and corruption of the world, but a
passing away from and beyond the world,
and human needs and relations, an
upward ascent towards the City of God,
even before the end of life. The highest
crown the Christian can win is that of
martyrdom, suffering death for the faith;
by which no benefit is ever supposed to
be conferred on men except, perhaps, the
example left for imitation by others.
The true Christian martyr does every
thing for Christ. He forsakes all to
follow Him, and goes to his doom re
joicing that he has been found worthy to
suffer for His name. The original mould
in which Christianity was cast cannot be
altered : that of a small congregation of
meek and lowly men, exposed to the
assaults of the “power of darkness,”
which was allowed to prevail for a season.
For them the world was no continuing
city, for they sought one to come. In
the “ tabernacle of this present life they
did groan, being burdened,” and were
“willing rather to be absent from the
G
�&2
THE SERVICE OF MAN
body and to be present with the Lord.”
The notion that the world can ever be a
place of peace and virtuous happiness is
never countenanced in the New Testa
ment. The Christian is always considered
as one in the midst of a hostile and evil
society, from which he must keep apart;
and, if only he is prepared, the sooner he
can leave it the better. We find, accord
ingly, martyrs almost without exception
professing, no doubt sincerely, the utmost
gratitude for being delivered from this
mortal life. As Sir Thomas More said,
“St. Cyprian, that famous bishop of
Carthage, gave his executioner thirty
pieces of gold, because he knew he should
procure unto him an unspeakable good
turn and More himself, when about to
suffer, and the executioner asked him
forgiveness, kissed him, and said : “Thou
wilt do me this day a greater benefit
than ever any mortal man can be able
to give me.” Heroic constancy, even to
death, is the note of the martyr, and
indeed of every true Christian. And it is
this transcendental character of Christian
perfection which has ever made it at once
such an imperfect fosterer of morality,
and such a stimulator of spirituality and
heroic passion. No vestige of self may
be suffered to remain in the true con
fessor’s heart, in which every human
desire must be burnt up by love of the
Redeemer. A man must “hate his father,
and mother, and wife, and children, and
brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own
life also,” to be a true disciple of Christ.
How utterly unequal average human
nature is to this trancendent pitch of
self-sacrifice, the past and present record
of Christianity sufficiently proves. But
some have been equal to it, and the
heroism of the saints has been illumi
nated by a radiance which seemed to
descend direct from heaven. At all
times and in all sects, the blood of
martyrs has been the seed of the Church.
To men, constituted as they are, the
voluntary and deliberate laying down of
life by confessors for conscience’ sake
is always the most impressive and soul
subduing of spectacles, conquering even
the cruelty of the persecutors who are
consenting unto their deaths.
The
“face of an angel,” remarked in the
protomartyr Stephen, is not to be for
gotten, and works miracles of conver
sion and remorse in the solitude of the
conscience, when the ghastly scene of
stoning without the city, or the burning
in the market-place, returns to the
memory in the silent watches of the
night; and the faith and meekness of
the sufferer rise up like accusers from
the world of spirits. The meekness and
docility of the victims are a cardinal
point. All bravado and self-assertion
dim the lustre of the martyr’s crown.
“ It has been a reproach to the sufferers
in the Marian persecution that, smitten
on one cheek, they did not invariably
turn the other cheek to the smiter
and
the remark is true. If we compare the
carriage of Rowland Taylor with that of
Sir Thomas More, we are sensible of the
difference. There can be no question as
to the single - hearted piety and selfdevotion of either. But More, partly ■
perhaps by reason of his superior culture
and humanist sense of the “ becoming,”
showed a sweet resignation which con
trasts favourably with the boisterous
humour and self-consciousness of Taylor.
“ His degradation was performed by
Bonner : the usual mode being to put
the garments of a Roman Catholic priest
on the clerk-convict, and then to strip
them off. Taylor refused to put them
on, and was forcibly robed by another;
and then, when he was thoroughly fur
nished therewith, he set his hands to his
side, and said : ‘ How say you, my lord,
am I not a goodly fool ? How say you,
my masters, if I were in Cheap should I
not have boys enough to laugh at these
apish toys ?’ The final ceremony was
for the bishop to give the heretic a blow
on his breast with his staff. The bishop’s
chaplain said : ‘ My lord, strike him not;
for he will sure strike again.’ ‘ Yes,
by St. Peter will I,” quoth Dr. Taylor.
‘ The cause is Christ’s, and I were no
good Christian if I would not fight in
my master’s quarrel.’ So the bishop
�WHAT CHRISTIANITY HAS DONE
laid his curse on him, and struck him
not. When he went back to his fellow
prisoner, Bradford, he told him how the
chaplain had said he would strike again,
and ‘by my troth,’ said he, rubbing his
hands, ‘ I made him believe I would do
so indeed !’ ”
The saintly spirit would seem to be
wanting here. Indeed, the temper which
has fitted men for martyrdom has always
been liable to the perversion of a fierce
fanaticism and stubbornness, in which
meek resignation is replaced by a
savage combativeness regardless of conse
quences. In his subsequent behaviour
Taylor rose to a much higher strain.
The scene on the February morning, by
St. Botolph’s church, where his wife and
children had waited for him, “suspecting
that he might be carried away ”; the
dialogue in the gloom, “for it was a very
dark morning, and the one could not
see the other,” reach the. extreme of
tragic pathos. “His daughter Elizabeth
cried, saying, ‘ O my dear father!
Mother, mother, here is my father led
away !’ Then cried his wife, ‘ Rowland,
Rowland, where art thou?’ Dr. Taylor
answered, ‘ I am here, dear wife,’ and
stayed. The sheriff’s men would have
led him forth, but the sheriff said, ‘ Stay
a little, masters, I pray you, and let him
speak to his wife.’ Then came she to
him, and he took his daughter Mary in his
arms, and he and his wife, and Elizabeth
knelt down and said the Lord’s Prayer.
At which sight the sheriff wept apace,
and so did divers others of the company.”
It is needless to repeat further one of the
best-known scenes in English history.
The point to be noticed is, that Taylor
rose to the height of saintliness in pro
portion as he laid aside his haughty
carriage. His answer to the sheriff,
who asked him, after his martyr’s ride
through Essex to Suffolk, how he fared :
“ Well, God be praised, master sheriff,
never better; for now I know I am
almost at home”; and his meek expos
tulation to the miscreant who threw a
fagot at him, “which brake his face, so
that the blood ran down his visage
83
“ O friend, I have harm enough; what
needed that ?” attain to the summit of
Christian resignation.
The death of Sir Thomas More has
ever been regarded as one of the most
sublime examples of Christian fortitude
on record. His perfect sweetness and
self-possession have melted all hearts.
He did nothing to provoke his fate, but,
on the contrary, everything that his con
science allowed him in order to escape
it. At no time was he aggressive or self
asserting. When condemned, his car
riage was at once meek and manly.
“When Sir Thomas was come now
to the Tower-Wharfe, his best-beloved
childe, my aunte Rooper, desirous to see
her father whome she feared she should
never see in this world after, to have his
last blessing, gave there attendance to
meete him; whome as soone as she had
espyed, after she had receaved upon her
knees his fatherlie blessing, she ranne hastilie unto him; and without consideration
or care of herselfe, passing through the
midst of the throng and guarde of men
who with billes and halberds compassed
him round, there openly in the sight of
them all embraced him, not able to say
anie word, but : Oh, my father ; oh, my
father! He liking well her most naturall
and deare affection towards him, gave
her his fatherlie blessing; telling her,
that whatever he should suffer, though he
were innocent, yet it was not without the
will of God; and that she knew well
enough all the secrets of his hart, coun
selling her to accommodate her will to
God’s blessed pleasure, and bade her be
patient for her losse. She was no
sooner parted from him and gonne ten
steppes, when she, not satisfied with
her former farewell, like one who had
forgotte herselfe, ravished with the intire
love of so worthie a father, having
neither respect to herselfe nor to the
presse of the people about him, suddenly
turned back, and ranne hastilie to him,
tooke him about the necke and diverse
times togeather kissed: whereat he spoke
not a word, but carrying still his gravity,
tears fell also from his eyes; yea, there
�84
THE SERVICE OF MAN
were very few in all the troupe who
could refrain thereat from weeping, no
not the guards themselves.”1
To give one more instance of Chris
tian martyrdom; none the less tragic
because it was enacted, not amid the
tumult and profanity of a public execu
tion, but in the inner chamber of a man
of genius. At thirty years of age, Blaise
Pascal determined to “ give up the world,”
and began that course of mortification
and prayer which, there can hardly be a
doubt, shortened his days. He forsook
his scientific labours, by which he had
won, as a youth, a foremost rank among
the mathematicians of Europe, devoted
himself to reading the Scriptures and
meditating his great work on the Chris
tian religion ; of which only fragments,
in the form of the immortal “ Thoughts,”
were ever achieved. The physical priva
tions and pain to which he subjected his
emaciated body are described at length
by his sister, Madame Perier, in a bio
graphy which for simple grace and pathos
rivals the best of Walton’s “ Lives.” To
avoid wandering and worldly thoughts
when engaged in conversation, “ he took
an iron girdle full of sharp points, which
he placed next to his flesh; and when
conscious of an impulse to vanity, or
even a feeling of pleasure in the place
where he happened to be, he struck the
girdle with his elbow in order to increase
the pain of the punctures.” He ate a
certain regulated quantity of food,
whether hungry or not, never exceeding
it, however good his appetite, and never
eating less, however great his loathing;
and this, on the ground that taking food
was a duty, which was never to be
accompanied by any sensual pleasure.
When his sufferings were acute, and his
friends expressed commiseration, he
would answer, “ Do not pity me; illness
is the state natural to Christians, because
it places us in the condition we ought
ever to be in—suffering evils, deprived
of all the pleasures of sense, freed from
1 Life of Sir Thomas More, Knt., by his greatgrandson, Thomas More, Esq.,p. 264, ed. 1726.
all the passions which afflict us through
out life, without ambition, without
cupidity, in the continued expectation of
death.” He mortified his affections not
less than his body, and said that we
should never allow any one to love us
with fondness; in fostering such attach
ments we occupied hearts which ought
to be given solely to God; that it was
robbing Him of that on which He set
most store. “ It is not right that others
should attach themselves to me. Even
if they do it willingly and with pleasure,
I should deceive those in whom I excited
such a feeling. Am I not about to die ?
—the object of their love then will perish.
As I should warn people against believ
ing a falsehood, however profitable to
me, I should warn them not to attach
themselves to me ; for their duty is to
spend their lives in striving to please
God, or in seeking Him.” At his death
there was found sewn up inside the lining
of his doublet two small pieces of parch
ment and paper, on which were written
in identical words a series of brief sen
tences, of which the meaning was mis
conceived by Condorcet, who first pub
lished them. The supposition was, that
it was a “ mystic amulet,” which Pascal
had worn next his person out of super
stitious motives. Its real character is
perfectly clear: a solemn record of the
hour and date of his conversion to God
and to a life of asceticism :—
The year of grace, 1654.
Monday, 23rd of November, St. Clement’s Day,
pope and martyr, and others in the martyrology.
Eve of St. Chrysogonus, martyr, and others.
From about half-past ten at night, till half an
hour past midnight.
Fire.
God of Abraham, God of Isaac, God of Jacob;
not of philosophers and learned men.
Certitude, certitude. Feeling, joy, peace.
God of Jesus Christ.
Deum meum es Deum vestrum.
Thy God shall be my God----Oblivion of the world and everything save God.
He is only to be found by the way taught in the
Gospel.
Greatness of the human soul.
Righteous Father, the world has not known
thee, but I have known thee.
Joy, joy, joy 1 tears of joy.
�WHAT CHRISTIANITY HAS DONE
have left him---------------------------- - ----------Dereliquerunt me fontem aquae vivae.
My God, wilt thou forsake me ?__-----------------May I not be separated from him for ever.
This is life eternal, to know thee, the only true
God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent.
Jesus Christ----------------------------- --------------- —
Jesus Christ------------------------ ------------------ ;—
I have left him : I have fled from him, denied
him, crucified him.
May I never be separated from him.
He can only be kept by the way taught by the
Gospel.
Renunciation entire and sweet.
Entire submission to Jesus Christ and to my
director.
Eternal joy for one day’s suffering on earth.
Non obliviscar sermones tuos. Amen.
“ What a noble mind is here o’erthrown will probably be the thought of
many readers. And yet, why should
that thought arise ? Doctrinal differences
apart, can there be a doubt in any
candid mind that Pascal strove with all
the force and sincerity of his powerful
mind and passionate nature to attain
Christian holiness, and that he threw
himself at the foot of the cross as com
pletely and unreservedly as a human
being could? Are his austerities and
mortifications objected to ? The form
of his asceticism may be questioned by
different schools of theology; but no
earnest, thorough-going Christian exists
who does not deny himself one way or
another, and admit asceticism in prin
ciple. Indeed, asceticism represents a
tendency in human nature far wider than
Christianity, and, though liable to frightful
perversions, is one of the noblest qualities
possessed by man. It is one of the
higher forms of courage, which not only
endures or disdains suffering, but posi
tively courts it, and finds a passionate
and fiery joy in the sharp sting of pain.
If man had instinctively the universal
horror of pain which some moralists
suppose him to have, he would never
have been a hunter or a warrior. The
delight of self-mastery in some natures
easily gets the upper hand, and leads,
according to circumstances, to the volun
tary search for danger and suffering, or
to the stern refusal of sensuous pleasure.
85
“ Quae major voluptas quam fastidium
omnis voluptatis ?” asks Tertullian. The
spirit of self-sacrifice is just as much a
factor of human nature as the spirit of
self-indulgence, though, like all the higher
gifts, less common. The deplorable
thing is that the precious gift should
be wasted and thrown away on useless
objects. The hero who suffers to save
others contributes a direct and tangible
good to the world by his action, and
even a higher good indirectly by his
example. The ascetic who tortures him
self to please a cruel god does equal
harm in both ways, to himself and others.
Even the old Hebrew saw this when
he wrote that his Lord “would have
mercy, and not sacrifice.” As regards
Christian asceticism, especially in the
grosser forms of physical, self-inflicted
torture, it is a subject which has not
received, it would seem, the attention it
deserves from Church historians. It
arose early in the Church, which, like
the austerer philosophic sects, the Stoics
and Cynics, was led, by the calamities
of the decaying Roman Empire, to take
a gloomy and despondent view of the
moral government of the universe, and to
see the finger of an angry God in the in
cessant woes with which mankind were
then scourged. And? indeed, it is not
easy to see, on Christian principles, how
voluntary and unmerited suffering can be
supposed to be displeasing to God. The
whole scheme of Redemption supposes
that God was so pleased with the suffer
ings of the innocent Christ that, in con
sideration for them, He forgave guilty
man. The sufferings of Jesus were entirely
voluntary ; His buffetings, scourgings,
crucifixion, were all endured to expiate
man’s sin; the ransom for his dis
obedience, the precious blood-shedding
which obtained innumerable benefits. If
Christians would imitate Christ, should
they not do so in this particular, the
most characteristic of His office ? . If
agony unspeakable, born by the Divine
Son, the Lamb without blemish, was
well-pleasing to His father, why should
it be otherwise in sin-stained man ?
�86
THE SERVICE OF MAN
Protestant notions on this subject may
be more rational, but they are far less
scriptural. The whole idea of Chris
tianity, as given in the New Testament,
is steeped in suffering.
“ Blessed are
they that mourn”; “Blessed are they
which are persecuted for righteousness’
sake.” Why? Because “great is their
reward in heaven.” The worship of the
Man of Sorrows was not intended for
the tender and the comfortable. “Who
soever will come after me, let him deny
himself, and take up his cross, and
follow me. For whosoever will save his
life, shall lose it; but whosoever shall
lose his life for my sake and the gospel’s,
the same shall save it.” Those who
assume a tone of sneering and contempt,
for the mortifications of the Catholic
saints, show that they are true heretics in
the primitive sense of the word, inasmuch
as they choose and select those words
and parts of Scripture only which suit
their preconceived views. Let us be
rationalists by all means ; but let us be
consistent rationalists, and consider the
Bible as an interesting fragment of
ancient Semitic literature. Those who
profess to regard it as the Word of God,
and yet ignore and neglect some of its
clearest precepts, are not consistent.
Any vitality which the Catholic revival
of these latter years may have had in
Europe or America is clearly traceable
to its superior deference to the para
mount and universal authority of those
Scriptures which all Christians admit as
binding in the last court of appeal.
To return, however, to our more
immediate subject—the spirituality of
mind stimulated by Christianity, in the
higher types of the Christian character.
Within quite recent times three
women have died, who, for complete
detachment and recollection, for pro
found sincerity and devotion to the
Cross, may justly be regarded as the
equals of any of the saints of old. I do
not for a moment pretend to say that
there have not been others equally
devoted and sincere. Probably there
have been many, to me unknown. But
these are incontestably eminent enough
in Christian virtue to serve as types of
that spirituality which is the most
characteristic result of profound Christian
belief consistently carried out. The
result is in many ways touching, and
beautiful in the extreme. It is such
flowers of exquisite perfume and beauty,
grown in the garden of the soul, which
still arrest the attention of a rationalistic
age. And nothing can show how far
the modern world has drifted away from
the old Christian point of view than the
fact that these three sweet saints have
made so slight an impression upon it.
Had they lived and worked as they did,
in the Ages of Faith, their tombs would
already have become sacred shrines, to
which troops of pious pilgrims would be
crowding to kneel and pray. Sister
Agnes Jones, Mother Margaret Hallahan,
and Sister Dora Pattison are the three
pious women to whom I refer. Their
lives have been written by loving hands;
and, in the long series of religious
biographies, more touching and graceful
portraits would not easily be found.
Amid many points of difference as to
theological opinion, social position, and
character, they yet had striking points
of likeness. The passionate love and
affection with which they inspired all
who came within their influence show
what warm-hearted, generous natures
they possessed. Language seems to
fail their biographers in attempting to
render the devotion with which they
were regarded. A dying pauper in the
Liverpool workhouse said he thought
he was in heaven when Agnes came to
his bedside. A patient of Sister Dora
stood “ up and reverently pulled his
forelock as if he had pronounced the
name of a saint or angel,” every time
he mentioned her. Of Margaret it is
written: “What struck me most in our
dearest mother was her largeness of
heart, and the total absence of self in
all her words and actions.” A common
trait of these remarkable women was a
splendid physique and immense bodily
strength. Agnes, the least distinguished
�WHAT CHRISTIANITY HAS DONE
in this respect, was yet capable of enduring
extraordinary bodily fatigue.
“ After
a whole night on duty in St. Thomas’s
Hospital, she thinks it lazy to go to bed,
and spends the day in walking and paying
visits.”1 Of Dora, the surgeon of the
Epidemic Hospital said : “ Sister Dora
could set up all night and work all day
with little or no rest; and, as far as I
could judge, she was neither physically
nor mentally the worse for it. Her
strength was superhuman. I never saw
such a woman.” And this will not
appear an over-statement in the light of
the following anecdote : “A delirious
patient, a tall, heavy man, in the worst
stage of confluent small-pox, threw him
self out of bed in the dead of night,
and with a loud yell rushed to the door
before she could stop him. She had no
time for hesitation, but at once grappled
with him, all covered as he was with
the loathsome disease. Her combined
strength and determination prevailed,
and she got him back into bed, and
held him there by main force until
the doctor arrived in the morning.”2
Margaret, if possible, was still stronger.
Her biographer says: “ Possessed of
extraordinary muscular power, she was
rather proud of hearing herself called
as strong as Samson; and when about
seventeen years of age, seeing some men
hesitate to lift a great iron stove, she
thought to put them to shame, and
carried it unassisted to the top of the
house.” All three were brave, but Dora
was lion-hearted beyond compare, and
would face drunken ruffians in the slums
of Walsall, into which the police would
only venture with caution.
All had powerful minds, though in no
one of them had education been carried
very far. Indeed, Margaret was wholly
illiterate, and never mastered ortho
graphy, geography, or arithmetic. Agnes
had the usual education of a young lady
of family and position forty years ago.
Dora probably was the best trained of
1 Life, by her sister, p. 160.
2 Life, by Miss Lonsdale, p. 159.
87
the three. But native vigour of mind
supplied all defects, and each showed a
great faculty of government and organi
sation, though in different degrees.
Agnes, who died young, had not time
to show her full power; but the last
three years of her life, in charge of the
Liverpool workhouse, with its fifteen
hundred inmates, testified to her gifts
in that direction. Dora was a lovely,
fascinating despot, bending all hearts
and wills by her supreme charm and
force. Margaret was a born ruler, with
thoroughly imperial qualities, who could
have governed a state in perilous times
as well as she governed her convents.
If one might venture, in short, to imitate
the nomenclature applied to the great
Scholastics, we might call Agnes the Soror
Angelica, so ineffably meek, resigned, and
nunlike she was, for all her Protestant
training; Dora the Sotor Practica, with
her unequalled power of achieving work,
whatever it might be; Margaret the
Soror Dominatrix, by reason of her
grand and imposing mind and character,
which, in spite of her low birth and want
of culture, made her more than the equal
of the scholars, nobles, and ecclesiastics
of her own Catholic Church.
Now, is it not evident that all these
women were simply women of extraor
dinary genius ? Dora’s conversation was
bewitching ; her alternate humour and
pathos were the delight and solace of her
nurses and patients, and made an ob
server say that it was easy to see that
she might have been a great novelist, if
she had not chosen to be something
greater and better. Margaret, though
she could not spell the simplest words,
showed, in her incessant correspondence,
great powers of style. Agnes, though
inferior to either in these respects,
always writes with a simple, clear, and
direct vigour which proves what a calm,
strong brain she had. No one of them
gave a thought to literature, but one sees
that literature was easily within their
reach, if they had aimed at it. Their
distinction was founded on character,
the supreme quality; warm, fearless
�88
THE SERVICE OF MAN
hearts, exquisite tenderness of con
science, passionate self-sacrifice, and
devotion to duty. Christians by training
and inclination, they realised in their
fervent hearts the meaning and purport
of the gospel. According to the terms
of their belief, “ they forsook all and
followed ” Christ in their several ways—
the Evangelical Agnes, the High-Church
Dora, the Catholic Margaret. But even
their pious biographers admit that, apart
from the gifts of grace, which they were
not likely to undervalue, their natural
powers and endowments were extra
ordinary. Of Margaret it is said that
even at the first meeting the most
prominent features of her character
could not escape notice; “ the firm will,
the clear and rapid judgment, the
boundless power of sympathy, which
won her the title of ‘ everybody’s
mother.’” Miss Lonsdale tells us how
“ a hard, sarcastic Scotchman,” who was
a professed unbeliever, remarked of
Dora, whose patient he had been:
“ She’s a noble woman, but she’d have
been that without her Christianity.”
That is just the simple fact of the
matter. Such heads and hearts as these
are the property of no creed; they are
the choice products of that maligned
human nature which theologians tell us
is cursed and lost unless it believes this
or that article of faith. If the saintliness
of these holy women depended upon
their creed, why do not the thousands
and millions who hold the same creed
exhibit a like saintliness ? “ God did
not give them the grace ” is the theolo
gical answer ; and some are still satisfied
with it. But the answer is evidently
becoming unreal and meaningless. The
doctrine of heredity and variation has
deprived it of all weight. Strong minds
and fervent hearts, like strong bodies,
depend upon organisation; on the con
stitution and quality of the brain. But
brains “ are begotten, not made,” and
grace never made a weak brain strong.
The contemplation of these remarkable
women suggests one or two more interest
ing points of view.
i. An experience of some eighteen
centuries may be considered conclusive
as to the limited hold which Christianity
is capable of taking on mankind at large.
From the days of St. Paul to the present
time, the apathy and worldliness of the
great mass of men and women calling
themselves Christians has been the
constant lamentation of all sincere
preachers. Indeed, the parable of the
Sower clearly announces that the fact
was to be expected. The seed falls
in four different places, and only in
one does it bear fruit—where it fell on
good ground. The Wicked one, the want
of root, the cares of this world, and de
ceitfulness of riches prevent its growth
in the other places, which are evidently
supposed to cover by far the larger area;
and the parable of the Marriage of the
King’s Son, with its conclusion, “ Many
are called but few are chosen,” leaves
no doubt on the matter. The obvious
deduction is, that Christianity is only
adapted to a very limited number of
minds; that, for one reason or another,
the many, called as they may be, will not
“ hear the word and understand it.” And
this is exactly what has happened with
out interruption for nearly two thousand
years; Christendom has never been
evangelised, nor near being evangelised.
Even the smallest and most select com
munities of religious persons have their
backsliders and formalists, who are, to
use Mr. Spurgeon’s words, as religious as
the seats they sit on. The high Calvin
ists boldly face the difficulty, and say :
“ No doubt the great mass of mankind
are predestined from all eternity to
damnation; it is only the elect who are
really Christians, and go to heaven.”
Calvinism is out of fashion now, and re
proached with suggesting very unpleasant
notions as to the moral character of the
Deity ; but it is consistent and scriptural;
I do not say sensible or orthodox. So
far from Christianity being the universal
religion it is affirmed to be, it is not even
adapted to the majority of its own
believers. You must have a very fine
and peculiar organisation to be a true
�WHAT CHRISTIANITY HAS DONE
Christian; a special genius, which gene
rally declares itself in early life, as special
genius is apt to do. A Sister Agnes or
Mother Margaret takes to vital religion
with the spontaneous affinity that Mozart
took to music, Newton to mathematics,
and Keats to poetry. Religious genius,
in its highest form, is as rare, perhaps
more rare, than genius in any other form ;
and exalted piety is as unattainable to the
common herd as exalted poetry. Bishop
Ullathorne, who must have had large
opportunities of seeing nuns and others
who aimed with special earnestness at a
religious life, yet declares of Margaret that
she was distinguished from every other
holy soul that he had been acquainted
with, by three extraordinary gifts, which
he mentions : her peculiar love of God ;
the pain it cost her to turn from Him to
self-introspection ; and her angelic purity.
“Rare as suns,” he says, “are those
souls which seem to act on other souls
like a sacramental power, shedding the
rays of their own inward sense of
God and vital warmth of spirit into
the souls that come within the sphere
of their action.”1 And similar testi
mony as to the rarity of the endow
ments of Sisters Dora and Agnes are
forthcoming from those who have had
wide experience of religious persons.
Yet, good as these pious women were, I
suppose no priest or theologian would
say that they had attained the furthest
limit of Christian perfection. They all
thought in their humility that they had
fallen far short of it. What hope, then,
is there for souls less richly endowed ?
And let us observe how this pursuit of
a spirituality utterly beyond attainment
by ordinary mortals, beautiful as it is
when attained, operates injuriously on
the morality of average men and women.
The standard proposed is so exalted that,
instead of attracting the ordinary person
to aim at reaching it, it discourages and
repels him. He is inwardly conscious
that he cannot possibly reach it, even if
he tries ever so much. His preacher
* Preface to Life of Mother Margaret.
89
will probably tell him that, if he
trusts in his own strength, he can
do nothing; but that, if he will only
put all his trust in God and Christ,
the end will be attained. But that is
just what he is unable to do. He is
exhorted to exert a spirituality of mind
which, by the hypothesis, he has not got.
It is like telling a man that, if he will
only fly, he will reach great altitudes.
He has not the wings. Even the saints
have generally had long periods of pro
bation and wrestlings with God before
they could attain to that detachment,
spirituality, and perfect faith which
enabled them to perform the act of com
plete self-renunciation required. Yet
it is recommended to the common
multitude, as if it were the easiest thing
in the world.
And what is the result?
Setting
apart the openly profane and wicked,
who do not give a thought to the sub
ject ; and, without denying it, simply
ignore Christianity ; the bulk of worldly,
unconverted believers pass their time in
a middle state between sin and repent
ance ; believers, but not doers, of the
Word; wishing they could embrace
their religion with entire earnestness,
but too well aware that, constituted as
they are, they are unable to do so. Of
course, reference is made only to the
true-hearted, honest folk who transgress
from weakness, and not to the spiritually
dead Pharisee who has no doubt about
his righteousness. Such are, on all
hands, admitted to be worse than the
publicans and harlots. But the mass of
common-place people who go to church
or chapel, who are neither very good nor
very bad, neither exceptionally clever
nor stupid, the enormous middle-class of
mediocrities, fairly just, conscientious,
and kind-hearted, can it be denied that
they are constantly deterred from em
bracing a serious view of life’s duties,
just because a standard of such exalted
perfection is proposed to them that they
know it is no use attempting to reach it ?
They perhaps try, and fail, and they are
more disheartened than before. They
�9°
THE SERVICE OE MAN
then live with a mildly evil conscience,
knowing that they ought to do better.
But they are at once told that that is not
enough; that they must do their best;
that they must be perfect, as their Father
which is in heaven is perfect. Then
they do less than they could, out of
sheer, weary dejection. In what other
art or science do teachers begin by
placing the most arduous problems before
their pupils ? Young mathematicians
are not set to work on the Differential
Calculus in their first lessons; young
artists are not expected to draw like
Andrea, and colour like Titian. But the
young catechumen is told that the first
thing he must do “ is to renounce the
devil and all his works, the pomps and
vanities of this wicked world, and all the
sinful lusts of the flesh.” For the first
precept of the first lesson, this must be
admitted to be rather hard. How many
saints, after a long life’s progress in
holiness, have been equal to it ? To
renounce the devil and all his works
cannot be easy, if all that we are told of
Satan’s power be true. But the “ good
child ” is told that he must do this at
once. By a subsequent after-thought on
the part of the compiler, the learner is
warned that he cannot do this and a
great many other things of himself} he
needs God’s special grace, “which he
must learn to call for by diligent prayer.”
Probably, to nine children out of ten
“ diligent prayer,” commanded in this
way, appears even more obscure and
meaningless than renouncing the pomps
and vanities of this wicked world. How
cruel and heedless to place the last stage
of spiritual evolution at the threshold of
the neophyte’s progress. The whole
Catechism and the larger part of sermons
and Christian teaching are pervaded by
the double error of supposing that the
highest religious emotions are attainable
by all, and that they may be inculcated
at the earliest period of life.
“ My
duty towards God is to believe in him,
to fear him, and to love him with all my
heart, with all my mind, with all my
soul, and 'with all my strengths Perhaps
the most prompt and certain way of
checking an emotion in others is to tell
them that it is their duty to feel it. Tell
any one he ought to feel grateful, and
you will probably make him ten times
more ungrateful than he was before.
We may be sure that no one ever loved
God for being told that it was his duty
to love him. Wise and good mothers,
by gentle and indirect precept and very
direct example, have led their little ones
to piety; but then they used the subtle
language of the heart. The unreality
and inefficacy of sermons chiefly depend
on the transcendent disproportion be
tween the doctrine preached and the
capacity to receive it by the audience
addressed. A mixed congregation, con
sisting of men whose thoughts are
absorbed in business and women occu
pied with dress and frivolities, are spoken
to in language which would not be
inadequate to the spiritual needs of
angels. The result is a discrepancy
between faith and practice which the
profane are not slow to tax with hypo
crisy. Neither religion nor morals gain
by such exaggerations ; only the scoffers
at all goodness, who delight in pointing
out that so-called religious people are
no better than their neighbours. To
get the best you can out of men you
must not ask more than they can give.
But if you ask for that in the proper way,
nearly all but the thoroughly bad will
respond. By asking for the impossible,
you get little or nothing, or worse than
nothing; a conviction that religion is
grimace, and a disbelief in the possibility
of virtue.
And now let us contemplate these
three saints from another side : that of
the value of their work, its usefulness in
this world, and its power of diminishing
human suffering.
Before I go further I shall be met
with a refusal to allow the question to
be stated in this way. It will be said
that these ladies considered far more the
souls than the bodies of their patients,
pupils, nurses, or nuns, as the case may
be; that, although they strove earnestly
�WHAT CHRISTIANITY HAS DONE
to heal the sick, none more so, yet their
real and main object was to win souls
to Christ. I am not inclined to deny so
obvious a fact; but it is one with which
I cannot deal, because, as regards the
result of their labours in that direction,
I can form no opinion. It is wholly
beyond my power to verify any statement
on that head. Of the numbers who
died in their presence, soothed and com
forted beyond doubt, by their assured
faith, their fervent prayers, and “tranquil
regardent faces,” I cannot tell whether
any or none ever passed “to where
beyond these voices there is peace.”
The point must be left undecided, to say
the least, for want of evidence of an
objective kind, as distinguished from
evidence of a subjective kind, reposing
entirely on faith. Believers must be
satisfied with their own belief until they
can advance arguments far more cogent
than any which they have hitherto
produced in support of it. Agnostics
cannot be expected to argue on principles
which they reject. But this does not
wholly remove a common ground on
which discussion can take place. The
temporal work of these good women is
offered to us as a proof of what the
divine spirit can do when it finds fitting
channels. Now, I will vie with any one
in celebrating the unselfish devotion,
the self-sacrifice, the warm love and sym
pathy, which they all showed in assuaging
human suffering, bodily or mental. I
cannot read their lives without tears,
and the admiration I feel for them may
be truly called passionate. I regard them
as inexpressibly lovely and attractive
human souls, who, led on by their own
warm women’s hearts, nearly, if not
entirely, conquered self, and became like
the beautiful alabaster box of ointment of
spikenard, very costly and precious, which,
when poured out, filled the house with
the odour of the ointment. But this
profession does not preclude me from
pointing out that, if the question is of
diminishing human suffering, these pious
workers did not take up the problem
with any full sense of its magnitude;
9i
did not begin high enough up in their
efforts to stop the stream of evil and
pain. While the value of good nursing
can hardly be exaggerated, it can never
be more than an adjunct of practical
medicine. It is in biological and patho
logical research, with the object of
discovering and destroying the germs
and origin of disease, that science now
justly rests its main hope of serving
humanity. And is there not already
ample reason for looking on this
hope as well-founded? The anecdote,
quoted a few pages back, of Sister Dora
grappling with the delirious patient in
his loathsome condition from confluent
small-pox, presents a graphic and even
sensational picture of self-devotion for
the welfare of a fellow-creature. The
deed was heroic and admirable, whether
the sufferer’s life was ultimately saved or
not. But now, regard the method of
science in encountering disease, and this
particular malady of small-pox. A man
of genius, with his eyes open, observes
that milkmaids inoculated with cow-pox
are not susceptible to the graver con
tagion, and Jenner, after careful and
elaborate experiments, announces the
discovery of vaccination.
There is
nothing to appeal to the dramatic sym
pathies in this, nothing to stir emotion
in the ordinary spectator. On the con
trary, at the time it was considered to
afford material for ridicule as a sample
of scientific absurdity.
But which
method has been most profitable to
humanity ? Have all the self-sacrifices
of all the Doras and Sisters of Mercy
in the world spared mankind a tithe
of the suffering which has been pre
vented by vaccination? The epidemic
of small - pox at Walsall, in which
Sister Dora played so noble a part,
appears formidable and shocking to
us, with our modern ideas of the
subject. But, in the last century, before
Jenner, it would, in the dimensions it
had, have been considered beneath
notice. Half the population might have
been swept away without attracting par
ticular attention. That was the way
�92
THE SERVICE OF MAN
likened the temper excited in some
with small-pox, and people were resigned.
portions of the clerical world by the
It was the finger or the wrath of God,
recent growth of physical science to the
chastening men for their sins.
Now, as one might expect in these anger and alarm with which the savage
biographies, in no one instance is scien views the progress of an eclipse; and
tific inquiry ever mentioned as a duty of that the comparison was just these
the slightest importance or value. It sentiments of Mother Margaret suffi
would be simple indeed to look for any ciently show. It is a favourite theme
thing of the kind in such a quarter. with theologians to maintain that the
The point of view is wholly different. love of God leads to the loftiest and
God present everywhere, doing or per purest love of man, and 1 John iv. 20
mitting all that happens, is the invariable is quoted with effect. But a long experi
presumption. Sister Dora on one occa ence has shown that a verse of the
sion offered to pay a visit to a friend. Psalms is often a truer statement of the
“But,” she added, “of course, if the actual fact. “ Shall I not hate them, O
Master comes and calls for me, and Lord, that hate thee ?” Can we doubt
sends us in more cases, I cannot come.” that Mother Margaret, who, for all her
The “ Master,” of course, is God; and warm-heartedness, could rejoice in so
the cases were cases of small-pox, which dreadful a thing as shipwrecks, just
he was supposed to send on the one because, in her narrow bigotry, she
hand, and to call Dora to nurse on the thought they were a rebuke to men of
other. This is the prevailing tone. But science, could also have assisted at an
in neither of the Protestant lives is there Auto da Fe without compunction, if told
any direct railing at science. In the it was required by the interests of her
Catholic life it is very different. There creed ?
we meet the flash of anger and hatred
The particular case we have been
for science, characteristic of the theolo considering is significant enough in itself,
gian who fears that his God is in danger. as typical of the different methods of
Considering her entire want of scientific theology and science, in their contention
or philosophical culture, Mother Mar against human suffering.
But it sug
garet showed great penetration in her gests much wider issues: the whole
remark on this subject. When she first question of the great campaign against
caught sight of the Britannia Bridge she vice, evil, and misery. The principle
exclaimed : “ Oh, how wonderful ! But of Christian charity is to palliate and
if men do such things as these, they assuage physical and social evils in
will begin to think they have no their last and extreme form. If you
need of God.” And her biographers meet a beggar, give him alms; if you
tell us she felt a certain satisfaction have no money, divide your cloak
when some of the wonderful modern with him, as did St. Martin. Feed the
discoveries came to nought. She was hungry, clothe the naked. In a word,
glad to hear that the laying of the run with prompt love and sympathy to
first Atlantic cable had failed; and,
succour every case of mortal distress
what is still worse, and is a stain on her that comes within your reach. Do this
memory, she was even pleased that, “ in in remembrance of Christ, and be
spite of storm-signals and meteorological blessed. He would be a cold and
theories, the wrecks on the English coast shallow student of history who ventured
increased, instead of diminishing in to speak of this spontaneous movement
number.”1 “ I like these learned gentle of the heart with disrespect. The Chris
men to know,” she would say, “ that tian care for the sick and infirm was
God is master.” Professor Huxley once unknown to the pagan world. It was
the best and only thing to do under the
circumstances. Science was not; and
1 Life, p. 231.
�WHA T CHRISTIANITY HAS DONE
relief, such relief as could be given by
poor, uninstructed fellow-men, was all
that could be had. But science has
slowly and gradually discovered and
proved that social and physical evil
and pain may not only be soothed, but
anticipated and prevented. Not that it
neglects palliatives of suffering; on the
contrary, it applies them with an efficacy
and power utterly beyond the conception
of former ages. But it does more; it
nips evil in the bud, or rather in the
seed, and does not wait for its full
efflorescence before it attacks it. Physical,
social, and moral evil, disease and sin,
it regards as so many pathological con
ditions, which we may reasonably hope
to correct, modify, and ultimately to
suppress. As regards physical disease,
this position would hardly be questioned
even by the most orthodox. Several of
the most formidable afflictions to which
human and animal bodies are subject
have already been got under control.
Small-pox and typhoid fever are, we may
say, understood and practically mastered;
that is, they are not allowed to spread
and devastate as they formerly did. A
number of other maladies with which it
once seemed hopeless to contend are
even now passing into the class of the
controllable disorders, as consumption,
rabies, and cholera. Similarly with regard
to pauperism and other social disorders.
The prompt and easy narcotic of charity
is not to be universally proscribed as
uniformly evil, but it is ascertained to be
of dangerous application, and liable to
aggravate the evil it pretends to cure.
Pauperism can only be combated with
success by that knowledge of social and
economic laws which corresponds to the
knowledge of biological laws in the
neighbouring science. It may be proper
93
and wise, in a given case, to divide your
coat with a beggar; the only thing that a
humane man would or could do. But it
is vastly more important to ascertain the
social and economic causes of the
beggar’s existence; and, if he be a
common phenomenon, to correct those
breaches of the laws of social health
which make his emergence possible.
Again, with regard to ethics. Moral
evil, or sin, can only be successfully
corrected by such an investigation and
knowledge of man’s mental, emotional,
and physical constitution, that that part
of conduct which is concerned with
morals may be directed in a way that
conduces to the highest individual and
social happiness and well-being. In a
word, the Christian principle is to act
from spontaneous charity and bene
volence with such means as are imme
diately to hand: to regard evil, pain,
and disease as trials sent by God for
his own wise ends; chastisements, meant
for our rebuke or guidance, to make
us turn to him, and leave off caring
for a temporal, wicked, and miserable
world. The principle of science is
directly contrary. It has already pre
vented numberless evils in a way which
would have appeared to our forefathers
quite miraculous. Admitting that there
will, perhaps, be always a residue of
unconquerable evils which science cannot
hope to remove, it is maintained that the
resignation produced by a clear view of
the impossible and inevitable is more
complete than that which never wholly
renounces the hope of divine aid. Mother
Margaret was quite right in her fears;
“but if men do such things as these,
they will begin to think that they can do
without God.” That thought is rapidly
spreading over the civilised world.
�94
THE SERVICE OF MAN
Chapter VIII.
THE SERVICE OF MAN
The results of the previous inquiry would
seem to be as follows :—
1. That a widespread tendency exists
in this, and still more in other countries,
to give up a belief in Christianity. And
that the scepticism of the present day is
very far more serious and scientific than
was the deism of the last century.
2. That the supposed consolations of
Christianity have been much exaggerated.
And that it may be questioned whether
that religion does not often produce as
much anxiety and mental distress as it
does of joy, gladness, and content.
3. That by the great doctrine of forgive
ness of sins consequent on repentance,
even in the last moment of life, Chris
tianity often favours spirituality and salva
tion at the expense of morals.
4. That the morality of the Ages of
Faith was very low ; and that the further
we go back into times when belief was
strongest, the worse it is found to be.
5. That Christianity has a very limited
influence on the world at large ; but a
most powerful effect on certain hightoned natures, who, by becoming true
saints, produce an immense impression
on public opinion, and give that religion
much of the honour which it enjoys.
6. That, although the self-devotion of
saints is not only beyond question, but
supremely beautiful and attractive, yet,
as a means of relieving human suffering
and serving man in the widest sense, it
is not to be compared for efficiency with
science.
It is sufficiently obvious that, unless
the tendencies which we have been con
sidering meet with a strange and unex
pected arrest, the result, in a not distant
future, must be a general disappearance
of Christianity from among the more
advanced populations of the globe. In
making this statement, one naturally I
recalls the grave irony of the Advertise
ment prefixed to the first edition of
Butler’s Analogy, which is often cited
as affording a good example of the way
in which the hopes of unbelievers may
be deceived. “ It is come, I know not
how,” says Butler, “to be taken for
granted, by many persons, that Chris
tianity is not so much as a subject of
inquiry; but that it is, at length, now
discovered to be fictitious. And accord
ingly they treat it, as if, in the present
age, this were an agreed point among all
people of discernment; and nothing
remained but to set it up as a principal
subject of mirth and ridicule, as it were
by way of reprisals, for its having so long
interrupted the pleasures of the world.”
The “people of discernment,” it is
pointed out, were very much mistaken
in their assumption that Christianity
was discovered to be fictitious. The
Analogy was written nearly a hundred
and fifty years ago; and, for a fictitious
system, Christianity still shows con
siderable vitality. The number of new
churches and chapels built, the zeal and
activity of the clergy and missionaries,
the propagation of the gospel in foreign
parts, and similar facts, are adduced, not
without a certain tone of triumph, as
sufficient evidence of how groundless
and shallow the hopes of the “ sceptic ”
have proved to be in this particular case.
Both the original text of Butler and the
modern commentaries upon it rather
show how remote is the scientific and
historical point of view from the religious,
and what a far-off stage of thought
Butler’s expressions represent.
The
word “ fictitious ” alone, as applied to an
ancient and widespread religion, jars
upon the ear. As if great phases of
human thought and feeling could be
invented, like a stage play, or concocted
�THE SERVICE OF MAN
by designing priests for the sake of
gain.' That this really was the current
deistical opinion is certain, and it was
crudely expressed in the famous silly
verses :—
“ Natural Religion was easy, first, and plain;
Tales made it mystery, offerings made it gain ;
Sacrifices and shows were at length prepared,
The priests ate roast meat, and the people
stared.”
A wider knowledge of human nature,
past and present, has made such trivial
conceptions impossible. No form of the
religious sentiment is now regarded as
fictitious; but, on the contrary, as the
serious and solid result of the stage of
evolution in which it appears. Similarly
with regard to making Christianity a
subject of mirth and ridicule. No one
with a reputation to lose would think of
speaking with levity of the Christian or
any religion. Nothing would be con
sidered better proof of incompetence to
handle such subjects than such a tone.
The world is older and sadder, and on
the whole wiser, than it was in Butler’s
day. The alleged interruption of the
pleasures of the world by Christianity
is open to question as a matter of fact.
Pleasures in abundance, and of a
sufficiently coarse kind, were indulged in
without difficulty in the Ages of Faith.
The “ eat, drink, and be merry ” temper
is generally discountenanced in theory;
and, even in practice, is less rife than it
was among our forefathers.
In fact, the result of historical specula
tion has been, with regard to Christianity,
the same as the result of biological
speculation has been with regard to man.
Both have been taken from the isolation
and independence in which they were
supposed to exist, with reference to
other members of the same order; and
have been included in the larger classifi
cation which places man at the head of
vertebrate animals and Christianity at
the head of supernatural religions. The
biological view has prevailed, one may
say, with surprising rapidity, considering
the amount of prejudice which had to be
overcome.
The historical view has
95
naturally triumphed less completely, in
asmuch as scientific history is a much
younger science than biology. But the
end will be the same. Christianity is
already classed, by a large and growing
number of the most competent historical
inquirers, simply as the last and finest
specimen of a group of beliefs, which, in
one form or another, are co-extensive
with humanity and history. If this view
should prove to be slower in gaining
acceptance than the biological view of
the descent of man, the reason will,
probably, be not wholly referable to the
position of history in the order of the
sciences. Distasteful as it was to human
vanity to prove that man had descended
from an anthropoid ape, which again had
descended from a bird or a reptile, the
idea still is one which can be put aside,
which ordinary folk need not think of in
daily life, and which involves no imme
diate practical consequences to them
selves. The final admission, that Chris
tianity is not fictitious, indeed, in
Butler’s phrase, but simply a form of
thought unsuited to a scientific age,
and therefore no longer tenable by an
educated population, is attended by
far greater difficulties. Very obvious
practical consequences are involved in
such a conclusion, which cannot readily
be ignored. If the belief in God,
Christ, and the other articles of the
Christian faith must rationally be relin
quished, people ask : What are you going
to put in their place ? What rule of life
do you propose to substitute for the one
removed ? What is the successor to
Christianity as a religion? Or will it
have no successor ? And some even go
so far as to inquire what is to become of
those spiritual and religious instincts
which have hitherto found their exercise
and satisfaction in a religion now pro
nounced to be incompatible with the new
knowledge. Natural instincts are not to
be suppressed by the theories of savants,
however scientific; and it is argued that
the religious sentiment is as much a per
manent factor of human nature as the
logical intellect, and must, necessarily,
�9&
THE SERVICE OF MAN
survive its endlessly varied and often un
stable conclusions.
The religious sentiment, or that group
of emotions so-called, is one thing, and
the Christian or any particular religion is
another. The religious sentiment has,
during the course of ages, assumed many
divergent forms, and at this day is repre
sented in the most dissimilar and diver
sified beliefs and ceremonies. The
original elements of human nature are
all capable of morphological develop
ment and change in their manifestations,
although they remain fundamentally the
same. Nothing could well be a more
permanent constituent of human nature
than the instinct which leads to marriage;
but few things have varied more than the
institution of marriage. From marriage
by capture, through polygamy, polyandry,
down to the monogamy of modern
States, which still show great differences
of detail in their laws on the subject, the
legal relations of the sexes have varied
with the knowledge, culture, and civilisa
tion of the times. It is the same with
regard to government and civil institu
tions, with regard to war and its usages,
with regard to the notions of right and
wrong. What reason can be given to
lead us to suppose that the religious sen
timent alone should remain fixed and
crystallised in one form, and that a recent
one, which supervened in historical times,
and was preceded by a great variety of
previous forms ? Obviously none.
When, therefore, we are asked what
religion we propose to substitute in place
of the old one, now threatened with ex
tinction, the answer is that no such pre
tension is entertained for a moment.
Religions are organic growths, and are
no more capable of fabrication than
animals or plants. The notion that indi
vidual men can found religions—that is,
invent them out of their own heads, and
set them going, is on a par with the
notion that men can found States and
create policies which last for ages. Both
notions were prevalent, and not irrational
once, when neither man nor, society was
conceived as subject to natural laws. So
it was really believed that Lycurgus
founded the Spartan State, and Romulus
the Roman; that Moses founded Juda
ism, and Mohammed, Islam. No mis
conception could be greater, and none is
more certain to disappear. That longprepared changes are often suddenly
accomplished, under the inspiring leader
ship of a great man, is beyond question;
and it is quite natural that the great
man’s name should be associated with
the change in which he took a prominent
part. But he did not make the change,
in the sense of founding or beginning
something new, which would not have
existed without him. His function, and
it was great indeed, was to have intellect
enough to see the need of change, and
courage and will enough to help it for
ward, to direct forces which were already
at hand. All great changes in Church
or State exemplify this truth, in propor
tion as we are able to observe them with
accuracy of detail. Nothing is more
certain than that, in one sense, Julius
Caesar overthrew the Republic, and
founded the Empire of Rome. But how
long had such a revolution been pre
paring ? From the days of the Scipios,
or of Sulla and Marius. Or might
it not be dated from the earliest con
stitution of Rome, which rendered a
municipal form of government inade
quate, and finally impossible, for a wide
Empire? All great social revolutions
result from long precedent, although,
perhaps, occult growth, as parturition, in
the body physical, pre-supposes em
bryonic growth. Similarly with regard
to the Reformation. Luther, in vulgar
Catholic or Protestant opinion, is
credited with the whole glory, or infamy,
of the revolt from Rome. But from
the days of Wicliffe and Huss the entire
Church had been seething with projects
of reform; and Luther can only claim
the honour of having, in the fulness of
time, given the critical impulse which
liberated forces accumulated during hun
dreds of previous years.
There can be no question, therefore,
�THE SERVICE OF MAN
of making and offering a New Religion
to the world at the present juncture.
Our first task must be to try and dis
cover what is the spontaneous tendency
of thought and sentiment on this matter.
What is the direction which evolution
may be expected to take ? If that can
be ascertained, a great point will be
gained. Three courses are always open
to men called upon to deal with great
social and moral tendencies. They may
be blindly resisted ; they may be blindly
stimulated and hastened; they may, by
careful study and observation of their
a nature, be largely controlled and directed;
J that is to say, they may be dealt with in
a spirit of reaction, or in a spirit of revo' lution, or in a spirit of orderly and con
scious progress. Reaction, when con
ducted on a large scale with unflinching
vigour, by no means always fails. The
Moslem Obscurantists in Spain suc
ceeded in crushing Arab philosophy.1
The Catholic Church has several times ex
tirpated opinions, by the efficient method
of killing those who held them. In
Spain, Bohemia, Italy, and Belgium,
Protestantism was stamped out, like the
rinderpest, by prompt and persevering
slaughter. It is a method difficult of
prolonged application; and it is gene
rally avenged. The state of religion in
Catholic countries, and the animosity
felt towards it by large numbers of the
proletariat, are not encouraging examples.
The Protestants have not been behind
r the Catholics in their willingness to
prosecute, but they have seldom had
equal power. In Ireland, however, they
nearly reached the highest level of per
formance in that line. With what
disaster to all of us is now only too
apparent.
How evil, on the other hand, the revo
lutionary spirit can be has been well
shown by France in the eighteenth cen
tury—first in speculation, and afterwards
in politics. The precipitate conclusions
of the philosophes, although proceeding
on principles fundamentally sound, as
’ See Renan, Averroes.
97
subsequent results have p’roved, were yet
marked by a heat and haste which led
to the romantic reaction, and the Idealist
and Transcendental Philosophies which
nearly suspended rational speculation for
half a century. It is unnecessary to
dwell on the indelible harm done to
orderly progress by the violence of the
Revolution, which to this day supplies
reactionaries with some of their best
weapons against a large and generous
liberalism. Perhaps the sober, prudent,
middle course we have mentioned, which,
while frankly accepting and using the
new lights obtained, does not exaggerate
their illuminating power, is destined in
this age to avoid the dangers associated
with either of the two extremes.
The essence of practical religion at all
times has been Sacrifice. However the
origin of religion is to be explained—and
anthropologists in later times seem to
have elucidated the subject with much
success by ancestor worship, the ghost,
and other theories—propitiatory sacrifice
has been the unfailing mark and memo
rial of religious belief. It is unnecessary
to produce evidence of a statement so
redundantly supported. "What chiefly
deserves notice in this connection is the
progressive change in the character of the
sacrifice, corresponding with mental evo
lution. In earlier' times human sacri
fices were, probably, everywhere regarded
as the most pleasing and powerful with
the deities. Every form of possession
valued by primitive people was readily
lavished on the altar of the gods, either
to avert their wuath or to secure their
favour; cattle, first-fruits especially, as at
once the most costly to the worshipper
and the most acceptable to the Divinity.
In time this gross form of propitiation
was transcended, and even the later
Jewish prophets speak of it with disdain.
As the conceptions of the moral cha
racter of the gods grew loftier, the notion
of the sacrifices calculated to please them
rose in proportion. As men attained to
worthier ideas of moral excellence, they
recognised that sacrifice of their own
baser instincts was likely to be the most
H
�98
THE SERVICE OF MAN
pleasing offering to a moral deity. “ A
wise man,” says a passage in the Insti
tutes of Menu, “should constantly dis
charge all the moral duties, though he
perform not constantly the ceremonies of
religion, since he falls low if while he
performs ceremonial acts only, he dis
charges not his moral duties.”* And the
same law prescribes “content, returning
good for evil, resistance to sensual appe
tites, abstinence from illicit gain, purifi
cation, coercion of the organs.......
veracity, and freedom from wrath.”23 Yet
the cruelty and obscenity of the early
Hindu religion are beyond doubt. The
frank indecencies and immoralities of
primitive creeds are in time explained
away by mystical allegories of the most
spiritual purity. “ The lascivious form
of a naked Venus,” says Gibbon, refer
ring to the fancies of the Neo-Platonists,
“ was tortured into the discovery of some
moral precept or some physical truth,
and the castration of Atys explained the
revolution of the sun between the tropics,
or the separation of the human soul from
vice and error.”3 The primitive meaning
of the phallus in India, according to
Mr. Wilson, is entirely forgotten. “ The
form under which the Lingam is wor
shipped, that of a column, suggests no
impure ideas, and few of the uneducated
Hindus attach any other idea to it than
it is Siva; they are not aware of its
typical character.”4
The next point is that primitive reli
gion had little or no connection with
human welfare, apart from the action of
supernatural beings. Its chief or only
object was to guard the worshipper from
injuries which came from the spirit
world, or to procure him benefits from
the same origin. From a natural, mun
dane point of view, primitive religion was
oftener evil than good. It sacrificed
human life and property on the imaginary
propitiation of fictitious deities. It is
highly probable, indeed, that even the
1
2
3
4
Mill's History of India, Book II., cap. 6.
Ibid., Book II., cap. 6.
Decline and Fall, c. xxiii.
Note to Mill’s India, loc. cit.
most horrid primitive cults were indi
rectly beneficial, as means of discipline,
and of adapting to social conditions the
semi-brutal instincts of prehistoric man.
In that respect primitive religion re
sembled war, which, destructive as it was
in one sense, is still recognised as one
of the most educational phases which
humanity has passed through. But, just
as the antagonism between sacrifice and
morality was gradually overcome, so the
hostility of primitive religion to human
welfare was in time replaced by an
approximation to concord between them.
The angle of divergence became pro
gressively less. Worship of the gods
tended more and more to coincide with
the welfare of man. The humanisation
of the various polytheistic religions of the
world has been very unequal, both in
degree and rapidity, depending, as it
necessarily must, on the unequal progress
in knowledge and civilisation. The
Hindus in three thousand years have
made less progress in purging their
primitive beliefs of their cruelty and
grossness than the Romans did in five
hundred years. But the general rule
holds good, that a progressive people,
even without foreign help from more
advanced populations, tends to outlive
the primitively barbarous and noxious
elements of its creed, and to retain those
which harmonise with general utility.1
The Christian religion has been no
exception to this rule; in fact, it would
not be easy to mention a religion which
has profited more by the general growth
of knowledge and civilisation than the
Christian. It has been claimed, not
without a show of reason, that it is a
peculiar and exceptional merit of Chris
tianity that it has been able to adapt
itself to most unequal and divergent
stages of culture, and that it has met
the wants of barbarous and civilised
races with equal success. Though the
time is obviously approaching, if it
1 Polybius’s testimony to the value of the
Roman religion, as enforcing honesty, is too
well known to need quoting (lib. vi., cap. 56).
�THE SERVICE OF MAN
has not been already reached, when
its alleged adequacy to the needs of
civilised society becomes more and more
questionable, it may be frankly ad
mitted that Christianity has surpassed
all other religions in its power of keeping
up with human evolution. The fact is,
no doubt, owing to the large element of
Greek philosophy grafted on Christianity
by the Greek and Latin fathers, and
even by St. Paul. The religion would
probably not have survived into modern
times unless it had possessed this elas
ticity and capacity of modification,
which have allowed it to exist side by
side with the most divergent beliefs on
other subjects. A Catholic Christian of
the fifth and one of the nineteenth
century would, if they could meet in the
flesh, agree in reference to the Creeds of
the Church, but they would be able to
agree in little besides. If we could
have a conversation with the great St.
Augustine, we should soon fail to find
common ground for argument, whether
as to matters of fact, principles of
reasoning, or even as to the interpreta
tion of Scripture; and it may even be
doubted if the present able and accom
plished Pope, who has so deep a venera
tion for St. Thomas Aquinas, would not
find a prolonged discussion on things in
general difficult to maintain with the
Angel of the Schools. Yet St. Augustine,
St. Thomas, and Leo XIII., must be
admitted to be thoroughly orthodox and
authentic Christians. But this flexibility
and adaptability of Christianity on the
intellectual side are not the qualities
with which we are chiefly concerned at
this moment. The point I would bring
out' is the incomparably greater em
phasis laid by modern Christians on all
that concerns human well-being than
was usually done by their predecessors.
In the old days the Faith, holy living,
and especially holy dying, were the great
themes of Christian preachers. The
true Faith was literally all-important, as,
without it, you were hopelessly lost,
whatever else you might do or be.
Hence, the Faith was to be fought for
99
and suffered for at any cost. Wars,
massacres, burnings, tortures, were trivial
considerations compared with the one
thing needful, which alone could lead
to heaven. And we know that these
plagues were scattered through many
centuries without stint or remorse. After
the true Faith was gained, the next chief
thing was to make a good use of it, and.
by a holy life and a repentant death to.
save your soul. Earthly miseries, famines,,
pestilences, ignorance, chronic poverty,
were lamentable, no doubt; but the
famines and the pestilences were espe
cially so, as manifestations of God’s
wrath, who was thus chastising a wicked
world. Their proper and only antidote
was prayer, and repentance, and humilia
tion before God, who might thereby be
induced to stay his hand. Such afflic
tions were incidental to the lot of man,
the appropriate retribution for sin, to be
borne with resignation. As for combating
them by human means and knowledge,,
with a view to suppressing them, if such
an idea could have emerged, it would
have been unquestionably pronounced
impious and shocking. The only recog
nised form of relief was charity : the
rich must give of their abundance to the
poor, and they would be repaid in
heaven. The Church of Rome gave
practical effect to this view by the admi
rable and useful institution of, first, the
Freres de la Charite, founded by the
Portuguese Johann Ciudad, 1497, and
afterwards of the Filles de la Misericorde,
the work of the saintly Vincent of Paul,
1634. Every form of praise and honour
is due to those good men and women
who devoted themselves without stint to
the relief of human misery, regardless of
the more profitable pursuits of Church
politics and theological controversy. But
the very foundation of these institutions
showed that they supplied a great want
which had not been furnished by the
Church before ; and they were, after all,
only a small and subordinate section of
the vast hierarchy which had shared the
dominion of the world with the temporal
power. St. Vincent of Paul met in the
�IOO
THE SERVICE OF MAN
ranks of the secular clergy with some of
his most stubborn opponents.1
A Now, it is hardly too much to say
that in recent times the whole attitude
of the clergy in all countries has been
changed with regard to social questions.
Nearly every form of relief now, in
greater or lesser degree, passes through
their hands. The improvement of the
condition of the poor seems very often
to be the chief occupation of many a
hard-worked parish priest. To rescue
•children from vice and temptation, to
inform their minds with virtuous prin
ciples, to clothe and feed their bodies,
•to ameliorate the dwellings of their
parents, and admit a ray of light and
brightness into the squalor of their
daily lives—these and similar objects
occupy the time and minds of Christian
ministers to a degree which was never
even remotely approached in the past.
In other words, Christian doctrine, or,
at least, Christian practice, has been
gradually brought into harmony with
human and terrestrial wants, so as
almost to run parallel with them. The
world has much changed. The cessation
of religious controversy is a surprising
phenomenon. In place of the storm
.and fury with which polemics formerly
filled the air, we have now a great calm.
The small sputter of theological disputes
still occasionally heard is as the explo
sion of squibs and crackers compared
to that of the heavy ordnance in the
mighty controversies of old.
Thus we find two permanent factors
running through the religions of the past
in all their changes of outward presenta
tion : sacrifices on the part of the wor
shipper ; and a gradual approximation
of the service of the gods to the service
of man. Neither of these factors is the
exclusive property of any one religion;
and both of them in some degree,
perhaps, may belong to all. They are
quite capable of detachment and isola
tion from the surroundings with which
they are usually associated in theological
1 See Feillet, La Misire an Temps de la Fronde.
creeds. Sacrifice admits of almost in
finite degrees both in quality and quan
tity, from an offering of a pair of turtle
doves or two young pigeons up to a
hundred oxen; from the most partial
control of the coarsest passions up to
saintly abnegation of every impure or
selfish desire. And the spirit of sacrifice,
the postponing of self to others, the
giving up what the natural man loves
and values, whether possessions or
cherished lusts, is so little restricted to
the worshippers of a God or gods that it
may be said in its highest form to be
unattainable by them. The worshipper
of a god never quite transcends the hope
of a recompense for his devotion—not
from men, but from “ his Father which
seeth in secret,” and who shall reward
him openly. And this feeling springs
inevitably from the very conception of a
deity, especially if he be God Almighty.
A creature can be on no terms of recipro
city with his Creator; he can only be a
recipient from God, never a Tenderer
back of good.
The very thought of
performing an act of kindness or sym
pathy to God is absurd. The infinite
disparity between the. two beings, man
and his Maker, has as a consequence
that “ every good gift and every perfect
gift is from above.” Only to his fellows
can man be completely altruistic, “hoping
for nothing again.” That numbers of
men and women among the higher races
are capable of acts of unalloyed altruism,
in which there is not a vestige of after
thought tending to self-advantage, will
only be denied by the naturally cynical,
or by those educated in an evil religious
or philosophic system. The mother who
tends her sick child and scorns any
counsels to spare her health and
strength ; the rough miner who bids his
mate seize the one chance of escape up
the shaft, as he has a wife and children,
whereas the speaker is a bachelor; the
surgeon who sucks diphtheric poison
from a dying child’s throat and dies
himself in consequence—are examples
of the love and sacrifice even now to be
found in the nobler hearts. And it is
�THE SERVICE OF MAN
denying evolution in fact and theory to
question the certainty that they will
become less exceptional than they now
are. But in this capacity of sacrifice
regardless of self we have the purest
essence of the best religions—a human
quality which exists, which has been
evolved in the long travail of the world,
but which may be cultivated with pros
pects of vastly greater increase now that
its supreme beauty and price are per
ceived and valued. When the mental
and moral qualities of man are regarded
as subject, in common with other forms of
life, to the law of heredity and variation,
their cultivation and improvement will
be conducted on the scientific basis
which has already produced such sur
prising results in other parts of the
vegetable and animal kingdoms. The
plasticity of human nature is even yet
but little appreciated, though what the
Spartans, the Stoics, and the Jesuits
succeeded in doing with their imperfect
empirical methods is suggestive enough.
But these, or the two latter at least, only
contemplated the education of the
individual. What is wanted is the con
scious cultivation, enlightened by science,
of society as a whole.
As regards the end to which religions
have in an unconscious way more or less
tended—the general well-being—there
will probably be little difficulty in admit
ting that it is an object which civilised
man has proved himself capable of
attaining in a considerable measure
already. The superiority of the modern
nations, not only to savages, but even to
their own not very remote ancestors, is
beyond dispute; and this not only in
reference to physical well-being, but to
all the higher sentiments and endow
ments of man. Imperfect as our social
state still is, heartrending as the condi
tion of the poor in town and country
must be pronounced to be, it is, never
theless, vastly in advance of previous con
ditions, and our own sensitiveness and
shame on the subject, though we are not
yet sensitive and ashamed enough, are in
themselves evidence of improvement.
ioi
Arduous as the social problem is acknow
ledged to be, and sore as the suffering is
likely to be before it is finally solved,
few can deny that it is capable of solu
tion, and that by human means. The
abolition of laws which favour the rich
and strong, and sacrifice the poor and
weak, has, in a small way, begun, and we
may depend that in a democracy it will
not easily be arrested. A better distri
bution and a moralisation of wealth are
approaching with a rapidity which is not
exaggerated by the panic fears of the
amazed Few, who hear with astonish
ment and horror that the world is-no
longer made for idlers only. The period
of social revolution into which we are
about to enter will probably be marked
by many mistakes, and not a few crimes.
Man’s capacity for blunder is very great.
He smarts for his blunders, and in time
corrects them. But the point to be noted
is that the social revolution will be ac
complished on secular principles, that
this province of practical life is once forall severed from any theological inter
ference. The proletariat of Europe is
resolved to have its fair share of the
banquet of life, quite regardless of the
good or bad things in store for it in the
next world.1
It comes, therefore, to this, that the
spirit of sacrifice evolved in the theologicaL
1 See the Times (which seldom outruns public
opinion), November 18th, 1884. In the third
leading article it is said, speaking of the East
London Mission:—“The great enemy which
has to be met in dealing with this class [the
poor] is not active hostility, but total and almost
impenetrable indifference. Hostility to the
clergy, as such, cannot be said to be widespread
in London...... The London artisan looks on the
clergyman as at worst a man who is engaged in
a work with which he individually has little or
no concern; he does not interfere with the
parson, and he hopes that the parson will not
interfere with him.......Taken in the mass, the
lower classes in London are too much occupied
in the struggle for existence, and in the attempt
to make their lives endurable, to give many
thoughts to the other world.” The writer con
trasts the very different temper of the Parisian
ouvrier, who “regards the priest as a monster”;
but he admits that there is an element of active
hostility to the clergy in our midst.
�102
THE SERVICE OF MAN
stage is now severed from and inde
pendent of its parent. Its office is no
longer the same. Sacrifice to invisible
godo, with prayer sent up to the immor
tals, imploring pardon, or peace, or some
earthly good, have afforded hope and
consolation to the sons of men in the
long, dark centuries when knowledge was
not, when visible man and nature were
so hostile that faith and trust in the
unseen seemed the only refuge, that only
“beyond the veil” was a sure friend to
be found. A bitter experience has at
last taught us that the immortals are deaf,
that no prayers, however passionate, are
heard, save by the care-laden hearts
which utter them.
Thus, the worship of deities has passed
into the “ Service of Man.” Instead of
Theolatry, we have Anthropolatry. The
divine service has become human ser
vice. The accumulated experience of
mankind is beginning to bear fruit. Two
things have been ascertained with suffi
cient exactness to serve as guides, both
in practice and theory. First, the kind
of conduct needed by a social condition
such as ours—that is to say, the outlines
■of a progressive morality suited to the
present age, are fairly settled. Secondly,
the kind of social condition desired, and
■already partially in view, which shall
supersede the present inferior one, is
also in its main features apprehended.
The two factors work together to one
result, “complete life carried on under
social conditions.”1 The Service of Man
consists in furthering both. The higher
moralisation of the individuals composing
the social group will raise the quality of
the social group itself, and the improved
group will react upon individuals and
enable them to lead higher lives. In a
word, we are now in a position to pursue
human well-being as a conscious aim,
with good prospect of success.
We
know fairly well the road along which we
intend to travel, and we know the kind
of human co-operation needed to enable
1 Herbert Spencer’s Data of Ethics, p. 130.
us to do so; the type of character and
disposition needed to render social help.
And we know, further, that society
possesses now, in a degree it never
possessed before, the means of exact
ing conformity to this type.
Public
opinion, as it used to be called, but for
which a better expression would be the
“collective conscience,” is already able
to impose a standard of public and
private morals, and to punish, with
penalties keenly felt, a manifest infe
riority to it. Even in the political world
singleness of purpose, a true public and
social spirit, are valued more than great
talent and eloquence without them. A
life of selfish ease and indulgence is
pardoned to great wealth and position
with less readiness than formerly; and,
with the growth of democracy, such a
temper must necessarily spread, both in
extent and intensity.
The remainder of our subject will,
therefore, be considered under the two
aspects just indicated : (1) the improve
ment of the individual, and (2) the im
provement of society. We can serve
men firstly, and perhaps chiefly, by im
proving ourselves, and this in all respects,
physically, mentally, morally. Without
a high standard of health, duties become
difficult or impossible to perform, and
our whole efficiency is lessened. In
these days of increased knowledge, when
so much of youth, and even of manhood,
is taken up with preparatory study and
training, the longevity of its worthier
members is a distinct gain to society.
A vigorous old age is able to accomplish
out of all proportion more than several
careers, however brilliant, cut short in
youth. Few, or none, are now likely to
question the value of mental improve
ment. It remains true, all the same, that
our notions of education are lamentably
inadequate, and that the higher forms of
it are not even conceived as possible or
desirable in our so-called universities.
As regards moral training, finally, , no
one will dispute its paramount necessity;
but the subject is obscured and the
result vitiated by the emphasis laid by
�ON THE CULTIVATION OF HUMAN NATURE
the religious public, not on morals, but
on repentance ; not on the vigorous and
constant performance of social duty
throughout life, but on making our
peace with God, some time, it signifies
not how short a time, before life closes.
What humanity needs is not people who
lead unsocial and wicked lives, and are
very sorry when about to die—when, by
the nature of the case, they can do no
more harm nor good ; but people who,
at an early period, begin to render valu
able service to the good cause, and con
tinue rendering more valuable service as
they advance in years. We cannot take
regrets and repentance in lieu of work;
performance only avails. To prevent I
103
misconception, even for a moment, it
may be added that, by performance,
advance in spiritual life is by no means
excluded; and that the contemplative life
is not placed below the active life, but
contrariwise, as will be seen further on.
The improvement of society, again, is
an object to which nearly all persons
will declare themselves favourable. But
many prejudices and passions, largely
incompatible with any serious improve
ment, will need to be overcome before our
advance in that direction can become as
rapid and assured as is desirable.
There will be no want of work for
those who wish to engage in the Service
of Man.
Chapter IX.
ON THE CULTIVATION OF HUMAN NATURE
For this service to be efficient, it is
obvious that men must be adequately
trained for it. From time immemorial,
education for some object or other has
been practised by mankind. The young
savage is taught to hunt, fish, and shoot
with persevering assiduity. Every kind
of war implies discipline and drill, how
ever rude. Political life, wherever it
exists, inevitably leads to an education
fitting men for the treatment of public
affairs.
Besides these partial ends,
religion, in all societies above the lowest,
is charged with the general and para
mount end of training men in the
worship and service of the invisible but
all-powerful Being or Beings, who are
supposed to dispose of human happiness
in this world and the next. This has
ever rightly been regarded as the most
important of all training, because it
concerns every one, and incomparably
more momentous interests are involved
in its efficient carrying out. The culti
vation of human nature, in some degree
or direction, is as old as humanity.
But the partiality and imperfection of
this cultivation are equally old. The
daily acquisition of food occupies the
whole life of the savage, almost as com
pletely as it does the lives of the birds
and animals which he snares and kills.
With the growth of knowledge and
wealth, wider objects engage man’s atten
tion, and exact a corresponding culture
to secure their attainment. But these
ends, though wider than those of savage
life, are still very narrow, consisting in
success in petty warfare with neighbour
ing States, or in party struggles within the
primitive city. Even the worship of the
gods is stiffly exclusive and partial, and
confined to local or tribal divinities, who
are “jealous” in the extreme of any
rivals in popular reverence.
This imperfection of culture has con
tinued to modern times, though, with
every stride in civilisation, it has been
�104
THE SERVICE OF MAN
lessened, and replaced by something
better and larger. Yet, it is still obvi
ously local, partial, and imperfect. No
where yet does the aim exist to produce
the best human being possible ; to train
all the faculties of the body, the mind,
and the heart, with the sole object of
making the most of them. Men are
still trained for special trades and pro
fessions, for special countries, and, above
all, for special religions. And, in the
present low development of the human
mind and civilisation, it cannot be other
wise, or at least, much otherwise. But
there can be no doubt that one of the
most assured and practical means of
improving society is to improve the
individual men and women who com
pose it. This is strongly but vaguely
expressed in the cry for education;
though one is often tempted to think
that none needs education more than
the popular clamourer for it. Still, a
great advance has been made in the
mere recognition that the cultivation of
individuals, however imperfect, is a
matter of primary importance to the
general welfare. Deeper views on the
subject will come in time.
For the purpose of this essay, we need
not regard the subject from this wide and
public point of view. We may limit
ourselves to the consideration—ample
enough—of the change in the theory of
human cultivation, likely to follow the
substitution of the service of man for
the service of God ; and we will do so
under the three heads—(i) the body,
(2) the mind, and (3) the heart of man.
1. On the first we need not dwell
long. Medical science has nearly solved
the problem of health. The amount of
exercise and nourishment, the kinds and
qualities of foods and drinks, the limits
of work and relaxation, the salubrity of
sites and dwellings and clothing—these
and similar topics connected with the
health of the body physical are so fairly
well understood that anyone with a
moderately strong constitution, amenable
to good advice, may keep in satisfactory
health. Many of the worst diseases have
been almost disarmed, though a few, like
cancer, are said to be on the increase ;
and there is a great set-off in the fact
that the very success of medical skill and
science has produced serious harm by
saving numbers of weak and bad con
stitutions, which would formerly have
perished, but which now survive to pro
pagate an unhealthy stock—an evil which
will probably be diminished or removed
by stricter views of marriage and the pro
creation of children. The paramount
importance of health for the adequate
discharge of public and private duties
can escape no one. It is probable that
in a reformed public opinion of the
future a breakdown in health, when
obviously caused by excess or impru
dence, or culpable ignorance, will be
regarded as a species of bankruptcy and
severely judged. A servant of Humanity
has’ no right to be unable to perform his
duties to her.
2. Neither need we dwell long on the
cultivation of the mind, interesting as is
the subject, and much as there would be
to say about it in another connection.
The utility of knowledge is now obvious
to everybody, and nearly all departments
are fairly well-cultivated, some of them
with splendid results. Science now is
quite able to take care of itself, and we
have no reason to fear that it will not be
equal to the task. The great danger is
specialism, which cultivates one small
segment of the vast circle of knowledge,
and remains contentedly ignorant of the
rest. Specialism cannot be spared, if
only for the reason that he who is not a
specialist in some one thing is likely to
be a sciolist in all things. But, next to
the sciolist, the pure specialist is, perhaps,
the least efficient servant of man.
3. I now come to the third, and in
comparably the most important, of all
the forms of human cultivation—the
cultivation of the heart and feelings.
I have already, in a previous chapter,
attempted to show that, as a support of
morality, Christian doctrine and practice
were inherently defective; inasmuch as
that the true end of Christianity was not
�ON THE CULTIVATION OF HUMAN NATURE
morality in this world, but salvation in
the next. My object must now be to
show that a cultivation of human nature
on positive and human principles will
have a different result; first, because of
the different end; secondly, because of
the different means and theories adopted
with a view to that end.
The cultivation of nature, vegetable or
animal, since it has become scientific,
has proceeded on the assumption of a
universal law of causation, on which
were based experiment and proof. The
agriculturist and the grazier, aided by
the chemist, have discovered the most
propitious conditions, foods, soils, stocks,
etc., for their special objects in view, and
after great time and pains they have
fairly mastered the problem. The only
part of it which they have not mastered
is the meteorological part; but in other
respects their success has been eminently
satisfactory. Even pestilences in the
animal and vegetable world are stopped,
and prevented from spreading, if not
from appearing; as the extirpation of
the rinder-pest, the silkworm disease, and
perhaps, most remarkable of all, the
destruction of locusts in Cyprus, suffi
ciently show. It was different even in
the Augustan age of Rome—
“...... alitur vitium, vivitque tegendo,
Dum medicas adhibere mantis ad volnera pastor
Abnegat, aut meliora deos sedet omina.poscensT1
Epidemic diseases were regarded by Jew
and Gentile as special proofs of the anger
of the Deity; whom men sought by
prayer and sacrifice to propitiate that the
plague might be stayed.
.
“Help us, O Lares ! help us, Lares, help us!
And thou, O Marmar, suffer not
Fell plague and ruin’s rot
Our folk to devastate.”2
In these cases we now look for help to
the sanitary inspector or the veterinary
surgeon.
Now, the scientific cultivation of
human nature needs the adoption of the
same method and principles as have
1 Verg., Georg., iii. 454.
2 Song of the Arvai Brothers.
i°5
been so fruitful of good results in other
departments. We must cease to believe
in miracle and divine aid ; and, proceed
ing on the firm ground of cause and
effect, not expect to reap except where
and when we have ploughed and sown.
The theological doctrine of grace, and
the metaphysical doctrine of the freedom
of the will, are alike fatal to a steady
cultivation of human nature from a
moral point of view. Both presuppose
an unknown factor, whose presence or
absence cannot be foreseen, and whose
action cannot be measured. “It is here,
it is there, it is gone,” and no one can
tell why. It at once upsets prevision of
the future, and cancels all record of and
inference from the past.
An authorised expounder1 of Catholic
doctrine remarks : “Nothing, absolutely
nothing, neither little nor much, can be
done without the grace of God. We
cannot do a good action, nor produce
any good fruit conducive to salvation,
without the grace of God.”
“ St.
Augustine,” remarks Canon Liddon,
“ says there is no reason, apart from the
grace of God, why the highest saint
should not be the worst criminal.”2 In an
instant, therefore, a criminal may be
come a saint, or a saint may become a
criminal, according to the good pleasure
of God, “ who hath mercy on whom he
will have mercy, and whom he will he
hardeneth.” If we assume, as we surely
may, that the saintly character is marked
by rare and precious qualities, we are
made to see, on this theory, by what a
frail and uncertain tenure they exist.
It is hardly necessary to point out that
this doctrine must induce an indifference,
almost a recklessness, as to the culti
vation of human nature, so far as the
heart and feelings are concerned. We
cannot be sure for twenty-four hours
together whether we shall belong to the
diabolically wicked or the angelically
good.
The analogy between the theological
1 Power, Catechism, vol. ii., p. 33.
2 “ Oxford Sermons,” VI.
�io6
THE SERVICE OF MAN
doctrine of grace and the metaphysical
tenet of free-will is obvious. They both
appeared prominently together in the
controversy between Pelagius and St.
Augustine. Free-will is a sort of secular
correlative of theological grace.
It
delivers over man, not the arbitrary
inspiration of divine grace given or with
held, but to the arbitrary autocracy of
his own power of volition; which can
do with him what he pleases, if it
pleases. “ According to the doctrine of
free-will, there is an ultimate power of
choice in the human will, which, how
ever strongly it may be drawn, or
tempted, or attracted to decide one way
or another by external appeals or
motives, is not ruled and decided by such
motives, but by the will itself only.”12
Again : “ While there is life there is hope
and there is fear. The most inveterate
habits of vice still leave a power of self
recovery in the man if he will but exert
it; the most confirmed habits of virtue
still leave the liability to a fall.”3 The
close analogy, almost amounting to
identity, between the doctrines of free
will and grace, is here very clearly
shown. By encouraging the idea that
the most inveterate habits of vice can
be reformed by an act of will, the para
mount importance of habit is masked or
even implicitly denied ; that is to say,
that one of the most important and
widely dominant laws of biology is
denied, or the moral nature of man is
withdrawn from its dominion. If the
most confirmed habits of virtue are no
guarantee against a “ fall ” (that means,
can be destroyed by an exertion of the
wicked will), it is obvious that patient
and protracted efforts towards self-disci
pline and the higher life is so much
labour lost. The subjugation of self and
evil desires carried on for years may
end in a “ fall,” and gratification of
our most depraved instincts.
And,
contrariwise, “inveterate habits of vice ”
1 Mozley, Augustinian Doctrine of Predesti
nation, p. 217.
2 Ibid , p. 247.
are not the serious danger one might
suppose, as the power of self-recovery is
always present and capable of throwing
them off, if the man will but exert it.
While there is life there is hope and
fear; and up to the last the criminal
may become a saint, and the saint a
criminal, as St. Augustine said.
It is evident that the doctrine of the
freedom of the will supposes the phe
nomena of the mind to be exempt from
the laws and conditions which regulate
the rest of nature; and the more
courageous metaphysicians do not hesi
tate to make this assumption. “ Can the
knowledge of Nature,” asks the late
Professor Green, “ be itself a part of
Nature, in that sense of Nature in which
it is said to be an object of knowledge P”1
It is not easy to see why the subject
which cognises the object should be less
Nature than the object cognised. The
image of an object in the mirror which
reflects is as much Nature as the object
reflected. Hojyever, it is not necessary
for the purpose in hand to make a flight
into the fine aether of Kantian meta
physics. If we consult fact instead of
fiction, we shall conclude that moral
qualities are, to say the least, as per
manent and durable as any biological
phenomena. The digestive functions,
the circulation of the blood, and the
secretions of the body are not more
periodic and permanent than the passions
of the mind. Indeed, the latter are the
more lasting and persistent of the two
groups. The liver of a miser is more
likely to break down in the course of
his life than his passion for gold. The
muscular heart of the benevolent man
may, and often does, fail before the
spiritual heart which makes him un
wearied in doing deeds of mercy. The
common sense of mankind has always,
when not perverted by the necessities of
a theory, recognised the permanence of
moral qualities, not only in the indi
vidual, but in the race—
“ Fortes creantur fortibus et bonis ;
1 Prolegomena to Ethics, p. 11.
�ON THE CULTIVATION OF HUMAN NATURE
Est in juvencis, est in equis patrum
Virtus, neque inbellem feroces
Progenerant aquilm columbam.”1
107
not attend the sacraments, religious ser
vices which, at other times, he would not
have neglected for the world. Report,
however, said that he and his associates
passed their time in alternate scenes of
the exercises of religion and debauchery;
spending their day in meetings for prayer
and pious conversation, and their nights
in lewdness and revelling. Some men
are of opinion that they could not be
equally sincere in both. I am apt to
think that they were....... There is no
doubt of the profligacy; and I have
frequently seen them drowned in tears
during the whole of a sacramental Sunday;
when, so far as my observation could
reach, they could have no rational object
to act a part. The Marquis of Lothian
of that day, whom I have seen attending
the sacrament at Prestonpans with Lord
Grange, and whom no man suspected of
plots or hypocrisy, was much addicted
to debauchery. The natural casuistry of
the passions grants dispensations with
more facility than the Church of Rome.”1
There are strong rumours that such
contradictions between faith and practice
were not unknown in Scotland in a more
recent past.
Now let us take the milder, but not
less instructive, case of Dr. Johnson.
Few men have had more devout faith in
God’s grace, and more firm belief in
free-will, than Samuel Johnson. He was,
in intention at least, highly conscien
tious. In practice, as he was the first to
admit, he often fell short of his standard
of duty. We can hardly imagine more
fervent prayers and determined resolves
than he made with a view to breaking off
bad habits and turning over a new leaf.
Yet the success was very small, as we
learn from the frequent repentances and
renewed resolves published by Boswell,
That the two doctrines just referred
to, of grace and of free-will, have fre
quently operated to the injury of morality
is proved by examples too numerous to
quote. Louis XV., one of the most
profligate men in history, was punctilious
in his religious exercises ; and, as Carlyle
says, used to catechise the inmates of
his harem in the Parc aux Cerfs, “that
they might retain their orthodoxy.” But
the doctrine of grace, which he had no
doubt thoroughly grasped, allowed him
to feel that he could at any time repent,
and that when he did he would be freed
from his sins. In one of the finest
historical pictures ever drawn, even by
Carlyle, we are admitted to the side
of the “ sinner’s death-bed,” to see his
anxiety for the sacraments, and how he
made the amende honorable to God.
If it be objected that this is only a
sample of Popish superstition, we will
take from a sect the most opposed to
Catholicism, that of the Scotch Presby
terians, the case of the famous James
Erskine of Grange. Dr. Alexander
Carlyle, in his amusing autobiography,
speaks as follows of this Protestant
worthy. Referring to his father’s inti
macy with Lord Grange (Dr. Carlyle’s
father, like himself, was a minister of
the Church of Scotland), and to their
frequent meetings for prayer, he says :
“After these meetings for private prayer,
however, in which they passed several
hours before supper, praying alternately,
they did not part without wine. Not
withstanding this intimacy, there were
periods of half a year at a time when
there was no intercourse between them
at all. My father’s conjecture was that
at those times Lord Grange was engaged
in a course of debauchery at Edinburgh,
and interrupted his religious exercises.
For in those intervals he not only
neglected my father’s company, but
absented himself from church, and did
“ I have now spent fifty-five years in
resolving; having, from the earliest time,
almost, that I can remember, been
forming schemes of a better life. I have
done nothing........ O God, grant me to
1 Hor. iv. 4. 29.
1 Autobiography of Dr. Alexander Carlyle, p. 13.
�THE SERVICE OF MAN
io8
resolve aright, and to keep my resolu
tions, for Jesus Christ’s sake. Amen.”1
The chief faults with which Johnson
reproached himself were waste of time,
procrastination, and a torpid laziness
which made early rising almost an im
possibility to him. Against these faults
he perpetually made resolutions, and
prayed fervently for divine help to keep
them. He resolved and prayed in vain ;
as we know, not only from his own
confession, but from abundant other
testimony. Boswell is delighted with
Johnson’s tenderness of conscience and
“ fervent desire of improvement.” It did
not occur to Boswell that he had given,
in other parts of his work, ample reasons
which accounted for Johnson’s failure on
this head. Johnson’s habits were wholly
incompatible with health of mind or
body, and they were peculiarly adverse to
the alertness of spirit of which he was
always lamenting his deficiency. How
could a man get up early who always sat
up at night as long as he could find any
one to keep him company ? How could
a man retain a prompt and clear energy
of mind, ready for all demands, who
never scrupled to gorge himself to reple
tion whenever he had an opportunity?
“ I never knew,”said Boswell, “any man
who relished good eating more than he
did. When at table, he was totally
absorbed in the business of the moment;
his looks seem riveted to his plate; nor
would he, unless in very high company,
say one word, or even pay the least
attention to what was said by others, till
he had satisfied his appetite—-which was
so fierce, and indulged with such intense
ness, that while in the act of eating, the
veins of his forehead swelled, and
generally a strong perspiration was
visible.”2 How much of Johnson’s
physical suffering and moral deficiencies
were owing to his habitual gross feeding
could perhaps only be determined by a
physician who had carefully examined
the patient; but that his obesity and
shortness of breath, his low spirits and
choleric temper, were largely attributable
to his self-indulgence there can hardly
be a doubt.
If Johnson had been a determinist,
and cultivated his nature on rational
principles, he would have known that
while he retained his usual habits he
could not overcome his sloth. A light
but nutritious diet, sufficient exercise in
the fresh air to induce a pleasant fatigue,
frequent cold baths, moderation in all
liquors, especially tea, and early hours
of going to bed, would probably, in a
few months, have enabled him to throw
off his lethargy.
The doctrine of determinism is now
so generally accepted that it will not be
needful to dwell upon it at any length
here. The cumulative argument in its
favour, says Mr. Sidgwick, is so strong
as almost to amount to complete proof.
But its immense importance for the
right cultivation of human nature seems
still to be overlooked, even by its most
illustrious advocates. Even Mr. Sidg
wick is of opinion that the decision of
the “ metaphysical question at issue in
this free-will controversy ”z does not
involve any point of general practical
importance. I am unable to accept
this view. It appears to me to be one
of those cases in which right theory is
all-important, as guiding to right
practice.
If we admit that “ From the universal
law that, other things equal, the cohesion
of psychical states is proportionate to the
frequency with which they have followed
one another in experience ; it is an
inevitable corollary, that all actions
whatever must be determined by those
psychical connections which experience
has generated, either in the life of the
individual or in that general antecedent
life of which the accumulated results are
organised in his constitution,”2 we must
further admit that any theory which
tends to discredit or underrate “ habit,”
1 Boswell, anno 1764.
2 Boswell, anno 1763.
1 Methods of Ethics, cap. v.
2 Herbert Spencer, Psychology, vol. i., p. 500.
�ON THE CULTIVATION OF HUMAN NATURE
tends to make human action uncertain
and vacillating, tends therefore to
weaken the automatic performance of
good actions, which is what the well
being of society demands. The free
will theory openly challenges “ habit ”
and encourages the belief that the most
inveterate habit may be broken by an act
of volition. The attention is therefore
directed to the wrong side of the prob
lem. Instead of vigilantly watching
against the slow, insidious growth of evil
habits, the failure to carry out good
resolutions, the frequent indulgence of
vicious tastes ; the mind is lulled into a
false security by the belief in free-will,
imagining himself independent and
sovereign, when and while it is being
reduced into servitude. The “cohesion
of psychical states ” is so established by
their frequent succession that it becomes
organic. If not absolutely inseparable,
their cohesion is so strong that only a
violent contrary passion or motive is
equal to breaking it. The most hard
ened lie-a-bed, whom neither duty nor
interest can rouse from his slumbers,
would promptly sally forth if informed
that the house was on fire. It is this
fact—viz., that even an inveterate habit
may be broken by a gust of passion, or
a permanent mood of profound emotion,
which has given a semblance of ration
ality to the doctrine of free-will. No
determinist ignores or underrates it. A
passion of pure love has often saved a
man from a swarm of minor vices. All
the famous and sudden religious con
versions from evil-living to righteousness
may be traced to the same principle.
Ardent love, gratitude, and veneration
for Christ, when kindled, are able to
snap the chains of habit, and sometimes
to prevent their being welded together
again. But it is rash, not to say reckless,
to trust to a random cyclone of the
nobler passions to save us from our sins.
It is of the nature of cyclones to be
violent, but of short duration. They
may never come; they are apt to be
transitory. And then the old cohesion
of psychical states reappears, the vicious
109
habit returns, probably more virulent
and domineering for its temporary exile,
and the last state of that man is worse
than the first.
It is obvious, as already remarked,
that the free-will doctrine turns the atten
tion away from the essential and real
side of moral cultivation, and directs it
to an unreal side. It resembles Sir
Kenelm Digby’s famous sympathetic
powder for the cure of wounds. Digby
professed that he would be very sorry
not to do his uttermost to make it clear
how the powder “(which they commonly
call the powder of sympathy) doth,
naturally and without any magick, cure
wounds without touching them, yea,
without seeing of the patient and he
set forth how the cure “ is performed by
applying the remedy to the blade of a
sword which has wounded a body; so
the sword be not too much heated by
the fire; for that will make all the spirits
of the blood to evaporate ; and conse
quently the sword will contribute but little
to the cure. Now, the reason why the
sword may be dressed in order to the
cure is, because the subtile spirits of the
blood penetrate the substance of the
blade, as far as it went into the body
of the wounded party; and there keep
their residence, unless the fire, as I
said before, chase them away.” Now,
the sympathetic powder is hardly more
irrational in surgery than the free-will
doctrine is in morals. In both cases
the attention is directed to the wrong
object, and diverted from the right one.
While Digby was applying his remedy
to the blade of a sword which had
caused a wound, he was giving but little
care and attention to the wound itself.
Indeed, he says that neither the wound
nor even the patient need ever be seen.
There would have been little hope of
the triumphs of modern surgery if this
method of treating wounds had pre
vailed. The real phenomena needing
elucidation would not have been studied,
and a fiction would have engrossed the
attention of the faculty. The believers
in free-will have studied ethics and the
�I IO
THE SERVICE OF MAN
cultivation of human nature, as Digby to persons who have no power to distin
studied surgery and the cure of wounds. guish one note from another, nor teach
Their doctrine is the correlative of the painting to the colour blind, nor mathe
sympathetic powder applied to the blade matics to those arrested by the Ass’s
of the sword. The real facts which it Bridge. In other words, cultivation is
behoved them to investigate they have only rationally applied where there is
original quality capable of receiving it.
neglected.
Certainly, the moral nature of man
Experience shows that moral or im
moral action depends upon the previous does not vary less widely than the other
training and character of the mind? as parts of his nature. There are men
much as healthy or morbid secretions whose quality is to manifest, from their
depend upon the previous habits and earliest years, a bias to vicious and malig
constitution of the body. A man with nant crime; who have no good instincts
a criminal nature and education, under on which a moral teacher can work; who
given circumstances of temptation, can pursue their own selfish gratification at
no more help committing crime than he any cost to others. There are also men
could help having a headache under whose bias is in the contrary direction;
certain conditions of brain and stomach. who, without teaching, or in spite of evil
Both the crime and the headache result. teaching, show a generous, upright, un
from a series of antecedent causes cul selfish spirit in all their dealings. And
minating in these effects. An unhealthy these differences are congenital: such
mode of living and, perhaps, a bad con persons differ as much as a cachectic
stitution lead inevitably to the one; an constitution differs from a healthy one.
evil training and, perhaps, a vicious Without saying that in the one case,
character combined lead to the other. therapeutics, and in the other case,
In neither case can the Will operate moral training, would be quite without
directly to suppress either crime or head effect, we may be sure that neither thera
ache at the moment. The physical peutics nor moral training will ever turn
ailment may be removed or mitigated by the bad into the good, the evil constitu
drugs or reformed habits of living, and tion or character into the vigorous and
the moral evil also may be diminished or moral.
Before drawing our practical deduc
removed by a complete change in the
ethical surroundings of the patient. But tions from these facts, let us consider
neither result is certain; and depends some of these implications.
Nature knows nothing of merit or
on numerous circumstances—the age of
the individual, the inveteracy of the desert, but only of qualities :
“Alike to her the better, the worse,
disease, the constitution or character in
The glowing angel, the outcast corse.”
either case.
All. cultivation presupposes, in the But for the well-being of man and society
vegetable, animal, or human subject, certain qualities in things, animals, and
original qualities which justify even an men are precious in the extreme, as cer
attempt to improve them. There are tain other qualities are pernicious. We
soils which no farmer in his senses cultivate the one and discard, or even,
would think of ploughing, manuring, and if possible, suppress, the other. No
sowing. There are kinds of vegetables qualities are so valuable to men in society
and stocks of cattle which are recognised as the moral qualities in each other’s
as unfit for profitable culture. They are hearts. On nothing does happiness so
left alone, either to die out or to survive much depend, both immediately and
in a state of nature. In the same way remotely, as upon the good or bad in
with human. qualities ; some original stincts of the fellow-men by whom we
quality is needed to begin upon. We do are surrounded. Within certain and
not give an elaborate musical education not very narrow limits these instincts
�ON THE CULTIVATION OF HUMAN NATURE
admit of cultivation; but unless origi
nally present in some degree they cannot
be cultivated. Their presence or absence
in the individual is no merit or fault of
his. Nothing is more certain than that
no one makes his own character. That
is done for him by his parents and an
cestors. The hero was born with his
noble and fearless heart; the saint came
into the world with his spontaneous apti
tude for good works and lofty feeling;
and the moral monster, the cowardly,
selfish, unscrupulous criminal, was born
with his evil passions inherited from pro
genitors, near or remote. No merit or
demerit attaches to the saint or the sinner
in the metaphysical and mystic sense of
the word. Their good or evil qualities
were none of their making. A man in
herits his brain as much as he inherits
his estate. The strong nature, the vivid
imagination, the tender conscience, the
firm will, all come by inheritance, as
much as money in the funds, or a noble
demesne of broad acres. The theo
logical doctrine that there is no such
thing as merit in the sight of God, that
all we have has been received as a free
gift, admits of a plainly scientific ex
pression, as a matter of fact.1
It will perhaps be said that this view
does away with moral responsibility;
that those who hold it cannot con
sistently blame any crime or resent any
injury; that we should not on this
hypothesis reproach a garrotter who half
murders us ; he is a machine, not a man
1 On this point St. Thomas uses almost Posi
tivist expressions :—
“ Et ideo meritum hominis apud Deum esse
non potest nisi secundum prmsuppositionem
divines ordinationis ; ita scilicet ut id homo
consequatur a Deo per suam opcrationem, quasi
mercedem, ad quod Deus ei virtutem operandi
deputavit, sicut etiam res naturales hoc conseqietintur per proprios motus et operationes, ad
quod a Deo sunt ordinal ee ; differenter tamen,
quia creatura rationalis seipsum movet ad
agendum per liberum arbitrium, unde sua
actio habet rationem meriti; quod non est in
aliis creaturis.”—Summa Theologica, Prima
Secundre, Quaestio cxiv. art. prim. But for the
arbitrary exception in favour of free-will, this
view would coincide with mine.
hi
with free-will, capable of doing and for
bearing according to the moral law. It
is no more rational to blame him than it
would be to blame a runaway locomotive
which knocks you down, and mangles or
kills you.
To which the answer is, that the
sooner the idea of moral responsibility is
got rid of, the better it will be for society
and moral education. The sooner it is
perceived that bad men will be bad, do
what we will—though, of course, they may
be made less bad—the sooner shall we
come to the conclusion that the -welfare
of society demands the suppression or
elimination of bad men, and the careful
cultivation of the good only. This is
what we do in every other department.
We do not cultivate curs and screws and
low breeds of cattle. On the contrary,
we keep them down as much as we can.
What do we gain by this fine language
as to moral responsibility ? The right to
blame, and so forth. Bad men are not
touched by it. The bad man has no
conscience; he acts after his malignant
nature. The fear of sharp punishment
may deter him from evil-doing, and quell
his selfish appetites; but he will not be
converted to virtue by our telling him
he has moral responsibility, that he is a
free agent to choose good or evil, and
that he ought to choose the good. His
mind is made up to choose the bad.
But society, knowing its own interests,
has a right to exclude him from its
fellowship; not only to prevent and
punish his evil actions, but to suppress
him in some effectual way, and, above all,
prevent his leaving a posterity as wicked
as himself.1 Society requires good in1 So Aristotle {Ethics, lib. x. c. 9) says that
some think that legislators ought “ direldovo-t.
oe ral dcfjveffrtpois odcri KoXdcreis re Kai n/auplas
e7riTL0^ai, tovs 8’ dviarovs 6'Xws e^vpi^ccv.” Mr.
Herbert Spencer, arguing against the modern
tendency to promote the “survival of the unfittest,” remarks : “ It rarely happens that the
amount of evil caused by fostering the vicious
and good-for-nothing can be estimated. But in
America, at a meeting of the States Charities Aid
Association, held on Dec. 18th, 1874, a startling
instance was given in detail by Dr. Harris, It
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THE SERVICE OF MAN
stincts and good actions. It does not
want even alternate sins and repentance;
it wants performance. The soldier who
deserts in presence of the enemy is
deservedly shot. In civil life there are
forms of criminality which are worse
than desertions ; they are open hostilities
to the best interests of humanity.
Nothing is gained by disguising the
fact that there is no remedy for a bad
heart, and no substitute for a good one.
Only on good, unselfish instincts can a
trustworthy morality repose. “ There
are many cases,” says Mr. Bain, “ where
a man’s social obedience, the fulfilment of
his bargains, his justice, veracity, respect
to other men’s rights, costs him a sacri
fice with no return, while the omission
leads to penalty. Simple prudence
would at such a moment suggest the
criminal course.”1 And Mr. Herbert
Spencer says : “The true moral deterrent
from murder is not constituted by a
representation of hanging as a conse
quence, or by a representation of tortures
in Hell as a consequence, or by a repre
sentation of the horror and hatred excited
in fellow-men; but by a representation of
the necessary natural results—the inflic
tion of death-agony on the victim, the
destruction of all his possibilities of
happiness, the entailed sufferings to his
belongings. Neither the thought of im
prisonment, nor of divine anger, nor of
social disgrace, is that which constitutes
the moral check on theft; but the
thought of injury to the person robbed,
joined with a vague consciousness of the
was furnished by a county on the Upper Hudson,
remarkable for the ratio of crime and poverty
to population. Generations ago there had existed
a certain ‘ gutter-child,’ as she would here be
called, known as ‘ Margaret,’ who proved to be
the prolific mother of a prolific race. Besides
great numbers of idiots, imbeciles, drunkards,
lunatics, paupers, and prostitutes, ‘ the county
records show two hundred of her descendants
who have been criminals.’ Was it kindness or
cruelty which, generation after generation,
enabled them to multiply and become an increas
ing curse to the society around them ?” [Man
versus the State, p. 69).
1 The Emotions and the Will, chap, x., p.
530; i§59-
general evils caused by disregard of pro
prietary rights. Those who reprobate
the adulterer on moral grounds have
their minds filled, not with ideas of an
action for damages, or of future punish
ment following the breach of a com
mandment, or of loss of reputation ; but
they are occupied with ideas of unhappi
ness entailed on the aggrieved wife or
husband, the damaged lives of children,
and the diffused mischiefs which go
along with disregard of the marriage tie.
Conversely, the man who is moved by a
moral feeling to help another in difficulty
does not picture to himself any reward
here or hereafter, but pictures only the
betterconditionheis trying to bringabout.
One who is morally prompted to fight
against a social evil has neither material
benefit nor popular applause before his
mind, but only the mischiefs he seeks to
remove, and the increased well-being
which will follow their removal.”1
Nothing can be more clearly put. The
feeling, sympathetic, generous heart,
which recognises the rights and claims of
others, which is pained by their suffering
and rejoices in their joy, is declared to
be the only trustworthy source of that
social morality on which general well
being depends. In this respect moral
conduct, regarded as an art, as it is
indeed incomparably the finest of the
fine arts, does not differ from its inferior
congeners. No one expects fine pictures
or statues from persons devoid of all
Aesthetic taste, nor oratorios and operas
from those deficient in musical ear. If
the interest of society requires a due pro
portion of altruistic sentiment in each of
its members, we can only expect them in
those individuals who are correspond
ingly organised. While all the emotions
can be cultivated, none can be implanted
or directly infused. In this, as in other
cases, we can only cultivate the good
sorts, the good stock, and eliminate and
discourage, as far as possible, the bad.
This view will very probably be
regarded by some as giving up the cause
1 Data of Ethies, pp. 120, 121.
�ON THE CULTIVATION OF HUMAN NATURE
of morality altogether. If we cannot
preach the categorical imperative of right
action to every creature, and assume and
expect that every one is capable of per
forming it, if he chooses to exert his
free-will, our preaching is supposed to be
vain ; an insincere make-believe, itself
immoral. This is very probable ; and
the foolishness of preaching, as often
practised, is perhaps only too evident.
But it may be remarked that the cause
of music is not given up because a
master counsels a pupil without an ear
for music to cease attempting to sing.
We may preach morality as we choose,
but we shall only be successful with the
apt scholars, those who have a founda
tion of good instincts on which to work.
It is, no doubt, much simpler to assume
that all are equally competent; and that,
if they do not receive our teaching, it is
not because they cannot, but because
they will not. Then we arrogate a right
to upbraid them, to punish them for their
wicked will. They can, if they choose,
be quite virtuous and moral. It is an
obvious view, recommended by a blunt
straightforwardness gratifying to many
minds which are disposed to resent and
even deny the complexity of nature.
The determinist is not less but more
resolute in teaching morality than his
free-will opponent. But he demands
pupils who can learn. What shall be
done with those who cannot learn belongs
to another branch of inquiry, and con
cerns politics rather than morals. But
much is gained by discarding the hope
of impossibilities, of ceasing to expect
grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles. The
extirpation of thorns and thistles, in the
literal or metaphorical sense, has its diffi
culties ; which we have no ground, how
ever, to regard as insuperable. The
object to be obtained is good men with
good instincts ; not the establishment of
a metaphysical theory that all men may
be good if they would only choose. So
little do we need free-will and deliberate
choice between good and evil that we
want a prompt, unreflecting bias towards
good. The option between virtue and
113
vice cannot be left an open question.
As we see good dogs chasser de race, so
we need citizens whose leanings are to
virtue’s side. And we are likely to get
them in proportion as we recognise that
good men, like poets, are born, not
made, and only in a minor degree the
product of training ; albeit that training,
in its own sphere, is of paramount
importance.
But training is not often entirely over
looked in practice, even by the partisans
of the doctrine of free-will—a fact more
creditable to their common sense than
their logic. The centre of the problem
lies in the question, how can a deter
minist cultivate virtue or good impulses,
seeing that by his principles he cannot
choose his desires ? How can he culti
vate a sense of duty, if duty depends
on altruistic sentiments, of which he is
perhaps devoid ?
It would be regarded as a truism
rather than a paradox to say that a man
cannot cultivate athletics without muscles.
Some amount of muscle must be present
on which to begin a course of muscular
development. In the same way, some
amount of congenital altruism—the tap
root of social morality—must be present,
or the cultivation of good impulses, moral
sentiments, or the sense of duty, cannot
be even attempted. We should be in
formed what manner of man the deter
minist is who is asked how he can culti
vate virtue on his principles. If he is a
base-hearted man, but sufficiently versed
in psychology to grasp the full import of
the question, he would answer that it was
obviously impossible. He would ac
knowledge a conscious absence of good
impulses, and that his only principle of
action was the gratification of self. If
the determinist, on the other hand, were
a man of generous nature, full of meek
ness, courage, and love, he would reply
that cultivation, or the satisfaction of
those impulses, was the greatest joy he
knew; that though often, through slack
ness of will, infirmity, and selfishness, he
failed in his duty (of which he was only
too conscious), yet he never felt inward
1
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THE SERVICE OF MAN
peace, except when cultivating the garden
of his soul, following the passionate ideal
of his heart in all benign works for others,
in all purifying discipline of the spirit
within him. Both these men would
answer truly; and the successful cultiva
tion of human nature demands that we
should bear in mind the answers of both.
The abstract science of morals needs
completing and correcting for the culti
vation of human nature by empirical
observation of the peculiarities of indivi
dual men.
“Duty” and “debt” are the same
word differently written, and both mean
that which is “owed.” I “ought” is
the preterite of I “ owe.” The French
“ devoir ” is applied to pecuniary debt
and moral duty. In Greek o^etXco and
show the same association of
ideas. Now, what do we mean by a
sense of duty, except a recognition of
the claims of others, of neighbour,
family, society, or God ? In no respect
do men differ more than in this sense of
duty, because in no respect are men
more unlike than in their endowment of
egoistic and altruistic impulses. In
some persons all sense of the claims of
others seems left out from the first.
They never seem to regard themselves
as owing anything to anybody; but,
contrariwise, they consider others always
as owing them a great deal. Even
borrowed money they repay with pain
and regret, and often require the threat
or the action of the law to bring them to
repayment. This type of character is
humorously exemplified in the alleged
remark of a spendthrift, who said of a
friend less hardened than himself: “ He
wasted his money in paying his debts
the use of money being only excusable,
it would appear, when no credit was to
be obtained. On the other hand, we
have natures who not only are prompt
in acknowledging claims upon them, who
would fast and starve rather than with
hold payment when due, but who perceive
debts and duties which neither society
nor individuals exact from them; who
willingly offend the world, and, with open
eyes, face its anger and resentment, so
they may render it a service which no
other is ready to offer. The saints,
martyrs, and heroes have been of this
type. Resistance to passion or strong
temptation can only be rationally ex
pected from a mind which combines a
habit of postponing self-gratification to
the interests and welfare of others, with
an ample endowment of generous and
benevolent impulses. The wave of
egoistic passion is met by a counter-wave
of altruistic emotion, and according to
the character and training one or the
other prevails. The characteristic feeling
of remorse for breach of duty, or gross
gratification of selfish desire, is evidence
of this. Genuine remorse, contrition as
distinguished from attrition, always arises
from a pain of the altruistic feelings, at
having returned evil for good) for having
injured a loving heart which deserved
different treatment at our hands. Remorse
is the note of tender and passionate, but
ill-governed, natures. There is no anguish
like it; but it is an anguish of which the
cold and the selfish are incapable. So
little does it fear or wish to evade punish
ment that it seeks it and implores it.
The grief over our own hard-heartedness
is too acute to be assuaged except by
sacrifice and penance ; and only in bitter
expiation is a slight relief derived for
transgression. In religious minds the
reason often gives way when they have
been made conscious that they have
sinned against and been ungrateful to
Christ their Lord, who for them hung
upon the tree, was pierced with wounds,
reviled, buffeted, and spat upon. Like
St. Peter, when they think thereon they
weep. In the naturally generous and
tender-hearted it soon appears and
developes with the added years. Educa
tion can do much to aid or check its
growth. The selfishness of children can
be cultivated to any extent. A habit
of regard for others may likewise be
nurtured. The proverbial selfishness of
princes largely depends on this fact.
Recognition of the “ claims ” of others,
arising from a sympathetic nature, is the
�ON THE CULTIVATION OF HUMAN NATURE
root of duty, but by no means the fullgrown tree. The size to which the tree
will grow depends upon the mental
power, upon the grasp of ideas, which
reveals an almost infinite variety of
“ claimants.” A kind heart coupled with
• a narrow mind cannot conceive the
higher forms of duty to the State, to
humanity, to unpopular causes. Culture
and mental force combined regulate the
quality of the duty paid. The difference
between abject superstition and lofty
piety depends on the intellect, not on
the heart of the worshipper.
In all societies, even the most savage,
some duties are inculcated on the young
by parents and elders; and certain acts
are forbidden or punished, others are
applauded and rewarded. The public
opinion of society carries on the process.
The teaching in childhood, youth, and
manhood is assimilated according to the
quality of the learner. The meek, the
modest, the kindly, receive in loving
trust the word of their elders. They
are told they ought to do Z/zA, that they
ought not to do that, and they accept
the obligation without hesitation or
scruple. The mala frohibita become
to them mala in se, and an infraction of
the rule laid down appears to them
monstrous and profane. In Christian
countries duty to God is naturally much
insisted on; and if it does not appear to be
always attended with the desired success,
the reason is not only in the hardness
of men’s hearts, but also in the intel
lectual difficulties involved in theism.
But whether the paramount duty be
paid to God, to the State, to humanity,
to great ideas, or any thing or being
beyond self, the germ of it always lies in
the unselfish readiness to pay a debt,
supposed to be owing to another or
others. And it often happens that the
supposition is wholly false; that the
debt is not owed; that it is imaginary,
not real. But the sense of obligation
is not concerned with the matter of a
given duty, but only with the form.
Conscience alone is a deceitful guide;
like justice, it is blind ; it will do evil as
i IS
readily as good. Its one pre-occupation
is to go out of self and pay its debt,
duty, reverence, to object, thing, or being
whom it wishes to serve. And this is
so true that the sense of duty in its
intense forms is not content with simple
disregard of self; it insists on hostility
to self, on self-mutilation, mortification;.,
as in the severer forms of asceticism.
Passion is by no means the worst:
enemy to duty; as a strong sense of
duty is itself a passion. The passionate ■
natures can often become the most bound
by it: witness St. Augustine. The cold
heart is the undutiful heart, the heart of
stone, which loves neither God nor man.
New duties. The man who recognises
new duties above those he has been
taught to observe; who sees, beyond the
circle of conventional obligation, the.
dim forms of new claimants on his heart
and service, is a moral inventor, am
enlarger of human life. Those who sawthe claims of the slave were such ; thosewho see the claims of animals are the
same. How many more such have still
to be seen I
Reward of virtue. The highest con
science has ever felt that the expectation
of reward for virtue was unjustified, and
almost incompatible with the idea of
virtue: “Not unto us, not unto us.”
“ We are unprofitable servants ; we havedone that which was our duty to do.”
These and similar utterances are the
natural and wholesome expressions of
the devout heart. And the instinct isright which inspires them. The moment
we consider duty as a debt which we owe,
we feel it does not admit of reward. Is
a man to be paid for paying his debts ?
How does this view of duty account for
resistance to strong temptation ?
The moment we recognise that we
can be in the position of owing something
to some one person, cause, or idea, it
matters not what form the payment may
take ; from coin of the realm up to giving
away one’s life, it is all one; meeting
an obligation which we have recognised
we are under. How we came by the
sense of this or that particular obligation
�116
THE SERVICE OF MAN
is immaterial. It may come through
many channels; religion, public opinion,
esprit de corps, or what not. Its fulness
and intensity depend far more on the
constitution of our minds than on any
external influence and teaching. If we
are wholly selfish, no teaching will per
suade us; if we are generous, loving,
and heroic, we move towards self-sacrifice
by a natural gravitation. And the point
to be especially noticed by those who
make virtue to consist in the choice of
the better part, after a conflict of motives,
is that the greater the virtue the less
there is of conscious self-sacrifice. The
egoist who will not sacrifice the meanest
of his own pleasures or passions for the
greatest need of others, and the hero
who gives his life for the “sheep,” are
the opposite poles of humanity. And so
little true is it that virtue only exists
after it has gained a victory over base
temptation, that the very presence or
possibility of temptation stains its purity.
In ordinary, civilised life this is so.
'What should we think of a friend or
acquaintance who we knew passed his
time in hard struggles to conquer the
sins forbidden in the sixth, seventh, and
eighth commandments? Yet, according
to the doctrine of some moralists, the
man who dines with us, and has not had
a temptation to steal our spoons, and
overcome it, is not virtuous; if he has
not lusted after the women of our house
hold and subdued his impurity, he is not
chaste; if he has not been touched by an
impulse to murder us, finally put down,
he is not a moral person.
Now, as regards resisting temptation,
it is obvious that, in proportion as we are
tempted to the commission of selfish sin,
our character, and, in a minor degree,
our education, are at fault. We have
started with an overplus of egoistic senti
ment, or we have had, by ill-education,
the egoistic sentiment unduly cultivated.
We shall behave under temptations
according to our character. The doc
trines we hold will have little weight in
the final result, though they will have
some. If we experience strong prompt
ings to murder, rape, or theft, the
chances are, whether we believe in Hell
or Utilitarianism, we shall gratify our
passions. If the altruistic element in us
is fairly represented, we shall hesitate, or
alternately fall into sin and repentance.
If self has been “annulled,” we shall
pass by the temptations with more or
less complete unconsciousness.1
Moralists have been at great pains to
show that through virtue lay the only
road to final and complete happiness;
that, on the other hand, crime and sin
inevitably led to pain and misery. It
was feared that, if any doubt were
allowed to rest on the fact that virtue
was its own reward, sensible people
would refuse so obviously bad a bargain.
As Mr. Leslie Stephen eloquently says :
“ Here we come to one of the multiform
and profound problems which has tor
tured men in all ages. Virtue—no one
denies it—does good to somebody, but
how often to the agent? A belief in
justice, as regulating the universe, has
been held to imply (I do not ask whether
rightly held) that happiness should
somehow go along with virtue. To give
up the belief in such a supreme regula
tion seemed, again, to be an admission
that virtue was folly. Yet how can this
doctrine be reconciled to the plainest
facts of experience ? The lightning
strikes the good and the bad; the hero
dies in the ruin of his cause; the highest
self-denial is repaid by the blackest
ingratitude; the keenest sympathy with
our fellows implies the greatest liability
to suffering; the cold, the sensual, and
the systematically selfish often seem to
have the pleasantest lots in life. Great
men in despair have pronounced virtue
to be but a name; philosophers have.
evaded the difficulty by a verbal denial
of the plainest truths ; theologians have
tried to console their disciples by con
structing ideal worlds, which have served
1 So again St. Thomas: “ Magis est non
posse peccare quam non peccare.
Theologies, Prima Secundre, Qurestio cxiv.
art. prim.
�ON THE CULTIVATION OF HUMAN NATURE
117
for little more than a recognition of the
unsatisfactory state of the actual world.
The problem so often attacked will per
haps be solved when we know the origin
of evil. Meanwhile we have only to
consider in what way it is related to
ethical theories.”1
This suggestive passage shows very
plainly how imperfectly the older specu
lators grasped the problem with which
they had to deal. If virtue depend on a
number of good instincts or qualities in
the agent’s mind or heart—benevolence,
sympathy, courage, and resolution—it
would seem obvious that no one could
be benefited by these precious endow
ments more than the fortunate owner of
them himself. Who derives so much
enjoyment from a fine ear for music as
the musician who has one ? Who profits
by an exquisite sense of colour so much
as the artist whom land, sea, and cloud
keep in an ecstasy of delight? Much
more, would one say, must the generous
and passionate emotions of the heart
supply an inward fountain of happiness
to the richly endowed natures which
possess them. To ask if virtue answers,
or “ pays,” is like asking if fine health
and bodily strength pay. Probably no
one would be without them if he could
help it. And yet there can be no doubt
that great strength and fine health often
lead their possessor into pain, and even
death, by tempting him to overtax his
powers. It may be said of all the higher
qualities and gifts, that under certain
conditions they are capable of causing as
much pain as pleasure to their owners ;
but these owners do not wish, therefore,
to be rid of them. The musician who
is tortured by an organ out of tune
would never think of purchasing peace
by the loss or destruction of his musical
ear. It is the same with regard to
Friendship and Love. Their betrayal
probably produces anguish as keen as
any known to the human heart. But no
one capable of either would ever regret
his capacity for love and friendship.
Those who doubt their value, or, with
Napoleon, hold that they are “ foolish
infatuations,” are out of court, as they
have no personal knowledge of qualities
they despise. We need not to be told
what manner of man he was who declared
that the secret of happiness consisted in
a good digestion and a bad heart. And
the querist, “Why should I do anything
for posterity, seeing that posterity never
did anything for me ?” receives even now
this answer from society, and will receive
it with greater emphasis in the future:
“ From you, sir, we expect nothing; but
you may expect that your shameless con
fession of selfishness will not go un
punished.” The “unsatisfactory state
of the actual world,” as Mr. Stephen says,
was no doubt a great hindrance in former
times to a recognition of the coercive
power for good which society can bring
to bear on the selfish and the wicked.
But the Christian scheme of rewards and
punishments also contributed to the con
viction that only by fear of retribution
could men be deterred from evil, and by
the hope of recompense be bribed to/7
doing good. A man who did not believe
in hell, it was thought, even by good
men, had no inducement to practise any
virtue or refrain from any vice. Dr.
Johnson said he would not believe that
Hume’s apparent equanimity when dying,
was sincere, because, on his (Hume’s)
principles, he had no motive to speak the
truth. Dr. Young, in his Night Thoughts,
gave utterance probably to the common
sentiment, crude and revolting as it
sounds :—
1 Leslie Stephen, Science of Ethics, p. 398.
1 Seventh Night, 1169-1182.
“ ‘ Has Virtue charms ?’ I grant her heavenlyfair ;
But if unportioned, all will Interest wed.
*****
A Deity believed will nought avail;
Rewards and punishments make God adored •,
And hopes and fears give Conscience all her
power.
*****
Who tells me he denies his soul immortal,
Whate’er his boast, has told me he’s a knave.
His duty ’ tis to love himself alone ;
Nor care though mankind perish, if he smiles.”1
�Ii8
THE SERVICE OF MAN
only consider the agent, without reference
The line between “portioned virtue”
and “ interest ” does not appear here to to the reaction of society upon him, it is
be very clearly drawn, and virtue, it is obvious that no one course of conduct
intimated, can only be chosen for a valu can be assumed a priori as certain or
able consideration. But we must admit likely in itself to produce happiness.
all the same that in this respect the theo Virtue may, and probably will, bring
logians had the best of the argument, happiness to the virtuous man ; but to
till the conception of society as an the criminal and the selfish, virtue will
organism had arisen in speculation, with be probably the most distasteful or even
the momentous consequences which that painful thing in their experience, while
involves. The health of an organism vice will give them unmitigated pleasure.
depends on the health and efficiency of This view, as Mr. Stephen says, “is calcu
its parts; and the conduct and morals of lated to shock many respectable people”;
the individual are now seen to be no but that is not a sufficient reason for
longer the private concern of himself rejecting it if it be otherwise supported.
Now, what is a general feature common
only, but very much also of the society
of which he is a member. His vice to all forms of happiness, whether
injures and his virtue benefits the body vicious or virtuous ? Who are the people
, politic, as far as either influence extends. who visibly enjoy themselves; who are
And this is now so well seen that per never or rarely at a loss as to what they
haps the danger is, as Mr. Mill feared, shall do with their time ? Is it not those
that society and public opinion are tend persons who have one or more tastes,
ing to be too coercive and despotic, to . inclinations, or passions, so strongly
the injury of that liberty and individuality marked that they are always ready or
- -which are needed for full and vigorous ever thirsting for their gratification, which
well-being. We may certainly venture to never comes amiss ? Even the most
say this much, that society is now able sensual and repellent vices may so fill a
to make knaves, whether they believe mind with intense relish and pleasure
their souls to be immortal or not, feel that the sensualist is conscious of nothing
that crime is connected with misery but one long draught of voluptuous enjoy
rather than happiness, and that virtue,
ment. Satiety may no doubt be rapidly
perhaps not of the highest, but yet of a produced, and health ruined by excess;
fairly high standard, tends directly to the and then the sensualist has a bad time
of it; but that is because he has been
agent’s own comfort and peace of mind.
Now, as touching the problem which deprived of his pleasures, and he has
Mr. Stephen says has tortured mankind nothing to fall back on when his vices
for ages, the connection between virtue have left him. But that fact does not
and happiness, its solution would seem invalidate the statement just made, that
to require a little more precising of what a passionate pursuit of some one thing,
is meant by happiness than is customary whatever its character, is the primary
in ethical discussions. Obviously, happi condition of that glow of pleasurable
ness varies as much as men vary; and feeling which we call happiness. The
what constitutes the happiness of one gambler sitting down to the card-table,
man makes the misery of another. The the gourmand to his dinner, the book
healthy and the strong have different collector buying choice and rare editions,
sources of happiness from the sickly and the artist creating types of beauty, the
the weak. The same man at different man of science working out momentous
periods of life has very different forms problems, the philanthropist seeking and
of happiness. In other words, happiness relieving the wretched, though all enjoying
is a subjective phenomenon, depending very different kinds of happiness, have
upon the conditions and character of this factor in common—that they are
the individual. This being so, if we pursuing with keen appetite the object
�ON THE CULTIVATION OF HUMAN NATURE
they desire. They are free from the
aching languor of ennui; they escape
the hopeless and helpless nausea of the
blase mind, which is impotent even
to desire. Strong desires or passions,
capable of frequent and lasting gratifica
tion, are the only materials of happiness.
We have next to notice that the grati
fication of all the passions is more or
less attended with pain. Indeed, it
would seem that all intense pleasures
need to be tipped with a sharp point of
pain to give them their full zest. The
fatigue and danger of most manly sports
constitute a large portion of their attrac
tiveness. As, gamblers mostly end by
losing all their money, their vice must
give them more pain than pleasure ; but
the fact does not deter them from
gratifying it. The pains of the drunkard,
of the opium eater, the gourmand, are
notorious, but are not often alone suffi
cient to deter from indulgence in their
respective vices. And to this law the
higher and nobler passions offer no
exception. The ambitious man, say a
Napoleon, is always exposed to bitter
disappointment and mishaps. The agony
of a few nights at Fontainebleau, just
before his abdication, had so changed
Napoleon’s countenance that his inti
mates were shocked by it. Yet the
experience was thrown away upon him,
and he was ready to recommence the
game of ambition, as soon as opportunity
offered, by his escape from Elba. Even
the peaceful pursuits of literature and
science have their acute crises of vexation
and frustrated hope. Hume, the most
even-tempered of men, was so mortified
by the failure of the first volume of his
history that he would have gone abroad,
changed his name, and renounced author
ship, had not war broken out between
England and France. And, to complete
the survey, it must be added, that not
even the passionate pursuit of holiness
itself is without occasional sharp pain ;
in proof of which it is sufficient to cite
the “Acta Sanctorum,”passim.
A passion for virtue, therefore, is not
found to be at any disadvantage, as
119
compared with other passions, in the
occasional pain which its gratification
involves. If “il faut souffrir pour etre
belle,” it is also true, “ il faut souffrir
pour etre bon ”; and it is difficult to see
what is gained by attempting to disguise
the fact. Moralists have been so set
upon edification that they have been
over-anxious to persuade men of the
desirability of virtue, by expatiating on
the sweetness of its pleasures; that
virtuous people had an ample quid pro
quo for their virtue. And so they have at
times, and in one sense always; but they
also have dark and bitter moments in
which they are ready to faint; doubts
within and dangers without, yea, even
death itself in isolated desolation, when
“ all ” forsake them and flee ; w’hen the
hero has nothing to turn to but his own
heroic heart. Individuals, if left to
themselves, will follow “their own pecu
liar bent” in their choice of pleasures,
whether they be virtuous or vicious, sel
fish or self-denying, voluptuous or ascetic.
But there can be no doubt which class
society, in its own interests, will prefer
that its members should choose—viz.,
the virtuous, the self-denying, and ascetic.
Indeed, the most depraved and selfish of
men, whatever his own practice, will wish
his neighbours to be virtuous. Though
he may be unjust and cruel to others, he
will resent injustice and cruelty to him
self; though a libertine himself, he will
probably insist on chastity in his wife,
wfith much emphasis. Thus even the
bad are interested on the side of virtue,
as far as the conduct of others is con
cerned.
It only needs a little more
improvement in society for this to be
generally recognised, as it is already par
tially recognised, for the disfavour of
public opinion to be sharply shown to
selfish pursuits and passions, and a
steady, persistent encouragement of the
unselfish and social enjoyments of civic
life and duty. A love of good may be
cultivated to almost any extent where
the original foundation of an altruistic
nature exists. A passionate ideal of
excellence can so fill the mind that no
�120
THE SERVICE OF MAN
pleasure is felt in anything but in efforts
to realise it. “ The susceptibility to ideal
inflammation is a peculiarity of our nature,
varying with constitutions, and affected
by various circumstances.”1 All the
desires and passions in characters of
1 Bain, The Emotions and the Will, p. 49^-
normal vigour can, in the proper con
ditions, be thus inflamed,, as they can
also be starved by systematic discourage
ment. An ideal society would be one
in which an ideal education habitually
stimulated and inflamed the good pas
sions, while it starved and discouraged
the bad.
No. io of the R. P. A. Cheap Reprints will be LECTURES AND ESSAYS
{selected), by Professor Tyndall, with Biographical Sketch of the Author.
�
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The service of man : an essay towards the religion of the future
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Place of publication: London
Collation: xxvii, 234 p. ; 20 cm.
Notes: Includes bibliographical references. Annotations in pencil. Inscription in pencil on t.p. following title: as demonstrated by C.J. [i.e. Campbell Jenkins?] to E.S. 1907. First published 1887. Inscription in pencil on leaf following front flyleaf: Campbell Jenkins, United University Club, Suffolk St., Pall Mall, London.
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Morison, James Cotter, 1832-1888
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1892
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Social problems
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Positivism
Rationalism
Religion
Social Problems
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THE
SCIENTIFIC BASIS
ORTHODOXY.
OF
BY FRANCIS GERRY FAIRFIELD.
1.— THE NECESSARY INTERPRETATION OF HISTORY.
HE very recent declarations of Mr. John Fiske, of Harvard,
that Positivism regards itself as the legitimate successor of
theology, have resulted in directing the attention of thinkers
in this country to that subject. The speculations of Spencer,
who must be classed as a Positivist, though vastly at variance with
Comte in some of his conclusions, cannot be regarded as menacing to
orthodoxy, except in so far (if at all) as they may affect the general
cosmological and biological theorems upon which it depends. A sys
tem of philosophy—and Mr. Spencer may insult the adjective synthetic
with it, if it suits his fancy or egotism—a system of philosophy that
has no sympathy with history, must be regarded as too partial both in
its data and conclusions to affect the intellectual and moral evolution
of the oentury, except very limitedly ; and that Spencer’s system in
volves no hearty recognition of human history, is too apparent to need
elaborate demonstration. It is like a collection of bones, without moral
vitality ; and, in the putting together of the bones even, there is occa
sionally a lack of that deeper and more comprehensive synthesis which
constitutes the profounder part of philosophy. Comte has, on the
other hand, accepted the historical necessity of some religious system,
both as psychological and social; but has begun by eliminating from it
its valuable element, to wit, its supernaturalism, which, per se, is not
necessarily theistic or dependent upon the theistic idea, but belongs to
human nature and to human history as a progressive evolution of the
unconditioned from the conditioned.
Spencer’s speculations have not sufficient sympathy with evolution
as progressive — are too static. A just system of philosophy must
begin with the recognition, not only of history as the collective body
of human acts, but as the collective body of human progress in the
struggle toward ultimate freedom, in the sharpness of which struggle
the supernatural is engendered—the supernatural being understood in
its true historical sense as the sporadic manifestation, under given con
ditions, of that higher unconditioned humanity and nature, toward
T
�THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF ORTHODOXY.
203
which both historical and geological evolution tend, and in whicli they
end.
Orthodoxy rests fundamentally upon two historical postulates,
namely, monotheism and the progressive historical evolution of the
God-consciousness in humanity. Admit these two postulates, and
the whole body of orthodox thought must be admitted as valid. Ra
tionalism is historically illogical, because it has no historical destiny,
and omits recognition of that which is to be regarded as evidence of
the progress of the evolution of the ultimate—in a word, omits recog
nition of the supernatural in history; and, for the same reason, Comte’s
religion of humanity is inadmissible. For all the purposes of philo
sophical poiesis it matters not whether the absolute be considered as
latent in humanity, that is, subjective, or as the God of the theolo
gians, that is, objective, or as the historical ultimate of humanity. The
fundamental conception is the same in either hypothesis, and, in either
hypothesis, represents an ideal sublimate which the history of human
consciousness has demonstrated to be universal. Furthermore, any
system of philosophy which, like undiluted Positivism, neglects to take
this God-instinct into account, is essentially partial, defective, and un
satisfactory. Omitting the ethical as historically interpretive of the
idea of right, and, therefore, not germane to the investigation, the
analyses of the historical manifestation of human consciousness may be
stated as threefold:
I. Philosophical or rational poiesis, which represents the struggle
of the rational intellect (Vernunfl) to apprehend the absolute in truth.
Subjectively, its processes are: apprehension and comprehension, that
is, knowledge; hypothesis and generalization, that is, ideal evolution;
-synthesis into system, that is, unification into absolute body of knowl
edge general, of knowledge particular.
II. Imaginative poiesis—art, poetry, music, and literary creation—
which represents the toiling of the imagination to apprehend and ob
jectify the absolute in beauty. As the toiling of reason is after the
absolute or ideal in knowledge, so the toiling of the imagination is
after the realization of the absolute or ideal in form, using the word in
its most comprehensive sense.
III. Inspirational poiesis—historically illustrated by the facts of
sacred history—which represents the struggle of the God-instinct to
compass the absolute in personal consciousness. For purposes of his
torical analysis, it is not necessary to postulate the objective esse of
God as postulated by theologians. Scientific disquisition assumes sim
ply the God-instinct in humanity, which is all that is necessary in
philosophical analysis, and leaves the question of objectivity to take
care of itself.
The first finds its struggle answered in the absolute in truth ; the
second, in the absolute in realization or beauty; the third, in the ab
solute in personal consciousness, the toiling after which constitutes,
philosophically, the ground of what is termed revelation.
�204
THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF ORTHODOXY.
Subjectively, therefore, truth and beauty are pure ideas, dependent
upon reason and imagination respectively. Subjectively, too, any sys
tem of philosophy or scientific hypothesis is just as really human in
vention as is a poem or a novel—a conclusion which is as lucidly
demonstrable as any proposition in Euclid. Suppose a person unen
dowed with reason, and truth is an impossible idea; suppose the same
person destitute of imagination, and beauty is an idea equally impossi
ble. It is not necessary at this stage of the discussion to open the
question of the objective reality of either—since conception of that
reality is grounded in imaginative and rational intellect, and since the
conception is often at best mistaken for the reality itself. In the crea
tion of any philosophico-imaginative cosmogony, like that of La Place,
therefore, the evolution of system is based upon the conceptions as
material of two faculties, to wit, reason, whence the ideal in abstract,
and imagination, whence the realization of the ideal in form.
As the construction of any hypothetical cosmogony is grounded in
these two ideas uniquely, it is, therefore, necessary to reduce both to
ultimate analysis, and develop the atomic notions upon which they
respectively depend.
At first sight, the idea of truth, in all moods of consciousness,
seems to be the simplest axiom or atom of thought, of which it is pos
sible to form a conception. A more minute scrutiny, however, suggests
the hypothesis that, truth as an idea is rather deductive than atomic—
suggests, I say, the conclusion that the idea of the true is deduced from
the atomic notion of the determinate, of the fixed. The struggle of
reason (represented in philosophy) is, therefore, a toiling after the fixed,
the determinate, the absolute in knowledge. In the processes and evo
lution of philosophy, the Positivists are correct in postulating the rela
tivity of knowledge; but, in its end, if that shall ever be attained,
knowledge must be absolute. In its historical ultimate, its to think
must be succeeded by to know. In seeking to apprehend this absolute,
therefore, which forever baffles and eludes his pursuit, what seeks man
but to apprehend the mystery and solve the riddle of himself ?—for, in
the consciousness of the man is hidden the secret of the universe and
the key of the true cosmogony. Constructive philosophy necessarily
consisting of two principal parts,—the synthesis of methods and the
synthesis of doctrines,—Comte’s position as a thinker by no means covers
the whole ground. His synthesis of methods may form the basis of a
philosophical system, but is not, in itself, a system of philosophy, and
must be complemented by the synthesis of doctrines which Spencer has
attempted to constitute really a philosophical body. Mr. Fiske has been
the first to condition Positivism in definition; and its cardinal theorems
cannot be stated more lucidly than this exceedingly analytic critic has
stated them:
I. That all knowledge is relative.
II. That all unverifiable hypotheses are inadmissible.
�THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS O F O R T H O D O X Y.
205
III. That the evolution of philosophy, whatever else it may, is a
continuous process of deanthropomorphization.
IV. That philosophy is the synthesis of the doctrines and methods
of science.
V. That the critical attitude of philosophy is not destructive, but
constructive ; not sceptical, but dogmatic ; not negative, but positive.
These, according to Mr. Fiske, are the fundamental propositions of
Positivism. The Positive Philosophy, therefore, by no means involves
radicalism. On the other hand, historically considered, radicalism has
always been the handmaid of scepticism—has universally made its
appearance in conjunction therewith, aud more or less grounded upon
it. Positivism is essentially dogmatic, but not radical and noisy; it
maintains the quiet attitude of scientific criticism, and is not declama
tory ; attacks nothing, no faith, no belief, no theological dogma; is
satisfied with science as the developing element of civilization; enun
ciates what it deems to be truth, and waits its time. Relentless as fate,
it quarrels with nobody, but tramps strongly on, stopping only with
the cessation of scientific investigation. In its relation to past systems
of philosophy it claims to adopt the verifiable, rejecting the unverifiable element. As the latest outcome of the speculative instinct, as
emphatically the philosophy of the century and interpretative of its
spirit, it represents the present result of the philosophical poiesis his
torically considered.
In historical generalization, philosophy has run through two cycles,
and begun its third cycle in the system of Comte. The first cycle is
represented by the Greek systems. In ancient philosophy the first
period is cosmological, beginning with Thales and ending with Anaxa
goras and Demokritos; the second is psychological, represented by
Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle ; the third period is one of general scep
ticism ; and the fourth is represented by Proklos whose divine light is
nearly identical with the Hegelian intuition, and completes the Greek
cycle. Mr. Lewes and Mr. Fiske regard Positivism as the end of the
modern cycle; but, more properly, it begins the scientific cycle. The
modern cycle begins with the promulgation of the method of Bacon
and the cultivation of the physical sciences; the cosmological element
cropping out in Galileo and Kepler. Its first period is ontological, be
ginning with Descartes and ending with Spinoza, whose inexorable
logic brought on a crisis and resulted in the reconsideration of the
initial conceptions of metaphysics and the rejection of the validity of
the subjective method.
This led to the second or psychological period, during which, for a
century or more, ontological speculation was abandoned or subordi
nated to psychological analysis. The adoption of the first canon of
Positivism—the relativity of knowledge—resulted from the investiga
tions of this period, and was rendered necessary by the1 inexorable an
alysis of mental operations, begun by Hobbes, and continued by Locke,
Berkley, and Hume.
�206
THE SCIENTIFIC BASTS OF ORTHODOXY.
This brought on the third or sceptical period, of which Hume ap
peal’s as the apostle, and in which Hartley’s keen analysis demonstrated
the possibility of bringing the scientific method to bear upon psycho
logical iuquiry. Sensationalism and crude materialism represent this
period in France. Against both, as the natural swing of the philo
sophical pendulum, there ensued later the tawdry superficially spiritual
istic reaction, conducted by Laromiguiere and Cousin, whose declam
atory le cœur answers to the divine light of Proklos, and ends the cycle
in France, with a fourth or intuitional period. In Germany the cycle
ends similarly, the re-examination of the subjective method by Kant
being episodical, and preparatory to the reassertion of the intuitional
by Hegel, who, again, denies the relativity of knowledge. The great
English thinkers of the century, with a caution engendered by the
Baconian method, diverge here from the logical completion of the cycle,
with the exception, perhaps, of Coleridge, who was addicted to German
ism ; Hamilton and Mansel accepting the Kantian psychology, but
stopping short of Hegelism. Thus ends the second cycle—the third
beginning with Positivism as interpreted by Spencer, in England, and
Comte, in France, and adopting substantially the cosmological system
of La Place. Pre-eminently it may be termed the cycle of the scien
tific method ; but, as to its ultimate historical deduction, it is folly to
speculate.
From this cursory generalization of the historical struggle of the
rational intellect after the fixed, the determinate, the absolute in knowl
edge, a parallel generalization of the history of the imaginative/xuLGais, it will be seen, quite unnecessary. Endlessly it everywhere repeats
the cycle—beginning with fable, merging into poetry and allegory, de
veloping into dramatic creation, and ending in pure, natural literature.
The historical manifestation of the God-instinct presents really but
one grand cycle which commences with cosmogonies. Then comes rev
elation objective, as its first rude groping after the latent absolute in
human consciousness, with its dreams, and omens, and visions. A pe
riod of transition ensues in which priestly mysteries succeed to objec
tivity. Then comes the intuitional, prophetic, or subjective- period, in
which objective revelation is abandoned, and the God is represented in
temporary union with the human consciousness. Then the final com
pleteness of the union of the God with human consciousness in the
son of Mary is asserted and accepted. Again, a brief period of pro
phetic prediction ensues, represented by the Apocalypse of St. John, in
which the ultimate historical triumph of the God-instinct ovei’ all
condition is foretold. Then comes a period of evolution ; and the
cycle, not yet completed, ends in the realization by the human of the
absolute in oonsciousness, as the ultimate deduction of the toiling of
the God-instinct after the God. The acceptance or denial of the esse
of the objective in no way affects the validity of the subjective instinct
—in no way affects the facts of its historical manifestation. The phe32
�TBE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF ORTHODOXY.
207
nomena are attested ; the objectivity of deity is a question with which
philosophy has no business. Truth, beauty, and deity may be subject
ive conceptions; but the supposition that they are cannot annul their
historical validity in the manifestation of consciousness. The collect
ive body of the motion of human consciousness towards freedom in all
directions—towards the absolute, in a word—constitutes, therefore,
historical progress, history being in ultimate definition the selfexpression of humanity; and at the basis of this progress, forever
restless, forever toiling towards the realization of its freedom from con
dition, tugs the God-instinct of the ego, the motive of all that is
grand and sublimated in human thought and human action. Neces
sary as the integrity of the ego is to this deduction, it may be well
here to notice the late English hypothesis that it is constituted by the
successive ideas which finds its refutation in the fact that, in the evolu
tion of ideas the consciousness is a double one—that is, I am conscious
of myself as myself, and conscious of myself as thinking.
Three profoundly instinctive and irrepressible, even fundamental,
directions of consciousness are found, therefore, if the preceding ratio
cination be valid, to underlie the historical self-expression of humanity.
They are, if coinage of the compounds may be permitted :
I. The thought-instinct, which seeks the absolute in knowledge, in
truth, in comprehension of the processes and laws of phenomenal
evolution.
II. The art-instinct, which toils to create the absolute in form, in
beauty, in objective realization.
III. The God-instinct, which struggles for the realization of the ab
solute in personal consciousness ; which attained, the history of human
consciousness as conditioned, ends.
The collective body of results, emanating from this threefold toil
ing of the human after freedom of self-expression, constitutes the es
sential facts of history, as the ultimate realization of the goal towards
which the struggle tends, constitutes its finis.
I have proceeded thus far without a break, for the sake of logical
coherence. Let me return now, and subject to analysis the idea of
beauty.
If the idea of beauty be subjected to careful analysis, it will, I
think, be conceded to be non-atomic, that is, deduced ; and if, again,
the dissection of the few poems, the beauty of which has been univers
ally acknowledged, be entered upon, their effect will be found to depend
upon a certain dreamy undulation, like the weird waving of restless
trees under moonlight, which pervades and spiritualizes their composi
tion. The atomic notion of beauty is, therefore, the undulative, the
rhythmical, the indeterminate. It is this principle that imbues
the beautiful with its soul of Faëry. From it may be deduced the
vague, the spiritual in poetic, artistic, and musical creation. Dispel
this perspective, this atmosphere of the indeterminate—imbue beauty
�208
THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF ORTHODOXY.
with mathematical decision, and it ceases to be beauty. The jump of
iambic rhythm is less beautiful than the dreamier winding of the
anapest, or the undulative dance of the dactyl. For a similar reason,
to wit, greater sweep of undulation, the Persian rhythms are more
beautiful than the English.
It is not intended in the preceding remarks to deny the mathemat
ical relations upon which the skeleton of the beautiful in form is
grounded. In rhythmical construction the sound-waves observe a
certain mathematical regularity of recurrence, as also in music ; but
that which constitutes a mathematical system of short and long syl
lables regularly alternating, and is mere scansion, must not be con
founded with the ebb and swell of the sound-wave, the undulation of
which is the ground of the beautiful in rhythm and music. Sculpture,
painting, and the plastic arts afford, perhaps, a more distinct recogni
tion of the relation of the geometrical to the beautiful ; but, in the
study of that relation, the two must be kept separate. The mathe
matical and geometrical are, so to speak, the bones of the beautiful.
“ Beauty of favor,” says Bacon, “ is least. Beauty of color is more
than that of favor ; and the beauty of sweet and graceful motion is
best of all. There is a beauty which a picture cannot express, nor
even the first sight of life. There is no excellent beauty without some
strangeness in the proportion.” The father of the scientific method
seems here to hint indistinctly at the categories of beauty, to wit, the
beautiful in form, which is the ground of sculpture ; the beautiful in
color, which lies at the basis of painting ; the beautiful in expression,
which verges further upon the ideal than either of the preceding ; and
the beautiful in individuation, which is still subtler and more ethereal.
The last category connects the beautiful with Schelling’s tendency to
individuation, and presupposes the intimate relation of the beautiful
to the biological, the plastic, the creative ; but, in no respect, invalidates
the reference of the idea of beauty to the wave-motion, which consti
tutes the law of force.
Hogarth, who located the principle in the curve, did, it seems, ap
proximate to the solution of the problem; the principle being really
the undulative or indeterminate curve, resultant from the wave-motion
of force as it enters into morphization. Prof. Tilman, in a recent
paper, has so lucidly developed the relations of the mathematical and
geometrical, upon which the symmetrical is grounded, to the musical
and rhythmical sound-wave, that argument is really superfluous. The
subject may, in fact, be pursued to any extent of illustration by reference
to instruments for the study of wave-motion, and to the subtler inves
tigation of the wave-forces that condition the forms of plants. The
beautiful must not be confounded with its geometry. The latter is the
skeleton, of which the former is the vivifaction and soul.
This analysis is supported essentially by the psychology of imagina
tive creation. Longfellow expresses himself as one—
�THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF ORTHODOXY.
209
“ Who, through long days of labor
And nights devoid of ease.
Still hears in his soul the music
Of wonderful melodies.”
Poe interprets the instinct when in “ Israfel ” he moans out—
“ If I could dwell where Israfel
Hath dwelt, and he where I,
He might not sing so wildly well
A mortal melody.
While a bolder note than his might swell
From my lyre within the sky.”
Again, depicting the poet under the similitude of a beautiful palace, he
sings—
“ And travelers in that happy valley,
Through two luminous windows, saw
Spirits moving musically
To a lute’s well-tuned law.”
Shelley, more profoundly a poet than either mentioned, typifies the
poet in his “ Skylark ” thus—
“ Higher still, and higher.
Heavenward thou springest;
Like a cloud of fire,
The blue deep thou wingest,
And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.”
_
But why multiply instances, when, from the bulbul-hearted Hafiz to
ethereally musical Tennyson, no poet has left the instinct for rhythm
unexpressed—when, in fact, the undulative is grounded in the very
nature of the art-instinct ? The wave-motion is the essential element
of the beautiful in imaginative poiesis, whether it be considered as the
rhythm-wave of poetry or as the sound-wave of music, or as the line
wave of art proper. Connect the gamut of musical sound with the
spectrum of color, and it will be seen, adopting the undulatory hypo
thesis of light, that the two have a direct relation. Red, produced by
the least number of light undulations, represents the tonic; yellow, the
mediant; and blue, the dominant. The darkest color, indigo, falls on
the relative minor tonic; the brightest yellow, on the brilliant medi
ant. It would, in fact, be perfectly easy to set the Ut-Re-Mi-Fa-SolLa-Si of the sound-septave to the septave of the spectrum; the color
translating the sound to the eye harmoniously, and the mathematical
correspondence of undulation to undulation being preserved with per
fect accuracy. The deduction is that light, heat, and actinism result
from undulations of the same attenuated medium; the perception of
light and color resulting from the ratio of undulations embraced in a
single octave. The deduction, incident to this ratiocination, is, how
ever, a broader one, to wit, that the wave-motion, the rhythmical im
pulse, is inherent in the objectively beautiful, whether it be represented
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THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF ORTHODOXY.
in sound dolor, or form, which latter constitutes simply the perma
nence of ttave-motion—is its mummifaction, so to speak, in connec
tion with matter; and in this rhythmical impulsion is, no doubt,
grounded the aesthetic (dement of the objective, its existence consti
tuting the basis of the aesthetic perception.
The universality of the rhythmical in the operation of force has
been assumed by so acute a Positivist as Herbert Spencer, and proved;
and what has been once demonstrated under the scientific method
need not be re-argued, further than to point out the parallelism be
tween natural and psychological operations, that is, to identify the
objective principle with the subjective idea—further than to admit the
conclusion that the art-method of human consciousness is identical
with the art-method of the phenomenal.
There is nothing in Mr. Spencer’s law of rhythm, except its incor
poration as a part of the scientific method. Dreamers were aware of it
before thinkers were. Plato expressed it in his music of the spheres;
and an old English author propounded it quaintly in the apothegm:
“The verie source and, so to speak, springheade of all Musicke is the
verie pleasant sound that the trees make when they grow.” It has, too,
been one of the ever-recurring imaginings of poetry. Mrs. Browning
expresses it:
“ The divine impulsion cleaves
In dim music to the leaves,
Dropt and lifted, dropt and lifted,
In the sunlight greenly sifted—
In the.sunlight and the moonlight
Greenly sifted through the trees.
Ever wave the Eden trees
In the sunlight and the moonlight,
In the nightlight and the noonlight,
Never stirred by rain or breeze.”
Or, again, here is a poetic personification of the rhythmical impulse in
nature, from “ Al Araaf
“ Ligeia, Ligeia,
My beautiful one,
Whose harshest idea
Will to melody run,
Say is it thy will
On the breezes to toss,
Or, capriciously still.
Like the lone albatross,
Incumbent on night
As she on the air,
To direct with delight
All the harmony there ?
Indeed, it is not the uucommonness of the fancy, but the common
ness of it, which gives it dignity; and its admission into the scientific
method is valueless except as demonstrative proof of the hypothesis
�THE SCIENTIFIC BASTS OF ORTHODOXY.
211
that the æsthetic evolution of nature is identifiable with the æsthetic
evolution of art.
As philosophy, historically speaking, is a response to the rational
ideal, so art, music, poetry is a response—vague it may be as the music
of Memnon’s statue, unsatisfactory as the fatuous fire of the Will-o’the-Wisp, but a response nevertheless to the psychal ideal, to the
toiling to embody the ultimate in form. For this the musician
trickles music from his finger-tips, and the poet sets his vision to melody
of numbers; for this, the insensate blossoms into forms of supernal
loveliness ; for this, the quarried marble is fashioned into shapes of
beauty by the hand of the artist; for this, in short, the imagination
creates unto itself an ideal Eden, reflecting in form, in color, in mel
ody, its own vague prophecies of the absolute in beauty. In the
rustle of leaves, in the soughing of winds, in the muffled music of rain
upon grass, in the rhythmical laughter of rills, in the tremulous swing
ing of reeds—in all things, in a word, in which the wave-motion is ex
pressed, it seeks expression for its own sublimated conceptions of the
ideal—that ideal which is forever restless, and which, probably, no col
location of present physical forms could fully embody.
Men deficient in the art-instinct may sneer at the æsthetic inspira
tion as fare il santo, but it has its historical significance, nevertheless.
Truth, in essence, is sublime ; but its loftiest sublimity is lifeless—is
pulseless—is utterly ineffective when brought into comparison with the
inspiration of the beautiful. Dismiss rhapsody, and make a last deduc
tion—a deduction that logically ensues and offers a solution of the
riddle. It is that, the absolute in consciousness attained, man, still
ceasing not to be man, shall find in the full evolution of beauty the
historical answer to the struggle to create firms of physical loveliness.
It is that matter, mastered by consciousness and answering imme
diately, as it now answers mediately, to the art-instinct, shall yield
itself to the expression of the psychal ideal with perfect fluidity and
subjection. Whence, from beauty ephemeral is deduced beauty eternal.
The imaginative poiesis having been identified in principle with
the natural evolution of the beautiful, as the philosophical poiesis is
identifiable with the rationale of that phenomenal evolution, a more
minute analysis of the processes of the philosophical and imaginative
may be attempted. Both begin with perception, and proceed from per
ception to poiesis. The gradations from perception to philosophy in
the rational intellect are :
1. Perception of the object as object.
2. Perception of the object as subject, that is, rational cognition—
understanding.
3. Rational discursion, or pure reason—eventuating in philosophy.
The rational cognition or understanding is inclusive alike of the
cognition of the mathematical and of the logical relations of the
object.
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THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF ORTHODOXY.
The gradations of the imaginative or sensitive intellect are:—
1. Perception of the object as object.
2. Sensitive cognition, or cognition of the object as subject, that is,
in its relation to the idea of beauty—taste.
3. Sensitive discursion, or imagination—eventuating in artistic,
musical, or poetic creation.
Taking up the third poiesis, that is, the inspirational, springing his
torically from the theanthropic instinct, a third formulation is neces
sary to complete the formulations of the historical manifestation of the
human consciousness in what may be termed the literary form. This
third poiesis begins with the intuitional, and may be formulated
thus:
1. Intuitional perception, that is, perception of the absolute as the
ground (Urgrunde) of the relative.
2. Intuitional cognition, that is, cognition of the absolute as sub
jective—faith.
3. Intuitional discursion—eventuating in prophecy, in revelation,
or, more comprehensively stated, in theanthropomorphization.
This formulation agrees substantially with that adopted in the
phrenological scheme—which, however, can have no scientific psychol
ogy—though I may suggest that, in phrenology, that which is termed
the semi-intellectual would be more accurately described by the word
psychal, while for intellectual I should substitute rational, and for
religious, intuitional. In relation to the phenomenal, the rational
identifies itself with causation; the imaginative or psychal with
morphization; the intuitional with theanthropomorphization as the
historical deduction of consciousness and the historical destiny of
man.
Any who may wish to study the data upon which the preceding
generalizations are based, may, without subjecting themselves to the
trouble of looking further, consult Mr. Lewes’ history of philosophy,
the admirable work of M. Henry Taine, on art-criticism, and the pro
foundly philosophical treatise on sacred history, in the publication of
which Prof. Kurtz has done more to turn back the current of rational
ism than the whole body of his orthodox confreres taken together;
referring them to which, I may be permitted to take leave of historical
induction, and devote the remainder of the argument to the evolution
of a biological definition, sufficiently broad to cover not only the struc
tural, physiological, and psychological per se, but also the ultimate the
anthropomorphization which historical induction indicates as the final
historical sublimate of humanity.
I cannot, however, pass to the evolution of the biological definition
without noticing a curious and very superficial error, into which, mis
led by eminent English thinkers and savans, Mr. Fiske has fallen in
his summary lecture on Positivism. “ Since,” says that gentleman—
“ since the process of generalization has successively metamorphosed
�THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF ORTHODOXY.
213
fetishism into polytheism,, and polytheism into monotheism, the in
ference is that it must eventually complete the metamorphosis of mono
theism into Positivism; and thus Positivism regards itself as the le
gitimate successor of theology.” So partial is this generalization, and
so inconsequent and unpsychological is its conclusion, that it seems
strange that Mr. Fiske should have gravely enunciated it. So far as
the historical fact is concerned, monotheism began with the beginning
of history. Historically speaking, the relapse was from monotheism
into polytheism, that is, monotheism preceded. Fetishism cannot be
postulated as the starting-point of theism: Accepting the book of
Genesis as the initial attempt at history, which is demonstrably true,
it is obvious that theology began with monotheism in the Semitic
stem. The history of this stem presents the only completed cycle of
theanthropomorphization grounded in the persistence of the mono
theistic conception. The Indo-European stem presents at the begin
ning of history a series of mythological cosmogonies essentially simi
lar, but evidently deduced from the Semitic, which, though polytheistic
in terminology, are pantheistic in ultimate analysis. The Hindoo,
Persian, Gothic, Grecian, and Roman systems constitute a group, in
which monotheism original seems, by gradual process of theanthropo
morphization, imaginative rather than historical, to have been meta
morphosed into mythologies, superficially polytheistic, but essentially
pantheistic. In their cosmological systems they are evidently deriva
tive from the Semitic, which is historically older. The Egyptian and
Assyrian systems are still more obviously derivative from the Semitic.
All these derivative mythologies begin with the postulation of a mono
theistic original, answering to the Elohim, as in the Jupiter of the
Greeks, for example, and proceed to polytheism upon the principle of
multiplication; effecting a partial return to monotheism in the pan
theism that succeeds. The Mongolian stem differs from the IndoEuropean in details of mythology and cosmology, but not so essentially
as to stand aloof from the generalization; and, again, historically con
sidered, fetishism is rather representative of a degraded monotheism
than original. In all the so-called pagan systems, there are prismatic
reflections of the original element of the theanthropomorphization
more historically developed in the Semitic system. They appear in the
Vedas, in the Zendavesta. They are written in hieroglyphics amid the
relics of Egypt. They reappear in the Gothic, Greek, and Roman
mythologies, though more feebly; and, generally, the remoter the an
tiquity of the system, the more distinctly derivative from the Semitic
are these prismatic reflections. The pagan cycle, therefore, begins with
monotheism, descends to polytheism by theistic multiplication, and
ends in pantheism by generalization of the polytheistic. The return
to monotheism is effected through the historical triumph of the Semitic
system, which, having completed its first cycle in the synthesis (theo
retical at least) of the divine consciousness with the human, assumes
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THE SCIENTIFIC BASTS OF ORTHODOXY.
universality by general diffusion and propagation, and becomes the
great developing element of an historical civilization, grounded upon
monotheism and the ultimate historical theanthropomorphization of
man. The utmost deduction of the rational intellect postulates ulti
mate cause, which the realistic instinct of the imagination transforms
into a world-soul, which is pantheism; and, as a generalization, it may
be observed that, in the ancient pagan civilizations, in the old IndoEuropean civilization generally—in which the rational and imaginative
have had the ascendency—the theistic idea has lapsed from monotheism
into polytheism, and from polytheism, by synthesis of polytheistic gen
eralizations, has ascended into pantheism, and there has been arrested.
The historical generalization is, it is seen, in substantial concord with
the psychological deduction that the dominance of the aesthetic in
stinct universally results in pantheism. Poets are inevitably pan
theistic in proportion to the dominance of the imagination—that is, in
proportion to the dominance of the psychal over the intuitional—
as artists are in ratio to the intensity of the art-insight. The phil
osophical insight, on the other hand, is neutral—neither theistic nor
atheistic—and concerns itself with the absolute in causation without
regard to the realization of the absolute in causation in some absolute
ego supposed to stand at the head of the cosmology in the attitude
of the cosmical soul. The element of theanthropomorphization, in as
far as it colors the Greek system, must be referred, partially, to the em
bers of monotheism perdu and transmuted from the Semitic, and, par
tially, to the struggle of the intuitional to assert itself in „the Greek
civilization.
The elements of polytheism and pantheism have, historically con
sidered, always been ephemeral and fluctuating. The element of mono
theism, having as its historical end the theanthropomorphization of the
human, has, on the other hand, been permanent, and constitutes the
basis of most that is valuable in the present European system of civili
zation. The historical induction, therefore, denies the validity of Mr.
Fiske’s conclusion, and leads to the hypothesis that monotheism and
theanthropomorphization will complete the cycle of history in the
realization of the latter. Thus, the present cycle of history is found to
embrace the interval of biological evolution included between the reali
zation of the ego as conditioned consciousness and the realization of
the ego as unconditioned consciousness; and thus egotism, in its better
sense, appears as the definition of history. Thus, too, biology must be
considered as divisible into two cycles, to wit, the cycle of pre-historic
evolution, and that of evolution historical; and thus, again, the histor
ical permanence of theology, as at present constituted, may be as
sumed ; the post-historical being of course represented by perfected
theanthropomorphization.
�THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF ORTHODOXY.
215 x
II.—THE NECESSARY BIOLOGICAL DEFINITION.
The imperfect condition of biology prevented the contemporary
appreciation of the value and significance of Hartley’s interpretation of
Lockian philosophy ; and, until the end of the eighteenth century the
glittering sensationalism of Condillac divided the philosophical laurels
with crude materialism. The first reaction was constituted by the le
cœur system advocated by Laromiguiere and Victor Cousin—a spiritu
alistic reaction of the most superficial kind, consisting in equal quan
tities of tawdry rhetoric and rhapsodical appeal to the testimony of the
heart. Having deluged France with a diarrhoea of words that meant
nothing, the system died of its own want of vitality. In England, at the
same time, the scepticism of Hume had produced a philosophical crisis.
Then came Kant, in Germany, and Comte, in France—the formel'
laying tlie foundation for Hegelism, and the latter appearing as the
founder of the Positive system, which may be conditioned as the syn
thesis of the methods and doctrines of science. The distinctively Posi
tive attitude of Galileo, Descartes, and Bacon, to the last of whom is
due the authoritative enunciation of the second canon of Positivism,
prepared the way for that system as elaborated by Comte. The first
canon of Positivism resulted from the reconsideration of the meta
physics of Spinoza, in England, and was the direct consequence of the
movement begun by Hobbes and continued by Locke, Berkeley, and
Hume. The first two canons of Positivism are, therefore, pre-Comteian. The last three propositions are peculiar to Comte and Spencer,
the two great apostles of the Positive system, the ground-theorem of
which is that the sciences can be made to furnish the materials neces
sary to the evolution of a complete, synthetic, and unified conception
of the world. Fundamentally, the practical realization of this unified
conception depends upon the biological definition which must be equal
to the covering of the metaphysical as well as the physical, and equal
to the explanation, not only of the pre-historic and historical, but also
of the post-historic. For the latest and most lucidly-arranged collec
tion and collation of the data of biology, the student is referred to
Herbert Spencer’s “ First Principles ” and his two volumes on biologi
cal science, issued by the Appletons.
The direction of foreign scientific investigation tends to lessen the
number of primary assumptions ; and it is now substantially conceded
that hardness, solidity, rigidity, impenetrability, elasticity, and the like,
are not properties of matter, but manifestations of attendant force.
“ The monstrous assumption of philosophers that the infinitely peren
nial specific quality of matter-atoms is due to infinite strength and
infinite rigidity, has for its only pretext,” says Sir William Thomson,
4f that adopted by Newton and eminent modern physicists, namely :
that it seems to account for the unalterable distinguishing qualities of
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Tin: SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF ORTHODOXY.
different kinds of matter. The movement toward the rejection of the
hypothesis that atoms are infinitely strong and infinitely rigid was t
started by Helmholtz, three years since, in his investigation of the
dynamical properties of vortex rings, from which he eliminates an
important conclusion. Describing their motion as wirbel-bewegung
(whirling motion), he concludes, from his experiments, that, if once
set up a perfect fluid, that is, a fluid with no viscosity or friction of
particles, it would be absolutely perpetual. Inertia would then be
overcome. Vortex rings may be produced by smokers by arranging
the lips so as to pronounce the letter 0, and expelling smoke from the
mouth gently, with the lips in that position. The smoke answers the
function to render the rings visible—they being just as readily pro
ducible in transparent air, as has been experimentally demonstrated.
These cylindrical rings move upward, when expelled from the mouth,
perpendicularly to their planes, revolving rapidly, as they move, around
a circular axis. This rotation corresponds in direction on the inner
side with the general motion of the ring; the outer side moving in
a contrary direction. They are not broken by impelling them one
against another, but rebound with singular elasticity, the integrity of
the ring being preserved.
It was this investigation upon which Sir Wm. Thomson grounded
his new theory of the molecular constitution of matter; its ground
theorem being that a closed vortex core is literally indivisible by any
action resultant from vortex motion. All bodies being composed of
vortex atoms, therefore, the infinitely perennial specific quality of
atoms is explicable without the Newtonian assumption.
Helmholtz, having proved that this quality exists in a perfect fluid
when the motion he terms wirbel-bewegung has been created, and
actual experiments having proved that when smoke rings in air are so
impelled as to come in collision they cannot be made to penetrate each
other, but rebound resiliently, Sir William deduces the conclusion
that, by packing them more closely than gases are packed under the
dynamical theory, the properties of liquids and solids might be ex
plained without assuming the atoms themselves to be either liquid or
solid, and the further conclusion that the number of primary as
sumptions may be lessened by one on the hypothesis that all bodies are
composed of vortex atoms in a perfectly homogeneous fluid. The
dynamic theory of gases, now received by Thomson, Tait, Joule, Helm
holtz, and others—European physicists of eminence all of them—is in
concord with Prof. Thomson’s hypothesis also, which as generalization
is of eminent value to physicists. Prof. Huxley, more recent in his
conclusions, seems to assume the matter-atom as per se dynamic, if
his biological definition is indicial of any opinion on the subject; and,
generally, it will be noted, the tendency of physical science is to lessen
the number of primary assumptions by rejecting the Newtonian enum
eration of the primary properties.
�THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF ORTHODOXY.
217
The same general tendency may be observed in relation to the
physical forces. Prof. Grove has proved that light and heat are moods
of the same force. Faraday long since demonstrated that magnetism
would produce electricity, with the important condition, how
ever, that the electricity so produced is static, not dynamic;
directive, not active; while Helmholtz has developed many curious
analogies in his work on the interaction of forces. Mayer has done
considerable in the same direction ; while Carpenter has brought out the
essential relation of the physical to the vital forces. These data have
been all collected by Prof. Youmans, and brought together into a single
ably edited volume.
This vortex-atomic theory involves, however, an unverifiable hy
pothesis in the determination of the specific form of the atom, which
is an assumption to be avoided if possible, and can be by postulating
that matter is dynamo-atomic. The qualities or properties of matter
are thus reducible to a single postulate, which is self-evident, to wit,
capacity for motion. Carrying the deduction a step further, from the
correlation and interaction of all forces so-called, and from the demon
strated identity of light and heat; from the proved convertibility of
forces and the demonstrated conservation of them, the generalization
is valid that force is essentially the same, and that what are termed
forces are only moods of one universal force, which may be either dy
namic or static, either directive or motive, and the law of the motion
of which is undulation, or rhythm, or, more properly, the wave or
progressive motion.
The physicist may begin, therefore, with three simple postulates,
two of which are self-evident:
I. Force, that which causes to move—affording a very simple ex
planation of gravitation, light, heat, electricity, magnetism, and con
sciousness, by reference of either to mood.
II. Matter, that which is moved—rigidly excluding all assumption
of so-called primary qualities from the definition.
III. The explanation of physical, psychal, and intellectual phenom
ena in strict accordance with the dynamical hypothesis, that is, upon
principles strictly mathematical.
The presupposition of the undulatory theory of light is that of an
ethereal and exceedingly attenuated medium, which may, perhaps,
answer the definition of the perfect homogeneous fluid necessary to
the permanence of the wirbel-bewegung in Helmholtz’s deduction or
Thomson’s vortex-atomic hypothesis. The dynamo-atomic hypothesis
presupposes the same attenuated medium or ethereal matter pervading
all cosmical interval. The cosmological evolution begins, therefore,
with a dynamic element or. causative of motion, that is, force, and a
static element or vehicle of motion, that is, matter—which, strangely
enough, answer very minutely to the ancient cosmological postulates
of the male and female principles in the genesis of cosmogonies. This
28
�218
THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF ORTHODOXY.
force is either motive or directive, either transitive or modal. Magne
tism may be made to produce static electricity, as has been dem
onstrated by Prof. Faraday. Both electricity and magnetism may
be developed into activity by motion or revolution—the difference be
tween them being that electricity seems to be eccentric and diffusive,
while magnetism is concentric and attractive. Assuming. that polar
magnetism is magnetic force set free by revolution, and that the
magnetic force is concentric—the needle, when magnetized at only one
end, should point to the centre of the earth, which is in correspond
ence with the fact. Both ends being magnetized and the needle bal
anced, it points in the direction of the magnetic pole, parallel with the
magnetic current. Again, place a compass near the magnetic
pole and compel the needle to keep its horizontal position, and it
points any way at random ; but, if left to itself, it points downward
toward the centre of the earth, and this constitutes what is termed
the dip of the -needle, as you move it from the equator in the direction
of either pole. The conclusion is, therefore, that magnetism is concen
tric, which accounts for the facts, without supposing the interior of
the earth to be a fixed natural magnet, which is disproved by the vari
ation of the needle from year to year in the same locality, an exhaustive
investigation of the laws of which was instituted by John A. Parker
in 1866, and printed in the volume of American Institute reports for
1867, under the general head of Polar Magnetism. The conclusion is
that electricity and magnetism represent the eccentric and concentric
moods of the same force—the latter constituting the ground of what
Newton terms gravitation. The former is diffusive; the latter, attract
ive. Heat and light resulting from undulations of the same attenua
ted medium, differ materially in this: that the former varies inversely
as the length of the undulation, while the perception of the latter re
sults from the ratio of undulations embraced in a single octave; and,
again, heat appears to be attractive, while light is diffusive. Assuming
these four to represent the concentric and eccentric moods, affinity
may be postulated as their synthesis; and this completes the cosmo
logical generalization. Again, assume the vitality which is allied to
electricity as eccentric, and nervosity allied to magnetism as concen
tric, and consciousness represents the synthesis of all the moods in
biology. The cosmological analysis is formulated thus:—
Eccentric moods ------ Light-------- Electricity \
Concentric moods-------Heat-------- Magnetism
The biological formulary of the forces proceeds further, and stands
thus:—
Eccentric moods ------ Light------- Electricity
Concentric moods------ Heat------- Magnetism
Afflnity /Vitality > Consciousness.
\ Nervosity '
The classification of vitality with the eccentric, and of nervosity
with the concentric, is in concord with the fact that temperaments in
which vitality predominates are the more electric; while temperaments
�T H fí S C TEN TIFIO B J S r S O F O U T HOB O X Y.
219
having a predominance of nervosity are the more magnetic. Or. again,
the temperament of vitality develops more color; while the tempera
ment of nervosity develops more intensity. The formulation pro
pounded need not, however, be further verified, since the argument
from comparative anatomy is conclusive as to its validity—the data
being matters of every-day observation. Two points of the ground
assumption remain to be stated, to wit, the persistence of force and the
persistence of matter; the mutable element appearing in form. Of the
two former the absolute may be predicated ; the latter constitutes the
basis of phenomenal evolution and dissolution, or, in other words, the
element of non-persistence and limitation. It is, therefore, neither in
force nor in matter per se that the relative element appears, but in
morphization. The formulation of the two primary assumptions as
cosmological or biological includes, therefore, motion and form, and is
represented as : Force, that which causes motion, the law of the evolution
of which (motion) is rhythm; Matter, that in which motion appears,
either as simple and continuous, the law of which is rhythm; or as
arrested and limitedly persistent, that is, form or morphization, the law
of which is beauty. As morphization, form pertains to cosmology; as
individuation, to biology.
It is not proposed to attempt here the framing of a mécanique celeste
adopted to the dynamo-atomic theory, though, given the wirbel-bewegwig,
the elements upon which to ground a cosmological system are com
plete. Neither is it purposed to enter upon an analysis and enumera
tion of the data of biology, in which little could be added to the ad
mirable induction and collation already developed by Herbert Spencer.
The aim of this critique is, on the other hand, to develop an adequate
biological definition. The definitions thus far propounded are referable
to three generalizations, to wit:
1. Life is the tendency to individuation, which is German and con
notes the essential physical condition of the evolution of organism,
that is, individuality.
2. Life is the twofold internal movement of composition and de
composition, at once general and continuous—which is essentially
physiological and merely the assertion of a fact, rather than a general
ization from a collection of facts.
3. Life is the co-ordination of actions—which, again, is simply the
assertion of a fact, and the same fact as before, looked at from the
stand-point of the physicist rather than from that of the physiologist.
The first represents life merely as a tendency impressed upon the
constitution of matter; the second apprehends physiologically the
necessary condition of a living organism ; while the third apprehends
the same condition scientifically. The post-Kantian or Hegelian
period of German philosophy, if valuable for no other reason, is to be
credited with the only proximately satisfactory definition of life, as
well as a great many valuable contributions to' literary criticism. The
�220
THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF ORTHODOXY.
sin of German speculators has been—owingto a certain realistic ten
dency or disposition to mistake words for things, expunged from the
Latin stock by dialectics, but still inherent in German—the seemingly
profound at the expense of the really and intelligibly profound—as all
philosophy postulated upon so-called intellectual intuition necessarily
must be. Still, it is by no means a sequitur that the postulate is to be
denied, for there can exist no doubt as to the validity of the conclusion
that, as there is a poetic intuition or imaginative insight as to the ideal
in beauty, so the highest sublimation of the rational intellect is intui
tional in its processes. Of course, it is possible to explain the seem
ingly intuitional by assuming insensible processes of deduction going
on in the mind, but not perceived as going on, and, therefore, occult ;
but the fact remains : both the imaginative vision and the rational
vision are, in their most sublimated phases, rather immediate than
mediate. The evidence of fact is ample as to this point and this mood
of intellect, the paroxysms of which are rare—are, in their illumi
nation, as if a star had burst inside of one’s head—often astonish, as
if a sun had shot athwart the heavens at midnight. Having no
method of proof, however, the rational intuition is valueless to philo
sophical speculation ; and this fact Bacon, himself most profoundly
intuitional, was sensible enough to apprehend and announce in the
promulgation of the objective method. Logically, therefore, upon
Bacon, as the father of the objective method in philosophy, and New
ton, almost the father of physical discovery, the Positive system de
pends ; and yet the evolution of the only profound biological definition
is due to one of the dreamiest disciples of the subjective.
If the wave-motion be taken as the basis of the law of rhythm in
the action of motive force, it is to be considered in itself as both pro
gressive and analogous to Helmholtz’s irirbel-bewegHng, since it has
been proved by Gerstner and Scott Russell that, in the typical wave
motion of a liquid, in the ocean-wave, for example, all the particles
revolve at the same time, in the same direction, and in vertical col
umns. This pulsating motion appears at least in a couple of species
of plants—the Hedysarum gyrans and the Colocasia esculenta, as to
the rhythmical tremor, of which latter M. Lecoq reported to the
Academy of Sciences, France, in 1867, some very curious and interest
ing observations—and upon it and its dynamical laws is, no doubt, to
be grounded the permanent hypothesis of mécanique celeste, all cos
mical creation being analogous to a limitless and palpitating heart. At
the basis of all motion lies this rhythmical impulse.
It is not scientific to assume special creations in biology. For its
purposes, evolution is the fundamental conception of organism ; and,
as Mr. Spencer has been lucid in his definition of evolution and of its
processes, quotation is admissible :
“1. An object is said to be homogeneous when one of its parts is like
every other part. An illustration is not easy to find, as perfect homo
�THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF ORTHODOXY.
221
geneity has probably never existed in the universe. But one may say
that a piece of gold is homogeneous as compared with a piece of wood ;
or that a wooden ball is homogeneous as compared with an orange.
“ 2. An object is said to be heterogeneous where its parts have no
resemblance to one another. All objects whatever are more or less
heterogeneous. But a tree is said to be heterogeneous as compared
with the seed from which it has sprung; and• an orange is heteroge
neous as compared to a wooden ball.
“ 3. Differentiation is the arising of an unlikeness between any two
of the units which make up an aggregate. A piece of iron, before it is
exposed to the air, is, to all intents and purposes, homogeneous. But
when, by exposure to the air, it has acquired a coating of oxide, it is
heterogeneous. The units composing its outside are unlike the units
composing its inside; or, in other words, its outside is differentiated
from its inside.
“ 4. Integration is the grouping together of those units of a hetero
geneous aggregate which resemble one another. A good example is
afforded by crystallization. The particles of the crystallizing substance,
which resemble each other, and which have no resemblance to the par
ticles of the solvent fluid, gradually unite to form the crystal; which is
that said to be integrated from the solution. Another case of integra
tion is seen in the rising of cream upon the surface of a dish of milk,
and in the frothy collection of carbonic acid bubbles covering a lately
filled glass of ale. When small pebbles, mixed with sand, are thrown
into a tumbler and gently agitated, the result is an integration of the
pebbles at the bottom of the vessel and of the sand above them.”
From these definitions, which are definitions of processes, he
deduces his definition of evolution :
“ Whether it be in the development of the earth, in the develop
ment of life upon its surface, in the development of society, of govern
ment, manufactures, of commerce, of language, literature, science, art,
this same advance from the simple to the complex, through successive
differentiations, holds uniformly. From the earliest traceable cosmical
phenomena down to the latest results of civilization, it will be found
that the transformation of the homogeneous into the heterogeneous is
that in which evolution essentially consists.”
There may be doubts as to the precision of the definition of evolu
tion as applied to biology. The tendency of matter to organization
would, perhaps, express Mr. Spencer’s meaning more definitively; the
tendency to individuation expressing with more precision that which
Mr. Spencer terms integration. In fact, the definitions of the English
philosopher pertain rather to non-biological evolution than to the evo
lution of living organism.
Pre-historically considered, the tendency of matter to organization
expresses the biological definition with sufficient precision; but, with
the advent of humanity, the necessitv for a broader and deeper gene-
�222
THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF O li T H O D 0 X F.
ralization appears. The phenomenon of self-consciousness must, be
accounted for and admitted into the generalization, if it is to cover
more than the mere physical conditions of being, which are expressed
definitely enough in the first definition quoted, which is attributable
to Schelling, or in the second, proposed by De Blainville, or in the
third, which belongs to Mr. Spencer. For philosophical purposes, as
inclusive of the phenofnenon of self-consciousness, it is necessary to
attempt a deeper generalization—to begin with the beginning, that is,
with matter, and end with the result, that is, with self-consciousness.
Individuation must appear simply as a law of biological evolution ; and
the co-ordination of actions as a condition of its persistence. The
word tendency expresses the dynamic idea sufficiently lucidly, and is,
perhaps, preferable to motion or impulse for purposes of definition.
The three words, matter, as expressive of the ground of organism,
tendency, as expressive of its dynamical direction, and consciousness, as
expressive of its logical end, may, therefore, be adopted as the basis of
definition. The collateral of consciousness, to wit, self-hood, must be
included in the generalization, as also must that of realization ; and
the fabric is logically complete. Put in the form of a proposition, it
stands thus:
Life is the tendency of matter to self-consciousness.
The propositions of Schelling, De Blainville and Spencer are expres
sive simply of certain laws of evolution incident to the tendency of
matter toward the realization of self-consciousness, and may be formu
lated thus:
1. Law of evolution : progressive individuation.
2. Law of persistence : co-ordination of actions.
3. Law of physiology: twofold internal movement of composition
and decomposition, at once general and continuous.
The first might, perhaps, be better designated as the law of mor
phization, though evolution is more comprehensive, and, for philo
sophical purposes,- is the most important of the three—the two latter
pertaining merely to physics. There remains yet a fourth law, grounded
upon the ratiocination which has preceded: it is the law of beauty.
For investigation of the question, What is to be the ultimate sublimate
of humanity ? the two latter may be rejected, and the law of beauty
added. The formulary will then be expressed:
Life is the tendency of matter to self-consciousness.
1. First law of morphization : progressive individuation.
2. Second law of'morphization : progressive beauty, that is, progress
from beauty as relative to beauty as absolute, from beauty as ephemeral
to beauty as persistent and eternal.
The persistence of the dynamic and static elements in organism,
that is, force and matter, has never been denied. The morphization
has constituted the element of mutation ; and that its mutation or
want of absolute persistence is due to the imperfect realization of the
�THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF ORTHODOX T.
223
individual and the beautiful in organism, ensues as a logical conse
quence. Again, as the struggle of matter is to apprehend itself in con
sciousness, and as the struggle of the limited in consciousness is to
attain the absolute in consciousness, it ensues, as a logical consequence,
that the realization of the theological ideal of the historical destiny of
man is by no means undemonstrable from the data and inductions of
science. There is one law worth noting here, as to the persistence of
the dynamic element, not only per se, but in any special mood that it
may develop. The modal persistence of forcé has given occasion to
assume plurality of forces; and there is as little reason to suppose that
the mood of self-consciousness—its most sublimated mood, certainly—
is not persistent as there is to suppose that the mood of magnetism is
not persistent. Admitting, therefore, the persistence of conservation
of force, as Prof. Carpenter terms it, and the further persistence of
mood, which is demonstrable from Prof. Grove’s investigations as to
the correlation of forces—the scientific induction proves the persistence
of self-consciousness, which may be termed the individuation of force ;
demonstrating thereby the theological dogma of the immortality of
the soul.
It is obvious, therefore, that theology may be brought within the
circle of scientific induction, provided the biological definition be deep
ened in its generalization, as heretofore suggested, sa as to include the
phenomenon of consciousness. This conclusion is, of course, fatal to
the pretensions of Positivism as the successor of theology, and indi
cates, with the precision that a weather-vane indicates the direction of
an air-current, that the historical persistence of the two fundamental
propositions in which the theological system is grounded, to wit, mono
theism and the historical theanthropomorphization of humanity, is
both a valid deduction from the phenomenon of consciousness and a
valid induction of science. Moreover, this induction, valid upon the
hypothesis of the unity of force, is of equal validity, whether what are
termed forces be simply moods, or original dynamic principles. The
ego, therefore, is a persistent and indestructible individuality, the self
expression of which constitutes history, the evolution of which consti
tutes the pre-historic biology, the finality of which, historical progress
being interpreted as the struggle of the limited in consciousness to com
pass the absolute in consciousness, is theanthropy or that realization of
the absolute, which the inspirational poiesis historically foreshadows.
At first glance, the biological definition herein proposed resembles a
truism, and, if I mistake not, a truism it is. The fact, however, that it
has been overlooked in the dreary annals of physical and metaphysical
speculation,, answers sufficiently well as an apology for having inflicted
upon the reader a rather obvious train of ratiocination looking to its
elimination. So many have been the fantastic pagodas of logic upreared
with the view of topping them with the solution of the mystery of
being, that it must be refreshing to peruse something obvious—at least
�224
THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF ORTHODOXY.
semi-occasionally; and this is my apology for having discussed at
length and rather discursively—for having endeavored to demonstrate,
step by step, a theorem which is, in all respects, almost too self-evident
to need elaborate demonstration.
The key is simple; but, with it may be unraveled the riddle. It
unlocks the door, at least, of a reconciliation of theology with the
scientific method; and, as both must be ranked as persistent, the recon
ciliation is desirable. Simple as is its generalization, it opens the way,
too, for bringing metaphysics within the circle of scientific demonstra
tion, and founds a durable scientific basis upon which to build the
structure of theological metaphysics: for, theologically stated, the
biological definition is equally explicit in its adherence to scientific
induction. Let me state it theologically:
Life is the tendency of the material toward the spiritual, eventuating
in the consciousness of self.
Supplement this definition with a second definition, that is, a defi
nition of history from the theological point of view, and the basis of
the theological fabric is complete and grounded on inexorable scientific
induction as well. This second definition may be thus formulated :
History is the struggle of the human in the direction of theanthropy,
eventuating in incarnation, and having for its enji the ultimate his
torical synthesis of the human with the God-consciousness.
This is the goal of the toilers after knowledge, and the goal that
forever eludes their pursuit.. It is the basis of the dreams of Kepler;
of the scientific reveries of Comte; of the inexorable inductions of
Bucan, of the splendid cosmogony of La Place; of the goblin philo
sophical structures of Hegel and Schelling. It constitutes the secret
of the vain pursuit of man after the phantom of truth, of beauty, of
novelty—in short, after the distant and vaguely apprehended ideals he
seeks to attain, but to attain which were yet madness. Budderless and
compassless, he presses on, in thought, in dream, in reverie, in art, in
poetry, in philosophy, through fens of speculation and morasses of
ontology, until at last his fate overtakes him, and an epitaph is all that
is left to tell the story of his vain struggle after the Egeria of his
dreams^—the absolute.
If materialism is to be the coming philosophy, therefore, the subjec
tive tendency (or element) of matter must be admitted in order to ren
der philosophy possible. The definition of evolution as the progressive
struggle of matter in the direction of subjectivity, will then constitute
the true meaning of Mr. Spencer’s generalization; while life (in defini
tion) will be represented by matter as apprehending itself in subjec
tivity, and philosophy will return to a profounder era of metaphysics
in the explanation of the phenomenal upon psychological principles
The problem will be: Given the objective and subjective poles in mat
ter to find the x of the grand unity; and this is a problem in the study
of which theologians can join with scientists.
�
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The scientific basis of orthodoxy
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Fairfield, Francis Gerry
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Notes: From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. Printed in brown ink on cream paper. From Modern Thinker, no. 1,1870
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Science
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THE SCIENCE OF LIFE
WORTH LIVING.
DELIVERED BEFORE THE
SUNDAY LECTURE SOCIETY,
ON
SUNDAY AFTERNOON, 22nd, FEBRUARY, 1880,
By A. ELLEY FINCH.
London:
PUBLISHED BY THE SUNDAY LECTURE SOCIETY.
1880.
PRICE THEEPENCE.
�The Society’s Leetures by the same Author,
now printed, are—on
Erasmus; his Life, Works, and Influence upon the Spirit of
the Reformation.” (Price 3d., or post free 3jd.)
“ Civilization : a Sketch of its Rise and Progress, its Modem
Safe-guards, and Future Prospects.” (Price 3d., or post
free 3^d.)
“ The Influence of Astronomical Discovery in the
Development of the Human Mink.” (Price 3d., or post
free 3jd.)
“The Principles of Political Economy; their Scientific
Basis, and Practical application to Social Well-being.”
(Price 3d., or post free 3 jd.)
“ The English Free-thinkers of the Eighteenth Cen
tury.” (Price 3d., or post free 3^d.)
“ The Inductive Philosophy : including a Parallel between
Lord Bacon and A. Comte as Philosophers.” With Notes
and Authorities, (pp. 100, cloth 8vo., price 5s., or post
free 5s. 3d.)
“ The Pursuit of Truth : as Exemplified in the Principles of
Evidence—Theological, Scientific and Judicial.” With Notes
and Authorities, (pp. 106, cloth 8vo., price 5s., or post
free 5s. 3d.)
Can be obtained (on remittance by letter of postage stamps or
order) of the Hon. Treasurer, Wm. Henry Domville, Esq., 15,
Gloucester Crescent, Hyde Park, W., or at the Hall on the days
of Lecture: or of Mr. John Bumpus, 158, Oxford Street, W.
�SYLLABUS.
The two theories of the Universe and of Human Life, derived
respectively from Superstition and Science.
1. The theory derived from Superstition stated, with indica
tions of its source.
Biassed belief in this (theological) theory arising from early
training in creeds, catechisms, and sermons, and from the in
fluence of proselyting societies. Illustrations from the Reports
of the Sunday School Union Society; the British and Foreign
Bible Society; the Religious Tract Society.
Our actual condition (or practice) of life shown to be based
upon the theological theory. Illustrations of its overcrowding,
poverty, intemperance, disease, crime, premature death, &c.,
from the Census Population Returns. The Registrar General’s
Returns. Fry’s Royal Guide to the London Charities. Statistics
of Prisons and Lunatic Asylums.
The present attitude of Science in relation to these features of
human existence.
2. The theory of the Universe and of Human Life (physio
logical) derived from Science stated, with indications of its source.
Illustrations from Newton’s Principia. Darwin’s Descent of
Man.
Remarkable absence of Societies for spreading knowledge of
and inducing belief in the theory derived from Science.
Summary of the Natural Law by virtue of which organised
bodies are multiplied in excess of their means of subsistence.
Illustrations of the inexorable operation of this law from
Haeckel’s History of the Creation. Darwin’s Origin of Species.
Walford’s Famines of the World.
The first canon of scientific culture of life involves limitation
of numbers, and the controlling of physical conditions of repro
duction through the application of human intelligence.
How the continuity or similarity of structure and function
between human, animal, and vegetal organisms, enables Science
(through comparative research) to acquire knowledge of the
nature of the constitution of man, and to originate rules for its
right treatment and progressive improvement. Illustrations
from Huxley’s Man’s place in Nature—Galton’s Hereditary
Genius.
Responsibility (taught by Science) in becoming a factor of
posterity.
To what extent, by applying (analogically) to the rearing of
the Human Being the scientific methods that have produced the
exquisite growth, maturity, and beauty of cultivated Flowers
and Fruit, and the joyousness, hilarity, and perfection of form,
temper, and disposition of the thorough-bred Animal, the evils
of our present existence might be eliminated, its morality puri
fied and elevated, its course converted into a career of virtuous
enjoyment, and Life practically made worth Living.
��THE
SCIENCE OF LIFE WORTH LIVING.
----- !-----
Iw the arena of European thought there are at the pre
sent time conspicuous two conflicting conceptions or
theories concerning the nature of the Universe, and the
origin and nature of Human Life.
One of these theories is based upon supposed Super
natural Knowledge, and, inasmuch as, from the point of
view of Science, all alleged knowledge of what transcends
Nature relates to the region of the emotional imagination,
I will, for the sake of distinction, designate the concep
tion I am now alluding to as—;the theofy derived from
Superstition.
The other conception is one which has slowly emerged
from the long series of human discoveries that have
gradually brought to light those facts and laws of Nature
upon the truth and experience of which it will be found
to be exclusively based. I will designate it therefore as
—the theory derived from Science.
You all know, more or less, what are the salient points
of these respective theories, having probably learnt them
by rote. I am going to restate them now, because the
argument of the Lecture is founded upon an endeavour
to realise them by our reason, and to reflect upon them
by way of comparison; notwithstanding that it has be
come the intellectual fashion with a certain school to en
courage subtle and plausible attempts to reconcile these
theories—or hopelessly to confuse the separate provinces
of reason and faith.
�6
The Science of Life Worth Living.
Now the prior-mentioned theory may I think be shortly
stated thus—First, with regard to the Universe; that it
came into existence by the fiat of the Will of an Almighty
Power, which, somewhere about six thousand years ago,
created it out of nothing in six days. That the principle
part of this Universe consists of the World our Earth,
which is a fixed plain or vast floor, arched over by a con
cave vault. The Sun and Moon, and the Stars which
stud this vault or firmament, and which move round the
fixed earth, are simply greater and lesser lights created
subordinate to, and called into existence for the purpose
of the earth, and to give light thereon.
Secondly, with respect to the origin and nature of
Man, the theory under consideration is more complex, as
well as of more serious interest, and can only be com
prehended (so far as human reason can comprehend any
thing so mysterious,) by entering into somewhat more
detail.
It is related then that the Almighty Power created
man by forming him out of the dust of the ground, and
breathing into his nostrils the breath of life, whereby
man became a living soul; and the other sex we are told
was created by the causing of a deep sleep to fall upon
the man, and the taking out of one of his ribs, and the
closing up of the flesh instead thereof; and the rib which
was so taken from the man was made into a woman; and
this first-created pair were commanded to be fruitful and
multiply.
The theory then goes on to relate that the man and
woman, thus created pure and sinless, were immediately
tempted into sin by Satan in the form of a serpent. That
this sin of our first parents brought a curse upon the
Earth, and incurred the penalty of death for themselves
�The Science of Life Worth Living.
7
and for all their posterity. That the human race thence
forth became more wicked, so that the Almighty repented
that he had made man, and destroyed by a deluge all the
inhabitants of the Earth, with the exception of eight per
sons who had feared him, chiefly Noah and his sons; who
also were commanded to be fruitful and multiply. This
sweeping purification however was as futile as the origi
nal design, and men became more wicked than ever, and
the final remedy devised by the Almighty for the salva
tion of his human creatures was the incarnation of him
self in the person of his only Son (the second person of a
mysterious trinity). That the death of such only Son
upon the Cross, the innocent for the guilty, was a vi
carious expiation or atonement of the sins of the World;
provided however that all this should be believed; faith
or belief in it being made the condition upon which
alone such salvation is possible.
The theory does not however stop there. It declares
that everything which happens upon the Earth is the
direct effect of the exercise of the Will of this Almighty
Power, so that even a sparrow cannot fall to the ground
without his sanction or knowledge, and moreover that the
ills of life are to be remedied by means of prayer or en
treaty directed to him. Man therefore is emphatically
counselled to be constant in prayer; to pray without
ceasing. He is assured that the prayer of a righteous
man availeth much. That the prayer of faith shall save
the sick. That when two or three are gathered in the
name of the Almighty he will grant their requests, and
that whatsoever any man shall ask Him in the name of
Christ (his only son before mentioned) it shall be granted
to him.
Then, as to our state of life; the theory inculcates that
�8
The Science of Life Worth Living.
poverty on Earth is a condition pleasing to the Almighty,
and will be rewarded by riches in Heaven, and that the
aim of our life here should be to qualify ourselves for ob
taining this heavenly reward. That wealth and happiness
on Earth are not therefore the ends in view at all, but are
rather obstacles than otherwise to attaining Life everlast
ing in the Kingdom of Heaven.
That our brief existence in this World is a transitory
state of probation, merely accessory or a passage to an
other, where life will be endless ; eternal bliss in Heaven
to those who have believed in this theory, eternal torment
in Hell to those who have disbelieved in it.
Such, in short compass, is an outline of the one theory
of the Universe, and of the origin and nature of the life
of Man.
Now it is by no means easy to point out the source of
the theory I have been slightly sketching. It is commonly
supposed to be contained in the Bible. Partly no doubt
it is so, partly it is even more ancient, for India and
Egypt share in its origin with Palestine and Syria. As
a whole it is the theory of theology; that is to say, it has
been, in its ultimate shape, elaborated from the metaphy
sical and scholastic subtleties of that remarkable class of
men the Patres et Doctores—the Fathers and Schoolmen
who flourished throughout the early centuries of the
Christian era, and during that period of scientific dark
ness termed the middle ages; and, so potent has been the
indirect influence of their speculative interpretations of
the oriental metaphors of scripture, that it is quite doubt
ful whether any of us now living are capable of reading
the Bible free from the prejudices and preconceptions
that, partly by inheritance, and partly by education, we
have imbibed from such speculations, and which, in the
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mystifying form of creeds, catechisms, confessions of
faith, and other ecclesiastical devices, are now found to
stand between man’s unsophisticated reason and the,
unique language of Holy Writ.
We are educated then to believe in this theological
theory, and our belief is not only thus biassed from birth
to manhood, but throughout our whole lives the most
extraordinary pains are taken to retain our understand
ings in its thraldom.
It may surprise some of you to hear that there are in
this metropolis alone upwards of 150 Missionary, Bible,
Beligious Tract, Christian evidence, and other proselyting
Societies applying large funds and exercising wide ranging
influence in spreading the knowledge of, and persuading
to the belief in this theological theory. Some idea may
be gained of the extent of the operations of these societies
if I give you a very few of the published statistics of some
two or three of them.
First I will instance the Sunday School Union Society,
who, in their Annual lieport for last year of what they
term their threefold work of pioneering, extension, and
consolidation, and the overcoming of prejudices, sophisms,
and personal antipathies, state that they have now in
London upwards of 830 schools, 20,000 teachers, and.
231,000 scholars.
I may here very appositely remark in reference gene
rally to the academical system of this country, that there
is not even yet a single one of our great Public Schools
that is presided over by a head master who is not a theo
logian. When therefore we read of a Conference of Head
Masters, such as was held on 22nd of December last, we.
must not be shocked to find that an adequate or more
thorough teaching of Science formed no part of their pro
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gramme, and that they should be largely occupied in
discussing such subjects as “de flagellatione corporis” and
“ de cerevisia potendo ”—that is—concerning the flogging
of the little boys, and stopping the beer of the big ones.
Next I will take a very few facts and figures from the
last Report of the British and Foreign Bible Society. It
is therein stated that in the year 1878 the Society had
issued and circulated upwards of 3,340,000 copies of the
scriptures in whole or in part. That from the commence
ment of the Society’s operations in the year 1804, upwards
of eighty-five millions of such copies had been circulated,
and they calculate that they have thereby rendered the
Bible available to seven hundred millions of the human
family!
I will lastly turn to the Report of the Religious Tract
Society for the year 1878. There I find it stated that the
total circulation from London alone of the various mis
cellaneous issues of this energetic body had reached the
astounding total of upwards of sixty millions, of which
28,500,000 were religious tracts; so that I think we may
conclude that the community is tolerably saturated with
this species of literature, even if we did not know, what
is probably within the experience of nearly every one
present, viz.: That you cannot walk the streets without
having these publications thrust upon you, and that you
can hardly enter a Railway Station or a room in a Hotel
throughout the Kingdom which is not supplied with the
scriptures gratis, and partly adorned by a display of theo
logical tracts and texts.
We cannot wonder then if we find, as the fact is, that
the actual condition or practice of our lives is based upon
the theological theory, and that whatever may be the
prevalent form of ailment with society or any of its
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members, the sovereign cure suggested by our accredited
teachers is resort to the theological agency of Prayer,
Intercession, or Thanksgiving to the Supernatural Pro
vidence assumed by the theory to be specially regulating
the affairs of life. Things serious and trivial are alike
affected by it.
If bells are to be hung in a Church, they must first be
blessed by the ministers of supernatural grace. If a
vessel of war is to be named, a christening or theological
ceremony must be performed over it. If new colours are
presented to a regiment of soldiers, the approval of the
supernatural must be invoked. If an epidemic prevails,
prayer is to be resorted to to drive it away. If the
weather is such that the crops will not ripen, the super
natural is appealed to to change it. If, notwithstanding
such appeal, the weather continues disastrous, the crops
are destroyed, and the farmer is ruined, so inveterate are
our theological habits that a harvest Thanksgiving to the
supernatural must nevertheless be held 1
Even the sick room is overshadowed by this superstition,
and sometimes becomes converted into the chamber of
death, by reason of the physician’s skill being baffled, not
by the symptoms of the disease but by the patient’s
nervous depression and anxiety resulting from terrified
belief in the theological theory.
And now, if we turn to the characteristics of our life
carried on under the influence of this theory, what do we
find them to be ? I think I do not err if I describe them
as being for the most part divers forms and shapes of
misery, and variety of wretchedness—I am not of course
alluding to the lives of the upper ten thousand, who are
by their special circumstances exceptionally placed in
relation to any theory, but I am referring more particu
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larly to the lives of the masses of those who compose the
middle and lower ranks of society.
In verification of this assertion I will again appeal to
the irrefutable logic of statistics. If we turn to the
Population Census returns we find that whilst, in the
judgment of the Registrar-General (whose conclusion I
may add is confirmed by the reasonings and research of
our friend Dr. Richardson), the fair natural limit of the
life of the human being is stated to be 100 years, yet the
average length of life in this country, taking all of us
together, is only between forty and fifty years, whilst, if
we confine our calculation to those who constitute our
toiling millions, their actual average length of life is only
between twenty and thirty years. It may be literally said
that the natural length of life is ground out of them by
over-work, by overcrowding, by intemperance, by disease,
and by destitution. So short a span of existence can in
deed be to many of them little more than the prolonged
agony of a slow death. “We don’t live,”—said many of
the street folk to Horace Mayhew, when he was enquiring
into the habits of the London poor,—“ We don’t live—
we starve.”
Again, in the Registrar-General’s summary of births,
deaths, and marriages for the year 1878 we find it recorded
that out of the 83,000 deaths that occurred in London in
that year, upwards of 42,000 took place at ages under
twenty years, and it appears as a general inference from
his figures that of the children that are brought into
existence upwards of 40 per cent, of them perish under
five years of age ! "
Now these are very fearful facts, in whatever light we
may view them, and the amount of human misery they
involve can hardly be realised by means of languages
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though if it were necessary to paint with sadder colours
the sorrows of our existence I would refer to Fry’s Royal
Guide to the London Charities, amongst which are enume
rated no less than some seventy Hospitals, having an
annual aggregate of nearly 1,000,000 in-and-out-door
patients 1
All honour indeed to those whose munificence supports
these beneficent Institutions, but, what we are now con
cerned to notice is the appalling mass of disease and
destitution that renders them necessary, and fills to over
flowing their tens of thousands of beds and appliances.
I might7 even still further darken the picture of life if
I summed up, however briefly, the statistics of our habits
of intemperance and the numbers of committals to jails
and of the inmates of lunatic asylums; but I think that
what I have stated may at any rate be regarded as suffi
ciently justifying the Apostle of Superstition, who has
lately been heard to enquire so despairingly—Is Life
worth Living ?
Now, remembering that in obedience to the theological
theory millions of prayers, in every conceivable variety
that the will of man can devise, have been, and are being
continually uttered imploring supernatural relief from
the evils of this world of woe, I think we might well
reply to the above enquiry by asking—Is it not time
seriously to try something else ?
There is no doubt that in one sense enlightened minds
have been for a long time engaged in endeavouring to
lessen the ills of life by the application of the teachings
of Science. Philanthropists have especially sought to
show that in matters relating to health, diseases for
instance, chiefly result from the disregard of certain
natural laws; but, between Superstition and Science there
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is really no ratio, and, whilst the one appeals to super
natural Providence for the cure of evil, and the other
would rouse up the human reason to discover the law of
nature which the presence of evil shows us has been dis
regarded, it is in fact impracticable effectually to graft
the resources of science upon the theological theory, and,
in attempting it, we are only engaged in the delusive
practice of pouring new wine into old bottles. The old
bottles of theology are indeed from time to time burst,
while the new wine of science is mostly spilt and lost.
Not but what a summary of the achievements of science
during even the present century would show us very
remarkable changes bearing upon the progress of our
every day life,—commerce freed from restrictions; trade
monopolies broken down; the necessaries of life cheapened;
important political, economic, and legal reforms effected;
locomotion and the means of communication marvellously
expedited ; vast improvements in the medical art; pain
mitigated, diseases diminished, life itself lengthened.
Yet the conclusion I desire to put to you is, that the
expected beneficial results of these scientific achievements
have been more or less neutralized or impeded through
the influence of the theological theory, by the stimulus
they have thereby been encouraged to impart to the irra
tional and reckless over production of human beings, so
that their most striking effect has been the excessive, that
is, the too rapid increase of our population, especially of
the indigent or wage receiving class, whose miserable
lives and untimely deaths are but too surely vouched for
by those remorseless returns of the Registrar General.
It appears by the published digest of the last census
that the population of England and Wales, which, in the
year 1801 was nine millions, had doubled its numbers by
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the year 1851, and, by the year 1871, had increased to
twenty-three millions I
Then in relation to our education on the theological
basis, the attitude of science is thus humourously de
scribed by Professor Huxley. “The educational tree,” he
remarks, “ seems to have its roots in the air, its leaves
and flowers in the ground, and I confess I should like to
turn it upside down, so that its roots might be solidly
embedded among the facts of nature, and draw thence a
sound nutriment for its foliage and fruit of literature and
of art. I think I do not err in saying that if Science
were made the foundation of education instead of being
at most stuck on as a cornice to the edifice, the present
state of things could not exist.”
Let us now turn to the consideration of the theory of
the Universe, and of the origin an-d nature of Human Life
which we have derived from the discoveries of Science.
When you look up at the sky on a bright cLear night
of course you see the vast apparent dome over your heads
profusely studded with constellations and multitudes of
stars. You observe that the great majority of these
appear to be fixed in their relative positions, always
appearing in their accustomed places, no matter where .
the observer may be, but that with regard to some few of
the-stars, which appear to be larger than the rest, and to
shine with a more brilliant and attractive light, these
you observe to be perpetually shifting their positions,
only some of them appearing together on any particular
night.
,
Now the marvellous discoveries of astronomical science
respecting the stars are shortly this. Those that are
never seen to move out of their relative positions, and
therefore called the fixed stars, are at an enormous,
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practically an incalculable distance from the Earth, and
are of vast size compared with it, many of them being
indeed suns, the centres of systems similar to what is
termed our solar system. They are altogether so removed
from us as to exert no appreciable influence upon the
earth, and they may be dismissed from present considera
tion with the single observation, that they powerfully
impress us with the vastness of the universe according to
the scientific conception of it, far beyond realisation by
the human imagination, and convince us that our earth can
not be the world that the theological theory asserts, but that
it is really only a very minute portion of the vast creation.
To attain anything like a realisable idea of our World
according to Science we must limit our reflections to those
few moving stars whose larger size and softer brilliancy
seem so to fascinate our sight and thoughts, and which are,
relatively to the fixed stars, very near to us. These mov
ing stars then are the planets that circle round our Sun.
The Earth is known by science to be one of such planets,
and to an observer placed upon the surface of any of the
others the earth would appear very much like what they
appear to us, though indeed, as to some of them, the
planet Jupiter for instance with its four satellites or
moons and whose bulk is some 1300 times larger than
that of the Earth, our planet with its one moon would
appear to an inhabitant of Jupiter, if visible at all, as a
very insignificant star indeed.
‘ To comprehend this more clearly we must mentally
separate this planetary system from the rest of the starry
universe, and contemplate it distinctly by itself.
Here you have an ordinary representation of a few of
the chief bodies of the system,* showing the Sun in the
* See diagram on opposite page.
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URANUS'^..
17
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centre and the several principle planets in their respec
tive orbits round the Sun. It tolerably represents what
the eye would see, supposing we were not upon the Earth,
but looking down on the system from a great elevation
on its north side.
Now, of this majestic system Science explains the pro
bable formation. That is to say—It is known, from tele
scopic observations and mathematical calculations, that
the moving bodies in this system are all similar in form,
being globes not quite spherical or round but oblate, that
is, flattened at their poles. ( That they all severally ro
tate upon their axes in the same direction. That they
all move through space in the same common direction
from West to East. That the curve of their respective
orbits is not mathematically circular but elliptical. That
the eccentricity of their orbits is very slight, and the incli
nation of their planes very small in comparison with that
of the Solar Equator, and that all these planetary bodies
revolve round the central Sun in particular periodic
times.
Now these discovered facts, considered in connection
with the known natural laws of gravitation, of motion,
and of heat, and the known laws that rule the human in
tellect in its search after truth, impel our reason towards
certain conclusions, viz.: That the former state of the
solar atmosphere, myriads of ages ago, was that of a vast
zone of nebulous or gaseous matter in a state of extreme
heat, extending to the utmost limits of the system, under
going a gradual process of progressive cooling, contrac
tion, and condensation, and that the present state of the
system is simply the necessary physical result of such
natural process of cooling, contracting, and condensing .
by virtue of which the nebulous mass broke up, or sepa
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rated into its several component moving bodies, at first
liquid, then becoming solid and such as we now see them.
The entire system, which, as you have seen, is but a
fragment of the starry cosmos, is yet of a size almost
beyond the grasp of our understanding. Thus, the central
Sun is a body 883,000 miles in diameter and is at a dis
tance from our Earth of 93 millions of miles. The Sun’s
distance from the planet Jupiter is 496 millions of miles,
and its distance from the planet Neptune is more than
2,800 millions of miles. These figures help to give us
some idea of the immense magnitude of this relatively
small system.
Now the points to which I wish to draw your attention
are that science has further discovered that this system
and every portion of it is governed by, as well as being
the result of the operation of, fixed natural laws, especially
the laws of gravitation, of motion, of light, and of heat.
That these laws operate uniformly and continuously upon
each one of the bodies of this system as a part of the
whole, and that, with regard to some of these laws—the
law of gravitation for example, it could not possibly be
suspended or altered (physically speaking) in reference to
any one of these bodies, without affecting the relation
subsisting between it and all the other bodies of the
system, so as to perturb, probably annihilate its cosmic,
harmony, as we have it mathematically demonstrated in
the immortal “ Principia ” of Sir Isaac Newton.
You need not then be startled to hear that some of the
greatest astronomers the world has seen, men who have
made the laws of this stupendous system their profoundest
study, notably the illustrious Laplace and Lalande, have
declared that they had been unable to detect in the recon
dite mechanism of its invariable order any indication what
ever of the God of theology.
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The system, so far as human knowledge of it extends,
may be described as a realm of Natural invariable law,
Such as we see it now, it has existed through countless
ages, and such it must continue to exist for countless
ages to come!
Therefore, whilst theologians for the last 1800 years
have been perpetually preaching the approaching end of
the World, astronomers have only recently calculated the
coming variations in the eccentricity of the Earth’s orbit
for a million years following the year 1800 I
Hence Science teaches us that the general laws of the
astronomical phenomena of our solar system constitute
the basis of all our real knowledge.
So a venerated philosopher has said—•
“ Two things I contemplate with ceaseles awe;
The Stars of Heaven, and man’s sense of Law.”
Turning now from the system, we must concentrate
our attention upon a very small, but integral portion of
it, a body scarcely 8000 miles in diameter, that globe
which we call the Earth; for obviously we can form no
scientific theory of human existence without knowing the
scientific elements that characterise the planet which is
the home of that existence. The sciences then of As
tronomy and Geology, which together give us the space
scale and the time scale of our world, armed with the
knowledge of the natural laws already referred to, have
been able to trace the formation, the shape, and the his
tory of the Earth for ages before man appeared upon it,
and to tell us that plants and animals came into existence
by slow degrees, and that the condition to which they
had severally attained at the time of man’s appearance
was the result of variation or natural selection progress
ing by means of the physiological interaction of adapta
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tion, and inheritance and survival of the fittest operating
throughout, not six days, but enormously long periods of
time. In fact, as to the progress or change in every
thing taking place on our planet, including the seemingly
capricious phenomena of human actions, and even, (as
Dr. Maudesley put it to us so clearly last Sunday), the
apparent freedom of the will, Science has discovered that
all is regulated by the operation of invariable natural law,
linked together, that is, in a chain of secondary causation,
whose only modification is brought about by the interven
tion of human intelligence.
Thus Science is assured that the law of gravitation
would annihilate in an instant the most pious person in
the kingdom, if he lost his footing on a mountain without
having first placed himself in circumstances to counteract
the inexorable operation of such law, or, that if he inno
cently swallowed what the laws of physiology have shown
to be a fatal dose of prussic acid, not all the prayers of
Christendom could avail to save his life.
We are thus according to Science living under the reign
of invariable natural law, and not according to Theology
under the reign of arbitrary supernatural will, and there
fore the aim of the human mind should be to find out and
to study Natural Law, rather than to keep on seeking by
perpetual entreaty to influence Supernatural Will.
These few facts, which for our present purpose may be
accepted as sufficiently representing an outline of the
theory of the Universe derived from Science, are no longer
questioned by competent minds, and I should hardly think
that anyone capable of giving them unprejudiced con
sideration could fail to perceive, that they are contradictory
to, and incompatible with the theory derived from Super-?
stition, which I commenced by describing.
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Now, with reference to the first appearance or creation
of man, Science can at present furnish us only with proba
bilities. These are however the logical outcome of an ap
paratus of evidence almost irresistable.
The scientific view of the origin of the human species
is that which has been made more or less familiar to us
by the works of our illustrious countryman Charles Darwin.
The logic of his argument is really very clear, as well as
cogent, and the result of it may, I think, be thus in
telligibly stated. Due regard being had to what is now
known geologically, zoologically, and embryologically of
the ascending gradations of animal life, especially in the
vertebrate series, and regard being also had to the known
continuity of Nature, it is highly probable that man is the
evolution or development of some lower animal form of
the simian or ape species, from the individuals of which
he is found to differ organically less than the higher and
lower apes differ from each other.
Observe—Darwin does not say that Man came from a
monkey. No one capable of comprehending his great
argument would give utterance to such an absurdity; but,
if Darwin’s biological theory embodies the truth, then
there must have been some ancestral link in the pedigree
of man which has not yet been discovered.
Man, observes Darwin, must be included with other
organic beings in any general conclusion respecting the
manner of his appearance on this earth. And Professor
Huxley, in his treatise on Man’s place in Nature, has
clearly shown from exhaustive observation of biological
phenomena, that the mode of origin and the early stages
of the development of man are identical with those of the
animals below him in the scale.
But, be man’s origin what it may, that with which we
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are more immediately concerned is a scientifically estab
lished fact, viz., his unity of organization with the higher
animals, which again are scientifically found to be organi
cally co-ordinated with the entire series of life below them.
So that it may be said all the organisms on our planet are
related through their structural and functional resem
blances—the human being similar to the animal organism,
only higher in degree.
Such then is the conception of the origin and nature of
Human Life derived from the discoveries of Science.
Now it is remarkable that with regard to the scientific
theory of the Universe, and of the origin and nature of
Man, there is an almost total absence of proselyting
societies for diffusing knowledge of the theory and bringing
about belief in it. There is no Sunday Science School
Society. There is no gratuitous distribution of scientific
tracts or texts.
Indeed, with the exception of the British Association
for the Advancement of Science, and the Society under
whose auspices I am now addressing you, I can scarcely
call to mind a single Society whose main object it is to
circulate the knowledge of scientific truth amongst the
people at large, and not only so, but we may call to mind
that on this day of the week at this very hour there are
being delivered from thousands of pulpits exciting exhor
tations to persuade or to frighten men and women (chiefly
I suspect the latter) still to go on, supinely acquiescing
in the theological theory; whilst, with reference to our
Society’s Lectures delivered here, they have, on the part
of the public press, been simply welcomed ■with the con
spiracy of silence.
Yet I do not think the people, if encouraging oppor
tunities were affored them, would be found generally
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indifferent to the acquisition of scientific truth, insensible
to its sublimity, or regardless of its utility.
The Archbishop of York, in his sermon preached on
the occasion of the meeting of the British Association in
August last, declared that “ he did not know how it
would fare with them if none but scientific theories were
to guide them, for ” (said his Grace) “ the great majority
of men did not take an interest in scientific generalisa
tions, they could not appreciate them.” Well, 1 think it
might fairly be replied to these observations that the
majority of men are simply kept in ignorance of science,
and have really at present no available means provided
for their gaining scientific knowledge; but, if they had, I
will venture to say most advisedly that they would soon
be found to prefer Science to Superstition, quickly become
able to distinguish the light of nature from the darkness
of dogma, and eager to guide themselves by scientific
authority.
The scientific theory, having then explained to us the
probable origin, and the physiological nature of man#
proceeds to enlighten us concerning the conditions under
which he is found to increase and multiply.
Now the fundamental natural law discovered by science
in relation to the multiplication of living organisms is
simply this,—that they are everywhere, and under purely
physical conditions, produced in excess of their means of
subsistence. In other words, many more are born than
can possibly survive. Hence the great struggle for exist
ence, so graphically described, especially in relation to
plants and animals, in Haeckel’s “ History of the
Creation,” and in Darwin’s great works.
But this primordial natural law is proved to apply
equally to the production of human beings, and our
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. interest at the present moment is the consideration of the
effect of its operation and consequent struggle for exist
ence on the human race.
If we carry our minds to the populations of the East
we can have no difficulty in realising this problem. In
Cornelius Walford’s instructive book on “the Famines of
the World,” we read accounts of “Nature’s terrible cor
rectives of redundancy ” in all their unmitigated horror.
The recent famine in India has destroyed in one Presidency
alone more than 500,000 people by starvation! and has
thrown a million and a half more upon charity. It has
indeed been recently stated on authority that 1,250,000
persons have perished of this famine. Such is the
appalling result of the people recklessly multiplying
beyond their means of subsistence.
We are blind however to the operation of the law of
population amongst ourselves. We fail to see its working
in the premature deaths of the forty per cent, of all that
are born under five years of age, in the 42,000 deaths
under twenty years of age out of the 83,000 annual
deaths in this metropolis, so blinded are we to the
warnings of Nature through our biassed belief in the
theological theory. Yet the great majority of our un
timely deaths are truly traceable to the very causes that
in uncivilised countries terminate in actual starvation!
The first canon of scientific culture of life therefore
requires that reckless or irrational multiplication should
be restrained, and that man should apply his intelligence
towards controlling the purely physical and mechanical
conditions of reproduction.
We see this canon systematically carried out by the
florist in his culture of flowers. Seeds are sown, but
when they come up they are carefully thinned out, in
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order that, there - being no overcrowding, healthy and
beautiful flowers may be produced by those that are left.
We see the same principle in operation where fine fruit
is desired. The buds are thinned out upon the trees, in
order that the diminished number that are left may attain
perfection of size and maturity. The agriculturist follows
precisely the same course. He is careful, as regards his
stock, that only a limited number of offspring shall be
produced or allowed to survive, and, moreover, that their
parentage shall be the result of careful selection.
Some idea may be gained of the value and importance
of such selective breeding from a case recently decided in
our Law Courts, in which a well known grazier recovered
a sum of =£750 damages for the injury inflicted on his
herd by the fraudulent introduction of an animal with a
false pedigree, but guaranteed, when he purchased it, to
be thorough bred.
Can we doubt what might be the improvement of the
human race, if even the slightest similar care were taken
with our own marriages ?
“ Man’s natural qualities,” observes Francis Gallon, in
his masterly work on Hereditary Genius, “are derived
by inheritance under exactly the same conditions as are
the form and the physical features of the whole organic
world.” “ Man,” says Darwin, “ scans with scrupulous
care the character and pedigree of his horses, cattle, and
dogs before he matches them, but when he comes to his
own marriage, he rarely or never takes any such care.
Yet he might by selection do something, not only for the
bodily constitution and frame of his offspring, but for
their intellectual and moral qualities.”
Now the continuity of structure and function, that
has been traced by biological science to exist between
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human, animal, and vegetal organisms, has enabled
Science by comparative research, that is, by observation
and experiment upon the lower animals, and even upon
individuals of the vegetable kingdom, to acquire remark
ably useful knowledge of the organic nature and constitu
tion of the human being, and, through these means, to
suggest most important rules for its treatment and pro
gressive improvement.
This is no new idea even in this country. Sir Richard
Steele, writing in the “ Tatler ” 150 years ago, told his
readers that “ one might wear any passion out of a family
by culture, as skilful gardeners blot a colour out of a
tulip that hurts its beauty.”
Science in short shows us that the life of man, like
that of all other living organisms on our planet, is
governed by fixed natural laws, and that by the use of his
understanding man can improve his life through the dis
covery of these laws, and by regulating his. conduct in
obedience to their dictates. That all his faculties are
adapted to his existence in this world of Nature; that
they do not inform him of any Super-natural world,
thereby suggesting that prosperity and enjoyment on
earth are the real moral ends to be desired, and that his
noblest aspirations should be transmuted into good and
useful actions for mankind, and not consumed in senseless
supplications addressed to Supernatural Power.
Thus Science shows us that the discovery by man of
the physiological laws will enable him to enjoy health and
good spirits—of the intellectual laws to acquire know
ledge and mental power—of the economic laws to gain
wealth or competency—of the social and moral laws to
practice virtue, to delight in duty, and to attain to
happiness.
�28
The Science of Life Worth Living.
Therefore Science, which yearns to see mankind re
joicing in life and action, counsels us that one great object
of education should be the study of these laws—to in
culcate obedience to them, and to train our understandings
so that we may conform our lives to their unalterable
nature.
In illustration of these propositions I observe, for
example, that Science has established beyond controversy
that the qualities, whether good or bad, of the parent are
transmitted to, or are inherited by the offspring, and that
this result is as certainly true of the human being as it is
of the lower animal. Hence we are taught what grave
responsibility does in reality rest upon us in becoming
the factors of posterity—in other words, in bringing
children into the world, for we are thus shown that the
future of human life will be what we make it. So true is
what our late friend Professor Clifford told us, “ that man
has made himself,” to which therefore let us add, “ man
can make himself better.”
The theological theory indeed assumes a supernatural
mystery in the matter. Its favourite text, “Be fruitful
and multiply,” addressed, you remember, to Noah, when
nearly all the inhabitants of the earth had been destroyed,
is supposed to be applicable to the teeming millions of
the crowded cities of this nineteenth century! and it is
correspondingly asserted by the theological theory that
“ when God sends mouths he sends meat to fill them.”
But Science reads us a very different lesson, and I will
quote, as pointedly expressing its salutary teaching, what
Professor Matthew Arnold, in his remarkable book
“ Culture and Anarchy,” has said upon that subject.
“ A man’s children ” (he declares) “ are not sent any
more than the pictures upon his walls or the-horses in
�The Science of Life Worth Living.
29
his stable are sent, and to bring people into the world
when one cannot afford to keep them and oneself
decently .... or to bring more of them into the world
than one can offord so to keep.... is by no means an
accomplishment of the divine will, or a fulfilment of
Nature’s simplest laws, but is just as wrong, just as con
trary to the will of God, as for a man to have horses, or
carriages, or pictures when he cannot afford them, or to
have more of them than he can afford.”
This extract from Matthew Arnold’s writings, you may
think is very plain speaking, but, as J. Stuart Mill has
remarked, no one would guess from ordinary talk, that
man had any voice or choice in the matter, so complete is
the confusion of ideas on the whole subject, owing to the
mystery in which it is shrouded by a spurious delicacy,
and that the diseases of society can no more than corporal
maladies be prevented or cured without being spoken
about in plain language.
Now I think we may observe amongst our men of
science, especially those whose minds are most free from
the taint of that inherited mental malady Superstition,
a growing tendency towards advocating the application
to the culture of the Human Being of those scientific me
thods that have proved so successful in producing the ex
quisite growth, maturity, and beauty of cultivated Flowers
and Fruit, and the joyousuess, hilarity, and perfection of
form, temper, and disposition of the thorough - bred
Animal.
Such methods can of course only be applied to man by
way of analogy—that is to say, in reference for instance
to overpopulation, human beings cannot, like flowers, be
destroyed after they are once born, nor can they be
treated by mechanical methods as the lower animals are,
�30
The Science of Life Worth Living.
but man’s intelligence can be appealed to in his own
behalf, his reason can be aroused, and his moral senti
ments interested, and the mode by which the reckless
increase of his numbers should be diminished will un
doubtedly be by inducing fewer births, so as to put a stop
to premature deaths, and the diseases by which premature
deaths are ushered in, diseases, which should plainly in
struct us that, somehow the laws of Nature are being
outraged.
Now, if this were to any appreciable extent accomp
lished it can hardly be doubted that a vast amount of
human misery, that, viz., which is scientifically attribu
table to overpopulation, might be gradually eliminated.
Even war could eventually be deprived of its victims, and
the hideous vice that haunts the public places of our
cities, so reproachful to our boasted civilization and the
moral spirit of our age, might to a great extent be got rid
of; so too the large amount of crime that results from
temptation, so sorely pressing upon the indigent, made
indigent by the competition of the overwhelming numbers
that throng the labour market and depress the rate of
wages, would almost disappear; the savagery of personal
assaults especially upon wives, so often traceable to the
irritability arising from overcrowding, and the demora
lising effect of its vitiated atmosphere, would be found to
vanish; and thus in fine our low-toned morality, which is
the despair of the theologian, would in many respects be
purified and elevated, the course of our existence tend to
become converted into a career of virtuous enjoyment, and
earthly Life, whose inborn delight is at present so em
bittered to all of us by its blendings, or surroundings of
suffering, sorrow, and sin, might, not merely in theory,
but really, and practically be made worth Living.
�
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The science of life worth living: a lecture delivered before the Sunday Lecture Society on Sunday afternoon, 22nd February, 1880
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Finch, A. Elley
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Place of publication: London
Collation: 30, [2] p. : ill. (diag.) ; 18 cm
Series: no 29
Notes: Publisher's series list on unnumbered pages at the end. A list of published pamphlets by the same author listed on title page verso.
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Religion
Science and Religion
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^4 SS
NATIONAL SECULAR SOCIETY
TRACTS FOR THE TIMES —No. 9.
THE RELIGIOUS SENTIMENT:
ITS INFLUENCE ON LIFE.
BY
THEODORE PARKER,
MINISTER OF THE TWENTY-SECOND CONGREGATIONAL CHURCH,
BOSTON, MASS.
Man is not a being of isolated faculties, which act independently.
The religious, like
each other element in us, acts jointly with other powers; its action, therefore, is
helped or hindered by them. The Idea of Religion is only realized by an har
monious action of all the faculties, the intellectual and the moral. Yet the re
ligious sentiment must act, more or less, though the understanding be not cultivated,
and the moral elements sleep in Egyptian night; in connection, therefore, with Wisdom’
or Folly, with Hope or Fear, with Love or Hate. Now in all periods of human history,
Religion demands something of her votaries: the ruder their condition, the more capri
cious and unreasonable is the demand. Though Religion itself be ever the same, the form
of its expression varies with man’s intellectual and moral state. Its influence on life may
be considered under its three different manifestations.
I. OF SUPERSTITION.
Combining with Ignorance and Fear, the religious sentiment leads to Superstition.
This is the vilification and debasement of man. It may be defined as Fear before
God. Plutarch, though himself religious, pronounced it worse than Atheism. But the
latter cannot exist to the same extent—is never an active principle. Superstition is a
morbid state of human nature, where the conditions of the religious sentiment are not ful
filled—where its functions are impeded and counteracted. But it must act, as the heart
beats in the frenzy of a fever. It has been said with truth, “Perfect love casts out fear.”
The converse is quite as true: perfect fear casts out love. The superstitious man begins
by fearing God, not loving him. He goes od, like a timid boy in the darkness, by pro
jecting his own conceptions out of himself; conjuring up a phantom he calls his God_ a
Deity capricious, cruel, revengeful, lying in wait for the unwary—a God ugly, morose
and only to be feared. He ends by paying a service meet for such a God, the service of
Horror and Fear. Each man’s conception of God is his conception of a man carried out to
infinity; the pure idea is eclipsed by a human personality. This conception therefore
varies as the men who form it vary. It is the index of their Soul. The superstitious man
projects out of himself a creation begotten of his Folly and his Fear; calls the furious
phantom God, Moloch, Jehovah; then attempts to please the capricious Bein°- he has
conjured up. To do this, the demands his Superstition makes are, not to keep 111e laws
which the one God wrote on the walls of man’s being, but to do arbitrary acts which this
fancied God demands: he must give up to the deity what is dearest to himself. Hence
the savage offers a sacrifice of favourite articles of food ; the first fruits of the chase or
agriculture; weapons of war which have done signal service; the nobler animals • the
�2
skins of rare beasts. He conceives the anger of his God may be soothed, like man’s ex
cited frame, by libations, incense, the smoke of plants, the steam of a sacrifice.
Again, the superstitious man would appease his God by unnatural personal service. He
undertakes an enterprise almost impossible,—and succeeds, for the fire of his purpose
subdues and softens the rock that opposes him. He submits to painful privation of food,
rest, clothing; leads a life of solitude ; wears a comfortless dress, that girds and frets the
very flesh ; stands in a painful position ; shuts himself up in a dungeon ; lives in a cave;
stands on a pillar’s top ; goes unshorn and filthy ;—he exposes himself to be scorched by
the sun, and frozen by the frost;—he lacerates his flesh ; punctures his skin to receive
sacred figures of the Gods ;—he mutilates his body, cutting off the most useful or most
sacred members;—he sacrifices his cattle, his enemies, his children; defiles the sacred
temple of his body ; destroys his mortal life to serve his God. In a state more refined,
Superstition demands abstinence from all the sensual goods of life. Its present pleasures
are a godless thing. The flesh is damned. To serve God, is to mortify the appetites
God gave. Then the superstitious man abstains from comfortable food, clothing, and
shelter; comes neither eating nor drinking ; watches all night, absorbed in holy vigils.
The man of God must be thin and spare. Bernard has but to show his neck, fleshless and
scraggy, to be confessed a mighty saint. Above all, he must abstain from marriage: the
Devil lurks under the bridal rose; the vow of the celibate can send him howling back to
hell. The smothered volcano is grateful to God. Then comes the assumption of arbi
trary vows; the performance of pilgrimages to distant places, thinly clad and barefoot;
the repetition of prayers, not as a delight, spontaneously poured out, but as a penance, or
work of supererogation. In this state, Superstition builds convents, monasteries ; sends
Anthon)- to his dwelling in the desert; founds orders of Mendicants, Rechabites, Nazarites, Encratites, Pilgrims, Flagellants, and similar Mosstroopers of Religion, whom
Heaven yet turns to good account. This is the Superstition of the flesh : it promises the
favour of its God on condition of these most useless and arbitrary acts ; it dwells on the
absurdest of externals.
However, in a later day, it goes to still more subtle refinements. The man does not
mutilate his body, nor give up the most sacred of his material possessions: that was
the Superstition of savage life. But he mutilates his soul; gives up the most sacred of
his spiritual treasures : this is the Superstition of refined life. Here the man is ready to
forego Reason, Conscience, and Love, God’s most precious gifts—the noblest attributes
of man—the tie that softly joins him to the eternal world. He will think against Reason,
decide against Conscience, act against Love, because he dreams the God of Reason de
mands it. It is a slight thing to hack and mutilate the body, though it be the fairest
temple God ever made, and to mar its completeness a sin; but to dismember the soul,
the very image of God—to lop off the most sacred affections—to call Reason a Liar, Con
science a Devil’s oracle, and to cast Love clean out from the heart,—this is the last tri
umph of Superstition, but one often witnessed, in all the three forms of Religion—
Fetichism, Polytheism, Monotheism ; in all ages before Christ—in all ages after Christ.
This is the Superstition of the Soul. The one might be the Superstition of the Hero;
this is the Superstition of the Pharisee.
A man rude in spirit must have a rude conception of God : he thinks the Deity like
himself. If a Buffalo had a religion, his conception of Deity would probably be a Buffalo,
fairer limbed, stronger and swifter than himself, grazing in the fairest meadows of Heaven.
If he were superstitious, his service would consist in offerings of grass, of water, of salt;
perhaps in abstinence from the pleasures, comforts, necessities of a bison’s life. His Devii
also would be a Buffalo, but of another colour, lean, vicious, and ugly. Now when a Man
has these rude conceptions, inseparable from a rude state, offerings and sacrifices are
natural: when they come spontaneously, as the expression of a grateful or a penitent
heart, the seal of a resolution, the sign of Faith, Hope, and Love, as an outward symbol
which strengthens the indwelling sentiment,—the sacrifice is pleasant, and may be beau
tiful. The child who saw God in the swelling and rounded clouds of a June day, and
left on a rock the ribbon grass and garden roses as mute symbols of gratitude to the Great
Spirit who poured out the voluptuous season; the ancient Pagan who bowed prone to the
dust in homage, as the sun looked out from the windows of morning, or offered the smoke
of incense at nightfall in gratitude for the day, or kissed his hand to the Moon, thankful
for that spectacle of loveliness passing above him; the man who with reverent thankful
ness or penitence offers a sacrifice of joy or grief, to express what words too poorly tell,—
he is no idolater, but Nature’s simple child. We rejoice in self-denial for a father, a son,
a friend. Love, and every strong emotion, has its sacrifice: it is rooted deep in the heart
of man. God needs nothing: he cannot receive ; yet man needs to give. But if these
things are done as substitutes for holiness—as causes, and not mere signs of reconciliation
�3
with God—as means to coax and wheedle the Deity and bribe the .All-Powerful, it is
Superstition, rank and odious. Examples enough of this are found in all ages. Io take
two of the most celebrated cases—one from the Hebrews, the other from a Heathen people.
Abraham would sacrifice his son to Jehovah, who demanded that offering Agamemnon
his daughter, to angry Diana. But a Deity kindly interferes in both cases, lhe Angel
of Jehovah rescues Isaac from the remorseless knife; a ram is. found for a sacrifice.
Diana delivers the daughter of Agamemnon, and leaves a hind in her place. No one
doubts that the latter is a case of superstition most ghastly and terrible. A father murder
his own child !—a human sacrifice to the Lord of Life 1 It is rebellion against Conscience,
Beason, Affection—treason against God,—though Calchas, the anointed minister, declared
it the will of Heaven. There is an older than Calchas who says, “ It is a Lie.
He that
defends the former patriarch, counting it a blameless and beautiful act of piety and faith
performed at the command of God,—what shall be said of him? He proves that the worm
of Superstition is not yet dead, nor its fire quenched, and leads weak men to ask,
“ Which then lias most of Religion—the Christian who justifies Abraham, or the Pagan
Greeks, who condemned Agamemnon?” He leads weu7c men to ask: the strong make
no question of so plain a matter.
.
,
But why go back to Patriarchs at Aulis or Moriah ? Do we not live in New England
and the nineteenth century ?—have the footsteps of Superstition been effaced from our
land ? Our books of theology are full thereof; our churches and homes not empty of it.
When a man fears God more than lie loves him ; when he will forsake Reason, Conscience,
Love—the still small voice of God in the heart—for any of the legion voices of Authority,
Tradition, Expediency, which come of Ignorance, Selfishness, and Sin; whenever lie
hopes, by a poor prayer, or a listless attendance at church, or an austere observance of
Sabbaths and East-days, a compliance with forms; when he hopes, by professing with his
tongue the doctrine he cannot believe in liis lieart, to atone for wicked actions, wrong
thoughts, unholy feelings, a six days’ life of meanness, deception, rottenness, and sin—then is he superstitious. Are there no fires but those of Moloch?—no idols of printed
paper, and spoken wind ?—no false worship but bowing the knee to Baal, Adonis, Priapus,
or Cybele? Superstition changes its forms, not its substance. If lie were super
stitious who in days of ignorance but made his son’s body pass, through the fire to. his
God, what shall be said of those who in an age of light systematically degrade the fairest
gifts of man, God’s dearest benefaction?—who make his life darkness, death despair, the
world a desert, man a worm, nothing but a worm, and God an ugly fiend who made the
mass of men for utter wretchedness, death, and eternal hell? Alas for them!—they are
blind and see not; they lie down in their folly. Let Charity cover them up !
II. Or FANATICISM.
There is another morbid state of the religious sentiment: it consists in its union with
Hatred and other malignant elements of man. Here it leads to Fanaticism. As the
essence of Superstition is Eear coupled with religious feeling, so the essence of Fanaticism
is Malice mingling with that sentiment. It may be called Hatred before God. The
Superstitious man fears lest God hate him : the Fanatic thinks He hates not him but his
enemies. Is the Fanatic a Jew ?—the Gentiles are hateful to Jehovah;—a Mahometan ?
—all are infidel dogs who do not bow to the prophet; their end is destruction. Is he a
Christian?—he counts all others as Heathens, whom God will damn;—of this or that
sect ?—he condemns all the rest for their belief, let their life be divine as the prayer of a
saint. Out of his selfish passion he creates him a God—breathes into it the breath of his
Hatred; he, worships and prays to it, and says, “Deliver me, for thou art my God!”
Then he feels—so he fancies—inspiration to visit his foes with divine vengeance. He
can curse and smite them in the name of his God. It is the sword of the Lord, and the
fire of the Most High, that drinks up the blood and stifles the groan of the wretched..
Like Superstition, it is found in all ages of the world. It is the insanity of mankind.
As the richest soils grow the weightiest harvests, or the most noxious wzeeds and the most
baneful poisons; as the strongest bodies take disease the most sorely; so the deepest
natures, the highest forms of religion, when once infected with this leprosy, go to the
wildest excesses of desperation. Thus the fanaticism of the worshippers of one God lias
no parallel among idolaters and polytheists. There is a point in human nature where
moral distinctions do not appear, as on the earth there are spots where the compass will
not traverse, and dens where the sun never shines. This fact is little dwelt on by
philosophers; still it is a fact. Seen from this point, Right and Wrong lose their ins
tinctive character, and run into each other; Good seems Evil, and Evil Good, or both are
the same. The sophistry of the Understanding sometimes leagues with appetite, and
�gradually entices the thoughtless into this pit. The Antinomian of all times turns in
thither, to increase his faith and diminish his works. It is the very cave of Trophonius ;
he that enters loses his manhood, and walks backward as he returns—his soul so filled
with God, that whatever the flesh does, he thinks cannot be wrong, though it break all
‘aws, human and divine. The fanatic dwells continually in this state. God
demands of him to persecute his foes: the thought troubles him by day, and
stares on him as a spectre at night. God, or his angel, appears to his crazed
fancy, and bids him to the work with promise of reward, or spurs him with
a curse. Then there is no lie too malignant for him to invent and utter; no
curse too awful for him to imprecate; no refinement of torture too cruel or exquisitely
rending for his fancy to devise, his malice to inflict; Nature is teased for new tortures—
Art is racked to extort fresh engines of cruelty. As the jaded Roman offered a reward
for the invention of a new pleasure, so the fanatic would renounce Heaven, could he give
an added pang to Hell.
Men of this character have played so great a part in the world’s history, that they must
not be passed over in silence. The ashes of the innocents they have burned, are sown
broadcast and abundant in all lands ; the earth is quick with this living dust. The blood
of prophets and saviours they have shed still cries for justice. The Canaanites, the Jews,
the Saracen, the Christian, Polytheist, and Idolator—New Zealand and New England—
are guilty of this. Let the early Christian, or the lingering Heathen, tell his tale; let
the voice of the Heretic speak from the dungeon-racks of the Inquisition: that of the
“ true believer” from the scaffolds of Elizabeth—most Christian Queen ; let the voices of
the murdered come up from the squares of Paris, the plains of the Low Countries, from
the streets of Antioch, Byzantium, Jerusalem, Alexandria, Damascus, Rome, Mexico—
from the wheels, racks, and gibbets of the world; let the men who died in religious wars,
always the bloodiest and most remorseless—the women, whom nothing could save from
a fate yet more awful—the babes, newly born, who perished in the sack and conflagration
of idolatrous and heretical cities, when, for the sake of religion, men violated its every
precept, and, in the name of God, broke down his law, and trampled his image into bloody
dust;—let all these speak, to admonish, and to blame.
But it is not well to rest on general terms alone. Paul had no little fanaticism when
he persecuted the Christians—kept the garments of the men who stoned Stephen.
Moses had much of it, if, as the story goes, he commanded the extirpation of nations of
idolaters, millions of men, virtuous as the Jews. Joshua, Samuel, David, had much of
it, and executed schemes as bloody as a murderer’s most sanguine dream. It has been
both the foe and the auxiliary of the Christian church. There is a long line of Fanatics,
extending from the time of Justin, reaching from century to century, marching on from
age to age, with the bannner of the Cross over their heads, and the Gospel on their
tongues, and fire and sword in their hands, The last of that Apocalyptic rabble has not
yet passed by—Let the clouds of darkness hide them ! What need to tell of our own
fathers?—what they suffered—what they inflicted ? Their crime is fresh and unatoned.
Rather let us take the wings of an angel and flee away from scenes so awful, the
slaughter-house of souls!
But the milder forms of Fanaticism we cannot escape; they meet us in the theological
war of extermination, in which sect now wars with sect, pulpit with pulpit, man with
man. If one would seek specimens of Superstition, in its milder form, let him open a
popular commentary on the Bible, or read much of that weakish matter which circulates
in what men call, as if in mockery, good pious books. If he would find Fanaticism in its
modern and more Pharisaic shape, let him open the “ religious” newspapers, or read
theological polemics. To what mean uses may we not descend ! The spirit of a Caligula
and a Dominic—of an Alva and Ignatius, stares at men in the street;—it can only bay
in the distance ; it dares not bite. Poor craven Fanaticism ! fallen like Lucifer, never
to rise again ! Like Pope and Pagan in the story, he sits chained by the wayside, to
grin and gibber, and howl and snarl, as the Pilgrim goes by, singing the song of the fear
less and free, on the highway to Heaven, with his girdle about him, and his white robe
on. Poor Fanaticism ! who was drunk with the blood of the saints, and in his debauch
lifted bis horn, and pushed at the Almighty, and slew the children of God—he shall revel
but in the dreamy remembrance of his ancient crime ; his teeth shall be fleshed no more
in the limbs of the living.
These two morbid states, just passed over, represent the most hideous forms of human
degradation;—where the foulest passions are at their foulest work ; where Malice, which
a Devil might envy, but which might make Hell darker with its frown—where Hate and
Rancour build up their organisations and ply their arts. In man there is a mixture of
good and evil: “ A being darkly wise and rudely great,” he has in him somewhat of the
�5
Angel and something of the Devil. In Fanaticism the Angel sleeps and the Devil drives.
But let us leave the hateful theme.
III. OF SOLID PIETY.
The legitimate and perfect action of the religious sentiment takes place when.it exists
in harmonious combination with Reason, Conscience, and Affection. Then it is not
Hatred, and not Fear, but Love before God. It produces the most beautiful develop
ment of human nature—the golden age—the fairest Eden of life—the kingdom of Heaven.
Its Deity is the God of Love, within whose encircling arms it is beautiful to be. The
demands it makes are,—to keep the Law he has written in the heart, to be good, to do
good ; to love man, to love God. It may use forms, prayers, dogmas, ceremonies, priests,
temples, sabbaths, festivals, and feasts: yes, sacrifices if it will, as means, not ends—
symbols of a sentiment, not substitutes for it. Its substance is love of God—its form,
love of man—its temple, a pure heart—its sacrifice, a divine life. The end it proposes
is,—to reunite the man with God, till he thinks God’s thoughts, which is truth—feel
God’s feeling, which is Love—wills God's will, which is the eternalRight; thus finding God
in the sense wherein he is not far from any one of us ; becoming one with him, and so par
taking the divine nature. The means to this high end are,—an extinction of all in man
that opposes God’s law, a perfect obedience to him as he speaks in Reason, Conscience,
Affection. It leads through active obedience to an absolute trust, a perfect love—to the
complete harmony of the finite man with the infinite God ; and man’s will coalesces in
that of Him who is All in All. Then, Faith and Knowledge are the same thing; Reason
and Revelation do not conflict; Desire and Duty go hand in hand, and strew man’s path
with flowers : Desire has become dutiful, and Duty desirable. The divine spirit incar
nates itself in the man—the riddle of the world is solved. Perfect love casts out fear.
Then, Religion demands no particular actions, forms, or modes of thought: the man’s
ploughing is holy as his prayer—his daily bread as the smoke of his sacrifice; his home
sacred as his temple; his work-day and his Sabbath are alike God’s day. His priest is the
holy spirit within him ; Faith and Works his communion of both kinds. He does not sacri
fice Reason to Religion, nor Religion to Reason : Brother and Sister, they dwell together in
love. A life harmonious and beautiful, conducted by Righteousness, filled full with Truth,
and enchanted by Love to man and God—this is the service he pays to the Father of All.
Belief does not take the place of Life. Capricious austerity atones for no duty left undone.
He loves Religion as a bride, for her own sake, not for what she brings. He lies low in
the hand of God—the breath of the Father is on him.
If joy comes to this man, he rejoices in its rosy light. His wealth, his wisdom, his
power, is not for himself alone, but for all God’s children ; nothing is his which a brother
needs more than he. Like God himself, he is kind to the thankless and unmerciful.
Purity without, aud Piety within ;—these are his Heaven, both present and to come. Is
not his flesh as holy as his soul—his body a temple, of God ?
If trouble comes on him, which Prudence could not foresee, nor Strength overcome,
nor Wisdom escape from, he bears it with a heart serene and full of peace. Over every
gloomy cavern, and den of despair, Hope arches her rainbow ; the ambrosial light de
scends. Religion shows him that out of desert rocks, black and savage, where the vulture
has her home, where the Storm and the Avalanche are born, and tvhence they descend to
crush and to kill—out of these hopeless cliffs falls the river of Life, which flows for all,
and makes glad the people of God. When the Storm and the Avalanche sweep from him
all that is dearest to mortal hope, is he comfortless? Out of the hard marble of life the
deposition of a few joys and many sorrows, of birth and death, and smiles and grief, lie
hews him the beautiful statue of Religious Tranquillity. It stands ever beside him, with
the smile of heavenly satisfaction on its lip, and its trusting finger pointing to the sky.
The true religious man, amid all the ills of time, keeps a serene, forehead and entertains
a peaceful heart. Thus going out and coming in, amid all the trials of the city, the agony
of the plague, the horrors of the thirty tyrants, the fierce democracy abroad, the fiercer
ill at home—the Saint, the Sage of Athens, was still the same. Such a one can endure
hardness—can stand alone and be content; a rock amid the waves, lonely but not moved.
Around him the few or the many may scream their screams, or cry their clamours,
calumniate or blaspheme : what is it all to him, but the cawing of the sea-bird about that
solitary and deep-rooted stone? So swarms of summer flies, and spiteful wasps, may
assail the branches of an oak, which lifts its head, storm-tried and old, above the hills ;
they move a leaf, or bend a twig, by their united weight. Their noise, fitful aud mali
cious, elsewhere might frighten the sheep in the meadows ;—here it becomes a placid hum ;
it joins the wild whisper of the leaves; it swells the breezy music of the tree, but makes
it bear no acorn less.
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He fears no evil; God is bis armour against fate. lie rejoices in his trials, and Jere
miah sings psalms in bis dungeon, and Daniel prays three times a-day with liis window
up, that all may hear, and Nebuchadnezzar cast him to the lions if be will: Luther will
go to the Diet at Worms, if it rain enemies for nine days running—“ though the devils
be thick as the tiles on the roof.” Martyred Stephen sees God in the clouds. The victim
at the stake glories in the fire he lights, which shall shine all England through. Yes 1
Paul, an old man, forsaken of his friends, tried by many perils, daily expecting an awful
death, sits comforted in his dungeon. The Lord stands by and says, “ Fear not, Paul;
Lo, I am with thee to the world’s end.” The tranquil saint can say, “ I know whom I
have served. I have not the spirit of fear, but joy. I am ready to be sacrificed.” Such
trials prove the Soul as gold is proved. The dross perishes in the fire; but the
virgin metal—it comes brighter from the flame. What is it to such a man
to be scourged, forsaken, his name a proverb, counted as the offscouring of the
world? There is that in him which looks down millions. Cast out, he is not in dismay
—forsaken, never less alone. Slowly and soft the Soul of Faith comes into the man.
He knows that he is seen by the pure and terrible eyes of Infinity. He feels the sym
pathy of the Soul of All, and says, with modest triumph, “ I am not alone, for Thou art
with me.” Mortal affection may cease their melody7; but the Infinite speaks to his soul
comfort too deep for words, and too divine. What if he have not the Sun of human
affection to cheer him ? The awful faces of the Stars look from the serene depths of
divine Love, and seems to say, “ Well done 1” What if the sweet music of human sym
pathy vanish before the discordant curse of his brother man ? The melody of the spheres
—so sweet we heed it not when tried less sorely—rolls in upon the soul its tranquil tide,
and that same Word which was in the beginning, says, “Thou art my beloved son, and
in thee am I well pleased.” Earth is overcome, and Heaven won.
It is well for mankind that God now and then raises up a hero of the soul—exposes
him to grim trials in the forefront of the battle—sustains him there, that we may know
what nobility is in man, and how near him God; to show that greatness in the religious
man is only7 needed, to be found—that his Charity does not expire with the quivering of
his flesh—that this hero can end his breath with a “ Father, forgive themI”
Man everywhere is the measure of man. There is nothing which the Flesh and the
Devil can inflict in their rage, but the Holy Spirit can bear in its exceeding peace. The
Art of the tormentor is less than the Nature of the suffering soul. All the denunciations
of all that sat in Moses’ seat, or have since climbed to that of the Messiah—the scorn of
the contemptuous, the fury of the passionate, the wrath of a monarch and the roar of his
armies,—all these are to a religious soul but the buzzing of the flies about the mountain
oak. There is nothing that prevails against Truth.
Now in some men religion is a continual growth. They are always in harmony with
God. Silently7 and unconscious, erect as a palm-tree, they grow up to the measure of a
man. To them Reason and Religion are of the same birth. They are born saints—■
Aborigines of Heaven. Betwixt their idea of life and their fact of life, there has at no
time been a gulf. But others join themselves to the Armada of Sin, and get scarred all
over with wounds as they do thankless battle in that leprous host. Before these men
become religious, there must be a change—well defined, deeply marked—a change that
will be remembered. The saints who have been sinners tell us of the struggle and despe
rate battle that goes on between the flesh and the spirit. It is as if the Devil and the
Archangel contended. Well says John Bunyan, “ The Devil fought with me weeks long
and I with the Devil.” To take the leap of Niagara, and stop when half-way down, and
by their proper motion reascend, is no slight thing, nor the remembrance thereof like to
pass away.
This passage from sin to salvation—this second birth of the soul, as both Christians and
Heathens call it—is one of the many mysteries of man. Two elements meet in the soul:
there is a negation of the past—an affirmation of the future. Terror and Hope, Penitence
and Faith, rush together in that moment, and a new life begins. The character gradually
grows over the wounds of sin. With bleeding feet the man retreads his way, but gains
at last the mountain-top of life, and wonders at the tortuous track he left behind.
Shall it be said that Religion is the great refinement of the world—its tranquil star
that never sets? Need it be told that all Nature works in its behalf—that every mute
and every living thing seems to repeat God’s voice, Be perfect?—that Nature, which, is
the out-ness of God, favours Religion, which is the in-ness of man, and so God works with
us? Heathens knew it many centuries ago. It has long been known that Religion—in
its true estate—created the deepest welfare of man. Socrates, Seneca, Plutarch, Antoni
nus, Fenelon, can tell us this. It might well be so. Religion comes from what is
strongest, deepest, most beautiful and divine ; lays no rude hand on soul or sense; con
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demns no faculty as base. It sets no bounds to Reason but Truth—none to Affection but
Love—none to Desire but Duty—none to the Soul but Perfection; and these are not
limits, but the charter of infinite freedom.
No doubt there is joy in the success of earthly schemes. There is joy to the miser, as
he satiates his prurient palm with gold; there is joy for the fool of fortune when his
gaming brings a prize. But what is it? His request is granted; but leanness enters his
soul. There is delight in feasting on the bounties of Earth, and the garment in which
God veils the brightness of his face ; in being filled with the fragrant loveliness of flowers,
the song of birds, the hum of bees, the sounds of ocean ; the rustle of the summer wind,
heard at evening in the pine tops; in the cool running brooks, in the majestic sweep of
undulating hills, the grandeur of untamed forests, the majesty of the mountain ; in the
morning’s virgin beauty, in the maternal grace of evening, and the sublime and mystic
pomp of night: Nature’s silent sympathy—how beautiful it is !
There is joy—no doubt there is joy—to the mind of Genius, when thought bursts on
him as the tropic sun rending a cloud ; when long trains of ideas sweep through his soul,
like constellated orbs before an angel’s eye; when sublime thoughts and burning words
rush to the heart; when Nature unveils her secret truth, and some great Law breaks, all
at once, upon a Newton’s mind, and Chaos ends in light; when the hour of his inspiration
and the joy of his genius is on him, ’tis then that the child of Heaven feels a godlike
delight;—’tis sympathy with Truth.
There is a higher and more tranquil bliss, when heart communes with heart; when two
souls unite in one, like mingling dew-drops on a rose, that scarcely touch the flower, but
mirror the heavens in their little orbs; when perfect love transforms two souls, either
man’s or woman’s, each to the other’s image, when one heart beats in two bosoms—one
spirit speaks with a divided tongue; when the same soul is mutual in divided eyes,—
there is a rapture deep, serene, heartfelt, and abiding, in this mysterious fellow-feeling
with a congenial soul, which puts to shame the cold sympathy of Nature, and the ecstatic
but short-lived bliss of Genius in his high and burning hour.
But the welfare of Religion is more than each or all of these. The glad reliance that
comes upon the man ; the sense of trust; a rest with God; the soul’s exceeding peace;
the universal harmony ; the infinite within ; sympathy with the soul of All—is bliss that
words cannot pourtray. He only knows who feels ;—the speech of a prophet cannot tell
the tale—no, not if a seraph touched his lips with fire. In the high hour of religious
visitation from the living God, there seems to be no separate thought; the tide of uni
versal life sets through the soul. The thought of self is gone ; it is a little accident to be
a king or a clown, a parent or a child. Man is at one with God, and He is All in All.
Neither the loveliness of nature—neither the joy of genius, nor the sweet breathing of
congenial hearts, that make delicious music as they beat—neither one nor all of these can
equal the joy of the religious soul that is at one with God, so full of peace that prayer is
needless. This deeper joy gives an added charm to the former blessingsnature
undergoes a new transformation. A story tells that when the rising sun fell on
Memnon’s statue, it awakened music in that breast of stone. Religion does the same
with nature. Erom the shining snake to the waterfall, it is all eloquent of God. As to
John in the Apocalypse, there stands an angel in the sun ; the seraphim hang over every
flower; God speaks in each little grass that fringes a mountain rock. Then, even
Genius is wedded to a greater bliss ; his thoughts shine more brilliant when set in the
light of Religion. Friendship and Love it renders infinite. The man loves God when he
but loves his friend. This is the joy Religion gives—its perennial rest—its everlasting
life. It comes not by chance ; it is the possession of such as ask and toil, and toil and
ask. It is withheld from none as other gifts. Nature tells little to the deaf, the blind,
the rude. Every man is not a genius, and has not his joy. Few men can find a friend
that is the world to them. That triune sympathy is not for every one. But this welfare
of Religion—the deepest, truest, the everlasting, the sympathy with God, lies within the
reach of all his sons.
�STRAUSS’S LIFE OF JESUS,
EXAMINED BY
THEODORE PARKER.
PART SECOND.
We will now mention only the death, and final scenes of the life of Jesus. Mr Strauss
thinks he could not have so accurate a foreknowledge of the manner of his suffering and
death, as the Evangelists would lead us to suppose. The prediction was written
after the event. Jesus could not definitely have foretold his resurrection from
the dead, for then the disciples would have expected the event. But after
the crucifixion they anoint the body, as if it was to become the “ prey of dis
solution.” When they repair to the grave, they think not of a resurrection; their
only concern is, who shall roll away the stone from the mouth of the tomb. Not finding
the body, they think it has been stolen. When the women mention the angels they had
seen, it is idle talk to the disciples; when Mary Magdalene and two others assured the
disciples they had seen the “ risen Jesus,” their words produced no belief. It is only when
Jesus appears in person, and upbraids them for their unbelief, that they assert as a fact,
what they would have foreknown if he had predicted it. A foreknowledge or prediction
of this event was ascribed to Jesus after the result, not from any intention to deceive, but
by a natural mistake. He Jhinks, however, that Jesus actually predicted his own second
coming in the clouds of Heaven, the destruction of the Jewish state, and the end of the
world ; all of which were to take place before his contemporaries should pass away. Here,
following the Wolfenbuttel 1'ragmentist, he says, there is no prophecy in the whole Bible
so distinct and definite as this, and yet it is found obviously and entirely false. We
attempt to fill up the great gulf between this prediction and the fact, and our hope of
success shows how easy it must have been for the author of these predictions to suppose
that soon after the destruction of the Jewish state—supposed to be the central point of
the world—the whole earth should come to an end, and the Messiah appear to judge
mankind.
John, who is supposed to have written later than the others, does not mention so dis
tinctly these predictions, because they had not come to fulfilment as it was expected.
Mr Strauss thinks Jesus at last saw that his death wms inevitable, and designated the
next passover as the probable end of bis life, and while at table with his disciples gave
them the bread and wine, either as the symbols of his body, soon to be broken by death,
and of his blood soon to be shed ; or as a memorial of himself. He considers as mythical
the account of him going three times to pray, and repeating the same words at Gethsemane,
as well as that of the angels’ visit, and the bloody sweat
Many of the circumstances which, it is related, accompanied the trial and crucifixion
he sets aside as mythical additions borrowed in part from the Old Testament. He main
tains that the supernatural appearances at the death of Jesus; the sudden and miraculous
darkness ; the resurrection of the bodies of the saints ; the earthquake; and the rending
of the veil—have all grown up in the mythical fashion. The latter is symbolical of
removing the wall of separation between the Gentiles and Jews. He thinks it quite
improbable the Jews would set a guard over the tomb, as it is not probable they had
heard of the promise of Jesus to rise from the dead—a promise which the disciples them<elves did notjemember until after it was fulfilled. The Jews, he thinks, in later times,
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pretended that Jesus did not rise from the dead, but that his disciples stole the body by
night, secreted it, and then pretended he was risen; and the Christians, to counteract
this statement, gradually formed the evangelical narrative, that the door of the tomb
was sealed, and a guard set over it; but Jesus was raised, and to throw dust in the eyes
of the people, the great national council bribed the soldiers to assent to a very improbable
falsehood, that the disciples stole the body while they slept. But it is not probable a
body of seventy men would condescend to such open wickedness, with the almost certain
chance of detection.
He enlarges at great length, and with acuteness, and some “special pleading,” which
is not altogether rare in the book, on the confusion in the statements of the four Gospels
concerning the time, place, and circumstances of the resurrection, and the several appear
ances of Jesus after that event, passing through closed doors, appearing under various
forms, and, like a spirit, remaining with them but a short time, and then vanishing out
of sight. But the fact of the resurrection itself, Mr Strauss says, involves difficulties, and
cannot be admitted. We must then suppose, with the Rationalist, either that he was not
dead, or that the resurrection did not take place. He accepts the latter part of the
dilemma, and thinks the disciples were mistaken, led astray by the figurative passages
in the psalms and prophets, which they erroneously referred to the Messiah. The testitimony of the Gospels and the book of Acts, he says, is so inconsistent, contradictory and
imperfect, that we can place no dependence upon it; and that of Paul, which is consistent
with itself, and of great weight, only assures us of his own conviction that Christ rose
and appeared to men, and even to himself. But Christ’s appearance to Paul was entirely
subjective, and there is no reason to believe he supposed Jesus had appeared to others in
an objective manner, visible to the senses. Mr Strauss fancies the narratives originated
in the following manner: The disciples, thinking the Messiah must remain for ever,
thought he must have risen ; next, they had subjective visions; then, in a high state of
enthusiasm, they mistook some unknown person for him. Afterwards, as these disciples
related their convictions, the story was enlarged, embellished, and varied, until it assumed
the form of the present canonical and apocryphal Gospels. The ascension to heaven, which
many have hitherto rejected as not trustworthy, is regarded by Mr Strauss as a myth,
which derives its ideas from the histories and predictions of the Old Testament, and Jewish
tradition, and with a particular reference to the alleged translations of Enoch and Elijah.
The author adds a “ Concluding Treatise ” to his critical work, “ Eor the inward germ
of Christian faith is entirely independent of critical investigations ; the supernatural birth
of Christ, his miracles, his resurrection and ascension to Heaven, remain eternal truths,
however much their reality, as historical facts, may be doubted.” All these he supposes
are realised, not in an historical personage, but in the human race. Mankind have un
consciously projected out of themselves the ideal of a perfect man, an incarnation of God,
a personification of morality and religion. This ideal has been placed upon Jesus, a man
distinguished for great virtue and piety. But neither he nor any man ever did, or can,
realise the idea; it must be realised in the race. The history of the miraculous concep
tion, says one of the profoundest of the Germans, represents the divine origin of religion ;
the stories of his miracles, the independent power of the human soul, and the sublime
doctrine of spiritual self-confidence. His resurrection is the symbol of the victory of truth;
the omen of the triumph of the good over the evil hereafter to be completed. His ascen
sion is the symbol of the eternal excellence of religion; Christ on the cross is the image
of mankind purified by self-sacrifice. We must all be crucified with him, to ascend with
him to a new life. The idea of devotion is the ground-tone in the history of Jesus; for
every act of his life was consecrated to the thought of his Heavenly Eather.
We can only glance at the contents of this concluding treatise. It gives a fundamental
criticism of the Christology of the Orthodox, the Rationalists, of the Eclectics, of Schleiermacher, Kant, and De Wette, and the speculative theology of Hegel and his followers.
He points out the merits and defects of these various systems, and concludes his work
with an attempt to reconcile, in some measure, his own views of Christ with the wants of
religious souls, and the opinions of others. He thus concludes: “ Setting aside, therefore,
the notions of the sinlessness and absolute perfection of Jesus, as notions that could not
be realised perfectly by a human being in the flesh, we understand Christ as that person
in whose self-consciousness the unity of the Divine and Human first came forth, and with
3n energy that, in the whole course of his life and character, diminished to the very
lowest possible degree all limitations of this unity. In this respect he stands alone and
unequalled in the world’s history. And yet, we do not affirm that the religious conscious
ness, which he at first attained and proclaimed, can, in its separate parts, dispense with
purification and farther improvement through the progessive development of the human
mind.”
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Having thus given a patient and, we hope, faithful account of the principles, method,
and most striking results of this celebrated work, it may not be amiss to point out some
of the false principles which have conducted the author to his extreme conclusions, though
we think their extravagance answers itself. We see no reason to doubt that he is a religious
man in his own way; nay, he calls himself a Christian, and so far as his life abides the
test, we know not why the name should be withheld. His religion and life may have the
Christian savour, though his theology be what it is. We know there are fascinations
which a paradox presents to daring souls, and we are told there is a charm, to a revolu
tionary spirit, in attempting to pull down the work which has sheltered the piety, defended
the weakness, and relieved the wants of mankind for a score of centuries, when it is sup
posed to rest on a false foundation. Yet we doubt not that Mr Strauss is honest in his
convictions, and has throughout aimed to be faithful and true. We cannot, therefore, as
some have done, call him “ the Iscariot of the nineteenth century; ” we cannot declare him
“inspired by the devilnor accuse him of the “sin against the Holy Ghost; ” nor say
that he has “ the heart of leviathan, hard as a piece of the nether mill-stone.” We judge
no man’s heart but our own. However, the erroneous principles which lead to his mis
taken conclusions may be briefly glanced at.
1. He sets out, as he says, without any “ presuppositions.” Now, this is not possible, if
it were desirable, and not desirable, if it were possible. But he has set out with presup
positions—namely, that the idea precedes the man, who is supposed to realise that idea;
that many men, having a certain doctrine, gradually, and in a natural manner, refer this
doctrine to some historical person, and thus make a mythical web of history. He pre
supposes that a miracle is utterly impossible. Again he presupposes—and this is an im
portant feature of his system—that the ideal of holiness and love, for example, like the
ideal of beauty, eloquence, philosophy, or music, cannot be concentrated in an individual.
In a word, there can be no incarnation of God, not even of what, in a human manner, we
call his love or holiness. We could enumerate many other presuppositions, but forbear.
He explains his meaning in the controversial replies to his opponents, but does not
satisfy us.
2. He passes quite lightly to the conclusion, that the four Gospels are neither genuine
nor authentic. Perhaps it is not fair to enumerate this among his presuppositions, though
we know not where else to place it; certainly not in the catalogue of proofs, for he ad
duces no new arguments against them; decides entirely from internal arguments, that
they are not true, and were not written by eye-witnesses, and pays no regard to the evi
dence of Christian, heretical, and even heathen antiquity on some points in their favour.
The genuineness of Paul’s most important epistles has never been contested, and the fact
of the Christian church stands out before the sun; but the convictions of the one and the
faith of the other remain perfectly inexplicable, by his theory.
3. The book is not written in a religious spirit. It will be said a critical work needs
not be written in a religious spirit, and certainly those works—and we could name many
such—which aim at two marks, edification and criticism, usually fail of both. They are
neither wind nor water; are too high for this world and too low for the next; too critical
to edify, too hortatory to instruct. That anicular criticism, so common on this side of the
waters, deserves only contempt. But a philosophical work should be criticised philoso
phically, a poetical work in the spirit of a poet, and a religious history in a religious
spirit. The criticism of Schleiermacher and De Wette is often as bold, unsparing, and
remorseless, and sometimes quite as destructive, as that of Strauss; but they always
leave an impression of their profound piety. We will not question the religious character of
Mr Strauss ; a Christian like Dr Ullman, his own countryman, does not doubt it; others of
his countrymen, in letters and conversation, inform us that his religious character is
above reproach, and puts some of his opponents to shame.
4. His mythical hypothesis has carried him away. Fondness for theory is “ the old
Adam of theology,” and Strauss has inherited a large portion of “original sin” from this
great patriarch of theological errors—this father of lies. To turn one of his own war
elephants against himself, he has looked so long at mythical stories that, dazzled thereby,
like men who have gazed earnestly upon the sun, he can see nothing but myths wherever
he turns bis eye—myths of all colours. This tendency to see myths is the Proton Psuedos,
the first fib of his system. It lias been maintained by many, that tlie Bible, in both
divisions, contained myths. Some of his own adversaries admit their existence, to a large
extent, even in the New Testament. But with them the myth itself not only embodies
an idea, as Strauss affirms, but also covers a fact, which preceded it. Men do not.make
myths out of the air, but out of historical materials. Besides, where did.they obtain the
idea1? This question he answers poorly. Shaftesbury long ago said, with much truth,
that if a Hebrew sage was asked a deep question, he answered it by telling a story; but
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the story, for the most part, had some truth in it. Strauss is peculiar in carrying his
theory farther than any one before him ; yet he is not always perfectly true to his prin
ciples; his humanity sometimes leave a little historical earth clinging to the roots of the
tree, which he transplants into the cold thin atmosphere of the “ Absolute.” Taking the
Bible as it is, says good Dr Ullman, there are three ways of treating it: We may believe
every word is historically true, from Genesis to Revelation; that there is neither myth
nor fable—and this is the theory of some supernaturalists, like Hengstenberg and his
school; or with Strauss, that there is no historical ground which is firm and undeniably
certain, but only a little historical matter, around which tradition has wrapped legends
and myths; or finally that the Bible, and in particular the New Testament, always rests
on historical ground, though it is not common historical ground, nor is it so rigidly historical
that no legendary or mythical elements have entered it. The two former theories recommend
themselves for their simplicity, but neither can be maintained ; while the Z/hW is natural,
easy, and offends neither the cultivated understanding nor the pious heart.
It is wonderful, we think, that some of the absurdities of the theory Mr Strauss sup
ports have not struck the author himself. He reverses the order of things ; makes the
effect precede the cause ; the idea appear in the mass, before it was seen in an individual.
“As Plato’s God formed the world by looking on the eternal ideas, so has the community,
taking occasion from the person and fate of Jesus, projected the image of its Christ, and
unconsciously the idea of mankind, in its relations to God, has been waving before its
eyes.” He makes a belief in the resurrection and divinity of Christ spring up out of
the community, take hold on the world, and produce a revolution in all human affairs
perfectly unexampled; and all this without any adequate historical cause. No doubt,
theologians in his country, as well as our own, have attempted to prove too much, and so
failed to prove anything. Divines, like kings, lose their just inheritance when they aspire
at universal empire. But this justifies no man in the court of logic, for rejecting all
historical faith. If there was not an historical Christ to idealize, there could be no ideal
Christ to seek in history. We doubt if there was genius enough in the world in the
first two, or the first twenty, centuries since Christ, to devise such a character as his,
with so small an historical capital as Strauss leaves us. No doubt, we commit great
errors in seeking for too much of historical matter. Christian critics, says De Wette,
will not be satisfied with knowing as much respecting Christ as Paul and the apostles
knew. No one of them, though they were eye-witnesses, had such a complete, consistent,
and thoroughly historical picture of the life of Christ as we seek after. Many of the
primitive Christians could scarcely know of Christ’s history a tenth part of what our
catechumens learn, and yet they were more inspired and better believers than we. It is
much learning which makes us so mad; not the apostle Paul. But if we cannot prove all
things, we can hold fast to enough that is good.
Mr Strauss takes the idea which forms the subject, as he thinks, of a Christian myth,
out of the air, and then tells us how the myth itself grew out of that idea. But he does
not always prove from history or the nature of things, that the idea existed before the
story or the fact was invented. He finds certain opinions, prophecies, and explanations
in the Old Testament, and affirms at once these were both the occasion and cause of the
later stories, in which they re-appear. This method of treatment requires very little
ingenuity on the part of the critic ; we could resolve half of Luther’s life into a series of
myths, which are formed after the model of Paul’s history ; indeed this has already been
done. Nay, we could dissolve any given historical event in a mythical solution, and then
precipitate the “ seminal ideas” in their primitive form. We also can change an historical
character into a symbol of “universal humanity.” The whole history of the United
States of America, for example, we might call a tissue of mythical stories, borrowed in
part from the Old Testament, in part from the Apocalypse, and in part from fancy. The
British Government oppressing the Puritans is the great “ red dragon” of the Revelation,
as it is shown by the national arms, and by the British legend of Saint George and the
Dragon. The splendid career of the new people is borrowed from the persecuted woman’s
poetical history, her dress—“ clothed with the sun.” The stars said to be in the national
banner, are only the crown of twelve stars on the poetic being’s head; the perils of the
pilgrims in the Mayflower are only the woman’s flight on the wings of a great eagle. The
war between the two countries is only “ the practical application” of the flood which the
dragon cast out against the woman, &c. The story of the Declaration of Independence is
liable to many objections, if we examine it a la mode Strauss. The congress was held
at a mythical town, whose very name is suspicious—Philadelphia—brotherly love. The
date is suspicious ; it was the fourth day of the fourth month (reckoning from April, as it
is probable the Heraclidae and Scandinavians, possible that the aboriginal Americans, and
certain that the Hebrews, did). Now four was a sacred number with the Americans;
�12
the president was chosen for four years ; there were four departments of affairs ; four divi
sions of the political’powers, namely—the people, the congress, the executive, and the
judiciary, &c. Besides, which is still more incredible, three of the presidents, two of
whom, it is alleged, signed the declaration, died on the fourth of July, and the two latter
exactly fifty years after they had signed it, and about the same hour of the day. The year
also is suspicious; 1776 is but an ingenious combination of the sacred number, four, which
is repeated three times, and then multiplied by itself to produce the date; thus, 444 x 4
is equal to 1776, Q.E.D. Now, dividing the first (444) by the second (4), we have Unity
thrice repeated (111). This is a manifest symbol of the national oneness (likewise repre
sented in the motto, e pluribus unum), and of the national religion, of which the Triniform
Monad, or “ Trinity in Unity,” and “ Unity in Trinity,” is the well-known sign 1 ! Still
farther, the declaration is metaphysical, and presupposes an acquaintance with the tran
scendental philosophy, on the part of the American people, .Now the Kritik of Pure
Reason was not published till aftei’ the declaration was made. Still farther, the Ameri
cans were never, to use the nebulous expressions of certain philosophers, an “ idealotranscendental-and-subjective,” but an “ objective-and-concrevito-practical” people, to
the last degree; therefore, a metaphysical document, and most of all a “legal congres
sional-metaphysical” document, is highly suspicious if found among them. Besides,
Hualteperah, the great historian of Mexico, a neighbouring state, never mentions this
document; and farther still, if this declaration had been made and accepted by the whole
nation, as it is pretended, then we cannot account for the fact, that the fundamental
maxim of that paper, namely, the soul’s equality to itself—“all men are born free and
equal”—was perpetually lost sight of, and a large portion of the people kept in slavery ;
still later, petitions—supported by this fundamental article—for the abolition of slavery,
were rejected by Congress with unexampled contempt, when, if the history is not mythical,
slavery never had a legal existence after 1776, &c., &c. But we could go on this way for
ever. “I’ll” prate “you so eight years together; dinners, and suppers, and sleeping
hours excepted ; it is the right butlerwoman’s rank to market.” We are forcibly reminded of
the ridiculous prediction of Lichtenberg, mentioned by Jacobi: “ Our world will by and
by become so fine, that it will be as ridiculous to believe in a God as now it is to believe
in ghosts ; and then again the world ■will become still finer, and it will rush hastily up to
the very tip-top of refinement. Having reached the summit, the judgment of our sages
will once more turn about; knowledge will undergo its last metamorphosis. Then—this
will be the end—we shall believe in nothing but ghosts; we shall be as God; we shall
know that being and essence is, and can be only,—ghost. At that time the salt sweat of
seriousness will be wiped dry from every brow; the tears of anxiety will be washed from
every eye ; loud laughter will peal out among men, for Reason will then have completed
her work, humanity will have reached its goal, and a crown will adorn the head of each
transfigured man.”
The work of Strauss has produced a great sensation in Germany, and especially in
Berlin. It has called forth replies from all quarters, and of all characters, from the scur
rilous invective to the heavy theological treatise. It has been met by learning and
sagacity, perhaps greater than his own, and he lias yielded on some points. He has
retorted upon some of his antagonists, using the same weapons with which they assailed
him. He has even turned upon them, and carried the war into their borders, and laid
waste their country, with the old Teutonic war-spirit. We have never read a controversy
more awful than his reply to Eschenmeyer and Menzel. Porson’s criticism of poor Mr
Travis was a lullaby in comparison. But he has replied to Ullman,—a Christian in heart,
apparently, as well as in theology,—as a child to a father. His letters to that gentleman
are models for theological controversy. He has modified many of his opinions, as his
enemies or his friends have pointed out his errors, and seems most indebted to Neander,
Tholuck, Weisse, Ullman, and De Wette, not to mention numerous humbler and more
hostile names.
His work is not to be ranked with any previous attacks upon Christianity. It not only
surpasses all its predecessors in learning, acuteness, and thorough investigation, but it is
marked by a serious and earnest spirit. He denounces with vehemence the opinion that
the Gospels were written to deceive. There is none of the persiflage of the English deists;
none of the haughty scorn and bitter mockery of the far-famed WolfenbuttelEragmentist.
He is much more Christian in expressing his unbelief than Ilengstenbergand many others
in their faith. We could wish the language a little more studied in some places. Two
or three times he is frivolous; but in general, the style is elevated, and manly, and always
pretty clear. We do Dot remember to have ifiet with a sneer in the whole book. In this
respect it deserves a great praise, which can rarely be bestowed on the defenders of Chris
tianity, to their shame be it spoken.
�13
The work derives its importance not more from the novelty of its views, than from the
fact that it is a concentration of objections to historical Christianity. Viewed in this light,
its importance has by no means been exaggerated. It is sometimes said, had the work
been published in England it would have been forgotten in two months; but no man who
has read the book, and is familiar with the history of theology, ever believes such a state
ment. We should be glad to see the English scholars, who are to measure swords with a
Strauss, as the Cudworths, Warburtons, Sherlocks, Lardners, and Clarkes, encountered
their antagonists in other days, when there were giants among the English clergy.
“ ’Tis no war as everybody knows,
Where only one side deals the blows,
And t’other bears ’em.”
We have no doubt which side would “ bear the blows” for the next five-and-twenty years,
should any one be provoked to translate Strauss to a London public.
We cannot regard this book as the work of a single man; it is rather the production of
the age. An individual raised up by God discovers a great truth, which makes an epoch,
and by its seminal character marks the coming ages. But a book like this, which denotes
merely a crisis, a revolution, is the aggregate of many works. Like Kant’s Kritik, it is
the necessary result of the great German movement, as much so as Spinoza’s theological
treatises were of the Cartesian principles ; and, indeed, the position of Strauss is in many
respects not unlike that of Spinoza. Both mark a crisis ; both struck at the most deeplycherished theological doctrines of their times. Before mankind could pass over the great
chasm between the frozen realm of stiff supernaturalism, and lifeless rationalism, on the
one side, and the fair domain of free religious thought, where the only essential creed is the
Christian motto, “Be perfect, as your Father in Heaven is perfect,” and the only essential
form of religion is love to your neighbour as to yourself, and to God with the whole heart,
mind, and soul, on the other,—some one must plunge in, devoting himself unconsciously,
or even against his will, for the welfare of the race. This hard lot Strauss lias chosen for
himself, and done what many wished to have done, but none dared to do. His book,
therefore, must needs be negative, destructive, and unsatisfactory. Mr Strauss must not
be taken as the representative of the German theologians. Men of all parties condemn
this work; and men of all parties accept it. You see its influence in the writings of
Tholuck, De Wette, and Neander; men who have grown old in being taught and teaching.
The liberal party has fallen back afraid of its principles ; the stationary party has come
forward, though reluctantly. The wonderful ability with which it is written, the learning,
so various and exact, wherewith it is stored, are surprising in any one, but truly extra
ordinary in so juvenile an author; born 1808. For our own part, we rejoice that the book
has been written, though it contains much that we cannot accept. May the evil it pro
duces soon end! But the good it does must last for ever. To estimate it aright, we
must see more than a negative work in its negations. Mr Strauss has plainly asked the
question, “ What are the historical facts that lie at the basis of the Christian movement?”
Had he written with half this ability, and with no manner of fairness, in defence of some
popular dogma of his sect, and against freedom of thought and reason, no praise would
have been too great to bestow upon him. What if he is sometimes in error; was a theo
logian never mistaken before? What if he does push his mythical liyyothesis too far;
did Luther, Zwingle, Calvin, make no mistakes ? Did they commit no sins ? Yet Strauss,
we think, has never cursed, and we are certain that he never burned, an opponent! We
honour the manly openness which has said so plainly what was so strongly felt. We
cannot say, as a late highly distinguished divine used to say, that we “ should not be
sorry to see the work re-published here,” because there is no general theological scholar
ship to appreciate its merits and defects. With many of his doctrines, as we understand
them, especially his dogmas relative to God and immortality, we have no sympathy; but
as- little fear that they will do a permanent injury anywhere. We still believe our real
enemies are “the Flesh and the Devil,” and that neither the philosophy of Hegel, nor
the biblical criticism of the Germans, will ever weaken the popular faith in God or man,
or the pure religion that mediates between the two. Strauss has thrown a huge stone
into the muddy pool of theology, and it will be long before its splashing waters find their
former repose and level. Let it not be supposed Strauss is an exponent of the German
school of theology or religion, as it is sometimes unwisely ur^xl. He is a single element
in a vast mass. His work finds opponents in the leaders aYihe three great Protestant
theological parties in Germany. The main body of theologians there is represented by
Schleiermacher, Tholuck, Neander, De Wette, and men of a similar spirit. Strauss is
the representative of a small party. He is by no means the representative of the fol
lowers of Hegel, many of whom are opposed to him.
�14
The whole book has the savour of Pantheism pervading it, as we think, using Pantheism
in its best sense, if our readers can find a good sense for it. He does not admit a per
sonal God, we are told, and, therefore, would not admit of a personal Christ, or incarnation
of God. This, we suspect, is the sole cause of his aversion to personalities. But he
nowhere avows this openly and plainly ; we, therefore, only give it as our conjecture,
though Tholuck openly calls him a Pantheist of the school of Hegel, defining that school
“ Atheistic
while Ullman brings the same charge, but with much more modesty,
asking men to translate it more mildly if they can.
We are not surprised at the sensation Mr Strauss has excited in Germany, nor at the
number of replies which have been showered down upon him. Destruction always makes
a great noise, and attracts the crowd, but nobody knows when the Gospels were pub
lished, and the world doubtless was in no great haste to receive them. It is fortunate the
book has been written in the only country where it can be readily answered. We have
no fears for the final result. Doubtless, some will be shaken in their weakly-rooted faith;
and the immediate effect will probably be bad; worse than former religious revolutions
with them. The Eationalists took possession of the pulpit, but unlike Strauss, says Mr
Tholuck, they pulled down no churches. But we have no fear that any church will be
destroyed by him. If a church can be destroyed by criticism, or a book, however pun
gent, the sooner it falls the better. A church, we think, was never written down, except
by itself. To write down the true Christian Church seems to us as absurd as to write
down the solar system, or to put an end to tears, joys, and prayers. Still less have we
any fear, that Christianity itself should come to an end, as some appear to fancy; a form
of religion, which has been the parent and the guardian of all modern civilisation ; which
has sent its voice to the ends of the world; and now addresses equally the heart of the
beggar and monarch; winch is the only bond between societies ; an institution, cherished
and clung to by the choicest hopes, the deepest desires of the human race, is not in a
moment to be displaced by a book. “There has long been a fable among men,” says an
illustrious German writer, “and even in these days it is often heard ; unbelief invented
it, and little belief has taken it up. It runs thus: There will come a time, and, perhaps, it
has already come, when it will be all over with this Jesus of Nazareth; and this is right.
The memory of a single man is fruitful only for a time. The human race must thank
him for much; God has brought much to pass through him. But he is only one of us,
and his hour to be forgotten will soon strike. It has been his earnest desire to render
rhe world entirely free; it must, therefore, be his wish to make it free also from himself,
that God may be all in all. Then men will not only know that they have power enough
in themselves to obey perfectly the will of God ; but in the perfect knowledge of this,
they can go beyond its requisitions, if they only will! Yea, when the Christian name is
forgotten, then for the first time shall a universal kingdom of love and truth arise, in
which there shall lie no more any seed of enmity, that from the beginning has been con
tinually sown between such as believe in Jesus, and the children of men. But this fable
can never be true. Ever, since the day that he was in the flesh, the Redeemer’s image
has been stamped ineffaceably on the hearts of men. Even if the letter should perish,—
which is holy, only because it preserves to us this image,—the image itself must remain
for ever. It is stamped so deep in the heart of man, that it never can be effaced, and the
word of the Apostle will ever be true, ‘ Lord, whither shall we go? thou only hast the
words of eternal life.’ ”
NEOLOGICAL SEBIES.-No, I.
OPULAR
ZiV THE PRESS AND NEARLY READY,
Cheap Edition, Price Is. 6d.
CHRISTIANITY: its Transition State
and Probable
Development. By Frederick J. Foxton, A.B., formerly of Pembroke College, Oxford,
and Perpetual Curate of Stoke Prior and Docklow, Herefordshire.
To facilitate the Circulation of the Series in Country Districts, Two Copies will be sent per
Post, free, on the receipt of a letter containing Postage Stamps to the amount of Three
Shillings.
P
JOHN ROBERTSON, “Bookseller and Publisher,
21 Maxwell Street, Glasgow.
�
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The religious sentiment : its influence on life
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Text
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
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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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[1873]
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Religion
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Church History-600-1500
Conway Tracts
Middle Ages
Monasticism and Religious Orders
Religious Orders
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Text
THE RELIGIOUS FACULTY:
ITS RELATION TO THE OTHER FACULTIES,
AND ITS PERILS.
MATTHEW MACFIE.
PUBLISHED BY THOMAS SCOTT,
NO. 11, THE TERRACE, FARQUHAR ROAD,
UPPER NORWOOD, LONDON, S.E.
Price Sixpence.
��THE RELIGIOUS FACULTY:
ITS RELATION TO THE OTHER FACULTIES,
AND ITS PERILS.
HE religious instinct in man, and. the function it per
forms,
of human nature, has been
Tvariously as a constituentTheist would represent the reli
defined. The
gious sentiment within us as implanted expressly to excite
aspirations which can only be satisfied with high con
ceptions of the Infinite. Religion, according to him,
consists in adoring some one Almighty Cause—a being
clothed with the attributes of what we are accustomed
to term a Person^ very wise, just, and kind ; a sort of high
order of man indefinitely magnified, to whose control we
should at all times cheerfully submit. Religion, as con
ceived by the Positivist, on the other hand, and in many
instances by the Pantheist, ought not to be connected
with the worship of an alleged Infinite Intelligence, or
an alleged almighty Person at all; because, as the
holders of these opinions aver, the existence of a per
sonal God is not capable of proof. All so-called
evidences of the existence of such a God, they remind
us, are a petitio principii—the major and the minor
premises in the argument, ever and anon changing
places, the subject relating to something foreign to all
known analogies,—quite outside the possibilities of our
grasp and the bounds of our experience. Religion, as
understood by the disciples of these two latter schools,
is simply perverted when manifested in the conventional
�4
The Religious Faculty.
forms of praise and prayer, addressed to an Entity we
choose to call God ; and to adore as a great and good
Father, such a personage, it is insisted, is but the pro
jection in the mind of the most exalted ideal of human
Fatherhood. They tell us that the end of our constitu
tion and the interests of humanity can only be effectu
ally served by the real and the knowable in this busi
ness, engaging our attention to the exclusion of the in
definable and the unknowable. There is sense and
nobleness, say the Positivist and the Pantheist, in the
attitude of a mind inspired by the high intellectual and
moral qualities found in “ the illustrious living and the
mighty dead there is something beautiful and becom
ing in the passionate and self-sacrificing love of a brave
man, cherishing and adoring a chaste, lovely, unselfish,
and sweetly-cultured woman; it is a rational and
proper vent for the religious sentiment to pour itself
forth in tender and devout reverence for higher
humanity as the one comprehensible organ of great
achievements in the realms of thought and deed in the
universe ; true religion consists in opening up by word
and example, to our less enlightened fellow creatures,
the power and glory of obedience to law in every
department of being, as the cure for the world’s mani
fold evils; and in unfolding this revelation of law in
all its rich beneficence in a genuine sympathetic spirit,
and thus contributing to the general improvement of
the race; so our friends of Comtism and philosophic
Pantheism would inculcate. They are not so dogmatic
as positively to deny, a priori, the possibility of a per
sonal God. They confess themselves ever open to con
viction on the subject; they simply say that in the pre
sent state of our existence the subject is evidently
unsuited to our faculties, and that we are at present
incapable of solving the problem. But, howsoever the
religious sentiment arose, and whatever be the proper
and rational objects on which it ought to expend itself,
one thing is certain, that there is an element in
�The Religious Faculty.
5
humanity, known by the name of Religion, though
unanimity in the definition of it seems to be unattain
able. Now, what I wish more particularly to assert, is
that the religious faculty, tendency, principle, or what
ever one may please to call it, bears an analogy in its
origin, growth, and development, to the other powers of
the mind. Like any other mental force, the religious
principle is governed and trained by fixed laws and
knowable conditions. Its place in our constitution is
just as natural as that of the other powers, and it has
no more contact with the supernatural than any other
attribute of the mind. If the other powers are under
supernatural influence, so is this one ; if it is under such
an influence, so are they. In this respect, there is no
difference between them.
It is found—this tendency to worship—in different
degrees of strength and forms of manifestation in
different individual organizations. In some minds the
sense of music is naturally strong, and where this is the
case, contact with melodies and harmonies instinctively
thrills the soul, wakes up to consciousness the born
affinity for the beautiful in sound, where that affinity
exists, and lifts up the nature in joyous emotion. The
nice discrimination of chords rises in such persons to
the height of a divine passion; and where the musical
faculty towers above the other powers it usually
prompts to effort in mastering the science of music or
the use of some musical instrument. But while this is
true, the appreciation of music is not confined to men
of great musical tastes. There is no sane mind without
the capacity, more or less, of receiving pleasant impres
sions from musical compositions, performed or sung.
But there is always this marked difference between the
average man and the one who is a musician by nature,
that the possessor of the born gift has a specific genius
that places him in rapt sympathy with the object to
which that genius irresistibly tends, whereas the
ordinary mind has only so vague and unimpassioned a
B
�6
The Religious Faculty.
sense of the thing as to be unable clearly to distinguish
the strains of a Mendelsohn from the drawl of some
village Puritan meeting-house.
The very same difference comes before us every day
in reference to all the arts and sciences. In numbers,
physics, painting, philosophy, poetry, philanthropy,
commerce, and morals, it is clear that men are not con
stituted alike, with the same power to enjoy these kinds
of human culture, and excel in them. Everybody
knows something of arithmetic; it is only intellectual
giants that ever soar to the sublimer knowledge and
applications of Mathematics. We all understand some
thing of the rocks; few have the geological instinct of
a Murchison. We can all handle a pencil; few deserve
to be called artists. Most can appreciate the practical
results of logic; it is rare to meet men whose keen
penetration can see through the fallacies of reasoning,
and who can build up systems of immortal wisdom.
All can make rhyme; few can utter 11 thoughts that
breathe and words that burn.” Not many are entirely
destitute of pity for suffering, want, and ignorance ; yet
the world has known few Howards, whose devotion to
the cause of easing the burdens of suffering was a
supreme delight to them. Anybody can be an obscure
trader; but that peculiar grasp and enterprise are
seldom met with which place men in the rank of largeminded merchants. There is no man absolutely without
a conscience; it is only in a small minority that the
moral faculty is delicately sensitive, shrinking from
equivocal speech and unfair dealing, as the open eye
would shrink from the prick of a needle.
In human beings, then, the spiritual capacity or re
ligious organ is analogous to other powers of the mind,
and is naturally of very varied grades. I suppose there
is no nation or individual without some sense—latent
or developed, crude or cultured—of religious veneration.
Among the common order of Chinese this veneration
takes the form of the worship of ancestors ; among the
�‘The Religious Faculty.
7
lowest Africans, the worship of a fetish ; among the
followers of Comte, the worship of woman in the
domestic circle and the worship of Humanity in its
highest aspects, in public religious observances. Most
Christians worship an Almighty One, whom tradition
has taught them to regard and address as an Infinite
Person. But have we not known people-—-some of
them of high moral principles and refined tastes—who
seemed almost incapable of entering into popular re
ligious ideas, so constitutionally faint was their power
of realising the Infinite with awe, love, or devotion?
While others, differently constituted, have been stirred
to deep feeling by hymn, prayer, or theological dis
course, this class of minds have remained stoical
phenomena to themselves quite as much as they have
appeared to be to others. Of course I only refer here
to persons who act from principle, and not to the un
thinking, sensual multitude. If this stoical but en
lightened class join in the ritual of any Church, it is
simply in deference to some ancestral practice, or for
the sake of example; if they refrain from uniting with
assemblies of worshippers, it is because what interests
and invigorates the minds of others seems to persons
of their ideas unreal, if not unnecessary. They frankly
own that they do not feel the least dependence on
public or private devotional services for stimulus in the
expansion of their intellect or the discipline of their
character.
The most superficial observation shows it therefore
to be an unjust and an unsafe test of character to judge
men by, whether or not they take an intense and a con
tinuous interest in popular religious devotions and ser
mons. There can be no doubt that large numbers of
most thoughtful, high-minded, and earnest men and
women believe that they derive considerable moral
strength and direction from the habit of observing the
ritual of some Church or other; and what they feel to
be true to their religious wants and tastes they ought
�8
The Religious Faculty.
not to be discouraged from following. At the same
time it must be confessed that it is possible for a man
to be irresistibly drawn within this charmed and
hallowed atmosphere of conventional worship, and yet
be very imperfectly cultured and developed in reason
ing, aesthetic, social and moral qualities—elements of
the first importance in a complete human development.
The mind is a dwelling of many chambers. In some
instances, one or two rooms are spacious and wellfurnished, and signs of special life and activity are
visible in them; while the other rooms are very small
and mean, and a stillness reigns in them that would
almost lead one to think they were untenanted ; and
to make matters worse, there are in such minds no
doors or windows communicating between chamber and
chamber, but these are separated from each other by
blank walls. Such is a rough illustration of a mind
badly constructed, ill-balanced, misgoverned. But in
the dwelling rightly built, the rooms, though of various
size, are all well-kept and occupied by living and active
tenants, and there is a free, wdiolesome, and pleasant
communication between chamber and chamber—the
judgment, the imagination, the memory, the will, the
affections, the conscience, the religious organ, all active,
all living harmoniously under the same roof, all aiding
each other’s mutual concord, vigour, and elevation.
But to say that the man fondest of theological ways of
looking at things, and habituated to what are techni
cally known as “religious services”—to say that he
in whom the tendency to worship is strongest has
necessarily the noblest type of mind, is a fallacy which
a wider view of the science of mind, of life, and of re
ligion must sooner or later dispel. We are, as to the
master-bias of the mind, very much creatures of organi
sation, and we ought not to attach a superstitious and
an undue value to that part of us, right and useful as it
is in its place, which it has been the interest of priest
craft in all ages to rate above all the other powers. It
�The Religious Faculty.
9
has been the fashion to think that if a man be only
■what is termed “ a religious character,” he must be good
in the best and broadest sense all round. But this
statement is not to be implicitly accepted. I see no
reason to grieve if strong religious tendencies, such as
manifest themselves in pious but vague emotionalism,
have not been born in our constitution. We are only
■responsible for the talents we inherit; and different
preponderating faculties in different men are all equally
needful, like the variegated hues in nature, to give
beautiful and harmonious diversity to intellectual,
moral, and religious life. It is an absurd superstition
to think that because a man has not a natural capacity
for intense religious impulse, but only possesses a cool
reasoning mind, artistic skill, or fine moral intuitions, he
is therefore inferior to the person who is susceptible of
rhapsodical fervours. There is an impression, none the
less real though not often openly declared, that the re
ligious fanatic, even if he almost graze the line between
the saue and the insane, possesses a gift intrinsically
more precious than those gifts, in minds of the induc
tive order, which have been chiefly instrumental in
unlocking the wonders of science, and setting forth the
multiplying harmonies of the universe. The lips that
indulge most eloquently in improvable and often far
fetched conceptions of spirit life in that state from
which no traveller has ever returned to describe; the
lips that pour forth in most bold, burning allegorical
diction, penitent laments and earnest petitions to the
Almighty Person, are held to be touched with a more
god-like inspiration than are the lips that only utter
the varied wisdom pertaining to visible things and
every-day life. The notion, not so much preached as
acted in orthodox circles, is that the Almighty is
chiefly an ecclesiastical potentate, a punisher of theolo
gical heresy, a sort of Pope or “ Holy Father,” who is
rather disposed to look askance at the strivings of mere
philosophic, scientific, and literary minds after the
�io
The Religious Faculty.
ideals of perfection that lure them on respectively in
their different spheres of thought and struggle towards
perfection. He is mainly conceived of by Christendom
as seated in a high chair of state, surrounded with
angels and pensive saints, very much as Pio Nono is by
his cardinals, with his hand stretched out to bless hiselect, or to deal out damnation to the reprobate. The
position which the devoutly orthodox deem most be
coming and most divinely approved, is one of incessant
humiliation, self-crucifixion, and supplication. What
is the natural and, in general, the actual result of this
sentimentalism, which nine-tenths of the frequented
churches and chapels tend to foster? One-sided as
contrasted with many-sided culture, which latter is the
happy, rational, and healthful distinction of the man
proportionately developed—excess and unshapeliness
in one direction, and defect and contraction in another
direction. The strength that should have been har
moniously diffused over the whole man has been caught
up and monopolized by some morbid, over-grown part.
The consistent evangelical devotee is taught to wander
so habitually in the imagined scenes of a life at present
unrevealed, that the pith required to enable us to
grapple with the difficulties, and to give effect to the
enterprises of this world, is thereby greatly impaired.
Hence we look in vain, as a rule, to this lop-sided class
of minds, for the most part, to aid powerfully in the
wise conduct of public affairs in the nation or in the
borough, or in extending the domain of science. Their
celestial musings give to them a contorted and lack-adaisical air, which in a great measure unfits them for a
thoroughly human, unbiassed interest in the universal'
progress of society.
By a few artistic touches, Mr Matthew Arnold hits
off the portrait I would fain sketch, with more truth
than may to some be palatable. With special reference
to Evangelical non-conformists (though the description
quite as aptly applies to Evangelical churchmen), he
�The Religious Faculty.
11
asks, “What can be the reason of this undeniable pro
vincialism, which has two main types, a bitter type and
a smug type, but which in both its types is vulgarising,
and thwarts the full perfection of our humanity ? . . .
It is the tendency in us to Hebraise, as we call it;
that is to sacrifice all other sides of our being to the
religious side. This tendency has its cause in the
divine beauty and grandeur of religion; but we have
seen that it leads to a narrow and twisted growth of our
religious side itself, and to a failure in perfection. If
we tend to Hebraise even in an Establishment, with
the main current of national life flowing round us, and
reminding us in all ways of the variety and fulness of
human existence, . . . how much more must we tend
to Hebraise when we lack such preventives. . . . The
sectary’s Eigene grosse Erfindungen, as Goethe calls
them,—the precious discoveries of himself and his
friends for expressing the inexpressible, and defining
the indefinable in peculiar forms of their own, cannot
but fill his whole mind. He is zealous to do battle
for them and affirm them, for in affirming them he
affirms himself, and that is what we all like. Other
sides of his being are thus neglected, because the re
ligious side, always tending in every serious mind to
predominance over our other spiritual sides, is in him
made quite absorbing and tyrannous by the condition
of self-assertion and challenge which he has chosen for
himself. And just, what is not essential in religion, he
comes to mistake for essential, and a thousand times
the more readily because he has chosen it of himself,
and religious activity he fancies to consist in battling
for it. All this leaves him little leisure or inclination
for culture. . . . His first crude notions of the one thing
needful do not get purged, and they invade the whole
spiritual man in him, and then making a solitude, he
calls it heavenly peace. The more prominent the re
ligious side the greater the danger of this side swelling
and spreading till it swallows all other spiritual sides
�12
The Religious Faculty.
up, intercepts and absorbs all nutriment which should
have gone to them, and leaves Hebraism rampant in us,
and Hellenism stamped out. Culture and the har
monious perfection of our whole being, and what we
call totality, then become secondary matters ; and the
institutions which should develope these take the same
narrow and partial view of humanity and its wants as
the free religious communities take.’'
“ But men of culture and poetry, it will be said, are
again and again failing, and failing conspicuously, in
the necessary first stage to perfection, in the subduing
of the great faults of our animality, which it is the glory
of these religious institutions to have helped us to
subdue. True, they do often so fail; they have often
been without the virtues as well as the faults of the
Puritan ; it has been one of their dangers that they so
felt the Puritan’s faults that they too much neglected
the practice of his virtues. I will not, however, ex
culpate them at the Puritan’s expense; they have
often failed in morality, and morality is indispensable ;
they have been punished for their failure as the Puritan
has been rewarded for his performance. They have
been punished wherein they erred; but their ideal of
beauty and sweetness and light, and a human nature
complete on all sides remains the true ideal of perfection
still, just as the Puritan’s ideal of perfection remains
narrow and inadequate, although for what he did well,
he has been richly rewarded.”*
The chief peril, then, to which persons of the reli
gious temperament are prone consists in supposing as
much of the evangelical teaching of the country has
led many to do—that intense fondness for the forms,
ceremonies, and theological speculations of orthodoxy
is necessarily a mark of great superiority of character,
great breadth of view, strength of moral purpose, and
general elevation of mind. But we do not usually find
*“ Culture and Anarchy,” pp. xxii., xxiii., xxiv., xxxii.,
xxxiv., 27, 28.
�The Religious Faculty.
the two classes of qualities to be quite compatible.
The organisation, may be ill-adjusted. The religious
sentiment may predominate just as an inordinate ten
dency towards music, poetry, mathematics, or any other
engrossing pursuit may predominate, and make the
character one-sided. The love of acts of worship and
•of devout themes may be so fervent as to tempt the
-religious enthusiast to look upon the sober realities and
•duties of the work-a-day world as stale in comparison
with the former. He may be so blinded by his ruling
passion as not to see the close bearing which that ruling
passion should have upon the rough work of ordinary life.
Misguided constitutional religiousness may isolate him
from humanity, and may become content to find a
channel for itself in a mere round of little church
activities. I should be far from disputing the sunshine
shed upon scenes of ignorance and trouble by zeal and
benevolence of the ecclesiastical type, narrow though its
range may be. But this extreme susceptibility to im
pression from mystic symbols, and pious ceremonials,
and celestial contemplations, those high-toned emotions
of reverence, and imagined affection for the Infinite;
that resistless impulse to adore God—sometimes in lan
guage too familiar to befit our very dim and partial
knowledge of Him—may, after all, be but a refined form
of luxuriousness, which often, like a huge upas-tree,
uasts its deadly shade upon the virtues of moral courage,
self-restraint, transparent honesty, candour, charity,
and open-hearted kindness. It by no means follows
that because a man has strong affinities naturally for
worship—“ the dim religious light,” the prostration of
soul, the poetry of religious sentiment, and the associa
tions of a church, that he should therefore necessarily
have a vigorous moral faculty, or a fuller and clearer
sense of right and duty than other men have. Just as
there is no necessity in one being a poet because he is
an eminent mechanical inventor, or in another having
a penchant for languages because he revels in the art of
�14
The Religious Faculty.
painting. So a man is not necessarily distinguished
for unselfishness because he has acquired the habit of
devout exercises. Yet this last is the illusion that en
chains and lowers morally many of the religious sects of
the land. It is the working of this jaundiced idea of
religion as a thing fed by pious books, theological
dogmas, and acts of church devotion, that at the present
moment is stopping the way of such a sound secular
education as the nation urgently requires. While the
clergy of different churches are squabbling as to what
form of grace should be said before meat, the poor
children gathered to the meal are starving. The ortho
dox tell us that where something technically called
“ grace ” enters the heart it supernaturally leavens the
whole being, and inevitably moulds the mind into en
lightenment and obedience.* But do we see it to be
so in fact ? On the contrary, many who think they
have received the so-called principle of “ grace ” are
often the greatest sinners against the laws of reason,
the laws of physiology, and the laws of family and
social life; and no wonder, for the whole tendency ©f
popular religious teaching is to foster the notion that
the surest outward sign of godliness lies in a quickened
inclination to attend to the religious duties prescribed
by ministers and churches. If there be any remissness
in this matter, the worshippers are soon reminded that
their spiritual life is on the wane, that “the Holy
Ghost” is forsaking them, and that to recover their
enthusiasm they must come together, pray for “the
outpouring of the Holy Ghost,” and be revived.
General culture of intellect, disposition, and character
goes for little with them, or is only treated by the
* Henry Ward Beecher cannot help sometimes letting the
latent force of the strong common sense within him burst
through the stratum of dogmatic theology that overlays it. In
a frank mood of this kind, he is reported to have said, and said
justly : “ A man born right the, first timeis very superior to the
man who has been converted under the influence of religion.”
�The Religious Faculty
i5
preacher as a “self-righteous delusion ” as long as an
unctuous sort of interest in prayings and preach
ings is absent. While this constant forcing of thereligious organ is kept supreme in the evangelical mind,
it is not to be expected that the enforcement of moral
virtues from the pulpit would have much effect. How
rarely do we find the true end of life have its proper
place in sermons ; I mean the discipline and culture of
the whole nature as the highest matter. Every part
getting its due, so that the building shall grow up
“ fitly framed together.” In well arranged minds; all
the powers—animal, intellectual, moral, and religiousare duly proportioned. A suitable education is brought
to bear for the right and harmonious unfolding of these
powers ; and in that case, religion is like the summer
air, which plays over the whole bright landscape, and
diffuses health and fragrance around. But when, either
from a mis-shapen mind or a defective training, the
religious organ has come to be a monstrous growth,
when it overshadows the other powers, and draws up
into itself the strength needed for the support of the
other powers, and fritters its power away in whining or
hysterical excitement; then this very supremacy of the
religious element offers temptation to neglect of moral,
and intellectual self-training;—offers temptation to omit
proper care for the plain homely virtues that shed radi
ance in the family and in general society. According
to the doleful system of thought and life, accepted as
religion in orthodox christendom, the supreme aim is to
get to Heaven, and the supreme method of giving effect
to that aim, is to resemble on earth, as much as possible,
the ideal life of Heaven as conceived by evangelicism ;
and what does the orthodox world mean by Heaven 1
The. words of Andrew Jackson Davis come forcibly tomy mind : “ Almost every one’s educational memory will
answer that by ‘ Heaven ’ is meant a place far off, the
residence of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost; a
solemn celestial abode where mirthfulness is not per-
�16
The Religious Faculty.
mitted ; where persons appear as monks and nuns,
beautifully arrayed in white, but always with a medita
tive, abstract poetic appearance, and on their faces, an
indescribable expression of unsmiling, cadaverous piety
. . . all engaged in the same rapt devotions to the
august family of gods ; a cold and dreary place ; a place
of unbroken circumspection and inferiority. It makes
us feel as though we were on the verge of an everlast
ing graveyard, to think of it.” * Where such religious
conceptions prevail, I do not hesitate to say that the
man of naturally strong devotional fervour cannot yield
to them without mental injury. Excessive, absorbing
acts of worship, offered in this spirit, tend to drain off
the strength that ought to sustain the other powers,
and that it should be so, is according to natural law.
What is strong in us grows stronger by use, and what
is weak grows weaker by disuse. Let there be an
inordinately active brain by nature, and correspondingly
feeble limbs. Of course the more the passion for study
is gratified, where there is such a constitution, the more
quickly does the vigour of the feeble member decline.
It is not otherwise with the faculties of mind, as experi
ence and history abundantly prove.
Individuals, societies, and even nations supply sad
and striking examples of the danger of falling into subtle
temptation, to lift the religion of sentiment above the
religion of high morals, to lose sight of the claims of
the one in the sensuous fascinations of the other. This
forgetting of a sense of practical goodness in holy
raptures and visions, this blending of contradictions in
the same character, appears at a very early period. The
life of the patriarch Jacob—if we may rely on the Old
Testament story—was poisoned by this error. “ Like
those tissues of the loom, which, seen from one point
of view, are all bright with colours and radiant with
gold, while, if you change your position, they appear
dark and sombre, the life of Jacob comes before us as a
strange paradox, shot with the most marvellous diversi* Morning Lectures, American Edition, p. 107.
�The Religious faculty.
J7
ties. lie is the hero of faith, and the quick, sharpwitted schemer. To him the heavens are opened, and
his wisdom passes into the cunning which is of the
earth, earthy. One may see in him, lying close
together, the beginning of all we reverence in St John,
and of all that we tremble at in Judas.” *
This marvellous compound of the precious and the
vile in the Psalmist King is familiar to all thoughtful
readers of the Bible. While wafted in his poetic soar
ings to super-mundane spheres, and delighting in the
Tabernacle as the divinest spot on earth, there was a
plot going forward in his spirit of one of the foulest
deeds that ever stained humanity. The characteristics
of the Pharisees point in the same direction. During
a considerable period in Jewish history public opinion
put so high a value on ceremonial strictness, that a man
who prayed and fasted plentifully more readily got
credit for being a saint than if he had applied the same
zeal in keeping the natural and moral law, and, as
might be expected, candidates for the honour of saint
ship were not wanting where the terms were so freely
open to the competition of fanaticism, cant, and hypo
crisy. Not that all the Pharisees were victims of these
failings, though the tendency of their religious system
was to make them so. Religious observance was viewed
by orthodoxy then as now, as higher than moral duty.
The unwholesome air of their affected sanctities re
pressed the healthy workings of the natural conscience
within them, and, as will always beneficently happen
in such circumstances, the violated laws of nature
had their revenge. In being untrue to the higher
instincts of their being, the Pharisees, as a sect, fell a
prey to self-deception and hollowness, the natural
penalty of all religious unreality. The punctilious
tithing of “ the mint, the anise, and the cummin,” came
to be regarded by them as a weightier concern than the
claims of “judgment, mercy, and faith,” and thus the
* “Theology and Life,” Plumptre, pp. 299.
�18
The Religious Faculty.
religious element actually proved a barrier to their
proper moral development. There grew up in their
minds side by side, a sort of dreamy reverence for the
minute details of the Temple and Synagogue service on
the one hand, and an insensibility to the moral import
of religion on the other.
I wish I could believe that the perils and temptations
to which the religious faculty is exposed in persons of a
pre-eminently religious temperament, were things only
of the past. I fear these perils and temptations are
none the less insidious in worshipping communities
now. The life of great towns and the habits of civiliza
tion, though they do not exclude the recklessness of
Esau, tend more directly to produce the ungenerous
craft and mean subtlety of Jacob. I am not indifferent
to the painful fact that the mass of human beings in
the present very primitive stage of their rational de
velopment, are found living mere animal lives, reck
lessly disregarding ennobling influences, which lack of
culture, or lack of the opportunity for culture, incapaci
tates them from appreciating. But we cannot forget
that there are faults of another kind,—prudential
vices, such as narrow bigotry, bitter spleen, gnawing
envy, brutal uncharitableness, pious superciliousness,
unworthy bland trickiness, and the like, unfortunately
compatible with orderly and reputable lives. And the
formidable aspect of the case is that these are largely the
besetting perils of men constitutionally inclined to reli
gion; and perhaps there is no class of men more prone to
these peculiar dangers and temptations than those whom
popular superstition still more or less invests with the
halo of sacred separation as professional religious
teachers. * On no class of men is outward success in
their calling more morally deteriorating, none are so
tempted to court the breath of popular applause, and
none are more prone to professional envy and jealousy.
Such dangers and temptations do not usually connect
themselves with a formal and deliberate hypocrisy, but
�The Religious Faculty.
*9
■with characters trained to some form of Theistic worship
and the sincerity of whose religion, as far as it goes,
there is no reason to doubt.
I despair of civilized nations ever reaching a very
high type of character as long as there are in the
institutions of popular religion such narrow tests of
piety and moral excellence as I have been describing,
for these tests cannot fail to divert the common mind
from those great moral principles and obligations to
which even religion itself was meant to be subservient.
What more calculated to distort the nature, nurse per
nicious conceit, and render a man indifferent alike to
the necessity and glory of moral advancement than the
theological fancies pandered to by Evangelical preaching
and writing ? The “ communicant ” is taught to believe
that he has been the subject of a miraculous change
from which the common herd of mankind is excluded,
that he has “ passed from death unto life,” that he has
been favoured with manifestations of some fond attach
ment on the part of Deity denied to ordinary mortals.
This “object of eternally electing love,” this “subject
of supernatural grace,” may be mean-spirited, may be
ignorant of the laws written upon his constitution, and
essential to be understood and obeyed as a condition of
rational happiness and intelligence ; he may have been
the victim of some habitual vice all through life, up to
the period at which he was “converted.” No matter;
let him only pass through the conventional process of
evangelical “regeneration,” and the very flower of in
tellectual and moral culture in the world, reverent
seekers after truth like Darwin, Herbert Spencer,
Huxley, Matthew Arnold, and Lecky, who are con
scientiously opposed to orthodoxy, are held to be
“ children of wrath,” and “ under the curse,” while this
ignorant, fanatical, conceited boor—as he may neverthe
less be,—is looked upon in his church as “born of God,”
“redeemed,” “a saint,” furnished with a passport to
heaven ! Am I rash, then, in asserting that the factitious
�20
The Religious hacuity.
importance attached to conversion and church-member
ship offers a strong temptation, especially to the weak
and crude natures, which are usually carried away by
such influences, to look down with a quiet, self-satis
fied arrogance upon those who have no .sympathy with
ecclesiastical ways of doing things as if they were,
religiously, plebeians. Albeit many of those frowned
upon by the churches have often a keener sense of
honour and kindness and unselfishness, and a more in
stinctive aversion to what is false and mean than many
who are reputed to live in the odour of sanctity.
There is one question that, with me, determines in a
moment the value of all creeds and churches. Do the
forms and dogmas of churches tend most effectually to
quicken and shape in us the development of the true,
the beautiful, and the good ? Are the characters which
are the logical outcome of creeds and rituals—conform
ing or nonconforming—really nobler and more enlight
ened than those planted in the virgin soil of natural
thought and natural morals ? Are the orthodox more
apt in the use of their understanding, more tender and
pure in their affections, more harmonious in the unfold
ing of their powers, more useful to mankind, more for
giving, more patient, more free from the enslavement
of passion or appetite, more faithful in the discharge of
social and relative duties ? I am not convinced by any
means that the legitimate product of evangelicism has
the advantage in this comparison.
I wish only to add that the business of religion
simply has to do with our being true to the higher
principles of humanity which are latent or developed
in the mind of every sane person, and with our obey
ing these principles after the fashion of our separate
individuality. Types of being vary even in the same
species through the realms of animal and vegetable life.
If the lily had the power to envy the rose, or the lichen
to covet the majesty of the oak, it would be a silly
waste of temper in that case to shew the envious or the
�The Religious Faculty.
21
■covetous disposition, for each, flower and tree has a
nature of its own so worthy of being cultivated that it
can afford to be above desiring to be not itself but
something else. So with man. Let any one but set
himself to make the most of himself, unsparing of his
imperfections, exercising a fostering care over his strong
and good qualities, and he will have no cause for regret
that he did not happen to have a different name and a
different nature. Churches and creeds cast all their
votaries into the same mould. Genuine religion makes
each one who understands and lives up to it, true to his
own higher individuality, while it causes his pulse to
beat in unison with the great common sentiments of
civilized humanity. I see no cause to mourn if my
religious faculty be not so vigorous as St Paul's, if my
piety be not formed on the pattern of John Bunyan’s,
or if I cannot take kindly to the leadership of Simeon,
Pusey, or Maurice. So far as I find these men striving
after those principles of eternal morality which underlie
all theologies and ecclesiasticisms; and respecting the
type of their separate individualities, I feel bound to
honour them as heartily as I may differ from them
conscientiously. So far as I find reason to believe
their motives pure and earnest, I am profited by their
example. But the principle which is to determine the
precise shape my mind and character shall take is the
natural cast of my being, the peculiar inborn struc
ture of my faculties and powers. The building up of
myself, according to the better idiosyncracies of my
constitution, is to me a sacred work. If I lose sight of
the claims my individuality imposes on me and set up
some model to copy and work by outside myself, I at
once pervert the divine plan in my individual life, ignore
the dictates of my nature, desecrate what in me is holiest,
and sink into a wretched plagiarist and mimic—my guilt
being none the less heinous because I am affecting to
be like some great saint or philosopher, attempting, in
short, to be something I was not intended to be.
�
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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 religious faculty: its relation to the other faculties and its perils
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Macfie, Matthew
Description
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Place of publication: London
Collation: 21 p. ; 18 cm.
Notes: From the library of Dr Moncure Conway.
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Thomas Scott
Date
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[187-?]
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G5470
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Religion
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 religious faculty: its relation to the other faculties and its perils), 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
A language of the resource
English
Conway Tracts
Religion