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SCIENTIFIC MEN
AND RELIGIOUS TEACHERS
mum
SUGGESTED BY PROFESSOR HUXLEY’S ADDRESS TO THE
STUDENTS OF THE UNIVERSITY OF ABERDEEN
AND
PREACHED IN THE FREE CHRISTIAN CHURCH, KENTISH TOWN
T-
■
BY
P. W. CLAYDEN
'Appovia 7ratra
avopoiow avyKeiTat
LONDON
E. T. WHITFIELD, 178, STRAND, W.C.
MANCHESTER : JOHNSON AND RAWSON
1874
�THE FREE CHRISTIAN CHURCH,
Clarence Road, Kentish Town,
ds founded on the principles set forth in the Constitution of
the late Free Christian Union:—
“ Whereas with the progressive changes of thought and feeling
uniformity in doctrinal opinion becomes ever more precarious, while
moral and spiritual affinities grow and deepen, and whereas the
Divine Will is summed up by Jesus Christ Himself in Love to
God and Love to Man, and the terms of pious union among men
should be as wide as those of communion with God:
“This Society, desiring a spiritual union co-extensive with these
terms, invites to common action all who deem men responsible, not
for the attainment of Divine truth, but only for the serious search of
it; and who rely, for the improvement of human life, on filial Piety
and brotherly Charity, with or without more particular agreement in
matters of doctrinal theology. Its object is, by relieving the Chris
tian life from reliance on theological articles or external rites, to save
it from conflict with the reason and conscience of mankind and
bring it back to the essential conditions of harmony between God
and Man 1”
�I.
“Then said Jesus unto the twelve, will ye also go away?
Then Simon Peter answered him, Lord, to whom shall we go ?
Thou hast the words of eternal life.”—JOHN vi. 67-68.
promised to day to speak
the remark
able
in Professor
address to
I HAVEpassageUniversity ofHuxley’son in which the
students of the
Aberdeen,
he
gives expression to the highest word of science in re
spect to practical religion. The subject, ho‘wever, sug
gests a preliminary question, which it is of great im
portance to discuss and settle. In giving what I regard
as the natural reply of religious men to a teacher
who tells them to do what they can to do what they
ought, and leaye hoping and fearing alone, one may
be open to the charge of making too much of one
transitory phase of scientific scepticism. But it has
always been my aim to connect the thought of the
Church with the thought of the world. Though the
preacher’s duty is to call your thoughts away from
the passing to the eternal, he should adopt the
spirit of the Terentian maxim, and his motto should
be, I am a man of my time, and whatever interests
the men of my time interests me. Now, one ten
dency of the men of our time is that of setting up
Popes. Caesarism in politics is the curious birth of
a democratic age, and the setting up of new autho
rities, even though it be authorities in scepticism, is
the remarkable effect of an outburst of free thought.
Because Mr. Huxley has made great discoveries as
to the physical basis of life he must assume to teach
us as to its spiritual duties. Because Mr. Darwin
has made some shrewd suggestions on the physical
origin of man I must sit at his feet to learn my des
�4
tiny. Because Dr. Tyndall has made large additions
to many realms of our knowledge of nature I must
accept his assurance that if I do anything else than
study material things I shall waste my time. This
setting up of oracles is a very ancient weakness of
mankind. The Church of Rome found rest in that
infallibility of the Church which, in our own days
has developed into the infallibility of the Pope.
When the Reformers revolted from this authority
they set up another, and for an infallible Church sub
stituted an infallible Book. The present generation
has broken away from an infallible Bible, and has
taken its unchained intellect, its daring thought, its
untameable speculation, to lay it all down at the feet
of infallible Science. It is as great a heresy in some
quarters to express a doubt as to the authority of a
scientific man, as in others it is to doubt the inspira
tion of the Bible, or in some others to question the in
fallibility of the Church. Men who laugh the Church
to scorn, and smile like superior beings on any one
who believes in the Bible, lose all their self-possession
in presence of a great scientific authority, and when
Huxley, or Tyndall, or Darwin, or Spencer speak,
uncover their heads as in the presence of an oracle
and say in manner, if not in words,—“ It is the voice of
a God, and not of a man.” This is not the fault of
scientific men—it is the fault of human nature. We
are too idle to think out a creed for ourselves, and we
are glad to find an authority to do our thinking for
us. To a certain extent we are right in so doing. If
a man has spent his life in the study of a single
question, he is likely to know more about it than
those of us who have only thought it over now and
then. If, for example, a man has occupied the best
years of his active life in studying the habits of an
insect—say, of a spider or a fly—he is likely to be an
authority on that point, and when he says anything
about spiders or flies, we yield to his superior know
ledge, and, until somebody else disproves all his
�5
peaching, we give him full allegiance and take our
belief about spiders and flies from his authority. But
that is the full extent to which we yield to authority.
If a man knows and I do not know; if he has seen
and I have not seen ; if he has studied and inves
tigated and I have not done so, I feel no shame in
yielding to his superior knowledge, and in that one
matter I sit at his feet and learn of him.
But mark whither this very simple principle leads
us. I hear men say that they scorn to be the disciples
of any man. They will take up with enthusiasm any
new fact which a scientific man tells them about the
distant past of this planet’s history; they will sit
with admiring delight at the feet of men who, having
patiently watched the heavens, or spent a lifetime in
studying the doings of an invisible animalcule, can
tell them of wonderful movements in the atmosphere
of the sun, or describe how a globe-shaped creature
in a drop of water can turn itself inside out; but when
great prophetic voices tell them of a universe which
they have seen in spiritual contemplation behind the
shadows of these material things ; or when a great
soul, standing far above our common level, cries down
the ages “ Come unto me all ye that labour and are
heavy laden and I will give you rest,” they laugh
such pretensions to scorn. To me it seems that both
kinds of teachers rest their claims on like foundations.
I do not know, a«id they do know. They testify to
me what they have seen and felt and handled, whether
of physical knowledge or of the Word of Life. Spend
ing our time in the world’s common duties, you and I
have no means of watching the physical phenomena
of the universe, and we take the testimony of men'
who have watched and seen. Occupied and immersed
in the world’s affairs we cannot draw aside into that
life of contemplation in which the seers and sages of
our race catch the outlines of other worlds, hear the
wisdom of the immortals, and hold communion with
God, and we therefore come to them, to learn divine
�6
wisdom from them and find the secret of their peace.
The mountain they ascend is veiled in clouds and
darkness ; but when they come down, like Moses of
old, with a light upon their faces which is not of this
earthly sun, and tell the story of their converse face
to face with God, I am content to accept on their
authority what I cannot verify for myself. And when
in one among them I see the signs of a divine en
lightenment ; when in his life I feel that all which
conscience tells me is embodied and acted out; when
his precepts speak to my heart as never man spake
before, I am content to come and sit at his feet and
hear his words ; I feel no shame in looking up to him
and being discipledto him. Thou knowest and I am
ignorant—oh teach me wisdom. Thou seest and I
am blind—oh lead my way. “ Lord, to whom shall we
go?—Thou hast the words of Eternal Life.”
Now it seems to me that Peter’s expression in these
words gives us the true attitude of discipleship. How
natural an attitude it is. If a man has knowledge
which I do not possess I take it from him as an
authority. Among the blind the one-eyed is king—
so, among the ignorant, the man who knows is lord.
But here comes in the abuse of this principle against
which I want to enter a protest to-day. The principle
on which all discipleship is based, is—superiority. If
I feel that a man is my superior in any matter, I feel
so far rest and satisfaction in leaving myself in his
hands. If beyond this, I have a perfect trust in his
goodness, in his friendly and benevolent feeling, and
in his personal regard for me, my tendency to lean on
him is indefinitely increased. It is the very same
feeling which makes the child hush its crying when
the mother’s arms are round it, or the young man
happy and contented in the course of conduct he
takes under his father’s counsel. It is the feeling, too,
which enables an army to go into the trackless bush
and face an almost invisible and numberless enemy,
under the guidance of a leader whose knowledge it
�7
trusts, and whose wisdom it believes in. But this
•very mingling of personal affection in discipleship
gives rise to an abuse. For example, is there any
reason why a soldier, who might follow a great com
mander into battle should therefore take from the
same man his political opinions or his religious creed ?
Yet it seems to me that this is exactly the mistake
which has been made in all time. It was no doubt
wise that in the mediaeval church some authority
should rule the ecclesiastical body in matters of dis
cipline and ritual; and this arrangement grew into an
infallible Church and Pope. It was well in the stir
ring times of the Reformation to have some authority
to fall back on, reverend in its age, venerable in its
associations, and this was found in the words which
had come down in the Bible from the prophetic souls
of fotmer ages. But because these holy men of old
could inspire our devotion and lead our praise, they,
too, were set up as infallible teachers of universal
knowledge, and their words, whether they spoke of
those spiritual things which they knew or of those
worldly and scientific things of which they were
ignorant, were all alike taken as inspired, and infallible,
and divine. Something parallel to this is now taking
place in respect of science. The age has made won
derful discoveries. It has pushed the bright bound
aries of our knowledge over vast plains that to our
fathers lay in the boundless desert of the unknown
and unknowable. It has won a victory over nature
and the forces of the outer world, such as earlier ages
had never dreamed of. But when our scientific men
come back to tell the story of the vast conquests they
have made, we ask them of other matters. Because
a man has. found out the laws of bodily health we
ask him to tell us what will happen to us when we
die. Because he has patiently watched some spider
weave his web, or learned the ways and habits of a
bird, or noted the movement and measured the diam
eter of some distant star, we ask him to unfold for
�8
us the great web of Providence, or tell us the ways of
heaven, or foretell the movement of the great thought
of God. I have heard it asserted from our liberal
pulpits, and have seen it preached in the newspapers,
that our scientific men are the true teachers of the age,
and some of them evidently take the flattering
unction to their souls and believe it. No doubt they
are teachers—teachers of science, but as a President
of the British Association, an eminent man of science
and a religious man, reminded them from the chair a
couple of years ago—not teachers of religion. I will
sit at their feet when they discourse of what they
know. I will be discipled to them when they tell me
of what they have seen and found ; but when they
step beyond their knowledge and tell me that the
great spiritual geniuses of the past were wrong ; that
the prophetic souls of history, the mediators who
catch the light of heaven and reflect it upon us, were
mere enthusiasts ; when they bring their telescopes
to. find out God, and seek for the immortal life by
chemical analysis, I follow them no farther. “Jesus I
know, and Paul I know, but who are ye ? ” And
as I turn from such helpless intruders upon holy
ground I see the gentle face of the Man of Sorrows
looking down on me in my disappointment and dis
may, and I cry again with one of old—“Lord, to
whom shall we go?—Thou hast the words of Eternal
Life.”
You will not misunderstand me in saying this. I
an? by no means depreciating science. In many
things it can guide us, though it cannot yet become
the Providence of life. Nor do I objeet to scientific
men setting forth the bearing of their discoveries on
many of the old doctrines of the Church. You will,
however, observe that in many cases they do not do
this, but, like Mr. Huxley, love to go deeper and to give
advice as to the conduct of life. But let us ask what
it is that qualifies a man to speak. Professor Tyndall
writes on heat and kindred subjects, Professor Huxley
�9
on biological subjects. They know more about these
matters than anybody else, and I hear them as oracles.
But there are deeper things I want to hear about than
these. Mr. Huxley quotes from the great German
philosopher one of those profound truths which it is
given only to great genius to utter. “ The ultimate
object of all knowledge,” says Kant, “ is to give replies
to three questions; what can I do; what ought I to do;
what may I hope for.” Is not that statement true;
is it not a summary of the questions that are
practically important to man ? But if a man is to
answer them for me I naturally ask his qualifications
for the task. Does he know my duty ? Can he tell
me the limits of my powers, and have any pulsations
of the future touched and inspired him ? It is of no
use to tell me that you have pushed your investiga
tions into man’s physical frame almost to the pene
tralia of life itself; that you can trace the flash of my
will’s message along my nerves when, almost uncon
sciously to myself, I raise a finger or move a limb.
All this is beside the mark. I want to know what I
can do, not only in matters of business but in high
matters of duty. Have you been in temptation and
learned the weakness of your will and sought and
found some Power to strengthen it ? I want to know
what I ought to do. My way through this tempestuous
world is dark. Can you tell me of a Hand that
leads ? All around me are mysteries inscrutable, an
order which I cannot understand, a confusion which
pains me. Can you point me to the light ? I look
forward to a vague and uncertain future; clouds
and darkness gather round the West where my sun
goes down, and the chill of the eternal night settles
on my soul. Have you felt these agonies of the
heart and found refuge from them ? Have you cried
from these depths and heard answer by One who was
able to save ? Have you felt that you could not do
the things you would ; that there is a startling and
frightful gulf between what you ought to be and what
you are, and have you found how to bridge it over and
B
�IO
make your way to peace? Have you looked Into
the open grave where one you loved had disappeared,
and heard the hollow fall of earth to earth, ashes to
ashes, dust to dust, as it smote your ear and woke
a dull echo in your heart, and turned away from that
narrow opening to feel that all you hoped and all you
lived for, the charm and zest of life, lay buried there,
out of your sight for ever ? Have you then seen a
light dawning on the darkness, and caught the inspi
ration of immortal hope and learned to know what it
was to sing with heart and understanding the song of
triumph over death, and victory over the grave ? If so,
if you have gone through the fiery furnace and come
out a conqueror, I will sit at your feet and learn from
you, if I can, the secret of your victory. But if you
have not been through these depths of what value is
your advice to me when I am in them ? You can
weigh the moon and measure the sun, and count the
stars ; what is all that to me in my time of weakness
and temptation, or in my hour of need or sorrow ? I
turn to those who have known nothing of your science,
to whom the sun was but a lamp to light our earthly
day, and the moon and stars but little lamps to give
us help by night, but I find in them a deep knowledge
of my needs, sympathy with my experiences, and a
solace for my fears. When my heart is overwhelmed
within me they lead me to a Rock that is higher than
I. When I feel my weakness they bring me to a
source of all-sufficient help ; when I know and realize
my imperfection they show me the way in which to
go from strength to strength. And the one Perfect
Example, touched with a feeling of my infirmities, sets
before me his own life of complete humility and
perfect faith, shows the way to conquer evil and de
spoil the grave, and not only tells me what to hope
for, but almost turns my faith to sight. This is the
teacher I need. To him I will be discipled ; at his
feet I will sit to hear his words. “ Lord, to whom shall
we go, Thou hast the words of Eternal Life.”
I conclude therefore that he only can teach who
�it
knows, and that for a man to teach religion and the
philosophy of life he must himself have been through
the depths. Discipleship to a man in scientific mat
ters is the being able and willing to accept on his
authority that which I cannot myself find out or
prove.. I have but a vague idea how to weigh a
planet, but when a philosopher gives me the equiva
lent of Jupiter in tons I take it on his authority, be
cause I know just enough to be certain that he knows.
Just so when Christ tells us of the blessedness of the
meek ; of the divine vision which is granted to the
pure in heart; of the peace passing all understanding
that is found in perfect resignation to the Father’s
will; of the Kingdom of Heaven within us which per
fect self-renunciation brings, I believe him, because I
have had just enough knowledge of these things to be
able to receive his teaching, and to know that in this
matter he is one who knows. But how much deeper
a thing is this religious discipleship than any other.
My scientific opinions hardly touch my life—my re
ligious principles entirely shape and mould it. Hence
an element of personal affection enters into the one
which is absent from the other. I know no more
beautiful description of the attitude of discipleship
in this religious sense than that which Tennyson
gives in some lines of his In Memoriam. Speaking
of the friend whom he mourned,- and of the doubts
which would force themselves upon him whether he
should ever be his mate again; or whether he might not
Tho’ following with an upward mind
The wonders that have come to thee,
Thro’ all the secular to be,
Be evermore a life behind ;—
he turns upon himself, rebuking his own doubts, and
says
I vex my heart with fancies dim,
He still outstript me in the race;
It was but unity of place
That made me dream I ranked with him.-
�12
And so may Place retain us still,
And he, the much-beloved, again,
A lord of large experience, train
To riper growth the mind and will:
And what delights can equal those,
That stir the spirit’s inner deeps,
When one that loves but knows not, reaps
A truth from one that loves and knows ?
That is discipleship. That is the way to learn the
deep mysteries of the faith. Just as a little child
who loves but knows not, learns all his early know
ledge of the world into which he has come from the
parents who love and know ; so we learn the higher
truths of life from those who have been through its
'trials before us, and who love and know—the great
souls of history, who lived and suffered and died for us
—who went through the deep waters to make our way
the easier, and died that we might live. And as the
example of this trust and confidence speaks home to
us and inspires us, is not our attitude with respect to
Jesus ; the attitude which the great souls of history
teach us, something like that of which Tennyson sings,
the true trust of soul—the discipleship of love.
For him she plays, to him she sings
Of early faith and plighted vows ;
She knows but matters of the house,
And he, he knows a thousand things.
Her faith is fixt and cannot move,
She darkly feels him great and wise,
She dwells on him with faithful eyes,
‘ I cannot understand : I love/
�13
II.,
“ Rejoicing in hope, patient in tribulation, continuing instant
in prayer.”—Romans xii. 12.
'T'HE address of Professor Huxley to the students
of the University of Aberdeen is worthy of
notice for two reasons. In the first place, it strongly
illustrates the tendency of the age to set up new re
ligious authorities, and the natural instinct of man
kind to rush into some kind of discipleship, of which
I spoke last Sunday morning. In the second place,
it illustrates what I may call the modern sceptical
view of Life and Duty. The men of olden time
looked up to Heaven, and, believing in a great in
visible Power there, exclaimed, “ Lord, what wouldest
Thou have me to do ?” For hundreds of generations
mankind believed that to this cry answer came, that
wisdom was given them to discern what they ought
to do ; that strength was sent down into their hearts
to help them in doing it; and that an awful Presence
was ever near them to be the object of their reverent
fear, and an everlasting life was before them to be
the stimulus of their hope. But in every generation
there have been those who have gone to some visible
form of authority to ask what they shall believe and
what they shall do. To-day the authority is science.
We go to science as the soldiers went to John the
Baptist, and say, “And what shall we do then ?” and
here is the whole sum and substance of the scientific
answer. I quote the whole passage in which it stands,
that you may see exactly its bearing. It is a fine
and effective sermon in itself:—
In an ideal University, as I conceive it, a man should be
able to obtain instruction in all forms of knowledge, and
�14
discipline in the use of all the methods by which knowledge is
obtained. In such an University, the force of living example
should fire the student with a noble ambition to emulate the
learning of learned men, and to follow in the footsteps of the
explorers of new fields of knowledge. And the very air he
breathes should be charged with that enthusiasm for truth, that
fanaticism of veracity, which is a greater possession than much
learning; a nobler gift than the power of increasing knowledge;
by so much greater and nobler than these, as the moral nature
of man is greater than the intellectual; for veracity is the heart
of morality. But the man who is all morality and intellect,
although he may be good and even great, is, after all, only half
a man. There is beauty in the moral world and in the intel
lectual world; but there is also a beauty which is neither moral
nor intellectual—the beauty of the world of art. There are
men who are devoid of the power of seeing it, as there are
men who are born deaf and blind, and the loss of those, as of
these, is simply infinite. There are others in whom it is an
overpowering passion; happy men, born with the productive,
or at lowest, the appreciative, genius of the artist. But, in the
mass of mankind, the aesthetic faculty, like the reasoning power
and the moral sense, needs to be roused, directed, and culti
vated ; and I know not why the development of that side of
his nature through which man has access to a perennial spring
of ennobling pleasure, should be omitted from any compre
hensive scheme of University education....................... I just
now expressed the opinion that, in our ideal University, a man
should be able to obtain instruction in all forms of knowledge.
Now, by “forms of knowledge” I mean the great classes of
things knowable; of which the first, in logical, though not in
natural order, is knowledge relating to the scope and limits of
the mental faculties of man; a form of knowledge which, in
its positive aspect, answers pretty much to logic and part of
psychology, while, on its negative and critical side, it corres
ponds with metaphysics. A second class comprehends all that
knowledge which relates to man’s welfare, so far as it is deter
mined by his own acts, or what we call his conduct. It answers
to moral and religious philosophy. Practically, it is the most
directly valuable of all forms of knowledge, but, speculatively,
it is limited and criticised by that which precedes and by that
which follows it in my order of enumeration. A third class
embraces knowledge of the phenomena of the universe, as
that which lies about the individual man; and of the rules
which those phenomena are observed to follow in the order of
their occurrence, which we term the laws of nature. This is
what ought to be called natural science, or physiology, though
those terms are hopelessly diverted from such a meaning; and
it includes all exact knowledge of natural fact, whether mathe-
�i5
matical, physical, biological, or social. Kant has said that the
ultimate object of all knowledge is to give replies to these
three questions. What can I do ? What ought I to do ?
What may I hope for ? The forms of knowledge which I have
enumerated should furnish such replies as are within human
reach to the first and second of these questions. While to the
third, perhaps, the wisest answer is, “ Do what you can to do
what you ought, and leave hoping and fearing alone.” If this
be a just and an exhaustive classification of the forms of know
ledge, no question as to their relative importance, or as to the
superiority of one to the other, can be seriously raised. On
the face of the matter, it is absurd to ask whether it is more
important to know the limits of one’s powers; or the ends for
which they ought to be exerted; or the conditions under which
they must be exerted. One may as well inquire which of the
terms of a rule of three sum one ought to know, in order to get
a trustworthy result. Practical life is such a sum, in which
your duty multiplied into your capacity, and divided by your
circumstances, gives you'the fourth term in the proportion,
which is your deserts, with great accuracy.
Now I have no hesitation in describing this as
pre-eminently noble teaching. It Reminds one of the
philosophers of antiquity. There is a classic breadth,
and I may add, a classic sternness about it, which
admirably suits the air of an ancient university, and
is almost surprising in a sturdy opponent of the old
system of classical instruction. It is infinitely higher
than the common teaching of the Churches. We
are, of course, all open to the influence of human
motives. But when I am asked to give my assent to
certain opinions on pain of everlasting damnation,
the course I am impelled to take, impelled by every
noble impulse in my nature, is to reject the opinions,
and take the consequences. Such an appeal is an
attempt to reach my will, not through my in
tellect, but through my feelings. It is an effort to
warp me, to bias me, to bribe me. And when we are
told that we must do certain things, because we shall
be punished if we do not, we are appealed to by
childish motives. Burns says,—
“ The fear of hell’s a hangman’s whip
To keep the wretch in order
♦
�i6
and men who are only kept in order by the fear of
hell are wretched indeed. There is something far
nobler than this religion of fear in what Mr. Huxley
teaches. Paraphrased, it reads something like this,
“ Do your duty with all your ability, and to the best *
of your knowledge ; but do not do it from any fear of
punishment, or any hope of reward.” Now such a
motive, where it is a possible one, is also a noble one.
It is deliberately choosing the better way, because it
is the better, and not from any knowledge as to
whither it leads. Before a man can do this he must
be filled with the love of the beautiful and the true. *
He must so fully understand all the charms of a
noble life, so profoundly appreciate all the beauty of
self-control, so entirely love the perfectness of the
perfect, that he can but live to it and for it. There
is beauty in the moral and intellectual world, and
beauty in the world of art, as Professor Huxley says;
and there is such a thing as living in the love of
that beauty, and finding that love to be its own
reward. A mother absorbed in her child never needs
to think whether her love will be returned ; an artist
buried in his art would cultivate it, even though no
eye ever looked on his productions ; a poet smitten
with the love of song would give utterance to his
thoughts, even though no ear should listen to his
verses ; just so a man who was fully possessed with
admiration of the things which are right, and beau
tiful, and true in human character, would reflect that
beauty in his life, even though every virtue was born
to blush unseen of men or angels, and every noble
action of his life wasted its sweetness on the desert
air of a forsaken world. He would do what he could
to do what he ought, and would do it from “that
enthusiasm for truth, that fanaticism of veracity,” of
which Mr. Huxley speaks, even though no outward
encouragement was given him, no reward promised
him, and he was obliged to let hoping and fearing
alone.
�i7
So far, then, I am heartily in accord with this
noble teaching. As a philosophy of life—a philo
sophy, mark, and not a religion—it is one which will
dignify and elevate those who act on it. For young
men who have not known trouble, and loss, and
sorrow, before whom the horizon of this world lies
dim and shining in the distance, it will do well
enough. For every one of us, as a lesson of prac
tical duty, it will be of value, as tending to lift us
out of that mere love of reward, or fear of penalty,
which St. Paul calls being under the law. But here
it stops. It is as far below the highest motives of
human conduct as it is above the lowest. It is the
step out of bondage from the law, but another step
must be taken before we are in the liberty of love.
For when I am told to do what I can to do what I
ought, the question of my power comes in. One of
the very earliest, yet, perhaps, the deepest experiences
of the soul is that which comes to us when, for the
first time, we learn the meaning of that kind apology
of Jesus for his disciples, “The spirit indeed is willing,
but the flesh is weak.” The “ natural man ” knows
nothing of this antithesis between weakness and wil
lingness, between the spirit and the flesh. He does the
bidding of his desires, and sees no reason why those
desires, so long as they are lawful, should not be law.
But when the spiritual nature has awakened in him,
and he hears voices calling out of the Infinite, and
knows of some great law of. truth, and rectitude, and
beauty, which he ought to serve, which he desires to
serve, and which he is only happy in serving; when he is
filled with “ enthusiasm for truth” and the “ fanaticism
of veracity,” he cannot satisfy himself that the amount
of his ability is the measure of his duty. Not only
does he feel that he cannot do what he ought, but he
is compelled to say with the apostle of old that he
cannot do the things he would. His will is weak, his
high purpose stumbles and falters, and the mount of
beatitude, up which he would climb with winged
�i8
feet, becomes a dark and frowning Sinai. Is such a
man to sit down content, and leave those heights
untrodden, and make his golden calf and dance
around it till he no more cares to hope, and forgets
to fear? To do so is to crush his imperial instinct,
and dwarf his nature. Indeed, he cannot do so. He
cannot, without a spiritual suicide, lose himself in
worldly things. He must strive on, fighting his own
weakness, and looking round him for some source of
strength. The philosophy of which I speak to-day
regards all this effort as superfluous, all this anxiety
as vain and futile. Do what you can, it says, and
leave the rest. But a higher and Diviner philosophy
tells of a Helper in time of need, a Strengthener of our
weakness, a Power which can come into us, and lift
us above ourselves. You cannot of yourself do what
you ought, but when the Lord stands by and
strengthens you, you are strong indeed. Imagine
this advice given to soldiers on the eve of battle—
“Never mind what England expects. Do not think
of home, and what the friends there are hoping and
fearing for you. Do what you can to do what you
ought, and let hoping and fearing alone.” What
would you say to a General who should thus address
his army, and what, think you, would be their chances
of victory ? The General who understands his men
says to them, “ Soldiers, the eyes of England are on
you, her honour is in your keeping ; think what they
will say at home, the welcomes there when you return
victorious. By all you hope and fear from them, do
your duty manfully to-day.” And to an army just
going out into the battle of life the true leader
says, in precisely similar language—“You must not
be content with anything you do. Think of those
who have gone before and won their peace. Think
of the welcomes which await you when the great
cloud of witnesses hail you as one who has over
come ; and, by all you hope and all you fear, do your
duty nobly in the strength of God.” They who thus
�19
go out, not merely doing what they can, but doing
what God helps them to do, find that though they
themselves are weak and can do nothing, they
can do all things through Him that strengtheneth
them.
Here, then, is the first defect of this scientific
gospel. There is no glad tidings in it. There is no
saving efficacy in it. There is no all-conquering might
revealed or communicated by it. It can say, indeed,
Work out your own salvation ; but it can say nothing
of a God who worketh in us to will and to do of his
good pleasure. But it may be said that practically
this external source of strength is included in the
advice, for a man has not done what he can to do what
he ought till he has sought and found such power and
such strength as there may be in the Universe to help
him in it. But this strength comes through faith, and
“faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence
of things not seen,” while this advice is to let hoping and
fearing alone. But we will just suppose that a man
did not get to this deep religious experience. Sup
pose that he lives on the dead level of life, has no
ideal, is one of God’s once-born children, in whom
the spiritual faculties have never yet awoke—how can
even such a man be a man and let hoping and fearing
alone? Pie knows too much of modern thought to
have any low fear of the theologian’s hell, he is not
in bondage to an imaginary devil, and knows there is
no such being in the universe as an angry God. Let
him, thus emancipated from superstitious fear, absorb
himself in outward things, and do what he can to do
what he ought, and be quite content with what he
can do, and not over-anxious about his shortcomings.
I can imagine such an one living a fairly honourable
life, with nothing of the heroic in it, and not much
even of self-denial and self-control. But all this is
very well in youth, and strength, and the summer of
life. It does for action ; but it breaks down utterly
when we are driven back upon ourselves in the inner
�20
life of contemplation. How can an ordinary man be
patient in tribulation, if he has no hope to rejoice in ?
Let him lose some one whom he loves—a little child
who has been the darling and the pet of his domestic
hours, the sunshine of his home—a wife who was the
idol of his boyhood, and the beloved helper of his
struggling manhood, and the fond mother of his
children, and the good angel of his household ; or let
him be himself thrown aside from work and set face to
face with death ; how can he have the courage then
to let hoping and fearing alone ? At such times we
must hope or we must fear. The longing heart cannot
give up its dead ; it follows them whither they have
gone, and either sees the earth close over them in
vague fear and dull despair, or else feels that they
are not there, but are already risen and gone before
along the shining upward way. You may preach to
the man your gloomy gospel of despair, but you cannot
prove to him that his dead are turned to dust, and
that the glorified being of his imagination is nothing
but the mocking reflection of his memory ; you may
make him fear, but you cannot still all desire within.
I know nothing so utterly dark, so awfully and
unnaturally depressing, as to stand at the side of a
grave with those who have no gospel for that hour of
need, and who see no light beyond the darkness
there. The effort to let hoping and fearing alone at
such a time ; to have done with the dead ; to bury all
that we have loved, and let it lie in dull obstruction
and forgetfulness ; to think of those sweet smiles as
only a flash of joy which shone on us for a moment
and then went out for ever, is a more fearful trial of
our nature than any that superstition can inflict. It
turns the natural and loving hope to fear; and as it
refuses the expectation of reunion beyond the grave, it
creates the natural dread and inward horror of our
selves falling into nothingness. At the grave we
must call for some kindly light to lead. The night has
come, and we are far from home, and science can only
�21
tell us to stoop down and feel our way along the dark
ened path, or camp on the cold ground till the gloom is
gone and the new day of forgetfulness of our grief
comes round again. But religion comes to us in our
darkness and abandonment, and bids us lift up our eyes
from earth to heaven ; and there, where our sun has
just gone down, the light of other worlds appears,
and in the darkened sky the stars shine out, and hope
and faith see the promise of another dawn. “ Hope
springs eternal in the human breast,” and making us
free of two worlds links Time and Eternity together.
Any philosophy of life which tells men to leave
hoping and fearing alone is therefore simply imprac
ticable. Professor Huxley carries out his teaching
by adding that practical life is like a rule-of-three
sum, in which your duty multiplied into your capacity
and divided by your circumstances gives you the
fourth term in the proportion, which is your deserts,
with great accuracy. No doubt it does, but the
accuracy of the result depends on the correctness of
the figures which state the terms of the problem.
What is my exact duty ? What is my exact capa
city ? How far do circumstances help or hinder or
divide ? I cannot know these things; I cannot,
therefore, even set the sum, much less work it out,
though it shall be set and shall be worked out infal
libly in the great judgment which Heaven is always
passing on my doings. But then, as to our deserts.
Are you content, my friends, to have your deserts and
nothing more ? When the awful rule-of-three sum is
set by the unerring Hand ; when the great Assessor
puts down the precise amount of your capacity, and
multiplies your duty into it, and divides it by your
circumstances, and brings out the exact figure which
estimates your deserts, are you content to abide the
issue ? Do you not feel that some fear comes in lest
in such an estimate of your deserts you should be
found wanting ? and do you not look round you for
some ground of hope that the merciful Master will in
�22
some things take the will for the deed, make allow
ance for your weakness and your wilfulness, and give
some weight, and value, and efficacy to your tears
of penitence ? To me this hard philosophy of life,
which makes the world a machine, and man a slave,
and life a rule-of-three sum, with no escape from the
stern payment of one’s deserts, is like the view of
the universe which a man born blind may make in
his fancy. He has heard of sea and air, of landscape
and cloud, of the wide horizon and the deep arch of
heaven, and from the narrow experience he has gained
from his sense of touch has tried to picture what they
all are ; but some day the Divine Healer comes and
touches his blind eyes, and he then sees and knows.
How infinitely wider is the earth and sea—how infi
nitely deeper that infinite heaven—than anything his
poor imagination had constructed for him. So it is
with us when religion with divine finger opens our
spiritual eyes and shows the world of mere material
forces lying in the sunshine of a Maker’s love. It is
the great step from the natural to the spiritual; from
law to gospel ; from the sternness of a universe
governed by unintelligent and unfeeling forces to the
brightness and gentleness of a home ruled by a loving
will. No doubt this floating cradle of God, this
spinning nursery of souls, this play-room of the
Great Father’s house, is built of material forces. The
child’s eyes cannot yet see beyond the cradle, and the
angels 'as they rock it bend over it invisibly. But so
surely as over the human babe the mother bends and
her invisible love shields it from danger, and listens to
its inarticulate cry, and runs to satisfy its needs ; so
surely over this cradle of souls an Invisible Protector
bends, and shields us from evil, and hears us when
we cry, and gives us help in all our feeble efforts to
run the upward way, and gently supports our nascent
virtue as it goes out into the world to get its disci
pline and win its crown. This doctrine of a God who
is indeed our Father; this glorious assurance of ever-
�23
lasting life in Him ; this long line of witnesses, who
have caught some ray of his divine beauty and shed it
upon us—these things, which religion grafts upon
philosophy, make life rich indeed. We can fly for
shelter from Infinite Law, and take refuge and find
peace in Infinite Love. We can see the terrible sum
which estimates our deserts worked out, confident in
Him who will blot out the handwriting that is against
us. We can do what we can to do what we ought,
knowing that wisdom to see and strength to do shall
both be given us in answer to our prayer. And when
the fear of death comes on us, we can look through
the darkness to the light beyond, and lie down in
hope, knowing Whom we have believed, and confident
that He will keep that which, in life’s last act of re
nunciation, we commit to Him. It is this tone of
triumphant confidence, this enthusiasm of faith in the
truth of the Universe, this fanaticism of trust in the
veracity of God, which gives zest to life. It is this
hope which brightens the eye and nerves the hand,
makes us strong and happy in the conflict of duty,
and enables us to overcome the world. It is this
certainty of faith which turns belief into knowledge,
and is the everlasting Rock on which we stand secure
amid the changes and calamities of time. To “let
hoping and fearing alone ” is to renounce our birth
right as the sons of God ; to fear only that which is
beneath our nature, and to hope always and hope
everything from Heaven, is to take full possession of
our heritage as “heirs of God and joint heirs with
Christ ”—“ followers of them who, through faith and
patience, inherit the promises.”
Woodfall & Kinder, Printers, Milford Lane, Strand, London, W.C.
�st
�
Dublin Core
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Title
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Victorian Blogging
Description
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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
Date
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2018
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Conway Hall Ethical Society
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Pamphlet
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Title
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Scientific men and religious teachers
Creator
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Clayden, P. W. (Peter William)
Description
An account of the resource
Place of publication: London
Collation: 23 p. ; 18 cm.
Notes: : Two sermons suggested by Professor Huxley's address to the students of the University of Aberdeen and preached in the Free Christian Church, Kentish Town. From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. Printed by Woodfall & Kinder, Strand, London.
Publisher
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E.T. Whitfield
Date
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1874
Identifier
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G5225
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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 (Scientific men and religious teachers), 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
Subject
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Science
Religion
Conway Tracts
Science and Religion