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Theosophy House
My Path to Atheism
By
Annie Besant
The
Secret Doctrine by H P Blavatsky
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[Third
Edition]
Freethought
Publishing Company,
63,
Fleet Street, E.C.
1885.
TO
THOMAS
SCOTT,
WHOSE
NAME IS HONORED AND REVERED WHEREVER
FREETHOUGHT
HAS--
WHOSE
WIDE HEART AND GENEROUS KINDNESS WELCOME
ALL
FORMS OF THOUGHT, PROVIDED THE THOUGHT
BE
EARNEST AND HONEST;
WHO
KNOWS NO ORTHODOXY SAVE THAT OF HONESTY, AND
NO
RELIGION SAVE THAT OF GOODNESS;
TO
WHOM I OWE MOST GRATEFUL THANKS,
AS
ONE OF THE EARLIEST OF MY FREETHOUGHT FRIENDS,
AND
AS THE FIRST WHO AIDED ME IN MY NEED;--
TO
HIM
I
DEDICATE THESE PAGES, KNOWING THAT,
ALTHOUGH
WE OFTEN DIFFER IN OUR
THOUGHT,
WE ARE ONE IN OUR DESIRE FOR TRUTH.
ANNIE
BESANT.
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PREFACE
TO FIRST EDITION.
The
Essays which form the present book have been written at intervals
during
the last five years, and are now issued in a single volume
without
alterations of any kind. I have thought it more useful--as
marking
the gradual growth of thought--to reprint them as they were
originally
published, so as not to allow the later development to mould
the
earlier forms. The essay on "Inspiration" is, in part, the oldest
of
all; it was partially composed some seven years ago, and re-written
later
as it now stands.
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The
first essay on the "Deity of Jesus of Nazareth" was written just
before
I left the Church of England, and marks the point where I broke
finally
with Christianity. I thought then, and think still, that to
cling
to the name of Christian after one has ceased to be the thing
is
neither bold nor straightforward, and surely the name ought, in all
fairness,
to belong to those historical bodies who have made it their
own
during many hundred years. A Christianity without a Divine Christ
appears
to me to resemble a republican army marching under a royal
banner--it
misleads both friends and foes. Believing that in giving up
the
deity of Christ I renounced Christianity, I place this essay as the
starting-point
of my travels outside the Christian pale. The essays
that
follow it deal with some of the leading Christian dogmas, and are
printed
in the order in which they were written. But in the gradual
thought-development
they really precede the essay on the "Deity of
Christ".
Most inquirers who begin to study by themselves, before they
have
read any heretical works, or heard any heretical controversies,
will
have been awakened to thought by the discrepancies and
inconsistencies
of the Bible itself. A thorough knowledge of the Bible
is
the groundwork of heresy. Many who think they read their Bibles never
read
them at all. They go through a chapter every day as a matter of
duty,
and forget what is said in Matthew before they read what is said
in
John; hence they never mark the contradictions and never see the
discrepancies.
But those who _study_ the Bible are in a fair way to
become
heretics. It was the careful compilation of a harmony of the
last
chapters of the four Gospels--a harmony intended for devotional
use--that
gave the first blow to my own faith; although I put the doubt
away
and refused even to look at the question again, yet the effect
remained--the
tiny seed, which was slowly to germinate and to grow up,
later,
into the full-blown flower of Atheism.
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The
trial of Mr. Charles Voysey for heresy made me remember my own
puzzle,
and I gradually grew very uneasy, though trying not to think,
until
the almost fatal illness of my little daughter brought a sharper
questioning
as to the reason of suffering and the reality of the love of
God.
From that time I began to study the doctrines of Christianity from
a
critical point of view; hitherto I had confined my theological reading
to
devotional and historical treatises, and the only controversies
with
which I was familiar were the controversies which had divided
Christians;
the writings of the Fathers of the Church and of the modern
school
which is founded on them had been carefully studied, and I had
weighed
the points of difference between the Greek, Roman, Anglican, and
Lutheran
communions, as well as the views of orthodox dissenting schools
of
thought; only from Pusey's "Daniel", and Liddon's "Bampton
Lectures",
had
I gathered anything of wider controversies and issues of more vital
interest.
But now all was changed, and it was to the leaders of the
pain
had been so! rude when real doubts assailed and shook me, that I
had
steadily made up my mind to investigate, one by one, every Christian
dogma,
and never again to say "I believe" until I had tested the object
of
faith; the dogmas which revolted me most were those of the Atonement
and
of Eternal Punishment, while the doctrine of Inspiration of
Scripture
underlay everything, and was the very foundation of
Christianity;
these, then, were the first that I dropped into the
crucible
of investigation. Maurice, Robertson, Stopford Brooke, McLeod,
Campbell,
and others, were studied; and while I recognised the charm
of
their writings, I failed to find any firm ground whereon they could
rest:
it was a many-colored beautiful mist--a cloud landscape, very
fair,
but very unsubstantial. Still they served as stepping stones away
from
the old hard dogmas, and month by month I grew more sceptical as
to
the possibility of finding certainty in religion. Mansel's Bampton
lectures
on "The Limits of Religious Thought" did much to increase the
feeling;
the works of F. Newman, Arnold, and Greg carried on the
same
work; some efforts to understand the creeds of other nations, to
investigate
Mahommedanism, Buddhism, and Hinduism, all led in the same
direction,
until I concluded that inspiration belonged to all people
alike,
and there could be no necessity of atonement, and no eternal
hell
prepared for the unbeliever in Christianity. Thus, step by step,
I
renounced the dogmas of Christianity until there remained only, as
distinctively
Christian, the Deity of Jesus which had not yet been
analysed.
The whole tendency of the
to
increase the manhood at the expense of the deity of Christ; and with
hell
and atonement gone, and inspiration everywhere, there appeared
no
_raison d'etre_ for the Incarnation. Besides, there were so many
incarnations,
and the Buddhist absorption seemed a grander idea. I now
first
met with Charles Voysey's works, and those of Theodore Parker and
Channing,
and the belief in the Deity of Jesus followed the other dead
creeds.
Renan I had read much earlier, but did not care for him; Strauss
I
did not meet with until afterwards; Scott's "English Life of Jesus",
which
I read at this period, is as useful a book on this subject as
could
be put into the hands of an inquirer. From Christianity into
simple
Theism I had found my way; step by step the Theism melted into
Atheism;
prayer was gradually discontinued, as utterly at variance with
any
dignified idea of God, and as in contradiction to all the results
of
scientific investigation. I had taken a keen interest in the later
scientific
discoveries, and
my
old bonds. Of John Stuart Mill I had read much, and I now took him up
again;
I studied Spinoza, and re-read Mansel, together with many other
writers
on the Deity, until the result came which is found in the essay
entitled
"The Nature and Existence of God ". It was just before this was
written
that I read Charles Bradlaugh's "Plea for Atheism" and his "Is
there
a God?". The essay on "Constructive Rationalism" shows how we
replace
the old faith and build our house anew with stronger materials.
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The
path from Christianity to Atheism is a long one, and its first steps
are
very rough and very painful; the feet tread on the ruins of the
broken
faith, and the sharp edges cut into the bleeding flesh; but
further
on the path grows smoother, and presently at its side begins to
peep
forth the humble daisy of hope that heralds the spring tide, and
further
on the roadside is fragrant with all the flowers of summer,
sweet
and brilliant and gorgeous, and in the distance we see the promise
of
the autumn, the harvest that shall be reaped for the feeding of man.
Annie
Besant. 1878.
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ON
THE DEITY OF JESUS OF
"WHAT
think ye of Christ, whose son is he?" Humane child of human
parents,
or divine Son of the Almighty God? When we consider his purity,
his
faith in the Father, his forgiving patience, his devoted work
among
the offscourings of society, his brotherly love to sinners
and
outcasts--when our minds dwell on these alone,--we all feel the
marvellous
fascination which has drawn millions to the feet of this
"son
of man," and the needle of our faith begins to tremble towards the
Christian
pole. If we would keep unsullied the purity of our faith
in
God alone, we are obliged to turn our eyes some times--however
unwillingly--towards
the other side of the picture and to mark the human
weaknesses
which remind us that he is but one of our race. His harshness
to
his mother, his bitterness towards some of his opponents, the marked
failure
of one or two of his rare prophecies, the palpable limitation of
his
knowledge--little enough, indeed, when all are told,--are more
than
enough to show us that, however great as man, he is not the
All-righteous,
the All-seeing, the All-knowing, God.
No
one, however, whom Christian exaggeration has not goaded into unfair
detraction,
or who is not blinded by theological hostility, can fail
to
revere portions of the character sketched out in the three synoptic
gospels.
I shall not dwell here on the Christ of the fourth Evangelist;
we
can scarcely trace in that figure the lineaments of the Jesus of
I
propose, in this essay, to examine the claims of Jesus to be more
than
the man he appeared to be during his lifetime: claims--be it
noted--which
are put forward on his behalf by others rather than by
himself.
His own assertions of his divinity are to be found only in the
unreliable
fourth gospel, and in it they are destroyed by the sentence
there
put into his mouth with strange inconsistency: "If I bear witness
of
myself, my witness is not true."
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It
is evident that by his contemporaries Jesus was not regarded as God
incarnate.
The people in general appear to have looked upon him as a
great
prophet, and to have often debated among themselves whether he
were
their expected Messiah or not. The band of men who accepted him
as
their teacher were as far from worshipping him as God as were their
fellow-countrymen:
their prompt desertion of him when attacked by his
enemies,
their complete hopelessness when they saw him overcome and put
to
death, are sufficient proofs that though they regarded him--to quote
their
own words--as a "prophet mighty in word and deed," they never
guessed
that the teacher they followed, and the friend they lived with
in
the intimacy of social life was Almighty God Himself. As has been
well
pointed out, if they believed their Master to be God, surely when
they
were attacked they would have fled to him for protection, instead
of
endeavouring to save themselves by deserting him: we may add that
this
would have been their natural instinct, since they could never
have
imagined beforehand that the Creator Himself could really be taken
captive
by His creatures and suffer death at their hands. The third
class
of his contemporaries, the learned Pharisees and Scribes, were as
far
from regarding him as divine as were the people or his disciples.
They
seem to have viewed the new teacher somewhat contemptuously at
first,
as one who unwisely persisted in expounding the highest doctrines
to
the many, instead of--a second Hillel--adding to the stores of
their
own learned circle. As his influence spread and appeared to be
undermining
their own,--still more, when he placed himself in direct
opposition,
warning the people against them,--they were roused to a
course
of active hostility, and at length determined to save themselves
by
destroying him. But all through their passive contempt and direct
antagonism,
there is never a trace of their deeming him to be anything
more
than a religious enthusiast who finally became dangerous: we never
for
a moment see them assuming the manifestly absurd position of men
knowingly
measuring their strength against God, and endeavouring to
silence
and destroy their Maker. So much for the opinions of those who
had
the best opportunities of observing his ordinary life. A "good man,"
a
"deceiver," a "mighty prophet," such are the recorded
opinions of his
contemporaries:
not one is found to step forward and proclaim him to be
Jehovah,
the God of
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One
of the most trusted strongholds of Christians, in defending their
Lord's
Divinity, is the evidence of prophecy. They gather from the
sacred
books of the Jewish nation the predictions of the longed-for
Messiah,
and claim them as prophecies fulfilled in Jesus of Nazareth.
But
there is one stubborn fact which destroys the force of this
argument:
the Jews, to whom these writings belong, and who from
tradition
and national peculiarities may reasonably be supposed to be
the
best exponents of their own prophets, emphatically deny that these
prophecies
are fulfilled in Jesus at all. Indeed, one main reason for
their
rejection of Jesus is precisely this, that he does not resemble in
any
way the predicted Messiah. There is no doubt that the Jewish nation
were
eagerly looking for their Deliverer when Jesus was born: these very
longings
produced several pseudo-Messiahs, who each gained in turn
a
considerable following, because each bore some resemblance to the
expected
Prince. Much of the popular rage which swept Jesus to his
death
was the re-action of disappointment after the hopes raised by the
position
of authority he assumed. The sudden burst of anger against one
so
benevolent and inoffensive can only be explained by the intense hopes
excited
by his regal entry into
those
hopes by his failing to ascend the throne of David. Proclaimed
as
David's son, he came riding on an ass as king of
himself
to be welcomed as the king of
of
the prophecies ended, and the people, furious at his failing them,
rose
and clamoured for his death. Because he did _not_ fulfil the
ancient
Jewish oracles, he died: he was too noble for the _rôle_ laid
down
in them for the Messiah, his ideal was far other than that of a
conqueror,
with "garments rolled in blood." But even if, against all
evidence,
Jesus was one with the Messiah of the prophets, this would
destroy,
instead of implying, his Divine claims. For the Jews were pure
monotheists;
their Messiah was a prince of David's line, the favoured
servant,
the anointed Jehovah, the king who should rule in His name: a
Jew
would shrink with horror from the blasphemy of seating Messiah on
Jehovah's
throne remembering how their prophets had taught them that
their
God "would not give His honour to another." So that, as to
prophecy,
the case stands thus: If Jesus be the Messiah prophesied of
in
the old Jewish books, then he is not God: if he be not the Messiah,
Jewish
prophecy is silent as regards him altogether, and an appeal to
prophecy
is absolutely useless.
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After
the evidence of prophecy Christians generally rely on that
furnished
by miracles. It is remarkable that Jesus himself laid but
little
stress on his miracles; in fact, he refused to appeal to them
as
credentials of his authority, and either could not or would not work
them
when met with determined unbelief. We must notice also that the
people,
while "glorifying God, who had given such power unto _men_,"
were
not inclined to admit his miracles as proofs of his right to claim
absolute
obedience: his miracles did not even invest him with such
sacredness
as to protect him from arrest and death. Herod, on his trial,
was
simply anxious to see him work a miracle, as a matter of curiosity.
This
stolid indifference to marvels as attestations of authority is
natural
enough, when we remember that Jewish history was crowded with
miracles,
wrought for and against the favoured people, and also that
they
had been specially warned against being misled by signs and
wonders.
Without entering into the question whether miracles are
possible,
let us, for argument's sake, take them for granted, and see
what
they are worth as proofs of Divinity. If Jesus fed a multitude with
a
few loaves, so did Elisha: if he raised the dead, so did Elijah and
Elisha;
if he healed lepers, so did Moses and Elisha; if he opened
the
eyes of the blind, Elisha smote a whole army with blindness
and
afterwards restored their sight: if he cast out devils, his
contemporaries,
by his own testimony, did the same. If miracles prove
Deity,
what miracle of Jesus can stand comparison with the divided Red
the
rushing waters of the
these
men worked by _conferred_ power and Jesus by _inherent_, we can
only
answer that this is a gratuitous assumption, and begs the whole
question.
The Bible records the miracles in equivalent terms: no
difference
is drawn between the manner of working of Elisha or Jesus; of
each
it is sometimes said they prayed; of each it is sometimes said
they
spake. Miracles indeed must not be relied on as proofs of divinity,
unless
believers in them are prepared to pay divine honours not to Jesus
only,
but also to a crowd of others, and to build a Christian Pantheon
to
the new found gods.
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So
far we have only seen the insufficiency of the usual Christian
arguments
to establish a doctrine so stupendous and so _prima facie_
improbable
as the incarnation of the Divine Being: this kind of negative
testimony,
this insufficient evidence, is not however the principle
reason
which compels Theists to protest against the central dogma of
Christianity.
The stronger proofs of the simple manhood of Jesus remain,
and
we now proceed to positive evidence of his not being God. I
propose
to draw attention to the traces of human infirmity in his noble
character,
to his absolute mistakes in prophecy, and to his evidently
limited
knowledge. In accepting as substantially true the account
of
Jesus given by the evangelists, we are taking his character as
it
appeared to his devoted followers. We have not to do with slight
blemishes,
inserted by envious detractors of his greatness; the history
of
Jesus was written when his disciples worshipped him as God, and his
manhood,
in their eyes, reached ideal perfection. We are not forced to
believe
that, in the gospels, the life of Jesus is given at its highest,
and
that he was, at least, not more spotless than he appears in these
records
of his friends. But here again, in order not to do a gross
injustice,
we must put aside the fourth gospel; to study his character
"according
to S. John" would need a separate essay, so different is
it
from that drawn by the three; and by all rules of history we should
judge
him by the earlier records, more especially as they corroborate
each
other in the main.
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The
first thing which jars upon an attentive reader of the gospels is
the
want of affection and respect shown by Jesus to his mother. When
only
a child of twelve he lets his parents leave
home,
while he repairs alone to the temple. The fascination of the
ancient
city and the gorgeous temple services was doubtless almost
overpowering
to a thoughtful Jewish boy, more especially on his first
visit:
but the careless forgetfulness of his parents' anxiety must be
considered
as a grave childish fault, the more so as its character is
darkened
by the indifference shown by his answer to his mother's grieved
reproof.
That no high, though mistaken, sense of duty kept him in
felt
that "his Father's business" detained him in
is
evident that this sense of duty would not have been satisfied by a
three
days' delay. But the Christian advocate would bar criticism by an
appeal
to the Deity of Jesus: he asks us therefore to believe that
Jesus,
being God, saw with indifference his parents' anguish at
discovering
his absence; knew all about that three days' agonised search
(for
they, ignorant of his divinity, felt the terrible anxiety as to
his
safety, natural to country people losing a child in a crowded city);
did
not, in spite of the tremendous powers at his command, take any
steps
to re-assure them; and finally, met them again with no words of
sympathy,
only with a mysterious allusion, incomprehensible to them, to
some
higher claim than theirs, which, however, he promptly set aside to
obey
them. If God was incarnate in a boy, we may trust that example as a
model
of childhood: yet, are Christians prepared to set this early
piety
and desire for religious instruction before their young children
as
an example they are to follow? Are boys and girls of twelve to be
free
to absent themselves for days from their parents' guardianship
under
the plea that a higher business claims their attention? This
episode
of the childhood of Jesus should be relegated to those "gospels
of
the infancy" full of most unchildlike acts, which the wise discretion
of
Christendom has stamped with disapproval. The same want of filial
reverence
appears later in his life: on one occasion he was teaching,
and
his mother sent in, desiring to speak to him: the sole reply
recorded
to the message is the harsh remark: "Who is my mother?" The
most
practical proof that Christian morality has, on this head,
outstripped
the example of Jesus, is the prompt disapproval which
similar
conduct would meet with in the present day. By the strange
warping
of morality often caused by controversial exigencies, this want
of
filial reverence has been triumphantly pointed out by Christian
divines;
the indifference shown by Jesus to family ties is accepted as a
proof
that he was more than man! Thus, conduct which they implicitly
acknowledge
to be unseemly in a son to his mother, they claim as natural
and
right in the Son of God, to His! In the present day, if a person is
driven
by conscience to a course painful to those who have claims on his
respect,
his recognised duty, as well as his natural instinct, is to try
and
make up by added affection and more courteous deference for the pain
he
is forced to inflict: above all, he would not wantonly add to that
pain
by public and uncalled-for disrespect.
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The
attitude of Jesus towards his opponents in high places was marked
with
unwarrantable bitterness. Here also the lofty and gentle spirit
of
his whole life has moulded Christian opinion in favour of a course
different
on this head to his own, so that abuse of an opponent is now
commonly
called _un_-Christian. Wearied with three years' calumny and
contempt,
sore at the little apparent success which rewarded his labour,
full
of a sad foreboding that his enemies would shortly crush him, Jesus
was
goaded into passionate denunciations: "Woe unto you, Scribes and
Pharisees,
hypocrites... ye fools and blind... ye make a proselyte
twofold
more the child of hell than yourselves... ye serpents, ye
generation
of vipers, how can ye escape the damnation of hell!" Surely
this
is not the spirit which breathed in, "If ye love them which love
you,
what thanks have ye?... Love your enemies, bless them that curse
you,
pray for them that persecute you." Had he not even specially
forbidden
the very expression, "Thou fool!" Was not this rendering evil
for
evil, railing for railing?
It
is painful to point out these blemishes: reverence for the great
leaders
of humanity is a duty dear to all human hearts; but when homage
turns
into idolatry, then men must rise up to point out faults which
otherwise
they would pass over in respectful silence, mindful only of
the
work so nobly done.
I
turn then, with a sense of glad relief, to the evidence of the limited
knowledge
of Jesus, for here no blame attaches to him, although _one_
proved
mistake is fatal to belief in his Godhead. First as to prophecy:
"The
Son of man shall come in the glory of his Father with his angels:
and
then shall he reward every man according to his works. Verily I say
unto
you, There be some standing here which shall not taste of death
till
they see the Son of man coming in his kingdom." Later, he amplifies
the
same idea: he speaks of a coming tribulation, succeeded by his own
return,
and then adds the emphatic declaration: "Verily I say unto
you,
This generation shall not pass till all these things be done." The
non-fulfilment
of these prophecies is simply a question of fact: let
men
explain away the words now as they may, yet, if the record is true,
Jesus
did believe in his own speedy return, and impressed the same belief
on
his followers. It is plain, indeed, that he succeeded in impressing
it
on them, from the references to his return scattered through the
epistles.
The latest writings show an anxiety to remove the doubts which
were
disturbing the converts consequent on the non-appearance of Jesus,
and
the fourth gospel omits any reference to his coming. It is worth
remarking,
in the latter, the spiritual sense which is hinted at--either
purposely
or unintentionally--in the words, "The hour... _now_ is when
the
dead shall hear the voice of the Son of God, and they that hear
shall
live." These words may be the popular feeling on the advent of the
resurrection,
forced on the Christians by the failure of their Lord's
prophecies
in any literal sense. He could not be mistaken, _ergo_ they
must
spiritualise his words. The limited knowledge of Jesus is further
evident
from his confusing Zacharias the son of Jehoiada with Zacharias
the
son of Barachias: the former, a priest, was slain in the temple
court,
as Jesus states; but the son of Barachias was Zacharias, or
Zachariah,
the prophet.* He himself owned a limitation of his knowledge,
when
he confessed his ignorance of the day of his own return, and said
it
was known to the "Father only." Of the same class of sayings is
his
answer to the mother of James and John, that the high seats of
the
coming kingdom "are not mine to give." That Jesus believed in the
fearful
doctrine of eternal punishment is evident, in spite of the
ingenious
attempts to prove that the doctrine is not scriptural:
that
he, in common with his countrymen, ascribed many diseases to the
immediate
power of Satan, which we should now probably refer to natural
causes,
as epilepsy, mania, and the like, is also self-evident. But on
such
points as these it is useless to dwell, for the Christian believes
them
on the authority of Jesus, and the subjects, from their nature,
cannot
be brought to the test of ascertained facts. Of the same
character
are some of his sayings: his discouraging "Strive to enter
in
at the strait gate, _for_ many," etc.; his using in defence of
partiality
Isaiah's awful prophecy, "that seeing they may see and not
perceive,"
etc.; his using Scripture at one time as binding, while he,
at
another, depreciates it; his fondness for silencing an opponent by an
ingenious
retort: all these things are blameworthy to those who regard
him
as man, while they are shielded from criticism by his divinity to
those
who worship him as God. There morality is a question of opinion,
and
it is wasted time to dwell on them when arguing with Christians,
whose
moral sense is for the time held in check by their mental
prostration
at his feet. But the truth of the quoted prophecies, and
the
historical fact of the parentage of Zachariah, can be tested, and on
these
Jesus made palpable mistakes. The obvious corollary is, that being
mistaken--as
he was--his knowledge was limited, and was therefore human,
not
divine
.
·
See
Appendix, page 12.
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In
turning to the teaching of Jesus (I still confine myself to the three
gospels),
we find no support of the Christian theory. If we take his
didactic
teaching, we can discover no trace of his offering himself as
an
object of either faith or worship. His life's work, as teacher, was
to
speak of the Father. In the sermon on the Mount he is always striking
the
keynote, "your heavenly Father;" in teaching his disciples to
pray,
it is to "Our Father," and the Christian idea of ending a prayer
"through
Jesus Christ" is quite foreign to the simple filial spirit
of
their master. Indeed, when we think of the position Jesus holds in
Christian
theology, it seems strange to notice the utter absence of any
suggestion
of duty to himself throughout this whole code of so-called
Christian
morality. In strict accordance with his more formal teaching
is
his treatment of inquirers: when a young man comes kneeling, and,
addressing
him as "Good Master," asks what he shall do to inherit
eternal
life, the loyal heart of Jesus first rejects the homage, before
he
proceeds to answer the all-important question: "Why callest thou _me_
good:
there is none good but one, that is, God." He then directs the
youth
on the way to eternal life, and _he sends that young man home
without
one word of the doctrine on which, according to Christians,
his
salvation rested_. If the "Gospel" came to that man later, he would
reject
it on the authority of Jesus, who had told him a different "way
of
salvation;" and if Christianity is true, the perdition of that young
man's
soul is owing to the defective teaching of Jesus himself. Another
time,
he tells a Scribe that the first commandment is that God is
one,
and that all a man's love is due to Him; then adding the duty of
neighbourly
love, he says: "There is _none other_ commandment greater
than
these:" so that "belief in Jesus," if incumbent at all, must
come
after
love to God and man, and is not necessary, by his own testimony,
to
"entering into life." On Jesus himself then rests the primary
responsibility
of affirming that belief in him is a matter of secondary
importance,
at most, letting alone the fact that he never inculcated
belief
in his Deity as an article of faith at all. In the same spirit of
frank
loyalty to God are his words on the unpardonable sin: in answer
to
a gross personal affront, he tells his insulters that they shall be
forgiven
for speaking against him, a simple son of man, but warns them
of
the danger of confounding the work of God's. Spirit with that of
Satan,
"because they said" that works; done by God, using Jesus as His
instrument,
were done by Beelzebub.
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There
remains yet one argument of tremendous force, which can only
be
appreciated by personal meditation. We find Jesus praying to
God,
relying on God, in his greatest need crying in agony to God for
deliverance,
in his last: struggle, deserted by his friends, asking why
God,
his God, had also forsaken him. We feel how natural, how true to
life,
this whole account is: in our heart's reverence for that noble
life,
that "faithfulness unto death," we can scarcely bear to think of
the
insult offered to it by Christian lips: they take every beauty
out
of it by telling us that through all that struggle Jesus was
the
Eternal, the Almighty, God: it is all apparent, not real: in his
temptation
he could not fall: in his prayers he needed no support: in
his
cry that the cup might pass away he foresaw it was inevitable: in
his
agony of desertion and loneliness he was present everywhere with
God.
In all that life, then, there is no hope for man, no pledge of
man's
victory, no promise for humanity. This is no _man's_ life at all,
it
is only a wonderful drama enacted on earth. What God could do is no
measure
of man's powers: what have we in common with this "God-man?"
This
Jesus, whom we had thought our brother, is after all, removed from
us
by the immeasurable distance which separates the feebleness of man
from
the omnipotence of God. Nothing can compensate us for such a loss
as
this. We had rejoiced in that many-sided nobleness, and its very
blemishes
were dear, because they assured us of his brotherhood to
ourselves:
we are given an ideal picture where we had studied a history,
another
Deity where we had hoped to emulate a life. Instead of the
encouragement
we had found, what does Christianity offer us?--a perfect
life?
But we knew before that God was perfect: an example? it starts
from
a different level: a Saviour? we cannot be safer than we are with
God:
an Advocate? we need none with our Father: a Substitute to endure
God's
wrath for us? we had rather trust God's justice to punish us as
we
deserve, and his wisdom to do what is best for us. As God, Jesus can
give
us nothing that we have not already in his Father and ours: as man,
he
gives us all the encouragement and support which we derive from every
noble
soul which God sends into this world, "a burning and a shining
light":
"Through such souls alone
God stooping shows sufficient of
His light For us in the dark to rise
by."
As
God, he confuses our perceptions of God's unity, bewilders our reason
with
endless contradictions, and turns away from the Supreme all those
emotions
of love and adoration which can only flow towards a single
object,
and which are the due of our Creator alone: as man, he gives us
an
example to strive after, a beacon to steer by; he is one more leader
for
humanity, one more star in our darkness. As God, all his words would
be
truth, and but few would enter into heaven, while hell would overflow
with
victims: as man, we may refuse to believe such a slander on our
Father,
and take all the comfort pledged to us by that name. Thank God,
then,
that Jesus is only man, "human child of human parents;" that
we
need not dwarf our conceptions of God to fit human faculties, or
envelope
the illimitable spirit in a baby's feeble frame. But though
only
man, he has reached a standard of human greatness which no other
man,
so far as we know, has touched: the very height of his character is
almost
a pledge of the truthfulness of the records in the main: his life
had
to be lived before its conception became possible, at that period
and
among such a people. They could recognise his greatness when it was
before
their eyes: they would scarcely have imagined it for themselves,
more
especially that, as we have seen, he was so different from the
Jewish
ideal. His code of morality stands unrivalled, and he was the
first
who taught the universal Fatherhood of God publicly and to the
common
people. Many of his loftiest precepts may be found in the books
of
the Rabbis, but it is the glorious prerogative of Jesus that he
spread
abroad among the many the wise and holy maxims that had hitherto
been
the sacred treasures of the few. With him none were too degraded
to
be called the children of the Father: none too simple to be worthy of
the
highest teaching. By example, as well as by precept, he taught that
all
men were brothers, and all the good he had he showered at their
feet.
"Pure in heart," he saw God, and what he saw he called all to see:
he
longed that all might share in his own joyous trust in the Father,
and
seemed to be always seeking for fresh images to describe the freedom
and
fulness of the universal love of God. In his unwavering love of
truth,
but his patience with doubters--in his personal purity, but his
tenderness
to the fallen--in his hatred of evil, but his friendliness
to
the sinner--we see splendid virtues rarely met in combination. His
brotherliness,
his yearning to raise the degraded, his lofty piety, his
unswerving
morality, his perfect self-sacrifice, are his indefeasible
titles
to human love and reverence. Of the world's benefactors he is the
chief,
not only by his own life, but by the enthusiasm he has known to
inspire
in others: "Our plummet has not sounded his depth:" words fail
to
tell what humanity owes to the Prophet of Nazareth. On his example
the
great Christian heroes have based their lives: from the foundation
laid
by his teaching the world is slowly rising to a purer faith in God.
We
need now such a leader as he was--one who would dare to follow the
Father's
will as he did, casting a long-prized revelation aside when
it
conflicts with the higher voice of conscience. It is the teaching
of
Jesus that Theism gladly makes its own, purifying it from the
inconsistencies
which mar its perfection. It is the example of Jesus
which
Theists are following, though they correct that example in some
points
by his loftiest sayings. It is the work of Jesus which Theists
are
carrying on, by worshipping, as he did, the Father, and the Father
alone,
and by endeavouring to turn all men's love, all men's hopes, and
all
men's adoration, to that "God and Father of all, who is above all,
and
through all, and," not in Jesus only, but "_in us all_."
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APPENDIX:
"Josephus mentions a Zacharias, a son of Baruch ('Wars of
the
Jews,' Book iv., sec. 4), who was slain under the circumstances
described
by Jesus. His name would be more suitable at the close of the
long
list of Jewish crimes, as it occurred just before the destruction
of
death
of Jesus, it is clear that he could not have referred to it;
therefore,
if we admit that he made no mistake, we strike a serious
blow
at the credibility of his historian, who then puts into his mouth a
remark
never uttered."
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A
COMPARISON BETWEEN THE FOURTH GOSPEL AND THE THREE SYNOPTICS
EVERY
one, at least in the educated classes, knows that the authenticity
of
the fourth gospel has been long and widely disputed. The most
careless
reader is struck by the difference of tone between the simple
histories
ascribed to Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and the theological and
philosophical
treatise which bears the name of John. After following
the
three narratives, so simple in their structure, so natural in their
style,
so unadorned by rhetoric, so free from philosophic terms,--after
reading
these, it is with a feeling of surprise that we find ourselves,
plunged
into the bewildering mazes of the Alexandrine philosophy, and
open
our fourth gospel to be told that, "In the beginning was the word,
and
the word was with God, and the word was God." We ask instinctively,
"How
did John, the fisherman of
Greek
schools, and why does he mix up the simple story of his master
with
the philosophy of that 'world which by wisdom knew not God?'"
The
general Christian tradition is as follows: The spread! of
"heretical"
views about the person of Jesus alarmed the "orthodox"
Christians,
and they appealed to John, the last aged relic of the
apostolic
band, to write a history of Jesus which should confute their
opponents,
and establish the essential deity of the founder of their
religion.
At their repeated solicitations, John wrote the gospel which
bears
his name, and the doctrinal tone of it is due to its original
intention,--a
treatise written against Cerinthus, and designed to
crush,
with the authority of an apostle, the rising doubts as to
the
pre-existence and absolute deity of Jesus of Nazareth. So far
non-Christians
and Christians--including the writer of the gospel--are
agreed.
This fourth gospel is not--say Theists--a simple biography
of
Jesus written by a loving disciple as a memorial of a departed and
cherished
friend, but a history written with a special object and to
prove
a certain doctrine. "
echoes
Dr. Liddon. "These are written that ye may believe that Jesus
is
the Christ, the Son of God," confesses the writer himself. Now, in
examining
the credibility of any history, one of the first points
to
determine is whether the historian is perfectly unbiassed in his
judgment
and is therefore likely give facts exactly as they occurred,
un-coloured
by views of his own. Thus we do not turn to the pages of a
Roman
Catholic historian to gain a fair idea of Luther, or of William
the
Silent, or expect to find in the volumes of Clarendon a thoroughly
faithful
portraiture of the vices of the Stuart kings; rather, in
reading
the history of a partisan, do we instinctively make allowances
for
the recognised bias of his mind and heart. That the fourth gospel
comes
to us prefaced by the announcement that it is written, not to give
us
a history, but to prove a certain predetermined opinion, is, then,
so
much doubt cast at starting on its probable accuracy; and, by the
constitution
of our minds, we at once guard ourselves against a too
ready
acquiescence in its assertions, and become anxious to test its
statements
by comparing them with some independent and more impartial
authority.
The history may be most accurate, but we require proof
that
the writer is never seduced into slightly--perhaps
unconsciously--colouring
an incident so as to favour the object he
has
at heart. For instance, Matthew, an honest writer enough, is often
betrayed
into most non-natural quotation of prophecy by his anxiety to
connect
Jesus with the Messiah expected by his countrymen. This latent
wish
of his leads him to insert various quotations from the Jewish
Scriptures
which, severed from their context, have a verbal similarity
with
the events he narrates. Thus, he refers to Hosea's mention of the
Exodus:
"When
out
of
"prophecy"
of an alleged journey of Jesus into
as
this shows us how a man may allow himself to be blinded by a
pre-conceived
determination to prove a certain fact, and warns us to
sift
carefully any history that comes to us with the announcement that
it
is written to prove such and such a truth.
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Unfortunately
we have no independent contemporary history--except a
sentence
of Josephus--whereby to test the accuracy of the Christian
records;
we are therefore forced into the somewhat unsatisfactory task
of
comparing them one with another, and in cases of diverging testimony
we
must strike the balance of probability between them.
On
examining, then, these four biographies of Jesus, we find a
remarkable
similarity between three of them, amid many divergencies of
detail;
some regard them, therefore, as the condensation into writing
of
the oral teaching of the apostles, preserved in the various Churches
they
severally founded, and so, naturally, the same radically, although
diverse
in detail. "The synoptic Gospels contain the substance of the
Apostles'
testimony, collected principally from their oral teaching
current
in the Church, partly also from written documents embodying
portions
of that teaching."* Others think that the gospels which we
possess,
and which are ascribed severally to Matthew, Mark, and Luke,
are
all three derived from an original gospel now lost, which was
probably
written in Hebrew or Aramaic, and variously translated into
Greek.
However this may be, the fact that such a statement as this has
been
put forward proves the striking similarity, the root identity, of
the
three "synoptical gospels," as they are called. We gather from them
an
idea of Jesus which is substantially the same: a figure, calm, noble,
simple,
generous; pure in life, eager to draw men to that love of the
Father
and devotion to the Father which were his own distinguishing
characteristics;
finally, a teacher of a simple and high-toned morality,
perfectly
unfettered by dogmatism. The effect produced by the sketch of
the
Fourth Evangelist is totally different. The friend of sinners has
disappeared
(except in the narrative of the woman taken in adultery,
which
is generally admitted to be an interpolation), for his whole time
is
occupied in arguing about his own position; "the common people"
who
followed and "heard him gladly" and his enemies, the Scribes and
Pharisees,
are all massed together as "the Jews," with whom he is in
constant
collision; his simple style of teaching--parabolic indeed, as
was
the custom of the East, but consisting of parables intelligible to
a
child--is exchanged for mystical discourses, causing perpetual
misunderstandings,
the true meaning of which is still wrangled about by
Christian
theologians; his earnest testimony to "your heavenly Father"
is
replaced by a constant self-assertion; while his command "do this and
ye
shall live," is exchanged for "believe on me or perish."
* Alford.
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How
great is the contrast between that discourse and the Sermon on
the
Mount.... In the last discourse it is His Person rather than his
teaching
which is especially prominent. His subject in that discourse is
Himself.
Certainly
he preaches himself in His relationship to His redeemed; but
still
he preaches above all, and in all, Himself. All radiates from
Himself,
all converges towards Himself.... in those matchless words all
centres
so consistently in Jesus, that it might seem that "Jesus Alone is
before
us."* These and similar differences, both of direct teaching and
of
the more subtle animating spirit, I propose to examine in detail; but
before
entering on these it seems necessary to glance at the disputed
question
of the authorship of our history, and determine whether, if it
prove
apostolic, it _must_ therefore be binding on us.
I
leave to more learned pens than mine the task of criticising
and
drawing conclusions from the Greek or the precise dogma of the
evangelist,
and of weighing the conflicting testimony of mighty names.
From
the account contained in the English Bible of John the Apostle, I
gather
the following points of his character: He was warm-hearted to his
friends,
bitter against his enemies, filled with a fiery and unbridled
zeal
against theological opponents; he was ambitious, egotistical,
pharisaical.
I confess that I trace these characteristics through all
the
writings ascribed to him, and that they seem to be only softened by
age
in the fourth gospel. That John was a warm friend is proved by his
first
epistle; that he was bitter against his enemies appears in his
mention
of Diotrephes, "I will remember his deeds which he doeth,
prating
against us with malicious words;" his unbridled zeal was rebuked
by
his master; the same cruel spirit is intensified in his "Revelation;"
his
ambition is apparent in his anxiety for a chief seat in Messiah's
kingdom;
his egotism appears in the fearful curse he imprecates on those
who
alter _his_ revelation; his pharisaism is marked in such a feeling
as,
"we know _we_ are of God, and the whole world lieth in wickedness."
Many
of these qualities appear to me to mark the gospel which bears
his
name; the same restricted tenderness, the same bitterness against
opponents,
the same fiery zeal for "the truth," i.e., a special
theological
dogma, are everywhere apparent.
* Liddon.
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The
same egotism is most noticeable, for in the other gospels John
shares
his master's chief regard with two others, while here he is
"_the_
disciple whom Jesus loved," and he is specially prominent in the
closing
scenes of Jesus' life as the _only_ faithful follower. We should
also
notice the remarkable similarity of expression and tone between
the
fourth gospel and the first epistle of John, a similarity the more
striking
as the language is peculiar to the writings attributed to
John.
It is, however, with the utmost diffidence that I offer these
suggestions,
well knowing that the greatest authorities are divided on
this
point of authorship, and that the balance is rather against the
apostolic
origin of the gospel than for it. I am, however, anxious
to
show that, _even taking it as apostolic_, it is untrustworthy and
utterly
unworthy of credit. If John be the writer, we must suppose
that
his long residence in
memories,
so that he speaks of "the Jews" as a foreigner would. The
stern
Jewish monotheism would have grown feebler by contact with the
subtle
influence of the Alexandrine tone of thought; and he would have
caught
the expressions of that school from living in a city which was
its
second home. To use the Greek philosophy as a vehicle for Christian
teaching
would recommend itself to him as the easiest way of approaching
minds
imbued with these mystic ideas. Regarding the master of his youth
through
the glorifying medium of years, he gradually began to imagine
him
to be one of the emanations from the Supreme, of which he heard so
much.
Accustomed to the deification of Roman emperors, men of infamous
lives,
he must have been almost driven to claim divine honours for _his_
leader.
If his hearers regarded _them_ as divine, what could he say to
exalt
_him_ except that he was ever with God, nay, was himself God? If
John
be the writer of this gospel, some such change as this must have
passed
over him, and in his old age the gradual accretions of years must
have
crystallised themselves into a formal Christian theology. But if we
find,
during our examination, that the history and the teaching of this
gospel
is utterly irreconcilable with the undoubtedly earlier synoptic
gospels,
we must then conclude that, apostolic or not, it must give
place
to them, and be itself rejected as a trustworthy account of the
life
and teaching of Jesus of Nazareth.
The
first striking peculiarity of this gospel is that all the people
in
it talk in exactly the same style and use the same markedly peculiar
phraseology,
(a) "The Father loveth the Son and hath given all things
into
his hand." (b) "For the Father loveth the Son and showeth him all
things
that Himself doeth." (c) "Jesus, knowing that the Father had
given
all things into his hand." These sentences are evidently the
outcome
of the same mind, and no one, unacquainted with our gospel,
would
guess that (a) was spoken by John the Baptist, (b) by Jesus, (c)
by
the writer of the gospel. When the Jews speak, the words still run in
the
same groove: "If any man be a worshipper of God, and doeth His will,
him
He heareth," is not said, as might be supposed, by Jesus, but by the
man
who was born blind. Indeed, commentators are sometimes puzzled, as
in
John iii. 10-21, to know where, if at all, the words of Jesus stop
and
are succeeded by the commentary of the narrator. In an accurate
history
different characters stand out in striking individuality, so
that
we come to recognise them as distinct personalities, and can even
guess
beforehand how they will probably speak and act under certain
conditions.
But here we have one figure in various disguises, one voice
from
different speakers, one mind in opposing characters. We have here
no
beings of flesh and blood, but airy phantoms, behind whom we see
clearly
the solitary preacher. For Jesus and John the Baptist are two
characters
as distinct as can well be imagined, yet their speeches are
absolutely
indistinguishable, and their thoughts run in the same groove.
Jesus
tells Nicodemus: "We speak that we do know and testify that we
have
seen, and ye receive not our witness; and no man hath ascended
up
to heaven, but he that came down from heaven." John says to his
disciples:
"He that cometh from heaven is above all, and what he hath
seen
and heard that he testifieth, and no man receiveth his testimony."
But
it is wasting time to prove so self-evident a fact: let us rather
see
how a Christian advocate meets an argument whose force he cannot
deny.
"The character and diction of our Lord's discourses entirely
penetrated
and assimilated the habits of thought of His beloved Apostle;
so
that in his first epistle he writes in the very tone and spirit of
those
discourses; and when reporting the sayings of his former teacher,
the
Baptist, he gives them, consistently with the deepest inner truth
(!)
of narration, the forms and cadences so familiar and habitual to
himself."*
It must be left to each individual to judge if a careful and
accurate
historian thus tampers with the words he pretends to narrate,
and
thus makes them accord with some mysterious inner truth; each
too
must decide as to the amount of reliance it is wise to place on a
historian
who is guided by so remarkable a rule of truth. But further,
that
the "character and diction" of this gospel are moulded on that of
Jesus,
seems a most unwarrantable assertion. Through all the recorded
sayings
of Jesus in the three gospels, there is no trace of this very
peculiar
style, except in one case (Matt. xi. 27), a passage which comes
in
abruptly and unconnectedly, and stands absolutely alone in style
in
the three synoptics, a position which throws much doubt on its
authenticity.
It has been suggested that this marked difference of style
arises
from the different auditories addressed in the three gospels and
in
the fourth; on this we remark that (a), we intuitively recognise such
discourses
as that in Matt. x. as perfectly consistent with the usual
style
of Jesus, although this is addressed to "his own;" (b), In this
fourth
gospel the discourses addressed to "his own" and to the Jews are
in
exactly the same style; so that, neither in this gospel, nor in
the
synoptics do we find any difference--more than might be reasonably
expected--between
the style of the discourses addressed to the disciples
and
those addressed to the multitudes. But we _do_ find a very marked
difference
between the style attributed to Jesus by the three synoptics
and
that put into his mouth by the fourth evangelist; this last being a
style
so remarkable that, if usual to Jesus, it is impossible that its
traces
should not appear through all his recorded speeches. From which
fact
we may, I think, boldly deduce the conclusion that the style in
question
is not that of Jesus, the simple carpenter's son, but is one
caught
from the dignified and stately march of the oratory of Ephesian
philosophers,
and is put into his mouth by the writer of his life. And
this
conclusion is rendered indubitable by the fact above-mentioned,
that
all the characters adopt this poetically and musically-rounded
phraseology.
* Alford.
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Thus
our first objection against the trustworthiness of our historian
is
that all the persons he introduces, however different in character,
speak
exactly alike, and that this style, when put into the mouth of
Jesus,
is totally different from that attributed to him by the three
synoptics.
We conclude, therefore, that the style belongs wholly to the
writer,
and that he cannot, consequently, be trusted in his reports of
speeches.
The major part, by far the most important part, of this gospel
is
thus at once stamped as untrustworthy.
Let
us next remark the partiality attributed by this gospel to Him Who
has
said--according to the Bible--"all souls-are Mine." We find the
doctrine
of predestination, i.e., of favouritism, constantly put
forward.
"_All that the Father giveth me_ shall come to me." "No man can
come
to me except the Father draw him." "That of all _which He hath given
me_
I should lose nothing." "Ye believe not, _because_ ye are not of
my
sheep." "Though he had done so many miracles before them, yet they
believed
not on him: _that the saying_ of Esaias the prophet _might be
fulfilled._"
"Therefore, they _could not believe because_ that Esaias
said,"
&c. "I have chosen you out of the world." "Thou hast given
him
power
over all flesh, that he should give eternal life to _as many as
Thou
hast given him?_" "Those that thou gavest me I have kept and none
of
them is lost, but the son of perdition, _that the Scriptures might
be
fulfilled._" These are the most striking of the passages which teach
that
doctrine which has been the most prolific parent of immorality and
the
bringer of despair to the sinner. Frightfully immoral as it is, this
doctrine
is taught in all its awful hopelessness and plainness by this
gospel:
some "_could not_ believe" because an old prophet prophesied
that
they should not-So, "according to
were
pre-ordained to eternal damnation and the abiding wrath of God.
They
were cast into an endless hell, which "they _could not_" avoid. We
reject
this gospel, secondly, for the partiality it dares to attribute
to
Almighty God.
We
will now pass to the historical discrepancies between this gospel and
the
three synoptics, following the order of the former.
It
tells us (ch. i) that at the beginning of his ministry Jesus was at
Bethabara,
a town near the junction of the
here
he gains three disciples, Andrew and another, and then Simon Peter:
the
next day he goes into
the
following day--somewhat rapid travelling--he is present, with
these
disciples, at
afterwards
with them to
he
goes for "the Jews' passover," he drives out the traders from the
temple,
and remarks, "Destroy this temple, and in three days I
will
raise it up:" which remark causes the first of the strange
misunderstandings
between Jesus and the Jews, peculiar to this Gospel,
simple
misconceptions which Jesus never troubles himself to set right.
Jesus
and his disciples then go to the
departs
into
he
is becoming more popular than the Baptist (ch. iv. 1-3). All this
happens
before John is cast into prison, an occurrence which is a
convenient
note of time. We turn to the beginning of the ministry of
Jesus
as related by the three. Jesus is in the south of
hearing
that John is cast into prison, he departs into
resides
at
"Jesus
_began_ to preach." He is alone, without disciples, but, walking
by
the sea, he comes upon Peter, Andrew, James, and John, and calls
them.
Now if the fourth gospel is true, these men had joined him in
seems
strange that they had deserted him and needed a second call, and
yet
more strange is it that Peter (Luke v. i-ii) was so astonished and
amazed
at the miracle of the fishes. The driving out of the traders from
the
temple is placed by the synoptics at the very end of his ministry,
and
the remark following it is used against him at his trial: so was
probably
made just before it. The next point of contact is the history
of
the 5000 fed by five loaves (ch. vi.), the preceding chapter relates
to
a visit to
seem
written of two men, one the "prophet of
cities,
the other concentrating his energies on
of
the miraculous, feeding is alike in all: not so the succeeding
account
of the conduct of the multitude. In the fourth gospel, Jesus
and
the crowd fall to disputing, as usual, and he loses many disciples:
among
the three, Luke says nothing of the immediately following
events,
while Matthew and Mark tell us that the multitudes--as would be
natural--crowded
round him to touch even the hem of his garment. This is
the
same as always: in the three the crowd loves him; in the fourth it
carps
at and argues with him. We must again miss the sojourn of Jesus in
to
the one, and pass to his entry into
notice
a most remarkable divergence: the synoptics tell us that he
was
going up to
Bethphage,
he sent for an ass and rode thereon into
fourth
gospel relates that he was dwelling at
for
fear of the Jews, he retired, not into
into
the place where John at first baptised," i.e., Bethabara, "and
_there
he abode_" From there he went to
putrefying
corpse: this stupendous miracle is never appealed to by the
earlier
historians in proof of their master's greatness, though
"much
people of the Jews" are said to have seen Lazarus after his
resurrection:
this miracle is also given as the reason for the active
hostility
of the priests, "from that day forward." Jesus then retires
to
Ephraim near the wilderness, from which town he goes to
thence
in triumph to
heard
that he had done this miracle." The two accounts have absolutely
nothing
in common except the entry into
events
of the synoptics exclude those of the fourth gospel, as does the
latter
theirs. If Jesus abode in Bethabara and Ephraim, he could not
have
come from
in
the south. John xiii.-xvii. stand alone, with the exception of the
mention
of the traitor. On the arrest of Jesus, he is led (ch. xviii.
13)
to Annas, who sends him to Caiaphas, while the others send him
direct
to Caiaphas, but this is immaterial. He is then taken to Pilate:
the
Jews do not enter the judgment-hall, lest, being defiled, they could
not
eat the passover, a feast which, according to the synoptics, was
over,
Jesus and his disciples having eaten it the night before. Jesus is
exposed
to the people at the sixth hour (ch. xix. 14), while Mark tells
us
he was crucified three hours before--at the third hour--a note of
time
which agrees with the others, since they all relate that there
was
darkness from the sixth to the ninth hour, i.e., there was thick
darkness
at the time when, "according to
Here
our evangelist is in hopeless conflict with the three. The accounts
about
the resurrection are irreconcilable in all the gospels, and
mutually
destructive. It remains to notice, among these discrepancies,
one
or two points which did not come in conveniently in the course of
the
narrative. During the whole of the fourth gospel, we find Jesus
constantly
arguing for his right to the title of Messiah. Andrew speaks
of
him as such (i. 41); the Samaritans acknowledge him (iv. 42); Peter
owns
him (vi. 69); the people call him so-(vii. 26, 31, 41); Jesus
claims
it (viii. 24); it is the subject of a law (ix. 22); Jesus speaks
of
it as already claimed by him (x. 24, 25); Martha recognises it
(xi.
27). We thus find that, from the very first, this title is openly
claimed
by Jesus, and his right to it openly canvassed by the Jews.
But--in
the three--the disciples acknowledge him as Christ, and he
charges
them to "tell no man that he was Jesus the Christ" (Matt. xvi.
20;
Mark viii. 29, 30; Luke ix. 20, 21); and this in the same year that
he
blames the Jews for not owning this Messiahship, since he had told
them
who he was. "from the beginning" (ch. viii. 24, 25); so that, if
"John"
was right, we fail to see the object of all the mystery about it,
related
by the synoptics.
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We
mark, too, how Peter is, in their account,
praised
for confessing him, for flesh and blood had not revealed it to
him,
while in the fourth gospel, "flesh and blood," in the person of
Andrew,
reveal to Peter that the Christ is found; and there seems little
praise
due to Peter for a confession which had been made two or three
years
earlier by Andrew, Nathanael, John Baptist, and the Samaritans.
Contradiction
can scarcely be more direct. In John vii. Jesus owns that
the
Jews know his birthplace (28), and they state (41, 42) that he comes
from
distinctly
say Jesus was born at
the
right knowledge of those who attribute his birthplace to
instead
of setting their difficulty at rest by explaining that though
brought
up at
apparently-ignorant
of their accounts. We reject this gospel, thirdly,
because
its historical statements are in direct contradiction to the
history
of the synoptics.
The
next point to which I wish to direct attention is the relative
position
of faith and morals in the three synoptics and the fourth
gospel.
It is not too much to say that on this point their teaching is
absolutely
irreconcilable, and one or the other must be fatally in the
wrong.
Here the fourth gospel clasps hands with Paul, while the others
take
the side of James. The opposition may be most plainly shown by
parallel
columns of quotations:
"Except your righteousness "He that _believeth on the_ Son
exceed that of the scribes and hath everlasting life."--iii. 36.
Pharisees, ye shall _in no
case_ enter Heaven."--Matt. v. 20.
"Have
we not prophesied in
"He that believeth on Him _is
thy name and in thy name done not condemned_."--iii. 18.
many wonderful works?"
"Then will I profess unto them...
Depart...ye that work iniquity."
--Matt. vii. 22, 23.
"If thou
wilt enter into life,
"He that believeth not the Son
keep the commandments."--Mark shall not see life."--iii. 36.
x. 17-28.
"Her sins, which are many, are "If ye believe not that I am he
forgiven, _for she loved_ much."-- ye shall die in your sins."--viii.
Luke vii. 47. 24.
These
few quotations, which might be indefinitely multiplied, are
enough
to show that, while in the three gospels _doing_ is the test of
religion,
and no profession of discipleship is worth anything unless
shown
by "its fruits," in the fourth _believing_ is the cardinal matter:
in
the three we hear absolutely nothing of faith in Jesus as requisite,
but
in the fourth we hear of little else: works are thrown completely
into
the background and salvation rests on believing--not even in
God--but
in Jesus. We reject this gospel, fourthly, for setting faith
above
works, and so contradicting the general teaching of Jesus himself.
The
relative positions of the Father and Jesus are reversed by the
fourth
evangelist, and the teaching of Jesus on this head in the three
gospels
is directly contradicted. Throughout them Jesus preaches the
Father
only: he is always reiterating "your heavenly Father;" "that
ye
may be the children of your Father," is his argument for forgiving
others;
"your Father is perfect," is his spur to a higher life; "your
Father
knoweth," is his anodyne in anxiety; "it is the Father's good
pleasure,"
is his certainty of coming happiness; "_one_ is your Father,
which
is in heaven," is, by an even extravagant loyalty, made a reason
for
denying the very name to any other. But in the fourth gospel all is
changed:
if the Father is mentioned at all, it is only as the sender of
Jesus,
as _his_ Witness and _his_ Glorifier. All love, all devotion, all
homage,
is directed to Jesus and to Jesus only: even "on the Christian
hypothesis
the Father is eclipsed by His only begotten Son."* "All
judgment"
is in the hands of the Son: he has "life in himself;" "the
work
of God" is to believe on him; he gives "life unto the world;" he
will
"raise" us "up at the last day;" except by eating him there
is "no
life;"
he is "the light of the world;" he gives true freedom; he is the
"one
shepherd: none can pluck" us out of his hand; he will "draw all men
unto"
himself: he is the "Lord and Master," "the truth and the
life;"
what
is even asked of the Father, _he_ will do; he will come to his
disciples
and abide in them; his peace and joy are their reward. Verily,
we
need no more: he who gives us eternal life, who raises us from the
dead,
who is our judge, who hears our prayers, and gives us light,
freedom,
and truth, He, He only, is our God; none can do more for us
than
he: in Him only will we trust in life and death. So, consistently,
the
Son is no longer the drawer of believers to the Father, but the
Father
is degraded into becoming the way to the Son, and none can come
to
Jesus unless Almighty God draws them to him. Jesus is no longer the
way
into the Holiest, but the Eternal Father is made the means to an end
beyond
himself.
* Voysey.
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For
this fifth reason, more than for anything else, we reject this
gospel
with the most passionate earnestness, with the most burning
indignation,
as an insult to the One Father of spirits, the ultimate
Object
of all faith and hope and love.
And
who is this who thus dethrones our heavenly Father? It is not even
the
Jesus whose fair moral beauty has exacted our hearty admiration. To
worship
_him_ would be an idolatry, but to worship him--were he such as
"John"
describes him--would be an idolatry as degrading as it would
be
baseless. For let us mark the character pourtrayed in this fourth
gospel.
His public career begins with an undignified miracle: at a
marriage,
where the wine runs short, he turns water into wine, in order
to
supply men who have already "well drunk" (ch. ii. 10). [We may ask,
in
passing, what led Mary to expect a miracle, when we are told that
this
was the first, and she could not, therefore, know of her son's
gifts.]
The next important point is the conversation with Nicodemus,
where
we scarcely knew which to marvel at most, the stolid stupidity
of
a "Master in
familiar
to him, or the aggressive way in which Jesus speaks as to the
non-reception
of his message before he had been in public many months,
and
as to non-belief in his person before belief had become possible.
We
then come to the series of discourses related in ch. v. 10.
Perfect
egotism pervades them all; in all appear the same strange
misunderstandings
on the part of the people, the same strange
persistence
in puzzling them on the part of the speaker. In one of them
the
people honestly wonder at his mysterious words: "How is it that he
saith,
I come down from heaven," and, instead of any explanation, Jesus
retorts
that they should not murmur, since no man _can_ come to him
unless
the Father draw him; so that, when he puts forward a statement
apparently
contrary to fact--"his father and mother we know," say the
puzzled
Jews--he refuses to explain it, and falls back on his favourite
doctrine:
"Unless you are of those favoured ones whom God enlightens,
you
cannot expect to understand me." Little wonder indeed that "many
of
his disciples walked no more with" a teacher so perplexing and so
discouraging;
with one who presented for their belief a mysterious
doctrine,
contrary to their experience, and then, in answer to their
prayer
for enlightenment, taunts them with an ignorance he admits was
unavoidable.
The next important conversation occurs in the temple,
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and
here Jesus, the friend of sinners, the bringer of hope to the
despairing--this
Jesus has no tenderness for some who "believed on him;"
he
ruthlessly tramples on the bruised reed and quenches the smoking
flax.
First he irritates their Jewish pride with accusations of slavery
and
low descent; then, groping after his meaning, they exclaim, "We have
one
Father, even God," and he--whom we know as the tenderest preacher
of
that Father's universal love--surely he gladly catches at their
struggling
appreciation of his favourite topic, and fans the hopeful
spark
into a flame? Yes! Jesus of Nazareth would have done so. But
Jesus,
"according to
sonship
he elsewhere proclaims, and retorts, "Ye are of your father,
the
devil." And this to men who "believed on him;" this from lips
which
said,
"_One_ is your Father," and He, in heaven. He argues next with the
Pharisees,
and we find him arrogantly exclaiming: "_all_ that ever came
before
me were thieves and robbers." What, all? Moses and Elijah, Isaiah
and
all the prophets? At length, after he has once more repulsed some
inquirers,
the Jews take up stones to stone him, as Moses commanded,
because
"thou makest thyself God." He escapes by a clever evasion, which
neutralises
all his apparent assertions of Divinity. "Other men have
been
called gods, so surely I do not blaspheme by calling myself God's
son."
Never let us forget that in this gospel, the stronghold of the
Divinity
of Jesus, Jesus himself explains his strongest assertion "I and
my
Father are one" in a manner which can only be honest in the mouth of
a
man.* We pass to the celebrated "last discourse." In this we find
the
same peculiar style, the same self-assertion, but we must note,
in
addition, the distinct tritheism which pervades it. There are
three
distinct Beings, each necessarily deprived of some attribute of
Divinity:
thus, the Deity is Infinite, but if He is divided He becomes
finite,
since two Infinites are an impossible absurdity, and unless
they
are identical they must bound each other, so becoming finite.
Accordingly
"the Comforter" cannot be present till Jesus departs,
therefore
neither Jesus nor the Comforter can be God, since God is
omnipresent.
Since, then, prayer is to be addressed to Jesus as God,
the
low theory of tri-theism, of a plurality of Gods, none of whom is
a
perfect God, is here taught. In this discourse, also, the Christian
horizon
is bounded by the figure of Jesus, the office of the Comforter
is
sub-servient to this one worship, "he shall glorify me." Jesus, at
last,
prays for his disciples, markedly excluding from his intercession
"the
world" he was said to have come to save, and, as throughout this
gospel,
restricting all his love, all his care, all his tenderness to
"these,
whom Thou hast given me." Here we come to the essence of the
spirit
which pervades this whole gospel. "I pray for them; I pray not
for
the world: not for them who are of their father the devil, nor for
my
betrayer, the son of perdition." This is the spirit which Christians
dare
to ascribe to Jesus of Nazareth, the tenderest, gentlest,
widest-hearted
man who has yet graced humanity. This is the spirit, they
tell
us, which dwelt in _his_ bosom, who gave us the parables of the
lost
sheep and the prodigal son. "No," we answer, "this is not the
spirit
of the Prophet of Nazareth, but" (Dr. Liddon will pardon the
appropriation)
"this is the temper of a man who will not enter the
public
baths along with the heretic who has dishonoured his Lord."
* "For a good work we stone thee not,
but for blasphemy;
and because that thou being a man makest
thyself God." Jesus
answered them, "Is it not written in
your law, I said, ye
are gods? If he called them gods unto whom
the word of God
came (and the scripture cannot be broken),
say ye of him
whom the Father hath sanctified and sent
into the world,
Thou blasphemest, because I said I am the
son of God?"
This
is the spirit of the writer of the gospel, not of Jesus: the
egotism
of the writer is reflected in the words put into the mouth of
his
master; and thus the preacher of the Father's love is degraded into
the
seeker of his own glory, and bearing witness of himself, his witness
becomes
untrue. I must also draw attention to one or two cases of
unreality
attributed to Jesus by this gospel. He prays, on one occasion,
"because
of the people who stand by:" he cries on his cross, "I thirst,"
not
because of the burning agony of crucifixion, but in order "that
the
Scriptures might be fulfilled:" a voice answers "his prayer,"
"not
because
of me, but for your sakes." This calculation of effect is very
foreign
to the sincere and open spirit of Jesus. Akin to this is the
prevarication
attributed to him, when he declines to accompany his
brethren
to
also
up to the feast, not openly but as it were in secret." All this
strikes
us strangely as part of that simple, fearless life.
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We
reject this gospel, sixthly, for the cruel spirit, the arrogance, the
self-assertion,
the bigotry, the unreality, attributed by it to Jesus,
and
we denounce it as a slander on his memory and an insult to his noble
life.
We
may, perhaps, note, as another peculiarity of this gospel--although I
do
not enter here into the argument of the divinity of Jesus,--that when
Dr.
Liddon, in his celebrated Bampton Lectures, is anxious to prove
the
Deity of Jesus _from his own mouth_, he is compelled to quote
exclusively
from this gospel. Such a fact as this cannot be overlooked,
when
we remember that "St. John's gospel is a polemical treatise"
written
to prove this special point. We cannot avoid noting the
coincidence.
We
have now gone through this remarkable record and examined it in
various
lights. At the outset we conceded to our opponents all the
advantage
which comes from admitting that the gospel _may_ be written
by
the Apostle John; we have left the authorship a moot point, and
based
our argument on a different ground. Apostolic or non-apostolic,
Johannine
or Corinthian, we accept it or reject it for itself, and not
for
its writer. We have found that all its characters speak alike in a
marked
and peculiar style--a style savouring of the study rather than
the
street, of Alexandria rather than Jerusalem or Galilee. We
have
glanced at its immoral partiality. We have noted the numerous
discrepancies
between the history of this gospel and that of the three
synoptics.
We have discovered it to be equally opposed to them in morals
as
in history: in doctrine as in morals. We have seen that, while it
degrades
God to enthrone Jesus in His stead, it also degrades Jesus,
and
so lowers his character that it defies recognition. Finally, we
have
found it stands alone in supporting the Deity of Jesus from his own
mouth.
I
know not how all this may strike others; to me these arguments are
simply
overwhelming in their force. I tear out the "Gospel according to
St.
John" from the writings which "are profitable" "for
instruction
in
righteousness." I reject it from beginning to end, as fatally
destructive
of all true faith towards God, as perilously subversive of
all
true morality in man, as an outrage on the sacred memory of Jesus of
Nazareth,
and as an insult to the Justice, the Supremacy, and the Unity
of
Almighty God.
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ON
THE ATONEMENT.
THE
Atonement may be regarded as the central doctrine of Christianity,
the
very _raison d'ętre_ of the Christian faith. Take this away, and
there
would remain indeed a faith and a morality, but both would have
lost
their distinctive features: it would be a faith without its
centre,
and a morality without its foundation. Christianity would be
unrecognisable
without its angry God, its dying Saviour, its covenant
signed
with "the blood of the Lamb:" the blotting out of the Atonement
would
deprive millions of all hope towards God, and would cast them
from
satisfaction into anxiety from comfort into despair. The warmest
feelings
of Christendom cluster round the Crucifix, and he, the
crucified
one, is adored with passionate devotion, not as martyr for
truth,
not as witness for God, not as faithful to death, but as the
substitute
for his worshippers, as he who bears in their stead the wrath
of
God, and the punishment due to sin. The Christian is taught to see in
the
bleeding Christ the victim slain in his own place; he himself should
be
hanging on that cross, agonised and dying; those nail-pierced hands
ought
to be his; the anguish on that face should be furrowed on his own;
the
weight of suffering resting on that bowed head should be crushing
himself
inta the dust. In the simplest meaning of the words, Christ is
the
sinner's substitute, and on him the sin of the world is laid: as
Luther
expressed it, he "is the greatest and only sinner;" literally
"made
sin" for mankind, and expiating the guilt which, in very deed, was
transferred
from man to-him.
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I
wish at the outset, for the sake of justice and candour, to
acknowledge
frankly the good which has been drawn forth by the preaching
of
the Cross. This good has been, however, the indirect rather than the
direct
result of a belief in the Atonement. The doctrine, in itself, has
nothing
elevating about it, but the teaching closely connected with
the
doctrine has its ennobling and purifying side. All the enthusiasm
aroused
in the human breast by the thought of one who sacrificed himself
to
save his brethren, all the consequent longing to emulate that love by
sacrificing
all for Jesus and for those for whom he died, all the moral
gain
caused by the contemplation of a sublime self-devotion, all these
are
the fruits of the nobler side of the Atonement. That the sinless
should
stoop to the sinful, that holiness should embrace the guilty in
order
to raise them to its own level, has struck a chord in men's bosoms
which
has responded to the touch by a harmonious melody of gratitude
to
the divine and sinless sufferer, and loving labour for suffering and
sinful
man. The Cross has been at once the apotheosis and the source of
self-sacrificing
love. "Love ye one another _as_ I have loved you: not
in
word but in deed, with a deep self-sacrificing love:" such is the
lesson
which, according to one of the most orthodox Anglican divines,
"Christ
preaches to us from His Cross." In believing in the Atonement,
man's
heart has, as usual, been better than his head; he has passed over
the
dark side of the idea, and has seized on the divine truth that the
strong
should gladly devote themselves to shield the weak, that labour,
even
unto death, is the right of humanity from every son of man. It is
often
said that no doctrine long retains its hold on men's hearts which
is
not founded on some great truth; this divine idea of self-sacrifice
has
been the truth contained in the doctrine of the Atonement, which has
made
it so dear to many loving and noble souls, and which has hidden its
"multitude
of sins"--sins against love and against justice, against God
and
against man. Love and self-sacrifice have floated the great error
over
the storms of centuries, and these cords still bind to it many
hearts
of which love and self-sacrifice are the glory and the crown.
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This
said, in candi d'homage to the good which has drawn its inspiration
from
Jesus crucified, we turn to the examination of the doctrine itself:
if
we find that it is as dishonouring to God as it is injurious to man,
a
crime against justice, a blasphemy against love, we must forget all
the
sentiments which cluster round it, and reject it utterly. It is well
to
speak respectfully of that which is dear to any religious soul,
and
to avoid jarring harshly on the strings of religious feeling, even
though
the soul be misled and the feeling be misdirected; but a time
comes
when false charity is cruelty, and tenderness to error is treason
to
truth. For long, men who know its emptiness pass by in silence the
shrine
consecrated by human hopes and fears, by love and worship, and
the
"times of this ignorance God (in the bold figure of Paul) also winks
at;"
but when "the fulness of the time is come," God sends forth some
true
son of his to dash the idol to the ground, and to trample it into
dust.
We need not be afraid that the good wrought by the lessons derived
from
the Atonement in time past will disappear with the doctrine itself;
the
mark of the Cross is too deeply ploughed into humanity ever to be
erased,
and those who no longer call themselves by the name of Christ
are
not the most backward scholars in the school of love and sacrifice.
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The
history of this doctrine has been a curious one. In the New
Testament
the Atonement is, as its name implies, a simply making at one
God
and man: _how_ this is done is but vaguely hinted at, and in order
to
deduce the modern doctrine from the Bible, we must import into
the
books of the New Testament all the ideas derived from theological
disputations.
Words used in all simplicity by the ancient writers must
have
attached to them the definite polemical meaning they hold in the
quarrels
of theologians, before they can be strained into supporting a
substitutionary
atonement. The idea, however, of "ransom" is connected
with
the work of Jesus, and the question arose, "to whom is this ransom
paid?"
They who lived in those first centuries of Christianity were
still
too much within the illumination of the tender halo thrown by
Jesus
round the Father's name, to dream for a moment that their redeemer
had
ransomed them from the beloved hands of God. No, the ransom was paid
to
the devil, whose thrall they believed mankind to be, and Jesus, by
sacrificing
himself, had purchased them from the devil and made them
sons
of God. It is not worth while to enter on the quaint details of
this
scheme, how the devil thought he had conquered and could hold Jesus
captive,
and was tricked by finding that his imagined gain could not
be
retained by him, and so on. Those who wish to become acquainted
with
this ingenious device can study it in the pages of the Christian
fathers:
it has at least one advantage over the modern plan, namely,
that
we are not so shocked at hearing of pain and suffering as
acceptable
to the supposed incarnate evil, as at hearing of them being
offered
as a sacrifice to the supreme good. As the teaching of Jesus
lost
its power, and became more and more polluted by the cruel thoughts
of
savage and bigoted men, the doctrine of the atonement gradually
changed
its character. Men thought the Almighty to be such a one as
themselves,
and being fierce and unforgiving and revengeful, they
projected
their own shadows on to the clouds which surrounded the
Deity,
and then, like the shepherd who meets his own form reflected
and
magnified on the mountain mist, they recoiled before the image they
themselves
had made. The loving Father who sent his son to rescue his
perishing
children by sacrificing himself, fades away from the hearts of
the
Christian world, and there looms darkly in his place an awful form,
the
inexorable judge who exacts a debt man is too poor to pay, and who,
in
default of payment, casts the debtor into a hopeless prison, hopeless
unless
another pays to the uttermost farthing the fine demanded by the
law.
So, in this strange transformation-scene God actually takes the
place
of the devil, and the ransom once paid to redeem men from Satan
becomes
the ransom paid to redeem men from God. It reminds one of the
quarrels
over the text which bids us "fear him who is able to destroy
both
body and soul in hell," when we remain in doubt whom he is we are
to
fear, since half the Christian commentators assure us that it refers
to
our Father in heaven, while the other half asseverate that the devil
is
the individual we are to dread. The seal was set on the "redemption
scheme"
by Anselm in his great work, "_Cur Deus Homo_" and the doctrine
which
had been slowly growing into the theology of Christendom was
thenceforward
stamped with the signet of the Church. Roman Catholics
and
Protestants, at the time of the Reformation, alike believed in the
vicarious
and substitutionary character of the atonement wrought by
Christ.
There is no dispute between them on this point. I prefer to
allow
the Christian divines to speak for themselves as to the character
of
the atonement: no one can accuse me of exaggerating their views, if
their
views are given in their own words. Luther teaches that "Christ
did
truly and effectually feel for all mankind, the wrath of God,
malediction
and death." Flavel says that "to wrath, to the wrath of an
infinite
God without mixture, to the very torments of hell, was Christ
delivered,
and that by the hand of his own father." The Anglican homily
preaches
that "sin did pluck God out of heaven to make him feel the
horrors
and pains of death," and that man, being a firebrand of hell and
a
bondsman of the devil, "was ransomed by the death of his own only and
well-beloved
son;" the "heat of his wrath," "his burning wrath,"
could
only be "pacified" by Jesus, "so pleasant was this sacrifice and
oblation
of his son's death." Edwards, being logical, saw that there was
a
gross injustice in sin being twice punished, and in the pains of
hell,
the penalty of sin, being twice inflicted, first on Christ, the
substitute
of mankind, and then on the lost, a portion of mankind. So
he,
in common with most Calvinists, finds himself compelled to restrict
the
atonement to the elect, and declared that Christ bore the sins, not
of
the world, but of the chosen out of the world; he suffers "not for
the
world, but for them whom Thou hast given me." But Edwards adheres
firmly
to the belief in substitution, and rejects the universal
atonement
for the very reason that "to believe Christ died for all is
the
surest way of proving that he died for none in the sense Christians
have
hitherto believed." He declares that "Christ suffered the wrath of
God
for men's sins;" that "God imposed his wrath due unto, and Christ
underwent
the pains of hell for," sin. Owen regards Christ's sufferings
as
"a full valuable compensation to the justice of God for all the sins"
of
the elect, and says that he underwent "that same punishment which....
they
themselves were bound to undergo."
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The
doctrine of the Christian Church--in the widest sense of that
much-fought-over
term--was then as follows, and I will state it in
language
which is studiously moderate, _as compared with the orthodox
teaching_
of the great Christian divines. If any one doubts this
assertion,
let him study their writings for himself. I really dare
not
transfer some of their expressions to my own pages. God the Father
having
cursed mankind and condemned them to eternal damnation, because
of
Adam's disobedience in eating an apple--or some other fruit, for the
species
is only preserved by tradition, and is not definitely settled
by
the inspired writings--and having further cursed each man for his own
individual
transgressions, man lay under the fierce wrath of God, unable
to
escape, and unable to pacify it, for he could not even atone for his
own
private sins, much less for his share of the guilt incurred by his
forefather
in Paradise. Man's debt was hopelessly large, and he had
"nothing
to pay;" so all that remained to him was to suffer an eternity
of
torture, which sad fate he had merited by the crime of being born
into
an accursed world. The second person of the Trinity moved to pity
by
the helpless and miserable state of mankind, interposed between the
first
person of the Trinity and the wretched sinners; he received into
his
own breast the fire-tipped arrows of divine wrath, and by suffering
inconceivable
tortures, equal in amount to an eternity of the torments
of
hell, he wrung from God's hands the pardon of mankind, or of a
portion
thereof. God, pacified by witnessing this awful agony of one who
had
from all eternity been "lying in his bosom" co-equal sharer of his
Majesty
and glory, and the object of his tenderest love, relents
from
his fierce wrath, and consents to accept the pain of Jesus as
a
substitute for the pain of mankind. In plain terms, then, God is
represented
as a Being so awfully cruel, so implacably revengeful,
that
pain _as_ pain, and death _as_ death, are what he demands as a
propitiatory
sacrifice, and with nothing less than extremest agony can
his
fierce claims on mankind be bought off. The due weight of suffering
he
must have, but it is a matter of indifference whether it is undergone
by
Jesus or by mankind. Did not the old Fathers do well in making the
awful
ransom a matter between Jesus and the devil?
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When
this point is pressed on Christians, and one urges the dishonour
done
to God by painting him in colours from which heart and soul recoil
in
shuddering horror, by ascribing to him a revengefulness and pitiless
cruelty
in comparison with which the worst efforts of human malignity
appear
but childish mischief, they are quick to retort that we are
caricaturing
Christian doctrine; they will allow, when overwhelmed with
evidence,
that "strong language" has been used in past centuries, but
will
say that such views are not now held, and that they do not ascribe
such
harsh dealing to God the Father. Theists are therefore compelled to
prove
each step of their accusation, and to quote from Christian writers
the
words which embody the views they assail. Were I simply to state
that
Christians in these days ascribe to Almighty God a fierce wrath
against
the whole human race, that this wrath can only be soothed by
suffering
and death, that he vents this wrath on an innocent head, and
that
he is well pleased by the sight of the agony of his beloved Son,
a
shout of indignation would rise from a thousand lips, and I should be
accused
of exaggeration, of false witness, of blasphemy. So once more I
write
down the doctrine from Christian dictation, and, be it remembered,
the
sentences I quote are from published works, and are therefore, the
outcome
of serious deliberation; they are not overdrawn pictures taken
from
the fervid eloquence of excited oratory, when the speaker may
perhaps
be carried further than he would, in cold blood, consent to.
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Stroud
makes Christ drink "the cup of the wrath of God." Jenkyn says,
"he
suffered as one disowned and reprobated and forsaken of God." Dwight
considers
that he endured God's "hatred and contempt." Bishop Jeune
tells
us that "after man had done his worst, worse remained for Christ
to
bear. He had fallen into his father's hands." Archbishop Thomson
preaches
that "the clouds of God's wrath gathered thick over the whole
human
race: they discharged themselves on Jesus only;" he "becomes a
curse
for us, and a vessel of wrath." Liddon echoes the same sentiment:
"the
apostles teach that mankind are slaves, and that Christ on the
Cross
is paying their ransom. Christ crucified is voluntarily devoted
and
accursed:" he even speaks of "the precise amount of ignominy and
pain
needed for the redemption," and says that the "divine victim"
paid
more
than was absolutely necessary.
These
quotations seem sufficient to prove that the Christians of the
present
day are worthy followers of the elder believers. The theologians
first
quoted are indeed coarser in their expressions, and are less
afraid
of speaking out exactly what they believe, but there is no
real
difference of creed between the awful doctrine of Flavel and the
polished
dogma of Canon Liddon. The older and the modern Christians
alike
believe in the bitter wrath of God against "the whole human race."
Both
alike regard the Atonement as so much pain tendered by Jesus to the
Almighty
Father in payment of a debt of pain owed to God by humanity.
They
alike represent God as only to be pacified by the sight of
suffering.
Man has insulted and injured God, and God must be revenged by
inflicting
suffering on the sinner in return. The "hatred and contempt"
God
launched at Jesus were due to the fact that Jesus was the sinner's
substitute,
and are therefore the feelings which animate the Divine
heart
towards the sinner himself. God hates and despises the world. He
would
have "consumed it in a moment" in the fire of his burning wrath,
had
not Jesus, "his chosen, stood before him in the gap to turn away his
wrathful
indignation."
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Now,
how far is all this consistent with justice? Is the wrath of God
against
humanity justified by the circumstances of the case, so that we
may
be obliged to own that some sacrifice was due from sinful man to his
Creator,
to propitiate a justly incensed and holy God? I trow not. On
this
first count, the Atonement is a fearful injustice. For God has
allowed
men to be brought into the world with sinful inclinations, and
to
be surrounded with many temptations and much evil. He has made
man
imperfect, and the child is born into the world with an imperfect
nature.
It is radically unjust, then, that God should curse the work
of
His hands for being what He made them, and condemn them to endless
misery
for failing to do the impossible. Allowing that Christians are
right
in believing that Adam was sinless when he came from his Maker's
hands,
these remarks apply to every other living soul since born into
the
world; the Genesis myth will not extricate Christians from the
difficulty.
Christians are quite right and are justified by facts when
they
say that man is born into the world frail, imperfect, prone to sin
and
error; but who, we ask them, made men so? Does not their own Bible
tell
them that the "potter hath power over the clay," and, further, that
"we
are the clay and thou art the potter?" To curse men for being men,
_i.e._,
imperfect moral beings, is the height of cruelty and injustice;
to
condemn the morally weak to hell for sin, _i.e._, for failing in
moral
strength, is about as fair as sentencing a sick man to death
because
he cannot stand upright. Christians try and avoid the force of
this
by saying that men should rely on God's grace to uphold them, but
they
fail to see that this _very want of reliance_ is part of man's
natural
weakness. The sick man might be blamed for falling because he
did
not lean on a stronger arm, but suppose he was too weak to grasp
it?
Further, few Christians believe that it is impossible in practice,
however
possible in theory, to lead a perfect life; and as to "offend in
one
point is to be guilty of all," one failure is sufficient to send the
generally
righteous man to hell. Besides, they forget that infants are
included
under the curse, although _necessarily_ incapable of grasping
the
idea either of sin or of God; all babies born into the world and
dying
before becoming capable of acting for themselves would, we are
taught,
have been inevitably consigned to hell, had it not been for the
Atonement
of Jesus. Some Christians actually believe that unbaptized
babies
are not admitted into heaven, and in a Roman Catholic book
descriptive
of hell, a poor little baby writhes and screams in a red-hot
oven.
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This
side of the Atonement, this unjust demand on men for a
righteousness
they could not render, necessitating a sacrifice to
propitiate
God for non-compliance with his exaction, has had its due
effect
on men's minds, and has alienated their hearts from God. No
wonder
that men turned away from a God who, like a passionate but
unskilful
workman, dashes to pieces the instrument he has made because
it
fails in its purpose, and, instead of blaming his own want of skill,
vents
his anger on the helpless thing that is only what he made it.
Most
naturally, also, have men shrunk from the God who "avengeth and
is
furious" to the tender, pitiful, human Jesus, who loved sinners
so
deeply as to choose to suffer for their sakes. They could owe no
gratitude
to an Almighty Being who created them and cursed them, and
only
consented to allow them to be happy on condition that another paid
for
them the misery he demanded as his due; but what gratitude could
be
enough for him who rescued them from the fearful hands of the living
God,
at the cost of almost intolerable suffering to himself? Let us
remember
that Christ is said to suffer the very torments of hell, and
that
his worst sufferings were when "fallen into his father's hands,"
out
of which he has rescued us, and then can we wonder that the
crucified
is adored with a very ecstasy of gratitude? Imagine what it is
to
be saved from the hands of him who inflicted an agony admitted to be
unlimited,
and who took advantage of an infinite capacity in order to
inflict
an infinite pain. It is well for the men before whose eyes this
awful
spectre has flitted that the fair humanity of Jesus gives them a
refuge
to fly to, else what but despair and madness could have been the
doom
of those who, without Jesus, would have seen enthroned above the
wailing
universe naught but an infinite cruelty and an Almighty foe.
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We
see, then, that the necessity for an atonement makes the Eternal
Father
both unjust in his demands on men and cruel in his punishment of
inevitable
failure; but there is another injustice which is of the
very
essence of the Atonement itself. This consists in the vicarious
character
of the sacrifice: a new element of injustice is introduced
when
we consider that the person sacrificed is not even the guilty
party.
If a man offends against law, justice requires that he should be
punished:
the punishment becomes unjust if it is excessive, as in the
case
we have been considering above; but it is equally unjust to allow
him
to go free without punishment. Christians are right in affirming
that
moral government would be at an end were men allowed to sin with
impunity,
and did an easy forgiveness succeed to each offence. They
appeal
to our instinctive sense of justice to-approve the sentiment that
punishment
should follow sin: we acquiesce, and hope that we have now
reached
a firm standing-ground from which to proceed further in our
investigation.
But, no; they promptly outrage that same sense of justice
which
they have called as a witness on their side, by asking us to
believe
that its ends are attained provided that somebody or other is
punished.
When we reply that _this_ is not justice, we are promptly
bidden
not to be presumptuous and argue from our human ideas of justice
as
to the course that ought to be pursued by the absolute justice of
God.
"Then why appeal to it at all?" we urge; "why talk of justice in
the
matter if we are totally unable to judge as to the rights and wrongs
of
the case?" At this point we are commonly overwhelmed with Paul's
notable
argument--"Nay, but, O man, who art thou that repliest against
God?"
But if Christians value the simplicity and straightforwardness
of
their own minds, they should not use words which convey a certain
accepted
meaning in this shuffling, double sense. When we speak of
"justice,"
we speak of a certain well-understood quality, and we do not
speak
of a mysterious divine attribute, which has not only nothing in
common
with human justice, but which is in direct opposition to that
which
we understand by that name. Suppose a man condemned to death for
murder:
the judge is about to sentence him, when a bystander--as it
chances,
the judge's own son--interposes: "My Lord, the prisoner is
guilty
and deserves to be hanged; but if you will let him go, I will
die
in his place." The offer is accepted, the prisoner is set free, the
judge's
son is hanged in his stead. What is all this? Self-sacrifice
(however
misdirected), love, enthusiasm--what you will; but certainly
not
_justice_--nay, the grossest injustice, a second murder, an
ineffaceable
stain on the ermine of the outraged law. I imagine that,
in
this supposed case, no Christian will be found to assert that justice
was
done; yet call the judge God, the prisoner mankind, the substitute
Jesus,
and the trial scene is exactly reproduced. Then, in the name of
candour
and common sense, why call that just in God which we see would
be
so unjust and immoral in man? This vicarious nature of the Atonement
also
degrades the divine name, by making him utterly careless in
the
matter of punishment: all he is anxious for, according to this
detestable
theory, is that he should strike a blow _somewhere_. Like
a
child in a passion, he only feels the desire to hurt somebody, and
strikes
out vaguely and at random. There is no discrimination used;
the
thunderbolt is launched into a crowd: it falls on the head of the
"sinless
son," and crushes the innocent, while the sinner goes
free.
What matter? It has fallen somewhere, and the "burning fire of
his-wrath"
is cooled. This is what men call the vindication of the
justice
of the Moral Governor of the universe: this is "the act of
God's
awful holiness," which marks his hatred of sin, and his immovable
determination
to punish it. But when we reflect that this justice
is
consistent with letting off the guilty and punishing the innocent
person,
we feel dread misgivings steal into our minds. The justice of
our
Moral Governor has nothing in common with our justice--indeed, it
violates
all our notions of right and wrong.
What
if, as Mr. Vance Smith suggests, this strange justice be consistent
also
with a double punishment of sin; and what if the Moral Governor
should
bethink himself that, having confused
morality by an
unjust--humanly
speaking, of course--punishment, it would be well to
set
things straight again by punishing the guilty after all?
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We
can never dare to feel safe in the hands of this
unjust--humanly
speaking--Moral Governor, or predicate
from
our instinctive notions of right and wrong what his requirements
may
be. One is lost in astonishment that men should believe such things
of
God, and not have manhood enough to rise up rebellious against such
injustice--should,
instead, crouch at his feet, and while trying to hide
themselves
from his wrath should force their trembling lips to murmur
some
incoherent acknowledgment of his mercy. Ah! they do not believe it;
they
assert it in words, but, thank God, it makes no impression on their
hearts;
and they would die a thousand deaths rather than imitate, in
their
dealings with their fellow-men, the fearful cruelty which the
Church
has taught them to call the justice of the Judge of all the
earth.
The
Atonement is not only doubly unjust, but it is perfectly futile. We
are
told that Christ took away the sins of the world; we have a right to
ask,
"how?" So far as we can judge, we bear our sins in our own bodies
still,
and the Atonement helps us not at all. Has he borne the physical
consequences
of sin, such as the loss of health caused by intemperance
of
all kinds? Not at all, this penalty remains, and, from the nature
of
things, cannot be transferred. Has he borne the social consequences,
shame,
loss of credit, and so on? They remain still to hinder us as
we
strive to rise after our fall. Has he at least borne the pangs of
remorse
for us, the stings of conscience? By no means; the tears of
sorrow
are no less bitter, the prickings of repentance no less keen.
Perhaps
he has struck at the root of evil, and has put away sin itself
out
of a redeemed world? Alas! the wailing that goes up to heaven from a
world
oppressed with sin weeps out a sorrowfully emphatic, "no, this
he
has _not_ done." What has he then borne for us? Nothing, save the
phantom
wrath of a phantom tyrant; all that is real exists the same as
before.
We turn away, then, from the offered atonement with a feeling
that
would be impatience at such trifling, were it not all too
sorrowful,
and leave the Christians to impose on their imagined
sacrifice,
the imagined burden of the guilt of the accursed race.
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Further,
the Atonement is, from the nature of things, entirely
impossible:
we have seen how Christ fails to bear our sins in any
intelligible
sense, but can he, in any way, bear the "punishment" of
sin?
The idea that the punishment of sin can be transferred from one
person
to another is radically false, and arises from a wrong conception
of
the punishment consequent on sin, and from the ecclesiastical guilt,
so
to speak, thought to be incurred thereby. _The only true punishment
of
sin is the injury caused by it to our moral nature_: all the indirect
punishments,
we have seen, Christ has not taken away, and the true
punishment
can fall only on ourselves. For sin is nothing more than the
transgression
of law. All law, when broken, entails _of necessity_ an
appropriate
penalty, and recoils, as it were, on the transgressor. A
natural
law, when broken, avenges itself by consequent suffering, and so
does
a spiritual law: the injury wrought by the latter is not less
real,
although less obvious. Physical sin brings physical suffering;
spiritual,
moral, mental sin brings each its own appropriate punishment.
"Sin"
has become such a cant term that we lose sight, in using it, of
its
real simple meaning, a breaking of law. Imagine any sane man coming
and
saying, "My dear friend; if you like to put your hand into the fire
I
will bear the punishment of being burnt, and you shall not suffer." It
is
quite as absurd to imagine that if I sin Jesus can bear my consequent
suffering.
If a man lies habitually, for instance, he grows thoroughly
untrue:
let him repent ever so vigorously, he must bear the consequences
of
his past deeds, and fight his way back slowly to truthfulness of
word
and thought: no atonement, nothing in heaven or earth save his own
labour,
will restore to him the forfeited jewel of instinctive candour.
Thus
the "punishment" of untruthfulness is the loss of the power of
being
true, just as the punishment of putting the hand into the fire is
the
loss of the power of grasping. But in addition to this simple and
most
just and natural "retribution," theologians have invented certain
arbitrary
penalties as a punishment of sin, the wrath of God and hell
fire.
These imaginary penalties are discharged by an equally imaginary
atonement,
the natural punishment remaining as before; so after all we
only
reject the two sets of inventions which balance each other, and
find
ourselves just in the same position as they are, having gained
infinitely
in simplicity and naturalness. The punishment of sin is not
an
arbitrary penalty, but an inevitable sequence: Jesus may bear, if his
worshippers
will have it so, the theological fiction of the "guilt of
sin,"
an idea derived from the ceremonial uncleanness of the Levitical
law,
but let him leave alone the solemn realities connected with the
sacred
and immutable laws of God.
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Doubly
unjust, useless, and impossible, it might be deemed a work of
supererogation
to argue yet further against the Atonement; but its hold
on
men's minds is too firm to allow us to lay down a single weapon which
can
be turned against it. So, in addition to these defects, I remark
that,
viewed as a propitiatory sacrifice to Almighty God, it is
thoroughly
inadequate. If God, being righteous, as we believe Him to be,
regarded
man with anger because of man's sinfulness, what is obviously
the
required propitiation? Surely the removal of the cause of anger,
_i.e._,
of sin itself, and the seeking by man of righteousness. The old
Hebrew
prophet saw this plainly, and his idea of atonement is the
true
one: "wherewith shall I come before the Lord," he is asked, with
burnt-offerings
or--choicer still--parental anguish over a first-born's
corpse?
"What doth the Lord require of thee," is the reproving answer,
"but
to do justly and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?"
But
what is the propitiatory element in the Christian Atonement?
let
Canon Liddon answer: "the ignominy and pain _needed_ for the
redemption."
Ignominy, agony, blood, death, these are what Christians
offer
up as an acceptable sacrifice to the Spirit of Love. But what have
all
these in common with the demands of the Eternal Righteousness, and
how
can pain atone for sin? they have no relation to each other; there
is
no appropriateness in the offered exchange. These terrible offerings
are
in keeping with the barbarous ideas of uncivilized nations, and we
understand
the feelings which prompt the savage to immolate tortured
victims
on the altars of his gloomy gods; they are appropriate
sacrifices
to the foes of mankind, who are to be bought off from
injuring
us by our offering them an equivalent pain to that they desire
to
inflict, but they are offensive when given to Him who is the
Friend
and Lover of Humanity. An Atonement which offers suffering as
a
propitiation can have nothing in common with God's will for man, and
must
be utterly beside the mark, perfectly inadequate. If we must have
Atonement,
let it at least consist of something which will suit the
Righteousness
and Love of God, and be in keeping with his perfection;
let
it not borrow the language of ancient savagery, and breathe of blood
and
dying victims, and tortured human frames, racked with pain.
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Lastly,
I impeach the Atonement as injurious in several ways to human
morality.
It has been extolled as "meeting the needs of the awakened
sinner"
by soothing his fears of punishment with the gift of a
substitute
who has already suffered his sentence for him; but nothing
can
be more pernicious than to console a sinner with the promise that
he
shall escape the punishment he has justly deserved. The Atonement
may
meet the first superficial feelings of a man startled into the
consciousness
of his sinfulness, it may soothe the first vague fears and
act
as an opiate to the awakened conscience; but it does not fulfil the
cravings
of a heart deeply yearning after righteousness; it offers a
legal
justification to a soul which is longing for purity, it offers
freedom
from punishment to a soul longing for freedom from sin. The true
penitent
does not seek to be shielded from the consequences of his past
errors:
he accepts them meekly, bravely, humbly, learning through pain
the
lesson of future purity. An atonement which steps in between us and
this
fatherly discipline ordained by God, would be a curse and not a
blessing;
it would rob us of our education and deprive us of a priceless
instruction.
The force of temptation is fearfully added to by the idea
that
repentance lays the righteous penalty of transgression on another
head;
this doctrine gives a direct encouragement to sin, as even
Paul
perceived when he said, "shall we continue in sin that grace may
abound?"
Some one has remarked, I think, that though Paul ejaculates,
"God
forbid," his fears were well founded and have been widely realised.
To
the Atonement we owe the morbid sentiment which believes in the holy
death
of a ruffianly murderer, because, goaded by ungovernable terror,
he
has snatched at the offered safety and been "washed in the blood of
the
lamb." To it we owe the unwholesome glorying in the pious sentiments
of
such an one, who ought to go out of this life sadly and silently,
without
a sickening parade of feelings of love towards the God whose
laws,
as long as he could, he has broken and despised. But the Christian
teachers
will extol the "saving grace" which has made the felon die with
words
of joyful assurance, meet only for the lips of one who crowns
a
saintly life with a peaceful death. The Atonement has weakened that
stern
condemnation of sin which is the safeguard of purity; it has
softened
down moral differences, and placed the penitent above the
saint;
it has dulled the feeling of responsibility in the soul; it has
taken
away the help, such as it is, of fear of punishment for sin; it
has
confused man's sense of justice, outraged his feeling of right,
blunted
his conscience, and misdirected his repentance. It has chilled
his
love to God by representing the universal father as a cruel tyrant
and
a remorseless and unjust judge. It has been the fruitful parent of
all
asceticism, for, since God was pacified by suffering once, he would,
of
course, be pleased with suffering at all times, and so men have
logically
ruined their bodies to save their souls, and crushed their
feelings
and lacerated their hearts to propitiate the awful form
frowning
behind the cross of Christ. To the Atonement we owe it that God
is
served by fear instead of by love, that monasticism holds its head
above
the sweet sanctities of love and home, that religion is crowned
with
thorns and not with roses, that the _miserere_ and not the _gloria_
is
the strain from earth to heaven. The Atonement teaches men to crouch
at
the feet of God, instead of raising loving, joyful faces to meet his
radiant
smile; it shuts out his sunshine from us, and veils us in the
night
of an impenetrable dread. What is the sentiment with which Canon
Liddon
closes a sermon on the death of Christ? I quote it to show the
slavish
feeling engendered by this doctrine in a very noble human soul:
"In
ourselves, indeed, there is nothing that should stay His (God's)
arm
or invite his mercy. But may he have respect to the acts and the
sufferings
of his sinless son? Only while contemplating the inestimable
merits
of the Redeemer can we dare to hope that our heavenly Father will
overlook
the countless provocations which he receives at the hands of
the
redeemed." Is this a wholesome sentiment, either as regards our
feelings
towards God or our efforts towards holiness? Is it well to look
to
the purity of another as a makewight for our personal shortcomings?
All
these injuries to morality done by the atonement are completed
by
the crowning one, that it offers to the sinner a veil of "imputed
righteousness."
Not only does it take from him his saving punishment,
but
it nullifies his strivings after holiness by offering him a
righteousness
which is not his own. It introduces into the solemn
region
of duty to God the legal fiction of a gift of holiness, which is
imputed,
not won. We are taught to believe that we can blind the eyes
of
God and satisfy him with a pretended purity. But that every one whose
purity
we seek to claim as ours, that fair blossom of humanity, Jesus
of
Nazareth, whose mission we so misconstrue, launched his anathema at
whited
sepulchres, pure without and foul within. What would he have said
of
the whitewash of unimputed righteousness? Stern and sharp would have
been
his rebuke, methinks, to a device so untrue, and well-deserved
would
have been his thundered "woe" on a hypocrisy that would fain
deceive
God as well as man.
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206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
These
considerations have carried so great a weight with the most
enlightened
and progressive minds among Christians themselves, that
there
has grown up a party in the Church whose repudiation of an
atonement
of agony and death is as complete as even we could wish.
They
denounce with the utmost fervour the hideous notion of a "bloody
sacrifice,"
and are urgent in their representations of the dishonour
done
to God by ascribing to him "pleasure in the death of him that
dieth,"
or satisfaction in the sight of pain. They point out that there
is
no virtue in blood to wash away sin, not even "in the blood of a
God."
Maurice eloquently pleads against the idea that the suffering
of
the "well-beloved Son" was in itself an acceptable sacrifice to the
Almighty
Father, and he sees the atoning element in the "holiness and
graciousness
of the Son." Writers of this school perceive that a moral
and
not a physical sacrifice can be the only acceptable offering to the
Father
of spirits, but the great objection lies against their theory
also,
that the Atonement is still vicarious. Christ still suffers _for_
man,
in order to make men acceptable to God. It is, perhaps, scarcely
fair
to say this of the school as a whole, since the opinions of Broad
Church
divines differ widely from each other, ranging from the orthodox
to
the Socinian standing-point. Yet, roughly speaking, we may say that
while
they have given up the error of thinking that the death of
Christ
reconciles God to-us, they yet believe that his death, in
some
mysterious manner, reconciles us to God. It is a matter of deep
thankfulness
that they give up the old cruel idea of propitiating God,
and
so prepare the way for a higher creed. Their more humane teaching
reaches
hearts which are as yet sealed against us, and they are the
John
Baptist of the Theistic Christ. We must still urge on them that an
atonement
at all is superfluous, that all the parade of reconciliation
by
means of a mediator is perfectly unnecessary as between God and his
child,
man; that the notion put forward that Christ realised the ideal
of
humanity and propitiated God by showing what a man _could_ be, is
objectionable
in that it represents God as needing to be taught what
were
the capacities of his creatures, and is further untrue, because the
powers
of God in man are not really the equivalent of the capabilities
of
a simple man. Broad Churchmen are still hampered by the difficulties
surrounding
a divine Christ, and are puzzled to find for him a place in
their
theology which is at once suitable for his dignity, and consistent
with
a reasonable belief. They feel obliged to acknowledge that some
unusual
benefit to the race must result from the incarnation and death
of
a God, and are swayed alternately by their reason, which places
the
crucifixion of Jesus in the roll of martyrs' deaths, and by their
prejudices,
which assign to it a position unique and unrivalled in the
history
of the race. There are, however, many signs that the deity of
Jesus
is, as an article of faith, tottering from its pedestal in the
Broad
Church school. The hold on it by such men as the Rev. J. S. Brooke
is
very slight, and his interpretation of the incarnation is regarded
by
orthodox divines with unmingled horror. Their _moral_ atonement, in
turn,
is as the dawn before the sunrise, and we may hope that it will
soon
develop into the real truth: namely, that the dealings of Jesus
with
the Father were a purely private matter between his own soul and
God,
and that his value to mankind consists in his being one of the
teachers
of the race, one "with a genius for religion," one of the
schoolmasters
appointed to lead humanity to God.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
The
theory of M'Leod Campbell stands alone, and is highly interesting
and
ingenious--it is the more valuable and hopeful as coming from
Scotland,
the home of the dreariest belief as to the relations existing
between
man and God. He rejects the penal character of the Atonement,
and
makes it consist, so to speak, in leading God and man to understand
one
another. He considers that Christ witnessed to men on behalf of God,
and
vindicated the father's heart by showing what he could be to the son
who
trusted in him. He witnessed to God on behalf of men--and this
is
the weakest point in the book, verging, as it does, on
substitution--showing
in humanity a perfect sympathy with God's feelings
towards
sin, and offering to God for man a perfect repentance for human
transgression.
I purposely say "verging," because Campbell does not
_intend_
substitution; he represents this sorrow of Jesus as what he
must
inevitably feel at seeing his brother-men unconscious of their sin
and
danger, so no fiction is supposed as between God and Christ. But he
considers
that God, having seen the perfection of repentance in Jesus,
accepts
the repentance of man, imperfect as it is, because it is _in
kind_
the same as that of Jesus, and is the germ of that feeling of
which
his is the perfect flower; in this sense, and only in this sense,
is
the repentance of man accepted "for Christ's sake." He considers that
men
must share in the mind of Christ as towards God and towards sin, in
order
to be benefited by the work of Christ, and that each man must thus
actually
take part in the work of atonement. The sufferings of Jesus he
regards
as necessary in order to test the reality of the life of sonship
towards
God, and brotherhood towards men, which he came to earth to
exemplify.
I trust I have done no injustice in this short summary to a
very
able and thoughtful book, which presents, perhaps, the only view of
the
Atonement compatible with the love and the justice of God; and this
only,
of course, if the idea of _any_ atonement can fairly be said to
be
consistent with justice. The merits of this view are practically that
this
work of Jesus is not an "atonement" in the theological sense at
all.
The defects of Campbell's book are inseparable from his creed,
as
he argues from a belief in the deity of Jesus, from an unconscious
limitation
of God's knowledge (as though God did not understand man
till
he was revealed to him by Jesus) and from a wrong conception of the
punishment
due to sin. I said, at starting, that the Atonement was the
_raison
d'ętre_ of Christianity, and, in conclusion, I would challenge
all
thoughtful men and women to say whether good cause has or has not
been
shown for rejecting this pillar "of the faith." The Atonement has
but
to be studied in order to be rejected. The difficulty is to persuade
people
to _think_ about their creed, Yet the question of this doctrine
must
be faced and answered. "I have too much faith in the common sense
and
justice of Englishmen when once awakened to face any question
fairly,
to doubt what that answer will be."
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
ON
THE MEDIATION AND SALVATION OF ECCLESIASTICAL CHRISTIANITY.
THE
whole Christian scheme turns on the assumption of the inherent
necessity
of some one standing between the Creator and the creature,
and
shielding the all-weak from the power of the All-mighty. "It is a
fearful
thing to fall into the hands of the living God;" such is the
key-note
of the strain which is chanted alike by Roman Catholicism, with
its
thousand intercessors, and by Protestantism, with its "one Mediator,
the
man Christ Jesus." "Speak _thou_ for me," cries man to his
favourite
mouthpiece,
whoever it may be; "go thou near, but let me not see the
face
of God, lest I die." The heroes, the saints, the idols of humanity,
have
been the men who have dared to search into the Unseen, and to gaze
straight
up into the awful Face of God. They have dashed aside all that
intervened
between their souls and the Eternal Soul, and have found it,
as
one of them quaintly phrases it, "a profitable sweet necessity to
fall
on the naked arm of Jehovah." Then, because they dared to-trust Him
who
had called them into existence, and to stretch out beseeching hands
to
the Everlasting Father, they have been forced into a position they
would
have been the very first to protest against, and have been made
into
mediators for men less bold, for children less confiding. Those
who
dared not seek God for themselves have clung to the garments of the
braver
souls, who have thus become, involuntarily, veils between
their
brother-men and the Supreme. There is, perhaps, no better way of
demonstrating
the radical errors from which spring all the so-called
"schemes
of redemption" and "economies of Divine grace" than by starting
from
the Christian hypothesis.
We
will admit, for argument's sake, the Deity of Jesus, in order that we
may
thus see the more distinctly that a mediator of any kind between
God
and man is utterly uncalled for. It is mediation, in itself, that
is
wrong in principle; we object to it as a whole, not to any special
manifestation
of it. Divine or human mediators, Jesus or his mother,
saint,
angel, or priest, we reject them each and all; our birthright
as
human beings is to be the offspring of the Universal Father, and we
refuse
to have any interloper pressing in between our hearts and His.
We
will take mediation first in its highest form, and speak of it as if
Jesus
were really God as well as man. All Christians agree in asserting
that
the coming of the Son into the world to save sinners was the result
of
the love of the Father for these sinners; _i.e._, "_God_ so loved the
world
that _He_ sent His Son." The motive-power of the redemption of the
world
is, then, according to Christians, the deep love of the Creator
for
the work of His hands. This it was that exiled the Son from the
bosom
of the Father, and caused the Eternal to be born into time.
But
now a startling change occurs in the aspect of affairs. Jesus has
"atoned
for the sins of the world;" he "has made peace through the blood
of
his cross;" and having done so, he suddenly appears as the mediator
for
men. What does this pleading of the Son on behalf of sinners imply?
Only
this--_a complete change in the Father's mind towards the world_.
After
the yearning love of which we have heard, after this absolute
sacrifice
to win His children's hearts, He at last succeeds. He sees His
children
at His feet, repentant for the past, eager to make amends in
the
future; human hands appealing to Him, human eyes streaming with
tears.
He turns His back on the souls He has been labouring to win; He
refuses
to clasp around His penitents the arms outstretched to them so
long,
unless they are presented to Him by an accredited intercessor,
and
come armed with a formal recommendation. The inconsistency of such a
procedure
must be palpable to all minds; and in order to account for
one
absurdity, theologians have invented another; having created one
difficulty,
they are forced to make a second, in order to escape from
the
first. So they represent God as loving sinners, and desiring to
forgive
and welcome them. This feeling is the Mercy of God; but, in
opposition
to the dictates of Mercy, Justice starts up, and forbids any
favour
to the sinner unless its own claims are first satisfied to the
utmost.
A Christian writer has represented Mercy and Justice as standing
before
the Eternal: Mercy pleads for forgiveness and pity, Justice
clamours
for punishment. Two attributes of the Godhead are personified
and
placed in opposition to each other, and require to be reconciled.
But
when we remember that each personified quality is really but a
portion,
so to speak, of the Divine character, we find that God is
divided
against Himself. Thus, this theory introduces discord into the
harmonious
mind which inspires the perfect melodies of the universe. It
sees
warring elements in the Serenity of the Infinite One; it pictures
successive
waves of love and anger ruffling that ineffable Calm; it
imagines
clouds of changing motives sweeping across the sun of that
unchanging
Will. Such a theory as this must be rejected as soon as
realised
by the thoughtful mind. God is not a man, to be swayed first
by
one motive and then by another. His mercy and justice ever point
unwaveringly
in the same direction: perfect justice requires the same
as
perfect mercy. If God's justice could fail, the whole moral universe
would
be in confusion, and that would be the greatest cruelty that
could
be inflicted on intelligent beings. The weak pliability, miscalled
mercy,
which is supposed to be worked upon by a mediator, is a human
infirmity
which men have transferred to their idea of God.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
A
man who has announced his intention to punish may be persuaded out
of
his resolution. New arguments may be adduced for the condemned one's
innocence,
new reasons for clemency may be suggested; or the judge may
have
been over-strict, or have been swayed by prejudice. Here a mediator
may
indeed step in, and find good work to do; but, in the name of the
Eternal
Perfection, what has all this to do with the judgment of God?
Can
His knowledge be imperfect, His mercy increased? Can His sentence be
swayed
by prejudice, or made harsh by over-severity?
But
if His judgment is already perfect, any change implies imperfection,
and
all left for the mediator to do is to persuade God to make a change,
_i.e._,
to become imperfect; or, God having decided that sin shall
be
punished, the mediator steps in, and actually so works upon God's
feelings
that He revokes His decision, and--most cruel of mercies--lets
it
go unnoticed. Like an unwise parent, God is persuaded not to punish
the
erring child. But such is not the case. God is just, and because He
is
just He is most truly merciful: in that justice rests the certainty
of
the due punishment of sin, and, therefore of the purification of the
sinner!
and no mediator--thanks be to God for it!--shall ever cause to
waver
for one instant that Rock of Justice on which reposes the hope of
Humanity.
But
the theory we are considering has another fatal error in it:
it
ascribes imperfection to Almighty God. For God is represented as
desiring
to forgive sinners, and this desire must be either right or
wrong.
If it be right, it can at once be gratified; but if Justice
opposes
this forgiveness, then the desire to forgive is not wholly
right.
Theologians are thus placed in this dilemma: if God is
perfect--as
He is--any desire of His must likewise be flawlessly
perfect,
and its fulfilment must be the very best thing that could
happen
to His whole creation; on the other hand, if there is any barrier
of
right--and Justice _is_ right--interposed between God and His desire,
then
His Will is not the most perfect Good. Theologians must then choose
between
admitting that the desire of God to welcome sinners is just, or
detracting
from the Eternal Perfection.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
It
is obvious that we do not weaken our case by admitting, for the
moment,
the Deity of Jesus; for we are striking at the root-idea
of
mediation. That the mediator should be God is totally beside the
question,
and in no way strengthens our adversaries' hands. His Deity
does
nothing more than introduce a new element of confusion into the
affair;
for we become entangled in a maze of contradictions. God, who is
One,
even according to Christians, is at one and the same time estranged
from
sinners, pleading for sinners, and admitting the pleading. God
pleads
to Himself--but we are confounding the persons: one God pleads to
another--but
we are dividing the substance. Alas and alas for the creed
which
compels its votaries to deny their reason, and degrade their
Maker!
which babbles of a Nature it cannot comprehend, and forces
its
foolish contradictions on indignant souls! If Jesus be God, his
mediation
is at once impossible and unnecessary; if he be God, his will
is
the will of God; and if he wills to welcome sinners, it is God who
wills
to welcome them. If he, who is God, is content to pardon and
embrace,
what further do sinners require? Christians tell us that Jesus
is
one with God: it is well, we reply; for you say he is the Friend of
sinners,
and the Redeemer of the lost. If he be God, we both agree as to
the
friendliness of God to sinners. You need no mediator between you
and
Jesus; and, since he is God, you need no mediator with God. This
reasoning
is irrefragable, unless Christians are content to assign to
their
mediator some place which is less than divine; for they certainly
derogate
from his dignity when they imagine him as content to receive
those
whom Almighty God chases from before His face. And in making this
difference
between Jesus and the Father they make a fatal admission that
he
is distinct in feeling from God, and therefore cannot be the One God.
It
is the proper perception of this fact which has introduced into
the
Roman Church the human mediators whose intercession is constantly
implored.
Jesus, being God, is too awful to be approached: his mother,
his
apostles, some saint or martyr, must come between. I have read a
Roman
Catholic paper about the mediation of Mary which would be accepted
by
the most orthodox Protestant were Mary replaced by Jesus, and Jesus
by
the Father. For Jesus is there painted, as the Father is painted by
the
orthodox, in stern majesty, hard, implacable, exacting the uttermost
farthing;
and Mary is represented as standing between him and the
sinners
for whom she pleads. It is only a further development of the
idea
which makes the man Jesus the Mediator between God and man. As the
deification
of Mary progresses, following in slow but certain steps
the
deification of Jesus, a mediator will be required through whom to
approach
_her_; and then Jesus, too, will fade out of the hearts of
men,
as the Father has faded out of the hearts of Christians, and this
superstition
of mediation will sink lower and lower, till it is rejected
by
all earnest hearts, and is loathed by human souls which are aching
for
the living God.
-------Cardiff Theosophical Society
in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
We
see, then, that mediation implies an absurd and inexplicable change
in
the supposed attitude of God towards man, and destroys all confidence
in
the justice of the Supreme Ruler. We should further take into
consideration
the strange feeling towards the Universal _Heart_ implied
in
man's endeavour to push some one in between himself and the Eternal
Father.
As we study Nature and try to discover from its workings
something
of the characteristics of the Worker therein, we find not only
a
ruling Intelligence--a _Supreme Reason_, before which we bow our heads
in
an adoration too deep for words--but we catch also beautiful glimpses
of
a ruling Love--a _Supreme Heart_, to which our hearts turn with a
glad
relief from the dark mysteries of pain and evil which press us in
on
every side. Simple belief in God at all, that is to say, in a Power
which
works in the Universe, is quite sufficient to disperse any of
that
feeling of fear which finds its fit expression in the longing for
a
mediator. For being placed here without our request, and even without
our
consent, we have surely, as a simple matter of justice, a right to
demand
that the Power which placed us here shall provide us with means
by
which we can secure our happiness. I speak, of course, as of a
_conscious_
Power, because a blind Force is necessarily irresponsible;
but
those who believe in a God are bound to acknowledge that He is
responsible
for their well-being. If any one should suggest that to
say
thus is to criticise God's dealings and to speak with presumptuous
irreverence,
I retort that the irreverence lies with those who ascribe
to
the Supreme a course of action towards His creatures that they
themselves
would be ashamed to pursue towards their own children, and
that
they who fling at us the reproach of blasphemy because we will not
bow
the knee before their idol, would themselves lie open to the charge,
were
it not that their ignorance shields them from the sterner censure.
All
good in man--poor shallow streamlet though it be--flows down from
the
pure depths of the Fountain of Good, and any throb of Love on
earth
is a pulsation caused by the ceaseless beating of the Universal
Father-Heart.
Yet men fear to trust that Heart, lest it should cease
beating;
they fear to rest on God, lest He should play them false.
When
will they catch even a glimpse of that great ocean of love which
encircles
the universe as the atmosphere the earth, which is infinite
because
God is infinite? If there is no spot in the universe of which
it
can be said, "God is not here," then is there also no spot where love
does
not rule; if there is no life existing without the support of the
Life-Giver
and the Life-Sustainer, then is there also no life which is
not
cradled in the arms of Love. Who then will dare to push himself in
between
man and a God like this? In the light of the Universal Reason
and
the Universal Heart mediation stands confessed as an impertinent
absurdity.
Away with any and all of those who interfere in the most
sacred
concerns of the soul, who press in between the Creator and His
offspring;
between the heart of man and the parent Heart of God. Whoever
it
may be, saint or martyr, or the king of saints and martyrs, Jesus of
Nazareth,
let him come down from a position which none can rightly hold.
To
elevate the noblest son of man into this place of mediator is to make
him
into an offence to his brethren, and to cause their love to turn
into
anger, and their reverence into indignation. If men persist in
talking
about the need of a mediator before they dare to approach God,
we
must remind them that, if there be a God at all, He _must_ be just,
and
that, therefore, they are perfectly safe In His hands; if they begin
to
babble about forgiveness "_for the sake of Jesus Christ?_ we must
ask
them what in the world they mean by the forgiveness of sin?" Surely
they
do not think that God is like man, quick to revenge affront and
jealous
of His dignity; even were it possible for man to injure, in any
sense,
the Majesty of God, do they conceive that God is an irascible and
revengeful
Potentate? Those who think thus of God can never--I assert
boldly--have
caught the smallest glimpse of _God_. They may have seen
a
"magnified man," but they have seen nothing more; they have never
prostrated
themselves before that Universal Spirit who dwells in this
vast
universe; they have never felt their own littleness in a place so
great.
How _can_ sin be forgiven? can a past act be undone, or the hands
go
back on the sun-dial of Time? All God's so-called chastisements are
but
the natural and inevitable results of broken laws--laws invariable
in
their action, neither to be escaped or defied. Obedience to law
results
in happiness, and the suffering consequent on the transgression
of
law is not inflicted by an angry God, but is the simple natural
outcome
of the broken law itself. Put your hand in the fire, and no
mediator
can save you from burning; cry earnestly to God to save you,
and
then cast yourself from a precipice, and will a mediator come
between
you and the doom you have provoked? We should do more wisely if
we
studied laws and tried to conform ourselves to them, instead of
going
blundering about with our eyes shut, trusting that some one will
interpose
to shield us from the effects of our own folly and stupidity.
Happily
for mankind, mediation is impossible in that beautiful realm of
law
in which we are placed; when men have quite made up their minds that
their
happiness depends entirely on their own exertions, there will at
last
be some chance for the advancement of Humanity, for then they will
work
for things instead of praying for them. It is of real practical
importance
that this Christian notion of mediation should be destroyed,
because
on it hang all the ideas about trusting to some one else to do
our
own work. This plan has not answered: we judge it by results, and
it
has failed. Surely we may hope that as men get to see that prayer has
not
succeeded in its efforts to "move the arm which moves the world, to
bring
salvation down," they may turn to the more difficult, but also
the
more hopeful task, of moving their own arms to work out their own
salvation.
For the past, it is past, and none can reverse it; none
can
stay the action of the eternal law which links sorrow with
transgression,
and joy and peace with obedience. When we slip back on
our
path upward, we may repent and call on God or man for forgiveness
as
we list, but only through toil and suffering can the lost way be
recovered,
and the rugged path must be trodden with bleeding feet; for
there
is none who can lift the sinner over the hindrances he has built
up
for himself, or carry him over the rocks with which he has strewed
his
road.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
Does
the sentimental weakness of our age shrink from this doctrine, and
whimper
out that it is cold and stern? Ay, it is cold with the cold
of
the bracing sea-breeze, stringing to action the nerves enfeebled by
hot-houses
and soft-living; ay, it is stern with the blessed sternness
of
changeless law, of law which never fails us, never varies a hair's
breadth.
But in that law is strength; man's arm is feeble, but let him
submit
to the laws of steam, and his arm becomes dowered with a giant's
force;
conform to a law, and the mighty power of that law is on your
side;
"humble yourself under the mighty hand of God," who is the
Universal
Law, "and He shall lift you up."
So
much for mediation. We turn with a still deeper repugnance to study
the
Christian idea of "Salvation." Mediation at least leaves us
God,
however it degrades and blasphemes Him, but salvation takes us
altogether
out of His Hands. Not content with placing a mediator between
themselves
and God, Christians cry out that He is still too near them;
they
must push Him yet further back, they must have a Saviour too,
through
whom all His benefits shall filter.
"Saviour,"
is an expression often found in the Old Testament, where it
bears
a very definite and noble meaning. God is the Saviour of men from
the
power of sin, and although we may consider that God does _not_ save
from
sin in this direct manner, we are yet bound to acknowledge that
there
is nothing in this idea which is either dishonouring or repulsive.
But
the word "Saviour" has been degraded by Christianity, and the
salvation
He brings is not a salvation from sin. "The Lord and Saviour,
Jesus
Christ" is the Saviour of men, not because he delivers them from
sin,
but "because he saves them from hell, and from the fiery wrath
of
God." Salvation is no longer the equivalent of righteousness, the
antithesis
of sin; in Christian life it means nothing more than the
antithesis
of damnation. It is true that Christians may retort that
Jesus
"saves his people from their sins;" we gladly acknowledge the
nobleness
and the beauty of many a Christian life, but nevertheless this
is
_not_ the primary idea attached by popular Christianity to the word
"salvation."
"Being saved" is to be delivered out of "those hands of
the
living God," into which, as they are taught by their Bible, it is
so
fearful a thing to fall. "Being saved" is the _immediate_ result of
conversion,
and is the opposite of "being lost." "Being saved" is being
hidden
"in the riven side of Jesus," and so preserved from the awful
flames
of the destroying wrath of God. Against all this we, believers in
an
Almighty Love, in a Universal Father, enter our solemn and deliberate
protest,
with a depth of abhorrence, with a passion of indignation which
is
far too intense to find any adequate expression in words. There is no
language
strong enough to show our deeply-rooted repugnance to the idea
that
we can be safer anywhere or at any time than we are already here;
we
cannot repel with sufficient warmth the officious interference which
offers
to take us out of the hands of God. To push some one in between
our
souls and Him was bad enough; but to go further and to offer us
salvation
from our Maker, to try and threaten us away from the arms of
His
Love, to suggest that another's hands are more tender, another's
heart
more loving than the Supreme Heart,--these are blasphemies
to
which we will not listen in silence. It is true that to us these
suggestions
are only matters of laughter; dimly as we guess at the
Deity,
we know enough not to be afraid of Him, and these crude and
childish
conceptions about Him are among ourselves too contemptible to
refute.
"Non ragione di lor, mai guardo e
passo."
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
But
we see how these ideas colour men's thoughts and lives, how they
cripple
their intellect and outrage their hearts, and we rise to trample
down
these superstitions, not because they are in themselves worth
refuting,
but simply because they degrade our brother-men. We believe in
no
wisdom that improves on Nature's laws, and one of those laws, written
on
our hearts, is that sorrow shall tread on the heels of sin. We are
conscious
that men should learn to welcome this law, and not to shrink
from
it. To fly from the suffering following on broken law is the last
thing
we should do; we ought to have no gratitude for a "Saviour" who
should
bear our punishment, and so cheat us out of our necessary lesson,
turn
us into spoiled children, and check our moral growth; such an offer
as
this, could it really be made, ought to be met with stern refusal.
We
should trust the Supreme so utterly, and adore His wisdom with a
humility
so profound, that if we could change His laws we should not
dare
to interfere; nor ought we, even when our lot is saddest, to
complain
of it, or do anything more than labour to improve it in
steadfast
obedience to law. We should ask for no salvation; we should
desire
to fall--were it possible that we _could_ be out of them--into
the
hands of God.
Further,
is it impossible to make Christians understand that were Jesus
all
they say he is, we should still reject him; that were God all they
say
He is, we would, in that case, throw back His salvation. For were
this
awful picture of a soul-destroying Jehovah, of a blood-craving
Moloch,
endowed with a cruelty beyond human imagination, a true
description
of the Supreme Being, then would we take the advice of Job's
wife,
we would "curse God and die?" we would hide in the burning depths
of
His hell rather than dwell within sight of Him whose brightness would
mock
at the gloom of His creatures, and whose bliss would be a sneer at
their
despair. Were it thus indeed--
"O King of our salvation,
Many would curse to thee, and I for one!
Fling Thee Thy bliss, and snatch at Thy
damnation,
Scorn and abhor the rising of Thy sun.
"Is
it not worth while to believe," blandly urges a Christian
writer,
"if it is true, as it is true, that they who deny will suffer
everlasting
torments?" No! we thunder back at him, _it is not worth
while_;
it is not worth while to believe a lie, or to acknowledge as
true
that which our hearts and intellects alike reject as false; it is
not
worth while to sell our souls for a heaven, or to defile our honesty
to
escape a hell; it is not worth while to bow our knee to a Satan or
bend
our heads before a spectre. Better, far better, to "dwell with
everlasting
burnings" than to degrade our humanity by calling a lie,
truth,
and cruelty, love, and unreasonableness, justice; better to
suffer
in hell, than to have our hearts so hard that we could enjoy
while
others suffer; could rejoice while others are tormented, could
sing
alleluias to the music of golden harps, while our lyrics are echoed
by
the anguished wailing of the lost. God Himself--were He such as
Christians
paint Him--could not blot out of our souls our love of truth,
of
righteousness, of justice. While we have these we are _ourselves_,
and
we can suffer and be happy; but we cannot afford to pay down these
as
the price of our admission to heaven. We should be miserable even as
we
paced the golden streets, and should sit in tears beside the river
of
the water of life. Yet _this_ is salvation; _this_ is what Christians
offer
us in the name of Jesus; _this_ is the glad tidings brought to
us
as the gospel of the Saviour, as the "good news of God;" and this we
reject,
wholly and utterly, laughing it to scorn from the depths of
our
glad hearts which the Truth has made free; this we denounce, with a
stern
and bitter determination, in the name of the Universal Father, in
the
name of the self-reliance of humanity, in the name of all that is
holy,
and just, and loving.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
But
happily many, even among Christians, are beginning to shrink from
this
idea of salvation from the God in whom they say they place all
their
hopes. They put aside the doctrine, they gloss it over, they
prefer
not to speak of it. Free thought is leavening Christianity, and
is
moulding the old faith against its will. Christianity now hides its
own
cruel side, and only where the bold opponents of its creeds have not
yet
spread, does it dare to show itself in its real colours; in Spain,
in
Mexico, we see Christianity unveiled; here, in England, liberty is
too
strong for it, and it is forced into a semblance of liberality. The
old
wine is being poured into new bottles; what will be the result? We
may,
however, rejoice that nobler thoughts about God are beginning to
prevail,
and are driving out the old wicked notions about Him and His
revenge.
The Face of the Father is beginning, however dimly, to shine
out
from His world, and before the Beauty of that Face all hard thoughts
about
Him are fading away. Nature is too fair to be slandered for ever,
and
when men perceive that God and Nature are One, all that is ghastly
and
horrible must die and drop into forgetfulness. The popular
Christian
ideas of mediation and salvation must soon pass away into the
limbo
of rejected creeds which is being filled so fast; they are already
dead,
and their pale ghosts shall soon flit no longer to vex and harass
the
souls of living men.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
ON
ETERNAL TORTURE.
SOME
time ago a Clergyman was proving to me by arguments many and
strong
that hell was right, necessary and just; that it brought glory
to
God and good to man; that the holiness of God required it as a
preventive,
and the justice of God exacted it as a penalty, of sin.
I
listened quietly till all was over and silence fell on the reverend
denunciator;
he ceased, satisfied with his arguments, triumphant in the
consciousness
that they were crushing and unassailable. But my eyes were
fixed
on the fair scene without the library window, on the sacrament
of
earth, the visible sign of the invisible beauty, and the contrast
between
God's works and the Church's speech came strongly upon me. And
all
I found to say in answer came in a few words: "If I had not heard
you
mention the name of God, I should have thought you were speaking of
the
Devil." The words, dropped softly and meditatively, had a startling
effect.
Horror at the blasphemy, indignation at the unexpected result of
laboured
argument, struggled against a dawning feeling that there must
be
something wrong in a conception which laid itself open to such
a
blow; the short answer told more powerfully than half an hour's
reasoning.
The
various classes of orthodox Christian doctrines should be attacked
in
very different styles by the champions of the great army of
free-thinkers,
who are at the present day besieging the venerable
superstitions
of the past. Around the Deity of Jesus cluster many
hallowed
memories and fond associations; the worship of centuries has
shed
around his figure a halo of light, and he has been made into the
ideal
of Humanity; the noblest conceptions of morality, the highest
flights
of enlightened minds, have been enshrined in a human personality
and
called by the name of Christ; the Christ-idea has risen and expanded
with
every development of human progress, and the Christ of the highest
Christianity
of the day is far other than the Christ of Augustine, of
Thomas
ŕ Kempis, of Luther, or Knox; the strivings after light, after
knowledge,
after holiness, of the noblest sons of men have been
called
by them a following of Jesus; Jesus is baptized in human tears,
crucified
in human pains, glorified in human hopes. Because of all this,
because
he is dear to human hearts and identified with human struggles,
therefore
he should be gently spoken of by all who feel the bonds of
the
brotherhood of man; the dogma of his Deity must be assailed, must be
overthrown,
because it is false, because it destroys the unity of God,
because
it veils from us the Eternal Spirit, the source of all things,
but
he himself should be reverently spoken of, so far as truthfulness
permits,
and this dogma, although persistently battled against, should
be
attacked without anger and without scorn.
There
are other doctrines which, while degrading in regard to man's
conception
of God, and therefore deserving of reprobation, yet enshrine
great
moral truths and have become bound up with ennobling lessons; such
is
the doctrine of the Atonement, which enshrines the idea of selfless
love
and of self-sacrifice for the good of humanity. There are others
again
against which ridicule and indignation may rightly be brought to
bear,
which are concessions to human infirmity, and which belong to the
childhood
of the race; man may be laughed out of his sacraments and out
of
his devils, and indignantly reminded that he insults God and degrades
himself
by placing a priesthood or mediator between God and his own
soul.
But there is one dogma of Orthodox Christianity which stands
alone
in its atrocity, which is thoroughly and essentially bad, which is
without
one redeeming feature, which is as blasphemous towards God as
it
is injurious to man; on it therefore should be poured out unsparingly
the
bitterest scorn and the sharpest indignation. There is no good human
emotion
enlisted on the side of an Eternal Hell; it is not hallowed by
human
love or human longings, it does not enshrine human aspirations,
nor
is it the outcome of human hopes. In support of this no appeal
can
be made to any feeling of the nobler side of our nature, nor does
eternal
fire stimulate our higher faculties: it acts only on the lower,
baser,
part of man; it excites fear, distrust of God, terror of his
presence;
it may scare from evil occasionally, but can never teach good;
it
sees God in the lightning-flash that slays, but not in the sunshine
which
invigorates; in the avalanche which buries a village in its fall,
but
not in the rich promise of the vineyard and the joyous beauty of
the
summer day. Hell has driven thousands half-mad with terror, it
has
driven monks to the solitary deserts, nuns to the sepulchre of the
nunnery,
but has it ever caused one soul of man to rejoice in the Father
of
all, and pant, "as the hart panteth after the water-springs, for the
presence
of God"?
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
It
is only just to state, in attacking this as a Christian doctrine,
that,
though believed in by the vast majority of Christians, the most
enlightened
of that very indefinite body repudiate it with one voice.
It
is well known how the great Broad-Church leader, Frederick Denison
Maurice,
endeavoured to harmonize, on this point, his Bible and his
strong
moral sense, and failed in so doing, as all must fail who would
reconcile
two contradictories. How he fought with that word "eternal,"
struggled
to prove that whatever else it might mean it did _not_ mean
everlasting
in our modern sense of the word: that "eternal death" being
the
antithesis to "eternal life" must mean a state of ignorance of
the
Eternal One, even as its opposite was the knowledge of God: that
therefore
men could rise from eternal death, aye, did so rise every
day
in this life, and might so rise in the life to come. Noble was
his
protest against this awful doctrine, fettered as he was by undue
reverence
for, and clinging to, the Bible. His appeal to the moral sense
in
man as the arbiter of all doctrine has borne good fruit, and his
labours
have opened a road to free thought greater than he expected or
even
hoped. Many other clergymen have followed in his steps. The word
"eternal"
has been wrangled over continually, but, however they arrive
there,
all Broad Churchmen unite in the conclusion that it does not,
cannot,
shall not, mean literally lasting for ever. This school of
thought
has laid much stress on the fondness of Orientals for imagery;
they
have pointed out that the Jewish word Gehenna is the same as Ge
Hinnom,
or valley of Hinnom, and have seen in the state of that valley
the
materials for "the worm that dieth not and the fire that is not
quenched:"
they show how by a natural transition the place into which
were
thrown the bodies of the worst criminals became the type of
punishment
in the next world, and the valley where children were
sacrificed
to Moloch gave its name to the infernal abode of devils. From
that
valley Jesus drew his awful picture, suggested by the pale lurid
fires
ever creeping there, mingling their ghastly flames with the
decaying
bodies of the dishonoured dead. In all this there is probably
much
truth, and many Broad Churchmen are content to accept this
explanation,
and so retain their belief in the supernatural character
of
the Bible, while satisfying their moral sense by rejecting its most
immoral
dogma.
Among
the evangelicals, only one voice, so far as I know, is heard
to
protest against eternal torture; and all honour is due to the Rev.
Samuel
Minton, for his rare courage in defying on this point the opinion
of
his "world," and braving the censure which has been duly inflicted on
him.
He seems to make "eternal" the equivalent of "irremediable"
in some
cases
and of "everlasting" in others. He believes that the wicked will
be
literally destroyed, burnt up, consumed; the fact that the fire is
eternal
by no means implies, he remarks, that that which is cast into
the
fire should be likewise eternal, and that the fire is unquenchable
does
not prove that the chaff is unconsumable. "Eternal destruction" he
explains
as irreparable destruction, final and irreversible extinction.
This
theory should have more to recommend it to all who believe in
the
supernatural inspiration of the Bible, than the
explanation;
it uses far less violence towards the words of Scripture,
and,
indeed, a very fair case may be made out for it from the Bible
itself.
It
is scarcely necessary to add to this small list of dissentients from
orthodox
Christianity, the Unitarian body; I do not suppose that there
is
such a phenomenon in existence as a Unitarian Christian who believes
in
an eternal hell.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
With
these small exceptions the mass of Christians hold this dogma, but
for
the most part carelessly and uncomprehendingly. Many are ashamed of
it
even while duteously confessing it, and gabble over the sentences in
their
creed which acknowledge it in a very perfunctory manner. People
of
this kind "do not like to talk about hell, it is better to think of
heaven."
Some Christians, however, hold it strongly, and proclaim their
belief
boldly; the members of the Evangelical Alliance actually make the
profession
of it a condition of admittance into their body, while many
High
Church divines think that a sharp declaration of their belief in
it
is needed by loyalty towards God and "charity to the souls of men." I
wish
I could believe that all who profess this dogma did not realize
it,
and only accepted it because their fathers and mothers taught it to
them.
But what can one say to such statements as the following, quoted
from
Father Furniss by W. R. Greg in his splendid "Enigmas of Life:" I
take
it as a specimen of Roman Catholic _authorized_ teaching. Children
are
asked: "How will your body be when the devil has been striking it
every
moment for a hundred million years without stopping?" A girl of
eighteen
is described as dressed in fire; "she wears a bonnet of fire.
It
is pressed down all over her head; it burns her head; it burns into
the
skull; it scorches the bone of the skull and makes it smoke." A
boy
is boiled: "Listen! there is a sound just like that of a kettle
boiling....
The blood is boiling in the scalded veins of that boy. The
brain
is boiling and bubbling in his head. The marrow is boiling in his
bones."
Nay, even the poor little babies are not exempt from torture:
one
is in a red hot oven, "hear how it screams to come out; see how it
turns
and twists about in the fire.... You can see on the face of this
little
child"--the fair pure innocent baby-face--"what you see on the
faces
of all in hell--despair, desperate and horrible." Surely this
man
realized what he taught, but then he was that half-human being--a
priest.
Dr.
Pusey, too, has a word to say about hell: "Gather in mind all that
is
most loathsome, most revolting--the most treacherous, malicious,
coarse,
brutal, inventive, fiendish cruelty, unsoftened by any remains
of
human feeling, such as thou couldst not endure for a single hour....
hear
those yells of blaspheming, concentrated hate as they echo along
the
lurid vault of hell."
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
Protestantism
chimes in, and Spurgeon speaks of hell: "Wilt thou think
it
is easy to lie down in hell, with the breath of the Eternal fanning
the
flames? Wilt thou delight thyself to think that God will invent
torments
for thee, sinner?" "When the damned jingle the burning irons of
their
torment, they shall say, 'for ever;' when they howl, echo cries,
'for
ever.'"
I
may allude, to conclude my quotations, to a description of hell which
I
myself heard from an eminent prelate of the English Church, one who is
a
scholar and a gentleman, a man of moderate views in Church matters,
by
no means a zealot in an ordinary way. In preaching to a country
congregation
composed mainly of young men and girls, he warned them
specially
against sins of the flesh, and threatened them with the
consequent
punishment in hell. Then, in language which I cannot
reproduce,
for I should not dare to sully my pages by repeating what
I
then listened to in horrified amazement, there ensued a description
drawn
out in careful particulars of the state of the suffering body in
hell,
so sickening in its details that it must suffice to say of it that
it
was a description founded on the condition of a corpse flung out on
a
dungheap and left there to putrefy, with the additional horror of
creeping,
slowly-burning flames; and this state of things was to go
on,
as he impressed on them with terrible energy, for ever and ever,
"decaying
but ever renewing."
I
should almost ask pardon of tender-hearted men and women for laying
before
them language so abominable; but I urge on all who are offended
by
it that this is the teaching given to our sons and daughters in the
present
day. Father Furniss, Dr. Pusey, Mr. Spurgeon, an English Bishop,
surely
these are honoured names, and in quoting them I quote from the
teaching
of Christendom. Nor mine the fault if the language be unfit for
printing.
I _quote_, because if we only assert, Christians are quick to
say,
"you are misrepresenting our beliefs," and I quote from writers of
the
present day only, that none may accuse me of hurling at Christians
reproaches
for a doctrine they have outgrown or softened down. Still, I
own
that it seems scarcely credible that a man should believe this and
remain
sane; nay, should preach this, and walk calmly home from his
Church
with God's sunshine smiling on the beautiful world, and after
preaching
it should sit down to a comfortable dinner and very likely
a
quiet pipe, as though hell did not exist, and its awful misery and
fierce
despair.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
It
is said that there is no reason that we should not be contented in
heaven
while others suffer in hell, since we know how much misery there
is
in this world and yet enjoy ourselves in spite of the knowledge.
I
say, deliberately, of every one who does realise the misery of this
world
and remains indifferent to it, who enjoys his own share of the
good
things of this life, without helping his brother, who does not
stretch
out his hand to lift the fallen, or raise his voice on behalf of
the
down-trodden and oppressed, that that man is living a life which is
the
very antithesis of a Divine life--a life which has in it no beauty
and
no nobility, but is selfish, despicable, and mean. And is this the
life
which we are to regard as the model of heavenly beauty? Is the
power
to lead this life for ever to be our reward for self-devotion
and
self-sacrifice here on earth? Is a supreme selfishness to crown
unselfishness
at last? But this is the life which is to be the lot of
the
righteous in heaven. Snatched from a world in flames, caught up in
the
air to meet their descending Lord, his saints are to return with him
to
the heaven whence he came; there, crowned with golden crowns, they
are
to spend eternity, hymning the Lamb who saved them to the music
of
golden harps, harps whose melody is echoed by the curses and the
wailings
of the lost; for below is a far different scene, for there the
sinners
are "tormented with fire and brimstone in the presence of the
holy
angels and the presence of the Lamb; and the smoke of their torment
ascendeth
up for ever and ever, and they have no rest day nor night."
It
is worth while to gaze for a moment at the scene of future felicity;
there
is the throne of God and rejoicing crowds: "Rejoice over her, thou
heaven,
and ye holy apostles and prophets," so goes out the command, and
they
rejoice because "God has avenged them on her," and again they
said
"Alleluia, and her smoke rose up for ever and ever." Truly God
must
harden the hearts of his saints in heaven as of old he hardened
Pharaoh's
heart, if they are to rejoice over the anguished multitude
below,
and to bear to live amid the lurid smoke ascending from the
burning
bodies of the lost. To me the idea is so unutterably loathsome
that
I marvel how Christians endure to retain such language in their
sacred
books, for I would note that the awful picture drawn above is not
of
my doing; it is not the scoffing caricature of an unbeliever, _it is
heaven
as described by St. John the divine_. If this heaven is true I do
not
hesitate to say that it is the duty of every human being to reject
it
utterly and to refuse to enter it. We might even appeal to Christians
by
the example of their own Jesus, who could not be content to remain in
heaven
himself while men went to hell, but came down to redeem them from
endless
suffering. Yet they, who ought to imitate him, who do, many
of
them, lead beautiful lives of self-devotion and compassion, are
suddenly,
on death, to lose all this which makes them "partakers of the
Divine
Nature," and are to be content to win happiness for themselves,
careless
that millions of their brethren are in woe unspeakable. They
are
to reverse the aim of their past lives, they are to become selfish
instead
of loving, hard instead of selfless, indifferent instead of
loving,
hard instead of tender. Which is the better reproduction of the
"mind
of Christ," the good Samaritan tending the wounded man, or the
stern
Inquisitor gloating over the fire which consumes heretics to the
greater
glory of God? Yet the latter is the ideal of heavenly virtue.
Never
will they who truly love man be content to snatch at bliss for
themselves
while others suffer, or endure to be crowned with glory while
they
are crowned with thorns. Better, far better, to suffer in hell and
share
the pains of the lost, than to have a heart so hard, a nature
so
degraded, as to enjoy the bliss of heaven, rejoicing over, or even
disregarding,
the woes of hell.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
But
there is worse than physical torture in the picture of hell; pain is
not
its darkest aspect. Of all the thoughts with which the heart of man
has
outraged the Eternal Righteousness, there is none so appalling, none
so
blasphemous, as that which declares that even one soul, made by the
Supreme
Good, shall remain during all eternity, under the power of
sin.
Divines have wearied themselves in describing the horrors of the
Christian
hell; but it is _not_ the furnace of flames, _not_ the undying
worm,
_not_ the fire which never may be quenched, that revolt us most;
hideous
as are these images, they are not the worst terror of hell. Who
does
not know how St. Francis, believing himself ordained to be lost
everlastingly,
fell on his knees and cried, "O my God, if I am indeed
doomed
to hate thee during eternity, at least suffer me to love thee
while
I live here." To the righteous heart the agony of hell is a far
worse
one than physical torture could inflict: it is the existence of
men
and women who might have been saints, shut out from hope of holiness
for
evermore; God's children, the work of his hands, gnashing their
teeth
at a Father who has cast them down for ever from the life he might
have
given; it is Love everlastingly hated; good everlastingly trampled
under
foot; God everlastingly baffled and defied; worst of all, it is
a
room in the Father's house where his children may hunger and thirst
after
righteousness, but never, never, can be filled.
"Depart, O sinner, to the chain!
Enter the eternal cell;
To all that's good and true and right,
To all that's fair and fond and bright,
To all of holiness and right,
Bid thou thy last farewell."
Would
to God that Christian men and women would ponder it well and think
it
out for themselves, and when they go into the worst parts of our
great
cities and their hearts almost break with the misery there, then
let
them remember how that misery is but a faint picture of the endless,
hopeless,
misery, to which the vast majority of their fellow-men are
doomed.
Christian
reader, do not be afraid to realise the future in which you
say
you believe, and which the God of Love has prepared for the home of
some
of his children. Imagine yourself, or any dear to you, plunged
into
guilt from which there is no redeemer, and where the voice cannot
penetrate
of him that speaks in righteousness, mighty to save. In the
well-weighed
words of a champion of Christian orthodoxy, think there is
no
reason to believe that hell is only a punishment for past offences;
in
that dark world sin and misery reproduce each other in infinite
succession.
"What if the sin perpetuates itself, if the prolonged misery
may
be the offspring of the prolonged guilt?" Ponder it well, and, if
you
find it true, then cast out from your creed the belief in a Jesus
who
loved the lost; blot out from your Bible every verse that speaks of
a
Father's heart; tear from your Prayer-books every page that prays to a
Father
in heaven. If the lowest of God's creatures is to be left in the
foul
embraces of sin for ever, God cannot be the Eternal Righteousness,
the
unconquerable Love. For what sort of Righteousness is that which
rests
idly contented in a heaven of bliss, while millions of souls
capable
of righteousness are bound by it in helpless sin; what sort of
love
is that which is satisfied to be repulsed, and is willing to be
hated?
As long as God is righteous, as long as God is love, so long is
it
impossible that men and women shall be left by him forever in a
state
to which our worst dens of earth are a very paradise of beauty and
purity.
Bible writers may have erred, but "Thou continuest holy, O Thou
worship
of Israel!" There is one revelation that cannot err, and that
is
written by God's finger on every human heart. What man recoils from
doing,
even at his lowest, can never be done by his Creator, from whose
inspiration
he draws every righteous thought. Is there one father,
however
brutalized, who would deliberately keep his child in sin because
of
a childish fault? one mother who would aimlessly torture her son,
keeping
him alive but to torment? Yet this, nothing less,--nay, a
thousand
times more, for it is this multiplied infinitely by infinite
power
of torture,--this is what Christians ask us to believe about our
Father
and our God, a glimmer from the radiance of whose throne falls on
to
our earth, when men love their enemies and forgive freely those who
wrong
them If this so-called orthodox belief is right, then is their
gospel
of the Love of God to the world a delusion and a lie; if this is
true,
the teaching of Jesus to publicans and harlots of the Fatherhood
of
God is a cruel mockery of our divinest instincts; the tale of
the
good Shepherd who could not rest while one sheep was lost is the
bitterest
irony. But this awful dogma is not true, and the Love of God
cradles
his creation; not one son of the Father's family shall be left
under
the power of sin, to be an eternal blot on God's creation, an
endless
reproach to his Maker's wisdom, an everlasting and irreparable
mistake.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
No
amount of argument, however powerful, should make us believe a
doctrine
from which our hearts recoil with such shuddering horror as
they
do from this doctrine of eternal torture and eternal sin. There is
a
divine instinct in the human heart which may be trusted as an arbiter
between
right and wrong; no supernatural revelation, no miracle, no
angel
from heaven, should have power to make us accept as divine that
which
our hearts proclaim as vile and devilish. It is not true faith
to
crush down our moral sense beneath the hoof of credulity; true faith
believes
in God only as a "Power which makes for _Righteousness_" and
recks
little of threats or curses which would force her to accept that
which
conscience disapproves. And what is more, if it were possible that
God
were not what we dream, if he were not "righteous in all his ways
and
holy in all his works," then were it craven cowardice to worship him
at
all. It has been well said, "that to worship simple power, without
virtue,
is nothing but devil-worship;" in that case it were nobler to
refuse
to praise him and to take what he might send. Then indeed we
must
say, with John Stuart Mill, in that burst of passion which reads so
strangely
in the midst of his passionless logic, that if I am told that
this
is justice and love, and that if I do not call it so, God will send
me
to hell, then "to hell I'll go."
I
have purposely put first my strong reprobation of eternal hell,
because
of its own essential hideousness, and because, were it ever
so
true, I should deem myself disgraced by acknowledging it as
either
loving or good. But it is, however, a satisfaction to note the
feebleness
of the arguments advanced in support of this dogma, and to
find
that justice and holiness, as well as love, frown on the idea of an
eternal
hell.
The
first argument put forth is this: "God has made a law which
man
breaks; man must therefore in justice suffer the penalty of his
transgression."
This, like so many of the orthodox arguments, sounds
just
and right, and at first we perfectly agree with it. The instinct
of
justice in our own breasts confirms the statement, and looking abroad
into
the world we see its truth proved by facts. Law is around us on
every
side; man is placed in a realm of law; he may-strive against the
laws
which encircle him, but he will only dash himself to pieces against
a
rock; he is under a code which he breaks at his peril. Here is perfect
justice,
a justice absolutely unwavering, deaf to cries, unseducible
by-flatteries,
unalloyed by favouritism: a law exists, break it, and
you
suffer the inevitable consequences. So far, then, the orthodox
argument
is sound and strong, but now it takes a sudden leap. "The
penalty
of the broken law is hell." Why? What common factor is there
between
a lie, and the "lake of fire in which all liars shall have their
part?"
Nature is absolutely against the orthodox corollary, because hell
as
a punishment of sin is purely arbitrary, the punishment might quite
as
well have been something else; but in nature the penalty of a broken
law
is always strictly in character with the law itself, and is derived
from
it. Men imagine the most extraordinary "judgment." A nation is
given
to excessive drinking, and is punished with cattle-plague; or
shows
leanings towards popery, and is chastised with cholera. It is as
reasonable
to believe this as it would be to expect that if a child fell
down
stairs he would be picked up covered with blisters from burning,
instead
of his receiving his natural punishment of being bruised.
Why,
because I lie and forget God, should I be punished with fire and
brimstone?
Fire is not derivable from truth, nor is brimstone a stimulus
to
memory. There is also a strange confusion in many minds about the
punishment
of sin. A child is told not to put his hand into the fire,
he
does so, and is burnt; the burning is a punishment, he is told; for
what?
Not for disobedience to the parent, as is generally said, but for
disregarding
the law of nature which says that fire burns. One often
hears
it said: "God's punishments for sin are not equal: one man sins
once
and suffers for it all his life, while another sins twenty times
and
is not punished at all." By no means: the two men both break a moral
law,
and suffer a moral degradation; one of them breaks in addition some
physical
law, and suffers a physical injury. People see injustice where
none
exists, because they will not take the trouble to distinguish
what
laws are broken when material punishments follow. There is nothing
arbitrary
in nature: cause and effect rule in her realm. Hell is then
unjust,
in the first place, because physical torture has nothing in
common
with moral guilt.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
It
is unjust, secondly, because it is excessive. Sin, say theologians,
is
to be punished infinitely, because sin is an offence committed
against
an infinite being. Of course, then, good must logically be
rewarded
infinitely, because it is duty offered to an infinite being.
There
is no man who has never done a single good act, so every man
deserves
an infinite reward. There is no man who has never done a single
bad
act, so every man deserves an infinite punishment. Therefore every
man
deserves both an infinite reward and an infinite punishment,
"which,"
as Euclid says, "is absurd." And this is quite enough answer to
the
proposition. But I must protest, in passing, against this notion of
"sin
against God" as properly understood. If by this expression is only
meant
that every sin committed is a sin against God, because every sin
is
done against man's higher nature, which is God in man, then indeed
there
is no objection to be made to it. But this is not what is
generally
meant by the phrase. It usually means that we are able, as it
were,
to injure God in some way, to dishonour him, to affront him, to
trouble
him. By sin we make him "angry," we "provoke him to wrath;"
because
of this feeling on his own part he punishes us, and demands
"satisfaction."
Surely a moment's reflection must prove to any
reasonable
being that sin against God in this sense is perfectly
impossible.
What can the littleness of man do against the greatness of
the
Eternal! Imagine a speck of dust troubling the depths of the
ocean,
an aphis burdening an oak-tree with its weight: each is far
more
probable than that a man could ruffle the perfect serenity of God.
Suppose
I stand on a lawn watching an ant-heap, an ant twinkles his
feelers
at me scornfully; do I fly into a passion and rush on the insect
to
destroy it, or seize it and slowly torture it? Yet I am far less
above
the level of the ant than God is above mine.
But
I must add a word here to guard against the misapprehension that
in
saying this I am depriving man of the strength he finds in believing
that
he is personally known to God and an object of his care. Were I
the
ant's creator familiar with all the workings of its mind, I
might
regret, for its sake, the pride and scorn of its maker shown by
its-action,
because it was not rising to the perfection of nature of
which
it was capable. So, in that nature in which we live and move,
which
is too great to regard anything as-little, which is around all and
in
all, and which we believe to be conscious of all, there is--I cannot
but
think--some feeling which, for want of a better term, we must call
a
desire for the growth of his creatures (because in this growth lies
their
own happiness), and a corresponding feeling of regret when they
injure
themselves. But I say this in fear and reverence, knowing that
human
language has no terms in which to describe the nature we adore,
and
conscious that in the very act of putting ideas about him into
words,
I degrade the ideas and they no longer fully answer to the
thought
in my own mind. Silent adoration befits man best in the presence
of
his maker, only it is right to protest against the more degrading
conceptions
of him, although the higher conceptions are themselves far
below
what he really is. Sin then, being done against oneself only,
cannot
deserve an eternity of torture. Sin injures man already, why
should
he be further injured by endless agony? The infliction of pain
is
only justifiable when it is the means of conveying to the sufferer
himself
a gain greater than the suffering inflicted; therefore
punishment
is only righteous when reformatory. But _endless_ torture
cannot
aim at reformation; it has no aim beyond itself, and can only
arise,
therefore, from vengeance and vindictiveness, which we have
shown
to be impossible with God. Hell is unjust, secondly, because its
punishment
is excessive and aimless. It is also unjust, because to avoid
it
needs an impossible perfection. It is no answer to this to say that
there
is an escape offered to us through the Atonement made by Jesus
Christ.
Why should I be called on to escape like a criminal from that
which
I do not deserve? God makes man imperfect, frail, sinful,
utterly
unable to keep perfectly a perfect law: he therefore fails,
and
is--what? To be strengthened? by no means; he is to go to hell. The
statement
of this suffices to show its injustice. We cavil not at the
wisdom
which made us what we are, but we protest against the idea which
makes
God so cruelly unjust as to torture babies because they are unable
to
walk as steadily as full-grown men. Hell is unjust, in the third
place,
because man does not deserve it.
To
all this it will probably be retorted, "you are arguing as though
God's
justice were the same as man's, and you were therefore capable
of
judging it, an assumption which is unwarrantable, and is grossly
presumptuous."
To which I reply: "If by God's justice you do not mean
justice
at all, but refer to some Divine attribute of which we know
nothing,
all my strictures on it fall to the ground; only, do not commit
the
inconsistency of arguing that hell is _just_, when by 'just' you
mean
some unknown quality, and then propping up your theories with
proofs
drawn from human justice. It would perhaps tend to clearness in
argument
if you gave this Divine attribute some other name, instead of
using
for it an expression which has already a definite meaning."
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
The
justice of hell disposed of, we turn to the love of God. I have
never
heard it stated that hell is a proof of his great love to the
world,
but I take the liberty myself of drawing attention to it in this
light.
God, we are told, existed alone before ought was created; there
perfect
in himself, in happiness, in glory, he might have remained,
say
orthodox theologians. Then, we have a right to ask in the name of
charity,
why did he, happy himself, create a race of beings of whom the
vast
majority were to be endlessly and hopelessly miserable? Was this
love?
"He created man to glorify him." But was it loving to create those
who
would only suffer for his glory? Was it not rather a gigantic, an
inconceivable
selfishness?
"Man
may be saved if he will." That is not to the point; God foreknew
that
some would be lost, and yet he made them. With all reverence I say
it,
God had no right to create sentient beings, if of one of them it can
ever
be truly said, "good were it for that man that he had never been
born."
He who creates, imposes on himself, by the very act of creation,
duties
towards his creatures. If God be self-conscious and moral, it
is
an absolute certainty that the whole creation is moving towards
the
final good of every creature in it. We did not ask to be made; we
suffered
not when we existed not; God, who has laid existence on us
without
our consent, is responsible for our final good, and is bound by
every
tie of righteousness and justice, not to speak of love, to make
the
existence he gave us, unasked, a blessing and not a curse to us.
Parents
feel this responsibility towards the children they bring into
the
world, and feel themselves bound to protect and to make happy those
who,
without them, had not been born. But, if hell be true, then every
man
and woman is bound not to fulfil the Divine command of multiplying
the
race, since by so doing they are aiding to fill the dungeons of
hell,
and they will, hereafter, have their sons and their daughters
cursing
the day of their birth, and overwhelming their parents with
reproaches
for having brought into the world a body, which God was thus
enabled
to curse with the awful gift of an immortal soul.
We
must notice also that God, who is said to love righteousness, can
never
crush out righteousness in any-human soul. There is no one so
utterly
degraded as to be without one sign of good. Among the lowest and
vilest
of our population, we find beautiful instances of kindly feeling
and
generous help. Can any woman be more degraded than she who only
values
her womanhood as a means of gain, who drinks, fights, and steals?
Let
those who have been among such women say if they have not been
cheered
sometimes by a very ray of the light of God, when the most.
degraded
has shown kindness to an equally degraded sister, and when the
very
gains of sin have been purified by being; poured into the lap of a
suffering
and dying companion. Shall love and devotion, however feeble,
unselfishness
and sympathy, however transitory in their action, shall
these
stars of heaven be quenched in the blackness of the pit of hell?
If
it be so, then, verily, God is not the "righteous. Lord who loveth
righteousness."
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
But
we cannot leave out of our impeachment of hell that it injures man,
as
much as it degrades his conceptions of God. It cultivates selfishness
and
fear, two of his basest passions. There has scarcely perhaps been
born
into the world this century a purer and more loving soul than that
of
the late John Keble, the author of the "Christian Year." Yet what a
terrible
effect this belief had on him; he must cling to his belief in
hell,
because otherwise he would have no certainty of heaven:
"But where is then the stay of
contrite hearts?
Of old they leaned on Thy eternal word;
But with the sinner's fear their hope
departs,
Fast linked as Thy great name to Thee, O
Lord;
That Name by which Thy faithful hope is
past,
That we should endless be, for joy or
woe;--
And if the treasures of Thy wrath could
waste,
Thy lovers must their promised heaven
forego."
That
is to say in plain English: "I cannot give up the certainty of
hell
for others, because if I do I shall have no certainty of heaven for
myself;
and I would rather know that millions of my brethren should
be
tormented for ever, than remain doubtful about my own everlasting
enjoyment."
Surely a loving heart would say, instead, "O God, let
us
all die and remain unconscious for ever, rather than that one soul
should
suffer everlastingly." The terrible selfishness of the Christian
belief
degrades the noblest soul; the horror of hell makes men lose
their
self-control, and think only of their personal safety, just as
we
see men run wild sometimes at a shipwreck, when the gain of a minute
means
life. The belief in hell fosters religious pride and hatred, for
all
religious people think that they themselves at least are sure of
heaven.
If then they are going to rejoice through all eternity over
the
sufferings of the lost, why should they treat them with kindness or
consideration
here? Thus hell, becomes the mother of persecution;
for
the heretic, the enemy of the Lord, there is no mercy and no
forgiveness.
Then the saints persuade themselves that true charity
obliges
them to persecute, for suffering may either save the heretic
himself
by forcing him to believe, or may at least scare others from
sharing
his heresy, and so preserve them from eternal fire. And they
are
right, if hell is true. Any means are justifiable which may save man
from
that horrible doom; surely we should not hesitate to knock a man
down,
if by so doing we preserved him from throwing himself over a
precipice.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
Belief
in hell takes all beauty from virtue; who cares for obedience
only
rendered through fear? No true love of good is wrought in man by
the
fear of hell, and outward respectability is of little worth when the
heart
and the desires are unpurified. We may add that the fear of hell
is
a very slight practical restraint; no man thinks himself really bad
enough
for hell, and it is so far off that every one intends to repent
at
the last and so escape it. Far more restraining is the proclamation
of
the stern truth that, in the popular sense of the word, there is no
such
thing as the "forgiveness of sins;" that as a man sows, so shall he
reap,
and that broken laws avenge themselves without exception.
Belief
in hell stifles all inquiry into truth by setting a premium
on
one form of belief, and by forbidding another under frightful
penalties..
"If it be true, as it is true, that all who do not believe
this
shall perish everlastingly, then, I ask, _is it not worth while to
believe?_"
So says a clergyman of the Church of England. Thus he presses
his
people to accept the dogma of the Deity of Jesus, not because it
is-true,
but because it is dangerous to deny it. And this-difficulty
meets
us every day. If we urge inquiry, we are told "it is dangerous;"
if
we suggest a difficulty, we are told "it is safer to believe;" and
so
this doctrine of hell chains down men's faculties and palsies their
intellects,
and they dare not seek for truth at all, lest he who is
Truth
should cast them into hell for it.
It
may perhaps be said by many that I have attacked this dogma with
undue
vehemence, and with excessive warmth. I attack it thus, because I
know
the harm that it is doing, because it saddens the righteous heart
and
clouds the face of God. Only those who have realised hell, and
realising
it, have believed in it, know the awful shadow with which it
darkens
the world. There are many who laugh at it, but they have not
felt
its power, and they forget that a dogma which is only ludicrous
to
them is weighing heavily on many a tender heart and sensitive brain.
Hell
drives many mad: to others-it is a life-long horror. It pales the
sunlight
with its lurid flames; it blackens the earth with the smoke of
its
torment; it makes the Devil an actual presence; it transforms God
into
an enemy, eternity into an awful doom. It takes the spring out of
all
pleasures; it poisons all enjoyments; it spreads gloom over life,
and
enshrouds the tomb in horror unspeakable. Only those who have
felt
the anguish of this nightmare know what it is to wake up into the
sunlight,
and find it is only a disordered dream of the darkness; they
only
know the glorious liberty of heart and soul, with which they lift
up
smiling faces to meet the smile of God, when they can say from the
depths
of their glad hearts, "I believe that God is Light, and in Him is
no
darkness at all; I believe that all mankind is safe, cradled in the
everlasting
arms."
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
ON
INSPIRATION
THERE
is a certain amount of difficulty in defining the word
Inspiration:
it is used in so many different senses by the various
schools
of religious thought, that it is almost necessary to know the
theological
opinions of the speaker before being quite sure of his
meaning
when he talks of a book as being inspired. In the halcyon days
of
the Church, when faith was strong and reason weak, when priests had
but
to proclaim and laymen but to assent, Inspiration had a distinct and
a
very definite meaning. An inspired man spoke the very words of God:
the
Bible was perfect from the "In the beginning" of Genesis to the
"Amen"
of Revelation: it was perfect in science, perfect in history,
perfect
in doctrine, perfect in morals. In that diamond no flaw was
to
be seen; it sparkled with a spotless purity, reflecting back in
many-coloured
radiance the pure white light of God. But when the
chemistry
of modern science came forward to test this diamond, a
murmuring
arose, low at first, but irrepressible. It was scrutinised
through
the microscope of criticism, and cracks and flaws were
discovered
in every direction; then, instead of being enshrined on
the
altar, encircled by candles, it was brought out into the searching
sunlight,
and the naked eye could see its imperfections. Then it was
tested
anew, and some bold men were heard to whisper, "It is no diamond
at
all, God formed in ages past; it is nothing but paste, manufactured
by
man;" and the news passed from mouth to mouth, until the whisper
swelled
into a cry, and many voices echoed, "This is no diamond at all."
And
so things are to-day; the battle rages still; some maintain their
jewel
is perfect as ever, and that the flaws are in the eyes that look
at
it; some reluctantly allow that it is imperfect, but still consider
it
a diamond; others resolutely assert that, though valuable for its
antiquity
and its beauty, it is really nothing but paste.
To
take first the really orthodox theory of inspiration, generally
styled
the "plenary" or "verbal" inspiration of the Bible. It was
well
defined
centuries since by Athenagoras; according to him the inspired
writers
"uttered the things that were wrought in them when the Divine
Spirit
moved them, the Spirit using them as a flute-player would blow
into
the flute." The same idea has been uttered in powerful poetry by a
writer
of our own day:--
"Then thro' the mid complaint of my
confession,
Then thro' the pang and passion of my
prayer,
Leaps with a start the shock of His
possession,
Thrills me and touches, and the Lord is
there.
Scarcely
I catch the words of His revealing, Hardly I hear Him, dimly
understand;
Only the power that is within me pealing, Lives on my lips
and
beckons to my hand."
The
idea is exactly the same as that of the Pagan prophetesses: they
became
literally possessed by a spirit, who used their lips to declare
his
own thoughts; so orthodox Christians believe that it is no longer
Moses
or Isaiah or Paul that speaks, but the Spirit of the Father that
speaks
in them. This theory is held by all strictly orthodox believers;
this
and this only is from their lips, inspiration; hard pressed on the
subject
they will allow that the Spirit inspires all good thoughts "in
a
sense," but they will be very careful in declaring that this is only
inspiration
in a secondary sense, an inspiration which diners in kind as
well
as in degree from the inspiration of the writers of the Bible. By
this
mechanical theory, so to speak, it is manifest that all possibility
of
error is excluded; thus, when Matthew quotes from the Old Testament
an
utterly irrelevant historical reference--"when Israel was a child,
then
I loved him and _called my son out of Egypt_", as a prophecy of the
alleged
flight of Jesus into Egypt, and his subsequent return from that
country
into Palestine--we find Dr. Wordsworth, Right Reverend Father
in
God, and Bishop of Lincoln, gravely telling us that "the Holy Spirit
here
declares what had been in His own mind when He uttered these words
by
Hosea. And who shall venture to say that he knows the mind of the
Spirit
better than the Spirit Himself?" Dr. Pusey again, standing
valiantly,
after the manner of the man, to every Church dogma, however
it
may be against logic, against common sense, against reason, or
against
charity, makes a very reasonable inquiry of those who believe
in
an outward and supernatural inspiration, and yet object to the term
verbal.
"How," he asks, "can thought be conveyed to a man's mind except
through
words?" The learned doctor's remark is indeed a very pertinent
one,
as addressed to all those who believe in an exterior revelation.
Thoughts
which are communicated from without can only become known
to
man through the medium of words: even his own thoughts only become
appreciable
to him when they are sufficiently distinct to be clothed
in
words (of course not necessarily _spoken_ words); and we can only
exclude
from this rule such thoughts as may be presented to the mind
through
mental sight or hearing: e.g., music might probably be composed
mentally
by imagining the _sounds_, or mechanical contrivances invented
by
imagining the _objects_; but any argument, any story, which is,
capable
of reproduction in writing, must be thought out in words.
A
moment's thought renders this obvious; if a man is arguing with a
Frenchman
in his own language, he must, to render his arguments clear
and
powerful, _think_ in French. Now, if the Bible be inspired so as to
insure
accuracy, how can this be done except through words; for many
of
the facts recorded must, from the necessity of the case, have been
unknown
to the writers. Suppose for a moment that the Biblical account
of
the creation of the world were true, no man in that case could
possibly
have thought it out for himself. Only two theories can
reasonably
be held regarding this record: one, that it is true, which
implies
necessarily that it is literally true and verbally inspired,
since
the knowledge could only have come from the Creator, and, being
communicated
must have come in the form of words, which words being
God's,
must be literally true; the other, that it ranks with other
ancient
cosmogonies, and is simply the thought of some old writer,
giving
his idea as to the origin of the world around him. I select
the
account of the Creation as a crucial test of the verbal theory of
inspiration,
because any other account in the Bible that I can think of
has
a human actor in it, and it might be maintained--however unlikely
the
hypothesis--that a report was related or written down by one who had
been
present at the incident reported, and the inspiration of the final
writer
may be said to consist in re-writing the previous record which he
may
be directed to incorporate in his own work. But no one witnessed
the
creation of the world, save the Creator, or, at the most, He and
His
angels, and the account given of it must, if true, be word for word
divine;
or, if false--as it is--must be nothing more than human
fancy.
We must push this argument one step further. If the account was
communicated
only to the man's _mind_, in words rising internally to
the
inward ear alone, how could the man distinguish between these
divine
thoughts rising in his mind, and his own human thoughts rising in
exactly
the same manner? Thoughts rise in our minds, we know not how; we
only
become conscious of them when they are there, and, as far as we can
judge,
they are produced quite naturally according to certain laws. But
how
is it possible for us to distinguish whence these thoughts come?
There
they are, ours, not another's--ours as the child is the father's
and
mother's, the product of their own beings. If my thought is not
mine,
but God's, how am I to know this? it is produced within me as my
own,
and the source of one thought is not distinguishable from that of
another.
Thus, those who believe in the accuracy of the Bible are step
by
step driven to allow that not only are words necessary, but spoken
words;
if the Bible be supernaturally inspired at all, then must God
have
spoken not only in human words but also in human voice; if the
Bible
be supernaturally inspired at all, it must be verbally inspired,
and
be literally accurate about every subject on which it treats.
-------Cardiff Theosophical Society
in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
Unfortunately
for the maintainers of verbal inspiration, their theory is
splendidly
adapted for being brought before the bar of inexorable fact.
It
is worth while to remark, in passing, that the infallibility of
the
Bible has only remained unchallenged where ignorance has reigned
supreme;
as soon as men began to read history and to study nature,
they
also began to question scriptural accuracy, and to defy scriptural
authority.
Infallibility can only live in twilight: so far, every
infallibility
has fallen before advancing knowledge, save only the
infallibility
of Nature, which is the infallibility of God Himself.
Protestants
consider Roman Catholics fools, in that they are not able to
see
that the Pope cannot be infallible, because one Pope has cursed
what
another Pope has blessed. They can see in the case of others that
contradiction
destroys infallibility, but they cannot see the force of
the
same argument when applied to their own pope, the Bible. Strong in
their
"invincible ignorance," they bring us a divinely-inspired book;
"good,"
we answer; "then is your book absolutely true, and it will
square
with all known truth in science and history, and will, of course,
never
be self-contradictory." The first important question which arises
in
our minds as we open so instructive a book as a revelation from on
high,
refers naturally to the Great Inspirer. The Bible contains, as
might
indeed be reasonably expected, many statements as to the nature
of
God, and we inquire of it, in the first place, the character of its
Author.
May we hope to see Him in this world? "Yes," answers Exodus.
"Moses
in days gone by spoke to God face to face, and seventy-four
Israelites
saw Him, and eat and drank in His presence." We have scarcely
taken
in this answer when we hear the same voice proceed: "No; for God
said
thou canst not see my face, for there shall no man see me and live;
while
John declares that no man hath seen Him, and Paul, that no man
neither
hath nor can see Him." Is He Almighty? "Yes," says Jesus.
"With
God
all things are possible." "No," retorts Judges; "for He
could not
drive
out the inhabitants of the valley, _because_ they had chariots of
iron."
Is He just? "Yes," answers Ezekiel. "The son shall not bear the
iniquity
of the father; the soul that sinneth _it_ shall die." "No,"
says
Exodus. "The Lord declares that He visits the iniquity of the
fathers
upon the children." Is He impartial? "Yes," answers Peter.
"God
is
no respecter of persons." "No;" says Romans, "for God loved
Jacob and
hated
Esau before they were born, that His purpose of _election_ might
stand."
Is He truthful? "Yes; it is impossible for God to lie," says
Hebrews.
"No," says God of Himself, in Ezekiel. "I, the Lord, have
deceived
that prophet." Is He loving? "Yes," sings the Psalmist. "He
is
loving unto every man, and His tender mercy is over all His works."
"No,"
growls Jeremiah. "He will not pity, nor spare, nor have mercy on
them."
Is he easily pacified when offended? "Yes," says the Psalmist.
"His
wrath endureth but the twinkling of an eye." "No," says
Jeremiah.
"Ye
have kindled a fire in His anger that shall burn for ever." Unable
to
discover anything reliable about God, doubtful whether he be just or
unjust,
partial or impartial, true or false, loving or fierce, placable
or
implacable, we come to the conclusion that at all events we had
better
be friends with Him, and surely the book which reveals His will
to
us will at least tell us in what way He desires us to approach Him.
Does
He accept sacrifice? "Yes," says Genesis: "Noah sacrificed and
God
smelled
a sweet savour;" and Samuel tells us how God was prevailed on to
take
away a famine by the sacrifice of seven men, hanged up before the
Lord.
In our fear we long to escape from Him altogether and ask if this
be
possible? "Yes," says Genesis. "Adam and his wife hid from Him
in the
trees,
and He had to go-down from His heaven to see if some evil deeds
were
rightly reported to Him." "No," says Solomon. "You cannot
hide from
Him,
for His eyes are in every place." So we throw up in despair all
hope
of finding out anything reliable about Him, and proceed to search
for
some trustworthy history. We try to find out how man was made. One
account
tells us that he was made male and female, even in the image of
God
Himself; another that God made man alone, and subsequently formed
a
woman for him out of one of his own ribs. Then we find in one
chapter
that the beasts were all made, and, lastly, that God made "His
masterpiece,
man." In another chapter we are told that God having made
man
thought it not good to leave him by himself, and proceeded to make
every
beast and fowl, saying that he would make Adam a help-meet for
him;
on bringing them to Adam, however, none was found worthy to mate
with
him, so woman was tried as a last experiment. As we read on we find
evident
marks of confusion; double, or even treble, accounts of the same
incident,
as, for instance, the denying a wife and its consequences.
Then
we see Moses fearing Pharaoh's wrath, and flying out of Egypt to
avoid
the king's wrath, and not venturing to return until after his
death,
and are therefore surprised to learn from Hebrews that he forsook
Egypt
by faith, _not fearing_ the wrath of the king. Then we come across
numberless
contradictions in Kings and Chronicles, in prophecy and
history.
Ezekiel prophecies that Nebuchadnezzar shall conquer Tyrus, and
destroy
it and _take all its riches_; and a few chapters afterwards it
is
recorded that he did accordingly attack Tyrus but failed, and that as
he
got _no wages_ for this attack he should have Egypt for his failure.
In
the New Testament the contradictions are endless; Joseph, the
husband
of Mary, had two fathers, Jacob and Heli; Salah is in the same
predicament,
for although the son of Canaan, Arphaxad begat him. When
John
was cast into prison, Jesus _began_ to preach, although He had been
preaching
and gaining disciples while John was still at large. Jesus
sent
the Twelve to preach, telling them to take a staff, and yet bidding
them
to take none. He eat the Passover with His disciples, although He
was
crucified before that feast. He had one title on his cross, but
it
is verbally inspired in four different ways. He rose with many
variations
of date and time, and ascended the same evening, although He
subsequently
went into Galilee and remained on earth for forty days.
He
sent word to His disciples to meet Him in Galilee, and yet suddenly
appeared
among them as they sat quietly together the same evening at
Jerusalem.
Stephen's history contradicts our Old Testament. When Paul
is
converted, his companions hear a voice, although another account says
that
they heard none at all. After his conversion he goes in and out at
Jerusalem
with the Apostles, although, strangely enough, he sees none of
them,
except Peter and James. But one might spend pages in noting these
inconsistencies,
while even one of them destroys the verbal inspiration
theory.
From these contradictions I maintain that one of two things must
follow,
either the Bible is not an inspired book, or else inspiration is
consistent
with much error, as I shall presently show.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
I
am quite ready to allow that the Bible _is_ inspired, and I therefore
lay
down as my first canon of inspiration, that: "Inspiration does
not
prevent inaccuracy." I turn to the second class of orthodox
inspirationists,
who, while allowing that verbal inspiration is proved
impossible
by many trivial inconsistencies, yet affirm that God's
overruling
power ensures substantial accuracy, and that its history
and
science are perfectly true and are to be relied on. To test this
assertion,
we--after noting that Bible history is, as has been remarked
above,
continually self-contradictory--turn to other histories and
compare
the Bible with them. We notice first that many important
Biblical
occurrences are quite ignored by "profane" historians. We
are
surprised to see that while the Babylonish captivity left marks on
Israel
which are plainly seen, Egypt left no trace on Israel's names
or
customs, and Israel no trace on Egypt's monuments. The doctrine of
angels
comes not from heaven, but slips into Jewish theology from the
Persian;
while immortality is brought to light neither by Hebrew prophet
nor
by the Gospel of Jesus, but by the people among whom the Jews
resided
during the Babylonish captivity. The Jewish Scriptures which
precede
the captivity know of nothing beyond the grave; the Jewish
Scriptures
after the captivity are radiant with the light of a life
to
come; to these Jesus adds nothing of joy or hope. The very central
doctrine
of Christianity--the Godhead of Jesus--is nothing but a
repetition
of an idea of Greek philosophy borrowed by early Christian
writers,
and is to be found in Plato and Philo as clearly as in the
fourth
Gospel. Science contradicts the Bible as much as does history;
geology
laughs at its puny periods of creation; astronomy destroys its
heavens,
and asks why this little world took a week in making, while the
sun
and moon and the countless stars were rapidly turned out in twelve
hours;
natural history wonders why the kangaroos did not stay in Asia
after
the Deluge, instead of undertaking the long sea voyage to far
Australia,
and enquires how the Mexicans, and Peruvians, and others,
crossed
the wide ocean to settle in America; archaeology presents its
human
bones from ancient caves, and asks how they got there, if only
six
thousand years have passed since Adam and Eve stood alone in Eden,
gazing
out on the unpeopled earth; the Pyramids point at the negro
type
distinct and clear, and ask how it comes that it was so rapidly
developed
at first, and yet has remained stationary ever since. At last,
science
gets weary of slaying a foe so puny, and goes on its way with a
smile
on its grand, still face, leaving the Bible to teach its science
to
whom it lists. Evidence so weighty crushes all life out of this
second
theory of inspiration, and gives us a second rule to guide us in
our
search: "Inspiration does not prevent ignorance and error." We may
pass
on to the third class of inspirationists, those who believe that
the
Bible is not given to man to teach him either history or science,
but
only to reveal to him what he could not discover by the use of his
natural
faculties--_e g._ the duties of morality and the nature of God.
I
must note here the subtilty of this retreat. Driven by inexorable fact
to
allow the Bible to be fallible in everything in which we can test its
assertions,
they, by a clever strategic movement, remove their defence
to
a post more difficult to attack. They maintain that the Bible is
infallible
in points where no cannonade of facts can be brought to bear
on
it. What is this but to say, that although we can prove the Bible
to
be fallible on every point capable of proof, we are still blindly to
believe
it to be infallible where demonstrated error is, from the nature
of
the case, impossible? As regards the nature of God, we have already
seen
that the Bible ascribes to him virtue and vice indifferently. We
turn
to morality, and here our first great difficulty meets us, for when
we
point to a thing and say, "that is profoundly immoral," our opponents
retort,
"it is perfectly moral." Only the progress of humanity can prove
which
of us is in the right, though here, too, we have one great fact on
our
side, and that is, the conscience in man; already men would rather
die
than imitate the actions of Old Testament saints who did that which
was
"right in the eyes of Jehovah;" and presently they will be bold
enough
to reject in words that which they already reject in deeds. Few
would
put the Bible freely into the hands of a child, any more than
they
would give freely to the young the unpurged editions of Swift and
Sterne;
and I imagine that the most pious parents would scarcely see
with
un-mingled pleasure their son and daughter of fifteen and sixteen
studying
together the histories and laws of the Pentateuch. But taking
the
Bible as a rule of life, are we to copy its saints and its laws?
For
instance, is it right for a man to marry his half-sister, as did the
great
ancestor of the Jews, Abraham, the friend of God?--a union, by the
way,
which is forbidden by Jewish law, although said to be the source of
their
race. Is the lie of the Egyptian midwives right, because Jehovah
blessed
them for it, even as Jael is pronounced blessed by Deborah, the
prophetess,
for her accursed treachery and murder? Is the robbery of the
Egyptians
right, because commanded by Jehovah? Are the old cruel laws
of
witchcraft right, because Jehovah doomed the witch to death? Are
the
ordeals of the Middle Ages right, because derived from the laws
of
Jehovah? Is human sacrifice right, because attempted by Abraham,
enjoined
by Moses, practised by Jephthah, efficacious in turning away
God's
wrath when Saul's seven sons were offered up? Is murder right
because
Phineas wrought atonement by it, and Moses sent his murderers
throughout
the camp to stay God's anger by slaying their brethren? Is
it
right that the persons of women captives should be the prey of the
conquerors,
because the Jews were commanded by Jehovah to save alive the
virgins
and keep them for themselves, except the sixty-four reserved for
himself?
Is the man after God's own heart a worthy model for imitation?
Are
Jehu's lying and slaughter right, because right in the eyes of
Jehovah?
Is Hosea's marriage commendable, because commanded by Jehovah?
or
are the signs of Jeremiah and Ezekiel the less childish and indecent
because
they are prefaced with, "thus saith Jehovah?" Far be it from me
to
detract from the glorious morality of portions of the Bible; but if
the
whole book be inspired and infallible in its moral teaching, then,
of
course, one moral lesson is as important as another, and we have no
right
to pick and choose where the whole is divine. The harsher part of
the
Old Testament morality has burnt its mark into the world, and may
be
traced through history by the groans of suffering men and women, by
burning
witches and tortured enemies of the Lord, by flaming cities and
blood-stained
fields. If murder and rapine, treachery and lies, robbery
and
violence, were commanded long ago by Almighty God; if things are
right
and wrong only by virtue of His command, then who can say that
they
may not be right once more, when used in the cause of the Church,
and
how are we to know that Moses speaks in God's name when he commands
them,
and Torquemada only in his own? But even Christians are beginning
to
feel ashamed of some of the exploits of the "Old Testament Saints,"
and
to try and explain away some of the harsher features; we even hear
sometimes
a wicked whisper about "imperfect light," &c. Good heavens!
what
blasphemy! Imperfect light can mean nothing less than imperfect
God,
if He is responsible for the morality of these writings.
So,
from our study of the Bible we deduce another canon by which we may
judge
of inspiration:
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
"Inspiration
does not prevent moral error." There is a fourth class of
inspirationists,
the last which clings to the skirts of orthodoxy, which
is
always endeavouring to plant one foot on the rocks of science, while
it
balances the other over the quicksands of orthodox super-naturalism.
The
Broad Church school here takes one wide step away from orthodoxy,
by
allowing that the inspiration of the Bible differs only in degree and
not
in kind from the inspiration common to all mankind. They recognise
the
great fact that the inspiring Spirit of God is the source whence
flow
all good and noble deeds, and they point out that the Bible itself
refers
all good and all knowledge to that one Spirit, and that He
breathes
mechanical skill into Bezaleel and Aholiab, strength into
Samson's
arms, wisdom into Solomon, as much as He breathes the ecstacy
of
the prophet into Isaiah, faith into Paul, and love into John. They
recognise
the old legends as authentic, but would maintain as stoutly
that
He spoke to Newton through the falling of an apple, as that He
spoke
of old to Elijah by fire, or to the wise men by a star. This
school
try and remove the moral difficulties of the Old Testament by
regarding
the history recorded in it as a history which is specially
intended
to unveil the working of God through all history, and so to
gradually
reveal God as He makes Himself known to the world; thus the
grosser
parts are regarded as wholly attributable to the ignorance of
men,
and they delight to see the divine light breaking slowly through
the
thick clouds of human error and prejudice, and to trace in the
Bible
the gradual evolution of a nobler faith and a purer morality.
They
regard the miracles of Jesus as a manifestation that God underlies
Nature
and works ever therein: they believe God to be specially
manifested
in Jewish history, in order that men may understand that He
presides
over all nations and rules over all peoples. To Maurice the
Bible
is the explainer of all earth's problems, the unveiler of God, the
Bread
of Life. There is, on the whole, little to object to in the Broad
Church
view of inspiration, although liberal thinkers regret that, as a
party,
they stop half way, and are still trammelled by the half-broken
chains
of orthodoxy. For instance, they usually regard the direct
revelation
of morality as closed by Jesus and His immediate followers,
although
they allow that God has not deserted His world, nor confined
His
inspiration within the covers of a book. To them, however, the Bible
is
still _the_ inspired book, standing apart by itself, differing from
all
other sacred books. From their views of inspiration, which contains
so
much that is true, we deduce a fourth rule:
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
"Inspiration
is not confined to written words about God." From a
criticism
of the book, which is held by orthodox Christians, to be
specially
inspired, we have then gained some idea of what inspiration
does
_not_ do. It does not prevent inaccuracy, ignorance, error, nor
is
it confined to any written book. Inspiration, then, cannot be an
overwhelming
influence, crushing the human faculties and bearing along
the
subject of it on a flood which he can neither direct nor resist. It
is
a breathing--gentle and gradual--of pure thoughts into impure hearts,
tender
thoughts into fierce hearts, forgiving thoughts into revengeful
hearts.
David calls home his banished son, and he learns that, "even as
a
father pitieth his children, so is the Lord merciful unto them that
fear
Him." Paul wishes himself accursed if it may save his brethren,
and
from his own self-sacrificing love he learns that "God will have
all
men to be saved, and to come to the knowledge of the truth." Thus
inspiration
is breathed into the man's heart. "I love and forgive, weak
as
I am; what must be the depth of the love and forgiveness of God?"
David's
fierce revenge finds an echo in his writings; for man writes,
and
not God: he defaces God by ascribing to Him the passions surging
only
in his own burning Eastern heart: then, as the Spirit moves him to
forgiveness,
his song is of mercy; for he feels that his Maker must be
better
than himself. That part of the Bible is inspired, I do not deny,
in
the sense that all good thoughts are the result of inspiration, but
only
as we share the inspiration of the Bible can we distinguish between
the
noble and the base in it, between the eternal and that which is
fast
passing away. But as we do not expect to find that inspiration,
now-a-days,
guards men from much error, both of word and deed, so we
should
not expect to find it otherwise in days gone by; nor should we
wonder
that the man who spoke of God as showing His tender fatherhood by
punishing
and correcting, could so sink down into hard thoughts of that
loving
Father as to say that it was a fearful thing to fall into His
hands.
These contradictions meet us in every man; they are the highest
and
the lowest moments of the human soul. Only as we are inspired to
love
and patience in our conduct towards men will our words be inspired
when
we speak of God.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
Having
thus seen what inspiration does not do, we must glance at what
it
really is. It is, perhaps, natural that we, rejecting, as we do,
with
somewhat of vehemence, the idea of supernatural revelation, should
oftentimes
be accused of denying all revelation and disbelieving all
inspiration.
But even as we are not atheists, although we deny the
Godhead
of Jesus, so are we not unbelievers in inspiration because we
refuse
to bend our necks beneath the yoke of an inspired Bible. For we
believe
in a God too mighty and too universal to be wrapped in swaddling
clothes
or buried in a cave, and we believe in an inspiration too mighty
and
too universal to belong only to one nation and to one age. As the
air
is as free and as refreshing to us as it was to Isaiah, to Jesus, or
to
Paul, so does the spiritual air of God's Spirit breathe so softly and
as
refreshingly on our brows as on theirs. We have eyes to see and
ears
to hear quite as much as they had in Judea long ago. "If God
be
omnipresent and omniactive, this inspiration is no miracle, but a
regular
mode of God's action on conscious Spirit, as gravitation
on
unconscious matter. It is not a rare condescension of God, but a
universal
uplifting of man. To obtain a knowledge of duty, a man is not
sent
away outside of himself to ancient documents for the only rule of
faith
and practice; the Word is very nigh him, even in his heart, and
by
this word he is to try all documents whatever.... Wisdom,
Righteous-ness,
and Love are the Spirit of God in the soul of man;
wherever
these are, and just in proportion to their power, there is
inspiration
from God.... Inspiration is the in-come of God to the
soul,
in the form of Truth through the Reason, of Right through the
Conscience,
of Love and Faith through the Affections and Religious
Element....
A man would be looked on as mad who should claim miraculous
inspiration
for Newton, as they have been who denied it in the case of
Moses.
But no candid man will doubt that, humanly speaking, it was a
more
difficult thing to write the Principia than to write the Decalogue.
Man
must have a nature most sadly anomalous if, unassisted, he is
able
to accomplish all the triumphs of modern science, and yet cannot
discover
the plainest and most important principles of Religion and
Morality
without a miraculous inspiration; and still more so if, being
able
to discover by God's natural aid these chief and most important
principles,
he needs a miraculous inspiration to disclose minor
details."*
Thus we believe that inspiration from God is the birthright
of
humanity, and to be an heir of God it needs only to be a son of man.
Earth's
treasures are highly priced and hard to win, but God's blessings
are,
like the rain and the sunshine, showered on all-comers.
"'Tis only heaven is given away;
'Tis only God may be had for the asking;
No price is set on the lavish summer;
June may be had by the poorest
comer."
* Theodore Parker.
If
inspiration were indeed that which it is thought to be by the
orthodox
Christians, surely we ought to be able to distinguish its
sayings
from those of the uninspired. If inspiration be confined to the
Christian
Bible, how is it that the inspired thoughts were in many cases
spoken
out to the world hundreds of years before they fell from the
lips
of an inspired Jew? It seems a somewhat uncalled for miraculous
interference
for a man to be supernaturally inspired to inform the world
of
some moral truth which had been well known for hundreds of years to
a
large portion of the race. Or is it that a great moral truth bears
within
itself so little evidence of its royal birth, that it cannot be
accepted
as ruler by divine right over men until its proclamation is
signed
by some duly accredited messenger of the Most High? Then, indeed,
must
God be "more cognizable by the senses than by the soul;" and then
"the
eye or the ear is a truer and quicker percipient of Deity than the
Spirit
which came forth from Him."* Was Paul inspired when he wished
himself
accursed for his brethren's sake, but Kwan-yin uninspired, when
she
said, "Never will I seek nor receive private individual salvation;
never
enter into final peace alone?" If Jesus and the prophets were
inspired
when they placed mercy above sacrifice, was Manu uninspired
in
saying that a man "will fall very low if he performs ceremonial acts
only,
and fails to discharge his moral duties"? Was Jesus inspired when
he
taught that the whole law was comprehended in one saying, namely,
"Thou
shalt love thy neighbour as thyself?" and yet was Confucius
uninspired
when, in answer to the question, "What one word would serve
as
a rule to one's whole life?" he said, "Reciprocity; what you do not
wish
done to yourself, do not to others." Or take the Talmud and study
it,
and then judge from what uninspired source Jesus drew much of His
highest
teaching. "Whoso looketh on the wife of another with a lustful
eye,
is considered as if he had committed adultery."--(Kalah.) "With
what
measure we mete, we shall be measured again."--(Johanan.) "What
thou
wouldst not like to be done to thyself, do not to others; this
is
the fundamental law."--(Hillel.) "If he be admonished to take the
splinter
out of his eye, he would answer, Take the beam out of
thine
own."--(Tarphon.) "Imitate God in His goodness. Be towards thy
fellow-creatures
as He is towards the whole creation. Clothe the naked;
heal
the sick; comfort the afflicted; be a brother to the children of
thy
Father." The whole parable of the houses built on the rock and on
the
sand is taken out of the Talmud, and such instances of quotation
might
be indefinitely multiplied. What do they all prove? That there is
no
inspiration in the Bible? by no means. But surely that inspiration
is
not confined to the Bible, but is spread over the world; that much
in
all "sacred books" is the outcome of inspired minds at their highest,
although
we find the same books containing gross and low thoughts.
We
should always remember that although the Bible is more specially
a
revelation to us of the Western nations than are the Vedas and the
Zend-Avesta,
that it is only so because it is better suited to our modes
of
thought, and because it has-been one of the agents in our education.
* W. R. Greg.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
The
reverence with which we may regard the Bible as bound up with
many-sacred
memories, and as the chosen teacher of many of our greatest
minds
and purest characters, is rightly directed in other nations to
their
own sacred books. The books are really all on a level, with
much
good and much bad in them all; but as the Hebrew was inspired to
proclaim
that "the Lord thy God is one Lord" to the Hebrews, so was the
Hindoo
inspired to proclaim to Hindoos, "There is only one Deity, the
great
Soul." Either all are inspired, or none are. They stand on the
same
footing. And we rejoice to-believe that one Spirit breathes in all,
and
that His inspiration is ours to-day. "The Father worketh hitherto,"
although
men fancy He is resting in an eternal Sabbath. The orthodox
tells
us that, in rejecting the rule of morality laid down for us in the
Bible,
and in trusting ourselves to this inspiration of the free Spirit
of
God, our faith and our morality will alike be shifting and unstable.
But
we reck not of their warnings; our faith and our morality are only
shifting
in this sense, that, as we grow holier, and purer, and wiser,
our
conception of God and of righteousness will rise and expand with our
growth.
It was a golden saying of one of God's noblest sons that "no man
knoweth
the Father save the Son:" to know God we must resemble Him,
as
we see in the child the likeness of the parent. But in trusting
ourselves
to the guidance of the Spirit of God, we are not building the
house
of our faith on the shifting sand; rather are we "dwelling in a
city
that hath foundations, whose builder and maker is God." Wisely was
it
sung of old, "Except the Lord build the house, their labour is but
lost
that build it." Vain are all efforts of priestly coercion; vain
all
toils of inspired books; vain the utter sacrifice of reason and
conscience;
their labour is but lost when they strive to build a temple
of
human faith, strong enough to bear the long strain of time, or the
earthquake-shock
of grief. God only, by the patient guiding of His love,
by
the direct inspiration of His Spirit, can lay, stone by stone, and
timber
by timber, that priceless fabric of trust and love, which shall
outlive
all attacks and all changes, and shall stand in the human soul
as
long as His own Eternity endures.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
ON
THE RELIGIOUS EDUCATION OF CHILDREN.
IN
every transition-stage of the world's history the question of
education
naturally comes to the front. So much depends on the first
impressions
of childhood, on the first training of the tender shoot,
that
it has always been acknowledged, from Solomon to Forster, that to
"train
up a child in the way he should go" is among the most important
duties
of fathers and citizens. To the individual, to the family, to the
State,
the education of the rising generation is a question of primary
importance.
Plato began the education of the citizens of his ideal
Republic
from the very hour of their birth; the nursing child was taken
from
the mother lest injudicious treatment should mar, in the slightest
degree,
the perfection of the future warrior. On this point modern and
ancient
wisdom clasp hands, and place the education of the child among
the
most important duties of the State. The battle at present raging
between
the advocates of "secular" and "religious" education--to
use the
cant
of the day--is a most natural and righteous recognition of the vast
interests
at stake when Church or State claims the right of training the
sons
and daughters of England. No one has yet attempted to explain why
it
should be "irreligious" to teach writing, or history, or geography;
or
why it should "destroy a child's soul" to improve his mental
faculties.
It is among the "mysteries" of the faith, why it is better
for
our poor to leave' them to grow up in both moral and intellectual
darkness,
than to dissipate the intellectual darkness by some few rays
of
knowledge, and to leave the moral training to other hands. If we left
a
starving man to die because we could only give him bread, and were
unable
to afford cheese in addition, all would unite in declaiming at
our
folly: but "religious" people would rather that our street Arabs
grew
up both heathens and brutes, than that we should improve their
minds
without Christianizing their souls. Better let a lad grow up a
thief
and a drunkard, than turn him into an artizan and a freethinker.
There
can scarcely be a better proof of the unreasonableness of
Christian
doctrine, than the Christian fear of sharpening mental
faculties,
without binding them down, at the same time, in the chains
of
dogma. Only a religion founded on reason can dare to train children's
minds
to the utmost, and then leave them free to use all the power and
keenness
acquired by that training on the investigation of any religious
doctrine
presented to them. We, who have written Tekel on the Christian
faith,
share in the opinion of the Christian clergy, that man's carnal
reason
is a terrible foe to the Christian revelation; but here we begin
to
differ from them, for while they regard this reason as a child of
the
devil, to be scourged and chained down, we do homage to it as to the
fairest
offspring of the Divine Spirit, the brightest earthly reflection
of
His glory, and the nearest image of His "Person"; we would cherish
it,
tend it, nourish it, as our Father's noblest gift to humanity, as
our
surest guide and best counsellor, as the ear which hears His voice,
and
the eye which sees Him, as the sharpest weapon against superstition,
the
ultimate arbiter on earth between right and wrong. To us, then,
education
is ranged on the side of God; we welcome it freely and gladly,
because
all truth, all light, all knowledge, are foes of falsehood, of
darkness,
of ignorance. If we mistake error for truth a brighter light
will
set us right, and we only wish to be taught truth, not to be proved
right.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
Most
liberal thinkers agree in recognizing the fact that the duties of
the
State in the matter of education must, in the nature of things, be
purely
"secular:" that is to say, that while the State insists that the
future
citizen shall be taught at least the elements of learning, so as
to
fit him or her for fulfilling the duties of that citizenship, it has
no
right to insist on impressing on the mind of its pupil any set of
religious
dogmas or any form of religious creed. The abdication by the
State
of the pretended right of enforcing on its citizens any special
form
of religion, is not at all identical with the opposition by the
State
to religious teaching; It is merely a development of the very wise
maxim
of the great Jewish Teacher, to render the things of Caesar
to
Caesar, and the things of God to God. To teach reading, writing,
honesty,
regard for law, these things are Caesar's duties; to teach
religious
dogma, creed, or article, is entirely the province of the
teachers
who claim to hold the truth of God.
But
my object now is not to draw the line between the duties of Church
and
State, of school and home; nor do I wish to enter the lists of
sectarian
controversy, to break a lance in favour of a new religious
dogma.
The question is rather this: "What are the limits of the
religious
education which it is wise to impose on the young? Is any
dogmatic
teaching to be a part of their moral training, and is the
dogmatism
against which we have rebelled to be revived in a new form?
Are
the fetters which we are breaking for ourselves to be welded
together
again for the young limbs of our children? Are they to be fed
on
the husks which have starved our own religious aspirations, and which
we
have analysed, and rejected as unfit to sustain our moral and mental
vigour?
On the other hand, are our children to grow up without any
religious
teaching at all, without a ray of that sunshine which is
to
most of us the very source of our gladness, and the renewal of our
strength?"
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
I
think the best way of deciding this question is to notice the gradual
development
of the childish body and mind. Nature's indications are a
sure
guide-post, and we cannot go very far wrong in following her hints.
I
am now on ground with which mothers are familiar, though perhaps few
men
have watched young children with sufficient attention to be able to
note
their gradual development. The first instincts of a baby are purely
personal:
the "not-I" is for it nonexistent: food, warmth, cleanliness,
comprise
all its needs and all our duties to it. The next stage is
when
the infant becomes conscious of the existence of something outside
itself:
when, vaguely and indistinctly, but yet decidedly, it shows
signs
of observing the things around it: to cultivate observation, to
attract
attention, slowly to guide it into distinguishing one object
from
another, are the next steps in its education. The child soon
succeeds
in distinguishing forms, and learns to attach different sounds
to
different shapes: it is also taught to avoid some things and to play
with
others: it awakes to the knowledge that while some objects give
pleasure,
others give pain: so far as material things go, it learns
to
choose the good and to avoid the evil. This power is only gained by
experience,
and is therefore acquired but gradually, and after a time,
side
by side with it, runs another lesson; slowly and gradually there
appears
a dawning appreciation of "right" and "wrong." This
appreciation
is
not, however, at first an appreciation of any intrinsic rightness or
wrongness
in any given action; it is simply a recognition on the child's
part
that some of its acts meet with approval, others with disapproval,
from
its elders. The standard of its seniors is unquestioningly
accepted
by the child. The moral sense awakes, but is completely guided
in
its first efforts by the hand of the child's teacher, as completely
as
the first efforts to walk are directed by the mother. Thus it comes
to
pass that the conscience of the child is but the reflex of the
conscience
of its parents or guardians: "right" and "wrong" in a
child's
vocabulary are in the earliest stages equivalent to "reward"
and
"punishment;" its final court of appeal in cases of morality is the
judgment
of the parent.*
* The moral sense does show itself,
however, in very young
children, in a higher form than this; for
we may often
observe in a young child an instinctive
sense of shame at
having done wrong. But the moral sense is
awakened and
educated by the parents' approval and
disapproval. This may
be proved, I think, by the fact that a
child brought up
among thieves and evil-livers will accept
their morality as
a matter of course, and will steal and lie
habitually,
without attaching to either act any idea
of wrong. The moral
sense is inherent in man, and is in no way
_given_ by the
parent; but I think that it is first
aroused and put into
action by the parent; the parent accustoms
the child to
regard certain actions as right and wrong;
this appeals to
the moral sense in the child, and the child
very rapidly is
ashamed of wrong, as wrong, and not simply
from dread of
punishment. I would be understood to mean,
in the text, that
the wish for reward is the first response
of the child to
the idea of an inherent distinction between
different
actions; this feeling rapidly developes
into the true moral
sense, which regards right as right, and
wrong as wrong.
I append this note at the suggestion of a
valued friend, who
feared that the inference might be drawn from
the text that
the moral sense was implanted by the
parent instead of
being, as it is, the gift of God.
It
is perhaps scarcely accurate to call this motive power in the child
a
_moral_ sense at all; still, this recognition of some thing which
is
immaterial and intangible, and which is yet to be the guide of its
actions,
is a great step forward from the simple consciousness of outer
and
material objects, and is truly the dawn of that moral sense which
becomes
in men and women the test of right and wrong. So far we have
considered
the growing faculties of the child as regards physical and
moral
development, and I particularly wish to remark that the moral
sense
appears long before any "religious" tendency can be noted. There
is,
however, another side of the complete human character which is very
important,
but which is slow in showing itself in any healthy child; I
mean
what may be called the _spiritual_ sense, in distinction from the
moral;
the sense which is the crowning grace of humanity, the sense
which
belongs wholly to the immortal part of man: the outstretched hands
of
the human spirit groping after the Eternal Spirit; the yearning after
that
all-pervading Power which men call God. I know well that in many
precociously-pious
children this spiritual sense is forced into a
premature
and unwholesome maturity; by means of a spiritual hot-house
the
summer-fruit of piety may be obtained in the spring-time of the
childish
heart. The imitative instinct of childhood quickly reproduces
the
sentiments around it, and set phrases which meet with admiration
flow
glibly from baby-lips. But this strongly developed religious
feeling
in a child is both unnatural and harmful, and can never, because
it
is unreal, produce any lasting good effect. Yet is it none the less
true
that, at an early age, differing much in different children, the
"spiritual
sense" does show signs of awakening; that children soon begin
to
wonder about things around them, and to ask questions which can only
find
their true answer in the name of God. How to meet these questions,
how
to train this growing sentiment without crushing it on the one hand,
and
without unduly stimulating it on the other, is a source of deep
anxiety
to many a mother's heart in the present day. They are unable
to
tell their children the stories which satisfied their own childish
cravings:
no longer can they hold up before the eager faces the picture
of
the manger at Bethlehem, or dim the bright eyes with the story of the
cross
on Calvary; no longer can they fold the little hands in prayer to
the
child of Nazareth, or hush the hasty tongue with the reminder of
the
obedience of the Virgin's son. To a certain extent this is a loss.
A
child quickly seizes the concrete; the idea of the child Jesus or the
man
Jesus is readily grasped by a child's intellect; the God of the Old
Testament,
the "magnified man," is also, though more dimly, understood.
These
conceptions of the childhood of humanity suit the childhood of the
individual,
and it is far more difficult for the child to realize the
idea
of God when he is divested of these materialistic garments. Yet I
speak
from experience when I say that it is by no means impossible to
train
a child into the simplest and happiest feelings as regards the
Supreme
Being, without degrading the Divine into the human. By one name
we
can speak of God by which He will be readily welcomed to the child's
heart,
and that is the name of the Father. Most children are keenly
alive
to natural beauties, and are quick to observe birds, and flowers,
and
sunshine; at times they will ask how these things come there, and
then
it is well to tell them that they are the works of God Thus the
child's
first notions of the existence of a Power he cannot see or feel
will
come to him clothed in the things he loves, and will be free from
any
suggestion of fear.* Even those who regard God from the stand-point
of
Pantheism may use natural objects so as to train the child into a
fearless
and happy recognition of the constant working of the Spirit
of
Nature, and so guard the young mind against that shrinking from, and
terror
of God, which popular Christianity is so apt to induce. The lad
or
girl who grows up with even the habit of regarding God as the calm
and
mighty motive-power of the forces of Nature, changeless, infinite,
absolutely
trustworthy, will be slow to accept in later life the crude
conceptions
which incarnate the creative power in a virgin's womb, and
ascribe
caprice, injustice, and cruelty to the mighty Spirit of the
Universe.
* The ordinary shrinking of a child from
the idea of a
Presence which he cannot see, but which
sees him, will not
be felt by children whose only ideas about
God are that He
is the Father from whose hand come all
beautiful things. In
any home where the parents' thoughts of
God are free from
doubt and mistrust, the children's
thoughts will be the same;
religion, in their eyes, will be
synonymous with
happiness, for God and good will be
convertible terms.
There
is a deep truth in the idea of Pantheism, that "Nature is an
apparition
of the Deity, God in a mask;" that "He is the light of the
morning,
the beauty of the noon, and the strength of the sun. He is the
One,
the All... The soul of all; more moving than motion, more stable
than
rest; fairer than beauty, and stronger than strength. The power of
Nature
is God... He is the All; the Reality of all phenomena." The child
fed
on this food will have scarcely anything to unlearn, even when he
begins
to believe that God is something more than Nature; "the created
All
is the symbol of God," and he will pass easily and naturally on from
seeing
God in Nature to see Him in a higher form.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
Of
course, as a Theist, I should myself go much further than this: I
should
speak of all natural glory as but the reflection of the Deity,
or
as the robe in which He veils His infinite beauty; I should bid
my
children rejoice in all happiness as in the gift of a Father who
delights
in sharing His joy with His creatures; I should point out that
the
pain caused by ignorance of, or by breaking natural laws, is God's
way
of teaching men obedience for their own ultimate good: in the
freedom
and fulness of Nature's gifts I should teach them to see the
equal
love of God for all; through marking that in Nature's visible
kingdom
no end can be gained without labour and without using certain
laws,
they should learn that in the invisible kingdom they need not
expect
to find favouritism, nor think to share the fruits of victory
without
patient toil. To all who believe in a God who is also the Father
of
Spirits such teaching as this comes easily; as they themselves learn
of
God only through His works, so they naturally teach their children to
seek
Him in the same way.
The
questions, so familiar to every mother, "Can God see me?" "Where
is
God?"
can only be met with the simple assertion that God sees all, and
is
everywhere. For there are many childish questions which it is wisest
to
meet with statements which are above the grasp of the childish mind.
These
statements may be simply given to the child as statements which it
is
too young either to question or to understand. Nothing is gained
by
trying to smooth down spiritual subjects to the level of a child's
capacity;
the time will come later when the child must meet and answer
for
itself all great spiritual questions; the parent's care should be to
remove
all hindrances from the child's path of inquiry, but not to give
it
cut-and-dried answers to every possible question; religion, to be
worth
anything, must be a personal matter, and each must find it out for
himself;
the wise parent will endeavour to save the child from the pain
of
unlearning, by giving but little formal religious teaching; he cannot
fight
the battle for his child, but he can prevent his being crippled by
a
fancied armour which will stifle rather than protect him; he can give
a
few wide principles to direct him, without weighing him down with
guide-books.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
But
even the most general ideas of God should not be forced on a
childish
mind; they should come, so to speak, by chance; they should be
presented
in answer to some demand of the child's heart; they should
be
inculcated by stray words and passing remarks; they should form the
atmosphere
surrounding the child habitually, and not be a sudden "wind
of
doctrine." Of course all this is far more troublesome than to teach
a
child a catechism or a creed, but it is a far higher training. Dogma,
_i
e_., conviction petrified by authority, should be utterly excluded
from
the religious education of children; a few great axiomatic truths
may
be laid down, but even in these primary truths dogmatism should be
avoided.
The parent should always take care to make it apparent that he
is
stating his own convictions, but is not enforcing them on the child
by
his authority. So far as the child is capable of appreciating them,
the
reasons for the religious conviction should be presented along with
the
conviction itself. Thus the child will see, as he grows older, that
religion
cannot be learned by rote, that it is not shut up in a book, or
contained
in creeds; he will appreciate the all-important fact that free
inquiry
is the only air in which truth can breathe; that one man's faith
cannot
justly be imposed on another, and that every individual soul has
the
privilege and the responsibility of forming his own religion, and
must
either hear God with his own ears, or else not hear Him at all.
We
have noticed that the moral sense awakes before the religious (I must
state
my repugnance to these terms, although I use them for the sake of
clearness;
but morality _is_ religion, although religion is more than
morality,
and the so-called religion which is not morality is worthless
and
hateful). There remains then to consider what we will call the
second
side of religion, although it is by far its most important side.
True
religion consists not only in feelings towards God, but also in
duties
towards men: the first, noble and blessed as they are, should, in
every
healthy religion, give place to the second; for a morally good man
who
does not believe in God at all, is in a far higher state of being
than
the man who believes in God and is selfish, cruel or unjust. Error
in
faith is forgiveable; error in life is fatal. The good man shall
surely
see God, although, for a time, his eyes be holden; the evil man,
though
he hold the noblest faith yet known, shall never taste the joy of
God,
until he turns from sin, and struggles after holiness. Faith first,
and
then morality, is the war-cry of the churches; morality above all,
and
let faith follow in good time, is the watch-word of Theism; so,
among
us, the principal part of the religious training of our children
should
be morality; religious feeling may be over-strained, or give rise
to
self-deception; religious talk may be morbid and unreal; religious
faith
may be erring, and must be imperfect; but morality is a rock which
can
never be shaken, a guide which can never mislead. Whether we are
right
or wrong in our belief about God, whether we are immortal spirits
or
perishable organizations, yet purity is nobler than vice, courage
than
cowardice, truth than falsehood, love than hate. Let us, then,
teach
our children morality above all things. Let us teach them to love
good
for its own sake, without thought of reward, and they will remain
good,
even if, in after life, they should, alas! lose all hope of
immortality
and all faith hi God. A child's natural instinct is towards
good;
a tale of heroism, of self sacrifice, of generosity, will bring
the
eager blood flushing up to a child's face and wake a quick response
and
a desire of emulation. It is therefore well to place in children's
hands
tales of noble deeds in days gone by. Nothing is easier than to
train
a child into feeling a desire to be good for the sake of being so.
There
is something so attractive in goodness, that I have found it more
effectual
to hold up the nobility of courage and unselfishness before
the
child's eyes, than to descend to punishment for the corresponding
faults.
If a child is in the habit of regarding all wrong as something
low
and degrading, he quickly shrinks from it; all mothers know the
instinctive
ambition of children to be something superior and admirable,
and
this instinct is most useful in inculcating virtue. Later in life
nothing
ruins a young man like discovering that morality and religion
are
often divorced, and that the foremost professors of religion are
less
delicately honourable and trustworthy than high-minded "worldly
men;"
on the other hand, nothing will have so beneficial an effect on
men
and women entering life, as to see that those who are most joyful in
their
faith towards God, lead the purest and most blameless lives. "Do
good,
be good" is, as has been well said, the golden rule of life;
"do
good, be good" must be the law impressed on our children's hearts.
Whatever
"eclipse of faith" may await England, whatever darkness of most
hopeless
scepticism, whatever depth of uttermost despair of God, there
is
not only the hope, but the certainty of the resurrection of religion,
if
we all hold fast through the driving storm to the sheet-anchor of
pure
morality, to most faithful discharge of all duty towards man to
love,
and tenderness, and charity, and patience. Morality never faileth;
but,
whether there be dogmas, they shall fail; whether there be creeds,
they
shall cease; whether there be churches, they shall crumble away;
but
morality shall abide for evermore and endure as long as the endless
circle
of Nature revolves around the Eternal Throne.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
NATURAL
RELIGION VERSUS REVEALED RELIGION.
ONE
is almost ashamed to repeat so trite an aphorism as the well-worn
saying
that "history repeats itself." But in studying the course taken
by
the advocates of what is called "revealed religion," in seeing their
disdain
of "mere nature," their scornful repudiation of the idea that
any
poor natural product can come into competition with their special
article,
hall-stamped by heaven itself, I feel irresistibly compelled
to
glance backwards down the long vista of history, and there I see
the
conflict of the present day raging fierce and long. I see the same
serried
ranks of orthodoxy marshalled by bishops and priests, arrayed
in
all the splendour of prescriptive right, armed with mighty weapons
of
authority and thunderbolts of Church anathemas. Their war-cry is the
same
as that which rings in our ears to-day; "revelation" is inscribed
on
their banners and "infallible authority" is the watchword of their
camp.
The Church is facing nature for the first time, and is setting her
revealed
science against natural science. "Mere Nature" is temporarily
getting
the worst of it, and Galileo, Nature's champion, is sorely
pressed
by "revealed truth." I hear scornful taunts at his presumption
in
attacking revealed science by his pretended natural facts. Had they
not
God's Own account of His creation, and did he pretend to know more
about
the matter than God Himself? Was he present when God created the
world,
that he spoke so positively about its shape? Could he declare, of
his
own personal knowledge, that it was sent hurtling through space in
the
ridiculous manner he talked about, and could he, by the evidence of
his
own eye-sight, declare that God was mistaken when He revealed to man
how
He "laid the foundation of the earth that it never should move at
anytime?"
But if he was only reasoning from the wee bit of earth he
knew,
was he not speaking of things he had not seen, being vainly
puffed-up
in his fleshly mind? Was it probable, _ŕ priori_, that
God
would allow mankind to be deceived for thousands of years on so
important
a matter; would in fact--God forgive it!--deceive man Himself
by
revealing through His holy prophets an account of His creation
which
was utterly untrue; nay, further, would carry on the delusion for
century
after century, by working miracles in support of it--for what
but
a miracle could make men unconscious of the fact that they were
being
hurried through space at so tremendous a rate? Surely very little
reverence,
or rather no reverence at all, was needed to allow that God
the
Holy Ghost, who inspired the Bible, knew better than we did how
He
made the world. But, the theologian proceeds, he must remind his
audience
that, under the specious pretext of investigating the creation,
this
man, this pseudo-scientist, was in reality blaspheming the Creator,
by
contradicting His revealed word, and thus "making Him a liar." It
was
all very well to talk about _natural_ science; but he would ask this
presuming
speculator, what was the use of God revealing science to us if
man's
natural faculties were sufficient to discover it for himself? They
had
sufficient proofs of the absurdities of science into which reason,
unenlightened
by revelation, had betrayed men in past ages. The idea of
the
Hindoo, that the world rested on an elephant and the elephant on
a
tortoise, was a sad proof of the incapacity of the acutest natural
intellect
to discover scientific truth without the aid of revelation.
Reason
had its place, and a very noble placer in science; but it must
always
bow before revelation, and not presume to set its puny guesses
against
a "thus sayeth the Lord." Let reason, then, pursue its way with
belief
not unbelief, for its guide. What could reason, with all its
vaunted
powers, tell us of the long-past creation of the world? Eye hath
not
seen those things of ages past, but God hath revealed them to us by
His
Spirit. A darkness that might be felt would enshroud the origin of
the
world were it not for the magnificent revelation of Moses, that "in
six
days God created the heaven and the earth." He might urge how our
conceptions
of God were enlarged and elevated, and what a deep awe
filled
the adoring heart on contemplating the revealed truth, that this
wonderful
earth with its varied beauty, and the heavens above with their
countless
stars, were all called forth out of nothing within the space
of
one short week by the creative fiat of the Almighty. What could this
pseudo-science
give them in exchange for such a revelation as that? Was
it
probable, further, that God would have become incarnate for the sake
of
a world that was only one out of many revolving round the sun? How
irreverent
to regard the theatre of that awful sacrifice as aught less
than
the centre of the universe, the cynosure of angelic eyes, gazing
from
their thrones in the heaven above! Galileo might say that his
heresy
does not affect the primary truths of our holy faith; but this is
only
one of the evasions natural to evildoers--and it is unnecessary
to
remark that intellectual error is invariably the offspring of moral
guilt--for
consider how much is involved in his theory. The inspiration
of
Scripture receives its death-blow; for if fallible in one point, we
have
no reason to conclude it to be infallible in others. If there is
one
fact revealed to us more clearly than another in Holy Scripture, it
is
this one of the steadfastness of our world, which we are distinctly
told,
"cannot be moved." It is plainly revealed to us that the earth was
created
and fixed firmly on its foundations; that then there was formed
over
it the vast vault of heaven, in which were set the stars, and in
this
vault was prepared "the course" for the sun, spoken of, as you will
remember,
in the 19th Psalm, where holy David reveals to us that in the
heavens
God has made a tabernacle for the sun, which "goeth forth from
the
uttermost part of the heaven, and runneth about unto the end of
it
again." Language has no definiteness of meaning if this inspired
declaration
can be translated into a statement that the sun remains
stationary
and is encircled by a revolving earth. This great revealed
truth
cannot be contradicted by any true science. God's works
cannot
contradict His word; and if for a moment they appear mutually
irreconcileable,
we may be sure that our ignorance is to blame, and that
a
deeper knowledge will ultimately remove the apparent inconsistency.
But
it is yet more important to observe that some of the cardinal
doctrines
of the Church are assailed by this novel teaching. How could
our
blessed Redeemer, after accomplishing the work of our salvation,
ascend
from a revolving earth? Whither did He go? North, south, east, or
west?
For, if I understand aright this new heresy, the space above us
at
one time is below us at another, and thus Jesus might be actually
descending
at His glorious Ascension. Where, too, is that Right Hand of
God
to which He went, in this new universe without top or bottom? How
can
we hope to rise and meet Him in the air at His return, according to
the
most sure promise given to us through the blessed Paul, if He comes
we
know not from what direction? How can the lightning of His coming
shine
at once all round a globe to herald His approach, or how can the
people
at the other side of the world see the sign of the Son of Man in
the
heavens? But I cannot bring myself to accumulate these blasphemies;
all
must see that the most glorious truths of the Bible are bound up
with
its science, and must stand or fall together. And if this is so,
and
this so-called natural science is to be allowed to undermine the
revealed
science, what have we got to rely upon in this world or in the
next?
With the absolute truth of the Bible stands or falls our faith in
God
and our hope of immortality; on the truth of revelation hinges all
morality,
and they who deny to-day the truth of revealed science
will
tamper tomorrow with the truth of revealed history, of revealed
morality,
of revealed religion. Shall we, then, condescend to accept
natural
science instead of revealed; shall we, the teachers of
revelation,
condescend to abandon revealed science, and become the mere
teachers
of nature?
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
Thunders
of applause greeted the right reverend theologian as he
concluded--he
happened to be a bishop, the direct ancestor in regular
apostolical
succession of a late prelate who inherited among other
valuable
qualities the very argument which closed the speech above
quoted--and
Galileo, the foolish believer in facts and the heretical
student
of mere nature, turned away with a sigh from trying to convince
them,
and contented himself with the fact he knew, and which must surely
announce
itself in the long run. _E pur si muove!_ Fear not, noble
martyr
of science: facts alter not to suit theologies: many a one may
fall
crushed and vanquished before the Juggernaut-car of the Church, but
"God
does not die with His children, nor truth with its martyrs;" the
natural
is the divine, for Nature is only "God in a mask." So, looking
down
at that first great battle-field between nature and revelation I
see
the serried ranks break up and fly, and the excommunicated student
become
the prophet of the future, Galileo the seer, the revealer of the
truth
of God.
It
is eternally true that nature must triumph in the long run.
Theories
are very imposing, doubtless, but when they are erected on a
misconception
the inexorable fact is sure to assert itself sooner or
later,
and with pitiless serenity level the magnificent fabric with
the
dust. It is this which gives to scientific men so grave and calm an
attitude;
theologians wrangle fiercely and bitterly because they wrangle
about
_opinions_, and one man's say is as good as another's where both
deal
in intangibles; but the man of science, when absolutely sure of his
ground,
_can afford to wait_, because the fact he has discovered remains
unshaken,
however it be assailed, and it will, in time, assert itself.
When
nature and revelation then come into contact, revelation must go to
the
wall; no outcry can save it; it is doomed; as well try and dam the
rising
Thames with a feather, as seek to bolster up a theology whose
main
dogmas are being slowly undermined by natural science. Of course
no
one nowadays (at least among educated people, for Zadkiel's Almanac
I
believe still protests on Biblical grounds against the heresy of the
motion
of the earth) dreams of maintaining Bible, _i e_., revealed,
science
against natural science; it is agreed on all hands that on
points
where science speaks with certainty the words of the _Bible must
be
explained so as to accord with the dictum of nature_; _i e._, it
is
allowed--though the admission is wrapped up in thick folds of
circumlocution--that
science must mould revelation, and not revelation
science.
The desperate attempts to force the first chapter of Genesis
into
some faint resemblance to the ascertained results of geological
investigations
are a powerful testimony to the conscious weakness of
revealed
science and to the feeling on the part of all intelligent
theologians
that the testimony graven with an iron pen on the rocks
cannot
be contradicted or refuted. In fact so successfully has science
asserted
its own preeminence in its own domain that many defenders of
the
Bible assert loudly, to cover their strategic movement to the rear,
that
revelation was not intended to teach science, and that scientific
mistakes
were only to be expected in a book given to mankind by the
great
Origin of all scientific law. They are freely welcome to find
out
any reasons they like for the errors in revealed science; all
that
concerns us is that their revelation should get out of the way of
advancing
science, and should no longer interpose its puny anathemas
to
silence inquiry into facts, or to fetter free research and free
discussion.
But
I challenge revelation further than this, and assert that when the
dictates
of natural_ religion_ are in opposition to those of revealed
_religion_
then the natural must again triumph over the revealed.
Christianity
has so long successfully impressed on human hearts the
revelation
that natural impulses are in themselves sinful, that in "the
flesh
dwelleth no good thing," that man is a fallen creature, thoroughly
corrupt
and instinctively evil, that it has come to-pass that even those
who
would be liberal if they dared, shrink back when it comes to casting
away
their revelation-crutches, and ask wildly _what_ they can trust
to
if they give up the Bible. Their teachers tell them that if they let
this
go they will wander compassless on the waves of a pathless ocean;
and
so determinedly do they fix their eyes on the foaming waters,
striving
to discern there the trace of a pathway and only seeing the
broken
reflections of the waving torches in their hands, that they do
not
raise their heads and gaze upwards at the everlasting stars, the
silent
natural guides of the bewildered mariner. "Trust to mere nature!"
exclaim
the priesthood, and their flocks fall back aghast, clutching
their
revelation to their bosom and crying out: "What indeed is there to
rely
on if this be taken from us?" Only God. "Mere" God indeed, who
is
a
very feeble support after the bolstering up of creeds and dogmas,
of
Churches and Bibles. As the sunshine dazzles eyes accustomed to the
darkness,
as the fresh wind makes shiver an invalid from a heated room,
so
does the light of God dazzle those who live amid the candles of the
Churches,
and the breath of His inspiration blows cold on feeble souls.
But
the light and the air invigorate and strengthen, and nature is a
surer
medicine than the nostrums of the quack physician.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
"Mere"
God is, in very truth, all that we Theists have to offer the
world
in exchange for the certainties of its Bibles, Korans, Vedas, and
all
other revelations whatsoever. On points where they each speak with
certainty,
our lips are dumb. About much they assert, we confess our
ignorance.
Where they know, we only think or hope. Where they possess
all
the clearness of a sign-post, our eyes can only study the mistiness
of
a valley before the rising sun has dispelled the wreathing clouds.
They
proclaim immortality, and are quite _au fait_ as to the particulars
of
our future life. They differ in details, it is true, as to whether
we
live in a jewelled city, where the dust is gold-dust and the gates
pearls,
and spend our time in attending Sacred Harmonic Societies with
an
archangelic Costa directing perpetual oratorios, or whether we lie in
rose-embowered
arbours with delights unlimited, albeit unintellectual;
but
if we take them one at a time they are most satisfactory in the
absolute
information afforded by each. But we, we can only, whisper--and
the
lips of some of us quiver too much to speak--"I believe in the life
everlasting."
We do not pretend to _know_ anything about it; the belief
is
intuitive, but is not demonstrable; it is a hope and a trust, not an
absolute
knowledge. We entertain a reasonable hope of immortality; we
argue
its likelihood from considerations of the justice and the love
which,
as we believe, rule the universe; we, many of us--as I freely
confess
I do myself--believe in it with a firmness of conviction
absolutely
immovable; but challenged to _prove_ it, we cannot answer.
"Here,"
the revelationists triumphantly exclaim, "is our advantage; we
foretell
with absolute certainty a future life, and can give you all
particulars
about it." Then follows a confused jumble of harps and
houris,
of pasture-field and hunting-grounds; we seek for certainty
and
find none. All that they agree in, _i e_., a future life, we find
imprinted
on our own hearts, a dictate of natural religion; all they
differ
in is contained in their several revelations, and as they all
contradict
each other about the revealed details, we gain nothing from
them.
Nature whispers to us that there is a life to come; revelation
babbles
a number of contradictory particulars, marring the majesty of
the
simple promise, and adding nothing reliable to the sum of human
knowledge.
And the subject of immortality is a fair specimen of what is
taught
respectively by nature and by revelation; what is common to all
creeds
is natural, what is different in each is revealed. It is so with
respect
to God. The idea of God belongs to all creeds alike; it is the
foundation-stone
of natural religion; confusion begins when revelation
steps
in to change the musical whisper of Nature into a categorical
description
worthy of "Mangnall's Questions." Triune, solitary, dual,
numberless,
whatever He is revealed to be in the world's varied sacred
books,
His nature is understood, catalogued, dogmatised on; each
revelation
claims to be His own account of Himself; but each contradicts
its
fellows; on one point only they all agree, and that is the point
confessed
by natural religion--"God is."
-------Cardiff Theosophical Society
in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
From
these facts I deduce two conclusions: first, that revelation does
not
come to us with such a certainty of its truth as to enable us to
trust
it fearlessly and without reserve; second, that revelation is
quite
superfluous, since natural religion gives us every thing we need.
I.
Revelation gives an uncertain sound. There are certain books in the
world
which claim to stand on a higher ground than all others. They
claim
to be special revelations of the will of God and the destiny of
man.
Now surely one of the first requisites of a Divine revelation is
that
it should be undoubtedly of Divine origin. But about all these
books,
except the Koran of Mahomet, hangs much obscurity both as regards
their
origin and their authorship. "Believers" urge that were the proofs
undoubted
there would be no room for faith and no merit in believing.
They
conceive it, then, to be a worthy employment for the Supreme
Intelligence
to set traps for His creatures; and, there being certain
facts
of the greatest importance, undis-coverable by their natural
faculties,
He proceeds to reveal these facts, but envelopes them in
such
wrappings of mystery, such garments of absurdity, that those of
His
creatures whom he has dowered with intellects and gifted with subtle
brains,
are forced to reject the whole as incredible and unreasonable.
That
God should give a revelation, but should not substantiate it, that
He
should speak, but in tones unintelligible, that His noblest gifts of
reason
should prove an insuperable bar to accepting his manifestation,
are
surely statements incredible, are surely statements utterly
irreconcileable
with all reverent ideas of the love and wisdom of
Almighty
God. Further, the believers in the various revelations all
claim
for their several oracles the supreme position of the exponent of
the
Will of God, and each rejects the sacred books of other nations as
spurious
productions, without any Divine authority. As these revelations
are
mutually destructive, it is evident that only one of them, at the
most
can be Divine, and the next point of the inquiry is to distinguish
which
this is. We, of the Western nations, at once put aside the Hindoo
Vedas,
or the Zendavesta, on certain solid grounds; we reject their
claims
to be inspired books because they contain error; their mistaken
science,
their legendary history, their miraculous stories, stamp them,
in
our impartial eyes, as the work of fallible men; the nineteenth
century
looks down on thee ancient writings as the instructed and
cultured
man smiles at the crude fancies and imaginative conceits of the
child.
But when the generality of Christians turn to the Bible they lay
aside
all ordinary criticism and all common-sense. Its science may be
absurd;
but excuses are found for it. Its history may be false, but
it
is twisted into truth. Its supernatural marvels may be flagrantly
absurd;
but they are nevertheless believed in. Men who laugh at the
visions
of the "blessed Margaret" of Paray-le-Monial assent to the
devil-drowning
of the swine of Gadara; and those who would scorn to
investigate
the tale of the miraculous spring at Lourdes, find
no
difficulty in believing the story of the angel-moved waters of
Bethesda's
pool. A book which contains miracles is usually put aside as
unreliable.
There is no good reason for excepting the Bible from this
general
rule. Miracles are absolutely incredible, and discredit at once
any
book in which they occur. They are found in all revelations, but
never
in nature, they are plentiful in man's writings, but they never
deface
the orderly pages of the great book of God, written by His own
Hand
on the earth, and the stars, and the sun. Powers? Yes, beyond our
grasping,
but Powers moving in stately order and changeless consistency.
Marvels?
Yes, beyond our imagining, but marvels evolved by immutable
laws.
Revelation is incredible, not only because it fails to bring proof
of
its truth, but because the proofs abound of its falsehood; it claims
to
be Divine, and we reject it because we test it by what we know of
His
undoubted works, for men can write books of Him and call them His
revelations,
but the frame of nature can only be the work of that mighty
Power
which man calls God. Revelation depicts Him as changeable, nature
as
immutable; revelation tells us of perfection marred, nature of
imperfection
improving; revelation speaks of a Trinity, nature of one
mighty
central Force; revelation relates interferences, miracles, nature
unbroken
sequences, inviolable law. If we accept revelation we must
believe
in a God Who made man upright but could not keep him so; Who
heard
in his far-off heaven the wailing of His earth and came down to
see
if things were as bad as was reported; Who had a face which brought
death,
but Whose hinder parts were visible to man; Who commanded and
accepted
human sacrifice; Who was jealous, revengeful, capricious, vain;
Who
tempted one king and then punished him for yielding, hardened the
heart
of another and then punished him for not yielding, deceived a
third
and thereby drew him to his death. But nature does not so outrage
our
morality and trample on our hearts; only we learn of a power and
wisdom
unspeakable, "mightily and sweetly ordering all things," and
our
hearts tell of a Father and a Friend, infinitely loving, and
trustworthy,
and good. The God of Nature and the God of Revelation are
as
opposed as Ormuzd and Ahriman, as darkness and light; the Bible and
the
universe are not writ by the same hand.
II.
Revelation then being so utterly untrustworthy, it is satisfactory
to
discover, secondly, that it is perfectly superfluous.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
All
man needs for his guidance in this world he can gain through the use
of
his natural faculties, and the right guidance of his conduct in this
world
must, in all reasonableness, be the best preparation for whatever
lies
beyond the grave. Revelationists assure us that without their books
we
should have no rules of morality, and that without the Bible man's
moral
obligations would be unknown. Their theory is that only through
revelation
can man know right from wrong. Using the word "revelation"
in
a different sense most Theists would agree with them, and would
allow
that man's perception of duty is a ray which falls on him from the
Righteousness
of God, and that man's morality is due to the illumination
of
the inspiring Father of Light. Personally, I believe that God
does
teach morality to man, and is, in very deed, the Inspirer of all
gracious
and noble thoughts and acts. I believe that the source of all
morality
in man is the Universal Spirit dwelling in the spirits He has
formed,
and moving them to righteousness, and, as they answer to His
whispers
by active well-doing--speaking ever in louder and clearer
accents.
I believe also that the most obedient followers of that inner
voice
gain clearer and loftier views of duty and of the Holiest,
and
thus become true prophets of God, revealers of His will to their
fellows.
And this is revelation in a very real sense; it is God
revealing
Himself by the natural working of moral laws, even as all
science
is a true revelation, and is God revealing Himself by the
natural
working of physical laws. For laws are modes of action, and
modes
of action reveal the nature and character of the actor, so that
every
law, physical and moral, which is discovered by truth-seekers and
proclaimed
to the world is a direct and trustworthy revelation of God
Himself.
But when Theists speak thus of "revelation" using the word as
rightfully
applicable to all discoveries and all nobly written religious
or
scientific books, it is manifest that the word has entirely changed
its
signification, and is applied to "natural" and not
"supernatural"
results.
We believe in God working through natural faculties in a
natural
way, while the revelationists believe in some non-natural
communication,
made no one knows how, no one knows where, no one knows
to
whom.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
Where
opposing theories are concerned an ounce of fact outweighs pounds
of
assertion; and so against the statement of Christians, that morality
is
derived only from the Bible and is undiscoverable by "man's natural
faculties,"
I quote the morality of natural religion, unassisted by what
they
claim as their special "revelation."
Buddha,
as he lived 700 years before Christ, can hardly be said to
have
drawn his morality from that of Jesus or even to have derived any
indirect
benefit from Christian teaching, and yet I have been gravely
told
by a Church of England clergyman--who ought to have known
better--that
forgiveness of injuries and charity were purely Christian
virtues.
This heathen Buddha, lighted only by natural reason and a pure
heart,
teaches: "a man who foolishly does me wrong I will return to him
the
protection of my ungrudging love; the more evil comes from him the
more
good shall go from me;" among principal virtues are: "to repress
lust
and banish desire; to be strong without being rash; to bear insult
without
anger; to move in the world without setting the heart on it; to
investigate
a matter to the very bottom; to save men by converting them;
to
be the same in heart and life." "Let a man overcome evil by good,
anger
by love, the greedy by liberality, the liar by truth. For hatred
does
not cease by hatred at any time; hatred ceases by love; this is an
old
rule." He inculcates purity, charity, self-sacrifice, courtesy, and
earnestly
recommends personal search after truth: "do not
believe
in guesses"--in assuming something at hap-hazard as a
starting-point--reckoning
your two and your three and your four before
you
have fixed your number one. Do not believe in the truth of that to
which
you have become attached by habit, as every nation believes in the
superiority
of its own dress and ornaments and language. Do not believe
merely
because you have heard, but when of your own consciousness you
know
a thing to be evil abstain from it. Methinks these sayings of
Buddha
are unsurpassed by any revealed teaching, and contain quite as
noble
and lofty a morality as the Sermon on the Mount, "natural" as they
are.
Plato,
also, teaches a noble morality and soars into ideas about the
Divine
Nature as pure and elevated as any which are to be found in the
Bible.
The summary of his teaching, quoted by Mr. Lake in a pamphlet
of
Mr. Scott's series, is a glorious testimony to the worth of natural
religion.
"It is better to die than to sin. It is better to suffer wrong
than
to do it. The true happiness of man consists in being united to
God,
and his only misery in being separated from Him. There is one God,
and
we ought to love and serve Him, and to endeavour to resemble Him
in
holiness and righteousness." Plato saw also the great truth that
suffering
is not the result of an evil power, but is a necessary
training
to good, and he anticipates the very words of Paul--if indeed
Paul
does not quote from Plato--that "to the just man all things work
together
for good, whether in life or death." Plato lived 400 years
before
Christ, and yet in the face of such teaching as his and
Buddha's,--and
they are only two out of many--Christians fling at us the
taunt
that we, rejectors of the Bible, draw all our morality from
it,
and that without this one revelation the world would lie in moral
darkness,
ignorant of truth and righteousness and God. But the light
of
God's revealing shines still upon the world, even as the sunlight
streams
upon it steadfastly as of old; "it is not given to a few men in
the
infancy of mankind to monopolise inspiration and to bar God out of
the
soul.... Wherever a heart beats with love, where Faith and Reason
utter
their oracles, there also is God, as formerly in the heart of
seers
and prophets."*
* Theodore Tarker.
It
is a favourite threat of the priesthood to any inquiring spirit: "If
you
give up Christianity you give up all certainty; rationalism speaks
with
no certain sound; no two rationalists think alike; the word
rationalism
covers everything outside Christianity, from Unitarianism to
the
blankest atheism;" and many a timid soul starts back, feeling that
if
this is true it is better to rest where it is, and inquire no more.
To
such--and I meet many such--I would suggest one very simple thought:
does
"Christianity" give any more certainty than rationalism? Just
try
asking your mentor, "_whose_ Christianity am I to accept?" He will
stammer
out, "Oh, the teaching of the Bible, of course." But persevere:
"As
explained by whom? for all claim to found their Christianity on
the
Bible: am I to accept the defined logical Christianity of Pius IX.,
defiant
of history, of science, of common sense, or shall I sit under
Spurgeon,
the denunciator, and flee from the scarlet woman and the cup
of
her fascinations: shall I believe the Christianity of Dean Stanley,
instinct
with his own gracious, kindly spirit, cultured and polished,
pure
and loving, or shall I fly from it as a sweet but insidious poison,
as
I am exhorted to do by Dr. Pusey, who rails at his 'variegated
language
which destroys all definiteness of meaning.' For pity's sake,
good
father, label for me the various bottles of Christian medicine,
that
I may know which is healing to the soul, which may be touched with
caution,
as for external application, and which are rank poison."
All
the priest will find to answer is, that "under sad diversities
of
opinion there are certain saving truths common to all forms of
Christianity,"
but he will object to particularise what they are, and
at
this stage will wax angry and refuse to argue with anyone who shows
a
spirit so carping and so conceited. There is the same diversity in
rationalism
as in Christianity, because human nature is diverse, but
there
is also one bond between all freethinkers, one "great saving
truth"
of rationalism, one article of faith, and that is, that "free
inquiry
is the right of every human soul;" diverse in much, we all agree
in
this, and so strong is this bond that we readily welcome any thinker,
however
we disagree with his thoughts, provided only that he think them
honestly
and allow to all the liberty of holding their own opinions
also.
We are bound together in one common hatred of Dogmatism, one
common
love of liberty of thought and speech.
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It
is probably a puzzle to good and unlearned Christians whence men,
unenlightened
by revelation, drew and still draw their morality. We
answer,
"from mere Nature, and that because Nature and not revelation is
the
true basis of all morality." We have seen the untrustworthiness of
all
so-called revelations; but when we fall back on Nature we are
on
firm ground. Theists start in their search after God from their
well-known
axiom: "If there be a God at all He must be at least as
good
as His highest creature;" and they argue that what is highest and
noblest
and most lovable in man _must_ be below, but cannot be above,
the
height and the nobleness and the loveableness of God. "Of all
impossible
thing, the most impossible must surely be that a man should
dream
something of the Good and the Noble, and that it should prove
at
last that his Creator was less good and less noble than he had
dreamed."*
"The ground on which our belief in God rests is Man. Man,
parent
of Bibles and Churches, inspirer of all good thoughts and good
deeds.
Man, the master-piece of God's work on earth. Man, the text-book
of
all spiritual knowledge. Neither miraculous or infallible, Man is
nevertheless
the only trustworthy record of the Divine mind in things
pertaining
to God. Man's reason, conscience, and affections are the only
true
revelation of his Maker,"** And as we believe that we may glean
some
hints of the Glory and Beauty of our Creator from the glory and
beauty
of human excellence, so we believe that to each man, as he lives
up
to the highest he can perceive, will surely be unveiled fresh heights
of
righteousness, fresh possibilities of moral growth.
* Frances Power Cobbe.
** Rev. Charles Voysey.
To
all men alike, good and evil, is laid open Nature's revelation of
morality,
as exemplified in the highest human lives; and these noble
lives
receive ever the heavenly hall-mark by the instinctive response
from
every human breast that they "are very good." To those only
who
live up to the good they see, does God give the further inner
revelation,
which leads them higher and higher in morality, quickening
their
moral faculties, and making more sensitive and delicate their
moral
susceptibilities. We cannot, as revelationists do, chalk out
all
the whole range of moral perfection: we "walk by faith and not by
sight:"
step by step only is the path unveiled to us, and only as we
surmount
one peak do we gain sight of the peak beyond: the distant
prospect
is shrouded from our gaze, and we are too fully occupied in
doing
the work which is given us to do in this world, to be for ever
peering
into and brooding over the world beyond the grave. We have light
enough
to do our Father's work here; when he calls us yonder it will be
time
enough to ask Him to unveil our new sphere of labour and to
cause
His sun to rise on it. Wayward children fret after some fancied
happiness
and miss the work and the pleasure lying at their feet, and
so
petulant men and women cry out that "man that is born of woman... is
full
of misery," and wail for a revelation to ensure some happier life:
they
seem to forget that if this world is full of misery _they_ are put
here
to mend it and not to cry over it, and that it is our shame and our
condemnation
that in God's fair world so much sin and unhappiness are
found.
If men would try to read nature instead of revelation, if they
would
study natural laws and leave revealed laws, if they would follow
human
morality instead of ecclesiastical morality, then there might be
some
chance of real improvement for the race, and some hope that the
Divine
Voice in Nature might be heard above the babble of the Churches.
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And
Nature is enough for us, gives us all the light we want and all that
we,
as yet, are fitted to receive. Were it possible that God should now
reveal
Himself to us as He is, the Being of Whose Nature we can form
no
conception, I believe that we should remain as ignorant as we are
at
present, from the want of faculties to receive that revelation:
the
Divine language might sound in our ears, but it would be as
unintelligible
as the roar of the thunder-clap, or the moan of the
earthquake,
or the whisper of the wind to the leaves of the cedar-tree.
God
is slowly revealing Himself by His works, by the course of events,
by
the progress of Humanity: if He has never spoken from Heaven in human
language,
He is daily speaking in the world around us to all who have
ears
to hear, and as Nature in its varied forms is His only revelation
of
Himself, so the mind and the heart alone can perceive His presence
and
catch the whispers ot His mysterious voice.
Never yet has been broken
The silence eternal:
Never yet has been spoken
In accents supernal
God's Thought of Himself.
We are groping in blindness
Who yearn to behold Him:
But in wisdom and kindness
In
darkness He folds Him
Till the soul learns to see.
So the veil is unriven
That hides the All-Holy,
And no token is given
That satisfies wholly
The cravings of man.
But, unhasting, advances
The march of the ages,
To truth-seekers' glances
Unrolling the pages
Of God's revelation.
Impatience unheeding,
Time, slowly revolving;
Unresting, unspeeding,
Is ever evolving
Fresh truths about God.
Human speech has not broken
The
stillness supernal:
Yet ever is spoken
Through silence eternal,
With growing distinctness
God's Thought of Himself.
ON
THE NATURE AND THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
IT
is impossible for those who study the deeper religious; problems of
our
time to stave off much longer the question which lies at the root
of
them all, "What do you believe in regard to God?" We may controvert
Christian
doctrines, one after another; point by point we may be driven
from
the various beliefs of our churches; reason may force us to see
contradictions
where we had imagined harmony, and may open our eyes
to
flaws where we had dreamed of perfection; we resign all idea of a
revelation;
we seek for God in Nature only; we renounce for ever the
hope
(which glorified our former creed into such alluring beauty) that
at
some future time we should verily "see" God, that "our eyes
should
behold
the King in his beauty" in that fairy "land which is very far
off."
But every step we take onwards towards a more reasonable faith
and
a surer light of Truth leads us nearer and nearer to the problem of
problems,
"What is That which men call God?" Not till theologians have
thoroughly
grappled with this question have they any just claim to
be
called religious guides; from each of those whom we honour as our
leading
thinkers we have a right to a distinct answer to this question,
and
the very object of the present paper is to provoke discussion on
this
point.
Men
are apt to turn aside somewhat impatiently from an argument about
the
Nature and Existence of the Deity, because they consider that
the
question is a metaphysical one which leads nowhere; a problem the
resolution
of which is beyond our faculties, and the study of which
is
at once useless and dangerous; they forget that action is ruled by
thought,
and that our ideas about God are therefore of vast practical
importance.
On our answer to the question propounded above depends our
whole
conception of the nature and origin of evil, and of the sanctions
of
morality; on our idea of God turns our opinion on the much-disputed
question
of prayer, and, in fact, our whole attitude of mind towards
life,
here and hereafter. Does morality consist in obedience to the will
of
a perfectly moral Being, and are we to aim at righteousness of life
because
in so doing we please God? Or are we to lead noble lives because
nobility
of life is desirable for itself alone, and because it spreads
happiness
around us and satisfies the desires of our own nature? Is our
mental
attitude to be that of kneeling or standing? Are our eyes to
be
fixed on heaven or on earth? Is prayer to God reasonable and helpful,
the
natural cry of a child for help from a Father in Heaven? Or is it,
on
the other hand, a useless appeal to an unknown and irresponsible
force?
Is the mainspring of our actions to be the idea of duty to God,
or
a sense of the necessity of bringing our being into harmony with the
laws
of the universe? It appears to me that these questions are of such
grave
and vital moment that no apology is needed for drawing attention
to
them; and because of their importance to mankind I challenge the
leaders
of the religious and non-religious world alike, the Christians,
Theists,
Pantheists, and those who take no specific name, duly to test
the
views they severally hold. In this battle the simple foot
soldier
may touch with his lance the shield of the knight, and the
insignificance
of the challenger does not exempt the general from the
duty
of lifting the gauntlet flung down at his feet. Little care I
for
personal defeat, if the issue of the conflict should enthrone more
firmly
the radiant figure of Truth. One fault, however, I am anxious
to
avoid, and that is the fault of ambiguity. The orthodox and the
free-thinking
alike do a good deal of useless fighting from sheer
misunderstanding
of each other's standpoint in the controversy. It
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appears,
then, to be indispensable in the prosecution of the following
inquiry
that the meaning of the terms used should be unmistakably
distinct.
I begin, therefore, by defining the technical forms of
expression
to be employed in my argument; the definitions may be good or
bad,
that is not material; all that is needed is that the sense in which
the
various terms are used should be clearly understood. When men fight
only
for the sake of discovering truth, definiteness of expression is
specially
incumbent on them; and, as has been eloquently said, "the
strugglers
being sincere, truth may give laurels to the victor and the
vanquished:
laurels to the victor in that he hath upheld the truth,
laurels
still welcome to the vanquished, whose defeat crowns him with a
truth
he knew not of before."
The
definitions that appear to me to be absolutely necessary are as
follows:--
_Matter_
is used to express that which is tangible. _Spirit (or
spiritual_)
is used to express those intangible forces whose existence
we
become aware of only through the effects they produce.
_Substance_
is used to express that which exists in itself and by
itself,
and the conception of which does not imply the conception of
anything
preceding it.
_God_
is used to represent exclusively that Being invested by the
orthodox
with certain physical, intellectual, and moral attributes.
Particular
attention must be paid to this last definition, because the
term
"atheist" is often flung unjustly at any thinker who ventures
to
criticise _the popular and traditional idea_ of God; and different
schools,
Theistic and non-Theistic, with but too much facility, bandy
about
this vague epithet in mutual reproach.
As
an instance of this uncharitable and unfair use of ugly names, all
schools
agree in calling the late Mr. Austin Holyoake an "atheist," and
he
accepted the name himself, although he distinctly stated (as we find
in
a printed report of a discussion held at the Victoria Institute) that
he
did not deny the possibility of the existence of God, but only
denied
the possibility of the existence of that God in whom the orthodox
exhorted
him to believe. It is well thus to protest beforehand against
this
name being bandied about, because it carries with it, at present,
so
much popular prejudice, that it prevents all possibility of candid
and
free discussion. It is simply a convenient stone to fling at the
head
of an opponent whose arguments one cannot meet, a certain way of
raising
a tumult which will drown his voice; and, if it have any serious
meaning
at all, it might fairly be used, as I shall presently show,
against
the most orthodox pillar of the orthodox faith.
It
is manifest to all who will take the trouble to think steadily, that
there
can be only one eternal and underived substance, and that matter
and
spirit must therefore only be varying manifestations of this one
substance.
The distinction made between matter and spirit is then
simply
made for the sake of convenience and clearness, just as we may
distinguish
perception from judgment, both of which, however, are alike
processes
of thought. Matter is, in its constituent elements, the same
as
spirit; existence is one, however manifold in its phenomena; life is
one,
however multiform in its evolution. As the heat of the coal differs
from
the coal itself, so do memory, perception, judgment, emotion, and
will,
differ from the brain which is the instrument of thought. But
nevertheless
they are all equally products of the one sole substance,
varying
only in their conditions. It may be taken for granted that
against
this preliminary point of the argument will be raised the
party-cry
of "rank materialism," because "materialism" is a doctrine
of
which
the general public has an undefined horror. But I am bold to say
that
if by matter is meant that which is above defined as substance,
then
no reasoning person can help being a materialist. The orthodox are
very
fond of arguing back to what they call the Great First Cause. "God
is
a spirit," they say, "and from him is derived the spiritual part of
man."
Well and good; they have traced back a part of the universe to
a
point at which they conceive that only one universal essence is
possible,
that which they call God, and which is spirit only. But I then
invite
their consideration to the presence of something which they
do
not regard as spirit, _i e._, matter. I follow their own plan of
argument
step by step: I trace matter, as they traced spirit, back and
back,
till I reach a point beyond which I cannot go, one only existence,
substance
or essence; am I therefore to believe that God is matter only?
But
we have already found it asserted by Theists that he is spirit only,
and
we cannot believe two contradictories, however logical the road
which
led us to them; so we must acknowledge two substances, eternally
existent
side by side; if existence be dual, then, however absurd
the
hypothesis, there must be two First Causes. It is not I who am
responsible
for an idea so anomalous. The orthodox escape from this
dilemma
by an assumption, thus: "God, to whom is to be traced back all
spirit,
_created_ matter." Why, am I not equally justified in assuming,
if
I please, that matter created spirit? Why should I be logical in one
argument
and illogical in another? If we come to assumptions, have not
I
as much right to my assumption as my neighbour has to his? Why may he
predicate
creation of one half of the universe, and I not predicate it
of
the other half? If the assumptions be taken into consideration at
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all,
then I contend that mine is the more reasonable of the two, since
it
is possible to imagine matter as existing without mind, while it is
utterly
impossible to conceive of mind existing without matter. We all
know
how a stone looks, and we are in the habit of regarding that
as
lifeless matter; but who has any distinct idea of a mind _pur et
simple?_
No clear conception of it is possible to human faculties;
we
can only conceive of mind as it is found in an organisation;
intelligence
has no appreciable existence except as-residing in the
brain
and as manifested in results. The lines of spirit and matter are
not
one, say the orthodox; they run backwards side by side; why then, in
following
the course of these two parallel lines, should I suddenly bend
one
into the other? and on what principle of selection shall I choose
the
one I am to curve? I must really decline to use logic just as far as
it
supports the orthodox idea of God, and arbitrarily throw it down
the
moment it conflicts with that idea. I find myself then compelled
to
believe that one only substance exists in all around me; that the
universe
is eternal, or at least eternal so far as our faculties are
concerned,
since we cannot, as some one has quaintly put it "get to
the
outside of everywhere;" that a Deity cannot be conceived of as apart
from
the universe, pre-existent to the universe, post-existent to the
universe;
that the Worker and the Work are inextricably interwoven, and
in
some sense eternally and indissolubly combined. Having got so far, we
will
proceed to examine into the possibility of proving the existence
of
that one essence popularly called by the name of _God_, under the
conditions
strictly defined by the orthodox. Having demonstrated, as I
hope
to do, that the orthodox idea of God is unreasonable and absurd,
we
will endeavour to discover whether _any_ idea of God, worthy to be
called
an idea, is attainable in the present state of our faculties.
The
orthodox believers in God are divided into two camps, one of
which
maintains that the existence of God is as demonstrable as any
mathematical
proposition, while the other asserts that his existence
is
not demonstrable to the intellect. I select Dr. McCann, a man of
considerable
reputation, as the representative of the former of these
two
opposing schools of thought, and give the Doctor's position in his
own
words:--"The purpose of the following paper is to prove the
fallacy
of all such assumptions" (i e., that the existence of God is an
insoluble
problem), "by showing that we are no more at liberty to deny
His
being, than we are to deny any demonstration of Euclid. He would be
thought
unworthy of refutation who should assert that any two angles of
a
triangle are together greater than two right angles. We would content
ourselves
by saying, 'The man is mad'--mathematically, at least--and
pass
on. If it can be shown that we affirm the existence of Deity
for
the very same reasons as we affirm the truth of any geometric
proposition;
if it can be shown that the former is as capable of
demonstration
as the latter--then it necessarily follows that if we are
justified
in calling the man a fool who denies the latter, we are
also
justified in calling him a fool who says there is no God, and in
refusing
to answer him according to his folly." Which course is a very
convenient
one when you meet with an awkward opponent whom you cannot
silence
by sentiment and declamation. Again: "In conclusion, we believe
it
to be very important to be able to prove that if the mathematician be
justified
in asserting that the three angles of a triangle are equal to
two
right angles, the Christian is equally justified in asserting,
not
only that he is compelled to believe in God, but that he knows Him
(sic).
And that he who denies the existence of the Deity is as unworthy
of
serious refutation as is he who denies a mathematical demonstration."
('A
Demonstration of the Existence of God,' a lecture delivered at the
Victoria
Institute, 1870, pp. I and II.) Dr. McCann proves his very
startling
thesis by laying down as axioms six statements, which, however
luminous
to the Christian traditionalist, are obscure to the sceptical
intellect.
He seems to be conscious of this defect in his so-called
axioms,
for he proceeds to prove each of them elaborately,
forgetting
that the simple statement of an axiom should carry direct
conviction--that
it needs only to be understood in order to be accepted.
However,
let this pass: our teacher, having stated and "proved"
his
axioms, proceeds to draw his conclusions from them; and as his
foundations
are unsound, it is scarcely to be wondered at that his
superstructure
should be insecure, I know of no way so effectual to
defeat
an adversary as to beg all the questions raised, assume every
point
in dispute, call assumptions axioms, and then proceed to reason
from
them. It is really not worth while to criticise Dr. McCann in
detail,
his lecture being nothing but a mass of fallacies and unproved
assertions.
Christian courtesy allows him to call those who dissent from
his
assumptions "fools;" and as these terms of abuse are not considered
admissible
by those whom he assails as unbelievers, there is a slight
difficulty
in "answering" Dr. McCann "according to his" deserts. I
content
myself with suggesting that they who wish to learn how pretended
reasoning
may pass for solid argument, how inconsequent statements
may
pass for logic, had better study this lecture. For my own part, I
confess
that my "folly" is not, as yet, of a sufficiently pronounced
type
to enable me to accept Dr. McCann's conclusions.
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The
best representation I can select of the second orthodox party, those
who
admit that the existence of God is not demonstrable, is the late
Dean
Mansel. In his 'Limits of Religious Thought,' the Bampton Lectures
for
1867, he takes up a perfectly unassailable position. The peculiarity
of
this position, however, is that he, the pillar of orthodoxy, the
famed
defender of the faith against German infidelity and all forms
of
rationalism, regards God from exactly the same point as does a
well-known
modern "atheist." I have almost hesitated sometimes which
writer
to quote from, so identical are they in thought. Probably neither
Dean
Mansel nor Mr. Bradlaugh would thank me for bracketing their names;
but
I am forced to confess that the arguments used by the one to prove
the
endless absurdities into which we fall when we try to comprehend the
nature
of God, are exactly the same arguments that are used by the
other
to prove that God, as believed in by the orthodox, cannot exist.
I
quote, however, exclusively from the Dean, because it is at once novel
and
agreeable to find oneself sheltered by Mother Church at the exact
moment
when one is questioning her very foundations; and also because
the
Dean's name carries with it so orthodox an odour that his authority
will
tell where the same words from any of those who are outside the
pale
of orthodoxy would be regarded with suspicion. Nevertheless, I
wish
to state plainly that a more "atheistical" book than these Bampton
Lectures--at
least, in the earlier part of it--I have never read; and
had
its title-page borne the name of any well-known Free-thinker,
it
would have been received in the religious world with a storm of
indignation.
The
first definition laid down by the orthodox as a characteristic of
God
is that he is an Infinite Being. "There is but one living and true
God...
of _infinite_ power, &c." (Article of Religion, 1.) It has been
said
that _infinite_ only means _indefinite_, but I must protest against
this
weakening of a well-defined theological term. The term _Infinite_
has
always been understood to mean far more than indefinite; it means
literally
_boundless_: the infinite has no limitations, no possible
restrictions,
no "circumference." People who do not think about the
meaning
of the words they use speak very freely and familiarly of the
"infinitude"
of God, as though the term implied no inconsistency. Deny
that
God is infinite and you are at once called an atheist, but press
your
opponent into a definition of the term and you will generally find
that
he does not know what he is talking about. Dean Mansel points out,
with
his accurate habit of mind, all that this attribute of God implies,
and
it would be well if those who "believe in an infinite God" would try
and
realise what they express. Half the battle of freethought will be
won
when people attach a definite meaning to the terms they use. The
Infinite
has no bounds; then the finite cannot exist. Why? Because in
the
very act of acknowledging any existence beside the Infinite One you
limit
the Infinite. By saying, "This is not God" you at once make him
finite,
because you set a bound to his nature; you distinguish between
him
and something else, and by the very act you limit him; that _which
is
not he_ is as a rock which checks the waves of the ocean; in that
spot
a limit is found, and in finding a limit the Infinite is destroyed.
The
orthodox may retort, "this is only a matter of terms;" but it is
well
to force them into realising the dogmas which they thrust on our
acceptance
under such awful penalties for rejection. I know what "an
infinite
God" implies, and, as apart from the universe, I feel compelled
to
deny the possibility of his existence; surely it is fair that the
orthodox
should also know what the words they use mean on this head,
and
give up the term if they cling to a "personal" God, distinct from
"creation."--Further--and
here I quote Dean Mansel--the "Infinite"
must
be conceived as containing within itself the sum, not only of all
actual,
but of all possible modes of being.... If any possible mode can
be
denied of it... it is capable of becoming more than it now is, and
such
a capability is a limitation. (The hiatus refers to the "absolute"
being
of God, which it is better to consider separately.) "An unrealised
possibility
is necessarily (a relation and) a limit." Thus is orthodoxy
crushed
by the powerful logic of its own champion. God is infinite;
then,
in that case, everything that exists is God; all phenomena are
modes
of the Divine Being; there is literally nothing which is not God.
Will
the orthodox accept this position? It lands them, it is true,
in
the most extreme Pantheism, but what of that? They believe in an
"infinite
God" and they are therefore necessarily Pantheists. If they
object
to this, they must give up the idea that their God is infinite
at
all; there is no half-way position open to them; he is infinite or
finite,
which?
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Again,
God is "before all things," he is the only Absolute Being,
dependent
on nothing outside himself; all that is not God is relative;
that
is to say, that God exists alone and is not necessarily related to
anything
else. The orthodox even believe that God did, at some
former
period (which is not a period, they say, because time then was
not--however,
at that hazy "time" he did), exist alone, _i e._, as what
is
called an _Absolute_ Being: this conception is necessary for all who,
in
any sense, believe in a _Creator_.
"Thou, in Thy far eternity,
Didst live and love alone."
So
sings a Christian minstrel; and one of the arguments put forward for
a
Trinity is that a plurality of persons is necessary in order that God
may
be able to love at the "time" when he was alone. Into this point,
however,
I do not now enter. But what does this Absolute imply? A simple
impossibility
of creation, just as does the Infinite; for creation
implies
that the relative is brought into existence, and thus the
Absolute
is destroyed. "Here again the Pantheistic hypothesis seems
forced
upon us. We can think of creation only as a change in the
condition
of that which already exists, and thus the creature is
conceivable
only as a phenomenal mode of the being of the Creator."
Thus
once more looms up the dreaded spectre of Pantheism, "the dreary
desolation
of a Pantheistic wilderness;" and who is the Moses who has
led
us into this desert? It is a leader of orthodoxy, a dignitary of the
Church;
it is Dean Mansel who stretches out his hand to the universe and
says,
"This is thy God, O Israel."
The
two highest attributes of God land us, then, in the most thorough
Pantheism;
further, before remarking on the other divine attributes, I
would
challenge the reader to pause and try to realise this infinite and
absolute
being. "That a man can be conscious of the infinite is, then,
a
supposition which, in the very terms in which it is expressed,
annihilates
itself.... The infinite, if it is to be conceived at all,
must
be conceived as potentially everything-and actually nothing; for
if
there is anything in general which it cannot become, it is thereby
limited;
and if there is anything in particular which it actually is, it
is
thereby excluded from being any other thing. But again, it must also
be
conceived as actually everything and potentially nothing; for an
unrealised
potentiality is likewise a limitation. If the infinite can
be"
(in the future) "that which it is not" (in the present) "it is
by
that
very possibility marked out as incomplete and capable of a higher
perfection.
If it is actually everything, it possesses no characteristic
feature
by which it can be distinguished from anything else and
discerned
as an object of consciousness." I think, then, that we must be
content,
on the showing of Dr. Mansel, to allow that God is, in his
own
nature--from this point of view--quite beyond the grasp of
our
faculties; _as regards us he does not exist_, since he is
indistinguishable
and undiscernable. Well might the Church exclaim
"Save
me from my friends!" when a dean acknowledges that her God is a
self-contradictory
phantom; oddly enough, however, the Church likes
it,
and accepts this fatal championship. I might have put this argument
wholly
in my own words, for the subject is familiar to every one who has
tried
to gain a distinct idea of the Being who is called "God," but I
have
preferred to back my own opinions with the authority of so orthodox
a
man as Dean Mansel, trusting that by so doing the orthodox may be
forced
to see where logic carries them. All who are interested in
this
subject should study his lectures carefully; there is really no
difficulty
in following them, if the student will take the trouble of
mastering
once for all the terms he employs. The book was lent to me
years
ago by a clergyman, and did more than any other book I know to
make
me what is called an "infidel;" it proves to demonstration the
impossibility
of our having any logical, reasonable, and definite idea
of
God, and the utter hopelessness of trying to realise his existence.
It
seems necessary here to make a short digression to explain, for
the
benefit of those who have not read the book from which I have been
quoting,
how Dean Mansel escaped becoming an "atheist." It is a
curious
fact that the last part of this book is as remarkable for its
assumptions,
as is the earlier portion its pitiless logic. When he ought
in
all reason to say, "we can know nothing and therefore can believe
nothing,"
he says instead, "we can know nothing and therefore let us
take
Revelation for granted." An atheistic reasoner suddenly startles
us
by becoming a devout Christian; the apparent enemy of the faithful
is
"transformed into an angel of light." The existence of God "is
inconceivable
by the reason," and, therefore, "the only ground that can
be
taken for accepting one representation of it rather than another
is,
that one is revealed and the other not revealed." It is the
acknowledgment
of a previously formed _determination_ to believe at any
cost;
it is a wail of helplessness; the very apotheosis of despair. We
cannot
have history, so let us believe a fairy-tale; we can discover
nothing,
so let us assume anything; we cannot find truth, so let us take
the
first myth that comes to hand. Here I feel compelled to part company
with
the Dean, and to leave him to believe in, to adore, and to
love
that which he has himself designated as indistinguishable and
undiscernable;
it may be an act of faith but it is a crucifixion of
intellect;
it may be a satisfaction to the yearnings of the heart, but
it
dethrones reason and tramples it in the dust.
We
proceed in our study of the attributes of God. He is represented as
the
Supreme Will, the Supreme Intelligence, the Supreme Love.
_As
the Supreme Will_. What do we mean by "will?" Surely, in the usual
sense
of the word, a will implies the power and the act of choosing.
Two
paths are open to us, and we will to walk in one rather than in the
other.
But can we think of power of choice in connection with God? Of
two
courses open to us one must needs be better than the other, else
they
would be indistinguishable and be only one; perfection implies that
the
higher course will always be taken; what then becomes of the power
of
choice? We choose because we are imperfect; we do not know everything
which
bears on the matter on which we are about to exercise our will; if
we
knew everything we should inevitably be driven in one direction, that
which
is the _best possible course_. The greater the knowledge, the more
circumscribed
the will; the nobler the nature, the more impossible the
lower
course. Spinoza points out most clearly that the Divinity _could
not_
have made things otherwise than they are made, because any change
in
his action would imply a change in his nature; God, above all, must
be
bound by necessity. If we believe in a God at all we must surely
ascribe
to him perfection of wisdom and perfection of goodness; we are
then
forced to conceive of him--however strange it may sound to those
who
believe, not only without seeing but also without thinking--as
without
will, because he must always necessarily pursue the course which
is
wisest and best.
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_As
the Supreme Intelligence_. Again, the first question is, what do
we
mean by intelligence? In the usual sense of the word intelligence
implies
the exercise of the various intellectual faculties, and gathers
up
into one word the ideas of perception, comparison, memory, judgment,
and
so on. The very enumeration of these faculties is sufficient to show
how
utterly inappropriate they are when thought of in connection with
God.
Does God perceive what he did not know before? Does he compare one
fact
with another? Does he draw conclusions from this correlation
of
perceptions, and thus judge what is best? Does he remember, as we
remember,
long past events? Perfect wisdom excludes from the idea of God
all
that is called intelligence in man; it involves unchangeableness,
complete
stillness; it implies a knowledge of all that is knowable;
it
includes an acquaintance with every fact, an acquaintance which has
never
been less in the past, and can never be more in the future. The
reception
at any time of a new thought or a new idea is impossible
to
perfection, for if it could ever be added to in the future it is
necessarily
something less than perfect in the past.
_As
the Supreme Love_. We come here to the darkest problem of existence.
Love,
Ruler of the world permeated through and through with pain, and
sorrow,
and sin? Love, mainspring of a nature whose cruelty is sometimes
appalling?
Love? Think of the "martyrdom of man!" Love? Follow the
History
of the Church! Love? Study the annals of the slave-trade! Love?
Walk
the courts and alleys of our towns! It is of no use to try and
explain
away these things, or cover them up with a veil of silence;
it
is better to look them fairly in the face, and test our creeds by
inexorable
facts. It is foolish to keep a tender spot which may not
be
handled; for a spot which gives pain when it is touched implies the
presence
of disease: wiser far is it to press firmly against it, and,
if
danger lurk there, to use the probe or the knife. We have no right
to
pick out all that is noblest and fairest in man, to project these
qualities
into space, and to call them God. We only thus create an ideal
figure,
a purified, ennobled, "magnified" Man. We have no right to
shut
our eyes to the sad _revers de la medaille_, and leave out of our
conceptions
of the Creator the larger half of his creation. If we are
to
discover the Worker from his works we must not pick and choose amid
those
works; we must take them as they are, "good" and "bad." If
we only
want
an ideal, let us by all means make one, and call it _God_, if thus
we
can reach it better, but if we want a true induction we must take
_all_
facts into account. If God is to be considered as the author of
the
universe, and we are to learn of him through his works, then we
must
make room in our conceptions of him for the avalanche and the
earthquake,
for the tiger's tooth and the serpent's fang, as well as for
the
tenderness of woman and the strength of man, the radiant glory of
the
sunshine on the golden harvest, and the gentle lapping of the summer
waves
on the gleaming shingled beach.*
* "I know it is usual for the
orthodox when vindicating the
moral character of their God to say:--'All
the Evil that
exists is of man; All that God has done is
only good.' But
granting (which facts do not substantiate)
that man is the
only author of the sorrow and the wrong
that abound in the
world, it is difficult to see how the
Creator can be free
from imputation. Did not God, according to
orthodoxy, plan
all things with an infallible perception
that the events
foreseen must occur? Was not this accurate
prescience based
upon the inflexibility of God's Eternal
purposes? As, then,
the purposes, in the order of nature, at
least preceded the
prescience and formed the groundwork of
it, man has become
extensively the instrument of doing
mischief in the world
simply because the God of the Christian
Church did not
choose to prevent man from being bad. In
other words, man is
as he is by the ordained design of God,
and, therefore, God
is responsible for all the suffering,
shame, and error,
spread by human agency.--So that the
Christian apology for
God in connection with the spectacle of
evil falls to
pieces."--Note by the Editor.
The
Nature of God, what is it? Infinite and Absolute, he evades our
touch;
without human will, without human intelligence, without human
love,
where can his faculties--the very word is a misnomer--find a
meeting-place
with ours? Is he everything or nothing? one or many? _We
know
not. We know nothing._ Such is the conclusion into which we are
driven
by orthodoxy, with its pretended faith, which is credulity, with
its
pretended proofs, which are presumptions. It defines and maps out
the
perfections of Deity, and they dissolve when we try to grasp them;
nowhere
do these ideas hold water for a moment; nowhere is this position
defensible.
Orthodoxy drives thinkers into atheism; weary of its
contradictions
they cry, "there is _no_ God"; orthodoxy's leading
thinker
lands us himself in atheism. No logical, impartial mind can
escape
from unbelief through the trap-door opened by Dean Mansel: he
has
taught us reason, and we cannot suppress reason. The "serpent
intellect"--as
the Bishop of Peterborough calls it--has twined itself
firmly
round the tree of knowledge, and in that type we do not see, with
the
Hebrew, the face of death, but, with the older faiths, we reverence
it
as the symbol of life.
There
is another fact, an historical one, still on the destructive side,
which
appears to me to be of the gravest importance, and that is the
gradual
attenuation of the idea of God before the growing light of true
knowledge.
To the savage everything is divine; he hears one God's voice
in
the clap of the thunder, another's in the roar of the earthquake,
he
sees a divinity in the trees, a deity smiles at him from the clear
depths
of the river and the lake; every natural phenomenon is the abode
of
a god; every event is controlled by a god; divine volition is at the
root
of every incident. To him the rule of the gods is a stern reality;
if
he offends them they turn the forces of nature against him; the
flood,
the famine, the pestilence, are the ministers of the avenging
anger
of the gods. As civilisation advances, the deities lessen in
number,
the divine powers become concentrated more and more in one
Being,
and God rules over the whole earth, maketh the clouds his
chariot,
and reigns above the waterfloods as a king. Physical phenomena
are
still his agents, working his will among the children of men; he
rains
great hailstones out of heaven on his enemies, he slays their
flocks
and desolates their lands, but his chosen ure safe under his
protection,
even although danger hem them in on every side; "thou shalt
not
be afraid for any terror by night, nor for the arrow that flieth by
day;
for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the sickness
that
destroyeth in the noon-day. A thousand shall fall besides thee, and
ten
thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee....
He
shall defend thee under his wings, and thou shalt be safe under his
feathers."
(Ps. xci., Prayer-Book.) Experience contradicted this theory
rather
roughly, and it gave way slowly before the logic of facts; it is,
however,
still more or less prevalent among ourselves, as we see when
the
siege of Paris is proclaimed as a judgment on Parisian irreligion,
and
when the whole nation falls on its knees to acknowledge the
cattle-plague
as the deserved punishment of its sins! The next step
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forward
was to separate the physical from the moral, and to allow that
physical
suffering came independently of moral guilt or righteousness:
the
men crushed under the fallen tower of Siloam were not thereby proved
to
be more sinful than their countrymen. The birth of science rang the
death-knell
of an arbitrary and constantly interposing Supreme Power-.
The
theory of God as a miracle worker was dissipated; henceforth if God
ruled
at all it must be as in nature and not from outside of nature; he
no
longer imposed laws on something exterior to himself, the laws could
only
be the necessary expression of his own being. Laws were, further,
found
to be immutable in their working, changing not in accordance with
prayer,
but ever true to a hair's breadth in their action. Slowly, but
surely,
prayer to God for the alteration of physical phenomena is being
found
to be simply a well-meant superstition; nature swerves not for our
pleading,
nor falters in her path for our most passionate supplication.
The
"reign of law" in physical matters is becoming acknowledged even by
theologians.
As step by step the knowledge of _the natural_ advances,
so
step by step does the belief in _the supernatural_ recede; as the
kingdom
of science extends, so the kingdom of miraculous interference
gradually
disappears. The effects which of old were thought to be caused
by
the direct action of God are now seen to be caused by the uniform and
calculable
working of certain laws--laws which, when discovered, it is
the
part of wisdom implicitly to obey. Things which we used to pray for,
we
now work and wait for, and if we fail we do not ask God to add his
strength
to ours, but we sit down and lay our plans more carefully.
How
is this to end? Is the future to be like the past, and is science
finally
to obliterate the conception of a personal God? It is a question
which
ought to be pondered in the light of history. Hitherto the
supernatural
has always been the makeweight of human ignorance; is it,
in
truth, this and nothing else?
I
am forced, with some reluctance, to apply the whole of the above
reasoning
to every school of thought, whether nominally Christian or
non-Christian,
which regards God as a "magnified man." The same
stern
logic cuts every way and destroys alike the Trinitarian and the
Unitarian
hypothesis, wherever the idea of God is that of a Creator,
standing,
as it were, outside his creation. The liberal thinker,
whatever
his present position, seems driven infallibly to the above
conclusions,
as soon as he sets himself to realise his idea of his God.
The
Deity must of necessity be that one and only substance out of which
all
things are evolved under the uncreated conditions and eternal laws
of
the universe; he must be, as Theodore Parker somewhat oddly puts
it,
"the materiality of matter, as well as the spirituality of spirit;"
_i
e._, these must both be products of this one substance: a truth which
is
readily accepted as soon as spirit and matter are seen to be but
different
modes of one essence. Thus we identify substance with the
all-comprehending
and vivifying force of nature, and in so doing we
simply
reduce to a physical impossibility the existence of the Being
described
by the orthodox as a God possessing the attributes of
personality.
The Deity becomes identified with nature, co-extensive
with
the universe; but the God of the orthodox no longer exists; we may
change
the signification of God, and use the word to express a different
idea,
but we can no longer mean by it a Personal Being in the orthodox
sense,
possessing an individuality which divides him from the rest of
the
universe. I say that I use these arguments "with some reluctance,"
because
many who have fought and are fighting nobly and bravely in the
army
of freethought, and to whom all free-thinkers owe much honour, seem
to
cling to an idea of the Deity, which, however beautiful and poetical,
is
not logically defensible, and in striking at the orthodox notion of
God,
one necessarily strikes also at all idea of a "Personal" Deity.
There
are some Theists who have only cut out the Son and the Holy Ghost
from
the Triune Jehovah, and have concentrated the Deity in the Person
of
the Father; they have returned to the old Hebrew idea of God, the
Creator,
the Sustainer, only widening it into regarding God as the
Friend
and Father of all his creatures, and not of the Jewish nation
only.
There is much that is noble and attractive in this idea, and it
will
possibly serve as a religion of transition to break the shock of
the
change from the supernatural to the natural. It is reached entirely
by
a process of giving up; Christian notions are dropped one after
another,
and the God who is believed in is the residuum. This Theistic
school
has not gained its idea of God from any general survey of nature
or
from any philosophical induction from facts; it has gained it only
by
stripping off from an idea already in the mind everything which is
degrading
and revolting in the dogmas of Trinitarianism. It starts, as
I
have noticed elsewhere, from a very noble axiom: "If there be a God at
all
he must be at least as good as his highest creatures," and thus
is
instantly swept away the Augustinian idea of a God,--that monster
invented
by theological dialectics; but still the same axiom makes
God
in the image of man, and never succeeds in getting outside a human
representation
of the Divinity. It starts from this axiom, and the axiom
is
prefaced by an "if." It assumes God, and then argues fairly enough
what
his character must be. And this "if" is the very point on which the
argument
of this paper turns.
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"If
there be a God" all the rest follows, but _is there a God at all_
in
the sense in which the word is generally used? And thus I come to the
second
part of my problem; having seen that the orthodox "idea of God is
unreasonable
and absurd, is there any idea of God, worthy to be called
an
idea, which is attainable in the present state of our faculties?"
The
argument from design does not seem to me to be a satisfactory
one;
it either goes too far or not far enough. Why in arguing from the
evidences
of adaptation should we assume that they are planned by a
mind?
It is quite as easy to conceive of matter as self-existent, with
inherent
vital laws moulding it into varying phenomena, as to conceive
of
any intelligent mind directly modelling matter, so that the
"heavens
declare the glory of God, and the firmament showeth his
handy-work."
It is, I know, customary to sneer at the idea of beautiful
forms
existing without a conscious designer, to parallel the adaptations
of
this world to the adaptations in machinery, and then triumphantly to
inquire,
"if skill be inferred from the one, why ascribe the other to
chance?"
We do not believe in chance; the steady action of law is not
chance;
the exquisite crystals which form themselves under certain
conditions
are not a "fortuitous concourse of atoms:" the only question
is
whether the laws which we all allow to govern nature are immanent in
nature,
or the outcome of an intelligent mind. If there be a lawmaker,
is
he self-existent, or does he, in turn, as has been asked again and
again
by Positivist, Secularist, and Atheist, require a maker? If
we
think for a moment of the vast mind implied in the existence of a
Creator
of the universe, is it possible to believe that such a mind is
the
result of chance? If man's mind imply a master-mind, how much more
that
of God? Of course the question seems an absurd one, but it is quite
as
pertinent as the question about a world-maker. We must come to a
stop
somewhere, and it is quite as logical to stop at one point as at
another.
The argument from design would be valuable if we could prove,
a
priori, as Mr. Gillespie attempted to do,* the existence of a Deity;
this
being proved we might then fairly argue deductively to the various
apparent
signs of mind in the universe. Again, if we allow design we
must
ask, "how far does design extend?" If some phenomena are designed,
why
not all? And if not all, on what principle can we separate that
which
is designed from that which is not? If intellect and love reveal
a
design, what is revealed by brutality and hate? If the latter are not
the
result of design, how did they become introduced into the universe?
I
repeat that this argument implies either too much or too little.*
* "The Necessary Existence of
Deity."
There
is but one argument that appears to me to have any real weight,
and
that is the argument from instinct. Man has faculties which appear,
at
present, as though they were not born of the intellect, and it seems
to
me to be unphilosophical to exclude this class of facts from our
survey
of nature. The nature of man has in it certain sentiments and
emotions
which, reasonably or unreasonably, sway him powerfully
and
continually; they are, in fact, his strongest motive powers,
overwhelming
the reasoning faculties with resistless strength; true,
they
need discipline and controlling, but they do not need to be, and
they
cannot be, destroyed. The sentiments of love, of reverence, of
worship,
are not, as yet, reducible to logical processes; they are
intuitions,
spontaneous emotions, incomprehensible to the keen and cold
intellect.
They may be laughed at or denied, but they still exist in
spite
of all; they avenge themselves, when they are not taken into
account,
by ruining the best laid plans, and they are continually
bursting
the cords with which reason strives to tie them down. I do
not
for a moment pretend to deny that these intuitions will, as our
knowledge
of psychology increases, be reducible to strict laws; we call
them
instincts and intuitions simply because we are unable to trace them
to
their source, and this vague expression covers the vagueness of
our
ideas. Therefore, intuition is not to be accepted as a trustworthy
guide,
but it may suggest an hypothesis, and this hypothesis must then
be
submitted to the stern verification of observed facts. We are not as
yet
able to say to what the instinct in man to worship points, or what
reality
answers to his yearning. Increased knowledge will, we may hope,
reveal
to us* where there lies the true satisfaction of this instinct:
so
long as the yearning is only an "instinct" it cannot pretend to be
logically
defensible, or claim to lay down any rule of faith. But still
I
think it well to point out that this instinct exists in man, and
exists
most strongly in some of the noblest souls.
* "Is there in man any such Instinct?
May not the general
tendency to worship a Deity, everywhere be
the result of the
influence gained by Priests over the mind
by the play of the
mysterious Unknown and Hereafter upon
susceptible
imaginations? Besides, what are we to say
of the immense
number of philosophical Buddhists and
Brahmins, for whose
comfort or moral guidance the idea of a
God or a hereafter
is felt to be quite unnecessary? They
cannot comprehend it,
and consequently acts of worship to God
would be deemed by
them fanatical. It is traditionalists who
either do not
think at all, or think only within a
narrow, creed-bound
circle, that are most devoted to
worshipping Deity; and if
so, may not the whole history of worship
have its origin in
superstition and priestcraft! In that
case, the theory of an
instinct of worship falls to the
ground."--Note by the
Editor.
Of
all the various sentiments which are thus at present "intuitional,"
none
is so powerful, none so overmastering as this instinct to worship,
this
sentiment of religion. It is as natural for man to worship as to
eat.
He will do it, be it reasonable or unreasonable. Just as the baby
crams
everything into his mouth, so does man persist in worshipping
something.
It may be said that the baby's instinct does not prove that
he
is right in trying to devour a matchbox; true, but it proves the
existence
of something eatable; so fetish-worship, polytheism, theism,
do
not prove that man has worshipped rightly, but do they not prove the
existence
of something worshipable! The argument does not, of course,
pretend
to amount to a demonstration; it is nothing more than the
suggestion
of an analogy. Are we to find that the supply is correlated
to
the demand throughout nature, and yet believe that this hitherto
invariable
system is suddenly altered when we reach the spiritual part
of
man? I do not deny that this instinct is hereditary, and that it is
fostered
by habit. The idea of reverence for God is transmitted from
parent
to child; it is educated into an abnormal development, and thus
almost
indefinitely strengthened; but yet it does appear to me that the
bent
to worship is an integral part of man's nature. This instinct has
also
sometimes been considered to have its root in the feeling that
one's
individual self is but a "part of a stupendous whole;" that the
so-called
religious feeling which is evoked by a grand view or a bright
starlight
night is only the realisation of personal insignificance,
and
the reverence which rises in the soul in the presence of the mighty
universe
of which we form a part. Whatever the root and the significance
of
this instinct, there can be no doubt of its strength; there is
nothing
rouses men's passions as does theology; for religion men rush
on
death more readily and joyfully than* for any other cause; religious
fanaticism
is the most fatal, the most terrible power in the world. In
studying
history I also see the upward tendency of the race, and
note
that current which Mr. Matthew Arnold has called "that stream of
tendency,
not ourselves, which makes for righteousness." Of course,
if
there be a conscious God, this tendency is a proof of his moral
character,
since it would be the outcome of his laws; but here again
an
argument which would be valuable were the existence of God already
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proved,
falls blunted from the iron wall of the unknown. The same
tendency
upwards would naturally exist in any "realm of law," although
the
law were an unconscious force. For righteousness is nothing more
than
obedience to law, and where there is obedience to law, Nature's
mighty
forces lend their strength to man, and progress is secured.
Only
by obedience to law can advance be made, and this rule applies,
of
course, to morality as well as to physics. Physical righteousness is
obedience
to physical laws; moral righteousness is obedience to moral
laws:
just as physical laws are discovered by the observation of natural
phenomena,
so must moral laws be discovered by the observation of social
phenomena.
That which increases the general happiness is right; that
which
tends to destroy the general happiness is wrong. Utility is the
test
of morality. But a law must not be drawn from a single fact or
phenomenon;
facts must be carefully collated, and the general laws of
morality
drawn from a generalisation of facts. But this subject is too
large
to enter upon here, and it is only hinted at in order to note
that,
although there is a moral tendency apparent in the course of
events,
it is rather a rash assumption to take it for granted that the
power
in question is a conscious one: it may be, and that, I think, is
all
we can justly and reasonably say.
Again,
as regards Love. I have protested above against the easiness
which
talks glibly of the Supreme Love while shutting its eyes to the
supreme
agony of the world. But here, in putting forward what may be
said
on the other side of the question, I must remark that there is a
possible
explanation for sorrow and sin which is consistent with
love
given immortality of man and beast, and the future gain may then
outweigh
the present loss. But we are bound to remember that we can only
have
a _hope_ of immortality; we have no demonstration of it, and this
is,
therefore, only an assumption by which we escape from a difficulty.
We
ought to be ready to acknowledge, also, that there is love in nature,
although
there is cruelty too; there is the sunshine as well as the
storm,
and we must not fix our eyes on the darkness alone and deny the
light.
In mother-love, in the love of friends, loyal through all doubt,
true
in spite of danger and difficulty, strongest when most sorely
tried,
we see gleams of so divine, so unearthly a beauty, that our
hearts
whisper to us of an universal heart pulsating throughout nature,
which,
at these rare moments, we cannot believe to be a dream. But there
seems,
also, to be a vague idea that love and other virtues could not
exist
unless derived from the Love, &c. It is true that we do conceive
certain
ideals of virtue which we personify, and to which we apply
various
terms implying affection; we speak of a love of Truth, devotion
to
Freedom, and so on. These ideals have, however, a purely subjective
existence;
they are not objective realities; there is nothing answering
to
these conceptions in the outside world, nor do we pretend to believe
in
their individuality. But when we gather up all our ideals, our
noblest
longings, and bind them into one vast ideal figure, which we
call
by the name of God, then we at once attribute to it an objective
existence,
and complain of coldness and hardness if its reality is
questioned,
and we demand to know if we can love an abstraction? The
noblest
souls do love abstractions, and live in their beauty and die for
their
sake.
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There
appears, also, to be a possibility of a mind in Nature, although
we
have seen that intelligence is, strictly speaking, impossible. There
cannot
be perception, memory, comparison, or judgment; but may there
not
be a perfect mind, unchanging, calm, and still? Our faculties
fail
us when we try to estimate the Deity, and we are betrayed into
contradictions
and absurdities; but does it therefore follow that He
is
not? It seems to me that to deny his existence is to overstep the
boundaries
of our thought-power almost as much as to try and define it.
We
pretend to know the Unknown if we declare Him to be the Unknowable.
Unknowable
to us at present, yes! Unknowable for ever, in other possible
stages'
of existence?--We have reached a region into which we cannot
penetrate;
here all human faculties fail us; we bow our heads on "the
threshold
of the unknown."
And the ear of man cannot hear, and the
eye of man cannot see;
But if we could see and hear, this
Vision--were it not He?
Thus
sings Alfred Tennyson, the poet of metaphysics: "if we could see
and
hear"; alas! it is always an "if."
We
come back to the opening of this essay: what is the practical result
of
our ideas about the Divinity, and how do these ideas affect the daily
working
life? What conclusions are we to draw from the undeniable fact
that,
even if there be a "personal God," his nature and existence are
beyond
our faculties, that "clouds and darkness are round about him,"
that
he is veiled in eternal silence and reveals himself not to men?
Surely
the obvious inference is that, if he does-really exist, he
desires
to conceal himself from the inhabitants of our world. I repeat,
that
if the Deity exist, he does-not wish us to know of his existence.
There
may be, in the very nature of things, an impossibility of his
revealing
himself to men; we may have no faculties with which to
apprehend
him; can we reveal the stars and the rippling expanse of ocean
to
the sightless limpet on the rock? Whether this be so or not, certain
is
it that the Deity does not reveal himself; either he cannot or he
will
not. And the reason--I am granting for the moment, for argument's
sake,
his personal existence--is not far to seek; it is blazed upon
the
face of history. For what has been the result of theology upon the
whole?
It has turned men's eyes from earth, to fix them on heaven; it
has
bid them be careless of the temporal, while luring them to grasp at
the
eternal; it has induced multitudes to lavish fervent sentiment
upon
a conception framed by Priests of an incomprehensible God, while
diverting
their strength from the plain duties which Humanity has before
it;
it has taught them to live for the world to come, when they should
live
for the world around them; it has made earth's wrongs endurable
with
the hope of the glory to be revealed. Wisely indeed would the
Deity
hide himself, when even a phantom of him has wrought such fatal
mischief;
and never will real and steady progress be secured until men
acquiesce
in this beneficent law of their nature, which draws a stern
circle
of the "limits of Religious Thought" and bids them concentrate
their
attention on the work they have to do in this world, instead of
being
"for ever peering into and brooding over the world beyond the
grave."
"What is to be our conception of morality, is it to base itself
on
obedience to God, or is it to be sought for itself and its effects?"
When
we admit that God is beyond our knowing, morality becomes at once
necessarily
grounded on utility, or the natural adaptation of certain
feelings
and actions to promote the general welfare of society. As
no
revelation is given to us as one "infallible standard of right and
wrong,"
we must form our morality for ourselves from thought and from
experience.
For example, our moral nature, as educated under the highest
civilisation,
tells us that lying is wrong;* with this hypothesis in our
minds
we study facts, and discover that lying causes mistrust, anarchy,
and
ruin; thence we lay down as a moral law, "Lie not at all." The
science
of morality must be content to grow like other sciences; first
an
hypothesis, round which to group our facts, then from the collected
and
collated facts reasoning up to a solid law. Scientific morality has
this
great advantage over revealed, that it stands on firm, unassailable
ground;
new facts will alter its details, but can never touch its
method;
like all other sciences, it is at once positive and progressive.
* All men do not think lying wrong, e g..
Thugs and old
Spartans. Therefore it is not our moral
nature that
intuitively tells us thus, but our moral
nature as
instructed by the moral ideas prevailing in the society in
which we happen to be living.--Note by the
Editor.
"_Is
our mental attitude to be kneeling or standing?_" When we admit
that
the Deity is veiled from us, how can we pray? When we see that that
law
is inexorable, of what use to protest against its absolute sway?
When
we feel that all, including ourselves, are but modes of Being which
is
one and universal, and in which we "live and move," how shall we pray
to
that which is close to us as our own souls, part of our very selves,
inseparable
from our thoughts, sharing our consciousness? As well talk
aloud
to ourselves as pray to the universal Essence. Children _cry_ for
what
they want; men and women _work_ for it. There are two points of
view
from which we may regard prayer: from the one it is a piece of
childishness
only, from the other it is sheer impertinence. Regarding
Nature's
mighty order, her grand, silent, unvarying march,--the
importunity
which frets against her changeless progress is a mark of the
most
extreme childishness of mind; it shows that complete irreverence
of
spirit which cannot conceive the idea of a greatness before which
the
individual existence is as nothing, and that infantile conceit
which
imagines that its own plans and playthings rival in importance
the
struggles of nations and the interests of distant worlds. Regarding
Nature's
laws as wiser than our own whims, the idea which finds its
outlet
in prayer is a gross impertinence; who are we that we should
take
it on ourselves to remind Nature of her work, God of his duty? Is
there
any impertinence so extreme as the prayer which "pleads" with the
Deity?
There is only one kind of "prayer" which is reasonable, and that
is
the deep, silent, adoration of the greatness and beauty and order
around
us, as revealed in the realms of non-rational life and in
Humanity;
as we bow our heads before the laws of the universe and mould
our
lives into obedience to their voice, we find a strong, calm peace
steal
over our hearts, a perfect trust in the ultimate triumph of the
right,
a quiet determination to "make our lives sublime." Before our
own
high ideals, before those lives which show us "how high the tides of
divine
life have risen in the human world," we stand with hushed voice
and
veiled face; from them we draw strength to emulate, and even dare
struggle
to excel. The contemplation of the ideal is true prayer; it
inspires,
it strengthens, it ennobles. The other part of prayer is work:
from
contemplation to labour, from the forest to the street. Study
Nature's
laws, conform to them, work in harmony with them, and work
becomes
a prayer and a thanksgiving, an adoration of the universal
wisdom,
and a true obedience to the universal law.
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"_Is
the mainspring of our actions to be the idea of duty to God, or the
of
loyalty to law and to man's well-being?_" We cannot serve God in any
real
sense; we are awed before the Unknown, but we cannot _serve_ it.
For
the Mighty, for the Incomprehensible, what can we do? But we can
serve
man, ay, and he needs our service; service of brain and hand,
service
untiring and unceasing, service through life and unto-death.
The
race to which we belong (our own families and kinsfolk, and then the
community
at large) has the first claim on our allegiance, a claim from
which
nothing can release us until death drops a veil over our work.
Surely
I may claim that my subject is not an unpractical one, and that
our
ideas of the Nature and Existence of God influence our lives in a
very
real way. If I have substituted a different basis of morality for
that
on which it now stands, if I have suggested a different theory of
prayer,
and offered a different motive for duty, surely these changes
affect
the whole of human life And if one by one these theories ate
denied
by the orthodox, and they reject them because they sever human
life
from that which is called revealed religion, is not my position
justified,
that the ideas we hold of God are the ruling forces of our
lives?
that it is of primary importance to the welfare of mankind that
a
false theory on this point should be destroyed and a more reasonable
faith
accepted?
Will
any one exclaim, "You are taking all beauty out of human life,
all
hope, all warmth, all inspiration; you give us cold duty for filial
obedience,
and inexorable law in the place of God?" All beauty from
life?
Is there, then, no beauty in the idea of forming part of the great
life
of the universe, no beauty in conscious harmony with Nature, no
beauty
in faithful service, no beauty in ideals of every virtue? "All
hope?"
Why, I give you more than hope, I give you certainty: if I bid
you
labour for this world, it is with the knowledge that this world will
repay
you a thousandfold, because society will grow purer, freedom more
settled,
law more honoured, life more full and glad. What is your hope?
A
heaven in the clouds. I point to a heaven attainable on earth. "All
warmth?"
What! You serve warmly a God unknown and invisible, in a sense
the
projected shadow of your own imaginings, and can only serve
coldly
your brother whom you see at your side? There is no warmth in
brightening
the lot of the sad, in reforming abuses, in establishing
equal
justice for rich and poor? You find warmth in the church, but none
in
the home? Warmth in imagining the cloud-glories of heaven, but none
in
creating substantial glories on earth? "All inspiration?" If you want
inspiration
to feeling, to sentiment, perhaps you had better keep to
your
Bible and your creeds; if you want inspiration to work, go and walk
through
the east of London, or the back streets of Manchester. You
are
inspired to tenderness as you gaze at the wounds of Jesus, dead in
Judaea
long ago, and find no inspiration in the wounds of men and women
dying
in the England of to-day? You "have tears to shed for him,"
but
none for the sufferer at your doors? His passion arouses your
sympathies,
but you see no pathos in the passion of the poor? Duty is
colder
than "filial obedience?" What do you mean by filial obedience?
Obedience
to your ideal of goodness and love, is it not so? Then how is
duty
cold? I offer you ideals for your homage: here is Truth for your
Mistress,
to whose exaltation you shall devote your intellect; here is
Freedom
for your General, for whose triumph you shall fight; here is
Love
for your Inspirer, who shall influence your every thought; here is
Man
for your Master--not in heaven but on earth--to whose service you
shall
consecrate every faculty of your being. Inexorable law in the
place
of God? Yes: a stern certainty that you shall not waste your life,
yet
gather a rich reward at the close; that you shall not sow misery,
yet
reap gladness; that you shall not be selfish, yet be crowned with
love,
nor shall you sin, yet find safety in repentance. True, our creed
is
a stern one, stern with the beautiful sternness of Nature. But if we
be
in the right, look to yourselves: laws do not check their action
for
your ignorance; fire will not cease to scorch, because "you did not
know."
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We
know nothing beyond Nature; we judge of the future by the present
and
the past; we are content to work now, and let the work to come
wait
until it appears as the work to do; we find that our faculties
are
sufficient for fulfilling the tasks within our reach, and we cannot
waste
time and strength in gazing into impenetrable darkness. We must
needs
fight against superstitions, because they hinder the advancement
of
the race, but we will not fall into the error of opponents and try to
define
the Undefinable.
EUTHANASIA.
I
HAVE already related to you with what care they look after their
sick,
so that nothing is left undone which may contribute either to
their
health or ease. And as for those who are afflicted with incurable
disorders,
they use all possible means of cherishing them, and of making
their
lives as comfortable as possible; they visit them often, and take
great
pains to make their time pass easily. But if any have torturing,
lingering
pain, without hope of recovery or ease, the priests and
magistrates
repair to them and exhort them, since they are unable to
proceed
with the business of life, are become a burden to themselves and
all
about them, and have in reality outlived themselves, they should no
longer
cherish a rooted disease, but choose to die since they cannot but
live
in great misery; being persuaded, if they thus deliver themselves
from
torture, or allow others to do it, they shall be happy after death.
Since
they forfeit none of the pleasures, but only the troubles of life
by
this, they think they not only act reasonably, but consistently with
religion;
for they follow the advice of their priests, the expounders
of
God's will. Those who are wrought upon by these persuasions, either
starve
themselves or take laudanum. But no one is compelled to end his
life
thus; and if they cannot be persuaded to it, the former care and
attendance
on it is continued. And though they esteem a voluntary death,
when
chosen on such authority, to be very honourable, on the contrary,
if
any one commit suicide without the concurrence of the priest and
senate,
they honour not the body with a decent funeral, but throw into a
ditch.*
* Memoirs. A translation of the Utopia,
&c, of Sir Thomas
Moore, Lord High Chancellor of England. By
A. Cayley the
Younger, pp. 102,103. (Edition of 1808.)
In
pleading for the morality of Euthanasia, it seems not unwise to
show
that so thoroughly religious a man as Sir Thomas Moore deemed that
practice
so consonant with a sound morality as to make it one of the
customs
of his ideal state, and to place it under the sanction of the
priesthood.
As a devout Roman Catholic, the great Chancellor would
naturally
imagine that any beneficial innovation would be sure to obtain
the
support of the priesthood; and although we may differ from him on
this
head, since our daily experience teaches _us_ that the priest may
be
counted upon as the steady opponent of all reform, it is yet
not
uninstructive to note that the deep religious feeling which
distinguished
this truly good man, did not shrink from this idea of
euthanasia
as from a breach of morality, nor did he apparently dream
that
any opposition would (or could) be offered to it on religious
grounds.
The last sentence of the extract is specially important; in
discussing
the morality of euthanasia we are not discussing the moral
lawfulness
or unlawfulness of suicide in general; we may protest against
suicide,
and yet uphold euthanasia, and we may even protest against the
one
and uphold the other, on exactly the same principle, as we shall see
further
on. As the greater includes the less, those who consider that a
man
has a right to choose whether he will live or not, and who therefore
regard
all suicide as lawful, will, of course, approve of euthanasia;
but
it is by no means necessary to hold this doctrine because we contend
for
the other. _On the general question of the morality of suicide, this
paper
expresses no opinion whatever_. This is not the point, and we do
not
deal with it here. This essay is simply and solely directed to prove
that
there are circumstances under which a human being has a moral right
to
hasten the inevitable approach of death. The subject is one which is
surrounded
by a thick fog of popular prejudice, and the arguments in
its
favour are generally dismissed unheard. I would therefore crave the
reader's
generous patience, while laying before him the reasons
which
dispose many religious and social reformers to regard it as of
importance
that euthanasia should be legalised.
In
the fourth Edition of an essay on Euthanasia, by P. D. Williams,
jun.,--an
essay which powerfully sums up what is to be said for and
against
the practice in question, and which treats the whole subject
exhaustively--we
find the proposition for which we contend laid down in
the
following explicit terms:
"That
in all cases of hopeless and painful illness, it should be the
recognised
duty of the medical attendant, whenever so desired by the
patient,
to administer chloroform, or such other anaesthetic as may
by-and-by
supersede chloroform, so as to destroy consciousness at once,
and
to put the sufferer to a quick and painless death; all needful
precautions
being adopted to prevent any abuse of such duty; and means
being
taken to establish, beyond the possibility of doubt or question,
that
the remedy was applied at the express wish of the patient."
It
is very important, at the outset, to lay down clearly the limitations
of
the proposed medical reform. It is, sometimes, thoughtlessly stated
that
the supporters of euthanasia propose to put to death all persons
suffering
from incurable disorders; no assertion can be more inaccurate
or
more calculated to mislead. We propose only, that where an incurable
disorder
is accompanied with extreme pain--pain, which nothing can
alleviate
except death--pain, which only grows worse as the inevitable
doom
approaches--pain, which drives almost to madness, and which must
end
in the intensified torture in the death agony--that pain should be
at
once soothed by the administration of an anaesthetic, which should
not
only produce unconsciousness, but should be sufficiently powerful
to
end a life, in which the renewal of consciousness can only be
simultaneous
with the renewal of pain. So long as life has some
sweetness
left in it, so long the offered mercy is not needed;
euthanasia
is a relief from unendurable agony, not an enforced
extinguisher
of a still desired existence. Besides, no one proposes to
make
it obligatory on anybody; it is only urged that where the patient
asks
for the mercy of a speedy death, instead of a protracted one, his
prayer
may be granted without any danger of the penalties of murder or
manslaughter
being inflicted on the doctors and nurses in attendance. I
will
lay before the reader a case which is within my own knowledge,--and
which
can be probably supplemented by the sad experience of almost every
individual,--in
which the legality of euthanasia would have been a boon
equally
to the sufferer and to her family. A widow lady was suffering
from
cancer in the breast, and as the case was too far advanced for the
ordinary
remedy of the knife, and as the leading London surgeons refused
to
risk an operation which might hasten, but could not retard, death,
she
resolved, for the sake of her orphan children, to allow a medical
practitioner
to perform a terrible operation, whereby he hoped to
prolong
her life for some years. Its details are too-painful to enter
into
unnecessarily; it will suffice to say that it was performed by
means
of quick-lime, and that the use of chloroform was impossible.
When
the operation, which extended over days, was but half over,
the
sufferer's strength gave way, and the doctor was compelled to
acknowledge
that even a prolongation of life was impossible, and that
to
complete the operation could only hasten death. So the patient had to
linger
on in almost unimaginable torture, knowing that the pain could
only
end in death, seeing her relatives worn out by watching, and
agonised
at the sight of her sufferings, and yet compelled to live on
from
hour to hour, till at last the anguish culminated in death. Is it
possible
for any one to believe that it would have been wrong to have
hastened
the inevitable end, and thus to have shortened the agony of
the
sufferer herself, and to have also-spared her nurses months of
subsequent
ill-health. It is in such cases as this that euthanasia would
be
useful. It is, however, probable that all will agree that the benefit
conferred
by the legalisation of euthanasia would, in many instances, be
very
great; but many feel that the objections to it, on moral grounds,
are
so weighty, that no physical benefit could countervail the moral
wrong.
These objections, so far as I can gather them, are as follows:--
Life
is the gift of God, and is therefore sacred, and must only be taken
back
by the giver of life.*
* We, of course, here, have no concern
with theological
questions touching the existence or
non-existence of Deity,
and express no opinion about them.
Euthanasia
is an interference with the course of nature, and is
therefore
an act of rebellion against God.
Pain
is a spiritual remedial agent inflicted by God, and should
therefore
be patiently endured.
_Life
is the gift of God, and is therefore sacred, and must only
be
taken back by the Giver of life_. This objection is one of those
high-sounding
phrases which impose on the careless and thoughtless
hearer,
by catching up a form of words which is generally accepted as an
unquestionable
axiom, and by hanging thereupon an unfair corollary.
The
ordinary man or woman, on hearing this assertion, would probably
answer--"Life
sacred? Yes, of course; on the sacredness of life depends
the
safety of society; anything which tampers with this principle must
be
both wrong and dangerous." And yet, such is the inconsistency of the
thoughtless,
that, five minutes afterwards, the same person will glow
with
passionate admiration at some noble deed, in which the sacredness
of
life has been cast to the winds at the call of honour or of humanity,
or
will utter words ot indignant contempt at the baseness which counted
life
more sacred than duty or principle. That life is sacred is an
undeniable
proposition; every natural gift is sacred, _i e._, is
valuable,
and is not to be lightly destroyed; life, as summing up all
natural
gifts, and as containing within itself all possibilities of
usefulness
and happiness, is the most sacred physical possession which
we
own. But it is _not_ the most sacred thing on earth. Martyrs slain
for
the sake of principles which they could not truthfully deny;
patriots
who have died for their country; heroes who have sacrificed
themselves
for others' good;--the very flower and glory of humanity
rise
up in a vast crowd to protest that conscience, honour, love,
self-devotion,
are more precious to the race than is the life of the
individual.
Life is sacred, but it may be laid down in a noble cause;
life
is sacred, but it must bend before the holier sacredness of
principle;
life which, though sacred, can be destroyed, is as nothing
before
the indestructible ideals which claim from every noble soul the
sacrifice
of personal happiness, of personal greatness, yea, of personal
life.*
* The word "life" is here used
in the sense of "personal
existence in this world." It is, of
course, not intended to
be asserted that life is really
destructible, but only that
personal existence, or identity, may be
destroyed. And
further, no opinion is given on the
possibility of life
otherwhere than on this globe; nothing is
spoken of except
life on earth, under the conditions of
human existence.
It
will be conceded, then, on all hands, that the proposition that life
is
sacred must be accepted with many limitations: the proposition, in
fact,
amounts only to this, that life must not be voluntarily laid down
without
grave and sufficient cause. What we have to consider is, whether
there
are present, in any proposed euthanasia, such conditions as
overbear
considerations for the acknowledged sanctity of life. We
contend
that in the cases in which it is proposed that death should be
hastened,
these conditions do exist.
We
will not touch here on the question of the endurance of pain as a
duty,
for we will examine that further on. But is it a matter of no
importance
that a sufferer should condemn his attendants to a prolonged
drain
on their health and strength, in order to cling to a life which is
useless
to others, and a burden to himself? The nurse who tends, perhaps
for
weeks, a bed of agony, for which there is no cure but death--whose
senses
are strained by intense watchfulness--whose nerves are racked
by
witnessing torture which she is powerless to alleviate--is, by
her
self-devotion, sowing in her own constitution the seeds of
ill-health--that
is to say, she is deliberately shortening her own life.
We
have seen that we have a right to shorten life in obedience to a call
of
duty, and it will at once be said that the nurse is obeying such a
call.
But has the nurse a right to sacrifice her own life--and an
injury
to health is a sacrifice of life--for an obviously unequivalent
advantage?
We are apt to forget, because the injury is partially veiled
to
us, that we touch the sacredness of life whenever we touch health:
every
case of over-work, of over-strain, of over-exertion, is, so to
speak,
a modified case of euthanasia. To poison the spring of life is
as
real a tampering with the sacredness of life as it is to check its
course.
The nurse is really committing a slow euthanasia. Either the
patient
or the nurse must commit an heroic suicide for the sake of the
other--which
shall it be? Shall the life be sacrificed, which is torture
to
its possessor, useless to society, and whose bounds are already
clearly
marked? or shall a strong and healthy life, with all its future
possibilities,
be undermined and sacrificed _in addition to that which
is
already doomed?_ But, granting that the sublime generosity of the
nurse
stays not to balance the gain with the loss, but counts herself as
nothing
in the face of a human need, then surely it is time to urge then
to
permit this self-sacrifice is an error, and that to accept it is a
crime.
If it be granted that the throwing away of life for a manifestly
unequivalent
gain is wrong, that we ought not to blind ourselves to the
fact,
that to sacrifice a healthy life in order to lengthen by a few
short
weeks a doomed life, is a grave moral error, however much it may
be
redeemed in the individual by the glory of a noble self-devotion.
Allowing
to the full the honour due to the heroism of the nurse, what
are
we to say to the patient who accepts the sacrifice? What are we to
think
of the morality of a human being who, in order to preserve the
miserable
remnant of life left to him, allows another to shorten life?
If
we honour the man who sacrifices himself to defend his family, or
risks
his own life to save theirs, we must surely blame him who, on the
contrary,
sacrifices those he ought to value most, in order to prolong
his
own now useless existence. The measure of our admiration for the
one,
must be the measure of our pity for the weakness and selfishness of
the
other. If it be true that the man who dies for his dear ones on the
battlefield
is a hero, he who voluntarily dies for them on his bed of
sickness
is a hero no less brave. But it is urged that _life is the gift
of
God, and must only be taken back by the Giver of life_, I suppose
that
in any sense in which it can be supposed true that life is the gift
of
God, it can only be taken back by the giver--that is to say, that
just
as life is produced in accordance with certain laws, so it can
only
be destroyed in accordance with certain other laws. Life is not the
direct
gift of a superior power: it is the gift of man to man and
animal
to animal, produced by the voluntary agent, and not by God, under
physical
conditions, on the fulfilment of which alone the production of
life
depends. The physical conditions must be observed if we desire to
produce
life, and so must they be if we desire to destroy life. In
both
cases man is the voluntary agent, in both law is the means of his
action.
If life-giving is God's doing, then life-destroying is his doing
too.
But this is not what is intended by the proposers of this aphorism.
If
they will pardon me for translating their somewhat vague proposition
into
more precise language, they say that they find themselves in
possession
of a certain thing called life, which must have come from
_somewhere_;
and as in popular language the unknown is always the
divine,
it must have come from God: therefore this life must only be
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
taken
from them by a cause that also proceeds from _somewhere_--i e.,
from
an unknown cause--i e., from the Divine will. Chloroform comes from
a
visible agent, from the doctor or nurse, or at least from a bottle,
which
can be taken up or left alone at our own choice. If we swallow
this,
the cause of death is known, and is evidently not divine; but if
we
go into a house where scarlet fever is raging, although we are in
that
case voluntarily running the chance of taking poison quite as truly
as
if we swallow a dose of chloroform, yet if we die from the infection,
we
can imagine the illness to be sent from God. Wherever we think the
element
of chance comes in, there we are able to imagine that God rules
directly.
We quite overlook the fact that there is no such thing as
chance.
There is only our ignorance of law, not a break in natural
order.
If our constitution be susceptible of the particular poison
to
which we expose it, we take the disease. If we knew the laws of
infection
as accurately as we know the laws affecting chloroform,
we
should be able to foresee with like certainty the inevitable
consequence;
and our ignorance does not make the action of either set of
laws
less unchangeable or more divine. But in the "happy-go-lucky" style
of
thought peculiar to ignorance, the Christian disregards the fact
that
infection is ruled by definite laws, and believes that health and
sickness
are the direct expressions of the will of his God, and not the
invariable
consequence of obscure but probably discoverable antecedents;
so
he boldly goes into the back slums of London to nurse a family
stricken
down with fever, and knowingly and deliberately runs "the
chance"
of infection--i e., knowingly and deliberately runs the chance
of
taking poison, or rather of having poison poured into his frame.
This
he does, trusting that the nobility of his motive will make the
act
right in God's sight. Is it more noble to relieve the sufferings of
strangers,
than to relieve the sufferings of his family? or is it more
heroic
to die of voluntarily-contracted fever, than of voluntarily-taken
chloroform?
The
argument that _life must only be taken back by the life-giver_,
would,
if thoroughly carried out, entirely prevent all dangerous
operations.
In the treatment of some diseases there are operations that
will
either kill or cure: the disease must certainly be fatal if left
alone;
while the proposed operation may save life, it may equally
destroy
it, and thus may take life some time before the giver of life
wanted
to take it back. Evidently, then, such operations should not
be
performed, since there is risked so grave an interference with the
desires
of the life-giver. Again, doctors act very wrongly when they
allow
certain soothing medicines to be taken when all hope is gone,
which
they refuse so long as a chance of recovery remains: what
right
have they to _compel_ the life-giver to follow out his apparent
intentions?
In some cases of painful disease, it is now usual to produce
partial
or total unconsciousness by the injection of morphia, or by the
use
of some other anaesthetic. Thus, I have known a patient subjected to
this
kind of treatment, when dying from a tumour in the aesophagus; he
was
consequently for some weeks before his death, kept in a state
of
almost complete unconsciousness, for if he were allowed to become
conscious,
his agony was so unendurable as to drive him wild. He was
thus,
although breathing, practically dead for weeks before his death.
We
cannot but wonder, in view of such a case as his, what it is that
people
mean when they talk of "life." Life includes, surely, not only
the
involuntary animal functions, such as the movements of heart and
lungs;
but consciousness, thought, feeling, emotion. Of the various
constituents
of human life, surely those are not the most "sacred" which
we
share with the brute, however necessary these may be as the basis on
which
the rest are built. It is thought, then, that we may rightfully
destroy
all that constitutes the beauty and nobility of human life, we
may
kill thought, slay consciousness, deaden emotion, stop feeling,
we
may do all this, and leave lying on the bed before us a breathing
figure,
from which we have taken all the nobler possibilities of life;
but
we may not touch the purely animal existence; we may rightly
check
the action of the nerves and the brain, but we must not dare to
outrage-the
Deity by checking the action of the heart and the lungs.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
We
ask, then, for the legalisation of euthanasia, because it is in
accordance
with the highest morality yet known, that which teaches the
duty
of self sacrifice for the greater good of others, because it is
sanctioned
in principle by every service performed at personal danger
and
injury, and because-it is already partially practised by modern
improvements
in medical science.
_Euthanasia
is an interference with the course of nature, and its
herefore
an act of rebellion against God_. In considering this
objection,
we are placed in difficulty by not being told what sense our
opponents
attach to the word "nature"; and we are obliged once more
to
ask pardon for forcing these vague and high-flown arguments into a
humiliating
precision of meaning. Nature, in the widest sense of the
word,
includes all natural laws: and in this sense it is of course
impossible
to interfere with nature at all. We live, and move, and have
our
being in nature; and we can no more get outside it than we can get
outside
everything. With this-nature we cannot interfere: we can study
its
laws, and learn how to balance one law against another, so as to
modify
results; but this can only be done by and through nature itself.
The
"interference with the course of nature" which is intended in the
above
objection does not of course mean this impossible proceeding; and
it
can then only mean an interference with things which would proceed
in
one course without human agency meddling with them, but which are
susceptible
of being turned into another course by human agency. If
interference
with nature's course be a rebellion against God, we are
rebelling
against God every day of our lives. Every achievement of
civilisation
is an interference with nature. Every artificial comfort we
enjoy
is an improvement on nature. Everybody professes to approve and
admire
many great triumphs of art over nature: the junction by bridges
of
shores which nature had made separate, the draining of nature's
marshes,
the excavation of her wells, the dragging to light of what
she
has buried at immense depths in the earth, the turning away of her
thunderbolts
by lightning-rods, of her inundations by embankments, of
her
ocean by breakwaters. But to commend these and similar feats, is
to
acknowledge that the ways of nature are to be conquered, not obeyed;
that
her powers are often towards man in the position of enemies, from
whom
he must wrest, by force and ingenuity, what little he can for his
own
use, and deserves to be applauded when that little is rather more
than
might be expected from his physical weakness in comparison to those
gigantic
powers. All praise of civilisation, or art, or contrivance, is
so
much dispraise of nature; an admission of imperfection, which it
is
man's business, and merit, to be always endeavouring to correct or
mitigate.*
* "Essay on Nature," by John
Stuart Mill.
It
is difficult to understand how anyone, contemplating the course of
nature,
can regard it as the expression of a Divine will, which man has
no
right to improve upon. Natural law is essentially unreasoning and
unmoral:
gigantic forces clash around us on every side unintelligent,
and
unvarying in their action. With equal impassiveness these blind
forces
produce vast benefits and work vast catastrophes. The benefits
are
ours, if we are able to grasp them; but nature troubles itself not,
whether
we take them or leave them alone. The catastrophes may rightly
be
averted, if we can avert them; but nature stays not its grinding
wheel
for our moans. Even allowing that a Supreme Intelligence gave
these
forces their being, it is manifest that he never intended man to
be
their plaything, or to do them homage; for man is dowered with reason
to
calculate, and with genius to foresee; and into man's hands is given
the
realm of nature (in this world) to cultivate, to govern, to improve.
So
long as men believed that a god wielded the thunderbolt, so long
would
a lightning-conductor be an outrage on Jove; so long as a god
guided
each force of nature, so long would it be impiety to resist,
or
to endeavour to regulate the divine volitions. Only as experience
gradually
proved that no evil consequences followed each amendment of
nature,
were natural forces withdrawn, one by one, from the sphere
of
the unknown and the divine. Now, even pain, that used to be God's
scourge,
is soothed by chloroform, and death alone is left for nature
to
inflict, with what lingering agony it may. But why should death,
any
more than other ills, be left entirely to the clumsy, unassisted
processes
of nature?--why, after struggling against nature all our
lives,
should we let it reign unopposed in death? There are some natural
evils
that we cannot avert. Pain and death are of these; but we can dull
pain
by dulling feeling, and we can ease by shortening its pangs. Nature
kills
by slow and protracted torture; we can defy it by choosing a rapid
and
painless end. It is only the remains of the old superstition that
makes
men think that to take life is the special prerogative of
the
gods. With marvellous inconsistency, however, the opponents of
euthanasia
do not scruple to "interfere with the course of nature" on
the
one hand, while they forbid us to interfere on the other. It is
right
to prolong pain by art, although it is wrong to shorten it. When a
person
is smitten down with some fearful and incurable disease, they do
not
leave him to nature; on the contrary, they check and thwart nature
in
every possible way; they cherish the life that nature has blasted;
they
nourish the strength that nature is undermining; they delay each
process
of decay which nature sows in the disordered frame; they contest
every
inch of ground with nature to preserve life; and then, when life
means
torture, and we ask permission to step in and quench it, they cry
out
that we are interfering with nature. If they would leave nature to
itself,
the disease would generally kill with tolerable rapidity; but
they
will not do this. They will only admit the force of their own
argument
when it tells on the side of what they choose to consider
right.
"Against nature," is the cry with which many a modern improvement
has
been howled at; and it will continue to be raised, until it is
generally
acknowledged that happiness, and not nature, is the true guide
to
morality, and until men recognises that nature is to be harnessed to
his
car of triumph, and to bend its mighty forces to fulfil the human
will.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
_Pain
is a spiritual remedial agent, inflicted by God, and should
therefore
be patiently endured._ Does anyone, except a self-torturing
ascetic,
endure any pain which he can get rid of? This might be deemed
a
sufficient answer to this objection, for common sense always bids
us
avoid all possible pain, and daily experience tells us that people
invariably
evade pain, wherever such evasion is possible. The objection
ought
to run: "pain is a spiritual remedial agent, inflicted by God,
which
is to be got rid of as soon as possible, but ought to be patiently
endured
when unavoidable." Pain as pain has no recommendations,
spiritual
or otherwise; nor is there the smallest merit in a voluntary
and
needless submission to pain. As to its remedial and educational
advantages,
it as often as not sours the temper and hardens the heart;
if
a person endures great physical or mental pain with unruffled
patience,
and comes out of it with uninjured tenderness and sweetness,
we
may rest assured that we have come across a rare and beautiful nature
of
exceptional strength. As a general rule, pain, especially if it be
mental,
hardens and roughens the character. The use of anaesthetics is
utterly
indefensible, if physical pain is to be regarded as a special
tool
whereby God cultivates the human soul. If God is directly acting on
the
sufferer's body, and is educating his soul by racking his nerves,
by
what right does the doctor step between with his impious anaesthetic,
and
by reducing the patient to unconsciousness, deprive God of his
pupil,
and man of his lesson? If pain be a sacred ark, over which hovers
the
divine glory, surely it must be a sinful act to touch the holy
thing.
We may be inflicting incalculable spiritual damage by frustrating
the
divine plan of education, which was corporeal agony as a spiritual
agent.
Therefore, if this argument be good for anything at all, we
must
from henceforth eschew all anaesthetics, we must take no steps
to
alleviate human agony, we must not venture to interfere with this
beneficent
agent, but must leave nature to torture us it will. But we
utterly
deny that the unnecessary endurance of pain is even a merit,
much
less a duty; on the contrary, we believe that it is our duty to
war
against pain as much as possible, to alleviate it wherever we cannot
stop
it entirely; and, where continuous and frightful agony can only end
in
death, then to give to the sufferer the relief he craves for, in
the
sleep which is mercy. "It is a mercy God has taken him," is an
expression
often heard when the racked frame at last lies quiet, and the
writhed
features settle slowly into the peaceful smile of the dead. That
mercy
we plead that man should be allowed to give to man, when human
skill
and human tenderness have done their best, and when they have left
within
their reach no greater boon than a speedy and painless death.
We
are not aware that any objection, which may not be classed under one
or
other of these three heads, has been levelled against the proposition
that
euthanasia should be legalised. It has, indeed, been suggested that
to
put into-a doctor's hands this "power of life and death," would be
to
offer a dangerous temptation to those who have any special object to
gain
by putting a troublesome person quietly out of the way. But this
objection
overlooks the fact that the patient himself must _ask_ for the
draught,
that stringent precautions can be taken to render euthanasia
impossible
except at the patient's earnestly, or even repeatedly,
expressed
wish, that any doctor or attendant, neglecting to take these
precautions,
would then, as now, be liable to all the penalties for
murder
or for manslaughter; and that an ordinary doctor would no more
be
ready to face these penalties then, than he is now, although he
undoubtedly
has now the power of putting the patient to death with but
little
chance of discovery. Euthanasia would not render murder less
dangerous
than it is at present, since no one asks that a nurse may be
empowered
to give a patient a dose which would ensure death, or that she
might
be allowed to shield herself from punishment on the plea that the
patient
desired it. If our opponents would take the trouble to find out
what
we do ask, before they condemn our propositions, it would greatly
simplify
public discussion, not alone in this case, but in many proposed
reforms.
It
may be well, also, to point out the wide line of demarcation which
separated
euthanasia from what is ordinarily called suicide. Euthanasia,
like
suicide, is a voluntarily chosen death, but there is a radical
difference
between the motives which prompt the similar act. Those who
commit
suicide thereby render themselves useless to society for the
future;
they deprive society of their services, and selfishly evade
the
duties which ought to fall to their share; therefore, the social
feelings
rightly condemn suicide as a crime against society. I do not
say
that under no stress of circumstances is suicide justifiable; that
is
not the question; but I wish to point out that it is justly regarded
as
a social offence. But the very motive which restrains from suicide,
prompts
to euthanasia. The sufferer who knows that he is lost to
society,
that he can never again serve his fellow-men; who knows, also,
that
he is depriving society of the services of those who uselessly
exhaust
themselves for him, and is further injuring it by undermining
the
health of its healthy members, feels urged by the very social
instincts
which would prevent him from committing suicide while in
health,
to yield a last service to society by relieving it from a
useless
burden. Hence it is that Sir Thomas Moore, in the quotation with
which
he began this essay, makes the _social authorities_ of his ideal
state
urge euthanasia as the duty of a faithful citizen, while they
yet
consistently reprobate ordinary suicide as a _lčse-majestę_ a
crime
against the State. The life of the individual is, in a sense, the
property
of society. The infant is nurtured, the child is educated,
the
man is protected by others; and, in return for the life thus given,
developed,
preserved, society has a right to demand from its members a
loyal,
self-forgetting devotion to the common weal. To serve humanity,
to
raise the race from which we spring, to dedicate every talent, every
power,
every energy, to the improvement of, and to the increase of
happiness
in, society, this is the duty of each individual man and
woman.
And, when we have given all we can, when strength is sinking,
and
life is failing, when pain racks our bodies, and the worse agony of
seeing
our dear ones suffer in our anguish tortures our enfeebled minds,
when
the only service we can render man is to relieve him of a useless
and
injurious burden, then we ask that we may be permitted to die
voluntarily
and painlessly, and so to crown a noble life with the laurel
wreath
of a self-sacrificing death.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
ON
PRAYER.
THE
mania for Prayer-meetings has lately been largely on the increase,
and
the continual efforts being made to
"Move the arm that moves the
world,"
naturally
draw one's attention strongly to the subject of Prayer; to its
reasonableness,
propriety, and prospect of success. If Prayer to God
be
reverent as towards the Deity, if it be consistent with his
immutability,
with his foreknowledge, with his wisdom, and with
every
kind of trust in his goodness--if it be also, as regards man,
permissible
by science, and approved by experience, then there can be
no
doubt at all that it should be sedulously practised, and should be of
universal
obligation. But if it be at once useless and absurd, if it be
forbidden
by reason and frowned at by common sense, if it weaken man and
be
irreverent towards the Being to whom it is said to be addressed, then
it
will be well for all who practise it to reconsider their position,
and
at least to endeavour to give some solid reason for persisting in a
course
which is condemned by the intellect and is unneeded by the heart.
The
practice of Prayer is generally founded upon the supposed position
held
by man--first, as a creature towards his Creator, and secondly,
as
a child towards his Father in heaven. In its first aspect, it is a
simple
act of homage from the inferior to the superior, parallel to the
courtesy
shown by the subject to the monarch; it is an acknowledgment of
dependence,
and a sign of gratitude for the gifts which are supposed
to
be freely given by God to man--gifts which man has done nothing to
deserve,
but which come from the free bounty of the giver. Putting aside
the
whole question of God as Creator, which is not the point at issue,
we
might argue that, since he brought us into this world without our
request,
and even without our consent, he is in duty bound to see that
we
have all things necessary for our life and happiness in the world in
which
he has thus placed us. We might argue that the "blessings" said
to
be bestowed upon us, such as food, clothing, &c, can only be called
"given"
by a fiction, for that they are won by our own hard toil, and
are
never "gifts from God" in any real sense at all. Further, we might
plead
that we find "bestowed" upon us many things which are decidedly
the
reverse of blessings, and that if gratitude be due to God for some
things,
the contrary of gratitude is due to him for others; and that
if
praise be his right for the one, blame must be his desert for
the
second. We should be thus forced into the logical, but somewhat
peculiar,
frame of mind of the savage, who caresses his fetish when it
hears
his prayers, and belabours it heartily when it fails to help him.
But,
taking the position that Prayer is due from man by reason of his
creaturehood,
it must surely be clear that it cannot be a proper way
of
manifesting a sense of inferiority to degrade the Being to whom the
homage
is offered. Yet Prayer is essentially degrading to God, and the
character
ascribed to him of "a hearer and answerer of Prayer" is a most
lowering
conception of Deity. For God to hear and to answer Prayer
means
that Prayer changes his action, making him do that which he would
otherwise
have abstained from doing; it means that man is wiser than
God,
and is able to instruct him in his duty; and it means that God is
less
loving than he ought to be, and will not bestow upon his creature
that
which is good for him, unless he be importuned into giving it. We
are
told that God is immutable, "the same yesterday, to-day, and for
ever;"
"God is not a man that he should lie, nor the son of man that he
should
repent." If this be true--and surely immutability of purpose must
be
a necessary characteristic of an all-wise and all-good Being--how can
Prayer
be anything more than a childish fretting against the inevitable?
The
Changeless One has planned a certain course of action, and is
steadily
carrying it out; in passionless serenity he goes upon his way;
then
man breaks in with his feeble cries and petulant upbraidings,
and
actually turns God from his purpose, and changes the course of his
providence.
If Prayer does not do this it does nothing at all; either
it
changes the mind of God or it does not. If it does, God is at the
disposal
of man's whim; if it does not, it is perfectly useless, and
might
just as well be left undone. The parable told by Christ about the
unjust
judge (Luke xviii. 1-8) is a most extraordinary representation
of
God: "Because this widow troubleth me, I will avenge her, lest by
her
continual coming she weary me.... And shall not God avenge his own
elect,
which cry day and night unto him?" Verily, the picture of the
divine
justice is not an attractive one! The judge does his duty, not
because
it is his duty, not because the widow needs his aid, not because
her
cause is a just one, but "lest by her continual coming she weary"
him.
There is only one moral to be drawn from this, namely, that God
will
not care for his "elect," because they are "his own;" that
he will
not
guard them, because it is his duty; but that, if they cry day and
night
to him, he will attend to them, because the continual cry wearies
him,
and he desires to silence it. In the same way God the immutable
changes
at the sound of Prayer, not because the change will be better or
wiser,
but because man's cry "wearies" him, and he will be quiet if he
obtains
his petition. Surely the idea is as degrading as it can be; it
puts
God on a level with the unwise human parent, who allows himself to
be
governed by the clamour of his children, and gives any favour to
the
spoilt child, if only the child be tiresome enough in its petulant
persistence.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
Is
Prayer consistent with the _foreknowledge_ of God? It is one of the
attributes
ascribed to God that he knows all before it happens, and that
the
future lies mapped out before him as clearly as does the past. If
this
be so, is it more reasonable to pray about things in the future
than
things in the past? No one is so utterly irrational as to pray to
God,
in so many words, to change the things that are gone, or to alter
the
record of the past. Yet, is it more rational to ask him to change
the
things that are coming, and to alter the already-written chart of
the
future? In reality, man's own eyes being blinded, he deems his God
such
an one as himself, and where he cannot _see_, he can allow himself
to
_hope_. But there is no excuse from the inexorable logic which
pierces
us with one horn or the other of this dilemma, however we may
writhe
in our efforts to escape them; either God knows the future or he
knows
it not; if he knows it, it cannot be altered, so it is of no use
to
pray about it, everything being already fixed; if he knows it not, he
is
not God, he is no wiser than man. But, then, some Christians argue,
he
has pre-arranged that he will give this blessing in answer to Prayer,
and
he foreknows the Prayer as well as its answer. Then, after all, it
is
pre-determined whether we shall pray or not in any given case, and we
have
only to follow the course along which we are impelled by an
irresistible
destiny; so the matter is beyond all discussion, and the
power
to pray, or not to pray, does not reside in us; if there is a
blessing
in store for us which needs the arm of Prayer to pluck it from
the
tree on which it hangs, we shall inevitably pray for it at the right
moment,
and thus--in his effort to escape from one difficulty--the
praying
Christian has landed himself in a worse one, for absolute
foreknowledge
implies complete determinism, and prevents all human
responsibility
of any kind.
Is
Prayer consistent with the _wisdom_ of God? After all, what does
Prayer
mean, boldly stated? It means that man thinks that he knows
better
than God, and so he tells God that which ought to happen. Is
there
any self-conceit so intolerable as that which pretends to bow
itself
in the dust before him who created and who upholds the infinite
worlds
which make up the universe, and which then sets itself to correct
the
ordering of him who traced the orbits of the planets, and who
measured
the rule of suns? Finite wisdom instructing infinite
wisdom;
mortal reason laying down the course of immortal reason; low
intelligence
guiding supreme intelligence; man instructing God. All this
is
implied in the fact of Prayer, and every man who has prayed, and who
believes
in God, ought to cast himself down in passionate humiliation
before
the wisdom he has insulted and impugned, and ask pardon for
the
insolent presumption which dared to lay hands on the helm of the
Supreme,
and to dream that man could be more wise than God. At least,
those
who believe in God might be humble enough to acknowledge his
superiority
to themselves, and if they demand that homage should be paid
to
him by their brethren, they should also confess him to be wiser and
higher
than they are themselves.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
Is
Prayer consistent with _trust in the goodness_ of God? Surely Prayer
is
a distinct refusal to trust, and is a proclamation that we think
that
we could do better for ourselves than God will do for us. If God
be
"good and loving to every man," it is manifest that, without any
pressure
being put upon him, he will do for each the best thing that
can
possibly be done. The people of Madagascar are wiser, in this matter
than
the people who throng our churches and our chapels, for they say,
addressing
the good Spirit, "We need not pray to thee, for thou, without
our
prayers, wilt give us all things that be good for us;" and then they
turn
to the evil Spirit, saying, that they must pray to _him_ lest, if
they
do not, he should work them harm, and send troubles in their way.
Prayer
implies that God judges all good gifts, and will withhold them
unless
they are wrung from his reluctant hands; it denies that he loves
his
creatures, and is good to all. In addition to this, it also
implies
that we will not trust him to judge what is best for us; on the
contrary,
we prefer to judge for ourselves, and to have our own way. If
a
trouble comes, it is prayed against, and God is besought "to remove
his
heavy hand." What does this mean, except that when God sends sorrow,
man
clamours for joy, and when God deems it best that his child should
weep,
the child demands cause for smiles? If people trusted God,
as
they pretend to trust him--if the phrases of the Sunday were the
practice
of the week--if men believed that God's ways were higher than
man's
ways, and his thoughts than their thoughts--then no Prayer would
ever
ascend from earth to the "Throne of grace," and man would welcome
joy
and sorrow, peace and care, wealth and poverty, as wise men welcome
nature's
order, when the rain comes down to swell the seed for the
harvest,
and the sunshine glows down upon earth to burnish the golden
grain.
But,
say the praying Christians, even if Prayer be not defensible as
homage
from the creature to the Creator, in that it lowers our idea of
God,
it must surely yet be natural as the instinctive cry from the child
to
the Father in heaven; and then follow arguments drawn from the family
and
the home, and the need of communion between parent and child. As a
matter
of fact,--taking the analogy, imperfect as it is--do we find much
Prayer,
as from child to parent, in the best and the happiest homes; _is
not
the amount of asking the exact measure of the imperfection of the
relationship?_
The wiser and the kinder the parent, the less will the
child
ask for; rather, it learns from experience to trust the older
wisdom,
and to be contented with the love which is ever giving,
unsolicited,
all good things. At the most, the simple expression of
the
child's wish is all that is needed, if the child desire anything
of
which the parent have not thought; and even this mere statement of a
wish
is still the result of _imperfection, i e._, the want of knowledge
on
the parent's part of the child's mind and heart In this case there
is
no pleading, no urging; the single request and single answer suffice;
there
is nothing which corresponds with the idea of the prophet to
pray
to God and to "give him no rest" until he grant the petition. In a
well-ordered
home, the child who persisted in pressing his request
would
receive a rebuke for his want of trust, and for his conceited
self-sufficiency;
and yet _this_ is the analogy on which Prayer to God
is
built up, and in this fashion "natural instincts" are dragged in, in
order
to support supernatural and artificial cravings.
Leaving
Prayer, as it affects man's relationship to God, let us look at
it
as it regards man's relationship to things around him, and ask if it
be
permitted by our scientific knowledge, and approved by experience and
by
history. The chief lesson of science is that all things work by law,
that
we dwell in a realm of law, and that _nothing_ goes by chance. All
science
is built up upon this idea; science is not possible unless this
primary
rule be correct; science is only the codified experience of the
race,
the observed sequence of to-day marked down for the guidance of
to-morrow,
the teaching of the past hived up for the improvement of
the
future. But all this accumulation and correlation of facts becomes
useless
if laws can be broken--i e., if this observed sequence of
phenomena
can be suddenly broken by the interposition of an unknown and
incalculable
force, acting spasmodically and guided by no discoverable
order
of action. Science is impossible if these "providential
occurrences"
may take place at any moment. A physician, in writing his
prescription,
selects the drugs which experience has pointed out as the
suitable
remedy for the disease under which his patient is labouring.
These
drugs have a certain effect upon the tissues of the human frame,
and
the physician calculates on this effect being produced; but if
Prayer
is to come in as a factor, of what use the physician's science?
Here
is suddenly introduced--to speak figuratively--a new drug of
unknown
power, and the effect of medicine plus Prayer can in no way be
calculated
upon. The prescription is either efficient or non-efficient;
if
it be efficient, Prayer is unnecessary, as the cure would take place
without
it; if it be non-efficient, and Prayer makes up the deficiency,
then
medical science is not needed, for the impotency of the drugs can
always
be balanced by the potency of the Prayer. This argument may be
used
as regards every science. Prayer is put up for a ship which goes to
sea.
The ship is fitted for the perils it encounters, or it is unfit. If
fitted,
it arrives safely without Prayer; if, though unfit, it
arrives,
being guarded by Prayer, then Prayer becomes a factor in the
shipbuilder's
calculations, and sound timbers and strong rivets sink
into
minor importance. If it be argued that to speak thus is to use
Prayer
unfairly, because it is our duty to take every proper means to
ensure
safety, what, is this except to say that, after all, Prayer is
only
a fiction, and that while we bow our knees to God, and pretend to
look
to _him_ for safety, we are really looking to the strong timbers of
the
ship-builder, and to the skill of the captain?
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
Science
teaches, also, that all phenomena are the results of preceding
phenomena,
and that an unbroken sequence of cause and effect stretches
back
further than our poor thoughts can reach. In stately harmony all
Nature
moves, evolving link after link of the endless chain, each link
bound
firmly to its predecessor, and affording, in its turn, the same
support
to its successor. Prayer is put up in the churches for fair
weather;
but rain and sunshine do not follow each other by chance, they
obey
a changeless law. To alter the weather of to-day means to alter
the
weather of countless yesterdays, which have faded away, one after
another,
"into the infinite azure of the past." The weather of to-day
is
the result of all those long-past phases of temperature, and, unless
they
were altered, no change is pos sible to-day. The Prayer that goes
up
in English churches should really run:--"O God, we pray thee to
change
all that thou hast wrought in the past; we, to-day, in this petty
corner
of thy world, are discontented with thy ordering; we desire of
thee,
then, that, to pleasure our fancy, thou wilt unroll the record of
the
past, and change all its order, remoulding its history to suit our
convenience
here to-day." It is difficult to say which is the worse, the
self-conceit
which deems its own petty needs worthy of such complaisance
of
Deity, or the ignorance which forgets the absurdities implied in the
request
it makes. But, after all, it is the ignorance which is to blame:
these
Prayers were written when science was scarcely born; in those days
God
was the immediate cause of each phenomena, sending rain from heaven
when
it pleased him, thundering from heaven against his enemies, pouring
hailstones
from heaven to slay his foes, opening and closing the windows
of
heaven to punish a wicked king or to pleasure an angry prophet. In
those
days heaven was very close to earth: so near that when it opened,
the
dying Stephen could see and recognise the form and features of the
Son
of Man; so near that, lest man should build a tower which should
reach
it, God had himself to descend and discomfit the builders. All
these
things were true to the writers whose words are repeated in
English
churches in the nineteenth century, and they naturally
believed
that what God wrought in days of old he could work also among
themselves.
But knowledge has shattered the fairy fabric which fancy had
raised
up; astronomy built towers--not of Babel--from which men could
gauge
the heaven, and find that through illimitable ether worlds
innumerable
rolled, and that where the throne of God should have been
seen,
suns and planets sped on their ceaseless rounds. Further and
further
back, the ancient God who dwelt among men was pressed back,
till
now, at last, no room is found for spasmodic divine solutions, but
Nature's
mighty order rolls on uninterrupted, in a silence unbroken by
voice
and undisturbed by miraculous volitions, bound by a golden chain
of
inviolable law. The most learned and the most thoughtful Christian
people
now acknowledge that prayer is out of place in dealing with
"natural
order;" but surely it is time that they should make their
voices
heard plainly, so as to erase from the Prayer-book these obsolete
notions,
born of an ignorance which the world has now outgrown. Few
really
_believe_ in the power of Prayer over the weather, but people go
on
from the sheer force of habit, repeating, parrot-like, phrases which
have
lost their meaning, because they are too indolent to exert thought,
or
too fettered by habit to test the Prayer of the Sunday by the
standard
of the week. When people begin to _think_ of what they repeat
so
glibly, the battle of Free Thought will have been won.
Many
earnest people, however, while recognising the fact that Prayer
ought
not to be used for rain, fine weather, and the like, yet think
that
it may be rightly employed to obtain "spiritual benefits." Is
not
this idea also the product of ignorance? When men knew nothing of
natural
laws they thought they could gain natural benefits by Prayer;
now
that people know nothing of "spiritual" laws, they think they can
gain
"spiritual" benefits by Prayer. In each case the Prayer springs
from
ignorance. Is it really more reasonable to expect to gain
miraculous
spiritual strength from Prayer, than to expect to give
vigour,
by Prayer, to arms enfeebled by fever? Growth, slow and steady,
is
Nature's law; no sudden leaps are possible; and no Prayer will give
that
spiritual stature which only develops by continual effort, and by
"patient
continuance in well-doing." The mind--which is probably what
is
generally meant by the word "spirit"--has its own laws, according to
which
it grows and strengthens; it is moulded, formed, developed, as
the
body is, by the play of the circumstances around it, and by the
organisation
with which it comes into the world, and which it has
inherited
from a long race of ancestors. Here, too, inexorable law
surrounds
all, and in mind, as in matter, the "reign of law" Is
all-embracing,
all-compelling.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
Is
Prayer approved by experience? It seems necessary here to refer to
the
experience of some, who say that they have found Prayer strengthen
them
to meet a trouble which they had dreaded, or to accomplish a duty
for
which their own ability was insufficient. This appears to be very
probable,
but the reason is not far to seek, and as the explanation of
the
increased strength may be purely natural, it seems unnecessary to
search
for a supernatural cause. Prayer, when earnest and heartfelt,
appears
to exert a kind of reflex action on the person praying, the
petition
not piercing heaven, but falling back upon earth. A duty has
to
be done or a trouble has to be faced; the person affected prays
for
help, and by the intense concentration of his thoughts, and by the
passion
of his desire, he naturally gains a strength he had not, when
he
was less deeply and thoroughly in earnest. Again, the interior
conviction
that a olivine strength is on his side, nerves his heart and
braces
his courage: the soldier fights with a tenfold courage when he
is
sure that endurance will make victory a certainty. But all this is no
proof
that God hears and answers Prayer; if it were so, it would prove
also
that the Virgin Mother, and all the saints, and Buddha, and Brahma,
and
Vishnu were alike hearers and answerers of Prayer. In all cases
the
sincere worshipper gains strength and comfort, and finds the same
"answer"
to his Prayer. Yet surely no one will contend that all these
are
"Prayer-hearing and Prayer-answering" Gods? This fancied answer is
not
a proof of the truth of the worshipper's belief, but is only a proof
_of
his conviction of its truth_; not the soundness of the belief, but
the
sincerity of the conviction, is proved by the glow and ardour which
succeed
the act of Prayer. All the dormant energies are aroused; the
soul's
whole strength is put forth; the worshipper is warmed by the fire
struck
from his own heart, and is thrilled with the electricity which
resides
in his own frame. So far, Prayer is found to be answered,
just
as every strong conviction, however erroneous, is found to confer
increased
strength and vigour on him who possesses it. But, excepting
this,
Prayer is not proved to be efficacious when tested by experience.
How
many Prayers have gone up to the Father in heaven from his children
overwhelmed
in the sea, and drowning in floods, and encircled by fire?
How
many passionate appeals of patriots and martyrs, of exiles and of
slaves?
How many cries of anguish from beside the beds of the dying,
and
the fresh graves of the newly-dead? In vain the wife's wail for the
husband,
the mother's pleading for the only child; no voice has answered
"Weep
not;" no command has replied, "Rise up;" the Prayers have fallen
back
on the breaking heart, poor white-winged birds that have tried
to
fly towards heaven, but have only sunk back to earth, their breasts
bruised
and bleeding from striking against the iron bars of a pitiless
and
relentless fate. So continually has Prayer failed to win an answer,
that,
in spite of the clearness and the force of the Bible promises in
regard
to it, Christians have found themselves obliged to limit their
extent,
and to say that God judges whether or no it will be beneficial
for
the worshipper to grant the petition, and if the Prayer be a
mistaken
one he will, in mercy, withhold the implored-for boon. Of
course,
this prevents Prayer from being ever tested by experience at
all,
because whenever a Prayer remains unanswered the reply is ready,
that
"it was not according to the will of God." This means, that we
cannot
test the value of Prayer in any way; we must accept its worth
wholly
as a matter of faith; we must pray because we are bidden to do
so,
and fulfil an useless form which affords no tangible results. In
this
melancholy position are we landed by an appeal to experience, by
which
we are challenged to test the value of Prayer.
-------Cardiff Theosophical Society
in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
The
answer of history is even yet more emphatic. The Ages of Prayer
are
the Dark Ages of the world. When learning was crushed out, and
superstition
was rampant, when wisdom was called witchcraft, and priests
ruled
Europe, then Prayer was always rising up to God from the countless
monasteries
where men dwarfed themselves into monks, and from the
convents
where women shrivelled up into nuns. The sound of the bell that
called
to Prayer was never silent, and the time that was needed for work
was
wasted in Prayer, and in the straining to serve God the service of
man
was neglected and despised.
There
is one obvious fact that throws into bright relief the absurdity
of
Prayer. Two people pray for exactly opposite things; whose Prayers
are
to be answered? Two armies ask for victory; which is to be crowned?
Amongst
ourselves, now, the Church is divided into two opposing camps,
and
while the Ritualists appeal to God for protection, the Evangelical
clamour
also for his aid. To which is he to bend his ear? which Prayer
is
he to answer? Both appeal to his promises; both urge that his honour
is
pledged to them by the word he has given; yet it is simply impossible
that
he should grant the Prayer of both, because the Prayer of the one
is
the direct contradiction of the prayer of the other.
Again,
none of the believers in Prayer appear to consider, that, if it
were
true that Prayer is so powerful a weapon--if it were true that by
Prayer
man can prevail with God--it would then be madness ever to pray
at
all. To pray would be as dangerous a thing as to put a cavalry sword
into
the hands of a child just strong enough to lift it, but unable to
control
it, or to understand the danger of its blows. Who can tell all
the
results to himself and to others which might flow from a granted
Prayer,
a Prayer made in all honesty of purpose, but in ignorance and
short-sightedness?
If Prayers really brought answers it would be most
wickedly
reckless ever to pray at all, as wickedly reckless as if a
man,
to quench a moment's thirst, pierced a hole in a reservoir of water
which
overhung a town.
But,
in spite of all arguments, in spite of all that reason can urge and
that
logic can prove, it is probable that many will still cling to the
practice
of Prayer, craving for the relief it gives to the feelings
of
the heart, however much it may be condemned by the judgment of the
intellect.
They seem to think that they will lose a great inspiration to
work
if they give up "communion with God," and that they will miss the
glow
of ardour which they deem they have caught from Prayer. But
surely
it may fairly be urged on them that no real good can arise
from
continuing a practice which it is impossible to defend when it is
carefully
analysed. Prayer is as the artificial stimulant which excites,
but
does not strengthen, and lends a factitious brightness, which is
followed
by deeper depression. Those who have prayed most have often
stated
that "seasons of special blessing" are generally followed by
"special
temptations of Satan." The reaction follows on the unreal
excitation,
and the soul that has been flying in heaven grovels upon
earth.
To the patient who is weak and depressed from long illness, the
bright
air of the morning seems chill and cold, and he yearns for the
warmth
of the artificial stimulants to which he has grown accustomed;
yet
better for him is it to gain health from the morning breezes, and
stimulus
from the glad clear sunshine, than to yield to the craving
which
is a relic of his disease. If they who find in communion with God
a
sweetness which is lacking when they commune with their brethren--if
they
who cultivate dependence on God would learn the true dependence of
man
on man--if they who yearn for the invisible would concentrate their
energies
on the visible--then they would soon find a sweetness in labour
which
would compensate for the languor of Prayer, and they would learn
to
draw from the joy of serving men, and from the serene strength of
an
earnest life, a warmth of inspiration, a passion of fervour, an
exhaustless
fount of energy, beside which all Prayer-given ardour would
seem
dull and nerveless, in the glow of which the fancied warmth of
God-communion
would seem as the pale cold moonshine in the glory of the
rising
sun.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
CONSTRUCTIVE
RATIONALISM.
IT
is a common complaint against the Rationalistic school of thought
that
they can destroy but cannot construct; that they tear down, but do
not
build up; that they are armed only with the axe and with the sword,
and
not with the trowel and the mason's line. "We have had enough of
negations,"
is a common cry; "give us something positive." Much of this
feeling
is foolish and unreasonable; the negation of error, where
error
is supreme, is necessary before the assertion of truth can become
possible.
Before a piece of ground can be sown with wheat, it must be
cleared
of the weeds which infest it; before a solid house can be built
in
the place of a crumbling ruin, the ancient rubbish must be carried
off,
and the rotten walls must be thoroughly pulled down. Destructive
criticism
is necessary and wholesome; the heavy battering-ram of science
must
thunder against the walls of the churches; the swift arrows of
logic
must rain on the black-robed army; the keen lance-points of
irony
must pierce through the leather jerkin of superstition. But the
destruction
of orthodox Christianity being accomplished, there remains
for
the Rationalist much more to do. He has to frame a code which shall
rule
in the place of the code of Moses and of Jesus; he has to found
a
morality which shall replace the morality of the Bible; he has to
construct
an ideal which shall be as attractive as the ideal of the
Churches;
he has to proclaim laws which shall supersede revelation: in a
word,
he has to build up the religion of humanity.
As
the Rationalist looks abroad over the contending armies of faith and
of
reason, he gradually recognises the fact that his new religion, if it
is
to serve as a bond of union, must stand on stable ground, apart from
the
warring hosts. Round the idea of God rages the hottest din of the
battle.
The old, popular, and traditional belief is wounded to
the
death, and is slowly breathing out its life. The philosophical
subtleties
of the metaphysician are beyond the grasp of folk busied
chiefly
with common work. The new school of Theists, believers in a
"spiritual
personal God," stands on a slippery incline, whereon is
no
firm foothold. It simply spreads over the abysses of thought
a
sentimental veil of poetical imaginings, and bows down before a
beatified
and celestial man, whose image it has sculptured out of the
thought-marble
of its sublimest aspirations. If the idea of God be thus
warred
over, thus changing, thus uncertain, it is plain that the new
religion
cannot find its foundation on this shifting and disputed
ground.
While theologians are wrangling about God, plain men are looking
wistfully
over the shattered idols to find the ideal to which they
can
cling. The new religion, then, studying the varying phases of the
God-idea,
seizes on its one permanent element, its idealised resemblance
to
man, its embodiment of the highest humanity; and, grasping this
thought,
it turns to men and says, "In loving God you are only loving
your
own highest selves; in conforming yourselves to the Divine image
you
are only conforming yourselves to your own highest ideals; the
unknown
God whom you ignorantly worship, him declare I unto you; in
serving
your family, your neighbours, your country, you serve this
unknown
God; this God is Humanity, the race to which you belong; this is
the
veiled God whom all generations have worshipped in heaven, while he
trod
the world around them in every human form; this is the only God,
the
God who is manifest in the flesh: "--
"There is no God, O son, If thou be
none."
The
first great constructive effort of the new religion is thus to
transform
the idea of God, and to turn all men's aspirations, all men's
hopes,
all men's labours, into this channel of devotion to humanity,
that
so the practical outcome of the new motive power may be a steady
flow
of loving and energetic work for man, work that begins in the
family,
and spreads, in ever-widening circles, over the whole race.
This
transformation of the central figure necessarily transforms also
the
whole idea of religion, which must take its colour from that centre.
Revelation
from heaven being no longer possible, its place must be
supplied
by study on earth: revealed laws being no longer attainable, it
becomes
the duty of the Humanitarian to discover natural laws. This
duty
is the more cheering from the manifest failure of revealed laws, as
exemplified
in popular Christianity. "Law," in the mouth of the believer
in
revelation, means a command issued by God; the "laws of Nature" are
the
rules laid down by God, in accordance with which all things move;
they
are the behests of the Creator of Nature, the controlling wires of
the
mechanism, held by the hand of God. But "law" in the mouth of
the
Rationalist means nothing more than the observed and registered
invariable
sequence of events. Thus it is said "a stone falls to
the
ground in obedience to the law of gravitation." By the "law of
gravitation"
the Christian would mean that God had ordered that all
stones
_should_ so fall. The Rationalist would simply mean that all
stones
_do_ so fall, and that invariable sequence he calls the "law of
gravitation."
Obedience to the laws of Nature replaces, in the religion
of
Humanity, obedience to the laws of God. As there is no inspired
revelation
of these laws the student must carefully and patiently
ascertain
them, either by direct observation, or most often, in the
books
of those who have devoted their lives to the elucidation of
Nature's
code. Scientific books will, in fact, replace the Bible, and by
the
study of the laws of health, both physical, moral, and mental, the
Rationalist
will ascertain the conditions which surround him to which he
must
conform himself if he desires to retain physical, moral, and mental
vigour.
This difference in the authority which is obeyed leads naturally
to
the difference of morality between the orthodox Christian and the
Rationalist.
Christian morality consists of obedience to the will of
God,
as revealed in the Bible. The grand difficulty regarding this
obedience
is, that the will of Jehovah, as revealed to the Jews at
different
times, varies so much from age to age that the most zealous
Christian
must fail to obey all the conflicting behests prefaced by a
"Thus
saith the Lord." God would, of course, never command any one to do
a
thing which was directly wrong, yet God distinctly said: "Thou
shalt
not suffer a Witch to live;" and God sanctioned Slavery, and
God
commanded Persecution on account of religious convictions: true,
Christians
plead that all these laws are obsolete, but what is that but
to
acknowledge that revealed morality is obsolete, _i.e._, that it was
never
revealed by God at all. For a command to persecute must be either
right
or wrong: if right, it is the duty of Christians to obey it,
and
to raise once more the stakes of Smithfield for heretics and
unbelievers;
if wrong, it can never have come from God at all, and must
be
blasphemously attributed to him. In God, Christians tell us there is
no
changeableness, neither shadow of turning; then what pleased him in
long
past ages would please him still, and what he commanded yesterday
would
be right to-day. Thus fatally does revealed morality fail when
tested,
and it becomes impossible to know which particular "will of
God"
he desires that we should obey. Now, once more, the Rationalist
experiences
the advantages of his new motive-power; he has to serve
Humanity,
and is unencumbered by the difficulties attendant upon
"pleasing
God." Not the pleasure of God, but the benefit of man, is
the
basis of his morality. Revealed morality is as a child's garment,
into-which
one should try to force the limbs of a full-grown man; it
is
the morality of the past stereotyped for the use of today, and is
clumsy,
archaic, half-illegible from age. Rational morality, on the
other
hand, grows with the growth of those who follow its dictates; its
errors
are corrected by wider experience, its omissions are filled up by
the
irrefragable arguments of necessity. It is founded upon the needs of
man;
his happiness is its sole object; not only his physical happiness,
not
only the fulfilment of the desires of the body for ease and comfort,
but
the satisfaction also of all the cravings of his intellectual
and
moral powers, the love of truth, the love of beauty, the love of
justice.
A morality founded on this basis can never be overthrown; one
sure
test it affords whereby to decide on the morality or the immorality
of
any-given action: "Is it useful to man? does it tend to the promotion
of
human happiness?" The will of God is doubtful, and is always
disputable,
and therefore it can never form the foundation of a
universal
system of morality, a code which shall unite all men in
obedience.
A code which shall unite all men must needs be founded on
those
human interests which are common to all men. Such a code is the
utilitarian.
For man's happiness is on earth, and can be known and
understood;
the promotion of that happiness is an intelligible aim;
the
test of morality may be applied by every one; it is a system which
everybody
can understand, and which the common sense of each must
approve,
for by it man lives for man, man labours for man, the efforts
of
each are directed to the good of all, and only in the happiness of
the
whole can the happiness of each part be perfected and complete.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
There
is much popular misconception with regard to utilitarianism:
"utility"
is supposed to include only those material things which are
useful
to the body, and which tend to increase physical comfort. But
utility
includes all art; for art cultures the taste and refines the
nature.
It thus adds a thousand charms to life, deepens, softens,
purifies
human happiness. Utility includes all study, for study-awakens
and
trains the intellectual faculties, and therefore increases the
sources
of happiness possible to man. Utility includes all science; for
science
is man's true providence, foreseeing the dangers that threaten
him,
and shielding him against their shock. Science leads man up to
those
intellectual heights where to stand awhile and breathe in the
keen,
clear air after dwelling in the turbid atmosphere of daily toils
and
cares, is as the refreshment of the pure mountain wind to the weary
inhabitant
of the crowded city streets.. Utility includes all love and
search
of truth; for the discovery of a truth is the keenest pleasure of
which
the noblest mind is susceptible. It includes all sublimest virtue;
for
self-sacrifice and devotion yield the purest forms-of happiness
to
be found on earth. In a word, utility includes everything which is
_useful_
in building up a grander manhood and womanhood, wiser, purer,
truer,
tenderer than that we have to-day.
Such
is the basis of the morality which is to supersede the supernatural
morality
of the Churches; a morality which is: for this life and for
this
world, since we have this life, and are in this world; a morality
which
seeks to ensure human happiness on this side the grave, instead of
dreaming
of it on the other side; a morality which endeavours to carve
solid
heavens here, instead of seeing them in distant cloud-lands, white
and
soft and beautiful, but still only clouds.
One
vast advantage of this humanitarian philosophy is that it endeavours
to
train men into unselfishness, instead of following the popular
Christian
plan of making self the central thought. Self is appealed to
at
every step in the New Testament: if we are bidden to rejoice under
persecution,
it is because "great is your reward in heaven;" if urged
to
pray, it is because "thy Father, which seeth in secret, himself shall
reward
thee openly;" if to be charitable, it is because at the judgment
it
will bring a kingdom as the recompense; if to resign home or wealth,
it
is because we shall receive "a hundredfold in this present life, and
in
the world to come life everlasting;" even the giver of a cup of cold
water
"shall in no wise lose his reward." It is one system of bribes,
mingling
the thought of personal pain with every effort of human
improvement
and human happiness, and thereby directly fostering and
encouraging
selfishness and gilding it over with the name of religion
and
piety. Humanitarian morality, on the other hand, while utilising the
natural
and rightful craving for individual happiness as a motive-power,
endeavours
to accustom each to look to, and to labour for, the happiness
of
all, making that general happiness the aim of life. Thus it gradually
weakens
the selfish tendencies and encourages the social, holding
up
ever the noble ideal by the very contemplation of its beauty
transforming
its votaries into its likeness. "Vivre pour au-trui," is
the
motto of the utilitarian code; and in so living the fullest and
happiest
life for self is really attained; so closely drawn are the
bands
that bind men together that happiness and unhappiness re-act from
one
to another, and as the general standard of happiness rises higher
and
higher, the wheels of social life run more and more easily, with
less
of friction, less of jar, and therefore with increased comfort to
each
individual member. While Christianity developes selfishness by
its
continual cry of "Save thyself," Utilitarianism gradually developes
unselfishness
by the nobler whisper, "Save others, and in so doing
thou
shalt thyself be saved." Delivered from every debasing fear of an
unknowable
and inscrutable power, Utilitarianism works with a single
heart
and a single eye for the happiness of the race, stamping with
the
brand of "wrong" every act the general repetition of which would be
harmful
to society, or the tendency of which is injurious, and sealing
as
"right" every act which brightens human life, and makes the general
happiness
more perfect, and more widely spread. As morality rises higher
and
higher, human judgment will grow keener and purer, and in the times
to
come probably many an act now approved on all sides will be seen to
be
harmful, and will therefore become marked as immoral, while, on the
other
hand, acts that are now considered wrong, because "offensive
to
God," will be seen to be beneficial to man, and will therefore be
accepted
by all as moral. Thus Utilitarian morality can never be a bar
to
progress, for it will become higher and nobler as man mounts upwards.
Revealed
morality is as a milestone on the road of the world's onward
march:
it marks how far the world had travelled when its tables of
law
were first set up in its place: as a milestone, it is useful,
interesting,
and instructive, and none would desire to destroy it; but
if
the milestone be removed from its post as a mark of distance, and be
laid
across the road as a barrier which none must overclimb in days to
come,
then it becomes necessary for the pioneers of progress to hew
it
to pieces that men may go on their way unchecked, and this revealed
morality
now lies across the upward path of the world, and must be
broken
in pieces with the hammer of logic and the axe of common sense,
so
that we may press ever higher up the mountain of progress, whose
summit
is hid in everlasting cloud.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
And
what has constructive Rationalism to say to us, when we stand face
to
face with the mighty destroyer of all living things? "Your creed may
do
well enough to live by," say-objectors, "but is it good to die
by?"
A
creed that is good in life must needs be good in death, and never yet
was
a hero-life closed by a coward death. What can better smooth the bed
of
the dying man than the knowledge that the world is the happier for
his
living, that he leaves it better than he found it, that he has
helped
to raise and to purify it? What easier pillow to rest the dying
head
on than the memory of a useful life? The Rationalist has no fear
lurking
around his death-bed; no lurid gleams from a hell on the other
side
lighten around him as his breath begins to fail; no angry God
frowns
on him from the great white throne; no devil stands beside him
to
drag him down into the bottomless pit; quietly, peacefully, happily,
without
fear and without dread, he passes out of life. As calmly as the
tired
child lies down to sleep in its mother's arms, and passes into
dreamless
unconsciousness, so calmly does the Rationalist lie down in
the
arms of the mighty mother, and pass into dreamless unconsciousness
on
her bosom.
To
the Rationalist, the future of the race replaces in thought the
future
of the individual; for that he thinks, for that he plans, for
that
he labours. A heaven upon earth for those who come after him, such
is
his inspiration to effort and to self-devotion. He seeks the smile of
man
instead of the smile of God, and finds in the thought of a happier
humanity
the spur that Christians seek in the thought of pleasing God.
His
hopes for the future spread far and wide before him, but it is a
future
to be inherited by his children in this same world in which he
himself
lives; freer and fuller life, wider knowledge, deepened and more
polished
culture--all these are to be the heritage of the generations
to
come, and it is his to make that heritage the richer by every grander
thought
and nobler deed that he can do to-day.
Let
us place side by side the dogmas of Christianity and the motive
power
of the Rationalist, and see which of these two is the gladder
life-moulder
of man. Christianity has a God in heaven, all powerful and
all-wise,
who in ages gone by made the universe and fore-ordained all
that
should happen in time to come; who created man and woman with a
serpent
to tempt them, and made for them the opportunity of falling;
who,
having made the opportunity, forced them to take it. It is said
that
Adam and Eve were free agents, but they were nothing of the kind,
for
the lamb was slain from the foundation of the world: the sacrifice
was
offered before the sin was committed; and the sacrifice being made,
the
sin was its necessary consequence. If Adam had been free, he might
not
have sinned, and then there would have been a slain lamb and no
sin
for which he could atone; but God, having provided the Saviour,
was
obliged to provide the sinner, and therefore he made the tree of
knowledge
and sent the tempter to entrap the parents of mankind. They
fell,
according to God's predestination, and thus became accursed, and
then
the waiting Redeemer was revealed, and "the divine scheme" was
complete.
Accursed for a sin in which they had no part, the children of
Adam
are born with an evil nature, and being evil they act evilly, and
thereby
sink lower and lower; at their feet yawns a bottomless pit, and
the
road to it is broad, easy, and pleasant; above their heads shines
a
luxurious heaven, and the path is narrow, steep, and rugged. Their
nature--God-given
to all--drags them downwards; the Holy Ghost--God
given
to some--drags them upwards: immortality is their inheritance, and
"few
there be that find" immortal happiness, while "many there be that
go
in" at the gate of hell to immortal woe; a severance, bitter beyond
all
earthly bitterness of parting, is in store for all, since, at the
great
day of judgment, "one shall be taken and the other left," and
there
will not be a family some of whose members will not be lost for
ever.
Eternal life, to the vast majority, is to mean eternal torment,
and
they are to be "salted with fire," burning yet never burnt up,
consuming
ever but never consumed. Towards the gaining of heaven,
towards
the avoidance of hell, all human effort must be turned. "What
shall
it profit a man if he gain the whole world, and lose his own
soul?"
All life must be one striving "to enter in at the strait gate,
for
many shall seek to enter in and shall not be able;" poverty,
oppression,
misery, what matters it? the "light affliction which is but
for
a moment worketh a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory."
Thus
this world is forgotten for the sake of another, crushed out of
sight
beneath the overwhelming grandeur of eternity; the spur to human
effort
is blunted by the infinitesimal importance of time as compared
with
eternity; bad government, bad laws, injustice, tyranny, pauperism,
misery,
all these things need not move us, for "we seek a better
country,
that is a heavenly;" we are "strangers and pilgrims;" "here
we
have
no continuing city, but we seek one to come;" "our citizenship is
in
heaven," and there also is our home. True, Christians do not carry
out
into daily life these phrases and thoughts of their creed, but in
so
much as they do not they are the less Christian, and the more
imbued
with the spirit of Rationalism. Rationalists they are, the vast
majority,
six days in the week, and are only Christians on the Sunday.
To
come out of, these old world dreams into Rationalism is like coming
into
the open air after a hothouse. Rationalism clears away the terrible
God
of orthodoxy, the fall, the serpent, the Saviour, the hell, the
devil.
"Work, toil, struggle," it cries to man; "the ills around you
are
not the appointment of God, not the effects of his curse; they arise
from
your own ignorance, and may all be cleared away by your own study,
and
your own effort. Salvation? Yes, you need saviours, but the saviours
must
save you from earthly woes and not from the wrath of God; save
yourselves,
by thought, by wisdom, by earnestness. Redemption? yes,
you
need redeeming, but the redemption you want is from vice, from
ignorance,
from poverty, and must be wrought out by human effort.
Prayer?
yes, you need praying for, but the prayer you want is work
compelling
the result; not crying out for what you desire, but winning
it
by labour and by toil. The world stretches wide before you, capable
of
paying you a thousandfold for all you do for it. Life is in your
hands,
full of all glorious possibilities; throw away your dreams of
heaven,
and make heaven here; leave aside visions of the life to come,
and
make beautiful the life which is."
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
Full
of hope, full of joy, strong to labour, patient to endure, mighty
to
conquer, goes forth the new glad creed into the sad grey Christian
world;
at her touch men's faces soften and grow purer, and women's eyes
smile
instead of weeping; at last, at last, the heir arises to take
to
himself his own, and the negation of the usurped sovereignty of
the
popular and traditional God over the world developes into the
affirmation
of the rightful monarchy of man.
THE
BEAUTIES OF THE PRAYER-BOOK.
MORNING
PRAYER.
"HABIT,
is second nature," saith a wise old saw, so it must be from
custom
that it has become natural to Church people to repeat placidly,
week
after week, the same palpable self-contradictions and absurdities.
A
sensible, shrewd man of business puts away his papers on the Saturday
night,
and apparently locks his mind up with them in his desk; certain
it
is that he
"Goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,"
and
yet never discovers that his boys are repeating the most
contradictory
responses, while the parson is enunciating as axioms the
most
startling propositions.
When
the preliminary silence in church is broken by the "sentences,"
the
first words that fall from the clergyman's lips are a distinct
declaration
of the conditions of salvation: "When the wicked man turneth
away
from his wickedness that he hath committed, and doeth that which
is
lawful and right, he shall save his soul alive;" and we are further
instructed
as to our sins, that "if we confess our sins, He is
faithful
and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from
all
unrighteousness." These very plain statements take high and
comprehensible
ground. God is supposed to desire that man should be
righteous,
and is, therefore, naturally satisfied when "the wicked
forsakes
his way and the unrighteous man his path." We proceed, then, to
confess
our sins, and after Mrs. A., whose eyes are straying after her
neighbour's
bonnet, has confessed that she is erring and straying like a
lost
sheep, and Mrs. B., who is devising a way to make an old dress look
new,
has owned plaintively that she is following the devices of her own
heart;
and Squire C, of the rubicund visage and broad shoulders, has
sonorously
remarked that there is no health in him, and his son, with
the
joyous face, has cheerfully acknowledged that he is a miserable
sinner--after
these very appropriate and reasonable confessions, to a
Divine
Being who "seeth the heart," and may therefore be supposed to
take
them for what they are worth, have been duly gone through, we are
somewhat
puzzled to hear the clergyman announce that God "pardoneth and
absolveth
all them that truly repent, _and unfeignedly believe His holy
Gospel._"
What is this sudden appendix to the before-declared conditions
of
salvation? We had been told that if we confessed our sins God's
faithfulness
and justice would cause him to forgive us; here we have
duly
done so, and surely the language is sufficiently strong; we are
yet
suddenly called upon to believe a "holy Gospel" as a preliminary
to
forgiveness. But we are not yet, to use a colloquialism, out of the
wood;
for while we are moodily meditating on this infraction of our
contract
the time slips on unobserved, and, it being a feast-day, we
are
startled by a stern voice conveying the cheerful intelligence,
"Whosoever
will be saved, _before all things_, it is necessary that he
hold
the Catholic Faith. Which Faith except every one do keep whole and
undefiled,
without doubt he shall perish everlastingly." "Before all
things?"
before repentance? before turning away from our wickedness?
before
doing that which is lawful and right? And what is this "Faith"
which
we must keep whole and undefiled if we would save our souls alive?
A
bewildering jumble of triplets and units, mingled in inextricable
confusion.
But as he that "will be saved must thus think of the
Trinity,"
we will try and disentangle the thread of salvation. "The
Father
is God, the Son is God, and the Holy Ghost is God," says the
parson.
"They are not three Gods, but one God," shout out the people.
We
are compelled "to acknowledge every Person by Himself to be God and
Lord,"
reiterates the parson. "We are forbidden by the Catholic Religion
to
say there be three Gods or three Lords," obstinately persist the
people.
Then, after some rather intrusive particulars about the family
(and
very intricate) relations of the Father to the Son, and of both to
the
Holy Ghost, we are told that "so"--why so?--"there is one
Father,
not
three Fathers, one Son, not three Sons, one Holy Ghost, not three
Holy
Ghosts." In so far as we have been able to follow the meaning, or
rather
the no-meaning, of the preceding sentences, no one said anything
about
three Fathers, three Sons, or three Holy Ghosts. The definite
article
_the_ had been used in each case with a singular noun. We
imagine
the clause must have been inserted because all ideas as to the
meaning;
of numerals must have been by this time so hopelessly lost by
the
congregation, that it became necessary to remark that "the Father"
meant
one Father, and not three. The list of necessaries for salvation
is
not yet complete, for "furthermore it is necessary to everlasting
salvation,
that he also believe rightly the Incarnation of our Lord
Jesus
Christ." So far, then, from its being true that the wicked man who
turns
from his sins shall save his soul alive, we find that our sinner
must
also believe the Gospel, must accept contradictory arithmetical
assertions,
must think of the Trinity in a way which makes thought a
ludicrous
impossibility, and must believe _rightly_ all the details
of
the method by which a Divine Being became a human being. If a sinner
chances
to go out of church after the first sentence, and from being
a
drunkard becomes temperate, from being a liar becomes truthful, from
being
a profligate becomes chaste, and foolishly imagines that he
is
thereby doing God's will, and thus saving his soul alive, he will
certainly,
according to the Athanasian Creed, wake up from his pleasant
delusion
to find himself in everlasting fire. As sceptics, we need offer
no-opinion
as to which is right, the creed or the text; we only suggest
that
both cannot be correct, and that it would be more satisfactory if
the
Church, in her wisdom, would make up her venerable mind which is
the
proper path, and then keep in it. After all this, we are in no way
surprised
to learn from a collect that being saved is dependent on quite
a
new support, namely, on the knowledge we have of God. How many more
things
may be necessary to salvation it is impossible to say at this
point,
but the office for Morning Prayer, at any rate, gives us no more.
It
would be rash to conclude, however, that we have fulfilled all, for
the
Church has some more scattered up and down her Prayer-Book; the end
of
all which double-dealing is, that we can never be sure that we have
really
fulfilled every condition; sad experience teaches us that
when
the Church says, "do so-and-so, and you shall be saved," she is,
meanwhile,
whispering under her breath, "provided you also do everything
else."
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
We
fail also to see the reasonableness of the constant cry, "for the
sake
of Jesus Christ," or "through Jesus Christ." We ask that we may
lead
"a godly, righteous, and sober life" _for His sake_; but this is
just
what we are told God wishes already, so why should He be asked to
grant
it for some one else's sake, as though He were unwilling that we
should
be righteous, and can only be coaxed into allowing us to be so by
a
favourite son? In the same way we are to come to God's "eternal joy,"
through
Jesus, which is, by the way, another of these endless conditions
of
salvation. We ask to be defended from our enemies "through the might
of
Jesus Christ," as though God Himself was not strong enough for the
task;
and God is urged to send down His healthful Spirit for the "honour
of
our advocate and Mediator," although that very advocate told His
disciples
that God would always give that spirit to those who asked
for
it. To the outside critic, these continual references to Jesus,
as
though God grudged all good gifts, appear very dishonouring to the
"Father
in Heaven."
Is
it considered necessary to press God vehemently to hurry himself?
"O
God, make speed to save us. O Lord, make haste to help us." Will
not
God, of his own accord, do things at the best possible time? and
further,
is it possible for a Divine Being to make haste?
It
will, perhaps, be considered hypercritical to object to the
versicles:
"Give peace in our time, O Lord, because there is none other
that
fighteth for us but only thou, O God." What more do they want than
an
almighty reinforcement? "None other?" Well, we should have fancied
that
God and somebody else were really more than were needed. At any
rate
it sounds very insulting to say to God, "please give us peace,
since
we cannot count on any assistance except yours."
We
have nothing to say about the prayers for the Royal Family, except
that
they do not show any very attractive results, and that it must have
much
edified George IV. to hear himself spoken of as a "most religious
and
gracious king." Never surely was a family so much prayed for, but
_cui
bono?_ If the "Bishops, Curates, and all congregations" truly
please
God, he is about, the only person that they succeed in pleasing,
for
the Bishops abuse the clergy, and the clergy abuse the Bishops,
and
the congregations abuse both. Of the last prayer, we must note
the
exceeding failure of the petition to grant the Church knowledge of
truth,
and we cannot help marvelling why, if they really desire to know
the
truth, they so invariably frown at and endeavour to crush out every
earnest
search after truth, every effort for clearer light. Of all
things
that can happen to the Church, the knowledge of the truth would
be
the least "expedient for" her, for she would fade away before the
sunshine
of truth as ghosts are said to fly at the cockcrow which
announces
the dawn.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
A
criticism on the office of Morning Prayer is scarcely complete
without
a few words upon the canticles appointed to be daily sung by
the
faithful to the glory of God. Any thing more ludicrously absurd than
these
from the lips of our congregations it would indeed be difficult to
imagine.
The _Venite_ (Ps. xcv.) is the first we are called upon to take
part
in, and the first shock comes when we find ourselves-chanting
"The
Lord is a great God and a _great king above all gods_." "Above
all
Gods!" what terrible heresy have we been unwittingly committing
ourselves
to? Is there not only one God--or, at least, it may be
three--but,
if three, they are co-equal, and no one is above the other;
who
are these "all gods" that "the Lord" is "king
above?" We remember
for
a moment that when this psalm was written the gods of the nations
around
Israel were believed to have a real existence, and that,
therefore,
it was no inconsistency in the mouth of the Hebrew to rejoice
that
his national god was ruler above the gods of other peoples. This
explanation
is reasonable, but then it does not explain why we, who
believe
not in this multiplicity of deities should pretend that we do.
Our
equanimity is not restored by the next phrase, "In his hand are all
the
corners of the earth;" but the earth is a globe, and has no corners.
A
misty remembrance floats through our mind of Irćneus stating that
there
were four gospels because there were four corners to the earth and
four
winds that blew; but since his time things have changed, and the
corners
have been smoothed off. Is it quite honest to say in God's
praise
a thing which we know to be untrue, and must we be unscientific
because
we are devotional? We then hear about our fathers being forty
years
in the wilderness, although we know that they were not there at
all,
unless the people--generally looked upon as amiable lunatics--are
correct,
who assert that the English nation is descended from the ten
lost
tribes of Israel. Why should we pretend to God that we are Jews,
when
both He and we know perfectly well that we are nothing of the kind?
We
come to the _Te Deum_, said to have been composed by S. Ambrose for
the
baptism of S. Augustine:--"To thee cherubin and seraphin continually
do
cry." Putting aside the manifest weariness both to God and to the
cryers
of the never-ceasing repetition of these words, and the degrading
idea
of God implied in the thought that it gives Him any pleasure to
be
perpetually assured of His holiness, as though it were a doubtful
matter--we
cannot help inquiring, "Who are these cherubin and seraphin?"
According
to the Bible, they are six-winged creatures, who cover their
faces
with two wings, and their feet with two more, and fly with the
remaining
pair: they may be seen in pictures of the ark, balancing
themselves
on their feet-covering wings, and preventing themselves
from
falling by steadying each other with another pair. "Lord God of
Sabaoth,"
or of "Hosts;" is this a reasonable name for one supposed to
be
a "God of peace?" The elder Jewish and the Christian ideas of God
here
come into direct collision: according to one, "the Lord is a man
of
war" (Ex. xv.), while the other represents him as "the Everlasting
Father,
the Prince of Peace" (Isai. ix.). The _Te Deum_ midway changes
the
object of its song, and addresses itself to the Son instead of to
the
Father. How far this is permissible is much disputed, for certain
it
is that in the early ages of Christianity prayer was addressed to the
Father
_only_, and that one of the Fathers* sharply rebukes those who
pray
to the Son, since they thereby deprive the Father of the honour due
to
Him alone. How this can be, when Father and Son are one, we do not
pretend
to explain. Then ensue those curious details regarding Christ
which
we shall touch upon in dealing later with the Apostles' Creed.
We
find ourselves, presently, asking to be kept "this day without sin;"
yet,
we are perfectly well aware, all the time, that God will do nothing
of
the kind, and that all Christians believe that they sin every day.
Why
does the Church teach her children to sing this in the morning, and
then
prepare a "confession" for the evening, unless she feels perfectly
sure
that God will pay no attention to her prayer? The wearisome
reiteration
in the _Benedicite_ is so thoroughly recognised that it is
very
seldom heard in the church, while the _Benedictus_ (Luke i.) is
open
to the same charge of unreality as is the _Venite_, that it is a
song
for Jews only.
* Origen.
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206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
Many
other faults and absurdities might be pointed cut which disfigure
Morning
Prayer, even if the whole idea of prayer be left untouched.
The
prayers of the-Prayer-Book are dishonouring to God from their
childishness,
their unreality, their folly, their conflict with sound
knowledge.
Allowing that prayer may be reasonable, these prayers are
unreasonable;
allowing that prayer may be reverent, these prayers are
irreverent;
allowing that prayer may be sincere, these prayers are
insincere.
They are fragments of an earlier age transplanted into the
present,
and they are as ludicrous as would be men walking about in
our
streets to-day clad in the armour of the Middle Ages, the ages of
Darkness
and of Prayer.
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206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
EVENING
PRAYER.
The
Church, in her wisdom, fearing that the quaint conceits and
impossibilities
which we have referred to, the--
"Jewels which adorn the spouse of the
eternal glorious King,"
should
not be sufficiently appreciated and admired by her children, if
presented
to their adoration once only on every day, has appointed for
the
use of the faithful an office of Evening Prayer, which, in its main
features,
is identical with that which is to be "said or sung" each
morning.
Sentences, address, confession, absolution, Lord's Prayer, and
versicles,
are all exactly reproduced, and Psalms and Lessons follow
in
due course, varying from day to day. To take the whole Psalter, and
analyse
it, would be a task too-long for our own patience, or for that
of
our readers, so we only pick out a few salient absurdities, and ask
why
English men and women should be found singing sentences which have
no
beauty to recommend them, and no meaning to dignify them. We will not
lay
stress on the quaintness of a congregation standing up and gravely
singing:
"Or ever your pots be made hot with thorns, so let indignation
vex
him, even as a thing that is raw" (Ps. lviii.); we will not ask what
the
clergyman means when he reads out to his congregation: "Though ye
have
lien among the pots, yet shall ye be as the wings of a dove." (Ps.
lxviii.)
These are isolated passages, which a pen might erase, retaining
the
major part of the Psalter: we go further, and challenge it as a
whole,
asserting that it is ludicrously inappropriate as a song-book for
sensible
people, even although those people may be desirous of praying
to,
or praising God. Our strictures are here levelled, not at prayer as
prayer,
but simply at this particular form of prayer. In the first place
the
Psalter is written only for a single nation; it is full of local
allusions,
and of references of Israelitish history, which are only
reasonable
in the mouth of a Jew. With what amount of sense can an
English
congregation every 15th evening of the month sing such a Psalm
as
the lxxviii., recounting all the marvels of the plagues and of the
exodus,
or on the following day plead with God to help them, because
"the
heathen are come into Thine inheritance; Thy holy temple have they
defiled,
and made Jerusalem an heap of stones?" (Ps. lxxix.) Is there
any
respect to God in telling him that "we are become an open shame to
our
enemies; a very scorn and derision unto them that are round about
us"
(v. 4), when, as a matter of simple fact, the speakers are become
nothing
of the kind? Can it be thought to be consistent with reverence
to
God to make these extraordinary assertions in praying to Him, and
then
to base upon them the most urgent pleas for His immediate aid? for
we
find the congregation proceeding: "Help us, O God of our salvation,
for
the glory of Thy Name; O deliver us and be merciful unto our sins
for
Thy Name's sake.... O let the vengeance of Thy servant's blood
which
is shed be openly shewed upon the heathen in our sight. O let the
sorrowful
sighing of the prisoners come before Thee; according to the
greatness
of Thy power, preserve Thou those that are appointed to die"
(w.
9, 10, 11). Now in all sober seriousness what does this mean? Is
this
addressed to God, or is it not? If it be, is it right and fit to
address
to him words that are absolutely untrue, and to cry urgently for
aid
which is not required, and which He cannot possibly give? If it be
not,
is it decent to solemnly sing or read phrases seemingly addressed
to
God, but really not intended to be noticed by him, phrases which use
His
name as though an appeal to Him were seriously made? It cannot be
healthy
to juggle thus with words, and to make emotional prayers which
are
utterly devoid of all meaning. Some devout persons talk very freely
about
the wickedness of blasphemy, but is not that kind of game with
God,
in wailings which are devoid of reality, appeals not intended to be
answered,
a far more real blasphemy in the mouth of any one who believes
in
Him as a hearer of prayer, than the so-called blasphemy of those who
distinctly
assert that to them the popular and traditional "God" is
a
phantom, and that they see no reason to believe in His existence?
Passing
from this graver aspect of the use of the Psalter as a
congregational
song-book, we notice how purely comic many of the psalms
would
appear to us had not the habit-fashion of our lives accustomed us
to
repeat them in a parrot-like manner, without attaching the smallest
meaning
to the words so glibly recited. "Every night wash I my bed and
water
my couch with my tears" (Ps. vi.), is sung innocently by laughing
maiden
and merry youth, the bright current of whose life is undimmed by
the
shadow of grief. "Bring unto the Lord, O ye mighty, bring young
rams
unto the Lord" (Ps. xxix.), is solemnly read out by the country
clergyman,
who would be beyond measure astonished if his direction were
complied
with. Then we find the congregation making the certainly untrue
assertion:
"Moab is my wash-pot; over Edom will I cast out my shoe;
Philistia,
be thou glad of me" (Ps. lx.). At another time they cry out,
"O,
clap your hands together, all ye people" (Ps. xlvii.); they speak
of
processions which have no existence, "The singers go before, the
minstrels
follow after, in the midst are the damsels playing on the
timbrels"
(Ps. lxviii.). Another phase of this Psalter, which is
offensive
rather than comic, is the habit of swearing and cursing which
pervades
it; we find Christians, who are bidden to love their enemies,
and
to bless them that curse them, pouring out curses of the most
fearful
character, and displaying the most reckless hatred: "The
righteous
shall rejoice when he seeth the vengeance; he shall wash his
footsteps
in the blood of the ungodly" (Ps. lviii.). "Let them fall from
one
wickedness into another, and not come into Thy righteousness" (Ps.
lxix.).
A nice prayer, truly, for one man to pray for his brother man,
to
a holy God who is supposed to desire righteousness in man. Then there
is
that fearful imprecation in Psalm cix., too long to quote, where the
vindictive
and cruel anger not only curses the offender himself, but
passes
on to his children: "Let there be no man to pity him, nor to
have
compassion upon his fatherless children." Of course, people do not
really
mean any of these terrible things which they repeat day after
day;
humanity is too noble to wish to draw down such curses from heaven;
the
people have outgrown the bad spirit of that cruel age when the
Psalter
was written, and their hearts have grown more loving; but surely
it
is not well that men and women should stand on a lower level in their
prayers
than in their lives; surely the moments, which ought to be the
noblest,
should not be passed in using language which the speakers would
be
ashamed of in their daily lives; surely the worship of the Ideal
should
not be degraded below the practice of the Real, or the notion
of
God be less lofty than the life of man. By making their worship an
unreality,
by being less than true in their religious feelings, by
using
words they do not mean, and by pretending emotions they do not
experience,
people become trained into insincerity, and lose that rare
and
beautiful virtue of instinctive and thorough honesty. When the
prayer
does not echo the yearning of the heart, then the habit grows
-------Cardiff Theosophical
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206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
of
not making the word really the representative of the thought, of not
making
the feeling the measure of the expression. Much of the cant
of
the day, much of the social insincerity, much of the prevalent
unreality,
may be laid at the door of this crime of the Churches, of
making
men speak words which are meaningless to the speaker, and of
teaching
them to be untrue in the moments which should be the truest
and
the purest. At another time, we might impeach prayer as a whole; we
might
argue against it, either as opposed to the unchangeableness and
the
wisdom of God, if a prayer-hearing and prayer-answering God be
believed
in, or as utterly futile, and proved worthless by experience.
But
here we only plead for sincerity in prayer, wherever prayer is
practised;
we only urge that at least the prayer shall be sincere, and
that
the lips shall obey the heart.
Exactly
the same objection applies to the "Canticles," which, in modern
lips,
are absolutely devoid of sense. What meaning has the "song of the
blessed
Virgin Mary" from an ordinary English congregation; why should
English
people talk about God promising His mercy "to our forefathers,
Abraham,
and his seed for ever," when Abraham is not their forefather
at
all? Why should they ask God to let them "depart in peace," when
they
have not the smallest desire to depart at all, and why should they
assert
to Him that they "have seen Thy salvation," when they have seen
nothing
of the kind? For the perpetually recurring _Gloria_, one cannot
help
wondering what it means; when was "the beginning," and is the
"it"
which
was at that period, the "glory" which is wished to the Father,
Son,
and Holy Ghost; further, what is the good of wishing glory to
Him--or
to Them--if He--or They--have always had, and always will
have
it? When we have heard a congregation reciting the Creed, we have
sometimes
wondered what meaning they attached to it. "The maker of
heaven
and earth." Do people ever try to carry the mind back to the time
before
this "making," and realise the period when nothing existed? Is it
possible
to imagine things coming into existence, "something" emerging
from
where before "nothing" was? And then Jesus, the only Son, conceived
by
the Holy Ghost, who proceeds from Himself, and son, therefore, not of
"the
Father," but of that spirit which only exists in and through "the
Father
and the Son." Again, how can a "spirit" conceive a material
body?
If
the whole affair be miraculous, why try to compromise matters with
nature,
by making this kind of pseudo-father? Surely it would be simpler
to
leave it a complete miracle, and let the Virgin remain the solitary
parent.
Except for making the story match better with the elder Greek
mythology,
there is no need to introduce a godparent in the affair; a
child
without a father is no more remarkable than a mother who remains
a
virgin. This attempt at reasonableness only makes the whole more
outrageously
unnatural, and provokes criticism which would be better
avoided.
A God, who suffered, was crucified, dead, buried, who rose and
ascended,
is a complete enigma to us. Could He, the impassive, suffer?
could
He, the intangible, be crucified? could He, the immortal, die?
could
He, the omnipresent, be buried in one spot of earth, rise from it,
and
ascend to some place where he was not the moment before? What kind
of
God is this who is to "come again" to a place where He is not now?
If
the answer be, that all this refers to the manhood of Jesus, then we
inquire,
"Is Christ divided?" if He be one God with the Father, then all
He
did was done by the Father as much as by Himself; if He did it only
as
man, then God did not come from heaven to save men; then this is
not
a divine sacrifice at all; then, a simple man cannot have made an
atonement
for the sin of the world. And where is "the right hand" of
Almighty
God? Is Jesus sitting at the right hand of a pure spirit, who
has
neither body nor parts? and, since He is one with God, is He sitting
at
his own right hand? Such questions as these are called blasphemous;
but
we fling back the charge of blasphemy on those who try to compel us
to
recite a creed so absurd. We decline to repeat words which convey to
us
no meaning, and not ours the fault, if any inquiry into the meaning
produce
dilemmas so inconvenient to the orthodox. We are also required
to
believe in "the" Holy Catholic Church, but we know of no such body.
Catholic
means universal, and there is no universal Church: to believe
in
that which does not exist would, indeed, be faith without sight.
There
is the Orthodox Church, but that is anathematised by the Roman;
there
is the Roman Church, but that is the "scarlet whore of Babylon" in
the
eyes of the Protestant; there are the Protestant sects, but they
are
many and not one, a multiformity in disunity. We are asked to
acknowledge
a "Communion of Saints," and we see those who severally call
themselves
saints excommunicating each the other; in a "forgiveness of
sins,"
but Nature tells us of no forgiveness, and we find suffering
invariably
following on the disregard of law; in a "resurrection of the
body,"
but we know that the body decays, that its gases and its juices
are
transmuted in the alembic of Nature into new modes of existence;
in
a "life everlasting," when the dark veil of ignorance envelopes the
"Beyond
the tomb." Only the thoughtless can repeat the creed; only the
ignorant
cannot see the impossibilities it professes to believe.
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The
two Collects, which are different in the evening prayer to those
used
in the morning office, call for no special remark, save that
they--in
common with all prayers--make no practical difference in human
life.
The devout Christian is no more defended from "all perils and
dangers
of this night," than is the most careless atheist; wisely, also,
does
the Christian, having prayed his prayer, walk carefully round his
house,
and examine the bolts and bars, mindful that these commonplace
defences
are more likely to be efficacious against burglars than the
protecting
arm of the Most High.
The
remainder of the service is the same as that used in the morning,
so
calls for no further remark. If only people would take the trouble
of
_thinking_ about their religion; if only they could be led, or even
provoked,
into trying to realise that which they say they believe, then
the
foundations of the popular religion would rapidly be undermined, and
the
banner of Freethought would soon float proudly over the crumbling
ruins
of that which was once a Church.
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206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
THE
LITANY.
The
Litany has a fault which runs throughout the Prayer-Book, that "vain
repetition"
which, according to the Gospel, was denounced by Jesus of
Nazareth;
the refrain of "Good Lord, deliver us," and "We beseech
Thee
to hear us, good Lord," recurs with wearisome reiteration, and is
repeated
monotonously by the congregation, few of whom, probably, would
know
from what they were requesting deliverance, if the clergyman were
to
stop and ask so unexpected a question. Gods the Father, Son, and Holy
Ghost
are severally besought to have mercy upon the miserable sinners
praying
to them, and then the Trinity as a whole is asked to do the
same.
How far this separation is consistent with the unity of the
Godhead,
and whether in praying to the Son we do, or do not, implicitly
pray
to the Father, and _vice versa_, those only can tell us who
understand
the "mystery of the Holy Trinity." This preamble over, the
remainder
of the Litany is addressed to "God the Son," who is the "Good
Lord"
invoked throughout, in spite of His reproof to the young man who
knelt
to Him, calling Him "Good Master;" "why callest thou Me good?"
Various
dogmas are alluded to in the succeeding verses in which few
educated
people now retain any belief. How many really care to be
delivered
"from the crafts and assaults of the devil," or believe in the
existence
of the devil at all? He is one of those phantoms that can only
be
found in the darkness, and which fade away when the sun arises.
How
many believe in the "everlasting damnation," of the same verse,
or
really consider themselves in the smallest danger of it? No one who
believed
in hell could pray to be delivered from it in careless accents,
for
the smallest chance of that awful doom would force a wail of terror
from
the lightest-hearted of the listeners. Is it consistent to ask
Christ
to deliver us from His wrath? if He loved men so much as to die
for
them, it seems as though a great change must have come over His mind
since
He ascended into heaven, if He really requires to be pressed so
urgently
not to "take vengeance," and to spare us and deliver us from
His
wrath. Which is right, the wrath or the love? for they are not
compatible;
and does God really like to see people crouching before Him
in
this fashion, praising His mercy while they tremble lest He should
"break
out" upon them? If we were inclined to be hypercritical we might
suggest
that the prayer to be delivered from "all uncharitableness"
gives
a melancholy proof of the inadequacy of prayer; the answer to it
may
be read weekly in the _Church Times_ and the _Rock_ more especially
in
the clerical contributions. The other petitions are also curiously
ineffectual:
"from all false doctrine, heresy, and schism," is so
manifestly
accepted at the Throne of Grace in these rationalising days.
Jesus
is then abjured to deliver His petitioners by the memory of His
days
upon earth, and we get the ancient idea of an incarnate God, so
common
to all eastern religions, and the curious picture of a God who
is
born, circumcised, baptised, fasts, is tempted, suffers, dies, is
buried,
rises, ascends. How God can do all this remains a mystery, but
these
suffering, and then conquering gods are familiar to all readers
of
mythologies; we learn further, that God the Holy Ghost can come to a
place
where He was not previously, although He is the infinite God, and
is
therefore omnipresent. Verily, it needs that our faith be great.
Being
delivered sufficiently, the congregation proceed to a number of
additional
petitions, the first of which is, unfortunately, as great
a
failure as the preceding ones, for it prays that the Church may be
guided
"in the right way;" and having regard to the multiplicity of
Churches,
each one of which goes doggedly in her own particular way, it
is
manifest that they can't all be right, as they are all different.
Then
follow prayers for the Royal Family and the Government, and a
general
request to "bless and keep all Thy people;" a request which is
systematically
disregarded. In these days of "bloated armaments" it
is
at least pleasant to dream in church of there being given "to all
nations,
unity, peace, and concord." The "pure affection" with which
God's
Word is received is also perfectly imaginary; those who do not
believe
it criticise and cavil; those who do believe it go to sleep
over
it. The last part of these verses seems designed simply to pray for
everybody
all round, and this being satisfactorily accomplished, we come
across
another trace of an ancient creed: "Lamb of God, that takest away
the
sins of the world;" this is a fragment of sun-worship, alluding to
the
sun-god, when, entering the sign of the Lamb, he bears away all the
coldness
and the darkness of the winter months, and gives life to the
world.
The remainder of the Litany is of the same painfully servile
character
as the earlier portions; God seems to be regarded as a fierce
tyrant,
longing to wreak His fury on mankind, and only withheld by
incessant
entreaties. All possible evils seem to be showering down on
the
congregation, and, if one closed one's eyes, one could imagine
a
sad-faced, care-worn, haggard group of Covenanters, or Huguenots,
instead
of the fashionable crowd that fills the pews; and when one hears
them
ask that they may be "hurt by no persecutions," one is inclined
to
mutter grimly: "You are all safe, mother Church, and you are the
persecutor,
not the persecuted." The service concludes with the same
unreal
cant about afflictions and infirmities, till one could wish
almost
to hear something of the style of observation made by an angry
nurse
to a tiresome child: "If you don't stop crying this minute, I will
give
you something to cry for." If men would only be as real inside the
church
as they are outside; if they would think and mean what they say,
this
pitiful burlesque would speedily be put an end to, and they would
no
longer offer up that sacrifice of lying lips, which are said to be
"an
abomination to the Lord."
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PRAYERS
AND THANKSGIVINGS UPON SEVERAL OCCASIONS.
These
special prayers are, perhaps, on the whole, the most childish of
all
the childish prayers in the Church-book before us. A prayer "for
rain;"
a prayer "for fair weather:" it is almost too late to argue
seriously
against prayers like these, except that uneducated people do
still
believe that God regulates the weather, day by day, and may be
influenced
in His arrangements by the prayer of some weather-critic
below.
Yet it is a literal fact that storm-signals fly before the
approaching
storm, and prepare people for its coming, so that when it
sweeps
across our seas the vessels are safely in port, which otherwise
would
have sunk beneath its fury; meteorology is progressing day by day,
and
is becoming more and more perfect, but this science--as all other
science--would
be impossible if God could be influenced by prayer; a
storm-signal
would be needless if prayer could stay the storm, and would
be
unreliable if a prayer could suddenly, in mid-ocean, check the course
of
the tempest. Science is only possible when it is admitted that "God
works
by laws," _i.e._, that His working at all need not be taken into
account.
The laws of weather are as unchangeable as all other natural
laws,
for laws are nothing more than the ascertained sequence of
events;
not until that sequence has been found by long observation to
be
invariable, does the sequence receive the title of "a law." As the
weather
of to-day is the result of the weather of countless yesterdays,
the
only way in which prayers for change can be effectual is that God
should
change the whole weather of the past, and so let fresh causes
bring
about fresh results; but this seems a rather large prayer, to
say
the least of it, and might, by the carnal mind, be considered as
somewhat
presumptuous. In the prayers "in the time of dearth and famine"
we
find the old barbarous notion that men's moral sins are punished by
physical
"visitations of God," and that God's blessing will give plenty
in
the place of death: if men work hard they will get more than if they
pray
hard, and even long ago in Eden God could not make his plants grow,
because
"there was not a man to till the ground;" at least, so says the
Bible.
The prayer "in the time of war," is strikingly beautiful, begging
the
All-Father to abate the pride, assuage the malice, and confound the
devices
of some of His children for the advantage of the others. The
"most
religious and gracious" Sovereign recommended to the care of
God
has been known to be such a king as George IV., but yet clergy
and
people went on day after day speaking of him thus to a God who
"searcheth
the hearts." A quaint old Prayer-Book remarks upon this
prayer
for the High Court of Parliament, that the "right disposing of
the
hearts of legislators proceeds from God," and that "both disbelief
and
ignorance must have made fearful progress where this principle
is
not recognised." In these latter days we fear that disbelief and
ignorance
of this kind _have_ made very considerable progress. The
Thanksgivings
run side by side with the prayers in subjects, and are
therefore
open to the same criticisms. None of these prayers or praises
can
be defended by reason or by argument; reason shows us their utter
folly,
and their complete uselessness. Is it wise to persist in forcing
into
people's lips words which have lost all their meaning, and which
the
people, if they trouble themselves to think about them at all, at
once
recognise as false? All danger in progress lies in the obstinate
maintenance
of things which have outlived their age; just as a stream
which
flows peacefully on, spreading plenty and fertility in its
course,
and growing naturally wider and fuller, will--if dammed up too
much--burst
at length through the dam, and rush forward as a torrent,
bearing
destruction and ruin in its course; so will gradual and gentle
reform
in ancient habits change all that needs changing, without abrupt
alterations,
letting the stream of thought grow wider and fuller; but
if
all Reform be delayed, if all change be forbidden, if the dam of
prejudice,
of custom, of habit, bar the stream too long, then thought
hurls
it down with the crash of revolution, and many a thing is lost
in
the swirling torrent which might have remained long, and might have
beautified
human life. Few things call more loudly for Reform than our
hitherto
loudly-boasted Reformation.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
THE
COMMUNION SERVICE.
NO
doctrine, perhaps, has done so much to cause disunion in the Church
as
the doctrine of Communion enshrined in the Lord's Supper. A feast of
love
in idea, it has been pre-eminently a feast of hate in reality,
and
the fiercest contests have been waged over this "last legacy of
the
Redeemer." Down to the time of the Reformation it was the central
service
of the Church universal, Eastern and Western alike: it was the
Liturgy,
distinguished from every-other office by this distinctive name.
Round
this rite revolved the whole of the other services, as week-days
around
the Lord's Day; on its due performance was lavished everything of
beauty
and of splendour that wealth could bring; sweetest incense, most
harmonious
music, richest vestments, rarely jewelled vessels, pomp of
procession,
stateliness of ceremony, all brought their glory and their
beauty
to render magnificent the reception of the present God. Among the
Reformed
Churches the festival was shorn of its grandeur; it became once
more
the simple "supper of the Lord," no memorial sacrifice, but only a
commemorative
rite; no coming of the Lord to men, but only a sign of
the
union through faith of the believer with the Saviour. At the present
time
the old contest rages, even within the bosom of the Reformed
Church
of England; one party still clings to the elder belief of a
real
presence of Christ in the elements themselves, or in indissoluble
connection
with them, and, therefore, celebrates the service with much
of
the ancient pomp; while the other furiously rejects this so-called
idolatry,
and makes the service as bare and as simple as possible.
Both
parties can claim parts of the Communion Office as upholding
their
special views, for the English service has passed through much of
tinkering
from High and Low, and retains the marks of the alterations
that
have been made by each.
To
those outside the Church this office has particular attraction, as
being,
in a special manner, a link between the past and the present, and
being
full of traces of the ancient religion of the world, that catholic
sun-worship
of which Christianity is a modernised revival. From the
Nicene
Creed, in which Jesus is described as "God of God, Light of
Light,
very God of very God, Begotten not made, Being of one substance
with
the Father, By whom all things were made"--from this point we
breathe
the full atmosphere of the elder world, and find ourselves
engaged
in the worship of that Light of Light, who, being the image of
the
invisible God, the first-born of every creature, has for ages and
ages
been adored as incarnate in Mithra, in Christna, in Osiris, in
Christ.
We give thanks for "the redemption of the world by the death and
passion
of 'the Sun-Saviour, who suffered on the Cross for us,' who lay
in
darkness and in the shadow of death;" we praise Him who fills heaven
and
earth with His glory, and who rose as "the Paschal Lamb," and has
"taken
away the sin of the world," bearing away in the sign of the Lamb
the
darkness and dreariness of the winter; we remember the Holy Ghost,
the
fresh spring wind, who, "as it had been a mighty wind," came to
bring
us "out of darkness" into "the clear light" of the sun;
then we
see
the priest, with his face turned to the sun-rising, take the bread
and
wine, the symbols of the God, and bless them for the food of men,
these
symbols being changed into the very substance of the deity, for
are
they not, in very truth, of him alone? "How naturally does the
eternal
work of the sun, daily renewed, express itself in such lines as
'Into bread his heat is turned,
Into generous wine his light.'
And
imagining the sun as a person, the change to 'flesh' and 'blood'
becomes
inevitable; while the fact that the solar forces are actually
changed
into food, without forfeiting their solar character, finds
expression
in the doctrines of transubstantiation and the real
presence."
("Keys of the Creeds," page 91.) After this union with the
Deity,
by partaking of his very self, we praise once more the "Lamb of
God
that takest away the sins of the world," and is "most high in the
glory
of God the Father." The resemblance is made the nearer in the
churches
where much of ceremony is found (although noticeable in all,
since
that resemblance is stereotyped in the formulas themselves; but in
the
more elaborate performances the old rites are more clearly apparent)
in
the tonsured head of the priest, in the suns often embroidered on
vestment
and on altar-cloth, in the rays that surround the sacred
monogram
on the vessels, in the cross imprinted on the bread, and
marking
each utensil, in the lighted candles, in the grape-vine
chiselled
on the chalice--in all these, and in many another symbol, we
read
the whole story of the Sun-god, written in hieroglyphics as easily
decipherable
by the initiated as is the testimony of the rocks by the
geologian.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
But
passing by this antiquarian side of the Office, we will examine it
as
a service suitable for the use of educated and thoughtful people at
the
present time. The Rubric which precedes the Office is one of those
unfortunate
rules which are obsolete as regards their practice, and yet
which--from
their preservation--appear to simple-minded parsons to be
intended
to be enforced, whereby the said parsons fall into the clutches
of
the law, and suffer grievously. "An open and notorious evil-liver"
must
not be permitted to come to the Lord's Table, and this expression
seems
to be explained in the Exhortation in the Office, wherein we read:
"if
any of you be a blasphemer of God, an hinderer or slanderer of His
word,
an adulterer, or be in malice, or envy, or in any other grievous
crime,
repent you of your sins, or else come not to that holy Table;
lest,
after the taking of that holy Sacrament, the devil enter into
you,
as he entered into Judas, and fill you full of all iniquities, and
bring
you to destruction both of: body and soul." In a late case,
the
Sacrament was refused to one who disbelieved in the devil and who
slandered
God's word, on those very grounds, and it would seem to be an
act
of Christian charity so to deny it; for surely to say that part of
God's
word is "contrary to religion and decency" must be to slander it,
if
words have any meaning, and people who do not believe in the devil
ought
hardly to be sharers in a rite after which the devil will
enter
into them with such melancholy consequences. It would seem more
consistent
either to alter the formulas or else to carry them out;
true,
one clergyman wrote that the responsibility lay with the unworthy
recipient
who "did nothing else but increase" his "damnation," but it
is
scarcely a pleasing notion that the clergyman should stand inviting
people
to the Lord's table and, coolly handing to one of those who
accept,
the body of Christ, say, "The Body of our Lord Jesus Christ
preserve
thy body and soul unto everlasting life," when he means--in the
delicate
language used by the above-mentioned clergyman--"The Body of
our
Lord Jesus Christ damn thy body and soul unto everlasting death."
No
one but a clergyman could dream of so offensive a proceeding, and, to
those
who believe, one so terribly awful.
The
Ten Commandments which stand in the fore-front of the service are
very
much out of place as regards some of them, to say nothing of the
want
of truthfulness in the assertion, that "God spake these words,"
&c.
In
the second we are forbidden to make any graven image, or any likeness
of
any thing, a command which would destroy all art, and which no member
of
the congregation can have the smallest notion of obeying. The Jews,
who
made the cherubim over the ark, upon which God sat, are popularly
supposed
not to have disobeyed this command, because the cherubim were
not
the likeness of anything in heaven, earth, or water: they were,
like
unicorns, creatures undiscovered and undiscoverable. Yet in direct
opposition
to this command, Solomon made brazen oxen to support his sea
of
brass (1 Kings vii. 25,29) and lions on the steps of his ivory throne
(Kings
x. 19,20) and God himself, said to have ordered Moses to make a
brazen
Serpent. God is described, in this same commandment as a "jealous
God"--which
is decidedly immoral and unpleasant who visits "the sins of
the
fathers upon the children, unto the third and fourth generation of
them
that hate me;" the justice of this is so obvious that no comment on
it
is necessary. The fourth Commandment is another which no one dreams
of
attending to; in the first place, we do not keep the seventh day at
all,
and in the second, our man-servant, our maid-servant and our cattle
do
all manner of work on the day we keep as the Sabbath. Further, who
in
the present day believes that "in six days the Lord made heaven and
earth,
the sea, and all that in them is, and rested the seventh day;"
geology,
astronomy ethnology have taught us otherwise, and, among those
who
repeat the response to this commandment in a London church, not
one
could probably be found who believes it to be true. The fifth
Commandment
is equally out of place, for dutiful children do not live
any
longer than undutiful. The remainder touch simple moral duties,
enforced
by all creeds alike, and are noticeable for their omissions
and
not for their commissions: the insertion of the Buddhist Commandment
against
intoxication, for instance, would be an improvement, although
such
a commandment is naturally not to be found in the case of so gross
and
sensual a people as the ancient Jews. The alternative prayers for
the
Queen, which follow next, are only worth noting, because the first
enshrines
the doctrine of divine right, which is long since dead and
buried,
except in church; and the other says "that the hearts of Kings
are
in thy rule and governance," and suggests the thought that, if
this
be so, it is better to be out of that "rule and governance," the
effects
on the hearts of Kings not having been specially attractive.
The
Nicene Creed comes next, and is open to-the objections before made
against
the Apostles' Creed; the last clauses relating to the Holy
Ghost
are historically interesting, since the "and the Son" forms the
_Filioque_
which severed Eastern from Western Christendom;*
* A short but very graphic account of the
shameful
transaction by which the Filioque clause
was, so to speak,
smuggled into the Nicene Creed, is to be
found in the first
ten or twelve pages of the shilling
pamphlet written by
Edmond S. Fouldes, B.D., entitled
"The Church's Creed, or
the Crown's Creed".... clearly
provides, too, that the
Church of Rome once held that the Holy
Ghost only proceeded
from the Father, as the Dominus in it can
only refer to the
Father.
"Who
with the Father and the Son together" ought to be "worshipped and
glorified,"
would be more true to fact than "is," since the Holy Ghost
is
sadly ignored by modern Christendom, and has a very small share of
either
prayers or hymns: yet he is the husband of the virgin Mary, and
the
Father of Jesus Christ; he is, therefore, a very important, though
puzzling,
person in the Godhead, being the Father of him from whom
he
himself proceeds: this is a mystery, and can only be understood
by
faith. The texts that follow are remarkable for their ingenious
selection:
"Who goeth a warfare," &c. (Cor. ix. 7); "If we have
sown,"&c.
(I cor. ix. 9); "Do ye know," &c. (I Cor. ix. 13); "He that
soweth
little," &c, (2 Cor. ix. 6); "Let him that is taught," (Gal.
vi.
6).
the pervading selfishness of motive is also worth nothing: Give now
in
order that ye may get hereafter; "Never turn thy face from any
poor
man, _and then the face of the Lord shall not be turned away from
thee_;"
"He that hath pity upon the poor lendeth unto the Lord: _and
look,
what he layeth out, it shall be paid him again_;" "If thou hast
much,
give plenteously; if thou hast little, do thy diligence gladly to
give
of that little; _for so gathered thou thyself a good reward in the
day
of necessity_."* No free, glad giving here; no willing, joyful aid
to
a poorer brother, because he needs what I can give; no ready offer of
the
cup of cold water, simply because the thirsty is there and wants the
refreshment;
ever the hateful whisper comes: "thou shalt in no wise lose
thy
reward." These time-serving offerings are then presented to God by
being
placed "upon the Holy Table," and we then get another prayer for
Queen,
Christian Kings, authorities, Bishops, and people in general,
concluding
with thanks for the dead, not a cheerful subject to bless God
for,
if there chance to be present any mourner whose heart is sore with
the
loss of a beloved one. At this point the service is supposed to end,
when
no celebration of the Holy Communion is intended, and here we find
two
Exhortations, or notices of celebration, from the first of which
we
have already quoted:** in the second, we cannot help remarking the
undignified
position in which God is placed; it is a "grievous and
unkind
thing" not to come to a rich feast when invited thereto,
wherefore
we are to fear lest by withdrawing ourselves from this holy
Supper,
we "provoke God's indignation against" us. "Consider with
yourselves
how great injury ye do unto God:" what a very curious
expression.
Is God thus at the mercy of man? Surely, then, of all living
Beings
the lot of God must be the saddest, if his happiness and his
glory
are in the hands of each man and woman; the greater his knowledge
the
greater the misery, and as his knowledge is perfect, and the vast
majority
of human kind know and care nothing about him, his wretchedness
must
be complete.
* As if the clergy, with very few
exceptions, are not
sufficiently provided for by the tithes,
&c, without having
to go a-begging like either Buddhist or
Roman Catholic
monks, to both of whom P.P. and P.M. are
not inappropriately
applied (Professors of Poverty and Practisers
of
Mendicancy).
** It is, however, only just to say that
that portion of it
contained between "The Way and Means
thereto," and "Offences
at God's Hands," is one of the best
bits in the whole
Prayer-Book, and which far surpasses the
generality of
sermons one hears afterwards.
All
things being ready, the clergyman begins by another Exhortation, of
somewhat
threatening character: "So is the danger great if we receive
the
same unworthily. For then we are guilty of the Body and Blood of
Christ
our Saviour; we eat and drink our own damnation, not considering
the
Lord's Body; we kindle God's wrath against us; we provoke him to
plague
us with divers diseases, and sundry kinds of death." (Surely we
cannot
be plagued with more than one kind of death at once, and we can't
die
sundry times, even after the Communion.) One almost wonders why
anyone
accepts this very threatening invitation, even though there are
advantages
promised to "meet partakers." The High Church party have
indeed
the right to talk much of the real presence, since ordinary bread
and
wine have none of these fearful penalties attached to the eating and
drinking,
and some curious change must have taken place in them before
all
these terrible consequences can ensue. What would happen if some
consecrated
bread and wine chanced to be left by mistake, and a stray
comer
into the vestry eat it unknowingly? One thinks of Anne Askew, who,
told
that a mouse eating a crumb fallen from the Host would infallibly
be
damned, replied, "Alack, poor mouse!" Then follows a Confession of
the
most cringing kind, fit only for the lips of some coward suppliant
crouching
at the feet of an Eastern monarch; it is marvellous that free
English
men and women can frame their lips into phrases of such utter
abasement,
even to a God; manliness in religion: is sorely-needed,
unless,
indeed, God be something smaller than man, and be pleased with
the
degradation painful to human eyes. The prayer of consecration is the
central
point of the ordinance; of old they prayed for the descent of
the
Holy Ghost on the elements, "for whatsoever the Holy-Ghost toucheth
is
sanctified and clean"--it is not explained how the Holy Ghost, being
omnipresent,
manages to avoid touching everything--and now the priest
asks
that in receiving the bread and wine we "may be partakers of"
Christ's
Body and Blood, and repeats the words, "This is my Body," "This
is
my Blood," laying his hand alternately-over the bread and the wine:
now
if this means anything, if it is not mere mockery, it means that
after
the consecration the bread and wine are other than they were
before;
if it does not mean this, the whole prayer is simply a farce, a
piece
of acting scarcely decent under the circumstances. But flesh
and
blood! Putting aside the extreme repulsiveness of the idea, the
coarseness
of the act, the utter unpleasantness of eating flesh and
drinking
blood, all of which has become non-disgusting by habit and
fashion,
and the distastefulness of which can scarcely be realised by
any
believer--putting aside all this, is there any change in the bread
and
wine? Examine it; analyse it; test it in any and every fashion;
still
it answers back to the questioner, "bread and wine." Are our
senses
deceived? Then try a hundred different persons; all cannot be
deceived
alike. Unless every result of experience is untrustworthy, we
have
here to do with bread and wine, and with nothing more. "But faith
is
needed." Ah yes! There is the secret: no flesh and blood without
faith;
no miracle without credulity. Miracle-working priests are only
successful
among credulously-disposed people; miracles can only be
received
by those who think it less likely that Nature should speak
falsely
than that man should deceive; those who believe in this change
through
consecration cannot be touched by argument; they have closed
their
eyes that they may not see, their ears that they may not hear;
no
knowledge can reach them, for they have shut the gateways whereby
it
could enter, they are literally dead in their superstition, buried
beneath
the stone of their faith. The reception of the Body and Blood of
Christ
being over, the people having knelt to eat and drink, as is only
right
when eating and drinking Christ (John vi. 57), the Lord's Prayer
is
said for the second time, a prayer and thanksgiving follows, confined
to
"we and all thy whole Church," for the spirit is the same as that of
the
prayer of Christ, "I pray not for the world, but for them whom thou
hast
given me" (John xvii. 9), and then the service winds up with the
_Gloria
in Excelsis_ and the Benediction. Such is the "bounden duty and
service"
offered by the Church to God, the service of which the central
act
must be either a farce or a falsehood, and therefore insulting to
the
God to whom it is offered. Regarded as a service to God, the whole
Communion
Office is objectionable in the highest degree; regarded as
an
antiquarian survival, it is very interesting and instructive; it is
surely
time that it should be put in its right place, and that its true
origin
should be recognised. The day is gone by for these barbarous,
though
poetic, ceremonials; the "flesh and blood," which was a bold
figure
for the heat and light of the sun, becomes coarse when joined in
thought
to a human being; ceremonies that fitted the childhood of the
world
are out of place in its manhood, as the play that is graceful
in
the child would be despicable in the man; these rites are the
baby-clothes
of the world, and cannot be stretched to fit the stalwart
limbs
of its maturer age, cannot add grace to its form, or dignity to
its
graver walk.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
THE
BAPTISMAL OFFICES.
For
all purposes of criticism the Offices for "Public Baptism of
Infants,
to be used in the Church," for "Private Baptism of Children in
houses,"
and "Baptism to such as are of riper years, and able to answer
for
themselves," may be treated as one and the same, the leading idea
of
each service being identical; this idea is put forward clearly and
distinctly
in the preface to the Office: "Dearly beloved, forasmuch
as
all men are conceived and born in sin; and that our Saviour Christ
saith,
None can enter into the kingdom of God, except he be regenerate
and
born anew of water and of the Holy Ghost; I beseech you to call upon
God
the Father, through our Lord Jesus Christ, that of his bounteous
mercy
he will grant to this Child that thing which by nature he cannot
have."
According to the doctrine of the Church, then, baptism is
absolutely
necessary to salvation: "_None can enter_... except he be...
born
anew of water;" thus peals out the doom of condemnation on the
whole
human race, save that fragment of it which is sprinkled from the
Christian
font; there is no evasion possible here; no exception made
in
favour of heathen peoples; no mercy allowed to those who have no
opportunity
of baptism; none can enter save through "the laver of
regeneration."
Can any words be too strong whereby to denounce a
doctrine
so shameful, an injustice so glaring? A child is born into the
world;
it is no fault of his that he is conceived in sin; it is no fault
of
his that he is born in sin; his consent was not asked before he was
ushered
into the world; no offer was made to him which he could reject
of
this terribly gift of a condemned life; flung is he, without his
knowledge,
without his will, into a world lying under the curse of God,
a
child of wrath, and heir of damnation. "By nature he _cannot_ have."
Then
why should God be wrath with him because he hath not? The whole
arrangement
is of God's own making. He fore-ordained the birth; he gave
the
life; the helpless, unconscious infant lies there, the work of his
own
hands; good or bad, he is responsible for it; heir of love or of
wrath,
he has made it what it is; as wholly is it his doing as the
unconscious
vessel is the doing of the potter; as reasonably may God
be
angry with the child as the potter swear at the clay he has clumsily
moulded:
if the vessel be bad, blame the potter; if the creature be
bad,
blame the Creator. The congregation pray that God "of his bounteous
mercy,"
"for thine infinite mercies," will save the child, "that he,
being
delivered from thy wrath," may be blessed. It is no question of
mercy
we have to do with here; it is a question of simple justice, and
nothing
more; if God, for his own "good pleasure," or in the pursuance
of
the designs of his infinite wisdom, has placed this unfortunate child
in
so terrible a position, he is bound by every tie of justice, by every
sacred
claim of right, to deliver the blameless victim, and to place him
where
he shall have a fair chance of well-being. "It is certain by
God's
Word," says the Rubric, "that children _which are baptized_, dying
before
they commit actual sin, are undoubtedly saved." And those which
are
not baptized? The Holy Roman Church sends these into a cheerful
place
called Limbo, and the baby-souls wander about in chill twilight,
cursed
with immortality, shut out for ever from the joys of Paradise.
Many
readers will remember Lowell's pathetic poem on this subject, and
the
ghastly baptism; they will also know into what devious paths of
argumentative
indecency that Church has wandered in deciding upon the
fate
of unbaptized infants;--how, when mothers have died in childbirth,
the
yet unborn children have been baptized to save them from the
terrible
doom pronounced upon them by their Father in heaven, even
before
they saw the light;--how it has been said that in cases where
mother
and child cannot both be saved the mother should be sacrificed
that
the child may not die unbaptized. Into the details of these
arguments
we cannot enter; they are only fit for orthodox Christians,
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
in
whose pages they may read them who list. Truly, the Lord is a jealous
God,
visiting the sins of the fathers upon the children, since unborn
children
are condemned for the untimely death of their mother, and
unbaptized
infants for the carelessness of their parents or nurses. Of
course,
the majority of English clergymen believe nothing of this kind;
but
then why do they read a service which implies it? Why do they use
words
in a non-natural sense? Why do they put off their honesty when
they
put on their surplices?
And
why will the laity not give utterance to their thoughts on these and
all
such objectionable parts of the Service? In the Office for adults,
as
regards the necessity of the Sacrament, the words come in: "where it
may
be had;" but the phrase reads as though it had been written in the
margin
by some kindly soul, and had from thence crept into the text, for
it
is in direct opposition to the whole argument of the address wherein
it
occurs and to the rest of the office, as also to the other two
offices
for infants. The stress laid upon right baptism, i.e., baptism
with
water, accompanied by the "name of the Father, and of the Son,
and
of the Holy Ghost," appears specially in the office to follow
the
private baptism of a child, should the child live; for the Rubric
directs
that if there be any doubt of the use of-the water and the
formula,
"which are essential parts of Baptism," the priest shall
perform
the baptismal ceremony, saying, "If thou art not already
baptized,
I baptize thee," &c. Surely such care and pains to ensure
correct
baptism speak with sufficient plainness as to the importance
attached
by the Church to this initiatory rite; this importance she
gives
to it in other places: none, unbaptized, must approach her altar
to
take the "bread of life:" none, unbaptized, must be buried by her
ministers,
"in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal
life."
The baptized are within the ark of the Church; the unbaptized
are
struggling in the waves of God's wrath outside; no hand can be
outstretched
to save them; they are strangers, aliens, to the covenant
of
promise; they are without hope. The whole office for infants reads
like
a play: the clergyman asks that the infant "may receive remission
of
his sins;" what sins? The people are admonished "that they defer not
the
Baptism of their children longer than the first or second Sunday
next
after their birth." What sins can a baby a week old have
committed?
from what sins can he need release? for what sins can he
ask
forgiveness? And yet, here is a whole congregation prostrate before
Almighty
God, praying that a tiny long-robed baby may be forgiven, may
be
pardoned his sins of--coming into the world when God sent him! The
ceremony
would be ludicrous were it not so pitiful. And supposing that
the
infant does need forgiveness, and has sins to be washed away, why
should
a few drops of water, sprinkled on the face--or bonnet--of the
baby,
or even the immersion of his body in the font, wash away the sins
of
his soul? The water is "sanctified;" we pray: "Sanctify this
water to
the
mystical washing away of sin." As the hymn sweetly puts it:
"The water in this font
Is water, by gross mortals eyed;
But, seen by faith, 'tis blood
Out of a dear friend's side."
Blood
once more! how Christians cling to the revolting imagery of a
bygone
and barbarous age of gross conceptions. And, applied by faith,
it
cleanses the soul of the child from sin. Well, the whole thing is
consistent:
the invisible soul is washed from invisible sin by invisible
blood,
and to all outward appearance the child remains after baptism
exactly
what it was before--except it chance to get inflammation of
the
lungs, as we have known happen, from High Church free use of water,
which
is, perhaps, the promised baptism of fire. The promises of the
sponsors
are in full accordance with the rest of the services; promises
made
by other people, in the child's name, as to his future conduct,
over
which they have no control. The baby renounces the devil and all
his
belongings, believes the Apostles' Creed, and answers "that is my
desire,"
when asked if he will be baptized; all which "is very pretty
acting,"
but jars somewhat on the feeling of reality which ought surely
to
characterize a believer's intercourse with his God. The child being
baptized
and signed with the Cross, "is regenerate," according to the
declaration
of the priest. Some contend that the Church of England does
not
teach baptismal regeneration, but it is hard to see how any one can
read
this service, and then deny the teaching; it is clearer and fuller
than
is the teaching of her voice upon most subjects. The ceremony
of
baptism and the idea of regeneration are both derived from the
sun-worship
of which so many traces have already been pointed out: the
worshippers
of Mithra practised baptism, and it is common to the various
phases
of the solar faith. Regeneration, in some parts, especially in
India,
was obtained in a different fashion: a hole through a rock, or
a
narrow passage between two, was the sacred spot, and a worshipper,
squeezing
himself through such an opening, was regenerated, and was, by
this
literal representation of birth, born a second time, born into a
new
life, and the sins of the former life were no longer accounted to
him.
Many such holes are still preserved and revered in India, and there
can
be little doubt that the ancient Druidic remains bear traces of
being
adapted for this same ceremony, although a natural fissure appears
ever
to have been accounted the most sacred.*
* Even in this country, at Brimham Rocks,
near Ripon, in
Yorkshire, the dead form of the custom is,
or was, until
very lately, kept up by the guide sending
all visitors, who
chose to avail themselves of the
privilege, through such a
fissure.
One
ought scarcely to leave unnoted the preamble to the first prayer in
the
baptismal service: "Who of thy great mercy didst save Noah and his
family
in the ark from perishing by water; and also didst safely lead
the
children of Israel thy people through the Red Sea, figuring thereby
thy
holy baptism; and by the baptism of thy well-beloved Son Jesus
Christ,
in the river Jordan, didst sanctify water to the mystical
washing
of sin." In the two first examples given the choice of the
Church
appears to be peculiarly unfortunate, as in each case water was
the
element to be escaped _from_, and it was a source of death, not
of
life; perhaps, though, there is a subtle meaning in the Red Sea,
it
points to the blood of Christ: but then, again, the Red Sea drowned
people,
and surely the anti-type is not so dangerous as that? It must
be
a mystery. It would be interesting to know how many of the educated
clergymen
who read this prayer believe in the story of the Noachian
deluge,
and of the miraculous passage of the Red Sea; and further,
how
many of them believe that God, by these fables, figured his holy
baptism.
Will the nineteenth century ever summon up energy enough to
shake
off these remnants of a dead superstition, and be honest enough to
stop
using a form of words which is no longer a vehicle of belief? When
the
Prayer Book was compiled these words had a meaning; to-day they have
none.
Shall not a second Reformation sweep away these dead beliefs,
even
as the first away for its own age the phrases which represented an
earlier
and coarser creed?
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
THE
ORDER OF CONFIRMATION.
"These
signs shall follow them that believe: In my name shall they
cast
out devils; they shall speak with new tongues; they shall take up
serpents;
and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them;
they
shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover." In those
remarkable
days the "order of Confirmation" might have been in
consonance
with its surroundings, a state of things which is very far
from
being its present position. Mr. Spurgeon, writing for the benefit
of
street preachers, lately pointed out very sensibly that as the Holy
Ghost
no longer gave the gift of tongues, they had "better stick to
their
grammars," and in these degenerate days honest effort is more
likely
to show results more satisfactory than those which ensue from the
laying
on of Bishops' hands. When the Apostles performed this ceremony,
which
the Bishop now performs after their example, definite proofs
of
its efficacy were said to have been seen; so much so, indeed, that
Simon,
the sorcerer, wished to invest some money in heavenly securities,
so
that "on whomsoever I lay hands he may receive the Holy Ghost." A
Simon
would manifestly never be found nowadays ready to pay a Bishop for
the
power of causing the effects of Confirmation. So far as the carnal
eye
can see, the white-robed, veiled young ladies, and the shame-faced
black-coated
boys, who throng the church on a Confirmation day, return
from
the altar very much the same as they went up to it: no one begins
to
speak with tongues; if they did, the beadle would probably interfere
and
quench the Spirit with the greatest promptitude. They are supposed
to
have received some special gifts: "the spirit of wisdom and
understanding;
the spirit of counsel and ghostly strength; the spirit
of
knowledge and true godliness;" and in addition to these six spirits,
there
is one more: "the spirit of thy holy fear." No less than seven
spirits,
then, enter these lads and lasses. Wisdom and understanding
are
easily perceptible: are they wiser after Confirmation than they were
before?
do they understand more rapidly? do they know more? if there
be
no perceptible difference is the presence of the Holy Spirit of none
effect?
if of none effect can his presence be of any use, of the very
smallest
advantage? if of no use, why make all this parade about giving
a
thing whose gift makes the recipient no richer than he was before?
Besides,
what certainty can there be that the Holy Ghost is given
at
all? Allowing--what seems to an outsider a gross piece of
irreverence--that
the Holy Ghost is in the fingers of the Bishop to be
given
away when it suits the Bishop's convenience, or is in a sort of
reservoir,
of which the Bishop turns the tap and lets the stream of
grace
descend--allowing all this as possible, ought not some "sign to
follow
them that believe"? How can we be sure that the Bishop is not
an
impostor, going through a conjuror's gestures and mutterings, and no
magic
results accruing? If, in the ordinary course of daily-life, any
one
came and offered us some valuable things he said that he possessed,
and
then went through the form of giving them to us, saying: "Here
they
are; guard and preserve them for the rest of your life;" and the
outstretched
hand contained nothing at all, and we found ourselves with
nothing
in our grasp, should we be content with his assurance that we
had
really got them, although we might not be able to see them, and we
ought
to have sufficient faith to take his word for it? Should we not
utterly
refuse to believe that we had received anything unless we had
some
proof of having done so, and were in some way the better or the
worse
for it? The truth is that people's religion is, to them, a matter
of
such small importance that they do not trouble themselves about
proof--Faith
is enough to comfort them; the six week-days require their
brains,
their efforts, their thought: the Sunday is the Lord's day, and
he
must see toft: earth needs all their earnest attention, but heaven
must
take care of itself; the validity of an earthly title is important,
and
the confirmation of a right to inherit property in this world is
eagerly
welcomed, but the Confirmation to a heavenly inheritance is
a
mere farce, which it is the fashion to go through about the age of
fifteen,
but which is only a fashion, the confirmation of a faith in
nothing
in particular to an invisible heritage of nothing at all.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
THE
FORM OF THE SOLEMNIZATION OF MATRIMONY.
One
of the most curious blunders regarding orthodox Christianity is,
that
it has tended to the elevation of woman. As a matter of fact, the
Eastern
ideas about women are embodied in Christianity, and these ideas
are
essentially degraded and degrading. From the time when Paul bade
women
obey their husbands, Augustine's mother was beaten, unresisting,
by
Augustine's father, and Jerome fled from woman's charms, and monks
declaimed
against the daughters of Eve, down to the present day, when
Peter's
authority is used against woman suffrage, Christianity has
consistently
regarded woman as a creature to be subject to man, because,
being
deceived, she was first in transgression. The Church service for
matrimony
is redolent of this barbarous idea, relic of a time when men
seized
wives by force, or else purchased them, so that the wives became,
in
literal fact, the property of their husbands. We learn that matrimony
was
"instituted of God in the time of man's innocency, signifying unto
us
the mystical union that is between Christ and his Church." It would
be
interesting to know how many of those joined by the Church believe
in
the Paradise story of man's innocency and fall. It seems that Christ
has
adorned the holy estate by his first miracle in Cana; but the
adornment
is rather of a dubious character, when we reflect that the
probable
effect of the miracle would be a scene somewhat too gay, from
the
enormous quantity of wine made by Christ for men who already had
"well
drunk." Christ's approval of marriage may well be considered
doubtful
when we remember that a virgin was chosen as his mother, that
he
himself remained unmarried, and that he distinctly places celibacy
higher
than marriage in Matt. xix. 11, 12, where he urges: "he that is
able
to receive it let him receive it." St. Paul also, though he allows
it
to his converts, advises virginity in preference: "I say to the
unmarried
and widows, It is good for them if they abide even as I;" "he
that
giveth her not in marriage doeth better" (see throughout 1 Cor.
vii.)
The reasons given for marriage are surely misplaced; last of all,
it
is said that marriage is "ordained for the mutual society, help,
and
comfort that the one ought to have of the other;" this, instead of
"thirdly,"
ought to be "first." "As a remedy against sin and to avoid
fornication,
that such persons as have not the gift of continency might
marry,"
is not a reason very honourable to the marriage estate, nor very
delicate
to read out before a mixed congregation to a young bride and
bridegroom;
so strongly objectionable is the heedless coarseness of
this
preface felt to be that in many churches it is entirely omitted,
although
it is retained--as are all remains of a coarser age--in the
Prayer-Book
as published by authority. The promise exchanged between the
contracting
parties is of far too sweeping a character, and is immoral,
because
promising what may be beyond the powers of the promisers to
perform;
"to love" "so long as ye both shall live," and "till
death us
do
part," is a pledge far too wide; love does not stay by promising, nor
is
love a feeling which can be made to order. A promise to live always
together
might be made, although that would be unwise in this changing
world,
and the endless processes in the Divorce Court are a satire on
this
so-called joined by God; "what God hath joined together" man does
continually
"put asunder," and it would be wiser to adapt the service to
the
altered circumstances of the times in which we live. The promise of
obedience
and service on the woman's part should also be eliminated, and
the
contract should be a simple promise of fidelity between two equal
friends.
The declaration of the man as he places the ring on the woman's
finger
is as archaic as the rest of this fossil service, and about as
true:
"With all my worldly goods I thee endow," says the man, when, as a
matter
of fact, he becomes possessed of all his wife's property and she
does
not become possessed of his. One of the concluding prayers is a
delightful
specimen of Prayer-Book science: "O God, who of thy mighty
power
hast made all things of nothing." What was the general aspect
of
affairs when there was "nothing?" how did something emerge where
"nothing"
was before? if God filled all space, was he "nothing?" is the
existence
of nothing a conceivable idea? "can people think of nothing
except
when they don't think at all?" who also (after other things set
in
order) didst appoint that out of man (created after thine own image
and
similitude) woman should take her beginning:" "out of man," that
is
out of one of man's ribs; has any one tried to picture the scene:
Almighty
God, who has no body nor parts, taking one of Adam's ribs, and
closing
up the flesh, and "out of the rib made he a woman." God, a pure
spirit,
holding a man's rib, not in his hands, for he has none, and
"making"
a woman out of it, fashioning the rib into skull, and arms,
and
ribs, and legs. Can a more ludicrous position be imagined; and Adam?
What
became of his internal economy? was he made originally with a rib
too
much, to provide against the emergency, or did he go, for the rest
of
his life, with a rib too little? And the Church of England endorses
this
ridiculous old-world fable. Man was created "after thine own image
and
similitude." What is the image of God? He is a spirit and has no
similitude.
If man is made in his image, God must be a celestial man,
and
cannot possibly be omnipresent. Besides, in Genesis i. 27, where it
is
stated that "God created man in his own image," it distinctly goes
on
to declare: "in the image of God created he him; _male and female_
created
he them. Thus the woman is made in God's image as much as the
man,
and God's image is "male and female." All students know that the
ancient
ideas of God give him this double nature, and that no trinity
is
complete without the addition of the female element; but the pious
compilers
of the Prayer-Book did not probably intend thus to transplant
the
simple old nature-worship into their marriage office. Once more we
hear
of Adam and Eve in the next prayer, and we cannot help thinking
that,
considering all the trouble Eve brought upon her husband by her
flirtation
with the serpent, she is made rather too prominent a figure
in
the marriage service. The ceremony winds up with a long exhortation,
made
of quotations from the Epistles, on the duties of husbands and
wives.
Husbands are to love their wives because Christ loved a church--a
reason
that does not seem specially _a propos_, as husbands are not
required
to die for their wives or to present to themselves glorious
wives,
not having spot or wrinkle or any such thing (!); nor would most
husbands
desire that their wives' conversation should be coupled with
fear."
Why should women be taught thus to abase themselves? They are
promised
as a reward that they shall be the daughters of Sarah; but
that
is no great privilege, nor are English wives likely to call their
husbands
"lord;" if they did not adorn themselves with plaited hair and
pretty
apparel, their husbands would be sure to grumble, and the only
defence
that can be made for this absurd exhortation is that nobody ever
listens
to it.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
Among
the various reforms needed in the Marriage Laws one imperatively
necessary
is that all marriages should be made civil contracts--that
is,
that the contract which is made by citizens of the State, and which
affects
the interests of the State, should be entered into before a
secular
State official; if after that the parties desired a religious
ceremony,
they could go through any arrangements they pleased in their
own
churches and chapels, but the civil contract should be compulsory
and
should be the only one recognised by the law. Of course the Church
might
maintain its peculiar marriage as long as it chose, but it would
probably
soon pass out of fashion if it were not acknowledged as binding
by
the State.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
THE
ORDER FOR THE VISITATION OF THE SICK.
Of
all the services in the Prayer-Book this is, perhaps-, the most
striking
relic of barbarism, the most completely at variance with sound
and
reasonable thought. The clergyman entering into a house of sickness,
and
as he enters the sick man's room and catches sight of him, kneeling
down
and exclaiming, as though horror-stricken: "Remember not, Lord, our
iniquities,
nor the iniquities of our forefathers; spare us, good Lord,
spare
Thy people whom Thou hast redeemed with Thy most precious blood,
and
be not angry with us for ever." This clergyman reminds one of
nothing
so much as of one of Job's friends, who appear to have been an
even
more painful infliction than Job's boils. The sickness, the patient
is
told, "is God's visitation," and "for what cause soever this
sickness
is
sent unto you: whether it be to try your faith for the example of
others,
. . . or else it be sent unto you to correct and amend in
you
whatsoever doth offend the eyes of your heavenly Father; know you
certainly,
that if you truly repent you of your sins, and bear your
sickness
patiently, ... it shall turn to your profit, and help you
forward
in the right way that leadeth unto everlasting life." One might
question
the justice of Almighty God if the theory be correct that the
sickness
may be sent "to try your patience for the example of others;"
why
should one unfortunate victim be tormented simply that others
may
have the advantage of seeing how well he bears it? If we are to
endeavour
to conform ourselves to the image of God, then it would seem
that
we should be doing right if we racked our neighbours occasionally
to
"try their patience for the example of others." And is the idea
of
God a reverent one? What should we think of an earthly father who
tortured
one of his children in order to teach the others how to bear
pain?
if we should condemn the earthly father as wickedly cruel, why
should
the same action be righteous when done by the Father in heaven?
If
we accept the second reason given for the sickness, it is difficult
to
see the rationale of it. Why should illness of the body correct
illness
of the mind; does pain cure fretfulness, or fever increase
truthfulness?
Is not sickness likely rather to bring out and strengthen
mental
faults than to weaken them? And how far is it true that sickness
is,
in any sense, the visitation of God for moral delinquencies? Is
it
not true, on the contrary, that a man may lie, rob, cheat, slander,
tyrannise,
and yet, if he observe the laws of health, may remain in
robust
vigour, while an upright, sincere, honest and truthful man,
disregarding
those same laws, may be miserably feeble and suffer an
early
death? Is it, or is it not, a fact, that in the Middle Ages, when
people
prayed much and studied little, when the peasant went to the
shrine
for a cure instead of to the doctor, when sanitary science was
unknown,
and cleanliness was a virtue undreamed of,--is it, or is
it
not, true, that pestilence and black death then swept off their
thousands,
while these terrible scourges have been practically driven
away
in modern times by proper attention to sanitary measures, by
improved
drainage and greater cleanliness of living? How can that be a
visitation
of God for moral transgressions, which can be prevented by
man
if he attends to physical laws? Is man's power greater than God's,
and
can he thus play with the thunderbolts of the divine displeasure?
The
clergyman prays that "the sense of his weakness may add strength to
his
faith;" what fine irony is here, as body and mind grow weak faith
grows
strong; as a man is less able to think, he becomes more ready to
believe.
It is impossible to pass, without a word of censure, over the
passage
in the exhortation, taken from the Epistle to the Hebrews, which
says,
"for they (fathers of our flesh) verily for a few days chastened
us
after their own pleasure." Good earthly fathers do not chasten their
children
for their own amusement, while God does it "for our profit;"
on
the contrary, they do it for the improvement of their children,
while
God alone, if there be a hell, tortures his children for his
own
pleasure and for no gain to them. The succeeding portion of the
Exhortation,
that, "our way to eternal joy is to suffer here with
Christ,"
is full of that sad asceticism which has done so much to darken
the
world since the birth of Christ; men have been so engaged in looking
for
the "eternal joy" that they have let pass unnoted the misery here;
they
have been so busy planting flowers in heaven that they have let
weeds
grow here; yes, and they have rejoiced in the misery and in
the
weeds, because they were only strangers and pilgrims, and the
tribulation,
which was but temporal, increased the weight of the glory
that
was eternal. Thus has Christianity blighted the flowers of this
world,
and entwined the brows of its followers with wreaths of thorns.
The
concluding portion of the exhortation deals with the duty of
self-examination
and self-accusation, that you may "not be accused and
condemned
in that fearful judgment." Very wholesome teaching for a sick
man;
sickness always makes a person morbid, and the Church steps in to
encourage
the unwholesome feeling; sickness always makes a person
timid
and unnerved, and the Church steps in to talk about a "fearful
judgment,"
and bewilders and stuns the confused brain by the terrible
pictures
called up to the mind by the thought of the last day.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
But
worse follows; for after the sick person has said that he
steadfastly
believes the creed, the clergyman is bidden by the rubric
to
"examine whether he repent him truly of his sins, and be in
charity
with all the world." Imagine a sick person being worried by an
examination
of this kind, putting aside the gross impertinence of the
whole
affair. Further, "the minister should not omit earnestly to move
such
persons as are of ability to be liberal to the poor." When every
one
remembers the terrible scandals of by-gone days, when priests drew
into
the net of the Church the goods of the dying, using threat of hell
and
promise of heaven to win that which should have been left for the
widow
and the orphan, one marvels that such a rubric should be left
to
recall the rapaciousness and the greed of the Church, and to invite
priests
to grasp at the wealth slipping out of dying hands. And here the
sick
person is to "be moved to make a special confession of his sins, if
he
feel his conscience troubled with any weighty matter," and the priest
is
bidden to absolve him, for Christ having "left power to his Church to
absolve
by his authority committed to me," says the priest, "I absolve
thee."
Confession, delegated authority, priestly absolution, such is the
doctrine
of the Church of England: all the untold abominations of the
confessional
are involved in this rubric and sentence; for if the man
can
absolve a man at one time, he can do it at another. The precious
power
should surely not be left unused and wasted; whenever sin presses,
behold
the remedy, and thus we are launched and in full sail. But never
in
England shall the confessional again flourish; never again shall
English
women be corrupted by the foul questions of the priests; never
again
shall Englishmen have their mental vigour and virility destroyed
by
such degradation. Let the Church fall that countenances such an
accursed
thing, and leave English purity and English courage to grow and
flourish
unchecked.
The
devil is in great force in this service, as is only right in a so
generally
barbarous an office: "Let the enemy have no advantage of him;"
"defend
him from the danger of the enemy;" "renew in him whatsoever
hath
been decayed by the fraud and malice of the devil;" "the wiles of
Satan;"
"deliver him from fear of the enemy;" all this must convey to
the
sick person a cheerful idea of the devil lingering about his bed,
and
trying to get hold of him before it is too late to drag him down to
hell.
Is
there any meaning at all in the expression, "the Almighty Lord....
to
whom all things in heaven, in earth and _under the earth_ do bow and
obey."
Where is "under the earth "? The sun is under some part of the
earth
to some people at any given time; the stars are under, or above,
according
to the point of view from which they are looked at. Of course,
the
expression is only a survival from a time when the earth was flat
and
the bottomless pit was under it, only it seems a Pity to continued
to
use expressions which have all but lost their meaning and are now
thoroughly
ridiculous. People seem to think that any old things are good
enough
for God's service. The last two prayers are remarkable
chiefly
for their melancholy and 'craven tone towards God: "we humbly
recomment,"
"most humbly beseeching thee." Surely God is not supposed
to
be an Eastern despot, desiring this kind of cringing at his feet.
Yet
the "Prayer for persons troubled in mind or in conscience" is one
pitiful
wail, as though only by passionate entreaty could God be moved
to
mercy, and he were longing to strike, and with difficulty withheld
from
avenging himself. When will men learn to stand upright on their
feet,
instead of thus crouching on their knees? When will they learn
to
strive to live nobly, and then to fear no celestial anger, either in
life
or in death?
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
THE
ORDER FOR THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD.
It
is a little difficult to write a critical notice of a funeral office,
simply
because people's feelings are so much bound up in it that any
criticism
seems a cruelty, and any interference seems an impertinence.
Round
the open grave all controversy should be hushed, that no jarring
sounds
may mingle with the sobs of the mourners, and no quarrels wring
the
torn hearts of the survivors. Our criticism of this office, then,
will
be brief and grave.
The
opening verses strike us first as manifestly inappropriate:
"Whosoever
liveth and believeth in me shall never die;" yet the dead is
then
being carried to his last home, and the words seem a mockery spoken
in
face of a corpse. In the Fourth Gospel they preface the raising of
Lazarus,
and of course are then very significant, but to-day no power
raises
our dead, no voice of Jesus says to the mourners, "Weep not." The
second
verse from Job is---as is well known--an utter mistranslation:
"without
my flesh" would be nearer the truth than "in my flesh," and
"worms"
and body are not mentioned in the original at all. It seems a
pity
that in such solemn moments known falsehoods should be used.
The
whole argument in the 15th ch of Corinthians is the reverse of
convincing.
Christ is not the first fruits them that slept A dead man
had
been raised by touching the bones of Ehsha (2 Kings xii). Elisha,
in
his lifetime had raised the dead son of the Shunamite (2 Kings iv.);
Elijah,
before him, had raised the son of the Widow of Zarephath
(2
Kings xvii.); Christ had raised Lazarus, the daughter of Jairus,
and
the son of a widow. In no sense, then, if the Scriptures of the
Christians
be true can it be said that Christ has become the first
fruits,
the first begotten from the dead. "For since by man came death;"
but
death did not come by man; myriads of ages before man was in the
world
animals were born, lived and died, and they have left their
fossilised
remains to prove the falsity of the popular belief. We notice
also
that "flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God." If this
be
so, what becomes of the "resurrection of the flesh," spoken of in
the
Baptismal and Visitation Offices? What has become of the "flesh and
bones"
which Christ had after his resurrection and with which, according
to
the 4th Article, he has gone into heaven? Cannot Christ "inherit the
kingdom
of God"? It is hard to see how, in any sense, the resurrection
of
Christ can be taken as a proof of the resurrection of man. Christ
was
only dead thirty-six or thirty-seven hours before he is said to have
risen
again; there was no time for bodily decay, no time for corruption
to
destroy his frame: how could the restoration to life of a man
whose
body was in perfect preservation prove the possibility of the
resurrection
of the bodies which have long since been resolved into
their
constituent elements, and have gone to form other bodies, and to
give
shape to other modes of existence? People talk in such superior
fashion
of the resurrection that-they never stoop to remember its
necessary
details, or to think where is to be found sufficient matter
wherewith
to clothe all the human souls on the resurrection morn.
The
bodies of the dead make the earth more productive; they nourish
vegetable
existence; transformed into grass they feed the sheep and the
cattle;
transformed into these they sustain human beings; transformed
into
these they form new bodies once more, and pass from birth to death,
and
from death to birth again, a perfect circle of life, transmuted by
Nature's
alchemy from form to form. No man has a freehold of his body;
he
possesses only a life-tenancy, and then it passes into other hands.
The
melancholy dirge which succeeds this chapter sounds like a wail of
despair:
man "hath but a short time to live and is full of misery. He
cometh
up and is cut down like a flower; he fleeth as it were a shadow,
and
never continueth in one stay." Can any teaching be more utterly
unwholesome?
It is the confession of the most complete helplessness, the
recognition
of the futility of toil. And then the agonised pleading: "O
Lord
God most holy, O Lord most mighty, O holy and most merciful Saviour
deliver
us not into the bitter pains of eternal death." But if he be
most
merciful, whence all this need of weeping and wailing? If he be
most
merciful, what danger can there be of the bitter pains of eternal
death?
And again the cry rises: "Shut not thy merciful ears to our
prayer;
but spare us, Lord most holy, O God most mighty, O holy and
merciful
Saviour, thou most worthy Judge Eternal, suffer us not, at our
last
hour, for any pains of death, to fall from thee." It is nothing but
the
wail of humanity, face to face with the agony of death, feeling its
utter
helplessness before the great enemy, and clinging to any straw
which
may float within reach of the drowning grasp; it is the horror of
Life
facing Death, a horror that seems felt only by the fully living and
not
by the dying; it is the recoil of vigorous vitality from the silence
and
chilliness of the tomb.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
After
this comes a sudden change of tone, and the mourners are told of
God's
"great mercy" in taking the departed, and of the "burden of the
flesh,"
and they are bidden to give "hearty thanks" for the dead being
delivered
"out of the miseries of this sinful world." Can anything be
more
unreal? There is not one mourner there who desires to share in
the
great mercy, who wants to be freed from the burden of the flesh, or
desires
deliverance from the miseries of this world. Why should people
thus
play a farce beside the grave? Do they expect God to believe them,
or
to be deceived by such hypocrisy?
It
is urged by some that the Church cannot have a "sure and certain hope
of
the Resurrection to eternal life" as regards some of those whom she
buries
with this service; and it is manifest that, if the Bible be
true,
drunkards and others who are to be cast into the lake of fire, can
scarcely
rise to eternal life at the same time, and therefore the Church
has
no right to express a hope where God has pronounced condemnation.
The
Rubric only shuts out of the hope the uhbaptized, the
excommunicated,
and the suicide; all others have a right to burial at
her
hands, and to the hope of a joyful resurrection, in spite of the
Bible.
We
may hope that the day will soon come when people may die in England
and
may be buried in peace without this cry of pain and superstition
over
their graves. Wherever cemeteries are within reasonable distance
the
Rationalist may now be buried, lovingly and reverently, without
the
echo of that in which he disbelieved during life sounding over his
grave;
but throughout many small towns and country villages the Burial
Service
of the Church is practically obligatory, and is enforced by
clerical
bigotry. But the passing knell of the Establishment sounds
clearer
and clearer, and soon those who have rejected her services in
life
shall be free from her ministrations at the tomb.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
A
COMMINATION OR DENOUNCING OF GOD'S ANGER AND JUDGMENTS AGAINST
SINNERS.
THIS
service is too beautiful to be passed over without a word of
homage;
the spectacle of the Church raving and cursing is too edifying
to
be ungratefully ignored. "Brethren, in the primitive Church there was
a
godly discipline that, at the beginning of Lent, such persons as stood
convicted
of notorious sin were put to open penance and punished in this
world,
that their souls might be saved.... Instead whereof (until the
said
discipline may be restored again, which is much to be wished), it
is
thought good," &c. That is, in other words: "In days gone by, we
were
able
to bite, as well as to bark; now that our mouths are muzzled we
can
only snarl; but, until the old power comes back, which is much to
be
wished, let us, since we cannot bite, show our teeth and growl as
viciously
as we can, so that people may understand that it is only the
power
that is wanting, and not the will, and that, if we could, we would
torture
and burn as vigorously as we curse and damn." And promptly
the
priest begins with his curses, and all the people say Amen: what a
pretty
sight--a whole church full of Christians with one consent cursing
their
neighbours! Then comes an exhortation; as so many curses are
flying
about we must take care of our heads: "Let us, remembering the
dreadful
judgment hanging over our heads, and _always ready to fall upon
us_,
return to our Lord God." Always ready to fall; but is God, then,
always
lying in wait to catch us tripping, and crush us with his
judgments?
Does he punish gladly, and keep his blow suspended, to fall
at
the first chance our weakness gives him? If so, by no means let us
return
to our Lord God, but let us rather try to put a considerable
distance
between himself and us, and endeavour, like the prophet Jonah,
to
flee from the presence of the Lord. "It is a fearful thing to fall
into
the hands of the living God: he shall pour down rain upon the
sinners,
fire and brimstone, storm and tempest." And who made the
sinners?
Who called them into the world without their own consent? Who
made
them with an evil nature? Who moulded them as the potter the clay?
Who
made it impossible for them to go to Jesus unless he drew them,
and
then did not draw them? If God wants to pour fire and brimstone on
anybody,
he should pour it on himself, for he made the sinners, and is
responsible
for their existence and their sin. "It shall be too late to
knock
when the door shall be shut; too late to cry for mercy when it
is
the time of justice." How utterly repulsive is this picture of the
popular
and traditional God: how black the colours wherein is painted
this
Moloch; surely the artist must have been sketching a picture of the
devil,
and by mistake wrote under it the name of God when he should have
put
the name of Satan. If, however, we submit ourselves, and walk in his
ways,
and seek his glory, and serve him duly--that is, if we acknowledge
injustice
to be justness, and cruelty to be mercy, and evil to be
good--then
we shall escape "the extreme malediction which shall light
upon
them that shall be set on the left hand." On the whole, brave men
and
women will prefer to do rightly and justly here, caring much about
serving
man, and nothing about glorifying such a God, and leaving the
malediction
alone, very sure that no punishment can befal a man for
living
nobly, and that no fear need cloud the death-bed of him who has
made
his life a blessing to mankind.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
Of
course, after all this preface, come cringing confessions of sin. The
51st
Psalm leads the way, the congregation having by this time become so
thoroughly
confused that they see no incongruity in saying that when
God
has built the walls of Jerusalem, he will be pleased with burnt
offerings
and oblations, and that "then shall they offer young bullocks
upon
thy altar." As a matter of fact, they have no intention of offering
young
bullocks at all--bullocks having become too useful to be wasted in
that
fashion, but they have so thoroughly left the realm of common sense
that
they have become unconscious of the absurdities which they repeat.
The
gross exaggeration of the concluding prayers must be patent to
everyone;
they are full of the hysteria which passes for piety. "We are
grieved
and wearied with the burden of our sins," although most of the
congregation
will forget all about the burden before they leave
the
church: we are "vile earth and miserable sinners;" we "meekly
acknowledge
our vileness." One longs to shake them all, and tell them
to
stand up like men and women, instead of cringing there like cowards,
whining
about their vileness. If they are vile, why don't they mend,
instead
of saying the same thing every year? They should be ashamed to
tell
God of their miserable condition year after year, when his grace
is
sufficient for them, and they might be perfect as their Father in
heaven.
The
Church in all this service reminds one of nothing so much as a
wicked
old crone, who whines to the parson and scolds all the children.
In
days gone by the old woman has been the terror of the village, and
her
sturdy arm has been shown on many a black eye and bruised face;
now
she can no longer strike, she can only curse; she can no longer
tyrannise,
she can only scowl; her palsied tongue still mutters the
curses
which her shrivelled arm can no longer translate into act, and in
her
bleared eye, in her wrinkled cheeks, in her shaking frame, we read
the
record of an evil youth, wherein she abused her strength, and we see
descending
upon her the gloom of a dishonoured age, and the night of a
fathomless
despair.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
FORMS
OF PRAYER TO BE USED AT SEA.
There
is now a special service used at the launching of her Imperial
Majesty's
war-vessels which has not yet found its way into the
Prayer-Book;
curious thoughts arise in the mind in contemplating that
fashion,
conjoined to the office to be "used in her Majesty's navy every
day."
How does God protect "the persons of us, thy servants, and the
fleet
in which we serve?" Does prayer make bad ships more seaworthy, or
supply
the place of stout iron and sound wood? If the ship is not safe
without
prayer, will prayer make it so?
If
not, what is the use of praying over it? Either the ship is seaworthy
or
it is not; if it is, it will sail safely without prayer; if it is
not,
will prayer carry the rotten ship through the storm? If prayer
be
so efficacious, would it not be cheaper to use less wood and more
prayer?
Bad materials roughly put together would serve, for a curate
would
be cheaper than a shipwright, and much prayer would enable us to
dispense
with much labour. In "storms at sea," a special prayer is to be
used;
"O most powerful and glorious Lord God, at whose command the
winds
blow, and lift up the waves of the sea, and who stillest the rage
thereof:"
"O send thy word of command to rebuke the raging winds and the
roaring
sea." Is not this the prayer of utter ignorance, the prayer of
an
unscientific age? For what does the prayer imply? Only the modest
request
that the state of the atmosphere round the whole globe may be
modified
to suit the convenience of a small ship! And not only that, but
also
that the whole course of weather may be changed during countless
yesterdays,
the weather of to-day being only an effect caused by them.
Such
prayers were offered up in former days by a people who knew nothing
of
the inviolability of natural order, and who imagined that the weather
might
be changed at their bidding as the clerk may push on the hands of
the
church clock. The sailors are very frank in their confession: "When
we
have been safe and seen all things quiet about us, we have forgot
thee,
our God... But now we see how terrible thou art in all thy works
of
wonder; the great God to be feared above all." At any rate they
cannot
be accused of hypocrisy in their dealings with God! Nor is this
all.
Short prayers are provided for those who have no time for the long
ones;
and if the danger grows very pressing, everybody who can be spared
is
to join in a special confession of sins, taken from the Communion
Office.
It would surely be well to avoid a very pious crew, as they
might
be wasting the time in prayer which might save the ship by work.
One
serious thought presents itself for consideration in connection with
this
supposed power of God to smooth the turbulent billows. Many ships
go
down year after year; many thousands of lives sink in the pitiless
ocean;
many a bitter wail goes up from drowning crews; how wickedly
cruel
to have such power and to see the ship sink in the storm! how
icily
stony to have such power and to watch unmoved the agony of the
perishing!
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
The
prayers against the enemy are beautiful effusions; some of the
children
praying the All-father to enable them to slay his other
children:
"Stir up thy strength, O Lord, and come and help us." What
a
curious request! Does the All-strong require to stir up his strength
before
he can crush a few men? "Judge between us and our enemies." But
suppose
the enemy is in the right, what then? Suppose English sailors
are
on the wrong side, as in the dispute between George III. and the
American
Colonies, such a prayer then becomes a prayer for defeat, not
an
encouraging thought with which to go into battle. The prayers are
also
offensive for their cowardice of tone: "Let not our sins now cry
against
us for vengeance; but hear us thy poor servants begging mercy,
and
imploring thy help." The praises after victory are as objectionable
as
the prayers before: "The Lord hath covered our heads and made us
to
stand in the day of battle." And what of the poor wounded, groaning
below
in the cockpit, whose heads the Lord hath not covered? "The Lord
hath
overthrown our enemies, and dashed in pieces those that rose up
against
us." How thoroughly savage and bloodthirsty the thanksgiving! Is
God
supposed to rejoice over the sufferings of the defeated? Is he to
be
thanked for slaying his creatures? And then the victory is to be
improved
to the "advancement of thy gospel;" the gospel of so-called
peace
and goodwill is to be advanced by cannon-ball and torpedo, by
sabre
and cutlass. Truly they must believe that Jesus came to send
a
sword through the earth. And yet this is the true spirit of
Christianity;
of the creed which has shed more human blood than any
other
faith; of the creed which won its way through Europe with the
crucifix
in one hand, and the battle-axe in the other; of the creed
that
tortured innumerable victims on the rack, and which lit the
funeral
pyres of the martyrs; of the creed whose cross has ever been
crimson-red,
not with the blood of one who died to save humanity, but
with
the blood of a humanity sacrificed to the glory of God.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
THE
FORM AND MANNER OF MAKING, ORDAINING, AND CONSECRATING OF BISHOPS,
PRIESTS,
AND DEACONS, ACCORDING TO THE ORDER OF THE UNITED CHURCH OF
ENGLAND
AND IRELAND.
If
the Church of England confined herself in her ministrations to
offices
which had some demonstrable effect, her occupation would be
gone.
These Ordination offices stand on a par with that of Confirmation.
In
both, the Holy Ghost is given by imposition of episcopal hands;
in
both, no appreciable results follow the gift. The preface to these
offices
says: "It is evident unto all men diligently reading the Holy
Scripture
and ancient authors, that from the Apostles' time there have
been
these orders of ministers in Christ's Church: Bishops, Priests,
and
Deacons." The "evidence" of this appears doubtful, seeing that
all
Presbyterians
acknowledge no such triple order, and regard bishops as
an
invention of the devil, and "the pride of prelacy" as "a rag of
the
scarlet" lady. The three offices before us may, to all intents and
purposes,
be treated as one, for they are the progressive steps of the
ladder
which reaches-from earth to heaven, from the poor deacon-curate
on
70_l_. a year at the bottom, to the archbishop luxuriating on
15,000_l_.
a year at the top. There is much of solemn farce in the
opening:
the archdeacon presents the candidates for ordination to the
bishop,
and the reverend father in God, who has had them examined, who
knows
all about them, and has-probably dined with them the night before,
gravely
responds, "Take heed that the persons whom ye present unto us
be-apt
and meet, for their learning and godly conversation, to exercise
their
ministry duly, to the honour of God and the edifying of his
Church."
For the learning of some young clergymen, the less said about
it
the better, but those presented have at least scraped through the
bishop's
examination, and will not now be turned back. The question
is
simply a sham, and both candidates and bishop would be thoroughly
astonished
if the archdeacon replied that any one of them was deficient.
The
Litany follows after this, and then the Communion Office, with
special
Collect, Epistle, and Gospel. After the Oath of Supremacy, the
bishop
examines the candidates for the diaconate: "Do you trust that you
are
inwardly moved by the Holy Ghost to take upon you this office?" is
asked
of each, and each answers: "I trust so." This ought to be a solemn
question:
to be inwardly moved by the Holy Ghost is surely an important
thing;
and when one remembers how very little many of these young men,
fresh
from college, seem to think of the matter, and how one chooses the
Church
because it is "gentlemanly," and another because there is a fat
living
in the family, and another because he is too stupid for any other
profession,
we can scarcely help wondering at the workings of the Holy
Spirit
in the heart of man. They are also asked if they "unfeignedly
believe
all the Canonical Scriptures." If they really do believe them at
their
ordination much change must take place in after life, judging by
the
amount of scepticism among the clergy. Much of the fault lies in
pledging
young men of three-and-twenty to absolute belief in what they
have
probably studied but little; at college all their instruction is in
Christian
_Evidences_, not in attacks on Christianity; they really know
but
little of the anti-Christian arguments, and therefore are naturally
shaken
when they learn them further on. Then the deacon is to read
Homilies
in Church, and promises to do so, although he never fulfils the
promise,
and he vows to obey his "Ordinary and other chief ministers
of
the Church... following with a glad mind and will their godly
admonitions."
How well the deacons and priests keep this pledge may be
seen
in the daily struggles between them and their bishops, and in the
necessity
of passing a Public Worship Regulation Act for the easier
suppression
of rebellious priests. A year must intervene between the
diaconate
and the priesthood, and when this year has run, the youthful
aspirant
to the power of the keys presents himself once more before the
Father
in God, and the same farce of question and answer is repeated.
The
service runs as in that for deacons, save the special Epistle
and
Gospel, until after the Oath of Supremacy; and then comes a long
exhortation,
wherein what strikes us most is the complete contrast
between
the priest in theory and the priest in practice: "If it shall
happen
the same Church, or any member thereof, to take any hurt or
hindrance
by reason of your negligence, ye know the greatness of the
fault,
and also the horrible punishment that will ensue see that you
never
cease your labour, your care and diligence, until you have done
all
that lieth in you, according to your bounden duty, to bring all such
as
are or shall be committed to your charge, unto that agreement in the
faith
and knowledge of God, and to that ripeness and perfectness of age
in
Christ, that there be no place left among you, either for error in
religion,
or for viciousness in life." Now change the scene to six weeks
later,
and our young priest is playing croquet and flirting meekly with
his
rector's daughters, oblivious of the "horrible punishment" he
is
incurring from Hodge at the public-house getting drunk unrebuked.
"Consider
how studious ye ought to be in reading and learning the
Scriptures...
and for this self-same cause how ye ought to forsake and
set
aside (as much as you may) all worldly cares and studies." Alas for
the
special vanities of country clergymen; this one botanizes, and that
one
zoologizes, and another one geologizes, and a fourth is devoted to
his
garden, and a fifth to his poultry, and a sixth to his farming,
not
to speak of those who adorn the bench of magistrates and sternly
sentence
wicked poachers, and sinful old women who pick up sticks, and
children
who steal flowers. It may be urged that no set of men could
possibly
live the life sketched in this exhortation: granted; but,
then,
why pretend that they are bound to live it, and threaten horrible
punishments
if they do not perform the impossible? Besides, the bishop
expresses
his hope that they have well considered the whole matter,
and
have "clearly determined, by God's grace... you will apply yourself
wholly
to this one thing, and draw all your cares and studies this way."
When
the time comes to put the questions to the candidates, this very
point
forms one of them: "Will you be diligent in prayers, and in
reading
of the Holy Scriptures, and in such studies as help to the
knowledge
of the same, laying aside the study of the world and the
flesh?"
And the candidates solemnly promise to do that which they must
know
they have no intention of doing. One might further urge, that the
perpetual
meddlesomeness enjoined in this Office on the priest would
make
that individual a perfect nuisance to his parishioners if he tried
to
carry it into practice, and that he would probably very often find
his
ministrations cut short with unpleasant emphasis. The consecration
follows
in due course: "Receive the Holy Ghost for the Office and work
of
a priest in the Church of God... Whose sins thou dost forgive they
are
forgiven; and whose sins thou dost retain, they are retained." And
yet
some people pretend that the Church of England does not sanction an
absolving
priesthood! If these words have any meaning, they mean that
the
young men now ordained have the most awful power given into their
hands,
that they can, in very truth, lock and unlock heaven, for by
their
absolution the forgiven sinner may enter, while through their
retainment
of his sins he may be shut out. How tremendous then is the
authority
thus given into hands so young and so untried! And surely such
power
is not to be wasted? Surely it is the duty of these priests to
be
continually urging people to seek, and continually to be giving,
absolution.
Why should one sinner die unshriven, when such death may be
prevented
by the diligence of the priest? Life would be impossible were
all
this really believed; what priest could live in reasonable comfort
if
this were true and were realised? All earthly things would sink into
insignificance,
and life would become a desperate struggle to save
and
absolve the perishing; real belief would end its days in a lunatic
asylum.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
The
Consecration of Archbishop or Bishop is somewhat more ceremonious,
but
is one in character with the preceding offices. The promise to
banish
and drive away all erroneous and strange doctrine contrary to
God's
word is one the fulfilment of which brings unfortunate bishops
nowadays
into much trouble in the flesh. For when a Colenso "comes down
like
a wolf on the fold," and a faithful Bishop of Oxford forbids him
to
tear the lambs of his flock, immediately people mutter "bigoted,"
"narrow-minded,"
"tyranny," with sundry other unpleasant adjectives and
nouns.
Yet can there be no doubt that he of Oxon was only obeying his
ordination
vow. In truth the present spirit of liberty is thoroughly
at
issue with the spirit of these offices, and the only effect of
maintaining
them is to create hypocrites and vow breakers. Nor is it
fair
to-judge too harshly those who break these foolish vows, for a man
may
honestly think that he can best serve his generation as clergyman,
and
may have a general belief in Christianity, and he may then argue
that
he cannot permit himself to be kept out of a wide sphere of
usefulness
by a few obsolete vows. The pity is that men, whose common
sense
is too strong to be bound by foolish promises taken in ignorance
in
their youth, do not join earnestly together to remove this
stumbling-block
from before the feet of the next generation, so that, if
they
deem their church valuable, they may preserve her by adapting her
to
the realities of the nineteenth instead of the sixteenth century,
and
may make her services something more than a farce, her ceremonies
something
better than a show.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
THE
ARTICLES.
It
is a little difficult to make out how far the Thirty-nine Articles
of
the Church of England--"the forty stripes save one"--are binding or
non-binding
on her members. There is, of course, no question that they
accurately
sketch her doctrines, and that all her faithful children
should
accept and believe them with devout piety, but scarcely any dogma
can
be enforced by law against the laity, the whole spirit of the time
being
directly antagonistic to such enforcement. But there is no doubt
that
these Articles are both legally and morally binding on the clergy,
as
they voluntarily submit themselves to them, and declare their full
and
free belief in them when entering upon the enjoyment of any benefice
of
the Establishment. The Royal Declaration, prefixed to the Articles,
is
sweeping and decisive enough. "The Articles of the Church of England
do
contain the true doctrine of the Church of England agreeable to God's
word;
which we do therefore ratify and confirm, requiring all our loving
subjects
to continue in the uniform profession thereof, and prohibiting
the
least difference from the said Articles." After this distinct
declaration
we are commanded "That no man hereafter shall either print,
or
preach, to draw the Article aside either way, but shall submit to it
in
the plain and full meaning thereof; and shall not put his own sense
or
comment to be the meaning of the Article, but shall take it in
the
literal and grammatical sense." When any outsider has read this
declaration
it becomes to him one of the mysteries of the faith how it
is
that English gentlemen, honest, honourable men in everything else,
manage
to accept livings on condition of declaring their full concord
with
these Articles, and then deliberately twist them into non-natural
meanings,
in order that they may be Roman Catholic or Latitudinarian,
according
to the opinions of the readers. It may, certainly, be conceded
that
the "literal and grammatical sense" is very often nonsense, and
therefore
cannot be believed; perfectly true: but these honest men
have
no right to give the weight of their culture and their goodness
to
bolster up this falling Church, whose dogmas they can never accept,
except
by transfiguring their unreason into reason, and their folly into
wisdom.
Many who are ignorant, and careless, and uncultured are kept as
nominal
members of the Anglican Church because a glamour is thrown over
it
by the Broad Church clergy; but their position cannot be too strongly
reprobated,
_so long as they make no effort to alter that in which they
do
not believe, so long as they silently support superstitions which
without
their aid would, long ago, have crumbled into ruin._
Article
I. deals with "Faith in the Holy Trinity." Most creeds,
certainly
all Oriental creeds, cluster around a Trinity; the root of the
worship
of the Trinity is struck deep into the nature of man, for it is
the
worship of the life universal, localised in the giver of the life
individual,
under the symbol of the phallic emblem, the creator of each
new
existence. The Christian Trinity has, naturally, outgrown the primal
barbarism
of Nature-worship, although preserving the Trinity in unity:
"There
is but one living and true God, everlasting, without body, parts,
or
passions... and in unity of this Godhead there be three persons, of
one
substance, power, and eternity; the Father, the Son, and the Holy
Ghost"
So far have we travelled under the guidance of the Church, and
we
have before our mind's eye, one God, uncorporeate, passionless,
indivisible,
and yet divided into three "persons," thus implying three
individualities,
separate the one from the other. Let us remember that
the
Father is God, the Son is God, and the Holy Ghost is God, but that
since
there is but one God, the Father is the Son, and the Son is the
Holy
Ghost, and since the Father is the same as the Son, and the Son
is
the same as the Holy Ghost, the Father and the Holy Ghost must
necessarily
be identical. Article II. teaches us that "the Son, which
is
the word of the Father, begotten from everlasting of the Father, the
very
and eternal God, and of one substance with the Father, took man's
nature
in the womb of the blessed Virgin, of her substance;" the Son:
that
is, the Second Person in the undivided and indivisible Trinity:
"begotten
from everlasting of the Father;" but the Father is one with
the
Son, for both are God, and yet there is but one God, and therefore
Son
and Father are interchangeable terms; the Son then is begotten from
everlasting
of himself, for in the one true God no division is possible,
and
"such as the Father is such is the Son;" and further, the Son, being
the
Son, and at the same time identical with his own Father, takes man's
nature:
then the Father and the Holy Ghost must also take man's nature,
for
"such as the Son such is the Father, and such is the Holy Ghost:"
and
God, "without body," takes man's body, and "without parts"
is
crucified,
and "without passions" suffers. But the Son dies "to
reconcile
his Father to us;" but he is his Father, and his Father is
himself.
Can the one living and true God die to reconcile himself to
himself,
and to offer himself up a sacrifice to himself to appease his
own
wrath? The bodiless is nailed on the cross: the impassible suffers:
the
undying dies: the one God on earth is offered to appease the one
God
in heaven, and there is but one living and true God. If this be so,
either
the God in heaven or the God on earth must have been a false God,
for
there is but one true God: and the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, who
must
be kept indivisible in thought, hang upon the cross, as a sacrifice
to
the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, and cry, being the one true God, to
"my
God, my God" who has forsaken himself. And all this "to reconcile
the
Father to us:" the Father who is "without passions," and who
therefore
cannot be angry or need reconcilement. "As Christ died for
us,
and was buried, so also it is to be believed that he went down into
hell."
_Down_ into hell; which way is down from a round globe? In the
ancient
conception of the universe the earth was flat, with heaven
above
and hell underneath, and Korah, Dathan, and Abiram, when the earth
opened
her mouth, "went down quick (alive) into hell:" did Jesus do
the
same? But, hanging on the cross, he said to the penitent thief:
"_To-day_
shalt thou be with me in Paradise:" is Paradise the same hell?
and
is heaven identical with both? Jesus ascended, went up, not down, to
heaven:
if this be so, might not some confusion arise on the way, for
a
soul starting downwards from Australia on its way to hell, might
be
found soaring upwards from England after a few hours' journey. Are
heaven
and hell both all round the world, and if so, why is one "up" and
the
other "down"? Rome was right and wise when she set her face sternly
against
the heliocentric theory; a revolving globe destroys all the old
notions
of the "heaven above," and of "the water under the earth,"
and
of
hell below; and it was a strong argument against the sphericity of
the
earth that "in the day of judgment, men on the other side of the
globe
could not see the Lord descending through the air." The Fourth
Article
teaches us that Christ "took again his body, with flesh,
bones,
and all things appertaining to the perfection of man's nature;
_wherewith_
he ascended into heaven, and there sitteth." Body, flesh,
bones,
and all things appertaining to man's nature; wishes, and
appetites,
and needs, heart and lungs, for instance; and he took these
beyond
the atmosphere? lungs to breathe where no air is? heart to
pulse
where no oxygen can purify the blood? flesh and bones among pure
spirits?
the form of man sitting on the throne of God? and this flesh,
bones,
&c, all one with the indivisible, from the God without body
and
parts, and Jesus the Son of Mary, the crucified man, sitting in his
flesh
and bones in heaven, not to be separated in thought from the one
living
and true God, without body, parts, or passions.* Such is the
"literal
and grammatical sense" of the first four Articles, and to
analyse
the Fifth, "of the Holy Ghost," would be simply to repeat all
that
has been said above, since "such is the Son, such is the Holy
Ghost."
May it not justly be said that belief in the Trinity in Unity
is
the negation of thought, and that faith is only possible where reason
ends?
* 1 Cor. xv. 50.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
Article
VI. deals with "the sufficiency of the Holy Scriptures for
Salvation,"
and lays down the Canon that anything not capable of proof
from
the Bible must not be "required of any man that it should be
believed
as an article of the faith, or be thought requisite or
necessary
to salvation." The converse of this proposition, that dogmas
that
can be proved therefrom _are_ necessary to salvation, is said
not
to be binding on the Church, and some notable "depravers" of the
Scriptures
have successfully slipped through this Article. The list
of
books given as those "of whose authority was never any doubt in the
Church"
seems open to grave objections, as the authority of many of
the
books now accounted canonical has been distinctly challenged. "The
history
of Jonah is so monstrous that it is absolutely incredible."
"Job
spake not therefore as it stands written in his book." "Isaiah hath
borrowed
his whole art and knowledge from David." Thus, among many other
staid
criticisms, wrote Luther. To go further back, is to find much
sharp
challenging. The Epistle to the Hebrews is of most doubtful
authenticity.
The 2nd Epistle of Peter and that of Jude are debatable.
The
Revelation of St. John the Divine was very slowly received, and the
two
shorter Epistles which bear his name are dubiously recognised. If
only
the books are to be received of which there "was never any doubt in
the
Church," the canonical list must be shorn of most of its ornaments.
When
Article VII. tells us that the ceremonial and civil precepts of the
Old
Testament are not binding upon us, it seems a pity that some test
is
not given whereby unlearned people may be able to distinguish between
the
"Commandments which are called moral" and the others. Is the command
to
persecute non-believers in Jehovah (Deut. xiii., xvii. 2--7) binding
to-day?
Is the command to put Witches to death (Lev. xx. 27) binding
to-day?
John Wesley said that belief in witchcraft was incumbent on all
those
who believed the Bible, and if witchcraft was possible then, why
not
now? or has God changed his mind as to the proper method of dealing
with
such persons? Are the commands enjoining and regulating Slavery
(Ex.
xxi. 2--6, and 20, 21; Lev. xxv. 44--46; Deut. xv. 12--18) intended
for
the guidance of slave-holders to-day? What is there to make the
"Commandments
which are called moral"--by which we may presume are meant
the
Ten Commandments--more binding on "Christian men" than the other
parts
of the law? The Fourth Commandment is essentially a Jewish one,
and
is not obeyed among Christians. The Second Commandment is invariably
ignored,
and the Fifth promises a reward which is not given. The
Commandments
touching murder, adultery, stealing, lying are not peculiar
to
the Mosaic code. They are found in all moral legislation, and are
binding--not
because taught by Moses or by Buddha, but--because their
observance
is necessary to the existence of society. Of the three
Creeds
of the Church we have already spoken, so pass to Article IX., "of
Original
or Birth-sin." It seems that a fault and corruption of Nature
are
naturally "engendered of the offspring of Adam," and that this
fault
"in every person born into the world deserveth God's wrath and
damnation."
That seems scarcely fair, since the infant's consent is not
asked
before he is born into the world, and the fault of being born is,
therefore,
none of his. How, then, can the babe _deserve_ God's wrath
and
damnation? And seeing that the very next Article (X.) informs us
that
our condition is such that a man "cannot turn and prepare himself,
by
his own natural strength and good works, to faith and calling upon
God,"
it appears terribly unjust that either child or man should be
held
accursed because they do not do what God has made them incapable of
doing.
It would be as reasonable to torture a man for not flying without
wings,
as for God to punish man for being born of the race of Adam, and
for
not turning to God when the power so to do is withheld; for "we have
_no
power to do good works_.... without the grace of God by Christ," and
when
that grace is not given we lie helpless and strength-less, unable
to
do right. Nor can any deed of ours make us fit recipients of the
grace
of God, for (Article XIII.) "works done before the grace of Christ
and
the Inspiration of his Spirit _are not pleasant_ to God.... neither
do
they make men meet to receive grace.... yea, rather, for that they
are
not done as God hath willed and commanded them to be done, _we doubt
not
but that they have the nature of sin_." So that if a good and noble
heathen,
who has never heard of Christ, and whose good deeds cannot
therefore
"spring of faith in Jesus Christ," does some high-minded
action,
or shows some kindly charity, his good deeds are of "the nature
of
sin," and in fact make him rather worse off than he was before: as
Melancthon
said, his virtues are only "splendid vices" because done
without
faith in a person of whom he has never heard. For (Art. XVIII.)
they
"are to be accursed that presume to say that every man shall be
saved
by the law or sect which he professeth, so that he be diligent to
frame
his life according to that law, and the light of nature:" "we are
accounted
righteous before God (Art. XI.) _only_ for the merit of our
Lord
and Saviour Jesus Christ by Faith, and _not for our own works and'
deservings_."
Thus we learn that God cares not for righteousness of
life,
but only for blind faith, and that he sends us out into a world
lying
under his curse, without any chance of salvation except by
attaining
a faith which he gives or withholds at his pleasure, and which
we
can of ourselves do nothing to deserve, much less to obtain. To crown
this
beautiful theory we learn,--Article XVII. "of Predestination
and
Election:"--predestination to life, it seems, "is the everlasting
purpose
of God whereby (before the foundations of the world were laid)
he
hath constantly decreed by his counsel, secret to us, to deliver from
curse
and damnation those whom he hath chosen in Christ out of mankind,
and
to bring them by Christ to everlasting salvation, as vessels made
to
honour." But if this be true, man has no choice of any kind in the
matter;
for not only is grace to do right the gift of God, but man's
acceptance
of the gift is also compulsory. God has arranged, before he
made
the world how many and whom he will save. What, then, becomes of
man's
boasted free will? Before the creation God drew the plan of every
human
life, and as the potter moulds the ductile clay into the shape
he
desires, so God moulds his human pottery after his own will into
"vessels
made to salvation" or made to dishonour. To talk of man's
freedom
is a mockery. What freedom had Adam and Eve in Paradise? "They
might
have stood:" nay; for was not "the Lamb slain from the foundation
of
the world?" Before the sin was committed God had made the atonement
for
it. If Adam were free not to sin, then it would be possible that
he
might not have sinned, and then God would have offered a needless
sacrifice,
and would have a Saviour with no one to save, so that it
would
have been necessary to provide a sinner in order to utilise the
sacrifice.
All idea of justice is here hideously impossible; God has
predestinated
some human beings _out of mankind_. These "in due season"
he
calls; "through grace they obey the calling;" "they be justified
freely...
and at length, by God's mercy, they attain to everlasting
felicity."
And the rest--those who are _not_ predestined; those who are
_not_
called; those to whom _no_ grace is given; those who are _not_
justified
freely; those who have no God's mercy to aid them;--what
of
them? Made by God, the creatures of his hand, the vessels of his
moulding,
the clay of his shaping, are they cast into the lake of
brimstone,
into the fire that never shall be quenched, simply because
God
in "his sovereignty" put them--unconscious--under his curse and left
them
there, adding to the cruelty of creation the more savage cruelty
of
preservation? No! whether such deeds should be wrought by God or man,
they
would be wickedly wrong. Almighty power is no excuse for crime, and
the
God of the Articles of the Church of England is a gigantic criminal,
who
uses his Almightiness to make life that he may torment it, and to
create
sentient beings foredoomed to bitterest agony, to keenest woe.
Such
frightful misuse of power can only meet with strongest reprobation
from
all moral beings; unlimited power turned to evil purposes may
trample
upon and crush us into helplessness, but it can never force us
to
worship, nor compel us to adore.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
These
first eighteen Articles of the Church may be said to contain the
more
salient points of the Church's teaching, and it is needless to
point
out the utter impossibility of reasonable and gentle-hearted men
and
women believing in the "plan of, salvation" sketched out in them.
They
are instinct with the cruel theology of Calvin and of Zwingli,
and
imply (though they do not so plainly word) the view of the Lambeth
Articles
of 1595, that "God from eternity hath predestinated certain men
unto
life; _certain he hath reprobated_." These Anglican Articles
must
be taken as teaching predestination to damnation as well as to
salvation,
since those not called to life must inevitably fall to
death.
The next section--so to speak--of the Articles deals with
Church
affairs, defining the authority of Churches and of Councils, and
explaining
the 'doctrine of the Sacraments. It is with these that
the
High Church party chiefly fall out, for the Twenty-first Article,
acknowledging
that General Councils may err and have erred, strikes at
the
root of the infallibility of the Church Universal, so dear to the
priestly
soul. The Articles on the Sacraments also tend somewhat to the
Low
Church view of them, and dwell more on the faith of the recipient
than
on the consecration of the priest. The Article (XXXIII.) levelled
against
"excommunicate persons," commanding that such an one shall
"be
taken of the whole multitude of the faithful, as an Heathen and
Publican,
until he be openly reconciled by penance," is duly believed
and
subscribed by clergymen, but has no real meaning to-day. If the
Thirty-fifth
Article were acted upon, some curiosities of English
literature
would enliven the Churches; for this Article bids the
clergy
read the Homilies: "we judge them to be read in Churches by the
Ministers,
diligently and distinctly, that they may be understanded of
the
people." It is really a pity that this direction is not carried out,
for
some of the barbarous doctrines of popular Christianity would then
be
seen as they are described by men who thoroughly believed in them,
instead
of being known only as they are presented to us to-day, with
some
of their deformity hidden under the robes woven for them by modern
civilisation,
wherein humanity has outgrown the old Christianity, and
men's
reason chastens their faith. The last three Articles touch on
civil
matters, acknowledging the Royal Supremacy and dealing with other
matters
pertaining to Caesar, but on the borderland between him and God.
Such
are the Articles of the Church; believed by few, unknown to
many,
winked at by all, because religion is practically a matter of
indifference
to most, and while custom and fashion enforce conformity
with
the Church, the brain troubles not itself to analyse the claim, or
to
weigh the conditions of allegiance. Men have become so sceptical as
to
regard all creeds with indifference, and the half-conceived unbelief
of
the clergy, sighing with mental reservations, and formally asserting
belief
where the thought and the lips are at variance, appears to have
eaten
the heart out of all religious honesty in England, and men lie to
God
who would revolt at lying to man. If belief in the Articles is now a
thing
of the past, then the Articles should also pass away; if Churchmen
have
outgrown these dogmas, why do they suffer them to deface their
Prayer-Book,
to barb "the shafts of the sceptic, and to give power to
the
sneer of the scoffer?"
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
THE
CHURCH OF ENGLAND CATECHISM
WISE
men, in modern times, are striving earnestly and zealously to, as
far
as possible, free religion from the cramping and deadening effect of
creeds
and formularies, in order that it may be able to expand with the
expanding
thought of the day. Creeds are like iron moulds, into which
thought
is poured; they may be suitable enough to the way in which they
are
framed; they may be fit enough to enshrine the phase of thought
which
designed them; but they are fatally unsuitable and unfit for
the
days long afterwards, and for the thought of the centuries which
succeed.
"No man putteth new wine into old bottles, else the new wine
doth
burst the bottles, and the wine is spilled, and the bottles will
be
marred; but new wine must be put into new bottles." The new wine
of
nineteenth century thought is being poured into the old bottles of
fourth
century creeds: and sixteenth century formulas, and the strong
new
wine-bursts the bottles, while the weak new wine that cannot:
burst
them ferments into vinegar in them, and often becomes harmful
and
poisonous. Let the new wine be poured into new bottles; let the
new
thought mould its own expression; and then the old bottles will be
preserved
unbroken as curious specimens of antiquity, instead of being
smashed
to pieces because they get in the way of the world. Nothing is
more
to be deprecated in a new and living movement than the formulating
into
creeds of the thoughts that inspire it, and the imposition of those
creeds
on those who join it. The very utmost that can be done to give
coherency
to a large movement is to put forward a declaration of a few
cardinal
doctrines that do not interfere with full liberty of divergent
thought.
Thus, Rationalists might take as the declaration of their
central
thought, that "reason is supreme," but they would be destroying
the
future of Rationalism if they formulated into a creed any of the
conclusions
to which their own reason has led them at the present time,
for
by so doing they would be stereotyping nineteenth century thought
for
the restraint of twentieth century thought, which will be larger,
fuller,
more instructed than their own. Freethinkers may declare as
their
symbol the Right to Think, and the Right to express thought, but
should
never claim the declaration by others of any special form of
Freethought,
before acknowledging them as Freethinkers. Bodies of
men
who join together in a society for a definite purpose may fairly
formulate
a creed to be assented to by those who join them, but they
must
ever remember that such creed will lose its force in the time to
come,
and that while it adds strength and point to their movement
now,
it also limits its useful duration, if it is to be maintained as
unalterable,
for as circumstances change different needs will arise,
and
a fresh expression of the means to meet those needs will become
necessary.
A wise society, in forming a creed, will leave in the hands
of
its members full power to revise it, to amend it, to alter it, so
that
the living thought within the society may ever have free scope. A
creed
must be the expression of _living thought_, and be moulded by
it,
and not the skeleton of dead thought, moulding the intellect of its
heirs.
The strength of a society lies in the diversity, and not in the
uniformity,
of the thought of its members, for progress can only be
made
through heretical thought, _i.e_., thought that is at variance
with
prevailing thought. All Truth is new at some time or other, and
the
fullest encouragement should therefore be given to free and fearless
expression,
since by such expression only is the promulgation of new
truths
possible. An age of advancement is always an age of heresy;
for
advancement comes from questioning, and questioning springs from
doubt,
and hence progress and heresy walk ever hand-in-hand, while an
age
of faith is also an age of stagnation.
Every
argument that can be brought against a stereotyped creed for
adults,
tells with tenfold force against a stereotyped catechism for
children.
If it is evil to try and mould the thought of those whose
maturity
ought to be able to protect them against pressure from without,
it
is certainly far more evil to mould the thought of those whose still
unset
reason is ductile in the trainer's hand. A catechism is a sort of
strait-waistcoat
put upon children, preventing all liberty of action;
and
while the child's brain ought to be cultured and developed, it ought
never
to be trained to run in one special groove of thought. Education
should
teach children _how_ to think, but should never tell them _what_
to
think. It should sharpen and polish the instruments of thought, but
should
not fix them into a machine made to cut out one special shape
of
thought. It should send the young out into the world keen-judging,
clear-eyed,
thoughtful, eager, inquiring, but should not send them out
with
answers cut-and-dried to every question, with opinions ready
made
for them, and dogmas nailed into their brains. Most churches have
provided
catechism-sawdust for the nourishment of the lambs of their
flock;
Roman Catholics, Church of Englanders, Presbyterians, they have
all
their juvenile moulds. The Church of England catechism is, perhaps,
the
least injurious of all, because the Church of England is the result
of
a compromise, and has the most offensive parts of its dogmas cut out
of
the public formularies. It wears some slight apron of fig-leaves in
deference
to the effect produced by the eating of the tree of knowledge.
But
still, the Church of England catechism is bad enough, training the
child
to believe the most impossible things before he is old enough
to
test their impossibility. To the age which believes in
Jack-and-the-bean-stalk,
and the adventures of Cinderella, all things
are
possible; whether it be Jonah in the whale's belly, or Tom Thumb in
the
stomach of the red cow, all is gladly swallowed with implicit faith;
the
children grow out of Tom Thumb, in the course of nature, but they
are
not allowed to grow out of Jonah.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
When
the baby is brought to the font to make divers promises, of the
making
of which he is profoundly unconscious--however noisily he may at
times
convey his utter disgust at the whole proceeding--the godfathers
and
godmothers are directed to see that the child is "brought to the
bishop
to be confirmed by him, so soon as he can say the creed, the
Lord's
Prayer, and the Ten Commandments, in the vulgar tongue, and be
further
instructed in the Church Catechism set forth for that purpose."
It
is scarcely necessary to say that these words--being in the
Prayer-Book--are
not meant to be taken literally, and that the bishop
would
be much astonished if all the small children in the Sunday School
who
can glibly repeat the required lesson, were to be brought up to him
for
confirmation. As a matter of fact, the large majority of godfathers
and
godmothers do not trouble themselves about seeing their godchildren
brought
to confirmation at all, and the children are sent up when they
are
about fifteen, at which period most of them who are above the Sunday
School
going grade, are rapidly "crammed" with the Catechism, which they
as
rapidly forget when the day of confirmation is over.
The
Christian name of the child being given in answer to the first
question
of the Catechism, the second inquiry proceeds: "Who gave you
this
name?" The child is taught to answer--"My godfathers and godmothers
in
my baptism; wherein I was made a member of Christ, the child of
God,
and an inheritor of the kingdom of heaven." Thus, the first lesson
imprinted
on the child's memory is one of the most objectionable of the
dogmas
of the Church, that of baptismal regeneration. In baptism he
is
"made" something; then he becomes something which he was not before;
according
to the baptismal office, he is given in baptism "that thing
which
by nature he cannot have," and being under the wrath of God, he
is
delivered from that curse, and is received for God's "own child by
adoption;"
he is also "incorporated" into the "holy Church," and thus
becomes
"a member of Christ," being made a part of the body of which
Christ
is the head; this being done, he is, of course, an "inheritor of
the
kingdom of heaven" through the "adoption."
Thus
the child is taught that, by nature, he is bad and accursed by God;
that
so bad was he as an infant, that his parents were obliged to wash
away
his sins before God would love him. If he asks what harm he had
done
that he should need cleansing, he will be told that he inherits
Adam's
sin; if he asks why he should be accursed for being born, and
why,
born into God's world at God's will, he should not by nature be
God's
child, he will be told that God is angry with the world, and that
everyone
has a bad nature when they are born; thus he learns his first
lesson
of the unreality of religion; he is cursed for Adam's sin, which
he
had no share in, and forgiven for his parent's good deed, which he
did
not help in. The whole thing is to him a play acted in his infancy
in
which he was a puppet, in which God was angry with him for what
he
had not done, and pleased with him for what he did not say, and he
consequently
feels that he has neither part nor lot in the whole affair,
and
that the business is none of his; if he be timid and superstitious,
he
will hand over his religion to others, and trust to the priest to
finish
for him what Adam and his parents began, shifting on to them all
a
responsibility that he feels does not in reality belong to him.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
The
unreality deepens in the next answer which is put into his
mouth--"What
did your godfathers and god-mothers then for you?" "They
did
promise and vow-three things in my name: First, that I should
renounce
the devil and all his works, the pomps and vanities of this
wicked
world, and all the sinful lusts of the flesh. Secondly, that I
should
believe all the articles of the Christian Faith. And thirdly,
that
I should keep God's holy will and commandments, and walk in the
same
all the days of my life." Turning to the Baptismal Service again,
we
find that the godparents are asked, "Dost thou, _in the name of this
child_,
renounce," &c, and they answer severally, "I renounce them
all,"
"All
this I steadfastly believe;" and, asked if they will keep God's
holy
will, they still answer for the child, "I will." What binding force
can
such promises as these have upon the conscience of anyone when he
grows
up? The promises were made without his consent; why should he
keep
them? The belief was vowed before he had examined it; why should he
profess
it? No promise made in another's name can be binding on him who
has
given no authority for such use of his name, and the unconscious
baby,
innocent of all knowledge of what is being done, can never, in
justice,
be held liable for breaking a contract in the making of which
he
had no share. Bentham rightly and justly protests against "the
implied--the
necessarily implied--assumption, that it is in the power of
any
person--not only with the consent of the father or other guardian,
but
without any such consent--to fasten upon a child at its birth, and
long
before it is itself even capable of giving consent to anything,
with
the concurrence of two other persons, alike self-appointed, load it
with
a set of obligations--obligations of a most terrific and appalling
character--obligations
of the nature of oaths, of which just so much
and
no more is rendered visible as is sufficient to render them
terrific--obligations
to which neither in quantity nor in quality are
any
limits attempted to be, or capable of being, assigned."
This
obligation, laid upon the child in its unconsciousness, places
it
in a far worse position, should it hereafter reject the Christian
religion,
than if such an undertaking had not been entered into on
its
behalf. It becomes an "apostate," and is considered to have
disgracefully
broken its faith; it lies under legal disabilities which
it
would not otherwise incur, for heavy statutes are levelled against
those
who, after having "professed the Christian religion," write or
speak
against it. Thus in early infancy a chain is forged round the
child's
neck which fetters him throughout life, and the unconsciousness
of
the baby is taken advantage of to lay him under terrible penalties.
In
English law a minor is protected because of his youth; surely we
need
an ecclesiastical minority, before the expiration of which no
spiritual
contracts entered into should be enforceable. From the
religious
point of view, apostacy is far more fatal than simple
non-Christianity.
Keble writes:
"Vain thought, that shall not be at
all
I Refuse me, or obey,
Our ears have heard the Almighty's call,
We cannot be as they."
Is
it fair not to ask the child's assent before making his case worse
than
that of the heathen should he hereafter reject the faith which his
sponsors
promise he shall believe?
Besides,
how absurd is this promising for another; a child is taught not
to
break _his_ baptismal vow, when he has made no such vow at all; how
can
the god-parents ensure that the child shall renounce the devil and
believe
in Christianity, and obey God? It is foolish enough to make a
promise
of that kind for oneself when changing circumstances may force
us
into breaking it, but it is sheer madness to make such a promise on
behalf
of somebody else. The promise to "believe all the Articles of the
Christian
Faith," cannot take effect until the judgment has grown ripe
enough
to test, to accept, or to reject, and who then can say for his
brother,
"he shall believe." Belief is not a matter of will, it is a
matter
of evidence; if evidence enough supports an assertion, we must
believe
it, while if the evidence be insufficient we must doubt it.
Belief
is neither a virtue nor a vice; it is simply the consequence
of
sufficient evidence. Theological belief is demanded on insufficient
evidence;
such belief is called, theologically, "faith," but in
ordinary
matters it would be called "credulity." First amongst the
renouncings
comes "the devil and all his works." Says Bentham--"The
Devil,
who or what is he, and how is it that he is _renounced?_
The
works of the Devil, what are they, and how is it that they are
renounced?
Applied to the Devil, who or whatever he is--applied to
the
Devil's works, whatever they are--what sort of an operation is
_renouncement
or renunciation?_"
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
Pertinent
questions, surely, and none of them answerable. A Court of Law
lately
sat upon the Devil, and could not find him; "how is the Christian
to
explain to the child whom it is he has renounced in his infancy? And
in
the first place, the Devil himself--of whom so decided and familiar a
mention,
as of one whom everybody knows, is made--where lives he? Who is
he?
What is he? The child itself, did it ever see him? By any one, to
whom
for the purpose of the inquiry the child has access, was he ever
seen?
The child, has it ever happened to it to have any dealings with
him?
Is it in any such danger as that of having, at any time, to his
knowledge,
any sort of dealings with him? If not, then to what purpose
is
this _renouncement?_ and, once more, what is it that is meant by it?"
But
supposing there were a devil, and supposing he had works, how could
the
child renounce him? The devil is not in the child's possession that
he
might give him up as if he were an injurious toy. In days gone by the
phrase
had a definite meaning; people were supposed to be able to hold
commerce
with the devil, to commune with familiar spirits, and summon
imps
to do their bidding; to "renounce the devil and all his works" was
then
a promise to have nothing to do with witchcraft, sorcery, or magic;
to
regard the devil as an enemy, and to take no advantage by his help.
All
these beliefs have long since passed away into "The Old Curiosity
Shop"
of Ecclesiastical Rubbish, but children are still taught to repeat
the
old phrases, to rattle the dry bones which life has left so long.
The
"pomps of this wicked world" might be renounced by Christians if
they
wanted to do so, but they show a strange obliviousness of their
baptismal
vow. A reception at court is as good an instance of the
renunciation
of the vain pomp and glory of this wicked world as we could
wish
to see, and when we remember that the children who are taught the
Catechism
in their childhood are taught to aim at winning these pomps in
their
youth and maturity, we learn to appreciate the fact that spiritual
things
can only be spiritually discerned. Would it not be well if the
Church
would publish an "Explanation of the Catechism," so that the
children
may know what they have renounced?
"Dost
thou not think that thou art bound to believe, and to do as they
have
promised for thee?" "Yes, verily; and by God's help so I will. And
I
heartily thank our heavenly Father, that he hath called me to this
state
of salvation, through Jesus Christ our Saviour. And I pray unto
God
to give me his grace, that I may continue in the same unto my life's
end."
"Bound to believe... as they have promised for thee!" In the name
of
common sense, why? What a marvellous claim for any set of people to
put
forward, that they have the right to promise what other people
shall
believe. And the child is taught to answer to this preposterous
question,
"Yes, verily." The Church does wisely in training children to
answer
thus before they begin to think, as they would certainly never
admit
so palpably unjust a claim as that they were bound to believe or
to
do anything simply because some other persons said that they should.
The
hearty thanks due to God "that he hath called me to this state of
salvation,"
seem somewhat premature, as well as unnecessary. God, having
made
the child, is bound to put him in some "state" where existence
will
not involve a curse to him; the "salvation" is very doubtful, being
dependent
on a variety of things in addition to baptism. Besides, it
is
doubtful whether it is an advantage to be in a "state of salvation,"
unless
you get finally saved, some Christian authors appearing to think
that
damnation is the heavier if it is incurred after being put in the
state
of salvation, so that, on the whole, it would probably be less
dangerous
to be a heathen. The child is then required to "rehearse the
articles
of his belief," and is taught to recite "the Apostles' Creed,"
_i.e_.,
a creed with which the apostles had nothing in the world to do.
The
act of belief ought surely to be an intelligent one, and anyone who
professes
to believe a thing ought to have some idea of what the thing
is.
What idea can a child have of conception by the Holy Ghost and being
born
of the Virgin Mary, in both which recondite mysteries he avows his
belief?
Having recited this, to him (as to everyone else) unintelligible
creed,
he is asked, "What dost thou chiefly learn in these articles of
thy
belief?" a most necessary question, since they can have conveyed no
idea
at all to his little mind. He answers: "First, I learn to believe
in
God the Father, who hath made me and all the world. Secondly, in God
the
Son, who hath redeemed me and all mankind. Thirdly, in God the Holy
Ghost,
who sanctifieth me and all the elect people of God." Curiously,
the
last two paragraphs have no parallels in the creed itself; there is
no
word there that the Son is God, nor that he redeemed the child, nor
that
he redeemed all mankind; neither is it said that the Holy Ghost is
God,
nor that he sanctifies anyone at all. How is the child to believe
that
God the Son redeemed _all mankind_, when he is taught that only by
baptism
has he himself been brought into "this state of salvation?" if
all
are redeemed, why should he specially thank God that he himself is
called
and saved? if all are redeemed, what is the meaning of the phrase
that
"all the elect people of God" are sanctified by the Holy Ghost?
Surely
all who are redeemed must also be sanctified, and should not the
two
passages touch only the same people? Either the Holy Ghost should
sanctify
all mankind, or Christ should redeem only the elect people of
God.
A redeemed, but unsanctified, person would cause confusion as to
his
proper place when he arrived in the realms above; St. Peter would
not
know where to send him to. Bentham caustically remarks: "Here, then,
in
this word, we have the name of a sort of _process_, which the child
is
made to say is going on within him; going on within him at all
times--going
on within him at the very instant he is giving this
account
of it. This process, then, what is it? Of what feelings is it
productive?
By what marks and symptoms is he to know whether it really
is
or is not going on within him, as he is forced to> say it is? How
does
he feel, now that the Holy Ghost is _sanctifying_ him? How is it
that
he would feel, if no such operation were going on within him? Too
often
does it happen to him in some shape or other, to commit _sin_; or
something
which he is told and required to believe is _sin_: an event
which
cannot fail to be frequently, not to say continually, taking
place,
if that be true, which in the Liturgy we are all made so
decidedly
to confess and assert,--viz., that we are all--all of us
without
exception--so many _'miserable sinners.'_ In the schoolroom,
doing
what by this Catechism he is forced to do, saying what he is
forced
to say, the child thus declares himself, notwithstanding, a
sanctified
person. From thence going to church, he confesses himself
to
be no better than '_a miserable sinner.'_ If he is not always this
miserable
sinner, then why is he always forced to say he is? If he is
always
this same miserable sinner, then this sanctification, be it what
it
may, which the Holy Ghost was at the pains of bestowing upon him,
what
is he the better for it?" Besides, how can the child be taught to
believe
in one God if he finds three different gods all doing different
things
for him? As clear a distinction as possible is here made between
the
redeeming work of God the Son and the sanctifying work of God the
Holy
Ghost, and if the child tries to realise in any fashion that which
he
is taught to say he believes, he must inevitably become a Tri-theist
and
believe in the creator, the redeemer, the sanctifier, as three
different
gods. The creed being settled, the child is reminded: "You
said
that your godfathers and godmothers did promise for you that you
should
keep God's commandments. Tell me how many there be? Ans. Ten.
Ques.
Which be they? Ans. The same which God spake in the twentieth
chapter
of Exodus, saying, I am the Lord thy God, who brought thee out
of
the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage. Thou shalt have none
other
gods but me." But God has not brought the child, nor the child's
ancestors,
out of the land of Egypt, nor out of the house of bondage:
therefore
the first commandment, which is made dependent on such
out-bringing,
is not spoken to the child. The argument runs: "Seeing
that
I have done so much for thee, thou shalt have no other God instead
of
me." The second commandment is rejected by general consent, and it is
almost
certain that the child will be taught that God has commanded that
no
likeness of anything shall be made in a room with pictures on the
walls.
Christians conveniently gloss over the fact that this commandment
forbids
all sculpture, all painting, all moulding, all engraving; they
plead
that it only means nothing that shall be made for purposes of
worship,
although the distinct words are: "_Thou shalt not make any
likeness
of anything._'" In order to thoroughly understand the state of
the
child's mind who has learned that "I the Lord thy God am a jealous
God,
and visit the sins of the fathers upon the children," when he comes
to
read other parts of the Bible it will be well to put side by side
with
this declaration, Ezekiel xviii. 19, 20: "Yet say ye, why? doth
not
the son bear the iniquity of the father? When the son hath done that
which
is lawful and right, and hath kept all my statutes, and hath done
them,
he shall surely live. The soul that sinneth it shall die. The son
shall
not bear the iniquity of the father." The fourth commandment is
disregarded
on all sides; from the prince who has his fish on the Sunday
from
the fishmonger down to the costermonger who sells cockles in the
street,
all nominal Christians forget and disobey this command; they
keep
their servants at work, although they ought to "do no manner of
work,"
and drive in carriage, cab, and omnibus as though God had not
said
that the cattle also should be idle on the Sabbath day. Although
the
New Testament is, on this point, in direct conflict with the
Old,--Paul
commanding the Colossians not to trouble themselves about
Sabbaths,
yet Christians read and teach this commandment, while in
their
lives they carry out the injunction of Paul. To complete the
demoralising
effect of this fourth commandment on the child, he is
taught
that "in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea, and
all
that in them is," while, in his day-school he is instructed in
exactly
the opposite sense, and is told of the long and countless
ages
of evolution through which the world passed, and the marvellous
creatures
that inhabited it before the coming of man. The fifth
commandment
is also evil in its effect on the child's mind from that
same
fault of unreality which runs throughout the teaching of the
Established
Church. "Honour thy father and thy mother _that thy days may
be
long in the land._" He will know perfectly well that good children
die
as well as bad, and that, therefore, there is no truth in the
promise
he recites. The rest of the commandments enjoin simple moral
duties,
and would be useful if taught without the preceding ones; as it
is,
the unreality of the first five injures the force of the later ones,
and
the good and bad, being mixed up together, are not likely to be
carefully
distinguished and thus they lose all compelling moral power.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
The
commandments recited, the child is asked--"What dost thou chiefly
learn
by these commandments?" and he answers that--"I learn two things:
my
duty towards God and my duty towards my neighbour." We would urge
here
that man's duty to man should be the point most pressed upon
the
young. Supposing that any "duty to God" were possible--a question
outside
the present subject--it is clear that the duty to man is the
nearest,
the most obvious, the easiest to understand, and therefore the
first
to be inculcated. Surely, it is only by discharge of the immediate
and
the plain duty that any discharge becomes possible of one less near
and
less plain. Besides, the duty to God taught in the Catechism is of
so
wide and engrossing a nature that to discharge it fully would take up
the
whole time and thoughts. For in answer to the question, "What is thy
duty
towards God?" the child says:--"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 strength; to worship him, to
give
him thanks, to put my whole trust in him, to call upon him, to
honour
his holy name and his word, and to serve him truly all the days
of
my life." First, "to believe in him;" but how can the child
believe
in
him until evidence be offered of his existence? But to examine such
evidence
is beyond the still weak intellectual powers of the child, and
therefore
belief in God is beyond him, for belief based on authority is
utterly
valueless. Besides, it can never be a "duty" to believe; if the
evidence
of a fact be convincing, belief in that fact naturally follows,
and
non-belief would be very stupid; but the word "duty" is out of place
in
connection with belief. "To fear him:" that the child will naturally
do,
after learning that God was angry with him for being born, and that
another
God, Jesus Christ, was obliged to die to save him from the angry
God.
"To love him;" not so easy, under the circumstances, nor is love
compatible
with fear; "perfect love casteth out fear... he that feareth
is
not made perfect in love." "With all my heart, with all my mind, with
all
my soul, and with all my strength." Four different things the
child
is to love God with: What does each mean? How is heart to be
distinguished
from mind, soul, and strength? In human love, love of the
heart
might, perhaps, be distinguished from love of the mind, if by love
of
the heart alone a purely physical passion were intended; but this
cannot
explain any sort of love to God, to whom such love would be
clearly
impossible. Once more, we say that the Church of England should
publish
an explanation of the Catechism, so that we may know what we
ought
to do and believe for our soul's health. Bentham urges that to put
the
"whole trust" in God would prevent the child from putting "any
part
of
his trust" in second causes, and that disregard of these would not be
compatible
with personal safety and with the preservation of health and
life;
and that further, as all these services are "unprofitable" to God,
they
might "with more profit be directed to the service of those weak
creatures,
whose need of all the service that can be rendered to them
is
at all times so urgent and so abundant." The duty to God being thus
acknowledged,
there follows the duty to the neighbour, for which there
seems
no room when the love, trust, and service due to God have been
fully
rendered. "_Ques_. What is thy duty toward thy neighbour? _Ans_.
My
duty towards my neighbour is to love him as myself, and to do to all
men
as I would they should do unto me. To love, honour, and succour my
father
and mother. To honour and obey the king, and all that are put
in
authority under him. To submit myself to all my governors, teachers,
spiritual
pastors, and masters. To order myself lowly and reverently to
all
my betters. To hurt nobody by word or deed. To be true and just in
all
my dealings. To bear no malice nor hatred in my heart. To keep
my
hands from picking and stealing, and my tongue from evil-speaking,
lying,
and slandering. To keep my body in temperance, soberness, and
chastity.
Not to covet nor desire other men's goods; but to learn and
labour
truly to get mine own living, and to do my duty in that state
of
life unto which it shall please God to call me." The first phase
reproduces
the morality which is as old as successful social life. "What
word
will serve as a rule for the whole life?" asked one of Confucius.
"Is
not reciprocity such a word?" answered the sage. "What thou dost
not
desire done to thyself, do not to others. When you are labouring
for
others, let it be with the same zeal as if for yourself." The second
phrase
is true and right; the next is often foolish and impossible. Who
could
honour such a king as George IV.? while to "obey" James II.
would
have been the destruction of England. Honour and obedience to
constituted
authorities is a duty only when those authorities discharge
the
duties that they are placed in power to execute; the moment they
fail
in doing this, to* honour and to obey them is to become partners in
their
treason to the nation. The doctrine of divine right was believed
in
when the Catechism was written, and then the voice of the king was
a
divine one, and to resist him was to resist God. The two following
phrases
breathe the same cringing spirit, as though the main duty
towards
one's neighbour were to submit to him. Reverence to any one
better
than one's-self is an instinct, but "my betters" is simply a
cant
expression for those higher in the social scale, and those have no
right
to any lowlier ordering than the simple respect and courtesy that
every
man should show towards every other. This kind of teaching saps a
child's
mental strength and self-respect, and is fatal to his manliness
of
character if it makes any impression upon him. The remainder of the
answer
is thoroughly good and wholesome, save the last few words about
"that
state of life unto which it shall please God to call me." A
child
should be taught that his "state of life" depends upon his own
exertions,
and not upon any "calling" of God, and that if the state be
unsatisfactory,
it is his duty to set diligently to work to mend it; not
to
be content with it when bad, not to throw on God the responsibility
of
having placed him there, but so to labour with all hearty diligence
as
to make it worthy of himself, honourable, respectable, and
comfortable.
At this point the child is informed: "Thou art not able to
do
these things of thyself, nor to walk in the commandments of God, and
to
serve him, without his special grace; which thou must learn at all
times
to call for by diligent prayer." But if the child cannot do these
things
without God's "special grace," then the responsibility of his not
doing
them must of necessity fall upon God; for the child cannot pray
unless
God gives him grace; and without prayer he can't get special
grace,
and without special grace he can't "do these things;" so that
clearly
the child is helpless until God sends him his grace, and
therefore
the whole responsibility lies upon God alone, and he can never
blame
the child for not doing that which he himself has prevented him
from
beginning. Diligent prayer for special grace being thus wanted,
the
child is taught to recite the Lord's Prayer, in which grace is not
mentioned
at all, and he is then asked--"What desirest thou of God in
this
prayer?" "I desire my Lord God, our Heavenly Father, who is the
giver
of all goodness, to send his grace to me and to all people; that
we
may worship him, serve him, and obey him, as we ought to do." We rub
our
eyes; not one word of all this is discoverable in the Lord's Prayer!
"Send
his grace to me and to all people"? not a syllable conveying any
such
meaning: "that we may worship him, serve him, and obey him "? not
the
shadow of such a request. Is it supposed to train a child in the
habit
of truthfulness to make him recite as a religious lesson what is
utterly
and thoroughly untrue? "And I pray unto God that he will send
us
all things that be needful both for our souls and bodies, and that he
will
be merciful unto to us, and forgive us our sins." "All things that
be
needful both for our souls and bodies" is, we presume, summed up
in
"our daily bread." Simple people would scarcely imagine that
"daily
bread"
was all they wanted both for their souls and bodies; perhaps the
souls
want nothing, not being discoverable by any real needs which
they
express. "And that it will please him to save and defend us in all
dangers,
ghostly and bodily; and that he will keep us from all sin and
wickedness,
and from our ghostly enemy, and from everlasting death."
Here,
again, nothing in the prayer can be translated into these phrases;
there
is nothing about saving and defending from all dangers, ghostly
and
bodily, nor a syllable as to defence from our ghostly enemy, by whom
a
child will probably understand a ghost in a white sheet, and will
go
to bed in terror after saying the Catechism which thus recognises
ghosts--nor
from everlasting death. The prayer is of the simplest, but
the
translation of it of the hardest. "And this I trust he will do of
his
mercy and goodness, through our Lord Jesus Christ; And therefore I
say
Amen, so be it." Why should the child trust God's mercy and goodness
to
protect him? There would be no dangers, ghostly and bodily, no
ghostly
enemy, and no everlasting death, unless God had invented them
all,
and the person who places us in the midst of dangers is scarcely
the
one to whom to turn for deliverance from them. Mercy and goodness
would
not have surrounded us with such dangers; mercy and goodness would
not
have encompassed us with such foes; mercy and goodness would have
created
beings whose glad lives would have been one long hymn of praise
to
the Creator, and would have ever blessed him that he had called them
into
existence.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
The
child is now to be led further into the Christian mysteries, and
is
to be instructed in the doctrine of the sacraments, curious
double-natured
things of which we have to believe in what we don't see,
and
see that which we are not to believe in. "How many sacraments hath
Christ
ordained in his Church?" "Two only as generally necessary
to
salvation, that is to say, Baptism and the Supper of the Lord."
"Generally
necessary"; the word "generally" is explained by commentators
as
"universally," so that the phrase should run, "universally
necessary
to
salvation." The theory of the Church being that all are by nature the
children
of wrath, and that "_none_ are regenerate," except they be born
of
water and of the Holy Ghost, it follows that baptism is universally
necessary
to salvation; and since Jesus has said, "Except ye eat the
flesh
of the Son of man and drink his blood, ye have no life in you"
(John
vi. 53), it equally follows that the Lord's Supper is universally
necessary
to salvation. Seeing that the vast majority of mankind are not
baptized
Christians at all, and that of baptized Christians the majority
never
eat the Lord's supper, the heirs of salvation will be extremely
limited
in number, and will not be inconveniently crowded in the many
mansions
above. "What meanest thou by this word _sacrament?_ I mean an
outward
and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace given unto us,
ordained
by Christ himself, as a means whereby we receive the same, and
as
a pledge to assure us thereof." If this be a true definition of a
sacrament,
no such thing as a sacrament can fairly be said to be in
existence.
What is the inward and spiritual grace given unto the baby in
baptism?
If it be given, it must be seen in its effects, or else it is
a
gift of nothing at all. A baby after baptism is exactly the same as
it
was before; cries as much, kicks as much, fidgets as much; clearly
it
has received no inward and spiritual sanctifying grace; it behaves as
well
or as badly as any unbaptized baby, and is neither worse nor better
than
its contemporaries. Manifestly the inward grace is wanting, and
therefore
no true sacrament is here, for a sacrament must have the grace
as
well as the sign, The same thing may be said of the Lord's Supper;
people
do-not seem any the better for it after its reception; a hungry
man
is satisfied after his supper, and so shows that he has really
received
something, but the spirit suffers as much from the hunger of
envy
and the thirst of bad temper after the Lord's Supper as it did
before.
But why should the grace be "inward," and why is the soul
thought
of as _inside_ the body, instead of all through and over it?
There
are few convenient hollows inside where it can dwell, but people
speak
as though man were an empty box, and the soul might live in it.
The
sacrament is "a means whereby we receive the same, and a pledge to
assure
us thereof." God's grace, then, can be conveyed in the vehicles
of
water, bread, and wine; it must surely, then, be something material,
else
how can material things transmit it? And God becomes dependent on
man
to decide for him on whom the grace shall be bestowed. Two infants
are
born into the world; one of them is brought to church and is
baptized;
God may give that child his grace: the other is left without
baptism;
it is a child of wrath, and God may not bless it. Thus is God
governed
by the neglect of a poor, and very likely drunken, nurse,
and
the recipients of his grace are chosen for him at the caprice or
carelessness
of men. Strange, too, that Christians who received God's
grace
need "a pledge to assure" them that they have really got it; how
curious
that the recipient should not know that so precious a gift has
been
bestowed upon him until he has also been given a little bit of
bread
and a tiny sip of wine. It is as though a queen's messenger put
into
one's hand a hundred Ł1000 notes, and then said solemnly: "Here is
a
farthing as a pledge to assure you that you have really received the
notes."
Would not the notes themselves be the best assurance that we had
received
them, and would not the grace of God consciously possessed
be
its own best proof that God had given it to us? "How many parts are
there
in a sacrament? Two; the outward visible sign, and the inward
spiritual
grace." This is simply a repetition of the previous question
and
answer, and is entirely unnecessary. "What is the outward visible
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
sign,
or form, in baptism? Water; _wherein_ the person is baptized _in
the
name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost_."
This
answer raises the interesting question as to whether English
Christians--save
the Baptists--are really baptized. They are not
baptized
"in," but only "with" water. The rubric directs that the
minister
"shall _dip it in_ the water discreetly and warily," and that
only
where "the child is weak it shall suffice to pour water upon it" It
appears
possible that the salvation of nearly all the English people
is
in peril, since their baptism is imperfect. The formula of baptism
reminds
us of a curious difference in the baptism of the apostles from
the
baptism in the triune name of God; although Jesus had, according to
Matthew,
solemnly commanded them to baptize with this formula, we
find,
from the Acts, that they utterly disregarded his injunction,
and
baptized "in the name of Jesus Christ," instead of in the name of
"Father,
Son, and Holy Ghost." (See Acts ii. 38, viii. 16, x 48, xix. 5,
etc.)
The obvious conclusion to be drawn from this is, that if the
Acts
be historical, Jesus never gave the command put into his mouth in
Matthew,
but that it was inserted later when such a formula became usual
in
the Church. "What is the inward and spiritual grace? A death unto
sin,
and a new birth unto righteousness; for being by nature born in
sin,
and the children of wrath, we are hereby made the children of
grace."
What? a baby die unto sin? how can it, when it is unconscious of
sin,
and therefore cannot sin? "A new birth unto righteousness?" but it
is
only just born, surely there can be no need that it should be born
over
again so soon? And if it be true that this is the inward grace
given,
would it not be well--as did many in the early Church--to put off
the
ceremony of baptism until the last moment, so that the dying man,
being
baptized, may die to all the sins he has committed during life,
and
be born again into spiritual babyhood, fit to go straight into
heaven?
It seems a needless cruelty to baptize infants, and so deprive
them
of the chance of getting rid of all their life sins in a lump later
on.
This is not the only objection to baptism. Bentham powerfully urges
what
has often been pressed:--
"Note
well the sort of story that is here told. The Almighty God,--maker
of
all things, visible and 'invisible,'--'of heaven and earth, and all
that
therein is.'--makes, amongst other things, a child: and no sooner
has
he made it, than he is 'wrath' with it for being made. He determines
accordingly
to consign it to a state of endless torture. Meantime
comes
somebody,--and pronouncing certain words, applies the child to a
quantity
of water, or a quantity of water to the child. Moved by these
words,
the all-wise Being changes his design; and, though he is not
so
far appeased as to give the child its pardon, vouchsafes to it a
_chance_,--no
one can say _what_ chance,--of ultimate escape. And this
is
what the child gets by being 'made'--and we see in what way made--'a
child
of grace.'"
"What
is required of persons to be baptised? Repentance, whereby they
forsake
sin; and Faith, whereby they steadfastly believe the promises of
God
made to them in that Sacrament. Why then are infants baptised when
by
reason of their tender age they cannot perform them? [Why, indeed!]
Because
they promise them both by their sureties, which promise, when
they
come of age, themselves are bound to perform." Surely it would be
better
if these things are "required" before baptism, to put off baptism
until
repentance and faith become possible, instead of going through it
like
a play, where people act their parts and represent somebody else.
For
suppose the child for whom repentance and faith are promised does
not,
when he comes to full age, either repent of his sins or believe
God's
promises, what becomes of the inward and spiritual grace? It
must
either have been given, or not have been given; if the former,
the
unrepentant and unbelieving person has got it on the faith of his
sureties'
promises for him; if the latter, God has not given the grace
promised
in Holy Baptism, and his promises are therefore unreliable in
all
cases.
-------Cardiff Theosophical
Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK CF24-1DL
"Why
was the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper ordained? For the continual
remembrance
of the sacrifice of the death of Christ, and of the benefits
which
we receive thereby." What very bad memories Christians must have!
God
has come down from heaven on purpose to die for them, and they
cannot
remember it without eating and drinking in memory of it. The
child
is then taught that the outward part in the Lord's Supper is bread
and
wine, and that the inward part is "The Body and Blood of Christ,
which
are verily and indeed taken and received by the faithful in the
Lord's
Supper," the body and blood nourishing the soul, as the bread
and
wine do the body. If the body and blood convey as infinitesimal an
amount
of nourishment to the soul as the small portions of bread and
wine
do to the body, the soul must suffer much from spiritual hunger.
But
how do they nourish the soul? The body and blood must be somehow in
the
bread and wine, and how is it managed that one part shall nourish
the
soul while the rest goes to the body? "verily and indeed taken and
received."
From the eager protestation one would imagine that there
must
be some doubt about it, and that there might be some question as to
whether
the invisible and intangible thing were really and truly taken.
It
needs but little insight to see how woefully confusing it must be to
an
intelligent child to teach him that bread and wine are only bread
and
wine one minute and the next are Christ's body and blood as well,
although
none of his senses can distinguish the smallest change in them.
Such
instruction will, if it has any effect on his mind, incline him to
take
every assertion on trust, without, and even contrary to, reason and
experiment;
it lays the basis of all superstition, by teaching belief in
what
is not susceptible of proof.
"What
is required of them who come to the Lord's supper? To examine
themselves,
whether they repent them truly of their former sins,
steadfastly
purposing to lead a new life; have a lively faith in God's
mercy
through Christ, with a thankful remembrance of his death; and be
in
charity with all men." It is the custom in many churches now to have
weekly,
and in some to have daily, communion; can the communicants who
attend
these steadfastly purpose to lead a new life every time? and how
many
"former sins" are they as continually repenting of? Here we find
the
overstrained piety which throughout disfigures the Prayer-Book;
people
are moaning about their sins, and crying over their falls, and
resolving
to mend their ways, and vowing they will lead new lives, and
the
next time one sees them they are once more proclaiming themselves
to
be as miserable sinners as ever. How weary the Holy Ghost must get of
sanctifying
them!
Such
is the Catechism that "The curate of every parish shall diligently
upon
Sundays and Holy Days, after the second lesson at evening prayer,
openly
in the Church" teach to the children sent to him, and which
"all
fathers, mothers, masters, and dames shall cause their children,
servants,
and apprentices (which have not learned their Catechism) to
come
to the Church at the time appointed," in order to learn; such
is
the nourishment provided by the Church for her lambs: such is the
teaching
she offers to the rising generation. Thus, before they are able
to
think, she moulds the thinking-machine; thus, before they are able
to
judge, she biases the judgment; thus, from children puzzled and
bewildered,
she hopes to make men and women supple to her teaching, and
out
of the Catechism she winds round the children's brains, she forges
the
chain of creeds which fetters the intellect of the full-grown
members
of her communion.
London:
Printed by Annie Besant and Charles Bradlaugh, 28, Stonecutter
Street,
E.C
February,
1885.
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