12. Mr. J. Potts, like Mr. J. Mawson, without following me into the extremes of doubt, retained his friendship for me through all my wanderings, and never neglected any opportunity he had of showing me kindness. And others, whom I cannot take the liberty to name, evinced the same unfailing constancy of esteem and love. And the unbroken connexion that remained between my enduring friends and their amiable families and myself, added tothe attractions Christ-ward, and made it easier for my soul to return at last to its home of peace and rest.
13. Between thirteen and fourteen years ago, while living in London, I became acquainted with Mr. W. White. He had been reared a Quaker, but, like most hard thinkers, had had experience of doubt, and was, in consequence, after his faith was re-established, able to strengthen his doubting brethren. He contributed to my conversion, first by his enlightened conversation, and then by a long, kind, Christian letter on the Bible, by which he helped me over a number of difficulties which stood in the way of my faith.
14. But perhaps none of the parties I have named, had a more powerful and beneficial effect on my mind than one whom I have not yet mentioned. If I had been asked thirteen years ago, whether I supposed there was any minister in the Methodist New Connexion who regarded me with affectionate solicitude, and who was wishful for an opportunity to speak to me words of love and tenderness, I should have answered, "No." If any one had told me that there really was one of my old associates, with whom I had formerly had warm controversy, not only on matters theological, but on matters personal, who had been watching my career for years, with the deepest interest, and who for months and years had been earnestly praying for me every day, he would have seemed to me as one amusing himself with fables. Yet such was really the case.
With no one had I come in closer contact perhaps, or in more frequent and violent collision, than with the Rev. W. Cooke, now Dr. Cooke. He had taken the lead in the proceedings against me in the Ashton Conference, on account of my article onToleration, Human Creeds, &c., proceedings which had a most unhappy effect on my mind, and which led, at length, to my separation from the Church, and to my alienation from Christ. He had taken an active part in the violent controversies which followed my expulsion from the ministry. We had, at a later period, spent ten nights in public discussion on the leading doctrines of Christianity. He had, in the performance of what he considered his duty I suppose in my case, saidthings which had tried me terribly; and I, with ideas of duty differing from his, had made him very liberal returns, in a way not calculated to leave the most favorable or comfortable impressions on his mind towards me. I had never seen him since our long discussion but once, and then he seemed, to my fancy, to be struggling with an inward tempest of very unhappy feeling towards me, which he was hardly able to keep from exploding. I afterwards found though, that I had not interpreted his looks on this occasion correctly. At the time when I took my leave of the Secularists, my unpleasant feelings towards my old opponent had about subsided; but I had no idea that his unpleasant feelings towards me had passed away. Yet such was the case. He had been reading my periodical for some time, and had been pleased to find that both on religion and politics, I was returning, though slowly, to the views of my happier days. Some time in August, 1862, he called at my office in London, with a parcel of books under his arm. He had been praying for me daily for twelve months, when something seemed to say to him, "You should do something more than pray." And now he had come to try what he could do by a personal interview to aid the wanderer's return to Christ. I was from home at the time, but my eldest son was in the office, and he and the Doctor were at once engaged in friendly conversation. "How like you are to what your father was four and thirty years ago, when I first knew him," said the Doctor. "Your father and I were great friends. It was your father that first directed me to the study of Latin and Greek, which have been of great service to me; and I feel indebted to him on that account. We were afterwards separated. But I have observed, as I think, symptoms that your father is returning towards his former views." And many other kind remarks he made. At length he said, "Do you think your father would accept a copy of my works?" My son, who knew the state of his father's mind, answered; "I am sure he would, with great pleasure." The Doctor left copies of his works, kindly inscribed to me with his own hand; and with the books, he left for me a kind and Christian letter. My son lost no time in forwarding me the letter, together with an accountof the pleasant and unlooked-for interview which he had had with the writer. I received the letter, and the interesting story with which it was accompanied, with the greatest astonishment and pleasure. I wrote to the Doctor, reciprocating his expressions of kindness, and making the best returns I could for the valuable present of his works. The result was a correspondence, which has continued to the present time. The correspondence led to interviews, in which the Doctor exhibited, in a very striking manner, the graces and virtues that adorn the Christian character. We talked, we read, we sang, we prayed together, and gave God thanks, with tears of gratitude, for all the blessings of His boundless love.
The effect of this kindness on the part of Dr. Cooke was, not only to free my mind from any remains of hurtful feelings towards him, but to dispose me, and enable me, to review the claims of Christianity and the Bible in a spirit of greater fairness and candor, and so to make it possible for me to become, what I had long believed I never could become, a hearty believer in the religion of Christ.
I am not certain that I can state the exact process by which I passed from doubt and unbelief to faith in Christ, but the following, I believe, is very near the truth.
1. There was, first, a sense of the cheerlessness of unbelief—the sadness and the sorrow resulting from the loss of trust in God and hope of immortality, and from the wretched prospect of a return to utter nothingness.
2. Then came the distressing feeling of inability to comfort my afflicted or dying friends—my utter helplessness in the presence of sorrow, grief and agony.
3. And then I found myself unable to account for the wonderful marks of design appearing in nature, and especially in my own body, without the acknowledgment of anintelligent Deity. The wonderful perfection and beauty of a flower or a feather would confound me; while mysterious adaptations in my own frame would fill me with amazement. Darwin's theory of development relieved me for a time; but I soon came to see that some of his explanations of natural phenomena were erroneous, and that none of his facts proved the truth of his theory. Still later I found that Darwin himself acknowledged that the evidences of design in the methods by which certain species of plants were fertilized, were not only overpowering, but startling.
4. Then came dissatisfaction with the theories by which unbelievers sought to account for the existence and order of the universe. They supposed the universe to be eternal, and attributed the production of plants, and animals, and man to the blind unconscious working of lifeless matter. They attributed to dead matter the powers which believers attributed to a living God. They were obliged to believe that senseless atoms could produce works transcending the powers of the mightiest minds on earth. To reconcile their belief in the eternity of the universe, and in the unchanging properties of matter, with the phenomena of change and progress, they supposed an infinite succession of worlds, or of beginnings and endings of the same world, and imagined the earth running exactly the same course, and having exactly the same history, every time it came into existence. Hence it became with them an article of faith, that we had ourselves lived an infinite number of times, and should live an infinite number of times more in the future, repeating always exactly the same life, with exactly the same results. It was also an article of faith that we were mere machines, governed by powers over which we had no control; that our ideas of liberty, and our feelings of responsibility, or of good and ill desert, were all delusions; that all the errors, and crimes, and miseries of our race were inevitable, and were to be eternally repeated; and that a change for the better was eternally impossible. But time would fail me to mention all their theories. It is enough to say that the wild and unsatisfactory nature of these dreams helped to drive me back to Christianity.
5. There was, of course, no tendency in unbelief to promote virtue, or to check vice. Its natural tendency was to utter depravity. And Christianity retained such an influence over me, even to the last, that I could never reconcile myself to a vicious life.
6. Then came another trouble. Infidelity could give no guarantee that wrong should not finally triumph, and right be finally crushed. It is belief in God alone that can give assurance that virtue shall be ultimately rewarded, and vice ultimately punished. The Christian can believe past doubt, that "Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap;" that "with what judgment we judge, we shall be judged; and with what measure we mete, it shall be measured to us again." But the infidel has no foundation for such a faith. For anything he knows, a man may sow villany, and reap honor and blessedness. He may live by injustice and cruelty, and meet with no punishment, either here or hereafter; while another may spend his days in doing good, and give his life for the salvation of his fellows, and receive only torture, reproach, and death.
Nor is there any security for the triumph of truth on the infidel principle. For anything infidelity knows, truth may be always in the mire, and its friends be forever reproached and shunned; while error may always be in the ascendant, and its propagators honored and rewarded. Indeed this is the case at present, if infidelity be true. For infidelity is in the dust, while faith in God and Christ is in high repute. And infidels are suspected and dreaded, while consistent believers are loved and trusted. Faith smoothes man's way through life, and in some cases raises him to honor and power; while Atheism makes a man's pathway rugged, and prevents his elevation. This state of things is exceedingly unsatisfactory to unbelievers. They ought, if they are the wisest of men, as they suppose, to be everywhere received with honor. They ought to be placed in power. The world should ring with their praise. The universe should enrich them with its treasures. The names of their predecessors in unbelief should be had in the greatest honor. They should stand first on the roll of fame. Their monuments should fillthe earth. The sweetest poets should sing their praises; the most eloquent orators should proclaim their greatness; and the nations should delight to celebrate their worth. Their pictures and statues should grace our courts, our temples, and our palaces. Their deeds should form the staple of our pleasant histories, and their writings crowd the shelves of our libraries. Children should be taught to lisp their names with reverence, and the aged should bless them with their parting breath.
On the other hand, if religion be false and foolish, if it be unnatural and mischievous, its friends should be pitied or despised, if not rebuked and punished. Its founders and propagators should be branded as the weakest or the basest of men. Their names should be had in contempt or abhorrence. Their writings should be everywhere decried. Their pictures and statues should fill some chamber of horrors. Historians, poets, and orators should hold them up to reprobation. Christians should be kept from places of trust, and from posts of honor. They should be wretched, and poor, and miserable, and the hearts of men, and the powers of nature, should combine for their destruction, and for the utter extinction of their cause.
Yet the state of things is just the contrary. Christianity triumphs, and Christians are honored; while infidelity languishes, and its disciples are covered with shame. On the Atheist's theory the human race has existed for millions of years, yet it has never produced more than a few individuals who have acknowledged the principle of his creed. The mass of men, in all ages, have been believers in God. The civilized as well as the savage, the learned as well as the ignorant, the high as well as the low, alike have adored a Deity. Even the greatest of our race have been believers. The sweetest poets, the profoundest philosophers, the greatest statesmen, the wisest legislators, the most venerable judges, the most devoted philanthropists, have all believed in God. Two or three tribes have been found, it is said, without an idea of God; but they were savages of the lowest grade; and it is not yet settled whether the accounts that have been given of those wretched creatures be correct or not.
And Atheism has always been regarded with horror. Itis so still. It is believed to be the nurse of vice and crime. Atheists are everywhere looked upon with suspicion and dread. The prevailing impression is that they are bad and dangerous men,—that no reliance is to be placed on their word,—that they are naturally licentious, dishonest, deceitful, cruel,—that they are prepared for any enormity,—that they are enemies to domestic purity and civil order, and that no one is safe in their power. If ever they were regarded by mankind with favor, the time is forgotten. There is not a nation on earth in which they are popular now. They are everywhere branded as infamous.
If Atheists have always been so bad as todeservethis fate, their principles must be bad. If they have deserved a better fate,—if they have been pure, and just, and true,—if they have been remarkable for generosity, patriotism, and philanthropy,—if they have distinguished themselves as the friends of virtue, and the benefactors of mankind, how sad to think that they have never received their due at the hands of men.
The longer the Atheists look on their condition, the less satisfactory it appears. They have no grand history, no glorious names, to reflect honor on their cause. They have no noble army of martyrs. They have no great monuments. And they can have no assurance of anything better in days to come. The probability is that their memory will rot, and that their principles will be an offence and loathing to mankind through all succeeding generations.
But look on the other side? The highest name on earth is a religious name; the name of Jesus. The names which stand next in honor are those of His Apostles and followers. The mightiest nations on earth are Christian nations. Christians rule the world. Christian ministers are honored and revered. Christian churches rise to wealth and power. The Church controls the state. It controls it most when it is least ambitious, and most consistent. The Church has a glorious history. It has the grandest array of honorable names. It has the noblest army of martyrs. It has the richest literature. Its sacred books are read in all the leading languages of the earth.The great geniuses are her's. The richest poetry, the grandest eloquence, the divinest philosophy, the noblest courage, the richest generosity, the most devoted philanthropy, are all her's. She has the credit of being the parent and the nurse of our highest civilization. She is the great educator. She builds our schools. She rules our colleges. She controls the press. She plants new nations. She spreads herself and exerts her influence in every land. You cannot destroy the Church. It is immortal. You cannot limit its power. It is irresistibly expansive and invincible. If at any time it suffers loss, it is through its own unfaithfulness; and a return to duty is a return to dominion.
Even in countries not Christian the religious element is supreme, and the religious men alone are honored. The greatest names in the history of India and China, of Persia and Turkey, are the names of their prophets and religious leaders.
What follows from all this? That if infidelity be true and good, and religion false and mischievous, the world and the human race are wholly wrong. The best and wisest men are everywhere despised, and the weakest and wickedest are everywhere honored. The originators of the greatest delusions are deified; and the revealers of the greatest truths are regarded as monsters. Truth no longer can be said to be mighty, and error can no longer be said to be weak. The right is no longer sure of triumph, nor the wrong of overthrow. Men love darkness and hate the light; and it is not the few that do so, but the many. And there seems no hope of a change for the better. Earth is no place for the great, the good, the wise; but for the ignorant, the deluded, and the base alone. It is the paradise of fools, and the purgatory of philosophers.
But I asked, "Isinfidelity true and good, and religion false and mischievous? Am I not laboring under some monster delusion? Have I not been imposed upon by a vicious logic? Are not mankind right in hating and dreading infidelity, and in loving and honoring religion? There is a tremendous mistake somewhere. Either infidelity is wrong, or mankind and the universe are fearfully perverse."
7. And now I began a reconsideration of the claims of religion and infidelity. As I have said, I re-read the Bible. I reviewed Church history. I examined the character and workings of religious communities. And I found the Bible a better and a wiser book than I had ever imagined. And I found Christianity, as presented in the teachings and life of Jesus, the fairest and loveliest, the most glorious and beneficent of all systems. I found Jesus Himself to be the most beautiful and exalted of all characters. I saw in Paul a dignity and a glory second only to those of Christ. I found in the New Testament the perfection of wisdom and beneficence. I found in the history of the Church a record of the grandest movement, and of the most glorious and beneficent reformation, the world had ever witnessed. I found in the churches the mightiest agencies and the most manifold operations for the salvation of mankind. "Christianity," said I, "whether supernatural or not, is a wondrous power. It is good, if it is not true. It is glorious. Itdeservesto be Divine, whether it be so or not. What a world we should have,—what a heaven on earth—if men could be brought to believe its teachings, to imbibe its spirit, and to obey its precepts. What a heaven of bliss it would be to one's soul if one could see it and feel it to be really true."
It had conquered my heart. It had won my love. And I would gladly have died, or would gladly have lived through ages of hardship and toil, to be satisfied of its divinity. How glad I was when I found men heartily believing it. How sad when I found them doubting, like myself. How delighted I was when I found my objections to its truth slowly fading away, and saw facts in its favor coming gradually into view.
But doubt had become a powerful tyrant, and I had become a slave; and though IwishedI could be a Christian, I could indulge no hope of ever experiencing so great a happiness. But I would do Christianity justice, to the best of my ability. I would exhibit its excellencies. I would defend it against false accusations. I would preach it so far as I honestly could. I would practise its precepts so far as I was able. I would cherish its spirit. "If it is not from God," said I, "it is the best production of themind of man. If I cannot hold it forth as a divine revelation, I can extol it as the perfection of human wisdom. And some of its teachings are evidently true, and others are easily proved to be so. It is true throughout, so far as I can test it; and it may be true—perhaps I shall some day find it to be true—on points on which I am unable to test it at present. I will wait, and labor meanwhile to promote its beneficent influence!"
I looked on the other side. I read the Secularists' Bible: I reviewed the history of unbelief; I examined the character and working of infidel communities. And what was the result! The Secularists' Bible I found to be a huge and revolting mass of filth and loathsomeness; the most shameless attack on virtue and happiness that ever came under my view. I remembered that Carlisle and Robert Owen had published books of the same immoral and dehumanizing tendency. The history of infidelity I found to be a history of licentiousness, and of every abomination. The infidel communities I found to be hot-beds of depravity. The leaders of the party were teachers and examples of deceit, of dishonesty, of intemperance, of gambling, and of unbounded licentiousness. They had no virtue; they had no conscience; and it was only when they were in the presence of men of other views, that they had any shame, or modesty, or regard for decency. And they were fearfully intolerant and malignant towards those who crossed them, or thwarted them, in their projects. They were no great workers, but they would exert themselves to the utmost to annoy or vilify the objects of their displeasure. The facts that came to my knowledge with regard to the morals of the Secularists contributed to my deliverance from the thraldom of unbelief.
The honor awarded to Christ, and the infamy attached to infidelity, are no mistakes. Jesus has never been exalted beyond His merits, and infidelity has never been hated or dreaded beyond its deserts. Christianity is the sum and perfection of all that is good, and true, and glorious; and atheism is the sum and aggravation of all that is vile, and mischievous, and miserable. It would be sad for the world if men should lose their instinctive dread of infidelity, and begin to speak of it as an error of little moment. It is amonster conglomeration of all evil, and it has no redeeming quality.
8. Among the lectures which I delivered in my transition state was one in answer to the question; "What do you offer as a substitute for the Bible? Can you give us anything better?" I said that I had no desire todo awaywith the Bible; that I wished them to read it, study it, and reduce the better part of its precepts to practice. I said: "With those who would destroy the Bible, or prevent its circulation, I have no sympathy and no connexion. The Bible is a book of great interest and value; to say the least, it presents us with the thoughts of the best and wisest of men, on subjects of the greatest interest and importance; it gives us the best picture of the life and manners of the nations and institutions of the ancient world; it is a wonderful revelation of human nature; it tells the most interesting stories; it contains the grandest and most beautiful poetry, the wisest proverbs, the most faithful denunciations of vice and crime, the most earnest exhortations to duty, the best examples of virtue, the most instructive and touching narratives of people of distinguished worth, the most rational and practical definitions of religion, the worthiest representations of God and the universe, the greatest encouragement to fidelity under reproach and persecution, the richest consolations under afflictions and trials, and the most cheering exhibitions of future blessedness. We know of nothing good in any system which is not favored by some portion of the Bible. We know of nothing evil which is not condemned by other portions. All that is best and noblest and grandest in man's nature is there embodied. We know of no good or generous feeling which is not there expressed. We cannot imagine it possible for a book to be more earnest in its exhortations to the performance of duty, or to the culture of virtue. There is no book on earth that we should be more reluctant to part with than the Bible. Its destruction would be a fearful loss to mankind. It is a mine containing treasures of infinite value. The wisest may learn more wisdom from its teachings, and the best be raised to higher virtue by its influence. It has done much good; it is doing good still; it is calculated to do still greater good in days to come. Old as it is, it is awiser book than the books of religion that are written in the present day. It is wiser than the preachers; wiser than the great divines. It is infinitely superior to the Bibles that have been made in later times, such as the Bible of the Shakers, the Bible of Reason, and the Book of Mormon.
"It is superior to the Koran, though the authors of the Koran, like later makers of Bibles, had the older Bible to help them. The Koran is the best of modern Bibles, because it borrows most freely from the Old and New Testaments.
"The Bible is vastly better as a moral book, and as a persuasive and help to duty, than the writings of the best of the ancient Greeks and Romans. The Bible is consistent with itself as a moral teacher, though the precepts of Judaism are inferior to those of Christianity. The Bible treats man as a subject of law, as bound to obey God and do right, from first to last; and though it begins with fewer and less perfect precepts, suited to lower states of society, it goes steadily on to perfection, till it gives us the highest law, and the most perfect example, in the teachings and life of Christ. Read your Bibles; commit the better portions of the Book to your memory; think of them, practise them. Don't be ashamed to do so. The greatest philosophers, not excepting such men as Newton, Locke, and Boyle; the most celebrated monarchs, from Alfred to Victoria; the most venerable judges, with Sir Matthew Hale as their representative; the sweetest poets, from Chaucer, Spenser, Shakespeare, and Milton, down to Dryden, Young, and Cowper; and the most devoted philanthropists, from Penn, and Howard, and Wesley, to Elizabeth Fry and Florence Nightingale, have been lovers and students of the Bible. The men that hate the Bible and wish for its destruction, are the base and bad. The men who love it and labor for its world-wide circulation, are the good and the useful. You cannot have a better companion than the Bible, if you will use it judiciously. There is no danger that you should rate it too high. If you should regard it as supernaturally inspired, it will do you no harm. Such ideas may make you read it more carefully, and pay more respect to its teachings, and thatwill be a blessing. Men are in no danger of prizing good books too highly. As a rule, they esteem them far too lightly. A great good book is one of the richest treasures on earth. There is still less danger that you should think too much of the Bible. The man does not live that has erred in that direction. The best friends the Bible has, the most strenuous advocates of its divinity, do not estimate the Book above its worth. They do not value it according to its worth. It is richer in its contents, it is better and mightier in its influences, than its devoutest friends are aware.
"There are men who prate about Bibliolatry, and labor to lower men's estimate of the Bible. They may spare their breath. The people who idolize the Bible too much are creatures of their own imagination only, and not living men and women. People may love the Bible unwisely, but not too well. To place it too high as a means of instructing, regenerating and blessing mankind, is not in man's power.
"I esteem it myself more highly than I ever did. My ramblings in the regions of doubt and unbelief; my larger acquaintance with the works of infidel philosophers, atheistical reformers, fanatical dreamers, re-organizers of society, makers of new moral worlds, skeptical historians of civilization, Essays and Reviews, Elements of Social Science, Phases of Faith, and Phases of no Faith, and a world of other books; my enlarged acquaintance with men, my sense of spiritual want and wretchedness when shut out from religious consolations, have led me to value the Bible, skeptical as I yet am, as I never valued it before.
"I was born in a town on a hill, from which I had delightful views of a rich and beautiful valley. I looked on those beautiful prospects spread out before me, with their charming variety of scenery, from my earliest days, to the time I left my native land, but I have no recollection that I ever experienced in those early times any large amount of pleasure from the sight. In course of time I left the place of my birth and the home of my childhood, and visited other lands. I saw rivers and lakes, and mountains and plains, and forests and prairies in great abundance,and in almost endless variety. And I compared them one with another, and marked their points of difference and resemblance. And then after my many and long wanderings, I returned to the place of my birth, and looked on the scenes of my childhood again; and I was lost in ecstacies. I was amazed that I had seen so little of their beauty, and been so little transported with their charms before.
"And so with regard to the Bible. I was born in a family in which the Bible was read every day of the year. I heard its lessons from the lips of a venerable father, and of a most affectionate mother. I read the book myself. I studied it when I came of age, and treasured up many of its teachings in my heart. I preached its truths to others. I defended its teachings against infidel assailants, and was eloquent in its praise.
"But a change took place; a strange, unlooked-for change. I was severed from the Church. I became an unbeliever. I turned away my eyes from the book, or looked chiefly on such portions of it as seemed to justify my unbelief. I have been led of late to return to the book, and to study it with a desire to do it justice; and the result is, I love it, I prize it, as I never did in my life. I read it at times with unshakable transports, and I am sorry I should ever have been so insensible to its infinite excellences."
Such was my lecture. Those who had come to oppose, seemed puzzled what to say. One man said I had been brought there to curse the Bible, and lo! I had blessed it altogether. Another said that what I had uttered could not be my real sentiments—that my praise of the Bible must be a trap or a snare. My answer was, They are my real convictions, and the sentiments that I publish in my weekly paper. Then how comes it that you are brought here by the Secularists? I answered, My custom is to accept invitations from any party, but to teach my own sentiments.
One young man came to me at Bristol, after hearing me deliver this lecture, and said how glad he was at what I had said. "When my mother was dying," said he, "she gave me a Bible, and pressed me to read it; and I did sofor a while. But when I became a skeptic, I lost my interest in the book, and I didn't know what to do with it. I didn't like to sell it, or destroy it, because it was the gift of my mother; yet I seemed to have no use for it. I shall read it now with pleasure."
On the following evening I lectured onTrue Religion. The gentleman who had come to oppose me said it was the best sermon, or about the best, he had over heard. He seemed at a loss to know what right I had to speak so earnestly in favor of all that was good, and appeared inclined to abuse me for not saying something bad. I took all calmly, and the meeting ended pleasantly.
9. And now, instead of trying to shake men's faith in religion, I labored to strengthen it. I was satisfied that the faith of the Christian was right in substance, if it was not quite right in form. And I was satisfied there was something terribly wrong in unbelief, though I could not yet free myself entirely from its horrible power.
10. The feeling grew stronger that my remaining doubts were unreasonable; that my soul was a slave to an evil spell, the result of long persistence in an evil method of reasoning; yet I lacked the power to emancipate myself. At length, as I have said, I appealed to Heaven and cried, "God help me!" and my struggling soul was strengthened and released.
11. I had looked at the Church when a Christian minister from the highest ground, and it seemed too low. I had compared it with Christ and His teachings, and it seemed full of shortcomings. I now looked at it from low ground, and it seemed high. I compared it with what I had seen in infidel society, and read in infidel books; and I was filled with admiration of its order, and of its manifold labors of love. I tried to imitate the order and beneficent operations of the Church in my Burnley society, but failed. Faith in Christianity, and the spirit of its glorious Author, were wanting. The body without the spirit is dead.
12. I was first convinced that Christianity was necessary to the happiness of man, and to the regeneration of the world, but had doubts as to its truth. I now saw that much of it was true. In course of time I came to be satisfied that the religion of Christ was true as awhole;that it was a revelation from God; that Christ Himself was a revelation both of what Godis, and of what manoughtto be; that He was God's image and man's model: that He was God incarnate, God manifest in the flesh, and the one great Saviour of mankind. My objections to miracles gave way. They seemed groundless. I saw miracles in nature. They were wrought on every emergency, even to secure the comfort of the lower animals. What could be more rational than to expect them to be wrought in aid of man's illumination and salvation? My moral and religious feelings got stronger. My skeptical tendencies grew weaker. I continued to look at Christ. I studied him more and more. My heart waxed warmer; my love to God and Christ became a mighty flame. I got among the followers of Christ; I gave free scope, I gave full play, to my better affections, and heavenward tendencies. I read, I prayed, I wrote, I lectured, I preached. I gave free utterance to what I believed, and while doing so, came to believe still more, and to believe with fuller assurance. I used no violence with myself, except my lower self. I went no further in my preaching than I had gone in my belief, and I accepted no doctrines or theories which did not present themselves to my soul as true and right. But I came at length to see, not the perfection and divinity of any particular system of theology, but the perfection and divinity of Christianity, and the substantial perfection and divinity of the Sacred Scriptures.
13. I examined the popular objections to Christianity and the Bible. Some were exceedingly childish; some seemed wicked; some, it was plain, originated in ignorance; some in error. Paine, Owen, Parker, and certain students of nature, came to erroneous conclusions with regard to Christ and the Bible, because they tried them by false standards. Jesus said nothing on the value of representative and democratic forms of government, so Paine considered Him ignorant of the conditions of human happiness. It was Paine however that was ignorant, not Jesus. Jesus was so wise, that Paine was not able to appreciate His views or do Him justice. Owen believed that man was the creature of circumstances; that his character was formed for him, not by him, and that he wasnot responsible therefore for his actions. Christ taught a contrary doctrine. Owen therefore considered Christ to be in error: but the error was in himself. Parker did not believe in the possibility of miracles: but the Bible contained accounts of miracles. The Bible therefore must be pronounced, to a great extent, fabulous. But miraclesarepossible; miracles are actual, palpable realities, and Parker's objection falls to the ground. Many smatterers in science object to the credibility of the gospel history on the same ground, and are answered in the same way.
Some objections to the Bible and Christianity originate in misinterpretations of portions of the Bible. The Scriptures are made answerable for foolish doctrines which they do not teach. Some objections seem based on a wilful misconstruction of passages of Scripture. Many objections owe their force to wrong theories of Divine inspiration, and to erroneous notions with regard to the design of the Sacred Scriptures put forth by certain divines. These are obviated by the rejection of those unwarrantable theories and erroneous ideas, and the acceptance of better ones. Many get wrong notions about what constitutes theperfectionof the Bible, and look in the Scriptures for akindof perfection which is impossible in a book written in human language, and meant for the instruction and education of imperfect human beings. There is not a language on earth that is absolutely perfect, nor is it likely that there ever was, or ever will be, such a language. An absolutely perfect book therefore in any human language is an impossibility. But no such thing as an absolutely perfect book is necessary or desirable, any more than an absolutely perfect body or soul, or an absolutely perfect church or ministry. There is a kind of imperfection in God's works which constitutes their perfection. There is a kind of perfection talked about by metaphysical divines, which would be the extreme of imperfection. We have reason to be thankful that there is no such perfection either in Nature or the Bible. Nature and the Bible would be worthless if there were. But there is a practical perfection, a perfection ofusefulness, in both; a perfection of adaptation to the accomplishment of the highest and most desirable objects: and that is enough.
The principal objects for which the Bible was written were, 1. To make men wise unto salvation through faith in Christ Jesus. 2. To furnish God's people unto every good work. 3. To support them under their trials, and to comfort them under their sorrows, on their way to heaven. No higher or more desirable ends can be conceived. And it answers these ends, whenever its teachings are received and obeyed. And this is true, substantial perfection. This is the reasoning of the Psalmist. "The law of the Lord isperfect," says he, and the proof he gives is this, "it converteth the soul." "The testimony of the Lord is sure,making wise the simple. The statutes of the Lord are right,rejoicing the heart. Moreover by them is Thy servant warned, and in keeping of them there is great reward." This is all the perfection we need.
14. Spiritualism had something to do with my conversion. I know the strong feeling prevailing among many Christians against spiritualism, but I should feel as if I had not quite done my duty, if I did not, to the best of my recollection, set down the part it had in the cure of my unbelief. My friends must therefore bear with me while I give them the following particulars:—
As I travelled to and fro in America, fulfilling my lecturing engagements, I met with a number of persons who had been converted, by means of spiritualism, from utter infidelity, to a belief in God and a future life. Several of those converts told me their experience, and pressed me to visit some medium myself, in hopes that I might witness something that would lead to my conversion. I was, at the time, so exceedingly skeptical, that the wonderful stories which they told me, only caused me to suspect them of ignorance, insanity, or dishonesty; and the repetition of such stories, to which I was compelled to listen in almost every place I visited, had such an unhappy effect on my mind, that I was strongly tempted to say, "All men are liars." I had so completely forgotten, or explained away, my own previous experiences, and I was so far gone in unbelief, that I had no confidence whatever in anything that was told me about matters spiritual or supernatural. I might have the fullest confidence imaginable in the witnesses when they spoke on ordinary subjects, but I couldnot put the slightest faith in their testimony when they told me their stories about spiritual matters. And though fifty or a hundred persons, in fifty or a hundred different places, without concert with each other, and without any temptation of interest, told me similar stories, their words had not the least effect on my mind. The most credible testimony in the world was utterly powerless, so far as things spiritual were concerned. And when the parties whose patience I tried by my measureless incredulity, entreated me to visit some celebrated medium, that I might see and judge for myself, I paid not the least regard to their entreaties. I was wiser in my own conceit than all the believers on earth.
At length, to please a particular friend of mine in Philadelphia, I visited a medium called Dr. Redman. It was said that the proofs given through him of the existence and powers of departed spirits were such as no one could resist. My friend and his family had visited this medium, and had seen things which to them seemed utterly unaccountable, except on the supposition that they were the work of disembodied spirits.
When I entered Dr. Redman's room, he gave me eight small pieces of paper, about an inch wide and two inches long, and told me to take them aside, where no one could see me, and write on them the names of such of my departed friends as I might think fit, and then wrap them up like pellets and bring them to him. I took the papers, and wrote on seven of them the names of my father and mother, my eldest and my youngest brothers, a sister, a sister-in-law, and an aunt, one name on each; and one I left blank. I retired to a corner of the room to do the writing, where there was neither glass nor window, and I was so careful not to give any one a chance of knowing what I wrote, that I wrote with a short pencil, so that even the motion of the top of my pencil could not be seen. I was besides entirely alone in that part of the room, with my face to the dark wall. The bits of paper which the medium had given me were soft, so that I had no difficulty in rolling them into round pellets, about the size of small peas. I rolled them up, and could no more have told which was blank and which was written on, nor which, among the seven I hadwritten on, contained the name of any one of my friends, and which the names of the rest, than I can tell at this moment what is taking place in the remotest orbs of heaven. Having rolled up the papers as described, I laid them on a round table, about three feet broad. I laid on the table at the same time a letter, wrapped up, but not sealed, written to my father, but with no address outside. I also laid down a few loose leaves of note paper. The medium sat on one side the table, and I sat on the other, and the pellets of paper and the letter lay between us. We had not sat over a minute, I think, when there came very lively raps on the table, and the medium seemed excited. He seized a pencil, and wrote on the outside of my letter, wrong side up, and from right to left, so that what he wrote lay right for me to read, these words: "I came in with you, but you neither saw me nor felt me.WILLIAM BARKER." And immediately he seized me by the hand, and shook hands with me.
This rather startled me. I felt very strange. ForWilliam Barkerwas the name of my youngest brother, who had died in Ohio some two or three years before. I had never named him, I believe, in Philadelphia, and I have no reason to suppose that any one in the city was aware that I had ever had such a brother, much less that he was dead. I did not tell the medium that the name that he had written was the name of a brother of mine; but I asked, "Is the name of this person among those written in the paper pellets on the table?"
The answer was instantly given by three loudish raps, "Yes."
I asked, "Can he select the paper containing his name?"
The answer, given as before, was "Yes."
The medium then took up first one of the paper pellets and then another, laying them down again, till he came to the fifth, which he handed to me. I opened it out, and it contained my brother's name. I was startled again, and felt very strange. I asked, "Will the person whose name is on this paper answer me some questions?"
The answer was, "Yes."
I then took part of my note paper, and with my left hand on edge, and the top of my short pencil concealed, Iwrote, "Where d——,"intendingto write, "Where did you die?" But as soon as I had written "Where d——," the medium reached over my hand and wrote, upside down, and backwards way, as before,—
"Put down a number of places, and I will tell you."
Thus answering my question before I had had time to ask it in writing.
I then wrote down a list of places, four in all, and pointed to each separately with my pencil, expectingrapswhen I touched the right one; but no raps came.
The medium then said, "Write down a few more." I then discovered that I had not, at first, written down the place where my brother died: so I wrote down two more places, the first of the two being the place where he died. The list then stood thus:—
Salem,Leeds,Ravenna,Akron,Cuyahoga Falls,New York.
The medium then took his pencil, and moved it between the different names, till he came toCuyahoga Falls, which he scratched out. That was the name of the place where he died.
I then wrote a number of other questions, in no case giving the medium any chance of knowing by any ordinary means what I wrote, and in every case he answered the questions in writing as he had done before; and in every case but one the answers were such as to show, both that the answerer knew what questions I had asked, and was acquainted with the matters to which they referred.
When I had asked some ten or a dozen questions, the medium said, "There is a female spirit wishes to communicate with you."
"Is her name among those on the table?" I asked.
The answer, in three raps, was, "Yes."
"Can she select the paper containing her name?" I asked.
The answer again was, "Yes."
The medium then took up one of the paper pellets, and put it down; then took up and put down a second; and then took up a third and handed it to me.
I was just preparing to undo it, to look for the name, when the medium reached over as before, and wrote on a leaf of my note paper—
"It is my Name.ELIZABETH BARKER."
And the moment he had written it, he stretched out his hand, smiling, and shook hands with me again. Whether it really was so or not, I will not say, but his smile seemed the smile of my mother, and the expression of his face was the old expression of my mother's face; and when he shook hands with me, he drew his hand away in the manner in which my mother had always drawn away her hand. The tears started into my eyes, and my flesh seemed to creep on my bones. I felt stranger than ever. I opened the paper, and it was my mother's name: ELIZABETH BARKER. I asked a number of questions as before, and received appropriate answers.
But I had seen enough. I felt no desire to multiply experiments. So I came away—sober, sad, and thoughtful.
I had a particular friend in Philadelphia, an old unbeliever, called Thomas Illman. He was born at Thetford, England, and educated, I was told, for the ministry in the Established Church. He was remarkably well informed. I never met with a skeptic who had read more or knew more on historical or religious subjects, or who was better acquainted with things in general, except Theodore Parker. He was the leader of the Philadelphia Freethinkers, and was many years president of the Sunday Institute of that city. He told me, many months before I paid my visit to Dr. Redman, thatheonce paid him a visit, and that he had seen what was utterly beyond his comprehension,—what seemed quite at variance with the notion that there was no spiritual world,—and what compelled him to regard with charity and forbearance the views of Christians on that subject. At the time he told me of these things, Ihad become rather uncharitable towards the Spiritualists, and very distrustful of their statements, and the consequence was, that his account of what he had witnessed, and of the effect it had had on his mind, made but little impression on me. But when I saw things resembling what my friend had seen, his statements came back to my mind with great power, and helped to increase my astonishment. But my friend was now dead, and I had no longer an opportunity of conversing with him about what we had seen. This Mr. Illman was the gentleman mentioned on a former page, whom I attended on his bed of death.
The result of my visit to Dr. Redman was, that I never afterwards felt the same impatience with Spiritualists, or the same inclination to pronounce them all foolish or dishonest, that I had felt before. It was plain, that whether their theory of a spirit world was true or not, they were excusable in thinking it true. Itlookedlike truth. I did not myself conclude from what I had seen, that it was true, but I was satisfied that there was more in this wonderful universe than could be accounted for on the coarse materialistic principles of Atheism. My skepticism was not destroyed, but it was shaken and confounded. And now, when I look back on these things, it seems strange that it was not entirely swept away. But believing and disbelieving are habits, and they are subject to the same laws as other habits. You may exercise yourself in doubting till you become the slave of doubt. And this was what I had done. I had exercised myself in doubting, till my tendencies to doubt had become irresistible. My faith, both in God and man, seemed entirely gone. I had not, so far as I can see, so much as "a grain of mustard seed" left. So far as religious matters were concerned, I was insane. It makes me sad to think what a horrible extravagance of doubt had taken possession of my mind. A thousand thanks to God for my deliverance from that dreadful thraldom.
15. I have been asked how I meet my own old objections to the Divine authority of the Bible. I answer, some of them originated in misinterpretations of Scripture. Others originated in mistakes with regard to the characterof Christ. Some things which I regarded as defects in Christ were, in truth, excellencies. Some were based on mistakes with regard to the truth of certain doctrines, and the value of certain precepts. I looked on certain doctrines as false, which I now am satisfied are true; and I regarded certain precepts as bad, which I am now persuaded are good. Some things which I said about the Bible were true, but they proved nothing against its substantial perfection and divinity. Much of what I said in my speech at Salem, Ohio, about the imperfection of all translations of the Scriptures, the various readings of Greek and Hebrew manuscripts, the defects of Greek and Hebrew compilations, and the loss of the original manuscripts, was true; but it amounted to nothing. It disproved the unguarded statements of certain rash divines; but it proved nothing against the divine inspiration or substantial perfection of the Bible as taught in the Bible itself, and as held by divines of the more enlightened and sober class. That which is untrue in what I wrote about the Scriptures is no longer an obstacle to my faith, now that I see it to be untrue. And those remarks which are true in my writings on the Bible give me no trouble, because my faith in Bible inspiration is of such a form, that they do not affect it. They might shake the faith of a man who believes in a kind of inspiration of the Bible which is unscriptural, and in a kind of perfection of the Book which is impossible; but they do not affect the faith of a man who keeps his belief in Bible inspiration and Bible perfection within the bounds of Scripture and reason.
And here I may say a few words about the objections I advanced in my debate with Dr. Berg.
1. The great mass of those objections prove nothing against the Bible itself, as the great and divinely appointed means of man's religious instruction and improvement. They simply show that the theory held by Dr. Berg about the inspiration and absolute perfection of the book was erroneous. If Dr. Berg had modified his notions, and brought them within Scriptural bounds, this class of objections would all have fallen to the ground.
2. But some of my statements were untrue and unjust. For instance, in one case I said, 'The man who forms hisideas of God from the Bible can hardly fail to have blasphemous ideas of Him.' Now, from the account of the Creation in Genesis, to the last chapter in Revelation, the one grand idea presented of God is that He is good, and that His delight is to do good,—that He is good to all, and that His tender mercies are over all His works. Whatever may be said of a few passages of dark or doubtful meaning, the whole drift of the Bible is in accordance with that wonderful, that unparalleled oracle of the Apostle, 'GOD IS LOVE.'
3. Another statement that I made was, that the man who studies God in Nature, without the Bible, is infinitely likelier to get worthier views of God, than he who gets his ideas of God from the Bible without regard to Nature. Now the truth is, no mancanget his ideas of God from the Bible without regard to Nature; for the Bible constantly refers to Nature as a revelation of God, and represents Nature as exhibiting the grandest displays of God's boundless and eternal goodness. The Bible and Nature are in harmony on the character of God. The only difference is, that the revelations of God's love in the Bible, and especially in Christ, are more striking, more overpowering and transforming than those of Nature. And lastly, the notions of God entertained by those who have the light of Nature alone, are not to be compared with the views entertained by those who form their views of God from the Bible alone, or from the Bible and Nature conjoined.
4. One of my strongest objections was based on the 109th Psalm. This Psalm contains strong expressions of revenge and hatred towards the enemy of the Psalmist. The answer to this objection is,
1. That the Psalmist is not set up as our great example, and that his utterances are not given as the highest manifestation of goodness.
2. The Psalms are exceedingly instructive and interesting, and must have been of immense value, both as a means of comfort and improvement, to those to whom they were first given; but the perfection of divine revelation was yet to come. The Psalms are of incalculable value still, but they are not our standard of the highest virtue. John theBaptist was greater, higher, better than the Psalmist; yet the least of the followers of Jesus is higher than he.
3. But thirdly; we must not conclude that the feelings and expressions of the Psalmist were wicked, merely because they fell short of the highest Christian virtue. 'Revenge,' says one of our wisest men, 'is a wild kind of justice;' but itisjustice notwithstanding, when called forth by real and grievous wrong. It is goodness, though not goodness of the highest kind. It is virtue, though not perfect Christian virtue. And the revenge of the Psalmist was provoked by wrong of the most grievous description. Read the account of the matter given in the Psalm itself. 'Hold not thy peace, O God of my praise; for the mouth of the wicked and the mouth of the deceitful are opened against me: they have spoken against me with a lying tongue. They compassed me about also with words of hatred; and fought against me without a cause. For my love they are my adversaries: but I give myself unto prayer. And they have rewarded me evil for good, and hatred for my love.' This was injustice, ingratitude, cruelty of the most grievous kind. And these wrongs had been continued till his health and strength wore reduced to the lowest point. 'I am gone,' says he, 'like the shadow when it declineth. My knees are weak; my flesh faileth; so that when men look at me, they shake their heads.'
And a similar cause is assigned for the revengeful expressions in the 69th Psalm. There we find the persecuted Psalmist saying, "They that hate me, and would destroy me, are my enemies wrongfully, and they are many and mighty. Then I restored that which I took not away. Forthy sakehave I borne reproach: the reproaches of them that reproached thee are fallen upon me. I was the song of the drunkards. Reproach hath broken my heart; and I am full of heaviness: and I looked for some one to take pity, but there was none; and for comforters, but none appeared." Thus the men that wronged and tormented the Psalmist were enemies to God and goodness, as well as to himself.
We know that the virtue of the injured and tormented Psalmist was not the virtue of the Gospel; but itwasvirtue. It was the virtue of the law. And the law washoly, just, and good, so far as it went. If the resentment of the Psalmist had been cherished against some good or innocent man, it would have been wicked; as it was, it was righteous. True, if the Psalmist had lived under the better and brighter dispensation of Christianity, he would neither have felt the reproaches heaped on him so keenly, nor moaned under them so piteously, nor resented them so warmly. He might then have learned