And this fertility is all their work. Every stream has been turned from its channel into numberless little canals, which water this luxurious soil; and these are arranged with such skill and care that crop after crop has its share of irrigation, and in its just proportion. From Jativa the country becomes more mountainous. We pass the ruins of an old chateau on a high hill, (Montesa,) seat of an ancient order of chivalry which existed after the suppression of the Templars. We next pass Almanzar, Chinchilla, Albacete, where they sell the famous "Toledo blades," now hardly so famous. Here we are in La Mancha, and when we stop in Alcazar at midnight, we are near the village of Troboso, which Cervantes makes the dwelling of Don Quixote's Dulcinea. Alcazar is claimed as the birth-place of Cervantes.
Here we leave our road for the grand route between Madrid and Cordova; and here we are crowded into carriages with other ladies, a fate from which we have hitherto been defended; each conductor treating us as if we had been especially committed to his care, and sparing us all annoyance. Fortunately, at Manzanares two of these ladies leave us, and we make acquaintance with the third, who is very kind and polite; offers us a share of her luncheon, and gives us much information of people and things in Spain. She is a Portuguese, and tells us how much larger and finer are the olive-trees in her country than in Spain; she remembers one tree which eight men could not clasp. From her we hear much of the queen as from an unprejudiced source, and learn, what we gathered afterward from many credible sources, that this poor queen is a good woman, a very pious woman, full of talents and accomplishments, generous to a fault, with strong feelings and affections, which induce her to reward to excess those whom she loves or who have served her; and this has given rise to the injurious reports which have found their way to every foreign newspaper, but which nogoodpeople in Spain believe.
From Andujar the country is very uninteresting, more of a grazing country, where we see immense herds of cattle, sheep, horses, and goats, with picturesque shepherds minding them. The men wear short trousers, opened several inches at the ankle, showing the untanned leathern buskin, (as is seen in the old pictures of Philip II.'s time,) a red sash, and the black hat turned up all around. Presently we come upon the Guadalquivir, upon which Cordova is situated, and which is crossed here by a bridge of black marble. We drive up the cool, shady streets, catching glimpses, through open doors and curtains, of the little paradise within—the marble courts, with fountain, and orange-trees, and flowers, and vines—a vestige of the old Moorish time. In fact, everything here so preserves its Arabic character that one is transported six centuries back, into the palmy days of the Kalifs, when this city was said to have contained half a million of inhabitants, 200,000 houses, 60,000 palaces, 700 mosques, 900 baths, 50 hospitals, and a public library of 600,000 volumes. Of all these glories only the mosque remains to show by its magnificence that these accounts cannot be exaggerated.
Saturday, September 19.
We hasten to see the mosque, (the cathedral now,) and, entering a low door-way in the wall which surrounds it, you find yourself in a beautiful oriental court, with fountains, and rows of tall palms, and ancient orange trees and cypress. This is called "the court of ranges." Open colonnades surround the court on all sides save one, from which twenty doors once opened into the mosque; only one of these is now open. Enter this, and you find yourself in a forest of pillars—a thousand are yet left—of every hue and shade, no two alike, of jasper, and verde antique, and porphyry, and alabaster, and every colored marble, fluted, and spiral; and over these, rises arch upon arch overlapping each other. These divide the mosque into twenty-nine aisles from north to south, and nineteen from west to east; intersecting each other in the most harmonious and beautiful manner. The Moors brought these pillars from the ancient temples of Rome, and Nismes, and Carthage. The mosque was built in the eighth century, by Abd El Rahman, who aimed to make it rival those of Damascus and Bagdad. It is said he worked upon it an hour every day with his own hand, and it is certain that it ranked in sanctity with the "Caaba" of Mecca, and the great mosque of Jerusalem. Ten thousand lamps illuminated it at the hour of prayer; the roof was made of arbor vitae, which is considered imperishable, and was burnished with gold. The chapel, where is the holy of holies—where was kept the Koran—gives one an idea of what the ornaments of the whole must have been. Here the carvings are of the most exquisite fineness, like patterns of lace; the gold enamel, the beautiful mosaics, are as bright as if made yesterday. In the holy of holies—a recess in this chapel—the roof is of one block of marble, carved in the form of a shell, supported by pillars of various-colored marble. Around this wall a path is worn in the marble pavement, by the knees of the faithful making the mystic "seven rounds;" and our guide tells us that, when a few years ago, the brother of the king of Morocco came here, he went round this holy of holies upon his knees, seven times, crying bitterly all the while. The chapel of the Kalifs is also remarkable, from the floor to the ceiling, the marble being carved in these beautiful and delicate patterns.
From the cathedral, we go to visit the old Roman bridge of sixteen arches, which spans the Guadalquivir. This looks upon some ruins of Moorish mills, and the orange-gardens of the Alcazar, (now in ruins,) once the palace of Roderick, the last of the Goths. As we pass the modern Alcazar, (used as a prison,) an old cavalry officer comes out of the government stables, and invites us to look at the horses—the silky-coated Andalusians of which we have heard so much, and the fleet-footed, graceful Arabians. Each horse had his name and pedigree on a shield over his stall. Returning to our hotel for breakfast, we go out again to see the markets and the shops; visit some churches, and the lovely promenade by the Guadalquivir. Our costumes excite great remark; one woman says to another, "They are masqueraders;" another lifts her hands and exclaims "Ave Maria;" and but for the intervention of our guide, who reproves their curiosity, we should be followed by a troop of children.
Sunday, 20.
Coming to breakfast, we are charmed to find our young American friend whom we had left in Valencia; and, in spite of a pouring rain, we all set out to hear high mass in the cathedral. The mosque was consecrated, and made the cathedral, when the city was captured by St. Ferdinand in 1236.Several chapels and altars were then added, and in 1521, the transept and choir were begun, to make room for which, eighty pillars were sacrificed. Charles V., who gave permission for this act of vandalism, was deeply mortified when he saw what had been done, and reproved the canons of the church, saying, they had destroyed what was unique in the world, to raise that which could be found anywhere.
While we are at mass, our young American arrives with the guide, to tell us that arevolutionhas broken out, and entreats us to return to the hotel. Some of the ladies are much alarmed; but my friend and myself, remembering that revolutions are chronic in Spanish countries, and are generally bloodless, we maintain our ground, too old soldiers to be driven from the field before a gun is fired; and the result justifies our faith.
Nobody quits the church. We have a solemn procession of the Blessed Sacrament after mass, winding through these beautiful aisles, accompanied by a band of wind instruments, the whole congregation following. We reach home to find our fellow-travellers very much frightened and annoyed at the prospect of a long detention; but we are assured that the worst which can befall us is a delay of a few days, to which we can well submit in this comfortable inn. Making acquaintance with our fellow-prisoners, we grow jolly over our misfortunes. The railways are all cut; General Prim and his colleagues (the exiled generals) are besieging Cadiz; and the queen has fled to Biarritz, to claim the intervention of the Emperor Napoleon. These are some of the rumors which are rife during the day. Hosts of red umbrellas parade the town—the most formidable weapon which we encounter; a few voices faintly cry "Libertad!" and "Viva!" some damp-looking soldiers pass by, with lances from which depend little red flags, looking limp and hopeless in the heavy rain. These troops declare for the people. We ask one of these what they want; the answer is, "Liberty." (Of course.) "And what is that?" "We want aKing. We will not be governed by a woman." Inflammatory hand-bills are distributed amongst the crowd, very vague in their demands, "an empty throne" being the first requisite on the list.
One man is killed, (a fine young officer of the queen's troops mercilessly shot down,) and another man is wounded. In the evening, we hear that the revolution is accomplished in Cordova; the insurrectionists have the city!
Monday, 21.
All is peaceful in appearance, and we go out to shop, to find some of the filagree jewelry for which Cordova is remarkable—an art retained from the time of the Moors. The rain drives us in, and we spend the day with music, books, and in conversation with our new friends—a Spanish lady of rank, who has come to Cordova about a lawsuit, and who shakes with fright, and goes about with a glass of water and a cup of vinegar to quiet her nerves; the poor lady neither eats nor sleeps. The others are of different calibre; a sturdy Scotch lady, and her companion, a sweet and charming German girl. "Who's afeard!"
Tuesday, 22.
We are roused by the sound of military music, and find that 5000 of the queen's troops are entering the city. Such. splendid-looking fellows! Such handsome officers! It is plain the city is taken in earnestnow!The inconstant populace clamor and shout; all is enthusiasm; the report is, that the insurrectionists are fled to Seville; the roads are repaired, but we are not allowed to leave the city.Still prisoners ofwar!Later in the day, we hear that the troops we saw this morning are those which had joined the insurgents at Seville. The queen's troops, commanded by the Marquis de Novaliches, are outside the town, fearing to be too few for those within, and waiting the turn of events. It is supposed there will be some compromise entered into; a convention patched up; and no fighting. The prime minister, Gonzales Bravo, has fled from Madrid, where all is anarchy. This man, who has been the author of all the oppressive measures, and all the banishments which have made the queen's government unpopular, now, in her hour of need leaves her to her fate, after cruelly deceiving her. When she feared the danger of revolution, he assured her she might leave the country without any anxiety; and she went to Biarritz in ignorance of the truth; thus giving her enemies the very opportunity they desired. Even now, (they say,) were she to return, and throw herself upon the generosity of the people, she would be received kindly; such is the loyalty of Spaniards to their monarchs. The influence of Bravo banished the Montpensiers, (the queen's sister and her husband, the son of Louis Philippe,) who were naturally her best friends, and to whom she had showed every kindness. He sent away many of her most popular generals; and now they return, with men and arms, and British and Prussian gold; the people sympathize with them, the troops join them; we hear from Cadiz, that there was a perfect ovation upon their landing.
To-day, we have a fine walk in a beautiful park, on one side of the city, from whence we have a charming view of the mountains; on one side, so grand and bold, with olive groves, and white country houses sparkling in the sunshine; on the other side, the hills are low, and their graceful, wavy outlines have the peculiar purple hue belonging to Spain, and form a striking contrast to the others. Between the two, lies the city, and the fertile plains about it. We lose our way in the tortuous streets, and spend the morning peeping into the beautiful patios, (courts,) which open to the heavens, or have sometimes a linen awning over them; with marble pavements, over which the cool fountains play; with orange-trees, and flowers, amongst which sofas, and chairs, and pictures are disposed; and around which often runs a marble corridor, with pillars and curtains, communicating with the other apartments. Here the family sit, and here take place the "tirtulias," the meetings for talk and music. A picture of one of these patios is thus charmingly translated from one of Fernan Caballero's beautiful tales by a late English traveller; and which any one who has been in Spain will recognize:
"The house was spacious, and scrupulously clean: on each side the door was a bench of stone. In the porch hung a little lamp before the image of our Lord in a niche over the entrance, according to the Catholic custom of putting all things under holy protection. In the middle was the 'patio,' a necessity to the Andalusian. And in the centre of this spacious court an enormous orange-tree raised its leafy head from its robust trunk. For an infinity of generations had this beautiful tree been a source of delight to the family. The women made tonic decoctions from its leaves; the daughters adorned themselves with its flowers; the boys cooled their blood with its fruits; the birds made their home in its boughs. The rooms opened out of the 'patio,' and borrowed their light from thence.This 'patio' was the centre of all the 'home;' the place of gathering when the day's work was over. The orange-tree loaded the air with its heavy perfume, and the waters of the fountain fell in soft showers on the marble basin, fringed with the delicate maiden-hair fern. And the father, leaning against the tree, smoked his 'cigarro de papel;' and the mother sat at her work, while the little ones played at her feet, the eldest resting his head on a big dog, which lay stretched at full length on the cool marble slabs. All was still, and peaceful, and beautiful."
We close the day with a farewell visit to the cathedral. Surely it is the most wonderful building in the world. Even St. Peter's hardly fills one with greater astonishment. This is altogether unique; and its grace, and elegance, and harmony win one to love it. We lingered by the chapel of the holy of holies, finding beauties which we had not before seen, and bade farewell to it with deep regret; then wandered to the bridge over the Guadalquivir, and gazed upon the truly eastern prospect it reveals.
To-day, a great robber from the mountains, upon whose head a price had been fixed by the late government, comes boldly into town. The people cry, "Viva Pacheco!" In half an hour after, we hear he has been shot—the victim of private revenge.
Cordova is the birthplace of Lucan, the author of thePharsalia; of the two Senecas; of many eminent Moslem poets and authors, and of the famous Gonzales de Cordova, "El Gran Capitan."
[Footnote 50]
[Footnote 50: TheCongregationalist and Boston Recorder, Boston, March 4th, 1869.]
We confess to having read with no little surprise an elaborate article in theCongregationalist and Boston RecorderentitledPope or People. Had we met the article in a professedly Unitarian journal or periodical we should have thought little of it; but meeting it in the recognized organ of the so-called orthodox Congregationalists of Massachusetts, we have read it with no ordinary interest. It shows that the Protestant, especially the old Puritan mind of the country, is profoundly agitated with the church question under one of its most important aspects. He who reads with any attention the leading American sectarian journals can hardly fail to perceive that there is a growing distrust in the Protestant world of the Protestant rule of faith, and a growing conviction that the only alternative, as the journal before us expresses it, is either pope or people. Of course the journal in question has no clear apprehension of either of the alternatives it suggests, but it does see and feel the need of certainty in matters of religious belief, and is in pursuit of it. It says:
"One of our great men once declared that the thing most to be desired in this world, by an intelligent mind, is an unfaltering religious belief. In the sense in which he meant it, his remark is unquestionably true; and it explains the philosophy of much of the success of the Romish Church. Men do crave certainty in their conviction; such certainty demands infallibility on which to found itself, and the papal system offers the promise of just that infallibility. And thousands upon thousands of minds rest in that; and being able to receive it, it meets that innate and inextinguishable craving of the soul for stability under its feet, and gives them a great—though it be a fallacious—peace.
"But multitudes, and some even among the nominal adherents of the papacy, are not able so to receive that doctrine, and are consequently driven to seek for some other rock on which to found the house of their faith; too often with the result of building it on the sand, with its seductive security for fair weather, and its terrible and irremediable fall when the tempestuous night-time of death shall come. But for those who reject the pope and that certitude of conviction which he offers, what solid ground is there on which to stand secure?"
If the writer knew the Catholic religion better, he would know that the peace we find in believing is not "fallacious," for "we know in whom we believe and are certain;" but he does see that to an unfaltering religious belief infallibility of some sort is absolutely indispensable, and that the Catholic Church promises it; yet, unable or unwilling to accept the pope or the church, he looks around to see if he cannot find elsewhere some infallible authority in which one may confide, an immovable rock or some solid ground on which one may stand and feel that his footing is sure. Does he succeed? We think not. He finds an alternative indeed, but not an infallible authority, and he has proved very conclusively that outside of the church there is and can be no such authority for faith. He says:
"As we look at it, only two alternatives are possible in this matter of an infallible faith; either the conditions of it exist outside of the soul in some constituted and certified authority, or within the soul in the purest and loftiest exercise of its reason—and we use this word asincludingconscience—under the enlightenment of God's Spirit through his Word. If outside of the soul, in any central and constituted authority, then in the pope; for it may as well be in him as anybody, nobody else claims it, and he does. If inside the soul, then any pope is an impossibility and an insult, and God remits every man to those conditions of secure decision which he has established in his breast, and holds him responsible for a judgment and a life founded upon them. And this latter, precisely, is God's way with men. He never commands them to hang their faith on the pope or the bishop; but rather inquires—in that tone of asking which is equivalent to the highest form of injunction—'Why,(aph' heauton,) out of your own selves, do ye not judge what is right?' Even in that precept which many will be swift to quote against us in this connection,'Obey them that have the rule over you, and submit yourselves,' it is first true that these 'rulers,' as the context proves, are mere (hëgoumenön) leaders, and men of example who were already dead, with no flavor of potentiality therefore about them; whose 'faith' is to be imitated rather than whose commands are to be submitted to; and true, in the second place, that the entire appeal of the apostle is to the tribunal of the Hebrews' reason as the court of ultimate decision, inasmuch as he declares that for them to fail thus to follow the good example of the illustrious and holy dead who had walked before them in the heavenly way, would be 'unprofitable' for them; leaving the necessary inference that men are bound to do what is for their highest profit, and therefore bound to decide, in all solemnity, what will be for that profit, and, so deciding, by inevitable necessity, to assume in the last analysis the function of positive masterhood over themselves and their destiny."
The alternative here presented is not pope or people, but pope or no external authority for faith. But why, supposing the internal or subjective authority to be all that is here alleged, is the pope an impossibility or an insult? Why may there not be two witnesses, the one internal, the other external? Is the revelation of God less credible because confirmed by two witnesses, each worthy of credit?The external and the internal do not necessarily exclude, and, if both are infallible, cannot exclude each other, or stand opposed one to the other. I do not deny or diminish the need or worth of reason by asserting the infallibility of the church, nor the importance and necessity of the infallible church by asserting the full power and freedom of reason. The Catholic asserts both, and has all the internal light and authority of reason that our Puritan doctor can pretend to, and has the infallible church in addition.
We may say the same when is added to "the purest and loftiest exercise of reason" the enlightenment of God's Spirit through his Word. This word, on the hypothesis, must be spoken inside of the soul, or else it is an authority outside of the soul, which the writer cannot admit. His rule of faith is reason and the interior illumination of the Holy Ghost. The Catholic rule by no means excludes this; it includes it, and adds to it the external word and the infallible authority of the church. Catholics assert the interior illumination and inspiration of the Holy Spirit as fully and as strenuously as the Puritan does or can. The authority inside the soul, be it more or be it less, does not exclude the external authority of the church, nor does the external authority of the church exclude the internal authority of reason and the Spirit. Catholicity asserts both, and interprets each by the authority of the other. Catholics have all the reason and all the interior "enlightenment of God's Spirit" that Protestants have, and lay as much stress on each, to say the least, as Protestants do or can.
The great mistake of non-catholics is in the supposition that the assertion of an external infallible authority necessarily excludes, or at least supersedes, reason and the interior illumination of the Spirit. This is false in logic, and, as every one who understands Catholic theology knows, is equally false in fact. There is a maxim accepted and insisted on by all Catholic theologians, that settles, in principle, the whole controversy; namely,gratia supponit naturam. Grace supposes nature, revelation supposes reason, and the external supposes the internal; and hence no Catholic holds that faith is or can be produced by the external authority of the church alone, though infallible, or without the grace of God, that illuminates the understanding and inspires the will. Hence our Lord says, "No man cometh to me, unless the Father draws him." In our controversies with Protestants we necessarily insist on the external authority, because that is what they deny; hence is produced an impression in many minds that we deny the internal, or make no account of it. Nothing can be more untrue or unjust, as any one may know who will make himself at all familiar with the writings of Catholic ascetics, or with the Catholic direction of souls.
But while we assert the internal we do not concede that it is alone sufficient. "Dearly beloved, believe not every spirit, but try the spirits, whether they be of God," (I John iv. i.) Saints may mistake their own imaginations or enthusiasm for the inspirations of the Spirit, and even in their case it is necessary to try the spirit, and, in the very nature of the case, the trial must be by an external test or authority. The test of the internal by the internal is simply no test at all.The beloved apostle in this same chapter of his first epistle gives two tests, the one doctrinal and the other apostolical: "By this is the Spirit of God known: every spirit that confesseth Jesus Christ to have come in the flesh is of God, and every spirit that dissolveth Jesus (by denying either his humanity or his divinity) is not of God." "We are of God. He that knoweth God heareth us; he that is not of God heareth us not; by this we know the spirit of truth, and the spirit of error." The internal, then, must be brought to the test of apostolic doctrine and of the apostolic communion or the apostolic authority, both of which are external, or outside of the soul. The assertion of the external does not supersede the internal, nor does the assertion of the internal supersede the necessity of the external infallible authority. The error of our Puritan journalist is in supposing that if the one is taken the other must be rejected; he should know that no one is obliged to choose between them, and that both, each in its proper place and function, may be and must be accepted. It is true, neither reason nor the inspiration of the Spirit can deceive or mislead, us; but we may be deceived as to what reason really dictates, and as to whether the internal phenomena really are interior inspirations of the Spirit; and therefore to the safety and certainty of our faith, even subjectively considered, the external infallible authority of the pope or church is indispensable.
This is evident enough of itself, and still more so from the article before us. The insufficiency of reason and the spiritual light, either in the writer or in us, appears in his understanding of the text of St. Paul, Hebrews xiii., which, as he cites it, reads, "Obey them that have rule over you, and submit yourselves;" but as we read it, "Obey your prelates and submit to them." Which of us has the true version of the words of the apostle? The Puritan interpreter says these prelates, or "these rulers," were mere leaders, and men of example, who were already dead, with no flavor of potentiality, (sic,) therefore, about them; and whose "faith" is to be imitated, rather than whose commands are to be submitted to. We are disposed to believe that they were not dead men, but living rulers placed by the Holy Ghost over the faithful, to whom the apostle commands them to submit; and we are confirmed in this view by the reason which the apostle assigns for his command: "For they watch as having to give an account of your souls, that they may do this with joy, not with grief." Which of us is right? The journalist tells us, moreover, that "the entire appeal of the apostle is to the tribunal of the Hebrews' reason as the court of ultimate decision." We hold that the apostle, from beginning to end, appeals to the revelation held by the Hebrews, and argues from that and the character of their sacrifices and the levitical priesthood, that both were types and figures of the real and everlasting priesthood of Christ and his one all-sufficient sacrifice. Christ having come in the end of the world, and offered himself once for all, the types and figures must give way to the reality they prefigured and announced. Therefore the Hebrews should accept Christ as the fulfilment of their law. He undoubtedly reasons, and reasons powerfully, but from revealed premises. Here we and the journalist are at odds; we cannot both be right: who shall decide between us? While we thus differ, supposing us equally able, learned, and honest, how can either find his cravings for certainty satisfied?
It is a very common prejudice among Protestants and rationalists that Catholics eschew reason, and assert only an external authority which operates only on the will. It seems to be forgotten that it was the reformers who denied reason, and set up the authority of the written Word against it. No one, as far as our knowledge extends, ever spoke more contemptuously of reason than did Doctor Martin Luther; and the old Puritan and Presbyterian ministers to whose preaching we listened in our boyhood were continually warning us to beware of the false and deceitful light of reason, which "dazzles but to blind." This was in accordance with the doctrine of total depravity with which the reformers started; man being clean gone in sin and totally corrupt in his nature, his reason, as well as his will, must be corrupt, turned against God and truth, and therefore worthy of no confidence. No doubt, Protestants have softened the harshness of many of the doctrines of the reformers, and in several respects have drawn nearer to what has always been the teaching of the church; but it is hardly fair in them to charge the errors of their ancestors, which they have outgrown or abandoned, upon the church which has always condemned them. The Bishop of Avranches, Pascal, the Traditionalists, and some others, commonly regarded as Catholics, yet for the most part tinctured with Jansenism, have indeed seemed to depreciate reason in order the better to defend faith; but the church has expressly or virtually condemned them, and vindicated the rights of reason. Whoever knows Catholic theology, knows that the church never opposes faith or authority to reason, but asserts both with equal earnestness and emphasis, and denies that there is or can be any antagonism between them.
The reformers did not assume that no external infallible authority is necessary to faith. They denied the infallible authority of popes and councils, but asserted that of the written Word, interpreted by private judgment, or rather, by the private illumination of the Spirit, called by some in our day the Christian conscience, or consciousness. Our Puritan journalist, though he rejects not the Scriptures, very ably refutes this theory of the reformers:
"There lies before us a recent number of a religious quarterly containing an elaborate article entitled 'An Infallible Church or an infallible Book—which?' the great object of which is to dethrone the Pope and enthrone the Bible, as the subject of indubitable faith, with that religious certitude with which it may logically comfort the soul. To quote its own language, it would make the Bible 'the supreme and only arbiter in things spiritual.' And this, it thinks, would cause' divisions to cease among us for ever.' But this forgets that the Bible is always at the mercy of its interpreters, and that its unity becomes continual diversity—being all things to all men, as they compel it, by the manner in which they receive it. This is not true merely in the extreme cases of those who are—and who know that they are—'handling the Word of God deceitfully;' it is true, as well, of those who mean to treat it with extremest reverence and humility or receptive faith. Here, for example, are two meek and lowly, yet wonderfully clear-headed disciples, like Francis Wayland and Bela Bates Edwards; both able scholars and patient students of the Word; both, so far as human eye can judge, eminently seeking and securing the habitual guidance of the Holy Spirit: and yet, as a matter of fact, reaching, upon certain points which both feel to be of serious importance, conclusions as to what is taught in the Bible, diametrically opposite, and beyond possibility of reconciliation. And who can deny that the one—seeming to himself to find them in the Bible—was as sacredly bound to hold, practise, and teach Baptist, as the other, Pedobaptist views."
We need add nothing to this refutation. Protestants have had from the first all the Bible, all the private judgment, or private illumination, they now have or can hope to have; and yet they have never been able to agree among themselves on a single dogma of faith. The only point on which they have been unanimous is their hostility to the Catholic Church.They have no standard by which to try the spirit; and the Bible, not a few among them are accustomed to say, profanely, "is a fiddle on which a skilful player may play any tune he pleases." Protestants may go to the Bible to prove the doctrines they have been taught by their parents or ministers, or held from Protestant tradition; but they never, or rarely ever, obtain their doctrines from the study of the Holy Scriptures. Hence, sects the most divergent appeal alike to the Bible; and each seems to find texts in its favor. How can any thinking Protestant, who knows this, not be perplexed and uncertain as to what he should believe? The writer admits the difficulty, and asks:
"Are we to understand, then, that Christ is divided? Is there no such thing as absolute truth? This cannot be admitted, and we avoid the admission of it by the claim that God's absolute truth is a truth of love and life, through dogma yet not of dogma; so that it may be reached and realized by approaches not only from different but sometimes from opposite directions."
But this does not, as far as we can see, help the matter. Concede that charity or love is the fulfilling of the law, and that nothing more is required of any one than perfect charity, yet the love here asserted is, though not of dogma, "through dogma." Unless, then, we are sure of the absolute truth of the dogma, how can we be sure of the truth of the love and life, since there are many sorts of love? The dogma, according to the Puritan writer, is not the principle, indeed, but it is the medium of the love and life. Will a false medium be as effectual in relation to the end as a true medium? Can a falsehood be, in the nature of things, any medium at all? If we say the absolute truth is a truth of love and life through dogma, it seems to us absolutely necessary that the dogma should be absolutely true; but, whether the dogma is absolutely true or not, the writer concedes that those who reject the infallibility of the church have no certain means of determining. If it be said that the true love and life are practicable with contradictory dogmas, as is said in the last extract made, then dogmas are indifferent; and whether we believe the truth or falsehood of God or Christ; of the human soul; of the origin and end of man; of man's duties, and the means of discharging them,—can make no difference as to the truth of our love and life. The truth of love and life is not, then, an intellectual truth; a truth apprehended by the mind; but must be a mere affection of the heart, or, rather, a mere feeling, dependent on no operation of the understanding, but on some internal or external affection of the sensibility. The love will not be a rational affection, but a simple sentiment, sensitive affection, or sensible emotion, and as far removed from charity as is the sensuous appetite for food or drink.
TheCongregationalist and Recorderseems aware that it has not yet found a solid ground to stand on, and fairly abandons its pretension to be able to arrive at absolute truth at all without the pope. It says:
"It is, then, both the privilege and the duty of every man to be a law unto himself; and out of his own reason and conscience, enlightened from all knowledge that can be made available by his own researches and those of his fellows, and more especially by the patient and docile study of the Bible—all in the most profound, uninterrupted, and prayerful dependence upon the Holy Spirit—to judge what is right. From the decision which he thus reaches there can be, for him, no appeal. Whether it is anybody's else duty to follow the course prescribed therein, or not, it ishisduty to do so. He has plead his cause before his infallible tribunal, and its decision over him is necessarily supreme and inexorable.Not to obey it, would be to be false equally to God and to himself.If it be not absolute right which he has reached, it stands in the place of absolute right for him; and only along its road, however thorny, and steep, and high, can he climb up toward heaven. Practically, then, we insist upon it, there is no infallibility possible to man, but that which is resident in his own soul."
The conclusion is that to which all who seek their rule of faith in private judgment and private illumination, or inside the soul, must come at last; namely, the man is a law unto himself; that is, is his own law, and, therefore, his own truth. Out of his own reason and conscience, enlightened by the best study he can make, he is to judge supremely what is right. This, we need not say, is pure rationalism. It is man's duty to abide by the conclusion at which he arrives; for although it may not be the absolute right, yet it is the absolute right for him. This makes truth and duty relative; what each one, for himself, thinks them to be. What infallibility is here to oppose to the infallibility of the church? Suppose it is announced to a man that God has established a church which he by his presence renders infallible, to teach all men and nations; will it not be the duty of that man to listen to the announcement, and to investigate to the best of his ability, and with all diligence, whether it be so or not? If, through prejudice, indifference, or any other cause, he fails to do so, will his conviction against such church be excusable, and absolute truth or right, even for him? The article continues:
"And, in the matter of systems, we submit that there is no logical pause possible between the two extremes to which we referred, near the beginning of this article—that each man's own conscientious reason be his umpire, or that that reason be implicitly surrendered to some sole arbiter without. It must be pope or people; the absolutism of the papacy or the democracy of Congregationalism. There is no intermediate stand-point on which the aristocracy of Presbyterianism, or the limited monarchy of Methodism, or Episcopacy, can solidly build itself. And this is, in point of fact, the unintended confession of actions that are louder than words, in all these systems; inasmuch as an appeal to the people in their individuality is their quick, sharp sword which cuts every knot that draws hard and cannot be untied."
But we do not see how this follows. The writer, if he has proved anything, has proved, not that Congregationalism is a ground on which one can stand, but that the individual is. He places the infallible tribunal in the inside of the individual soul; Congregationalism places it, if anywhere, in the congregation or brotherhood. He should have said, therefore, that it is either pope or individualism. We readily agree that there is no solid ground between the pope and the people, taken individually, on which any third or middle party can stand; but is individualism, or the individual soul, a solid ground on which any one can stand, without danger of its giving way under him? We have seen that it is not, because an external standard is needed by which to try the internal; and the writer himself concedes it, if he understands the force of the terms he uses. He confesses that a man, after due investigation, with all the helps he can derive from the Holy Scriptures and the Spirit, cannot be certain of arriving at absolute truth—that is, at truth at all; he can only arrive at what is true and right for him, though it may not be so for any one else. At best, then, he attains only to the relative, and no man can stand on the relative, for the relative itself cannot stand except in the absolute.His whole doctrine amounts simply to this: What I honestly and conscientiously think is true and right, is true and right for me; that is, I may follow what I think is true and right with a safe conscience: but whether I think right or wrong; in accordance with the objective reality or not, I do not and cannot know. What is this but saying that infallibility is both impossible and unnecessary? Relying on what is inside of the soul, then, without any authority outside of it, we cannot attain to that certainty the writer began by affirming to be necessary, and craved by the soul; and which he proposed to show us could be had without the pope. All the writer does, is to show us that without the infallibility of the pope or church, we cannot have infallible faith; and to attempt to prove that we do not need it, and can do very well without it. What does he establish, then, but what Catholics have always told him, that there is no alternative but pope or no infallibility? He says:
"We are even prepared to go so far as to claim that, as human nature has been divinely constituted, it is a psychological impossibility for any man to waive this prerogative of being thesupreme authorityover himself in regard to his religion; for if he decides to accept the pope and his dictum as conveying to him the sure will of God, that infallibility can only be received as such by an express volition of his own thus to receive it; that is, the man infallible stands behind the pope infallible, and decrees that he shall become to him an infallible pope; so that all the infallibility which the pope can have is just only what the man had before, and gives to him by his volition."
In this it is not only conceded that the internal, as we have seen, does not give infallibility, but asserted that man is so constituted that he is incapable of having an infallible faith. Consequently, there can be no infallible teaching. It goes farther, and denies the supreme authority of God in matters of religion; and, like all error, puts man in the place of God. It says: "It is a psychological impossibility for any man to waive his prerogative of being the supreme authority over himself in regard to his religion." This is the necessary conclusion from the writer's assumption in the outset, that the infallible authority is inside the soul, not outside of it; therefore, purely subjective and human. Consequently, man is his own law, his own sovereign; therefore independent of God, and the author and finisher of his own faith. This is pretty well for a Calvinist, and the organ of New England Puritanism! But we charitably trust that the writer hardly understands the reach of what he says. He confounds the action or office of reason in receiving the faith, or the internal act of believing, with the authority on which one believes, or on which the faith is received. The act is the act of the rational subject, and therefore internal. The authority on which the act is elicited is accredited to the subject, and therefore necessarily objective or external. I believe on testimony which comes to me from without, or a fact or an event duly accredited to me. I believe the messenger from God duly accredited to me as his messenger, although he announces to me things far above my own personal knowledge, and even mysteries which my reason is utterly unable to comprehend. Hence, Christians believe the mysteries recorded in the Holy Scriptures, because recorded by men duly instructed and authorized by God himself to teach in his name.
The Puritan writer will hardly deny that St. Peter was a duly accredited apostle of our Lord, and therefore, that what he declares to be the Word of God is the Word of God, and therefore true, since God is truth itself.Suppose, then, the pope to be duly accredited to us as the divinely authorized and divinely assisted teacher and interpreter of the teaching of our Lord, whether in person or by the mouth of the apostles, would reason find any greater difficulty in believing him than in believing St. Peter himself? Of course not. Now, Catholics look upon the pope as the successor or the continuator of Peter, and therefore as teaching with precisely the same apostolic authority with which Peter himself would teach if he were personally present. It is not more difficult to prove that the pope succeeds to Peter than it is to prove that Peter was an apostle of our Lord, and taught by his divine authority. The same kind of evidence that suffices to prove the one suffices to prove the other. Suppose it proved, should we not then have an infallible authority for faith other than that which is inside the soul? Should we not be bound by reason itself to believe whatever, in the case supposed, the pope should declare to be "the faith once delivered to the saints"?
Our Puritan psychologist, and Protestants very generally, contend that, since the authority of the pope is accredited to reason, and we by reason judge of the credentials, therefore we have in the pope only the authority of our own reason. This is a mistake. We might as well argue that an ambassador accredited to a foreign court can speak only by authority of the court to which he is accredited, since it judges of the sufficiency of the credentials he presents, and not at all by the authority of the court that sends him. This would be simply absurd. The ambassador represents the sovereign that sends him, not the sovereign to whom he is sent or accredited. The credentials of the pope are presented to our judgment, but what the pope, the accredited ambassador from God, announces as the will of his sovereign and ours, must be taken not on the authority of our own judgment, but on the authority of the ambassador. The pope is not, indeed, commissioned to reveal the truth, for the revelation is already made by our Lord and his apostles, and deposited with the church. The pope simply teaches what is the faith so revealed and deposited, and settles controversies respecting it. Our own reason, operating on the facts of the case, judges the credentials of the pope or the evidences of his divine commission, but not of the revelation to which he bears witness. The fact that God has revealed and deposited with the church what the pope declares God has so revealed and deposited, we take on his authority. It is a mistake, then, to say that there can be no authority in faith or religion but the authority which every man has even of himself. To deny it is simply to deny the ability of God to make us a revelation through inspired messengers, or otherwise than through our natural reason.
It is equally a mistake to suppose that belief or an external infallible authority is simply a volition or an act of the will, without any intellectual assent. We might as well argue that the credit a jury yields to the testimony of a competent and credible witness is simply a volition without any conviction of the understanding. Infallible authority convinces the understanding as well as moves the will. We do not believe the revealed truth on the authority of the pope; we believe it on the word of God, who can neither deceive nor be deceived; but we believe on the authority of the pope or church the fact that God has revealed it. The church or the pope is not authority for the truth of what is revealed—for God's word suffices for that; and we believe it on his veracity—but is the infallible witness of the fact that God has revealed or said it.If God has made a revelation of supernatural truth, as all Christians hold, the fact that he has made it, since it confessedly is not made to us individually, must be received by us, if at all, on the testimony of a witness. This is what is meant by believing on authority. If we believe the fact at all, we must believe it either on some authority or on no authority. If on no authority, we have no reason for believing it, and our belief is groundless. If on some authority, then either on a fallible or an infallible authority. A fallible authority is no authority for faith. Then an infallible authority, and as the authority must be duly accredited to us—therefore, be itself outside of us—it must be an infallible external authority. The Puritan journal should therefore have headed its article, not Pope or People, but, Pope or no Faith. Without the infallible authority or witness, we may have opinions, conjectures, guesses, more or less probable, but not faith, which excludes doubt, and is the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things not seen. The Puritan is able, but has not mastered his subject. There are many things for him yet to learn.
We have called attention to the article we have reviewed, as one of the signs of what is going on in the Protestant evangelical world. It is beginning to learn that there is no resting in the infallible Book without an infallible interpreter. It begins to see that it has therefore no authority for dogmas, and it is gradually giving them the go-by. Dogmas discarded, Christianity, as a revelation of mysteries or of truth for the intellect, goes with them, and Christianity becomes a truth only for the heart and conscience. Then it is resolved into love, and love without understanding, therefore a sentimental love, and, with the more advanced party, purely sensual love. This is whither Protestantism is undeniably tending, and well may Dr. Ewer say that, as a system of religion, it has proved a failure. It has lost the church, lost practically the Bible, lost faith, lost doctrine, lost charity, lost spirituality, fallen into a sickly sentimentalism, and is plunging into gross sensuality. Here endeth the "glorious reformation."