He then amused me with an account of a sage, who, seeing the ill consequences which had followed from the very local or limited character of miracles (when a few generations had passed by), resolved to remedy this by a series of wonders so stupendous and magnificent, that the very echo of them, as it were, should reverberate through the hollow of future ages, and so impress all tradition as to render them independent of the voice of individual historians. He accordingly passed to the very extreme limit (if he did not go beyond it) by which a miracle is necessarily restricted,— that of not disturbing general laws. He succeeded perfectly in the place in which these phenomena were witnessed; though, as there were multitudes who knew nothing of the operator, but were only conscious that nature was playing some strange pranks, no connection was established in their minds between the doctrine and the miracles. But the consequences in the future were the direct contrary of what the sanguine philosopher had contemplated. If the impression of those who saw these splendid wonders could have been prolonged, all had been well; but so far from the report of them conciliating the regard of posterity, their very grandeur and vastness were the principal arguments against them, and condemned them to universal rejection. Who could believe, men said, that phenomena so strange and so portentous—not only so different from, and so contrary to, the uniform course of nature, but so much beyond the limited purpose which must have been contemplated by a truly miraculous interposition—had ever happened? If they had been single events, very transient and local disturbances of the laws of nature for a high object, the case, they candidly avowed, would have been wholly different; but such wholesale infractions of the fixed laws of the universe were at once to be summarily rejected. They were unquestionably the offspring of an age of fable and superstition.
It did not fare much better with another miracle-monger of the same species. In one community, which he had engaged to instruct in the mysteries of his revelation, the wonders he wrought extended to such large classes of phenomena, and for a time were so constant, that they ceased to be miracles at all. As he could not add ubiquity to his other attributes, few attached any importance to his declaration that he was the author of such vast and distant operations, and fewer absolutely believed him. Moreover, men became accustomed to phenomena which they daily witnessed; for such, it seems, is the constitution of human nature in any world, that things cease to be wonderful when they cease to be novel. Were it otherwise, men would be always wondering; for no miracles are more wonderful than the phenomena of every day in every part of the universe. Not a few wise men, therefore, in this community, succeeded in giving a perfectly plausible account of these wholesale infractions of the uniformity of nature. Nature, it was said, was unquestionably uniform, but only in the several larger portions of her operations; that within certain cycles she varied her operations, as was clearly seen in the introduction of new races, and so forth; that the generation which had just witnessed such departures from what seemed the established order of things were doubtless living at an epoch in which the huge evolution of the universe was about to exhibit one of these new phases, and that the series of sequences to which they were just becoming accustomed would afterwards continue uniform for a number of ages; that such things were no miracles, but merely indicated that nature was, within certain limits, only variably uniform, though she was also, within certain limits, uniformly invariable. After this very clear deliverance of philosophy, few people troubled themselves about the claims of this seer, and were so fast getting accustomed to the new uniformity, that it seemed highly probable that the very next generation, or at most the second, would begin to prate in the old style about the invariable uniformity of nature, and to treat all the ancient order of things which their progenitors had seen changed as a lying fable of those remote ages. Enraged at such an unexpected result of his operations, the projector changed his plan, and broke in upon nature with such a startling explosion of single miracles, that there could be no longer any doubt that nature was neither 'variably uniform' nor 'uniformly invariable': the only question was, whether nature was not 'uniformly variable.' He set the sun spinning through the heavens at such a rate, or rather at such a jaunty pace, that no one knew when to expect either light or darkness; men now froze with cold, and now melted with heat; the seasons seemed playing one grand masquerade; the longest day and the shortest day, and no day at all, succeeded one another in rapid succession, and the whole universe seemed threatened with ruin and desolation. Now, he thought, was the time to put an end to all this strange disorder, and avow himself the great agent in all these marvels! But he found, to his chagrin, that, so far from having convinced men of the being and attributes of God, and of the truth of the revelation which he had brought them, they were never less disposed to listen to any such story; and, in fact, that the very few whose terror had left them at all in possession of their senses, had become perfectly convinced that the universe was under the dominion of Chance; and that the only orthodox belief in such a world was stark Atheism. As there will always be men who will speculate upon chance itself, there were not wanting philosophers who concocted admirable theories of all this disorder, but not one of them dreamed of the true. They all agreed, however, that the state of things admitted of no remedy from any gods, celestial or infernal; for if a divine artificer had existed, they said, it could not have occurred. And thus the miracles which were designed by this great man to convince the world of a God, served for a demonstration that there was and could be none! They equally served also to stifle the sage's claims to be considered God's messenger, for, unhappily exhorting a large crowd to believe that he was the cause of all the misery and terror which they had suffered, they were so exasperated that they took summary vengeance on him: upon which the sun resumed his wonted quiet pace again through the heavens, and every thing fell into the old harmonious jogtrot of uniformity. Philosophers who lived at a distance from the scene of the prophet's exit quietly adjusted their old theory to the new phenomena, and showed most conclusively that the whole train of things had been just what must necessarily have been, and could not but have happened, without the most serious consequences; while those who lived near to the scene aforesaid, and were privy to the circumstances, speculated upon the curious coincidence between the impostor's death and the return of nature to her order. It was well, they said, that such things did not happen often, or they could not fail to give rise to some superstitious notions as to some law of causation between ignorant fanaticism and the sublimest phenomena of the universe.
I asked my visitor how it fared with the many who have objected to the clearness and force of prophecy, and who have not scrupled to assert, that, if prophecies had been given, they would have been given in such a shape as would have made their claims more plain, and their fulfilment more incontrovertible. "Were there none who relied on this mode of demonstrating the reality of a divine revelation, and manifesting their claims to be regarded as an embassy from heaven?"
"Many," he replied, "so many that it were tedious to detail them. But you are quite mistaken if you suppose it possible that even God can employ any moral methods which man cannot evade; how much less the fools who think they can improve upon his! The wisdom of God," said he, with a melancholy smile, "is no match for the ingenuity of man. As to your present question, you know there have been persons who have continually complained in your world that prophecy is so obscure that the event cannot be certainly known to have been referred to by it, or else so plain that, ipso facto, it proves that the prediction must have been composed after the event. Now it was precisely in attempting the juste milieu between these extremes that our prophetical speculators wrecked themselves. Men always had it to say that their prophecies had been either too plain or too obscure; or, if very plain, and yet as plainly written before the event, that their very plainness had insured their own accomplishment by prompting to the very actions and conduct they so clearly indicated!"
"I can easily conceive that," I answered. "But now for another problem. Not a few of our older infidels complained of the revelation in the Bible on the score that the maxims of conduct which it delivers are too general to be of any use, because the application of them is still left to be adjusted by a reference to particular circumstances; and that, if a revelation were framed, it ought to take in all the limitations of action, and furnish, in fact, a complete system of casuistry; otherwise it would be of no avail. Were there none who attempted this task?"
"Five-and-twenty men," he answered, "who were destined to be a torment to one another, were instructed to compile such a system of rules, and publish them for the benefit of a certain community as an infallible rule of life."
"And have they completed it?"
"Completed it! They have been sitting now for two hundred years, and have not yet exhausted the infinitude of cases to be digested under their very first capitulary." He said that being all of them ingenious men, all anxious to show their ingenuity, and knowing that their credit was staked upon the completeness of their system, it was incredible what strange and ridiculous contingencies and combinations of circumstance they had suggested as modifying the application of their general rules. The books of law, voluminous as they are in most civilized countries, were conciseness itself compared with this new code of morals. It was thought by many, that the labors of the commissioners would not come to an end till long after the race for whose benefit it was designed had ceased to exist. Afraid, apparently, of such a direful contingency, they had published, about three years before, the first part, in seventy-five folio volumes, containing limitations, illustrative cases, exceptions, and modifications, in relation to that very obscure general maxim, 'Do unto others as ye would that others should do unto you.' All questions appertaining to this point were from that time to be decided by the precise statements contained in these statutes at large. But their mere publication sufficed to make an incredible number of infidels in the authority of the commission. Such a voluminous rule, they truly said, could be no rule at all, and could be fruitful of nothing but everlasting litigation. If (they admitted) general maxims had been as briefly as possible laid down, and men's common sense had been left to interpret and apply them with the requisite restrictions, there would be much more to be said for their divine origin. But on such a system, no man, if he lived for a thousand years, could tell what his duty was. Many complained that, before they found the rule for which they were in search, the time for its application had passed away. Many excused themselves from complying with the dictates of justice and charity, because they could not discover the cases that related to their special circumstances; some even denied that the rules could have been devised by heavenly wisdom, because, having carefully studied the whole of the seventy-five volumes, they did not hesitate to say, that there were many cases which had not been provided for at all!
I was so amused with this last disastrous attempt to construct a revelation, that I laughed outright, and in so doing awoke. I found that my lamp was fast going out; so, dismissing the innocent volume of Leibnitz which had suggested all these incongruities, I went to bed; firmly convinced that the shadows of men in the "Paradise of Fools" are about as wise and ingenious as are men themselves. ____
July 28. I had this morning some curious, and, if it had not been for the grave importance of the subject, amusing conversation with Mr. Fellowes on his views, or rather his no views, respecting a "future life." He said he wished he could make up his mind whether the doctrine was true; also whether, as some of his favorite writers supposed, it was of no "spiritual" importance to decide it. I said it certainly did seem of some importance. I reminded him of Pascal's saying, that he could excuse men's contented ignorance with any thing rather than that. "They are not obliged," says he, "to examine the Copernican system; but it is vital to the whole of existence to ascertain whether the soul is mortal or not."
"Mr. Newman," said Fellowes, "thinks very differently: but then his whole mind is differently constituted from Pascal's."
I admitted it, of course.
"Mr. Newman's views," he continued, "on the subject, certainly do not quite satisfy me; and yet they are very sublime. If he has any hope in this matter, (of which he appears not absolutely destitute,) it is from the sheer strength of a 'faith' which triumphs over all obstacles, or rather hangs upon nothing. He ridicules all intellectual proofs, and at the same time declares that his 'spiritual insight' deserts him. It is a faith pure from all reason, and from all 'insight' too. As to insight in this matter, I must agree with him, that, to ascertain the fact of a future life by 'direct vision,' is 'to me hitherto impossible.'"
Harrington, who was sitting by, smiled: "You speak of your 'insight' and 'direct vision' much as a Highlander might talk of his 'second sight.' As to your present difficulty, do you remember the advice of Ranald of the Mist to Allan M'Aulay, when the 'vision' obstinately averted its face from him? 'Have you reversed your own plaid,' said Ranald, 'according to the rule of the experienced seers in such cases?' You do not wear a plaid, George, but suppose you try the experiment of turning your coat inside out."
"Really, Harrington," said Fellowes, with becoming solemnity, "'insight' is far too serious a subject to joke upon." "Why, my dear fellow," said the other, "you do not think I am going to treat your 'insight' with more respect than we treat the Bible."
"Odi profanum," said Fellowes, almost angrily.
"No man hateth his own flesh," said Harrington, with provoking quiet; "and that, I am sure, is from no profane writer. As to the 'odi profanum,' why, I shall simply say, that
'You can quote it,With as much truth as he who wrote it.'"
So saying, he left the room. I was not sorry that he was gone, as I thought perhaps Fellowes might be more communicative. I asked him why he felt Mr. Newman's arguments on this subject unsatisfactory; why he could not acquiesce in them.
"In the first place, then," said he, "I was struck with the fact, that, while admitting that he had no 'spiritual insight' on the subject of a future life, he yet admits that others may have enjoyed what is impossible to him; that there may be souls favored with this 'vision,' though clouds obscure his own. It is true he has admitted (and indeed who can deny it?) that the spiritual faculty is not equally developed in all men;—though, as it is not, I feel some difficulty in rejecting the arguments hence arising for the possibility and utility of an external revelation;—yet at the best, if the faculty may be so uncertain in reference to so important a question, when consulted by so diligent and deep a student of its oracles as Mr. Newman, if even his soul may be dubious on such a point,—why, upon my soul, I sometimes hardly know what to think. Again, Mr. Newman says, that some may have, as by special privilege from God, what is denied to him. Now really this looks a little too much like favoring the vulgar view of inspiration, nay, a sort of Calvinistic 'election' in this matter; it seems to me to cast doubts both on the competency and the uniformity of the sublime 'spiritual faculty,' even when most sedulously consulted."
"It does look a little like it," said I; "and what next?"
"In the next place, I am free to confess, that, if I may be allowed to argue against such an authority—"
"O, remember, I pray, that you are of the school of free thought: do not Bibliolatrize."
"To state my views freely then: I must say, that, if this suspected doctrine be not one of the unsophisticated utterances of the spiritual nature of man, I am almost led to doubt whether the clearness with which the spiritualist 'gazes' on the rest may not possibly be an illusion. For if any truth would seem to be a dictate of nature, it is a sort of dim conviction or impression of a future state. We see it, in some shape or other, extensively believed by all nations, and forming a feature of all systems of religion, however degraded they may be. Mr. W. J. Fox mentions it as one of those things which are certainly characteristic of the absolute religion; so does Mr. Parker. Mr. Fox expressly affirms that the approximate universality of the belief justifies the application of his criterion for detecting the eternally 'true' under the Protean shapes of the 'false' in religion; it is one of the points, he says, in which they are all agreed."
"Which," said I, "if true, is perhaps the only point in which all religions are agreed, unless we affirm that they have all recognized a Deity, because most of them have recognized thousands. Yet as men's Gods have varied between the Infinite Creator and a monkey, so in relation to this article of a 'future life,' it must be confessed that there is a little difference between the Heaven of a Christian, the Paradise of a Mahometan, and the Valhalla of an ancient Goth. Still, as you say, it is true that, in some shape or other, nations have more distinctly recognized the idea of an after existence, than any other assignable religious tenet."
"You know," resumed Fellowes, "that in the draught of 'natural religion' given us by Lord Herbert, that writer particularly insists on this as one of the articles which nature itself teaches us, as amongst the 'common notions,' a sentiment innate to the human mind. Now if such masters as Mr. Newman may be in doubt about our innate sentiments, truly I scarcely know what to think."
"You can easily decide," said I, gravely, "and decide infallibly."
"How so?"
"Consult that spiritual faculty which Mr. Newman says you have as well as he or Lord Herbert. If your theory be true, how can there be any doubt as to your 'innate' sentiments? If you say they are written in very small characters, and require to be magnified by somebody's microscope, that, recollect, is tantamount to acknowledging the possible utility of an external revelation. But what next?"
"Well, then, if I must confess all the truth, I thought Mr. Newman hardly fair in his exhibition of Paul's reasoning on this matter. He, if you recollect, says that Paul seems to have rested the belief of Christ's resurrection very little upon evidence, which he received very credulously, upon very insufficient proof, and in a manner which would have moved the laughter of Paley; that, in short, he cared very little about the evidence, and arrived mainly at his convictions in virtue of his 'spiritual aspirations'; that it was rather his strong aspirations after immortality which made Paul believe the supposed fact, than the supposed fact which gave strength to his aspirations after immortality. Now it is very clear (from texts which, for whatsoever reasons, are not quoted by Mr. Newman), that the Apostle Paul made his whole argument depend on the alleged fact of Christ's resurrection, whether carelessly received or not: 'If Christ be not risen, then is your faith vain, and our preaching is also vain …. Then are we of all men most miserable.'"
"But you recollect that Mr. Newman alleges that Paul deals very superficially with the evidence,—with that of the 'five hundred,' for example. He observes that Paley would have made a widely different matter of it."
"See how variously men may argue," replied Fellowes, candidly. "I was talking on that very point with one of the orthodox the other day, and he reasoned in some such way as this:—
"On the supposition, he said, that the possession of miraculous powers was notorious in the Church,—that many of those whom Paul addressed had actually witnessed them,—that the Gospel, when preached by him and by the other Apostles, was confirmed by 'signs and wonders,'—nothing could be more natural than the very tone which the Apostles employed: that, so far from its being suspicious, it was one of the truest touches of nature and verisimilitude in their compositions; so much so, that, supposing there were no miracles, that very tone required itself to be accounted for as unnatural; he said that it is, in fact, just the way in which men talk and write of any other extraordinary events which notoriously happened in their time. They never think of posterity, and what it may think; of anticipating either future doubts or charges of fraud. It is natural that men should speak in this, as we should call it, loose way, of what is transpiring under their very noses. If, on the other hand, there had been no miracles to appeal to, so as to render this style as natural as, on the contrary supposition, it was the reverse, he could not, he said, imagine, that, in that or any other age, any men, especially men opposed to such pretensions, would so easily have been satisfied, even had the Apostles confined themselves to rumors of alleged distant miracles; but much less where similar wonders were said to have been brought under the eyes of the very parties to whom the appeal was made! He said he would even go a step further, and affirm that, under the circumstances of the professed notoriety of the miraculous occurrences to which Paul and the other Apostles appealed, any declaration that they had instituted that careful scrutiny of evidence, that minute circumstantial cross-examination of the witnesses,—which would be a course all very well in the days of Paley, eighteen hundred years after, but absolutely preposterous then,—would have appeared to our age a much more suspicious thing than the tone actually adopted; that the scrupulous deposition of technical proof would have been finessing too much, and would have been the strongest proof of collusion. The very tone objected to, he said, supposing there were no miracles, is one of the most striking proofs of the astonishing sagacity of these men; for it is just the tone they would have used if there had been. So differently may men reason from the same data! Whether (he concluded) Mr. Newman's view of the facts, or his, was founded on a deeper and more comprehensive knowledge of human nature, he must leave to my judgment."
"I protest," said I, "I think the orthodox had the best of it. But what struck you next as unaccountable in Mr. Newman's view of this subject of a future life?"
"I confess, then, that the reasoning by which he endeavors to show that, even admitting the fact of Christ's resurrection, there could be nothing in it to warrant the expectation of the resurrection of any other human beings, simply because he must have differed so stupendously from all the rest of mankind, appears to me very damaging to us. Of what use is it, to argue upon such an hypothesis?"
"Of none in the world, certainly," said I, laughing.
"Surely not," he replied; "for if Christ's resurrection be admitted, we know very well it will carry with it, in the estimation of the bulk of mankind, all the other great facts implicated with the Christian system. They will concede, at once, the supernatural character, the divine origin, of the New Testament. I suppose them scarcely ever was a man who admitted these premises who would trouble himself to contest the conclusion."
"But seriously," continued this half-repentant admirer, almost frightened at the extent of his own freedom of thought, "though I cannot say I am satisfied with Mr. Newman's notions on this subject, —and, in fact, cannot make up my mind upon it,—can there be any thing morally more sublime than the view, that the doctrine of immortality, which has been superficially supposed, if not necessary, yet so conducive to sincere and elevated piety, may be readily dispensed with, as no way necessary (as Mr. Newman feels) for the spiritual nourishment of the soul? 'Confidence,' he says, 'there is none; and hopeful aspiration is the soul's highest state. But, then, there is herein nothing what ever to distress her; no cloud of grief crosses the area of her vision, as she gazes upwards.' He even intimates that, from the stress laid upon immortality by 'modern divines,' they might seem to be 'incarnations of selfishness.' He says it tends to 'degrade religion into a prudential regard for our interests after death'; that 'conscience, the love of virtue, for its own sake, and much more the love of God, are ignored.' Many of the 'spiritual' school agree with him in this; and some even affirm that the hope of immortal felicity is but a bribe to selfishness. Can any thing be more elevated or original than this view?"
"As to the elevation," said I, "I confess I prefer the spectacle of Socrates, relying even on feeble arguments rather than sink to this tame acquiescence in a notion so degrading to the Deity, as that man was created for a dog's life with the tormenting aspiration for something better. The spectacle of the heathen sage, who, amidst the thick gloom, the 'palpable obscure,' which involved this subject, gazed intently into the darkness, and 'longed for the day,'—who strained every nerve of an insufficient logic, and was willing to take even the whispers of hope for the oracles of truth, rather than part with the prospect of immortality,—is, to my mind, much more attractive. As to the originality of the view you just expressed, why, it is merely a resurrection of one of the theories of some of our very 'spiritual deists' a century ago. Collins and Shaftesbury were, in like manner, apprehensive lest an elevated 'virtue' should suffer at all from this bribery of a hope of a 'blessed immortality'; as you may see in the Characteristics. For my own part, I certainly have my doubts whether virtue will be the less virtuous, or spirituality the less spiritual, for such a doctrine; and I must believe it even on the hypothesis of you spiritual folks; for you generally affirm that the Belief of a Future Life does not really exercise any thing more than an insignificant influence on human nature; the hopes and the fears of that so distant a morrow are too vague to be operative. Now, if it be so, immortality can be no more a bribe than a menace."
"Yet," said Fellowes, "in justice to Mr. Newman, it must not be forgotten, that he thinks that 'a firm belief of immortality must have very energetic force,' provided it 'rises out of insight'; it is as 'an external dogma' that he thinks it of little efficacy. He says, you know, that, supposing Paul to have had this insight, 'his light can do us no good, while it is a light outside of us. If he in any way confused the conclusions of his logic (which is often extremely inconsequent and mistaken) with the perceptions of his divinely illuminated soul, our belief might prove baseless.' (Soul, pp. 226. 227.) These are his very words."
"Very well, then; say that Mr. Newman thinks the notions of a future hell of little efficacy; and of a future heaven of as little, except when it rises from 'insight';—he confessing that he has not that 'insight,' and; from the necessity of the case, not knowing whether any body else has, it being a 'light outside him.' If so, I think he is much like the rest of you, and cannot in fact suppose the thought of a future life to operate strongly either as a bribe or a menace."
"But, surely, whatever his views, or those of any individual, you must admit that a piety which is sustained without any hopes of immortality is less selfish than that which is."
"Why," replied I, laughing; "I cannot conceive how the hope of a virtuous immortality can produce a vicious self-love. But if the hope and the consciousness of happiness now exercise any influence at all, your argument proves too much; and there is a simple impossibility of being unselfishly religious at all."
"How so?"
"Do you think that, admitting not only the uncertainty of any future life, but the certainty that there is none, and that nevertheless (as you affirm) man, under that conviction, is just as capable of manifesting a true devotion and piety towards God, any felicity flows from his so doing?"
"The highest, of course," said he.
"Do you think that the happiness so derived and expected from day to day has any sinister influence on the spiritual life of him who feels it?"
"Of course, none."
"The contrary, perhaps?"
"I think so."
"Then neither need the expectation of an eternity of such blessedness be any impediment. Again; let us come to facts; are not the declarations of those whom Mr. Newman, however oddly, is willing to admit have been the best specimens yet afforded of his true 'spiritual' man,—the Doddridges, the Fletchers, the Baxters, and Paul especially,—full of this sentiment? 'I desire to depart,' says Paul, 'and to be with Christ, which is far better'; and similar selfish hopes inspired those excellent men whose names still rise spontaneously to Mr. Newman's memory when he would remind us of examples of his 'spiritual religion! Tell me, do you not think Paul a 'spiritual' man?"
"Yes; with all his blunders," said Fellowes, "I do; and Mr. Newman's writings are full of that admission."
"Very true. But then Paul is so selfish, you know, as to say, not merely that the immortality of man is true, and that the 'light afflictions which are but for a moment' are to be despised, because unworthy 'to be compared with the glory to be revealed'; but that, if immortality be not true, Christians, as deluded in such hopes, are of all men most miserable. All this shows how powerfully the 'spiritual' Paul thought that the doctrine of a future state operated and ought to operate on the mind of a Christian; he never supposed that it could possibly have a negative, still less a sinister influence.'
"But then, surely, what Mr. Newman says is true, that many of the saints of the Old Testament exemplified all the heroism of a true faith, and kindled with the ardors of a true devotion, in an ignorance of any such state, and the absence of all such expectations."
"I answer, that Mr. Newman too often speaks as if his individual impressions were to be taken for demonstration. That the Old Testament is unpervaded by any distinct traces of expectations of a future life is, at all events, not the opinion of the majority of men, many of them at least as capable of judging as Mr. Newman. It is not the opinion of the writers of the New Testament, that the Old Testament worthies were in this deplorable darkness; nor of the majority of the Jewish interpreters of their ancestors' writings; nor is it the impression of the great majority of those who now read them. How it can be the opinion of any one who has not some hypothesis to serve, is to me a mystery. Meanwhile Mr. Newman himself at least gives some notable passages to the contrary, though he chooses to call them only personal aspirations. Think of the absurdity, my good friend, of supposing that Job, David, Isaiah, failed to realize a doctrine (imperfectly it may be) which, as you truly affirm, has, in some shape or other, animated all forms of religion! that these brightest specimens of 'spiritual religion' in the ancient world somehow missed what many of the lowest savages have managed to stumble upon!"
"Well," he replied, "but, after all, he who loves God without any thought of heaven must surely be more unselfish than he who hopes for it."
I laughed,—for I could not help it.
"Unhappy Paul!" interjected Harrington, who had again entered the library; "unhappy Paul! Burdened with the hopes of immortality; what an impediment he must have found it in his Christian course! I wonder he did not throw aside 'this weight, which so easily beset him.' Pity that when he became a Christian, and ceased to be a Pharisee, he did not, like so many 'spiritual' Christians of our day, know that, when he became a Christian, he might still remain in one of the Jewish sects, and turn Sadducee."
"Be it so," said Fellowes, "a Christian Sadducee, caeteris partibus, might perhaps be a more virtuous man having no hopes of heaven by which he can possibly be bribed."
"Religious love and hope," said I, "will with difficulty exist in such an atmosphere as you create. It is a sublime altitude, doubtless, but no ordinary 'spiritual' beings can breathe that rarefied air. It is for the honor of Shaftesbury and some few other Deists, that they aspired to this transcendental virtue! You are imitating them. I fear you will not be more successful. Once leave a man to conclude, or even to suspect, that he and his cat end together, and, if a bad man, he will gladly accept a release from every claim but that of his passions and appetites (the effects being more or less philosophically calculated according to his intellectual power); while the best man would be liable to contemplate God and religion with a depressed and faltering heart. He would be apt to lose all energy; he would feel it impossible to repress doubts of the infinite wisdom and benignity of Him (whatever he might think of His power) who had given him the soul of a man and the life of a butterfly; conceptions and aspirations so totally disproportioned to the evanescence of his being! If, however, you really think that the hopes of an immortality of virtuous happiness will stand in the way of a sublime disinterestedness of spirituality, you ought to recollect that any expectation of happiness, even for a day, will, in its measure, have the same effect. So that the only way in which you can accommodate so 'spiritual a piety,' and absolutely insure yourself against 'spiritual bribery,' is to deprive yourself of all possibility of being so misled. If your piety would be absolutely sure that it loves God on these sublime terms, it should take care to neutralize the happiness which that love brings with it; so that, if God has not made you miserable, you should never fail, like the ascetics, to make yourself so. I fear you never can be perfectly 'spiritual' till you have made yourself supremely wretched. But to quit this point," I continued; "if immortality be a delusion, I fear we say that it covers the divine administration with an penetrable cloud,—one which we cannot hope will removed. The inequalities of that administration not be redressed."
"But do you not recollect," replied Fellowes, reason Mr. Newman gives for despising any such mitigation? Does he not say, that it is a strange argument for a day of recompense, that man has unsatisfied claims upon God? He says, 'Christians have added an argument of their own for a future state, but, unfortunately, one that cannot bring personal comfort or assurance. A future state (it seems) is requisite to redress the inequalities of this life. And can I go to the Supreme Judge, and tell Him that I deserve more happiness than He has granted me in this life?' Do you not recollect this?—or has this sarcasm escaped you?"
"It has not escaped me,—I remember it well; but it seems to have escaped you, that it is a very transparent sophism. For what is it but a pretence that the Christian in general is confident enough of his virtue to think that he has not been sufficiently well treated, and that his Creator and Judge cannot do less than make amends for his injustice, by giving him compensation in another world?"
"And is not that the true statement of the case?"
"I imagine not; whether men be Christians or otherwise. The generality, when they reason upon this subject, (you and I, for example, at this very moment,) not at all considering the aspect of such a day upon themselves; how much they will lose if there be none; perhaps the bulk would wish that it could be proved that it would never come! It has been from a wish to escape great speculative perplexities, connected with the divine administration, and not in relation to man's deserts, that the question has been argued. When dictated by other feelings, the conviction of a future state has been quite as generally the utterance of remorse and fear, the response of an accusing conscience, as of hope and aspiration; and derives, perhaps, a terrible significance from that circumstance. But it has certainly not been, in the Christian, the result of any absurd expectation of virtues to be rewarded, or rights to be redressed. As to the Christian, though he feels that he would not, and dare not, go to the divine tribunal with any such absurd plea as Mr. Newman is pleased to put into his mouth,—though he cannot impeach the divine goodness,—he none the less feels that that goodness, if this scene be all, is open to very grievous impeachment in relation to millions who have suffered much, and done no wrong, and to multitudes more who have inflicted infinite wrong, and suffered next to nothing; and they would fain, if they could, get over difficulties which Mr. Newman chooses, from the mere exigencies of his theology, to represent as no difficulties at all. To escape them or to solve them is the thing principally in the minds of those who contend for a day of recompense; not the imaginary compensation of individual wrongs. I do contend that, if this world be all, the divine administration in many points is more hopelessly opposed to our moral instincts, and to all our notions of equity and benevolence, than any thing on which you spiritualists are accustomed to justify your censure of Scripture. You ought, as Harrington says, to go further." ____
July 30. I was much interested yesterday morning by a conversation between Harrington and two pleasant youths, acquaintances of Mr. Fellowes, both younger by three or four years than either he or Harrington. They are now at college, and have imbibed in different degrees that curious theory which, professedly recognizing Christianity (as consigned to the New Testament) as a truly divine revelation, yet asserts that it is intermingled with a large amount of error and absurdity, and tells each man to eliminate the divine element for himself. According to this theory, the problem of eliciting revealed truth may be said to be indeterminate; of the unknown x varies through all degrees of magnitude; it is equal to any thing, equal to every thing, equal to nothing, equal to infinity.
The whole party thought, with the exception of Harrington, who knew not what to think, that the "religious faculty or faculties" (one or many,—no man seems to know exactly) are quite sufficient to decide all doubts and difficulties in religious matters.
Harrington knew not whether to say there was any truth in Christianity or not; Fellowes knew that there was none, except in that "religious element," Which is found alike essentially in all religions; that its miracles, its inspiration, its peculiar doctrines, are totally false.
The young gentlemen just referred to believed "that it might be admitted that an external revelation was possible," and "that the condition of man, considering the aspects of his history, has not been altogether felicitous as to show that he never needed, and might not be benefited, by such light." I could cordially agree with them so far; superabundance of religious illumination not being amongst the things of which humanity can legitimately complain.
But then, as they both believed that each man was to distil the "elixir Vitrae" for himself from the crude mass of truth and falsehood which the New Testament presents, Harrington, with his interrogations, soon compelled them to see how inconsistent they were both with themselves and with one another. One of them believed, he said, that the Apostles might have been favored by a true revelation; but not in such a sense "as to prevent their often falling into serious errors," whenever the distinctly "religious element" was not concerned; this was the only truly "divine" thing about it; but he saw no particular objection to receiving the miracles; at least some of them,—the best authenticated and most reasonable; perhaps they were of value as part of the complex evidence needful to establish doctrines which, if not absolutely transcendental to the human faculties,—as the doctrine of a future life, for example,—yet, apart from revelation, are but matter of conjecture.
The other was also not unwilling to admit the miraculous and inspired character of the revelation, but contended, further, that the "religious element" was to be submitted to human judgment as well as the rest; and that, if apparently absurd, contradictory, or pernicious, as judged by that infallible and ultimate standard, it was to be rejected.
It was amusing to think that, in this little company of three devout believers in the "internal oracle," no two thought alike! After the two youths had frankly stated their opinions, Harrington quietly said, "I should much like to ask each of you a few questions. There are certain difficulties connected with each hypothesis just stated, on which I should be glad to receive some light. I frankly confess beforehand, however, that I fear that that curiously constructed book, which gives us all so much trouble,—which will not allow me to say positively either that it is true or false,—will still less permit you to reject a part or parts at your pleasure. It is, I must admit, a most independent book in that respect, and treats your spiritual illumination most cavalierly. It says to you, "Receive me altogether, or reject me altogether, just as you please"; and when men have rejected it altogether, it leaves them certain literary and historical, and moral problems, in all fairness demanding solution, which I doubt whether it is in our power to solve, or to give any decent account of."
"What do you mean," said the younger of the two youths, "by affirming that we are compelled to receive the whole book, or to reject it all?"
"Let us see," said Harrington, "whether there is any consistent stopping-place between. It appears to me, that, whether by the most singular series of 'coincidences,' or by immense subtlety of design, this book, evidently composed by different hands, has yet its materials so interwoven, and its parts so reciprocally dependent, that it is impossible to separate them,—to set some aside, and say, 'We will accept these, and reject those': just as, in certain textures, no sooner do we begin to take out a particular thread, than we find it is inextricably entangled with others, and those again with others; so that there immediately takes place a prodigious 'gathering' at that point, and if we persevere, a rent; but the obstinate part at which we tug will not come away alone. Whether it is so or not, we shall soon see, by examining the results of the application of your theories. I will begin with you," (addressing the younger,) "because you believe least; you say, I think, that you admit the records of the New Testament contain a real revelation,—a religious element,—and that it has been authenticated to you by miracles and other evidence; but that the human mind is still the judge of how much of that revelation is to be received, 'and sit in judgment' on the 'religious element as well as the rest.'"
The other assented.
"You admit, probably, the doctrine of the soul's immortality as a part of that revelation,—perhaps even the doctrine of a resurrection?"
"I do,—both these doctrines."
"But perhaps you reject the idea of an 'atonement,' though you admit it to be in the Book?"
"Yes. At the same time it is contended by many (as you are aware) that such a doctrine is not there."
"I am aware of it, of course; but with them we have no controversy here. They are consistent, so far as the present argument goes; as consistent as the orthodox themselves. They do not allege a liberty of rejecting what they admit the book does contain, but only deny that it does contain some things which they reject. They would admit that, if those doctrines be there, then either they must concede them because authenticated by the miracles and other evidence, which proves what else they concede, or they must reject the said evidence altogether, because it authenticated what they found it impossible to concede. The controversy between them and the orthodox is one of interpretation, and is quite different from that in which we are now engaged."
"I must admit it."
"They may go, then?" said Harrington.
"They may."
"You admit, then, the miraculous authentication of such an event as the resurrection of man, but deny the doctrine of the atonement, though equally found in the said records?"
"I do."
"May I ask why?"
"Because the one doctrine does not seem to me to contradict my 'spiritual consciousness,' and the other does."
"You receive the one, I suppose you will say, on account of the miracles, and so on; since, while not contradicting your impressions of spiritual truth, it could not be authenticated without external evidence?"
"Exactly so."
"But is not the other doctrine as much authenticated by the miracles and so forth? or have you any thing to show that, while all those passages which relate to the former are true assertions, as well as truly the assertions of those who published the revelation, those which relate to the latter are not?"
"I acknowledge I have not," replied the youth.
"Or supposing they are not their sayings at all, have you any evidence by which you can show that they are not, so as to separate them from those that are?"
"I must admit that I have no criterion of this kind."
"For aught you know, then, since you know nothing of Christianity except from those documents in which the miracles and the doctrines are alike consigned to you, the said miracles, together with the other evidence, do equally establish the truths which you say are a part of divine revelation, and the errors which you say your 'spiritual faculty,' 'moral intuitions,' or what you will, tells you that you are to reject. You believe, then, in the force of evidence, which equally establishes truth and falsehood?"
"You can hardly expect me to admit that."
"But I expect you to answer a plain question?"
"Why," said the youth, with a little flippancy, but with a good-humored laugh too, "the proverb says 'Even a fool may ask questions which a wise man cannot answer.'"
"I acknowledge myself to be a fool" said Harrington, with a half serious, half comic air; "and you shall be the wise man who does not —for I will not say cannot—answer the fool's question."
"I beg your pardon," said the other. "I acknowledge that it was an uncourteous expression."
"Enough said," replied Harrington; "and now, since you are not pleased to answer my question, I will answer it myself; and I say, it is plain that the evidence to which you refer does affirm equally the truths you declare thus revealed to you, and the errors you declare you must reject. Now either the evidence is not sufficient to prove the one, or it is sufficient to prove both. So far, then, I think we may say, and say justly, that the supposed revelation is so constructed that you cannot accept a part and reject a part, on such a theory. But to make the case a little plainer still, if possible. There have been men, you know, who have taken precisely opposite views of the two doctrines you have mentioned; who have declared that the doctrine, not of man's immortality, but of the resurrection, so far from being conceivable, is, in their judgment, a physical contradiction; but who have also declared that the doctrine of atonement, in some shape, is instinctively taught by human nature, and has consequently formed a part of almost every religion; that it is in analogy with many singular facts of this world's constitution, and is not absolutely contradicted by any principle of our nature, intellectual or moral. Such a man, therefore, might take the very opposite of the course you have taken. He would proceed upon your common basis of a miraculously confirmed revelation, grossly infested with errors and falsehoods; he might say that he believed the authentication of the doctrine of 'atonement' in virtue of the evidence, because, though transcendental to his reason, it was not repugnant to it; but that he rejected the doctrine of the 'resurrection,' though equally established by the evidence, because contrary to the plainest conclusions of his reason."
"I cannot in candor deny," said the other, "the possibility of such a case."
"And in such a case, we might say, he does the very opposite of what you do."
"Neither can I help admitting that."
"The miracles, then, and other evidence, not only play the part of equally supporting truth and falsehood, but, what is still more wonderful, convert the same things, in different men, into truth and falsehood alternately. Miracles they must verily be if they can do that! A wonderful revelation it certainly is, which thus accommodates itself to the varying conditions of the human intellect and conscience, and demonstrates just so much as each of you is pleased to accept, and no more. No doubt the whole 'corpus dogmatum,' so supported, will, by the entire body of such believers, be eaten up; just as was the Mahometan hog, so humorously referred to by Cowper; but even that had not all its 'forbidden parts' miraculously shown to be 'unforbidden' to different minds! I do not wonder that such a revelation should need miracles; that any should be sufficient, is the greatest wonder of all; if indeed we except two;—the first, that Supreme Wisdom should have constructed such a curious revelation, in which he has revealed alternately, to different people, truth and falsehood, and has established each on the very same evidence; and the second (almost as great), that any rational creature should be got to receive such a revelation on such evidence as equally applies to which he says it does not prove, and to points which he says it does; these points, however, being, it appears, totally different in different men! But I will now go to your friend, who has got a point further in his belief, and graciously accepts all the 'religious elements' in this revelation."
"Excuse me," said the last; "before you go to him, permit me to mention a difficulty which occurred to me while we were speaking."
"By all means; but I do not promise to solve it. Perhaps I on this occasion shall prove the 'wise man,' though I am sure you will not be the fool."
"You recollect," said the other, blushing, "our dismissing those who, while contending, like myself, that such and such doctrines are to be rejected, differ from me in this, that they contend that the said doctrines are not contained in the records of the supposed revelation at all; while others contend that they are. Now, if, while the two parties admit the general evidence which is to substantiate all that is in the records, they arrive by different interpretation at such very different results as to the supposed truth which it supports, are they in any better condition than I? There is the same difference, though arrived at in different ways; and the revelation still remains indeterminate."
"Your objection is ingenious," replied Harrington. "First, however, it is rather hard to ask me to solve a difficulty with which I am in no way concerned, who profess to be altogether sceptical on the subject. Secondly, it certainly does not at all mend your case to prove that there are other men who possibly are as inconsistent as yourself. It makes your theory neither better nor worse. But, thirdly, if I were a Christian, I should not hesitate to contend that there was an obvious and vital difference in the two cases."
"Indeed! If you can show that."
"I should attempt it, at all events I should say that in the latter case the evidence to which the appeal was made did not equally serve to establish truth and falsehood, or, what is still worse, alternately to make falsehood truth, and truth falsehood, to different minds; that it was designed to establish all that was really in the records, though what that all was might give rise to different views, from the prejudices and the ignorance, the different degrees of intelligence and candor, on part of those who interpreted the records; that they made the falsehoods, and not the records or the evidence. I should, therefore, have no difficulty in relation to what, on your theory, is so incomprehensible; namely, that God should have given man so peculiarly constructed a revelation. That men should differ or err in its interpretation is not, I presume, very wonderful, because man, they say, is a creature of prejudice and passion as well as reason."
"But God would still have given the revelation, and yet it is capable, it appears, of being variously interpreted!" said the other.
"Very true, and it is very plain to me that, supposing him to have given any, he could have given no other, unless his omnipotence had been immediately exerted separately upon each individual of the human race, and then in such a way as to supersede all the moral discipline which Christians affirm is involved in its reception. Supposing this discipline (as those who believe in a revelation contend) to be an essential condition, I cannot conceive God himself to give a document which man's ingenuity cannot easily misinterpret. You see man plays the same trick equally well with that faculty of 'spiritual insight,' which some say is the sole source of religious truth, and which you say is the sole arbiter of an external revelation! We cannot find two of you who think alike, or who will give us the same transcript of religious truth. Similarly, we see the same ingenuity manifested by man whenever it is his interest to find in a document a different meaning from that which it apparently carries on its face. Does not the endless controversy, the perpetual litigation of men, respecting the meaning of seemingly the plainest documents, assure us that, if a revelation were really given, the like would be possible with that? It is doubtful with me, therefore, whether God himself could give a revelation, such that men could not misrepresent and pervert it; that is, as long as they were rational creatures," he continued bitterly. "But the mischief of your theory is, that it charges the inevitable result of man's perverseness or ignorance on God, and the revelation he has been supposed to construct, and that is to me an absurdity."
"I do not see that these answers are satisfactory," said the other.
"I must leave you to judge of that," said Harrington, "or to contest it with my uncle here. I am keeping my next friend waiting, who, I can see, is impatient to run a course in favor of his view of revelation. He tells us, too, that a divine revelation, as conveyed in the New Testament, is to be admitted, but he cannot away with the notion that its certainty extends to any thing more than to what he calls the 'religious element.' Is not that your notion?"
"It is."
"You think, for example, that it is possible that the Apostles and writers of the New Testament (in fact, whoever had the charge of recording and transmitting to posterity the doctrines of this revelation) were left liable, just as any other men, to all sorts of errors, geographical, chronological, logical, historical, political, moral—"
"No, no, not moral," said the other; "I did not say moral: their morality is implied in their theology."
"O, very well! we shall better see that presently; only I have to remind you, for the glory of your Rationalism, that other Rationalists make the errors extend even to the 'moral element'; but it is all one to me. You say, that, as far as regards every thing else, it is very possible that these 'inspired' men might err to any amount?"
"Yes; I believe it."
"You have, doubtless, some reason for saying that they were made infallible in religion and morality, but liable to all sorts of errors on other subjects?"
"Nothing but this; that, if to give us 'spiritual truth' (as is supposed) was their proper function (and we cannot but suppose that it was), they must have been invested (we must suppose) with all the necessary qualities for this end, since I am supposing that even miracles were thought worth working in order to confirm their doctrine."
"You use the word suppose rather frequently, my friend; however, I will not quarrel with you for that; only you ought not to be surprised if, adopting your last supposition,—that, when miracles and inspiration have been supposed to be vouchsafed to authenticate a particular revelation, all such endowments, at least, will be granted as shall secure that object from defeat,—other Christians further suppose that the documents in which the revelation was to be consigned to all future ages would not be disfigured (and in many respects obscured) by the liability of their authors to all sorts of errors on an infinity of points, hopelessly entangled, as we shall soon see, with this one! that when heaven was at the trouble to embark its cargo of diamonds and pearls for this world, it would not send them in a vessel with a great hole in the bottom! If the Apostles were plenarily inspired with regard to this one subject, men will think it strange, perhaps, that divine aid should not have gone a little further, and since the destined revelation was to be recorded or rather imbedded, in history, illustrated by imagination, enforced by argument, and expressed in human language,—its authors should have been left liable to destroy the substance by egregious and perpetual blunders as to the form; to run the chance of knocking out the brains of the unfortunate revelation by upsetting the vehicle in which it was to be conveyed!"
"But, then, these supposed endowments are purely a supposition on the part of Christians in general."
"Just as yours, we may say, of an indefectible wisdom on one point is a supposition on your part. I think in that respect that you are both well matched. But I freely confess that I think their supposition more plausible than yours; and, if I were an advocate for Christianity, I should certainly rather suppose with them than suppose with you; that is, I should think it more credible, if God interposed with such stupendous instruments as miracles, inspiration, and prophecy at all, he would endow the men thus favored (not with all knowledge, indeed, but) with whatever was necessary to prevent their encountering a certainty of vitiating their testimony."
"But how would their testimony be liable to be vitiated? I am supposing them to be absolutely free from error as regards the religious clement, which they deliver pure."
'We shall see in a minute whether their testimony was liable to be vitiated or not, and whether the separation for which you contend be conceivable, or even possible. I fear that you have no winnowing-fan which will separate the chaff from the wheat."
"To me, nothing seems more easy than the supposition I have made."
"Few things are more easy than to make suppositions; but let us see. I am sure you will answer as fairly as I shall ask questions. To do otherwise would be to separate the 'moral element' from the 'logical,' whatever the New Testament writers may have done. You believe, you say, in the resurrection of Christ?"
"I do."
"As a fact or doctrine?"
"Both as a fact and doctrine."
"For it is both, if true," said Harrington; "and so, I apprehend, it will be found with the other doctrines of Christianity. Whether, in your particular latitude of Rationalism, you believe many or few of them, still, if true at all (which we at present take for granted), they are both facts and doctrines, from the Incarnation to the Resurrection. But to confine ourselves to one,—that of the Resurrection,—for one will answer my purpose as well as a thousand; —that, you say, is a fact,—a fact of history?"
"It is."
"It is, then, conveyed to us as such?"
"Certainly."
"Were the recorders of that fact liable to error in conveying it to us? In other words, might they so blunder in conveying that fact (as we know the unaided historian may, and often does) as to leave us in doubt whether it ever took place or not?"
"Well," said the youth, "and you know they have exhibited it in such a way as to suggest many apparent discrepancies, and those very difficult to be reconciled."
"I am aware of it, and for that very reason selected this particular fact. In my judgment, there are no passages which more exercise the ingenuity of the harmonists than those which record the transactions connected with the resurrection. But still, in spite of them all, I presume that you do not think that those discrepancies really call the fact in question, else you would not continue to believe it. I should then suddenly find myself arguing with a very different person."
"Certainly, you are quite right. I agree that the substantial facts are as the writers have delivered them; although they may, from their liability to error, have delivered some of the details erroneously."
"But might this liability to error have led them a little further in their discrepancies, so as to involve the fact itself in just doubt, and so of other great facts which constitute the doctrines as well as the facts of Scripture?"
"Of course, I think it might, since I suppose them unaided by any supernatural wisdom in this respect."
"The answer is honest. I thought, perhaps, you would have answered differently, in which case you would have given me the trouble of pursuing the argument one step further. It appears, then, that, though inspired to give mankind a true statement of doctrines, yet that, when these doctrines assume the form of facts (which, unhappily, they do perpetually), this hazardous liability to error as historians may counteract their inspiration, and they may give them in such a form as to throw upon them all manner of doubts and suspicions; possibly they have done so, for aught you can tell.—But, again, you also affirm that these so-called inspired men were liable to make all sorts of logical blunders, just as the uninspired."
"Certainly; and I must confess I think the logic of the Apostle Paul, in particular, often exceedingly absurd."
"Very fair and candid. For example, I dare say that you do not think much of his arguments or inferences from certain doctrines; or his proofs of those doctrines from the Old Testament or—"
"They are not, indeed, worth much in my estimation."
"Candid again; but then it is plain, first, that you will have to distinguish between the pure doctrines which Paul derived from a celestial source, and his erroneous proofs or inferences, which are delivered in precisely the same manner and with the same assumption of authority. And this, I think, would be an insuperable task; at least, it seems so, for you Rationalists decide this matter very differently. When any of you favor me with your sketches of the true heaven-descended Pauline theology, I find them widely different from each other. Your 'religious element' is of the most variable volume. Some of you include nearly the whole creed of ordinary orthodoxy; others, fifty or even eighty per cent. less, both in bulk and weight."
"Perhaps so."
"Perhaps so! But then, what becomes of your principle, that you may separate the pure 'religion element,' as conveyed to the minds of the sacred writers by direct illumination, from the errors of vicious logic which have been permitted to mingle with it? To me it appears any thing but easy to separate the functions of a revealer of truly inspired truth from the vitiating influences of a fallacious logic. The 'heavenly vision,' however 'obedient' a Paul may be to it, will be but obscurely represented, and suffer egregiously from that distorted image which the ill-constructed mirror will convey to us. —But once more, I think you do not hold Paul's rhetoric to be always of the first excellence?"
"Certainly not; I think his representations are often as faulty as his logic is vicious; especially when, under the influence of his Jewish education, he throws old Gamaliel's mantle over his shoulders, and dotes about 'allegories' founded on the Old Testament."
"Fair and candid once more; but then, I suppose you will admit that the divine truths which he was, nevertheless, commissioned to teach mankind, will, like any other truths, be much affected by the mode in which they are represented to the imagination; will become brighter or more obscure, more animated or more feeble, and even more just or distorted, as this task is wisely and judiciously, or preposterously performed?"
"No doubt."
"Then it appears, I think, that, if there were nothing to control the Apostle Paul's manner of exhibiting divine verities, even in relation only to the imagination, there might be all the difference between sober truth and fanatical perversions of it. I might, in the same manner, proceed to show that the feelings, uncontrolled by a superior influence, would be also likely to give distortion or exaggeration to the doctrines. But it is enough. It appears very plain, that, according to your hypothesis, even though the Apostles were commissioned to teach by supernatural illumination certain truths, yet that, being liable to be infected with all the faults of false history, bad logic, vicious rhetoric, fanatical feeling, these divine truths might, possibly, be most falsely presented to us. We have, really, no guaranty but your gratuitous 'supposition' that they have been taught at all. We have no criterion for separating what is thus divine from what is merely human. I fear, therefore, your distinction will not hold. The stream, whatever the crystal purity of its fountain, could not fail to be horribly impure by the time it had flowed through such foul conduits."
"In short," continued Harrington, with a bitter smile at the same time, "there are but three consistent characters in the world; the Bible Christian, and the genuine Atheist,—or the absolute Sceptic."
"No,—no,—no," exclaimed the whole trio at once; "and you yourself must be true to your principles, and therefore sceptical as to this."
"It is" he replied, "one of the very few things which I am not sceptical about. At all events, right or wrong, I am, as usual, willing to give you my reasons for my belief."
"Rather say your doubts," said Fellowes.
"Well, for my doubts, then. You see, my friends, the matter is as follows. The Christian speaks on this wise:—
"'I find, in reference to Christianity as in references to Theism, what appears to me an immense preponderance of evidence of various kinds in favor of its truth; but both alike I find involved in many difficulties which I acknowledge to be insurmountable, and in many mysteries which I cannot fathom. I believe the conclusions in spite of them. As to the revelation, I see some of its discrepancies are the effect of transcription and corruption; others are the result of omissions of one or more of the writers, which, if supplied, would show that they are apparent only; of others, I can suggest no explanations at all; and, over and above these, I see difficulties of doctrine which I can no more profess to solve than I can the parallel perplexities in Nature and Providence, and especially those involved in the permitted phenomenon of an infinity of physical and moral evil. As to these difficulties, I simply submit to them, because I think the rejection of the evidence for the truths which they embarrass would involve me in a much greater difficulty. With regard to many of the difficulties, in both cases, I set that the progress of knowledge and science is continually tending to dissipate some, and to diminish, if not remove, the weight of others: I see that a dawning light now glimmers on many portions of the void where continuous darkness once reigned; though that very light has also a tendency to disclose other difficulties; for, as the sphere of knowledge increases, the outline of darkness beyond also increases, and increases even in a greater ratio. But I also find, I frankly admit, that on many of my difficulties, and especially that connected with the origin of evil, and other precisely analogous difficulties of Scripture, no light whatever is cast: to the solution of them, man has not made the slightest conceivable approximation. These things I submit to, as an exercise of my faith and a test of my docility, and that is all I have to say about them; you will not alter my views by dwelling on them, for your sense of them cannot be stronger than mine.' Thus speaks the Christian; and the Atheist and the Sceptic occupy ground as consistent. They say, 'We agree with you Christians, that the Bible contains no greater difficulties than those involved in the inscrutable "constitution and course of nature"; but on the very principles on which the Rationalist, or Spiritualist, or Deist, or whatever he pleases to call himself, rejects the divine origin of the former, we are compelled to go a few steps farther, and deny—or doubt the divine origin of the latter. It is true that the Bible presents no greater difficulties than the external universe and its administration; (it cannot involve greater;) but if those difficulties are sufficient to justify the denial or doubt of the divine authorship of the one, they are sufficient to justify denial or doubt about the divine origin of the other.'—But as to you, what consistent position can you take, so long as you affirm and deny so capriciously? Who 'strain at the gnats' of the Bible, and 'swallow the camels' of your Natural Religion? You ought, on the principle on which you reject so much of the Bible,—namely, that it does not harmonize with the deductions of your intellect, the instincts of conscience, the intuitions of the 'spiritual faculty,' and Heaven knows what,—to become Manichaeans at the least."
"But these very arguments," said one of the youths, "are just the old-fashioned arguments of BUTLER, Which it is surely droll of all things to find a sceptic making use of."
"I admit they are his, my friend; but not that there is any inconsistency in my employing them. I affirm that Butler is quite right in his premises, though I may reject the conclusion to which he would bring me. He leaves two alternatives, and only two, in my judgment, open; leaves two parties untouched; one is the Christian, and the other is the Atheist or the Sceptic, which-ever you please; but I am profoundly convinced he does not leave a consistent footing for any thing between. His fire does not injure the Christian, for-comes out of his own camp; nor me, for it falls short of my lines; but for you, who have pitched your tent between, take heed to yourselves. He proves clearly enough, that the very difficulties for which you reject Christianity exist equally, sometimes to a still amount, in the domain of nature."
"Oh!" said the youngest, "we do not think that Butler's argument is sound."
"Then," said Harrington, "the sooner you refute it the better. All you have to do is, just to show that this world does not exhibit the inequalities, the miseries,—the apparent caprice in its administration, —the involuntary ignorance,—the enormous wrongs,—the wide-spread sorrows and death,—it does. You will do greater service to the Deist than the whole of the have ever done him yet. I am convinced that Butler is not to be refuted."
"But do you not recollect what no less a man than Pitt said,—'Analogy is an argument so easily retorted!'" replied the same youth.
"Then you will have the less difficulty in retorting it," said Harrington, coolly. "Pitt's observation only shows that he had forgotten the true object of the work, or never understood it. For the purposes of refutation, it does not follow that an analogy may be easily retorted; it may be, and often is, irresistible. It is when employed to establish a truth, not to expose an error, that it is often feeble. If Butler had attempted to prove that the inhabitants of Jupiter must be miserable, nothing could have been more ridiculous than to adduce the analogy of our planet. But if he merely wished to show that it did not follow that that beautiful orb, being created by infinite power, wisdom, and goodness, must be an abode of happiness, (just the Rationalist style of reasoning,) it would be quite sufficient to introduce the speculator to this ill-starred planet of ours."