{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_16866/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_16866","id":"gutenberg_16866","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/16866","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Skepticism -- Controversial literature"],"text":"Produced by Michael John Madden\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE ECLIPSE OF FAITH;\n\nOR\n\nA VISIT TO A RELIGIOUS SCEPTIC.\n\nFIFTH EDITION.\n\nBOSTON: CROSBY, NICHOLS AND COMPANY,\n111 WASHINGTON STREET.\n\n1854.\n\nAMERICAN PREFACE.\n\nThe effect of the perusal of this book, and the estimate put\nupon it by a reader, will depend upon his taking with him a\nright view of its design. That design seems in the mind of\nthe writer to have been very definite and very restricted. If\nhe should be thought to have intended an answer to all the\nelaborate objections from criticism and philosophy recently or\nrenewedly urged against faith in the Christian revelation,\nand, still more, if the reader should suppose that the author\nhad aimed to remove all the difficulties in the way of\nsuch a faith, he would equally insure his own disappointment,\nand wrong the writer. The book comes forth anonymously, but it\nis ascribed to Mr. Henry Rogers, some of whose very able\npapers in the Edinburgh Review have been republished in two\noctavo volumes in England, and one of whose articles, that on\n\"Reason and Faith,\" dealt with some of the topics which form\nthe subject-matter of this volume.\n\nThe author seems to have viewed with a keenly attentive and\nanxious mind the generally unsettled state of opinion, equally\namong the literary and some of the humbler classes in England,\nconcerning the terms and the sanction of a religious faith,\nespecially as the issue bears upon the contents and the\nauthority of the Bible. That he understands the state of things\nin which he proposes himself as one who has a word to utter,\nwill be allowed by all candid judges, whatever criticism they\nmay pass upon the effectiveness of his own argument. There is\nabundant evidence in this book of his large intimacy with\nthe freshest forms of speculation, as developed by the free\nthought of our age. While he identifies these speculations with\nthe recent writers who have adopted them, he is not to be\nunderstood as allowing that these writers have originated\nany novel speculations, or excelled the sceptics of former\ntimes in acuteness, or plausibility, or success in urging their\ncause. He adopts the method of the Platonic dialogue, and\nexhibits a dialectic skill in confounding by objections when\nobjections can be made to do service as arguments. His frank\nadmission that he leaves insurmountable objections and\nunfathomable mysteries still involved in the theme, a portion\nof whose range alone he traverses, should secure him from the\nimputation of having attempted too much, or of boastfulness for\nwhat he considers that he has accomplished.\n\nThe truculent notice of this book in the Westminster Review\nfor July is wholly unworthy of the reputation and the claims\nof that journal. Probably a careful perusal of the book is an\nessential condition for enlightening the mind of the writer,\nand for rectifying his judgment, so far as information has\npower to promote candor.\n\nThe Prospective Review for August, in an article on the work,\nfor the most part commendatory, though certainly without any\nwarmth of praise, makes the prominent stricture upon it to be,\na charge against the author of having evaded \"the gravest, and\nin one sense the only serious difficulty, with which the\nevidences he supports have to contend.\" This difficulty is\ndefined to be in the question as to whether our four Gospels\nare essentially and substantially documents from the pens of\nMatthew, Mark, Luke, and John, actual companions and\ncontemporaries of Him whose life and lessons are therein recorded.\nThe Reviewer professes to have satisfied his own mind\nby an affirmative conclusion on this point. But regarding the\nquestion as the very turning-point, the paramount and vital element\nof the existing issue between faith and unbelief, and not finding\nit to be dealt with in this volume, the Reviewer considers that\nit is evaded. It might be urged in reply, that this question is not\nto other minds of such paramount importance, and that its\naffirmative answer would not be conclusive, as it would still\nleave open other questions; such, for instance, as those which\nenter into the theories of Paulus and other Rationalists, and\nsuch as are not even excluded from the incidental adjuncts\nof Strauss's mythical theory. It might also be urged, that,\nallowing the question to be paramount in its relation to the\nwhole issue, it is one which is not so judiciously dealt with\nin the discursiveness of dialogues after dinner, as in the\nsolitary study, with piles of huge tomes, lexicons, and\nmanuscripts that require a most deliberate examination.\nBut to leave the merits and the relative importance of this\nquestion undebated, it might have been more generous in the\nReviewer to have confined his criticisms to a decision upon\nwhat the author has endeavored to accomplish, instead of\nimpugning his judgment in the selection of the points on which\nto employ his pen. How ever desirable it may be that we\nshould have in another form what Mr. Norton has presented\nso thoroughly in his work on the Genuineness of the Gospels,\nit is enough to answer to the Reviewer in the Prospective,\nthat the writer of this volume addressed himself to a different\ncourse of argument, starting from other divergences of\nopinion, philosophical rather than critical in their relations.\nHe certainly was free to select the method and the direction of\nhis argument, if he candidly represented the answering point\nof view of those to whom he opposed himself.\n\nAmid many episodes and interludes of fancy and narrative, it\nwill be found that the volume arrays its force of argument\nagainst two of the assumptions alike of modern and of ancient\nscepticism; namely, that a revelation from God to men through\nthe agency of a book is an unreasonable tenet of belief; and\nthat it is impossible that a miracle should occur, and\nimpossible that its occurrence should be authenticated. There\nis a vigorous and logical power displayed in the discussion\nof these two points. The discomfiture of those who urge these\nassumptions does not of course convince all scepticism, or\nsubstitute faith for it, but it is something to discomfit\nsuch pleas, and to expose the fallacies which confuse the\nminds of their advocates. The matters of debate are lofty,\nand there is no levity in their treatment.\n\n\nADVERTISEMENT.\n\nHe who reads this book only superficially will\nat once see that it is not all fiction; and he who\nreads it more than superficially will as easily see\nthat it is not all fact. In what proportions it is\ncomposed of either would probably require a very\nacute critic accurately to determine. As the Editor\nmakes no pretensions to such acumen,--as\nhe can lay claim to only an imperfect knowledge\nof the principal personage in the volume, and\nnever had any personal acquaintance with the singular\nyouth, some traits of whose character and\nsome glimpses of whose history are here given,\n--he leaves the above question to the decision of\nthe reader. At the same time, it is of no consequence\nin the world. The character and purport\nof the volume are sufficiently disclosed in the\nparting words of the Journalist. \"It aspires,\"\nas is justly said, \"to none of the appropriate\ninterest either of a novel or a biography.\" It might\nhave been very properly entitled \"Theological Fragments.\"\n\nMarch 31, 1852.\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\nA GENUINE SCEPTIC\n\nA VERSATILE BELIEVER\n\nPURITAN INFIDELITY\n\nLORD HERBERT AND MODERN DEISM\n\nSOME CURIOUS PARADOXES\n\nPROBLEMS\n\nA DIALOGUE SHOWING THAT \"THAT MAY BE POSSIBLE WITH\nMAN WHICH IS IMPOSSIBLE WITH GOD\"\n\nSCEPTIC'S FAVORITE TOPICS\n\nUNSTABLE EQUILIBRIUM\n\nA SCEPTICS FIRST CATECHISM\nSOME LIGHT ON THE MYSTERY\n\nBELIEF AND FAITH\n\nTHE \"VIA MEDIA\" OF DEISM\n\nA SCEPTIC'S SELECT PARTY\n\nHOW IT WAS THAT INFIDELITY PREVENTED MY BECOMING AN\nINFIDEL\n\nSKIRMISHES\n\nCHRISTIAN ETHICS\n\nTHE BLANK BIBLE\n\nA DIALOGUE IN WHICH IT IS CONTENDED \"THAT MIRACLES ARE\nIMPOSSIBLE, BUT THAT IT IS IMPOSSIBLE TO PROVE IT\"\n\nTHE ANALOGIES OF AN EXTERNAL REVELATION WITH THE LAWS\nAND CONDITIONS OF HUMAN DEVELOPMENT\n\nON A PREVAILING FALLACY\n\nHISTORIC CREDIBILITY\n\nA KNOTTY POINT\n\nMEDICAL ANALOGIES\n\nHISTORIC CRITICISM\n\nTHE \"PAPAL AGGRESSION\" PROVED TO BE IMPOSSIBLE\n\nTHE PARADISE OF FOOLS\n\nA FUTURE LIFE\n\nA VARIABLE QUANTITY\n\nDISCUSSION OF THREE POINTS\n\nTHE LAST EVENING\n\n\nTHE ECLIPSE OF FAITH.\n\nTo E. B*****, Missionary in ------, South Pacific.\n\nWednesday, June 18, 1851.\n\nMy Dear Edward:--\n\nYou have more than once asked me to send you,\nin your distant solitude, my impressions respecting the religious\ndistractions in which your native country has been of late years\ninvolved. I have refused, partly, because it would take a volume\nto give you any just notions on the subject; and partly, because\nI am not quite sure that you would not be happier in ignorance.\nThink, if you can, of your native land as in this respect what\nit was when you left it, on your exile of Christian love,\nsome fifteen years ago.\n\nI little thought I should ever have so mournful a motive to\ndepart in some degree from my resolution. I intended to leave\nyou to glean what you could of our religious condition from such\npublications as might reach you. But I am now constrained to write\nsomething about it. My dear brother, you will hear it with\na sad heart;--your nephew and mine, our only sister's\nonly child, has, in relation to religion at least, become\nan absolute sceptic!\n\nI well recollect the tenderness you felt for him, doubly endeared\nby his own amiable dispositions and the remembrance of her whom\nin so many points he resembled. What must be mine, who so long\nstood to the orphan in the relations which his mother's love and\nmy own affection imposed upon me! It is hardly a figure to say I\nfelt for him as for a son. \"Ah!\" you will say as you glance at your\nown children, \"my bachelor brother cannot understand that even such\nan affection is still a faint resemblance of parental love.\"\n\nIt may be so. I know that that love is sui generis; and as I have\noften heard from those who are fathers, its depth and purity were\nnever realized till they became such. But neither, perhaps, can you\nknow how nearly such a love as I have felt for Harrington, committed\nto me in death by one I loved so well,--beloved alike for her sake\nand for his own,--the object of so much solicitude during his\nchildhood and youth,--I say you can hardly, perhaps, conceive how\nnear such an affection may approach that of a parent; how closely\nsuch a graft upon a childless stock may resemble the incorporate\nlife of father and son.\n\nYou remember what hopes we both formed of his youth, from the\npromise alike of his heart and of his intellect, How fondly we\npredicted a career of future usefulness to others, and honor and\nhappiness to himself! You know how often I used to compare him,\nfor the silent ease with which he mastered difficult subjects,\nand the versatility with which he turned his mind to the most\nopposite pursuits, to the youthful Theaetetus, as described in\nPlato's dialogue the movements of whose mind Theodorus compares\nto the \"noiseless flow of oil\" from the flask.\n\nHe was just fourteen and a half when you left England; he is\nnow, therefore, nearly twenty-nine. He left me four years ago,\nwhen he was just twenty-five,--about a year after the termination\nof his college course, which you know was honorable to him, and\ngratifying to me. He then went to spend a year, or a year and a\nhalf, as he supposed, in Germany. His stay (he was not all the\ntime in Germany, however) was prolonged for more than three years.\nIn the letters which I received from him, and which gradually\nbecame more rare and more brief, there was (without one symptom\nof decay of personal affection) a certain air of gradually\nincreasing constraint, in relation to the subject which I knew\nand felt to be all-important. Alas! my prophetic soul took it\naright; this constraint was the faint penumbra of a disastrous\neclipse indeed! He was not, as so many profess to be, convinced\nby any particular book (as that of Strauss, for example) that\nthe history of Christianity is false; nay, he declares that he\nis not convinced of that even now; he is a genuine sceptic, and\nis the subject, he says, of invincible doubts. Those doubts have\nextended at length to the whole field of theology, and are due\nprincipally, as he himself has owned, to the spectacle of the\ninterminable controversies which (turn where he would) occupied\nthe mind of Germany. Even when he returned home he does not appear\nto have finally abandoned the notion of the possibility of\nconstructing some religious system in the place of Christianity;--\nthis, as he affirms, is a later conviction formed upon him by\nexamining the systems of such men as have attempted the solution\nof the problem. He declares the result wholly unsatisfactory; that,\nsceptical as he was and is with regard to the truth of Christianity,\nhe is not even sceptical with regard to these theories; and he\ndeclares that if 'the undoubtedly powerful minds which have\nframed them have so signally failed in removing his doubts, and\naffording him a rock to stand upon, he cannot prevail upon himself\nto struggle further.\n\nAnd so, instead of stopping at any of those miserable road-side\ninns between Christianity and scepticism, through whose ragged\nwindows all the winds of heaven are blowing, and whose gaudy \"signs\"\nassure us there is \"good entertainment within for man and beast,\"--\nwhereas it is only for the latter,--Harrington still travelled on in\nhopes of finding some better shelter, and now, in the dark night,\nand a night of tempest too, finds himself on the open heath. To\nemploy his own words, \"he could not rest contented with one-sided\ntheories or inconsequential reasonings, and has pursued the\nargument to its logical termination.\" He is ill at ease in mind,\nI hear, and not in robust health; and I am just going to visit him.\n\nI shall have some melancholy scenes with him; I feel that. Do you\nremember, when we were in Switzerland together, how, as we wound\ndown the Susten and the Grimsel passes, with the perpendicular\ncliffs some thousand feet above us, and a torrent as many feet\nbelow, we used to shudder at the thought of two men, wrestling upon\nthat dizzy verge, and striving to throw each other over! I almost\nimagine that I am about to engage in such a strife now, with the\nadditional horror that the contest is (as one may say) between\nfather and son. Nay, it is yet more terrible; for in such a contest\nthere, I almost feel as if I could be contented to employ only a\npassive resistance. But I must here learn to school my heart and\nmind to an active and desperate conflict. I fear lest I should do\nmore harm than good; and I am sure I shall if I suffer impatience\nand irascibility to prevail. I shall, perhaps, also hear from those\nlips which once addressed me only in the accents of respect and\nkindness, language indicative of that alienation which is the\ninevitable result of marked dissimilarity of sentiment and\ncharacter, and which, according to Aristotle's most just\ndescription, will often dissolve the truest friendship, at all\nevents, extinguish (just as prolonged absence will) all its\nvividness. So impossible is it for the full sympathies of the heart\nto coexist with absolute antipathy of the intellect! Nay, I shall,\nperhaps, have to listen to the language which I cannot but consider\nas \"impiety\" and \"blasphemy,\" and yet keep my temper.\nI half feel, however, that I am doing him injustice in much of this;\nand I will not \"judge before the time.\" It cannot be that he will\never cease to regard me with affection, though, perhaps, no longer\nwith reverence; and I am confident that not even scepticism can\nchill the natural kindness of his disposition. I am persuaded\nthat, even as a sceptic, he is very different from most sceptics.\nThey cherish doubts; he will be impatient of them. Scepticism is,\nwith them, a welcome guest, and has entered their hearts by an open\ndoor; I am sure that it must have stormed his, and entered it by a\nbreach.\n\n\"No,\" my heart whispers, \"I shall still find you sincere, Harrington;\nscorning to take any unfair advantage in argument, and impatient of\nall sophistry, as I have ever found you. You will be fully aware of\nthe moral significance of the conclusion at which you have arrived,\n--even that there is no conclusion to be arrived at; and you will be\nmiserable,--as all must be who have your power to comprehend it.\"\n\nAccept this, my dear brother, as a truer delineation of my wanderer\nthan my first thoughts prompted. But then all this will only make it\nthe more sad to see him. Still it is a duty, and it must be done.\n\nI have not the heart at present to give more than the briefest\nanswers to the queries which you so earnestly put to me. No doubt\nyou were startled to find, from the French papers that reached you\nfrom Tahiti, and on no less authority than that of the \"Apostolic\nLetter of the Pope,\" and Cardinal Wiseman's \"Pastoral,\" that this\nenlightened country was once more, or was on the eve of becoming, a\n\"satellite\" of Rome. Subsequent information, touching the course of\nthe almost unprecedented agitation which England has just passed\nthrough, will serve to convince you, either that Pio Nono's\nsupplications to the Virgin and all the English saints, from\nSt. Dunstan downwards, have not been so successful as he flattered\nhimself that they would have been, or that the nation, if it be\nabout to embrace Romanism, has the oddest way of showing it. It\nhas acquired most completely the Jesuitical art of disguising\nits real feelings; or, as the Anglicans would say, of practising\nthe doctrine of \"reserve.\" To all appearance the country is more\nindomitably Protestant than before.\n\nNor need you alarm yourself--as in truth you seem too much inclined\nto do--about the machinations and triumphs of the Tractarian party.\nTheir insidious attempts are no doubt a graver evil than the\npreposterous pretensions of Rome, to which indeed they gave their\nonly chance of success. The evil has been much abated, however by\nthose very assumptions; for it is no longer disguised. Tractarianism\nis seen to be what many had proclaimed it,--the strict ally of Rome.\nThe hopes it inspired were the causes of the Pope's presumption and\nof Wiseman's folly; and, by misleading them, it has, to a large\nextent, undone the projects both of Rome and itself. But even before\nthe recent attempts, its successes were very partial.\n\nThe degree to which the infection tainted the clergy was no\ncriterion at all of the sympathy of the people. Too many of the\nformer were easily converted to a system which confirmed all their\necclesiastical prejudices, and favored their sacerdotal pretensions;\nwhich endowed every youngster upon whom the bishop laid hands\nwith \"preternatural graces,\" and with the power of working\n\"spiritual miracles.\" But the people generally were in little\ndanger of being misled by these absurdities; and facts, even before\nthe recent outbreak, ought to have convinced the clergy, that, if\nthey thought proper to go to Rome, their flocks were by no means\nprepared to follow them. Except among some fashionable folks here\nand there,--young ladies to whom ennui, susceptible nerves, and a\nsentimental imagination made any sort of excitement acceptable;\nwho turned their arks of embroidery and painting, and their love\nof music, to \"spiritual\" uses, and displayed their piety and their\naccomplishments at the same time,--except among these, I say, and\nthose amongst the more ignorant of our rural population whom such\npeople influenced, the Anglican movement could not boast of any\nsignal success. In the more densely peopled districts, and amongst\nthe middle classes especially, the failure of the thing was often\nmost ignominious. No sooner were the candles placed upon the\n\"altar\" than the congregation began to thin; and by the time the\n\"obsolete\" rubrics were all admirably observed, the priest\nfaultlessly arrayed, the service properly intoned, and the entire\n\"spiritual\" machine set in motion, the people were apt to desert\nthe sacred edifice altogether. It was a pity, doubtless, that,\nwhen such admirable completeness in the ecclesiastical, equipments\nhad been attained, it should be found that the machine would not\nwork; that just when the Church became perfect, it should fail for\nso insignificant an accident as the want of a congregation. Yet so\nit often was. The ecclesiastical play was an admirable rehearsal,\nand nothing more. Not but what there are many priests who would\nprefer a \"full service,\" and an ample ceremonial in an empty\nchurch, to the simple Gospel in a crowded one; like Handel, who\nconsoled himself with the vacant benches at one of his oratorios\nby saying that \"dey made de music sound de ner.\" And, in truth,\nif we adopt to the full the \"High Church\" theory, perhaps it\ncannot much matter whether the people be present or not; the opus\noperatum of magic rites and spiritual conjuration may be equally\neffectual. The Oxford tracts said ten years ago, \"Before the\nReformation, the Church recognized the seven hours of prayer;\nhowever these may have been practically neglected, or hidden\nin an unknown tongue, there is no estimating what influence this\nmay have had on common people's minds secretly.\" Surely you must\nagree that there is no estimating the efficacy of nobody's\nhearing services which, if heard by any body, would have been\nin an unknown tongue.\n\nI repeat, that the people of England will never yield to Romanism,\n--unless, indeed, it shall hereafter be as a reaction from\ninfidelity; just as infidelity is now spreading as a reaction from\nthe attempted restoration of Romanism. That England is not prepared\nat present is sufficiently shown by the result of the recent\nagitation. Could it terminate otherwise? Was it possible that\nEngland, in the nineteenth century, could be brought to adopt the\nsuperstitions of the Middle Age? If she could, she would have\ndeserved to be left to the consequences of her besotted folly. We\nmay say, as Milton said, in his day, to the attempted restoration\nof superstitions which the Reformers had already cast off; \"O, if\nwe freeze at noon, after their easy thaw, let us fear lest the sun\nfor ever hide himself, and turn his orient steps from our\nungrateful horizon justly condemned to be eternally benighted.\"\nNo, it is not from this quarter that England must look for the\nchief dangers which menace religion, except, indeed, as these\ndangers are the inevitable, the uniform result of every attempt\nto revive the obsolete past. The principal peril is from a subtle\nunbelief, which, in various forms, is sapping the religion of our\npeople, and which, if not checked, will by and by give the Romish\nbishops a better title to be called bishops in partibus infidelium\nthan has always been the case. The attempt to make men believe\ntoo much naturally provokes them to believe too little; and such\nhas been and will be the recoil from the movement towards Rome.\nIt is only one, however, of the causes of that widely diffused\ninfidelity which is perhaps the most remarkable phenomenon of our\nday. Other and more potent causes are to be sought in the\nphilosophic tendencies of the age, and especially a sympathy, in\nvery many minds, with the worst features of Continental speculation.\n\"Infidelity!\" you will say. \"Do you mean such infidelity as\nthat of Collins and Bolingbroke, Chubb and Tindal?\" Why, we have\nplenty of those sorts too, and--worse; but the most charming\ninfidelity of the day, a bastard deism in fact, often assumes a\ndifferent form,--a form, you will be surprised to hear it, which\nembodies (as many say) the essence of genuine Christianity! Yes;\nbe it known to you, that when you have ceased to believe all that\nis specially characteristic of the New Testament,--its history,\nits miracles, its peculiar doctrine--you may still be a genuine\nChristian. Christianity is sublimed into an exquisite thing\ncalled modern \"spiritualism.\" The amount and quality of \"faith\"\nare, indeed, pleasingly diversified when come to examine individual\nprofessors thereof; but it always based upon the principle that\nman is a light to himself; that his oracle is within; so clear\neither to supersede the necessity--some say even possibility--of\nall external revelation in any sense of that term; or, when such\nrevelation is in some sense allowed, to constitute man the absolute\narbiter how much or how little of it is worthy to be received.\n\nThis theory we all perceive, of course, cannot fail to recommend itself\nby the well-known uniformity and distinctness of man's religious\nnotions and the reasonableness of his religious practices! We all\nknow there has never been any want of a revelation;--of which have\ndoubtless had full proof among the idolatrous barbarians you\nfoolishly went to enlighten and reclaim. I wish, however, you had\nknown it fifteen years ago; I might have had my brother with me\nstill. It is a pity that this internal revelation--the \"absolute\nreligion,\" hidden, as Mr. Theodore Parker felicitously phrases it,\nin all religions of all ages and nations, so strikingly avouched\nby the entire history of world--should render itself suspicions\nby little discrepancies in its own utterances among those who\nbelieve in it. Yet so it is. Compared with the rest of the world,\nfew at the best can be got to believe in the sufficiency of the internal\nlight and the superfluity all external revelation; and yet hardly\ntwo of the flock agree. It is the rarest little oracle! Apollo\nhimself might envy its adroitness in the utterance ambiguities.\nOne man says that the doctrine of \"future life\" is undoubtedly a\ndictate of the \"religious sentiment,\"--one of the few universal\ncharacteristics of all religion; another declares his \"insight\"\ntells him nothing of the matter; one affirms that the supposed\nchief \"intuitions\" of the \"religious faculty\"--belief in the\nefficacy of prayer, the free will of man, and the immortality of\nthe soul--are at hopeless variance with intellect and logic; others\nexclaim, and surely not without reason, that this casts upon our\nfaculties the opprobrium of irretrievable contradictions! As for those\n\"spiritualists\"--and they are, perhaps, at present the greater\npart--who profess, in some sense, to pay homage to the New Testament,\nthey are at infinite variance as to how much--whether 7 1/2, 30, or\n50 per cent of its records--is to be received. Very few get so far\nas the last. One man is resolved to be a Christian,--none more\nso,--only he will reject all the peculiar doctrines and all the\nsupernatural narratives of the New Testament; another declares that\nmiracles are impossible and \"incredible, per se\"; a third thinks\nthey are neither the one nor the other, though it is\ntrue that probably a comparatively small portion of those narrated in\nthe \"book\" are established by such evidence as to be worthy of credit.\nPray use your pleasure in the selection; and the more freely, as a\nfourth is of opinion that, however true, they are really of little\nconsequence. While many extol in vague terms of admiration the deep\n\"spiritual insight\" of the founders of Christianity, they do not trouble\nthemselves to explain how it is that this exquisite illumination left\nthem to concoct that huge mass of legendary follies and mystical\ndoctrines which constitute, according to the modern \"spiritualism,\"\nthe bulk of the records of the New Testament, and by which its authors\nhave managed to mislead the world; nor how we are to avoid regarding\nthem either as superstitious and fanatical fools or artful and\ndesigning knaves, if nine tenths, or seven tenths, of what they record\nis all to be rejected; nor, if it be affirmed that they never did\nrecord it, but that somebody else has put these matters into their\nmouths, how we can be sure that any thing whatever of the small\nremainder ever came out of their mouths. All this, ever, is of the\nless consequence, as these gentlemen descend to tell us how we are\nto separate the \"spiritual\" gold which faintly streaks the huge mass\nof impure ore of fable, legend, and mysticism. Each man, it seems\nhas his own particular spade and mattock in his \"spiritual faculty\";\nso off with you to the diggings in these spiritual mines of Ophir. You\nwill say, Why not stay at home, and be content at once, with the\nadvocates of the absolute sufficiency of the internal oracle, listen to\nits responses exclusively? Ask these men--for I am sure I do not know;\nI only know that the results are very different--whether the\npossessor of \"insight\" listens to its own rare voice, or puts on\nspectacles and reads aloud from the New Testament. Generally, as I\nsay, these good folks are resolved that all that is supernatural\nand specially inspired in sacred volume is to be rejected; and as\nto the rest, which by the way might be conveniently published as\nthe \"Spiritualists' Bible\" (in two or three sheets, 48mo, say),\nthat would still require a careful winnowing; for, while one man\ntells us that the Apostle Paul, in his intense appreciation of\nthe \"spiritual element,\" made light even of the \"resurrection of\nChrist,\" and everywhere shows his superiority to the beggarly elements\nof history, dogma, and ritual, another declares that he was so\nenslaved by his Jewish prejudices and the trumpery he had picked up\nat the feet of Gamaliel, that he knew but little or next to nothing\nof the real mystery of the very Gospel he preached; that while he\nproclaims that it is \"revealed, after having been hidden from ages\ngenerations,\" he himself manages to hide it afresh. This you will be\ntold is a perpetual process, going on even now; that as all the\n\"earlier prophets\" were unconscious instruments of a purpose beyond\ntheir immediate range of thought, so the Apostles themselves\nsimilarly illustrated the shallowness of their range of thought;\nthat, in fact, the true significance of the Gospel lay beyond them,\nand doubtless also, for the very same reasons, lies beyond us. In\nother words, this class of spiritualists tell us that Christianity\nis a \"development,\" as the Papists also assert, and the New Testament\nits first imperfect and rudimentary product; only, unhappily, as the\ndevelopment, it seems, may be things so very different as Popery and\nInfidelity, we are as far as ever from any criterion as to which, out\nof the ten thousand possible developments, is the true; but it is a\nmatter of the less consequence, since it will, on such reasoning, be\nalways something future.\n\n\"Unhappy Paul!\" you will say. Yes, it is no better with him than it\nwas in our youth some five-and-twenty years ago. Do you not remember\nthe astute old German Professor in his lecture-room introducing the\nApostle as examining with ever-increasing wonder the various\ncontradictory systems which the perverseness of exegesis had\nextracted from his Epistles, and at length, as he saw one from which\nevery feature of Christianity had been erased, exclaiming in a\nfright, \"Was ist das?\" But I will not detain you on the vagaries of\nthe new school of spiritualists. I shall hear enough of them, I have\nno doubt, from Harrington; he will riot in their extravagances and\ncontradictions as a justification of his own scepticism. In very\ntruth their authors are fit for nothing else than to be recruiting\nofficers for undisguised infidelity; and this has been the consistent\ntermination with very many of their converts. Yet, many of them tell\nus, after putting men on this inclined plane of smooth ice, that it\nis the only place where they can be secure against tumbling into\ninfidelity, Atheism, Pantheism, Scepticism. Some of Oxford Tractarians\ninformed us, a little before Crossing the border, that their system\nwas the surest bulwark against Romanism; and in the same way is this\nsite \"spiritualism\", a safeguard against infidelity.\n\nBetween many of our modern \"spiritualists\" and Romanists there is a\nparallelism of movement absolutely ludicrous. You may chance to hear\nboth claiming, with equal fervor, against \"intellect\" and \"logic\"\nas totally incompetent to decide on \"religion\" or \"spiritual\" truth,\nand in favor of a \"faith\" which disclaims all alliance with them. You\nmay chance hear them both insisting on an absolute submission to\nan \"infallible authority\" other than the Bible; the one external,--that\nis, the Pope; the other internal,--that is, \"Spiritual Insight\"; both\nexacting absolute submission, the one to the outward oracle, the\nChurch, the other to the inward oracle, himself; both insisting that\nthe Bible is but the first imperfect product of genuine Christianity,\nwhich is perfected by a \"development,\" though as to the direction of\nthat development they certainly do not agree. Both, if I may judge by\nsome recent speculations, recoil from the Bible even more than they\ndo from one another; and both would get rid of it,--one by locking\nit up, and the other tearing it to tatters. Thus receding in opposite\ndirections round the circle, they are found placed side by side at\nthe same extremity of a diameter, at the other extremity of which\nis the--Bible. The resemblances, in some instances, are so striking,\nthat one is reminded of that little animal, the fresh-water polype,\nwhose external structure is so absolutely a mere prolongation of\nthe internal, that you may turn him inside out, and all the\nfunctions of life go on just as well as before.\n\nIt is impossible to convey to you an adequate idea of the\nbouleversement which has taken place in our religious relations,\n--even in each man's little sphere. It is as if the religious\nworld were a masquerade, where you cease to feel surprise at\nfinding some familiar acquaintance disguised in the most\nfantastical costume. There is our old friend W----, rigorously,\nas you know, educated in his old father's Evangelical notions,\nready to be a confessor for the two wax candies, even though\nunlighted, and to be a martyr for them if but lighted. His\ncousin in the opposite direction has found even the most meagre\nnaturalism too much for him, and avows himself a Pantheist.\nL----, the son, you remember, of an independent minister, is\nready to go nobly to death in defence of the prerogatives of\nhis \"apostolic succession\"; and has not the slightest doubts that\nhe can make out his spiritual genealogy, without a broken link,\nfrom the first Bishop of Rome, downwards!--though, poor fellow,\nit would puzzle him to say who was his great-grandfather.\nE----, you are aware, has long since joined the Church of Rome,\nand has disclosed such a bottomless abyss of \"faith,\" that whole\ncart-loads of mediaeval fables, abandoned even by Romanists (who,\nby the way, stand fairly aghast at his insatiable appetite), have\nnot been able to fill it. All the saints in the Roman Hagiography\ncannot work miracles as fast as he can credit them. On the other\nhand, his brother has signalized himself by an equal facility of\nstripping himself, fragment by fragment, of his early creed, till\nat last he walks through this bleak world in such a gossamer gauze\nof transparent \"spiritualism,\" that it makes you both shiver and\nblush to look at him. Your old acquaintance P----, true to his\nyouthful qualities (which now have most abundant exercise), who\nhas the \"charity which believeth all, things,\" though certainly\nnot that which \"bareth all things,\" goes about apologizing for all\nreligious systems, and finding truth in every thing;--our beloved\nHarrington, on the other hand, bewildered by all this confusion,\nfinds truth--in nothing.\n\nYet you must not imagine that our religious maladies are at present\nmore than sporadic; or that the great bulk of our population are at\npresent affected by them: they still believe the Bible to be the\nrevealed Word God. Should these diseases ever become epidemic, they\nwill soon degenerate into a still worse type. Many apostles of\nAtheism and Pantheism amongst our classes say (and perhaps truly),\nthat this modern \"spiritualism\" is but a transition state. In that\ncase, you will have to recall, with a deeper meaning, the song of\nByron, which you told me gave you such anguish, as you paced the deck\non the evening in which lost sight of Old England,--\"My native land,\nnight!\"\n\nI have sometimes mournfully asked myself, whether the world may not\nyet want a few experiments as to whether it cannot get on better\nwithout Christianity and the Bible; but I hope England is not\ndestined be the laboratory.\n\nI almost envy your happier lot I picture to myself your\nunsophisticated folks, just reclaimed from the grossest barbarism\nand idolatry, receiving the simple Gospel (as it ought to be\nreceived) with grateful wonder, as Heaven's own method of making man\nwise and happy; reverencing the Bible as what it is,--an infallible\nguide through this world to a better; \"a light shining in a dark\nplace.\" They listen with unquestioning simplicity to its disclosures,\nwhich find an echo in their own hearts, and with a reverence which\nis due to a volume which has transformed them from savages into men,\nand from idolaters into Christians. They are not troubled with doubts\nof its authenticity or its divinity; with talk of various readings and\ndiscordant manuscripts; with subtle theories for proving that its\nmiracles are legends, or its history myths, or with any other of\nthe infinite vagaries of perverted learning. Neither are they\nperplexed with the assurances of those who tell them that, though\ndivine, the Bible is, in fact, a most dangerous book, and who would\nrequest them, in their new-born enlightenment, to be pleased to shut\ntheir eyes, and to return to a religion of ceremony quite as absurd\nand almost as cruel as the polytheism they have renounced. I imagine\nyou and your little flock in the Sabbath stillness of those mountains\nand green valleys, of which you give me such pleasant descriptions,\nexhibiting a specimen of a truly primitive Christianity; I imagine\nthat the peace within is as deep as the tranquillity without.\n\nYet I know it cannot be; for you and your flock are men,--and that\none word alone suffices to dissolve the charm. You and they have\ncares, and worse than cares, which make you like all the rest of\nthe world; for guilt and sorrow are of no clime, and the \"happy\nvalley\" never existed except in the pages of Rasselas. You are,\ndoubtless, plagued by every now and then finding that some\nhalf-reclaimed cannibal confesses that he has not quite got over\nhis gloating recollections of the delicacies of his diabolical\ncuisine; or that fashionable converts turn with a yearning heart,\nnot to theatres and balls, but to the \"dear remembrance\" of the\nsplendors 'of tattoo and amocos; or that some unlucky wretch who\nhas not mastered the hideous passions of his old paganism has almost\nbattered out the brains of a fellow disciple in a sudden paroxysm\nof anger; or that some timid soul is haunted with half-subdued\nsuspicions that some great goggle-eyed idol, with whose worship his\nwhole existence has been associated, is not, what St Paul declares\nit is, absolutely \"nothing in world.\" And then you vex your soul\nabout these things, and worry yourself with apprehensions lest \"you\nshould have labored in vain and spent your strength for naught\"; and\nlastly, trouble yourself still more lest you should lose your temper\nand your patience into the bargain.\n\nYes, your scenery is doubtless beautiful, as the sketches you have\nsent me sufficiently show; especially that scene at the foot of the\nmountain Moraii or Mauroi, for I cannot quite make out the pencil-marks.\nBut, beautiful as they are, they are not more so than those which greet\nmy eye even now from my study window. No, there is no fault to be\nfound with external nature; it is man only who spoils it all. I see\nnothing in sun, moon, or stars, in mountain, forest, or stream, that\nneeds to be altered; we are the blot on this fair world, \"O man,\"\nI am sometimes ready to exclaim, \"what a--\"; but I check myself,\nfor as Correggio whispered to himself exultingly, \"I also am a painter,\"\nso I, though with very different feelings, say, \"I also am a man.\"\nJohnson said, that every man probably worse of himself than he certainly\nknows of most other men; and so I am determined that misanthropy, if\nis to be indulged at all, shall, like its opposite charity, \"begin\nat home.\"\n\nYet, now I think better of it, it shall not begin at all; for I\nrecollect that HE also was a \"man,\" who was infinitely more; who has\npenetrated even this cloudy shrine of clay with the effulgence of His\nglory and so let me resolve that our common humanity shall be held\nsacred for His sake, and pitied for its own. Thus ends my little,\ntransient fit of spleen, and may it ever end.\n\nMay we feel more and more, my dearest brother, the interior presence\nof that \"guest of guests,\" that Divine Impersonation of Truth,\nRectitude, and Love, whose image has had more power to soothe and\ntranquillize, stimulate and fortify, the human heart, than all the\nphilosophies ever devised by man; who has not merely left us rules of\nconduct, expressed with incomparable force and comprehensiveness,\nand illustrated by images of unequalled pathos and beauty; who was\nnot merely (and yet, herein alone, how superior to all other masters)\nthe living type of His own glorious doctrine, and affects us as we gaze\nupon Him with that transforming influence which the studious\ncontemplation of all excellence exerts by a necessary law of our\nnature; but whose Life and Death include all motives which can enforce\nHis lessons on humanity;--motives all intensely animated by the\nconviction that He is a Living Personality, in communion with our own\nspirits, and attracted towards us by all the sympathies of a friendship\ntruly Divine; \"who can be touched with the feelings of our infirmities,\nthough Himself without sin.\" May He become so familiar to our souls,\nthat no suggestions of evil from within, no incursion of evil from\nwithout, shall be so swift and sudden that the thought of Him shall\nnot be at least as near to our spirits, intercept the treachery of\nour infirm nature, and guard that throne which He alone deserves to\nfill; till, at every turn and every posture of our earthly life, we\nmay realize a mental image of that countenance of divine compassion\nbent upon us, and that voice of gentle instruction murmuring in our\nears its words of heavenly wisdom; till, whenever tempted to deviate\nfrom the \"narrow path,\" we may hear Him whispering, \"Will ye also go\naway?\" when hated by the world,--\"Ye know that it hated me before\nit hated you\"; when called to perform some difficult duty,--\"If ye\nlove me, keep my commandments\"; when disposed to make an idol of any\nthing on earth,--\"He that loveth father or mother more than me is not\nworthy of me\"; when in suffering and trial,--\"Whom I love I rebuke\nand chasten\"; when our way is dark,--\"What I do thou knowest not now,\nbut thou shalt know hereafter\"; till, a word, as we hear His faintest\nfootsteps approaching our hearts, and His gentle signal there according\nto His own beautiful image, \"Behold, I stand at the door and knock,\"\nour souls may hasten to welcome the heavenly guest.\n\nSo may it ever be with you and me! And now I find the very thought\nof these things has cured all my dark and turbulent feelings, as\nindeed it ever does; and I can say before I go to rest, \"O man, my\nbrother, I am at peace with thee!\"\n\nAh! what an empire is His! How, even at the antipodes, will these\nlines touch in your heart a chord responsive to that which vibrates\nin mine! .... I go to Harrington in a few days, and as our\nconversation (perhaps, alas! our controversies) will turn upon some\nof the most momentous religious topics of the day, I shall keep\nan exact journal--Boswellize, in fact--for you, as well as I can; and\nhow well some of my earlier days have practised my memory for this\nhumble office you know. I shall have a pleasure in this, not only\nbecause you will be glad to hear all I can communicate respecting one\nyou love so well, but also because in this way, perhaps, I shall in\npart fulfil your earnest request to let you know the state of\nreligion amongst us. You will expect, of course, to find only that\nportion of our conversations reported which relates to these\nsubjects; but I anticipate, in discussing others, some compensation\nfor the misery which will, I fear, attend the discussion of these.\n\nThank your convert Outai for his present of his grim idol. It is\ncertainly \"brass for gold,\" considering what I sent him; but do\nnot tell him so. If a man gives us his gods, what more can he do?\nAnd yet, it seems, he may be the richer for the loss. Never was\na question more senseless than that of the idolatrous fool,--\"Ye\nhave taken away my gods, and what else have I left?\" His godship was\na little injured in his transit; but he was very perfect in\ndeformity before, and his ugliness could not, by any accident, be\nimproved. I have put him into a glass case with some stuffed birds, at\nwhich he ogles, with his great eyes, in a manner not altogether divine.\nHis condition, therefore, is pretty nearly that to which prophecy has\ndoomed all his tribe; if not cast to the \"moles and the bats,\" it is\nto the owls and parrots. I cannot help looking at him sometimes with\na sort of respect as contrasted with his worshippers; for though they\nhave been fools enough to worship him, he has, at least, not been fool\nenough to worship them. Yet even they are better than the Pantheist,\nwho must regard it and every thing else, himself included, as a\nfragment of divinity. I fear that, if I could regard either the Pantheist\nor myself as divine, nothing in the world could keep me from blasphemy\nevery day and all day long.\n\n\"Again!\" you will say, \"my brother; is not that old vein of bitterness\nyet exhausted?\" But be it known to you that that last sarcasm was\nespecially for my own behoof. She is a sly jade,--conscience; like\nmany other folks, she has a trick of expressing her rebukes in\ngeneral language; as thus: \"What a contemptible set of creatures the\nrace of men are!\"--hoping that some folks will practically take it to\nheart. Sometimes I do; and sometimes, I suppose, like my fellows, I look\nvery grave, and approvingly say, \"It is but too true,\" with the air of\none who philosophically assents to a proposition in which he is totally\nuninterested; whereupon conscience becomes outrageous and--personal.\n\nI can easily imagine what you tell me, that you hardly know the\ndifference between the missionaries of different denominations, and\nare very much troubled to remember, at times, which is which. It\nis a natural consequence of the relations in which you stand to\nheathenism. I fancy the sight of men worshipping an idol with four\nheads and twice as many hands must considerably abate impressions of\nthe importance some of the controversies nearer home. Do you remember\nthe passage in \"Woodstock,\" in which our old favorite represents the\nEpiscopalian Rochecliffe and the Presbyterian Holdenough meeting\nunexpectedly in prison, after many years of separation, during which\none had thought the other dead? How sincerely glad they were, and\nhow pleasantly they talked; when lo! an unhappy reference to the\n\"bishopric of Titus\" gradually abated the fervor of their charity,\nand inflamed that of their zeal, even till they at last separated in\nmutual dudgeon, and sat glowering at each other in their distant\ncorners with looks in which the \"Episcopalian\" and \"Presbyterian\"\nwere much more evident than the \"Christian\";--and so they persevered\ntill the sudden summons to them and their fellow-prisoners, to\nprepare for instant execution, dissolved as with a charm the anger\nthey had felt, and \"Forgive me, O my brother,\" and \"I have sinned\nagainst thee, my brother,\" broke from their lips as they took what\nthey thought would be a last farewell.\n\nI imagine that a feeling a little resembling this, though from a\ndifferent cause, makes it impossible for you to remember, in the\npresence of such spiritual horrors as heathenism presents, the immense\nimportance of many of the controversies so hotly waged at home, I\ncan conceive (as some of our zealots would say) that you are tempted\nto a certain degree of insensibility and defection of heart; that\nyou no longer discern the momentous superiority of \"sprinkling\" over\n\"immersion,\" or of \"immersion\" over \"sprinkling\"; that the \"wax\ncandles,\" \"lighted\" and \"unlighted,\" appear to you alike insignificant;\nthat even the jus divinum of any system of ecclesiastical government\nis sometimes not discerned with absolute precision; and, in short, that\nyou look with contemptuous wonder on half our \"great controversies.\"\nIf I mistake not, things are coming to that pass amongst us, that we\nshall soon think of them almost with contemptuous wonder too.\n\nVale,--et ora pro me,--as old Luther used to say at the end of his\nletters. I will write again soon.\n\nYour affectionate Brother,\nF.B.\n\n----\n\n\nGrange, July 7, 1851.\n\nMy Dear Brother:--\n\nI have been with Harrington a week: I am glad to say that I was\nunder some erroneous impressions when I wrote my letter. He is not\na universal sceptic,--he is only a sceptic in relation to\ntheological and ethical truth. \"Alas!\" you will say, \"it is an\nexception which embraces more than the general rule; it little\nmatters what else he believes.\"\n\nTrue; and yet there is consolation in it; for otherwise it would\nhave been impossible to hold intercourse with him at all. If he had\nreasoned in order to prove to me that human reason cannot be\ntrusted, or I to convince one who affirmed its universal falsity,\nit were hard to say whether he or I had been the greater fool.\nYour universal sceptic--if he choose to affect that character,--no\nman is it--is impregnable; his true emblem is the hedgehog ensphered\nin his prickles; that is, as long as you are observing him. For if\nyou do not thus irritate his amour propre, and put him on the\ndefensive, he will unroll himself. Speaking, reasoning, acting,\nlike the rest of the world, on the implied truthfulness of the\nfaculties whose falsity he affirms, he will save you the trouble of\nconfuting him, by confuting himself.\n\nAnd I am glad, for another reason, that Harrington does not affect\nthis universal scepticism: for whereas, by the confession of its\ngreatest masters, it is at best but the play of a subtle intellect, so\nit does not afford a very flattering picture of an intellect that\naffects it. I should have been mortified, I confess, had Harrington\nbeen chargeable with such a foible.\n\nIt is true that, in another aspect, all this makes the case more\ndesperate; for his scepticism, so far as it extends, is deep and\ngenuine; it is no play of an ingenious subtilty, nor the affectation\nof singularity with him;--and my prognostications of the misery\nwhich such a mind must feel from driving over the tempestuous ocean\nof life under bare poles, without chart or compass, are, I can see,\nverified. One fact, I confess, gives me hopes, and often affords me\npleasure in listening to him. He is an impartial doubter; he doubts\nwhether Christianity be true; but he also doubts whether it be false;\nand, either from his impatience of the theories which infidelity\nproposes in its place, as inspiring yet stronger doubts, or in revenge\nfor the peace of which he has been robbed, he never seems more at home\nthan in ridiculing the confidence and conceit of that internal oracle,\nwhich professes to solve the problems which, it seems, Christianity\nleaves in darkness; and in pushing the principles on which infidelity\nrejects the New Testament to their legitimate conclusion.\n\nI told you, in general, the origin and the progress of his scepticism.\nI suspect there are causes (perhaps not distinctly felt by him) which\nhave contributed to the result These, it may be, I shall never know;\nbut it is hardly possible not to suppose that some bitter experience has\ncontributed to cloud, thus portentously, the brightness of his youth.\nSomething, I am confident, in connection with his long residence abroad,\nhas tended to warp his young intellect from its straight growth. The\nheart, as usual, has had to do with the logic; and \"has been whispering\nreasons which the reason cannot comprehend.\" I suspect that passionate\nhopes have been buried,--whether in the grave, I know not. I must add,\nthat an indirect and most potential cause, not indeed of the origination,\nyet of the continuance, of his state of mind, must be sought in what\nthe world would call his good fortune. His maiden aunt by the father's\nside left her favorite nephew her pleasant, old-fashioned, somewhat\ngloomy, but picturesque and comfortable house in ---shire, about fifty\nor sixty acres in land, and three or four hundred a year into the\nbargain. Poor old lady! I heartily wish she had kept him out of\npossession by living to a hundred; or, dying, had left every farthing\nto \"endow a college or a--cat.\" To Harrington she has left a very\nequivocal heritage. For with this and his little patrimony he is\nentirely placed above the necessity of professional life and fully\nqualified to live (Heaven help him!) as a gentleman;--but, unhappily,\nas a gentleman whose nature is deeply speculative,--whose life has been\none of study,--and who has no active tastes or habits to correct the\nmorbid portions of his character, and the dangers of his position.\nWith his views already unsettled, he retired a few months ago to this\ncomparative solitude; (for such it is, though the place is not many\nmiles from the learned city of-----;) and partly from the tendencies\nof his own mind, partly from want of some powerful stimulus from\nwithout, he soon acquired the pernicious habit of almost constant\nseclusion in his library, where he revolves, as if fascinated, the\nphilosophy of doubt, or some equally distressing themes; all which\nhas now issued as you see. The contemplative and the active life are\nboth necessary to man, no doubt; but in how different proportions!\n\nTo live as Harrington has lived of late, is to breathe little but\nazote. I believe that all these ill effects would have been, though\nnot obviated, at least early cured, had he been compelled to mingle\nin active life,--to make his livelihood by a profession. The bracing\nair of the world would have dissipated these vapors which have\ngathered over his soul. In very truth, I half wish that he could\nnow be stripped of his all, and compelled to become hedger and ditcher.\nIt would almost be a kindness to ruin him by engaging him in some\nof the worst railway speculations!\n\nI found him all that I had promised to find him; unchanged towards\nmyself; sometimes cheerful, though oftener melancholy, or, at least,\nto all appearances ennuye; with more causticity and sarcasm in his humor,\nbut without misanthropy; and I must add, with the same logical fairness,\nthe same abhorrence of sophistry, which, were his early characteristics.\n\nBut the journal of my visit, which I am most diligently keeping, will\nmore fully inform you of his state of mind.\n\nF.B.\n\nJOURNAL OF A VISIT, ETC.\n\nJuly 1, 1851.\n\nI arrived at ----Grange this day. In the evening, as Harrington and\nmyself were conversing in the library, I availed myself of a pause\nin the conversation to break the ice in relation to the topic which\nlay nearest my heart, by saying:--\n\n\"And so you have become, they tell me, a universal sceptic?\"\n\n\"Not quite,\" he replied, throwing one of his feet over the edge of\nthe sofa on which he was reclining  and speaking rather dogmatically\n(I thought) for a sceptic. \"Not quite: but in relation to religion I\ncertainly become convinced that certainty, like pride, was not made for\nman, and that it is in vain for man to seek it.\"\n\nI was amused at the contradiction of a certainty of universal\nuncertainty, as well as at the discovery there was nothing to be\ndiscovered.\n\nHe noticed my smile, and divined its cause.\n\n\"Forgive me,\" he said, \"that, like you Christians and believers\nof all sorts, I sometimes find theory discordant with practice. The\ngenerality of people are, you know, a little inconsistent with their\ncreed; suffer me to be so with mine.\"\n\n\"I have no objection, Harrington, in the world; the more inconsistent\nyou are, the better I shall like you; you have my free leave to be, in\nrelation to scepticism, just what the Antinomian is in relation to\nChristianity or as true a sceptic as he was a true Churchman who showed\nhis good principles, according to Dr. Johnston, by never passing a\nchurch without taking off his hat, though he never went into it; or\neven as Falstaff, who had forgotten 'what the inside of a church was\nmade of.' I shall be contented indeed to see you as little attached\nto your no-truth, as the generality of Christians are to their truth.\"\n\n\"I thank you,\" said he, a little sarcastically, \"I doubt if I shall\never be able to reach so perfect a pitch of inconsistency. But are\nyou wise, my dear uncle, in this taunt? What an argument have you\nsuggested to me, if I thought it worth while to make use of it!\nHow have you surrendered, without once thinking of the consequences,\nthe practical power of Christianity!\"\n\nI began to fear that there would be a good deal of sharp-shooting\nbetween us.\n\n\"I have surrendered nothing,\" I replied. \"If every thing is to be\nabandoned, which, though professedly the subject of man's conviction,\nhe fails to reduce to practice, his creed will be short enough.\nChristianity, however, will be in no worse condition than morals,\nthe theory of which has ever been in lamentable advance of the\npractice. And least of all can scepticism stand such it test, of\nwhich you have just given a passing illustration. Of this system,\nor rather no-system, there has never been a consistent votary, if we\nexcept Pyrrho himself; and whether he were not an insincere sceptic,\nthe world will always be most sincerely sceptical. But forgive me my\npassing gibe. In wishing you to be as inconsistent as nine tenths\nof Christians are, I did not mean to prejudice your arguments, such\nas they are. I know it is not in your power to be otherwise than\ninconsistent; and I shall always have that argument against you, so\nfar as it is one.\"\n\n\"And so far as it is one,\" he replied, \"I shall always have the same\nargument against you.\"\n\n\"Be it so,\" I replied, \"for the present: I am unwilling to engage in\npolemical strife with you, the very first evening on which I have\nseen you for so long a time. I would much rather hear a chapter of\nyour past travels and adventures, which you know your few and brief\nletters--but I will not reproach you--left me in such ignorance of.\"\n\nHe complied with my request; and in the course of conversation\ninformed me of many circumstances which had formed steps in that slow\ngradation by which he had reached his present state of mind; a state\nwhich he did not affect to conceal. But still I felt sure there were\nother causes which he did not mention.\n\nAt length I said, \"You must give me the title of an old friend,\n--a father, Harrington, I might almost say,\"--and the tears came\ninto my eyes,--\"to talk hereafter fully with you of your so certain\nuncertainty about the only topics which supremely affect the\nhappiness of man.\"\n\nI told him, and I spoke it in no idle compliment, that I was\nconvinced he was far enough from being one of those shallow fools\nwho are inclined to scepticism because they shrink from the trouble\nof investigating the evidence; who find so much to be said for this,\nand much for that, that they conclude that there is no truth,\nsimply because they are too indolent to seek it. \"This,\" said I,\n\"is the plea of intellectual Sybarites with whom you have nothing\nin common. And as little do you sympathize with those dishonest,\nthough not always shallow thinkers, who take refuge in alleged\nuncertainty of evidence, because they are afraid of pursuing it\nto unwelcome conclusions; who are sceptics on the most singular and\ninconsistent of all grounds, presumption. I know you are none\nof these.\"\n\n\"I am, I think, none of these,\" said he quietly.\n\n\"You are not: and your manner and countenance proclaim it yet more\nstrongly than your words. The only genuine effect of a sincere\nscepticism is and must be, not the complacent and frivolous humor\nwhich too often attaches to it, but a mournful confession of the\nmelancholy condition to which, if true, the theory reduces the\nsceptic himself and all mankind.\"\n\nOf all the paradoxes humanity exhibits, surely there are none more\nwonderful than the complacency with which scepticism often utters\nits doubts, and the tranquillity which it boasts as the perfection\nof its system! Such a state of mind is utterly inconsistent with\nthe genuine realization and true-hearted reception of the theory.\nOn such subjects such a creature as man cannot be in doubt, and\nreally feel his doubts, without being anxious and miserable. When I\nhear some youth telling me, with a simpering face, that he does\nnot know, or pretend to say, whether there be a God, or not, or\nwhether, if there be, He takes any interest in human affairs; or\nwhether, if He does, it much imports us to know; or whether, if He\nhas revealed that knowledge, it is possible or impossible for us\nto ascertain it; when I hear him further saying, that meantime he\nis disposed to make himself very easy in the midst of these\nuncertainties, and to await the great revelation of the future\nwith philosophical, that is, being interpreted, with idiotic\ntranquillity, I see that, in point of fact, he has never entered\ninto the question at all; that he has failed to realize the terrible\nmoment of the questions (however they may be decided) of which he\nspeaks with such amazing flippancy.\n\nIt is too often the result of thoughtlessness; of a wish to get\nrid of truths unwelcome to the heart; of a vain love of paradox,\nor perhaps, in many cases, (as a friend of mine said,) of an\namiable wish to frighten \"mammas and maiden aunts.\" But let us be\nassured that a frivolous sceptic,--a sceptic indeed,--after duly\npondering and feeling the doubts he professes to embrace, is an\nimpossibility. What may be expected in the genuine sceptic is a\nmodest hope that he may be mistaken, a desire to be confuted; a\nretention of his convictions as if they were a guilty secret; or\nthe promulgation of them only as the utterance of an agonized heart,\nunable to suppress the language of its misery; a dread of making\nproselytes,--even as men refrain from exposing their sores or\nplague-infected garments in the eyes of the world. The least we can\nexpect from him is that mood of mind which Pascal so sublimely says\nbecomes the Atheist ... \"Is this, then, a thing to be said with\ngayety? Is it not rather a thing to be said with tears as the saddest\nthing in the world?\"\n\nThe current of conversation after a while, somehow swept us round\nagain to the point I had resolved to quit for this evening. \"But\nsince we are there,\" said I, \"I wish you would in brief tell me why,\nwhen you doubted of Christianity, you did not stop at any of those\nharbours of refuge which, in our time especially, have been so\nplentifully provided for those who reject the New Testament?\nYou are not ignorant, I know, of the writings of Mr. Theodore\nParker, and other modern Deists. How is it that none of them\neven transiently satisfied you? An ingenious eclecticism founded\non them has satisfied, you see, your old college friend, George\nFellowes, of whom I hear rare things. He is far enough from\nbeing a sceptic,\"\n\n\"Why,\" said he, laughing, \"it is quite true that George is not a\nsceptic, He has believed more and disbelieved more, and both one\nand the other for less reason, than any other man I know. He\nused to send me the strangest letters when I was abroad, and almost\nevery one presented him under some new phase. No, he is no sceptic.\nIf he has rejected almost every thing, he has also embraced almost\nevery thing; at each point in his career, his versatile faith has\nfound him some system to replace that he had abandoned; and he is\nnow a dogmatist par excellence, for he has adopted a theory of\nreligion which formally abjures intellect and logic, and is as\nsincerely abjured by them. If the difficulties he has successively\nencountered had been seen all at once, I fancy he would have been\nmuch where I am. Poor George! 'Sufficient unto the day,' with him,\nis the theology 'thereof'! I picture him to myself going out of a\nmorning, with his new theological dress upon him, and, chancing to\nmeet with some friend, who protests there is some thing or other\nnot quite 'comme il faut,' he proceeds with infinite complacency\nto alter that portion of his attire; the new costume is found\nequally obnoxious to the criticism of somebody else, and off it\ngoes like the rest.\"\n\nThis was a ludicrous, but not untrue, representation of George\nFellows's mind; only the \"friend\" in the image must be supposed to\nmean his own wayward fancy; for he is not particularly amenable\n(though very amiable) to external influences. So dominant, however,\nis present feeling and impulse, or so deficient is he in\ncomprehensiveness, that he often takes up with the most trumpery\narguments; that is, for a few days at a time. Yet he does not want\nacuteness. I have known him shine strongly (as has been said of\nsome one else) upon an angle of a subject; but he never sheds over\nits whole surface equable illumination. Where evidence is complicated\nand various, and consists of many opposing or modifying elements,\nhe never troubles himself to compute the sum total, and strike a fair\nbalance. He stands aghast in the presence of an objection which he\ncannot solve, and loses all presence of mind in its contemplation.\nHe seldom considers whether there are not still greater objections\non the other side, nor how much farther, if a principle be just,\nit ought to carry him. The mode in which he looks at a subject often\nreminds me of the way in which the eye, according to metaphysicians,\nsurveys an extensive landscape. It sees, they say, only a point at\na time, punctum visibile, which is perpetually shifting; and the\nimpression of the whole is in fact a rapid combination, by means\nof memory, of perceptions all but coexistent; if the attention be\nstrongly fixed upon some one object, the rest of the landscape\ncomparatively fades from the view. Now George Fellowes seemed to me,\nin a survey of a large subject, to have an incomparable faculty of\nseeing the minimum visibile, and that so ardently, that all the\nrest of the landscape vanished at the moment from his perceptions.\n\n\"Well,\" said I, smiling, \"you must not blame him for his not\nreaching at once and per saltum your position. He has been more\ndeliberate in stripping himself. Yet he has come on pretty well.\nYou ought not to despair of him. I wonder at what point he is now.\"\n\n\"You may ask him to-morrow,\" said he, \"for I am expecting him here\nto spend a few weeks with me. At whatever point he may be in these\ndays of 'progress,' as they are called, he does not know that I am\nalready arrived at the ne plus ultra; for my letters to him were\nyet briefer and rarer than to you: and I never touched on these\ntopics. Where would have been the use of asking counsel of such an\noracle?\"\n\nI said I should be glad to see him. \"But I shall be still better\npleased to hear from you, why you are dissatisfied with any such\nsystem as his; and especially why you say he ought in consistency to\ngo much farther.\"\n\n\"I am far from saying that my reasons will be satisfactory, but I\nwill endeavor, if you wish it, to justify my opinion.\"\n\n\"I shall certainly expect no less,\" replied I. \"You are strangely\naltered, if you are willing to assert without attempting to prove;\nand if you were altered, I am not. When will you let me hear you?\"\n\n\"O, in a day or two, when I have had time to put my thoughts on\npaper; but, if I mistake not, some of the most important points will\nbe discussed before that, for Fellowes, I hear, is a very\nknight-errant of 'spiritualism,' and it is a thousand to one but he\nattempts to convert me. I intend to let him have full opportunity.\"\n\n\"I hardly know,\" said I. \"Harrington, whether I wish him success or\nnot. But one thing, surely, all must admire in him: I mean his\ncandor. What less than this can prompt him, after abandoning with\nsuch extraordinary facility so many creeds and fragments of creeds,\nafter travelling round the whole circle of theology, to confess with\nsuch charming simplicity the whole history of his mental revolutions,\nand expose himself to the charge of unimaginable caprice,--of\ntheological coquetry? I protest to you that, a priori, I should have\nthought it impossible that any man could have made so many and such\nviolent turns in so short a time without a dislocation of all the\njoints of his soul.--without incurring the danger of a 'universal\nanchylosis.'\"\n\n\"One would imagine,\" said Harrington, with a laugh, \"that, in your\nestimate, his mind resembles that ingenious toy by which the union\nof the various colored rays of light is illustrated: the red, the\nyellow, the blue, the green, and so forth, are distinctly painted on\nthe compartments of a card: but no sooner are they put into a state\nof rapid revolution than the whole appears white. Such, it seems,\nis the appearance of George Fellowes in that rapid gyration to\nwhich he been subjected: the part-colored rays of his various creeds\nare lost sight of and the pure white of his 'candor' is alone\nvisible!\"\n\n\"For myself,\" said I, \"I feel in some measure incompetent to\npronounce on his present system. When I saw him for a short time a\nfew months ago, he told that, though his versatility of faith had\ncertainly been great, he must remind me (as Mr. Newman had said) that\nhe had seen both sides; that persons like myself, for example, have\nhad but one experience; whereas he has had two.\"\n\n\"If he were to urge me with such an argument,\" replied Harrington, \"I\nshould say we are even then. But I think even you could reply: 'You\nyourself injustice, Mr. Fellowes, in saying you have had two\nexperiences. You have had two dozen, at least; but whether that can\nqualify you for speaking with any authority on these subjects I much\ndoubt; to give any weight to the opinions of any man some stability\nat least is necessary.'\"\n\nThis I could not gainsay. Slow revolutions on momentous subjects,\nwhen there has been much sobriety as well as diligence of investigation,\nare, perhaps, not despised as authority. Some superior weight may even\nbe attached to the later and maturer views. But man changes them\nevery other day; if they rise and fall with the barometer; if his\nwhole life has been one rapid pirouette, it is impossible with gravity\nto discuss the question, whether at some point he may not have been\nright. Whoever be in the right, he cannot well be who has never long\nbeen any thing; and to take such a man for a guide would be almost as\nabsurd as to mistake a weathercock for a signpost.\n\n\"In seeking religious counsel of George Fellows,\" said Harrington.\n\"I should feel much as Jeannie Deans, when she went to the\nInterpreter's House.' as Madge Wildfire calls it, in company with\nthat fantastical personage. But he is a kind-hearted, amiable fellow,\nand, in short, I cannot help liking him.\"\n____\n\nJuly 2. Mr. Fellowes arrived this day about noon. He is about a year\nyounger than Harrington. The afternoon was spent very pleasantly in\ngeneral conversation. In the evening, after tea, we went into the\nlibrary. I told the two friends that, as they had doubtless much to\ntalk of, and as I had plenty of occupation for my pen, I would sit\ndown at an adjoining table with my desk, and they might go on with\ntheir chat. They did so, and for some time talked of old college\ndays and on indifferent subjects; but my attention was soon\nirresistibly attracted by finding them getting into conversation in\nwhich, on Harrington's account, I felt a deeper interest. I found my\nemployment impossible, and yet, desiring to hear them discuss their\ntheological differences without constraint, I did not venture to\ninterrupt them. At last the distraction became intolerable; and,\nlooking up, I said, \"Gentlemen, I believe you might talk on the most\nprivate matters without my attending to one syllable you said; but\nif you get upon these theological subjects, such is my present\ninterest in them,\" glancing at Harrington, \"that I shall be\nperpetually making blunders in my manuscript. Let me beg of you to\navoid them when I am with you, or let me go into another room.\"\nHarrington would not hear of the last; and as to the first he said,\nand said truly, that it would impede the free current of conversation,\n\"which,\" said he, \"to be pleasurable at all, must wind hither and\nthither as the fit takes us. It is like a many-stringed lyre, and\nto break any one of the chords is to mar the music. And so, my good\nuncle, if you find us getting upon these topics, join us; we shall\nseldom be long at a time upon them. I will answer for it; or if you\nwill not do that, and yet, though disturbed by our chatter, are too\npolite to show it, why, amuse yourself (I know your old tachygraphic\nskill, which used to move my wonder in childhood), I say, amuse\nyourself, or rather avenge yourself, by jotting down some fragments\nof our absurdities, and afterwards showing us what a couple of fools\nwe have been.\" I was secretly delighted with the suggestion; and, when\nthe subjects of dispute were very interesting, threw aside my work,\nwhatever it was, and reported them pretty copiously. Hence the\ncompleteness and accuracy of this admirable journal. I cannot of\ncourse always, or even often, vouch for the ipsissima verba; and some\nfew explanatory sentences I have been obliged to add. But the substance\nof the dialogues is faithfully given. I need not say, that they refer\nonly to subjects of a theological and polemical nature.\n\nI hardly know how the conversation took the turn it did on the present\noccasion; but I think it was from Mr. Fellowes's noticing Harrington's\npale looks, and conjecturing all sorts of reasons for his occasional\nlapses into melancholy.\n\nHis friend hoped this and hoped that, as usual.\n\nHarrington at last, seeing his curiosity awakened, and that he would\ngo on conjecturing all sorts of things, said, \"To terminate your\nsuspense, be it known to that I am a bankrupt!\"\n\n\"A bankrupt!\" said the other, with evident alarm; \"you surely have\nnot been so unwise as to risk recently acquired property, or to\nspeculate in----\"\n\n\"You have hit it,\" said Harrington; \"I have speculated far more\ndeeply than you suppose.\"\n\nThe countenance of his friend lengthened visibly.\n\n\"Be not alarmed.\" resumed Harrington, with a smile; \"I mean that\nI have speculated a good deal in--philosophy, and when I\nsaid I was a bankrupt, I meant only that I was a bankrupt--in faith;\nhaving become in fact, since I saw you last, thoroughly sceptical.\"\n\nThe countenance of Fellowes contracted to its proper dimensions. He\nlooked even cheerful to find that his friend had merely lost his\nfaith, and not his fortune.\n\n\"Is that all?\" said he, \"I am heartily glad to hear it. Sceptic! No,\nno; you must not be a sceptic either, except for a time,\" continued\nhe, musing very sagely. \"It is no bad thing for a while: for it at\nleast leaves the house 'empty, swept and garnished.'\"\n\n\"Rather an unhappy application of your remnant of Biblical knowledge,\"\nsaid Harrington; \"I hope you do not intend to go on with the text.\"\n\n\"No, no, my dear friend; I warrant you we shall find you worthier\nguests than any such fragments of supposed revelation. If you are in\n'search of a religion,' how happy should I be to aid you!\"\n\n\"I shall be infinitely obliged to you,\" said Harrington, gravely;\n\"for at present I do not know that I possess a farthing's worth of\nsolid gold in the world. Ah! that it were but in your power to lend\nme some: but I fear\" (he added half sarcastically) \"that you have\nnot got more than enough for yourself. I assure you that I am far\nfrom happy.\"\n\nHe spoke with so much gravity, that I hardly knew whether to\nattribute it to some intention of dissembling a little with his\nfriend, or to an involuntary expression of the experience of a mind\nthat felt the sorrows of a genuine scepticism. It might be both.\n\nHowever, it brought things to a crisis at once. His college friend\nlooked equally surprised and pleased at his appeal.\n\n\"I trust,\" said he, with becoming solemnity, \"that all this is\nmerely a temporary reaction from having believed too much; the\nlanguor and dejection which attend the morrow after a night's\ndebauch. I assure you that I rejoice rather than grieve to hear\nthat you have curtailed your orthodoxy. It has been just my\nown case, as you know: only I flatter myself, that, perhaps having\nless subtilty than you, I have not passed the 'golden mean' between\nsuperstition and scepticism,--between believing too much and\nbelieving too little.\"\n\nI looked up for a moment. I saw a laugh in Harrington's eyes, but\nnot a feature moved. It passed away immediately.\n\n\"I tell you,\" said he, \"that I believe absolutely no one religious\ndogma whatever; while yet I would give worlds, if I had them, to set\nmy foot upon a rock. I should even be grateful to any one, who, if he\ndid not give me truth, gave me a phantom of it, which I could mistake\nfor reality.\" He again spoke with an earnestness of tone and manner,\nwhich convinced me that, if there were any dissimulation, it cost him\nlittle trouble.\n\n\"If you merely meant,\" said Fellowes, \"that you do not retain any\nvestige of your early 'historical' and 'dogmatical' Christianity, why,\nI retain just as little of it. Indeed, I doubt,\" he continued, with\nperhaps superfluous candor, \"whether I ever was a Christian\"; and he\nseemed rather anxious to show that his creed had been nominal.\n\n\"If it will save you the trouble of proving it.\" said Harrington,\n\"I will liberally grant you both your premises and your conclusion,\nwithout asking you to state the one or prove the other.\"\n\n\"Well, then, Christian or no Christian. there was a time, at all\nevents, when I was orthodox, you will grant that; when I should hate\nbeen willing to sign the Thirty-nine Articles: or three hundred and\nthirty-nine; or the Confession of Faith: or any other compilation, or\nall others; though perhaps, if strictly examined, I might have been\nfound in the condition of the infidel Scotch professor, who, being\nasked on his appointment to his Chair, whether the 'Confession of\nFaith' contained all that he believed, replied, 'Yes, Gentlemen, and\na great deal more.' I have rejected all 'creeds'; and I have now\nfound what the Scripture calls that 'peace which passeth all\nunderstanding.'\"\n\n\"I am sure it passes mine,\" said Harrington, \"if you really have found\nit, and I should be much obliged to you if you would let me participate\nin the discovery.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Fellowes, \"I have been delivered from the intolerable\nburden of all discussions as to dogma, and all examinations of evidence.\nI have escaped from the 'bondage of the letter,' and have been\nIntroduced into the 'liberty of the spirit.'\"\n\n\"Your language, at all events, is richly Scriptural,\" said Harrington;\n\"it is as though you were determined not to leave the 'letter' of the\nScripture, even if you renounce the 'spirit' of it.\"\n\n\"Renounce the spirit of it! say rather, that in fact I have only now\ndiscovered it. Though no Christian in the ordinary sense, I am, I hope,\nsomething better; and a truer Christian in the spirit than thousands of\nthose in the letter.\"\n\n\"Letter and spirit! my friend,\" said Harrington, \"you puzzle me\nexceedingly; you tell me one moment that you do not believe in\nhistorical Christianity at all, either its miracles or dogmas,--these\nare fables; but in the next, why, no old Puritan could garnish\nsuch discourse with a more edifying use of the language of Scripture.\nI suppose you will next tell me that you understand the 'spirit' of\nChristianity better even than Paul.\"\n\n\"So I do,\" said our visitor complacently, \"'Paulo majora canamus';\nfor after all he was but half delivered from his Jewish prejudices;\nand when he quitted nonsense of the Old Testament,--though in fact he\nnever did thoroughly,--he evidently believed the fables of the New\njust as much as the pure truths which lie at the basis of 'spiritual'\nChristianity. We separate the dross of Christianity from its fine gold.\n'The letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life,'--'the fruit of the\nspirit is joy, peace,' not---\"\n\n\"Upon my word,\" said Harrington, laughing, \"I shall begin to fancy\npresently that Douce Davie Deans has turned infidel, and shall expect\nto hear of 'right-hand failings off and left-hand defections.' But\ntell me, if you would have me think you rational, is not your meaning\nthis:--that the New Testament contains, amidst an infinity of rubbish,\nthe statement of certain 'spiritual' truths which, and which alone,\nyou recognize.\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"But you do not acknowledge that these are derived from the New\nTestament.\"\n\n\"Heaven forbid; they are indigenous to the heart of man, and are\nanterior to all Testaments, old or new.\"\n\n\"Very well; then speak of them as your heart dictates, and do not,\nunless you would have the world think you a hypocrite, willing to\ncajole it with the idea that you are a believer in the New\nTestament, while you in fact reject it, or one of the most barren\nuninventive of all human beings, or fanatically fond of mystical\nlanguage,--do not, I say, affect this very unctuous way of talking.\nAnd, for another reason, do not. I beseech you, adopt the phraseology\nof men who, according to your view, must surely have been either the\nmost miserable fanatics or the most abominable impostors; for if they\nbelieved all that system of miracle and doctrine they professed, and\nthis were not true, they were certainly the first; and if they did\nnot believe it. They were as certainly the second.\"\n\n\"Pardon me; I believe them to have been eminently holy men,--full of\nspiritual wisdom and of a truly sublime faith, though conjoined with\nmuch ignorance and credulity, which it is unworthy of us to tolerate.\"\n\n\"Whether it could be ignorance and credulity on your theory,\" retorted\nHarrington, \"is to my mind very doubtful. Whether any men can untruly\naffirm that they saw and did the things the Apostles say they saw and\ndid, and yet be sincere fanatics, I know not; but even were it so,\nsince it shows (as do also the mystical doctrines you reject as false)\nthat they could be little less than out of their senses; and as you\nfurther say that the spiritual sentiments you retain in common with\nthem were no gift of theirs, but are yours and all mankind's, by\noriginal inheritance, uttered by the oracle of the human heart before\nany Testaments were written,--why, speak your thoughts in your\nown language.\"\n\n\"Ay, but how do we know that these original Christians said that\nthey had seen and done the things you refer to? which of course they\nnever did see and do, because they were miraculous. How do we know\nwhat additions and corruptions as to fact, and what disguises of\nmystical doctrine, 'the idealizing biographers and historians' (as\nStrauss truly calls them) may have accumulated upon their\nsimple utterances?\"\n\n\"And how do you know, then, whether they ever uttered these simple\n'utterances'? or whether they are not part of the corruptions? or\nhow can you separate the one from the other? or how can you ascertain\nthese men meant what you mean, when you thus vilely copy their\nlanguage?\"\n\n\"Because I know these truths independently of Bible, to be sure.\"\n\n\"Then speak of them independently of the Bible. If you profess to\nhave broken the stereotype-plates of the 'old revelation' and\ndelivered mankind from their bondage, do not proceed to express\nyourself only in fragments from them; if you profess freedom of\nsoul, and the possession of the pure truth, do not appear to be so\npoverty-stricken as to array your thoughts in the tatters of\nthe cast-off Bible.\"\n\n\"Ay, but the 'saints' of the Bible,\" replied Fellows, \"are, even\nby Mr. Frank Newman's own confession, those who have entered, after\nall, most profoundly the truths of spiritual religion, and stand\nalmost alone in the history of the world in that respect.\"\n\n\"If it be so, it is certainly very odd, considering the mountain-loads\nof folly, error, fable, fiction, from which their spiritual religion\ndid not in your esteem defend them, and which you say you are\nobliged to reject. It is a phenomenon of which, I think, you are\nbound to give some account.\"\n\n\"But what is there so wonderful in supposing them in possession of\nsuperior 'spiritual' advantages, with mistaken history and fallacious\nlogic, and so forth?\"\n\n\"Why\" answered Harrington, \"one wonder is, that they alone, and\namidst such gross errors, should possess these spiritual advantages.\nBut it also appears to me that your notions of the 'spiritual' are\nnot the same theirs, for you reject the New Testament dogmas as well\nas its history; if so, it is another reason for not misleading us by\nusing language in deceptive senses. But, at all events, I cannot help\npitying your poverty of thought, or poverty of expression,--one or\nboth; and I beg you, for my sake, if not for your own, to express your\nthoughts as much as possible in your own terms, and avail yourself\nless liberally of those of David and Paul, whose language ordinary\nChristians will always associate with another meaning, and can never\nbelieve you sincere in supposing that it rightfully expresses the\ndoctrines of your most; spiritual' infidelity. They will certainly\nhear your Scriptural and devout language with the same feelings\nwith which they would nauseate that most oppressive of all odors,\n--the faint scent of lavender in the chamber of death. My good uncle\nhere, who cannot be prevailed upon to reject the Bible will not, I\nam sure, hear you, without supposing that you resemble those\nRationalists of whom Menzel says, 'These gentlemen smilingly taught\ntheir theological pupils that unbelief was the true apostolic,\nprimitive Christian belief; they put all their insipidities into\nChrist's month, and made him, by means of their exegetical jugglery,\nsometimes a Kantian, sometimes a Hegelian, sometimes one ian and\nsometimes another, 'wie es dem Herrn Professor beliebt': neither\nwill he be able to imagine that you are not resorting to this\nartifice for the same purpose. 'The Bible,' says Menzel, 'and\ntheir Reason being incompatible, why do they not let them remain\nseparate? Why insist on harmonizing things which do not, and\nnever can harmonize? It is because they are aware that the Bible\nhas authority with the people; otherwise they would never trouble\nthemselves about so troublesome a book.' I cannot suspect you of\nsuch hypocrisy; but I must confess I regard your language as cant.\nAs I listen to you I seem to see a hybrid between Prynne and\nVoltaire. So far from its being true that you have renounced\nthe 'letter' of the Bible and retained its 'spirit,' I think it\nwould be much more correct to say, comparing your infidel\nhypothesis with your most spiritual dialect, that you have renounced\nthe 'spirit' of the Bible and retained its 'letter.'\"\n\n\"But are you in a condition to give an opinion?\" said Fellowes, with\na serious air. \"Mr. Newman says in a like case, 'The natural man\ndiscerneth not things of the spirit of God, because they are\nfoolishness unto him'; it is the 'spiritual man only who search\nthe deep things of God.' At the same time I freely acknowledge that\nI never could see my way clear to employ an argument which looks\nso arrogant; and the less, as I believe, with Mr. Parker, that\nthe only revelation is in all men alike. Yet, on the other hand,\nI cannot doubt my own consciousness.\"\n\n\"Why, no man doubts his own consciousness,\" said Harrington, laughing.\n\"The question is, What is its value? What is the criterion of universal\n'spiritual truth,' if there be any? Those words in Paul's mouth were\nwell, and had a meaning. In yours, I suspect they would have none,\nor a very different one. He dreamt that he was giving to mankind\n(vainly, as seems) a system of doctrines and truths which were,\nmany of them, transcendental to the human intellect and conscience,\nand which when revealed were very distasteful (and not least to\nyou); but the assertion of a spiritual monopoly would assuredly\nsound rather odd in one who professes, if I understand you, that\nhas given to man (for it is no discovery of any individual) an\ninternal and universal revelation! But of your possible limitations\nof your universal spiritual revelation,--which all men 'naturally'\npossess, but which the 'natural man' receiveth not,--we will talk\nafter. Sceptic as I am, I am not a sceptic who is reconciled to\nscepticism. Meantime, you reject the Bible in toto, as an external\nrevelation of God, if I understand you.\"\n\n\"In toto; and I believe that it has received in this age its\ndeath-blow.\"\n\n\"Ay, that is what the infidel has been always promising us; meantime,\nthey somehow perish, and it laughs at them. You remember, perhaps,\nthe words of old Woolston, so many fragments of whose criticism,\nas those of many others, have been incorporated by Strauss. He had,\nas he elegantly expresses it, 'cut out such a piece of work for the\nBoylean lectures as should hold them tug as long as the ministry of\nthe letter should last'; for he too, you see, masked his infidelity\nby a distinction between the 'letter' and the 'spirit,' though he\napplied the convenient terms in a totally different sense. Poor soul!\nThe fundamental principles of his infidelity are surrendered by\nStrauss himself. Similarly, a score of assailants of the Bible have\nappeared and vanished since his day; each proclaiming, just as he\nhimself went to the bottom, that he had given the Bible its death-blow!\nSomehow, however, that singular book continues to flourish, to\nPropagate itself, to speak all languages, to intermingle more and\nmore with the literature of all civilized nations; while mankind\nwill not accept, slaves as they are, the intellectual freedom you\noffer them. It is really very provoking; of what use is it to destroy\nthe Bible so often, when it lives the next minute? I have little doubt\nyour new attempts will end just like the labors of the Rationalists\nof the Paulus school, so graphically described by the German writer\nwhom I have already referred to. 'It is sad, no doubt,' says he, or\nsomething to the same effect, 'that, after fifty years' exegetical\ngrubbing, weeding, and pruning at 'the mighty primitive forest of\nthe Bible, the next generation should persist in saying that the\nRationalist had destroyed the forest only in his own addled\nimagination, and that it is just as it was.'\"\n\n\"Yes; but the new weapons will not be so easily evaded as those\nof a past age.\"\n\n\"Will they not? We shall see. You must not prophesy; in that,\nyou know, you do not believe.\"\n\n\"No; but nevertheless we shall see so-called sacred dogma and\nhistory exploded, for Mr. Newman--\"\n\n\"Thinks so, of course; and he must be right, because he has never\nbeen known to be wrong in any of his judgments, or even to vary\nin them. But we have had enough, I think, of these subjects this\nevening, and it is too bad to give you only a controversial welcome.\nI want to have some conversation with you about very different\nthings, and more pleasant just now. We shall have plenty of\nopportunity to discuss theological points.\"\n\nTo this Fellowes assented: they resumed general conversation, and\nI finished my letters.\n\n----\n\nJuly 3. We were all sitting, as on the previous day, in the library.\n\n\"Book-faith!\" I heard Harrington say, laughing; \"why, as to that I must\nneeds acknowledge that the whole school of Deism, 'rational' or\n'spiritual,' have the least reason in the world to indulge in\nsneers at book-faith; for, upon my word, their faith has consisted\nin little else. Their systems are parchment religions, my friend,\nall of them;--books, books, for ever, from Lord Herbert's time\ndownwards, are all they have yet given to the world. They have ever\nbeen boastful and loud-tongued, but have done nothing; there are no\ngreat social efforts, no organizations, no practical projects,\nwhether successful or futile, to which they can point. The old\n'book-faiths' which you venture to ridicule have been something at\nall events; and, in truth, I can find no other 'faith' than what is\nsomehow or other attached to a 'book,' which has been any thing\ninfluential. The Vedas, the Koran, the Old Testament Scriptures,--\nthose of the New,--over how many millions have these all reigned!\nWhether their supremacy be right or wrong, their doctrine true\nor false, is another question; but your faith, which has been\nbook-faith and lip-service par excellence, has done nothing that I\ncan discover. One after another of your infidel Reformers passes\naway, and leaves no trace behind, except a quantity of crumbling\n'book-faith.' You have always been just on the eve of extinguishing\nsupernatural fables, dogmas, and superstitions,--and then\nregenerating the world! Alas! the meanest superstition that crawls\nlaughs at you; and, false as it may be, is still stronger than you.\"\n\n\"And your sect,\" retorted Fellowes, rather warmly, \"if you come to\nthat, is it not the smallest of all? Is that likely to find favor\nin the eyes of mankind?\"\n\n\"Why, no,\" said Harrington, with provoking coolness; \"but then it\nmakes no pretensions to any thing of the kind. It were strange if it\ndid; for as the sceptic doubts if any truth can be certainly attained\nby man on those subjects on which the 'rational' or the 'spiritual'\ndeist dogmatizes, it of course professes to be incapable of\nconstructing any thing.\"\n\n\"And does construct nothing,\" retorted Fellowes.\n\n\"Very true,\" said Harrington, \"and therein keeps its word; which is\nmore, I fear, than can be said with your more ambitious spiritualists,\nwho profess to construct, and do not.\"\n\n\"But you must give the school of spiritualism time: it is only just\nborn. You seem to me to be confounding the school of the old, dry,\nlogical deism with the young, fresh, vigorous, earnest school' which\nappeals to 'insight' and 'intuition.'\"\n\n\"No,\" said Harrington, \"I think I do not confound. The first and\nthe best of our English deists derived his system as immediately\nfrom intuitions as Mr. Parker or you. You know how it sped--or, if\nyou do not, you may easily discover--with his successors: they\ncontinually disputed about it, curtailed it, added to it, altered\nit, agreed in nothing but the author's rejection of Christianity,\nand forgot more and more the decency of his style. So will it be with\nyour Mr. Newman and his successors. They will acquiesce in his\nrejection Christianity; depend upon it, in nothing more. He may get\nhis admirers to abandon the Bible, but they will have naught to do\nwith the 'loves, and joys, and sorrows, and raptures, which he\ndescribes in the 'Soul'; they would just as soon read the\n'Canticles.'\"\n\n\"I really cannot admit,\" said Fellowes, \"that we modern spiritualists\nare to be confounded with Lord Herbert.\"\n\n\"Not confounded with him, certainly,\" replied Harrington, \"but\nidentified with him you may be; except to be sure, that he was convinced\nof the immortality of man as one of the few articles of all religion;\nwhile many of you deny, or doubt it. The doctrines--\"\n\n\"Call them sentiments, rather; I like that term better.\"\n\n\"O, certainly, if you prefer it; only be pleased to observe that a\nsentiment felt is a fact, and a fact is a truth, and a truth may\nsurely be expressed in a proposition. That is all I am anxious about\nat present. If so far, at least, we may not patch up the divorce\nwhich Mr. Newman has pronounced between the 'intellect and the 'soul,'\nit is of no use for us to talk about the matter. I say that Lord\nHerbert's articles--\"\n\n\"There again, 'articles,'\" said Fellowes; \"I hate the word; I could\nalmost imagine that you were going to recite the formidable Thirty-nine.\"\n\n\"Rather, from your outcry, one would suppose I was about to inflict\nthe forty save one: but do not be alarmed. The articles neither of\nLord Herbert's creed nor of your own, I suspect, are thirty-nine, or\nany thing like it. The catalogue will be soon exhausted.\"\n\n\"Here again, 'creed': I detest the word. We have no creed. Your very\nlanguage chills me. It reminds me of the dry orthodoxy of the 'letter,'\n'logical processes,' 'intellectual propositions,' and so forth. Speak\nof 'spiritual truths' and 'sentiments,' which are the product of\nimmediate 'insight,' of 'an insight into God,' a 'spontaneous impression\non the gazing soul,' to adopt Mr. Newman's beautiful expressions, and I\nshall understand you.\"\n\n\"I am afraid I shall hardly understand myself then,\" cried Harrington.\n\"But let us not be scared by mere words, nor go into hysterics at the\nsound of 'logic' and 'creed,' lest 'sentimental spirituality' be found,\nlike some other 'sentimental' things, a bundle of senseless affectations.\"\n\n\"But you forget that there is all the difference in the world between\nHerbert and his deistical successors. They connected religion with the\n'intellectual and sensational,' and we with the 'instinctive and\nemotional' sides of human nature.\"\n\n\"If you think,\" said the other, \"(the substance of your religious\nsystem being, as I believe, precisely the same as that of Lord Herbert\nand the better deists,) that you can make it more effective than it\nhas been in the past, by conjuring with the words 'sensational and\nintellectual,' 'instinctive and emotional,' or that the mixture of\nchalk and water will be more potent with one label than with the other,\nI fancy you will find yourself deceived. The distinctions you refer\nto have to do with the theory of the subject, and will make din enough,\nno doubt, among such as Mr. Newman and yourself; but mankind at large\nwill be unable even to enter into the meaning of your refinements.\nThey will say briefly and bluntly, 'What are the truths, whether, as\nLord Herbert says, they are \"innate,\" or, as you say, \"spiritual\nintuitions,\" (we care nothing for the phraseology of either or both\nof you,) which are to be admitted by universal humanity, and to be\ninfluential over the heart and conscience?' Now, I suspect that, when\nyou come to the enumeration of these truths, your system and that\nof Lord Herbert will be found the same; only as regards the\nimmortality of the soul his tone is firmer than perhaps I shall find\nyours. But I admit the policy of a change of name: 'Rationalist' and\n'Deist' have a bad sound; 'Spiritualist' is a better nom de guerre\nfor the present.\"\n\n\"We shall never understand one another,\" said Fellowes: \"the\nspiritual man--\"\n\n\"Pshaw!\" said Harrington; \"you can immediately bring the matter to\nthe test by telling me what you maintain, and then I shall know\nwhether your system is or is not identical with Lord Herbert's;\nor rather tell me what you do not believe, and let us come to it that\nway. Do you believe a single shred of any of the supernatural\nnarratives of the Old and New Testament?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Fellowes; \"a thousand times no.\"\n\n\"Very well, that gets rid of at least four sevenths of the Bible. Do\nyou believe in the Trinity, the Atonement, the Resurrection of Christ,\nin a general Resurrection, in the Day of Judgment?\"\n\n\"No, not in one of them,\" said Fellowes; \"not in a particle of one\nof them.\"\n\n\"Pretty well again. You reject, then, the characteristic doctrines\nof Christianity?\"\n\n\"Not one of them,\" was the answer.\n\n\"We are indeed in danger of misunderstanding one another,\" said\nHarrington. \"But tell me, is it not your boast, as of Mr. Parker,\nthat the truths which are essential to religion are not peculiar to\nChristianity, but are involved in all religions?\"\n\n\"Assuredly.\"\n\n\"If I were to ask you what were the essential attributes of a man,\nwould you assign those which he had in common with a pig?\"\n\n\"Certainly not.\"\n\n\"But if I asked you what were those of an animal, I presume you would\ngive those which both species possessed, and none that either\npossessed exclusively.\"\n\n\"I should.\"\n\n\"Need I add, then, that you are deceiving yourself when you say that\nyou believe all the characteristic doctrines of Christianity, since you\nsay that you believe only those which it has in common with every\nreligion? If I were to ask you what doctrines are essential to\nconstitute any religion, then you would do well to enumerate those\nwhich belong to Christianity and every other. But when we talk of the\ndoctrines peculiar to Christianity, we mean those which discriminate it\nfrom every other, and not those which are common to it with them.\"\n\n\"But however,\" said Fellowes, \"none of the doctrines you have enumerated\nare a part of Christianity, but are mere additions of imposture or\nfanaticism.\"\n\n\"Then what are the doctrines which, though common to every other\nreligion, are characteristic of it? What is left that is essential or\npeculiar to Christianity, when you have denuded it of all that you\nreject? Is it not then assimilated, by your own confession, to every\nother religion? How shall we discriminate them?\"\n\n\"By this, perhaps,\" said Fellowes, \"(for I acknowledge some difficulty\nhere,) that Christianity contains these truths of absolute religion\nalone and pure. As Mr. Parker says, This is the glory of genuine\nChristianity.\"\n\n\"Do you not see that this is the very question,--you yourself being\nobliged to reject nine tenths of the statements in the only records in\nwhich we know anything about it? Might not an ancient priest of Jupiter\nsay the same of his religion, by first divesting it of all but that\nwhich you say it had in common with every other? However, let us now\nlook at the positive side. What is the residuum which you condescend\nto leave to your genuine Christianity?\"\n\n\"Christianity,\" said Fellowes, rather pompously, \"is not so much a\nsystem as a discipline,--not a creed, but a life: in short, a divine\nphilosophy.\"\n\n\"All which I have heard from all sorts of Christianity a thousand\ntimes,\" cried Harrington; \"and it is delightfully vague; it may mean\nany thing or nothing. But the truths, the truths, what are they, my\nfriend? I see I must get them from you by fragments. Your faith includes,\nI presume, a belief in one Supreme God, who is a Divine Personality;\nin the duty of reverencing, loving, and obeying him,--whether you know\nhow that is to be done or not; that we must repent of our sins,--if\nindeed we duly know what things are sins in his sight; that he will\ncertainly forgive to any extent on such repentance, without any\nmediation; that perhaps there is a heaven hereafter; but that it is\nvery doubtful if there are any punishments.\"\n\n\"I do believe,\" said Fellowes, \"these are the cardinal doctrines of\nthe 'Absolute Religion,' as Mr. Parker calls it. Nor can I conceive\nthat any others are necessary.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Harrington, \"with the exception of the immortality of the\nsoul, on which Lord Herbert has the advantage of speaking a little more\nfirmly, the Deists and such 'spiritualists' as you are assuredly\nidentical. I have simply abridged his articles. The same project as\nyours spiritualism' or 'naturalism,' in all its essential features,\nhas been often tried before, and found wanting; that is, of guaranteeing\nto man a sufficient and infallible internal oracle, independent of all\naid from external revelation, and of proving that he has, in effect,\npossessed and enjoyed it always; only that, by a slight inadvertence\n(I suppose), he did not know it. The theory, indeed, is rather\nsuspiciously confined to those who have previously had the Bible. No\nsuch plenary confidence is found in the ancient heathen philosophers,\nwho, in many not obscure places, acknowledge that the path of mortal\nman, by his internal light, is a little dim. Many, therefore, say,\nthat the  'Naturalists' and 'Spiritualists' are but plagiarists from\nthe Bible, and of course, like other plagiarists, depreciate the\nsources from which they have stolen their treasures. I think unjustly;\nfor, whatever their obligations to that mutilated volume, I acknowledge\nthey have transformed Christianity quite sufficiently to entitle\nthemselves to the praise of originality; and if the Battle of the\nBooks were to be fought over again, I doubt whether Moses or Paul\nwould think it worth while to make any other answer than that of Plato\nin that witty piece, to the Grub Street author, who boasted that he had\nnot been in the slighest deuce indebted to the classics: Plato declared\nthat, upon his honor, he believed him! Whether the successors of the\nHerberts and Tindals of a former day are not plagiarists from them,\nis another question, and depends entirely upon whether the writings\nof their predecessors are sufficiently known to them. Probably, the\nhopeless oblivion which, for the most part, covers them (for the\nperverse world has been again and again assured of its infallible\ninternal light, and has persisted in denying that it has it) will\nprotect our modern authors from the imputation of plagiarism; but\nthat the systems in question are essentially identical can hardly\nadmit of doubt. The principal difference is as to the organon by which\nthe revelation affirmed to be internal and universal is apprehended;\nit affects the metaphysics of the question, and, like all metaphysics,\nis characteristically dark. But about this you will not get the mass\nof mankind to, any more than you can get yourselves to agree; no,\nnor will you agree even about the system itself. Nay, you modern\nspiritualists, just as the elder deists, are already quarrelling about\nit. In short, the universal light in man's soul flickers and wavers\nmost abominably.\"\n\n\"I see,\" said Fellowes, \"you are profoundly prejudiced against the\nspiritualists.\"\n\n\"I believe not,\" said Harrington; \"the worst I wish them is that they\nmay be honest men, and appear what they really are.\"\n\n\"I suppose next,\" exclaimed the other, \"you will attribute to the modern\nspiritualists the scurrility of the elder deists,--of Woolston, Tindal,\nand Collins?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Harrington, \"I answer no; nor do I (remember) compare Lord\nHerbert in these respects with his successors. He was an amiable\nenthusiast; in many respects resembling Mr. Newman himself. Do you\nremember, by the way, how that most reasonable rejecter of all 'external'\nrevelation prayed that he might be directed by Heaven whether he should\npublish or not publish his 'book'? about which, if Heaven was very\nsolicitous, this world has since been very indifferent. Having distinctly\nheard 'a sound as of thunder,' on a very 'calm and serene day,' he\nimmediately received it as a preternatural answer to prayer, and an\nindubitable sign of Heaven's concurrence'.\"\n\n\"No such taint of superstition, however, will be found clinging to\nMr. Newman. He has most thoroughly abjured all notion of an external\nrevelation; nay, he denies the possibility of a 'book-revelation of\nspiritual and moral truth'; and I am confident that his dilemma on that\npoint is unassailable.\"\n\n\"Be it so,\" answered Harrington; \"you will readily suppose I am not\ninclined to contest that point very vigorously; yet I confess that, as\nusual, my inveterate scepticism leaves me in some doubts. Will you assist\nme in resolving them?--but not to-night; let us have a little more talk\nabout old college days,--or what say you to a game at chess?\"\n____\n\nJuly 4. I thought this day would have passed off entirely without\npolemics; but I was mistaken. In the evening Harrington, after a very\ncheerful morning, relapsed into one of his pensive moods. Conversation\nflagged; at last I heard Fellowes say, \"I have this advantage of you,\nmy friend, that my sentiments have, at all events, produced that peace\nof which you are in quest, and which your countenance at times too\nplainly declares you not to possess. If you had it, you would not take\nso gloomy a view of things. Like him from whom I have derived some of\nmy sentiments, I have found that they tend to make me a happier man.\nThe Christian, like yourself, looks upon every thing with a jaundiced or\ndistorted eye, and is apt to underrate the claims and pleasures of\nthis present scene of our existence. I can truly say that I now enter\ninto them much more keenly than I could when I was an orthodox\nChristian. I can say with Mr. Newman, I now, with deliberate approval,\n'love the world and the things of the world.' The New Testament, as\nMr. Newman says, bids us watch perpetually, not knowing whether the\nLord will return at cock-crowing or midday; 'that the only thing\nworth spending one's energies on, is the forwarding of men's salvation.'\nNow I must say with him, that, while I believed this, I acted an\neccentric and unprofitable part.\"\n\n\"Only then?\" said Harrington. \"You were fortunate.\"\n\n\"He says, that to teach the certain speedy destruction of earthly things,\nas the New Testament does, is to cut the sinews of all earthly progress;\nto declare against intellect and imagination, against industrial and\nsocial advancement.\"\n\nMy gravity was hardly equal to the task of listening to the first\npart of Mr. Fellowes's speech. To hear that the common and just\nreproach against all mankind, but especially against all Christians,\nof taking too keen an interest in the present, was in a large measure\nat least founded upon a mistake; to find, in fact, that there was some\ndanger of an excessive exaggeration of the claims of the future,\nwhich required a corrective; that the Christian world, owing to the\nabove pernicious doctrine, might possibly evince too faint a relish\nfor the pleasures or too diminished an estimate for the advantages of\nthe present life; that, their \"treasure being in heaven,\" it was not\nimpossible but \"their heart\" might be too much there also,--there,\nperhaps, when it was imperatively demanded in the counting-house, on\nthe hustings, at the mart or the theatre; all this, being, as I say,\nso notoriously contrary to ordinary opinion and experience, seemed to\nme so exquisitely ludicrous that I could hardly help bursting into\nlaughter, especially as I imagined one of our new \"spiritual\" doctors\nascending the pulpit under the new dispensation, to indulge in\nexhortations to a keener chase, of this world, and \"the things of\nthis world.\" I found afterwards similar thoughts were passing through\nHarrington's mind, rendered more whimsical by the recollection that,\nduring college life, his friend (though very far from vicious)\nhad certainly never seemed to take any deficient interest in the\naffairs of this world, nor to exhibit any predilection for an\nascetic life. Indeed, he acknowledged that, after all, he could not\nsympathize with Mr. Newman's extreme sensitiveness in relation to\nthis matter. (See Phases, p. 205.)\n\nHarrington answered, with proper gravity, \"I am glad to find that\nany undue austerity of character--of which, however, I assure you,\nupon my honor, I never suspected you--has received so invaluable a\ncorrective. Still, it is obvious to remark, that, if the chief effect\nof this new style of religion is to abate any excessive antipathy\nwhich the New Testament has fostered, or was likely to foster, to\nthe attractions of this life, it has, I conceive, an easy task. I\nnever remarked in Christians any superfluous contempt of the present\nworld or its pleasures; any indication of an extravagant admiration\nof any sublimer objects of pursuit. In truth, the tendencies of\nhuman nature, as it appears to me, are so strong the other way, that\nthe strongest language of a hundred New Testaments would be little\nheeded. Your corrective is something like that of a moralist who\nshould seriously prove that man was to take care that his appetites\nand passions are duly indulged, of which ethical writers have, alas!\ncondescended to say but little, supposing that every body would feel\nthat there was no need of solemn counsels on such a subject. It\nreminds one of the Christmas sermon mentioned in the 'Sketch Book,'\npreached by the good little antiquarian who elaborately proved, and\npathetically enforced on reluctant auditors, the duty of a proper\ndevotion to the festivities of the season. However, every one must\nlike the complexion of your theology, though its counsels on this\nsubject do not seem to me of urgent necessity.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" said Fellowes, \"I ought rather to have said that\nChristians inculcate, theoretically, a contempt of the present life,\nwhile, practically, they enter as keenly into its pleasures as the\n'worldling,'\"--uttering the last word with an approach to a sneer.\n\n\"You may be sure,\" said Harrington, \"I shall leave the Christian to\ndefend himself; but if the case be as you now represent it, your new\nreligious system seems to be superfluous as a corrective of any\ntendencies to Christian asceticism, and can do nothing for us. It\nappears that your Reformation was begun and ended before your\n'spiritual' Luthers appeared.\"\n\n\"Not so,\" said Fellowes, \"for the eagerness with which the Christian\npursues the world, while he condemns it, is, as Mr. Greg has\nrecently insisted, gigantic hypocrisy': it is founded on a lie. They\nsay this world is not to be the great object for which we are to\nlive and in which we are to find our happiness; we say it is: they\nsay it is not our 'country' or our 'home'; we say it is: they say\nthat we are to live supremely for the future, and in it; we say,\nfor and in the present; that if there be a future world (of which\nmany doubt, and I, for one, have not been able to make up my mind),\nwe are to hope to be happy there, but that the main business is to\nsecure our happiness here,--to embellish, adorn, and enjoy this our\nonly certain dwelling-place,--and, in fact, to live supremely for\nthe present. Such is the constitution of human nature.\"\n\n\"I shall not be at the trouble,\" replied Harrington, \"to defend the\ninconsistencies of the Christian; but your system, I fear, is\nessentially a brutal theology, and, I am certain, a false philosophy.\nAll the analogies of our nature cry out against it. All, even with\nregard to the 'present,' as you call this life, man is perpetually\nliving for and in the future. This 'present' (minute as it is) is\nitself broken up into many futures, and it is these which man truly\nlives for, when he is not a beast; and not for the passing hour. It\nis not to-day, it is always to-morrow, on which his eye is fixed; and\nhis ever-repining nature perpetually confesses its impatient want of\nsomething (it knows not what) to come. The child lives for his youth,\nand the youth is discontented till he is a man; every attainment and\nevery possession pails as soon as it is reached, and we still sigh for\nsomething that we have not. It is simply in analogy with all this that\nthe Christian and every other religion says (absurdly, if you will,\nbut certainly with a deeper knowledge of human nature than you), that,\nas every little present has its little future for which we live, so\nthe whole present of this life has its great future, which must, all\nthe way through, be made the supreme object of forethought and\nsolicitude; just as we should despise any man who, for a moment's\ngratification to-day, perilled the happiness of the whole of to-morrow.\nIf Christians are inconsistent in this respect, that is their affair;\nbut I am sure their theory is more in accordance with the constitution\nof human nature than yours.\" He might have added, that there is nothing\nin the New Testament which forbids to Christians any of the innocent\npleasures of this life: the Christian may lawfully appropriate them.\nHis system does not constrain him to hermit-like austerity or Puritanic\ngrimace. He may enjoy them, just as a wise man, who will not sacrifice\nany of the interests of next year for a transient gratification of\nthe passing hour, does not deny himself any legitimate pleasure which\nis not inconsistent with the more momentous interest. The pilgrim drinks\nand rests at the fountain though he does not dream of setting up his\ntent there.\n\n\"Nay,\" said Fellowes, \"but think again of the 'gigantic lie' of making\nthe future world the supreme object, and yet living wholly for this.\"\n\n\"If that be the case,\" said I, joining in their talk, \"there is no\ndoubt a 'gigantic lie' somewhere; but the question is, Who tells it?\nIt does not follow that it is Christianity. You may see every day men\nnay, losing, some important advantages by loitering away the very\nhour which is to secure them,--in reading a novel, enjoying a social\nhour, lying in bed, and what not. You do not conclude that the man's\nestimate of the future--his philosophy of that--is any the more\nquestionable for this folly? The ruthless future comes and makes\nhis heart ache; and so may it be with Christianity for aught any\nsuch considerations imply. Your argument only proves that, if\nChristianity be true, man is an inconsistent fool; and, in my\njudgment, that was proved long before Christianity was born or\nthought of.\"\n\n\"Your theology,\" cried Harrington, \"fairly carried out, would lead\nmost men to the 'Epicurean sty' which, sceptic as I am, I loathe\nthe thought of; it deserves the rebuke which Johnson gave the man\nwho pleaded for a 'natural and savage condition,' as he called it.\n'Sir,' said the Doctor, 'it is a brutal doctrine; a bull might as\nwell say, I have this grass and this cow,--and what can a creature\nwant more?' No, I am sure that the Christian or any other\nreligionist--inconsistent though he is--appeals in this point\ndeeper analogies of our nature than you.\"\n\n\"But the fact is,\" said Fellowes, \"that the Christian depreciates\nthe innocent pleasures of this life.\"\n\nAnd my uncle would say it is his own fault then.\"\n\n\"Nay, but hear me. I conceive that nothing could be more natural,\nas several of our writers have remarked, than the injunctions of\nthe Apostles to the primitive Christians to despise the world, and\nso forth, under the impression of that great mistake they had\nfallen into, that the world was about to tumble to pieces, and----\"\n\n\"I am not sure,\" said Harrington, who seemed resolved to evince a\nscepticism provoking enough, \"that they did make the mistake, on\nyour principles. For I know not, nor you either, whether the\nexpressions on which you found the supposition be not amongst\nthe voluminous additions with which you are pleased to suppose\ntheir simple and genuine 'utterances' have been corrupted. But,\nleaving you to discuss that point, if you like, with my uncle here,\nI must deny that the mistake, supposing it one, makes any thing\nin relation to our present discussion. You say that the Apostles\ndid well and naturally to inculcate a light grasp on the world,\non the supposition that it was about to pass away; and therefore,\nI suppose, you (under a similar impression) would do the same; if\nso, ought you not still to do it? for can it make any conceivable\ndifference to the wisdom or the folly of such exhortations, whether\nthe world passes away from us, or we pass away from the world?--\nwhether it 'tumbles to pieces,' as you express it, or (which is too\ncertain) we tumble to pieces? I think, therefore, your same\ncomfortable theology cannot be justified, if you justify the conduct\nof the Apostles under their impression, let it be ever so erroneous.\nYou ought to feel the same sentiments; you being, to all practical\npurposes, under a precisely similar impression.\"\n\nFellowes looked as if he were a little vexed at having thus\nhypothetically justified the conduct of the Apostles.\n\nBut he was not without his answer, adopted from Mr. Newman.\n\"Yes,\" said he, \"practically, no doubt, death is the end of the\nworld to us; but to urge this,--what is it, as Mr. Newman says,\nbut abominable selfishness preached as religion'? If we are to\nlabor for posterity, will not our work remain, though we die?\nBut if the world is to perish in fifty years, or a century,\nwhat then?\"\n\n\"Far be it from me,\" said Harrington, \"to compete with your\nspiritual philanthropy, which, doubtless, will not be content\nto work unless under a lease of a million of years. I suppose\neven if you thought the would come to an end in a hundred years,\n(and really I have no proof that the Apostles thought it would\nend sooner,--they spoke of their death as coming first,) you\nwould not think it worth while to do any thing; the welfare of\nyour children and grandchildren would appear far too paltry for\nso ambitious a benevolence as yours! Most people--Christians,\nsceptics, or otherwise--are contented to aim at the welfare of\nhis generation and the next, and think as little of their\ngreat-great-grandchildren as of their great-great-grandfathers.\nThat little vista terminates the projects of their philanthropy,\njust as their own death is to them the end of the world. Meantime,\nit appears, you would be tempted to neglect the practical little\nyou could do, because you could not do more than for a century or\nso! Pray, which is really the more benevolent? Moreover, as not\none man in a million can or does think of benefiting any but his\nimmediate generation, you ought, upon your principles, still to\nsit down inactive; for they for whom alone you can work will soon\npass away too. But the whole argument is too refined. No mortal--\nexcept you or Mr. Newman--would be wrought upon by it.\"\n\n\"Well, but,\" said Fellowes, \"as to the mistake of the Apostles,\nthere can be no doubt of that; it really appears to me grossly\ndisingenuous\"--looking towards me--\"to deny it. What do you say,\nMr. B.?\" repeating his assertion that the Apostles clearly thought\nthat the end of the world was close at hand,--in fact, that it\nwould happen in their generation.\n\nI told him I was afraid I must run the risk of appearing in his\neyes \"grossly disingenuous\"; not that I deemed it necessary to\nmaintain that the Apostles had any idea of the period of time which\nwas to intervene between the first promulgation of the Gospel and\nthe consummation of all things; for when I found our Lord himself\nacknowledging, \"Of that day and that hour knoweth no man, not even\nthe angels, nor even the Son, but the Father only,\" I could not\nwonder that the Apostles were left to mere conjectures on a subject\nwhich was then veiled even from his humanity. I said I even thought\nit probable that their vivid feeling anticipated the day,--that the\ninterval between, so to speak, was \"foreshortened\" to them; but that\nI could not see how the question of their inspiration, or the\ntruth of Christianity, was at all involved in their ignorance on\nthat point; unless, indeed, it could be proved that they had\npositively stated that the predicted event would take place in their\nown time. This, I acknowledged, I could not find,--but much to the\ncontrary; that the charge, indeed, had been so often repeated by\nthe infidel school, that they had persuaded themselves of it, and\nspoke of it as if it were a decided point; but that as long as the\nsecond Epistle of St. Paul to the Thessalonians remained, in which\nthe Apostle expressly corrected misapprehensions similar to those\nwhich infidelity still professes to found on the first Epistle, I\nshould continue to doubt whether Paul did not know his own mind\nbetter than his modern commentators. I told him that we do not\nhear that the Thessalonians persisted in believing that they had\nrightly interpreted Paul's words after he had himself disowned the\nmeaning they had put upon them; that this was a degree of assurance\nonly possible to modern critics; and that I was surprised that\nMr. Newman should have quietly assumed the alleged \"mistake\" in\nhis \"Phases of Faith,\" without thinking it worth while even to state\nthe opposing argument from the Second Epistle. I added, that the\nrepeated references which both Paul and Peter make to their own\ndeaths, as certain to take place before the dissolution of all\nthings, sufficiently prove that, however their view of the future\nmight be contracted, they did not expect the world to end in their\nday, and ought to have silenced the perverse criticism on the\npopular expression, \"Then we which are alive and remain,\" &c.\n\nHaving briefly stated my opinion, Fellowes said he saw that he and\nI were as little likely to agree as Harrington and he. \"However,\" he\ncontinued, turning to his friend, \"to go back to the point from which\nwe digressed. My new faith, at all events, makes me happy, which it\nis plain--too plain--that your want of all faith does not make you.\"\n\n\"Whether it is your new faith,\" said the other, \"makes you happy,\n--whether you were not as happy in your old faith--whether there are\nnot thousands of Christians who are as happy with their faith (they\nwould say much happier, and I should say so too, if they not only\nsay they believe it, but believe it and practise it.), I will not\ninquire; that my want of faith does not make me happy is a sad truth,\nwhich I do not think it worth while to deny; though I must confess\nthat there have been many who have shared in my scepticism who have\nnot shared in my misery. It is just because they have not realized\nwhat they did not believe; even as there are thousands of soi-disant\nChristians who do not realize what they say they do believe; neither\nthe one nor the other are the happier or the more sorrowful for their\npretended tenets. This is simply because they stand in no need of\nthe admirable correctives supplied by your new theology; the present\nengrosses their solicitudes and affections; and the mere talk of the\nbelief or the no-belief suffices to hush and tranquillize the heart\nin relation to those most momentous subjects, on which if man has\nnot thought at all, he is a fool indeed. In either case the 'future'\nand the 'eternal' seem so far removed that they seem to be an 'eternal\nfuturity.' Such parties look at that distant future much as children\nat the stars; it is a point, an invisible speck, in the firmament.\nA sixpence held near the eye appears larger; and brought sufficiently\nclose shuts out the universe altogether. But let us also forget the\nfuture, and have a little talk of the past.\"\n\nThey resumed their conversation on subjects indifferent as far as this\njournal is concerned, and I bade them good night.\n\n---\n\nJuly 5. We were sitting in the library after breakfast. The two\ncollege friends soon fell into chat, while I sat writing at my\nseparate table, but ready to resume my capacity of reporter, should\nany polemical discussion take place. I soon had plenty of employment.\nAfter about an hour I heard Harrington say:--\n\n\"But I shall be happy, I assure you, to fill the void whenever you\nwill give me something solid wherewith to fill it.\"\n\nIt was impossible that even a believer in the doctrine that no\n\"creed\" can be taught, and that an \"external revelation\" is an\nimpossibility, could be insensible to the charm of making a\nproselyte.\n\n\"What is it,\" said Fellowes, \"that you want?\"\n\n\"What do I want? I want certainty, or quasi-certainty, on those\npoints on which if a man is content to remain uncertain, he is a\nfool or a brute; points respecting which it is no more possible\nfor a genuine sceptic--for I speak not of the thoughtless lover\nparadox, or the queer dogmatist who resolves that nothing is\ntrue--to still the soul, than nakedness can render us insensible\nto cold; or hunger cure its own pangs by saying, 'Go to, now; I have\nnothing to eat.' The generality of mankind are insensible to these\nquestions only because they imagine, even though it may be falsely,\nthat they possess certainty. They are problems which, whenever there\nis elevation of mind enough to appreciate their importance, engage\nthe real doubter in a life-long conflict; and to attempt to appease\nrestlessness of such a mind by the old prescriptions,--the old\nquackish Epicurean nostrum of 'Carpe diem,'--'Let us eat, drink,\nand be merry, for to-morrow die,'--'We do not know what the morrow may\nbring--is like attempting to call back the soul from a moral syncope\nby applying to the nostrils a drop of eau de Cologne. 'Enjoy to-day,\nwe do not know what the morrow will bring!' Why, that is the very\nthought which poisons to-day. No, a soul of any worth cannot but\nfeel an intense wish for the solution of its doubts, even while it\ndoubts whether they can be solved.\"\n\n\"'Carpe diem' certainly would not be my sole prescription,\" said\nFellowes; \"you have not told me yet what you want.\"\n\n\"No, but I will. The questions on which I want certainty are indeed\nquestions about which philosophers will often argue just to display\ntheir vanity, as human vanity will argue about any thing; but they\nare no sooner felt in their true grandeur, than they absorb the soul.\"\n\n\"Still, what is it you want?\"\n\n\"I want to know---whence I came; whither I am going. Whether there be,\nin truth, as so many say there is, a God,--a tremendous personality,\nto whose infinite faculties the 'great' and the 'little' (as we call\nthem) equally vanish,--whose universal presence fills all space,\nin any point of which he exists entire in the amplitude of all his\ninfinite attributes,--whose universal government extends even to me,\nand my fellow-atoms, called men,--within whose sheltering embrace\neven I am not too mean for protection;--whether, if there be such\na being, he is truly infinite; or whether this vast machine of the\nuniverse may not have developed tendencies or involved consequences\nwhich eluded his forethought, and are now beyond even his control;\n--whether, for this reason, or for some other necessity, such infinite\nsorrows have been permitted to invade it;--whether, above all, He be\npropitious or offended with a world in which I feel too surely, in\nthe profound and various misery of man, that his aspects are not all\nbenignant;--how, if he be offended, he is to be reconciled;--whether\nhe is at all accessible, or one to whom the pleasures and the\nsufferings of the poor child of dust are equally subjects of horrible\nindifference;--whether, if such Omnipotent Being created the world, he\nhas now abandoned it to be the sport of chance, and I am thus an orphan\nin the universe;--whether this 'universal frame' be indeed without a\nmind, and we are, in fact, the only forms of conscious existence;\n--whether, as the Pantheist declares, the universe itself be God,--\never making, never made,--the product of an evolution of an infinite\nseries of 'antecedents' and 'consequents'; a God of which--for I\ncannot say of whom--you and I are bits; perishable fragments of a\nDivinity, itself imperishable only because there will always be bits\nof it to perish;--whether, even upon some such supposition, this\nconscious existence of ours is to be renewed; and, if under what\nconditions; or whether, when we have finished our little day, no\nother dawn is to break upon our night;--whether the vale, vale in\neternum vale, is really the proper utterance of a breaking heart as it\ncloses the sepulchre on the object of its love.\"\n\nHis voice faltered; and I was confirmed in my suspicions, that some\ndeep, secret sorrow had had to do with his morbid state of mind. In\na moment, he resumed:--\n\n\"These are the questions, and others like the them, which I have\nvainly toiled to solve. I, like you, have been rudely driven out\nof my old beliefs; my early Christian faith has given way to doubt;\nthe little hut on the mountain-side, in which I thought to dwell in\npastoral simplicity, has been scattered to the tempest, and I am\nturned out to the blast without a shelter. I have wandered long and\nfar, but have not found that rest which you tell me is to be obtained.\nAs I examine all other theories, they seem, to me, pressed by at\nleast equal difficulties with that I have abandoned. I cannot make\nmyself contented, as others do, with believing nothing, and yet I\nhave nothing to believe; I have wrestled long and hard with my\nTitan foes,--but not successfully. I have turned to every quarter\nof the universe in vain; I have interrogated my own soul, but it\nanswers not; I have gazed upon nature, but its many voices speak no\narticulate language to me; and, more especially, when I gaze upon\nthe bright page of the midnight heavens, those orbs gleam upon\nme with so cold a light, and amidst so portentous a silence, that\nI am, with Pascal, terrified at the spectacle of the infinite\nsolitudes,--'de ces espaces infinis.' I declare to you that I know\nnothing in nature so beautiful or so terrible as those mute oracles.\"\n\n\"They are indeed mute,\" said Fellowes; \"but not so that still voice\nwhich whispers its oracles within. You have but to look inwards, and\nyou may see, by the direct gaze of 'the spiritual faculty,' bright\nand clear, those great 'intuitions' of spiritual truth which the\ngauds and splendors of the external universe can no more illustrate\nthan can the illuminated characters of an old missal;--just as little\ncan any book teach these truths. You have truly said, the stars will\nshed no light upon them; they, on the contrary, must illumine the\nstars; I mean, they must themselves be seen before the outward\nuniverse can assume intelligible meaning; must utter their voices\nbefore any of the phenomena of the external world can have any real\nsignificance!\"\n\n\"How different,\" said Harrington, \"are the experiences of mankind!\nYou well described those internal oracles, if there are indeed such,\nas whispering their responses; if they utter them at all, it is to\nme in a whisper so low that I cannot distinctly catch them. Strange\nparadoxes! the soul speaks, and the soul listens, and the soul cannot\ntell what the soul says. That is, the soul speaks to itself, and says,\n'What have I said?' I assure you that the ear of my soul (if I may so\nspeak) has often ached with intense effort to listen to what the tongue\nof the soul mutters, and yet I cannot catch it. You tell me I have\nonly to look down into the depths within. Well, I have. I assure you\nthat I have endeavoured to do so, as far as I know, honestly; and,\nso far from seeing clear and bright those splendors which you speak\nof, I can only see as in the depths of a cavern occasional gleams of\na tremulous flickering light, which distinctly shows me nothing, and\nwhich, I half suspect, comes from without into these recesses: or I\nfeel as if gazing down an abyss, the bottom of which is filled with\nwater; the light--and that, too, for aught I know, reflected from\nwithout--only throws a transient glimpse of my own image on the\nsurface of the dark water; that image itself broken and renewed as\nthe water boils up from its hidden fountain. Or, if I may recur to\nyour own metaphor, instead of hearing in those deep caverns the\nclear oracles of which you boast, I can distinguish nothing but\na scarcely audible murmur; I know not whether it be any thing more\nthan the lingering echoes of what I heard in my childhood: or,\nrather, my soul speaks to me on all these momentous subjects much\nas one in sleep often does; the lips move, but no sound issues\nfrom them. I retire from these attempts, as those of old from the\ncave of Trophonius, pale, terrified, and dejected. In short,\" he\ncontinued, \"I feel much as Descartes says he did when he had denuded\nhimself of all his traditional opinions,--a condition so graphically\ndescribed in the beginning of the second of his Meditations. There is\nthis difference, however, and in his favor: that he imposed upon\nhimself only a self-inflicted doubt, which he could terminate at any\ntime. His opinions had been but temporarily laid aside. They were on\nthe shelf, close at hand, ready to be taken down again when wanted. But\nenough of this. You will, I know, aid me, if you can. And, now I think\nof it, do so on one point, by justifying your assertion, made the\nother evening, as to Mr. Newman's dilemma of the 'impossibility of\na book-revelation.'\"\n\n\"I said, I think, that Mr. Newman has satisfactorily proved to me\nthat a book-revelation of moral and spiritual truth is impossible;\nthat God reveals himself to us within, and not from without.\"\n\n\"As to what is impossible,\" said the other, \"I fancy it would be\ndifficult to get one thoroughly convinced of his ignorance and\nfeebleness to be other than very cautious how he used the word.\nPerhaps, however, Mr. Newman may be more readily excused than most\nmen for the strength with which he pronounces his opinions; for,\nas he has passed through an infinity of experiences, it may have\ngiven him 'insight' into many absurdities which, to the generality\nof mankind, do not appear such. I think if I had believed half so\nmany things, I should have lost all confidence in myself. What a\nstrong mind, or what buoyant faith, he must have!\"\n\n\"Both,--both,\" said Fellowes.\n\n\"Well, be it so. But let us, as you promised yesterday, examine this\nvery point.\" This led on to a dialogue in which it was distinctly\nproved that\n\nTHAT MAY BE POSSIBLE WITH MAN, WHICH IS\nIMPOSSIBLE WITH GOD.\n\n\"Mr. Newman affirms, you say,\" said Harrington, \"that in his judgment\nevery book-'revelation' is an absurdity and a contradiction; or, in\nthe words quoted by you, 'impossible.'\"\n\n\"Yes,--of 'moral and spiritual truth.'\"\n\n\"And of any other truth--as of historical truth--you say such\nrevelation is unnecessary?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Moreover, as you and Mr. Newman affirm, the bulk of mankind are\nnot competent to investigate the claims of such an historic\nrevelation?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"And, therefore, it is impossible in fact, if not per se, unless\nGod is to be supposed doing something both unnecessary and futile.\"\n\n\"I think so, of course,\" said Fellowes.\n\n\"So that all book-revelation is impossible.\"\n\n\"I affirm it.\"\n\n\"Very well,--I do not dispute it. There still remain one or two\ndifficulties on which I should like to have your judgment towards\nforming an opinion: and they are on the very threshold of the subject.\nAnd, first, I suppose you do not mean to restrict your term of a\n'book-revelation' to that only which is literally consigned to a\nbook in our modern sense. You mean an external revelation?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"If, for example, you could recover a genuine manuscript of Isaiah\nor Paul, you would not think it entitled to any more respect, as\nauthority, than a modern translation in a printed book,--though it\nmight be free from some errors?\"\n\n\"I should not.\"\n\n\"You would not allow that parchment, however ancient, has any\nadvantage in this respect over paper, however modern?\"\n\n\"Certainly not.\"\n\n\"Nor Hebrew or Greek over English or German?\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"All such matters are in very deed but 'leather and prunella'?\"\n\n\"Nothing more.\"\n\n\"And for a similar reason, surely, you would reject at once the oral\nteaching of any such man as Paul or Matthew, or any body else, if\nhe professed that what he said was dictated by divine inspiration,\nconcurrently or not with the use of his own faculties? You would\nrepudiate at once his claims, however authenticated, to be your\ninfallible guide; to tell you what you are to believe, and how you\nare to act? For surely you will not pretend that there is any\ndifference between statements which are merely expressed by the\nliving voice, and those same statements as consigned to a book;\nexcept that, if any difference be supposed at all, one would, for\nsome reasons, rather have their in the last shape than in the first.\"\n\n\"Of course there is no difference: to object to a book-revelation\nand grant a 'lip-revelation' from God, or to deny that lip-revelation\n(when it is made permanent and diffusible) the authority it had when\nfirst given, would be a childish hatred of a book indeed,\" answered\nFellowes.\n\n\"I perfectly agree with you,\" replied Harrington.\n\n\"I understand you, then, to deny that any revelation professedly\ngiven to you or to me does, or ever can, come to us through any\nexternal channel, printed or on parchment, ancient or modern, by the\nliving voice or in a written character; and that this is a proper\ntranslation, in a generalized form, of the phrase 'a book-revelation'?\"\n\n\"I admit it. For surely, as already said, it would be truly ridiculous\nto allow that Paul, if we could but hear his living voice, was to be\nlistened to with implicit reverence as an authorized teacher of divine\ntruth; but that his deliberate utterances, recorded in a permanent\nform, were to be regarded not merely as less authoritative, but of\nno authority at all.\"\n\n\"So that if you saw Peter or Paul to-morrow, you would tell him the\nsame story?\"\n\n\"Of course I should,\" replied Mr. Fellowes.\n\n\"And you would of course also reject any such revelation, coming\nfrom any external source, even though the party proclaiming it\nconfirmed it by miracles? For I cannot see how, if it be true that\nan external revelation is impossible, and that God always reveals\nhimself 'within us' and never 'out of us,' (which is the principle\naffirmed,)--I say I cannot see how miracles can make any difference\nin the case.\"\n\n\"No, certainly not. But surely you forget that miracles are impossible\non my notion: for, as Mr. Newman says---\"\n\n\"Whatever he says, I suppose you will not deny that they are\nconceivable; and that is all I am thinking of at present. Their\nimpossibility or possibility I will not dispute with you just now.\nI am disposed to with you; only, as usual, I have some doubts, which\nI wish you would endeavor to solve; but of that another time. Meantime,\nmy good friend, be so obliging as to give me an answer to my\nquestion,--whether you would deem it to be your duty to reject any\nsuch claims to authoritative teaching, even if backed by the\nperformance of miracles? for, admitting miracles never to have\noccurred, and even that they never will, you, I think, would hesitate\nto affirm that you clearly perceive that the very notion involves a\ncontradiction. They are, at least, imaginable, and that is sufficient\nto supply you with an answer to my question. I once more ask you,\ntherefore, whether, if such a teacher of a book-revelation, in the\ncomprehensive sense of these words already defined, were to authenticate\n(as he affirmed) his claims to reverence by any number, variety, or\nsplendor of miracles,--undoubted miracles,--you would any the more feel\nbound to believe him?\"\n\n\"What! upon the supposition that there was any thing morally\nobjectionable in his doctrine?\"\n\n\"I will release you on that score too.\" said Harrington, in a most\naccommodating manner. \"Morally, I will assume there is nothing in his\ndoctrine but what you approve; and as for the rest,--to confirm which\nI will suppose the revelation given,--I will assume nothing in it\nwhich you could demonstrate to be false or contradictory; in fact,\nnothing more difficult to be believed than many undeniable phenomena of\nthe external universe,--matters, for example, which you acknowledge you\ndo not comprehend, but which may possibly be true for aught you can\ntell to the contrary.\"\n\n\"But if the supposed revelation contain nothing but what, appealing\nthus to my judgment, I can approve, where is the necessity of a\nrevelation at all?\"\n\n\"Did I say, my friend, that it was to contain nothing but what is\nreferred to your judgment? nothing but what you would know and approve\njust as well without it? or even did I concede that you could have\nknown and approved without it that which, when it is proposed, you do\napprove? I simply wish an answer to the question, whether, if a teacher\nof an ethical system such as you entirely approved, with some doctrines\nattached, incomprehensible it may be, but not demonstratively false or\nimmoral, were to substantiate (as he affirmed) his claims to your\nbelief by the performance of miracles, you would or would not feel\nconstrained any the more to believe him?\"\n\n\"But I do not see the use of discussing a question under circumstances\nwhich it is admitted never did nor ever can occur?\"\n\n\"You 'fight hard,' as Socrates says to one of his antagonists on a\nsimilar occasion; but I really must request an answer to the question.\nThe case is an imaginable one; and you may surely say how, upon the\nprinciples you have laid down, you think those principles would compel\nyou to act in the hypothetical case.\"\n\n\"Well, then, if I must give all answer, I should say that upon the\nprinciples on which Mr. Newman has argued the question,--that all\nrevelation, except which is internal, is impossible,--I should not\nbelieve the supposed envoy's claims.\"\n\n\"Whatever the number or the splendor of his miracles?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said Fellowes, with some hesitation however, and\nspeaking slowly.\n\n\"For that does not affect the principles we are agreed upon?\"\n\n\"No,\"--not seeming, however, perfectly satisfied.\n\n\"Very well,\" resumed Harrington, \"that is what I call a plain answer\nto a plain question. I fancy (waverer that I am!) that I should\nbelieve the man's claims. I should be even greatly tempted to think\nthat those things which I could not entirely see ought to be\ncontained in the said revelation, were to be believed. But all that\nis doubtless only because I am much weaker in mind and will than\neither Mr. Newman or yourself. You must pardon me; it will in no degree\npractically affect the question, except on the supposition that the\nsame infirmity is also a characteristic of man in general; that not\nI, from my weakness, am an exception to rule; but you, in your strength.\nBut to dismiss that. You have agreed that a book-revelation is\nimpossible, and not to be believed, even if avouched by miracles.\nHave men in general been disposed to believe a book-revelation\nimpossible? for if not, I am afraid they would be very liable to run\ninto error, if they share in my weaknesses.\"\n\n\"Liable to run into error!\" said Fellowes. \"Man has been perpetually\nrunning into this very error, always and everywhere.\"\n\n\"If it be true, as you say, that man has always and everywhere manifested\na remarkable facility of falling into this error, many will be tempted\nto think that the thing is not so plainly impossible. It seems so\nstrange that men in general should believe things to be possible when\nthey are impossible. However, you admit it as a too certain fact.\"\n\n\"I do, for I can not honestly deny it; but it has been because they\nhave confounded what is historical or intellectual with moral and\nspiritual truth.\"\n\n\"I am afraid that will not excuse their absurdity, because, as you\nadmit, all book-revelation is impossible.--But further, supposing\nmen to have made this strange blunder, it only shows that the 'moral\nand spiritual' could not be very clearly revealed within; and no\nwonder men began to think that perhaps it might come to them\nfrom without! When men begin to mistake blue for red, and square for\nround, and chaff for wheat, I think it is high time that they repair\nto a doctor outside them to tell them what is the matter with their\npoor brains. Meantime an external revelation is impossible?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"But men, however, have somehow perversely believed it very possible,\nand that, in some shape or other, it has been given?\"\n\n\"They have, I must admit.\"\n\n\"Unhappy race! thus led on by some fatality, though not by the\nconstitution of their nature (rather by some inevitable perversion\nof it), to believe as possible that which is so plainly impossible.\nO that it did not involve a contradiction to wish that God would\nrelieve them from such universal and pernicious delusions, by giving\nthem a book-revelation to show them that all book-revelations are\nimpossible!\"\n\n\"That,\" said Fellowes, laughing, \"would indeed be a novelty. Miracles\nwould hardly prove that.\"\n\n\"I think not,\" said Harrington. \"But, as the poet says, 'some god or\nfriendly man' may show the way. Pray, permit me to ask, did you\nalways believe that a book-revelation was impossible?\"\n\n\"How can you ask the question?--you know that I was brought up, like\nyourself, in the reception of the Bible as the only and infallible\nrevelation of God to mankind.\"\n\n\"To what do you owe your emancipation from this grievous and universal\nerror, which still infects, in this or some other shape, the myriads\nof the human race?\"\n\n\"I think principally to the work of Mr. Newman on the 'Soul,' and his\n'Phases of Faith.'\"\n\n\"These have been to you, then, at least, a book-revelation that a\n'divine book-revelation is impossible'; a truth which I acknowledge\nyou could not have received by divine book-revelation, without a\ncontradiction. You ought, indeed, to think very highly of Mr. Newman.\nIt is well, when God cannot do a this that man can; though I confess,\nconsidering the wide prevalence of this pernicious error, it would\nhave been better, had it been possible, that man should have had a\ndivine book-revelation to tell him that a divine book-revelation\nwas impossible. Great as is my admiration of Mr. Newman, I should,\nmyself, have preferred having God's word for it. However, let us lay\nit down as an axiom that a human book-revelation, showing you that\n'a divine book-revelation is impossible,' is not impossible; and\nreally, considering the almost universal error of man on this\nsubject,--now happily exploded,--the book-revelation which convinces\nman of this great truth ought to be reverenced as of the highest value;\nit is such that it might not appear unworthy of celestial origin, if\nit did not imply a contradiction that God should reveal to us in a\nbook that a revelation in a book is impossible.\"\n\nFellowes looked very grave, but said nothing.\n\n\"But yet,\" continued Harrington, very seriously, \"I know not whether\nI ought not, upon your principles, to consider this book-revelation\nwith which you have been favored, about the impossibility of such\na thing, as itself a divine revelation; in which case I am afraid\nwe shall be constrained to admit, in form, that contradiction which\nwe have been so anxious to avoid, by making 'possible with man what\nis impossible with God.'\"\n\n\"I know not what you mean,\" said Fellowes, rather offended.\n\n\"Why,\" said Harrington, quite unmoved, \"I have heard you say you do\nnot deny, in some sense, inspiration, but only that inspiration is\npreternatural; that every 'holy thought,' every 'lofty and sublime\nconception,' all 'truth and excellence,' in any man, come from the\n'Father of lights,' and are to be ascribed to him; that, as Mr. Parker\nand Mr. Foxton affirm on this point, the inspiration of Paul or Milton,\nor even of Christ and of Benjamin Franklin, is of the same nature,\nand in an intelligible sense from the same source,--differing only\nin degree. Can you deem less, then, of that great conception by which\nMr. Newman has released you, and possibly many more, from that\nbondage to a 'book-revelation' in which you were brought up, and\nin which, by your own confession, you might have been still enthralled?\nCan you think less of this than that it is an 'inspired' voice which\nhas proclaimed 'liberty to the captive,' and made known to you\n'spiritual freedom'? If any thing be divine about Mr. Newman's\nsystem, surely it must be this. Ought you not to thank God that he\nhas been thus pleased to 'open your eyes,' and to turn you from\n'darkness to light,'--to raise up in these last days such an apostle\nof the truth which had lain so long 'hidden from ages and generations'?\nCan you do less than admire the divine artifice by when it was\nimpossible for God directly to tell man that he could directly tell\nhim nothing, He raised up his servant Newman to perform the office?\"\n\n\"For my part,\" said Fellowes, \"I am not ashamed to say, that I think\nI ought to thank God for such a boon as Mr. Newman has, in this\ninstance at least, been the instrument of conveying to me: I\nacknowledge it most momentous truth, without which I should still\nhave been in thraldom to the 'letter.'\"\n\n\"Very well; then the book-revelation of Mr. Newman is, as I say, in\nsome sort to you, perhaps to a divine 'book-revelation.'\"\n\n\"Well, in some sense, it is so.\"\n\n\"So that now we have, in some sense, a divine book-revelation to\nprove that a divine book-revelation is impossible.\"\n\n\"You are pleased to jest on the subject,\" said Fellowes.\n\n\"I never was more serious in my life. However, I will not press\nthis point any further. You shall be permitted to say (what I\nwill not contradict) that, though Mr. Newman may be inspired, for\naught I know, in that modified sense in which you believe in any\nphenomenon,--inspired as much (say) as the inventor of Lucifer\nmatches,--yet that his book is not divine,--that it is purely human;\nand even, if you please, that God has had nothing to do with it. But\neven then I must be allowed to repeat, that at least you have\nderived from a 'book-revelation' what it would not have been a\nunworthy of a divine book-revelation to impart, if it could have\nbeen imparted without contradiction. Such book-revelation, in this\ncase, must be of inestimable value to man, because, without it, he\nmust have persisted in that ancient and all but inveterate and\nuniversal delusion of which we have so often spoken. There is only\none little inconvenience, I apprehend, from it in relation to\nthe argument of such a book; and that is, that I am afraid that\nmen, so far from being convinced thereby that a divine revelation\nis impossible, will rather argue the contrary way, and say, 'If Mr.\nNewman can do so much, what might not God do by the very same\nmethod?' If he can thus break the spiritual yoke of his fellow-men\nby only teaching them negative truth, surely it may be possible for\nGod to be as useful in teaching positive truth. I almost tremble,\nI assure you, lest, by his most conspicuous success in imparting\nto you such important truth, and reclaiming you from such a\nfundamental error, which lay at the very threshold of your\n'spiritual' progress, he may, so far from convincing mankind of the\ntruth of his principle, lead them rather to believe that a\n'book-revelation' may have been very possible, and of singular\nadvantage. But, to speak the truth, I am by no means sure that\nMr. Newman has not done something more than what we have attributed\nto him, and whether his book-revelation be not a true divine\nrevelation to you also.\"\n\nFellowes looked rather curious, and I thought a little angry.\n\n\"My good friend,\" said Harrington, \"I am sure you will not refuse\nme every satisfaction you can, in my present state of doubt and\nperplexity; that you will render me (as indeed you have promised)\nall the assistance in your power, by kindly telling me what you\nknow of your own religious development and history. I cannot\nsufficiently admire your candor and frankness hitherto.\"\n\n\"You may depend upon it,\" said Fellowes, \"I will not hesitate to\nanswer any questions you choose to put. I am not ashamed of the system\nI have adopted,--or rather selected, for I do not agree with any one\nwriter--although I confess I wish I were a better advocate of it.\"\n\n\"O, rest assured that 'spiritualism' can lose nothing by your\nadvocacy. As to your independence of mind, you act, I am sure, upon\nthe maxim in verba nullius jurare. Your system seems to me quite a\nspices of eclecticism. There is no fear of my confounding you with\nthe good old lady who, after having heard the sermon of some\nfavorite divine, was asked if she understood him. 'Understand him!'\nsaid she; 'do you think I would presume?--blessed man! Nor with\nthe Scotchwoman who required, as a condition of her admiration, that\na sermon should contain some things at least which transcended her\ncomprehension. 'Eh. it is a' vara weel,' said she, on hearing one\nwhich did not fulfil this reasonable condition; 'but do ye call that\nfine preaching?--there was na ae word that I could na explain mysel.'\"\n\nFellowes smiled good-naturedly, and then said, \"I was going to\nobserve, in relation to the present subject, that it is 'moral and\nspiritual' truth which Mr. Newman says it is impossible should be the\nsubject of a book-revelation.\"\n\nHarrington, apparently without listening to him, suddenly said, \"By\nthe by, you agree with Mr. Newman, I am sure, that God is to be\napproached by the individual soul without any of the nonsense of\nmediation, which has found so general--all but universal--sanction\nin the religious systems of the world?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said Fellowes, \"nor is there probably any 'spiritualist'\n(in whatever we may be divided) who would deny that.\"\n\n\"Supposing it true, does it not seem to you the must delightful and\nstupendous of all spiritual truths?\"\n\n\"It does, indeed,\" said Fellowes.\n\n\"Could you always realize it, my friend?\" said Harrington.\n\n\"Nay, I was once a firm believer in the current orthodoxy, as you\nwell know.\"\n\n\"Now you see with very different eyes. You can say, with the man in\nthe Gospel, 'This I know, that, whereas I was blind, now I see.\"\n\n\"I can.\"\n\n\"And you attribute this happy change of sentiment to the perusal of\nthose writings of Mr. Newman from which you think that I also might\nderive similar benefits?\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"It appears, then, that to you, at least, my friend, it is possible\nthat there may be a book-revelation of 'moral and spiritual truth'\nof the highest possible significance and value, although you do not\nconsider the book to be divine; now, if so, I fancy many will be\nagain inclined to say, that what Mr. Newman has done in your case,\nGod might easily do, if he pleased, for mankind in general; and with\nthis advantage, that He would not include in the same book which\nrevealed truth to the mind, and rectified its errors, an assurance\nthat any such book-revelation was impossible.\"\n\n\"But, my ingenious friend.\" cried Fellowes, with some warmth, \"you are\ninferring a little too fast for the premises. I do not admit that\nMr. Newman or any other spiritualist has revealed to me any truth,\nbut only that he has been the instrument of giving shape and distinct\nconsciousness to what was, in fact, uttered in the secret oracles of\nmy own bosom before; and, as I believe, is uttered also in the hearts\nof all other men.\"\n\n\"I fear your distinction is practically without a difference. It will\ncertainly not avail us. You say you were once in no distinct conscious\npossession of that system of spiritual truth which you now hold; on\nthe contrary, that you believed a very different system; that the\nchange by which you were brought into your present condition of mind\n--out of darkness into light--out of error into truth--has been produced\nchiefly by Mr. Newman's deeply instructive volumes. If so, one will be\napt to argue that a book-revelation may be of the very utmost use and\nbenefit to mankind in general,--if only by making that which would else\nbe inarticulate mutter of the internal oracle distinct and clear; and\nthat if God would but give such a book, the same value at least might\nattach to it as to a book of Mr. Newman's. It little matters to this\nargument, the question of the possibility, value, or utility of an\nexternal revelation,--whether the truths it is to communicate be\nabsolutely unknown till it reveals them only not known, which you\nconfess was your own case. If your natural taper of illumination is\nstuck into a dark lantern, and its light only can flash upon the\nsoul when some Mr. Newman kindly lifts up the slide for you; or if\nyour internal oracle, like a ghost, will not speak till it is spoken\nto; or, like a dumb demon, awaits to find a voice, and confess\nitself to be what it is at the summons of an exorcist;--the same\nargument precisely will apply for the possibility and utility of a\nrevelation from God to men in general. What has been done for you by\nman, even though no more were done, might, one would imagine, be done\nfor the rest of mankind, and in a much better manner, by God. If that\ninternal and native revelation which both you and Mr. Newman say has\nits seat in the human soul, be clear without his aid, why did he\nwrite a syllable about it? If, as you say, its utterances were not\nrecognized, and that his statements have first made them familiar to\nyou, the same argument (the Christian will say) will do for the Bible.\nIt is of little use that nature teaches you, if Mr. Newman is to\nteach nature.\"\n\nFellowes was silent; and, after a pause, Harrington resumed; he could\nnot resist the temptation of saying, with playful malice,--\n\n\"Perhaps you are in doubt whether to say that the internal\nrevelation which you possess does teach you dearly or darkly. It\nis a pity that nature so teaches as to leave you in doubt till\nsome one else teaches you what she does teach you. She must be like\nsome ladies, who keep school indeed, but have accomplished\nmasters to teach every thing. Shall we call Mr. Newman the\nProfessor of 'Spiritual Insight'? Would it not be advisable, if\nyou are in any uncertainty, to write to him to ask whether the\ninternal truths which no external revelation can impart be\narticulate or not; or whether, though a book from God could not\nmake them plainer, you are at liberty to say that a book of Mr.\nNewman's will? It is undoubtedly a subtile question for him to\ndecide for you; namely, what is the condition of your own\nconsciousness? But I really see no help for it, after what you have\ngranted; nor, without his aid, do I see whether you can truly affirm\nthat you have an internal revelation, independently of him or not.\nAnd whichever way he decides, I am afraid lest he should prove both\nhimself and you very much in the wrong. If he decides for you, that\nyour internal revelation must and did anticipate any thing he might\nwrite, and that it was perfectly articulate, as well as inarticulately\npresent to your 'insight' before, it will be difficult to determine\nwhy he should have written at all; he would also prove, not only how\nsuperfluous is your gratitude, but that he understands your own\nconsciousness better than you do. If he decides it the other way, and\nsays you had a 'revelation' before he revealed it, yet that he made\nit utter articulate language, and interpreted its hieroglyphics,--\nthen it more seems very strange that either you or he should contend\nthat a 'book-revelation' is impossible, since Mr. Newman has produced\nit. If, however, he should in the first of these two ways, I fear,\nmy good friend, that we shall fall into another paradox worse than\nall for it will prove that the 'internal revelation' which you\npossess is better known to Mr. Newman than to yourself, which will\nbe a perfectly worthy conclusion of all this embarrass. It would be\nsurely droll for you to affirm that you possess an internal revelation\nwhich renders all 'external revelation' impossible, but yet that its\ndistinctness is unperceived by yourself, and awaits the assurance\nof an external authority, which at same time declares all 'external\nrevelation' impossible!\"\n\n\"There is still another word,\" said Fellowes, \"which you forget\nthat Mr. Newman employs; he says that an authoritative book-revelation\nof moral and spiritual truth is impossible.\"\n\n\"Why\" said Harrington, laughing, \"while you were without the truth,\nas you say you were, it was not likely to be authoritative: if,\nwhen you have it, it is recognized as authoritative, which you say\nis the case with the truth you have got from Mr. Newman,--if\nyou acknowledge that it ought to have authority as soon as known,\n--that is all (so far as I know) that is contended for in the case\nof the Bible. If you mean by 'authoritative' a revelation which not\nonly ought to be, but which is so, I think mankind make it pretty\nplain that neither the 'external' nor the 'internal' revelation is\nparticularly authoritative. In short,\" he concluded \"I do not see\nhow we can doubt, on the principles on which Mr. Newman acts and yet\ndenies, that a book-revelation of moral and spiritual truth is very\npossible; and if given, would be signally useful to mankind in general.\nIf Mr. Newman, as you admit, has written a book which has put you in\npossession of moral and spiritual truth, surely it may be modestly\ncontended that God might dictate a better. Either you were in\npossession of the truths in question before he announced them, or you\nwere not; if not, Mr. Newman is your infinite benefactor, and God may\nbe at least as great a one; if you were, then Mr. Newman, like Job's\ncomforters, 'has plentifully declared the thing as it is.' If you say,\nthat you were in possession of them, but only by implication; that\nyou did not see them dearly or vividly till they were propounded,\n--that is, that you saw them, only practically you were blind, and\nknew them, only you were virtually ignorant; still, whatever Mr.\nNewman does (and it amounts, in fact, to revelation), that may the\nBible also do. If even that be not possible, and man naturally\npossesses these truths explicitly, as well as implicitly, then,\nindeed, the Bible is an impertinence,--and so is Mr. Newman.\"\n\nAfter a pause, Harrington suddenly asked,--\n\n\"Do you not think there is some difference between yourself and\na Hottentot?\"\n\n\"I should hope so,\" said Fellowes, with a laugh.\n\n\"But still the Hottentot has all the 'spiritual faculties' of which\nyou speak so much?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"What makes this prodigious difference?--for of that, as a fact,\nwe cannot dispute.\"\n\n\"Different culture and education, I suppose.\"\n\n\"This culture and education is a thing external?\"\n\n\"It is.\"\n\n\"This culture and education, however, must be of immense importance\nindeed, since it makes all the difference between the having or the\nnot having, practically, any just religious notions, or sentiments,\nor practices, (even in your estimation,) whatever our eternal\nrevelation.\"\n\n\"But still I hold, with Mr. Parker, that the 'absolute religion' is the\nsame in all men. The difference is in circumstantials only, as\nMr. Parker says.\"\n\n\"Then it serves his turn,\" said Harrington; \"and he says the contrary,\nwhen it serves his turn; then the depraved forms of religion are\nhideous enough: when he wishes to commend his 'absolute religion,'\nthey differ in circumstantials. Circumstantials! I have hardly\npatience to hear these degrading apologies for all that is most\ndegrading in humanity. If the 'absolute religion,' as he vaguely\ncalls it, be present in these of gross ignorance and unspeakable\npollution, it is so incrusted and buried that it is indiscernible\nand worthless. Rightly, therefore, have you expressed a hope that\nthere is a 'prodigious difference' between you a Hottentot. You adhere\nto that, I presume.\"\n\n\"Of course I shall,\" said Fellowes.\n\n\"Well, let us see. Would you think, if you were turned into a Hottentot\nto-morrow, you had a religion worthy of the name, or not?\"\n\n\"I am afraid I should not.\"\n\n\"You hope it, you mean. Well, then, it appears that culture and\neducation do somehow make all difference between a man's having a\nreligion worthy of the name, and the contrary?\"\n\n\"I must admit it, for I cannot deny it in point of fact.\"\n\n\"And you also admit that, in nine hundred and ninety-nine cases out\nof a thousand, or in a much larger proportion, taking all the nations\nof the world since time began, the said culture and education have\nbeen wanting, or ineffably bad?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"So that there have been very few, in point of fact, who have attained\nthat 'spiritual' religion for which you and our spiritualists contend;\nand those few chiefly, as Mr. Newman admits, amongst Jews and\nChristians, though they too have had their most grievous errors, which\nhave deplorably obscured it?\"\n\n\"Yes\"\n\n\"It appears, then, I think, that if we allow that the internal\nrevelation without a most happy external culture and development\nwill not form any religion at all worthy of the name, and that that\nhappy culture and development (from whatsoever cause) are not the\ncondition of our race,--it appears, I say, rather odd to affirm that\nany divine aid in this absolutely necessary external education of\nhumanity is not only superfluous, but impossible.\"\n\nAnother pause ensued, when Harrington again said,  \"You will think\nme very pertinacious, perhaps, but I must say that, in my judgment,\nMr. Newman's theory of progressive religion (for he also admits a\ndoctrine of progress) favors the same sceptical doubts as to the\nimpossibility of a book-revelation. You do not deny, I suppose, that\nhe does think the world needs enlightening?\"\n\n\"Had he not believed that, he would not have written.'\n\n\"I suppose not. However, how the world should need it, if your\nprinciples be true, and every man brings into the world his own\nparticular lantern,--'Enter Moonshine,'--I do not quite understand;\nor, if it is in need of such illumination not withstanding, why it\nshould not be possible for an external revelation to supply it\nstill better than your illuminati, I am equally unable to understand.\nBut let that pass. Mr. Newman concludes that the world does stand\nin need of this illumination, and that it has had it at various\ntimes. In is his opinion, is it not, that men began by being\npolytheists and idolaters?\"\n\n\"It is so; and surely all history bears out the theory.\"\n\n\"Many doubt it. I will not venture to give any opinion, except that\nthere are inexplicable difficulties, as usual, on both sides. Just now\nI am quite willing to take his statement for granted, and suppose\nthat man in the infancy of his race was, in spite of the aid of his\nvery peculiar illumination,--which seems to have 'rayed out darkness,'\n--as very a Troglodyte in civilization and religion as you (for the\nspecial glory of his Creator, I suppose, and the honor of your\nspecies) can wish him to have been. Well, man began by being a\npolytheist, and very gradually emerged out of that pleasant condition\n--or rather an infinitesimal portion of the race has emerged out of\nit, into the better forms of idolatry--(poor wretch!), and from\nthence to monotheism; that, in short, his polytheism is not the\ncorruption of his monotheism, but his monotheism an elevation of his\npolytheism. Yet it is, after all, a cheerless 'progress,' which often\n'advances backward.' Mr. Newman says that 'the law of God's moral\nuniverse, as known to us, is that of progress; that we trace it from\nold barbarism to the methodized Egyptian idolatry, to the more flexible\npolytheism of Syria and Greece,' and so forth; and so in Palestine,\nfrom the 'image-worship in Jacob's family to the rise of spiritual\nsentiment under David, and Hezekiah's prophets.' (Phases, p. 223)\n\nYet he also tells us, 'Ceremonialism more and more incrusted the\nrestored nation, and Jesus was needed to spur and stab the consciences\nof his contemporaries, and recall them to more spiritual perceptions.'\nWell, thus came Christ to 'stab and spur'; and faith, I think 'stab\nand spur' were again needed by the end of the third century. Successive\nreformers are needed to 'stab and spur' the thick hide of humanity,\nwithout which it will not, it seems, go forward, but perversely go\nbackward; and even with this perpetual application of the goad of some\nspiritual mohoul, man crawls on at an intolerably slow pace. However,\n'stab' and 'spur' are needed which is all I am now intent upon.\"\n\n\"Yes; but each of those great souls who have stimulated the dull mind\nof ordinary humanity derived from its own internal illumination that\nspiritual light which they have communicated to the rest of mankind!\"\n\n\"For themselves, perhaps, my friend,\" said Harrington, \"and if they\nhad kept it to themselves in many instances, probably the world would\nhave been no loser. That they had it from within, is true,--if your\ntheory is true. But to others, to the bulk of mankind, they have\nimparted this light; it has been to mankind an 'external revelation';\nit is from without, not from within, that this light has been received,\nand that the boasted 'progress' of the race has been secured. It\nremains, therefore, only for your Christian opponent to ask, how it\nshould be impossible that mankind should be indebted to an external\nrevelation by God, when it is plain that they are indebted for the\nlike from man! And whether it is not conceivable that, if Moses and\nSocrates and Paul could do so much for them, God could do a trifle\nmore? You will say, perhaps, on the old plea, that these profounder\nspirits only made articulate that which already existed inarticulately\nin the hearts of those whom they addressed; that they only chafed into\nlife the marble statue of Pygmalion,--the dormant principles and\nsentiments which had a home in the human heart before, only they were\nunluckily treated as strangers. Well; the same thing may the apologist\nfor the Bible say,--merely adding, that it does more effectually the\nbusiness of thus awakening 'dormant' powers, and giving a substantive\nform to the shadowy conceptions of mankind. But it is still, in either\ncase, to the bulk of the world an external revelation, an outward aid\nwhich gives them the actual conscious possession of spiritual light, and\nsecures the vaunted progress of humanity. Such are some of my\ndifficulties respecting your theory of the impossibility and inutility\nof any and all external revelations. I must, in candor, say that our\ndiscussion has left them where they were.\"\n\n\"There is one thing,\" he added, \"about your system which I acknowledge\nwould be consolatory to me if it were but true. If man be really in\npossession of an internal and universal revelation of moral and spiritual\ntruth, you neither can nor need take any trouble to enlighten and\nconvert him. It relieves one of all superfluous anxiety on that score.\"\n\n\"Pardon me,\" said Fellowes, \"it is Mr. Newman's spiritual theory alone\nwhich does allow the prospect of success to any such efforts. As he\ntruly says, when the spiritual champion has thrown off the burden of an\nhistorical Christianity, he advances, as lightly equipped as Priestley\nhimself. I should say much more lightly. 'What,' says he, 'may we now\nexpect from the true theologian when he attacks sin, and vice, and\ngross spirituality?'  'The weapon he uses,' to employ Mr. Newman's own\nlanguage, 'is as lightning from God, kindled from the spirit within\nhim, and piercing through the unbeliever's soul, convincing his\nconscience of sin, and striking him to the ground before God; until\nthose who believe receive it not as the word of man but as what it\nis, in truth, the word of God. Its action is directly upon the conscience\nand upon the soul, and hence its wonderful results; not on the critical\nfaculties, upon which the spirit is powerless.'(Soul, p. 244)  Again,\nhe says that such a preacher 'will have plenty to say, alike to the\nvulgar and to the philosophers, appreciable by the soul.' Hear him\nagain: 'Then he may speak with confidence of what he knows and feels;\nand call on his hearers of themselves to try and prove his words.\nThen the conversion of men to the love of God may take place by hundreds\nand thousands, as in some former instances. Then, at length, some hope\nmay dawn that Mohammedans and Hindoos may be joined in one fold with\nus, under one Shepherd, who will only have regained his older name of\nthe Lord God.'\" (Soul, p. 258)\n\n\"By all the gods and goddesses of all the nations,\" said Harrington,\n\"I cannot understand it. How mankind should need such teaching, if\nyour theory be true; how, if they need it, it is possible that you\nshould give it if all external revelation of moral and spiritual\ntruth be impossible; how, if it is impossible, it should be\nimpossible for a God, by a Bible, to give the like; how you can get\nat the souls of people at all except through the intervention of the\nsenses and the intellect,--the latter of which you say has nothing to\ndo with the 'soul,' and surely the former can have as little; or how,\nif you can get at them by this intervention, it is impossible that\na Bible should,--is all to me a mystery. But let that pass. If your\nlast account be true, one thing is clear; that a splendid career\nis open to you and your friends. You can immediately employ this\nirresistible 'weapon' for the verification of your views and the\nconversion of the human race. You can renew, or rather realize, the\ntriumphs of early Christianity;--I say realize, for you and Mr.\nNewman believe them to be, for the most part, fabulous, and that it\nwas the army of Constantine that conquered the Empire for\nChristianity; but you can turn such fables into truths. Surely the\nleast you can do is to be off as a missionary to China or India. Go\nto Constantinople, my dear fellow, and take the Great Turk by the\nbeard. Nor can Mr. Newman do less than repair to Bagdad, upon a\nsecond and more hopeful mission. You will know when you have demolished\nMohammedanism, and got fairly into Thibet. Alexander's career will\nbe nothing to it. But alas! I fear it will be only another variety\nof that impossible thing,--a book-revelation!\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said Fellowes, \"we must first finish our mission at home, and\ntry our weapons upon you and such as you. We must subdue such as\nyou first.\"\n\n\"Then you will never go,\" said Harrington.\n\n\"Never mind,\" I said, \"Mr. Fellowes; Harrington is very mischievous\nto-day. But, as he said he would not contest the ground of your\ndictum, that a book-revelation of moral and spiritual truth is\nimpossible, so he has not entered into it. Will you let me, on a\nfuture day, read to you a brief paper upon it? I have no skill--or\nbut little--in that erotetic method of which Harrington is so fond.\" He\nassented, and here this long conversation ended.\n____\n\nJuly 7. Harrington and I spent a portion of this morning alone\n(Fellowes was gone out for a day or two), conversing on various\nsubjects. I hardly know how it was, but I felt a strong reluctance\nto enter with formality on that one which yet lay nearest my heart,\n--whether from the fear lest I should do more harm than good; lest\ncontroversy should, as so often happens, indurate rather than soften\nthe heart: or perhaps I had some secret distrust of my own temper or\nhis. Yet, if I felt any thing of the last, I am sure I did him\ninjustice; and (I hope) myself. Be it as it may, I thought it better\njust to exchange a shot now and then,--sometimes it was a red-hot\nshot too on both sides,--as we passed and repassed, in the current\nof conversation, than come to a regular set-to, yard-arm to yard-arm.\nFrom whatever cause, he gave me abundant opportunity of recurring to\nthe subject, for he was perpetually, and I believe unconsciously,\nleading the conversation towards it; not, I think, from confidence in\nhis logical prowess, but from the restlessness in which (he did not\npretend to disguise it) his state of scepticism had plunged him.\nIt was curious, indeed, to see how every thing, sooner or later,\nfell into one channel. For example, I happened to remark, that a\ncottage in the valley which we saw from his library window would\nmake a pretty object in a picture,--it was the only sign of life in\nthe little valley. \"I should like the view itself all the better\nwithout it,\" said he. I observed that a painter would feel very\ndifferently; and if there were no such object, he would be sure to\nput one in. \"O, certainly,\" he replied, \"a painter would, and justly;\nthere is no doubt that the shadow of animated existence is very\nadmirable; a picture, I admit, is wonderfully more picturesque\nwith such a picture of life; especially as the painter can and\ndoes remove every thing offensive to his fastidious art. He is\nvery apt to regard the objects in his landscapes much as a poet\ndoes a cottage, according to Cowper's confession. 'By a cottage,'\nsays he to Lady Hesketh, 'you must always understand, my dear, that\na poet means a house with six sashes in front, comfortable parlors,\na smart staircase, and three rooms of convenient dimensions.' As I\nhave looked sometimes down a mountain glen, and seen the most\npicturesque huts upon its sides, I have thought how little the\npainter could dispense with them. But, then, how easily the\nphilosopher can: for, alas! I have taken wing from my station, and\nlooked in through the miserable easement, and seen, not only what\nis disgusting to the senses,--which is a small matter,--but ignorance\nand disease, and fear, and guilt, and racking pain, and doubt, and\ndeath; and I have not been able to help saying, in pity, 'O for\nabsolute solitude!--how much nature would be improved if the human\nrace were annihilated!'\"\n\n\"The human race,\" said I, laughing, \"is very much obliged to the\npity which would thus exterminate them; but as one of them, I should\ndecidedly object to so sweeping a mode of improving the picturesque.\nBesides, I suppose you make an exception in favor, yourself, otherwise\nthe picturesque would vanish just when it was brought to perfection.\nI am often inclined to say with Paley, though I remember well having\nsometimes felt as you do, 'It is a happy world after all.' I admit,\nhowever, that a buoyant, cheerful, habitual conviction of this will\ndepend on the constitution of the mind, and even vary with the same\nin its different moods. But I am sure it may be a really happy world,\nwhatever its sorrows, to any one who will view it as he ought.\"\n\n\"I wish you could teach me the art.\"\n\n\"It is,\" said I, \"to exercise the faith and the hope of a Christian,\nhumbly to regard this life as what it is,--a scene of discipline and\nschooling, a pilgrimage to a better. It is an old remedy, but it has\nbeen often tried; and to millions of our race has made this world\nmore than tolerable, and death tranquil, nay, triumphant. Do you\nremember Schiller's 'Walk among the Linden-Trees'?\"\n\n\"Perfectly well.\"\n\n\"Do you not remember how the two youths differ in their estimate of\nthe beautiful in nature? 'Is it possible,' says Edwin, 'you can thus\nturn from the cup of joy, sparkling and overflowing as it is?'--'Yes,'\nsaid Wollmar, 'when one finds a spider in it; and why not? In your\neyes, to be sure, Nature decks herself out like a rosy-checked maiden\non her bridal day. To me she appears an old, withered beldame, with\nsunken eyes, furrowed cheeks, and artificial ornaments in her\nhair. How she seems to admire herself in this her Sunday finery! But\nit is the same worn and ancient garment, put off and on some hundreds\nof thousands of times.' But how natural is the explanation of all\ngiven at the beautiful close of the dialogue! 'Here,' said the jocund\nEdwin, 'I first met my Juliet.'--'And it was under these linden-trees,'\nsays Wollmar, 'that I lost my Laura' It was their mood of mind, and\nnot the outward world, that made all the difference. All nature,\ninnocent thing! must consent to take her hue from it. You have, I\nfear, lost your Laura,\"--simply alluding to his early faith; \"or\nshall I suppose, from your present mood, that you have just met with\nyour Juliet?\" I spoke, of course, of his philosophy.\n\nHe was looking out of the window; but on my turning my gaze towards him,\nI saw such a look of peculiar anguish, that I felt I had inadvertently\ntouched a terrible chord indeed. I turned the conversation hastily,\nby remarking (almost without thinking of what I said) on the\nbeautiful contrast between the light blue of the sky and the green\nof the lawn and trees; and proceeded to remark on the degree in\nwhich the mere organic or sensational pleasures of vision formed an\ningredient in the pleasurable associations of the complex \"beautiful.\"\n\nHe gradually resumed conversation; and we discussed the subject of\nthe \"beautiful\" for some time. Yet I know not how it was, nor can\nI trace the steps by which we deviated,--only that Rousseau's summer\n-day dreams on the Lake of Bienne was a link in the chain,--we\nsomehow soon found ourselves on the brink of the great controversy\nrespecting the \"origin of Evil.\" \"I have read many books on that\nsubject,\" said I; \"but I intend to read no more; and I should think\nyou have had enough of them.\"\n\n\"Why, yes,\" said he, laughing; \"whatever philosophers may have thought\nof the origin of evil, it is a great aggravation of it to read their\nspeculations. The best thing I know on the subject--and it exhausts\nit--is half a dozen lines in 'Robinson Crusoe.'\"\n\n\"Robinson Crusoe!\" said I.\n\n\"Certainly,\" he replied; \"do you not remember that when he caught\nhis man Friday, the 'intuitional consciousness'--the 'insight'--the\n'inward revelation' of that worthy savage not being found quite so\nperfect as Mr. Parker would fancy, Robinson proceeds to indoctrinate\nhim in the mysteries of theology? Friday is much puzzled, as many\nmore learned savages have been before him, to find that the infinite\npower, wisdom, and goodness of God had made every thing good, and\nthat good it would have continued had not been for the opposition\nof the Devil. 'Why God not kill Debbil?' asks poor Friday. On which\nsays Robinson, 'Though I was a very old man, I found that I was but\na young doctor in divinity.' Ah! if all doctors in divinity had\nbeen equally candid, the treatises on that dread subject would not\nhave been quite so voluminous; for we close them all alike with the\nunavailing question, 'Why God not kill Debbil?'\"\n\nObserving this tendency to gravitate towards the abyss, I at last\nsaid to him, 'I think, if I were you, having decided that there is\nno religious truth to be found, I should dismiss the subject from\nmy thoughts altogether. Do as the Indian did, who struggled as\nlong as he could to right his canoe when he found he was in the\nstream of Niagara; but, finding his efforts unavailing, sat himself\ndown with his arms folded, and went down the falls without stirring\na muscle. Let us talk no more on the subject. Why should you perplex\nyourself, as you apparently do, about a thing so hopeless to be\nfound out as truth? 'What is truth?' said Pilate; and, as Bacon says,\n'he would not wait for an answer.' It was a question to which, most\nprobably, he, like you, thought no answer could be given. If I were\nyou, I should do the same. Why perplex yourself to no purpose?\"\n\n\"I should answer,\" said he, \"as Solon did when asked why he grieved\nfor his son, seeing all grief was unavailing.' It is for that very\nreason that I grieve,' was the reply. And in like manner I dwell on\nthe impossibility of discovering truth because it is impossible.\"\n\nI acknowledged that it was a sufficient reason, and that it went to\naccount in some degree for a fact I had remarked in the few sceptics\nI had come across,--genuine or otherwise,--that they seemed less\ncapable of reposing in their professed convictions than any one\nelse: it is of no avail, they say, to reason on such subjects; and\nyet they are perpetually reasoning! They will neither rest themselves\nnor let any one else rest.  He confessed it, and said, \"The state of\nmind is very  much as you have described it; and you have described\nit so exactly, that I almost think you, my dear uncle, must know the\nheart of a sceptic, and have been one yourself some time or other!\"\n\nWe wound up the morning, which was beautiful, by taking a ride, in the\ncourse of which I was amused with an instance of the sensitiveness with\nwhich Harrington's cultivated mind recoiled from the grossness of vulgar\nand ignorant infidelity. We called at the cottage of a little farmer, a\ntenant of his, somewhat notorious both for profanity and sensuality.\nPresuming, I suppose, on his young landlord's suspected heterodoxy, and\nthinking, perhaps, to curry favor with him, he ventured (I know not what\nled to it) to indulge in some stupid joke about the legion and the herd\nof swine. \"Sir,\" said he, scratching his head, \"the Devil, I reckon,\nmust have been a more clever fellow than I thought, to make two thousand\nhogs go down a steep place into the sea; it is hard enough even to make\nthem go where they will, and almost impossible make them go where they\nwon't.\"\n\n\"The Devil, my good friend,\" said Harrington, very gravely, \"is a very\nclever fellow; and I hope you do not for a moment intend to compare\nyourself with him. As to the supposed miracle, it would, no doubt,\nbe hard to say which were most to be pitied, the devils in the swine,\nor the swine with the devils in them; but has it never struck you that\nthe whole may be an allegorical representation of the miserable and\ndestructive effects of the union of the two vices of sensuality and\nprofanity? They also (if all tales be true) lead to a steep place, but\nI have never heard that it ends in the water. Now,\" he continued, \"I\ndare say you would laugh at that story which the Roman Catholics\ntell of St. Antony; namely, that he preached to the pigs'!\n--yet it has had a very sound allegorical interpretation; we are\ntold that it meant merely that he preached to country farmers; which,\nyou see, is more than I have been doing.\"\n\nIt was one of the many things which made me a sceptic as to whether\nhe was one. \"Harrington,\" said I, \"at times I find it impossible to\nbelieve that you doubt the truth of Christianity.\"\n\n\"Suppose I were to answer, that at times I doubt whether I doubt it\nor not, would not that be a thorough sceptic's answer?\" I admitted\nthat it would be indeed.\n\n____\n\nJuly 8. I was already in the library, writing, when Harrington came\nin to breakfast. \"You seem busy early,\" said he. I told him I was\nmerely endeavoring to manifest my love for his future children.\n\n\"You know,\" said I, \"what Isocrates says, that it is right that\nchildren, as they inherit the other possessions, should also inherit\nthe friendships of their fathers.\"\n\n\"My children!\" said he, very gravely; \"I shall never have any.\"\n\n\"O, yes, you will, and then these sullen vapors of doubt will roll\noff before the sunlight of domestic happiness. It will allure you to\nlove Him who has given you so much to love. Yes,\" said I, gayly,\n\"I shall visit you one day in happier moods; when you will wonder\nhow you could have indulged all your present thoughts of God and\nthe universe. As you gaze into the face of innocent childhood, which\nshows you what faith in God is by trust in you, you will say,\n'Heaven shield the boy from being what his father has been?'--you\nwill feel that such thoughts as yours will not do, as the world\nsays; and we shall all go together, you with your wife on your arm,\nto church there in the in the bright sun and deep quiet of a Sabbath\nmorning, and amidst the music of the Sabbath bells; and as the\ntranquil scene steals into your very soul, you will say, 'No,\nscepticism was not made for man.'\"\n\n \"It is a pleasant romance,\" he replied, gloomily, \"and nothing more.\nI shall never love, and shall therefore never wed; though, I suppose,\nthat does not logically follow. However, it does with me; and,\nconsequently, I presume the children are also only in posse. However,\nwhat is this instance of your kindness to my possible children?\"\nhe added, more cheerfully.\n\n\"I was endeavoring,\" said I, \"on the bare possibility of your retaining\nas a father all the feelings you seem to entertain at present, to\ncompile for your children (as they must be taught something, and you\nwould wish them, as you say, to know the truth) a short catechism. I\nthink the questions in Watts's First Catechism might do for the poor\nlittle souls. The answers (as usual) might not be wholly intelligible\ntill they got older, but still might awaken some notion which in time\nmight ripen into confirmed scepticism.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said he, laughing, \"let me hear what sort of 'religious'\ninstruction you have provided.\"\n\n\"I had only finished one question,\" I replied, \"when you came in:\nbut I almost think it may be considered a 'Summa Theologiae' of itself.\nIt is this:--\n\n\"'Can you tell me, child, who made you?'\n\n\"'I cannot, certainly, tell who made me; neither can my father; but\nfrom the continual misery, confusion, and doubt which I feel in myself\nand see around me'--here the little pupil is to be cautioned not to\nlaugh; the mirth in the eye, perhaps, cannot be extinguished,--I am\nled to doubt whether I was made by one who cares for me or takes any\ninterest in me.'(Good child.)\"\n\n\"As I looked up, after reading this first truth of sceptical theology,\nI observed in Harrington's face something of the same look of sorrow\nwhich I had noted the day before. Suddenly be said, as if to prevent\nany chance recurrence to painful topics:--\n\n\"I very gradually became a doubter. I was perhaps becoming so when, two\nyears ago, I became an idolater, and my idol crumbled to pieces at my\nfeet. That transient vision of the beautiful half reclaimed me from my\ndoubts; the darkness of the succeeding night taught me juster views\nof the miseries of man and the incomprehensible riddle of his existence;\nand I half blushed at my glimpse of selfish happiness.\"\n\nSo saying, he suddenly left the room. Some part of the mystery I felt\nwas unravelled. Alas! the logic of the head,--how fatally fortified by\nthe logic of the heart! And so, thought I to myself, even Harrington\ntoo is in part the dupe of that cunning spirit of delusion which in\nvarious forms is resolved to cast God and a Redeemer and Immortality\nout of the universe, in compliment to man's wonderful elevation,\npurity, unselfishness, and philanthropy! One man tells me, with\nShaftesbury, that he does not want any \"immortal hopes,\" or any such\n\"bribes\" of \"prudence\" to make him virtuous or religious,--delicate,\nnoble-minded creature!--that he can serve and love God equally well,\nthough he were sure of being annihilated to-morrow morning! Another\ndeclares that he would not accept heaven itself if purchased by a\nsingle pang, voluntary or involuntary, endured by any other being in\nGod's universe? Another swears that such is his sympathetic benevolence,\nthat he \"would not accept that same heaven if he thought any other\nbeing was to be shut out of it\"; I wonder whether he condescends to\naccept any blessing now, while a single fallow-creature remains\ndestitute of it? A fourth (a lady too) declares \"there is no theory\nGod, of an author of nature, of an origin of the universe which is\nnot utterly repugnant to her faculties, which is not (to her feelings)\nso irreverent as to make her blush, so misleading as to make her\nmourn\"; and now Harrington, instead of being thankful for his glimpse\nof happiness, and yielding to the better instincts and convictions\nit partly awakened, and learning patience, submission, and faith\nunder his shattered hopes, is taken captive on the same weak side;\nand (all unconscious that he shares in the prophet's feeling, \"I\ndo well to be angry\") fancies that his present gloom is more truly\nin unison with the condition of the universe, and that he is bound\nto be most philanthropically misanthropical. O, well does the Book\nsay of this heart of ours, \"DECEITFUL ABOVE ALL THINGS\"! Such are\nour mingled follies and wickedness, so ludicrous, so sorrowful, are\nthe features presented in this great tragi-comedy,--THE LIFE OF MAN,\n--that it is impossible to play consistently either Democritus\nor Heraclitus.\n____\n\nJuly 9. Mr. Fellowes returned this morning. We had a very pleasant\nday,--theology being excluded. In the evening my companions were\nagain pleased to disturb my occupations; but it was only a short\nskirmish. Fellowes was endeavoring to enlighten his friend\nrespecting the mysteries of \"belief\" and \"faith,\" as expounded by\nsome of his favorite writers: he contended, (making that sheer\nseparation between \"the intellectual\" and \"spiritual,\" which so\nmany of the spiritual school affect.) not only that there may be\ncorrect belief without true faith, which, in an intelligible sense,\nfew will deny; but that there may be a true faith with a false belief',\nor even with none, in the strict sense of the word. Referring to a\nrecent acute writer in one of our religious periodicals, he argued\nthat belief is properly an intellectual process, founded on a presumed\npreponderance of reasons or supposed reasons, for it; and that whether\nthose reasons amount to demonstration, or whether the scale be\nturned by a grain, matters not; the product is purely logical, and\nhas no more to do with \"faith\" than a \"belief\" in any proposition\nof Euclid.\n\n\"But, at all events,\" he proceeded, \"whether you choose to call some\nof these acts of reason by the name of belief or not, faith is\nsomething quite independent of it. As Mr. Newman says, in his 'Phases,'\n'Belief is one thing and faith another': 'belief is purely intellectual;\nfaith is properly spiritual.' 'Nowhere from any body of priests,\nclergy, or ministers, as an order, is religious progress to be\nanticipated till intellectual creeds are destroyed.' See, too, how\ntenderly he speaks even of atheism. 'I do not know,' he says, 'how to\navoid calling this a moral error; but I must carefully guard against\nseeming to overlook that it may still be a merely speculative error,\nwhich ought not to separate our hearts from any man.' Similarly he\ncharitably restricts 'idolatry' in any 'bad sense' to a voluntary\nworshipping of what the worshipper feels not to deserve his adoration;\nand as I, for one, doubt whether this is ever the case, this delightful\ncharity is comprehensive indeed. Mr. Parker's discourse is full of\nthe same beautiful and tolerant maxims. 'Each religious doctrine,' he\nsays, 'has some time stood for a truth ...... Each of these forms of\nreligion (polytheism and fetichism, to wit) did the world service\nin its day.' No one form of religion is absolutely true; faith may\nbe compatible with them all.\"\n\n\"Let me understand you, if possible,\" said Harrington; \"for at present\nI fear I do not. That there may be belief without faith in a very\nIntelligible sense, I can understand. You say there can be faith without\nbelief, and a true faith that is connected with any belief, however\nerroneous, do you not?\"\n\n\"Provided it contains the absolute religion.\"\n\n\"Well, and even the lowest fetichism does that, according to Mr. Parker,\nwhom you defend. Now this Protean faith is what I do not understand.\"\n\n\"That,\" said Fellowes, \"I can easily conceive; and, let me add, no\nsceptic can understand it.\"\n\"I see no reason why he should not,\" said Harrington, laughing, \"if,\nas you and Mr. Newman suppose, the 'spiritual' can be so perfectly\ndivorced from the 'intellectual.' According to your reasoning, the\nand the idolater cannot be incapable of exercising this mysterious\n'faith,'--when their errors are supposed purely speculative,--since\nfaith has nothing to do with the intellect; neither therefore ought\nthe sceptic to be quite beyond the pale of your charity. Nay, his\nintellect being a rasa tabula in these matters, I should think he is\nin more favorable circumstances than they can be. But, seriously, let\nme try, if possible, to fathom this curious dogma,--I beg your\npardon,--sentiment, I mean. Belief without faith in an intelligible\nsense (if by this last we mean a condition of the emotions or\naffections), I can understand; though if the truth believed be of a\nnature to excite to emotion and to dictate action, and fail to do so,\nI doubt whether men in general would not call that belief spurious. For\nexample, if a man, on being told that his house was on fire, sat still\nin his neighbor's chimney-corner, and took no notice of the matter,\nmost persons would say that his assent was no true belief; for it did\nnot produce its effects, did not produce faith. But whether faith can\never exist independently of belief,--whether it is not always involved\nwith it,--and whether there can be a faith worth a farthing that is\nnot based on a true belief,--that is the point on which I want light.\nIf I understand you, an acceptable faith may or may not coexist\nwith a true belief; and men who believe in Jupiter or Jehovah, in one\nGod or a thousand, who worship the sun, or an idol, or a cat, or a\nmonkey, all may have an equally acceptable faith.\"\n\n\"I affirm it.\"\n\n\"That as there may be belief in a truth without faith, so there may\nbe faith, though the intellect believes in a falsehood;--that faith,\nin fact, is independent of knowledge, or of any particular condition\nof the intellect?\"\n\n\"I do not like the terms in which you express the sentiment, but I,\nfor one, believe it substantially correct.\"\n\n\"Never mind the form; I am quite willing to employ other terms, if you\nwill supply them\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" said Fellowes, \"I should say, with Mr. Parker, that\nthe principle of true faith may be found to coexist with the grossest\nand most hideous misconceptions of God, while the absence of it may\ncoexist with the truest and most elevated belief.\"\n\n\"That, I think, comes to much the same as I said. Now about the latter\nwe have no dispute. It is the former that I want light upon: the\nlatter only shows that a belief, which ought to be practical, and if\nnot practical is nothing, is but a species of hypocrisy; and, of\ncourse, I have nothing to say for it. My uncle here, who is still one\nof the orthodox, who believes that an 'acceptable faith' and a\nbelief in the divinity of a monkey or a cat are somehow quite\nincompatible, would be among the first to acknowledge the latter\nposition. He would say, 'No doubt there has often been such a\nthing as \"dead orthodoxy,\"--a creed of the \"letter,\"--a religion\nexclusively dependent on logic, and nothing to do with the feeling's;\n--belief that is not sublimated into faith;--a system of arteries and\nveins infiltrated with some colored substance, like the specimens\nin an anatomical museum, but in which none of the lifeblood of\nreligion circulates. But surely,' he would say, 'it does not follow,\nthat, because there has been belief without faith, there is or can\nbe any independent of some belief, or an acceptable faith without\na true belief.'\"\n\n\"I affirm,\" said Fellowes, \"that 'faith' has nothing to do with\nthe intellect, but is a state of the affections exclusively. I affirm,\nwith a recent acute writer, that there is, properly speaking, no\nbelief at all that is distinguishable from reason. For what is meant\nby belief of a proposition, but the receiving that proposition\ntrue upon evidence, from a supposed preponderance of reasons in\nits favor? Now, whether that preponderance be a ton weight or a single\ngrain, down goes the balance, and reason as strictly decides that it\nis to be received as if it were a mathematical demonstration. If the\narguments, whether abstract or otherwise, absolutely demonstrative or\nonly probable, are supposed to be exactly balanced, there is no reason\nfor deciding in favor of one side more than the other; and there is,\ntherefore, no belief, for the very reason that reason cannot\nbe exercised.\"\n\n\"Very well indeed,\" said Harrington, \"so far as it goes; but I\nforthwith see, that, so far from deriving any benefit from this\ningenious reasoning, there is no such thing as either faith or belief:\nbelief and faith have both vanished at the same time; the first is\nresolved into reason, and the second becomes impossible.\"\n\n\"Belief may,\" said Fellowes, \"but faith never. Its divine beauty is\nall the brighter, when happily divorced from logic and syllogisms,\nits misalliance with which can only be compared to that cruel punishment\nby which the living was chained to the dead. Say what you will, it\nstill reigns and triumphs in the soul in spite of all.\"\n\n\"I am perfectly convinced,\" said Harrington, \"that the modern\nspiritualist will not bring his 'faith' into any ignominious slavery\nto intellect or syllogism. But clear up my doubts if you can. I know\nthat the writers you are fond of quoting very generally give an\nillustration of the nature of faith by pointing to the ingenuous\ntrust of a child in the wisdom and kindness of a parent.\"\n\n\"They do; and is it not a beautiful illustration? That is genuine\nfaith indeed!\"\n\n\"I am willing to take the illustration. The child has faith, we see,\nin his father's superior wisdom and experienced kindness.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"He believes them, therefore.\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"But belief is reason.\"\n\n\"Certainly; but faith is more than that.\"\n\n\"No doubt; but he does believe these things.\"\n\n\"Yes, certainly.\"\n\n\"And if he did not believe them, he would cease to have faith. If,\nfor instance, he be convinced that his father is mad, or cruel, or\nunjust, the state of affections which you call faith will diminish,\nand at last cease.\"\n\n\"Perhaps so,\" said Fellowes.\n\n\"Perhaps so, my friend! I really cannot receive your answer, because\nI am convinced that it does not express your sentiments.\"\n\n\"Well, I believe that the state of affection which call 'faith' would\nbe impossible under such circumstances.\"\n\n\"But belief is reason.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Must we not say, then, that the child's faith depends on the condition\nof his belief, that is, on his reason, so that the 'faith' is possible\nwhen he believes and so long as he believes, that his father is wise\nand kind, but is impossible when he believes, and as soon as he believes,\nthe contrary?\"\n\n\"Yes, I admit that.\"\n\n\"It appears, then, that faith in this,--perhaps the best illustration\nthat could be selected,--so far from being a state of the affections\nexclusive of the intellect, is not exclusive of it, but absolutely\ndependent on it, inasmuch as it is absolutely dependent on belief, and\nthat is dependent on reason. It exists in connection with it, and is\nnever independent of it. If the contrary be affirmed, I doubt whether\nthere can be any such thing as 'faith' in the world. Belief becomes\nreason, and faith, having nothing, you say, to do with the intellect,\nbecomes impossible. But now let it be supposed (as, indeed, I cannot\nbut suppose) that some belief, that is, reason, enlightened or not\n(generally the last), is involved in every act of faith; you yet affirm\nmost distinctly that it is a state of the affections quite unconnected\nwith the truth or falsehood of any intellectual propositions.\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"It ought to follow, then, that it matters not what is the object of\nbelief, provided there is 'faith'; and this, if you observe: is very\nmuch what the language of Mr. Newman would imply, while it is the very\nessence of Mr. Parker's teaching.\"\n\n\"You mean Father Newman, perhaps?\"\n\n\"Why no, I did not; but, to tell you the truth. I now mean either;\nthere not appearing to me much difference between them in this respect.\nWhether you worship an image of a 'winking virgin,' or, according to\nthe other Dromio, the 'ideal' of an idolater,--whether (provided\nalways it be with sincerity and trust!) you adore the Jehovah of\nthe Hebrews, or 'the image which fell down from Jupiter,' ought to\nmake, upon this theory, no great difference.\"\n\n\"Well, in whatever difficulty the controversy may involve us, can we\ndeny this conclusion?\"\n\n\"Truly,\" replied Harrington, \"I think it does not involve me in any\ndifficulty; it shows me that, if this be the 'faith' to which you\nattach so much importance, it really is not worth the powder and shot\nthat must be expended in the controversy. For my own part, I do\nnot hesitate to say that I would rather be absolutely destitute of\n'faith' altogether, than exercise the most absolute faith ever bestowed\nupon a tawdry image of the Virgin, or some misshapen beast of an idol\nof Hindoo or Hottentot workmanship.\"\n\n\"Ah! my friend,\" cried Fellowes, \"do not thus blaspheme the most holy\nfeelings of humanity, however misapplied!\"\n\n\"I do not conceive that I do, in declaring abhorrence and contempt of\nsuch perversions of 'sentiment,' however 'holy' you may call them.\nHideous as they are, however, they are less hideous than the\nhalf-length apologies for them on the part of cultivated and civilized\nhuman beings, like our 'spiritual' infidels. Your tenderness is\nludicrously misplaced. I wonder whether the same apology would extend\nto those exercises of simple-minded 'faith' in which it is said that\nthe Spanish and Portuguese pirates sometimes indulged, when they\nimplored the benediction of their saints on their predatory\nexpeditions! And yet I see not how it could be avoided; for the\nexorbitancies of these pirates were not more hateful to humanity than\nare the rites practices, and the duties enjoined, by many forms of\nreligion. What delightful, ingenuous 'faith' and genuine 'simplicity'\nof mind did these pirates manifest!\"\n\n\"How can you talk so, when we make it a mark of a false revelation,\nthat it contradicts any intuition of our moral nature?\"\n\n\"Then cease to talk of your 'absolute religion,' as capable in any\nway of consecrating the hateful forms of false and cruel superstition for\nwhich you and Mr. Parker condescend to be the apologists. The\nfanaticism of such pious and devout beasts as those saint-loving\npirates is not a more flagrant violation of the principle of morality,\nthan the acts which flow directly as the immediate and natural\nexpression of the infinitely varied but all-polluting forms of\nidolatry with which you are pleased to identify your 'absolute\nreligion,' and in all of which you suppose an acceptable 'faith' to\nbe very possible. You see how Mr. Parker extends the apology to\nthe foulest sets of his Tartar and Calmuck scoundrels; acts\ncalled murders in the codes of Christendom and civilization, but\nvarnished over by the beautiful 'faith' which somehow still lurks\nunder the most frightful practices of a simple-minded barbarian. If\nthis faith will shelter the abominations of a gross idolatry, I see\nnot what else it may not sanctify.--But, in fact, neither in the\ncase of idolaters, nor any other religionists, is it true that\n'faith' is independent of 'belief'; in the case of your Calmuck, for\nexample, the 'belief' is vile, and therefore the 'faith' vile too;\nfaith practical enough, certainly, but one that as certainly does not\n'work by love'; and which, I think, would be well exchanged for a\ndead orthodoxy, or any thing else.\"\n\nIt is not difficult to see the source of the fallacy into which\nMr. Fellowes had fallen. It lies in the attempt to make a\ndistinction in fact, as well as in theory, between the\n\"intellectual\" and \"emotional\" parts of our nature. It is very well\nfor the spiritual and mental analyst to consider separately the\nseveral principles which constitute humanity, and which act, and\nreact, and interact, in endless involution. That there may be acts\nof belief that terminate chiefly in the intellect, and may be wholly\nworthless, who denies? The drunkard, for example, may admit that\nsobriety is a duty; but yet, if he gets drunk every night of his\nlife, we shall, of course, think little of that act of belief,--of\nhis daily repetition of moral orthodoxy. In the same manner, a man\nmay admit that it is his duty to exercise implicit love, gratitude,\nand obedience towards the great object of worship; but if his\nhabitual conduct shows that he has no thought of acting in accordance\nwith this maxim, he must be regarded, in spite of the orthodoxy of\nhis speculative creed, as no better than a heathen; or worse.\n\nBut though it is very possible that a true belief may not involve\ntrue faith, does the converse follow,--that therefore true faith is\nessentially different from it, and independent of it? All history\nshows, that when religion is practical at all,--that is, issues in\nfaith,--such faith is as the truth or falsehood believed; the emotional\nand active conditions of the soul are colored, as usual, by knowledge\nand intellect. These, again, are not independent of the will and the\naffections, as we all familiarly know. And hence the fallacy of\nsupposing that no man is to be thought better or worse for his\n\"intellectual creed.\" His \"creed\" may be his \"crime\"; and surely none\nought to see this more clearly than the writers who deny it; for\nwhy their eternal invectives against \"dogmas,\"--and especially the\ntolerably universal dogmas that men are responsible for the formation\nof their opinions,--except upon the supposition that men are\nresponsible for framing and maintaining them? If they are not, men\nshould be left alone; if they are, they are to be thought of as\n\"worse and better\" for their \"intellectual creed.\"\n\nBefore the conclusion of the conversation, Mr. Fellowes asked me for\nmy opinion.\n\n\"If,\" said I, \"faith be defined independent of an act of intellect,\nthen I think, with our sceptical friend here, there can be no such\nthing at all. For I neither know nor can conceive of any such\nunreasonable exercise of the emotions or affections. If it be meant,\non the other hand, that, though some act of the intellect be indeed\nuniformly involved, yet that it matters not what it is, and that\nfaith does not take its complexion, as of moral value, from it, then\nI also think, with Harrington, that it is impossible to deny that\nsuch a doctrine will sanctify any sort of worship, and any sort of\ndeity, provided men be sincere; are you prepared to contend for much?\"\n\nMr. Fellowes put an adroit objection here. \"Why,\" said he, \"you will\nnot deny, surely, that even Scripture often commends, as good, a faith\nwhich is founded on a very imperfect conception of the spiritual\nrealities to which it is directed?\"\n\n\"It is ingeniously put, I admit. I grant that there are here, as in\nso many other cases, limits which, though it may not be very easy\nto assign them, as plainly exist. But that does not answer my\nquestion. I want to know whether the principle is to be applied\nwithout limits at all, as your speculative theory demands? In other\nwords, will it or not sanctify acts of the most degrading and\npernicious idolatry, of the most debasing superstition, because\nallied to that state of the affections in which you make the essence\nof faith consist? If it will not, then your objection to me is\nnothing; it merely asks me to assign limits within which the exercise\nof the affection in question may be acceptable, or almost equally\nacceptable, in cases of a partially enlightened understanding. If it\nwill, then it leaves you open, as I conceive, and fairly open, to all\nthe objections which have been so brusquely urged against you by your\nfriend, in whose indignant protest against the detestable apologies for\nthe lowest forms of religious degradation, in which so many 'spiritual'\nwriters indulge, I for one heartily sympathize.\"\n\nI ventured to add, that the account of \"faith\" as a state of the\nemotions exclusively, given by some of his favorite writers, is\nperfectly arbitrary. \"Belief,\" say they, \"is wholly intellectual: faith\nis wholly moral.\" Now it would be of very little consequence, if the\nterms be generally so understood, whether they be so used or not; men\nwould, in that case, suppose that faith, thus restricted, implies a\nprevious process of mind which is to be called exclusively belief. I\nadded, however, that I did not believe that the word faith was ever\nthus understood in popular use; but that, on the contrary, it was\nemployed to imply belief founded on knowledge, or supposed knowledge,\nand, where the belief was, in its very nature, practical, or involved\nemotion, a conduct and a state of the affections corresponding thereto.\n\"But this,\" said I, \"merely respects the Popular use of the words, and\nif is hardly worth while to prolong discussion on it. As to the\nreasoning which would show that belief does not properly exist at\nall, because it may be all resolved into reason, founded on the\npreponderance of evidence, where it does not matter whether that\npreponderance be a ton or a scruple,--surely it is over-refined. Men\nwill always feel that there is a marked difference between the states\nof mind in which they assent to a proposition of which they have no\nmore doubt than they have of their own existence, or to a proposition\nin the mathematics, and to one in which they feel that only a few\ngrains turn the scale. To this conscious difference in the condition\nof mind, they have given (and I suppose will not give) very different\nnames; and though they will continue to say that they believe that two\nand two make four, but that they know it, they will say that they\nbelieve that they will die before the end of the century, though they\nwill not say that they know that. The distinction between the certain\nand the probable is felt to be far too important not to be marked by\ncorresponding varieties of speech; and speech has made them according.\"\n\n____\n\nJuly 10. This morning Harrington fulfilled his promise of acquainting\nme with a few of the reasons which prevented his taking refuge in the\n\"half-way houses\" between the Bible and Religious Scepticism. Mr. Fellowes\nwas an attentive listener. Harrington had entitled his paper,--\n\nREASONS FOR DECLINING THE VIA MEDIA BETWEEN REVEALED RELIGION AND\nATHEISM--OR SCEPTICISM WITH SPECIAL REFERENCE TO THE THEORIES OF\nMR. THEODORE PARKER AND MR. FRANCIS NEWMAN.\n\nI shall be brief; not being solicitous to suggest doubts to others,\nbut merely to justify my own.\n\nBoth Mr. Parker and Mr. Newman make themselves very merry with a\n\"book-revelation,\" as they call it; and if they had given any thing\nbetter,--more rational or more certain than the Bible,--how gladly\ncould I have joined in the ridicule! As it is, I doubt the solidity\nof the theories they support, and hardly doubt that, if the principles\non which they reject the Bible be sound, they ought to go much farther.\nBoth affirm the absurdity of a special external revelation to man;\nboth, that the fountain of spiritual illumination is exclusively\nfrom within, and not from without. A few brief citations will set\nthis point in a clear light. \"Religion itself.\" says Mr. Parker,\n\"must be the same thing in each man; not a similar thing, but just\nthe same; differing only in degree.\"*  \"The Idea of God, as a fact\ngiven in man's nature, is permanent and alike in all; while the\nsentiment of God, though vague and mysterious, is always the same in\nitself.\" (ibid. p. 21)--\"Of course, then, there is no difference but\nof words between revealed Religion and natural Religion; for all actual\nReligion is revealed in us, or it could not be felt.\" (ibid. p. 33). The\nAbsolute Religion, which he affirms to be universally known, he defines\nas \"Voluntary Obedience to the Law of God,--inward and outward Obedience\nto that law he has written on our nature, revealed in various ways\nthrough Instinct, Reason, Conscience, and the Religious Sentiment.\"\n(ibid. p. 34). Similarly, Mr. Newman says, \"What God reveals to us he\nreveals within, through the medium of our moral and spiritual senses.\"\n(Soul, p. 59) \"Christianity itself has practically confessed, what is\ntheoretically clear,\"--you must take his word for both,--\"that an\nauthoritative external revelation of moral and spiritual truth is\nessentially impossible to man.\" (Soul, p. 59) \"No book-revelation can\n(without sapping its own pedestal) authoritatively dictate laws of human\nvirtue, or alter our a priori view of the Divine character.\" (Ibid. p.\n58)\n\n----\n* Discourses of Matters pertaining to Religion, p. 36.\n----\n\n\"Happy race of men,\" one is ready to exclaim, with this Idea of God,\none and the same in all; this \"Absolute Religion,\" which is also\n\"universal\"; this internal revelation, which supersedes, by\nanticipating, all possible disclosures of an external revelation,\nand renders it an \"impertinence.\" Men in all ages and nations must\nexhibit a delightful unanimity in their religious notions, sentiments,\nand practices!\n\n\"They would do so,\" cries Mr. Parker; but unhappily, though the \"idea\"\nof God is \"one and the same, and perfect\" in all \"when the proper\nconditions\" are complied with, yet practically, if, in the majority of\nthese proper \"conditions are not observed\"; (Discourses, p. 19) \"the\nconception, which men universally form of God is always imperfect,\nsometimes self-contradictory and impossible\"; \"the primitive\nsimplicity and beauty\" of the \"idea\" are lost. And thus it is, he\ntells us, that, owing to this awkward \"conceptions\" the vast majority\nof the human race have been, and are, and for ages will be, sunk in\nthe grossest Fetichism,--Polytheism,--and every form of absurd and\nmisshapen Monotheism;--the horrors of all which he proceeds faithfully,\nbut not too faithfully, to describe, and sometimes, when he is in the\nmood, to soften and extenuate; in order that he may find that the\n\"grim Calmuck,\" and even the savage, \"whose hands are smeared over\nwith the blood of human sacrifices,\" are yet in possession of the\n\"absolute Idea\" and the \"absolute religion.\"\n\nAnd what must we infer from Mr. Newman? The unanimity anticipated\nwould, doubtless, be obtained, only that, unfortunately, there are\nvarious principles of man's nature which traverse the legitimate action\nand impede the due development of the \"spiritual faculty\"; and so\nman is apt to wander into a variety of those \"degraded types\" of\nreligious development, which the dark panorama of this world's\nreligions has ever presented to us, and presents still. \"Awe,\"\n\"wonder,\" \"admiration,\" \"sense of order,\" \"sense of design,\" may\nall mislead the unhappy \"spiritual faculty\" into quagmires; and, in\npoint of fact, have wheedled and corrupted it ten thousand times\nmore frequently than it has hallowed them. This all history, past and\npresent, shows.\n\nIt is certainly unfortunate, and as mysterious, that those unlucky\n\"conceptions\" of God should have the best of it,--or rather, that the\n\"idea\" of God should have the worst of it; nor less so that Awe,\nReverence, and so forth, should thus put the \"spiritual faculty\" so\nhopelessly hors de combat.\n\nNevertheless, two questions naturally suggest themselves. Since the\ndestructive \"conceptions\" have almost everywhere impaired the \"Idea,\"\nand the \"degraded types\" seduced the \"spiritual faculty,\"--1st. What\nproof have we that man has an original and universal fountain of\nspiritual illumination in himself? and 2dly. If he have, but under\nsuch circumstances, is its utility so unquestionable that no space is\nleft for the offices of an external revelation?\n\nFirst. What is the evidence of the uniform existence in man of any\nsuch definite faculty?\n\nWhen we say that any principle or faculty is common to the whole\nspecies, do we not make the proof of this depend upon the uniformity\nof the phenomena which exhibit it? When we say, for example, that\nhunger and thirst are universal appetites, is it not because we find\nthem universal? or if we say that the senses of sight and hearing are\ncharacteristic of the race, do we not contend that these are so,\nbecause we find them uniform in such an immense variety of instances,\nthat the exceptions are not worth reckoning? If men sometimes saw\nblack where others saw white, some objects rectilinear which others\nsaw curved, objects small which others saw large,--nay, the very same\nmen at different times seeing the same objects differently colored,\nand of varying forms and attitudes, and every second man almost\nstone-blind into the bargain,--I rather think that, instead of saying\nmen were endowed with one and the same power of vision, we should say\nthat our nature exhibited only an imperfect and rudimentary tendency\ntowards so desirable a faculty; but that a clear, uniform, faculty of\nvision there certainly was not. As I gaze upon the spectacle of the\ninfinite diversities of religion, which variegate, but, alas! do not\nbeautify the what is there to remind me of every uniformity of which\nI do see the indelible traces in every faculty really characteristic\nof our nature; as, for example, our senses and our appetites? Powerfully\ndoes Hume urge this argument in his--\"Natural History of Religions.\"\n(Introduction)\n\nI have my doubts--admire the modesty of a sceptic--whether the entire\nphenomena of religion do not favor the conclusion, that man, in this\nrespect, only the traces of an imperfect, truncated creature; that,\nhe is in the predicament of the half-created lion so graphically\ndescribed by Milton:--\n\n\"Now half appeared\nThe tawny lion, pawings to get free\nHis hinder parts\";\n\nonly, unfortunately, man's \"hinder parts\"--his lower nature--have\ncome up first, and appear, unhappily, prominent; while his nobler\n\"moral and spiritual faculties\" still seem stuck in the dust!\n\nThere is, indeed, another hypothesis, which squares, perhaps, equally\nwell with the phenomena,--I mean that of the Bible:--that man is not\nin his original state; that the religions constitution of his nature,\nin some way or other, has received a shock. But either this, or the\nsupposition that man has been insufficiently equipped for the uniform\nelimination of religious truth, is, I think, alone in harmony with\nthe facts; and to those facts, patent on the page of the whole world's\nhistory, I appeal for proof that man has not on these highest subjects,\nthe certitude of any internal revelation, marked by the remotest\nanalogy to those other undoubted principles and faculties which exhibit\nthemselves with undeniable uniformity.\n\nIt will perhaps be said, that the spiritual phenomena are not so\nuniform as those of sense,--as Mr. Parker and Mr. Newman both\nabundantly admit,--but that there is an approximate uniformity. And\nyou must seek it, says Mr. Parker, in the \"Absolute Religion\"\nwhich animates every form of religion, and is equally found in all.\nI know the chatters about this incessantly; but when I attempt thus\nto \"hunt the one in the many,\" as Plato would call it.--to seek the\nelusive unity in the infinite multiform,--to discover what it is\nwhich equally embalms all forms, from the Christianity of Paul to the\nreligion of the \"grim Calmuck,\" I acknowledge myself as much at\nloss as Martinus in endeavoring to catch the abstraction of a\nLord Mayor; Mr. Parker, on the other hand, is like Crambe, \"Who,\nto show his acuteness, swore that he could form an abstraction\nof a Lord Mayor, not only without his horse, gown, and gold chain,\nbut even without stature, feature, color, hands, head, feet, or any\nbody, which he supposed was the abstract of a Lord Mayor.\" Or if\nit be vain to attempt to abstract this Absolute Religion from all\nreligions, as Mr. Parker indeed admits,--though it is truly in\nthem,--and I take his definition from his \"direct consciousness,\"\n--which direct consciousness we can see has been directly affected\nby his abjured Bible,--namely, \"that it is voluntary obedience to\nwill of God, outward and inward,\"--why, what on  earth does this\nvague generality do for us? What of God? Is he or it one or many?\nof infinite attributes or finite? of goodness and mercy equal to\nhis power, or not? What is his will? How is he to be worshipped?\nHave we offended him? Is he placable or not? Is he to be approached\nonly through a mediator of some kind, as nearly all mankind have\nbelieve but which Mr. Parker denies,--a queer proof, by the way,\nof the clearness of the internal oracle, if he be right,--or is he\nto be approached, as Mr. Parker believes, and Mr. Newman with him,\nwithout any mediator at all? Is it true that man is immortal, and\nknows it by immediate \"insight,\" as Mr. Parker contends, or does\nthe said \"insight,\" as Mr. Newman believes, tell us nothing about\nthe matter? Surely the \"Absolute Religion,\" after having removed\nfrom it all in which different religions differ, is in danger of\nvanishing that imperfect susceptibility of some religion, which I\nhave already conceded, and which is certainly not such a thing as\nto render an external revelation very obviously superfluous. It\nmay be summed up in one imperfect article. All men and each may say,\n\"I believe there is some being, superior in some respects to man,\nwhom it is my duty or my interest to\"--caelera desunt.\n\n\nTo affirm that every man has this \"Absolute Religion\" without\nexternal revelation is much as if a man were to say that we have\nan \"Absolute Philosophy\" on the same terms, in virtue of man's\nhaving faculties which prompt him to philosophize in some way. All\nreligions contain the Absolute Religion, says Mr. Parker: Just, I\nreply, as all philosophies contain the absolute philosophy. The\nphilosophy of Plato, of Aristotle of Bacon, of Locke, of Leibnitz,\nof Reid, are all philosophies, no doubt; but that is all that is\nto be said. Even contraries must resemble one another in one point,\nor they could not be contrasted. In truth, there is, I think, a\nstriking analogy between man's spiritual and intellectual condition;\nonly his intellect is a little less variable than his \"spiritual\nfaculty\"; far more so, however, than his senses. His animal nature\nis more defined than his intellectual, his intellectual than his\nspiritual and moral. All the phenomena point either to an imperfect\norganization of his nobler faculties, or to the doctrine of\nthe \"Fall.\"\n\nBut further, surely if this internal oracle exists in man, every\nsincere and earnest soul, on interrogating his consciousness, would\nhear the indubitable response,--would enjoy the beatific vision of\n\"spiritual insight.\" If this be asserted, I for one have to say to\nthis representation, that, so far as my own consciousness informs\nme, I have honestly, sincerely, and with utmost diligence,\ninterrogated my spirit; and I solemnly protest, that, apart from\nthose external influences and that external instruction which the\nrevelation from within is supposed to anticipate and supersede, I am\nnot conscious that I should have any of the sentiments which either\nof these writers make the sum of religion. Even as to that fundamental\nposition,--the existence of a Being of unlimited power and wisdom, (as\nto his unlimited goodness, I believe nothing but an external revelation\ncan absolutely certify us,) I feel that I am much more indebted to\nthose influences from design, which these writers made so light of,\nthan to any clearness in the imperfect intuition: for if I found--and\nsurely this is the true test--the traces of design less conspicuous\nin the external world, confusion there, as in the moral and in both\ngreater than is now found in either; I extremely doubt whether the\nfaintest surmise of such a Being would have suggested itself to me.\nBut be that as it may; as to their other cardinal sentiments,--the\nnature of my relations to this Being,--his placability; if offended,\n--the terms of forgiveness, if any,--whether, as these gentlemen\naffirm, he is accessible to all, without any atonement or\nmediator;--as to all this, I solemnly declare, that, apart from\nexternal instruction; I cannot by interrogating my racked spirit,\ncatch even a murmur. That it must be faint, indeed, in other men,\nso faint as to render the pretensions of the certitude of the\ninternal revelation, and its independence of all external revelation,\nperfectly preposterous, I infer from this,--that they have, for the\nmost part, arrived at diametrically opposite conclusions from those\nof these interpreters of the spiritual revelation. As to the\narticles, indeed; of man's immortality and a future state, it would\nbe truly difficult for my \"spiritual insight\" to verify theirs; for,\naccording to Mr. Parker, his \"insight\" affirms that man is immortal,\nand Mr. Newman's \"insight\" declares nothing about the matter!\n\nNor is my consciousness, so far as I can trace it, mine only. This\npainful uncertainty has been the confession of multitudes of far\ngreater minds; they have been so far from contending that we have\nnaturally a clear utterance on these great questions, that they\nhave acknowledged the necessity of an external revelation; and\nmankind in general, so far from thinking or feeling such light\nsuperfluous, have been constantly gasping after it, and adopted\nalmost any thing that but bore the name.\n\nWhat, then, am I to think of this all-sufficient revelation from\nwithin?\n\nThere is, indeed, an amusing answer of Mr. Newman's to the difficulty:\nbut then it formally surrenders the whole argument. He says to those\nwho say they are unconscious of those facts of spiritual pathology\nwhich he describes in his work on the \"Soul,\" that the consciousness\nof the spiritual man is not the less true, that the unspiritual man is\nnot privy to it; and this most devout gentleman somewhere quotes, with\nmuch unction, the words, \"For the spiritual man judgeth all things,\nbut himself is judged of no man.\"\n\n\"I shall be curious to know,\" said I, interrupting him, \"what you will\nreply to that argument?\"\n\nReply to it, said he, eagerly; does it require any reply?--However, I\nwill read what I have written. Is it not plain, that while Mr. Newman\nis professedly anatomizing the spiritual nature of man, as man,--the\nfunctions and revelations of that inward oracle which supersedes and\nanticipates all external revelations--he is, in fact, anatomizing his\nown? What title has he, when avowedly explaining the phenomena of the\nreligious faculty which he asserts to be inherent in humanity,--though\nhow they should need explaining, if his theory be true, I know not,--what\ntitle has he, when men deny that they are conscious of the facts he\ndescribes, to raise refuge in his own private revelations, and that of\nthe few whose privilege it is to be \"born again\" by a mysterious law\nwhich he says it is impossible for us to investigate? \"We cannot\npretend,\" he says, \"to sound the mystery whence comes the new birth,\nin certain souls. To reply, 'The Spirit bloweth where He listeth,'\nconfesses the mystery, and declines to explain it. But it is evident\nthat individuals in Greece, in the third century before the Christian\nera, were already moving towards an intelligent heart-worship or\nhad even begun to practise it!\" (Soul, p.64)\nHigh time, I think, that after some thousands of years some few\nindividuals should begin to manifest the phenomena of the universal\nrevelation from within, if such a thing be!\n\nThis is not to delineate the religions nature of humanity, but to\nreveal--yes, and to reveal externally--the religious nature of the\nelect few,--and few they are indeed,--who, by a mysterious infidel\nCalvinism, are permitted to attain, by direct intuition, and\nindependent of all external revelation, the true sentiments and\nexperiences of \"spiritual insight.\" It this be Mr. Newman's solution\nof our difficulties, it is utterly nugatory. It is not to dissect\nthe soul, \"its sorrows and aspirations\"; it is merely to give us\nthe pathology--perhaps the morbid pathology--of Mr. Newman's soul;\nits sorrows and its aspirations. If the answer merely respected the\npractical value of a theory of spiritual sentiments, which all\nacknowledged, then Mr. Newman's answer might have some force; for\ncertainly, only he who reduced that theory to practice, or attempted\nto do so, would have a right to conclude against the experience of\nhim who did. But it is obvious that the question affects the theory\nitself, and especially the consciousness of those terms of possible\ncommunion with God, those relations of the soul to him, on the\nreception of which all the said spiritual experience must depend.\n\nHow, then, stands the argument? I ask how I shall know the intimation\nof the spiritual faculty, which renders all \"external revelation\" an\nimpertinence? I am told, with delicious vagueness, that I must gaze on\nthe phenomena of spiritual consciousness; I say I exercise earnest and\nsincere self-scrutiny, and that I can discern nothing but shadowy forms,\nmost of which do not answer to those which these new spiritualists\ndescribe; and then Mr. Newman turns round and says, that the unspiritual\nnature cannot discern them! What is this but to give up the only\nquestion of any importance to humanity,--which is not what are Mr.\nNewman's spiritual phenomena; if they are known to himself, it is\nwell; he has been very long in discovering them, in spite of the\nclearness of the internal revelation;--but what are those of man? In\nthe former be all, Mr. Newman is safe indeed; he is intrenched in his\nown peculiar consciousness, of which I am quite willing to admit\nthat all other men (as well as I) are inadequate judges. But the\nmonograph of a solitary enthusiast is of the least possible consequence\nto humanity. For reasons similar to those which render us\nincompetent to pronounce on his experience, he is incapable of judging\nof ours. There is only one other answer that I know of, and that is\nthe answer which Fellowes made to me the other day, when you were not\nby:--\"O, but you have the same spiritual consciousness as I have,\nonly you are not aware of it?\" I contented myself with saying, that\nI was just as able to comprehend a perception which is not perceived,\nas a consciousness which when sought was not to be found. The question\nis one of consciousness; you say you have it, I do not deny it; I have\nit not. Now, if we are not disputing as to whether it be a\ncharacteristic of humanity, it little matters: if we are, I plainly\nhave the best of it, because want of uniformity in the phenomenon\nis destructive of the hypothesis.\n\nBut I proceed to ask my second question. Is the \"absolute religion\"\nof Mr. Parker, or the \"spiritual faculty\" of Mr. Newman, of such\nsingular use as to supersede all external revelation, since by the\nunfortunate \"conceptions\" of the one, and the \"degraded types\" of the\nother, it has for ages left man, and does, in fact, now leave him,\nto wallow in the lowest depths of the most debasing idolatry and\nsuperstition; since, by the confession of these very writers, the\ngreat bulk of mankind have been and are hideously mal-formed, in\nfact, spiritual cripples, and have been left to wander in infinitely\nvaried paths of error, but always paths of error?--for Judaism and\nChristianity, though better forms, are, as well as other forms,\n--according to these writers,--full of fables and fancies, of lying\nlegends and fantastical doctrines. Think for a moment of a \"spiritual\nfaculty,\" so bright as to anticipate all essential spiritual verities,\n--the universal possession of humanity,--which yet terminates in\nleaving the said humanity to grovel in every form of error, between\nthe extremes of Fetichism, which consecrates a bit of stone, and\nPantheism, which consecrates all the bits of stone in the universe, in\nfact, a sort of comprehensive Fetichism;--which leaves man to erect\nevery thing into a God, provided it is none,--sun, moon, stars, a cat,\na monkey, an onion, uncouth idols, sculptured marble; nay, a shapeless\ntrunk,--which the devout impatience of the idolater does not stay to\nfashion into the likeness of a man, but gives it its apotheosis at\nonce! Think of the venerable, wide-spread empire of the infinite forms\nof polytheism, the ancient Egyptian, Greek, Roman, Chinese, and Hindoo\nmythologies; and then acknowledge, that, if man has this faculty, it\nis either the most idle prerogative ever bestowed on a rational\ncreature, or that, somehow or other, as the Bible affirms, it has\nbeen denaturalized and disabled. If, on the other hand, man has this\nfaculty, and yet has never fallen, it can only be because he never\nstood; and then, no doubt, as John Bunyan hath it, \"He that is down\nneed fear no fall!\"\n\nThere is an answer, indeed, but it is one which, in my judgment,\ncovers those who resort to it with the deepest shame. It is that\nwhich apologizes for all these abominations,--so humiliating and\nodious, by representing them as less humiliating and odious than\nthey are. It is true that Mr. Parker, when it is his cue, is most\neloquent in his denunciations of the infinite miseries and degradation\nwhich have followed the exorbitancies of the religious principle.\nThus he says of superstition (and there are other innumerable\npassages to a similar effect), \"To dismember the soul, the very\nimage of God,--to lop off the most sacred affections,--to call Reason\na liar, Conscience a devil's oracle, and cast Love clean out from\nthe heart,--this is the last triumph of superstition, but one often\nwitnessed in all the three forms of Religion, Fetichism, Polytheism,\nMonotheism; in all ages before Christ, in all ages after Christ.\" Far\nbe it from me to deny it, or the similar horrors which he liberally\nshows flow from fanaticism. But then, at other times, that quintessence\nof all abstractions which all religions alike contain--the \"absolute\nreligion\"--imparts such perfume and appetizing relish to the whole\ncomposition, that, like Dominie Sampson in Meg Merrilies's cuisine,\nMr. P. finds the Devil's cookery-book not despicable. The things he\nso fearfully describes are but perversions of what is essentially\ngood. The \"forms,\" the \"accidentals,\" of different religions become\nof little consequence; whether it be Jehovah or Jupiter, the infinite\nCreator or a divine cat, a holy and gracious God that is loved, or\nan impure demon that is feared,--all this is secondary, provided\nthe principles of faith, simplicity, and earnestness--that is,\nblind credulity and idiotic stupidity--inspire the wretched votary;\nas if the perversions he deplores and condemns were not the necessary\nconsequences of such religions themselves, or, rather, as if they\nwere aught but the religions! In virtue of the \"absolute religion,\"\n\"many a savage smeared with human sacrifice,\" and the Christian\nmartyr perishing with a prayer for his persecutors, are hastening\ntogether to the celestial banquet. I hope the \"savage\" will not\ngo with \"unwashen hands,\" I trust he may be Pharisee enough for\nthat; I also hope the two will not sit next one another; otherwise\nthe savage may be tempted to offer up a second sacrifice, and the\nChristian martyr be a martyr a second time. Hear him:--\"He that\nworships truly, by whatever form,\"--that is, who is sincere in his\nFetichism, his idolatry, his sacrifices, though they may be human,\n--\"worships the only God; he hears the prayer, whether called Brahma,\nPan, or Lord, or called by no name at all. Each people has its\nprophets and its saints; and many a swarthy Indian who bowed down\nto wood and stone,--many a grim-faced Calmuck, who worshipped the\ngreat God of Storms,--many a Grecian peasant who did homage to\nPhoebus Apollo when the sun rose or went down,--yes, many a savage,\nhis hands smeared all over with human sacrifice,--shall come from\nthe East and the West, and sit down in the kingdom of God, with Moses\nand Zoroaster, with Socrates and Jesus.\" (Discourses, p. 83) The\ncharity which hopes that men may be forgiven the crime of \"religions\"\nwhich, if there be a God at all, must be \"abominations,\" one can\nunderstand; but these maudlin apologies for the religions themselves,\n--as if they were not themselves crimes, and involved crimes in\ntheir very practice,--I do not understand. According to this, all\nthat man has to do is to be sincere in any thing, however diabolical,\nand it is at once transmuted into a virtue which nothing less than\nheaven can reward!\n\nMr. Newman sometimes follows closely in Mr. Parker's steps in the\nexercise of this bastard toleration, this spurious charity; though,\nin justice, I must say, he does not go his length. Yet who can read\nwithout laughter that definition of idolatry, made apparently for\nthe same preposterous purpose,--to sanctify the hideous absurdities\nof the \"religious sentiment,\" and to save the credit of the \"internal\noracle\"? He says,--\"To worship as perfect and infinite one whom we\nknow to be imperfect and finite, this is idolatry, and (in any bad\nsense) this alone ...... A man can but adore his own highest ideal;\nto forbid this is to forbid all religion to him. If, therefore,\nidolatry is to mean any thing wrong and bad, the word must be reserved\nfor the cases in which a man degrades his ideal by worshipping\nsomething that falls short of it.\" (Soul, pp. 55, 56)\n\nSo that the most degraded idolater, if he but come up to his own\nideal of the Divinity, is none at all, but a respectable worshipper!\nIt may be; but the idolater's ideal of God is, generally, the reality\nof what others call the Devil!--Only think of the divine ideal of a\nman who worships an image of his own making, with ten heads and twenty\nhands! The definition reminds me of that passage in which Pascal's\nJesuit Father defines the moral sin of \"idleness\":--\"It is,\" says\nhe, \"a grief that spiritual things should be spiritual, as if\nit should be regretted that the sacraments are the source of grace;\nand it is a mortal sin.\" \"O Father!\" said I, \"I cannot imagine that\nany one can be idle in such a sense.\" \"So Escobar says, 'I confess\nit is very seldom that any person fails into the sin of idleness.'\nNow, surely, you must see the necessity of a good definition!\"\n\nNo, no; few but Mr. Parker will affirm that the various religions\nwhich have overshadowed the world are essentially more one in virtue\nof the \"absolute religion,\" than they are different in virtue of\ntheir principles, tendencies, practices, and forms; while in none\n--if we except Judaism and Christianity--is there enough of the\n\"absolute religion\" to keep them sweet.\n\nThese apologies, odious as they are, are necessary if the credit of\nthe \"spiritual faculty\" and the \"absolute religion\" is to be at\nall preserved. But, unhappily, it is not a tone which can be\nconsistently preserved. Sometimes the religions of mankind are all\ntolerable enough, from the presence of the all-consecrating element;\nand sometimes, in spite of this great antiseptic, they are represented\nas the rotten, putrid things they are! And then another answer, equally\nempty with the former, is hinted to save the credit of the darling\noracle. Its due influence has been perverted, its just expansion\nprevented, by the influence of national religions, by the\nintervention of the \"historical\" and \"traditional,\" by false and\npernicious education;--these things, it seems, have poisoned the\nwaters of spiritual life in their source, else they had gushed out\nof the hidden fountains of the heart pure as crystal!\n\nYes, it is too plain; \"Bibliolatry\" and \"Historical Religion,\" in\nsome shape,--Vedas, Koran, or Bible,--have been the world's bane.\nHad it not been for these, I suppose, we should everywhere have\nheard the invariable utterance of \"spiritual religion\" in the one\ndialect of the heart.\n\nIt is too certain that the world has found its spiritual \"Babel\":\nthe one dialect of the heart is yet to be heard.\n\nBut I am not sure that the apologetic vein would not be wiser. For\nwhat is this plea, but to acknowledge that man is so constituted\nthat the boasted \"religious sentiment,\" the \"spiritual faculty,\"--if\nit exist at all, and is any thing more than an ill-defined tendency,\n--instead of being a glorious light which anticipates all external\nrevelation, and renders it superfluous, is, in fact, about the feeblest\nin our nature; which everywhere and always is seduced and debauched\nby the most trumpery pretensions of the \"historical\" and\n\"traditional\"! It is not so with people's eyes; it is not so with\npeople's appetites; no parental influence or early instruction can\nmake men think that green is blue, or stones and chalk good for food.\nYet this glorious faculty uniformly yields,--goes into shivers in the\nencounter! I, at least, will grant to Mr. Parker all he says of the\npernicious and detestable character of the infinite variety of \"false\nconceptions of God,\" and to Mr. Newman all he says of the \"degraded\ntypes\" of religion; but then it was Man himself that framed all\nthose \"false conceptions,\" and all those \"degraded types.\" How came\nhe thus universally to triumph over that divinely implanted faculty\nof spiritual discernment, which, if it exist, must be the most\nadmirable feature of humanity; which these writers tell us anticipates\nall external truth, but which, it seems, greedily swallows all\nexternal error? It almost universally submits to the most\ncontemptible pretensions of a revelation, and acknowledges that it\ndares not to pronounce on that, even when false, of which, even\nwhen true, it is to be the sole source! There never was an\n\"historical\" religion, however contemptible, that did not make\nits thousands of proselytes. Man has been easily led to embrace\nthe most absurd systems of mythology and superstition, and is\nwilling even to go to death for them.\n\nSo far from venturing to set up the claims of the internal oracle\nin competition, man all but uniformly takes his religion from his\nfathers (no matter what), just as he takes his property; only the\nformer, however worthless, he holds as infinitely the more precious.\nEven when he surrenders it, he still surrenders it to some other\n\"historical\" religion: it is to that he turns. Such men as Mr. Newman\nand Mr. Parker--though every one can see that their system too has\nbeen derived from without, that it is, in fact, nothing but a\ndistorted Christianity--may be numbered by units. The vast bulk of\nmankind are unresisting victims of the \"traditional\" and\n\"historical\"; nay, rather eagerly ask for it, and willingly submit\nto it. What, then, can I infer, but either, 1st, that this vaunted\ninternal faculty which supersedes all necessity of an external\nrevelation is a delusion, and exists only as a vague and imperfect\ntendency; or, 2dly, that, as Christians say, it lies in ruins, and\nneeds that external revelation, the possibility of which is denied;\nor, 3dly, that God has somehow made a great mistake in mingling the\nvarious elements of man's composition, and miscalculating the\novermastering power of the \"historical\" and \"traditional \"; or,\n4thly, that man, having the original faculty still bright and strong,\nand that brightness and strength sufficient for his guidance and\nsupport, is more hopelessly, deliberately, and diabolically wicked,\nin thus everywhere and always substituting error for truth, and\nsuperstition for religion,--in thus giving the historical and\ntraditional the uniform ascendency over the moral and\nspiritual,--than even the most desperate Calvinist ever ventured\nto represent him! Surely he is the most detestable beast that ever\ncrawled on the face of the earth, and, in a new and more portentous\nsense, \"loves darkness rather than light.\" The fact is, that--so\nfar from having even a suspicion that an external revelation is\nuseless or impossible--he, as already said, greedily seeks for it,\nand devours it.\n\nNay, so far from its being authenticated by the history, or vouched\nby the consciousness of the race, this very proposition--that man\nstands in no need of an external revelation--first comes to him,\nand rather late too, by an external revelation; even the revelation\nof such writers as Mr. Parker and Mr. Newman. The last has been a\nstudent of theology for twenty years, and has only just arrived at\nthis conviction, that he needed no light, inasmuch as he had plenty\nof light \"within.\" Brilliant, surely, it must have been! I can only\nsay for myself, that I do not, even with such aid, find myself in any\nsuperfluous illumination, and would gladly accept, with Plato, some\ndivine communication, of which, heathen as he was, he acknowledged the\nnecessity.\n\nThe mode of accounting for man's universal aberrations, from the\ntyranny of \"Bibliolatry\" and superstitious and pernicious \"education,\"\n--seeing that it is a tyranny of man's own imposing,--is exactly\nlike that by which some theologians seek to elude the argument\nof man's depravity; it is owing, they say, to the influence of\na universally depraved education! But whence that universally\ndepraved education they forget to tell us. Meantime, the inquirer\nis apt to put that universal proclivity in the matter of education\nto that very depravity for which it is to account.\n\nSimilarly, one is apt to infer, from man's tendency to deviate into\nany path of religious superstition and folly, that the spiritual\nlantern he carries within casts but a feeble light upon hit path.\nThis plea, therefore, is utterly worthless; for if it were true,\nthat the influence of tradition and historic association, when\nonce set up, could thus darken and debauch the natural faculty,\nwhose specific office it was to convey, like the eye, specific\nintelligence, it would not account for the first tendencies of man\nto disown its authority in favor of an absurd and uniform submission\nto the usurpations of tradition and priestcraft. The faculty is\nuniversally feeble against this influence; it staggers; whether\nfrom weakness or drunkenness little matters, except that the last\nis the viler infirmity of the two. If we find a river turbid, it\nis of no consequence whether it was so as it issued from its\nfountain, or from pollutions which have been infused into its\ncurrent lower down,--it is a turbid river still.\n\nOn the whole, so far from admitting the principle of Mr. Newman,\nthat a \"book-revelation\" of moral and spiritual truth is unnecessary,\nI should rather be disposed to infer the very contrary, from the\nuncertainty, vacillation, and feebleness of man's spiritual nature.\nI should be disposed to infer it, whether I look at the lessons\nwhich experience and history teach, or those taught by my own anxious\nand sincere scrutiny of my own consciousness. If it be, on the other\nhand, as he says, \"impossible,\" mankind are in a very hopeless\npredicament, since it only proves that, the \"spiritual insight\" of\nman having unhappily failed the great majority of our race, it cannot\nbe supplied by any external aid; that the malady, which is but too\napparent, is also as apparently without a remedy.\n\nFor myself, I must say that I find myself hopelessly at issue with\nhim in virtue of the above axiom, whether I receive or reject his\ntheory of religious truth; for, if that axiom be true, I must\nreject his theory of religion,--since it is nothing but a\nbook-revelation to me,--issued by Mr. Newman, instead of the Bible\nor the Koran. On the other hand, if that theory be true, and I accept\nit, his maxim must be false, for the very same reason; since he\nhimself will have given me a double book-revelation,--a revelation\nat once of the theory and of the genesis of religion, both of which\nare in many respects absolute novelties to my consciousness.\n\nBut further; if we take the genesis of religion as described by\neither of these writers, and consider the infinite corruptions to\nwhich they both acknowledge a perverted, imperfect \"development\" of\nthe \"religious sentiment\" and the \"spiritual faculty\" has led, one\nwould imagine that an external communication from Heaven might be\nboth very possible and very useful; useful, if only by cautioning\nmen against those \"false conceptions\" which have so uniformly swamped\nthe \"idea,\" and those \"degraded types,\" into which all the various\nprinciples of  our nature have wheedled the \"spiritual faculty.\"\nOnly listen to a brief specimen of the \"by-path meadows\" which\nentice the poor soul from the direct course of its development,\nand judge whether a communication from Heaven, if it were only to\nthe extent of a sign-post by the way-side, might not be of use!\nFirst comes \"awe.\" \"But even in this early stage,\" says Mr. Newman,\n\"numberless deviations take place, and mark especially the rudest\nPaganism. We may embrace them under the general name of Fetichism,\nwhich here claims attention ...... But even in the midst of\nenlightened science, and highly literate ages, errors fundamentally\nidentical with those of Fetichism may and do exist, and with the\nvery same results.\" (Soul, pp. 7, 10.) Then comes wonder: \"But of\nthis likewise we find numerous degraded types in which the rising\nreligion is marred ...... Of this we have eminent instances in\nthe gods of Greece, and in the fairies of the German and Persian\ntribes ...... Under the same head will be included the grotesque\ndevil-stories and other legends of the Middle Ages ...... Yet the\ndreadful alternative of gross superstition is this, that the graver\nview tends to cruel and horrible rites, while the fanciful and\nsportive sucks out the life-blood of devout feeling.\" (Ibid. pp. 14-16.)\nThen comes the sense of beauty: \"This was strikingly illustrated in\nGreek sculpture. A statue of exquisite beauty, representing some hero,\nor an Apollo, because of its beauty, seemed to the Greeks a fit object\nof worship ...... An opposite danger is often remarked to accompany\nthe use of all the fine arts as handmaids to religion; namely, that\nthe would-be worshipper is so absorbed in mere beauty as never to\nrise into devotion.\" (Ibid. pp. 21, 23.) Then comes the sense of\norder; but, alas! Atheism and Pantheism, and other \"degrading types,\"\nmay be begotten of it!\n\nAs I look at men thus tumbling into error along this wretched\ncauseway to heaven, I seem to be viewing Addison's bridge of human\nlife, with its broken arches, at each of which thousands are falling\nthrough. This way to the \"celestial city\" ought to be called the\n\"Northwest Passage\"; it has one, and only one, trait of your\nChristian path: \"there will be few that find it.\"\n\nIf, then, by the confession of these writers, the \"false conceptions\"\nand the \"degraded types\"--the result of what are as truly \"principles\"\nof man's nature as the supposed \"spiritual faculty,\" only that this\nlast always has the worst in the conflict--have universally, and\nfor unknown ages, involved man in the darkest abysses of superstition,\ncrime, and misery, surely external revelation is any thing but\nsuperfluous; and if impossible, so much the worse.\n\nThe same truth is even formally evinced by the self-destructive\ncourse which both writers employ; for as the conditions of the\ndevelopment of our \"spiritual nature,\" when not complied with,\nlead to all the deplorable consequences which they acknowledge,\nhow do they propose to rectify them? Why, by \"external\"\nculture, proper discipline and training, judicious instruction,\nby enlightening mankind,--as we may suppose they are doing by these\nhopeful books of theirs! If man can do so much by his books, is\nit impossible that a book from God might do something more? But\non this I will say nothing, since you tell me that you have heard\nattentively the conversation I had with my friend Fellowes the other\nday. I will therefore omit what I had written on this point ......\n\nBut I proceed to another, maintained by these writers, on which I\nconfess I am equally sceptical. If they concede (as how can they\nhelp it?) that the \"religious sentiment\" and the \"spiritual faculty\"\nhave somehow left humanity involved in the most deplorable\nperplexities and the most humiliating errors, they yet assure us\nthat there is \"a good time coming,\"--an auspicious \"progress\" in\nvirtue and religion, very gradual indeed, but sure and illimitable\nfor the race collectively! Yes, \"progress,\" that is 'the word;\nand a \"progress\" for the world at large, of which they speak\nas certainly as if they had received, at least on that point,\nthat external revelation, the possibility of which they deny. A\nmatter of spiritual \"insight\" I presume none will declare it to\nbe, and the data are certainly far too meagre and unsatisfactory\nto make it calculation. Is Saul among the prophets? Yes; but, as\nusual, the truth (if it be a truth) for which they contend is, as\nwith other parts of their system, a plagiarism from the abjured\nBible. Now, if I must believe prophecy, I prefer the magnificent\nstrains of Isaiah to the sentimental prose either of Mr. Parker\nor of Mr. Newman.\n\nI must modestly doubt whether, apart from the representations of\nthe \"books\" they abjure as special \"revelations,\" there is any\nthing in the history of the world which will justly a sober-minded\nman in coming to any positive conclusion as to this promised\n\"progress\" this infidel millennium, either the one way or the\nother. The chief facts, apart from such special information,\nwould certainly point the other way. Look at the condition of the\nimmense majority of the race in every age,--so far as we can gather\nany thing from history,--compare it with that of the immense\nmajority at the present moment;--what does it tell us? Why, surely,\nthat, if there be a destiny of indefinite \"progress\" in religion\nand virtue for the race collectively, the hand of the great clock\nmoves so immeasurably slow that it is impossible to note it. The\nexperience of the individual, nay, of recorded history,--if we\ncan say there is any such thing,--fails to trace the movement of\nthe index on the huge dial. If there be this progress for the race\ncollectively, it must be accomplished in a cycle vast as those of\nthe geological eras;--a deposit of a millionth of an inch of\nknowledge and virtue over the whole race in fifty million years\nor so! Mr. Newman is pleased to say, \"Some nations sink, while others\nrise; but the lower and higher levels are both generally ascending.\"\nHas this level for the whole race been raised perceptibly within the\nmemory of so-called history?\n\nObserve; I am not denying that the notion may be true: I am\nliterally the sceptic I profess to be: I know not--apart from special\ninformation from a superhuman source--whether it be true or false. I\nam only venturing to laugh at men, who, denying any such information,\naffect to speak with any confidence on the solution of this prodigious\nproblem, the data for solving which I contend we have not: while those\nwe have, apart from the direct assurance of supposed inspiration,\nmore plausibly point to an opposite conclusion. The conclusion\nwhich would more naturally suggest itself from the history of the\npast would be that of perpetual advance and perpetual retrogression,\ncontemporaneously going on in different portions of the race,--\nperpetual flux and reflux of the waves of knowledge and science\nan different shores; though, alas! as to \"religion and virtue;\" I\nfear that these, like the Mediterranean, are almost without their\ntides. For a \"progress\" in the former,--in the race collectively.--far\nmore plausible arguments can be adduced than for a progress in the\nlatter; yet how much might be said that appears to militate even\nagainst that. Think of the frequent and signal checks to\ncivilization; its transference from seat to seat; the decay of races\nonce celebrated for knowledge and art; the inundations of barbarism\nfrom time to time;--these things alone might make a sober mind\npause before he predicted for the entire race a certain progress\neven in art and science. Experience would at most justify a\nphilosopher in saying. \"Perhaps, yes; perhaps no.\" But the argument\nbecomes incomparably more doubtful when we come to \"religion,\" and\nespecially that particular form of it which such writers as Messrs.\nParker and Newman believe will be preeminent and universal; towards\nwhich consummation it does not appear at present that the smallest\nconceivable advance has been made; since, with the exception of that\ninfinitesimal party, of which they are among the chief, the immense\nmajority of mankind persist in rejecting the sufficiency of the\n\"internal\" oracle, and are still found as strongly convinced as ever\nboth of the possibility and necessity of an \"external\" revelation,\nand that, in some shape or other, it has been given! Nay, the facts,\nso far as we have any, seem all the other way; for no sooner had men\nbeen put approximately in possession of the pure \"spiritual truth,\"\nwhich both Mr. Newman and Mr. Parker suppose to be characteristic\nin larger measure of Judaism and Christianity than of any other\nreligion, than they busily began the work, not of improvement, but\nof corruption. The Jews corrupted their pure monotheistic truths\ninto what these writers believe the fables, legends, miracles, and\nabsurd dogmas of the Old Testament: and, as if that were not enough,\nproceeded to bury them in the huge absurdities of the Rabbinical\ntraditions; the Christians, in like manner, corrupted the yet purer\ntruths, which these writers affirm Christianity teaches, with what\nthey also affirm to be the load of myth, fiction, false history,\nand monstrous doctrine, which make up nine tenths of the New\nTestament: and, as if that were not enough, proceeded, just as did\nthe Jews, to \"expand\" the New Testament itself into the worse than\nRabbinical traditions of the Papacy! From approximate \"spiritual\ntruth\" to the supposed legends and false dogmas of the Pentateuch,\nfrom the supposed legends and dogmas of the Pentateuch to the\nabsurdities of the Talmud;--again, from the approximate \"spiritual\ntruth\" of Christianity to the supposed legends and fanciful doctrines\nof the New Testament, and from the legends and doctrines of the New\nTestament to the corruptions the Papacy;--surely these are queer\nproofs of a tendency to progress! A tendency to retrogradation is\nrather indicated. No sooner, it appears, does man proceed to obtain\n\"spiritual truth\" tolerably pure, as tested by such writers, than\nhe proceeds incontinently to adulterate it! This unhappy and uniform\ntendency is also a curious comment on the impotence of the internal\nspiritual oracle, as against the ascendency of the \"historical\"\nand \"traditional.\"\n\nSimilar arguments of doubt may be derived from other facts.\n\nOver how many countries did primitive Christianity soon degenerate\ninto such odious idolatry, that even the delusions of the \"false\nprophet\" have been considered (like the doom to \"labor\") as a sort\nof beneficent curse in comparison! What, again, for ages, was the\nhistory of those \"Shemitic races,\" in which, of all \"races,\" was\nfound, according to Mr. Parker, the happiest \"religious organization,\"\nby which they discovered, earlier than other \"races,\" the great truths\nof Monotheism? One incessant bulimia for idolatry was their\nmaster-passion for ages; while for many ages past, as has been remarked\nby a countryman of Mr. Parker, their \"happy religious organization\" has\nbeen in deplorable ruins.\n\nI humbly venture, then, once again, to doubt whether any sober-minded\nman, apart from \"special inspiration,\" can affirm that he has any\ngrounds to utter a word about a \"progress\" in religion or virtue for\nthe race collectively. But it is easy to see where these writers\nobtained the notion; they have stolen it from that Bible which as a\nspecial revelation they have abjured.\n\nI cannot help remarking here, that it is a most suspicious\ncircumstance, if there be, indeed, any universal and sufficient\n\"internal revelation,\" that these writers find every memorable advance\nof what they deem religious truth in unaccountable connection either\nwith the happy \"religious organization of one race,\" according to\nMr. Parker, or in equally strange connection with the records of\n\"two books\" originating among that race; according to Mr. Newman.\n\"The Bible,\" says the latter, \"is pervaded by a sentiment which is\nimplied everywhere, namely, the intimate sympathy of the Pure and\nPerfect God with the heart of each faithful worshipper. This is that\nwhich is wanting in Greek philosophers, English Deists, German\nPantheists, and all formalists. This is that which so often edifies\nme in Christian writers and speakers, when I ever so much disbelieve\nthe letter of their sentences.\" (Phases, p. 188.)\n\nIt is unaccountably odd that the universal spiritual faculty should\nact thus capriciously, and equally odd that Mr. Newman does not\nperceive, that, if it were not for the \"Bible,\" his religion would\nno more have assumed the peculiar task it has, than that of Aristotle\nor Cicero. Sentiments due to the still active influences of his\nChristian education he imputes to the direct intuitions of spiritual\nvision, just as we are apt to confound the original and acquired\nperceptions of our eyesight. He is in the condition of one who\nmistakes a reflected image for the object itself, or a forgotten\nsuggestion of another for an original idea. In the camera obscura of\nhis mind, he flatters himself that the colored forms there traced are\nthe original inscriptions on the walls, forgetful of the little\naperture which has let in the light; and not even disturbed by the\nuntoward phenomenon, that the ideas thus contemplated are all upside\ndown.\n\nBut, surely, it is natural to ask,--How is it that Greek philosophers,\nHindoo sages, Egyptian priests, English Deists,--that men of all other\nreligions,--having always had access to the fountain of natural\nillumination within, have not also had their \"Baxters, Leightons,\nWatts, Doddridges\"? that the whole style of thought on this subject\nis so totally different in them all, by his own confession? If man\npossess the \"spiritual faculty\" attributed to him,--if it be a\ncharacteristic of humanity,--it will be surely generally manifested;\nand even if those disturbing causes, which he and Mr. Parker so\nplentifully provide, by which the genesis of religion is so\nunhappily marred, but which, alas! no revelation from without can\never counteract--prevent its uniform, or nearly uniform display,\nstill its principal indications (partial though they may be\neverywhere) ought, at least, to be everywhere indifferently\ndiffused throughout the race. Its manifestation may be sporadic,\nbut it will be in one race as in another; it will not be suspiciously\nconfined to one race with a peculiarly felicitous \"religious\norganization,\" or to \"two books\" exclusively originating with that\nfavored race.\n\nFor his \"spiritual\" illumination, it is easy to see Mr. Newman's\nexclusive dependence on that Bible which he abjures as a special\nrevelation. If it has not been so to mankind, it has, at least, been\nso to Mr. Newman. To it he perpetually runs for argument and\nillustration. Among those who will accept his infidelity I apprehend\nthere will be few who will not recoil from his representations of\nspiritual experience, so obviously nothing more than a disguised and\nmutilated Christianity. They will say, that they do not wish the\n\"new cloth sewed on to the old garment\"; scarcely a soul amongst\nthem will sympathize with his soul's \"sorrows,\" or share his soul's\n\"aspirations\"!\n\nBut, however these things may be, I now proceed to what I acknowledge\nis the most weighty topic of my argument; which is to prove that, if\nI acquiesce, on Mr. Newman's grounds, in the rejection of the Bible\nas a special revelation of God, I am compelled on the very same\nprinciples to go a few steps further, and to express doubts of the\nabsolutely divine original of the World, and the administration\nthereof, just as he does of the divine original of the Bible. If I\nconcede to Mr. Newman, however we may differ as to the moral and\nspiritual faculties of man, that these are yet the sole and ultimate\ncourt of appeal to us; that from our \"intuitions\" of right and wrong,\nof \"moral and spiritual, truth,\" be they more perfect according to him,\nor more rudimentary and imperfect according to me, we must form a\njudgment of the moral bearings of every presumed external revelation\nof God,--I cannot do otherwise than reject much of the revelation of\nGod in his presumed Works as unworthy of him, just as Mr. Newman\ndoes very much in his supposed Word as equally unworthy of him. Mr.\nNewman says, \"Only by discerning that God has Virtues, similar in kind\nto human Virtues, do we know of his truthfulness and his goodness......\nThe nature of the case implies, that the human mind is competent to sit\nin moral and spiritual judgment on a professed revelation, and to decide\n(if the case seem to require it) in the following tone:--'This doctrine\nattributes to God that which we should all call harsh, cruel, or unjust\nin man: it is therefore intrinsically inadmissible; for if God may be\n(what we should call) cruel, he may equally well be (what we should\ncall) a liar; and, if so, of what use is his word to us?'\" (Soul, p. 58)\nSimilarly Mr. Newman continually affirms that God reveals himself,\nwhen he reveals himself at all, within, and not without; as he says\nin his \"Phases,\"--\"Of our moral and spiritual God we know nothing\nwithout,--every thing within. It is in the spirit that we meet him\nnot in the communications of sense.\" (p. 52.) If I acquiesce in this\njudgment, I must apply the reasoning of the above passage to the\n\"external revelation\" of God in his Works, as well as to that in\nhis Word; and the above reasoning will be equally valid, merely\nsubstituting one word for the other. We are to decide, if the case\nseem to require it, in the following tone:--\"These phenomena--this\nconduct--implies what we should call in man harsh, or cruel, or\nunjust; it is, therefore, intrinsically inadmissible as God's work\nor God's conduct.\"\n\nActing on his principles, Mr. Newman refuses to \"depress\" his\nconscience (as he says) to the Bible standard. He affirms, that\nin many cases the Bible sanctions, and even enjoins, things which\nshock his moral sense as flagrantly immoral, and he must therefore\nreject them as supposed to be sanctioned by God. He in different\nplaces gives instances;--as the supposed approbation of the\nassassination of Sisera by the wife of Heber, the command to Abraham\nto sacrifice his son, and the extermination of the Canaanites. Now,\nwhether the Bible represents God, or not, in all these cases, as\nsanctioning the things in question, I shall not be at the pains to\ninquire, because I am willing to take it for granted that Mr. Newman's\nrepresentation is perfectly correct. I only think that he ought,\nin consistency, to have gone a little further. Let him defend, as\nin perfect harmony with his \"intuitions\" of right and wrong, the\nundeniably similar instances which occur in the administration of\nthe universe; or, if it be found impossible to solve those difficulties,\nlet him acknowledge, either that our supposed essential \"intuitions\" of\nmoral rectitude are not to be trusted, as applicable to the Supreme\nBeing, and that therefore the argument from them against the Bible\nis inconclusive; or, that no such being exists; or, lastly, that he\nhas conferred upon man an intuitive conception of moral equity and\nrectitude,--of the just and the unjust,--in most edifying\ncontradiction to his own character and proceedings!\n\nHere Fellowes broke in:--\n\n\"If indeed there be any such instances; but I think Mr. Newman\nwould reply, that they will be sought for in vain in the 'world,'\nhowever plentiful, as I admit they are, in the Bible.\"\n\n\"I know not whether he would deny them or not,\" said Harrington;\n\"but they are found in great abundance in the world notwithstanding,\nand this is my difficulty. If Mr. Newman were the creator of the\nuniverse, no question, none of these contradictions between\n'intuitions' within, and stubborn 'facts' without, would be found.\nHe has created a God after his own mind; if he could but have created\na universe also after his own mind, we should doubtless have been\nrelieved from all our perplexities. But, unhappily, we find in it,\nas I imagine, the very things which so startle Mr. Newman in the\nScriptural representations of the divine character and proceedings.\nIs he not, like all other infidels, peculiarly scandalized, that God\nshould have enjoined the extermination of the Canaanites? and yet\ndoes not God do still more startling things every day of our lives,\nand which appear less startling only because we are familiar with\nthem,--at least, if we believe that the elements, pestilence, famine,\nin a word, destruction in all its forms, really fulfil his bidding?\nIs there any difference in the world between the cases, except that\nthe terrible phenomena which we find it impossible to account for\nare on an infinitely larger scale, and in duration as ancient as the\nworld? that they have, in fact, been going on for thousands of weary\nyears, and for aught you or I can tell, and as Mr. Newman seems to\nthink probable, for millions of years? Does not a pestilence or a\nfamine send thousands of the guilty and the innocent alike--nay,\nthousands of those who know not their right hand from their left--to\none common destruction? Does not God (if you suppose it his doing)\nswallow up whole cities by earthquake, or overwhelm them with volcanic\nfires? I say, is there any difference between the cases, except that\nthe victims are very rarely so wicked as the Canaanites are said to\nhave been, and that God in the one case himself does the very things\nwhich he commissions men to do in the other? Now, if the thing be wrong,\nI, for one, shall never think it less wrong to do it one's self than\nto do it by proxy.\"\n\n\"But,\" said Fellowes, rather warmly, for he felt rather restive at\nthis part of Harrington's discourse, \"it is absurd to compare such\nsovereign acts of inexplicable will on the part of God with his\ncommand to a being so constituted as man to perform them.\"\n\n\"Absurd be it,\" said Harrington, \"only be so kind as to show it to be\nso, instead of saying so. I maintain that the one class of facts are\njust as 'inexplicable,' as you call it, as the other, and only appear\notherwise because, in the one case, we daily see them, have become\naccustomed to them and, what is more than all, cannot deny them,--which\nlast we can so promptly do in the other case; for Moses is not here to\ncontradict us. But I rather think, that a being constituted morally\nand intellectually like us, who had never known any but a world of\nhappiness, would just as promptly deny that God could ever perform\nsuch feats as are daily performed in this world! I repeat, that, if\nfor some reasons ('inexplicable,' I grant you) God does not mind\ndoing such things, he is not likely to hesitate to enjoin them; for\nreasons perhaps equally inexplicable. I say perhaps; for, as I\ncompare such an event as the earthquake in Lisbon, or the plague in\nLondon, with the extermination of the Canaanites, I solemnly assure\nyou that I find a greater difficulty, as far as my 'intuitions' go,\nin supposing the former event to have been effected by a divine\nagency than the latter. If we take the Scripture history, we must at\nleast allow that the race thus doomed had long tried the patience\nof Heaven by their flagrant impiety and unnatural vices; that they\nhad become a centre and a source (as we sometimes see collections of\nmen to be) of moral pestilence, in the vicinage of which it was unsafe\nfor men to dwell; that, as the Scriptures say (whether truly or falsely,\nI do not inquire), they had, filled up the measure of their iniquities.'\nLet this be supposed as fictitious as you please, still the whole\nproceeding is represented as a solemn judicial one; and supposing the\nevents to have occurred just as they are narrated, it positively seems\nto me much less difficult to suppose them to harmonize with the\ncharacter of a just and even beneficent being, than those wholesale\nbutcheries which have desolated the world, in every hour of its long\nhistory, without any discrimination whatever of innocence or guilty;\nwhich, if they have inflicted unspeakable miseries on the immediate\nvictims, have produced probably as much or more in the agony of the\nmyriad myriads of hearts which have bled or broken in unavailing\nsorrow over the sufferings they could not relieve. Such things\n(I speak now only of what man has not in any sense inflicted) are,\nin your view, as undeniably the work of God as is the extermination\nof the Canaanites according to the Bible. Why, if God does not mind\ndoing such things, are we to suppose that he minds on some occasions\nordering them to be done; unless we suppose that man--delicate\ncreature!--has more refined intuitions of right and wrong, and knows\nbetter what they are, than God himself? Now, Mr. Newman and you\naffirm, that to suppose God should have enjoined the destruction of\nthe Canaanites is a contradiction of our moral intuitions; and that\nfor this and similar reasons you cannot believe the Bible to be the\nword of God. I answer, that the things I have mentioned are in still\nmore glaring contradiction to such 'intuitions'; than which none\nappears to me more clear than this,--that the morally innocent\nought not to suffer; and I therefore doubt whether the above\nphenomena are the work of God. I must refuse, on the very same\nprinciple on which Mr. Newman disallows the Bible to be a true\nrevelation of such a Being, to allow this universe to be so.\nIn equally glaring inconsistency is the entire administration of\nthis lower world with what appears to me a first principle of moral\nrectitude,--namely, that he who suffers a wrong to be inflicted on\nanother, when he can prevent it, is responsible for the wrong itself.\nThe whole world is full of such instances.\"\n\n\"Ay,\" said Fellowes, eagerly, \"we ought to prevent a wrong, provided\nwe have the right as well as the power to interfere.\"\n\n\"I am supposing that we have the right as well as the power; as, for\nexample, to prevent a man from murdering his neighbor, or a thief from\nentering his dwelling. There are, no doubt, many acts which, from our\nvery limited right, we should have no business to prevent; as, for\nexample, to prevent a man from getting tipsy at his own table with his\nown wine. But no such limitation can apply to Him who is supposed to\nbe the Absolute Monarch of the universe; and yet He (according to your\nview) notoriously does not interpose to prevent the daily commission of\nthe most heinous wrongs and cruelties under which the earth has groaned,\nand hearts have been breaking, for thousands of years. You will say,\nperhaps, that in all such instances we must believe that there are some\nreasons for His conduct, though we cannot guess what they are. Ah! my\nfriend, if you come to believing, you may believe also that the\ndifficulties involved in the Scriptural representations of the Divine\ncharacter and proceedings are susceptible of a similar solution. If you\ncome to believing, I think the Christian can believe as well as you, and\nrather more consistently. But let me proceed.\"  He then read on.\n\nIt is plain, that, in accordance with our primitive \"moral intuitions\"\n(if we have any), we should hold him who had the power to prevent a\nwrong, and did not use it, as a participator and accomplice in the\ncrime he did not prevent. Applying, therefore, the principles of\nMr. Newman, I must refuse to acknowledge such conduct on the part of\nthe Divine Being, and to say, that such things are not done by him.\nIf I may trust my whisper of him, derived from analogous moral qualities\nin myself, I must believe that an administration which so ruthlessly\npermits these things is not his work; but that his power, wisdom, and\ngoodness have been thwarted, baffled, and overmastered by some\n\"omnipotent devil,\" to use Mr. Newman's expression; if it be, then that\nwhisper of him cannot be trusted: the heathen was right, \"Sunt superis\nsua jura.\" In other words, I feel that I must become an Atheist, a\nPantheist, a Manichaean, or--what I am--a sceptic.\n\nAll these perplexities are increased when I trace them up to that\nprofound mystery in which they all originate,--I mean the permission\nof physical and moral evil. Either evil could have been prevented or\nnot; if it could, its immense and horrible prevalence is at war with\nthe intuition already referred to; if it could not, who shall prove it?\nI am no more able to contradict the intuitions of the intellect than\nthose of the conscience; and if any thing can be called a contradiction\nof the former, it is to be told that a Being of infinite power, wisdom,\nand beneficence could not construct a world without an immensity of evil\nin it; no reason being assignable or even imaginable for such a\nproposition, except the fact that such a world has not been created!\nI am therefore compelled to doubt, whether such a universe be really\nthe fabrication of such a Being. It is impossible to express my\nastonishment at the ease with which Mr. Newman disposes of the\ndifficulties connected with the origin and perpetuation of physical\nand moral evil. His arguments are just two of the most hackneyed\ncommonplaces with which metaphysicians have attempted to evade these\nstupendous difficulties; and it is not too much to say, that there\nnever was a man who was not resolved that his theory must stand, who\npretended to attach any importance to them. They are most gratuitously\nassumed, and even then are most trivial alleviations; a mere\nplaster of brown paper for a deep-seated cancer.\n\nI certainly know of no other man who has stood so unabashed in front\nof these awful forms. One almost envies him the truly childlike faith\nwith which he waves his hand to these Alps, and says, \"Be ye removed,\nand east into the sea\"; but the feeling is exchanged for another, when\nhe seems to rub his eyes, and exclaim, \"Presto, they are gone\nsure enough!\" while you still feel that you stand far within the\ncircumference of their awful shadows.\n\nAs to physical evil, Mr. Newman tells us, \"Here may be sufficient to\nremark, that the difficulty on the Epicurean assumption, that physical\ncase and comfort is the most valuable thing in the universe: but that\nis not true even with brutes. There is a certain perfection in the\nnature of each, consisting in the full development of all their powers,\nto which the existing order manifestly tends ...... As for\nsusceptibility to pain, it is obviously essential to every part of\ncorporeal life, and to discuss the question of degree is absurd. On the\nother hand, human capacity for sorrow is equally necessary to our\nwhole moral nature, and sorrow itself is a most essential process\nfor the perfecting of the soul.\" (Soul, pp. 43, 44.)\n\nThis, then, is the fine balm for all the anguish under which the\nworld has been groaning for these thousands of years! But, first,\nhow does suffering tend to the perfection of the whole lower creation?\nIt enfeebles, and at last destroys them, I know; but I am yet to\nLearn that it is essential to the perfection of animal life.\nAgain, how does it minister to that of man, except he be more than\nthe insect of the day, of which Mr. Newman's theology leaves him in\nutter doubt? And if he be immortal, how does it operate beneficially\nexcept as an instrument of moral improvement? And how rarely\n(comparatively) do we see that it has that effect! How often is it\nmost prolonged and torturing in those who seem least to need it, and\nin those who are absolutely as yet incapable of learning from it; or,\nalas! are too evidently past learning from it! How often do we\nsee, slowly sinking under the protracted agonies of consumption,\ncancer, or stone, all these various classes of mortals, without our\nbeing able to assign, or even conjecture, the slightest reason for\nsuch experiments! I acknowledge freely, all, at we can give no\nreasons for them; but it is to mock miserable humanity to give\nsuch reasons as these; doubly to mock it, if men be the ephemeral\ncreatures which Mr. Newman's theology leaves in such doubt: since\nin that case we see not only (what we see at any rate) that physical\nevil does not always, nor even in many instances, produce a salutary\nmoral effect, but that it hardly matters whether it does or not; for\njust as the poor patient may be beginning to be benefited by his\ndiscipline, and generally in consequence of it, he is unluckily\nannihilated; he dies of his medicine! Surely, if physical evil be\nthis grand elixir, never was such a precious balm so improvidently\nexpended. We may well say, only with much more reason, what the Jews\nsaid of Mary's box of ointment,--\"Why was all this waste?\" To be\nsure it is \"given\" in abundance \"to the poor.\"\n\nAnd, at the best, this exquisite reasoning gives no account whatever\nof that suffering which falls upon innocent infancy and childhood. It\ndestroys them, however, and effectually prevents their attaining the\n\"perfection\" which it is so admirable an instrument of developing, and\nthat too before they can be morally benefited by the \"salutary\" sorrow\nit brings!\n\n\"Susceptibility to pain,\" says Mr. Newman, \"is essential to corporeal\nbeing.\"\n\nYes, susceptibility to pain; just as a created being must be liable to\nannihilation. Must he be annihilated? Just as a hungry stomach must be\nliable to starvation. Must it be starved? The primary office of\nsusceptibilities to pain would seem to be to forewarn us to provide\nagainst it. They certainly have that effect. Does it necessarily\nfollow that they must involve anguish and death? Unless it be supposed,\nindeed, that nature, having provided such an admirable apparatus of\n\"susceptibilities\" of pain, thought it a thousand pities that they\nshould not be employed.\n\nBut when it comes to \"moral evil,\" which Mr. Newman acknowledges cannot\nbe so lightly disposed of, what then?\n\nWhy, then he says, \"Let the Gordian knot be cut.\"\n\nWell, what then? Why, then Mr. Newman frankly \"assumes\" that it is\n\"transitory and finite,\" (Soul, p. 45.) and will one day vanish from\nthe universe, a supposition for which he condescends to give no reason\nwhatever.\n\nStat pro ratione voluntas.\n\nThat this \"moral evil\" should have existed at all, much more to so\nimmense an extent, under the administration of supposed infinite power,\nwisdom, and benevolence, is the great difficulty; that it will ever\ncease to be, is a pure assumption for the nonce; but if it will one\nday entirely vanish, it is gratuitous to suppose it might not have\nbeen prevented.\n\nI, of course, acknowledge that we can give no answer to the questions\ninvolved in this transcendent mystery,--that our ignorance is absolute;\nbut I do say, that, if I am to trust to those \"intuitions\" of the\nDivine Goodness, on whose warranty Mr. Newman and Mr. Parker reject\nthe Bible, as containing what is unworthy of their conceptions of God,\nI am compelled to proceed further in the same direction; and repudiate,\nas unworthy of Him, not merely some of the phenomena of the Book which\nmen profess to be His word, but also some of the phenomena of that\nuniverse which men profess to be His work. If I can only judge, as\nthese gentlemen urge, of such a Being by the analogies of my own\nnature, no \"intuition\" of theirs can possibly seem stronger than do\nmine, that beings absolutely innocent ought not to suffer; that to\ninflict suffering upon them is injustice; that to permit any evils\nwhich we can prevent is in like manner to be accomplices in the\ncrime. On those very principles of all moral judgment which Mr. Newman\nsays are innate and our only rule, I say I am compelled to these\nconclusions; for if God does those things which are ordinarily\nattributed to Him, He acts as much in contravention of these\nintuitions as in any acts attributed to Him in the Bible. If it be\nsaid, that there may be reasons for such apparent violations of\nrectitude, which we cannot fathom, I deny it not: but that is to\nacknowledge that the supposed maxims derived from the analogies of\nour own being are most deceptive as applied to the Supreme; it is to\nremit us to an act of absolute faith, by which, with no greater effort,\nnor so great, we may be reconciled to similar mysteries of the Bible.\nBut above all is it to do this, to say that the origin and permission\nof physical and moral evil are inexplicable; and it is to double this\ndemand on faith, to declare that it was all necessary, and could not\nbe evaded in the construction of the universe even by infinite power,\ndirected by infinite wisdom, and both animated by an infinite benevolence!\nAs far as I can trust my reason at all, nothing seems more improbable;\nand if I receive it by a transcendent exercise of faith, I may, as\nbefore, give the Bible the benefit of a like act. I am compelled,\ntherefore, on such principles, either to adopt a Manichaean hypothesis\nof the universe, or do what I have done,--adopt none at all.\n\nI was talking to a friend on these subjects the other day: \"Ah! but,\"\nsaid he, \"many of those difficulties you mention oppress every\nhypothesis,--Christianity just as much as the rest.\"\n\nThis, I replied, is no answer to me nor to you, if you have a\nparticle of candor; still less is it one to the Christian, who\nconsistently applies the same principle of absolute faith to things\napparently a priori incredible, whether found in the works or in the\nword of God. But if you think the argument of any force, apply it to\nthe next Christian you meet, and see what answer he will make to you;\nit will not trouble him. But it is far more ridiculous addressed to me.\nI ask for something in the place of that Bible of which the faithful\napplication of your own principles deprives me; and when I affirm that\nthe difficulties of the universe are no less than those of the Bible I\nhave surrendered, you tell me that the perplexities of my new position\nare no greater than those of the old! That clearly will not do. I must\ngo further. If I am to yield to pretensions of any kind, I would\ninfinitely prefer the yoke of the Bible to that of Messrs. Parker and\nNewman; for it is to nothing else than their dogmatism I must yield,\nif I admit that the difficulties which compel me to doubt in the one\ncase are less than those which compel me to doubt in the other.\n\nBut it is not even true that the difficulties in question are left\nwhere they were by the adoption of any such theory as that of either\nMr. Parker or Mr. Newman. I contend that they are all indefinitely\nincreased. The Bible does at least give me a plausible account of\nsome of the mysteries which baffle me: it tells me that man was created\nholy and happy; that he has fallen from his \"excellent estate\"; and\nhence the misery, ignorance, and guilt in which he is involved, and\nwhich have rendered revelation necessary.\n\nBut--and it brings me to the last step of my argument--if I accept\nthe theory of the universe propounded by these writers, not only am\nI left without any such approximate solutions, or, if that be thought\ntoo strong a term, without any such alleviations, but all the\ndifficulties as regards the character, attributes, and administration\nof God, are increased a thousand-fold. The Scripture account of the\n\"fall,\"--however inexplicable it may be that God should have permitted\nit,--yet does expressly assert that, somehow or other, it is man's\nfault, not God's; that man is not in his normal condition, nor in the\ncondition for which he was created. Dark as are the clouds which\nenvelop the Divine Ruler, \"their skirts are tinged with gold,\"--pervaded\nand penetrated throughout their dusky depths by that mercy which assures\nus that, in some intelligible sense, this condition of man is contrary\nto the Divine Will, which, from the first, resolved to remedy it; and\nthat a day is coming when what is mysterious shall be explained,--so\nfar, at least, that what has been \"wrong\" shall be \"righted.\" But what\nis the theory of the universe propounded by these writers? So hideous\n(I solemnly declare it) that I feel ten times more compelled to reject\nthe universe as a work of an infinitely gracious, wise, and powerful\nCreator, than if the difficulties had been simply left where the Bible\nleaves them. According to their theory, man is now, just what he was\nat first,--as he came from his Creator's hand; or rather in some parts\nof the world (thanks to himself though) a little better than he was\noriginally; that God cast man forth, so constituted by the unhappy\nmal-admixture of the elements of his nature,--with such an inevitable\nsubjection of the \"idea\" to the \"conception,\" of the \"spiritual\nfaculty\" to \"the degraded types,\"--that for unnumbered ages--for\naught we know, myriads of ages--man has been slowly crawling up,\na very sloth in \"progress\" (poor beast!), from the lowest Fetichism\nto Polytheism,--from Polytheism, in all its infinitude of degrading\nforms, to imperfect forms of Monotheism; and how small a portion of\nthe race have even imperfectly reached this last term, let the\nspectacle of the world's religions at the present moment proclaim!\nFrom the more imperfect forms of Monotheism, the race is gradually\nto make \"progress\" to something else,--Heaven knows what! but\ncertainly something still far below the horizon,--still concealed in\nthe illimitable future. For this gradual transformation from the\nveriest religions grub into the spiritual Psyche, man was expressly\nequipped by the constitution of his nature,--he was created this\ngrub. For all this truly geological spiritualism, and for all the\ninfinitude of hideous superstitions and cruel wrongs involved in the\ncourse of this precious development, Mr. Parker tells us there was a\nnecessity,--nothing less! It was necessary, no doubt for his logic,\nthat he should say so; but, apart from his own argumentative exigencies,\nit is impossible even to imagine any necessity whatever. It was an\n\"ordeal,\" it seems, through which man was obliged to pass. What is all\nthis, but to acknowledge the unaccountable nature of the problem?\n\nWith this \"religious\" theory admirably coincides the hypothesis of\nman's having been originally created a savage, from which he was\ngradually exalted to the lowest stages of civilization,--a theory\nwhich I thought had (in mere shame) been abandoned to some few Deists\nof the last century, or the commencement of this. It is true that these\nwriters do not expressly indorse it; but it is easy to see that they\nfavor it; and it is most certain that it alone is consistent with their\nparallel theory of man's \"religious development\" from the vilest\nFetichism to (shall we say?) a mythical Christianity; though even\nto that very few have yet arrived. According to this theory, the\nGreat Father--supposed a being of infinite power, wisdom, and\nGoodness--threw his miserable offering on the face of the earth,\nwith an admirable \"absolute religion,\" no doubt, and an \"admirable\nspiritual faculty,\" but the \"idea\" so inevitably subject to\nthwarting \"conceptions,\" and the \"spiritual faculty\" so perpetually\ndebauched by \"awe and reverence,\" and the whole rabble of emotions\nand affections with which it was to keep company,--in fact, with\nthe elements of his nature originally so ill poised and compounded,\n--that everywhere and for unnumbered ages man has been doomed and\nnecessitated, and for unnumbered ages will be doomed and necessitated,\nto wallow in the most hideous, degrading, cruel forms of superstition,\n--inflicting and suffering reciprocally all the dreadful evils and\nwrongs which are entailed by them. For this man was created; such a\nthing he was,--through this \"ordeal\" he passes,--by original\ndestination. If this be the picture of the Father of All, he is less\nkind to his off-spring than the most intimate \"intuitions\" teach\nthem to be to theirs. The voice of nature teaches them not to expose\ntheir children; the Universal Father, according to this theory,\nremorselessly exposed his! Such a God, projected by the \"spiritual\nfaculties\" of Mr. Newman and Mr. Parker, may be imagined to be a more\nworthy object of worship than the \"God of the Bible\": he shall never\nreceive mine. If I am to abjure the Bible because it gives me\nunworthy conceptions of the Deity, I must, with more reason, abjure,\non similar grounds, such a detestable theory of man's creation,\ndestination, and history.\n\nAs to that \"progress\" which is promised for the future, it is like\nthe necessity for the past, purely an invention of Mr. Parker; if I\nreceive it, I must receive it simply as matter of prophecy. If the\nnecessity has continued so long, then, for aught I know, it may\ncontinue for ever; the evil is all too certain,--the bright futurity\nis still a futurity. But if it ever became a reality, it would not\nneutralize one of the dark imputations which such a theory of the\noriginal destination and creation of man casts on the Divine\ncharacter; not to say, that, if Mr. Newman's doubts of man's\nimmortality be well founded, that better future will be of no\nmore avail to the myriads of our race who have suffered under the\nlong iron regime of necessity, than a reprieve to the wretch who\nwas executed yesterday!\n\nI told Harrington I must have a copy of the paper he had just read.\nI should like, with his leave, to publish it.\n\n\"O, and welcome,\" said he. \"Only remember that its tendency is to show\nthat there is no tenable resting place between a revealed religion\nand none at all; between the Bible and scepticism. If you make men\nsceptics,--mind, it is not my fault.\"\n\n\"I will take the risk,\" said I. \"I wish the controversy to be brought\nto the issue you have mentioned. I know there will never be many\nsceptics, any more than there will be many atheists; and if men are\nconvinced that the Via Media is as hard to find as you suppose,--or\nas that between Romanism and Protestantism,--they will take refuge in\nthe BIBLE. And if it be the BOOK OF GOD indeed, this is the issue\nto which the great controversy will and ought to come. But how is it\nyou were not tempted to become an atheist rather than a sceptic?\"\n\n\"Why,\" said he, with a smile, \"the great master of the Modern\nAcademy had fortified me against that. Hume, you know, confesses\nthat, if men be discovered without any impression of a Deity,--genuine\natheists,--we may assume that they will be found the most degraded\nof the species, and only one remove above the brutes. Now I have no\nwish to be set down in that category.\"\n\n\"Very different.\" said I, \"is the account our modern atheists give\nof themselves: they are contending that the banishment of God from\nthe universe, by one or other of the various theories of Atheism or\nPantheism (which I take to be the same thing, with different names),\nis the tendency of all modern science? and that when that science\nis perfect, God will be no more.\"\n\n\"My dear uncle,\" replied Harrington, \"you are insufficiently informed\nin the mystery of modern theology. There are no atheists, properly\nspeaking; they who are so called merely deny any personal, conscious,\nintelligent sovereign of the universe. Even those who call themselves\nso, and will have it that they are so, are told that they are none. I\nmyself have perused statements of some of our modern 'spiritualists,'\nwho know every thing, even other people's consciousness quite as\nwell as their own (and perhaps better), that the said atheists are\nmistaken in thinking themselves such; that such genuine love of the\nspirit of universal nature is something truly divine, and that they\nare animated by 'a deeply religious spirit,' though they never\nsuspected it!\"\n\n\"Well,\" said I. \"if you had too much reason, as you flattered yourself\n(adopting Hume's criterion), to become an atheist, could you not have\nadopted such views as those of Mr. G. Atkinson and Miss Martineau, who\nboth possess surely (as they claim to possess) that 'religious reverence'\nof nature of which you have just spoken?\"\n\n\"Why,\" he replied, \"I am afraid that, if I had too much reason for\nthe one, I have not faith enough for the other. That the miracles and\nprophecies of the Bible may possibly have been true,--only the effect\nof mesmerism;--that things quite as wonderful, or more so, happen\nevery day by this wonderful agent;--that every phenomenon that takes\nplace does so in virtue a perfectly wise LAW, without any wise\nLAWGIVER;--that this wise law has, it seems, prearranged that man\nshould generally exhibit an inveterate tendency to religious systems\nof some kind, though all religions are absurd, and persist in believing\nin his free will, though free from a downright impossibility;--that\nthese contradictions and absurdities of man are the result of an\nirreversible necessity, and yet that Mr. Atkinson may hope to correct\nthem;--that, by the same necessity, man is in no degree culpable or\nresponsible, and yet that Mr. Atkinson may perpetually blame him;\n--that no man can do any thing 'wrong,' and yet that till he believes\nthat, man will never cease to do it;--that people may read without\ntheir eyes, and distinguish colors as colors though they are born\nblind;--that Bacon was an atheist, and that this may be proved by\ninduction from his own writings;--these and other paradoxes, which\nI must believe, if I believe Mr. Atkinson, require a faith which it\nwould really be unreasonable to expect from such a sceptic as I am.\"\n\n____\n\n\nJuly 18. Till three days ago, nothing since my last date has\noccurred having any special relation to the sole object of this\njournal. I was glad to escape on the 13th to a quiet church some\nmiles off; and, after a plain and simple, but earnest, sermon from\na venerable clergyman (of whom I should like to know a little more),\nI further refreshed my spirit by a long and solitary ramble of\nsome hours through the beautiful scenery in the midst of which\nHarrington's dwelling is situated. In the course of it, I reviewed\nmy own early conflicts, and augured from them happier days for\nmy beloved nephew. I went carefully over all the main points of the\nargument for and against the truth of Christianity, which in youth\nhad so often occupied me, and resolved that on some fair opportunity\nI would recount my story to him and Mr. Fellowes. I little thought\nthen that I should have a larger and very miscellaneous audience to\nlisten to me. But this will account for my not being to seek (as\nthey say) when the occasion presented itself.\n\nThree days ago (the 16th) a queer company assembled in Harrington's\nquiet house. The conversations and incidents connected with that day\nhave led me to take refuge for the last two mornings in the solitude\nof my own chamber, that I might, undisturbed, recall and record them\nwith as much accuracy and fulness as possible. Very much, indeed,\nthat I wished to remember has vanished; but the substance of what\ntoo many said, as well as what I said myself made too deep an\nimpression to be easily obliterated.\n\nBe it known to you, my dear brother, that I have been not a little\namused, I may even say instructed, by a trick played by your madcap\nnephew, for the honor and glory, I suppose, of his scepticism, or for\nsome other motive, not easily divined. He promised me significantly\nan entertainment, in which I should enjoy the \"feast of reason and\nthe flow of soul,\" by which I little thought that he was going to\ncollect a rare party of \"Rationalists\" and \"Spiritualists,\" in fact,\nrepresentatives of all the more prominent forms, whether of belief\nor unbelief. I may as well call it the\n\nSCEPTIC'S SELECT PARTY.\n\nYou remember, I doubt not, the humorous paper in the Spectator, in\nwhich Addison introduces the whimsical nobleman who used to invite to\nhis table parties of men (strangers to one another) all characterized\nby some similar personal defect or infirmity. On one occasion, twelve\nwooden-legged men found stumping into his dining-room, one after\nanother, making, of course, a terrible clatter; on another, twelve\nguests, who all had the misfortune to squint, amused their host with\ntheir ludicrous cross lights; and on a third, the same number of\nstutterers entertained him still more, not only by their uncouth\nimpediment, but by the anger with which they began to sputter at\none another, on the supposition that each was mocking his neighbor.\nA short-hand writer, behind the scenes, was employed to take down\nthe conversation, which, says the witty essayist, was easily done,\ninasmuch as one of the gentlemen was a quarter of an hour in saying\n\"that the ducks and green peas were very good,\" and another almost\nan equal time in assenting to it. At the conclusion, however, the\nderided guests became aware of the trick their entertainer had played\nupon them; and from their hands, quicker than their tongues, he was\nobliged to make a precipitate retreat. Our dinner-party of yesterday\ndid not break up in any such fracas, nor was the conversation so\nunhappily restricted. Yet the company was hardly better assorted. To\nbring it together, Harrington ransacked his immediate circle, and\nFellowes unconsciously recruited for him in the university town. Our\nhost had provided for our mutual edification an Italian gentleman,\nwith whom he had had some pleasant intercourse on the Continent, (by\nthe way he spoke English uncommonly well,) and now staying with a\nRoman Catholic in the neighborhood: this gentleman himself, with\nwhom Harrington, by means of his former friend, has knocked up an\nacquaintance (he is a liberal Catholic of the true British species);\nour acquaintance, Fellowes, with his love of \"insight\" and\n\"spiritualism\"! a young surgeon from ----., a rare, perhaps unique,\nspecimen of conversion to certain crude atheistical speculations of\nMr. Atkinson and Miss Martineau; a young Englishman (an acquaintance\nof Harrington's) just fresh from Germany, after sundry semesters\nat Bonn and Tubingen, five hundred fathoms deep in German philosophy,\nand who hardly came once to the surface during the whole entertainment;\nthree Rationalists (acquaintances of Fellowes), standing at somewhat\ndifferent points in the spiritual thermometer, one a devoted advocate\nof Strauss: add to these a Deist, no unworthy representative of the\nold English school; one or two others further gone still; a Roman\nCatholic priest, an admirer of Father Newman, who therefore believes\nevery thing; our sceptical friend Harrington, who believes nothing;\nand myself, still fool enough to believe the Bible to be \"divine,\"\n--and you will acknowledge that a more curious party never sat\ndown to edify one another with their absurdities and contradictions.\n\nQuestionable as was the entertainment for the mind, that for the body\nwas unexceptionable. The dinner was excellent; our host performed his\nduties with admirable tact and grace; and somehow speedily put\nevery body at his ease. Relieved, according to the judicious modern\nmode, of the care of supplying the plates of his guests, he had eye,\near, and tongue for every one, and leisure to direct the conversation\ninto what channel he pleased. He took care to turn it for some time on\nindifferent topics; and each man lost his reserve and his frigidity\nalmost before he was aware; so that, by the time dinner was fairly\nover, every one was ready for animated conversation. If any one began\nto have queer suspicions of his neighbors, he felt, as on board ship,\nthat he was in for it, and bound, by common politeness, to make the\nbest of it. The Deist, addressing himself to the Italian gentleman,\nasked him if he had heard lately from Italy. He replied in the\nnegative.\n\n\"I can tell you some news, then,\" said he. \"They say that the head\nof the illustrious Guicciardini family has been just imprisoned at\nFlorence, having been detected reading in Diodati's Bible a chapter\nin the Gospel of St. John. Supposing the fact true, for a moment,\nmay I ask if it would be the wish of the Roman Catholic Church, were\nshe to regain her power in England, to imprison every one who was\nfound reading a chapter in John? If so, England would have to enlarge\nher prisons.\"\n\n\"Not much,\" said one of the Rationalist gentlemen, laughing; \"for if\nthings go on as they have done, there will not, in a few years, be\nmany who will be found reading a chapter in John.\"\n\n\"Perhaps so,\" said Harrington, smiling, \"but, if for the reason\nyou would assign, few will be found in church either; and the\necclesiastical authorities might perhaps put you in prison for\nthat instead.\"\n\n\"O, I will answer for him!\" said the Deist, who knew something of\nhis plasticity; \"our friend is very accommodating, and though he\nwould not like to go to go to church, he would still less like to\ngo to prison. And to church he would go; and look very devout into\nthe bargain. But, however, I should like to hear what your Italian\nguest has to say to my question.\"\n\nThe impatience of the English Catholic could not be repressed.\n\n\"If,\" said he, \"the Roman Catholic religion were to regain its\nascendency to-morrow, it would leave our entire code of laws,\nliberties, and privileges just as it found them; it is one of the\nmany calumnies with which our Church is continually treated, to say\nthat she would act otherwise: and were it not so, I would\nimmediately desert her.\"\n\nThe Catholic priest did not look well pleased with this frank avowal.\n\n\"I quite believe you,\" said our host. \"I believe you are too much of\nan Englishman to say or to act otherwise.\"\n\n\"So do I,\" said the Deist; \"I moreover agree with you, that, if the\nRoman Catholic religion were to regain her ascendency to-morrow, she\nwould leave all our privileges intact; but would she the next day,\nand the day after that? In other words, is it an essential principle\nwith her to persecute,--as in this instance, to imprison for peeping\nbetween the leaves of the Bible,--or is it not? Do you think, Signor,\nthat in such acts the principles of your Church are complied with\nor violated?\"\n\nThe Italian gentleman looked perplexed; he presumed that the Catholic\nChurch complied with the actual laws of every country; and if such\nCountry chose to deny religious liberty, the Church did not deem\nit requisite to declare opposition.\n\n\"I fear that is no answer to my question,\" cried the other, a little\ncavalierly. \"It cannot serve you, Signor. It would not, indeed, serve\nyou anywhere for we know the anxiety with which Rome has expressly\nsecured, in her recent concordat with Spain, the recognition of the\nmost intolerant maxims. But least can it serve you in the Papal\nStates, where, unluckily for your observation, the Pope is monarch.\nYour remark would imply that your Church favored the principles of\nreligious liberty rather than otherwise, but did not deem it right\nto oppose the will of civil governments. Are we to understand by that,\nthat the chief of the Papal States abhors as a Pope what he does as\na sovereign? that in the one capacity he protests against what he\nallows in the other? No, no,\" continued this brusque assailant, \"It is\ntoo late to talk in that way. If the Church of Rome really approve\nof religious liberty,--of such principles as those which govern\nEngland,--where are her protests and her efforts against intolerance\nand persecution where she still retains power? It is the least that\nhumanity can expect of her. If not, let her plainly say that, when\nshe regains power in England, she will reform us to the condition\nof Spain and Italy in this matter. For my part, I frankly\nacknowledge, that I have more respect for a Roman Catholic who\nproclaims that it is inconsistent for his Church to tolerate where\nit has the power to repress, because I see that that is her uniform\npractice, and therefore ought to be her avowed maxim.\"\n\nThe Roman Catholic priest, who is a devoted admirer of Father Newman,\nsaid that he thought so too; and quoted some candid recent admissions\nto that effect from certain English Roman Catholic periodicals.\n\"To employ,\" said he, \"the very words of a recent convert to us\nfrom the Anglican Church, 'The Church of Rome may say, I cannot\ntolerate you; it is inconsistent with my principles; but you can\ntolerate me, for it is not inconsistent with yours.\"\n\nThe Deist remarked that it was straightforward; that he admired it.\n\"Though as an argument,\" said he, \"it is much as if a robber should\nsay to an honest man on the king's highway, 'How advantageously I\nam situated! You cannot rob me, for it is inconsistent with your\nprinciples; but I can rob you, for I have none.'\"\n\nAnother of the company observed that he feared it was in vain for\nthe Church of Rome to contend that she was favorable to freedom of\nopinion, in any degree or form, so long as the \"Index Expurgatorius\"\nwas in existence, or such stringent means adopted to repress the\ncirculation and perusal of the Scriptures.\n\nThe liberal English Catholic again chafed at this last indictment.\n\"It was,\" he said, \"another of the calumnies with which his Church\nwas treated.\"\n\n\"Hardly a calumny, my good sir,\" replied the other, \"in the face of\nsuch facts as that which gave rise to the present conversation, of\nthe encyclical letters of Pius VII., Leo XII., Gregory XVI., and\nmany other Popes, and the well-known fact that it is impossible\nto obtain in Rome itself a copy of the Scriptures, except at an\nenormous price, and even then it must be read by special license.\nPardon me,\" he continued, still addressing the English Catholic,\n\"I mean nothing offensive to you; but neither I nor any other English\nProtestant can consent to admit you sincerely liberal English Roman\nCatholics to be in a condition to give us the requisite information\ntouching the maxims and principles of your Church. You have been too\nlong accustomed to enjoy and revere religious liberty, not to imagine\nyour Church sympathizes with it; you do not realize what she is abroad;\nand if you be sincere in condemning such acts as that which led to\nthis conversation, as inconsistent with her genuine principles, why\nthe ominous silence of you and your co-religionists in all such cases?\nWhere are your protests and efforts? How is it you do not denounce\nmaxims and practices so rife throughout Papal Christendom, since you\nsay you would denounce them, if it were attempted to realize them here?\nWhen you protest with one voice against these things as inconsistent\n(so you say) with the principles of your Church, and as therefore\ndeeply dishonoring her,--whether your views on this point be right\nor wrong,--we shall at least admit you to have a title to give us an\nopinion on the subject.\"\n\n\"Even then, though,\" said the Deist, \"we may think it safer to consult\nthe opinions, and, what is the practices, of the vast majority of\nthe Roman Catholic Church, and her conduct in the countries in which\nshe holds undisputed sway, and therefore I am anxious to hear whether\nthe Signor would justify imprisonment for reading the Bible.\"\n\nOur host seemed to think that the conversation proceeded in this\ndirection quite far enough; and his foreign guest should be made\nuncomfortable by these close inquiries, observed, sarcastically,\nthat he was glad to find that the querists were so anxious to\nsecure the inestimable privilege of freely reading Scriptures. \"It\nis the more admirable,\" said he to last speaker, \"as I am aware it\nis most disinterested; you having too little value for the Scriptures\nto read them yourself. Sic vos non vobis: you labor for others.\nYou remind me of the colloquy in the 'Citizen of the World,' between\nthe debtor in jail and the soldier outside his prison window. They\nwere discussing, you recollect, the chances of a French invasion.\n'For my part,' cries the prisoner, 'the greatest of my apprehensions\nis for our freedom; if the French should conquer, what would become\nof English liberty? 'It is not so much our liberties,' says the\nsoldier, with a profane oath, 'as our religion, that would suffer\nby such a change; ay, our religion, my lads!'\"\n\nThe company laughed, and the assailants forgot the former topics. Our\nhost went on further to encourage his foreign guest, though in a\nleft-handed way, with a gravity which, if I had not known him, would\nnot only have staggered, but even imposed upon me.\n\n\"For my part,\" said he, \"my good Sir, if I were you, I should not\nhesitate to acknowledge at once that it is not only the true policy,\nbut the solemn duty, of the Church of Rome to seclude as much as\npossible the Scriptures from the people.\" The gentleman looked\ngratified, and the guests were all attention. \"In my judgment much\nmore can be said on behalf of the practice than at first appears; and\nif I sincerely believed all you do, I should certainly advocate the\nmost stringent measures of repression.\"\n\nThe foreigner began to look quite at his ease. \"For example,\" continued\nHarrington, in a very quiet tone, \"supposing I believed, as you do,\nthat the Holy Virgin is entitled to all the honors which you pay her,\nso that, as is well known, in Italy and other countries, she even\neclipses her Son, and is more eagerly and fondly worshipped,--it\nwould be impossible for me to peruse the meagre accounts given in\nthe New Testament of this so prominent an object of Catholic\nreverence and worship,--to read the brief, frigid, not to say harsh\nspeeches of Christ,--to contemplate the stolidity of the Apostles with\nregard to her, throughout their Epistles,--never even mentioning her\nname,--I say it would be impossible for me to read all this without\nhaving the idea suggested that it was never intended that I should\npay her such homage as you demand for her, or without feeling\nsuspicious that the New Testament disowned it and knew nothing of it.\"\n\n\"Very true,\" said the Italian: \"I must say that I have often felt that\nthere is such a danger to myself.\"\n\n\"Similarly, what a shock would it perpetually be to my deep reverence\nfor the spiritual head of the Church, and my conviction of his\nundoubted inheritance, from the Prince of the Apostles, of his\naugust prerogatives, to find no trace of such a personage as the\nPope in the sacred page,--the title of 'Bishop of Rome' never\nwhispered,--no hint given that Peter was ever even there! I really\nthink it would be impossible to read the book without feeling my\nflesh creep and my heart full of doubt. Similarly, take that single\nmystery of 'transubstantiation'; though it seems sufficiently\nasserted in one text, which therefore it well (as is, indeed, the\npractice with every pious Catholic) continually to quote alone, yet,\nwhen I look into other portions of the New Testament, I see how\nperpetually Christ is employing metaphors equally strong, without\nany such mystery being attached to them. I cannot but feel that I\nand every other vulgar reader would be sure to be exposed to the\nperil of suspecting that in that single case a metaphorical meaning\nmuch more probable than so great a mystery.\"\n\n\"You reason fairly, my dear Sir,\" said the Italian.\n\n\"Again,\" continued Harrington, blandly bowing to the compliment,\n\"believing, as I should, in the efficacy of the intercessions of\nthe saints, in the worship of images, in seven sacraments, in\nindulgences, and necessity of observing a ritual incomparably more\nelaborate than an undeveloped Christianity admitted, how very, very\napt I should be to misinterpret many passages, both in the Old\nTestament and the New! How is it possible that the vulgar reader\nshould be able to limit the command not to bow down 'to any graven\nimage' to its true meaning,--that is, 'to any image' except those\nof the Virgin and all the saints; to interpret aright the passages\nwhich speak so absolutely about the one Mediator and Intercessor,\nwhen there are thousands! How will he be necessarily startled to\nfind 'seven' sacraments grown out of 'two'! How will he be shocked\nat the apparent--of course only apparent--contempt with which\nSt. Paul speaks of ritual and ceremonial matters, of the futility of\n'fasts' and distinctions of 'meats and drinks,' of observing 'days\nand months and years.' and so on. His whole language, I contend,\nwould necessarily mislead the simple into heresies innumerable. Of\nnumberless texts, again, even if the meaning were not mistaken, the\ntrue meaning would never be discovered unless the Church had\ndeclared it. Who, for example, would have supposed that the doctrine\nof the Pope's supremacy and universal jurisdiction lay hid under\nexpressions such as 'I say unto thee that thou art Peter,' and\n'Feed my sheep'; or that the two swords of the Prince of the\nApostles meant the temporal and spiritual authority with which\nhe was invested? Under such circumstances, I must say, that, if I\nwere a devout Catholic, I should plead for the absolute suppression\nof a book so infinitely likely--nay, so necessarily certain--to\nmislead.\"\n\n\"It is precisely on that ground,\" said the Italian, \"and on that\nground only, the welfare of the Church, that our Holy Mother does\nnot approve of the Bible being read generally. The true theory of\nthe Roman Catholic Church would never be elicited from it.\"\n\n\"Precisely so,\" said our host, gravely; \"I am sure it could not.\"\n\n\"But then,\" remarked our friend, the Deist, \"since the Church of\nRome holds this book to be the inspired revelation of God to mankind,\nis it not singular to say that this 'revelation' requires to be\ncarefully concealed from mankind; that the Bible is invaluable,\nindeed, but only while it is unread; and that, in fact, the Church\nknows herself better than Jesus Christ himself did? for in that\nbook we are supposed to have the words of Him and her founders,\nand yet it seems they could only mislead! 'Never man spake like this\nman,' may well be said of Christ, if this were true.\"\n\n\"Never mind him, Signor,\" said our host. \"He secretly cannot but\napprove of your end, though he disapproves the means.\" The Deist\nlooked surprised.\n\n\"Why, have you not sometimes said that you believe the Bible to be,\nin many respects, a most pernicious book? that many of the most\nobstinate and dangerous prejudices of mankind are principally\ndue to it? and that you wish it were in your power to destroy it?\"\n\n\"Well, I certainly have thought so, if not said so.\"\n\n\"Then you approve of the end, though you disapprove of the means.\nYou ought to thank our friend here, and regret that his work is not\ndone more effectually. But enough of this. I must not have my\nrespected Roman Catholic guests alone put on the defensive. The\nSignor fairly tells us what his system is in relation to the Bible\nand why he would place it under lock and key; he tells you also what\nbetter thing he substitutes when he removes the Bible. I really think\nit is but fair and candid in you to do as much. I know you all\nbelieve that you are not only in quest of religious truth, but have\nfound it to some extent or other:--for my own part I am exempted\nfrom speaking; for I have given over the search in despair.\"\n\nThis frank acknowledgment was followed by some highly curious\nconversation, of which I regret my inability to recall all the\nparticulars. Suffice it to say, that there were not two who were\nagreed either as to the grounds on which Christianity was deemed a\nthing of naught, or on what was to be substituted in its place; one\neven had his doubts whether any thing need be substituted, and\nanother thought that any thing might be. One of the Rationalists was\na little offended at being supposed willing to \"abandon\" the Bible\nat all: he declared, on the contrary, his unfeigned reverence for\nthe New Testament at least, as containing, in larger mass and purer\nore than any other book in the world, the principles of ethical truth;\nthat he was willing even to admit--with exquisite naivete--that it\nwas inspired in the same sense in which Plato's Dialogues and the Koran\nwere inspired; he merely dispensed with all that was supernatural and\nmiraculous and mystical! The Deist laughed, and told him that he\nbelieved just as much, if that constituted a Christian. \"I believe,\"\nsaid he, \"that the New Testament is quite as much inspired as the\nKoran of Mahomet; and that it contains more of ethical truth (however\nit came there) than is to be found in any other book of equal bulk.\nBut,\" he proceeded, \"if you dispense with all that is miraculous in\nthe facts, and all that is peculiar and characteristic in the\ndoctrines,--that is, all which discriminates Christianity from any\nother religion,--I am afraid that your Christianity is own born\nbrother to my Infidelity. As for your reverence for this inspired\nbook, since you must reject ninety per cent. of the whole, it seems\nto me very gratuitous; equally so, whether you suppose the compilers\nbelieved or disbelieved the facts and doctrines you reject; if the\nformer, and they were deceived, they must have been inspired\nidiots; if the latter, and were deceiving others, they were surely\ninspired knaves. For my part,\" he continued, \"while I hold that the\nbook somehow does unaccountably contain more of the morally true\nand beautiful than any book of equal extent, I also hold that\nChristianity itself is a pure imposture from beginning to end.\"\n\nThis coarse avowal of adherence to the elder, and, after all, more\nintelligible deism, brought down upon him at once two of the company.\nOne was the disciple of Strauss (I mean as regards his theory of the\norigin of Christianity, not as regards his Pantheism); the other a\nRationalist, with about the same small tatters of Christianity\nfluttering about him, but who was a little disposed, like so many\nGerman theologians, to consider Strauss as somewhat passe. Unhappily,\ngot athwart each other's bows shortly after they into action. They\nboth enlarged--really in a edifying manner, I could have listened\nto them an hour--on the absurdity of the Deist's argument! \"What!\"\ncried one; \"the purest system of ethics from the most shameless\nimpostors!\" \"And what do you make of the infinitely varied and\ninimitable marks of simplicity and honesty in the writers?\" cried\nthe other. \"And who does not see the impossibility of getting up the\nmiracles so as to impose upon a world of bitter and prejudiced enemies\nin open day?\" exclaimed the Rationalist. \"They were obviously mere\nmyths,\" cried the Straussian. \"That I must beg to doubt,\" said the\nother. And now, as they proceeded to give each his own solution of\nthe difficulty, the scene became comic in the extreme. The Rationalist\nridiculed the notion that nations and races, all of whom, in the nature\nof things, must have been prejudiced against such myths as those of\nChristianity, could originate or would believe them; and still more,\nthe notion that in so short a space of time these wildest of wild\nlegends (if legends at all) could induce the world to acquiesce\nin them as historic realities! In his zeal he even said, that,\nthough not altogether satisfied with it, he would sooner believe\nall the frigid glosses by which the school of Paulus had endeavored\nto resolve the miracles into misunderstood \"natural phenomena.\" As\nthe dispute became more animated between these three champions, they\nexhibited a delicate trait of human nature, which I saw our sceptical\nhost most maliciously enjoyed. Each became more anxious to prove that\nhis mode of proving Christianity false was the true mode, than to\nprove the falsehood of Christianity itself. \"I tell you what,\" said\nthe Straussian, with some warmth, \"sooner than believe all the\nabsurdities of such an hypothesis as that of Paulus, I could believe\nChristianity to be what it professes to be.\" \"I may say the same of\nthat of Strauss,\" said the other, with equal asperity; \"if I had no\nbetter escape than his, I could say to him, as Agippa to Paul, 'Almost\nthou persuadest me to be a Christian.'\" \"For my part,\" exclaimed the\nDeist, who was perfectly contented with his brief solution,--the\ndifficulties of the problem he had never had the patience to master,\n--\"I should rather say, as Festus to Paul, 'Much learning has made\nyou both mad': and sooner than believe the impossibilities of the\ntheory of either,--sooner than suppose men honestly and guilelessly\nto have misled the world by a book which you and I admit to be a\ntissue of fables, legends, and mystical non-sense,--I could almost\nfind it in my heart to go over to the Pope himself.\"\n\n\"Good,\" whispered our host to me, who sat at his left hand; \"we shall\nhave them all becoming Christians, by and by, just to spite one\nanother.\" The admirer of Mr. Atkinson and Miss Martineau here\nreminded the company that the miracles of the New Testament might be\ntrue,--only the result of mesmerism. \"Christ,\" said he, \"to employ\nthe words of Mr. Atkinson, was constitutionally a clairvoyant .....\nProphecy and miracle and inspiration are the effects of abnormal\nconditions of man ..... Prophecy, clairvoyance, healing by touch,\nvisions, dreams, revelations, .... are now known to be simple\nmatters in nature, which may be induced at will, and experimented\nupon at our firesides, here in England (climate and other\ncircumstances permitting), as well as in the Holy Land.\"* But no\none seemed prepared to receive this hypothesis. At last, our host,\naddressing the Deist, said, \"But you forget, Mr. M., that, though\nyou find it insurmountably difficult to conceive a book full of\nlies (as you express it) to have been, consciously or unconsciously,\nthe product of honest and guileless minds, you ought to find it a\nlittle difficult to conceive a book (as you admit the New Testament\nto be) of profound moral worth produced by shameless impostors. But\nlet that pass. Let us assume that Christianity, as a supernaturally\nrevealed and miraculously authenticated system, is false, though you\nare dolefully at variance as to how it is to be proved so; let us\nassume, I say, that this system is false, and dismiss it. I am much\nmore anxious to hear what is the positive system of religious truth,\nwhich you are of course each persuaded is the true one. I have left\noff to seek,' but if any one will find the truth for me without my\n'seeking' it, how rejoiced shall I be!\"\n\n---\n* He cited the substance of these sentiments. I have since referred\nto, and here quote, the ipsissima verba. See \"Letters,\" &c.,\npp. 175, 212.\n---\n\nPainful as were the \"revelations\" which ensued, I would not have\nmissed them on any account. \"In vino veritas,\" says the proverb\nwhich on this occasion lied most vilely; yet it was true in the\nonly sense in which \"veritas\" is there used; for there was unbounded\ncandor and frankness, under the inspiring hospitality of our host,\naided by his skilful management of the conversation. Nor was there,\nI am bound to say, much of coarse ribaldry, even from the free-spoken\nrepresentative of the Tindals and Woolstons of other days. But the\nvarieties of judgment and opinion in that small company were almost\nnumberless. Fellowes, and two of the Rationalists, were firm believers\nin the theory of \"insight\"; that the human spirit derives, by immediate\nintuition from the \"depths\" of its consciousness, a \"revelation of\nreligious and spiritual truth.\" They differed, however, as to several\narticles; but especially as to the little point, whether the fact\nof man's future existence was amongst the intimations of man's\nreligious nature; one contending that it was, another that it was\nnot, and Fellowes, as usual, with several more of the company,\ndeclaring that their consciousness told them nothing about the\nmatter either way. But when some one further declared, amidst these\nvery disputes, that this internal revelation was so clear and plain\nas not only to anticipate and supersede any \"external\" revelation,\nbut to render it \"impossible\" to be given, our host suddenly broke\nout into a fit of laughter. The disputants were silent, and every\none looked to him for an explanation. He seemed to feel that it was\ndue, and, after apologizing for his rudeness, said, that, while\nsome of them were asserting man's clear internal revelation, he\ncould not help thinking of the whimsical contrast presented by the\ndiversified speculations and opinions of even this little party,\nand the infinitely more whimsical contrast presented by the gross\ndelusions of polytheism and superstition, which in such endless\nvariations of form and unchanging identity of folly had misled\nthe nations of the earth for so many thousands of years: \"And just\nthen,\" said he, \"it occurred to me what a curious commentary it\nwould be on the asserted unity and sufficiency of 'internal\nrevelation,' if the 'Great Exhibition of the Industry of all\nNations' were followed up by a 'Great Exhibition of the Idolatry\nof all Nations' under the same roof. Thither night be brought\nspecimens of the ingenious handicraft of men in the manufacture\nof deities; we might have the whole process, in all its varieties,\ncomplete; the raw material of a God in a block of stone or wood,\nand the most finished specimen in the shape of a Phidian Jupiter;\nthe countless bits of trumpery which Fetichism has ever consecrated;\nthe divine monsters of ancient Egypt, and the equally divine\nmonsters of modern India; the infinite array of grim deformities\nhallowed by American, Asiatic, and African superstition. I imagined,\nnotwithstanding the vastness of that Crystal Pantheon, there would\nstill be crowds of their godships who would be obliged to wait\noutside, having come too late to exhibit their perfections to\nadvantage. However, as I went in fancy up the long aisles, and saw,\nto the right and the left, the admiring crowds of worshippers,\ngrimacing, and mowing, and prostrating themselves, with a folly\nwhich might lead one reasonably to suppose, that, miserable as\nwere the gods, they were gods indeed compared with such worshippers,\nI imagined my worthy friend Fellowes in the corner where the Bible,\nin its 120 languages, is now kept, employed in delivering a lecture\non the admirable clearness of those intuitions of spiritual truth\nwhich constitute each man's particular oracle, and the superfluity\nof all 'external' revelation. This was, I confess, a little too\nmuch for my gravity, and I was involuntarily guilty of the\nrudeness for which I now apologize.\" It was certainly a ridiculous\nvision enough; and we made ourselves very merry by pursuing it for\na little while.\n\nPresently the company resumed their solutions off the great problem.\nThe Deist remarked, \"that one and only one thing was plain, and\nindubitable,\"--for he was a dogmatist in his way;--it was, \"that\nintellect and power to an indefinite extent had been at work in\nthe universe, but whether the Being to whom these attributes\nbelonged took any cognizance of man, or his actions, he had never\nbeen able to make up his mind.\" \"Yet surely it does make a slight\ndifference,\" said Harrington, \"since if God takes no cognizance of\nman, then, as Cicero long ago remarked of the idle dogs of Epicurus,\n--I mean gods of Epicurus, I beg their pardon, but really it does\nnot matter which consonant comes first,--atheism and deism are much\nthe same thing.\" \"Why,\" said the Deist, \"there is as much difference\nas in the theories of our 'intuitional' friends here, one of whom\nadmits, and another denies, the future existence of man; for if we\nbe the ephemeral insects the latter supposes, it little matters\nwhat system of religion we espouse or abjure. However, I am clear\nthat, if God require any duty of us, it is that we should reverence\nhim as the Creator of all things,--prayer to him is an absurdity,--and\nperform those offices of honest men which are so clearly the dictates\nof conscience,--the reward and punishment being exclusively the\nresult of present laws.\"\n\n\"Which laws,\" said his next neighbor, \"often secure no reward or\npunishment at all,--or rather, often give the reward to the vice of\nman, and the punishment to his virtue.\" \"Very true,\" rejoined the\nDeist, \"and I must say,\"--sagely shaking his head,--\"that such\nthings make me often suspect the whole of that slippery, uncertain\nthing called 'natural religion,' whether as taught by the elder\ndeists or modified by our modern spiritualists. Surely they may be\nabundantly charged with the same faults with which they tax the\nChristian; for they are full of interminable disputes about the\n'truths' or 'sentiments' of their theology.\"\n\nOne of those who had gone further than our Deists felt disposed to\nquestion all \"immutable morality\" original \"dictates of conscience.\"\n\"I doubt,\" said he, \"whether those dictates are any clearer than\nthose dogmas of 'natural religion' which have been so oppugned; and\nI judge so for the same reason,--the endless disputes of men with\nregard to the source, the rule, the obligation of what they call\nduty; which are exactly similar to the disputes which we charge upon\nthe Natural Religionist and the Christian.\" And here he ran through\nhalf a dozen of the two score theories which the history of ethics\npresents, rare work with Plato and Aristotle, Hobbes, Cudworth,\nMandeville, and Bentham. \"Meantime,\" he concluded, \"we do see, in\npoint of fact, that the moral rule is most flexible, and to an\nindeterminate degree the creature of association, custom, and\neducation, so that I am inclined to think that that alone is\nobligatory which the positive laws and institutions of any society\nrender binding.\" \"So that\" cried Harrington, \"a man both may and\nought to thieve in ancient Sparta, may expose his parents in\nHindostan, and commit infanticide in China!\" \"It is a pity,\" archly\nwhispered the Italian guest, \"that this gentleman was not born\nin China.\"\n\n\"It is a respectable, but very old speculation,\" said Harrington,\n\"of which many ancient moralists avowed themselves the advocates,\nbut of which it is only fair to admit that Plato and many other\nheathens were heartily ashamed.\"\n\nIt seemed as if the bathos of theological and ethical absurdity could\nnot lie deeper; but I was mistaken. The admirer of Mr. Atkinson\ndeclared with great modesty that he thought, as did his favorite\nauthor, that the whole world had been mad on the subject of theology\nand morality;--that the prime error consisted in the superficial\nnotion of a Personal Deity, and the foolish attribution of the notion\nof \"sin\" and \"crime\" to human motives and conduct, instead of regarding\nthe former as a name of an absolutely unknown cause of the entire\nphenomena of the universe, and the latter as part of a series of\nrigidly necessary antecedents and consequents, for which man is no\nmore to be either blamed or praised than the sun for shining or the\navalanche for falling; he added, that only in this way could\nman attain peace. \"As Mr. Atkinson beautifully says, 'What a hopeful\nand calming influence has such a contemplation of nature! At this moment\nit is not I, but the nature within me, that dictates my speech and\nguides my pen. I am what I am. I cannot alter my will, or be other\nthan what I am, and cannot deserve either reward or punishment.' But\nI feel with him, 'We may preach these things, and men may think us\nmad or something worse.'\" (Pp. 190, 191.)\n\n\"And perhaps justly,\" said Harrington, with a laugh, \"for nature has\nsurely, after so many thousands of years, let you know what her law\nis, and you say that that law is necessary and irreversible, and yet\nyou strive to alter it! You had better leave men to their\nnecessary absurdities.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said the other, \"as Mr. Atkinson says, from the recognition of\na universal law we shall develop a universal love; the disposition and\nability to love without offence or ill-feeling towards any; or, as\nMiss Martineau represents it,--When the mind has completely surmounted\nevery idea of a personal God, of a supreme will, 'what repose begins\nto pervade the mind! What clearness of moral purpose naturally ensues!\nand what healthful activity of the moral faculties!' (p. 219) .... What\na new perception we obtain of the \"beauty of holiness,\"--the loveliness\nof a healthful moral condition,--accordant with the laws of natures,\nand not with the requisitions of theology!'\" (p. 219.)\n\nI got him afterwards to show me these passages, for I could hardly\nbelieve that he had quoted them right.\n\n\"And as for morality,\" continued he, \"the knowledge which mesmerism\ngives of the influence of body on body, and consequently of mind on\nmind, will bring about a morality we have not yet dreamed of. And who\nshall disguise his nature and his acts when we cannot be sure at any\nmoment that we are free from the clairvoyant eye of some one who is\nobserving our actions and most secret thoughts; and our whole\ncharacter and history may be read off at any moment!\" (H. G. A. to\nH. M., p. 280.)\n\nWhat an admirable substitute, thought I, for the idea of an omnipresent\nand omniscient Deity! Who will not abstain from lying and stealing\nwhen he thinks, there is possibly some clairvoyant at the antipodes\nin mesmeric rapport with his own spirit, and perhaps, by the way, in\nvery sympathizing rapport, if the clairvoyant happen to be in Australia?\n\nIt was at this point that our young friend from Germany broke in.\n\"I hold that you are right, Sir,\" he said to the last speaker, \"in\nsaying that God is not a person; but then it is because, as Hegel\nsays, he is personality itself--the universal personality which\nrealizes itself in each human consciousness, as a separate thought of\nthe one eternal mind. Our idea of the absolute is the absolute itself;\napart from and out of the universe, therefore, there is no God.\"\n\n\"I think we may grant you that,\" said Harrington, laughing.\n\n\"Nor,\" continued the other, \"is there any God apart from the\nuniversal consciousness of man. He--\"\n\n\"Ought you not to say it?\" said Harrington.\n\n\"It, then,\" said our student, \"is the entire process of thought\ncombining in itself the objective movement in nature with the\nlogical subjective, and realizing itself in the spiritual totality\nof humanity. He (or it, if you will) is the eternal movement of the\nuniversal, ever raising itself to a subject, which first of all in\nthe subject comes to objectivity and a real consistence, and\naccordingly absorbs the subject in its abstract individuality.\nGod is, therefore, not a person, but personality itself.\"\n\nNobody answered, for nobody understood.\n\n\"Q. E. D.,\" said Harrington, with the utmost gravity.\n\nThus encouraged, our student was going on to show how much more\nclear Hegel's views are than those of Schelling. \"The only real\nexistence,\" he said, \"is the relation; subject and object, which\nseem contradictory, are really one,--not one in the sense of\nSchelling, as opposite poles of the same absolute existence, but\none as the relation itself forms the very idea. Not but what in\nthe threefold rhythm of universal existence there are affinities\nwith the three potencies of Schelling; but----\"\n\n\"Take a glass of wine.\" said Harrington to his young acquaintance,\n\"take a glass of wine, as the Antiquary said to Sir Arthur Wardour,\nwhen he was trying to cough up the barbarous names of his Pictish\nancestors, 'and wash down that bead-roll of unbaptized jargon which\nwould choke a dog.'\"\n\nWe laughed, for we could not help it.\n\nOur young student looked offended, and muttered something about the\ninaptitude of the English for a deep theosophy and philosophy.\n\n\"It is all very well.\" said he, \"Mr. Harrington; but it is not in\nthis way that the profound questions which, under some aspects, have\ndivided such minds as Fichte, Schelling, and Hegel; and under others,\nGosehel, Hinrichs, Erdmann, Marheineke, Schaller, Gabler -----\"\n\nHarrington burst out laughing. \"They divide a good many philosophers\nof that last name in England also,\" said he.\n\n\"Why, what have I said?\" replied the other, looking surprised and vexed.\n\n\"Nothing at all,\" said Harrington, still laughing. \"Nothing that I\nknow of; I am sure I may with truth affirm it. But I beg your pardon\nfor laughing; only I could not help it, at finding you like so many\nother young philosophers born of German theology and philosophy,\nattempting to frighten me by a mere roll-call of formidable names.\nWhy, my friend, it is because these things have, as you say, divided\nthese great minds so hopelessly, that I am in difficulty; if the\nphilosophers had agreed about them, it would have been another\nstory. One would think, to hear them invoked by many a youth here,\nthat these powerful minds had convinced one another; instead of that,\nthey have simply confounded one another. It was the very spectacle\nof their interminable disputes and distractions in philosophy and\ntheology,--ever darker and darker, deeper and deeper, as system after\nsystem chased each other away, like the clouds they resemble through\na winter sky;--I say it was the very spectacle of their distractions\nwhich first made me a sceptic; and I think I am hardly likely to be\nreconvinced by the mere sound of their names, ushered in by vague\nprofessions of profound admiration of their profundity! The praise\nis often oddly justified by citing something or other, which,\nobscure enough in the original, is absolute darkness when translated\ninto English; and must, like some versions I have seen of the\nclassics, be examined in the original, in order to gain a glimpse of\nits meaning.\"\n\nThe student acknowledged that there was certainly much vague\nadmiration and pretension amongst young Englishmen in this matter; but\nthought that profounder views were to be gathered from these sources\nthan was generally acknowledged.\n\n\"Very well,\" replied Harrington; \"I do not deny it, perhaps it is so;\nand whenever you choose to justify that opinion by expressing in\nintelligible English the special views of the special author you\nthink thus worthy of attention, whether he be from Germany or Timbuctoo,\nI humbly venture to say that I will (so far from laughing) examine them\nwith as much patience as yourself. But if you wish to cure me of\nlaughing, I beseech you to refrain from all vague appeals to\nwholesale authority.\n\n\"The most ludicrous circumstance, however,\" he continued, \"connected\nwith this German mania is, that in many cases our admiring countrymen\nare too late in changing their metaphysical fashions; so that they\nsometimes take up with rapture a man whom the Germans are just\nbeginning to cast aside. Our servile imitators live on the crumbs\nthat fall from the German table, or run off with the well-picked bone\nto their kennel, as if it were a treasure, and growl and show their\nteeth to any one that approaches them, in very superfluous terror of\nbeing deprived of it. It would be well if they were to imitate the\nimporters of Parisian fashions, and let us know what is the philosophy\nor theology a la mode, that we may not run a chance of appearing\nperfect frights in the estimate even of the Germans themselves.\"\n\nCoffee was here brought in: and Harrington said, \"Thank you, gentlemen,\nfor your candor, though your unanimity does not seem very admirable.\nIn one sentiment, indeed, you are pretty well agreed,--that the\nBible is to be discarded; though you are infinitely at variance, as\nto the grounds on which you think so; Catholic friends deeming it\ntoo precious to be intrusted to every body's hands, and the rest of\nyou, as a gift not worth receiving. But as to the systems you\nwould substitute in its place, they are so portentously various that they\nare hardly likely to cure me of my scepticism; nor even my worthy\nrelative here\"--pointing to me--\"of his old-fashioned orthodoxy.\nHe will say, 'Much as we theologians differ as to the interpretation\nof Scripture, our differences are neither so great nor so formidable\nas those of these gentlemen. I had better remain where I am.'\"\n\nSeveral of the guests stared at me as they would at the remains of\na megatherium.\n\n\"Is it possible,\" said one at last, \"that you, Sir, can retain a\nbelief in the divine inspiration of the Bible,--excluding incidental\nerrors of transcription and so on?\"\n\n\"It is not only possible,\" said I, \"but certain.\"\n\n\"Do you mean,\" said the other, \"that you can give satisfactory answers\nto the objections which can be brought against various parts of it?\"\n\n\"By no means,\" said I; \"while I think that many may be wholly solved,\nand more, partially, I admit there are some which are altogether\ninsoluble.'\n\n\"Then why, in the name of wonder, do you retain your belief?\"\n\n\"Because I think that the evidence for retaining it is, on the whole,\nstronger than the evidence for relinquishing it; that is, that the\nobjections to admitting the objections are stronger than the objections\nthemselves.\"\n\n\"But how do you manage in a controversy with an opponent as to those\ninsoluble objections?\"\n\n\"I admit them.\"\n\n\"Then you allow his position to be more tenable and reasonable than\nyours?\"\n\n\"No,\" said I, \"I take care of that.\"\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"I transfer the war, My good Sir: a practice which I would recommend\nto most Christians in these days. When I meet with an opponent of the\nstamp you refer to, who thinks insoluble objections alone are\nsufficient reasons for rejecting any thing. I say to him, 'My friend,\nthis Christianity, if so clearly false, is not worth talking about: let\nus quit it. But as you admit, with me, that religious truth is of great\nmoment, and as you think you have it, pray oblige me by your system.'\nTo tell you the truth, I never found any difficulty in propounding\nplenty of insoluble objections; but if you think differently, you or\nany gentleman present can make experiment of the matter now.\"\n\n\"Nay, my dear uncle,\" said Harrington, \"you are invading my province.\nIt is I only who can consistently challenge all comers; like the\nancient Scythians, I have every thing to gain and nothing to lose.\"\n\nWhether it was out of respect for the host, or that each felt, after\nthe recent disclosures, that he would not only have Harrington and\nmyself, but every body else, down upon him, nobody accepted this\nchallenge.\n\nAt last one of them said he could not even yet comprehend how it\nwas that I could remain an old-fashioned believer in these days\nof \"progress.\" \"It was infidelity itself,\" I replied, \"that early\nrobbed me of the advantages of being an infidel.\"\n\nSeveral expressed their surprise, and I told them that, after we had\ntaken tea in the drawing-room (to which we were then summoned), I\nwould, if they felt any curiosity upon the matter, and would allow\na little scope to the garrulity of an old man, tell them\n\nHOW IT WAS THAT INFIDELITY PREVENTED MY BECOMING AN INFIDEL.\n\nAFTER tea I gave my story, as nearly as I can recollect, in the\nfollowing way. Of course I cannot recall the precise words; but\nthe order of the thoughts--how often have they been pondered!--I\ncannot be mistaken about.\n____\n\nIt is now thirty years ago or more since I was passing through many\nof the mental conflicts in which I see so many of the young in the\npresent day involved. I have no doubt that the majority of them will\ncome out, probably after an eclipse more or less partial, very\northodox Christians,--so great are the revolutions of opinion\nwhich an experience of human life and the necessities of the human\nheart work upon us! As I look around me, I see few of my youthful\ncontemporaries who have not survived their infidelity.\n\nFar be it from me--(I spoke in a tone which, I imagine, they hardly\nknew whether to take as compliment or irony)--to affirm that the\ninfidels of this day are like those I knew in my youth. I have no\nhesitation in saying of us, that a perfectly natural recoil--partly\nintellectual and partly moral--from the supernatural history, the\npeculiar doctrines, but, above all, the severe morality of the\nNew Testament, was at the bottom of our unbelief. I have long felt\nthat the reception of that book on the part of any human being\nis not the least of its proofs that it is divine, for I am persuaded\nthere never was a book naturally more repulsive either to the human\nhead or heart. All the prejudices of man are necessarily arrayed\nagainst it. I felt these prejudice, I am now distinctly conscious;\nnor was I insensible to the palpable advantages of infidelity;--its\naccommodating morality; its Large margin for the passions and appetites;\nits doubts of any future world, or its certainty that, if there were\none, it would prove a universal paradise (for doubts and certainties\nare equally within the compass of human wishes); the absolute\nabolition of hell and every thing like in. I say I saw clearly enough\nthe advantages which infidelity promised, and I acknowledge I was not\ninsensible to them. I think no young men are likely to be.\n\nI do not insinuate that similar advantages have any thing to do with\nthose many peculiar revelations of religion which different oracles\nhave in our day substituted for the New Testament. The arguments\nagainst Christianity, indeed, I do not find much altered; the\nsubstitutions for it, though distractingly various, are, I confess,\nin some respects different. Nay, we see that many of our \"spiritualists\"\ncomplain chiefly of the moral and spiritual deficiencies of\nChristianity; they are afraid, with Mr. Newman, of the conscience\nof man being DEPRESSED to the Bible standard! So that we must\nsuppose that the aim of some, at least, of our infidel reformers,\nare prompted by a loftier ideal of  \"spiritual\" purity than\nChristianity presents!\n\nIt certainly was not so then. I felicitate some of you, gentlemen,\non being so much holier and wiser, nor only than we were, but even\nthan Christ and his Apostles.\n\nI have said I was not insensible to the advantages of infidelity;\nbut nature had endowed me with prudence as well as passions; and I\nwanted evidence for what appeared to me its most gratuitous\nphilosophy of the future,--for its too uncertain doubts of all\nfuturity, and its too doubtful certainty of none but a happy one!\nI also wanted evidence of the falsehood of Christianity itself. As\nto the former, I shall not trouble you with my difficulties; there\nwere indeed then, as now, an admirable variety of theories; but if\nI could have been convinced of the futility of the claims of\nChristianity, I believe I should have been easily satisfied as to\na substitute; or rather, unable to decide between Chubb and\nBolingbroke, Voltaire and Rousseau, I should most likely have tossed\nup for my religion.\n\nIt was the distractions with regard to the evidences of Christianity\nthat ruined me; and at last condemned me to be a Christian.\n\nI was first troubled, like so many in our day, about the miracles. I\ncould hardly bring my mind to believe them. One day, talking with a\njovial fellow whom I casually met (not of very strong mind indeed, but\nwho made up for it by very strong passions) over the improbability of\nsuch occurrences, he exclaimed, as he mixed his third glass of brandy\nand water, \"I only wonder how any one can be such a fool as to believe\nin any stuff of that sort? Do you think that, if the miracles had been\nreally wrought, there could have been any doubters of Christianity?\"\nHe tossed off the brandy and water with a triumphant air; and I quite\nforgot his argument in compassion for his bestiality. I expostulated\nwith him. \"You may spare your breath, Mr. Solomon,\" said he. \"May this\nbe my poison (as it will be my poison),\" mixing a fourth glass, \"if I\nneed any sermons on the subject. Hark ye,--I am perfectly convinced\nthat the habit I am chained to will be the destruction of health,\nof reputation, of my slender means,--will reduce to beggary and\nstarvation my wife and children,--and yet,\" drinking again, \"I know I\nshall never leave it off.\"\n\n\"Good heavens!\" said I. \"Why, you seem as plainly convinced of the\ninfatuation of your conduct as if miracle had been wrought to convince\nyou of it.\n\n\"I am.\" he said, unthinkingly; \"ten thousand miracles could not make it\nplainer; so you may 'spare your breath to cool your porridge,' and\npreach to one who is not already in the condemned cell.\"\n\nI was exceedingly shocked; but I thought within myself,--It appears,\nthen, that man may act against convictions, as strong as any that a\nmiracle could produce. It is clear there are no LIMITS to the\nperversity with which a depraved will and passions can overrule\nevidence, even where it is admitted by the reason to be invincible.\nIt does not follow, then, that a miracle (which cannot present\nconclusions more clear) must triumph over them. If the passions can\ndefy the understanding, where it coolly acknowledges they cannot\npervert the evidence, how much more easily may they cajole it to\nsuggest doubts of the evidence itself! And what more easy than in\nrelation to miracles? Such a phenomenon might from novelty produce a\ntransient impression; but that would pass away, just as the vivid\nfeelings sometimes excited by a sudden escape from death pass away;\nthe half-roused debauchee resumes his old career, just as if he had\nnever looked over the brink of eternity and shuddered with horror as\nhe gazed. He who had seen a miracle might very soon, and probably\nwould, if he did not like the doctrine it was to confirm, persuade\nhimself that it was an illusion of his senses, for they have deceived\nhim; unless, indeed, he saw a new miracle every day, and then he\nwould be certain to get used to it. How much more easily could the\nJews do this, who both hated the doctrine of Him who taught, and,\nnot thinking miracles impossible, could conveniently refer them\nto Beelzebub!\n\nI felt, therefore, that the brandy and water logic had perfectly\nconvinced me that this was far too precarious ground on which to\nconclude that the miracles of the  New Testament had been wrought.\n\nI was further confirmed in my convictions of the illogical nature of\nall a priori views on the subject, by the whimsical differences of\nopinion among my infidel friends.\n\nOne told me that it was plain that miracles were \"incredible,\" and\n\"impossible,\" per se; but he was immediately contradicted by a second,\nwho said that he really could not see any thing incredible or impossible\nabout them; that all that was wanting to make them credible was\nsufficient evidence, which perhaps had in no case been given.\n\nA third said, that it was of little consequence; that no miracle could\nprove a moral truth; and; taking a view just the opposite to that of\nmy first acquaintance, swore that, if he saw a score of miracles, he\nshould not be a bit the more inclined to believe in the authority of\na religion authenticated by them.\n\nHere was a fine beginning for an ingenuous neophyte, who was eager\nto be fully initiated in infidel theology!\n\nIt set me to examine the miracles themselves, and the evidence\nfor them.\n\n\"They were the simple result of fraud practising upon simplicity,\"\nsaid one of the genuine descendants of Bolingbroke and Tindal.\n\nI pondered over it a good deal. At last I said one day to another\ninfidel acquaintance, \"You ask me to believe that the miraculous\nevents of the New Testament were contrivances of fraud; which, though\nventured upon in the very eyes of those who were interested in\ndetecting them, who must have been prejudiced against them, nay, the\nmajority of whom (as the events show) were determined, whether they\ndetected them or not, not to believe those who wrought them,\nwere yet successfully practised, not only on the deluded disciples\nof the impostors, but on their unbelieving persecutors, who admitted\nthem to be miracles, only of Beelzebub's performing. I really know\nnot how to believe it. As I look at the general history of religion,\nI see that this open-day appeal to miracles--especially such as\nraising the dead--among prejudiced spectators interested in\nunmasking them is, if unsupported by truth, just the thing under\nwhich a religious enterprise inevitably fails.\"\n\nI reminded him that the French prophets in England got on pretty\nwell till their unlucky attempt to raise the dead, when the bubble\nburst instantly; that for this reason the more astute impostors have\nrefrained from any pretensions of the kind, from Mahomet downwards;\n(How discreetly cautious, again, have the Mormonites been on this point!)\nthat the miracles they professed to have wrought were conveniently\nwrought in secret, on the safe theatre of their mental consciousness;\nor that they were reserved for times when their disciples were\npredetermined to believe them, because they were cordial believers\nalready in the religion which appealed to them! I said nothing of the\nunlikelihood of the instruments--Galilean Jews--whom the theory invests\nwith such superhuman powers of deception; or of the prodigious\nintellect and lofty ambition with which it also so liberally endows\nthese obscure vagabonds, who not only conceived, in spite of their\nnarrow-hearted Jewish bigotry, such a system as Christianity, but\nproclaimed their audacious resolve of establishing it on the ruins\nof every other religion,--Jewish or Heathen. I said nothing of the\nstill stranger moral attributes with which it invests them, (in spite\nof their being such odious tricksters, in spite of all their\ngrovelling notions and exclusive prejudices,) as the teachers of a\nsingularly elevated and catholic morality; what is still stranger\nas suffering for it,--strangest of all, as apparently practising\nit. I said nothing of what is still more wonderful, their acting\nthis inconsistent part from motives we cannot assign or even imagine;\ntheir encountering obloquy, persecution, death, in the prosecution of\ntheir object, whatever it was. I said nothing of the innumerable and\none would think inimitable, traits of nature and sincerity in the\nnarrative of those who record these miracles, and which, if simulated\nby such liars, would be almost a miracle itself; a narrative, in which\nmajestic indifference to human criticism is everywhere exhibited;\nin which are no apologies for the extraordinary stories told, no\nattempt to conciliate prejudice, no embellishment, no invectives (as\nPascal says) against the persecutors of Christ himself;--they are\nsimple witnesses, and nothing more, and are seemingly indifferent\nwhether men despise them or not. I repeat, I said nothing of all\nthese paradoxes; I insisted that the mere fact of the successful\nmachination of false miracles, of such a nature, at so many points,\nin open day, in defiance of every motive and prejudice which must\nhave prompted the world to unmask the cheat,--of a conspiracy\nsuccessfully prosecuted, not by one, but by many conspirators, whose\nfortitude, obstinacy, and circumspection, both when acting together\nand acting alone, never allowed them to betray themselves,--was,\nper se, incredible; \"and yet,\" said I to my friend, \"you ask\nme to believe it?\"\n\n\"I ask you to believe it?\" cried he, in surprise which equalled my\nown. \"I am not fool enough ask you to believe any thing of the\nkind: and they are fools who do. The miracles fraudulent machinations!\nno, no, it was, as you say, evidently impossible. And where shall we\nlook for marks of simplicity and truthfulness, if not in the records\nwhich contain them. The fact is.\" said he (I should mention that it\nwas just about the time that the system of \"naturalism\" was\nculminating under the auspices of Paulus of Heidelberg, from whom,\nat second hand, my infidel friend borrowed as much as he wanted),--\"the\nfact is, that the compilers of the New Testament were pious,\nsimple-minded, excellent enthusiasts, who sincerely, but not the\nless falsely, mistook natural phenomena for supernatural miracles.\nWhat more easy than to suppose people dead when they were not, and\nwho were merely recovered from a swoon or trance? than to imagine\nthe blind, deaf, or dumb to be miraculously healed, when in fact\nthey were cured by medical skill? than to fancy the blaze of a flambeau\nto be a star, and to shape thunder into articulate speech, and so on?\nChrist was no miracle-worker, but he was a capital doctor.\"\n\nI pondered over this \"natural\" explanation for a long time. At last\nI ventured to express to a third infidel friend my dissatisfaction\nwith it. \"Not only,\" said I, \"is such a perpetual and felicitous\ngenius for gross blundering, such absolute craziness of credulity,\nin strange contrast with the intellectual and moral elevation which\nthe New Testament writers everywhere evince, and especially in the\nconception of that Ideal of Excellence which even those who reject\nall that is supernatural in Christianity acknowledge to be so\nsublime a masterpiece,--in whose discourses the most admirable ethics\nare illustrated, and in whose life they are still more divinely\ndramatized,--not only is such ludicrous madness of fanaticism at\nvariance with the tone of sobriety and simplicity everywhere\ntraceable; but,--what is more,--when I reflect on the number and\ngrossness of these supposed illusions, I find it hard to imagine how\nto image how even individual could have been honestly stupid enough\nto be beguiled by them, and utterly impossible to suppose that a\nnumber of men should on many occasions have been simultaneously\nthus befooled! But, what is much more, how can those who must\noften have managed the phenomena which were thus misinterpreted\ninto miracles,--how, especially, can the great Physician himself,\nwho knew that he was only playing the doctor, be supposed honestly\nto have allowed the simple-minded followers to persist in so strange\nan error? Either he, or they, or both, must, one would think, have\nbeen guilty of the grossest frauds. But the mere number and\nsimultaneity of such strange illusions, under such a variety of\ncircumstances, render it impossible to receive this hypothesis. I\ncannot see, I said, that it is so very easy for a number of men to\nhave been continually mistaking 'flambeaux' for 'stars,' 'thunder'\nfor 'human speech,' and 'Roman soldiers' for 'angels.'\"\n\nMy friend laughed outright. \"I should think it is not easy, indeed!\"\nhe exclaimed, \"especially that last.  For my part, I see clearly, on\nthis theory, that either the Apostles or their commentators were the\nmost crazy, addle-headed wretches in the world. Either Paulus of Tarsus\nor Paulus of Heidelberg was certainly cracked: I believe the last. No,\nmy friend; depend upon it that the Gospels consist of a number of\nfictions,--many of them very beautiful,--invented, I am inclined to\nbelieve, for a very pious purpose, by highly imaginative minds.\"\n\nThis sat me thinking again. And, in time, my doubts, as usual, assumed\na determinate shape, and I hastened to another oracle of infidelity in\nhopes of a solution.\n\nIf the New Testament be supposed a series of fictions, I argued,--the\nwork of highly imaginative minds for a pious purposes--there is perhaps\na slight moral anomaly in the case (but I do not insist upon it): I mean\nthat of supposing pious men writing fictions which they evidently wish to\nimpose on the world as simple history, and which they must have known\nwould, if received at all, be actually regarded as such; as, in fact,\nthey have been. I do not quite understand how pious men should thus\nendeavor to cheat men into virtue, nor inculcate sanctity and truth\nthrough the medium of deliberate fraud and falsehood. But let that pass;\nperhaps one could forgive it. Other anomalies, far more inexplicable,\nstrike me. That Galilean Jews (such as the history of the time represents\nthem), with all their national and inveterate prejudices,--wedded not\nmore to the law of Moses than to their own corruptions of it, bigoted\nand exclusive beyond all the nations that ever existed, eaten up with\nthe most beggarly superstitions,--should rise to the moral grandeur,\nthe nobility of sentiment, the catholicity of spirit, which characterize\nthe Gospel, and, above all, to such an ideal as Jesus Christ,--this is\na moral anomaly, which is to me incomprehensible: the improbability of\nChristianity having its natural origin in such a source is properly\nmeasured by the hatred of the Jews against it, both then and through\nall time. I said I could as little understand the intellectual anomalies\nof such a theory. Could men, among the most ignorant of a nation sunk\nin that gross and puerile superstition of which the New Testament itself\npresents a true picture, and which is reflected in the Jewish literature\nof that age, and ever since,--a nation whose master minds then and ever\nsince (think of that!) have given us only such stuff as fills the Talmud,\n--could such men, I said, have created such fictions as those of the New\nTestament,--reached such elevated sentiments, or conveyed them in\nperfectly original forms, embodied truth so sublime in a style so simple?\nThroughout those writings is a peculiar tone which belongs to no other\ncompositions of man. While the individuality of the writers not lost,\nthere are still peculiarities which pervade the whole, and have, as I\nthink, justly been called a Scripture style. One of their most striking\ncharacteristics, by the way, is a severely simple taste; a uniform\nfreedom from the vulgarities of conception, the exaggerated sentiment,\nthe mawkish nonsense and twaddle, which disfigure such an infinitude of\nvolumes of religious biography and fiction which have been written since.\nCould such men attain this uniform elevation? Could such men have\ninvented those extraordinary fictions,--the miracles and the parables?\nCould they, in spite of their gross ignorance, have so interwoven the\nfictitious and the historical as to make the fiction let into the\nhistory seem a natural part of it? Could they, above all, have conceived\nthe daring, but glorious, project of embodying and dramatizing the\nideal of the system they inculcated in the person of Christ? And yet\nthey have succeeded, though choosing to attempt the wonderful task in\na life full of unearthly incidents, which they have somehow wrought\ninto an exquisite harmony! But even if one such man in such an age\nand nation could have been found equal to all this, could we, I argued,\nbelieve that several (with undeniable individual varieties of manner)\nwere capable of working into the picture similarly unique, but\ndifferent materials, with similar success, and of reproducing the same\nportrait, in varying posture and attitude, of the great Moral Idea?\nCould we believe that, in achieving this task, not one, but several,\nwere intellectual magicians enough to solve that great problem of\nproducing compositions in a form independent of language,--of laying\non colors which do not fade by time; so that while  Homer, Shakspeare,\nMilton, suffer grievous wrong the moment their thoughts are transferred\ninto another tongue, these men should have written so that their\nwonderful narrative naturally adapts itself to every dialect under\nheaven?\n\nThese intellectual anomalies, I confessed,--if these had been all,--\nstaggered me. As Lord Bacon said that he would sooner believe \"all the\nfables of the Talmud, than that this universal frame was without a\nmind,\" so I could sooner believe all those fables, than that minds\nthat can only produce Talmuds should have conceived such fictions as\nthe Gospel. I could as soon believe that some dull chronicler of the\nMiddle Ages composed Shakspeare's plays, or a ploughman had written\nParadise Lost; only that, to parallel the present case, we ought to\nbelieve that four ploughmen wrote four Paradise Losts! Nay, I said,\nI would as soon believe that most laughable theory of learned folly,\nthat the monks of the Middle Ages compiled all the classics! Nor could\nit help me to say that it was Christians, not Jews, who compiled the\nNew Testament; for they must have been Jews before they were Christians:\nand the twofold moral and intellectual problem comes back upon our\nhands,--to imagine how the Jewish mind could have given birth to the\nideas of Christianity, or have embodied them in such a surpassing form.\nAnd as to the intellectual part of the difficulty,--unhappily abundant\nproof exists in Christian literature that the early Christians could as\nlittle have manufactured such fictions as the Jews themselves! The\nNew Testament is not more different from the writings of Jews, or\nsuperior to them, than it is different from the writings of the\nFathers, and superior to them. It stands alone, like the Peak of\nTeneriffe. The Alps amidst the flats of Holland would not present a\ngreater contrast than the New Testament and the Fathers. And the further\nwe come down, the less capable morally, and nearly as incapable\nintellectually, do the rapidly degenerating Christians appear, of\nproducing such a fiction as the New Testament; so that, if it be asked\nwhether it was not possible that some Christians of after times might\nhave forged these books, one must say with Paley, that they could not.\n\nAnd by the by, gentlemen, said I, (interrupting my narrative, and\naddressing the present company,) I may remind some of you who are\ngreat admirers of Professor Newman, that he admits (as indeed all\nmust, who have had an opportunity of comparing them) the infinite\ninferiority of the Fathers, though he does not attempt to account,\nas surely he ought, for so singular a circumstance. He says in his\nPhases: \"On the whole, this reading [of the Apostolical Fathers]\ngreatly exalted my sense of the unapproachable greatness of the New\nTestament. The moral chasm between it and the very earliest Christian\nwriters seemed to me so vast, as only to be accounted for by the\ndoctrine ..... that the New Testament was dictated by the immediate\naction of the Holy Spirit.\" (Phases, p. 25.)\n\nBut to resume the statement of my early difficulties. I felt that\nthe anomalies involved in the theory of the fictitious origin of the\nNew Testament were almost endless; I said that, however hard to\nbelieve that any men, much less such men as Jews of that age, were\ncapable of such achievements as I had already specified, I must\nbelieve much more still; for the men, with all their wisdom, were\nfools enough to make their enterprise infinitely more hazardous,--by\nintrusting the execution of it to a league of many minds, thus\nmultiplying indefinitely their chances of contradiction; by adopting\nevery kind and style of composition, full of reciprocal allusions; and,\nabove all, by dovetailing their fabrications into true history, thus\nencountering a perpetual danger of collision between the two; all as\nif to accumulate upon their task every difficulty which ingenuity\ncould devise! Could I believe that such men as those to whom history\nrestricts the problem had been able, while thus giving every advantage\nto the detection of imposture, to invent a narrative so infinitely\nvaried in form and style, composed by so many different hands,\ntraversing, in such diversified ways, contemporary characters and\nevents, involving names of places, dates, and numberless specialities\nof circumstance, and yet maintain a general harmony of so peculiar a\nkind, such a callida junctura of these most heterogeneous materials,\nas to have imposed on the bulk of readers in all ages an impression\nof their artless truth and innocence, and that they were writing\nfacts, and not fictions? Above all, could they be capable of\nfabricating those deeply-latent coincidences, which, if fraud\nemployed them, overreached fraud itself; lying so deep as to be\nundiscovered for nearly eighteen centuries, and only recently\nattracting the attention of the world in consequence of the objections\nof infidels themselves? We know familiarly enough, that to sustain\nany verisimilitude in a fictitious history (even though only one\nman has the manufacture of it) is almost impossible, because the\nrelations of fact that must be anticipated and provided against are\nso infinitely various, that the writer is certain to betray himself.\nThe constant detection of very limited fabrications of a similar\nnature, when evidence is sifted in a court of justice, shows us the\nimpossibility of weaving a plausible texture of this kind.\nMany things are sure to have been forgotten which ought to have\nbeen remembered. If this be the case, even where one mind has the\nfabrication of the whole, how much more would it be the case if many\nminds were engaged in the conspiracy? Should we not expect, at the\nvery least, the hesitating, suspicious, self-betraying tone usual\nin all such cases? Could we expect that general air of truth which\nso undeniably prevails throughout the New Testament,--the inimitable\ntone of nature, earnestness, and frank sincerity, which, in the case\nof such extravagant forgeries, would alone be marvellous traits? But,\nat all events, could we expect those minute coincidences, which lay\ntoo deep for the eye of all ordinary readers, and would never have\nbeen discovered had not infidelity provoked Paley and others to\nexcavate those subterranean galleries in which they are found?\n\nAnd here again I interrupted my narrative to remark, that Professor\nNewman acknowledges the force of these coincidences, and, as usual,\ngives no account of them. He says of the Horae Paulinae, in his\n\"Phases\": \"This book greatly enlarged my mind as to the resources of\nhistorical criticism. Previously my sole idea of criticism was that\nof the discreet discernment of style; but I now began to understand\nwhat powerful argument rose out of combinations; and the very complete\nestablishment which this work gives to the narrative concerning Paul\nin the latter half of the Acts appeared to me to reflect critical honor\non the whole New Testament.\" (Phases, p. 23.)\n\nBut once more to resume my statement. Upon mentioning these and such\nlike considerations to my infidel friend, who pleaded, that the New\nTestament was fiction, he replied. \"As to the harmony in these fictions,\n--if they be such,--you acknowledge that it is not absolute: that are\ndiscrepancies.\"\n\nYes, I said, there are discrepancies, I admit; and I was about to\nmention that as another difficulty in the way of my reception of his\ntheory: I refer to the nature and the limits of those discrepancies.\nIf there had been an absolute harmony, even to the mildest point, I\nam persuaded that, on the principle of evidence in all such cases,\nmany would have charged collusion on the writers, and have felt that\nit was a corroboration of the theory of the fictitious origin of these\ncompositions. But as the case stands, the discrepancies, if the\ncompositions be fictitious indeed, are only a proof that these men\nattained a still more wonderful skill in aping verisimilitude than\nif there had been no discrepancies at all. They have left in the\nhistoric portions of their narrative an air of general harmony, with\nan exquisite congruity in points which lie deep below the\nsurface,--a congruity which they must be supposed to have known would\nastonish the world when once discovered; and have at the same time left\ncertain discrepancies on the surface (which criticism would be sure to\npoint out), as if for the very purpose of affording guaranties and\nvouchers against the suspicion of collusion. The discords increase the\nharmony. Once more, I asked, could I believe Jews, Jews in the reign of\nTiberius or Nero, equal to all these wonders?\n\nBut all this, even all this, I said, was as nothing compared with\nanother difficulty involved in this theory. How came these fictions,\ncontaining such monstrous romance, if romance at all, and equally\nmonstrous doctrines, to be believed; to be believed by multitudes of\nJews and Gentiles, both opposed and equally opposed to them by previous\ninveterate superstition and prejudice? How came so many men of such\ndifferent races and nations of mankind to hasten to unclothe themselves\nof all their previous beliefs in order to adopt these fantastical\nfables? How came they to persist in regarding them as authoritative\ntruth? How came so many in so many different countries to do this at\nonce? Nay, I added with a laugh, I think there are distinct traces,\nas far as we have any evidence, that these very peculiar fictions must\nhave been believed by many before they were even compiled and published.\n\nMy infidel friend mused, and at last said, \"I agree with you that\nthese compositions could not have been fictions in the ordinary\nsense, that is, deliberately composed by a conspiracy of highly\nimaginative minds. That last argument alone, of their success,\nis conclusive against that; but may they not have been legends\nwhich gradually assumed this form out of floating traditions\nand previous popular and national prepossessions?\" In short, he\nfaintly sketched a notion somewhat similar to that mythic theory,\nsince so elaborately wrought out by Strauss.\n\nI answered somewhat as follows:--If the first place, on this\nhypothesis, all the intellectual and moral anomalies of the last\ntheory reappear. That such legends should have been the product of\nthe Jewish mind (whether designedly or undesignedly, consciously or\nunconsciously, makes no difference), is one of the principal\ndifficulties. If it had been objected to Pere Hardouin, that Virgil's\n\"Aeneid\" could nor have been composed by one of the monks of the\nMiddle Ages. I suppose that it would have been no relief from the\ndifficulties of his hypothesis to say that it was a gradual,\nunconsciously formed deposit of the monkish mind! But besides all\nthis, I said, the theory was loaded with other absurdities specially\nits own: for we must then believe all the indications of historic\nplausibility to which I had adverted in speaking of the previous theory\nto be the work of accident; a supposition, if possible, still more\ninconceivable than that some superhuman genius for fiction had been\nemployed on their elaboration. Things moulder into rubbish, but they\ndo not moulder into fabrics. And then (I continued) the greatest\ndifficulty, as before, reappears, how came these queer legends,\nthe product whether of design or accident, to be believed? Jews and\nGentiles were and must have been thoroughly opposed to them.\n\nTo this he replied, \"I suppose the belief, as you also do, anterior\nto the books, which express that belief, but did not cause it. I\nsuppose the Christian system already existing as a floating vapor\nand merely condensed into the written form. It was a gradual\nformation, like the Greek and Indian mythologies.\" I thought on this\nfor some time, and then said something like this:--\n\nWorse and worse: for I fear that the age of Augustus was no age in\nwhich the world was likely to frame a mythology at all:--if it had\nbeen such an age, the problem does not allow sufficient time for it;--if\nthere had been sufficient time, it would not have been such a mythology;\n--and if there had been any formed, it would not have been rapidly\nembraced, any more than other mythologies, by men of different races,\nbut would have been confined to that which gave it birth.\n\nAs to the first point, you ask me to believe that something like the\nmythology of the Hindoos or Egyptians could spring up and diffuse\nitself in such an age of civilization and philosophy, books and\nhistory; whereas all experience shows us that only a time of\nbarbarism, before authentic history has commenced, is proper to\nthe birth of such monstrosities; that this congelation of tradition\nand legend takes place only during the long frosts and the deep night\nof ages, and is impossible in the bright sun of history;--in whose\nvery beams, nevertheless, these prodigious icicles are supposed to\nhave been formed!\n\nAs to the second point, you ask me to believe that the thing should\nbe done almost instantly; for in A.D. 1, we find, by all remains\nof antiquity, that both Jews and Gentiles were reposing in the\nshadow of their ancient superstitions; and in A. D. 60. multitudes\namong different races had become the bigoted adherents of this\nnovel mythology!\n\nAs to the third point, you ask me to believe that such a mythology\nas Christianity could have sprung up when those amongst whom it is\nsupposed to have originated, and those amongst whom it is supposed\nto have been propagated, must have equally loathed it. National\nprepossessions of the Jews. Why, the kind of Messiah on which the\nnational heart was set, the inveteracy with which they persecuted\nto the death the one that offered himself, and the hatred with\nwhich for eighteen hundred years they have recoiled from him,\nsufficiently show how preposterous this notion is! As a nation,\nthey were, ever have been, and are now, more opposed to Christianity\nthan any other nation on earth. Prepossessions of the Gentiles! There\nwas not a Messiah that a Jew could frame a notion of, but would have\nbeen an object of intense loathing and detestation to them all! Yet\nyou ask me to believe that a mythology originated in the prejudices\nof a nation the vast bulk of whom from its commencement have most\nresolutely rejected it, and was rapidly propagated among other\nnations and races, who must have been prejudiced against\nit; who even in its favor those venerable superstitions which were\nconsecrated by the most powerful associations of antiquity!\n\nAs to the fourth point, you ask me to believe that, at a juncture when\nall the world was divided between deep-rooted superstition and\nincredulous scepticism,--divided, as regards the into Pharisees and\nSadducees, and, as regards the Gentiles, into their Pharisees and\nSadducees, that is, into the vulgar who believed, or at least practised,\nall popular religions, and the philosophers who laughed at them all,\nand whose combined hostility was directed against the supposed new\nmythology,--it nevertheless found favor with multitudes in almost\nall lands! You ask me to believe that a mythology was rapidly received\nby thousands of different races and nations, when all history\nproclaims, that it is with the utmost difficulty that any such\nsystem ever passes the limits of the race which has originated\nit; and that you can hardly get another race even to look at it as\na matter of philosophic curiosity! You ask me to believe that this\nsystem was received by multitudes among many different races, both\nof Asia and Europe, without force, when a similar phenomenon has\nnever been witnessed in relation to any mythology whatever! Thus,\nafter asking me to burden myself with a thousand perplexities to\naccount for the origin of these fables, you afterwards burden me with\na thousand more, to account for their success! Lastly, you ask me to\nbelieve, not only that men of different races and countries became\nbigotedly attached to legends which none were likely to originate,\nwhich all were likely to hate, and, most of all, those who are supposed\nto have originated them; but that they received them as historic facts,\nwhen the known recency of their origin must have shown the world that\nthey were the legendary birth of yesterday; and that they acted thus,\nthough those who propagated these legends had no military power no civil\nauthority, no philosophy, no science, no one instrument of human success\nto aid them, while the opposing prejudices which everywhere\nencountered them had! I really know not how to believe all this.\n\n\"There are certainly many difficulties in the matter\" candidly replied\nmy infidel friend. But, as if wishing to effect a diversion,--\"Have you\never read Gibbon's celebrated chapter?\"\n\nWhy, yes, I told him, two or three years before; but he does not say a\nsyllable in solution of my chief difficulties; he does not tell me any\nthing as to the origin of the ideas of Christianity, nor who could\nhave written the wonderful books in which they are embodied; besides,\nsaid I, in my simplicity, he yields the point, by allowing miracles to\nbe the most potent cause of the success of Christianity.\n\n\"Ah\" he replied, \"but every one can see that he is there speaking\nironically.\"\n\nWhy, then, said I, laughing, I fear he is telling us how the success\nof Christianity cannot be accounted for, rather than how it can.\n\n\"O, but he gives you the secondary causes; which it is easy to see\nhe considers the principal; and also sufficient.\"\n\nI will read him again, I said, and with deep attention. Some time\nafter, in meeting with the same friend, I began upon Gibbon's secondary\ncauses.\n\n\"They have given you satisfaction, I hope.\"\n\nAny thing but that, I replied; they do not, as I said before, touch\nmy principal difficulties: and even as to the success of the system\nwhen once elaborated,--his reasons are either a mere restatement of\nthe difficulty to be solved, or aggravate it indefinitely.\n\n\"You are hard to please,\" he replied.\n\nI said I was, except by solid arguments. But does Gibbon offer them?\nI asked.\n\nHe tells us, for example, that the virtues, energy, and zeal of the\nearly Church was a main instrument of the success of Christianity;\nwhereas it is the very origination of the early Church, with all\nthese efficacious endowments, that we want to account for: it is\nas though he had told me that we might account for the success\nof Christianity from the fact that it had succeed to such an extent\nas to render its further success very probable! As for the rest\nof his secondary causes, they are difficulties in its way rather\nthan auxiliaries. He asks me to believe that the intolerance of\nChristianity--by which it refused all alliance with other\nreligions, and insisted in reigning alone or not at all, by which\nit spat contempt on the whole rabble of the Pantheon--was likely\nto facilitate its reception among nations, whose pride and whose\npleasure alike it was to encourage civilities and compliments between\ntheir Gods, each of whom was on gracious visiting terms with its\nneighbors! He asks me, in effect, to believe that the austerity of\nthe Christians tended to give them favor in the eves of an\naccommodating and jovial Heathenism; that the severity of manners by\nwhich they reproved it, and which to their contemporaries must have\nappeared (as we know from the Apologists it did) much as Puritan\ngrimace to the court of Charles II., was somehow attractive! That\nthe scruples with which they recoiled from all usages and customs\nwhich could be associated with the elegant pomp of Pagan worship,\nand the suspicion with which, as having been linked with idolatry,\nthey looked on every emanation of that spirit of beauty which reigned\nover the exterior life of Paganism, would operate as a charm in their\nfavor! That their studied absence from all scenes social hilarity,\ntheir grave looks on festal days, their garlanded heads, their\nsimple attire, their utter estrangement from the Graces, which in\ntruth were the legitimate Gods in Greece, and the true mothers of\nwhole family of Olympus, would be likely to conciliate towards the\nGospel the favorable dispositions classic antiquity! I have not so\nread history, nor learnt human nature. Again, he asks me to believe that\nthe immortality which Christianity promised Heathen--such an immortality\n--was another of things which tended to give it success;--on the one\nhand, a menace of retribution, not for flagrant crimes only, which\nHeathenism itself punished, nor for the lax manners which the easy\nspirit of Paganism had made venial but for spiritual vices, of which\nit took account, some of which it had even consecrated virtues; and,\non the other hand, an other of a which promised nothing but delights\nof a spiritual order; a paradise which, whatever material or\nimaginative adjuncts it might have, certainly disclosed none; which\npresented no one thing to gratify the prurient curiosity of man's fancy,\nor the eager passions of his sensual nature; which must, in fact,\nhave been about as inviting to the soul of a Heathen as the promise\nof an eternal Lent to an epicure! Surely these were resistless\nseductions. Yet it is to such things as auxiliaries that Gibbon refers\nme for the success of Christianity. Verily it is not without reason\nthat he is called a master of irony!\n\nMy friend fairly acknowledged the difficulties of the subject, but\nsaid he could not believe in the truth of Christianity.\n\nI repaired to another infidel acquaintance. \"It is a perplexing, a\nvery perplexing controversy, no doubts,\" was his reply; \"but every\nthing tends to show that Christianity resembles in its principal\nfeatures all those other religions which you admit to be false.\nAll have their prodigies and miracles,--their revelations and\nInspirations,--their fragments of truth and their masses of\nnonsense. They are all to be rejected together.\"\n\nI again puzzled for a long time over this aspect of the case. At\nlast I said to him,--This seems a curious way of disposing of the\nevidence for Christianity; for if there be any true religion, it is\nlikely, as in all other cases, that the counterfeits will have some\nfeatures in common with it. It would follow, also, that there can\nbe no true philosophy; since, while there are scores of philosophies,\nonly one can be true. But I have another difficulty: on comparing\nChristianity with other systems, I find vital differences, both as\nregards theory and fact. As regards theory, I find an insuperable\ndifficulty, not merely in imagining how Jews, Greeks, or Romans,\nany or all of them, should have been the originators of Christianity,\nbut how human nature should have been fool enough to originate it at all!\nFor I am asked to believe that man, such as I know him through all\nhistory, such as he appears in so many forms of religion which have been\nhis undoubted and most worthy fabrication, did, whether fraudulently or\nnot, whether designedly or unconsciously, frame a religion which is in\nstriking contrast with all his ordinary handiwork of this sort! This\nreligion enjoins the austerest morality; human religions generally\nenjoin a very lax one:--this demands the most refined purity, even of\nthe thoughts and desires; other religions usually attach to external\nand ceremonial observances greater weight than to morality itself;--this\nis singularly simple in its rites; they for the most part consist of\nlittle else;--this exhibits a singular silence and abstinence in relation\nto the future and invisible; they amply indulge the imagination and\nfancy, and are full of delineations calculated to gratify man's most\nnatural curiosity;--this takes under its special patronage those\nvirtues which man is least likely to love or cultivate, and which men\nin general regard as pusillanimous infirmities, if not vices; they\npatronize the must energetic passions,--the passions which made the\ndemigods and heroes of antiquity. I am not saying which is the belief\nin these respects; I am only saying that human nature appears more\ntrue to itself in the last. And so notorious is all this, that the\ncorruptions of Christianity, as years rolled on, have ever been to\nassimilate it to the other religions of the earth; to abate its\nspirituality; to relax its austere code of morals; to commute its proper\nclaims for external observances; to encumber its ritual with an\ninfinity of ceremonies; and, above all, to uncover the future and\ninvisible, on which it left a veil, and add a purgatory into the\nbargain! Thus, whether contrasted with other religions or with its\ncorrupted self, Christianity does not seem a religion which human\nnature would be pleased to invent.\n\nAgain, is it like the other religious products of human nature, in\ndaring to aspire to universal dominion, and that too founded on moral\npower alone? Never, till Christianity appeared, had such an imagination\never entered the mind of man! Other religions were national affairs;\ntheir gods never dreamed of such an enterprise as that of subduing all\nnations. They were naturally contented with the country that gave them\nbirth, and the homage of the race that worshipped them. They were, when\nnot themselves assailed, very tolerant, and did the civil thing by\nall other gods of all other nations, and were even content to expire\nwith great propriety (they usually did so) with the political\nextinction of the race of their votaries! Christianity alone adopts\na different tone,--\"Go ye, and preach the Gospel to all nations.\"--and\ndeclares, not only that it will reign, but that none other shall. It\nwill not endure a rival; it will not consent to have a statue with\nthe mob of the Pantheon. Whether this ambition--call it pride and folly,\nif you will, as you well may if the thing be merely human--was likely\nto suggest itself to man, considering the local and national character\nof other religions, and the apparent hopelessness of any such enterprise,\nI have my doubts. Arrogance it may be; but it is not such arrogance as\nis very natural to man.\n\nThese, I said, were amongst a few of the things in which I must say I\nthought the theory of Christianity very unlike that of any religion\nhuman nature was likely to invent.\n\nIf, I continued, I examine the past history and present position of\nChristianity, with an impartial eye, I see that it presents in several\nmost important respects a contrast with other religions in point office.\nI shall content myself with enumerating a few. Look, then, at the\nperpetual spirit of aggression which characterizes this religion;\nits undeniable power (in whatever it consists, and from whatever it\nsprings) to prompt those who hold it to render it victorious,--a spirit\nwhich has more or less characterized its whole history: which still\nlives, even in its most corrupt forms, and which has not been least\nactive in our own time. I do not see any thing like it in other religions.\nTill I see Mollahs from Ispahan, Brahmins from Benares, Bonzes from\nChina, preaching their systems of religion in London, Paris, and Berlin,\nsupported year after year by an enormous expenditure on the part of\ntheir zealous compatriots, and the nations who support them taking\nthe liveliest interest in their success or failure, till I see this\n(call it fanatical if you will, the money thus expended wasted, the\nmen who give it fools), I shall not be able to pronounce Christianity\nsimply on a par with other religions.\n\nTill the sacred books of other religions can boast of at least a\nhundredth part of the same efforts to translate and diffuse them as\nhave been concentrated on the Bible; till we find them in at least\nhalf as many languages; till they can render those who possess them\nat least a tenth part as willing to make costly efforts to insure to\nthem a circulation coextensive with the family of man; till they\noccupy an equal space in the literature of the world, and are equally\nbound up with the philosophy, history, poetry, of the community of\ncivilized nations; till they have given an equal number of human\ncommunities a written language, and may thus boast of having imparted\nto large sections of the human family the germ of all art, science,\nand civilization; till they can cite an equal amount of testimonies\nto their beauty and sublimity from those who reject their divine\noriginal,--I shall scarcely think Christianity can be put simply on a\npar with other religions.\n\nTill it can be said that the sacred books of other religions are\nequally unique in relation to all the literature in which they are\nimbedded; similar neither to what precedes nor what comes after them,\n--their enemies themselves being judges; till they can be shown\nto be as superior to all that is found in contemporaneous authors\nas the New Testament is to the writings of Christian Fathers or the\nJewish Rabbis,--I cannot say that Christianity is just like any other\nreligion.\n\nTill we can find a religion that has stood as many different assaults\nfrom infidelity in the midst of it,--educated infidelity, infidelity\naided by learning, genius, philosophy, freely employing all the power\nof argument and all the power of ridicule to disabuse its votaries;\ntill we can find a religion which can point to an equal array of\neducated men, philosophic in spirit, in learning, and genius, deeply\nskilled in the investigation of evidence, deliberately declaring that\nits claims are well sustained.--we cannot say that Christianity is just\nlike any other religion.\n\nTill it can be shown that another religion to an equal extent, has\npropagated itself without force amongst totally different races, and\nin the most distant countries, and has survived equal revolutions of\nthought and opinion, manners and laws, amongst those who have embraced\nit, it cannot be said that Christianity is simply like any other religion.\n\nTill it can be shown that the sacred books of other religions have\ncontained predictions as definite and as unlikely to be fulfilled as the\nsuccess of early Christianity against all the opposition of prejudice\nand persecution,--its voluntary reception amongst different races,\ncontrary to all the analogies of religious history,--and the continued\npreservation of the Jews among all nations without forming a part of\nany,--I cannot think that Christianity is precisely in the condition\nof any other religion.\n\nSuch, gentlemen, were some few of the differences in fact which seemed\nto me, not less than its theory, to discriminate Christianity from other\nreligions. Had I in those days of my youth, been favored with the views\nof modern \"spiritualism,\" I should have added, that till it is shown that\nsome other religion has possessed an equal power of moulding those\ncharacters whom Mr. Newman points out as the best examples of \"spiritual\"\nreligion, and can point to oracles equally pervaded by that \"sentiment\"\nwhich he declares is wanting in Greek philosophers, English Deists, and\nGerman Pantheists, but which, he admits, pervades the Bible; till I see\nthe devout men whom he extols produced by other religions, or rather. I\nought to say, produced without them (where Christianity however is\nunknown) by the unaided \"spiritual faculty,\"--I cannot but think\nthat the position of Christianity is somewhat discriminated both from\nother religions and from \"Naturalism.\"\n\nSuch, I said, to conclude, was an imperfect outline of some of my early\nconflicts, and such the cruel mode in which my unbelieving friends\nlaughed at each other's hypotheses, and left me destitute of any.\nFinding that they conclusively confuted one another, and perceiving\nat last that the idea of the superhuman origin of Christianity did,\nand, as Bishop Butler says, alone can resolve all the difficulties of\nthe subject, I was compelled to forego all the advantages of infidelity,\nand condescended to \"depress\" my conscience to the \"Biblical standard\"!\nWould to Heaven that it had never been depressed below it!\n\nI am bound to say my auditors listened with courtesy. The conversation\nwas now carried on in little knots: I, who was glad of a rest, was\noccupied in listening to a conversation between Harrington and his\nItalian friend, who was urging him to take refuge from such a Babel\nof discords as his company had uttered, in the only secure asylum.\nHarrington told him, with the utmost gravity, that one great objection\nto the Church of Rome was the unseemly liberty she allowed to the\nright of private judgment; that he found in her communion distractions\nthe most perplexing, especially as between English and foreign Romanists!\n\n____\n\nAfter the party had broken up, and we were left alone, Mr. Fellows,\nturning to me, said, \"You lay great stress on the origination of\nsuch a character as Christ. But can we make its reality a literary\nproblem? May it not have been imaginary? As Mr. Newman says, Human\nnature is often portrayed in superhuman dignity; Why not in\nsuperhuman goodness?\n\n\"That the origination;\" said I, \"of such a Moral Ideal, in so\npeculiar a form, by such men as Galilean Jews, is unaccountable\nenough, I fancy all will admit; but it is, you observe, only one of\nthe numberless points which are unaccountable; neither do I make\nthis one feature, or any of the other singular characteristics of\nthe New Testament, merely a literary problem. The whole, you see,\nis a vast literary, moral, intellectual, spiritual, and historical\nproblem. But it is too much the way with you objectors to say, 'This\nmay, perhaps, be got over,' and 'That may be got over'; the question\nis, as Bishop Butler says, whether all can be got over; for if all\nthe arguments for it be not false, Christianity is true.\n\n\"You charge us with the very conduct,\" retorted Fellowes, \"which Mr.\nNewman objects to Christians. They, says he, affirm that this objection\nis of little weight, and that is of little weight; whereas altogether\nthey amount to considerable weight.\"\n\n\"I admit it,\" said I; \"and those are very unfair who deny it. But\nstill, since there are these things of weight on both sides, the\nargument returns, on which side does the balance on the sum-total of\nevidence lie?\"\n\n\"But,\" said Fellowes, \"how few are competent to compute that!\"\n\n\"You are really pleasant, Mr. Fellowes,\" I replied; \"I thought the\nquestion we were arguing was as to the truth or the falsehood of\nChristianity, not whether the bulk of mankind are fully competent to\nform an independent and profound judgment on its evidences: very\nfew are competent to do so either on this or any other complex subject;\ncertainly not (as our differences show) on the subject of your\n'spiritualism.' But the incompetency of the great bulk of mankind to\ndeal with complicated evidence makes a thing neither true nor false;\nperhaps on this, as on so many other subjects, the few must thoroughly\nsift the matter for the many. If your present objection were of force,\nwhat would become of truth in politics, law, medicine, in all which\nthe great majority must trust much to the conclusions of their wiser\nfellow-creatures? Your observation is no confutation of the evidences\nfor Christianity: it is simply a satire upon God and the condition\nof the human creatures he has made!\"\n\n\"Well, let that pass,\" said Fellowes; \"I was going to say further,\nthat it is not so clear to every one that Christ is so very wonderful\nan ideal of humanity. Do you remember that Mr. Newman says in his\n'Phases,' that, when he was a boy, he read Benson's Life of\nFletcher of Madely, and thought Fletcher a more perfect man than\nJesus Christ? and he also says that he imagines, if he were to read\nthe book again, he would think the same. Have you nothing to say\nto that?\"\n\n\"NOTHING,\" said I, \"except to point you to the infinitely different\nestimates of Christ formed by other men who yet think of historical\nChristianity much as you do. How differently do such writers as\nMr. Greg and Mr. Parker speak! How do they almost exhaust the\nresources of language to express their sentiments of this wonderful\ncharacter! As to Mr. Newman's impression, I do not think it worth\nan answer. When a man so far forgets himself as to say what he can\nhardly help knowing will be unspeakably painful to multitudes of his\nfellow-creatures, on the strength of boyish impressions,--not even\nthinking it worth while to verify those impressions, and see whether,\nafter thirty or forty years, he is not something more than a boy,--I\nthink it is scarcely worth while to reply. Christianity is willing to\nconsider the arguments of men, but not the impressions of boys.\"\n\n\"But we must not be too hard.\" said Harrington, \"upon Mr. Newman; it\nis evident, from his Hebrew Monarchy, that, as he takes a benevolent\npleasure in defending those whom nobody else will defend,--in petting\nAhab, whom he pronounces rather weak than wicked, and palliating Jezebel,\nwhose character was, it seems, grievously deteriorated by contact with\nthe 'prophets of Jehovah,'--so he has a chivalrous habit of depressing\nthose who have been particularly the objects of veneration. Elisha,\nSamuel, and David are all brought down a great many degrees in the moral\nscale. He has simply done the same with Christ.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Fellowes, \"I cannot help agreeing with Mr. Newman in\nthinking that, when one hears men made the objects of extravagant eulogy,\nit almost 'tempts one, even though a stranger to their very name,\nto \"pick holes,\" as the saying is.'\"\n\n\"It may be so,\" said I; \"but it is a tendency against which we should\nguard. It would lead us, like him of Athens, to ostracize Aristides: we\nshould be weary of hearing him continually called 'The Just.'\"\n\n\"However.\" rejoined Fellowes, \"I am weary of hearing Christ so\nperpetually called our example. As Mr. Newman says, he cannot, except\nin a very modified sense, be such. 'His garments will not fit us.'\"\n\n\"Did you ever hear,\" said I. \"that fathers and mothers ought to set\nan example to their children?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"Yet surely not in all things can they be such. Their garments surely\nwill not fit their children.\"\n\n\"No.\" said Harrington; \"those of the father at all events will not,\nif they are girls, nor of the mother, if they are boys. Fellowes, I\nthink you had better say nothing on this subject. If men of fifty\ncan, in all essential points, be beautiful examples to girls of\nten,--in gentleness, in patience, in humility, in kindness, and\nso forth,--and all the more impressively for the wide interval between\nthem, why, I suppose Jesus Christ may be as much to his disciples.\"\n\n\"But, again,\" urged Fellowes to me, \"you, like so many men, seem to\nlay such stress on the superiority of the morality of the New Testament.\nI cannot see it. I confess, with Mr. Foxton and many more, that it\nseems to me that it has not such a very great advantage over that\nof many heathen moralists who have said the same things,--Plato,\nfor example.\"\n\nI replied, that, of course, it would be of no avail to affirm in\ngeneral (what I was yet convinced was true), that the New Testament\ninculcated a system of ethics much more just and comprehensive than\nany other volume in the world. I told him, however, that I thought\nhe would not deny that its manner of conveying ethical truth was unique;\nthat it not only contained more admirable and varied summaries of duty\nthan any other book whatever, but that we should seek in vain in any\nother for such a profusion of just maxims and weighty sentiments,\nexpressed with such comprehensive brevity, or illustrated with so\nmuch beauty and pathos. I remarked that, if he would be pleased to\ndo as I had once done,--compile a selection of the principal precepts\nand maxims from the most admirable ethical works of antiquity (those\nof Aristotle, for example), and compare them with two or three of the\nsummaries of similar precepts in the New Testament,--he would at once\nfeel how much more vivid, touching, animated, and even comprehensive,\nwas the Scriptural expression of the same truths. But I further observed,\nthat, even to obtain the means of such comparison, he must reject from\nPlato or the Stagyrite twenty times the bulk of questionable\nspeculations, and dreary subtilties, which separate by long intervals\nthose gems of moral truth, which everywhere sparkle on the pages of\nthe New Testament.\n\nI told him I could not help laying great stress on the degree and manner\nin which this element enters into the composition of the New Testament;\nthat ethical truths are there expressed in every variety of form which\ncan fix them upon the imagination and the heart, with an entire absence\nof those prolix discussions and metaphysical refinements which form so\nlarge a portion of Aristotle and Plato. If we find in these writers a\nmoral truth expressed with something approaching the comprehensive\nbeauty and simplicity of the Gospels, we are filled with surprise and\nrapture, and dig out with joy the glittering fragment from the mass of\nearthy matter,--oppressive disquisitions about \"ideas\" and \"essences,\"\n\"energies\" and \"entelechies,\" and so forth, in which it is sure to be\nimbedded. I promised, if health and life were given, to exhibit some\nday these gems, with a sufficient portion of the surrounding earth\nstill attached to them, and to contrast them with those of the New\nTestament. \"In this strange volume,\" I continued, \"the most beautiful\nethical maxims exist in unexampled profusion. After reading Aristotle's\nethics, I feel, when I turn to the New Testament, as Linnaeus is said\nto have felt when he first saw growing wild the masses of blooming gorse,\nwhich he had never seen in his cold North, except as a sheltered\nexotic. Whether it was likely that contemporaries of the Pharisees, who\nwere sunk in formalism, and who had glossed away every moral and\nspiritual the Law, could reach and maintain such elevation of tone,\nI leave you to judge.\" But though I felt this, I acknowledged that\nit was difficult to express it; and said that perhaps the best way to\ncompare the morality of the New Testament with the ethical system of\nany philosopher, or the code of any legislator, would be to imagine\nthem all universally adopted, and see how much would have to be\nobjected to,--how much \"brick\" was mingled with the \"porphyry.\" \"If,\nfor example,\" said I, \"Plato, who, I admit, so flashes upon us the\nsublimest and most comprehensive principles of morals, and whose\nethical system you say is identical with that of Christianity, had\nthe forming of a republic, you would have community of women property,\n--women trained to war,---infanticide certain circumstances,--young\nchildren led to battle (though at a safe distance), that 'the young might\nearly scent carnage, and be inured to slaughter! Both with him and\nAristotle slavery would be a regularly sanctioned and perfectly\nnatural institution. Not only did they entertain very lax notions\nof the relation of the sexes, but the tone in which they speak of\nmost abominable corruptions--I do not except cannibalism--to which\nhumanity has ever degraded implied that they regarded such things\nas comparatively venial. I know no greater single names than these,\nand I presume that these points you would find so, difficulty in\ndigesting.\" He admitted it.\n\nI told him I supposed he would take equal objections to the Gentoo, or\nthe Roman, or the Spartan code, as also to the Koran. He admitted all\nthis too.\n\n\"But now, if we take the Christian code, and suppose the New Testament\nmade the literal guide of in every man, tell me, Mr. Fellowes, what\nwould the consequence? What would you wish otherwise?\"\n\n\"Why,\" said Harrington, smiling, \"he would, perhaps, object that\nthere would be no more war, and that retaliation would be impossible.\"\n\n\"The former,\" said I, \"we could all endure, I suppose; nor be\nunwilling to give up the latter, seeing that there would, in that\ncase, be no wrongs to avenge. It would not matter that you would be\ncompelled to turn your right cheek to him who smote you on the left\n(let the interpretation be as literal as you will), since no one would\nstrike you on the left; nor that you must surrender your cloak to him\nwho took away your coat, since no one would take your coat. But tell\nme, is there any thing more serious that would follow from the literal\nand universal adoption of the ethics of the New Testament?\" Fellowes\nacknowledged that he knew of nothing, unless it was a sanction\nof slavery.\n\n\"I do not admit that the New Testament sanctions it,\" I replied; \"and\nI will, if you like, give my reasons in full, another time. But is\nthere any thing else?\"\n\nHe said he did not recollect any thing.\n\n\"But you would recoil from the literal realization of the systems and\ncodes we have mentioned.\" He confessed this also.\n\n\"The superiority of the Christian code, then,\" said I, \"is practically\nacknowledged. And it is further often confessed, in a most significant\nway, by the mode in which the enemies of Christianity taunt its disciples.\nWhen they speak of the vices and corruptions of the heathen, they blame,\nand justly blame, the principles of their vicious systems; and ask\nhow it could be otherwise? When they blame the Christian, the first\nand the last thing they usually do, is to point in triumph to the\ncontrast between his principles and practice. 'How much better,' say\nthey, 'is his code than conduct!' It is as a hypocrite that they\ncensure him. It is sad for him that it should be so; but it is a\nglorious compliment to the morality of the New Testament. Its enemies\nknow not how to attack its disciples, except by endeavoring to show\nthat they do not act as it bids them. Surely,\" said I, in conclusion\n\"this uniform excellence of the Christian ethics, as compared with\nother systems, is a peculiarity worth noting, and utterly\nincomprehensible upon the hypothesis that it was the unaided work of\nman. That there are points on which the moral systems of men and\nnations osculate, is most true; that there should have been certain\napproximations on many most important subjects was to be expected from\nthe essential identity of human nature, in all ages and countries; but\ntheir deviations in some point or other--usually in several--from what\nwe acknowledge to be both right and expedient, is equally undeniable.\nThat, when such men as Plato and Aristotle tried their hands upon the\nproblem, they should err, while the writers of the New Testament should\nhave succeeded,--that these last should do what all mankind besides had\nin some points or other failed to do,--is sufficiently wonderful; that\nGalilean Jews should have solved the problem is, whether we consider\ntheir age, their ignorance, or their prepossessions, to me utterly\nincredible.\"\n\nIt was now very late; and we rose to retire. Mr. Fellowes said, \"I\nshould be glad to know what answer you would make to Mr. Newman's\nobservations on three points,--one of them just alluded to,--on which he\naffirms that undue credit has been given to Christianity; I mean its\nsupposed elevating influence in relation to women, its supposed\nmitigation of slavery, and its supposed triumphs before Constantine.\"\n\nI said I would scribble a few remarks on the subject, and would give\nthem to him in a day or two. I remarked that Mr. Newman had treated\nthese great subjects very briefly, but that I could not be quite so\nconcise as he had been.\n\n____\n\nThe discussions of the preceding day had made so deep an impression\nupon me, that when I went to bed I found it very difficult to sleep; and\nwhen I did get off at last, my thoughts shaped themselves into a singular\ndream, which, though only a dream, is not, I think, without instruction.\nI shall entitle it\n\nTHE BLANK BIBLE.\n\nEtlen gegonein vuktiphoit' oneirata.\n               AEschyl. Prom. Vinct. 657.\n\n[I take courage to proclaim night-roaming dreams]\n\nI thought I was at home, and that on taking up my Greek Testament one\nmorning to read (as is my wont) a chapter, I found, to my surprise,\nthat what seemed to be the old, familiar book was a total blank; not\na character was inscribed in it or upon it. I supposed that some book\nlike it had, by some accident, got into its place; and, without\nstopping to hunt for it, took down a large quarto volume which contained\nboth the Old and New Testaments. To my surprise, however, this also\nwas a blank from beginning to end. With that facility of accommodation\nto any absurdities which is proper to dreams, I did not think very much\nof the coincidence of two blank volumes having been substituted for two\ncopies of the Scriptures in two different places, and therefore quietly\nreached down a copy of the Hebrew Bible, in which I could just manage to\nmake out a chapter. To my increased surprise, and even something like\nterror, I found that this also was a perfect blank. While I was musing\non this unaccountable phenomenon, my servant entered the room, and said\nthat thieves had been in the house during the night, for that her large\nBible, which she had left on the kitchen table, had been removed, and\nanother volume left by mistake in its place, of just the same size, but\nmade of nothing but white paper. She added, with a laugh, that it must\nhave been a very queer kind of thief to steal a Bible at all; and that he\nshould have left another book instead, made it the more odd. I asked her\nif any thing else had been missed, and if there were any signs of people\nhaving entered the house. She answered in the negative to both these\nquestions; and I began to be strangely perplexed.\n\nOn going out into the street, I met a friend, who, almost before we had\nexchanged greetings, told me that a most unaccountable robbery had been\ncommitted at his house during the night, for that every copy of the\nBible had been removed, and a volume of exactly the same size, but of\npure white paper, left in its stead. Upon telling him that the same\naccident had happened to myself, we began to think that there was more\nin it than we had at first surmised.\n\nOn proceeding further, we found every one complaining, in similar\nperplexity, of the same loss; and before night it became evident that\na great and terrible \"miracle\" had been wrought in the world; that\nin one night, silently, but effectually, that hand which had written\nits terrible menace on the walls of Belshazzar's palace had reversed\nthe miracle; had sponged out of our Bibles every syllable they contained,\nand thus reclaimed the most precious gift which Heaven had bestowed,\nand ungrateful man had abused.\n\nI was curious to watch the effects of this calamity on the varied\ncharacters of mankind. There was universally, however, an interest in\nthe Bible now it was lost, such as had never attached to it while\nit was possessed; and he who had been but happy enough to possess\nfifty copies might have made his fortune. One keen speculator, as\nsoon as the first whispers of the miracle began to spread, hastened\nto the depositories of the Bible Society and the great book-stocks\nin Paternoster Row, and offered to buy up at a high premium any\ncopies of the Bible that might be on hand; but the worthy merchant\nwas informed that there was not a single copy remaining. Some, to whom\ntheir Bible had been a \"blank\" book for twenty years, and who would\nnever have known whether it was full or empty had not the lamentations\nof their neighbors impelled them to look into it, were not the least\nloud in their expressions of sorrow at this calamity. One old gentleman,\nwho had never troubled the book in his life, said it was \"confounded\nhard to be deprived of his religion in his old age\"; and another, who\nseemed to have lived as though he had always been of Mandeville's\nopinion, that \"private vices were public benefits,\" was all at once\nalarmed for the morals of mankind. He feared, he said, that the\nloss of the Bible would have \"a cursed bad effect on the public virtue\nof the country.\"\n\nAs the fact was universal and palpable, it was impossible that, like\nother miracles, it should leave the usual loopholes for scepticism.\nMiracles in general, in order to be miracles at all, have been singular\nor very rare violations of a general law, witnessed by a few, on\nwhose testimony they are received, and in the reception of whose\ntestimony consists the exercise of that faith to which they appeal. It\nwas evident, that, whatever the reason of this miracle, it was not\nan exercise of docile and humble faith founded on evidence no more\nthan just sufficient to operate as a moral test. This was a miracle\nwhich, it could not be denied, looked marvellously like a \"judgment.\"\nHowever, there were, in some cases, indications enough to show how\ndifficult it is to give such evidence as will satisfy the obstinacy\nof mankind. One old sceptical fellow, who had been for years bedridden,\nwas long in being convinced (if indeed, he ever was) that any thing\nextraordinary had occurred in the world; he at first attributed the\nreports of what he heard to the \"impudence\" of his servants and\ndependents, and wondered that they should dare to venture upon such a\njoke. On finding these assertions backed by those of his acquaintance,\nhe pished and pshawed, and looked very wise, and ironically congratulated\nthem on this creditable conspiracy with the insolent rascals, his\nservants. On being shown the old Bible, of which he recognized the\nbinding, though he had never seen the inside, and finding it a very\nfair book of blank paper, he quietly observed that it was very easy\nto substitute the one book for the other, though he did not pretend to\ndivine the motives which induced people to attempt such a clumsy piece\nof imposition; and, on their persisting that they were not deceiving\nhim, swore at them as a set of knaves, who would fain persuade him\nout of his senses. On their bringing him a pile of blank Bibles\nbacked by the asseverations of other neighbors, he was ready to burst\nwith indignation. \"As to the volumes,\" he said, \"it was not difficult\nto procure a score or two 'of commonplace books,' and they had\ndoubtless done so to carry on the cheat; for himself he would sooner\nbelieve that the whole world was leagued against him than credit any\nsuch nonsense.\" They were angry, in their turn, at his incredulity,\nand told him that he was very much mistaken if he thought himself\nof so much importance that they would all perjure themselves to\ndelude him, since they saw plainly enough that he could do that very\neasily for himself, without any help of theirs. They really did not\ncare one farthing whether he believed them or not: if he did not\nchoose to believe the story, he might leave it alone. \"Well, well,\"\nsaid he, \"it is all very fine: but unless you show me, not one of\nthese blank books, which could not impose upon an owl, but one of\nthe very blank Bibles themselves, I will not believe.\" At this curious\ndemand, one of his nephews who stood by (a lively young fellow) was\nso exceedingly tickled, that, though he had some expectations from\nthe sceptic, he could not help bursting out into laughter; but he became\ngrave enough when his angry uncle told him that he would leave him in\nhis will nothing but the family Bible, which he might make a ledger if\nhe pleased. Whether this resolute old sceptic ever vanquished his\nincredulity, I do not remember.\n\nVery different from the case of this sceptic was that of a most\nexcellent female relative, who had been equally long a prisoner to\nher chamber, and to whom the Bible had been, as to so many thousands\nmore, her faithful companion in solitude, and the all-sufficient\nsolace of her sorrows. I found her gazing intently on the blank Bible,\nwhich had been so recently bright to her with the lustre of immortal\nhopes. She burst into tears as she saw me. \"And has your faith left\nyou too, my gentle friend?\" said I. \"No,\" she answered, \"and I trust it\nnever will. He who has taken away the Bible has not taken away my\nmemory, and I now recall all that is most precious in that book which\nhas so long been my meditation. It is a heavy judgment upon the land;\nand surely,\" added this true Christian, never thinking of the faults of\nothers, \"I, at least, cannot complain, for I have not prized as I ought\nthat book, which yet, of late years, I think I can say, I loved more\nthan any other possession on earth. But I know,\" she continued, smiling\nthrough her tears, \"that the sun shines, though clouds may veil him for\nthe moment; and I am unshaken in my faith in those truths which have\ntranscribed on my memory, though they are blotted from my book. In these\nhopes I have lived, and in these hopes I will die.\" \"I have no consolation\nto offer to you,\" said I, \"for you need none.\" She quoted many of the\npassages which have been, through all ages, the chief stay of sorrowing\nhumanity; and I thought the words of Scripture had never sounded so\nsolemn or so sweet before. \"I shall often come to see you,\" I said,\n\"to hear a chapter in the Bible, for you know it far better than I.\"\n\nNo sooner had I taken my leave, than I was informed that an old lady of\nmy acquaintance had summoned me in haste. She said she was much impressed\nby this extraordinary calamity. As, to my certain knowledge, she had\nnever troubled the contents of the book, I was surprised that she had so\ntaken to heart the loss of that which had, practically, been lost to\nher all her days. \"Sir\" said she, the moment I entered, \"the Bible, the\nBible.\" \"Yes, madam,\" said I, \"this is a very grievous and terrible\nvisitation. I hope we may learn the lessons which it is calculated to\nteach us.\" \"I am sure,\" answered she, \"I am not likely to forget it for\na while, for it has been a grievous loss to me.\" \"I told her I was\nvery glad.\" \"Glad!\" she rejoined. \"Yes,\" I said, \"I am glad to find\nthat you think it so great a loss, for that loss may then be a gain\nindeed. There is, thanks be to God, enough left in our memories to\ncarry us to heaven.\" \"Ah! but,\" said she, \"the hundred pounds and\nthe villany of my maid-servant. Have you not heard?\" This gave me some\nglimpse as to the secret of her sorrow. She told me that she had\ndeposited several bank-notes in the leaves of her family Bible,\nthinking that, to be sure, nobody was likely to look there for them.\n\"No sooner,\" said she, \"were the Bibles made useless by this strange\nevent, than my servant peeped into every copy in the house, and she\nnow denies that she found any thing in my old family Bible, except two\nor three blank leaves of thin paper, which, she says, she destroyed;\nthat, if any characters were ever on them, they must have been erased\nwhen those of the Bible were obliterated. But I am sure she lies; for\nwho would believe that Heaven took the trouble to blot out my precious\nbank-notes. They were not God's word, I trow.\" It was clear that she\nconsidered the \"promise to pay\" better by far than any \"promises\" which\nthe book contained. \"I should not have cared so much about the Bible,\"\nshe whined, hypocritically, \"because, as you truly observe, our\nmemories may retain enough to carry us to heaven,\"--a little in that\ncase would certainly go a great way, I thought to myself,--\"and if not,\nthere are those who can supply the loss. But who is to get my bank-notes\nback again? Other people have only lost their Bibles.\" It was, indeed,\na case beyond my power of consolation.\n\nThe calamity not only strongly stirred the feelings of men, and upon\nthe whole, I think, beneficially, but it immediately stimulated their\ningenuity. It was wonderful to see the energy with which men discussed\nthe subject, and the zeal, too, with which they ultimately exerted\nthemselves to repair the loss. I could even hardly regret it, when I\nconsidered what a spectacle of intense activity, intellectual and moral,\nthe visitation had occasioned. It was very early suggested, that the\nwhole Bible had again and again been quoted piecemeal in one book or\nother; that it had impressed its own image on the surface of human\nliterature, and had been reflected on its course as the stars on a\nsteam. But, alas! on investigation, it was found as vain to expect\nthat the gleam of starlight would still remain mirrored in the water\nwhen the clouds had veiled the stars themselves, as that the bright\ncharacters of the Bible would remain reflected in the books of man\nwhen had been erased from the Book of God. On inspection it was\nfound that every text, every phrase which had been quoted, not only\nin the books of devotion and theology, but in those of poetry and\nfiction, had been remorselessly expunged. Never before had I had any\nadequate idea of the extent to which the Bible had moulded the\nintellectual and moral life of the last eighteen centuries, nor how\nintimately it had interfused itself with habits of thought and modes\nof expression; nor how naturally and extensively its comprehensive\nimagery and language had been introduced into human writings, and most\nof all where there had been most of genius. A vast portion of\nliterature became instantly worthless, and was transformed into so\nmuch waste-paper. It was almost impossible to look into any book\nof any merit, and read ten pages together, without coming to some\nprovoking erasures and mutilations, some \"hiatus valde deflendi,\"\nwhich made whole passages perfectly unintelligible. Many of the\nsweetest passages of Shakspeare were converted into unmeaning nonsense,\nfrom the absence of those words which his own all but divine genius\nhad appropriated from a still diviner source. As to Milton, he was\nnearly ruined, as might naturally be supposed. Walter Scott's novels\nwere filled with perpetual lacunae. I hoped it might be otherwise\nwith the philosophers, and so it was; but even here it was curious\nto see what strange ravages the visitation had wrought. Some of the\nmost beautiful and comprehensive of Bacon's Aphorisms were reduced\nto enigmatical nonsense.\n\nThose who held large stocks of books knew not what to do. Ruin stared\nthem in the face; their value fell seventy or eighty per cent. All\nbranches of theology, in particular, were a drug. One fellow said,\nthat he should not so much have minded if the miracle had sponged out\nwhat was human as well as what was divine, for in that case he would\nat least have had so many thousand volumes of fair blank paper, which\nwas as much as many of them were worth before. A wag answered, that\nit was not usual, in despoiling a house, to carry away any thing\nexcept the valuables. Meantime, millions of blank Bibles filled the\nshelves of stationers, to be sold for day-books and ledgers, so that\nthere seemed to be no more employment for the paper-makers in that\ndirection for many years to come. A friend, who used to mourn over\nthe thought of palimpsest manuscripts,--of portions of Livy and Cicero\nerased to make way for the nonsense of some old monkish chronicler,\n--exclaimed, as he saw a tradesman trudging off with a handsome\nmorocco-bound quarto for a day-book, \"Only think of the pages once\nfilled with the poetry of Isaiah, and the parables of Christ, sponged\nclean to make way for orders for silks and satins, muslins, cheese,\nand bacon!\" The old authors, of course, were left to their mutilations;\nthere was no way in which the confusion could be remedied. But the\nliving began to prepare new editions of their works, in which they\nendeavored to give a new turn to the thoughts which had been mutilated\nby erasure, and I was nor a little amused to see that many, having\nstolen from writers whose compositions were as much mutilated as\ntheir own, could not tell the meaning of their own pages.\n\nIt seemed at first to be a not unnatural impression, that even those\nwho could recall the erased texts as they perused the injured books,\n--who could mentally full up the imperfect clauses,--were not at\nliberty to inscribe them; they seemed to fear that, if they did so,\nthe characters would be as if written in invisible ink, or would\nsurely fade away. It was with trembling that some at length made the\nattempt, and to their unspeakable joy found the impression durable.\nDay after day passed; still the characters remained; and the people\nlength came to the conclusion, that God left them at liberty, if they\ncould, to reconstruct the Bible for themselves out of their collective\nremembrances of its divine contents. This led again to some curious\nresults, all of them singularly indicative of the good and ill that\nis in human nature. It was with incredible joy that men came to the\nconclusion that the book might be thus recovered nearly entire, and\nnearly in the very words of the original, by the combined effort of\nhuman memories. Some of the obscurest of the species, who had studied\nnothing else but the Bible, but who had well studied that, came to be\nobjects of reverence among Christians and booksellers; and the various\ntexts they quoted were taken down with the utmost care. He who could\nfill up a chasm by the restoration of words which were only partially\nremembered, or could contribute the least text that had been forgotten,\nwas regarded as a sort of public benefactor. At length, a great public\nmovement amongst the divines of all denominations was projected, to\ncollate the results of these partial recoveries of the sacred text.\nIt was curious, again, to see in how various ways human passions and\nprejudices came into play. It was found that the several parties who\nhad furnished from memory the same portions of the sacred texts had\nfallen into a great variety of different readings; and though most\nof them were of as little importance in themselves as the bulk of\nthose which are paraded in the critical recensions of Mill, Griesbach,\nor Tischendorf, they became, from the obstinacy and folly of the men\nwho contended about them, important differences, merely because they\nwere differences. Two reverend men of the synod, I remember, had a\nrather tough dispute as to whether it was twelve baskets full of\nfragments of the five loaves which the five thousand left, and seven\nbaskets full of the seven loaves which the four thousand had left,\nor vice versa: as also whether the words in John vi. 19 were \"about\ntwenty or five and twenty,\" or \"about thirty or five and thirty\nfurlongs.\"\n\nTo do the assembly justice, however, there was found an intense\ngeneral earnestness and sincerity befitting the occasion, and an equally\nintense desire to obtain, as nearly as possible, the very words of\nthe lost volume; only (as was also, alas! natural) vanity in some;\nin others, confidence in their strong impressions and in the accuracy\nof their memory; obstinacy and pertinacity in many more (all\naggravated as usual by controversy),--caused many odd embarrassments\nbefore the final adjustment was effected.\n\nI was particularly struck with the varieties of reading which mere\nprejudices in favor of certain systems of theology occasioned in\nthe several partisans of each. No doubt the worthy men were\ngenerally unconscious of the influence of these prejudices; yet,\nsomehow, the memory was seldom so dear in relation to those texts\nwhich told against them as in relation to those which told for\nthem. A certain Quaker had an impression that the words instituting\nthe Eucharist were preceded by a qualifying expression, \"And Jesus\nsaid to the twelve, Do this in remembrance of me\"; while he could\nnot exactly recollect whether or not the formula of \"baptism\" was\nexpressed in the general terms some maintained it was. Several\nUnitarians had a clear recollection, that in several places the\nauthority of manuscripts, as estimated in Griesbaeh's recension, was\ndecidedly against the common reading; while the Trinitarians\nmaintained that Griesbaeb's recension in those instances had left\nthat reading undisturbed. An Episcopalian began to bare his doubts\nwhether the usage in favor of the interchange of the words \"bishop\"\nand \"presbyter\" was so uniform as the Presbyterian and Independent\nmaintained, and whether there was not a passage in which Timothy\nand Titus were expressly called \"bishops.\" The Presbyterian and\nIndependent had similar biases; and one gentleman, who was a\nstrenuous advocate of the system of the latter, enforced one\nequivocal remembrance by saying, he could, as it were, distinctly\nsee the very spot on the page before his mind's eye. Such tricks\nwill imagination play with the memory, when preconception plays\ntricks with the imagination! In like manner; it was seen that, while\nthe Calvinist was very distinct in his recollection of the ninth\nchapter of Romans, his memory was very faint as respects the exact\nwording of some of the verses in the Epistle of James; and though\nthe Arminian had a most vivacious impression of all those passages\nwhich spoke of the claims of the law, he was in some doubt whether\nthe Apostle Paul's sentiments respecting human depravity, and\njustification by faith alone, had not been a little exaggerated. In\nshort, it very dearly appeared that tradition was no safe guide;\nthat if, even while she was hardly a month old; she could play such\nfreaks with the memories of honest people, there was but a sorry\nprospect of the secure transmission of truth for eighteen hundred\nyears. From each man's memory seemed to glide something or other\nwhich he was not inclined to retain there, and each seemed to\nsubstitute in its stead something that he liked better.\n\nThough the assembly was in the main most anxious to come to a right\ndecision, and really advanced an immense way towards completing a\ntrue and faithful copy of the lost original, the disputes which arose,\non almost every point of theology, promised the world an abundant\ncrop of new sects and schisms. Already there had sprung up several\nwhose names had never been heard of in the world, but for this\ncalamity. Amongst them were two who were called the \"Long Memories\"\nand the \"Short Memories.\" Their general tendencies coincided pretty\nmuch with those of the orthodox and the rationalists.\n\nIt was curious to see by what odd associations, sometimes of contrast,\nsometimes of resemblance, obscure texts were recovered, though they\nwere verified, when once mentioned, by the consciousness of hundreds.\nOne old gentleman, a miser, contributed (and it was all he did contribute)\na maxim of prudence, which he recollected, principally from having\nsystematically abused it. All the ethical maxims, indeed, were soon\ncollected; for though, as usual, no one recollected his own peculiar\nduties or infirmities, every one, as usual, kindly remembered those\nof his neighbors. Husbands remembered what was due from their wives,\nand wives what was due from their husbands. The unpleasant sayings\nabout \"better to dwell on the house-top\" and \"the perpetual dropping\non a very rainy day\" were called to mind by thousands. Almost the\nwhole of Proverbs and Ecclesiastes were contributed, in the merest\nfragments, in this way. As for Solomon's \"times for every thing,\" few\ncould remember them all, but every body remembered some. Undertakers\nsaid there was a \"time to mourn,\" and comedians that there was a\n\"time to laugh\"; young ladies innumerable remembered that there was\na \"time to love,\" and people of all kinds that there was a \"time\nto hate\"; every body knew there was a \"time to speak,\" but a worthy\nQuaker reminded them that there was also a \"time to keep silence.\"\n\nSome dry parts of the laws of Moses were recovered by the memory of\njurists, who seemed to have no knowledge whatever of any other parts\nof the sacred volume; while in like manner one or two antiquarians\nsupplied some very difficult genealogical and chronological matters,\nin equal ignorance of the moral and spiritual contents of the\nScriptures.\n\nAs people became accustomed to the phenomenon, the perverse humors of\nmankind displayed themselves in a variety of ways. The efforts of the\npious assembly were abundantly laughed at; but I must, in justice,\nadd, without driving them from their purpose. Some profane wags\nsuggested there was now a good opportunity of realizing the scheme\ntaking \"not\" out of the Commandments and inserting it in the Creed.\nBut they were sarcastically told, that the old objection to the plan\nwould still apply; that they would not sin with equal relish if they\nwere expressly commanded to do so, nor take such pleasure in\ninfidelity if infidelity became a duty. Others said that, if the world\nmust wait till the synod had concluded its labors, the prophecies of\nthe New Testament would not be written till some time after their\nfulfilment; and that, if all the conjectures of the learned divines\nwere inserted in the new edition of the Bible, the declaration in\nJohn would be literally verified, and that \"the world itself would\nnot contain all the books which would be written.\"\n\nBut the most amusing thing of all was to see, as time made man more\nfamiliar with this strange event, the variety of speculations which\nwere entertained respecting its object and design. Many began\ngravely to question whether it was the duty of the synod to attempt\nthe reconstruction of a book of which God himself had so manifestly\ndeprived the world, and whether it was not a profane, nay, an\natheistical, attempt to frustrate his will. Some, who were secretly\nglad to be released from so troublesome a book, were particularly\npious on this head, and exclaimed bitterly against this rash attempt\nto counteract and cancel the decrees of Heaven. The Papists, on their\npart, were confident that the design was to correct the exorbitancies\nof a rabid Protestantism, and show the world, by direct miracle, the\nnecessity of submitting to the decision of their Church and the\ninfallibility of the supreme Pontiff; who, as they truly alleged,\ncould decide all knotty points quite as well without the Word of\nGod as with it. On being reminded that the writings of the Fathers,\non which they laid so much stress as the vouchers of their traditions,\nwere mutilated by the same stroke which had demolished the Bible (all\ntheir quotations from the sacred volume being erased), some of the\nJesuits affirmed that many of the Fathers were rather improved than\notherwise by the omission, and that they found these writings quite\nas intelligible and not less edifying than before. In this, many\nProtestants very cordially agreed. On the other hand, many of our\nmodern infidels gave an entirely new turn to the whole affair, by\nsaying that the visitation was evidently not in judgment, but in\nmercy; that God in compassion, and not in indignation, had taken\naway a book which man had regarded with an extravagant admiration\nand idolatry, and which they had exalted to the place of that\nclear internal oracle which He had planted in the human breast; in\na word, that, if it was a rebuke at all, it was a rebuke to a rampant\n\"Bibliolatry.\" As I heard all these different versions of so simple\na matter, and found that not a few were inclined to each, I could,\nnot help exclaiming, \"In truth the Devil is a very clever fellow,\nand man even a greater blockhead than I had taken him for.\" But in\nspite of the surprise with which I had listened to these various\nexplanations of an event which seemed to me clear as if written\nwith a sunbeam, this last reason, which assigned as the cause of\nGod's resumption of his own gift, an extravagant admiration and\nveneration of it on the part of mankind,--it being so notorious\nthat those who professed belief in its divine origin and authority\nhad (even the best of them) so grievously neglected both the\nstudy and the practice of it,--struck me as so exquisitely\nludicrous, that I broke into a fit of laughter, which awoke me.\nI found that it was broad daylight, and the morning sun was\nstreaming in at the window, and shining in quiet radiance upon\nthe open Bible which lay on my table. So strongly had my dream\nimpressed me, that I almost felt as though, on inspection, I\nshould find the sacred leaves a blank, and it was therefore\nwith joy that my eyes rested on those words, which I read through\ngrateful tears: \"The gifts of God are without repentance.\"\n\n____\n\nJuly 19. This morning my friends treated me to a long dialogue in\nwhich it was contended\n\nTHAT MIRACLES ARE IMPOSSIBLE, BUT THAT IT IS IMPOSSIBLE TO PROVE IT.\n\n\"I think, Fellowes,\" Harrington began, \"if there be any point in\nwhich you and I are likely to agree, it is in that dogma that miracles\nare impossible. And yet here, as usual, my sceptical doubts pursue\nand baffle me. I wish you would try with me whether there be not an\nescape from them.\" Fellowes assented.\n\n\"As I have to propose and explain my doubts,\" said Harrington, \"perhaps\nyou will excuse my taking the 'lion's share' of the conversation. But\nnow, by way of beginning in some way,--what, my dear friend, is a\nmiracle?\"\n\n\"What is a miracle? Ay, that is the question; but though it may be\ndifficult to find an exact definition of it, it is easily understood by\nevery body.\"\n\n\"Very likely; then you can with more ease give me your notion of it.\"\n\n\"If, for example,\" said Fellowes, \"the sun which has risen so long,\nevery morning, were to rise no more; or if a man, whom we knew to be\ndead and buried, were to come to life again; or if what we know to\nbe water were at once to become wine, none would hesitate to call that\na miracle.\"\n\n\"You remember, perhaps,\" said Harrington, \"an amusing little play of\nSocratic humor in the dialogue of Theaetetus, somewhere in the\nintroduction, when the ironical querist has asked that intelligent\nyouth what science is?\n\n\"I cannot say that I do; for though I have read that dialogue, it is\nsome years ago.\"\n\n\"Let me read you the passage then. Here it is,\" said Harrington,\nreaching down the dialogue and turning to the place. \"'Tell me frankly,'\nsays Socrates, 'what do you think science is?' 'It appears to me,' says\nTheaetetus, 'that such things as one may learn from Theodorus here,\n--namely, geometry, as well as other things which you have just\nenumerated; and again, that the shoemaker's art, and those of other\nartisans,--all and each of them are nothing else but science.' 'You\nare munificent indeed,' said Socrates; 'for when asked for one thing, you\nhave given many.' I almost think,\" continued Harrington, \"that, if\nSocrates were here, he would do what I should not presume to do,--banter\nyou in a somewhat similar way. He would say, that, having asked what\na miracle was, Mr. Fellowes told him that half a dozen things were\nmiracles, but did not tell him what every miracle was; that is, never\ntold him what made all miracles such. Suffer me again to ask you what a\nmiracle is?\"\n\n\"I recollect now enough of the charming dialogue from which you have\ntaken occasion to twit me, to answer you in the same vein. As it\nturns out, Socrates, appears to be at least equally ignorant with\nTheaetetus as to the definition of which he is in search. I think it\nmay be as well for me to do at once what certainly Theaetetus would\nhave done, had he known that his reprover was as much in the dark\nas himself.\"\n\n\"What is that?\" said Harrington.\n\n\"He would have cut short a good deal of banter by at once turning\nthe tables upon his ironical tormentor; acknowledging his impotence,\nand making him give the required definition. Come, let me take that\ncourse.\"\n\n\"I have no objection, my friend, if you will first, as you say,\nacknowledge your impotence; only I would not advise you, for in that\ncase you would be obliged to confess that you have resolved with me\nthat a miracle is impossible, and yet that you are not quite sure that\nyou can tell, or rather own that you cannot, what a miracle is. Let me\nentreat you to essay some definition; and if you break down, I have no\nobjection to take my chance of the honor of success or the ignominy of\nfailure.\"\n\n\"The fact is,\" answered Fellowes, \"that, like many other things, it\nis better understood--\"\n\n\"Than described, as the novelists say, when they feel that their powers\nof description fail them. But this will hardly do for us; we are\nphilosophers, you know (save the mark!) in search of truth.--A\nthing that is well known by every body, and is capable of being\ndescribed by nobody, would be almost a miracle of itself; and I\nthink it imports us to give some better account of the matter. I\ncan see that my orthodox uncle there is already secretly amusing\nhimself at the anticipation of our perplexities.\"\n\nI took no notice of the remark, but went on writing.\n\n\"Well, then, if I must give you some definition,\" said Fellowes, \"I\nknow not if I can do better than avail myself of the usual one, that\nit is a suspension or violation of a law of nature. Is not that the\naccount which Hume gives of the matter?\"\n\n\"I think it is. I am afraid, however, that at the very outset we should\nhave some difficulty in determining one of the phrases used in this\nvery definition,--namely, how we are to understand a law of nature. I\ndo not ask whether law implies a lawgiver; you will assert it, and I\nshall not gainsay it: it is at present immaterial. But do you not mean\nby a law of nature (I am asking the question merely to ascertain whether\nor not we are thinking of the same thing) just this;--the fact that\nsimilar phenomena uniformly reappear in an observed series of antecedents\nand consequents, which series is invariable so far as we know, and so\nfar as others know, whose experience we can test? Is not that what\nyou mean? You do not, I presume, suppose you know any thing of the\nconnection which binds together causes and effects, or the manner in\nwhich the secret bond (if there be any) which unites antecedents and\nconsequents, in any natural phenomena, is maintained?\"\n\n\"I certainly make no such pretensions; all that I mean by a law of\nnature is just what you have mentioned. I shall be well content to\nadhere to your explanation,\" answered Fellowes.\n\n\"So that when we observe similar phenomena reproduced in the aforesaid\nseries of antecedents and consequents, we call that a law of nature,\nand affirm that violation of that law would be a miracle, and\nimpossible?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"And further, do you not agree with me that such invariable series is\nsufficiently certified to us by our own uniform experience,--that of\nall our neighbors and friends,--and, in a word, that of all whose\nexperience we can test?\"\n\n\"I agree with you.\"\n\n\"I am content,\" replied Harrington; \"but at the outset it seems to me\nthat the expression I have used requires a little expansion to meet\nthe sophistry of our opponents. I will either explain myself now, and\nthen leave you to judge; or I will say no more of the matter here, but\npursue our discussion, and let the difficulty (if there be one) disclose\nitself in the course of it, and be provided for as may be in our power.\"\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\n\"It is this;--that it cannot, with truth, be said, in relation to\nmany phenomena, that (so far as our experience informs us) they do\nfollow each other in an absolutely invariable order; which phenomena,\nnevertheless, we believe to be as much under the dominion of law as\nthe rest; and any violation of this law, I presume, you would think\nas much a miracle as any other. For example, we do not find the same\nremedies or the same regimen will produce the same effects upon\ndifferent individuals at different times; again, the varieties of the\nweather, in every climate, are dependent upon so many causes, that\nit transcends all human skill to calculate them. Yet I dare say you\ncan easily imagine certain degrees and continuity of change in these\nvariable phenomena which you would not hesitate to call as much miracle\nas if the dead were raised, or the sun stayed in mid-heaven.\"\n\n\"Yes, unquestionably,\" replied Fellowes; \"if I found, for instance that\na dozen men could take an ounce of arsenic or half a pound of opium with\nimpunity, I should not hesitate to regard it as a miracle, although the\nprecise amount sufficient to kill in any particular case might not be\ncapable of being ascertained. In the same manner, if I found that though\nthe amount of heat and cold in summer and winter in our climate is\nsubject to marked variations, yet that suddenly for several consecutive\nyears we had more frost in July than in December; that gooseberries and\ncurrants were getting ripe on Christmas day, and men were skating\non the Serpentine on the 10th of August, I should certainly argue that\na change tantamount to a miracle had been wrought in nature.\"\n\n\"You have just expressed my own feelings on that point,\" said Harrington;\n\"and it was this very consideration which made me say, that, in order to\nrender my expression perfectly clear, and to obviate misconception\nand misrepresentation, we must endeavor to include this very frequent case\nof a certain limited variation from the order of nature as consistent\nwith the absence of miracle, and a certain degree of that variation as\ninconsistent with it.\"\n\n\"Will you just state our criterion once more, with the limitation\nattached; and then I shall know better whether we are certainly agreed\nin the criterion we ought to employ?\"\n\n\"I say, then,\" resumed Harrington, \"that our uniform experience, that\nof our friends and neighbors, and of all whose experience we have the\nopportunity of testing, as to the order of nature,--meaning by that\neither an order absolutely invariable, or varying only limits which\nare themselves absolutely invariable,--justifies us in pronouncing an\nevent contradicting such experience to be all impossibility. If the\nprinciple is worth any thing, let us embrace it, and inflexibly\napply it.\"\n\n\"And I, for one,\" replied Fellowes, \"am quite satisfied with the\nprinciple and the limitations you have laid down; and am so confident\nof its correctness, that I do not hesitate to say that all the\nmiraculous histories on record are to be summarily rejected.\"\n\n\"For example,\" said Harrington, \"we have seen the sun rise every morning\nand set every evening all our lives; and every one whose experience\nwe can test has seen the same. Every man who has come into the world\nhas come into it but one way, and has as certainly gone out of it, and\nhas not returned; and every one whose experience we can test affirms\nthe same. We therefore conclude on this uniform and invariable\nexperience, that the same sequences took place yesterday and the day\nbefore, and will take place tomorrow and the day after; and we\nmay fearlessly apply this principle both to the past and the future.\nI know of no other reason for rejecting a miracle; and if I am to\napply the principle at all to phenomena which have not fallen under\nmy own observation, I must apply it without restriction.\"\n\n\"I am quite of your mind.\"\n\n\"You think, with me, that our experience,--the experience of those\nabout us,--the experience of all whose experience we have the means\nof testing,--is sufficient to settle the question as to the experience\nof those whose experience we have not the means of testing; who lived,\nfor example, a thousand years before we were born; or in a distant\npart of the world, where we have never been?\"\n\n\"Certainly: why should we hesitate so to apply it?\"\n\n\"I am sure I know not; and you see I am not unwilling so to apply it.\nOnly I asked the question, because we must not forget that many say\nit is begging the question; for, as a 'miracle' has not been exerted\non us to give us a vision of the past experience of man, or his\npresent experience in any part of the world we never visited, our\nopponents affirm, that to say that the experience we trust to has been\nand is the universal experience of man, is a clear petitio principii.\"\n\n\"Surely,\" said Fellowes, \"it may be said that the general experience of\nmankind has been of such a character.\"\n\n\"Exactly so, as a postulate from our experience, as a generalized\nassumption that our experience may be taken as a specimen and criterion\nof all experience. We assume that,--we do not prove it. It is just as\nin any other case of induction; we say, 'Because this is true in twenty\nor thirty or a hundred instances (as the case may be), which we can test,\n--therefore it is generally or universally true'; we do not say, because\nthis is true in these instances, and because it is also generally or\nuniversally true, therefore it is so! No; our true premise is restricted\nto what alone we know from our experience and the experience of all\nwhose experience we can test if we please. This is our real ground on\nwhich we are to justify our rejection of all miracles, and let us adhere\nto it. As to your general experience, you see, the advocate of miracles\neasily gets over that. He says, 'Why, no one pretends that miracles are\nas \"plenty as blackberries\"; otherwise they would no longer be miracles;\nthese are comparatively rare events, of course; and, being rare, are\nnecessarily at variance with general experience'; and, for my part, I\nshould not know how to answer the objection.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" said Fellowes. \"let us adhere to that which is our real\nground of objection, and let us consistently apply it.\"\n\n\"With all my heart,\" said Harrington; \"we agree then, that our own\nuniform experience,--that of all our neighbors and friends,--in fact,\nof all whose experience we can test, is a sufficient criterion of a\nlaw of nature, and justifies us in at once rejecting as possible any\nalleged fact which violates it.\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"For example, if it were asserted that last year that the sun never\nrose on a certain day, or, rather, for twenty-four hours the rotation\nof the earth ceased, we should instantly reject the story, without\nexamination of witnesses, or any such thing.\"\n\n\"No doubt of that.\"\n\n\"And just so in other cases. This, then, is our ground. You would not\n(if I may advise) lay much stress on the fact that there have been\nso many stories of a supernatural kind false.\"\n\n\"Why, I do not know whether it would not be wise to insist upon\nthat argument. It seems to be not without weight,\" urged Fellowes.\n\n\"Perhaps so,\" replied Harrington; \"but it has, you see, this\ninconvenience, of proving more than you want. The greater part by far\nof all religions have been false. But you affirm that there is one\nlittle system absolutely true. The greater part of the theories of\nscience and philosophy, which men, from time to time, have framed,\nhave also been false; and yet you believe that there is such a thing\nas true philosophy and true science. Similarly, the generality of\npolitical governments have been founded on vicious principles, yet\nyou hope for a political millennium at last. In short, the argument\nwould go to prove, that, as there can never have been any true miracles\nbecause there have been so many false ones, so, for similar reasons,\nit is mere 'vanity and vexation of spirit' to search after truth in\nreligion, or science, or politics; and though a sceptic, like myself,\nmight not much mind it, perhaps it would trammel such a positive\nphilosopher as you. Nay, a pertinacious opponent might even say, that,\nas you believe that in all these last cases there is a substance, else\nthere would not have been the shadows, so, with reference to miracles,\nthe very general belief of them rather argues that there have been\nmiracles, than that there have been none. My advice is, that we adhere\nto these reasons we have assigned, for they are our real reasons.\"\n\n\"Be it so; I hate miracles so much, that I care not by what means the\ndoltish delusion is dissipated.\"\n\n\"Only that the weapons should be fair?\"\n\n\"O, of course.\"\n\n\"To resume, then. I say, that, if we were told that last year an event\nof such a miraculous nature occurred as that the earth did not revolve\nfor twenty-four hours together, we should at once reject it, without\nany examination of witnesses, or troubling ourselves with any thing of\nthe kind.\"\n\n\"Unquestionably.\"\n\n\"And if it were said to have occurred twenty years ago we should take\nthe same course.\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"And so if any such event were said to have occurred eighteen hundred\nyears ago?\"\n\n\"Agreed.\"\n\n\"And if such events were said at that day to have occurred eighteen\nhundred years previously, we believe, of course, the men of that time\nwould have been equally entitled to reason in the same way about\nthem as ourselves; and, in short, that we may fearlessly apply the\nsame principle to the same epoch.\"\n\n\"Of course\"\n\n\"And so for two thousand years before that; and, in fact, we must\nbelieve that every thing has always been going on in the same manner,\n--the sun always rising and setting, men dying and never rising\nand so forth.\"\n\n\"Exactly so, even from the beginning of the creation,\" said Fellowes.\n\n\"The beginning of the creation! My good fellow, I do not understand\nyou. As we have been going back, we have seen that there is no\nperiod at which the same principle of judgment will not apply, and,\nfollowing it fearlessly, I say that we are in all fairness bound\nto believe that there never has been a period when the present order\nhas been different from what it is; in other words, that the\nprogression has been an eternal one.\"\n\n\"I cannot admit that argument,\" said Fellowes.\n\n\"Then be pleased to provide me with a good answer to it, which will\nstill leave us at liberty to say, that a miracle (that is, a variation\nfrom the order of nature as determined by our uniform experience, and\nby that of the whole circle of our contemporaries) is impossible,\nand that we may reject at once any pretension of the kind.\"\n\n\"But I do not admit that the creation of any thing or of all things\nis of the nature of a miracle.\"\n\nHarrington smiled. \"I am afraid,\" said he, \"that to common sense,\nto fair reasoning, to any philosopher worthy of the name there would\nbe no difference except in magnitude, between such an event as the\nsudden appearance of an animal (say man) for the first time in our\nworld, or the first appearance of a tree (such a thing never having\nbeen before), and the restoration to life of a dead man. Each is, to\nall intents and purposes, a violation of the previous established\nseries of antecedents and consequents, and comes strictly within\nthe limits of our definition of a miracle; and a miracle, you know\nis impossible. The only difference will be, that the miracle in the\none case will be greater and more astonishing than that in the other.\"\n\n\"But it is impossible, in the face of geologists, to contend that\nthere have not been many such revolutions in the history of the world\nas these. Man himself is of comparatively recent introduction into\nour system.\"\n\n\"I cannot help what the geologists affirm. If we are to abide by our\nprinciple, we have no warrant to believe that there have been any such\nviolations, or infractions, or revolutions of nature's laws in the\nworld's history. If they contend for the interpolation of events\nin the history of the universe, which, by our criterion, are of the\nnature of miracles, and we are convinced that miracles are impossible,\nwe must reject the conclusions of geologists.\"\n\n\"But may we not say, that the great epochs in the history of the universe\nare themselves but the manifestation of law?\"\n\n\"In no other sense, I think, than the advocate of miracles is entitled\nto say that the intercalation of miracles in the world's history is also\naccording to law,--parts, though minute parts, of a universal plan, and\npermitted for reasons worthy of the Creator. To both, or neither, is\nthe same answer open. Your objection is, I think, a mere sophistical\nevasion of the difficulty. There is no difference whatever in the\nnature of the events, except that the variation from the 'established\nseries of sequences' is infinitely greater in those portentous revolutions\nof the universe to which the geologist points your attention. The\napplication of our principle (as you affirm with me) will justify us in\nat once pronouncing any variation from the 'established series' whether\noccurring yesterday, a year ago, a thousand years ago, or a million of\nyears ago, incredible; it will, in the same manner, justify the men of\nany age in saying the same of all previous ages; and I, therefore,\nwhile contending for your principle with you, carry it consistently\nout, and affirm that the series of antecedents and consequents (as we\nnow find it) must be regarded as eternal, because creation would\ndo what a miracle is supposed to do, and a miracle, you know, is\nimpossible. You are silent.\"\n\n\"I am not able to retract acquiescence in the principle, and I am as\nlittle inclined to concede the conclusions you would draw from it.\"\n\n\"As you please; only, in the latter case, provide me with an answer.\nIf you saw now introduced on the earth for the first time a being as\nunlike than as man is unlike the other animals,--say with seven\nsenses, wings on his shoulders, a pair of eyes behind his head as\nwell as in front of it, and the tail of a peacock, by way of finishing\nhim off handsomely,--would you not call such a phenomenon a miracle?\"\n\n\"I think I should,\" said Fellowes, laughing.\n\n\"And if the creature died, leaving no issue, would you continue to\ncall it so?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"But if you found that he was the head of a race, as man was, and a\nwhole nation of such monsters springing from him, then would you say\nthat this wonderful intrusion into the sphere of our experience was\nno miracle, but that it was merely according to law?\"\n\n\"I should.\"\n\n\"Verily, my dear friend, I am afraid the world will laugh at us for\nmaking such fantastical distinctions. This infraction of 'established\nsequences' ceases to be miraculous, if the wonder is perpetuated\nand sufficiently multiplied! Meantime, what becomes of the prodigy\nduring the time in which it is uncertain whether any thing will come\nof it or not? You will say, I suppose, (the interpolation in the\n'series' of phenomena being just what I have supposed,) that it is\nuncertain whether it is to be regarded as miraculous or not, till\nwe know whether it is to be repealed or not.\"\n\n\"I think I must, if I adhere to the principle I am now defending.\"\n\n\"Very well; only in the mean time you are in the ludicrous position\nof facing a phenomenon of which you do not know whether you will call\nit a miracle or not,--the contingency, meantime, on which it is to be\ndecided, not at all, as I contend, affecting the matter; since you\nallow that it is the infraction of the previously established order\nof sequences, as known to uniform experience, which constitutes a\nmiracle! If so, I must maintain that the creation of man was, for\nthe same reasons, of the essence of a miracle. You seem to think\nthere is no objection to the admission of miracles, provided they are\nastounding and numerous enough; or provided they are a long time about,\ninstead of being instantaneously wrought. I must remind you, that to\nthe principle of our argument these things are quite immaterial. Whether\nthe revolution by which the established order of sequences is absolutely\ninfringed,--the face of the universe or of our globe transformed, or\nan entirely new race (as, for example, man) originated,--I say, whether\nsuch change be produced slowly or quickly is of no consequence in the\nworld to our argument. It is whether or not a series of phenomena\nbe produced as absolutely transcending the sphere of all experience,\nas those events we admit to be impossible, called 'miracles.' That the\nintroduction of man upon the earth for the first time (for you will not\nallow his race eternal), or the origination of a sun, is not at all\nto be reckoned as transcending that experience, I cannot understand.\nNor can I understand it a bit better by your saying that it, is in\nconformity with the vague something you are pleased to call a law.\nIt is a safe phrase, however; for as neither you nor any one else\ncan interpret it, no one can refute you. This law is a most convenient\nthing! It repeals, it appears to me, all other laws,--even those of\nlogic. Perhaps would be better to say that miracles are no miracles\nwhen they are 'lawful' miracles. No! let us keep our principle intact\nfrom all such dangerous admissions as these. In that way only\nare we safe.\"\n\n\"Safe do you call it? I see not how, if we carry out this principle\nin the way and to the extent you propose, we can reply to the atheist\nor to the pantheist, who tells us that the universe is but an\neternal evolution of phenomena in one infinite series, or in an\neternal recurrence of finite cycles.\"\n\n\"And what is that to you or me? How can we help our principle (if we\nare to hold it at all) leading to some such conclusion? We are, I\npresume, anxious to know the truth. You see that Strauss, who is the\nmost strenuous assertor of the impossibility of miracles, is also a\npantheist. I know not whether you may not become one yourself.\"\n\n\"Never,\" said Fellowes, vehemently; \"never, I trust, shall I yield\nto that 'desolating pantheism' (as worthy Mr. Newman calls it) which\nis now so rife.\"\n\n\"I think Mr. Newman's principles ought to guide you thither. You\nseem to hold fast by his skirts at present; but I very much doubt\nwhether you have yet reached the termination of your career. You\nhave, you must admit, made advances quite as extraordinary before.\n\n\"We shall see.--But I suppose you have reached the end of the\nobjections which your wayward scepticism suggests against a\nconclusion which we both admit; or have you any more?\"\n\n\"O, plenty; and amongst the rest, I am afraid we must admit--whether\nwe admit or not your expedient of law--a miracle, or something\nindistinguishable from it, as involved in the creation and\npreservation of the first man,--since you will have a first man.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"I mean, that supposing the creation of man to be no miracle, because\nhe entered by law; or that that first fact (which would otherwise be\nmiraculous) is not such, simply because it is the first of a series\nof such facts,--I should like to see whether we have not even then\nto deal with a miracle, or a fact as absolutely unique; and which was\nnot connected with any series of similar facts.\"\n\n\"I think you would find it very hard to prove it.\"\n\n\"Nous verrons. I am sure we shall not disagree as to the fact that man,\nhowever he came into the world, sooner or later, by ordinary or\nextraordinary methods, by some lawful wedlock of nature, or by some\nmiracle which is not 'lawful,' is endowed by nature with various\nfaculties and susceptibilities.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said Fellowes, laughing; \"if you demand my assent to\nnothing more than that, I shall easily admit your premises and\ndeny your conclusion.\"\n\n\"You will also admit, I think, that the process by which man comes\nto the use of these faculties, and powers, and so forth, is\nvery gradual?\"\n\n\"Assuredly.\"\n\n\"And will you not also admit that the development and command of\nthese is something very different from the, potentialities themselves,\nas my uncle here would call them?--that, for example, we have the\nfaculty of vision; but that the art of seeing involves a slow\nlaborious process, acquired not without the concurrent exercise of\nother senses: and that the apparatus for walking is perfect even in\nan infant; but that the art of walking is, in fact, a wonderful\nacquisition: further, that the command given us by these faculties,\nas actually exercised, is immensely greater than would be conferred\nby each alone. In one word, you will allow that man, when he comes\nto the use of his faculties, is, as has been well said, a bundle of\nhabits, or, as Burke puts it, is a creature who, to a great extent,\nhas the making of himself.\"\n\n\"I am much at my ease,\" said Fellowes; \"I shall not dispute any\nof these premises either.\"\n\n\"And will you not also admit that, as man comes into the world now,\na long time is required for this development; and that during that\ntime he is absolutely dependent on the care of those who have already\nin their turn required similar care?\"\n\n\"Seeing that we have had fathers and mothers,--as I suppose our\ngrandfathers and grandmothers also had,--there can be as little doubt\nof this as of the preceding points,\" said Fellowes, rather\ncondescendingly.\n\n\"And that many of the functions which thus task their care are\nnecessary for our existence, and for any chance of our being able\nto develop into men.\"\n\n\"I think so, of course.\"\n\n\"So that, if an infant were exposed on a mountain-side or forest,\nyou would have no doubt he would perish (unless it pleased some\nkind-hearted wolf to suckle him) before he could come to the use of\nhis faculties, and develop them by exercise.\"\n\n\"I think,\" said the other, \"your premises perfectly innocent; I\nshall not contest them.\"\n\n\"A little further.\" said Harrington, \"we may go together; and then,\nif I mistake not, you will pause before you go one step further.\nThis, then, is the normal condition of humanity?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Do you think the first man was like us in these respects?\"\n\n\"I cannot tell.\"\n\n\"I dare engage you cannot,--it is a very natural answer. But he either\nwas, I suppose, or was not. That, I think, you will grant me.\" He\nassented, though rather reluctantly.\n\n\"Pray please yourself,\" said Harrington; \"for it is quite immaterial\nto me which alternative you take. If man was in our condition, then,\nthough the 'lawful miracle' by which he was brought into the world\nmight have made him a baby of six feet high, he would have been no\nmore than a baby still. All that was to constitute him a man,--all\nthose habits by which alone his existence was capable of being\npreserved,--and without which he must have perished immediately after\nhis creation, in which case you and I should have been spared the\nnecessity of all this discussion on the subject, would have to be\nlearned; and his existence during that time--and a long time it must\nhave been, having no teachers and aids, as we have--must have been\npreserved by a--miracle. If he were taught by the Creator himself,\nthen we have the miracle in that direction. If he were not brought\ninto the world under the same conditions of development as we are,\nbut with habits ready made,--if, indeed, that be not a contradiction,\n--then we have a miracle in that direction; if he had his faculties\npreternaturally quickened and expanded, so as to acquire\ninstantaneously, or possess by instinct, what we acquire by a long\nand slow process, and not for many years,--then we have a miracle in\nthat direction. If you do not like these suppositions, I see but\none other; and that is that; being a baby,--though, as I said, a\nbaby six feet high,--he had an angel nurse sent down expressly to\nattend him, and to push or wheel him about the walls of paradise\nin a celestial go-cart. But then I think that in this last\nparticular we shall hardly say that we have got rid of a miracle,\nthough it would doubtless be a miracle of a very ludicrous kind. If\nyou can imagine any other supposition, I shall be glad to hear it.\"\n\n\"I acknowledge I can form no supposition on the subject.\"\n\n\"Only remember that, if you could, the theory would still suppose\nman's actual preservation and development effected under totally\ndifferent conditions from those which have formed the uniform experience\nof all his posterity; and so far from any subterfuge of a law stepping\nin, it is a single expedient provided for our first parent alone.\"\n\n\"I do not think we are at all in a condition to consider any such\ncase, about which we cannot know any thing,\" replied Fellowes.\n\n\"Neither do I; but pardon me,--the question I asked does not depend\nupon any such knowledge; it is a question which is wholly independent\nwhether of our ignorance or our knowledge. Granting, as you do, that\nman was created, but that it was no miracle, nor any thing analogous\nto one (as you say), still either he was created subject to our\nconditions of development and preservation, or he was not; if he was\nnot, then I fear we have in form the miracle we wish to evade; if he\nwas, then I fear also that there are but the three imaginable modes of\nobviating the difficulty which I have so liberally provided; and\nsupposing there were a thousand. I fear still that they all involve a\ndeparture from the 'uniform course of Nature.'\"\n\n\"But I do not see,\" replied Fellowes, \"that it is absolutely necessary,\nsupposing that the first man was thrown upon the green of paradise.\"\n\n\"Or in a forest, or on a moor,\" said Harrington, \"for you know nothing\nof paradise.\"\n\n\"Well, then, in a forest, or on a moor;--I say if man were cast out\nthere, the same helpless being which all his posterity are,--unfortified,\nas the lower animals are, by feathers or hair, or by instincts equal to\ntheirs,--who can affirm that it was beyond the possibilities of\nhis nature, that he might survive this cruel experiment? crawl, perhaps,\nfor an indefinite period on all fours, live on berries, and at last--by\nvery slow degrees doubtless, but still at last--emerge into---\"\n\n\"The dignity of a savage,\" cried Harrington, \"as the first step towards\nsomething better,--his Creator having beneficently created him something\ninfinitely worse! Surely, you must be returning to a savage yourself, even\nto hint at such a pedigree. But I have done: till those cases of which\ncertain philosophers have said so much have been authenticated; till you\ncan produce an instance of a new-born babe, exposed on a mountain-side,\nin all the helplessness of his natal hour, and self-preserved,--nay,\ntwo of them,--for you must at least have a pair of these 'babes in the\nwood'; and till, moreover, it can be shown that they would have survived\nthis experiment so as to preserve the characteristics of humanity a\nlittle better than the 'wild boy of Germany,' and were fit to be the\nheads of the human family,--I shall at times be strangely tempted\nto embrace any theory as infinitely more probable. I cannot think it\nwas in this way that our first parents made their entree into the\nworld. I hope not, for the credit of the Creator, as well as for\nthe happiness of his offspring. Of the moral bearings of such a\nbrutal theory, I say nothing; but if it can be true, all I can say\nis, that I am glad that you and I, my dear Fellowes, are not the\nimmediate children but so fortunate as to be only the great-great\n--great-great-grandchildren of God! You have well called it a 'cruel\nexperiment'; according to this, the first Father of all thrust forth\nhis children into the world to be for an indefinite time worse than\nthe beasts, who were carefully provided against miserable man's\ninconveniences! Certainly, I think you may alter the account of man's\ncreation given in Genesis, to great advantage. Instead of God's saying,\n'Let us create man in our image, he must be supposed to have said,\n'Let us create man in the image of a BEAST: and in the image of a BEAST\ncreated he him, male and female created he them'; and very imperfect\nbeasts they must have been, after all. This is that old savage theory\nwhich I had supposed was pretty well abandoned. If the necessity of\ndenying miracles imposes any necessity of believing that, I fear that\nI shall sooner be got to believe a thousand.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Fellowes, who seemed ashamed of this theory, but knew\nnot how to abandon it; \"I cannot believe there have been any miracles,\nand, what is more, I will not.\"\n\n\"That is perhaps the best reason you have given yet,\" said Harrington.\n\"The Will is indeed your only irresistible logician. You are one\ndegree, at all events, better off than I, for I can hardly say either\nthat I believe, or that I do not believe, in miracles.\"\n\n\"And yet,\" continued Harrington, after a pause, \"two or three other\nstrange consequences seem to follow from that seemingly undeniable\nprinciple on which we base the conclusion that there neither has\nbeen nor can be any such thing as a miracle: in other words, a\ndeparture from the established series of sequences which, as tested\nby our own experience and by that of other men, we are convinced is\nstable. Will you see with me whether there is any fair mode of\nescaping from them? I should be very glad if I could do so.\"\n\n\"What are they?\"\n\n\"Why, first, I am afraid it must be said, that we must entirely\njustify a man in the condition of the Eastern prince mentioned by Hume,\nwho could not be induced to believe that there was such a thing as ice.\nI am afraid that he was quite in the right; and yet we know that in fact\nhe was wrong.\"\n\n\"You are not, then, satisfied with Hume's own solution?\"\n\n\"So far from it, that I cannot see, upon the principles on which we\nrefuse to believe miracles, that it is even intelligible. We agree,\ndo we not, that, from the experience we have (and, so far as we can\nascertain, from every body else's) of the uniform course of events,\nof the established order of sequences, we are to reject any assertion\nof a violation of those sequences; as, for example, of a man's coming\ninto the world in any preternatural manner, or, when he has once gone\nout of it, coming into it again; and that we are entitled to do\nthis without any examination of the witnesses to any such fact,\nmerely on the strength of the principles aforesaid?\"\n\n\"I admit that we have agreed to this.\"\n\n\"Now was not the assertion that in a certain quarter of the world\nwater became solid as stone, could be cut into pieces, and be put\ninto one's pockets, contrary, in a similar manner, to all the phenomena\nwhich the said prince had witnessed, and also to the uniform experience\nof all about him from his earliest years?\"\n\n\"It certainly was.\"\n\n\"He was right, then, in rejecting the fact; that is, he was right in\nrejecting the possibility of such an occurrence,\" said Harrington.\n\n\"But did we not ourselves say, with Hume, that, as we see that there\nis not an absolute uniformity in the phenomena of nature, but that\nthey are varied within certain limits in different climates and\ncountries, so it does not become us to say that a phenomenon, though\nsomewhat variable, is a violation of the usual order of sequences?\"\n\n\"We did; but we also agreed, I think, that those variations were to\nbe within invariable limits, as tested by the whole of our experience;\nwe did not include within those variations what is diametrically\ncontrary (as in the present case) to all our own experience and\nthat of every body about us. If it is to extend to such variations,\nwhat do we say but this,--that the order of nature is uniform and\ninvariable, except where--it is the reverse? and, as it seems it\nsometimes is so, see what comes of the admission. A man asserts the\nreality of a miracle which you reject at once as simply impossible, as\ncontrary to your experience and that of every one whose experience\nyou can test. It will be easy for him to say, and upon Hume's evasion\nhe will say, that it was performed, for aught you know, under conditions\nso totally different from those which ordinarily obtain in relation\nto the same order of events, that you are no adequate judge as to\nwhether it was possible or not. He acknowledges that a miracle is a\nvery rare occurrence; that it is performed for special ends; is strictly\nlimited to time and place, like those phenomena the Indian prince was\nasked to believe; and that your experience cannot embrace it, nor\nis warranted in pronouncing upon it. I really fear that, if our\nincredulous prince is to be condemned, our principle will be ruined. I\nam anxious for his safe deliverance, I assure you.\"\n\n\"Still I cannot see that we can deny that phenomena may be manifested,\nin virtue of the laws of nature, totally different from those which we\nhave ever seen or heard of.\"\n\n\"What! so different that the phenomena in question shall be a total\ndeparture from that order of nature of which alone we and all about\nus are cognizant; in fact, all but the one man, who tells us the\nstrange thing, we being at the same time totally incapable of testing\nhis experience?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Fellowes; \"I must grant it.\"\n\n\"I see,\" said Harrington, \"you are bent on the destruction of our\ncriterion. Do you not perceive that, if our experience and that of\nthe immense majority, or of all about us, be not a sufficient\ncriterion of the laws of nature, our argument falls to the ground?\n'Your principle,' our adversaries will say, 'is a fallacious one;\nNature has her laws, no doubt, which apply to miracles as to every\nother phenomenon; but in assuming your experience to be a sufficient\ncriterion of these laws, you have been, not interpreting her laws,\nbut imposing upon her your own.' If unknown powers of nature may\nthus reverse our experience and the experience of all those whose\nexperience, under the given conditions, we have opportunities of\ntesting, we ought to abstain from saying that some unknown powers may\nnot also have wrought miracles. Let us then affirm consistently the\nsufficiency of our criterion; and the prince aforesaid must do the\nsame; and it warranted him, I say, in believing that there neither\nwas nor could be such a thing as ice.\"\n\n\"But this seems ridiculous,\" said Fellowes; \"for according to this,\ndifferent and opposite experiences may, in different places give\ndifferent or opposite measures of the laws of nature; which\nnevertheless are supposed to be invariably the same, or invariably\nthe limits certified by that experience.\"\n\n\"I cannot help it; upon that same experience we must believe it true\nthat there are no miracles, and our unbelieving prince, that there\ncould be no such thing as ice; for to him it was a miracle. If we do\nnot reason thus, may we not be compelled to admit that our uniform\nexperience, with its limited variations, is no rule at all, and that\nthere are cases for which it makes no provision? and may not the\nadvocate for miracles say that miracles are amongst them? No, let us\nadhere to our principle, and adhering to it, I wish to know whether\nthe prince in question was not quite right in saying that there\nneither was nor could be such a thing as ice; for the assertion that\nthere was, was contrary to all his experience and to that of every soul\nabout him.\"\n\n\"I must say, that, if we look only to the principle of this uniform\nexperience, he was right.\"\n\n\"But he rejected the truth.\"\n\n\"He certainly did.\"\n\n\"And he was right in rejecting the truth?\"\n\n\"Certainly, upon your principle.\"\n\n\"Upon my principle! Do not say upon my principle, unless you mean to\ndeny that you too embrace it; if you give up that principle, you lay\nyourself open at once to the retort that your position is insecure;\nthat you have taken your experience as a sufficient criterion of the\npossibilities of events, when it is in fact merely a measure of such\nas have fallen under your own observation.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" said Fellowes, \"I should say that the prince in question\nwas justified at first in rejecting the fact, but that when he found\nother men, whose veracity he could not suspect, coming from the same\nregions of the world, and affirming the same phenomenon, it was his\nbusiness to correct his experience, and to admit that the fact\nwas so.\"\n\n\"I am surprised to hear you say so; you are again ruining our principle.\nDo you admit that the assertion that there was a place on earth at\nwhich water in large quantities became solid, was apparently as great\na violation of all the experience of this man, as what is ordinarily\ncalled a miracle is of ours?\"\n\n\"I cannot deny that it was so.\"\n\n\"But yet you think, that, though justified in disbelieving it at first,\nhe would not be so when others, whose veracity and motives he had no\nreason to suspect, told him the same tale?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Why, then, is not this plainly to make a belief of such events depend\nupon testimony, and do we not give up altogether our sufficient\nprinciple  of rejection of all such testimony? You are yielding,\nwithout doubt, the principle of our opponents, who affirm that there\nis no event so improbable that a certain combination of testimony\nwould not be sufficient to warrant your reception of it; because, as\nthey say, that testimony might be given under such circumstances,--so\nvariously certified, and so above suspicion,--that it would be more\nimprobable that the statement to which it applied (however strange)\nshould be false, than that the testimony should not be true; in other\nwords, that the falsehood of the testimony would be the greater miracle\nof the two. And they say this, because (as they assert) the uniform\nexperience on which we found our objection to any miraculous narrative\nis no less applicable to the world of mind than to the world of matter;\nthat there is not indeed an absolute uniformity of experience in the\nformer, as neither is there in the latter; but neither in one nor in\nthe other is there any absolute bouleversement of the principles and\nconstitution of nature; which, they say, would be implied, if under\nall conceivable circumstances testimony might prove false. And yet\nnow you seem to admit the very thing for which they contend; and in\ncontending for it, you give up your case. Doing so, you certainly get\nrid of the paradoxical conclusions which my wretched scepticism\nsometimes suggests to me, as throwing a doubt on the integrity of our\nprinciple. I say your admission gets rid of it; but then it is with\nthe ruin of the principle itself.\"\n\n\"What was that paradox?\"\n\n\"It is this; that, if we adhere to our principle, we must deny that any\namount of testimony is sufficient to warrant the belief of a miracle.\"\n\n\"That is what we do maintain.\"\n\n\"I thought so; but you seem to me to have hastily given it up. Let us\nthen again maintain that our prince, in denying what was a miracle\nto him, was not only consistent in saying that it could not be, when\nfirst asserted to him, but also when last asserted; and died an orthodox\ninfidel in the possibility of ice, or an orthodox believer in the\neternal fluidity of water, whichever you prefer to consider it.\"\n\n\"Well, and what then?\"\n\n\"Why, then, let us act upon our principle with equal consistency in\nother cases; for you say that there is no amount or complexity of\nevidence which would induce you to believe in a miracle.\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"Let us suppose it was asserted that a man known to have been dead\nand buried had risen again, and, after having been seen by many, had\nat last, in presence of a multitude, on a clear day, ascended to\nheaven through the calm sky, without artificial wings or balloon, or\nany such thing; that he was seen to pass out of sight of the gazing\ncrowd, who watched and watched in vain for his return; and that he had\nnever more been seen. Let us suppose that the witnesses who saw this\nconstantly affirmed it; that amongst them were many known to you,\nwhose veracity you had no reason to suspect, and who had no imaginable\nmotive to deceive you; let us suppose further, that they persisted in\naffirming this, in spite of all contumely and contempt, insult and\nwrong, amidst threats of persecution, and persecution itself; lastly,\nlet there be amongst them many, who before this event had been as\nstrenuous assertors of the impossibility of a miracle as yourself.\nI want to know whether you would believe this story, thus authenticated,\nor not?\"\n\n\"But it is, I think, unfair to put any such case; for there never was\nsuch an event so authenticated.\"\n\n\"It is quite sufficient to test our principle, that you can imagine\nsuch testimony. If that principle is sound, it is plain that it will\napply to all imaginable degrees of testimony, as well as to all actual.\nNo testimony, you say, can establish a miracle. This is true or not.\nIf you admit that there are any degrees in this matter, you come at\nlast to the old argument, which you abjure; namely, that whether a\nmiraculous event has taken place or not depends on the degree of\nevidence with which it is substantiated, and that must be the result\nof a certain investigation of it in the particular alleged case.\nYou remember the story of the ring of Gyges, which made the wearer\ninvisible. Plato tells us how a man ought to act, and how a good man\nwould act, if he had such a ring. Cicero tells us how absurd it would\nbe to reply to his reasoning (as one did), by saying that there never\nwas such a ring. It was not necessary to the force of the illustration\nthat there should be such a ring. So neither is it necessary to my\nargument there should be such testimony as I have supposed, to enable\nus to see whether we are prepared to admit the truth of your principle\nthat no evidence can establish a miracle. Once more, then, I ask you\nwhether, on supposition of such testimony, you would reject the\nsupposed fact or not?\"\n\n\"Well, then, I should say, that, since no testimony can establish a\nmiracle, I should reject it.\"\n\n\"Bravo, Fellowes! I do of all things like to see an unflinching\nregard to a principle, when once laid down.\"\n\n\"But would not you also reject it, upon the same principle?\"\n\n\"Of course I should, if the principle be true; but ah! my friend,\npardon me for acknowledging my infirmities; my miserable scepticism\ntosses me to and fro. I have not your strength of will; and I fear\nthat the rejection in such a case would cost me many qualms and\ndoubts. Such is the infirmity of our nature, and so much may be\nsaid on all sides! And I fear that I should be more likely to have\nthese uneasy thoughts, inasmuch as I fancy I see a difficult\ndilemma (I but now referred to it), which would be proposed to us by\nsome keen-sighted opponent,--I say not with justice,--who would\nendeavor to show that we had abandoned our principle in the very\nattempt to maintain it; that the bow from which we were about to\nlaunch so fatal an arrow at the enemy had broken in our hands, and\nleft us defenceless.\"\n\n\"What dilemma do you refer to?\" said Fellowes.\n\n\"I think such an adversary might perhaps say: 'That same uniform\nexperience on which you justify the rejection of all miracles,--does\nit extend only to one part of nature, to the physical and material\nonly, or to the mental and spiritual also?' In other words, if there\nwere such things as miracles at all, might there be miracles in\nconnection with mind as well as in connection with matter? What would\nyou say?\"\n\n\"What can I say, but what Hume himself says, so truly and so\nbeautifully, in his essay on 'Necessary Connection,' and 'On Liberty\nand Necessity'; namely, that there is a uniformity in both the moral\nand physical world, and that nature does not transgress certain\nlimits in either the one or the other'? You must remember that he\nsays so?\"\n\n\"I do,\" said Harrington. \"Now, I am afraid our astute adversary would\nsay that such a complication of false testimony as we have supposed\nwould itself be a flagrant violation of the established series of\nsequences, on which, as applied to the physical world, we justify\nthe rejection of all miracles; that we have got rid of a miracle by\nadmitting a miracle; and that our uniform experience has broken down\nwith us.\"\n\n\"But again I say, there never was such a case of testimony,\"\nurged Fellowes.\n\n\"I wish this could help us; but it plainly will not; because we have\nconcluded that, if there were such testimony, we must believe it false,\nand therefore should admit that the miracle of its falsehood was, in\nthat case, necessary to be believed; not to say that there has been,\nin the opinion of millions, testimony often given to miracles, which,\nif false, does imply that the laws of human nature must have been\nturned topsy-turvy,--and I, for my part, know not how to disprove it.\nIf, in such cases, the testimony, the falsity of which would be a\nmiracle, is not to be rejected, then we must admit that the miracle\nwhich it supports is true. I must leave it there.\" said Harrington,\nwith an air of comic resignation; \"I cannot answer for any thing\nexcept that you may reject both miracles alternatively, if that\nwill be any comfort to you, without being able to disbelieve\nsimultaneously. If you believe the testimony false, you must believe\nthe alleged miracle false; but you will have then the moral miracle\nto believe. If you believe the testimony true, you will then believe\nthe physical miracle true. Perhaps the best way will be to believe both\nalternately in rapid succession; and you will then hardly perceive the\ndifficulty at all!\"\n\nThere was here a brief pause. Harrington suddenly resumed. \"These\nare very perplexing considerations. One thing, I confess, has often\npuzzled me much; and that is,--what should we do, in what state of\nmind should we be, if we did see a miracle?\"\n\n\"Of what use is the discussion of such a particular case, when you know\nit is impossible that we should ever see it realized?\" replied Fellowes.\n\n\"Of course it is; just as it is impossible that we should ever see\nlevers perfectly inflexible, or cords perfectly flexible. Nevertheless,\nit is perfectly possible to entertain such a hypothetical case, and\nto reason with great conclusiveness on the consequences of such a\nsupposition; and in the same way we can imagine that we have seen a\nmiracle; and what then?\"\n\n\"Why, if we were to see one, of course seeing is believing. We must\ngive up our principle,\" said Fellowes, laughing.\n\n\"Do you think so? I think we should be very foolish then. How can we\nbe sure that we have seen it? Can it appeal to any thing stronger\nthan senses, and have not our senses often beguiled us?\" Must we not\nrather abide by that general induction from the evidence to which our\nordinary experience points us? In other words, ought we not to adhere\nto the great principle we have already laid down, that a miracle\nis impossible?\"\n\n\"But, according to this, if we err in that principle, and God were to\nwork a miracle for the very purpose of convincing us, it would be\nimpossible for him to attain his purpose.\"\n\n\"I think it would, my friend, I confess; just for the reason that,\nsince we believe a miracle to be impossible, we must believe it\nimpossible for even God to work one; and therefore, if we are\nmistaken, and it is possible for him to work one, it is still\nimpossible that he should convince us of it.\"\n\n\"I really know not how to go that length.\"\n\n\"Why not? You acknowledge that your senses have deceived you; you know\nthat they have deceived others; and it is on that very ground that\nyou dispose of very many cases of supposed miracles which you are\nnot willing, or are not able, to resolve otherwise. If I believe, then,\nthat a miracle is impossible, I must admit that, if I err in that, it\nis still impossible for God himself to convince me of it.\"\n\nFellowes looked grave, but said nothing.\n\n\"And do you know,\" said Harrington, \"I have sometimes thought that\nHume, so far from representing his argument from 'Transubstantiation'\nfairly, (there is an obvious fallacy on the very face of it, to which\nI do not now allude,) is himself precisely in the condition in\nwhich he represents the believer in miracles?\"\n\nFellowes smiled incredulously. \"First, however,\" said he, \"what\nis the more notorious fallacy to which you allude?\"\n\n\"It is so barefaced an assumption, that I am surprised that his acuteness\ndid not see it; or that, if he saw it, he could have descended to make\na point by appearing not to see it. It has been often pointed out,\nand you will recollect it the moment I name it. You know he commences\nwith the well-known argument of Tillotson against Transubstantiation\nand flatters himself that he sees a similar argument in relation to\nmiracles. Now it certainly requires but a moderate degree of sagacity\nto see that the very point in which Tillotson's argument tells, is\nthat very one in which Hume's is totally unlike it. Tillotson says,\nthat when it is pretended that the bread and wine which are submitted\nto his own senses have been 'transubstantiated into flesh and blood,'\nthe alleged phenomena contradict his senses; and that as the information\nof his senses as much comes from God as the doctrines of Scripture\n(and even the miracles of Scripture appeal to nothing stronger), he must\nbelieve his senses in this case in preference to the assertions of the\npriest. Hume then goes on quietly to take it for granted that the\nmiracles to which consent is asked in like manner contradict the\ntestimony of the senses of him to whom they appeal is made; whereas,\nin fact, the assertor of the miracles does not pretend that he who\ndenies them has ever seen them, or had the opportunity of seeing them.\nTo make the argument analogous, it ought to be shown that the objector,\nhaving been a spectator of the pretended miracles, when and where they\nwere affirmed to have been wrought, had then and there the testimony\nof his senses that no such events had taken place. It is mere juggling\nwith words to say that never to have seen a like event is the same\nargument of an event's never having occurred, as never to have seen\nthat event when it was alleged to have taken place under our very\neyes!\"\n\n\"I give up the reasoning on this point,\" said Fellowes, \"but how,\nI should like to know, do you retort the argument upon him?\"\n\n\"Thus; you see that we maintain that a miracle is incredible per se,\nbecause impossible; not to be believed, therefore, on any evidence.\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"If, then, we saw what seemed a miracle, we should distrust our senses;\nwe should say that it was most likely that they deceived us. Hear what\nVoltaire says in one of his letters to D'Alembert: 'Je persiste a\npenser que cent mille hommes qui ont vu ressusciter un mort, pourraient\nbien etre cent mille hommes qui auraient la berlue.' And what he says\nof their bad eyes, there is no doubt he would say of his own, if he had\nbeen one of the hundred thousand.\"\n\n\"I think so, certainly.\"\n\n\"And Strauss, and Hume, and Voltaire, and you and I, and all who hold\na miracle impossible, would distrust our senses, and fall back upon\nthat testimony from the general experience of others, which alone could\ncorrect our own halting and ambiguous experience.\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"It appears, then, my good fellow, that the position of those who\ndeny and those who assert miracles is exactly the reverse of Hume's\nstatement. The man who believes 'Transubstantiation' distrusts his\nsenses, and rather believes testimony: and even so would he who has\nfully made up his mind, on our sublime principle as to the\nimpossibility of miracles, when any thing which has that appearance\ncrosses his path; he is prepared to deny his senses and to trust\nto testimony,--to that general experience of others which comes to\nhim, and can come to him, only in that shape. It is we, therefore,\nand not our adversaries, who are liable to be reached by this\nunlucky illustration.\"\n\nFellowes himself seemed much amused by finding the tables thus\nturned. For my part, I had difficulty in repressing a chuckle over\nthis display of sceptical candor and subtilty.\n\n\"There is perhaps another paradox which may be as well mentioned,\"\nresumed Harrington. \"It is a little trying to my scepticism, but\nperhaps will not be to your faith. I mean this. We are constrained\nto believe from our 'uniform-experience' criterion that no miracle\nhas ever occurred, or ever will; in short, it is, as we say,\nimpossible. Now the principle which undoubtedly leads us to the\nconclusion we may regard as a principle of our nature, if ever there\nwas one; that is, we are so constituted as to infer the perpetual\nuniformity of certain sequences of phenomena from our observation\nof that uniformity.\"\n\n\"Assuredly.\"\n\n\"And as all mankind obviously act upon that same principle in most\ncases, and we believe that it is part of the very uniformity in\nquestion that human nature is radically the same in all ages and in\nall countries, I think we ought to conclude that it is not you and\nI only, but at all events the vast majority of mankind, who have\nmaintained the impossibility of miracles.\"\n\n\"We ought to be able to conclude so,\" said Fellowes, \"but it is very\nfar from being the case. So far from it, that nothing can be plainer\nthan that miraculous legends have been most greedily taken up by the\nvast majority of mankind, and have made a very common part of almost\nevery form of religion.\"\n\n\"Men do not then, it appears, in this instance, at all regard the\nuniform tenor of their experience; so that it is a part of our uniform\nexperience, that mankind disregard and disbelieve the lessons of their\nuniform experience. This is almost a miracle of itself; at all events,\na curious paradox; but one which we must not stay to examine: though\nI confess it leads to one other humiliating conclusion,--a little\ncorollary, which I think it is not unimportant to mark; and that is,\nthat we can never expect these enlightened views of ours to spread\namongst the mass of mankind.\"\n\n\"Nay, I cannot agree with you. I hope far other wise, and far better\nfor the human race.\"\n\n\"But will the result not contradict your uniform experience, if your\nhopes be realized? Is not your experience sufficiently long and\nsufficiently varied to show that the belief of miracles and all sorts\nof prodigies is the normal condition of mankind, and that it is only\na comparatively few who can discern that uniform experience justifies\nman in believing that no miracle is possible? While it teaches us that\na miracle is impossible does it not also teach us that, though none\nis possible, it is nevertheless impossible that they should not\nbe generally believed? Is not this taught us as plainly by our\nuniform experience as any thing else? See how fairly Hume admits this\nat the commencement of his Essay on Miracles. He says, 'I flatter\nmyself that I have discovered an argument which, if just, will, with\nthe wise and learned, be an everlasting check to all kinds of\nsuperstitious delusion, and consequently will be useful as long as the\nworld endures. For so long, I presume, will the accounts of miracles\nand prodigies be found in all histories, sacred and profane.' Thus\nare we led to the conclusion, that, though miracles never can be real,\nthey will nevertheless be always believed; and that, though the truth\nis with us, it never can be established in the minds of men in general.\nAnd, my dear friend, let us be thankful that it never can; for if it\ncould, that fact would have proved the possibility of miracles by\ncontradicting one of those very deductions from uniform experience on\nthe validity of which their impossibility is demonstrated.\n\n\"These are some of the perplexities,\" continued Harrington, \"which,\nas Theaetetus says, sometimes make 'My head dizzy,' when I revolve\nthe subject. Meantime, surely a nobler spectacle can hardly present\nitself than our fairly abiding by our principle, amidst so many\nplausible difficulties as assail it. I know no one principle in\ntheology or philosophy which has been so battered as that of Hume.\nNot only Campbell, Paley, and so many more, confidently affirm errors\nin it,--such as his assuming individual or general experience to\nbe universal; his quietly attributing to individual experience a belief\nof facts which are believed by the vast mass of mankind on testimony,\nand nothing else; his representing the experience of a man who says\nhe has seen a certain event as 'contrary' to the experience of him\nwho says he has not seen a similar one; his implying that no amount\nof testimony can establish a miracle, which might compel us to believe\nmoral miracles to get rid of physical miracles; I say not only so, but\nthe most recent investigators of the theory of evidence cruelly abandon\nhim. The argument of Hume and Paley, says De Morgan, in his treatise\non Probabilities, (Encyclopaedia Metropolitana: Theory of\nProbabilities, 182.) is a 'fallacy answered by fallacies,'--meaning\nby this last that Paley had conceded to his opponent more than he ought\nto have done. With similar vexatious opposition, Mr. J. S. Mill says,\nthat, to make any alleged fact contradictory to a law of causation,\n'the allegation must be that this happened in the absence of any\nadequate counteracting cause. Now, in the case of an alleged miracle,\nthe assertion is the exact opposite of this.' He says, 'that all which\nHume has made out is, that no evidence can prove a miracle to any one\nwho did not previously believe the existence of a being or beings\nwith supernatural power; or who believed himself to have full proof\nthat the character'(System of Logic, Vol. II. pp. 186, 187.) of such\nbeing or beings is inconsistent with such an interference; that is,\nthe argument could have no force unless either a man believed there\nwere no God at all, or the objector happened to be something like a\nGod himself! And now, lastly, I have shown that the predicament of\nHume, and Voltaire, and Strauss, and you and myself (if consistent),\nis just the reverse of that in which the argument from Transubstantiation\nrepresents it. But never mind; so much more glory is due to us for\nabiding by our principle. I begin almost to think that I am arriving\nat that transcendental 'faith' which you admire so much, and which is\ntotally independent of logic and argument, and all 'intellectual\nprocesses whatever.'\"\n\n____\n\n\nJuly 23. I this day read to Mr. Fellowes the paper I had promised\na week or two before, and which I had entitled,\n\nAN EXTERNAL REVELATION, EVEN OF ELEMENTARY \"SPIRITUAL AND MORAL TRUTHS\"\nVERY POSSIBLE, AND VERY USEFUL; AND IN ANALOGY WITH THE CONDITIONS OF\nHUMAN DEVELOPMENT, WHETHER IN THE INDIVIDUAL OR THE SPECIES.\n\nIt is Necessary to observe in the outset, that, even if I were to\ngrant your proposition, \"that a revelation of moral and spiritual truth\nis impossible,\"--understanding by such \"truth\" what you seem to mean,\nthe truth which \"Natural Religion,\" as it is called, has recognized in\nsome shape or other (for it has varied not a little),--it would leave\nthe chief reasons for imparting an external revelation just where they\nwere. I, at least, should never contend that the sole or even chief\nobject of an external revelation is to impart elementary moral or\nspiritual truth, however possible I may deem it. On the contrary, I am\nfully persuaded that the great purpose for which such a revelation has\nbeen given is to communicate facts and truths many of which were quite\ntranscendental to the human faculties; which man would never have\ndiscovered, and most of which he would never have surmised. All this\nyour favorite Mr. Newman perceived in his earlier days clearly enough,\nand has recorded his sentiments held at that period in his \"Phases.\"(p.42)\nIf I were to grant you, therefore, your proposition, it would leave the\nquestion of an external revelation untouched; your hasty inference from\nit, that every book-revelation is to be rejected, is perfectly gratuitous.\n\nBut I am thoroughly persuaded that the notion of the impossibility of all\nexternal revelation of moral and spiritual truth, even of the elementary\nform already referred to, is a fallacy.\n\nWhether the religious faculty in men be a simple faculty, or (as Sir\nJames Mackintosh seemed to think might possibly be the case with\nconscience) a complex one, constituted by means of several different\npowers and principles of our nature, is a question not essential to the\nargument; for I frankly admit at once, with Mr. Newman and Mr. Parker,\nthat there is such a susceptibility (simple or complex), and not a mere\nabortive tendency, as Harrington seems to suppose possible. Otherwise\nI cannot, I confess, account for the fact (so largely insisted upon by\n Mr. Parker) of the very general, the all but universal, adoption by man\nof some religion, and the power, the prodigious power, which, even when\nfalse, hideously false, it exerts over him. But then I must as\nfrankly confess, that I can as little account for all the (not only\nterrible but) uniform aberrations of this susceptibility, on which\nHarrington has insisted, and which, I do think, prove (if ever truth\nwas proved by induction) one of two things; either that, as he says,\nthis susceptibility in man was originally defective and rudimentary, or\nthat man is no longer in his normal state; in other words, that he\nis, as the Scriptures declare, depraved. I acknowledge I accept\nthis last solution; and firmly believe with Pascal, that without it\nmoral and religious philosophy must toil over the problem of\nhumanity in vain.\n\nIf this be so, we have, of course, no difficulty in believing that\nthere may be, in spite of the existence of the religious faculty in\nman, ample scope for an external revelation, to correct its aberrations\nand remedy its maladies.\n\nBut you will say that this fact is not to be taken for granted. I admit\nit; and therefore lay no further stress upon it. I go one step further;\nand shall endeavor, at least, to prove, that, supposing man is just\nas he was created, yet also supposing, what neither Mr. Parker nor\nMr. Newman will deny, (and if they did, the whole history of the world\nwould confute them,) that man's religious faculty is not uniform or\ndeterminate in its action, but is dependent on external development\nand culture for assuming the form it does, ample scope is still left\nfor an external revelation. I contend that the entire condition of this\nsusceptibility (as shown by experience) proves that, if in truth an\nexternal revelation be impossible, it is not because it has superseded\nthe necessity for one; and that the declaration of the elder deists\nand modern \"spiritualists\" on this in the face of what all history\nproves man to be, is the most preposterous in the world.\n\nFurther; I contend that all the analogies from the fundamental laws\nof the development of man's nature,--from a consideration of the\nrelations in which that nature stands to the external world,--from\nthe absolute dependence of the individual on external culture, and\nthat of the whole species on its historic development,--are all in\nfavor of the notion both of the possibility and utility of an external\nrevelation, and even in favor of that particular form of it which\nMr. Newman and you so contemptuously call a \"book\" revelation.\n\nI. I argue from all the analogies of the fundamental laws of the\ndevelopment of the human mind. Nor do I fear to apply the reasoning\neven to the cases in which it has been so confidently asserted that\nthere can be no revelation, on the fallacious ground that a\nrevelation \"of spiritual and moral truth\" presupposes in man certain\nprinciples to which it appeals. To possess certain faculties for the\nappreciation of spiritual and moral truth is one thing; to acquire\nthe conscious possession of that truth is another; the former fact\nwould not make an external revelation superfluous, or an empty\nname. Every thing in the process of the mind's development goes to\nshow, that, whatever its capacities, tendencies, faculties,\n\"potentialities,\" (call them what you will,) a certain external\ninfluence is necessary to awaken its dormant life; to turn a\n\"potentiality\" into an \"energy \"; to transform a dim inkling of a\ntruth into an intelligent, vital, conscious recognition of it.\nNor is this law confined to mind alone; all nature attests its\npresence. All effects are the result of properties or susceptibilities\nin one thing, solicited by external contact with those of others.\nThe fire no doubt may smoulder in the dull and languid embers; it\nis when the external breeze sweeps over them, that they begin to\nsparkle and glow, and vindicate the vital element they contain. The\ndiamond in the mine has the same internal properties in the darkness\nas in the light; it is not till the sun shines upon it, that it\nflashes on the eye its splendor. Look at a flower of any particular\nspecies; we see that, as it is developed in connection with a variety\nof external influences,--as it comes successively under the action\nof the sun, rain, dew, soil,--it expands in a particular manner, and\nin that only. It exhibits a certain configuration of parts, a certain\nform of leaf, a certain color, fragrance, and no other. We do not doubt,\non the one hand, that without the \"skyey influences\" these things would\nnever have been; nor, on the other; that the flower assumes this form\nof development, and this alone, in virtue of its internal structure and\norganization. But both sets of conditions must conspire in the result.\n\nIt is much the same with the mind. That it possesses certain tendencies\nand faculties, which, as it develops itself, will terminate in certain\nideas and sentiments, is admitted; but apart from certain external\nconditions of development, those sentiments and ideas will, in effect,\nnever be formed,--the mind will be in perpetual slumber. Thus, in point\nof fact, this controversy is connected ultimately with that ancient\ndispute as to the origin, sources, and genesis of human knowledge and\nsentiments. I shall simply take for granted that you are (as most\nphilosophers are) an advocate of innate capacities, but not of \"innate\nideas\"; of \"innate susceptibilities,\" but not of \"innate sentiments\";\nthat is, I presume you do not contend that the mind possesses more than\nthe faculties--the laws of thought and feeling--which, under conditions\nof development, actually give birth to thoughts and feelings. These\nfaculties and susceptibilities are, no doubt, congenital with the mind,\n--or, rather, are the mind itself. But its actually manifested phenomena\nwait the of the external; and they will be modified accordingly. It is\nabsolutely dependent on experience in this sense, that it is only as\nit is operated upon by the outward world that the dormant faculties,\nwhatever they are, and whatever their nature, be they few or many,--\nintellectual, moral, or spiritual,--are first awakened. If a mind were\ncreated (it is, at least, a conceivable case) with all the avenues to\nthe external world closed,--in fact, we sometimes see approximations\nto such a condition in certain unhappy individuals,--we do not doubt\nsuch a mind, by the present laws of the human constitution, could not\npossess any thoughts, feelings, emotions; in fact, could exhibit none\nof the phenomena, spiritual, intellectual, moral, or sensational,\nwhich diversify it. In proportion as we see human beings approach this\ncondition,--in fact, we sometimes see them approach it very nearly,--we\nsee the \"potentialities\" of the soul (I do not like the word, but it\nexpresses my meaning better than any other I know) held in abeyance,\nand such an imperfectly awakened man does not, in some cases, manifest\nthe degree of sensibility or intelligence manifested in many animals.\nIf the seclusion from sense and experience be quite complete, the life\nof such a soul would be wrapped up in the germ, and possess no more\nconsciousness than a vegetable.\n\nIt appears, then, that universally, however true it may be, and\ndoubtless is, that the laws of thought and feeling enable us to derive\nfrom external influence what it alone would never give, yet that\ninfluences an indispensable condition, as we are at present constituted,\nof the development of any and of all our faculties.\n\nAs this seems the law of development universally, it is so of the\nspiritual and religious part of our nature as well as the rest; and\nin this very fact we have abundant scope for the possibility and\nutility of a revelation,--if God be pleased to give one,--even of\nelementary moral and spiritual truth; since, though conceding the\nperfect congruity between that truth and the structure of the soul,\nit is only as it is in some way actually presented to it from without,\nthat it arrives at the conscious possession of it. And what, after\nall, but such an external source of revelation is that Volume of\nNature, which, operating in perfect analogy with the aforesaid\nconditions of the soul's development, awakens, though imperfectly,\nthe dormant elements of religious and spiritual life? So far from\nits being true in any intelligible sense that an external revelation\nof moral and spiritual truth is impossible, it is absolutely\nnecessary, in some form, as a condition of its evolution; so far from\nits being true that such revelation is an absurdity, it is in strict\nanalogy with the fundamental laws of our being. Whether, if this be so,\nthe express external presentation of such truth in a book constructed\nby divine wisdom and expressed in human language,--this last being\nthe most universal and most appropriate instrument by which man's\ndormant powers are actually awakened,--may not be a more effective\nmethod of attaining the end than any of man's devising, whether\ninstinctive or artificial; or than the casual influences of external\nnature, well or ill deciphered;--all this is another question. But\nsome such external apparatus--applied to the faculties of men--is\nessential, whether it be in the Volume of Nature, or in the \"Bible\"\nor in a book of Mr. Newman or Mr. Parker. All that makes the difference\nbetween you and a Hottentot (to recur to that illustration which\nHarrington, I really think, fairly employed) depends on external\ninfluences, and the consequent development of the spiritual and\nreligious faculties.\n\nAnd this very fact--the unspeakable differences between man and man,\nnation and nation, as regards recognition the conscious possession\nof even elementary \"moral and spiritual truth\" (varying, as it\nperpetually does, as those external influences vary, and more or\nless perfect, according as that external \"revelation,\" which, in\nsome degree, and of some species, is indispensable, more or less\nperfect)--affords another indication of the ample utility of an\nexternal divine revelation, as well as of its possibility; and a\nproof that, if there be one, it is in harmony, again, with the\nconditions of human nature. And here I may employ, in further\nillustration, one of the analogies I adverted to a little time\nago. Not only is the flower never independent of external influences\nfor its actual development,--not only would it remain in the germ\nwithout them,--but we see that within certain limits, often very wide,\nthe kind of external influence operates powerfully on the species,\nand on the individual itself;--according as it is in one climate\nor another,--in this soil or that,--submitted to culture or suffered\nto grow wild. It is needless to apply the analogy. While we see\nthat the moral spiritual faculties of man no more than his other\nfaculties can attain their development except in cooperation with\nsome external influences, we also see that they exhibit every degree\nand variety of development according to the quality of those external\ninfluences. Is there then not even a possibility left for an external\nrevelation? If the actual exhibition of any spiritual and religious\nphenomena in man not only depends on some external influences and\nculture, but perpetually varies with them, what would such a\nrevelation be but a provision in analogy with these facts? But it is\nsufficient to rebut this gratuitous dictum, of an external revelation\nof \"spiritual and moral truth being impossible,\" that some external\ninfluence is necessary for any development of the religious faculty\nat all. If the last be necessary, I cannot conceive how the other\nshould be impossible.\n\nNor is it any reply to say,--as I think has been abundantly shown in\nyour debates with Harrington,--that any such external influences only\nmake articulate that which already existed inarticulately in the heart;\nthat they only chafe and stimulate into life \"the ivory of Pygmalion's\nstatue,\" to use his expression,--the dormant principles and sentiments\nwhich somehow existed, but were in deep slumber. That which makes them\nvital, active, the objects of consciousness and the sources of power,\nmay well be called a \"revelation.\" Nay, since it seems that, in some\nway, this outward voice must be heard first, I think it is more properly\nso called than the internal response of the heart. That is rather the echo.\n\nIt may be admitted that the elementary truths of religion, once\npropounded, are promptly admitted, but still in some external shape\nthey require to be propounded. There is such a thing in the human\nmind as unrealized truth, both intellectual and spiritual; the\ninarticulate muttering of an obscurely felt sentiment; a vague\nappetency for something we are not distinctly conscious of. The clear\nutterance of it, its distinct proposition to us, is the very thing\nthat is often wanted to convert this dim feeling into distinct vision.\nThis is the electric spark which transforms two invisible gases into\na visible and transparent fluid; this is the influence which evolves\nthe latent caloric, and makes it a powerful and active element.\n\nI cannot help thinking that the great source of fallacy on this\nsubject arises from confounding the idea of certain characteristic\ntendencies and potentialities of our nature with the supposition,--\ncontradicted by the whole religious history of man in all ages,--that\nthey must be everywhere efficaciously active, and spontaneously exhibit\na moral manifestation; than which there cannot, I conceive, be a\ngreater error.\n\nI must entreat you to recollect Harrington's dilemma. Either the\nsupposed truths of your spiritual theory, or that of Mr. Newman or\nMr. Parker, are known to all mankind, or not; if they are, surely\ntheir books, and every such book is the most important in the world;\nif not, these authors did well to write, supposing them to have truth\non their side; but then that vindicates the possibility and utility\nof a \"book-revelation.\"\n\nII. But I go a step further, and not only contend that, from the\nvery law of the soul's development, there is ample scope for a\nrevelation, even of elementary \"moral and spiritual truth,\" but that\neven if we supposed all men in actual possession of that truth, in\nsome shape or other, there would still be abundant scope for a\ndivinely constructed external instrument for giving it efficacy; and\nthat this, again, is in perfect analogy with the fundamental condition\nof the soul's action. The principles of spiritual and religious life\nare capable in an infinite variety of ways, of being modified,\nintensified, vivified, by the external influences brought to bear\nupon them from time to time. Not only must that external influence be\nexerted for the first awakening of the soul, but it must be continued\nall our life long, in order to maintain the principles thus elicited\nin a state of activity. Sometimes they seem for a while to have\nbeen half obliterated,--to fade away from the consciousness; they\nare reillumined, made to blaze out again in brilliant light on the\n\"walls of the chambers of imagery,\" by some outward stimulus; by a\n\"word spoken in season\"; by the recollection of some weighty apothegm\nwhich embodies truth,--some ennobling image which illustrates it;\nby the utterance of certain \"charmed words,\" hallowed by association\nas they fall on the external sense, or are recalled by memory. How\nfamiliar to us all is this dependence on the external! How dull, how\nsluggish, has often been the soul! A single word, the sight of an\nobject surrounded with vivid associations, the sudden suggestion of\na half-forgotten strain of poetry or song,--what power have these to\nstir its stagnant depths, and awaken \"spiritual\" and every other\nspecies of emotion, as well as intellectual activity! The lightning\ndoes not more suddenly cleave the cloud in which it slumbered, the\nsleeping ocean is not more suddenly ruffled by the descending tempest,\nthan the soul of man is thus capable of being vivified and animated\nby the presentation of appropriate objects,--nay, often by even the\nmost casual external impulse. If this be so, is it not possible that\nan external instrument for thus stimulating and vivifying spiritual\nlife might be given us by God; which, if not, in literal strictness,\na \"revelation,\" would virtually have all the effect of one, as\nrekindling the dying light, reillumining the fading characters, of\nspiritual truth?\n\nNor, surely, is there much presumption in supposing that the appropriate\ninfluences of such an instrumentality may be brought to bear upon us\nwith infinite advantage by Him who alone possesses perfect access to\nall the avenues of our spirits; a perfect mastery of our whole nature;\nof intellect, imagination, and conscience of those laws of association\nand emotion which He himself has framed. If Shakspeare and Milton can\ndaily exercise over myriads of minds an ascendency which makes their\nadmirers speak of them almost with the \"Bibliolatry\" with which Mr.\nNewman makes Christian speak of the Bible, I apprehend God could\nconstruct a \"book,\" even though it told man nothing which was strictly\na revelation, which might be of infinite value to him; simply from\nthe fact that the modes in which truths operate upon us, and by which\nour faculties are educated to their perfection, are scarcely less\nimportant than either the truths or the faculties themselves.\n\nBut I need say the less upon this point, inasmuch as Mr. Newman has\nspoken of the New Testament, and its influence over his mental history,\nin terms which conclusively show that, if it be not a \"revelation,\"\nample space is left for such a divinely constructed book, if God were\npleased to give one.\n\n\"There is no book in all the world,\" says he, \"which I love and esteem\nso much as the New Testament, with the devotional parts of the Old.\nThere is none which I know so intimately, the very words of which\ndwell close to me in my most sacred thoughts, none for which I so\nthank God, none on which my soul and heart have been to so great an\nextent moulded. In my early boyhood, it was my private delight and\ndaily companion; and to it I owe the best part of whatever wisdom\nthere is in my manhood.\" (Soul, pp. 241, 242.)\n\nI only doubt whether even this testimony, strong as it is, fully\nrepresents the power which the Book has had in modifying his interior\nlife, though he would now fain renounce its proper authority; whether\nit has not had more to do than he thinks in originating his\nconception of such \"moral and spiritual\" truth as he still recognizes.\nIts very language comes so spontaneously to his lips, that his dialect\nof \"spiritualism\" is one continued plagiarism from David and Isaiah,\nPaul and Christ. Nay, I may well be doubted whether the entire substance\nof his spiritual theory be any thing else than a distorted and mutilated\nChristianity.\n\nSome of the previous observations apply to the possibility and utility\nof a divinely originated statement of \"ethical truth\"; nor will they\nbe neutralized by an objection which Mr. Newman is fond of urging,\n--namely, that a book cannot express (as it is freely acknowledged\nno book can) the limitations with which maxims of critical truth are\nto be received and applied; that all it can do is to give general\nprinciples, and leave them to be applied by the individual reason and\nconscience. Such reasoning is refuted by fact. The same thing precisely\nis done, and necessarily done, in every department in which men attempt\nto convey instruction in any particular art or method. It is thus with\nthe general principles of mechanics, of law, of medicine. Yet men never\nentertain a notion that the collection and inculcation of such maxims are\nof no use, or of little, merely because they must be intelligently\nmodified and not blindly applied in action. If indeed there were any\nforce in the objection, it would put an end to all instruction,--that\nof Mr. Newman's \"spiritual faculty\" amongst the rest, for that too can\nonly prompt us by general impulses, and leaves us in the same ignorance\nand perplexity how far we are to obey them. That is still to be\notherwise determined. The genuine result of such reasoning, if it were\nacted upon, would be that we need never, in any science or art whatever,\ntrouble ourselves to enunciate any general principle or maxim, because\nperfectly useless! Similarly, we need never inculcate on children the\nduty of obeying their honoring their superiors, of being frugal or\ndiligent, humble or aspiring, the particular circumstances and\nlimitations in which they are to be applied being indeterminate! But\nis not the experience of every day and of all the world against it? Is\nnot the early and sedulous inculcation of just maxims of duty fell\nto be a great auxiliary to its performance in the circumstances in\nwhich it is necessary to apply them? Is not the possession of a general\nrule, with the advantages of a clear and concise expression,--in the\nform of familiar proverbs, or embodied in powerful imagery,--a potent\nsuggestive to the mind; not only whispering of duty, but, by perpetual\nrecurrence, aiding the habit of attending to it? Is not the early and\nearnest iteration of such sententious wisdom in the ears of the young,\n--the honor which has been paid to sages who have elicited it, or\nfelicitously expressed it,--the care with which these treasures of\nmoral wisdom have been garnered up,--the perpetual efforts to conjoin\nelementary moral truth with the fancy and association,--is not all\nthis a standing testimony to a consciousness of the value of such\nauxiliaries of virtue and duty? Is it not felt, that, however general\nsuch truths may be, the very forms of expression,--the portable shape\nin which the truth is presented,--have an immense value in relation\nto practice? Admitting, therefore, as before,--but, as before, only\nconceding it for argument's sake (for the limits of variation, even\nas regards the elementary truths of morals, are, as experience shows,\nvery wide),--that each man in some shape could anticipate for himself\nthe more important ethical truth, there would be yet ample scope left\nfor the utility of a divinely constructed instrument for its exhibition\nand enforcement, in perfect harmony with the modes in which it is\nactually exhibited and enforced by man, in close analogy with the\nform in which he attempts the same task, whenever he teaches any\npractical art or method whatever.\n\nOnly may it not be again presumed here, that He who knows perfectly\n\"what is in man\" would be able to perform the work with\ncorrespondent perfection? Whether He has performed it in the Bible\nor not, that book does, at all events, contain not merely a larger\nportion of pure ethical truth than any other in the world, but ethical\ntruth expressed and exhibited (as Mr. Newman himself, and most other\npersons, would admit) in modes incomparably better adapted than in\nany other book to lay hold of the memory, the imagination, the\nconscience, and the heart.\n\nEven then, if we conceded that elementary \"spiritual and moral truth\"\nis not only congruous to man's faculties, but in some shape universally\nrecognized and possessed, it might yet be contended, from the manner\nin which such truth is dependent for its power and vitality on the\nforms in which it comes in contact with the human spirit and stimulates\nit, that ample space is left for such a divine instrument as the Bible;\nand that it would be in perfect conformity with the laws of our nature,\n--in analogy with the known modes in which external aids give efficacy\nto such truth. At the same time, be pleased once more to remember, that\nI concede so much only for argument's sake; I contend that in the\nstricter sense, without some external aid,--and the Bible may be at\nleast as effectual,--the religious faculty will not expand at all; and\nthat, even where there are these indispensable external influences,\nthe recognition of the truth is obscure or bright, as those influences\nvary in their degrees of appropriateness. Where they are rude and\nimperfect, (as amongst barbarous nations) we have the spectacle of a\nsoul which struggles towards the light, like a plant to which but\nsmall portion of the sun's rays is admitted; it depends on the free\nadmission of the light whether or not it shall arrive at its full\ndevelopment,--its beauty, its fragrance, and its color. The most that\nmerely human culture can promise, even under the most favorable\ncircumstances, (witness ancient Greece!) is that men, in some few\nfavored instances, may possibly attain those truths which it may be\nadmitted are congenital to the soul, and easily recognized when once\npropounded but which, in fact, few men, by nature's sole teaching,\never do clearly attain. It is infinitely important that the path,\ndimly explored by sages alone, should be thrown open to mankind. Is it\nnot even possible, then, that this task should be performed by a book\nlike the Bible? and if such a book were given, would it not be,\nI once more ask, in analogy with the fundamental laws of the soul's\ndevelopment,--its uniform dependence on external influences for any\nresult, and the variable nature of that result, as the influence\nitself is more or less appropriate? To affirm that each man at once,\nby in internal illumination alone, attains a clear recognition of\neven elementary \"moral and spiritual truth\" is to ignore the laws\naccording to which the soul's activity is developed, and to contradict\nuniversal experience, which tells us that the great majority of mankind\nare but in partial possession of this \"spiritual and moral truth,\"\nand hold it for the most part in connection with the most prodigious\nand pernicious errors.\n\nYou will perceive that I have here chosen to argue the question of\nthe possibility and utility of a \"revelation\" on your own grounds; but\nrecollect what I have said, that, in fact, the principal reasons for a\nrevelation would still remain in force, even if all you demand were\nconceded. It is a point which I do not find that Mr. Newman's dictum\naffects.\n\nThere may obviously be other facts and other truths as intimately\nconnected with man's destinies and happiness as the elementary truths\nof religious and moral science; facts and truths which may be necessary\nto give efficacy to mere elementary principles, and to supply motives\nto the performance of moral precepts. And how ample in this respect\nare man's necessities, and how large the field for a \"divine revelation,\"\nif we content ourselves with such a meagre theology as that of Mr. Parker\nand Mr. Newman, you see plainly enough in the questions asked by\nHarrington! How many of Mr. Newman's and Mr. Parker's assumptions--the\nmoment they step beyond such \"spiritual and moral truth\" as is\n\"elementary\" indeed--does Harrington declare that he finds unverified\nby his own consciousness, and needing, if true, an authority to\nconfirm them far more weighty than theirs! As to the terms of access\nto the Supreme Being,--his aspects towards man,--man's duties towards\nhim,--the future destinies, even the future existence, of the soul\n(a point on which these writers are themselves divided),--the boasted\n\"progress\" of the race, which they \"prophesy,\" indeed, but without any\ncredentials of their mission,--you see how on all these points\nHarrington maintains--and oh! how many, if the Bible be untrue, must\nmaintain with him--that he is in total darkness!\n\nIII. But I must proceed to show yet further, if you will have patience\nwith me, that, supposing a divine external revelation to be given, it\nis in striking analogy, not only with the primary laws of development\nof our whole intellectual and spiritual being, but with the fact--\nundeniable, however unaccountable--that our subjection to external\ninfluence does, in truth, not only mould and modify, but usually\ndetermine, our intellectual and religious position. We see not only\nsome external influence is necessary to awaken activity at all, but\nthat it is actually so powerful and so inevitable from the manner\nin which man enters the world, and is brought up in it,--his long\nyears of dependence, absolute dependence, on the education which is\ngiven him (and what an education it has ever been for the mass of the\nrace!),--that it makes all the difference, intellectually and morally,\nbetween a New Zealand savage and an Englishman,--between the grossest\nidolater and the most enlightened Christian. This fact affects alike\nour intellectual and spiritual condition. The savage can use his\nsenses better than the civilized; but the interval is trifling\ncompared with that between the intellectual condition of a man can\nappreciate Milton and Newman, and that of our Teutonic ancestors.\nIts the sentiments of a nature there is the same wide gulf--or rather\nwider--between a Hottentot and a Paul. Yet the same \"susceptibilities\"\nand \"potentialities\" are in each human mind. The same remark applies\nto the sense of the beautiful and sublime; the characteristic faculties\nare in all mankind; it is education which elicits them. Nay, would you\nnot stare at a man who should affirm that education was not itself\na species of \"revelation,\" simply because the truths thus communicated\nwere all \"potentially\" in the mind before? The fact is, that education\nis of coordinate importance with the very faculties without which it\ncannot be imparted.\n\nNow we cannot break away from that law of development with which\nour individual existence is involved, and which necessarily (as far\nas any will of ours is concerned) is a most important, nay, the\nmost important, element in that tertium quid which man becomes in\nvirtue of the threefold elements which constitute him:--1st, a given\ninternal constitution of mind; 2d. the modifying effects of the\nactual exercise of his faculties and their interaction with one another,\nresulting in habits; and, 3d, that external world of influences which\nsupplies the materiel from which this strange plant extracts its\naliment, and ultimately derives its fair fruits or its poisonous\nberries. All this is inevitable, upon the supposition that man was\nto be a social, not a solitary being,--linked by an indissoluble chain\nto those who came before and to those who come after him,--dependent,\nabsolutely dependent, upon others for his being, his training, his\nwhole condition, civil, social, intellectual, moral, and religious.\nIf, then, an external instrument of moral and religious culture were\nGiven by God to man, would it not be in strict analogy with this\ntremendous and mysterious law of human development?\n\nIV. I must be permitted to proceed yet one step further, and affirm\nthat the very form in which this presumed revelation has (as we say)\nbeen given--that of a Book--is also in strict analogy with the law\nby which God himself has made this an indispensable instrument of all\nhuman progress. We have just seen that man is what he is, as much\n(to say the least) by the influence of external influence as by the\ninfluence of the internal principles of his constitution; it must be\nadded, that to make that external influence of much efficiency at all,\nstill more to render it either universally or progressively beneficial,\nthe world waits for a--BOOK.  Among the varied external influences\namidst which the human race is developed, this is incomparably the\nmost important, and the only one that is absolutely essential. Upon\nit the collective education of the race depends. It is the sole\ninstrument of registering, perpetuating, transmitting thought.\n\nYes, whatever trivial and vulgar associations may impair our due\nconceptions of this grandeur of this material and artificial organon\nof man's development, as compared with the intellectual and moral\nenergies, which have recourse to it, but which are almost impotent\nwithout it. God has made man's whole career of triumphs dependent\nupon this same art of writing! The whole progress of the world he\nhas created, he has made dependent upon the Alphabet! Without this\nthe progress of the individual is inconceivably slow, and with\nhim, for the most part, progress terminates. By this alone can we\ngarner the fruits of experience,--become wise by the wisdom of\nothers, and strong by their strength. Without this man everywhere\nremains, age after age, immovably a savage; and, if he were to lose\nit when he has once gained it, would, after a little ineffectual\nflutter by the aid of tradition, sink into barbarism again. Till\nthis cardinal want is supplied, all considerable \"progress\" is\nimpossible. It may look odd to say that the whole world is dependent\non any thing so purely artificial; but, in point of fact, it is\nonly another way of stating the truth that God has constituted the\nrace a series of mutually dependent beings; and as each term of\nthis series is perishable and evanescent, the development and\nimprovement of the race must depend on an instrument by which an\ninter-connection can be maintained between its parts; till then,\nprogress must not only be most precarious, but virtually impossible.\nTo the truth of this all history testifies. I say, then, not only\nthat, if God has given man a revelation at all, he has but acted\nin analogy with that law by which he has made man so absolutely\ndependent upon external culture, but that if he has given it in\nthe very shape of a book, he has acted also in strict analogy\nwith the very form in which he has imposed that law\non the world. He has simply made use of that instrument, which,\nby the very constitution of our nature and of the world, he has\nmade absolutely essential to the progress and advancement of\nhumanity. May we not conclude from analogy, that if God has\nindeed thus constituted the world, and if he busies himself at all\nin the fortunes of miserable humanity, he has not disdained to take\npart in its education, by condescendingly using that very instrument\nwhich himself has made the condition of all human progress? I think,\neven if you hesitate to admit that God has given us a \"book-revelation,\"\nyou must admit it would be at least in manifest coincidence with the\nlaws of human development and the \"constitution and course of nature.\"\n\nTo conclude; I must say that Mr. Newman, in his account of the genesis\nof religion, does himself in effect admit (as Harrington has remarked)\nan \"external revelation,\" though not in a book. For what else is that\napparatus of external influences by which the several preparatory or\nauxiliary emotions are awakened, and the development of your \"spiritual\nfaculty\" effected?--contact with the outward world,--with visible and\nmaterial nature,--the instruction of the living voice! You acknowledge\nall this without derogation, as you imagine, to the sublime and divine\nfunctions of the indwelling \"spiritual\" power, why this rabid, this, I\nmight almost say, puerile (if I ought not rather to say fanatical),\nhatred of the very notion of a \"book-revelation\"?\n\nLet us confess that, if a revelation be possible at all, it cannot be\nmore worthy of God to give one even from \"within\" than in such a shape\nas a \"book\"; since without a \"BOOK\" man remains an idolater, in spite of\nhis fine \"spiritual faculties,\" and a barbarian, in spite of his\nsublime intellect; in fact, not much better than the beasts, in spite\nof all those noble capacities which, although they are in him, are as\nit were hopelessly locked up till he has obtained this key to their\ntreasures.\n\nNor do I think that the invectives of the modern spiritualists on this\npoint are particularly becoming, when we reflect not only that they\nfreely give mankind what Harrington declares to be to him, and I must\nsay are equally to me, their \"book-revelations,\" but in very deed, as\nhe truly affirms, have given us nothing else. It has been much the same\nwith all who have rejected historical Christianity, from Lord Herbert's\ntime downwards.\n\nI paused, and Fellowes mused. At last he said, \"I cannot feel convinced\nthat the 'absolute religion' is (as Mr. Parker says) essentially the\nsame in all men, and internally revealed. The want exists in all, and\nthere must, according to the arrangements of universal nature, be the\nsupply; just as the eye is for the light, and the light is for the eye.\nAs he says, 'we feel instinctively it must be so.'\"\n\n\"Unhappily,\" said Harrington, \"Mr. Parker says that many things must\nbe which we find are not, and this among the number. At least I, for\none, shall not grant that the sort of spiritual 'supply' which is\nto the Calmuck, or the savage 'besmeared with the blood of human\nsacrifices,' at all resembles that uniform light which is made\nfor all people's eyes.\"\n\nFellowes seemed still perplexed with his old difficulty. \"I cannot\nhelp thinking,\" he began again, \"that the 'spiritual faculty' acts\nby immediate 'insight,' and has nothing to do with 'logical\nprocesses' or 'intellectual propositions,' or the sensational or\nthe imaginative parts of our nature; that it 'gazes immediately\nupon spiritual truth.' Now in the argument you have constructed,\nyou have expressly implied the contrary. You have said, you know,\nthat, even if you granted men to be in possession of 'spiritual and\nmoral truth,' there might still be large space for a divinely\nconstructed book from the reflex operation of the intellect, the\nimagination, and so forth, upon the products of the spiritual faculty;\nboth directly, and also indirectly, inasmuch as external influences\nmodify or stimulate them.\"\n\n\"But,\" said I, \"does not Mr. Newman himself, in the first part of\nhis Treatise on the Soul, admit the reciprocal action of all these\non the too plastic spiritual products; and as to 'logical and\nintellectual processes,' does he not continually employ them--for\nhis system of opinions, though he will not allow them to be employed\nagainst it? And by what other means than through the intervention of\nyour senses, by which you read his pages,--your imagination, by which\nyou seize his illustrations,--your intellect, by which you comprehend\nhis arguments, did he reclaim you, as you say he has done, from many\nof your ancient errors? How else, in the name of common sense, did he\nget access to your soul at all?\"\n\n\"I cannot pretend to defend Mr. Newman's consistency,\" said he, \"in\nhis various statements on this subject. I acknowledge I am even puzzled\nto find out how he did convince me, upon his hypothesis.\"\n\n\"Are you sure,\" said I, laughing, \"that he ever convinced you at all?\nHowever, all your perplexity seems to me to arise from supposing the\nspiritual powers of man to act in greater isolation from his other\npowers than is conceivable or even possible. Not apart from these,\nbut in intimate conjunction with them, are the functions of the soul\nperformed. The divorce between the 'spiritual faculties' and the\nintellect, which your favorite, Mr. Newman, has attempted to effect,\nis impossible. It is an attempt to sever phenomena which coexist in\nthe unity of our own consciousness. I am bound in justice to admit,\nthat there are others of our 'modern spiritualists' who condemn this\nattempt to separate what God hath joined so inseparably. Even Mr. Newman\ndoes practically contradict his own assertions; and outraged reason\nand intellect have avenged his wrongs upon them by deserting him when\nhe has invoked them, and left him to express his paradoxes in endless\nperplexity and confusion. But this conversation is no bad preface to\nsome observations on this important fallacy, (as I conceive,) which\nI have appended to the paper I have read, and, with your leave, I\nwill finish with them.\" They assented, and I proceeded.\n\nIt is very common for philosophers, spiritual and otherwise, to be\nguilty of two opposite errors, both exposed in the first book of the\nNovum Organum. One is, that of supposing the phenomena which they\nhave to analyze more simple, more capable of being reduced to some\none principle, than is really the case; the other, that of\nintroducing a cumbrous complexity of operations unknown to nature.\nIt is unnecessary here to adduce examples of the last; quite as\nfrequently, at least, man apt to be guilty of the first. He imagines\nthat complex and generally deeply convoluted phenomena he is called\nto investigate are capable of being more summarily analyzed than\nthey can be. The ends to be answered in nature by the same set of\ninstruments are in many cases so various, and in some respects\nso limit and traverse one another, that though the same multiplicity\nof ends is attained more completely, and in higher aggregate\nperfection, than by any device which man's ingenuity could substitute\nfor them, yet those instruments are necessarily very complex at\nthe best. Look, for example, at the system of organs by which,\nvariously employed, we utter the infinite variety of articulate sounds,\nperform the most necessary of all vital functions (that of respiration),\nmasticate solid food, and swallow fluids. The miracle is, that any one\nset of organs in any conceivable juxtaposition should suffice to\ndischarge with such amazing facility and rapidity these different and\nrapidly alternated functions; yet I suppose few who have studied\nanatomy will deny, that, though relatively to the variety of purposes\nit has to perform the apparatus is very simple, it is absolutely\nvery complex; and that its parts play into one another with great\nfacility indeed, but with endless intricacy.\n\nTo apply these observations to my special object. To one who attentively\nstudies man's immaterial anatomy, much the same complexity is, I think,\napparent; the philosopher is too apt to assume it to be much more simple\nthan it is. It is the very error, as I conceive, into which some of\nyou modern \"spiritualists\" fall when considering the phenomena of our\nreligious nature. You do not sufficiently regard man as a complicated\nunity; you represent, if you do not suppose, the several capacities\nof his nature,--the different parts of it, sensational, emotional,\nintellectual, moral, spiritual,--as set off from one another by a\nsharper boundary line than nature acknowledges. They all work for\nimmediate ends, indeed; but they all also work for, with, and upon\neach other, for other ends than their own. Yet, as they all exist in\none indivisible mind, or rather constitute it, they form one most\nintricate machine: and it can rarely happen that the particular\nphenomena of our interior nature we happen to be investigating do\nnot involve many others. Throughout his book on the \"Soul,\" we find\nMr. Newman employing expressions (though I admit there are others\nwhich contradict them) which imply that the phenomena of religion, of\nwhat he calls \"spiritual insight,\" may be viewed in clearer distinction\nfrom those of the intellect, than, as I conceive, they ever can be;\nand that a much clearer separation can be effected between them than\nnature has made possible. To hear him sometimes speak, one would\nimagine that the logical, the moral, and the spiritual are held together\nby no vital bond of connection; nay, from some expressions, one would\nthink that the \"logical\" faculty had nothing to do with religion, if\nit is not to be supposed rather to stand in the way of it; that the\n\"intellect\" and the \"spiritual faculty\" may each retire to its \"vacant\ninterlunar cave,\" and never trouble its head about what the other\nis doing. Thus he says in one place, \"All the grounds of Belief\nproposed to the mere understanding have nothing to do with Faith at\nall.\" (Soul, p. 223.) In another, \"The processes of thought have nothing\nto quicken the conscience or affect the soul.\" (ibid. p. 245) \"How,\nthen, can the state of the soul be tested by the conclusion to\nwhich the intellect is led?\" (ibid. p. 245.) And accordingly you see\nhe everywhere affirms that we ought not to have any better or worse\nopinion of any man for his \"intellectual creed\"; and that \"religious\nprogress\" cannot be \"anticipated\" till intellectual \"creeds\nare destroyed.\" (Phases, p. 222.)\n\nHere one would imagine that the intellectual, moral, and spiritual\nhad even less to do with the production of each other's results\nthan matter and mind reciprocally have with theirs. These last,\nwe see, in a thousand cases act and react upon one another; and\nmodify each other's peculiar products and operations in a most\nimportant manner. How much more reasonably may we infer that the\nelementary faculties of the same indivisible mind will not discharge\ntheir functions without important reciprocal action; that in no case\ncan we have the process pure and simple as the result of the\noperation of a single faculty!\n\nIf it were not so, I see not how we are to perform any of the functions\nof a spiritual nature, even as defined by you and your favorite writers;\nunless, indeed, you would equip the soul with an entire Sunday suit\nof separate capacities of reasoning, remembering, imagining, hoping,\nrejoicing, and so on, to be expressly used by the \"soul\" alone when\nengaged in her spiritual functions; quite different from that old,\nthreadbare, much-worn suit of faculties, having similar functions\nindeed, but exercised on other objects.\n\nWhat can be more obvious (and it must be admitted that the most\nfanatical \"spiritualist\" employs expressions, and, what is more, uses\nmethods, which imply it) than that, whether we have a distinct\nreligious faculty or whether it be the result of the action of many\nfaculties, the functions of our \"spiritual\" nature are performed\nby the instrumentality, and involve the intervention, of the very\nsame much-abused faculties which enable us to perform any other\nfunction. It is one and the same indivisible mind which is the subject\nof religious thought and emotion, and of any other thought and\nemotion. Religious truth, like any other truth, is embraced by the\nunderstanding--as indeed it would be a queer kind of truth that is\nnot is stated in propositions, yields inferences, is adorned by\neloquence is illustrated by the imagination, and is thus, as well\nfrom its intrinsic claims, rendered powerful over the emotions, the\naffections, and the will. In brief, when the soul apprehends, reasons,\nremembers, rejoices, hopes, fears, spiritually, it surely does not\nperform these functions by totally different faculties from these\nby which similar things are done on other occasions. All experience\nand consciousness are against the supposition. In religion, men's\nminds are employed on more sublime and elevated themes indeed, but\nthe operations themselves are essentially of the same nature as in\nother cases. Hence we see the dependence of the true development of\nreligion on the just and harmonious action of all our faculties.\nThey march together; and it is the glorious prerogative of true\nreligion that it makes them do so; that all the elements of our\nnature, being indissolubly connected, and perpetually acting and\nreacting on one another, should aid one another and attain a more\njust conjoint action. If there be acceptable faith, it presupposes\nbelief of the truth, as well as love of it in the heart; if there\nbe holy habit, it implies just knowledge of duty; if there be\nspiritual emotion awakened, it will still be in accordance with\nthe laws which ordinarily produce it; that is, because that which\nshould produce it is perceived by the senses or the intellect, is\nrecalled by the memory, is vivified by the imagination. If faith\nand hope and love often kindle into activity, and hallow these\ninstruments by which and through which they act, it is not the less\ntrue, that, apart from these,--as constituting the same indivisible\nmind--faith and hope and love cannot exist: and not only so; but\nwhen faith is languid, and hope faint, and love expiring, these\nfaculties themselves shall often in their turn initiate the process\nwhich shall revive them all; some outward object, some incident of\nlife, some \"magic word,\" some glorious image, some stalwart truth,\nsuddenly and energetically stated, shall, through the medium of the\nsenses, the imagination, or the intellect, set the soul once more\nin a blaze, and revive the emotions which it is at other times only\ntheir office to express. A sanctified intellect, a hallowed\nimagination, devout affections, have a reciprocal tendency to\nstimulate each other. In whatever faculty of our nature the stimulus\nmay be felt,--in the intellect or the imagination,--it is thence\npropagated through the mysterious net-work of the soul to the emotions,\nthe affections, the conscience, the will: or, conversely, these last\nmay commence the movement and propagate it in reverse order. Each\nmay become in turn a centre of influence; but so indivisible is the\nsoul and mind of man, so indissolubly bound together the elements\nwhich constitute them, that the influence once commenced never stops\nwhere it began, but acts upon them all. The ripple, as that of a\nstone dropped into still water, no matter where, may be fainter and\nfainter the farther from the spot where the commotion began, but it\nwill stop only with the bank. Ordinarily many functions of the mind\nare involved in each, and sometimes all in one.\n\n____\n\nJuly 24. Yesterday, a somewhat interesting conversation took place\nbetween Harrington and Edward Robinson, a youth at college, a friend\nof George Fellowes's family. He is a devout admirer of Strauss, and\nthinks that writer has completely destroyed the historical character\nof the Gospels. I was, as usual, struck with the candor and logical\nconsistency with which our sceptic was disposed to regard the subject.\n\n\"You have Lingard and Macaulay here, I see,\" said young Robinson. \"I\nneed hardly ask, I think, which you find the most pleasant reading?\"\n\n\"You need not, indeed,\" cried Harrington. \"Mr. Macaulay is so superior\nto the Roman Catholic historian (though his merits are great too) in\ngenius, in consequence, in variety and amplitude of knowledge, in\nimagination, in style, that there is no comparison between them.\"\n\n\"And do you think Mr. Macaulay as accurate as he is full of genius\nand eloquence?\"\n\n\"If he be not,\" said Harrington, laughing, \"I am afraid there are\nvery few of us deeply versed enough in history to detect his\ndelinquencies, or even to say whether they have been committed. There\nmay be, for aught I know, some cases (of infinite importance of\ncourse) in which he has represented an event as having taken place\non the 20th of Dec. 1693; whereas it took place on the 3d Jan. 1694;\nor he may have said that Sir Thomas Nobody was the son of another\nSir Thomas Nobody, whereas two or three antiquarians can\nincontestably prove that he was the son of Sir John Nobody, and nephew\nof the above. To me, I confess, he appears distinguished scarcely more\nby the splendor of his imagination than by the opulence of his knowledge,\nand the imperial command which he possesses over it. But, in truth,\nthe accuracy or otherwise of history, when it is at all remote, is a\nmatter in which I feel less interest than I once did. I read, indeed,\nMr. Macaulay with perpetual renewal of wonder and delight. But though\nI believe that his vivid pictures are the result, of a faithful use of\nhis materials, yet, if I must confess the full extent of my scepticism,\nhis work, and every other work which involves a reference to events which\ntranspired only a century or two ago, is poisoned as history by the\nsuspicion that to ascertain the truth is impossible. I know it must\nbe so, if the principles of your favorite Strauss are to be received;\nand yet it seems so absurd, that I am sometimes inclined, on that account\nalone, to laugh at Strauss's criticisms, just as David Hume did at his\nown speculative doubts when he got into society and sat down to\nbackgammon with a friend. At other times, as I say, the whole field\nof historic investigation seems more or less the territory of scepticism.\"\n\n\"I know not,\" said the other, \"how you can justify any such general\nscepticism from any thing that Strauss has written.\"\n\n\"Do you not? and yet I think it is a perfectly legitimate inference.\nDoes not Strauss argue that certain discrepancies are to be observed,\ncertain apparent contradictions and inconsistencies detected, in the\nNew Testament narratives; and that therefore we are to reckon, if not\nthe whole, yet by far the larger part, as utterly fabulous or doubtful,\nmythic or legendary? Now, I cannot but feel, on the other hand, that\nthese narratives are as strikingly marked by all the usual indications\nof historic truthfulness as any historic writings in the world. The\nartlessness, simplicity, and speciality of the narrative,--a certain\ninimitable tone and air of reality, earnestness, and candor,--the\ngeneral harmony of these so-called sacred writers with themselves and\nwith profane authors (quite as general, to say the least, as usually\ndistinguishes other narratives by different hands),--above all, the\nlong-concealed, and yet most numerous 'coincidences' which lie deep\nbeneath the surface and which only a very industrious mind brings to\nlight; coincidences which, if ingenuity had been subtle enough to\nfabricate, that same ingenuity would have been too sagacious to conceal\nso deep, and which are too numerous and striking (one would imagine)\nto be the effect of accident;--all these things, I say, would seem\nto argue (if any thing can) the integrity of the narrative. Yet all\nthese things must necessarily, of course, go for nothing, on Strauss's\nhypothesis. There are, you say, certain discrepancies, and from them\nyou proceed to conclude that the narrative is uncertain, and unworthy\nof credit; that, if there be a residuum of truth at all, no man can\nknow with any certainty what or how much it is. We must there-fore\nleave the whole problematical. Now the question comes, whether we must\nnot in consistency apply the same principle further; and, if so, whether\nwe can find in any history whatever stronger marks of credibility;\nwhether any was ever submitted to an examination more severe, or so\nsevere; whether any can boast of a larger number of minds, of the\nfirst order, giving their assent to it.\"\n\n\n\"Let me stop you there,\" said the other; \"you must consider that\nthose minds were prejudiced in favor of the conclusion. They were\ninclined to believe the supernatural wonders which these pretended\nhistorians retail.\"\n\n\"How differently men may argue with the same premises! I was about to\nmention the suspicion attaching to miraculous narratives, as attesting\n(I still think so, notwithstanding your observation) that stress and\npressure of supposed historic credibility under which so many powerful\nminds--minds many of them of the first order--have felt themselves\ncompelled to receive these histories as true, in spite of such obstacles.\nSurely, you do not think that a miracle is in our age, or has been for\nmany ages, an antecedent ground of credibility; or that if a history\ndoes not contain enough of them, as this assuredly does, it is certain\nto be believed. No; do not you with Strauss contend that a miracle is\nnot to be believed at all, because it contradicts uniform experience?\nAnd yet thousands of powerful minds have believed the truth of these\nhistoric records against all this uniform experience! Their prejudices\nagainst it must surely have been stronger than those for it.--But to\nresume the statement of my difficulties. I say the question returns\nwhether there is any history in the world which either presents in\ninexplicable marks of historic credibility, or in which as numerous\nand equally inexplicable discrepancies cannot be discovered. If there\nbe none, then how far shall we adopt and carry out the principles\nof Strauss? for if we carry them out with rigid equity, the whole\nfield of history is abandoned to scepticism: it is henceforth the\ndomain of doubt and contention; as, in truth, a very large part of\nit in Germany has already become, in virtue of these very principles.\nMuch of profane history is abandoned, as well as the sacred; and Homer\nbecomes as much a shadow as Christ.\"\n\n\"You seem,\" said Robinson, \"to be almost in the condition to entertain\nDr. Whately's ingenious 'Historic Doubts' touching the existence of\nNapoleon Bonaparte!\" *\n____\n\n* Are the ingenious \"Historic Certainties,\" by \"Aristar hus Newlight,\"\nfrom the same admirable mint?--ED.\n____\n\n\"I believe that it is simply our proximity to the events which\nrenders it difficult to entertain them. If the injuries of time and\nthe caprice of fortune should in the remote future leave as large gaps\nin the evidence, and as large scope for ingenious plausibilities, as\nin relation to the remote past, I believe multitudes would find no\ndifficulty in entertaining those 'doubts.' They seem to me perfectly\nwell argued, and absolutely conclusive on the historic canons on\nwhich Strauss's work is constructed,--namely, that if you find what\nseem discrepancies and improbabilities in a reputed history, the mass\nof that historic texture in which they are found may be regarded as\nmythical or fabulous, doubtful or false. If you say the principles of\nStrauss are false, that is another matter. I shall not think it worth\nwhile to contest their truth or their falsehood with you. But if you\nadhere to them, I will take the liberty of showing you that you do not\nhold them consistently, if you think any remote history is to be\nregarded as absolutely placed beyond doubt.\"\n\n\"Well, if you will be grave,\" said Robinson, \"though, upon my word.\nI thought you in jest,--is it possible that you do not see that there\nis a vast difference between rejecting, on the same ground of\ndiscrepancies, the credibility of the narratives of the Gospel, and\nthat of any common history?\"\n\n\"I must honestly confess, then, that I do not, if the discrepancies,\nas Strauss alleges, and not something else, is to be assigned as the\ncause of their rejection. If indeed, like some criminals under despotic\ngovernments, they are apprehended and convicted on a certain charge,\nbut really hanged for an entirely different reason, I can understand\nthat there may be policy in the proceeding; but I do not comprehend\nits argumentative honesty. Be pleased, therefore, (that I may form\nsome conclusion,) to tell me what are those circumstances which so\nwonderfully discriminate the discrepancies in the New Testament\nhistories from those in other histories, as that the inevitable\nconsequence of finding a certain amount of discrepancies in the former\nleads to the rejection of the entire, or nearly entire, documents\nin which they are found, while their presence in other histories even\nto a far greater extent shall not authorize their rejection at all,\nor the rejection only of the parts in which the discrepancies are found.\nAnd yet I think I can guess.\"\n\n\"Well, what do you guess?\"\n\n\"That you think that the miraculous nature of the events which form\na portion of the New Testament history makes a great difference in\nthe case.\"\n\n\"And do not you?\"\n\n\"I cannot say I do: for though it is doubtless Strauss's principal\nobject to get rid of these miracles, it is not as miracles, but as\nhistory, that his canons of historic criticism are applied to them.\nIt is as history that he attacks the books in which they are\ncontained. His weapons are directed against the miracles, indeed;\nbut it is only by piercing the history, with which alone the supposed\ndiscrepancies had ally thing to do.\"\n\n\"But I cannot conceive that the historic discrepancies occurring in\nconnection with such topics must not have more weight attached to\nthem than if they occurred in any other history.\"\n\n\"This is because you have already resolved that miracles are\nimpossible on totally different grounds. But you may see the fallacy\nin a moment. Talk with a man who does not believe miracles a priori\nimpossible, and that, though of course improbable (otherwise they\nwould be none, I suppose), the authentication of a divine revelation\nis a sufficient reason for their being wrought, and he evades your\nargument. You are then compelled, you see, to throw yourself exclusively\nupon the alleged historic discrepancies; they become your sole weapon;\nand if it pierces the New Testament history, I want to know whether\nit does not equally pierce all other remote history too? In truth, if,\nas you and Mr. Fellowes agree,--I only doubt,--a miracle is impossible,\nnothing can (as I think) be more strange, than that, instead of reposing\nin that simple fact, which you say is demonstrable, you should fly to\nhistoric proofs.\"\n\n\"And do you not think that miracles are impossible and absurd?\"\n\n\"I think nothing, because, as I told Fellowes the other day, I am\nhalf inclined to doubt whether I doubt whether a miracle is possible\nor not, like a genuine sceptic as I am. And this doubt, you see,\neven of a doubt, makes me cautious. But to resume. If that principle\nbe sound, it seems much more natural to adhere to it than to attack\nthe Gospels as history. Strauss, however, has thought otherwise; and\nwhile he has left this main dictum unproved,--nay, has not even\nattempted a proof of it,--he has endeavored to shake the historic\ncharacter of these records, treating them like any other records. I\nsay, therefore, that to adduce the circumstance that the narrative is\nmiraculous, is nothing to the purpose, until the impossibility of\nmiracles is proved; and then, when this is proved, it is unnecessary\nto adduce the discrepancies. If on the other hand, a man has no\ndifficulty (as the Christian, for example) in believing miracles to\nbe possible, and that they have really occurred, Strauss's argument,\nas I have said, is evaded; and the seeming discrepancies can do no\nmore against the credibility of the New Testament history, than equal\ndiscrepancies can prove against any other document. I will, if possible,\nmake my meaning plain by yet another example. Let us suppose some Walter\nScott had compiled some purely fictitious history, professedly laid in\nthe Middle Ages (and surely even miraculous occurrences cannot be more\nunreal than these products of sheer imagination); and suppose some\ncritic had engaged to prove it fiction from internal evidence supplied\nby contradictions and discrepancies, and so on, would you not think it\nstrange if he were to enforce that argument by saying, 'And besides\nall this, what is more suspicious is, that they occur in a work\nof imagination!' Would you not say, 'Learned sir, we humbly thought\nthis was the point you were engaged in making out? Is it not to assume\nthe very point in debate? And if it be true, would it not be better\nto stop there at once, instead of taking us so circuitous a road to\nthe same result, which we perceive you had already reached beforehand?\nAre you not a little like that worthy Mayor who told Henri Quatre\nthat he had nineteen good reasons for omitting to fire a salute on\nhis Majesty's arrival; the first of which was, that he had no artillery;\nwhereupon his Majesty graciously told him that he might spare the\nremaining eighteen?' So I should say in the supposed case.--To return,\nthen: you must, if you would consider the validity of Strauss's argument,\nlay aside the miraculous objection, which must be decided on quite\ndifferent grounds, and which, in fact, if valid, settles the\ncontroversy without his critical aid. All who read Strauss's book\neither believe that miracles are impossible, or not; the former need\nnot his criticisms,--they have already arrived at the result by a\nshorter road; the latter can only reject the history by supposing the\ndiscrepancies in it, as history, justify them. I ask you, then,\nsupposing you one who, like the Christian, believes miracles possible,\nwhether these historic discrepancies would justify you in saying that\nthe New Testament records, considered simply as history, no longer\ndeserve credit, and that you are left in absolute ignorance how much\nof them, or whether any part, is to be received,--ay or no?\"\n\n\"Well, then, I should say that Strauss has shown that the history, as\nhistory, is to be rejected.\"\n\n\"Very well; only then do not be surprised that, in virtue of such\nconclusions, I doubt whether you ought not to push the principle a\nlittle further, and contend that, as there are no writings in the\nworld which to bear more marks of historic sincerity and\ntrustworthiness, and certainly none of any magnitude or variety\nin which far greater discrepancies are not to be founds, it is\ndoubtful whether we can receive any thing as absolutely veritable\nhistory; and that the Book of Genesis, and Gospel of Luke, and\nHistory of Lingard, and History of Hume, are alike covered with a\nmist of sceptical obscurity.\"\n\n\"But really, Mr. Harrington, this is absurd and preposterous!\"\n\n\"It may be so; but you must prove it, and not simply content\nyourself with affirming it. I am, at all events, more consistent than\nyou, who tell the man who does not see your a priori objection to\nthe belief of miracles, that a history which certainly contains as\nmany marks of historic veracity as any history in the world, and\ndiscrepancies neither greater nor more numerous, must be reduced\n(ninety-nine hundredths of it) to myth on account of those\ndiscrepancies, while the others may still legitimate their claims\nto be considered as genuine history! Your only escape, as I conceive,\nfrom this dilemma, is, by saying that the marks of historic truth\nin the New Testament, looked at as mere history, are not so great as\nthose of other histories, or that the discrepancies are greater; and\nI think even you will not venture to assert that. But if you do, and\nchoose to put it on that issue, I shall be most happy to try the\ncriterion by examining Luke and Paul, Matthew and Mark, on the one\nside; and Clarendon and May, or Hume, Lingard, and Macaulay, on the\nother; or, if you prefer them, Livy and Polybius, or Tacitus\nand Josephus.\"\n\n\"But I have bethought me of another answer,\" said Robinson. \"Suppose\nthe sacred writers affirm that every syllable they utter is infallibly\ntrue, being inspired?\"\n\n\"Why, then,\" said Harrington, \"first, you must find such a passage,\nwhich many say you cannot; secondly, you must find one which says\nthat every syllable would remain always infallibly true, in spite\nof all errors of transcription and corruptions of time, otherwise\nyour discrepancies will not touch the writers; and lastly, it does\nnot affect my argument whether you find any such absurdities or not,\nsince you and I would know what to say, though the Christian would not\nlike to say it; namely, that these writers were mistaken in the notion\nof their plenary inspiration. It would still leave the mass of their\nhistory to be dealt with like any other history. Now I want to know why,\nif I reject the mass of that on the ground of certain discrepancies,\nI must not reject the mass of this on the score of equal or greater.\"\n\nAfter a few minutes Harrington turned to Fellowes and said,--\"That in\nrelation to the bulk of mankind there can be no authentic history of\nremote events plainly appears from a statement of Mr. Newman. He says,\nyou know, after having relinquished the investigation of the evidences\nof Christianity, that he might have spared much weary thought and\nuseless labor, if, at an earlier time, this simple truth had been\npressed upon him, that since the 'poor and half-educated cannot\ninvestigate historical and literary questions, therefore these questions\ncannot constitute an essential part of religion.' You, if you recollect,\nmentioned it to my uncle the other night; and, in spite of what he\nreplied, it does appear a weighty objection; on the other hand, if I\nadmit it to be conclusive, I seem to be driven to the most paradoxical\nconclusions, at direct variance with the experience of all mankind,--at\nleast so they say. For why cannot an historical fact constitute part\nof a religion?\"\n\n\"Because, as Mr. Newman says, it is impossible that the bulk of people\ncall have any 'certainty in relation to such remote facts of history,\"\nsaid Fellowes.\n\n\"And, therefore, in relation to any other remote history; for if the\nbulk of men cannot obtain certainty on, such historical questions,\nneither can they obtain certainty on other historical questions.\"\n\n\"Perhaps not; but then what does it matter, in that case, whether they\ncan obtain certainty or not?\"\n\n\"I am not talking--I am not thinking--as to whether it would matter or\nnot. I merely remark that, in relation to the generality of people,\nat all events, they cannot obtain certainty on any remote historical\nquestions. Of course, with regard to ordinary history, it is neither\na man's duty, strictly speaking, to believe or disbelieve; and therefore\nI said nothing about duty. But in neither the one case nor the other\nis it possible for the bulk of mankind to obtain satisfaction, from a\npersonal investigation, as to the facts of remote history, or indeed\nany history at all, except of a man's own life and that perhaps of\nhis own family, up to his father and down to his son! What do you say\nto this,--yes or no?\"\n\n\"I do not know that I should object to say that the great bulk of\nmankind never can obtain a sufficiently certain knowledge of any fact\nof history to warrant their belief of it.\"\n\n\"Very consistent, I think; for you doubtless perceive that if we say\nthey can obtain a reasonable ground of assurance of the facts of\nremote history,--so that, if any thing did or does depend on their\nbelieving it, they are truly in possession of a warrant for acting\non that belief,--I say you then see whither our argument, Mr. Newman's\nand yours and mine, is going; it vanishes,--oichetai, as Socrates\nwould say. If, for example, men can attain reasonable certainty in\nrelation to Alfred and Cromwell, alas! they may do the like in\nreference to Christ; and many persons will say much more easily. Now,\nwith my too habitual scepticism, I confess to a feeling of difficulty\nhere. You know there are thousands and tens of thousands amongst us,\nwho, if you asked respecting the history of Alfred the Great or Oliver\nCromwell, would glibly repeat to you all the principal facts of the\nstory,--as they suppose; and if you ask them whether they have ever\ninvestigated critically the sources whence they had obtained their\nknowledge, they will say, No; but that they have read the things in\nHume's History; or, perhaps, (save the mark!) in Goldsmith's Abridgment!\nBut they are profoundly ignorant of even the names of the principal\nauthorities, and have never investigated one of the many doubtful\npoints which have perplexed historians; nay, as to most of them, are\nnot even aware that they exist. Yet nothing can be more certain,\nthan that their supposed knowledge would embrace by far the most\nimportant conclusions at which the most accurate historians have\narrived. It would be principally in a supposed juster comprehension\nof minor points--of details--that the latter would have an advantage\nover them; compensated, however, by a 'plentiful assortment' of\ndoubts on other points, from which these simple souls are free;\ndoubts which are the direct result of more extensive investigation,\nbut which can scarcely be thought additions to our knowledge;--they\nare rather additions to our ignorance. The impressions of the mass\nof readers on all the main facts of the two memorable periods\nrespectively would be the same as those of more accurate critics. Now\nwhat I want to know is, whether you would admit that these superficial\ninquirers--the bulk of your decent countrymen, recollect--can be said\nto have an intelligent belief in any such history; whether you think\nthem justified in saying that they are certain of the substantial\naccuracy of their impressions, and that they may laugh in your face\n(which they assuredly would do) if you told them that it is possible\nthat Alfred may have existed, and been a wise and patriotic prince;\nand that probably Oliver Cromwell was Protector of England, and died\nin 1658; but that really they know nothing about the matter.\"\n\n\"Of course they would affirm that they are as assured of the\nsubstantial accuracy of their impressions as of their own existence,\"\nreplied Fellowes.\n\n\"But what answer do you think they ought to give, my friend? Do you\nthink that they can affirm a reasonable ground of belief in\nthese things?\"\n\n\"I confess I think they can.\"\n\n\"Ah! then I fear you are grossly inconsistent with Mr. Newman's\nprinciples, and must so far distrust his argument against historic\nreligion. If you think that this ready assent to remote historic\nevents may pass for a reasonable conviction and an intelligent belief,\nI cannot see why it should be more difficult to attain a similar\nconfidence in the general results of a religious history; and in that\ncase it may also become men's duty to act upon that belief. On the\nother hand, if it be not possible to obtain this degree of satisfaction\nin the latter case, neither for similar reasons will it be in the former.\nIf you hold Mr. Newman's principles consistently, seeing that neither\nin the one case nor the other can the bulk of mankind attain that sort\nof critical knowledge which he supposes necessary to certainty, you\nought to deny that any common man has any business to say that he\nbelieves that he is certain of the main facts in the history either\nof Alfred or Cromwell.\"\n\n\"You do not surely mean to compare the importance of a belief in\nthe one case with the importance of a belief in the other?\"\nrejoined Fellowes.\n\n\"I do not; and can as little disguise from myself that such a\nquestion has nothing to do with the matter. The duty in the one case\ndepends entirely on the question whether such a conviction of the\naccuracy of the main facts and more memorable events, as may pass\nfor moral certainty, and justify its language and acts, be possible\nor not. If, from a want of capacity and opportunity for a thorough\ninvestigation of all the conditions of the problem, it be not in\nthe one case, neither will it be in the other. If this be a fallacy,\nbe pleased to prove it such,--I shall not be sorry to have it so\nproved. But at present you seem to me grossly inconsistent in this\nmatter. I have also my doubts (to speak frankly) whether we must\nnot apply Mr. Newman's principle (to the great relief of mankind)\nin other most momentous questions, in which the notion of duty\ncannot be excluded, but enters as an essential element. I cannot\nhelp fancying, that, if his principle be true, mankind ought to be\nmuch obliged to him; for he has exempted them from the necessity of\nacting in all the most important affairs of life. For example, you\nare, I know, a great political philanthropist; you plead for the\nduty of enlightening the masses of the people on political questions,\n--of making them intelligently acquainted with the main points of\npolitical and economical science. You do not despair of all this?\"\n\n\"I certainly do not,\" said Fellowes.\n\n\"A most hopeless task,\" said Harrington, \"on Mr. Newman's principle.\nThe questions on which you seek to enlighten them are, many of them,\nof the most intricate and difficult character,--are, all of them,\ndependent on principles, and involve controversies, with which the\ngreat bulk of mankind are no more competent to deal than with\nNewton's 'Principia.' An easy, and often erroneous assent, on\nill-comprehended data, is all that you can expect of the mass; and\nhow can it be their duty, when it may often be their ruin, to act\nupon this? A superficial knowledge is all that you can give them;\nthorough investigation is out of the question. Most men, I fear, will\ncontinue to believe it at least as possible for the common people\nto form a judgment on the validity of Paley's 'Evidences,' as on\nthe reasonings of Smith's 'Political Economy.' They will say, if\nthe common people can be sufficiently sure of their conclusions in\nthe latter case to take action upon them,--that is, to render action\na duty,--the like is possible in the former. Should you not hold by\nyour principle, and say, that, as from the difficulty of the\ninvestigation it is not possible for the bulk of mankind to attain\nsuch a degree of certainty as to make belief in an 'historical religion'\na duty, so neither, for the like reason, can it be their duty to come\nto any definite conclusion, or to take any definite action, in relation\nto the equally difficult questions of politics, legislation, political\neconomy, and a variety of other sciences? I will take another case.\nI believe you will not deny that you are profoundly ignorant of medicine,\nnor that, though the most necessary, it is at the same time the most\ndifficult and uncertain of all the sciences. You know that the great\nbulk of mankind are as ignorant as yourself; nay, some affirm that\nphysicians themselves are about as ignorant as their patients; it\nis certain that, in reference to many classes of disease, doctors\ntake the most opposite views of the appropriate treatment, and even\ntreat disease in general on principles diametrically opposed! A more\nmiserable condition for an unhappy patient can hardly be imagined.\n\n\"Though our own life, or that of our dearest friend in the world, hangs\nin the balance, it is impossible for us to tell whether the art of\nthe doctor will save or kill. I doubt, therefore, whether you ought\nnot to conclude, from the principle on which we have already said so\nmuch, that God cannot have made it a poor wretch's duty to take any\nstep whatever; nay, since even the medical man himself often confesses\nthat he does not know whether the remedies he uses will do harm or\ngood, it may be a question whether he himself ought not to relinquish\nhis profession, at least if it be a duty in man to act only in cases\nin which he can form something better than conjectures.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Fellowes, laughing; \"and some even in the profession\nitself say, that perhaps it might not be amiss if the patient never\ncalled in such equivocal aid, and allowed himself to die, not secundum\nartem, but secundum naturam.\"\n\n\"And yet I fancy that, in the sudden illness of a wife or child, you\nwould send to the first medical man in your street, or the next,\nthough you might be ignorant of his name, and he might be almost as\nignorant of his profession; at least, that is what the generality\nof mankind would do.\"\n\n\"They certainly would.\"\n\n\"But yet, upon your principles, how can it be their duty to act on\nsuch slender probabilities, or, rather, mere conjectures, in cases\nso infinitely important?\"\n\n\"I know not how that may be, but it is assuredly necessary.\"\n\n\"Well, then, shall we say it is only necessary, but not a duty? But\nthen, if in a case of such importance God has made it thus necessary\nfor man to act in such ignorance, people will say he may possibly have\nleft them in something less than absolute certainty in the matter\nof an 'historical religion.'--Ah! it is impossible to unravel these\ndifficulties. I only know, that, if the principle be true, then as\nmen in general cannot form any reasonable judgment, not only on the\nprinciples of medical science, but even on the knowledge and skill of\nany particular professor of it, (by their ludicrous mis-estimate of\nwhich they are daily duped both of money and life to an enormous extent,)\nit cannot be their duty to take any steps in this matter at all.\nThe fair application, therefore, of the principle in question would,\nas I say, save mankind a great deal of trouble;--but, alas! it\ninvolves us philosophers in a great deal.\"\n\n\"I cannot help thinking,\" said Fellowes, \"that you have caricatured\nthe principle.\" And he appealed to me.\n\n\"However ludicrous the results,\" said I, \"of Harrington's argument,\nI do not think that his representation, if the principle is to be\nfairly carried out, is any caricature at all. The absurdity, if anywhere,\nis in the principle aimed; viz. that God cannot have constituted it\nman's duty to act, in cases of very imperfect knowledge, and yet we see\nthat he has perpetually compelled him to do so; nay, often in a condition\nnext door to stark ignorance. To vindicate the wisdom of such a\nconstitution may be impossible; but the fact cannot be denied. The\nChristian admits the difficulty alike in relation to religion and to the\naffairs of this world. He believes, with Butler, that 'probability is\nthe guide of life';--that man may have sufficient evidence, in a\nthousand cases,--varying, however, in different individuals,--to\nwarrant his action, and a reasonable confidence in the results,\nthough that evidence is very far removed from certitude;--that\nsimilarly the mass of men are justified in saying that they know a\nthousand facts of history to be true, though they never had the\nopportunity, or capacitor, of thoroughly investigating them, and\nthat the great facts of science are true, though they may know no more\nof science than of the geology of the moon;--that the statesman, the\nlawyer, and the physician are justified in acting, where they yet\nare compelled to acknowledge that they act only on most unsatisfactory\ncalculations of probabilities, and amidst a thousand doubts and\ndifficulties;--that you, Mr. Fellowes, are justified in endeavoring\nto enlighten the common people on many important subjects connected\nwith political and social science, in which it is yet quite certain\nthat not one in a hundred thousand can ever go to the bottom of them;\nof which very few can do more than attain a rough and crude notion,\nand in which the bulk must act solely because they are persuaded that\nother men know more about the matters in question than themselves;--all\nwhich, say we Christians, is true in relation to the Christian religion,\nthe evidence for which is plainer, after all, than that on which man\nin ten thousand cases is necessitated to hazard his fortune or his life.\nIf you follow out Mr. Newman's principle, I think you must with\nHarrington liberate mankind from the necessity of acting altogether\nin all the most important relations of human life. If it be thought\nnot only hard that men should be called perpetually to act on defective,\ngrossly defective evidence, but still harder that they should possess\nvarying degrees even of that evidence, it may be said that the\ndifference perhaps is rather apparent than real. Those whom we call\nprofoundly versed in the more difficult matters which depend on moral\nevidence, are virtually in the same condition as their humbler neighbors;\nthey are profound only by comparison with the superficiality of these\nlast. Where men must act, the decisive facts, as was said in relation\nto history, may be pretty equally grasped by all; and as for the rest,\nthe enlargement of the circle of a man's knowledge is, in a still\ngreater proportion, the enlargement of the circle of his ignorance;\nfor the circumscribing periphery lies in darkness. Doubts, in\nproportion to the advance of knowledge, spring up where they were\nbefore unknown; and though the previous ignorance of these was not\nknowledge, the knowledge of them (as Harrington has said) is little\nbetter than an increase of our ignorance.\"\n\n\"If, as you suppose, it cannot be our duty to act in reference to any\n'historical religion' because a satisfactory investigation is impossible\nto the mass of mankind, the argument may be retorted on your own theory.\nYou assert, indeed, that in relation to religion we have an internal\n'spiritual faculty' which evades this difficulty; yet men persist in\nsaying, in spite of you, that it is doubtful,--1st, whether they have\nany such; 2d, whether, if there be one, it be not so debauched and\nsophisticated by other faculties, that they can no longer trust it\nimplicitly; 3d, what is the amount of its genuine utterances; 4th, what\nthat of its aberrations; 5th, whether it is not so dependent on\ndevelopment, education, and association, as to leave room enough for\nan auxiliary external revelation;--on all which questions the\ngenerality of mankind are just as incapable of deciding, as about\nany historical question whatever.\"\n\nHere Fellowes was called out of the room. Harrington, who had been\nglancing at the newspaper, exclaimed,--\"Talk about the conditions on\nwhich man is left to act indeed! Only think of his gross ignorance\nand folly being left a prey to such quack advertisements as half\nfill this column. Here empirics every day almost invite men to be\nimmortal for the small charge of half a crown. Here is a panacea for\nnearly every disease under heaven in the shape of some divine elixir,\nand, what is more, we know that thousands are gulled by it. How\nsatisfactory is that condition of the human intellect in which quack\npromises can be proffered with any plausible chance of success!\"\n\nI told him I thought the science of medicine would yield an argument\nagainst religious sceptics which they would find it very difficult\nto reply to.\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"Ah! it is well masked; but I know you too well to allow me to doubt\nthat you suspect what I am referring to.\"\n\n\"Upon my word, I am all in the dark.\"\n\n\"Is there not,\" said I, \"a close analogy between the condition of men\nin reference to the health of their bodies and the science by which\nthey hope to conserve or restore it, and the health of their souls and\nthe science by which they hope to conserve or restore that? Has not\nGod placed them in precisely the same difficulty and perplexity in both\ncases,--nay, as I think, in greater in relation to medicine,--and yet\nis not man most willing and eager to apply to its most problematic\naid, imparted even by the most ignorant practitioners, rather than\nbe without it altogether? The possession which man holds most valuable\nin this world, and most men, alas! more valuable than aught in any\nother world,--LIFE itself,--is at stake; it is subjected to a science,\nor rather an art, proverbially difficult in theory and uncertain in\npractice, about which there have been ten thousand varieties of opinion,\n--whimsically corresponding to the diversity of sect, creed, and\npriesthood, on which sceptics like you lay so much stress; in which\neven the wisest and most cautious practitioners confess that their\nart is at best only a species of guessing; while the patient can no\nmore judge of the remedies he consents, with so much faith, to swallow\non the knowledge of him who prescribes them, than he can of the\nperturbations of Jupiter's satellites. Yet the moment he is sick,\naway he goes to this dubious oracle, and trusts it with a most\ninstructive faith and docility, as if it were infallible. All his\ndoubts are mastered in an instant. I strongly suspect yours would\nbe. Ought you not in consistency to refuse to act at all in such\ndeplorable deficiency of evidence?\"\n\n\"Well,\" said he, \"consistent or inconsistent, it must be admitted\nthat the parallel is very complete,--and amusing.\" And he then went\non, as he was apt to do, when an analogy struck his fancy. \"Let me\nsee,--yes, our unlucky race is condemned to put its most valued\npossession on the hazard of a wise choice, without any of the\nessential qualifications for wisely making it; a man cannot at all\ntell whether his particular priest in medicine understands and can\nskilfully apply even his own theory. Yes,\" he went on, \"and I think\n(as you say) we might find, not only in the partisans of different\nsystems of physic, the representatives of the various priesthoods,\nbut in their too credulous--or shall we say, too faithful patients?\n--the representatives of all sects. There is, for example, the\nsuperstitious vulgar in medicine,--the gross worshipper of the\nFetish, who believes in the efficacy of charm, and spell, and\nincantation, of mere ceremonial and opus operatum; then there\nis the polytheist, who will adore any thing in the shape of a drug,\nand who is continually quacking himself with some nostrum or other\nfrom morning to night; who not only takes his regular physician's\nprescriptions, but has his household gods of empirical remedies,\nto which he applies with equal devotion. Then there is the Romanist\nin medicine, who swears by the infallibility of some papal Abernethy,\nand the unfailing efficacy of some viaticum of a blue pill.\"\n\n\"And who,\" said I, \"would represent our friend who has just left the\nroom, and who has tried every thing?\"\n\n\"Why,\" he replied, \"I think he is in the condition of a little boy\nof whom I heard a little while ago, whose mother was a homoeopathist,\nand kept a little chest, from which she dispensed to her family and\nfriends, perhaps as skilfully as the doctor himself could have\ndone. The little fellow, going into her dressing-room, opened this\nbox, and, thinking that he had fallen on a score of 'millions' (as\nchildren call them), swallowed up his mother's whole doctor's shop\nbefore he could be stopped. It was happy, said the doctor, when called\nin, that the little patient had swallowed so many, or he would have\nbeen infallibly killed. Or perhaps we may liken our friend to that\nhumorous traveller, Mr. Stephens, who tells us, that, having been\nprovided at Cairo, by a skilful physician there, with a number of\nremedies for some serious complaint to which he was subject, found,\nto his dismay, when suffering under a severe paroxysm in the fortress\nof Akaba, that he had lost the directions which told him in what order\nthe medicines were to be taken. Whether pill, powder, or draught was\nto come first, he knew not: 'on which,' says he, 'in a fit of\ndesperation, I placed them all in a row before me, and resolved to\nswallow them all serialim till I obtained relief.' George has\nequal faith.\"\n\n\"You have omitted,\" said I, \"one character,--that of the sceptic, who\nbelieves in no medicine at all; who sturdily dies with his doubts\nunresolved, and unattended by any physician. But it must be confessed\nthat he is a still rarer character than the sceptic in religion. Nature,\nmy dear Harrington, everywhere decides against you.\"\n\n\"I acknowledge,\" he said, \"that we are but a scanty flock in any\ndepartment of life; but, upon my word, the parallel you have suggested\nis so striking, that I think I must in consistency, extend my scepticism\nto physic at least, and, if I am ill, refrain from availing myself of\nso uncertain an art, practised by such uncertain hands and which are\nto be selected by one who cannot even guess whether they are ignorant\nor skilful;--doctors, who may perhaps, as Voltaire said, put drugs of\nwhich they know nothing into bodies of which they know still less.\"\n\n\"Act upon that resolution, Harrington,\" said I, \"and you will at\nleast be consistent: but, depend upon it, nature will confute you.\"\n\n\"Why,\" said he, jestingly, \"perhaps in the case of medicine, at all\nevents, I might face the consequences of scepticism'. I remember\nreading, in some account of Madagascar, that the natives are absolutely\nwithout the healing art; 'and yet,' says the author, with grave\nsurprise, 'it is not observed that the number of deaths is increased.'\nPerhaps, thought I, that is the cause of it.\"\n\n\"The statistics,\" I replied, \"of more civilized countries amply refute\nyou, and show you that, uncertain as is the evidence on which God\nhas destined and compelled men to act in this, the most important\naffair of the present life, and absolute as is the faith they are\nsummoned to exercise, neither is the study of the art (uncertain as\nit is in itself), nor the dependence of patients upon it (still more\nprecarious as that is), unjustified on the whole by the result; and\nas to the abuses of downright quackery, a little prudence and common\nsense are required, and are sufficient to preserve men from them.\"\n\nHe mused, and, I thought, seemed struck by this analogy between man's\ntemporal and spiritual condition I said no more, hoping that he\nwould ponder it.\n____\n\nJuly 25. I had been so much interested in the discussion between\nHarrington and young Robinson on the fair application of the principle\nof Strauss to history in general, that I could not resist the\ntemptation to tell the youth, in secret, that I thought the matter\nwould admit of further discussion, and that he would do well to\nchallenge Harrington plausibly to show that some undoubted modern\nevent might, when it became remote history, be rendered dubious to\nposterity. He willingly acted on the hint the next morning. To some\nremark of his, Harrington replied thus:--\n\n\"Assuming with you, that Strauss has really cast suspicion on the\nhistoric character of the bulk of the transactions recorded in the\nNew Testament, I must suspect that there is not an event in history,\nif at all remote, which, arguing exactly on the same principles, may\nnot be made doubtful; and that is--\"\n\n\"Why, now,\" replied the other, \"do you think it possible that the events\nof the present year\" (referring to the Papal Aggression), \"which are\nmaking such a prodigious noise in England, will ever stand a chance\nof being similarly treated some centuries hence?\"\n\n\"If they are ever treated at all,\" said Harrington; \"but you must\nhave observed that it is the tendency of man to make ridiculous\nmiss-estimates of the importance of the transactions of his own age,\nand to imagine that posterity will have nothing to do but to recount\nthem. He is much mistaken; they forget or care not a doit for nine\ntenths of what he does; and misrepresent the tenth,\" continued\nhe, laughing.\n\n\"Well, then, upon the supposition that Pio Nono and Cardinal Wiseman\nare of sufficient importance to be remembered at all eighteen hundred\nand fifty years hence, that is, in the year 3700 of the Christian era,\n--though in all probability some new and more rational epoch will have\njostled out both the Christian era the Mahometan hegira by that time--\"\n\n\"Pray be sure,\" interrupted I, \"before you predict a new epoch, that\nit will be wanted; that Christianity is really dead before you bury\nher. You will please remember that the experiment was tried in France\nwith much formality, but somehow came to a speedy ignominious conclusion;\nthe new era did not survive infancy. As Paulus thinks that Christ was\nonly in a trance when he seemed to be dead, so it certainly often\nis (figuratively speaking) with his religion: it seems to be dead when\nit is only in a trance. It is apt to rise again, and be more active\nthan ever; and never more so than when, as in the middle of the last\ncentury, our infidel undertakers were providing for its funeral. But I\nbeg your pardon for interrupting your conversation; you were saying--\"\n\n\"I was saying,\" said Robinson, \"that I doubt whether Cardinal Wiseman\nand his doings, eighteen hundred and fifty years hence, could be as\nmuch the subject of doubt and controversy (if remembered at all) as\nthe events which Strauss has shown to be unhistorical. I think the\npress alone, with its diffusion and multiplication 'of the sources\nof knowledge, will alone prevent in the future the doubts which gather\nover the past. There will never again be the same dearth of historic\nmaterials.\"\n\n\"In spite of all that,\" replied Harrington, \"I suspect it will be\nvery possible for men to entertain the same doubts about many events\nof our time, eighteen hundred and fifty years hence, as they entertain\nof many which happened eighteen hundred and fifty years ago.\"\n\n\"I can hardly imagine this to be possible.\"\n\n\"Because, I apprehend, first, that you are laboring under the delusion\nalready mentioned, by which men ever magnify the importance of the events\nof their own age, and forget how readily future generations will let\nthem slip from their memory, and let documents which contain the record\nof them slip out of existence; and, secondly, because you do not give\nyourself time to realize all that is implied in supposing eighteen\nhundred years to have elapsed, nor to transport yourself fairly into\nthat distant age. As to the first;--let us recollect that the importance\nof historical events is by no means in proportion to the excitement they\nproduce at the time of their occurrence. We have many exemplifications\nof this even in our own time; see the rapidity with which every trace\nof a political storm, which for a moment may have lashed the whole\nnation into fury, is appeased again: the surface is as smooth after\na few short years as if it had never been ruffled at all! In all such\ncases, the constant tendency is to let the events which have been thus\ntransient in their effects sink into oblivion. But even of those which\nhave been far more significant, (since each future age will teem with\nfresh events equally significant, all claiming a part in the page of\ngeneral history,) the importance will be perpetually diminishing in\nestimate, and still more in interest, from the intenser feeling with\nwhich each age will in turn regard the events which stand in immediate\nproximity to its own. As time rolls on, all of the past that can be\nspared will be gradually jostled out. Details will be lost; and then,\nwhen remote ages turn to reinvestigate the half-forgotten past, the\nwant of those details will issue in the customary problems and\n'historic doubts.' In the page of general history, events of a remote\nage, except those of a surpassing interest, will be reduced to more\nand more meagre outlines, till abridgments are abridged, and even these\ncompendiums thought tedious. The interval between decade and\ndecade now will be as much as that between century and century then.\nHistory will have to employ a sort of Bramah press in her compositions,\nand its application will compress into mere films the loose and pulpy\ntextures submitted to it by each age. Let human vanity think what it\nwill, many events and many names which seem imperishable will speedily\ndie out of remembrance; many lights in the firmament, destined\n(as we deem) to shine 'like the stars for ever and ever,' will hereafter\nbe missing from the catalogue of the historic astronomer.\"\n\n\"But, at all events,\" said the other, \"though there are thousands of\nfacts which will be virtually forgotten, it will be at all times easy\nto ascertain (if a sufficiently strong motive exist) the real character\nof past, events by a reference to the documents preserved by the press.\nThe press,--the press it is which will preserve us from the doubts of\nthe past.\"\n\n\"I doubt that. Has there been any lack of historic controversy respecting\na thousand facts which have transpired since the press was in full\nactivity? You forget, that, in the first place, neither the press, nor\nany thing else, can preserve any original documents. Time will not be\ninactive in the future more than in the past; it will have no more\nrespect for printed books than for manuscripts. An immense mass of print\nis every year silently perishing by mere decay. The original documents\nto which you refer will, eighteen hundred years hence, have almost all\nperished; few will be preserved except in copies, and how many disputes\nthat alone will cause, it is hard to say; but we may form some guess\nfrom the experience of the past. Of thousands of these documents, again,\nno importance having been attached to them, and no one having imagined\nthat any importance would ever be attached to them, no copies will\nhave been taken, and there will be here again the usual field for\nconjectures. This is a common trick of time;--silently destroying what\na present age thinks may as well be left to his maw. It is not even\ndiscovered that valuable documents are lost, till something turns\nup to make mankind wish they may be found. But neither is this the\nsole nor the chief source of future historic doubts. Do not flatter\nyourself too much on the wonders which the press can work, amongst\nwhich one unquestionably is, that it will bury at least as much\nas it will preserve. Several considerations will suffice to show that\nhere, too, we labor under a delusion. Oblivion will practically cover\nmany events, owing to the mere accumulations of the press itself. You\ntalk of the ease of consulting 'original documents'; but when they lie\nburied in the depths of national museums, amidst mountain loads of\nforgotten and decaying literature, it will not be so easy, even\nsupposing the present activity of the press only maintained for\neighteen hundred and fifty years (although, in all probability, it\nwill proceed at a rapidly increased ratio),--I say it will not be so\neasy to lay your hands on what you want. The materials, again, will\noften exist by that time in dead or half-obsolete languages, or at\nleast in languages full of archaic forms. It will be almost as difficult\nto unearth and collate the documents which bear upon any events less\nthan the most momentous, as to recover the memorials of Egypt from\nthe pyramids, or of ancient Assyria from the mounds of Nineveh. The\nhistorian of a remote period must be a sort of Belzoni or Layard. If\nwe can suppose any thing so extravagant as that the British Museum will\nbe in existence then, having preserved during these centuries (as it\ndoes now) all new hooks, and accumulated ancient and foreign literature\nonly at the rate it has during these few years past, the library alone\nwill extend over hundreds of acres at least. This, unless our posterity\nare fools, can hardly be the case; and therefore much will be rejected\nand left to the mercy of the great destroyer. But the very existence of\nany such repository is itself a very doubtful supposition. Comprehensive,\nindeed, may be the destruction of many large portions of our archives,\nessentially necessary to minute accuracy at so distant a date; nay,\nEngland herself may have ceased to exist. If her subterranean fuel be\nnot exhausted, a cheaper and equally abundant supply of it may have\nbeen found elsewhere, and transfer for ever the chief elements of her\nmanufacturing or commercial prosperity; or entirely new and more\ntranscendent sources of science may have done the same thing, and our\ncountry may be left, like a stranded vessel, to rot upon the beach!\nHer furnaces extinguished, her manufactories deserted, her cities decayed,\nthe hum of her busy population silenced, she may present a spectacle of\ndesolation like that of so many other famous nations which have risen,\nculminated, and set for ever.\"\n\n\"Or,\" interrupted I, \"(and may God avert the omen!) the same ruin may\nbe accomplished still earlier, and by more potent causes. Her nobles\nenervated by luxury, her lower classes sunk in vice and ignorance,\nand both the one and the other decaying in piety and religion (a sure\nresult of neglecting that Bible which has directly and indirectly formed\nher strength), she may have fallen a victim to the consequences of her\nown degeneracy, or to an irresistible combination of the enemies who\nenvy and hate her. That picture of the splendid imagination of the great\nhistorian of our day may be realized, 'when some traveller from New\nZealand shall, in the midst of a vast solitude, take his stand on a\nbroken arch of London Bridge to sketch the ruins of St. Paul's.'\"\n\n\"In short,\" resumed Harrington, \"in several ways that appalling\ncatastrophe may have taken place; and, should this be the case, how\nmany questions will be asked of history, but asked in vain! As for\nRome,--what other great name in the present strife pitted against\nEngland,--for aught we can tell, she may by that time be in desolation\nfar more remediless than when the grim Attilas and Alarics stormed her\nwalls. For aught we know, the agency of those terrible elements which\nmore or less mine the soil of Italy may have made her 'like unto'\nHerculaneum or Pompeii; or that silent desolater, the malaria, which\nDr. Arnold thinks will be perpetual and will increase, may long before\nthat period have reduced, not only the Campagna of Rome, but the whole\nregion of the 'seven hills,' to a pestilential solitude.\"\n\n\"But all this is mere vision?\" said Robinson.\n\n\"Certainly; but it is the vision of the possible. Similarly wonderful\nand equally unexpected revolutions have taken place in the history of\npast nations and empires in a less space of time; and some enormous\nchanges, we know, must happen during the next eighteen hundred and fifty\nyears; and they will tend both to jostle out thousands of events of meaner\nmoment, and to effect a comparative destruction of the memorials of the\npast. You do not suppose, I presume, that London and Rome are absolutely\nprivileged from the fate which has overtaken Babylon and Memphis. I, for\none, therefore, do not expect that the time will arrive when, in the\nhistoric investigations of the past, our Strausses will not find abundant\nscope for ingenious theories; nay, many real sources of perplexity even\nin reference to events which, at the time of their occurrence, seemed\nwritten as 'with a pen of iron on the rock for ever.' But even supposing\nno other difficulty, I cannot lay small stress upon the mere accumulation\nof materials on which the historian, two thousand years hence, will have\nto operate, if he would recover an exact account of the events of our\ntime. It is much the same whether you have to dig into the pyramids of\nEgypt, or into the catacombs of the buried literature of two thousand\nyears, for the memorials which are to enable you to arrive at the exact\ntruth, at least as to any events of transient interest, however important\nat the time of their occurrence. It will be like 'hunting for a needle\nin a bundle of hay,' as the proverb says.\"\n\n\"Still, I cannot imagine that facts like those with which our ears have\nbeen ringing during the last eight months, can ever be contested.\"\n\n\"Can you not?\" said Harrington. \"I cannot imagine any thing more likely\nthan that, eighteen hundred and fifty years hence, such an event, on\nStrauss's principles, may be shown to be very problematical.\"\n\n\"Will you endeavor to show how it may probably be?\" rejoined Robinson.\n\n\"Well, I have no objection, if you will give me till this evening to\nprepare so important a document.\"\n\nIn the evening, after supper, he amused us by reading us a brief paper,\nentitled\n\nTHE PAPAL AGGRESSION SHOWN TO BE IMPOSSIBLE.\n\n\"I shall proceed on the supposition that some Dr. Dickkopf or\nDr. Scharfsinn, for either name will do, has to deal (as my uncle here\nbelieves our modern critics have to deal in the Gospels) with an\naccount literally true. This learned man I shall imagine as existing\nin some nation at the antipodes eighteen hundred and fifty years hence,\nand intellectually, if not literally, descended from some erudite\ncritics of our age. Let me further suppose that the principal memorials\nof the current events are found in the page of some continuator of\nMacaulay (may the Fates have pity on him! I am afraid he will be far\nworse than even Smollett after Hume), who publishes his work only\nsixty years hence. Let us suppose him (as surely we well may)\nproceeding thus: 'During the year 1850-51, our countrymen are\nrepresented to us, by the accounts of those who lived at the time\n(some few still survive), as having been in a condition of political\nand religious excitement almost unprecedented in their history. It\nwas occasioned by the attempt of the Pope to reestablish the Roman\nCatholic hierarchy, which had been extinct since the Reformation. As\nthese events, though all-absorbing to the actors in them, (as are so\nmany others of very secondary importance,) have now shrunk to their\ntrue dimensions, and are, in fact, infinitely less momentous than\nothers which were silently transpiring at the time almost without\nnotice, I shall content myself with simply condensing a brief\ncontemporaneous document which gives the chief points, without passion\nor prejudice, in a narrative so simple that it vouches for its own\nveracity:--\n\n\"Without permission of the Crown, or any negotiations with the\nGovernment whatever, Pope Plus the Ninth divided the whole of England\ninto twelve sees, and assigned these to as many Roman Catholic bishops\nwith local titles and territorial jurisdiction. The chief of them was\none Nicholas Wiseman (by birth, it is said, a Spaniard), who was created\nArchbishop of Westminster and Cardinal.\n\n\"'The said Wiseman issued a pastoral letter, which was read on the\n27th day of October, 1850, in all the churches and chapels of the\nRomanists, congratulating Catholic England on the reestablishment of\nthe Roman hierarchy. In it he used the startling expression, \"Our\nbeloved country has been restored to its orbit in the ecclesiastical\nfirmament, from which its light had long vanished.\"\n\n\"'The nation was the more surprised at all this, inasmuch as the\nposition of Pio Nono was not such as to warrant any expectation of a\nstep so audacious. Little more than a year had elapsed since his own\nsubjects in Rome itself rebelled against him, murdered his Prime\nMinister, and compelled him, in the disguise of a menial, to fly from\nRome; nor was he restored except by the arms of the French, who besieged\nand took Rome in 1849.\n\n\"'That the Pope, while holding his own little dominions on so precarious\na tenure, should venture to assume such an exercise of supremacy over\nthe most powerful nation in the world,--a nation so jealous of its\nindependence, which had so long been, and which still was, most averse\nto his claims,--seemed almost incredible to the people of England; and\nthey were proportionably indignant.\n\n\"'Some affirmed that the aforesaid Cardinal Wiseman was the chief cause\nof it all,--the spectacle of many conversions from the Church of England\nto that of Rome having deceived him into a notion that the national\nmind was far more generally disposed to receive Romanism; and to make\nup the long-standing breach with the Papacy, than was really the case.\nThe principal cause of the conversions above mentioned was what was\ncalled the \"Oxford Movement.\" In the University of Oxford had sprung up\na body of men who had consecrated their lives to the diffusion of\ndoctrines indefinitely near those of Rome. They spoke of the Reformation\ncontemptuously; advocated very many, obsolete rites and usages;\nmagnified the power of the church and the prerogatives of the\npriesthood. Many of them, at length, finding that they could not, with\nany shadow of consistency, remain in the English church, abandoned it;\nbut many others remained, and propagated the same opinions with\nimpunity. They were regarded as traitors by their brethren, though no\nsteps were taken to prevent them from teaching their notions, nor to\ndeprive them of their benefices and emoluments. Among those who gave up\ntheir livings, of their own accord, from the feeling that they could not\nhold them with a safe conscience, the principal was one afterwards\ncalled Father Newman.\n\n\n\"'Now this Newman must by no means be confounded with another of the\nsame name, Professor Newman,--in fact his own brother,--who was also\neducated at Oxford, but whose history was in most singular contrast\nwith his. While the one brother went over to Rome, exceeded in zeal\nand credulity even the Romanists themselves, and sighed for a\nrestoration of mediaeval puerilities, the other lapsed into downright\ninfidelity, and denied even the possibility of an external revelation.\n\n\"'Very many thought, that, if the Oxford party had been wise enough\nto proceed more gently in the propagation of their notions, they would\nhave accomplished much greater things, and perhaps eventually brought\nthe popular mind to embrace the Romish Church. But their later\npublications (and especially No. 90) opened the eyes of many, and the\nfrequent defections from the English Church, which were almost daily\nannounced in the papers, opened the eyes of many more.\n\n\"'But whether or not Wiseman and other principal persons were misled\nby erroneous representations of the state of the English mind, certain\nit is that he advised the Pope to take this perilous step. The Pope\nwas persuaded; he assured the people of England, that he should not\ncease to supplicate the Virgin Mary and all the saints whose virtues\nhad made this country illustrious, that they would deign to obtain,\nby their intercessions with God, a happy issue to his enterprise.\n\n\"'The excitement produced by the publication of the Pope's proceedings\nthroughout England was prodigious, and can hardly be conceived by us\nat this day. Every county, city, and almost every town, held meetings\nin the utmost alarm and indignation; and resolved on petitioning the\nQueen and Parliament to do something or other to prevent the Pope's\nmeasures from taking effect; and especially to annul all claims to\nlocal and territorial jurisdiction in this country. The universities;\nthe clergy in their dioceses; the Bishops collectively,--even Philpotts\nof Exeter, though intoxicated with zeal for those Oxford notions which\nhad done all the mischief; the municipalities; almost all organized\nbodies, whether of Churchmen or Dissenters;--discussed and resolved.\nAmongst these meetings one was held at the Guildhall of London, which\nwas crowded with the merchant princes of that great city, and all that\ncould represent its wealth, intelligence, and energy. One Masterman\nopened the proceedings, made a vehement speech against the Bishop of\nRome and his pretensions, and proposed a stringent resolution, which\nwas carried by acclamation.\n\n\"'At a dinner given by the Lord Mayor, at which were present many\nof the Ministers of the Crown, the Lord Chancellor Wilde spoke very\nboldly, and, as some thought, unadvisedly, on his possible future\nrelations to the Cardinal.\n\n\"'Cardinal Wiseman published a subtle defence of himself and the\nPopish measure, which he addressed to the people of England; and,\nwhether consistently or inconsistently, pleaded in the most strenuous\nmanner for the inviolable observance of the principles of\n\"religious liberty.\"\n\n\"'A singular and indeed inexplicable circumstance occurred in the\ncourse of this controversy. In a lecture, delivered at the Hanover\nSquare Rooms, a certain Presbyterian clergyman had asserted that\nthe oath prescribed in the Pontificale Romanum, which the Cardinal\nWiseman must have taken to the Pope when he received the Pallium as\nArchbishop of Westminster, notoriously contained a clause enjoining\nthe duty of persecution. This clause, a facetious Englishman said,\nought to be translated, \"I will persecute and pitch into all\nheretics to the utmost of my power\"; and every one knew that the Pope\nof Rome looked upon the English as the greatest heretics in the world.\n\n\"'When Wiseman heard of the representations thus made, he caused his\nsecretary to write to the Protestant lecturer, to say that the clause\nin the oath to which he had referred was not insisted upon, in his\n(the Cardinal's) case, by the Pope, and that, if his calumniator chose\nto go to the Cardinal's library, he would see that it was cancelled\nin his copy of the Pontifical. The Protestant accepted his challenge\nand went to the said library. He was then shown the oath, and found the\nclause in question, totidem verbis; not cancelled, however, but marked\noff by a line in black ink drawn over it, and (as it seemed) very\nrecently.\n\n\"'Pamphlets were published on this curious circumstance on both sides;\nthe Roman Catholics contended that the mere fact of Wiseman's challenge\nwas a sufficient proof of his consciousness of rectitude.\n\n\"'On the whole, after half a year of perpetual agitation, both in and\nout of Parliament, a measure was passed which was notoriously inadequate\nto suppress the offence, and which was broken with impunity.\n\n\"'It is gratifying to add, that, notwithstanding the dangerous and\nvehement excitement which so long inflamed the minds of the people,\nno life was lost except on one occasion. The sufferer--contrary to\nwhat might have been expected--was of the dominant party a policeman,\nwho was endeavoring to repress the party violence of some Irish\nCatholics in the North of England.'\"\n____\n\n\"Now it need not be said,\" proceeded Harrington, \"that these sentences\ncontain what is perfectly well known by you--for myself I say nothing--to\nbe the merest matter of fact, narrated in the simplest language, without\nany art or embellishment. Would you like to hear how Dr. Dickkopf, of\nNew Zealand, or Kamtschatka, or Caffre-land, might treat such a document\neighteen hundred and fifty years hence, amidst that imperfect light which\nwe well know rests upon so many portions of the past, and which may, very\npossibly, be felt in the future? I think it would not be difficult for\nhim to show that the 'Papal Aggression' was impossible.\"\n\n\"We will, at least, listen to you,\" said Robinson.\n\n\"Let us suppose, then, some learned Theban stumbling upon this brief\nrecord of an obscure event, and, as usual, making (if only because he\nhad discovered what nobody in the world either knew or cared about)\na huge commentary upon it; concluding from the internal evidence, the\nsimplicity of the style, the absence of all imaginable motives for\nmisrepresentation, and some external corroborative fragments painfully\ngleaned from the history of the period, that these sentences formed a\ngenuine, literal, historic account of certain events which transpired\nin England in the year 1850. This, of course, would of itself be\nsufficient to make ten Dr. Dickkopfs turn to and prove the contrary;\nand any one of them, I imagine, might, and probably would, thus\nreply. Excuse his clumsy style. He would say:--\n\n\"'That there may have been, and very probably was, some nucleus of\nfact which may have served as a groundwork for these pseudo-historical\nmemorials, is not denied: but to regard that document of which it\nis professedly a condensation as a genuine record of the period in\nquestion, can only, we conceive, be the infelicity of an essentially\nuncritical mind. Most evidently, whether we regard the known events and\nrelations of that age (as far as they have come down to us) or the\ninternal characteristics of the document itself, we discover\nunequivocal traces of an unhistoric origin. Let us look at both these\nsources of evidence in order. If we mistake not, the document, even\nas it now stands, bears on its very front, that the original document,\nso far from being a literal description of the events of the time to\nwhich it professedly related, was allegorical, or at most historico-\nallegorical, and most likely designed broadly to caricature and\nsatirize some perceived tendencies or conditions of the English\nreligious development in certain parties of that age. But whether it\nbe, or be not, reducible to the class of allegorieo-ecclesiastico-\npolitical satire, certainly no person of critical discernment can for\na moment allow it to be a literal statement of historic events. And\nfirst to look at the internal evidence.\n\n\"'Is it possible to overlook the singular character of the names\nwhich everywhere meet us? They, in fact, tell their own tale, and\nalmost, as it were, proclaim of themselves that they are allegorical.\nWiseman, Newman (two of them, be it observed), Masterman, Philpotts,\nWilde. Who, that has been gifted with even a moderate share of\ncritical acumen, can fail to see that these are all fictitious names,\ninvented by the allegorist either to set forth certain qualities or\nattributes of certain persons whose true names are concealed, or, as\nI rather think, to embody certain tendencies of the times, or represent\ncertain party characteristics. Thus the name \"Wiseman\" is evidently\nchosen to represent the proverbial craft which was attributed to the\nChurch of Rome; and Nicholas has also been chosen (as I apprehend)\nfor the purpose of indicating the sources whence that craft was derived.\nIn all probability the name was selected just in the same manner as\nBunyan in his immortal Pilgrim's Progress (which still delights the\nworld) has chosen \"Worldly Wiseman\" for one of his characters. It is\nsaid that he was a Spaniard: but who so fit as a Spaniard to be\nrepresented as the agent of the Holy See? while, as there never was\na Spaniard of that name, every one can see that historic probability\nhas not been regarded. The word \"Newman\" again (and observe the\nsignificant fact that there were two of them) was, in all probability,\nI may say certainly, designed to embody two opposite tendencies, both\nof which, perhaps, claimed, in impatience of the effete humanity of\nthat age (a dead and stereotyped Protestantism), to introduce a new\norder of things. These parties (if I may form a conjecture from the\ndocument itself) were essaying to extricate the mind of the age\nfrom the difficulties of its intellectual position; an age,\nasserting inconsistently, on the one hand, the freedom of spiritual\nlife, and, on the other, claiming for the Bible an authorized\nsupremacy over all the phenomena of that spiritual life. One of these\nparties sought to solve this difficulty by endeavoring to resuscitate\nthe spirit of the past; the other, by attempting to set human\nintellect and consciousness free from the yoke of all external\nauthority. In all probability the names were suggested to the\nsomewhat profane allegorico-satitical writer by that text in the\nEnglish version, \"Put on the Newman,\" the new man of the spirit.\nWe are almost driven to this interpretation, indeed, by the extreme\nand ludicrous improbability of two men--brothers, brought up at\nthe same university--gradually receding, pari passu, from the same\npoint in opposite directions, to the uttermost extreme; one till\nhe had embraced the most puerile legends of the Middle Ages, the\nother, till he had proceeded to open infidelity. Probably such a\ncurious coincidence of events was never heard of since the world\nbegan; and this must, at all events, be rejected.\n\n\"'Similar observations apply to the name Masterman, which, in ancient\nEnglish, was applied to him who was not a \"servant\" or \"journeyman,\"\nand is not unfitly used to indicate collectively the assemblage of\nwealthy merchants who, like those of Tyre, were \"princes\"; as well\nas to imply that the powerful class to which they belonged were the\n\"Mastermen\" in the country, and, in fact, spoke in a potential voice\nin all such crises as that supposed. It might also, perhaps, be\ndesigned obliquely to intimate, that, 'whatever the clergy and the\ntheologians of different parties might wish to realize, it was,\nafter all, the powerful and independent class of the laity who were\nthe \"mastermen,\" and would not succumb to any spiritual guides whatever,\neven though called by the specious names of Wisemen and Newmen. The\nmere singularity of the names alone ought to decide the point. And\nwhat further confirms our view is, that it is impossible to point\nout any Englishmen of any distinction who ever had any of these\nnames. Here we do not argue from conjecture, after merely looking\ninto the most recent biographical repertories (as, for example,\nthe \"Bibliotheca Clarisimorum Virorum,\" in three hundred and fifty\nvolumes folio); for it is no argument that this meagre collection\nmakes no mention of any such names; since, in the successive\ncompilations of such works, (as the world grows older,) it has\nbeen found necessary to extrude from time to time thousands of lesser\nnames, which had twinkled in preceding ages. But, deeply anxious to\nestablish truth, we have at infinite pains caused to be fished up,\nfrom the depths of the archives of our national museums, very rare\nreprints of some of the works of the age nearest that in which these\nevents are said to have occurred, and in none of these works is there\nan individual mentioned of the name of Newman or Masterman, and\nonly one comparatively obscure person of the name of Wiseman,--a\npresumptive proof that they were fictitious names. Is it possible\nthat these curious and varied coincidences can be the mere effect\nof chance?'\n\n\"I shall spare you,\" said Harrington, \"Dr. Dickkopf's learned\netymological disquisitions on the names Wilde and Philpotts, which,\naided by the imputed 'rashness' of the one, and the 'intoxicated zeal'\nof the other, he clearly demonstrated to be fictitious.\n\n\"After which, I will suppose him to proceed thus:--\n\n'We presume we have said enough to convince any acute and candid mind\nof the extreme improbability of the document being designed to convey\nto posterity a literal statement of facts; not that we for a moment\nthink it necessary to suppose that any evil design actuated the writer,\nwhoever he might be. It was most likely intended, as we have already\nsaid, to be an allegorico-political caricature of certain events which\ndid undeniably occur, and which formed a slender basis of historic\nfact on which to found it.\n\n\"'Nor is the particularity of some of the dates and alleged\ncircumstances of much weight in our judgment. He must be a miserable\ninventor of fiction indeed, who cannot clothe a narrative in some\nverisimilitude of this kind. It is said, that the historian makes a\nseeming reference to those who were living at the very time.\n\"Some,\" he says, \"still survive.\" But who does not see that the\nword \"survive\" may refer to the accounts (which he, it appears,\nknew little how to interpret), not the persons; though, be it observed,\nthat on such a supposition he does not vouch for having seen them,\nand may have spoken merely from report. This very clause, too, has\nundeniably much the appearance of an interpolation. There are many\nother little circumstances, which, to those who have been accustomed\nto detect unhistoric characteristics in ancient documents, and to\ndraw a sharp line between the mythic or allegoric and the historic,\nsufficiently proclaim the origin of this supposed narrative of facts.\n\n\"'But the internal evidence, conclusive as it is, is as nothing to\nthe external. If we examine the document by the light of the facts\nwhich contemporary history supplies, nay, even by the probability or\notherwise of its own contents, we shah see the extreme absurdity of\nsupposing that the account from which it was borrowed was ever meant\nto be a record of facts. We hesitate not to say, that the political\nfacts of which it makes mention are many of them in the highest degree\nincredible. That there may have been a rebellion at Rome is very\npossible; but assuredly the only nation in Europe, (if we except\nEngland,) that was not likely to take the Pope's part against a\nrepublican movement, or resent him on his throne, was the French.\nTo suppose them thus acting is contrary to all that we know of the\nhistory of that nation, and of human nature. The traces of the terrible\nrevolutions which in that century, and at the close of the preceding\none, shook France again and again to her centre, and the outlines of\nwhich still live in authentic history, all show the extent to which\ninfidelity and democratic violence prevailed in France; nay, we know\nthat during the dominion of the Emperor Napoleon, if we are to regard\nhis history as literally true, and not a collection of fables and\nlegends,* as some even of that age maintained, that great conqueror\narrested and imprisoned the Pope. That France should have undertaken\nthe task of subduing a republican movement, just when she had come\nout of a similar revolution, or rather many such,--and of reseating\nthe Pope on his throne, when she had been more impatient of the\nrestraints of all religion than any other nation in Europe,--is\nperfectly incredible! Not less improbable is it that, supposing (as\nmay perhaps be true) that there was a basis of fact in the asserted\nrebellion of the Romans, and Pio Nono's restoration to his dominions\n(though not by France, that the intelligent reader will on\npolitico-logical grounds pronounce impossible, but more probably by\nthe Spaniards),--yet can we suppose that a power which was always\ncelebrated for its astuteness and subtlety would choose that very\nmoment of humiliation and ignominy to rush into an act so audacious\nas that of reestablishing the Romish hierarchy in England,--in a\nnation by far the most powerful in the world at that time,--a nation\nwhich, if it had pleased, could have blown Rome into the air in\nthree months? It must needs have strengthened a thousand-fold the\nstrong antipathies of the English to the See of Rome. It would,\nindeed, have justified that storm of indignation with which it is\nsaid to have been met.\n\n____\n\n* Dr. Dickkopf may be here supposed to refer to the \"Historic Doubts\"\nof Archbishop Whately, which may well deceive even more astute\ncritics.--Ed.\n____\n\n\"'There is much that is palpably improbable in many other parts of\nthe statement (simple as it seems to be) when submitted to the\nsearching spirit of modern criticism. How ridiculous is the story of\nCardinal Wiseman's pretending that the oath in receiving the Pallium\nhad been modified for his convenience; little less so, indeed, than\nhis challenge to his Presbyterian antagonist to examine it, and that,\ntoo, in the very book in which the contested clause was not cancelled!\nAll this is such a maze of absurdity, that it is impossible to believe\nit. In the first place, do we not know that, throughout the whole\nhistory of the Papal power, the inflexible character, not only of\nits doctrines, but of its official forms and solemnities, was always\nmaintained, and that this pertinacity was continually placing it at\na disadvantage in the contest with the more flexible spirit of\nProtestantism? It would not renounce, in terms or words, the very\nthings which it did renounce in deeds, and never could prevail upon\nitself to get over this unaccommodating spirit! Yet here we are to\nbelieve that, at the Cardinal's request a certain part of a most\nsolemn ceremonial--that of receiving the Pallium was remitted by the\nPope! If it were so, the Cardinal would certainly have desired to\nconceal it. If he could not have done that, he would, at least, never\nhave given so easy a triumph to his adversary as to challenge him\nto inspect the very copy of the Pontifical, in which, after all, the\noath was not cancelled, in order that he might be satisfied that it was!\nWho can believe that a Cardinal of the Romish Church, Wiseman or fool,\nwould have been simple enough for such a step as this? It is plain that\nthe historian himself was not unaware that such an objection would\nimmediately suggest itself, and endeavors to guard against it,--a\nsuspicious circumstance in itself--which may serve to warn us how little\nwe can depend on the historic character of the document.\n\n\"'Again; what can be more improbable, than that, when a great nation\nwas convulsed from one end to the other, as the English are said to\nhave been, there should have been no violence, not even accidentally,\nattending those huge and excited assemblages; a thing so natural, nay,\nso certain! Who can believe that only one man was sacrificed, and he on\nthe predominant side? I have discovered in my laborious researches on\nthis important subject, that only seventy years before, when a cry of\nthe same nature, but much less potent, was raised, London was filled\nwith conflagration and blood-shed. Who ever heard, indeed, of commotion\nsuch as this is pretended to have been, and its ending in vox et\npraeterea nihil?\n\n\"'It is superfluous to point out the absurdity of supposing a Cardinal\nof the Romish Church lecturing the people of England on \"the claims of\nreligious liberty\"; or so great a nation, in such a paroxysm, spending\nmany months in the concoction of a measure confessed to be a feeble one,\nand suffered to be broken with impunity!\n\n\"'But, lastly, my laborious researches have led to the important\ndiscovery, that, in this very year of pretended hot commotion,\nEngland--in peace with all the world, profound peace within and\nprofound peace without--celebrated a sort of jubilee of the nations,\nin a vast building of glass (wonderful for those times), called the\nGreat Exhibition, to which every country had contributed specimens\nof the comparatively rude manufacture--of that rude age! London was\nfilled with foreigners from all parts of the earth; the whole kingdom\nwas in a commotion, indeed, but a commotion of hospitable festivity,\nin which it shook hands with all the world!\n\nThis is a piece of positive evidence which ought to settle the whole\nmatter. In short, the external and internal evidence alike warrants\nus in rejecting this absurd story as utterly incredible.'\"\n\n\"Upon my word,\" said young Robinson, \"you have said more than I thought\nyou could have said on such a theme. I really almost doubt whether\nDr. Dickkopf has not the best of it, and whether we ought not to\nagree that the 'Papal Aggression' is a sheer delusion.\"\n\n\"O,\" said Harrington, \"I have mot given you half the arguments by\nwhich an historian, eighteen hundred years hence, might prove that\nwhat has actually occurred never could have occurred, and that what\nhas not occurred must, in the very nature of things, have occurred,\nby a necessity alike political, historical, ethical, logical, and\npsychological. And no doubt Dr. Dickkopf is right on the principles\non which acute critics may argue; that is, the assumption that certain\nprobabilities will justify conclusions on such subjects. One might\nnaturally have supposed the Pope to have been more politic than to\ntake this step,--the French more consistent than to suppress the\nRepublican movement of Italy,--the English less moderate in\nexpressing their indignation,--and certainly that there would\nnever have been such an array of odd names to garnish one brief document.\nAnd now, I bethink me, it is far from impossible that some Dr.\nDickkopf may even apply to Strauss's Leben Jesu, and Dr. Whately's\n'Historic Doubts' similar reasoning, to prove that the first was\nelaborate irony, and the second a sincere expression of scepticism.\"\n\n\"How can that be?\"\n\n\"Thus: he will prove that the age was remarkably fond of such species\nof ironical literature. As Strauss, in his preface, has expressly\nadmitted (though we all know what he means) that Christianity is true,\nand has suggested an unimaginably absurd hypothesis as to its true\nimport, founded on the principles of the Hegelian philosophy, the\nlearned Dr. Dickkopf will say, that no one who so spoke of Christianity\ncould have intended seriously to discredit it, and yet certainly could\nnot possibly believe the absurd theory of it concocted out of German\nphilosophy; ergo, that we must regard the whole book as a piece of\nprolonged irony,--a little too characteristic of German pedantry, it\nis true, but sincerely designed to expose that extravagance of historic\ncriticism and Biblical exegesis which had so distinguished the\nauthor's countrymen, by which Homer had been annihilated, a great\npart of ancient history rendered doubtful, and the Bible turned into\na riddle-book; that this hypothesis is confirmed by the space which\nStrauss gives to the exposure of the absurdities of the Rationalists,\nwhich, in fact, occupies at least half his work. Dr. D. will even\nvery likely prove that Strauss himself is a fictitious name; Strauss,\nin the German, meaning an ostrich, which, according to the proverb,\ncan digest any thing. On the other hand, as he will be able to show\nthat Strauss's work is a piece of prolonged irony, he will very likely\nshow that Whately's 'Historic Doubts' may be a sincere expression of\nopinion (which, in fact, many have even in our day wisely believed\nit to be), and he will argue it with a gravity worthy of one of the\ncommentators who interpret the irony of Socrates literally; he will\nprove it from the air of sobriety and sincerity which pervades the\npamphlet. Nay, for aught I know, he may show that there was an\n'historic place' for such a piece in the undoubted myths to which\nthe wondrous achievements of Napoleon had given rise; he will say that\nthese had produced a natural feeling of scepticism as to the greater\npart of the facts, though he will think Dr. Whately has gone a little\ntoo far in doubting his very existence; there being sufficient evidence\nthat such a man as Napoleon existed, though the world really knows\nlittle more about him than about Semitamis or Genghis Khan!\"\n\n\"Well,\" said I, \"having proved that Dr. Strauss's work is irony, and\nWhately's brochure a sincere expression of opinion, it would be hard\nfor even Dr. Dickkopf to go further. But, seriously, it is no\nlaughing matter. This is a strange power the future historian has\nover us.\"\n\n\"O, be assured,\" said Harrington, \"he can make of us just what he\npleases. Never was a question more unreasonable than that of the\nIrishman, who, being conjured, on some occasion, to think of posterity,\nsaid, 'I should like to know what posterity has done for us.' It will\ndo something for us, depend upon it. A future historian will not only\nmake us confess, with the Prayer-Book, 'that we have done the things\nwe ought not to have done, and have left undone the things we ought\nto have done,' but 'that we have done the things that we have not\ndone, and have left undone the things that we have done.'\"\n\n\"I wonder,\" said I, \"that some of Dr. Strauss's countrymen have not\nproved him to be an imaginary being,--a myth. It were very easy to do\nit on such principles.\"\n\n\"It has been done long since,\" said Harrington, \"by Wolfgang Menzel.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said I, in conclusion, \"you have clearly proved that a\ntrue history may plausibly be shown to be false.\"\n\n\"And therefore, my dear uncle, you will, I hope, justify my scepticism\nin all such matters,\" said he archly. I acknowledge, as Socrates says,\nthat I felt for a moment as if I had received a sudden blow, and\nhardly knew what to say. \"No,\" said I at last, \"unless you can justify\nDr. Strauss's theory of historical criticism, of which you yourself\nacknowledge you have doubts. With that any thing may be proved false;\nmeantime it appears that the facts to which it is applied may be\nundoubtedly true.\"\n\n____\n\nOn retiring to my chamber, I mused for some time on the facility with\nwhich man's ingenuity or inclinations can pervert any facts which he\nresolves shall be otherwise than they are. \"Dubious as is the EVIDENCE,\"\nHarrington was fond of saying, \"I distrust the Judas still more\"; an\nadmission, I told him, of which I should one day remind him. Tired at\nlast of this unpleasant theme, I took up a volume of Leibnitz's\nTheodicee, which happened to lie on the table, and read those striking\npassages towards the conclusion in which he represents Theodore (reluctant\nto accept the iron theory of necessity) as privileged with a peep into\na number of the infinite possible worlds; from which he has the\nsatisfaction of seeing that, bad as is the lot of Sextus in the best\nof all possible worlds, that lot, Sextus being what he is, could not\npossibly be any better; a queer consolation, by the way, till we know\nwhy Sextus must be what he is, or why Sextus must be at all.\n\nI sank off to slumber in my chair, no doubt under the soporific effects\nof this metaphysical morphine. While I slept, the previous discussions\nof the day and the dose of Theodicee operating together suggested a very\nstrange dream, which I shall here record. It shall be entitled\n\nTHE PARADISE OF FOOLS.\n\nMethought I saw a grave and very venerable old man with a long white\nbeard enter my chamber, and quietly seat himself opposite to me.\nInstead of asking who he was and how he came there, nothing seemed\nmore natural and proper. We all know how easily in dreams the mind\ndispenses with all ceremony; little or no introduction is required;\nevery one is at once on a most delightful footing of familiarity\nwith all the world; and the greatest possible incongruities appear\njust comme il faut.\n\nHe told me that he had come from a very curious part of the \"best of\nall possible worlds,\"--the \"Paradise of Fools\"; and on my looking\nsurprised, said,--\n\n\"Are you ignorant, then, that there is a spot in the universe where\na vicegerent of the Deity has at his disposal unlimited power and\nwisdom to enable him to comply with the somewhat whimsical conditions\nof the theories of those wonderful philosophers who have taken upon\nthem to say how the universe might have been constructed without any\nsupreme or presiding intelligence at all; or have modestly suggested,\nthat, had they been consulted, certain notable improvements might\nhave been effected in its fabrication or government; or, lastly, who\nhave complained of the revelation which God has vouchsafed to man,\nor contended, that, if true, it might have been more unexceptionably\nframed, and more skilfully promulgated?\"\n\n\"And what is the result?\" I asked.\n\n\"The result is a part of 'the everlasting shame and contempt' which\nare the heritage of impiety.\"\n\n\"There must have been enough for the said vicegerent to do,\" I remarked.\n\n\"Not so much as you imagine,\" said he, smiling. \"The conditions of their\ntheories, so far as even omniscience can comprehend or omnipotence\nrealize them, are indeed exactly complied with; but nevertheless, they\noften baffle both. Sometimes the reproof, thus implied, obliquely\nstrikes more than its immediate objects; it alights even on some of the\nprofoundest philosophers, who never had it in their thoughts to call\nin question the infinite superiority of Divine Power and Wisdom, but\nwho have delivered themselves a little too positively about 'monads'\nand 'atoms,' and ultimate constituents of the universe. They have\nsometimes been not a little scandalized, as well as laughed at, when\nsome half-witted, muddle-headed followers, glad to escape their trial,\npretended to have founded systems of Pantheism, or what is just the same\nthing, Atheism, on some of their too obscure definitions. One man\ndeclared that he could do nothing without the Monads of Leibnitz, each\nof which, says that philosopher, 'is a mirror representing the universe,\nthough obscurely, and knows every thing, but confusedly,' which last\nclause is unexceptionable enough. Another rogue asked for the archetypes\nof Plato,--he had had a notion, he said, that a good deal might be made\nout of them without Plato's Demiurgus; another, for the constituents\nof the vital automata of Descartes: he had been misled to believe, that,\nif animals could be mechanically produced, the whole universe might\nhave been so produced also. The Archangel assured them and others,\nwith much politeness, that, if the philosophers in question could in\nany way make their meaning intelligible, Heaven would do its poor best\nto realize their conceptions; but that it was impossible for even\nomnipotence to execute commands which even omniscience could not\ncomprehend.\n\n\"Similarly, one man requested that he might be provided with a little\nof Aristotle's 'Eternal Matter,' but he was told that there was no such\nthing in rerum natura, and that it was unfortunately too late to make\nit. He seemed to think himself very unjustly treated. Another demanded\nsome of the Atoms of Epicurus, to make a slight experiment with;\nunexceptionably spherical, invisible, and so forth. These, he was told,\nhe might be accommodated with; and that all he had to do was to shake\nthem long enough, and doubtless the fortuitous jumble would come out\nat last a miniature world.\n\n\"Above all, there were several German philosophers, who, having founded\nvarious physical theories, more or less extensive, on the perspicuous\nmetaphysics of their countrymen, were confident that, if they had not\nhit on the modes which Supreme Wisdom had adopted, their modes were\nyet very excellent modes; and they were absolutely clamorous that their\nexperiments should begin. But, alas! many of them stood but little\nchance of being ever tried, for the very same reason which prevented\nthe disciple of Leibnitz from obtaining his 'Monads'; their authors\ncould not make their meaning intelligible to the delegated omniscience.\nAs to some of the metaphysicians, since their theories embraced nothing\nless than the evolution of the 'totality' of the universe, the 'infinite'\nand the 'absolute' included, it was of course impossible that they\ncould be tried. But it was thought an appropriate punishment for them\nto be condemned to write on till they had made their meaning intelligible.\nSome have labored with incredible industry to comply with this very\nreasonable request, but their notions seem to grow darker and darker\nat every step; and one in particular has written a huge folio, in which,\nby universal consent of men and angels, there is not the smallest\nglimmer of meaning from one end to the other. Another even complains in\nprivate of the want of philosophical genius in the court of celestial\ncriticism, and declares that in Germany they could have constructed ten\ntheories of the universe and given twenty solutions of the 'infinite'\nand the 'absolute' in the time he has been vainly endeavoring to\nexplain his meaning to personages so deplorably deficient in\nmetaphysical acumen.\"\n\nHe was going on with some other details of the hapless philosophers.\n\n\"I would much rather hear from you,\" said I, \"for it is a subject in\nwhich I take a far deeper interest, how those have sped who have objected\nto the Revelation with which God has favored man, on the ground that\nit cannot be true, else it would have been more unexceptionably framed\nor more wisely promulgated. I take it for granted that these have not\nbeen destitute of opportunities of trying their experiment.\"\n\n\"Surely not,\" replied my new acquaintance. \"'The Paradise of Fools'\nis well stocked with creatures of this description. Many of the\nexperiments which required time to test them were commenced hundreds\nof years ago, and are completed. Others are still unfinished while\nthere have been many which required only to be commenced and they were\ncompleted instantly, to the confusion of their authors.\"\n\n\"I should much like,\" said I, \"to hear an account of some of these\nexperiments.\"\n\n\"Willingly,\" answered he; \"only you must bear in mind that they were all\nto be performed under certain limitations, without which no revelation\nwhich God can give to man would be of the slightest value.\"\n\nHe then informed me, that the evidence afforded must not be such as to\nannihilate the conditions on which man is to be made virtuous and happy,\nif he is to be made so at all. It must not be inconsistent with the\nexercise of either his reason or his faith, nor prevent the play of\nhis moral dispositions, nor triumph by mere violence over his\nprejudices; it must not operate purely upon the passions or the senses,\nnor overhear all possibility of offering resistance,--as would be\nthe case, for example, if a man were placed on the edge of a precipice,\nand told that he would immediately be thrown over it if he transgressed\nthe rules of temperance or chastity. The happiness, he said, which\nGod originally designed for his intelligent and moral creatures was a\nvoluntary happiness, springing out of the well-balanced and well-directed\nactivity of all the principles of their nature. Any revelation, therefore,\nmust proceed on the same basis, both as regards itself and the mode in\nwhich it is given. Arguments and motives morally sufficient, but not\nmore than sufficient, must be addressed to the intellect and the\nconscience. All this is necessary to render the felicity and perfection\nof man stable and permanent; for without such a trial, triumphantly\nsustained, he would have no security that, in the presence of objects\nwhich tend to exert an overpowering influence on his senses or his\nfeelings, he might not at some period of the unknown future be impelled\nto take a wrong path, and err and be miserable. This ordeal, originally\ndesigned for man and not superseded by revelation, must be continued\nlong enough to render the principles on which he ought to act practical\nhabits; after which he may go forth (sublime and glorious privilege!) to\nany part of this world, or of any world to which God may call him,\nmaster of himself and his destiny; not afraid lest temptations should\nwarp him from a steadfastness that is founded on the decisions of an\ninflexible will, itself directed by enlightened intelligence and moral\nrectitude; in a word, in possession of the appropriate and alone\nappropriate happiness of an intellectual and moral agent; an image\nof the felicity of the great Creator himself. This condition, he\nsaid, of giving a revelation, so far from being a hardship, is not\nonly in harmony with the nature of things, but is itself an expression\nof the Divine Beneficence; which designed for man no casual,\nprecarious safety, as the result of transient external violence\nto the principles of his nature, but a permanent and inviolable\nequilibrium of the powers within him. \"Heaven itself,\" he concluded,\n\"can be heaven only to those who are internally prepared for it.\"\n\n\"Were there many,\" I cried, \"who were willing to make the experiment\nof giving a revelation more unexceptionably than it has been given,\non the proposed conditions?\"\n\n\"Not very many, as you may well suppose,\" said he; \"but if objectors\nhad been unwilling, they would have been compelled to make it.\"\n\n\"But upon whom were the experiments to be made?\" said I; \"for\nunless they were beings of the same intellectual and moral condition\nas themselves, I see not how aught could come of it.\"\n\n\"O, be satisfied,\" he replied; \"the beings who are provided for\nthese Projectors are as like the inhabitant of your world as one\negg is like another. They are men themselves; communities made up\nof those who have lived in your world, and who have gone out of it\nwith the same thoughts, passions, and emotions as they had on earth;\nmany of them having rejected or disregarded the true revelation, and\nothers never having had that revelation to reject. Of course they\nare ignorant, in this intermediate state, of the tricks which these\nexperimenters play with them, till they are concluded; but in\nrejecting the new revelations, many of them reject the very conditions\nof belief which when on earth they said would have been sufficient,\nwhile the result in those who make the experiment and in those on\nwhom the experiment is made is to 'vindicate the ways of God to man.'\"\n\nThere is a wonderful power in getting over trifling difficulties in\nour dreams, or I should certainly have demurred to some parts of this\nstatement. Instead of that, I let my mind, as usual in such cases,\ndwell on a point which was no difficulty at all. \"If,\" said I, \"they\nare dead, they are probably very different beings from what they were\nwhen alive.\"\n\n\"And do you think,\" said he, with an unpleasant half-sneer, \"that mere\nchange of place makes any difference in man, or that the merely physical\neffects of death operate a magical change on his intellect, affections,\nemotions, and volitions, or can render him a more reasonable creature\nthan he was before?\"\n\n\"I did not mean exactly that,\" said I; \"but surely it is not possible\nthat the soul without the body can be exactly like the soul with it.\"\n\n\"Have not your philosophers,\" said he, \"often founded, or pretended to\nfound, scepticism on the argument that it is difficult to tell whether\nlife itself may not be a series of illusions like those in dreams?\nHave they not even declared, that, as in dreams all seems to be real,\nso in their waking moments all may be no more than a dream? nay, have\nnot some said that it is impossible to tell which is the real and\nwhich the dreaming part of their existence?\"\n\n\"There have been such,\" said I, \"but I never knew any one convinced by\ntheir reasoning.\"\n\n\"Perhaps not,\" he answered, \"but it may be of use to show you, that\nin that intermediate state men may, as in dreams, be capable of a\nseries of thoughts and emotions exactly similar to what they experienced\nin this world; quite as vivid, and,\" he added with a quiet smile,\n\"perhaps as rational.\"\n\n\"But they must be more coherent than those which now visit our\nslumbers,\" said I.\n\n\"It is hardly worth while to contend about the difference,\" he\nreplied, with a sarcastic expression which I did not much like.\n\"It is sufficient to say, however, that these projectors have no\nreason to complain; for with whatever show of reason men think or\nact here, so under exactly the same laws of thought and emotion do\nthose shadows act there.\"\n\n\"But I, who am now awake and perfectly sensible--\"\n\nHe laughed outright. \"Are you so sure,\" said he, \"that you are awake.\nHow do you know it?\"\n\n\"Because I am conscious of it,\" said I.\n\n\"And this too, I suppose, is a philosopher,\" he muttered to himself.\n\"Well,\" he continued aloud, \"we must not discuss these matters just now;\nyou must believe me when I say that the communities to which our\nexperimenters go to work, on their own hypotheses, are just as capable\nof ingenious reasoning and impartial and candid deliberation, as you are\nnow in your present waking moments. You wish to hear a few of these\nexperiments?\"\n\nI nodded.\n\n\"Well, then, first, there was one worthy philosopher, who, having seen\nthe advantages which infidelity has gained from the discrepancies and\nother difficulties occasioned by the varied testimonies which the\nevangelical historians have left behind them, resolved, after having\nwrought a number of splendid miracles (uniformly affirmed and never\ndenied by the parties in whose presence they were performed), that\nthey should all be consigned to one single history., so admirably\nconstructed that there was not a single discrepancy from beginning\nto end.\"\n\n\"And what was the effect?\"\n\n\"Why, in the first place, you must recollect that, according to that\nor any other mode of authenticating a divine communication by miracles,\nthere were a great many more of those who never saw the miracles than\nof those who did; for if miracles had been common, they would have\nceased to be miracles. There were vast numbers, therefore, who, even\nin the age in which they were performed, never believed them; but,\nwhat is more, in four generations there was not a soul that did\nnot treat them as old wives' fables.\"\n\n\"Surely they were very unreasonable,\" I said.\n\n\"Not at all; it was inevitable; for it was asked (and every one assented\nto it), whether it was reasonable that a story so marvellous, and so\ncontrary to experience, should be believed on any single testimony,\nhowever unexceptionable? There were also keen critics who said, that,\nas there was proof that in the very age in which the miracles were\nwrought there were many who did not believe the message which they\nprofessedly confirmed, it was a strong indication that the whole was a\nfiction; while some others of still greater acumen discovered that the\nvery freedom from all discrepancies and contradictions in the account\nitself smelt very strongly of art and design; that this perfection of\nconsistency was not the characteristic of any history ever written by\nan honest man, and that no doubt it had been elaborately contrived by\na single highly inventive mind.\"\n\n\"The idiots!\" I exclaimed. \"Why, this very circumstance ought surely\nto have led them to argue the other way.\"\n\n\"They thought otherwise; and I must say I think they argued very\nplausibly, and that very much is to be said for them. They thought\nthat perfect self-consistency might possibly be obtained by a single\nmind of highly inventive power, and they preferred believing that,\nto receiving such wonderful things supported by any single testimony.\"\n\n\"But did none attempt to remedy this defect of the unhappy speculator?\"\n\n\"O, yes; another attempted to establish in a second community of our\nreasonable shadows a revelation on the same basis of miracles; but\ninstead of trusting to one witness, he recorded the results by ten;\nand with such perfection of art, that all the ingenuity of all the\ncritics of succeeding ages could not detect a single variation other\nthan in language; the records themselves and their contents were\nprecisely the same.\n\n\"And what was the result.\"\n\n\"Much the same as before; for this identity of substance and almost\nof manner showed most evidently, said the critics, that there had\nbeen collusion between the several parties who had framed the\nrevelation:--and in the course of three or four generations it was\nuniversally rejected, as totally unworthy of belief.\"\n\n\"I see not, then, how a revelation by any such means could be\nauthenticated at all?\"\n\n\"Why, our reasonable creatures require a great deal of management,\n--that is the truth. There is no way in which you cannot prove to your\nown satisfaction, that no one of any divine communications (given\nunder the conditions aforesaid) is to be believed; but perhaps after\nall, the method would have been more sure, had these sages confined\nthese communications to different testimonies, in which the general\nharmony and undesigned coincidences should be manifest, but which\nshould contain slight discrepancies, and even some apparent\ncontradictions, which the parties, if there had been collusion, would\ncertainly have obviated. This would, perhaps, have been the best\nguaranty that there could not be any fraud in the case.\"\n\n\"But this,\" I remarked, \"was just the mode in which the Gospels of\nChrist were consigned to mankind.\"\n\n\"And you see with what mixed result. It was sufficient, indeed, to\njustify the method, if it was attended with less disastrous effects\nthan any other mode. For it is a problem of limits even at the\nvery best.\"\n\nPrompted, I suppose, by some recollection of Woolston's opinion,\nthat the miracles of Jesus Christ would have been better worthy\nof attention, and more likely to be credited by posterity, if they\nhad been performed on royal or notable public characters, or in\ntheir presence, I felt curious to know if any one had been\ndetermined to guard against a similar error. I was told that there\nhad been; and for a time every thing went on well. This sage's\ndoctrine and pretensions were rapidly propagated within certain\nlimits of space and time. But alas! while even in his lifetime the\nzeal of some of the royal or noble converts caused the doctrine to\nbe regarded with considerable suspicion among the rival great, to\nwhom the fame of the miracles was known only by hearsay, its early\nsuccess proved an insurmountable objection in a few generations;\nfor several learned infidels showed to the satisfaction of the\nentire community, that the pretended revelation could have been\nnothing else than a conspiracy of crafty statesmen for political\npurposes. It was sagely remarked, that it was not wonderful that a\ndoctrine had been believed, and had rapidly diffused itself, which\nhad all the prestige of rank, and power, and statesmanship in\nits favor; that if, indeed, it had appeared amongst the poor and\nignorant portion of mankind, and the had been witnessed by such as\nfrom their situation were rather likely to be persecuted by the\ngreat and powerful than to be favored by them; and lastly, if the\npretended revelation had vanquished such resistance instead of\nbeing suspiciously allied with it, something more might be said in\nits behalf; but as it was, the whole thing was evidently--a lie.\n\n\"Really,\" said I, \"it seems a more difficult thing for God to make\nknown his will to mankind than I had supposed.\"\n\n\"It is,\" said he, \"on those conditions to which his wisdom for man's\nown sake has restricted him, and apart from which condition I have\nalready stated that a revelation would be worthless. It is a far\nmore difficult matter than those who have not reflected upon the\nsubject would suppose, and you would have more reason to say so\nstill, if you knew, as I do, how ludicrously, as well as how utterly,\nmany other attempts have failed.\"\n\nHe then amused me with an account of a sage, who, seeing the ill\nconsequences which had followed from the very local or limited\ncharacter of miracles (when a few generations had passed by),\nresolved to remedy this by a series of wonders so stupendous and\nmagnificent, that the very echo of them, as it were, should\nreverberate through the hollow of future ages, and so impress all\ntradition as to render them independent of the voice of individual\nhistorians. He accordingly passed to the very extreme limit (if he\ndid not go beyond it) by which a miracle is necessarily restricted,--\nthat of not disturbing general laws. He succeeded perfectly in the\nplace in which these phenomena were witnessed; though, as there were\nmultitudes who knew nothing of the operator, but were only conscious\nthat nature was playing some strange pranks, no connection was\nestablished in their minds between the doctrine and the miracles.\nBut the consequences in the future were the direct contrary of what\nthe sanguine philosopher had contemplated. If the impression of\nthose who saw these splendid wonders could have been prolonged,\nall had been well; but so far from the report of them conciliating\nthe regard of posterity, their very grandeur and vastness were the\nprincipal arguments against them, and condemned them to universal\nrejection. Who could believe, men said, that phenomena so strange\nand so portentous--not only so different from, and so contrary to,\nthe uniform course of nature, but so much beyond the limited purpose\nwhich must have been contemplated by a truly miraculous\ninterposition--had ever happened? If they had been single events,\nvery transient and local disturbances of the laws of nature for a\nhigh object, the case, they candidly avowed, would have been wholly\ndifferent; but such wholesale infractions of the fixed laws of the\nuniverse were at once to be summarily rejected. They were\nunquestionably the offspring of an age of fable and superstition.\n\nIt did not fare much better with another miracle-monger of the\nsame species. In one community, which he had engaged to instruct in\nthe mysteries of his revelation, the wonders he wrought extended to\nsuch large classes of phenomena, and for a time were so constant,\nthat they ceased to be miracles at all. As he could not add ubiquity\nto his other attributes, few attached any importance to his declaration\nthat he was the author of such vast and distant operations, and fewer\nabsolutely believed him. Moreover, men became accustomed to phenomena\nwhich they daily witnessed; for such, it seems, is the constitution of\nhuman nature in any world, that things cease to be wonderful when they\ncease to be novel. Were it otherwise, men would be always wondering;\nfor no miracles are more wonderful than the phenomena of every day\nin every part of the universe. Not a few wise men, therefore, in this\ncommunity, succeeded in giving a perfectly plausible account of these\nwholesale infractions of the uniformity of nature. Nature, it was said,\nwas unquestionably uniform, but only in the several larger portions\nof her operations; that within certain cycles she varied her operations,\nas was clearly seen in the introduction of new races, and so forth;\nthat the generation which had just witnessed such departures from what\nseemed the established order of things were doubtless living at an\nepoch in which the huge evolution of the universe was about to exhibit\none of these new phases, and that the series of sequences to which they\nwere just becoming accustomed would afterwards continue uniform for a\nnumber of ages; that such things were no miracles, but merely\nindicated that nature was, within certain limits, only variably uniform,\nthough she was also, within certain limits, uniformly invariable.\nAfter this very clear deliverance of philosophy, few people troubled\nthemselves about the claims of this seer, and were so fast getting\naccustomed to the new uniformity, that it seemed highly probable that\nthe very next generation, or at most the second, would begin to prate\nin the old style about the invariable uniformity of nature, and to\ntreat all the ancient order of things which their progenitors had\nseen changed as a lying fable of those remote ages. Enraged at such\nan unexpected result of his operations, the projector changed his plan,\nand broke in upon nature with such a startling explosion of single\nmiracles, that there could be no longer any doubt that nature was\nneither 'variably uniform' nor 'uniformly invariable': the only\nquestion was, whether nature was not 'uniformly variable.' He set\nthe sun spinning through the heavens at such a rate, or rather at\nsuch a jaunty pace, that no one knew when to expect either light or\ndarkness; men now froze with cold, and now melted with heat; the\nseasons seemed playing one grand masquerade; the longest day and the\nshortest day, and no day at all, succeeded one another in rapid\nsuccession, and the whole universe seemed threatened with ruin and\ndesolation. Now, he thought, was the time to put an end to all this\nstrange disorder, and avow himself the great agent in all these marvels!\nBut he found, to his chagrin, that, so far from having convinced men\nof the being and attributes of God, and of the truth of the revelation\nwhich he had brought them, they were never less disposed to listen to\nany such story; and, in fact, that the very few whose terror had\nleft them at all in possession of their senses, had become perfectly\nconvinced that the universe was under the dominion of Chance; and that\nthe only orthodox belief in such a world was stark Atheism. As there\nwill always be men who will speculate upon chance itself, there were\nnot wanting philosophers who concocted admirable theories of all this\ndisorder, but not one of them dreamed of the true. They all agreed,\nhowever, that the state of things admitted of no remedy from any gods,\ncelestial or infernal; for if a divine artificer had existed, they said,\nit could not have occurred. And thus the miracles which were designed\nby this great man to convince the world of a God, served for a\ndemonstration that there was and could be none! They equally served\nalso to stifle the sage's claims to be considered God's messenger,\nfor, unhappily exhorting a large crowd to believe that he was the\ncause of all the misery and terror which they had suffered, they were\nso exasperated that they took summary vengeance on him: upon which\nthe sun resumed his wonted quiet pace again through the heavens, and\nevery thing fell into the old harmonious jogtrot of uniformity.\nPhilosophers who lived at a distance from the scene of the prophet's\nexit quietly adjusted their old theory to the new phenomena, and showed\nmost conclusively that the whole train of things had been just what\nmust necessarily have been, and could not but have happened, without\nthe most serious consequences; while those who lived near to the scene\naforesaid, and were privy to the circumstances, speculated upon the\ncurious coincidence between the impostor's death and the return of\nnature to her order. It was well, they said, that such things did not\nhappen often, or they could not fail to give rise to some superstitious\nnotions as to some law of causation between ignorant fanaticism and the\nsublimest phenomena of the universe.\n\nI asked my visitor how it fared with the many who have objected to the\nclearness and force of prophecy, and who have not scrupled to assert,\nthat, if prophecies had been given, they would have been given in such\na shape as would have made their claims more plain, and their fulfilment\nmore incontrovertible. \"Were there none who relied on this mode of\ndemonstrating the reality of a divine revelation, and manifesting their\nclaims to be regarded as an embassy from heaven?\"\n\n\"Many,\" he replied, \"so many that it were tedious to detail them. But\nyou are quite mistaken if you suppose it possible that even God can\nemploy any moral methods which man cannot evade; how much less the\nfools who think they can improve upon his! The wisdom of God,\" said he,\nwith a melancholy smile, \"is no match for the ingenuity of man. As to\nyour present question, you know there have been persons who have\ncontinually complained in your world that prophecy is so obscure that\nthe event cannot be certainly known to have been referred to by it, or\nelse so plain that, ipso facto, it proves that the prediction must have\nbeen composed after the event. Now it was precisely in attempting the\njuste milieu between these extremes that our prophetical speculators\nwrecked themselves. Men always had it to say that their prophecies had\nbeen either too plain or too obscure; or, if very plain, and yet as\nplainly written before the event, that their very plainness had insured\ntheir own accomplishment by prompting to the very actions and conduct\nthey so clearly indicated!\"\n\n\"I can easily conceive that,\" I answered. \"But now for another problem.\nNot a few of our older infidels complained of the revelation in the Bible\non the score that the maxims of conduct which it delivers are too general\nto be of any use, because the application of them is still left to be\nadjusted by a reference to particular circumstances; and that, if a\nrevelation were framed, it ought to take in all the limitations of action,\nand furnish, in fact, a complete system of casuistry; otherwise it would\nbe of no avail. Were there none who attempted this task?\"\n\n\"Five-and-twenty men,\" he answered, \"who were destined to be a torment\nto one another, were instructed to compile such a system of rules, and\npublish them for the benefit of a certain community as an infallible\nrule of life.\"\n\n\"And have they completed it?\"\n\n\"Completed it! They have been sitting now for two hundred years, and\nhave not yet exhausted the infinitude of cases to be digested under\ntheir very first capitulary.\" He said that being all of them ingenious\nmen, all anxious to show their ingenuity, and knowing that their credit\nwas staked upon the completeness of their system, it was incredible\nwhat strange and ridiculous contingencies and combinations of\ncircumstance they had suggested as modifying the application of\ntheir general rules. The books of law, voluminous as they are in\nmost civilized countries, were conciseness itself compared with this\nnew code of morals. It was thought by many, that the labors of the\ncommissioners would not come to an end till long after the race for\nwhose benefit it was designed had ceased to exist. Afraid, apparently,\nof such a direful contingency, they had published, about three years\nbefore, the first part, in seventy-five folio volumes, containing\nlimitations, illustrative cases, exceptions, and modifications, in\nrelation to that very obscure general maxim, 'Do unto others as ye\nwould that others should do unto you.' All questions appertaining to\nthis point were from that time to be decided by the precise statements\ncontained in these statutes at large. But their mere publication\nsufficed to make an incredible number of infidels in the authority\nof the commission. Such a voluminous rule, they truly said, could be\nno rule at all, and could be fruitful of nothing but everlasting\nlitigation. If (they admitted) general maxims had been as briefly as\npossible laid down, and men's common sense had been left to interpret\nand apply them with the requisite restrictions, there would be much\nmore to be said for their divine origin. But on such a system, no man,\nif he lived for a thousand years, could tell what his duty was. Many\ncomplained that, before they found the rule for which they were in\nsearch, the time for its application had passed away. Many excused\nthemselves from complying with the dictates of justice and charity,\nbecause they could not discover the cases that related to their special\ncircumstances; some even denied that the rules could have been devised\nby heavenly wisdom, because, having carefully studied the whole of the\nseventy-five volumes, they did not hesitate to say, that there were\nmany cases which had not been provided for at all!\n\nI was so amused with this last disastrous attempt to construct a\nrevelation, that I laughed outright, and in so doing awoke. I found\nthat my lamp was fast going out; so, dismissing the innocent volume\nof Leibnitz which had suggested all these incongruities, I went to\nbed; firmly convinced that the shadows of men in the \"Paradise of\nFools\" are about as wise and ingenious as are men themselves.\n____\n\nJuly 28. I had this morning some curious, and, if it had not been\nfor the grave importance of the subject, amusing conversation with\nMr. Fellowes on his views, or rather his no views, respecting a\n\"future life.\" He said he wished he could make up his mind whether\nthe doctrine was true; also whether, as some of his favorite writers\nsupposed, it was of no \"spiritual\" importance to decide it. I said it\ncertainly did seem of some importance. I reminded him of Pascal's\nsaying, that he could excuse men's contented ignorance with any thing\nrather than that. \"They are not obliged,\" says he, \"to examine the\nCopernican system; but it is vital to the whole of existence to\nascertain whether the soul is mortal or not.\"\n\n\"Mr. Newman,\" said Fellowes, \"thinks very differently: but then his\nwhole mind is differently constituted from Pascal's.\"\n\nI admitted it, of course.\n\n\"Mr. Newman's views,\" he continued, \"on the subject, certainly do not\nquite satisfy me; and yet they are very sublime. If he has any hope in\nthis matter, (of which he appears not absolutely destitute,) it is from\nthe sheer strength of a 'faith' which triumphs over all obstacles, or\nrather hangs upon nothing. He ridicules all intellectual proofs, and\nat the same time declares that his 'spiritual insight' deserts him.\nIt is a faith pure from all reason, and from all 'insight' too. As to\ninsight in this matter, I must agree with him, that, to ascertain the\nfact of a future life by 'direct vision,' is 'to me hitherto impossible.'\"\n\nHarrington, who was sitting by, smiled: \"You speak of your 'insight' and\n'direct vision' much as a Highlander might talk of his 'second sight.'\nAs to your present difficulty, do you remember the advice of Ranald of\nthe Mist to Allan M'Aulay, when the 'vision' obstinately averted its face\nfrom him? 'Have you reversed your own plaid,' said Ranald, 'according to\nthe rule of the experienced seers in such cases?' You do not wear a plaid,\nGeorge, but suppose you try the experiment of turning your coat\ninside out.\"\n\n\"Really, Harrington,\" said Fellowes, with becoming solemnity, \"'insight'\nis far too serious a subject to joke upon.\"\n\"Why, my dear fellow,\" said the other, \"you do not think I am going to\ntreat your 'insight' with more respect than we treat the Bible.\"\n\n\"Odi profanum,\" said Fellowes, almost angrily.\n\n\"No man hateth his own flesh,\" said Harrington, with provoking quiet;\n\"and that, I am sure, is from no profane writer. As to the 'odi profanum,'\nwhy, I shall simply say, that\n\n'You can quote it,\nWith as much truth as he who wrote it.'\"\n\nSo saying, he left the room. I was not sorry that he was gone, as I\nthought perhaps Fellowes might be more communicative. I asked him why\nhe felt Mr. Newman's arguments on this subject unsatisfactory; why\nhe could not acquiesce in them.\n\n\"In the first place, then,\" said he, \"I was struck with the fact, that,\nwhile admitting that he had no 'spiritual insight' on the subject of a\nfuture life, he yet admits that others may have enjoyed what is impossible\nto him; that there may be souls favored with this 'vision,' though clouds\nobscure his own. It is true he has admitted (and indeed who can deny it?)\nthat the spiritual faculty is not equally developed in all men;--though,\nas it is not, I feel some difficulty in rejecting the arguments hence\narising for the possibility and utility of an external revelation;--yet\nat the best, if the faculty may be so uncertain in reference to so\nimportant a question, when consulted by so diligent and deep a student\nof its oracles as Mr. Newman, if even his soul may be dubious on such\na point,--why, upon my soul, I sometimes hardly know what to think.\nAgain, Mr. Newman says, that some may have, as by special privilege\nfrom God, what is denied to him. Now really this looks a little too\nmuch like favoring the vulgar view of inspiration, nay, a sort of\nCalvinistic 'election' in this matter; it seems to me to cast doubts\nboth on the competency and the uniformity of the sublime 'spiritual\nfaculty,' even when most sedulously consulted.\"\n\n\"It does look a little like it,\" said I; \"and what next?\"\n\n\"In the next place, I am free to confess, that, if I may be allowed\nto argue against such an authority--\"\n\n\"O, remember, I pray, that you are of the school of free thought: do\nnot Bibliolatrize.\"\n\n\"To state my views freely then: I must say, that, if this suspected\ndoctrine be not one of the unsophisticated utterances of the spiritual\nnature of man, I am almost led to doubt whether the clearness with\nwhich the spiritualist 'gazes' on the rest may not possibly be an\nillusion. For if any truth would seem to be a dictate of nature, it is\na sort of dim conviction or impression of a future state. We see it,\nin some shape or other, extensively believed by all nations, and forming\na feature of all systems of religion, however degraded they may be.\nMr. W. J. Fox mentions it as one of those things which are certainly\ncharacteristic of the absolute religion; so does Mr. Parker. Mr. Fox\nexpressly affirms that the approximate universality of the belief\njustifies the application of his criterion for detecting the eternally\n'true' under the Protean shapes of the 'false' in religion; it is one\nof the points, he says, in which they are all agreed.\"\n\n\"Which,\" said I, \"if true, is perhaps the only point in which all\nreligions are agreed, unless we affirm that they have all recognized a\nDeity, because most of them have recognized thousands. Yet as men's\nGods have varied between the Infinite Creator and a monkey, so in\nrelation to this article of a 'future life,' it must be confessed that\nthere is a little difference between the Heaven of a Christian, the\nParadise of a Mahometan, and the Valhalla of an ancient Goth. Still,\nas you say, it is true that, in some shape or other, nations have\nmore distinctly recognized the idea of an after existence, than any\nother assignable religious tenet.\"\n\n\"You know,\" resumed Fellowes, \"that in the draught of 'natural religion'\ngiven us by Lord Herbert, that writer particularly insists on this as\none of the articles which nature itself teaches us, as amongst the\n'common notions,' a sentiment innate to the human mind. Now if such\nmasters as Mr. Newman may be in doubt about our innate sentiments, truly\nI scarcely know what to think.\"\n\n\"You can easily decide,\" said I, gravely, \"and decide infallibly.\"\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"Consult that spiritual faculty which Mr. Newman says you have as\nwell as he or Lord Herbert. If your theory be true, how can there be\nany doubt as to your 'innate' sentiments? If you say they are\nwritten in very small characters, and require to be magnified by\nsomebody's microscope, that, recollect, is tantamount to\nacknowledging the possible utility of an external revelation. But\nwhat next?\"\n\n\"Well, then, if I must confess all the truth, I thought Mr. Newman\nhardly fair in his exhibition of Paul's reasoning on this matter. He,\nif you recollect, says that Paul seems to have rested the belief of\nChrist's resurrection very little upon evidence, which he received\nvery credulously, upon very insufficient proof, and in a manner which\nwould have moved the laughter of Paley; that, in short, he cared very\nlittle about the evidence, and arrived mainly at his convictions in\nvirtue of his 'spiritual aspirations'; that it was rather his strong\naspirations after immortality which made Paul believe the supposed\nfact, than the supposed fact which gave strength to his aspirations\nafter immortality. Now it is very clear (from texts which, for\nwhatsoever reasons, are not quoted by Mr. Newman), that the Apostle\nPaul made his whole argument depend on the alleged fact of Christ's\nresurrection, whether carelessly received or not: 'If Christ be not\nrisen, then is your faith vain, and our preaching is also vain ....\nThen are we of all men most miserable.'\"\n\n\"But you recollect that Mr. Newman alleges that Paul deals very\nsuperficially with the evidence,--with that of the 'five hundred,' for\nexample. He observes that Paley would have made a widely different\nmatter of it.\"\n\n\"See how variously men may argue,\" replied Fellowes, candidly. \"I was\ntalking on that very point with one of the orthodox the other day, and\nhe reasoned in some such way as this:--\n\n\"On the supposition, he said, that the possession of miraculous powers\nwas notorious in the Church,--that many of those whom Paul addressed\nhad actually witnessed them,--that the Gospel, when preached by him\nand by the other Apostles, was confirmed by 'signs and wonders,'--nothing\ncould be more natural than the very tone which the Apostles employed:\nthat, so far from its being suspicious, it was one of the truest touches\nof nature and verisimilitude in their compositions; so much so, that,\nsupposing there were no miracles, that very tone required itself to be\naccounted for as unnatural; he said that it is, in fact, just the way\nin which men talk and write of any other extraordinary events which\nnotoriously happened in their time. They never think of posterity, and\nwhat it may think; of anticipating either future doubts or charges of\nfraud. It is natural that men should speak in this, as we should call it,\nloose way, of what is transpiring under their very noses. If, on the\nother hand, there had been no miracles to appeal to, so as to render\nthis style as natural as, on the contrary supposition, it was the reverse,\nhe could not, he said, imagine, that, in that or any other age, any men,\nespecially men opposed to such pretensions, would so easily have been\nsatisfied, even had the Apostles confined themselves to rumors of\nalleged distant miracles; but much less where similar wonders were said\nto have been brought under the eyes of the very parties to whom the\nappeal was made! He said he would even go a step further, and affirm that,\nunder the circumstances of the professed notoriety of the miraculous\noccurrences to which Paul and the other Apostles appealed, any\ndeclaration that they had instituted that careful scrutiny of evidence,\nthat minute circumstantial cross-examination of the witnesses,--which\nwould be a course all very well in the days of Paley, eighteen hundred\nyears after, but absolutely preposterous then,--would have appeared to\nour age a much more suspicious thing than the tone actually adopted;\nthat the scrupulous deposition of technical proof would have been\nfinessing too much, and would have been the strongest proof of collusion.\nThe very tone objected to, he said, supposing there were no miracles, is\none of the most striking proofs of the astonishing sagacity of these\nmen; for it is just the tone they would have used if there had been. So\ndifferently may men reason from the same data! Whether (he concluded)\nMr. Newman's view of the facts, or his, was founded on a deeper and more\ncomprehensive knowledge of human nature, he must leave to my judgment.\"\n\n\"I protest,\" said I, \"I think the orthodox had the best of it. But what\nstruck you next as unaccountable in Mr. Newman's view of this subject\nof a future life?\"\n\n\"I confess, then, that the reasoning by which he endeavors to show\nthat, even admitting the fact of Christ's resurrection, there could\nbe nothing in it to warrant the expectation of the resurrection of\nany other human beings, simply because he must have differed so\nstupendously from all the rest of mankind, appears to me very damaging\nto us. Of what use is it, to argue upon such an hypothesis?\"\n\n\"Of none in the world, certainly,\" said I, laughing.\n\n\"Surely not,\" he replied; \"for if Christ's resurrection be admitted, we\nknow very well it will carry with it, in the estimation of the bulk of\nmankind, all the other great facts implicated with the Christian system.\nThey will concede, at once, the supernatural character, the divine\norigin, of the New Testament. I suppose them scarcely ever was a man\nwho admitted these premises who would trouble himself to contest the\nconclusion.\"\n\n\"But seriously,\" continued this half-repentant admirer, almost\nfrightened at the extent of his own freedom of thought, \"though I\ncannot say I am satisfied with Mr. Newman's notions on this subject,\n--and, in fact, cannot make up my mind upon it,--can there be any\nthing morally more sublime than the view, that the doctrine of\nimmortality, which has been superficially supposed, if not necessary,\nyet so conducive to sincere and elevated piety, may be readily\ndispensed with, as no way necessary (as Mr. Newman feels) for the\nspiritual nourishment of the soul? 'Confidence,' he says, 'there is\nnone; and hopeful aspiration is the soul's highest state. But, then,\nthere is herein nothing what ever to distress her; no cloud of grief\ncrosses the area of her vision, as she gazes upwards.' He even\nintimates that, from the stress laid upon immortality by 'modern\ndivines,' they might seem to be 'incarnations of selfishness.' He says\nit tends to 'degrade religion into a prudential regard for our interests\nafter death'; that 'conscience, the love of virtue, for its own sake,\nand much more the love of God, are ignored.' Many of the 'spiritual'\nschool agree with him in this; and some even affirm that the hope of\nimmortal felicity is but a bribe to selfishness. Can any thing be\nmore elevated or original than this view?\"\n\n\"As to the elevation,\" said I, \"I confess I prefer the spectacle of\nSocrates, relying even on feeble arguments rather than sink to this\ntame acquiescence in a notion so degrading to the Deity, as that\nman was created for a dog's life with the tormenting aspiration for\nsomething better. The spectacle of the heathen sage, who, amidst the\nthick gloom, the 'palpable obscure,' which involved this subject,\ngazed intently into the darkness, and 'longed for the day,'--who\nstrained every nerve of an insufficient logic, and was willing to\ntake even the whispers of hope for the oracles of truth, rather than\npart with the prospect of immortality,--is, to my mind, much more\nattractive. As to the originality of the view you just expressed, why,\nit is merely a resurrection of one of the theories of some of our\nvery 'spiritual deists' a century ago. Collins and Shaftesbury were,\nin like manner, apprehensive lest an elevated 'virtue' should suffer\nat all from this bribery of a hope of a 'blessed immortality'; as you\nmay see in the Characteristics. For my own part, I certainly have my\ndoubts whether virtue will be the less virtuous, or spirituality the\nless spiritual, for such a doctrine; and I must believe it even on\nthe hypothesis of you spiritual folks; for you generally affirm that\nthe Belief of a Future Life does not really exercise any thing more\nthan an insignificant influence on human nature; the hopes and the\nfears of that so distant a morrow are too vague to be operative. Now,\nif it be so, immortality can be no more a bribe than a menace.\"\n\n\"Yet,\" said Fellowes, \"in justice to Mr. Newman, it must not be\nforgotten, that he thinks that 'a firm belief of immortality must\nhave very energetic force,' provided it 'rises out of insight'; it\nis as 'an external dogma' that he thinks it of little efficacy. He\nsays, you know, that, supposing Paul to have had this insight, 'his\nlight can do us no good, while it is a light outside of us. If\nhe in any way confused the conclusions of his logic (which is often\nextremely inconsequent and mistaken) with the perceptions of his\ndivinely illuminated soul, our belief might prove baseless.'\n(Soul, pp. 226. 227.) These are his very words.\"\n\n\"Very well, then; say that Mr. Newman thinks the notions of a future\nhell of little efficacy; and of a future heaven of as little, except\nwhen it rises from 'insight';--he confessing that he has not that\n'insight,' and; from the necessity of the case, not knowing whether\nany body else has, it being a 'light outside him.' If so, I think\nhe is much like the rest of you, and cannot in fact suppose the\nthought of a future life to operate strongly either as a bribe\nor a menace.\"\n\n\"But, surely, whatever his views, or those of any individual, you\nmust admit that a piety which is sustained without any hopes of\nimmortality is less selfish than that which is.\"\n\n\"Why,\" replied I, laughing; \"I cannot conceive how the hope of a\nvirtuous immortality can produce a vicious self-love. But if the\nhope and the consciousness of happiness now exercise any influence\nat all, your argument proves too much; and there is a simple\nimpossibility of being unselfishly religious at all.\"\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"Do you think that, admitting not only the uncertainty of any future\nlife, but the certainty that there is none, and that nevertheless\n(as you affirm) man, under that conviction, is just as capable of\nmanifesting a true devotion and piety towards God, any felicity flows\nfrom his so doing?\"\n\n\"The highest, of course,\" said he.\n\n\"Do you think that the happiness so derived and expected from day to\nday has any sinister influence on the spiritual life of him who\nfeels it?\"\n\n\"Of course, none.\"\n\n\"The contrary, perhaps?\"\n\n\"I think so.\"\n\n\"Then neither need the expectation of an eternity of such blessedness\nbe any impediment. Again; let us come to facts; are not the declarations\nof those whom Mr. Newman, however oddly, is willing to admit have been\nthe best specimens yet afforded of his true 'spiritual' man,--the\nDoddridges, the Fletchers, the Baxters, and Paul especially,--full of\nthis sentiment? 'I desire to depart,' says Paul, 'and to be with Christ,\nwhich is far better'; and similar selfish hopes inspired those excellent\nmen whose names still rise spontaneously to Mr. Newman's memory when\nhe would remind us of examples of his 'spiritual religion! Tell me, do\nyou not think Paul a 'spiritual' man?\"\n\n\"Yes; with all his blunders,\" said Fellowes, \"I do; and Mr. Newman's\nwritings are full of that admission.\"\n\n\"Very true. But then Paul is so selfish, you know, as to say, not merely\nthat the immortality of man is true, and that the 'light afflictions\nwhich are but for a moment' are to be despised, because unworthy 'to be\ncompared with the glory to be revealed'; but that, if immortality be not\ntrue, Christians, as deluded in such hopes, are of all men most miserable.\nAll this shows how powerfully the 'spiritual' Paul thought that the\ndoctrine of a future state operated and ought to operate on the mind of\na Christian; he never supposed that it could possibly have a negative,\nstill less a sinister influence.'\n\n\"But then, surely, what Mr. Newman says is true, that many of the saints\nof the Old Testament exemplified all the heroism of a true faith, and\nkindled with the ardors of a true devotion, in an ignorance of any such\nstate, and the absence of all such expectations.\"\n\n\"I answer, that Mr. Newman too often speaks as if his individual\nimpressions were to be taken for demonstration. That the Old Testament\nis unpervaded by any distinct traces of expectations of a future life is,\nat all events, not the opinion of the majority of men, many of them at\nleast as capable of judging as Mr. Newman. It is not the opinion of\nthe writers of the New Testament, that the Old Testament worthies were\nin this deplorable darkness; nor of the majority of the Jewish\ninterpreters of their ancestors' writings; nor is it the impression of\nthe great majority of those who now read them. How it can be the opinion\nof any one who has not some hypothesis to serve, is to me a mystery.\nMeanwhile Mr. Newman himself at least gives some notable passages to\nthe contrary, though he chooses to call them only personal aspirations.\nThink of the absurdity, my good friend, of supposing that Job, David,\nIsaiah, failed to realize a doctrine (imperfectly it may be) which, as\nyou truly affirm, has, in some shape or other, animated all forms of\nreligion! that these brightest specimens of 'spiritual religion' in\nthe ancient world somehow missed what many of the lowest savages have\nmanaged to stumble upon!\"\n\n\"Well,\" he replied, \"but, after all, he who loves God without any\nthought of heaven must surely be more unselfish than he who hopes\nfor it.\"\n\nI laughed,--for I could not help it.\n\n\"Unhappy Paul!\" interjected Harrington, who had again entered the\nlibrary; \"unhappy Paul! Burdened with the hopes of immortality; what an\nimpediment he must have found it in his Christian course! I wonder he\ndid not throw aside 'this weight, which so easily beset him.' Pity\nthat when he became a Christian, and ceased to be a Pharisee, he did\nnot, like so many 'spiritual' Christians of our day, know that, when\nhe became a Christian, he might still remain in one of the Jewish\nsects, and turn Sadducee.\"\n\n\"Be it so,\" said Fellowes, \"a Christian Sadducee, caeteris partibus,\nmight perhaps be a more virtuous man having no hopes of heaven by\nwhich he can possibly be bribed.\"\n\n\"Religious love and hope,\" said I, \"will with difficulty exist in\nsuch an atmosphere as you create. It is a sublime altitude, doubtless,\nbut no ordinary 'spiritual' beings can breathe that rarefied air. It\nis for the honor of Shaftesbury and some few other Deists, that they\naspired to this transcendental virtue! You are imitating them. I fear\nyou will not be more successful. Once leave a man to conclude, or even\nto suspect, that he and his cat end together, and, if a bad man, he\nwill gladly accept a release from every claim but that of his passions\nand appetites (the effects being more or less philosophically calculated\naccording to his intellectual power); while the best man would be\nliable to contemplate God and religion with a depressed and faltering\nheart. He would be apt to lose all energy; he would feel it impossible\nto repress doubts of the infinite wisdom and benignity of Him (whatever\nhe might think of His power) who had given him the soul of a man and\nthe life of a butterfly; conceptions and aspirations so totally\ndisproportioned to the evanescence of his being! If, however, you\nreally think that the hopes of an immortality of virtuous happiness\nwill stand in the way of a sublime disinterestedness of spirituality,\nyou ought to recollect that any expectation of happiness, even for a\nday, will, in its measure, have the same effect. So that the only way\nin which you can accommodate so 'spiritual a piety,' and absolutely\ninsure yourself against 'spiritual bribery,' is to deprive yourself\nof all possibility of being so misled. If your piety would be\nabsolutely sure that it loves God on these sublime terms, it should\ntake care to neutralize the happiness which that love brings with it;\nso that, if God has not made you miserable, you should never fail, like\nthe ascetics, to make yourself so. I fear you never can be perfectly\n'spiritual' till you have made yourself supremely wretched. But to quit\nthis point,\" I continued; \"if immortality be a delusion, I fear we\nsay that it covers the divine administration with an penetrable\ncloud,--one which we cannot hope will removed. The inequalities of\nthat administration not be redressed.\"\n\n\"But do you not recollect,\" replied Fellowes, reason Mr. Newman gives\nfor despising any such mitigation? Does he not say, that it is a\nstrange argument for a day of recompense, that man has unsatisfied\nclaims upon God? He says, 'Christians have added an argument of their\nown for a future state, but, unfortunately, one that cannot bring\npersonal comfort or assurance. A future state (it seems) is requisite\nto redress the inequalities of this life. And can I go to the Supreme\nJudge, and tell Him that I deserve more happiness than He has granted\nme in this life?' Do you not recollect this?--or has this sarcasm\nescaped you?\"\n\n\"It has not escaped me,--I remember it well; but it seems to have\nescaped you, that it is a very transparent sophism. For what is it\nbut a pretence that the Christian in general is confident enough of\nhis virtue to think that he has not been sufficiently well treated,\nand that his Creator and Judge cannot do less than make amends for\nhis injustice, by giving him compensation in another world?\"\n\n\"And is not that the true statement of the case?\"\n\n\"I imagine not; whether men be Christians or otherwise. The generality,\nwhen they reason upon this subject, (you and I, for example, at this\nvery moment,) not at all considering the aspect of such a day upon\nthemselves; how much they will lose if there be none; perhaps the\nbulk would wish that it could be proved that it would never come! It\nhas been from a wish to escape great speculative perplexities, connected\nwith the divine administration, and not in relation to man's deserts,\nthat the question has been argued. When dictated by other feelings,\nthe conviction of a future state has been quite as generally the\nutterance of remorse and fear, the response of an accusing conscience,\nas of hope and aspiration; and derives, perhaps, a terrible significance\nfrom that circumstance. But it has certainly not been, in the Christian,\nthe result of any absurd expectation of virtues to be rewarded, or rights\nto be redressed. As to the Christian, though he feels that he would not,\nand dare not, go to the divine tribunal with any such absurd plea as\nMr. Newman is pleased to put into his mouth,--though he cannot impeach\nthe divine goodness,--he none the less feels that that goodness, if\nthis scene be all, is open to very grievous impeachment in relation to\nmillions who have suffered much, and done no wrong, and to multitudes\nmore who have inflicted infinite wrong, and suffered next to nothing;\nand they would fain, if they could, get over difficulties which\nMr. Newman chooses, from the mere exigencies of his theology, to\nrepresent as no difficulties at all. To escape them or to solve them is\nthe thing principally in the minds of those who contend for a day\nof recompense; not the imaginary compensation of individual wrongs. I do\ncontend that, if this world be all, the divine administration in many\npoints is more hopelessly opposed to our moral instincts, and to all\nour notions of equity and benevolence, than any thing on which you\nspiritualists are accustomed to justify your censure of Scripture.\nYou ought, as Harrington says, to go further.\"\n____\n\nJuly 30. I was much interested yesterday morning by a conversation\nbetween Harrington and two pleasant youths, acquaintances of Mr.\nFellowes, both younger by three or four years than either he or\nHarrington. They are now at college, and have imbibed in different\ndegrees that curious theory which, professedly recognizing\nChristianity (as consigned to the New Testament) as a truly\ndivine revelation, yet asserts that it is intermingled with a large\namount of error and absurdity, and tells each man to eliminate\nthe divine element for himself. According to this theory, the\nproblem of eliciting revealed truth may be said to be indeterminate;\nof the unknown x varies through all degrees of magnitude; it is equal\nto any thing, equal to every thing, equal to nothing, equal\nto infinity.\n\nThe whole party thought, with the exception of Harrington, who knew\nnot what to think, that the \"religious faculty or faculties\" (one or\nmany,--no man seems to know exactly) are quite sufficient to decide\nall doubts and difficulties in religious matters.\n\nHarrington knew not whether to say there was any truth in Christianity\nor not; Fellowes knew that there was none, except in that \"religious\nelement,\" Which is found alike essentially in all religions; that\nits miracles, its inspiration, its peculiar doctrines, are totally false.\n\nThe young gentlemen just referred to believed \"that it might be admitted\nthat an external revelation was possible,\" and \"that the condition of\nman, considering the aspects of his history, has not been altogether\nfelicitous as to show that he never needed, and might not be benefited,\nby such light.\" I could cordially agree with them so far; superabundance\nof religious illumination not being amongst the things of which humanity\ncan legitimately complain.\n\nBut then, as they both believed that each man was to distil the \"elixir\nVitrae\" for himself from the crude mass of truth and falsehood which\nthe New Testament presents, Harrington, with his interrogations, soon\ncompelled them to see how inconsistent they were both with themselves\nand with one another. One of them believed, he said, that the Apostles\nmight have been favored by a true revelation; but not in such a sense\n\"as to prevent their often falling into serious errors,\" whenever the\ndistinctly \"religious element\" was not concerned; this was the only\ntruly \"divine\" thing about it; but he saw no particular objection to\nreceiving the miracles; at least some of them,--the best authenticated\nand most reasonable; perhaps they were of value as part of the complex\nevidence needful to establish doctrines which, if not absolutely\ntranscendental to the human faculties,--as the doctrine of a future life,\nfor example,--yet, apart from revelation, are but matter of conjecture.\n\nThe other was also not unwilling to admit the miraculous and inspired\ncharacter of the revelation, but contended, further, that the \"religious\nelement\" was to be submitted to human judgment as well as the rest;\nand that, if apparently absurd, contradictory, or pernicious, as judged\nby that infallible and ultimate standard, it was to be rejected.\n\nIt was amusing to think that, in this little company of three devout\nbelievers in the \"internal oracle,\" no two thought alike! After the two\nyouths had frankly stated their opinions, Harrington quietly said,\n\"I should much like to ask each of you a few questions. There are\ncertain difficulties connected with each hypothesis just stated,\non which I should be glad to receive some light. I frankly confess\nbeforehand, however, that I fear that that curiously constructed\nbook, which gives us all so much trouble,--which will not allow me\nto say positively either that it is true or false,--will still less\npermit you to reject a part or parts at your pleasure. It is, I must\nadmit, a most independent book in that respect, and treats your spiritual\nillumination most cavalierly. It says to you, \"Receive me altogether,\nor reject me altogether, just as you please\"; and when men have\nrejected it altogether, it leaves them certain literary and\nhistorical, and moral problems, in all fairness demanding solution,\nwhich I doubt whether it is in our power to solve, or to give any\ndecent account of.\"\n\n\"What do you mean,\" said the younger of the two youths, \"by affirming\nthat we are compelled to receive the whole book, or to reject it all?\"\n\n\"Let us see,\" said Harrington, \"whether there is any consistent\nstopping-place between. It appears to me, that, whether by the most\nsingular series of 'coincidences,' or by immense subtlety of design,\nthis book, evidently composed by different hands, has yet its\nmaterials so interwoven, and its parts so reciprocally dependent,\nthat it is impossible to separate them,--to set some aside, and say,\n'We will accept these, and reject those': just as, in certain textures,\nno sooner do we begin to take out a particular thread, than we find it\nis inextricably entangled with others, and those again with others; so\nthat there immediately takes place a prodigious 'gathering' at that\npoint, and if we persevere, a rent; but the obstinate part at which\nwe tug will not come away alone. Whether it is so or not, we shall\nsoon see, by examining the results of the application of your theories.\nI will begin with you,\" (addressing the younger,) \"because you believe\nleast; you say, I think, that you admit the records of the New Testament\ncontain a real revelation,--a religious element,--and that it has been\nauthenticated to you by miracles and other evidence; but that the\nhuman mind is still the judge of how much of that revelation is to\nbe received, 'and sit in judgment' on the 'religious element as well\nas the rest.'\"\n\nThe other assented.\n\n\"You admit, probably, the doctrine of the soul's immortality as a part\nof that revelation,--perhaps even the doctrine of a resurrection?\"\n\n\"I do,--both these doctrines.\"\n\n\"But perhaps you reject the idea of an 'atonement,' though you admit\nit to be in the Book?\"\n\n\"Yes. At the same time it is contended by many (as you are aware) that\nsuch a doctrine is not there.\"\n\n\"I am aware of it, of course; but with them we have no controversy here.\nThey are consistent, so far as the present argument goes; as consistent\nas the orthodox themselves. They do not allege a liberty of rejecting\nwhat they admit the book does contain, but only deny that it does contain\nsome things which they reject. They would admit that, if those doctrines\nbe there, then either they must concede them because authenticated\nby the miracles and other evidence, which proves what else they concede,\nor they must reject the said evidence altogether, because it authenticated\nwhat they found it impossible to concede. The controversy between them\nand the orthodox is one of interpretation, and is quite different from\nthat in which we are now engaged.\"\n\n\"I must admit it.\"\n\n\"They may go, then?\" said Harrington.\n\n\"They may.\"\n\n\"You admit, then, the miraculous authentication of such an event as\nthe resurrection of man, but deny the doctrine of the atonement,\nthough equally found in the said records?\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"May I ask why?\"\n\n\"Because the one doctrine does not seem to me to contradict my\n'spiritual consciousness,' and the other does.\"\n\n\"You receive the one, I suppose you will say, on account of the\nmiracles, and so on; since, while not contradicting your impressions\nof spiritual truth, it could not be authenticated without external\nevidence?\"\n\n\"Exactly so.\"\n\n\"But is not the other doctrine as much authenticated by the miracles\nand so forth? or have you any thing to show that, while all those\npassages which relate to the former are true assertions, as well as\ntruly the assertions of those who published the revelation, those\nwhich relate to the latter are not?\"\n\n\"I acknowledge I have not,\" replied the youth.\n\n\"Or supposing they are not their sayings at all, have you any evidence\nby which you can show that they are not, so as to separate them from\nthose that are?\"\n\n\"I must admit that I have no criterion of this kind.\"\n\n\"For aught you know, then, since you know nothing of Christianity\nexcept from those documents in which the miracles and the doctrines are\nalike consigned to you, the said miracles, together with the other\nevidence, do equally establish the truths which you say are a part\nof divine revelation, and the errors which you say your 'spiritual\nfaculty,' 'moral intuitions,' or what you will, tells you that you\nare to reject. You believe, then, in the force of evidence, which\nequally establishes truth and falsehood?\"\n\n\"You can hardly expect me to admit that.\"\n\n\"But I expect you to answer a plain question?\"\n\n\"Why,\" said the youth, with a little flippancy, but with a good-humored\nlaugh too, \"the proverb says 'Even a fool may ask questions which a\nwise man cannot answer.'\"\n\n\"I acknowledge myself to be a fool\" said Harrington, with a half\nserious, half comic air; \"and you shall be the wise man who does not\n--for I will not say cannot--answer the fool's question.\"\n\n\"I beg your pardon,\" said the other. \"I acknowledge that it was an\nuncourteous expression.\"\n\n\"Enough said,\" replied Harrington; \"and now, since you are not pleased\nto answer my question, I will answer it myself; and I say, it is plain\nthat the evidence to which you refer does affirm equally the truths\nyou declare thus revealed to you, and the errors you declare you must\nreject. Now either the evidence is not sufficient to prove the one, or\nit is sufficient to prove both. So far, then, I think we may say, and\nsay justly, that the supposed revelation is so constructed that you\ncannot accept a part and reject a part, on such a theory. But to make\nthe case a little plainer still, if possible. There have been men, you\nknow, who have taken precisely opposite views of the two doctrines you\nhave mentioned; who have declared that the doctrine, not of man's\nimmortality, but of the resurrection, so far from being conceivable,\nis, in their judgment, a physical contradiction; but who have also\ndeclared that the doctrine of atonement, in some shape, is instinctively\ntaught by human nature, and has consequently formed a part of almost\nevery religion; that it is in analogy with many singular facts of this\nworld's constitution, and is not absolutely contradicted by any principle\nof our nature, intellectual or moral. Such a man, therefore, might take\nthe very opposite of the course you have taken. He would proceed upon\nyour common basis of a miraculously confirmed revelation, grossly infested\nwith errors and falsehoods; he might say that he believed the\nauthentication of the doctrine of 'atonement' in virtue of the evidence,\nbecause, though transcendental to his reason, it was not repugnant to\nit; but that he rejected the doctrine of the 'resurrection,' though\nequally established by the evidence, because contrary to the plainest\nconclusions of his reason.\"\n\n\"I cannot in candor deny,\" said the other, \"the possibility of such a\ncase.\"\n\n\"And in such a case, we might say, he does the very opposite of what\nyou do.\"\n\n\"Neither can I help admitting that.\"\n\n\"The miracles, then, and other evidence, not only play the part of\nequally supporting truth and falsehood, but, what is still more\nwonderful, convert the same things, in different men, into truth and\nfalsehood alternately. Miracles they must verily be if they can do\nthat! A wonderful revelation it certainly is, which thus accommodates\nitself to the varying conditions of the human intellect and\nconscience, and demonstrates just so much as each of you is pleased\nto accept, and no more. No doubt the whole 'corpus dogmatum,' so\nsupported, will, by the entire body of such believers, be eaten up;\njust as was the Mahometan hog, so humorously referred to by Cowper;\nbut even that had not all its 'forbidden parts' miraculously shown\nto be 'unforbidden' to different minds! I do not wonder that such\na revelation should need miracles; that any should be sufficient, is\nthe greatest wonder of all; if indeed we except two;--the first, that\nSupreme Wisdom should have constructed such a curious revelation, in\nwhich he has revealed alternately, to different people, truth and\nfalsehood, and has established each on the very same evidence; and\nthe second (almost as great), that any rational creature should be\ngot to receive such a revelation on such evidence as equally applies\nto which he says it does not prove, and to points which he says it\ndoes; these points, however, being, it appears, totally different\nin different men! But I will now go to your friend, who has got a\npoint further in his belief, and graciously accepts all the 'religious\nelements' in this revelation.\"\n\n\"Excuse me,\" said the last; \"before you go to him, permit me to mention\na difficulty which occurred to me while we were speaking.\"\n\n\"By all means; but I do not promise to solve it. Perhaps I on this\noccasion shall prove the 'wise man,' though I am sure you will not be\nthe fool.\"\n\n\"You recollect,\" said the other, blushing, \"our dismissing those who,\nwhile contending, like myself, that such and such doctrines are to be\nrejected, differ from me in this, that they contend that the said\ndoctrines are not contained in the records of the supposed revelation\nat all; while others contend that they are. Now, if, while the two\nparties admit the general evidence which is to substantiate all that\nis in the records, they arrive by different interpretation at such\nvery different results as to the supposed truth which it supports,\nare they in any better condition than I? There is the same difference,\nthough arrived at in different ways; and the revelation still remains\nindeterminate.\"\n\n\"Your objection is ingenious,\" replied Harrington. \"First, however, it\nis rather hard to ask me to solve a difficulty with which I am in no\nway concerned, who profess to be altogether sceptical on the subject.\nSecondly, it certainly does not at all mend your case to prove that\nthere are other men who possibly are as inconsistent as yourself. It\nmakes your theory neither better nor worse. But, thirdly, if I were a\nChristian, I should not hesitate to contend that there was an obvious\nand vital difference in the two cases.\"\n\n\"Indeed! If you can show that.\"\n\n\"I should attempt it, at all events I should say that in the latter case\nthe evidence to which the appeal was made did not equally serve to\nestablish truth and falsehood, or, what is still worse, alternately\nto make falsehood truth, and truth falsehood, to different minds;\nthat it was designed to establish all that was really in the records,\nthough what that all was might give rise to different views, from the\nprejudices and the ignorance, the different degrees of intelligence and\ncandor, on part of those who interpreted the records; that they made the\nfalsehoods, and not the records or the evidence. I should, therefore,\nhave no difficulty in relation to what, on your theory, is so\nincomprehensible; namely, that God should have given man so peculiarly\nconstructed a revelation. That men should differ or err in its\ninterpretation is not, I presume, very wonderful, because man, they\nsay, is a creature of prejudice and passion as well as reason.\"\n\n\"But God would still have given the revelation, and yet it is capable,\nit appears, of being variously interpreted!\" said the other.\n\n\"Very true, and it is very plain to me that, supposing him to have\ngiven any, he could have given no other, unless his omnipotence\nhad been immediately exerted separately upon each individual of the\nhuman race, and then in such a way as to supersede all the moral\ndiscipline which Christians affirm is involved in its reception.\nSupposing this discipline (as those who believe in a revelation\ncontend) to be an essential condition, I cannot conceive God himself\nto give a document which man's ingenuity cannot easily misinterpret.\nYou see man plays the same trick equally well with that faculty of\n'spiritual insight,' which some say is the sole source of religious\ntruth, and which you say is the sole arbiter of an external revelation!\nWe cannot find two of you who think alike, or who will give us the\nsame transcript of religious truth. Similarly, we see the same\ningenuity manifested by man whenever it is his interest to find in\na document a different meaning from that which it apparently carries\non its face. Does not the endless controversy, the perpetual\nlitigation of men, respecting the meaning of seemingly the plainest\ndocuments, assure us that, if a revelation were really given, the\nlike would be possible with that? It is doubtful with me, therefore,\nwhether God himself could give a revelation, such that men could not\nmisrepresent and pervert it; that is, as long as they were rational\ncreatures,\" he continued bitterly. \"But the mischief of your theory\nis, that it charges the inevitable result of man's perverseness or\nignorance on God, and the revelation he has been supposed to construct,\nand that is to me an absurdity.\"\n\n\"I do not see that these answers are satisfactory,\" said the other.\n\n\"I must leave you to judge of that,\" said Harrington, \"or to contest\nit with my uncle here. I am keeping my next friend waiting, who, I can\nsee, is impatient to run a course in favor of his view of revelation.\nHe tells us, too, that a divine revelation, as conveyed in the New\nTestament, is to be admitted, but he cannot away with the notion that\nits certainty extends to any thing more than to what he calls the\n'religious element.' Is not that your notion?\"\n\n\"It is.\"\n\n\"You think, for example, that it is possible that the Apostles and\nwriters of the New Testament (in fact, whoever had the charge of\nrecording and transmitting to posterity the doctrines of this\nrevelation) were left liable, just as any other men, to all sorts\nof errors, geographical, chronological, logical, historical,\npolitical, moral--\"\n\n\"No, no, not moral,\" said the other; \"I did not say moral: their\nmorality is implied in their theology.\"\n\n\"O, very well! we shall better see that presently; only I have to\nremind you, for the glory of your Rationalism, that other Rationalists\nmake the errors extend even to the 'moral element'; but it is all\none to me. You say, that, as far as regards every thing else, it is\nvery possible that these 'inspired' men might err to any amount?\"\n\n\"Yes; I believe it.\"\n\n\"You have, doubtless, some reason for saying that they were made\ninfallible in religion and morality, but liable to all sorts of errors\non other subjects?\"\n\n\"Nothing but this; that, if to give us 'spiritual truth' (as is\nsupposed) was their proper function (and we cannot but suppose that\nit was), they must have been invested (we must suppose) with all the\nnecessary qualities for this end, since I am supposing that even\nmiracles were thought worth working in order to confirm their doctrine.\"\n\n\"You use the word suppose rather frequently, my friend; however, I\nwill not quarrel with you for that; only you ought not to be\nsurprised if, adopting your last supposition,--that, when miracles\nand inspiration have been supposed to be vouchsafed to authenticate\na particular revelation, all such endowments, at least, will be\ngranted as shall secure that object from defeat,--other Christians\nfurther suppose that the documents in which the revelation was to be\nconsigned to all future ages would not be disfigured (and in many\nrespects obscured) by the liability of their authors to all sorts\nof errors on an infinity of points, hopelessly entangled, as we shall\nsoon see, with this one! that when heaven was at the trouble to embark\nits cargo of diamonds and pearls for this world, it would not send\nthem in a vessel with a great hole in the bottom! If the Apostles\nwere plenarily inspired with regard to this one subject, men will\nthink it strange, perhaps, that divine aid should not have gone a\nlittle further, and since the destined revelation was to be recorded\nor rather imbedded, in history, illustrated by imagination, enforced\nby argument, and expressed in human language,--its authors should\nhave been left liable to destroy the substance by egregious and\nperpetual blunders as to the form; to run the chance of knocking out\nthe brains of the unfortunate revelation by upsetting the vehicle\nin which it was to be conveyed!\"\n\n\"But, then, these supposed endowments are purely a supposition on\nthe part of Christians in general.\"\n\n\"Just as yours, we may say, of an indefectible wisdom on one point\nis a supposition on your part. I think in that respect that you are\nboth well matched. But I freely confess that I think their\nsupposition more plausible than yours; and, if I were an advocate\nfor Christianity, I should certainly rather suppose with them than\nsuppose with you; that is, I should think it more credible, if God\ninterposed with such stupendous instruments as miracles, inspiration,\nand prophecy at all, he would endow the men thus favored (not with\nall knowledge, indeed, but) with whatever was necessary to prevent\ntheir encountering a certainty of vitiating their testimony.\"\n\n\"But how would their testimony be liable to be vitiated? I am supposing\nthem to be absolutely free from error as regards the religious clement,\nwhich they deliver pure.\"\n\n'We shall see in a minute whether their testimony was liable to be\nvitiated or not, and whether the separation for which you contend be\nconceivable, or even possible. I fear that you have no winnowing-fan\nwhich will separate the chaff from the wheat.\"\n\n\"To me, nothing seems more easy than the supposition I have made.\"\n\n\"Few things are more easy than to make suppositions; but let us see.\nI am sure you will answer as fairly as I shall ask questions. To do\notherwise would be to separate the 'moral element' from the 'logical,'\nwhatever the New Testament writers may have done. You believe, you\nsay, in the resurrection of Christ?\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"As a fact or doctrine?\"\n\n\"Both as a fact and doctrine.\"\n\n\"For it is both, if true,\" said Harrington; \"and so, I apprehend, it\nwill be found with the other doctrines of Christianity. Whether, in\nyour particular latitude of Rationalism, you believe many or few of\nthem, still, if true at all (which we at present take for granted),\nthey are both facts and doctrines, from the Incarnation to the\nResurrection. But to confine ourselves to one,--that of the\nResurrection,--for one will answer my purpose as well as a thousand;\n--that, you say, is a fact,--a fact of history?\"\n\n\"It is.\"\n\n\"It is, then, conveyed to us as such?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"Were the recorders of that fact liable to error in conveying it to\nus? In other words, might they so blunder in conveying that fact (as\nwe know the unaided historian may, and often does) as to leave us\nin doubt whether it ever took place or not?\"\n\n\"Well,\" said the youth, \"and you know they have exhibited it in such\na way as to suggest many apparent discrepancies, and those very\ndifficult to be reconciled.\"\n\n\"I am aware of it, and for that very reason selected this particular\nfact. In my judgment, there are no passages which more exercise the\ningenuity of the harmonists than those which record the transactions\nconnected with the resurrection. But still, in spite of them all, I\npresume that you do not think that those discrepancies really call\nthe fact in question, else you would not continue to believe it. I\nshould then suddenly find myself arguing with a very different person.\"\n\n\"Certainly, you are quite right. I agree that the substantial facts\nare as the writers have delivered them; although they may, from\ntheir liability to error, have delivered some of the details\nerroneously.\"\n\n\"But might this liability to error have led them a little further\nin their discrepancies, so as to involve the fact itself in just doubt,\nand so of other great facts which constitute the doctrines as well as\nthe facts of Scripture?\"\n\n\"Of course, I think it might, since I suppose them unaided by any\nsupernatural wisdom in this respect.\"\n\n\"The answer is honest. I thought, perhaps, you would have answered\ndifferently, in which case you would have given me the trouble of\npursuing the argument one step further. It appears, then, that,\nthough inspired to give mankind a true statement of doctrines, yet\nthat, when these doctrines assume the form of facts (which, unhappily,\nthey do perpetually), this hazardous liability to error as historians\nmay counteract their inspiration, and they may give them in such a form\nas to throw upon them all manner of doubts and suspicions; possibly\nthey have done so, for aught you can tell.--But, again, you also affirm\nthat these so-called inspired men were liable to make all sorts of\nlogical blunders, just as the uninspired.\"\n\n\"Certainly; and I must confess I think the logic of the Apostle Paul,\nin particular, often exceedingly absurd.\"\n\n\"Very fair and candid. For example, I dare say that you do not think\nmuch of his arguments or inferences from certain doctrines; or his\nproofs of those doctrines from the Old Testament or--\"\n\n\"They are not, indeed, worth much in my estimation.\"\n\n\"Candid again; but then it is plain, first, that you will have to\ndistinguish between the pure doctrines which Paul derived from a\ncelestial source, and his erroneous proofs or inferences, which are\ndelivered in precisely the same manner and with the same assumption\nof authority. And this, I think, would be an insuperable task; at\nleast, it seems so, for you Rationalists decide this matter very\ndifferently. When any of you favor me with your sketches of the true\nheaven-descended Pauline theology, I find them widely different\nfrom each other. Your 'religious element' is of the most variable\nvolume. Some of you include nearly the whole creed of ordinary\northodoxy; others, fifty or even eighty per cent. less, both in\nbulk and weight.\"\n\n\"Perhaps so.\"\n\n\"Perhaps so! But then, what becomes of your principle, that you may\nseparate the pure 'religion element,' as conveyed to the minds of the\nsacred writers by direct illumination, from the errors of vicious\nlogic which have been permitted to mingle with it? To me it appears\nany thing but easy to separate the functions of a revealer of truly\ninspired truth from the vitiating influences of a fallacious logic.\nThe 'heavenly vision,' however 'obedient' a Paul may be to it, will\nbe but obscurely represented, and suffer egregiously from that\ndistorted image which the ill-constructed mirror will convey to us.\n--But once more, I think you do not hold Paul's rhetoric to be always\nof the first excellence?\"\n\n\"Certainly not; I think his representations are often as faulty as his\nlogic is vicious; especially when, under the influence of his Jewish\neducation, he throws old Gamaliel's mantle over his shoulders, and dotes\nabout 'allegories' founded on the Old Testament.\"\n\n\"Fair and candid once more; but then, I suppose you will admit that\nthe divine truths which he was, nevertheless, commissioned to teach\nmankind, will, like any other truths, be much affected by the mode\nin which they are represented to the imagination; will become brighter\nor more obscure, more animated or more feeble, and even more just or\ndistorted, as this task is wisely and judiciously, or preposterously\nperformed?\"\n\n\"No doubt.\"\n\n\"Then it appears, I think, that, if there were nothing to control the\nApostle Paul's manner of exhibiting divine verities, even in relation\nonly to the imagination, there might be all the difference between\nsober truth and fanatical perversions of it. I might, in the same manner,\nproceed to show that the feelings, uncontrolled by a superior influence,\nwould be also likely to give distortion or exaggeration to the doctrines.\nBut it is enough. It appears very plain, that, according to your\nhypothesis, even though the Apostles were commissioned to teach by\nsupernatural illumination certain truths, yet that, being liable to be\ninfected with all the faults of false history, bad logic, vicious\nrhetoric, fanatical feeling, these divine truths might, possibly, be\nmost falsely presented to us. We have, really, no guaranty but your\ngratuitous 'supposition' that they have been taught at all. We have no\ncriterion for separating what is thus divine from what is merely human.\nI fear, therefore, your distinction will not hold. The stream, whatever\nthe crystal purity of its fountain, could not fail to be horribly impure\nby the time it had flowed through such foul conduits.\"\n\n\"In short,\" continued Harrington, with a bitter smile at the same time,\n\"there are but three consistent characters in the world; the Bible\nChristian, and the genuine Atheist,--or the absolute Sceptic.\"\n\n\"No,--no,--no,\" exclaimed the whole trio at once; \"and you yourself\nmust be true to your principles, and therefore sceptical as to this.\"\n\n\"It is\" he replied, \"one of the very few things which I am not sceptical\nabout. At all events, right or wrong, I am, as usual, willing to give\nyou my reasons for my belief.\"\n\n\"Rather say your doubts,\" said Fellowes.\n\n\"Well, for my doubts, then. You see, my friends, the matter is as\nfollows. The Christian speaks on this wise:--\n\n\"'I find, in reference to Christianity as in references to Theism,\nwhat appears to me an immense preponderance of evidence of various\nkinds in favor of its truth; but both alike I find involved in many\ndifficulties which I acknowledge to be insurmountable, and in many\nmysteries which I cannot fathom. I believe the conclusions in spite\nof them. As to the revelation, I see some of its discrepancies are the\neffect of transcription and corruption; others are the result of\nomissions of one or more of the writers, which, if supplied, would\nshow that they are apparent only; of others, I can suggest no\nexplanations at all; and, over and above these, I see difficulties of\ndoctrine which I can no more profess to solve than I can the parallel\nperplexities in Nature and Providence, and especially those involved\nin the permitted phenomenon of an infinity of physical and moral evil.\nAs to these difficulties, I simply submit to them, because I think the\nrejection of the evidence for the truths which they embarrass would\ninvolve me in a much greater difficulty. With regard to many of the\ndifficulties, in both cases, I set that the progress of knowledge and\nscience is continually tending to dissipate some, and to diminish, if\nnot remove, the weight of others: I see that a dawning light now\nglimmers on many portions of the void where continuous darkness once\nreigned; though that very light has also a tendency to disclose other\ndifficulties; for, as the sphere of knowledge increases, the outline\nof darkness beyond also increases, and increases even in a greater\nratio. But I also find, I frankly admit, that on many of my difficulties,\nand especially that connected with the origin of evil, and other\nprecisely analogous difficulties of Scripture, no light whatever is\ncast: to the solution of them, man has not made the slightest\nconceivable approximation. These things I submit to, as an exercise of\nmy faith and a test of my docility, and that is all I have to say about\nthem; you will not alter my views by dwelling on them, for your sense\nof them cannot be stronger than mine.' Thus speaks the Christian; and\nthe Atheist and the Sceptic occupy ground as consistent. They say, 'We\nagree with you Christians, that the Bible contains no greater\ndifficulties than those involved in the inscrutable \"constitution and\ncourse of nature\"; but on the very principles on which the Rationalist,\nor Spiritualist, or Deist, or whatever he pleases to call himself,\nrejects the divine origin of the former, we are compelled to go a few\nsteps farther, and deny--or doubt the divine origin of the latter. It\nis true that the Bible presents no greater difficulties than the\nexternal universe and its administration; (it cannot involve greater;)\nbut if those difficulties are sufficient to justify the denial or doubt\nof the divine authorship of the one, they are sufficient to justify\ndenial or doubt about the divine origin of the other.'--But as to you,\nwhat consistent position can you take, so long as you affirm and deny\nso capriciously? Who 'strain at the gnats' of the Bible, and 'swallow\nthe camels' of your Natural Religion? You ought, on the principle on\nwhich you reject so much of the Bible,--namely, that it does not\nharmonize with the deductions of your intellect, the instincts of\nconscience, the intuitions of the 'spiritual faculty,' and Heaven knows\nwhat,--to become Manichaeans at the least.\"\n\n\"But these very arguments,\" said one of the youths, \"are just the\nold-fashioned arguments of BUTLER, Which it is surely droll of all\nthings to find a sceptic making use of.\"\n\n\"I admit they are his, my friend; but not that there is any inconsistency\nin my employing them. I affirm that Butler is quite right in his premises,\nthough I may reject the conclusion to which he would bring me. He leaves\ntwo alternatives, and only two, in my judgment, open; leaves two parties\nuntouched; one is the Christian, and the other is the Atheist or the\nSceptic, which-ever you please; but I am profoundly convinced he does\nnot leave a consistent footing for any thing between. His fire does not\ninjure the Christian, for-comes out of his own camp; nor me, for it\nfalls short of my lines; but for you, who have pitched your tent\nbetween, take heed to yourselves. He proves clearly enough, that the\nvery difficulties for which you reject Christianity exist equally,\nsometimes to a still amount, in the domain of nature.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" said the youngest, \"we do not think that Butler's argument is\nsound.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said Harrington, \"the sooner you refute it the better. All you\nhave to do is, just to show that this world does not exhibit the\ninequalities, the miseries,--the apparent caprice in its administration,\n--the involuntary ignorance,--the enormous wrongs,--the wide-spread\nsorrows and death,--it does. You will do greater service to the\nDeist than the whole of the have ever done him yet. I am convinced\nthat Butler is not to be refuted.\"\n\n\"But do you not recollect what no less a man than Pitt said,--'Analogy\nis an argument so easily retorted!'\" replied the same youth.\n\n\"Then you will have the less difficulty in retorting it,\" said\nHarrington, coolly. \"Pitt's observation only shows that he had\nforgotten the true object of the work, or never understood it. For the\npurposes of refutation, it does not follow that an analogy may be easily\nretorted; it may be, and often is, irresistible. It is when employed\nto establish a truth, not to expose an error, that it is often feeble.\nIf Butler had attempted to prove that the inhabitants of Jupiter must\nbe miserable, nothing could have been more ridiculous than to adduce the\nanalogy of our planet. But if he merely wished to show that it did not\nfollow that that beautiful orb, being created by infinite power, wisdom,\nand goodness, must be an abode of happiness, (just the Rationalist style\nof reasoning,) it would be quite sufficient to introduce the speculator\nto this ill-starred planet of ours.\"\n\nThere are few who will not acquiesce in this remark of Harrington's,\nhowever they may lament the alternative he seemed disposed to take.\nAssuredly, for the specific object in view, no book written by man\nwas ever more conclusive than that of Butler. For if you can show to\nan unbeliever in Christianity, who is yet (as most are) a Theists, that\nany objection derived from its apparent repugnance to wisdom or goodness\napplies equally to the \"constitution and course of nature,\" you do\nfairly compel him (as long as he remains a Theist) to admit that that\nobjection ought not to have weight with him. He has indeed an alternative;\nthat of Atheism or Scepticism; but it is clear he must give up either his\nargument or his--Theism. It may be called, indeed, an argument ad hominem;\nbut as almost every unbeliever in Christianity is a man of the above\nstamp, it is of wide application. This is the fair issue to which\nButler brings the argument; and the conclusiveness of his logic has\nbeen shown in this, that, however easily \"analogies\" may be \"retorted,\"\nthe parties affected by it have never answered it. I was amused with\nthe criticism with which Harrington wound up. \"Butler,\" said he, \"wrote\nbut little; but when reading him, I have often thought of Walter Scott's\nwolf-dog Maida, who seldom was tempted to join in the bark of his lesser\ncanine associates. 'He seldom opens his mouth,' said his master; 'but when\nhe does, he shakes the Eildon Hills. Maida is like the great gun at\nConstantinople,--it takes a long time to load it; but when it does go\noff, it goes off for something!'\"\n____\n\nAug. 1. I this day put into Mr. Fellowes's hands the brief notes on\nthe three questions on which he had solicited my opinion. They were as\nfollows:--\n\nI. Mr. Newman says that it is an idle boast that the elevation of woman\nis in any high degree attributable to the Gospel. \"In point of fact,\"\nsays he, \"Christian doctrine, as propounded by Paul, is not at all so\nhonorable to woman as that which German soundness of heart has\nestablished. With Paul the sole reason for marriage is that a man may\nwithout sin vent his sensual desires.\"\n\nIf, indeed, there were no other passage in the New Testament than that\nto which Mr. Newman refers, there might be something to be said for him.\nBut it is only one of many, and the question really at issue is\nconsequently blinked, namely, what is the aspect of the entire New\nTestament institute upon the relations of woman? It is true, indeed,\nthat the reason for marriage which Mr. Newman contends is the only\nthing Paul thought about, is very properly urged; for from the\nconstitution of human nature, (as every comprehensive philosopher\nand legislator would admits) as well as from the horrible condition of\nthings where marriage is neglected, prominence is very justly given\nto the preservation of chastity as one of the primary objects of the\ninstitution. But the question as between Mr. Newman and Christianity\nis this: Is this the only aspect under which the relations of man and\nwoman are represented to us? That every thing is not said in one passage\nis true enough. From the desultory manner in which the ethics as well\nas doctrines of the New Testament are expounded to us, and especially\nfrom the casual form which they assume in the Apostolic Epistles,\nwhere the particular circumstances of the parties addressed naturally\nsuggested the degree of prominence given to each topic, we must fairly\nexamine the whole volume in order to comprehend the spirit of the whole,\nand not take up a solitary passage as though it were the only one.\nNow, if we examine other passages, we cannot fail to see that the New\nTestament consecrates married life by enjoining the utmost purity,\ndevotion, and tenderness of affection. Look at only one or two of the\npassages in which the New Testament enjoins the reciprocal duties of\nhusbands and wives; what sort of model it proposes for their love.\n\"Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the Church and\ngave himself for it ..... Let every one in particular so love his\nwife even as himself; and the wife see that she reverence her husband.\nSo ought men to love their wives as their own bodies, .... giving honor\nunto the wife as unto the weaker vessel, and as being heirs together\nof  the grace of life.\"\n\nIs this like condemning women to be \"elegant toys and voluptuous\nappendages\"?\n\nAdmitting, for the sake of argument, that the whole of Christianity\nis a delusion; that Christ never lived, and therefore never died; that\nhe is a more palpable myth than even Dr. Strauss contends for; still\nit is impossible not to see that the writers of the New Testament\nrepresent his love for man as the ideal of pure, disinterested,\nself-sacrificing affection; this appears whether we listen to the\nwords which the Evangelists have put into his mouth, or those in\nwhich they have spoken of him. \"Greater love hath non man than this\nthat a man lay down his life for his friends.\" Now, let there be as\nmuch or as little historic truth in such statements, in the doings\nand sufferings of Christ on behalf of humanity, as you will, the\nconclusion is irresistible that his conduct (real or imaginary) is\nset forth as the exhibition of unequalled patience, gentleness,\nmeekness, and forbearance; of a love anxious to purchase, at the\ndearest cost, the purest and highest happiness of its objects. Now\nsuch is the pattern of affection which the Apostles commend to the\nimitation of \"husbands and wives\" in their conduct towards one\nanother. Such is to be the lofty standard which their love is to\nemulate. Is it possible to go further? Does not the fantastical\nobservance, or rather the absolute idolatry of women cherished\nby chivalry,--itself, however, rooted in the influences of a corrupt\nChristianity,--look like a caricature beside the picture? And who\nare the \"poets of Germanic culture\" who have risen to an equal ideal\nof the reciprocal  duties and sentiments of wedded life? I must contend\nthat so beautiful a picture of a real equality between man and\nwoman,--founded on the love of the common Lord of both,--such a picture\nof woman's true elevation, was never realized in the ancient world,\nnor would have been to this day had not Christianity been\npromulgated; nor is now, except where Christianity is known, though,\nalas! not always where it is. But if you think otherwise, beg\nMr. Newman to give you a catena of passages from the \"poets of Germanic\nculture\" (he has not adduced a syllable in proof); and recollect it\nought to be from Germanic poets who lived before the Germans were\nChristians! Or perhaps you would wish to seek the Germanic \"sentiment\"\ntowards woman pure in its source, as given in the certainly not\nunfavorable estimate of Tacitus. In their respect for woman and the\nstress they laid on chastity, the ancient Germans transcended without\ndoubt many savages. Still, few readers will suppose there was much\nreason to boast of the elevation of women, or the presence of much\nrefined \"sentiment\" between the sexes! As long as women do all the\ndrudgery of house and field work, while their lazy husbands drink and\ngamble; as long as they are liable (and their children too) to be sold\nor put on the hazard of a cast of the dice; as long as they are\nthemselves ferocious enough to go out to battle with their husbands;\nI presume you will think the \"Germanic culture\" very far short of the\n\"culture\" likely to be produced by the New Testament! Well says Gibbon,\n\"Heroines of such a cast may claim admiration; but they were most\nassuredly neither lovely nor very susceptible of love.\"\n\nII. Mr. Newman says, that undue credit has been claimed for Christianity\nas the foe and extirpator of slavery. He says that, at this day, the\n\"New Testament is the argumentative stronghold of those who are trying\nto keep up the accursed system.\" Would it not have been candid to add,\nthat the New Testament has ever been also the stronghold of those who\noppose it, as well in this country as in America? It is on the express\nground to its supposed inconsistency with the maxims and spirit of\nChristianity, that the great mass of Abolitionists hate and loathe it.\nA public clamor against it was never raised in the days of ancient\nslavery, nor is now in any country where Christianity is unknown.\nThe opposition to it in our own country was a religious one; that we\nknow full well; and so is the opposition of the American Abolitionists\nat the present day. If selfish cupidity, on the one hand, appeals to\nthe New Testament for its continuance, so does philanthropy, on the\nother, for its abolition; and though in my judgment the inferences of\nthe latter are far more reasonable, the mere fact that both parties\nappeal to the book shows that the New Testament neither sanctions\nit--rather the contrary by implication--nor expressly denounces\nit;--Mr. Newman doubtless can do it safely. This very moderation of\nlanguage, however, has to many minds, and those of no mean capacity,\n(the late Dr. Chalmers for example,) been regarded as an indication\nof the wisdom which has presided over the construction of the New\nTestament; it was not only a tone peremptorily demanded by the\nnecessary conditions of publishing Christianity at all, but was best\nadapted,--nay, alone adapted,--in the actual condition of the world\nin relation to slavery, to make any salutary impression.\n\nAdmitting that the great, the primary end of the Gospel was spiritual;\nthat it was the object of the Apostles to obtain for it a dispassionate\nhearing among all nations; and that, however they might hope\nindirectly to affect the temporal prosperity and political welfare of\nmankind, all good of this kind was in their view subordinate to that\nspiritual amelioration, which, if affected, would necessarily involve\nall inferior social and political improvements;--I say, admitting this,\nit is really difficult to imagine any other course open to a wise choice\nthan that which was actually adopted. I contend, that in not\npassionately denouncing slavery, and in contenting themselves with\nquietly depositing those principles and sentiments which, while\nachieving objects infinitely more important, would infallibly abolish\nit, the Apostles took the wisest course, even with relation to this\nlatter object,--though it was doubtless not the course into which a\nblind fanaticism would have plunged. To enter upon an open crusade\nagainst slavery in that age would have been to render the preaching of\nthe Gospel a simple impossibility, and to convert a professedly moral\nand spiritual institute into an engine of political agitation; it would\nhave afforded the indignant governments of the world--quite prompt enough\nto charge it with seditious tendencies--a plausible pretext for its\nsuppression. Both the primary and the secondary objects would have been\nsacrificed; and the chains of slavery riveted, not relaxed. Slavery,\nin that age, we must recollect, was interwoven with the entire fabric of\nsociety in almost all nations. To denounce it would have been a\nprovocation, nay, a challenge, to a servile war in every country to\nwhich the zeal of the Christian emissaries might carry the Gospel.\nContenting themselves, therefore, with the enunciation of those\nprinciples which, where they are truly embraced, are inconsistent\nwith the permanent existence of slavery, and, if triumphant, insure\nits downfall, the Apostles pursued that which was their great object;\nand for those of an inferior order, patiently waited for the time\nwhen the seed they had sown broadcast in the earth should\nyield its harvest.\n\nAnd surely the event has justified their sagacity. For to what, after\nall, have just notions on this most important subject been owing,\nexcept to this said Christianity? Though it is true that, owing to the\nimperfect exemplification of its principles by men who profess it, it\nhas not yet done its work, it is doing it; though some Christian\nnations--more shame for them--have slaves, none but Christian nations\nare without them. Not only is the sincere admission of the maxims and\nprinciples of the New Testament inconsistent with the permanent\nexistence of slavery, but the history of Christianity affords perpetual\nillustrations of its tendency to destroy it. Even during the Dark Ages,\neven in its most corrupted form, Christianity wrought for the practical\nextinction of serfdom. Mr. Newman says that it was Christians, not men,\nthat the church sought to enfranchise; it little matters; she sought\nto abolish all villanage. He says that even Mahometans do not like to\nenslave Mahometans; I ask, can he find immense bodies of Mahometans\nwho contend that it is Contrary to the spirit, tendencies, and maxims,\nif not precise letter, of their religion, to enslave any body? For it\nwas such a principle which expressly called forth the abhorrence and\ncondemnation of slavery in our own age and nation. It cannot be denied\nthat the movement by which this accursed system was, after so long a\nstruggle, exterminated amongst us, was an eminently religious one, as\nregards its main supporters, the ground they took, and the\nsacrifices they made.\n\n\"But Christian nations have defended and practised slavery!\" you will say.\n\nThey have; and Christian nations have often practised the vices which\nthe \"Book\" expressly condemns,--just as all nations have practised many\nthings which their codes of morals or laws condemn. The question is\nwhether in the one case the Book, or in the other case the codes,\napprove them; not, I presume, whether man is a very inconsistent animal.\nBut no system is made answerable for the violations of its spirit--except\nChristianity.\n\nMr. Newman says that slaveholders make the \"New Testament the\nstronghold of the accursed system.\" It had been more to the purpose\nif he had pointed out a passage or two which recommend it. He knows\nthat it is simply because it does not (for reasons already stated)\ndenounce it, that they say it approves it. Are you satisfied with\nthis reasoning? Then try it on another case,--for despotism is exactly\nparallel. The New Testament does not expressly denounce that, and\nfor the same reasons; and the arguments for passive obedience have\nbeen with equal plausibility drawn from its pages. Will the\nTransatlantic republicans approve despotism on the same authority?\n--Despotism has wrought at least as much misery to mankind as slavery,\nand probably much more. Was it a duty of the Apostles, instead of laying\ndown principles which, though having another object, would infallibly\nundermine it, to denounce despotism everywhere, and invite all people\nto an insurrection against their rulers? If they had, the spiritual\nobjects of the Gospel would have been easily understood, and very\nproperly treated. Let me apply the argumentum ad hominem. Mr. Newman\nhas favored the world with his views of religious truth, and the\n\"spiritual\" weapons by which its \"champion\" is to make it victorious\nover mankind; he has also recorded his hatred of slavery and despotism,\nwhere such magnanimity is perfectly safe, and perfectly superfluous.\nLet me now suppose you, not only partly, but wholly of his mind, and\nanimated (if \"spiritualism\" will ever prompt men to do any thing,\nexcept, as Harrington says, to write books against book-revelation),\n--let me suppose you animated to go as missionary to the East to\npreach this spiritual system: would you, in addition to all the rest,\npublicly denounce the social and political evils under which the\nnations groan? If so, your spiritual projects would soon be perfectly\nunderstood, and summarily dealt with. It is in vain to say that, if\ncommissioned by Heaven, and endowed with power of working miracles,\nyou would do so; for you cannot tell under what limitations your\ncommission would be given; it is pretty certain that it would leave you\nto work a moral and spiritual system by moral and spiritual means, and\nnot allow you to turn the world upside down, nor mendaciously tell it\nthat you came only to \"preach peace,\" while every syllable you uttered\nwould be an incentive to sedition.\n\nIII. The last point on which you ask a few remarks is in relation to\nthe early spread of Christianity. Mr. Newman makes easy work of this\ngreat problem. He says, \"Before Constantine, Christians were but a\nsmall fraction of the empire ..... In fact, it was the Christian\nsoldiers in Constanline's army who conquered the empire for\nChristianity.\" (Phases, p. 162.)\n\nIn the first place, supposing the facts just as stated.--namely, that\nit was the Christian soldiers of Constantine who conquered the empire\nfor Christianity,--who was it that conquered the army for Christianity?\nWhen I find Mahometanism the prevalent religion through the English\nregiments, I shall shrewdly suspect that the conquest of England for\nMahometanism will have been made an easy task, by its having already\nmade equal progress amongst the people generally!\n\nI suppose it will not be denied that the soldiers, by whose aid\nConstantine achieved this great victory, were themselves professedly\nconverts to Christianity; and Christianity as it had existed in the\ntimes of the recent persecutions was not likely to allure men to the\nprofession of arms. I think, therefore, we may fairly assume, that,\nif the imperial armies were to any considerable extent--and it must\nhave been ex hypothesi to a prevailing extent--composed of Christians,\nChristianity had made at least equal progress in the ranks of civil\nlife. The one may be taken as the measure of the other; though we might\nfairly suppose, both from the principles and habits of the Christians,\nthat they would be found in civil life in a larger ratio. The camp was\nnot precisely the place for them; the Gospel might find them there, it\nrarely sent them. So that the question returns, How came it to pass\nthat the bulk of the armies which \"conquered the empire for Christianity\"\ncame to be Christians,--at least in name and profession?\n\n\"Ah!\" you will say, \"in name,--but they were strange Christians who\nbecame soldiers.\" Very true; and it makes my argument the stronger. Mere\nprofessors of a religious system only follow in the wake of its triumphs.\nWhen those who do not care much for a system profess and embrace it,\ndepend upon it, it has largely triumphed. To suppose, therefore, that\nConstantine conquered the empire for Christianity, while we admit that\nthe army was already Christian, is very like getting rid of the objection\nin the way the Irishman proposed to get rid of some superfluous cart-loads\nof earth. \"Let us dig a hole,\" said he, \"and put it in.\" It is much the\nsame here.\n\nConstantine became a convert, perhaps from conviction, but certainly\nrather late. Supposing him a political convert, as many have done, it\ncould only be because he saw that Christianity had done its work to\nsuch an extent as to render it more probable that it would assist him\nthan that he could assist it. This induced him to take it under the wing\nof his patronage. And on such a theory, what but such a conviction could\nhave justified him in the attempt for a moment? How could he be fool\nenough to add to the difficulties of his position--a candidate for\nempire--the stupendous difficulty of forcing upon his unwilling or\nindifferent subjects a religion which by supposition they were any\nthing but prepared to receive? If the prospects of Christianity had not\nalready decided the question for him, so far from receiving credit for\npolitical sagacity, as he ever has done, he would deserve rather to be\nconsidered an absolute idiot!\n\nAgain; is it not plain from history in general, and must we not infer\nit from the nature of the case a priori, that Christianity must in some\nfashion have conquered its millions before Constantine or any other\nman was likely to attempt to conquer the empire for Christianity, or\nto succeed in so doing if he had? Is there an instance on record of a\npeople suddenly, at a moment's notice, changing its religion, or\nrather--for this is the true representation--of many different\nnations changing their many different religions at the simple command\nof their sovereign, and he too an upstart? In two cases, and in only\ntwo, it may be done; first, by an unsparing use of the sword, the brief,\nsimple alternative of Mahomet, Death or the Koran; the other, when the\nnew form of belief has converted the bulk or a large portion of the\nnation; of which, in this case, the conversion of the army is a\ntolerably significant indication.\n\nBut again; if it be said that the people, or rather the many different\nnations, abandoned their religions out of complaisance to their\nsovereign, I answer, Why do we not see the same thing repeated when\nJulian wished to reverse the experiment? They were not so pliant\nthen; then was it seen very dearly that the people were, as in\nevery other case, unwilling, as regards their religion, to be mere\npuppets in the hands of their governors. He was animated by at least\nas strong a hatred of Christianity as Constantine by a love of it.\nYet we see all the way through, that there was not a chance of\nsuccess for him.\n\n\"But there were some persecutions,\" you will say, \"by Constantine.\"\nTrue, but they were so trifling compared with what would have been\nrequired had the conversion of an unbelieving and refractory empire\ndepended on such means, that few who read the history of religious\nrevolutions will believe that they were the cause of the change. Every\nthing shows that a vast preceding moral revolution in the empire is\nthe only sufficient explanation of so sudden an event. Gibbon himself\nadmits Constantine's tolerant disposition.\n\n\"But,\" it may be said, \"the old heathenism was worn out and effete;\nno one thought it worth his while to stand up in its defence.\"\n\nI answer, first, it seems to have been sufficiently loved, or at\nleast Christianity was sufficiently hated, to insure frequent and\nsanguinary persecutions of the latter, almost up to the eve of\nConstantine's accession. Secondly, you are to consider that, though\nin the schools of philosophers, in the Epicurean or sceptical\natmosphere of the luxurious capital and other great cities, there was\nunquestionably a numerous party to whom the old superstition was a\nlaughing-stock, there were vast multitudes to whom it was still, in\nits various forms, a thing of power. You are to recollect that the\nRoman empire was made up of many nations, each with a different mode\nof religion, and to suppose that these different religions had ceased\nto exercise the usual influence on vast multitudes of the people would\nbe mere delusion. If they were surrendered at last so easily, it could\nonly be because a great party--antagonistic to each--had been silently\nforming in each nation, and undermining the power of the popular\nsuperstitions. But, thirdly, if the representation were true, to\nwhat can so singular a phenomenon--this simultaneous decay of different\nreligions, this epidemic pestilence amongst the gods of the Pantheon\n--be ascribed, but to the previous influence of Christianity, and its\nextensive conquests? And, fourthly, supposing this not the case, and\nyet that the indifference in question existed, this indifference to\nthe old systems of religion would not presuppose equal indifference\nto new, or induce the people to embrace them at the mere bidding of\ntheir new master. If this were so, we ought to see the same phenomenon\nrepeated in the case of Julian. If, in their presumed indifference to\nthe old and the new, they listened to Constantine when he commanded\nthem to become Christians, why did not they manifest an equally\ncompliant temper when the Apostate enjoined them to become heathens,\nand like Constantine, gave them both precept and example?\n\nBut look at the historic evidence on the subject long before the\nestablishment of Christianity. Is it possible for any candid person to\nread the Epistle of Pliny to Trajan, and not see in that alone, after\nmaking every deduction for any supposed bias under which the letter may\nhave been written (though, in fact, it is difficult to suppose any\nbias that would not rather lead the writer to diminish the number of\nthe Christians than to exaggerate it),--is it possible, I say, to read\nthat singular state paper, and not feel that the new religion had\nmade prodigious progress in that remote province? and that, a fortiori,\nif in Bithynia it had conquered its thousands of proselytes, in other\nand more favored provinces it must have gained its tens of thousands?\nTo me the letter of Pliny speaks volumes; and if so much could be said\nat so early a period as A. D. 107, what was the state of things two\ncenturies later?\n\nPrecisely the same conclusion must be arrived at if we consult the\nuniform tone of the Christian apologists, from Justin Martyr to Minucius\nFelix. Making here, again, what deductions you please for the fervid\neloquence and rhetorical exaggerations of such a man as Tertullian, it\nis too much to suppose even his \"African\" impetuosity would have\nventured, not merely on the virulent invective, the bold taunts, with\nwhich he everywhere assails the popular superstitions, but on such\nstrong assertions of the triumphant progress of the upstart religion,\nunless there had been obvious approximation to truth in his statements.\n\"We were but of yesterday,\" says he, \"and we have filled your cities,\nislands, towns, and assemblies; the camp, the senate, the palace, and\nthe forum swarm with converts to Christianity.\" Apologist for\nChristianity! Unless these words had been enforced by very much of\ntruth, he would have made Christianity simply ridiculous; and\nChristians would have been necessitated to apologize for\ntheir mad apologist.\n\nThe same conclusion equally follows from the consideration of those\nvery corruptions of Christianity, which no candid student of\necclesiastical history will be slow to admit had already infected\nit, many years before Constantine ventured to aid it by his equivocal\npatronage. It was obviously its triumphant progress,--its attraction\nto itself of much wealth,--the accession, to a considerable extent,\nof fashion, rank, and power,--that chiefly caused those corruptions.\nSo long as the Christian Church was poor and despised, such scenes\nas often attended the election of bishops in the great cities of the\nempire would be quite impossible.\n\nUnder such circumstances the argument of Mr. Newman--judiciously\ncompressed into a few sentences--appears to me even ludicrous. How\ndifferent the course which Gibbon pursues! What a pity that the\ngreat historian did not perceive that this statement would have led\nhim equally well to his desired end; that so brief a demonstration\nwould suffice to account for that unmanageable phenomenon, the rapid\nprogress and ultimate triumph of Christianity! He, on the contrary,\nseems to have read history with very different eyes; and yet I suppose\nno man will question either his learning or his sagacity. He finds\nhimself obliged to admit the conspicuous advance which the Gospel had\nmade before Constantine's accession, and employs every nerve to invent\nsufficient natural causes to account for it. What a facile task would\nhe have had of it, if he had but bethought him that Christianity,\ninstead of having been to an enormous extent successful was, in\nfact, waiting, in comparative failure, the triumphant aid of a\nmilitary conqueror! He might then have dispensed with the celebrated\nchapter, and substituted for it the two pregnant sentences by which\nMr. Newmen has, in effect, declared it superfluous.\n____\n\nAugust 7. Three days ago (the evening before my return home) I managed\nto prevail upon myself to have a close and formal discussion with\nHarrington on the subject of his scepticism. We had a regular fight,\nwhich lasted till midnight, and beyond. A good deal of it was (in a\ndouble sense, perhaps) a nuktomachia. As I had no one to jot down\nshort-hand notes of our controversy,--perhaps it is as well for me and\nfor truth that there was none,--it is impossible that I should do more\nthan give you a succinct summary of its course. But its principal\ntopics are too indelibly impressed on my memory to leave me in doubt\nabout general accuracy.\n\nI hardly know what led to it; I believe, however, it was an observation\nhe made on the different fates of metaphysical and physical science,--the\nlast all progress, and the first perpetual uncertainty. He had been\nreading a remark of some philosopher who attributed this difference to\nthe more substantial incentives offered to the cultivation of the\nphysical sciences. \"So that,\" said he, \"they are, it seems, what our\nGerman friends would call 'Brodwissenschaften'! Not the brain, as some\nidly suppose, but the stomach, is the true organon of discovery, and\nif the metaphysician could but be punctually assured of his dinner\n(which has not always been the case), or at all events of a fortune,\nwe should soon have the true theories of the Sublime and\nBeautiful,--of Ethics,--of the Infinite,--of the Absolute,--of Mind\nand Matter,--of Liberty and Necessity; whereas I think we should\nonly have a multiplication of doubtful theories.\"\n\nHe remarked that he doubted the truth of the hypothesis in both its\nparts; that not the want of adequate motives, but the intrinsic\ndifficulty of the subjects, had kept metaphysics back (on what\nsubjects had men expended more gigantic toil?); nor, on the other\nhand, was it necessity that chiefly impelled man to cultivate physical\nscience; it was the desire of knowledge,--or rather, he added, the\nlove of truth; for what else was his admitted curiosity, in the last\nresort, unless man is equally curious about falsehood and truth; \"that\nis,\" said he, laughing, \"as curious after ignorance as after knowledge!\nNo,\" he continued, \"the sciences are made arts for utilitarian purposes;\nbut the sciences themselves have a very different origin. For my own\npart, I would as soon believe that Sir Isaac Newton excogitated his\nsystem of the universe in hopes of being made one day Master of the\nMint.\" I assented, and, smiling, told him I was glad to find him admit\nthat there was in man a love of knowledge, identical with the love of\ntruth. He said he admitted the appetite, but denied that there was\nalways an adequate supply of food. He admitted that in physical science\nman seemed capable of unlimited progress; but it seemed doubtful whether\nthis was the case in other directions. \"What was there inconsistent\nwith scepticism in that?\" he asked.\n\nI answered, that it was not for me to say at what point of the scale\na man might become an orthodox doubter; but I was, at all events,\nglad that he had not gone all the lengths which some had gone, or\nprofessed to have gone; who, if they had not reached that climax\nof Pyrrhonism, to doubt even if they doubt, yet had declared the\nattainment of all truth impossible. I then bantered him a little\non the advantages of \"absolute scepticism\"; told him I wondered that\nhe should throw them away; and reminded him of the success with\nwhich the sceptic might train on his adversary into the \"bosky depths\"\nof German metaphysics,--the theories of Schelling, Fichte, Hegel. \"If\ntruth be in any of those dusky labyrinths,\" said I, \"you are not\ncompelled to find her; the more unintelligible the discussion becomes,\nthe better for the sceptic; you may not only doubt, but doubt whether\nyou even understand your doubts. You may play 'hide and seek' there\nfor ten thousand years.\" \"For all eternity,\" was his reply. But he\nsaid he had no wish to seek any such covert, nor to play the sceptic.\n\nI told him I was glad to find that his scepticism did not--to use\nBurke's expression on another subject--\"go down to the foundations.\"\nHe answered that he was afraid it did on all subjects really of any\nsignificance to man. \"As to the present life,\" he continued, \"I am\nquite willing to accept Bayle's dictum: 'Les Sceptiques ne nioient\npas qu'il ne se fallut conformer aux coutumes de son pays, et\npratiquer des devoirs de la morale, et prendre parti en ces choses\nla sur des probabilites, sans attendre la certitude.'\"\n\nI was not sorry that he took Bayle's limits of scepticism rather than\nHume's: I told him so.\n\nHume, he said, was evidently playing with scepticism; for himself, he\nhad no heart to jest upon the subject. The Scotch sceptic acknowledged\nthat the metaphysical riddles of his \"absolute scepticism\" exercised,\nand ought to exercise, no practical influence on himself or any man;\nthat the moment he quitted them, and entered into society, \"they\nappeared to him so frigid and unnatural\" that he could not get himself\nto interest himself about them any further; that a dinner with a\nfriend, or a game at backgammon, put them all to flight, and restored\nhim to the undoubting belief of all the maxims which his meditative\nhours had stripped him of. It was natural, Harrington said; for such\nscepticism was impossible. He added, however, that, had Hume been\nhonest, he would never have employed his subtilty in the one-sided way\nhe did; \"for,\" said he, \"if his principles be true, they tell just as\nmuch against those who deny any religious dogmas as against those who\nmaintain them. Yet everywhere in relation to religion--take the question\nof miracles, for example--he argues not as a sceptic at all, but as a\ndogmatist, only on the negative side. If his doctrine of 'Ideas' and\nof 'Causation' be true, he ought to have maintained that; for any thing\nwe know, miracles may have occurred a thousand times, and may as often\noccur again. Hume,\" he said, \"was amusing himself; but I am not: nor\ncan any one really feel--many pretend to do so without feeling at\nall--the pressure of such doubts as envelop me, and be content to\namuse themselves with them.\"\n\nI found it very difficult to attack him in the intrenchments he had\nthrown up. I thought I would just try for a moment to act on the\nSpiritualist's advice, and, throwing aside all \"intellectual and\nlogical processes,\" all appeals to the \"critical faculties,\" advance\n\"lightly equipped as Priestley himself,\" making my appeal to the\n\"spiritual faculty.\" I cannot say that the result was at all what\n\"spiritualism\" promises. On the contrary, Harrington parried all such\nappeals in a twinkling. He said he did not admit that he had any\n\"spiritual faculty\" which acted in isolation from the intellect;\nthat religious faith must be founded on religious truth, and even\nquasi-religious faith on quasi-religious truth. That the intellect\nand the moral and spiritual faculties (if he had any) acted together,\nsince he felt that he was indivisible, and that the former man\nbe satisfied as well as the latter; that it was so with all\nhis faculties, none of which acted in isolation; that however\nhunger might prompt to food, he never took what his senses of sight\nand touch told him was sand or gravel; that if he indulged love, or\npity, or anger, it was only as the senses and the imagination and\nthe understanding were busied with objects adequate to elicit them;\nthat if beautiful poetry excited emotion, it was only as he understood\nthe meaning and connection of the words. \"And what else are you doing\nnow, while urging me to realize by direct 'insight,' by 'gazing' on\n'spiritual truth,' and so forth, the things you wish me to realize,\n--I say what are you doing but appealing to me, through these same\nmedia of the senses and the imagination, by rhetoric and logic? How\nelse can you gain any access to my supposed 'spiritual faculties'?\"\nI replied, that even the spiritualist did that,--he endeavored to\nconvince men, I supposed. \"Yes,\" he replied, laughing, \"because he\nis privileged doubly to abuse logic at one and the same time; to\nabuse it in one sense as a fallacious instrument of religious conviction\nin the hands of others, and to abuse it in another sense, as an\ninstrument of fallacious conviction in his own. But you are not so\nprivileged.\"\n\nHarrington insisted on the fact, that the whole thing was a delusion;\nI might appeal, he said, if I thought proper, to any faculties, or\nrudiments of faculties, he possessed, spiritual or otherwise; but he\nreally could not pretend even to comprehend one syllable I said, if\nI denied him the use of his understanding. I might as well, and for\nthe same reasons, appeal to him without the intervention of his senses,\n--for his \"soul\" could not be more different from his \"intellect\" than\nfrom them. \"Besides,\" he continued, \"I know you do not imagine that any\nspiritual faculty acts thus independently of the intellect; and\ntherefore you are only mocking me.\"\n\nI thought it best to cut my cable and leave this unsafe anchorage.\n\nI told him that, as he doubted whether man had any distinctly marked\nreligious and spiritual faculties, while I affirmed that he had,\n--although he was quite right in supposing that I did not believe that\nthey acted except in close conjunction with the intellect,--it made\nit difficult to hold any discourse with him. Doubting the Bible, he had\nalso learned to doubt that doctrine of human depravity, which he once\nthought harmonized--and I still thought did alone harmonize--the great\nfacts of man's essentially religious constitution and his eternally\nvaried and most egregiously corrupt religious development.\n\nHowever, I told him that, even in the concession of the probable as a\nsufficient rule of conduct in this life, he had granted enough to\ncondemn utterly his sceptical position.\n\nHe now looked sincerely interested. \"Let me,\" said I, \"ask you a few\nquestions.\" He glanced towards me an arch look. \"What!\" he said, \"you\nwish to get the Socratic weather-gage of me, do you? You forget, my dear\nuncle, that you introduced me to the Platonic dialectics.\"\n\n\"Heaven forgive you,\" said I, \"for the thought. You know I make little\npretension to your favorite erotetic method: and if I did, oh! do you not\nknow, Harrington, my son, that, if I could but convince you on this\none subject, I would consent to be confuted by you on every other every\nday in the year?--nay, to be trampled under your feet?\" I added, with a\nfaltering voice. \"And, besides that, do you not know that there can be\nno rivalry between father and son; that it is the only human affection\nwhich forbids it; that pride, and not envy, swells a father's heart, when\nhe finds himself outdone?\"\n\nHe was not unmoved; told me he knew that I loved him well, and desired\nme to ask any questions I pleased.\n\nHe saw how gratified his affection made me feel. I said, gayly, \"Well,\nthen, let me ask (as our old friend with the queer face might have said),\nDo you not grant there is such a thing as prudence?\"\n\n\"I do,\" he said.\n\n\"But to be prudent is, I think, to do that which is most likely to\npromote our happiness.\"\n\n\"That which seems most likely, for I do not admit that we know what will.\"\n\n\"That which seems, then, for it is of no consequence.\"\n\n\"Of no consequence! surely there is a little difference between being\nand seeming to be.\"\n\n\"All the difference in the world,\" I replied, \"but not in relation to\nour choice of conduct, We choose, if prudent, that conduct which, on\nthe whole, deliberately seems most likely to promote our happiness, and,\nas far as that goes, what seems is.\"\n\n\"I grant it; and that probabilities are the measure of it,\"\nsaid Harrington.\n\n\"You are of Bayle's opinion, that there is in relation to the present\nlife a probable prudent, and that it would be gross folly to neglect it?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"And in proportion as the interest was greater, and extended over a longer\ntime, you would be content with less and less probabilities to justify\naction?\"\n\n\"I freely grant I should.\"\n\n\"If now a servant came into the room to say that he feared your\nfarm-house at King's O--- was on fire, though you might think it but\nfaintly probable, you would not think it prudent to neglect the\ninformation?\"\n\n\"I certainly should not.\"\n\n\"And if you were immortal here on earth, and the neglect of some probably,\nor (we will say) only possibly, true information in relation to some\nvital interest might affect it through that whole immortality, you\nwould consider it prudent to act on almost no probability at all, on the\nvery faintest presumption of the truth?\"\n\n\"I must in honesty agree with you so far.\"\n\n\"What does your scepticism promise you, if it be well founded?\nMuch happiness?\"\n\n\"To me none; rather the contrary; and to none, I think, can it promise\nmuch.\"\n\n\"And if Christianity be true,--for I speak only of that,--I know there\nis not in your estimate any other religion that comes into competition\nwith it--immortal felicity, immortal misery, depends on it?\"\n\n\"Yes; it cannot be denied.\"\n\n\"You admit that scepticism may be false, even though it has a\nthousand to one in its favor; for by its very principles you know\nnothing, and can know nothing, on the subjects to which its doubts\nextend?\"\n\n\"I acknowledge it.\"\n\n\"And Christianity may be true by the very same reasoning, though\nthe chances be only as one to a thousand?\"\n\n\"It is so.\"\n\n\"Then by your own confession you are not prudent, for you do not act\nin relation to Christianity on the principles on which you say you\nact in the affairs of the present life; where you acknowledge that\nthe least presumption will move you, when the interests are\nsufficiently permanent and great.\"\n\nHe told me, with a smile, I might have arrived at the same conclusion\nwithout any argument; for he was willing to acknowledge in general\nthat he was not prudent, and in relation to this very subject should\nalways admit, with Byron, that the sincere Christian had an undeniable\nadvantage over both the infidel and the sceptic; \"since,\" he added,\nputting the admission into a very concise form, \"their best is\nhis worst.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said I, \"Harrington, only remember that your imprudence is\nnone the less for your admission of it.\"\n\n\"None in the world,\" he admitted; but be contended there was a flaw\nin the argument; for that it was impossible to accept any religion\non merely prudential grounds. And he then went on, in his curious\nway, to lament that an unreasonable candor prevented him from here\ntaking advantage of an ingenious argument adopted by some of the\nmodern \"spiritualists\" in reasoning on the probabilities of a\n\"future life.\" They contend that it is necessary to insulate the soul\n(if it would discover \"spiritual truth\") from all bias of self-\ninterest,--from all oblique glances at prospective advantage; in\nfact, that only he is fully equipped for discovering \"spiritual truth\"\nwho is disinterestedly indifferent as to whether it be discovered or\nnot. Harrington said he could not pretend that even the sceptic was\nso favorably circumstanced as that. \"For my part,\" he said, \"I cannot\nhonestly adopt this view, and always think it prudent to accept as\nlarge an armful of happiness as I can grasp, when truth and duty do\nnot come in the way.\"\n\n\"And in the name of common sense,\" I said, \"what truth and duty are\nto stand in your way? Is not your truth, that there is none?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he replied, smiling; \"but is not the truth the truth, as\nFalstaff said? though to be sure it was when he was manufacturing his\neleven men in buckram out of two. However, as Mr. Newman, when some\none foretold that he would be some day a Socinian or an infidel, replied,\n'Well, if Socinianism or any thing else be the truth, Socinians or\nany thing else let us be'; so I must say, if no truth be the truth,\nno-truth men let us be.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" I replied. \"Then, it seems, truth stands in the way of\nacting prudently; and, instead of remedying our first paradox, we\nhave started on another, that truth and prudence are here opposed:\nfor in no other cases (I think) in which you apply your own rule of\nthe probable to the present life will a mind of your comprehensiveness\nsay they are opposed; I am sure you will admit the general maxims,\nthat to lie is inexpedient, and that honesty is the best policy,\nand so on.\"\n\nHe granted it.\n\n\"But further,\" said I, \"what sort of truth is this, which involves\nduty, and yet is opposed to prudence? It is, that there is no truth,\nit seems, and this completes the paradox. This strange truth--the\nAlpha Omega of the sceptic, his first and his last--is to involve\nduty; he is to be a confessor and martyr for it! Nothing less than\nhappiness and prudence are to be sacrificed to conscience in the matter.\nTruly, if the truth that there is no truth involves any duty, it ought\nto be the duty of believing that there is no duty to be performed; and\nyou might as well call yourself a no-duty man as a no-truth man.\"\n\nHe smiled, but replied, that, seriously, it was impossible to adopt\nany religious opinions, or to change them, at the bidding of the will.\n\nI admitted, of course, that the will had no direct power in the matter;\nbut reminded him that, if he meant it had no influence, or even a little,\non the formation or retention of opinions, no one could be a more\nstrenuous assertor of the contrary than he had often been. I reminded\nhim it was so notorious that man usually managed to believe as he wished,\nthat was no one maxim more frequently on the lips of the greatest\nphilosophers, orators, and poets. But I added that there is also a\nlegitimate way of influencing will, and that is through the understanding;\nand was with the hope of inducing him to reconsider the paradoxes of\nscepticism, and not with any expectation of instant or violent change,\nthat I was anxious to enumerate them on the present occasion.\n\nIt is impossible for me to recollect exactly the course\nof the long conversation that ensued; suffice it to say, that he\nwillingly granted many other paradoxes, some of them so readily, as\nto confirm the suspicion I had sometimes felt, that he must often\nhave doubted the validity of his doubts. He admitted, for example,\nthat since men in general (whether from the possession of a distinct\nreligious faculty, though it might be corrupt and depraved, or a\nmere rudimentary tendency to religion) had adapted some religion,\nreligious scepticism, in an intelligible sense, was opposed to nature;\n--that it was equally opposed to nature, inasmuch as the general\nconstitution of man sought and loved certainty, or supposed certainty,\nand found a state of perpetual doubt intolerable; and that if this be\nattributed to a tendency to dogmatism, that is the very tendency of\nnature which is affirmed;--that it is opposed to nature again in this\nway, that whereas restlessness and agitation of mind are usually, at\nall events, warnings to seek relief, scepticism produces these as its\npure and proper result;--that since, by the confession of every mind\nworthy of respect, the great doctrines of religion, if not true, are\nsuch that we cannot but wish they were; since, by his own confession,\nscepticism has nothing to allure in it, and rather causes misery than\nhappiness; and since, by his confession and that of every one else, men\nin general easily believe as they wish, it is an unaccountable paradox,\nthat any one should remain a sceptic for a day, except, indeed, from a\nguilty fear of the truth;--that, since scepticism tends to misery, it\nis better not to know its truth, and that therefore ignorance is better\nthan knowledge;--that, if Christianity be an illusion, it, at all events,\ntends to make men happier than the truth of scepticism, and that therefore\nerror is better than truth;--that religious scepticism is open to the\nsame objection as scepticism absolute; for whereas the last is taunted\nwith trusting to reason to prove that reason can in nothing be trusted,\nreligious scepticism is chargeable with declaring the certainty of all\nuncertainty, and, while proclaiming: that there is nothing true, avowing\nthat that is truth and lastly, that if, in consistency, it leaves\neven that uncertainty uncertain, it arrives at a  conclusion which\neverlastingly remits us to renewed investigation!\n\n\"But,\" said he, \"the sceptic does affirm the certainty of all\nuncertainty. That is precisely my state of mind, even in relation\nto Christianity. Both its truth and falsehood are--uncertain.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said I, \"I must not say you reject Christianity, but only\nthat you do not receive it?\n\n\"Precisely so,\" said he, with a smile and a blush at the same time.\nI was much amused with this logical ceremoniousness, by which a man\nis not to say that he rejects any thing so conditioned, but only\nthat he does not receive it. I told him I imagined they came to\nmuch the same thing.\n\n\"It is impossible,\" said he, after a pause, \"to affirm any thing on\nthese subjects.\"\n\n\"It is equally impossible?\" said I, \"to affirm nothing; on the\ncontrary, you sceptics have two conclusions, though in a negative\nform, for every body else's one,--together with the pleasant addition,\nthat they are contraries to one another; and as Pascal said that the\nman who attempted to be neuter between the sceptic and dogmatist was\na sceptic par excellence, so the genuine sceptic may be called a\ndogmatist par excellence.\"\n\n\"For my part,\" said he, smiling sadly, \"I hardly think it is very\ndifficult either to believe nothing or every thing. Fellowes, you see,\nhas believed everything, and now he is in a fair way to believe nothing.\nHowever, all I mean is, that the evidence on these subjects reduces\none to a state of complete mental suspense, in which it is equally\nunreasonable to say that we believe, as to say that we believe not.\nHowever, I grant you most of the paradoxes you mention; but a sceptic\nis not to be startled by paradoxes, I trow; alas! they prove nothing.\"\n\n\"Prove nothing! nay, I think you do your system injustice; I think it\nis entitled to the distinction of making great discoveries. You confess\nthat the only truth on these subjects is, that there is no truth; that\nto act on this truth necessitates a conduct opposed to nature, to\nprudence, to happiness; that it is a knowledge worse than ignorance;\nthat it is a truth that is worse than error; that it never did, will,\nor can be embraced by many, and that it makes the few who embrace it\nmiserable; you admit further, with me, that men generally believe as\nthey wish. Why, then, do you not fly from so hideous a monster, on\nthe very ground (only in this case it is stronger) on which you doubt\nall religious systems,--that is, on account of the supposed paradoxes\nthey involve? It may be but a little argument with you, who seem to\ndemand demonstration of religious truth; but for myself, I feel that,\nwhatever be the truth, such a chimera as scepticism, bristling all\nover with paradoxes, must be--a lie.\"\n\n\"Well,\" he replied, \"but then which religion is the true?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" I said, \"that is an after consideration; if you can but be\nbrought to believe that any is true, I know you will believe but one.\"\n\n\"You touched just now,\" he replied, \"on the very difficulty. I shall\nbelieve as soon as any one gives me what you truly say I ask,--\ndemonstration of the truth of some one of the thousand and one religious\nsystems which men have believed.\"\n\n\"And that, demonstration,\" said I, \"you cannot have; for God has not\ngranted demonstration to man on that or any other subject in which\nduty is involved.\"\n\n\"But why might I not have had it? and should I not have had it, if it\nhad been incumbent on me to believe it?\"\n\nWe had now come to the very knot of the whole argument.\n\n\"Incumbent on you to believe! I suppose you mean, if there had been\nany system which you could not but believe; which you must believe\nwhether you would or not. No doubt, in that case, the requisite\nevidence would have been such that scepticism would have been\nimpossible; that word 'incumbent' implies duty; and that word duty\nis the key to the whole mystery, for it implies the possibility of\nresisting its claims. We do not speak of its being incumbent on a man\nto run out of a burning house, or to swim, if he can, when thrown\ninto deep water. He cannot help it. If there be a Supreme Ruler of the\nuniverse, and if the posture of his intelligent creatures be that of\nsubmissive obedience to him, it is inconceivable that a man can ever\nhave experience of his being willing to perform that duty with the\nsort of demonstration which you demand; and, for aught we know, it\nmay be impossible, constituted as we are, that we should ever be\nactually trained to that duty, except in the midst of very much less\nthan certainty. Now, if this be so,--and I defy you or any man to\nprove that it may not be so,--then we are asking a simple impossibility\nwhen we ask that we may be freed from these conditions; for it is\nasking that we may perform our duty, under circumstances which shall\nrender all duty impossible.\" I pursued this subject at some length,\nand reminded him that the supposed law of our religious condition was\nthroughout in analogy with that of the entire condition of our present\nlife, and in conformity with his own rule of the probable; that it is\nprobable evidence only that is given to man in either case, and\n\"probable evidence,\" as Bishop Butler says, \"often of even wretchedly\ninsufficient character.\" Nature, or rather God himself, everywhere\ncries aloud to us, \"O mortals! certainty, demonstration, infallibility,\nare not for you, and shall not be given to you; for there must be a sphere\nfor faith, hope, sincerity, diligence, patience.\" And as if to prove to\nus, not only that this evidence is what we must trust to, but that we\nsafely may, He impels us by strong necessities of our lower nature\noperating on the higher (which would otherwise, perhaps, plead for the\nsceptic's inaction in relation to this as well as to another world)\nto play our part; if we stand shivering on the brink of action,\nnecessity plunges us headlong in; if we fear to hoist the sail, the\nstrength of the current of life snaps our moorings, and compels us to\ndrive. I reminded him, that the general result also shows that, as man\nmust, so he may, can, will, shall, (and so through all the moods and\ntenses of contingency,) do well; that faith in that same sort of evidence\nwhich the sceptic rejects when urged in behalf of religion, prompts the\nfarmer to cast in his seed, though he can command no blink of sunshine,\nnor a drop of rain; the merchant to commit his treasures to the deep,\nthough they may all go to the bottom, and sometimes do; the physician\nto essay the cure of his patient, though often half in doubt whether\nhis remedy will kill or save. \"It is,\" said I, \"in that same faith\nthat we build, and plant, and lay our little plans each day; sometimes\ncoming to nothing, but generally, and according to the fidelity and\nmanliness with which we have conducted ourselves, securing more than\na return for the moral capital embarked; and even where this is not\nthe case, issuing, when there have been the qualities which would\nnaturally secure success, a vigor and robustness of character,\nwhich, like the rude health glowing in the weather-beaten mariner,\nwho has buffeted with wind and wave, are a more precious recompense\nthan success itself. In these examples God says to us in effect,\n'On such evidence you must and shall act,' and shows us that we\nsafely may. Without promising us absolute success in all our plans,\nor absolute truth in the investigation of evidence, he says, in either\ncase, 'Do your best; be faithful to the light you have, diligent and\nconscientious in your investigations of available evidence, great or\nlittle,--act fearlessly on what appears the truth, and leave the\nrest to me.'\"\n\nHarrington here asked the question I expected:--\"But suppose different\nmen coming (as they do) on religious subjects to different conclusions,\nafter the diligence and fidelity of which you speak, what then?\"\n\n\"Then, if the fidelity and diligence have been absolute,--if all has\nbeen done which, under the circumstances, could be done,--I doubt not\nthey are blameless. But I fear there are very few who can absolutely\nsay this; and for those who cannot say it at all, their guilt is\nproportionate to the demands which the momentous nature of the subject\nmade on diligence and fidelity.\"\n\n\"I suppose\" said he, with some hesitation, \"you will not allow that\nI have exercised this impartial search; and yet, supposing that I have,\nwill you not hold me blameless on the very principles now laid down?\"\n\nIt was a painful question; but I was resolved I would have nothing\nto reproach myself with; and therefore answered steadily, that it was\nnot for me to judge the degree of blame which attached to his present\nstate of mind, which I trusted was only transient; that the argument\nfrom sincerity was itself only one of the probable things of which we\nhad been speaking; that, so subtle are the operations of the human mind,\nso mysterious the play of the passions and affections, the reason and\nconscience, so intimate the connection amongst all our powers and\nfaculties, that it is one of the most difficult things to be able to\nsay, with truth, that we are perfectly sincere; that I did not see\nany difficulty in believing that there is many a man who, without\nhesitation and without any conscious hypocrisy, would avow his\nsincerity, who, upon being suffered to look into his own mind through\na moral solar microscope, would see there all sorts of misshapen\nmonsters, and turn away from the spectacle with disgust and horror;\nthat such a microscope (to speak in figure) might one day be applied\nby that Power to whom only the human heart is fully known. I added,\nhowever, that, if I knew more of his mental history for some years\npast, (into which my affection-should never induce me impertinently\nto pry,) I might, perhaps, in some measure, account for his scepticism;\nthat I could even conceive cases of minds so \"encompassed with\ninfirmity,\" or so dependent on states of health, as to render such a\nstate involuntary, and therefore to take them out of the sphere of\nour argument. But, apart from some such causes, I plainly told him I\ncould not permit myself to believe that religious scepticism could be\nfree from heavy blame, if only on the ground that such as feel it do\nnot act consistently with its maxims in other cases, where the\nevidence is of the same dubious nature, or rather is much more dubious.\nThe parallel case would be, (if we could find it,) of a man whose\ninterest urgently required him to act one way or the other, and who,\ninstead of acting accordingly, sat down in absolute inaction, on the\nscore that he did not know what course to pursue. That indecision\nwould be always blamable. \"Ah!\" said I, \"those cool heads and skilful\nhands which pilot the little bark of their worldly fortunes amidst\nsuch dangerous rocks and breakers, under such dark and stormy skies,\nwhat can they say, if asked why they gave up all thought of religion\non the score of doubt, when its hopes are at least as high as those of\nthe schemes of earthly success, and its claims at least as strong as\nthose of present duty? What will they be able to say?\n\n\"O Harrington!\" I continued, in some such words as these, \"supposing\nthe draught of our present condition not to be such as I have sketched;\nthat the sceptical view of the gloom in which we are placed is the true\none, and that the Christian's is false; which, nevertheless, is likely\nto be not merely the happier, but the nobler being,--he who sits down\nin querulous repining or slothful inactivity, as the result of doubt,\nor he who, buoyant with faith and hope, encounters the gloom, and,\nwhile longing for the dawn, is confident that it will come? But if\nthat sketch be a true one,--if the trial of which I have spoken be\nnecessary for you and for all, to develop and discipline those qualities\nwhich alone will elicit and mature an Immortal Virtue, and secure to us\nat last the privilege of indefectible 'children of God,'--then with\nwhat feelings will you hear the Great Master say, 'In every other case\nbut this, you acted on the principles and maxims by which I taught\nyou (not obscurely) that I summoned you to act in this case also:\ndoubts and difficulties were necessary to you as to all, and I\nexacted of you no more than were necessary ultimately to secure for\nyou an eternal exemption from them. But because you could not have\nthat certainty which the very necessity of the case excluded, you\ndeclined the trial, and have accounted yourself unworthy of eternal\nlife!' Ah! how different if you could hear him say, 'It was indeed a\ntemptation; amidst numberless blessings denied to others, I yet\ngave you, too, your trial;--the questionable talent of an inquisitive\nintellect, and leisure to use or abuse it. Tempted to absolute doubt,\nyou would not succumb to it; you would not be so inconsistent here\nas to relinquish those maxims on which I compelled you to act in\nevery other case in life, nor deny to ME the confidence which you\ngranted to every common friend! Warned by the very misery which was\nsent to caution you that in that direction lay death, you struggled\nagainst the incursions of your subtle foes, and you overcame. Welcome,\nchild of clay! welcome to that world in which there is no more NIGHT!'\"\n\nWe had been talking on till long past midnight; and the lamp suddenly\nwarned us that its light was just expiring. Harrington took off the\nshade, and was about to light a candle by the dying flame, when it\nwent out. \"It matters not,\" he said, \"I have the means of kindling a\nlight close at hand.\" \"Let it alone,\" said I, rising, and gently laying\nmy hand on his arm, and speaking in a low voice, but with much\nearnestness; \"this darkness is an emblem of our present life. You\ncannot see me, but you hear my voice and feel the touch of my hand. For\nany thing you know, I may be seized with a sudden fit of insanity. I may\nbe about to stab you in this darkness; such things have been. You have\nlost, with the light, more than half the indications of affection which\nthat would disclose. But you trust to the probable; your pulse does not\nbeat any the quicker, nor do your nerves tremble. You may have similar,\nnay, how much stronger proofs (if you will) of the confidence with which\nyou may trust God, and Him, the compassionate One, \"whom he hath sent,\"\nin spite of all the gloom in which this life is involved. That certainty\nfor which you have just now asked will only be granted when the darkness\nis passed away; and then you will 'rejoice in the light of his\ncountenance.' And, further,\" I continued, \"there is yet one thing which\nI wish to say to you; and I feel as if I could say it better in this\ndarkness; for I will not venture to say that I should not manifest more\nfeeling than is consistent in a hard-hearted metaphysician. Yes! it\nis on the side of feeling that I would also address you. You will say,\nfeeling is not argument? No; but is man all reason? I firmly believe,\nindeed, that man is not called upon to do any thing for which his\nreason does not tell him that he has sufficient evidence; but a part\nof that very evidence is often the dictate of feeling; and genuine\nreason will listen to the heart, as not always, nor perhaps more\nfrequently than otherwise, a suspicious pleader. If, as Pascal says\nso truly, it sometimes has its reasons which the reason cannot\ncomprehend, it has also its reasons which the reason thoroughly\nunderstands.\n\n\"You were early an orphan; you do not remember your mother; but I do;\nah, how well! I saw her the last time she ever saw you. You were\nbrought to her bedside when she was in the full possession of all\nher faculties, and deeply conscious that she had not many hours to\nlive. She looked at you as you were held in your nurse's arms, smiling\nupon her with to me an agonizing unconsciousness of your approaching\norphanage. She gazed upon you with that intense look of inexpressible\naffection which only maternal love, sharpened by death, can give; she\nlooked long and earnestly, but spoke not one syllable. As you were at\nlength taken from the room, she followed you with her eyes till the\ndoor closed, and then it seemed as if the light of this world had been\nquenched in them for ever. 'I charge you,' she said at length, 'let\nme see him again.' I made a motion as if to recall the attendant\n'Not here,' she added, laying her hand gently on my arm, and I\nunderstood her but too well. You know whether I have in any degree\nfulfilled my trust. But is it possible that I can think of an utter\nfailure, and not be more than troubled? And if Christianity be true,\nand if I am so happy as to obtain admission to that 'blessed country\ninto which an enemy never entered, and from which a friend never went\naway,' and she whom I loved so well should ask me why you come\nnot,--that she had tarried for you long,--must I say that you will\nnever come? that her child had wandered from the fold of the Good\nShepherd, and had gone I knew not whither? that I sought him in the\nlonely glens and mountains, but found him not? I hardly know, but I\nalmost think--such was the love she had for you--that such reply\nwould shade that radiant face even amidst the glories of Paradise.\nAnd now--let all this be a dream--suppose that not simply by your\nown fault you will never see that mother more, but that from the sad\ntruth of your no truth--you never can; that the 'Vale, vale, in\naeternum, vale,' is all that you can say to her: yet I say this,--that\nto live only in the hope of the possibility of fulfilling the better\nwishes of such a friend, and rejoining her for ever in (if you will)\nthe fabulous 'islands of the blest,' would not only make you a happier,\nbut even a nobler, being than your present mood can ever make you.\nMy FABULOUS is better than your TRUE.\"\n\nI felt that he was not unmoved. I was myself moved too much to allow\nme to stay any longer, and saying that I could find my way very well\nto my chamber in the dark, where I had the means of kindling a light,\nI softly closed the door and left him.\n____\n\nAs I was to leave very early in the morning, I had told Harrington\nthat I should depart for the neighboring town (whither his servant\nwas to drive me) without disturbing him. But I could not tear myself\naway, after the singular close of our interview on the last evening,\nwithout a more express farewell. I tapped at his chamber door, but,\nreceiving no reply, gently entered. He was resting in unquiet slumber.\nA table, lamp, and books, by his bedside, bore witness to his\nperseverance in that pernicious habit which he had early formed! I\ngently drew back one of the curtains, and let in the light of the\nsummer morning on his pallid, but most speaking features, and gazed\non them with a sad and foreboding feeling. I recalled those days\nwhen I used nightly to visit the slumbers of the little orphan, and\ntrace in his features the image of his mother. He was not aroused by\nmy entrance; most likely he had sunk to slumber at a late hour.\nPresently he began to talk in his sleep, which was almost a constant\nhabit in his younger days, and which I used to consider one of the\nsymptoms of that intense cerebral activity by which he was\ndistinguished. On the present occasion I thought I could interpret\nthe fitful and fleeting images which were chasing each other by the\nlaws of association through his mind. \"But how shall I know that\nthese thing which I call real, are different from the phenomena\nof sleep which I call real?\" Alas! thought I, the ruling passion\nis strong in sleep, as in waking moments! How I dread lest it should\nbe strong \"in death\" itself, of which this sleep is the image! After\na pause, an expression of deepest sadness crept over the features,\nand he murmured, with a slight alteration, two lines from Coleridge's\ntranslation of that glorious scene in which Wallenstein looks forth\ninto the windy night in search of his \"star,\" and thinks of that\nbrighter light of his life which had been just extinguished.\nHarrington used to say, that he preferred the translation of that\nscene even to the magnificent original itself. These lines, (now a\nlittle varied,) I had often heard him quote with delight:--\n\n\"Methinks\nIf I but saw her, 't would be well with me;\nShe was the star of my nativity.\"\n\nWas he, by the magic of dream-land, transported back to childhood? Was\nhe as an orphan child thinking of his mother, the image of whose dying\nhours I had so recently called up before him? Or was it the\nrecollection of a still brighter and more recently extinguished \"star,\"\nwhich thus troubled his wandering fancy?--There was another pause, and\nagain the fitful breeze of association awakened the sad and plaintive\nmelody of the AEolian lyre; but I could not distinguish the words.\n\nPresently the scene again changed; and he suddenly said, \"Beautiful\nshadow! if thou art a shadow,--thou hast said, Come to me all ye\nthat are weary,--and surely if ever man was weary--To whom can I\ngo--\" It was with intense feeling that I watched for something more;\nbut to my disappointment, (I may almost call it anguish,) he continued\nsilent. I could not find it in my heart to rouse him, and, softly\nleaving the chamber, departed for home.\n____\n\nOctober 31. The young Sceptic has since gone where doubts are solved\nfor ever; but I am not without hope, that in his last hours he was\nable to finish the sentence which his dream-left incomplete. \"To\nwhom can I go, but unto Thee? THOU ONLY HAST THE WORDS OF ETERNAL LIFE.\"\nFor me, I have nothing more to live for here. In a few weeks I gladly\ngo to join my brother in his distant exile;--and for Thee, my Country,\n\"Peace be within thy dwellings, and prosperity within thy palaces!\"\nAnd that it may be so, may that Christianity, which, all imperfectly\nas it has been exemplified, has yet been thy Palladium and thy Glory,\nbe ever and increasingly dear to thee!\n____\n\nDecember 27. I have resolved that the fragments which originally\nconstituted this journal shall not be destroyed. I have employed the\ninterval since the last date in adapting and disguising them\nfor publication. How far an embroidery of fiction has been necessary\nin attaining this object, is a matter of no consequence to any one;\nsince the book aspires to none of the appropriate attractions of\neither a novel or a history. No doubt a much stronger interest, of\na certain kind, might have been secured by a free employment of\nfictitious embellishment, or even by a more liberal indulgence in\nbiographical details. But I have been content, for a special object,\nto do what some tell us is to be done with the Bible,--to separate,\nfrom the mass of incident which might have varied or adorned the\nnarrative the exclusively \"Religious Element.\" If the discussions\nin the preceding pages shall in any instance convince the youthful\nreader of the precarious nature of those modern book-revelations\nwhich are somewhat inconsistently given us in books which tell us\nthat all book-revelations of religious truth are superfluous or\neven impossible; if they shall convince him how easily an impartial\ndoubter can retort with interest the deistical arguments against\nChristianity, or how little merely insoluble objections can avail\nagainst any thing; if they shall convince him that the differences\nwith which the assailants of the Bible taunt its advocates are\nneither so numerous nor half so appalling as those which divide\nits enemies; or, lastly, if they shall, par avarice, in any degree\nprotect those who, like Harrington D----, are being made, or are\nin danger of being made, sceptical as to all religious truth, by the\nreligious distractions of the present day,--I shall be well content\nto bear the charge of having spoiled a Fiction, or even of having\nmutilated a Biography.\n\nF.B.\n\nTHE END.","title":"The Eclipse of Faith; Or, A Visit to a Religious Sceptic","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":140415}