A THEODICY;
OR
VINDICATION OF THE DIVINE GLORY,
AS MANIFESTED IN THE
CONSTITUTION AND GOVERNMENT OF THE MORAL WORLD.
BY ALBERT TAYLOR BLEDSOE,
PROFESSOR OF MATHEMATICS AND ASTRONOMY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF MISSISSIPPI.
NEW YORK:
PUBLISHED BY CARLTON & PHILLIPS.
200 MULBERRY STREET.
1854.
CONTENTS
Introduction. Of The Possibility Of A Theodicy.
Section I. The failure of Plato and other ancient philosophers to
construct a Theodicy, not a ground of despair.
Section II. The failure of Leibnitz not a ground of despair.
Section III. The system of the moral universe not purposely involved in
obscurity to teach us a lesson of humility.
Section IV. The littleness of the human mind a ground of hope.
Section V. The construction of a Theodicy, not an attempt to solve
mysteries, but to dissipate absurdities.
Section VI. The spirit in which the following work has been prosecuted,
and the relation of the author to other systems.
Part I. The Existence Of Moral Evil, Or Sin, Consistent With The Holiness
Of God.
Chapter I. The Scheme Of Necessity Denies That Man Is Responsible For
The Existence Of Sin.
Section I. The attempts of Calvin and Luther to reconcile the scheme
of necessity with the responsibility of man.
Section II. The manner in which Hobbes, Collins, and others,
endeavour to reconcile necessity with free and accountable agency.
Section III. The sentiments of Descartes, Spinoza, and Malebranche,
concerning the relation between liberty and necessity.
Section IV. The views of Locke, Tucker, Hartley, Priestley,
Helvetius, and Diderot, with respect to the relation between liberty
and necessity.
Section V. The manner in which Leibnitz endeavours to reconcile
liberty and necessity.
Section VI. The attempt of Edwards to establish free and accountable
agency on the basis of necessity—The views of the younger Edwards,
Day, Chalmers, Dick, D’Aubigne, Hill, Shaw, and M’Cosh, concerning
the agreement of liberty and necessity.
Section VII. The sentiments of Hume, Brown, Comte, and Mill, in
relation to the antagonism between liberty and necessity.
Section VIII. The views of Kant and Sir William Hamilton in relation
to the antagonism between liberty and necessity.
Section IX. The notion of Lord Kames and Sir James Mackintosh on the
same subject.
Section X. The conclusion of Mœhler, Tholuck, and others, that all
speculation on such a subject must be vain and fruitless.
Section XI. The true conclusion from the foregoing review of
opinions and arguments.
Chapter II. The Scheme Of Necessity Makes God The Author Of Sin.
Section I. The attempts of Calvin and other reformers to show that
the system of necessity does not make God the author of sin.
Section II. The attempt of Leibnitz to show that the scheme of
necessity does not make God the author of sin.
Section III. The maxims adopted and employed by Edwards to show that
the scheme of necessity does not make God the author of sin.
Section IV. The attempts of Dr. Emmons and Dr. Chalmers to reconcile
the scheme of necessity with the purity of God.
Chapter III. Scheme Of Necessity Denies The Reality Of Moral
Distinctions.
Section I. The views of Spinoza in relation to the reality of moral
distinctions.
Section II. The attempt of Edwards to reconcile the scheme of
necessity with the reality of moral distinctions.
Section III. Of the proposition that "The essence of the virtue and
vice of dispositions of the heart and acts of the will, lies not in
their cause, but in their nature."
Section IV. The scheme of necessity seems to be inconsistent with
the reality of moral distinctions, not because we confound natural
and moral necessity, but because it is really inconsistent
therewith.
Chapter IV. The Moral World Not Constituted According To The Scheme Of
Necessity.
Section I. The scheme of necessity is based on a false psychology.
Section II. The scheme of necessity is directed against a false
issue.
Section III. The scheme of necessity is supported by false logic.
Section IV. The scheme of necessity is fortified by false
conceptions.
Section V. The scheme of necessity is recommended by false
analogies.
Section VI. The scheme of necessity is rendered plausible by a false
phraseology.
Section VII. The scheme of necessity originates in a false method,
and terminates in a false religion.
Chapter V. The Relation Between The Human Will And The Divine Agency.
Section I. General view of the relation between the divine and the
human power.
Section II. The Pelagian platform, or view of the relation between
the divine and the human power.
Section III. The Augustinian Platform, or view of the relation
between the divine agency and the human.
Section IV. The views of those who, in later times, have symbolized
with Augustine.
Section V. The danger of mistaking distorted for exalted views of
the divine sovereignty.
Chapter VI. The Existence Of Moral Evil, Or Sin, Reconciled With The
Holiness Of God.
Section I. The hypothesis of the soul’s preexistence.
Section II. The hypothesis of the Manicheans.
Section III. The hypothesis of optimism.
Section IV. The argument of the atheist—The reply of Leibnitz and
other theists—The insufficiency of this reply.
Section V. The sophism of the atheist exploded, and a perfect
agreement shown to subsist between the existence of sin and the
holiness of God.
Section VI. The true and only foundation of optimism.
Section VII. The glory of God seen in the creation of a world, which
he foresaw would fall under the dominion of sin.
Section VIII. The little, captious spirit of Voltaire, and other
atheizing minute philosophers.
Chapter VII. Objections Considered.
Section I. It may be objected that the foregoing scheme is "new
theology."
Section II. It may be imagined that the views herein set forth limit
the omnipotence of God.
Section III. The foregoing scheme, it may be said, presents a gloomy
view of the universe.
Section IV. It may be alleged, that in refusing to subject the
volitions of men to the power and control of God, we undermine the
sentiments of humility and submission.
Section V. The foregoing treatise may be deemed inconsistent with
gratitude to God.
Section VI. It may be contended, that it is unfair to urge the
preceding difficulties against the scheme of necessity; inasmuch as
the same, or as great, difficulties attach to the system of those by
whom they are urged.
Part II. The Existence Of Natural Evil, Or Suffering, Consistent With The
Goodness Of God.
Chapter I. God Desires And Seeks The Salvation of All Men.
Section I. The reason why theologians have concluded that God
designs the salvation of only a part of mankind.
Section II. The attempt of Howe to reconcile the eternal ruin of a
portion of mankind with the sincerity of God in his endeavours to
save them.
Section III. The views of Luther and Calvin respecting the sincerity
of God in his endeavours to save those who will finally perish.
Chapter II. Natural Evil, Or Suffering, And Especially The Suffering Of
Infants Reconciled With The Goodness Of God.
Section I. All suffering not a punishment for sin.
Section II. The imputation of sin not consistent with the goodness
of God.
Section III. The imputation of sin not consistent with human, much
less with the divine goodness.
Section IV. The true ends, or final causes, of natural evil.
Section V. The importance of harmonizing reason and revelation.
Chapter III. The Sufferings Of Christ Reconciled With The Goodness Of
God.
Section I. The sufferings of Christ not unnecessary.
Section II. The sufferings of Christ a bright manifestation of the
goodness of God.
Section III. The objections of Dr. Channing, and other Unitarians,
against the doctrine of the atonement.
Chapter IV. The Eternal Punishment Of The Wicked Reconciled With The
Goodness Of God.
Section I. The false grounds upon which the doctrine of the eternity
of future punishment has been placed.
Section II. The unsound principles from which, if true, the fallacy
of the eternity of future punishments may be clearly inferred.
Section III. The eternity of future punishments an expression of the
divine goodness.
Chapter V. The Dispensation Of The Divine Favours Reconciled With The
Goodness Of God.
Section I. The unequal distribution of favours, which obtains in the
economy of natural providence, consistent with the goodness of God.
Section II. The Scripture doctrine of election consistent with the
impartiality of the divine goodness.
Section III. The Calvinistic scheme of election inconsistent with
the impartiality and glory of the divine goodness.
Section IV. The true ground and reason of election to eternal life
shows it to be consistent with the infinite goodness of God.
Conclusion. A Summary View Of The Principles And Advantages Of The
Foregoing System.
Chapter I. Summary Of The First Part Of The Foregoing System.
Section I. The scheme of necessity denies that man is the
responsible author of sin.
Section II. The scheme of necessity makes God the author of sin.
Section III. The scheme of necessity denies the reality of moral
distinctions.
Section IV. The moral world not constituted according to the scheme
of necessity.
Section V. The relation between the human agency and the divine.
Section VI. The existence of moral evil consistent with the infinite
purity of God.
Chapter II. Summary Of The Second Part Of The Foregoing System.
Section I. God desires the salvation of all men.
Section II. The sufferings of the innocent, and especially of
infants, consistent with the goodness of God.
Section III. The sufferings of Christ consistent with the divine
goodness.
Section IV. The eternity of future punishment consistent with the
goodness of God.
Section V. The true doctrine of election and predestination
consistent with the goodness of God.
Section VI. The question submitted.
Footnotes
Introduction.
OF THE POSSIBILITY OF A THEODICY.
How, under the government of an infinitely perfect Being, evil could have
proceeded from a creature of his own, has ever been regarded as the great
difficulty pertaining to the intellectual system of the universe. It has
never ceased to puzzle and perplex the human mind. Indeed, so great and so
obstinate has it seemed, that it is usually supposed to lie beyond the
reach of the human faculties. We shall, however, examine the grounds of
this opinion, before we exchange the bright illusions of hope, if such
indeed they be, for the gloomy forebodings of despair.
Section I.
The failure of Plato and other ancient philosophers to construct a
Theodicy, not a ground of despair.
The supposed want of success attending the labours of the past, is, no
doubt, the principal reason which has induced so many to abandon the
problem of evil in despair, and even to accuse of presumption every
speculation designed to shed light upon so great a mystery. But this
reason, however specious and imposing at first view, will lose much of its
apparent force upon a closer examination.
In every age the same reasoning has been employed to repress the efforts
of the human mind to overcome the difficulties by which it has been
surrounded; yet, in spite of such discouragements, the most stupendous
difficulties have gradually yielded to the progressive developments and
revelations of time. It was the opinion of Socrates, for example, that the
problem of the natural world was unavoidably concealed from mortals, and
that it was a sort of presumptuous impiety, displeasing to the gods, for
men to pry into it. If Newton himself had lived in that age, it is
probable that he would have entertained the same opinion. It is certain
that the problem in question would then have been as far beyond the reach
of his powers, as beyond those of the most ordinary individual. The
ignorance of the earth’s dimensions, the manifold errors respecting the
laws of motion, and the defective state of the mathematical sciences,
which then prevailed, would have rendered utterly impotent the efforts of
a thousand Newtons to grapple with such a problem. The time was neither
ripe for the solution of that problem, nor for the appearance of a Newton.
It was only after science had, during a period of two thousand years,
multiplied her resources and gathered up her energies, that she was
prepared for a flight to the summit of the world, whence she might behold
and reveal the wonderful art wherewith it hath been constructed by the
Almighty Architect. Because Socrates could not conceive of any possible
means of solving the great problem of the material world, it did not
follow, as the event has shown, that it was forever beyond the reach and
dominion of man. We should not then listen too implicitly to the teachers
of despair, nor too rashly set limits to the triumphs of the human power.
If we may believe “the master of wisdom,” they are not the true friends of
science, nor of the world’s progress. “By far the greatest obstacle,” says
Bacon, “to the advancement of the sciences, _is to be found in men’s
despair and idea of impossibility_.”
Even in the minds of those who cultivate a particular branch of knowledge,
there is often an internal secret despair of finding the truth, which so
far paralyzes their efforts as to prevent them from seeking it with that
deep earnestness, without which it is seldom found. The history of optics
furnishes a most impressive illustration of the justness of this remark.
Previous to the time of Newton, no one seemed to entertain a real hope
that this branch of knowledge would ever assume the form and clearness of
scientific truth. The laws and properties of so ethereal a substance as
light, appeared to elude the grasp of the human intellect; and hence, no
one evinced the boldness to grapple directly with them. The whole region
of optics was involved in mists, and those who gave their attention to
this department of knowledge, abandoned themselves, for the most part, to
vague generalities and loose conjectures. In the conflict of manifold
opinions, and the great variety of hypotheses which seemed to promise
nothing but endless disputes, the highest idea of the science of optics
that prevailed, was that of something in relation to light which might be
plausibly advanced and confidently maintained. It was reserved for Newton
to produce a revolution in the mode of treating this branch of knowledge,
as well as that of physical astronomy. Not despairing of the truth, he
sternly put away “innumerable fancies flitting on all sides around him,”
and by searching observation and experiment, brought his mind directly
into contact with things themselves, and held it steadily to them, until
the clear light of truth dawned. The consequence was, that the dreams of
philosophy, falsely so called, gave place to the clear realities of
nature. It was to the unconquerable hope, no less than to the profound
humility of Newton, that the world is indebted for his most splendid
discoveries, as well as for that perfect model of the true spirit of
philosophy, which combined the infinite caution of a Butler with the
unbounded boldness of a Leibnitz. The lowliest humility, free from the
least shadow of despair, united with the loftiest hope, without the least
mixture of presumption, both proceeding from an invincible love of truth,
are the elements which constituted the secret of that patient and
all-enduring thought which conducted the mind of Newton from the
obscurities and dreams enveloping the world below into the bright and
shining region of eternal truths above. In our humble opinion, Newton has
done more for the great cause of knowledge, by the mighty impulse of hope
he has given to the powers of the human mind, than by all the sublime
discoveries he has made. For, as Maclaurin says: “The variety of opinions
and perpetual disputes among philosophers has induced not a few of late,
as well as in former times, to think that it was vain labour to endeavour
to acquire certainty in natural knowledge, and to ascribe this to some
unavoidable defect in the principles of the science. But it has appeared
sufficiently, from the discoveries of those who have consulted nature, and
not their own imaginations, and particularly from what we learn from Sir
Isaac Newton, _that the fault has lain in philosophers themselves, and not
in philosophy_.”
We are persuaded the day will come, when it will be seen that the despair
of scepticism has been misplaced, not only with regard to natural
knowledge, but also in relation to the great problems of the intellectual
and moral world. It is true, that Plato failed to solve these problems;
but his failure may be easily accounted for, without in the least degree
shaking the foundations of our hope. The learned Ritter has said, that
Plato felt the necessity imposed upon him, by his system, to reconcile the
existence of evil with the perfections of God; but yet, as often as he
approached this dark subject, his views became vague, fluctuating, and
unsatisfactory. How little insight he had into it on any scientific or
clearly defined principle, is obvious from the fact, that he took shelter
from its difficulties in the wild hypothesis of the preëxistence of souls.
But the impotency of Plato’s attempts to solve these difficulties, may be
explained without the least disparagement to his genius, or without
leading us to hope for light only from the world’s possession of better
minds.
In the first place, such was the state of mental science when Plato lived,
that it would have been impossible for any one to reconcile the existence
of evil with the perfections of God. It has been truly said, that “An
attention to the internal operations of the human mind, _with a view to
analyze its principles_, is one of the distinctions of modern times. Among
the ancients scarcely anything of the sort was known.”—_Robert Hall_. Yet
without a correct analysis of the powers of the human mind, and of the
relations they sustain to each other, as well as to external objects and
influences, it is impossible to shed one ray of light on the relation
subsisting between the existence of moral evil and the divine glory. The
theory of motion is “the key to nature.” It was with this key that Newton,
the great high-priest of nature, entered into her profoundest recesses,
and laid open her most sublime secrets to the admiration of mankind. In
like manner, the true theory of action is the key to the intellectual
world, by which its difficulties are to be laid open and its enigmas
solved. Not possessing this key, it was as impossible for Plato, or for
any other philosopher, to penetrate the mystery of sin’s existence, as it
would have been, without a knowledge of the laws of motion, to comprehend
the stupendous problem of the material universe.
Secondly, the ancient philosophers laboured under the insuperable
disadvantage, that the sublime disclosures of revelation had not been made
known to the world. Hence the materials were wanting out of which to
construct a Theodicy, or vindication of the perfections of God. For if we
could see only so much of this world’s drama as is made known by the light
of nature, it would not be possible to reconcile it with the character of
its great Author. No one was more sensible of this defect of knowledge
than Plato himself; and its continuance was, in his view, inconsistent
with the goodness of the divine Being. Hence his well-known prediction,
that a teacher would be sent from God to clear up the darkness of man’s
present destiny, and to withdraw the veil from its future glory. The facts
of revelation cannot, of course, be logically assumed as verities, in an
argument with the atheist; but still, as we shall hereafter see, they may,
in connexion with other truths, be made to serve a most important and
legitimate function in exploding his sophisms and objections.
Section II.
The failure of Leibnitz not a ground of despair.
It is alleged, that since Leibnitz exhausted the resources of his vast
erudition, and exerted the powers of his mighty intellect without success,
to solve the problem in question, it is in vain for any one else to
attempt its solution. Leibnitz, himself, was too much of a philosopher to
approve of such a judgment in relation to any human being. He could never
have wished, or expected to see “the empire of man, which is founded in
the sciences,” permanently confined to the boundaries of a single mind,
however exalted its powers, or comprehensive its attainments. He finely
rebuked the false humility and the disguised arrogance of Descartes, in
affirming that the sovereignty of God and the freedom of man could never
be reconciled. “If Descartes,” says he, “had confessed such an inability
for himself alone, this might have savoured of humility; but it is
otherwise, when, because he could not find the means of solving this
difficulty, he declares it an impossibility for all ages and for all
minds.” We have, at least, the authority and example of Leibnitz, in
favour of the propriety of cultivating this department of knowledge, with
a view to shed light on the great problem of the intellectual world.
His failure, if rightly considered, is not a ground for despondency. He
approached the problem in question in a wrong spirit. The pride of
conquering difficulties is the unfortunate disposition with which he
undertook to solve it. His well-known boast, that with him all difficult
things are easy, and all easy things difficult, is a proof that his spirit
was not perfectly adapted to carry him forward in a contest with the dark
enigmas of the universe. Indeed, if we consider what Leibnitz has actually
done, we shall perceive, that notwithstanding his wonderful powers, he has
rendered many easy things difficult, as well as many difficult things
easy. The best way to conquer difficulties is, if we may judge from his
example, not to attack them directly, and with the pride of a conqueror,
but simply to seek after the truth. If we make a conquest of all the
truth, this will make a conquest of all the difficulties within our reach.
It is wonderful with what ease a difficulty, which may have resisted the
direct siege of centuries, will sometimes fall before a single inquirer
after truth, who had not dreamed of aiming at its solution, until this
seemed, as if by accident, to offer itself to his mind. If we pursue
difficulties, they will be apt to fly from us and elude our grasp;
whereas, if we give up our minds to an honest and earnest search after
truth, they will come in with their own solutions.
The truth is, that the difficulty in question has been increased rather
than diminished by the speculations of Leibnitz. This has resulted from a
premature and extreme devotion to system—a source of miscarriage and
failure common to Leibnitz, and to most others who have devoted their
attention to the origin of evil. On the one hand, exaggerated views
concerning the divine agency, or equally extravagant notions on the other,
respecting the agency of man, have frequently converted a seeming into a
real contradiction. In general, the work of God has been conceived in such
a relation to the powers of man, as to make the latter entirely disappear;
or else the power of man has been represented as occupying so exalted and
independent a position, as to exclude the Almighty from his rightful
dominion over the moral world. Thus, the Supreme Being has generally been
shut out from the affairs and government of the world by one side, and his
energy rendered so all-pervading by the other, as really to make him the
author of evil. In this way, the difficulties concerning the origin and
existence of evil have been greatly augmented by the very speculations
designed to solve them. For if God takes little or no concern in the
affairs and destiny of the moral world, this clearly seems to render him
responsible for the evil which he might easily have prevented; and, on the
other hand, if he pervades the moral world with his power in such a manner
as to bring all things to pass, this as clearly seems to implicate him in
the turpitude of sin.
After having converted the seeming discrepancy between the divine power
and human agency into a real contradiction, it is too late to endeavour to
reconcile them. Yet such has been the case with most of the giant
intellects that have laboured to reconcile the sovereignty of God and the
moral agency of man. It will hereafter be clearly seen, we trust, that it
is not possible for any one, holding the scheme of a Calvin, or a
Leibnitz, or a Descartes, or an Edwards, to show an agreement between the
power of God and the freedom of man; since according to these systems
there is an eternal opposition and conflict between them. It is no ground
of despair, then, that the mighty minds of the past have failed to solve
the problem in question, if the cause of their failure may be traced to
the errors of their own systems, and not to the inherent difficulties of
the subject.
Those who have endeavoured to solve the problem in question have, for the
most part, been necessitated to fail in consequence of having adopted a
wrong method. Instead of beginning with observation, and carefully
dissecting the world which God has made, so as to rise, by a clear
analysis of _things_, to the general principles on which they have been
actually framed and put together, they have set out from the lofty region
of universal abstractions, and proceeded to reconstruct the world for
themselves. Instead of beginning with the actual, as best befits the
feebleness of the human intellect, and working their way up into the great
system of things, they have taken their position at once in the high and
boundless realm of the ideal, and thence endeavoured to deduce the nature
of the laws and phenomena of the real world. This is the course pursued by
Plato, Leibnitz, Hobbes, Descartes, Edwards, and, indeed, most of those
great thinkers who have endeavoured to shed light on the problem in
question. Hence each has necessarily become “a sublime architect of
words,” whose grand and imposing system of shadows and abstractions has
but a slight foundation in the real constitution and laws of the spiritual
world. Their writings furnish the most striking illustration of the
profound aphorism of Bacon, that “the usual method of discovery and proof,
by first establishing the most general propositions, then applying and
proving the intermediate axioms according to these, is the _parent of
error and the calamity of every science_.” He who would frame a real model
of the world in the understanding, such as it is found to be, not such as
man’s reason has distorted, must pursue the opposite course. Surely it
cannot be deemed unreasonable, that this course should be most diligently
applied to the study of the intellectual world; especially as it has
wrought such wonders in the province of natural knowledge, and that too,
after so many ages had, according to the former method, laboured upon it
comparatively in vain. Because the human mind has not been able to bridge
over the impassable gulf between the ideal and the concrete, so as to
effect a passage from the former to the latter, it certainly does not
follow, that it should forever despair of so far penetrating the apparent
obscurity and confusion of real things, as to see that nothing which God
has created is inconsistent with the eternal, immutable glory of the
ideal: or, in other words, because the real world and the ideal cannot be
shown to be connected by a logical dependency, it does not follow, that
the actual creation and providence of God, that all his works and ways
cannot be made to appear consistent with the idea of an absolutely perfect
being and of the eternal laws according to which his power acts: that is
to say, because the high _a priori_ method, which so magisterially
proceeds to pronounce what _must be_, has failed to solve the problem of
the moral world, it does not follow, that the inductive method, or that
which cautiously begins with an examination of what _is_, may not finally
rise to the sublime contemplation of what _ought to be_; and, in the light
of God’s own creation, behold the magnificent model of the actual universe
perfectly conformed to the transcendent and unutterable glory of the
ideal.
Section III.
The system of the moral universe not purposely involved in obscurity to
teach us a lesson of humility.
But the assertion is frequently made, that the moral government of the
world is purposely left in obscurity and apparent confusion, in order to
teach man a lesson of humility and submission, by showing him how weak and
narrow is the human mind. We have not, however, been able to find any
sufficient reason or foundation for such an opinion. As every atom in the
universe presents mysteries which baffle the most subtle research and the
most profound investigation of the human intellect, we cannot see how any
reflecting mind can possibly find an additional lesson of humility in the
fact, that the system of the universe itself is involved in clouds and
darkness. Would it not be strange, indeed, if the mind, whose grasp is not
sufficient for the mysteries of a single atom, should be really humbled by
the conviction that it is too weak and limited to fathom the wonders of
the universe? Does the insignificance of an egg-shell appear from the fact
that it cannot contain the ocean?
The truth is, that the more clearly the majesty and glory of the divine
perfections are displayed in the constitution and government of the world,
the more clearly shall we see the greatness of God and the littleness of
man. No true knowledge can ever impress the human mind with a conceit of
its own greatness. The farther its light expands, the greater must become
the visible sphere of the surrounding darkness; and its highest attainment
in real knowledge must inevitably terminate in a profound sense of the
vast, unlimited extent of its own ignorance. Hence, we need entertain no
fear, that man’s humility will ever be endangered by too great attainments
in science. Presumption is, indeed, the natural offspring of ignorance,
and not of knowledge. Socrates, as we have already seen, endeavoured to
inculcate a lesson of humility, by reminding his contemporaries how far
the theory of the material heavens was beyond the reach of their
faculties. And to enforce this lesson, he assured them that it was
displeasing to the gods for men to attempt to pry into the wonderful art
wherewith they had constructed the universe. In like manner, the poet, at
a much later period, puts the following sentiment into the mouth of an
angel:—
“To ask or search, I blame thee not; for heaven
Is as the book of God before thee set,
Wherein to read his wondrous works, and learn
His seasons, hours, or days, or months, or years:
This to attain, whether heaven move or earth,
Imports not if thou reckon right; _the rest_
_From man or angel the great Architect_
_Did wisely to conceal, and not divulge_
_His secrets, to be scann’d by them who ought_
_Rather admire_; or, if they list to try
Conjecture, he his fabric of the heavens
Hath left to their disputes, perhaps to move
His laughter at their quaint opinions wide
Hereafter.”
All this may be very well, no doubt, for him by whom it was uttered, and
for those who may have received it as an everlasting oracle of truth. But
the true lesson of humility was taught by Newton, when he solved the
problem of the world, and revealed the wonderful art displayed therein by
the Supreme Architect. Never before, in the history of the human race, was
so impressive a conviction made of the almost absolute nothingness of man,
when measured on the inconceivably magnificent scale of the universe. No
one, it is well known, felt this conviction more deeply than Newton
himself. “I have been but as a child,” said he, “playing on the sea-shore;
now finding some pebble rather more polished, and now some shell rather
more agreeably variegated than another, while the immense _ocean of truth_
extended itself _unexplored_ before me.”
It is, indeed, strangely to forget our littleness, as well as the limits
which this necessarily sets to the progress of the understanding, to
imagine that the Almighty has to conceal anything with a view to remind us
of the weakness of our powers. Indeed, everything around us, and
everything within us, brings home the conviction of the littleness of man.
There is not a page of the history of human thought on which this lesson
is not deeply engraved. Still we do not despair. We find a ground of hope
in the very littleness as well as in the greatness of the human powers.
Section IV.
The littleness of the human mind a ground of hope.
We would yield to no one in a profound veneration for the great intellects
of the past. But let us not be dazzled and blinded by the splendour of
their achievements. Let us look at it closely, and see how wonderful it
is—this thing called the human mind. The more I think of it, the more it
fills me with amazement. I scarcely know which amazes me the more, its
littleness or its grandeur. Now I see it, with all its high powers and
glorious faculties, labouring under the ambiguity of a word, apparently in
hopeless eclipse for centuries. Shall I therefore despise it? Before I
have time to do so, the power and the light which is thus shut out from
the world by so pitiful a cause, is revealed in all its glory. I see this
same intelligence forcing its way through a thousand hostile appearances,
resisting innumerable obstacles pressing on all sides around it,
overcoming deep illusions, and inveterate opinions, almost as firmly
seated as the very laws of nature themselves. I see it rising above all
these, and planting itself in the radiant seat of truth. It embraces the
plan, it surveys the work of the Supreme Architect of all things. It
follows the infinite reason, and recognises the almighty power, in their
sublimest manifestations. I rejoice in the glory of its triumphs, and am
ready to pronounce its empire boundless. But, alas! I see it again baffled
and confounded by the wonders and mysteries of a single atom!
I see this same thing, or rather its mightiest representatives, with a
Newton or a Leibnitz at their head, in full pursuit of a shadow, and
wasting their wonderful energies in beating the air. They have measured
the world, and stretched their line upon the chambers of the great deep.
They have weighed the sun, moon, and stars, and marked out their orbits.
They have determined the laws according to which all worlds and all atoms
move—according to which the very spheres sing together. And yet, when they
came to measure “the force of a moving body,” they toil for a century at
the task, and finally rest in the amazing conclusion, that “the very same
thing may have two measures widely different from each other!” Alas! that
the same mind, that the same god-like intelligence, which has measured
worlds and systems, should thus have wasted its stupendous energies in
striving to measure a metaphor!
When I think of its grandeur and its triumphs, I bow with reverence before
its power, and am ready to despair of ever seeing it go farther than it
has already gone; but when I think of its littleness and its failures, I
take courage again, and determine to toil on as a living atom among living
atoms. The glory of its triumphs does not discourage me, because I also
see its littleness; nor can its littleness extinguish in me the light of
hope, because I also see the glory of its triumphs. And surely this is
right; for the intellect of man, so conspicuously combining the attributes
of the angel and of the worm, is not to be despised without infinite
danger, nor followed without infinite caution.
Such, indeed, is the weakness and fallibility of the human mind, even in
its brightest forms, that we cannot for a moment imagine, that the
inherent difficulties of the dark enigma of the world are insuperable,
because they have not been clearly and fully solved by a Leibnitz or an
Edwards. On the contrary, we are perfectly persuaded that in the end the
wonder will be, not that such a question should have been attempted after
so many illustrious failures, but that any such failure should have been
made. This will appear the more probable, if we consider the precise
nature of the problem to be solved, and not lose ourselves in dark and
unintelligible notions. It is not to do some great thing—it is simply to
refute the sophism of the atheist. If God were both willing and able to
prevent sin, which is the only supposition consistent with the idea of
God, says the atheist, he would certainly have prevented it, and sin would
never have made its appearance in the world. But sin has made its
appearance in the world; and hence, God must have been either unable or
unwilling to prevent it. Now, if we take either term of this alternative,
we must adopt a conclusion which is at war with the idea of a God.
Such is the argument of the atheist; and sad indeed must be the condition
of the Christian world if it be forever unable to meet and refute such a
sophism. Yet, it is the error involved in this sophism which obscures our
intellectual vision, and causes so perplexing a darkness to spread itself
over the moral order and beauty of the world. Hence, in grappling with the
supposed great difficulty in question, we do not undertake to remove a
veil from the universe—we simply undertake to remove a sophism from our
own minds. Though we have so spoken in accommodation with the views of
others, the problem of the moral world is not, in reality, high and
difficult _in itself_, like the great problem of the material universe. We
repeat, it is simply to refute and explode the sophism of the atheist. Let
this be blown away, and the darkness which seems to overhang the moral
government of the world will disappear like the mists of the morning.
If such be the nature of the problem in question, and such it will be
found to be, it is certainly a mistake to suppose that “it must be
entangled with perplexities while we see but in part.”(1) It is only while
we see amiss, and not while we see in part, that this problem must wear
the appearance of a dark enigma. It is clear, that our knowledge is, and
ever must be, exceedingly limited on all sides; and if we must understand
the whole of the case, if we must comprehend the entire extent of the
divine government for the universe and for eternity, before we can remove
the difficulty in question, we must necessarily despair of success. But we
cannot see any sufficient ground to support this oft-repeated assertion.
Because the field of our vision is so exceedingly limited, we do not see
why it should be forever traversed by apparent inconsistencies and
contradictions. In relation to the material universe, our space is but a
point, and our time but a moment; and yet, as that inconceivably grand
system is now understood by us, there is nothing in it which seems to
conflict with the dictates of reason, or with the infinite perfections of
God. On the contrary, the revelations of modern science have given an
emphasis and a sublimity to the language of inspiration, that “the heavens
declare the glory of the Lord,” which had, for ages, been concealed from
the loftiest conception of the astronomer.
Nor did it require a knowledge of the whole material universe to remove
the difficulties, or to blast the objections which atheists had, in all
preceding ages, raised against the perfections of its divine Author. Such
objections, as is well known, were raised before astronomy, as a science,
had an existence. Lucretius, for example, though he deemed the sun, moon,
and stars, no larger than they appear to the eye, and supposed them to
revolve around the earth, undertook to point out and declaim against the
miserable defects which he saw, or fancied he saw, in the system of the
material world. That is to say, he undertook to criticise and find fault
with the great volume of nature, before he had even learned its alphabet.
The objections of Lucretius, which appeared so formidable in his day, as
well as many others that have since been raised on equally plausible
grounds, have passed away before the progress of science, and now seem
like the silly prattle of children, or the insane babble of madmen. But
although such difficulties have been swept away, and our field of vision
cleared of all that is painful and perplexing, nay, brightened with all
that is grand and beautiful, we seem to be farther than ever from
comprehending the whole of the case—from grasping the amazing extent and
glory of the material globe. And why may not this ultimately be the case
also in relation to the moral universe? Why should every attempt to clear
up its difficulties, and blow away the objections of atheism to its order
and beauty, be supposed to originate in presumption and to terminate in
impiety? Are we so much the less interested in knowing the ways of God in
regard to the constitution and government of the moral world than of the
material, that he should purposely conceal the former from us, while he
has permitted the latter to be laid open so as to ravish our minds? We can
believe no such thing; and we are not willing to admit that there is any
part of the creation of God in which omniscience alone can cope with the
atheist.
Section V.
The construction of a Theodicy, not an attempt to solve mysteries, but to
dissipate absurdities.
As we have merely undertaken to refute the atheist, and vindicate the
glory of the divine perfections, so it would be a grievous mistake to
suppose, that we are about to pry into the holy mysteries of religion. No
sound mind is ever perplexed by the contemplation of mysteries. Indeed,
they are a source of positive satisfaction and delight. If nothing were
dark,—if all around us, and above us, were clearly seen,—the truth itself
would soon appear stale and mean. Everything truly great must transcend
the powers of the human mind; and hence, if nothing were mysterious, there
would be nothing worthy of our veneration and worship. It is mystery,
indeed, which lends such unspeakable grandeur and variety to the scenery
of the moral world. Without it, all would be clear, it is true, but
nothing grand. There would be lights, but no shadows. And around the very
lights themselves, there would be nothing soothing and sublime, in which
the soul might rest and the imagination revel.
Hence it is no part of our object to pry into mystery, but to get rid of
absurdity. And in our humble opinion, this would long since have been
done, and the difficulty in question solved, had not the friends of truth
incautiously given the most powerful protection to the sophism and
absurdity of the atheist, by throwing around it the sacred garb of
mystery.
Section VI.
The spirit in which the following work has been prosecuted, and the
relation of the author to other systems.
In conclusion, we offer a few remarks in relation to the manner and spirit
in which the following work has been undertaken and prosecuted. In the
first place, the writer may truly say, that he did not enter on the
apparently dark problem of the moral world with the least hope that he
should be able to throw any light upon it, nor with any other set purpose
and design. He simply revolved the subject in mind, because he was by
nature prone to such meditations. So far from having aimed at things
usually esteemed so high and difficult with a feeling of presumptuous
confidence, he has, indeed, suffered most from that spirit of despondency,
that despair of scepticism, against which, in the foregoing pages, he has
appeared so anxious to caution others. It has been patient reflection, and
the reading of excellent authors, together with an earnest desire to know
the truth, which has delivered him from the power of that spirit, and
conducted him to what now so clearly seems “the bright and shining light
of truth.”
It was, in fact, while engaged in meditation on the powers and
susceptibilities of the human mind, as well as on the relations they
sustain to each and to other things, and not in any direct attempt to
elucidate the origin of evil, that the first clear light appeared to dawn
on this great difficulty: and in no other way, he humbly conceives, can
the true philosophy of the spiritual world ever be comprehended. For, as
the laws of matter had first to be studied and traced out in relation to
bodies on the earth, before they could be extended to the heavens, and
made to explain its wonderful mechanism; so must the laws and phenomena of
the human mind be correctly analyzed and clearly defined, in order to
obtain an insight into the intellectual system of the universe. And just
in proportion as the clouds and darkness hanging over the phenomena of our
own minds are made to disappear, will the intellectual system of the world
which God “has set in our hearts,” become more distinct and beautiful in
its proportions. For it is the mass of real contradictions and
obscurities, existing in the little world within, which distorts to our
view the great world without, and causes the work and ways of God to
appear so full of disorders. Hence, in proportion as these real
contradictions and obscurities are removed, will the mind become a truer
microcosm, or more faithful mirror, in which the image of the universe
will unfold itself, free from the apparent disorders and confusion which
seem to render it unworthy of its great Author and Ruler.
Secondly, the relation which the writer sustains to other systems, has
been, it appears to himself, most favourable to a successful prosecution
of the following speculations. Whether at the outset of his inquiries, he
was the more of an Arminian or of a Calvinist, he is unable to say; but if
his crude and imperfectly developed sentiments had then been made known,
it is probable he would have been ranked with the Arminians. Be this as it
may, it is certain that he was never so much of an Arminian, or of
anything else, as to imagine that Calvinism admitted of nothing great and
good. On the contrary, he has ever believed that the Calvinists were at
least equal to any other body of men in piety, which is certainly the
highest and noblest of all qualities. And besides, it was a constant
delight to him to read the great master-pieces of reasoning which
Calvinism had furnished for the instruction and admiration of mankind. By
this means he came to believe that the scheme of the Arminians could not
be maintained, and his faith in it was gradually undermined.
But although he thus submitted his mind to the dominion of Calvinism, as
advocated by Edwards, and earnestly espoused it with some exceptions; he
never felt that profound, internal satisfaction of the truth of the
system, after which his rational nature continually longed, and which it
struggled to realize. He certainly expected to find this satisfaction in
Calvinism, if anywhere. Long, therefore, did he pass over every portion of
Calvinism, in order to discover, if possible, how its foundations might be
rendered more clear and convincing, and all its parts harmonized among
themselves as well as with the great undeniable facts of man’s nature and
destiny. While engaged in these inquiries, he has been more than once led
to see what appeared to be a flaw in Calvinism itself; but without at
first perceiving all its consequences. By reflection on these apparent
defects; nay, by protracted and earnest meditation on them, his suspicions
have been confirmed and his opinions changed. If what now so clearly
appears to be the truth is so or not, it is certain that it has not been
embraced out of a spirit of opposition to Calvinism, or to any other
system of religious faith whatever. Its light, whether real or imaginary,
has dawned upon his mind while seeking after truth amid the foundations of
Calvinism itself; and this light has been augmented more by reading the
works of Calvinists themselves, than those of their opponents.
These things are here set down, not because the writer thinks they should
have any weight or influence to bias the judgment of the reader, but
because he wishes it to be understood that he entertains the most profound
veneration for the great and good men whose works seem to stand in the way
of the following design to vindicate the glory of God, and which,
therefore, he will not scruple to assail in so far as this may be
necessary to his purpose. It is, indeed, a matter of deep and
inexpressible regret, that in our conflicts with the powers of darkness,
we should, however undesignedly, be weakened and opposed by Christian
divines and philosophers. But so it seems to be, and we dare not cease to
resist them. And if, in the following attempt to vindicate the glory of
God, it shall become necessary to call in question the infallibility of
the great founders of human systems, this, it is to be hoped, will not be
deemed an unpardonable offence.
Thus has the writer endeavoured to work his way through the mingled lights
and obscurity of human systems into a bright and beautiful vision of the
great harmonious system of the world itself. It is certainly either a
sublime truth, or else a glorious illusion, which thus enables him to rise
above the apparent disorders and perturbations of the world, as
constituted and governed by the Almighty, and behold the real order and
harmony therein established. The ideal creations of the poet and the
philosopher sink into perfect insignificance beside the actual creation of
God. Where clouds and darkness once appeared the most impenetrable, there
scenes of indescribable magnificence and beauty are now beheld with
inexpressible delight; the stupendous cloud of evil no longer hangs
overhead, but rolls beneath us, while the eternal Reason from above
permeates its gloom, and irradiates its depths. We now behold the reason,
and absolutely rejoice in the contemplation, of that which once seemed
like a dark blot on the world’s design.
In using this language, we do not wish to be understood as laying claim to
the discovery of any great truth, or any new principle. Yet we do trust,
that we have attained to a clear and precise statement of old truths. And
these truths, thus clearly defined, we trust that we have seized with a
firm grasp, and carried as lights through the dark places of theology, so
as to expel thence the errors and delusions by which its glory has been
obscured. Moreover, if we have not succeeded, nor even attempted to
succeed, in solving any mysteries, properly so called, yet may we have
removed certain apparent contradictions, which have been usually deemed
insuperable to the human mind.
But even if the reader should be satisfied beforehand, that no additional
light will herein be thrown on the problem of the moral world, yet would
we remind him, that it does not necessarily follow that the ensuing
discourse is wholly unworthy of his attention: for the materials, though
old, may be presented in new combinations, and much may be omitted which
has disfigured and obscured the beauty of most other systems. Although no
new fountains of light may be opened, yet may the vision of the soul be so
purged of certain films of error as to enable it to reflect the glory of
the spiritual universe, just as a single dew-drop is seen to mirror forth
the magnificent cope of heaven with all its multitude of stars.
We have sought the truth, and how far we have found it, no one should
proceed to determine without having first read and examined. We have
sought it, not in Calvinism alone, nor in Arminianism alone, nor in any
other creed or system of man’s devising. In every direction have we
diligently sought it, as our feeble abilities would permit; and yet, we
hope, it will be found that the body of truth which we now have to offer
is not a mere hasty patchwork of superficial eclecticism, but a living and
organic whole. By this test we could wish to be tried; for, as Bacon hath
well said, “It is the harmony of any philosophy in itself that giveth it
light and credence.” And in the application of this test, we could also
wish, that the reader would so far forget his sectarian predilections, if
he have any, as to permit his mind to be inspired by the immortal words of
Milton, which we shall here adopt as a fitting conclusion of these our
present remarks:—
“Truth, indeed, came once into the world with her divine Master, and was a
perfect shape most glorious to look on; but when he ascended, and his
apostles after him were laid asleep, then straight arose a wicked race of
deceivers, who, as that story goes of the Egyptian Typhon, with his
conspirators, how they dealt with the good Osiris, took the virgin, Truth,
hewed her lovely form into a thousand pieces, and scattered them to the
four winds. From that time ever since the sad friends of Truth, such as
durst appear, imitating the careful search that Isis made for the mangled
body of Osiris, went up and down gathering up limb by limb still as they
could find them. We have not yet found them all, nor ever shall do, till
her Master’s second coming; he shall bring together every joint and
member, and shall mould them into an immortal feature of loveliness and
perfection. Suffer not these licensing prohibitions to stand at every
place of opportunity, forbidding and disturbing them that continue
seeking, that continue to do our obsequies to the torn body of our
martyred saint. We boast our light; but if we look not wisely on the sun
itself, it smites us into darkness. Who can discern those planets that are
oft combust, and those stars of brightest magnitude, that rise and set
with the sun, until the opposite motion of their orbs bring them to such a
place in the firmament, where they may be seen morning or evening? The
light which we have gained was given us, not to be ever staring on, but by
it to discover onward things more remote from our knowledge. It is not the
unfrocking of a priest, the unmitring of a bishop, and the removing him
from off the Presbyterian shoulders, that will make us a happy nation; no,
if other things as great in the Church, and in the rule of life, both
economical and political, be not looked into and reformed, we have looked
so long upon the blaze that Zuinglius and Calvin have beaconed up to us,
that we are stark blind. There be who perpetually complain of schisms and
sects, and make it such a calamity that any man dissents from their
maxims. It is their own pride and ignorance which causes the disturbing,
who neither will hear with meekness, nor can convince, yet all must be
suppressed which is not found in their Syntagma. They are the troublers,
they are the dividers of unity, who neglect and permit not others to unite
those dissevered pieces which are yet wanting to the body of truth. To be
still searching what we know not, by what we know, still closing up truth
to truth as we find it, (for all her body is homogeneal and proportional,)
this is the golden rule in theology as well as in arithmetic, and makes up
the best harmony in a Church; not the forced and outward union of cold,
and neutral, and inwardly-divided minds.”
Part I.
THE EXISTENCE OF MORAL EVIL, OR SIN, CONSISTENT WITH THE HOLINESS OF GOD.
What Time this World’s great Workmaister did cast,
To make all things such as we now behold,
It seems that he before his eyes had plast
A goodly patterne, to whose perfect mould
He fashion’d them as comely as he could,
That now so fair and seemly they appear,
As naught may be amended anywhere.
That wondrous patterne, wheresoe’er it be,
Whether in earth laid up in secret store,
Or else in heav’n, that no man may it see
With sinful eyes, for feare it to deflore,
Is perfect Beautie.—SPENSER.
Chapter I.
The Scheme Of Necessity Denies That Man Is Responsible For The Existence
Of Sin.
Ye, who live,
Do so each cause refer to Heaven above,
E’en as its motion, of necessity,
Drew with it all that moves. If this were so,
Free choice in you were none; nor justice would
There should be joy for virtue, woe for ill.—DANTE.
The doctrine of necessity has been, in all ages of the world, the great
stronghold of atheism. It is the mighty instrument with which the
unbeliever seeks to strip man of all accountability, and to destroy our
faith and confidence in God, by tracing up the existence of all moral evil
to his agency. “The opinion of necessity,” says Bishop Butler, “seems to
be the very basis in which infidelity grounds itself.” It will not be
denied that this opinion seems, at first view, to be inconsistent with the
free agency and accountability of man, and that it appears to impair our
idea of God by staining it with impurity. Hence it has been used, by the
profligate and profane, to excuse men for their crimes. It is against this
use of the doctrine that we intend to direct the force of our argument.
But here the question arises: Can we refute the argument against the
accountability of man, without attacking the doctrine on which it is
founded? If we can meet this argument at all, it must be either by showing
that no such consequence flows from the scheme of necessity, or by showing
that the scheme itself is false. We cannot meet the sceptic, who seeks to
excuse his sins, and to cast dishonour on God, and expose his sophistry,
unless we can show that his premises are unsound, or that his conclusions
are false. We must do the one or the other of these two things; or,
whatever we may think of his moral sensibility, we must acknowledge the
superiority of his reason and logic. After long and patient meditation on
the subject, we have been forced to the conclusion, that the only way to
repel the argument of the sceptic, and cause the intrinsic lustre of man’s
free-agency to appear, is to unravel and refute the doctrine of necessity.
If we could preserve the scheme of necessity, and at the same time avoid
the consequences in question, we may fairly conclude that the means of
doing so have been found by some of the illustrious advocates of that
scheme. How, then, do they vindicate their own system? How do they repel
the frightful consequences which infidelity deduces from it? This is the
first question to be considered; and the discussion of it will occupy the
remainder of the present chapter.
Section I.
The attempts of Calvin and Luther to reconcile the scheme of necessity
with the responsibility of man.
Nothing can be more unjust than to bring, as has often been done, the
unqualified charge of fatalism against the great Protestant reformers. The
manner in which this odious epithet is frequently used, applying it
without discrimination to the brightest ornaments and to the darkest
specimens of humanity, is calculated to engender far more heat than light.
Indeed, under this very ambiguous term, three distinct schemes of
doctrine, widely different from each other, are set forth; schemes which
every candid inquirer after truth should be careful to distinguish. The
first is that scheme of fatalism which rests on the fundamental idea that
there is nothing in the universe besides matter and local motion. This
doctrine, of course, denies the spirituality of the Divine Being, as well
as of all created souls, and strikes a fatal blow at the immutability of
moral distinctions. It is unnecessary to say, that in such a sense of the
word, neither Calvin nor Luther can be justly accused of fatalism; as it
is well known that both of them maintained the spirituality of God, as
well as the reality of moral distinctions prior to all human laws.
The second scheme of fatalism rises above the first in point of dignity
and purity of character. It proceeds on the idea that all things in heaven
and earth are bound together by “an implexed series and concatenation of
causes:” it admits the existence of God, it is true, but yet it regards
him as merely the greatest and brightest link in the adamantine universal
chain of necessity. According to this scheme, as well as to the former,
the very idea of moral liberty is inconceivable and impossible. This
portentous scheme was perfectly understood and expressly repudiated by
Calvin. In reference to this doctrine, which was maintained by the ancient
Stoics, he says: “That dogma is falsely and maliciously charged upon us.
For we do not, with the Stoics, imagine a necessity arising from a
perpetual concatenation and intricate series of causes contained in
nature; but we make God the Arbiter and Governor of all things, who, in
his own wisdom, has, from all eternity, decreed what he would do, and now
by his own power executes what he decreed.”
Here we behold the nature of the third scheme, which has been included
under the term _fatalism_. It recognises God as the great central and
all-controlling power of the universe. It does not deny the possibility of
liberty; for it recognises its actual existence in the Divine Being. “If
the divine will,” says Calvin, “has any cause, then there must be
something antecedent, on which it depends; which it is impious to
suppose.” According to Calvin, it is the uncaused divine will which makes
the “necessity of all things.” He frequently sets forth the doctrine,
that, from all eternity, God decreed whatever should come to pass, not
excepting, but expressly including, the deliberations and “volitions of
men,” and by his own power now executes his decree. As we do not wish to
use opprobrious names, we shall characterize these three several schemes
of doctrine by the appellations given to them by their advocates. The
first we shall call, “materialistic fatalism;” the second, “Stoical
fatalism;” and the third we shall designate by the term, “_necessity_.”
Widely as these schemes may differ in other respects, they have one
feature in common: they all seem to bear with equal stringency on the
human will, and deprive it of that freedom which is now conceded to be
indispensable to render men accountable for their actions. If our
volitions be produced by a series of causes, according to the Stoical
notion of fate, or by the omnipotence of God, they would seem to be
equally necessitated and devoid of freedom. Hence, in attacking one of
these schemes at this point, we really attack them all. We shall first
consider the question, then, How does Calvin attempt to reconcile his
doctrine with the accountability of man? How does he show, for example,
that the first man was guilty and justly punishable for a transgression in
which he succumbed to the divine omnipotence?
If a man is really laid under a necessity of sinning, it would certainly
seem impossible to conceive that he is responsible for his sins. Nay, it
would not only seem impossible to conceive this, but it would also appear
very easy to understand, that he could not be responsible for them. In
order to remove this difficulty, and repel the attack of his opponents,
Calvin makes a distinction between “co-action and necessity.” “Now, when I
assert,” says he, “that the will, being deprived of its liberty, is
necessarily drawn or led into evil, I should wonder if any one considered
it as a harsh expression, since it has nothing in it absurd, nor is it
unsanctioned by the custom of good men. It offends those who know not how
to distinguish between necessity and compulsion.”(2) Let us see, then,
what is this distinction between necessity and compulsion, or co-action,
(as Calvin sometimes calls it,) which is to take off all appearance of
harshness from his views. We are not to imagine that this is a distinction
without a difference; for, in truth, there is no distinction in philosophy
which may be more easily made, or more clearly apprehended. It is this:
Suppose a man wills a particular thing, or external action, and it is
prevented from happening by any outward restraint; or suppose he is
unwilling to do a thing, and he is constrained to do it against his will;
he is said to labour under compulsion or co-action. Of course he is not
accountable for the failure of the consequence of his will in the one
case, nor for the consequence of the force imposed on his body in the
other. This kind of necessity is called co-action by Calvin and Luther; it
is usually denominated “natural necessity” by Edwards and his followers;
though it is also frequently termed compulsion, or co-action, by them.
This natural necessity, or co-action, it is admitted on all hands,
destroys accountability for external conduct, wherever it obtains. Indeed,
if a man is compelled to do a thing against his will, this is not,
properly speaking, his act at all; nor is it an omission of his, if he
wills to do a thing, and is necessarily prevented from doing it by
external restraint. But it should be observed that natural necessity, or
co-action, reaches no deeper than the external conduct; and can excuse for
nothing else. As it does not influence the will itself, so it cannot
excuse for acts of the will. Indeed, it presupposes the existence of a
volition, or act of the will, whose natural consequences it counteracts
and overcomes. Hence, if the question were—Is a man accountable for his
external actions, that is, for the motions of his body, we might speak of
natural necessity, or co-action, with propriety; but not so when the
question relates to internal acts of the will. All reference to natural
necessity, or co-action, in relation to such a question, is wholly
irrelevant. No one doubts, and no one denies, that the motions of the body
are controlled by the volitions of the mind, or by some external force.
The advocates for the inherent activity and freedom of the mind, do not
place them in the external sphere of matter, in the passive and
necessitated movements of body: they seek not the living among the dead.
But to do justice to these illustrious men, they did not attempt, as many
of their followers have done, to pass off this freedom from external
co-action for the freedom of the will. Indeed, neither of them contended
for the freedom of the will at all, nor deemed such freedom requisite to
render men accountable for their actions. This is an element which has
been wrought into their system by the subsequent progress of human
knowledge. Luther, it is well known, so far from maintaining the freedom
of the mind, wrote a work on the “Bondage of the Human Will,” in reply to
Erasmus. “I admit,” says he, “that man’s will is free in a certain sense;
not because it is now in the same state it was in paradise, _but because
it was made free originally, and may, through God’s grace, become so
again_.”(3) And Calvin, in his Institutes, has written a chapter to show
that “man, in his present state, is despoiled of freedom of will, and
subjected to a miserable slavery.” He “was endowed with free will,” says
Calvin, “by which, if he had chosen, he might have obtained eternal
life.”(4) Thus, according to both Luther and Calvin, man was by the fall
despoiled of the freedom of the will.
Though they allow a freedom from co-action, they repudiate the idea of
calling this a freedom of the will. “Lombard at length pronounces,” says
Calvin, “that we are not therefore possessed of free-will, because we have
an equal power to do or to think either good or evil, _but only because we
are free from constraint_. And this liberty is not diminished, although we
are corrupt, and slaves of sin, _and capable of doing nothing but sin_.
Then man will be said to possess free-will in this sense, not that he has
an equally free election of good and evil, but because he does evil
voluntarily, _and not by constraint_. That indeed, is true; but what end
could it answer to deck out a thing so diminutive with a title so
superb?”(5) Truly, if Lombard merely meant by the freedom of the will, for
which he contended, a freedom from external restraint, or co-action,
Calvin might well contemptuously exclaim, “Egregious liberty!”(6) It was
reserved for a later period in the history of the Church to deck out this
diminutive thing with the superb title of the freedom of the will, and to
pass it off for the highest and most glorious liberty of which the human
mind can form any conception. Hobbes, it will be hereafter seen, was the
first who, either designedly or undesignedly, palmed off this imposture
upon the world.
It is a remarkable fact, in the history of the human mind, that the most
powerful and imposing arguments used by the early reformers to disprove
the freedom of the will have been as confidently employed by their most
celebrated followers to establish that very freedom on a solid basis. It
is well known, for example, that Edwards, and many other great men, have
employed the doctrine of the foreknowledge of God to prove philosophical
necessity, without which they conclude there can be no rational foundation
for the freedom of the will. Yet, in former times, this very doctrine was
regarded as the most formidable instrument with which to overthrow and
demolish that very freedom. Thus Luther calls the foreknowledge of God a
thunderbolt to dash the doctrine of free-will into atoms. And who can
forbear to agree with Luther so far as to say, that if the foreknowledge
of God proves anything in opposition to the freedom of the will, it proves
that it is under the most absolute and uncontrollable necessity? It
clearly seems, that if it proves anything in favour of necessity, it
proves everything for which the most absolute necessitarian can contend.
Accordingly, a distinguished Calvinistic divine has said, that if our
volitions be foreseen, we can no more avoid them “than we can pluck the
sun out of the heavens.”(7)
But though the reformers were thus, in some respects, more true to their
fundamental principle than their followers have been, we are not to
suppose that they are free from all inconsistencies and
self-contradiction. Thus, if “foreknowledge is a thunderbolt” to dash the
doctrine of free-will into atoms, it destroyed free-will in man before the
fall as well as after. Hence the thunderbolt of Luther falls upon his own
doctrine, that man possessed free-will in his primitive state, with as
much force as it can upon the doctrine of his opponents. He is evidently
caught in the toils he so confidently prepared for his adversary. And how
many of the followers of the great reformer adopt his doctrine, and wield
his thunderbolts, without perceiving how destructively they recoil on
themselves! Though they ascribe free-will to man as one of the elements of
his pristine glory, yet they employ against it in his present condition
arguments which, if good for anything, would despoil, not only man, but
the whole universe of created intelligences—nay, the great Uncreated
Intelligence himself—of every vestige and shadow of such a power.
It is a wonderful inconsistency in Luther, that he should so often and so
dogmatically assert that the doctrine of free-will falls prostrate before
the prescience of God, and at the same time maintain the freedom of the
divine will. If foreknowledge is incompatible with the existence of
free-will, it is clear that the will of God is not free; since it is on
all sides conceded that all his volitions are perfectly foreseen by him.
Yet in the face of this conclusion, which so clearly and so irresistibly
follows from Luther’s position, he asserts the freedom of the divine will,
as if he were perfectly unconscious of the self-contradiction in which he
is involved. “It now then follows,” says he, “that free-will is plainly a
divine term, and can be applicable to none but the Divine Majesty
only.”(8) ... He even says, If free-will “be ascribed unto men, it is not
more properly ascribed, than the divinity of God himself would be ascribed
unto them; which would be the greatest of all sacrilege. Wherefore, it
becomes theologians to refrain from the use of this term altogether,
whenever they wish to speak of human ability, and to leave it to be
applied to God only.”(9) And we may add, if they would apply it to God, it
becomes them to refrain from all such arguments as would show even such an
application of it to be absurd.
In like manner, Calvin admits that the human soul possessed a free-will in
its primitive state, but has been despoiled of it by the fall, and is now
in bondage to a “miserable slavery.” But if the necessity which arises
from the power of sin over the will be inconsistent with its freedom, how
are we to reconcile the freedom of the first man with the power exercised
by the Almighty over the wills of all created beings? So true it is, that
the most systematic thinker, who begins by denying the truth, will be sure
to end by contradicting himself.
In one respect, as we have seen, Calvin differs from his followers at the
present day; the denial of free-will he regards as perfectly reconcilable
with the idea of accountability. Although our volitions are absolutely
necessary to us, although they may be produced in us by the most
uncontrollable power in the universe, yet are we accountable for them,
because they are our volitions. The bare fact that we will such and such a
thing, without regard to how we come by the volition, is sufficient to
render us accountable for it. We must be free from an external
_co-action_, he admits, to render us accountable for our external actions;
but not from an internal necessity, to render us accountable for our
internal volitions. But this does not seem to be a satisfactory reply to
the difficulty in question. We ask, How a man can be accountable for his
acts, for his volitions, if they are caused in him by an infinite power?
and we are told, Because they are _his_ acts. This eternal repetition of
the fact in which all sides are agreed, can throw no light on the point
about which we dispute. We still ask, How can a man be responsible for an
act, or volition, which is necessitated to arise in his mind by
Omnipotence? If any one should reply, with Dr. Dick, that we do not know
how he can be accountable for such an act, yet we should never deny a
thing because we cannot see how it is; this would not be a satisfactory
answer. For, though it is certainly the last weakness of the human mind to
deny a thing, because we cannot see how it is; yet there is a great
difference between not being able to see _how a thing is_, and being
clearly able to see that it _cannot be anyhow at all_,—between being
unable to see how two things agree together, and being able to see that
two ideas are utterly repugnant to each other. Hence we mean to ask, that
if a man’s act be necessitated in him by an infinite, omnipotent power,
over which he had, and could have, no possible control, can we not see
that he _cannot_ be accountable for it? We have no difficulty whatever in
believing a mystery; but when we are required to embrace what so plainly
seems to be an absurdity, we confess that our reason is either weak
enough, or strong enough, to pause and reluctate.