I EMPLOYED the compelled and most unwelcome leisure of severe
indisposition in reading _The Confessions of a Fair Saint_ in Mr.
Carlyle’s recent translation of the _Wilhelm Meister_, which might, I
think, have been better rendered literally _The Confessions of a
Beautiful Soul_. This, acting in conjunction with the concluding
sentences of your letter, threw my thoughts inward on my own religious
experience, and gave immediate occasion to the following Confessions of
one who is neither fair nor saintly, but who, groaning under a deep sense
of infirmity and manifold imperfection, feels the want, the necessity, of
religious support; who cannot afford to lose any the smallest buttress,
but who not only loves Truth even for itself, and when it reveals itself
aloof from all interest, but who loves it with an indescribable awe,
which too often withdraws the genial sap of his activity from the
columnar trunk, the sheltering leaves, the bright and fragrant flower,
and the foodful or medicinal fruitage, to the deep root, ramifying in
obscurity and labyrinthine way-winning—
In darkness there to house unknown,
Far underground,
Pierced by no sound
Save such as live in Fancy’s ear alone,
That listens for the uptorn mandrake’s parting groan!
I should, perhaps, be a happier—at all events a more useful—man if my
mind were otherwise constituted. But so it is, and even with regard to
Christianity itself, like certain plants, I creep towards the light, even
though it draw me away from the more nourishing warmth. Yea, I should do
so, even if the light had made its way through a rent in the wall of the
Temple. Glad, indeed, and grateful am I, that not in the Temple itself,
but only in one or two of the side chapels, not essential to the edifice,
and probably not coëval with it, have I found the light absent, and that
the rent in the wall has but admitted the free light of the Temple
itself.
I shall best communicate the state of my faith by taking the creed, or
system of _credenda_, common to all the Fathers of the
Reformation—overlooking, as non-essential, the differences between the
several Reformed Churches, according to the five main classes or sections
into which the aggregate distributes itself to my apprehension. I have
then only to state the effect produced on my mind by each of these, or
the _quantum_ of recipiency and coincidence in myself relatively thereto,
in order to complete my Confession of Faith.
I. The Absolute; the innominable Αὑτοπάτωρ et _Causa Sui_, in whose
transcendent I AM, as the Ground, _is_ whatever _verily_ is:—the Triune
God, by whose Word and Spirit, as the transcendent Cause, _exists_
whatever _substantially_ exists:—God Almighty—Father, Son, and Holy
Ghost, undivided, unconfounded, co-eternal. This class I designate by
the word Στάσις.
II. The Eternal Possibilities; the actuality of which hath not its
origin in God: _Chaos spirituale_:—’Απόστασις.
III. The Creation and Formation of the heaven and earth by the
Redemptive Word:—the Apostasy of Man:—the Redemption of Man:—the
Incarnation of the Word in the Son of Man:—the Crucifixion and
Resurrection of the Son of Man:—the Descent of the Comforter:—Repentance
(μετάνοια):—Regeneration:—Faith:—Prayer:—Grace—Communion with the
Spirit:—Conflict:—Self-abasement:—Assurance through the righteousness of
Christ:—Spiritual Growth:—Love:—Discipline:—Perseverance:—Hope in
death:—Μετάστασις—’Ανάστασις.
IV. But these offers, gifts, and graces are not for one, or for a few.
They are offered to all. Even when the Gospel is preached to a single
individual it is offered to him as to one of a great household. Not only
man, but, says St. Paul, the whole creation is included in the
consequences of the Fall—τῆς ἀποστάσεως—so also in those of the change at
the Redemption—τῆς μεταστάσεως, καὶ τῆς ἀναστάσεως. We too shall be
raised _in the Body_. Christianity is fact no less than truth. It is
spiritual, yet so as to be historical; and between these two poles there
must likewise be a midpoint, in which the historical and spiritual meet.
Christianity must have its history—a history of itself and likewise the
history of its introduction, its spread, and its outward-becoming; and,
as the midpoint abovementioned, a portion of these facts must be
miraculous, that is, phenomena in nature that are beyond nature.
Furthermore, the history of all historical nations must in some sense be
its history—in other words, all history must be providential, and this a
providence, a preparation, and a looking forward to Christ.
Here, then, we have four out of the five classes. And in all these the
sky of my belief is serene, unclouded by a doubt. Would to God that my
faith, that faith which works on the whole man, confirming and
conforming, were but in just proportion to my belief, to the full
acquiescence of my intellect, and the deep consent of my conscience! The
very difficulties argue the truth of the whole scheme and system for my
understanding, since I see plainly that so must the truth appear, if it
be the truth.
V. But there is a Book of two parts, each part consisting of several
books. The first part (I speak in the character of an uninterested
critic or philologist) contains the relics of the literature of the
Hebrew people, while the Hebrew was still the living language. The
second part comprises the writings, and, with one or two inconsiderable
and doubtful exceptions, all the writings of the followers of Christ
within the space of ninety years from the date of the Resurrection. I do
not myself think that any of these writings were composed as late as A.D.
120; but I wish to preclude all dispute. This Book I resume as read, and
yet unread—read and familiar to my mind in all parts, but which is yet to
be perused as a whole, or rather a work, _cujus particulas et
sententiolas omnes et singulas recogniturus sum_, but the component
integers of which, and their conspiration, I have yet to study. I take
up this work with the purpose to read it for the first time as I should
read any other work, as far at least as I can or dare. For I neither
can, nor dare, throw off a strong and awful prepossession in its
favour—certain as I am that a large part of the light and life, in and by
which I see, love, and embrace the truths and the strengths co-organised
into a living body of faith and knowledge in the four preceding classes,
has been directly or indirectly derived to me from this sacred volume—and
unable to determine what I do not owe to its influences. But even on
this account, and because it has these inalienable claims on my reverence
and gratitude, I will not leave it in the power of unbelievers to say
that the Bible is for me only what the Koran is for the deaf Turk, and
the Vedas for the feeble and acquiescent Hindoo. No; I will retire _up
into the mountain_, and hold secret commune with my Bible above the
contagious blastments of prejudice, and the fog-blight of selfish
superstition. _For fear hath torment_. And what though _my_ reason be
to the power and splendour of the Scriptures but as the reflected and
secondary shine of the moon compared with the solar radiance; yet the sun
endures the occasional co-presence of the unsteady orb, and leaving it
visible seems to sanction the comparison. There is a Light higher than
all, even _the Word that was in the beginning_; the Light, of which light
itself is but the _shechinah_ and cloudy tabernacle; the Word that is
Light for every man, and life for as many as give heed to it. If between
this Word and the written letter I shall anywhere seem to myself to find
a discrepance, I will not conclude that such there actually is, nor on
the other hand will I fall under the condemnation of them that would _lie
for God_, but seek as I may, be thankful for what I have—and wait.
With such purposes, with such feelings, have I perused the books of the
Old and New Testaments, each book as a whole, and also as an integral
part. And need I say that I have met everywhere more or less copious
sources of truth, and power, and purifying impulses, that I have found
words for my inmost thoughts, songs for my joy, utterances for my hidden
griefs, and pleadings for my shame and my feebleness? In short, whatever
_finds_ me, bears witness for itself that it has proceeded from a Holy
Spirit, even from the same Spirit, _which remaining in itself_, _yet
regenerateth all other powers_, _and in all ages entering into holy
souls_, _maketh them friends of God_, _and prophets_. (Wisd. vii.) And
here, perhaps, I might have been content to rest, if I had not learned
that, as a Christian, I cannot, must not, stand alone; or if I had not
known that more than this was holden and required by the Fathers of the
Reformation, and by the Churches collectively, since the Council of Nice
at latest, the only exceptions being that doubtful one of the corrupt
Romish Church implied, though not avowed, in its equalisation of the
Apocryphal Books with those of the Hebrew Canon, and the irrelevant one
of the few and obscure sects who acknowledge no historical Christianity.
This somewhat more, in which Jerome, Augustine, Luther, and Hooker were
of one and the same judgment, and less than which not one of them would
have tolerated—would it fall within the scope of my present doubts and
objections? I hope it would not. Let only their general expressions be
interpreted by their treatment of the Scriptures in detail, and I dare
confidently trust that it would not. For I can no more reconcile the
doctrine which startles my belief with the practice and particular
declarations of these great men, than with the convictions of my own
understanding and conscience. At all events—and I cannot too early or
too earnestly guard against any misapprehension of my meaning and
purpose—let it be distinctly understood that my arguments and objections
apply exclusively to the following doctrine or dogma. To the opinions
which individual divines have advanced in lieu of this doctrine, my only
objection, as far as I object, is—that I do not understand them. The
precise enunciation of this doctrine I defer to the commencement of the
next Letter.
Farewell.