Neither Joseph Barker, nor any other man on the continent can give one
good reason for his hatred of the Bible, or desire to ridicule it.
Suppose it were all he says of it; superstition or what not; why is he
so enraged at it? What is it that exasperates him so? What is it that
puts such men to so much trouble? We suppose the stories of witches,
ghosts, etc., the signs of the zodiac, the moon, etc., etc., are
superstitions, but they do not trouble us, and we do not think it worth
while to war upon them. Why do not modern sceptics put the Scriptures
down on the same list with these, give them the go-by, and be at no
more trouble about them? Ah, why not? Simply because they can not.
They have within them spirits that can not rest. The Bible is a book
they can not let alone. It will not let them alone. It follows them by
day, and thunders in their ears at night. It is before them when they
rise up and when they lie down. It is before them in public and in
private. It alarms them with the terrible announcement that the dead
shall be raised, that the world shall be judged in righteousness, and
that the Lord shall render to every man according as his work shall
be. It annoys them with terrible threatenings, fearful punishments and
righteous retributions. It follows them with the only impartial history
the world ever had, spreading out alike the good and the bad, and
showing up the entire history of man.
Why do they not let the Bible alone? If it is only a fable, a legend,
or mere fiction, why trouble about it? “_Let it alone!_” says the
sceptic, “how can I let it alone, when it constantly tells me of every
sin I ever committed, describes even the thoughts of my heart, and
exposes every wicked desire I ever had? I can not let a book alone that
describes and publishes me to the world as a sinner.” What of all that,
if you do not believe it? There is the trouble. The apprehension that
_it may be true_, after all, hangs about men. They may rant, ridicule,
defy, scoff and laugh, but the fearful apprehension still rises,
thundering, “_It may be true, after all_.” There is no getting rid of
the fearful apprehensions, the wonderful forebodings, the consciousness
that all scepticism might be a mistake, after all. They know they have
nothing settled, nothing established, no fixed principles, no certain
knowledge. They know that they are acquiring no substantial knowledge.
Their work has not been to settle any thing, to fix any thing. They are
drifting about, floating in an uncertain current, not knowing whither
they are going. With them, all is in doubt, uncertainty, and obscurity.
They are completely unsettled, wandering in the dark, and without a
resting place. They are poor and miserable, blind and naked. They have
no encouragement, no support, and no promise, and nothing to promise
anybody else. Their pursuit is an empty chase, without any promise or
hope. There is not a more vain and empty bubble in this world, than
that pursued by these men. They are working without an object. They
know not what they are aiming at. Their work is not to prove any thing,
to settle any thing, or establish any thing; but to unsettle, confuse
and throw into doubt. What have they done for the world? What do they
propose to do for man? Nothing, only to pull down religion, do away
with the church, and put the Bible out of the world! They appear to
think that the principal thing now required to do, for the happiness of
the world, is to rid it of all religion. But where is the evidence that
they are doing any good? Where have they made the people happy? Where
have they done any good? What good are they now doing? None under the
shining sun.