Most people suppose this phrase to be a recent Americanism. It occurs,
however, in the Memoirs of James Lackington, published in 1791. Speaking
of certain ranting preachers, he says--"These _devil-dodgers_ happened
to be so very powerful that they soon sent John home, crying out, that
he should be damned."
Admitting the age of the phrase, some will ask, Is it respectable? Well,
that is a matter of taste. Is there any standard of respectability? Does
it not vary with time, place, and circumstance? Some people hate wearing
gloves, while other people feel half naked without them. A box hat is
a great sign of respectability; when a vestryman wears one he overawes
philosophers; yet some men would as soon wear the helmet of Don Quixote.
Flannel suits are quite shocking in town; at the seaside they are the
height of fashion. And as it is with dress so it is with speech. The
"respectable" classes are apt to rob language of its savor, clipping and
trimming it like the trees in a Dutch garden. You must go to the
common, unrespectable classes for racy vigor of tongue. They avoid
circumlocutions, eschew diffuseness, go straight to the point, and
prefer concrete to abstract expressions. They don't speak of a foolish
man, they call him a fool; a cowardly talebearer they call a sneak; and
so on to the end of the chapter. But is this really vulgar? Open your
Shakespeare, or any other dramatic poet, and you will find it is not so.
A look, a gesture, is more expressive than words; and concrete language
carries more weight than the biggest abstractions.
Let us break up the phrase, and see where the "vulgarity" comes
in. There is nothing vulgar about the Devil. He is reputed to be a
highly-accomplished gentleman. Milton, Goethe, and Byron have even felt
his grandeur. And is not "dodger" clear as well as expressive? David
dodged Saul's javelin. That was smart and proper. Afterwards he
attempted a dodge on Uriah. That was mean and dirty. So that "dodge" may
be good, bad, or indifferent, like "man" or "woman." There is nothing
objectionable about it _per se_. And if "devil" and "dodger" are
respectable in their single state, how do they become vulgar when they
are married?
Of course it is quite natural for the clergy and their thorough-paced
dupes to cry out against plain language. The clerical trade is founded
on mystery, and "behind every mystery there is a cheat." Calling things
by their right names will always be ugly to impostors.
"Reverend" sounds so much nicer than "mystery-man," "priest" is
more dignified than "fortuneteller," "clergyman" is pleasanter than
"sky-pilot," and "minister" is more soothing than "devil-dodger." But
plain speech is always wholesome if you keep within the bounds of truth.
It does us good to see ourselves occasionally as others see us. And if
this article should fall under the eyes of a Christian man of God, we
beg him to keep his temper and read on to the end.
We tell the men of God, of every denomination, that they are Devil
Dodgers, and when they cease to be that their occupation is going. Old
Nick, in some form or other, is the basis of every kind of Christianity.
Indeed, the dread of evil, the terror of calamity, is at the bottom of
all religion; while the science which gives us foresight and power, and
enables us to protect ourselves and promote our comfort, is religion's
deadliest enemy. Science wars against evil practically; religion wars
against it theoretically. Science sees the material causes that are at
work, and counteracts them; religion is too lazy and conceited to study
the causes, it takes the evil in a lump, personifies it, and christens
it "the Devil." Thus it keeps men off the real path of deliverance,
and teaches them to fear the Bogie-Man, who is simply a phantom of
superstition, and always vanishes at the first forward step of courage.
What is the Christian scheme in a nutshell? God made man perfect--though
some people, after reading the life of Adam, say that God made him
a perfect fool. This perfect man was tackled by the Devil, a sort of
spiritual Pasteur, who inoculated him with sin, which was transmitted
to his posterity as _original_ sin. God desires man's welfare, but the
Devil is too strong tor Omnipotence. Jesus Christ steps in with the Holy
Ghost and saves a few men and women, but the Devil bags all the rest,
and Hell is thronged while Heaven is half empty; the one place having
three families on every flat, the other having leagues of spacious
mansions "to let."
Now in every generation the Devil is after us. Without schools, or
churches, or armies of professional helpers, or even so much as an
occasional collection, he carries on single-handed a most successful
business. The clergy tell us, as the Bible tells them, that he is
monstrously able, active and enterprising; never overlooking a single
customer, and delivering damnation at the door, and even carrying it
upstairs, without charging for carriage or waiting for his bill. All
that sort of thing he leaves to the opposition firm, whose agents are
clamorous for payment, and contrive to accumulate immense sums of the
filthy lucre which they affect to despise.
This accommodating fiend is the _bête noir_ of the clergy. They are
always on his track, or rather he is on theirs. They help us to dodge
him, to get out of his way, to be from home when he calls, to escape his
meshes, to frustrate his wiles, to save our souls alive--O. "Here you
are," they say, "he's coming down the street. We are just running an
escape party. If you want to keep out of Hell, come and join us. Don't
ask questions. There's no time for that. Hurry up, or you'll be left
behind." And when the party turns the corner the clergy say, "Ah, that
was a narrow escape. Some of you had a very close shave." And the next
morning a collector calls for a subscription for the gentleman who saved
you from the Devil.
Nearly fifty thousand gentlemen are engaged in this line of business,
to say nothing of the Salvation Army. Fifty thousand Devil Dodgers! And
this in England alone. If we include Europe, America, South Africa, and
Australia, there are hundreds of thousands of them, maintained at the
expense of probably a hundred millions a year. Yet the Devil is not
outwitted. Mr. Spurgeon says he is as successful as ever; and, to use
Mr. Stead's expression, Spurgeon has "tips from God."
By their own confession, therefore, the Devil Dodgers are perfectly
useless. They take our money, but they do little else. Honesty would
make them disband. But they will never do that. They will have to be
cashiered, or starved out by cutting off the supplies. The real truth
is, they never _were_ useful. They were always parasites. They gained
their livings by false pretences. They dodged an imaginary enemy. The
Devil is played out in educated circles. Presently he will be laughed at
by everybody. Then the people will dismiss the priests, and there will
be and end of Devil Dodgers.