Neither the cruelty of tyrants, nor the ambition of conquerors, has
wrought so much mischief and suffering, as the principle of persecution.
The crimes of a Nero, the ravages of an Attila, afflict the world for a
season, and then cease and are forgotten, or only linger in the memory
of history. But persecution operates incessantly like a natural force.
With the universality of light, it radiates in every direction. The
palace is not too proud for its entrance, nor is the cottage too humble.
It affects every relationship of life. Its action is exhibited in public
through imprisonment, torture, and bloodshed, and in private through the
tears of misery and the groans of despair.
But worse remains. Bodies starve and hearts break, but at last there
comes "the poppied sleep, the end of all." Grief is buried in the grave,
Nature covers it with a mantle of grass and flowers, and the feet of joy
trip merrily over the paths once trodden by heavy-footed care. Yet the
more subtle effects of persecution remain with the living. _They_ are
not screwed down in the coffin and buried with the dead. They become
part of the pestilential atmosphere of cowardice and hypocrisy which
saps the intellectual manhood of society, so that bright-eyed inquiry
sinks into blear-eyed faith, and the rich vitality of active honest
thought falls into the decrepitude of timid and slothful acquiescence.
What is this principle of persecution, and how is it generated and
developed in the human mind? Now that it is falling into discredit,
there is a tendency on the part of Christian apologists to ascribe it
to our natural hatred of contradiction. Men argue and quarrel, and if
intellectual differences excite hostility in an age like this, how easy
it was for them to excite the bitterest animosity in more ignorant and
barbarous ages! Such is the plea now frequently advanced. No doubt it
wears a certain plausibility, but a little investigation will show
its fallacy. Men and women are so various in their minds, characters,
circumstances, and interests, that if left to themselves they inevitably
form a multiplicity of ever-shifting parties, sects, fashions and
opinions; and while each might resent the impertinence of disagreement
from its own standard, the very multiformity of the whole mass must
preserve a general balance of fair play, since every single sect with an
itch for persecuting would be confronted by an overwhelming majority
of dissidents. It is obvious, therefore, that persecution can only be
indulged in when some particular form of opinion is in the ascendant:
and if this form is artificially developed; if it is the result, not of
knowledge and reflection, but of custom and training; if, in short, it
is rather a superstition than a belief; you have a condition of things
highly favorable to the forcible suppression of heresy. Now,
throughout history, there is one great form of opinion which _has been_
artificially developed, which has been accepted through faith and not
through study, which has always been concerned with alleged occurrences
in the remote past or the inaccessible future, and which has also
been systematically maintained in its "pristine purity" by an army of
teachers who have pledged themselves to inculcate the ancient faith
without any admixture of their own intelligence.
That form of opinion is Religion. Accordingly we should expect to find
its career always attended with persecution, and the expectation is
amply justified by a cursory glance at the history of every faith. There
is, indeed, one great exception; but, to use a popular though inaccurate
phrase, it is an exception which proves the rule. Buddhism has never
persecuted But Buddhism is rather a philosophy than a religion; or, if
a religion, it is not a theology, and that is the sense attached to
_religion_ in this article.
All such religions have persecuted, do persecute, and will persecute
while they exist. Let it not be supposed, however, that they punish
heretics on the open ground that the majority must be right and the
minority must be wrong, or that some people have a right to think while
others have only the right to acquiesce. No, that is too shameless an
avowal; nor would it, indeed, be the real truth. There is a principle in
religions which has always been the sanction of persecution, and if it
be true, persecution is more than right, it is a duty. That principle is
Salvation by Faith.
If a certain belief is necessary to salvation, if to reject it is to
merit damnation, and to undermine it is to imperil the eternal welfare
of others, there is only one course open to its adherents; they must
treat the heretic as they would treat a viper. He is a poisonous
creature to be swiftly extinguished.
But not _too_ swiftly, for he has a soul that may still be saved.
Accordingly he is sequestered to prevent further harm, an effort is made
to convert him, then he is punished, and the rest is left with God. That
his conversion is attempted by torture, either physical or mental, is
not an absurdity; it is consonant to the doctrine of salvation by faith.
For if God punishes or rewards us according to our possession or lack
of faith, it follows that faith is within the power of will. Accordingly
the heretic, to use Dr. Martineau's expression, is reminded not of
arguments but of motives, not of evidence but of fear, not of proofs
but of perils, not of reasons but of ruin. When we recognise that the
understanding acts independently of volition, and that the threat of
punishment, while it may produce silence or hypocrisy, _cannot_ alter
belief, this method of procedure strikes us as a monstrous imbecility;
but, given a belief in the doctrine of salvation by faith, it must
necessarily appear both logical and just. If the heretic _will_ not
believe, he is clearly wicked, for he rejects the truth and insults God.
He has deliberately chosen the path to hell, and does it matter whether
he travel slowly or swiftly to his destination? But does it _not_ matter
whether he go alone or drag down others with him to perdition? Such
was the logic of the Inquisitors, and although their cruelties must be
detested their consistency must be allowed.
Catholics have an infallible Church, and the Protestants an infallible
Bible. Yet as the teaching of the Bible becomes a question of
interpretation, the infallibility of each Church resolves itself into
the infallibility of its priesthood. Each asserts that _some_ belief is
necessary to salvation. Religious liberty, therefore, has never entered
into the imagination of either. The Protestants who revolted against the
Papacy openly avowed the principle of persecution. Luther, Beza, Calvin,
and Melancthon, were probably more intolerant than any Pope of their
age; and if the Protestant persecutions were not, on the whole, so
sanguinary as those of the Roman Catholic Church, it was simply due to
the fact that Catholicism passed through a dark and ferocious period
of history, while Protestantism emerged in an age of greater light and
humanity. Persecution cannot always be bloody, but it always inflicts
on heretics as much suffering as the sentiment of the community will
tolerate.
The doctrine of salvation by faith has been more mischievous than all
other delusions of theology combined. How true are the words of Pascal:
"_Jamais on ne fait le mal si pleinement et si gaiement que quand oh le
fait par un faux principe de conscience_." Fortunately a nobler day
is breaking. The light of truth succeeds the darkness of error. Right
belief is infinitely important, but it cannot be forced. Belief is
independent of will. But character is not, and therefore the philosopher
approves or condemns actions instead of censuring beliefs. Theology,
however, consistently clings to its old habits. "Infidels" must not be
argued with but threatened, not convinced but libelled; and when these
weapons are futile there ensues the persecution of silence. That serves
for a time, but only for a time; it may obstruct, but it cannot prevent,
the spread of unbelief. It is like a veil against the light. It may
obscure the dawn to the dull-eyed and the uninquisitive, but presently
the blindest sluggards in the penfolds of faith will see that the sun
has risen.