* May, 1891.
It is a common belief among Protestants, though not among Catholics,
that the age of miracles is past. For a long time it has been very
difficult to find a real case of special providence. There are stories
afloat of wonderful faith-cures, and the followers of John Wesley,
as well as the followers of William Booth, often shake their heads
mysteriously, and affect to trace the hand of God in certain episodes of
their experience. But such cases are too personal, and too subjective,
to challenge criticism or inquiry. Investigating them is like exploring
a cloud. There is nothing tangible for the mind to seize, nothing to
stand by as the basis of discussion. What is wanted is a real objective
miracle, a positive _fact_. Happily such a miracle has come to the aid
of a distressed Christianity; it is worth tons of learned apologetics,
and will give "the dying creed" a fresh lease of life.
Unfortunately the world at large is in gross ignorance of this
astonishing event. Like the earthquake, the eclipse, and the wholesale
resurrection of saints at the crucifixion of Christ, it has excited very
little public attention. But this dense apathy, or Satanic conspiracy of
silence, must not be allowed to hide a precious truth. We therefore do
our best to give it publicity, although in doing so we are blasting our
own foundations; for we belong to a party which boasts that it seeks
for truth, and we are ready to exclaim, "Let truth prevail though the
heavens fall."
Most of our readers will remember the late accident on the Brighton line
at Norwood. A bridge collapsed, and only the driver's presence of mind
averted a great loss of life. Of course the driver did his obvious duty,
and presence of mind is not uncommon enough to be miraculous. But that
does not exhaust the matter. The driver (Hargraves) is perfectly sure he
received divine assistance. He is a man of pious habits. He never
leaves his house without kneeling down with his wife and imploring
God's protection. He never steps on the engine without breathing another
prayer. On the morning of the accident his piety was in a state of
unusual excitation. He begged his wife to "pray all that day"--which
we presume she did, with intervals for refreshment; and he knelt down
himself in the passage before opening his front door. When the accident
happened he put the brake on and cried "Lord, save us," and according to
the _Christian World_ "it has since been stated by expert engineers that
no train was ever before pulled up in such a short distance."
A carping critic might presume to ask the names and addresses of these
"expert engineers." He might also have the temerity to inquire the
precise distance in which the train was pulled up, the shortest distance
in which other trains have been pulled up, and the weight and velocity
of the train in each case. He might also meanly suggest that putting
on the brake left as little as possible to Providence. For our part,
however, we will not pursue such hyper-criticism. It is applying to a
miracle a test which it is not fitted to stand. Something must be
left to faith, something must be reserved from reason, or the stoutest
miracle would soon fall into a galloping consumption. The man in whom
a pious disposition counteracts the restless play of thought, will not
demand absolute proof; he will only require an encouraging amount of
evidence; and he will dutifully lift his face and hands to heaven,
exclaiming, "Lord I believe, help thou mine unbelief."
The line we shall follow is a different one. Without questioning the
miracle, we venture to ask why it was not more complete. Lives were
saved, but several persons were injured. Was this due to the fact that
Hargraves' prayer was not sufficiently above proof? Did the Lord answer
the prayer according to its insensity? Was there a sceptic in the train
who partially neutralised its effect? Or did the Lord proceed on
the method favored by priests, preventing the miracle from being too
obvious, but giving the incident a slightly supernatural appearance, in
order to confirm the faith of believers without convincing the callous
sceptics, whose deep sin of incredulity places them beyond "the means of
grace and the hope of glory?"
Nor are these questions exhaustive. Very much remains to be said. It
appears that the Norwood bridge collapsed through a secret flaw in
the ironwork. Could not the Lord, therefore, in answer to Hargraves'
prayers--which surely extended to the interests of his employers--have
inspired one of the Company's engineers with the notion of some
unsoundness in the structure? This would have saved a good deal of
property, and many passengers from suffering a shock whose effects may
haunt them for years, and perhaps send them to untimely graves? Might
not the Lord have cleared the roadway below, knocked down the bridge
in the night, and brought some one to see the collapse who could have
carried the tidings to the signalmen? Certainly there seems a remarkable
want of subtlety in the ways of Providence. It looks as though the Deity
heard a prayer now and then, and jerked out a bit of miracle in a more
or less promiscuous manner.
What has happened to Providence since the Bible days? Miracles then
were clear, convincing, and artistically rounded. You could not possibly
mistake them for anything else. Baalam's ass, for instance, was not a
performing "moke"; it does not appear to have known a single trick; and
when it opened its mouth and talked in good Moabitish, the miracle was
certain and triumphant. In the same way, the Norwood miracle might have
been unadultterated with the usual operations of nature. The bridge
might have collapsed as the train approached, driver Hargraves might
have said his prayer, the train might have leapt across the chasm,
picked up the connection on the other side, and pursued its way to
Brighton as if nothing had happened. But as the case stands, Providence
and the safety-brake act together, and it is difficult to decide their
shares in the enterprise. Further, the miracle is sadly mixed. Any human
being would have planned it better, and made it stand out clearly and
firmly.
This Norwood miracle, however, seems the best obtainable in these days.
It is a minute return for all the prayers of the clergy, to say nothing
of pious engine-drivers; a miserable dividend on the gigantic investment
in supernaturalism. We pity the poor shareholders, though we must
congratulate the directors on the large salaries they draw from the
business. We also pity poor old Providence, who seems almost played
out. Once upon a time he was in fine form; miracles were as common as
blackberries; Nature seldom got an innings, and Jehovah was all over
the field. But nowadays Nature seems to have got the better of him. She
scarcely leaves him a corner for his operations, and what little he does
(if he does anything) has to be done in obscurity. Poor old Providence,
we fancy, has had his day. His vigor is gone, his lively fancy
has degenerated into moping ineptitude, the shouts of millions of
worshippers cannot stimulate his sluggishness into any more effective
display than this Norwood miracle. Most sincerely we offer him our
condolence as the sleeping partner in the business of religion. By and
bye we may offer our condolence to the active partners, the priests of
all denominations, who still flourish on a prospectus which, if once
true, is now clearly fraudulent. When their business dwindles, in
consequence of a failing supply of good supernatural articles, they will
only live on the price of actual deliveries, and a Norwood miracle will
hardly afford six of them a mouthful apiece.