[1891]
In the course of a discussion which has been going on during the last
two years,[46] it has been maintained by the defenders of
ecclesiastical Christianity that the demonology of the books of the
New Testament is an essential and integral part of the revelation of
the nature of the spiritual world promulgated by Jesus of Nazareth.
Indeed, if the historical accuracy of the Gospels and of the Acts of
the Apostles is to be taken for granted, if the teachings of the
Epistles are divinely inspired, and if the universal belief and
practice of the primitive Church are the models which all later times
must follow, there can be no doubt that those who accept the
demonology are in the right. It is as plain as language can make it,
that the writers of the Gospels believed in the existence of Satan and
the subordinate ministers of evil as strongly as they believed in
that of God and the angels, and that they had an unhesitating faith in
possession and in exorcism. No reader of the first three Gospels can
hesitate to admit that, in the opinion of those persons among whom the
traditions out of which they are compiled arose, Jesus held, and
constantly acted upon, the same theory of the spiritual world. Nowhere
do we find the slightest hint that he doubted the theory, or
questioned the efficacy of the curative operations based upon it.
Thus, when such a story as that about the Gadarene swine is placed
before us, the importance of the decision, whether it is to be
accepted or rejected, cannot be over-estimated. If the demonological
part of it is to be accepted, the authority of Jesus is unmistakably
pledged to the demonological system current in Judæa in the first
century. The belief in devils who possess men and can be transferred
from men to pigs, becomes as much a part of Christian dogma as any
article of the creeds. If it is to be rejected, there are two
alternative conclusions. Supposing the Gospels to be historically
accurate, it follows that Jesus shared in the errors, respecting the
nature of the spiritual world, prevalent in the age in which he lived
and among the people of his nation. If, on the other hand, the Gospel
traditions gives us only a popular version of the sayings and doings
of Jesus, falsely coloured and distorted by the superstitious
imaginings of the minds through which it had passed, what guarantee
have we that a similar unconscious falsification, in accordance with
preconceived ideas, may not have taken place in respect of other
reported sayings and doings? What is to prevent a conscientious
inquirer from finding himself at last in a purely agnostic position
with respect to the teachings of Jesus, and consequently with respect
to the fundamentals of Christianity?
In dealing with the question whether the Gadarene story was to be
believed or not, I confined myself altogether to a discussion of the
value of the evidence in its favour. And, as it was easy to prove that
this consists of nothing more than three partially discrepant, but
often verbally coincident, versions of an original, of the authorship
of which nobody knows anything, it appeared to me that it was wholly
worthless. Even if the event described had been probable, such
evidence would have required corroboration; being grossly improbable,
and involving acts questionable in their moral and legal aspect, the
three accounts sank to the level of mere tales.
Thus far, I am unable, even after the most careful revision, to find
any flaw in my argument; and I incline to think none has been found by
my critics--at least, if they have, they have kept the discovery to
themselves.
In another part of my treatment of the case I have been less
fortunate. I was careful to say that, for anything I could "absolutely
prove to the contrary," there might be in the universe demonic beings
who could enter into and possess men, and even be transferred from
them to pigs; and that I, for my part, could not venture to declare _à
priori_ that the existence of such entities was "impossible." I was,
however, no less careful to remark that I thought the evidence
hitherto adduced in favour of the existence of such beings
"ridiculously insufficient" to warrant the belief in them.
To my surprise, this statement of what, after the closest reflection,
I still conceive to be the right conclusion, has been hailed as a
satisfactory admission by opponents, and lamented as a perilous
concession by sympathisers. Indeed, the tone of the comments of some
candid friends has been such that I began to suspect that I must be
entering upon a process of retrogressive metamorphosis which might
eventually give me a place among the respectabilities. The prospect,
perhaps, ought to have pleased me; but I confess I felt something of
the uneasiness of the tailor who said that, whenever a customer's
circumference was either much less, or much more, than at the last
measurement, he at once sent in his bill; and I was not consoled until
I recollected that, thirteen years ago, in discussing Hume's essay on
"Miracles," I had quoted, with entire assent, the following passage
from his writings: "Whatever is intelligible and can be distinctly
conceived implies no contradiction, and can never be proved false by
any demonstrative argument or abstract reasoning _à priori_."[47]
Now, it is certain that the existence of demons can be distinctly
conceived. In fact, from the earliest times of which we have any record
to the present day, the great majority of mankind have had extremely
distinct conceptions of them, and their practical life has been more or
less shaped by those conceptions. Further, the notion of the existence
of such beings "implies no contradiction." No doubt, in our experience,
intelligence and volition are always found in connection with a certain
material organisation, and never disconnected with it; while, by the
hypothesis, demons have no such material substratum. But then, as
everybody knows, the exact relation between mental and physical
phenomena, even in ourselves, is the subject of endless dispute. We may
all have our opinions as to whether mental phenomena have a substratum
distinct from that which is assumed to underlie material phenomena, or
not; though if any one thinks he has demonstrative evidence of either
the existence or the non-existence of a "soul," all I can say is, his
notion of demonstration differs from mine. But, if it be impossible to
demonstrate the non-existence of a "substance" of mental phenomena--that
is, of a soul--independent of material "substance"; if the idea of such
a "soul" is "intelligible and can be distinctly conceived," then it
follows that it is not justifiable to talk of demons as
"impossibilities." The idea of their existence implies no more
"contradiction" than does the idea of the existence of pathogenic
microbes in the air. Indeed, the microbes constitute a tolerably exact
physical analogue of the "powers of the air" of ancient belief.
Strictly speaking, I am unaware of any thing that has a right to the
title of an "impossibility" except a contradiction in terms. There are
impossibilities logical, but none natural. A "round square," a
"present past," "two parallel lines that intersect," are
impossibilities, because the ideas denoted by the predicates, _round,
present, intersect_, are contradictory of the ideas denoted by the
subjects, _square, past, parallel_. But walking on water, or turning
water into wine, or procreation without male intervention, or raising
the dead, are plainly not "impossibilities" in this sense.
In the affirmation, that a man walked upon water, the idea of the
subject is not contradictory of that in the predicate. Naturalists are
familiar with insects which walk on water, and imagination has no more
difficulty in putting a man in place of the insect than it has in
giving a man some of the attributes of a bird and making an angel of
him; or in ascribing to him the ascensive tendencies of a balloon, as
the "levitationists" do. Undoubtedly, there are very strong physical
and biological arguments for thinking it extremely improbable that a
man could be supported on the surface of the water as the insect is;
or that his organisation could be compatible with the possession and
use of wings; or that he could rise through the air without mechanical
aid. Indeed, if we have any reason to believe that our present
knowledge of the nature of things exhausts the possibilities of
nature, we might properly say that the attributes of men are
contradictory of walking on water, or floating in the air, and
consequently that these acts are truly "impossible" for him. But it is
sufficiently obvious, not only that we are at the beginning of our
knowledge of nature, instead of having arrived at the end of it, but
that the limitations of our faculties are such that we never can be in
a position to set bounds to the possibilities of nature. We have
knowledge of what is happening and of what has happened; of what will
happen we have and can have no more than expectation, grounded on our
more or less correct reading of past experience and prompted by the
faith, begotten of that experience, that the order of nature in the
future will resemble its order in the past.
The same considerations apply to the other examples of supposed
miraculous events. The change of water into wine undoubtedly implies a
contradiction, and is assuredly "impossible," if we are permitted to
assume that the "elementary bodies" of the chemists are, now and for
ever, immutable. Not only, however, is a negative proposition of this
kind incapable of proof, but modern chemistry is inclining towards the
contrary doctrine. And if carbon can be got out of hydrogen or oxygen,
the conversion of water into wine comes within range of scientific
possibility--it becomes a mere question of molecular arrangement.
As for virgin procreation, it is not only clearly imaginable, but
modern biology recognises it as an everyday occurrence among some
groups of animals. So with restoration to life after death. Certain
animals, long as dry as mummies, and, to all appearance, as dead, when
placed in proper conditions resume their vitality. It may be said that
these creatures are not dead, but merely in a condition of suspended
vitality. That, however, is only begging the question by making the
incapacity for restoration to life part of the definition of death. In
the absence of obvious lesions of some of the more important organs,
it is no easy matter, even for experts, to say that an apparently dead
man is incapable of restoration to life; and, in the recorded
instances of such restoration, the want of any conclusive evidence
that the man was dead is even more remarkable than the insufficiency
of the testimony as to his coming to life again.
It may be urged, however, that there is, at any rate, one miracle
certified by all three of the Synoptic Gospels which really does
"imply a contradiction," and is, therefore, "impossible" in the
strictest sense of the word. This is the well-known story of the
feeding of several thousand men, to the complete satisfaction of their
hunger, by the distribution of a few loaves and fishes among them; the
wondrousness of this already somewhat surprising performance being
intensified by the assertion that the quantity of the fragments of the
meal, left over, amounted to much more than the original store.
Undoubtedly, if the operation is stated in its most general form; if
it is to be supposed that a certain quantity, or magnitude, was
divided into many more parts than the whole contained; and that, after
the subtraction of several thousands of such parts, the magnitude of
the remainder amounted to more than the original magnitude, there does
seem to be an _à priori_ difficulty about accepting the proposition,
seeing that it appears to be contradictory of the senses which we
attach to the words "whole" and "parts" respectively. But this
difficulty is removed if we reflect that we are not, in this case,
dealing with magnitude in the abstract, or with "whole" and "parts" in
their mathematical sense, but with concrete things, many of which are
known to possess the power of growing, or increasing in magnitude.
They thus furnish us with a conception of growth which we may, in
imagination, apply to loaves and fishes; just as we may, in
imagination, apply the idea of wings to the idea of a man. It must be
admitted that a number of sheep might be fed on a pasture, and yet
there might be more grass on the pasture, when the sheep left it, than
there was at first. We may generalise this and other such facts into a
perfectly definite conception of the increase of food in excess of
consumption; which thus becomes a possibility, the limitations of
which are to be discovered only by experience. Therefore, if it is
asserted that cooked food has been made to grow in excess of rapid
consumption, that statement cannot logically be rejected as an _à
priori_ impossibility, however improbable experience of the
capabilities of cooked food may justify us in holding it to be.
On the strength of this undeniable improbability, however, we not only
have a right to demand, but are morally bound to require, strong
evidence in its favour before we even take it into serious
consideration. But what is the evidence in this case? It is merely
that of those three books,[48] which also concur in testifying to the
truth of the monstrous legend of the herd of swine. In these three
books, there are five accounts of a "miraculous feeding," which fall
into two groups. Three of the stories, obviously derived from some
common source, state that five loaves and two fishes sufficed to feed
five thousand persons, and that twelve baskets of fragments remained
over. In the two others, also obviously derived from a common source,
distinct from the preceding, seven loaves and a few small fishes are
distributed to four thousand persons, and seven baskets of fragments
are left.
If we were dealing with secular records, I suppose no candid and
competent student of history would entertain much doubt that the
originals of the three stories and of the two are themselves merely
divergent versions of some primitive story which existed before the
three Synoptic gospels were compiled out of the body of traditions
current about Jesus. This view of the case, however, is incompatible
with a belief in the historical accuracy of the first and second
gospels.[49] For these agree in making Jesus himself speak of both the
"four thousand" and the "five thousand" miracle. "When I brake the
five loaves among the five thousand, how many baskets full of broken
pieces took ye up? They say unto him, twelve. And when the seven among
the four thousand, how many baskets full of broken pieces took ye up?
And they say unto him, seven."
Thus we are face to face with a dilemma the way of escape from which
is not obvious. Either the "four thousand" and the "five thousand"
stories are both historically true, and describe two separate events;
or the first and second gospels testify to the very words of a
conversation between Jesus and his disciples which cannot have been
uttered.
My choice between these alternatives is determined by no _à priori_
speculations about the possibility or impossibility of such events as
the feeding of the four or of the five thousand. But I ask myself the
question, What evidence ought to be produced before I could feel
justified in saying that I believed such an event to have occurred?
That question is very easily answered. Proof must be given (1) of the
weight of the loaves and fishes at starting; (2) of the distribution
to 4-5,000 persons, without any additional supply, of this quantity
and quality of food; (3) of the satisfaction of these people's
appetites; (4) of the weight and quality of the fragments gathered up
into the baskets. Whatever my present notions of probability and
improbability may be, satisfactory testimony under these four heads
would lead me to believe that they were erroneous; and I should accept
the so-called miracle as a new and unexpected example of the
possibilities of nature.
But when, instead of such evidence, nothing is produced but two sets
of discrepant stories, originating nobody knows how or when, among
persons who could believe as firmly in devils which enter pigs, I
confess that my feeling is one of astonishment that any one should
expect a reasonable man to take such testimony seriously.
I am anxious to bring about a clear understanding of the difference
between "impossibilities" and "improbabilities," because mistakes on
this point lay us open to the attacks of ecclesiastical apologists of
the type of the late Cardinal Newman; acute sophists, who think it
fitting to employ their intellects, as burglars employ dark lanterns
for the discovery of other people's weak places, while they carefully
keep the light away from their own position.
When it is rightly stated, the Agnostic view of "miracles" is, in my
judgment, unassailable. We are _not_ justifiable in the _à priori_
assertion that the order of nature, as experience has revealed it to
us, cannot change. In arguing about the miraculous, the assumption is
illegitimate, because it involves the whole point in dispute.
Furthermore, it is an assumption which takes us beyond the range of
our faculties. Obviously, no amount of past experience can warrant us
in anything more than a correspondingly strong expectation for the
present and future. We find, practically, that expectations, based
upon careful observations of events, are, as a rule, trustworthy. We
should be foolish indeed not to follow the only guide we have through
life. But, for all that, our highest and surest generalisations remain
on the level of justifiable expectations; that is, very high
probabilities. For my part, I am unable to conceive of an intelligence
shaped on the model of that of man, however superior it might be,
which could be any better off than our own in this respect; that is,
which could possess logically justifiable grounds for certainty about
the constancy of the order of things, and therefore be in a position
to declare that such and such events are impossible. Some of the old
mythologies recognised this clearly enough. Beyond and above Zeus and
Odin, there lay the unknown and inscrutable Fate which, one day or
other, would crumple up them and the world they ruled to give place to
a new order of things.
I sincerely hope that I shall not be accused of Pyrrhonism, or of any
desire to weaken the foundations of rational certainty. I have merely
desired to point out that rational certainty is one thing, and talk
about "impossibilities," or "violation of natural laws," another.
Rational certainty rests upon two grounds--the one that the evidence
in favour of a given statement is as good as it can be; the other that
such evidence is plainly insufficient. In the former case, the
statement is to be taken as true, in the latter as untrue; until
something arises to modify the verdict, which, however properly
reached, may always be more or less wrong, the best information being
never complete, and the best reasoning being liable to fallacy.
To quarrel with the uncertainty that besets us in intellectual
affairs, would be about as reasonable as to object to live one's life,
with due thought for the morrow, because no man can be sure he will be
alive an hour hence. Such are the conditions imposed upon us by
nature, and we have to make the best of them. And I think that the
greatest mistake those of us who are interested in the progress of
free thought can make is to overlook these limitations, and to deck
ourselves with the dogmatic feathers which are the traditional
adornment of our opponents. Let us be content with rational certainty,
leaving irrational certainties to those who like to muddle their minds
with them. I cannot see my way to say that demons are impossibilities;
but I am not more certain about anything, than I am that the evidence
tendered in favour of the demonology, of which the Gadarene story is a
typical example, is utterly valueless. I cannot see my way to say that
it is "impossible" that the hunger of thousands of men should be
satisfied out of the food supplied by half-a-dozen loaves and a fish
or two; but it seems to me monstrous that I should be asked to believe
it on the faith of the five stories which testify to such an
occurrence. It is true that the position that miracles are
"impossible" cannot be sustained. But I know of nothing which calls
upon me to qualify the grave verdict of Hume: "There is not to be
found, in all history, any miracle attested by a sufficient number of
men, of such unquestioned goodness, education, and learning as to
secure us against all delusion in themselves; of such undoubted
integrity as to place them beyond all suspicion of any design to
deceive others; of such credit and reputation in the eyes of mankind
as to have a great deal to lose in case of their being detected in any
falsehood; and at the same time attesting facts performed in such a
public manner, and in so celebrated a part of the world, as to render
the detection unavoidable: _all which circumstances are requisite to
give us a full assurance in the testimony of men_."[50]
The preceding paper called forth the following criticism
signed "Agnosco," to which I append my reply:--
While agreeing generally with Professor Huxley's remarks
respecting miracles, in "The Agnostic Annual for 1892," it
has seemed to me that one of his arguments at least requires
qualification. The Professor, in maintaining that so-called
miraculous events are possible, although the evidence
adduced is not sufficient to render them probable, refers to
the possibility of changing water into wine by molecular
recomposition. He tells us that, "if carbon can be got out
of hydrogen or oxygen, the conversion of water into wine
comes within range of scientific possibility." But in
maintaining that miracles (so-called) have a _prospective_
possibility, Professor Huxley loses sight--at least, so it
appears to me--of the question of their _retrospective_
possibility. For, if it requires a certain degree of
knowledge and experience, yet far from having been attained,
to perform those acts which have been called miraculous, it
is not only improbable, but impossible likewise, that they
should have been done by men whose knowledge and experience
were considerably less than our own. It has seemed to me, in
fact, that this question of the retrospective possibility of
miracles is more important to us Rationalists, and, for the
matter of that, to Christians also, than the question of
their prospective possibility, with which Professor Huxley's
article mainly deals. Perhaps the Professor himself could
help those of us who think so, by giving us his opinion.
I am not sure that I fully appreciate the point raised by
"Agnosco," nor the distinction between the prospective and
the retrospective "possibility" of such a miracle as the
conversion of water into wine. If we may contemplate such an
event as "possible" in London in the year 1900, it must, in
the same sense, have been "possible" in the year 30 (or
thereabouts) at Cana in Galilee. If I should live so long, I
shall take great interest in the announcement of the
performance of this operation, say, nine years hence; and,
if there is no objection raised by chemical experts, I shall
accept the fact that the feat has been performed, without
hesitation. But I shall have no more ground for believing
the Cana story than I had before; simply because the
evidence in its favour will remain, for me, exactly where it
is. Possible or impossible, that evidence is worth nothing.
To leave the safe ground of "no evidence" for speculations
about impossibilities, consequent upon the want of
scientific knowledge of the supposed workers of miracles,
appears to me to be a mistake; especially in view of the
orthodox contention that they possessed supernatural power
and supernatural knowledge. T.H. HUXLEY.