Faith and credulity are the same thing with different names. When a man
has plenty of faith he is ready to believe anything. However fantastic
it may be, however childish, however infantile, he accepts it with
gaping wonder. His imagination is not necessarily strong, but it is
easily excited. Macaulay held that savages have stronger imaginations
than civilised men, and that as the reason developes the imagination
decays. But, in our opinion, he was mistaken. The imagination does not
wither under the growth of reason; on the contrary, it flourishes
more strongly. It is, however, disciplined by reason, and guided by
knowledge; and it only appears to be weaker because the relation between
it and other faculties has changed. The imagination of the savage
seems powerful because his other faculties are weak. In the absence of
knowledge it cuts the most astonishing capers, just as a bird would if
it were suddenly deprived of sight. Now the savage is a mental child,
and the ignorant and thoughtless are mental savages. They credit the
absurdest stories, and indulge in the most ridiculous speculations. When
religion ministers to their weakness, as it always does, they gravely
discuss the most astonishing puerilities. Indeed, the history of
religious thought--that is, of the infantile vagaries of the human
mind--is full of puerilites. There is hardly an absurdity which learned
divines have not debated as seriously as scientists discuss the nebular
hypothesis or the evolution theory. They have argued how many angels
could dance on the point of a needle; whether Adam had a navel; whether
ghosts and demons could cohabit with women; whether animals could
sin; and what was to be done with a rat that devoured a holy wafer. We
believe the decision of the last weighty problem, after long debate, was
that the rat, having the body of Christ in its body, was sanctified, and
that it had to be eaten by the priest, by which means the second person
of the Trinity was saved from desecration.
But of all the pious puerilities on record, probably the worst are
ascribed to the rabbis. The faith of those gentlemen was unbounded,
and they were so fond of trivialities, that where they found none they
manufactured them. The rabbis belonged to the most credulous race of
antiquity. "Tell that to the Jews," as we see from Juvenal, was as
common as our saying, "Tell that to the marines." The chosen people were
infinitely superstitious. They had no head for science, nor have they
to this day; but they were past-masters in every magical art, and
connoisseurs in amulets and charms. Their rabbis were the hierophants
of their fanatical folly. They devoted amazing industry, and sometimes
remarkable ingenuity, to its development; frequently glossing the very
scriptures of their religion with dexterious imbecilities that raise
a sinister admiration in the midst of our laughter. This propensity is
most noticeable in connection with Bible stories. When the chroniclers
and prophets record a good solemn wonder, which reads as though it ought
to be true if it is not, they allege or suggest little additions that
give it an air of ostentatious silliness. Hundreds of such instances
have come under my eyes in foraging for extra-Biblical matter for my
_Bible Heroes_, but I have only room for one or two specimens.
King Nimrod was jealous of young Abraham, as Herod was jealous of young
Jesus. He tried various methods to get rid of the boy, but all in
vain. At last he resolved to burn Abraham alive. This would have made a
striking scene, but the pious puerility of the sequel spoils it all. The
king issued a decree, ordering every man in his kingdom to bring wood
to heat the kiln. What a laughable picture! Behold every adult subject
wending his way to the crematorium with a bundle of sticks on his
back--"For Abraham." The The Mussulman tradition (Mohammedans and Jews
are much alike, and both their religions are Semitic) informs us that
Nimrod himself died in the most extraordinary manner. A paltry little
gnat, with a game leg and one eye, flew up his nostril, and lodged in
his brain, where it tormented him for five hundred years. During the
whole of that period, in which the gnat displayed a longevity that casts
Methuselah's into the shade, the agonising king could only obtain repose
by being struck on the head; and relays of men were kept at the palace
to pound his royal skull with a blacksmith's hammer. The absurdity of
the story is transcendent. One is charitably tempted to believe, for the
credit of human nature, that it was the work of a subtle, solemn wag,
who thought it a safe way of satirising the proverbial thick-headedness
of kings.
What reader of the Bible does not remember the pathetic picture of Esau
falling on Jacob's neck and weeping, in a paroxysm of brotherly love and
forgiveness? But the rabbis daub it over with their pious puerilities.
They solemnly inform us that Esau was a trickster, as though Jacob's
qualities were catching? and that he tried to bite his brother's neck,
but God turned it into marble, and he only broke his teeth. Esau wept
for the pain in his grinders. But why did Jacob weep? This looks like a
poser, yet later rabbis surmounted the difficulty. Jacob's neck was not
turned into marble, but toughened. It was hard enough to-hurt Esau's
teeth, and still tender enough to make Jacob suffer, so they cried in
concert, though for different reasons.
Satyrs are mentioned in the Bible, although they never existed outside
the superstitious imagination. The rabbis undertook to explain the
peculiar structure of these fabulous creatures, as well as of fauns, who
somewhat resemble them. The theory was started, therefore, that God was
overtaken by the Sabbath, while he was creating them, and was obliged to
postpone finishing them till the next day. Hence they are misshapen! The
rabbis also say that God cut off Adam's tail to make Eve of. The Bible
origin of woman is low, but this is lower still. However, if Adam
exchanged his tail for a wife he made a very good bargain, despite the
apple and the Devil.
Captain Noah, says the Talmud, could not take the rhinoceros into the
ark because it was too big. Rabbi Jannai solemnly asserts that he saw
a young rhinoceros, only a day old, as big as Mount Tabor. Its neck was
three miles long, its head half a mile, and the river Jordan was choked
by its excrement. Let us pause at this stretcher, which "stands well for
high."
Perhaps the Christian will join us in laughing at such pious
puerilities. But he should remember that the Bible is loaded with
absurdities that are little inferior. Ravens bring a prophet sandwiches,
another prophet besieges a tile, an axe swims on the water, a man slays
a thousand men in battle with the jawbone of a donkey, an ass speaks,
and a whale swallows and vomits a man. Had these pious puerilities
occurred in any other book, they would have been laughed to scorn; but
being in the Bible, they must be credited on pain of eternal damnation.
"THUS SAITH THE LORD."
Dogmatism, said Douglas Jerrold, is only puppyism grown to maturity.
This sarcastic wit never said a truer thing. We call a young fellow a
puppy when he is conceited and impudent, and we call a man dogmatic when
he betrays the same qualities in controversy. Yet every Church prides
itself on being dogmatic. Rome is dogmatic and Canterbury is dogmatic.
Without dogma there is no theology. And what is dogma? An opinion, or
a set of opinions, promulgated by somebody for the blind acceptance of
somebody else. Arrogance, therefore, is of its very essence. What right
has one man to say to another, "This is the truth; I have taken the
trouble to decide that point, and all you have to do is to accept what I
present you "? And if one man has no such right to impose his belief on
another, how can twenty thousand men have such a right to impose their
belief on twenty millions? This, however, is precisely what they do
without the least shame or compunction. Before we are able to judge for
ourselves, the priests thrust certain dogmas upon us, and compel us to
embrace them. Authority takes the place of judgment, dogmatism supplants
thought. The young mind is rendered slavish, and as it grows up it goes
through life cringeing to the instruments of its own abasement.
When a superior mind rises from this subjection and demands reasons
for believing, he is knocked down with the Bible. A text is quoted to
silence him. But who wrote the text? Moses, Isaiah, Ezekiel, Matthew,
John, Peter, or Paul. Well, and who made them lords over us? Have we not
as much right to our own thoughts as they had to theirs? When they state
an opinion in the pompous language of revelation, are they less fallible
than the rest of us? Obviously not. Yet prophets and evangelists have a
trick of writing, which still clings to their modern representatives, as
though they could not be mistaken. "I am Sir Oracle," they seem to say,
"and when I ope my lips let no dog bark." No doubt this self-conceit is
very natural, but self-conceited people are not usually taken at their
own estimate. Nowadays we laugh at them and try to take the conceit out
of them. But what is absurd to-day is treated as venerable because it
happened thousands of years ago, and prophets are regarded as inspired
who, if they existed now, would be treated with ridicule and contempt.
The style of downright God-Almighty-men is very simple. They need not
argue, they have only to assert, and they preface every statement with
"Thus saith the Lord." Now suppose such a declaration were made today.
A man with no greater reputation for sense than his neighbors stands
up and shouts "Thus saith the Lord." Should we not look at him with
curiosity and amusement? Would he not strike us as a silly fanatic?
Might we not even reflect that he was graduating for a strait-waistcoat?
The fellow is simply an ignorant dogmatist. What he believes you must
believe. Reasons for his belief he has none, and he cannot conceive that
you want any either. Yet it would never do to exclaim, "I am your lord
and master," so the grown-up puppy shouts "Thus saith the Lord," in
order to assure you that in rejecting him you reject God.
Suppose we heckle this loud-mouthed preacher for a minute. "You tell us,
Thus saith the Lord. Did he say so to you, and where and when? And
are you quite sure you did not dream the whole business?" Probably
he answers, "No, the Lord did not say it to me, but he said it to the
blessed prophets and apostles, and I am only repeating their words."
"Very well then," a sensible man would reply, "you are in the
second-hand business, and I want new goods. You had better send on the
original traders--Moses, Isaiah, Paul and Co.--and I'll see what I can
do with them." If, however, the preacher says, "Yes, the Lord did say
it to me," a sensible man replies, "Well, now, I should have thought the
Lord would have told somebody with more reputation and influence. Still,
what you assert may be true. I don't deny it, but at the same time your
word is no proof. On the whole, I think I'll go my way and let you go
yours. The Lord has told you something, and you believe it; when he
tells me, I'll believe it too. I suppose the Lord told you because he
wanted you to know, and when he wants me to know I suppose he'll give
me a call. What you got from him is first-hand, what I get from you is
second-hand; and, with all due respect, I fancy your authority is hardly
equal to the Almighty's." "Thus saith the Lord" is no argument. It is
simply
The dark lanthorn of the spirit
Which none can see by but those who bear it.
Nay more, it dispenses with reason, and makes every man's faith depend
on somebody else's authority. Discussion becomes impertinence, criticism
is high treason. Hence it is but a step from "Thus saith the Lord."
Very impolite language, truly, yet it is the logical sequence of
dogmatism, Fortunately the time is nearly past for such impudent
nonsense. This is an age of debate. And although there are many windy
platitudes abroad, and much indulgence in empty mouthing, the very fact
of debate being considered necessary to the settlement of all questions
makes the public mind less hasty and more cautious. "Thus saith the
Lord" men can only succeed at present among the intellectual riff-raff
of the populace.
Looking over the past, we see what an immense part dogmatism has played
in history. "Thus saith the Lord" cried the Jewish prophets, and
they not only terrified their contemporaries, but overawed a hundred
generations. "Thus saith the Lord" cried the Christian apostles,
and they converted thousands of open-mouthed slaves to a "maleficent
superstition." "Thus saith the Lord" cried Mohammed, and the scimitars
of Islam flashed from India to Spain. "Thus saith the Lord" cried Joe
Smith, and Mormonism springs up in the practical West, with its buried
gold tablets of revelation and its retrogressive polygamy. "Thus saith
Reason" has been a still small voice, sometimes nearly inaudible, though
never quite drowned; but now it is swelling into a mighty volume of
sound, overwhelming the din of sects and the anathemas of priests.