Talmage is the Spurgeon of America. He has all the English preacher's
vogue as well as his orthodoxy. But he resembles Spurgeon with a
difference. He is distinctly American. No one equals the Yankee at "tall
talk," and what Yankee equals Talmage in this species of composition?
The oracle of the Brooklyn Tabernacle licks creation in that line. Here
is a specimen of his spread-eagle eloquence, taken from the sermon we
are about to criticise:--"The black and deep-toned bell of doom hangs
over their heads, and I take the hammer of that bell, and I strike it
three times with all my might, and it sounds Woe! Woe! Woe!" Perhaps it
does, but Talmage is wrong in his spelling. What the bell of doom, so
impudently struck by this mannikin, really sounds is doubtless "Woh!
Woh! Woh!" It wants the presumptuous spouter to leave off playing the
part of God Almighty.
Over in America, as well as here in England, the Bible is meeting
with misfortune. Christian ministers are showing up its blunders and
inconsistencies. Its foes are now of its own household. Talmage is
not frightened, however; he keeps a stiff upper-lip; and it must be
admitted, he has a good deal of upper-lip to keep stiff. Since he
visited the Holy Land his faith is strong enough to swallow whales. Now
he knows that what the Bible says is true.. He has seen the place where
it happened.
But faith is a tender plant. Talmage says it is easily destroyed. "I can
give you a recipe for its obliteration," he cries; and it is this--"Read
infidel books; have long and frequent conversations with sceptics;
attend the lectures of those antagonistic to religion." Yes, faith _is_
a tender plant. The believer is a hot-house production. He dies in the
open-air. The Bible can be read by Freethinkers, and it confirms them
in their scepticism; but if a Christian reads infidel books he is lost.
Hearing the other side is fatal to his faith. It is Talmage who states
so, and, as old Omar Khayyam says, he knows, he knows.
Somewhat paradoxically--but who expects logic from the pulpit?--the
great Talmage declares, "I do not believe there is an infidel now alive
who has read the Bible through." He offers a hundred dollars reward to
any infidel "who has read the Bible through twice"--which discounts
his certainty that no infidel had read it through _once_. A good many
infidels might apply for that hundred dollars, but Talmage will never
hand it over. An infidel's word is not good enough--not for Talmage. "I
must have the testimony," he exclaims, "of someone who has seen him read
it all through twice." A very safe condition! for who has ever _seen_
any man read the Bible through? And if the witness happened to be an
infidel--as is likely--Talmage would want the testimony of someone else
who had seen him see the other man reading it; Talmage is not very wise,
but he is not exactly a fool, and he and _his_ money are _not_ soon
parted.
There is an "infidel" in America who _has_ read the Bible through. His
name is Robert G. Ingersoll. Talmage should discuss the Bible with him.
But he won't. He knows what his fate would be in such an encounter. "And
they gathered up of the fragments that remained twelve baskets full."
There is also an "infidel" in England who has read the Bible through.
_More_ than one, of course, but we know this one so intimately. He was
shut up in Holloway Gaol for knowing too much about the Bible. During
the first eight weeks of his sojourn there the "blessed book" was his
only companion. It was the Bible, the whole Bible, and nothing but the
Bible. That prisoner read it through from the first mistake in Genesis
to the last curse in Revelation; read it through as Talmage _never_ did,
for there were no distractions, no letters to answer, no morning and
evening newspapers, no visitors dropping in. It was a continuous,
undisturbed reading, and the man who did it would be happy to let the
public decide whether he does not know the Bible as well as Talmage.
Talmage has a very poor opinion of infidels. He thinks that "bad
habits" have much to do with scepticism. His narrow little mind cannot
understand how anyone can differ from him without being wicked. Still,
for decency sake, he makes exceptions. "Mind you," he cries, "I do not
say that all infidels are immoral." How kind! How generous! No doubt the
infidels will shed tears of gratitude. They are not _all_ immoral. Some
of them may be nearly as good as Talmage. Certainly some of them are
not so avaricious. Infidels speakers don't insist on having fifty
pounds paid in the ante-room before they mount the platform to deliver a
lecture.
It appears that Talmage once knew a "pronounced infidel." He was the
father of one of the Presidents of the United States. Talmage accepted
an invitation to spend a night in his house. "Just before retiring at
night, he said, in a jocose way: 'I suppose you are accustomed to read
the Bible before going to bed, and here is my Bible from which to read.
He then told me what portions he would like to have me read, and he only
asked for those portions on which he could easily be facetious."
Talmage gives himself away in this observation. He contends that God
wrote the Bible. Why, then, did God write it so that you could _easily_
be facetious about it? It is not so _easy_ to be facetious about Homer,
or Plato, or Aristotle, or Dante, or Spinoza, or Shakespeare, or Bacon.
There is no humor in the Bible, no wit, and only a little sarcasm. We
do not laugh _with_ it, but _at_ it, which is the most fatal form of
laughter. It is awfully solemn, but dreadfully absurd. There are things
in it to tickle an elephant. Surely it is strange that God should write
a book that lends itself so easily to ridicule.
The Spurgeon of Yankeeland goes on to speak about the "internal
evidence" of the Bible. This he says is "paramount," though he takes
care to skip off as quickly as possible to outside testimony. He cites
a number of persons trained up as Christians in favor of the
"supernatural" character of the Bible. The first is Chief Justice Chase,
of the Supreme Court of the United States--against whom we put a great
jurisprudist like Bentham, and a great judge like Sir James Stephen. The
second is President Adams--against whom we put President Lincoln.
The third is Sir Isaac Newton--against whom we put Charles Darwin. The
fourth is Sir Walter Scott--against whom we put Byron and Shelley. The
fifth is Hugh Miller--against whom we put Sir Charles Lyell. The sixth
is Edmund Burke--against whom we put Thomas Paine, or, if that will not
do, Lord Bolingbroke. The seventh is Mr. Gladstone--against whom we put
John Morley. "Enough! Enough!" says Talmage. We say so too. Our names
quite balance his names collectively. The game of "authorities" can be
played on both sides. But is it worth playing at all? Is a great name
a substitute for argument? Is authority as good as evidence? Should
the jury decide according to the eminence of the pleader's friends, or
according to his facts and the force of his reasoning?
Taking advantage of his congregation's ignorance, or exposing his own,
Talmage declares that "The discovered monuments of Egypt have chiselled
on them the story of the sufferings of the Israelites in Egyptian
bondage, as we find it in the Bible." Now, to put it mildly, this is not
true. We are also told that "the sulphurous graves of Sodom and Gomorrah
have been identified." To put it mildly again, _this_ is not true. We
are told next that "the remains of the Tower of Babel have been found."
This is not true. Assyrian documents are also said to "echo and re-echo
the truth of Bible history," This is not true, according to Professor
Sayce, who knows more about Assyrian history than Talmage knows about
all things whatsoever. The witness of Assyria repeatedly contradicts the
Bible story, not merely in small matters, but in important features. The
fact is, Talmage does not know what he is talking about; or, he _does_
know what he is talking about, in which case he is playing a very dirty
trick on his hearers' credulity.
With respect to the Pentateuch, it does not trouble Talmage whether
it was written by "Moses or Hilkiah or Ezra or Samuel or Jeremiah, or
another group of ancients." He declares that "none of them wrote it,"
for "God wrote the Pentateuch"--that is to say, they "put down only what
God dictated; he signed it afterward." But where is the signature? And
what a paltry way is this of evading the question at issue! It is all
very well to say that the writers of the Pentateuch were "Jehovah's
stenographers or typewriters." What we want to know first of all is, who
they were, and when they lived.
It is useless to follow Talmage any farther. Suffice it to say that he
winds up by warning young Christians against a "Voltaire cyclone" on
the one side, and a "Tom Paine cyclone" on the other side. There is
something worse than either--a Talmage puddle. The young man who sports
in that is only fit for--well, Exeter Hall, or Colney Hatch.