By REV. R. H. HOWARD, A. M.
Do not the remarks of Timayenis, the author of our excellent history
of Greece, relative to the effect upon the popular faith of Greece, of
the progress of philosophic thought, or of intellectual inquiry, (see
page 396), suggest a striking and forcible, not to say new, argument in
favor of the necessity of a revealed religion—of a divinely inspired
and attested, and hence absolutely _authentic_, revelation of God’s
will? His language is as follows: “But perhaps the principal reason
(for the persecution of Socrates) was, that his dialectic and searching
system, though limited by him to human questions only, was finally
_applied by his hearers_ to the _higher_ questions concerning the
_creation of the universe_, and _tended to undermine the foundations of
the prevailing religion_. The misfortune of ancient society was, that
the popular religion was _never to be the subject of any philosophical
debate_; either philosophy must _be left to destroy the religion, or
society_, striving for the conservation of the latter, _must limit,
as much as possible, free philosophical research_. Hence we see the
most intelligent and most liberal of the Hellenic tribes continually
persecuting, for religious reasons, the most prominent philosophers.”
Our author might have better said, it seems to me, that it was the
misfortune of the popular religion in ancient Hellas to be of such
a sort as not manifestly to be able successfully to abide searching
scrutiny—the white light of scientific, or philosophic, investigation.
Had theirs been a religion founded on _fact_, instead of the grossest
absurdities, and embracing in their judgment only the highest,
sublimest truth, instead of manifold and manifest errors, there would,
clearly, have never been any occasion, on their part, to dread its
becoming the theme of philosophical debate. Nay, the more severely it
was subjected to this ordeal of intellectual inquiry the more clearly
would its truth, evidently, be made to appear. Hence, to stand, as
some people appear to, even in our day, in such mortal dread of
rationalistic, or destructive, criticism, really evinces anything but a
robust,—in fact, a very slender and tottering faith, or confidence in
the divine, and hence immovable, foundations of their religion.
The line of argument suggested by the foregoing quotation may be
stated somewhat as follows: Early in the historical development of
a race certain religious beliefs at once spring up. These are born
of instinct. Strangely, whatever their manifest absurdity, this
feature seems at first to constitute no serious bar to their popular
acceptance. Meanwhile, palpably erroneous and absurd as many of
these beliefs may really be, they yet, in process of time, not only
become deeply rooted, but come to serve certain important practical
purposes. Meager and poor as they may be comparatively, they are yet,
in point of fact, very much better than none. Without them, indeed, or
deprived of the restraining, salutary influences of the same, society
itself, perhaps, would be found to be quite impossible. Hence, as also
doubtless from feelings of reverence therefor, a national faith, even
if it is not all that could be desired, is always jealously guarded.
The man who has the temerity to introduce any religious novelties,
whatever the extent to which the latter may be really an improvement on
the prevailing doctrines, will be likely to be looked upon, not only
with suspicion, but as a public enemy, and hence, as one deserving
of many stripes. “Strange gods” anciently received a no more hearty
welcome or kindly hospitality than do “isms” and “heresies” generally
at the present day.
Meantime, however bitter or determined may be the opposition
thus developed against it, this antagonism is by no means going
effectually to bar out the light of truth from men’s minds. Nay, this
very persistent and determined effort to keep it out can naturally
tend only to pique curiosity, awaken suspicion and scepticism,
develop opposition, and stimulate inquiry. The light must come.
Meanwhile, clearly, with this gradually progressive development of
the intellectual life of a people, and the prevalence, hence, of
a thoughtful, inquiring habit, on their part, of what, in modern
times, is known as the “scientific spirit,” religion plainly, as
well as everything else, must come in for its share of criticism and
investigation. And woe to it if, in this its day of judgment, it be
found wanting—if, in connection with this truly crucial ordeal, its
foundations be found to consist only of “hay, wood, and stubble.” Nay,
nor does it scarcely matter what interests besides may be involved, and
must hence be sacrificed with it; it must all the same at once “step
down and out.” The idea is that the development of brains is, in the
long run, absolutely fatal to a religion founded in error—to all the
fabrics of ignorance and superstition. True, these brains can never
produce a religion specially worthy of being substituted for the one
they have destroyed. But they can, and, in the very nature of the case,
inevitably will, sooner or later, demolish and sweep utterly away any
faith found to be fundamentally irrational and absurd.
Hence, now, in order to the stability of society, and a permanent and
healthy national life,—in fact in order to all kinds of progress and
of civilization, an absolutely perfect religion is necessary—one, to
say the least, that can effectually, triumphantly, abide even the
keenest search of man’s scientific ken. But, plainly, man’s unassisted
genius—no merely finite understanding—is equal to the task of producing
any such religion: this “one thing” thus so supremely “needful,” yet
remains; therefore, if we are to have it at all, this faith must come
from on high.
Divine interposition thus, by way of a revealed religion, is evidently
absolutely indispensable to prevent nations, by virtue of their very
intellectual activities, from undermining and subverting their own
foundations, and ultimately destroying the very institutions that might
otherwise be their pride and prove as enduring as time.