The world is governed by logic. Truth as well as Providence is always on
the side of the strongest battalions. An illogical opinion only requires
rope enough to hang itself.
Middle men may often seem to be earning for themselves a place in
Universal Biography, and middle positions frequently, seem to afford
the final solution of vexed questions; but this double delusion seldom
outlives a generation. The world wearies of the men, for, attractive
as their characters may be, they are for ever telling us, generally at
great length, how it comes about that they stand just where they do, and
we soon tire of explanations and forget apologists. The positions, too,
once hailed with such acclaim, so eagerly recognised as the true
refuges for poor mortals anxious to avoid being run over by fast-driving
logicians, how untenable do they soon appear! how quickly do they grow
antiquated! how completely they are forgotten!
The Via Media, alluring as is its direction, imposing as are its
portals, is, after all, only what Londoners call a blind alley, leading
nowhere.
'Ratiocination,' says one of the most eloquent and yet exact of modern
writers,[*] 'is the great principle of order in thinking: it reduces
a chaos into harmony, it catalogues the accumulations of knowledge; it
maps out for us the relations of its separate departments. It enables
the independent intellects of many acting and re-acting on each other
to bring their collective force to bear upon the same subject-matter. If
language is an inestimable gift to man, the logical faculty prepares it
for our use. Though it does not go so far as to ascertain truth; still,
it teaches us the _direction_ in which truth lies, and _how propositions
lie towards each other_. Nor is it a slight benefit to know what is
needed for the proof of a point, what is wanting in a theory, how a
theory hangs together, _and what will follow if it be admitted_.'
[* Footnote: Dr. Newman in the 'Grammar of Assent.']
This great principle of order in thinking is what we are too apt to
forget. 'Give us,' cry many, 'safety in our opinions, and let who
will be logical. An Englishman's creed is compromise. His _bête noir_
extravagance. We are not saved by syllogism.' Possibly not; but yet
there can be no safety in an illogical position, and one's chances of
snug quarters in eternity cannot surely be bettered by our believing at
one and the same moment of time self-contradictory propositions.
But, talk as we may, for the bulk of mankind it will doubtless always
remain true that a truth does not exclude its contradictory. Darwin and
Moses are both right. Between the Gospel according to Matthew and the
Gospel according to Matthew Arnold there is no difference.
If the too apparent absurdity of this is pressed home, the baffled
illogician, persecuted in one position, flees into another, and may be
heard assuring his tormentor that in a period like the present, which
is so notoriously transitional, a logician is as much out of place as
a bull in a china shop, and that unless he is quiet, and keeps his tail
well wrapped round his legs, the mischief he will do to his neighbours'
china creeds and delicate porcelain opinions is shocking to contemplate.
But this excuse is no longer admissible. The age has remained
transitional so unconscionably long, that we cannot consent to forego
the use of logic any longer. For a decade or two it was all well enough,
but when it comes to fourscore years, one's patience gets exhausted.
Carlyle's celebrated Essay, 'Characteristics,' in which this
transitional period is diagnosed with unrivalled acumen, is half a
century old. Men have been born in it--have grown old in it--have died
in it. It has outlived the old Court of Chancery. It is high time the
spurs of logic were applied to its broken-winded sides.
Notwithstanding the obstinate preference the 'bulk of mankind' always
show for demonstrable errors over undeniable truths, the number of
persons is daily increasing who have begun to put a value upon mental
coherency and to appreciate the charm of a logical position.
It was common talk at one time to express astonishment at the extending
influence of the Church of Rome, and to wonder how people who went about
unaccompanied by keepers could submit their reason to the Papacy, with
her open rupture with science and her evil historical reputation. From
astonishment to contempt is but a step. We first open wide our eyes and
then our mouths.
'Lord So-and-so, his coat bedropt with wax,
All Peter's chains about his waist, his back
Brave with the needlework of Noodledom,
Believes,--who wonders and who cares?'
It used to be thought a sufficient explanation to say either that the
man was an ass or that it was all those Ritualists. But gradually it
became apparent that the pervert was not always an ass, and that the
Ritualists had nothing whatever to do with it. If a man's tastes run
in the direction of Gothic Architecture, free seats, daily services,
frequent communions, lighted candles and Church millinery, they can all
be gratified, not to say glutted, in the Church of his baptism.
It is not the Roman ritual, however splendid, nor her ceremonial,
however spiritually significant, nor her system of doctrine, as well
arranged as Roman law and as subtle as Greek philosophy, that makes
Romanists nowadays.
It is when a person of religious spirit and strong convictions as to the
truth and importance of certain dogmas--few in number it may be; perhaps
only one, the Being of God--first becomes fully alive to the tendency
and direction of the most active opinions of the day; when, his alarm
quickening his insight, he reads as it were between the lines of books,
magazines, and newspapers; when, struck with a sudden trepidation,
he asks, 'Where is this to stop? how can I, to the extent of a poor
ability, help to stem this tide of opinion which daily increases its
volume and floods new territory?'--then it is that the Church of Rome
stretches out her arms and seems to say, 'Quarrel not with your destiny,
which is to become a Catholic. You may see difficulties and you may have
doubts. They abound everywhere. You will never get rid of them. But I,
and I alone, have never coquetted with the spirit of the age. I, and I
alone, have never submitted my creeds to be overhauled by infidels. Join
me, acknowledge my authority, and you need dread no side attack and fear
no charge of inconsistency. Succeed finally I must, but even were I to
fail, yours would be the satisfaction of knowing that you had never held
an opinion, used an argument, or said a word, that could fairly have
served the purpose of your triumphant enemy.'
At such a crisis as this in a man's life, he does not ask himself, How
little can I believe? With how few miracles can I get off?--he demands
sound armour, sharp weapons, and, above all, firm ground to stand on--a
good footing for his faith--and these he is apt to fancy he can get from
Rome alone.
No doubt he has to pay for them, but the charm of the Church of Rome is
this: when you have paid her price you get your goods--a neat assortment
of coherent, interdependent, logical opinions.
It is not much use, under such circumstances, to call the convert a
coward, and facetiously to inquire of him what he really thinks about
St. Januarius. Nobody ever began with Januarius. I have no doubt a good
many Romanists would be glad to be quit of him. He is part of the price
they have to pay in order that their title to the possession of other
miracles may be quieted. If you can convince the convert that he can
disbelieve Januarius of Naples without losing his grip of Paul of
Tarsus, you will be well employed; but if you begin with merry gibes,
and end with contemptuously demanding that he should have done with such
nonsense and fling the rubbish overboard, he will draw in his horns and
perhaps, if he knows his Browning, murmur to himself:--
'To such a process, I discern no end.
Cutting off one excrescence to see two;
There is ever a next in size, now grown as big,
That meets the knife. I cut and cut again;
First cut the Liquefaction, what comes last
But Fichte's clever cut at God Himself?'
To suppose that no person is logically entitled to fear God and to
ridicule Januarius at the same time, is doubtless extravagant, but to do
so requires care. There is an 'order in thinking. We must consider how
propositions lie towards each other--how a theory hangs together, and
what will follow if it be admitted.'
It is eminently desirable that we should consider the logical termini
of our opinions. Travelling up to town last month from the West, a
gentleman got into my carriage at Swindon, who, as we moved off and
began to rush through the country, became unable to restrain his delight
at our speed. His face shone with pride, as if he were pulling us
himself. 'What a charming train!' he exclaimed. 'This is the pace I like
to travel at.' I indicated assent. Shortly afterwards, when our windows
rattled as we rushed through Reading, he let one of them down in a
hurry, and cried out in consternation, 'Why, I want to get out here.'
'Charming train,' I observed. 'Just the pace I like to travel at; but it
_is_ awkward if you want to go anywhere except Paddington.' My companion
made no reply; his face ceased to shine, and as he sat whizzing past his
dinner, I mentally compared his recent exultation with that of those who
in the present day extol much of its spirit, use many of its arguments,
and partake in most of its triumphs, in utter ignorance as to
whitherwards it is all tending as surely as the Great Western rails run
into Paddington. 'Poor victims!' said a distinguished Divine, addressing
the Evangelicals, then rejoicing over their one legal victory, the
'Gorham Case'; 'do you dream that the spirit of the age is working for
you, or are you secretly prepared to go further than you avow?'
Mr. Matthew Arnold's friends, the Nonconformists, are, as a rule,
nowadays, bad logicians. What Dr. Newman has said of the Tractarians is
(with but a verbal alteration) also true of a great many Nonconformists:
'Moreover, there are those among them who have very little grasp of
principle, even from the natural temper of their minds. They see
this thing is beautiful, and that is in the Fathers, and a third is
expedient, and a fourth pious; but of their connection one with another,
their hidden essence and their life, and the bearing of external matters
upon each and upon all, they have no perception or even suspicion. They
do not look at things as part of a whole, and often will sacrifice
the most important and precious portions of their creed, or make
irremediable concessions in word or in deed, from mere simplicity and
want of apprehension.'
We have heard of grown-up Baptists asked to become, and actually
becoming, godfathers and godmothers to Episcopalian babies! What
terrible confusion is here! A point is thought to be of sufficient
importance to justify separation on account of it from the whole
Christian Church, and yet not to be of importance enough to debar the
separatist from taking part in a ceremony whose sole significance is
that it gives the lie direct to the point of separation.
But we all of us--Churchmen and Dissenters alike--select our opinions
far too much in the same fashion as ladies are reported, I dare say
quite falsely, to do their afternoon's shopping--this thing because it
is so pretty, and that thing because it is so cheap. We pick and choose,
take and leave, approbate and reprobate in a breath. A familiar anecdote
is never out of place: An English captain, anxious to conciliate a
savage king, sent him on shore, for his own royal wear, an entire dress
suit. His majesty was graciously pleased to accept the gift, and as it
never occurred to the royal mind that he could, by any possibility, wear
all the things himself, with kingly generosity he distributed what he
did not want amongst his Court. This done, he sent for the donor to
thank him in person. As the captain walked up the beach, his majesty
advanced to meet him, looking every inch a king in the sober dignity of
a dress-coat. The waistcoat imparted an air of pensive melancholy that
mightily became the Prime Minister, whilst the Lord Chamberlain, as he
skipped to and fro in his white gloves, looked a courtier indeed. The
trousers had become the subject of an unfortunate dispute, in the course
of which they had sustained such injuries as to be hardly recognisable.
The captain was convulsed with laughter.
But, in truth, the mental toilet of most of us is as defective and
almost as risible as was that of this savage Court. We take on our
opinions without paying heed to conclusions, and the result is absurd.
Better be without any opinions at all. A naked savage is not necessarily
an undignified object; but a savage in a dress-coat and nothing else is,
and must ever remain, a mockery and a show. There is a great relativity
about a dress-suit. In the language of the logicians, the name of each
article not only denotes that particular, but connotes all the rest.
Hence it came about that that which, when worn in its entirety, is
so dull and decorous, became so provocative of Homeric laughter when
distributed amongst several wearers.
No person with the least tincture of taste can ever weary of Dr. Newman,
and no apology is therefore offered for another quotation from his
pages. In his story, 'Loss and Gain,' he makes one of his characters,
who has just become a Catholic, thus refer to the stock Anglican
Divines, a class of writers who are, at all events, immensely superior
to the Ellicotts and Farrars of these latter days: 'I am embracing that
creed which upholds the divinity of tradition with Laud, consent of
Fathers with Beveridge, a visible Church with Bramhall, dogma with Bull,
the authority of the Pope with Thorndyke, penance with Taylor,
prayers for the dead with Ussher, celibacy, asceticism, ecclesiastical
discipline with Bingham.' What is this to say but that, according to the
Cardinal, our great English divines have divided the Roman dress-suit
amongst themselves?
This particular charge may perhaps be untrue, but with that I am not
concerned. If it is not true of them, it is true of somebody else.
'That is satisfactory so far as Mr. Lydgate is concerned,' says Mrs.
Farebrother in 'Middlemarch,' with an air of precision; 'but as to
Bulstrode, the report may be true of some other son.'
We must all be acquainted with the reckless way in which people pluck
opinions like flowers--a bud here, and a leaf there. The bouquet is
pretty to-day, but you must look for it to-morrow in the oven.
There is a sense in which it is quite true, what our other Cardinal has
said about Ultramontanes, Anglicans, and Orthodox Dissenters all being
in the same boat. They all of them enthrone Opinion, holding it to be,
when encased in certain dogmas, Truth Absolute. Consequently they have
all their martyrologies--the bright roll-call of those who have defied
Caesar even unto death, or at all events gaol. They all, therefore, put
something above the State, and apply tests other than those recognised
in our law courts.
The precise way by which they come at their opinions is only detail.
Be it an infallible Church, an infallible Book, or an inward spiritual
grace, the outcome is the same. The Romanist, of course, has to bear the
first brunt, and is the most obnoxious to the State; but he must be
slow of comprehension and void of imagination who cannot conceive of
circumstances arising in this country when the State should assert it to
be its duty to violate what even Protestants believe to be the moral law
of God. Therefore, in opposing Ultramontanism, as it surely ought to be
opposed, care ought to be taken by those who are not prepared to go all
lengths with Caesar, to select their weapons of attack, not from his
armoury, but from their own.
How ridiculous it is to see some estimable man who subscribes to the
Bible Society, and takes what he calls 'a warm interest' in the heathen,
chuckling over some scoffing article in a newspaper--say about a
Church Congress--and never perceiving, so unaccustomed is he to examine
directions, that he is all the time laughing at his own folly! Aunt
Nesbit, in 'Dred,' considered Gibbon a very pious writer. 'I am sure,'
says she, 'he makes the most religious reflections all along. I liked
him particularly on that account.' This poor lady had some excuse. A
vein of irony like Gibbon's is not struck upon every day; but readers
of newspapers, when they laugh, ought to be able to perceive what it is
they are laughing at.
Logic is the prime necessity of the hour. Decomposition and
transformation is going on all around us, but far too slowly. Some
opinions, bold and erect as they may still stand, are in reality but
empty shells. One shove would be fatal. Why is it not given?
The world is full of doleful creatures, who move about demanding our
sympathy. I have nothing to offer them but doses of logic, and
stern commands to move on or fall back. Catholics in distress about
Infallibility; Protestants devoting themselves to the dismal task of
paring down the dimensions of this miracle, and reducing the credibility
of that one--as if any appreciable relief from the burden of faith could
be so obtained; sentimental sceptics, who, after labouring to demolish
what they call the chimera of superstition, fall to weeping as they
remember they have now no lies to teach their children; democrats
who are frightened at the rough voice of the people, and aristocrats
flirting with democracy. Logic, if it cannot cure, might at least
silence these gentry.