UNIVERSAL HISTORY AND THE CLAIMS OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH.
_Oh the little more, and how much it is,
And the little less, and what worlds away!_--Robert Browning.
And now we come to the last objections left us, of those which modern
thought has arrayed against the Christian Revelation; and these to many
minds are the most conclusive and overwhelming of all--the objections
raised against it by a critical study of history. Hitherto we have been
considering the Church only with reference to our general sense of the
fitness and the rational probability of things. We have now to consider
her with reference to special facts. Her claims and her character, as
she exists at present, may make perhaps appeal overpoweringly to us; but
she cannot be judged only by these. For these are closely bound up with
a long earthly history, which the Church herself has written in one way,
binding herself to stand or fall by the truth of it; and this all the
secular wisdom of the world seems to be re-writing in quite another.
This subject is so vast and intricate that even to approach the details
of it would require volumes, not a single chapter. But room in a chapter
may be found for one thing, of prior importance to any mass of detail;
and that is a simple statement of the principles--unknown to, or
forgotten by external critics--by which all this mass of detail is to be
interpreted.
Let us remember first, then, to take a general view of the matter, that
history as cited in witness against the Christian Revelation, divides
itself into two main branches. The one is a critical examination of
Christianity, taken by itself--the authorship, and the authenticity of
its sacred books, and the origin and growth of its doctrines. The other
is a critical examination of Christianity as compared with other
religions. And the result of both these lines of study is, to those
brought up in the old faith, to the last degree startling, and in
appearance at least altogether disastrous. Let us sum up briefly the
general results of them; and first of these the historical.
We shall begin naturally with the Bible, as giving us the earliest
historical point at which Christianity is assailable. What then has
modern criticism accomplished on the Bible? The Biblical account of the
creation it has shown to be, in its literal sense, an impossible fable.
To passages thought mystical and prophetic it has assigned the
homeliest, and often retrospective meanings. Everywhere at its touch
what seemed supernatural has been humanized, and the divinity that
hedged the records has rapidly abandoned them. And now looked at in the
common daylight their whole aspect changes for us; and stories that we
once accepted with a solemn reverence seem childish, ridiculous,
grotesque, and not unfrequently barbarous. Or if we are hardly prepared
to admit so much as this, this much at least has been established
firmly--that the Bible, if it does not give the lie itself to the
astonishing claims that have been made for it, contains nothing in
itself, at any rate, that can of itself be sufficient to support them.
This applies to the New Testament just as much as to the Old; and the
consequences here are even more momentous. Weighed as mere human
testimony, the value of the Gospels becomes doubtful or insignificant.
For the miracles of Christ, and for his superhuman nature, they contain
little evidence, that even tends to be satisfactory; and even his daily
words and actions it seems probable may have been inaccurately reported,
in some cases perhaps invented, and in others supplied by a deceiving
memory. When we pass from the Gospels to the Epistles, a kindred sight
presents itself. We discern in them the writings of men not inspired
from above; but, with many disagreements amongst themselves, struggling
upwards from below, influenced by a variety of existing views, and
doubtful which of them to assimilate. We discern in them, as we do in
other writers, the products of their age and of their circumstances. The
materials out of which they formed their doctrines we can find in the
lay world around them. And as we follow the Church's history farther,
and examine the appearance and the growth of her great subsequent
dogmas, we can trace all of them to a natural and a non-Christian
origin. We can see, for instance, how in part, at least, men conceived
the idea of the Trinity from the teachings of Greek Mysticism; and how
the theory of the Atonement was shaped by the ideas of Roman
Jurisprudence. Everywhere, in fact, in the holy building supposed to
have come down from God, we detect fragments of older structures,
confessedly of earthly workmanship.
But the matter does not end here. Historical science not only shows us
Christianity, with its sacred history, in this new light; but it sets
other religions by the side of it, and shows us that their course
through the world has been strangely similar. They too have had their
sacred books, and their incarnate Gods for prophets; they have had their
priesthoods, their traditions, and their growing bodies of doctrine:
there is nothing in Christianity that cannot find its counterpart, even
to the most marked details, in the life of its founder. Two centuries,
for instance, before the birth of Christ, Buddha is said to have been
born without human father. Angels sang in heaven to announce his advent;
an aged hermit blessed him in his mother's arms; a monarch was advised,
though he refused, to destroy the child, who, it was predicted, should
be a universal ruler. It is told how he was once lost, and was found
again in a temple; and how his young wisdom astonished all the doctors.
A woman in a crowd was rebuked by him for exclaiming, '_Blessed is the
womb that bare thee_.' His prophetic career began when he was about
thirty years old; and one of the most solemn events of it is his
temptation in solitude by the evil one. Everywhere, indeed, in other
religions we are discovering things that we once thought peculiar to the
Christian. And thus the fatal inference is being drawn on all sides,
that they have all sprung from a common and an earthly root, and that
one has no more certainty than another. And thus another blow is dealt
to a faith that was already weakened. Not only, it is thought, can
Christianity not prove itself in any supernatural sense to be sacred,
but other religions prove that even in a natural sense it is not
singular. It has not come down from heaven: it is not exceptional even
in its attempt to rise to it.
Such are the broad conclusions which in these days seem to be forced
upon us; and which knowledge, as it daily widens, would seem to be
daily strengthening. But are these altogether so destructive as they
seem? Let us enquire into this more closely. If we do this, it will be
soon apparent that the so-called enlightened and critical modern
judgment has been misled as to this point by an error I have already
dwelt upon. It has considered Christianity solely as represented by
Protestantism; or if it has glanced at Rome at all, it has ignorantly
dismissed as weaknesses the doctrines which are the essence of her
strength. Now, as far as Protestantism is concerned, the modern critical
judgment is undoubtedly in the right. Not only, as I have pointed out
already, has experience proved the practical incoherency of its
superstructure, but criticism has washed away like sand every vestige of
its supernatural foundation. If Christianity relies solely, in proof of
its revealed message to us, on the external evidences as to its history
and the source of its doctrines, it can never again hope to convince
men. The supports of external evidence are quite inadequate to the
weight that is put upon them. They might possibly serve as props; but
they crush and crumble instantly, when they are used as pillars. And as
pillars it is that Protestantism is compelled to use them. It will be
quite sufficient, here, to confine our attention to the Bible, and the
place which it occupies in the structure of the Protestant fabric.
'_There--in that book,_' says Protestantism, '_is the Word of God;
there is my unerring guide; I listen to none but that. All special
Churches have varied, and have therefore erred; but it is my first axiom
that that book has never erred. On that book, and on that book only, do
I rest myself; and out of its mouth shall you judge me._' And for a long
time this language had much force in it; for the Protestant axiom was
received by all parties. It is true, indeed, as we have seen already,
that in the absence of an authoritative interpreter, an ambiguous
testament would itself have little authority. But it took a long time
for men to perceive this; and all admitted meanwhile that the testament
was there, and it at any rate meant something. But now all this is
changed. The great Protestant axiom is received by the world no longer.
To many it seems not an axiom, but an absurdity; at best it appears but
as a very doubtful fact: and if external proof is to be the thing that
guides us, we shall need more proof to convince us that the Bible is the
Word of God, than that Protestantism is the religion of the Bible.
We need not pursue the enquiry further, nor ask how Protestantism will
fare at the hands of Comparative Mythology. The blow dealt by Biblical
criticism is to all appearances mortal, and there is no need to look
about for a second. But let us turn to Catholicism, and we shall see
that the whole case is different. To its past history, to external
evidence, and to the religions outside itself, Protestant Christianity
bears one relation, and Roman Christianity quite another.
Protestantism offers itself to the world as a strange servant might,
bringing with it a number of written testimonials. It asks us to examine
them, and by them to judge of its merits. It expressly begs us not to
trust to its own word. '_I cannot_,' it says, '_rely upon my memory. It
has failed me often; it may fail me again. But look at these
testimonials in my favour, and judge me only by them._' And the world
looks at them, examines them carefully; it at last sees that they look
suspicious, and that they may, very possibly, be forgeries. It ask the
Protestant Church to prove them genuine; and the Protestant Church
cannot.
But the Catholic Church comes to us in an exactly opposite way. She too
brings with her the very same testimonials; but she knows the
uncertainty that obscures all remote evidences, and so at first she does
not lay much stress upon them. First she asks us to make some
acquaintance with herself; to look into her living eyes, to hear the
words of her mouth, to watch her ways and works, and to feel her inner
spirit; and then she says to us, '_Can you trust me? If you can, you
must trust me all in all; for the very first thing I declare to you is,
I have never lied._ _Can you trust me thus far? Then listen, and I will
tell you my history. You have heard it told one way, I know; and that
way often goes against me. My career, I admit it myself, has many
suspicious circumstances. But none of them positively condemn me: all
are capable of a guiltless interpretation. And when you know me, as I
am, you will give me the benefit of every doubt._' It is thus that the
Catholic Church presents the Bible to us. '_Believe the Bible, for my
sake_,' she says, '_not me for the Bible's_.' And the book, as thus
offered us, changes its whole character. We have not the formal
testimonials of a stranger; we have instead the memoranda of a friend.
We have now that presumption in their favour that in the former case was
wanting altogether; and all that we ask of the records now is, not that
they contain any inherent evidence of their truth, but that they contain
no inherent evidence of their falsehood.
Farther, there is this point to remember. Catholic and Protestant alike
declare the Bible to be inspired. But the Catholics can attach to
_inspiration_ a far wider, and less assailable meaning: for their Church
claims for herself a perpetual living power, which can always
concentrate the inspired element, be it never so diffused; whereas for
the Protestants, unless that element be closely bound up with the
letter, it at once becomes intangible and eludes them altogether. And
thus, whilst the latter have committed themselves to definite
statements, now proved untenable, as to what inspiration is, the
Catholic Church, strangely enough, has never done anything of the kind.
She has declared nothing on the subject that is to be held of faith. The
whole question is still, within limits, an open one. As the Catholic
Church, then, stands at present, it seems hard to say that, were we for
other reasons inclined to trust her, she makes any claims, on behalf of
her sacred books, which, in the face of impartial history, would prevent
our doing so.
Let us now go farther, and consider those great Christian doctrines
which, though it is claimed that they are all implied in the Bible, are
confessedly not expressed in it, and were confessedly not consciously
assented to by the Church, till long after the Christian Canon was
closed. And here let us grant the modern critics their most hostile and
extreme position. Let us grant that all the doctrines in question can be
traced to external, and often to non-Christian sources. And what is the
result on Romanism? Does this logically go any way whatever towards
discrediting its claims? Let us consider the matter fairly, and we shall
see that it has not even a tendency to do so. Here, as in the case of
the Bible, the Church's doctrine of her infallibility meets all
objections. For the real question here is, not in what storehouse of
opinions the Church found her doctrines, but why she selected those she
did, and why she rejected and condemned the rest. History and scientific
criticism cannot answer this. History can show us only who baked the
separate bricks; it cannot show us who made or designed the building. No
one believes that the devil made the plans of Cologne Cathedral; but
were we inclined to think he did, the story would be disproved in no way
by our discovering from what quarries every stone had been taken. And
the doctrines of the Church are but as the stones in a building, the
letters of an alphabet, or the words of a language. Many are offered and
few chosen. The supernatural action is to be detected in the choice. The
whole history of the Church, in fact, as she herself tells it, may be
described as a history of supernatural selection. It is quite possible
that she may claim it to be more than that; but could she vindicate for
herself but this one faculty of an infallible choice, she would
vindicate to the full her claim to be under a superhuman guidance.
The Church may be conceived of as a living organism, for ever and on all
sides putting forth feelers and tentacles, that seize, try, and seem to
dally with all kinds of nutriment. A part of this she at length takes
into herself. A large part she at length puts down again. Much that is
thus rejected she seems for a long time on the point of choosing. But
however slow may be the final decision in coming, however reluctant or
hesitating it may seem to be, when it is once made, it is claimed for it
that it is infallible. And this claim is one, as we shall see when we
understand its nature, that no study of ecclesiastical history, no study
of comparative mythology can invalidate now, or even promise to
invalidate. There is nothing rash in saying this. The Church knows the
difficulties that her past records present to us, especially that of the
divine character of the Bible. But she knows too that this divinity is
at present protected by its vagueness; nor is she likely to expose it
more openly to its enemies, till some sure plan of defence has been
devised for it. Rigid as were the opinions entertained as to Biblical
inspiration, throughout the greater part of the Church's history, the
Church has never formally assumed them as articles of faith. Had she
done so, she might indeed have been convicted of error, for many of
these opinions can be shown to be at variance with fact. But though she
lived and breathed for so many centuries amongst them, though for ages
none of her members perhaps ever doubted their truth, she has not laid
them on succeeding ages: she has left them opinions still. A Catholic
might well adduce this as an instance, not indeed of her supernatural
selection, but of its counterpart, her supernatural rejection.
And now, to turn from the past to the future, her possible future
conduct in this matter will give us a very vivid illustration of her
whole past procedure. It may be that before the Church defines
inspiration exactly (if she ever does so), she will wait till lay
criticism has done all it can do. She may then consider what views of
the Bible are historically tenable, and what not; and may faithfully
shape her teaching by the learning of this world, though it may have
been gathered together for the express purpose of overthrowing her.
Atheistic scholars may be quoted in her councils; and supercilious and
sceptical philologists, could they live another hundred years, might
perhaps recognise their discoveries, even their words and phrases,
embodied in an ecclesiastical definition. To the outer world such a
definition would seem to be a mere natural production. But in the eyes
of a Catholic it would be as truly supernatural, as truly the work of
the Holy Spirit, as if it had come down ready-made out of heaven, with
all the accompaniments of a rushing mighty wind, and of visible tongues
of flame. Sanguine critics might expose the inmost history of the
council in which the definition was made; they might show the whole
conduct of it, from one side, to be but a meshwork of accident and of
human motives; and they would ask triumphantly for any traces of the
action of the divine spirit. But the Church, would be unabashed. She
would answer in the words of Job, '_Behold I go forward, but He is not
there; and backward, but I cannot perceive Him; but He knoweth the way
that I take; when He hath tried me, I shall come forth as gold. Behold
my witness is in heaven, and my champion is on high._'
And thus the doctrine of the Church's infallibility has a side that is
just the opposite of that which is commonly thought to be its only one.
It is supposed to have simply gendered bondage; not to have gendered
liberty. But as a matter of fact it has done both; and if we view the
matter fairly, we shall see that it has done the latter at least as
completely as the former. The doctrine of infallibility is undoubtedly a
rope that tethers those that hold it to certain real or supposed facts
of the past; but it is a rope that is capable of indefinite lengthening.
It is not a fetter only; it is a support also; and those who cling to it
can venture fearlessly, as explorers, into currents of speculation that
would sweep away altogether men who did but trust to their own powers of
swimming. Nor does, as is often supposed, the centralizing of this
infallibility in the person of one man present any difficulty from the
Catholic point of view. It is said that the Pope might any day make a
dogma of any absurdities that might happen to occur to him; and that the
Catholic would be bound to accept these, however strongly his reason
might repudiate them. And it is quite true that the Pope _might_ do this
any day, in the sense that there is no external power to prevent him.
But he who has assented to the central doctrine of Catholicism knows
that he never _will_. And it is precisely the obvious absence of any
restraint from without that brings home to the Catholic his faith in the
guiding power from within.
Such, then, and so compacted is the Church of Rome, as a visible and
earthly body, with a past and future history. And with so singular a
firmness and flexibility is her frame knit together, that none of her
modern enemies can get any lasting hold on her, or dismember her or
dislocate her limbs on the racks of their criticism.
But granting all this, what does this do for her? Does it do more than
present her to us as the toughest and most fortunate religion, out of
many co-ordinate and competing ones? Does it tend in any way to set her
on a different platform from the others? And the answer to this is,
that, so far as exact proof goes, we have nothing to expect or deal with
in the matter, either one way or the other. The evidences at our
disposal will impart a general tendency to our opinions, but no more
than that. The general tendency here, however, is the very reverse of
what it is vulgarly supposed to be. So far from the similarities to her
in other religions telling against the special claims of the Catholic
Church, they must really, with the candid theist, tell very strongly in
her favour. For the theist, all theisms have a profound element of truth
in them; and all alleged revelations will, in his eyes, be natural
theisms, struggling to embody themselves in some authorised and
authoritative form. The Catholic Church, as we have seen, is a human
organism, capable of receiving the Divine Spirit; and this is what all
other religious bodies, in so far as they have claimed authority for
their teaching, have consciously or unconsciously attempted to be
likewise; only the Catholic Church represents success, where the others
represent failure: and thus these, from the Catholic stand-point, are
abortive and incomplete Catholicisms. The Bethesda of human faith is
world-wide and as old as time; only in one particular spot an angel has
come down and troubled it; and the waters have been circling there,
thenceforth, in a healing vortex. Such is the sort of claim that the
Catholic Church makes for herself; and, if this be so, what she is, does
not belie what she claims to be. Indeed, the more we compare her with
the other religions, her rivals, the more, even where she most resembles
them, shall we see in her a something that marks her off from them. The
others are like vague and vain attempts at a forgotten tune; she is like
the tune itself, which is recognised the instant it is heard, and which
has been so near to us all the time, though so immeasurably far away
from us. The Catholic Church is the only dogmatic religion that has seen
what dogmatism really implies, and what will, in the long run, be
demanded of it, and she contains in herself all appliances for meeting
these demands. She alone has seen that if there is to be an infallible
voice in the world, this voice must be a living one, as capable of
speaking now as it ever was in the past; and that as the world's
capacities for knowledge grow, the teacher must be always able to unfold
to it a fuller teaching. The Catholic Church is the only historical
religion that can conceivably thus adapt itself to the wants of the
present day, without virtually ceasing to be itself. It is the only
religion that can keep its identity without losing its life, and keep
its life without losing its identity; that can enlarge its teachings
without changing them; that can be always the same, and yet be always
developing.
All this, of course, does not prove that Catholicism _is_ the truth; but
it will show the theist that, for all that the modern world can tell
him, it may be. And thus much at least will by-and-by come to be
recognised generally. Opinion, that has been clarified on so many
subjects, cannot remain forever turbid here. A change must come, and a
change can only be for the better. At present the so-called leaders of
enlightened and liberal thought are in this matter, so far as fairness
and insight go, on a level with the wives and mothers of our small
provincial shopkeepers, or the beadle or churchwarden of a country
parish. But prejudice, even when so virulent and so dogged as this, will
lift and disappear some day like a London fog; and then the lineaments
of the question will confront us clearly--the question: but who shall
decide the answer?
What I have left to say bears solely upon this.