_Colonel Ingersol's Ideas.--The Man.--His Life.--His Works.--A
Minister declines to take his Place either in this World or
the Next._
I one day asked one of the cleverest ladies of New York whether she knew
Colonel Ingersoll.
"No," she answered, "I do not know him, and I do not wish to make his
acquaintance."
"May I ask why?" I said.
She replied:
"Simply because I am told it is impossible to know him without admiring
and loving him."
"Well?"
"Well, I don't want to admire or love him."
* * * * *
I had the honour of making his acquaintance, and, like all those who
have approached and known him, I soon loved and admired him.
He is one of the greatest figures of his great country. In a book on
contemporary America one must needs speak of this celebrated advocate.
He is a personality apart. He has little in common with the rest of his
countrymen but the title of Colonel.
Once more I say it: in this book of jottings I do not sit in judgment, I
merely describe impressions of what I have seen and heard. It is not
necessary to endorse a man's theories in order to enjoy his society; and
this is especially true in the case of Colonel Ingersoll, who is
many-sided in his powers, and who charms theologians and agnostics alike
when religion is not on the _tapis_.
Colonel Robert Ingersoll is a man of about sixty, six feet high, and
strongly built, a colossus physically and intellectually; the eyes
sparkle with wit and beam with the joy of life; the mouth is humorous
and smiling; the head large and well planted on broad shoulders; the
face shaven; the brain bristling with great thoughts; a man with the
heart of a lion to fight the battles of life, but the heart of a woman
in presence of human suffering.
He has substituted for the love of religion the religion of love and of
the family. According to him, religion should have but one aim: to teach
us how to be happy in this life. He repeats, with Christ: "Love one
another; do not to others what you would not have others do to you." And
he adds: "A God that is represented as weaving webs to catch the souls
of men whom he has created is not adorable." As to a future life, the
Colonel does not commit himself. He says: "We do not know, we cannot
tell, whether death is a door or a wall: a spreading of pinions to soar
or the folding of wings for ever." In the eyes of many pious people his
theories are abominable, and he is the Antichrist: but the Americans are
unanimous in admitting his extraordinary talents; and among the dear
friends of the Colonel and his family are many Presbyterians, some of
them ministers.
Antichrist, if you will--that is, if you can imagine such a personage
endowed with every moral and intellectual faculty. In his presence, men
feel themselves small, and women put their hands over their eyes, being
careful to keep the fingers well apart. A decidedly dangerous
Antichrist, this.
Mr. Ingersoll is not only America's greatest living orator, he is a
great writer and a great thinker: an infusion, as it were, of Johnson,
Voltaire, and Milton. He possesses the logic of the first, the
_persiflage_ of the second, and some of the sublimity of the third. His
arguments are constructed like geometrical propositions; his style is
vigorous, as clear as it is graceful, as poetic as it is humorous; and
his verve is inexhaustible.
The trinity that he worships is the trinity of Science: Reason,
Observation, and Experience.
His enemies call him Atheist, because he does not believe in _their_
God. Man has made unto himself a God in his own image, and is apt to
treat as Atheists all who do not worship him.
But Voltaire himself, who said that "if a God did not already exist, it
would be necessary to invent Him," is still called an Atheist by many
ignorant people.
I never heard Mr. Ingersoll say he did not believe in a God.
He will not acknowledge the existence of Jehovah, the God of the Jews: a
God who commanded the people of His choice to exterminate their
enemies, sparing neither old men, women, nor children. In his eyes
Jehovah is a myth, the creation of a cowardly, ungrateful, and
bloodthirsty race.
Mr. Ingersoll is not the only earnest seeker after truth who has been
puzzled to reconcile the idea of this cruel, revengeful, implacable
deity with that of the gentle, merciful Saviour who taught the doctrine
of love and forgiveness in Palestine, and bade His disciples put up
their swords in the presence of His persecutors.
"If God exists," said Mr. Ingersoll to a Presbyterian minister, who was
engaged in a discussion with him upon religion, "he is certainly as good
as you are." "_Your_ God," he says to the Presbyterians, "is a
Torquemada who denies to his countless victims the mercy of death." And
when he sees human miseries, the injustices of this world, war,
pestilence, famines, and inundations, the Colonel reproaches Jehovah
with passing too much time in numbering the hairs of His creatures.
In the opinion of Robert Ingersoll, a religion is not moral which
practically says to man: "Do not sin; but if you do sin, console
yourself, come to me and I will forgive you." Such a theory is not
calculated to improve mankind, who should be taught to do good, not in
the hope of being one day rewarded for it, not in the fear of being
punished for the neglect of it, but out of love and admiration for what
is good, and with the aim of adding to the happiness of their
fellow-creatures. Mr. Ingersoll's religion is the religion of humanity;
he says: "Happiness is the only good; the time to be happy is now, and
the way to be happy is to make others so." Live to do good, to love, and
be beloved by those around, and then lie down and sleep with the
consciousness of having done your duty to men. Do not ask pardon of God
for an injury done to man. Ask pardon of the man, and make reparation to
him for your offence.
"I rob Smith," exclaims Mr. Ingersoll in the ironical language he is
such a master of, "God forgives me. How does that help Smith?"
He maintains that the Christian religion teaches less the love of an
infinitely just and merciful God, than the fear of a demon thirsting for
human victims. This charge is borne out by a proverb used by the Scot,
who is a student of human nature:
"_If the deil were de'ed, God wad na be served so weel._"
The Colonel maintains that if man has had hands given him to feel, eyes
to see, ears to hear, he has also a brain to think, a heart to love, and
intelligence to reason with.
He does not attack so much the Catholic religion, which rests on faith;
for a religion which rests purely on faith is not a matter for reasoning
and argument. But he attacks rather a Protestantism which prides itself
upon resting on reason as well as on faith.
The theories of Colonel Ingersoll are the natural outcome of the
introduction of reasoning into religious matters.
Things which are felt only, cannot be discussed; things which are
incomprehensible are not matter for explanation.
Protestantism is a mixture of faith and reason agreeing pretty badly
together, it must be confessed. The Protestant takes the Bible for a
book, every word of which is inspired of God. He interprets it in his
own fashion, and proves out of it every doctrine he requires to found a
new sect. The very drunkard is not at a loss to find an excuse for his
drinking, and turning to Isaiah (lxv. 13), comforts himself with:
"Behold, my servants shall drink."
As he looks on at the Protestants squabbling over the signification of
biblical passages, the Colonel laughingly says: "It is to be regretted
that your deity did not express himself more clearly."
Needless to say that he looks upon the Bible, not as an inspired book,
but as a collection of literature something akin to the _Arabian
Nights_, and this is what makes discussion with him difficult, if not
out of the question. How is it possible to imagine a discussion between
Faith and Reason?
To Protestants, the practice of religion is an occupation for Sundays.
To Mr. Ingersoll, it is an occupation for every waking hour, and
consists in accomplishing your duty to your fellow-creatures.
George Sand says the fanatic loves God to the exclusion of man. The
theories of Colonel Ingersoll, lofty and noble as most of them are,
verge upon fanaticism in the sense that they teach the love of mankind
to the exclusion of Him who so loved man. The Colonel robs the poor and
sorrowing of that which helps them to endure their ills, a belief in a
better world to come.
* * * * *
Son of a Protestant minister, Robert Ingersoll early showed special
aptitude for the discussion of theological questions. By the age of
sixteen, he had thoroughly studied the Old Testament, and would reason
upon it like a doctor of divinity. The father in vain drew Robert's
attention to the beauties of the Bible, the son could see little in it
but absurdities and inconsistencies. The old minister was heard to say:
"It grieves me to hear my Robbie talk so, but I declare he is too much
for me--I cannot answer him."
Who can answer Ingersoll? is a question often asked. Apparently, not the
ministers of the hundreds of different Protestant sects that flourish in
America; not Mr. Gladstone, student of the Bible and profound reasoner
though he be.
For more than a year the President of the XIXth Century Club of New York
was trying to get a Protestant clergyman to break a lance with this
redoubtable agnostic in public, but without avail. Not one felt equal to
the task.
That which makes this man so formidable is not so much his eloquence,
his quick repartee, his sarcasm, his pathos, his humour; it is, above
all, the life he leads, the example he sets of all the domestic virtues.
One must have had the privilege of knowing him intimately, of
penetrating into that sanctuary of conjugal happiness, his home, before
one can form an idea of the respect that he must inspire even in those
who abhor his doctrines. His house is the home of the purest joys; it
holds four hearts that beat as one.
Mr. Ingersoll lives in one of the handsome houses on Fifth Avenue. His
family consists of his wife and two lovely daughters, Athens and Venice,
as an American whom I met at Colonel Ingersoll's used to call them.
Indeed, one reminds you of the beautiful creations of Titian. The other
seems like a mythological vision, a nymph from the banks of Erymanthus.
As you look at her, while she speaks to you with her eyes modestly
lowered, almost seeming to apologise for being so lovely, you
involuntarily think of _Le Jeune malade_ of Andre Chenier, that last of
the Greek poets, as Edmond About called him.
Authors, journalists, artists, members of the thinking world of New York
may be met at the Colonel's charming Sunday evenings. About eleven at
night, when all but the intimate friends of the family have left, these
latter draw around their host, and entice him to talk upon one of his
favourite subjects: poetry, music, or maybe the "mistakes of Moses,"
while they listen with avidity. He knows his Shakespeare as thoroughly
as the Bible, only he speaks of him with far more respect and
admiration. He adores Wagner, whom he sets even above Beethoven. I
mention this to prove once more that we all have our little faults, and
that Mr. Ingersoll, in common with his fellow-mortals, is not perfect.
Between midnight and one in the morning, the last visitors reluctantly
depart. On the way home you think of all the witty things that have been
said; the arrows of satire that have been shot at hypocrisy and humbug;
the ennobling humanitarian opinions that have been advanced; and though
you may not feel converted, or diverted, or perverted to _Ingersollism_,
you are sure to leave that house feeling fuller of goodwill towards all
men, and saying to yourself, "What a delightful evening I have passed!"
* * * * *
I was present one evening at a meeting of the XIXth Century Club, to
hear a discussion on "The poetry of the future." Colonel Ingersoll was
to have taken part in it, but, being retained professionally at
Washington, he was obliged to excuse himself at the eleventh hour. The
President immediately telegraphed to a well-known minister, asking him
to take the Colonel's place.
"I distinctly decline to take Colonel Ingersoll's place in this world or
the next," exclaimed the recipient of the telegram, as soon as he had
read it. The reverend gentleman nevertheless took part in the evening's
debate, and when he repeated his repartee to the audience, was greeted
with hearty laughter and applause.
Now, the lot of Colonel Ingersoll in this world is very enviable, for
his profession brings him in a most handsome income. As to refusing his
place in the next, what an absurdity!
When Robert Ingersoll presents himself at the gates of Paradise, and
St. Peter sees that good, open face, radiant with happiness, the doors
will be thrown wide to let him pass, and the saint will say:
"Come, Robert, come in. Thy happy face pleases me. We have just let in a
cargo of long-faced folk--Presbyterians, I'll be bound--and it does one
good to look at thee. Thou hast done thy utmost to stifle the
hydra-headed monster, Superstition, and to destroy the infamous
calumnies which are in circulation on the subject of the Lord. Come in,
friend; thou hast loved, thou hast been beloved; thou hast preached
concord, mercy, love, happiness: come take thy place amongst the
benefactors of the human race."