And nothing, I submit, remains, but that they should be pronounced
charms. It is of little purpose to urge, in denial of this, that the
Church insists upon the necessity of faith on the part of the recipient,
without which no benefit, but rather peril, will accrue. This only
limits the use of the charm to a certain class, and establishes a
pre-requisite to its proper efficacy. It simply conjoins the outward
form with a certain state of mind, and gives to each of these a
participation in the effect. If the faith be insufficient without the
ceremony, then _some_ efficacy is due to the rite: and this, being
neither the natural operation of the material elements, nor a simple
suggestion of ideas and feelings to the mind, but mystical and
preternatural, is no other than a charmed efficacy.
Nor will the statement, that the effect is not upon God, but upon man,
bear examination. It is very true, that the _ultimate_ benefit of these
rites is a result reputed to fall upon the worshipper;—regeneration, in
the case of baptism; participation in the atonement, in the case of the
Lord’s Supper. But by what steps do these blessings descend? Not by
those of visible or perceived causation; but through an express and
extraordinary volition of God, induced by the ceremonial form, or taking
occasion from it. The sacerdotal economy, therefore, is so arranged,
that whenever the priest dispenses the water at the font, the Holy
Spirit follows, as in instantaneous compliance with a suggestion: and
whenever he spreads his hands over the elements at the communion, God
immediately establishes a preternatural relation, not subsisting the
moment before, between the substances on the table and the souls of the
faithful communicants: so that every partaker receives, either directly
or through supernatural increase of faith, some new share in the merits
of the cross. Whatever subtleties of language then may be employed, it
is evidently conceived that the first consequence of these forms takes
place in heaven; and that on this depends whatever benediction they may
bring: nor can a plain understanding frame any other idea of them than
this; first, they act upwards, and suggest something to the mind of God;
who then sends down an influence on the mind of the believer. From this
conception no figures of speech, no ingenious analogies, can deliver us.
Do you call the sacraments “pledges of grace?” A pledge means a promise:
and how a voluntary act of ours, or the priest’s, can be a promise made
to us by the Divine Being, it is not easy to understand. Do you call
them “seals of God’s covenant,”—the instrument by which he engages to
make over its blessings to the Christian, like the signature and
completion of a deed conveying an estate? It still perplexes us to think
of a service of our own as an assurance received by us from Heaven. And
one would imagine that the Divine promise, once given, were enough,
without this incessant binding by periodical legalities. If it be said,
“the renewal of the obligation is needful for us, and not for him;” then
call the rites at once and simply, our service of self-dedication, the
solemn memorial of our vows. And in spite of all metaphors, the question
recurs; does the covenant stand without these seals, or are they
essential _to give possession_ of the privileges conveyed? Are they, by
means preternatural, procurers of salvation? Have they a mystical action
towards this end? If so, we return to the same point; they have a
charmed efficacy on the human soul.
In order to establish this, nothing more is requisite than a brief
reference to the language of the Articles and Liturgical services of the
Church respecting Baptism and the Communion.
Baptism is regarded, throughout the Book of Common Prayer, as the
instrument of regeneration: not simply as its sign, of which the actual
descent of the Holy Spirit is independent; but as itself and essentially
the means or indispensable occasion of the washing away of sin. That
this is regarded as a mystical and magical, not a natural and spiritual
effect, is evident from the alleged fact of its occurrence in infants,
to whom the rite can suggest nothing, and on whom, in the course of
nature, it can leave no impression. Yet is it declared of the infant,
after the use of the water, “Seeing now, dearly beloved brethren, that
_this child is regenerate_,” &c.: at the commencement of the service its
aim is said to be that God may “grant to this child that thing which by
nature he cannot have,”—“would wash him and sanctify him with the Holy
Ghost,” that he may be “delivered from God’s wrath.” Nothing, indeed, is
so striking in this office of the national church, as its audacious
trifling with solemn names, denoting qualities of the soul and will; the
ascription of spiritual and moral attributes, not only to the child in
whom they can yet have no development, but even to material substances;
the frivolity with which engagements with God are made by deputy, and
without the consent or even existence of the engaging will. Water is
said to possess _sanctity_, for “the mystical washing away of sin.”
Infants, destitute of any idea of duty or obligation to be resisted or
obeyed, are said to obtain “_remission of their sins_;”—to “renounce the
devil and all his works, the vain pomp and glory of the world:”
“steadfastly to believe” in the Apostles’ creed, and to be desirous of
“baptism into this faith.” Belief, desire, resolve, are acts of some
one’s mind: the language of this service attributes them to the
personality of the infant (_I_ renounce, _I_ believe, _I_ desire); yet
there they cannot possibly exist. If they are to be understood as
affirmed by the godfathers and godmothers of themselves, the case is not
improved: for how can one person’s state of faith and conscience be made
the condition of the regeneration of another? What intelligible meaning
can be attached to these phrases of sanctity applied to an age not
responsible? In what sense, and by what indication, are these children
_holier_ than others? And with what reason, if all this be Christianity,
can we blame the Pope for sprinkling holy water on the horses? The
service appears little better than a profane sacerdotal jugglery, by
which material things are impregnated with divine virtues, moral and
spiritual qualities of the mind are sported with, the holy spirit of God
is turned into a physical mystery, and the solemnity of personal
responsibility is insulted.
That a superstitious value is attributed to the details of the baptismal
form, in the Church of England, appears from certain parts of the
service for the private ministration of the rite. If a child has been
baptized by any other lawful minister than the minister of the parish,
strict inquiries are to be instituted by the latter respecting the
correctness with which the ceremony has been performed: and should the
prescribed rules have been neglected, the baptism is invalid, and must
be repeated. Yet great solicitude is manifested, lest danger should be
incurred by an unnecessary repetition of the sacrament: to guard against
which, the minister is to give the following conditional invitation to
the Holy Spirit; saying, in his address to the child, “_If_ thou art not
already baptized, I baptize thee,” &c. It is worthy of remark, that the
Church mentions as one of the _essentials_ of the service, the omission
of which necessitates its repetition, the use of the formula, “In the
name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.” By this
rule, every one of the apostolic baptisms recorded in Scripture must be
pronounced invalid; and the Church of England, were it possible, would
perform them again: for in no instance does it appear that the apostles
employed either this or even any equivalent form of words.
That this sacrament is regarded as an indispensable channel of grace,
and positively necessary to salvation, is clear from the provision of a
short and private form, to be used in cases of extreme danger. The
prayers, and faith, and obedience, and patient love, of parents and
friends,—the dedication and heartfelt surrender of their child to God,
the profound application of their anxieties and grief to their
conscience and inward life,—all this, we are told, will be of no avail,
without the water and the priest. Archbishop Laud says, “That Baptism is
necessary to the salvation of infants (in the ordinary way of the
church, without binding God to the use and means of that sacrament, to
which he hath bound us) is expressed in St. John iii. ‘Except a man be
born of water,’ &c. So, no baptism, no entrance; nor can infants creep
in, any other ordinary way.”[609] Bishop Bramhall says, “Wilful neglect
of baptism we acknowledge to be a damnable sin; and, without repentance
and God’s extraordinary mercy, to exclude a man from all hope of
salvation. But yet, if such a person, before his death, shall repent and
deplore his neglect of the means of grace, from his heart, and desire
with all his soul to be baptized, but is debarred from it invincibly, we
do not, we dare not, pass sentence of condemnation upon him; not yet the
Roman Catholics themselves. The question then is, whether the want of
baptism, upon invincible necessity, do evermore infallibly exclude from
heaven.”[610] Singular struggle here, between the merciless ritual of
the priest, and the relenting spirit of the man!
The office of Communion contains even stronger marks of the same
sacerdotal superstitions: and notwithstanding the Protestant horror
entertained of the mass, approaches it so nearly, that no ingenuity can
exhibit them in contrast. Near doctrines, however, like near neighbours,
are known to quarrel most.
The idea of a physical sanctity, residing in solid and liquid
substances, is encouraged by this service. The priest _consecrates_ the
elements, by laying his hand upon all the bread, and upon every flagon
containing the wine about to be dispensed. If an additional quantity is
required, this too must be consecrated before its distribution. And the
sacredness thus imparted is represented as surviving the celebration of
the Supper, and residing in the substances as a permanent quality: for
in the disposal of the bread and wine that may remain at the close of
the sacramental feast, a distinction is made between the consecrated and
the unconsecrated portion of the elements; the former is not permitted
to quit the altar, but is to be reverently consumed by the priest and
the communicants; the latter is given to the curate. What the particular
change may be, which the prayer and manipulation of the minister are
thought to induce, it is by no means easy to determine; nor would the
discovery, perhaps, reward our pains. It is certainly conceived, that
they cease to be any longer mere bread and wine, and that with them
thenceforth co-exist, really and substantially, the body and blood of
Christ. Respecting this _Real Presence_ with the elements, there is no
dispute between the Romish and the English church; both unequivocally
maintain it: and the only question is, respecting the _Real Absence_ of
the original and culinary bread and wine: the Roman Catholic believing
that these substantially vanish, and are replaced by the body and blood
of Christ; the English Protestant conceiving that they remain, but are
united with the latter. The Lutheran, no less than the British Reformed
church, has clung tenaciously to the doctrine of the real presence in
the Eucharist. Luther himself declares, “I would rather retain with the
Romanists, _only_ the body and blood, than adopt, with the Swiss, the
bread and wine, _without_ the real body and blood of Christ.” The
catechism of our church affirms, that “the body and blood of Christ are
_verily and indeed_ taken and received by the faithful in the Lord’s
Supper.” And this was not intended to be figuratively understood, of the
spiritual use and appropriation to which the faith and piety of the
receiver would mentally convert the elements: for although here the body
of Christ is only said to be “_taken_” (making it the _act of the
communicant_), yet one of the Articles speaks of it as “_given_” (making
it the _act of the officiating priest_), and implying the real presence
_before participation_. However anxious indeed the clergy of the
“Evangelical” school may be to disguise the fact, it cannot be doubted
that their church has always maintained a supernatural change in the
elements themselves, as well as in the mind of the receiver. Cosin,
Bishop of Durham, says, “We own the union between the body and blood of
Christ, and the elements, whose use and office we hold to be changed
from what it was before:” “we confess the necessity of a supernatural
and heavenly change, and that the signs cannot become sacraments but by
the infinite power of God.”[611]
In consistency with this preparatory change, a charmed efficacy is
attributed to the subsequent participation in the elements. Even the
_body_ of the communicant is said to be under their influence: “Grant us
to eat the flesh of thy dear Son, and drink his blood, that our sinful
_bodies_ may be made clean through his body, and our _souls_ washed
through his most precious blood:” and the unworthy recipients are said
“to provoke God to plague them with divers diseases and sundry kinds of
death.” Lest the worshipper, by presenting himself in an unqualified
state, should “do nothing else than increase his damnation,” the unquiet
conscience is directed to resort to the priest, and receive the benefit
of absolution before communicating. Can we deny to the Oxford divines
the merit (whatever it may be) of consistency with the theology of their
church, when they applaud and recommend, as they do, the administration
of the eucharist to infants, and to persons dying and insensible?
Indeed, it is difficult to discover, why infant Communion should be
thought more irrational than infant Baptism. If, as I have endeavoured
to show, the primary action of these ceremonies is conceived to be on
God, not on the mind of their object, why should not the Divine blessing
be induced upon the young and the unconscious, as well as on the mature
and capable soul? And were any further evidence required, than I have
hitherto adduced, to show _on whom_ the Communion is conceived to
operate in the first instance, it would surely be afforded by this
clause in the Service; by not partaking, “_Consider how great an injury
ye do unto God!_”
The only thing wanted to complete this sacerdotal system, is to obtain
for a certain class of men the corporate possession, and exclusive
administration, of these essential and holy mysteries. This our Church
accomplishes by its doctrine of Apostolical Succession; claiming for its
ministers a lineal official descent from the Apostles, which invests
them, and them alone within this realm, with divine authority to
pronounce absolution or excommunication, and to administer the
Sacraments. They are thus the sole guardians of the channels of the
Divine Spirit and its grace, and interpose themselves between a nation
and its God. “Receive the Holy Ghost,” says the Service for Ordination
of Priests, “for the office and work of a priest in the Church of God,
now committed unto thee by the imposition of hands. Whose sins thou dost
forgive, they are forgiven; and whose sins thou dost retain, they are
retained.” “They only,” says the present Bishop of Exeter, “can claim to
rule over the Lord’s household, whom he has himself placed over it; they
only are able to minister the means of grace,—above all, to present the
great commemorative _sacrifice_,—whom Christ has appointed, and whom he
has in all generations appointed in unbroken succession from those, and
through those, whom he first ordained. ‘Ambassadors from Christ’ must,
by the very force of the term, receive credentials from Christ:
‘stewards of the mysteries of God’ must be entrusted with those
mysteries by him. Remind your people, that in the Church only is the
promise of forgiveness of sins; and though, to all who truly repent, and
sincerely believe, Christ mercifully grants forgiveness; yet he has, in
an especial manner, empowered his ministers to declare and pronounce to
his people the absolution and remission of their sins: ‘whosesoever sins
ye remit, they are remitted unto them; and whosesoever sins ye retain,
they are retained.’ This was the awful authority given to his first
ministers, and in them, and through them, to all their successors. This
is the awful authority we have received, and that we must never be
ashamed nor afraid to tell the people that we have received.
“Having shown to the people your commission, show to them how our own
Church has framed its services in accordance with that commission. Show
this to them not only in the Ordinal, but also in the Collects, in the
Communion Service, in the Office of the Visitation of the Sick; show it,
especially, in that which continually presents itself to their notice,
but is commonly little regarded by them; show it in the very
commencement of Morning and Evening Prayer, and make them understand the
full blessedness of that service, in which the Church thus calls on them
to join. Let them see that there the minister authoritatively pronounces
God’s pardon and absolution to all them that truly repent, and
unfeignedly believe Christ’s holy gospel; that he does this, even as the
Apostles did, with the authority and by the appointment of our Lord
himself, who, in commissioning his Apostles, gave this to be the
never-failing assurance of his co-operation in their ministry, ‘Lo, I am
with you always, even unto the end of the world;’ a promise which, of
its very nature, was not to be fulfilled to the persons of those whom he
addressed, but to their office, to their successors therefore in that
office, ‘even unto the end of the world.’ Lastly, remind and warn them
of the awful sanction with which our Lord accompanied his mission, even
of the second order of the ministers whom he appointed; ‘He that heareth
you, heareth me; and he that despiseth you, despiseth me; and he that
despiseth me, despiseth him that sent me.’” That this high dignity may
be clearly understood to belong in this country only to the Church of
England, the Bishop proposes the question, “What, then, becomes of those
who are not, or continue not, members of that (visible) Church?” and
replies to it by saying, that though he “judges not them that are
without,” yet “he who wilfully and in despite of due warning, or through
recklessness and worldly-mindedness, sets at nought its ordinances, and
despises its ministers, has no right to promise to himself any share in
the grace which they are appointed to convey.”[612] “Why,” says one of
the Oxford divines, who here undeniably speaks the genuine doctrine of
his Church, “Why should we talk so much of an _Establishment_, and so
little of an APOSTOLIC SUCCESSION? Why should we not seriously endeavour
to impress our people with this plain truth, that by separating
themselves from our communion, they separate themselves not only from a
decent, orderly, useful society, but from THE ONLY CHURCH IN THIS REALM
WHICH HAS A RIGHT TO BE QUITE SURE THAT SHE HAS THE LORD’S BODY TO GIVE
TO HIS PEOPLE?”[613]
Of course this Divine authority has been received through the Church of
Rome, so abominable in the eyes of all Evangelical clergymen; and
through many an unworthy link in the unbroken chain. The Holy Spirit, it
is acknowledged, has _passed through_ many, on whom, apparently, it was
not pleased to _rest_; and the right to forgive sins been conferred by
those who seemed themselves to need forgiveness. A writer in the Oxford
Tracts observes, “Nor even though we may admit that many of those who
formed the connecting links of this holy chain were themselves unworthy
of the high charge reposed in them, can this furnish us with any solid
ground for doubting or denying their power to exercise that legitimate
authority with which they were duly invested, of transmitting the sacred
gift to worthier followers.”[614]
In its doctrine of Sacraments, then, and in that of Ecclesiastical
authority and succession, the Church of England is thoroughly imbued
with the sacerdotal character. It doubtless contains far better elements
and nobler conceptions than those which it has been my duty to exhibit
now; and solemnly insists on faith of heart, and truth of conscience,
and Christian devotedness of life, as well as on the observance of its
ritual; with the external it unites the internal condition of
sanctification. But insisting on the theory of a mystic efficacy in the
Christian rites, it necessarily fails to reconcile these with each
other: and hence the opposite parties within its pale; the one
magnifying faith and personal spirituality, the other exalting the
sacraments and ecclesiastical communion. They represent respectively the
two constituent and clashing powers, which met at the formation of the
English Church, and of which it effected the mere compromise, not the
reconciliation; I mean, the priestliness of Rome, and the prophetic
spirit of the Reformers. Never, since apostolic days, did heaven bless
us with truer prophet than Martin Luther. It was his mission (no modern
man had ever greater,) to substitute the idea of _personal faith_ for
that of _sacerdotal reliance_. And gloriously, with bravery and truth of
soul amid a thousand hindrances, did he achieve it. But though, ever
since, the priests have been down, and faith has been up, yet did the
hierarchy unavoidably remain, and insisted that _something_ should be
made of it, and at least some colourable terms proposed. Hence, every
reformed Church exhibits a coalition between the new and the old ideas:
and combined views of religion, which must ultimately prove incompatible
with each other; the formal with the spiritual; the idea of worship as a
means of propitiating God, with the conception of it as an expression of
love in man; the notion of Church authority with that of individual
freedom; the admission of a licence to think, with a prohibition of
thinking wrong. In our national Church, the old spirit was ascendant
over the new, though long forced into quiescence by the temper of modern
times. Now it is attempting to re-assert its power, not without
strenuous resistance. Indeed, the present age seems destined to end the
compromise between the two principles, from the union of which
Protestantism assumed its established forms. The truce seems everywhere
breaking up: a general disintegration of churches is visible; tradition
is ransacking the past for claims and dignities, and canvassing present
timidity for fresh authority, to withstand the wild forces born at the
Reformation, and hurrying us fast into an unknown future.
Let us now turn to the primitive Christianity; which, I submit, is
throughout wholly anti-sacerdotal.