called, is not really to act in defiance of, or apart from, reason. It
is an exercise of reason up to a certain point,--just so, and so far
as, the experience of the person warrants. He sees what to trust, and
why. He sees where understanding and experience which transcend his
own would point. And he seeks for the rational test of further
experience in the only way in which it can be had. He defers to the
voice of experience, in faith that his own experience will by and by
prove its truthfulness. On a medical question, men would not dispute,
they would loudly proclaim, the reasonableness and wisdom of such a
course. Yet there are those who suppose that the truths of religion
are to admit of a complete preliminary intellectual verification, a
verification apart from special training and experience, such as they
might more reasonably expect in any other subject-matter than
religion, but such as, in fact, they hardly expect elsewhere.
The doctrines of the Church, then, accepted at first on reasonable
evidence, which in a greater or less degree, but perhaps never wholly,
consists in authority reasonably accepted as authority, are then in
all the experience of spiritual life receiving continual comment,
explanation, corroboration. The whole experience of Christian life
must be a growth in the apprehension and certainty of Christian truth.
A Christian neophyte may believe every word of his Creed, and believe
neither ignorantly nor unintelligently. But the veteran Christian of
four-score will transcend the child at least as much in the degree of
certainty, with which the doctrines of the Church are to his entire
faculties mental, moral, and spiritual, proved and known to be true,
as he can possibly do in his merely intellectual apprehension of the
history or meaning of the words. We may say, indeed, that the life of
a professing Christian which is not a life of growth in the
apprehension of doctrinal truth, must necessarily be a retrogression;
just as the life of so-called scientific study, which is not
continually illuminating afresh, and deepening the certainty of its
own scientific principles, must gradually come to hold even its own
scientific principles less and less certainly, and to mean by them
less and less.
But even if it may be shewn that there is not quite so essential a
contrast as there seemed to be, between the character of theological
and scientific dogmas, by reason of the proofs which are offered,
along with his principles, to the student of any science; yet still it
will be felt that they differ essentially in the tone and manner with
which they respectively speak to intellect. The truths of the one
claim at once to possess an intellectual finality, and to command a
moral allegiance, which the truths of the other do not.
It may be worth while to say in reply, first of all, that there cannot
be a real contrast of finality between them, so far as they are both
really true. What is really true is really true. Neither 'absolutely,'
'finally,' nor any other adverb in the language will make the
statement a stronger one. What we call scientific truths are not in
fact liable to correction, except in so far as they may perhaps, after
all, not be quite scientific truths, except (that is) in respect of
such admixture of erroneous supposition, as still has clung to them
after general acceptance. And on the other hand, so far as any
mistaken assumptions are mixed up with our apprehension of religious
truths, so far these too _are_ liable to receive, and in the history
of Church doctrine are continually receiving, correction. It is, after
all, a truism. In either sphere the truths, so far as they really are
truths, are true absolutely: but are corrigible in so far as our
statement of them still contains anything that is other than truth. We
may put it, perhaps, in another way still. If, to assume an impossible
hypothesis, any one could really prove, not merely that there were
some exaggerations or misconceptions in the traditional mode of
statement of some doctrinal truths, but that our really essential
Faith was wrong, we may grant hypothetically (seeing that truth is
supreme) that he would do us all a mighty service, at however
tremendous a cost. Similarly of course it must be owned, that if any
one could prove the earth to be flat and stationary, and the law of
gravitation to be the precise contradictory of truth, he would do
immense service to science. But none the less, the scientific
certainty on these points is so complete, that if anyone seriously
assailed them, it would be felt that he could only be dealing with the
evidence in a way which tended to compromise the credit of his own
reason; and he would therefore be reasonably held to be, as it is
roughly phrased, a fool or a madman. And we must claim that for us the
certainty of some theological propositions is so complete, that when
anyone assails them, we are no less reasonable in regarding him with
concern, rather for his own truth's sake than for the truth of our
religion; and that, if miracles or 'an angel from heaven' should seem
to bear witness for him, it would still be no bigotry, but in the
strictest sense our reasonable course, to refuse the witness, and to
treat it as merely an attempt to ensnare us into falsehood to the real
requirements of our reason and conscience.
Is the conclusion, then, that there is after all no difference at all
between the truths of Theology and of Science, in respect of their
claim to authority? On the contrary, there remains a perfectly real
contrast of authority between them; only it is to be looked for
elsewhere than among the conditions upon which our belief in them
respectively is based.
There are two distinct senses in which the doctrines of the Creed may
be said to be authoritative. It may be meant that the authoritativeness
is in the manner in which they are presented to us; that is to say,
that (whatever their content may be) they are statements which we
believe, and are to believe, on the sole ground that we are told to do
so, without any appeal to reason of our own; or it may be meant that
they are statements whose content is of such nature and inherent
importance, that we cannot, in fact, believe them, without thereby
necessarily being involved in a train of consequential obligations of
thought and life. In this latter case the authoritativeness lies not
in the manner of their presentation to us or our acceptance of them,
but in that which is involved in the nature of the truths themselves,
_if and when_ they are believed.
Is it true to say of the Creeds that they are 'authoritative' in the
former sense? that is to say that they challenge our allegiance, and
we are bound to believe them, because we are told that they are true,
without examination on our part, and without reason? It has indeed
been stated already that, as between pupils and teachers, there is in
religious learning, as there is in all human learning whatever,
scientific or otherwise, a certain legitimate and important field for
authority reasonably accepted as authority, that is, the authority of
men more learned and experienced than ourselves. Even this, of course,
means that the pupil believes the things taught to be strictly
rational to the teacher, though they be not so, as yet, to himself.
But is it true, in speaking of religion, to carry this one step
further; and to say that in this sphere our _whole_ belief, and duty
of belief, rests upon authority as its ultimate foundation, the
authority not of man's experience, but of God's command? It must, no
doubt, be freely owned on all sides, that if there be a creed
commanded of God, we certainly are bound to believe it. But is there?
or when, or how, was it commanded? Does anyone answer, through our
Lord Jesus Christ? or through His Church? or through the Bible? But
who is He? or what is the Bible? or how do we know? To accept
doctrines, which we otherwise should not accept, because we are told
to do so, without knowing first who told us, or why we should believe
him, is simply not a reasonable possibility. But to ask these
questions and to have answers to them, and believe because we are
satisfied in some way as to the answers to them, is certainly not to
rest the act of believing on a foundation of mere authority:
essentially rather it is, to go over part of the ground of the Creed
first, and be satisfied as to the correctness of its main substance,
and _therefore_ to believe it. A Christian will not deny that the
doctrines of the Creed are entitled in fact to be held as
authoritative, in both of the senses distinguished above. But we
cannot believe them on God's authority till we have first believed in
the authority of God. And, therefore, their authoritativeness in what
we have called the first sense is not really the ultimate ground of
our accepting them: for it is not itself accepted and apprehended by
us, except as a consequence of our first believing that which is the
main substance of the Creed. It may be the warrant to us of this or
that detail considered apart: but it is not, and cannot ever be, the
original and sufficient cause of our believing the whole. _Credo ut
intelligam_ may be the most true and most reasonable motto of the
large part of Christian faith and life: but it is not inconsistent
with--it is founded upon--an ultimate underlying _intellexi ut
crederem_. There is, then, a real and abiding difference between
theological and scientific dogmas, in respect of the authority with
which they speak to us. But the difference is one which does not
affect at all the method or grounds of our original belief in them
respectively: it is to be found exclusively in the different
subject-matter of the two when believed.
And herein, also, it is that we find the real answer to the other form
of question, viz., why should Theology claim to be so much more final
than science? Much as science has conquered of the realm of truth, it
does not profess to have conquered more than a little. Of the vast
residuum it says nothing. It has no idea how small a proportion its
present knowledge may bear to that which will one day be known. Nay,
the further it advances in knowledge of truth, so much the smaller a
proportion does its realized truth seem to it to bear to that which
remains unexplored. Why should the theologian be less patient of
additions to theological knowledge, such as may some day throw all his
present creeds into comparative obscurity? Why should the Christian
Creed be fixed and inexpansive? The question is formidable only in an
abstract form. The reasonable answer to it confronts us the moment we
consider what is the subject-matter of the Creed. Scientific
principles are in their very nature fragments of a truth which is
practically infinite. But the Christian Creed, if true at all, cannot
possibly be a fragment of truth. For the Christian Creed does not
simply enunciate so many abstract principles of natural or
supernatural life or governance. It introduces us straight to a
supreme Person, Himself the beginning and end, the author and upholder
of all. Such a doctrine may be false; but it cannot be a fragment. The
child who believes in God, believes in everything, though he knows
hardly anything. He has infinitely more yet to learn, as to what his
own belief means. But he has nothing to add to it. The perfect
knowledge of the universe would not add to it, but would only explain
it. It is, then, by virtue of his personal relation to a Personality
which is Itself supreme and all inclusive, that he is guilty of no
presumption, even though in the face of the modest disavowals of
scientific men, he must maintain that his own creed is, in its proper
nature, even when all admissions have been made, rather a complete and
conclusive, than a partial or a tentative, statement of truth. But
this difference between him and them is the result neither of any
arrogance in his temper, nor any lack in his logic, but it follows
necessarily from the nature of the subject-matter of his creed, if and
when it is believed.
But still this fact that, if true, they are truths which by the
obvious necessity of their subject-matter speak to our intellects and
consciences with a tone of such Divinely commanding authority, ought
not to make me or anyone accept them as true, unless the evidence for
them is adequate. The question is not how authoritative they would be,
if true; nor how important or inclusive they would be, if true; nor is
any amount of contingent importance or authority adequate evidence for
their truth, but only a motive for inquiring into its evidence. The
question is, are they true? or are they not true? and the question is
a question of evidence.
II. And now, in recurring once more to the subject of the evidence by
which the dogmas of religion are proved, from which we diverged just
now, we find, in respect of it, a second reality of contrast between
theological truths and the truths of material science. For whilst in
both cases equally we depend upon evidence, and evidence that is
adequate; it does not follow that the evidence for both is in all
points similar in kind. In great part indeed it is so; but it is
certainly not so altogether. For when we speak of the evidence of
religious truths, it is to be remembered that the full evidence by
which our consciences are wholly convinced of them, is not of one kind
only, but of all kinds. The facts of religion address themselves to
the whole nature of man; and it is only by the whole nature of man
that they can ever be fully apprehended. Man is not a being of
intellectual conceptions or faculties only. And because he is not so,
therefore no set of principles which could be apprehended by the
intellect alone (as the theorems of Euclid may appear to be), and
which make for their acceptance no demand at all upon the qualities of
his moral or spiritual being, could really present, as religion
professes to present, a system of truth and life which would be
adequate to the scope of his whole nature. It is undoubtedly the case
that just as the truths of religion account for, and appeal to, his
whole being, so the evidence for them appeals to his whole being also.
For its complete appreciation there are requirements other than
intellectual. There must be not only certain endowments of mind, but
the life of a moral being. There must be moral affections, moral
perceptions, spiritual affinities and satisfactions. Even if the
primary conviction of his reason may be apart from these, yet of the
fully developed evidence, which is the real possession of the
Christian believer, these are a most important and necessary part.
Without these, his certainty, adequate though it might be, would be
far less profound than it is. These are to him essential ingredients
in the richness and the fulness of the evidence which to him is
everywhere. Now for this necessary width of the full confirmatory
evidence of religion, it is impossible for the religious man, with the
utmost desire to make every allowance and apology that is possible, to
offer any apology at all. So far from being a mark of inconsistency or
feebleness, it is a necessary note of the completeness of religion.
Religion professes to have for its subject-matter, and in a measure
incomplete, but relatively adequate, to include, to account for, and
to direct, the whole range of all man's history, all man's capacities,
explored or unexplored, all man's destiny now and for ever. If its
truths and their evidence were found to address themselves exclusively
to the intellect, in isolation from the other qualities and
experiences of man's nature, it would be self-convicted of inadequacy.
If men full of worldliness of heart and self-indulgence could be
capable of understanding the revelation of religious truth as
accurately, of embracing it as completely, of apprehending the depth
and the width of the evidence for it (with which all human nature
really is saturated) as thoroughly as the prayerful and the penitent,
this would not mean that religion or religious evidence had been
lifted up, on to a higher and more properly scientific level, but
rather that it had shrunk down into correspondence merely with a part,
and not the noblest part, of man's present nature.
It would be far beyond the scope of this paper to discuss kinds of
evidence, or argue in defence of the position that there is real
evidence for religious truth, which is none the less properly
evidence, because it is different in kind from the evidence for the
propositions of material science: but it may be permissible, at least,
in passing to record the claim, and to insist that religious men, in
confining themselves to strictly historical or logical arguments, are
necessarily omitting much which is nevertheless, to them, real ground.
There are evidences which can speak to the heart, the imagination, the
conscience, as well as the intelligence. Or, perhaps, we shall come
nearer to an exact expression of the truth, by saying that the
intelligence, which can apprehend and pronounce upon the evidence of
truths of spiritual consciousness, is an intelligence identical in
name, but not identical in nature, with that which can well weigh and
judge purely logical--or even that which can pronounce upon
moral--problems. The intelligence of a moral character, or of a
spiritual personality, differs not in range only, but in quality, from
that of a merely 'rational animal.' If the moral and the spiritual
intelligence did not contain quite other elements, drawn from quite
other experiences and possibilities, they could not work upon their
higher subject-matter at all. To the religious man, therefore, it must
seem strictly unreasonable, in the examination of truths which
professedly correspond to man's whole nature, and need his whole
nature and experience for the interpretation of them, to begin by
shutting out, as irrelevant, what we will modestly call the half of
man's nature; and to demand that the truths shall be so stated and so
proved, as that the statements and proofs shall correspond exclusively
with the other half, and find in that other half their whole
interpretation, and their whole evidence.
It may, indeed, be desirable to guard against a misconception, by the
express admission that there is some necessary ambiguity in the terms
employed. We may seem to have unduly extended both the verbal meaning,
and the sphere of importance, of 'evidence' and 'proof.' Undoubtedly
there is a sense in which it would be, not merely true to admit, but
important to insist, that in the acceptance of religious truth, Faith
neither is, nor ever can be, displaced, in order that Demonstration
may be enthroned in her place. But then Demonstration is a word which
belongs to strictly logical nomenclature. And the very point here
insisted on is that the strictly logical presentment of religion is,
in reference to the real presentment of religion, most inadequate.
Undoubtedly, if everything else is shorn away, and religion remains
solely and only in the form of strict logic, without sentiment,
without imagination, without experience of duty, or sin, or right, or
aspiration, or anything else which belongs to the spiritual
consciousness of human personalities, the logic of it is, and must be,
imperfectly conclusive.
Now words such as 'evidence,' 'proof,' 'intelligence,' are no doubt
often used in connection with processes of the intellect taken
apart--the intellect of a being merely rational. In insisting,
therefore, that the word evidence, when used in reference to religious
subject-matter, must include data which, to the observer of physical
phenomena, would seem vague and impalpable; and that intelligence, as
adequately trained to apprehend and give judgment upon religious
evidence, is in some respects other, and more, than that intelligence
which can deal with evidence into which no element of spiritual
consciousness enters; we differ, perhaps, at the most, more in form
than reality, from those who simply deprecate the appeal to 'evidence'
or 'proof' in matters of faith.
To the religious man, then, the fulness of Christian evidence is as
many-sided as human life. There is historical evidence,--itself of at
least a dozen different kinds,--literary evidence, metaphysical
evidence, moral evidence, evidence of sorrow and joy, of goodness and
of evil, of sin and of pardon, of despair and of hope, of life and of
death; evidence which defies enumerating; into this the whole gradual
life of the Christian grows; and there is no part nor element of life
which does not to him perpetually elucidate and confirm the knowledge
which has been given him. Everything that is or has been, every
consciousness, every possibility, even every doubt or wavering,
becomes to the Christian a part of the certainty--an element in the
absorbing reality--of his Creed.
But this is rather the end than the beginning. Certainly it is not
thus that the Creed of the Church can present itself to those whose
life is still independent of the Creed.
Let us consider, then, how the truths of the Creed did first, in fact,
introduce themselves to human consciousness. There are three several
stages of its presentment in history, of which the central one is so
overmastering in importance, that it alone gives their character to
the other two. They are, first, the leading up, in the world's history
and consciousness, to the life of Jesus Christ; secondly, the life and
death of Jesus Christ; thirdly, the results, in history and
consciousness, of the life and death of Jesus Christ. We may say,
perhaps, that of the first of these the main outcome was belief in
God; and such a God, that belief in Him carried with it the two
corollaries of aspiration after righteousness, and conviction of sin.
We may say that the third of these means the establishment of the
Church upon earth, and the articulating of her consciousness according
to the Creeds. But in any case all the three are plainly historical,
matters of historical inquiry, of historical evidence; and all plainly
depend entirely upon the intermediate one, the history of a certain
human life which purports to be--which either is, or is not--the
hinge-point of all history whatever.
All turns, then, upon a certain passage of history. Is the history, as
believed by Christians, true or false? The Christian record of that
history is the New Testament. Indeed, of that history, the New
Testament is the only record. Is, then, the history of the teaching
and the work, the life and the death, of Jesus Christ, presented to us
in the New Testament as a chapter of historical fact,--is it
historical fact, or is it not? The Incarnation is either a fact, or a
fiction. The Incarnation means also for Christians the Atonement. For
our present purpose, the Incarnation may be taken as necessarily
including the Atonement. But still of this complex fact the dilemma
stands. If it is not true, it is false. There is no middle term. If it
is not true, then, whether dogma in itself is, or is not, desirable,
at least all the dogma of the Christian Church is false.