system being, as I believe, precisely the same as that of Lord Herbert
and the better deists,) that you can make it more effective than it
has been in the past, by conjuring with the words 'sensational and
intellectual,' 'instinctive and emotional,' or that the mixture of
chalk and water will be more potent with one label than with the other,
I fancy you will find yourself deceived. The distinctions you refer
to have to do with the theory of the subject, and will make din enough,
no doubt, among such as Mr. Newman and yourself; but mankind at large
will be unable even to enter into the meaning of your refinements.
They will say briefly and bluntly, 'What are the truths, whether, as
Lord Herbert says, they are "innate," or, as you say, "spiritual
intuitions," (we care nothing for the phraseology of either or both
of you,) which are to be admitted by universal humanity, and to be
influential over the heart and conscience?' Now, I suspect that, when
you come to the enumeration of these truths, your system and that
of Lord Herbert will be found the same; only as regards the
immortality of the soul his tone is firmer than perhaps I shall find
yours. But I admit the policy of a change of name: 'Rationalist' and
'Deist' have a bad sound; 'Spiritualist' is a better nom de guerre
for the present."
"We shall never understand one another," said Fellowes: "the
spiritual man--"
"Pshaw!" said Harrington; "you can immediately bring the matter to
the test by telling me what you maintain, and then I shall know
whether your system is or is not identical with Lord Herbert's;
or rather tell me what you do not believe, and let us come to it that
way. Do you believe a single shred of any of the supernatural
narratives of the Old and New Testament?"
"No," said Fellowes; "a thousand times no."
"Very well, that gets rid of at least four sevenths of the Bible. Do
you believe in the Trinity, the Atonement, the Resurrection of Christ,
in a general Resurrection, in the Day of Judgment?"
"No, not in one of them," said Fellowes; "not in a particle of one
of them."
"Pretty well again. You reject, then, the characteristic doctrines
of Christianity?"
"Not one of them," was the answer.
"We are indeed in danger of misunderstanding one another," said
Harrington. "But tell me, is it not your boast, as of Mr. Parker,
that the truths which are essential to religion are not peculiar to
Christianity, but are involved in all religions?"
"Assuredly."
"If I were to ask you what were the essential attributes of a man,
would you assign those which he had in common with a pig?"
"Certainly not."
"But if I asked you what were those of an animal, I presume you would
give those which both species possessed, and none that either
possessed exclusively."
"I should."
"Need I add, then, that you are deceiving yourself when you say that
you believe all the characteristic doctrines of Christianity, since you
say that you believe only those which it has in common with every
religion? If I were to ask you what doctrines are essential to
constitute any religion, then you would do well to enumerate those
which belong to Christianity and every other. But when we talk of the
doctrines peculiar to Christianity, we mean those which discriminate it
from every other, and not those which are common to it with them."
"But however," said Fellowes, "none of the doctrines you have enumerated
are a part of Christianity, but are mere additions of imposture or
fanaticism."
"Then what are the doctrines which, though common to every other
religion, are characteristic of it? What is left that is essential or
peculiar to Christianity, when you have denuded it of all that you
reject? Is it not then assimilated, by your own confession, to every
other religion? How shall we discriminate them?"
"By this, perhaps," said Fellowes, "(for I acknowledge some difficulty
here,) that Christianity contains these truths of absolute religion
alone and pure. As Mr. Parker says, This is the glory of genuine
Christianity."
"Do you not see that this is the very question,--you yourself being
obliged to reject nine tenths of the statements in the only records in
which we know anything about it? Might not an ancient priest of Jupiter
say the same of his religion, by first divesting it of all but that
which you say it had in common with every other? However, let us now
look at the positive side. What is the residuum which you condescend
to leave to your genuine Christianity?"
"Christianity," said Fellowes, rather pompously, "is not so much a
system as a discipline,--not a creed, but a life: in short, a divine
philosophy."
"All which I have heard from all sorts of Christianity a thousand
times," cried Harrington; "and it is delightfully vague; it may mean
any thing or nothing. But the truths, the truths, what are they, my
friend? I see I must get them from you by fragments. Your faith includes,
I presume, a belief in one Supreme God, who is a Divine Personality;
in the duty of reverencing, loving, and obeying him,--whether you know
how that is to be done or not; that we must repent of our sins,--if
indeed we duly know what things are sins in his sight; that he will
certainly forgive to any extent on such repentance, without any
mediation; that perhaps there is a heaven hereafter; but that it is
very doubtful if there are any punishments."
"I do believe," said Fellowes, "these are the cardinal doctrines of
the 'Absolute Religion,' as Mr. Parker calls it. Nor can I conceive
that any others are necessary."
"Well," said Harrington, "with the exception of the immortality of the
soul, on which Lord Herbert has the advantage of speaking a little more
firmly, the Deists and such 'spiritualists' as you are assuredly
identical. I have simply abridged his articles. The same project as
yours spiritualism' or 'naturalism,' in all its essential features,
has been often tried before, and found wanting; that is, of guaranteeing
to man a sufficient and infallible internal oracle, independent of all
aid from external revelation, and of proving that he has, in effect,
possessed and enjoyed it always; only that, by a slight inadvertence
(I suppose), he did not know it. The theory, indeed, is rather
suspiciously confined to those who have previously had the Bible. No
such plenary confidence is found in the ancient heathen philosophers,
who, in many not obscure places, acknowledge that the path of mortal
man, by his internal light, is a little dim. Many, therefore, say,
that the 'Naturalists' and 'Spiritualists' are but plagiarists from
the Bible, and of course, like other plagiarists, depreciate the
sources from which they have stolen their treasures. I think unjustly;
for, whatever their obligations to that mutilated volume, I acknowledge
they have transformed Christianity quite sufficiently to entitle
themselves to the praise of originality; and if the Battle of the
Books were to be fought over again, I doubt whether Moses or Paul
would think it worth while to make any other answer than that of Plato
in that witty piece, to the Grub Street author, who boasted that he had
not been in the slighest deuce indebted to the classics: Plato declared
that, upon his honor, he believed him! Whether the successors of the
Herberts and Tindals of a former day are not plagiarists from them,
is another question, and depends entirely upon whether the writings
of their predecessors are sufficiently known to them. Probably, the
hopeless oblivion which, for the most part, covers them (for the
perverse world has been again and again assured of its infallible
internal light, and has persisted in denying that it has it) will
protect our modern authors from the imputation of plagiarism; but
that the systems in question are essentially identical can hardly
admit of doubt. The principal difference is as to the organon by which
the revelation affirmed to be internal and universal is apprehended;
it affects the metaphysics of the question, and, like all metaphysics,
is characteristically dark. But about this you will not get the mass
of mankind to, any more than you can get yourselves to agree; no,
nor will you agree even about the system itself. Nay, you modern
spiritualists, just as the elder deists, are already quarrelling about
it. In short, the universal light in man's soul flickers and wavers
most abominably."
"I see," said Fellowes, "you are profoundly prejudiced against the
spiritualists."
"I believe not," said Harrington; "the worst I wish them is that they
may be honest men, and appear what they really are."
"I suppose next," exclaimed the other, "you will attribute to the modern
spiritualists the scurrility of the elder deists,--of Woolston, Tindal,
and Collins?"
"No," said Harrington, "I answer no; nor do I (remember) compare Lord
Herbert in these respects with his successors. He was an amiable
enthusiast; in many respects resembling Mr. Newman himself. Do you
remember, by the way, how that most reasonable rejecter of all 'external'
revelation prayed that he might be directed by Heaven whether he should
publish or not publish his 'book'? about which, if Heaven was very
solicitous, this world has since been very indifferent. Having distinctly
heard 'a sound as of thunder,' on a very 'calm and serene day,' he
immediately received it as a preternatural answer to prayer, and an
indubitable sign of Heaven's concurrence'."
"No such taint of superstition, however, will be found clinging to
Mr. Newman. He has most thoroughly abjured all notion of an external
revelation; nay, he denies the possibility of a 'book-revelation of
spiritual and moral truth'; and I am confident that his dilemma on that
point is unassailable."
"Be it so," answered Harrington; "you will readily suppose I am not
inclined to contest that point very vigorously; yet I confess that, as
usual, my inveterate scepticism leaves me in some doubts. Will you assist
me in resolving them?--but not to-night; let us have a little more talk
about old college days,--or what say you to a game at chess?"
____
July 4. I thought this day would have passed off entirely without
polemics; but I was mistaken. In the evening Harrington, after a very
cheerful morning, relapsed into one of his pensive moods. Conversation
flagged; at last I heard Fellowes say, "I have this advantage of you,
my friend, that my sentiments have, at all events, produced that peace
of which you are in quest, and which your countenance at times too
plainly declares you not to possess. If you had it, you would not take
so gloomy a view of things. Like him from whom I have derived some of
my sentiments, I have found that they tend to make me a happier man.
The Christian, like yourself, looks upon every thing with a jaundiced or
distorted eye, and is apt to underrate the claims and pleasures of
this present scene of our existence. I can truly say that I now enter
into them much more keenly than I could when I was an orthodox
Christian. I can say with Mr. Newman, I now, with deliberate approval,
'love the world and the things of the world.' The New Testament, as
Mr. Newman says, bids us watch perpetually, not knowing whether the
Lord will return at cock-crowing or midday; 'that the only thing
worth spending one's energies on, is the forwarding of men's salvation.'
Now I must say with him, that, while I believed this, I acted an
eccentric and unprofitable part."
"Only then?" said Harrington. "You were fortunate."
"He says, that to teach the certain speedy destruction of earthly things,
as the New Testament does, is to cut the sinews of all earthly progress;
to declare against intellect and imagination, against industrial and
social advancement."
My gravity was hardly equal to the task of listening to the first
part of Mr. Fellowes's speech. To hear that the common and just
reproach against all mankind, but especially against all Christians,
of taking too keen an interest in the present, was in a large measure
at least founded upon a mistake; to find, in fact, that there was some
danger of an excessive exaggeration of the claims of the future,
which required a corrective; that the Christian world, owing to the
above pernicious doctrine, might possibly evince too faint a relish
for the pleasures or too diminished an estimate for the advantages of
the present life; that, their "treasure being in heaven," it was not
impossible but "their heart" might be too much there also,--there,
perhaps, when it was imperatively demanded in the counting-house, on
the hustings, at the mart or the theatre; all this, being, as I say,
so notoriously contrary to ordinary opinion and experience, seemed to
me so exquisitely ludicrous that I could hardly help bursting into
laughter, especially as I imagined one of our new "spiritual" doctors
ascending the pulpit under the new dispensation, to indulge in
exhortations to a keener chase, of this world, and "the things of
this world." I found afterwards similar thoughts were passing through
Harrington's mind, rendered more whimsical by the recollection that,
during college life, his friend (though very far from vicious)
had certainly never seemed to take any deficient interest in the
affairs of this world, nor to exhibit any predilection for an
ascetic life. Indeed, he acknowledged that, after all, he could not
sympathize with Mr. Newman's extreme sensitiveness in relation to
this matter. (See Phases, p. 205.)
Harrington answered, with proper gravity, "I am glad to find that
any undue austerity of character--of which, however, I assure you,
upon my honor, I never suspected you--has received so invaluable a
corrective. Still, it is obvious to remark, that, if the chief effect
of this new style of religion is to abate any excessive antipathy
which the New Testament has fostered, or was likely to foster, to
the attractions of this life, it has, I conceive, an easy task. I
never remarked in Christians any superfluous contempt of the present
world or its pleasures; any indication of an extravagant admiration
of any sublimer objects of pursuit. In truth, the tendencies of
human nature, as it appears to me, are so strong the other way, that
the strongest language of a hundred New Testaments would be little
heeded. Your corrective is something like that of a moralist who
should seriously prove that man was to take care that his appetites
and passions are duly indulged, of which ethical writers have, alas!
condescended to say but little, supposing that every body would feel
that there was no need of solemn counsels on such a subject. It
reminds one of the Christmas sermon mentioned in the 'Sketch Book,'
preached by the good little antiquarian who elaborately proved, and
pathetically enforced on reluctant auditors, the duty of a proper
devotion to the festivities of the season. However, every one must
like the complexion of your theology, though its counsels on this
subject do not seem to me of urgent necessity."
"Perhaps," said Fellowes, "I ought rather to have said that
Christians inculcate, theoretically, a contempt of the present life,
while, practically, they enter as keenly into its pleasures as the
'worldling,'"--uttering the last word with an approach to a sneer.
"You may be sure," said Harrington, "I shall leave the Christian to
defend himself; but if the case be as you now represent it, your new
religious system seems to be superfluous as a corrective of any
tendencies to Christian asceticism, and can do nothing for us. It
appears that your Reformation was begun and ended before your
'spiritual' Luthers appeared."
"Not so," said Fellowes, "for the eagerness with which the Christian
pursues the world, while he condemns it, is, as Mr. Greg has
recently insisted, gigantic hypocrisy': it is founded on a lie. They
say this world is not to be the great object for which we are to
live and in which we are to find our happiness; we say it is: they
say it is not our 'country' or our 'home'; we say it is: they say
that we are to live supremely for the future, and in it; we say,
for and in the present; that if there be a future world (of which
many doubt, and I, for one, have not been able to make up my mind),
we are to hope to be happy there, but that the main business is to
secure our happiness here,--to embellish, adorn, and enjoy this our
only certain dwelling-place,--and, in fact, to live supremely for
the present. Such is the constitution of human nature."
"I shall not be at the trouble," replied Harrington, "to defend the
inconsistencies of the Christian; but your system, I fear, is
essentially a brutal theology, and, I am certain, a false philosophy.
All the analogies of our nature cry out against it. All, even with
regard to the 'present,' as you call this life, man is perpetually
living for and in the future. This 'present' (minute as it is) is
itself broken up into many futures, and it is these which man truly
lives for, when he is not a beast; and not for the passing hour. It
is not to-day, it is always to-morrow, on which his eye is fixed; and
his ever-repining nature perpetually confesses its impatient want of
something (it knows not what) to come. The child lives for his youth,
and the youth is discontented till he is a man; every attainment and
every possession pails as soon as it is reached, and we still sigh for
something that we have not. It is simply in analogy with all this that
the Christian and every other religion says (absurdly, if you will,
but certainly with a deeper knowledge of human nature than you), that,
as every little present has its little future for which we live, so
the whole present of this life has its great future, which must, all
the way through, be made the supreme object of forethought and
solicitude; just as we should despise any man who, for a moment's
gratification to-day, perilled the happiness of the whole of to-morrow.
If Christians are inconsistent in this respect, that is their affair;
but I am sure their theory is more in accordance with the constitution
of human nature than yours." He might have added, that there is nothing
in the New Testament which forbids to Christians any of the innocent
pleasures of this life: the Christian may lawfully appropriate them.
His system does not constrain him to hermit-like austerity or Puritanic
grimace. He may enjoy them, just as a wise man, who will not sacrifice
any of the interests of next year for a transient gratification of
the passing hour, does not deny himself any legitimate pleasure which
is not inconsistent with the more momentous interest. The pilgrim drinks
and rests at the fountain though he does not dream of setting up his
tent there.
"Nay," said Fellowes, "but think again of the 'gigantic lie' of making
the future world the supreme object, and yet living wholly for this."
"If that be the case," said I, joining in their talk, "there is no
doubt a 'gigantic lie' somewhere; but the question is, Who tells it?
It does not follow that it is Christianity. You may see every day men
nay, losing, some important advantages by loitering away the very
hour which is to secure them,--in reading a novel, enjoying a social
hour, lying in bed, and what not. You do not conclude that the man's
estimate of the future--his philosophy of that--is any the more
questionable for this folly? The ruthless future comes and makes
his heart ache; and so may it be with Christianity for aught any
such considerations imply. Your argument only proves that, if
Christianity be true, man is an inconsistent fool; and, in my
judgment, that was proved long before Christianity was born or
thought of."
"Your theology," cried Harrington, "fairly carried out, would lead
most men to the 'Epicurean sty' which, sceptic as I am, I loathe
the thought of; it deserves the rebuke which Johnson gave the man
who pleaded for a 'natural and savage condition,' as he called it.
'Sir,' said the Doctor, 'it is a brutal doctrine; a bull might as
well say, I have this grass and this cow,--and what can a creature
want more?' No, I am sure that the Christian or any other
religionist--inconsistent though he is--appeals in this point
deeper analogies of our nature than you."
"But the fact is," said Fellowes, "that the Christian depreciates
the innocent pleasures of this life."
And my uncle would say it is his own fault then."
"Nay, but hear me. I conceive that nothing could be more natural,
as several of our writers have remarked, than the injunctions of
the Apostles to the primitive Christians to despise the world, and
so forth, under the impression of that great mistake they had
fallen into, that the world was about to tumble to pieces, and----"
"I am not sure," said Harrington, who seemed resolved to evince a
scepticism provoking enough, "that they did make the mistake, on
your principles. For I know not, nor you either, whether the
expressions on which you found the supposition be not amongst
the voluminous additions with which you are pleased to suppose
their simple and genuine 'utterances' have been corrupted. But,
leaving you to discuss that point, if you like, with my uncle here,
I must deny that the mistake, supposing it one, makes any thing
in relation to our present discussion. You say that the Apostles
did well and naturally to inculcate a light grasp on the world,
on the supposition that it was about to pass away; and therefore,
I suppose, you (under a similar impression) would do the same; if
so, ought you not still to do it? for can it make any conceivable
difference to the wisdom or the folly of such exhortations, whether
the world passes away from us, or we pass away from the world?--
whether it 'tumbles to pieces,' as you express it, or (which is too
certain) we tumble to pieces? I think, therefore, your same
comfortable theology cannot be justified, if you justify the conduct
of the Apostles under their impression, let it be ever so erroneous.
You ought to feel the same sentiments; you being, to all practical
purposes, under a precisely similar impression."
Fellowes looked as if he were a little vexed at having thus
hypothetically justified the conduct of the Apostles.
But he was not without his answer, adopted from Mr. Newman.
"Yes," said he, "practically, no doubt, death is the end of the
world to us; but to urge this,--what is it, as Mr. Newman says,
but abominable selfishness preached as religion'? If we are to
labor for posterity, will not our work remain, though we die?
But if the world is to perish in fifty years, or a century,
what then?"
"Far be it from me," said Harrington, "to compete with your
spiritual philanthropy, which, doubtless, will not be content
to work unless under a lease of a million of years. I suppose
even if you thought the would come to an end in a hundred years,
(and really I have no proof that the Apostles thought it would
end sooner,--they spoke of their death as coming first,) you
would not think it worth while to do any thing; the welfare of
your children and grandchildren would appear far too paltry for
so ambitious a benevolence as yours! Most people--Christians,
sceptics, or otherwise--are contented to aim at the welfare of
his generation and the next, and think as little of their
great-great-grandchildren as of their great-great-grandfathers.
That little vista terminates the projects of their philanthropy,
just as their own death is to them the end of the world. Meantime,
it appears, you would be tempted to neglect the practical little
you could do, because you could not do more than for a century or
so! Pray, which is really the more benevolent? Moreover, as not
one man in a million can or does think of benefiting any but his
immediate generation, you ought, upon your principles, still to
sit down inactive; for they for whom alone you can work will soon
pass away too. But the whole argument is too refined. No mortal--
except you or Mr. Newman--would be wrought upon by it."
"Well, but," said Fellowes, "as to the mistake of the Apostles,
there can be no doubt of that; it really appears to me grossly
disingenuous"--looking towards me--"to deny it. What do you say,
Mr. B.?" repeating his assertion that the Apostles clearly thought
that the end of the world was close at hand,--in fact, that it
would happen in their generation.