a universal law we shall develop a universal love; the disposition and
ability to love without offence or ill-feeling towards any; or, as
Miss Martineau represents it,--When the mind has completely surmounted
every idea of a personal God, of a supreme will, 'what repose begins
to pervade the mind! What clearness of moral purpose naturally ensues!
and what healthful activity of the moral faculties!' (p. 219) .... What
a new perception we obtain of the "beauty of holiness,"--the loveliness
of a healthful moral condition,--accordant with the laws of natures,
and not with the requisitions of theology!'" (p. 219.)
I got him afterwards to show me these passages, for I could hardly
believe that he had quoted them right.
"And as for morality," continued he, "the knowledge which mesmerism
gives of the influence of body on body, and consequently of mind on
mind, will bring about a morality we have not yet dreamed of. And who
shall disguise his nature and his acts when we cannot be sure at any
moment that we are free from the clairvoyant eye of some one who is
observing our actions and most secret thoughts; and our whole
character and history may be read off at any moment!" (H. G. A. to
H. M., p. 280.)
What an admirable substitute, thought I, for the idea of an omnipresent
and omniscient Deity! Who will not abstain from lying and stealing
when he thinks, there is possibly some clairvoyant at the antipodes
in mesmeric rapport with his own spirit, and perhaps, by the way, in
very sympathizing rapport, if the clairvoyant happen to be in Australia?
It was at this point that our young friend from Germany broke in.
"I hold that you are right, Sir," he said to the last speaker, "in
saying that God is not a person; but then it is because, as Hegel
says, he is personality itself--the universal personality which
realizes itself in each human consciousness, as a separate thought of
the one eternal mind. Our idea of the absolute is the absolute itself;
apart from and out of the universe, therefore, there is no God."
"I think we may grant you that," said Harrington, laughing.
"Nor," continued the other, "is there any God apart from the
universal consciousness of man. He--"
"Ought you not to say it?" said Harrington.
"It, then," said our student, "is the entire process of thought
combining in itself the objective movement in nature with the
logical subjective, and realizing itself in the spiritual totality
of humanity. He (or it, if you will) is the eternal movement of the
universal, ever raising itself to a subject, which first of all in
the subject comes to objectivity and a real consistence, and
accordingly absorbs the subject in its abstract individuality.
God is, therefore, not a person, but personality itself."
Nobody answered, for nobody understood.
"Q. E. D.," said Harrington, with the utmost gravity.
Thus encouraged, our student was going on to show how much more
clear Hegel's views are than those of Schelling. "The only real
existence," he said, "is the relation; subject and object, which
seem contradictory, are really one,--not one in the sense of
Schelling, as opposite poles of the same absolute existence, but
one as the relation itself forms the very idea. Not but what in
the threefold rhythm of universal existence there are affinities
with the three potencies of Schelling; but----"
"Take a glass of wine." said Harrington to his young acquaintance,
"take a glass of wine, as the Antiquary said to Sir Arthur Wardour,
when he was trying to cough up the barbarous names of his Pictish
ancestors, 'and wash down that bead-roll of unbaptized jargon which
would choke a dog.'"
We laughed, for we could not help it.
Our young student looked offended, and muttered something about the
inaptitude of the English for a deep theosophy and philosophy.
"It is all very well." said he, "Mr. Harrington; but it is not in
this way that the profound questions which, under some aspects, have
divided such minds as Fichte, Schelling, and Hegel; and under others,
Gosehel, Hinrichs, Erdmann, Marheineke, Schaller, Gabler -----"
Harrington burst out laughing. "They divide a good many philosophers
of that last name in England also," said he.
"Why, what have I said?" replied the other, looking surprised and vexed.
"Nothing at all," said Harrington, still laughing. "Nothing that I
know of; I am sure I may with truth affirm it. But I beg your pardon
for laughing; only I could not help it, at finding you like so many
other young philosophers born of German theology and philosophy,
attempting to frighten me by a mere roll-call of formidable names.
Why, my friend, it is because these things have, as you say, divided
these great minds so hopelessly, that I am in difficulty; if the
philosophers had agreed about them, it would have been another
story. One would think, to hear them invoked by many a youth here,
that these powerful minds had convinced one another; instead of that,
they have simply confounded one another. It was the very spectacle
of their interminable disputes and distractions in philosophy and
theology,--ever darker and darker, deeper and deeper, as system after
system chased each other away, like the clouds they resemble through
a winter sky;--I say it was the very spectacle of their distractions
which first made me a sceptic; and I think I am hardly likely to be
reconvinced by the mere sound of their names, ushered in by vague
professions of profound admiration of their profundity! The praise
is often oddly justified by citing something or other, which,
obscure enough in the original, is absolute darkness when translated
into English; and must, like some versions I have seen of the
classics, be examined in the original, in order to gain a glimpse of
its meaning."
The student acknowledged that there was certainly much vague
admiration and pretension amongst young Englishmen in this matter; but
thought that profounder views were to be gathered from these sources
than was generally acknowledged.
"Very well," replied Harrington; "I do not deny it, perhaps it is so;
and whenever you choose to justify that opinion by expressing in
intelligible English the special views of the special author you
think thus worthy of attention, whether he be from Germany or Timbuctoo,
I humbly venture to say that I will (so far from laughing) examine them
with as much patience as yourself. But if you wish to cure me of
laughing, I beseech you to refrain from all vague appeals to
wholesale authority.
"The most ludicrous circumstance, however," he continued, "connected
with this German mania is, that in many cases our admiring countrymen
are too late in changing their metaphysical fashions; so that they
sometimes take up with rapture a man whom the Germans are just
beginning to cast aside. Our servile imitators live on the crumbs
that fall from the German table, or run off with the well-picked bone
to their kennel, as if it were a treasure, and growl and show their
teeth to any one that approaches them, in very superfluous terror of
being deprived of it. It would be well if they were to imitate the
importers of Parisian fashions, and let us know what is the philosophy
or theology a la mode, that we may not run a chance of appearing
perfect frights in the estimate even of the Germans themselves."
Coffee was here brought in: and Harrington said, "Thank you, gentlemen,
for your candor, though your unanimity does not seem very admirable.
In one sentiment, indeed, you are pretty well agreed,--that the
Bible is to be discarded; though you are infinitely at variance, as
to the grounds on which you think so; Catholic friends deeming it
too precious to be intrusted to every body's hands, and the rest of
you, as a gift not worth receiving. But as to the systems you
would substitute in its place, they are so portentously various that they
are hardly likely to cure me of my scepticism; nor even my worthy
relative here"--pointing to me--"of his old-fashioned orthodoxy.
He will say, 'Much as we theologians differ as to the interpretation
of Scripture, our differences are neither so great nor so formidable
as those of these gentlemen. I had better remain where I am.'"
Several of the guests stared at me as they would at the remains of
a megatherium.
"Is it possible," said one at last, "that you, Sir, can retain a
belief in the divine inspiration of the Bible,--excluding incidental
errors of transcription and so on?"
"It is not only possible," said I, "but certain."
"Do you mean," said the other, "that you can give satisfactory answers
to the objections which can be brought against various parts of it?"
"By no means," said I; "while I think that many may be wholly solved,
and more, partially, I admit there are some which are altogether
insoluble.'
"Then why, in the name of wonder, do you retain your belief?"
"Because I think that the evidence for retaining it is, on the whole,
stronger than the evidence for relinquishing it; that is, that the
objections to admitting the objections are stronger than the objections
themselves."
"But how do you manage in a controversy with an opponent as to those
insoluble objections?"
"I admit them."
"Then you allow his position to be more tenable and reasonable than
yours?"
"No," said I, "I take care of that."
"How so?"
"I transfer the war, My good Sir: a practice which I would recommend
to most Christians in these days. When I meet with an opponent of the
stamp you refer to, who thinks insoluble objections alone are
sufficient reasons for rejecting any thing. I say to him, 'My friend,
this Christianity, if so clearly false, is not worth talking about: let
us quit it. But as you admit, with me, that religious truth is of great
moment, and as you think you have it, pray oblige me by your system.'
To tell you the truth, I never found any difficulty in propounding
plenty of insoluble objections; but if you think differently, you or
any gentleman present can make experiment of the matter now."
"Nay, my dear uncle," said Harrington, "you are invading my province.
It is I only who can consistently challenge all comers; like the
ancient Scythians, I have every thing to gain and nothing to lose."
Whether it was out of respect for the host, or that each felt, after
the recent disclosures, that he would not only have Harrington and
myself, but every body else, down upon him, nobody accepted this
challenge.
At last one of them said he could not even yet comprehend how it
was that I could remain an old-fashioned believer in these days
of "progress." "It was infidelity itself," I replied, "that early
robbed me of the advantages of being an infidel."
Several expressed their surprise, and I told them that, after we had
taken tea in the drawing-room (to which we were then summoned), I
would, if they felt any curiosity upon the matter, and would allow
a little scope to the garrulity of an old man, tell them
HOW IT WAS THAT INFIDELITY PREVENTED MY BECOMING AN INFIDEL.
AFTER tea I gave my story, as nearly as I can recollect, in the
following way. Of course I cannot recall the precise words; but
the order of the thoughts--how often have they been pondered!--I
cannot be mistaken about.
____
It is now thirty years ago or more since I was passing through many
of the mental conflicts in which I see so many of the young in the
present day involved. I have no doubt that the majority of them will
come out, probably after an eclipse more or less partial, very
orthodox Christians,--so great are the revolutions of opinion
which an experience of human life and the necessities of the human
heart work upon us! As I look around me, I see few of my youthful
contemporaries who have not survived their infidelity.
Far be it from me--(I spoke in a tone which, I imagine, they hardly
knew whether to take as compliment or irony)--to affirm that the
infidels of this day are like those I knew in my youth. I have no
hesitation in saying of us, that a perfectly natural recoil--partly
intellectual and partly moral--from the supernatural history, the
peculiar doctrines, but, above all, the severe morality of the
New Testament, was at the bottom of our unbelief. I have long felt
that the reception of that book on the part of any human being
is not the least of its proofs that it is divine, for I am persuaded
there never was a book naturally more repulsive either to the human
head or heart. All the prejudices of man are necessarily arrayed
against it. I felt these prejudice, I am now distinctly conscious;
nor was I insensible to the palpable advantages of infidelity;--its
accommodating morality; its Large margin for the passions and appetites;
its doubts of any future world, or its certainty that, if there were
one, it would prove a universal paradise (for doubts and certainties
are equally within the compass of human wishes); the absolute
abolition of hell and every thing like in. I say I saw clearly enough
the advantages which infidelity promised, and I acknowledge I was not
insensible to them. I think no young men are likely to be.
I do not insinuate that similar advantages have any thing to do with
those many peculiar revelations of religion which different oracles
have in our day substituted for the New Testament. The arguments
against Christianity, indeed, I do not find much altered; the
substitutions for it, though distractingly various, are, I confess,
in some respects different. Nay, we see that many of our "spiritualists"
complain chiefly of the moral and spiritual deficiencies of
Christianity; they are afraid, with Mr. Newman, of the conscience
of man being DEPRESSED to the Bible standard! So that we must
suppose that the aim of some, at least, of our infidel reformers,
are prompted by a loftier ideal of "spiritual" purity than
Christianity presents!
It certainly was not so then. I felicitate some of you, gentlemen,
on being so much holier and wiser, nor only than we were, but even
than Christ and his Apostles.
I have said I was not insensible to the advantages of infidelity;
but nature had endowed me with prudence as well as passions; and I
wanted evidence for what appeared to me its most gratuitous
philosophy of the future,--for its too uncertain doubts of all
futurity, and its too doubtful certainty of none but a happy one!
I also wanted evidence of the falsehood of Christianity itself. As
to the former, I shall not trouble you with my difficulties; there
were indeed then, as now, an admirable variety of theories; but if
I could have been convinced of the futility of the claims of
Christianity, I believe I should have been easily satisfied as to
a substitute; or rather, unable to decide between Chubb and
Bolingbroke, Voltaire and Rousseau, I should most likely have tossed
up for my religion.
It was the distractions with regard to the evidences of Christianity
that ruined me; and at last condemned me to be a Christian.
I was first troubled, like so many in our day, about the miracles. I
could hardly bring my mind to believe them. One day, talking with a
jovial fellow whom I casually met (not of very strong mind indeed, but
who made up for it by very strong passions) over the improbability of
such occurrences, he exclaimed, as he mixed his third glass of brandy
and water, "I only wonder how any one can be such a fool as to believe
in any stuff of that sort? Do you think that, if the miracles had been
really wrought, there could have been any doubters of Christianity?"
He tossed off the brandy and water with a triumphant air; and I quite
forgot his argument in compassion for his bestiality. I expostulated
with him. "You may spare your breath, Mr. Solomon," said he. "May this
be my poison (as it will be my poison)," mixing a fourth glass, "if I
need any sermons on the subject. Hark ye,--I am perfectly convinced
that the habit I am chained to will be the destruction of health,
of reputation, of my slender means,--will reduce to beggary and
starvation my wife and children,--and yet," drinking again, "I know I
shall never leave it off."
"Good heavens!" said I. "Why, you seem as plainly convinced of the
infatuation of your conduct as if miracle had been wrought to convince
you of it.
"I am." he said, unthinkingly; "ten thousand miracles could not make it
plainer; so you may 'spare your breath to cool your porridge,' and
preach to one who is not already in the condemned cell."
I was exceedingly shocked; but I thought within myself,--It appears,
then, that man may act against convictions, as strong as any that a
miracle could produce. It is clear there are no LIMITS to the
perversity with which a depraved will and passions can overrule
evidence, even where it is admitted by the reason to be invincible.
It does not follow, then, that a miracle (which cannot present
conclusions more clear) must triumph over them. If the passions can
defy the understanding, where it coolly acknowledges they cannot
pervert the evidence, how much more easily may they cajole it to
suggest doubts of the evidence itself! And what more easy than in
relation to miracles? Such a phenomenon might from novelty produce a
transient impression; but that would pass away, just as the vivid
feelings sometimes excited by a sudden escape from death pass away;
the half-roused debauchee resumes his old career, just as if he had
never looked over the brink of eternity and shuddered with horror as
he gazed. He who had seen a miracle might very soon, and probably
would, if he did not like the doctrine it was to confirm, persuade
himself that it was an illusion of his senses, for they have deceived
him; unless, indeed, he saw a new miracle every day, and then he
would be certain to get used to it. How much more easily could the
Jews do this, who both hated the doctrine of Him who taught, and,
not thinking miracles impossible, could conveniently refer them
to Beelzebub!
I felt, therefore, that the brandy and water logic had perfectly
convinced me that this was far too precarious ground on which to
conclude that the miracles of the New Testament had been wrought.
I was further confirmed in my convictions of the illogical nature of
all a priori views on the subject, by the whimsical differences of
opinion among my infidel friends.
One told me that it was plain that miracles were "incredible," and
"impossible," per se; but he was immediately contradicted by a second,
who said that he really could not see any thing incredible or impossible
about them; that all that was wanting to make them credible was
sufficient evidence, which perhaps had in no case been given.
A third said, that it was of little consequence; that no miracle could
prove a moral truth; and; taking a view just the opposite to that of
my first acquaintance, swore that, if he saw a score of miracles, he
should not be a bit the more inclined to believe in the authority of
a religion authenticated by them.
Here was a fine beginning for an ingenuous neophyte, who was eager
to be fully initiated in infidel theology!
It set me to examine the miracles themselves, and the evidence
for them.
"They were the simple result of fraud practising upon simplicity,"
said one of the genuine descendants of Bolingbroke and Tindal.
I pondered over it a good deal. At last I said one day to another
infidel acquaintance, "You ask me to believe that the miraculous
events of the New Testament were contrivances of fraud; which, though
ventured upon in the very eyes of those who were interested in
detecting them, who must have been prejudiced against them, nay, the
majority of whom (as the events show) were determined, whether they
detected them or not, not to believe those who wrought them,
were yet successfully practised, not only on the deluded disciples
of the impostors, but on their unbelieving persecutors, who admitted
them to be miracles, only of Beelzebub's performing. I really know
not how to believe it. As I look at the general history of religion,
I see that this open-day appeal to miracles--especially such as
raising the dead--among prejudiced spectators interested in
unmasking them is, if unsupported by truth, just the thing under
which a religious enterprise inevitably fails."
I reminded him that the French prophets in England got on pretty
well till their unlucky attempt to raise the dead, when the bubble
burst instantly; that for this reason the more astute impostors have
refrained from any pretensions of the kind, from Mahomet downwards;
(How discreetly cautious, again, have the Mormonites been on this point!)
that the miracles they professed to have wrought were conveniently
wrought in secret, on the safe theatre of their mental consciousness;
or that they were reserved for times when their disciples were
predetermined to believe them, because they were cordial believers
already in the religion which appealed to them! I said nothing of the
unlikelihood of the instruments--Galilean Jews--whom the theory invests
with such superhuman powers of deception; or of the prodigious
intellect and lofty ambition with which it also so liberally endows
these obscure vagabonds, who not only conceived, in spite of their
narrow-hearted Jewish bigotry, such a system as Christianity, but
proclaimed their audacious resolve of establishing it on the ruins
of every other religion,--Jewish or Heathen. I said nothing of the
still stranger moral attributes with which it invests them, (in spite
of their being such odious tricksters, in spite of all their
grovelling notions and exclusive prejudices,) as the teachers of a
singularly elevated and catholic morality; what is still stranger
as suffering for it,--strangest of all, as apparently practising
it. I said nothing of what is still more wonderful, their acting
this inconsistent part from motives we cannot assign or even imagine;
their encountering obloquy, persecution, death, in the prosecution of
their object, whatever it was. I said nothing of the innumerable and
one would think inimitable, traits of nature and sincerity in the
narrative of those who record these miracles, and which, if simulated
by such liars, would be almost a miracle itself; a narrative, in which
majestic indifference to human criticism is everywhere exhibited;
in which are no apologies for the extraordinary stories told, no
attempt to conciliate prejudice, no embellishment, no invectives (as
Pascal says) against the persecutors of Christ himself;--they are
simple witnesses, and nothing more, and are seemingly indifferent
whether men despise them or not. I repeat, I said nothing of all
these paradoxes; I insisted that the mere fact of the successful
machination of false miracles, of such a nature, at so many points,
in open day, in defiance of every motive and prejudice which must
have prompted the world to unmask the cheat,--of a conspiracy
successfully prosecuted, not by one, but by many conspirators, whose
fortitude, obstinacy, and circumspection, both when acting together
and acting alone, never allowed them to betray themselves,--was,
per se, incredible; "and yet," said I to my friend, "you ask
me to believe it?"
"I ask you to believe it?" cried he, in surprise which equalled my
own. "I am not fool enough ask you to believe any thing of the
kind: and they are fools who do. The miracles fraudulent machinations!
no, no, it was, as you say, evidently impossible. And where shall we
look for marks of simplicity and truthfulness, if not in the records
which contain them. The fact is." said he (I should mention that it
was just about the time that the system of "naturalism" was
culminating under the auspices of Paulus of Heidelberg, from whom,
at second hand, my infidel friend borrowed as much as he wanted),--"the
fact is, that the compilers of the New Testament were pious,
simple-minded, excellent enthusiasts, who sincerely, but not the
less falsely, mistook natural phenomena for supernatural miracles.
What more easy than to suppose people dead when they were not, and
who were merely recovered from a swoon or trance? than to imagine
the blind, deaf, or dumb to be miraculously healed, when in fact
they were cured by medical skill? than to fancy the blaze of a flambeau
to be a star, and to shape thunder into articulate speech, and so on?
Christ was no miracle-worker, but he was a capital doctor."