prejudices in favor of certain systems of theology occasioned in
the several partisans of each. No doubt the worthy men were
generally unconscious of the influence of these prejudices; yet,
somehow, the memory was seldom so dear in relation to those texts
which told against them as in relation to those which told for
them. A certain Quaker had an impression that the words instituting
the Eucharist were preceded by a qualifying expression, "And Jesus
said to the twelve, Do this in remembrance of me"; while he could
not exactly recollect whether or not the formula of "baptism" was
expressed in the general terms some maintained it was. Several
Unitarians had a clear recollection, that in several places the
authority of manuscripts, as estimated in Griesbaeh's recension, was
decidedly against the common reading; while the Trinitarians
maintained that Griesbaeb's recension in those instances had left
that reading undisturbed. An Episcopalian began to bare his doubts
whether the usage in favor of the interchange of the words "bishop"
and "presbyter" was so uniform as the Presbyterian and Independent
maintained, and whether there was not a passage in which Timothy
and Titus were expressly called "bishops." The Presbyterian and
Independent had similar biases; and one gentleman, who was a
strenuous advocate of the system of the latter, enforced one
equivocal remembrance by saying, he could, as it were, distinctly
see the very spot on the page before his mind's eye. Such tricks
will imagination play with the memory, when preconception plays
tricks with the imagination! In like manner; it was seen that, while
the Calvinist was very distinct in his recollection of the ninth
chapter of Romans, his memory was very faint as respects the exact
wording of some of the verses in the Epistle of James; and though
the Arminian had a most vivacious impression of all those passages
which spoke of the claims of the law, he was in some doubt whether
the Apostle Paul's sentiments respecting human depravity, and
justification by faith alone, had not been a little exaggerated. In
short, it very dearly appeared that tradition was no safe guide;
that if, even while she was hardly a month old; she could play such
freaks with the memories of honest people, there was but a sorry
prospect of the secure transmission of truth for eighteen hundred
years. From each man's memory seemed to glide something or other
which he was not inclined to retain there, and each seemed to
substitute in its stead something that he liked better.
Though the assembly was in the main most anxious to come to a right
decision, and really advanced an immense way towards completing a
true and faithful copy of the lost original, the disputes which arose,
on almost every point of theology, promised the world an abundant
crop of new sects and schisms. Already there had sprung up several
whose names had never been heard of in the world, but for this
calamity. Amongst them were two who were called the "Long Memories"
and the "Short Memories." Their general tendencies coincided pretty
much with those of the orthodox and the rationalists.
It was curious to see by what odd associations, sometimes of contrast,
sometimes of resemblance, obscure texts were recovered, though they
were verified, when once mentioned, by the consciousness of hundreds.
One old gentleman, a miser, contributed (and it was all he did contribute)
a maxim of prudence, which he recollected, principally from having
systematically abused it. All the ethical maxims, indeed, were soon
collected; for though, as usual, no one recollected his own peculiar
duties or infirmities, every one, as usual, kindly remembered those
of his neighbors. Husbands remembered what was due from their wives,
and wives what was due from their husbands. The unpleasant sayings
about "better to dwell on the house-top" and "the perpetual dropping
on a very rainy day" were called to mind by thousands. Almost the
whole of Proverbs and Ecclesiastes were contributed, in the merest
fragments, in this way. As for Solomon's "times for every thing," few
could remember them all, but every body remembered some. Undertakers
said there was a "time to mourn," and comedians that there was a
"time to laugh"; young ladies innumerable remembered that there was
a "time to love," and people of all kinds that there was a "time
to hate"; every body knew there was a "time to speak," but a worthy
Quaker reminded them that there was also a "time to keep silence."
Some dry parts of the laws of Moses were recovered by the memory of
jurists, who seemed to have no knowledge whatever of any other parts
of the sacred volume; while in like manner one or two antiquarians
supplied some very difficult genealogical and chronological matters,
in equal ignorance of the moral and spiritual contents of the
Scriptures.
As people became accustomed to the phenomenon, the perverse humors of
mankind displayed themselves in a variety of ways. The efforts of the
pious assembly were abundantly laughed at; but I must, in justice,
add, without driving them from their purpose. Some profane wags
suggested there was now a good opportunity of realizing the scheme
taking "not" out of the Commandments and inserting it in the Creed.
But they were sarcastically told, that the old objection to the plan
would still apply; that they would not sin with equal relish if they
were expressly commanded to do so, nor take such pleasure in
infidelity if infidelity became a duty. Others said that, if the world
must wait till the synod had concluded its labors, the prophecies of
the New Testament would not be written till some time after their
fulfilment; and that, if all the conjectures of the learned divines
were inserted in the new edition of the Bible, the declaration in
John would be literally verified, and that "the world itself would
not contain all the books which would be written."
But the most amusing thing of all was to see, as time made man more
familiar with this strange event, the variety of speculations which
were entertained respecting its object and design. Many began
gravely to question whether it was the duty of the synod to attempt
the reconstruction of a book of which God himself had so manifestly
deprived the world, and whether it was not a profane, nay, an
atheistical, attempt to frustrate his will. Some, who were secretly
glad to be released from so troublesome a book, were particularly
pious on this head, and exclaimed bitterly against this rash attempt
to counteract and cancel the decrees of Heaven. The Papists, on their
part, were confident that the design was to correct the exorbitancies
of a rabid Protestantism, and show the world, by direct miracle, the
necessity of submitting to the decision of their Church and the
infallibility of the supreme Pontiff; who, as they truly alleged,
could decide all knotty points quite as well without the Word of
God as with it. On being reminded that the writings of the Fathers,
on which they laid so much stress as the vouchers of their traditions,
were mutilated by the same stroke which had demolished the Bible (all
their quotations from the sacred volume being erased), some of the
Jesuits affirmed that many of the Fathers were rather improved than
otherwise by the omission, and that they found these writings quite
as intelligible and not less edifying than before. In this, many
Protestants very cordially agreed. On the other hand, many of our
modern infidels gave an entirely new turn to the whole affair, by
saying that the visitation was evidently not in judgment, but in
mercy; that God in compassion, and not in indignation, had taken
away a book which man had regarded with an extravagant admiration
and idolatry, and which they had exalted to the place of that
clear internal oracle which He had planted in the human breast; in
a word, that, if it was a rebuke at all, it was a rebuke to a rampant
"Bibliolatry." As I heard all these different versions of so simple
a matter, and found that not a few were inclined to each, I could,
not help exclaiming, "In truth the Devil is a very clever fellow,
and man even a greater blockhead than I had taken him for." But in
spite of the surprise with which I had listened to these various
explanations of an event which seemed to me clear as if written
with a sunbeam, this last reason, which assigned as the cause of
God's resumption of his own gift, an extravagant admiration and
veneration of it on the part of mankind,--it being so notorious
that those who professed belief in its divine origin and authority
had (even the best of them) so grievously neglected both the
study and the practice of it,--struck me as so exquisitely
ludicrous, that I broke into a fit of laughter, which awoke me.
I found that it was broad daylight, and the morning sun was
streaming in at the window, and shining in quiet radiance upon
the open Bible which lay on my table. So strongly had my dream
impressed me, that I almost felt as though, on inspection, I
should find the sacred leaves a blank, and it was therefore
with joy that my eyes rested on those words, which I read through
grateful tears: "The gifts of God are without repentance."
____
July 19. This morning my friends treated me to a long dialogue in
which it was contended
THAT MIRACLES ARE IMPOSSIBLE, BUT THAT IT IS IMPOSSIBLE TO PROVE IT.
"I think, Fellowes," Harrington began, "if there be any point in
which you and I are likely to agree, it is in that dogma that miracles
are impossible. And yet here, as usual, my sceptical doubts pursue
and baffle me. I wish you would try with me whether there be not an
escape from them." Fellowes assented.
"As I have to propose and explain my doubts," said Harrington, "perhaps
you will excuse my taking the 'lion's share' of the conversation. But
now, by way of beginning in some way,--what, my dear friend, is a
miracle?"
"What is a miracle? Ay, that is the question; but though it may be
difficult to find an exact definition of it, it is easily understood by
every body."
"Very likely; then you can with more ease give me your notion of it."
"If, for example," said Fellowes, "the sun which has risen so long,
every morning, were to rise no more; or if a man, whom we knew to be
dead and buried, were to come to life again; or if what we know to
be water were at once to become wine, none would hesitate to call that
a miracle."
"You remember, perhaps," said Harrington, "an amusing little play of
Socratic humor in the dialogue of Theaetetus, somewhere in the
introduction, when the ironical querist has asked that intelligent
youth what science is?
"I cannot say that I do; for though I have read that dialogue, it is
some years ago."
"Let me read you the passage then. Here it is," said Harrington,
reaching down the dialogue and turning to the place. "'Tell me frankly,'
says Socrates, 'what do you think science is?' 'It appears to me,' says
Theaetetus, 'that such things as one may learn from Theodorus here,
--namely, geometry, as well as other things which you have just
enumerated; and again, that the shoemaker's art, and those of other
artisans,--all and each of them are nothing else but science.' 'You
are munificent indeed,' said Socrates; 'for when asked for one thing, you
have given many.' I almost think," continued Harrington, "that, if
Socrates were here, he would do what I should not presume to do,--banter
you in a somewhat similar way. He would say, that, having asked what
a miracle was, Mr. Fellowes told him that half a dozen things were
miracles, but did not tell him what every miracle was; that is, never
told him what made all miracles such. Suffer me again to ask you what a
miracle is?"
"I recollect now enough of the charming dialogue from which you have
taken occasion to twit me, to answer you in the same vein. As it
turns out, Socrates, appears to be at least equally ignorant with
Theaetetus as to the definition of which he is in search. I think it
may be as well for me to do at once what certainly Theaetetus would
have done, had he known that his reprover was as much in the dark
as himself."
"What is that?" said Harrington.
"He would have cut short a good deal of banter by at once turning
the tables upon his ironical tormentor; acknowledging his impotence,
and making him give the required definition. Come, let me take that
course."
"I have no objection, my friend, if you will first, as you say,
acknowledge your impotence; only I would not advise you, for in that
case you would be obliged to confess that you have resolved with me
that a miracle is impossible, and yet that you are not quite sure that
you can tell, or rather own that you cannot, what a miracle is. Let me
entreat you to essay some definition; and if you break down, I have no
objection to take my chance of the honor of success or the ignominy of
failure."
"The fact is," answered Fellowes, "that, like many other things, it
is better understood--"
"Than described, as the novelists say, when they feel that their powers
of description fail them. But this will hardly do for us; we are
philosophers, you know (save the mark!) in search of truth.--A
thing that is well known by every body, and is capable of being
described by nobody, would be almost a miracle of itself; and I
think it imports us to give some better account of the matter. I
can see that my orthodox uncle there is already secretly amusing
himself at the anticipation of our perplexities."
I took no notice of the remark, but went on writing.
"Well, then, if I must give you some definition," said Fellowes, "I
know not if I can do better than avail myself of the usual one, that
it is a suspension or violation of a law of nature. Is not that the
account which Hume gives of the matter?"
"I think it is. I am afraid, however, that at the very outset we should
have some difficulty in determining one of the phrases used in this
very definition,--namely, how we are to understand a law of nature. I
do not ask whether law implies a lawgiver; you will assert it, and I
shall not gainsay it: it is at present immaterial. But do you not mean
by a law of nature (I am asking the question merely to ascertain whether
or not we are thinking of the same thing) just this;--the fact that
similar phenomena uniformly reappear in an observed series of antecedents
and consequents, which series is invariable so far as we know, and so
far as others know, whose experience we can test? Is not that what
you mean? You do not, I presume, suppose you know any thing of the
connection which binds together causes and effects, or the manner in
which the secret bond (if there be any) which unites antecedents and
consequents, in any natural phenomena, is maintained?"
"I certainly make no such pretensions; all that I mean by a law of
nature is just what you have mentioned. I shall be well content to
adhere to your explanation," answered Fellowes.
"So that when we observe similar phenomena reproduced in the aforesaid
series of antecedents and consequents, we call that a law of nature,
and affirm that violation of that law would be a miracle, and
impossible?"
"Certainly."
"And further, do you not agree with me that such invariable series is
sufficiently certified to us by our own uniform experience,--that of
all our neighbors and friends,--and, in a word, that of all whose
experience we can test?"
"I agree with you."
"I am content," replied Harrington; "but at the outset it seems to me
that the expression I have used requires a little expansion to meet
the sophistry of our opponents. I will either explain myself now, and
then leave you to judge; or I will say no more of the matter here, but
pursue our discussion, and let the difficulty (if there be one) disclose
itself in the course of it, and be provided for as may be in our power."
"What is it?"
"It is this;--that it cannot, with truth, be said, in relation to
many phenomena, that (so far as our experience informs us) they do
follow each other in an absolutely invariable order; which phenomena,
nevertheless, we believe to be as much under the dominion of law as
the rest; and any violation of this law, I presume, you would think
as much a miracle as any other. For example, we do not find the same
remedies or the same regimen will produce the same effects upon
different individuals at different times; again, the varieties of the
weather, in every climate, are dependent upon so many causes, that
it transcends all human skill to calculate them. Yet I dare say you
can easily imagine certain degrees and continuity of change in these
variable phenomena which you would not hesitate to call as much miracle
as if the dead were raised, or the sun stayed in mid-heaven."
"Yes, unquestionably," replied Fellowes; "if I found, for instance that
a dozen men could take an ounce of arsenic or half a pound of opium with
impunity, I should not hesitate to regard it as a miracle, although the
precise amount sufficient to kill in any particular case might not be
capable of being ascertained. In the same manner, if I found that though
the amount of heat and cold in summer and winter in our climate is
subject to marked variations, yet that suddenly for several consecutive
years we had more frost in July than in December; that gooseberries and
currants were getting ripe on Christmas day, and men were skating
on the Serpentine on the 10th of August, I should certainly argue that
a change tantamount to a miracle had been wrought in nature."
"You have just expressed my own feelings on that point," said Harrington;
"and it was this very consideration which made me say, that, in order to
render my expression perfectly clear, and to obviate misconception
and misrepresentation, we must endeavor to include this very frequent case
of a certain limited variation from the order of nature as consistent
with the absence of miracle, and a certain degree of that variation as
inconsistent with it."
"Will you just state our criterion once more, with the limitation
attached; and then I shall know better whether we are certainly agreed
in the criterion we ought to employ?"
"I say, then," resumed Harrington, "that our uniform experience, that
of our friends and neighbors, and of all whose experience we have the
opportunity of testing, as to the order of nature,--meaning by that
either an order absolutely invariable, or varying only limits which
are themselves absolutely invariable,--justifies us in pronouncing an
event contradicting such experience to be all impossibility. If the
principle is worth any thing, let us embrace it, and inflexibly
apply it."
"And I, for one," replied Fellowes, "am quite satisfied with the
principle and the limitations you have laid down; and am so confident
of its correctness, that I do not hesitate to say that all the
miraculous histories on record are to be summarily rejected."
"For example," said Harrington, "we have seen the sun rise every morning
and set every evening all our lives; and every one whose experience
we can test has seen the same. Every man who has come into the world
has come into it but one way, and has as certainly gone out of it, and
has not returned; and every one whose experience we can test affirms
the same. We therefore conclude on this uniform and invariable
experience, that the same sequences took place yesterday and the day
before, and will take place tomorrow and the day after; and we
may fearlessly apply this principle both to the past and the future.
I know of no other reason for rejecting a miracle; and if I am to
apply the principle at all to phenomena which have not fallen under
my own observation, I must apply it without restriction."
"I am quite of your mind."
"You think, with me, that our experience,--the experience of those
about us,--the experience of all whose experience we have the means
of testing,--is sufficient to settle the question as to the experience
of those whose experience we have not the means of testing; who lived,
for example, a thousand years before we were born; or in a distant
part of the world, where we have never been?"
"Certainly: why should we hesitate so to apply it?"
"I am sure I know not; and you see I am not unwilling so to apply it.
Only I asked the question, because we must not forget that many say
it is begging the question; for, as a 'miracle' has not been exerted
on us to give us a vision of the past experience of man, or his
present experience in any part of the world we never visited, our
opponents affirm, that to say that the experience we trust to has been
and is the universal experience of man, is a clear petitio principii."
"Surely," said Fellowes, "it may be said that the general experience of
mankind has been of such a character."
"Exactly so, as a postulate from our experience, as a generalized
assumption that our experience may be taken as a specimen and criterion
of all experience. We assume that,--we do not prove it. It is just as
in any other case of induction; we say, 'Because this is true in twenty
or thirty or a hundred instances (as the case may be), which we can test,
--therefore it is generally or universally true'; we do not say, because
this is true in these instances, and because it is also generally or
universally true, therefore it is so! No; our true premise is restricted
to what alone we know from our experience and the experience of all
whose experience we can test if we please. This is our real ground on
which we are to justify our rejection of all miracles, and let us adhere
to it. As to your general experience, you see, the advocate of miracles
easily gets over that. He says, 'Why, no one pretends that miracles are
as "plenty as blackberries"; otherwise they would no longer be miracles;
these are comparatively rare events, of course; and, being rare, are
necessarily at variance with general experience'; and, for my part, I
should not know how to answer the objection."
"Well, then," said Fellowes. "let us adhere to that which is our real
ground of objection, and let us consistently apply it."
"With all my heart," said Harrington; "we agree then, that our own
uniform experience,--that of all our neighbors and friends,--in fact,
of all whose experience we can test, is a sufficient criterion of a
law of nature, and justifies us in at once rejecting as possible any
alleged fact which violates it."
"Certainly."
"For example, if it were asserted that last year that the sun never
rose on a certain day, or, rather, for twenty-four hours the rotation
of the earth ceased, we should instantly reject the story, without
examination of witnesses, or any such thing."
"No doubt of that."
"And just so in other cases. This, then, is our ground. You would not
(if I may advise) lay much stress on the fact that there have been
so many stories of a supernatural kind false."
"Why, I do not know whether it would not be wise to insist upon
that argument. It seems to be not without weight," urged Fellowes.
"Perhaps so," replied Harrington; "but it has, you see, this
inconvenience, of proving more than you want. The greater part by far
of all religions have been false. But you affirm that there is one
little system absolutely true. The greater part of the theories of
science and philosophy, which men, from time to time, have framed,
have also been false; and yet you believe that there is such a thing
as true philosophy and true science. Similarly, the generality of
political governments have been founded on vicious principles, yet
you hope for a political millennium at last. In short, the argument
would go to prove, that, as there can never have been any true miracles
because there have been so many false ones, so, for similar reasons,
it is mere 'vanity and vexation of spirit' to search after truth in
religion, or science, or politics; and though a sceptic, like myself,
might not much mind it, perhaps it would trammel such a positive
philosopher as you. Nay, a pertinacious opponent might even say, that,
as you believe that in all these last cases there is a substance, else
there would not have been the shadows, so, with reference to miracles,
the very general belief of them rather argues that there have been
miracles, than that there have been none. My advice is, that we adhere
to these reasons we have assigned, for they are our real reasons."
"Be it so; I hate miracles so much, that I care not by what means the
doltish delusion is dissipated."
"Only that the weapons should be fair?"
"O, of course."