Religion and Churches in Scotland. -- Why Scotch Bishops cut a
poor Figure. -- Companies for insuring against the Accidents of
the Life to come. -- Religious Lecture-Rooms. -- No one can
serve two Masters. -- How the Gospel Camel was able to pass
through the Eye of a Needle. -- Incense and Common Sense. --
I understand, therefore I believe. -- Conversions at Home. --
Conversions in open Air. -- A modest Preacher. -- A well-filled
Week. -- Touching Piety. -- Donald recommends John Bull and
Paddy to the Lord.
Great Britain boasts two State Churches: the Anglican, or Episcopal,
Church in England and Wales, and the Presbyterian Church in Scotland.
The Presbyterian Church is not under the jurisdiction of a bishop, but
of a General Assembly, composed of lay and ecclesiastical deputies
elected by the towns and universities, and presided over by a
Moderator, elected by the Assembly, and a Lord High Commissioner,
appointed every year by the Queen, and requited for this arduous task
with two thousand pounds.
The Scotch Presbyterian Church was established in 1560; but the Stuarts
re-established the Episcopalian Church in 1662. The Revolution of 1688,
followed by the accession of the Prince of Orange to the throne of
England, made Presbyterianism flourish again, and its ministers still
receive emoluments from the State.
The Episcopalian Church still exists in Scotland, governed by seven
bishops; but, by the irony of fate, she has become, as it were, a sort
of dissenting Church.
Scotland has many Catholics. Two archbishops and four bishops watch over
the spiritual health of this flock.
In 1843, many Scotchmen, having discovered that it was contrary to
Scripture to have ministers appointed by the State, founded the Free
Church, which at the present time rivals the Presbyterian in importance.
The religious zeal of the Scotch may be judged from the fact that, in
the year of the separation, a sum of nearly L400,000 was contributed by
the faithful desirous of founding a Free Church. This Church has eleven
hundred pastors, receiving salaries of about L200 a year. Not less than
L560,000 were sent, in 1882, to the Chief Moderator, to help meet the
expenses of this free faith.
Such are the large centres of religious activity. Besides these, there
are, as in England, nearly two hundred dissenting sects.
You may imagine whether the Devil has a hard time of it in Scotland.
All these spiritual insurance companies live in perfect harmony, and are
flourishing.
It is only the Scotch bishops who cut a rather pitiable figure. To be a
lord bishop, and not to be able to lord it a little, is hard. When I was
in the North of Scotland, I saw one arrive at Buckie station, on his way
to inspect the church of the town. The clergyman had come to meet him.
They took the road to the vicarage, _pedibus cum jambis_, and my lord
bishop's gaiters attracted no more attention from the good Buckie folk
than did the ulster of your humble servant.
* * * * *
In Catholic countries, where religion exacts a life of sacrifice and
abnegation from its ministers, the priesthood is a vocation. In
Protestant countries, where religion imposes but few restrictions on
those who serve about the altar, the Church is a profession.
* * * * *
Scotch places of worship are much alike inside and out. Outside, the
roofs are more or less pointed; inside, the singing is more or less out
of tune.
Let us go into the first we come to.
Four whitewashed walls, with a ceiling to match, or a roof supported by
bare rafters; no pictures, no statues; just straight-backed benches, and
a high desk or pulpit: it is a lecture-room. Not a single outer sign of
fervour: no kneeling, no clasped hands, or other sign of supplication.
The faces are cross-looking and forbidding, or else apathetic.
It is curious to reflect that these unmoved faces belong to people who
would die to defend their liberty of conscience.
Drawling hymns, psalms and canticles sung in the twelve different
semi-tones of the chromatic scale; sermons full of theological
subtleties, objections raised and explained away.
The preacher does not seek to appeal to the soul by eloquence, to the
heart by tenderness and grace, or to the taste by style. He addresses
himself to the reason alone.
Some preachers read their sermons, some recite them, others give them
_ex tempore_. These latter are the most interesting.
Here and there I heard sermons that were enough to send one to sleep on
one's feet; you can imagine the effect upon an audience who had to hear
them in a sitting posture. But Scotland has not the monopoly of this
kind of eloquence; from time immemorial it has been the custom of a
certain proportion of church-goers to shut their eyes to listen to the
sermon.
Religion is still sterner in Scotland than in England. It is arid, like
the soil of the country; angular, like the bodies of the inhabitants;
thorny, like the national emblem of Scotland.
One Sunday I went to a church in Glasgow. The preacher chose for his
text the passage from St. Matthew's Gospel commencing with "No man can
serve two masters," and ending "Ye cannot serve God and Mammon."
About three thousand worshippers, careworn and devoured by the thirst
for lucre, listened unmoved to the diatribes of the worthy pastor, and
were preparing, by a day of rest, for the headlong race after wealth
that they were going to resume on the morrow.
What a never-ending theme is the contempt for riches! What sermons in
the desert, preached by bishops with princely pay, or poor curates who
treat fortune as Master Reynard treated certain grapes that hung out of
reach.
I was never more edified than on that Sunday in Glasgow, especially when
the assembly struck up--
"O Paradise, O Paradise!
'Tis weary waiting here;
I long to be where Jesus is,
To feel, to see him near.
O Paradise, O Paradise!
I greatly long to see
The special place my dearest Lord
In love prepares for me!"
"Ah! my dear Caledonians," thought I, seeing them in such a hurry, "it
is better to suffer, even in Glasgow, than to die!"
_Mieux vaut souffrir que mourir
C'est la devise des hommes._
By the bye, dear reader, how do you like the expression _special place_?
Did I exaggerate when I told you the Scotch expect to find places
specially reserved for them in Heaven?
* * * * *
This is how I learned by experience never to enter into theological
discussions with the Scotch.
I had been to morning service in an Edinburgh church with a Scotchman,
and there again had heard a sermon on the worthlessness of riches. The
minister had preached from the text, "And again I say unto you: it is
easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man
to enter into the kingdom of Heaven."
In my innocence, or rather in my ignorance, I had always seen in these
words of our Lord a condemnation of riches--a condemnation without
appeal, and looked upon the man who sought to be rich, and the man who
did not scatter his wealth, as persons who willingly forfeited all
chance of entering Heaven.
On leaving the church, my companion and I began to talk of the sermon.
The Scotch discuss a sermon on their way home from church, as we French
people discuss the merits of a new play that we have just seen at the
theatre. As we went along, I communicated my views to my friend. He
turned on me a glance full of compassion.
"It is easy to see, my dear sir," he said, "that you have been brought
up in a religion that does not encourage discussion. The result is that
you swallow without resistance theories which would make our children
start with indignation. If Christ's phrase could be interpreted in your
fashion, it would be neither more nor less than an absurdity. He meant
to say that it was more difficult for a rich man than a poor one to be
saved, but not that it was impossible."
"But," I began, "it is impossible for a camel to go through the eye of a
needle."
Here my companion's smile became more sarcastic. I foresaw that his
explanation was going to stagger me, and so it did.
"You seem to be in earnest," said he; "let me enlighten you. There
existed at Jerusalem, in our Saviour's time, a gateway called the
_Needle's Eye_. Although one of the principal entrances to the city,
this gateway was so narrow that a camel could only get through it with
difficulty. So Christ meant to say----"
"Enough," I cried, "my ignorance is terrible. I never felt it so much as
at this moment."
"You see," he added in a rather bantering tone, "in Scotch churches
there is no incense ... but there is common sense."
Nothing mystic in the religion of the Scotch. The Old and New Testaments
are submitted to the finest sifting. Every passage is explained. They
are served up as an intellectual food.
Here people do not see because they believe; they believe because they
see. Faith is based upon reason.
It is easy to understand why the Scotchman, still more than the
Englishman, is common sense personified.
You will see young fellows, scarcely come to manhood, meet together, and
discuss the most subtle questions of theology with all the earnestness
of doctors of divinity.
It is a powerful school. Reason ripens in the open air of discussion.
* * * * *
Very practical this religion of the Scotch!
I extract the following passage from the letter of a young Scotchman,
magistrate in India:--
"Time passes tolerably here. For that matter, we are too busy to be much
bored. Week follows week, and each is rather like the one that went
before; but all are well filled up. Last Monday, I condemned an Indian
to six months' imprisonment and held three inquests. On Tuesday, I
presided at a meeting called for the purpose of hearing the report of
the Zanana Missions. On Wednesday, I went to races and won L25. Everyone
had bet on Mignonne, who was backed at two to one; but seeing that the
ground was damp and slippery, I chose Phoebus, a heavier horse, backed
at ten to one. I was lucky in my choice. On Thursday, after the work of
the day, I went to see the Nautch girls dance. It is a little _risque_;
but I have often heard you say that a man should see everything, so as
to be able to judge between good and evil. There was a regatta on
Friday. I went in for one race, but only came in second. On Saturday, I
had to make out over a hundred summonses, and try several petty
offences. An uninteresting day. It is with a feeling of apprehension
that I always await Saturday. I have one more examination to pass before
I can sentence the natives to more than one year's imprisonment, and two
before I can send them to the gibbet. On Sunday, I read the lessons in
church. In the afternoon I addressed a congregation out of doors. They
seemed greatly impressed, and I count on several conversions."
You must admit that this was a well-filled week. I thought the mixture
of sacred and profane quite delicious.
* * * * *
In Scotland, as in England, open-air services are very common. They are
conducted by good folks, not over afflicted with modesty, who believe
that they were chosen by Heaven to go and convert their fellow
creatures--would-be St. Paul's, operating in the Athens of the North,
and elsewhere.
Following the advice of Horace, these apostles plunge straight into
their subject. They will attack you with the question, whether you are
not too fond of the things of this world? or else, whether you have made
your peace with God?
The utter conceit of these amateur clergy is matchless. They are either
hypocrites of the worst stamp, or fanatics of the first water, "airing
their self-righteousness at the corners of the streets." The monotony of
their tunes, the commonplaces of their would-be sermons, their long
visages, and their grimaces as they pray--all this is the reverse of
attractive.
I prefer the soldiers of the Salvation Army. They are rough, but they do
not banish cheerfulness from their services. They are lively, and break
the awful silence of the British Sabbath. Their services at first struck
everyone as blasphemous; but one gets used to everything in this
country.
I must not pass over the open-air orator, who, to excuse his faults of
grammar, said to his hearers, of whom I was one: "My dear friends, I
have had no education, and I know very well I am not a gentleman; but
that does not prevent me from accepting the mission that I have received
from Heaven to come and preach the Gospel to you. Jesus Christ was not a
gentleman--He was a carpenter. The Apostles were not gentlemen
either--they were fishermen."
Modest, is it not?
There are Scots so sure of their salvation that they pray but to thank
God that they are not as other men are. These Christians, whom Burns has
named the _unco' guid_, are charitable: they pray for their neighbours.
There are, on the west of Scotland, two small islands inhabited by a
race whose piety is really touching. Every Sunday, in their churches,
they commend to God's care the poor inhabitants of the adjacent islands
of England, Scotland, and Ireland!
They have their own future safety assured, and, in their charity, think
of their neighbours.
Donald presenting Paddy and John Bull to the Lord! The scene is as
touching as it is amusing.