In a period so intensely active and progressive as the nineteenth
century has been, in politics, science and literature, it would have
been surprising if the church had remained inert, wrapped like a mummy
in the cerements of the past. At the beginning of the century, there
were voices on all hands loudly proclaiming that it was dead; that it
was antiquated and obsolete; that it had lost touch with the life of
the time, that it was a relic of exploded superstition; and as a great
writer said, had fallen into a godless mechanical condition, standing
as the lifeless form of a church, a mere case of theories, like the
carcass of a once swift camel, left withering in the thirst of the
universal desert. That in certain circles there was ground for such
reproach is sufficiently proved. Materialism had crept into its
colleges, sapping away their spiritual life and driving young men
either into Atheism or into the Roman Catholic Communion. Such
activity as it had, was in the evangelical circles only The common
people still listened eagerly to Wesley's successors and were
intensely in earnest in the Christian life and work. It was at the top
that the tree was dying, where the currents of the philosophy of
Voltaire struck the branches, and where Hume's scorching radicalism
blighted its leaves. In the universities, and the clubs, not in the
workshops, was religion scorned and contemned.
There was soon, however, to be a quickening of the dry bones. The
spirit of the time--the zeit-geist--began to move in the Church. It
was the spirit of investigation, of scientific inquiry, of rigorous
test. The older preachers and religious authorities still droned about
the duty of defending the faith "once for all" delivered to the
saints. In spite of their protests, the younger men would go down into
the crypt of the Church, and examine the foundations of the building.
They could not be kept back by authoritative assurances that the
stones were sound, and were well and truly laid. The hysterical
protests against the irreverence of examination fell on deaf ears. The
answer was the simple insistance on investigation. The very reluctance
to permit it was an indication that it would not bear investigation.
At the opening of the century, this idea, expressed in varying forms,
was rapidly becoming prevalent. The citadel of the Church was
assaulted, by some with ferocity, and by others with scorn and
contempt. The defence was on the old lines of denunciation of the
wickedness of the assailants, of vituperative epithets, and of the
assumption of special and divine illumination. The issue of the
conflict would not have been doubtful, had it been continued with
these tactics. The Church would have been relegated to the limbo of
superstition and the hide-bound pedantry of ecclesiasticism, if new
defenders on new principles had not entered the lists. Reinforcement
came from a band of philosophic thinkers of whom Wordsworth and
Coleridge were the pioneers. The influence of both these men was
underestimated at the time. They appeared weak and ineffective, but
the ideas to which they gave expression, entered the minds of stronger
men, who applied them with more vigorous force. The Church, Coleridge
declared, as Carlyle interprets him, was not dead, but tragically,
asleep only. It might be aroused and might again become useful, if
only the right paths were opened. Coleridge could not open the paths,
he could but vaguely show the depth and volume of the forces pent up
in the Church; but he insisted that they were there, that eternal
truth was in Christianity, and that out of it must come the light and
life of the world. As his little band of hearers listened to him, they
saw the first faint gleams of the light which was to illumine the
world and make the darkness and degradation of the materialistic
philosophy an impossibility to the devout mind. Thus he stood at the
beginning of the nineteenth century, as Erasmus stood at the beginning
of the sixteenth, perceiving and proclaiming the existence of truths
which others were to apply to the needs of the time.
To ascertain precisely in what form the forces of Christianity existed
and how they might be applied to nineteenth century life, became early
in the nineteenth century the problem on which the best thought of the
time was concentrated. Coleridge's unshaken conviction that it was
solvable, inspired many with courage. Whately, Arnold, Schleiermacher,
Bunsen, Ewald, Newman, Hare, Milman, Thirlwall and many others,
approached it from different directions. The spirit of scientific
investigation that was in the air was applied with reverent hands, but
with unsparing resolve to ascertain the exact truth. The investigation
was no longer confined to dogma; a proof text from the Bible was no
longer sufficient to close a controversy. The Bible itself must be
subjected to investigation. This was indeed going to the foundations.
There was a wild outcry against rationalism and iconoclasm, but the
search for truth and fact went on. As in a siege, the garrison must
sometimes destroy with their own hands outworks which cannot be
successfully defended, and may be made a vantage ground for the enemy,
so the defenders of Christianity set themselves to the task of finding
out how much of the current theology was credible and tenable, and how
much might wisely be abandoned, to insure the safety of the remainder.
The discoveries of Geology, Astronomy and of Biology could not be
denied, yet their testimony was contrary to Christian doctrine. "The
world was made in six natural days," said the old Christian preacher.
"The world was thousands of years in the making," said the geologist.
The preacher appealed to his Bible, the geologist appealed to the
rocks. The issue was fairly joined, and in the early years of the
century it seemed as if there was no alternative but that of believing
the Bible and denying science, or believing science and giving up the
Bible; it seemed impossible to believe both. When the scientific
theologian ventured to suggest that the word "day," might mean age, or
period, there was another outcry that the Bible was being surrendered
to the enemy. But it was realized that the message of the Bible to the
world was not scientific, and that its usefulness was not impaired by
the suggested mode of understanding its record of creation; and
gradually the surrender was accepted. It is true that to this day
there are some who will not accept it, as there is at least one
preacher who insists, on the authority of the Bible, that "the sun do
move," but the number diminishes in every generation. A beginning was
made in attaining the true view of the Bible which led further and has
not yet reached its limits. Having admitted that the Bible was not
given to teach science the Church has to decide whether it can admit
the theory of evolution and whether its records of history are
authoritative. These questions are so fundamental that the strife of
Calvinism and Arminianism and the question of the double procession of
the Holy Spirit, which seemed vital to our fathers have faded into
relative insignificance.