THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 DAVIS 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 WILSON SMITH 
 
SEASON AND FAITH, 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER MISCELLANIES 
 
 OP 
 
 HENRY ROGERS, 
 
 "THE ECLIPSE OF FAITH." 
 
 SECOND THOUSAND. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 CROSBY, NICHOLS, AND COMPANY. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 CHARLES S. FRANCIS AND COMPANY. 
 
 1853. 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 DAVIS 
 
CAMBRIDGE: METCALF AND COMPANY, 
 PRIMERS TO THE PNIYERSITT. 
 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 LIFE AND WHITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER 1 
 
 ANDREW MAEVELL . , , . r . . . 42 
 
 LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER . " .. . . 90 
 
 GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL . '..-.. . - . . 141 
 
 SACRED ELOQUENCE I THE BRITISH PULPIT . . . .197 
 
 THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE . . .""'. . 241 
 
 RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT ..... . . 290 
 
 REASON AND FAITH: THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS 339 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER.* 
 
 THE republication, within the last few years, of all the 
 principal works of this singular author, affords us an oppor 
 tunity, by no means unwelcome, of canvassing his merits, 
 and assigning him his proper niche in the temple of our lit 
 erature. Nor is it necessary, we are sure, to make any apol 
 ogy for dedicating a few of our pages to such a subject. He 
 cannot be unworthy of attention, who was a favorite author 
 of Coleridge and Lamb, and of whom the former (certainly 
 in a moment of unreflecting enthusiasm) could write thus: 
 " Next to Shakspeare,! am not certain whether Thomas Ful 
 ler, beyond all other writers, does not excite in me the sense 
 and emotion of the marvellous ; the degree in which any 
 given faculty, or combination of faculties, is possessed and 
 manifested, so far surpassing what one would have thought 
 possible in a single mind, as to give one's admiration the 
 
 * "Edinburgh Review," January, 1842. 
 
 1. The Church History of Britain. By THOMAS FULLER, D. D. New 
 Edition. 3 vols. 8vo. London. 1831. 
 
 2. The Worthies of England. By THOMAS FULLER, D. D. New 
 Edition. 3 vols. 8vo. London. 1840. 
 
 3. The History of 'the Holy War. By THOMAS FULLER, D. D. New 
 Edition. 12mo. London. 1840. 
 
 4. The Holy State and the Profane State. By THOMAS FULLER, 
 D. D. New Edition. 8vo. London. 1841. 
 
 5. Good Thoughts in Bad Times^ and Good Thoughts in Worse Times. 
 By THOMAS FULLER, D. D. New Edition. 12mo. London. 1840. 
 
 1 
 
2 LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 
 
 flavor and quality of wonder." Let this statement of a critic, 
 the soundness of whose judgments, though they are generally 
 correct, and often admirable, cannot always be relied upon, 
 require what abatement it may, it may be safely said, that 
 there is scarcely any writer, whose intellectual character will 
 better repay an attempt at analysis than that of Fuller. 
 
 We set about our task the more willingly, as we believe it 
 to be an act of bare justice. We are convinced that pos 
 terity has dealt hardly by his memory, and that there are 
 hundreds who have been better remembered with far less 
 claims to that honor. Thus, it is singular that even Mr. Hal- 
 lam, in his recent " History of European Literature," should 
 not have bestowed upon him any special notice ; dismissing 
 him with only a slight allusion, in a note upon another sub 
 ject.* Yet Fuller was not only one of the most voluminous, 
 an equivocal indication of merit, it must be allowed, 
 but "one of the most original writers of our language. If he 
 had merely resembled those of his dull contemporaries, who 
 wrote apparently for writing's sake, without genius or fan 
 cy, without any of those graces of thought or diction, which 
 have a special claim on the historian of literature ; if his 
 folios had been collections of third-rate sermons or heavy 
 commentaries ; of commonplace spread out to the last de 
 gree of tenuity, scarcely tolerable even in the briefest form 
 in which truisms can be addressed to our impatience, and 
 perfectly insupportable when prolonged into folios, there 
 would be sufficient reason for the critic's neglect. But it is 
 far otherwise ; though Fuller's works, like those of many of 
 
 * Hallam, Vol. III. p. 104. It must not be supposed that any serious 
 censure of Mr. Hallara's great work is here intended. If it be singular 
 that Fuller has been so summarily dealt with, it would have been far 
 more singular had there been no important omissions. The real wonder 
 is, that the author should have been able at all to dispose of subjects, so 
 immense and so multifarious, in so moderate a compass ; to daguerreo 
 type so boundless a landscape, on so small a surface, with such fidelity 
 and distinctness. 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 3 
 
 his contemporaries, are sometimes covered with rubbish, and 
 swollen with redundances, they are, as is the case also with 
 some of them, instinct with genius. Like Taylor, and Bar 
 row, and Sir Thomas Brown, he wrote with a vigor and orig 
 inality, with a fertility of thought and imagery, and a gen 
 eral felicity of style, which, considering the quantity of his 
 compositions, and the haste with which he produced them, 
 impress us with wonder at his untiring activity and preternat 
 ural fecundity. He has scattered with careless prodigality, 
 over the pages of his many works, thoughts and images 
 which, if collected, properly disposed, and purified from the 
 worthless matter which incrusts, and often buries them, 
 would have insured him a place beside those who, by writing 
 less and elaborating it more, by concentrating their strength 
 on works of moderate compass and high finish, have secured 
 themselves a place, not only in the libraries, but in the mem 
 ories, of their readers ; and are not simply honored with an 
 occasional reference, but live in perpetual and familiar quo 
 tation. 
 
 Before proceeding further with the analysis of Fuller's in 
 tellectual character, it may be advisable to give a rapid sketch 
 of the principal events of his life. 
 
 He was born in 1608, at Aldwincle, in Northamptonshire ; 
 his father was the Rev. T. Fuller, rector of St. Peter's in 
 that village. His early education seems to have been con 
 ducted chiefly under the paternal roof, and that so success 
 fully, that at twelve years of age he was sent to Queen's 
 College, Cambridge ; the master of which was his maternal 
 uncle, Dr. Davenant, afterwards Bishop of Salisbury. In 
 1624 - 5, he took his degree of B. A., and that of M. A. in 
 1628. He then removed to Sidney College, and, after a 
 short interval, was chosen minister of St. Bennett's, Cam 
 bridge, where his great talents as a preacher soon rendered 
 him extremely popular. Preferment now came rapidly. In 
 1631, he was chosen fellow of Sidney College, and made a 
 prebendary of Salisbury. The same year was signalized by 
 
4 LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 
 
 his maiden publication. Like many other men of powerful 
 imagination, who have eventually distinguished themselves as 
 prose-writers, he had in early life toyed a little with the 
 Muses. His first work was poetical, and we may be sure 
 that it was steeped in the quaintness which was equally char 
 acteristic of the age and of the individual. The very title, in 
 deed, smacks of that love of alliteration of which his writ 
 ings are so full. It was entitled " David's Heinous Sin, 
 Hearty Repentance, and Heavy Punishment." It is now 
 extremely scarce. Peace to its ashes ! its author's prose 
 writings have a better and a surer claim to remembrance. 
 
 Soon after entering priest's orders, he was presented to the 
 rectory of Broad Winsor, in Dorsetshire. In 1635, he re 
 paired again to Cambridge, to take his degree of Bachelor of 
 Divinity ; and, on his return to Broad Winsor, got rid of an 
 other kind of bachelorship in a happy marriage. This event 
 took place in 1638 ; but his felicity was not of long con 
 tinuance. After giving birth to one son, his wife died, 
 about the year 1641. In the quietude of Broad Winsor " he 
 began to complete, " to use a curious phrase of one of his 
 biographers, " several works he had planned at Cambridge " ; 
 but, getting sick of solitude, and impatient to know something 
 more of public affairs, he repaired to London, where his pul 
 pit talents soon obtained him an invitation to the lectureship 
 of the Savoy. In 1640 he published his deservedly cele 
 brated " History of the Holy War," which gained him some 
 money and more reputation. He was a member of the Con 
 vocation which assembled at Westminster in 1640, and has 
 left us a minute account of its proceedings in his " Church 
 History." In 1642 he preached at Westminster Abbey, on 
 the anniversary of the king's inauguration ; and the sermon 
 contained some dangerous allusions to the state of public 
 affairs. His text was characteristic : " Yea, let him take 
 all, so that my lord the king return in peace." The sermon, 
 when printed, gave great umbrage to the Parliamentary par 
 ty, and involved the preacher in no little odium. In this year 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 5 
 
 he published his best and most popular work, entitled " The 
 Holy and Profane State." Refusing to take an oath to the 
 Parliament, except with certain reservations, Fuller now left 
 London, and repaired to the king at Oxford, by whom he was 
 well received. The king was anxious to hear him preach. 
 Fuller t complied ; but, strange to say, he managed to dis 
 please the royalists as much as he had before displeased the 
 patriots. His ill-success on both occasions may be taken as 
 an argument of his sincerity and moderation, whatever may 
 be thought of his worldly wisdom. 
 
 During his stay at Oxford he resided at Lincoln College ; 
 but he was not long to escape the cup which, in those sad 
 times, came round to all parties. Sequestration was pro 
 nounced against him, and was embittered by the loss of all 
 his books and manuscripts. This misfortune was partly re 
 paired by the generosity of Henry Lord Beauchamp and Lio 
 nel Cranfield, Earl of Middlesex, the latter of whom be 
 stowed upon him the remains of his father's library. In or 
 der to obviate the suspicion of indifference to the king's cause, 
 he now sought and obtained, from Sir Ralph Hopton, a chap 
 laincy in the royal army ; and employed his leisure, while 
 rambling through the country, in collecting materials for his 
 future work, " The Worthies of England." It appears that, 
 in his capacity of chaplain, he could, on occasion, beat u drum 
 ecclesiastic " as well as any of the preachers in Cromwell's 
 army ; for we are told, that, when a party of the royalists 
 were besieged at Basinghouse, Fuller animated the garrison 
 to so vigorous a defence, that Sir William Waller was com 
 pelled to abandon the siege. When the royal forces were 
 driven into Cornwall, Fuller, taking refuge in Exeter, resumed 
 his studies, and preached regularly to the citizens. During 
 his stay here, he was appointed chaplain to the Princess Hen 
 rietta Maria (then an infant), and was presented to the living 
 of Dorchester. He was present at the siege of Exeter, in 
 the course of which an incident occurred, so curious in itself, 
 and narrated by Fuller (who vouches for the truth of his 
 i* 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 
 
 statement) in so characteristic a style, that no apology is 
 necessary for inserting his account of it here ; leaving the 
 reader to philosophize upon it in any way that may seem to 
 him most proper. The extract is from " The Worthies of 
 England " : " When the city of Exeter was besieged by 
 the Parliamentary forces, so that only the south side thereof, 
 towards the sea, was open unto it, incredible numbers of 
 larks were found in that open quarter, for multitude like 
 quails in the wildernesse, though (blessed be God !) unlike 
 them both in cause and effect ^ as not desired with man's 
 destruction, nor sent with God's anger, as appeared by their 
 safe digestion into wholesome nourishment : hereof I was an 
 eye and a mouth witnesse. I will save my credit in not con 
 jecturing any number, knowing that herein, though I should 
 stoop beneath the truth, I should mount above belief. They 
 were as fat as plentiful ; so that, being sold for twopence 
 a dozen and under, the poor, who could have no cheaper, as 
 the rich no better meat, used to make pottage of them, boyl- 
 ing them down therein. Several natural causes were as 
 signed hereof. However, the cause of causes was 
 
 Divine Providence." 
 
 After the taking of Exeter, Fuller once more repaired to 
 London, where he obtained the lectureship at St. Clement's, 
 Lombard Street, and subsequently that of St. Bride's, Fleet 
 Street. He does not appear to have long discharged the 
 functions of either, " having been forbidden," to use his own 
 language, " till further order, the exercise of his public 
 preaching." Silenced though he was, however, this did not 
 prevent his being presented, in 1648, to the living of Wal- 
 tham. For this he was indebted to the Earl of Carlisle, to 
 whom he had become chaplain. To men of less activity of 
 mind, and less zealous to do good, compulsory silence might 
 have been no unacceptable concomitant of a rich living ; but 
 not to Fuller. This year and the following he spent chiefly 
 in the preparation of one of the quaintest of all his writings, 
 his " Pisgah-sight of Palestine and the Confines thereof, 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 7 
 
 with the History of the Old and New Testaments acted there 
 on." The work was illustrated by several curious engrav 
 ings, in which the artists seemed to have vied in quaintness 
 with the author, and which are as characteristic of the spirit 
 of the age as the letter-press which accompanied them. In 
 the two or three following years he published several tracts 
 and sermons, which have long since passed into oblivion. In 
 1654 he married again, and into a noble family ; his wife 
 being the sister of Viscount Baltinglass. In 1655, as Mr. 
 Chalmers tells us, he persisted in the discharge of his minis 
 terial functions, " notwithstanding Cromwell's prohibition of 
 all persons from preaching or teaching schools, who had been 
 adherents of the late king." We shall not stop to inquire 
 whether the biographer has been altogether just to Cromwell, 
 in omitting to state that the ordinance in question was imme 
 diately modified, on Archbishop Usher's representation of its 
 hardship, and its application limited to such clergymen as 
 had been political offenders. It is more to our purpose to 
 observe, that we may account for Fuller's continuing to 
 preach, without either accusing him of rash zeal, or praising 
 him for conscientious resistance ; inasmuch as he was duly 
 authorized so to do by the Court of " Triers," before whom 
 he had been examined. Calamy has given us a droll ac 
 count of Fuller's perplexities when summoned to this ordeal. 
 He doubtless had some misgivings as to whether he might be 
 able to answer satisfactorily all the inquisitorial inquiries of 
 this strange court ; and whether he might not get limed by 
 some of their theological subtilties. In this dilemma, he ap 
 plied to the celebrated John Howe (then one of Cromwell's 
 chaplains), whose catholic spirit ever prompted him to exert 
 whatever influence he possessed in behalf of the good men 
 of all parties. " You may observe, Sir," said Fuller to him, 
 " that I am a somewhat corpulent man, and I am to go 
 through a very strait passage. I beg you would be so good 
 as to give me a shove, and help me through." Howe gave 
 him the best advice in his power. When the " Triers " in- 
 
8 LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 
 
 quired, " whether he had ever had any experience of a work 
 of grace in his heart ? " Fuller replied, in terms of cautious 
 generality, that " he could appeal to the Searcher of all 
 hearts, that he made a conscience of his very thoughts " ; 
 implying, doubtless, that it was not without the most diligent 
 investigation of his motives, that he had ventured on the 
 sacred office. With this answer they were satisfied, and it 
 was, perhaps, well for Fuller that it was not more specific. 
 
 In 1656, he published his " Church History of Great 
 Britain," to which was appended " The History of the Uni 
 versity of Cambridge," and " The History of Waltham Ab 
 bey." His " Church History " called forth some animad 
 versions from Dr. Heylyn, to which Fuller replied. In 1658, 
 Lord Berkeley, one of his many patrons, made him his chap 
 lain, and presented him to the rectory of Cranford in Middle 
 sex. Just before the Restoration, he was reinstated in his 
 lectureship in the Savoy, as also in his prebend at Salisbury ; 
 and, shortly after that event, was appointed chaplain extra 
 ordinary to the king, and created Doctor of Divinity by manda 
 mus. He was within sight of a bishopric, when death brought 
 all his earthly prospects to a close, in 1661. He was buried 
 in his church at Cranford, in the chancel of which there is a 
 monument to his memory. The Latin inscription, which has 
 the rare merit of telling but little more than the truth, closes 
 with an antithetical conceit, so much in Fuller's vein, that it 
 would have done his heart good, could he but have read the 
 
 following sentence : " Hie jacet Thomas Fuller 
 
 Qui dum viros Anglise illustres opere posthumo immortali- 
 tate consecrare meditatus est, ipse immortalitatem est conse- 
 cutus." This alludes to " The Worthies of England," partly 
 printed before his death, but published by his son. 
 
 Fuller is one of the few voluminous authors who are never 
 tedious. No matter where we pitch, we are sure to alight 
 on something which stimulates attention ; and perhaps there 
 is no author equally voluminous, to whom we could so fear- 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 9 
 
 lessly apply the ad aperturam libri test. Let the subject be 
 ever so dry or barren, he is sure to surround it with some un 
 looked-for felicity, or at least some entertaining oddity of 
 thought or expression : the most meagre matter of fact shall 
 suggest either some solid reflection or curious inference, 
 some ingenious allusion or humorous story ; or, if nothing 
 better, some sportive alliteration or ludicrous pun. To this 
 must be added, that his reflections and his images are in 
 general so exceedingly novel, (often, it is true, far-fetched 
 and quaint enough, but often also very beautiful,) that they 
 surprise as well as please ; and please in a great measure by 
 surprising us. Probably there is no author who so often 
 breaks upon his readers with turns of thought for which they 
 are totally unprepared ; nor would it be unamusing to watch 
 the countenance of any intelligent man while perusing his 
 pages. We will venture to say, that few other writers in the 
 English language could produce more rapid variations of ex 
 pression. We should see the face, in succession, mantling 
 with a smile, distended into a broad grin, breaking out 
 into loud laughter ; the eyebrows now arched to an expres 
 sion of sudden wonder and pleased surprise ; the whole 
 visage now clouded with a momentary shade of vexation 
 over some wanton spoiling of a fine thought, now quieted 
 again into placidity by the presentation of something truly 
 wise or beautiful, and anon chuckling afresh over some out 
 rageous pun or oddity. The same expression could not be 
 maintained for any three paragraphs, perfect gravity 
 scarcely for three sentences. 
 
 The activity of Fuller's suggestive faculty must have been 
 immense. Though his principal characteristic is wit, and 
 that too so disproportionate, that it conceals in its ivy-like 
 luxuriance the robust wisdom about which it coils itself, his 
 illustrations are drawn from every source and quarter, and 
 are ever ready at his bidding. In the variety, frequency, and 
 novelty of his illustrations, he strongly resembles two of the 
 most imaginative writers in our language, though in all other 
 
10 LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 
 
 respects still more unlike them than they were unlike one 
 another, Jeremy Taylor and Edmund Burke. Each, in 
 deed, has his peculiar characteristics, even in those very 
 points in which they may be compared. The imagination of 
 Jeremy Taylor takes its hue from his vast learning, and de 
 rives from classical and historical allusions more than half its 
 sources of illustration ; that of Fuller, from the wit which 
 forms the prime element in his intellectual constitution. 
 Burke, on the other hand, had little wit ; at least it was no 
 characteristic of his mind : the images his mind supplies are 
 chiefly distinguished by splendor and beauty. Still, in a 
 boundless profusion of imagery of one kind or another, avail 
 able on all occasions and on all subjects, and capable of cloth 
 ing sterility itself with sudden freshness and verdure, they all 
 resemble one another, and are almost unequalled among 
 English prose-writers. Most marvellous and enviable is that 
 fecundity of fancy, which can adorn whatever it touches, 
 which can invest naked fact and dry reasoning with unlooked- 
 for beauty, make flowerets bloom even on the brow of the 
 precipice, and, when nothing better can be had, can turn the 
 very substance of rock itself into moss and lichens. This 
 faculty is incomparably the most important for the vivid and 
 attractive exhibition of truth to the minds of men ; and, 
 taken in connection with other qualities, which neither Taylor 
 nor Fuller possessed, namely, method and taste, will do more 
 to give books permanent power and popularity, than even the 
 very truths they contain. Indeed, that, to a great extent, may 
 be said of every discourse, which Fuller says more particular 
 ly of sermons, " that though reasons are the pillars of the fab 
 ric, similitudes are the windows which give the best lights." 
 
 We have said that Fuller's faculty of illustration is bound 
 less ; surely it may be safely asserted, since it can diffuse 
 even over the driest geographical and chronological details an 
 unwonted interest. We have a remarkable exemplification 
 of this in those chapters of his "Holy War" in which he 
 gives what he quaintly calls "a Pisgah-sight, or Short Sur- 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 11 
 
 vey of Palestine in general " ; and a still stronger, if possible, 
 in his " Description of the Citie of Jerusalem." In these 
 chapters, what in other hands would have proved little more 
 than a bare enumeration of names, sparkles with perpetual 
 wit, and is enlivened with all sorts of vivacious allusions. 
 One or two short specimens of the arts by which he manages 
 to make such a " survey " attractive, will be found below ; * 
 but much of the effect is lost by their being presented in a 
 detached form. 
 
 The principal attribute of Fuller's genius is unquestiona 
 bly wit ; though, as Coleridge has well observed, " this veiy 
 circumstance has defrauded him of his due praise for the 
 practical wisdom of the thoughts, for the beauty and vari 
 ety of the truths into which he shaped the stuff. " If it be in 
 quired what was the character of his wit, it must be replied, 
 it is so various, and assumes so many different shapes, that 
 one might as well attempt to define wit itself; and this, see- 
 
 * " Nain, where our Saviour raised the widow's son, so that she was 
 twice a mother, yet had but one child." " Mount Carmel, the Jewish 
 Parnassus, where the prophets were so conversant." "Aphek, whose 
 walls falling down, gave both death and gravestones (!) to 27,000 of 
 Benhadad's soldiers." "Tyre, anciently the Royal Exchange of the 
 world." " The River Kishon, the besom to sweep away Sisera's army." 
 " Gilboa, the mountain that David cursed, that neither dew nor rain 
 should fall on it; but of late, some English travellers climbing this 
 mountain were well wetted, David not cursing it by a prophetical spirit, 
 but in a poetical rapture." " Gilgal, where the manna ceased, the Isra 
 elites having till then been fellow-commoners with the angels." " Gib- 
 eon, whose inhabitants cozened Joshua with a pass of false-dated an 
 tiquity. Who could have thought that clouted shoes could have cov 
 ered so much subtility ? " " Gaza, the gates whereof Samson carried 
 away ; and being sent for to make sport in the house of Dagon, acted 
 such a tragedy as plucked down the stage, slew himself and all the spec 
 tators." " Macphelah, where the patriarchs were buried, whose bodies 
 took lively and seisin in behalf of their posterity, who were to possess 
 the whole land." " Edrei, the city of Og, on whose giant-like propor 
 tions the rabbis have more giant-like lies." "Pisgah, where Moses 
 viewed the land : hereabouts the angel buried him, and also buried the 
 grave, lest it should occasion idolatry." 
 
12 LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 
 
 ing the comprehensive Barrow has contented himself with an 
 enumeration of its forms, in despair of being able to include 
 them all within the circle of a precise definition, we certainly 
 shall not at present attempt. Suffice it to say, that all the va 
 rieties recorded in that singularly felicitous passage are exem 
 plified in the pages of our author. Of Us wit, as of wit in 
 general, it may be truly said, that " sometimes it lieth in pat 
 allusion to a known story, or in seasonable application of a 
 trivial saying, or in forging an apposite tale ; sometimes it 
 playeth in words and phrases, taking advantage from the am 
 biguity of their sense, or the affinity of their sound ; some 
 times it is wrapped in a dress of humorous expression ; some 
 times it lurketh under an odd similitude ; sometimes it is 
 lodged in a sly question, in a smart answer, in a quirkish rea 
 son, in a shrewd intimation, in cunningly diverting or clev 
 erly retorting an objection ; sometimes it is couched in a bold 
 scheme of speech, in a tart irony, in a lusty hyperbole, in a 
 startling metaphor, in a plausible reconciling of contradic 
 tions, or in acute nonsense ; sometimes a scenical representa 
 tion of persons or things, a counterfeit speech, a mimical look 
 or gesture, passeth for it ; sometimes an affected simplicity ; 
 sometimes a presumptuous bluntness giveth it being ; some 
 times it riseth only from a lucky hitting upon what is strange ; 
 sometimes from a crafty wresting obvious matter to the pur 
 pose. Often it consisteth in one knows not what, and spring- 
 eth up one can hardly tell how. Its ways are unaccountable 
 and inexplicable ; being answerable to the numberless rovings 
 of fancy, and windings of language." 
 
 Of all the preceding varieties of wit, next to the " play 
 with words and phrases," perhaps Fuller most delighted in 
 " pat allusions to a known story " ; " in seasonable applica 
 tion of a trivial saying " ; " in a tart irony " and " an af 
 fected simplicity " ; in the " odd similitude " and the " quirk 
 ish reason." In these he certainly excelled. We have noted 
 some brief specimens, which we here give the reader. 
 Speaking of the Jesuits he says : " Such is the charity of the 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 13 
 
 Jesuits, that they never owe any man any ill-will, making 
 present payment thereof." Of certain prurient canons in 
 
 ; which virtue is in imminent danger of being tainted by impure 
 descriptions of purity, he shrewdly remarks : " One may 
 justly admire how these canonists, being pretended virgins, 
 
 ; could arrive at the knowledge of the criticisms of all obscen 
 ity." Touching the miraculous coffin in which St. Audre 
 was deposited, he slyly says : " Under the ruined walls of 
 Grantchester or Cambridge, a coffin was found, with a cover 
 
 i correspondent, both of white marble, which did fit her body 
 so exactly, as if (which one may believe was true) it was 
 made for it." On MachiavePs saying, " that he who under 
 takes to write a history must be of no religion," he observes : 
 " If so, Machiavel himself was the best qualified of any in his 
 age to be a good historian." On the unusual conjunction of 
 great learning and great wealth in the case of Selden, he re 
 marks : " Mr. Selden had some coins of the Roman emperors, 
 and a great many more of our English kings." After com 
 menting on the old story of St. Dunstan's pinching the Devil's 
 nose with the red-hot tongs, he absurdly cries out : " But 
 away with all suspicions and queries. None need to doubt of 
 the truth thereof, finding it in a sign painted in Fleet Street, 
 near Temple Bar." The bare, bald style of the schoolman, 
 he tells us, some have attributed to design, " lest any of the 
 vermin of equivocation should hide themselves under the nap 
 of their words." On excessive attention to fashion in dress, 
 he says : " Had some of our gallants been with the Israelites 
 in the wilderness, when for forty years their clothes waxed 
 not old, they would have been vexed, though their clothes 
 were whole, to have been so long in one fashion." Speaking 
 of the melancholy forebodings which have sometimes haunted 
 the death-bed of good men, he quaintly tells us, " that the 
 Devil is most busy in the last day of his term, and a tenant to 
 be outed cares not what mischief he does." Of unreasonable 
 expectations he says, with characteristic love of quibbling: 
 u Those who expect what in reason they cannot expect, may 
 2 
 
14 LIFE AT*D WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 
 
 expect." He thus happily illustrates the aid which the mem 
 ory derives from method : " One will carry twice more weight 
 trussed and packed up in bundles, than when it lies untoward- 
 ly flapping and hanging about his shoulders." The court 
 jester he wittily and truly characterizes thus : " It is an of 
 fice which none but he that hath wit can perform, and none 
 but he that wants wit will perform." Of modest women, who 
 nevertheless dress themselves in questionable attire, he says : 
 " I must confess some honest women may go thus, but no 
 whit the honester for going thus. That ship may have Cas 
 tor and Pollux for the sign, which, notwithstanding, has St. 
 Paul for the lading." He thus speaks of anger : " He that 
 keepeth anger long in his bosom, giveth place to the Devil. 
 And why should we make room for him who will crowd in 
 too fast of himself? Heat of passion makes our souls to 
 crack, and the Devil creeps in at the crannies." Of mar 
 riages between the young and the old, he shrewdly remarks : 
 " They that marry ancient people, merely in expectation to 
 bury them, hang themselves in hopes some one may come 
 and cut the halter." Of the affectedly grave he tells us : 
 " These sometimes not only cover their defects, but get praise. 
 They do wisely to counterfeit a reservedness, and to keep 
 their chests always locked, not for fear any should steal 
 treasure thence, but lest some should look in and see that 
 there is nothing in them." After telling us that an undutiful 
 child will be repaid in the same coin by his own children, he 
 says : " One complained that never father had so undutiful a 
 child as he had. ' Yes,' said the son, with more truth than 
 grace, ' my grandfather had.' " By way of illustrating the 
 superior efficacy of example, he says : " A father that whipt 
 his son for swearing, and swore himself while he whipt him, 
 did more harm by his example than good by his correction." 
 Of the intellectual deficiencies in the very tall, he remarks, 
 that " ofttimes such who are built four stories high, are ob 
 served to have little in their cockloft "; and of " naturals," 
 that " their heads are sometimes so little, that there is no room 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 15 
 
 for wit ; sometimes so long, that there is no wit for so much 
 room." And again : " Generally nature hangs out a sign of 
 simplicity in the face of a fool, and there is enough in his 
 countenance for a hue and cry to take him on suspicion. Yet 
 some by their faces may pass current enough till they cry 
 themselves down by their speaking, for men know the bell is 
 cracked when they hear it tolled." 
 
 Of the " quirkish reason," mentioned as one of the species 
 of wit in the above-recited passage of Barrow, the pages of 
 our author are full. What can be more ridiculous than the 
 reason he assigns, in his description of the " good wife," for 
 the order of Paul's admonitions to husbands and wives in the 
 third chapter of the Epistle to the Colossians ? " The Apostle 
 first adviseth women to submit themselves to their husbands, 
 and then counselleth men to love their wives. And sure it 
 was fitting that women should first have their lesson given 
 them, because it is hardest to be learned, and therefore they 
 need have the more time to con it. For the same reason we 
 first begin with the character of a good wife." Not less droll, 
 or rather far more so, is the manner in which he subtilizes on 
 the command, that we are not " to let the sun go down on our 
 wrath." u Anger kept till the next morning, with manna, 
 doth putrefy and corrupt ; save that manna, corrupted not at 
 all, (and anger most of all,) kept the next Sabbath. St. Paul 
 saith, ' Let not the sun go down on your wrath,' to carry news 
 to the antipodes in another world of thy revengeful nature. 
 Yet let us take the Apostle's meaning rather than his words, 
 with all possible speed to depose our passion ; not understand 
 ing him so literally that we may take leave to be angry till 
 sunset ; then might our wrath lengthen with the days, and 
 men in Greenland, where day lasts above a quarter of a year, 
 have plentiful scope of revenge." : One more specimen of 
 
 * On this passage Charles Lamb makes the following characteristic 
 remarks : " This whimsical prevention of a consequence which no one 
 would have thought of deducing, setting up an absurdum on purpose to 
 hunt it down, placing guards, as it were, at the very outposts of possi- 
 
16 LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 
 
 the " quirkish reason," and we will have done. Of memory 
 he says : " Philosophers place it in the rear of the head ; 
 and it seems the mine of memory lies there, because there 
 men naturally dig for it, scratching it when they are at a 
 loss ! " 
 
 Of all the forms of wit, Fuller affects that of the satirist 
 least. Though he can be caustic, and sometimes is so, he 
 does not often indulge the propensity ; and when he does, it is 
 without bitterness ; a sly irony, a good-humored gibe, which 
 tickles, but does not sting, is all he ventures upon. Perhaps 
 there is no mental quality whatever, which so much depends 
 on the temperament and moral habitudes of the individual, as 
 this of wit ; so much so, indeed, that often they will wholly 
 determine its character. We are inclined to think, that he 
 who is master of any one species of wit, might make himself 
 no mean proficient in all ; whether it shall have the quality of 
 waspish spleen, or grave banter, or broad and laughing hu 
 mor, depends far more on moral than on intellectual causes. 
 Imagine Fuller's wit in a man of melancholic temperament, 
 querulous disposition, sickly health, morbid sensibility, or irri 
 table vanity, and we should have a satirist whose malignity 
 would repel still more than his wit would attract. The sal 
 lies of our author are enjoyed without any drawback, even 
 when they are a little satirical ; so innocent, so childlike, so 
 free from malice, are they. His own temperament eminent 
 ly favored the development of the more amiable qualities of 
 wit : he was endowed with that happy buoyancy of spirit, 
 which, next to religion itself, is the most precious possession 
 of man ; and which is second only to religion, in enabling us 
 
 bility, gravely giving out laws to insanity, and prescribing moral fen 
 ces to distempered intellects, could never have entered into a head less 
 entertainingly constructed than that of Fuller, or Sir Thomas Browne, 
 the very air of whose style the conclusion of this passage most aptly im 
 itates." Lamb has made a small selection from the racy sayings of Ful 
 ler, very few of which, however, are included in those we have here pre 
 sented to the reader. In truth, they are so numerous, that they may be 
 picked up in every page. 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 17 
 
 to bear with ease the trials and burdens of humanity. Both 
 conspired to render him habitually light-hearted. With such 
 a temperament, thus added to unfeigned piety and unfeigned 
 benevolence ; with a heart open to all innocent pleasures, 
 and purged from the " leaven of malice and uncharitable- 
 ness," it was as natural that he should be full of good-tem 
 pered mirth, as it is for the grasshopper to chirp, or the bee 
 to hum, or the birds to warble, in the spring breeze and the 
 bright sunshine. His very physiognomy was an index to his 
 natural character. As described by his contemporaries, he 
 had light flaxen hair, bright, blue, and laughing eyes, a frank 
 and open visage. Such a face was a sort of guaranty, that 
 the wit with which he was endowed could not be employed 
 for any purpose inconsistent with constitutional good-nature. 
 Accordingly, never was mirth more devoid of malice than his ; 
 unseasonable and in excess it doubtless often is, but this is all 
 that can be charged upon it. His gibes are so pleasant, so 
 tinctured by an overflowing bonhommie, that we doubt wheth 
 er the very subjects of them could forbear laughing in sym 
 pathy, though at their own expense. Equally assured we are, 
 that, as he never uttered a joke on another with any malice, 
 so he was quite ready to laugh when any joke was uttered 
 upon himself. Never dreaming of ill-will to his neighbor, 
 and equally unsuspicious of any towards himself, it must have 
 been a bitter joke indeed in which he could not join. It is 
 rarely that a professed joker relishes wit when directed against 
 himself ; and the manner in which he receives it may usually 
 be taken as an infallible indication of his temper. He well 
 knows the difference between laughing at another and being 
 laughed at himself. Fuller was not one of that irritabile ge 
 nus, who wonder that any should be offended at their innocent 
 pleasantry ; and yet can never find any pleasantry innocent 
 but their own ! There is a story told, which, though not true, 
 ought *to have been true, and which, if not denied by Fuller, 
 would have been supposed to authenticate itself. It is said 
 that he once " caught a Tartar " in a certain Mr. Sparrow- 
 
 2* 
 
18 LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 
 
 hawk, of whom he asked, " What was the difference between 
 an owl and a sparrowhawk ? " The reply was, that " an 
 owl was fuller in the head, and fuller in the face, and fuller 
 all over ! We believe that, if the retort had been really ut 
 tered, it would have been received by the object of it, not 
 with that curious expression of face so common on such oc 
 casions, in which constrained mirth struggles with mortified 
 vanity, and stimulated laughter vainly strives to cover real 
 annoyance, but with a peal of hearty gratulation.* 
 
 As the temperament of Fuller was most cheerful, and a 
 pledge for the innocence of his wit, so he jested by what may 
 be called a necessity of his nature, on all subjects, at all 
 times, under all circumstances. Wit, in one or other of its 
 multitudinous shapes, was the habitual attire of his thoughts 
 and feelings. With the kindest heart in the world, he could 
 not recite even a calamitous story without investing it with a 
 
 * The story is, however, more than doubtful ; it is expressly denied 
 by Fuller himself, in his reply to Heylyn's " Examen Historicum." 
 The circumstances which led to the denial are curious. Fuller, in his 
 " Ecclesiastical History," had related of Laud, that having once demand 
 ed of a lady, who had lately become a proselyte to Popery, the reason 
 of the change, he received for answer, that " she hated a crowd." Upon 
 being further pressed to explain so dark a saying, she said, " Your Lord 
 ship and many others are making for Eome as fast as ye can, and there 
 fore, to prevent a press, I went before you." This anecdote roused the 
 indignation of Heylyn, who, by way of showing the impropriety of re 
 cording in print idle reports to the disadvantage of individuals, tells of 
 a " retort " on Fuller, substantially the same with that related of Mr. 
 Sparrowhawk, but disguised in a form, and attended with circumstances, 
 which rob it of more than half its point, and make Fuller appear to 
 greater disadvantage than that of having merely been discomfited by a 
 happy repartee. Fuller thus replied : " My tale was true and new, never 
 printed before ; whereas his is old (made, it seems, on one of my name, 
 printed before I was born) and false, never by man or woman retorted 
 on me. I had rather my name should make many causelessly merry, 
 than any justly sad ; and seeing it lieth equally open and obvious to 
 praise and dispraise, I shall as little be elated when flattered ' Fuller 
 of wit and learning,' as dejected when flouted ' Fuller of folly and 
 ignorance.' " 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 19 
 
 tinge of the ludicrous. It would seem as if, in his case, a 
 jest were the natural expression of all emotion ; he is no 
 more to be wondered at for mingling his condolence and his 
 lamentations with merriment, than are other men for accom 
 panying them with tears and sighs. An epitaph in his hand 
 would have been a sort of epigram, not free from grotesque 
 humor ; and his ordinary pulpit discourses must, we are con 
 vinced, have often contained passages which severely tried 
 the gravity of his audience. In confirmation of all we have 
 said, we may remark, that he actually finds it impossible to 
 suppress his vivacious pleasantry even in the most tragical 
 parts of his " histories," and tells the most rueful tidings in 
 so droll a manner as sets all sobriety at defiance. One or 
 two odd specimens we cannot refrain from laying before the 
 reader. He thus recounts a " lamentable accident " which 
 befell a congregation of Catholics at Blackfriars : " The 
 sermon began to incline to the middle, the day to the end 
 thereof; when on the sudden the floor fell down whereon 
 they were assembled. It gave no charitable warning groan 
 beforehand, but cracked, broke, and fell, all in an instant. 
 Many were killed, more bruised, all frighted. Sad sight, to 
 behold the flesh and blood of different persons mingled to 
 gether, and the brains of one on the head of another ! One 
 lacked a leg ; another, an arm ; a third, whole and entire, 
 wanting nothing but breath, stifled in the ruins." Was ever 
 such a calamity so mirthfully related ? But one of the most 
 singular instances of the peculiarity in question is contained 
 in his account of the capture and execution of the principal 
 conspirators in the Gunpowder Plot. It is so characteristic, 
 that no apology is required for inserting one or two extracts 
 below.* 
 
 * " Meantime Catesby, Percy, Rookwood, both the Wrights, and 
 Thomas Winter, were hovering about London, to attend the issue of the 
 matter. Having sat so long abrood, and hatching nothing, they began, 
 to suspect all their eggs had proved addle. Yet, betwixt hope and fear, 
 they and their servants post down into the country, through Warwick 
 
20 LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 
 
 So exuberant is Fuller's wit, that, as his very melancholy 
 is mirthful, so his very wisdom wears motley. But it is wis 
 dom notwithstanding ; nor are there many authors, in whom 
 
 and Worcester, into Staffordshire. Of traitors they turn felons, break 
 ing up stables and stealing horses as they went. But many of their 
 own men, by a far more lawful felony, stole away from their masters, 
 leaving them to shift for themselves. The neighboring counties, and 
 their own consciences, rise up against these riotous roisterers, as yet un 
 known for traitors. At last Sir Richard Walsh, high sheriff of Worces 
 tershire, overtook them at Holbeck, in Staffordshire, at the house of Mr. 
 Stephen Littleton ; where, upon their resistance, the two Wrights were 
 killed, Rookwood and Thomas Winter shrewdly wounded. As for Per 
 cy and Catesby, they fought desperately for their lives, as knowing no 
 quarter but quartering would be given unto them ; and, as if they scorned 
 to turn their backs to any but themselves, setting back to back, they 
 fought against all that assaulted them. Many swords were drawn upon 
 them, but ' gunpowder ' must do the deed, which discharged that bullet 
 which despatched them both. Never were two bad men's deaths more 
 generally lamented of all good men ; only on this account, that they 
 lived no longer, to be forced to a further discovery of their secret asso 
 ciates. It must not be forgotten, how, some hours before their appre 
 hension, as these plotters were drying dank gunpowder in an inn, a mil 
 ler casually coming in (haply not heeding the black meal on the hearth), 
 by careless casting on of a billet, fired the gunpowder : up flies the chim 
 ney with part of the house ; all therein are frightened, most hurt ; but 
 especially Catesby and Rookwood had their faces soundly scorched, 
 so bearing in their bodies, not crriy/zara, ' the marks of Our Lord Jesus 
 Christ,' but the print of their own impieties. Well might they guess 
 how good that their cup of cruelty was, whose dregs they meant others 
 should drink, by this little sip which they themselves had unwillingly 
 tasted thereof. The rest were all at London solemnly arraigned, con 
 victed, condemned. So foul the fact, so fair the proof, they could say 
 nothing for themselves. Master Tresham dying in the prison, prevented 
 
 a more ignominious end." " They all craved testimony that they 
 
 died Roman Catholics. My pen shall grant them this their last and so 
 equal petition, and bears witness to all whom it may concern, that they lived 
 and died in the Romish religion. And although the heinousness of their 
 offence might, with some color of justice, have angered severity into 
 cruelty against them, yet so favorably were they proceeded with, that 
 most of their sons or heirs, except since disinherited by their own prod 
 igality, at this day enjoy their paternal possessions." 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 21 
 
 we shall find so much solid sense and practical sagacity, in 
 spite of the grotesque disguise in which they mask them 
 selves. Nothing can be more true than the remark already 
 quoted from Coleridge, that Fuller's wit has defrauded him 
 of some of the praise of wisdom which is his due. There 
 was nothing, however, of the reality, whatever there might 
 be of the appearance, of profane or inhuman levity, in his 
 mode of dealing with sacred or serious subjects. His was 
 the natural expression of much hilarity conjoined with much 
 wit. He would have been mirthful, whether he had had 
 much wit or not ; having also much wit, his mirth expressed 
 itself in the forms most natural to him. He spoke only as 
 he* felt ; and though we may think that another mode of 
 speech would have been more proper, and better adapted 
 to the ordinary feelings of mankind under the circumstances, 
 we cannot consent to rank the facetice, of Fuller on grave 
 subjects, with the profane, heartless witticisms of those with 
 whom nothing is sacred, and who speak lightly because they 
 feel lightly. His whole life, and even his whole writings, 
 prove him to have been possessed of genuine veneration for 
 all that is divine, and genuine sympathy with all that is 
 human. 
 
 The limits within which wit and humor may be lawfully 
 used, are well laid down by himself in his " Holy and Pro 
 fane State," in the essays on " Jesting and Gravity," and in 
 his character of the " Faithful Minister." It would be too 
 much to say that he has always acted strictly up to his own 
 maxims ; but it may be safely asserted that he seldom vio 
 lates the most important of them, and that, when he did, it 
 was in perfect unconsciousness of so doing. Of profane 
 jests, he says in his strong manner : " Jest not with the 
 two-edged sword of God's word. Will nothing please thee 
 to wash thy hands in but the font ? or to drink healths in 
 but the church chalice ? " On inhuman jests, he says : 
 " Scoff not at the natural defects of any which are not in 
 their power to amend. Oh, it is cruelty to beat a cripple 
 
22 LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 
 
 with his own crutches ! " In another place, he quaintly says, 
 " It is unnatural to laugh at a natural." Speaking of the 
 " Faithful Minister," he says, " that he will not use a light 
 comparison to make thereof a grave application, for fear lest 
 his poison go farther than his antidote." But his sermons 
 on the book of " Ruth " contain many curious instances of 
 his oblivion of this maxim ; of which a striking one is 
 given by the editor of the recent edition of his " Holy and 
 Profane State." In his essay on " Gravity," he touchingly 
 pleads for a charitable construction of the levities of a mirth 
 ful temperament. " Some men," says he, " are of a very 
 cheerful disposition ; and God forbid that all such should be 
 condemned for lightness ! Oh, let not any envious eye dis 
 inherit men of that which is their ' portion in this life, com 
 fortably to enjoy the blessings thereof ' ! Yet gravity must 
 prune, not root out, our mirth." Gravity must have had hard 
 work to do this in his own case ; for as he himself says in 
 another place, beautifully commenting on a well-known 
 line of Horace : " That fork must have strong tines where 
 with one would thrust out nature." 
 
 The imagination of Fuller, though generally displaying it 
 self in the forms imposed by his overflowing wit, was yet 
 capable of suggesting images of great beauty, and of true 
 poetic quality. Though lost in the perpetual obtrusion of 
 that faculty to which every other was compelled to minister, 
 it is brilliant enough to have made the reputation of any in 
 ferior writer ; and we believe that what Coleridge has said 
 of his wisdom, might as truly be said of his fancy ; his 
 wit has equally defrauded both of the admiration due to 
 them. 
 
 Fuller's imagination is often happily employed in embody 
 ing some strong apothegm, or maxim of practical wisdom, 
 in a powerful and striking metaphor ; the very best form in 
 which they can be presented to us. There occur in his writ 
 ings very many sentences of this kind, which would not be 
 altogether unworthy of Bacon himself, and in which, as in 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 23 
 
 that far greater genius, we have the combination of solid 
 truth, beautiful imagery, and graceful expression ; where 
 we know not which most to admire, the value of the gem, 
 the lustre of the polish, or the appropriateness of the setting. 
 
 In many respects, Fuller may be considered the very type 
 and exemplar of that large class of religious writers of the 
 seventeenth century, to which we emphatically apply the 
 term " quaint." That word has long ceased to mean what it 
 once meant. By derivation, and by original usage, it first 
 signified " scrupulously elegant," " refined," " exact," " ac 
 curate," beyond the reach of common art. In time it came 
 to be applied to whatever was designed to indicate these 
 characteristics, though excogitated with so elaborate a sub- 
 tilty, as to trespass on ease and nature. In a word, it was 
 applied to what was ingenious and fantastic, rather than taste 
 ful or beautiful. It is now wholly used in this acceptation ; 
 and always implies some violation of true taste, some devia 
 tion from what the " natural " requires under the given cir 
 cumstances. The application of the word, both to literary 
 compositions and to the more material products of art, of 
 course simultaneously underwent similar modifications. 
 
 Now, the age in which Fuller lived was the golden age of 
 " quaintness " of all kinds ; in gardening, in architecture, 
 in costume, in manners, in religion, in literature. As men 
 improved external nature with a perverse expenditure of 
 money and ingenuity, made her yews and cypresses grow 
 into peacocks and statues, tortured and clipped her luxuri 
 ance into monotonous uniformity, turned her graceful 
 curves and spirals into straight lines and parallelograms, 
 compelled things incongruous to blend in artificial union, and 
 then measured the merits of the work, not by the absurdity 
 of the design, but by the difficulty of the execution ; so in 
 literature, the curiously and elaborately unnatural was too 
 often the sole object. Far-fetched allusions and strained 
 similitudes, fantastic conceits and pedantic quotations, the 
 eternal jingle of alliteration and antithesis, puns and quirks 
 
24 LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 
 
 and verbal pleasantries of all kinds, these too often formed 
 the choicest objects of the writer's ambition. The excellence 
 of the product was judged, not by its intrinsic beauty, but by 
 the labor it involved, and the ingenuity it displayed. 
 
 But while much of the " quaint " literature of that age is 
 now as little relished as the ruffs, wigs, and high-backed 
 chairs of our great-great-grandfathers, there is not a little 
 which will be held in everlasting remembrance. Not only 
 are the works of powerful, although often perverted genius, 
 full of thoughts, and images, and felicities of expression, 
 which, being the offspring of truth and fancy, will be beau 
 tiful through all time ; but the aspect in which the " quaint " 
 itself appears to us will depend upon the character of the 
 individual writer, and the nature of the subjects he treats. 
 The constitution of Fuller's mind had such an affinity with 
 the peculiarities of the day, that what was " quaint " in 
 others seems to have been his natural element, the sort of 
 attire in which his active and eccentric genius loved to clothe 
 itself. The habit which others perhaps slowly attained, and 
 at length made (by those strong associations which can for a 
 while sanctify any thing in taste or fashion) a second nature, 
 seems to have cost him nothing. Allusions and images may 
 appear odd, unaccountably odd, but in him they are evidently 
 not far-fetched ; they are spontaneously and readily pre 
 sented by his teeming fancy : even his puns and alliterations 
 seem the careless, irrepressible exuberances of a very sportive 
 mind, not racked and tortured out of an unwilling brain, 
 as is the case with so many of his contemporaries. We are 
 aware, of course, that it is the office of a correct judgment 
 to circumscribe the extravagances of the suggestive faculty, 
 and to select from the materials it offers only what is in har 
 mony with good taste. All we mean is, that in the case of 
 Fuller, the suggestions, however eccentric, were spontane 
 ous, not artificial, offered, not sought for. The water, 
 however brackish or otherwise impure, still gushed from a 
 natural spring, and was not brought up by the wheel and 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 25 
 
 axle. His mind was a fountain, not a forcing-pump. Thus 
 his very "quaintness" is also "nature," nature in him, 
 though it would not be so in others ; and we therefore read 
 his most outrageous extravagances with very different feel 
 ings from those with which we glance at the frigid conceits 
 and dreary impertinences of many of his contemporaries. 
 Nor do we simply feel indulgence towards them as spon 
 taneous ; their very spontaneity insures them an elasticity 
 and vivacity of expression, which we should seek m vain in 
 writers whose minds had less affinity with the genius of the 
 | day. 
 
 Nor are we to forget that there are certain subjects to 
 which the " quaint " style of those times is better adapted 
 than to others ; and in which it appears not destitute of a 
 certain fantastic grace and fitness. We mean subjects in 
 which little of passion or emotion would be expected. When 
 conviction or persuasion is the object, and directness of pur 
 pose and earnestness of feeling are essential, we do not say 
 to success, but merely to gain a hearing, nothing can be more 
 repulsive, because nothing more unnatural, than the " quaint " 
 style ; nothing being more improbable than that far-fetched 
 similitudes and labored prettinesses should offer themselves 
 to the mind at such a moment; except, indeed, where 
 universal custom has made (as in the case of some of our 
 forefathers) quaintness itself a second nature. When lachry 
 matories were the fashion, it might, for aught we can tell, 
 have been easy for the ancient mourner to drop a tear into 
 the little cruet at any given moment. But, ordinarily, nothing 
 is more certain than that the very sight of such a receptacle 
 would, as it was carried round to the company, instantly an 
 nihilate all emotion, even if it did not turn tears into laugh 
 ter. Not less repellent, under ordinary circumstances, are 
 all the forms of the " quaint," when the object is to excite 
 emotion, strong or deep. But it is not so with certain other 
 subjects, in which the " quaint " itself is not without its 
 recommendations. For example, in enforcing and illustrat- 
 
 3 
 
26 LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 
 
 ing moral maxims, in calmly inculcating lessons of life and 
 manners, in depicting varieties of human character, in all 
 which cases no continuous reasoning, no warmth of passion, 
 is expected or required ; the fancy may well be indulged in 
 her most sportive and playful moods, and allowed to attire 
 the sententious aphorisms she is commissioned to recommend, 
 in any way that seems to her best. She may travel in any 
 circuit, however wide, for her illustrations, may employ 
 analogies, the very oddity of which shall insure their being 
 remembered, may lock up wisdom in any curious casket of 
 antithesis or alliteration, nay, may not disdain even a quip 
 or a pun, when these may serve to stimulate attention, or to 
 aid the memory. The very best specimens of the quaint 
 style, at all events, are on such themes. Such, to mention a 
 single example, is Earle's " Microcosmography " ; such, also, 
 are the best and most finished of Fuller's own writings, as 
 his " Profane and Holy State," his " Good Thoughts in Bad 
 Times," his " Good Thoughts in Worse Times," and his 
 " Mixed Contemplations." The composition in such works 
 often reminds us of some gorgeous piece of cabinet-work 
 from China or India, in which ivory is richly inlaid with 
 gems and gold. Though we may not think the materials al 
 ways harmonious, or the shape perfectly consistent with our 
 notions of elegance, we cannot fail to admire the richness ot 
 the whole product, and the costliness and elaboration of the 
 workmanship. 
 
 We have said, that in many respects Fuller may be con 
 sidered the master of the quaint school of the seventeenth 
 century. It is by no means to be forgotten, however, that he 
 is almost entirely free from many of the most offensive 
 peculiarities of that school. As those qualities of quaintness 
 he possesses in common with his contemporaries are, as al 
 ready intimated, natural to him, so, from those which could 
 hardly be natural in any, he is for the most part free. Thus 
 he is almost wholly untainted by that vain pedantry, which 
 so deeply infects the style of many of the greatest writers of 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 27 
 
 his age ; more especially Burton, Jeremy Taylor, Donne, 
 and Browne. His quotations are very rare, and generally 
 very apt, introduced for use, not ostentation. You nowhere 
 find that curious mosaic-work of different tongues, which is 
 so common in the pages of Burton and Taylor. You never 
 find him, as you do this last writer, enforcing some common 
 place of moral wisdom by half a dozen quotations from dif 
 ferent writers, as though afraid to allow even a truism to 
 walk abroad, except under the guard of some venerable 
 names; or as though men would not believe their own 
 senses, unless they had the authority of antiquity for doing 
 so. From all the forms of learned pedantry, Fuller may be 
 pronounced almost entirely free. His reading was various, 
 and his learning great ; though not to be compared to those 
 of the above writers, whose powers, vast as they were, often 
 sank beneath the load of their more prodigious erudition. 
 
 Fuller's style is also free, to a great extent, from the Latin- 
 isms which form so large an element in that of many of his 
 great contemporaries. Both in style and diction, he is much 
 more idiomatic than most of them. The structure of his 
 sentences is far less involved and periodic, while his words 
 are in much larger proportion of Saxon derivation. Some 
 thing may, no doubt, be attributed to the character of his 
 mind ; his shrewd practical sense leading him, as it generally 
 leads those who are strongly characterized by it, to prefer the 
 homely and universally intelligible in point of expression. 
 Still more, however, is to be attributed to the habits of his 
 life. He was not the learned recluse which many of his 
 contemporaries were, and neither read nor wrote half so 
 much in the learned tongues. He loved to gossip with the 
 common people ; and when collecting materials for his his 
 torical works, would listen, we are told, for hours together, to 
 their prolix accounts of local traditions and family legends. 
 Many, very many of the good old English words now lost, 
 may be found in his writings. One passage of vigorous idio 
 matic English, and which is, in many other respects, a strik- 
 
28 LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 
 
 ing exemplification of Fuller's manner, we cannot refrain 
 from quoting. It is from his "Essay on Tombs." 
 
 " Tombs are the clothes of the dead. A grave is but a plain 
 suit, and a rich monument is one embroidered. Most moderate 
 men have been careful for the decent interment of their corpses ; 
 
 both hereby to prevent the negligence of heirs, and to 
 
 mind him of his mortality. Virgil tells us, that when bees swarm 
 in the air, and two armies, meeting together, fight as it were a set 
 battle, with great violence, cast but a little dust upon them, and 
 they will be quiet : 
 
 { Hi motus animorum, atque hsec certamina tanta, 
 Pulveris exigui jactu compressa quiescunt.' 
 
 " Thus the most ambitious motions and thoughts of man's mind 
 are quickly quelled when dust is thrown on him, whereof his fore- 
 prepared sepulchre is an excellent remembrancer. Yet some seem 
 to have built their tombs therein to bury their thoughts of dying ; 
 never thinking thereof, but embracing the world with greater 
 greediness. A gentleman made choice of a fair stone, and, intend 
 ing the same for his gravestone, caused it to be pitched up in a field, 
 a pretty distance from his house, and used often to shoot at it for his 
 exercise. 'Yea, but,' said a wag that stood by, 'you would be 
 loath, Sir, to hit the mark.' And so are many unwilling to die, 
 who, notwithstanding, have erected their monuments. 
 
 " Tombs ought, in some sort, to be proportioned, not to the 
 wealth, but deserts, of the party interred. Yet may we see some 
 rich man of mean worth, loaden under a tomb big enough for a 
 prince to bear. There were officers appointed in the Grecian 
 games, who always, by public authority, did pluck down the 
 statues erected to the victors, if they exceeded the true symmetry 
 and proportion of their bodies. 
 
 " The shortest, plainest, and truest epitaphs are best. I say, 
 ' the shortest'; for when a passenger sees a chronicle written on a 
 tomb, he takes it on trust some great man lies there buried, without 
 taking pains to examine who he is. Mr. Camden, in his ' Remains,' 
 presents us with examples of great men that had little epitaphs. 
 And when once I asked a witty gentleman, an honored friend of 
 mine, what epitaph was fittest to be written on Mr. Camdeirs tomb, 
 ' Let it be,' said he, ' " Camden's Remains." I say also, ' the 
 plainest ' ; for except the sense lie above ground, few will trouble 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 29 
 
 themselves to dig for it. Lastly, it must be ' true ' ; not as in some 
 monuments, where the red veins in the marble may seem to blush 
 at the falsehoods written on it. He was a witty man that first 
 taught a stone to speak, but he was a wicked man that taught it 
 first to lie. 
 
 " To want a grave is the cruelty of the living, not the misery of 
 the dead. An English gentleman, not long since, did lie on his 
 death-bed in Spain, and the Jesuits did flock about him to pervert 
 him to their religion. All was in vain. Their last argument was, 
 ' If you will not turn Roman Catholic, then your body shall be un- 
 buried.' ' Then,' answered he, * I will stink ' ; and so turned his 
 head and died. Thus love, if not to the dead, to the living, will 
 
 make him, if not a grave, a hole A good memory is the 
 
 best monument. Others are subject to casualty and time ; and we 
 know that the pyramids themselves, doting with age, have forgotten 
 the names of their founders. To conclude ; let us be careful to 
 provide rest for our souls, and our bodies will provide rest for them 
 selves. And let us not be herein like unto gentlewomen, who care 
 not to keep the inside of the orange, but candy, and preserve only 
 the outside thereof." 
 
 One other Essay, . which is not only a fine specimen of 
 Fuller's best manner, but is full of sound practical criticism, 
 we cannot resist the temptation to cite. It is on " Fancy." 
 
 " Fancy is an inward sense of the soul, for a while retaining 
 and examining things brought in thither by the common sense. It 
 is the most boundless and restless faculty of the soul ; for, whilst 
 the understanding and the will are kept as it were in liberd custodia 
 to their objects of verum et bonum, the fancy is free from all engage 
 ments. It digs without spade, sails without ship, flies without 
 wings, builds without charges, fights without bloodshed ; in a mo 
 ment striding from the centre to the circumference of the world, by 
 a kind of omnipotency creating and annihilating things in an in 
 stant ; and things divorced in nature are married in fancy, as in a 
 lawful place. It is also most restless ; whilst the senses are bound, 
 and reason in a manner asleep, fancy, like a sentinel, walks the 
 round, ever working, never wearied. 
 
 " The chief diseases of the fancy are either, that it is too wild 
 and high-soaring, or else too low and grovelling, or else too desul 
 tory and over-voluble. 
 
 3* 
 
30 LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 
 
 " Of the first : If thy fancy be but a little too rank, age itself 
 will correct it. To lift too high is no fault in a young horse ; be 
 cause, with travelling, he will mend it for his own ease. Thus, 
 lofty fancies in young men will come down of themselves ; and, in 
 process of time, the overplus will shrink to be but even measure. 
 But if this will not do it, then observe these rules : 
 
 " Take part always with thy judgment against thy fancy, in any 
 thing wherein they shall dissent. If thou suspectest thy conceits 
 too luxuriant, herein account thy suspicion a legal conviction, and 
 damn whatsoever thou doubtest of. Warily Tully : Benk monent, 
 qui vetant quicquam facere de quo dubitas, aquwn sit an iniquum. 
 
 "Take the advice of a faithful friend, and submit thy inventions 
 to his censure. When thou pennest an oration, let him have the 
 power of Index Eocpurgatorius, to expunge what he pleaseth ; and 
 do not thou, like a fond mother, cry if the child of thy brain be 
 corrected for playing the wanton: Mark the arguments and reasons 
 of his alterations, why that phrase least proper, this passage 
 more cautious and advised ; and, after a while, thou shalt perform 
 the place in thine own person, and not go out of thyself for a cen- 
 surer. 
 
 " If thy fancy be too low and humble, let thy judgment be king, 
 but not tyrant, over it, to condemn harmless, yea commendable, con 
 ceits. Some, for fear their orations should giggle, will not let them 
 smile. Give it also liberty to rove, for it will not be extravagant. 
 There is no danger that weak folks, if they walk abroad, will strag 
 gle far, as wanting strength. 
 
 " Acquaint thyself with reading poets, for there fancy is in her 
 throne ; and, in time, the sparks of the author's wit will catch hold 
 on the reader, and inflame him with love, liking, and desire of imi 
 tation. I confess there is more required to teach one to write than 
 to see a copy. However, there is a secret force of fascination in 
 reading poems, to raise and provoke fancy. 
 
 " If thy fancy be over-voluble, then whip this vagrant home to 
 the first object whereon it should be settled. Indeed, nimbleness is 
 the perfection of this faculty, but levity the bane of it. Great is 
 the difference betwixt a swift horse, and a skittish, that will stand 
 on no ground. Such is the ubiquitary fancy, which will keep long 
 residence on no one subject, but is so courteous to strangers, that it 
 ever welcomes that conceit most which comes last, and new species 
 supplant the old ones, before Seriously considered. If this be the 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 31 
 
 fault of thy fancy, I say, whip it home to the first object whereon 
 it should be settled. This do as often as occasion requires, and by 
 degrees the fugitive servant will learn to abide by his work without 
 running away. 
 
 " Acquaint thyself by degrees with hard and knotty studies, 
 as school-divinity, which will clog thy over-nimble fancy. True, at 
 the first, it will be as welcome to thee as a prison, and their very 
 solutions will seem knots unto thee. But take not too much at 
 once, lest thy brain turn edge. Taste it first as a potion for 
 physic ; and by degrees thou shalt drink it as beer for thirst ; prac 
 tice will make it pleasant. Mathematics are also good for this pur 
 pose ; if beginning to try a conclusion, thou must make an end, 
 lest thou losest thy pains that are past, and must proceed seriously 
 and exactly. I meddle not with those Bedlam fancies, all whose 
 conceits are antics ; but leave them for the physicians to purge with 
 hellebore. 
 
 " To clothe low creeping matter with high-flown language is not 
 fine fancy, but flat foolery. It rather loads than raises a wren, to 
 fasten the feathers of an ostrich to her wings. Some men's 
 speeches are like the high mountains in Ireland, having a dirty bog 
 in the top of them ; the very ridge of them in high words having 
 nothing of worth, but what rather stalls than delights the auditor. 
 
 " Fine fancies in manufactures invent engines rather pretty than 
 useful. And, commonly, one trade is too narrow for them. They 
 are better to project new ways than to prosecute old, and are rather 
 skilful in many mysteries than thriving in one. They affect not 
 voluminous inventions, wherein many years must constantly be 
 spent to perfect them, except there be in them variety of pleasant 
 employment. 
 
 " Imagination (the work of the fancy) hath produced real effects. 
 Many serious and sad examples hereof may be produced. I will 
 only insist on a merry one. A gentleman having led a company of 
 children beyond their usual journey, they began to be weary, and 
 jointly cried to him to carry them; which, because of their multi 
 tude, he could not do, but told them he would provide them horses 
 to ride on. Then cutting little wands out of the hedge as nags for 
 them, and a great stake as a gelding for himself, thus mounted, 
 fancy put mettle into their legs, and they came cheerfully home. 
 
 " Fancy runs most furiously when a guilty conscience drives it. 
 One that owed much money, and had many creditors, as he walked 
 
32 LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 
 
 London streets in the evening, a tenter-hook caught his cloak. ' At 
 whose suit ? ' said he, conceiving some bailiff had arrested him. 
 Thus guilty consciences are afraid where no fear is, and count every 
 creature they meet a sergeant sent from God to punish them." 
 
 The historical works of Fuller are simply a caricature of 
 the species of composition to which they professedly belong ; 
 a systematic violation of all its proprieties. The gravity and 
 dignity of the historic Muse are habitually violated by him. 
 Nay, more ; not only is he continually cracking his jokes, 
 and perpetrating his puns ; his matter is as full of treason 
 against the laws of history as his manner. His very method 
 if we may be allowed such an abuse of language con 
 sists in a contempt of all method. He has so constructed his 
 works as to secure himself the indulgence of perpetual digres 
 sion, of harboring and protecting every vagrant story that 
 may ask shelter in his pages, of rambling hither and 
 thither, as the fit takes him, and of introducing all sorts of 
 things, where, when, and how he pleases. To this end he 
 has cut up his " Histories " into little paragraphs or sections, 
 which often have as little connection with one another as 
 with the general subject. Any curious fact, any anecdote, 
 is sufficient warrant in his opinion for a digression ; provided 
 only it has any conceivable relation to the events he happens 
 to be narrating. A mere chronological connection is always 
 deemed enough to justify him in bringing the most diverse 
 matters into juxtaposition ; while the little spaces which divide 
 his sections from one another, like the little compartments in 
 a cabinet of curiosities, are thought sufficient lines of de 
 marcation between the oddest incongruities. His " Worthies 
 of England " is in fact a rambling tour over the English 
 Counties, taken in alphabetical order, in which, though his 
 chief object undoubtedly is to give an account of the prin 
 cipal families resident in each, and of the illustrious men 
 they have severally produced, be cannot refrain from thrust 
 ing in a world of gossip on their natural history and geogra 
 phy ; on their productions, laws, customs, and proverbs. It 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 33 
 
 may be said that this was an unfinished work ; that we have 
 not the fabric itself, but only the bricks and mortar of which 
 it was to be constructed. We reply that the general plan is 
 sufficiently disclosed, and could not have been materially 
 altered had the author lived to complete the work. But is 
 his " Church History " a whit better in this respect ? Never 
 was there such a medley. First, each book and section is 
 introduced by a quaint dedication to one or other of his many 
 admirers or patrons. Nicholson in his " English Historical 
 Library " is rather severe on his motives for such a multipli 
 cation of dedications. Secondly, the several paragraphs into 
 which the " Church History" is divided (most of them intro 
 duced by some quaint title) are many of them as little con 
 nected with church history as with the history of China. 
 Thus, in one short " section," comprising the period from 
 1330 to 1361, we find " paragraphs" relating to " the igno 
 rance of the English in curious clothing," to " fuller's 
 earth," which, he tells us, " was a precious commodity," 
 to the manufacture of " woollen cloth," and to the sumptuary 
 laws which " restrained excess in apparel." 
 
 Here is a strange mixture in one short chapter ! Church 
 history, as all the world knows, is compelled to treat of mat 
 ters which have a very remote relation to the Church of 
 Christ ; but who could have suspected that it could, by possi 
 bility, take cognizance of fuller's earth and woollens ? Even 
 Fuller himself seems a little astonished at his own hardihood ; 
 and lest any should at first sight fail to see the perfect con- 
 gruity of such topics, he engages, with matchless effrontery, 
 to show the connection between them. His reasons are so 
 very absurd, and given so much in his own manner, that we 
 cannot refrain from citing them. " But enough of this sub 
 ject, which let none condemn for a deviation from church 
 history. First, because it would not grieve me to go a little 
 out of the way, if the way be good, as the digression is for 
 the credit and profit of our country. Secondly, it reductively 
 belongeth to the church history, seeing many poor people, 
 
34 LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 
 
 both young and old, formerly charging the parishes (as ap 
 peared by the account of the church officers) were hereby 
 enabled to maintain themselves " ! ! 
 
 It may well be supposed, after what has been said, that 
 his " Histories " are not to be judged by the ordinary rules 
 applied to that class of compositions. They possess intrinsic 
 value only as collections and repertories of materials for other 
 and less eccentric writers. In this point of view he often 
 modestly represents them ; and, in fact, as we conjecture, for 
 the very purpose of securing the larger license for rambling. 
 The praise of method and regularity (if indeed he formed 
 any notion of these) he coveted little, compared with the free 
 indulgence of his vagrant and gossiping humor. He loved, 
 like Edie Ochiltree, " to daunder along the green lanes," to 
 leave the dusty high-road of continuous history, and solace 
 himself in every " by-path meadow " that invited his feet by 
 its softness and verdure. Even as a collector of materials, 
 his merits have been strongly called in question by Bishop 
 Nicholson. " Through the whole of his ' Church History,' " 
 says the critic, " he is so fond of his own wit, that he does 
 not seem to have minded what he was about. The gravity 
 of an historian (much more of an ecclesiastical one) requires 
 a far greater care, both of the matter and style of his work, 
 than is here to be met with. If a pretty story comes in his 
 way that affords scope for clinch and droll, off it goes with all 
 the gayety of the stage, without staying to inquire whether it 
 have any foundation in truth or not ; and even the most seri 
 ous and authentic parts of it are so interlaced with pun and 
 quibble, that it looks as if the man had designed to ridicule 
 the annals of our Church into fable and romance. Yet if it 
 were possible to refine it well, the work would be of good 
 use, since there are in it some things of moment hardly to be 
 had elsewhere, which may often illustrate dark passages in 
 more serious writers. These are not to be despised where 
 his authorities are cited, and appear credible. But in other 
 matters, where he is singular, and without his vouchers, 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 35 
 
 That Fuller has intermingled a great deal of gossip and 
 rubbish with his facts is, indeed, most true ; but then, usually, 
 he neither receives such matter for truth himself, nor delivers 
 it for truth to others ; so that the worst that can be said of 
 him on that score is, that he is content to merge his historic 
 character in that of a retailer of amusing oddities. But that 
 he is careless in the admission or investigation of facts, we 
 cannot admit, without better proof than Nicholson has fur 
 nished ; and we much fear that the censure of the critic was 
 excited rather by Fuller's candor, than by either his partiality 
 or his negligence. If he had been a more thorough partisan, 
 and on the side of his censor, we should have been spared 
 some of the indignation of this " historian " of " historians." 
 With indolence in his researches, at all events, Fuller cannot 
 be justly taxed. Frequently compelled, in his capacity of 
 chaplain to the royal army, to change his quarters, often 
 writing without the advantage of books and access to docu 
 ments, it was impossible that he should not fall into serious 
 errors ; but he diligently availed himself of such resources 
 as were within his reach. As already intimated, he would 
 spend hours in patiently listening to the long-winded recitals 
 of rustic ignorance, in hopes of gleaning some neglected tra 
 dition, or of rescuing some half- forgotten fact from oblivion. 
 His works everywhere disclose the true antiquarian spirit, 
 the genuine veneration for whatever bears the " charming 
 rust," or exhales the musty odor of age ; and it is plain that, 
 if his opportunities had been equal either to his inclinations 
 or his aptitudes, he would have been no mean proficient in 
 the arts of spelling out and piercing the mouldering records 
 of antiquity, of deciphering documents, of adjusting 
 dates, of investigating the origin of old customs, and the 
 etymology of old names, of interpreting proverbial say 
 ings, of sifting the residuum of truth in obscure tradition, 
 and of showing the manner in which facts have passed into 
 fable. Like many men of the same stamp, however, he had 
 not the faculty of discriminating the relative value of the 
 
36 LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 
 
 facts thus elicited ; but frequently exhibits the most insignifi 
 cant with as much prominence as the most valuable : like 
 them, too, he often mistakes probability for demonstration, 
 and magnifies conjecture into certainty. In some respects 
 he bore a sort of resemblance (though in others how differ 
 ent !) to Herodotus and Froissart. The charm of continuous 
 narrative, indeed, for which they are so justly eminent, he 
 possessed not ; still less the happy art of a picturesque and 
 graceful disposition of his materials. But in his diligent 
 heed to traditional stories, in the personal pains and labor 
 which he was willing to take in the accumulation of his 
 materials, in the eagerness and the patience with which he 
 prosecuted the chase, in the large infusion of merely curious 
 and amusing matter amongst the sober verities of history, by 
 which his " Worthies " and his " Church History" are equally 
 marked, there is some resemblance. The traditions, and 
 " the reports," and the " sayings " of the common people, 
 were as dear to him as was the a>s \eyovo-i to the father of 
 history. Like the above writers, too, he usually lets us know 
 for what he vouches, and what he gives on the report of 
 others ; and we believe that, as in their case, his principal 
 statements will be found more nearly true the more they are 
 investigated. But, after all, his professedly historical works 
 are not to be read as histories; their strange want of method, 
 the odd intermixture of incongruous and irrelevant matter 
 they contain, and the eccentricities of all kinds with which 
 they abound, will for ever prevent that. They are rather 
 books of amusement ; in which wisdom and whim, impor 
 tant facts and impertinent fables, solid reflections and quaint 
 drolleries, refined wit and wretched puns, great beauties and 
 great negligences, are mingled in equal proportions. Pe 
 rused as books of amusement, there are few in the English 
 language which a man, with the slightest tincture of love for 
 our early literature, can take up with a keener relish ; while 
 an enthusiast, whether by natural predisposition or acquired 
 habit, will, like Charles Lamb, absolutely riot in their wild 
 luxuriance. 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 37 
 
 Faulty as Fuller's Histories are, it will be seen that he yet 
 possessed in great perfection many of the most essential con 
 ditions of excellence in that department of composition. 
 His spirit of research, his love of minute investigation, his 
 fine imagination, his boundless vivacity, his freedom from 
 prejudice, his liberality and candor, would seem to have in 
 sured success ; and that success would doubtless have been 
 eminent, had he not given such license to his inordinate wit, 
 so freely indulged his oddities of manner, and set all method 
 at defiance. These defects have gone far to neutralize his 
 other admirable qualifications for historical composition ; and 
 what was absurdly said of Shakspeare, might with some pro 
 priety be said of him, " that a pun was the Cleopatra for 
 which he lost the world, and was content to lose it." 
 
 In a moral and religious point of view, the character of 
 Fuller is entitled to our veneration, and is altogether one of 
 the 'most attractive and interesting which that age exhibits to 
 us. His buoyant temper, and his perpetual mirthfulness, 
 were wholly at variance with that austerity and rigor which 
 characterized so many of the religionists of his time ; but 
 his life and conduct bore ample testimony that he possessed 
 genuine and habitual piety. Amidst all his levity of manner, 
 there was still the gravity of the heart, deep veneration 
 for all things sacred ; and while his wit clothed even his 
 religious thoughts and feelings with irresistible pleasantry, his 
 manner is as different from that of the scorner, as the inno 
 cent laugh of childhood from the malignant chuckle of a 
 demon. In all the relations of domestic and social life, his 
 conduct was most exemplary. In one point, especially, does 
 he appear in honorable contrast with the bigots of all parties 
 in that age of strife, he had learned, partly from his natural 
 benevolence, and partly from a higher principle, the lessons 
 of " that charity which thinketh no evil," and which so few 
 of his contemporaries knew how to practise. His very 
 moderation, however, as is usually the case, made him sus 
 pected by the zealots of both parties. Though a sincere 
 
38 LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 
 
 friend of the Church of England, he looked with sorrow 
 (which in his " Church History " he took no pains to dis 
 guise) on the severities practised towards the Puritans ; and 
 everywhere adopts the tone of apology for their supposed 
 errors, and of compassion for their undoubted sufferings. 
 His candor and impartiality in treating some of the most 
 delicate portions of our ecclesiastical history as, for ex 
 ample, the Hampton Court controversy, and the administra 
 tion of Laud are in admirable contrast with the resolute 
 spirit of partisanship which has inspired so many of the 
 writers of the Church of England. There were not wanting 
 persons, however, who, as we have seen, insinuated that his 
 candor in these and other instances was nothing but a peace- 
 offering to the men in power at the time he published his 
 " Church History." But, not to urge that he has said too 
 much on the other side to justify such a supposition, his 
 whole manner is that of an honest man, striving to be im 
 partial, even if not always successful. Had he been the un 
 principled timeserver this calumny would represent him, he 
 would have suppressed a little more. Coleridge says that he 
 was " incomparably the most sensible, the least prejudiced, 
 great man of an age that boasted a galaxy of great men." 
 If this statement be confined to " religious prejudices," there 
 are, it must be confessed, few of his age who can be com 
 pared with him. As to prejudices of other kinds, he seems 
 to have shared in those of most of his contemporaries. It is 
 hard, or rather impossible, to be wholly beyond one's age. 
 He believed in witches ; he was a resolute stickler for the 
 royal prerogative of curing the king's evil ; though whether 
 his loyalty or philosophy had most to do with his convictions 
 on that point, may well admit of doubt. It is true that he 
 treats the idle legends and fabled miracles of Romish super 
 stition with sovereign contempt ; but then his Protestantism 
 came to the aid of his reason, and, considering the super 
 stitions he has himself retained, the former may be fairly 
 supposed to have offered the more powerful logic of the two. 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 39 
 
 Though Fuller cannot be accused of sharing the bigotry 
 and bitterness of his age, he is by no means perfectly free 
 from a very opposite vice with which that age was nearly as 
 chargeable, we mean flattery. His multitudinous dedica 
 tions to his numerous patrons, contained in the " Church 
 History," are, many of them, very striking, and even beauti 
 ful compositions, and full of ingenious turns of thought ; but 
 they certainly attribute as much of excellence to the objects 
 of them, as either history, or tradition, or charity can war 
 rant us in ascribing. Something may, however, be pardoned 
 to the spirit of the age, and something to the gratitude or 
 necessities of the author. But that any author, even a hungry 
 one, could be brought to write them is a wonder ; that any 
 patron could, either with or without a blush, appropriate 
 them, is a still greater one. It is in the conclusion to his 
 character of the " Good King," in his " Holy State," that 
 our author has fallen most unworthily into the complimentary 
 extravagance of the times. He, of course, makes the reign 
 ing monarch the reality of the fair picture, and draws his 
 character in language which truth might well interpret into 
 the severest irony. 
 
 It would be improper to close this analysis of one of the 
 most singular intellects that ever appeared in the world of 
 letters, without saying a word or two of the prodigies related 
 of his powers of memory. That he had a very tenacious 
 one may easily be credited, though some of its traditional 
 feats almost pass belief. It is said that he could " repeat 
 five hundred strange words after once hearing them, and 
 could make use of a sermon verbatim, under the like circum 
 stances." Still further, it is said that he undertook, in pass 
 ing from Temple Bar to the extremity of Cheapside, to tell, 
 at his return, every sign as it stood in order on both sides of 
 the way, (repeating them either backwards or forwards,) and 
 that he performed the task exactly. This is pretty well, con 
 sidering that in that day every shop had its sign. The inter 
 pretation of such hyperboles, however, is very easy ; they 
 
40 LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 
 
 signify, at all events, thus much, that he had an extraor 
 dinary memory. That many of the reports respecting it 
 were false or exaggerated, may be gathered from an amus 
 ing anecdote recorded by himself. " None alive," says he, 
 " ever heard me pretend to the art of memory, who in my 
 book (Holy State) have decried it as a trick, no art ; and, 
 indeed, is more of fancy than memory. I confess, some ten 
 years since, when I came out of the pulpit of St. Dunstan's 
 East, one (who since wrote a book thereof) told me in the 
 vestry, before credible people, that he, in Sidney College, 
 had taught me the art of memory. I returned unto him, that 
 it was not so, for I could not remember that I had ever seen 
 him before ! which, I conceive, was a real refutation." 
 
 One is prepared to meet with all sorts of oddities of man 
 ner about such a man, for it would be strange that a person 
 so eccentric in all his writings should not have been eccen 
 tric in his private habits ; but really the following account of 
 his method of composition passes belief. It is said that he 
 was in " the habit of writing the first words of every line 
 near the margin down to the foot of the paper, and that then, 
 beginning again, he filled up the vacuities exactly, with 
 out spaces, interlineations, or contractions " ; and that he 
 " would so connect the ends and beginnings that the sense 
 would appear as complete as if it had been written in a con 
 tinued series, after the ordinary manner." This, we pre 
 sume, is designed to be a compliment to the ease with which 
 he performed the process of mental composition, and the ac 
 curacy with which his memory could transfer what he had 
 meditated to paper. But though he might occasionally per 
 form such a feat for the amusement of his friends, it never 
 could have been his ordinary practice. 
 
 As we quoted, at the commencement of this essay, the 
 opinion entertained of our author by Coleridge, we shall con 
 clude it by citing that of Charles Lamb, than whom there 
 could not be a more competent judge. " The writings of 
 Fuller," says he, " are usually ^ designated by the title of 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS FULLER. 41 
 
 quaint, and with sufficient reason ; for such was his natural 
 bias to conceits, that I doubt not, upon most occasions, it 
 would have been going out of his way to have expressed him 
 self out of them. But his wit is not always lumen siccum, a 
 dry faculty of surprising ; on the contrary, his conceits are 
 oftentimes deeply steeped in human feeling and passion. 
 Above all, his way of telling a story, for its eager liveliness, 
 and the perpetual running commentary of the narrator, hap 
 pily blended with the narration, is perhaps unequalled." * 
 
 * Since the preceding essay was published, have appeared " Memo 
 rials of the Life and Works of Fuller, by Rev. Arthur T. Russell, B. 
 C. L." In that volume, all that either history or tradition has left re 
 specting our author has been laboriously and faithfully compiled ; and 
 thither the reader, curious about the biography of this eccentric genius, 
 is referred for more minute information than could be given in the sketch 
 at the commencement of this essay. 
 
ANDKEW MARVELL.* 
 
 ANDREW MARVELL was a native of Kingston-upon-Hull, 
 where he was born November 15, 1620. His father, of 
 the same name, was master of the grammar-school, and lec 
 turer of Trinity Church in that town. He is described by 
 Fuller and Echard as " facetious," so that his son's wit, it 
 would appear, was hereditary. He is also said to have dis 
 played considerable eloquence in the pulpit ; and even to 
 have excelled in that kind of oratory which would seem at 
 first sight least allied to a mirthful temperament, that is, 
 the pathetic. The conjunction, however, of keen wit and 
 deep sensibility has been found in a far greater number of 
 instances than would at first sight be imagined ; as might be 
 easily proved by examples, if this were the place for it. Nor 
 would it be difficult to give the rationale of the fact. Each 
 has its natural affinities with genius, and both very generally 
 accompany it. 
 
 The diligence of Mr. Marvell's pulpit preparations has 
 been celebrated by Fuller in his " Worthies," with character 
 istic quaintness. " He was a most excellent preacher," says 
 he, " who never broached what he had new brewed, but 
 preached what he had pre-studied some competent time be- 
 
 * " Edinburgh Review," January, 1844. 
 
 The Life of Andrew Marvel! , the celebrated Patriot ; with Extracts and 
 Selections from his Prose and Poetical Works. BY JOHN DOVE. 12mo. 
 London. 1832. 
 
ANDREW MARVELL. 43 
 
 fore, insomuch that he was wont to say, that he would cross 
 the common proverb, which called Saturday the working day 
 and Monday the holiday of preachers." The eloquence of 
 the pulpit he enforced by the more persuasive eloquence of a 
 consistent life. During the pestilential epidemic of '1637, we 
 are told that he distinguished himself by an intrepid discharge 
 of his pastoral functions. 
 
 Having given early indications of superior talents, young 
 Andrew was sent, when not quite fifteen years of age, to 
 Trinity College, Cambridge, where he was partly or wholly 
 maintained by an exhibition from his native town. He had 
 not been long there, when, like Chillingworth, he was en 
 snared by the proselyting arts of the Jesuits ; who, with sub 
 tlety equal to their zeal, commissioned their emissaries spe 
 cially to aim at the conversion of such of the university 
 youths as gave indications of signal ability. It appears that 
 he was inveigled from college to London. Having been 
 tracked thither by his father, he was discovered after some 
 months in a bookseller's shop, and restored to the univer 
 sity ; where, during the two succeeding years, he pursued 
 his studies with diligence. About this period he lost his fa 
 ther under circumstances worth relating. 
 
 The death of this good man forms one of those little do 
 mestic tragedies, not infrequent in real life, to which 
 imagination itself can scarcely add one touching incident, and 
 which are as affecting as any that fiction can furnish. It ap 
 pears that on the other side of the Humber lived a lady (an 
 intimate friend of MarvelPs father) who had an only daugh 
 ter, equally lovely and beloved. This idol her mother could 
 scarcely bear to be out of her sight. On one occasion, how 
 ever, she yielded to the importunity of Mr. Marvell, and suf 
 fered her daughter to cross the water to Hull, to be present 
 at the baptism of one of his children. The day after the 
 ceremony the young lady was to return. The weather was 
 tempestuous, and on reaching the river's side, accompanied 
 by^ Mr. Marvell, the boatmen endeavoured to dissuade 'her 
 
44 ANDREW MARVELL. 
 
 from attempting the passage. But, afraid of alarming her 
 mother by prolonging her absence, she persisted. Mr. Mar- 
 vell added his importunities to the arguments of the boatmen, 
 but in vain. Finding her inflexible, he told her that, as she 
 had incurred this peril for his sake, he felt himself " bound 
 in honor aud conscience " not to desert her ; and, having pre 
 vailed on some boatmen to hazard the passage, they em 
 barked together. As they were putting off, he flung his 
 gold-headed cane on shore, and told the spectators, that, in 
 case he should never return, it was to be given his son, with 
 the injunction " to remember his father." The boat was up 
 set and both were lost. 
 
 As soon as the mother had a little recovered the shock, 
 she sent for the orphan, intimated her intention to provide 
 for his education, and at her death left him all she possessed. 
 
 One of his biographers informs us that young Marvell took 
 his degree of B. A. in the year 1638, and was admitted to a 
 scholarship.* If so, he did not retain it very long. Though 
 in no further danger from the Jesuits, he seems to have been 
 beset by more formidable enemies in his own bosom. Either 
 from too early becoming his own master, or from being be 
 trayed into follies to which his lively temperament and so 
 cial qualities peculiarly exposed him, he became negligent of 
 his studies ; and having absented himself from certain " exer 
 cises," and otherwise been guilty of sundry unacademic ir 
 regularities, he, with four others, was adjudged by the master 
 and seniors unworthy of " receiving any further benefit from 
 the college," unless they showed just cause to the contrary 
 within three months. The required vindication does not ap 
 pear to have been found, or at all events was never offered. 
 The record of this transaction bears date September 24, 1641. 
 
 Soon after this, probably at the commencement of 1642, 
 Marvell seems to have set out on his travels, in the course of 
 which he visited a great part of Europe. At Rome he 
 
 * Cooke, in the Life prefixed to Marvell's Poems. 1726. 
 
ANDREW MARVELL. 45 
 
 stayed a considerable time, where Milton was then residing, 
 and where, in all probability, their lifelong friendship com 
 menced. With an intrepidity, characteristic of both, it 
 is said they openly argued against the superstitions of 
 Rome within the precincts of the Vatican. It was here, also, 
 that Marvell made the first essay of his satirical powers in a 
 lampoon on Richard Flecknoe. It is now remembered only 
 as having suggested the more effective satire of Dryden on 
 the laureate Shadwell. At Paris he made another attempt at 
 satire in Latin, of about the same order of merit. The sub 
 ject of it was an abbe named Lancelot Joseph de Maniban, 
 who professed to interpret the characters and prognosticate 
 the fortunes of strangers by an inspection of their hand 
 writing. 
 
 After this we have no trace whatever of Marvell for some 
 years ; and his biographers have, as usual, endeavored to 
 supply the deficiency by conjecture, some of them so idly, 
 that they have made him secretary to an embassy which had 
 then no existence. 
 ,Mr Dove* says, that this lack of information respecting 
 
 * We gladly admit that Mr. Dove's little volume is a tolerably full 
 and accurate compilation of what is known to us of Andrew Marvell's 
 history, and contains some pleasant extracts from his writings. But we 
 must express our regret that he has been, in a trifling degree, misled, by 
 adhering too literally to the etymology of the word " compilation." It 
 is true that " compilation " comes from compilatio, and equally true that 
 compilatio means " pillage " ; but it does not follow that " compilation " 
 is to be literally " pillage." A considerable number of sentences, some 
 times whole paragraphs, are transferred from Mr. D'Israeli's Miscella 
 nies, and from two articles on Andrew Marvell which appeared in the 
 " Retrospective Review " some thirty years ago, without alteration, and 
 without any sort of acknowledgment. Had they been printed between 
 inverted commas, and the sources specified, we should have called it 
 " compilation," but no "pillage"; as it is, we must call it pillage, and 
 not compilation. Mr. Dove may, it is true, have been the author of the 
 articles in question. If so, there was no conceivable reason why he 
 should not have owned them ; and we can only regret that he has omit 
 ted to do it. If not, we cannot justify the use he has made of them. 
 
46 ANDREW MARVELL. 
 
 Marvell extends over eleven years ; not quite, however, even 
 on his own showing ; for the very next record he supplies 
 tells us at least how the first four years of this period were 
 spent, and a considerable though indeterminate portion at the 
 close of it. The record referred to is a recommendatory letter 
 of Milton to Bradshaw, dated February 21, 1652. It ap 
 pears that Marvell was then an unsuccessful candidate for the 
 office of assistant Latin secretary. In this letter, after de 
 scribing Marvell as a man of " singular desert," both from 
 " report " and personal " converse," he proceeds to" say : 
 " He hath spent four years abroad, in Holland, France, Italy, 
 and Spain, to very good purpose, as I believe, and the gain 
 ing of those four languages ; besides, he is a scholar, and 
 well read in the 'Latin and Greek authors, and no doubt of an 
 approved conversation ; for he comes now lately out of the 
 house of the Lord Fairfax, where he was intrusted to give 
 some instructions in the languages to the lady, his daughter" 
 Milton concludes the letter with a sentence which fully dis 
 closes the very high estimate he had formed of Marvell's 
 abilities : " This, my lord, I write sincerely, without any 
 other end than to perform my duty to the public in helping 
 them to a humble servant ; laying aside those jealousies and 
 that emulation which mine own condition might suggest to 
 me by bringing in such a coadjutor." 
 
 In the following year, 1653, Marvell was appointed tutor 
 to Cromwell's nephew, Mr. Button. Shortly after receiving 
 his charge, he addressed a letter to the Protector, from which 
 we extract one or two sentences characteristic of his caution, 
 good sense, and conscientiousness. " I have taken care," 
 says he, speaking of his pupil, " to examine him several times 
 in the presence of Mr. Oxenbridge, as those who weigh and 
 tell over money before some witness ere they take charge of 
 it ; for I thought there might be possibly some lightness in 
 the coin, or error in the telling, which hereafter I should be 
 
 bound to make good." l: He is of a gentle and waxen 
 
 disposition ; and God be praised, I cannot say he hath brought 
 
ANDREW MARVELL. 47 
 
 with him any evil impression, and I shall hope to set nothing 
 into his spirit but what may be of a good sculpture. He hath 
 in him two things that make youth most easy to be managed, 
 modesty, which is the bridle to vice, and emulation, 
 
 which is the spur to virtue Above all, I shall labor to 
 
 make him sensible of his duty to God ; for then we begin to 
 serve faithfully when we consider He is our master." 
 
 On the publication of Milton's second " Defence," Marvell 
 was commissioned to present it to the Protector. After doing 
 so, he addressed a letter of compliment to Milton, the terms 
 of which evince the natural admiration with which his illus 
 trious friend had inspired him. His eulogy of the " De 
 fence " is as emphatic as that of the Paradise Lost, in the 
 well-known recommendatory lines prefixed to most editions 
 of that poem. 
 
 In 1657, Marvell entered upon his duties as assistant Latin 
 secretary with Milton ; Cromwell died in the following year ; 
 and from this period till the Parliament of 1660, there is no 
 further trace of him. We have seen it affirmed that he be 
 came member for Hull in 1658. But this is not true, and 
 would be at variance with the statement in his epitaph, where 
 it is said that he had occupied that post nearly twenty years. 
 Had he been first elected in 1658, he would have been mem 
 ber somewhat more than that period. 
 
 During his long Parliamentary career, Marvell maintained 
 a close correspondence with his constituents, regularly 
 sending to them, almost every post-night during the sittings 
 of Parliament, an account of its proceedings. These letters 
 were first made public by Captain Thompson, and occupy 
 about four hundred pages of the first volume of his edition 
 of MarvelPs works. They are written with great plainness, 
 and with a business-like brevity, which must have satisfied, 
 we should think, even the most laconic of his merchant con 
 stituents. They are chiefly valuable now, as affording proofs 
 of the ability and fidelity with which their author discharged 
 his public duties; and as throwing light on some curious 
 
48 ANDREW MARVELL. 
 
 points of Parliamentary usage and history. Some few sen 
 tences, interesting on these accounts, may be worth extract 
 ing. Of his diligence, the copiousness and punctuality of 
 the correspondence itself are themselves the best proofs ; 
 but many of the letters incidentally disclose others not less 
 significant. The following evidence of it, few members now- 
 a-days would be disposed to give, and no constituency, we 
 should imagine, would be unreasonable enough to expect : 
 " Sir, I must beg your excuse for paper, pens, writing, and 
 every thing ; for really I have by ill chance neither eat nor 
 drank from yesterday at noon till six o'clock to-night, that 
 the House rose." * And again : " Really the business of 
 the House hath been of late so earnest daily, and so long, that 
 I have not had the time and scarce vigor left me, by night, to 
 write to you ; and to-day, because I would not omit any 
 longer, I lose my dinner to make sure of this letter." t On 
 another occasion he says : " 'T is nine at night, and we are 
 but just now risen ; and I write these few words in the post- 
 house, for sureness that my letter be not too late." J In one 
 letter we find him saying : " I am something bound up, that 
 I cannot write about your public affairs ; but I assure you 
 they break my sleep" 
 
 Of his minute attention to all their local interests, and his 
 vigilant care over them, these letters afford ample proof; and 
 in this respect are not unworthy of the study of honorable 
 members of the present day. He usually commences each 
 session of Parliament by requesting his constituents to con 
 sider, whether there were any local affairs in which they 
 might more particularly require his aid, and to give him 
 timely notice of their wishes. His prudence is conspicuous 
 in his abstinence from any dangerous comments on public 
 affairs ; he usually contents himself with detailing bare facts. 
 This caution was absolutely necessary at a period when the 
 
 * Marvell's Letters, p. 302. t Ibid., p. 83. 
 
 \ Ibid., p. 106. Ibid., p. 33. 
 
ANDREW MARVELL. 49 
 
 officials of the post-office made no scruple of breaking the 
 seal of private correspondence for the purpose of obtaining 
 information for the government. On one occasion this seems 
 to have been done in his own case. He tells his constituents 
 that a letter of his had been shown about town : they, in a 
 very complimentary reply, vehemently disclaim all knowl- 
 -edge of any breach of trust. In acknowledging, this letter, 
 he says : " I am very well satisfied, Gentlemen, by your 
 letter, that it was none of you ; but it seems, therefore, that 
 there is some sentinel set both upon you and upon me, and to 
 know it, therefore, is a sufficient caution : the best of it is, that 
 none of us, I believe, either do say or write any thing, but 
 what we care not though it be made public, although we do 
 not desire it." * He, notwithstanding, repeatedly admon 
 ishes them not to let his letters be seen by any but them 
 selves. In this respect, there is a striking yet perfectly nat 
 ural contrast between the cautious statements of facts in his 
 public correspondence, and the lively comments upon them 
 in his private letters ; in which his indignant patriotism ex 
 presses itself with characteristic severity against the corrup 
 tions of the court. Thus, in a letter to a friend in Persia, we 
 find the following memorable passage : " Now, after my 
 usual method, leaving to others what relates to business, I 
 address myself, which is all that I am good for, to be your 
 gazetteer. The King having, upon pretence of the great 
 preparations of his neighbors, demanded three hundred thou 
 sand pounds for his navy (though, in conclusion, he hath not 
 set out any), and that the Parliament should pay his debts 
 (which the ministers would never particularize to the House 
 of Commons), our House gave several bills. You see how 
 far things were stretched, though beyond reason, there being 
 no satisfaction how those debts were contracted, and all men 
 foreseeing that what was given would not be applied to dis 
 charge the debts, which I hear are at this day risen to four 
 
 * Marvell's Letters, p. 262. 
 5 
 
50 ANDREW MARVELL. 
 
 millions ; but diverted, as formerly. Nevertheless, such was 
 the number of the constant courtiers increased by the apos 
 tate patriots, who were bought off for that turn, some at 
 six, others ten, one at fifteen thousand pounds in money, be 
 sides what offices, lands, and reversions to others, that it is a 
 mercy they gave not away the whole land and liberty of Eng 
 land." * 
 
 In the same letter, he thus speaks of the shamelessness 
 with which the Parliament emulated the profligacy of the 
 court, prostituting its own and the nation's honor as vilely 
 as the royal mistresses it enriched had prostituted theirs : 
 " They have signed and sealed ten thousand pounds a year 
 more to the Duchess of Cleveland, who has likewise near ten 
 thousand pounds a year out of the new farm of the country 
 excise of beer and ale, five thousand pounds a year out of 
 the post-office, and, they say, the reversion of all the King's 
 leases, the reversion of all places in the custom-house, the 
 green wax, and indeed what not ? All promotions, spiritual 
 and temporal, pass under her cognizance." t On the King's 
 unwelcome visits to the House of Peers, he says : " Being 
 sat, he told them it was a privilege he claimed from his an 
 cestors to be present at their deliberations. That therefore 
 they should not, for his coming, interrupt their debates, but 
 proceed, and be covered. They did so. It is true that this 
 has been done long ago ; but is now so old that it is new, 
 and so disused that, at any other but so bewitched a time as 
 this, it would have been looked on as a high usurpation and 
 breach of privilege. He indeed sat still, for the most part, 
 
 and interposed very little, sometimes a word or two 
 
 After three or four days' continuance, the Lords were very 
 well used to the King's presence, and sent the Lord Steward 
 and Lord Chamberlain to him, [to learn] when they might 
 wait, as a House, on him, to render their humble thanks for 
 the honor he did them ? The hour was appointed them, and 
 
 * Marvell's Letters, p. 405. t Ibid., p. 406. 
 

 ANDREW MARVELL. 51 
 
 they thanked him, and he took it well. So this matter, of 
 such importance on all great occasions, seems riveted to them 
 
 and us, for the future, and to all posterity The King 
 
 has ever since continued his session among them, and says it 
 is better than going to a play" * 
 
 Marvell's stainless probity and honor everywhere appear ; 
 and in no case more amiably than in the misunderstanding 
 with his colleague, or " his partner," as he calls him, Colonel 
 Gilby, in 1661, and which seems to have arisen out of some 
 electioneering proceedings. With such uncommon talents 
 for ridicule as Marvell possessed, inferior men could not have 
 resisted the temptation to indulge in some ebullition of witty 
 malice. But his magnanimity was far superior to such mean 
 retaliation. He is eager to do his opponent the amplest jus 
 tice, and to put the fairest construction on his conduct. He 
 is fearful only lest their private quarrel should be of the 
 slightest detriment to the public service. He says : " The 
 bonds of civility betwixt Colonel Gilby and myself being 
 unhappily snapped in pieces, and in such a manner that I 
 cannot see how it is possible ever to knit them again : the 
 only trouble that I have is, lest by our mis-intelligence your 
 
 business should receive any disadvantage Truly, I 
 
 believe, that as to your public trust and the discharge thereof, 
 we do each of us still retain the same principles upon which 
 we first undertook it ; and that, though perhaps we may some 
 times differ in our advice concerning the way of proceeding, 
 yet we have the same good ends in the general ; and by this 
 unlucky falling out, we shall be provoked to a greater emu 
 lation of serving you." t Yet the offence, whatever it was, 
 must have been a grave one, for we find him saying, at the 
 conclusion of the same letter : " I would not tell you any 
 tales because there are nakednesses which it becomes us to 
 cover, if it be possible ; as I shall, unless I be obliged to make 
 some vindications by any false report or misinterpretations. 
 
 * Marvell's Letters, pp. 417 -419. t Ibid., pp. 33, 34. 
 
52 ANDREW MARVELL. 
 
 In the mean time, pity, I beseech you, my weakness ; for 
 there are some things which men ought not, others that they 
 cannot, patiently suffer" * 
 
 Of his integrity even in little things, of his desire to 
 keep his conscience pure and his reputation untarnished, 
 we have also some striking proofs. On one occasion he had 
 been employed by his constituents to wait on the Duke of 
 Monmouth, then governor of Hull, with a complimentary 
 letter, and to present him with a purse containing " six broad 
 pieces " as an honorary fee. He says : " He had, before 
 I came in, as I was told, considered what to do with the gold ; 
 and but that I by all means prevented the offer, I had been 
 in danger of being reimbursed with it." t In the same letter 
 he says: "I received the bill which was sent me on Mr. 
 Nelehorpe ; but the surplus of it exceeding much the expense 
 I have been at on this occasion, I desire you to make use of 
 it, and of me, upon any other opportunity." J Few in those 
 corrupt days were likely to be troubled with any such incon 
 venient scrupulosity. 
 
 In one of his letters appears the following declaration, 
 which we have no doubt was perfectly sincere, and, what is 
 still more strange, implicitly believed : "I shall, God will 
 ing, maintain the same incorrupt mind and clear conscience, 
 free from faction or any self-ends, which I have, by his grace, 
 hitherto preserved. " 
 
 We have said that these letters are also interesting as inci 
 dentally illustrating Parliamentary usage. Marvell was one 
 of the last, if not the very last, who received the 
 " wages " which members were entitled by law to demand 
 of their constituents. To this subject he makes some curious 
 references. On more than one occasion, it appears that 
 members had sued their constituents for arrears of pay ; 
 while others had threatened to do so, unless the said constitu- 
 
 * MarvelPs Letters, p, 36. t Ibid., p. 210. 
 
 | Ibid., p. 210. Ibid., p. 276. 
 
ANDREW MARVELL. 53 
 
 ents agreed to reelect them at the next election ! " To-day," 
 says he in a letter dated March 3, 1676 - 7, " Sir Harbottle 
 Grimstone, Master of the Rolls, moved for a bill to be brought 
 in, to indemnify all counties, cities, and boroughs for the 
 wages due to their members for the time past, which was in 
 troduced by him upon very good reason ; both because of 
 the poverty of many people not able to supply so long an 
 arrear, especially new taxes now coming upon them, and 
 also because Sir John Shaw, the Recorder of Colchester, 
 had sued the town for his wages ; several other members 
 also having, it seems, threatened their boroughs to do the 
 same, unless they should choose them, upon another election, 
 to Parliament." * The conditions of reelection are strange 
 ly altered now ; it is no longer possible to drive so thrifty 
 a bargain, or bribe after so ingenious a fashion. But these 
 " wages," moderate as they were, only about two shillings a 
 day to a member of a borough, and to a county member 
 four, were in some cases alleged to be so heavy a tax, 
 that instances occur of unpatriotic boroughs begging to be 
 disfranchised, to escape the intolerable honor of sending 
 members to Parliament ! Nor was the reluctance always on 
 one side. At earlier periods of our history we have accounts 
 of members who, notwithstanding this liberal pay, not 
 much more than that of a hedger and ditcher in these more 
 luxurious days, found the inconveniences of membership 
 so great, and the honor in their unambitious estimate so 
 small, that they shrank from representing a borough, as 
 much as the borough from the dignity of being represented ; 
 and expressed their aversion with as much sincerity as ever 
 primitive bishop, in times of persecution, cried, " Nolo episco- 
 pari" There are authentic cases on record, in which the 
 candidates fairly ran away from the proffered dignity, and 
 even resisted it vi et armis. Strange revolutions ! one is 
 ready to exclaim ; that a man should now be willing to 
 
 Marvell's Letters, p. 289. 
 5* 
 
54 ANDREW MARVELL. 
 
 spend a fortune even in the unsuccessful pursuit of an honor 
 which his ancestors were reluctant to receive even when paid 
 for it ; and that constituencies should resist, as the last insult 
 and degradation, that disfranchisement which many of them 
 in ancient times would have been but too happy to accept as 
 a privilege ! 
 
 In such a state of things we can hardly wonder that the 
 attendance of members was not very prompt and punctual, 
 or that great difficulty was often found in obtaining a full 
 House. Severe penalties were threatened at various times 
 against the absentees. In one letter we are told : " The 
 House was called yesterday, and gave defaulters a fortnight's 
 time, by which, if they do not come up, they may expect the 
 greatest severity." * In another : " The House of Com 
 mons was taken up for the most part yesterday in calling 
 over their House, and have ordered a letter to be drawn up 
 from the Speaker to every place for which there is any de 
 faulter, to signify the absence of their member, and a solemn 
 letter is accordingly preparing, to be signed by the Speaker. 
 This is thought a sufficient punishment for any modest man ; 
 nevertheless, if they shall not come up hereupon, there is a 
 further severity reserved." t 
 
 More than once we find a proposition, that these absentees 
 should be punished by being compelled to pay double propor 
 tions toward the interminable subsidies. One member pro 
 posed that the mulcts thus extorted from negligent or idle 
 senators, should be exclusively employed in building a ship, 
 to be called " The Sinners' Frigate," surely an ill-boding 
 name, however applicable to such a vessel : 
 
 " Built in the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark." 
 
 Though the law-makers of that age were paid at little more 
 than the rate of a journeyman tailor of modern times, still it 
 appears that their performances, if estimated by their value, 
 
 * Marvell's Letters, p. 1 17. t Ibid., p. 240. 
 
ANDREW MARVELL. 55 
 
 were exorbitantly overpaid. When we see in Marvell's cor 
 respondence what were the occupations of the right honorable 
 House, shamefully betraying the nation with whose in 
 terests they were intrusted, taxing the groaning people to 
 support the royal profligacy, ingeniously contriving the 
 most elaborate and comprehensive methods of national ruin, 
 and pursuing the worst ends by the worst means, dimin 
 ishing, by their absurd enactments in relation to trade and 
 commerce, that very revenue which was almost their sole 
 object of solicitude, addressing the King, that he will be 
 pleased to abstain from wearing one shred of foreign manu 
 facture, and to discountenance the use of it in his subjects, 
 bringing in bills that all nonconformists shall pay double 
 taxes, and that all persons shall be buried in woollens " for the 
 next six or seven years"; when we see them engaged 
 with pernicious industry in these and other things of a similar 
 nature, we cannot forbear lifting up our hands in admiration 
 of the " wisdom of our ancestors." 
 
 Some strange scenes appear now and then to have oc 
 curred in the Commons, and worthy rather of an Arkansas 
 House of Assembly than of a British Parliament ; of which 
 the following is an example. As usual in such squabbles, 
 the " Pickwickian construction " of all offensive words seems 
 to have prevailed at last. " One day, upon a dispute of tell 
 ing right upon division, both parties grew so hot that all order 
 was lost ; men came running up confusedly to the table, 
 grievously affronted one by another ; every man's hand on 
 his hilt, quieted though at last by the prudence of the 
 Speaker ; every man in his place being obliged to stand up 
 and engage his honor not to resent any thing of that day's 
 proceeding." * 
 
 The disputes with the House of Lords were frequent, and 
 difficult of adjustment. The following is a droll complica 
 tion of their relations, and almost as hopeless as the cele- 
 
 ' * Marvell's Letters, p. 426. 
 
56 ANDREW MARVELL. 
 
 brated " dead-lock " in the " Critic " : "I have no more 
 time than to tell you, that the Lords, having judged and fined 
 the East India Company, as we think illegally, upon the 
 petition of one Skyner, a merchant, and they petitioning us for 
 redress, we have imprisoned him that petitioned them, and 
 
 they have imprisoned several of those that petitioned us 
 
 It is a business of very high and dangerous consequence." * 
 
 In a letter to William Ramsden, Esq., occurs another 
 specimen of the awkward relations between the two Houses : 
 "I think I have not told you that, on our bill of subsidy, 
 the Lord Lucas made a fervent bold speech against our prodi 
 gality in giving, and the weak looseness of the government, 
 the King being present ; and the Lord Clare another, to per 
 suade the King that he ought not to be present. But all this 
 had little encouragement, not being seconded. Copies going 
 about everywhere, one of them was brought into the Lords' 
 House, and Lord Lucas was asked whether it was his. He 
 said, part was and part was not. Thereupon they took ad 
 vantage, and said it was a libel even against Lucas himself. 
 On this they voted it a libel, and to be burned by the hang 
 man, which was done ; but the sport was, the hangman 
 burned the Lords' order with it. I take the last quarrel be 
 twixt us and the Lords to be as the ashes of that speech." t 
 
 One or two other brief extracts from these letters seem not 
 unworthy of insertion. The following is a curious example 
 of the odd accidents on which important events often depend. 
 Sir G. Carteret had been charged with embezzlement of pub 
 lic money. " The House dividing upon the question, the 
 ayes went out, and wondered why they were kept out so ex 
 traordinary a time ; the ayes proved 138, and the noes 129 ; 
 and the reason of the long stay then appeared : The tellers 
 for the ayes chanced to be very ill reckoners, so that they were 
 forced to tell several times over in the House ; and when at last 
 the tellers for the ayes would have agreed the noes to be 142, 
 
 * Marvell's Letters, p. 106. t Ibid., p. 416. 
 
ANDREW MARVELL. 57 
 
 the noes would needs say that they were 143 ; whereupon 
 those for the ayes would tell once more, and then found the 
 noes to be indeed but 129, and the ayes then coming in 
 proved to be 138, whereas if the noes had been content with 
 the first error of the tellers, Sir George had been quit upon 
 that observation." * 
 
 The following sounds odd : " Yesterday, upon complaint 
 of some violent arrests made in several churches, even during 
 sermon time, nay, of one taken out betwixt the bread and the 
 cup in receiving the sacrament, the House ordered that a bill 
 be brought in for better observing the Lord's Day." t 
 
 Not seldom, to the very moderate " wages " of a legisla 
 tor, was added some homely expression of good-will on the 
 part of the constituents. That of the Hull people generally 
 appeared in the shape of a stout cask of ale, for which 
 Marvell repeatedly returns thanks. In one letter he says: 
 " We must first give you thanks for the kind present you 
 have pleased to send us, which will give occasion to us to re 
 member you often : but the quantity is so great that it might 
 make sober men forgetful." \ 
 
 MarvelPs correspondence extends through nearly twenty 
 years. From June, 1661, there is, however, a considerable 
 break, owing to his absence for an unknown period, prob 
 ably about two years, in Holland. He showed little dis 
 position to return till Lord Bellasis, then High Steward of 
 Hull, proposed to that worthy corporation to choose a substi 
 tute for their absent member. They replied that he was not 
 far off, and would be ready at their summons. He was then 
 at Frankfort, and at the solicitation of his constituents imme 
 diately returned, April, 1663. 
 
 But he had not been more than three months at home, 
 when he intimated to his correspondents his intention to ac 
 cept an invitation to accompany Lord Carlisle, who had been 
 
 * Marvell's Letters, pp. 125, 126. t Ibid., p. 189. 
 
 J Ibid., pp. 14, 15. 
 
58 ANDREW MARVELL. 
 
 appointed Ambassador Extraordinary to Russia, Sweden, and 
 Denmark. He formally solicits the assent of his constituents 
 to this step, urges the precedents for it, and assures them 
 that, during his watchful colleague's attendance, his own 
 services may be dispensed with. His constituents consented. 
 He sailed in July, and appears to have been absent rather 
 more than a year. We find him in his place in the Parlia 
 ment that assembled at Oxford, 1665. 
 
 In 1671, for some unknown reason, there is another hiatus 
 in his correspondence. It extends over three years. From 
 1674, the letters are regularly continued till his death. 
 There is no proof that he ever spoke in Parliament ; but it 
 appears that he took copious notes of all the debates. 
 
 The decisive tone which Marvell ever assumed in politics, 
 the severe, satirical things which he had said and written 
 from time to time, and the conviction of his enemies, that 
 it was impossible to silence him by the usual methods of a 
 place or a bribe, must have rendered a wary and circumspect 
 conduct peculiarly necessary ; and, in fact, we are told that 
 on more than one occasion he was menaced with assassina 
 tion. But, though hated by the Court party generally, he 
 was as generally feared, and in some few instances respected. 
 Prince Rupert continued to honor him with his friendship 
 long after the rest of the Court party had honored him with 
 their hatred, and occasionally visited the patriot at his lodg 
 ings. When he voted on the side of Marvell, which was not 
 unfrequently the case, it used to be said that u he had been 
 with his tutor." 
 
 Inaccessible as Marvell was to flattery and offers of prefer 
 ment, it certainly was not for want of temptations. The ac 
 count of his memorable interview with the Lord Treasurer 
 Danby has been often repeated, and yet it would be un 
 pardonable to omit it here. Marvell, it appears, once spent 
 an evening at Court, and charmed the merry monarch by his 
 accomplishments and wit. At this we need not wonder: 
 Charles loved wit above all things except vice ; and to his 
 
ANDREW MARVELL. 59 
 
 admiration of it he was continually sacrificing his royal dig 
 nity. On the morning after the above-mentioned interview, 
 he sent Lord Danby to wait on the patriot with a special mes 
 sage of regard. His Lordship had some difficulty in ferreting 
 out Marvell's residence ; but at last found him on a second 
 floor, in a dark court leading out of the Strand. It is said 
 that, groping up the narrow staircase, he stumbled against 
 the door of Marvell's humble apartment, which, flying open, 
 discovered him writing. Not a little surprised, he asked his 
 Lordship, with a smile, if he had not mistaken his way. The 
 latter replied, in courtly phrase, " No ; since I have found 
 Mr. Marvell." He proceeded to inform him that he came 
 with a message from the King, who was impressed with a 
 deep sense of his merits, and was anxious to serve him. 
 Marvell replied, with somewhat of the spirit of the founder of 
 the Cynics, but no doubt in a very different manner, " that his 
 Majesty had it not in his power to serve him." * Becoming 
 more serious, however, he told his Lordship that he well knew 
 that he who accepted Court favors was expected to vote in 
 his interest. On his Lordship's saying, " that his Majesty 
 only desired to know whether there was any place at Court 
 he would accept," the patriot replied, " that he could ac 
 cept nothing with honor ; for either he must treat the King 
 with ingratitude, by refusing compliance with Court meas 
 ures, or be a traitor to his country by yielding to them." 
 
 * Another and less authentic version of this anecdote has been long 
 current, much more circumstantial, indeed, but on that very account 
 more apocryphal. If the too dramatic additions to the story, however, 
 be fictions, they are amongst those fictions which have gained extensive 
 circulation only because they are felt to be not intrinsically improbable. 
 Some pains have been taken to investigate the origin of this version ; 
 but we can trace it no further than to a pamphlet printed in Ireland 
 about the middle of the last century. Of this we have not been so 
 fortunate as to get a sight. Suffice it to say, that the narrative it con 
 tains of the above interview, and which has been extensively circulated, 
 is not borne out by the early biographies ; for example, that of Cooke, 
 1726. 
 
60 ANDKEW MARVELL. 
 
 The only favor, therefore, he begged of his Majesty was, to 
 esteem him as a loyal subject, and truer to his interests in 
 refusing his offers than he could be by accepting them. His 
 Lordship, having exhausted this species of logic, tried the 
 argumentum ad crumenam, and told him that his Majesty re 
 quested his acceptance of .1,000. But this, too, was rejected 
 with firmness ; " though," says his biographer, " soon after 
 the departure of his Lordship, Marvell was compelled to bor 
 row a guinea from a friend." 
 
 In 1672 commenced Marvell's memorable controversy 
 with Samuel Parker, afterwards Bishop of Oxford, of which 
 we shall give a somewhat copious account. To this it is en 
 titled, from the important influence which it had on Marvell's 
 reputation and fortunes ; and as having led to the composition 
 of that work on which his literary fame, so far as he has any, 
 principally depends, " The Rehearsal Transprosed." 
 
 Parker was one of the worst specimens of the highest of 
 the high-churchmen of the reign of Charles II. It is diffi 
 cult, in such times as these, to conceive of such a character 
 as, by universal testimony, Parker is proved to have been. 
 Even Addison's Tory fox-hunter who thought there had 
 been " no good weather since the Revolution," and who pro 
 ceeded to descant on the " fine days they used to have in 
 King Charles II. 's reign " ; whose dog was chiefly endeared 
 to him because he had once " like to have worried a Dissent 
 ing teacher" ; and who "had no other notion of religion but 
 that it consisted in hating Presbyterians" does not ade 
 quately represent him. Such men could not well flourish in 
 any other age than that of Charles II. ; happily, the race, 
 even then not numerous, could not propagate itself. Only in 
 such a period of unblushing profligacy, of public corrup 
 tion unexampled in the history of England, could we ex 
 pect to find a Bishop Parker, and his patron and parallel, 
 Archbishop Sheldon. Such men managed to combine the 
 most hideous bigotry with an absence of all religious earnest 
 ness, a zeal worthy of a " Pharisee " with a character 
 
ANDREW MARVELL. 61 
 
 which would have disgraced a " publican." Apparently as 
 much attached to the veriest minutia? of high-church ortho 
 doxy as the sincerest disciples of the present Oxford school, 
 they yet gave reason to their very friends to doubt whether 
 they did not secretly despise even the cardinal doctrines of 
 Christianity.* Equivocal Christians in creed, and absolute 
 infidels in practice, they yet insisted on the most scrupulous 
 compliance with the most trivial points of ceremonial ; and 
 persisted in persecuting thousands of devout and honest men 
 because they hesitated to obey. Things which they admitted 
 to be indifferent, and which, without violation of conscience, 
 they might have forborne to enforce, they remorselessly 
 urged on those who solemnly declared that without such a 
 violation they could not comply. More tolerant of acknowl 
 edged vice than of supposed error, they deemed drunkenness 
 and debauchery venial, compared with doubts about the pro 
 priety of making the sign of the cross in baptism, or using 
 the ring in marriage ; it would have been better for a man to 
 break half the commands in the decalogue, than admit a doubt 
 of the most frivolous of their cherished rites. Equally trucu 
 lent and servile, they displayed to all above them a meanness 
 proportioned to the insolence they evinced to all below them. 
 While preferring, on behalf of the Church, the most extrava 
 gant pretensions, they were far from participating in any 
 jealousy of the state, which they were ready to arm with 
 the most despotic authority. They formally invested the 
 
 * Of Sheldon, Bishop Burnet says, that " he seems not to have had 
 ' any clear sense of religion, if any at all." Of Parker, he speaks yet 
 more strongly. But, perhaps, the most striking testimony is that of the 
 Jesuit father, Edward Petre, cited by Mr. Dove. He says : " The Bishop 
 of Oxford has not yet declared himself openly : the great obstacle is his 
 wife, whom he cannot rid himself of: though I do not see how he can 
 be further useful to us in the religion he is in, because he is suspected, 
 
 and of no esteem among the heretics of the English Church If he 
 
 had believed my counsel, which was to temporize for some longer time, he 
 would have done better." Surely this Jesuit and his pupil were well 
 matched for honesty. 
 
62 ANDREW MARVELL. 
 
 monarch with absolute power over the consciences of his 
 subjects ; and, with a practice in harmony with their princi 
 ples, were ready at any moment to surrender their own, 
 if they had had any. As far as appears, they would have 
 been willing to embrace the faith of Mahometans or Hindoos 
 at the bidding of his Majesty ; and to believe and disbelieve 
 as he commanded them. Extravagant as all this may seem, 
 we shall shortly see it gravely propounded by Parker himself. 
 It was fit that those who were willing to offer such vile adu 
 lation should be suffered to present it to such an object as 
 Charles II., that so grotesque an idolatry should have as 
 grotesque an idol. The god was, indeed, every way worthy 
 of the worshippers. In a word, these men seemed to recon 
 cile the most opposite vices and the widest contrarieties : 
 bigotry and laxity, pride and meanness, religious scru 
 pulosity and mocking scepticism, a persecuting zeal against 
 conscience and an indulgent latitudinarianism towards vice, 
 the truculence of tyrants, and the sycophancy of parasites. 
 
 Happily, the state of things which generated such men has 
 long since passed away. But examples of this sort of high- 
 churchmanship were not infrequent in the age of Charles II. ; 
 and perhaps Bishop Parker may be considered the most per 
 fect specimen of them. His father was one of Oliver Crom 
 well's most obsequious committee-men ; the son, who was 
 born in 1640, was brought up in the principles of the Puri 
 tans, and was sent to Oxford in 1659. He was just twenty 
 at the Restoration, find immediately commenced and soon 
 completed his transformation into one of the most arrogant 
 and timeserving of high-churchmen. 
 
 Some few propositions, for which he came earnestly to 
 contend as " for the faith once delivered to the saints," may 
 give an idea of the principles and the temper of this singular 
 successor of the Apostles. He affirms, " That unless prin 
 ces have power to bind their subjects to that religion they ap 
 prehend most advantageous to public peace and tranquillity, 
 and restrain those religious mistakes that tend to its subver- 
 
ANDREW MARVELL. 63 
 
 sion, they are no better than statues and images of authority : 
 That in cases and disputes of public concernment, private 
 men are not properly sui juris ; they have no power over 
 their own actions ; they are not to be directed by their own 
 judgments, or determined by their own wills, but by the com 
 mands and the determinations of the public conscience ; and 
 that if there be any sin in the command, he that imposed it 
 shall answer for it, and not I, whose whole duty it is to obey. 
 The commands of authority will warrant my obedience ; my 
 obedience will hallow, or at least excuse, my action, and so 
 secure me from sin, if not from error ; and in all doubtful 
 and disputable cases 't is better to err with authority, than to 
 be in the right against it : That it is absolutely necessary 
 to the peace and happiness of kingdoms, that there be set up 
 a more severe government over men's consciences and re 
 ligious persuasions than over their vices and immoralities ; 
 and that princes may with less hazard give liberty to men's 
 vices and debaucheries than their consciences." * 
 
 He must have a very narrow mind or uncharitable heart, 
 who cannot give poor human nature credit for the sincere 
 adoption of the most opposite opinions. Still there are limits 
 to this exercise of charity ; there may be such a concurrence 
 of suspicious symptoms, that our charity can be exercised 
 only at the expense of our common sense. We can easily 
 conceive, under ordinary circumstances, of Dissenters be 
 coming Churchmen, and Churchmen becoming Dissenters ; 
 Tories and Whigs changing sides ; Protestants and Roman 
 ists, like those two brothers mentioned in Locke's second 
 " Letter on Toleration," t so expert in logic as to convert 
 one another, and then, unhappily, not expert enough to con 
 vert one another back again, and all without any suspicion 
 of insincerity. But when great revolutions of opinion are 
 also very sudden, and exquisitely well-timed in relation to 
 
 * The Rehearsal Transprosed, Vol. I. pp. 97, 98, 99, 100, 101. 
 t Locke's Works, Vol. V. p. 79. 
 
64 ANDREW MARVELL. 
 
 private interest; when these changes, let them be what 
 they may, are always like those of the heliotrope, towards 
 the sun; when a man is utterly uncharitable even to his 
 own previous errors, and foully maligns and abuses all who 
 still retain them, it is impossible to doubt the motives which 
 have animated him. On this subject Marvell himself well 
 observes : " Though a man be obliged to change a hundred 
 times backward and forward, if his judgment be so weak and 
 variable, yet there are some drudgeries that no man of honor 
 would put himself upon, and but few submit to it if they were 
 imposed ; as, suppose one had thought fit to pass over 
 from one persuasion of the Christian religion into another, he 
 would not choose to spit thrice at every article that he relin 
 quished, to curse solemnly his father and mother for having 
 edacated him in those opinions, to animate his new acquaint 
 ances to the massacring of his former comrades. These are 
 businesses that can only be expected from a renegade of 
 Algiers and Tunis ; to overdo in expiation, and gain better 
 credence of being a sincere Mussulman." * 
 
 Marvell gives an amusing account of the progress of Par 
 ker's conversion, of the transformation by which the mag 
 got became a carrion-fly. In the second part of the " Re 
 hearsal," after a humorous description of his parentage and 
 youth, he tells us that at the Restoration " he came to Lon 
 don, where he spent a considerable time in creeping into all 
 corners and companies, horoscoping up and down " (" as- 
 trologizing " as he elsewhere expresses it) " concerning the 
 duration of the government; not considering any thing as 
 best but as most lasting and most profitable : and after hav 
 ing many times cast a figure, he at last satisfied himself that 
 the Episcopal government would endure as long as this King 
 lived, and from thenceforward cast about how to be admitted 
 into the Church of England, and find the highway to her 
 preferments. In order to do this, he daily enlarged, not only 
 
 * Kehearsal Transprosed, Vol. I. pp. 91, 92. 
 

 ANDREW MARVELL. 65 
 
 his conversation, but his conscience, and was made free of 
 some of the town vices ; imagining, like Muleasses, King of 
 Tunis, (for I take witness that on all occasions I treat him 
 rather above his quality than otherwise,) that, by hiding him 
 self among the onions, he should escape being traced by his 
 perfumes." * Marvell sketches the early history and char 
 acter of Parker in both parts of the " Rehearsal," though, 
 as might be expected, with greater severity in the second 
 than in the first. A few sentences may not displease the 
 reader. He says : 
 
 " This gentleman, as I have heard, after he had read Don Quix 
 ote and the Bible, besides such school-books as were necessary for 
 his age, was sent early to the university ; and there studied hard, 
 and in a short time became a competent rhetorician, and no ill dis 
 putant. He had learned how to erect a thesis, and to defend it pro 
 and con with a serviceable distinction And so, thinking him 
 self now ripe and qualified for the greatest undertakings and highest 
 fortune, he therefore exchanged the narrowness of the university 
 for the town ; but coming out of the confinement of the square cap 
 and the quadrangle into the open air, the world began to turn round 
 with him, which he imagined, though it were his own giddiness, to 
 be nothing less than the quadrature of the circle. This accident 
 concurring so happily to increase the good opinion which he natu 
 rally had of himself, he thenceforward applied to gain a like repu 
 tation with others. He followed the town life, haunted the best 
 companies ; and to polish himself from any pedantic roughness, he 
 read and saw the plays with much care, and more proficiency than 
 most of the auditory. But all this while he forgot not the main 
 chance ; but hearing of a vacancy with a nobleman, he clapped in, 
 and easily obtained to be his chaplain : from that day you may take 
 the date of his preferments and his ruin ; for having soon wrought 
 himself dexterously into his patron's favor, by short graces and ser 
 mons, and a mimical way of drolling upon the Puritans, which he 
 knew would take both at chapel and at table, he gained a great au 
 thority likewise among all the domestics. They all listened to him 
 as an oracle; and they allowed him, by common consent, to have 
 not only all the divinity, but more wit, too, than all the rest of the 
 
 * Kehearsal Transprosed, Vol. II. pp. 77, 78. 
 
66 ANDREW MARVELL. 
 
 family put together Nothing now must serve him, but he 
 
 must be a madman in print, and write a book of Ecclesiastical Pol 
 ity. There he distributes all the territories of conscience into the 
 prince's province, and makes the hierarchy to be but bishops of the 
 air ; and talks at such an extravagant rate in things of higher con 
 cernment, that the reader will avow that in the whole discourse he 
 had not one lucid interval."* 
 
 The work here mentioned, the " Ecclesiastical Polity," 
 was published in the year 1670. But the book which called 
 forth Marvell was a Preface to a posthumous work of Arch 
 bishop BramhalPs, which appeared in 1672. In this piece 
 Parker had displayed his usual zeal against the nonconform 
 ists, with more than usual acrimony, and pushed to the utter 
 most extravagance his favorite maxims of ecclesiastical tyr 
 anny. Like his previous works on similar matters, it was 
 anonymous, though the author was pretty well known. Mar- 
 veil dubs him " Mr. Bayes," under which name the Duke of 
 Buckingham had ridiculed Dryden in the well-known play of 
 " The Rehearsal " ; from the title of which Marvell designated 
 his book, " The Rehearsal Transprosed." The latter word 
 was suggested by the scene in which Mr. Bayes gives an ac 
 count of the manner in which he manufactured his plays : 
 "Bayes. Why, sir, my first rule is the rule of transver- 
 sion, or regula duplex, changing verse into prose, or prose 
 into verse, alternative, as you please. Smith. Well, 
 but how is this done by rule, sir ? Bayes. Why thus, 
 sir ; nothing so easy when understood. I take a book in my 
 hand, either at home or elsewhere, for that 's all one : if there 
 be any wit in 't, as there is no book but has some, I trans 
 verse it ; that is, if it be prose put it into verse, (but that 
 takes up some time,) and if it be verse put it into prose. 
 Johnson. Methinks, Mr. Bayes, that putting verse into 
 prose should be called transprosing. Bayes. By my 
 troth, sir, it is a very good notion, and hereafter it shall 
 be so." 
 
 * Rehearsal Transprosed, Vol. I. pp. 62 - 69. 
 
ANDREW MARVELL. 67 
 
 The success of the " Rehearsal *' was instant and signal. 
 " After Parker had for some years entertained the nation 
 with several virulent books," says Burnet, " he was attacked 
 by the liveliest droll of the age, who wrote in a burlesque 
 strain, but with so peculiar and entertaining a conduct, that, 
 from the King down to the tradesman, his books were read 
 with great pleasure : that not only humbled Parker, but the 
 whole party ; for the author of the c Rehearsal Transprosed ' 
 had all the men of wit (or, as the French phrase it, all the 
 laughers] on his side." 
 
 In fact, Marvell exhibited his adversary in so ridiculous a 
 light, that even his own party could not keep their counte 
 nances. The unhappy churchman resembled Gulliver at the 
 court of Brobdignag, when the mischievous page stuck him 
 into the marrow-bone. He cut such a ridiculous figure, that, 
 says the author just cited, even the King and his courtiers 
 could not help laughing at him. 
 
 The first part of the " Rehearsal " elicited several answers. 
 They were written for the most part in very unsuccessful 
 imitation of Marvell's style of banter, and are now wholly 
 forgotten. Marvell gives an amusing account of the efforts 
 which were made to obtain effective replies, and of the hopes 
 of preferment which may be supposed to have inspired their 
 authors. Parker himself for some time declined any reply. 
 At last came out his " Reproof to the Rehearsal Transprosed," 
 in which he urged the government " to crush the pestilent 
 wit, the servant of Cromwell, and the friend of Milton." To 
 this work, Marvell replied in the second part of the "Re 
 hearsal." He was further spirited to it by an anonymous 
 letter, pleasant and laconic enough, left for him at a friend's 
 house, signed " T. G.," and concluding with the words : 
 44 If thou darest to print any lie or libel against Dr. Parker, 
 by the eternal God, I will cut thy throat ! " He who wrote 
 it, whoever he was, was ignorant of Marvell's nature, if he 
 thought thereby to intimidate him into silence. His intrepid 
 spirit was simply provoked by this insolent threat, which he 
 
DO ANDREW MARVELL. 
 
 took car?, to publish in the title-page of his Reply. To this 
 publ cation Parker attempted no rejoinder. Anthony Wood 
 himself tells us, that Parker " judged it more prudent to lay 
 down the cudgels, than to enter the lists again with an un- 
 towardly combatant, so hugely well versed and experienced 
 in the then but newly refined art, though much in the mode 
 and fashion ever since, of sporting and jeering buffoonery. It 
 was generally thought, however, by many of those who were 
 otherwise favorers of Parker's cause, that the victory lay on 
 Marvell's side, and it wrought this good effect on Parker, that 
 for ever after it took down his great spirit " : and Burnet tells 
 us, that he " withdrew from the town, and ceased writing for 
 some years." 
 
 Of this, the principal work of Marvell's singular genius, 
 it is difficult, even were there space for it, to present the 
 reader with any considerable extracts. The allusions are 
 often so obscure, the wit of one page is so dependent on 
 that of another, the humor and pleasantry are so continu 
 ous, and the character of the work, from its very nature, 
 is so excursive, that its merits can be appreciated only on a 
 regular perusal. There are other reasons, too, which render 
 lengthened citations scarcely practicable. The composition 
 has faults which would inevitably disgust the generality of 
 modern readers, or rather deter them altogether from giving 
 any long extracts a continuous perusal. The work is also 
 characterized by not a little of the coarseness which was so 
 prevalent in that age, and from which Marvell was by no 
 means free ; though, as we shall endeavor hereafter to show, 
 his spirit was far from partaking of the malevolence of ordi 
 nary satirists. Some few instances of felicitous repartee or 
 ludicrous imagery, which we have noted in a reperusal of the 
 work, will be found further on. 
 
 Yet the reader must not infer that the sole, or even the 
 chief, merit of the " Rehearsal Transprosed " consists in wit 
 and banter. Not only is there, amidst all its ludicrous levities, 
 " a vehemence of solemn reproof, and an eloquence of invec- 
 
ANDREW MARVELL. 69 
 
 tive, that awes one with the spirit of the modern Junius " ; * 
 but there are many passages of very powerful reasoning, in 
 advocacy of truths which were then but ill understood, and 
 of rights which had been shamefully violated. 
 
 Perhaps the most interesting passages of the work are 
 those in which Marvell refers to his great friend, John Milton. 
 Parker, with his customary malignity, had insinuated that 
 the poet, who was then living in cautious retirement, might 
 have been the author of the " Rehearsal," apparently with 
 the view of turning the indignation of government upon the 
 illustrious recluse. Marvell had always entertained towards 
 Milton a feeling of reverence akin to idolatry, and this 
 stroke of deliberate malice was more than he could bear. 
 He generously hastened to throw his shield over his aged and 
 prostrate patron. 
 
 About three years after the publication of the second part 
 of the " Rehearsal," Marvell's chivalrous love of justice im 
 pelled him again to draw the sword. In 1675, Dr. Croft, 
 Bishop of Hereford, had published a work entitled, " The 
 Naked Truth, or the True State of the Primitive Church, by 
 a Humble Moderator." This work deserved the character 
 of that sermon which Corporal Trim shook out of the vol 
 ume of Stevinus. " If you have no objections," said Mr. 
 Shandy to Dr. Slop, " Trim shall read it." " Not in the 
 least," replied Dr. Slop, " for it does not appear on which 
 side of the question it is wrote ; it may be a composition of 
 a divine of our church, as well as of yours, so that we run 
 equal risks." " 'T is wrote upon neither side," quoth Trim, 
 " for it is only upon conscience, an' it please your honors." 
 Even so was it with the good bishop's little piece. It was 
 written on neither side. It enjoined on all religious parties 
 the unwelcome duties of forbearance and charity ; but as it 
 especially exposed the danger and folly of enforcing a mi 
 nute uniformity, it could not be suffered to pass unchallenged 
 
 * D'Israeli. 
 
70 ANDREW MARVELL. 
 
 in that age of high-church intolerance. It was petulantly at 
 tacked by Dr. Francis Turner, Master of St. John's College, 
 Cambridge, in a pamphlet entitled, " Animadversions on the 
 Naked Truth." This provoked our satirist, who replied in 
 a pamphlet entitled, " Mr. Smirke, or the Divine in Mode." 
 He here fits his antagonist with a character out of Etherege's 
 " Man of Mode," as he had before fitted Parker with one 
 from Buckingham's " Rehearsal." The merits and defects 
 of this pamphlet are of much the same order as those of his 
 former work, it is perhaps less disfigured by coarseness 
 and vehemence. Of Dr. Croft's pamphlet he beautifully 
 expresses a feeling, of which we imagine few can have been 
 unconscious when perusing any work which strongly appeals 
 to our reason and conscience, and in which, as we proceed, 
 we seem to recognize what we have often thought, but never 
 uttered. " It is a book of that kind, that no Christian can 
 peruse it without wishing himself to have been the author, 
 and almost imagining that he is so ; the conceptions therein 
 being of so eternal an idea, that every man finds it to be but 
 a copy of the original in his own mind." 
 
 To this brochure was attached " A Short Historical Essay 
 concerning General Councils, Creeds, and Impositions in 
 Matters of Religion." It is characterized by the same 
 strong sense and untiring vivacity as his other writings, and 
 evinces a creditable acquaintance with ecclesiastical history ; 
 but it is neither copious nor profound enough for the subject. 
 
 In 1677, Marvell published his last controversial piece, 
 elicited like the rest by his disinterested love of fair play. 
 It was a defence of the celebrated divine, John Howe, 
 whose conciliatory tract on the "Divine Prescience" had 
 been rudely assailed by three several antagonists. This little 
 volume, which is throughout in Marvell's vein, is now ex 
 tremely scarce. It is not included in any edition of his works, 
 and appears to have been unknown to all his biographers. 
 
 His last work of any extent was entitled, " An Account of 
 the Growth of Popery and Arbitrary Government in Eng- 
 
ANDREW MARVELL. 
 
 71 
 
 land." It first appeared in 1678. It is written with much 
 vigor, boldly vindicates the great principles of the consti 
 tution, and discusses the limits of the royal prerogative. 
 The gloomy anticipations expressed by the author were but 
 too well justified by the public events which transpired subse 
 quently to his death. But the worst consequences of the 
 principles and policy he denounced, were happily averted by 
 the Revolution of 1688. 
 
 A reward was offered by the government for the discov 
 ery of the author of this " libel," as it was pleasantly des 
 ignated. Marvell seems to have taken the matter very cool 
 ly, and thus humorously alludes to the subject, in a private 
 letter to Mr. Ramsden, dated June 10, 1678 : " There came 
 out about Christmas last, here, a large book concerning the 
 growth of Popery and arbitrary government. There have 
 been great rewards offered in private, and considerable in the 
 Gazette, to any one who could inform of the author or print 
 er, but not yet discovered. Three or four printed books 
 since have described, as near as it was proper to go (the 
 man being a member of Parliament), Mr. Marvell to have 
 been the author ; but if he had, surely he should not have 
 escaped being questioned in Parliament, or some other place." 
 
 Marvell published, during the latter years of his life, sev 
 eral other political pamphlets, which, though now forgotten, 
 were doubtless 'not without their influence in unmasking cor 
 ruption, and rousing the nation to a consciousness of its po 
 litical degradation. One jeu d'esprit, a parody on the 
 speeches of Charles II., in which the flippancy and easy 
 impudence of those singular specimens of royal eloquence 
 are happily mimicked and scarcely caricatured, is very 
 characteristic of his caustic humor. A few sentences may 
 not displease the reader. 
 
 " I told you at our last meeting, the winter was the fittest time 
 for business, and truly I thought so, till my lord-treasurer assured 
 
 me the spring was the best season for salads and subsidies 
 
 Some of you, perhaps, will think it dangerous to make me too rich ; 
 
72 ANDREW MARVELL. 
 
 but I do not fear it, for I promise you faithfully, whatever you give 
 me, I will always want ; and, although in other things my word 
 may be thought a slender authority, yet in that you may rely on 
 
 me, I will never break it I can bear my straits with 
 
 patience ; but my lord-treasurer does protest to me that the revenue, 
 as it now stands, will not serve him and me too. One of us must 
 
 pinch for it, if you do not help me What shall we do for 
 
 ships then? I hint this only to you, it being your business, not 
 mine. I know by experience I can live without ships. I lived ten 
 years abroad without, and never had rny health better in my life ; but 
 how you will be without, I will leave to yourselves to judge, and 
 therefore hint this only by the by. I don't insist upon it. There is 
 another thing I must press more earnestly, and that is this : it seems 
 a good part of my revenue will expire in two or three years, ex 
 cept you will be pleased to continue it. I have to say for it, Pray, 
 why did you give me so much as you have done, unless you resolve 
 to give on as fast as I call for it? The nation hates you already for 
 giving so much, and I will hate you too if you do not give me more. 
 So that, if you do not stick to me you will not have a friend in 
 
 England Therefore look to it, and take notice, that if 
 
 you do not make me rich enough to undo you, it shall lie at your 
 door. For my part I wash my hands on it I have con 
 verted my natural sons from Popery 3 T would do one's 
 
 heart good to hear how prettily George can read already in the 
 psalter. They are all fine children, God bless 'em, and so like me 
 in their understandings ! But, as I was saying, I have, to please 
 you, given a pension to your favorite, my Lord Lauderdale, not so 
 much that I thought he wanted it, as that you would take it kindly. 
 
 I know not, for my part, what factious men would have ; 
 
 but this I am sure of, my predecessors never did any thing like this 
 to gain the good-will of their subjects. So much for your religion, 
 
 and now for your property I must now acquaint you, 
 
 that, by my lord-treasurer's advice, I have made a considerable re 
 trenchment upon my expenses in candles and charcoal, and do not 
 intend to stop ; but will, with your help, look into the late embez 
 zlements of my dripping-pans and kitchen-stuff, of which, by the 
 way, upon my conscience, neither my lord-treasurer nor my Lord 
 Lauderdale are guilty."* 
 
 * Marvell's Works, Vol. I. pp. 428, 429. 
 
ANDREW MARVELL. 73 
 
 Marvell's intrepid patriotism and bold writings had now 
 made him so odious to the corrupt Court, and especially to 
 the bigoted James, that he was compelled frequently to con 
 ceal himself, for fear of assassination. He makes an affect 
 ing allusion to this in one of his private letters. " Magis 
 occidere," says he, " metuo quam occidi ; non quod vitam 
 tanti astimem, sed ne imparatus moriar." * 
 
 He died August 16, 1678, the year that his obnoxious work 
 on the Growth of Popery and Arbitrary Government ap 
 peared ; and, as he was in vigorous health just before, sus 
 picions were entertained that he had been poisoned. 
 
 In person, according to the description of Aubrey, who 
 knew him well, Marvel 1 " was of a middling stature, 
 pretty strong set, roundish-faced, cherry-cheeked, hazel- 
 eyed, brown-haired. In his conversation he was modest, and 
 of very few words. He was wont to say he would not drink 
 high or freely with any one with whom he could not trust his 
 life." Captain Thompson gives a somewhat different account 
 of his complexion and the color of his eyes ; but, as is often 
 the case in more important points, he does not mention his 
 authority. It seems probable that he has been giving us a 
 description from the impression conveyed by his portraits 
 (of which there are two), without allowing for the effects of 
 time ; so that we have but the picture of a picture. 
 
 Of the editions of MarvelPs collected works, that of 1726, 
 in two volumes duodecimo, contains only his poems and some 
 of his private letters. That of Captain Thompson, in three 
 volumes quarto, was published in 1776. Yet even this, as 
 already said, omits one treatise. The Captain's diligence is 
 indeed worthy of commendation, and his enthusiasm may be 
 pardoned. But he was far from being a correct or judicious 
 editor, and is often betrayed by his indiscriminate admiration 
 into excessive and preposterous eulogy. The only separate 
 biography is, we believe, the little volume mentioned at the 
 head of this article. 
 
 * Cooke's Life of Marvell, prefixed to his Poems, p. 14. 
 
 7 
 
74 ANDREW MARVELL. 
 
 The characteristic attribute of MarvelPs genius was un 
 questionably wit, in all the varieties of which brief, sen 
 tentious sarcasm, fierce invective, light raillery, grave irony, 
 and broad, laughing humor he seems to have been by na 
 ture almost equally fitted to excel. To say that he has equal 
 ly excelled in all would be untrue, though striking examples 
 of each might easily be selected from his writings. The ac 
 tivity with which his mind suggests ludicrous images and 
 analogies is astonishing ; he often positively startles us by the 
 remoteness and oddity of the sources from which they are 
 supplied, and by the unexpected ingenuity and felicity of his 
 repartees. 
 
 His forte, however, appears to be a grave, ironical banter, 
 which he often pursues at such a length that there seems no 
 limit to his fertility of invention. In his accumulation of 
 ludicrous images and allusions, the untiring, exhaustive 
 ridicule with which he will play upon the same topics, he 
 is unique ; yet this peculiarity not seldom leads him to drain 
 the generous wine even to the dregs ; to spoil a series of 
 felicitous railleries by some far-fetched conceit or unpardon 
 able extravagance. 
 
 But though Marvell was so great a master of wit, and es 
 pecially of that caustic species which is appropriate to satir 
 ists, he seems to have been singularly free from many of the 
 faults which distinguish that irritable brotherhood. Unspar 
 ing and merciless as his ridicule is, contemptuous and ludi 
 crous as are the lights in which he 1 exhibits his opponent ; 
 nay, further, though his invectives are not only often terribly 
 severe, but (in compliance with the spirit of the age) often 
 grossly coarse and personal, it is still impossible to detect a 
 single particle of malignity. His general tone is either that 
 of broad, mirthful banter, or of the most cutting invective ; 
 but he appears equally devoid of malevolence in both. In 
 the one, he seems amusing himself with opponents, for whom 
 he has too much contempt to feel anger ; in the other, to act 
 with the stern, imperturbable gravity of one who is perform- 
 
ANDREW MARVELL. 75 
 
 ing the unpleasant but necessary functions of a public execu 
 tioner. This freedom from the usual faults of satirists may 
 be traced to several causes ; partly to the lonliommie which, 
 with all his talents for satire, was a peculiar characteristic of 
 the man, and which rendered him as little disposed to take 
 offence, and as placable when it was offered, as any man of 
 his time ; partly to the integrity of his nature, which, while 
 it prompted him to champion any cause in which justice had 
 been outraged or innocence wronged, effectually preserved 
 him from the wanton exercise of his wit for the gratification 
 of malevolence ; partly, perhaps principally, to the fact, that 
 both the above qualities restricted him to encounters in which 
 he had personally no concern. If he carried a keen sword, 
 it was a most peaceable and gentlemanly weapon ; it never 
 left the scabbard except on the highest provocation, and, even 
 then, only on behalf of others. His magnanimity, self-con 
 trol, and good temper restrained him from avenging any in 
 sult offered to himself; his chivalrous love of justice instant 
 ly roused all the lion within him on behalf of the injured and 
 oppressed. It is perhaps well for Marveli's fame that his 
 quarrels were not personal : had they been so, it is hardly 
 probable that such powers of sarcasm and irony should have 
 been so little associated with bitterness of temper. 
 
 Nor let it be said, that this freedom from malignity in the 
 exercise of his wit scarcely deserves much praise ; for though 
 it is true, that there is no necessary connection between that 
 quality of mind and the malevolent passions (as numberless 
 illustrious examples sufficiently prove), yet it offers great 
 temptations to their indulgence, and is almost always com 
 bined with that constitutional irritability of genius which it so 
 readily gratifies, and, by gratifying, transforms into something 
 worse. Half the tendencies of our nature pass into habits 
 only from the facilities which encourage their development. 
 Quarrels were infinitely more frequent when all men were 
 accustomed to wear arms ; and, similarly, many a waspish 
 temper has become so, principally from being in possession 
 
76 ANDREW MARVELL. 
 
 of the weapon of satire. Not seldom, too, it must be sorrow 
 fully admitted, the most exquisite sense of the ridiculous has 
 been strangely combined with a morbid, saturnine tempera 
 ment, which looks on all things with a jaundiced imagination, 
 and surveys human infirmities and foibles with feelings not 
 more remote from those of compassionate benevolence than 
 of genuine mirth. Happy when, as in the case of Cowper, 
 the influence of a benign heart and unfeigned humility pre 
 vents this tendency from degenerating into universal malevo 
 lence. There are few things more shockingly incongruous 
 than the ghastly union of wit and misanthropy. Wit should 
 be ever of open brow, joyous, and frank-hearted. Even the 
 severest satire may be delicious reading when penned with 
 the bonhommie of Horace or of Addison, or the equanimity 
 of Plato or of Pascal. Without pretending that Marvell had 
 aught of the elegance or the delicacy of any of these immor 
 tal writers, we firmly believe he had as much kindly feeling 
 as any of them. Unhappily, the two by no means go togeth 
 er ; there may be the utmost refinement without a particle of 
 good-nature ; and a great deal of good-nature without any 
 refinement. It were easy to name writers, who, with the 
 most exquisite grace of diction, can as little disguise the mal 
 ice of their nature, as Marvell, with all his coarseness, can 
 make us doubt his benevolence. Through the veil of their 
 language (of beautiful texture, but too transparent) we see 
 chagrin poorly stimulating mirth ; anger struggling to appear 
 contempt, and failing ; malevolence writhing itself into an as 
 pect of ironical courtesy, but with grim distortion in the at 
 tempt ; and sarcasms urged by the impulses which, under 
 different circumstances, and in another country, would have 
 prompted to the use of the stiletto. 
 
 It is impossible, indeed, not to regret the coarseness, often 
 amounting to buffoonery, of Marvell's wit ; though, from the 
 consideration just urged, we regard it with the more forbear 
 ance. Other palliations have been pleaded for him, derived 
 from the character of his adversaries, the haste with which he 
 
ANDREW MARVELL. 77 
 
 wrote, and the spirit of the age. The last is the strongest. 
 The tomahawk and the scalping-knife were not yet discredit 
 able weapons, or thrown aside as fit only for savage warfare ; 
 and it is even probable that many of the things which we 
 should regard as gross insults then passed as pardonable jests. 
 It is difficult for us, of course, to imagine that callousness 
 which scarcely thinks any thing an insult but what is enforced 
 by the argumentum baculinum. Between the feelings of our 
 forefathers and our own, there seems to have been as great a 
 difference as between those of the farmer and the clergyman, 
 so ludicrously described by Covvper in his " Yearly Dis 
 tress " : 
 
 " 0, why are farmers made so coarse, 
 
 Or clergy made so fine ? 
 A kick that scarce would move a horse 
 May kill a sound divine." 
 
 The haste with which Marvell wrote must also be pleaded 
 as an excuse for the inequalities of his works. It was not the 
 age in which authors elaborated and polished with care, or 
 submitted with a good grace to the Hmce labor; and if it had 
 been, Marvell allowed himself no leisure for the task. The 
 second part of the " Rehearsal," for example, was published 
 in the same year in which Parker's " Reproof" appeared. 
 We must profess our belief that no small portion of his writ 
 ings stand in great need of this apology. Exhibiting, as they 
 do, amazing vigor and fertility, the wit is by no means al 
 ways of the first order. 
 
 We must not quit the subject of his wit, without presenting 
 the reader with some few of his pleasantries ; premising that 
 they form but a very small part of those which we had 
 marked in the perusal of his works ; and that, whatever their 
 merit, it were easy to find many others fully equal to them, 
 if we could afford space for citation. 
 
 Ironically bewailing the calamitous effects of printing, our 
 author exclaims : " O Printing ! how hast .thou disturbed the 
 
78 ANDREW MARVELL. 
 
 peace of mankind ! Lead, when moulded into bullets, is not 
 so mortal as when founded into letters. There was a mistake, 
 sure, in the story of Cadmus ; and the serpents' teeth which 
 he sowed were nothing else but the letters which he invent 
 ed." Parker having declared, in relation to some object of 
 his scurrility, that he had written, " not to impair his esteem, 
 but to correct his scribbling humor," Marvell says : " Our 
 author is as courteous as lightning, and can melt the sword 
 without ever hurting the scabbard." After alleging that his 
 opponent often has a by-play of malignity even when bestow 
 ing commendations, he remarks : " The author's end was 
 only railing. He could never have induced himself to praise 
 one man but in order to rail on another. He never oils his 
 hone but that he may whet his razor, and that not to shave, 
 but to cut men's throats." On Parker's absurd and bombas 
 tic exaggeration of the merits and achievements of Bishop 
 Bramhall, Marvell wittily says : " Any worthy man may pass 
 through the world unquestioned and safe, with a moderate 
 recommendation ; but when he is thus set off and bedaubed 
 with rhetoric, and embroidered so thick that you cannot dis 
 cern the ground, it awakens naturally (and not altogether 
 unjustly) interest, curiosity, and envy. For all men pretend 
 a share in reputation, and love not to see it engrossed and 
 monopolized ; and are subject to inquire (as of great estates 
 suddenly got) whether he came by all this honestly, or of 
 what credit the person is that tells the story ? And the same 
 
 hath happened as to this bishop Men seeing him 
 
 furbished up in so martial accoutrements, like another Odo, 
 Bishop of Baieux, and having never before heard of his 
 prowess, begin to reflect what giants he defeated, and what 
 damsels he rescued After all our author's bom 
 bast, when we have searched all over, we find ourselves 
 bilked in our expectation ; and he hath created the bishop, - 
 like a St. Christopher in the popish churches, as big as ten 
 porters, and yet only employed to sweat under the burden of 
 an infant." Of the paroxysms of rage with which Parker re- 
 
ANDREW MARVELL. 79 
 
 fers to one of his adversaries, whom he distinguishes by his 
 initials, Marvell says : " As oft as he does but name those 
 two first letters, he is like the island of Fayal, on fire in 
 threescore and ten places " ; and affirms, " that if he were of 
 that fellow's diet here about town, that epicurizes on burn 
 ing coals, drinks healths in scalding brimstone, scranches the 
 glasses for his dessert, and draws his breath through glowing 
 tobacco-pipes, he could not show more flame than he always 
 does upon that subject." Parker, in a passage of unequalled 
 absurdity, having represented Geneva as on the south side of 
 the Lake Leman, Marvell ingeniously represents the blunder 
 as the subject of discussion in a private company, where va 
 rious droll solutions are proposed, and where he, with exqui 
 site irony, pretends to take Parker's part. " I," says Mar- 
 veil, " that was still on the doubtful and excusing part, said, 
 that, to give the right situation of a town, it was necessary 
 first to know in what position the gentleman's head then was 
 when he made his observation, and that might cause a great 
 diversity, as much as this came to." Having charged his 
 adversary with needlessly obtruding upon the world some 
 petty matters which concerned only himself, from an exag 
 gerated idea of his own importance, Marvell drolly says : 
 " When a man is once possessed with this fanatic kind of 
 spirit, he imagines, if a shoulder do but itch, that the world 
 has galled it with leaning on it so long, and therefore he 
 wisely shrugs to remove the globe to the other. If he chance 
 but to sneeze, he salutes himself, and courteously prays that 
 the foundations of the earth be not shaken. And even so 
 the author of the ' Ecclesiastical Polity,' ever since he crept 
 up to be but the weathercock of a steeple, trembles and 
 creaks at every puff of wind that blows him about, as if the 
 Church of England were falling, and the state tottered." 
 After ludicrously describing the effect of the first part of the 
 " Rehearsal " in exacerbating all his opponent's evil pas 
 sions, he remarks : " He seems not so fit at present for the 
 archdeacon's seat, as to take his place below in the church 
 
80 ANDREW MARVELL. 
 
 amongst the energumeni" Parker had charged him with a sort 
 of plagiarism for having quoted so many passages out of his 
 book. On this Marvell observes : " It has, I believe, indeed 
 angered him, as it has been no small trouble to me ; but how 
 can I help it ? I wish he would be pleased to teach me an 
 art (for, if any man in the world, he hath it) to answer a 
 book, without turning over the leaves, or without citing pas 
 sages. In the mean time, if to transcibe so much out of 
 him must render a man, as he therefore styles me, a ' scan 
 dalous plagiary,' I must plead guilty ; but by the same law, 
 whoever shall either be witness or prosecutor in behalf of the 
 King, for treasonable words, may be indicted for a highway 
 man." Parker having viewed some extravaganza of Mar- 
 veil's riotous wit as if worthy of serious comment, the latter 
 says : " Whereas I only threw it out like an empty cask to 
 amuse him, knowing that I had a whale to deal with, and 
 lest he should overset me ; he runs away with it as a very 
 serious business, and so moyles himself with tumbling and 
 tossing it, that he is in danger of melting his spermaceti. 
 A cork, I see, will serve without a hook ; and, instead of a 
 harping-iron, this grave and ponderous creature may, like 
 eels, be taken and pulled up only with bobbing." After ex 
 posing, in a strain of uncommon eloquence, the wickedness 
 and folly of suspending the peace of the nation on so frivo 
 lous a matter as " ceremonial," he says : " For a prince to 
 adventure all upon such a cause, is like Duke Charles of 
 Burgundy, who fought three battles for an imposition upon 
 sheep-skins " ; and " for a clergyman to offer at persecution 
 upon this ceremonial account, is (as is related of one of the 
 popes) to justify his indignation for his peacock, by the ex 
 ample of God's anger for eating the forbidden fruit." He 
 justifies his severity towards Parker in a veryjudicrous way: 
 " No man needs letters of marque against one that is an open 
 pirate of other men's credit. I remember, within our own 
 time, one Simons, who robbed always on the bricolle, that 
 is to say, never interrupted the passengers, but still set upon 
 
ANDREW MARVELL. 81 
 
 the thieves themselves, after, like Sir John Falstaff, they were 
 gorged with a booty ; and by this way so ingenious that 
 it was scarce criminal he lived secure and unmolested all 
 his days, with the reputation of a judge rather than of a high 
 wayman." The sentences we have cited are taken from the 
 " Rehearsal." We had marked many more from his " Di 
 vine in Mode," and other writings, but have no space for them. 
 
 But he who supposes Marvell to have been nothing but a 
 wit, simply on account of the predominance of that quality, 
 will do him injustice. It is the common lot of such men, in 
 whom some one faculty is found on a great scale, to fail of 
 part of the admiration due to other endowments ; possessed 
 in more moderate degree, indeed, but still in a degree far 
 from ordinary. We are subject to the same illusion in gaz 
 ing on mountain scenery. Fixing our eye on some solitary 
 peak, which towers far above the rest, the groups of surround 
 ing hills look positively diminutive, though they may, in fact, 
 be all of great magnitude. 
 
 This illusion is further fostered by another circumstance 
 in the case of great wits. As the object of wit is to amuse, 
 the owl-like gravity of thousands of common readers is apt 
 to decide that wit and wisdom must dwell apart, and that the 
 humorous writer must necessarily be a trifling one. For sim 
 ilar reasons, they look with sage suspicion on every signal 
 display, either of fancy or passion ; think a splendid illustra 
 tion nothing but the ambuscade of a fallacy, and strong emo 
 tion as tantamount to a confession of unsound judgment. 
 As Archbishop Whately has well remarked, such men, hav 
 ing been warned that " ridicule is not the test of truth," and 
 that " wisdom and wit are not the same thing, distrust every 
 thing that can possibly be regarded as witty ; not having 
 judgment to perceive the combination, when it occurs, of wit 
 and sound reasoning. The ivy wreath completely conceals 
 from their view the point of the thyrsus." 
 
 The fact is, that all Marvell's endowments were on a large 
 scale, though his wit greatly predominated. His judgment 
 
 
82 ANDREW MARVELL. 
 
 was remarkably clear and sound, his logic by no means con 
 temptible, his sagacity in practical matters great, his talents 
 for business apparently of the first order, and his industry 
 indefatigable. His imagination, though principally employed 
 in ministering to his wit, would, if sufficiently cultivated, 
 have made him a poet considerably above mediocrity : though 
 chiefly alive to the ludicrous, he was by no means insensible 
 to the beautiful. We cannot, indeed, bestow all the praise 
 on his Poems which some of his critics have assigned them. 
 They are very plentifully disfigured by the conceits and 
 quaintnesses of the age, and as frequently want grace of ex 
 pression and harmony of numbers. Of the compositions 
 which Captain Thompson's indiscriminate admiration would 
 fain have affiliated to his Muse, the best are proved not to be 
 his ; and one is of doubtful origin. The hymn beginning, 
 
 " When Israel, freed from Pharaoh's hand," 
 
 is a well-known composition of Dr. Watts ; while the ballad 
 of " William and Margaret " is of dubious authorship. Though 
 probably of earlier date than the age of Mallet, its reputed 
 author, the reasons which Captain Thompson gives for assign 
 ing it to Marvell are altogether unsatisfactory. Still, there are 
 unquestionably many of his genuine poems which indicate a 
 rich, though ill-cultivated fancy ; and in some few stanzas 
 there is no little grace of expression. The little piece on 
 the Pilgrim Fathers, entitled " The Emigrants," the fanciful 
 " Dialogue between Body and Soul," the " Dialogue between 
 the Resolved Soul and Created Pleasure," and the " Coronet," 
 all contain lines of much elegance and sweetness. It is in 
 his satirical poems, that, as might be expected from the char 
 acter of his mind, his fancy appears most vigorous ; though 
 these too are largely disfigured by the characteristic defects 
 of the age, and many, it must be confessed, are entirely with 
 out merit. With two or three lines from his ludicrous satire 
 on Holland, we cannot refrain from amusing the reader. 
 Some of the strokes of humor are certainly happy : 
 
ANDREW MARVELL. 83 
 
 " Holland, that scarce deserves the name of land, 
 As' but the offscouring of the British sand ; 
 And so much earth as was contributed 
 By English pilots when they heaved the lead ; 
 Or what by th' ocean's slow alluvion fell, 
 Of shipwrecked cockle and the muscle-shell ; 
 This indigested vomit of the sea 
 Fell to the Dutch by just propriety. 
 Glad then, as miners who have found the ore, 
 They, with mad labor, fished the land to shore ; 
 And dived as desperately for each piece 
 Of earth, as it had been of ambergris ; 
 Collecting anxiously small loads of clay, 
 Less than what building swallows bear away ; 
 For as with pigmies who best kills the crane, 
 Among the hungry he that treasures grain, 
 Among the blind the one-eyed blinkard reigns, 
 So rules among the drowned he that drains. 
 Not who first sees the rising sun commands : 
 But who could first discern the rising lands. 
 Who best could know to pump an earth so leak, 
 Him they their lord, and country's father, speak." 
 
 His Latin poems are amongst his best. The composition 
 often shows no contemptible skill in that language ; and here 
 and there the diction and versification are such as would not 
 have absolutely disgraced his great coadjutor, Milton. In all 
 the higher poetic qualities, there can, of course, be no com 
 parison between them. 
 
 With such a mind as we have ascribed to him, and we 
 think his works fully justify what has been said, with such 
 aptitude for business, soundness of judgment, powers of rea 
 soning, and readiness of sarcasm, one might have anticipated 
 that he would have taken some rank as an orator. Nature, 
 it is certain, had bestowed upon him some of the most impor 
 tant intellectual endowments of one. It is true, indeed, that 
 with his principles and opinions he would have found himself 
 strangely embarrassed in addressing any Parliament in the 
 days of Charles II., and stood but a moderate chance of ob- 
 
84 ANDREW MARVELL. 
 
 taining a candid hearing. But we have no proof that he ever 
 made the trial. His Parliamentary career in this respect 
 resembled that of a much greater man, Addison, who 
 with wit even superior to his own, and with much more ele 
 gance, if not more strength of mind, failed signally as a 
 speaker. 
 
 MarvelPs learning must have been very extensive. His 
 education was superior ; and, as we have seen from the testi 
 mony of Milton, his industry had made him master, during 
 his long sojourn on the Continent, of several Continental lan 
 guages. It is certain, also, that he continued to be a student 
 all his days : his works bear ample evidence of his wide and 
 miscellaneous reading. He appears to have been well versed 
 in most branches of literature, though he makes no pedan 
 tic display of erudition, and in this respect is favorably distin 
 guished from many of his contemporaries ; yet he cites his 
 authors with the familiarity of a thorough scholar. In the 
 department of history he appears to have been particularly 
 well read ; and derives his witty illustrations from such re 
 mote and obscure sources, that Parker did not hesitate to 
 avow his belief that he had sometimes drawn upon his inven 
 tion for them. In his reply, Marvell justifies himself in all 
 the alleged instances, and takes occasion to show that his op 
 ponent's learning is as hollow as all his other pretensions. 
 
 The style of Marvell is very unequal. Though often rude 
 and unpolished, it abounds in negligent felicities, presents us 
 with frequent specimens of vigorous idiomatic English, and 
 now and then attains no mean degree of elegance. It bears 
 the stamp of the revolution which was then passing on the 
 language, being a medium between the involved and peri 
 odic structure, so common during the former half of the cen 
 tury, and which was ill adapted to a language possessing so 
 few inflections as ours, and that simplicity and harmony which 
 were not fully attained till the age of Addison. There is a 
 very large infusion of short sentences, and the structure in gen 
 eral is as unlike that of his great colleague's prose as can be 
 
ANDREW MARVELL. 85 
 
 imagined. Many of MarvelPs pages flow with so much ease 
 and grace, as to be not unworthy of a later period. To that 
 revolution in style to which we have just alluded, he must, in 
 no slight degree, have contributed ; for, little as his works are 
 known or read now, the most noted of them were once uni 
 versally popular and perused with pleasure, as Burnet testi 
 fies, by every body, " from the king to the tradesman." 
 
 Numerous examples show, that it is almost impossible for 
 even the rarest talents to confer permanent popularity on 
 books which turn on topics of temporary interest, however 
 absorbing at the time. If Pascal's transcendent genius has 
 been unable to rescue even the " Lettres Provinciates " from 
 partial oblivion, it is not to be expected that Marvell should 
 have done more for the " Rehearsal Transprosed." Swift, it is 
 true, about half a century later, was pleased, while express 
 ing a similar opinion, to make an exception in favor of Mar- 
 veil. " There is indeed," says he, " an exception when any 
 great genius thinks it worth his while to expose a foolish piece ; 
 so we still read Marvell's answer to Parker with pleasure, 
 though the book it answers be sunk long ago." But this state 
 ment is scarcely applicable now. It is true that the " Re 
 hearsal " is occasionally read by the curious ; but it is by the 
 resolutely curious alone. 
 
 Yet assuredly he has not lived in vain who has successfully 
 endeavored to abate the nuisances of his own time, or to put 
 down some insolent abetter of vice and corruption. Nor is 
 it possible in a world like this, in which there is such contin 
 uity of causes and effects, where one generation transmits 
 its good and its evil to the next, and the consequences of each 
 revolution in principles, opinions, or tastes are propagated 
 along the whole line of humanity, to estimate either the 
 degree or perpetuity of the benefits conferred by the com 
 plete success of works even of transient interest. By modi 
 fying the age in which he lives, a man may indirectly modify 
 the character of many generations to come. His works may 
 be forgotten while their effects survive. 
 
86 ANDREW MARVELL. 
 
 MarvelPs history affords a signal instance of the benefits 
 which may be derived from well-directed satire. There are 
 cases in which it may be a valuable auxiliary to decency, vir 
 tue, and religion, where argument and persuasion both fail. 
 Many, indeed, doubt both the legitimacy of the weapon itself, 
 and the success with which it can be employed. But facts 
 are against them. To hope it can ever supply the place of 
 religion as a radical cure for vice or immorality, would be 
 chimerical ; but there are many pernicious customs, violations 
 of propriety, ridiculous, yet tolerated follies, which religion 
 can scarcely touch without endangering her dignity. To as 
 sail them is one of the most legitimate offices of satire ; nor 
 is there the slightest doubt that the " Spectator " did more to 
 abate many of the prevailing follies and pernicious customs 
 of the age, than a thousand homilies. This, however, may 
 be admitted, and yet it may be said that it does not reach the 
 case of Marvell and Parker. Society, it may be argued, will 
 bear the exposure of its own evils with great equanimity, and 
 perhaps profit by it ; no individual being pointed at, and each 
 being left to digest his own lesson under the pleasant convic 
 tion that it was designed principally for his neighbors. As 
 corporations will perpetuate actions of which each individual 
 member would be ashamed, so corporations will listen to 
 charges which every individual member would regard as in 
 sults. But no man, it is said, is likely to be reclaimed from 
 error or vice by being made the object of merciless ridicule. 
 All this we believe most true. But then it is not to be forgot 
 ten, that it may not be the satirist's object to reclaim the individ 
 ual, he may have little hope of that, he may write for the 
 sake of those whom his victim maligns and injures. When the 
 exorcist takes Satan in hand, it is not because he is an Ori- 
 genist, and " believes in the conversion of the Devil," but in 
 pity to the supposed objects of his malignity. It is much the 
 same when a man like Marvell undertakes to satirize a man 
 like Parker. Even such a man may be abashed and con 
 founded, though he cannot be reclaimed ; and if so, the satir- 
 
ANDREW MARVELL. 87 
 
 1st gains his object, and society gains the benefit. Experi 
 ence fully shows us that there are many men who will be re 
 strained by ridicule long after they are lost to virtue, and that 
 they are accessible to shame when they are utterly inacces 
 sible to argument. 
 
 This was just the good that Marvell effected. He made 
 Parker, it is true, more furious ; but he diverted, if he could 
 not turn, the tide of popular feeling, and thus prevented much 
 mischief. Parker, and others like him, were doing all they 
 could to inflame angry passions, to revive the most extrava 
 gant pretensions of tyranny, and to preach up another cru 
 sade against the nonconformists. MarvelPs books were a 
 conductor to the dangerous fluid ; if there was any explosion 
 at all, it was an explosion of merriment. " He had all the 
 laughers on his side," says Burnet. In Charles II.'s reign 
 there were few who belonged to any other class ; and then, 
 as now, men found it impossible to laugh and be angry at the 
 same time. It is our firm belief, that Marvell did more to 
 humble Parker, and neutralize the influence of his party, by 
 the " Rehearsal Transprosed," than he could have done by 
 writing half a dozen folios of polemical divinity ; just as Pas 
 cal did more to unmask the Jesuits and damage their cause 
 by his " Provincial Letters," than had been effected by all 
 the efforts of all their other opponents put together. 
 
 But admirable as were MarvelPs intellectual endowments, 
 it is his moral worth, after all, which constitutes his principal 
 claim on the admiration of posterity, and which sheds a re 
 deeming lustre on one of the darkest pages of the English 
 annals. Inflexible integrity was the basis of it, integrity 
 by which he has not unworthily earned the glorious name of 
 the " British Aristides." With talents and acquirements 
 which might have justified him in aspiring to almost any 
 office, if he could have disburdened himself of his conscience ; 
 with wit which, in that frivolous age, was a surer passport to 
 fame than any amount either of intellect or virtue, and which, 
 as we have seen, mollified even the monarch himself, in spite 
 of prejudice ; Marvell preferred poverty and independence 
 
88 ANDREW MARVELL. 
 
 to riches and servility. He had learned the lesson, prac 
 tised by few in that age, of being content with little, so 
 that he preserved his conscience. He could be poor, but he 
 could not be mean ; could starve, but could not cringe. By 
 economizing in the articles of pride and ambition, he could 
 afford to keep what their votaries were compelled to retrench, 
 the necessaries, or rather the luxuries, of integrity and a good 
 conscience. Neither menaces, nor caresses, nor bribes, nor 
 poverty, nor distress, could induce him to abandon his integ 
 rity ; or even to take an office in which it might be tempted 
 or endangered. He only who has arrived at this pitch of 
 magnanimity, has an adequate security for his public virtue. 
 He who cannot subsist upon a little, who has not learned to 
 be content with such things as he has, and even to be content 
 with almost nothing ; who has not learned to familiarize his 
 thoughts to poverty, much more readily than he can familiar 
 ize them to dishonor, is not yet free from peril. Andrew 
 Marvell, as his whole course proves, had done this. But we 
 shall not do full justice to his public integrity, if we do not 
 bear in mind the corruption of the age in which he lived ; the 
 manifold apostasies amidst which he retained his conscience ; 
 and the effect which such wide-spread profligacy must have 
 had in making thousands almost sceptical as to whether there 
 were such a thing as public virtue at all. Such a relaxation 
 in the code of speculative morals is one of the worst results 
 of general profligacy in practice. But Andrew Marvell was 
 not to be deluded ; and amidst corruption perfectly unparal 
 leled, he still continued untainted. We are accustomed to 
 hear of his virtue as a truly Roman virtue, and so it was ; but 
 it was something more. Only the best pages of Roman his 
 tory can supply a parallel ; there was no Cincinnatus in those 
 ages of her shame which alone can be compared with those 
 of Charles II. It were far easier to find a Cincinnatus during 
 the period of the English Commonwealth, than an Andrew 
 Marvell in the age of Commodus. 
 
 The integrity and patriotism which distinguished him in 
 his relations to the Court, also marked all his public conduct. 
 
ANDREW MARVELL. 89 
 
 He was evidently most scrupulously honest and faithful in the 
 discharge of his duty to his constituents ; and, as we have 
 seen, punctilious in guarding against any thing which could 
 tarnish his fair fame, or defile his conscience. On reviewing 
 the whole of his public conduct, we may well say that he at 
 tained his wish, expressed in the lines which he has written in 
 imitation of a chorus in the Thyestes of Seneca : 
 
 " Climb at court for me that will 
 Tottering favor's pinnacle ; 
 All I seek is to lie still. 
 Settled in some secret nest, 
 In calm leisure let me rest, 
 And, far off the public stage, 
 Pass away my silent age. 
 Thus, when without noise, unknown, 
 I have lived out all my span, 
 I shall die without a groan, 
 An old, honest countryman." 
 
 He seems to have been as amiable in his private as he was 
 estimable in his public character. So far as any documents 
 throw light upon the subject, the same integrity appears to 
 have been the basis of both. He is described as of a very 
 reserved and quiet temper ; but like Addison, (whom in this 
 respect, as in some few others, he resembled,) exceedingly 
 facetious and lively amongst his intimate friends. His disin 
 terested championship of others is no less a proof of his 
 sympathy with the oppressed than of his abhorrence of op 
 pression ; and many pleasing traits of amiability occur in his 
 private correspondence, as well as in his writings. On the 
 whole, we think that Marvell's epitaph, strong as the terms of 
 panegyric are, records little more than the truth ; and that 
 it was not in the vain spirit of boasting, but in the honest con 
 sciousness of virtue and integrity, that he himself concludes 
 a letter to one of his correspondents in the words, 
 
 " Disce, puer, virtutem ex me, verumque laborem ; 
 Fortunam ex aliis." 
 8* 
 
LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHAR 
 ACTER.* 
 
 THE familiar letters of a great man, if they are sufficiently 
 copious, written on a variety of themes, and really unpre 
 meditated, probably furnish us with more accurate data for 
 estimating his character, than either the most voluminous de 
 liberate compositions, or the largest traditional collections of 
 his conversation. The former will always conceal much 
 which letters will disclose ; will give not only an imperfect, 
 but perhaps false idea, of many points of character ; and will 
 certainly suggest an exaggerated estimate of all the ordinary 
 habitudes of thought and expression. The latter will often 
 fall as much below the true mean of such a man's merits ; 
 and, what is of more consequence, must depend except in 
 the rare case in which some faithful Boswell continually dogs 
 the heels of genius on the doubtful authority and leaky 
 memory of those who report it. Letters, on the other hand, 
 
 * "Edinburgh Review," July, 1845. 
 
 Dr. Martin Luther's Brief e, Sendschreiben und Bedenken, vollstandig aus 
 den verschiedenen A usgaben seiner Werke und Brief e, aus andern Buchern 
 und noch unbenutzten Handschriften gesammelt. Kritisch und historisch bear- 
 beitet von DR. WILHELM MARTIN LEBERECHT DE WETTE. 5 vols. 
 8vo. Berlin. 
 
 (Dr. Martin Luther's Entire Correspondence, carefully compiled from the 
 various Editions of his Works and Letters, from other Books, and from 
 Manuscripts as yet private. Edited, with Critical and Historical Notes, by 
 DR. WILHELM MARTIN LEBERECHT DE WETTE.) 
 
LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 91 
 
 if they be copious, unpremeditated, and not intended for the 
 eye of the world, will exhibit the character in all its moods 
 and phases, and by its own utterances. While some will dis 
 close to us the habitual states of thought and feeling, and 
 admit us even into the privacy of the heart, others, composed 
 under the stimulus of great emergencies, and in those occa 
 sional auspicious expansions of the faculties, which neither 
 come nor cease at our bidding, will furnish no unworthy cri 
 terion of what such a mind, even in its most elevated moods, 
 or by its most deliberate efforts, can accomplish. 
 
 If ever any man's character could be advantageously stud 
 ied in his letters, it is surely that of Luther. They are 
 addressed to all sorts of persons, are composed on an immense 
 diversity of subjects, and, as to the mass of them, are more 
 thoroughly unpremeditated, as well as more completely sug 
 gested ex visceribus causce, to use the phrase of Cicero, than 
 those of almost any other man. They are also more copious ; 
 as copious as those even of his great contemporary, Erasmus, 
 to whom letter-writing was equally business and amusement. 
 What appear voluminous collections in our degenerate days, 
 those of Sevigne, Pope, Walpole, Cowper, even of Swift, 
 dwindle in comparison. In De Wette's most authentic and 
 admirable edition, they occupy five very thick and closely 
 printed volumes. The learned compiler, in a preface amus 
 ingly characteristic of the literary zeal and indefatigable re 
 search of Germany, tells us, that he has unearthed from ob 
 scure hiding-places and mouldering manuscripts more than a 
 hundred unprinted letters, and enriched the present collection 
 with their contents. By himself, or his literary agents, he 
 has ransacked " the treasures of the archives of Weimar, the 
 libraries at Jen'a, Erfurt, Gotha, Wolfenbiittel, Frankfort-on- 
 the-Maine, Heidelberg, and Basle " ; and has received " pre 
 cious contributions" from Breslau, Riga, Strasburg, Munich, 
 Zurich, and other places. There are many, no doubt, which 
 time has consigned to oblivion, and perhaps some few which 
 still lie unknown in public or private repositories, undetect- 
 
92 
 
 ed even by the acute literary scent of De Wette, and his em 
 issaries. But there are enough in all conscience to satisfy- 
 any ordinary appetite, and to illustrate, if any thing can, the 
 history and character of him who penned them. 
 
 Even in a purely literary point of view, these letters are 
 not unworthy of comparison with any thing Luther has left 
 behind him. They contain no larger portion of indifferent 
 Latin, scarcely so much of his characteristic violence and 
 rudeness ; while they display in beautiful relief all the more 
 tender and amiable traits of his character, and are fraught 
 with brief but most striking specimens of that intense and 
 burning eloquence for which he was so famed. Very rrfany 
 of them well deserve the admiration which Coleridge (who 
 regretted that selections from them had not been given to the 
 English public) has so strongly expressed. " I can scarcely 
 conceive," he says, " a more delightful volume than might be 
 made from Luther's letters, especially those written from the 
 Wartburg, if they were translated in the simple, sinewy, idio 
 matic, hearty mother tongue of the original A diffi 
 cult task I admit." He is speaking, of course, of Luther's 
 German letters. Almost all, however, from the Wartburg 
 are in Latin. 
 
 Of late years they have received considerable attention. 
 M. Michelet, in his very pleasing volumes, in which he has 
 made Luther draw his own portrait, by presenting a series 
 of extracts from his writings, has derived no small portion of 
 his materials from the letters ; while all recent historians of 
 the Reformation, especially D'Aubigne and Waddington,* 
 
 * We cannot mention the name of Dr. Waddington without thanking 
 him for the gratification we have derived from the perusal of the three 
 volumes of his li History of the Reformation," and expressing our hopes 
 that he will soon fulfil his promise of a fourth. Less brilliant than that 
 of D'Aubigne, his work is at least its equal in research, certainly not in 
 ferior in the comprehensiveness of its views, or the solidity of its reflec 
 tions, and in severe fidelity is perhaps even superior. Not that, in this 
 last respect, we have much to complain of in D'Aubigne ; but as he has 
 
LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 93 
 
 have dug deep, and with immense advantage, in the same 
 mine. Not only do they form, as De Wette says, " a diary, 
 as it were, of Luther's life," " gleichsam ein Tagebuch seines 
 Lebens " ; but they enable us to trace better than in almost 
 any history, because more minutely, the whole early progress 
 of the Reformation. 
 
 As we conceive that Luther's character could be nowhere 
 more advantageously studied than in this voluminous corre 
 spondence, we propose in the present article to make it the 
 basis of a few remarks on his most prominent intellectual and 
 moral qualities. 
 
 No modern author, in our opinion, has done such signal 
 injustice to Luther's intellect as Mr. Hallam, whose excellent 
 and well-practised judgment seems to us, in this instance, to 
 have entirely deserted him. " Luther's amazing influence 
 on the revolutions of his own age, and on the opinions of man 
 kind, seems," says he, " to have produced, as is not unnatu 
 ral, an exaggerated notion of his intellectual greatness." ! 
 And he then proceeds to reduce it to assuredly veiy moderate 
 dimensions, founding his judgment principally on Luther's 
 writings. 
 
 Now, if Mr. Hallam had been nothing more than a mere 
 critic, we should not have wondered at such a decision. Il 
 would have been as natural in that case to misinterpret the 
 genius of Luther, as for Mallet to write the life of Bacon and 
 " forget that he was a philosopher." But when we reflect 
 
 great skill in the selection and graphic disposition of his materials, so he 
 sometimes sacrifices a little too much to gratify it, as, for example, in 
 the dramatic form he has given to Luther's narrative of his interview 
 with Miltitz (Vol. II. pp. 8-12). There is also a too uniform brilliancy, 
 and too little repose about the style. But it were most ungrateful to de 
 ny the rare merits of the work. We only hope its unprecedented pop 
 ularity may not deprive us of another volume from the pen of Dr Wad- 
 dington. His u History of the Reformation " is, in our judgment, very 
 superior to his " Church History," though that has no inconsiderable 
 merit. 
 * Introduction to the Literature of Europe, Vol. I. p. 513. 
 
94 LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 
 
 that Mr. Hallam is not a mere literary critic, and that what 
 soever honors he may have achieved in that capacity are yet 
 inferior to those which he has attained as a philosophical 
 historian, we confess our astonishment at the low estimate he 
 seems to have formed of Luther's intellect. 
 
 This seems to have arisen from contemplating Luther's 
 character too exclusively in the point of view suggested by 
 the literary nature of the work on which the critic was at the 
 time engaged. It is true that the Reformer's mind did not 
 belong exclusively, or even prevailingly, to either of the two 
 principal types with which we more usually associate genius, 
 and which almost divide the page of literary history between 
 them. The one is the prevailingly philosophical tempera 
 ment, with numberless specific differences ; the other, the 
 prevailingly poetical, with differences equally numerous : the 
 passion of the one class of minds is speculative and scientific 
 truth ; that of the other, ideal beauty. Yet there is another, 
 and not less imposing, form of human genius, though it does 
 not figure much on the page of literary history, which has 
 made men as illustrious as man was ever made, either by 
 depth or subtlety of speculation, by opulence or brilliancy 
 of fancy. This class of minds unite some of the rarest en 
 dowments of the philosophical and poetical temperaments ; 
 and though the reason in such men is not such as would have 
 made an Aristotle, nor the imagination such as would have 
 made a Homer, these elements are mingled in such propor 
 tions and combinations as render the product the tertium 
 quid not less wonderful than the greatest expansion of ei 
 ther element alone. To these are superadded some qualities 
 which neither bard nor philosopher ever 'possessed, and the 
 whole is subjected to the action of an energetic will and pow 
 erful passions. Such are the minds which are destined to 
 change the face of the world, to originate or control great 
 revolutions, to govern the actions of men by a sagacious cal 
 culation of motives, or to govern their very thoughts by the 
 magical power of their eloquence. They are the stuff out 
 
LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 95 
 
 of which great statesmen, great conquerors, great orators, 
 are made ; by the last, however, not meaning the mere 
 " mob orator," who attains and preserves a powerful influence 
 by just following the multitude he appears to lead, and who, 
 if popular, is popular in virtue of Swift's receipt for becoming^ 
 a wise man, that is, by agreeing with whatever any one 
 may say ; we mean the man who, if need be, can stem the 
 torrent as well as drift upon it ; who, upon occasion, can tell 
 unpalatable truths and yet rivet attention. To be such an 
 orator requires many of the qualities of the philosophical 
 statesman, the same deep knowledge of the mechanism of 
 human nature in general, the same keen perception of the 
 motives and feelings of the so-conditioned humanity with 
 which it has to deal, the same ready appreciation of the top 
 ics and arguments likely to prevail, the same sagacity in cal 
 culating moral causes and effects ; and we need not wonder, 
 therefore, that the great statesman and the persuasive orator 
 have so often been found united in the same individual. 
 
 Now, to achieve any of the great tasks to which this class 
 of minds seem born ; to manage vast and difficult affairs with 
 address, and bring them to an unexpectedly prosperous issue ; 
 to know how to seize the critical moment of action with prop 
 er decision, or to exercise patience and self-control in waiting 
 for it ; to penetrate the springs of human conduct, whether 
 in the genus or the individual ; to sway the minds of whole 
 communities, as whole forests bow at once before the voice 
 of the tempest ; to comprehend and calculate the inter 
 action of numberless causes and effects ; to originate and ex 
 ecute daring enterprises in the face of many obstacles, phys 
 ical and moral, and not only in the midst of opposite wills 
 and conflicting interests, but often by means of them, all 
 this seems to us to imply as wonderful a combination of intel 
 lectual qualities as that which enables the mathematical ana 
 lyst to disentangle the intricacies of a transcendental equation, 
 or the metaphysician to speculate profoundly on the freedom of 
 the human will, or the origin of evil. Nor do those who have 
 
96 
 
 thus been both authors and actors in the real drama of history, 
 appear to us less worthy of our admiration than those who have 
 but imagined what the former have achieved. There are, un 
 questionably, men who have been as famous for what they have 
 done, as others have been or can be for what they have written. 
 
 It is precisely to such an order of genius, whatever his 
 merits or defects as a writer, that the intellect of Luther is, 
 in our judgment, to be referred ; and, considered in this point 
 of view, we doubt whether it is very possible to exaggerate 
 its greatness. In a sagacious and comprehensive survey of 
 the peculiarities of his position in all the rapid changes of his 
 most eventful history ; in penetrating the characters and de 
 tecting the motives of those with whom he had to deal ; in 
 fertility of expedients ; in promptitude of judgment and of 
 action ; in nicely calculating the effect of bold measures, es 
 pecially in great emergencies, as when he burnt the papal 
 bull, and appeared at the Diet of Worms ; in selecting the 
 arguments likely to prevail with the mass of men, and in that 
 contagious enthusiasm of character which imbues and inspires 
 them with a spirit like its own, and fills them with boundless 
 confidence in its leadership ; in all these respects, Luther 
 does not appear to us far behind any of those who have 
 played illustrious parts in this world's affairs, or obtained an 
 empire over the minds of their species. 
 
 And surely this is sufficient for one man. No one ever 
 denies the intellect of Pericles or Alexander, Cromwell or 
 Napoleon, to be of the highest order, merely because none 
 of these have left ingenious treatises of philosophy, or exqui 
 site strains of poetry, or exhibited any of the traces either of 
 a calm or beautiful intellect : and in like manner it is enough 
 for Luther to be known as the author of the Reformation. 
 
 Such are the original limitations of the human faculties, and 
 so distinct the forms of intellectual excellence, that it is at best 
 but one comparatively little sphere that even the greatest of 
 men is qualified to fill. Take him out of that, and the giant be 
 comes a dwarf, the genius a helpless changeling. Aristotle, 
 
LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 97 
 
 though he wrote admirably on rhetoric, would have made, we 
 fear, but an indifferent Demosthenes ; and Demosthenes would 
 probably have been but an obscure expounder of the princi 
 ples of his own art. After making all allowances for the 
 influence of education, and conceding that it is difficult to 
 calculate the condition of any mind under a different training, 
 we are compelled to admit that there are cases, and those 
 usually of minds preeminently great in a single department, 
 where the native bias is so strong, that it is beyond the art of 
 all the schoolmastering in the world to alter it. 
 
 Earnestly contending that Luther's intellect is to be princi 
 pally regarded in the light we have indicated, we yet must 
 profess our belief, that, even in a purely literary point of view, 
 Mr. Hallam has done him less than justice. When we consid 
 er the popular design of his writings, and that they fulfilled it, 
 many of their apparent defects will disappear ; and when we 
 consider their voluminousness, the rapidity with which they 
 were thrown off, and the overwhelming engagements under 
 the pressure of which they were produced, many real defects 
 may well be pardoned. A word or two on each of these topics. 
 
 As to their character, they were chiefly designed ad popu- 
 lum, addressed to human nature so-and-so conditioned; 
 and whether we look at what history has told us of the state 
 of that public mind to which they appealed, or to their notori 
 ous effects, we think it must be admitted, that they were ad 
 mirably calculated to accomplish their purpose. It has been 
 already said, that we must look in the mind of Luther for the 
 species of greatness which may fairly be expected there, and 
 not for one to which an intellect so constituted could make no 
 pretensions. No man will challenge for him the praise of 
 metaphysical subtlety, or calmness of judgment in dealing 
 with evidence. To neither the one nor the other surely can 
 Tie lay claim, who flatters himself that he has found an escape 
 from the absurdities of transubstantiation in the equal absurd 
 ities of consubstantiation ; or who thinks himself warranted 
 in setting aside the evidence for the authenticity of the Epis- 
 
98 
 
 tie of James, because he supposes he has found a sentence 
 in it which contradicts his interpretation of an Epistle of Paul, 
 the authenticity of which has no higher evidence. The class 
 of intellects to which we have ventured to refer that of Luther 
 are robust and sagacious, rather than subtle or profound ; lit 
 tle fitted for the investigation of abstract truth, and impatient 
 of whatever is not practical ; better adapted for a skilful ad 
 vocacy of principles than for calm investigation of them, and 
 little solicitous, in their exhibition, of philosophic precision 
 or theoretic completeness. Seizing with instinctive sagacity 
 those points which are best calculated to influence the com 
 mon mind, they are not very ambitious (even if they could 
 attain it) of the praise of a severely logical method. But 
 they well know how to do that for which the mere philosopher 
 in his turn would find himself strangely incapacitated. They 
 estimate precisely the measure of knowledge or of ignorance, 
 the prejudices and the passions, of those with whom they have 
 to deal, and pitch the whole tone of argument in unison with it. 
 They judge of arguments, not so much by their abstract value, 
 or even by the degree of force they may have on their minds, 
 as by the relation in which they are likely to be viewed by 
 others : if necessary, they prefer even a comparatively feeble 
 argument, if it can be made readily intelligible, and be forci 
 bly exhibited, to a stronger one, if that stronger one be so re 
 fined as to escape the appreciation of the common mind. 
 
 And such topics they treat with a vivacity and vehemence 
 of which a philosopher would be as incapable as he would be 
 disgusted with the method. He is but too apt, when he as 
 sumes the uncongenial office of a popular instructor, to gener 
 alize particular statements into their most abstract expression ; 
 he resembles the mathematician, who is not satisfied till he 
 has clothed the determinate quantities of arithmetic in the 
 universal symbols of algebra ; he must assign each argument 
 its place, not according to its relative weight, but according to 
 his own notions of its abstract conclusiveness ; he must adopt 
 the only method which philosophical precision demands, and 
 
99 
 
 to violate it would be more than his fastidious taste can 
 prevail upon itself to concede to that vulgar thing, the 
 practical. 
 
 It is not necessary to institute any comparison as to the 
 comparative value or dignity of the functions of those whose 
 calm intellect best qualifies them to investigate truth, and of 
 those whose prerogative it is to make it triumph, not only 
 over the understandings of men, but over their imaginations 
 and affections ; to give it a vivid presence in the heart. It 
 suffices that neither class can be fully equipped for their high 
 tasks without a mental organization exquisitely adapted to its 
 object, and well worthy of the highest admiration. They are 
 the complements of each other, and neither can be perfect 
 alone. " The wise in heart," says Solomon, " shall be called 
 prudent, but the sweetness of the lips increaseth learning." 
 Truth at the bottom of her well is of about as much use as 
 water there, and is of very little use without some appliances 
 to bring it to the lips of the thirsty. 
 
 Those who would do such a man as Luther justice in the 
 perusal of his controversial writings, must bear such consid 
 erations in mind. It must be recollected that they were most 
 of them composed pro re nata^ for the purpose of impress 
 ing the popular mind in given circumstances, in an age of 
 great ignorance, barbarism, and coarseness. We are at best 
 not altogether qualified to judge how far they were wisely 
 adapted to their end ; but we are convinced that the more 
 carefully the whole relations of Luther and his age are stud 
 ied, the more will they be found to illustrate his general sa 
 gacity, and the less reason will they leave us to wonder at 
 their astonishing success. 
 
 Even his positive faults as, for example, his violence of 
 invective and his excessive diffuseness, which we do not 
 deny flowed in a great measure, the one from the vehemence 
 of his nature, and the other from the haste with which he 
 wrote were often deliberately committed by him, as most 
 likely to answer his purpose. We should hesitate to state 
 
100 LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 
 
 this, were it not for Luther's repeated and explicit declara 
 tions on this very point, in his letters. We should hesitate, 
 because we are jealous of that biographical prejudice which 
 will still find out that the object of its blind eulogy had some 
 deep design even in the veriest blunders ; and that foibles 
 and failings not only " leaned to virtue's side," but were 
 themselves virtues. 
 
 In both the above points, Luther unquestionably has sins 
 enough to answer for ; he is as often tedious and inelegant 
 as offensively coarse. Still, however it may be thought 
 that we are defending his sagacity at the expense of things 
 quite as valuable, his taste and good feeling, nothing is 
 clearer, from his own admissions, than that he often commit 
 ted these faults of set purpose, and with his eyes wide open. 
 Thus he apologizes for the diffuseness of certain compositions 
 in his letters (No. 32 and No. 134), on the ground that they 
 were designed for the " rudest ears and understandings." 
 To the common mind of his day, truths which are to us tru 
 isms, which will hardly bear the briefest expression, 
 which, in fact, are so familiar that they are forgotten, were 
 startling novelties. The populace required, in his judgment, 
 " line upon line, and precept upon precept " ; not only " here 
 a little, and there a little," but here and there, and everywhere, 
 a great deal. The same apology is required for the diffuse- 
 ness of other theologians of that -day, of far severer intellect, 
 and much more elegance, Calvin and Melancthon, for ex 
 ample. As to his arrogant tone and rude invective, though 
 both were natural expressions of the enthusiasm and vehe 
 mence of his character, they also were systematically adopted, 
 and were both, no doubt, upon the whole, most subservient to 
 his purpose. Timidity and irresolution would have been his 
 ruin. On the other hand, his self-reliance and fearlessness, 
 the grandeur and dilation of his carriage, his very con 
 tempt of his adversaries, all tended to give courage and 
 confidence to those who possessed them not, and to inspire 
 his party with his own spirit. His voice never failed to act 
 
LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 101 
 
 like a trumpet-call upon the hearts of his followers, to re 
 assure them when depressed, and to rally them when defeat 
 ed. No other tone, no other language, could have had the 
 same effect. Considering his position, there is a sort of sub 
 limity in his audacity. " I know and am certain," says he 
 to Spalatin (1521), "that Jesus Christ our Lord lives and 
 reigns ; and, buoyant in this knowledge and confidence, I will 
 not fear a hundred thousand popes." " My doctrines will 
 stand," .says he the following year, in his reply to King Hen 
 ry, " and the Pope will fall in spite of all the powers of air, 
 earth, hell. They have provoked me to war ; they shall have 
 it. They scorned the peace I offered them, peace they 
 shall have no longer. God shall look to it ; which of the 
 two shall first retire from the struggle, the Pope or Lu 
 ther ! " Five hundred such expressions might be cited. On 
 the whole, we are disposed to acquiesce in the judgment of 
 Dr. Waddington, expressed in relation to the last-mentioned 
 work of the Reformer. "I have no question," says he, 
 " that the cause of Luther was, upon the whole, advanced 
 and recommended even by the temerity of his unsparing in 
 vective ; and that, had he given less offence to his enemies, 
 he would have found less zeal, less courage, and far less de 
 votion in his friends." * 
 
 It is not uninstructive to hear Luther in some of his letters 
 defending on plan the vehemence of his invective. " I am 
 determined," he says in his reply to King Henry, " to assume, 
 day by day, a loftier and loftier tone against these senseless 
 little tyrants, and to meet their madness with a madness like 
 their own." " I suppress many things," he writes to Spala 
 tin as early as 1519, " for the sake of the Elector and the 
 University, which I would otherwise pour out against Rome, 
 that destroyer alike of Scripture and the Church. It can 
 not be that the truth respecting either can be treated without 
 giving offence to that wild beast. Do not hope that I shall 
 
 * History of the Reformation, Vol. II. p. 32. 
 
102 
 
 keep quiet and safe, unless you wish to see me abandon the 
 ology altogether. Let your friends think me mad if they 
 will." * " What is it to me," he says to Spalatin in his 
 account of the Leipsic disputation, "what is it to me if I 
 speak rashly and offensively, if I but speak truth, and that 
 
 Catholic truth ? Why, it was always so ; truth has 
 
 ever been rash, bitter, seditious, offensive What is 
 
 it to me that the Thomists are offended with truth ? It is 
 sufficient for me that it is neither heretical nor erroneous." t 
 " I knew," he says to Spalatin in 1522, " that whatever I 
 might write against the King of England would offend many, 
 but I chose to do it, sed ita placuit mihi, and many 
 causes rendered it necessary." J And to another friend (un 
 known), in August of the same year, he says : " My gracious 
 prince and many other friends have often admonished me on 
 this subject ; but my answer is, that I will not comply, nor 
 ought I. My cause is not a cause of middle measures (ein 
 mittelhandel), in which one may concede or give way, even 
 as I, like a fool, have hitherto done." Few readers of Lu 
 ther, however, will think there was much reason for this self- 
 accusation. 
 
 It will not be supposed for a moment, that we are the apol 
 ogists of his too habitual virulence and ferocity of invective. 
 Not even the spirit of the age can form an apology for them ; 
 though in all fairness it ought to be remembered, that so 
 completely were these offensive qualities of controversy char 
 acteristic of it, that then, and long after, they were exhibited 
 by men who had neither Luther's vehement passions nor his 
 provocations to plead in extenuation ; often so unconsciously, 
 indeed, that the refined and equable Thomas More imitates 
 and transcends the Reformer's coarseness, even while he re 
 proves it. 
 
 But whatever the defects and inequalities of Luther's writ- 
 
 * De Wette, Vol I. p. 260. t Ibid., pp. 300, 301. 
 
 t Ibid., Vol. II. p. 244. Ibid., p. 244. 
 
103 
 
 ings, there is one quality not unsparingly displayed, which 
 ought to have protected him from so low an estimate as Mr. 
 Hallam seems to have formed, we mean his eloquence ; for 
 which he was famed by all his contemporaries, which he 
 was not grudgingly admitted to possess even by his enemies, 
 and which still lives in numberless passages of his writings 
 to justify their eulogiums. Yet Mr. Hallam says, that, in his 
 judgment, Luther's Latin works at least " are not marked by 
 any striking ability, and still less by any impressive elo 
 quence." Surely he must have been thinking only of the 
 moderate Latinity when he used the last expression ; for un 
 questionably the soul of eloquence is often there, however 
 rugged the form. Far more justly speaks Frederic Schlegel. 
 " Luther," says he, " displays a most original eloquence, 
 surpassed by few names that occur in the whole history of 
 literature. He had, indeed, all those properties which render 
 a man fit to be a revolutionary orator." If this be so, the 
 intellect of Luther must be regarded as one of the rarest phe 
 nomena which appear in the world of mind. Such, at least, 
 has been hitherto the uniform judgment of criticism. To 
 possess a genius for consummate eloquence is always con 
 sidered to imply intellectual excellence of the highest order ; 
 and, whether we consider the paucity of examples of such 
 genius, or how various, how exquisitely balanced and adjusted, 
 are the powers which must equip the truly great orator, we 
 shall see no reason whatever to quarrel with this judgment. 
 So peculiar are the required modifications and combinations 
 of intellect, imagination, and passion, that it may be pretty 
 safely averred we shall as soon see the reproduction of an 
 Aristotle as of a Demosthenes. 
 
 All the prime elements of this species of mental power, 
 Luther seems to have possessed in perfection. It has been 
 admitted that he had not a mind well fitted for the investigation 
 of abstract truth ; but he had what was to him of more im 
 portance, great practical sagacity, and vast promptitude and 
 vigor of argument. His imagination, though as little solici- 
 
104 LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 
 
 tous about the abstractly beautiful, as his reason about the ab 
 stractly speculative, was fertile of those brief, homely, ener 
 getic images which are most effective in real eloquence ; and 
 in intensity and vehemence of passion, even Demosthenes was 
 not his superior. His native language he wrote with the ut 
 most force ; and, when he pleased, no one could express him 
 self with a more pregnant brevity. To the continuous excel 
 lence, the consummate taste, the exquisite finish, the minute 
 graces, of him who " fulmined over Greece," Luther, it is 
 true, had no pretensions, as indeed might be expected, 
 considering the circumstances and the age in which his intel 
 lect was developed ; but in every part of his controversial 
 works, most frequently in his briefer writings, as in his " Ap 
 peal to a Future Council," his " Babylonish Captivity," his 
 " Appeal to the German Nobility," and not least in his let 
 ters, occur frequent bursts of the most vivid and impassioned 
 eloquence. He abounds in passages, which, even at this dis 
 tance of time, make our hearts throb within us as we read 
 them. Such is that expression with which he defied the sen 
 tence of excommunication. " As they have excommunicated 
 me in defence of their sacrilegious heresy, so do I excom 
 municate them on behalf of the holy truth of God ; and let 
 Christ, our judge, decide whether of the two excommunica 
 tions has the greater weight with him." Such is that memo 
 rable sentence with which he dropped the papal bull into the 
 flames, and which, even from his lips, would, a few years 
 before, have thrilled the assembled multitudes with horror. 
 " As thou hast troubled and put to shame the Holy One of 
 the Lord, so be thou troubled and consumed in the eternal 
 fires of hell." Such, above all, is that noble declaration 
 with which he concluded his defence at Worms. " Since 
 your Majesty requires of me a simple and direct answer, I 
 will give one, and it is this : I cannot submit my faith either 
 to popes or councils, since it is clear as noonday that they 
 have often erred, and even opposed one another. If, then, I 
 am not confuted by Scripture, or by cogent reasons, I 
 
LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 105 
 
 neither can nor will retract any thing ; for it cannot be right 
 for a Christian to do any thing against his conscience. Here 
 I stand ; I cannot do otherwise ; God help me ! " This elo 
 quence, indeed, is transient ; it flashes out, like the lightning, 
 for an instant, and again withdraws into the cloud. But it is 
 lightning that blasts and scathes wherever it strikes. 
 
 The influence which Luther's eloquence exerted over his 
 contemporaries is testified, not only by the deference with 
 which he was listened to by those who were predisposed to 
 applaud, a very inadequate criterion of merit, but by the 
 profound attention which he was able to command, even from 
 those who were hostile or alienated. This was seen, not only 
 on great occasions, as at Worms, not only in the enthusi 
 asm with which he had imbued a whole nation, but by the 
 success with which he performed the equally difficult task of 
 restraining the fanatical excesses of some of his own followers. 
 When, under the leadership of the acute but impetuous Carl- 
 stadt, some of them had been induced, during his residence 
 at the Wartburg, to outrun Luther's zeal, and to do what he 
 admitted might be right to be done, but in a wrong spirit, 
 with violence and uncharitableness, all eyes were directed 
 to Luther as the only man who could appease the tumult. 
 Braving all personal danger, and in defiance of the wishes of 
 the Elector himself, he descended from his retreat, and all 
 was quiet again. For many successive days he preached 
 against the innovators, though without mentioning Carlstadt's 
 name, and his progress was one continued triumph. It is 
 true, that, in his subsequent visit to Orlamund, he had not the 
 same success ; but, in addition to his being in the wrong on 
 the Sacramentarian question, Carlstadt was at that spot regard 
 ed as another Luther. 
 
 Of the briefer compositions of Luther, few are more elo 
 quent than the letter he addressed to Frederic, when the 
 Legate Cajetan wrote to urge that prince to abandon the 
 hated monk to the tender mercies of Rome. In this remark 
 able composition, which was thrown off on the same day in 
 
106 LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 
 
 which he received the legate's letter, he assures Frederic that 
 he would prefer exile, to protection at the peril of his prince's 
 safety. The nobility of mind, the magnanimity it displays, 
 are well worthy of Luther ; but, without denying them, we 
 cannot but think that the whole letter, as well as that to Spa- 
 latin on the same occasion, is constructed with consummate 
 skill ; and that, while resolving on that course which his own 
 bold and lofty spirit prompted, he has introduced all those 
 topics which were likely either to move the sympathy or 
 alarm the pride of the prince. " If we praise his magna 
 nimity," says Dr. Waddington, " we must at the same time 
 admire his forethought and discretion." The very pathos is 
 irresistible. " I am waiting your strictures," says he to Spa- 
 latin, though the letter was, of course, intended for his ' mas 
 ter's eye, " on the answer that I have sent to the legate's let 
 ter, unless you think it unworthy of any reply. But I am 
 looking daily for the anathemas from Rome, and setting all 
 things in order ; so that, when they arrive, I may go forth 
 prepared and girded like Abraham, ignorant whither I shall 
 go, nay, rather, well assured whither, for God is every 
 where." * 
 
 One brief passage in this letter, not given by Waddington, 
 and sadly mutilated by D'Aubigne, seems to us must happily 
 conceived and expressed. Cajetan had urged the Elector to 
 give up the monk, but contents himself with simply averring 
 his " certain knowledge " of his guilt. Luther thus replies : 
 " But this I cannot endure, that my accuser should endeavor 
 to make my most sagacious and prudent sovereign play the 
 part of another Pilate. When the Jews brought Christ before 
 that ruler, and were asked, 'What accusation they preferred, 
 and what evil the man had done ? ' they said, ' If he had not 
 been a malefactor, we would not have delivered him to thee.' 
 So this most reverend legate, when he has presented brother 
 Martin, with many injurious speeches, and the prince possibly 
 asks, fc What has the little brother done ? ' will reply, ' Trust 
 
 * De Wette, Vol. I. p. 188. 
 
LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 107 
 
 me, illustrious prince, T speak the truth from certain knowl 
 edge, and not from opinion.' / will answer for the prince : 
 1 Let me know this certain knowledge ; let it be committed to 
 writing ; formed into letters : and when this is done, I will 
 send brother Martin to Rome, or rather I will seize and slay 
 him myself; then I will consult my honor, and leave not a 
 stain upon my fair fame. But as long as that " certain 
 knowledge " shuns the light, and appears only in assertions, 
 
 I cannot trust myself in the dark.' Thus 
 
 would I answer him, illustrious prince. But your far-famed 
 sagacity needs neither instructor n*r prompter." * 
 
 Of Cajetan, during the negotiations with him, he writes tc 
 Carlstadt : " The legate will not permit me to make either 
 a public or private defence. His wish, so he says, is to act 
 the part of a father, rather than of a judge ; and yet he will 
 listen to nothing from me but the words, ' I recant and ac 
 knowledge my error,' and these words will I never utter. 
 
 He styles me, 4 sein lieben SohnS I know 
 
 how little that means. Still, I doubt not I should be most 
 acceptable and beloved if I would but speak the single word 
 revoco. But I will not become a heretic by renouncing the 
 faith which has made me a Christian. Sooner would I be 
 banished, burnt, excommunicated." f In the same lofty 
 spirit of faith he eloquently exclaims, in a passage not cited 
 by Waddington or D'Aubigne : " Let who will be angry, 
 of an impious silence will not I be found guilty, who am con 
 scious that I am 4 a debtor to the truth,' howsoever unworthy. 
 Never without blood, never without danger, has it been pos 
 sible to assert the cause of Christ ; but as he died for us, so, 
 in his turn, he demands that, by confession of his name, we 
 should die for him. 4 The servant is not greater than his 
 Lord.' 'If they have persecuted me,' he himself tells us, 
 4 they will also persecute you ; if they have kept my saying, 
 they will keep yours also.' " J 
 
 * De Wette, Vol. I. pp 183, 184. t Ibid., p. 161. 
 
 J Ibid., p. 33. 
 
108 LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 
 
 Passages such as these are constantly occurring in Luther's 
 letters ; and if they contain not the elements of eloquence, 
 we profess that we are yet to seek the meaning of the term. 
 
 And even if Luther's writings were less fraught with the 
 traces of a vigorous intellect than they are, there are two 
 achievements of his, the like of which were never performed 
 except where there was great genius. First, such was his 
 mastery over his native language, that, under his plastic hand 
 and all-subduing energy, it ceased to be a rugged and barba 
 rous dialect, almost unfit for the purposes of literature ; for 
 which, indeed, he may be said to have created it. Secondly, 
 he achieved, almost single-handed, the translation of the whole 
 Scriptures ; and (whatever the faults which necessarily arose 
 from the defective scholarship of the age) with such idiomatic 
 strength and racy energy, that his version has ever been the 
 object of universal veneration, and is unapproachable by any 
 which has since appeared. The enthusiasm with which such 
 a man as Frederic Schlegel speaks of it, shows that, in the 
 eye of those who are most capable of judging, it is thought to 
 have immense merit. 
 
 In estimating the genius of Luther, as reflected in his writ 
 ings, it is impossible to leave wholly out of consideration their 
 quantity, the rapidity with which they were composed, and 
 the harassing duties amidst which they were produced. He 
 died at the no very advanced age of sixty-two, and yet his 
 collected works amount to seven folio volumes. His corre 
 spondence alone fills five bulky octavos. 
 
 When we reflect that these works were not the productions 
 of retired leisure, but composed amidst all the oppressive du 
 ties and incessant interruptions of a life like his, we pause 
 aghast at the energy of character which they display ; and 
 wonder that that busy brain and ever-active hand could sus 
 tain their office so long. Of the distracting variety and com 
 plication of his engagements, he gives us, in more than one 
 of his letters, an amusing account. Their very contents, 
 indeed, bear witness to them. The centre and mainspring of 
 
LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 109 
 
 the whole great movement, the principal counsellor in 
 great emergencies, the referee in disputes and differences 
 amongst his own party, solicited for advice alike by princes, 
 and scholars, and pastors, on all sorts of matters, public and 
 private, having the " care of all the churches," and beset 
 at the same time by a host of inveterate and formidable ad 
 versaries, the wonder is, not that he discharged many of 
 his duties imperfectly, but that he could find time to discharge 
 them at all. Not only are there numberless letters on all the 
 ordinary themes of condolence and congratulation, of rec 
 ommendation on behalf of poor scholars and pastors, of 
 advice to distant ministers and churches in matters of ecclesi 
 astical order and discipline ; but letters sometimes affording 
 whimsical proofs of the triviality of the occasions on which 
 his aid was sought, and the patience with which it was given. 
 Now he replies to a country parson who wanted to know how 
 to manage the exordium and peroration of his sermons ; now 
 to a worthy prior to tell him the best mode of keeping his 
 conventual accounts, that he may know precisely how much 
 " beer " and " wine " " cerevisia et vinum " was con 
 sumed in the Jwspitium and " refectory " respectively ; * now 
 to make arrangements for the wedding festival of a friend ; 
 now to plead the cause of a maiden of Torgau, whose betrothed 
 (no less than the Elector's own barber) had given her the 
 slip.f 
 
 The very style of the letters bears evidence to the pressure 
 of duty under which they were written. Most of the shorter 
 ones are expressed with a brevity, a business-like air, which 
 reminds us of nothing so much as the style of a merchant's 
 counting-house. 
 
 Of the variety of his engagements, even before the conflict 
 of his life commenced (1516), he says to his friend John 
 Lange : u I could find employment almost for two amanuen 
 ses ; I do scarcely any thing all day but write letters, so that I 
 
 * De Wette, Vol. I. p. 23. t Ibid., Vol. II. p. 317. 
 
 10 
 
110 LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND, CHARACTER. 
 
 know not whether I may not be writing what I have already 
 written : you will see. I am conventual preacher, chaplain t 
 pastor, and parish minister, director of studies, vicar of the 
 priory, that is, prior eleven times over, inspector of the fish 
 eries at Litzkau, counsel to the inns of Herzeberg in Torgau, 
 lecturer on Paul, and expounder of the Psalms." At a later 
 period he found there might be engagements yet heavier 
 than these. In excuse of an absurd blunder in translating a 
 Hebrew word, he writes (1521): "I was distracted and 
 occupied, as often happens, with various thoughts. I am one 
 of the busiest of men : I preach twice a day ; I am compil 
 ing a psalter, laboring at the postils, replying to my adversa 
 ries, assailing the bull both in Latin and German, and defend 
 ing myself, to say nothing of writing letters," &c.* " I 
 would have written to both our friends," he says to James 
 Strauss (1524), " but it is incredible with what business I am 
 overwhelmed, so that I can scarcely get through my let 
 ters alone. The whole world begins to press me down, so 
 that I could even long to die, or be translated, " " opto vel 
 mori vel tolli" f 
 
 These last two passages, not cited by D'Aubigne or Wad- 
 dington, perhaps better illustrate the pressure of his duties 
 than the first, which they both have given. 
 
 When, in addition to all this, we take into account the 
 promptitude of his pen, and that his antagonists seldom had 
 to wait long for an answer, we cannot be surprised that 
 much which he wrote should have inadequately represented 
 his mental powers. 
 
 Nor is mere bulk to be left out of consideration in estimating 
 the vigor of his intellect ; for, though it is itself no criterion 
 of genius, many of the most voluminous writers having 
 been amongst the worst and dullest, yet if we find large 
 fragments of such writings richly veined with gold, however 
 impure the ore in which it is discovered, we may reasonably 
 
 * De Wette, Vol. I. p. 554. I Ibid. , Vol. II. p. 505. 
 
Ill 
 
 infer, that, if their authors had written less and with more 
 elaboration, they would have left behind them far more splen 
 did monuments of their genius ; and thus, in the estimate of 
 its true dimensions, the quantity of what they have written 
 becomes an essential element. This consideration ought, in 
 all fairness, to be applied, not only to Luther, but to all his 
 great contemporaries, and to all the theologians of any emi 
 nence in the succeeding age. They wrote with far too great 
 rapidity and frequency to do themselves full justice. The gold 
 of genius is in their works, but spread out thin ; its essence 
 is there, but undistilled ; in the shape of a huge pile of leaves, 
 not in a little phial of liquid perfume. 
 
 None can be more deeply convinced that the hasty and 
 voluminous writings of Luther afforded but an inadequate 
 index of his powers than was Luther himself. This is evi 
 dent from his own estimate of his writings, formed at the close 
 of life, and expressed in the general preface to his collected 
 works.' He there laments the hurry in which they had often 
 been composed, and the want of accuracy and method which 
 distinguishes them. He even speaks of them in terms of 
 unjust depreciation, and declares, no doubt in sincerity, but in 
 strange ignorance of himself, his willingness that they should 
 be consigned to oblivion, and other and better works which 
 had subsequently appeared substituted in their place. The 
 following are sentences from this memorable preface : " Mul- 
 tum diuque restiti illis qui meos libros, sen verius confusiones 
 mearum lucubrationum voluerunt editas, turn quod nolui anti- 
 quorum labores meis novitatibus obrui, et lectorem a legend is 
 illis impediri, turn quod nunc, Dei gratia, exstant methodici 
 
 libri quam plurimi His rationibus adductus, cupiebam 
 
 omnes libros meos perpetua oblivione sepultos, ut melioribus 
 esset locus." 
 
 But whatever the merits of Luther's writings, it has been 
 already admitted that it is not in them that we recognize the 
 cheif evidences of the power and compass of his intellect. 
 His pretensions to be considered one of the great minds of 
 
112 LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 
 
 his species, are more truly, as well as more wisely, rested 
 on his actions ; on the skill and conduct which he displayed 
 through all the long conflict with his gigantic adversary, and 
 the ineffaceable traces which he left of himself on the mind 
 of his age, and on that of all succeeding ages. The more his 
 position at various periods is studied, and the deeper the insight 
 into the history of his times, the more obvious, we are per 
 suaded, will appear his practical sagacity, the soundness as 
 well as promptitude of his judgment, the wisdom as well as 
 boldness of his measures. It will be seen, too, that in not a 
 few instances his very boldness was itself wisdom. 
 
 From his first encounter with Tetzel, and the appearance 
 of the celebrated Theses, to the Diet of Worms, and his ab 
 duction to the Wartburg, his history is perhaps as eventful 
 as that of any man has ever been ; and it is impossible, we 
 think, not to see that he conducted his arduous enterprise with 
 infinite address, as well as energy. Again and again did his 
 formidable enemy, unfamiliar with defeat, before whom 
 every antagonist had for ages been crushed, exhaust her 
 power, her menaces, her flatteries, her arts, in vain. For the 
 first time, her famed diplomacy, her proverbial craft, were at 
 fault ; nuncios and legates returned bootless to their papal 
 master. Cajetan, and Miltitz, and Eck, and Aleander were 
 all foiled at their own weapons. But he displayed his singu 
 lar sagacity not more strongly by his address in these nego 
 tiations, and in the fertile expedients by which he frustrated 
 or parried the efforts of his enemies, than in his quick per 
 ception of the turning-points of the great controversy, and 
 the judicious positions in which he intrenched himself accord 
 ingly. 
 
 Let us be permitted to remind the reader of a few instan 
 ces. Against the usurping and all-presuming spirit of Rome, 
 he opposed the counter principle of the absolute supremacy 
 of Scripture, and to every clamorous demand for retraction 
 replied to legates, nuncios, Diets, alike, " Let my errors be 
 first proved by that authority." Nothing is more frequently 
 
LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 113 
 
 iterated by him than this maxim, which he often lays down 
 with a brief energy which reminds us of the celebrated sen 
 tence of Chillingworth. 
 
 Aware that this principle involved another equally opposed 
 to the jealous policy of Rome, he foresaw the immense im 
 portance to his cause of placing the Bible in every body's 
 hands ; and promptly providing the means as well as fore-* 
 seeing the results, he toiled day and night till he had un 
 locked for the people the treasures of Scripture in his own 
 rich and idiomatic version. If he did not always consistently 
 pursue this principle to its extreme limits, and practically 
 assert the right of private judgment, yet he admitted it in 
 theory. Such expressions as the following will prove this : 
 "The right of inquiring and judging concerning matters 
 of faith belongs to all Christians, and to each ; and so abso 
 lutely, that cursed be he who would abridge this right by a 
 single hair's breadth." * 
 
 In opposition to that system of spiritual barter, which 
 formed the essence of Romanism, and by which it had so 
 deeply degraded the Gospel, he arrayed, sometimes too para 
 doxically it is true, the forgotten doctrine of justification by 
 faith. 
 
 Perceiving that the dominion of Rome was founded in 
 ignorance, and that his constant appeal must be to the intelli 
 gence of the people, he labored incessantly to promote the 
 interests of learning and the diffusion of knowledge ; and 
 did much by his enlightened advocacy to give the Reforma 
 tion one of its most glorious characteristics, its close alli 
 ance with scholarship and science. t Deeply disgusted with 
 that scholastic philosophy, which, without being perhaps fully 
 versed in it, he knew to be a main pillar of the Romish sys- 
 
 * Cont. Reg. Anglise, L. Op., Vol. II. p. 532. 
 
 t This is fully proved by citations from Luther's writings given by 
 D'Aubigne, Vol. III. pp. 236 - 243. Luther's truly enlarged views on 
 this subject are also frequently disclosed in his correspondence. 
 10* 
 
114 LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 
 
 tern, he not only labored to supplant it by a Scriptural the 
 ology, but was scarcely less anxious than Erasmus himself 
 that polite letters should be substituted in its stead. An 
 equally decisive example of his sagacity is to be seen in the 
 uniform repudiation of physical force, as fatal to his cause ; 
 the more remarkable, when we reflect on the impetuosity of 
 his own character, and the notions of that age, an age 
 when violence was so familiar, and almost the sole, as it was 
 the most welcome, instrument of all revolutions. He con 
 sistently asserted the moral power of truth throughout his 
 whole career, even when the menaces of his enemies seemed 
 to justify an opposite course, and when the indiscreet zeal 
 of some of his friends, more especially Philip, Landgrave of 
 Hesse,* Sickingen, and Von Hutten, were impatient to try 
 sharper weapons than those of argument. In January, 1521, 
 (not June, as stated by Dr. Waddington,) he writes to Spala- 
 tin : " You see what Hutten wants. But I am averse to 
 strive for the Gospel by violence and bloodshed. By the 
 word of God was the world subdued, by that word has the 
 Church been preserved, and by that word shall it also be 
 repaired."! "I hear," he writes to Melancthon from the 
 Wartburg, " that an attack has been made at Erfurdt on the 
 house of the priests. I wonder that the senate has permitted 
 or connived at it, and that Prior Lange has been silent. For 
 though it is well that these impious adversaries should be 
 restrained, yet the mode of doing it must bring reproach and a 
 just defeat upon the Gospel." J " We have a right to speak," 
 he firmly admonished the rash innovators, who had begun 
 
 * If Luther had as strongly resisted every other erring impulse of 
 this impetuous prince, he would have escaped the heaviest imputation 
 on his character. But, alas ! the document in which, for state, reasons, 
 Luther, and Melancthon, and Bucer, and others, sanctioned Philip in 
 bigamy, dispensing, in his case, with what they admitted to be a gen 
 eral law of Christian morals, remains ; and can be read only with 
 grief and shame. 
 
 t De Wette, Vol. I. p. 543. j Ibid., Vol. II. pp. 7, 8. 
 
LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 115 
 
 to demolish images and windows, " but none whatever to 
 compel. Let us preach ; the rest belongs to God. If I ap 
 peal to force, what shall I gain ? Grimace, forced uniform 
 ity, and hypocrisy. But there will be no hearty sincerity, 
 no faith, no love. Where these are wanting, all are want 
 ing ; and I would not give a straw for such a victory." 
 
 We all know that it was not for want of courage that 
 Luther adopted this pacific course. The fearlessness with 
 which he faced the plague in 1516, saying, "The world 
 will not perish because brother Martin falls," followed him 
 through life. It is a noble trait of his character, that on the 
 above occasion he sent the students away, though he per 
 sisted in not quitting his post himself ; and, on a subsequent 
 occasion, he was anxious that his friend Melancthon should 
 not imitate his own heroism. " Obsecro," he writes to Spa- 
 latin (1521), " ne Philippus maneat, si pestis irruat." 
 
 Nor was his sagacity less shown in much of the by-play 
 of the great drama. On his letter to Frederic, and the skill 
 with which he pleaded his cause, even while he seemed to 
 abandon it, we have already touched. Let us take another 
 instance. The centre of a stupendous revolution, surrounded 
 by enthusiastic spirits, an enthusiast himself, it is astonishing 
 how free, for the most part, he kept himself and his follow 
 ers from practical fanaticism.* When Mark Stubner and 
 
 * We, of course, do not mean to assert that Luther was always thus 
 personally superior to spiritual illusion. His reputed encounters with 
 the Devil at the Wartburg are quite sufficient to prove this. But the ex 
 ample of Cromwell and many others may teach us that religious enthu 
 siasm, or even fanaticism, is not inconsistent with the deepest practical 
 sagacity and the wisest conduct of affairs. We are also disposed to 
 think, that very many of the expressions on which this species of illu 
 sion has been charged on Luther, are but strong tropical modes of rep 
 resenting those internal conflicts of which every Christian is sensible, 
 hut which few have waged with so intense an agony as himself, 'The 
 incidents at the Wartburg cannot be thus accounted for. But none will 
 be surprised at these who will peruse the accounts he himself gives of 
 his health, in the letters written from that place. Deep solitude, un- 
 
116 LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 
 
 his associates appeared at Wittemberg with their confident 
 claims to revelation, during Luther's residence at the Wart- 
 burg, even Melancthon wavered. Luther remained firm : 
 he adhered to his great principle of the supremacy of the 
 Scriptures, disclaimed all new revelations, and declared that 
 any messenger from God must prove his commission by the 
 only credentials, the power of working miracles. He, at 
 the same time, adhered to another equally sound principle, 
 and declared that these fanatics ought not to be subjected to 
 persecution. In the deplorable " war of the peasants," we 
 have similar proofs of his penetration. He pleaded for a 
 timely redress of many of their wrongs, and foretold the 
 
 wonted diet, prolonged sleeplessness, intense anxiety, had evidently pro 
 duced the most extensive derangement of all the digestive processes. 
 The distressing "tinnitus capitis" of which he complains, as well 
 as other exquisitely painful symptoms to which we cannot more 
 particularly advert, show the condition he was in. No physician read 
 ing certain sentences (Vol. II. pp. 2, 6, 17, 22) would wonder at any 
 fancies in which Luther's hypochondriacal imagination might indulge ; 
 or that in his case those fancies took the direction of his habitual 
 thoughts. The same hypochondriacal symptoms often appeared subse 
 quently ; and they are, as might be expected, generally associated with 
 religious depression. 
 
 On the subject of Luther's spiritual encounters (as well as on some 
 other interesting points of his history), we beg to refer the reader to 
 some remarks in an article in this journal (Vol. LXIX. p. 273) ; since 
 claimed, and reprinted with others, by its accomplished author, Sir J. 
 Stephen. Had that admirable essay been seen when this was composed 
 (an interval of seven years elapsed between the appearance of the two), 
 it is probable that the latter would never have seen the light. On com 
 parison, however, it will be found, as usually happens when two writers, 
 however inferior one may be to the other, independently meditate the 
 same subject, that the topics selected are far from being always the 
 same. With a general harmony of views, the points principally insisted 
 upon in the one essay are not those which are |chiefly treated in the 
 other. The magnitude of the theme sufficiently accounts for this ; so 
 spacious and rich a field as Luther's genius would still leave enough to 
 fill the sheaf of a humble gleaner like myself, even after the sickle of so 
 able a reaper as my accomplished friend had been employed upon it. 
 
LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 117 
 
 consequences of neglecting them. But when the people 
 commenced their horrid excesses, he advocated with super 
 fluous, and even rabid violence, the adoption of the severest 
 measures of chastisement. Some of his expressions, indeed, 
 are perfectly shocking ; and we can only account for their 
 vehemence by supposing, that, foreseeing what was actu 
 ally the case that the popular excesses would be malig 
 nantly attributed to the Reformation itself, he was determined 
 to anticipate slander, and provide, as he has done by even 
 an ostentatious opposition, for the defence of himself and his 
 adherents. 
 
 The same singular sagacity is seen in the temperate man 
 ner in which he attempted to realize the results of the Ref 
 ormation, and to reconstruct the edifice he had demolished. 
 He was no violent iconoclast, no wholesale innovator like 
 Carlstadt. But we need say nothing on this head ; the sub 
 ject has been beautifully noticed by D'Aubigne in the com 
 mencement of his third volume ; where he shows, that the 
 impression that Luther was a rash, headlong revolutionist, is 
 altogether erroneous. 
 
 But it may be further asserted, that, in the most audacious 
 actions of his life, that very audacity, in the majority of in 
 stances, was itself wisdom. Take, for example, his letter 
 from the Wartburg to Albert, Archbishop of Mayence, com 
 manding, rather than beseeching, him not to revive the infa 
 mous Indulgences. We do not defend the taste or decency 
 of the style ; but the result proves that Luther knew his 
 man. It was followed by a reply as deferential as if the 
 monk had been the archbishop, and the archbishop the monk. 
 It was on this occasion that he used some most remarkable 
 expressions to Spalatin, who had enjoined silence, and who 
 had enforced his injunctions by those of Frederic. " I have 
 seldom read more unwelcome letters than your last," he 
 writes ; " so that I not only delayed to reply, but had deter 
 mined not to reply at all. I will not bear what you have 
 said, that the Prince will not suffer the Archbishop to be 
 
118 LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER/ 
 
 written to, and that the public peace must not be disturbed. 
 I will rather lose you, the Prince, and every creature on 
 earth. If I have resisted the Archbishop's creator, the Pope, 
 shall I succumb to the Pope's creature ? . . . . Non sic, 
 Spalatine ; non sic, Princeps I am resolved not to lis 
 ten to you ; fixum est, te non auditum iri." * 
 
 In like manner, his " Appeal to a Future Council," pre 
 pared while awaiting the fulmination of the bull, but surrep 
 titiously published before it came (as Luther expressly af 
 firms), brought thousands to his standard ; and still more 
 may be said for those bold and unsparing invectives against 
 the abuses of Rome, in the " Babylonish Captivity," and in 
 the " Address to the German Nobility." It may be similarly 
 asserted, that no measure whatever could have been so crit 
 ically well timed as that most decisive one of committing the 
 decretals and entire pontifical code to the flames, and crown 
 ing the hecatomb with the formidable bull itself. It is not 
 only one of the most striking events of history, and exhibits 
 the chief actor in an attitude truly sublime, but was a most 
 felicitous and politic expedient. It is curious, however, to 
 hear Luther admitting, in his correspondence, that even his 
 heart sometimes misgave him before the performance of that 
 most significant act. " I burnt the papal books and the bull," 
 he writes to Staupitz, a month after, " with trembling and 
 prayer ; but I am now better pleased with that act than with 
 any other of my whole life." t 
 
 The same wisdom marked the courageous obstinacy with 
 which, in spite of entreaties, intimidations, and sickness, he 
 persisted in presenting himself at the Diet of Worms. He 
 alone, of all his party, seemed duly to appreciate the impor 
 tance, the necessity, of that act to the safety of his great 
 enterprise. At that critical moment, advance as well as 
 retreat was full of danger ; but the path of true policy, as 
 well as of true magnanimity, was to advance. His obstinacy 
 
 * De Wette, Vol. II. p. 94. t Ibid., Vol. I. p. 543. 
 
LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 119 
 
 at this crisis has something absolutely sublime about it. 
 While his enemies, more perspicacious than his friends, dis 
 trusted, and at last dreaded his appearance, employed all 
 sorts of machinations to deter him, and plainly hinted that 
 the road to Worms was the road to destruction, while his 
 friends, with a terrible remembrance of the fate of Huss, to 
 whom even the Imperial safe-conduct had been no protection, 
 painted, in appalling colors, the certain martyrdom to which 
 he was exposing himself, Luther remained inflexible. The 
 repeated and varied forms in which he energetically ex 
 pressed his purpose, showed the importance he attached to 
 the act, and the obstinacy with which he had resolved upon 
 it. Two are well known : " Should they light a fire which 
 should blaze as high as heaven, and reach from Wittemberg 
 to Worms, at Worms I will still appear." " Though there 
 were as many devils in Worms as there are tiles on the 
 houses, in would I go, noch woll ich hinein." But his let 
 ters, written on his progress thither, abound in expressions 
 of the same inflexibility. " We come, my Spalatin," he 
 
 writes from Frankfort " We will enter Worms in spite 
 
 of all the gates of hell, and all the powers of the air." * 
 " Will you go on ? " said the Imperial herald to him at Wei 
 mar, where they were placarding the Imperial edict against 
 him. " Twill," replied Luther, " though I should be put un 
 der interdict in every town, I will go on." 
 
 And his appearance and language at Worms did more to 
 promote the cause of the Reformation than any other act, 
 whether of preceding or succeeding years. He himself, as 
 he repeatedly intimates in his correspondence, had serious 
 apprehensions that his career would terminate at Worms, 
 and evidently left it with much of the same feeling with which 
 a man might find that he had got safely out of a lion's den. 
 There is an obvious tone of hilarity in the letters dated im 
 mediately after his departure from the Diet, which contrasts 
 
 * De Wette, Vol. I. p. 587. 
 
120 LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 
 
 oddly enough with regrets that he must escape, in temporary 
 concealment, the honors of martyrdom. Witness the follow 
 ing to Luke Cranach, the painter, in which he ludicrously 
 characterizes the proceedings of the Diet with all the point, 
 brevity, and sarcastic energy, which he could so well assume : 
 " I thought that his Imperial Majesty would have summoned 
 some doctor, or some fifty, and eloquently confuted the monk. 
 But nothing more is done than just this : ' Are these books 
 thine ? ' 4 Yes.' ' Will you retract them or not ? ' * No.' 
 1 Then get about your business.' So heb dich" 
 
 During the sittings of the celebrated Diet of Augsburg 
 (held nearly ten years after that of Worms), Luther, it is well 
 known, was persuaded to remain at Coburg, whence he watched 
 with intense and, as his letters at this period so often tes 
 tify, impatient interest, the proceedings of his less prompt 
 and perspicacious colleagues. On this occasion he showed 
 his thorough knowledge of the treacherous and crafty policy, 
 the spirit of subtle intrigue, which had so often characterized 
 Rome ; those " Italian arts," Italitates as he designates 
 them, when speaking so many years before of the feigned 
 cordialities of the Nuncio Miltitz, which he dreaded for 
 Melancthon more than violence, and of which the papal diplo 
 macy was never more prodigal than on this occasion. While 
 the timid Melancthon was " cutting and contriving " to per 
 form impossibilities, to find a common measure of incommen- 
 surables, " sewing new cloth upon old garments, and putting 
 new wine into old bottles," striving to diminish to an invis 
 ible line the interval between some of the doctrines of his 
 adversaries and his own, and adopting all sorts of little artifices 
 and convenient ambiguities of expression, to show the harmo 
 ny of doctrines which must be eternally discordant, Luther 
 boldly remonstrates against a policy so ruinous ; assures him 
 that, whatever the apparent pliability of Rome, nothing but 
 absolute submission would satisfy her imperious spirit ; and 
 that the true policy- of the Reformers was what it had ever 
 been, that of uncompromising firmness. In the most en- 
 
LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 121 
 
 ergetic language, he denounces the vanity of all projects of 
 verbal compromise ; refuses all participation in acts which 
 should have that object ; and threatens to shiver in atoms any 
 league by which Rome and Luther should be bound together. 
 " I have received your Apology," he writes to Melancthon, 
 " and wonder what you mean when you ask, What and how 
 much should be conceded to the Pope ? For myself, more 
 than enough has already been conceded in that Apology ; and 
 if they refuse that, I see not what more I can possibly grant 
 them." * And shortly after : " For myself, I will not yield a 
 hair's breadth, or suffer any thing to be restored. I will 
 rather endure every extremity. Let the Emperor do as he 
 will." t And again, two days after, to Spalatin : " Hope not 
 for agreement. If the Emperor will publish an edict, let him. 
 He published one at Worms ! " J " Should it come to pass," 
 he writes to the same friend a month after, " that you concede 
 any thing plainly against the Gospel, and inclose that eagle 
 in a vile sack, Luther (never doubt it), Luther will come, 
 and, in a magnificent fashion, set the noble bird free." M. 
 D'Aubigne's work has not yet reached this period ; but there 
 are no letters of Luther more interesting than the series which 
 relate to the proceedings of this memorable Diet. 
 
 With such talents for the conduct of affairs, we need not 
 wonder that the prudent Frederic so often sought his counsels ; 
 that Melancthon should have so eulogized his sagacity in his 
 funeral panegyric ; or that Cajetan should have wished to de 
 cline further encounters with him. " I will have nothing 
 more to do with this beast, for he has deep-set eyes, and won 
 derful speculations in his head." 
 
 We have repeatedly stated, that the intellect of Luther did 
 not particularly fit him for the investigation of abstract or 
 speculative truth ; but in all matters of a practical nature, in 
 all that concerned the management of affairs, or the conduct 
 
 De Wette, Vol. IV. p. 52. t Ibid., p. 88. 
 
 Ibid., p. 92. Ibid., p. 155. 
 
 11 
 
122 LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 
 
 of life, his judgment was both penetrating and profound. 
 Hence, while nothing can be more flimsy than his metaphys 
 ics, nothing can be more generally sound than his practical 
 judgments. Incapable of stating truth with philosophical pre 
 cision, or laying it down with all its requisite limitations, he 
 was a great master of that rough moral computation, which 
 contents itself for practical purposes with approximate ac 
 curacy. This was especially the case in relation to that 
 class of truths, in which a magnanimous mind, and lofty mor 
 al instincts, anticipate the lagging deductions of reason ; and 
 which are better understood and enforced by the heart than 
 by the head. His writings abound in weighty and solid max 
 ims, in which both the data and the demonstration are alike 
 suppressed. 
 
 To great sagacity, Luther also added, in a preeminent de 
 gree, that passionate earnestness of character which leads men 
 not only to hold truth tenaciously, but* to take every means 
 in their power to diffuse, propagate, and realize it ; to make 
 it victorious. In Luther, no doubt, the principal spring of this 
 impulse was depth of religious conviction ; but the tendency 
 itself is as much an element of character in some men, as 
 the love of contemplation is in others. It is a form of am 
 bition, a noble one, it is true, the ambition of intellectual 
 dominion ; and has actuated many a philosopher who flattered 
 himself that he was single-eyed in his pursuit of wisdom. 
 This warlike and polemic spirit is, no doubt, often most in 
 consistent with a calm and cautious survey of all the relations 
 and details of great questions. But it is well for the world 
 that there are some who, with speculative powers at least 
 robust enough to enable them to seize large fragments of the 
 truth, are immediately impelled to communicate it. Partial 
 truth diffused is better than perfect truth suppressed, bet 
 ter than stark ignorance and error, better than that condi 
 tion of things in which Luther found the world. 
 
 And if the vehemence, natural to such minds, sometimes 
 precipitates the conclusions of reason, or substitutes prejudices 
 
LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 123 
 
 for them, it is to be remembered that it will be long before 
 the same earnestness and zeal, in contending for truth, will 
 be manifested by those intellects which abstractedly are best 
 qualified to investigate it. It would, doubtless, be* very beauti 
 ful to see the tranquillity of the philosopher conjoined with the 
 fire of the advocate, first, intellect without passion, and then 
 intellect with it. But it is a condition denied to us. If there be 
 great energy of character, the processes of reason will often 
 be precipitated or disturbed ; if there be the coolness and 
 equanimity of temperament which these require, the same 
 qualities wilj unhappily continue to operate when their work 
 is completed. The philosopher will still be apt to vindicate 
 his character, and look most prbvokingly philosophic as to 
 whether his views are effectually urged on mankind or not. 
 Even if he become a zealous writer on their behalf, it still 
 requires something more to encounter suffering for them ; 
 and while almost every religion has had those who have dared 
 all and .endured all in its defence, the annals of science 
 scarcely present us with the name of a single authentic mar 
 tyr. Philosophers have been illustrious benefactors of man 
 kind ; but it requires more energy of passion, and a sterner 
 nature than generally falls to their lot, to ruffle it with the 
 world, to encounter obloquy, persecution, and death in 
 defence of truth. Even Galileo was but too ready to recant 
 when menaced with martyrdom, and to set the sun, which he 
 had so impiously stopped, on his great diurnal journey again. 
 It is true that he is said to have relapsed into heresy the mo 
 ment after he had recanted, and drolly whispered, " But the 
 earth does move though ! " Yet while the profession of error 
 was uttered aloud, the confession of truth was made sotto vo- 
 ce. As Pascal says of the reservations of the Jesuits, C^est 
 dire la verite tout bas, et un mensonge tout haut. 
 
 Nor can it be said that the class of philosophers have in 
 general been disposed to risk more, where truth has been 
 practical and better calculated to influence the affections. 
 The ancient philosophers are a notorious example of the con- 
 
124 LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 
 
 trary. They saw and scorned the puerilities of the ancient 
 systems of superstition, but without vigorously attempting to 
 destroy them, or to substitute better notions in their place. 
 It was sufficient for them to make the convenient distinction 
 between the exoteric and the esoteric. They could join in 
 the popular rites with gravity of face and laughter in their 
 hearts, and worship their gods and sneer at them at the same 
 time. 
 
 The vehemence of Luther's passions, and the energy of 
 his will, formed most remarkable features of his character, 
 as much so assuredly as any quality of his intellect, 
 and enabled him, in conjunction with that lofty confidence, 
 that heroic faith, which seemed to take for literal truth the 
 declaration, " What things soever ye desire, when ye pray, 
 believe that ye receive them, and ye shall have them," - to 
 effect greater things than were probably ever effected by the 
 same qualities before. Not only the pliant Melancthon 
 yielded to the superior decision and energy of his nature, 
 as much, at least, as to his judgment, but princes and 
 nobles often yielded to it ; and as to the common people, his 
 confident bearing and resolute will achieved more than half 
 his victory over them. In many instances, he seems to have 
 made his way solely by the influence of an all-conquering 
 enthusiasm and an inflexible purpose. His faith realized its 
 own visions, and almost literally proved itself to be capable 
 " of removing mountains." 
 
 On comparatively trivial occasions, and. when in the wrong 
 (not seldom the case), this intensity of passion, and inflexi 
 bility of purpose, must have made him no very pleasant co 
 adjutor. Even the amiable Melancthon murmured after his 
 death at the severity of that yoke, which, while Luther lived, 
 he bore with much-enduring meekness. We wish, for Me- 
 lancthon's own manhood, he had either murmured earlier or 
 not murmured at all. But in a great crisis, and where the 
 Reformer was in the right, the qualities of mind we are now 
 considering exhibit him in aspects full of grandeur. His 
 
LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 125 
 
 enthusiasm is heroic, his energy of will sublime. It is curious 
 to contrast his almost childish obstinacy and rabid virulence, 
 in relation to Zwingle and the Sacramentarians, with the 
 dignity of his deportment, under the influence of similar in 
 flexibility of character, before and at the Diet of Worms. It 
 was with him as with many powerful minds, great occa 
 sions calmed him ; the energy was commensurate to the 
 objects which called it forth ; the weight upon the machine 
 was proportional to its momentum ; and slow and majestic 
 movement took the place of a self-destroying and turbulent 
 force. 
 
 There was one peculiarity about Luther, of which we 
 know not whether it most illustrates the robustness of his 
 intellect, or the energy of his will, but it renders his character 
 absolutely unique. We mean the rapidity and comparative 
 ease with which he triumphed over the deepest prejudices of 
 his age and education; Roman Catholics would doubtless 
 say, over his happiest prepossessions. But this matters not 
 to our present observation, which respects the singular char 
 acter of the transformation, not its nature ; though Protes 
 tants have pretty well made up their minds, that, in all the 
 great principles he so vigorously extricated and so boldly 
 avowed, he showed as well the rectitude as the force of his 
 understanding ; in his advocacy, for example, of the su 
 premacy of the Scriptures, and in his condemnation (under 
 the guidance of that principle) of indulgences, of the monastic 
 institute, of the celibacy of the clergy, of the mass, of the 
 usurpations of the Pope. The spectacle is a noble one. The 
 maxims and the institutes which he denounced with so much 
 energy and confidence, had been consecrated by universal 
 veneration, and were covered by the " awful hoar of ages." 
 The prejudices which he vanquished had been instilled into 
 his childhood, and they were retained till he reached man 
 hood ; they were the prejudices of all his contemporaries ; 
 they held dominion, not only over the most timid, but over the 
 most powerful intellects ; they had bound even " kings in 
 11 * 
 
126 LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 
 
 chains, and nobles in fetters of iron " ; and almost every 
 attempt, certainly all recent attempts to demolish them, had 
 been crushed by a despotism which united the utmost degree 
 of craft with the most ruthless employment of violence, and 
 was the most compact and formidable the world ever saw. 
 That he should have been able to denude himself of such 
 prejudices, boldly to avow this great mental revolution, 
 and give utterance to a series of novel and startling dogmas 
 in opposition to them, is an example of independence and 
 fearlessness of mind, which the world had never before wit 
 nessed. 
 
 Our wonder is still further increased, when we reflect that 
 Luther himself was originally as passionate a devotee of the 
 system he renounced, as he afterwards became of that for 
 which he renounced it. Nor could he have been otherwise. 
 The very depth and sincerity of his character forbade that 
 he should hold any thing lightly ; and whether he was right 
 or wrong, he was always in earnest. While he was a Papist, 
 he was a blind one ; like Paul, " an Hebrew of the Hebrews ; 
 and, as touching the law, a Pharisee." He was none of those 
 half-infidel ecclesiastics who abounded at Rome, and were 
 the natural offspring of the age ; men who saw through the 
 superstition which they yet sanctioned, and conducted, with 
 edifying solemnity of visage, the venerable rites at which 
 they were all the while internally chuckling. He himself 
 tells us (1539): "I may and will affirm with truth, that at 
 the present time there is no Papist so conscientiously and 
 earnestly a Papist as I once was ! " He repeats this in 
 various forms in his Letters. 
 
 The account of his youthful visit to Rome, as given by 
 himself, confirms this statement. The profound veneration 
 with which he approached the holy city ; the passionate devo 
 tion with which he visited sacred places and engaged in public 
 rites ; the shock and revulsion of feeling with which he dis 
 covered that others were not so much in earnest as himself, 
 all show how sincerely he was then attached to the ancient 
 
LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 127 
 
 system, and by what severe struggles his spirit must have 
 shaken off its thraldom. The spectacle of this mental revo 
 lution is rendered still more imposing by the comparative 
 rapidity with which it was effected. In 1516, Luther was 
 still a zealous Papist; in October, 1517, he published his 
 Theses against Indulgences, and in less than four years from 
 that date, he had committed himself to a contest with Rome 
 on all the great principles of the Reformation. How rapidly 
 those principles disclosed themselves, as the controversy pro 
 ceeded, is sufficiently clear from the examination of his cor 
 respondence. In a letter dated December 2, 1518, when 
 expecting banishment by Frederic, he says to Spalatin : " If 
 I remain here, I shall be without freedom of speech and 
 writing ; if I go, I will discharge my conscience, and pour 
 out my life for Christ." A week after, he says : " I shall 
 yet one day be a little freer against these Roman hydras." 
 Three months later, he writes to Lange : " Our friend Eck 
 is meditating new contests against me, and will compel me 
 to do what I have often thought of ; that is, by the blessing 
 of Christ, to inveigh more seriously against these monsters. 
 For, hitherto, I have but been playing and trifling in this 
 matter." He repeats nearly the same words, a fortnight after, 
 to Scheurl : " I have often said, that hitherto I have been 
 trifling ; but now more serious assaults are to be directed 
 against the Roman pontiff and the arrogance of his minis 
 ters." In Mai'ch, 1519, he made this memorable confession : 
 " I am reading the pontifical decretals," (for the Leipsic dis 
 putation,) " and I know not whether the Pope is Antichrist 
 himself, or only his apostle." In February, 1520, he writes : 
 " I have scarcely a remaining doubt that the Pope is verily 
 
 Antichrist, so well does he agree with him in his life, 
 
 his acts, his words, and his decrees." On the 10th of July, 
 soon after the appearance of the bull of condemnation, he 
 says to Spalatin : " For me the die is cast, jacta est alea ; 
 the papal wrath and papal favor are alike despised by me ; 
 I will never be reconciled to them, nor communicate with 
 
128 LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 
 
 them more. Let them burn my writings. I, unless I am 
 unable to get a little fire [doubtless alluding to the interdict], 
 will condemn and publicly burn the whole pontifical code." 
 
 Perhaps, next to his journey to Worms, the two most dar 
 ing acts of his life were the burning the papal bull, and his 
 marriage. Of the former, and of the tremendous defiance it 
 implied, we have already spoken. But the latter step re 
 quired almost equal courage. His prejudices in relation to 
 his monastic vows, as is seen by his correspondence, troubled 
 him as much as any he had to vanquish. Nor had he van 
 quished them fully till his return from the Wartburg. When 
 he resolved to marry (a resolution taken suddenly enough), 
 one of his prime motives, if we may believe himself, was to 
 give the utmost practical efficiency to his convictions, and 
 encourage his followers in a conflict with a most powerful, 
 because most distressing, class of associations. Supposing 
 this his motive, it was certainly not only one of the boldest, 
 but one of the most politic, expedients he could have adopted. 
 He assures us, after giving other reasons for the step, that 
 one was, " ut confirmem/acZo qua3 docui, tarn multos invenio 
 pusillanimes in tanta luce evangelii." * 
 
 That this was his principal motive, we may well doubt ; 
 with passions so strong as his, it was not likely to be more 
 than coordinate with others. But Jhat it was a very real 
 motive, we may safely conclude : he was now past the hey 
 day of passion, was forty-two years old, had lived in 
 the most blameless celibacy, and had at first predestined his 
 Catharine for another. Never did the cloister close upon one 
 who was better qualified to appreciate and reciprocate the 
 felicities of domestic life. As a husband and a father, his 
 character is full of tenderness and gentleness ; nor is there 
 any part of his correspondence more interesting than his 
 letters to his " Kate," and their " little Johnny " ; or those in 
 which he alludes to his fireside. 
 
 * De Wette, Vol. III. p. 13. 
 
LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 129 
 
 The clamors of his adversaries showed how bold was the 
 step on which he had ventured. "Nothing less than Anti 
 christ," they said, " could be the fruit of the union of a monk 
 and a nun." The taunt well justified the caustic sarcasm of 
 Erasmus : " That there must already have been many Anti 
 christs if that was the sole condition of their appearance." 
 
 Comparatively rapid as was Luther's conquest over his own 
 prejudices, the revolution still required much time. It was in 
 perfect analogy with similar revolutions in other minds. It 
 was only more extensive and less gradual. Gradual such a 
 change must ever be, from the limited capacities of our 
 nature, and its law of progressive development. It would be 
 not less absurd to suppose, that, when he first protested 
 against Indulgences, he foresaw the results of that contest, 
 than it would be to suppose that Cromwell anticipated his 
 protectorate at the time of the battle of Newbury ; or that 
 Napoleon had already predestined himself to more than half 
 the thrones of Europe when he entered on his Italian cam 
 paigns. As with them, so with Luther in his more hallowed 
 enterprise, the horizon continually widened as he climbed 
 the hill. Nor was it, as the confessions of Luther abundantly 
 prove, without severe struggles, and momentary vacillations 
 of purpose, that he pursued his arduous way. This is espe 
 cially seen in that wavering letter to the Pope, written at the 
 suggestion of Miltitz, in which, in language which more than 
 approached servility and adulation, he deprecated the anger 
 of Leo, and declared that nothing was further from his pur 
 pose than to question the authority, or separate from the com 
 munion of Rome. We do not mean to affirm that Luther 
 intended to deceive his enemies ; such a course was foreign 
 from his whole nature, and opposed to his ordinary conduct. 
 Yet it is certain that, before this period, he had intimated his 
 increasing doubts whether the Pope was not Antichrist, and 
 his convictions that the war with Rome was but just com 
 menced. We cannot defend the servility of the letter at 
 all ; and can only defend its honesty, on the supposition that 
 
130 LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 
 
 it was written in one of those moments of vacillation to which 
 we have adverted ; with the wish, inspired by his recent con 
 ferences with the nuncio, that the controversy might be 
 amicably set at rest, and with his mind almost exclusively 
 bent on whatever promised such an issue.* Marvellously 
 rapid as was the revolution in his mind compared with what 
 might be expected, it was by repeated exorcisms, and terrible 
 convulsions of spirit, that the legion of demons was expelled. 
 The current did not flow all one way ; it was the flux and 
 reflux of a strong tide. 
 
 The very honesty of purpose and love of truth by which 
 he was unquestionably actuated, prevented at all events any 
 artificial obstacles to his progress. He did not attempt, as so 
 many do, to reconcile inconsistencies and harmonize counter- 
 declarations. He frankly acknowledged the fallibility of his 
 nature, his early errors and imperfect views. To every 
 taunt of having receded from any position, he boldly said, in 
 effect : " I thought so once ; I was wrong. I think so no 
 more. I appeal from Luther in ignorance, to Luther well 
 informed." This was the case in relation to the memorable 
 letter to which we have just referred. " I am truly grieved," 
 says he, " that I did make such serious submissions ; but, in 
 truth, I then held respecting popes and councils just what is 
 
 vulgarly taught us But as I grew in knowledge, I grew 
 
 in courage ; and in truth they were at infinite pains to unde 
 ceive me, by an egregious display of their ignorance and 
 flagitiousness." 
 
 One of the most striking facts in the correspondence of 
 Luther, is the indication it affords of very early discontent 
 with the prevailing system of theology, and the actual con 
 dition of the Church. It is evident that he was predestined to 
 be a great reformer ; that the germ of the Reformation ex 
 isted in his bosom long before the dispute with Tetzel ; and 
 
 * Dr. Waddington has given an exceedingly fair and impartial state 
 ment on this subject. 
 
LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 131 
 
 that, if the dispute respecting Indulgences had not led to its 
 development, something else would. Even before Tetzel's 
 " drum " was heard in the neighborhood of Wittemberg, he 
 speaks with absolute loathing of the scholastic subtleties ; ex 
 presses his conviction of the necessity of returning to a Scrip 
 tural theology ; loudly contends for that doctrine of justifica 
 tion by faith which he afterwards made the lever of the Ref 
 ormation ; and expresses an abhorrence of Aristotle, which 
 might more justly have been transferred to those dreaming 
 commentators who had absurdly exalted a heathen philoso 
 pher into an oracle of the Christian Church. Most of these 
 passages will be found in the two Histories so often men 
 tioned. 
 
 It has often been matter of surprise, that the great contest 
 of the Reformation should have turned upon so comparatively 
 trivial a controversy as that which respected the Indulgences, 
 a point which was soon after absolutely forgotten. But it 
 is not the first time that a skirmish of outposts has led to a 
 general engagement. It may be added, that, insignificant as 
 that one point may at first sight appear, it was most natural 
 that the contest should begin there. And though the tide of 
 battle rolled away from it, partly because even the hardihood 
 of Rome could scarcely dare to defend such a post, and part 
 ly because the Reformers ceased to think of it in those more 
 comprehensive corruptions which formed the object of their 
 general assault, (in which, indeed, this particular abuse, with 
 many others like it, originated,) it was not only the most 
 natural point at which the conflict should begin, but it was 
 improbable that it should not begin there. Habituated as 
 men's minds were to the corruptions of the Church, steeped 
 in superstition from their very childhood, it could only be by 
 some revolting paradox that they could possibly be roused to 
 think, examine, and remonstrate. The whole enormous ex 
 pansion of the papal power had been but one long experi 
 ment on the patience and credulity of mankind. Each suc 
 cessive imposition was, it is true, worse than that which had 
 
132. LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 
 
 preceded it ; but when once it had fastened itself upon men's 
 minds, and they had grown familiar with it, there was no 
 further chance of awakening them from their apathy. Some 
 thing further was needed, and a still more prodigious corrup 
 tion must minister the hope of reformation. Now Indulgen 
 ces, as proclaimed in the gross system of Tetzel, and of other 
 spiritual quacks like him, was at once the ultimate and con 
 sistent limit of that huckstering in " merits," to which almost 
 all the other corruptions of the Church had been more plau 
 sibly subservient ; and formed just that startling exaggeration 
 of familiar abuses which was necessary to awaken men's 
 minds to reconsideration. The notion of selling pardons for 
 sins, wholesale and retail, of collecting into one great treas 
 ury the superfluous merits of the saints, and of doling them 
 out by the pennyweight at prices fixed in the compound ratio 
 of the necessities and means of the purchaser, was a no 
 tion which, however monstrous, however calculated to awaken 
 the drowsy consciences of mankind, was in harmony with the 
 specious nonsense of works of supererogation, and the doc 
 trine of penance. It was simply the substitution of the more 
 valuable medium of solid coin for mechanical rites of devo 
 tion, tiresome pilgrimages, and acts of austerity ; of golden 
 chalices or silver candlesticks for scourges and horse-hair 
 shirts ; and, provided it implied the same amount of self- 
 denial, what did it matter ? The former plan was undeniably 
 more profitable to Holy Church, and as to the penitent, few 
 in our day but will admit that either plan was likely to be 
 equally efficacious. The substitution of the merits of great 
 saints for the transgressions of great sinners, or the remission 
 of the pains of purgatory, might, for aught we can see, be as 
 reasonably effected by pounds, shillings, and pence, as by 
 walking twenty miles with pebbles in one's shoes. 
 
 The system of Indulgences, therefore, in the grosser 
 form in which such men as Tetzel proclaimed it, was but 
 the dark aphelion of the eccentric orbit .in which the Church 
 of Christ had wandered ; and from that point it naturally be- 
 
LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 133 
 
 gan to retrace its path to the " fountain itself of heavenly 
 radiance." 
 
 It may be said, perhaps, that the system of Indulgences 
 had been proclaimed, under one modification or another, for 
 more than a century and a half before Tetzel appeared, with 
 out producing any remarkable reaction. We answer, first, 
 that they had seldom or never been proclaimed in so disgust 
 ing and offensive a form, or with such consummate impu 
 dence, as by Tetzel ; and secondly, that the reception given 
 even to the more cautious and limited exhibitions of the sys 
 tem, proves the truth of what we have been asserting ; for it 
 was always on this, as the most obvious and revolting corrup 
 tion, that the earlier reformers and satirists of the Church 
 most bitterly fastened. The moral instincts of such men, in 
 deed, were not so vitiated as to render them insensible to the 
 vices and profligacies of the ecclesiastical system generally ; 
 but the idea of bartering the justice and mercy of God him 
 self for gold, naturally seemed the quintessence of every 
 other corruption. What, indeed, could rouse mankind, if the 
 spectacle of the ghostly peddler openly trafficking in his 
 parchment wares of pardon for the past, and indulgence for 
 the future, haggling over the price of an insult to God, or 
 a wrong to man, letting out crime to hire, and selling the 
 glories of heaven as a cheap pennyworth, did not fill them 
 with abhorrence and indignation ? The contempt with which 
 Chaucer's Pilgrims listen to the impudent offer of the Par 
 doner, well shows the feelings which such outrages on all 
 common sense and every moral instinct could not fail to 
 excite. 
 
 So gross was this abuse, that even the most bigoted Papists 
 Eck, for example were compelled to denounce it ; nor 
 were there any more caustic satirists of it than some of 
 themselves. Witness the witty comedy of Thomas Hey- 
 wood, who, though a Catholic, hated the mendicant friars as 
 heartily as any of his Protestant contemporaries. But no 
 satire, however extravagant, could be a caricature of the fol- 
 
 12 
 
134 LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 
 
 lies and knaveries of this class of men. One of the wittiest 
 sarcasms of the play is but a translation of TetzePs impudent 
 assertion, that " no sooner did the money chink in the box, 
 than the souls for which it was offered flew up into heaven." 
 
 " With small cost and without any pain, 
 These pardons bring them to heaven plain ; 
 Give me but a penny or two-pence ; 
 And, as soon as the soul departeth hence, 
 In half an hour, or three quarters at most, 
 The soul is in heaven with the Holy Ghost." 
 
 And we doubt not that that most humorous chapter in the 
 ancient and popular satire of Howleglass, in which that wor 
 thy enacts the part of a Franciscan friar, is little more than a 
 literal version of the tricks of a class of men, of whom, 
 knave as he was, he was but an insufficient representative.* 
 
 But though it was natural that the struggle of the Refor 
 mation should commence with Indulgences, it was impossible 
 that it should end there. Luther soon quitted the narrow 
 ground, and the mean antagonist, of his first conflicts, and 
 asserted against that whole system of spiritual barter and 
 merit-mongering, of which TetzePs doctrine was but an ex 
 treme type, his counter principle of the perfect gratuitous- 
 ness of salvation, of "justification by faith alone." On 
 his mode of exhibiting this great doctrine, we shall now offer 
 a very few remarks. 
 
 With that pregnant brevity with which he knew so well 
 how to express himself, he showed his sense of the impor 
 tance of this doctrine, and its commanding position in the 
 evangelical system, by describing it as Articulus stantis aut 
 cadentis ecclesice. He might more truly have called it so, if 
 he had always duly guarded the statement of it ; if, while 
 repudiating the doctrine, under whatsoever modification, that 
 the tribunal of heaven can be challenged, or its rewards 
 
 * The same story is also found, with certain variations, in "Friar 
 Gerund," and other fictions of the like class. 
 
LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 135 
 
 achieved in virtue of deeds, of which every good man is him 
 self the first to acknowledge the manifold imperfections, 
 much less by fantastical devices of human invention, destitute 
 of all moral qualities, he had uniformly connected his doc 
 trine in expression, as he did in fact, with its just practical 
 consequences. This, however, he did not do ; and we are 
 constrained to lament, with Mr. Hallam, the very frequent 
 occurrence of exaggerated expressions, to which the critic 
 gives the name of Antinomian paradoxes. We do not think, 
 however, that even here Mr. Hallam has quite done the Re 
 former justice. He candidly admits, indeed, that Luther 
 " could not mean to give any encouragement to a licentious 
 disregard of moral virtue"; "though," he adds, "in the 
 technical language of his theology, he might deny its proper 
 obligation." * More truly, in our judgment, has Jortin, whose 
 doctrinal moderation is well known, represented the matter 
 in his Life of Erasmus : " Luther's favorite doctrine was jus 
 tification by faith alone ; but we must do him the justice to 
 observe, that he perpetually inculcated the necessity of good 
 works. According to him, a man is justified only by faith ; 
 but he cannot be justified without works ; and where those 
 works are not found, there is assuredly no true faith." And 
 Melancthon, in a passage cited by Mr. Hallam himself, de 
 clares : " De his omnibus," (after enumerating with other doc 
 trines the necessity of good works,) " scio re ipsa Lutherum 
 sentire eadem, sed ineruditi qusedam ejus fopTiKurfpa dicta, 
 cum non videant quo pertineant, nimium amant." Dr. Wad- 
 dington truly remarks, that not even the strongest passages in 
 Luther's treatise, " De Libertate Christiana," prove that the 
 author would deny the necessity of good works except as a 
 means of justification ; as a ground, in fact, of saying to the 
 Divine Being, " You must reward me, for I am entitled to 
 it." In proof of this, Dr. Waddington cites the passage, " Non 
 liberi sumus profidem Christi ab operibus, sed ab opinionibus 
 
 * Introduction to the Literature of Europe, Vol. I. p. 416. 
 
136 LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 
 
 operum, i. e. a stulta prsesumptione justificationis per opera 
 quaesitee. Fides enim conscientias nostras redimit, rectificat, 
 et servat, qua cognoscimus justitiam esse non in operibus, 
 licet opera alesse neque possint neque debeant." 
 
 Every thing obviously depends on the sense in which Lu 
 ther " would deny the necessity of good works." While he 
 would have denied that any man can challenge " the free 
 gift" of salvation (Scripture itself calls it by that name) as 
 the " wages " of good works, he would as strenuously have 
 affirmed that good works form the only real evidence and the 
 necessary result of the possession of that " faith which justi 
 fies." With relation to the influence of the system he advo 
 cated, and the system he opposed, on practical morality, he 
 would have said that the principal difference was, not that the 
 former dispensed with it, but that it appealed mainly to totally 
 different principles of our nature for its production ; to the 
 cheerful impulses of gratitude and hope, rather than to the 
 " spirit of bondage " and the depressing influence of fear. 
 And both philosophy and fact may convince us, that they are 
 certainly not the least powerful impulses of the two. 
 
 But whatever Luther's early paradoxes on this subject, 
 of which we are by no means the apologists, and regret that 
 there should have been so much cause for censure, his later 
 writings afford ample proof that he had corrected them. When 
 Agricola had adopted and justified them in their unlimited 
 form, and pushed them to their theoretic results, with a reck 
 lessness which perhaps first roused Luther to take alarm at 
 their danger, the Reformer instantly assailed, refuted, and 
 condemned him, and succeeded in compelling the rash theo 
 logian to retract. Several deeply interesting documents on 
 this subject occur in the Correspondence,* which fully show 
 that the faith which Luther made the basis of his theology was 
 that of which the only appropriate evidence is holiness, and 
 which necessarily creates it. 
 
 * Vol. V. 
 
LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 137 
 
 Mr. Hallam admits that passages inconsistent with the ex 
 treme views he attributes to the Reformer may be adduced 
 from his writings ; but affirms, " that, in treating of an author 
 so full of unlimited propositions, no positive proof as to his 
 tenets can be refuted by the production of inconsistent pas 
 sages." But the question is, whether these inconsistent 
 passages ought not to modify those which establish the sup 
 posed " positive proof." If we are to pause at the unquali 
 fied reception of the one class of propositions, we may well 
 pause also before the like reception of the other. If two 
 statements, in a writer " much given to unlimited propo 
 sitions," appear inconsistent, we should endeavor to make the 
 one limit the other ; and even if they are absolutely irrecon 
 cilable, we are hardly justified in taking either as the exclu 
 sive exponent of the writer's views, without the adjustment 
 arising from a collation of passages. There are propositions 
 of Scripture itself which may be, and which have been, as 
 much wrested to the support of " Antinomian paradoxes," as 
 almost any declarations of Luther could be. 
 
 Such a candid construction of Luther's real views seems 
 to us the more necessary, precisely because, as Mr. Hallam 
 justly says, he is so " full of unlimited propositions." It is 
 ever the characteristic of oratorical genius to express the truths 
 it feels with an energy which borders on paradox. Anxious 
 to penetrate and exclusively occupy the minds of others with 
 their own views and sentiments, such as eminently possess 
 this species of genius are seldom solicitous to state propositions 
 with the due limitations. It may be further remarked, that 
 Luther's abhorrence of prevailing errors naturally increased 
 this tendency ; action and reaction, as usual, were equal ; the 
 liberated pendulum passed, as was to be expected, beyond the 
 centre of its arc of oscillation. This we believe to be one 
 principal cause of the many really objectionable statements of 
 Luther on this subject. 
 
 Our veneration for the great Reformer, and the influence 
 which even the errors of such a writer as Mr. Hallam are apt 
 12 * 
 
138 LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 
 
 to exercise, must be our apology for the freedom of the pre 
 ceding strictures. The work containing the observations upon 
 which we have felt ourselves constrained thus to remark, is 
 one for which all intelligent inquirers must always be largely 
 indebted to its author, both for instruction and rational delight. 
 
 On the whole, few names have such claims on the gratitude 
 of mankind as that of Luther. Even Rome owes him thanks ; 
 for whatever ameliorations have taken place in her system, 
 have been owing far more to him than to herself. If there 
 are any two facts which history establishes, it is the desperate 
 condition of the Church at the time Luther appeared, and the 
 vanity of all hopes of a self-sought and voluntary reformation. 
 On the former we need not dwell, for none now deny it ; it 
 appears not only on every page of contemporary history, but 
 in all forms especially the more popular of mediaeval 
 literature. Never was a remark more just than that of Mr. 
 Hallam, that the greater part of the literature of the Middle 
 Ages may be considered as artillery levelled against the clergy. 
 
 Of the second great fact, the hopelessness of any effec 
 tive internal reform, history leaves us in as little doubt. 
 The heart itself was the chief seat of disease ; and reforma 
 tion must have commenced where corruption was most invet 
 erate. Nor until certain long-forgotten principles should be 
 reclaimed, and the Bible and its truths restored, a result 
 necessarily fatal to a system which was founded on their per 
 version, and which was safe only in their suppression, could 
 any reformation be either radical or permanent. It would be 
 as nugatory as that which was sometimes directed against 
 subordinate parts of the system, Monachism, for instance. 
 Again and again did reformation strive to purify that institute, 
 and as often, after running through the same cycle of precisely 
 similar changes, did it fall into the same corruptions. Each 
 new order commenced with the profession, often with the 
 reality, of voluntary poverty and superior austerity, and ended, 
 as reputed sanctity brought wealth and power, in all the con- 
 
LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 139 
 
 catenated vices of the system. The reason is obvious ; its 
 principles were vicious, and hence the rapidity and uniform 
 ity of the decline, one of the most remarkable and instruc 
 tive phenomena of ecclesiastical history. " That which is 
 crooked cannot be made straight " ; and if man will attempt 
 even a style of supposed virtue for which God never consti 
 tuted him, he will meet with the same recompense as attends 
 every other violation of the Divine laws. 
 
 For similar reasons, nothing but the recovery of principles 
 fatal to the Papal System could be expected to effect the 
 Reformation ; and about these the champions of that system 
 could not be expected to busy themselves. A usurper will 
 hardly abdicate his own throne, however wrongfully gained. 
 
 Any reform which had merely touched externals, and left 
 the essence of the system the same, would have been useless ; 
 the Church would soon have fallen back, like the purified 
 forms of monasticism, into its ancient corruptions. Nor was 
 it amongst the least proofs of the sagacity of Luther, that he 
 so early perceived, and so systematically contended, that a 
 reformation of doctrine the restoration of evangelic truth 
 was essential to every other reform. But in fact, even the 
 most moderate reforms, owing to the corruption of Rome 
 itself, and its interest in their maintenance, were all but hope 
 less. Often did the Papal Court admit its own delinquencies, 
 and as often evade their correction. The papal concessions 
 on this point were a perpetual source of triumph to Luther 
 and the Reformers. Even when a pope really sought some 
 amendments, he found it impossible to resist the influences 
 around him. Adrian, the successor of the refined and luxu 
 rious Leo, gave infinite disgust by the severity of his manners, 
 and his sincere desire to see some sort of reformation ; and 
 his long catalogue of abuses which he wished to be corrected, 
 delivered in at the Diet of Nuremburg, (and inconsistently 
 accompanied with loud calls for the violent suppression of 
 the Reformation,) was never forgiven by his own adherents. 
 " The Church," said he, " stands in need of a reformation, 
 
140 LUTHER'S CORRESPONDENCE AND CHARACTER. 
 
 but we must take one step at a time." Luther sarcastically 
 remarked : " The Pope advises that a few centuries should 
 be permitted to intervene between the first and second step." 
 Hence we may see the comparative futility of the small, 
 timeserving expedients of Erasmus. His satire, bitter as it 
 was, was not directed against the heart of the system, he 
 waged war only with the Friars. Not that we undervalue 
 his labors ; as a pioneer he was invaluable. Nor, if we ex 
 cept Luther, Melancthon, and Zwingle, do we know any man 
 who really effected so much for the cause of the Reformation. 
 The labors of Luther and himself terminated in one result ; 
 the streams, however different, flowed at last in one channel : 
 
 " Ubi Rhodanus inges amne preerapido fluit, 
 Ararque dubitans quo suos fluctus agat." 
 
 Such are our deliberate views of the character, labors, and 
 triumphs of Luther. We have been the more copious in our 
 account of them, that we may do what in us lies to honor his 
 memory, at a period when there is a large party of degener 
 ate Protestants, who, not content with denying the unspeak 
 able benefits which he conferred upon mankind, have not 
 hesitated to speak of him with contempt and contumely, and 
 in some cases even to question the honesty of his motives and 
 the sincerity of his religion ! * 
 
 * " Some of the Oxford men," says Dr. Arnold, " now commonly re 
 vile Lulher as a bold, bad man ; how surely they would have reviled 
 Paul ! " Life and Correspondence, Vol. H. p. 250. 
 
GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL.* 
 
 So much has been written of late years respecting Pascal, 
 and so much that is worth reading, that we should scarcely 
 have been induced to make him the subject of present crit 
 icism, had it not been for the appearance of the remarkable 
 volumes of M. Faugere. 
 
 It seems strange to say, that the most popular work of an 
 author who has been dead nearly two hundred years, and 
 who has obtained a world-wide reputation, a work which 
 
 * " Edinburgh Review," January, 1847. 
 
 1. Des Pens6es de Pascal. Rapport a VAcademie Franfaise sur la 
 necessitd d'une nouvelle edition de cet ouvrage. Par M. V. COUSIN. 8vo. 
 Paris. 1843. 
 
 2. Pensees, Fragments, et Lettres de Blaise Pascal: publics pour la 
 premiere fois conformement aux manuscrits originaux, en grande partie 
 inedits. Par M. PROSPER FAUGERE. 2 vols. 8vo. Paris. 1844. 
 
 [This essay has been twice translated into French. The greater part 
 of it first appeared in the " Revue Britannique," the conductors of which 
 have conferred a similar honor on several others contained in this vol 
 ume. M. Faugere, the editor of the " Pensees," having, as he thought, 
 and not unreasonably, ground for complaint at the omission of certain 
 passages, in which his labors had been applauded, published a new trans 
 lation of the whole. As far as the author is able to judge, it is an ad 
 mirable specimen of skill and fidelity in the very difficult operation of 
 intellectual transfusion. It may be as well also to mention, that, since 
 the appearance of the present essay, an entirely new translation of 
 nearly the whole of Pascal's writings all, in fact, except his strictly 
 scientific writings has been published by G. Pearce, Esq.] 
 
142 GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 
 
 has passed through numberless editions, and been translated 
 into most European languages, has never been published 
 in an authentic form till now. Yet this is strictly true of the 
 " Pensees " of Pascal. 
 
 It is hardly possible to convey to the reader a just idea of 
 the merits of this improved edition, or the circumstances 
 which led to it, without relating some of the more important 
 incidents of Pascal's life. A formal biography, however, it 
 cannot be necessary to give ; for who has not read some 
 account of the life of Blaise Pascal ? It will be sufficient 
 briefly to advert to the principal facts of this great man's his 
 tory, and the dates of their occurrence. 
 
 He was born at Clermont, in Auvergne, in the" year 1623, 
 and died in the year 1662, at the early age of thirty-nine. 
 When we think of the achievements which he crowded into 
 that brief space, and which have made his name famous to 
 all generations, we may well exclaim with Corneille, " A 
 peine a-t-il vecu, quel nom il a laisse ! " 
 
 It is well known that Pascal exhibited from the earliest 
 childhood the most precocious proofs of inventive genius, 
 especially in the department of mathematics. Having, if we 
 may believe the universally received tradition, been pur 
 posely kept in ignorance of Geometry, lest his propensity in 
 that direction should interfere with the prosecution of other 
 branches of knowledge, his self-prompted genius discovered 
 for itself the elementary truths of the forbidden science. At 
 twelve years of age, he was surprised by his father in the 
 act of demonstrating, on the pavement of an old hall, where 
 he used to play, and by means of a rude diagram traced by 
 a piece of coal, a proposition which corresponded to the 
 thirty-second of the First Book of Euclid.* At the age of 
 sixteen, he composed a little tractate on the Conic Sections, 
 which provoked the mingled incredulity and admiration of 
 
 * His sister, Madame Perier, has left an interesting and circumstantial 
 account of this matter. 
 
GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 143 
 
 Descartes. At nineteen, he invented his celebrated Arith 
 metical Machine ; and at the age of six-and-twenty, he had 
 composed the greater part of his mathematical works, and 
 made those brilliant experiments in Hydrostatics and Pneu 
 matics which have associated his name with those of Torri- 
 celli and Boyle, and ranked him amongst the first philoso 
 phers of his age. Yet, strange to say, he now suddenly 
 renounced the splendid career to which his genius so un 
 equivocally invited him, and abandoned himself to totally 
 different studies. This was principally attributable to the 
 strong religious impulse imparted to his mind at this period, 
 rendered deeper by early experience in the school of 
 affliction. From the age of eighteen, he was a perpetual 
 sufferer. In 1647, when only in his twenty-fourth year, he 
 was attacked by paralysis. His ill health was mainly, if not 
 wholly, occasioned by his devotion to study ; and of him it is 
 literally true, that his mind consumed his body. 
 
 So complete was his abandonment of science, that he 
 never returned to it but on one memorable occasion, and 
 then only for a short interval. It was when he solved the 
 remarkable problems relating to the curve called the Cycloid. 
 The accounts which have been transmitted to us by his sister, 
 of the manner in which these investigations were suggested 
 and completed, accounts which are authenticated by a 
 letter of his own to Fermat, strongly impress us with the 
 vigor and brilliancy of his genius. We are assured that, 
 after long abandonment of mathematics, his attention was 
 directed to this subject by a casual train of thought suggested 
 in one of the many nights which pain^made sleepless. The 
 thoughts thus suddenly originated, his inventive mind rapidly 
 pursued to all the brilliant results in which they terminated ; 
 and in the brief space of eight days the investigations were 
 completed. Partly in compliance with the fashion of the age, 
 and partly from the solicitation of his friend the Duke de 
 Roannes, he concealed for a time the discoveries at which 
 he had arrived, and offered the problems for solution to all 
 
144 GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 
 
 the mathematicians of Europe, with a first and second prize 
 to successful candidates. If no solution were offered in three 
 months, Pascal promised to publish his own. Several were 
 forwarded, but as none, in the estimation of the judges, com 
 pletely fulfilled the conditions of the challenge, Pascal re 
 deemed his pledge, under the name of Amos Dettonville, 
 an anagram of Louis de Montalte, the famous name under 
 which the " Provincial Letters " had appeared, "this was in 
 1658 - 9, when he was thirty-six years of age. 
 
 With this brief exception, Pascal may be said to have 
 practically abandoned science from the age of twenty-six. 
 Yet he did not at once become a religious recluse. For 
 some years he lived a cheerful, and even gay, though never 
 a dissipated life, in Paris, in the centre of literary and polite 
 society, loved and admired by a wide circle of friends, and 
 especially by his patron, the Duke de Roannes. To the 
 accomplished sister of this nobleman, M. Faugere conjec 
 tures (as we think plausibly) that Pascal was secretly at 
 tached, but, from timidity and humility, " never told his 
 love." 
 
 In part, probably, from the melancholy which this hopeless 
 attachment inspired, but certainly much more in consequence 
 of the deeper religious convictions, produced by a memora 
 ble escape from an appalling death, in 1654, his indifference 
 to the world increased ; and he at length sought for solitude 
 at Port Royal, already endeared to him by the residence 
 there of his sister Jacqueline. 
 
 Here, it is well known, he produced his immortal " Provin 
 cial Letters "; and, wjien death cut short his brief career, 
 was meditating an extensive work on the fundamental prin 
 ciples of religion, especially on the existence of God and 
 the evidences of Christianity, for the completion of which 
 he required " ten years of health and leisure." An outline 
 of the work had been sometimes (and on one occasion some 
 what fully) imparted in conversation to his friends, but no 
 part of it was ever completed. Nothing was found after his 
 
GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 145 
 
 death but detached " Thoughts " (interspersed with some on 
 other subjects) on the principal topics appropriate to such a 
 work. They were the stones of which the building was to have 
 consisted, many of them unhewn, and some few such as the 
 builder, had he lived, would no doubt have laid aside. The 
 form in which the Thoughts were put together comported but 
 too well with their fragmentary character. It appears that 
 he did not even use a commonplace book ; but when, after 
 profound meditation, any thought struck him as worth record 
 ing, he hastily noted it on any scrap of paper that came to 
 hand, often on the backs of old letters ; these he strung to 
 gether on a file, or tied up in bundles, and left them till bet 
 ter health and untroubled leisure should permit him to evoke 
 a new creation out of this chaos. It is a wonder, therefore, 
 that the " Pensees " of Pascal have come down to us at all. 
 Never, surely, was so precious a freight committed to so 
 crazy a bark. The Sibyl herself was not more careless 
 about those leaves, rapidis ludibria ventis, on which she in 
 scribed her prophetic truths, than was Pascal about those 
 which contained the results of his meditations. Of these 
 results, however, we are in part defrauded, by something far 
 worse than either the fragility of the materials on which they 
 are inscribed, or their utter want of arrangement. Many of 
 the " Thoughts " are themselves only half developed ; others, 
 as given us in the literal copy of M. Faugere, break off in 
 the middle of a sentence, even of a word. Some casual in 
 terruption frequently, no doubt, some paroxysm of pain, 
 to which the great author, in his latter years, was incessantly 
 subject broke the thread of thought, and left the web im 
 perfect for ever. 
 
 It is humiliating to think of the casualties which, possibly 
 in many cases, have robbed posterity of some of the most 
 precious fruits of the meditations of the wise ; perhaps arrest 
 ed trains of thought which would have expanded into bril 
 liant theories of grand discoveries ; trains which, when the 
 genial moment of inspiration has passed, it has been found 
 13 - 
 
146 GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 
 
 impossible to recall ; or which, if recalled up to the point at 
 which they were broken off, terminate only in a wall of rock, 
 in which the mountain path, which had been before so clearly 
 seen, exists no longer. It is humiliating to think that a fit of 
 the toothache, or a twinge of the gout, might have thus ar 
 rested no more to return the opening germ of conjec 
 ture, which led on to the discovery of the Differential Calcu 
 lus, or the Theory of Gravitation. The condition of man, in 
 this respect, affords, indeed, one striking proof of that com 
 bined " greatness and misery " of his nature, on which Pascal 
 so profoundly meditated. It is wonderful that a being, such 
 as he, should achieve so much ; it is humiliating that he must 
 depend on such casualties for success. On the precarious 
 control which even the greatest men have over their own 
 minds, Pascal himself justly says : " The mind of this sover 
 eign of the world is not so independent as not to be discom 
 posed by the first tintamarre that may be made around him. 
 It does not need the roar of artillery to hinder him from think 
 ing ; the creaking of a vane or a pulley will answer the pur 
 pose. Be not surprised that he reasons ill just now ; a fly is 
 buzzing in his ears, it is amply sufficient to render him 
 incapable of sound deliberation. If you wish him to discover 
 truth, be pleased to chase away that insect who holds his 
 reason in check, and troubles that mighty intellect which 
 governs cities and kingdoms ! Le plaisant dieu que voild ! 
 O ridicolosissimo eroe ! " * 
 
 On the imperfect sentences and half-written words, which 
 are now printed in the volumes of M. Faugere, we look with 
 something like the feelings with which we pore on some half- 
 defaced inscription on an ancient monument, with a strange 
 commixture of curiosity and veneration ; and, whilst we 
 wonder what the unfinished sentences may mean, we mourn 
 
 * Faugere, Tom. II. p. 54. It may be proper to observe, that all our 
 citations from the " Pensees " are from this new and solely authentic 
 edition. 
 
GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 
 
 147 
 
 over the malicious accident which has, perhaps, converted 
 what might have been aphorisms of profoundest importance 
 into a series of incoherent ciphers. One of the last things, 
 assuredly, which we should think of doing with such frag 
 ments, would be to attempt to alter them in any way ; least 
 of all, to supplement them, and to divine and publish Pascal's 
 meaning. There have been learned men, who have given 
 us supplements to the lost pieces of some ancient historians ; 
 erudite Freinsheimiuses, who hand us a huge bale of indif 
 ferent Latin, and beg us only to think it Livy's lost " De 
 cades." But what man would venture to supplement Pascal ? 
 Only such, it may be supposed, as would feel no scruple in 
 scouring an antique medal, or a worthy successor of those 
 monks who obliterated manuscript pieces of Cicero, that they 
 might inscribe them with some edifying legend. 
 
 Alas ! more noted people than these were scarcely more 
 scrupulous in the case of Pascal. His friends decided that 
 the fragments which he had left behind him, imperfect as 
 they were, were far too valuable to be consigned to oblivion ; 
 and so far all the world will agree with them. If, further, 
 they had selected whatever appeared in any degree coherent, 
 and printed these verbatim et literatim, in the best order they 
 could devise, none would have censured, and all would have 
 thanked them. But they did much more than this ; or rather, 
 they did both much more and much less. They deemed it 
 not sufficient to give Pascal's Remains with the statement, 
 that they were but fragments ; that many of the thoughts 
 were very imperfectly developed ; that none of them had had 
 the advantage of the author's revision, apologies with which 
 the world would have been fully satisfied ; but they ventured 
 upon mutilations and alterations of a most unwarrantable de 
 scription. In innumerable instances, they changed words 
 and phrases ; in many others, they left out whole paragraphs, 
 and put a sentence or two of their own in the place of them ; 
 they supplemented what they deemed imperfect with an exor 
 dium or conclusion, without any indication as to what were 
 
148 GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 
 
 the respective ventures in this rare species of literary copart- 
 nery. It must have been odd to see this committee of critics 
 sitting in judgment on Pascal's style, and deliberating with 
 what alterations, additions, and expurgations it would be safe 
 to permit the author of the " Provincial Letters " to appear 
 in public. Arnauld, Nicole, and the Duke de Roannes were 
 certainly no ordinary men ; but they were no more capable 
 of divining the thoughts which Pascal had not expressed, or 
 of improving the style where he had expressed them, than 
 of completing a sketch of Raphael. 
 
 It appears that, large as was the editorial discretion they 
 assumed, or rather, large as was their want of all discretion, 
 they had contemplated an enterprise still more audacious, 
 nothing less than that of completing the entire work which 
 Pascal had projected, partly out of the materials he had left, 
 and partly from what their own ingenuity might supply. It 
 even appears that they had actually commenced this heteror 
 geneous structure ; and an amusing account has been left by 
 M. Perier, both of the progress the builders of this Babel had 
 made, and of the reasons for abandoning the design. " At 
 last," says he, " it was resolved to reject the plan, because it 
 was felt to be almost impossible thoroughly to enter into the 
 thoughts and plan of the author ; and, above all, of an 
 author who was no more ; and because it would not have 
 been the work of M. Pascal, but a work altogether differ 
 ent, un ouvrage tout different!" Very different indeed ! 
 If this naive expression had been intended for irony, it would 
 have been almost worthy of Pascal himself. 
 
 M. Perier also tells us, that, if this plan had but been prac 
 ticable, it would have been the most perfect of all ; but he 
 candidly adds, il etait aussi tres-difficile de la Hen executer. 
 But though the public was happily spared this fabric of -por 
 phyry and common brick, it will not be supposed by any 
 reader of M. Cousin's " Rapport," or of M. Faugere's new 
 edition of the " Pensees," that Pascal's editors did not allow 
 themselves ample license. " En effet," says the former, 
 
GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 149 
 
 " toutes les infidelites qu'il est possible de concevoir, s'y ren- 
 
 contrent, omissions, suppositions, alterations." 
 
 " J'ai donne des echantillons nombreux de tous les genres 
 d 'alterations, alterations de mots, alterations de tours, al 
 terations de phrases, suppressions, substitutions, additions, 
 compositions arbitraires et absurdes, tantot d'un paragraphe, 
 tantot d'un chapitre entier, a 1'aide de phrases et de para- 
 graphes etrangers les uns aux autres, et, qui pis est, decom 
 positions plus arbitraires encore et vraiment inconcevables de 
 chapitres qui, dans le manuscrit de Pascal, se presentaient 
 parfaitement lies dans toutes leurs parties et profondement 
 travailles." * 
 
 Subsequent editors have taken similar liberties, if not so 
 flagrant. While the original editors left out many passages 
 from fear of the Jesuits, Condorcet, in his edition, omitted 
 many of the most devout sentiments and expressions, under 
 the influence of a very different feeling. Infidelity, as well 
 as superstition, has its bigots, who would be well pleased to 
 have their index expurgatorius also, t Unhappy Pascal ! 
 Between his old editors and his new, he seemed to be in the 
 condition of the persecuted bigamist in the fable, whose elder 
 wife would have robbed him of all his black hairs, and his 
 younger of the gray. Under such opposite editing, it is hard 
 to say what might not have disappeared at last. 
 
 It had been long felt that no thoroughly trustworthy edition 
 of Pascal's " Thoughts " had yet been published ; that none 
 knew what was precisely his, and what was not. M. Cousin, 
 in the valuable work from which we have just quoted, demon- 
 
 * Rapport, Avant-Propos, pp. ii., ix. 
 
 t " Condorcet, par un prejug6 contraire, supprima les passages em- 
 
 preints d'un sentiment de piete ou d'elevation mystique Par 
 
 exemple, on ne retrouve pas, dans 1'edition de Condorcet, ces pages 
 ravissantes oil Pascal, penetrant dans les plus hautes regions du spiritu- 
 alisme Chretien, caracterise la grandeur de la saintete et de la charite, 
 comparee & la grandeur de la puissance et a celle de 1'esprit." FAU- 
 GERE, Introduction, pp. xxviii., xxix. 
 13* 
 
150 GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 
 
 strated the necessity of a new edition, founded upon a diligent 
 collation of original manuscripts. This task M. Faugere has 
 performed with incredible industry and exactitude, in the two 
 volumes mentioned at the head of the present article. We 
 must refer the reader to his interesting " Introduction " for 
 the proof of this statement. There he has given the details 
 of his editorial labors. Suffice it to say, that every accessi 
 ble source of information has been carefully ransacked ; every 
 fragment of manuscript, whether in Pascal's own hand, or in 
 that of members of his family, has been diligently examined ; 
 and every page offers indications of minute attention, even to 
 the most trivial verbal differences. Speaking of the auto 
 graph MS. preserved in the Royal Library at Paris, a folio, 
 into which the original loose leaves are pasted, or, when writ 
 ten on both sides, carefully let into the page, encadres, 
 he says : " We have read, or rather studied, this MS. page 
 by page, line by line, syllable by syllable, from the beginning 
 to the end ; and, with the exception of some words which are 
 illegible, it has passed entire into the present edition." As 
 the public, in the former editions, did not exactly know what 
 was Pascal's and what was not, M. Faugere has been com 
 pelled to do what, under other circumstances, it would not 
 have been desirable, and indeed hardly just, to do, what, 
 indeed, any author of reputation would vehemently protest 
 against in his own case. He has been obliged to give every 
 fragment, however imperfect, literatim et verbatim. The 
 extracts, as we have said, often terminate in the middle of a 
 sentence, sometimes even of a word. As M. Vinet has just 
 ly observed in relation to this feature of M. Faugere's labors, 
 Pascal himself would hardly have been satisfied " with either 
 his old editors or the new." At the same time, it must be 
 confessed, that, apart from this circumstance, it is deeply in 
 teresting to contemplate the first rude forms of profound or 
 brilliant thought, as they presented themselves to the ardent 
 mind of Pascal. This, M. Faugere has often enabled us to 
 do, more especially in the singular collection of the rough 
 
\ 
 
 GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 151 
 
 notes for the " Provincial Letters." * It is like looking at the 
 first sketch of a great painting of Raphael ; or, as M. Vinet 
 observes, " we are taken into the great sculptor's studio, and 
 behold him at work, chisel in hand." 
 
 M. Cousin, we should think, must be satisfied with the ac 
 curacy and completeness of this edition ; and also of the in 
 sufficiency of his own argument, that Pascal was, in fact, a 
 " universal sceptic," who embraced the truths of religion, not 
 as a hypocrite, indeed, but in the exercise of a blind faith, 
 in fact, in a sort of paroxysm of despair ; as if he believed, 
 that what he had proved false in physics was still true in mor 
 als, "that nature abhors a vacuum" ! M. Cousin, in part, 
 founds his theory on the fact, that the first editors had tamed 
 down some of the more startling statements of Pascal, and 
 omitted others ; and seems to suppose that a new edition 
 would reveal the sceptic in his full dimensions. He must 
 now, we should think, see his error. There is little or noth 
 ing in the old editions, capable of proving Pascal's abiding 
 conviction of the sufficiency of the evidence for the funda 
 mental truths of religion, or the divine origin of Christianity, 
 which does not reappear in the new, and with much new 
 matter to confirm it. To this subject we shall return, after 
 offering some observations on the genius and character of 
 Pascal. 
 
 In one respect, his genius strongly resembled that of a 
 recent subject of our criticism, Leibnitz. His was one of 
 the rare minds, apparently adapted, almost in equal measure, 
 to the successful pursuit of the most diverse departments of 
 philosophy and science, of mathematics and physics, of 
 metaphysics and criticism. Great as was his versatility, it 
 may be doubted whether in that respect he did not yield 
 somewhat to Leibnitz, as also in his powers of acquisition, 
 and most assuredly in the extent of his knowledge. It is not, 
 however, to be forgotten, that he died at little more than half 
 
 * Tom._I. pp. 293-314. 
 
152 GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 
 
 the age of the veteran philosopher of Germany ; and there 
 can be no doubt that, for his years, his attainments were very 
 extensive. Still it is true, that that perfectly unique charac 
 teristic of Leibnitz, his equal aptitude and appetite for 
 reading and thinking, for the accumulation of knowledge and 
 for original speculation, could never have been in the same 
 degree a characteristic of Pascal ; and still less in such amaz 
 ingly diversified directions. Pascal followed in this respect 
 the predominant law of all very inventive minds. He was 
 fonder of thought than of books, of meditation than of ac 
 quisition. Even this tendency of mind manifested itself 
 within a more restricted sphere ; ample enough, it is true, 
 that of philosophy and theology. To Leibnitz, jurisprudence, 
 history, and antiquities were nearly as familiar as these. 
 
 But if the character of Pascal's genius was less excursive 
 than that of Leibnitz, and the literary element in it far less 
 active, these points of inferiority were amply compensated 
 by a superiority in other qualities, in which there can be no 
 comparison between them. In inventiveness, they may per 
 haps have been equal, but even here, only in mathemat 
 ics ; in moral science, the science of man, we know of noth 
 ing out of Bacon, who may be said to set all comparison 
 at defiance, certainly nothing in Leibnitz, that will bear 
 comparison in depth, subtlety, and comprehensiveness, with 
 some of the " Thoughts " of Pascal. But in another char 
 acteristic of true genius, and which, for want of another 
 name, we must call felicity, neither Leibnitz, nor, it might 
 almost be affirmed, any one else, can, in the full import of 
 the term, be compared with Pascal. Endowed with original 
 ity the most active and various, all that he did was with grace. 
 Full of depth, subtlety, brilliancy, both his thoughts and the 
 manner in which he expresses them are also full of beauty. 
 His just image is that of the youthful athlete of Greece, in 
 whom was seen the perfection of physical beauty and physi 
 cal strength ; in whom every muscle was developed within 
 the just limits calculated to secure a symmetrical development 
 
GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 153 
 
 of all ; the largest possible amount of power and flexibility 
 in union. 
 
 In all the manifestations of Pascal's mind, this rare felicity is 
 exuberantly displayed ; in the happy methods by which he 
 lighted on truth and pursued scientific discovery ; in the se 
 lection and arrangement of topics in all his compositions ; in 
 the peculiar delicacy of his wit, so strongly contrasted 
 with all the ordinary exhibitions of that quality, with which 
 his coarse age was familiar ; and, above all, in that indescriba 
 ble elegance of expression which uniformly characterizes his 
 finished efforts, and often his most negligent utterances, and 
 which even time can do nothing to impair. Let us be per 
 mitted to say a word or two further on these topics. 
 
 In his scientific writings, the traces of this felicity may be 
 discerned almost equally in the matter and the form. In re 
 lation to the former, there is probably a little illusion practised 
 upon us. In reading his uniformly elegant and perspicuous 
 exposition of his own scientific discoveries, we are apt to un 
 derrate the toil and intellectual struggles by which he achieved 
 them. We know that they were, and must have been, attend 
 ed with much of both, nay, that his shattered health was 
 the penalty of the intensity of his studies. Still, it is hardly 
 possible to read his expositions without having the impression 
 that his discoveries resembled a species of inspiration ; and 
 that his mind followed out the first germinant thought to its 
 consequences, with more ease and rapidity than is usually ex 
 emplified. We can scarcely imagine it would have been neces 
 sary for him to have undergone the frightful toils of Kepler, 
 had he been led into the same track of discoveries. And, in 
 fact, whatever illusion his ease and elegance of manner may 
 produce, we know that, comparatively speaking, his achieve 
 ments were rapidly completed. It was so with the problems 
 on the Cycloid ; it was so with his discoveries in Pneumatics 
 and Hydrostatics. In fact, though his " Traite de PEquilibre 
 des Liqueurs," and the one, " De la Pesanteur de PAir," 
 were not composed till 1653, they seem to have been only 
 
154 GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 
 
 another form of the treatise he promised in his " Nouvelles Ex 
 periences touchant le Vide," published in 1647, and of which 
 that tract was avowedly an abridgment. Indeed, as already 
 said, Pascal had nearly quitted these investigations before the 
 completion of his twenty-sixth year. 
 
 There was no scientific subject which Pascal touched, in 
 which the felicity of his genius, the promptitude and bril 
 liancy of his mind, did not shine forth. We see these 
 qualities eminently displayed in his " Traite du Triangle 
 Arithmetique," in the invention and construction of his 
 Arithmetical Machine, in the mode of solving the problems 
 respecting the Cycloid, in which, while employing Cavalieri's 
 " Method of Indivisibles," he proposes to remove the prin 
 cipal objection which had been made to it, by conceptions 
 which bring him within a step of the Fluxions of Newton, 
 and the Calculus of Leibnitz. The same qualities of mind 
 are eminently displayed in the manner in which he establishes 
 the hydrostatic paradox ; and, generally, in the experiments 
 detailed in the " Nouvelles Experiences," and the other con 
 nected pieces ; most of all, in that celebrated Crucial experi 
 ment on the Puy-de-D6me, by which he decided the cause of 
 the suspension of the mercury in the barometrical tube. As 
 there are few things recorded in the history of science more 
 happily ingenious than the conception of this experiment, so 
 never was there any thing more pleasantly naive than the 
 manner in which he proposes it, in his letter to M. Perier. 
 " You doubtless see," says he, " that this experiment is deci 
 sive of the question ; and that if it happen that the mercury 
 shall stand lower at the top than at the bottom of the moun 
 tain (as I have many reasons for thinking, although all those 
 who have meditated on this subject are of a contrary opin 
 ion), it will necessarily follow, that the weight and pressure 
 of the air are the sole cause of this suspension of the mer 
 cury, and not the horror of a vacuum ; since it is very cer 
 tain that there is much more air to press at the base than on 
 the summit of the mountain ; while, on the other hand, we 
 
GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 155 
 
 surely cannot say that nature abhors a vacuum more at the 
 bottom of a mountain than on the top of it ! " * 
 
 The usual felicity of his style is seen throughout his phil 
 osophical, as well as his other works. They appear to us to 
 possess the highest merit which can belong to a scientific 
 composition. It is true that, in his purely mathematical writ 
 ings, partly from the defective notation of his age, itself a 
 result of the want of that higher Calculus, the invention of 
 which was reserved for Newton and Leibnitz, he is often 
 compelled to adopt a more prolix style of demonstration than 
 would have been subsequently necfessary ; but even here, and 
 still more in all the fragments which relate to natural phi 
 losophy, his style is in striking contrast with the clumsy ex 
 pression of the generality of contemporary writers. His 
 Fragments abound in that perspicuous elegance which the 
 French denominate by the expressive word nettete. The 
 arrangement of thought and the turn of expression are alike 
 
 * Descartes claimed the suggestion of this brilliant experiment. All 
 we can say is, that Pascal, who was the very soul of honor, repeatedly 
 declares, that he had meditated this experiment from the very time he 
 had verified Torricelli's, and only waited the opportunity of performing 
 it. On the other hand, Descartes was jealous of the discoveries of 
 others, and, as Leibnitz truly observes, slow to give to them all the praise 
 and admiration which were their due. With all his great powers, he 
 had but little magnanimity. It is possible that he may have thought of 
 a similar experiment, and that he may have conferred upon the subject 
 with Pascal ; but, if the latter speaks truth, it is impossible that he 
 should not already have determined upon it. Indeed, it is hardly prob 
 able that, had it been originally a conception of Descartes, he would not 
 have made the experiment for himself, and thus gained the honor undis 
 puted and undivided. Pascal was, in like manner, accused of having 
 appropriated the honor of Torricelli's experiments. Nothing can be 
 more perfectly beautiful than the manner in which he vindicates his 
 integrity and candor, in his letter to M. de Ribeyre on this subject. He 
 shows triumphantly, that, in his original " Nouvelles Experiences," he 
 had not only not claimed, but had most distinctly disclaimed, all credit 
 for the experiments in question, and had been at much pains to give 
 honor where honor was due. 
 
156 GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 
 
 beautiful. Probably no one ever knew so well when to stay 
 his hand. 
 
 But it is, of course, in his writings on moral and critical 
 subjects in which we should chiefly expect this felicity to 
 appear ; and here we may well say, in the eloquent language 
 of M. Faugere, it is a " style grand sans exageration, partout 
 rempli d'emotion et contenu, vif sans turbulence, personnel 
 sans pedanterie et sans amour-propre, superbe et modeste 
 tout-ensemble" ; or, as he elsewhere expresses it, " tellement 
 identifie avec Tame de Pecrivain qu'il n'est que la pensee 
 elle-meme, paree de sa chaste nudite comme une statue 
 antique." By the confession of the first French critics, the 
 " Lettres Provinciales " did more than any other composition 
 to fix the French language. On this point, the suffrages of 
 all the most competent judges of Voltaire and Bossuet, 
 D'Alembert and Condorcet are unanimous. " Not a sin 
 gle word occurs," says the first, " partaking of that vicissi 
 tude to which living languages are so subject. Here, then, 
 we may fix the epoch when our language may be said to 
 have assumed a settled form." " The French language," 
 says D'Alembert, " was very far from being formed, as we 
 may judge by the greater part of the works published at that 
 time, and of which it is impossible to endure the reading. 
 In the ' Provincial Letters ' there is not a single word that 
 has become obsolete ; and that book, though written above a 
 century ago, seems as if it had been written but yesterday." 
 And as these Letters were the first model of French prose, 
 so they still remain the objects of unqualified admiration. 
 The writings of Pascal have, indeed, a paradoxical destiny ; 
 " flourishing in immortal youth," all that time can do is to 
 superadd to the charms of perpetual beauty the veneration 
 which belongs to age. His style cannot grow old. 
 
 When we reflect on the condition of the language when 
 he appeared, this is truly wonderful. It was but partially 
 reclaimed from barbarism, it was still an imperfect instru 
 ment of genius. He had no adequate models, he was to 
 
GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 157 
 
 create them. Thus to seize a language in its rude state, 
 and compel it, in spite of its hardness and intractability, to 
 become a malleable material of thought, is the exclusive pre 
 rogative of the highest species of minds : nothing but the 
 intense fire of genius can fuse these heterogeneous elements, 
 and mould them into forms of beauty. As a proof, it may 
 be remarked, that none but the highest genius has ever been 
 equal to this task. Genius of less than the first order will 
 often make improvements in the existing state of a language, 
 and give it a perceptible impulse ; but none but the most 
 creative and plastic power can at once mould a rude language 
 into forms which cannot become obsolete, which remain 
 in perpetuity a part of the current literature, amidst all the 
 changes of time and the sudden caprices of fashion. Thus 
 it required a Luther to mould the harsh German into the lan 
 guage of his still unrivalled translation of the Scriptures ; in 
 which, and in his vernacular compositions, he first fairly re 
 claimed his native language from its wild state, brought it 
 under the yoke, and subjected it to the purposes of literature. 
 Pascal was in a similar manner the creator of the French. 
 Yet each performed his task in a mode as characteristic, as 
 the materials on which they operated were different. Energy 
 was the predominant quality of Luther's genius ; beauty, of 
 Pascal's. The rugged German, under the hand of Luther, 
 is compelled to yield to an irresistible application of force ; 
 it is the lightning splitting oak and granite. The French, 
 under that of Pascal, assumes forms of beauty by a still and 
 noiseless movement, and as by a sort of enchantment ; it is 
 " the west wind ungirding the bosom of the earth, and calling 
 forth bud and flower at its bidding." 
 
 It may be thought strange by some, that this complete mas 
 tery of an unformed language should be represented, not 
 only as so signal a triumph, but as an index of the highest 
 genius. But it will not appear unphilosophical to those who 
 duly consider the subject. If, even when language has 
 reached its full development, we never see the full capacities 
 
 14 
 
158 GENIUS AND WHITINGS OF PASCAL. 
 
 of this delicate instrument put forth except by great genius, 
 how can we expect it when the language is still imperfect ? 
 As used in this rude state, language resembles the harsh 
 music of the Alpine horn, blown by the rude Swiss herd- 
 boy : it is only when the lofty peaks around take it up, that it 
 is transmuted by their echoes into exquisite melody. 
 
 The severely pure and simple taste which reigns in Pas 
 cal's style seems, when we reflect on those vices which more 
 or less infected universal letters, little less than a miraculous 
 felicity. One wonders by what privilege it was that he freed 
 himself from the contagion of universal example, and rose 
 so superior to his age. Taste was yet almost unfelt ; each 
 writer affected extravagance of some kind or other; strained 
 metaphor, quaint conceits, far-fetched turns of thought, un 
 natural constructions. These were the vices of the day ; not 
 so much perhaps in France as in England, but to a great 
 extent in both. From all these blemishes Pascal's style is 
 perfectly free ; he anticipated all criticism, and became a 
 law to himself. Some of his observations, however, show 
 that his taste was no mere instinct ; they indicate how deeply 
 he had revolved the true principles of composition. His 
 " thoughts " " sur 1'Eloquence et le Style " * are well worth 
 the perusal of every writer and speaker. In one of them he 
 profoundly says : " The very same sense is materially affect 
 ed by the words that convey it. The sense receives its dig 
 nity from the words, rather than imparts it to them." In 
 another, he says : " All the false beauties that we condemn 
 in Cicero have their admirers in crowds." And, in a third, 
 he admirably depicts the prevailing vice of strained antitheses. 
 " Those," says he, " who frame antitheses by forcing the 
 sense, are like men who make false windows for the sake of 
 symmetry. Their rule is not to speak justly, but to make 
 just figures." The time spent on his own compositions 
 shows that even such felicity as his own could not dispense 
 
 * Faug^re, Vol. I. p. 249. 
 
GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 159 
 
 with that toil, which is an essential condition of all perfect 
 writing, indeed of all human excellence ; and affords one 
 other proof of the extreme shallowness of that theory which 
 would have us believe that, to attain success, genius alone is 
 all-sufficient. He is said, when engaged on his " Lettres Pro- 
 vinciales," to have sometimes employed twenty days in per 
 fecting a single letter. 
 
 Another circumstance which, as already intimated, indi 
 cates Pascal's felicity of genius, is the peculiar delicacy and 
 refinement of his wit. We say its delicacy and refinement, 
 for the mere conjunction of great wit with great aptitude for 
 science cannot be considered as a felicity peculiar to Pascal. 
 It is the character of that wit. The conjunction of distin 
 guished wit, in one or other of its many forms, with elevated 
 genius, is far too common to be regarded as a peculiarity of 
 his mind. Paradoxical as the statement may at first sight 
 appear to many who have been accustomed to consider wis 
 dom and wit as dwelling apart, it may be doubted whether 
 there is any one attribute so common to the highest order of 
 mind, whether scientific or imaginative, as some form or other 
 of this quality. The names of Bacon, Shakspeare, Plato, 
 Pascal, Johnson, Byron, Scott, and many more, will instantly 
 occur to the reader. It is true that the history of our species 
 reveals to us minds either really adapted so exclusively to the 
 abstrusest branches of science, or so incessantly immersed 
 in them, that, if they possessed the faculty of wit at all, it 
 was never developed. Aristotle and Newton though some 
 few sayings of the former which tradition has preserved are 
 not a little racy may be named as examples. But, in gen 
 eral, and the whole history of science and literature will 
 show it, this attribute, in one or other of its thousand vari 
 eties, has formed an almost perpetual accompaniment of the 
 finest order of minds. And we may add, that, a priori, we 
 should expect it to be so. That same activity of suggestion, 
 and aptitude for detecting resemblances, analogies, and differ 
 ences, which qualify genius for making discoveries in science, 
 
160 GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 
 
 or, under different modifications, for evoking the creations of 
 imagination, may well be supposed not to desert their posses 
 sor, when, for playful purposes, and in moments of relaxation, 
 he exercises himself in the detection of the analogies on which 
 wit and drollery are founded. Yet, clear as this truth seems 
 to be, and strongly as it is corroborated by the history of ge 
 nius, the opposite opinion has been, we believe, oftener ex 
 pressed, and the highest order of mind pronounced incompat 
 ible with such a conjunction. 
 
 It is not, then, the activity, but the peculiar delicacy of 
 Pascal's wit, which renders this feature of his genius so truly 
 worthy of admiration ; the more admirable, when it is 
 remembered that the wit of that age, and especially among 
 polemics, so generally took the form of gross scurrility and 
 buffoonery ; and, even when it did not sink so low as that, 
 was overgrown with every species of quaintness and affecta 
 tion. Almost in no instance was it found pure from one or 
 other of these debasements. The wit of Pascal, on the con 
 trary, appears even now exquisitely chaste and natural, 
 attired in a truly Attic simplicity of form and expression. In 
 one quality that of irony nothing appears to us to ap 
 proach it, except what we find in the pages of Plato, between 
 whom and Pascal (different, and even opposite, as they were 
 in many respects) it were easy to trace a resemblance in oth 
 er points besides the character of their wit. Both possessed 
 surpassing acuteness and subtlety of genius in the department 
 of abstract science, both delighted in exploring the depths 
 of man's moral nature, both gazed enamored on the ideal 
 forms of moral sublimity and loveliness, both were char 
 acterized by eminent beauty of intellect, and both were abso 
 lute masters of the art of representing thought, each with 
 exquisite refinement of taste, and all the graces of language. 
 The Grecian, indeed, possessed a far more opulent imagina 
 tion, and indulged in a more gorgeous -style, than the French 
 man ; or rather, Plato may be said to have been a master of 
 all kinds of style. His dramatic powers, however, in none 
 
GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 161 
 
 of his dialogues, can be greater than those which Pascal has 
 displayed in his " Lettres Provinciales." Nothing could be 
 apter for the purpose, that of throwing into strong light the 
 monstrous errors of the system be opposed, than the ma 
 chinery the author has selected. The affected ignorance and 
 naivete of M. Montalte, in quest of information respecting 
 the theological disputes of the age, and especially the doctrines 
 of the Jesuits, the frankness of the worthy Jesuit father, 
 of whom he seeks instruction, and who, in the boundless ad 
 miration of his order, and the hope of making a convert, 
 details without hesitation, or rather with triumph, the admira 
 ble contrivances by which their casuists had, in fact, inverted 
 every principle of morals, and eluded all the obligations of 
 Christianity, the ironical compliments of the supposed nov 
 ice, intermingled with objections and slightly expressed doubts, 
 all delivered with an air of modest ingenuousness, which 
 humbly covets further light, the arch simplicity with which 
 he involves the worthy father in the most perplexing dilem 
 mas, the expressions of unsophisticated astonishment, which 
 but prompt his stolid guide eagerly to make good every asser 
 tion by a proper array of authorities, a device which, as 
 Pascal has used it, converts what would have been in other 
 hands only a dull catalogue of citations into a source of per 
 petual amusement, the droll consequences which, with 
 infinite affectation of simplicity, he draws from the Jesuit's 
 doctrines, the logical exigencies into which the latter is 
 thrown in the attempt to obviate them, all these things, 
 managed as only Pascal could have managed them, render 
 the book as amusing as any novel. The form of letters en 
 ables him at the same time to intersperse, amidst the conver 
 sations they record, the most eloquent and glowing invectives 
 against the doctrines he exposes. Voltaire's well known pan 
 egyric does not exceed the truth, " that Moliere's best 
 comedies do not excel them in wit, nor the compositions of 
 Bossuet in sublimity." " This work," says D'Alembert, " is 
 so much the more admirable, as Pascal, in composing it, 
 14* 
 
162 GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 
 
 seems to have theologized two things which seem not made 
 for the theology of that time, language and pleasantry." 
 
 The success of the work is well known. By his inimit 
 able pleasantry, Pascal succeeded in making even the dullest 
 matters of scholastic theology and Jesuitical casuistry as at 
 tractive to the people as a comedy ; and, by his little volume, 
 did more to render the formidable Society the contempt of Eu 
 rope, than was ever done by all its other enemies put together. 
 
 The Jesuits had nothing for it but to inveigh against the 
 Letters as "the immortal liars," les menteurs immortelles. 
 To their charge of having garbled citations, and tampered 
 with evidence in order to produce an unfair impression 
 against the Society, (practices utterly abhorrent from all Pas 
 cal's habits of mind and dispositions of heart,) he replies, 
 with the characteristic boldness and frankness of his nature : 
 " I was asked if I repented of having written l Les Pro- 
 vinciales.' I reply, that, far from having repented, if I had 
 to write them now, I would write yet more strongly. I was 
 asked why I have given the names of the authors from 
 whom I have taken all the abominable propositions I have 
 cited. I answer, that if I lived in a city where there were a 
 dozen fountains, and that I certainly knew that there was one 
 which was poisoned, I should be obliged to advertise all the 
 world to draw no water from that fountain ; and as they 
 might think that it was a pure imagination on my part, I 
 should be obliged to name him who had poisoned it, rather 
 than expose all the city to the danger of being poisoned by 
 it. I was asked why I had employed a pleasant, jocose, and 
 diverting style. I reply, that if I had written in a dogmatical 
 style, it would have been only the learned who would have 
 read, and they would have had no necessity to do it, being 
 at least as well acquainted with the subject as myself : thus, 
 I thought it a duty to write so as to be comprehended by 
 women and men of the world, that they might know the 
 danger of those maxims and propositions which were then 
 universally propagated, and of which they permitted them- 
 
GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 163 
 
 selves to be so easily persuaded. I was asked, lastly, if I 
 had myself read all the books I have cited. I answer, No ; 
 for in that case it would have been necessary to have passed 
 my life in reading very bad books ; but I had read through the 
 whole of Escobar twice, and, for the others, I caused them 
 to be read by my friends. But I have never used a single 
 passage without having myself read it in the book cited, or 
 without having examined the subject on which it is adduced, 
 or without having read both what precedes and what follows 
 it, in order that I might not run the risk of quoting what was, 
 in fact, an objection for a reply to it, which would have 
 been censurable and unjust." 
 
 The moral aspects of Pascal's character are as inviting 
 as those of his intellect : here, too, he was truly great. 
 Some infirmities, indeed, he had, for he was no more than 
 man : he is nevertheless one of the very few who as passion 
 ately pursue the acquisition of moral excellence, as the quest 
 after speculative truth ; who, practically as well as theoret 
 ically, believe that the highest form of humanity is not in 
 tellect, but goodness. Usually it is far otherwise ; there is 
 no sort of proportion between the diligence and assiduity 
 which men are ordinarily willing to expend on their own 
 intellectual and moral culture. Even of those who are in a 
 good degree under the influence of moral and religious prin 
 ciples, and whose conduct in all the more important instances 
 of life shows it, how few are there who make that compre 
 hensive rectitude, the obligation of which they acknowledge, 
 and the ideal of which they admire, the study of their lives, 
 the rule of their daily actions in little things as well as great ; 
 who analyze their motives, or school their hearts, in relation 
 to the habitual expressions of thought and feeling, in con 
 scious obedience to it ! Nor is it less than an indication of 
 something wrong about human nature, a symptom of spirit 
 ual disease, that of those three distinct orders of " greatness," 
 which Pascal has so exquisitely discriminated in his " Pen- 
 sees," power, intellect, and goodness, the admiration 
 
164 GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL." 
 
 inspired by the two first should be so much greater than that 
 inspired by the last. The reverence for genius, in particular, 
 often degenerates into a species of idolatry ; so much so, as 
 to lead to the proverbial, but most culpable, extenuation of 
 grave faults on the part of biographers, who cannot bear to 
 see a spot on the bright luminary they admire ! Even if 
 moral excellence be theoretically allowed to claim equal 
 enthusiasm of admiration, it rarely receives it. How vivid, 
 after all, is the sentiment which the intellect of a Bacon or 
 a Shakspeare usually excites in the young and ardent, com 
 pared with that with which they regard a Howard or a Martyn ! 
 Yet invincible patience, heroic constancy, that honesty of pur 
 pose which is proof against all flatteries and all menace, per 
 fect candor, the spirit of unfeigned humility, benevolence, and 
 charity, are surely not less worthy of our most enthusiastic ad 
 miration, than those .qualities of mind which prompt the dis 
 coveries of the philosopher, or inspire the strains of the poet. 
 It is one of the proofs, according to Paley's ingenious 
 remark, of the originality of the Gospel, and one of the 
 marks of the divinity of its origin, that it chiefly insists on 
 the cultivation of an order of virtues which had been least 
 applauded by man, and in which, as that very fact would 
 indicate, man was most deficient ; of humility, meekness, 
 patience, rather than of those opposite virtues to which the 
 active principles of his nature would most readily prompt 
 him, and which have been accordingly the chief objects of 
 culture and admiration. We may extend the remark, and 
 observe, that it is an equal indication of the originality of the 
 Gospel and of the divinity of its origin, that the ideal of 
 greatness which it has presented to us, is of a different char 
 acter from that which has chiefly fixed the enthusiastic gaze 
 of man. It is not one in which power and intellect consti 
 tute the predominant qualities, associated with just so much 
 virtue as serves to make the picture free from all grave re 
 proach ; but the perfection of truth, rectitude, and love, 
 to which even the attributes of superhuman power and super- 
 
GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 165 
 
 human wisdom, with which they are blended, are so won 
 derfully subordinated, that they seem, as they are, intrinsi 
 cally of inferior lustre. Glorious as is their light, it is abso 
 lutely quenched in the brighter effulgence of ineffable and 
 supernal goodness. We think of Csesar as the great warrior 
 and the great statesman ; of Shakspeare as the great poet ; 
 of Newton as the great philosopher : when the Christian 
 thinks of his Master, though he believes him to be possessed 
 of immeasurably greater power and wisdom than theirs, 
 his first, last thought is, that he is THE GOOD. 
 
 The character of greatness in Christ, Pascal has beauti 
 fully touched. " The distance between Matter and Mind 
 typifies the infinitely greater distance between Mind and 
 
 Love All the eclat of external greatness has no lustre 
 
 for men profoundly engaged in intellectual researches 
 
 Their greatness, again, is invisible to the noble and the 
 
 rich Great geniuses have their empire, their splendor, 
 
 their victory, their renown These are seen with the 
 
 eyes of the mind, and that is sufficient Holy men, 
 
 again, have their empire, their victory, and their renown. 
 
 Archimedes would have been venerable even without 
 
 rank. He gained no battles ; but to the intellectual world 
 he has bequeathed great discoveries. How illustrious does 
 
 he look in their eyes ! In like manner Jesus Christ, 
 
 without external splendor, without the outward repute of 
 
 science, is great in his own order of holiness It had 
 
 been idle in Archimedes to have insisted on his royal de 
 scent in his books of geometry. And it had been as useless 
 for our Lord Jesus Christ to assume the state of a king for 
 the purpose of giving splendor to his reign of holiness. But 
 he came fully invested with the lustre of his own order." 
 
 Few men have ever dwelt on this ideal of moral perfec 
 tion, or sought to realize its image in themselves, with more 
 ardor than Pascal, not always, indeed, as regards the 
 mode, with as much wisdom as ardor. Yet, upon all the 
 great features of his moral character, one dwells with the 
 
166 GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 
 
 serenest delight. Much as he is to be admired, he is yet 
 more to be loved. His humility and simplicity, conspicuous 
 as his genius and acquisitions, were those of a veiy child. 
 The favorite of science, repeatedly crowned, as an old 
 Greek might have said of some distinguished young hero at 
 Olympia, with the fairest laurels of the successful mathema 
 tician and the unrivalled polemic, making discoveries even 
 in his youth which would have intoxicated many men even 
 to madness, neither pride nor vanity found admission to 
 his heart. Philosophy and science produced on him only 
 their proper effect, and taught him, not how much he 
 knew, but how little ; not merely what he had attained, but 
 of how much more he was ignorant. His perfect love of 
 truth was beautifully blended with the gentlest charity ; and 
 his contempt of fraud and sophistry never made him forget, 
 while indignantly exposing them, the courtesies of a gentle 
 man and the moderation of the Christian : and thus the se 
 verest raillery that probably ever fell from human lips, flows 
 on in a stream undiscolored by one particle of malevolence, 
 and unruffled by one expression of coarseness or bitterness. 
 The transparency and integrity .of his character not only 
 shone conspicuous in all the transactions of his life, but seem 
 even now to beam upon us as from an open ingenuous coun 
 tenance, in the inimitable frankness and clearness of his style. 
 It is impossible to read the passages in his philosophical 
 writings, in which he notices or refutes the calumnies to 
 which he had been exposed, by which it was sometimes 
 sought to defraud him of the honor of the discoveries he had 
 made, and in one instance to cover him with the infamy of 
 appropriating discoveries which had been made by others, 
 without being convinced of the perfect candor and upright 
 ness of his nature.* His generosity and benevolence were 
 unbounded ; so much so, indeed, as to become almost vices 
 
 * See more particularly his letters to Father Noel, M. le Pailleur, and 
 M. de Bibeyre. 
 
GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 167 
 
 by excess ; passing far beyond that mean in which the Sta- 
 gyrite fixes the limits of all virtue. He absolutely beggared 
 himself by his prodigal benefactions ; he did what few do, 
 mortgaged even his expectancies to charity. To all which 
 we may add, that he bore the prolonged and excruciating suf 
 ferings of his latter years with a patience and fortitude which 
 astonished all who witnessed them. 
 
 The failings of Pascal for to these we must advert 
 were partly the result of that system of faith in which he had 
 been educated, and which, though he did so much to expose 
 many of the worst enormities which had attached themselves 
 to it, still exercised considerable influence over him. It is 
 lamentable to see such a mind as his surrendering itself to 
 some of the most grievous extravagances of asceticism. Yet 
 the fact cannot be denied ; nor is it improbable that his life 
 brief perhaps at the longest, considering his intense study 
 and his feeble constitution was yet made more brief by 
 these pernicious practices. We are told, not only that he 
 lived on the plainest fare, and performed the most menial 
 offices for himself; not only that he practised the severest 
 abstinence and the most rigid devotions ; but that he wore 
 beneath his clothes a girdle of iron, with sharp points affixed 
 to it ; and that, whenever he found his mind disposed to wan 
 der from religious subjects, or take delight in things around 
 him, he struck the girdle with his elbow, and forced the sharp 
 points of the iron into his side. We even see but too clearly 
 that his views of life, to a considerable extent, became per 
 verted. He cherished mistrust even of its blessings, and 
 acted, though he meant it not, as if the very gifts of God 
 were to be received with suspicion, as the smiling tempters 
 to evil, the secret enemies of our well-being. He often ex 
 presses himself as though he thought, not only that suffering 
 is necessary to the moral discipline of man, but as though 
 nothing but suffering is at present safe for him. " I can ap- 
 pro^e," he says in one place, " only of those who seek in 
 tears for happiness." " Disease," he declares in another 
 
168 GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 
 
 place, " is the natural state of Christians." It is evident 
 that the great and gracious Master, in whose school we all 
 are, and whose various dispensations of goodness and sever 
 ity are dictated by a wisdom greater than our own, does not 
 think so. If he did, health would be the exception, and dis 
 ease the rule. It is but too true, indeed, that not only is 
 suffering necessary to teach us our feebleness and depend 
 ence, and to abate the pride and confidence of our nature, 
 but that we are but too apt to forget, with the return of pros 
 perity, all the wise reflections and purposes which we had 
 made in sorrow. Jeremy Taylor likens us, in one of his 
 many fanciful images, to the fabled lamps in the tomb of 
 Terentia, which " burned under ground for many ages to 
 gether," but which, as soon as ever they were brought into 
 the air and saw a brighter light, went out in darkness. " So 
 long as we are in the retirements of sorrow, of want, of fear, 
 of sickness, we are burning and shining lamps ; but when 
 God lifts us up from the gates of death, and carries us abroad 
 into the open air, to converse with prosperity and temptations, 
 we go out in darkness, and we cannot be preserved in light 
 and heat, but by still dwelling in the regions of sorrow." 
 There is beauty, and, to a certain extent, truth, in the figure ; 
 but it by no means follows that continuous suffering would be 
 good for man. On the contrary, it would be as remote from 
 producing the perfection of our moral nature, as unmitigated 
 prosperity. It would be apt to produce a morbid and ghast 
 ly piety ; the " bright lamps " of which Taylor speaks would 
 still irradiate only a tomb. 
 
 Since the end of suffering, as a moral discipline, is to ena 
 ble us at last to bear unclouded happiness, what guaranty 
 can we now have of its beneficial effect on us, except by 
 partial experiments of our capacity of recollecting and prac 
 tising the lessons of adversity in intervals of prosperity ? It 
 is true that there is no more perilous ordeal through which 
 man can pass, no greater curse which can be imposed on 
 him, as he is at present constituted, than that of being 
 
GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 169 
 
 condemned to walk his life long in the sunlight- of unshaded 
 prosperity. His eyes ache with that too untempered bril 
 liance, he is apt to be smitten with a moral coup de soleil. 
 But it as little follows that no sunshine is good for us. He 
 who made us, and who tutors us, alone knows what is the 
 exact measure of light and shade, sun and cloud, storm and 
 calm, frost and heat, which will best tend to mature those 
 flowers which are the object of his celestial husbandry ; and 
 which, when transplanted into the paradise of God, are to 
 bloom there for ever in amaranthine loveliness. Nor can it 
 be without presumption that we essay to interfere with these 
 processes ; our highest wisdom is to fall in with them. And 
 certain it is that every man will find by experience that he 
 has enough to do, to bear with patience and fortitude the real 
 afflictions with which God may visit him, without venturing 
 to fill up the intervals in which He has left him ease, and 
 even invites him to gladness, by a self-imposed and artificial 
 sorrow. Nay, if his mind be well constituted, he will feel 
 that the learning how to apply, in hours of happiness, the 
 truths which he has pondered in the school of sorrow, is not 
 one of the least difficult lessons which sorrow has to teach 
 him ; not to mention that the grateful reception of God's 
 gifts is as true a part of duty, and even a more neglected 
 part of it, than a patient submission to his chastisements. 
 
 It is at our peril, then, that we seek to interfere with the 
 discipline which is provided for us. He who acts as if God 
 had mistaken the proportions in which prosperity and adver 
 sity should be allotted to us, and seeks by hair-shirts, pro 
 longed abstinence, and self-imposed penace, to render more 
 perfect the discipline of suffering, only enfeebles, instead 
 of invigorating, his piety ; and resembles one of those hypo- 
 chondriacal patients the plague and torment of physicians 
 who, having sought advice, and being supposed to follow 
 it, are found not only taking their physician's well-judged 
 prescriptions, but secretly dosing themselves in the intervals 
 with some quackish nostrum. Thus it was even with a Pas- 
 is 
 
170 GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 
 
 ca j ? and we cannot see that the experiment was attended 
 in his case with any better effects. 
 
 It is indeed pitiable to read, that during his last days his 
 perverted notions induced him to refrain from the natural ex 
 pressions of fondness and gratitude towards his sisters and 
 attendants, lest that affection with which they regarded him 
 should become inordinate ; lest they should transfer to an 
 earthly creature the affection due only to the Supreme. 
 Something like an attempted justification of such conduct, 
 indeed, occurs in his "Pensees." "II est injuste qu'on s'at- 
 tache a moi, quoiqu'on le fasse avec plaisir et volontairement. 
 Je tromperais ceux a qui j'en ferais naitre le desir ; car je ne 
 suis la fin de personne, et n'ai pas de quoi les satisfaire. Ne 
 suis-je pas pret a mourir ? Et ainsi Pobjet de leur attach 
 ment mourra done. Comme je serais coupable de faire 
 croire une faussete, quoique je la persuadasse doucement et 
 qu'on la crut avec plaisir, et qu'en cela on me fit plaisir ; 
 de meme je suis coupable de me faire aimer." ! Madame 
 Perier has cited this passage in the life of her brother, as ac 
 counting for his apparent coldness to herself.f 
 
 It is wonderful that a mind so powerful as his should be 
 misled by a pernicious asceticism to adopt such maxims ; it 
 is still more wonderful, that a heart so fond should have been 
 able to act upon them. To restrain, even in his dying hours, 
 expressions of tenderness towards those whom he so loved, 
 and who so loved him, to simulate a coldness which his 
 feelings belied, to repress the sensibilities of a grateful and 
 confiding nature, to inflict a pang by affected indifference 
 
 * Tom. I. p. 198. 
 
 t The passage of Madame Perier is deeply affecting. " Meanwhile, 
 as I was wholly a stranger to his sentiments on this point, I was quite 
 surprised and discouraged at the rebuffs he would give me upon certain 
 occasions. I told my sister of it, and not without complaining, that my 
 brother was unkind, and did not love me ; and that it looked to me as if 
 I put him in pain, even at the very moment I was studying to please 
 him, and striving to perform the most affectionate offices for him in his 
 illness." Madame PC-tier's Memoirs of Pascal. 
 
GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 171 
 
 on hearts as fond as his own, here was indeed a proof of 
 the truth upon which he so passionately meditated, the 
 " greatness and the misery " of man, of his strength and 
 his weakness ; weakness in supposing that such perversion 
 of all nature could ever be a dictate of duty, strength in 
 performing, without wincing, a task so hard. The Ameri 
 can Indian bearing unmoved the torture of his enemies ex 
 hibits not, we may rest assured, greater fortitude than Pascal, 
 when, with such a heart as his, he received in silence the last 
 ministrations of his devoted friends, and even declined, with 
 cold and averted eye, the assiduities of their zealous love. 
 
 That same melancholy temperament which, united with a 
 pernicious asceticism, made him avert his gaze even from in 
 nocent pleasures, and suspect a serpent lurking in every form 
 of pleasure, also gave to his representations of the depravity 
 of our nature an undue intensity and Rembrandt-like depth of 
 coloring. His mode of expression is often such, that, were it 
 not for what we otherwise know of his character, it might al 
 most be mistaken for an indication of misanthropy. With 
 this vice, accordingly, Voltaire does not hesitate to tax him. 
 
 '* Ce fameux ecrivain, misanthrope sublime." 
 
 Nothing can be more unjust. As to the substance of what 
 Pascal has said of human frailty and infirmity, most of it is 
 at once verified by the appeal to individual consciousness ; 
 and as to the manner, we are not to forget that he everywhere 
 dwells as much upon the " greatness " as upon the " misery " 
 of man. " It is the ruined archangel," says Hallam, with 
 equal justness and beauty, " that Pascal delights to paint." 
 It is equally evident that he is habitually inspired by a desire 
 to lead man to truth and happiness ; nor is there any thing 
 more affecting than the passage with which he closes one of 
 his expostulations with infidelity, and which M. Cousin finely 
 characterizes as " une citation glorieuse a Pascal." " This 
 argument, you say, delights me. If this argument pleases 
 you, and appears strong, know that it proceeds from one, who, 
 both before and after it, fell on his knees before that Infinite 
 
172 GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 
 
 and Invisible Being to whom he has subjected his whole soul, 
 to pray that He would also subject you to Himself for your 
 good and for His glory ; and that thus omnipotence might 
 give efficacy to his feebleness." 
 
 In addition to this, it must be said, that, in his most bitter 
 reflections, this truly humble man is thinking as much of him 
 self as of others, and regards Blaise Pascal as but a type of 
 the race whose degeneracy he mourns. His most bitter sar 
 casms often terminate with a special application to the writer. 
 Thus he says : " Vanity is so rooted in the heart of man, 
 that a common soldier, a scullion, will boast of himself, and 
 will have his admirers. It is the same with the philosophers. 
 Those who write would fain have the fame of having written 
 well ; and those who read it, would have the glory of having 
 read it ; and 1, who am writing, probably feel the same de 
 sire, and not less those who shall read it" 
 
 It is true, indeed, that some of his reflections are as caustic 
 and bitter as those of Rochefoucauld himself. For example : 
 " Curiosity is but vanity. Often we wish to know more, 
 only that we may talk of it. People would never traverse 
 the sea, if they were never to speak of it ; for the mere 
 pleasure of seeing, without the hope of ever telling what 
 they have seen." 
 
 And again : " Man is so constituted, that, by merely telling 
 him he is a fool, he will at length believe it ; and, if he tells 
 himself so, he will constrain himself to believe it. For man 
 holds an internal intercourse with himself, which ought to be 
 well regulated, since even here ' Evil communications corrupt 
 good manners.' " 
 
 It may not be without, amusement, perhaps instruction, to 
 cite one or two other specimens of this shrewd and caustic 
 humor. 
 
 " Certain authors, speaking of their works, say, ' My book, 
 my commentary, my history.' It were better to say, ' Our 
 book, our history, our commentary ' ; for generally there is 
 more in it belonging to others than to themselves." 
 
 " I lay it down as a fact, that, if all men knew what they 
 
GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 173 
 
 say of one another, there would not be four friends in the 
 world. This appears by the quarrels which are sometimes 
 caused by indiscreet reports." 
 
 Still, as it is the motive which gives complexion to all our 
 moral actions, so Pascal's bitter wisdom, or even his unjust 
 satire, is something very different from misanthropy. Byron 
 found an apology for his Cain in Milton's delineation of Satan ; 
 but few besides himself could ever see its force. With as 
 little reason could a Timon plead the example of a Pascal. 
 Those who cannot see a deep benevolence in all that he 
 wrote respecting our corrupted nature, must indeed be blind. 
 It is with no demoniacal chuckle, no smile of malicious tri 
 umph, that he publishes the result of his researches into the 
 depths of man's moral nature. On the contrary, it is with 
 profoundest pity. He gazes on the noble ruins of humanity 
 as on those of some magnificent temple, and longs to see the 
 fallen columns and the defaced sculpture restored. With what 
 noble eloquence with what deep sympathy with humanity 
 does he rebuke the levity of those infidels who tell us, as 
 if it were a matter of triumph, that we are " the inhabitants 
 of a fatherless and forsaken world " ; and who talk as if their 
 vaunted demonstration of the vanity of our immortal hopes 
 gave them a peculiar title to our gratitude and admiration ! 
 " What advantage is it to us to hear a man saying that he 
 has thrown off the yoke ; that he does not think there is any 
 God who watches over his actions ; that he considers himself 
 as the sole judge of his conduct, and that he is accountable 
 to none but himself? Does he imagine that we shall here 
 after repose special confidence in him, and expect from him 
 consolation, advice, succor, in the exigencies of life ? Do 
 such men imagine that it is any matter of delight to us to hear 
 that they hold that our soul is but a little vapor or smoke, and 
 that they can tell us this in an assured and self-sufficient tone 
 of voice ? Is this, then, a thing to say with gayety ? Is it 
 not rather a thing to be said with tears, as the saddest thing 
 in the world ? " 
 
 15* 
 
174 GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 
 
 On the whole, in contemplating the richly diversified char 
 acteristics of this exalted genius in its different moods and 
 phases, the combination of sublimity and depth with light 
 ness and grace, of the noblest aptitudes for abstract spec 
 ulation with the utmost delicacy of taste and sensibility 
 of feeling, of profound melancholy with the happiest and 
 most refined humor and raillery, the grandeur of many 
 aspects of his character, and the loveliness of others, we 
 seem to be reminded of the contradictory features of Alpine 
 scenery, where all forms of sublimity and beauty, of loveli 
 ness and terror, are found in singular proximity ; where up 
 land valleys of exquisite verdure and softness lie at the foot 
 of the eternal glaciers ; where spots of purest pastoral repose 
 and beauty smile under the very shadow of huge, snowy 
 peaks, and form the entrance of those savage gorges, in 
 which reigns perpetual, but sublime desolation ; where the 
 very silence is appalling, broken only by the roar of the 
 distant cataract, and the lonely thunder of the avalanche. 
 
 We must now make some remarks on the projected trea 
 tise, of which the " Pensees " were designed to form the 
 rude materials. 
 
 It is impossible to determine, from the undeveloped char 
 acter of these u Thoughts," the precise form of the work ; 
 all we are told is, that it was to have treated of the primary 
 truths of all religion, and of the evidences of Christianity. 
 It is clear, that about half the " thoughts " which relate to 
 theology at all, have reference to the former. In Pascal's 
 time, however, both subjects might have been naturally in 
 cluded in one work. The great deistical controversies of 
 Europe had not yet commenced, and there had been little 
 reason to discriminate very nicely the limits of the two in 
 vestigations. Pascal himself could hardly have anticipated 
 the diversified forms which the subject of the evidences of 
 Christianity alone would assume, so diversified, indeed, 
 that they are probably insusceptible from their variety (ex- 
 
GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 175 
 
 ternal and internal) of being fully exhibited by one mind, 
 or, consequently, in one volume. The evidences of Chris 
 tianity almost form a science of themselves. 
 
 Fragmentary as the " Pensees " are, it is easy to see, both 
 from their general tenor, and from the character of the au 
 thor's mind, where the principal strength of such a work 
 would lie. His proofs of the truths of natural religion would 
 have been drawn from within, rather than from without ; and 
 his proofs of the truths of Christianity from its internal rather 
 than external evidences ; including in this term " internal," 
 not only the adaptation of the doctrines revealed to the moral 
 nature of man, but whatsoever indications the fabric of Scrip 
 ture itself may afford of the divinity of its origin. 
 
 It is evident, that he had revolved all these topics pro 
 foundly. None had explored more diligently the abyss of 
 man's moral nature, or mused more deeply on the " great 
 ness and misery of man," or orf the " contrarieties " which 
 characterize him, or on the remedies for his infirmities 
 and corruptions. And there are few, even since his time, 
 who seem to have appreciated more fully the evidences of 
 Christianity arising from indications of truth in the genius, 
 structure, and style of the Scriptures ; or from the difficul 
 ties, not to say impossibilities, of supposing such a fiction as 
 Christianity the probable product of any human artifice, 
 much less of such an age, country, and, above all, such men, 
 as the problem limits us to. In one passage, he gives ex 
 pression to a thought which has been expanded into the 
 beautiful and eminently original work of Paley, entitled 
 " Horse Paulinas." He says : " The style of the Gospel is 
 admirable in many respects, and, amongst others, in this, 
 that there is not a single invective against the murderers and 
 enemies of Jesus Christ If the modesty of the evan 
 gelical historians had been affected, and, in common with so 
 many other traits of so beautiful a character, had been affect 
 ed only that they might be observed, then, if they had not 
 ventured to advert to it themselves, they would not have 
 
176 GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 
 
 failed to get their friends to remark on it, to their advantage. 
 But as they acted in this way without affectation, and from 
 a principle altogether disinterested, they never provided any 
 one to make such a criticism. And, in my judgment, there 
 are many points of this kind which have never been noticed 
 hitherto ; and this testifies to the simplicity with which the 
 thing was done." * 
 
 He has also, with characteristic comprehensiveness, con 
 densed into a single paragraph the substance of the cele 
 brated volume of " Bampton Lectures," on the contrasts 
 between Mahometanism and Christianity. " Mahomet found 
 ed his system on slaughter ; Jesus Christ by exposing his 
 disciples to death ; Mahomet by forbidding to read ; the 
 Apostles by commanding it. In a word, so opposite is the 
 plan of one from that of the other, that, if Mahomet took the 
 way to succeed according to human calculation, Jesus Christ 
 certainly took the way to fail ; and instead of arguing, that, 
 since Mahomet succeeded, Jesus Christ might also succeed, 
 we ought rather to say, that, since Mahomet succeeded, it is 
 impossible but that Jesus Christ should fail." f 
 
 On the subject of the External Evidences, we doubt 
 whether he would have been equally successful, partly 
 because the spirit of accurate historic investigation had not 
 yet been developed, and partly from the character of his 
 own mind. On the subject of Miracles, too, he scarcely 
 seems to have worked his conceptions clear ; and in relation 
 to that of Prophecy, he was evidently often inclined to lay 
 undue stress on analogies between events recorded in the 
 Old Testament and others recorded in the New, where 
 Scripture itself is silent as to any connection between them ; 
 analogies in one or two cases as fanciful as any of those 
 in which the Fathers saw so many types and prefigurations 
 of undeveloped truths. This disposition to forget the limits 
 between the analogies which may form the foundation of a 
 
 * Tom. II. p. 370. t Ibid., p. 337. 
 
GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 177 
 
 logical argument, and those which, after all, can yield only 
 poetical illustrations, has too often obtruded itself even into 
 the domain of physical science ; and is one from which the 
 most philosophic minds, if they have much imaginativeness, 
 are by no means exempt. Even Bacon, in several instan 
 ces, has been the dupe of this delusion, one of the idola 
 tribus which he was so anxious to expose. 
 
 There is one subject on which, after reading the " Pen- 
 sees," one would fain have seen a treatise from the hand of 
 Pascal. If he had enjoyed leisure, health, and an unclouded 
 mind, there is probably no man who could have written 
 more profoundly or more wisely on the Prima Philosophia, 
 the first principles of all knowledge, the limits within 
 which man can hopefully speculate, and the condition and 
 principles of belief. On all these subjects he had reflected 
 much and deeply. His remarks on the position of man be 
 tween " the two infinitudes," which he has so finely illus 
 trated, on the Dogmatists and Pyrrhonists, on the influ 
 ence of the affections and passions on the understanding, 
 and his observations entitled, " De PArt de Persuader," and 
 " De PEsprit Geometrique," all show how deeply he had 
 revolved the principal topics of such a work. 
 
 We have already alluded to the charge preferred against 
 Pascal by M. Cousin, of no less than universal and hopeless 
 scepticism ; from which, as is said, he took refuge in faith 
 by a blind effort of will, without evidence, and in utter de 
 spair of obtaining it. One or two brief citations will show 
 the extent to which this charge is pushed. " Ce dessein [des 
 4 Pensees,'] je Pai demontre dans ce Rapport, etait d'accabler 
 la philosophic Cartesienne, et avec elle toute philosophic, 
 sous le scepticisms, pour ne laisser a la foi naturelle de 
 Phomme d'autre asile que la religion. Or en cela, Padver- 
 saire des Jesuites en devient, sans s'en douter, le serviteur 
 et le soldat." * " Lui aussi, il a pour principe que le 
 
 * Bapport, pp. xiii., xviii. 
 
178 GENIUS AND WHITINGS OF PASCAL. 
 
 Pyrrhonisme est le vrai" "II est sceptique, et, comme 
 Huet, il se propose de conduire Phomme a la foi par la route 
 du scepticisme." * M. Cousin even goes the length of saying 
 that Pascal's religion " was not the solid and pleasant fruit 
 which springs from the union of reason and feeling de la 
 raison et du cceur in a soul well constituted and wisely 
 cultivated ; it is a bitter fruit, reared in a region desolated by 
 doubt, under the arid breath of despair." t He also tells us, 
 that " the very depth of Pascal's soul was a universal scep 
 ticism, from which he could find no refuge except in a volun 
 tarily blind credulity." " Le fond meme de rdme de Pascal 
 est un scepticisme universel, contre lequel il ne trouve d^asile 
 que dans unefoi volontairement aveugle" 
 
 These are certainly charges which, without the gravest 
 and most decisive proof, ought not to be preferred against 
 any man ; much less against one possessing so clear and 
 powerful an intellect as Pascal. It is, in fact, the most de 
 grading picture which can be presented of any mind ; for 
 what weakness can be more pitiable, or what inconsistency 
 more gross, than that of a man who, by a mere act of will, 
 if, indeed, such a condition of mind be conceivable, 
 surrenders himself to the belief of the most stupendous doc 
 trines, while he at the same time acknowledges that he has 
 no proof whatever of their certainty ? 
 
 We have great respect for M. Cousin as a philosopher 
 and historian of philosophy, and we willingly render him 
 the homage of our thanks for his liberal and enlightened sur 
 vey of the intellectual philosophy of Scotland ; but he must 
 excuse us for dissenting from, and freely examining, his 
 startling view of the scepticism of Pascal. That charge 
 we do not hesitate to pronounce unjust, for the following 
 reasons : 
 
 1. It appears to us that M. Cousin has forgotten that Pas 
 cal by no means denies that there is sufficient evidence of 
 
 * Rapport, p. xix. t Ibid., p. 162. 
 
GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 179 
 
 the many great principles to which scepticism objects ; he 
 only maintains that we do not arrive at them by demonstra 
 tion. He has powerfully vindicated the certainty of those 
 intuitive principles which are not ascertained by reasoning, 
 but are presupposed in every exercise of reasoning. Let us 
 hear him. " The only strong point," says he, " of the Dog 
 matists is, that we cannot consistently with honesty and sin 
 cerity doubt our own intuitive principles We know 
 
 the truth, not only by reasoning, but by feeling, and by a 
 vivid and luminous power of direct comprehension ; and it 
 is by this last faculty that we discern first principles. It is 
 vain for reasoning, which has no share in discovering these 
 
 principles, to attempt subverting them The Pyrrho- 
 
 nists who attempt this must try in vain The knowledge 
 
 of first principles, as the ideas of space, time, motion, number, 
 matter, is as unequivocally certain as any that reasoning 
 imparts. And, after all, it is on the perceptions of feeling 
 and common sense that reason must at last sustain itself, 
 and base its argument Principles are perceived, prop 
 ositions are deduced : each part of the process is certain, 
 though in different modes. And it is as ridiculous that rea 
 son should require of feeling and perception proofs of these 
 first principles before she assents to them, as it would be 
 that perception should require from reason an intuitive im 
 pression of all the propositions at which she arrives. This 
 weakness, therefore, ought only to humble that reason which 
 would constitute herself the judge all things, but not to inval 
 idate the convictions of common sense, as if reason * only 
 could be our guide and teacher." Can he who thus speaks 
 be a " universal sceptic," when it is the peculiar character 
 istic of Pyrrhonism that is, universal scepticism to con 
 trovert the certainty of principles perceived by intuition, and 
 
 * It is true that, in these and many similar passages, Pascal, as M. 
 Cousin rightly observes, often employs the word reason as if it were 
 synonymous with reasoning. But this only respects the propriety of his 
 expressions ; his meaning is surely tolerably clear. 
 
180 GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 
 
 to plume itself upon having successfully done this, when it 
 has shown that they cannot be demonstrated by reasoning ? 
 
 But let us hear him still more expressly on the subject of 
 Pyrrhonism. " Here, then, is open war proclaimed amongst 
 men. Each must take a side ; must necessarily range him 
 self with the Pyrrhonists or the Dogmatists ; for he who 
 would think to remain neuter is a Pyrrhonist par excellence. 
 He who is not against them is for them. What, then, must 
 a person do in this alternative ? Shall he doubt of every 
 thing ? Shall he doubt that he is awake, or that he is pinched 
 or burned ? Shall he doubt that he doubts ? Shall he doubt 
 that he is ? We cannot get so far as this ; and I hold it to 
 be a fact, that there never has been an absolute and perfect 
 Pyrrhonist." M. Cousin must suppose Pascal to have made 
 an exception in favor of himself, if it indeed be true that he 
 was a " universal sceptic." 
 
 2. It does not appear to us that M. Cousin has sufficiently 
 reflected, that, in those cases in which conclusions truly in 
 volve processes of reasoning, Pascal would not deny that the 
 preponderance of truth rested with the truths he believed, 
 though he denied the demonstrative nature of that proof. 
 And he applies this with perfect fairness to the evidences of 
 Christianity, as well as to the truths of natural theology. It 
 may well be, that minds so differently constituted as those of 
 Pascal and Cousin may form different conclusions as to the 
 degree of success which may attend the efforts of human 
 reasoning ; but a man is not to be straightway branded with 
 the name of a universal sceptic, because he believes that 
 there are very few subjects on which evidence can be said to 
 be demonstrative. The more deeply a man reflects, the 
 fewer will he think the subjects on which this species of cer 
 tainty can be obtained ; and the study neither of ancient nor 
 of modern philosophy will convince him that he is far wrong 
 in this conclusion. But he will not, for all that, deny that 
 there is sufficient evidence on all the more important subjects 
 to form the belief and determine the conduct of man, evi- 
 
GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 181 
 
 dence of precisely the same nature with that which does form 
 the one, and does determine the other, in all the ordinary af 
 fairs of life. And this alone, where a man rejects such evi 
 dence, is sufficient to condemn him ; for what right has he to 
 decline, in the more important instances, a species and de 
 gree of evidence which he never hesitates to act upon in all 
 other cases ? 
 
 Now, that Pascal believed that there was sufficient evidence 
 of this character, for all the fundamental truths of religion, 
 is manifest from many express declarations. " There is 
 light enough," says he, " for those whose sincere wish is to 
 see ; and darkness enough to confound those of an opposite 
 disposition." * Of Christianity he says : " It is impossible to 
 see all the proofs of this religion combined in one view, with 
 out feeling that they have a force which no reasonable man 
 can withstand." f " The proofs of our religion are not of 
 that kind that we can say they are geometrically convincing. 
 
 But their light is such that it outshines, or at the least 
 
 equals, the strongest presumption to the contrary : so much 
 so, that sound reason never can determine not to accept the 
 evidence, and probably it is only the corruption and depravity 
 of the heart that do." It is not without reason that M. Fau- 
 gere says, in reference to the charge of scepticism urged 
 against Pascal : " Faith and reason may equally claim him. 
 If they sometimes appear to clash in his mind, it is because 
 he wanted time, not only to finish the work on which he was 
 engaged, but even to complete that internal revision, son 
 cBuvre interieure, which is a kind of second creation of ge 
 nius ; and to melt into one harmonious whole the diverse ele 
 ments of his thoughts Amongst the inedited frag 
 ments of Pascal we find these remarkable lines : * II faut 
 avoir ces trois qualities ; Pyrrhonien, geometre, Chretien sou- 
 mis ; et elles s^accordent et se temper ent en doutant oil il 
 faut, en assurant ou il faut, en se soummettant oil il fautS 
 
 * Tom. II. p. 151. t Ibid., p. 365. 
 
 16 
 
182 GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 
 
 These bold words comprise the entire history of Pascal, and 
 express in brief the state of his mind." * 
 
 3. While we admit that the severely geometrical cast of 
 Pascal's mind, as well as his gloomy temperament, have led 
 him at times into extravagant expressions on this subject, so 
 accomplished a critic as M. Cousin needs not be told that it is 
 not fair to take such expressions alone, and in their utmost 
 strictness, if they can be confronted with others which mod 
 ify or explain them. The former, in common candor, are 
 to be interpreted only in connection with the latter. This is 
 the course we always pursue in interpreting the language of 
 writers who have indulged in unlimited propositions ; and if it 
 be found even impossible to harmonize certain expressions, 
 if they be absolutely contradictory, all we feel at lib 
 erty to do is to affirm the inconsistency of the writer ; not to 
 assume that he meant all that could possibly be implied in 
 the one class of expressions, and nothing by the other. We 
 know it is so natural for an author of much imagination or 
 sensibility to give an inordinately strong expression to a pres 
 ent thought or feeling, and to forget the judge in the advo 
 cate, that he must be taken in another mood, or rather in 
 several, if we wish to ascertain the true mean of his senti 
 ments. Pascal has in one of his " Pensees " indicated this 
 only reasonable method of procedure. 
 
 Now M. Cousin is surely aware of the fact, that the ex 
 pressions to which he has given such an unfavorable inter 
 pretation, may be easily confronted with others of a differ 
 ent tendency. He himself, indeed, proclaims it. He even 
 says, no man ever contradicted himself more than Pascal. 
 " Jamais homme ne s'est plus contredit." " Confounding," 
 says he, " reasoning and reason, forgetting that he has him 
 self judiciously discriminated primary and indemonstrable 
 truths discovered to us by that spontaneous intuition of 
 reason which we also with him call instinct, sentiment, feel- 
 
 * Tom. I. p. Ixxvii. Introduction. 
 
GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 183 
 
 ing from truths which are deduced from them by the 
 method of reasoning, or which we draw from experience by 
 induction ; forgetting that he has thus himself replied be 
 forehand to all the attacks of scepticism, Pascal demands all 
 these principles from experience and reasoning, and by that 
 means, without much trouble, confounds them all." * Now 
 we do not stay to inquire here into the justness of the latter 
 part of this representation ; but we simply ask, Why should 
 all the " replies " which, as our author admits, " Pascal has 
 himself made to scepticism," go for nothing, and only the 
 sentences in which he appears to favor it be remembered ; 
 and not only remembered, but taken as the sole exponents of 
 his opinions ? Surely a sceptic might as well take the oppo 
 site side, and say, " Alas ! after Pascal seems in many expres 
 sions to have conceded much to scepticism, he forgets all- he 
 had said ; and shows, by his whole talk of ' intuitive truths,' 
 and 'sentiment,' and 'feeling,' that he is no better than a 
 dogmatist." Might we not say to the two objectors, " Wor 
 thy friends ! you are the two knights in the fable ; one is 
 looking on the golden, and the other on the silver side of the 
 same shield." 
 
 4. Nor is it to be forgotten, that, while such a mode of in 
 terpretation as that of M. Cousin would hardly be just in the 
 case of any work of any author, it is especially unfair to ap 
 ply it to such a work, or rather mere materials of a work, as 
 the " Pensees." They were, we are to recollect, mere notes 
 for Pascal's own use, and were never intended to be published 
 as they are. Many of them are altogether imperfect and un 
 developed ; some scarcely intelligible. It is impossible to 
 tell with what modifications, and in what connection, they 
 would have stood in the matured form which the master 
 mind, here hastily recording them for private reference, 
 would have ultimately given them. Nay, there can scarcely 
 be a doubt, that many of them were mere objections which 
 
 * Kapport, p. 157. 
 
184 GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 
 
 Pascal noted for refutation, not opinions to be maintained 
 by him ; and this in many places may be not obscurely infer 
 red : some, again, are mere quotations from Montaigne and 
 other authors, extracted for some unknown purpose, but not 
 distinguished in these private memoranda from the writer's 
 own expressions ; so that the first editors of the " Pensees " 
 actually printed them in some cases as his. And lastly, some 
 were dictated, in moments of sickness and pain, to an old 
 domestic, who has scrawled them in a fashion which suffi 
 ciently shows that it is very possible that some errors may lie 
 with the amanuensis.* Yet M. Cousin, while straining every 
 expression on which he founds his charge of scepticism to 
 its utmost strictness of literal meaning, never seems to have 
 adverted to one of these very reasonable considerations. 
 
 5. The weight which any deliberate opinion of M. Cousin 
 must reasonably possess, may in this case well be confronted 
 with that of Bayle ; whose notorious scepticism would have 
 been but too glad to find an ally in so admired a genius as 
 Pascal, had there been any plausible pretext on which to 
 claim him. Yet that subtle and acute critic declares, that 
 Pascal knew perfectly well what to render to faith, and what 
 to reason. 
 
 6. In our judgment, Pascal's projected work is itself a suffi 
 cient confutation of M. Cousin's supposition. For, did ever 
 man before meditate an elaborate work on the " evidences " of 
 truths for which he believed no evidence but a blind faith 
 could be given ? 
 
 7. We maintain, lastly, that even if it be proved (which is, 
 doubtless, very true) that Pascal, at different periods and in 
 different moods of mind, formed varying estimates of the 
 evidence on behalf of the great truths in which he was so 
 
 * Of one of these expressions, on which M. Cousin has founded much, 
 M. Faugere says : " Tout ce morceau, dicte a une personne visiblement 
 fort peu lettree, presente <ja et la des obscurites qufviennent sans doute 
 de 1'inexperience du secretaire." Tom. II. p. 114. 
 
GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 185 
 
 sincere a believer, or even (which may possibly be true) 
 that for transient intervals he doubted the conclusiveness of 
 that evidence altogether, these variations would be far from 
 justifying a charge of " universal and habitual scepticism " ; 
 such momentary differences of thought and mood having 
 been notoriously experienced by almost all great minds. 
 With some remarks on this subject, which may possibly be 
 serviceable to minds peculiarly liable to attacks of scepticism, 
 and calculated to teach all of us charity in judging of others, 
 we shall close the present essay. 
 
 First, then, it by no means appears that a momentary inva 
 sion of doubt, or even of scepticism, is inconsistent with a 
 prevailing and habitual faith, founded on an intelligent con 
 viction of a preponderance of reasons to justify it ; though 
 those reasons may be felt to fall far short of absolute demon 
 stration. There may be a profound impression that the rea 
 sons which sustain habitual belief in any truth established 
 only on moral evidence, or on a calculation of probabilities, 
 are so varied and powerful so vast in their sum as to 
 leave, in ordinary moods of mind, no doubt as to the conclu 
 sions to which they point, and the practical course of conduct 
 which alone they can justify. And yet it is quite true, that 
 from the infirmities of our nature, from the momentary 
 strength which the most casual circumstances may give to 
 opposing objections, from the depressing influence of sor 
 row, of a trivial indisposition, of a transient fit of melan 
 choly, of impaired digestion, even of a variation of the 
 weather (for on all these humiliating conditions does the 
 boasted soundness of human reason depend), a man shall 
 for an hour or a day really doubt of that of which he never 
 doubted yesterday, and of which he would be ashamed to 
 doubt to-morrow. And especially is this the case in those 
 who, like Pascal, possess exquisite sensibility, or are liable to 
 fits of profound depression. As they look upon truth through 
 the medium of cheerful or gloomy feelings, truth herself va 
 ries like a landscape, as seen in a bright sunshine or on a 
 
 16* 
 
186 GENIUS AND WHITINGS OF PASCAL. 
 
 cloudy day. Pascal himself, in those reveries in which he 
 loved to indulge on the mingled " greatness and misery of 
 man," has frequently depicted the dependence of the most 
 powerful mind, even in the bare exercise of its exalted fac 
 ulties, on the most insignificant circumstances. We have 
 cited, in the early part of this article, one striking passage to 
 this effect. In another place he says : " Place the greatest 
 philosopher in the world on a plank, wider than is absolutely 
 necessary for safety, and yet, if there is a precipice below 
 him, though reason may convince him of his security, his 
 imagination will prevail. There are many who could not 
 even bear the thought of it without paleness and agitation." * 
 Another very powerful representation, to the same effect, 
 may be found on the same page, where, after describing a 
 " venerable judge," who may seem " under the control of a 
 pure and dignified wisdom," and enumerating several petty 
 trials " of his exemplary gravity," Pascal declares, that, let 
 any one of these befall him, " and he will engage for the loss 
 of the judge's self-possession." 
 
 Nor are the causes which disturb the exercise of the reason 
 merely physical : moral causes are yet more powerful ; as we 
 wish, hope, fear, humiliating as the fact is, so do we proceed 
 to judge of evidence. Reason, that vaunted guide of life, 
 nowhere exists as a pure and colorless light, but is perpetually 
 tinctured by the medium through which it passes ; it flows in 
 upon us through painted windows. And thus it is, that per 
 haps scarcely once in ten thousand times, probably never, does 
 man deliver a judgment on evidence simply and absolutely 
 judicial. " The heart," says Pascal, with great truth, " has 
 its reasons, which reason cannot apprehend." " The will," 
 says he, in another place, " is one of the principal instru 
 ments of belief; not that it creates belief, but because things 
 are true or false according to the aspect in which we regard 
 them. The will, which is more inclined to one thing than 
 
 * Tom. II. p. 49. 
 
GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 187 
 
 another, turns away the mind from the consideration of those 
 things which it loves not to contemplate ; and thus the mind, 
 moving with the will, stops to observe that which it approves, 
 and forms its judgment by what it sees." 
 
 Most emphatically is this the case, where the moral state is 
 habitually opposed to the conclusions to which the preponder 
 ance of evidence points. This is so notorious, in relation to 
 the fundamental truths of morals and religion, that there are 
 probably few who really disbelieve them, or profess to do so, 
 who (if they examine themselves at all) are not conscious 
 that the " wish is father to the thought." And what is true 
 of habitual states of moral feeling is also, in proportion, true 
 of more transient states. 
 
 Certain, however, it is, that from one or other of the above 
 causes, or from a combination of several, neither has the un 
 derstanding the absolute dominion in the formation of our 
 judgments, nor does she occupy an " unshaken throne." A 
 seditious rabble of doubts, from time to time, rise to dispute 
 her empire. Even where the mind, in its habitual states, is 
 unconscious of any remaining doubt, where it reposes in 
 a vast preponderance of evidence in favor of this or that con 
 clusion, there may yet be, from one or other of the dis 
 turbing causes adverted to, a momentary eclipse of that light 
 in which the soul seemed to dwell ; a momentary vibration 
 of that judgment which we so often flattered ourselves was 
 poised for ever. Yet this no more argues the want of habit 
 ual faith, than the variations of the compass argue the sever 
 ance of the connection between the magnet and the pole ; 
 or than the oscillations of the " rocking stone " argue that 
 the solid mass can be heaved from its bed. A child may 
 shake it, but a giant cannot overturn it. 
 
 And, as a matter of fact, there are, we apprehend, very 
 few who have not been conscious of sudden and almost un 
 accountable disturbances of the intellectual atmosphere, un 
 accountable even after the equilibrium has been restored, and 
 the air has again become serene and tranquil. In these mo- 
 
188 GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 
 
 mentary fluctuations, whether arising from moral or physical 
 causes, or from causes of both kinds, from nervous depres 
 sion, or a fit of melancholy, or an attack of pain, or harassing 
 anxieties, or the loss of friends, or their misfortunes and ca 
 lamities, or signal triumphs of baseness, or signal discomfi 
 tures of virtue, or, above all, from conscious neglect of duty, 
 a man shall sometimes feel as if he had lost sight even of 
 those primal truths on which he has been accustomed to gaze 
 as on the stars of the firmament, bright, serene, and un 
 changeable ; even such truths as the existence of God, his 
 paternal government of the world, and the divine origin of 
 Christianity. In these moods, objections, which he thought 
 had long since been dead and buried, start again into sudden 
 existence. They do more ; like the escaped genius of the 
 " Arabian Nights," who rises from the little bottle in which 
 he had been imprisoned, in the shape of a thin smoke, which 
 finally assumes gigantic outlines and towers to the skies, these 
 flimsy objections dilate into monstrous dimensions, and fill the 
 whole sphere of mental vision. The arguments by which 
 we have been accustomed to combat them seem to have van 
 ished, or, if they appear at all, look diminished in force and 
 vividness. If we may pursue the allusion we have just made, 
 we even wonder how such mighty forms should ever have 
 been compressed into so narrow a space. Bunyan tells us, 
 that when his pilgrims, under the perturbation produced by 
 previous terrible visions, turned the perspective glass towards 
 the Celestial City from the summits of the Delectable Moun 
 tains, " their hands shook so that they could not steadily look 
 through the " instrument ; " yet they thought they saw some 
 thing like the gate, and also some of the glory of the place." 
 It is even so with many of the moods in which other " pil 
 grims " attempt to gaze in the same direction ; a deep haze 
 seems to have settled over the golden pinnacles and the " gates 
 of pearl " ; they, for a moment, doubt whether what others 
 declare they have seen, and what they flatter themselves they 
 have themselves seen, be any thing else than a gorgeous vis- 
 
GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 189 
 
 ion in the clouds ; and " faith " is no longer " the substance 
 of things hoped for, and the evidence of things not seen." 
 
 And as there are probably few who have profoundly inves 
 tigated the evidences of truth, who have not felt themselves 
 for a moment at least, and sometimes for a yet longer space, 
 as if on the verge of universal scepticism, and about to be 
 driven forth, without star or compass, on a boundless ocean 
 of doubt and perplexity, so these states of feeling are pecu 
 liarly apt to infest the highest order of minds. For if, on the 
 one hand, these can best discern and estimate the evidence 
 which proves any truth, they, on the other, can see most 
 clearly, and feel most strongly, the nature and extent of the 
 objections which oppose it ; while they are, at the same time, 
 just as liable as the vulgar to the disturbing influences already 
 adverted to. This liability is of course doubled, when its 
 subject, as in the case of Pascal, labors under the disadvan 
 tage of a gloomy temperament. 
 
 A circumstance which in these conflicts of mind often 
 gives sceptical objections an undue advantage is, that the 
 great truths which it is more especially apt to assail are gen 
 erally the result of an accumulation of proof by induction, 
 or are even dependent on quite separate trains of argument. 
 The mind, therefore, cannot comprehend them at a glance, 
 and feel at once their integrated force, but must examine 
 them in detail by successive acts of mind, just as we take 
 the measurement of magnitudes too vast to be seen at once in 
 successive small portions. The existence of God, the moral 
 government of the world, the divine origin of Christianity, 
 are all truths of this stamp. Pascal, in one of his " Pensees," 
 refers to this infirmity of the logical faculties. He justly 
 observes : " To have a series of proofs incessantly before 
 the mind, is beyond our power." JD'ew avoir toujours Us 
 preuves presentes, c'est trop d? affaire. 
 
 From the inability of the mind to retain in perpetuity, or 
 to comprehend at a glance, a long chain of evidence, or the 
 total effect of various lines of argument, Pascal truly observes, 
 
190 GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 
 
 that it is not sufficient for the security of our convictions, and 
 their due influence over our belief and practice, that we have 
 proved them once for all by a process of reasoning ; they 
 must be, if possible, tinctured and colored by the imagination, 
 informed and animated by feeling, and rendered vigorous and 
 practical by habit. His words are well worth citing : " Rea 
 son acts slowly, and with^so many principles which it is ne 
 cessary should be always present, that dt is perpetually drop 
 ping asleep, and is lost for want of having all its principles 
 present to it. The affections do not act thus ; they act in 
 stantaneously and are always ready for action. It is neces 
 sary, therefore, to imbue our faith with feeling, otherwise it 
 will be always vacillating." * 
 
 It will not, of course, be imagined that, in the observations 
 just now made, we are disposed to be the apologists of scepti 
 cism ; or even, so far as it is yielded to, of that transient 
 doubt to which the most powerful minds are not only liable, 
 but liable in defiance of what are ordinarily their strong con 
 victions. So far as such states of mind are involuntary, and 
 for an instant they often are, (till, in fact, the mind collects it 
 self, and repels them,) they are of course the object, not of 
 blame, but of pity. So far as they are dependent upon fluctu 
 ations of feeling, or upon physical causes which we can at all 
 modify or control, it is our duty to summon the mind to resist 
 the assault, and to reflect on the nature of that evidence which 
 has so often appeared to us little less than demonstrative. 
 
 We are not, then, the apologists of scepticism, or any thing 
 approaching it ; we are merely stating a psychological fact, 
 for the proof of which the appeal lies to the recorded con 
 fessions of many great minds, and to the experience of those 
 who have reflected deeply enough on any large and difficult 
 subject, to know what can be said for or against it. 
 
 The asserted fact is, that habitual belief of the sincerest 
 and strongest character is sometimes checkered with tran- 
 
 * Vol. II. pp. 175, 176. 
 
GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 191 
 
 sient fits of doubt and misgiving ; and that even where there 
 is no actual disbelief, no, not for a moment, the mind 
 may, in some of its moods, form a very diminished estimate 
 of the evidence on which belief is founded, and grievously 
 understate it accordingly. We believe that both these states 
 of mind were occasionally experienced by Pascal, the latter, 
 however, more frequently than the former ; and hence origi 
 nated, as we apprehend, those passages in which he speaks 
 of the evidence for the existence of a God, or for the truth of 
 Christianity, as less conclusive than he ordinarily believed, or 
 than he has at other times declared it. At such times the 
 clouds may be supposed to have hung low upon this lofty mind. 
 
 So little inconsistent with a habit of intelligent faith are 
 such transient invasions of doubt, or such diminished percep 
 tions of the evidence of truth, that it may even be said that it 
 is only those who have in some measure experienced them, 
 who can be said, in the highest sense, to believe at all. He 
 who has never had a doubt, who believes what he believes 
 for reasons which he thinks as irrefragable (if that be pos 
 sible) as those of a mathematical demonstration, ought not 
 to be said so much to believe as to know ; his belief is to him 
 knowledge, and his mind stands in the same relation to it, 
 however erroneous and absurd that belief may be. It is 
 rather he whose faith is exercised not indeed without his 
 reason, but without the full satisfaction of his reason with 
 a knowledge and appreciation of formidable objections, 
 it is this man who may most truly be said intelligently to 
 believe. 
 
 While it is true that we are called upon to receive the 
 great truths of Theology, whether natural or revealed, on 
 evidence which is less than demonstrative, we are not to 
 forget that no subjects out of the sciences of magnitude and 
 number admit of any such demonstration. We are required 
 to do no more in religion, than we are in fact necessitated to 
 do in all the affairs of common life ; that is, to form our 
 conclusions upon a sincere and diligent investigation of moral 
 
192 
 
 GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 
 
 evidence. And, after all, such an arrangement is not only 
 in harmonious analogy with all the conditions of our ordi 
 nary life, but, if the present world be indeed a state of moral 
 probation, if it be designed to test our diligence and sin 
 cerity, to teach us what is so suitable in a finite and created 
 being, a submissive and confiding posture of mind towards 
 the Infinite Creator, such an arrangement is essential to 
 our course of moral discipline and education. If we are 
 required to believe nothing but what it is impossible that we 
 should doubt, that is, nothing but what it would be a contra 
 diction to deny, where would be the proof of our willing 
 ness to believe on the bare assurance of wisdom and knowl 
 edge superior to our own ? Wise men assuredly consider 
 it as a most important element in the education of their own 
 children, not, indeed, that they should be taught to believe 
 what they are told without any reason, (and if they have 
 been properly trained, a just confidence in the assurances of 
 their superiors in knowledge will on many subjects be reason 
 sufficient,) yet upon evidence far less than demonstration ; 
 indeed, upon evidence far less than they will be able to ap 
 preciate, when the lapse of a few brief years has trans 
 formed them from children into men. We certainly expect 
 them to believe many things as facts which as yet they can 
 not fully comprehend, nay, which they tell us are, in ap 
 pearance, paradoxical ; and to rest satisfied with the assur 
 ance, that it is in vain for us to attempt to explain the evi 
 dence till they get older and wiser. We are accustomed even 
 to augur the worst results as to the future course and conduct 
 of a youth who has not learned to exercise thus much of 
 practical faith, and who flippantly rejects, on the score of 
 his not being able to comprehend them, truths of which he 
 yet has greater evidence, though not direct evidence, of their 
 being truths, than he has of the contrary. Now, u if we 
 have had earthly fathers, and have given them reverence " 
 after this fashion, and when we have become men have ap 
 plauded our submission as appropriate to our condition of 
 
GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 193 
 
 dependence, " shall we not much rather be subject to the 
 Father of spirits, and live ? " 
 
 If, then, the present be a scene of moral education and 
 discipline, it seems fit in itself that the evidence of the truths 
 we believe should be checkered with difficulties and liable 
 to objections ; not strong enough to force assent, nor so 
 obscure as to elude sincere investigation. God, according to 
 the memorable aphorism of Pascal already cited, has afforded 
 sufficient light to those whose object is to see, and left suffi 
 cient obscurity to perplex those who have no such wish. All 
 that seems necessary or reasonable to expect is, that, as we 
 are certainly not called upon to believe any thing without 
 reason, nor without a preponderance of reason, so the evi 
 dence shall be such as our faculties are capable of dealing 
 with ; and that the objections shall be only such as equally 
 baffle us upon any other hypothesis, or are insoluble because 
 they transcend altogether the limits of the human under 
 standing ; which last circumstance can be no valid reason, 
 apart from other grounds, either for accepting or rejecting a 
 given dogma. Now, we contend, that it is in this equitable 
 way that God has dealt with us as moral agents, in relation 
 to all the great truths which lie at the basis of religion and 
 morals ; and, we may add, in relation to the divine origin 
 of Christianity. The evidence is all of such a nature as we 
 are accustomed every day to deal with and to act upon ; 
 while the objections are either such as reappear in every 
 other theory, or turn on difficulties absolutely beyond the 
 limits of the human faculties. Take, for example, the prin 
 cipal argument which proves the existence of God ; the argu 
 ment which infers from the traces of intelligent design in the 
 universe, the existence of a wise and powerful author. In ap 
 plying this principle, man only acts as he acts every day of 
 his life in other cases. He acts on a principle which, if he 
 were to doubt, or even affect to doubt, he would be laughed 
 at by his fellow-men as a ridiculous pedant, or a crazy met 
 aphysician. Whether indications of design, countless as 
 17 
 
194 GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 
 
 they are inimitable, with which the whole universe is in 
 scribed, are likely to be the result of chance, is a question 
 which turns on principles of evidence with which man is so 
 familiar that he cannot adopt the affirmative without contra 
 dicting all his judgments in every other analogous, or similar, 
 or conceivable case. On the other hand, the objections to 
 the conclusion that there is some Eternal Being of illimitable 
 power and wisdom, are precisely of the nature we have men 
 tioned. A man makes a difficulty, we will suppose, (as well 
 he may,) of conceiving that which has existed from eternity ; 
 but, as something certainly exists now, the denial of the 
 existence of such a Being does not relieve from that diffi 
 culty, unless the objector plunges into another equally great, 
 
 that of supposing it possible for the universe to have sprung 
 into existence without a cause at all. This difficulty, then, 
 is one which reappears under any hypothesis. Again, we 
 will suppose him to make a difficulty of the ideas of self- 
 subsistence, of omnipresence without extension of parts, 
 
 of power which creates out of nothing, and which acts 
 simply by volition, of a knowledge cognizant of each thing 
 and of all its relations (actual and possible, past, present, and 
 to come) to every other thing, at every point of illimitable 
 space, and in every moment of endless duration. But then 
 these are difficulties, the solution of which clearly transcends 
 the limits of the human understanding ; and to deny the 
 doctrines which seem established by evidence which we can 
 appreciate, because we cannot solve difficulties which lie 
 altogether beyond our capacities, seems like resolving that 
 nothing shall be true but what we can fully comprehend, a 
 principle, again, which, in numberless other cases, we neither 
 can nor pretend to act upon. 
 
 It is much the same with the /evidences of Christianity. 
 Whether a certain amount and complexity of testimony are 
 likely to be false ; whether it is likely that not one but a 
 number of men would endure ignominy, persecution, and 
 the last extremities of torture, in support of an unprofitable 
 
GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 195 
 
 lie ; whether such an original fiction as Christianity if it 
 be fiction is likely to have been the production of Galilean 
 peasants ; whether any thing so sublime was to be expected 
 from fools, or any thing so holy from knaves ; whether illit 
 erate fraud was likely to be equal to such a wonderful fab 
 rication ; whether infinite artifice may be expected from ig 
 norance, or a perfectly natural and successful assumption of 
 truth from imposture; these and a multitude of the like 
 questions are precisely of the same nature, however they 
 may be decided, with those with which the historian and the 
 advocate, judges, and courts of law are every day required 
 to deal. On the other hand, whether miracles have ever 
 been, or are ever likely to be, admitted in the administration 
 of the universe, is a question on which it would demand a 
 far more comprehensive knowledge of that administration 
 than we can possibly possess, to justify an a priori decision. 
 That they are possible is all that is required ; and that no 
 consistent theist can deny. Other difficulties of Christianity, 
 as Bishop Butler has so clearly shown, baffle us on every 
 other hypothesis ; they meet us as much in the " constitu 
 tion of nature " as in the pages of revelation, and cannot 
 consistently be pleaded against Christianity without being 
 equally fatal to Theism. 
 
 There are two things, we will venture to say, at which the 
 philosophers of some future age will stand equally astonished ; 
 the one is, that any man should have been called upon to 
 believe any mystery, whether of philosophy or religion, with 
 out a preponderance of evidence of a nature which he can 
 grasp, or on the mere ipse dixit of a fallible creature like 
 himself-; the other, that, where there is such evidence, man 
 should reject a mystery, merely because it is one. This last, 
 perhaps, will be regarded as the more astonishing of the two. 
 That man, who lives in a dwelling of clay, and looks out 
 upon the illimitable universe through such tiny windows, 
 who stands, as Pascal sublimely says, between " two infini 
 tudes," who is absolutely surrounded by mysteries, which 
 
196 GENIUS AND WRITINGS OF PASCAL. 
 
 he overlooks only because he is so familiar with them, 
 should doubt a proposition (otherwise well sustained) from its 
 intrinsic difficulty, does not seem very reasonable. But when 
 we further reflect, that that very mind, which thus erects it 
 self into a standard of all things, is most ignorant even of that 
 which it ought to know best, itself, and finds there the 
 most inscrutable of all mysteries ; that when asked to de 
 clare what itself is, it is obliged to confess that it knows noth 
 ing about the matter, nothing either of its own essence or 
 its mode of operation ; that it is sometimes inclined to think 
 itself material, and sometimes immaterial ; that it cannot 
 quite come to a conclusion whether the body really exists 
 or is a phantom, or in what way (if the body really exist) 
 the intimate union between the two is maintained ; that it 
 is perplexed beyond expression even to conceive how these 
 phenomena can be reconciled, proclaiming it to be an 
 almost equal contradiction to suppose that Matter can think, 
 or the Soul be material, or a connection maintained between 
 two totally different substances, and yet admitting that one 
 of these must be true, though it cannot satisfactorily deter 
 mine which ; when we reflect on all this, surely we cannot 
 but feel that the spectacle of so ignorant a thing refusing to 
 believe a proposition merely because it is above its compre 
 hension, is of all paradoxes the most paradoxical, and of all 
 absurdities the most ludicrous ! 
 
SACRED ELOQUENCE : THE BRITISH PULPIT.* 
 
 ABOUT fifteen years ago our readers were presented with 
 a critique on " French Sermons," concluding with an intima 
 tion that at some future period the subject would be resumed, 
 with a special reference to the British pulpit. t In that article 
 surprise was expressed that there should be so small a pro 
 portion of sermons destined to live ; that out of the mil 
 lion and upwards, preached annually throughout the empire, 
 there should be so very few that are remembered three whole 
 days after they are delivered, fewer still that are commit 
 ted to the press, scarcely one that is not in a few years 
 absolutely forgotten. " If any one," it was added, " were, 
 for the first time, informed what preaching was, if, for ex 
 ample, one of the ancient critics had been told that the time 
 would come when vast multitudes of persons should assemble 
 regularly, to be addressed, in the midst of their devotions* 
 upon the most sacred truths of a religion sublime beyond all 
 the speculations of philosophers, yet in all its most important 
 points simple, and of the easiest apprehension ; that with 
 those truths were to be mingled discussions of the whole cir 
 cle of human duties, according to a system of morality singu- 
 
 * " Edinburgh Keview," October, 1840. 
 
 Sermons to a Country Congregation. By AUGUSTUS WILLIAM HARE, 
 late Fellow of New College, and Rector of Alton Barnes. 2 vols. 8vo. 
 London. 1839. 
 
 t No.LXXXIX.,pp. 147, 148. 
 17* 
 
198 SACRED ELOQUENCE : 
 
 larly pure and attractive ; that the more dignified and the 
 more interesting parts of national affairs were not to be ex 
 cluded from the discourse ; that, in short, the most elevat 
 ing, the most touching, and the most interesting of all topics 
 were to be the subject-matter of the address, directed to per 
 sons sufficiently versed in them, and assembled only from the 
 desire they felt to hear them handled, surely the conclusion 
 would at once have been drawn, that such occasions must 
 train up a race of the most consummate orators, and that the 
 effusions to which they gave birth must needs cast all other 
 
 rhetorical compositions into the shade How, then, 
 
 comes it to pass, that instances are so rare of eminent elo 
 quence in the pulpit ? " 
 
 Though we are willing to believe that some improvement 
 in this branch of eloquence is gradually taking place, we are 
 still of opinion that the above question is as pertinent as ever. 
 It seems proper, therefore, to investigate the causes of so sin 
 gular a phenomenon, and to urge upon those who are in 
 trusted with so powerful an instrument of instruction as the 
 Pulpit, the duty of endeavoring to turn it to better account. 
 
 To this important subject we propose to devote the present 
 essay, premising that it is not at all our intention to discuss 
 any doctrinal questions, or to examine how much of truth or 
 error there may be in any given system of religious belief : 
 we consider only the general conditions on which all religious 
 instruction (presupposing it to be sound) should be conveyed ; 
 and especially the style and the manner peculiarly appropri 
 ated to this department of public speaking. 
 
 Without departing from the above resolution, we may, 
 however, be allowed to make one obvious remark, even in 
 relation to what ought to be the substance of that eloquence 
 of which we propose more particularly to consider only the 
 form. It is this : that, whatever diversities of opinion and of 
 doctrine it may present, it is, of course, implied that there are 
 limits to these diversities. We cannot expect that any sys 
 tem will produce its proper effects, however eloquent and 
 
THE BRITISH PULPIT. 199 
 
 forcible the form in which it is professedly exhibited, unless 
 its essential peculiarities be preserved. A Mollah must not 
 preach the doctrines of a Brahmin, if he wishes to see what 
 are the genuine results of Islamism ; nor a Pundit interpret his 
 sacred books by the Koran of the Prophet. In the same 
 manner, if the Christian preacher (as was too often the case 
 in times that are past) be nothing more than what Bishop 
 Horsley calls " an ape of Epictetus," a bad personation 
 of Seneca tricked out in a gown and cassock, or a doctor 
 of metaphysics, who, by some strange blunder, has mistaken 
 the church for the lecture-room, we cannot rationally ex 
 pect that Christianity should produce its genuine results. 
 What are the precise limits within which the essentials of 
 Christian doctrine may be exhibited in their integrity, it is not 
 for us to determine : to do so would be to venture within that 
 province which we have formally renounced. But that the 
 essence of the doctrines and precepts of this peculiar system 
 may be fully exhibited, notwithstanding considerable diversity 
 of opinions on subordinate points, no man of candor will de 
 ny. The names of eminent men of very different parties 
 will instantly suggest themselves to the memory of the 
 reader, to whom, we are convinced, not one individual of the 
 Christian community would deny the title of " preachers of 
 righteousness." 
 
 But supposing the requisite purity of doctrine secured, 
 of which we must leave men to form their own opinion, 
 the mode in which that doctrine is exhibited and enforced is 
 only second in importance. And the proof is found in this : 
 that, if we appeal to an individual of any denomination, he 
 will tell you that he knows preachers whom he cannot but 
 account equally worthy and excellent, and equally in posses 
 sion of the truth, (that is, who think exactly with himself, 
 for that is the infallible standard by which each man meas 
 ures the aberrations of his neighbor,) who yet shall produce 
 the most opposite effects on him. The one shall send him to 
 sleep in spite of himself, and the other shall not permit him 
 
200 SACRED ELOQUENCE: 
 
 to sleep, even if he would. Yet the substance of their com 
 munications, he himself being the judge, is in each case pre 
 cisely the same. 
 
 We have long been convinced that the inefficiency that so 
 generally distinguishes pulpit discourses is in a great degree 
 owing to the two following causes : first, that preachers do 
 not sufficiently cultivate, as part of their professional educa 
 tion, a systematic acquaintance with the principles upon 
 which all effective eloquence must be founded, with the 
 limitations under which their topics must be chosen, and the 
 mode in which they must be exhibited, in order to secure 
 popular impression ; and, secondly, that they do ot, after 
 they have assumed their sacred functions, give sufficient 
 time or labor to the preparation of their discourses. 
 
 Many and splendid exceptions to these statements no doubt 
 there are. We only fear that some for whom the consolation 
 of this saving clause was not intended, will, nevertheless, 
 complacently take the benefit of it. We shall offer some 
 observations on both the causes of failure above specified, at 
 the close of the present article. 
 
 The appropriateness of any composition, whether written 
 or spoken, is easily deduced from its object. If that object 
 be to instruct, convince, or persuade, or all these at the same 
 time, we naturally expect that it should be throughout of a 
 direct and earnest character ; indicating a mind absorbed 
 in the avowed object, and solicitous only about what may 
 subserve it. We expect that this singleness of purpose should 
 be seen in the topics discussed, in the arguments selected to 
 enforce them, in the modes of illustration, and even in the 
 peculiarities of style and expression. We expect that noth 
 ing shall be introduced merely for the purpose of inspiring 
 an interest, either in the thoughts or in the language, apart 
 from their pertinency to the object; or of exciting an emo 
 tion of delight for its own sake, as in poetry, although it 
 is quite true that the most vivid pleasure will necessarily re 
 sult from perceiving an exact adaptation of the means to the 
 
THE BRITISH PULPIT. 201 
 
 end. We cannot readily pardon mere beauties or ele 
 gances, striking thoughts or graceful imagery, if they are 
 marked by this irrelevancy; since they serve only to impede 
 the vehement current of argument or feeling. In a word, we 
 expect nothing but what, under the circumstances of the 
 speaker, is prompted by nature ; - nature, not as opposed to 
 a deliberate effort to adapt the means to the ends, and to do 
 what is to be done as well as possible, for this, though in one 
 sense art, is also the truest nature ; but nature, as opposed 
 to whatever is inconsistent with the idea, that the man is un 
 der the dominion of genuine feeling, and bent upon taking 
 the directest path to the accomplishment of his object. True 
 eloquence is not like some painted window, which both trans 
 mits the light of day variegated and tinged with a thousand 
 hues, and diverts the attention from its proper use to the 
 pomp and splendor of the artist's doing. It is a perfectly 
 trasparent -medium ; transmitting light, without suggesting a 
 thought about the medium itself. Adaptation to the one sin 
 gle object is every thing. 
 
 These maxims have been universally recognized in delib 
 erative and forensic eloquence. Those who have most 
 severely exemplified them have ever been regarded as the 
 truest models; while those who have partially violated them, 
 though still considered in a qualified sense very eloquent, 
 have failed to obtain the highest place. Nor, it may be safe 
 ly said, would the irrelevant discussions, the florid declama 
 tion, the imaginative finery, the tawdry ornament, which too 
 often disgrace the pulpit, which too often are haard in it, 
 not only without astonishment, but with admiration, be tol 
 erated for a moment in the senate or at the bar. 
 
 Much of this is no doubt to be attributed to the deplorable 
 fact, that the great themes of religion are viewed (not by 
 preachers alone, but by all mankind) with emotions so sadly 
 disproportioned to their intrinsic importance. Hence the 
 difficulty of finding the man who, is as thoroughly interested 
 in the subjects of religion as thousands are in discussions re- 
 
202 SACRED ELOQUENCE I 
 
 lating to the timber or sugar duties, to a grant of public 
 money, or a vote of supply. Even a trial at the Old Bailey 
 for stealing a couple of pocket-handkerchiefs too often stirs 
 deeper emotion, both in speakers and hearers, than the most 
 momentous realities connected with the future and unseen 
 world. 
 
 This, however, is only a partial solution of the difficulty ; 
 since the maxims we have above adverted to are often and 
 grievously violated by multitudes of preachers, the consisten 
 cy of whose lives, and whose diligent discharge of the ordi 
 nary duties of their office, bespeak them to be under the do 
 minion of religious principle. Their failings, therefore, as 
 public speakers, can be fairly accounted for only by their 
 having adopted an erroneous idea of what the most effective 
 style of speaking is ; or, which is more frequent, from their 
 never having attained any distinct idea of it at all. 
 
 We have long felt convinced that the eloquence of the pul 
 pit, in its general character, has never been assimilated so far 
 as it might have been, and ought to have been, to that which 
 has produced the greatest effect elsewhere ; and which is shown 
 to be of the right kind both by the success which has attended 
 it, and by the analysis of the qualities by which it has been 
 distinguished. If we were compelled to give a brief defini 
 tion of the principal characteristics of this truest style of elo 
 quence, we should say it was " practical reasoning, animated 
 by strong emotion " ; or if we might be indulged in what is 
 rather a description than a definition of it, we should say that 
 it consisted in reasoning on topics calculated to inspire a com 
 mon interest, expressed in the language of-ordinary life, and 
 in that brief, rapid, familiar style which natural emotion ever 
 assumes. The former half of this description would condemn 
 no small portion of the compositions called " Sermons," and 
 the latter half a still larger portion. 
 
 We would not be misunderstood. It is far very far 
 from our intention to speak in terms of the slightest depreci 
 ation of the immense treasures of learning, of acute disqui- 
 
THE BRITISH PULPIT. 203 
 
 sition, of profound speculation, of powerful controversy, 
 which the literature of the English pulpit contains. In these 
 points it cannot be surpassed. In vigor and originality of 
 thought, in argumentative power, in extensive and varied eru 
 dition, it as far transcends all other literature of the same 
 kind, as it is deficient in the qualities which are fitted to pro 
 duce popular impression. We merely assert that the greater 
 part of " Sermons " are not at all entitled to the name, if by 
 it be meant discourses specially adapted to the object of in 
 structing, convincing, or persuading the common mind. 
 
 We are well aware, that the very nature of pulpit eloquence 
 forbids any thing more than a partial assimilation to that of 
 the senate or the bar ; that certain modifications will be in 
 stantly suggested by the topics with which it deals, and the 
 objects which it has in view. It must often be to a far great 
 er extent simply didactic than eloquence of any other kind ; 
 though the practical purpose to which all matter of this sort is 
 to be immediately applied, will still secure an earnestness and 
 animation in the style in very observable contrast with the 
 even tone and measured periods of literary disquisition. It nev 
 er can appeal to those tumultuous passions, nor rouse those ve 
 hement feelings, which may be gladly abandoned to the arena 
 of politics ; while those sublime realities, connected with the 
 future and the invisible, which form its great and inspiring 
 themes, must necessarily demand more minute and ample 
 description, in order vividly to impress the imagination, than 
 would be readily tolerated either in deliberative or forensic 
 eloquence. Still this is only saying, that, as a peculiar species 
 of eloquence, it has something peculiar ; as a species of the 
 genus, it ought still to possess the generic qualities. The de 
 gree in which it can exhibit and embody those qualities is an 
 other question ; and though it may be a point of some difficul 
 ty to ascertain how far this object may be attained, it is not 
 difficult to show either that it might have been attained more 
 completely than it has been, or that in many instances it has 
 been neglected altogether. 
 
204 SACRED ELOQUENCE : 
 
 We have said, for example, that the principal characteristic 
 of all effective eloquence consists in reasoning on topics cal 
 culated to inspire a common interest in the mass of a common 
 audience. Who can take even the most hasty inspection of 
 our pulpit literature, without perceiving how generally this 
 obvious attribute has been neglected, especially till within a 
 comparatively recent period ? What can be more hopeless 
 than the attempt to engage the attention, or interest the feel 
 ings, of a common audience in metaphysical subtilties ? And 
 yet abstruse speculations on the " origin of evil," on " moral 
 necessity," on the " self-determining power," on the " ulti 
 mate principles of ethics," on the " immortality of the soul," 
 as proved from its indiscerptibility and we know not what, on 
 the " eternal fitness of things," on the " moral sense," with 
 other still more recondite speculations on themes which it is 
 almost impious and perfectly useless to touch, were of com 
 mon occurrence in our older pulpit literature ; and they are 
 not infrequent, though not pursued to the same extent, even 
 now. For our own parts we believe that the discussion of 
 such subjects is about as profitable in a popular assembly as 
 would be that of the well-known questions, as to whether an 
 gels can pass from one point of space to another, without 
 passing through the intermediate points, and whether they 
 can visually discern objects in the dark. Dr. Donne has 
 proposed a series of questions for over-refined speculators, in 
 which he keenly satirizes all such superfluous subtilty. It is 
 only to be lamented that he did not more effectually learn his 
 own lesson in the composition of his own sermons ; in some 
 of which he has touched upon subjects more fit for Thomas 
 Aquinas than the Christian preacher. We would not do even 
 Thomas Aquinas injustice, however ; we verily believe that 
 the great schoolman would have stood aghast at the idea of 
 dragging such questions out of the obscurity of the schools 
 into common daylight, and making them the themes of pop 
 ular declamation. 
 
 We gladly admit that the modern pulpit is fast outgrowing 
 
THE BRITISH PULPIT. 205 
 
 these extravagances ; that such discussions are both less fre 
 quent, and pursued to a much more limited extent, than they 
 used to be. Yet it is no uncommon thing to find the young 
 preacher, fresh from his metaphysics or his philosophy, touch 
 ing upon them just to a sufficient extent to exhaust and dis 
 sipate the attention of his audience before he comes to more 
 important and more welcome matter ; or indulging in allu 
 sions, and employing phraseology with reference to them 
 wholly unintelligible to the mass. Others, and they form a 
 much larger class, are fond of subjects which are only one 
 degree less useful, and which, though they ought not to be 
 excluded from the pulpit, need to be very rarely entered up 
 on. We allude to the discussions connected with " Natural 
 Theology," and the first " Principles of Morals." Such 
 preachers are continually proving that there is a God, to 
 those who readily admit there is a divine revelation ; that the 
 marks of design in the universe prove that there is an intel 
 ligent cause, to those who never had a single doubt upon the 
 subject ; that death is not an eternal sleep, to those who find 
 no difficulty in admitting that there is a heaven and a hell ; 
 that man is a moral agent, to those who cannot even conceive 
 that he can be otherwise ; and that those first principles of 
 ethics are certainly true, which even savages themselves 
 would be ashamed to disavow. We say not that such topics 
 should be excluded from the pulpit, but only that they should 
 form a very inferior element in its ordinary prelections. The 
 Atheist and Deist, though rarely found in Christian congrega 
 tions, should not be entirely neglected ; and those who are 
 neither the one nor the other should certainly be in posses 
 sion of arguments which may serve to confute both, and to 
 give an intelligent reason " of the hope that is in them." 
 But it may safely be taken for granted, in ordinary cases, that 
 the great bulk of those who attend any Christian place of 
 worship already believe all these things ; in a word, admit the 
 truth of that revelation, the exposition and enforcement of 
 which are the preacher's proper object. What should we say 
 
 18 
 
206 SACRED ELOQUENCE : 
 
 to a member of Parliament who should treat the House of 
 Commons (characteristically impatient of whatever does not 
 bear on practical objects) to formal disquisitions on points on 
 which all the members are agreed ; on the first principles 
 of law and government, for example ; or on any of those ab 
 stract questions which were discussed properly enough by 
 Filmer and Locke. Allusions to such matters, so far as they 
 bear on the matter in hand, and brief references to general 
 principles which embrace the particular instances under dis 
 cussion, are all that would be tolerated. 
 
 Even where the topics are not such as are fairly open to 
 censure, a large class of preachers, especially amongst the 
 young, grievously err by investing them with the technicalities 
 of science and philosophy ; either because they foolishly sup 
 pose they thereby give their compositions a more philosophi 
 cal air, or because they disdain the homely and the vulgar. 
 We remember hearing of a worthy man of this class, who, 
 having occasion to tell his audience the simple truth, that 
 there was not one Gospel for the rich and another for the poor, 
 informed them, that, " if they would not be saved on ' gener 
 al principles,' they could not be saved at all " ! With such 
 men it is not sufficient to say, that such and such a thing 
 must be, but there is always a " moral or physical necessity " 
 for it. The will is too old-fashioned a thing to be mentioned, 
 and every thing is done by volition ; duty is expanded into 
 " moral obligation " ; men not only ought to do this, that, or 
 the other, it is always by " some principle of their moral na 
 ture " ; they not only like to do so and so, but they are " im 
 pelled by some natural propensity " ; men not only think and 
 do, but they are never represented as thinking and doing 
 without some parade of their " intellectual processes and ac 
 tive powers." Such discourses are full of " moral beauty," 
 and " necessary relations," and " philosophical demonstra 
 tions," and " laws of nature," and " a priori and a posteri 
 ori arguments." If some simple fact of physical science is 
 referred to in the way of argument or illustration, it cannot 
 
THE BRITISH PULPIT. 207 
 
 be presented in common language, but must be exhibited in 
 the pomp of the most approved scientific technicalities. If 
 there be a common and scientific name for the same object, 
 ten to one that the latter is adopted. Heat straightway be 
 comes " caloric," lightning, the " electric fluid " ; instead of 
 plants and animals, we are surrounded by " organized sub 
 stances" ; life is nothing half so good as the "vital princi 
 ple " ; " phenomena " of all kinds are very plentiful ; these 
 phenomena are " developed " and "combined," and "ana 
 lyzed," and, in short, done every thing with, except being 
 made intelligible. Not only is s.uch language as this obscure 
 ly understood, or not understood at all, but even if perfectly 
 understood, must necessarily be far less effective than those 
 simple terms of common life, which for the most part may 
 be substituted for them. The sermons of Augustus William 
 Hare, referred to at the commencement of this essay, may 
 serve to show how the abstract terms of philosophy may be 
 advantageously translated into simple and racy English.* 
 
 * The following extract from Dr. Campbell's "Lectures on Pulpit 
 Eloquence" is worth notice : " There is indeed a sort of literary diction, 
 which sometimes the inexperienced are ready to fall into insensibly, from 
 their having been much more accustomed to the school and to the closet, 
 to the works of some particular schemer in philosophy, than to the scenes 
 of real life and conversation. This fault, though akin to the former, is 
 not so bad ; as it may be without affectation, and when there is no spe 
 cial design of catching applause. It is, indeed, most commonly the con 
 sequence of an immoderate attachment to some one or other of the 
 various systems of ethics or theology that have in modern times been 
 published, and obtained a vogue among their respective partisans. Thus 
 the zealous disciple of Shaftesbury, Akenside, and Hutcheson is no soon 
 er licensed to preach the Gospel, than, with the best intentions in the 
 world, he harangues the people from the pulpit on the moral sense and 
 universal benevolence ; he sets them to inquire whether there be a per 
 fect conformity in their affections to the supreme symmetry established 
 in the universe ; he is full of the sublime and beautiful in things, the 
 moral objects of right and wrong, and the proportional affection of a ra 
 tional creature towards them. He speaks much of the inward music 
 of the mind, the harmony and the dissonance of the passions ; and seems, 
 by his way of talking, to imagine, that if a man have this same moral sense, 
 
208 SACRED ELOQUENCE : 
 
 Equally at variance with common sense are the topics 
 which some few preachers, much addicted to Biblical criticism, 
 but strangely ignorant of its practical uses, and the limits 
 within which alone it can be properly applied, sometimes 
 think proper to introduce into sermons. Their talk is much 
 of " collations of manuscripts," of " various readings," of 
 the " Vulgate," of " Coptic and Syriac versions," of " inter 
 polations," of the " original languages," of " Hebrew points," 
 &c., &c., &c. They totally forget, if they ever knew, that 
 all these things are the mere instruments with which they 
 work ; and that the results, expressed in simple language, and 
 without any ostentatious technicalities, are all with which the 
 people have to do. If such a man were building a house, 
 he would doubtless suffer the scaffolding to stand about it as 
 a notable embellishment; or if he were employed to lay 
 down a carpet, he would leave the hammer and nails upon 
 the floor as memorials of his labor and ingenuity. 
 
 The selection of inappropriate topics is the more inexcusa 
 ble, when we consider the large provision of subjects of en- 
 iduring and universal interest which is made in the very Book 
 which the preacher professes to interpret. He may freely 
 expatiate over the ample circle of its doctrines and precepts, 
 in all their applications to the endless diversities of life } and 
 the endless peculiarities of individual character ; he may find 
 an equally legitimate province in the interpretation of difficult 
 passages, or the reconciliation of apparent discrepancies ; in 
 the illustration of manners, customs, and antiquities ; and in 
 the elucidation of those ever-varied and deeply interesting 
 narratives in which, for the profoundest reasons, the doctrines 
 
 which he considers as the mental ear, in due perfection, he may tune his 
 soul with as much ease as a musician tunes his musical instrument. The 
 disciple of Dr. Clarke, on the contrary, talks to us in somewhat of a so 
 berer strain and less pompous phrase, but not a jot more edifying, about 
 unalterable reason and the eternal fitness of things, about the conformity 
 of our actions to their immutable relations and essential differences." 
 Lecture III. 
 
THE BRITISH PULPIT. 209 
 
 of Scripture are every where imbedded, as if for the very- 
 purpose both of securing the requisite variety in pulpit dis 
 courses, and preventing the truths of religion from assuming 
 the form of naked abstractions. Well would it be if in this 
 respect, as well as in others, the preacher would make the 
 Bible the object of his sedulous imitation. It is everywhere 
 a practical book ; it contains no over-curious speculations, no 
 superfluous subtleties. On the contrary, as often remarked, 
 there is a singular silence maintained in that volume on all 
 that tends merely to gratify our curiosity. The very mys 
 teries it discloses, it discloses only so far as is necessary for 
 some practical purpose ; whilst it everywhere views man 
 just as in common life man views himself and his fellows, 
 recognizing at once, without discussion, all those facts con 
 nected with our intellectual and moral constitution, the true 
 theory of which has occasioned such endless differences and 
 inquiries in the schools. 
 
 If the topics selected by the preacher have often been very 
 little calculated to inspire interest in the mass of a common 
 audience, it is equally true, that, where they are liable to 
 no such objection, the mode of treating them has as often 
 been any thing but popular. The argumentation is often too 
 subtle or too comprehensive ; or a too solicitously logical 
 form is given to its expression. Unity of subject, indeed, 
 there ought to be, and must be ; t]jat is, where the discourse 
 is a " sermon," and not an " exposition." But it is one thing 
 to exhibit that one subject by rapidly and powerfully touch 
 ing thbse points which the common mind can seize and ap 
 preciate, and quite another to exhibit it after the manner of 
 Euclid or Dr. Clarke. Unity of subject is a characteristic 
 of Demosthenes ; but continuous or subtle ratiocination never 
 is. He reasons, indeed, perpetually, for reasoning, as al 
 ready said, is the staple of all effective eloquence ; but never 
 was a truer criticism than that of Lord Brougham, " that 
 his reasonings are not of the nature of continuous demon 
 stration, and by no means resemble a chain of mathematical 
 18* 
 
210 SACRED ELOQUENCE : 
 
 or metaphysical arguments." The following observations 
 are well worthy the attention of every speaker : "If by 
 this " (the assertion that Demosthenes is chiefly character 
 ized by reasoning) " is only meant that he never wanders 
 from the subject, that each remark tells upon the matter in 
 hand, that all his illustrations are brought to bear upon the 
 point, and that he is never found making any step in any 
 direction which does not advance his main object, and lead 
 towards the conclusion to which he is striving to bring his 
 hearers, the observation is perfectly just ; for this is a dis 
 tinguishing feature in the character of his eloquence. It is 
 not, indeed, his grand excellence, because every thing de 
 pends upon the manner in which he pursues this course ; 
 the course itself being one quite as open to the humblest 
 mediocrity as to the highest genius. But if it is meant to 
 be said that those Attic orators, and especially their great 
 chief, made speeches in which long chains of elaborated rea 
 soning are to be found, nothing can be less like the truth. 
 A variety of topics are handled in succession, all calculated 
 to strike the audience" 
 
 We admit, however, that it is impossible to lay down any 
 universal rule on this point. Different men will treat their 
 subjects with more or less of logical severity, according to 
 the structure of their own understandings ; and, what is 
 more, will form to themselves audiences who will appreciate 
 their methods. A general caution against the extremes ad 
 verted to, is all that can be given. But in order more effect 
 ually to guard against the faults in question, we are inclined to 
 believe that it would be well if the ancient system of " Hom 
 ilies," or expositions of considerable passages, were more fre 
 quently resorted to. If well executed, especially when the 
 subjects are historical, we are disposed to think they would 
 both be more fruitful of instruction, and secure, by variety 
 of topics, a stronger hold upon the attention of a common 
 audience. We are aware, indeed, that to present such sub 
 jects judiciously, to make the transitions easy and natural, 
 
THE BRITISH PULPIT. 211 
 
 and to secure something like unity of plan, notwithstanding 
 the great variety of the materials, would require quite as 
 much labor as the construction of a sermon on some single 
 topic, probably more. And for this very reason we do 
 not think it would be at all fair to judge of the effects of such 
 expositions by what commonly pass under that name, in 
 which a large portion of text is often taken in order to save 
 trouble ; the preacher erroneously supposing, that, where 
 he has so much to talk about, he cannot fail to have enough 
 to say, and that he may therefore dispense with a diligent 
 preparation. He forgets that, if the field be very wide, there 
 may be the greater danger, unless he takes due care, of 
 losing himself in it. We have heard of a preacher of this 
 stamp, who alleged, as a reason for resorting to the expos 
 itory method, that when he was " persecuted in one text, he 
 could flee unto another." Chrysostom, in his very best 
 moods, admirably exemplifies the homiletic style here con 
 tended for.* 
 
 * Whitefield's sermons very often consist of little more than a familiar 
 and lively exposition of a parable, or some short portion of narrative ; 
 and to this, we have no doubt, they owed no slight degree of their pop 
 ularity. The sermons of Whitefield have come down to us in a very 
 imperfect form. They are, for the most part, mere notes of what he 
 said. It has often been remarked, that his sermons are strangely des 
 titute of vigorous or original thought. Though it is certain they have 
 greatly suffered from the mutilated form in which they have reached us, 
 we must confess it does not appear to us that the sermons are very de 
 ficient in those qualities of thought or expression which we have rep 
 resented as so essential to popular eloquence. It is true they often want 
 method and arrangement, are disfigured by repetitions, extravagances, 
 and frequent and gross violations of taste. These are to be attributed 
 partly to the cause above specified, that is, the imperfect manner in 
 which his sermons have been preserved, partly to the character of his 
 own mind, and partly to the age. If, indeed, any one look for profound 
 speculation, or continuous and subtle reasoning, in these sermons, he 
 will be disappointed; but so far from wondering on that account that they 
 should have produced such an effect, he will feel, if he know any thing 
 of the philosophy of popular eloquence, that they could not have pro- 
 
212 . SACRED ELOQUENCE I 
 
 As we have said that we wish preachers would let the 
 Scriptures determine for them to what classes of subjects 
 they should limit themselves, so we wish that they would 
 imitate the same book in their general mode of treating the 
 topics it supplies. There, assuredly, as Lord Brougham says 
 of Demosthenes, the reasonings are not " chains of contin 
 uous ratiocination." The book is constructed with far too 
 profound a knowledge of human nature for that. To use 
 the expressive language already quoted, " a variety of topics 
 are handled in succession, all calculated to strike the com 
 mon mind." This is the very characteristic of the discourses 
 of our Lord ; and in this, as well as in all other respects, they 
 are worthy of the profound study of the Christian preacher. 
 A few philosophers would, no doubt, prefer a very different 
 method ; and have often very unphilosophically complained 
 of Scripture, because its method is not their method. But 
 we are not speaking of what philosophers would best like, 
 but what is most calculated to impress the common mind. 
 
 We shall now proceed to offer a few observations on those 
 properties of style which peculiarly belong to the most effect 
 ive eloquence. It was remarked, that it is characterized by 
 that brief, rapid, familiar, and natural manner which a mind 
 in earnest ever assumes. It is best illustrated by the style 
 of a man engaged in conversation on some serious subject, 
 intent, for example, on convincing his neighbor of some 
 important truth, or persuading him to some course of conduct. 
 The public speaker will often manifest, it is true, greater 
 
 duced such an effect, if they had been characterized by these qualities. 
 It is certain they could not have been destitute of the principal qualities, 
 whether of thought or of style, which constitute popular eloquence ; and 
 we think that even now, amidst great deformities, those qualities may 
 be not obscurely traced in them. Preaching, of which the fastidious 
 Hume said, that it was " worth going twenty miles to hear it," which 
 interested the infidel Bolingbroke, and warmed even the cool and cau 
 tious Franklin for once into enthusiasm, must have possessed great 
 merit, independently of the charms of voice, gesture, and manner. 
 
THE BRITISH PULPIT. 213 
 
 dignity or vehemence, (the natural result of speaking on a 
 more important theme, and to a larger audience,) but there 
 will be the same general characteristics still ; the same collo 
 quial, but never vulgar diction ; the same homely illustrations; 
 the same brevity of expression ; in a word, all those pecu 
 liarities which mark a man absorbed in his subject, and simply 
 anxious to give the most forcible expression to his thoughts 
 and feelings. It is not very easy to give an analysis of this 
 peculiar style by an enumeration of its qualities ; but it is 
 instantly recognized wherever it is found, whether addressed 
 to the eye or to the ear.* 
 
 The chief characteristics of this peculiar style are abhor 
 rence of the ornate and the glittering, of the pompous and 
 the florid ; jealousy of epithets, a highly idiomatic and home 
 ly diction, a love of brevity and condensation, a freedom 
 from stateliness and formality ; rapid changes of construction, 
 frequent recurrence to the interrogative, not to mention 
 numberless other indications of vivacity and animation, 
 marked in speech by the most rapid and varied changes of 
 voice and gesture. Of all its characteristics, the most strik 
 ing and the most universal is the moderate use of the imagi 
 nation. Now, as lively emotion always stimulates the imagi 
 nation, it may at first sight appear paradoxical that this should 
 be a characteristic at all. But a little reflection will explain 
 this ; for every one must recollect, that, if a speaker is in 
 earnest, he never employs his imagination as the poet does, 
 merely to delight us ; nor, indeed, to delight us at all, except 
 as appropriate imagery, though used for another object, ne 
 cessarily imparts pleasure. For this reason, illustrations are 
 selected always with reference to their force rather than their 
 beauty ; and are very generally marked more by their home- 
 
 * No writer on rhetoric (if we except Aristotle) has been so uniformly 
 alive to the peculiarities of this style, or has so happily illustrated them, 
 as Dr. Whately. It must also be admitted, that his own writings furnish 
 many admirable exemplifications of his own maxims. It is well when 
 precept is enforced by example. 
 
214 SACRED ELOQUENCE I 
 
 ly propriety than by their grace and elegance. For the 
 same reason, wherever it is possible, they are thrown into 
 the brief form of metaphor ; and here Aristotle, with his usu 
 al sagacity, observes that the metaphor is the only trope in 
 which the orator may freely indulge. Every thing marks 
 the man intent upon serious business, whose sole anxiety is 
 to convey his meaning with as much precision and energy as 
 possible to the minds of his auditors. But with the poet, 
 whose very object is to delight us, or even with the prose- 
 writer, in those species of prose which have the same object, 
 the case is widely different. He may employ two or more 
 images, if they are but appropriate and elegant, where the 
 orator would employ but one, and that perhaps the simplest 
 and homeliest ; he may throw in an epithet merely to suggest 
 some picturesque circumstance, or to give greater minute 
 ness and vivacity to description ; he may sometimes indulge 
 in a more flowing and graceful expression than the orator 
 would venture upon ; that is, whenever harmony will better 
 answer his object than energy. What does it matter to him 
 who is walking for walking's sake, how long he lingers 
 amidst the beautiful, or how often he pauses to drink in at 
 leisure the melody and the fragrance of nature ? But the 
 man who is pressing on to his journey's end cannot afford 
 time for such luxurious loitering. The utmost he can do is 
 to snatch here and there a homely floweret from the dusty 
 hedge-row, and eagerly pursue his way. So delicate is the per 
 ception attained by a highly cultivated taste of the proprieties 
 of all grave and earnest composition, that it not only feels at 
 enmity with the meretricious or viciously ornaje, but imme 
 diately perceives that the greatest beauties of certain species 
 of prose composition would become little better than down 
 right bombast, if transplanted into any composition the object 
 of which was serious. We may illustrate this by referring to 
 a passage of acknowledged beauty, the description, in the 
 "Antiquary," of the sunset preceding the storm there so 
 grandly delineated. " The sun was now resting his huge 
 
THE BRITISH PULPIT. 215 
 
 disc upon the edge of the level ocean, and gilded the accu 
 mulation of towering clouds through which he had travelled 
 the livelong day, and which now assembled on all sides, like 
 misfortunes and disasters around a sinking empire and falling 
 monarch. Still, however, his dying splendor gave a sombre 
 magnificence to the massive congregation of vapors, forming 
 out of their unsubstantial gloom the show of pyramids and 
 towers, some touched with gold, some with purple, some with 
 a hue of deep and dark red. The distant sea, stretched be 
 neath this varied and gorgeous canopy, lay almost porten 
 tously still, reflecting back the dazzling and level beams of 
 the descending luminary, and the splendid coloring of the 
 clouds amidst which he was setting." No one in reading this 
 passage can help admiring its graphic beauty : the numerous 
 epithets, considering the purpose for which they are em 
 ployed, that of detaining the mind upon every picturesque 
 circumstance, and giving vividness and fidelity to the whole 
 picture, appear no more frequent than they ought to be. 
 But suppose some naval historian, who has occasion to narrate 
 the movements of two hostile fleets (separated on the eve of 
 battle by a storm), should suddenly pause to introduce a sim 
 ilar description ; would not the effect be so ridiculous, that 
 no one could read to the end of the passage without bursting 
 into laughter ? 
 
 It is against such a style that the young preacher, especially 
 if he has, or thinks he has, a brilliant imagination, is called to 
 be jealously on his guard ; and the more so, as the very themes 
 on which he is often called to speak really require a certain 
 fulness of description to bring them with sufficient fidelity and 
 vividness before the mind of the hearer. But let him beware 
 how he throws in epithets, and employs images, merely be 
 cause he thinks them beautiful or picturesque. As regards 
 real impression, there is no style which has so little practical 
 effect, even when there is real genius in it. In general, that 
 style is characterized by any thing but genius. There are 
 some examples of it, however, to which this remark would 
 
216 SACRED ELOQUENCE l" 
 
 not apply : it certainly would not to some of the sermons of 
 Jeremy Taylor. That this style is often extravagantly ad 
 mired is quite true ; nay, even the downright florid is not with 
 out its admirers ; but it is not the less ineffective for all that. 
 This very admiration, as it is too often the subtle motive 
 which has beguiled the speaker into such a vicious mode of 
 treating his subject, so it at once affords a solution of the seem 
 ing paradox ; for it shows that the minds of the auditors are 
 fixed rather upon the man than upon the subject, less upon 
 the truths inculcated than upon the genius which has embel 
 lished them. The speaker has been ambitious to attract the 
 eye to himself and his doings, and it must be admitted that 
 he too often succeeds ; but it is at the expense of what is his 
 avowed^ and ought to be his real, object. If we cannot en 
 dure this style in the public speaker, even where there is 
 intrinsic beauty in it, simply because we do not think it natu 
 ral that a man in earnest should indulge in all this wanton 
 dalliance with imagination, how much more repulsive is that 
 far more frequent style which is but a mockery of it, in which 
 there is a constant effort to be fine, where there is not only 
 excess of ornament, but all of a bad kind ! The former 
 style may be natural to the man, as in the case of Jeremy 
 Taylor, however unnatural in relation to the subject and 
 the occasion ; the latter is alike unnatural in relation to 
 both. 
 
 As the severe style for which we contend is best illustrated 
 by examples, we shall mention two or three of those who 
 have strikingly exemplified it. And, as we are speaking 
 simply of style, the authors to whom we shall refer are se 
 lected without relation to the systems of doctrine which they 
 preached, and without implying either approbation or censure 
 in that point of view. If the whole of those who have illus 
 trated the principles here expounded were given, the cata 
 logue would not be very long. It is true, that this style is 
 more frequently cultivated than it was ; and, if it were not 
 invidious to refer to living preachers, we might mention not a 
 
THE BRITISH PULPIT. 217 
 
 few, both in the Establishment and out of it, who have at 
 tained it in a very high degree ; some few in whom it is 
 found nearly in perfection. But if we search the printed lit 
 erature of the pulpit, it is not one sermon in a thousand that 
 possesses any traces of it. The style is often that of stately 
 or elegant disquisition, often of loose and florid declama 
 tion, but rarely indeed do we recognize the qualities 
 of what Aristotle has happily and aptly called the " agonisti- 
 cal " or " wrestling " style ; that style by which a speaker 
 earnestly strives to make a present audience see and feel 
 what he wishes them to see and feel. A large portion of our 
 sermons differ not at all in style from that of a theological 
 treatise, or a philosophical essay ; and they may be read by 
 the individual in the closet, without the slighest suspicion, 
 were it not for the assurance on the title-page, that they were 
 discourses delivered to a public audience. We-would fain be 
 lieve that the printed sermons of many of our preachers have 
 in this respect done injustice to their ordinary discourses, and 
 that they have been greatly altered previous to publication. In 
 one case, and that a striking one, we know that this belief is 
 well founded. We allude to perhaps the greatest of modern 
 English preachers, the late Robert Hall. The few discourses 
 which he so elaborately prepared for the press, are full of ex 
 quisite thoughts, expressed in most exquisite language ; but 
 the style is almost everywhere that of disquisition, and in no 
 sensible degree different from what he has adopted in his 
 " Apology for the Freedom of the Press," or his work on 
 " Terms of Communion." Now it is well known that his 
 ordinary discourses were distinguished by a much higher de 
 gree of those qualities of style for which we have been so 
 earnestly contending ; and there can be little difficulty in af 
 firming that, in this one point of view, many of the sermons 
 which were imperfectly taken down in shorthand from his 
 own lips, are superior to the most polished of those composi 
 tions which he slowly elaborated for the press. 
 
 But though it is difficult to point out many specimens of 
 19 
 
218 SACRED ELOQUENCE : 
 
 the style in question, such specimens are to be found. Of 
 all the English preachers, probably those who have been most 
 strongly marked by the peculiarities of the true genius for 
 public speaking, are Latimer, South, and Baxter ; and, not 
 withstanding some defects, and those not inconsiderable, they 
 are also probably the preachers in whom specimens of the 
 style we are speaking of will be found the most frequent and 
 perfect. 
 
 The first of these certainly possessed talents for the most 
 effective eloquence in a high degree. Indeed, it may be said 
 of many of the preachers of the Reformation, that, though 
 their uncouthness, quaintness, ridiculous or trivial allusions, 
 wearisome tautologies and digressions, incessant violations of 
 taste and disregard of method, render it difficult to read them, 
 they are in many important points very superior to the more 
 erudite and profound preachers of the next century. The 
 subjects they selected were such as more generally interested 
 the common mind. These subjects are briefly touched and 
 rapidly varied. Though the structure of the sentences is of 
 ten most uncouth, (as might be expected from the state of 
 the language,) the diction is more idiomatic and purely Eng 
 lish; while the general manner is decidedly more that of 
 downright earnestness, more direct and pungent. This 
 effect is in a great measure to be attributed to the circum 
 stances in which they were placed. In that great controversy 
 to which they consecrated their lives, they appealed to the 
 people, and were naturally led both to adapt their subjects to 
 the popular mind, and to express themselves in the popular 
 language. The preachers of the next century were men who 
 lived in seclusion, far from common life, buried among 
 books, and incessantly reading and often writing in a foreign 
 tongue. To all this it is owing that their subjects and their 
 style are too often as little adapted to produce popular impres 
 sion as those of Thomas Aquinas himself. 
 
 Of all the English preachers, South seems to us to furnish, 
 in point of style, the truest specimens of the most effective 
 
THE BRITISH PULPIT. 219 
 
 species of pulpit eloquence. We are speaking, it must be 
 remembered, simply of his style : we offeree opinion on the 
 degree of truth or error in the system of doctrines he em 
 braced ; and for his unchristian bitterness and often unseemly 
 wit, would be the last to offer any apology. But his ro 
 bust intellect, his shrewd common sense, his vehement feel 
 ings, and a fancy always more distinguished by force than 
 by elegance, admirably qualified him for a powerful public 
 speaker. His style is accordingly marked by alt the charac 
 teristics which might naturally be expected from the posses 
 sion of such qualities. It is everywhere direct, condensed, 
 pungent. His sermons are welt worthy of frequent and dil 
 igent perusal by every young preacher. He has himself 
 taught, both by precept and example, the chief peculiarities 
 of that style for which we are pleading, in a discourse on 
 Luke xxi. 15 : " For I will give you a mouth and wisdom, 
 which all your adversaries shall not be able to gainsay or re 
 sist." In one passage of this sermon he takes occasion to 
 expose the folly of that florid declamation to which his manly 
 intellect and taste were so little likely to extend indulgence. 
 In doing this, he introduces some brief specimens of the style 
 which he condemns. Though he mentions no names, and 
 though we might be unable to refer the expressions to any 
 particular author, any one might be sure, from the expressions 
 themselves, that he intended his admonitions for the special 
 benefit of his illustrious contemporary, Jeremy Taylor. More 
 bold than courteous, he has been at no pains to invent expres 
 sions for his purpose, but has actually selected them out of 
 Taylor's own writings. There is certainly some malice in 
 the passage ; but it is itself so impressive an example of the 
 style he is recommending, that we cannot refrain from ex 
 tracting it : "'I speak the words of soberness,' said St. Paul, 
 and I preach the Gospel not with the ' enticing words of man's 
 wisdom.' This was the way of the Apostle's discoursing of 
 things sacred. Nothing here ' of the fringes of the north 
 star ' ; nothing c of nature's becoming unnatural ' ; nothing of 
 
220 SACRED ELOQUENCE: 
 
 the * down of angels' wings, or the beautiful locks of cheru- 
 bims' : no starched similitudes introduced with a ' Thus have 
 I seen a cloud rolling in its airy mansion,' and the like. No, 
 . these were sublimities above the rise of the Apostolic spirit. 
 For the Apostles, poor mortals, were content to take lower 
 steps, and to tell the world in plain terms, that he who believed 
 should be saved, and that he who believed not should be 
 damned. And this was the dialect which pierced the con 
 science, and made the hearers cry out, Men and brethren, 
 what shall we do ? It tickled not the ear, but sunk into the 
 heart ; and when men came from such sermons, they never 
 commended the preacher for his taking voice, or gesture ; for 
 the fineness of such a simile, or the quaintness of such a 
 sentence ; but they spoke like men conquered with the over 
 powering force and evidence of the most concerning truths ; 
 much in the words of the two disciples going to Emmaus, 
 Did not our hearts burn within us while he opened to us the 
 Scriptures ? 
 
 " In a word, the Apostles' preaching was therefore mighty 
 and successful, because plain, natural, and familiar, and by 
 no means above the capacity of their hearers : nothing being 
 more preposterous, than for those who were professedly aim 
 ing at men's hearts, to miss the mark by shooting over their 
 heads." * 
 
 We are tempted to give another short extract from this 
 great preacher ; we might select some which would still better 
 illustrate our present subject, but they would be too long. 
 The following is from his sermon entitled " Good Inclinations 
 no Excuse for Bad Actions" : u The third instance, in which 
 men use to plead the will instead of the deed, shall be on du 
 ties of cost and expense. Let a business of expensive char 
 ity be proposed ; and then, as I showed before, that in matters 
 of labor the lazy person could find no hands wherewith to 
 work, so neither in this case can the religious miser find any 
 
 * South's " Sermons," Vol. IV. pp. 152, 153. 
 
THE BRITISH PULPIT. 221 
 
 hand wherewith to give. It is wonderful to consider, how a 
 command or call to be liberal, either upon a civil or religious 
 account, all of a sudden impoverishes the rich, breaks the 
 merchant, shuts up every private man's exchequer, and makes 
 those men in a minute have nothing at all to give, who, at the 
 very same instant, want nothing to spend. So that instead of 
 relieving the poor, such a command strangely increases their 
 number, and transforms rich men into beggars presently. 
 For, let the danger of their prince and country knock at their 
 purses, and call upon them to contribute against a public en 
 emy or calamity, then immediately they have nothing, and 
 their riches (as Solomon expresses it) never fail to make 
 themselves wings, and to fly away." * 
 
 Of the preachers of the seventeenth century, Baxter pos 
 sessed, as largely as any, those endowments which are essential 
 to the best kind of popular eloquence. He presents the same 
 combination of vigorous intellect and vehement feeling which 
 distinguished South ; but he conjoined with these a devotion 
 far more pure and ethereal, and a benevolence most ardent 
 and sincere. It is a pity that the slovenly manner in which 
 he threw off his works, and which was too commonly the 
 fault of the age in which he lived, has deformed so large a 
 portion of them by repetitions and redundances. Continuous 
 excellence is not to be looked for, indeed, in any of the writ 
 ers of that period. There are single passages of great pow 
 er occurring here and there, but imbedded in a mass of de 
 formities, gems of marvellous value and splendor incrust- 
 ed in their native earth. Numerous as Baxter's defects in 
 point of style are, he often presents us with passages which 
 are genuine examples of the most effective pulpit eloquence, 
 and, if our space would permit, we should be glad to insert 
 some of them. Baxter was almost equally distinguished by 
 those talents which go to form a great public speaker (hence 
 his constant desire to make a direct and practical use of 
 
 
 South's " Sermons," Vol. I pp. 278, 279. 
 19* 
 
222 SACRED ELOQUENCE : 
 
 all his knowledge), and by that excursiveness and subtilty of 
 intellect which impels to a thorough investigation of every 
 subject, however worthless. It is not a little ludicrous some 
 times to see these two propensities of his intellect struggling 
 for the mastery. At one time he forms a magnanimous res 
 olution to forego speculations which are curiously useless, and 
 the next is found deep in the discussion of them. Thus, in 
 his " Dying Thoughts," after telling us of the futility of the 
 greater part of those questions which relate to the modes of 
 existence in a future world, he proceeds very deliberately to 
 expend about threescore pages in the examination of some 
 of them ! 
 
 Even in Jeremy Taylor, the exuberance of whose imagi 
 nation too often betrayed him into puerilities and extravagan 
 ces which are utterly inconsistent with true eloquence, and 
 whose cumbrous erudition perpetually suggested allusions and 
 phraseology equally inconsistent with it, passages which in 
 a considerable degree illustrate the style in question are not 
 seldom to be found. Take the following from his sermon en 
 titled " Christ's Advent to Judgment " : "And because very 
 many sins are sins of society and confederation, it is a hard 
 and a weighty consideration what shall become of any one 
 of us who have tempted our brother or sister to sin and death : 
 for though God hath spared our life, and they are dead, and 
 their debt-books are sealed up till the day of account, yet the 
 mischief of our sin has gone before us, and it is like a mur 
 der, but more execrable ; the soul is dead in trespasses and 
 sirfs, and sealed up to an eternal sorrow ; and thou shalt see 
 at doomsday what damnable uncharitableness thou hast done. 
 That soul that cries to those rocks to cover her, if it had not 
 been for thy perpetual temptations, might have followed the 
 Lamb in a white robe ; and that poor man, that is clothed 
 with shame and flames of fire, would have shined in glory, 
 but that thou didst force him to be partner of thy baseness. 
 And who shall pay for this loss ? a soul is lost by thy means ; 
 thou hast defeated the holy purposes of the Lord's bitter pas- 
 
THE BRITISH PULPIT. 223 
 
 sion by thy impurities ; and what shall happen to thee, by 
 whom thy brother dies eternally ? " 
 
 Of recent writers there is none with whom we are ac 
 quainted, who, in point of diction, so well deserves to be a 
 model, as the late Augustus William Hare, to whom reference 
 has been already made. We by no means assert that (as 
 was the case with Latimer, South, or Baxter) the general 
 structure of his intellect was that which plainly predestines a 
 man to be a great public speaker. Of many of the qualifica 
 tions of one he was certainly possessed ; and it is equally cer 
 tain that his early death, and the humble sphere to which his 
 talents were restricted, render it impossible to say what he 
 might have become. He possessed, in an eminent degree, 
 the art of making difficult things plain ; of setting obvious 
 truths in novel lights ; of illustrating them by familiar images ; 
 and of expressing them in a style habitually animated, and 
 now and then singularly vivacious. His sermons to a " Coun 
 try Congregation " will probably disappoint, by their very 
 simplicity, the highly cultivated and intelligent, for whom, 
 indeed, they were never intended ; although we cannot con 
 ceal our opinion, that the extreme simplicity of the language 
 would often deceive even such readers as to the value and 
 importance of the thoughts it expresses. But for an illiterate 
 audience, an audience of rustics, they appear to us, in 
 point of diction, perfect models of what discourses ought 
 to be. 
 
 Their author was a man of powerful intellect, and of the 
 most varied accomplishments, and affords a striking example 
 of the success with which high endowments may be made 
 subservient to a very humble object, whenever a man is hon 
 estly bent upon so employing them. His great knowledge, 
 instead of being employed for ostentation's sake, only taught 
 him more precisely what was to be done, and how he ought 
 to set about it. To the most extensive acquaintance with 
 ancient and modern literature, he added no inconsiderable 
 knowledge of Anglo-Saxon, and consequently possessed (what 
 
224 SACRED ELOQUENCE: 
 
 no public speaker should be without) an acquaintance with 
 the capabilities and resources of his mother-tongue, with 
 the vocabulary and idioms of the people. When he left Cam 
 bridge to undertake the charge of a congregation in a remote 
 rural district, he resolved so to express himself that all should 
 understand him ; and his eminent success shows what may be 
 done by one who forms a definite notion of the style he ought 
 to adopt, and deliberately bends his best energies to attain it. 
 The above-mentioned sermons to a " Country Congregation," 
 we consider a greater triumph of his genius than all the 
 splendid acquisitions he had made ; and if Dr Johnson's sen 
 timent be true, that a " voluntary descent from the dignity of 
 science is perhaps the hardest lesson that humility can teach," 
 the triumph of his humility was still greater than that of his 
 genius. 
 
 We are well aware of the many difficulties which beset 
 the man who honestly resolves to speak only in the style we 
 have recommended ; difficulties sometimes arising from 
 the intellectual pursuits to which he has been necessarily 
 addicted, sometimes from the peculiarity of his own men 
 tal character. Nursed in the lap of learning, and familiar 
 with the language of science and literature ; necessitated, in 
 the very course of those preparatory studies which form an 
 essential part of his professional education, to read much in 
 foreign tongues, and to prosecute profound or abstruse inqui 
 ries, he will be apt, insensibly, to select subjects, or adopt a 
 style, utterly inconsistent with pulpit eloquence. He may 
 still more frequently be betraye'd into such conduct by affec 
 tation and vanity. The very peculiarities of his own mental 
 constitution may expose him more fatally to the danger, and 
 require continual efforts to counteract them. If he be a 
 philosopher, he will be tempted to indulge too much in ab 
 struse speculation, or to treat those subjects on which he 
 may rightfully expatiate in a philosophic manner, in lan 
 guage too abstract and remote from common life. If he 
 have a brilliant imagination, he will often be tempted to em- 
 
THE BRITISH PULPIT. 225 
 
 ploy it inopportunely or to excess, and will find it hard to 
 restrain it within the moderate limits in which alone it can 
 be useful. In order to counteract the accidental evils arising 
 from th^ necessary prosecution of various branches of study, 
 which, in relation to public speaking, may injuriously affect 
 the habits of thought or of expression, it is proper that every 
 one who is destined for such engagements should cultivate 
 acquaintance with the most idiomatic writers, understand 
 the genius and resources of his own language, the modes 
 of thought and expression prevalent amongst the common 
 people, and, above all, be diligent in the perusal of the 
 best models of that severe and manly eloquence of which 
 we have said so much. The success of Mr. Hare may serve 
 to show how much may be done by honesty and diligence. 
 Nor can it fail to encourage the young preacher to know, 
 that, if he gets but a clear idea of the task which he has to 
 perform, and honestly resolves to perform it, there is not 
 one of those things which we have mentioned as possible 
 impediments, that may not be made to facilitate his object. 
 All that is requisite is a determination, that, as he has a prac 
 tical object in view, every thing shall be strictly subordinated 
 to it. Philosophy, for" example, may be made useful ; but 
 it must be principally by teaching him to understand the 
 mechanism and movements of that mind on which he is to 
 operate. The audience must not perceive or suspect that 
 the speaker is following the suggestions of any such invisible 
 guide ; or, if it be employed directly at all, it still must be 
 unsuspected by the common people to be philosophy : it must 
 be employed merely to insure greater accuracy and com 
 prehensiveness in the views propounded ; and to determine 
 the circumspect limits within which every subject must be 
 treated ; that is, so far, and so far only, as it may be made 
 conducive to a practical end. In a word, it must be philos 
 ophy without the forms of it ; philosophy in its working 
 dress ; philosophy that has learned one of its hardest lessons, 
 that it is often the truest philosophy not to appear such. In 
 
226 SACRED ELOQUENCE I 
 
 like manner, the speaker may have a knowledge of logic ; 
 but it must be seen only in the greater perspicuity of his 
 statements, and the greater closeness of his reasoning. He 
 must never trouble the people with the mysteries of mood and 
 figure, or bewilder them with a single unintelligible techni 
 cality. He may possess a knowledge of rhetoric ; but he 
 is not to confound his audience with the distinctions of trope 
 and metaphor, with the uses of synecdoches or metony 
 mies, with those principles of the human mind which give 
 them energy, or the rules by which, at the very time he 
 is speaking, he is regulating his own taste in the employment 
 of them. Here is a " hard lesson ! who can hear it ? " To 
 be employing profound and extensive knowledge without 
 suffering those you address to know any thing of the matter. ! 
 To be contented to produce results which seem cheap and 
 common, without once lifting the curtain to bewilder and 
 dazzle the multitude with a sight of the imposing and com 
 plicated machinery which is revolving behind it ! 
 
 It is happily unnecessary to caution the modern preacher 
 against many of the abuses which pervade our older pulpit 
 literature, especially that of the seventeenth century ; 
 a period, notwithstanding, in which many of our most em 
 inent preachers flourished. We allude more particularly to 
 the abuse of learning. Most of the sermons of that age 
 are full of quotations, absolutely unintelligible to the common 
 people. Numberless passages of Jeremy Taylor, in partic 
 ular, are little better than a curious tessellation of English, 
 Greek, and Latin. The people, however strange the fact 
 may appear, came at last not merely to like these displays, 
 but to be sometimes discontented if they did not hear a great 
 deal which they could not understand ! It is recorded of the 
 profoundly learned Pococke, that when he successfully studied 
 to divest his pulpit style of the traces of erudition, and, with 
 a magnanimity and good sense very unusual in that age, 
 made it a point to say nothing but what the people could un 
 derstand, his congregation absolutely despised his simplicity, 
 
THE BRITISH PULPIT. 227 
 
 and said that " Master Pococke, though a very good man, was 
 no Latiner" And South tells us, " that the grossest, the 
 most ignorant and illiterate country people, were of all men 
 the fondest of high-flown metaphors and allegories, attended 
 and set off with scraps of Greek and Latin, though not able 
 even to read so much of the latter as might save their necks 
 upon occasion." 
 
 Equally unnecessary is it to caution the preacher against 
 those complicated divisions and subdivisions into which our 
 forefathers thought proper to chop up their discourses, to the 
 entire frustration of the very object they had in view, and 
 the utter discomfiture of the most retentive memory. In one 
 discourse of Bishop Hall's, we have counted no less than 
 eighty heads, principal and subordinate, in one of Baxter's, 
 not less than one hundred and twenty, besides a formidable 
 array of " improvements." But the most amusing examples 
 of this abuse are those recorded in Robinson's notes to 
 Claude's Essay " On the Composition of a Sermon " : 
 u But allowing the necessity of a natural and easy division, 
 it does by no means follow that these are to multiply into 
 whole armies. A hundred years ago most sermons had thirty, 
 forty, fifty, or sixty particulars. There is a sermon of Mr. 
 Lye's on 1 Cor. vi. 17, the terms of which, says he, I shall 
 endeavor, by God's assistance, charly to explain. This he 
 does in thirty particulars, for the fixing of it on a right basis, 
 and then adds fifty-six more to explain the subject, in all 
 eighty-six. And what makes it the more astonishing is his 
 introduction to all these, which is this : Having thus beaten 
 up and levelled our way to the text, I shall not stand to shred 
 the words into any unnecessary parts, but shall extract out 
 of them such an observation as I conceive strikes a full eighth 
 to the mind of the spirit of God. 
 
 " If Mr. Lye is too prolific, what shall we say to Mr. 
 Drake, whose sermon has (if I reckon rightly) above a hun 
 dred and seventy parts, besides queries and solutions ; and 
 yet the good man says he passed sundry useful points, pitch- 
 
228 SACRED ELOQUENCE ! 
 
 ing only on that which comprehended the marrow and sub 
 stance" 
 
 Equally superfluous would it be to caution the modern 
 preacher against the quaintnesses, the quirks and quibbles, 
 the fantastic imagery, the alliterations, and other curious 
 devices of composition, in which many of our older writers 
 so much delighted. In truth, the tendency is all the other 
 way. In the laudable effort to avoid the vulgar, there is not 
 imfrequently a danger of sinking down into tame propriety. 
 Our old writers, in their free and reckless resort to every 
 mode of stimulating attention, were often, it is true, be 
 trayed into gross violations of taste ; but the very same au 
 dacity of genius also often produced great felicities, both of 
 imagery and diction. The too frequent characteristic of 
 modern discourses is what the Germans would denominate 
 " Wasserigkeit," " waterishness " : there is little to strike, 
 either the one way or the other ; all is blameless common 
 place, accurate insipidity. 
 
 We now proceed, conformably with the intention mentioned 
 at the commencement of this essay, to offer a few remarks 
 on what we conceive to be the two chief causes of the me 
 diocrity of the generality of sermons. One of them in our 
 opinion is, that too little time is given to the preparation of 
 public discourses. Far be it from us to involve in indiscrim 
 inate censure the thousands of preachers whom we have 
 never heard, or to pronounce absolutely on the indolence or 
 the industry even of those to whom we have listened. We 
 only think that the failing in question is not a very partial 
 one, from the internal evidence supplied by the sermons of 
 no inconsiderable number of the different preachers whom 
 we have heard. We are also willing to admit, that the duties 
 of the pulpit are not the only duties which claim the atten 
 tion of the Christian minister ; and that his other engage 
 ments, in an age like this, are neither few nor small. But 
 we must also contend, that, as his principal office is that of 
 
THE BRITISH PULPIT. . 229 
 
 public instructor, the duties of that office must ever be his 
 chief business ; and that, to whatever extent he may under 
 take other engagements, he should sacredly reserve sufficient 
 time" for the due discharge of his proper functions. The 
 construction of a discourse which shall be adapted in matter, 
 arrangement, and style, to produce a strong impression upon 
 a popular audience, seems a task which requires much more 
 time and labor than, as we conceive, are generally bestowed 
 upon it. But we are convinced that this task, difficult as it 
 is, might be performed much better than it generally is. We 
 are well aware, of course, that there must always be an 
 immense interval between the productions of a man of genius 
 and those of a man who has no genius at all, between 
 those of a fertile intellect and those of a barren one ; but 
 there are few men possessed of that measure of vigor and 
 elasticity of mind, without which they have no business out 
 of the rank of handicraftsmen, who could not, with diligence, 
 compose a discourse which might be generally useful and in 
 teresting, at least much more so than discourses are often 
 found to be. Prolonged study and meditation are never with 
 out their reward. Either some new materials are collected, 
 or they strike by a new arrangement, or some new truth is 
 elicited, or some old truth is exhibited under a new aspect, 
 or illustrated in a manner which gives it an importance nev 
 er felt before, and extends its influence from the understand 
 ing to the imagination, and thence to the affections. Such 
 sources of interest as these are sure to reveal themselves, 
 sooner or later, to the mind that honestly and diligently sets 
 itself to seek them with the conviction that they are to be 
 had, and that they must be obtained.* 
 
 * How much force is imparted to the most familiar and obvious truths 
 in the following passages, merely by the novel mode of exhibiting them ? 
 
 " ' Come unto me, all ye that are weary and heavy laden, and I will 
 
 give you rest.' If an inhabitant of some distant part of the universe 
 
 some angel who had never visited the earth had been told that there 
 
 was a world in which such an invitation had been neglected and despised, 
 
 20 
 
230 SACRED ELOQUENCE : 
 
 Without intending to implicate Christian ministers generally 
 in the charge now made, it will not be denied that the inter 
 nal evidence of many a discourse justifies us in saying that 
 it is widely applicable. In the first place, it can hardly be 
 affirmed that those give time enough to their sermons who 
 give none at all ; who, if they are ever eloquent, are eloquent 
 at other people's expense ; who are contented to be whole 
 sale plagiarists, and to shine Sunday after Sunday in borrowed 
 finery, 
 
 "And cheat the eyes 
 Of gallery critics with a thousand arts." 
 
 We well know all the arguments by which this combination 
 of vanity and indolence usually supports itself. The princi 
 pal is, that a man of little talent can buy or borrow a much 
 
 they would surely say : The inhabitants of that world must be a very 
 happy people ; there can be few among them that ' labor and are heavy 
 laden.' No doubt they must be strangers to poverty, sorrow, and mis 
 fortune; the pestilence cannot come nigh their dwelling, neither does 
 death ever knock at their doors, and of course they must be unconnnect- 
 ed with sin, and all the miseries that are its everlasting attendants." 
 Wolfe's Remains. 
 
 " Though the arguments which the Christian hath for his faith may 
 not be the strongest, yet a tree but weakly rooted often brings forth good 
 fruit ; and if it doth, wjll never be hewn down and cast into the fire." 
 Seeker's Sermons, Vol. I. p. 20. 
 
 The following is a passage from Hare's sermon on the text, " And for 
 give us our sins ; for we also forgive every one who is indebted to us " : 
 
 " Conceive a revengeful, unforgiving man repeating this prayer, which 
 you all, I hope, repeat daily. Conceive a man with a heart full of wrath 
 against his neighbor, with a memory which treasures up the little wrongs, 
 and insults, and provocations he fancies himself to have received from 
 that neighbor. Conceive such a man praying to God Most High to for 
 give him his trespasses as he forgives the man who has trespassed 
 against him. What, in the mouth of such a man, do these words mean 1 
 They mean but, that you may more fully understand their meaning, 
 I will turn them into a prayer, which we will call the prayer of the un 
 forgiving man : O God, I have sinned against thee many times from 
 my youth up until now. I have often been forgetful of thy goodness ; 
 
THE BRITISH PULPIT. 231 
 
 better sermon than he can make. We freely acknowledge 
 it, and should not make so great an objection to the practice, 
 if the preacher would avow the fact. This we think common 
 honesty requires ; but if it be felt, as every one must fee?, 
 that such an avowal would put the speaker to shame, or, if 
 he were past that, would make his audience ashamed for him, 
 it is a tacit admission of the impropriety of the practice. 
 
 But we think the argument altogether fallacious. Suppos 
 ing the preacher not to be destitute, of that measure of talent 
 without which he has no business to assume the office of a 
 public instructor at all, we deny in toto that a borrowed dis 
 course, whatever its merit, can be so impressive as one, even 
 though intrinsically inferior, which has been made his own 
 by conscientious study. The latter is the fruit of diligent ef 
 fort; prolonged meditation will insure familiarity with the 
 
 I have not daily thanked thee for thy mercies ; I have neglected thy 
 service ; I have broken thy laws ; I have done many things utterly wrong 
 against thee. All this I know, and besides this, doubtless, I have com 
 mitted many secret sins which, in my blindness, I have failed to notice. 
 Such is my guiltiness, Lord, in thy sight. Deal with me, I beseech 
 thee, even as I deal with my neighbor. He has not offended me one 
 tenth, one hundredth part as much as I have offended thee; but he has 
 offended me very grievously, and I cannot forgive him. Deal with me, 
 I beseech thee, Lord, as I deal with him. He has been very ungrate 
 ful to me, though not a tenth, not a hundredth part as ungrateful as I 
 have been to thee ; yet I cannot overlook such base and shameful ingrat 
 itude. Deal with me, I beseech thee, O Lord, as I deal with him. I 
 remember and treasure up every little trifle which shows how ill he has 
 behaved to me. Deal with me, I beseech thee, O Lord, as I deal with 
 him. I am determined to take the very first opportunity of doing him 
 an ill turn. Deal with me, I beseech thee, Lord, as I deal with him." 
 Can any thing be more shocking and horrible than such a prayer ? Is 
 not the very sound of it enough to make one's blood run cold ? Yet 
 this is just the prayer which the unforgiving man offers up every time 
 he repeats the Lord's prayer ; for he prays to God to forgive him in the 
 same manner in which he forgives his neighbor. But he does not for 
 give his neighbor ; so he prays to God not to forgive him. God grant 
 that his prayer may not be heard, for he is praying a curse on his own 
 head ! " Hare's Sermons, Vol. II. pp. 297 - 299. 
 
232 SACRED ELOQUENCE I 
 
 subject, and both together insure, what nothing else can, ad 
 equate emotion. It will, accordingly, be delivered with, an 
 earnestness and glow of natural feeling, of which the reading 
 of a borrowed discourse is altogether destitute. The treas 
 ures of theological literature, whatever is valuable in oth 
 er men's thoughts, are freely open to the preacher; but he 
 should ever seek to make them his own by new combinations, 
 arrangement, and expression. The matter he borrows should 
 be made his by chemical affinities with his own thoughts, not 
 by mere mechanical appropriation. 
 
 As to those discourses which are commonly called extem 
 poraneous, we mean extemporaneous with regard to the 
 expression, for the bulk of the thoughts ought never to be 
 extemporaneous, it is our firm belief that no inconsiderable 
 portion to which the Christian communities of this country 
 are treated, are hastily huddled up on the evening preceding 
 their delivery. But we believe that not a few are quite as 
 extemporaneous in relation to the thought, as they are in re 
 lation to the expression. When this is the case, the fact 
 usually proclaims itself with sufficient clearness ; the painful 
 process by which the mind is endeavoring to manufacture 
 the material as the discourse proceeds, is abundantly visible 
 both in face and manner. The frequent hesitation, the curi 
 ously bewildered look, the endless repetitions of common 
 place, the wire-drawing of obvious truths, all unequivocally 
 proclaim the speaker's unenviable confusion and embarrass 
 ment, his utter bankruptcy of intellect. The wonder is, that 
 any man who has felt the misery of such an exhibition, or 
 subjected his congregation to the pain of witnessing it, should 
 ever again allow himself to be found in so painful a situation. 
 
 Even of discourses where the thoughts are not properly 
 extemporaneous, and if the subject has been duly pondered, 
 the matter properly distributed, and the principal illustrations 
 selected, we cannot but think this the most effective, as it is 
 certainly the most natural, mode of preaching, very few, 
 comparatively speaking, are prepared with the requisite degree 
 
THE BRITISH PULPIT. 233 
 
 of deliberation and care. Owing to the hasty manner in 
 which they are got up, the subjects are rarely sufficiently di 
 gested ; the several parts of the discourse do not present 
 themselves to the mind with sufficient distinctness ; and, what 
 is as bad, the great task of selection is not adequately per 
 formed after the materials have been got together. Knowing 
 that he must have a sufficient mass of matter of some kind or 
 other, conscious that there is not much time to collect it, and 
 grievously fearing lest he should not have enough, the preach 
 er takes every thing that offers, relevant or irrelevant, simply 
 because it cannot be dispensed with. The process too often 
 adopted in the manufacture of these extemporaneous dis 
 courses, we take to be this. A text is selected ; critics and 
 commentators hastily consulted ; and as it is felt that every 
 thing must be used, all that is collected about the text, whether 
 relevant or not, whether calculated to instruct and edify, or 
 quite unlikely to do either the one or the other, goes into the 
 notes, simply because it cannot be spared. It is owing to this 
 that we have sometimes heard preachers occupy a quarter of 
 an hour, or twenty minutes, (exhausting the patience and dis 
 sipating the attention of their flocks,) in disposing of some 
 whimsical, far-fetched, and palpably untrue interpretation of 
 the text; benevolently assuring them, at the same time, that 
 such interpretations are utterly worthless, never dreamt of ex 
 cept by the solitary author who originated them, and perfect 
 ly inconsistent with common sense ! 
 
 There are not a few fallacies by which some preachers im 
 pose upon themselves the belief, that less preparation is neces 
 sary than is really indispensable. They think that the topics 
 on which they have to insist are so familiar and obvious, that it 
 is easy to discourse about them to any extent. It is clear that 
 this argument ought to tell just the other way ; it is precisely 
 because the topics on which the Christian minister has to ex 
 patiate are so familiar and obvious, that the more diligence is 
 requisite to set them in new lights ; to devise new modes 
 of illustration, and to secure the requisite variety, by changing 
 
 20* 
 
234 SACRED ELOQUENCE : 
 
 the form where we cannot change the substance. In this 
 way only can exhausted attention be stimulated and renewed ; 
 but in this way it can. As the instances recently adduced 
 will show, even the most obvious and threadbare truths may 
 be made striking and forcible by a new setting. 
 
 Sometimes men will tell us that they prefer a natural and 
 artless eloquence, and that very diligent preparation is incon 
 sistent with such qualities. We verily believe that this falla 
 cy, though it lurks under an almost transparent ambiguity, is 
 of most prejudicial consequence. Nature and art, so far from 
 being always opposed, are often the very same thing. Thus, 
 to adduce a familiar example, and closely related to the 
 present subject, it is natural for a man who feels that he 
 has not given adequate expression to a thought, though he 
 may have used the first words suggested, to attempt it again 
 and again. He, each time, approximates nearer to the mark, 
 and at length desists, satisfied either that he has done what 
 he wishes, or that he cannot perfectly do it, as the case may 
 be. A writer, with this end, is continually transposing claus 
 es, reconstructing sentences, striking out one word and put 
 ting in another-. All this may be said to be art, or the delib 
 erate application of means to ends ; but is it art inconsistent 
 with nature ? It is just such art as this that we ask of the 
 preacher, and no other ; simply that he shall take diligent 
 heed to do what he has to do as well as he can. Let him 
 depend upon it, that no such art as this will ever make him 
 appear the less natural. 
 
 A similar fallacy lurks under the unmeaning praises which 
 are often bestowed upon a simple style of address. We love 
 a true simplicity as much as any of its eulogists can do ; but 
 we should probably differ about the meaning of the word. 
 While some men talk as if to speak naturally were to speak 
 like a natural, others talk as if to speak with simplicity meant 
 to speak like a simpleton. True simplicity does not consist in 
 what is trite, bald, or commonplace. So far as regards the 
 thought, it means, not what is already obvious to every body, 
 
THE BRITISH PULPIT. 235 
 
 but what, though not obvious, is immediately recognized, as 
 soon as propounded, to be true and striking. As it regards 
 the expression, it means, that thoughts worth hearing are ex 
 pressed in language that every one can understand. In the first 
 point of view, it is opposed to what is abstruse ; in the second, 
 to what is obscure. It is not what some men take it to mean, 
 threadbare, commonplace, expressed in insipid language. It 
 can be owing only to a fallacy of this kind, that we so often 
 hear discourses, consisting of little else than meagre truisms, 
 expanded and diluted till every mortal ear aches that listens. 
 We have heard preachers commence with the tritest of truths, 
 "all men are mortal," and proceed to illustrate it with 
 as much prolixity as though they were announcing it as a 
 new proposition to a company of immortals in some distant 
 planet, sceptical as to the reality of a fact so portentous, and 
 so unauthenticated by their own experience. 
 
 True simplicity is the last and most excellent grace which 
 can belong to a speaker, and is certainly not to be attained 
 without much effort. Those who have attentively read the 
 present article will not suspect us of demanding more delib 
 erate preparation on the part of the preacher, that he may 
 offer what is profound, recondite, or abstruse ; but that he 
 may say only what he ought to say, and that what he does 
 say may be better said. When the topics are such only as 
 ought to be insisted on, and the language such as is readily 
 understood, the preacher may depend upon it that no pains 
 he may take will be lost, that his audience, however home 
 ly, will be sure to appreciate them, and that the better a 
 discourse is, the better they will like it. 
 
 We have stated as the other great cause of the failure of 
 preachers, that they are not sufficiently instructed in the prin 
 ciples of pulpit eloquence. We are far from contending that a 
 systematic exposition of the laws, in conformity with which all 
 effective discourses to the people must be constructed, should 
 be made a part of general education ; or that it ought to be 
 imparted even to him who is destined to be a public speaker till- 
 
236 SACRED ELOQUENCE : 
 
 his general training, and that a very ample one, is far ad 
 vanced. But that such knowledge shall be acquired by every 
 one designed for such an office, and that all universities and 
 colleges should furnish the means of communicating it, we 
 have no manner of doubt. It is sometimes said, indeed, that 
 all systematic instruction of this sort tends to spoil nature, 
 prevent simplicity, and encourage vanity ; in short, that it 
 is sure to produce one or other of the forms of spurious or 
 artificial eloquence. We ask, Does the objector mean any 
 such system as approves of such things, or one that con 
 demns them ? If the former, we know of no such system ; 
 if the latter, then he must defend the paradox, that such sys 
 tems have, somehow or other, a tendency to produce the very 
 faults which they expose and denounce, and to prevent the 
 attainment of those very excellences which they describe as 
 the only ones worth seeking ! Now, is it possible for any 
 sane mind to conceive that the ridicule which Campbell and 
 Whately, for example, pour upon such faults, can foster in 
 any youth a perverse passion for them ? Or that the severity, 
 simplicity, earnest business-like style, which these writers 
 everywhere enjoin as essential to all effective eloquence, 
 should provoke any man to the imitation of the opposite vices ? 
 The supposition is an absurdity. So far as such writers pro 
 duce any effect at all, it must be to prevent the follies which 
 they so unsparingly condemn. Those who attribute vicious 
 eloquence to sound criticism, have been guilty merely of the 
 common blunder of assigning effects to wrong causes ; only it 
 must be confessed that, in the present case, they show singu 
 lar ingenuity in referring them to the only causes which could 
 not by possibility produce them. The simple truth is, that the 
 bent of the young mind is so strong towards various forms of 
 this spurious eloquence, that it resists the most powerful 
 counteraction ; and time and experience alone will avail, and 
 not always even these, to give precepts their due weight and 
 their just practical influence. To charge such effects upon 
 such causes, is about as wise as it would be to say of some 
 
THE BRITISH PULPIT. 237 
 
 spot which had been but partially cultivated, and from which 
 the weeds which nature had so prodigally sown had not been 
 completely eradicated : " This comes of gardening and ar 
 tificial culture ! " 
 
 Youthful vanity and inexperience alone sufficiently ac 
 count for the greater part of the deviations from propriety, 
 simplicity, and common sense, now adverted to. Those 
 who laud nature in opposition to art, are too apt to forget that 
 this very vanity forms a part of it. It is natural for a youth, 
 whether with or without cultivation, to fall into these errors ; 
 and all experience loudly proclaims that, on such a point, 
 nature alone is no safe guide. Who, that has arrived at 
 maturity in intellect, taste, and feeling, does not recollect 
 how hard it was in early life to put the extinguisher upon a 
 flaunting metaphor or dazzling expression, to reject tinsel, 
 however worthless, if it did but glitter ; and epithets, how 
 ever superfluous, if they but sounded grand ? How hard 
 it was to forget one's self, and to become sincerely intent 
 upon the best, simplest, strongest, briefest mode of commu 
 nicating what we deemed important truth to the minds of 
 others ! Surely, then, it is not a little ridiculous, when so 
 obvious a solution offers itself, to charge the faults of young 
 speakers upon the very precepts which condemn them. It 
 is sufficient to vindicate the utility of such precepts, if they 
 tend only in some measure to correct the errors they cannot 
 entirely suppress, and to abridge the duration of follies which 
 it is impossible wholly to prevent. 
 
 But it is further said, that, somehow or other, any such 
 system of instruction does injury, by laying upon the intellect 
 a sort of constraint, and substituting a stiff, mechanical move 
 ment for the flexibility and freedom of nature. 
 
 The reply is, that if the system of instruction be too mi 
 nute, or if the pupil be told to employ it mechanically, it 
 may easily be conceived that such effects will follow, but 
 not otherwise. We plead for no system of minute technical 
 rules ; still less for the formal application of any system 
 
238 SACRED ELOQUENCE ! 
 
 whatever. But to imbue the mind with great general princi 
 ples, leaving them to operate imperceptibly upon the formation 
 of habit, and to suggest, without distinct consciousness of their 
 presence, the lesson which each occasion demands, is a very 
 different thing, and is all we contend for. One would think, 
 to hear some men talk, that it was proposed to instruct a 
 youth to adjust beforehand the number of sentences of which 
 each paragraph should consist, and the lengths into which 
 the sentences should be cut, to determine how many should 
 be perfect periods, and how many should not, what av 
 erage allowance of antitheses, interrogatives, and notes of 
 admiration, shall be given to each page, where he shall 
 stick on a metonymy or a metaphor, and how many niches 
 he shall reserve for gilded ornaments. Who is pleading for 
 any such nonsense as this ? All that is contended for is, 
 that no public speaker should be destitute of a clear percep 
 tion of those principles of man's nature on which conviction 
 and persuasion depend ; and of those proprieties of style 
 which ought to characterize all discourses which are designed 
 to effect these objects. General as all this knowledge must 
 be, we cannot help thinking that it would be most advanta 
 geous. One great good it would undoubtedly in many cases 
 effect ; it would prevent men from setting out wrong, or at 
 least abridge the amount or duration of their errors ; in 
 other words, prevent the formation of vicious habits, or tend 
 to correct them when formed. Nothing is more common 
 than for a speaker to set out with false notions as to the style 
 which effective public speaking requires, to suppose it 
 something very remote from what is simple and natural. 
 Still more are led into similar errors by their vanity. The 
 young especially are apt to despise the true style for what 
 are its chief excellences, its simplicity and severity. Let 
 them once be taught its great superiority to every other, and 
 they will at least be protected from involuntary errors, and 
 be less likely to yield to the seductions of vanity. Such a 
 knowledge would also (perhaps the most important benefit of 
 
THE BRITISH PULPIT. 239 
 
 all) involve a knowledge of the best models, and secure 
 timely appreciation of them. 
 
 But it is frequently urged, that, after all, the practical value 
 of all the great lessons of criticism must be learned from 
 experience, and that mere instruction can do little. Be it so. 
 Is this any reason why that little should be withheld ? Be 
 side., is it nothing to put a youth in the right way? to 
 abridge the lessons of experience ? to facilitate the forma 
 tion of good habits, and to prevent the growth of bad ones ? 
 to diminish the probabilities of failure, and to increase 
 those of success ? Is there any reason why we should suffer 
 the young speaker to grope out his way by the use of the 
 lead-line alone, when we could give him the aid of the chart 
 and compass ; or to find his way to truth at last by a series 
 of painful blunders, when any part of the trouble or the 
 shame might be spared him ? Can any one doubt that a 
 great speaker may be able to give a novice in the art many 
 profitable hints, which would save him both much time and 
 many errors, and make the lessons of experience not only 
 a great deal shorter, but vastly less troublesome ? If this 
 be so, we cannot see how it should be affirmed that instruc 
 tions founded on an accurate analysis of eloquence, and 
 compiled and digested by critics like Campbell and Whately, 
 will altogether fail of producing similar benefits. 
 
 Lastly ; it is urged that such instructions are of very little 
 benefit, because, do what we will, we cannot make great 
 speakers ; that nature has the exclusive patent for the manu 
 facture ; that, like the true poet, the true orator is " born, 
 not made," facts which we fully admit, but deny to be 
 relevant. The argument contains a twofold fallacy. First, 
 it is not true that even those to whom nature has imparted 
 this heaven-born genius, can do themselves full justice with 
 out assiduous cultivation, or afford to dispense with early 
 instruction. Certain it is, that none of them have ever 
 thought it wise to venture upon such a display of independ 
 ence. Secondly, if it were ever so true that such men 
 
240 SACRED ELOQUENCE. 
 
 could do without instruction, the cases are so few, that they 
 would in no wise affect the general question. The highest 
 oratorical genius is of the very rarest occurrence, it is as 
 rare as the epic or dramatic, if not more so, there being 
 but two or three tolerably perfect specimens to be found in 
 the whole cabinet of history. The great question is, how 
 to improve to the utmost the talents of those who must be 
 public speakers, but who yet have no pretensions to the in 
 spiration of genius ; on whom, in truth, no one ever sus 
 pects that the mantle either of Demosthenes or of Cicero has 
 descended. Nor should it ever be forgotten, (for it power 
 fully confirms the correctness of the views now insisted 
 upon,) that, though the constitution of mind which is neces 
 sary for the highest eloquence is very seldom to be met with, 
 there is no faculty whatever which admits of such indefinite 
 growth and development, or in which perseverance and dili 
 gence will do so much, as that of public speaking. 
 
THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE.* 
 
 WHEN a man has once resolved upon a subject, then, " for 
 a text," says Sterne, " Cappadocia, Pontus arid Asia, Phrygia 
 and Pamphylia, is as good as any in the Bible." With 
 out pretending to be so easily satisfied as that very accom 
 modating divine, we shall choose, for our present text, the 
 " London Catalogue " ; nor shall we be without grave prece 
 dents, both in his discourses and in those of much better theo 
 logians, if we should ultimately allow the text to play but an 
 insignificant part in the sermon. 
 
 Our readers will readily surmise that it is not our intention 
 to criticize this curious volume, or to trouble them with any 
 specimens of its contents. But though we have little to say 
 of it, it has a great deal to say to us ; and, in truth, there 
 are few productions of the press more suggestive of instruc 
 tive and profitable reflection. Still, as it only conveys wis 
 dom in broken and stammering accents, we must endeavor, 
 according to our ability, to give clearer utterance to some of 
 the lessons it teaches. 
 
 This closely printed book contains 542 pages ; and, after 
 all, comprises a catalogue of but a small fraction of the lit- 
 
 * " Edinburgh Eeview," April, 1849. 
 
 The London Catalogue of Books published in Great Britain, with their 
 Sizes, Prices, and Publishers' Names, from 1814 to 1846. London. 8vo. 
 pp. 542. 
 
 21 
 
242 THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 
 
 erature of the time ; in fact, only the titles of the new works, 
 and new editions of old works, which have issued from the 
 British press between the years 1814 and 1846 ; and not all 
 of these. To this prodigious mass each day is adding fresh 
 accumulations ; and it is impossible not to speculate a little 
 on the probable consequences. 
 
 Some may perhaps, at first, be inclined to predict that 
 mankind will in time be oppressed by the excess of their 
 intellectual wealth ; and that, operating like the gold of Villa 
 Rica, (to which it would seem that we might soon have to 
 add that of California,) the superabundance of the precious 
 metal may lead to the impoverishment and ruin of the coun 
 tries so equivocally blest. It may be feared that a superficial 
 and flimsy knowledge, gained by reading a very little on an 
 infinity of subjects, without prolonged and systematic atten 
 tion to any, will be the ultimate result ; and such knowledge, 
 it can hardly be disputed, will be in effect much the same as 
 ignorance. Singular, if the very means by which we take 
 security against a second invasion of barbarism, should, by 
 its excess of activity, bring about a condition not very much 
 better ! " A mill will not go," such reasoners will say, " if 
 there be no water ; but it will be as effectually stopped if 
 there be too much." In brief, it may seem to be one of 
 those cases, if ever there was one, in which old Hesiod's 
 paradoxical maxim applies, that " the half is more than 
 the whole " ; or, for that matter, a much smaller fraction. 
 
 And this dreaded result would certainly be realized, if men 
 were to attempt to make their studies at all commensurate 
 with the increase of books. Compelled to read something 
 of every thing, it is certain they would know nothing of any 
 thing. In fact, we see this tendency more or less exemplified 
 in the case of vast numbers, who, without definite purpose or 
 selection of topics, spend such time as they can give to the 
 improvement of their minds and the acquisition of knowl 
 edge, in little else than the casual perusal of fragments of all 
 sorts of books ; who live on the scraps of an infinite variety 
 
THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 243 
 
 of broken meats which they have stuffed into their beggar's 
 wallet ; scraps which, after all, only just keep them from ab 
 solute starvation. There are not a few men who would have 
 been learned, if not wise, had the paragraphs and pages they 
 have actually read, been on well-defined subjects, and mutu 
 ally connected ; but who, as it is, possess nothing beyond 
 fragments of uncertain, inaccurate, ill-remembered, unsys- 
 tematized information, and at the best are entitled only to 
 the praise of being very artificially and elaborately ignorant ; 
 they differ from the utterly uncultivated, only as a parrot 
 who talks without understanding what it says, differs from a 
 parrot who cannot talk at all. 
 
 But this tendency, though it must attend the unlimited in 
 crease of books, and though we see it often most unhappily 
 realized in individual cases, is, for the most part, readily cor 
 rected. The majority of men will, as heretofore, only read 
 what answers their purpose on the particular subjects which 
 necessity or inclination prompts them to cultivate ; while 
 many of those who are not thus protected by circumstances, 
 will be as effectually secured from such dangers by a sound 
 education. That must be our safeguard against the forma 
 tion of the pernicious habit of desultory reading ; and 
 against an ambitious, but ill-judged attempt at obtaining en 
 cyclopedic knowledge. This last ambition, indeed, is but a 
 more laborious path to the same conclusion ; and robs the 
 mind at once both of that mental discipline which will always 
 follow the thorough investigation of a limited class of sub 
 jects, and of that really accurate knowledge which such a 
 limited survey alone can ever securely impart. The field of 
 knowledge does not admit of universal conquerors ; according 
 to the happy saying of Sydney Smith, if science is their 
 forte, omniscience is their foible. 
 
 At all events, one thing is clear : to guard against this dan 
 ger will demand, as time rolls on, an increasing attention to 
 the prime object of all education^ the formation of sound 
 habits of mind, the discipline of the faculties, a thing 
 
244 THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 
 
 of infinitely more consequence than the mere variety of the 
 information attained. There will also be required efforts, 
 more and more strenuous, to digest and systematize, from 
 time to time, the ever-growing accumulations of literature ; 
 and to provide the best possible clews through this immense 
 and bewildering labyrinth, or rather through the several parts 
 of it ; for who can thread the whole ? 
 
 Nor are the best modes of pursuing study unworthy of 
 attention. Indeed, a very useful book (if we could get a 
 Leibnitz or a Gibbon to compose it) might be written on the 
 " art of reading books " in the most profitable manner. If 
 students had patience for it, we are convinced that a much 
 deeper and- better compacted knowledge (though the progress 
 might be slower) would be obtained by a more thorough ad 
 herence to the maxim so warmly approved by the great his 
 torian just mentioned, " multum legere, potius quam multa," 
 and by a constant habit of examining the scope and context 
 of the authors referred to on any important points. The 
 knowledge thus acquired, partly from the trouble it gives, 
 partly from the many associations suggested by the collation 
 of different writers, and the comparison of different styles 
 and modes of thought, nay, even by the different forms and 
 type of the books themselves, seldom fails to be firmly im 
 pressed on the memory. These collateral aids are like re 
 flectors, which increase indefinitely the intensity of light, 
 and render a subject luminous which would otherwise be ob 
 scure. How instructive are these words of Gibbon, himself 
 a conspicuous example of what even a postdiluvian life in 
 dustriously employed may accomplish : " We ought to attend 
 not so much to the order of our books, as of our thoughts. 
 The perusal of a particular work gives birth perhaps to ideas 
 unconnected with the subject it treats ; I pursue these ideas, 
 and quit my proposed plan of reading." : "I sus- 
 
 * Extraits Kaisonnees de mes Lectures. He adds : " Si j'avois suivi 
 mon grand chemin, au bout de ma longue carriere, j'aurois a peine pu 
 retrouver les traces de mes idees." 
 
THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 245 
 
 pended my perusal of any new books on a subject, till I had 
 reviewed all that I knew, or believed, or had thought on it, 
 that I might be qualified to discern how much the authors 
 added to my original stock." * 
 
 Perpetual access to a large library, it may be suspected, is 
 often an impediment to a thorough digestion of knowledge, 
 by tempting to an unwise indulgence. There is a story of a 
 man who said he always read borrowed books with double 
 attention as well as profit, because he could not hope to re 
 new his acquaintance with them at pleasure ! This of course 
 presupposes that he returned the books he borrowed, an 
 event which, we fear, does not always happen. 
 
 It is probable, indeed, that a comparatively small number 
 of well-selected books, even when our own, would, gen 
 erally, be likely to form a sounder and more serviceable 
 knowledge than the unlimited range of a large library. Most 
 readers must have been conscious of the fastidious mood with 
 which, in moments of leisure, they have stood before a goodly 
 assortment of attractive writers, and instead of making a sub 
 stantial repast, as they would have done with less to distract 
 their choice, have humored the vagaries of a delicate appe 
 tite, toyed with this rich dainty and that, and after all 
 have felt like a schoolboy who has dined upon tarts ; that 
 they have spoiled their digestion without satisfying their 
 hunger ! 
 
 But without stopping any longer to examine this paradox, 
 whether the multiplication of books is to produce a dimi 
 nution of knowledge or not, there are other consequences 
 of the prodigious activity of the modern press far more cer 
 tain to arise, and which well deserve a little consideration. 
 
 One of the most obvious of these consequences will be the 
 disappearance from the world of that always rare animal, the 
 so-called " universal scholar." Even of that ill-defined crea- 
 
 * Memoirs ; and thought worthy of being twice cited by Mr. D'ls- 
 raeli. 
 
 21* 
 
246 THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 
 
 ture called "a well-informed man" and "general student," 
 it will be perpetually harder to find exemplars ; but assuredly 
 the Huets, the Scaligers, the Leibnitzes must become as ex 
 tinct as the ichthyosaurus or the megatherium. It is true that, 
 in the strict sense of the word, such a creature as " the 
 universal scholar" does not, and never did, exist. But there 
 as certainly have been men who had traversed a sufficiently 
 large segment of the entire circumference of existing science 
 and literature, to render the name something more than a 
 ridiculous hyperbole. It is commonly, indeed, and truly, said 
 to be impossible for the human mind to prosecute researches 
 with accuracy in all, or even many different branches of 
 knowledge ; that what is gained in surface is lost in depth ; 
 that the principle of the " division of labor" strictly applies 
 here as in arts and manufactures, and that each mind must 
 restrict itself to a very few limited subjects, if any are to be 
 really mastered. All this is most true. Yet it is equally 
 true, that, in the pursuit of knowledge, the principle of the 
 " division of labor "finds limits to its application much sooner 
 than in handicrafts. The voracious " helluo librorum " is 
 not more to be suspected of ill-digested and superficial knowl 
 edge, than he whom the proverb tells us to avoid (though for 
 a very different, and, as we suspect, less valid reason), the 
 man " unius libri."* A certain amount of knowledge of 
 several subjects, often of many, is necessary to render the 
 knowledge of any one of these serviceable ; and, without it, 
 the most minute knowledge of any one alone would be like 
 half a pair of scissors, or a hand with but one finger. What 
 is that amount must be determined by the circumstances of 
 the individual, and the object for which he wants it ; the safe 
 maximum will vary in different cases. 
 
 * For what can be suggested in favor of the " Man of One Book," 
 the reader may profitably consult the observations of Mr. D'Israeli on 
 that subject in his " Curiosities of Literature." There is truth in what 
 he says ; but if the proverb is to be taken at all literally, we are con 
 vinced that it has less than the usual average of proverbial wisdom, and 
 that the " man of one book " will prove but a shallow fellow. 
 
THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 247 
 
 There are opposite dangers. The knowledge of each par 
 ticular thing that a man can study will always be imperfect. 
 The most "minute philosopher" cannot pretend perfection 
 of knowledge even in his little domain ; and if it were per 
 fect to-day, the leakage of memory would make it imperfect 
 by to-morrow. No subject can be named, which is not inex 
 haustible to the spirit of man. Whether he looks at nature 
 through the microscope or the telescope, he sees wonders dis 
 closed on either side which extend into infinity, the in 
 finitely great or the infinitely little, and can set no limits 
 to the approximate perfection with w r hich he may study them. 
 It is the same also with languages and with any branch of 
 moral or metaphysical science. A man may, if he will, be 
 all his life long employed upon a single language, and never 
 absolutely master its vocabulary, much less its idioms ; like 
 the ancient, after many years of solitary application, he may 
 unconsciously proclaim himself a foreigner to the first apple- 
 woman he meets, by some solecism too subtle for any but 
 a native ear to detect it. 
 
 The limits, then, within which any subject is to be pursued 
 must be determined by utility ; meantime, it is certain that 
 one cannot be profitably pursued alone. Such, it has been 
 well observed, is the strict connection and interdependence of 
 all branches of science, that the best way of obtaining a use 
 ful knowledge of one is to combine it with more. The true 
 limit between too minute and too wide a survey may be often 
 difficult to find ; nevertheless, such a limit always exists ; and 
 he who should pause over any one subject, however minute, 
 till he had absolutely mastered it, would be as far from that 
 limit with regard to all the practical ends of knowledge, as if 
 he had suffered his mind to dissipate itself in a vague at 
 tempt at encyclopedic attainments. The statement of Mac- 
 laurin on this point, expressed in a characteristically mathe 
 matical form, is well worthy of attention. " Our knowledge," 
 says he, " is vastly greater than the sum of what all its ob 
 jects separately could afford : and when a new object comes 
 
248 THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 
 
 within our reach, the addition to our knowledge is the greater, 
 the more we already know ; so that it increases, not as the 
 new objects increase, but in a much higher proportion.* 
 
 At all events, it ill becomes us to speak disparagingly of 
 the various, and, for all practical purposes, solid, attainments 
 of superior intellects. There is a piece of self-flattery by 
 which little minds often try to reduce great minds to their 
 own level. u True," it is said, " such men have very va 
 rious knowledge, but it is all superficial ; they have not sur 
 rendered themselves to any one branch sufficiently " ; and all 
 this, perhaps, because they have not cultivated with the most 
 elaborate industry every little corner of it, and because they 
 have had some conception of the relative value of the parts 
 of a large subject ! The minute antiquary (if he be nothing 
 more) talks in this style if he finds you ignorant of the shape 
 of an old buckle of such a date ! "You know nothing of an 
 tiquities." The minute geographer, if he discovers that you 
 have never heard of some obscure town at the antipodes, will 
 tell you, you know nothing of geography. The minute his 
 torian, if he finds that you never knew, or perhaps have 
 known twenty times, and never cared to remember, some 
 event utterly insignificant to all real or imaginable purposes 
 of history, will tell you that you know nothing of history. 
 And yet, discerning the limits within which the several 
 branches of knowledge should be pursued, you may, after 
 all, for every important object, have attained a more service 
 able and prompt command over those very branches in which 
 your complacent censor flatters himself that he excels. 
 
 But to return to the prospects of the so-called " universal 
 scholar." There have been in every age men who, gifted 
 with gigantic powers, prodigious memory, and peculiar modes 
 of arranging and retaining knowledge, have aspired to a com 
 prehensive acquaintance with all the chief productions of the 
 human intellect in all time ; who have made extensive incur- 
 
 * Maclaurin's Account of Newton's Discoveries, p. 392. 
 
THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 249 
 
 sions into every branch of human learning ; and whose 
 knowledge has borne something like an appreciable ratio to 
 the sum total of literature and .science ; who, as Fontenelle 
 expressively says of Leibnitz, have managed " to drive all 
 the sciences abreast." Such minds have always been rare ; 
 but, as we just now observed, they must soon become extinct. 
 For what is to become of them in after ages, as the domain 
 of human knowledge indefinitely widens, and the creations of 
 human genius indefinitely multiply? Not that there will not 
 be men who will then know absolutely more, and with far 
 greater accuracy, than their less, favored predecessors; never 
 theless, their knowledge must bear a continually diminishing 
 ratio to the sum of human science and literature ; they must 
 traverse a smaller and smaller segment of the ever-dilating 
 circle ! * Nay, it may well be, that the accumulations of 
 even one science (chemistry or astronomy for instance) may 
 be too vast for one brief life to master. Or, since that 
 thought is really too immense to be other than vague, let us 
 confine ourselves to some very slender additions to the task of 
 the future " universal scholar," imposed during the last few 
 years. Let us think only of some few of those voluminous 
 
 * " In Germany alone," says Menzel, " according to a moderate cal 
 culation, ten millions (?) of volumes are annually printed. As the cata 
 logue of every Leipzig half-yearly book contains the names of more than 
 a thousand German authors, we may compute that at the present mo 
 ment there are living in Germany about fifty thousand men who have writ 
 ten one or more books. Should that number increase at the same rate that 
 it has hitherto done, the time will soon come when a catalogue of ancient 
 and modern German authors will contain more names than there are living 
 
 readers In the year 1816 there were published for the first time 
 
 more than three thousand books ; in 1822, for the first time, above four 
 thousand ; in 1827, for the first time, above five thousand; and in 1832, 
 for the first time, above six thousand ; the numbers thus increasing one 
 thousand every five years." Gordon's Translation of MenzeTs German 
 Literature. The translator adds, from the " Conversations-Lexicon," the 
 numbers published annually to 1837, in which year they were nearly 
 eight thousand. The literary activity of France and England, though 
 not so great, has been prodigious. 
 
250 THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 
 
 authors who have appeared, in our own country alone , and in 
 the single department of history and polite letters, within the 
 last century, or even within two generations, and with whom 
 not only all who pretend to profound scholarship, but all 
 " well-informed men," are presumed to have some acquaint 
 ance ; to say nothing of living writers and the vast mass of 
 excellent literature which they are every year pouring into 
 the world. Let us think only of the voluminous remains 
 of Johnson, Burke, Gibbon, Hume, Robertson, Goldsmith, 
 Cowper, Crabbe, Byron, Walter Scott (with his hundred 
 volumes), and some scores pf other great names. Now as 
 human life, it has been justly said, remains brief as ever, 
 while the task of the student is daily enlarging, there is no 
 alternative but that the " general scholar " of each succeed 
 ing age must be content with possessing a less and less frac 
 tion of the entire products of the human mind. " Happy 
 men," we are half inclined ungratefully to say, " who lived 
 when a library consisted, like that of a mediaeval monastery, 
 of some thirty or forty volumes, and who thought they knew 
 every thing when they had read these ! Happy our fathers, 
 who were not tormented with the sight of unnumbered crea 
 tions of genius, which we must sigh to think we can never 
 make our own ! " 
 
 The final disposal of all this mass of literature is with some 
 easily managed. The bad will perish, it is said, and the 
 good remain. The former statement is true enough ; the 
 latter not so clear. " Bad books," says Menzel, " have their 
 season just as vermin have. They come in swarms, and 
 
 perish before we are aware How many thousand 
 
 books have gone the way of all paper, or are now moulder 
 ing in our libraries ? Many of our books, however, will not 
 last even so long, for the paper itself is as bad as its contents." 
 All this may be true ; but we cannot disguise from ourselves, 
 that not the bad writer alone is forgotten. It is but too evi 
 dent that immense treasures of thought, of beautiful po 
 etry, vivacious wit, ingenious argument, which men would 
 
THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 251 
 
 not suffer to die if they could help it, must perish too ; the 
 great spoiler here acts with his accustomed impartiality, 
 
 "JEquo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas 
 Regumque turres." 
 
 For the truth is, that the creations of the human mind 
 transcend its capacity to collect and preserve them ; like the 
 seeds of life in the vegetable world, the intellectual powers of 
 man are so prolific that they run to waste. Some readers, 
 perhaps, as a bright company of splendid names rushes on 
 their recollection, may be disposed to say " A vaunt ! " to these 
 melancholy forebodings. Surely, it can be only necessary 
 to remind them of the votive tablets in the Temple of Nep 
 tune recording escape from shipwreck. How many men 
 have suffered shipwreck, and whose tablets, therefore, are not 
 to be found ! Others may think it impossible that great writ 
 ers, with whom their own generation has been so familiar, 
 and who occupy such a space in its eye, can ever dwindle 
 into insignificance. The illusion vanishes the moment we 
 take them to catalogues and indexes, and show them names of 
 authors who once made as loud a noise in the world, of whom 
 they never read a line. . We should be too happy to believe 
 the statement of Menzel correct : " Of three good authors, 
 one at least will be remembered by posterity ; while of a 
 hundred bad ones, who are distinguished at present, not above 
 one will hand down his evil example." * 
 
 It is with no cynical, but with simply mournful feelings, 
 that we thus dwell on the mortality of the productions even 
 of genius. We would be just, both to the living and the 
 dead, by admitting that thousands of the latter who are for- 
 
 * " Die Gegenwart duldet keinen Richter, aber die Vergangenheit fin- 
 det immer den gerechtesten." Menzel, Th. I. s. 95. But our author 
 forgets that it is possible for the courts of criticism, like those of law, to 
 be overdone with business ; that the list may contain more causes than 
 industry and skill can get through, except by a process which leaves 
 justice out of the question, and dares to decide without a hearing. 
 
252 
 
 THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 
 
 gotten, deserved to be remembered, and that the former 
 would remember them if they could. Most pleasant it would 
 be, no doubt, in case human life were prolonged in some 
 proportion with the augmented sum of human knowledge, 
 to lay out our studies on a corresponding scale. Possessed 
 of antediluvian longevity, we might devote some twenty 
 years or so (a year or two more or less would be of no con 
 sequence) to purely elementary studies and discipline ; the 
 " promising lad " of fifty might commence his more serious 
 school studies, under judicious masters, in their full vigor and 
 prime of three or four centuries ; and at the age of ninety 
 or a hundred, the young student, just entering upon life 
 (though as yet raw and inexperienced), might be supposed 
 to have laid a tolerably solid foundation, whereon, in the 
 course of his progress towards manhood through the next 
 two centuries, he might, by due diligence and perseverance, 
 build such a superstructure as should justify some preten 
 sions to accurate and sound scholarship. But, alas ! we for 
 get that, even then, the old obstructions to universal knowl 
 edge would soon be reproduced in a new' form. The same 
 insatiable curiosity and the same restless activity, operating 
 through longer periods, would rapidly extend the circle of 
 science and literature beyond the reach of even such a stu 
 dent. The tremendous authors who enjoyed a career of five 
 centuries of popularity, would be voluminous in proportion ; 
 Jeremy Taylor and Baxter, Voltaire and Walter Scott, would 
 appear but pamphleteers in comparison. Their " opera 
 omnia " would extend to libraries. Novels would be written 
 to which the Great Cyrus and Clelia would be mere novel- 
 lettes ; wherein the heroes and heroines would be married, 
 hanged, or drowned, after a courtship and adventures of two 
 or three centuries. The biographies of the long-lived wor 
 thies of such an age would be composed in forty folios, or 
 more ; and the history of nations projected on a scale which 
 would render De Thou's huge seven tomes a mere sketch or 
 abstract. The author who began the history of Athens by a 
 
THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 253 
 
 dissertation on the geological formation of the Acropolis, or 
 the work of Leibnitz on the House of Brunswick, in which 
 he commences with his " Protogsea," would be but a type of 
 the prodigious gyrations of such writers ; so that the hope 
 less student, " toiling after them in vain," would be obliged 
 to exclaim, with Voltaire's " little man of Saturn," who only 
 lived during five hundred revolutions (or fifteen thousand 
 of our years), that scarcely had he begun to pick up a little 
 knowledge, when he was summoned to depart ; and that to 
 live only for such a span is, as one may say, to die as soon 
 as one is born. 
 
 But let us not be dismayed. The difference in the position 
 of the " general scholar " of earlier, as compared with one of 
 later times, is not so vast as might at first be imagined. Even 
 the former, with all his advantages, had far more books before 
 him than he could digest. We have but to look at the index 
 of their collected works, and to mark the limited class of 
 authors with whom they were familiar, to be convinced that 
 each, after all, had travelled over but a small portion of the 
 entire ground. We have stated, that of the literature which 
 chiefly occupies each generation, the bulk, even of its treas 
 ures, perishes ; and as time makes fresh accumulations, those 
 of preceding ages' pass for the most part into quiet oblivion. 
 The process which has taken effect on the past will be re 
 peated on the present age and on every subsequent one ; so 
 that the period will assuredly come, when even the great 
 writers of our days, who seem to have such enduring claims 
 upon our gratitude and admiration, will be as little remem 
 bered as others of equal genius who have gone before them ; 
 when, if not wholly forgotten or superseded, they will exist 
 only in fragments or specimens, these fragments and 
 specimens themselves shrinking into narrower compass as 
 time advances. In this way Time is perpetually compiling 
 a vast index expurgatorius ; and though the press more than 
 repairs his ravages on the mere matter of books, the immense 
 masses he heaps up insure the purpose of oblivion just as 
 
 22 
 
254 THE VANITY AND GLORY OP LITERATURE. 
 
 effectually. Not that his contemporary waste has ceased, or 
 become very moderate. Probably scarcely a day now passes 
 but sees the last leaf, the last tattered remnant of the last 
 copy of some work (great or small) of some author or oth 
 er perish by violence or accident, by fire, flood, or the 
 crumbling of mere decay. It is surely an impressive 
 thought, this silent, unnoticed extinction of another product 
 of some once busy and aspiring mind ! 
 
 Paradoxical as it may seem, the chief cause of the virtual 
 oblivion of books is no longer their extinction, but the fond 
 care with which they are preserved, and their immensely 
 rapid multiplication. The press is more than a match for 
 the moth and the worm, or the mouldering hand of time ; 
 yet the great destroyer equally fulfils his commission, by 
 burying books under the pyramid which is formed by their 
 accumulation. It is a striking example of the impotence 
 with which man struggles against the destiny which awaits 
 him and his works, that the very means he takes to insure 
 immortality, destroy it ; that the very activity of the press, 
 of the instrument by which he seemed to have taken 
 pledges against time and fortune, is that which will make 
 him the spoil of both. The books themselves may no longer 
 die ; but their spirit does : and they become like old men 
 whose bodies have outlived their minds, a spectacle more 
 piteous than death *itself. It is really curious to look into the 
 index of such learned writers as Jeremy Taylor, Cud worth, 
 or Leibnitz, and to see the havoc which has been made on 
 the memory of the greater part of the writers they cite, and 
 who still exist, though no longer to be cited ; of men who 
 were their great contemporaries or immediate predecessors, 
 and who are quoted by them just as Locke or Burke is quoted 
 by us. Of scarcely one in ten of these grave authorities 
 has the best-informed student of our day read ten pages. 
 The very names of vast numbers have all but perished ; 
 at all events, have died out of familiar remembrance. Let 
 the student who flatters himself that he is not ill-informed, 
 
THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 255 
 
 glance over the index of even such a work as Hallam's 
 " History of European Literature," designed only to re 
 cord the more memorable names, and ask himself of how 
 many of the authors there mentioned he has read so much 
 as even five pages ? It will be enough to chastise all ordi 
 nary conceit of extensive attainments, and, perhaps as effec 
 tually as any thing, teach a man that truest kind of knowl 
 edge, the knowledge of his own ignorance. 
 
 But while thus administering consolation to the " general 
 scholar," by showing that time has been certainly limiting as 
 well as extending his task, there is another class who will 
 find no consolation in the thought, and that is the class of 
 authors. There is no help, however : humbling as it may 
 seem, to represent the noble products of man's mind as des 
 tined to decay, like his body, and the thoughts and inter 
 ests which he knows must perish with it, it is the truth, 
 nevertheless, in the vast majority of instances. And in by 
 far the greater number of the seeming instances to the con 
 trary, authors still do not live ; they are merely embalmed, 
 and made mummies of. The works of the great mass of 
 extant authors are deposited in libraries and museums, like 
 the bodies of Egyptian kings in their pyramids, retaining 
 only a grim semblance of life, amidst neglect, darkness, and 
 decay. 
 
 To Mr. D'Israeli's enthusiastic gaze, the sight of the rows 
 of goodly volumes in their rich bindings, gleaming behind 
 the glittering trellis-work of their carved cases, suggested the 
 idea of " Eastern beauties peering through their jalousies " / 
 To the eye of a severe philosopher, they might more natu 
 rally suggest the idea of the aforesaid mummies. 
 
 It has been often affirmed, and there is some truth in it, 
 that, of all the forms of celebrity which promise to grat 
 ify man's natural longing for immortality, there is none which 
 looks so plausible as that of literary glory. The great states 
 man and warrior, it is said, are known only by report, and 
 for even that are indebted to the poet and historian. Sir 
 
256 THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 
 
 Walter Scott (a man by no means disposed to over-estimate 
 the importance of a literary as compared with a practical 
 life), after looking at certain drawings of some splendid 
 architectural monuments of ancient India, the names of 
 whose founders have perished, justly remarks in his diary, 
 " Fame depends on literature, not on architecture." But 
 even where a Pindar or a Tacitus undertakes the task of 
 celebrating munificence or greatness, we are compelled to 
 feel, that, after all, it is but the conqueror's or statesman's 
 portrait, rather than the conqueror or statesman himself, that 
 is presented to us. On the other hand, a book is fondly 
 presumed to be an author's second self; by it he comes as 
 it were into contact, into personal communion, with the 
 minds of his readers. It is a pleasant illusion, no doubt ; 
 and in the \eryfew instances in which the author does attain 
 this permanent popularity, and becomes a " household word " 
 with posterity, the illusion ceases to be such, and the hopes 
 of ambition are indeed splendidly realized. But it is not 
 only most true that very few can attain this eminence ; it has 
 not been sufficiently observed, that, as the world grows older, 
 a still smaller and smaller portion of those who seem to have 
 attained it will retain their position. A minute fraction of 
 even these will be consigned to the future, and fractions even 
 of these fractions will gradually drop away in the long march 
 of time. The great mass of the writers whom " posterity 
 would not willingly let die," if there were possibility of es 
 cape, must share the fate of those other great men over 
 whom the author is supposed to have an advantage ; they 
 themselves will live only by the historian's pen. The empty 
 titles of their books will be recorded in catalogues ; and a 
 few lines be granted to them in biographical dictionaries, 
 with what may be truly called a post mortem examination of 
 criticism ; a space which, as those churchyards of intellect 
 become more and more crowded, will necessarily also be 
 come smaller and smaller, till, for thousands, not even room 
 for a sepulchral stone will be found. 
 
THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 257 
 
 Nor is it easy to say how far this oblivion will go, or what 
 luminaries will be in time eclipsed. Supposing only a scant 
 ling of the products of the genius of each age its richest 
 and ripest fruits handed down to posterity, (and there is 
 already gathered into the garner far more than any one man 
 has read or can read,) the accumulation of these scantlings 
 will gradually rise into a prodigious pile. The time must 
 come, when not only mediocrity, which has been always the 
 case, not only excellence, which has been long the case, 
 will stand a chance of being rejected, but when even gold 
 and diamonds will be cast into the sieve ! Hardy must those 
 be who shall then venture to hope for the permanent atten 
 tion of mankind ! for it will be found that the greater part 
 of authors have bought, not, as they fondly imagined, a copy 
 hold of inheritance. Their interest for life or years soon 
 runs out, and every year rapidly diminishes the value of the 
 estate. 
 
 We already see this mournfully realized in relation to a 
 thousand bright names of the last two centuries. How much 
 beautiful poetry, scarcely second in merit to any, is all but 
 forgotten in the crowd, and reduced to a single fragment or 
 two in some book of specimens or "elegant extracts"; 
 hardly more than sufficient to serve for an epitaph ! A fu 
 ture, however, is approaching, when even volumes of speci 
 mens (to be complete) must be in folios, and the very ab 
 stracts of excellence voluminous ; or rather, when, if men 
 would read only one page of each great genius, they must 
 be content to construct a spicilegium something like that of 
 the desultory student mentioned by Steele in one of the Guar 
 dians ; who had such an inordinate habit of skipping from 
 book to book, that, to gratify this taste, he fabricated a vol 
 ume in which each page was from a different author, torn 
 out at random, and bound up together. 
 
 With the exception, then, of the very few who shine on 
 from age to age, like lights in the firmament, with undimin- 
 ished lustre, the Homers, the Shakspeares, the Miltons, the 
 
 22* 
 
258 THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 
 
 Bacons, enshrined, like the heroes of old, among the con 
 stellations, the great bulk of writers must be contented, 
 after having shone for a while, to be wholly or nearly lost to 
 the world. Entering our system like comets which move 
 in hyperbolic orbits, they may strike their immediate gener 
 ation with a sudden splendor ; but receding gradually into 
 the depths of space, they will twinkle with a fainter and a 
 fainter lustre, till they fade away for ever. 
 
 Not the least instructive of the essays of Lord Jeffrey, re 
 printed from the " Edinburgh Review," is that suggested by 
 Campbell's "Specimens of the British Poets." After re 
 marking that many authors of no trivial popularity in their 
 day, occupy the smallest possible amount of space in such a 
 collection, he proceeds most strikingly, but sadly, to predict 
 the possible condition of famous contemporaries a century 
 hence. " Of near two hundred and fifty authors whose works 
 are cited in these volumes, by far the greater part of whom 
 were celebrated in their generation, there are not thirty who 
 now enjoy any thing that can be called popularity, whose 
 works are to be found in the hands of ordinary readers, 
 in the shops of ordinary booksellers, or in the press for re- 
 publication. About fifty more may be tolerably familiar to 
 men of taste or literature : the rest slumber on the shelves of 
 collectors, and are partially known to a few antiquarians and 
 
 scholars." " The last ten years have produced, 
 
 we think, an annual supply of about ten thousand lines of 
 good staple poetry, poetry from the very first hands that 
 we can boast of, that runs quickly to three or four large 
 editions, and is as likely to be permanent as present suc 
 cess can make it. Now, if this goes on for a hundred years 
 longer, what a task will await the poetical readers of 1919 ! 
 
 Then, if the future editor have any thing like 
 
 the indulgence and veneration for antiquity of his predeces 
 sors, then shall posterity hang with rapture on the half of 
 Campbell, and the fourth part of Byron, and the sixth of 
 Scott, and the scattered tithes of Crabbe, and the three 
 
THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 259 
 
 per cents of Southey, while some good-natured critic shall 
 sit in our mouldering chair, and more than half prefer them 
 to those by whom they have been superseded ! " Thus does 
 the fame which looks most like immortality, resemble every 
 other form of that painted shadow ; in most instances it dwin 
 dles into a name ; and that name not always legible. " Van 
 ity of vanities, saith the preacher ; all is vanity ! " * 
 
 In one point we can hardly concur with Lord Jeffrey. He 
 seems to think that the lot of the poet, in relation to fame, is 
 yet more infelicitous than that of the man of science. He says : 
 " The fame of a poet is popular or nothing. He does not 
 address himself, like the man of science, to the learned, or 
 those who desire to learn, but to all mankind ; and his pur 
 pose being to delight and be praised, necessarily extends to 
 all who can receive pleasure or join in applause." Now we 
 think it certain, that if the poet and the man of science are 
 relatively of equal merit, the chances of being remembered 
 are far more favorable to the former than to the latter. As 
 we had occasion to remark some time back, in a case of no 
 less a genius than Leibnitz : " The condition of great phi 
 losophers is far less enviable than that of great poets. The 
 former can never possess so large a circle of readers under 
 any circumstances ; but that number is still further abridged 
 by the fact, that even the truths the philosopher has taught 
 or discovered form but stepping-stones in the progress of sci 
 ence, and are afterwards digested, systematized, and better 
 expounded in other works composed by inferior men. The 
 
 * After penning the above words, we were reminded of another of 
 the maxims of the same inspired writer, that there is " nothing new 
 under the sun " ; for, in turning over old Morhof 's " Polyhistor " for 
 another purpose, we stumbled on the following sentence : " Scriben- 
 dorum librorum nullum esse finem jam turn sapientissimus Salomon 
 dicebat ; ac est revera res infinita ; ut enim cogitationibus hominum 
 nullus statui finis potest, ita nee libris, qui cogitationum partus sunt ; 
 quibus kctores tandem deerunt ! redeuntibus semper txovis qui ad tem- 
 poris sui genium accommodatiores sunt, et antiquorum luminibus 
 officiunt." 
 
260 THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 
 
 creations of poetry, on the contrary, remain ever beautiful, 
 as long as the language in which they are embodied shall 
 endure : even to translate is to injure them. Thus it is, that 
 for one reader of Archimedes (even amongst those who know 
 just what Archimedes achieved) there are thousands of read 
 ers of Homer ; and of Newton it may be truly said, that 
 nine tenths of those who are familiar with his doctrines have 
 never studied him, except at second hand. Far more inti 
 mate, no doubt, is that sympathy which Shakspeare and Mil 
 ton inspire ; ' being dead they yet speak,' and may even be 
 said to form a part of the very minds of their readers." If 
 comparative neglect be the lot of the writings even of New 
 ton, what must be naturally and universally the fate of in 
 ferior men ? Of that treatise of Descartes, in which he lays 
 the foundation of analytical geometry, how few of those who 
 have pursued that science to heights and depths of which 
 Descartes never dreamed, ever perused a syllable ! The case 
 of the cultivators of chemistry, and of many other modern 
 sciences, is still more desperate. A few years obliterate all 
 traces of their works ; the fortune of which it is, to become 
 antiquated while their authors yet survive, virtually obso 
 lete while the type is still fresh and the date recent. Their 
 names will soon be known only in the page of the historian 
 of science, who will duly record in a few brief lines the dis 
 coveries their authors made, and the still greater blunders 
 they committed ; will tell us that they were strenuous men in 
 their day, and for their day did well ; and that they are now 
 gathered to their fathers ! Such is often the caput mortuum 
 of a life of experiments ! 
 
 In that deluge of books with which the world is inundated, 
 the lamentations with which the bibliomaniac bemoans the 
 waste of time and the barbarous ravages of bigotry and igno 
 rance, appear at first sight somewhat fantastical. Yet it is 
 not without reason that we mourn over many of those losses, 
 especially in reference to history ; and this, not merely as 
 they have involved in obscurity some important truths, but 
 
THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 261 
 
 for a reason more nearly related to our present subject, and 
 which has seldom suggested itself. Paradoxical as it may 
 seem, it may probably be said with truth, that the very multi 
 plicity of books with which we are now perplexed is in part 
 owing to the loss of some ; and that if we had' had a few 
 volumes more, we should probably have had many less. 
 The countless multitudes of speculations, conjectures, and 
 criticisms on those ample fields of doubt, which the ravages 
 of time have left, open to interminable discussion, would then 
 have been spared to us. An " hiatus valde deflendus " too often 
 leads to conjectures still more " lamentable " ; and a moderate 
 " lacuna " becomes the text of an immoderate disquisition. 
 
 On the other hand, it is doubtful whether except in the 
 case of history the treasures of literature, of which time 
 has deprived us, and the loss of which literary enthusiasts so 
 bitterly regret, have been so inestimable. We are disposed 
 to think with Gibbon, in his remarks on the burning of the 
 Alexandrian Library, that by far the greater part of the mas 
 terpieces of antiquity have been secured to us ; and that, 
 though some few have assuredly been lost, there is no reason 
 to believe that they have been numerous. The lost works, 
 even of the greatest masters, were most probably inferior to 
 those which have come down to us. Their best must have 
 been those most admired, most frequently copied, most 
 faithfully preserved ; and therefore, on all these accounts, 
 the most likely to elude the hand of violence and the casu 
 alties of time. " I sincerely regret," says the historian, 
 " the more valuable libraries which have been involved in the 
 ruin of the Roman empire : but when I seriously compute 
 the lapse of ages, the waste of ignorance, and the calamities 
 of war, our treasures rather than our losses are the object of 
 
 my surprise We should gratefully remember, that 
 
 the mischances of time and accident have spared the classic 
 works to which the suffrage of antiquity had adjudged the 
 first place of genius and glory ; the teachers of ancient 
 knowledge who are still extant, had perused and compared the 
 
263 
 
 THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 
 
 writings of their predecessors ; nor can it fairly be presumed 
 that any important truth, any useful discovery in art or nature, 
 has been snatched away from the curiosity of modern ages." 
 
 We have but to glance at our own great writers, to see 
 how wide is the interval between their best and their worst 
 productions. Is there one, at all voluminous, of whom it can 
 be said, that all he has left is worthy of being transmitted to 
 posterity ? It is true, indeed, that, once possessed of any thing 
 of theirs, we are naturally reluctant to lose it ; and should 
 even consider it a species of sacrilege to destroy it. Yet, in 
 effect, very much they have left is as if it were lost, for it 
 is never read. As in other cases, we neglect what we have, 
 and pine for what we have not, though if we had it we could 
 not use it. Are there, of the thousands most familiar with 
 their chief writings, fifty who have read all Bacon, all Milton, 
 all Locke ? 
 
 We therefore acquiesce in the judgment of Gibbon, not 
 only as the best consolation under our inevitable losses, but 
 as in all probability the true estimate of it ; not, however, 
 intending thereby any apology for the acts which reduce us 
 to this exercise of faith : neither does Gibbon. On the con 
 trary, as Mr. D'Israeli says, " he pathetically describes the 
 empty library of Alexandria after the Christians had de 
 stroyed it " ; though he does not in that place suggest any 
 of the alleviations to which we have just adverted ; he re 
 serves them for the time when he has to describe the second 
 and greater desolation on the same spot by the Mahometans ! 
 On this last occasion, he softens somewhat of his pathos, 
 perhaps of his indignation, and makes the philosophic esti 
 mate which we have cited. Without abating any of the in 
 dignation and contempt due to such fanatical ignorance, 
 whether Christian or Mahometan, it is impossible, we think, 
 to deny the sound sense and discrimination of the great his 
 torian's observations.* 
 
 * " I believe that a philosopher," says Mr. D'Israeli, " would consent 
 to lose any poet to regain an historian." Perhaps so ; if the exchange 
 
THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 263 
 
 Large as may be the waste of time, and still larger the 
 virtual extinction of books by a silent process of oblivion, 
 
 were always between a Claudian and a Tacitus. But the latter must be 
 great indeed, to outweigh a Hcmer, a Shakspeare, or a Milton. " Fancy 
 may be supplied," he remarks, " but truth once lost in the annals of 
 mankind, leaves a chasm never to be filled." We fear that the fancy of 
 the highest poetry is not quite so promptly made to order ; while, on the 
 other hand, Niebuhr has pretty clearly shown that history is far from 
 being always truth ; not to mention that, if it were so, the highest cre 
 ations of poetry those of a Homer or a Shakspeare embody truth 
 yet more comprehensive and universal than any consigned to the page 
 of history. Montaigne remarks in one of his essays, that the value of 
 history does not consist in the facts it records, but in the instruction the 
 facts are capable of conveying ; and this is so true, that the parts of his 
 tory which are positively fabulous are often more full of significance, 
 and have really had more influence, than the most accurate recital of the 
 bare facts. Plutarch, with all his credulity and love of fable, has, we 
 suspect, really exerted more power over the minds of men than any of 
 the more authentic historians of antiquity. The graphic account which 
 Livy has left of the discordant counsels given to the Samnites by 
 Herennius Pontius respecting the disposal of the Romans taken at the 
 pass of Caudium, has, perhaps, about as much historic truth in it as any 
 other of the " thousand and one " legends which his historic Muse (right 
 ly so called) has seized and adorned ; but the whole is infinitely more 
 instructive and more impressive than any narrative of the negotiations 
 for a surrender of prisoners of war, with which tame history has sup 
 plied us. That the fox spoke to the crane what is attributed to him in 
 the fable, is very doubtful ; and that some " nobody " killed some other 
 " nobody " may be very certain ; but the fable, in the one case, is full of 
 meaning, and the fact of history may be wholly insignificant. In our 
 own age, honorably distinguished as one of severe historic research, and 
 which has produced more than one historic work, and one very recently, 
 which posterity will reckon among its treasures, it is well that historians, 
 while accurately distinguishing truth from fable, should neither forget 
 the beauties nor the uses of the latter ; nor, on the other hand, overwhelm 
 us with tediously minute investigations of insignificant facts, which no 
 one cares for, and as to which it does not matter whether they happened 
 in this way or that, or not at all. In the department of history there is 
 no more frequent cause of that plethora of books under which the world 
 is groaning. Walter Scott's remarks on his own Life of Napoleon are 
 true in their principle, whatever we may think of the application of 
 them : " Superficial it must be, but I do not care for the charge. Bet- 
 
264 THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 
 
 each generation far more than makes up the loss ; and though 
 suffering from a glut, the world goes on adding to their num 
 ber, as if in fear of an intellectual famine. One might im 
 agine that in some departments of literature there would 
 necessarily come a pause ; for instance, considering there is 
 already more of first-rate poetry and fiction than any body 
 can pretend to find time to read, that none would be found 
 to venture into these fields, unless persuaded that he had 
 something to offer better than Homer, Shakspeare, or Scott ! 
 Equally prolific is the literature of memoirs and biography. 
 There is a little better reason for this ; yet the rage for it, it 
 must be confessed, is often carried to a ludicrous extent. No 
 sooner does any man of mark or likelihood die, than, in ad 
 dition to his life, whole volumes of his letters and journals are 
 thrust upon the world.* But of all this it would be as unrea- 
 
 ter a superficial book, which brings well and strikingly together the 
 known and acknowledged facts, than a dull, boring narrative, pausing 
 to see farther into a millstone every moment than the nature of the 
 millstone admits. Nothing is so tiresome as walking through some 
 beautiful scene with a minute philosopher, a botanist, or pebble-gatherer, 
 who is eternally calling your attention from the grand features of the 
 natural picture, to look at grasses and chucky-stones." If Niebuhr had 
 given us, by his matchless acuteness of investigation and boundless 
 learning, nothing more than the correction of minute dates and the true 
 version of petty events, his powers would have been sadly wasted. 
 
 * It is the same in France, in Germany, everywhere. " Scarce has 
 an invitation or washing-bill of the happy Matthison remained unprint- 
 ed ; of Jean Paul we know on what day he got his first braces ; of Voss, 
 what he spent in every inn during his little journeys ; of Schiller, in 
 what coach he drove to visit Goethe. With such like trash, in short, 
 are the many hundred volumes of biography and correspondence filled." 
 Menzel. Yet even such absurdities are but the abuse of a reasonable 
 wish, that of knowing celebrated men in their retirement and natural 
 character. The details of their private life are perused, we suspect, with 
 greater eagerness than those of their public career, however splendid. 
 It is true that the " hero " in these cases is as apt to vanish to the eyes of 
 the reader as to the " valefcde-chambre " ; but the reader recognizes what 
 he likes better than a " hero," a man. Still, to see great men in their 
 undress, it certainly is not necessary to strip them stark naked. The inven 
 tory of their linen and their washerwoman's bills might be left sacred. 
 
THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 265 
 
 sonable as ungrateful to complain. Fugitive as the interest of 
 such literature must be, each generation naturally wishes to 
 know more of its contemporaries than a future age will conde 
 scend to learn : and from almost the worst of such works some 
 casual gleam of light may illumine the page of the future 
 historian ; some fact be rescued which will enable him to 
 adjust more accurately the transactions, and estimate more 
 truly the characters, of the time. The only doubt is whether 
 here, as elsewhere, the very copiousness of the materials 
 will not produce the same effect as the dearth of them ; 
 whether the judicial sentence of an historian who shall write 
 three hundred years hence, and who shall honestly examine 
 and sift his materials, will not be as little to be hoped for as 
 that of some profound judges, delayed, and still delayed, 
 till death has overtaken-them amidst their unresolved doubts. 
 While the past is receiving into its tranquil depths such huge 
 masses of literature, it is perpetually yielding us, by a contra 
 ry process, and perhaps nearly bulk for bulk, materials which 
 it had long concealed. While work after work of science 
 and history is daily passing away, pushed aside, beyond all 
 chance of republication, by superior works of a similar kind, 
 containing the last discoveries and most accurate results, it is 
 curious to see with what eagerness the literary antiquary, in 
 all departments, is ransacking the past for every fragment 
 of unprinted manuscript. Many of these, if they had been 
 published when they were written, would have been perfectly 
 worthless. They derive their sole value from the rust of age, 
 just as other things derive theirs from the gloss of novelty. 
 It may with truth be said of them, Periissent, ni periissent ; 
 unless they had been buried, they would never have lived. 
 How many societies have been recently formed with the laud 
 able object of giving to the world what no private enterprise 
 would venture to put to press. It is true that, judging from 
 many of the works thus published, one might be inclined to 
 say that some of our literary treasure-finders were too strong 
 ly of Justice Shallow's opinion, that " things that are mouldy 
 
 23 
 
266 THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 
 
 lack use." " It was with difficulty," says Geoffrey Crayon, 
 after describing his little antiquarian parson's raptures over 
 the old drinking song, " it was with difficulty the squire was 
 made to comprehend, that, though a jovial song of the pres 
 ent day was but a foolish sound in the ears of wisdom, and 
 beneath the notice of a learned man, yet a trowl written by 
 a tosspot several hundred years since was a matter worthy 
 of the gravest research, and enough to set whole colleges by 
 the ears." 
 
 But neither do we complain of all this. As in the case of 
 memoirs and biographies, the laborious trifling of the merest 
 drudge in antiquities may supply the historian with some 
 collateral lights, and furnish materials for more vivid descrip 
 tions of the past ; or, coming into contact with highly crea 
 tive minds, like that of Walter Scott, such collections may 
 contribute the rude elements of the sublimest or most beauti 
 ful creations of fiction. None can read his novels and de 
 spise the study of the most trivial details of local antiquities, 
 when it is seen for what beautiful textures they may supply 
 the threads. It is the privilege of genius such as his to ex 
 tract their gold-dust out of the most worthless books, books 
 which to others would be to the last degree tedious and unat 
 tractive, and the felicity with which he did this was one of 
 his most striking characteristics. In hundreds of cases it is 
 wonderful to see how a snatch of an old border song, an 
 antique phrase, used as he uses it, a story or fragment of a 
 story from some obscure author, shall suddenly be invested 
 with an intrinsic force or beauty, which the original would 
 never have suggested to an ordinary reader, and which, in 
 fact, they derive, in nine cases out of ten, from the light of 
 genius which he brought to play upon them. In those bright 
 morning or evening tints even the barren heath or the rugged 
 mass of graystone looks picturesque ; or such uses of an-^ 
 tiquity remind us of the gate of the old Tolbooth, or frag 
 ments of the ruins of Melrose, incorporated with Abbotsford. 
 The quality above referred to, Mr. Lockhart has happily 
 
THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 267 
 
 characterized. "The lamp of his zeal burnt on brighter and 
 brighter amidst the dust of parchments ; his love and pride 
 vivified whatever he hung over in these dim records, and 
 patient antiquarianism, long brooding and meditating, became 
 gloriously transmuted into the winged spirit of national 
 poetrjr." 
 
 In this way minute portions of the past are constantly en 
 tering by new combinations into fresh forms of life, and out 
 of these old materials, continually decomposed but continually 
 rccombined, scope is afforded for an everlasting succession 
 of imaginative literature. In the same way every work of 
 genius, by coming, as it were, into mesmeric rapport with 
 the affinities of kindred genius, and stimulating its latent ener 
 gies, is itself the parent of many others, and furnishes the 
 materials and rudiments of ever new combinations.* Of 
 
 * The greater part of those resemblances in thoughts and images, 
 which a carping criticism sets down as plagiarisms, are, we are persuaded, 
 nothing more than such combinations : and even of plagiarism, properly 
 so called, we have as little doubt that the instances are far fewer than has 
 generally been supposed. Many so named have been simple coinci 
 dences of thought, the result of similarly constituted minds, revolving 
 the same subjects 5 and, true though it be that the objects and combina 
 tions of thought are infinite, yet considering that humanity, and those 
 things which chiefly interest it, are always and everyAvhere the same, it is 
 perhaps the inexhaustible variety, and not the occasional similarity, of 
 conceptions which ought to amaze us. The remarks of Sir Thomas 
 Browne, in his "Religio Medici," on some observed coincidences be 
 tween himself and Montaigne, are well worth the attention of every 
 critic who would be just to genius. Many other supposed plagiarisms 
 .are but the unconscious reflection of sentiments and images, the source 
 of which had been long forgotten. A person must be very dull or very 
 uncharitable, or he will be slow to suspect a mind of any originality 
 of the meanness of larceny. . For any such mind must always find it 
 easier to live honestly than by stealing. As to the greater part of those 
 parallelisms and resemblances on which an unworthy criticism has 
 founded the charge against great writers, they will, as we have said, be 
 generally found to indicate nothing more than that the thoughts of oth 
 ers have suggested the germ of new conceptions; new by a juster appli 
 cation, or a more felicitous expression, or a fresh development of the 
 
268 THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 
 
 more than one great mind it has been recorded, that they sel 
 dom read any work which strongly excited them, without 
 meditating one' on a similar theme. The Latin poet com 
 plained of the injustice of our fathers in " having stolen all 
 our good things," by uttering them before we had the oppor 
 tunity. The complaint is one in which an author must look for 
 little sympathy from the world. When we think of the infinite 
 variety of human intellects, no two of which are alike, any 
 more than men's faces, the exhaustless variety of nature 
 and of art, and the equally infinite variety of the analogies and 
 relations of objects, we see that the human mind may expa 
 tiate for ever, and never find lack of argument, wit, and 
 fancy ; but how small a portion can be preserved or retained ! 
 From the time that Ovid uttered his complaint, to the present 
 moment, the perpetual flood has been pouring upon the world, 
 and it still rolls on broader and deeper than ever. 
 
 Considering the vastness of the accumulations of literature, 
 and the impossibility of mastering them, it is not wonder- 
 
 original thought. They are in truth no more plagiarisms than a chem 
 ical compound, the result of "mysterious affinities, is identical with the 
 elements which enter into it. There is all the difference between sug 
 gestion and plagiarism, that there is between making blood from food, 
 and receiving it into the veins by transfusion. In Shakspeare and Scott 
 we see both how much and how little a great genius derives from 
 sources without himself. " Observing," says Moore, in his " Life of Lord 
 Byron," " a volume in his gondola, with a number of paper marks be 
 tween the leaves, I inquired of him what it was. ' Only a book,' he 
 answered, ' from which I am trying to crib, as I do whenever I can ; 
 and that 's the way I get the character of an original poet.' On taking 
 it up and looking at it, I exclaimed, 'Ah, my friend Agathon ! ' ' What ! '" 
 he cried archly, ' you have been beforehand with me there, have you 1 ' " 
 Though in imputing to himself premeditated plagiarism, he was, of 
 course, but jesting, it was, I am inclined to think, his practice, when 
 engaged in the composition of any work, to excite thus his vein by the 
 perusal of others on the same subject or plan, from which the slightest 
 hint caught by his imagination, as he read, was sufficient to kindle there 
 such a train of thought as, but for that spark, had never been awakened, 
 and of which he himself soon forgot the source." Vol. IV. 
 
THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 269 
 
 ful that the idea should sometimes have suggested itself, that 
 it might be possible in a series of brief publications to distil, 
 as it were, the quintessence of books, and condense folios into 
 pamphlets. " Were all books thus reduced," says Addison, 
 " many a bulky author would make his appearance in a pen 
 ny paper. There would scarce be such a thing in nature as 
 a folio ; the works of an age would be contained on a few 
 shelves ; not to mention millions of volumes that would be 
 utterly annihilated." One such attempt we remember being 
 made with considerable pretensions ; but it was as futile as 
 every such attempt must be. Without going the length of 
 Montaigne, who says that " every abridgment of a book is 
 a foolish abridgment," it may be truly said, not only that the 
 human mind cannot profitably digest intellectual food in such 
 a condensed shape, but that every work really worth reading 
 bears upon it the impress of the mind that gave it birth, and 
 ceases to attract and to impress when reduced to a syllabus ; 
 its faults and its excellences alike vanish in the process. It 
 is of much importance, however, if authors who cannot be 
 thus mutilated desire to live, that they should study brevity. 
 Our voluminous forefathers of the seventeenth century seem 
 never to have attempted condensation ; but to have commit 
 ted all that they thought to writing, and for the most part in 
 all the redundance of the forms first suggested. They acted 
 as though we, their posterity, should have nothing to do but 
 to sit down and read what they had written. They were 
 much mistaken ; and the consequence is, that their folios for 
 the most part remain unread altogether. 
 
 It is the severe beauty, the condensed meaning, of the mas 
 terpieces of classical antiquity, which, probably as much as 
 as any thing else, has given them their victory over time ; 
 constituting them not merely models of taste, but rendering 
 them moderate in bulk, the majority of them portable. 
 The light skiff will shoot the cataracts of time when a heav 
 ier vessel will infallibly go down. 
 
 While it is too sadly certain that by far the greater part of 
 23* 
 
270 THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 
 
 those who toil for remembrance among men must be de 
 frauded of their hopes, it is well for genius to recollect that 
 the doom may be indefinitely delayed by due care on its own 
 part ; just as, though nothing can avert death, a wise and 
 prudent regard to health may secure a late termination and a 
 green old age. Or its case may be compared to that of men 
 who labor under some incurable chronic malady ; it must be 
 fatal at last, but by a due regimen and self-control, the 
 patient may outlive many of more robust health, who are 
 madly negligent of the boon. It is astonishing what signal 
 genius will sometimes effect to give permanent popularity to 
 books, even in those departments in which the progress of 
 knowledge soon renders them very imperfect. They maintain 
 their supremacy notwithstanding ; and their successors prolong 
 their influence by means of note and supplement. Such will 
 probably be the case with Paley's works on " Natural Theol 
 ogy " and the " Evidences of Christianity." Hume's " His 
 tory of England " promises to be a still stronger instance, 
 in spite, not only of its many deficiencies, but of its enormous 
 errors. 
 
 It is, indeed, a great triumph of genius when it is capable 
 of so impressing itself upon its productions, so moulding and 
 shaping them to beauty, as to make men unwilling to return 
 the gold into the melting-pot, and work it up afresh ; when it 
 is felt that from the less accurate work we after all learn 
 more, and receive more vivid impressions, than from the 
 more correct, but less effective, productions of an inferior 
 artist. To attain this species of longevity, genius must not 
 be content with being a mere mason, but must aspire to be 
 an architect ; it must seek to give preciousness to the gold 
 and silver by the beauty of the cup or vase into which they 
 are moulded, and to make them as valuable for their form as- 
 for their matter. 
 
 The French were formerly very sensitive to our want of 
 artistic skill in our literary composition. Indeed, Laharpe pre 
 sumed to assert that " Tom Jones " was the only book in the 
 
THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 271 
 
 English language ! But we may take comfort on comparing 
 ourselves with the Germans. There is no country in Europe 
 in which the mortality even of valuable works is so frequent 
 ly the result of a neglect of this sort as Germany ; none in 
 which critics, historians, theologians, are so content to give to 
 the world their crude and imperfect thoughts ; marked, in 
 deed, by a prodigality, but as often by an abuse of learning ; 
 by a command of ample materials, but employed without judg 
 ment, taste, or method. Their books, in consequence, soon 
 give way to another fleeting generation, manufactured in the 
 same way, and with as little hope of permanent popularity. 
 
 Nor is there any country, though all are chargeable with 
 the fault, to which Menzel's scornful remarks on " books 
 made out of books," so strongly apply. " Germany," says 
 he, " is thronged with multitudes who, in want of any fixed 
 employment, immediately begin to write books : thus reaping, 
 as soon as possible, the fruits of what they have learned at 
 the universities, and inundating the world with an immense 
 number of crude and boyish works." It is necessary only 
 to inspect many German volumes to see that they are just the 
 produce of a note-book ; that the task has begun and ended 
 in the carting of so much rubbish, and shooting it out into a 
 bookseller's shop, where, at the best, it may serve as a 
 collection of materials for an edifice which somebody else is 
 to build. Profuse reading is often their only characteristic ; 
 and not always is there any sure sign of this : for the prodi 
 gal references with which page after page in many such 
 works is half filled, are often slavishly copied from other 
 writers, and the parade of learning is as empty as it is super 
 fluous. Niebuhr bitterly complains of this practice ; and 
 justly stigmatizes it as one of the dishonest tricks of literature. 
 He himself tells us, and we doubt not with perfect truth, that 
 he was in the habit of distinctly specifying all those citations 
 which, though employed by him, had not occurred in the 
 course of his own independent study of his authorities ; and 
 contends, that wherever a reference has*been suggested by 
 
272 THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 
 
 another, the secondary as well as the primary authority 
 should be given, accompanied by the statement of obligation. 
 We fear, with Dr. Arnold, that this remedy would not cure 
 the evil ; or rather that it would increase it. The pages of 
 these merciless writers would be twice as dull from this double 
 " bestowment of their tediousness " ; they would delight in 
 troubling the reader with the whole history of each long liter 
 ary chase ; and consider a double, or still better a quadruple, 
 array of references (though only a series of transcriptions) 
 as a prouder proof of their erudition. What is really re 
 quired is, that the writer should honestly endeavor to make 
 his citations as few, not as many, as possible ; and confine 
 himself to the most decisive, brief, and accessible. As it is, 
 the references are often such that scarcely three readers in 
 ten could consult them if they would, and scarcely one out 
 of the three would if he could ; while perhaps, nearly as 
 often, the very point thus formidably supported is a fact for 
 which no references are wanted at all ; in which the author 
 ities are the only things that require to be confirmed, and the 
 proofs the only things that need verification. Doubtless, this 
 parade of references is often employed for what Whately 
 calls the "fallacy of references"; that is, in support of 
 some questionable point, and in the hope " that not one read 
 er out of twenty will be at the pains " to verify their rele 
 vancy, or rather to detect their impertinence. But quite as 
 often they are used for mere ostentation. 
 
 Those authors, whose subjects require them to be volumi 
 nous, will do well, if they would be remembered as long as 
 possible, not to omit a duty which authors in general, but 
 especially modern authors, are too apt to neglect, that of 
 appending to their works a good index. For their deplorable 
 deficiencies in this respect, Professor De Morgan, speaking of 
 historians, assigns the curious reason, " that they think to 
 oblige their readers to go through them from beginning to 
 end, by making this the only way of coming at the contents 
 of their volumes. They are much mistaken ; and they might 
 
THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 273 
 
 learn from their own mode of dealing with the writings of 
 others, how their own will be used in turn." * We think that 
 the unwise indolence of authors has probably had much more 
 to do with the matter, than the reasons thus humorously as 
 signed ; but the fact which he proceeds to mention is incon- 
 testably true. " No writer " (of this class) " is so much 
 read as the one who makes a good index, or so much 
 cited." 
 
 Johnson, in commenting on the fate of books in one of 
 the papers of the " Idler," speaks of the necessity of an au 
 thor's choosing a theme of enduring interest, if he would be 
 remembered ; and contrasts the once enormous popularity 
 of " Hudibras " with its present comparative neglect. Alas ! 
 we fear that this is but an insufficient antiseptic. Though 
 it is generally necessary, if an author would have even a 
 chance of living, that he should take no temporary topic, he 
 may choose the most enduring and be ephemeral notwith 
 standing ; and what we cannot conceal from ourselves is, 
 that he may even treat his subject well, and yet be forgotten. 
 But we suspect that this caution is of little importance. Such 
 is the vigor of great genius, and without it nothing will be 
 remembered, that where there is that, it will triumph over 
 all the disadvantages of a topic of evanescent interest. Pas 
 cal's " Provincial Letters " are still read, we apprehend, quite 
 as frequently as Bossuet's " Discourse on Universal History," 
 and even " Hudibras " a good deal more than Johnson's own 
 " Irene " ; while the obscurities of some celebrated satire 
 the very name of a Bufo or a Bavius shall for ages con 
 tinue to provoke and baffle the ingenuity of the stolid com 
 mentator, who might just as profitably be engaged, with 
 Addison's virtuoso, in the chase of butterflies, or the collec 
 tion of cockle-shells. 
 
 If genius would attain its uttermost longevity, another con- 
 
 * Eeferences for the History of the Mathematical Sciences in the 
 Companion to the British Almanac, 1843, p. 42. 
 
274 THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 
 
 dition it must submit to is, that of despising an ad captandum 
 compliance with transient tastes, and the affectation of pecu 
 liarities for the purpose and in the hope of forming, as it 
 were, a school. ^It is not to be denied that literary fashions, 
 like others, may be extensive and prevalent for a time, 
 but they expire with the age. Great genius for a while will 
 consecrate almost any eccentricities, and even acquire for 
 them much temporary popularity. But it may well be ques 
 tioned whether, where there is great genius and where it 
 has succeeded by such artifices, it might not, even among 
 its contemporaries, have gained equal applause at a less cost 
 than that of simplicity and nature. But, at all events, let 
 the writer who attempts to attain fame by any such fantastic 
 methods, recollect how ridiculous a reigning fashion looks a 
 century afterwards ; for not less ridiculous will then appear 
 every thing that bears the mark of affectation and mannerism, 
 however successful for a time. The Euphuism of Eliza 
 beth's day is now viewed only with contemptuous wonder : 
 and even Dr. Johnson, though he still retains a large meas 
 ure of popularity, would have retained far more had it not 
 been for his antitheses and his Latinisms. Addison, though 
 nearly a century earlier, is still more admired, and without 
 any deductions. 
 
 It may be said, perhaps, that if in so vast a majority of 
 cases the hope of immortality is a dream, it does not much 
 matter how men write. Success, though ephemeral, is the 
 great point. To this we have, of course, nothing to say, 
 except that we trust many would rather not gain reputation 
 at all, durable or brief, by a departure from simplicity and 
 nature ; and that, though immortality be out of the case, a 
 gentle decay and serene old age have always been thought 
 desirable things, rather than a sudden and violent dissolution. 
 Immortality is not to be thought of, but euthanasia is not 
 to be despised. 
 
 In turning over the pages of such a book as the " London 
 Catalogue," one is struck, amidst the apparent mutations in 
 
THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 275 
 
 literature, with the seemingly fixed and unchanging influence 
 of two portions of it, the Greek and Roman Classics and 
 the BIBLE. Much of the literature produced by both par 
 takes, no doubt, of the fate which attends other kinds ; the 
 books they severally elicit, whether critical or theological, 
 pass away ; but they themselves retain their hold on the hu 
 man mind, become ingrafted into the literature of every 
 civilized nation, and continue to evoke a never-ending series 
 of volumes in their defence, illustration, or explication. On 
 a very moderate computation, we think it may be affirmed, 
 from an inspection of this catalogue, that at least one third 
 of the works it contains are the consequence, more or less 
 direct, of the two portions of literature to which we here re 
 fer ; in the shape of new editions, translations, commentaries, 
 grammars, dictionaries, or historical, chronological, and geo 
 graphical illustrations. 
 
 The old Greek and Roman Classics have indeed a para 
 doxical destiny. They cannot, it seems, grow old ; and 
 time, which " antiquates antiquity itself," to use an expres 
 sion of Sir Thomas Browne, still leaves them untouched. 
 The ancients alone possessed in perfection the art of em 
 balming thought. The severe taste which surrounds them 
 has operated like the pure air of Egypt in preserving the 
 sculptures and paintings of that country ; where travellers 
 tell us that the traces of the chisel are often as sharp, and 
 the colors of the paintings as bright, as if the artists had quit 
 ted their work but yesterday. 
 
 There is one aspect in which even the most utilitarian 
 despiser of the classics can hardly sneer at them. From 
 being selected by the unanimous suffrage of all civilized 
 nations (the moment they become worthy of the name), as 
 an integral element in all liberal education, as the masters of 
 language and models of taste, these venerable authors play, 
 as this catalogue shows, a very important part even in the 
 commercial transactions of mankind. It is curious to think 
 of these ancient spirits furnishing no inconsiderable portion 
 
276 THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 
 
 of the modern world with their daily bread ; and in the em 
 ployment they give to so many thousands of schoolmasters, 
 editors, commentators, authors, printers, and publishers, con 
 stituting a very positive item in the industrial activity of na 
 tions. A political economist, thinking only of his own sci 
 ence, should look with respect on the strains of Homer and 
 Virgil ; when he considers that, directly or indirectly, they 
 have probably produced more material wealth than half the 
 mines which human cupidity has opened, or half the inven 
 tions of the most mechanical age, if we except the loom, 
 the steam-engine, and a few score more. It is very foolish 
 of mankind, some may say, to allow them this varied and 
 permanent influence. But into that question we need not 
 enter. We are speaking as to the fact only ; and shall 
 leave mankind to defend themselves. 
 
 The Bible, supposing it other than it pretends to be, pre 
 sents us with a still more singular phenomenon in the space 
 which it occupies throughout the continued history of litera 
 ture. We see nothing like it ; and it may well perplex the 
 infidel to account for it. Nor need his sagacity disdain to 
 enter a little more deeply into its possible causes, than he is 
 usually inclined to do. It has not been given to any other 
 book of religion, thus to triumph over national prejudices, 
 and lodge itself securely in the heart of great communities, 
 
 varying by every conceivable diversity of language, race, 
 manners, customs, and indeed agreeing in nothing but a ven 
 eration for itself. It adapts itself with facility to the revolu 
 tions of thought and feeling which shake to pieces all things 
 else ; and flexibly accommodates itself to the progress of 
 society and the changes of civilization. Even conquests, 
 the disorganization of old nations, the formation of new, 
 
 do not affect the continuity of its empire. It lays hold 
 of the new as of the old, and transmigrates with the spirit 
 of humanity ; attracting to itself, by its own moral power, 
 in all the communities it enters, a ceaseless intensity of effort 
 for its propagation, illustration, and defence. Other systems 
 
THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 277 
 
 of religion are usually delicate exotics, and will not bear 
 transplanting. The gods of the nations are local deities, 
 and reluctantly quit their native soil ; at all events they pat 
 ronize only their favorite races, and perish at once when the 
 tribe or nation of their worshippers becomes extinct, often 
 long before. Nothing, indeed, is more difficult than to make 
 foreigners feel any thing but the utmost indifference (except as 
 an object of philosophic curiosity) about the religion of other 
 nations ; and no portion of their national literature is re 
 garded as more tedious or unattractive than that which treats 
 of their theology. The elegant mythologies of Greece and 
 Rome made no proselytes among other nations, and fell 
 hopelessly the moment they fell. The Koran of Mahomet 
 has, it is true, been propagated by the sword ; but it has 
 been propagated by nothing else ; and its dominion has been 
 limited to those nations who could not reply to that logic. 
 If the Bible be false, the facility with which it overleaps the 
 otherwise impassable boundaries of race and clime, and 
 domiciliates itself among so many different nations, is as 
 suredly a far more striking and wonderful proof of human 
 ignorance, perverseness, and stupidity, than is afforded in 
 the limited prevalence of even the most abject superstitions ; 
 or if it really has merits which, though a fable, have ena 
 bled it to impose so comprehensively and variously on man 
 kind, wonderful indeed must have been the skill in its com 
 position ; so wonderful that even the infidel himself ought 
 never to regard it but with the profoundest reverence, as 
 far too successful and sublime a fabrication to admit a 
 thought of scoff or ridicule. In his last illness, a few days 
 before his death, Sir Walter Scott asked Mr. Lockhait to read 
 to him. Mr. Lockhart inquired what book he would like. 
 " Can you ask ? " said Sir Walter, " there is but ONE " : 
 and requested him to read a chapter of the Gospel of John. 
 When will an equal genius, to whom all the realms of fiction 
 are as familiar as to him, say the like of some professed 
 revelation, originating among a race and associated with a 
 24 
 
278 THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 
 
 history and a clime as foreign as those connected with the 
 birthplace of the Bible from those of the ancestry of Sir 
 Walter Scott ? Can we by any stretch of imagination sup 
 pose some Walter Scott of a new race, in Australia or South 
 Africa, saying the same of the Vedas or the Koran ? 
 
 While so large a portion of merely human literature, like 
 all things else that are human, is inscribed with " vanity," 
 it has its " excelling glory " too. 
 
 Soberly considered, indeed, the writer has enough to make 
 him contented with his vocation, though not proud of it. 
 The value of books does not depend upon their durability ; 
 nor in truth is there any reason, why the philosopher should 
 be more solicitous about these wasted and wasting treasures 
 of mind, than about the death of men, or the decay of the 
 cities they have built, or of the empires they have founded ! 
 They but follow the same law which is imposed on all things 
 human, and on things which were created before man. Ge 
 ologists tell us of vast intervals of time myriads of years 
 passed in the tardy revolutions by which our earth was 
 prepared for our habitation, and during which successive gen 
 erations of animals and vegetables flourished and became 
 extinct ; the individuals always, and often the species ; the 
 term of life allotted to them, and their place in the system, 
 being exactly appropriate to the stage in the history of the 
 world's development, and linked, in a law of subserviency, 
 to the successive parts and the various phases of one vast 
 continuous process. Though permitted and organized to 
 enjoy their brief term of life, they were chiefly important as 
 a stepping-stone to the future, and as influencing that future, 
 not by forming part of it, but by having been a necessary 
 condition of its arrival. The same law which seems to be 
 that of the whole history of the geological eras, appears also 
 to characterize our own ; the present passes away, but is 
 made subservient to a glorious future. As these geological 
 periods were preparatory to the introduction of the human 
 economy, so the various eras of that economy itself are sub- 
 
THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 279 
 
 ordinated to its ultimate and perfect development. Individu 
 als and nations perish, but the progress of humanity is contin 
 ued ; and in this persuasion, the author who has in any tolera 
 ble measure endeavored conscientiously " to serve his gen 
 eration," awaking from his idle dreams of immortality, 
 must find, like every other man who has done the same in 
 other ways, his grounds of resignation and consolation. It is 
 pleasing, with the elder Pliny, whose judgment is sanctioned 
 by Leibnitz and Gibbon, to believe that scarcely any book 
 was ever written (not positively immoral) which did not con 
 tain something valuable ; * some contribution, however small, 
 to the general stock of human knowledge, and still preserved, 
 in other forms, for succeeding ages, though the book itself, 
 like its author, had become food for worms ; or something 
 which tended to mould and influence some contemporary 
 mind destined to act with greater power on distant genera 
 tions. The whole gigantic growth of human knowledge and 
 science may be compared to those deposits which geologists 
 describe, full of the remains of vegetable and animal life, 
 beautiful once, and beneficial still. The luxuriant foliage 
 and huge forest growth of science and literature which now 
 overshadow us, are themselves rooted in strata of decaying 
 or decayed mind, and derive their nourishment from them ; 
 the very soil we turn is the loose detritus of thought, washed 
 down to us through long ages. In the world of intellect, as 
 in the world of matter, though " vanity " is written on all 
 things, and oblivion awaits man and his achievements, yet is 
 it also sublimely true, that in both alike Death is itself the 
 germ of life ; and new forms of glory and beauty spring 
 from the dust of desolation. 
 
 Nor are there wanting more special topics from which the 
 repining author may derive consolation. One is, that, as the 
 number of readers will be perpetually increased, though it 
 may be true that the knowledge of any one of them will bear 
 
 * "Nullum esse librum tarn malum ut non ex aliqu& parte prodesset." 
 
280 THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 
 
 an ever-diminishing ratio to the absolute ^accumulations of 
 human science and literature, far more of both will be pre 
 served in the memories of mankind collectively ; and each 
 writer, worthy to live at all, will find, not indeed temples 
 thronged by admiring worshippers, and altars steaming with 
 sacrifices, but at all events a little oratory here and there, 
 where some solitary devotee will be paying his homage. He 
 cannot hope to be a Jupiter Capitolinus ; but he may be the 
 household god of some quiet hearth, and receive there his 
 modest oblation and his pinch of daily incense. 
 
 A still further consolation remains for even those who dare 
 not hope for so much as this species of obscure fame. If 
 not preserved entire, they will yet be remembered by frag 
 ments ; in volumes of specimens and extracts, or, happier 
 still ! embalmed in those vast works which will consign to 
 posterity the history of great nations ; with the whole story 
 of their political, social, and intellectual development. How 
 many authors, else utterly forgotten, will leave minute relics 
 of themselves in the notes and citations of such works as 
 those of Gibbon and Macaulay ! It is but a plank from the 
 wreck, to be sure ; but it is something. 
 
 Nor do the fond author's hopes end here. We have com 
 pared the vast relics of decayed and mouldering literature 
 to the animal and vegetable remains on which our living 
 world flourishes ; in which it fastens its roots, and over which 
 it waves its luxuriance. A fanciful mind might pursue the 
 analogy a little further, and discern some resemblance be 
 tween the mutations and revolutions of literature and books, 
 and those incomparably greater, and yet, to us, scarcely more 
 interesting, changes which have swept over the surface of 
 the material world. Geologists tell us of the successive sub 
 mersion and elevation of vast tracts of earth, now rich in 
 animal and vegetable life, then buried for unnumbered 
 ages in oblivion, then again reappearing to the light of day, 
 and bearing, dank and dripping from the ocean bed, the me 
 morials of their past glories. It is much the same with the 
 
THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 281 
 
 treasures of buried literature. Long whelmed beneath the 
 inundations of barbarism, or buried in the volcanic eruptions 
 of war and conquest, we see them, after centuries of " cold 
 obstruction," once more coming to light ; the fossil remains 
 of ancient life ; forms of power, of beauty, or deformity ; 
 characterized indeed by many analogies to the present 
 species of organized life, but also by many differences. 
 
 The revival of classical literature, after the dark ages, was 
 the greatest and most splendid of these recoveries of the 
 past ; and must have awakened in the minds of the genera 
 tion which witnessed it, emotions very similar to those with 
 which men gazed on the treasures of Herculaneum and 
 Pompeii, when those ancient cities were first opened to the 
 day. 
 
 Though this is the grandest of all such restorations, let the 
 author remember for his comfort (if not too bashful), that a 
 similar process is perpetually going on, though on a smaller 
 scale. Discussions and controversies, which had been hushed 
 for ages, break out again, like long silent volcanoes ; men 
 turn with renewed eagerness to the opinions of persons who 
 had been forgotten apparently for ever ; and names which 
 had not been heard for centuries, once more fill men's mouths 
 and are trumpeted to the four winds. A pleasantly oracular 
 saying, or a half-anticipation of some newly discovered truth, 
 is found in the voluminous writings of an ancient author, 
 and excites a passing glow of veneration to his name and 
 works. In the indefatigable grubbings and gropings of the 
 literary antiquary, again, scarcely any authors need despair 
 of an occasional remembrance ; of producing some curiosi 
 ties for those cabinets where the most precious and the most 
 worthless of relics are preserved with impartial veneration. 
 It is hard to say what his spade and mattock may not bring 
 up. What honor to furnish to the Cuviers of critical science, 
 though but in a fossil bone or shell, a theme for their conjec 
 tures and learned dissertations ; and perhaps be even con 
 structed into a more magnificent creature than nature ever 
 
 24* 
 
282 THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 
 
 made the original ! Who could have hoped, a few years 
 back, to see the reappearance of so much of our early 
 literature as we have recently witnessed ? And who could 
 have anticipated how wide a range the transient, but, while 
 they last, most active, fashions of literary research would 
 take ? Now it is Saxon, Danish, Norman antiquities ; now 
 local traditions, and old songs and ballads ; now the old 
 dramatists have their turn, and now the old divines. Who 
 could have expected to see the venerable Bede's " opera 
 omnia" in English as well as Latin, published in all the 
 glories of modern typography ? " It is hard to say," says 
 Sir Thomas Browne, speaking of our bodies, " how often we 
 are to be buried " : the same may be said of our minds ; and 
 though this successive resurrection and entombment is not 
 immortality, it bears a close resemblance to transmigration. 
 It is true that a malicious wit might hint that not a little of 
 this exhumed literature is immediately recommitted to the 
 dust, and that its resurrection is but for a second celebration 
 of its obsequies. He will be inclined to say what Horace 
 Walpole says of some other antiquarian recoveries : " What 
 signifies raising the dead so often, when they die the next 
 minute ? " 
 
 How singular has been the destiny of Aristotle ! After 
 having been lost to the world for ages, we see him making a 
 second and wider conquest, and founding the most durable 
 and absolute despotism of mind the world has ever seen ! 
 After a second dethronement, he is now fighting his way 
 back to no mean empire, an empire promising to be all 
 the more permanent, that it is founded in a juster estimate of 
 his real claims on the gratitude and reverence of mankind, 
 and that he is invited to wield the sceptre, not of a despot, 
 but of a constitutional monarch. 
 
 But our author sighs, and says with truth and naivete, 
 " There are so few Aristotles ! " We reply, with a persever 
 ance in suggesting consolation worthy of Boethius or Mr. 
 Shandy, that, supposing none of these sedatives sufficient to 
 
THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 283 
 
 soothe wounded vanity, there are still others. And among 
 them, assuredly not the least are those least thought of ; we 
 mean, the pleasures of composition itself ; perhaps, after all, 
 the greatest of an author's rewards : just as, in so many other 
 cases, happiness is found, not in the object we professedly 
 seek, but in the efforts to obtain it, and in the energetic em 
 ployment of our faculties. If, indeed, the experience of 
 Buffon were that of authors in general, none would deny this, 
 and the passion for writing would become a universal mad 
 ness. Speaking of the hours of composition, he says : " These 
 are the most luxurious and delightful moments of life ; which 
 have often enticed me to pass fourteen hours a day at my 
 desk, in a state of transport ; this gratification, more than 
 glory, is my reward." * But we fear that there are not a 
 few writers, and of no mean fame, who, while conceding that 
 when their minds wrought freely, and their faculties lay in 
 sunshine, the moments of composition were among the hap 
 piest of their life, would also affirm that those in which they 
 have had to struggle against the vis inertia which prevented 
 them from commencing their task, or to contend with half- 
 formed conceptions and intractable expressions, till the sun 
 broke through the mist, and thought became clear and words 
 obedient, were among the most painful. Well spoke one who 
 has, we apprehend, experienced all the raptures and all the 
 agonies of composition : 
 
 " When happiest Fancy has inspired the strains, 
 How oft the malice of one luckless word 
 Pursues the enthusiast to the social board, 
 Haunts him, belated, on the silent plains. 
 Yet he repines not, if his thought stand clear, 
 At last, of hinderance and obscurity, 
 Fresh as the star that crowns the brow of morn." 
 
 We are inclined to place the pleasure of writing itself, 
 
 * Cited in " Curiosities of Literature." See the whole of the amusing 
 anecdotes on Literary Composition. 
 
284 THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 
 
 among the chief incentives of authorship ; and the proof is 
 found in this, that so few ever stop when they have once be 
 gun, not even for neglect or poverty. " There are millions 
 of men," says Byron, " who have never written a book, but 
 few who have written only one" And Walter Scott's testi 
 mony to the inveteracy of the cacoethes scribendi is equally 
 strong. Not even the ointment of sarcasm and satire can 
 cure it. 
 
 Perhaps even this will not be taken as sufficient compensa 
 tion : why then let the author remember, that, in the only in 
 telligible sense, he enjoys almost as extensive a fame as his 
 betters. There is a little circle of which each man is the 
 centre ; and this narrow theatre is generally enough for the 
 accommodating vanity of the human heart. Indeed, it is of 
 that microcosm in which each man dwells, that even the lof 
 tiest ambition is really thinking, when it whispers to itself 
 some folly about distant regions and remote ages, whose 
 plaudits will never greet his ear, and which he utterly fails to 
 realize. It is, after all, the applause of the familiar friends, 
 among whom he daily lives, that he craves and loves. It may 
 be doubted whether Musaus was ever so delighted with the 
 thought of posthumous renown, as he was when his little boy, 
 discovering from an upstairs window a fresh troop of visitors 
 coming, as the child supposed, with the usual offering of 
 congratulations on his father's sudden success, cried out, 
 41 Here are more people coming to praise papa ! " 
 
 Should our friends and family form too small a sphere for 
 the vaulting ambition of self-love, we must needs content, 
 ourselves with the questionable comfort suggested in the case 
 of our literal death, not only by Cicero and his imitator, Mr. 
 Shandy, but by all other consolers, from the time of Job's 
 comforters downwards ; that it is the " common lot," and 
 that " what is the doom of our betters is good enough for us." 
 Nor will vanity fail to whisper : " Not the worthless alone are 
 forgotten, gold, silver, pearls, and jewels strew the bottom 
 of the ocean. It is not the will of man, but the law of nature, 
 that I should die." 
 
' THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 285 
 
 In truth, for an honest man, the single sentence already 
 quoted from Pliny will be consolation enough. Like every 
 other honest mart who does his duty to the present hour, and 
 who dreams not of asking immortality for his merits, it will 
 be sufficient to the writer, to have " served his generation." 
 Nor need we say, in how important a degree each individual 
 has done this ! It is a topic easily improved upon, by the 
 happy facility of human vanity ; for all are ready enough to 
 believe, and certainly authors as much as any, that they 
 have not trifled life away ^ and to think of their doings 
 much as Uncle Toby did of his mimic fortifications : " Heav 
 en is my witness, brother Shandy, that the pleasure I have 
 taken in these things, and that infinite delight in particular, 
 which has attended my sieges in my bowling-green, has arose 
 within me, and I hope in the Corporal too, from the con 
 sciousness we both had, that in carrying them on we were 
 answering the great ends of our creation." 
 
 But, without a gibe, the destiny of the honest writer, even 
 though but moderately successful, and much more if long 
 and widely popular, is surely glorious and enviable. It may 
 be true that he is to die, for we do not count the record of 
 a name when the works are no longer read as any thing bet 
 ter than an epitaph, and even that may vanish ; yet to come 
 into contact with other minds, even though for limited peri 
 ods, to move them by a silent influence, to cooperate 
 in the construction of character, to mould the habits of 
 thought, to promote the dominion of truth and virtue, 
 to exercise a spell over those one has never seen and never 
 can see, in other climes, at the extremity of the globe, 
 and when the hand that wrote is still for ever, is surely 
 a most wonderful and even awful prerogative. It comes near 
 er to the idea of the immediate influence of spirit on spirit, 
 than any thing else with which this world presents us. It is 
 of a purely moral nature ; it is also silent as the dew, in 
 visible as the wind ! We can adequately conceive of such 
 an influence only by imagining ourselves, under the privilege 
 
THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 
 
 of the ring of Gyges, to gaze, invisible, on the solitary reader 
 as he pores over a favorite author, and watch in his counte 
 nance, as in a mirror, the reflection of the page which holds 
 him captive ; now knitting his brow over a difficult argument, 
 and deriving at once discipline and knowledge by the effort, 
 now relaxing into smiles at wit and humor, now dwelling 
 with a glistening eye on tenderness and pathos, and, in 
 either case, the subject of emotions which not only constitute 
 the mood of the moment, but in their measure cooperate to 
 the formation of those habits which issue in character and 
 conduct ; now yielding up some fond illusion to the force of 
 truth, and anon betrayed into another by the force of sophis 
 try ; now rebuked for some vice or folly, and binding himself 
 with renewed vows to the service of virtue ; and now sym 
 pathizing with the too faithful delineation of vicious passions 
 and depraved pleasures, and strengthening by one more rivet 
 the dominion of evil over the soul ! Surely, to be able to 
 wield such a power as this implies, in any degree and for 
 limited periods, is a stupendous attribute ; one which, if more 
 deeply pondered, would frequently cause a writer to pause 
 and tremble, as though his pen had been the rod of an en 
 chanter. 
 
 Happy those who have wielded it well, and who, 
 
 " Dying, leave no line they wish to blot." 
 
 Happier, far happier such, in the prospect of speedy extinc 
 tion, than those whose loftier genius promises immortality of 
 fame, and whose abuse of it renders that immortality a curse. 
 Melancholy indeed is the lot of all, whose high endowments 
 have been worse than wasted ; who have left to that world 
 which they were born to bless, only a legacy of shame and 
 sorrow ; whose vices and follies, unlike those of other men, 
 are not permitted to die with them, but continue active for 
 evil after the men themselves are dust. 
 
 It becomes every one who aspires to be a writer to remem 
 ber this. The ill which other men do, for the most part dies 
 
THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 287 
 
 with them. Not, indeed, that this is literally true, even of 
 the obscurest of the species. We are all but links in a vast 
 chain which stretches from the dawn of time to the consum 
 mation of all things, and unconsciously receive and transmit 
 a subtle influence. As we are, in a great measure, what our 
 forefathers made us, so our posterity will be what we make 
 them ; and it is a thought which may well make us both 
 proud and afraid of our destiny. 
 
 But such truths, though universally applicable, are more 
 worthy of being pondered by great authors than by any other 
 class of men. These outlive their age ; and their thoughts 
 continue to operate immediately on the spirit of their race. 
 How sad, to one who feels that he has abused his high trust, 
 to know that he is to perpetuate his vices ; that he has spoken 
 a spell for evil, and cannot unsay it; .that the poisoned shaft 
 has left the bow, and cannot be recalled ! If we might be per 
 mitted to imagine for a moment that it is a part of the reward 
 or punishment of departed spirits, to revisit this lower world 
 and to trace the good or evil consequences of their actions, 
 what more deplorable condition can be conceived than that of 
 a great but misguided genius, taught, before he departed, the 
 folly of his course, and condemned to witness its effects without 
 the power of arresting them ? How would he sigh for that day 
 which shall cover his fame with a welcome cloud, and bury 
 him in the once dreaded oblivion ! How would he covet as 
 the highest boon the loss of that immortality for which he toiled 
 so much and so long ! With what feelings would he see the 
 productions of his wit and fancy, proscribed and loathed by 
 every man whose love and veneration are worth possessing ! 
 With what anguish would he see the subtle poison he had 
 distilled take hold of innocence ; watch the first blushes of 
 still ingenuous shame, see them fade away from the cheek 
 as evil became familiar, trace in his influence the initial 
 movements in that long career of agony and remorse and 
 shame which awaits his victims ; and shudder to think that 
 those whose faith he has destroyed, or whose morals he has 
 
THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 
 
 corrupted, may find him out in the world of spirits, to tax 
 him as their seducer to infamy and crime ! * 
 
 Even such authors, however, will reach the oblivion they 
 have desired, at last ; for this must be the ultimate doom 
 (whatever might otherwise have been the case) of all who 
 have set at defiance the maxims of decency, morality, and 
 religion, however bright their genius, and however vast 
 their powers. As the world grows older, and, we trust, better, 
 as it approximates to that state of religious and moral ele 
 vation which Christianity warrants us to anticipate, many a 
 production which a licentious age has pardoned for its genius, 
 will be thrown aside in spite 'of it. In that day, if genius 
 rebelliously refuse, as it assuredly will not, for the highest 
 genius has not even hitherto refused, to consecrate itself 
 to goodness, the world will rather turn to the humblest pro 
 ductions which are instinct with virtue, than to the fairest 
 works of genius when polluted by vice. In a word, the 
 long idolatry of intellect which has enslaved the world will be 
 broken ; and that world will perceive that, bright as genius 
 may be, virtue is brighter still. 
 
 Happy the writers who, if destined to live so long, have, 
 with souls prophetic of the great change, and true to the dic 
 tates of morality and religion, never written a line but what 
 after ages may gratefully turn to for solid instruction or in- 
 
 * To see this matter in its true light must, we fear, be left to the more 
 nnclouded vision of another world. Literary vanity is almost the last 
 foible that is surrendered in this. There is much knowledge of human 
 nature, as well as keen satire, in the tale which Addison tells of the athe 
 ist, who, bewailing on his death-bed the mischief his works would do after 
 he was gone, quickly repented of his repentance, when his spiritual ad 
 viser unhappily sought to alleviate his grief by assuring him that his 
 arguments were so weak, and his writings so little known, that he need 
 not be under any apprehensions. " The dying man had still so much of 
 the frailty of an author in him, as to be cut to the heart with these con 
 solations ; and, without answering the good man, asked his friends where 
 they had picked up such a blockhead ? and whether they thought him a 
 proper person to attend one in his condition ? " 
 
THE VANITY AND GLORY OF LITERATURE. 289 
 
 nocent delight ; and happy, also, all who, though not destined 
 to see those distant times, have in any measure contributed to 
 form and hasten them ! 
 
 Plato, in a well-known passage of his Phgedrus, describes 
 Socrates as contending for the superiority of oral instruction, 
 by representing books as silent. The inferiority of the writ 
 ten word to the living voice is in many respects undeniable ; 
 but surely it is more than compensated by the advantage of its 
 diffusive and permanent character. Great as has been the 
 influence of Socrates, he owes it almost entirely to the books 
 he refused to write ! and it might have been greater still, had 
 he condescended to write some of his own. 
 
 But the chief glory of all human literature taking it 
 collectively is, that it is our pledge and security against 
 the retrogradation of humanity ; the effectual breakwater 
 against barbarism ; the ratchet in the great wheel of the 
 world, which, even if it stand still, prevents it from slipping 
 back. Ephemeral as man's books are, they are at least not 
 so ephemeral as himself; and consign without difficulty to 
 posterity what would otherwise never reach them. A good 
 book is the Methuselah of these latter ages. 
 
 We must conclude, however, lest we should have reason 
 to apply to ourselves the words of old Fuller : " But what do 
 I, speaking against multiplicity of books in this age, who tres 
 pass in this nature myself ? What was a learned man's com 
 pliment, may serve for my confession and conclusion. Mul- 
 ti mei similes hoc morbo labor ant ut cum scribere nesciant, 
 tamen a scribendo temperare non possint." Even as it is, 
 we fear that some of our readers will be disposed- to say that 
 we have illustrated the " vanity," without proving the " glo 
 ry," of literature. 
 
 25 
 
RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT.* 
 
 THE metempsychosis of error is a curious phenomenon. 
 Though not immortal, it transmigrates through many modes 
 of being before it is finally destroyed. Apparently dead, 
 buried, rotten, consigned to dust and darkness so long ago, 
 that the very volumes in which it lies entombed are worm- 
 eaten, and the controversies in which it seemingly perished 
 no longer read, it often breathes and lives again after the 
 lapse of centuries, and " revisits the .glimpses of the moon " ; 
 not usually, it is true, in the very form in which it disap 
 peared, in that it would not be lightly tolerated again, 
 but in a shape adapted to new times and circumstances ; 
 with an organization, so to speak, which qualifies it to exist 
 in a different element of thought and feeling. The chrys 
 alis becomes perhaps a gaudy butterfly, misleading into a 
 foolish chase thousands of those overgrown boys of the hu 
 man family, who, it may be, would have despised it in its 
 original deformity. 
 
 At this none need wonder ; for if error passes through 
 many changes, it is because human nature is still the same. 
 
 * Edinburgh Review," January, 1843. 
 
 1. Memoire en Faveur de la Liberte des Cultes. Par ALEXANDRE 
 VINET. 8vo. a Paris. 1828. 
 
 2. The Articles treated on in Tract XC. reconsidered, and their Interpre 
 tation vindicated ; in a Letter to the Rev. R. W. Jelf, D. Z)., Canon of Christ 
 Church. By the Rev. E. B. PUSEY, D. D. 8vo. Oxford. 1841. 
 
RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 
 
 In every successive age are reproduced minds with all the 
 tendencies which have characterized those of the past ; with 
 the same affinities for special classes of error, or the same 
 disposition to exaggerate and distort truth itself into substan 
 tial falsehood. Such minds may be, and usually are, modi 
 fied by the age in which they live, the education to which 
 they have been subjected, the circumstances under which 
 they have been developed ; but they exist, and with an idio 
 syncrasy so marked, that, even if they have never been stim 
 ulated by a knowledge of the theories of those who have 
 erred, and been confuted before them, they often exhibit an 
 invincible tendency to similar extravagances. What Thucyd- 
 ides has said of the parallelisms which may be perpetually 
 expected in political history, is just as applicable to the his 
 tory of opinions : yiyvopcpa pev KOI ael eVo'/iera eW av f) avTrj 
 <j)v(ris dv6pa>7rtov 77, p.SX\ov Se, KOL ^cru^curepa, Kai rots eiSe<ri Si^XAa- 
 
 ypeva Yet is there reason to hope well of the ultimate 
 
 destinies of our race ; and to believe that the progress 
 towards the final triumph of Truth and Right is steady and 
 certain, in spite of the alternate flux and reflux of the tide. 
 
 The remarks just made on the resuscitation of ancient 
 error at distant intervals, and in new forms, have been sig 
 nally illustrated in that great controversy, or rather compli 
 cation of controversies, to which the discussion of what are 
 called " High-Church Principles " has recently given rise ; 
 and to none of the antique novelties (if we may use such an 
 expression) commended to us by the advocates of those 
 principles are they more applicable, than to the doctrines 
 recently propounded by one and another of them on the 
 subject of the " Right of Private Judgment." Of all the 
 peculiarities of this modern-antique School, none, in our opin 
 ion, is of graver import or of darker omen, than its opposi 
 tion, more or less disguised, to this great principle. 
 
 Few, in the present day, would seek the restoration of the 
 brutal, or rather diabolical, laws of ancient persecution, any 
 more than they would, even if the choice were given them, 
 
RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 
 
 breathe life into the bones of a Gardiner or a Bonner. To 
 take those laws expressly under protection, in defiance both 
 of reason and experience ; in defiance of the arguments of 
 such men as Taylor, Chillingworth, Bayle, Locke, and others 
 scarcely less illustrious, and of the .terrible condemnation sup 
 plied in the records of persecution itself, were the sheerest 
 insanity. Whatever some may secretly wish, not only are 
 hanging and burning for religious opinions abolished ; but 
 even the more " moderate forms " of persecution, as our 
 ancestors facetiously called them, and which its sturdier ad 
 vocates despised as poor, peddling arts, the thumbscrew, 
 branding, the pillory, incarceration, banishment, are quite 
 out of date. Under these circumstances, any attempts to 
 revive ancient error in relation to the " Right of Private Judg 
 ment " must be very cautious ; and such, with some excep 
 tions which have equally moved our abhorrence and indig 
 nation, we have found them to be. Not only would expedi 
 ency dictate moderation, if the public is to be induced to 
 listen at all ; but we trust that, in the vast majority of in 
 stances, even amongst men who cherish the most ultra 
 u High-Church Principles," honor and conscience would 
 alike recoil from the employment of the ancient methods 
 under any modifications. How far, indeed, such men may 
 sympathize with the views on which we shall presently ani 
 madvert, whether, though they do not at present avow it, 
 they may not, as in other cases, have their esoteric doctrine, 
 to which the public is not yet to be admitted, whether that 
 " reserve " which they advocate " in the communication of 
 religious truth " be not operating here also, we have no 
 means of judging. Our hope and belief is, that the greater 
 part of those who question, in one way or another, the 
 " Right of Private Judgment, 1 ' would not actually resort to 
 any of the exploded forms of persecution. At all events, 
 we shall not believe they would, except where they ex 
 pressly tell us so. We flatter ourselves they would not find 
 it so easy to throw off the spirit of their own age, as to apol- 
 
RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 293 
 
 ogize for the excesses of the past ; or to repress the best 
 feelings of their hearts, as to quench the light of their under 
 standings. We shall, accordingly, bring no indefinite charges 
 against any body of men. The particular modifications of 
 opinion to which we object shall be referred to their proper 
 authors ; and chapter and verse duly cited for the represen 
 tations we may make of them. But whether they may be 
 many or few who sympathize with the more reckless of the 
 modern Propagandists of the doctrine of persecution, there 
 is no reason to anticipate that they will be actually success 
 ful. They never can be, until they can convert the present 
 into the past, or make the wheels of time roll backward. It 
 does not follow, however, that their attempts can be safely 
 neglected ; or that their opinions are not sufficiently danger 
 ous to justify severe animadversion. Their intrinsic falsity, 
 absurdity, and inconsistency would be ample warrant for 
 that. But when we reflect further, on the tendency of such 
 opinions to confound and perplex the unthinking, to foster 
 malignity of temper, to perpetuate the remnant of intol 
 erance which still dwells amongst us, to endear to some 
 spiteful minds the petty forms of persecution which are still 
 within their reach, to make them hanker after the forbid 
 den indulgences of an obsolete cruelty, it becomes a duty 
 to denounce them. Nor is it less incumbent to expose those 
 more plausible, and perhaps, on that account, more danger 
 ous invasions of the " Right of Private Judgment," which 
 would delude multitudes into the belief that, on the authority 
 of fallible mortals like themselves, they may repress the 
 voice of conscience, receive as true things which they do not 
 believe to be so, and practise, as innocent, rites which they 
 deem forbidden. 
 
 One would think it very superfluous at this time of day to 
 define what is meant by the " Right of Private Judgment," 
 or to guard these terms against misapprehension. One would 
 imagine that any mistakes about the phrase, or the mode in 
 which it is usually understood, could not be otherwise than wil- 
 25* 
 
294 RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 
 
 ful ; and, in truth, we honestly confess, it is out of our power 
 to regard them in any other light. A recent writer, however, 
 has attempted to show, that in the greater number of cases 
 in which the " Right of Private Judgment " would be usually 
 said to be exercised, it is not in fact exercised at all. Why ? 
 Because there is no protracted, deliberate examination as to 
 which is the true religion, and a decision logically formed 
 accordingly, education, feeling, prejudice, accident, having 
 much to do with the judgment ultimately expressed ! Can 
 any thing be more absurd ? Does this writer imagine that 
 those who contend for the " Right of Private Judgment " 
 mean that none can actually exercise it but those who have 
 first of all certified themselves, by actual inspection of the 
 proofs adduced in favor of every religion that has subsisted, 
 or still subsists, in the world, that their own is the only true 
 one ? That a man cannot be a Christian, consistently with 
 the exercise of his " Right of Private Judgment," unless he 
 has examined and decided whether Hindooism or Mahomet- 
 anism may not have equal claims ? Or (confining ourselves 
 to Christianity alone) that he cannot be a Christian, in virtue 
 of the exercise of the " Right of Private Judgment," if he 
 has not profoundly examined the wide question of the Chris 
 tian evidences ; or a Calvinist or Arminian, unless he has 
 duly pondered the quinquarticular controversy ? Could this 
 author be so ignorant as to suppose that the advocates of the 
 right meant this ? It is notorious that writers by this phrase 
 mean the right of individually judging no matter what 
 the grounds of that judgment what is religious truth, and 
 what not ; not merely the abstract right of every man 
 (though, it is true, each has it) deliberately to examine, if 
 he has leisure and is so inclined, any or all systems of re 
 ligion, and to make selection of that which he conscientiously 
 deems the true accordingly; but the right in whatever 
 way he may have arrived at his actual convictions of what 
 is religious truth to maintain and express that conviction, to 
 the exclusion of all means beyond those of argument and 
 
RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 295 
 
 persuasion, to make him think, or rather (for that is impossi 
 ble by any except such means) to make him say, otherwise. 
 In a word, whether the phrase be abstractedly the best that 
 could have been employed or not, it is chiefly designed to 
 disallow the right of forcing us to believe, or profess to be 
 lieve, as others bid us. This, in fact, is what is really con 
 tended for ; and it implies not merely the right to judge for 
 ourselves, but, so far as coercion is concerned, the right, if 
 we please, not to judge at all ; for though no man has a 
 moral right to be in the wrong, it does not follow that another 
 man has the right to employ force to reclaim him from his 
 error. Much needless discussion has been wasted on this 
 point by the adversaries of this doctrine, both ancient and 
 modern ; and yet nothing is more certain, or more a matter 
 of daily experience, even where religion is not directly in 
 question. A man has no moral right to get drunk at his own 
 table ; and yet he has a right to deal very unceremoni 
 ously with any one who would by force prevent him. And 
 so in a thousand other cases. 
 
 We feel ashamed of having been compelled, in the middle of 
 the nineteenth century, to say any thing in explanation of the 
 meaning so generally and notoriously attached to the phrase, 
 " Right of Private Judgment." Such being its meaning, how 
 ever, we feel still more ashamed that there are to be found 
 any who will deny the right itself. Yet such is the case with 
 the writer to whom we have just referred, and who has in 
 curred the additional odium of questioning that right, even as 
 limited and, one would have thought, put beyond contro 
 versy by his own absurd interpretation of it. To one who 
 was disposed to question the right, it might be imagined more 
 reasonable, or rather less unreasonable, to deny it, on the 
 supposition that it was designed to protect all consciences, 
 whether the judgment formed was the result of deliberate 
 examination or not, than on his own supposition that the 
 right was contended for only where such deliberate examina 
 tion had been made. Yet even such limited exercise of the 
 
RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 
 
 right, this author does not think it proper to concede to us. 
 According to his notions, if any one judges it proper to exer 
 cise this right, it is quite competent to the civil magistrate to 
 inflict penalties on him for so doing. That any one would 
 have been insane enough to contend for such a proposition 
 in the present day, we could not have believed, had we not 
 read the statement with our own eyes. In order to protect 
 ourselves from any charge of misrepresentation, and to pre 
 vent others from participating in the incredulity into which, 
 apart from such evidence, we should undoubtedly have fallen, 
 we shall cite the following passage : " Now the first re 
 mark which occurs is an obvious one, which, we suppose, 
 will be suffered to pass without opposition, that, whatever be 
 the intrinsic merits of private judgment, yet, if it at all exerts 
 itself in the direction of proselytism and conversion, a certain 
 onus probandi is upon it, and it must show cause, before it is 
 tolerated, why it should not be convicted forthwith as a 
 breach of the peace, and silenced instanter as a mere dis 
 turber of the existing constitution of things. Of course it 
 may be safely exercised in defending what is established ; 
 and we are far indeed from saying that it is never to advance 
 in the direction of change or revolution, else the Gospel itself 
 could never have been introduced; but we consider that such 
 material changes have a prima facie case against them, 
 they have something to get over, and have to prove their 
 admissibility, before it can reasonably be granted ; and their 
 agents may be called upon to suffer, in order to prove their 
 earnestness, and to pay the penalty of the trouble they are 
 causing. Considering the special countenance given in 
 Scripture to quiet unanimity and contentedness, and the warn 
 ings directed against disorder, irregularity, a wavering temper, 
 discord, and division ; considering the emphatic words of the 
 Apostle, laid down as a general principle, and illustrated in 
 detail, ' Let every man abide in the same calling wherein 
 he was called ' ; considering, in a word, that change is really 
 the characteristic of error, and unalterableness the attribute 
 
RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 297 
 
 of truth, of holiness, of Almighty God himself, we consider 
 that when private judgment moves in the direction of innova 
 tion, it may well be regarded with suspicion, and treated 
 with severity. Nay, we confess even a satisfaction, when a 
 penalty is attached to the expression of new doctrines, or to a 
 change of communion. We repeat it, if persons have strong 
 feelings, they should pay for them : if they think it a duty 
 to unsettle things established, they should show their earnest 
 ness by being willing to suffer. We shall be the last to com 
 plain of this kind of persecution, even though directed against 
 what we consider the cause of truth. Such disadvantages do 
 no harm to that cause in the event, but they bring home to a 
 man's mind his own responsibility ; they are a memento to 
 him of a great moral law ; and warn him that his private 
 judgment, if not a duty, is a sin." * 
 
 This is, in some respects, a remarkable passage. One 
 would almost suspect that it must be a plagiarism from some 
 ancient writer, were it not that people do not generally steal 
 infected garments, nor, like old Elwes, appropriate as pre 
 cious, things they have picked up out of the kennel. We al 
 most involuntarily look for marks of quotation, or some 
 archaisms of expression which would fix the date of the par 
 agraph some two centuries ago. For ourselves, we peruse 
 these arguments, thus recalled from the dead, with feelings 
 much akin to those with which we should witness the exhu 
 mation of a mummy from the depths of the Pyramids, or the 
 exhibition of some uncouth-looking weapons dug out of an 
 ancient tumulus ; wondering the while at the strange 
 chance by which things so long buried in darkness attract the 
 gaze of men once more. We seem to be present at the 
 
 * British Critic, July, 1841. It is not our wont to make lengthened 
 references to contemporary journals. If we have departed from the usual 
 course on the present occasion, it is assuredly, not because the journal in 
 question is intrinsically entitled to much notice, but because it is gener 
 ally considered to be the chief organ and representative of the party who 
 advocate the principles of the Oxford Tracts. 
 
298 RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 
 
 awakening of some Rip Van Winkle, who had been sleeping, 
 not like him of the " Sketch-Book," for twenty, but two 
 hundred years. Why, these arguments are but a feeble repe 
 tition of those which Locke so utterly demolished in those 
 matchless specimens of cogent and almost scornful logic, 
 the second and third letters on " Toleration " ; and which 
 Bayle had refuted before him, in his amusing commentary 
 on the words, " Compel them to come in. " Few will bring 
 themselves to believe that the majority even of those who in 
 general agree with the journal from which the above passage 
 is extracted, can sympathize with the views of this writer. If 
 they do, the people of England would do well to watch with 
 double jealousy and suspicion the progress of " High-Church 
 principles." If such men as he should achieve that triumph 
 of their principles for which they are professedly striving, the 
 dearest privileges of Englishmen would no longer be safe. 
 
 There is nothing whatever to distinguish the doctrines of 
 this writer from those which characterize the most barefaced, 
 naked system of ancient persecution ; nothing which 
 might not have fallen from the lips of a Gardiner or a Bon- 
 ner, nay, from those of a Nero or a Diocletian. For there 
 is absolutely nothing to limit the principles laid down ; and 
 those principles, thus unlimited in themselves, and pushed to 
 their legitimate extent, are sufficient to authorize any atroci 
 ties. That which is established, no matter what, has on that 
 account presumption in its favor of being right and true ; 
 and therefore, wherever " private judgment at all exerts itself 
 in the direction of proselytism and conversion," it must 
 " show cause," before it is tolerated, why it should not be 
 " convicted forthwith as a breach of the peace, and silenced 
 instanter as a mere disturber of the existing constitution of 
 things." It must show cause. To whom ? Why, to the 
 very parties, to be sure, who are interested in suppressing it, 
 who believe that it has " no cause to show " ; and until 
 they are satisfied for the innovators are surely satisfied 
 that it has warrant for what it says, it may be suppressed 
 
RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 299 
 
 instanter, and convicted of a breach of the peace ! A man 
 must not preach Christianity at Rome, till he shows cause to 
 the satisfaction of a Nero or a Diocletian that there is a suf 
 ficiency of reason on his side ; and, till then, he may be 
 suppressed instanter. That our author did not mean even to 
 exclude this, the strongest case, is evident by his own allusion 
 to " the introduction of the Gospel " : and he has plainly 
 left us to infer from his principles, that, though it was right 
 of the Apostles to preach, it was equally right in the heathen 
 to persecute them for so doing; the innovators not having 
 " shown cause " as how could they to Pagans ? that 
 " their case was admissible," and " that there was nothing 
 in it which might not be got over." The same principles 
 would of course justify the Papists in persecuting the Protes 
 tants, and Protestants in persecuting the Papists ; and every 
 form, either of truth or error, that happens to be established, 
 in persecuting every exercise of private judgment that hap 
 pens to be at variance with it. It must be confessed that 
 these are comprehensive principles of persecution, but we do 
 not like them the worse for that : they are at all events consist 
 ent, however indescribably absurd. The accident of previous 
 possession determines, it seems, the right to suppress, and 
 whether it be truth or error, it is all the same : only, as truth 
 is one, while error is multiform, error will have the advantage 
 of this ruthless consistency in a hundred cases to one. And 
 as truth and error are armed with equal right to employ this 
 concise method of " suppressing instanter " ; so, as in the 
 older systems of persecution, there is here nothing whatever 
 to limit the degree of severity or violence which it may be 
 deemed necessary to employ for that purpose. The duty is 
 to " suppress Instanter" unless sufficient cause be shown to 
 those who are disinclined to see it ; and we presume, that as, 
 when they do not see it, they are bound to suppress instanter, 
 they are at liberty to take any steps for that purpose which 
 may be effectual ; for to limit them to the use only of means 
 which may be ineffectual, and which sturdy recusants may 
 
300 RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 
 
 set at defiance, would be altogether nugatory. A right of 
 suppressing error, provided it can be suppressed by the stocks 
 or the pillory, conjoined with a liberty to let it run rampant 
 if hanging or burning is necessary, would be a curious limi 
 tation : and, as it would be unreasonable to set any such lim 
 its, so it would be impossible. What is excess of severity in 
 the code of one set of persecutors, is childish lenience in that 
 of another. One man might be satisfied with the pillory ; 
 another with nothing less than the rack. Our modern apol 
 ogist for ancient cruelty has, therefore, wisely attempted no 
 such limitation ; but, under the general expression of " satis 
 faction " at the " infliction of penalties," has left every variety 
 of persecutors to select their own. " Help yourselves, gen 
 tlemen," is virtually, though we hope not designedly, his lan 
 guage, " according to your diversified tastes and appetites. 
 The table is bountifully spread ; the pillory, the rack, the 
 scourge, the boot, the gibbet, the axe, the stake, confisca 
 tion, mutilation, expatriation, are all very much at your ser 
 vice, whenever those who broach novel opinions do not " show 
 cause," to your satisfaction, that you would be wrong" if you 
 attempted to repress them. " * 
 
 * The reasoning by which this writer attempts to establish these con 
 clusions, is as curious as are the conclusions themselves. He actually 
 thinks that the fact of being established, is a presumption of truth in a 
 world where there are a thousand different systems of religious opinion 
 established ; and yet it is not possible that more than one of these can be 
 the absolute truth ! He actually thinks that fixedness is presumption of 
 truth in a world where the most steadfast and ancient systems of religious 
 opinion have been, and are, notoriously, those of the worst superstition ! 
 He thinks " unalterableness " a mark of truth, in a world where the 
 great innovation that is at length to remedy its miseries was reserved 
 till four thousand years after its creation ! " Change " a characteristic 
 of error in a world the great law of which is incessant change ! It is 
 true that " unalterableness " is an attribute of truth, inasmuch as truth is 
 always one and the same ; but he would have us infer that what has been 
 long " unaltered " is " true " ; if this were so, as already shown, there 
 would be a thousand different and conflicting systems of truth in the 
 world. With equal logic, this writer actually imagines that the injunc- 
 
RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 301 
 
 It would be a melancholy waste of time to attempt a for 
 mal proof of the wickedness and folly of persecution. Yet, as 
 it appears that in the year of grace 1841 it was possible for 
 one who could at least write and spell whatever other attri 
 butes of a rational nature he might have or want to apolo 
 gize for it, or rather to panegyrize it, it may not be unin- 
 structive to exhibit, in one or two paragraphs, the crushing 
 arguments by which the principles of religious freedom were 
 first established ; and the various modifications of the theory 
 of persecution which its advocates were contented to frame, 
 before they would wholly forego it. And most impressive it 
 is to see how tenacious of life the monster was ; how mamy 
 and oft repeated the exorcisms by which the demon was at 
 length expelled. 
 
 We shall merely state the principal arguments ; to state 
 them is now enough. It was argued then, That it is not 
 within a ruler's province to determine the religion of his sub 
 jects, he having no commission to attempt it ; not from 
 
 tion, " Let every man abide in the same calling wherein he was called," 
 has something to do with the determination of the present question ; 
 that an injunction not capriciously to change our secular profession can 
 be any warrant for inflicting penalties on those who innovate on estab 
 lished opinions in religion, inasmuch as it is a probable case that they are 
 actuated thereto by caprice and fickleness ; or that it can justify acquies 
 cence in opinions or practices which the conscience disapproves ! Truly, 
 this text of " abiding in that calling wherein we are called," is a short 
 method of effectually settling the scruples of a restless conscience, and of 
 insuring, to the world's end, that there shall be no further conversions 
 from one system of opinions to another. The various castes are fixed, 
 and let not any go out of them. He that is a Brahmin, let him be a 
 Brahmin still ; he that is a Mahometan, let him be a Mahometan still ; 
 he that is a Christian, Calvinist or Arminian, Episcopalian or Presby 
 terian, let him be such still; for " let every man abide in that calling 
 wherein he is called." One cannot wonder, after this, that Thomas 
 Aquinas should have been able to prove that it is the duty of inferiors in 
 the Church to submit to their superiors, from the words, " The oxen 
 were ploughing, and the asses were feeding beside them " ; nor at the 
 astuteness of that Papist who affirmed the propriety of worshipping the 
 saints, because it is written, " God is wonderful in all his works. " 
 26 
 
302 RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. / 
 
 Scripture, for Peter and Paul preached Christianity in defi 
 ance of the magistrate ; not from compact on the part of the 
 people, for few would, and none could if they would, surren 
 der to another the care of their salvation : That religion, ex 
 cept as intelligent and voluntary, is nothing worth : That, in 
 the very nature of things, the employment of force to make 
 men believe, is a palpable absurdity : That, for example, 
 the thumbscrew can never make a man believe the doctrine 
 of the Trinity ; and that, if it make him say he believes it 
 when he does not, all that the thumbscrew does is to make 
 the man a liar and hypocrite, in addition to being a heretic : 
 That the unprincipled will escape by conforming, and only 
 the conscientious be punished ; so that the sole result is per 
 jury on the one hand, and gratuitous suffering on the other : 
 That the alleged power is as inexpedient as it is unjust ; for 
 rulers are no more likely to know religious truth than pri 
 vate persons, as is proved by the diversity of opinions among 
 rulers themselves ; nor so likely as many, for they are prin 
 cipally occupied with very different objects : That if the 
 rulers' religion be a false one, all the above evils are aggra 
 vated, for error has then all the advantage ; those who are 
 really converted being converted to error ; those who only 
 say they are converted, embracing error with a lie in their 
 right hand ; while the suffering falls solely on those who are 
 in possession of the truth : That supposing the right to com 
 pel resides in the magistrate, it must reside in every magis 
 trate ; and as truth is but one and error multiform, there will, 
 on the whole, be a hundredfold as much force employed 
 against the truth as for it : That if it be said, as was often 
 most vainly said, " it is the duty of the magistrate to compel 
 only to the true religion," the question returns, " Who is to 
 be the judge of truth ? " while, as each ruler will judge his own 
 religion to be true, this is but going a roundabout way to the 
 same point : That the system, if justifiable at all, will author 
 ize and necessitate the utmost severities ; for if it be the duty 
 of the magistrate to compel all to adopt his religion, the meth- 
 
RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 303 
 
 ods which will most surely and speedily effect this, will be 
 the best ; that, therefore, burning, hanging, torture, being the 
 most thorough and most likely to be successful, are to be pre 
 ferred : lastly, That after the most remorseless and protract 
 ed application of the system, history affords the most striking 
 proofs that it can never be successful ; that the uniformity 
 sought can never be obtained ; that the conscientious are only 
 the more fully convinced of the truth of their system, whether 
 it be truth or error ; that fortitude will be prepared to endure 
 all that cruelty is prepared to inflict ; and that not only in the 
 history of Christianity, but in that of all religions, it has been 
 seen that " the blood of the Martyrs has been the seed of the 
 Church." 
 
 These arguments, and such as these, were, and will ever 
 be, felt to be resistless against the ancient and only consistent 
 scheme of persecution. No wonder, then, that men who 
 could not gainsay, and yet would not adopt them, should seek 
 some mitigated system, which might leave them still the luxu 
 ry of persecution, or secure their darling idol of uniformity 
 with less expense to humanity and logic. It is curious to see 
 the efforts which from time to time have been made to discov 
 er this tertium quid, a sort of purgatory between the heav 
 en of perfect freedom and the hell of perfect despotism. But 
 there is in truth no medium. The two extremes are alone 
 consistent, and, so far as that goes, both are equally so. 
 All intermediate systems are absurd and inconsistent ; they 
 are examples, every one of them, of unstable equilibrium, 
 the slightest breath of wind suffices to throw them down. 
 The old system is at least a strong-looking symmetrical fab 
 ric, cemented though it be with blood from the foundation- 
 stone to the topmost pinnacle. The system which says, 
 " You shall be of my religion, or at all events pretend you 
 are, whether you be or not ; therefore bethink you betimes 
 whether you love truth more than you dread the rack, or 
 if need be, more than burning fagots or molten lead," is 
 at least perfectly intelligible and consistent, however hideous. 
 
304 RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 
 
 This is an iron-hearted, brazen-faced Devil enough, and one 
 has some involuntary, shuddering awe of him. How far the 
 petty imps who aspire to share his guilt, but dare not emulate 
 such sublimity of wickedness, are entitled to respect of any 
 kind, we shall presently see. 
 
 Some of the most obvious modifications by which the un 
 qualified system of persecution might be stripped of its more 
 revolting features, suggested themselves to the anonymous 
 writer * who undertook the perilous task of answering Locke's 
 first letter on Toleration ; and indeed were anticipated by 
 Bayle in that part of his " Philosophical Commentary, " 
 where he examines, with deliberate and minute attention, the 
 " objections " to his principles. First, Locke's adversary de 
 clared that it was far from his purpose to undertake the de 
 fence of the horrid cruelties by which history is disfigured. 
 No, it was only " moderate penalties " and " convenient 
 punishments " for which he pleaded ! Now here not to 
 insist that almost all the arguments above stated against the 
 most unqualified system, apply with unabated force to this 
 and every modification of it we come at once to the first 
 of those symptoms of instability, which, as we have said, 
 characterize the whole. What are " moderate penalties " and 
 " gentle punishments " ? Hanging is moderate compared 
 with burning, and branding gentle compared with the rack. 
 To some men of squeamish sensibility, even the cropping of 
 the ears, the free use of the scourge, a few years' imprison 
 ment or banishment, might foolishly be considered excessive. 
 Nay, we know not whether there might not be found some 
 who would object to ruin men even by regular process of 
 law, by quirks and quibbles, perhaps, even to the pillory, 
 fines, confiscation ; while there might be others (as there un 
 doubtedly have been many), who would say of all heretics, 
 that " hanging is too good for them " ; and who would not 
 
 * "We learn from Wood's " Athene Oxonienses," that the author was 
 Jonas Proast, of Queen's College, Oxford. 
 
RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 305 
 
 only show their charity by sending them, if obstinate, to per 
 dition, but that, too, by methods which should convince them 
 that they did not lose much by exchanging earth for hell. 
 
 It has been already remarked, that our modern champion 
 of persecution, who " confesses a satisfaction " (we admire 
 the felicity no less than the honesty of the phrase) " in the 
 infliction of penalties " for change of opinion, has left this 
 matter equally in the dark. For this he is not to be blamed ; 
 it was impossible for him to assign limits, and he has there 
 fore wisely refrained from attempting it. Whether a fine of 
 a hundred pounds be thought equivalent to the luxury of a 
 new opinion, whether such a bonne louche ought to go still 
 higher, whether it be dear at imprisonment, confiscation, 
 banishment, whether his clemency would be " satisfied " 
 with the stocks, or the pillory, or branding, or whether he 
 would " confess a satisfaction " (in very obstinate cases) at 
 hanging or burning, is all unhappily matter of conjecture. 
 
 Locke's adversary further modified the system, by declar 
 ing that the "moderate penalties" and the "convenient 
 punishment " for which he contended, were not designed to 
 compel those on whom they were inflicted to adopt a par 
 ticular form of religion at the option of the magistrate ; but 
 to induce them to " examine," to " consider," calmly and 
 deliberately, that they might not, as too often happens, be 
 led by passion or caprice, or any other motive which ought 
 to have no influence in the determination of the question ! 
 Whereupon he was asked whether he considered the fear 
 of torture or banishment, and the hope of recompense or im 
 punity, amongst the passions ? Whether he seriously thought 
 that the rack or the thumbscrew would favor that calm and 
 equal consideration which he was so charitably desirous of 
 promoting ? Whether a man under the pangs of torture, or 
 the dread of confiscation or banishment, is in a better condi 
 tion for the exercise of his logic ? Whether the mind, under 
 such discipline, would not be as effectually under a sinister 
 bias, as if left to the dominion of any other passions whatso- 
 26* 
 
306 RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 
 
 ever ? Whether the author would have this charitable expres 
 sion of concern for the souls of men fairly applied to all who, 
 it might be deemed, had not given the subject of religion 
 " an equal and conscientious examination " ; and, amongst 
 the rest, to the multitudes of " inconsiderate professors " of 
 the natural religion, who, as they are often more liable to 
 take their religion on trust and in haste, than those who must 
 suffer something for it, stand in more urgent need of such 
 a provocative to deliberation ? Whether, if he replied in the 
 negative, " his remedy would not resemble the helleboraster 
 that grew in the woman's garden for the cure of worms in 
 her neighbors' children, for that it wrought too roughly to 
 give it to any of her own " ? * Whether it could be thought 
 that the magistrate who had established a given religion, or 
 the clergy who preached it, would tolerate such an impartial 
 application of the system of " moderate and convenient pen 
 alties " to those of their own communion, however little they 
 may have " examined " ? Whether the plan had ever been 
 acted upon, or was ever likely to be ? Whether it would not 
 be a most curious and unprecedented act of legislation, to 
 inflict penalties with the vague object of making people " ex 
 amine " whether they are in the right or not : or, rather, with 
 the still more vague object of making them " seek truth " 
 till they find it, in the absence of a judge to determine what 
 that truth is ? Whether it would not be very much like 
 " whipping a scholar to make him find out the square root of 
 a number you do not know " ? Whether he who declares he 
 has examined, and is still of the same mind, and that not the 
 mind of a conformist, is to be released from all further pun 
 ishment ? or whether public officials are to be appointed to 
 " examine " whether he has " examined " enough ? Wheth 
 er these are to be satisfied that he has examined enough, or 
 are likely to be so, till he has " examined " himself into the 
 state of mind which will induce him to conform ? and wheth- 
 
 * Locke's " Second Letter." Works, Vol. V. p. 99. 
 
RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 307 
 
 er, if they are not to be satisfied till then, this system of 
 " moderate penalties " does not, after all, resolve itself into 
 the system of compelling men to conform to the religion of 
 the magistrate ? There are some things in the extract from 
 that modern writer on whom we have been animadverting, 
 which remind one of this system : " Penalties bring home to 
 a man his own responsibility," " they are a memento to 
 him of a great moral law, and warn him that his private judg 
 ment, if not a duty, is a sin." " If persons have strong feel 
 ings, they should pay for them ; if they think it a duty to 
 unsettle things established, they should show their earnestness 
 by being willing to suffer." Here one would think that the 
 charitable object, like that of Locke's antagonist, was to se 
 cure conscientiousness and deliberation on the part of the 
 sufferers for supposed truth, or to sublime their virtues into 
 heroism. But we have already shown, and the former part 
 of the paragraph indeed avows it, that it is for the sake of 
 peace and quietness on behalf of the " established opin 
 ions " that he chiefly desires these penalties to be inflicted. 
 
 Locke's adversary subsequently shuffled out of his original 
 position, and affirmed that magistrates were at liberty to per 
 secute only for the true religion ; and that it was at their per 
 il if they indulged in any eccentricities of the kind in favor 
 of any false religion. Locke, of course, unmercifully ex 
 poses this childish fallacy. For who is to be the judge of 
 truth but the magistrate himself? And, if it be his duty to 
 enforce obedience to some religion, he must of course enforce 
 obedience to that which he deems true. 
 
 Even after the general principles of toleration were estab 
 lished, it was long before the spirit of persecution was quite 
 subdued ; indeed, as we all know, it was only within the last 
 few years that our statutes were purged from the last traces 
 of it. Men found out, it seems, after the more violent forms 
 of persecution were abandoned, that it was still very proper 
 to visit those who did not conform to the religion of the mag 
 istrate, with the privation of some of their civil rights ! This 
 
RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 
 
 was no punishment, it was simply a negation. Ingenious 
 phraseology ! To be kept without a thing is something very 
 different from having something taken away from us, and 
 what a man never had, of course he can never much miss ; 
 and thus, by this subtle distinction of " negations," men man 
 aged to gratify their bigotry and to cloak their absurdity at 
 the same time. Happily we have got beyond this also. 
 
 The writer who has detained us so long is, so far as we 
 know, almost alone in the frank and explicit confession of 
 his preference for the antiquated system of persecution ; a 
 solitary champion of the " suppression " of the " Right of 
 Private Judgment" by "pains and penalties." But there 
 are not a few who would attempt to limit its exercise by an 
 appeal to human authority ; though they would not advocate 
 the employment of violence for that purpose. It must be 
 confessed that this system is better than that of force, just 
 upon the principle, that he who simply steals is less guilty 
 than he who commits both theft and murder. But the system 
 itself is far less compact and consistent. If man be rightfully 
 accountable to his fellows for the formation or expression of 
 his religious opinions, if he ought to adopt those which he 
 is told to adopt, one would imagine it but reasonable to 
 arm authority with some means of enforcing its mandates. 
 The duty of submission to any human authority, would seem 
 to imply the correlative right of visiting disobedience with 
 some sort of penalties. If not, it is authority only in name. 
 What should we say to a legislator, who, enacting certain 
 laws, should set forth in the preamble, that they were binding 
 only on those who chose to be bound by them, and that those 
 who did not might throw them into the fire ? It reminds us 
 of the humorous case cited by Pelisson in his controversy 
 with Leibnitz. * An " inconstant lover " and his " volatile 
 
 * " Je n'ose faire une comparaison trop peu serieuse, et prise de ces lec 
 tures frivoles, qui ont amuse raon enfance ; mais je ne s^aurois pourtant 
 m'empecher d'y penser. Dans une de nos Fables Francoises, (1'inge- 
 
EIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 309 
 
 mistress " gravely lay down the laws which are to regulate 
 their courtship, and the last of them is, that both should break 
 any of them they thought proper. South, consistently argu 
 ing on his principles, that ecclesiastical authority ought to be 
 backed by " temporal power," anticipated and rebuked the 
 inconsistency of all half-hearted apologists for the suppression 
 of conscience. He ridiculed the idea of authority without 
 coercion, of laws without penalties, of obligations to obey 
 conjoined with liberty to rebel. He consistently preferred 
 persecution to the sanction of so singular a freedom ; and ex 
 poses the fallacy in his own ludicrous manner. " Some," 
 he says, " will by no means allow the Church any further 
 power than only to exhort and advise ; and this but with a 
 proviso too, that it extends not to such as think themselves too 
 wise and too great to be advised ; according to the hypothesis 
 of which persons, the authority of the Church, and the 
 obliging force of all Church-sanctions, can bespeak men 
 only thus : These and these things it is your duty to do, and 
 if you will not do them, you may as well let them alone." * 
 But whether it be that the enemies of religious freedom 
 despair of reviving the ancient opinions, or think that there is 
 little present chance of success, or are really weary of them, 
 it is certain that, while there is no lack of theories by which 
 the " Right of Private Judgment " is virtually denied or curi 
 ously circumscribed, few, like the author on whose fanatical 
 extravagances we have been commenting, would choose to 
 " confess a satisfaction, when a penalty is attached to the ex 
 pression of new doctrines, or to a change of communion." 
 Nay, as will shortly be seen, even he, in despair, we suppose, 
 of getting mankind to adopt his antiquated opinions^ provides, 
 in condescension to their infirmities and ignorance, a mode 
 
 nieux roman de Monsieur D'Urf6 : que tous le monde connoit,) 1'amant 
 inconstant et la maitresse volage font avec grand soin les loix de leur 
 amitie ; mais la derniere de toutes est qu'on n'en observera pas une, si 
 Ton ne veut." Leibnitzii Opera, Tom. I. p. 689. 
 * South's " Sermons," Vol. I. p. 132. 
 
310 RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 
 
 of exercising the right, which, as he flatters himself, will still 
 get rid of all its principal inconveniences. This, and some 
 other theories, we shall now briefly examine, and shall show 
 of them all that they are absolutely nugatory, inasmuch as 
 they still leave, for the decision of " private judgment," ques 
 tions as difficult and perplexing as those which, according to 
 the common theory, are submitted to it ; or, what is worse, 
 that they enjoin, in obedience to an authority neither claim 
 ing nor admitted to be infallible, a deliberate violation of the 
 law of conscience, where the actual convictions of the indi 
 vidual are at variance with that authority ; or, lastly, that 
 they are chargeable on both these counts. 
 
 Nothing, indeed, short of the Popish doctrine of the 
 Church's infallibility, will effectually limit the " Right of Pri 
 vate Judgment." Even that cannot annul it. For there will 
 still be left one unhappy question for its decision ; namely, 
 whether the docile soul may unhesitatingly surrender it, and 
 receive the assurances of its guide that the said guide is truly 
 infallible. Still the Romish doctrine does reduce the right to 
 a minimum of activity. For though we Protestants, who de 
 ny that doctrine, know very well that the " variations of Ro 
 manism " have been nearly, if not quite, as numerous as 
 those which Bossuet charged upon Protestantism, and many 
 of them on points quite as important as those which the 
 Church professes to have definitely settled ; though we 
 know that Popes have been opposed to Popes, and Councils 
 to Councils; that Popes have contradicted Councils, and 
 Councils contradicted Popes ; though there have been infi 
 nite disputes as to where the infallibility resides, what are 
 the doctrines it has definitely pronounced true, and who to 
 the individual is the infallible expounder of what is thus in 
 fallibly pronounced infallible ; yet he who receives this 
 doctrine in its integrity has nothing more to do than to eject 
 his reason, sublime his faith into credulity, and reduce his 
 creed to these two comprehensive articles : " I believe what 
 soever the Church believes " ; "I believe that the Church 
 
RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 311 
 
 believes whatsoever my father-confessor believes that she be 
 lieves." For thus he reasons : Nothing is more certain 
 than that whatsoever God says is infallibly true ; it is infalli 
 bly true that the Church says just what God says ; it is in 
 fallibly true that what the Church says is known ; and it is 
 also infallibly true that my father-confessor, or the parson of 
 the next parish, is an infallible expositor of what is thus in 
 fallibly known to be the Church's infallible belief, of what 
 God has declared to be infallibly true. If any one of the 
 links, even the last, in this strange sorites, be supposed un 
 sound, if it be not true that the priest is an infallible ex 
 pounder to the individual of the Church's infallibility, if 
 his judgment be only his " private judgment," we come 
 back at once to the perplexities of the common theory of pri 
 vate judgment; and the question then submitted to the indi 
 vidual Romanist's " private judgment " is, whether it be rea 
 sonable in him, in a matter of which he knows nothing, but 
 which is yet of infinite moment, to surrender his private judg 
 ment to that of another man. And truly, to decide a ques 
 tion without having any data for deciding it, appears to us 
 quite as difficult a problem as any of those which are ordina 
 rily submitted to " private judgment. " The system, there 
 fore, must be received in its integrity, and if so, the rule of 
 conduct is very simple. If the priest tells us that bread is 
 flesh, and wine is blood, that the sun revolves round the 
 earth, that Gulliver's Travels, if they had not been written 
 by a heretic, would have been as true as the Gospel, all 
 we have to do is to believe it, and, if need be, to believe it 
 even for Tertullian's paradoxical reason, " because it is im 
 possible." 
 
 Of every other mode of nullifying or circumscribing the 
 right of judgment, and of this too, except where the claim of 
 infallibility is not merely made, but admitted, it may be shown, 
 as already said, that it is either nugatory, or flagitious, or 
 both. 
 
 Conscious of this, there is a small party of hybrid Protes- 
 
312 RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 
 
 tants amongst us, who virtually claim for some church un 
 known neither the Church of Rome nor the Church of 
 England, and yet both, but certainly not the Church of Scot 
 land ; some " Visible Church," which is not to be seen ; some 
 " Catholic Church," which excludes all Christians except 
 Episcopalians ; some " Undivided Church," which embraces 
 the communions of the reciprocally excommunicated ; some 
 " Primitive Church " of uncertain date nothing less than 
 the infallibility, and consequent authority, of the Church of 
 Rome. But they are " born out of due time " ; their infalli 
 bility comes too late to enable them by its means to limit the 
 " Right of Private Judgment," or relieve us of our perplexi 
 ties. For unhappily the Church of Rome has got the start of 
 them ; there are, therefore, rival claims to infallibility ; and 
 consequently, if more could be said to reconcile the manifold 
 contradictions of the theory of these men, and to authenticate 
 their claims to be its expositors, than ever can be said, *' pri 
 vate judgment " would still be pressed with the most tran- 
 scendently perplexing question ever submitted to the arbitra 
 tion of ignorance, " Of two claimants to infallibility, which 
 is the more likely to be infallible ? " But to resume the 
 modern theories. 
 
 The writer, on whose appetite for persecution we have 
 been constrained to animadvert, is not, it appears, disposed, 
 after all, to deny the free exercise of " private judgment," 
 but merely to limit the range of its inquiries ; that is, the 
 bird may freely range in its cage ; nevertheless, we shall 
 show that even there it has room to lose itself. He has 
 discovered, it seems, that the question which " private judg 
 ment " is called to decide is, " Who is the teacher we are to 
 follow ? not, What are the doctrines we are to believe ? " 
 The " precedents " in Scripture, he affirms, " sanction not 
 an inquiry about Gospel doctrine, but about the Gospel teach 
 er ; not what has God revealed, but whom has he commis 
 sioned ? " He maintains " that the private student of Scrip 
 ture would not ordinarily gain a knowledge of the Gospel 
 
RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 313 
 
 from it " ! Once more, he says, " The New Testament, 
 equally with the Old, as far as it speaks of examination into 
 doctrines professedly from heaven, makes their teachers the 
 
 subject of that inquiry, and not their matter." " Let 
 
 it be observed how exactly this view of the province of pri 
 vate judgment, where it is allowable, as being the discovery, 
 not of doctrine, but of the teachers of doctrine, coincides both 
 with the nature of religion and the state of human society as 
 we find it." We have already had a notable specimen of 
 the exegetical talents of this writer, and need not, therefore, 
 be surprised at his professing to find Scripture proof of this 
 doctrine also. It must be confessed, however, that his meth 
 od is somewhat novel, and would be generally imagined 
 equajly opposed to criticism and to logic. He seems to think 
 he has made out his point, if he but proves that teachers are 
 promised in Scripture, and that it is within the province of 
 private judgment to decide on their credentials. We deny 
 neither. " In remarkable coincidence," says he, " with this 
 view, we find in both Testaments that teachers are promised 
 under the dispensation of the Gospel " ! Might we not just 
 as logically say, that, " in remarkable coincidence with our 
 views," we find it written that " there was a man in the land 
 of Uz, whose name was Job " ? What is all this to the pur 
 pose ? Who denies that religious teachers are promised ? 
 As little do we deny that it is the right of individuals to judge 
 of their pretensions and credentials. But does the right ter 
 minate there ? that is the question. One would imagine that 
 the commendation bestowed on the Bereans, for searching the 
 Scriptures to see " whether the things told them " by Paul 
 " were so," would be alone sufficient to decide this point. 
 But no, our author expressly says, though he attempts not 
 to prove it, that this, too, is " amongst the precedents which 
 sanction not an inquiry about Gospel doctrine, but about the 
 Gospel teacher " ! 
 
 Let it be ruled so, then. And now to consider the system 
 itself. It may well be maintained that the question thus sub- 
 27 
 
314 RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 
 
 mitted to " private judgment," is as difficult as any which are 
 ordinarily submitted to it. If a man be incompetent for the 
 latter, he is equally incompetent for the former. The reason 
 ing is about as good as would be that of a father who should 
 say to his child, " Though it is true you are not competent to 
 say what it is fit for you to learn, and, therefore, cannot se 
 lect for yourself a school, yet you are perfectly welcome to 
 choose your schoolmaster.' 1 '' We repeat, that if this exercise 
 of judgment is to be a bona fide exercise of judgment at all, 
 it will not be a whit less difficult to decide upon the " teacher," 
 than upon the " general doctrines to be taught." " Nay," 
 says our author, " it is much more easy to judge of persons 
 than of opinions." True, so far as regards their moral 
 qualities ; whether they be, in effect, virtuous or dissolute, 
 benevolent or selfish, humane or cruel. But then, unhappily, 
 if this be the criterion, it is just none at all ; for men charac 
 terized by both classes of qualities are to be found in all 
 communions. And, as it is most evident from this fact that 
 their personal qualities would be no ' sufficient guide, so it is 
 by no means the criterion which our author contemplates ; 
 he would be very sorry to have it impartially applied. They 
 are quite other qualities which are to decide the point ; and 
 the inquiry into these, we contend, is either not separable 
 from an inquiry into the truth of the very doctrines taught, 
 but presupposes that inquiry to have been both instituted and 
 decided ; or it is an inquiry into matters still more difficult 
 and perplexing ; for example, whether or not the clergy of 
 a given church possess the inestimable advantages of " Apos 
 tolical succession." In the present divided state of Chris 
 tendom, which, it may be asked, is the more hopeful inquiry 
 for a private individual, " What saith the Scripture ? " or, 
 " Which of all the religious teachers who claim my attention 
 makes the most rightful pretensions to instruct me in the truth, 
 I, at the same time, neither inquiring, nor being permitted 
 to inquire, what that truth is ? " For it must be remembered 
 that an Episcopalian, Presbyterian, Independent, Calvinist, 
 
RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 315 
 
 or Arminian, is not a trustworthy teacher, because he tells us 
 he is ; the awful privilege of " Apostolical succession " is not 
 inscribed on the bishop's forehead ; no voice from heaven 
 certifies to us that those whom he ordains are exclusively 
 commissioned to preach the Gospel. We repeat, therefore, 
 that this liberty of " private judgment," if really acted upon, 
 implies a task quite as difficult as that for which it is substitut 
 ed : in a word, either the very same, that of examining 
 the pretensions of the teacher by a reference to his doctrines ; 
 or that of deciding on the historic grounds of his authority, 
 without any investigation of his doctrine at all. This method, 
 therefore, would not serve the purpose for which it has been 
 invented ; it would not correct the eccentricities or diminish 
 the varieties of " private judgment." Nay, we have already 
 facts in abundance to prove this. We see that there are mul 
 titudes of all communions who select their teacher on no 
 wiser principle than that here advocated ; without any inquiry 
 into the truth of the doctrines taught, or the teacher's claim 
 to the authority he assumes. It were well both for them and 
 for truth, if they would exercise also the other and better part 
 of the " Right of Private Judgment," and diligently inquire, 
 whether the system of doctrines taught them is in general 
 accordance with truth, and the claims to authority, on the 
 teacher's part, well founded. It does not appear, then, that 
 this limitation of the " Right of Private Judgment " would 
 diminish the diversities of sect and party, or secure a nearer 
 approximation to uniformity.* 
 
 * It is true that this writer points out some concise methods of limit 
 ing the candidates for the inquirer's suffrage. " You may reject," says 
 he, " all who do not even profess to come with authority." To this it 
 may be replied, first, that there are none who come to teach without pro 
 fessing authority to do so, and that in general, the more extravagant 
 their doctrine, the more arrogant their pretensions ; and secondly, that 
 the absence of those exclusive pretensions to which he refers pretensions 
 to the Apostolical Succession would be to thousands a reason rather 
 for admitting than rejecting the claims of a teacher who came to them 
 with such unwonted humility . But even according to this writer, there are 
 
316 RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 
 
 But one of the most singular oversights is, that our author 
 formally concedes the right in its full extent, for the purpose 
 of ascertaining whether or not it is to be so conceded. " We 
 have arrived," he says, with great solemnity and gravity, 
 "at the following conclusion, that it is our duty to betake 
 ourselves to Scripture, and to observe how far the private 
 search of a religion is there sanctioned, and under what cir 
 cumstances " ! We are, it appears, in the first instance, to 
 make the most extensive use of our " Right of Private Judg 
 ment" on the Scriptures, in order to ascertain whether or 
 not we are at liberty to use our " private judgment " in inter 
 preting its doctrines ; in other words, we are to exercise our 
 " private judgment " to ascertain whether or not it ought to 
 be exercised ! 
 
 Another modification of the theory of " private judgment " 
 
 at least three churches, which, however divided on points which multitudes 
 deem essential, possess, it seems, all that authority which is necessary to 
 give validity to the claims of their teachers. These churches risum tene- 
 atis ? are the Romish, Greek, and Anglican ! But how is the perplexed 
 inquirer to decide on their claims ? Very easily, if we fairly follow out 
 this writer's principles ; for, partly by what he has said, and partly by 
 what he has left us to infer, it does not much matter to which church of 
 the three a man belongs ; and as each is possessed of those mysterious 
 " gifts," depending on the " Succession," which will serve to countervail 
 any corruptions, it is difficult to say whether there are any reasons suf 
 ficient to justify a man in leaving any one of them for another. It is 
 true, indeed, that our author disclaims all intention of discussing the 
 question, as to whether there are reasons which can justify the Catholic 
 in leaving his own communion ; but it is plain, from what he has said, 
 how he would decide it, and how, if consistent with bis principles, he 
 must decide it. Indeed, his very making it a question is a sufficient indi 
 cation of his sentiments ; for did ever Protestant before doubt whether it 
 was lawful for a Catholic to leave the Church of Rome ? None, assur 
 edly, can doubt it, except those strange Protestants who deplore Protes 
 tantism itself, and who use their utmost efforts to show how much the 
 Churches of Rome and England resemble one another ! That the dif 
 ference between them is not, in his estimation, very great, we may infer 
 from such language as this : " We may believe that our own church has 
 certain imperfections ; the Church of Rome certain corruptions ; such a 
 
RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 317 
 
 is that of Mr. Gladstone. He says : " And, lastly, persons 
 are in great alarm for their private judgment. The true doc 
 trine of private judgment is, as has been shown by many 
 writers, most important and most sacred ; it has the direct 
 sanction of Scripture. It teaches the duty, and, as correlative 
 to the duty, the right, of a man to assent freely and rationally 
 to the truth. It is commonly called a right to inquire ; but it 
 is to inquire for the purpose of assenting ; for he has no right 
 (that is, none as before God) to reject the truth after his in 
 quiry. It is a right to assent to truth, to inquire into alleged 
 truth. Now, all that the true idea of the Church proposes to 
 him is a probable and authorized guide. This is wholly dis 
 tinct from the Romish infallibility. The Church of England 
 holds individual freedom in things spiritual to be an essential 
 attribute of man's true nature, and an essential condition of 
 
 belief has no tendency to lead us to any view as to which, on the whole, 
 is the better, or to induce or warrant us to leave the one communion for 
 the other." Again : " Is it not certain, even at first sight, that each of 
 these branches (Romish, Greek, and English) has many high gifts and 
 much grace in her communion ? " Now, whether this representation be 
 correct or not, let theologians decide ; but so far from " its being evident 
 at first sight," it is certain that nine tenths in each of these communions 
 would, in the exercise of that " Right of Private Judgment " which even 
 he concedes, come to a different conclusion, as to who are " divinely 
 appointed teachers," from himself. Such is the very first application of 
 this new theory of " private judgment," designed to limit the diversities 
 of opinion ; its very inventor manages to stumble on a "judgment," in 
 which not ten out of a hundred will agree with him ! On the mani 
 fold inconsistencies into which he is plunged by his attempt to show how 
 nearly these churches approximate, and yet to find such still subsisting 
 differences as may justify a state of separation, conceding that Rome 
 does not practise idolatry, and yet discovering that there is a note of idol 
 atry upon her, which may justify him who is already a Protestant in not 
 joining her, maintaining that his own church is not schismatic, and 
 yet acknowledging that it is chargeable with something very like schism; 
 and leaving us to infer that the Reformers ought never to have separated 
 from the Church of Rome, of all this we shall say nothing, because 
 it has nothing to do with our present subject But as a specimen of 
 what may be called seesaw logic, it is well worth reading. 
 27* 
 
318 RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 
 
 the right reception of the Gospel; and testifies to that sentiment 
 in the most emphatic mode, by encouraging the fullest commu 
 nication of Scripture to the people. Yet is it perfectly possi 
 ble that the best use of such a freedom may often be thus ex 
 emplified ; when a man, having prayed for light from God, 
 and having striven to live in the spirit of his prayer, and yet 
 finding his own opinion upon a point of doctrine opposite to 
 that of the universal, undivided Church, recognizes the answer 
 to his prayer and the guide to his mind in the declarations of 
 the creeds, rather than in his own single, and perhaps recent, 
 impressions upon the subject ; not thus surrendering his own 
 liberty of judgment, but using it in order to weigh and com 
 pare the probabilities of his or the Church's correctness re 
 spectively, and acting faithfully on the result. " 
 
 Here, first, we have the old fallacy. " Private judgment " 
 is, indeed, a right ; but it is a right of assenting to the truth. 
 But, then, who is to be the judge of truth ? Is the individual 
 conscience to assent to that which it honestly deems truth, or 
 is it not ? If the former, we are just in the same predica 
 ment as before. If not, what is the authority which is to jus 
 tify it in setting its conviction at defiance ? " Why," replies 
 Mr. Gladstone, " the voice of the undivided Church " must 
 decide the matter. To this we might content ourselves with 
 replying : This " undivided Church," amidst the ten thou 
 sand parties into which Christendom is divided, we cannot 
 find at all ; and the search is at least as difficult as that of the 
 truth which we are to find by its means. It is like telling us 
 that we are to learn which of five hundred opinions is the 
 true, by inquiring of some inhabitant of Utopia. But the 
 concluding sentence of this paragraph deserves more serious 
 animadversion. Our author proposes an expedient for tran 
 quillizing a scrupulous conscience, a conscience which 
 finds its decisions at hopeless variance with those of the " un 
 divided Church," which is (though he doubtless meant it 
 not) an outrage on morality. It is really one of the most ex 
 traordinary pieces of casuistry we have ever met with, either 
 
RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 319 
 
 in ancient or modern times, and directly justifies the suppres 
 sion of the voice of conscience. We are to suppose, for ar 
 gument's sake, that the inquirer has found that nonenity, 
 the " undivided Church." Be it so ; but he finds, at the 
 same time, that this " undivided Church " teaches a doctrine 
 as true which he is persuaded is erroneous ; and enjoins rites 
 as a duty, the performance of which he believes to be sin. 
 What is he to do ? Is he at liberty to profess his acquies 
 cence in that doctrine though he believes it false, or to per 
 form those rites though he believes them wrong ? " Pray 
 over the matter, and inquire," says Mr. Gladstone. " I have 
 done both," replies the unhappy man. " And you are still 
 of the same mind ? " " Altogether." " But do you not 
 think the whole undivided Church more likely to be in the 
 to affirm the contrary." " Then you may, without further 
 right than you ? " " I am not so destitute of modesty as 
 scruple, proclaim your belief in the supposed error, and prac 
 tise the forbidden rite ! " So thus, it appears, the man may 
 assent to one proposition which he deems false, because he 
 can assent to another, altogether different, which he believes 
 true ; namely, that he thinks the " undivided Church " more 
 likely to be in the right than he. How different the decision 
 of Mr. Gladstone from that of Saint Paul, who declares that a 
 man who should eat meat offered to idols, with a conscience 
 doubting its propriety, would sin; though the Apostle at 
 the same time declares by inspiration, that the act, in itself, 
 is absolutely indifferent. Such a casuist as Mr. Gladstone 
 would soon have administered relief. " Do you not think," 
 he would say, " that an inspired Apostle is more likely to be 
 in the right than you ? " " Who can doubt it ? " would have 
 been the reply. " Then eat as soon and as much as you 
 please," Mr. Gladstone would have said ; unless he believed 
 the decision of an inspired Apostle less likely to be the true 
 one than that of his " undivided Church." 
 
 We are astonished at this doctrine, we confess, and doubt 
 whether, considering the difference of the age and circum- 
 
320 EIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 
 
 stances, any thing much more censurable is to be found even 
 among those Jesuitical casuists, whose extravagances Pascal 
 so inimitably ridiculed. Mr. Gladstone's doctrine of " prob 
 able opinions " would almost match that of the school of 
 Loyola; and we are half inclined to say of him, what Pas 
 cal's Jesuit Father says of Escobar : " Truly this Escobar," 
 said I, " is a fine man. " " O," rejoined the Father, " every 
 body admires him ; he puts such lovely questions ! " * 
 
 But what Mr. Gladstone, with congenial love of obscurity, 
 has left in utter darkness, others have endeavored to clear up. 
 They have proceeded to furnish us with criteria of the undi 
 vided Church, to interpret what it has delivered, and to invest 
 its decisions with a species of infallibility. But let it not be for 
 one moment imagined that we are at all likely to have the exer 
 cise of the " Right of Private Judgment " diminished by all this ; 
 on the contrary, it is enlarged a thousandfold. The theory is, 
 that Scripture is incomplete ; that some things are divinely 
 revealed which are not revealed there ; that it is to be sup 
 plemented by tradition ; and that whatever we find unani 
 mously and constantly asserted by such tradition, is invested 
 with an authority coordinate with that of Scripture. Where 
 upon arise an infinity of questions, any one of which is as 
 difficult as any that private judgment was ever called upon to 
 decide ; questions, which he who is no scholar has little 
 chance of deciding, except by lot, for the authorities are very 
 numerous and diametrically contradictory on all sides. "Noth 
 ing is more easy," exclaims the Anglican ; " all you have 
 to do is to adhere to the rule of Vincentius Lirinensis, 
 Quod semper, quod ubique, quod ab omnibus traditum est. " 
 
 * " Vraiment, lui dis-je, il me semble que je reve, quand j'entends 
 des Religieux parler de cette sorte. Et quoi, mon pere, dites moi en 
 conscience, etes vous dans ce sentiment-la ? Non vraiment, me dit le 
 pere. Vous parlez done, continuai-je, centre votre conscience ? Point 
 de tout, dit-il. Je ne parlois pas en cela selon ma conscience, mais selon 
 celle de Ponce et du P. Bauny ; et vous pourriez les suivre en surete, car 
 ce sont d'habiles gens." Let. Provinciales, Let. V. 
 
RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 
 
 But alas ! on investigation, it is found that " nobody " knows 
 what " every body 1 ' has said ; that what has been affirmed 
 " everywhere " is remembered " nowhere " ; and that the 
 only thing to which all time has testified is tempora mutan- 
 tur, et nos mutamur in illis. Whether a man be learned or 
 ignorant, permitted to exercise his judgment in discover 
 ing these obscured verities of tradition for himself, or forbid 
 den so to do, ample in either case is the scope for his pri 
 vate judgment. If learned, and permitted to inquire, the luck 
 less student finds that, instead of one small book, he is sent to 
 five hundred ; instead of having to deal with nothing but what 
 is truth, truth itself is presented to him in minute fragments, 
 amidst mountain-loads of absurdity, ignorance, and heresy. 
 Then there are, besides, most difficult and subtle questions of 
 criticism to be decided, before the "very materials of judgment 
 can be laid before the mind ; interpolations, erasures, forger 
 ies to be detected, what is authentic separated from what 
 is not, in a word, qu&stiones vexata without end to be ad 
 justed. Again ; at what point is the investigation to stop ? 
 Is it at the end of the second, or third, or fourth, or fifth cen 
 turies ? " Stand by the first six General Councils," exclaim 
 Hammond and Stillingfleet. " Stop at the end of the fifth 
 century," says Archbishop Bramhall. " You must not draw 
 bridle till the disunion of the East and West," cries Bishop 
 Ken. " You are wrong," says Archbishop Usher ; " four or 
 five hundred years are sufficient." " Rather three or four," say 
 Waterland and Beveridge. " The precise limit is nowhere" 
 says Mr. Newman ; " it is a question of degree and place." 
 " It is everywhere," shouts the more consistent Romanist. 
 No wonder that, oppressed with the thought of such an exer 
 cise of the right of private judgment, the inquirer declares he 
 knows not how to perform it. " My friend," is the reply, 
 " you have only to read through about a hundred and fifty 
 folios of ecclesiastical records, and you will find the matter is 
 just as I tell you." He feels that this is but meagre con 
 solation, and, if intelligent, will declare, that, rather than un- 
 
322 RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 
 
 dergo such labor for the small residuum of doubtful truth which 
 he is assured he will extract from it, he would make a voy 
 age to the Indies to bring home a cargo of one peppercorn 
 and two grains of rice ! The right of private judgment, in 
 such a case, he feels to be about as valuable a possession as 
 a right to read through the statutes at large. The Tractari- 
 ans may very safely grant it, for they may be assured no one 
 will avail himself of it. If the man be ignorant, or forbidden 
 to inquire, the other case supposed, he has only to be 
 lieve. But let it not be imagined that he is not still subjected 
 to the necessity of performing an impracticable act of pri 
 vate judgment. He may be told that infallible truth has been 
 discovered, and that the priest is the infallible expounder of it. 
 But, then, on what ground shall he believe this ? " I am com 
 missioned," says the priest. " But," will be the reply, " I 
 see that there are multitudes of your own church, and whom 
 you acknowledge equally commissioned with yourself, who 
 tell me that you are under an absolute delusion, that nei 
 ther you nor they are commissioned to assume any such au 
 thority, that tradition is no authoritative guide, and that, if 
 it were, what it authorizes cannot be authentically discovered. 
 I moreover see that many of those who adopt the same gen 
 eral principles with yourself, differ as to what is primitive and 
 catholic truth. I can, therefore, regard your judgment only 
 as your c private judgment ' ; and the knotty question which 
 I have to decide is, whether I am to surrender my ' pri 
 vate judgment ' because your * private judgment ' tells me 
 to do so, when the ' private judgment ' of others, equally 
 learned, equally sincere, and equally commissioned, tells 
 me that I ought not ? and, as I have no data whereon to 
 decide this question, truly I think a harder question for my 
 private judgment, even the Scriptures of truth could scarcely 
 have submitted to it. If I decide as you would have me, I 
 decide absolutely without any reason whatever." " And is 
 not this," would be the honest reply, " is not this the happy 
 state of mind to which we have been endeavoring to reduce 
 
RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 323 
 
 you ? Have we not for years been urging you to inquire 
 whether inquiry be not dangerous ? have we not been rea 
 soning you (in our way) into the belief that reasoning on 
 such subjects is unreasonable 1 And have we not endeavored 
 to illustrate precept by example, and as completely divest 
 ed ourselves of all the attributes of a rational nature, as the 
 ancient caricature of Plato's man ? Have we not shown 
 you, in our own case, how much may be believed, and how 
 little it is necessary to reason ? " * 
 
 * As these remarks may appear severe, we shall justify ourselves by 
 citing the following paragraphs from one of the most elaborate and dan 
 gerous of the Oxford Tracts. If the reader find it impossible to read 
 the first without a smile, we predict that he will not be able to read the 
 second without a sigh ; to think that a reasonable being can talk such 
 nonsense. " I am not here to enter into the question of the grounds on 
 which the duty and blessedness of believing rests ; but I would observe, 
 that nature certainly does give sentence against scepticism, against doubt ? 
 nay, against a habit (I say a habit) of inquiry, against a critical, cold, 
 investigating temper, the temper of what are called shrewd, clear-head 
 ed, hard-headed men ; in that, by the confession of all, happiness is at 
 tached, not to their temper, but rather to confiding, unreasoning faith. I 
 do not say that inquiry may not, under circumstances, be a duty, as going 
 into the cold and rain may be a duty instead of stopping at home ; as 
 serving in war may be a duty ; but it does seem to me preposterous to 
 confess, that free inquiry leads to scepticism, and scepticism makes one 
 less happy than faith, and yet that such free inquiry is right. What is 
 right and what is happy cannot, in the long run and on a large scale, be 
 disjoined. To follow truth can never be a subject of regret ',free inquiry 
 does lead a man to regret the days of his childlike faith; THEREFORE it 
 is not following truth. Those who measure every thing by utility should, 
 on their own principles, embrace the obedience of faith for its very expe 
 dience ; and they should cease this kind of seeking, that they may find. 
 
 "/say, then, that never to have been troubled with a doubt /about the truth of 
 what has been taught ws, is the happiest state of mind; and if any one says, 
 that to maintain this is to admit that heretics ought to remain heretics, 
 and pagans pagans, I deny it. For I have not said that it is a happy 
 thing nerer to add to what you have learned, but not happier to take 
 away. Now, true religion is the summit and perfection of false religions ; 
 it combines in one whatever there is of good and true separately remain 
 ing in each." "So that, in matter of fact, if a religious mind 
 
 were educated in, and sincerely attached to, some form of heathenism or 
 
324 RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 
 
 That we are to receive with cringing acquiescence what 
 ever such men are pleased to say they are commissioned to 
 teach us, will be more than doubted, till they not only lay 
 claim to virtual infallibility, but persuade us to admit their 
 
 heresy, and then were brought under the light of truth, it would be drawn 
 off from error into the truth, not by losing what it had, but by gaining 
 what it had not, not by being unclothed, but by being ' clothed upon,' 
 ' that mortality may be swallowed up of life.' That same principle of 
 faith which attaches it to its original wrong doctrine, would attach it to 
 the truth ; and that portion of its original doctrine which was to be cast 
 off as absolutely false, would not be directly rejected, but indirectly re 
 jected in the reception of the truth which is its opposite." 
 
 The writer of this seriously believes that unthinking acquiescence in 
 whatever we are told, is the most desirable state of mind ; and that the 
 restlessness produced by inquiry affords a presumption, that what is of 
 fered to us is error. The Hottentot, who is contented with his brutal the 
 ology, had better, it seems, view with suspicion the uneasiness of mind 
 produced by the teachers of Christianity, for they only disturb his faith 
 and tranquillity, an ominous sign that he is " not following the truth " ! 
 " Where ignorance is bliss, 't is folly to be wise." " Not so," says this 
 profound doctor, " for I have not said that he is not to add to his belief, 
 only he must be careful not to take away ; he must become a Christian, 
 not by losing what he had, but by gaining what he had not ! " Was ever 
 fatuity like this ? The Hottentot, when he embraces Christianity, it ap 
 pears, only adds to his faith, but does not take any away ! Are we to 
 believe that, if these new evangelists were to attempt the conversion of 
 the heathen, they would act on the above maxims, and facilitate the 
 work, as did the Romish missionaries among the Japanese, by teaching 
 their converts to transfer their whole idolatrous stock in trade to Chris 
 tianity, to make over to the saints the homage they once paid to idols, 
 and baptize their wooden gods by evangelical names ? What must be 
 the desperation of a cause which stands in need of such arguments ? 
 Arguments ! they do not even reach the respectability of sophistry. Are 
 we not justified, then, in saying that these new teachers enjoin a servile 
 and unreasoning belief, the utter prostration of the intellect ? And 
 does not such a paragraph as the above, prove that what they teach they 
 are full willing to practise ? The reader will find the same lesson per 
 petually inculcated, with various degrees of effrontery, throughout the 
 Oxford Tracts. According to these men, one would think that it was 
 so much a duty to distrust our reason, that mystery is an antecedent 
 ground of probability ; and that, if a doctrine be absolutely incompre 
 hensible, it is almost certain to be true ! 
 
RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 325 
 
 claim. The latter they will do when they have perfected us 
 in the grand art of abjuring our reason ; in the former they 
 seem ready to accommodate us at any time. But unhappily 
 for their pretensions, though happily for truth, their virtual 
 claim to infallibility and unquestioning obedience is not, like 
 that of Rome, unanimously and vigorously supported by the 
 whole communion to which they belong. Even if it were, 
 such unity would not (as already shown) relieve the difficul 
 ties of the inquirer ; for as another church makes the same 
 pretensions, the knotty query would still return, " Of two 
 churches, both professing infallibility, which is the more 
 likely to be infallible ? " , 
 
 But such unanimity of pretensions, whether it be of any 
 avail or not, is not to be found. " Quis custodiet ipsos cus- 
 todes 1 " The disease of " Private Judgment " has infected 
 the shepherds as well as the flock ; all the difficulties which, 
 as we have shown, so closely beset the private student in the 
 attempt to collect Catholic truth fromthe voluminous records 
 of antiquity, have been felt by these authorized guides them 
 selves ; and have led to all those varieties of opinion which 
 might have been expected. In this point of view, the recent 
 attempt at producing unity of opinion, and abridging the di 
 versities of " private judgment," is even ludicrous. Never, 
 since the Reformation, has there been such a din of contro 
 versy ; such a hubbub of tumultuous and discordant voices. 
 Ill-fated project of universal concord, which terminates in the 
 indefinite multiplication of controversies ! It really reminds 
 one of the ambitious attempt, described in the " Sketch-Book," 
 at a new and elaborate harmony on the part of Master Simon 
 and his village choristers. " The usual services of the choir," 
 
 says the author, " were managed pretty well, but 
 
 the great trial was an anthem that had been prepared and ar 
 ranged by Master Simon, and on which he had founded great 
 expectations. Unluckily there was a blunder at the very out 
 set ; the musicians became flurried ; Master Simon was in a 
 fever ; every thing went on lamely and irregularly, until they 
 28 
 
326 RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 
 
 came to a chorus beginning, ' Now let us sing with one ac 
 cord,' which seemed to be a signal for parting company, and 
 all became discord and confusion." Even thus is it on the 
 present occasion ; our very ears ache with the elaborate dis 
 sonance of this novel attempt at harmony. 
 
 There is one point, and but one, in which the circumstan 
 ces attending this alleged attempt to restore " primitive truth " 
 resemble those attending its first establishment ; and in that 
 we must confess the analogy to be perfect. These new 
 teachers have come, " not to bring peace on the earth, but 
 a sword." 
 
 Manifold are thfe arguments in favor of the " Right of Pri 
 vate Judgment " on which we have not insisted, and on which, 
 at this period of the world's history, it would be most superflu 
 ous to dwell. Those, of course, which have been mentioned 
 as demonstrating the wickedness and folly of persecution, 
 are in favor of it, for whatever tends to prove the one 
 wrong, tends to prove the other right. To these many more 
 might be added ; some deduced from the intellectual and 
 moral nature of man, others from the relations in which he 
 stands to God : some from the declarations of Scripture, 
 others from the examples it holds out to our imitation : some 
 from abstract justice, and others from an enlarged expedien 
 cy. The arguments on which we have principally insisted 
 are, that the right must in fact be conceded, whether we like 
 it or not ; that the evils with which it is supposed to be con 
 nected, be they greater or less, are not likely to be remedied 
 till we find what we shall be long in seeking, an infallible in 
 terpreter of infallible truth ; and that any theory short of that 
 involves a flagitious tampering with the rights of conscience. 
 
 On this last argument, which we have already noticed, we 
 should wish to add a remark or two ; for this alone would be 
 sufficient to prove the folly of attempting to circumscribe the 
 Right in question. If it be man's duty to embrace the 
 truth ; and if it be also his duty, which necessarily follows, 
 to embrace that which he honestly deems the truth, he must 
 
RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 327 
 
 follow his convictions whithersoever they lead him, in spite 
 of any authority whatsoever not admitted by him to be in 
 fallible ; in that case, of course, doubt or denial would im 
 ply a contradiction of his own convictions. It is not at the 
 option of a conscientious man, no matter how he came by 
 his conscience, to debate whether he shall act upon its 
 convictions. He cannot do otherwise. Take the case of a 
 man who believes in his conscience that such and such doc 
 trines are false, such and such rites sinful. Right or wrong, 
 this is his state of mind. What is he to do ? Can any au 
 thorize him to profess that these doctrines are true, or to prac 
 tise those rites ? If any one will answer. in the affirmative, 
 he will say more than any casuists, ancient or modern, out of 
 the school of the Jesuits, will expressly affirm. He is bound, 
 then, to yield obedience to the dictates of his conscience, 
 whether his opinions be true or false : if true, even our oppo 
 nents will not say that he can be authorized to profess the 
 contrary. Nor is it otherwise, supposing them erroneous ; 
 for by the express authority of Saint Paul, (who declares 
 that u to him who thinketh any thing evil " it is so, and that 
 even a perfectly indifferent act assumes a moral malignity if 
 performed with a reluctant or accusing conscience,) as well 
 as by the decision of all the best moralists and casuists, an 
 erroneous conscience obliges as much as a well-informed 
 one ; and by none is this more strenuously maintained than 
 by the great Divines of the Church of England.* 
 
 * It is asserted by Jeremy Taylor in his " Ductor Dubitantium"; by 
 Barrow in his Latin poem, entitled " Conscientia erronea obligat"; and 
 by Archbishop Sharp, cited by Locke. Stillingfleet says : " The plea of 
 an erroneous conscience takes not off the obligation to follow the dic 
 tates of it ; for as a man is bound to lay it down supposing it erroneous, 
 
 so he is bound not to go against it while it is not laid down So 
 
 that let men turn and shift about which way they will, by the very same 
 arguments that any will prove separation from the Church of Rome 
 lawful, because she requires unlawful things as conditions of her 
 communion, it will be proved lawful not to conform to any suspected 
 or unlawful practice required by any church governors upon the same 
 
328 RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 
 
 The usual evasion is, " Let him further inquire " ; and 
 wise counsel this may be, in the first instance. But suppose 
 a person says he has inquired, or that he inquires again, and 
 comes back in the same mind. What is he to do ? He will 
 say that he cannot be inquiring for ever, that religion is a 
 practical thing, and must not be matter of investigation all 
 his days, that he may as well embrace error as live in a 
 state of continual pyrrhonism, and that he has no reason 
 to expect that he will ever have a greater moral certainty than 
 he has. Once more, then, we demand, What is he to do ? 
 Right or wrong, he must follow the convictions of his con 
 science, to him the supreme law. 
 
 It is true that, after all, the individual may be much to 
 blame ; but not for thus acting in obedience to the dictates of 
 his conscience in the last resort. There may have been haste 
 in the inquiry, or no inquiry at all when urged to make it, 
 or unworthy passions and prepossessions in favor of such and 
 such conclusions. In these respects there may be much to 
 blame, but not in the act of obedience to conscience itself. On 
 the other hand, if, rare case ! there has been nothing want 
 ing in the process of inquiry which honesty and diligence could 
 supply, no negligence, no want of candor or patience, the 
 man is guiltless, even supposing the opinion erroneous, unless 
 we suppose God to punish error absolutely and wholly invol 
 untary. If, then, a maij can truly say, " I believe in my 
 conscience such and such religious doctrines are God's truth, 
 and such and such religious usages most pleasing to him," it 
 
 terms ; if the thing so required be, after serious and sober inquiry, 
 judged unwarrantable by a man's own conscience." 
 
 "If," says Chillingworth, in his strong manner, "they suffer them 
 selves neither to bee betraid into their errors, nor kept in them by any 
 sin of their will ; if they doe their best endeavour to free themselves from 
 all errors, and yet faile of it through humaine frailty ; so well am I per- 
 swaded of the goodnesse of God, that if in me alone should meet a con 
 fluence of all such errors of all the Protestants in the world that were 
 thus qualified, I should not be so much afraid of them all as I should be 
 to ask pardon for them." 
 
EIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 329 
 
 is no longer at his option whether he shall profess the one or 
 practise the other ; and in like manner, if he can truly say, 
 " I believe in my conscience such and such doctrines are 
 false, and such and such usages displeasing to God," it is 
 not in his power even to appear to sanction either. He must 
 obey that which is his law, his conscience ; in other words, 
 if his private judgment be at variance with any authority 
 whatever, not admitted to be infallible, he must obey the first 
 and not the second. To this there is no exception. 
 
 It is not easy to find men who will avowedly dispute the 
 rrraxim here laid down. The opponent generally contents 
 himself with daring those who maintain it to apply it to cer 
 tain extreme cases. We should not shrink from the chal 
 lenge. We believe that the general principle is universally 
 applicable ; and that the instances which seem opposed are 
 either imaginary or irrelevant. Let us take the strongest 
 conceivable cases, which, however absurd, some have been 
 modest and reasonable enough to adduce, that, for exam 
 ple, of a man who is supposed to be conscientiously prompted 
 to commit murder or robbery. " Is the man," they trium 
 phantly ask, " to be justified, and treated as innocent ? " To 
 this, the arguments in reply are many and obvious. First, 
 if we are to suppose that such conscientious persons are im 
 pelled by conscience to commit murder or robbery as such, 
 that is, under the persuasion of their being crimes, then, 
 1. The notion is simply a contradiction. 2. Such a case, so 
 far as we are aware, has never been alleged, and might 
 safely be left to be considered when it occurs. 3. Supposing 
 such a case to be alleged, all mankind would feel constrained, 
 on ordinary calculations of probability, to believe either that 
 the parties were mad, and therefore truly excused on that 
 ground, or that they pretended to hold such a singular creed 
 for an evil purpose. They would, therefore, be either con 
 fined as lunatics, or punished as knaves, according to the 
 evidence of their being the one or the other. 4. Whether 
 they be conscientious or not, society must protect every one 
 28* 
 
330 RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 
 
 against any infraction of his civil rights ; and, for this reason, 
 the conscientious persons who manifest their piety by infring 
 ing them, may be very properly knocked on the head. "The 
 magistrate," says Bayle, with a gravity which is almost 
 amusing, " having received a power from God and man, of 
 putting murderers to death, may justly punish him who kills a 
 man from the instincts of conscience ; for it is not his busi 
 ness to stand winnowing those rare and singular cases, in 
 which conscience may happen to fall into illusions in this 
 matter." But, secondly, if by those who commit murder or 
 robbeiy for conscience' sake be meant those who commit 
 acts, which, under ordinary circumstances, they themselves 
 would consider crimes, but which, in their judgment, cease 
 to be so when performed at the prompting of conscience, 
 for the repression, for example, of other people's consciences, 
 or for the propagation of " the true faith," we might con 
 tent ourselves with replying, 1. That we never heard of such 
 cases among those who contend that conscience is the su 
 preme law, and that every one must obey its dictates. All 
 who believe this necessarily learn to respect other people's 
 rights, as well as to assert their own ; it is only amongst 
 those who deny this maxim, that we find such instances as 
 the above ; and we might safely leave the objectors, there 
 fore, to their own dark books of casuistry, in which the pre 
 cise modes and degrees in which they may " do evil that 
 good may come," are duly set forth. Assuredly, it is rather 
 hard to adduce, against the operation of any principle, in 
 stances which, if that principle were in operation, could not 
 even exist. Nevertheless, we are ready to affirm, 2. That 
 if the said persecutors be truly and conscientiously convinced 
 that it is their duty, as in the sight of God, to persecute, 
 they are justified in so doing while in that state of mind ; 
 though, in accordance with what has been laid down, they 
 may have contracted a great amount of guilt in the process 
 by which they have arrived at it. 3. That if they have ar 
 rived at it after having honestly investigated the subject, and 
 
RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 331 
 
 without any voluntary error or self-deception, though we 
 have our doubts whether there ever was such a case, 
 they are wholly innocent ; but, 4. That, as they are in 
 fringing other people's civil rights, though they do not think 
 so, it is perfectly competent to those upon whom they are 
 exercising their freaks of eccentric piety, to deal with them 
 as with the aforesaid conscientious criminals ; and punish 
 them, (if they have the power,) not for tormenting men 
 from the best possible motives, but for tormenting them, 
 those who are de facto " tormented " not being capable of 
 understanding such refined distinctions. 
 
 Thus the principle advocated is liable to no abuse, nor 
 does society lose any one of its present safeguards by its 
 universal adoption. But even were it otherwise, whether 
 would it be preferable, that one man in a century should 
 go unpunished, because, under a peculiar species of hallu 
 cination, he professed himself conscientiously impelled to 
 perpetrate moral wrong ; or that we should recognize a prin 
 ciple which would justify the perpetual and universal oppres 
 sion of conscience for speculative opinions ? 
 
 In fact, however, nothing can be more ridiculous than to 
 profess any alarm lest mankind should plead conscience in 
 favor of the violation of any of the laws of practical morals. 
 In these there has ever been, and ever will be, a remarkable 
 unanimity. As Bayle has well said, " We are all agreed 
 about the doctrines which teach men to live soberly and 
 righteously, to love God, to abstain from revenge, to forgive 
 our enemies, to render good for evil, to be charitable. We 
 are divided about points which tend not to make the yoke of 
 Christian morality either heavier or lighter. The Papists be 
 lieve transubstantiation ; the Reformed believe it not. This 
 makes not for vice one way or other." To the same pur 
 port, a very different writer, Robert Hall, has observed : 
 44 The doctrines of our holy religion may be wofully cur 
 tailed and corrupted, and its profession sink into formality ; 
 but its moral precepts are so plain and striking, and guarded 
 
332 RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 
 
 by such clear and awful sanctions, as to render it impossible 
 it can ever be converted into an active instrument of vice. 
 Let the appeal be made to facts. Look through all the dif 
 ferent sects and parties into which professed Christians are 
 unhappily divided. Where is there one to be found who has 
 innovated in the rule of life, by substituting vice in the place 
 of virtue ? " We may safely restrict ourselves, therefore, 
 to the case of speculative opinions ; and we will take the 
 strongest. It may be said, " Is a man, conscientiously con 
 vinced that the Bible is false, no longer bound to believe it ? " 
 We answer, he has a prior duty to perform. To believe 
 the Bible true, in that very state of mind in which he believes 
 it false, is a simple impossibility, and therefore not directly 
 his duty. But it is his duty to inquire ; and we put sufficient 
 faith in the variety and conclusiveness of the evidences of 
 its truth, to believe that, if he inquire honestly, he will believe 
 it true. If there be a case of one who has thus honestly in 
 quired, and still conscientiously believes it false, if he can 
 truly allege that he has left no means of investigation unem 
 ployed, and suffered no prejudice to interfere with his judg 
 ment, we shall rather choose to believe that he labors 
 under some -invincible obliquity of intellect, which in the eye 
 of the Omniscient renders his error innocent, than admit the 
 monstrous dogma, that he incurs guilt for error absolutely 
 involuntary. But whether there be such a case is quite an 
 other question. 
 
 We maintain, then, the principle asserted by the illustri 
 ous writers already cited, and we apply it consistently and 
 universally. 
 
 By the assertion of this principle, we are far from justify 
 ing separation from any religious communion, merely be 
 cause there are some things we disapprove, or may wish oth 
 erwise. If this were acted upon, there would be as many 
 sects as individuals : we merely contend, that, w r hen such 
 objections have assumed the form of conscientious scruples, 
 so that he who feels them can honestly say, " In my opinion 
 
RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 333 
 
 I cannot profess such a doctrine, or practise such a rite, or 
 appear to sanction either the one or the other, without offend 
 ing God, or fearing lest I should do so," his separation is not 
 only justified, but necessitated. Be it about the most insig- ' 
 nificant matter that ever disturbed a " weak brother," it mat 
 ters not ; for while in that condition it is not insignificant to 
 him. If actually in the wrong, still it appears to him that he 
 is in the right ; ' and while in that state he must act in har 
 mony with his convictions. 
 
 People have not been slow to acknowledge this doctrine 
 in words ; but they need to be reminded of it, since they will 
 not fairly act upon it. They will still charge the Separatist, 
 even the conscientious Separatist, with " sin," forgetting 
 that, in doing so, they not only assume that they infallibly 
 know his opinions to be erroneous, which (if their modesty 
 be no obstacle, and it seldom is) they have a perfect right to 
 do ; but that, whether right or wrong, there has been negli 
 gence, want of candor, or some sinister bias in the process 
 by which he has arrived at them ; and this no man has a right 
 to assume unless he has the prerogative " of discerning spir 
 its." We were particularly amused with an example of this 
 sort of inconsistency in one of the " Oxford Tracts," * in 
 which, while it is admitted that the conscientious Dissenter is 
 not necessarily a " sinner," still it remains true that his dis 
 sent is a " sin." We can imagine the perplexity of one who, 
 meditating the crime of nonconformity, comes to a clergy 
 man professing these delightfully puzzling doctrines for so 
 lution of his doubts and difficulties. " Can I," h'e might say, 
 " separate from the Church of England without 4 sin ' ; see 
 ing that I cannot affirm what she affirms, nor practise what 
 she enjoins, without, in my opinion, committing a sin ? " 
 " If that be the state of your conscience," would be the re 
 ply, " you cannot belong to the Church of England ; but 
 remember, that neither can you secede from her without 
 
 * No. LI. 
 
334 RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 
 
 sin." " Why, then, I am in a hopeful case," rejoins the 
 miserable recusant ; " I am ruined either way ; for whether 
 I remain in the church, or go out of it, and one of them I 
 must do, I commit a sin." Then how glad will his spirit 
 ual adviser be to administer that consolation, which his re 
 vered teachers of Oxford have, for this very case, made 
 and provided ! He will say, " You must distinguish here : 
 Though you cannot secede from us without sin, yet it does 
 not hence follow that you are a sinner." On this his coun 
 tenance brightens up, and he is most eager to learn that aus 
 picious doctrine, by which it appears that a man may commit 
 a sin and yet be no sinner. Whereupon his oracle cites the 
 ipsissima verba of the " Tracts," and responds : " To say 
 that a particular thing is a sin, is a very different thing from 
 
 saying that every one who does it is a sinner To 
 
 kill a fellow-creature is undoubtedly a crime ; but you would 
 not say that the person who killed another by accident, or in 
 defence of his country or of his own life, or by command of 
 lawful authorities, is a criminal ? " * No, would be the easy 
 reply ; neither should we say, in that case, that killing was a 
 crime. By parity of reasoning, if the conscientious Dissenter 
 be no sinner for dissent, it can only be because dissent, in 
 that case, is no sin. You ought upon your principle to say, 
 that the executioner, in hanging a man, commits a crime, 
 though it is true he is no criminal ! This distinction, there 
 fore, will not much help the recusant ; and he is still left to 
 decide the miserable alternative of sinning by remaining in 
 the church, or sinning by going out of it. 
 
 But we must conclude ; and we shall do so with a few 
 reflections of a general nature on the advantages of the 
 " Right of Private Judgment " ; amongst which, with some 
 risk of being charged with paradox, we shall venture to enu 
 merate many of its reputed " evils." 
 
 Whatever the evils incidental to the Right, and we by 
 
 * Oxford Tracts, No. LI. p. 3. 
 
RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 335 
 
 no means deny that there are evils, they are trivial com 
 pared to the advantages it secures. It frees us at once from 
 every form and degree of persecution ; it leaves inviolate 
 the supremacy over conscience to Him who alone is its fit 
 ting and rightful Sovereign ; it permits the conscience itself 
 to move freely in obedience to its essential laws ; it secures 
 for the propagation of truth the only weapons which she can 
 successfully employ, argument and persuasion ; and it robs 
 error of the only weapons she can successfully employ, 
 penalties and violence : in a word, it prevents truth from re 
 sorting to that in which alone she is weak, and error from 
 resorting to that in which alone she is strong. But further, 
 to a philosophic mind, which calmly and soberly considers 
 the subject, there will always be reason to doubt whether 
 even what we call the evils incidental to the exercise of 
 " private judgment" are so in reality; and whether they are 
 not connected directly or indirectly with more than a coun 
 terbalancing amount of good. 
 
 To confine ourselves to the common argument against the 
 exercise of the " Right " derived from the various interpre 
 tations of the Scriptures, we are by no means convinced 
 that absolute unity of opinion would be a benefit at all. 
 "If, as we devoutly believe, an honest investigation of their 
 contents will in general secure even to the humblest a knowl 
 edge of all that is essential to salvation, the exercise of the 
 right is vindicated ; unless it be pretended that it is a dreadful 
 evil that men should differ on points which are not essential 
 to their salvation. Now, that there has ever been a remarka 
 ble concurrence of opinion with regard to the most important 
 doctrines, is undeniable. The only question therefore is, 
 whether the remaining differences may not be connected with 
 advantages greater than would accrue from absolute uniform 
 ity of opinion. This we do not think it difficult to prove. 
 
 That the Scriptures should be attended with difficulties, 
 was fit, probably inevitable, in itself; that those difficulties 
 should lead to varieties of opinion, was an incidental result 
 
336 RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 
 
 of the prevailing reasons which induced the Divine Author 
 to leave them on its pages. Such reasons we may readily 
 discover. 
 
 With an overbalance of evidence in behalf of the author 
 ity of the Bible generally, and of its more important revela 
 tions, it was still not desirable that that evidence should be 
 of such a nature as to necessitate conviction, and render the 
 exercise of docility, candor, and faith impracticable, 
 still less to make all diligence in its study unnecessary ; it 
 was fit that the Scriptures should contain some obscurities on 
 minor points, to exercise patience, stimulate inquiry, teach 
 humility, rebuke pride, exercise faith. Nor is this all. The 
 differences of opinion thence resulting afford the various 
 communities of Christians, if they would but use it, the most 
 obvious and easy method of testing and exercising the prac 
 tical power of those principles of charity which they all pro 
 fess. Charity towards those who think just with ourselves, is 
 but an enlarged selfishness : we are pleased to look at the 
 reflection of our own fair orthodoxy in the mirror pf their 
 minds. But to feel that charity, and to manifest it in defiance 
 of the points dn which we differ, requires and implies a 
 higher principle. Charity to our own party is often but anoth 
 er name for party spirit : give us the charity which constrains 
 " Judah not to vex Ephraim, and Ephraim not to envy Ju- 
 dah," the charity which induced the Samaritan to perform 
 offices of kindness to the perishing Jew. Painful as are the 
 disputes and controversies on non-essential points, we be 
 lieve the time will come when the sublime spectacle of es 
 sential unity amidst minor differences will be fully realized ; 
 and when it will be seen how superior, after all, is such 
 " unity of the spirit " to any " uniformity of the letter." 
 
 We may add, that to demand that there should be perfect 
 uniformity in religious opinions, is to demand a mere impos 
 sibility, so long as minds are differently constituted. This is 
 confirmed by the general analogies observable in the consti 
 tution and development of human nature. God has so con- 
 
RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 337 
 
 structed us, that, while there is remarkable uniformity both 
 in the physical and moral peculiarities on which the very 
 existence and social well-being of the race depend, there 
 are endless diversities on all points which do not involve 
 them. It is much the same with Christianity. The learned 
 and the unlearned, if sincere, generally form a very similar 
 notion of its fundamental doctrines. All beyond (and even 
 the theory of these) is the source of interminable diversities 
 of sentiment. 
 
 Let men say what they will, they will find it hard to dis 
 cover any volume which, in all its great outlines, is plainer 
 than the " Book of God." It has its obscurities and its mys 
 teries, it is true, wisely left there, as already attempted to 
 be shown ; but they trouble not the humble and docile, 
 myriads of whom, almost without any teacher but itself, have 
 learned from it enough to teach them how to live well, and 
 how to die happy. Its light has illumined the whole pathway 
 of their present pilgrimage, and penetrated the depths of the 
 sepulchre with the radiance of that " hope which is full of 
 immortality." So far from its being true, that the indiscrim 
 inate exercise of the Right of private judgment amongst the 
 humbler classes leads to interminable diversities of interpreta 
 tion and of doctrine, it is notorious that most of the profitless 
 controversies which have obscured the Bible and cursed the 
 world have originated with those who have assumed to be the 
 religious instructors of mankind. They have not sprung up 
 amongst the poor, nor by the poor have they been cherished. 
 It is, therefore, with a feeling of just indignation, that we 
 hear professed Christians and professed Protestants at all 
 events those who are not professed Romanists giving utter 
 ance to the sentiment, " that the private student of Scripture 
 would not ordinarily gain a knowledge of the Gospel from 
 it." Such a doctrine is not merely an insult to common 
 sense, it is a libel on the Divine Author of the Bible. Are 
 we to believe that, " knowing perfectly what was in man," he 
 has yet so constructed the volume of revelation, that even its 
 29 
 
338 RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 
 
 fundamental doctrines remain an inscrutable mystery ? Or 
 did the great Teacher he sent, teach in so peculiar a manner, 
 that even the more important truths he taught remained unin 
 telligible ? If so, we must receive in a new and monstrous 
 sense the assurance, that " he spake as never man spake " ; 
 that he spake, not so much to reveal, as to disguise ! But 
 this record remains, that, while learned ignorance cavilled 
 and derided, " THE COMMON PEOPLE HEARD HIM GLADLY." 
 
 Far different from the judgment of these spurious Protes 
 tants was that of Bishop Horsley, with whose weighty words 
 we shall now conclude. ." I will not scruple to assert, that 
 the most illiterate Christian, if he can but read his English 
 Bible, and will take the pains to read it in this manner (co/n- 
 paring parallel passages), will not only attain all that practi 
 cal knowledge which is necessary to his salvation ; but, by 
 God's blessing, he will become learned in every thing relat 
 ing to his religion in such a degree that he will not be liable 
 to be misled, either by the refined arguments, or by the 
 false assertions, of those who endeavor to ingraft their own 
 opinion upon the oracles of God. He may safely be igno 
 rant of all philosophy except what is to be learned from the 
 sacred books ; which, indeed, contain the highest philosophy 
 adapted to the lowest apprehensions. He may safely remain 
 ignorant of all history, except so much of the history of 
 the first ages of the Jewish and of the Christian Church, as 
 is to be gathered from the canonical books of the Old and 
 New Testament. Let him study these in the manner I rec 
 ommend, and let him never cease to pray for the illumination 
 of that Spirit by which these books were dictated ; and the 
 whole compass of abstruse philosophy and recondite history 
 shall furnish no argument with which the perverse will of 
 man shall be able to shake this learned Christian's faith. 
 The Bible, thus studied, will indeed prove to be what we 
 Protestants esteem it, a certain and sufficient rule of faith 
 and practice." 
 
REASON AND FAITH : THEIR CLAIMS AND 
 CONFLICTS.* 
 
 " REASON and Faith," says one of our old divines, with 
 the quaintness characteristic of his day, " resemble the two 
 sons of the patriarch ; Reason is the first-born, but Faith 
 inherits .the blessing." The image is ingenious, and the an 
 tithesis striking ; but nevertheless the sentiment is far from 
 just. It is hardly right to represent Faith as younger than Rea 
 son : the fact undoubtedly being, that human creatures trust 
 and believe long before they reason or know. The truth is, 
 that both Reason and Faith are coeval with the nature of 
 man, and were designed to dwell in his heart together. They 
 are, and ever were, and, in such creatures as ourselves, must 
 be, reciprocally complementary ; neither can exclude the 
 other. It is as impossible to exercise an acceptable faith 
 without reason for so exercising it, that is, without exer- 
 
 * "Edinburgh Review," October, 1849 ; with an Appendix. 
 
 1. Historic Doubts relative to Napoleon Bonaparte. Eighth edition, pp. 
 60. 8vo. London. 
 
 2. The Nemesis of Faith. By J. A. FROUDE, M. A., Fellow of Exeter 
 College, Oxford. 12mo. London, pp. 227. 
 
 3. Popular Christianity, its Transition State and Probable Development. 
 By F. J. FOXTON, B. A. ; formerly of Pembroke College, Oxford, and 
 Perpetual Curate of Stoke Prior and Docklow, Herefordshire. 12mo. 
 London, pp. 226. 
 
340 REASON AND FAITH : 
 
 cising reason while we exercise faith,* as it is to appre 
 hend by our reason, exclusive of faith, all the truths on which 
 we are daily compelled to act, whether in relation to this 
 world or the next. Neither is it right to represent either of 
 them as failing of the promised heritage, except as both may 
 fail alike, by perversion from their true end, and depravation 
 of their genuine nature ; for if to the faith of which the 
 New Testament speaks so much, a peculiar blessing is prom 
 ised, it is evident from that same volume that it is not a 
 " faith without reason " any more than a " faith without 
 works," which is commended by the Author of Christianity. 
 And this is sufficiently proved by the injunction " to be ready 
 to give a reason for the hope " and therefore for the faith 
 " which is in us." 
 
 If, therefore, we were to imitate the quaintness of the old 
 divine, on whose dictum we have been commenting, we 
 should rather compare Reason and Faith to the two trusty 
 spies, " faithful amongst the faithless," who confirmed each 
 other's report of " that good land which flowed with milk and 
 honey," and to both of whom the promise of a rich inher 
 itance there was given, and in due time amply redeemed. 
 Or, rather, if we might be permitted to pursue the same vein 
 a little further, and throw over our shoulders for a moment 
 that mantle of allegory which none but Bunyan could wear 
 long and wear gracefully, we should represent Reason and 
 Faith as twin-born ; the one, in form and features the 
 image of manly beauty, the other, of feminine grace and 
 gentleness ; but to each of whom, alas ! is allotted a sad 
 privation. While the bright eyes of Reason are full of 
 
 * Let it not be said that this is playing upon an ambiguity in the 
 word Reason ; considered in the first clause as an argument ; and, in the 
 second, as the characteristic endowment of our species. The distinction 
 between Reason and Seasoning (though most important) does not affect 
 the above statement ; for though Reason may be exercised where there 
 is no giving of reasons, there can be no giving of reasons without the 
 exercise of Reason. 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 341 
 
 piercing and restless intelligence, his ear is closed to sound ; 
 and while Faith has an ear of exquisite delicacy, on her 
 sightless orbs, as she lifts them towards heaven, the sunbeam 
 plays in vain. Hand in hand the brother and sister, in all 
 mutual love, pursue their way, through a world on which, like 
 ours, day breaks and night falls alternate ; by day the eyes 
 of Reason are the guide of Faith, and by night the ear of 
 Faith is the guide of Reason. As is wont with those who 
 labor under these privations respectively, Reason is apt to 
 be eager, impetuous, impatient of that instruction which his 
 infirmity will not permit him readily to apprehend ; while 
 Faith, gentle and docile, is ever willing to listen to the voice 
 by which alone truth and wisdom can effectually reach her. 
 
 It has been shown by Butler in the fourth and fifth chap 
 ters (Part I.) of his great work, that the entire constitution 
 and condition of man, viewed in relation to the present world 
 alone, and, consequently, all the analogies derived from that 
 fact in relation to a future world, suggest the conclusion, that 
 we are here the subjects of a probationary discipline, or in 
 a course of education for another state of existence. But 
 it has not, perhaps, been sufficiently insisted on, that if in the 
 actual course of that education, (of which enlightened obe 
 dience to the " law of virtue," as Butler expresses it, or, 
 which is the same thing, to the dictates of supreme wisdom 
 and goodness, is the great end,) we give an unchecked ascen 
 dency to either Reason or Faith, we vitiate the whole process. 
 The chief instrument by which that process is carried on is 
 not Reason alone, or Faith alone, but their well-balanced 
 and reciprocal interaction. It is a system of alternate checks 
 and limitations, in which Reason does not supersede Faith, 
 nor Faith encroach on Reason. But our meaning will be 
 more evident when we have made one or two remarks on 
 what are conceived to be their respective provinces. 
 
 In the domain of Reason men generally include, 1st, what 
 are called " intuitions " ; 2d, " necessary deductions " from 
 these ; and, 3d, deductions from their own direct " experi- 
 
 29* 
 
342 REASON AND FAITH I 
 
 ence 
 
 and propositions which are received, not without reasons in 
 deed, but for reasons underived from the intrinsic evidence 
 (whether intuitive or deductive, or directly experimental) of 
 the propositions themselves ; for reasons (such as credible 
 testimony, for example) extrinsic to the proper meaning and 
 significance of such propositions. Yet such reasons, by ac 
 cumulations and convergency, may be capable of subduing 
 the force of any difficulties, or improbabilities, which cannot 
 be demonstrated to involve absolute contradictions.* 
 
 * Of the first kind of truths, or those perceived by intuition, we have 
 examples in what are called " self-evident axioms," and " fundamental 
 laws " or " conditions of thought," which no wise man has ever attempt 
 ed to prove. Of the second, we have examples in the entire fabric of 
 mathematical science, reared from its basis of axioms and definitions, as 
 well as in every other necessary deduction from admitted premises. The 
 third virtually includes any conclusion in science based on direct exper 
 iment, or observation ; though the belief of the truth even of Newton's 
 system of the world, when received as Locke says he received, and as 
 the generality of men receive it, without being able to follow the 
 steps by which the great geometer proves his conclusions, may be 
 represented rather as an act of Faith than an act of Reason ; as much 
 so as a belief in the truth of Christianity, founded on its historic and 
 other evidences. The greater part of a man's knowledge, indeed, even 
 of science, even the greater part of a scientific man's knowledge of 
 science, based as it is on testimony alone (and which so often compels 
 him to renounce to-day what he thought certain yesterday), may be 
 not unjustly considered as more allied to Faith than Reason. It may 
 be said, perhaps, that the above classification of the truths received by 
 Reason and Faith respectively is arbitrary ; that even some of their al 
 leged sources are not always clearly distinguishable ; that the evidence 
 of experience may in some sort be reduced to testimony, that of sense ; 
 and testimony reduced to experience, that of human veracity under 
 given circumstances ; both being founded on the observed uniformity of 
 certain phenomena under similar conditions. We admit the truth of 
 this ; and we admit it the more willingly, as it shows that so inextrica 
 bly intertwined in our nature are the roots both of Reason and Faith, 
 that no definitions that can be framed will completely separate them ; 
 none that will not involve many phenomena which may be said to fall 
 under the dominion of one as much as of the other. It is sufficient for 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 343 
 
 In receiving important doctrines on the strength of such 
 evidence, and in holding to them against the perplexities they 
 involve, or, what is harder still, against the prejudices they 
 oppose, every exercise of an intelligent faith will, on anal 
 ysis, be found to consist ; its only necessary limit will be 
 proven contradictions in the propositions submitted to it ; for 
 then no evidence can justify belief, or even render it pos 
 sible. But no other difficulties, however great, will justify 
 unbelief, where man has all that he can justly demand, 
 evidence such in its nature as he can deal with, and on which 
 he is accustomed to act in his most important affairs in this 
 world (thus admitting its validity), and such in amount as to 
 render it more likely that the doctrines it substantiates are 
 true, than, from mere ignorance of the mode in which these 
 difficulties can be solved, he can infer them to be false. 
 " Probabilities," says Bishop Butler, " are to us the very 
 guide of life " ; and when the probabilities arise out of evi 
 dence on which we are competent to pronounce, and the 
 improbabilities merely from our surmises, where we have 
 no evidence to deal with, and perhaps, from the limitation of 
 our capacities, could not deal with it if we had it, it is not 
 difficult to see what course practical wisdom tells man he 
 ought to pursue ; and which he invariably does pursue, what 
 ever difficulties beset him, in all cases except one ! 
 
 The more we reflect, the more we shall see that an invio 
 lable union a mutual dependence of Reason and Faith 
 is the great law of the moral school in which we are being 
 
 our practical purpose, to take, without any too subtle refinement, the line 
 of demarcation which is, perhaps, as obvious as any, and as generally 
 recognized. Few would say that a generalized inference from direct ex 
 periment was not matter of reason rather than of faith ; though an act 
 of faith is involved in the process ; and few would not call confidence in 
 testimony, where probabilities were nearly balanced, by the name of faith 
 rather than reason, though an act of reason is involved in that process. 
 We are much more anxious to show their general involution with one 
 another than the points of discrimination between them. 
 
344 REASON AND FAITH I 
 
 educated. This law is equally, or almost equally, its charac 
 teristic, whether we regard man simply in his present condi 
 tion, or in his present in relation to his future condition, 
 as an inhabitant only of this world, or a candidate for anoth 
 er ; and to this law, by a series of analogies as striking as 
 any of those which Butler has pointed out (and on which we 
 heartily wish his comprehensive genius had expended a chap 
 ter or two), Christianity, in the demands it makes on loth 
 principles conjointly, is evidently adapted. 
 
 Men often speak, indeed, as if the exercise of Faith was 
 excluded from their condition as inhabitants of the present 
 world. But it requires but a very slight consideration to show, 
 that the boasted prerogative of Reason is here also that of a 
 limited monarch ; and that its attempts to make itself abso 
 lute can only end in its own dethronement, and, after suc 
 cessive revolutions, in all the anarchy of absolute pyr- 
 rhonism. 
 
 For in the intellectual and moral education of man, consid 
 ered merely as a citizen of the present world, we see the 
 constant and inseparable union of the two principles, and 
 provision made for their perpetual exercise. He cannot ad 
 vance a step, indeed, without both. We see faith demanded 
 not only amidst the dependence and ignorance in which child 
 hood and youth are passed ; not only in the whole process by 
 which we acquire the imperfect knowledge which is to fit us 
 for being men ; but to the very last we may be truly said to 
 believe far more than we know. " Indeed," says Butler, " the 
 unsatisfactory nature of the evidence with which we are 
 obliged to take up in the daily course of life, is scarce to be 
 expressed." Nay, in an intelligible sense, even the " prima 
 ry truths," or " first principles," or " fundamental laws of 
 thought," or " self-evident maxims," or " intuitions," or by 
 whatever other names philosophers have been pleased to des 
 ignate them, which, in a special sense, are the very province 
 of reason, as contradistinguished from " reasoning," or logi 
 cal deduction, may be said almost as truly to depend on faith 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 345 
 
 as on reason for their reception.* For the only ground for 
 believing them true is that man cannot help so believing 
 them ! The same may be said of that great fact, without 
 which the whole world would be at a stand-still, a belief in 
 the uniformity of the phenomena of external nature ; that the 
 same sun, for example, which rose yesterday and to-day, will 
 rise again to-morrow. That this cannot be demonstrated, is 
 admitted on all hands ; and that it is not absolutely proved 
 from experience is evident, both from the fact that experience 
 cannot prove any thing future, and from the fact that the uni 
 formity supposed is only accepted as partially and transiently 
 true ; the great bulk of mankind, even while they so confident 
 ly act upon that uniformity, rejecting the idea of its being an 
 eternal uniformity. Every theist believes that the present 
 order of the universe once began to be ; and every Christian, 
 and most other men, believe that it will also one day cease 
 to be. 
 
 But perhaps the most striking example of the helplessness 
 to which man is soon reduced if he relies upon his reason 
 alone, is the spectacle of the issue of his investigations into 
 that which one would imagine he must know most intimately, 
 if he knows any thing ; and that is, his own nature, his own 
 mind. There is something, to one who reflects long enough 
 upon it, inexpressibly whimsical in the questions which the 
 mind is for ever putting to itself respecting itself; and to 
 which the said mind returns from its dark caverns only an 
 echo. We are apt, when we speculate about the mind, to 
 forget for the moment, that it is at once the querist and the 
 oracle ; and to regard it as something out of itself, like a 
 mineral in the hands of the analytic chemist. We cannot 
 fully enter into the absurdities of its condition, except by re- 
 
 * Common language seems to indicate this : since we call that dispo 
 sition of mind which leads some men to deny the above fundamental 
 truths (or affect to deny them), not by a word which indicates the oppo 
 site of reason, but the opposite of faith, Scepticism, Unbelief, Incre 
 dulity. 
 
346 REASON AND FAITH ! 
 
 membering that it is our own wise selves who so grotesquely 
 bewilder us. The mind, on such occasions, takes itself (if we 
 may so speak) into its own hands, turns itself about as a sav 
 age would a watch, or a monkey a letter ; interrogates itself, 
 listens to the echo of its own voice, and is obliged, after all, 
 to lay itself down again with a puzzled expression, and ac 
 knowledge that of its very self, itself knows little or nothing ! 
 " I am material," exclaims one of these whimsical beings, to 
 whom the heaven-descended " Know thyself" would seem to 
 have been ironically addressed. " No ! immaterial," says 
 another. " I am both material and immaterial," exclaims, 
 perhaps, the very same mind at different times. " Thought 
 itself may be matter modified," says one. " Rather," says 
 another of the same perplexed species, " matter is thought 
 modified ; for what you call matter is but a phenomenon." 
 " Both are independent and totally distinct substances, myste 
 riously, inexplicably conjoined," says^i third. " How they are 
 conjoined we know no more than the dead. Not so much, 
 perhaps." " Do I ever cease to think," says the mind to it 
 self, " even in sleep ? Is not my essence thought ? " " You 
 ought to know your own essence best," all creation will reply. 
 " I am confident," says one, " that I never do cease to think, 
 not even in the soundest sleep." " You do, for a long 
 time, every night of your life," exclaims another, equally 
 confident and equally ignorant. " Where do I exist ? " it 
 goes on. " Am I in the brain ? Am I in the whole body ? 
 Am I anywhere ? Am I nowhere ? " " I cannot have any 
 local existence, for I know I am immaterial," says one. " I 
 have a local existence, because I am material," says another. 
 u I have a local existence, though I am not material," says a 
 third. " Are my habitual actions voluntary," it exclaims, 
 " however rapid they become ; though I am unconscious of 
 these volitions when they have attained a certain rapidity ; or 
 do I become a mere automaton as respects such actions ? and 
 therefore an automaton nine times out of ten, when I act at 
 all ? " To this query two opposite answers are given by dif- 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 347 
 
 ferent minds ; and by others, perhaps wiser, none at all ; while, 
 often, opposite answers are given by the same mind at differ 
 ent times. In like manner has every action, every operation, 
 every emotion of the mind, been made the subject of endless 
 doubt and disputation. Surely if, as Soame Jenyns imagined, 
 the infirmities of man, and even graver evils, are permitted 
 in order to afford amusement to superior intelligences, and 
 make the angels laugh, few things could afford them better 
 sport than the perplexities of the child of clay engaged in the 
 study of himself. " Alas ! " exclaims at last the baffled spir 
 it of this babe in intellect, as he surveys his shattered toys, 
 his broken theories of metaphysics, " I know that I am ; but 
 what I am, where I am, even how I act ; not only what 
 is my essence, but what even my mode of operation, of all 
 this I know nothing ; and, boast of reason as I may, all that I 
 think on these points is matter of opinion, or is matter of 
 faith ! " He resembles, in fact, nothing so much as a kitten 
 first introduced to its own image in a mirror ; she runs to the 
 back of it, she leaps over it, she turns and twists, and jumps 
 and frisks, in all directions, in the vain attempt to reach the 
 fair illusion ; and, at length, turns away in weariness from 
 that incomprehensible enigma, the image of herself ! 
 
 One would imagine perhaps not untruly that the Di 
 vine Creator had subjected us to these difficulties, and 
 especially that incomprehensible ZHlemma, that there is 
 an union and interaction of two totally distinct substances, or 
 that matter is but thought, or that thought is but matter, 
 one of which must be true, and all of which approach as near 
 to mutual contradictions as can well be conceived, for the 
 very purpose of rebuking our presumption, and of teaching 
 us humility ; that He had left these obscurities at the very 
 threshold, nay, within the very mansion of the mind itself, 
 for the express purpose of deterring man from playing the 
 dogmatizing fool when he looked abroad. Yet, in spite of 
 his raggedness and poverty at home, no sooner does man look 
 out of his dusky dwelling, Jhan, like Goldsmith's little Beau, 
 
348 REASON AND FAITH : 
 
 who, in his garret up five pair of stairs, boasts of his friend 
 ship with lords, he is apt to assume airs of magnificence, and, 
 glancing at the Infinite through his little eye-glass, to affect 
 an intimate acquaintance with the most respectable secrets of 
 the universe ! 
 
 It is undeniable, then, that the perplexities which uniformly 
 puzzle man in the physical world, and even in the little world 
 of his own mind, when he passes a certain limit, are just as 
 unmanageable as those found in the moral constitution and 
 government of the universe, or in the disclosures of the vol 
 ume of Revelation. In both we find abundance of inexpli 
 cable difficulties ; sometimes arising from our absolute igno 
 rance, and perhaps quite as often from our partial knowledge. 
 These difficulties are probably left on the pages of both vol 
 umes for some of the same reasons ; many of them, it may 
 be, because even the commentary of the Creator himself 
 could not render them plain to a finite understanding, though 
 a necessary and salutary exercise of our humility may be 
 involved in their reception ; others, if not purely (which seems 
 not probable) yet partly for the sake of exercising and train 
 ing that humility, as an essential part of the education of a 
 child; others, surmountable, indeed, in the progress of knowl 
 edge and by prolonged effort of the human intellect, may be 
 designed to stimulate that intellect to strenuous action and 
 healthy effort, as well as to supply, in their solution, as time 
 rolls on, an ever-accumulating mass of proofs of the profun 
 dity of the wisdom which has so far anticipated all the wisdom 
 of man ; and of the divine origin of both the great books 
 which he is privileged to study as a pupil, and even to illus 
 trate as a commentator, but the text of which he cannot 
 alter. 
 
 But, for submitting to us many profound and insoluble 
 problems, the second of the above reasons the training of 
 the intellect and heart of man to submission to the Supreme 
 Intelligence would alone be sufficient. For if, as is indi 
 cated by every thing in human nature, by the constitution of 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 349 
 
 the world as adapted to that nature, and by the representa 
 tions of Scripture, which are in analogy with both, the present 
 world is but the school of man in this the childhood of his 
 being, to prepare him for the enjoyment of an immortal man 
 hood in another, every thing might be expected to be subor 
 dinated to this great object ; and as the end of that education 
 can be no other than an enlightened obedience to God, the 
 harmonious and concurrent exercise of reason and faith be 
 comes absolutely necessary : not of reason to the exclusion 
 of faith, for otherwise there would be no adequate test of 
 man's docility and submission ; nor of a faith that would as 
 sert itself, not only independent of reason, but in contradiction 
 to it, for this would not be what God requires, and what 
 alone can quadrate with that intelligent nature he has im 
 pressed on his offspring, a reasonable obedience. Implicit 
 obedience, then, to the dictates of an all-perfect wisdom, ex 
 ercised amidst many difficulties and perplexities, as so many 
 tests of sincerity, and yet sustained by evidences which jus 
 tify the conclusions which involve them, would seem to be 
 the great object of man's moral education here ; and to vindi 
 cate both the partial evidence addressed to his reason, and 
 the abundant difficulties which it leaves to his faith. " The 
 evidence of religion," says Butler, " is fully sufficient for all 
 the purposes of probation, how far soever it is from being 
 satisfactory as to the purposes of curiosity, or any other : and, 
 indeed, it^ answers the purposes of the former in several re 
 spects, which it would not do if it were as overbearing as is 
 required." * Or as Pascal beautifully puts it : " There is 
 light enough for those whose sincere wish is to see, and 
 darkness enough to confound those of an opposite dispo 
 sition." f 
 
 * Analogy, Part II. Chap. VIII. 
 
 t Pensees. Faugere's edition, Tom. II. p. 151. The views here de- 
 deloped will be found an expansion of some brief hints at the close of the 
 article on Pascal's " Life and Genius " (Ed. Keview, Jan., 1847), to which 
 the want of space then rendered it impossible to do justice. The pres- 
 
350 REASON AND FAITH ! 
 
 As He " who spake as never man spake " is pleased often 
 to illustrate the conduct of the Father of Spirits to his intelli 
 gent offspring by a reference to the conduct which flows from 
 the relations of the human parent to his children, so the pres 
 ent subject admits of similar illustration. What God does 
 with us in that process of moral education to which we have 
 just adverted, is exactly what every wise parent endeavors to 
 do with his children, though by methods, as we may well 
 judge, proportionably less perfect. Man, instinctively, or by 
 reflection, adapts himself to the nature of his children; and, 
 seeing that only so far as it is justly trained can they be hap 
 py, makes the harmonious and concurrent development of 
 their reason and their faith his object ; he endeavors to teach 
 
 ent opportunity is gladly seized of pointing the attention of the reader 
 to a tract of Archbishop Whately's, entitled " The Example of Children 
 as proposed to Christians," which his Grace, having been struck with a 
 coincidence between some of the thoughts in the tract and those ex 
 pressed in the " Review," was so kind as to transmit to the present writer. 
 Had he seen the tract before, he would have been glad to illustrate and 
 confirm his own views by those of this highly gifted prelate. He ear 
 nestly recommends the tract in question (as well as the whole of the 
 remarkable volume in which it is now incorporated, " Essays on some 
 of the Peculiarities of the Christian Religion ") to the perusal of the 
 reader, and at the same time ventures to express a conviction (having 
 been led by the circumstances above mentioned to a fuller acquaintance 
 with his Grace's theological writings than he had previously possessed), 
 that though this lucid and eloquent writer may, for obvious reasons, be 
 most widely known by his " Logic" and "Rhetoric," the time will come 
 when his theological works will be, if not more widely read, still more 
 highly prized. To great powers of argument and illustration, and de 
 lightful transparency of diction and style, he adds a higher quality still, 
 and a very rare quality it is, an evident and intense honesty of pur 
 pose, an absorbing desire to arrive at the exact truth, and to state it with 
 perfect fairness and with the just limitations. Without pretending to 
 agree with all that Archbishop Whately has written on the subject of 
 theology (though he carries his readers with him as frequently as any 
 writer), it may be remarked that, in relation to that whole class of sub 
 jects to which the present essay has reference, there is no author of the 
 present day whose contributions are more numerous or more valuable. 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 351 
 
 them that without which they cannot be happy, obedience, 
 but a reasonable obedience.^ He gives them, in his general 
 procedure and conduct, sufficient proofs of his superior knowl 
 edge, superior wisdom, and unchanging love ; and secure 
 in the general effect of this, he leaves them to receive by faith 
 many things which he ca-nnot explain to them if he would, 
 till they get older ; many things which he can only partially 
 explain ; and many others which he might more perfectly 
 explain, but will not, partly as a test of their docility, and 
 partly to invite and necessitate the healthy and energetic 
 exercise of their reason in finding out the explanation for 
 themselves. Confiding in the same general effect of his pro 
 cedure and conduct, he does not hesitate, when the foresight 
 
 The highly ingenious ironical brochure, entitled " Historic Doubts relative 
 to Napoleon Bonaparte " ; the essays above mentioned, u On some of 
 the Peculiarities of the Christian Religion " ; those " On some of the 
 Dangers to Christian Faith," and on the "Errors of Romanism"; the 
 work on the " Kingdom of Christ," not to mention others, are well wor 
 thy of universal perusal. They abound in views both original and just, 
 stated with all the author's aptness of illustration and transparency of 
 language. It may be added, that in many of his occasional sermons he 
 has incidentally contributed many most beautiful fragments to that ever- 
 accumulating mass of internal evidence which the Scriptures themselves 
 supply in their very structure, and which is evolved by diligent investiga 
 tion of the relation and coherence of one part of them with another. It 
 is also matter of congratulation, that a small and unpretending, but very 
 powerful, little tract, by the same writer, entitled " Introductory Lessons 
 on Christian Evidences," has passed through many editions, has been 
 translated into most of the European languages, and, amongst the rest* 
 very recently into German, with an appropriate preface, by Professor 
 Abeltzhauser, of the University of Dublin. That tract shows to demon 
 stration, that as much of the evidence of Christianity as is necessary for 
 conviction may be made perfectly clear to the meanest capacity ; and that, 
 in spite of the assertions of Rome and of Oxford to the contrary, the 
 Apostolic injunction to every Christian to be ready to render a reason 
 " for the hope that is in him," somewhat better than that no reason 
 of the Hindoo or the Hottentot, that he believes what he is told, without 
 any reason except that he is told it, is an injunction possible to bo 
 obeyed. 
 
352 REASON AND FAITH: 
 
 of their ultimate welfare justifies it, to draw still more largely 
 on their faith, in acts of apparent harshness and severity. 
 Time, he knows, will show, though perhaps not till his yearn 
 ing heart has ceased to beat for their welfare, that all that he 
 did, he did in love. He knows, too, that if his lessons are 
 taken aright, and his children become ' the good and happy 
 men he wishes them to be, they will say, as they visit his 
 sepulchre, and recall with sorrow the once unappreciated love 
 which animated him, and perhaps remember with a sor 
 row deeper still, the transient resentments caused by a salu 
 tary severity : " He was indeed a friend ; he corrected us 
 not for his pleasure, but for our profit ; and what we once 
 thought was caprice or passion, we now know was love." 
 
 These analogies afford a true, though most imperfect, rep 
 resentation of the moral discipline to which Supreme Wis 
 dom is subjecting us ; and as men are accustomed to despair 
 of any child with whom paternal experience and authority go 
 for nothing, unless he can fully understand the intrinsic rea 
 sons for every special act of duty which that experience and 
 authority dictate ; as they are sure that he who has not learned 
 to obey when young will never, when of age, know how 
 to govern either himself or others ; so a similar conduct in all 
 the children of dust towards the Father of Spirits justifies a 
 still more gloomy augury ; inasmuch as the difference be 
 tween the knowledge of man and the ignorance of a child 
 absolutely vanishes, in comparison with that interval which 
 must ever subsist between the knowledge of the Eternal and 
 the ignorance of man. 
 
 The remarks that have been made are not uncalled for in 
 the present day. For, unfortunately, it is easy just now to 
 detect in many classes of minds a tendency to divorce Rea 
 son from Faith, or Faith from Reason ; and to proclaim that 
 " what God hath joined together " shall henceforth exist in 
 alienation. The old conflict between the claims of these two 
 guiding principles of man (in no age wholly suppressed) is 
 visibly renewed in our day ; and the tendency in question is 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 353 
 
 manifested in relation both to Natural Theology and to Re 
 vealed Religion. In relation to the latter especially, there are 
 large classes amongst us who press the claims of faith so far, 
 that it would become, if they had their will, an utterly unrea 
 sonable faith ; some of whom do not scruple to speak slight 
 ingly of the evidences which substantiate Christianity ; to de 
 cry and depreciate the study of them ; to pronounce that study 
 unnecessary ; and in many cases even to insinuate their in 
 sufficiency. They are loud in the mean time in extolling a 
 faith which, as Whately truly observes, is no whit better than 
 the faith of a heathen ; who has no other or better reason to 
 offer for his religion than that his father told him it was true ! 
 But this plainly is not the intelligent faith, which, as we have 
 seen, is everywhere inculcated and applauded in the Scrip 
 tures ; it is not that faith by which Christianity, appealing in 
 the midst of a multitude of such traditional religions to pal 
 pable evidence addressed to men's senses and understandings 
 (in a way no other religion ever did), everywhere destroyed 
 the systems for which their votaries could only say that their 
 fathers told them they were true. And yet this blind belief 
 in such tradition, many advocates of Christianity would now 
 enjoin us to imitate ! It might have occurred to them, one 
 would think, that, on their principles, Christianity never could 
 have succeeded ; for every mind must have been hopelessly 
 preoccupied against all examination of its claims. It is, in 
 deed, incomparably better that a man should be a sincere 
 Christian even by an utterly unreasoning and passive faith (if 
 that be possible), than no Christian at all ; yet at the best, 
 such a man is a possessor of the truth only by accident. He 
 ought to have, and, if he be a sincere disciple of truth, will 
 seek, some more solid grounds for holding it. It is but too 
 obvious, however, that the disposition in many to enjoin this 
 obsequious mood of mind is prompted by a strong desire to 
 revive the ancient empire of priestcraft and the pretensions of 
 ecclesiastical despotism ; to secure readmission amongst man 
 kind of extravagant and preposterous claims, which their ad- 
 30* 
 
354 REASON AND FAITH I 
 
 vocates are sadly conscious rest on no solid foundation. They 
 feel that, as reason is not with them, it must be against them ; 
 and reason therefore they are determined to exclude. 
 
 But the experience of the present " developments " of Ox 
 ford teaching may serve to show us how infinitely perilous is 
 this course ; and how fearfully both outraged reason and out 
 raged faith will avenge the wrongs done them by their aliena 
 tion and disjunction. Those results, indeed, we predicted 
 in 1843 ; before a single leader of the Oxford School had 
 gone over to Rome, and before any tendencies to the oppo 
 site extreme of Scepticism had manifested themselves. We 
 then affirmed, that, on the one hand, those who were contend 
 ing for the corruptions of the fourth century could not possi 
 bly find footing there, but must inevitably seek their ultimate 
 resting-place in Rome, a prediction which has been too 
 amply fulfilled ; and that, on the other, the extravagant pre 
 tensions put forth on behalf of an uninquiring faith, and the 
 desperate assertion that the " evidence for Christianity " was 
 no stronger than that for " Church principles," must, by re 
 action, lead on to an outbreak of infidelity. That prophecy, 
 too, has been to the letter accomplished. Our words were : 
 " We have seen it recently asserted by some of the Ox 
 ford School, that there is as much reason for rejecting the 
 most essential doctrines of Christianity, nay, Christianity 
 itself, as for rejecting their 'Church principles.' That, 
 in short, we have as much reason for being infidels, as for re 
 jecting the doctrine of Apostolical Succession ! What other 
 effect such reasoning can have than that of compelling men 
 to believe that there is nothing between infidelity and popery, 
 and of urging them to make a selection between the two, we 
 know not Indeed, we fully expect that, as a reac 
 tion of the present extravagances, of the revival of obsolete 
 superstition, we shall have ere long to fight over again the 
 battle with a modified form of infidelity, as now with a modified 
 form of popery. Thus, probably, for some time to come, will 
 the human mind continue to oscillate between the extremes 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 355 
 
 of error ; but with a diminished arc at each vibration ; until truth 
 shall at last prevail, and compel it to repose in the centre. " * 
 The offensive displays of self-sufficiency and flippancy, of 
 ignorance and presumption, found in the productions of the 
 apostles of the new infidelity of Oxford (of which we shall 
 have a few words to say by and by), are the natural and in 
 structive, though most painful, result of attempting to give 
 predominance to one principle of our nature, where two or 
 more are designed reciprocally to gard and check each 
 other ; and such results must ever follow such attempts. The 
 excellence of man so complexly constituted is his nature 
 must consist in the harmonious action and proper balance 
 of all the constituents of that nature ; the equilibrium he sighs 
 for must be the result of the combined action of forces operat 
 ing in different directions; of his reason, his faith, his appe 
 tites, his affections, his emotions ; when these operate each in 
 due proportion, then, and then only, can he be at rest. It 
 may, indeed, transcend any calculus of man to estimate ex 
 actly the several elements in this complicated polygon of for 
 ces ; but we are at least sure that, if any one principle be so 
 developed as to supersede another, no safe equipoise will be 
 attained. We all know familiarly enough that this is the 
 case when the affections or the appetites are more powerful 
 than the reason and the conscience, instead of being in sub 
 jection to them : but it is not less the case, though the result 
 is not so palpable, when reason and faith either exclude one 
 another, or trench tfn each other's domain ; when one is pam 
 pered and the other starved, t Hence the perils attendant 
 
 / 
 
 * Oxford Tract School, Ed. Eev., April, 1843. 
 
 f It has been our lot to meet with disciples of the Oxford Tract School 
 who have, by a fatal indulgence of an appetite of belief, brought them 
 selves to believe any mediaeval miracle, nay, any ghost story, without 
 examination ; saying, with a solemn face, " It is better to believe than to 
 reason." They at last believe as they will to believe ; and thus is reason 
 avenged. Reason, similarly indulged, believes, with Mr. Foxton and 
 Mr. Eroude, that a miracle is even an impossibility ; and this is the " Ne 
 mesis " of faith. 
 
356 REASON AND FAITH : 
 
 upon their attempted separation, and the ruin which results 
 from their actual alienation and hostility. There is no depth 
 of dreary superstition into which men may not sink in the one 
 case, and no extravagance of ignorant presumption to which 
 they may not soar in the other. It is only by the mutual and 
 alternate action of these different forces, that man can safely 
 navigate his little bark through the narrow straits and by the 
 dangerous rocks which impede his course ; and if Faith 
 spread not the sail to ifce breeze, or if Reason desert the helm, 
 we are in equal peril. 
 
 If it be said that this is a disconsolate and dreary doctrine ; 
 that man seeks and needs a simpler navigation than this trouble 
 some and intricate course, by star and ckart, compass and 
 lead-line ; and that this responsibility, of ever 
 
 u Sounding on his dim and perilous way," 
 
 is too grave for so feeble a nature ; we answer that such is 
 his actual condition. This is a plain matter of fact which 
 cannot be denied. The various principles of his constitution, 
 and his position in relation to the external world, obviously 
 and absolutely subject him to this very responsibility through 
 out his whole course in this life. It is never remitted or abat 
 ed ; resolves are necessitated upon imperfect evidence, and 
 action imperatively demanded amidst doubts and difficulties 
 in which reason is not satisfied, and faith is required. To 
 argue, therefore, that God cannot have left man to such un 
 certainty, is to argue as the pertinacious lawyer did, who, on 
 seeing a man in the stocks, asked him what he was placed 
 there for ; and on being told, said, " They cannot put you 
 there for that" " But I am here," was the laconic answer. 
 The analogy, then, of man's whole condition in this life, 
 might lead us to expect the same system of procedure 
 throughout ; that the evidence which substantiates religious 
 truth, and claims religious action, would involve this respon 
 sibility as well as that which substantiates other kinds of truth, 
 and demands other kinds of action. And after all, what else, 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 357 
 
 in either case, could answer the purpose, if (as already said) 
 this world be the school of training of man's moral nature ? 
 How else could the discipline of his faculties, the exercise of 
 patience, humility, and fortitude, be secured ? How, except 
 amidst a state of things less than certainty, whether under 
 the form of that passive faith which mimics the possession 
 of absolute certainty, or absolute certainty itself, could 
 man's nature be trained to combined self-reliance and self- 
 distrust, circumspection and resolution, and, above all, to 
 confidence in God ? Man cannot be nursed and dandled 
 into the manhood of his nature, by that unthinking faith 
 which leaves no doubts to be felt, and no objections to be 
 weighed ; nor can *his docility ever be tested, if he is never 
 called upon to believe any thing which it would not be an ab 
 surdity and contradiction to deny. This species of respon 
 sibility, then, not only cannot be dispensed with, but is 
 absolutely necessary; and consequently, however desirable 
 may appear that short path to certainty which a pretended 
 infallibility,* promises to man, or that equally short path 
 which leads to the same termination, by telling us that we 
 are to believe nothing which we cannot demonstrate to be 
 true, or which, a priori, we may presume to be false, both 
 the one path and the other must lead astray. In the one 
 case, how can the " reasonable service " which Scripture de 
 mands, the enlightened love and conscientious investigation 
 of truth, its reception, not without doubts, but against doubts, 
 how could all this coexist with a faith which presents the 
 whole sum of religion in the* formulary, " I am to believe 
 
 * See Archbishop Whately's admirable discourse, entitled, " The 
 Search after Infallibility, considered in reference to the Danger of Relig 
 ious Errors arising within the Church, in the Primitive as well as in Later 
 Ages." He here makes excellent use of the fruitful principle of Butler's 
 great work, by showing that, however desirable, a priori, an infallible 
 guide would seem to fallible man, God in fact has everywhere denied it; 
 and that in denying it in relation to religion, he has acted only as he 
 always acts. 
 
REASON AND FAITH: 
 
 without a doubt, and perform without hesitation, whatever my 
 guide, Parson A., tells me" ? Not that, even in that case 
 (as has often been shown), the man would be relieved from 
 the necessity of absolutely depending on the dreaded exercise 
 of his private judgment : for (unless each man is to remit 
 his religion wholly to the accident of his birth) he must at 
 least have exercised it once for all, and that on two of the 
 most arduous of all questions : first, which of several churches, 
 pretending to infallibility, is truly infallible ? and next, wheth 
 er the man may infallibly regard his worthy Parson A. as an 
 infallible expounder of that infallibility ? But supposing this 
 stupendous difficulty surmounted, though then, it is true, all 
 may seem genuine faith, in reality tnere is none. Where ab 
 solute infallibility is supposed to have been attained (even 
 though erroneously), faith, in strict propriety, certainly 
 that faith which is alone of any value as an instrument of 
 men's moral training, which recognizes and intelligently 
 struggles with objections and difficulties, is impossible. 
 Men may be said, in such case, to know, but can hardly be 
 said to believe. Before Columbus had seen America, he Re 
 lieved in its existence ; but when he had seen it, his faith 
 became knowledge. Equally impossible, and for the same 
 reason, is any place for faith on the opposite hypothesis ; for 
 if man is to believe nothing but what his reason can compre 
 hend, and to act only upon evidence which amounts to cer 
 tainty, the same paradox is true ; for when there is no reason 
 to doubt, there can be none to believe. Faith ever stands 
 between conflicting probabilities ; but her position is (if we 
 may use the metaphor) the centre of gravity between them, 
 and will be proportionally nearer the greater mass. 
 
 In the mean time, that arduous responsibility which at 
 taches to man, and which is obviated neither by an implicit 
 faith in a human infallibility, nor an exclusive reference of 
 that faith to cases in which reason is synonymous with dem 
 onstration, that is, to cases which leave no room for faith, is 
 at once relieved, and effectually relieved, by the maxim, 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 359 
 
 the key-stone of ethical truth, that only voluntary error 
 condemns us, that all we are really responsible for, is a 
 faithful, honest, patient investigation and weighing of evi 
 dence, as far as our abilities and opportunities admit, and a 
 conscientious pursuit of what we honestly deem truth, wher 
 ever it may lead us. We concede that a really dispassionate 
 and patient conduct in this respect is what man is too ready 
 to assume he has practised, and this fallacy cannot be too 
 sedulously guarded against. But that guilty liability to self- 
 deception does not militate against the truth of the representa 
 tion now made. It is his duty to see that he does not abuse 
 the maxim, that he does not rashly acquiesce in any con 
 clusion that he wishes to be true, or which he is too lazy to 
 examine. If all possible diligence and honesty have been 
 exerted in the search, the statement of Chillingworth, bold as 
 it is, we should not hesitate to adopt, in all the vigor of his 
 own language. It is to the effect, that, if " in him alone 
 there were a confluence of all the errors which have befallen 
 the sincere professors of Christianity, he should not be so 
 much afraid of them, as to ask God's pardon for them"; 
 absolutely involuntary error being justly regarded by him as 
 blameless. 
 
 On the other hand, from the natural relations of truth with 
 the constitution of the mind of man, it may well be affirmed, 
 that, with the exception of a very few cases of obliquity of in 
 tellect, which may safely be left to the merciful interpretations 
 and apologies of Him who created such intellects, those who 
 thus honestly and industriously " seek " shall " find," 
 not all truth, indeed, but enough to secure their safety ; and 
 that whatever remaining errors may infest and disfigure the 
 truth they have attained, these shall not be imputed to them 
 for sin. According to the image which apostolic eloquence 
 has employed, the baser materials which unavoidable haste, 
 prejudice, and ignorance may have incorporated with the gold 
 of the edifice, ^yill be consumed by that fire which " will 
 try every man's work of what sort it is,'' but he himself will 
 
360 REASON AND FAITH! 
 
 be saved amidst those purifying flames. Like the bark 
 which contained the Apostle and the fortunes of the Gospel, 
 the frail vessel may go to pieces on the rocks, but " by boat 
 or plank " the voyager himself shall " get safe to shore." 
 
 It is. amply sufficient, then, to lighten our responsibility, 
 that we are answerable only for our honest endeavors to dis 
 cover and to practise the truth ; and, in fact, the responsibility 
 is principally felt to be irksome, and man is so prompt by de 
 vices of his own to escape from it, not on account of any 
 intrinsic difficulty which remains after the above limitations 
 are admitted, but because he wishes to be exempted from the 
 very necessity of patient and honest investigation. It is not 
 so much the difficulty of finding, as the trouble of seeking, 
 the truth ; from which he shrinks ; a necessity, however, from 
 which, as it is an essential instrument of his moral education 
 and discipline, he can never be released. 
 
 If the previous representations be true, the conditions of 
 that intelligent faith which God requires from his intelligent 
 offspring may be fairly inferred to be such as we have al 
 ready stated ; that the evidence for the truths we are to 
 believe shall be, first, such as our faculties are competent to 
 appreciate, 'and against which, therefore, the mere negative 
 argument arising from our ignorance of the true solution of 
 such difficulties as are perhaps insoluble because we are 
 finite, can be no reply ; and secondly, such an amount of this 
 evidence as shall fairly overbalance all the objections which 
 we can appreciate. This is the condition to which God has 
 obviously subjected us as inhabitants of this world ; and it is on 
 such evidence we are here perpetually acting. We now be 
 lieve a thousand things we cannot fully comprehend. We 
 may not see the intrinsic evidence of their truth ; but their 
 extrinsic evidence is sufficient to induce us unhesitatingly to 
 believe and to act upon them. When that evidence is suffi 
 cient in amount, we allow it to overbear all the individual 
 difficulties and perplexities which encompass the truths to 
 which it is applied, unless, indeed, such difficulties can be 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 861 
 
 proved to involve absolute contradictions ; for these, of 
 course, no evidence can substantiate. For example, in a 
 multitude of cases, a certain combination of merely circum 
 stantial evidence in favor of a certain judicial decision, is 
 familiarly allowed to vanquish all apparent discrepancy on 
 particular and subordinate points; the want of concurrence 
 in the evidence of the witnesses on such points shall not cause 
 a shadow of a doubt as to the conclusion. For we feel that 
 it is far more improbable that the conclusion should be untrue, 
 than that the difficulty we cannot solve is truly incapable of 
 a solution ; and when the evidence reaches this point, .the ob 
 jection no longer troubles us. 
 
 It is the same with historic investigations. There are ten 
 thousand facts in history which no one doubts, though the 
 narrators of them may materially vary in their version, and 
 though some of the circumstances alleged may be in appear 
 ance inexplicable. But the last thing a man would think of 
 doing in such cases would be, to neglect the preponderant 
 evidence on account of the residuum of insoluble objections. 
 He does not, in short, allow his ignorance to control his 
 knowledge, nor the evidence which he has not got, to destroy 
 what he has ; and the less so, that experience has taught 
 him, that in many cases such apparent difficulties have been 
 cleared up, in the course of time, and by the progress of 
 knowledge, and proved to be contradictions in appearance 
 only. 
 
 It is the same with the conclusions of natural philosophy, 
 when well proved by experiment, however unaccountable for 
 a while may be the discrepancy with apparently opposing 
 phenomena. No one disbelieves the Copernican theory 
 now, though thousands did for a while, on what they believed 
 the irrefragable evidence of their senses. Now let us only 
 suppose the Copernican theory not to have been discovered 
 by human reason, but made known by revelation, and its re 
 ception enjoined on faith, leaving the apparent inconsistency 
 with the evidence of the senses just as it was. Many, no 
 
 31 
 
362 REASON AND FAITH I 
 
 doubt, would have said that no such evidence could justify 
 them in disbelieving their own eyes, and that such an insol 
 uble objection was sufficient to overturn the evidence. Yet 
 we now see, in point of fact, that it is not only possible, but 
 true, that the objection was apparent only, and admitted of 
 a complete solution. Thousands accordingly take this for 
 granted, without seeing it; they receive philosophy this 
 very philosophy on testimony which apparently contra 
 dicts their senses, without even yet knowing more of it than 
 if it were revealed from heaven. This gives too much reason 
 to suspect, that in other and higher cases the will has much to 
 do with human scepticism. Nor do we well know what mul 
 titudes, who neglect religion on account of the alleged un 
 certainty of its evidence, could reply, if God were to say to 
 them : " And yet on such evidence, and that far inferior in 
 degree, you have never hesitated to act, when your own 
 temporal interests were concerned. You never feared to 
 commit the bark of your worldly fortunes to that fluctuating 
 element. In many cases you believed on the testimony of 
 others what seemed even to contradict your own senses. 
 Why were you so much more scrupulous in relation to- 
 ME ? 
 
 The above examples are fair illustrations, we venture to 
 think, of the conditions under which we are required to be 
 lieve the far higher truths, attended no doubt with great diffi 
 culties, which are authenticated in the pages of the two vol 
 umes (Nature and Scripture) which God has put into our 
 hands to study ; of the conditions to which he subjects us 
 in training us for a future state, and developing in us the 
 twofold perfection involved in the words " a reasonable 
 faith." If the considerations just urged were duly borne in 
 mind, we cannot help thinking that they would afford (where 
 any modesty remained) an answer to most of those forms of 
 unbelief which, from time to time, rise up in the world, and 
 not least in our own day. These are usually founded on 
 one or more supposed insoluble objections, arising out of our 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 363 
 
 ignorance. The probability that they are incapable of so 
 lution is rashly assumed, and made to overbear the far 
 stronger probability arising from the positive and appreciable 
 evidence which substantiates the truths involving those diffi 
 culties : a course the more unreasonable, inasmuch as, 
 first, many such difficulties might be expected ; and secondly, 
 in analogous cases, we see that many such difficulties have 
 in time disappeared. On the other hand, it is, no doubt, much 
 more easy to insist on individual objections, which no man 
 can effectually answer, than it is to appreciate at once the 
 total effect of many lines of argument and many sources of 
 evidence, all bearing on one point. That difficulty was long 
 ago beautifully stated by Butler,* in a passage well worthy 
 of the reader's perusal ; and, as Pascal had observed before 
 him, not only is it difficult, but impossible; for the human 
 mind to retain the impression of a large combination of evi 
 dence, even if it could for a moment fully realize the col 
 lective effect of the whole. But it cannot do even this, any 
 more than the eye can take in at once, in mass and detail, 
 the objects of an extensive landscape. 
 
 Let us now be permitted briefly to apply the preceding 
 principles to two of the most momentous controversies which 
 have exercised the minds of men ; that which relates to the 
 existence of God, and that which relates to the truth of Chris 
 tianity ; in both of which, if we mistake not, man's position 
 is precisely similar. He is placed amidst evidence abun- 
 
 * " The truth of our religion, like the truth of common matters, is to 
 be judged of by all the evidence taken together. And, unless the whole 
 series of things which may be alleged in this argument, and every par 
 ticular thing in it, can reasonably be supposed to have been by accident 
 (for here the stress of the argument for Christianity lies), then is the 
 
 truth of it proved It is obvious how much advantage the nature 
 
 of this evidence gives to those persons who attack Christianity, espe 
 cially in conversation. For it is easy to show, in a short and lively 
 manner, that such and such things are liable to objection, but impossi 
 ble to show, in like manner, the united force of the whole argument in 
 one view." Analogy, Part II. Chap. VII. 
 
364 REASON AND FAITH I 
 
 dantly sufficient to justify his reasonable faith, and yet beset 
 with difficulties abundantly sufficient to- baffle an indocile 
 reason. 
 
 Without entering into the many different sources of argu 
 ment for the existence of a Supreme Intelligence, we shall 
 only refer to that proof on which all theists, savage and civ 
 ilized, in some form or other, rely, the traces of an " eter 
 nal power and godhead " in the visible creation. The argu 
 ment depends on a principle which, whatever may be its 
 metaphysical history or origin, is one which man perpetually 
 recognizes, which every act of his own consciousness veri 
 fies, which he applies fearlessly to every phenomenon, known 
 or unknown ; and it is this, That every effect has a cause 
 (though he knows nothing of their connection), and that 
 effects which bear marks of design have a designing cause. 
 This principle is so familiar, that if he were to affect to doubt 
 it, in any practical case in human life, he would only be 
 laughed at as a fool, or pitied as insane. The evidence, 
 then, which substantiates the greatest and first of truths 
 mainly depends on a principle perfectly familiar and per 
 fectly recognized. Man can estimate the nature of that 
 evidence ; and the amount of it, in this instance, he sees to 
 be as vast as the sum of created objects ; nay, far more ; 
 for it is as vast as the sum of their relations. So that if (as 
 is apt to be the case) the difficulties of realizing this tremen 
 dous truth are in proportion to the extent of knowledge and 
 the powers of reflection, the evidence man can perfectly ap 
 preciate is cumulative in an equal or still higher proportion. 
 Obvious as are the marks of design in each individual object, 
 the sum of proof is not merely the sum of such indications, 
 but that sum infinitely multiplied by the relations established 
 and preserved amongst all these objects ; by the adjustment 
 which harmonizes them all into one system, and impresses 
 on all the parts of the universe a palpable order and sub 
 ordination. While even in a single part of an organized 
 being (as a hand or an eye) the traces of design are not to 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 365 
 
 be mistaken, these are indefinitely multiplied by similar 
 proofs of contrivance in the many individual organs of one 
 such being, as of an entire animal or vegetable. These 
 are yet to be multiplied by the harmonious relations which 
 are established of mutual proportion and subserviency amongst 
 all the organs of any one such being ; and as many beings 
 even of that one species or class as there are, so many mul 
 tiples are there of the same proofs. Similar indications yield 
 similar proofs of design in each individual part, and in the 
 whole individual of all the individuals of every other class 
 of beings ; and this sum of proof is again to be multiplied 
 by the proofs of design in the adjustment and mutual de 
 pendence and subordination of each of these classes of or 
 ganized beings to every other, and to all ; of the vegetable to 
 the animal, of the lower animal to the higher. Their 
 magnitudes, numbers, physical force, faculties, functions, 
 duration of life, rates of multiplication and development, 
 sources of subsistence, must all have been determined in 
 exact ratios, and could not transgress certain limits without 
 involving the whole universe in confusion. This amazing 
 sum of probabilities is yet to be further augmented by the 
 fact, that all these classes of organized substances are inti 
 mately related to those great elements of the material world 
 in which they live, to which they are adapted, and which are 
 adapted to them ; that all of them are subject to the influence 
 of certain mighty and subtle agencies which pervade all na 
 ture, and which are of such tremendous potency, that 
 any chance error in their proportions of activity would be 
 sufficient to destroy all, and which yet are exquisitely bal 
 anced and inscrutably harmonized. 
 
 The proofs of design arising from the relations thus main 
 tained between all the parts, from the most minute to the 
 most vast, of our own world, are still to be further multiplied 
 by the inconceivably momentous relations subsisting between 
 our own and other planets and their common centre ; amidst 
 whose sublime and solemn phenomena science has most 
 31* 
 
366 REASON AND FAITH : 
 
 I 
 
 clearly discovered that every thing is accurately adjusted by 
 geometrical precision of force and movement ; where the 
 chances of error are infinite, and the proofs of intelligence, 
 therefore, equal. These proofs of design in each fragment 
 of the universe, and in all combined, are continually further 
 multiplied by every fresh discovery, whether in the minute 
 or the vast, by the microscope or the telescope ; for every 
 fresh law that is discovered, being in harmony with all that 
 has previously been discovered, not only yields its own proof 
 of design, but infinitely more, by all the relations in which 
 it stands to other laws : it yields, in fact, as many as there 
 are adjustments which have been effected between itself and 
 all besides. Each new proof of design, therefore, is not a 
 solitary fact ; but one which, entering as another element 
 into a most complex machinery, indefinitely multiplies the 
 combinations, in any one of which chance might have gone 
 astray. From -this infinite array of proofs of design, it 
 seems to man's reason, in ordinary moods, stark madness 
 to account for the phenomena of the universe upon any other 
 supposition than that which does account, and can alone ac 
 count, for them all, the supposition of a Presiding Intelli 
 gence, illimitable alike in power and in wisdom. 
 
 The only difficulty is justly to appreciate such an argu 
 ment, to obtain a sufficiently vivid impression of such an 
 accumulation of probabilities. This very difficulty, indeed, 
 in some moods, may minister to a temporary doubt. For let 
 us catch man in those moods, perhaps after long medita 
 tion on the metaphysical grounds of human belief, and he 
 begins half to doubt, with unusual modesty, whether the 
 child of dust is warranted to conclude any thing on a subject 
 which loses itself in the infinite, and which so far transcends 
 all his powers of apprehension ; he begins half to doubt, 
 with Hume, whether he can reason analogically from the 
 petty specimens of human ingenuity to phenomena so vast 
 and so unique ; a misgiving which is strengthened by reflect 
 ing on all those to him incomprehensible inferences to which 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS; 367 
 
 the admission of the argument leads him, and which seem 
 almost to involve contradictions. Let him ponder for a while 
 the difficulties involved in the notion of Self-subsistence, Eter 
 nity, Creation ; of Power, Wisdom, and Knowledge, so un 
 limited as to embrace at once all things, and all their relations, 
 actual and possible, this " unlimited " expanding into a 
 dim apprehension of the " infinite " ; of infinitude of attri 
 butes, omnipresent in every point of space, and yet but one 
 and not many infinitudes ; let him once humbly ponder 
 such incomprehensible difficulties as these, and he will soon 
 feel that, though in the argument from design there seemed 
 but one vast scene of triumph for his reason, there is as large 
 a scene of exertion left for his faith. That faith he ordinarily 
 yields; he sees it is justified by those proofs of the great truth 
 he can appreciate, and which he will not allow to be controlled 
 by the difficulties his conscious feebleness cannot solve ; and 
 the rather, that he sees that, if he does not accept that evidence, 
 he has equally incomprehensible difficulties still to encounter, 
 and two or three stark contradictions into the bargain. His 
 reason, therefore, triumphs in the proofs, and his faith tri 
 umphs over the difficulties. 
 
 It is the same with the doctrine of the Divine government 
 of the world. In prdinary states of mind, man counts it an 
 absurdity to suppose that the Deity would have created a 
 world to abandon it ; that, having employed wisdom and pow 
 er so vast in its construction, he would leave it to be the sport 
 of chance. He feels that the intuitions of right and wrong ; 
 the voice of conscience ; satisfaction in well-doing ; remorse 
 for crime ; the present tendency, at least, of the laws of the 
 universe, all point to the same conclusion, while their im 
 perfect fulfilment equally points to a future and more accurate 
 adjustment. Yet let the man look exclusively for a while on 
 the opposite side of the tapestry ; let him brood over any of 
 the facts which seem at war with the above conclusion, 
 on some signal triumph of baseness and malignity ; on op 
 pressed virtue, on triumphant vice ; on " the wicked spreading 
 
368 REASON AND FAITH! 
 
 himself like a green bay tree " ; and especially on the mourn 
 ful and inscrutable mystery of the " Origin of Evil," and he 
 feels that " clouds and darkness " envelop the administration 
 of the Moral Governor, though doubtless "justice and judg 
 ment are the habitation of his throne." The evidences above 
 mentioned for the last conclusion are direct and positive, and 
 such as man can appreciate ; the difficulties spring from his 
 limited capacity, or imperfect glimpses of a very small seg 
 ment of the universal plan. Nor are those difficulties less 
 upon the opposite hypothesis ; and they are there further bur 
 dened with two or three additional absurdities. The prepon 
 derant evidence, far from removing the difficulties, scarcely 
 touches them ; yet it is felt to be sufficient to justify faith, 
 though most abundant faith is required still. 
 
 Are the evidences, then, in behalf of Christianity, less of 
 a nature which man can appreciate ; or can the difficulties in 
 volved in its reception be greater than in the preceding cases ? 
 If not, and if, moreover, while the evidence turns as before 
 on principles with which we are familiar, the more formidable 
 objections, as before, are such that we are not competent to 
 decide upon their absolute insolubility, we see how man ought 
 to act ; that is, not to let his ignorance control his knowledge, 
 but to let his reason accept the proofs which justify his faith 
 in accepting the difficulties. In no case is he, it appears, 
 warranted to look for the certainty which shall exclude (what 
 ever the triumphs of his reason) a gigantic exercise of his 
 faith. Let us briefly consider a few of the evidences. And 
 in order to give the statement a little novelty, we shall indi 
 cate the principal topics of evidence, not by enumerating 
 what the advocate of Christianity believes in believing it to 
 be true, but what the infidel must believe in believing it to be 
 false. The d priori objection to Miracles we shall briefly 
 touch afterwards. 
 
 First, then, in relation to the Miracles of the New Testa 
 ment, whether they be supposed masterly frauds on men's 
 senses committed at the time and by the parties supposed in 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 369 
 
 the records, or fictions (designed or accidental) subsequently 
 fabricated, but still, in either case, undeniably successful 
 and triumphant beyond all else in the history whether of fraud 
 or fiction, the infidel must believe as follows : On the first 
 hypothesis, he must believe that a vast number of apparent 
 miracles, involving the most astounding phenomena, 
 such as the instant restoration of the sick, blind, deaf, and 
 lame, and the resurrection of the dead, performed in open 
 day, amidst multitudes of malignant enemies, imposed alike 
 on a/Z, and triumphed at once over the strongest prejudices 
 and the deepest enmity ; those who received them and those 
 who rejected them differing only in the certainly not very tri 
 fling particular, as to whether they came from heaven or from 
 hell. He must* believe that those who were thus successful 
 in this extraordinary conspiracy against men's senses and 
 against common sense, were Galilean Jews, such as all histo 
 ry of the period represents them ; ignorant, obscure, illiterate ; 
 and, above all, previously bigoted, like all their countrymen, to 
 the very system, of which, together with all other religions on 
 the earth, they modestly meditated the abrogation ; he must 
 believe that, appealing to these astounding frauds in the face 
 both of Jews and Gentiles as an open evidence of the truth 
 of a new revelation, and demanding on the strength of them 
 that their countrymen should surrender a religion which they 
 acknowledged to be divine, and that all other nations should 
 abandon their scarcely less venerable systems of superstition, 
 they rapidly succeeded in both these very probable adven 
 tures ; and in a few years, though without arms, power, wealth, 
 or science, were to an enormous extent victorious over all 
 prejudice, philosophy, and persecution ; and in three centuries 
 took nearly undisputed possession, amongst many nations, of 
 the temples of the ejected deities. He must further believe 
 that the original performers, in these prodigious frauds on the 
 world, acted not only without any assignable motive, but 
 against all assignable motive ; that they maintained this uni 
 form constancy in unprofitable falsehoods, not only together, 
 
370 REASON AND FAITH I 
 
 but separately, in different countries, before different tribunals, 
 under all sorts of examinations and cross-examinations, and 
 in defiance of the gyves, the scourge, the axe, the cross, the 
 stake ; that those whom they persuaded to join their enter 
 prise persisted like themselves in the same obstinate belief 
 of the same "cunningly devised" frauds; and though they 
 had many accomplices in their singular conspiracy, had the 
 equally singular fortune to free themselves and their coadju 
 tors from all transient weakness towards their cause and 
 treachery towards one another; and, lastly, that these men, 
 having, amidst all their ignorance, originality enough to invent 
 the most pure and sublime system of morality which the world 
 has ever listened to, had, amidst all their conscious villany, 
 the effrontery to preach it, and, which is more extraordinary, 
 the inconsistency to practise it ! * 
 
 - On the second of the above-mentioned hypotheses, that these 
 miracles were either a congeries of deeply contrived fictions, 
 or accidental myths, subsequently fabricated, the infidel 
 must believe, on the former supposition, that, though even 
 transient success in literary forgery, when there are any prej 
 udices to resist, is among the rarest of occurrences, yet 
 that these forgeries, the hazardous work of many minds, mak 
 ing the most outrageous pretensions, and necessarily chal 
 lenging the opposition of Jew and Gentile, were successful, 
 beyond all imagination, over the hearts of mankind ; and have 
 continued to impose, by an exquisite appearance of heartless 
 truth, and a most elaborate mosaic of feigned events artfully 
 cemented into the ground of true history, .on the acutest 
 mindsof different races and different ages ; while, on the 
 second supposition, he must believe that accident and chance 
 
 * So far as we have any knowledge from history, this must have been 
 the case ; and Gibbon fully admits and insists upon it. Indeed, no in 
 fidel hypothesis can afford to do without the virtues of the early Chris 
 tians in accounting for the success of the falsehoods of Christianity. Hard 
 alternatives of a wayward hypothesis ! 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 371 
 
 have given to these legends their exquisite appearance of his 
 toric plausibility ; and on either supposition, he must believe 
 (what is infinitely more^ wonderful) that the world, while the 
 fictions were being published, and in the known absence of 
 the facts they asserted to be true, suffered itself to be befooled 
 into the belief of their truth, and out of its belief of all the 
 systems it did previously believe to be true ; and that it acted 
 thus notwithstanding persecution from without, as well as 
 prejudice from within ; that, strange to say,- the strictest his 
 toric investigations bring this compilation of fictions or myths 
 even by the admission of Strauss himself within thirty 
 or forty years of the very time in which all the alleged won 
 ders they relate are said to have occurred ; wonders which 
 the perverse world knew it had not seen, but which it was 
 determined to believe, in spite of evidence, prejudice, and 
 perscution ! In addition to all this, the infidel must believe 
 that the men who were engaged in the compilation of these 
 monstrous fictions, chose them as the vehicle of the purest 
 morality ; and, though the most pernicious deceivers of man 
 kind, were yet the most scrupulous teachers of veracity and 
 benevolence ! Surely of him who can receive all these par 
 adoxes, and they form but a small part of what might be 
 mentioned, we may say, " O infidel, great is thy Faith ! " 
 
 On the supposition that neither of these theories, whether 
 of fraud or fiction, will account, if taken by itself, for the 
 whole of the supernatural phenomena which strew the pages 
 of the New Testament, then the objector, who relies on loth, 
 must believe, in turn, loth sets of the above paradoxes ; and 
 then, with still more reason than before, may we exclaim, 
 " O infidel, great is thy Faith ! " 
 
 Again ; he must believe that all those apparent coinci 
 dences, which seem to connect Prophecy with the facts of the 
 origin and history of Christianity, some embracing events 
 too vast for hazardous speculation, and others, incidents too 
 minute for it, are purely fortuitous ; that all the cases in 
 which the event seems to tally with the prediction are mere 
 
372 REASON AND FAITH J 
 
 chance coincidences: and he must believe this, amongst 
 other events, of two of the most unlikely to which human 
 sagacity was likely to pledge itself, and yet which have as 
 undeniably occurred (and after the predictions) as they were 
 a priori improbable and anomalous in the world's history ! 
 The one is, that the Jews should exist as a distinct nation in 
 the very bosom of all other nations, without extinction and 
 without amalgamation, other nations and even races hav 
 ing so readily melted away under less than half the influ 
 ences which have been at work upon them ; * the other, an 
 opposite paradox, that a religion, propagated by ignorant, 
 obscure, and penniless vagabonds, should diffuse itself amongst 
 the most diverse nations in spite of all opposition, it being 
 the west of phenomena to find any religion which is capable 
 of transcending the limits of race, clime, and the scene of its 
 historic origin ; a religion which, if transplanted, will not die ; 
 a religion which is more than a local or national growth of 
 superstition ! That such a religion as Christianity should so 
 easily break these barriers, and, though supposed to be cradled 
 in ignorance, fanaticism, and fraud, should, without force of 
 arms, and in the face of persecution, " ride forth conquering 
 and to conquer " through a long career of victories, defying 
 the power of kings, and emptying the temples of deities, 
 who, but an infidel, has faith enough to believe ? f 
 
 * The case of the Gypsies, often alleged as a parallel, is a ludicrous 
 evasion of the argument. These few and scattered vagabonds, whose 
 very safety has been obscurity and contempt, have never attracted to 
 wards them a thousandth part of the attention, or the hundred-thou 
 sandth part of the cruelties, which have been directed against the Jews. 
 Had it been otherwise, they would long since have melted away from 
 every country in Europe. We repeat, that the existence of a nation for 
 eighteen hundred years in the bosom of all nations, conquered and per 
 secuted, yet never extinguished, and the propagation of a religion 
 amongst different races without force, and even against it, are both, so 
 far as known, paradoxes in history. 
 
 t " They may say," says Butler, " that the conformity between the 
 prophecies and the event is by accident ; but there are many instances 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 373 
 
 Once more ; if, from the external evidences of this relig 
 ion, we pass to those which the only records by which we 
 know any thing of its nature and origin supply, the infidel 
 must believe, amongst other paradoxes, that it is probable that 
 a knot of obscure and despised plebeians regarded as the 
 scum of a nation which was itself regarded as the scum of 
 all other nations originated the purest, most elevated, and 
 most influential theory of ethics the world has ever seen ; 
 that a system of sublimest truth, expressed with unparalleled 
 simplicity, sprang from ignorance ; that precepts enjoining 
 the most refined sanctity were inculcated by imposture ; that 
 the first injunctions to universal love broke from the lips of 
 bigotry ! He must further believe, that these men exempli 
 fied the ideal perfection of that beautiful system in the most 
 unique, original, and faultless picture of virtue ever conceived, 
 a picture which has extorted the admiration even of those 
 who could not believe it to be a portrait, and who have yet 
 confessed themselves unable to account for it except as such.* 
 He must believe, too, that these ignorant and fraudulent Gal 
 ileans voluntarily aggravated the difficulty of their task, by 
 exhibiting their proposed ideal, not by bare enumeration and 
 description of qualities, but by the most arduous of all meth- 
 
 in which such conformity itself cannot be denied." His whole remarks 
 on the subject, and especially those on the impression to be derived from 
 the multitude of apparent coincidences, in a long series of prophecies, 
 some vast, some minute ; and the improbability of their all being acci 
 dental, are worthy of his comprehensive genius. It is on the effect of 
 the whole, not on single coincidences, that the argument depends. 
 
 * To Christ alone, of all the characters ever portrayed to man, be 
 longs that assemblage of qualities which equally attract love and venera 
 tion ; to him alone belong in perfection those rare traits which the Ro 
 man historian, with affectionate flattery, attributes too absolutely to the 
 merely mortal object of his eulogy : " Nee illi, quod est rarissimum, aut 
 facilitas auctoritatem, aut severitas amorem, deminuit." Still more beau 
 tiful is the Apostle's description of superiority to all human failings, 
 with ineffable pity for human sorrows : " He can be touched with the 
 feeling of our infirmities, though without sin." 
 32 
 
374 REASON AND FAITH : 
 
 ods of representation, that of dramatic action; and, what 
 is more, that they succeeded ; that in that representation they 
 undertook to make him act with sublime consistency in scenes 
 of the most extraordinary character and the most touching 
 pathos, and utter moral truth in the most exquisite fictions in 
 which such truth was ever embodied ; and that again they 
 succeeded ; that so ineffably rich in genius were these obscure 
 wretches, that no less than four of them were found equal 
 to this intellectual achievement ; and while each has told 
 many events and given many traits which the others have 
 omitted, that they have all performed their task in the same 
 unique style of invention and the same unearthly tone of art ; 
 that one and all, while preserving each his own individuality, 
 has, nevertheless, attained a certain majestic simplicity of style 
 unlike any thing else, not only in any writings of their own na 
 tion, except their alleged sacred writings, and infinitely superior 
 to any thing which their successors, Jews or Christians, though 
 with the advantage of these models, could ever attain, but 
 unlike any acknowledged human writings in the world, and 
 possessing the singular property of being capable of ready 
 transfusion, without the loss of a thought or a grace, into 
 every language spoken by man : he must believe that these 
 fabricators of fiction, in common with the many other con 
 tributors to the New Testament, most insanely added to the 
 difficulty of their task by delivering the whole in fragments 
 and in the most various kinds of composition, in biography, 
 history, travels, and familiar letters ; incorporating and inter 
 fusing with the whole an amazing number of minute facts, 
 historic allusions, and specific references to persons, places, 
 and dates, as if for the very purpose of supplying posterity 
 with the easy means of detecting their impositions : he must 
 believe that, in spite of their thus encountering what Paley 
 calls the " danger of scattering names and circumstances in 
 writings where nothing but truth can preserve consistency," 
 they so happily succeeded, that whole volumes have been em 
 ployed in pointing out their latent and often most recondite con- 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 375 
 
 gruities ; many of them lying so deep, and coming out af 
 ter such comparison of various passages and collateral lights, 
 that they could never have answered the purposes of fraud, 
 even if the most prodigious genius for fraud had been equal 
 to the fabrication ; congruities which, in -fact, were never 
 suspected to exist till they were expressly elicited by the at 
 tacks of infidelity, and were evidently never thought of by 
 the writers : he must believe that they were profoundly sa 
 gacious enough to construct such a fabric of artful harmonies, 
 and yet such simpletons as, by doing infinitely more than 
 was necessary, to encounter infinite risks of detection, to no 
 purpose ; sagacious enough to outdo all that sagacity has ever 
 done, as shown by the effects, and yet not sagacious enough to 
 be merely specious : and finally, he must believe that these 
 illiterate impostors had the art, in all their various writings, 
 which evidently proceed from different minds, to preserve 
 the same inimitable marks of reality, truth, and nature, in their 
 narrations, the miraculous and the ordinary alike, and to 
 assume and preserve, with infinite ease, amidst their infinite 
 impostures, the tone and air of undissembled earnestness.* 
 
 If, on the other hand, he supposes that all the congruities 
 of which we have spoken were the effect, not of fraudulent 
 design, but of happy accident, that these myths arranged 
 themselves in spontaneous harmony, he must believe that 
 chance has done what even the most prodigious powers of in 
 vention could not do. .. 
 
 Once more ; he must believe that these same illiterate men, 
 who were capable of so much, were also capable of project 
 ing a system of doctrine singularly remote from all ordinary 
 and previous speculation ; of discerning the necessity of tak 
 ing under their special patronage those passive virtues which 
 man least loved, and found it most difficult to cultivate ; and 
 
 * Was there ever in truth a man who could read the appeals of Paul 
 to his converts, and doubt either that the letters were real, or that the 
 man was in earnest ? We scarcely venture to think it. 
 
376 REASON AND FAITH I 
 
 of exhibiting, in their preference of the spiritual to the cere 
 monial, and their treatment of many of the most delicate 
 questions of practical ethics and casuistry, a justness and ele 
 vation of sentiment as alien as possible from the superstition 
 and fanaticism of their predecessors who had corrupted the 
 Law, and the superstition and fanaticism of their followers, 
 who very soon corrupted the Gospel ; that they, and they 
 alone, rose above the strong tendencies to the extravagances 
 which had been so conspicuous during the past, and were 
 soon to be as conspicuous in the future. These and a thou 
 sand other paradoxes (arising out of the supposition that 
 Christianity is {he fraudulent or fictitious product of such an 
 age, country, and, above all, such men as the problem limits 
 us to) must the infidel receive, and receive all at once ; and 
 of him who can receive them we can but once more declare, 
 that, so far from having no " faith," he rather possesses the 
 " faith " which removes " mountains " ! only it appears 
 that his faith, like that of Rome or of Oxford, is a faith which 
 excludes reason. 
 
 On the other hand, to him who accepts Christianity, none 
 of these paradoxes present themselves. On the supposition 
 of the truth of the miracles and the prophecies, he does not 
 wonder at its origin or success : and as little does he wonder 
 at all the literary and intellectual achievements of its early 
 chroniclers, if their elevation of sentiment was from a divine 
 source, and if the artlessness, harmony, and reality of their 
 narratives was the simple effect of the consistency of truth, 
 and of transcription from the life. 
 
 Now, on the other hand, what are the chief objections 
 which reconcile the infidel to his enormous burden of para 
 doxes, and which appear to the Christian far less invincible 
 than the paradoxes themselves ? They are, especially with 
 all modern infidelity, chiefly founded on the a priori improb 
 ability of the doctrines revealed, and of the miracles which 
 sustain them. Now, here we come to the very distinction on 
 which we have already insisted, and which is so much insist- 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 377 
 
 ed on by Butler. The evidence which sustains Christianity 
 is all such as man is competent to consider ; and is precisely 
 of the same nature as that which enters into his every-day 
 calculations of probability ; while the objections spring entirely 
 from our ignorance and presumption. They suppose that we 
 know more of the modes of the Divine administration, of 
 what God may have permitted, of what is possible and impos 
 sible, of the ultimate development of an imperfectly devel 
 oped system, and of its relations to the entire universe, than 
 we do or can know.* 
 
 Of these objections, the most widely felt and the most spe 
 cious, especially in our day, is the assumption that miracles 
 are an impossibility ; f and yet we will venture to say that 
 there is none more truly unphilosophical. That miracles are 
 improbable, viewed in relation to the experience of the indi 
 vidual or of the mass of men, is granted ; for if they were 
 not, they would, as Paley says, be no miracles ; an every 
 day miracle is none. But that they are either impossible, or 
 so improbable that, if they were wrought, no evidence could 
 establish them, is another matter. The first allegation in 
 volves a curious limitation of Omnipotence ; and the second 
 affirms, in effect, that, if God were to work a miracle, it would 
 still be our duty to disbelieve him ! 
 
 We repeat our firm conviction, that this a priori presump 
 tion against miracles is but a vulgar illusion of one of Bacon's 
 idola tribus. So far from being disposed to admit the princi 
 ple that a " miracle is an impossibility," we shall venture on 
 what may seem to some a paradox, but which we are con- 
 
 * The possible implication of Christianity with distant regions of the 
 universe, and the dim hints which Scripture seems to throw out as to 
 such implication, are beautifully treated in the 4th, 5th, and 6th of Chal 
 mers's " Astronomical Discourses " ; and we need not tell the reader of 
 Butler how much he insists upon similar considerations. 
 
 t It is, as we shall see, the avowed axiom of Strauss ; he even ac 
 knowledges that, if it be not true, he would not think it worth while to 
 discredit the history- of the Evangelists ; that is, the history must be dis 
 credited, because he has resolved that a miracle is an impossibility. 
 32* 
 
378 REASON AND FAITH: 
 
 vinced is a truth, that the time will come, and is coming, 
 when even those who shall object to the evidence which sus 
 tains the Christian miracles will acknowledge that philosophy 
 requires them to admit that men have no ground whatever to 
 dogmatize on the antecedent impossibility of miracles in 
 general ; and that not merely because, if theists at all, they 
 will see the absurdity of this assertion, while they admit that 
 the present order of things had a beginning ; and, if Chris 
 tians at all, the equal absurdity of the assertion, while they 
 admit that it will have an end ; not only because the ge 
 ologist will have familiarized the world with the idea of suc 
 cessive interventions, and, in fact, distinct creative acts, hav 
 ing all the nature of miracles ; not only, we say, for these 
 special reasons, but for a more general one. The true philos 
 opher will see, that, with his limited experience and that of 
 all his contemporaries, he has no right to dogmatize about 
 all that may have been permitted, or will be permitted, in 
 the Divine administration of the universe. He will see that 
 those who with one voice denied, about half a century ago, 
 the existence of aerolites, and summarily dismissed all the 
 alleged facts as a silly fable, because it contradicted their ex 
 perience, that those who refused to admit the Copernican 
 theory, because, as they said, it manifestly contradicted their 
 experience, that the schoolboy who refuses to admit the 
 first law of motion, because, as he says, it gives the lie to all 
 his experience, that the Oriental prince (whose scepticism 
 Hume vainly attempts, on his principle, to meet) who denied 
 the possibility of ice, because it contradicted his experience, 
 and, in the same manner, that the men who, with Dr. 
 Strauss, lay down the dictum that a miracle is impossible, and 
 a contradiction, because it contradicts their experience, 
 have all been alike contravening the first principles of the 
 modest philosophy of Bacon, and have fallen into one of the 
 most ordinary illusions against which he has warned us ; 
 namely, that that cannot be true which seems in contradic 
 tion to our own experience. We confidently predict that the 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 379 
 
 day will come, when the favorite argument of many a so- 
 called philosopher in this matter will be felt to be the philoso 
 phy of the vulgar only ; and that though many may, even then, 
 deny that the testimony which supports the Scripture miracles 
 is equal to the task, they will all alike abandon the axiom which 
 supersedes the necessity even of examining such evidence, by 
 asserting that no evidence can establish them. 
 
 While on this subject, we may notice a certain fantastical 
 tone of depreciation of miracles as an evidence of Christianity, 
 which is occasionally adopted even by some who do not deny 
 the possibility or probability, or even the fact, of their occur 
 rence. They affirm them to be of little moment, and repre 
 sent them with an exquisite affectation of metaphysical 
 propriety as totally incapable of convincing men of any 
 moral truth ; upon the ground that there is no natural rela 
 tion between any displays of physical power and any such 
 truth. Now, without denying that the nature of the doctrine 
 is a criterion,* and must be taken into account in judging of 
 
 * The alleged reasoning in a circle, from the doctrine to the miracle, 
 and from the miracle to the doctrine, is a favorite retort of infidelity. It 
 is, in fact, no more a vicious circle than is involved in the great argu 
 ment for theism; that is, none at all. In the latter case, the works of 
 creation prove power and wisdom, and their immensely prevailing char 
 acteristics also infer goodness. That immense preponderance of proof 
 leads us to extend thetinference to the residuum of phenomena which, if 
 they existed alone, might imply a malevolent origin, or furnish, owing to 
 our ignorance, no decisive indications at all. It is the same with mira 
 cles ; their prevailing in the case of the New Testament, we may well 
 say their uniform characteristics will show clearly enough whether 
 they originated with a malignant or a benevolent source ; and the same 
 may be said of the obvious character of that portion of the doctrines the 
 nature and bearing of which we can appreciate. Having been thus proved 
 (if really wrought) to come from heaven and not from hell, miracles 
 will, in their turn, legitimately authenticate that portion of the doctrines 
 of which (as in the case of the natural phenomena above mentioned) we 
 are incompetent, from our ignorance, to judge, or which, like some of 
 those same phenomena, might, if taken alone, seem to afford opposite in 
 dications. 
 
380 REASON AND FAITH ! 
 
 the reality of any alleged miracle, we have just two things to 
 reply to this : first, that (as Paley says in relation to the ques 
 tion, whether any accumulation of testimony can establish a 
 miraculous fact) we are content " to try the theorem upon a 
 simple case," and affirm that man is so constituted, that if he 
 himself sees the blind restored to sight, and the dead raised, 
 under such circumstances as exclude all doubt of fraud on 
 the part of others, and all mistake on his own, he will uni 
 formly associate authority with such displays of superhuman 
 power ; which, in fact, he has uniformly done, whenever he 
 has, however falsely, attributed such power : and, secondly, 
 that the notion in question is in direct contravention of the 
 language and spirit of Christ himself, who expressly suspends 
 his claims to men's belief, and the authority of his doctrines, 
 on the fact of his miracles. " The works that I do in my 
 Father's name, they bear witness of me." " If ye believe not 
 me, believe my works." " If I had not come among them, 
 and done the works which none other man did, they had not 
 had sin." 
 
 We have enumerated some of the paradoxes which infidel 
 ity is required to believe ; and the old-fashioned, open, intel 
 ligible infidelity of the last century accepted them, and re 
 jected Christianity accordingly. That was a self-consistent, 
 simple, ingenuous thing, compared with those monstrous 
 forms of credulous reason, incredulous faith, metaphysical 
 mysticism, even Christian Pantheism, so many varieties of 
 which have sprung out of the incubation of German rational 
 ism and German philosophy upon the New Testament. 
 The advocates of these systems, after adopting the most for 
 midable of the above paradoxes of infidelity, and (notwith 
 standing the frequent boast of originality) depending mainly 
 on the same objections, and defending them by the very 
 same critical arguments,* delude themselves with the idea, 
 
 * The main objection, both with the old and the new forms of infidel 
 ity, is that against the miracles; the main arguments with both, those 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 381 
 
 that they have purified and embalmed Christianity ; not 
 aware that they have first made a mummy of it. They are 
 so greedy of paradox, that they, in fact, aspire to be Chris 
 tians and infidels at the same time. Proclaiming the miracles 
 of Christianity to be illusions of imagination or mythical le 
 gends, and the inspiration of its records no other or greater 
 than that of Homer's "Iliad," or even ^Esop's "Fables"; 
 
 rejecting the whole of that supernatural element with 
 which the only records which can tell us any thing about the 
 matter are full ; declaring its whole history so uncertain, 
 that the ratio of truth to error must be a vanishing fraction ; 
 
 the advocates of these systems yet proceed to rant and 
 rave they are really the only words we know which can 
 express our sense of their absurdity in a most edifying 
 vein about the divinity of Christianity, and to reveal to us its 
 true glories. " Christ," says Strauss, " is not an individual, 
 but an idea ; that is to say, humanity. In the human race 
 behold the God-made-man ! behold the child of the visible 
 virgin and the invisible Father ! that is, of matter and of 
 mind ; behold the Saviour, the Redeemer, the Sinless One ; 
 behold him who dies, who is raised again, who mounts into 
 the heavens ! Believe in this Christ ! In his death, his 
 resurrection, man is justified before God ! " * Well may Miil- 
 
 which attempt to show their antecedent impossibility; and criticism di 
 rected against the credibility of the records which contain them. The 
 principal difference is that modern infidelity shrinks from the coarse im 
 putation of fraud and imposture on the founders of Christianity ; and 
 prefers the theory of illusion or myth to that of deliberate fraud. But, 
 with this exception, which touches only the personal character of the 
 founders of Christianity, the case remains the same. The same postu 
 lates and the same arguments are made to yield substantially the same 
 conclusion. For all that is supernatural in Christianity, and all credibil 
 ity in its records, vanish equally on either assumption. Nor is even the 
 modern mode of interpreting many of the miracles (as illusions or le 
 gends) unknown to the elder infidelity ; only it more consistently felt that 
 neither the one theory nor the other could be trusted to alone. Veils et 
 remis was its motto. 
 * Such is Quinet's brief statement of Strauss's mystico-mythical Chris- 
 
382 REASON AND FAITH: 
 
 ler say, " And these insipidities of Pantheism we are to ac 
 cept as the genuine interpretation of the evangelic history ! " 
 Some, indeed, do not hesitate to say that Strauss himself 
 never believed these absurdities ; and they say so in compas 
 sion to his understanding. They affirm that he said these 
 things merely to cover his infidelity. They say that one so 
 acute could not really believe such nonsense ; or that, if he 
 did, he must be thought acute no more. But if they thus 
 save his understanding, it is at the expense of his honesty. 
 It would prove, not only that Dr. Strauss is critical, and not 
 seldom hypercritical, but also hypocritical. It must be con 
 fessed, however, that the flagitious manner in which, at 
 the conclusion of his book, he has discussed the question, 
 whether a man, in his own predicament, may not occupy the 
 place of a Christian preacher and pastor to a congregation of 
 ordinary Christians, taking care not to let them penetrate his 
 disguise, gives too much reason for the imputation. It is 
 awkward, certainly, when a man will so act as to give to the 
 world only the alternative of inferring that he has either lost 
 his wits, or lost his integrity.* 
 
 But whether it be the Rationalism of Paulus, or the Ra 
 tionalism of Strauss, whether that which declares all that 
 is supernatural in ^Christianity (forming the bulk of its history) 
 to be illusion, or that which declares it myth, the conclu 
 sions can be made out only by a system of interpretation, 
 which can be compared to nothing but the wildest dreams and 
 allegorical systems of some of the early Fathers ; t while the 
 
 tianity, f Bunded on the Hegelian philosophy. For a fuller, we dare not 
 say a more intelligible, account of it, in Strauss's own words, and the 
 metaphysical mysteries on which it depends, the reader may consult 
 I}r. Beard's translation ; pp. 44, 45 of his Essay, entitled " Strauss, 
 Hegel, and their Opinions." 
 
 * See Appendix, No. I. 
 
 t Of the mode of accounting for the supernatural occurrences in the 
 Scriptures by the illusion produced by mistaken natural phenomena 
 (perhaps the most stupidly jejune of all the theories ever projected by 
 man), Quinet eloquently says : " The pen which wrote the Provincial 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 383 
 
 results themselves are either those elementary principles of 
 ethics for which there was no need to invoke a revelation at 
 all, or some mystico-metaphysical philosophy, expressed in 
 language as unintelligible as the veriest gibberish of the Al 
 exandrian Platonists. In fact, by such exegesis and by such 
 philosophy, any thing may be made out of any thing ; and 
 the most -fantastical data be compelled to yield equally fan 
 tastical conclusions. 
 
 But the first and most natural question to ask is obviously 
 this : " How any mortal can pretend to extract any thing cer 
 tain, much more divine, from records, the great bulk of 
 which he has reduced to pure frauds, illusions, or legends, 
 and the great bulk of the remainder to an absolute uncer 
 tainty of how little is true, and how much false ? * Surely 
 it would need nothing less than a new revelation to reveal 
 this sweeping restriction of the old ; and we should even 
 then be left in an ecstasy of astonishment, first, that the 
 whole significance of it should have been veiled in frauds, il 
 lusions, or fictions; secondly, that its true meaning should 
 have been hidden from the world for eighteen hundred years 
 
 Letters would be necessary to lay bare the strange consequences of this 
 theology. According to its conclusion, the tree of good and evil was 
 nothing but a venomous plant, probably a manchineal tree, under which 
 our first parents fell asleep. The shining face of Moses on the heights 
 of Mount Sinai was the natural result of electricity ; the vision of 
 Zachariah was effected by the smoke of the chandeliers in the temple ; 
 the Magian kings, with their offerings of myrrh, of gold, and of incense, 
 were three wandering merchants, who brought some glittering tinsel Jo 
 the Child of Bethlehem; the star which went before them, a servant 
 bearing a flambeau ; the angels in the scene of the temptation, a cara 
 van traversing the desert, laden with provisions ; the two angels in the 
 tomb, clothed in white linen, an illusion caused by a linen garment ; the 
 Transfiguration, a storm." Who would not sooner be an old-fashioned 
 infidel than such a doting and maundering rationalist ? 
 
 * Daub naively enough declares, that " if you except all that relates 
 to angels, demons, and miracles, there is scarcely any mythology in the 
 Gospel." An exception which reminds one of the Irish prelate, who, on 
 reading " Gulliver's Travels," remarked that there were some things in 
 that book which he could not think true. 
 
384 REASON AND FAITH : 
 
 after its divine promulgation ; thirdly, that it should be re- 
 vealed at last, either in results which needed no revelation to 
 reveal them, or in the Egyptian darkness of the allegorico- 
 metaphysico-mystico-logico-transcendental " formulae " of the 
 most obscure and contentious philosophy ever devised by 
 man ; and lastly, that all this superfluous trouble is to give 
 us, after all, only the mysteries of a most enigmatical philoso 
 phy : for of Hegel in particular, we think it may with truth 
 be said, that the reader is seldom fortunate enough to know 
 that he knows his meaning, or even to know that Hegel knew 
 his own. 
 
 Whether, then, we regard the original compilers of the 
 evangelic records as inventing all that Paulus or Strauss re 
 jects, or sincerely believing their own delusions ; or hold that 
 their statements have been artfully corrupted or unconscious 
 ly disguised, till Christ and his Apostles are as effectually 
 transformed and travestied as such dreamers are pleased to im 
 agine, with what consistency can we believe any thing certain 
 amidst so many acknowledged fictions inseparably incorpo 
 rated with it ? If A has told B truth once and falsehood fifty 
 times (wittingly or unwittingly), what can induce B to believe 
 that he has any reason to believe A in that only time in 
 which he does believe him, unless he knows the same truth 
 by evidence quite independent of A, and for which he is not in 
 debted to him at all ? Should we not, then, at once acknowl 
 edge the futility of attempting to educe any certain historic 
 fact, however meagre, or any doctrine, whether intelligible 
 or obscure, from documents nine tenths of which are to be 
 rejected as a tissue of absurd fictions ? Or why should we 
 not fairly confess that, for aught we can tell, the whole is a 
 fiction ? For certainly, as to the amount of historic fact 
 which these men affect to leave, it is obviously a matter of 
 the most trivial importance whether we regard the whole Bi 
 ble as absolute fiction or not. Whether an obscure Galilean 
 teacher, who taught a moral system which may have been as 
 good (we can never know from such corrupt documents that 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 385 
 
 it was as good) as that of Confucius, or Zoroaster, ever lived 
 or not ; and whether we are to add another name to those 
 who have enunciated the elementary truths of ethics, is real 
 ly of very little moment. Upon their principles we can 
 clearly know nothing about him, except that he is the centre 
 of a vast mass of fictions, the invisible nucleus of a huge 
 conglomerate of myths. A thousand times more, therefore, 
 do we respect those, as both more honest and more logical, 
 who, on similar grounds, openly reject Christianity altogether ; 
 and who regard the New Testament, and speak of it, exactly 
 as they would of Homer's " Iliad," or Virgil's " ^Eneid." 
 Such men, consistently enough, trouble themselves not at all 
 in ascertaining what residuum of truth, historical or ethical, 
 may remain in a book which certainly gives ten falsehoods 
 for one truth, and welds both together in undistinguishable 
 confusion. The German infidels, on the other hand, with 
 infinite labor, and amidst infinite uncertainties, extract either 
 truth " as old as the creation," and as universal as human 
 reason, or truth which, after being hidden from the world for 
 eighteen hundred years in mythical obscurity, is unhappily 
 lost again the moment it is discovered, in the infinitely deep 
 er darkness of the philosophy of Hegel and Strauss ; who in 
 vain endeavor to gasp out, in articulate language, the still la 
 tent mystery of the Gospel! Hegel, in his last hours, is 
 said to have said, and if he did not say, he ought to have 
 said, Alas ! there is but one man in all Germany who un 
 derstands my doctrine, and he does not understand it ! 
 And yet, by his account, Hegelianism and Christianity, 
 " in their highest results," [language, as usual, felicitously 
 obscure,] " are one." Both therefore are, alas ! now for 
 ever lost. 
 
 That great problem, to account for the origin and estab 
 lishment of Christianity in the world with a denial at the 
 same time of its miraculous pretensions, a problem, the 
 fair solution of which is obviously incumbent on infidelity, 
 has necessitated the most gratuitous and even contradictory 
 
 33 
 
REASON AND FAITH I 
 
 hypotheses, and may safely be said still to present as hard a 
 knot as ever. The favorite hypothesis, recently, has been 
 that of Strauss, frequently remodified and readjusted, in 
 deed, by himself, that Christianity is a myth, or collection 
 of myths ; that is, a conglomerate (as geologists would say) 
 of a very slender portion of facts and truth, with an enormous 
 accretion of undesigned fiction, fable, and superstitions ; grad 
 ually framed and insensibly received, like the mythologies of 
 Greece and Rome, or the ancient systems of Hindoo theolo 
 gy. It is trtie, indeed, that the particular critical arguments, 
 the alleged historic discrepancies, and so forth, on which this 
 author founds his conclusions, are, for the most part, not orig 
 inal ; most of them having been insisted on before, both in 
 Germany and more especially in our own country, during the 
 Deistical controversies of the preceding century. His idea 
 of myths, however, may be supposed original ; and he is very 
 welcome to it. For of all the attempted solutions of the 
 great problem, this will be hereafter regarded as, perhaps, 
 the most untenable. Gibbon, in solving the same problem, 
 and starting in fact from the same axioms, for he too en 
 deavored to account for the intractable phenomenon from 
 natural causes alone, assigned as one cause, the reputation 
 of working miracles, the reality of which he denied ; but he 
 was far too cautious to decide whether the original founders 
 of Christianity had pretended to work miracles, and had been 
 enabled to cheat the world into the belief of them, or wheth 
 er the world had been pleased universally to cheat itself into 
 that belief. He was far too wise to tie himself to the proof, 
 that in the most enlightened period of the world's history, 
 amidst the strongest contrarieties of national and religious 
 feeling, amidst the bitterest bigotry of millions in behalf of 
 what was old, and the bitterest contempt of millions for all that 
 was new, amidst the opposing forces of ignorance and preju 
 dice on the one hand and philosophy and scepticism on the oth 
 er, amidst all the persecutions which attested and proved 
 those hostile feelings on the part of the bulk of mankind, 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 387 
 
 and, above all, in the short space of thirty or forty years (which 
 is all that Dr. Strauss allows himself), Christianity coutd be 
 thus deposited, like the mythologies of Greece or Rome ! 
 These, Gibbon well knew, were very gradual and silent for 
 mations ; originating in the midst of a remote antiquity and an 
 unhistoric age, during the very infancy and barbarism of the 
 races which adopted them, and confined, be it remembered, 
 to those races alone ; he knew that they display, instead of 
 the exquisite and symmetrical beauty of Christianity, those 
 manifest signs of gradual accretion which were fairly to be 
 expected ; in the varieties of the deposited or irrupted sub 
 stances, in the diffracted appearance of various parts, 
 in the very weather-stains, so to speak, which mark the whole 
 mass. 
 
 That the prodigious aggregate of miracles, which the 
 New Testament asserts, would, if fabulous, pass unchallenged, 
 elude all detection, and baffle all scepticism, collect in the 
 course of a few years energetic and zealous assertors of 
 their reality, in the heart of every civilized and almost every 
 barbarous community, and in the course of three centuries 
 change the face of the world, and destroy every other myth 
 which fairly came in contact with it, who but Strauss can 
 believe ? Was there no Dr. Strauss in those days ? None 
 to question and detect, as the process went on, the utter base 
 lessness of those legends ? Was all the world doting, was 
 even the persecuting world asleep ? Were all mankind re 
 solved on befooling themselves ? Are men wont thus quietly 
 to admit miraculous pretensions, whether they be prejudiced 
 votaries of another system, or sceptics as to all ? No : wheth 
 er we consider the age, the country, the men assigned for 
 the origin of these myths, we see the futility of the theory. 
 It does not account even for their origination, much less for 
 their success. We see that, if any mythology could in such 
 an age have germinated at all, it must have been one very 
 different from Christianity ; whether we consider the sort of 
 Messiah the Jews expected, or the hatred of all Jewish Mes- 
 
388 REASON AND FAITH: 
 
 siahs which the Gentiles could not but have felt. The Christ 
 offered them, so far from being welcome, was to the one a 
 " stumbling-block " and to the other " foolishness." 
 
 Let us suppose a parallel myth, if so we may abuse the 
 name. Let us suppose the son of some Canadian carpenter 
 aspiring to be a moral teacher, but neither working nor pre 
 tending to work miracles ; as much hated by his countrymen 
 as Jesus Christ was hated by his, and both he and his country 
 men as much hated by all the civilized world beside, as were 
 Jesus Christ and the Jews : let us further suppose him forbid 
 ding his followers the use of all force in propagating his doc 
 trines, and then let us calculate the probability of an unnoticed 
 and accidental deposit, in thirty short years, of a prodigious 
 accumulation, about these simple facts, of supernatural but 
 universally accredited fables ; these legends escaping detection 
 or suspicion as they accumulated, and suddenly laying hold in 
 a very little time of myriads of votaries in all parts of both 
 worlds, and in three centuries uprooting and destroying Chris 
 tianity and all opposing systems ! HoV long will it be before 
 the Swedenborgian, or the Mormonite, or any such pretenders, 
 will have similar success ? Have there not been a thousand 
 such, and has any one of them had the slightest chance against 
 systems in possession, against the strongly rooted prejudices 
 of ignorance and the Argus-eyed investigations of scepticism ? 
 But these prejudices of ignorance and this vigilance of scep 
 ticism were both opposed to the pretensions of Christianity ; 
 nor can any one example of at all similar and sudden success be 
 alleged, except in the case of Mahomet ; and to that the answer 
 is brief. The history of Mahomet is the history of a conquer 
 or, and his logic was the logic of the sword. 
 
 In spite of the theory of Strauss, therefore, not less than 
 that of Gibbon, the old and ever-recurring difficulty of giving 
 a rational account of the origin and establishment of Chris 
 tianity still presents itself for solution to the infidel, as it al 
 ways has done, and, we venture to say, always will do. It 
 is an insoluble phenomenon, except by the admission of the 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 389 
 
 facts of the New Testament. " The miracles," says Butler, 
 " are a satisfactory account of the events, of which no other 
 satisfactory account can be given : nor any account at all, 
 but what is imaginary merely and invented." 
 
 hi the mean time, the different theories of unbelief mutually 
 refute one another ; and we may plead the authority of one 
 against the authority of another. Those who believe Strauss 
 believe both the theory of imposture and the theory of illusion 
 improbable ; and those who believe in the theory of imposture 
 believe the theory of myths improbable. And both parties, 
 we are glad to think, are quite right in the judgment they 
 form of one another. 
 
 But what must strike every one who reflects as the most 
 surprising thing in Dr. Strauss is, that, with the postulatum 
 with which he sets out, and which he modestly takes for 
 granted as too evident to need proof, he should have thought 
 it worth while to write two bulky volumes of minute criticism 
 on the subject. A miracle he declares to be an absurdity, 
 a contradiction an impossibility. If we believed this, we 
 should deem a very concise enthymem (after having proved 
 that postulatum though) all that was necessary to construct 
 on the subject. A miracle cannot be true ; ergo, Chris 
 tianity, which in the only records by which ,we know any 
 thing about it avows its absolute dependence upon miracles, 
 must be false.* 
 
 It is a modification of one or other of these monstrous forms 
 of unbelieving belief and Christian infidelity, that Mr. Foxton, 
 late of Oxford, has adopted in his " Popular Christianity " ; 
 as perhaps also Mr. Froude in his " Nemesis." It is not very 
 easy, indeed, to say what Mr. Foxton positively believes ; 
 having, in common with his German prototypes, a greater fa 
 cility of telling us what he does not believe, and of wrapping 
 up what he does believe in a most impregnable mysticism. 
 He certainly rejects, however, all that which, when rejected 
 
 * For some further remarks on Dr. Strauss's work, see Appendix, No. I. 
 33* 
 
390 REASON AND FAITH I { 
 
 a century ago, left, in the estimate of every one, an infidel 
 in puris naturalibus. Like his German acquaintances, he 
 accepts the infidel paradoxes, only, like them, he will still be 
 a Christian. He believes, with Strauss, that a miracle is an 
 impossibility and contradiction, " incredible per se." As 
 to the inspiration of Christ, he regards it as, in its nature, 
 the same as that of Zoroaster, Confucius, Mahomet, Plato, 
 Luther, and Wickliffe, a curious assortment of " heroic 
 souls." * With a happy art of confusing the " gifts of genius," 
 no matter whether displayed in intellectual or moral power, 
 and of forgetting that other men are not likely to overlook 
 the difference, he declares " the wisdom of Solomon and the 
 poetry of Isaiah the fruit of the same inspiration which is 
 popularly attributed to Milton or Shakspeare, or even to the 
 homely wisdom of Benjamin Franklin " ; t in the same pleas 
 ant confusion of mind, he thinks that the " pens of Plato, of 
 Paul, and of Dante, the pencils of Raphael and of Claude, 
 the chisels of Canova and of Chantrey, no less than the voices 
 of Knox, of Wickliffe, and of Luther, are ministering instru 
 ments, in different degrees, of the same spirit." J " We find," 
 he says, " both in the writers and the records of Scripture, 
 every evidence of human infirmity that can possibly be con 
 ceived ; and yet we are to believe that God himself specially 
 inspired them with false philosophy, vicious logic, and bad 
 grammar ! " He denies the originality both of the Chris 
 tian ethics (which, he says, are a gross plagiarism from 
 Plato), as also in great part of the system of Christian doc 
 trine. || Nevertheless, it would be quite a mistake, it seems, 
 
 * Pp. 62, 63. t P. 72. J P. 77. P. 74. 
 
 || Pp. 51 -60. We are hardly likely to yield to Mr. Foxton in our 
 love of Plato, for whom we have expressed, and that very recently (April, 
 1848), no stinted admiration: and what we have there affirmed we are 
 by no means disposed to retract, that no ancient author has approached, 
 in the expression of ethical truth, so near to the maxims, and some 
 times the very expressions, of the Gospel. Nevertheless, we as strongly 
 affirm, that he wio contrasts (whatever the occasional sublimity of ex- 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 391 
 
 to suppose that Mr. Foxton is no Christian ! He is, on the 
 contrary, among the very few who can tell us what Christianity 
 really is, and who can separate the falsehoods and the myths 
 
 pression) the faltering and often sceptical tone of Plato on religious sub 
 jects with the uniformity and decision of the Evangelical system, his 
 dark notions in relation to God (candidly confessed) with the glorious rec 
 ognition of him in the Gospel as " our Father," his utterly absurd appli 
 cation of his general principles of morals, in his most Utopian of all Re 
 publics, with the broad, plain, social ethics of Christianity, the tone of 
 mournful familiarity (whatever his personal immunity) in which he too 
 often speaks of the saddest pollutions that ever degraded humanity, with 
 the spotless purity of the Christian rule of life, the hesitating, specula 
 tive tone of the Master of the Academy with the decision and majesty of 
 Him who " spake with authority, and not as the Scribes," whether Greek 
 or Jewish, the metaphysical and abstract character of Plato's reason 
 ings with the severely practical character of Christ's, the feebleness of 
 the motives supplied by the abstractions of the one, and the intensity of 
 those supplied by the other, the adaptation of the one to the intelligent 
 only, and the adaptation of the other to universal humanity, the very 
 manner of Plato, his gorgeous style, at least in those elevated portions of 
 his works in which he reaches the moral sublime, with the still more im 
 pressive simplicity of the Great Teacher, must surely see in the con 
 trast every indication, to say nothing of the utter gratuitousness (histori 
 cally) of the contrary hypothesis, that the sublime ethics of the Gospel, 
 whether we regard substance, or manner, or tone, or style, are no pla 
 giarism from Plato. As for the man who can hold such a notion, he 
 must certainly be very ignorant either of Plato or of Christ. As the best 
 apology for Mr. Foxton's offensive folly, perhaps it may be charitably 
 hoped that he is nearly ignorant of both. From his exclusive dependence 
 on the antiquated production of the undiscriminating and enthusiastic 
 Dacier, one might conjecture that Mr. Foxton's Platonic studies lie prin 
 cipally there 5 while Tindal's " Christianity as old as the creation " might 
 be the source of his Theology. Equally absurd is the attempt to iden 
 tify the metaphysical dreams of Plato with the doctrinal system of the 
 Gospel, though it is quite true, that, loj?g subsequent to Christ, the Pla- 
 tonizing Christians tried to accommodate the speculations of the sage 
 they loved to the doctrines of a still greater master. It may be said, per 
 haps, that a Christian is no competent judge of the superiority of the 
 ethics of Christ to those of Plato. He may content himself with saying 
 that Plato never extorted from his friends stronger eulogies than Christ 
 has often extorted from his enemies. 
 
392 REASON AND FAITH I 
 
 which have so long disguised it. He even talks most spirit 
 ually and with an edifying onction. He tells us : " ' God was,' 
 indeed, ' in Christ, reconciling the world unto himself.' 
 And but little deduction need be made from the rapturous 
 language of Paul, who tells us that ' in him dwelt all the ful 
 ness of the Godhead bodily? * I concede to Christ " (gen 
 erous admission !) " the highest inspiration hitherto granted 
 to the prophets of God," Mahomet, it appears, and Zoroas 
 ter, and Confucius, having also statues in his truly catholic 
 Pantheon. " The position of Christ," he tells us in another 
 place, is "simply that of the foremost man in all the world," 
 though he " soars far above ' all principalities and powers,' 
 
 above all philosophies hitherto known, above all creeds 
 hitherto propagated in his name " ; the true Christian doc 
 trine, after having been hid from ages and generations, being 
 reserved to be disclosed, we presume, by Mr. Foxton. His 
 spiritualism, as usual with the whole school of our new Chris 
 tian infidels, is, of course, exquisitely refined, but, unhap 
 pily, very vague. He is full of talk about " a deep insight," 
 
 a " faith not in dead histories, but in living realities, a 
 revelation to our innermost nature." " The true seer," he 
 says, " looking deep into causes, carries in his heart the sim 
 ple wisdom of God. The secret harmonies of nature vibrate 
 on his ear, and her fair proportions reveal themselves to his 
 eye. He has a deep faith in the truth of God." t " The in 
 spired man is one whose outward life derives all its radiance 
 from the light within him. He walks through stony places 
 by the light of his own soul, and stumbles not. No human 
 motive is present to such a mind in its highest exultation, 
 no love of praise, no desire of fame, no affection, no 
 passion, mingles with the divine afflatus, which passes over 
 without ruffling the soul." J And a great many fine phrases 
 of the same kind, equally innocent of all meaning. 
 
 It is amazing, and amusing to see with what ease Mr. Fox- 
 
 * P. 95. t P. 146. j p. 44. 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 393 
 
 ton decides points which have filled folios of controversy. 
 " In the teaching of Christ himself, there is not the slightest 
 allusion to the modern evangelical notion of an atonement." 
 "The diversities of 'gifts' to which Paul alludes (1 Cor. 
 xii.) are nothing more than those different 'gifts' which, 
 in common parlance, we attribute to the various tempers and 
 talents of men." * " It is, however, after all, absurd to sup 
 pose that the miracles of the Scriptures are subjects of actual 
 belief, either to the vulgar or the learned." t What an easy 
 time of it must such a controvertist have ! 
 
 He thinks it possible, too, that Christ, though nothing 
 more than an ordinary man, may really have " thought himself 
 divine," without being liable to the charge of a visionary self- 
 idolatry, or blasphemy, as hitherto supposed by every body, 
 Trinitarian or Unitarian, except Mr. Foxton. He accounts 
 for it by the " wild sublimity of human emotion, when the rapt 
 spirit first feels the throbbings of the divine afflatus," &c., &c. 
 A singular afflatus which teaches a man to usurp the name 
 and prerogatives of Deity, and a strange " inspiration " which 
 inspires him with so profound an ignorance of his own nature ! 
 This interpretation, we believe, is peculiarly Mr. Foxton's own. 
 
 The way in which he disposes of the miracles is essential 
 ly that of an undiscriminating, unphilosophic mind. There 
 have been, he tells us in effect, so many false miracles, su 
 perstitious stories of witches, conjurors, ghosts, hobgoblins, 
 of cures by royal touch, and the like, and therefore the 
 Scripture miracles are false ! Why, who denies that there 
 have been plenty of false miracles ? And there have been 
 as many false religions. Is there, therefore, none true ? The 
 proper business in every such case is to examine fairly the 
 evidence, and not to generalize after this absurd fashion. 
 Otherwise we shall never believe any thing ; for there is hard 
 ly one truth that has not its half-score of audacious coun 
 terfeits. 
 
 Still our author is amusingly perplexed, like all the rest of 
 
 * P. 67. t P. 104. 
 
394 REASON AND FAITH : 
 
 the infidel world, how to get rid of the miracles, whether 
 on the principle of fraud, or fiction, or illusion. He thinks 
 there would be " a great accession to the ranks of reason and 
 common sense by disproving the reality of the miracles, with 
 out damaging the veracity or honesty of the simple, earnest, 
 and enthusiastic writers by whom they are recorded " ; and 
 complains of the coarse and undiscriminating criticism of 
 most of the French and English Deists, who explain the mir 
 acles " on the supposition of the grossest fraud acting on the 
 grossest credulity." But he soon finds that the materials for 
 such a compromise are utterly intractable. He thinks that 
 the German Rationalists have depended too much on some 
 " single hypothesis, which often proves to be insufficient to 
 meet the great variety of conditions and circumstances with 
 which the miracles have been handed down to us." Very 
 true ; but what remedy ? " We find one German writer 
 endeavoring to explain away the miracles on the mystical 
 (mythical) theory ; and another riding into the arena of contro 
 versy on the miserable hobby-horse of ' clairvoyance ' or 
 1 mesmerism ' ; each of these, and a host of others of the same 
 class, rejecting whatever light is thrown on the question by 
 all the theories together." Mr. Foxton therefore proposes, 
 with great and gratuitous liberality, to heap all these theories 
 together, and to take them as they are wanted ; not withhold 
 ing any of the wonders of modern science even, as would 
 seem, the possible knowledge of " chloroform " * from the 
 propagators of Christianity ! 
 
 But, alas ! the phenomena are still intractable. The stub 
 born " Book," in its very structure, baffles all such efforts to 
 explain it away ; it is willing to be rejected, if it so pleases 
 men, but it guards itself from being thus made a fool of. 
 For who can fail to see that neither all nor any considerable 
 part of the multifarious miracles of the New Testament can 
 be explained by any such gratuitous extension of ingenious 
 
 * Pp. 86, 87. 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 395 
 
 fancies ; and that if they could be so explained, it would be 
 still impossible to exculpate the men who need such explana 
 tions from the charge of perpetrating the grossest frauds ! 
 Yet our logical ostrich, who can digest all these stones, pre 
 sumptuously declares a miracle an impossibility, and the very 
 notion of it a contradiction.* 
 
 There are no doubt some minds amongst us, whose power 
 we admit, and whose perversion of power we lament, who 
 have bewildered themselves by really deep meditation on 
 inexplicable mysteries ; who demand certainty where certain 
 ty is not given to man, or demand for truths which are estab 
 lished by sufficient evidence, other evidence than those truths 
 will admit. We can even painfully sympathize in that ordeal 
 of doubt to which such minds are peculiarly exposed, with 
 their Titanic struggles against the still mightier power of 
 Him who has said to the turbulent intellect of man, as well 
 as to the stormy ocean, " Hitherto shalt thou come, but no 
 further ; and here shall thy proud waves be staid." We 
 cannot wish better to any such agitated mind than that it may 
 listen to those potent and majestic words, " Peace, be 
 still ! " uttered by the voice of Him who so suddenly hushed 
 the billows of the Galilean lake. 
 
 But we are at the same time fully convinced that in our 
 day there are thousands of youths who are falling into the 
 same errors and perils from sheer vanity and affectation ; 
 who admire most what they least understand, and adopt all 
 
 * Mr. Foxton denies that men, in Paley's " single case, in which he 
 tries the general theorem," would believe the miracle ; but he finds ti con 
 venient to leave out the most significant circumstances on which Paley 
 makes the validity of the testimony to depend, instead of stating them 
 fairly in Paley's own words. Yet that the sceptics (if such there could 
 be) must be the merest fraction of the species, Mr. Foxton himself imme 
 diately proceeds to prove, by showing (what is undeniably the case) that 
 almost all mankind readily receive miraculous occurrences on far lower 
 evidence than Paley's common sense would require them to demdnd. 
 Surely he must be related to the Irishman who placed his ladder against 
 the bough he was cutting off. 
 
REASON AND FAITH : 
 
 the obscurities and paradoxes they stumble upon, as a cheap 
 path to a reputation for profundity ; who awkwardly imitate 
 the manner and retail the phrases of the writers they study ; 
 and, as usual in such cases, exaggerate to caricature their 
 least agreeable eccentricities. We should think that some 
 of these more powerful minds must be by this time ashamed 
 of that ragged regiment of most shallow thinkers, and ob 
 scure writers and talkers, who at present infest our literature, 
 and whose parrot-like repetition of their own stereotyped 
 phraseology, mingled with some barbarous infusion of half- 
 Anglicized German, threatens to form as odious a cant as 
 ever polluted the stream of thought, or disfigured the purity 
 of language. Happily, it is not likely to be more than a 
 passing fashion ; but still it is a very unpleasant fashion while 
 it lasts. As in Johnson's day every young writer imitated 
 as well as he could the ponderous diction and everlasting 
 antitheses of the great dictator ; as in Byron's day there 
 were thousands to whom the world " was a blank " at twenty 
 or thereabouts, and of whose " dark imaginings," as Macau- 
 lay says, the waste was prodigious ; so now there are hun 
 dreds of dilettanti pantheists, mystics, and sceptics, to whom 
 every thing is a " sham," an " unreality " ; who tell us that 
 the world stands in need of a great " prophet," a " seer," a 
 " true priest," a " large soul," a " god-like soul," *' who 
 shall dive into " the depths of the human consciousness," 
 and whose " utterances " shall rouse the human mind from 
 the " cheats and frauds " which have hitherto everywhere 
 practised on its simplicity. They tell us, in relation to phi 
 losophy, religion, and especially in relation to Christianity, 
 that all that has been believed by mankind has been believed 
 
 * See Mr. Foxton's last chapter, passim. From some expressions, 
 one would almost imagine that our author himself aspjged to be, if not 
 the Messiah, at least the Elias, of this new dispensation. We fear, 
 however, that this " vox clamantis " would reverse the Baptist's procla 
 mation, and would cry, " The straight shall be made crooked, and the 
 plain places rough. 1 " 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 397 
 
 only on " empirical " grounds ; aud that the old answers to 
 difficulties will do no longer. They shake their sage heads 
 at such men as Clarke, Paley, Butler, and declare that such 
 arguments as theirs will not satisfy them. We are glad to 
 admit that all this vague pretension is now but rarely dis 
 played in conjunction with the scurrilous spirit of that elder 
 unbelief against which the long series of British apologists 
 for Christianity arose between 1700 and 1750 ; but there is 
 often in it an arrogance as real, though not in so offensive a' 
 form. Sometimes the spirit of unbelief even assumes an 
 air of sentimental regret at its own inconvenient profundity. 
 Many a worthy youth tells us he almost wishes he could be 
 lieve. He admires, of all things, the " moral grandeur," 
 the " ethical beauty," of many parts of Christianity ; he con 
 descends to patronize Jesus Christ, though he believes that 
 the great mass of words and actions, by which alone we 
 know any thing about him, ~re sheer fictions or legends ; he 
 believes gratuitously enough in this instance, for he has 
 no ground for it that Jesus Christ was a very " great man," 
 worthy of comparison at least with Mahomet, Luther, Napo 
 leon, and " other heroes " ; he even admits the happiness of 
 a simple, childlike faith in the puerilities of Christianity, 
 it produces such content of mind ! But, alas ! he cannot 
 believe, his intellect is not satisfied, he has revolved 
 the matter too profoundly to be thus taken in ; he must, he 
 supposes, (and our beardless philosopher sighs as he says it,) 
 bear the penalty of a too restless intellect, and a too specu 
 lative genius ; he knows all the usual arguments jvhich sat 
 isfied Pascal, Butler, Bacon, Leibnitz ; but they will do no 
 longer ; more radical, more tremendous difficulties have sug 
 gested themselves, " from the depths of philosophy," and far 
 different answers are required now ! * 
 
 * It may be feared that many young minds in our day are exposed 
 to the danger of falling into one or other of the prevailing forms of un 
 belief, and especially into that of pantheistic mysticism, from rashly 
 34 
 
398 REASON AND FAITH ! 
 
 This is easily said, and we know is often said, and loudly. 
 But the justice with which it is said is another matter ; for 
 
 meditating in the cloudy regions of German philosophy, on difficulties 
 which would seem beyond the limits of human reason, but which that 
 philosophy too often promises to solve, with what success we may see 
 from the rapid succession and impenetrable obscurities of its various 
 systems. Alas ! when will men learn that one of the highest achieve 
 ments of philosophy is to know when it is vain to philosophize ! When 
 the obscure principles of these most uncouth philosophies, expressed, 
 we verily believe, in the darkest language ever used by civilized man, 
 are applied to the solution of the problems of theology and ethics, no 
 wonder that the natural consequence, as well as just retribution, of such 
 temerity is a plunge into tenfold night. Systems of German philosophy 
 may perhaps be advantageously studied by those who are mature 
 enough to study them ; but that they have an incomparable power of 
 intoxicating the intellect of the young aspirant to their mysteries is, we 
 think, undeniable. They are producing this effect just now in a multi 
 tude of our juveniles, who are beclouding themselves in the vain at 
 tempt to comprehend ill-translated fragments of ill-understood philoso 
 phies, (executed in a sort of Anglicized-German, or Germanized-English, 
 we know not which to call it, but certainly neither German nor Eng 
 lish,) from the perusal of which they carry away nothing but some very 
 obscure terms, on which they themselves have superinduced a very 
 vague meaning. These terms you in rain implore them to define ; or, 
 if they define them, they define them in terms which as much need defi 
 nition. Heartily do we wish that Socrates would reappear amongst us, 
 to exercise his accoucheur's art on these hapless Theastetuses and Me- 
 nos of our day ! 
 
 Many such youths might, no doubt, reply at first to the sarcastic que 
 rist, (who might gently complain of a slight cloudiness in their specula 
 tions,) that the truths they uttered were too profound for ordinary rea- 
 soners. We may easily imagine how Socrates would have dealt with 
 such assumptions. His reply would be rather more severe than that of 
 Mackintosh to Coleridge, in a somewhat similar case ; namely, that if a 
 notion cannot be made clear to persons who have spent the better part 
 of their days in revolving the difficulties of metaphysics and philosophy, 
 and who are conscious that they are not destitute of patience for the 
 effort requisite to understand them, it may suggest a doubt whether the 
 fault be not in the medium of communication rather than elsewhere ; 
 and, indeed, whether the philosopher be not aiming to communicate 
 thoughts on subjects on which man can have no thoughts to communi 
 cate. Socrates would add, perhaps, that language was given us to ex- 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 399 
 
 when we can get these cloudy objectors to put down, not 
 their vague assertions of profound difficulties, uttered in the 
 
 press, not to conceal, our thoughts ; and that, if they cannot be commu 
 nicated, invaluable as they doubtless are, we had- better keep them to 
 ourselves ; one thing it is clear he would do, he would insist on pre 
 cise definitions. But, in truth, it may be more than surmised that the 
 obscurities of which all complain, except those (and in our day they are 
 not a few) to whom obscurity is a recommendation, results from suffer 
 ing the intellect to speculate in realms forbidden to its access ; of ven 
 turing into caverns of tremendous depth and darkness, with nothing bet 
 ter than our own rushlight. Surely we have reason to suspect as much 
 when some learned professor, after muttering his logical incantations, 
 and conjuring with his logical formulas, surprises you by saying, that he 
 has disposed of the great mysteries of existence and the universe, and 
 solved to your entire satisfaction, in his own curt way, the problems of 
 the ABSOLUTE and the INFINITE ! If the cardinal truths of philosophy 
 and religion hitherto received are doomed to be imperilled by such spec 
 ulations, one feels strongly inclined to pray with the old Homeric hero, 
 
 " that, if they must perish, it may be at least in daylight." 
 
 We earnestly counsel the youthful reader to defer the study of German 
 philosophy, at least till he has matured and disciplined his mind, and 
 familiarized himself with the best models of what used to be our boast, 
 
 English clearness of thought and expression. He will then learn to 
 ask rigidly for definitions, and not rest satisfied with half-meanings, or 
 no meaning. To the naturally venturous pertinacity of young metaphy 
 sicians, few would be disposed to be more indulgent than ourselves. 
 From the time of Plato downwards, who tells us that no sooner do 
 they " taste " of dialectics than they are ready to dispute with every 
 body, " sparing neither father nor mother, scarcely even the lower ani 
 mals," if they had but a voice to reply, they have always expected 
 more from metaphysics than (except as a discipline) they will ever yield. 
 He elsewhere, still more humorously, describes the same trait. He com 
 pares them to young dogs, who are perpetually snapping at every thing 
 about them : Oi/zeu yap tre ov \\r)6fvai, on ol p.eipaKL(TKOi, orav TO 
 irp&Tov \6ya>v yev&vrai, o>f TratSia avrois Kara^paii'Tat, del els di/riAo- 
 yiav xpd>p.evoi KOL fjup-ovpevoi TOVS e^f\ey^ovTas avTol 
 
 <rtj \aipovTS axrTrep o~KV\a,Kia ra> eA/eeii/ re Kal o~7rapa.TTiv TO 
 o~iov dei. But we hope we shall not see our metaphysical " puppies " 
 amusing themselves, as many " old dogs " amongst our neighbors 
 (who ought to have known better) have done, by tearing into tatters 
 the sacred leaves of that volume, which contains what is better than all 
 their philosophy. 
 
400 REASON AND FAITH : 
 
 obscure language they love, but a precise statement of their 
 objections, we find them either the very same with those 
 which were quite as powerfully urged in the course of the 
 deistical controversies of the last century (the case with far 
 the greater part), or else such as are of similar character, 
 and susceptible of similar answers. We say not that the 
 answers were always satisfactory, nor are now inquiring 
 whether any of them were so ; we merely maintain that the 
 objections in question are not the novelties they affect to be. 
 It is necessary to remember this, in order to obviate an ad 
 vantage which the very vagueness of much modern opposi 
 tion to Christianity would obtain, from the notion that some 
 prodigious arguments have been discovered, which the intel 
 lect of a Pascal or a Butler was not comprehensive enough 
 to anticipate, and which no Clarke or Paley would have been 
 logician enough to refute. We affirm, without hesitation, 
 that when the new advocates of infidelity descend from their 
 airy elevation, and state their objections in intelligible terms, 
 they are found, for the most, what we have represented them. 
 Indeed, when we read many of the speculations of German 
 infidelity, we seem to be reperusing many of our own au 
 thors of the last century. It is as if our neighbors had im 
 ported our manufactures ; and, after repacking them, in novel 
 forms and with some additions of their own, had reshipped 
 and sent them back to us as new commodities. Hardly an 
 instance of discrepancy is mentioned in the " Wolfenbiittel 
 Fragments," which will not be found in the pages of our 
 own deists a century ago ; and as already hinted, the vast 
 majority of Dr. Strauss's elaborate strictures will be found in 
 the same sources. In fact, though far from thinking it to 
 our national credit, none but those who will dive a little 
 deeper than most do into a happily forgotten portion of our 
 literature, (which made noise enough in its day, and created 
 very superfluous terrors for the fate of Christianity,) can have 
 any idea of the extent to which the modern forms of un 
 belief in Germany so far as founded on any positive 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 401 
 
 grounds, whether of reason or of criticism are indebted 
 to our English deists. Tholuck, however, and others of his 
 countrymen, seem thoroughly aware of it. 
 
 The objections to the truth of Christianity are directed 
 either against the evidence itself, or that which it substan 
 tiates. Against the latter, as Bishop Butler says, unless the 
 objections be truly such as prove contradictions in it, they are 
 " perfectly frivolous " ; since we cannot be competent judges 
 either as to all which it may be worthy of the Supreme Mind 
 to reveal,* or how far a portion of an imperfectly developed 
 system may harmonize with the whole ; and perhaps on many 
 points we never can be competent judges, unless we can 
 cease to be finite. The objections to the evidence itself are, 
 as the same great author observes, " well worthy of the full 
 est attention." The a priori objection to miracles has been 
 already briefly touched. If that objection be valid, it is vain 
 to argue further ; but if not, the remaining objections must be 
 powerful enough to neutralize the entire mass of the evi 
 dence, and, in fact, to amount to a proof of contradictions, 
 not on this or that minute point of historical detail, but on 
 such as shake the foundations of the whole edifice of evi 
 dence. It will not do to say, " Here is a minute discrepan 
 cy in the history of Matthew or Luke as compared with that 
 of Mark or John " ; for, 
 
 First, such discrepancies are often found, in other authors, 
 to be apparent and not real, founded on our taking for 
 granted that there is no circumstance unmentioned by two 
 writers, which, if known, would have been seen to harmonize 
 their statements. This possible reconciliation is admitted 
 readily enough in the case of many seeming discrepancies of 
 other historians ; but it is a benefit which men are slow to 
 extend to the sacred narratives. There the objector is always 
 apt to take it for granted that the discrepancy is real ; though 
 it may be easy to suppose a case (and a possible case is 
 
 * For some further remarks on this subject, see Appendix, No. II. 
 34* 
 
402 REASON AND FAITH : 
 
 quite sufficient for the purpose) which would neutralize the 
 objection. Of this perverseness (we can call it by no other 
 name) the examples are perpetual in the critical tortures to 
 which Strauss has subjected the sacred historians.* It may 
 
 * The reader may see some striking instances of his disposition gra 
 tuitously to take the worse sense, in Beard's " Voices of the Church." 
 Tholuck truly observes, too, in his strictures on Strauss, " We know how 
 frequently the loss of a few words in one ancient author would be suffi 
 cient to cast an inexplicable obscurity over another." The same writer 
 well observes, that there never was an historian who, if treated on the 
 principles of criticism which his countryman has applied to the Evange 
 lists, might not be proved a mere mythographer " It is plain," 
 
 says he, "that if absolute agreement among historians" and, still 
 more, absolute apparent agreement " be necessary to assure us that 
 we possess in their writings credible history, we must renounce all pre 
 tence to any such possession." The translations from Quinet, Coquerel, 
 and Tholuck are all, in different ways, well worth reading. The last truly 
 says : " Strauss came to the study of the Evangelical history with the 
 foregone conclusion that ' miracles are impossible ' ; and where an in 
 vestigator brings with him an absolute conviction of the guilt of the ac 
 cused to the examination of his case, we know how even the most inno 
 cent may be implicated and condemned out of his own mouth." In fact, 
 so strong and various are the proofs of truth and reality in the history of 
 the New Testament, that none would ever have suspected the veracity of 
 the writers, or tried to disprove it, except for the above foregone conclu 
 sion, " that miracles are impossible." We also recommend to the 
 reader an ingenious brochure included in the " Voices of the Church, in 
 Reply to Strauss," constructed on the same principle with Whately's ad 
 mirable. "Historic Doubts"; namely, "The Fallacy of the Mythical 
 Theory of Dr. Strauss, illustrated from the History of Martin Luther 
 and from actual Mohammedan Myths of the Life of Jesus." What a 
 subject for the same play of ingenuity would be Dean Swift! The date 
 and place of his birth disputed, whether he was an Englishman or an 
 Irishman, his incomprehensible relations to Stella and Vanessa, utterly 
 incomprehensible on any hypothesis, his alleged seduction of one, of 
 both, of neither, his marriage with Stella affirmed, disputed, and still 
 wholly unsettled, the numberless other incidents in his life full of con 
 tradiction and mystery, and, not least, the eccentricities and inconsis 
 tencies of his whole character and conduct! Why, with a thousandth 
 part of Doctor Strauss's assumptions, it would be easy to reduce Swift to 
 as fabulous a personage as his own Lemuel Gulliver. (For further re 
 marks, see Appendix, No. I.) 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 403 
 
 be objected, perhaps, that the gratuitous supposition of some 
 unmentioned fact which, if mentioned, would harmonize 
 the apparently counter-statements of two historians can 
 not be admitted, and is, in fact, a surrender of the argument. 
 But to say so, is only to betray an utter ignorance of what the 
 argument is. If an objection be founded on the alleged ab 
 solute contradiction of two statements, it is quite sufficient 
 to show any (not the real, but only a hypothetical and possi 
 ble) medium of reconciling them ; and the objection is in all 
 fairness dissolved ; and this would 'be felt by the honest logi 
 cian, even if we did not know of any such instances in point 
 of fact. We do know, however, of many. Nothing is more 
 common than to find, in the narration of two perfectly* hon 
 est historians, referring to the same events from different 
 points of view, or for a different purpose, the omission of 
 a fact which gives a seeming contrariety to their statements ; 
 a contrariety which the mention of the omitted fact by a 
 third writer instantly clears up.* Very forgetful of this have 
 
 * Any apparent discrepancy with either themselves or profane historians 
 is usually sufficient to satisfy Dr. Strauss. He is ever ready to conclude 
 that the discrepancy is real, and that the profane historians are right. In 
 adducing some striking instances of the minute accuracy of Luke, only 
 revealed by obscure collateral evidence (historic or numismatic) discov 
 ered since, Tholuck remarks : " What an outcry would have been made, 
 had not the specious appearance of error been thuso bviated ! " " Luke 
 calls Gallio proconsul of Achaia : we should not have expected it, since, 
 though Achaia was originally a senatorial province, Tiberius had 
 changed it into an imperial one, and the title of its governor, therefore, 
 was procurator ; now a passage in Suetonius informs us that Claudius 
 had restored the province to the Senate." The same Evangelist calls Ser- 
 gius Paulus governor of Cyprus : yet we might have expected to find 
 only a praetor, since Cyprus was an imperial province. In this case, 
 again, says Tholuck, the correctness of the historian has been remarka 
 bly attested. Coins, and later still a passage in Dion Cassius, have been 
 found, giving proof that Augustusrestored the province to the Senate ; 
 and, as if to vindicate the Evangelist, the Roman historian adds : " Thus 
 proconsuls began to be sent into that island also." Trans, from Tho- 
 luck, pp. 21, 22. In the same manner coins have been found, proving he is 
 
404 REASON AND FAITH : 
 
 the advocates of infidelity usually been : nay, (as if they 
 would make up in the number of objections what they want 
 in weight,) they have frequently availed themselves, not only 
 of apparent contrarieties, but of mere incompleteness in the 
 statements of two different writers, on which to found a 
 charge of contradiction. Thus, if one writer says that a cer 
 tain person was present at a given time or place, when 
 another says that he and two more were there ; or that one 
 man was cured of blindness, when another says that two 
 were cured, such a thing is often alleged as a contradic 
 tion ; whereas, in truth, it presents not even a difficulty, 
 unless one historian be bound to say, not only all that another 
 says, but just so much, and no more. Let such objections be 
 what they will, unless they prove absolute contradictions in 
 the narrative, they are as mere dust in the balance, compared 
 with the stupendous mass and variety of that evidence which 
 confirms the substantial truth of Christianity. And even if 
 they establish real contradictions, they still amount, for rea 
 sons we are about to state, to no more than dust in the bal 
 ance, unless they establish contradictions, not in immaterial, 
 but in vital points. The objections must be such as, if 
 proved, leave the whole fabric of evidence in ruins. For, 
 
 Secondly, we are fully disposed to concede to the objector 
 that there are, in the books of Scripture, not only apparent 
 but real discrepancies, a point which many of the advo 
 cates of Christianity are, indeed, reluctant to admit, but 
 which, we think, no candid advocate will feel to be the less 
 true. Nevertheless, even such an advocate of the Scriptures 
 may justly contend that the very reasons which necessitate 
 this admission of discrepancies also reduce them to snch a 
 limit that they do not affect, in the slightest degree, the sub 
 stantial credibility of the sacred records ; and, in our judg 
 ment, Christians have unwisely damaged their cause, and 
 
 correct in some other once disputed instances. Is it not fair to suppose that 
 many apparent discrepancies of the same order may be eventually re 
 moved by similar evidence ? 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 405 
 
 given a needless advantage to the infidel, by denying that 
 any discrepancies exist, or by endeavoring to prove that they 
 do not. The discrepancies to which we refer are just those 
 which, in the course of the transmission of ancient books, 
 divine or human, through many ages, their constant tran 
 scription by different hands, their translation into various 
 languages, may not only be expected to occur, but which 
 must occur, unless there be a perpetual series of most minute 
 and ludicrous miracles, certainly never promised, and as 
 certainly never performed, to counteract all the effects of 
 negligence and inadvertence, to guide the pen of every 
 transcriber to infallible accuracy, and to prevent his ever 
 deviating into any casual error ! Such miraculous interven 
 tion, we need not say, has never been pleaded for by any 
 apologist of Christianity ; has certainly never been promised ; 
 and if it had, since we see, as a matter of fact , that the 
 promise has never been fulfilled, the whole of Christianity 
 would fall to the ground. But then, from a large induction, 
 we know that the limits within which discrepancies and er 
 rors from such causes will occur, must be very moderate ; 
 we know, from numberless examples of other writings, what 
 the maximum is, and that it leaves their substantial authen 
 ticity untouched and unimpeached. No one supposes the 
 writings of Plato and Cicero, of Thucydides and Tacitus, of 
 Bacon or Shakspeare, fundamentally vitiated by the like dis 
 crepancies, errors, and absurdities, which time and inadver 
 tence have occasioned. 
 
 The corruptions in the Scriptures, from these causes, are 
 likely to be even less than in the case of any other writings ; 
 from their very structure, the varied and reiterated forms 
 in which all the great truths are expressed ; from the greater 
 veneration they inspired ; the greater care with which they 
 would be transcribed ; the greater number of copies which 
 would be diffused through the world, and which, though 
 that very circumstance would multiply the number of varia 
 tions, would also afford, in their collation, the means of re- 
 
406 REASON AND FAITH : 
 
 ciprocal correction ; a correction which we have seen ap 
 plied, in our day, with admirable success, to so many ancient 
 writers, under a system of canons which have now raised this 
 species of criticism to the rank of an inductive science. This 
 criticism, applied to the Scriptures, has, in many instances, 
 restored the true reading, and dissolved the objections which 
 might have been founded on the uncorrected variations ; and, 
 as time rolls on, may lead, by yet fresh discoveries and more 
 comprehensive recensions, to a further clarifying of the stream 
 of Divine truth, till " the river of the water of life " shall flow 
 nearly in its original limpid purity. Within such limits as 
 these, the most consistent advocate of Christianity not only 
 must admit not only may safely admit the existence of 
 discrepancies, but may do so even with advantage to his 
 cause. He must admit them, since such variations must be 
 the result of the manner in which the records have been trans 
 mitted, unless we suppose a supernatural intervention, neither 
 promised by God, nor pleaded for by man : he may safely 
 admit them, because from a general induction from the 
 history of all literature we see that, where copies of writ 
 ings have been sufficiently multiplied, and sufficient motives 
 for care have existed in the transcription, the limits of error 
 are very narrow, and leave the substantial identity untouched : 
 and he may admit them with advantage ; for the admis 
 sion is a reply to many objections founded on the assumption 
 that he must contend that there are no variations, when he 
 need only contend that there are none that can be material. 
 
 But it may be said, " May not we be permitted, while con 
 ceding the miraculous and other evidences of Christianity, 
 and the general authority of the records which contain it, to 
 go a step further, and to reject some things which seem pal 
 pably ill-reasoned, distasteful, inconsistent, or immoral ? " 
 " Let every man be fully persuaded in his own mind." For 
 ourselves, we honestly confess we cannot see the logical con 
 sistency of such a position ; any more than the reasonable 
 ness, after having admitted the preponderant evidence for 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 407 
 
 the great truth of theism, of excepting some phenomena as 
 apparently at variance with the Divine perfections ; and thus 
 virtually adopting a Manicha3an hypothesis.* We must rec 
 ollect that we know nothing of Christianity except from its 
 records ; and as these, once fairly ascertained to be authentic 
 and genuine, are all, as regards their contents, supported pre 
 cisely by the same miraculous and other external evidence 
 which sustains any part of them ; as they bear upon them 
 precisely the^same internal marks of artlessness, truth, and 
 sincerity, and, historically and in other respects, are inextri 
 cably interwoven with one another ; we see not on what prin 
 ciples we can safely reject portions as improbable, distasteful, 
 not quadrating with the dictates of " reason," our " intuitional 
 consciousness," and what not. This assumed liberty, how 
 ever, is, as we apprehend, of the very essence of Rationalism ; 
 and it may be called the Manichseism of interpretation. So 
 long as the canonicity of any of the records, or any portion 
 of them, or their true interpretation, is in dispute, we may 
 fairly doubt ; but that point once decided by honest criticism, 
 to say we receive such and such portions on account of the 
 weight of the general evidence, and yet reject other portions, 
 though sustained by the same evidence, because we think 
 there is something unreasonable or revolting in their sub 
 stance, is plainly to accept evidence only where it pleases us, 
 and to reject it where it pleases us not. The only question 
 fairly at issue must ever be, whether the general evidence for 
 Christianity will overbear the difficulties which we cannot sep 
 arate from the truths. If it will not, we must reject it whol 
 ly ; and if it will, we must receive it wholly. There is plainly 
 no tenable position between absolute infidelity and absolute 
 belief. And this is proved by the infinitely various and Pro 
 tean character of Rationalism, and the perfectly undetermi- 
 
 * For further remarks on this very interesting subject, suggested 
 by a conversation with one of the most powerful as well as brilliant minds 
 of this or of any age, see Appendix, No. III. 
 
408 
 
 REASON AND FAITH I 
 
 nate, but always arbitrary, limits it imposes on itself. It exists 
 in all forms and degrees, from a moderation which accepts 
 nearly the entire system of Christianity, and which certainly 
 rejects nothing that can be said to constitute its distinctive 
 truth, to an audacity of unbelief, which, professing still 
 vaguely to reverence Christianity as " something divine," 
 sponges out nine tenths of the whole ; or, after reducing the 
 mass of it to a caput mortuum of lies, fiction, and supersti 
 tions, retains only a few drops of fact and doctrine, so few 
 as certainly not to pay for the expenses of the critical dis 
 tillation.* 
 
 Nor will the theory of what some call the " intuitional con 
 sciousness " avail us here. It is true, as they assert, that the 
 constitution of human nature is such, that, before its actual de 
 velopment, it has a capacity of developing to certain effects 
 
 * It may be as well to remark, that we have frequently observed a dispo 
 sition to represent the very general abandonment of the theory of " verbal 
 inspiration " as a concession to Rationalism ; as if it necessarily followed 
 from admitting that inspiration is not verbal, that, therefore an indeter 
 minate portion of the substance or doctrine is purely human. It is plain, 
 however, that this is no necessary consequence : an advocate of plenary 
 inspiration may contend, that, though he does not believe that the very 
 words of Scripture were dictated, yet that the thoughts were either so 
 suggested (if the matter was such as could be known only by revelation), 
 or so controlled (if the matter were such as was previously known), that 
 (excluding errors introduced into the text since) the Scriptures as first 
 composed were what no book of man ever was, or can be, even in the 
 plainest narrative of the simplest events a perfectly accurate expres 
 sion of truth. We enter not here, however, into the question, whether 
 such a view of inspiration is better or worse than another. The simple 
 object has been to correct a fallacy which, judging from what we have re 
 cently read, has operated rather extensively. Inspiration may be verbal, 
 or the contrary ; but, whether one or the other, he who takes the affir 
 mative or negative of that question may still consistently contend that it 
 may be plenary. The question of the inspiration of the whole, or the in 
 spiration of a part, is widely different from that as to the suggestion of 
 the words, or the suggestion of the thoughts. But these questions we 
 leave to professed theologians. We merely enter our protest against a 
 prevailing fallacy. 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 409 
 
 only, just as the flower in the germ, as it expands to the 
 sun, will have certain colors and a certain fragrance, and no 
 other ; all which, indeed, though not very new or profound, 
 is very important. But it is not so clear that it will give us 
 any help on the present occasion. We have an original sus 
 ceptibility of music, of beauty, of religion, it is said. Grant 
 ed ; but as the actual development of this susceptibility ex 
 hibits all the diversities between Handel's notions of harmony 
 and those of an American Indian, between Raphael's no 
 tions of beauty and those of a Hottentot, between St. Paul's 
 notions of a God and those of a New Zealander, it would 
 appear that the education of this susceptibility is at least 
 as important as the susceptibility itself, if not more so ; 
 for without the susceptibility itself, we should simply have 
 no notion of music, beauty, or religion ; and between such 
 negation and that notion of all these which New Zealand- 
 ers and Hottentots possess, not a few of our species would 
 probably prefer the former. It is in vain, then, to tell us to 
 look into the " depths of our own nature," (as some vaguely 
 say,) and to judge thence what in a professed revelation from 
 heaven is suitable to us, or worthy of our acceptance and re 
 jection respectively. This criterion is, as we see by the 
 utterly different judgments formed by different classes of 
 Rationalists, as to the how much they shall receive of the rev 
 elation they may generally admit, a very shifting one, a 
 measure which has no linear unit ; it is to employ, as mathe 
 maticians say, a variable as if it were a constant quantity ; 
 or rather, it is to attempt to find the value of an unknown 
 quantity by another equally unknown. 
 
 It may be contended, then, that the principle of Rational 
 ism is logically untenable ; and that for many reasons : not 
 merely or principally on account of the absurdity it involves, 
 that God has expressly supplemented human reason by a 
 revelation containing an indeterminate but large portion of 
 falsities, errors, and absurdities, and which we are to commit 
 to our little alembic, and distil as we may ; not only on ac- 
 35 
 
410 REASON AND FAITH: 
 
 count of the paradox it imposes, that God has demanded our 
 faith, for statements which are to be received only as they 
 appear perfectly comprehensible by our reason ; or, in other 
 words, only for what it is impossible that we should doubt or 
 deny ; not merely because the principle inevitably leaves 
 man to construct the so-called revelation entirely for himself; 
 so that what one man receives as a genuine communication 
 from heaven, another, from having a different development 
 of " his intuitional consciousness," rejects as an absurdity too 
 gross for human belief; not wholly, we say, nor even 
 principally, for these reasons ; but for the still stronger reason 
 that such a principle involves in its application an egregious 
 trifling with that great complex mass of evidence, which, as 
 we have said, applies to the whole of Christianity, or to none 
 of it. As if to baffle the efforts of man consistently to disen 
 gage these elements of our belief, the whole are inextricably 
 blended together. The supernatural element, especially, is 
 so diffused, through all the records, that it is more and more 
 felt, at every step, to be impossible to obliterate it, without 
 obliterating the entire system in which it circulates. The 
 stain, if stain it be, is far too deep for any scouring fluids of 
 Rationalism to wash it out, without destroying the whole tex 
 ture of our creed ; and, in our judgment, the only consistent 
 Rationalism is the Rationalism which rejects it all. 
 
 At whatever point the Rationalist may take his stand, we 
 do not think it difficult to prove that his conduct is eminently 
 irrational. If, for example, he be one of those moderate 
 Rationalists who admit (as thousands do) the miraculous and 
 other evidence of the supernatural origin of the Gospel, and 
 therefore also admit such and such doctrines to be true, 
 what can he reply, if further asked what reason he can have 
 for accepting these truths, and rejecting others which are sup 
 ported by the very same evidence ? How can he be sure 
 that the truths he receives are established by evidence which, 
 to all appearance, equally authenticates the falsehoods he 
 rejects ? Surely, as already said, this is to reject and accept 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 411 
 
 evidence as he pleases. If, on the other hand, he says that 
 he receives the miracles only to authenticate what he knows 
 very well without them, and believes true* on the information 
 of reason alone, why trouble miracles and revelation at all ? 
 Is not this, according to the old proverb, to " take a hatchet 
 to break an egg " ? * 
 
 Nor can we disguise from ourselves, indeed, that consisten 
 cy in the application of the essential principle of Rationalism 
 would compel us to go a few steps further. As Bishop But 
 ler has shown, no greater difficulties (if so great) attach to 
 the page of Revelation than to the volume of Nature itself. 
 What, for example, can be greater than those which are in 
 volved in that dread enigma, "the origin of evil," compared 
 with which all other enigmas are trifles, that abyss into 
 which so many of the difficulties of all theology, natural and 
 revealed, at least disembogue themselves ? We feel, there 
 fore, that the admission of the principle of Rationalism would 
 ultimately drive us, not only to reject Christianity, but to re 
 ject Theism in all its forms, whether Monotheism, or Panthe 
 ism, and even positive or dogmatic Atheism itself. Nor could 
 we stop, indeed, till we had arrived at that absolute pyrrhonism 
 which consists, if such a thing be possible, in the negation 
 of all belief, even to the belief that we do not believe ! 
 
 But though the objections to the reception of Christianity 
 are numerous, and some insoluble, the question always re 
 turns, whether they overbalance the mass of the evidence 
 in its favor. Nor is it to be forgotten that they are suscepti- 
 
 * If such a man says that he rejects certain doctrines, not on rational 
 istic grounds, but because he denies the canonical authority or the in 
 terpretation of portions of the records in which they are found, and is 
 willing to abide by the issue of the evidence on those points, evidence 
 with which the human mind is quite competent to deal, we answer, 
 that he is not the man with whom we are now arguing. The points in 
 dispute will be ultimately determined by the honest use of history, crit 
 icism, and philology. But between such a man and one who rejects 
 Christianity altogether, we can imagine no consistent position. 
 
412 REASON AND FAITH I 
 
 -. 
 
 ble of indefinite alleviation as time rolls on ; and with a few 
 observations on this point we will close the present discussion. 
 A refinement of modern philosophy often leads our ration 
 alist to speak depreciatingly, if not contemptuously, of what 
 he calls a stereotyped revelation, revelation in a " book." 
 It ties down, he is fond of saying, the spirit to the letter ; and 
 limits the " progress " and " development " of the human 
 mind in its " free " pursuit of truth. The answer we should 
 be disposed to make is, first, that if a book does contain truth, 
 the sooner that truth is stereotyped the better ; secondly, that 
 if such book, like the book of Nature, or, as we deem, the 
 book of Revelation, really contains truth, its study, so far 
 from being incompatible with the spirit of free inquiry, will 
 invite and repay continual efforts more completely to under 
 stand it. Though the great and fundamental truths contained 
 in either volume will be obvious in proportion to their impor 
 tance and necessity, there is no limit which can be prescribed 
 to the degree of accuracy with which the truth they severally 
 contain may be deciphered, stated, adjusted, or even to the 
 period in which fragments of new truth shall continue to be 
 elicited. It is true, indeed, that theology cannot be said to 
 admit of unlimited progress, in the same sense as chemistry, 
 which may, for aught we know, treble or quadruple its 
 present accumulations, vast as they are, both in bulk and 
 importance. But even in theology, as deduced from the 
 Scripture, minute fragments of new truth, or more exact ad 
 justments of old truth, may be perpetually expected. Lastly, 
 we shall reply, that the objection to a revelation's being con 
 fined to a " look " is singularly inapposite, considering that, 
 by the constitution of the world and of human nature, man, 
 without books, without the power of recording, transmitting, 
 and perpetuating thought, of rendering it permanent and dif 
 fusive, ever is, ever has been, and ever must be little bet 
 ter than a savage ; and therefore, if there was to be a revela 
 tion at all, it might fairly be expected that it would be com 
 municated in this form ; thus affording us one more analogy, 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 413 
 
 in addition to the many which Butler has stated, and which 
 may in time be multiplied without end, between " Revealed 
 Religion and the Constitution and Course of Nature." 
 
 And this leads us to notice a saying of that comprehensive 
 genius, which we do not recollect having seen quoted in con 
 nection with recent controversies, but which is well worthy of 
 being borne in mind, as teaching us to beware of hastily 
 assuming that objections to Revelation, whether suggested by 
 the progress of science, or by the supposed incongruity of 
 its own contents, are unanswerable. We are not, he says, 
 rashly to suppose that we have arrived at the true meaning 
 of the whole of that book. " It is not at all incredible that a 
 book, which has been so long in the possession of mankind, 
 should contain many truths as yet undiscerned. For all the 
 same phenomena and the same faculties of investigation, from 
 which such great discoveries in natural knowledge have been 
 made in the present and last age, were equally in the posses 
 sion of mankind several thousand years before." These, 
 words are worthy of Butler ; and, as many illustrations of 
 their truth have been supplied since his day, so many others 
 may fairly be anticipated in the course of time. Several dis 
 tinct species of argument for the truth of Christianity, from 
 the very structure and contents of the books containing it, 
 have been invented, of which Paley's "Horse Paulinse " 
 is a memorable example. The diligent collation of the text, 
 too, has removed many difficulties ; the diligent study of the 
 original languages, of ancient history, manners, and customs, 
 has cleared up many more ; and by supplying proofs of ac 
 curacy, where error or falsehood had been charged, has sup 
 plied important additions to the evidence which substantiates 
 the truth of Revelation. Against the alleged absurdity of 
 the Laws of Moses, again, such works as that of Michaelis 
 have disclosed much of that relative wisdom which aims not 
 at the abstractedly best, but the best which a given condition 
 of humanity, a given period of the world's history, and a 
 given purpose could dictate. In pondering such difficulties 
 35* 
 
414 REASON AND FAITH I 
 
 as still remain in those laws, we may remember the answer 
 of Solon to the question, whether he had given the Athenians 
 the lest laws; he said, No: but that he had given them the 
 best of which they were capable ; or the judgment of the 
 illustrious Montesquieu, who remarks, " When Divine Wis 
 dom said to the Jews, ' I have given you precepts which are 
 not good,' this signifies that they had only a relative good 
 ness ; and this is the sponge which wipes out all the difficul 
 ties which are to be found in the Laws of Moses." This is 
 a truth which we are persuaded a profound philosophy will 
 understand the better, the more deeply it is revolved ; and 
 only those legislative pedants will refuse weight to it, who 
 would venturously propose to give New Zealanders and Hot 
 tentots, in the starkness of their savage ignorance, the com 
 plex forms of the British constitution. 
 
 In a similar manner have many of the old objections of 
 our deistical writers ceased to be heard in our day, unless it 
 J^e from the lips of the veriest sciolism ; the objections, for 
 instance, of that truly pedantic philosophy which once argued 
 that ethical and religious truth is not given in the Scripture in 
 a system such as a schoolman might have digested it into ; 
 as if the brief iteration and varied illustration of pregnant 
 truth, intermingled with narrative, parable, and example, 
 were not infinitely better adapted to the condition of the hu 
 man intellect in general ! For similar reasons, the old ob 
 jection, that statements of Christian morality are given with 
 out the requisite limitations, and cannot be literally acted 
 upon, has been long since abandoned as an absurdity. It is 
 granted that a hundred folios could not contain the hundredth 
 part of all the limitations of human actions, and all the pos 
 sible cases of a contentious casuistry ; and it is also granted 
 that human nature is not so inept as to be incapame of inter 
 preting and limiting for itself such rules as " Whatsoever ye 
 would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them." 
 
 Not less strikingly have many of the objections suggested 
 at different periods by the progress of science been dis- 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 415 
 
 solved ; and, amongst the rest, those alleged from the remote 
 historic antiquity of certain nations ; objections on which in 
 fidels, like Volney and Voltaire, once so confidently relied. 
 And it is worthy of remark, that some of the old objections 
 of philosophers have disappeared by the aid of that very sci 
 ence, geology, which has led, as every new branch of 
 science probably will, to new ones. Geology, indeed, in our 
 judgment, has already done at least as much to remove diffi 
 culties as to occasion them ; and it is not illogical, or unfair, to 
 surmise that, if we will only have patience, its own difficulties, 
 as those of so many other branches of science, will be eventu 
 ally solved. One thing is clear, that, if the Bible be true, and 
 geology be true, that cannot be geologically true which is Scrip- 
 turally false, or vice versa; and we may therefore laugh at the 
 polite compromise which is sometimes affected by learned pro-; 
 fessors of theology and geology respectively ; who are apt, 
 in extravagant complaisance to one another, to express them 
 selves not simply to the effect that truth may be established 
 by different species of evidence, but as if different species of 
 evidence could establish contrary truths. All that is de 
 manded of either all that is needed is that they refrain 
 from a too hasty conclusion of absolute contradictions between 
 their respective sciences, and retain a quiet remembrance of 
 the imperfection of our present knowledge both of geology 
 and, as Butler says, of the Bible. The recent interpretation 
 of the commencement of Genesis by which the first 
 verse is simply supposed to affirm the original creation of all 
 things, while the second immediately refers to the commence 
 ment of the human economy was first suggested by geolo 
 gy, though suspected, and indeed adopted, by some of the 
 early Fathers. On this interpretation, those prodigious cy 
 cles which geology demands are, not denied, but simply 
 passed by, with a silence worthy of a true revelation, which 
 does not pretend to gratify our curiosity as to the preadamitic 
 condition of our globe, any more than our curiosity as to the 
 history of other worlds. But though, at first sight, this inter- 
 
416 REASON AND FAITH: 
 
 pretation appeared to many, from old association, inadmis 
 sible, it is now felt by multitudes to be the more reasonable 
 interpretation, the second verse certainly more naturally 
 suggesting previous revolutions in the history of the earth, 
 than its then instant creation : and though we frankly con 
 cede that we have not yet seen any account of the whole first 
 chapter of Genesis which quadrates with the doctrines of ge 
 ology, it does not become us hastily to conclude that there 
 can be none. If a further adjustment of those doctrines, and 
 a more diligent investigation of the Scripture, together, 
 should hereafter suggest any possible harmony, though not 
 the true one, but one ever so gratuitously assumed, it will 
 be sufficient to neutralize the objection. This, it will be ob 
 served, is in accordance with what has been already shown, 
 that, wherever an objection is founded on an apparent con 
 tradiction between two statements, it is sufficient to show any 
 possible way in which the statements may be reconciled, 
 whether the true one or not. The objection, in that case, to 
 the supposition that the facts are gratuitously assumed, though 
 often urged, is, in reality, nothing to the purpose.* If ever 
 it should be shown, for example, that, supposing as many ge 
 ological eras as the philosopher requires to have passed in 
 the chasm between the first verse, which asserts the original 
 dependence of all things on the fiat of the Creator, and the 
 second, which is supposed to commence the human era, any 
 imaginable condition of our system at the close, so to 
 speak, of a given geological period would harmonize with 
 a fair interpretation of the first chapter of Genesis, the objec 
 tion will be neutralized. 
 
 We have little doubt, in our own minds, that the ultimately 
 
 * Some admirable remarks in relation to the answers we are bound to 
 give to objections to revealed religion, have been made by Leibnitz (in 
 reply to Bayle) in the little tract prefixed to his Theodicee, entitled 
 <l De la Conformite de la Foi avec la Raison." He there shows that the 
 utmost that can fairly be asked is to prove that the affirmed truths in 
 volve no necessarv contradiction. 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS 417 
 
 converging, though, it may be, transiently discrepant conclu 
 sions of the sciences of philology, ethnology, and geology 
 (in all of which, we may rest assured, great discoveries are 
 yet to be made) will tend to harmonize with the ultimate re 
 sults of a more thorough study of the records of the race as 
 contained in the book of Revelation. Let us be permitted to 
 imagine one example of such possible harmony. We think 
 that the philologist may engage to make out, on the strictest 
 principles of induction, from the tenacity with which all 
 communities cling to their language, and the slow observed 
 rate of change by which they alter, by which Anglo-Saxon, 
 for example, has been transformed into English,* Latin into 
 Italian, and ancient Greek into modern (though these lan 
 guages have been affected by every conceivable cause of va 
 riation and depravation), that it would require hundreds of 
 thousands, nay, millions, of years to account for the produc 
 tion, by known natural causes, of the vast multitude of totally 
 distinct languages, and tens of thousands of dialects, which 
 man now utters. On the other hand, the geologist is more 
 and more persuaded of the comparatively recent origin of the 
 human race. What, then, is to harmonize these conflicting 
 statements? Will it not be curious, if it should turn out that 
 nothing can possibly harmonize them but the statement of 
 
 * It contains, let us recollect, (after all causes of change, including a 
 conquest, have been at work upon it,) a vast majority of the Saxon 
 words spoken in the time of Alfred, nearly a thousand years ago ! 
 The resemblance between the language of Homer and the Komaic 
 between the oldest fragments of Latin and modern Italian is still obvi 
 ous on the most superficial inspection ; yet the interval during which 
 these languages have been changing within these moderate limits em 
 braces a very large portion of authentic history. What interval, then, 
 would be required for the origination and formation of whole classes of 
 languages between which the philologist is unable to detect any affinities, 
 though he is persuaded they all came from a common stock ? Nor 
 are we to forget, that, the further we recede, the longer will be the inter 
 val required for any given amount of change ; for the fewer the lan 
 guages, the fewer the elements and chances of new combinations. 
 
418 REASON AND FAITH: 
 
 Genesis, that, in order to prevent the natural tendency of the 
 race to accumulate on one spot, and facilitate their dispersion 
 and destined occupancy of the globe, a preternatural interven 
 tion expedited the operation of the causes which would grad 
 ually have given birth to distinct languages ? Of the prob 
 ability of this intervention, some profound philologists have, 
 on scientific grounds alone, expressed their conviction. But 
 in all such matters, what we plead for is only patience; 
 we wish not to dogmatize ; all we ask is a philosophic absti 
 nence from dogmatism. In relation to many difficulties, 
 what is now a reasonable exercise of faith may one day be 
 rewarded by a knowledge which on those particular points 
 may terminate it. In such ways, it is surely conceivable 
 that a great part of the objections against Revelation may, in 
 time, disappear ; and, though other objections may be the re 
 sult of the progress of the older sciences or the origination 
 of new, still the solution of previous objections, together 
 with the additions to the evidences of Christianity, external 
 and internal, which the study of history and of the Scrip 
 tures may supply, and the brighter and brighter light cast by 
 the progress of Christianity and the fulfilment of its prophe 
 cies, may inspire increasing confidence that the new objec 
 tions are also destined to yield to similar solvents. Mean 
 while, such new difficulties, together with those more awful 
 and gigantic shadows, which we have no reason to believe 
 will ever be chased from the sacred page, mysteries which 
 could not be explained from the necessary limitation of our 
 faculties, and are, at all events, submitted to us as a salutary 
 discipline of our humility, will continue to form that exer 
 cise of faith which is perhaps nearly equal in every age, 
 and necessary in all ages, if we would be made " little chil 
 dren," qualified " to enter the kingdom of God." 
 
 In conclusion ; while many are proclaiming that Christian 
 ity is effete, and that, in the language of M. Proudhon (who 
 complacently says it amidst the ignominious failure of a thou 
 sand social panaceas of his own age and country), it will cer- 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 419 
 
 tainly " die out in about three hundred years " ; while many 
 more proclaim that, as a religion of supernatural origin and 
 supernatural evidence it is already dying, i not dead ; it were 
 surely not unreasonable to remind them that, even if Chris 
 tianity be false, as they allege, they are utterly forgetting the 
 maxims of a cautious induction, in saying that it will therefore 
 cease to exert dominion over mankind. What proof is there 
 of this? Whether true or false, it has already survived num 
 berless revolutions of human opinions, and all sorts of changes 
 and assaults. It is not confined, like other religions, to any one 
 race, to any one clime, or any one form of political con 
 stitution. While it transmigrates freely from race to race, and 
 clime to clime, its chief home, too, is still in the bosom of en 
 terprise, wealth, science, and civilization ; and it is at this mo 
 ment most powerful amongst the nations that have most of these. 
 If not true, it has such an appearance of truth as to have satis 
 fied many of the acutest and most powerful intellects of the spe- 
 c i es? a Bacon, a Pascal, a Leibnitz, a Locke, a Newton, a 
 Butler ; such an appearance of truth as to have enlisted in its 
 support an immense array of genius and learning : genius and 
 learning, not only in some sense professional, and often wrong 
 fully represented as therefore interested, but much of both 
 strictly extra-professional ; animated to its defence by nothing 
 but a conviction of the force of the arguments by which its 
 truth is sustained, and that " hope full of immortality " which 
 its promises have inspired. Under such circumstances it 
 must appear equally rash and gratuitous to suppose, even if 
 it be a delusion, that an institute, which has thus enlisted the 
 sympathies of so many of the greatest minds of all races and 
 of all ages, which is alone stable and progressive amidst 
 instability and fluctuation, will soon come to an end. Still 
 more absurdly premature is it to raise a pa?an over its fall, 
 upon every new attack upon it, when it has already survived 
 so many. This, in fact, is a tone which, though every age 
 renews it, should long since have been rebuked by the con 
 stant falsification of similar prophecies, from the time of Ju- 
 
420 
 
 REASON AND FAITH: 
 
 lian to the time of Bolingbroke, and from the time of Boling- 
 broke to the time of Strauss. As Addison, if we mistake not, 
 humorously tells the Atheist, that he is hasty in his logic when 
 he infers that, if there be no God, immortality must be a de 
 lusion ; since, if chance has actually found him a place in this 
 bad world, it may, perchance, hereafter find him another place 
 in a worse; so we say, that if Christianity be a delusion, 
 since it is a delusion which has been proof against so much 
 of bitter opposition, and has imposed upon such hosts of 
 mighty intellects, there is nothing to show that it will not do 
 so still, in spite of the efforts either of a Proudhon or a Strauss. 
 Such a tone was, perhaps, never so triumphant as dur 
 ing the heat of the deistical controversy in our own country, 
 and to which Butler alludes with so much characteristic, but 
 deeply satirical simplicity, in the preface to his great work. 
 " It is come," says he, " I know not how, to be taken for 
 granted by many persons, that Christianity is not so much as 
 a subject of inquiry, but that it is now at length discovered 
 
 to be fictitious On the contrary, thus much at least 
 
 will here be found, not taken for granted, but proved, that 
 any reasonable man, who will thoroughly consider the matter, 
 may be as much assured as he is of his own being, that it 
 is not, however, so clear that there is nothing in it." The 
 Christian, we conceive, may now say the same to the new 
 race of infidels in our own day. Christianity, we doubt not, 
 will still live, when they and their works, and the refutations 
 of their works, are alike forgotten ; and a fresh series of at 
 tacks and defences shall have occupied for a while (as so 
 many others have done) the attention of the world. Christian 
 ity, like Rome, has had both the Gaul and Hannibal at her 
 gates : but as the " Eternal City," in the latter case, calmly 
 offered for sale, and sold, at an undepreciated price, the very 
 ground on which the Carthaginian had fixed his camp, with 
 equal calmness may Christianity imitate her example of mag 
 nanimity. She may feel assured that, as in so many past 
 instances of premature triumph on the part of her enemies, 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 421 
 
 the ground they occupy will one day be her own ; that the 
 very discoveries, apparently hostile, of science and philosophy, 
 will be ultimately found elements of her strength. Thus has 
 it been, to a great extent, with the discoveries in chronology 
 and history ; and thus it will be, we are confident, (and to a 
 certain extent has been already,) with those in geology. That 
 science has done much, not only to render the old theories 
 of Atheism untenable, and to familiarize the minds of men 
 to the idea of miracles, by that of successive creations, but 
 to confirm the Scriptural statement of the comparatively re 
 cent origin of our race. Only the men of science and the 
 men of theology must alike guard against the besetting fallacy 
 of their kind, that of too hastily taking for granted that 
 they already know the whole of their respective sciences, 
 and of forgetting the declaration of the Apostle, equally true 
 of all man's attainments, whether in one department of science 
 or another, " We know but in part, and we prophesy but 
 in part." 
 
 Though Socrates perhaps expressed himself too absolutely 
 when he said that " he only knew that he knew nothing," yet 
 a tinge of the same spirit a deep conviction of the pro 
 found ignorance of the .human mind, even at its best has 
 ever been a characteristic of the most comprehensive genius. 
 It is a topic on which it has been fond of mournfully dilating. 
 It is thus with Socrates, with Plato, with Bacon (even amidst 
 all his magnificent aspirations and bold predictions), with 
 Newton, with Pascal, and especially with Butler, in whom, if 
 in any, the sentiment is carried to excess. It need not be 
 said that it is seldom found in the writings of those modern 
 speculators, who rush, in the hardihood of their adventurous 
 logic, on a solution of the problems of the Absolute and the 
 Infinite, and resolve in delightfully brief demonstrations the 
 mightiest problems of the universe ; those great enigmas, 
 from which true philosophy shrinks, not because it has never 
 ventured to think of them, but because it has thought of them 
 enough to know that it is in vain to attempt their solution. 
 
 36 
 
422 REASON AND FAITH : 
 
 To know the limits of human philosophy is " the better part " 
 of all philosophy ; and though the conviction of our ignorance 
 is humiliating, it is, like every true conviction, salutary. 
 Amidst this night of the soul, bright stars far distant foun 
 tains of illumination are wont to steal out, which shine not 
 while the imagined Sun of reason is above the horizon ! and 
 it is in that night, as in the darkness of outward nature, that 
 we gain our only true ideas of the illimitable dimensions of 
 the universe, and of our true position in it. 
 
 Meanwhile we conclude that God has created " two great 
 lights," the greater light to rule man's busy day, and 
 that is Reason ; and the lesser to rule his contemplative night, 
 and that is Faith. 
 
 But Faith herself shines only so long as she reflects some 
 faint illumination from the brighter orb. 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 No. I. pp. 389, 402. 
 GENERAL CHARACTERISTICS OF DR. STRAUSS's LIFE OF JESUS. 
 
 THE inadmissibility of the principle of Dr. Strauss's theory 
 of the " mythical " origin of Christianity could alone be dis 
 cussed within the contracted limits of the preceding essay. 
 It is there contended, and, it is conceived, with reason, that 
 his theory does not account even for the origin, much less for 
 the success, of such a " myth " as Christianity. It does not 
 account for the origin ; since the more the historic conditions 
 of the problem are investigated, the more improbable will it 
 appear that such a " myth " whether we look at its intel 
 lectual or moral characteristics could have been the prod 
 uct of the Jewish mind of any age, and its known prepos 
 sessions ; and quite as improbable that, if it could have been 
 such a wild growth of popular fancy and legend, it should 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 423 
 
 have accidentally assumed such varied, and, in the judgment 
 of so many acute minds, such irrefragable, proofs of historic 
 credibility. The theory accounts still less for its success ; 
 inasmuch as it is incredible that such a " myth," involving, 
 if only a " myth," such extravagant and preposterous de 
 mands on credulity, should, in the absence of the wonderful 
 events which form its basis, be actually received as fact, not 
 only by a large portion of the Jews, but by still larger por 
 tions of many other nations, whose whole sympathies and 
 antipathies, prejudices and prepossessions, were enlisted 
 against it ; and who, so far from being interested in the Jew 
 ish legends, in which it is supposed to have germinated, re- 
 coilq/il with intense repugnance from them all. In truth, noth 
 ing less than a universal lunacy of the nations will account, 
 under such circumstances, for its reception by them. 
 
 Mere admiration of the beauty of such a " myth " surely 
 cannot account for such a fact. Different races and nations 
 admire, and admire intensely, Homer's Iliad, the Arabian 
 Nights, and Shakspeare's Plays ; but these immortal works 
 have never advanced one inch, for all that, towards being re 
 ceived as true history. As little can the mere assumption 
 of divine authority on the part of such legends solve the 
 mystery : such assumptions in an enlightened age, and espe 
 cially among races alien from the nation who have originated 
 such pretensions, are certain to provoke scepticism far more 
 strongly than they invite superstition. The classical mythol 
 ogy, the Egyptian mythology, and the Hindoo mythology, 
 (always restricted to the nations in whose remote barbarism 
 they originated, and with whose immemorial traditions they 
 were intertwined,) may be studied long enough before they 
 make a single proselyte among those different races and dif 
 ferent nations who did receive, who have received, and who 
 persist in receiving, the myths of Christianity as historic veri 
 ties. So that the very least that can be said is, that the com 
 pilers of the Gospel have, with an utterly incomprehensible 
 ingenuity, infinitely transcended all other masters of fable 
 
424 REASON AND FAITH : 
 
 and legend, and have succeeded in making dreams wilder 
 than ever poet feigned wear to minds of different ages and 
 races (for here lies the stress of the argument) the aspect of 
 genuine history. 
 
 But though the principle alone of Dr. Strauss's theory 
 could be considered in the previous pages, it seemed desira 
 ble to describe a little more fully some of the prevailing char 
 acteristics of his insidious work. This, after a calm and, so 
 far as possible, impartial study of it, is accordingly attempted 
 in the ensuing pages. To track the author into all his details 
 would, of course, require a work nearly as voluminous as his 
 own. But it is conceived that the following observations, 
 however general, may be in some degree useful in putting 
 the young and unlearned reader upon his guard. 
 
 First, then, it may be observed, that the very title of the 
 work is a ludicrous misnomer. Instead of being called " The 
 Life of Jesus," (" critically examined," or otherwise,) it 
 ought rather to be entitled, " A collection of all the difficul 
 ties and discrepancies which honest criticism has discov 
 ered, and perverted ingenuity has imagined, in the four 
 Evangelists." * 
 
 Secondly, though composed certainly in a very calm, or 
 rather in a very frigid, style, there perhaps never was a book 
 which more completely realized the idea conveyed in a favor 
 ite term of the Germans, " one-sidedness " (Einseitigkeit). 
 
 Every candid mind must admit that the question of the 
 truth of Christianity is a question of conflicting probabilities. 
 Now, though we might not expect to find in Strauss's work, 
 devoted as it is to a special branch of the vast theme, an ex 
 amination and refutation of the evidence for the truth of 
 Christianity as derived from external sources, (the incredibil 
 ity, nay, the impossibility, of miracles he quietly takes for 
 
 * " As for his doctrines," Quinet says, " there is not, I think, one of 
 his boldest propositions which had not previously been advanced, sus 
 tained, and debated. How, then, can we account for the celebrity of a 
 work which appears to be the result of a general spoliation ? " 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 425 
 
 granted,*) yet one might justly have expected that in endeav 
 oring to reduce the Gospels to fiction, by exhibiting their sup 
 posed discrepancies, he would have given some space at least 
 to the consideration of those immensely varied internal indi 
 cations of truthfulness, artlessness, and reality, of those un 
 designed, because deeply latent, coincidences, with which 
 they obviously abound. These indications of historic verity * 
 would, at first sight, seem beyond the reach of deliberate fic 
 tion, and much more of accident ; while in number they far 
 exceed the aggregate of those discrepancies with which, in 
 justice, they ought to be confronted and compared. Dr. 
 Strauss cannot but be aware that this general exquisite tone 
 of historic reality is not imaginary ; inasmuch as, if it be the 
 effect of "art" or "accident," it has imposed on many of 
 the acutest minds, and still imposes on them, in spite of all 
 the efforts of that long array of infidels whose rusty weapons 
 he has burnished and sharpened. Yet from Dr. Strauss's 
 work not the slightest notion could be formed, that there were 
 any such evidences to be examined : one would suppose that 
 the Gospels were little more than a tissue of contradictions 
 and discrepancies, and had little else to recommend them to 
 mankind ; whose credulous deference to them, if this were 
 true, would be a perfectly unaccountable phenomenon, more 
 incredible than any of the miracles our author pronounces 
 impossible. Indeed, prudence itself should have made him 
 more candid ; for the more incongruous and contradictory he 
 proves the Gospels, the more arduous he makes the problem 
 imposed on infidelity, of accounting for their reception 
 and success. If nothing were in them but what he finds 
 
 * As this is an important point, it may be as well to cite Dr. Strauss's 
 express words : " Indeed, no just notion of the true nature of history is 
 possible, without a perception of the inviolability of the chain of second 
 causes and of the impossibility of miracles." Vol. I., Introduction, 
 sect. 13, p. 64. English translation. All the author had to do was 
 to prove this, and he might have spared his large volumes of minute 
 criticism. 
 
 36* 
 
426 REASON AND FAITH I 
 
 there, that difficulty neither he nor any man would have 
 had to encounter. 
 
 Dr. Strauss may say, perhaps, that it was not his business 
 to exhibit the other side of the argument : we believe him ; 
 or, rather, we believe that it was not his pleasure ; for it was 
 his business. The truth is, he was an advocate, not a judge ; 
 'a special pleader for infidelity, not the dispassionate investi 
 gator he would be thought to be ; otherwise, he could not 
 have* failed to notice some of those opposing considerations 
 which have imposed, if they are ill-founded, on many of the 
 greatest minds of the species ; which made a Newton say, 
 that he discerned more indications of genuineness, authen 
 ticity, and truthfulness in the Scriptures than in any other 
 books whatsoever. 
 
 A mind intent on truth would have endeavored to balance 
 the evidence ; it is sufficient for Dr. Strauss to exhibit one 
 side. It is as though he hoped, and not vainly, (for, from the 
 constitution of the human mind, it is assuredly a very proba 
 ble result,) that, by keeping the thoughts of the reader intent 
 for a sufficient time exduswely on alleged objections and dis 
 crepancies, he might produce, by their mere accumulation, 
 an effect which would be in some danger of being dissipated 
 either by the statement of the counter-evidence, or by a state 
 ment of only the real difficulties. To let the mind exist for 
 a time in an atmosphere of doubt, to breath little but azote, 
 is one of the easiest and most compendious ways of de 
 stroying faith.* Accordingly, our author seems much more 
 
 * This is often the effect even of works the very object of which is the 
 refutation of objections, if they are exclusively devoted to such refutation. 
 Speaking of some such works, Dr. Graves, in the introduction to his 
 work on the Pentateuch, well observes : " Those who were employed in 
 refuting the objections of any one particular antagonist, were almost in 
 evitably led to magnify these objections beyond their relative importance 
 in any general consideration of the subject. The same writers also were 
 frequently induced to employ their attention almost exclusively on such 
 passages as seemed obscure or objectionable, and pass with less distinct 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 427 
 
 solicitous about the number than about the quality of the ob 
 jections ; and is often as fond of exaggerating the task of 
 reconciling points, even where he at last allows that recon 
 ciliation is possible, as of exhibiting the force of more for 
 midable objections. In a word, there is no work in the peru 
 sal of which it is more necessary for the reader to remem- ' 
 her the maxim, " Audi alterant partem." 
 
 Thirdly, but whether it was Dr. Strauss's exclusive busi 
 ness or pleasure whichever the reader pleases to detect 
 " holes " in the garments of the Evangelists, has he ever 
 made the rents which he pretends only to find ? In a word, 
 has he dealt fairly by the objections ? We fearlessly answer 
 that he has not. The paraded discrepancies are frequently 
 assumed ; sometimes even manufactured. 
 
 Let us take a single example by way of illustration. The 
 account of the entertainment given to Jesus at Bethany be 
 fore the last Passover, which has often attracted the attention 
 of the Harmonists, is related by Matthew, Mark, and John. 
 It is nearly the universal opinion of critics, that these Evan 
 gelists refer to the same event, and that the entertainment is 
 a totally different one from that described by Luke, vii. 36 - 
 50. This last was apparently given at a different time, in a 
 different place, and under different circumstances. One in 
 cident, indeed, of a similar nature, is recorded in both; 
 
 notice the clear and direct arguments and proofs which were to be de 
 rived from those parts of the Sacred History which scepticism itself 
 could scarcely venture to attack ; thus suffering the adversary of revealed 
 truth to lead its advocate from the strongest to the weakest ground, and 
 prevent him from employing those topics which would operate most 
 powerfully on every candid and unprejudiced mind. Works constructed 
 on this plan have sometimes a most pernicious effect on the young, the 
 uninformed, and the wavering ; they lead them to consider Revelation 
 as" consisting chiefly of obscurities, and founded chiefly on questionable 
 facts ; while, on the contrary, the great truths it establishes are as clear 
 and as intelligible as they are important ; and the series of proofs on 
 which it rests, when viewed in their natural order, are so firmly connected 
 and plainly conclusive, that, if considered with attention and candor, they 
 carry with them the fullest conviction." 
 
428 REASON AND FAITH I 
 
 namely, the grateful act of a woman (very differently char 
 acterized, however, in the two cases), who shows her love to 
 the Lord by a costly act of personal attention. Every thing 
 else is different.* 
 
 Now, in the account of the entertainment at Bethany, as 
 described by Matthew, Mark, and John, there is absolutely 
 no note of time ; and unless such time were fixed in the nar 
 rative itself, or the narrative itself formed part of a work of 
 professed chronology, we should have no right to fix it ; for 
 nothing is more common in regular history, and still more 
 in biographical collectanea (which is probably the most 
 characteristic description of the Gospels), to introduce an in 
 cident, not because it occurred at the same time with those 
 amidst which it is inserted, but to throw some light on 
 them, or supply some link in relation to them.f 
 
 * Greswell says : " The unction at Bethany is recorded by St. Matthew, 
 St. Mark, and St. John, between any of whose accounts and Luke (vii. 
 86 - 50), where also an unction is related, the difference is, as I think, so 
 palpable and so indisputable, that, notwithstanding the trouble which 
 some learned men have taken to prove them the same, I should consider 
 it a waste of time and argument seriously to prove them distinct." 
 Greswell's Dissertations upon the Harmony of the Gospels, Vol. II. p. 127. 
 
 t John says (xii. 1 ) that Christ came to Bethany " six days before the 
 Passover" ; and in ver. 12, that " on the morrow " he made his triumphant 
 entry into Jerusalem. The account of the entertainment, as also a state 
 ment of the resort of many Jews to Bethany to see Jesus, falls between 
 these notes of time ; if then it did not occur on the evening previous to the 
 entry (Jesus returned to Bethany, let us recollect, on several successive 
 evenings), John may have anticipated these transactions at Bethany for 
 some special reason ; and in this case the rfj erravpiov wilt be connected 
 with the note of time in the first verse of the chapter. On the other hand, 
 if it be more natural to connect that note of time with the entertainment, 
 it does not prevent the supposition that, for some special reason (as 
 Greswell and Robinson both think), Matthew and Mark may have post 
 poned their account of it. One states that two days before the Passover, 
 Jesus predicts his approaching betrayal, and the other that at that date 
 his enemies were plotting his death. Both afterwards give an account 
 of the incident at -Bethany, but, like John, without any note of time. 
 Neither John nor they limit the time in the incident itself; if the context 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 429 
 
 Yet Strauss, without qualification, says : " Neither is the 
 time of the occurrence precisely the same ; for, according to 
 Matthew and Mark, the scene takes place after the solemn 
 entrance of Jesus into Jerusalem, only two days, at the ut 
 most, before the Passover ; according to John, on the other 
 hand, before the entrance, as early as six days prior to the 
 Passover." This positive statement of the time (as if it were 
 specified in the Evangelists, while in fact it is merely inferred 
 by Strauss from the context), is a specimen of his usual license. 
 He assumes that he may treat the Gospels as if they were 
 chronological tables. Though no date is affixed to the inci 
 dent in question, he chooses to place it between the two near 
 est dates he can find ; and then gives the date, not as if it 
 were an inference of his own, but as if the Evangelists had in 
 serted it in the account of the incident itself ! 
 
 Again, Matthew and Mark say, the woman poured the 
 ointment on Christ's head ; John, that she anointed his feet. 
 Here is another discrepancy, exclaims Dr. Strauss. How so ? 
 the reader rejoins. May not both be true ? Once more ; 
 Matthew says, that the " disciples " Mark, that " some of 
 them who were present" John, that " Judas " manifested 
 indignation at the spectacle. Here are more discrepancies, 
 exclaims Dr. Strauss. Why so ? it may be retorted again. 
 May not all have been right ? And to show that the narrative 
 involves no contradiction, may it not be asked, whether, if the 
 same historian had said, that " the woman broke an alabaster 
 box of ointment, and both poured the perfume on the Lord's 
 head, and also anointed his feet, that -some who were pre 
 sent murmured, and amongst the rest Judas," would Dr. 
 Strauss, or any one else, have thought there was any thing in 
 it which required criticism ? Why, then, should he affirm this, 
 because a portion of the facts appears in one historian, and a 
 portion in another ? 
 
 in John be assumed to fix it, we need not assume that theirs does ; if 
 theirs be assumed to fix it, we need not assume that John's does. 
 Strauss assumes both, and then speaks as if he had assumed nothing. 
 
430 REASON AND FAITH : 
 
 Again, Matthew and Mark expressly describe this enter 
 tainment in Bethany as taking place at the house of " Simon 
 the Leper. " John does not mention the name of the host ; 
 but still states that it was in Bethany ; that Mary the sister of 
 Lazarus was the person who broke the box of ointment ; that 
 Martha served. Matthew and Mark were most probably 
 mistaken, argues Dr. Strauss ; from the above particulars, it 
 must have been the house of Lazarus where the entertainment 
 was given ! And this, too, although Lazarus himself is intro 
 duced by John in terms which much more naturally suggest 
 the idea that he was a guest rather than the host. " He was 
 one of those who sat at table with Jesus " (TO>V o-wavaKtp.va>v 
 at). The reason, however, of the arbitrary conjecture is 
 immediately obvious. Having by this license of supposition 
 proved, in his way, that John meant that the scene took place 
 in the house of Lazarus, though he does not say that it did, 
 and that therefore Matthew and Mark are in error, when they 
 positively say it took place elsewhere, he not only concludes 
 that Matthew and Mark hastily wrote on erroneous informa 
 tion ; but that such divergences (entirely of his own making, 
 be it remembered) justify the supposition that the wholly dif 
 ferent narrative given by Luke is but a distorted account of 
 the same entertainment, and affords a further proof of the fa 
 cility with which the legends of the Gospel were varied, aug 
 mented, and embellished ! That is, having tortured the very 
 variations in the same narrative (which simply prove that there 
 was no collusion) into a proof that parts of the narrative are 
 successive products of fiction, he proceeds to argue that a 
 narrative of a totally different event is but another variation 
 of the same variations ; and then, assuming that it was so, pro 
 ceeds complacently to draw his conclusion that nearly the 
 whole is divested of historic credibility. Yet he has nothing 
 whatever to found this assumed identification of the two nar 
 ratives upon, except that it does not seem probable that two 
 women should have proffered a not unusual mark of respect 
 (though more costly than usual) to an honored guest ; costly 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 431 
 
 in this case, because proportionate to the love and veneration 
 of the parties towards their great Master and Benefactor. 
 
 In short, there is nothing which may not be proved or dis 
 proved in history by such a style of criticism, such a license 
 of conjecture and assumption. There are no historic writers 
 in the world whose narratives might not be resolved into 
 myths by the consistent application of the same artifices. 
 
 There is no injustice in saying that a very large proportion 
 of the difficulties on which Dr. Strauss expatiates are, in the 
 same manner, difficulties which he assumes to be insoluble, 
 because he first assumes the conditions which make them so. 
 Such a critic is to historic truth what the concave lens is to 
 light. Parallel rays become divergent, and convergent rays 
 are rendered parallel. At all events, they have a focus as 
 distant as our author chooses to place it. 
 
 Fourthly, our author appears to act on certain comprehen 
 sive, though novel, canons of historic criticism, the adoption 
 of which renders his present task, or any other achievement 
 of the like kind which he may propose to himself, a very easy 
 one ; as, first, that if an event be not in his judgment probable, 
 that circumstance shall often be sufficient at once to neutral 
 ize the positive testimony which affirms it ; secondly, that if 
 he can point to an event or narrative in the Old Testament 
 analogous to one in the New, the former may be adduced as 
 a proof of the mythical origin of the latter ; thirdly, that if 
 the " not probable " reaches, in his judgment, the impossible 
 (in which category he ranks both miracle and prophecy), it is 
 to be rejected at once ; which of course ought to supersede 
 all discussion with regard to the majority of the narratives of 
 the Gospels; fourthly, if a narrative is summary and general, 
 it may be suspected that the author had no personal knowl 
 edge of the facts ; if it is full of little dramatic traits, he may 
 be suspected of embellishment. A word or two on each of 
 these, accompanied by as many illustrations.* 
 
 * The more important of these novel canons are expressly avowed by 
 Strauss, in laying down his " criteria by which to distinguish the unhis- 
 
432 ' REASON AND FAITH I 
 
 1. Such and such an event, or such and such a conjunction 
 of events, Dr. Strauss often thinks it sufficient at once to dis 
 miss, as in his judgment improbable. Thus he finds that 
 Jesus is represented as making a disclosure of his Messiahship 
 to the woman of Samaria. " What could induce Jesus to 
 send roaming into the futurity of religious history the contem 
 plation of a woman, whom he should rather have induced to 
 examine herself, and to ponder on the corruptions of her own 
 heart ? " And as Dr. Strauss can find no satisfactory answer 
 unless it were a vainglorious wish to elicit, from her, " at any 
 
 torical in the Gospel narrative." Introduction, sect. 16. We may sum 
 marily reject, he tells us, all miracles, prophecies, narratives of angels and 
 of demons, and the like, as simply "impossible " and " irreconcilable with 
 the known and universal laws which govern the course of events " ; he de 
 ciding (but, unhappily, not proving} that " the absolute cause never dis 
 turbs the chain of secondary causes by single arbitrary acts of interposi 
 tion." We are, in a similar manner, to regard with extreme suspicion 
 whatever does not follow the ordinary experience of mortals ; as, for ex 
 ample, any very extraordinary precocity in an individual; or what is 
 " psychologically improbable," as when a person is described as " feeling, 
 thinking, acting, in a manner directly opposed to his own habitual mode 
 and that of men in general " ; a rule which, considering that half history 
 is a record of human inconsistencies, many of them outrageous enough, 
 is, even on Strauss's theory, to be cautiously applied." Indeed, if his 
 theory of Christianity be true, its reception by mankind is itself the 
 strangest of all these " psychological " inconsistencies ; so that he ought 
 by rights to abandon his theoiy by this very criterion for justly applying 
 it : and affirm either that Christianity must be true, or that it has not been 
 believed. Lastly, "If the form be poetical, or the actors converse in a 
 more diffuse and elevated strain than might be expected from their train 
 ing and situations, such discourses, at all events, are not to be regarded as 
 historical"; but then, conveniently enough, the "absence of these marks 
 of the ' unhistorical ' are also quite compatible with the mythical char 
 acter of the composition, ' since the mythus often wears the most simple 
 and apparently historical form. ' " By these means, the banquet of his 
 tory may be made as airy as that which feasted the eyes and mocked the 
 stomach of the craving Sancho, in his island of Barataria. There is not 
 a dish which the wand of our critical Pedro Rezio de Aguero cannot 
 cause to vanish from the table ; and it is well if he allows us the " hun 
 dred confected wafers } and a few thin slices of quince." 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 433 
 
 X 
 
 cost," an acknowledgment of Messianic claims, and as it 
 would be unjust to ascribe this design to Jesus, we must im 
 pute the incident to " the glorifying legend " or'" the idealizing 
 biographer " ! He finds it stated that the disciples mistook 
 those words of our Lord, " Lazarus sleepeth, but I go that I 
 may awake him out of sleep " ; it is improbable, he says. 
 He thinks the same of their misconstruction of his words at 
 the well of Samaria, " I have meat to eat that ye know not 
 of. " " It is in the fourth Evangelist's manner ," says Dr. 
 Strauss, " which we have learned to recognize by so many 
 examples. They are amongst those carnal interpretations of 
 expressions intended spiritually by Jesus, which are of habit 
 ual occurrence in the fourth Gospel, and are therefore suspi 
 cious " ; that is, whatever is characteristic of classes of per 
 sons must be suspicious, for such characteristic traits must be 
 frequently recurrent. He finds that the rulers are repre 
 sented as mocking Christ on the cross, with the words, " He 
 trusted in God ; let him deliver him now if he will have him " ; 
 it is improbable, says Strauss, " for these words are taken 
 from a psalm, in which they are put into the mouth of the un 
 godly, and the Sanhedrists could not have adopted them with 
 out voluntarily assuming that character; which they would 
 surely have taken care to avoid." Hypocrites and murder 
 ers are not so punctilious. As if they were likely to prove 
 particularly solicitous about perfect consistency of character ! 
 It is a wonder Dr. Strauss did not also prove that it is " improb 
 able " that they would have acted like " the ungodly," and 
 thus rendered dubious the fact of the crucifixion. 
 
 In these instances of a liberal application of an entirely 
 novel canon of historical criticism, no pains have been taken 
 to select the worst. They are such as occur every few pages ; 
 and as we might have selected some examples less flagrant, 
 so we might have given very many still more so. To us it ap 
 pears that a man might just as well argue that, since the rout 
 at Cressy and Poitiers is a priori improbable, the return of 
 Bonaparte from Elba improbable, his expedition to Russia im- 
 37 
 
434 REASON AND FAITH: 
 
 v 
 
 probable, we are therefore at liberty to reject these, and a thou 
 sand other events. Indeed, there is hardly any thing that may 
 not, in this quiet way, be rejected as improbable, unless it be 
 that Dr. Strauss should ever find any thing that is probable. 
 
 But though full of arbitrary assumptions himself, he will 
 scarcely allow hypothesis or conjecture, even when most fair 
 ly adopted by his opponents. It is strange and improbable, 
 he argues, that, supposing Joseph was compelled to repair to 
 Bethlehem to the census, Mary should have gone with him, 
 since only the males were required to go. " There might be 
 a dozen reasons, of which we know nothing," exclaim the 
 critics. " But they are all imaginary reasons," rejoins Dr. 
 Strauss. " And is not your l no reason ' equally imagina 
 ry," may surely be fairly retorted. " You are perpetually 
 employing these ' no reasons.' Suffer us to imagine a few 
 reasons ; and we may do so with the more justice, inasmuch 
 as any mode of reconciling alleged discrepancies of fact and 
 statement, however hypothetical, is truly valid as a reply to 
 your charge of contradictions ; while an arbitrary assump 
 tion of ' no reasons ' for a fact asserted by an historian, is 
 universally admitted to be one of the most precarious of all 
 modes of reasoning." 
 
 2. If our author finds any event in the Old Testament 
 similar to any in the New, such analogy (often faint 
 enough) becomes forthwith the suggestive embryo of the 
 evangelical narrative, or one of the elements out of which it 
 was constructed, and determines it to be instantly of mythi 
 cal origin. This is a convenient rule, since all history, 
 sacred or profane, " while the constitution of human nature 
 remains the same," (to quote the language of the philosoph 
 ic Thucydides,) will reproduce and exhibit closely analogous 
 events. Does he find, for example, instances of celebrated 
 Hebrews, the children of long childless parents ? That is 
 sufficient to account for the mythical tale of the Baptist's 
 parentage ! Does he find that Jesus is represented as seated 
 by a " well," when the Samaritan woman met with him ? 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 435 
 
 It is that " idyllic locality with which the old Hebrew legend 
 associates so many critical incidents " ! * Therefore, of 
 course, the incident is mythical. Jesus meets with a woman 
 there : so did Eliezer meet with Rebekah, and Jacob with 
 Rachel ; and hence the evangelic fable ! " Jesus begs of the 
 woman to let him drink ; so does Eliezer of Rebekah " : 
 nothing less than demonstration, of course, that the Gospel 
 narrative is but an adaptation of the Old Testament facts, or 
 rather a new romance made out of an old one ! The star of 
 Bethlehem is similarly suggested by that in the prophecy of 
 Balaam ; and the transfiguration, by the visit of Moses to 
 Sinai. The birth of Christ is made known to the shepherds 
 at Bethlehem, while " watching their flocks " ; so is Moses 
 " visited by a heavenly apparition " under somewhat similar 
 circumstances, and " God took David from his sheepfolds to 
 be the shepherd of his people." Who can fail to see that 
 such incidents are the obvious germ of the evangelical myth 1 
 Into what pleasant romance may we transform history, if 
 we are at liberty to assume what have been ignorantly taken 
 for " historic parallels " to be but variations of a common 
 " legend " ! There is an end of all history, if we are to in 
 dulge conjecture in this way. A man may as well argue 
 that the emulous valor of the two soldiers, T. Pulfio and 
 L. Varenus, in the fifth book of Caesar's Gallic War, was no 
 doubt a fiction suggested by the narrative of the similar rivals 
 in the fourth book of the Anabasis of Xenophon ; or attribute 
 the proffer of the crown to Cromwell, and its rejection by 
 him, to the similar event related of Caesar. 
 
 3. But when our author comes to the miraculous or the 
 prophetic, then how delightfully easy is his task ! His curt 
 axiom of historical criticism that the supernatural is in-. 
 
 * He who remembers that the "well" is and ever has been in the 
 East, will little wonder that historic scenes are often connected with it. 
 The frequent mention of this " idyllic locality " in Oriental narrative 
 is hardly more " suspicious," than similar references to the ancient 
 " forum " or the modern " market-place." 
 
436 REASON AND FAITH : 
 
 credible and impossible instantly disposes of whole chap 
 ters, which would otherwise seem impressed with every 
 internal mark, and supported by every external proof, of their 
 truthfulness. " The supernatural,'* it is said, " here shows 
 we are not on historic ground ; there is so much about 
 angels, demons, miracles ; of course this is not to be literally 
 believed, and cannot be true." Dr. Strauss vehemently ex 
 claims against it as a petitio principii, if a critic assigns 
 supernatural power as a solution of any difficulty. But then is 
 it any worse than his own petitio principii, that a narrative 
 is at once to be rejected because it involves the preternatural ? 
 In fact, it only shows that neither party in this war of critical 
 objections can bring the contest to a decisive termination. 
 The question must be carried higher, and the previous gen 
 eral credibility of the evidence for Christianity ascertained 
 and determined on the entire balance of evidence. Let that 
 be established, and it will crush to atoms by its weight the 
 frail fabric raised on a discrepancy here and there. On the 
 other hand, let Dr. Strauss prove what he so preposterously 
 takes for granted, " that miracles are impossible " ; and he 
 need not strain criticism, not to say honesty, to effect the 
 downfall of a system which is absolutely dependent on its su 
 pernatural claims, and frankly avows that dependence. 
 
 But though Dr. Strauss generally relies in the case of mir 
 acles on his usual comprehensive a priori reason for reject 
 ing them, he is sometimes at the superflous pains of trying to 
 prove them historically improbable ; and then exhibits his usual 
 license of conjecture. Thus he thinks that, since the resur 
 rection of Lazarus is not mentioned by the first three Evan 
 gelists, it is most improbable that it should have been known 
 by them ; therefore it is all but certain that it was not known ; 
 if not known to them, it could only be from its not having 
 occurred ; therefore it is certainly to be rejected : an ingeni 
 ous sorites, by which we may at any time dispense with the 
 positive testimony of an historian, if we do not find what he 
 relates related also by other historians ! But in this and oth- 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 437 
 
 er cases, if Dr. Strauss had but proved his postulatum that 
 u a miracle is impossible," he might have dispensed with this 
 circuitous way of proving, from assumptions of historic prob 
 abilities, that it is also in some degree " improbable." 
 
 On the same axioms our author disposes at once, by one 
 comprehensive excision, of all possibility of proofs from proph 
 ecy ; prophecy cannot be true. Yet, as before, he here em 
 ploys the assumptions he denies to others. It is unreason 
 able, in his judgment, to infer that any event mentioned in 
 the New Testament is a proof of the truth of ancient prophe 
 cies ; because we are there in the region of the " supernat 
 ural " ; nay, by the ingenious assumptions he is pleased to 
 make, it is impossible, even if there are true prophecies, that 
 they can ever be proved to be so ; since the moment he sees 
 any apparent similarity between any statement in the Old 
 Testament and any event in the New, that similarity, ipso 
 facto, affords him indications of the mythical origin of the 
 New Testament narrative ; and the more exact the corre 
 spondence, the stronger the indications : so that the conformity 
 of the event no longer proves the truth of the prophecy ; but 
 the fact of the prophecy is uniformly considered the cause 
 of the " myth." We ought not perhaps to be much surprised, 
 if in a similar way some disciple of Dr. Strauss should prove 
 that the Jews by a sort of dramatized myth have been pleased 
 to " disperse " themselves " among all nations," and have 
 done so at different periods of history, because they found in 
 their ancient writings it became them to be zealous for the 
 honor of their ancient lawgiver and prophets ; that, in a 
 similar manner, nations hostile to Christianity have embraced 
 it, not because it was truly predicted that they should, but in 
 order to render that declaration a true prediction ; and that 
 even such phenomena as Dr. Strauss apparently fore 
 shadowed in the most distinct manner are no more than 
 a sort of practical myths to which those prophecies have giv 
 en rise ! At all events, it is impossible for him to fail ; for if 
 any one pleads the conformity of an event with the predic- 
 37* 
 
438 REASON AND FAITH : 
 
 tion as a proof of the truth of the latter, our author is imme 
 diately armed with his comprehensive postulatum, as in the 
 case of miracles : " We here get into the region of the su 
 pernatural ; of course nothing is to be believed there." Have 
 we any more business to believe his easy assumptions, that 
 circumstantial, and seemingly well-attested histories, are no 
 more than universally accredited myths, constructed because 
 men were predisposed to realize ancient prophecy ? especially 
 in the many cases in which, so far as we know the conditions 
 of their history, they certainly could not have thus realized 
 them, if they would ; and, so far as we can judge of human 
 motives, would not have realized them in such a form if they 
 could ? 
 
 And here it may be worth while to observe some of the 
 strange consequences which must follow from the admission 
 of Dr. Strauss's theory of the mythical origin of Christianity, 
 namely, that it was little more than a super-foatation on Jew 
 ish prejudices, and the natural product of Messianic legends 
 and fables. It appears, first, that the genius of that nation 
 having ever been preeminently exclusive, this product of their 
 prejudices is mainly characterized by the renunciation of their 
 prejudices ; secondly, that though the peculiar product of their 
 national prepossessions, it was rejected and is still rejected by 
 the great majority of the nation ; thirdly, that though their 
 ancient prophecies led them to dote upon the idea of a trium 
 phant and conquering Messiah, a prepossession in which 
 the early advocates of Christianity seem to have originally 
 had their full share, this product of their prepossessions is 
 directly opposed to that notion, and exhibits to them the re 
 pulsive novelty of a crucified and suffering Messiah ; fourthly, 
 that though their prepossessions prompted them, as they ever 
 have done, to monopolize the favor of the Deity, these prepos 
 sessions somehow dictated a system which lays the axe at the 
 root of that darling hypothesis ; fifthly, that this product of 
 national prepossessions, founded on old Messianic fables and 
 myths, though it was not acceptable to the taste of the ma- 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 439 
 
 jority of the nation, yet was extensively received by nations 
 to which not only no Messianic myths could have been accept 
 able, but to which all Messianic myths must have been odi 
 ous ; that, in short, the system did not meet the prejudices 
 of those who, according to the theory, must have been preju 
 diced in its favor ; and did suit the prejudices of those who, 
 according to that or any other theory, must have been preju 
 diced against it ! A curious hypothesis it would certainly be, 
 and yet a strictly parallel one, which should assure us 
 that a certain religious institution (making the most enormous 
 demands on men's credulity, if false} was the natural effect 
 of the previous historic development and ancient preposses 
 sions of the English, which yet was somehow vehemently 
 rejected by the bulk of the English ; but was nevertheless re 
 ceived implicitly by the French and other nations, their mor 
 tal enemies, to the rejection of all the institutions which had 
 been the growth of their own historical development and an 
 cient prepossessions. The fact is, that Christianity, so far 
 from being the natural product of the previous condition of 
 the Jewish nation, was as directly opposed to all which 
 venerable prepossession and ancestral pride taught them most 
 fondly to cherish, as it was to the prejudices, superstitions, 
 and philosophy of the nations around them. St. Paul truly 
 represents the matter when he says (in the words cited in the 
 preceding essay) that " Christ was to the Jews a stumbling- 
 block, and to the Greeks foolishness." 
 
 4. Another ingenious artifice of our author (though not so 
 systematically adopted as the preceding) is, that, by his arbi 
 trary requirements, the just conditions of historical represen 
 tation can never be fulfilled. Is a narrative minutely circum 
 stantial , full of those little traits, those incidental touches 
 and allusions, which are in general regarded as proofs of re 
 ality and truthfulness " beyond the reach of art " ? They 
 are dramatic embellishments designed to enhance the verisi 
 militude of the story. Is the narrative bare and meagre ? 
 That very generality and vagueness of statement must pass 
 
440 REASON AND FAITH I 
 
 for proof that the facts are not given by any one intimate 
 with the facts. Some of our author's countrymen have justly 
 commented on this convenient ambiguity in the decisions of 
 the critical oracle. He has been accused, he says, of " using 
 both the particularity and the brevity of narratives, as proofs 
 of their mythical character." And in spite of his defence, 
 most justly. " In all cases," he tells us, " in which there 
 are extant two accounts of a single fact, the one full, the oth 
 er concise, opinions may be divided as to which of them is 
 the original. When these accounts have been liable to the 
 modifications of tradition, it is important to bear in mind that 
 tradition has two tendencies ; the one to sublimate the con 
 crete into the abstract, the individual into the general ; the 
 other, not less essential, to substitute arbitrary fictions for the 
 historical reality which is lost. If then wfc put the want of 
 precision in the narrative of the first Evangelist to the acccfunt 
 of the former function of the legend, ought we at once to re 
 gard the precision and dramatic effect of the other Gospels 
 as a proof that their authors were eyewitnesses ? Must we 
 not rather examine whether these qualities be not derived 
 from the second function of the legend ? " 
 
 We soon see how summary this examination is, and in 
 what, as a matter of course, it results. As thus : "In de 
 tailed narratives, of which we shall presently notice many ex 
 amples, while Matthew simply tells what Jesus said on a cer 
 tain occasion, the two other Evangelists are able to describe 
 the glance with which his words were accompanied. (Mark, 
 iii. 5 ; x. 21 ; Luke vi. 10.) On the mention of a blind 
 beggar of Jericho, Mark is careful to give us his name, and 
 the name of his father (x. 46). From these particulars we 
 might already augur what the examination of single narratives 
 will prove : namely, that the copiousness of Mark and Luke 
 is the product of the second function of the legend, which we 
 may call the function of embellishment." With two such 
 " functions " of the " legend," the " function" of the histor 
 ical critic becomes easy enough. 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 441 
 
 Almost every inconvenient narrative may of course easily 
 be found too long or too short, too meagre or too minute. 
 On such principles, if Truth herself were to photograph a 
 scene of history, it would be competent to Dr. Strauss to 
 prove that her rays were flatterers ; he might exclaim, with 
 Miss Edgeworth's Irishman, " that the picture was more like 
 than the original." 
 
 5. At one feature in Dr. Strauss's work men will certainly 
 do well to wonder. It is at the perfection which the critical 
 temperament may attain. It might a priori have been thought 
 impossible that any man, whatever his conviction that the 
 wonderful creations of the New Testament were fictions or 
 myths, could have glowed so little in treating of them, 
 could have felt so little their sublimity or beauty, could have 
 so effectually suppressed all emotion in applying to them the 
 canons of his minute criticism, or evinced so little remorse 
 in the attempt to destroy the impression of their historic real 
 ity. On the score of taste alone, few would have supposed 
 it possible that a man could have treated the scene of the 
 Last Supper, the still more wonderful scenes of Gethsem- 
 ane, or those of the Cross and Sepulchre, with so little 
 power of appreciating their intense beauty, sublimity, and pa 
 thos. An iconoclast, however stolid, could hardly take up 
 his hammer to shiver to atoms the most exquisite forms of 
 sculpture with the feelings of a common stone-mason. It 
 would be difficult to conceive that there is another in all the 
 world to match our author in the nil admirari vein, in the 
 power of preserving a stoical apathy in the presence of (to 
 say the least) the divinest conceptions of uninspired genius ; 
 or one who is so utterly a stranger to that enthusiasm which 
 must enter as an integral element into the constitution of a 
 critic, if he is to be equipped for the discharge of any of the 
 more' elevated functions of criticism. Some degree of this 
 enthusiasm, indeed, is essential to their right performance ; 
 and in its utter absence a truly great critic can no more be 
 formed, even though he possess cart-loads of minute learning, 
 
442 REASON AND FAITH : 
 
 than any number of skeletons can make a living man. How 
 different is the tone in which, with similar infidelity, a more 
 poetic soul, like that of Byron or Shelley, has often broke 
 out into spontaneous homage to the glorious poetry of the 
 Old and New Testament ! 
 
 It may be said, perhaps, that Dr. Strauss thought it his du 
 ty to suppress all emotion ; if so, it must be confessed he has 
 completely succeeded in suppressing all signs of it. It is 
 not every man who could sponge out the pictures of Raphael 
 without a faltering hand ; or march through the galleries of 
 the Louvre or the British Museum with the sole purpose of 
 applying his six-inch rule to the feet and hands of each an 
 cient statue, in order to ascertain that they exactly corre 
 sponded in length ; or find out, by chipping them with his 
 hammer, by knocking off a nose here, and an ear there, 
 the precise mineralogical character of the stone or marble 
 from which they were chiselled. He gives us, more perfect 
 ly than any other critic, a notion of that class of men who, 
 in the bitter language of one of our own poets, can 
 " Botanize upon their mother's grave." * 
 
 * When Dr. Strauss does deviate (as he sometimes does) from the 
 equanimity of criticism, it certainly is not in the direction of a genial 
 admiration for moral beauty, or sublimity, or pathos. It is to indulge 
 himself in some approach to a joke or sneer, in which, unhappily, the 
 will to be witty has not been seconded by nature. Thus, when com 
 menting on our Lord's triumphal procession into Jerusalem on the ass 
 on which man had never before ridden, he thinks it decorous to say : 
 " One does not understand how Jesus could designedly increase the dif 
 ficulty of his progress, by the choice of a hitherto unridden animal : 
 which, unless he kept it in order by Divine omnipotence (for the most 
 consummate human skill would not suffice for this on his first riding), 
 must inevitably have occasioned much disturbance to the triumphal pro 
 cession To such an inconvenience Jesus would assuredly not 
 
 have exposed himself without a cogent reason The authors of 
 
 the intermediate Gospels did not hesitate to receive this trait into their 
 memoirs, because they, indeed, in writing, would not experience the same 
 inconvenience from the undisciplined animal which it must have caused 
 to Jesus in riding." It is not in every man's power to be witty ; but it 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 443 
 
 It may be said that this is a question of taste. It is, but 
 not of taste only ; for, as already said, the possession of some 
 thing like a soul is of much importance in relation to all the 
 higher functions of criticism. A more genial temperament 
 would not only have naturally given another tone to many of 
 the criticisms of Strauss, but is absolutely essential to the 
 appreciation of many of the points of which he treats. As 
 it is, he resembles many a commentator on our own Shak- 
 speare, whose proper sphere is so exclusively the investiga 
 tion of petty details, trivial anachronisms, incongruities of 
 costume, and errors in geography, that they never attempt 
 criticisms of a higher order without displaying their incom 
 petence, and creating the very problems which they then 
 strive to solve. In like manner Strauss often makes difficul 
 ties, when in reality there are none, and where many more 
 philosophic critics have felt that there is none. Thus, to take 
 a single example, he discovers something absolutely incredi 
 ble in John's mission to Jesus, to inquire whether he was in 
 deed the " Messiah " ; which, says he, after the scene at his 
 baptism, John could not doubt. The probability of such 
 doubt, only a deeper knowledge of human nature than our 
 critic probably possesses could teach him. When we con 
 sider the strange mutations of the human mind, under differ 
 ent circumstances of gladness or depression, from the liveli 
 est hopes to the most abject fears, the sudden cloud of 
 scepticism which sometimes troubles the brightness of the 
 most undoubted conviction, and from which even the mind 
 of a Chillingworth or a Pascal has not been always free, 
 
 is in every man's power to be decent. If not too much to ask, we should 
 request Dr. Strauss, in his next edition, to relapse, in this and some few 
 other passages, into his native stolidity. It would be friendly advice, 
 even for his own sake ; for the " gods have not made him witty," any 
 more than they made poor Audrey " poetical " ; and although it is true 
 that he might choose subjects for his unwieldy humor in which he might 
 give less pain to his readers, it is impossible that he should choose any, 
 however light or merry, in which such humor as his could give them 
 pleasure. His friends should remind him that it is more easy to imitate 
 Gibbon's infidelity than Gibbon's wit. 
 
444 REASON AND FAITH I 
 
 the transient catalepsy which will sometimes seize the strong 
 est faith, when strongly tried ; when we add to these general 
 considerations the particular causes of depression in the pres 
 ent case, partly physical, and partly mental, but all tending 
 to produce the result in question ; the influences of suffer 
 ing and imprisonment, the "sickness of heart" which is 
 proverbially the effect of " hope long delayed," the ob 
 scurity and meanness of the supposed Messiah, contrasted 
 probably with recently vivid expectations, not only of his 
 sudden glory, but of his assumption of a too Jewish species 
 of glory (for there is no reason to believe that even the Bap 
 tist was perfectly defecated from all Jewish prejudices) ; 
 when we consider all these things, the temporary invasion of 
 painful perplexity related by the Evangelists is any thing but 
 unnatural ; and with such a doubt, the historic reality of the 
 whole simple narrative, and Christ's words, of touching and 
 solemn admonition, beautifully harmonize, " And blessed 
 is he whosoever shall not be offended in me " ! To those 
 who are deeply read in human nature, the phenomenon will 
 produce little wonder ; for we well know that men have come 
 to doubt of facts of which they have been as plenarily con 
 vinced as if they had seen a miracle for their confirmation ; 
 that is, they have distrusted their own senses; and even a 
 miracle appeals, and can appeal, to nothing stronger. In an 
 age when a belief in the Supernatural, and that referrible to 
 two opposite sources, was at all events common, it is still less 
 wonderful that men should have sometimes had a momentary 
 doubt of the heavenly source of visions, of which memory 
 could give them no stronger proofs than of their past sensa 
 tions ; and even of these, it appears, men may be driven to 
 doubt. Least of all ought Dr. Strauss to wonder, since, 
 upon his principles, even if he were to see a miracle, he must 
 necessarily believe that his very senses have played him false ; 
 he having predetermined that a " miracle is impossible." * 
 
 * Even supposing the Gospels to be fictions or myths, we greatly doubt 
 whether, in such cases as that here treated, the men who could compose 
 
 /" 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 445 
 
 Dr. Strauss closes his volumes by a solemn inquiry, which 
 not only renders it difficult to suppose that the frigidity of his 
 temperament has not affected his heart as well as his head, 
 but almost makes one doubt whether he be not a mythical 
 personage himself; so contrary are all the indications it gives 
 to those with which one would wish to associate intelligent 
 and honorable humanity. He makes it a grave question, 
 whether one who has ceased to believe in the historic validity 
 of Christianity can rightfully occupy the post, and play the 
 part it is a very appropriate phrase of a Christian min 
 ister and pastor in the Church of Christ ; performing its rites 
 and preaching its doctrines, in a sense totally different from 
 that which his flock .attach to them ; and disguising, all the 
 time, his real sentiments and real convictions, though he knows 
 that the very men who listen to his words, and receive the 
 sacred elements at his hands, would, could they penetrate 
 his disguise, despise and abhor him as one of the most con 
 temptible of hypocrites ! Truly, with whatever success Dr. 
 Strauss may have reduced the history of Christianity to fable, 
 he has certainly succeeded in metamorphosing its morality, 
 and, with that, all the morality of every other religion. Out 
 of Germany, we believe, such a question as Dr. Strauss has 
 calmly discussed could not be discussed at all ; and even in 
 Germany, few, it may be suspected, would choose thus open 
 ly to plead it. Well may Menzel exclaim : " In our learned 
 age every thing depends on Hermeneutics. A man might 
 become a Bonze, and swear upon the symbolic books of Fo, 
 and yet, by means of a dexterous exegesis, invest the stupid 
 books with as rational a meaning as he pleased. They do 
 not alter the word ; they swear upon it, and think of some 
 thing else" 
 
 such parables, describe such scenes, portray such characters, and weave 
 such an artful texture of g-wasz-history, were not likely to be far better 
 judges of the " psychologically improbable " than any Dr. Strauss ; just as 
 in any similar decision against Shakspeare, the chances would be that he 
 had read Truth and Nature too profoundly for his critics. 
 38 
 
446 REASON AND FAITH! 
 
 In one respect, the work of Dr. Strauss has been of excel 
 lent service. He has done much, not indeed to render the 
 old hypotheses of Naturalism untenable, for that they al 
 ways were, but to expose their^ utter absurdity. He has 
 very successfully unroofed and dismantled these theories, 
 and left them in desolation. Henceforth, nothing is left their 
 inhabitants but to migrate into the land of myths, or take ref 
 uge in unsophisticated Christianity. 
 
 Such a work as that of Dr. Strauss is calculated to do 
 some service also in two other ways : 1st. Since the marks 
 of truth and reality, the minute harmonies, and undesigned, 
 and often most refined, coincidences in the evangelic history 
 are much more numerous than the discrepancies, these last 
 cannot turn the scale ; while they, at least, prove most evi 
 dently that the Evangelists did not write in concert : if they 
 had, they would, certainly in the most important cases, have 
 taken care to obviate such objections. If they did not write 
 in concert, then the " substantial unity " of the narratives, taken 
 in connection with their " circumstantial variety," forms the 
 strongest proof of their historic worth. 2dly. As many of 
 the internal proofs of the historic truthfulness of the Scrip 
 tures have been evolved by the attacks of infidelity, and prob 
 ably would have lain hidden for ages, had not infidelity 
 elicted them, the same will assuredly be the result and in 
 a great measure has been so in the present case. Many 
 of the discrepancies, having been shown to be perfectly rec 
 oncilable, are being transferred to the other side of the ac 
 count, and more and more will be so as time rolls on ; while 
 those which are not reconcilable, and yet cannot be proved 
 to involve contradictions, are at least so many arguments for 
 the independence of the evangelic testimonies. 
 
 It may be not unreasonably surmised that the existence of 
 such variations, if not essential to the validity of the Gospel 
 testimony, yet involves (such is the perverseness of man) 
 fewer provocatives of his doubts and hostility, than any other 
 alternative that could have been devised. In this, as in other 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 447 
 
 instances, it will probably in time be discovered that God has 
 in mercy exacted the least arduous test of man's faith which 
 could be a reasonable test at all. It is not difficult to conjec 
 ture what course infidelity would have taken, had the testimo 
 ny reached us in any other form. If the evangelical history 
 had been attested only by one writer, it is easy to see what 
 an uproar the generation of Strausses would have made about 
 the absurdity of receiving such wonderful recitals on any 
 single testimony ; and, on the other hand, had there been sev 
 eral witnesses, and their accounts absolutely coincident, no 
 less loud would have been the clamors about transparent col 
 lusion and conspiracy. It is proverbially hard to please those 
 who will not be pleased ; and impossible for Omnipotence 
 itself to satisfy the perverse demands of men who are inclined 
 to find or make reasons for rejecting what they are not in 
 clined to receive. God himself cannot adopt any purely 
 moral instruments of conviction and persuasion, of which man 
 cannot, with self- destructive ingenuity, turn the edge. 
 
 Let us imagine a problem ; to deliver to mankind a sys 
 tem of facts and doctrines (making, as it is admitted the Gos 
 pel does, large demands on faith), in the most unobjectiona 
 ble manner. It is evident it must depend on no single tes 
 timony ; it must exhibit, in its multiplicity of testimonies, 
 variations enough to prove that there was no concert or collu 
 sion, and agreement enough to prove their common veracity. 
 It may well be doubted whether any product of human inge 
 nuity would be found to fulfil all these conditions so perfectly 
 as the four Gospels, especially viewed in conjunction with the 
 Acts and the Epistles. The variations, at all events, are infi 
 nitely less than those which have characterized every ordi 
 nary cycle of myths, those gradual formations from float 
 ing popular traditions, those shapeless embodiments of popu 
 lar modes of thought and feeling, associations and tendencies. 
 When the particles of which these consist are no longer held 
 in solution, but condense themselves into a pseudo-historic 
 form, they never crystallize (if we may use the expression) 
 
448 REASON AND FAITH I 
 
 into so near an approach to a regular solid as is presented in 
 the Evangelists. They are uniformly amorphous deposits. If 
 Dr. Strauss doubts it, we commend to him an achievement 
 worthy of his critical prowess. Let him, in relation to some 
 such cycle of myths (for example, the Grecian mythology, or 
 the legends of old Rome, or the stories of Robin Hood, or 
 those of the Knights of the Round Table, or the Chronicles 
 of Charlemagne), change places with his opponents ; and 
 while they state the historic discrepancies, incongruities, and 
 contradictions, let him play the harmonist ; and let him see 
 whether he can reduce the difficulties which they will pro 
 pose to him to any thing like the same vanishing quantities to 
 which they have reduced the difficulties he proposes to them ; 
 and let the test of his success be this, his being able to in 
 duce the powerful, acute, and cultivated minds, who, after 
 the fullest investigation, persist in believing the historic verity 
 of the Evangelists, to receive as historical the myths he shall 
 patronize. If he shall say that it is impossible that the experi 
 ment can be tried, inasmuch as it is impossible to resusci 
 tate a myth which has been once exploded, we reply, that, to 
 the infidel and the heathen, the alleged " myths" of Chris 
 tianity are virtually in that condition ; and yet she often con 
 verts the one to the reception of them as true history, and still 
 oftener induces the other to reject his own living myths in fa 
 vor of her own alien pretensions. Dr. Strauss is welcome to 
 attempt either course, of convincing his infidels or convert 
 ing his heathens, with any circle of myths he shall choose 
 to take under the protection of history. 
 
 After having tried both the frigid system of Paulus and the 
 equally frigid system of Strauss, the arctic and antarctic cir 
 cles of theology, equally bleak, dreary, sterile, icy, it is 
 to be hoped that the Germans will in time find out that there 
 are other zones and milder skies in which they may dwell in 
 safety ; where their wanderings in quest of truth may cease, 
 and " they may find rest unto their souls." It is a consum 
 mation devoutly to be wished, and not altogether unreasona- 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 449 
 
 ble to hope. But assuredly they cannot have either the envi 
 able tranquillity of the sincere Christian, or the unsafe re 
 pose of the confirmed infidel, while they will perversely as 
 pire to the impossible luxury of being Christians and infidels 
 at the same time, or strive to realize their arduous paradox of 
 a " believing unbelief." 
 
 * # * Though it was impossible, within the limits prescribed to the 
 preceding remarks, to enter minutely into the questions of criticism 
 involved in such a work as that of Dr. Strauss, it may be as well to 
 point the attention of the reader, who honestly wishes information 
 and satisfaction on the more important points, to some of the works 
 in which he may obtain them. It were superfluous to mention Lard- 
 ner's and Paley's works. Several others have recently appeared in 
 English, and of distinguished excellence. Amongst them may be 
 mentioned Greswell's " Harmony and Dissertations " ; Robinson's 
 " Harmony " ; " The Literary History of the New Testament," an 
 unpretending but valuable volume, in which many of the more diffi 
 cult and important questions are treated in a manner likely to be all 
 the more acceptable to multitudes of readers, inasmuch as it is free 
 from the extreme and often tedious minuteness which distinguishes 
 more ample works; and, lastly, Dr. S. Davidson's "Introduction 
 to the New Testament," in which a large portion of the difficulties, 
 not so much originated as compiled, digested, and exaggerated by 
 Strauss, are discussed with great learning, acuteness, and candor. 
 
 No. II. p. 401. 
 
 WHETHER MAN IS INCOMPETENT TO JUDGE OF A DIVINE 
 REVELATION FROM ITS CONTENTS ? 
 
 THIS doctrine, it may be said, must be received with limi 
 tations. This is true ; and the limitations are obvious enough. 
 Neither Butler nor any one else who has asserted it can be 
 supposed to have meant that the whole of Christianity is to be 
 regarded as a system so far beyond our capacity of judging 
 of it, that we are absolutely incompetent to pronounce on the 
 excellence or wisdom of any part. Often and justly has it 
 38* 
 
450 
 
 REASON AND FAITH 
 
 been maintained, that the exquisite morality of the Gospel, 
 both as to substance and form, as well as many of its doc 
 trines, are so adapted to the nature, and so approve them 
 selves to the consciousness of man, as to furnish no insignifi 
 cant indications of a divine origin. 
 
 For this reason Dr. Chalmers, who in his earlier work on 
 the " Evidences " excluded the internal class, from the sup 
 posed incompetence of man to form a judgment on the sub 
 ject, afterwards changed his mind ; and, in his later work, 
 gave this class of evidences their just place. All that can be 
 maintained, and all that a reasonable man would 'venture to 
 maintain is this ; that though we may see that many parts 
 of Christianity are worthy of God, we are not hastily to con 
 clude that where we do not see this, such parts do not come 
 from him. This would be false logic, and unjustifiable pre 
 sumption. To say that man is competent to judge of some 
 parts and not of the whole of the system, is no more than say 
 ing of some complex machine, or some vast fabric, that 
 enough may be known of it to justify the belief that consum 
 mate wisdom presided over its construction, though it may 
 be impossible to penetrate the design of every part, or com 
 prehend the bearings of the whole. It is in fact precisely 
 what the theist says, in his argument for the existence of 
 God, founded on the proofs from design in the visible crea 
 tion. He sees enough, and more than enough, to vindicate 
 his conclusion ; but if he were to affirm that he is competent 
 to judge of the design or coherence of the universal fabric, 
 and to pronounce that such and such parts were unworthy of 
 the Deity ; that, like Alphonso of Castile, he could, had God 
 been pleased to share his counsels with him, have suggested 
 some auspicious improvements, men would laugh at him, if 
 it were not for pity, or pity him, if it were not for horror. 
 " The atom ! " they would say. " How can he pretend to 
 know that this or that arrangement is unworthy of the Deity ! " 
 It becomes us, in every such case, to say as Socrates did of 
 the obscurities in the works of Heraclitus, only with infi- 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 451 
 
 nitely more reason, " What I understand pleases me well ; 
 and I doubt not that what I do not understand would please 
 me as well, if I did but understand it ! " 
 
 No. III. pp. 407, 411. 
 
 ON THE TWO THEORIES ACCOUNTING FOR THE VARIATIONS 
 AND DISCREPANCIES IN THE SCRIPTURES. 
 
 IT must be admitted, (as indeed is expressly admitted at the 
 close of the paragraph to which this note is appended, and sub 
 sequently, p. 411,) that it is very possible for a man who con 
 cedes the immense preponderance of the sum of the evidence 
 for the truth of Christianity over the sum of the objections 
 against it, to take exception to certain portions of the sacred 
 records, historic or otherwise, as mistakes or errors of the 
 writers, and yet apply this principle within perfectly innocu 
 ous limits ; it must also be admitted that tbe principle in 
 question is often in fact applied within such limits; that is, so 
 applied as not to touch any thing which a candid mind would 
 contend to be of the essence of Christianity. Such a man 
 may ask as Paley, for argument's sake, asks in his chapter on 
 the Discrepancies, What can it matter to the substantial 
 credibility of the records, if it were admitted that such and 
 such trivial variations in the narrative, or such and such un 
 important fallacies in the reasoning,. had arisen, in the one 
 case, from erroneous information, or, in the other, from Jew 
 ish modes of thinking and feeling ? How is the essence of 
 Christianity affected by it ? Is any other history discredited 
 on account of unimportant discrepancies ? To many power 
 ful and candid minds this hypothesis is satisfactory, and, as 
 they apply it, it is also innocuous. 
 
 And if other men would apply the theory with the same 
 judgment, or if it had in itself any obvious limits to control 
 its application, the difference between it and that advocated 
 in the essay would not be worth the ammunition to be expend- 
 
452 REASON AND FAITH I 
 
 ed in the controversy. The difference resolves itself merely 
 into the mode of accounting for certain difficulties and discrep 
 ancies which both parties admit do not touch the substantial 
 credibility of the system. 
 
 The precise point of agreement and the precise point of di 
 vergence in the two may be thus briefly stated. 
 
 Both parties agree that, on fairly weighing the entire evi 
 dence, external and internal, it is eminently improbable, or 
 rather impossible, that Christianity should have been either a 
 product of artful fiction, or an accidental deposit of tradition ; 
 and if it were either the one or the other, that in such an age 
 and amidst so much necessary prejudice and opposition, its 
 fictions or its myths should have been received as facts ; 
 and that therefore the Gospel is substantially true. But both 
 are also compelled to admit, that there are some objections 
 which cannot be solved, and some discrepancies which can 
 not be reconciled. The advocate of the one hypothesis says : 
 " I think it more probable that such discrepancies are either 
 the result of the inevitable effects of the mode in which an 
 cient books are transmitted, and which no miracles are prom 
 ised to prevent ; or that these discrepancies are such in ap 
 pearance only ; sometimes arising from the omission of some 
 fact which, if stated, would reconcile them ; or from some 
 similar cause." The reasonableness of such an hypothesis he 
 founds, both on the admitted fact that the like difficulties from 
 the same causes exist in other writings, which, so far from 
 being harshly assumed to be insoluble contradictions, never 
 affect the credit given to their authors ; and that in such writ 
 ings, as well as in those of the New Testament, real solutions 
 of many difficulties have been effected by critical recensions 
 of the text, or by more diligent historic investigation of collat 
 eral evidence ; while of others it is easy to see that many, 
 perhaps we may say the great majority, are fairly removable 
 by supposed omissions or supposed restrictions, whioh, in the 
 silence of the writers, are just as allowable as the hypotheti 
 cal assumption that no such omissions have been made, and 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 453 
 
 no such restrictions are conceivable. He further thinks that 
 this theory of accounting for the difficulties is, a priori, more 
 probable than the other, because, admitting the immensely 
 preponderant evidence for the truth of Christianity, it seems 
 hardly supposable that, when so stupendous an intervention 
 as is implied in miracles and prophecy had been employed to 
 authenticate a religious system, that system was left liable to 
 indeterminate corruption and depravation in the very act of 
 propounding it to the world; because, on inspecting the 
 writings themselves, the very fact that such men as their au 
 thors had produced what, intellectually, morally, and histori 
 cally, it seems impossible that they should ever have pro 
 duced of themselves, indicates that they had undergone a meta 
 morphosis which he cannot resolve into any thing but their 
 subjection to divine illumination and divine superintendence ; 
 and because he finds in their writings a great number of 
 expressions, which, taken collectively, seem to indicate their 
 claim to that illumination and superintendence, to a degree 
 which excludes error from the sacred books as they were first 
 given to the world ; and that these expressions, to the full ex 
 tent of their fairly interpreted meaning^are, of course, authen 
 ticated by whatever evidences substantiate any other state 
 ment of theirs. 
 
 But his great reason for distrusting the opposite hypothesis 
 is that mentioned in the preceding essay ; namely, that, in 
 rejecting portions of the records of the canonical Scriptures 
 as, in his judgment, errors or fallacies of the original writers, 
 he would seem to be playing fast and loose with that general 
 evidence which equally substantiates the claims of what he 
 receives and what he rejects ; that is, to " accept evidence 
 where it pleases him, and to refuse it where it pleases him 
 not." Lastly, he declares that he has no criterion for the ap 
 plication of the principle. 
 
 The advocate of the other hypothesis says : " I believe 
 that, over and above the errors and discrepancies which arise 
 out of inevitable variations of the text, and from our imper- 
 
454 REASON AND FAITH ! 
 
 feet knowledge of facts which, if known, would demonstrate 
 that many such errors and discrepancies are apparent only, 
 and many such cases I grant, there are unimportant 
 points, on which these writers were allowed to be occasionally 
 misled by inaccurate information, and to,, fall into error under 
 the influence of uncorrected prejudice ; but I fully believe 
 that the force of the general evidence demonstrates the sub 
 stantial credibility of their statements, and the divine origin 
 of every essential and characteristic doctrine of Christianity. 
 As to one of the above arguments, I do not see that the writ 
 ers claim an absolute immunity from error ; and, in point of 
 fact, do you not admit, that, if they did not deliver what was 
 erroneous, it has been made so by the corruptions which the 
 lapse of time and imperfect transmission have occasioned ? 
 And do you not also make the ultimate rejection or reception 
 of all such matters depend on the conclusions of enlightened 
 criticism ? " " True," it is replied ; " but the advantage of 
 the former hypothesis, if logically tenable, is, that it cannot be 
 abused ; it has its own securities against that : we see from 
 the conditions of the transmission, not of the Bible only, but 
 of all literature, that the amount of error is within moderate 
 limits ; that it continually tends to disappear in the course of 
 discussion and investigation ; and, lastly, that the evidence by 
 which we are to decide such points, history, criticism, phi 
 lology, however difficult, is fairly within the grasp of our 
 faculties, and is ultimately subject to them. But the other 
 hypothesis has no such safeguards ; it is infinitely liable to 
 abuse. If it be admitted that the writers, from whose state 
 ments alone we can tell what Christianity is, have in many 
 cases, and to an indeterminate extent, been misled by falla 
 cies in reasoning and inaccuracy of information, what have 
 we to reply to him who will apply the same principle further ; 
 who says, ' I think, d priori, this and this, and this and this, 
 improbable, fanciful, illogical, false,' and who proceeds to 
 reject what is essential to the Christian system ? " The advo 
 cate of the second hypothesis may justly reply : " He cannot 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 455 
 
 do this, if (as I do) he admits the preponderant evidence for 
 the New Testament ; he cannot, so long as he has a particle 
 of candor left, deny that there are some statements which 
 are essential ; though it may not be always easy to discrimi 
 nate them. What can it matter to Christianity if we suppose 
 Matthew or John to have erred in fixing the precise hour of 
 the crucifixion, or whether the supper at Bethany was six or 
 two days before the last Passover ? " " True," would be the 
 reply, " and I fully believe that you have the candor to admit, 
 and the perspicacity to see, the very moderate limits within 
 ^which your hypothesis should be applied ; but surely it is bet 
 ter, if evidence will permit it, to have a firmer security against 
 the want of candor or the want of sagacity in others ; for 
 this reason I still prefer the former hypothesis : but as be 
 tween MS, and betw.een any minds, who, admitting the gener 
 al evidence for the truth of Christianity, honestly apply them 
 selves to the interpretation of its records, there is no contro 
 versy worth waging, for there will be no substantial differ 
 ence." 
 
 The advocates of both hypotheses may plead that neither 
 party is called to give an account of the residuum of insoluble 
 objections ; that they give their assent to conclusions estab 
 lished by a vast preponderance of proof independent of these 
 objections, and are no more bound to give a positive solution 
 of them, than a judge is bound to reconcile a few remaining 
 discrepancies in evidence which is supported by a large ex 
 cess of probabilities in favor of his decision. 
 
 This course of procedure is plainly the dictate of common 
 sense ; and is a course better understood, it appears, in phi 
 losophy than in theology, and in relation to natural theology 
 than in relation to revealed. 
 
 When the philosopher finds some phenomena at apparent 
 variance with a general law, founded on a large induction, he 
 does not proceed to abandon his conclusion, but waits with 
 patience for further light ; pretty confident that it will come 
 in time, and perfectly confident that, if it never comes, he will 
 
456 REASON AND FAITH : 
 
 not be justified on this account in abandoning a conclusion 
 supported by a thousand facts, because it is found opposed to 
 one. In the same manner the theist (convinced, by an im 
 mense array of proofs, of the Divine wisdom and benevo 
 lence) does not allow his conclusion to be falsified because 
 he stumbles at facts which he cannot reconcile with either. 
 He waits for further light, and exercises the faith as well as 
 the reason of a philosopher. 
 
 But " O these insupportable evidences ! " many minds in 
 the present day are ready to exclaim. " Are we to find our 
 way to truth through all these tangled mazes of learning and 
 criticism ? Cannot a man be a Christian without traversing 
 these labyrinths ? " 
 
 Assuredly he may. It is happily no more necessary that 
 a man should have examined, with the utmost degree of ex 
 actness, the whole field of the Christian Evidences, than that 
 he must be a profound astronomer before he can be qualified 
 to embrace the Copernican theory. A few great facts are, 
 on most subjects, sufficient to form the convictions of men ; 
 profound knowledge in each is left to those who are neces 
 sitated, or predisposed, or at leisure to attain it ; and even that 
 profound knowledge is profound only by comparison : in ref 
 erence to the possible knowledge of any subject, any man's 
 actual knowledge may well be called superficial. Nor is 
 there any in which the exactest study will not disclose a thou 
 sand difficulties, and provoke a thousand controversies. What 
 then ? That fact does not disturb our convictions, nor engage 
 us in a life-long study of the minutise of any one subject ; 
 if it did, we should never go to another, for we should never 
 have exhausted that one. Ethics, Politics, Law, and Medicine, 
 quite as much as Theology, furnish us with abundant exam 
 ples of satisfactory conviction and resolute practice on very 
 unsatisfactory and imperfect knowledge. 
 
 Nor, thorny as may be the controversies in which the infi 
 del may involve the Christian, or in which the Christian may 
 
THEIR CLAIMS AND CONFLICTS. 457 
 
 involve himself, if he be resolved to investigate this subject 
 with the greatest possible degree of minuteness, are they 
 more thorny than those common to any other subject, where 
 the appeal is to " moral evidence," and where, moreover, the 
 perception of the force of that evidence depends, in some 
 measure, on an unprejudiced mind and a rectified will ; where, 
 as Pascal says, " the heart " is apt to whisper its " reasons, 
 which the reason cannot comprehend." Hence no truth, 
 such is the condition of humanity, is established without con 
 flict and controversy ; and even then it is by a very tardy 
 process. 
 
 Lastly, it may be asked, whether those professed Chris 
 tians, who in these days decry the Christian Evidences, find 
 less controversy necessary to the establishment of any other 
 basis of religious truth ? Do they find it at all more easy to 
 establish among mankind the claims of their " insight," 
 their " natural light," their " religious instinct," their 
 " intuitional consciousness " ? Can they make their oracle 
 utter a uniform response ? Can they convince the bulk Of 
 men that it is an unambiguous oracle at all ? Are its nature, 
 powers, limits, decisions, less subject to doubt and 
 disputation, than the evidences of Christianity ? Are the met 
 aphysical and ethical problems to which the one gives rise, 
 more easy of solution than the historical problems involved in 
 the other ? Few will affirm it, who know what the history of 
 Metaphysics and Ethics really is. 
 
 On the other hand, are those who maintain that we are to 
 refer, amidst these difficulties, to an infallible human oracle, 
 able to prevail on mankind to admit either its necessity or its 
 possibility ? Are they without disputes themselves in whom 
 the infallibility resides, or as to how far it extends ? 
 
 We must be contented with our lot. On no hypothesis, by 
 no artifice, can man evade those difficulties which form the 
 necessary discipline, the alternate exercise of his Reason and 
 his Faith, and by which he is trained to docility, humility, and 
 patience. The condition of man will ever be that so forcibly 
 39 
 
458 REASON AND FAITH. 
 
 painted in one of the fragments of Pascal : " II faut avoir ces 
 trois qualites : pyrrhonien, geometre, chretien soumis ; et 
 elles s'accordent et se temperent en doutant ou il faut, en as- 
 surant ou il faut, en se soumettant ou il faut." 
 
 THE END. 
 
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