General Introduction
Human nature, among all the phenomena it offers to the curious inquiries of the student, presents none of more transcendent interest than the phenomenon of Religion. Pervading the whole history of mankind from the very earliest ages of which we have any authentic knowledge up to the present day; exercising on the wild and wandering tribes, which seem to have divided the earth among them in those primitive times, an influence scarcely less profound than it has ever exercised on the most polite and cultivated nations of the modern world; leading now to peace and now to war; now to the firmest of alliances, now to the bitterest enmities; uniting some in the bonds of a love so enduring as to outlast and put to shame the fleeting unions of earthly passion; separating others, even when every motive of interest and natural affection conspired to unite them, so completely as to impel them to deliver each other up to the ghastliest tortures; Religion deserves a foremost place—if not the foremost place of all—among the emotions which have in their several ways affected, modified, and controlled the current of human events.
Forming, as it does, so large an element in the constitution of our complex nature; and playing so vast a part in guiding our actions, Religion must well deserve to be made the subject of philosophical inquiry. If we can by any scientific means discover its origin, lay bare its true character to the gaze of students, and estimate the value of its pretensions to be in possession of truths of equal, if not superior, authority to those of either natural or moral science, we shall have performed a task which may not be wholly useless or altogether uninstructive.
Our first business, in such an inquiry as this, should be to determine the method on which it ought to be conducted. In analyzing the religious systems of the world, the question of method is all-important. Indeed, it will be abundantly evident in the course of the ensuing investigations that the conclusions reached by those who have cultivated this field of knowledge have often been unsound, simply because they have failed to pursue the only proper method. Nothing can be easier, for instance, than to construct elaborate systems of religious philosophy, the several parts of which hang so well together that we find it; difficult to urge any solid objection against them, while yet the whole edifice rests upon so insecure a foundation that at the least touch of its lowest stones it will fall in ruins to the ground. This too common mistake arises from the fact that the first principles of the system are assumed without adequate warrant, and will not bear examination. Half, if not many more than half, the common errors of believers in the various current creeds are due to a similar cause. These persons start from some principle which they conceive to be indisputable, and proceed to draw inferences from it with the most complete confidence. An extreme instance of this is mentioned by Dr. Sprenger, who was asked by a Musselman how he could disbelieve the religion of Islam, seeing that Mahomet’s name was written on the gates of paradise. In a less palpable form, the same mode of reasoning is constantly adopted among ourselves. Either we do not take the trouble to submit the evidence of the facts upon which we erect our arguments to a sufficiently rigorous scrutiny, or we fail to perceive that the axioms we take for granted are in reality neither self-evident, as our system requires, nor capable of any satisfactory demonstration.
Another and perhaps scarcely a less common kind of error arising from defective method is a failure to distinguish between adequate and inadequate evidence of religious truth. A sound and exhaustive method would not fail to disclose, if not what kind of evidence is sufficient, at least what kind of evidence is insufficient, to prove our doctrines. It is plain that if we should find arguments of the same character used by the adherents of different creeds to prove contradictory propositions, we should be forced to dismiss such arguments as of comparatively little value. Supposing, for example, that a Hebrew, desirous of proving the preëminence of the Jews over the Gentiles, should rely for his justification on the miraculous deliverance of the ancient Israelites from the Egyptians, and on their subsequent special protection by the Deity, his argument, however apparently conclusive, would be considerably weakened if it were found that the annals of other nations contained similar tales evincing a similar exclusive care for their welfare on the part of their local divinities. Or if we should claim for our own school the advantage of being supported by the authority of a long succession of able, wise, and virtuous men, fully competent to judge of its truth, yet if our adversaries can produce an equally imposing list of authorities against us, we shall have gained but little by our mode of reasoning. These one-sided ways of proving the exclusive claims of a particular creed are as if a person should maintain the vast superiority of his countrymen over foreigners by a reference to the battles they had won, the territory they had conquered, and the bravery they had displayed; forgetful to inquire whether there were not other nations which had gained victories equally transcendent, made conquests equally extensive, and evinced a heroism equally admirable.
These blunders, it may be objected, do not arise exclusively from a faulty method. It is true that they have a deeper source, yet, if a correct method were pursued they would be avoided. Hence the paramount importance of fixing upon one which shall not be likely to lead us astray.
Now, the method which in the natural sciences, and in the science of language, has led to such vast results, may be, and ought to be pursued here. This method is that of comparison.
When the philologist is desirous of discovering what elements, if any, a group of languages possesses in common, and what therefore may be considered as its fundamental stock, or essence, he compares them with one another. When the naturalist wishes to arrive at an accurate knowledge of the conformation, habits, or character of any class of animals, he can only do so by a comparison of different members of that class. How misleading our conclusions frequently are in matters like these when they are not based upon a sufficiently wide comparison, will be familiar to all. And though the analogy between these sciences and religion is far from precise, yet no good reason can be assigned why a method, which has been so successful in one case, should be totally neglected in the latter. Nor is it enough to say that this method is capable of application to the subject in hand. Religion, owing to certain characteristics which will now be explained, lends itself with peculiar facility to an inquiry thus conducted.
A merely superficial and passing glance at the phenomena presented to us by the history and actual condition of the world brings clearly to light two facts:
1. The absolute, or all but absolute universality of some kind of religious perception or religious feeling.
2. The countless variety of forms under which that feeling has made its appearance.
History and the works of travelers, amply prove that no considerable nation has ever been without religion, and that if it has ever been wanting, it has only been among the rudest savages, whose mental and moral condition was too low to be capable of any but the most obvious impressions of sense. Equally indubitable is the second proposition. We are acquainted with no period in which each country did not possess its own special variety of religious doctrine; we are acquainted with none in which there were not many and wide divergences within the bosom of each country among individuals, among sects, and among churches.
In this universality of a certain sentiment, accompanied by this variety of modes, we have at least a possible distinction between the Substance and the Form, between the universal emotion known as Religion, and the local or temporary coloring it may happen to assume.
It will be convenient if we call the substance by the name of Faith, and the form by that of Belief. The use of these terms in these senses is no doubt slightly arbitrary, yet the shade of difference in their ordinary meaning is sufficient to justify it. Faith is a term of large and general signification, referring rather to the feelings than the reason; whereas Belief generally implies the intellectual adoption of some definite proposition, capable of distinct statement in words.
The importance of the comparative method in the process of sifting, classifying, and ordering the elements of these respective spheres will now be apparent. For it is only by a comparison of the varieties of Belief that we can hope to arrive at an acquaintance with Faith. Setting one system beside another, carefully observing wherein they differ and wherein they agree, we may at length hope to discover what elements, if any, are to be set down to the account of Faith, and what other elements to that of Belief. Even after a full comparison there will still be considerable danger that we may mistake tenets which are widely held, but not universal, for primordial conceptions of the human mind. Without such a comparison, we should most undoubtedly do so, for we are ever unwilling to recognize how wide are the limits of variation of which the opinions and sentiments of men are capable.
Should we, however, succeed in eliminating by our analysis all that is local, and all that is temporary, we shall possess, in what remains to us after this process, a universal truth of human nature. Observe that I speak here of a truth of human nature as distinguished from a truth of external nature. The one does not of necessity imply the other, for it is conceivable that men might universally entertain certain hopes, fears, aspirations, or convictions which were wholly groundless; the supposed objects of which had no existence whatever beyond the mind that entertained them. In the present case, then, all that the most exhaustive comparison could do would be to lead us up to the scientific fact, that there is in human beings an irresistible tendency towards certain sentiments of a spiritual kind. Whether those sentiments can be the foundation of any rational conviction it is unable to tell us.
This question, however, is fully as important as the other, and I do not propose to pass it over in silence. It will be one object of our investigation to discover how far we are entitled to treat truths of human nature as identical with objective truths. If we are obliged to confess that no inference can be drawn from the one to the other, then it will be plain that Faith, however profoundly implanted in our hearts, does not convey to us any assurance of a single religious truth; for the impressions which we call our Faith may be as purely illusory as the fancies of delirium, or the images of our dreams. If, on the other hand, an internal sentiment may be accepted, not so much as a basis for truth, but as itself true; as leading, and not misleading us; then we must further examine what are the truths which are in a manner contained in Faith, and of which Faith is the warrant.
The first Book, therefore, will deal mainly with Belief. Its object will be, by a comparison of some of the various creeds that are, or have been, accepted by men, to discover the general characteristics of Belief, and to separate these from the more special and distinctive elements peculiar to given times, districts, and races. These general characteristics will, however, belong exclusively to the region of Belief, and not to that of Faith. In other words, they will have no title to a place in a Universal Religion.
In the second Book we shall proceed to investigate the nature of Faith. We shall endeavor to lay bare the foundation of the vast superstructure of Theology and Ritual erected by the piety of the human race. We shall seek to discover, if that be possible, the element of unity amid so much variety, of permanence amid so much change. And should we be successful in the search, we shall be in a position, if not absolutely to solve, at least to attempt the solution of the great problem which ever has interested, and ever must interest mankind: Is there any such thing as positive truth in the sphere of Religion? And if so, what is it? Or are the human faculties strictly limited to that species of knowledge which is acquired through the medium of the senses, and doomed, in all spiritual things, to be the victims of endless longings for which there is no satisfaction, and of perpetual questionings to which there is no response?