Peace in Division: The Duties of Christians in an Age of Controversy
“Suppose ye that I am come to give peace on earth? I tell you, nay, but
rather division.”
—Luke xii. 51.
Such was the account which the Saviour himself gave of a religion whose promise was hailed by angels as an occasion, not only of “glory to God in the highest,” but of “peace on earth, and good-will to men.” The contradiction between the two passages is so obviously merely of a verbal nature, that it can perplex only the blind interpreter who penetrates no further than the letter of the sacred volume. I should only be giving utterance to your own spontaneous reflections, my friends, were I to tell you that my text speaks, not of the design, but of the consequence, of the dissemination of the Gospel; and that it indicates no more than a prophetic knowledge on the part of Christ of the diversities of sentiment and feeling which would spring from the diffusion of his religion. This prophetic knowledge, however, it does clearly indicate; and this is a fact of no mean importance. The unbeliever objects to Christianity, and the Roman Catholic to Protestantism, the endless catalogue of discordant opinions which have resulted from their prevalence; and to both we are furnished with one reply. This infinite diversity indicates no failure in our system; it is not an unexpected effect which startles and alarms us; it was foreseen by the Author of our religion, and announced by him as the necessary consequence of the genuine preaching of his Apostles. And though he had this evil (if such it be) full in view, he did not retreat from the office he had assumed, nor feel it at variance with his deep and tender philanthropy, to implant among mankind a faith that should break up their united mass into a thousand repulsive groups.
He must then have known that his Gospel would carry with it blessings which this seeming disadvantage would not cancel,—blessings far surpassing the evils of division,—a peace which no jarrings of controversy could disturb,—a good-will that could triumph over the alienations of party. Were it my object, it would be easy to show that the distribution of the Christian world into sects has achieved incalculably more good than it has inflicted injury; that the rudest conflicts of a militant theology are preferable to the hollow peace of universal thraldom; that the fluctuating surface of human opinion, with all its restless lights, is a fairer object than its dark and leaden stagnation; that discussion multiplies the chances of truth, diffuses the thirst for knowledge, leads forth reason from the mist, converts prejudice into conviction, and gives to a dead faith a moral and operative power. It would be easy to show that our religion, especially since it has issued from the cloister into the light of day, has accomplished a vast amount of good, with which no controversy has been able to interfere; that it has imparted nobler sentiments of duty, given to conscience a more majestic voice, raised the depressed portions of society; that it has enabled moral refinement to keep pace with the intellectual advancement of mankind; that it has given modesty to the sublimest exercise of reason, by erecting towering and eternal truths beyond whose shadow reason cannot fly. It would be easy to anticipate the time when the benign principles of Christianity shall mellow down the ruggedness of party feeling, and extract the lingering selfishness that poisons discussion with its bitterness; when the unrestricted and disinterested love of truth shall no longer be an empty fiction; when the differences between mind and mind will be but so many converging paths by which mankind, with one heart and one speed, hasten to the same goal of certainty. But it is not my object to insist on the advantages of controversy, or to predict its future triumphs; but rather to warn against some of its dangers, and to suggest a few thoughts which may throw light on the duties of Christians in an age so controversial as ours. To me, reflecting on the principles of the Association at whose anniversary I speak, no topic seems more appropriate. Our grand uniting principle is, the rejection of all creeds and human formularies of faith, and a simple adherence to the sacred volume, as being “able,” without comment or interpretation, “to make wise unto salvation.” We think confessions enough have been tried, and been found wanting; that every such attempt to produce uniformity is utterly chimerical, and an impotent rebellion against the laws of the human mind. Believing then that unanimity is one of the weakest dreams of the visionary and the fanatic, we expect to see diversity of sentiment among Christians; we cannot be surprised, and ought not to be displeased, to see the religious world full of the activity of discussion. But since we agree to abandon mankind to their divergencies of opinion, it is peculiarly incumbent on us to consider what new moral aspect society assumes, when distributed into differing denominations, and what new duties arise in an age of doctrinal debate.
I. It is the duty of Christians to remember how many are their points of union.
Is our religion, my friends, a matter of the intellect only,—a mere mine of inexhaustible speculation? I grant that it is in perfect unison with the dictates of enlightened reason, and that it administers the noblest stimulus and worthiest employment to the faculties of the mind. But are not its ultimate dealings with the affections? Does it not present to us new objects of love, new scenes of hope, a new system of desires? Does it not unlock the springs of human feeling, and pour the full tide of emotion upon the soul? What else can so melt in penitence, so solemnize with awe, so prostrate in fear, so enkindle with joy? What else can impart such majestic power to human will to trample in the dust peril and anguish and temptation, to conquer the solicitations of self-love, and pursue with meek inflexibility deserted and solitary ways of duty? For the greatest triumphs of our faith we must go where it is matched with the passions of the heart, the impulses of unregulated nature, and see how it prunes their exuberance, enriches their sterility, purifies their pollutions, expands their littleness, refines their ruggedness. Now these influences are common to every form of Christianity; its appeals to the affections are not uttered in the vocabulary of sectarianism, but in the universal language of the human heart. Some may prefer to deck the form of our religion in the gorgeous colors of an imposing ritual; some may throw round it the ample folds of mystery; others may love rather the grace of its primitive simplicity; but beneath all these varieties the same living figure breathes, the same radiant features smile. Where is the system of Christianity that does not present to our affections an Infinite Being, who has shadowed forth his invisible glories in the splendors of the universe, who rolls the silent wheels of time, whose presence, felt in other worlds, is secretly shed around each human home, who traces the tear of grief and lights up the smile of peace, who has an eye on every heart, and carries on his parental discipline in scenes beyond our vision and without an end? Where is the system of Christianity which does not lead us to the Saviour as the image of the invisible God, as the bright reflection of his character, and the noblest assurance of his love,—which does not trace to Jesus innumerable moral blessings, and call us to reverence him for guidance amid the intricacies of duty, for light in the chamber of grief, for power of endurance amid the struggles of suffering nature, and prospects of attractive grandeur beyond the grave? Where is the system of Christianity which does not cast upon this state the shadow of an eternal tribunal,—which does not associate with sin the horrors of the outer darkness, and impart an infinite value to every pure tendency of the soul, by inviting virtue to a never-ending progression replete with ineffable joy? What Christian has not enshrined in his memory and his admiration the most beautiful and touching portions of the volume of our faith? Is there a Christian parent that can read the invitation of the benevolent Jesus, “Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not,” without a heart of love to the Heavenly Teacher, without a purified conception of that kingdom which infantine docility alone can enter, without an uplifting of prayer that no rude world may ever brush from the mind of his child the morning dews of his innocence? Is there a Christian sister that has not blessed the Divine Teacher, who, himself touched by the sorrows that he quelled, restored the lost Lazarus to his weeping and defenceless home? Is there a Christian mother who has not lingered with the bereaved Mary around the cross, wondered at her awful sorrows, and thought how in the watches of the night memory would bring back upon her ear that last appeal, “Woman, behold thy son”? The tears which flow at passages like these, the admiration with which they burden the heart, the images of moral loveliness with which they fill the imagination, are not the exclusive possession of any sect; they are the unrestricted boon of God to the human soul. In private, then, we all ponder the same book, gather from it the same refreshing influence, the same impressions of duty, the same impulses to prayer. And on our Christian Sabbath, while we tread the threshold of differing temples, are they not all dedicated to Him “who dwelleth not in temples made with hands,” and regardeth not their trivial distinctions? While the worshipping multitudes utter a various language and ill-harmonizing thoughts, are they not addressing a Being to whom language is but a breath, and human thought but like an infant’s dream, and who looks only to that heart of love that animates them both? It is an exhilarating thought, that though on that sacred day Christians may be separated by land and seas, gathered around myriads of sanctuaries, and speaking in a thousand tongues, their praises blend like kindred fires as they rise, and burst into the courts of God, one brilliant flame of incense from the universal shrine of the human heart.
These, my fellow-Christians, are thoughts which we should cherish, to convince us how much, amid all our diversities, we have in common; to show us that the best, the living portion of our faith, is others’ as well as our own; and to soften those strange animosities that embitter our weak tempers, and enfeeble the heavenly ties that encircle the whole family of God. If there be any truth in the remark of a philosopher, that the essence of friendship is to have the same desires and aversions, how much ground have all Christians for mutual love! Widely as their speculations may diverge, the great concern of all is with God, the Infinite Father; with Christ, the commissioned prophet, the merciful redeemer, the inspired teacher, the perfect model, the heavenly guide; with eternity, the seat of our deepest and most permanent interests, the receptacle of our lost friends, the grave of virtuous sorrow, the home of the tossed and faithful spirit. No one can live habitually under the influence of these grand and affecting objects, and turn from them to condescend to the littleness of a polemical temper. They will impart their own greatness to his soul, and give him that best of powers,—the power over himself. Such a one may use the pen of controversy without fear.
II. But I confess that the contemplation of these points of union would impart little peace to our minds, or serenity to our tempers, if at the same time we believed that the differences of our faith would follow us into the eternal future, and determine our condition there. I therefore observe, in the second place, that, amid all our controversies, it is of moment that we should remember the moral innocence of mental error. This principle, my friends, seems to me to be intimately connected with our right of private judgment. We might claim for men the privilege of free investigation, and affix no temporal rewards or punishments to any system; yet this would be but a worthless boon, if we upheld over any creed the penal menace of eternity. We should thus only transfer the bribe from men’s interests to their fears; we should push our exclusion from earth, only to give it a vaster theatre in heaven. As many Christians, not otherwise disposed to be narrow in their spirit, have some lingering doubts respecting this primary principle of Christian charity, suffer me to say a few words with a view to establish the perfect innocence of mental error. The exclusionist rests the burden of his argument on one text, which, unhappily for Christian love, has been left somewhat elliptical in its expression. “He that believeth and is baptized, shall be saved; he that believeth not, shall be damned.” Believeth what? Transubstantiation, says the Catholic; miraculous conversion, says the Wesleyan; the vicarious atonement, replies the Calvinist; the Trinity, says the Athanasian Creed. Every one has an anathema for the opponent of his favorite tenet; and the still, small voice of charity is swept away by the conflicting winds of controversy, and dies unheard. Let us see whether our Heavenly Father will not permit us to open those gates of mercy which others have so sternly closed.
It is not necessary for our present purpose to inquire what are the salvation and condemnation of which the passage in question speaks. It may be conceded without injury to our argument, that they have reference to the destinies of a future world. Every reader of Scripture will acknowledge that the unbelief which our Saviour menaces, is unbelief in his Gospel, as preached by his Apostles, and confirmed by visible miracles;—it is a rejection of Christianity. From this it would seem clear, that no form under which the religion of Christ is professed, however erroneous it may be, can be comprised within the sentence of condemnation. But the argument of the exclusionist is this:—My own system is, in my view, the only one that is identical with the Gospel; therefore I must believe that those who reject my system are exposed to the penalties annexed to the rejection of the Gospel. It is surprising that so many should fail to detect the fallacy of this reasoning. Compare the case which our Saviour is supposing with that of the man who, in preferring one profession of Christianity, rejects all others; and you will find that there are two most momentous points of distinction,—the motive of the rejecter is different, and the thing rejected is different.
What can be more obvious, than that our Saviour refers to the hearer’s intentional rejection of the Gospel,—a rejection of his own Christianity, not of his neighbor’s. When punishment is held forth as the consequence of any act, is it not always implied that the act must be intentional? Is it not an understood principle of every law, human and divine, that a deed of accident and inadvertence is exempted from the penalties which, were it designed, it would deserve? To condemn for murder the man who through mistake should administer a poisonous draught for a restorative, would be as just as to put the erring believer and the wilful unbeliever on the same level. To charge this enormous immorality on God, would be the height of impiety. Widely as the professing Christian may err, remote as his faith may be from the truth as it is in Jesus, his intent is to believe; he yields his assent, no less heartily than his wiser brother, to the evidence which God has placed before him; he only mistakes what it is which that evidence proves; he reverences, no less than others, the authority which Jesus claims; but he does not discern all the truths which that authority establishes. Strange would it be, brethren, if God, who in all other cases looketh at the heart, should in this look at the understanding only.
But perhaps it will be urged that the same perversion of mind which Jesus condemns is displayed by the modern inquirer, who does not discern in the Gospel the great essentials of Christianity; that his disbelief in them, in short, is not wholly involuntary. A few words to this objection.
I admit that faith is a compound result of the will and the understanding; connected indeed most obviously with the latter, but determined more remotely by causes having their seat in the former. In the process of investigation, the last step, of weighing arguments and making up the mind, is undoubtedly involuntary. When the evidence is once placed before the inquirer, no energy of will can repel the conclusion which is forced upon the judgment. When, however, we perceive that the very same reasoning produces different results on different persons, that one man is forcibly impressed by an argument which to another appears weak and worthless, it becomes necessary to account for these varieties in the effects of evidence. And there can be no doubt that the perception of truth is very materially influenced by the moral condition of the mind. How powerful are the arguments in favor of the Gospel derived from the moral beauty and symmetry of the system, from the originality and loftiness of our Saviour’s character, from the adaptation of his religion to the wants of the human mind under all its countless varieties! And yet this species of evidence will be wholly without effect on those whose minds are destitute of moral sensibility and refinement. Moreover, it is notorious that the sanguine are always apt to believe what they hope, the timid what they fear; and the hopes and fears of conscience will exert this influence on belief no less than any other. Prejudice which might be conquered, indolence which ought to be shaken off, passions which blind and corrupt the judgment, uneasy conscience which alienates the desires from God, all these may exercise a powerful moral sway over the faith; and for the influence of these every man is certainly accountable.
But at the same time there is no reason to doubt that God has created us with intellectual differences which are wholly involuntary, and which must tend to fix the determinations of the judgment. There are some men who, from their earliest years, seem incapable of admitting a truth without double the evidence with which others would be satisfied. Who then among us is to determine what mind is most correctly strung? Is the man who admits a proposition on one degree of evidence to condemn his brother who requires two? And is it credible that God will accept of none but him whom he has himself placed at the only true point in the gradation? Impossible! As well might we say that his heaven is closed against the insane or the deformed.
It appears then, my friends, that belief flows from causes partly moral, partly intellectual. But can any human eye, I ask, discern in what proportion they are mingled in any one’s faith? Dare you say of your differing brother, that he differs from a prevailing depravity of heart, and not from constitutional causes? If not, then is there no human tribunal to which opinion may be called. We are not forbidden to love any fellow-creature, however remote his views from ours. As we are unable to discover how far diversities of sentiment flow from the will, we are bound to treat them all as if they were entirely involuntary, and to leave to the Searcher of hearts the award of approbation or displeasure.
Again, the faith rejected in the case which our Lord condemns, is not the same that is renounced by the erring Christian. What is the Christianity, the disbelief of which is pronounced by Jesus to be so dangerous? Is it the Christianity of Luther, of Calvin, of Arius, of Wesley? No, but the Christianity of the Apostles, which they were “to preach to every creature.” Now in this all professing Christians believe; and from it they derive those views which, when once severed from their origin and entering the province of human reason, so rapidly diverge from each other. It is in vain to urge that all these systems, contradictory as they are, cannot coincide with revelation; and that there must, therefore, be some that do not constitute Christianity. The Gospel itself, considered as a revelation, bears the same relation to all the rival creeds whose credit hangs on its authority; like the beam of the balance, which determines the scale neither way. Let me not be mistaken, my friends. I mean not to say that all systems of Christian faith are equally true, or equally accordant with the sacred writings; but that their relative truth is undetermined by the authority of revelation, and dependent on the correctness of the reasoning by which they are deduced from Scripture. All begin with reverencing the Gospel; and this screens them from our Saviour’s condemnation. They then employ themselves in reasoning on the sacred writings that lie before them; and if they then separate from each other, it is through the same fallibility of mind which multiplies opinions on other subjects, and for which assuredly God will bring no man into judgment. The various systems of Christian faith are but the diverging streams which flow from the fountain of living waters: some may take a straighter, others a more devious way; some may receive a scantier, others a more copious admixture from a different source; some may roll over a purer, others over a fouler bed; but all contain the healing current which gushed from the smitten rock, and all, I doubt not, are bearing onwards to meet at last in the ocean of eternal rest.
Why then, my brethren, must we be handling terrors which it is not ours to distribute, and sending forth into the dark these fearful guesses at judgment? Why must our feeble hand be playing with the lightning, and letting loose the hurricane? Rather let us imitate God. Does he brand the heretic with his curse? Does he pour the elements in fury around his dwelling? Does he set a mark on him, that any one finding him may slay him? See, the sunshine still smiles upon his roof; the shower still refreshes his field; the charities and hopes of life are still poured upon his heart. And cannot we cheer with our human love the creature whom our Father disdaineth not to bless? Are we so sinless as to stand apart in our holiness from the being with whom the Majesty of heaven can condescend to dwell, whom Infinite Purity stoops to cherish? At least let us wait for the disclosure of those secret counsels which we dare to scan. It will be time enough to hate when God condemns, to shun when God driveth away. Be assured, my brethren, no soul ever perished for too much charity. “Be ye therefore perfect, as your Father in heaven is perfect.”
III. It is the duty of every Christian in an age of controversy to make an open, undisguised statement of his opinions, and of the evidence which satisfies him of their truth. How seldom do you see that union of courage and charity which the spirit of the Gospel should impart! Here you find one who discovers nothing in the religion of his brethren but errors to controvert; who cannot perceive any Christianity beyond the peculiarities of his own creed, and thinks that all the evils of society are to be traced to the opinions of which he has discerned the fallacy. There, on the other hand, is one who, without perceiving the difference between discussion and wrangling, entertains a foolish dread of all controversy, and, as if the mutual good-will of mankind depended on their uniformity of faith, suppresses his own views, and melts down the distinctions which separate them from the views of others. The enlightened Christian will acknowledge that both these are in the extreme. Against the exclusive spirit of the former the preceding part of this discourse may be a sufficient remonstrance; and I will conclude with a few remarks in reference to the latter. It must be admitted that the fear of making an open profession of faith is a not unnatural fruit of the despotism with which society persecutes those who deviate from its established modes of thinking. A vast machinery of refined intimidation is prepared, to awe down every rising spirit that seeks to emerge from the thraldom of authorized custom into the glorious liberty of the sons of God. The charge of singularity, the smile of wonder, the sneer of aristocratical derision, the cold recoil of suspicion, and the open upbraidings of bigotry, are the keen weapons by which the world hastens to assault the conscientious openness which it ought to hail and venerate. Assailed by so many enemies, it is little wonder that the weak and timid should fall into that “fear of man which bringeth a snare”; and that this should often lead them to act where they should keep aloof, and to be passive where they should act; to speak when they should be silent, and oftener to be silent when they should speak; to think within the barriers of established rules, or, when more convenient, not to think at all. But however natural may be the origin of this accommodating flexibility in the intolerance of society, it receives no justification hence; it is utterly incompatible with that Christian simplicity which is ever the same to men and to God, which unfolds the character to the view in harmonious proportion, and would scorn to appear other than it is. It can exist only in the mind that loves the praise of men more than the praise of God.
I cannot leave this concluding part of my subject, without remembering that I am animadverting on a fault which has been peculiarly charged on my own sacred profession. The ministers of the Gospel, it has been said, the very men who should live under the constant eye of God, have ever afforded the most signal examples of the fear of man. My brethren, I confess it with shame: and it is a truth to which I can never revert without feelings of indignant sorrow. Happily there have been many noble exceptions, and in this place it is not difficult to bring many before the view. But the more I read the past records of the Church, and the more I study its secret history at the present day, the more painfully strong is my conviction that the ministers of the Gospel have been the most temporizing class of men. They are the appointed investigators of sacred truth, employed expressly for the purpose of opening the treasuries of divine wisdom and knowledge; and yet from none has society gained fewer accessions of truth and light. Though stationed by their office between heaven and earth, they have gathered upon their souls more influences from below than from above; though ordained to declare the whole counsel of God, they have more often studied the taste than the wants of their hearers; though encircled in the discharge of their duties by an arm almighty to uphold, they too have felt afraid. My beloved friends, I know not how it appears to others, but to me it seems that in the whole Christian code there is not a duty of more clear and paramount obligation than the honest, simple avowal of Christian truth. The first natural dictate of the mind is to speak what it thinks on any subject of deep interest and importance; and I am persuaded that a man must sophisticate his conscience, must fill his judgment with forced reasoning and false excuses, before he can come to the conclusion that he had better keep truth to himself. Do you ask me, “What is truth? Amid the conflicting sentiments of mankind, how is it possible with confidence to take up any as exclusively just?” I answer, every man’s own convictions to him are truth, to him are Christianity; and that to conceal them is to act the part of the wicked and slothful servant who buried his master’s talent in the earth. It signifies not that men may obtain acceptance with God without thinking as you think; God forbid that I should for a moment doubt that! But do you believe that truth is better for man than error? Do you believe that they are not both alike to his mental and moral condition? If so, it is selfishness, it is sinful exclusion, to wrap yourself up in the solitary enjoyment of your own convictions. For my part, I see nothing but hypocrisy in the elaborate attempts which are sometimes put forth, to make opinions look like popular creeds, by slurring over grand points of distinction, by pushing forward apparent resemblances, by a dexterous use of ambiguous phrases, and other arts equally worthy of a Christian’s scorn. Indeed, my fellow-Christians, we ought never to be content till this great principle has been established,—that, in obeying the noble law of Christian openness and sincerity, it is not the business of the human being to calculate consequences at all; that temporal expediency must in no degree enter into the consideration. God is the author of truth, and he will take care of its consequences; and I am well satisfied that, let appearances be what they may, honesty will bring after it nothing but good. Even suppose that we should be found to be in error: then, the sooner it is exposed the better; and nothing is so likely to lead to its exposure as the undisguised publication of its evidence. “Opinion in good men,” it has been beautifully remarked, “is but knowledge in the making”; and it is by sifting the grounds on which opinions rest, by bringing them into close comparison, and setting many minds to work upon them, that truth is at length elicited; and he is no enlightened lover of truth, who is an enemy to the avowal of opinion. It is to be lamented that the world has been so successful in circulating the feeling, even among the well-meaning of mankind, that there can be anything to be ashamed of in opinion; for hence has arisen an association of fear, and almost of conscious guilt, with one of the noblest and first duties of the mind, the duty of thinking for itself. Let the inquirer and the teacher keep their eye steadily fixed upon the Scriptures, make it their single object to know and to communicate what they contain; let them utterly forget that there are any inspectors of their conduct, any listeners to their words, except God and their own conscience; and I am satisfied that truth and charity will spread together, and more union be produced among the now widely dissevered portions of the Christian world, than any timid mediators, striving to be all things to all men, will ever be able to effect. The alarmed reconciler of inconsistencies may seem for a while to be successful; he may keep together in temporary harmony those dissimilar elements which more fearless spirits might separate; he may persuade men that they agree when they are wide as the poles asunder; he may surround himself by numbers, and multiply the directions in which his immediate influence extends. On the other hand, the reformer who cannot conceal, and who dare not pretend, who interprets most strictly the law of Christian simplicity, may lose many supporters who ought to stand by him in the hour of trial; he may be looked on with suspicion and avoided as dangerous; he may be the centre at which a thousand weapons are directed; he may seem to have been imprudent and premature, and to have baffled his own cause by his indiscreet openness; he may go down to the evening termination of his labors, accompanied only by a faithful few, and cheered by no multitude of approving voices. But wait till a generation has passed away, and then come and look into the field occupied by these two laborers. Then you will find it proved that numbers are not always strength; when gathered together by the feeble bond of private influence, they are scattered when that influence is withdrawn. The timid man has left no permanent trace behind him; he has inspired no courage, provided no security for the future, and the grass has grown over the road that leads to his temple. But the man who has not feared to tell the whole truth is remembered and appealed to by succeeding generations; his name, pronounced in his lifetime with reproach, becomes a familiar term of encouragement; his thoughts, his spirit, long survive him, gather together new and more powerful advocates, and are associated with the records of imperishable truth.
Finally, the great evil of this disposition is, that it constrains the natural action of the mind, and produces a weak vacillation of character which paralyzes every virtuous energy. The grand secret of human power, my friends, is singleness of purpose; before it, perils, opposition, and difficulty melt away, and open out a certain pathway to success. But alas! brethren, our Christianity has not taken from us the spirit of fear, and given us in its place the spirit of power, and of love, and of a sound mind. We still put duty to the vote. We shrink from being singular, even in excellence, forgetting how many things are customs in heaven which are eccentricities on earth. We fix our eye, now on the tempting treasures below, then on the half-veiled glories above; we open our ears, now to the welcome tones of human praise, then to the accents of God’s approving voice; and in the vain attempt to reconcile opposing claims, we sacrifice our interest in both worlds. It is melancholy to think what a waste of human activity has been occasioned by this weakness; how many purposes which, if concentrated, might have left deep traces of good, have been applied in opposite directions; how many well-meaning men have laid a benumbing hand of timidity on their own good deeds, and passed through life without leaving one permanent impression of their character on society. It is not want of an ample sphere, it is not poverty of means, it is not mediocrity of talent, that makes most men so inefficient in the world; it is a want of singleness of aim. Let them keep a steady eye fixed on the great ends of existence; let them bear straight onwards, never stepping aside to consult the deceitful oracle of human opinion; let them heed no spectators save that heavenly cloud of witnesses that stand gazing from above; let them go forth into the struggles of life armed with the assurance, “Fear not, for I am with you”;—and each man will be equal to a thousand; all will give way before him; he will scatter renovating principles of moral health; he will draw forth from a multitude of other minds a mighty mass of kindred and once latent energy; and, having imparted to others ennobled conceptions of the purposes of life, will enter the unfolded gates of immortality, breathing already its spirit of sublimity and joy. Brethren, “how long shall we halt between two opinions?”
The End
Footnotes
1 The title which Auguste Comte gives himself in his “Catechisme Positiviste.”—Preface, p. xl.
2 The zest with which this ecclesiastical garrison-duty is sometimes performed, hardly comports with the traditional dignity of the Anglican gentleman and scholar. We remember an incident which occurred in a village situated among the hills of one of our northern dioceses. On a fine summer evening we had gone, at the close of the afternoon service, for a stroll through the fields overlooking the valley. When we had walked half a mile or so, an extraordinary din arose from the direction of the village, sounding like nothing human or instrumental, larynx, catgut, or brass, though occasionally mingled with an undeniable note from some shouting Stentor. It was evident, through the trees, that a crowd was collected on the village green; and not less so, that a farmer and his wife, who were looking on from a stile hard by, understood the meaning of the scene below. On asking what all the hubbub was about, we were told by the good woman: “It’s all of our parson, that’s banging out the Methody wi’ the tae-board.” Being curious in ecclesiastical researches, we hastened down the hill, in spite of the repulsion of increasing noise. On one side of the green was a deal table, from which a field-preacher was holding forth with passionate but fruitless energy; for on the other side, and at the back of the crowd, was the parochial man of God, who had issued from his parsonage, armed with its largest tea-tray and the hall-door key, and was battering off the Japan in the service of orthodoxy. No military music could more effectually neutralize the shrieks of battle. The more the evangelist bellowed, the faster went the parish gong. It was impossible to confute such a “drum ecclesiastic.” The man was not easily put down; but the triumph was complete; and the “Methody’s” brass was fairly beaten out of the field by the Churchman’s tin.
3 Conference with Fisher, § 15; quoted in Tracts for the Times, No. 76. Catena Patrum, No. II. p. 18.
4 Of Persons dying without Baptism, p. 979; quoted in loc. cit. pp. 19, 20.
5 History of Popish Transubstantiation, Chap. IV.; printed in the Tracts for the Times, No. XXVII. pp. 14, 15.
6 Bishop of Exeter’s Charge, delivered at his Triennial Visitation in August, September, and October, 1836, pp. 44-47.
7 Tracts for the Times, No. IV. p. 5.
8 Ibid., No. V. pp. 9, 10.
9 Archbishop Whately, speaking of the word ἱερευς and its meaning, says: “This is an office assigned to none under the Gospel scheme, except the one great High-Priest, of whom the Jewish priests were types.” (Elements of Logic. Appendix: Note on the word “Priest.”) Of the “Gospel scheme” this is quite true; of the Church-of-England scheme it is not. There lies before me Duport’s Greek version of the Prayer-Book and Offices of the Anglican Church: and turning to the Communion Service, I find the officiating clergyman called ἱερευς throughout. The absence of this word from the records of the primitive Gospel, and its presence in the Prayer-Book, is perfectly expressive of the difference in the spirit of the two systems;—the difference between the Church with, and the “Christianity without Priest.”
10 See Rom. vi. 2-4: “How shall we, that are dead to sin, live any longer therein? Know ye not, that so many of us as were baptized into Jesus Christ were baptized into his death? Therefore we are buried with him by baptism into death; that, like as Christ was raised up from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life.” Mr. Locke observes of “St. Paul’s argument,” that it “is to show in what state of life we ought to be raised out of baptism, in similitude and conformity to that state of life Christ was raised into from the grave.” See also Col. ii. 12: “Ye are... buried with him in baptism, wherein also ye are risen with him through the faith of the operation of God, who hath raised him from the dead.” The force of the image clearly depends on the sinking and rising in the water.
11 Mr. Dalton’s Lecture on the Eternity of Future Rewards and Punishments, p. 760.
12 Mr. Dalton’s Lecture, p. 760.
13 See Rev. II. M’Neile’s Lecture, The Proper Deity of our Lord the only Ground of Consistency in the Work of Redemption, pp. 339, 340.
14 “Either he” (“the Deity of the Unitarians”) “must show no mercy, in order to continue true; or he must show no truth, in order to exercise mercy. If he overlook man’s guilt, admit him to the enjoyment of his favor, and proceed by corrective discipline to restore his character, he unsettles the foundations of all equitable government, obliterates the everlasting distinctions between right and wrong, spreads consternation in heaven, and proclaims impunity in hell. Such a God would not be worth serving. Such tenderness, instead of inspiring filial affection, would lead only to reckless contempt.”—Mr. M’Neile’s Lecture, p. 313.
Surely this is a description, not of the Unitarian, but of the Lecturer’s own creed. It certainly is no part of his opponents’ belief, that God first admits the guilty to his favor, and then “proceeds” “to restore his character.” This arrangement, by which pardon precedes moral restoration, is that feature in the Orthodox theory of the Divine dealings against which Unitarians protest, and which Mr. M’Neile himself insists upon as essential throughout his Lecture. “We think,” he says, “that before man can be introduced to the only true process of improvement, he must first have forgiveness of his guilt.” What is this “first” step, of pardon, but an “overlooking of man’s guilt”; and what is the second, of “sanctification,” but a “restoring of character”; whether we say by “corrective discipline,” or the “influence of the Holy Spirit,” matters not. Is it said that the guilt is not overlooked, if Christ endured its penalty? I ask, again, whether justice regards only the infliction of suffering, or its quantity, without caring about its direction? Was it impossible for the stern righteousness of God freely to forgive the penitent? And how was the injustice of liberating the guilty mended by the torments of the innocent? Here is the verdict against sin: “The soul that sinneth, it shall die.” And how is this verdict executed? The soul that had sinned does not die; and one “that knew no sin” dies instead. And this is called a divine union of truth and mercy; being the most precise negation of both, of which any conception can be formed. First, to hang the destinies of all mankind upon a solitary volition of their first parents, and then let loose a diabolic power on that volition to break it down; to vitiate the human constitution in punishment for the fall, and yet continue to demand obedience to the original and perfect moral law; to assert the absolute inflexibility of that holy law, yet all the while have in view for the offenders a method of escape, which violates every one of its provisions, and makes it all a solemn pretence; to forgive that which is in itself unpardonable, on condition of the suicide of a God, is to shock and confound all notions of rectitude, without affording even the sublimity of a savage grandeur. This will be called “blasphemy”; and it is so; but the blasphemy is not in the words, but in the thing.
Unitarians are falsely accused of representing God as “overlooking man’s guilt.” They hold, that no guilt is overlooked till it is eradicated from the soul; and that pardon proceeds pari passu with sanctification.
15 Mr. Buddicom has the following note, intimating his approbation of this rendering: “Some of the best commentators have connected εν τω αυτου αιματι, not with δια της πιστεως, but with ἱλαστηριον and, accordingly, Bishop Bull renders the passage, ‘Quem proposuit Deus placamentum in sanguine suo per fidem.’”—Lecture on Atonement, p. 496.
16 John i. 29. For an example of the use of the word “world” to denote the Gentiles, see Rom. xi. 12-15; where St. Paul, speaking of the rejection of the Messiah by the Jews, declares that it is only temporary; and as it has given occasion for the adoption of the Gentiles, so will this lead, by ultimate reaction, to the readmission of Israel; a consummation in which the Gentiles should rejoice without boasting or high-mindedness. “If,” he says, “the fall of them (the Israelites) be the riches of the world (the Gentiles), and the diminishing of them the riches of the Gentiles, how much more their fulness! For I speak to you Gentiles, inasmuch as I am the Apostle of the Gentiles, I magnify my office; if, by any means, I may provoke to emulation them which are my flesh (the Jews), and save some of them; for if the casting away of them be the reconciling of the world, what shall the receiving of them be but life from the dead?”
17 Acts xx. 28. It is hardly necessary to say, that the reading of our common version, “church of God,” wants the support of the best authorities; and that, with the general consent of the most competent critics, Griesbach reads “church of the Lord.”
18 Gal. iii. 13. Even here the Apostle cannot refrain from adverting to his Gentile interpretation of the cross; for he adds,—“that the blessing of Abraham might come on the Gentiles, through Jesus Christ.”
19 In three or four instances, it is true, a sin-offering is demanded from the perpetrator of some act of moral wrong. But in all these cases a suitable punishment was ordained also; a circumstance inconsistent with the idea, that the expiation procured remission of guilt. The sacrifice appended to the penal infliction indicates the twofold character of the act,—at once a ceremonial defilement and a crime; and requiring, to remedy the one, an atoning rite,—to chastise the other, a judicial penalty. See an excellent tract by Rev. Edward Higginson, of Hull, entitled, “The Sacrifice of Christ scripturally and rationally interpreted,” particularly pp. 30-34.
20 Heb. vii. 27. Let the reader look carefully again into the verbal and logical structure of this verse; and then ask himself whether it is not as plain as words can make it, that Christ “once for all” offered up “a sacrifice first for his own sins, and then for the people’s.” The argument surely is this: “He need not do the daily thing, for he has done it once for all; the never-finished work of other pontiffs, a single act of his achieved.” The sentiment loses its meaning, unless that which he did once is the selfsame thing which they did always: and what was that?—the offering by the high-priest of a sacrifice first for his own sins, and then for the people’s. With what propriety, then, can Mr. Buddicom ask us this question: “Why is he said to have excelled the Jewish high-priest in not offering a sacrifice for himself?” I submit, that no such thing is said; but that, on the contrary, it is positively affirmed that Christ did offer sacrifice for his own sins. So plain indeed is this, that Trinitarian commentators are forced to slip in a restraining word and an additional sentiment into the last clause of the verse. Thus Pierce: “Who has no need, like the priests under the law, from time to time to offer up sacrifice first for his own sins, and after that for the people’s. For this latter he did once for all when he offered up himself; and as to the former, he had no occasion to do it at all.” And no doubt the writer of the Epistle ought to have said just this, if he intended to draw the kind of contrast which orthodox theology requires, between Jesus and the Hebrew priests. He limits the opposition between them to one particular;—the Son of Aaron made offering daily,—the Son of God once for all. Divines must add another particular;—that the Jewish priest atoned for two classes of sins, his own and the people’s,—Christ for the people’s only. Suppose for a moment that this was the author’s design; that the word “this,” instead of having its proper grammatical antecedent, may be restrained, as in the commentary cited above, to the sacrifice for the people’s sins; then the word “daily” may be left out, without disturbance to the other substantive particular of the contrast: the verse will then stand thus: “Who needeth not, as those high-priests, to offer up sacrifice for his own sins; for he offered up sacrifice for the people’s sins, when he offered up himself.” Here, all the reasoning is obviously gone, and the sentence becomes a mere inanity: to make sense, we want, instead of the latter clause, the sentiment of Pierce,—for “he had no occasion to do this at all.” This, however, is an invention of the expositor, more jealous for his author’s orthodoxy than for his composition. I think it necessary to add, that, by leaving out the most emphatic word in this verse (the word once) Mr. Buddicom has suppressed the author’s antithesis, and favored the suggestion of his own. I have no doubt that this was unconsciously done; but it shows how system rubs off the angles of Scriptural difficulties.—I subjoin a part of the note of John Crell on the passage: “De pontifice Christo loquitur. Quid verô fecit semel Christus? quid aliud, quam quod Pontifex antiquus statâ die quotannis21 faciebat? Principaliter autem hic non de oblatione pro peccatis populi; sed de oblatione pro ipsius Pontificis peccatis agi, ex superioribus, ipsoque rationum contextu manifestum est.”
The sins which his sacrifice cancelled must have been of the same order in the people and in himself; certainly therefore not moral in their character, but ceremonial. His death was, for himself no less than for his Hebrew disciples, a commutation for the Mosaic ordinances. Had he not died, he must have continued under their power; “were he on earth, he would not be a priest,” or have “obtained that more excellent ministry,” by which he clears away, in the courts above, all possibilities of ritual sin below, and himself emerges from legal to spiritual relations.
21 This is obviously the meaning of καθ ἡμεραν in this passage; from time to time, and in the case alluded to, yearly; not, as in the common version, daily.
22 Mr. Buddicom’s Lecture on the Atonement, p. 471.
23 See Mr. M’Neile’s Lecture, pp. 302, 311, 328, 340, 341.
24 Mr. M’Neile’s Lecture, p. 338.
25 Perhaps we should rather say, “they cannot be alien to our nature.” The word personality is used by philosophical writers to denote that which is peculiar, as well as essential, to our individual self. In this strict sense the moral and spiritual affections are impersonal, according to the doctrine of the context, which treats them as constituting a participation in the Divine nature. The metaphysical reader will perhaps perceive here a resemblance to the theory of Victor Cousin, who maintains that the will—the free and voluntary activity—of the human being is the specific faculty in which alone consists his personality; and that the intuitive reason by which we have knowledge of the unlimited and absolute Cause, as well as of ourselves and the universe as related effects, is independent and impersonal,—a faculty not peculiar to the subject, but “from the bosom of consciousness extending to the Infinite, and reaching to the Being of beings.” “Reason,” observes this philosopher, “is intimately connected with personality and sensibility, but it is neither the one nor the other: and precisely because it is neither the one nor the other, because it is in us without being ourselves, does it reveal to us that which is not ourselves,—objects beside the subject itself, and which lie beyond its sphere.” At the opposite pole to this doctrine, which makes the perceptions of “Reason” a part of the activity of God, lies the system of Kant and Fichte, which represents God as an ideal formation,—it may be, therefore, a fiction,—arising from the activity of the “Reason.” This faculty is treated by these German philosophers as merely subjective and personal; its perceptions, even when they seem to go beyond itself, are known only as internal conditions and results of self-activity; its beliefs, though inevitable to itself, are simply relative, and have no objective validity. The faiths and affections which this system regards as purely human, are considered by the other as divine. The doctrine maintained above, though resembling that of Kant in one or two of its phrases, far more nearly approaches that of Cousin in its spirit. It is scarcely necessary to observe that, in this note, the word “Reason” is used, not as equivalent to “Understanding,” but in the German sense so long rendered familiar to the English reader by the writings of Mr. Coleridge. It includes, therefore, (in its two senses of “Speculative” and “Practical,”) the “Moral Perceptions” and “Primitive Faiths of the Conscience,” spoken of in the text.
26 τοις μεν ευ πραξασι την αιδιου απολαυσιν παρασχοντος, ταις δε των φαυλων ερασταις την αιωνιον κολασιν απονει μαντος. Και τουτοις μεν το πυρ ασβεστον διαμενει και ατελευτετον, σκωλεξ δε τις εμπυρος, μη τελευτων, μηδε σωμα διαφθειρων, απαυστω δε οδυνη εκ σωματος εκβρασσων παραμενει. Τουτους ουχ υπνος αναπαυσει, ου νυξ παρηγορησει, ου θανατος της κολασεως απολυσει, ου παρακλησις συγγενων μεσιτευσαντων ονησει. S. Hippol. adv. Græcos. Fabricii Hipp. Op. p. 222.
27 Euseb. H. E., VI. 20.
28 Attributed to him by Neander, Kirch. Geschichte, I. iii. 1150; and Schwegler, Montanismus, p. 224.
29 Storr places him at their head, Zweck der Evang. Geschichte, p. 63; and Eichhorn associates him with them, Einleitung in das N. T., II. 414.
30 See the notice of the Nestorian Ebed Jesu, in Asseman’s Bibl. Orient. III. i. ap. Gieseler, k. 9, § 63.
31 On their relation, and the doctrine connected with their names, see Baur’s “Christl. Gnosis,” p. 310.
32 Phot. Biblioth., cod. 48. ὡς και αυτος (i. e. Γαιος) εν τω τελει του λαβυρινθου διεμαρτυρατο, ἑαυτου ειναι τον περι της του παντος ουσιας λογον.
33 Theologische Jahrbücher, 12er Band, I. 1853, p. 154.
34 Hæret. Fab. II. c. 5. Κατα της τουτων ὁ σμικρος συνεγραφη λαβυρινθος, ὁν τινες Ωριγενους ὑπολαμβανουσι ποιημα · αλλ ὁ χαρακτηρ ελεγχει τους λεγοντας.
35 He also describes its exact relation to the other, when he calls it a special work (ι δ ι ω ς) in comparison with “The Labyrinth” as a general one: συνταξαι δε και ἑτερον λογον ιδιως κατα της Αρτεμωνος αιρεσεως. Cod. 48.
36 Ibid. ὡσπερ και τον Λαβυρινθον τινες επεγραψαν Ωριγενους.
37 Biblioth. cod. 48; Lardner’s “Credibility,” Part II. ch. xxxii.; Bunsen’s Hippolytus, I. p. 150.
38 Euseb. H. E., III. 28. αλλα και Κηρινθος, ὁ δι αποκαλυψεων ὡς ὑπο αποστολου μεγαλου γεγραμμενων τερατολογιας ημιν ὡς δι αγγελων αυτω δεδειγμενας ψευδομενος επεισαγει, λεγων, μετα την αναστασιν επιγειον ειναι το βασιλειον του Χριστου, και παλιν επιθυμιαις και ἡδοναις εν Ἱερουσαλημ την σαρκα πολιτευομενην δουλευειν. και εχθρος ὑπαρχων ταις γραφαις του θεου αριθμον χιλιονταετιας εν γαμω ἑορτης θελων πλαναν λεγει γινεσθαι. The passage, preserving its obscurities, seems to run thus: “Cerinthus too, through the medium of revelations written as if by a great Apostle, has palmed off upon us marvellous accounts, pretending to have been shown him by angels; to the effect that, after the resurrection, the kingdom of Christ will be an earthly one, and that the flesh will again be at the head of affairs, and serve in Jerusalem the lusts and pleasures of sense. And with wilful misguidance he says, setting himself in opposition to the Scriptures of God, that a period of a thousand years will be spent in nuptial festivities.” On this much-controverted passage, Lardner (Cred., P. II. ch. xxxii.) suspends his judgment, rather inclining to doubt whether our Apocalypse is referred to; Hug (Einl. § 176), Paulus (Hist. Cerinth., P. I. § 30), with Twells and Hartwig (whose criticisms we have not seen), deny that the Apocalypse is meant; while Eichhorn (Einl. in das N. T., VI. v. § 194. 2), De Wette (Lehrbuch der Einl. in d. N. T., § 192 a), Lücke (Commentar üb. d. Schriften des Ev. Johannes, Offenb. § 33), and Schwegler (Das nachapost. Zeitalter, 2er B. p. 218), take the other side. It must be confessed also, that, till the rise of the present discussion about the “Philosophoumena,” Baur agreed with these last writers. (See his Christl. Lehre v. d. Dreieinigkeit, 1er B. p. 283.) He now urges, however, that, in a case already so doubtful, the discovery of a lost book, which we have good reason to ascribe to Caius, necessarily brings in new evidence, and may turn the scale between two balanced interpretations. (Theol. Jahrb., p. 157.)
39 Baur explains the slight treatment of the Montanist heresy in the “Philosophumena” by the intention which Caius already had of writing a special book against them: and contends that this intention is announced expressly in the words (p. 276), περι τουτων αυθις λεπτομερεστερον εκθησομαι · πολλοις γαρ αφορμη κακων γεγενηται ἡ τουτων αιρεσις. These words, however, do not refer, as the connection evidently shows, to the Montanists generally; but only to a certain class of them who fell in with the patripassian doctrine of Noctus. The Noctian scheme Caius was going to discuss further on in this very book: and it is evidently to this later chapter, not to any separate work against Montanism, that he alludes.
40 The word is perhaps not allowable in speaking of the earliest time (the reign of Alexander Severus) assignable for the erection of separate buildings appropriate to Christian worship.
41 To Hippolytus and the writers of his period, Dorner ascribes the latter, preponderantly over the former, side of this alternative; while Hänell charges their view with Sabellianism. See Dorner’s “Entwickelungsgeschichte der Lehre von der Person Christi,” I. p. 611, seq.
42 “Tert. adv. Prax.,” c. 3.
43 Euseb. H. E., V. 28.
44 See Adolph Schliemann’s “Clementinen, nebst den verwandten Schriften und der Ebionitismus,” Cap. III. ii. §§ 8, 9.
45 M. Bunsen must have some authority which has escaped our memory for attributing to “the whole school of Tübingen” the opinion “that the fourth Gospel was written about the year 165 or 170.” (I. v.) We cannot call to mind any criticism which assigns so late a date. Schwegler uses various expressions to mark the time to which he refers; e. g. “about the middle of the second century” (Nachapost. Zeitalter, II. 354, and Montanismus, p. 214); “intermediate between the Apologists and Irenæus” (II. 369); “previous to the last third of the second century” (II. 348); “in the second quarter of the second century” (II. 345). Zeller also fixes on the year 150 as the time when the Gospel may probably have first appeared. (Zeller’s Jahrb., 1845, p. 646.)
46 The earliest testimony is that of Apollinaris, of Hierapolis in Phrygia, preserved in the “Paschal Chronicle,” probably about A. D. 170-175.
47 We will give, from this very section on Basilides, and its subsequent recapitulation, three examples of the irregular mode of citation to which we refer: (a) of the singular verb with plural subject expressed; (b) of plural verb with singular subject expressed; (c) of the mixture of singular and plural subjects in the same sentence, so that the affirmation belongs indeterminately to either.
(a) Ιδωμεν ουν πως καταφανως Βασιλειδης ὁμου και Ισιδωρος και πας ὁ τουτων χορος, ουχ ἁπλως καταψευδεται μονου Ματθαιου, αλλα γαρ και του Σωτηρος αυτου. Ην, φησιν, ὁτε ην ουδεν, κ. τ. λ.—p. 230.
(b) Βασιλειδης δε και αυτος λεγει ειναι θεον ουκ οντα, πεποιημενον κοσμον εξ ουκ οντων,... η ὡς ωον ταου εχον εν ἑαυτω την των χρωματων ποικιλην πληθυν, και τουτο ειναι φασι το του κοσμου σπερμα, κ. τ. λ.—p. 320.
(c) και δεδοικε τας κατα προβολην των γεγονοτων ουσιας ὁ Βασιλειδης... αλλα ειπε, φησι, και εγενετο, και τουτο εστιν ὁ λεγουσιν οι ανδρες ουτοι, το λεχθεν ὑπο Μωσεως, “Γενηθητω φως, και εγενετο φως.” Ποθεν, φησι, γεγονε το φως;... Γεγονε, φησιν, εξ ουκ οντων το σπερμα του κοσμου, ὁ λογος ὁ λεχθεις γενηθητω φως, και τουτο, φησιν, εστι το λεγομενον εν τοις Ευαγγελιοις. “Ην το φως το αληθινον, ὁ φωτζει παντα ανθρωπον ερχομενον εις τον κοσμον.”—p. 232. Now can any one decide whether this comment on the “Let there be light, and there was light,” with its applications to John i. 9, proceeds from “Basilides” or from “these men”?
48 Page 528.
49 Euseb. H. E., V. 28.
50 “Philosophumena,” p. 258.
51 Iren. Lib. II. c. 39.
52 I. p. 341.
53 The words of the author of the “Philosophumena” are these: Τουτυν εγνωμεν εκ παρθενου σωμα ανειληφοτα και τον παλαιον ανθρωπον δια καινης πλασεως πεφορηκοτα, εν βιω δια πασης ἡλικιας εληλυθοτα, ινα παση ἡλικια αυτος νομος γενηθη και σκοπον τον ιδιον ανθρωπον πασιν ανθρωποις επιδειξη παρων, και δι αυτου ελεγξη ὁτι μηδεν εποιησεν ὁ θεος πονηρον.—p. 337.
54 See Philippians ii. 5-11.
55 Luther de Captivitate, Bab. ii. 264. Comp. Dispu. i. 523. Si in fide fieri posset adulterium, peccatum non esset. Other and yet more revolting assertions of the same principle are cited by Möhle, in his Symbolik, I. iii. § 16, whence these passages are taken.
56 See Luther’s Commentary on the Epistle to the Galatians, passim.
57 The question has been raised, whether the author of “The Restoration of Belief,” who presents himself to us through the Cambridge publisher, is really a University man? To those who are curious about such critical problems, we would suggest this consideration, as having some bearing on the case: “Could a person who had studied the laws of accelerated motion at the authoritative school of English science have so forgotten his formulas as to make his heaviest man on that account his quickest?” The authorship, however, is not less evident than if the book had been published by Messrs. Longmans, or by Holdsworth and Ball.
58 Acts xviii. 24; xix. 7.
59 Acts vii. 44-49.
60 Acts viii. 1.
61 See especially the Notes on Paley’s Horæ Paulinæ, Vol. I. pp. 349, 252. We subjoin in this connection a just and striking remark of Mr. Jowett’s. In inquiries of this sort, it is often supposed that, if the evidence of the genuineness of a single book of Scripture be weakened, or the credit of a single chapter shaken, a deep and irreparable injury is inflicted on Christian truth, and may afford a rest to the mind to consider that, if but one discourse of Christ, one Epistle of Paul, had come down to us, still more than half would have been preserved. Coleridge has remarked, that out of a single play of Shakespeare the whole of English literature might be restored. Much more true is it that in short portions or single verses of Scripture the whole spirit of Christianity is contained. Vol. I. p. 352.
62 Was it in reference to this mere family-title to a spiritual authority that Paul says of the Jerusalem Apostles, “Whatever they were, it maketh no matter to me; God accepteth no man’s person”? (Gal. iii. 6.)
63 Ap. Euseb. Hist. Eccles. II. 23.
64 In proof of an essential unity of teaching, Mr. Jowett quotes Paul as declaring that what they preached against him was “not another” gospel, “for there was not, could not, be another.” (I. 340.) But far from bearing this conciliatory turn, which is out of character with the whole context, Gal. i. 6 affirms that what his opponents have been preaching is (1.) another gospel; and yet (2.) not another gospel, (not so good even as that,) but mere disturbance and perversion, the negation of a gospel.
65 Compare also Rom. xiv. 10; Phil. i. 6; 2 Tim. iv. 1. Nay, the very passage in which he renounces the “knowing of Christ according to the flesh,” contains the doctrine (2 Cor. v. 10).
66 With a curious inconsistency Mr. Stanley fixes at the Apostle’s conversion the date after which he would no longer “know Christ according to the flesh”; yet in the very next note declares, that this state of mind must be referred to a more recent period than the conversion.
“απο του νυν, from the time of my conversion.” It is to be presumed that this is also Mr. Stanley’s interpretation of the νυν ουκετι of the next clause, which only repeats specifically of “Christ” what has just been said universally.
“ει και εγνωκαμεν κατα σαρκα χριστον, even though I have known; granting that I have known.” γινωσκομεν, i. e. κατα σαρκα, “henceforth we know him no longer.... The words lead us to infer that something of this kind had once been [prior, surely, to the “henceforth”] his own state of mind, not only in the time before his conversion,... but since!”
How then can the “henceforth” serve as the terminus a quo, if the same state lies on both sides of it?
67 Jowett, II. 142.