Chapter XI (2)

When a nation is under what is grandiloquently called a Theocracy, every offence against a command given _ex cathedra_ is regarded as a sin; not simply a disregard of the law, but a defiance of the God who is said to have ordained it. Thus, according to what is known as the Mosaic law, it was a crime punishable by a lingering death to gather sticks on a Sabbath day (Num. xv. 32-36); but it was no crime to kill all the males and women of a whole nation, and retain the maidens for private prostitution and for the use of the priest (Num. xxxi. 17, 18, 40, 41). In such a nation it was no crime to commit forgery--and of all the bearers of false witness, none exceeded in ancient times the Jewish writers in the Bible--but in mercantile England, the former has been at one time punished with death, and the latter by ignominious penalties.

In modern Theocracies, such as once existed in Austria, Spain, Italy, England, and elsewhere, it was considered criminal to think differently, upon any religious point, from the authorized standard. In those kingdoms many a person was doomed to die a painful death, and thereafter sent--as it was supposed, to Hell--whom we now regard as a virtuous, brave, and noble individual.

The common sense of mankind induces all citizens to buy what they have need of, at the smallest possible price; but a mercantile government says to its people--"You shall not buy anything from anybody who has not first paid us for the privilege of trading, and something more for every ware which he offers for sale, and every one contravening this order shall be seriously punished." Here, again, an artificial offence is manufactured that has no origin in nature.

When a people has succeeded in throwing off publicly the trammels of Ecclesiastical legislation, as England, Italy, Spain, France, Austria, Belgium, and other nations have done, they by no means shake off their private shackles. The only difference between Spain, Austria, and other places, now and formerly, is, that the priesthood are seeking to attain by subtlety what they could previously command by their state power. At one period in the history of modern Rome, it was a crime not to kneel on the bare ground when certain priests passed with a bit of wafer surrounded by gorgeous trappings. This is a crime no longer against the state, but for all who believe the Papal hierarchy it is yet a sin.

At one time in England, it was a crime not to go to church on Sunday; it was equally punishable to carry on any business. The laws respecting these matters have not yet been repealed, and they have been put recently into operation, although the good sense of the majority has made them practically obsolete. Yet, though this is the case, and the law no longer punishes Sabbath-breaking, the priestly body continue to launch their thunders against all who regard every day alike. It is, indeed, doubtful if, in the eyes of our parsons, there is any sin so great as enjoying one's self on a Sunday. The law of our country does not make it a crime for a woman to prostitute her body, or for a man to have a concubine of greater or less permanency, but the hierarchs denounce the arrangement as criminal in the sight of God.

We need not multiply our illustrations farther. Sufficient has been advanced to show that there are two distinct classes of sins--one, those made by Ecclesiastics, or by those legislators passing under the name "Society;" the other, those which are against the laws of nature--e.g., an enforced celibacy, such as that to which Romish priests are doomed. In saying this, we readily allow that what is right, according to the laws of God, as set forth in the universe, is wrong according to the code made by the legally constituted authorities of the state in which an individual lives. We grant, moreover, that, if a government is strong enough, the laws of man should be enforced by human means. But we do not believe that mortals should be compelled to carry out that which priests tell them is the justice of the Immortal, of which they know absolutely nothing. I hold that no state can fairly claim to take cognizance of, or to punish, thoughts, or any private indulgence which creates no public scandal.

If we endeavour to reduce our views to a still clearer issue, the difference between divine and human laws will be the more readily understood. Let us assume that Miss Kallistee is the most perfect woman in a district. For her contend with their natural weapons Messrs. Dunamis, Kratos, Kalos, Sophos, and Mathesis; and the conqueror, having killed his adversaries, takes the lady to wife. The law of man or of society now steps in and kills off the survivor; or, if it should know beforehand of the coming contest, will prevent it. As a consequence, the lady must be contended for peaceably, and may become the bride of impotent old age or wealthy disease. As a result, the healthy offspring, which nature would have reared, are either absent, sickly, diseased, or idiotic. Here, then, I affirm that a law of society is a sin against God.

I would wish my readers to ponder over this matter, which gives much food for thought. I do not think that such contests as I have described can be tolerated in any society of civilized beings, for, in proportion to our emergence from barbarism, we do not seek mere strength and beauty of form in our population. We desire to cultivate the intellectual rather than the animal in man. But experience has shown that, as a rule, the further man departs from the latter, and the nearer he approaches to the former, the more does his progeny deteriorate physically.

It is a problem whether, by any available contrivance short of that which was adopted by the Incas of Peru, man can uniformly develope upwards. The physiologist can readily see how the matter might be effected, but in republican or constitutional kingdoms, the means will never be adopted.

We have now come to a point when it is necessary for me, as an individual, to express an opinion as to the selection which a philosopher, living in a comparatively civilized community, should make between a promulgation of the so-called laws of God--an instruction respecting the laws of nature--or an utterance of the laws of society, with the enforcement of them. Ere forming a decision, let us endeavour to ascertain what each alternative involves.

If a state, acting through its executive government, decides to make what are called the laws of God the basis of legislation, it must first decide what those laws are. In the endeavour to do so, every thoughtful man will recognize the impossibility of verifying a single one. The whole must, therefore, be promulgated on assumption; and if so, the legislators will be conscious that they have no valid authority. If, on the other hand, they assume the laws of nature to be a safe guide, they must allow proceedings which are opposed to the feelings of the majority of civilized mortals. Being, then, averse to elect either of these codes as a sole basis, the statesman will endeavour, as far as in him lies, to make or adapt laws for the society in which he lives.

When the well-being of the community becomes the basis of its legislation, the idea of sin vanishes from the statute book, and the stern realities of life have to be envisaged with firmness and decision. So also when religion has merged into common sense, and facts are appealed to rather than fancies, policy takes the place of dogma, and the voice of a majority overcomes that of any priesthood.

Into political economy, however, it is not my desire to enter, further than may be necessary to illustrate my own opinions upon religion.

Having emancipated myself from the thraldom of bibliolatry and priestcraft generally, it is my aim to examine what seems to be my duty as a man and an integer of society. I conceive that, although I have no certain knowledge thereof, I am one of the myriads of instruments by which the Almighty works out His designs. My appreciation may be imperfect, but still it seems to me a duty, always to be a good husband, father, friend, and citizen--to act ever towards others as I should desire myself to be treated under the same circumstances--to improve such talents as I am conscious of possessing; and, in a general way, to do as much good as I can during my lifetime--taking care, if possible, to leave after my death no mischievous agency set on foot by me. In few words, I believe that the only true religion consists in a constant steady performance of duty--a duty discovered and determined by the individual, and not one prescribed by any set of men.

The conclusion thus arrived at, appears at first sight, to be meagre in the extreme, but when it is fully examined, it is found to involve important consequences. The faithful, for example, or, as they style themselves, "the orthodox," live, when they pay any attention to such matters, in a state of perpetual fear of God and eternity; some, indeed we may say many, go mad from the oppression which they feel from having committed an unpardonable sin; some pass through life weighted by the dread of not being finally "saved"; all, with rare exceptions, have a horror of death and of the results of "the judgment." Feeling assured that few will be saved, and the many will be damned, they have a dreadful feeling of certainty that either they or some of their dearest relatives or friends will be amongst the majority. Some go through life sinning and repenting--"in dust and ashes," as the technical phrase runs--until they are ashamed of their own vacillation, or go on sinning, without any qualms of conscience, until it is too late to mend; and they recognize before them "a fearful looking for of judgment and fiery indignation." These fantastic terrors are far more deeply rooted in the Protestants than in the Papists, who have so completely become imbued with the belief that their priests have almost unlimited power in the unseen world, that the dying folk become easy in their minds, by a full assurance of hope that friends, hierarchs, and "masses" will make purgatory bearable and heaven certain. Of fear about eternity I know nothing; feeling confident that the God who made me--directly or indirectly it would be a waste of time to discuss--had some work for me to do here. I am quite content with whatever may be assigned to me hereafter by the same Power. Of a future state I am wholly ignorant. As an integer, I feel a sort of instinct that death is not absolute annihilation; but beyond that I do not now seek to know, for every source of intelligence is absent.

To some inconsiderate enthusiasts this may seem a cold belief, but in reality it is anything but that, for my days and nights are freed from that wet blanket of vague dread which makes so many mentally shiver; and my time is passed pleasantly in the alternate labour required by duty, and the repose necessary to recruit one's energies.

Let us, for a moment, consider what would be the condition of the world, if each individual conducted himself according to the dictates of a pure and enlightened morality, instead of according to the direction of a body of Ecclesiastics.

We may, I think, fearlessly assert that there would be no wars, no murders, thefts, adulteries, libels, violations of female purity; in short, every one would do as he wished to be done by. In such a people persecution would find no place, ignorance would not be permitted, and law would be unnecessary. Other desirable things would also take place, to which it is unnecessary to refer at large.

When all are strictly proper in every relation of life, I cannot believe that anything more would be wanting to make the human family as happy as it can be here. What, let us ask, would the orthodox declare was amissing? The reply is, to my mind, awful: There would be, first, the want of hatred and malice; then would be added the want of Hell-to which enemies could be sent, and of a Heaven, in which the faithful could feed their malignancy by watching the tortures of those whom they detested on earth.

In fine, I beg to express my own deliberate opinion, which has been growing stronger monthly since I first began to collect materials for this work, that those who can find nerve to sweep from their minds the trammels which have been woven around them by hundreds of generations of hierarchs, and adopt the simple faith which I have above indicated, will be far happier and better than ever they were before. No man will stand between them and God, and they will find Him infinitely more good and merciful than any of those who profess to be His agents.

There is yet another way by which the subject of "faith and reason" may be approached, and their antagonism tested. This is by considering how far the former is essentially human, and the latter divine--by which we mean, superior to the propensity which all mankind has in common. We recognize the importance of the inquiry, when we find Mr Gladstone, a Prime Minister of England, discouraging the action resulting from philosophical thought, because a man named Paul, some 1800 years ago, recommended his friends to hold fast that which he, and they, under his teaching, believed to be good. The speech of the Premier, which was delivered at a large Liverpool School, and was written with unusual care, held up, to a lot of schoolboys, the propositions of Strauss as something which were so bad, that the enunciation of them carried with it their refutation. Yet, at the same time, the speaker allowed that the German thinker was conspicuous for intellectual attainments, powers of thought beyond the ordinary run of mortals, sobriety in mental culture, and boldness in the enunciation of the conclusions to which his reason compelled him. In Mr Gladstone's opinion, such a man's doctrines deserved to be withered; not because they were opposed to reason, to logic, to the stern reality of facts, but because they opposed the prejudices of certain persons educated in a different style of faith.

If we inquire in what way the German philosopher and the English bigot differ, we can come to no other conclusion than that the one has used his intellect upon the dogmas which have been presented to his mind, from his infancy upwards, until they have been mistaken for fundamental truths, whilst the other has exercised his mental powers upon something beyond the doctrinal grounds on which his early education has been framed. The then English Premier, who had to direct the state, allowed himself to be guided by defunct men, precisely in the same way as Pyrrhus, Croesus, and others, were governed by the pretended oracles at Delphi, Dodona, and elsewhere. The man, in other words, who once wielded the might of England, and is conspicuous for his classical acquirements, is as much the slave of superstition as any ancient Egyptian or Grecian monarch, only his oracles are not the same as theirs.

It is clear, that when the speech, to which reference has been made, was composed, Mr Gladstone was under the influence of the belief, that what he had been taught, and had adopted, must necessarily be the only truth which can be relied on, at least, in its fundamental points. It is this very presumption, this lazy habit of mind, that was long ago pointed out by Bacon as being the most fertile cause of the retardation of science, and it is remarkable that Oxford, as an University, and most of its alumni, are still victims to the weakness referred to. It naturally follows in the train of what is called classical learning, when the mind is taught to remember rather than to think; and one easily believes that he can recognize in the late Premier the gradual development of thought, and can tell the epochs when cherished idols have been thrown aside, with the energy of one who is suddenly roused to exercise a powerful mind in an independent manner.

It would be useless to copy all the aphorisms by which Lord Bacon attempted to destroy the old philosophy, which, in his time, was most universally adopted, and to build up a new state of things, in which science should advance, but a few of them are of such value that they deserve recording. In _Novum Organum_, aph. 23 we read--"There is no small difference between the fancies [--Greek--] of the human mind and the ideas of the divine mind--that is, between certain notions that please us, and the real stamp and impression made by created objects as they are found in nature." That is to say, man commonly imagines things to be what he fancies they ought to be, and neglects what they really are. The learned aphorist then points out certain peculiarities of men, by which they are induced to cleave to the bad, and neglect the good.

Aph. 46---"The human understanding, when any proposition has once been laid down (either from general admission and belief, or from the pleasure which it affords), forces everything to add to it support and confirmation. But this evil insinuates itself still more craftily in philosophy and in the sciences, in which a settled maxim vitiates and governs every other circumstance, although the latter be much more worthy of confidence." Aph. 47--"The human understanding is most excited by that which strikes and enters the mind at once and suddenly, and by which the imagination is immediately filled and inflated. It then begins, almost imperceptibly, to conceive and suppose that everything is similar to the few objects which have taken possession of the mind, whilst it is very slow and unfit for the transition to the remote and heterogeneous instances by which axioms are tried, as by fire, unless the office be imposed upon it by severe regulations, and a powerful authority."

We may paraphrase the preceding axiom thus:--Those who, from personal preaching, or by parental influence, have adopted a certain belief in the truth of that which has been taught to them as a "revelation," no matter who the individuals are, or may have been, who propound it, are loth, ever, to inquire into the real nature of the matter. Hence it is that "clairvoyance" and "spiritualism" have so many staunch adherents.

Aph. 56--"Some dispositions evince an unbounded admiration of antiquity, others eagerly embrace novelty, and but few can preserve the just medium, so as neither to bear up what the ancients have correctly laid down, nor to despise the just innovations of the moderns. This is very prejudicial to the sciences and philosophy, and, instead of a correct judgment, we have but the factions of the ancients and the moderns."

There are other aphorisms following, which point out the mischief of following certain theories, simply because they have been long accepted, and are generally supposed to be correct.

At the period when Bacon wrote, there was the same conservatism in science and philosophy as there had been in the Roman Church for ages, and very few, if any, had ventured to suggest the necessity for a radical change. In England the reformation of church and state preceded the reformation of philosophy; yet, there are many amongst us yet who regard all such changes as a mistake. We constantly find individuals who hanker after a despotic rule, by king or emperor, who cannot endure a church in which there is no tyrannical head, nor a science which only professes to advance, and refuses to be stationary.

Yet the thoughtful know how much the world would have lost, had it yet been prostrate at the feet of Aristotle and of barbaric Popes; and there is not a Christian who does not rejoice that Jesus prevented mankind from worshipping Moses, and adhering to Hebraic notions.

When, therefore, an individual, professing to be learned, scouts the propositions of a careful inductive and rigidly reasoning philosopher, simply because they violate generally believed notions; and when, in addition, he appeals to the ignorance and impressionability of schoolboys rather than to the mature judgment of adults, he proclaims himself, in that respect, at least, a bigot--of a dye as deep as those fanatics who urged on their fellows to suppress the discoveries of Galileo. But the matter does not end here. We recognize the necessity for a public man, who has once proclaimed his adherence to the doctrines of Revelation, and has preached the necessity for "faith," and its superiority over reason--however calm and rigid, to go further, and to proclaim that which he regards as Revelation, and who are the individuals he will receive as the interpreters of that so-called communication from God to man.

It is clear that the words which have been uttered by man require a human expounder; equally clear is it that, if the original sayings are regarded as being inspired, but, nevertheless, of doubtful meaning, they can only be cleared up by other men, who are, like the original oracles--"inspired." But, as a matter of fact, there are in our own times three distinct sets of individuals who lay claim to the faculty of interpretation; and these differ so amongst themselves, that certainly, at least, two, and very probably all, are wrong.

The man, then, who is disposed to make faith his guide must, in so far as Christianity is concerned, join himself either to the Greek or Roman Church, whose pretensions to a divine presence in their midst have been of the longest; or to the Protestant Church, which endeavours to oust the other two upon the plea that they cannot be under divine teaching, because they have become corrupt; and then, on the plea of having discovered the alleged faults, it assumes to have the authority which its predecessors have forfeited.

Thus, as we have frequently remarked before, man sits in judgment upon Him whom he calls his maker. The Protestant Churches, however, are the only ones who do not formally lay claim to having the divine presence amongst them in a conspicuous degree; they do not pretend to the performance of miracles, and they scout the idea that any modern representative of Jesus can do any wonders like those that teacher did. The Roman Church proves to the satisfaction of its votaries that "the Lord" is still with them, inasmuch as the presence of the Virgin, in a visible form, occurs to cheer her servants that trust in her intercession, and even pictures of her become instinct with life.

If, then, an individual is resolved to walk by faith alone in matters of religion, he is bound to join himself to that church wherein the divine founder is habitually and visibly present; to whose saints the saviour has appeared, and given stigmata like those which were produced in the original by the barbarous nails and spear of the Roman soldiers. For the votaries of faith--pure and unadulterated belief in things divine--the only legitimate home is the bosom of the Papal Church. Why, then, do not men, like Mr Gladstone, join it? Simply because their faith is not a pure and confiding one. It is tainted by the doubt whether the pretensions of the Roman See are sustainable, or by the certainty that Popish miracles are contemptible shams. They believe that Francis of Assisi made the stigmata, which he professed to receive from his "crucified Saviour," by burning his hands, feet, and side, with some strong caustic, or by a heated iron.

By these doubts, or certainties, individuals demonstrate that they are not in the list of the faithful; for doubt implies unbelief, and both are incompatible with faith pure and simple.

Whenever, then, a person confesses, by his words or actions, that he does examine into the grounds of his belief, he is logically bound to continue those inquiries into everything wherein there is a possibility of human error creeping.

When we pursue our observations further, and inquire into the reasons why a Papist believes certain things which a Protestant rejects, and vice versa, we find that, in the first place, each believes what he has been taught; he--to speak figuratively--imbibes his dogmas and belief with his mother's milk; and when he advances in age, is taught and imagines that he has mastered the stock arguments which are relied upon by the opposite parties. There is, therefore, on first sight, a reasoning power exercised by each; but it is not so, for the arguments themselves, and their force, are regarded as matters of faith--as weapons with which a warfare may be waged, but which, in no sense, are to be tested by those who use them.

As far as the common run of religionists are concerned, they are all in this "fool's paradise;" they fancy that they are secure, invincible, and mighty, because they take their own prowess and their opponents weakness as matters of faith. But when one of these comes into collision with another whose reason is exercised upon facts and the deductions to be drawn from them, the questions occur, possibly for the first time, Are the grounds of my belief tenable? am I justified in using my reason only in one direction? if I profess to argue, am I not bound to be logical? and if what has been given to me as sound meat, is rotten in reality, am I bound to eat it? can it do me good in any way? When a thoughtful man has arrived at this point, he has to elect between Faith and Reason. Then, if, like Mr Gladstone, he foresees to what his inquiries will probably lead, and is disinclined to pull down a cherished edifice, even to erect a better, he will naturally cling to the old belief, saying--"With all thy faults, I love thee still." With his eyes wide open he hails the banner of bigotry, no matter what may be the scutcheon which it bears.

Then come the important questions--"What right has any religious bigot to profess himself a liberal?" and, "With what face can a man, who refuses to exercise his understanding upon what he calls the most important part of life, i.e., the preparation for eternity, proclaim himself a friend of education?"

To insist upon the value of "learning" in forming the mind, and then to set the example of recoiling from the knowledge which intellectual efforts bring, is, in a statesman, a mean vacillation. Mr Gladstone ought either to proclaim that his ideas are those of the Jesuits, or to pronounce in favour of education, to whatever goal it legitimately tends. To say to boys--or men--you must learn to think; but you must only come to the same conclusions as myself, would disgrace a statesman of a free country, though such a proclamation would seem natural to a pope, or any other tyrant I do not, for a moment, assert that the then Premier of England did, in a written, and, therefore, a deliberate speech, to a large and influential school of boys, utter the words which I have used; on the contrary, he employed his rhetorical powers to express the idea, without either clearly understanding it himself, or giving the lads a clue to it. Had the meaning of the discourse been put into a few pregnant sentences, it may be doubted whether it would ever have been uttered.

If Mr Gladstone, like the mythical Elijah, had placed before his auditors, in naked words, the proposition--"Choose ye this day whom ye will serve, Faith or Reason," his discourse would have been clear. Even his own mind could not have painted the two as being the same thing; nor would a school-boy have failed to see that, in the future, he must elect between indefinitely expanding his intelligence, and materially contracting his intellect to the narrow limits prescribed by the faith of his parents.

To my mind it is sad to witness men of great general capacity, like the late Dr Faraday, and the past Prime Minister of Great Britain, shunning, in every way, an inquiry into the basis of their belief. We cannot regard this as a result of simple intellectual indolence, or ignorance. The only cause to which we can attribute it, is that weakness which, by most people, is called moral cowardice; a fear, not so much of Mrs Grundy--the world and its dread laugh--but the fear of some unseen, unknown, incomprehensible danger to themselves--of dangers that have no reality, except in an imagination which has been moulded long before the mind was capable of thought, but whose hold upon the individual is such, that he shrinks from the mental effort necessary to efface its impressions.

There is yet another phase of faith, which deserves a passing mention. It is that which declines to see or to hear a proof or an argument, lest it should be convinced against its will. There are many men amongst us who, in Scripture phrase, refuse to hear the voice of the charmer, charm he never so wisely. This obstinacy, stupidity, dogged-ness, or firmness, is quite compatible with a partially cultivated intellect, and is in itself a measure of intellectual capacity. I have heard, for example, a learned divine, but one whose writings are often so bemuddled, that the ideas which they contain are as difficult to discover "as a needle in a bottle of hay," declare that he would no more listen to an argument against the existence of "the trinity," than he would open his ears to hear evidence that his wife or mother was adulterous.

Such strong asseverations we may sympathize with, and even admire; but they prove nothing beyond the impracticability of an individual mind, or what, in some cases, takes its place--viz., the injudiciousness of acknowledging a truth, when the enunciation of a belief in it would be followed by unpleasant consequences.

Again, I know of another divine, who has steadily refused to inquire into the value of what are called "the Christian evidences," his reason being, that he is conscious that inquiry would shake his confidence in the doctrines which he teaches. He clings to what he feels to be a sham, lest others should, by his means, regard it in its proper light.

Another divine, who has not feared to be an inquirer, is incessantly persecuted by his brethren, not because he has asserted his intellectual freedom, but because, by having done so, he has, by implication, cast a sort of odium upon those who hug their mental darkness. His argument is--Can a man who hates the light be worthy to speak of the "Sun of Righteousness?" Their reasoning is based upon the assertion, that those who live in darkness, and like it, need not be told about a luminary. If people chose to believe that the moon is made of green cheese, it is more profitable to talk to them about its connection with the milky way, than to say that the notion is absurd. Faith teaches that, where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise; whilst reason only impels one to habitual thought or mental worry.

Other divines of my acquaintance have used their reason in a twofold way: they have ceased to hold their first faith, yet they hold their "livings," as they have no other means of subsistence; whilst a few have, with their advancement in knowledge, paid for their knowledge by embracing poverty.

The world treats those who walk upon the ground with a far greater injustice than it treats those who lie beneath its surface. For a man who disturbs us in our fool's paradise, more feet than hands are used; but to him who only disturbed the father's complacency, and taught the son in youth, we erect memorial statues. Jesus was crucified when he was alive, and deified when dead. His apostles were persecuted when living; now that they are deceased, they are called saints. Savonarola was burnt alive at Florence; now his memory is cherished, and his worth fully known. Luther was detested when he was able to thunder in men's ears; now he is regarded as a son of light. The present Pope, Pio Nono, has found an obsequious council, whose voices have declared him to be infallible--a god upon earth; the time will come when that Pope, and that council, will be regarded as the personification of blasphemy and folly. The days of Faith will be everlasting; but her power to act wickedly will be curtailed more and more. The reign of Reason advances every year, for it is allied to thought and knowledge; and we may fairly hope that the old adage will be true--_Magna est Veritas et praevalebit_.

It may be said that, in the preceding parts of this essay, I have wholly lost sight of, or, at least, have not referred to the argument--or the statement, made by the upholders of faith, as a rule of life--that reason has nothing to do with things divine, and that where God has made a direct revelation of His will to man, no human being has a right to criticise or object to it.

This kind of remark is in the mouth of every preacher, and each minister who utters it imagines that he deals a blow so very heavy that nothing can stand against it. But in reality it is only a big bubble, which collapses when it is touched. "How," for example, we may ask, "can anything be recognized as divine, unless human judgment is passed upon it? or, How can any revelation be accepted, unless the mind has examined the messenger and the message?" Who would believe the ravings of a lunatic, even though he told us that God had sent him with a message to man? Why do Christians, as a body, reject the revelation made to Mahomet, and the frequent inspirations which give laws to the latter-day saints? To these queries the reply is--"Because we know that God does not speak to man now, and that when the bible was closed all revelation ceased." But when we inquire into the reason for this belief we can find not one. Every theologian must allow that the God who spoke once to Moses spoke again; that He supplanted one dispensation by a second, and has promised a third.

Thus we see, that by their own books, the orthodox are bound to believe that supplementary communications must be made to the human race; consequently, when any one asserts that he is a divine prophet, his pretensions are examined. The faithful Christian disbelieved in Mahomet; the trusting Arabs believed in his mission, and fought for their creed. They, like orthodox divines of to-day, refused to use their reason in things divine, and to cavil at a revelation, Unable to agree, the followers of Jesus, and those of Mohammed, fought, the latter almost annihilating the former for a time, thus proving the value of their faith. Both parties had a firm belief--the one in the prophet of Nazareth, the other in the prophet of Arabia; and no reasoning could have convinced either that his trust was misplaced; nor, to this day, has reason convinced the Mahometans that Jesus was superior to Mahomet, or the Christian that the Arab sectarian was a prophet at all; and it is singular that both parties call in reason in attestation of their respective creeds.

Is, then, the sturdy English theologian to be content to leave the followers of Islam alone, because they have faith? or, must he still endeavour to convert them by the use of reason? Can the Christian adopt the belief that Mahometan and Mormon are both orthodox because they have faith? and that the Jew must still be dear to Jehovah, inasmuch as he still clings closely by faith to the revelation given to Moses and the prophets? If this cannot be done, how can the follower of Jesus hope to convert others to his belief, unless by the use of reason? If, then, the theologian uses reason as a weapon against heterodoxy, upon what ground can he object to its being employed by another? Latter-day saints have made many proselytes in Christendom, and a Mahometan floored in debate the late pious Missionary, Henry Martyn, whose propositions were met by counter ones, and every one of whose arguments was taken up and retorted, the names only of the persons spoken of being changed. "I know," said the one, "that God spoke to us by Christ Jesus"--"I know," said the other, "that Allah spoke to us by Mahomet" "You are wrong, my friend," said one, "Allah has not spoken to man since the last Apostle died." "You are wrong," said the other, "God has spoken to us long after that. You may call Mahomet an apostle, if you like; we call him a prophet of Allah, and know that he was one." And so controversy goes on now where there is faith without reason.

It is clear, then, that truth cannot be established by any number of people thundering out "I believe it," and by their victoriously fighting for it. The argument, therefore, which I may be accused of omitting, is of no value at all; it is sheer nonsense--a windbag, or, perhaps, it may best be compared to a boomerang, which, when badly used, recoils upon the person of him who threw it. Of such arguments theology is builded up.