Dr. Stiggins: His Views and Principles/Chapter 6
VI: The Free Churches the heirs of Evolution, and the only Catholic Church of to-day.
I AM almost afraid that in spite of the long talks we have had together I have somewhat neglected what, after all, was to have been the main object of these pleasant afternoons. When you so kindly consented to assist me in giving to the world the views of Free Churchmen, I think there was a distinct understanding that our chief consideration was to be the Free Churches themselves, looked upon as a great body of closely allied Christians who are prepared to offer their system to the world as an alternative to the ecclesiasticism which has in the past usurped the name of Christianity. For many ages, as you must know, the ears of men have been deafened by the clamorous debates of contending sects, who built upon the simple foundations of the Gospel their fantastic and complicated edifices, each widely differing from its neighbour, and each, if but poorly provided with the sanitary arrangements of real Christian piety, amply furnished, at all events, with a bristling armoury of controversial weapons, and with the boiling lead of theological acerbity. Arians and Catholics, Manicheans and Copts, Orthodox Greeks and Basilidians, Armenians and Anglicans raised their voices so loudly against one another that the thoughtful, as I say, were puzzled, and were content to stay without these contending folds (or rather camps), satisfying their religious instincts with the simple charities of the Gospel. And for some time after the Reformation, I am afraid, the Evangelical bodies perpetuated to a certain extent the evil leaven which had been handed down to them, and strove together about questions which seemed to them of vast importance but which we perceive to have been misunderstandings about trifles. Thus Calvin burned Servetus, thus Presbyterian contended with Independent, thus the Baptists were forced to leave Boston, and thus the Orthodox Church of Massachusetts was tempted into courses of some severity against the Quakers. And even in our own time I remember that excellent, though old-fashioned minister Mr. Spurgeon speaking with some severity of what he called the "down grade" tendency in the Free Church ministry.
Thank Heaven! all that is over; we have perceived, I repeat, that the disputes which agitated the old Catholic and Arian sects and all the other bodies of puzzle-headed and cantankerous metaphysicians, which troubled to a less degree the peace of our Puritan forefathers, we have perceived that these disputes were mere quarrels over a diphthong, mere logomachies over trifles which neither party understood, which it is not important that anyone should understand. The angry battle clouds have been dispersed by the Liberal breezes that have blown from heaven, and in their places we see the great Free Church Denominations, divided, perhaps, mechanically, but really, and spiritually, and vitally united; forming the true Catholic Church of to-day.
It was of this great Body, its aims and its principles that I chiefly desired to discourse to you; but I am afraid that we have delayed so long amongst rather secondary considerations, in the outworks and exterior walls of the Edifice as it were, that I shall be obliged to be some what brief in discussing our vital principles—the keep on which our flag floats boldly in the breeze. However, while we talked about the public press, the superiority of America, the study of history, literature, art, the drama, the future life, and other cognate topics, you must have gathered a good deal by the way, and perhaps the omission I have mentioned has been more formal than real.
But, briefly to return to first principles; you will, of course, understand that the Free Churches have one foundation—the Bible. There is no other foundation on which man can build than on the dear Old Book which for more than three hundred years has been the Englishman's greatest treasure, which to us seems, almost exclusively, an English book. We do not care to discuss with prying ecclesiastical antiquarians the question of the original formation of the New Testament; we just accept the dear old story as the Reformers gave it to us, and by us it shall be defended to the last against the Popish priest and the Ritualist parson. Yes; the Bible is our dearest and best possession, and we would gladly die for it.
But what do we mean by the Bible? Not the dead letter, which, as Paul observes, killeth; not the mere mechanical text? No; we value the book, not the binding; the precious liquor, not the vessel that contains it, the spirit, not the letter; the spirit as interpreted by ourselves, on whom through the liberal and scientific progress of the last century the ends of the world are come. It is an instance of the essential and vital union that exists in the Free Churches, in spite of apparent divisions, that Dr. Forrest, the Presbyterian minister, and Mr. Kelly, the ex-president of the Wesleyan Conference, agree on this great principle—dogma (which is of the letter) is of no consequence. The ethic of a nation is its life, says Dr. Forrest, contrasting America with Spain, the rich and prosperous country with the poor; and Mr. Kelly says the same thing in other words when he told the young ministers that dogma to be tolerated must be practical. The age in which men squabbled about the Homoousion and the Filioque clause is gone for ever; and we should receive the Pelagians and the Albigenses to-day with the open arms of Christian fellowship. No, it is not the letter of the Old Book which we revere with such intensity; it is the exquisite spirit which exhales from those wondrous leaves, the spirit which has banished all ugly words and ugly things such as heresy and schism from our hearts and our lives, which makes us One in a sense which the world cannot understand.
And I would have you note that even in the early days of Puritanism this great truth was not without its witnesses. Martin Luther himself, the chief of all Protestants, when he denounced the Epistle of James as an "epistle of straw" because he did not agree with its doctrine, spoke in the spirit of a Free Churchman of to-day, though we may not imitate the hearty bluntness of the great Reformer. Milton, too, understood how to transcend the letter when he published his famous manifesto on Divorce, anticipating by more than two centuries the grand liberty of the United States; and even the Anglican reformers saw something of the truth when they quietly dismissed Unction as a "corrupt following of the Apostles." But while the Anglican seems to be endeavouring to bind the chains of the letter more tightly than ever about him, we have become still more free, released at last from that cramping dungeon cell of literal dogma, the spiritual type, and no doubt the efficient cause of the dungeons and racks of the Inquisition.
I have already told you that the Free Church outlook is in the first place ethical, and, in my first conversation, I shewed you that it is in America that our ethic is most fully and completely realised. I have explained that while our moral code is built upon the foundation of the New Testament, it is rather a healthy and consistent development than a mechanical replica of the gospel system of morals. For example, we do not keep the best seats in our churches for beggars, persons in ragged or shabby clothing, or costermongers in their working dress. Our ministry, we conceive, is to the comparatively well-to-do sheep of the house of England, and my little boy in his touching picture of the future life imaged forth, accurately enough, the kind of congregation that we like to see about us. I dare say you will have observed that Christian Churches are not very plentiful in the really poor neighbourhoods, whose degraded inhabitants we leave to the more degraded—because superstitious—ministrations of parson and priest. Take again the question of celibacy. I daresay several texts will occur to you: there is the "made themselves eunuchs for the kingdom of heaven's sake," there is Paul's distinct recommendation of celibacy as the higher and better state, there is the weird procession of the Virgins in the Revelation of John. For a man of leisure with an interest in such questions I can conceive of no more agreeable occupation than that of tracing the evolution of the modern Protestant view of the subject from these crude beginnings. You are of course aware that we have always denounced in the strongest terms the celibate vows of priests and monks and nuns, both as highly displeasing to the Almighty, and as leading in practice to the grossest and most abominable vice. We have contrasted the high ideals of the marriage state held in Protestant countries such as America with the notorious and blatant immorality of all Romanist nations; we have not spared the world our views as to priests' "nieces" or as to the internal economy of convents. Truly the ways of Evolution are mysterious; and it should be, as I say, an interesting task to trace the steps by which the bud, as it were, of the Old Gospel has unfolded into the perfect blossom of our faith to-day.
I could give you many other instances of the same kind. Usury, for example, was, I believe, unknown in the early Christian communities, and was forbidden by the grotesque Scholastic Philosophy. I need not argue this point, for since the whole of our great Commercial System hangs on the giving of interest, it would be otiose to point out that any texts which seem to forbid this practice cannot be taken in their literal sense. But there is another point which I cannot pass by, since it is concerned with the very foundation and bed-rock of all that is best and holiest and most secure in the modern Christian State. You will remember such texts as "render unto Cæsar the things that are Cæsar's," "honour the King," and "be subject into the higher powers, the powers that be are ordained of God"; you will remember, too, David's horror at the thought of laying hands upon the "Lord's Anointed." Leaving for the moment the superstitious fears of the young guerilla chief; I presume you know something of the character and origin of the Roman Emperors in the days we are speaking of. In the first place, supposing that there could be a legitimate title to such a thing as kingship (which I do not admit for a moment), the title of these men was as bad as bad can be, since it was simply founded on carnage and proscription, and on the shameless violation of the Roman Republican Constitution. The first Emperors sailed to power on a sea of blood and terror, and compared with them Napoleon III. appears a harmless constitutional sovereign. Passing from their public to their private characters we find them stained with every cruel and abominable vice, crime, and wickedness of which humanity at its very worst is capable; their lives are, as it were, the epitome of all the evil of the world; and the horrible barbarities which they used to the Christians seem almost a trifle when compared with the unspeakable, almost incredible catalogue of their other vices. Let us remember, then, that these were the "powers that be," of which the apostle speaks, such were the kings that were to be honoured, these the Cæsars to whom tribute was to be given; and let me ask you whether you can imagine a more violent contrast than that which exists between such teaching, and the great vital truths of Democracy in which we live and move and have our being to-day. Frankly, we should be false to all our best and most dearly bought principles if, for example, we rendered to Cæsar the things supposed to be Cæsar's, without first enquiring whether the rule of Cæsar was "broad based upon the people's will," whether the tribute proposed had been ratified by the chosen representatives of the people, elected on a liberal franchise, and finally whether the money when collected would be put to uses which we could thoroughly approve. These, or so I have always understood, are the first principles and rudiments of free popular government, "by the people, for the people, and through the people"; and it will be seen that there are no "powers that be" in existence; though there may be delegates chosen for convenience by the sovereign populace. As for government which is not popular, which exists, not by the will of the majority, but in virtue of such a principle as heredity, appealing, perhaps, to imaginary celestial sanctions, and fortified by fetish-ceremonies such as "coronation" and "unction" bestowed by medicine-men, alias bishops: it is the duty of every free man and every Free Churchman not merely not to be "subject" to such powers, not merely not to honour such kings, but rather to strain every nerve, to use every means (including armed revolution and assassination) to destroy so infamous a tyranny. Unless this be our doctrine nowadays, I am at a loss to understand our attitude towards the Cæsar of Russia and his oppressed and downtrodden people, I am at a loss to understand our sympathy with Garibaldi and Mazzini, with the heroes of the French Revolution, with the Fathers of the great Republic of the United States, and finally with our ancestors, the men who judged and put to death Charles Stuart.
No: "the letter killeth," and it is the spirit and not the letter of the Grand Old Book that we follow in these and in all other instances. We are the heirs of the ages, the products of the grand process of Evolution, and it is thus that we may claim to be the true and earnest disciples of the Inspired Volume. Should we welcome the claim of a Primitive Man, if such a being existed now, to be the only True Man, to be our superior in manhood? Surely not; we should drive the hairy and apelike creature from us with contempt and disgust; and with the same feelings we repel the claims of Tories and Sacerdotalists to be the true interpreters of the Sacred Text.
By analogy, then, you will easily conjecture that as our ethic is evolutionary so also are our dogmatic and our liturgic. Our great dogma, if I may say so, is that dogma do not greatly matter, or in the words of Pope: For modes of faith, let graceless zealots fight;
His can't be wrong whose life is in the right.
Hence the profound gulf which separates us from the Romanists and Ritualists who, it is well known, believe that morals are not of the slightest consequence, that all the commandments may be broken with impunity, so long as certain doctrines are held and certain superstitious ceremonies performed. Needless to say, we do not go to the other extreme; we are free to hold what dogmas we will, so long as they are not displeasing to our friends in other denominations, since we are not at liberty to profess doctrine which practically "unchurches" whole bodies of earnest and devoted Christians. We are free, I should rather say, to hold whatever dogmas we please so long as we do not hold them with that "passionate certainty" which has been rebuked by an earnest minister of the Establishment, with that acerbity which is sure to follow such certainty, which brings us sooner or later to the painful and uncharitable pass of denouncing the many good men who are unable to accept the literal doctrine of the Divinity of Christ as not Christians.
For, rightly or wrongly, many of us have long felt that the time is past for fervid discussion, for earnest and vehement affirmation on this and on similar topics. The age is a practical age, an ethical age, as Mr. Kelly and Dr. Forrest have affirmed, and I think we are all inclined to echo the amusing outburst of the minister of the Establishment, to say: "Hang Theology!—and let us tax ground values." The age is a hurrying and strenuous age, with real work in the world to be accomplished; we cannot afford to discuss the niceties of expression of early Christian metaphysicians while valuable building land is left undeveloped owing to the injustice of the laws.
Besides, are not the times "out of joint" for such questions as these? Do we not all feel in our hearts, if we are honest men, that in the whole atmosphere of the Gospel Story, literally understood, there is something strange, unreal, thaumaturgic? We must remember that the East never changes, that the dreamy, mystical Oriental was much the same in Palestine in the first century as he is in India to-day. And such a man as this was of a very different character from the bustling, energetic citizen of London and Chicago. He was not whirled to and fro morning and evening by train or tram, his mind active and busy with schemes in progress or in contemplation; nor was he compelled to strain every nerve, every capacity of his body through a long day of business; every brain cell alert lest money should not be made, or lest money should be lost. The Syrian peasant, we may almost say, had no healthy interest in life; not only was he totally devoid of business instincts and of all opportunities for using such faculties had he possessed them; but he lacked all the interests which nowadays go to the making of a good citizen and an earnest Christian. Consider, for example, how much of the time of the energetic man of this age is taken up by politics, both local and general. In America, indeed, so engrossing and so important has this function of life become that it has been found necessary to make it a regular and recognised profession, a profession which has to be learned like any other, for which there are special aptitudes needed, in which hard, intelligent, and patient work is executed, which, like other professions, gives to the successful a great reward. In England we are still hampered by the decaying relics of the Feudal System; yet, in our rather casual, amateurish way the work is done, and many worthy and public-spirited men are found ready to serve the people even on the comparatively humble Board of Guardians without any official fee. How different was it in Jerusalem, in Bethlehem, in Nazareth of old! The politics of a Syrian peasant consisted chiefly in doing what he was told, and in bearing with what patience he could command the exactions of his superiors. He was told no doubt in words more or less anticipatory of the Anglican Catechism to honour and obey Cæsar and all that were put in authority under him, to submit himself to all his governors, teachers, spiritual pastors and masters, to order himself lowly and reverently to all his betters, and to do his duty in that state of life in which it had pleased[1] God to call him.
From such a man as this it would, of course, be as absurd to expect our modern mental and moral activities as it would be to search for such qualities in the mind of a recluse or monk of the Dark Ages; and can we not understand how to these simple peasants, whose days were spent perhaps in a round of dreamy and mystic meditation, the world must have put on the appearance of a weird phantasmagoria? To these men, watching their sheep in the solitude of the Syrian hills, a very ordinary phenomenon might appear to be the opening of the heavens, and the excited imagination of the visionary would readily fill in all appropriate details. We may not dogmatise, we may not positively assert that here lies the explanation of an astounding history; but at all events do not let us to be too ready to condemn the earnest and devoted Christians whom such an explanation satisfies. And, if we take this as our keynote, much that has perplexed and grieved devout minds will become clear. We must not, of course, too rigidly prescribe the bounds of nature, for this is not the method of true science, and doubtless the mysterious phenomena of the hypnotic, telepathic and cataleptic conditions will explain many things that have seemed puzzling; but speaking generally, there are very few of the so-called miraculous occurrences in the Gospels that cannot be accounted for by the fact that the Oriental peasant was, and always has been, of a credulous and dreamy nature, prone to view the world as a vision, and to express his experiences in terms of the marvellous. Let us remember, then, that it was by and for such men that the Great Story was written; and while we may heartily acquit the writers of any attempt to deceive, we must not be too harsh towards those who are unable to accept the Gospel narrative with the same profound and literal belief that they accord to the items in their morning paper. After all, we may still show goodwill to men, even if the angels who sang the words only existed in the heated brains of the Shepherds; and if it should be proved that Lazarus was a cataleptic, the lesson would remain, and we would still, I hope, support the work of the great London Hospitals.
In all sincerity and humility I must say that it seems to me that this is the safer way of regarding these wondrous old records; if we are to be, as Mr. Kelly advises us, practical, if we are to utter the message that has been entrusted to us, so that it may be understood by the people; for otherwise we become but as sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal. Science, of course, has not uttered her last word; it is possible that that which now seems incredible may be demonstrated in a thousand laboratories; but in the meanwhile let us beware how we estrange the least of these little ones, of these timid and doubting, but earnest and devoted spirits who merely ask us not to confound supernaturalism with religion. Let us remember that, so far, no man of science has pronounced in favour of the resurrection of the dead; let us not, then, turn anxious and enquiring souls away by passionately insisting on belief in such a dogma.
And when we have set aside the strange, the thaumaturgic elements in the story, how immensely valuable is the remanet! The Herald Angels, as I have remarked, will still press on us the duty of goodwill to men, still the Sacred Page will warn us to be as meek and lowly as our social positions permit, still we shall give alms to the poor, not, it is true, after the demoralising and degrading fashion of the East, but in such taxation as a progressive government may think best. And, after all, perhaps, the old ideal of the union of Church and State may receive a new meaning in our day; little by little, it may be, technical, mechanical religion may tend to disappear, and the religion of the future may turn out to be simply a name for enlightened, altruistic, and progressive political energies. It is a strange, a solemn thought that in a hundred years' time man may find expression for all his feelings of awe and adoration by attending Liberal meetings, and the proceedings of the House of Commons may become the supreme worship of the nation. Then, perhaps, for the first time men will understand the vision of John, who saw the Heavenly City, like a Bride, descending upon earth. We cannot realise it yet; but what if "Order, order, order" were the Sanctus of the future?
But, at all events, after what I have told you of our Ethic and Dogmatic, I need scarcely say that our Liturgic does not profess to be a literal following of any Apostolic system. I know that many of my brethren think otherwise; they assert that a Free Church service is a reproduction of Christian Worship as it was in the earliest ages. But, as I have pointed out, this is a priori unlikely; for if our theory of doctrine and morals differs, as is assuredly does, from the theory of the Syrian Christians, is it not probable that our ideals of public worship will be very different from theirs? Let us remember, if you please, that the first Christians were Orientals, and therefore addicted to an elaborate system of outward forms and ceremonies. Moreover, they were Jews, to whom Ritual was the very life of religion, whose every hour and action were regulated by ceremonial observances, who were accustomed to regard all the pomp and show of the Temple Services as the appointed and quickening images and patterns of eternal and heavenly realities. We are not surprised, then, to learn that both the Master and His disciples were devout and fervent attendants at these services, that all through the Gospels the Jewish ritual and ceremonial law is treated with reverence and respect. I need not dwell on the sacramental nature of Christianity as it is presented to us in these early documents on such symbolisms as oil, water, bread, wine, the imposition of hands, the ceremony of breathing, the ceremonial washing ordered in the Epistle to the Hebrews, the elaborate ritual of John's heaven—for it seems to me that from the nature of the case early Christianity could not fail to be a ceremonial and ritual religion; and such, accordingly, we find that it had become when it emerged from the darkness and the dangers of the catacombs. How should it not be so? If we find a censor in the hands of an angel in the Revelation, why should we be astonished to find a censor in the hands of the Bishop of Jerusalem in the fourth century?
And for the life of me I cannot understand why this truth should perplex and distress earnest and devout Christians. Our morals are a development; are we to expect then that our worship should be an exception and refuse to follow the great law of evolution? Of course John and his fellow disciples were Ritualists, but I have given excellent reasons why we should not follow their example. John no doubt believed that the earth was immovable, that the sun rose and set, and that the Psalms were written by King David—we know that he believed in the existence of "sorcerers"—are we, therefore, to share his belief on these points? And if not, are we to be tied down to his theory and practice of Divine Worship? The question answers itself; and till the Great Consummation that I have hinted at arrives, we shall do well to follow in the steps of Calvin and stout John Knox, and to conduct our services in a manner as remote from the practice and ideals of the Early Christians as are the meetings of a Public Company.
For let it not be forgotten that ritual is the expression of belief. Those old Syrians, with all their piety, were Sacramentalists to the backbone; to them the visible and tangible world was but the symbol of the heavenly realities, and they undoubtedly believed that by a consecrating word, by the touch of blessing the veil might be removed, the dead matter might become quick, and earthly things become the vehicle of celestial virtues. A few years ago, before I received a call to my present ministry, I was induced by an Anglican friend to attend a service in a church of the Establishment. He hoped, I think, that I should be favourably impressed by the "performance" for which the church in question is famous; but I need scarcely tell you that my feelings were those of disgust and horror. The moment I entered the doors of the edifice my nostrils were saluted with the sickening fumes of incense, and unless I am much mistaken there was a vessel containing "Holy Water" inside the church, into which some members of the congregation dipped their hands, making the superstitious sign of the cross upon their breasts with the "consecrated" fluid. The roof was richly and strangely painted; there were carved and gilded images in a side chapel, and across the church ran a screen, surmounted by a Crucifix, beside which there were two more images. The "altar," of course, was decorated with a cross or crucifix, and I was horrified to see four great candles burning in full daylight. All around me people were kneeling down, and, I have no doubt, worshipping the crucifixes and other images. The service began; a strange droning music of a wild and barbarous nature, more like an incantation of savages than the vocal praise of Christians, filled the building and produced in me a feeling of horror and repulsion that I am at a loss to express. I cannot describe these terrible proceedings at length; the strange gestures of the ministers in their Popish vestments, the thick smoke of the incense, the burning lights, and above all the weird rise and fall of that dreadful music made me feel as if I were under the influence of some horrible drug, and I wondered whether if I made an effort I could shake off the oppression of the awful sights and sounds and odours about me, and wake up in my peaceful home in Cricklewood. At last, to my unutterable relief, an old minister (the Dean of Westminster, as I was afterwards informed), began to preach. I shall never forget my sense of escape when I heard this excellent man characterise the conduct of the women who touched the Master's garment as "superstitious," and I was able to witness the rest of the impious and idolatrous ceremony with something approaching indifference.
But of course the good dean was perfectly right; and not only this poor foolish woman but the whole population of the country was no doubt sunken in the grossest sacramentalism—which is but another name for superstition. These deluded people believed, as we know, that dreams warned them of future events, that lunatics were persons possessed of devils, that the sick could be cured by bathing in holy wells, that the Spirit of God could be given by the imposition of human hands, that the diseased were made well, and the evil spirits expelled by "handkerchiefs and aprons" which had been touched by Paul, who himself credited such superstitions as witchcraft and the Evil Eye.
I need not tell you that such conceptions as these are utterly and completely foreign to all Protestant teaching with which I am acquainted; we no longer believe that the sick in body or mind can be made whole with ceremonies and oils, we no longer believe that we become inheritors of heaven at the touch of a drop of water, as we have ceased to wash ceremonially before the Ordinance, so we have reduced it from a great, mystic Sacrifice and Sacrament to a touching pledge of Christian goodwill and fraternity. Evolution is justified of her children; we have submitted ourselves gladly and joyfully to her benign sway, while the Ritualist still believes that his child receives divine grace from the pat of an old gentleman called a bishop. He has stopped at the stage which was occupied by those simple and devout but ignorant and superstitious peasants of Syria, nineteen hundred years ago.
But superstitions that may have been edifying or at least harmless, "on account of their ignorance," in the mental backwoods of ancient Palestine are to-day in free, Protestant, commercial England a danger and a disgrace; and those who teach such deadly figments must be opposed relentlessly, incessantly, in season and out of season. It may be that, in the scheme of Evolution, a religion of human sacrifice was the only possible one for our far-off British ancestors; but should we tolerate such cruel and devilish rites now in this happy Protestant country? No: and already I see the lines formed, the men at arms arrayed, the glitter of the weapons and the waving of the banners; I hear the pealing of the trumpets and the heavy roll of drums, as legion after legion closes its ranks; already is begun the great battle between two great hosts—between the armies of Sacramentalism and Anti-Sacramentalism. There are defections, on one side and on the other, as the true issue is apprehended, and now you understand why we Free Churchmen are able to range ourselves with the so-called Atheists of France, with Gambetta and Combes, why we rejoice at the ending in that country of all dogmatic teaching, at the expulsion of monks and nuns and all the brood of darkness from their dens, at the driving forth of the Sisters from the hospitals; why we shall rejoice when the idol temples are closed, the fetish images and monstrances and all the paraphernalia of Sacramentalism are confiscated, and the mouths of priests and bishops effectually gagged. Our war cry is not wanting; Lloyd George proclaimed it to the House of Commons and to the listening world when he uttered the great words: "Clericalism is the Enemy!"
Let every man choose, once and for all, on which side he will fight; and let him remember that unless he fight on our side, he will have pronounced that the system called Protestantism is the deadliest and most abominable delusion that has ever fallen, for its sins, upon the world.
- ↑ There is a slight mistake here, but I give the phrase in the words of Dr. Stiggins.—A. M.