Bria aa ey a] Wee eho pia see BRED yin Hovey pennies “tede SHU ean) Den restr ie vor ariinen BeGega teddy Vivrrayy fideney an porta it Wales: CONT aa 8 Nh ta it ee He iH ay way vite ria thf \ eupey AVE LDA Sate seen i lal Rea atenen ‘te yetas abs ‘ 4 ‘ 1 4 ' tye DRoConr ey yt) Tying ‘ shaved inegstey anil Ying seatyeaa gins : i> f . a 3 ebge trary) oan A ee errs Pa : 2H ” . STR er Sa raw) : net athe te ‘ H "4 Wah geg tying i Serie hae TVS VAAN aad beni dates vend d Fata os Syhataby raba@atsbatee Ore eet ea ‘ ROR a weber dae Things “34 4 y ‘ sty yfaka Heboae hatha esd es Hateryinigteds tate eebtDas ud > : ry - i on - bay oe aa 5 i 7 - =)" © a) & # 5 i ee Wt LA! Sad : ; : : © _ an cr 4 ; = =< Py ee a ws ‘ i ie tel @ ‘ é a Tee 3 ore a es are 7 ; 7 ’ > ay: - nish _ ri ; | ) : ’ : © aa * fi ar ‘ / = ~ " ; > ; | i \ Do pee Sk erat eee he St = ta LIBRARY OF PRINCETON : JUL 4-9 2018 THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2022 with funding from Princeton Theological Seminary Library https://archive.org/details/apologeticsofchr0Oheth Works Publishey by T. & CT. Clark. Works RECENTLY PUBLISHED. 0) In demy 8vo, price 10s. 6d., THE DOCTRINE OF JUSTIFICATION. An OUTLINE OF ITs HIsToRY IN THE CHURCH, AND OF ITS EXPOSITION FROM SCRIPTURE, WITH SPECIAL REFERENCE TO RECENT ATTACKS ON THE THEOLOGY OF THE REFORMATION. By JAMES BUCHANAN, D.D., Professor of Divinity, New College, Edinburgh ; Author of rd as a Guide to Truth and an Aid to Faith.’ In demy 8vo, price 9s., AN EXPOSITION OF THE EPISTLE OF JAMES, In A SERIES oF DISCOURSES. By THE Rev. JOHN ADAM, ABERDEEN. In demy 8vo, price 10s. 6d., ECCE:E DE JU 8: EssAYS ON THE LIFE AND DOCTRINE OF JESUS CHRIST. ‘The production of a clever, sincere, religious mind...... The style is decidedly scholarlike, forcible, and pithy. London Review. ‘Finer sentences than those we have quoted, we make bold to say, are not found even in Jeremy Taylor. —Daily Review. In crown 8vo, price 4s., REPRE SENTATIVE RESPONSIBILITY: A LAw oF THE DIvINE PROCEDURE IN PROVIDENCE AND REDEMPTION. By Rey. HENRY WALLACE, Lonponperry. ‘The author shows a mind practised in philosophical analysis, and is fully abreast of all our recent literature on both sides of this difficult question.’ — Daily Review. In crown 8vo, price 5s., THE CHURCH: Irs Orrern, 1rs Hisrory, 1rs PRESENT POSITION. FRoM THE GERMAN or Drs. LUTHARDT, KAHNIS, anp BRUCKNER, Professors of Theology, Leipsic. ‘A finer theme for popular and instructive discourse it is not easy to have; and in the illustration of this theme there is much in this volume of suggestive truth, finely and impressively described.’—Freeman. Jn crown 8vo, price 4s., THE ROMISH DOCTRINE OF THE IMMACULATE CONCEPTION. TRACED FROM ITS SOURCE. By Dr. E. PREUSS, Principal of Friedrich-Wilhelm’s Gymnasium at Berlin. TRANSLATED BY GEORGE GLADSTONE. In crown 8vo, price 5s. 6d., THE FATHERHOOD OF GOD, AND ITs RELATION TO THE PERSON AND WoRK OF CHRIST, AND THE OPERATIONS OF THE Hoty Spirit. By tHE Rey. CHARLES H. H. WRIGHT, British Chaplain at Dresden. Works Publishey by C. & T. Clark. Just published, in Four Volumes 8vo, price 32s., THE COMPARATIVE GEOGRAPHY OF PALESTINE AND THE SINAITIC PENINSULA. BY PROFESSOR CARL RITTER, OF BERLIN. Translated anu Avapten for the Use of Wiblical Stuvents, By WILLIAM L. GAGE. ‘I have always looked on Ritter’s Comparative Geography of Palestine, comprised in his famous “ Erdkunde,” as the great classical work ‘on the subject; a clear and full résumé of all that was known of Bible Lands up to the time he wrote; and, as such, indispensable to the student of Bible Geography and History. This translation will open up a flood of knowledge to the English reader, especially as the editor is a man thoroughly imbued with the spirit of this noble-minded and truly Christian author’—A. Krrrit JounstTon, Esq., Geographer in Ordinary to Her Majesty for Scotland. : ‘One of the most valuable works on Palestine ever published.’—Rerv. H. B. TRISTRAM, Author of ‘The Land of Israel.’ : ‘By far the most important of Messrs. Clark’s publications is this very handsome and complete edition of Ritter’s Palestine. The great Berlin geographer can never be out of date; and though he did not live to complete his great work, by availing himself of the discoveries of recent explorers, yet the present editor has to a considerable extent supplied the deficiency ; and we may say that, among the voluminous products of the well-known Edinburgh press, few exceed this publication in importance and complete- ness. —Christian Remembrancer, Jan. 1867. ‘To clergymen these volumes will prove not less interesting than instructive and useful. Theological students will find in them the most exhaustive storehouse of facts on the subjects existing in the language, while upon all the moot points of Palestinian and Sinaitic geography they will meet with a condensed summary of all the arguments of every writer of note, from the earliest ages down to the period of the author’s death. In a word, these four volumes give the essence of the entire literature of the subject of every age and language. ..... The readers of these volumes have every reason to be satisfied with the result. ..... But it would be impossible to mention all the good things in these volumes. We must, however, say a few words upon Ritter’s magnificent monograph on the situation of Ophir, which we regard as one of the gems of the work. .... Ritter’s treatment of this apparently hopeless question is a masterpiece of mature scholarship and sound judgment. ‘The whole monograph is a model of its kind...... What we are now saying of the monograph on the situation of Ophir is, however, applicable to every- thing our author wrote.’—Spectator. ‘Mr. Gage has, with a perfect knowledge of the matter in hand, and by the use of a clear and lively style, produced a thoroughly readable book.’—Daily Review. ‘ By the publication of this geography of Palestine, Messrs. Clark have placed within the reach of a large number of students, clerical and lay, an exhaustive and comprehen- sive work on biblical geography, which will greatly facilitate the study of the sacred writings.’—Churchman. ‘It is superfluous to commend a work of so peerless a character ag this.’—British Quarterly Review. ‘ The translator has fulfilled his task admirably... ... The book is pleasant to read, and will be found very interesting, not only by biblical students, but by the public in general.’—Evangelical Magazine. NGO El Gus: —_—_—>——_- THE Publishers beg to state that the Volume now issued is composed. entirely of Lectures prepared by Dr. Hether- ington ; and read by him for several sessions to the Students attending the Free Church College, Glasgow. The conversion of these into Chapters and Sections has been deemed more suitable for general circulation; and © any alterations made on the Mss. are such only as have been rendered necessary by this change. The Rev. George Reith, of the Free College Church, Glasgow, has kindly revised the sheets for the press. EDINBURGH: PRINTED BY MURRAY’ AND GIBB FOR a. 3. (CL ACR K; LON DONG ike dat tig HAMILTON, ADAMS, AND CO. DUBLIN, . . . . . JOHN ROBERTSON & Co. THE APOLOGETICS OF THE CHRISTIAN FAITH BY THE LATE v WILLIAM M. HETHERINGTON, D.D., LL.D., PROFESSOR OF THEOLOGY, FREE CHURCH COLLEGE, GLASGOW. GHith aw Introductory Notice BY ALEXANDER DUFF, D.D., LL.D. EDINBURGH: T. & T. CLARK, 38, GEORGE STREET. 1867. Dai Py ele INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. ———

rn « Fy ‘ re 4 Sa # \ : UAE Bb RE aE: 1 Pe Ber ie pr errdd® tent Fy ft Bi os y, i ; i ‘ ‘ ‘ 4 ‘ " op: ’ » Tey ie a i | 4 arte A a ae a ow Ly hriidor oe 4 [ 4 P Bal ¢ ; ‘ hd < , : i! Mi: j ‘ * yi ; aa zi ial AF Phy t f / AT f gs j ay if aah: oF i . , n 2 es RY GED toe ane ree geting iy ott Of 1 Oe a; i \ ; h ace" : Sate | t. . f 4 =m Oia attaniale | UTE MC a UR Ma a a) - A a ¢ Sian as v ie hil y , ASR RMRICE BOULUD TO Bae 0 a ae Qj Ms : } ne as ; , : ' he « oft , bl - Ly ¢. 4 ' “i Ba dhe, ee AC ye ye eres TS ee e 4 « é WS ea “49 oor bay) \ ) tif : , : ; ciP ey eae | ’ F pets Pen ca ab ae ; , : . ! cy fay] f 4% e eK * we 2 Se a ‘ ‘ | 5 ‘ a*) '% 4 . 7 / = i y i f i i ! e . : r j eo. - = ie ‘ t ’ rf ? + ; 4 \Biray: fare Ss is SiS; Hy j 4 Z : t i ry ice te ies Hi ~) Mpa dul ¢ ' ; e \ | Pies v y ‘2 i-e ee ae b as es > ae : tay Peat ter (CyiA fait. ne DP Sah oF OR. F279 ga er: i als Mea: as eee poner * PAL SMe: » ‘geld. ¢ SATE br os i a : i. “A la > - nt . zat i © . he ar ty ph j és ‘ { “ yeaah i od lo ont aie Dee ine Ph Te ait op §4 us yi y, a . J Di uy otf tae 04 Sui CONTENTS. DIVISION I. NATURAL THHOLOG EY CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTION, CHAPTER Il. STATEMENT OF THE NATURE AND METHOD OF ARGUMENT RELATIVE TO NATURAL THEOLOGY, Sec. I. Primary Belief in a Supreme Being, Invariable and Universal, II. The Three Divisions of Human Knowledge available to prove the Reasonableness of this Belief, CHAPTER III. THE ARGUMENT A PRIORI, Sec. I. Objections, ; : II. True Character of the @ priort Wee eument Stated and Ex- plained, III. Theories of Dr. 8S. Clarke, Ties etc., IV. The Value of the @ priort Argument, CHAPTER IV. THE ARGUMENT A POSTERIORI, Sec. I. Doctrine of Causation, II. Doctrine of Adaptation—Design, PAGE XVill CONTENTS. CHAPTER V. ARGUMENT FoRMED BY COMBINATION OF A PRIORI AND A POSTERIORI METHODS, ‘Sec. I. Different Theories of ae II. The Will, Liberty, and Necessity, III. Ethical Science, or the Science of Duty, pea in its ah cation to Man in the Social State, IV. Design in Man, ; 5 V. General View of Design in External yatare and in Max! VI. Results of the Combined Argument, CHAPTER VI. GENERAL CONCLUSIONS TO WHICH NATURAL THEOLOGY LEADS EXTENT AND LIMITS, i. DIVISION ILI. see hihi! PAGE 77 79 89 101 114 125 137 REVELATION: EXTERNAL AND INTERNAL EVIDENCES. PART I.—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTION, Sec. I. Statement and Defence of the Argument: a Revelation Pro- bable, II. Further Argument that a Revelation is Pecneble Spc the nature of the Human Mind, III. The Necessity of a Divine Revelation, CHAPTER Li DrrecT AND PosITIVE EVIDENCE OF REVELATION, Sec. I. Historical Veracity of the Bible, IJ. General Principles of Historical Evidence, Ill. Application of General Historical Principles to the Bible, IV. Comparison between Sacred and Profane Records, 194 195 204 214 995 MIRACLEs, Sec. I. jue . The Moral Character and Aspect of Miracles, . The Condition and Circumstances of true Miracles, . Examination of Hume’s Argument against Miracles, . . Various Objections Stated and Answered, . Greatest Special Instance: The Resurrection of Christ, . Cessation of Miracles. PROPHECY, mec. 1. if . Characteristics of Prophecy, CONTENTS. CHAPTER III. Miracles: Definition and Explanation, The Possibility and Credibility of Miracles, When? Why? Summary, CHAPTER IV. Nature of Prophecy: Definition and Explanation, Relation between Miracles and Prophecy, . Confirmation of the Evidence of itt . Summary of the Evidence from Prophecy, PART II.—INTERNAL EVIDENCES. CHAPTER V. CHRISTIANITY the TRUTH, . Sec. I. Lis INTEGRITY AND AUTHORITY OF SCRIPTURE. Adaptation of the Gospel to Man, Moral and Social Results of Christianity, DIVISION IIL CHAPTER I. THE CANON OF SCRIPTURE, Sec. I. Il. The Canon of the Old Testament, The Canon of the New Testament, XIX PAGE 237 238 247 258 269 281 292 302 313 325 325 335 344 346 356 368 369 378 XX CONTENTS. CHAPTER II. INSPIRATION OF SCRIPTURE, Sec. I. Statement of Subject—Definition and Explanation, II. Inspiration in accordance with God’s Dealings with Man, III. Kind of Evidence Relevant and Sufficient to prove Inspi- ration, s ‘ : : ; : IV. Positive Proof of Inspiration—Scripture, VY. History of Opinion relative to Inspiration, VI. Objections of a Metaphysical Character, : VII. Special Objections from Difficulties and Obscurities, . VIII. Relation of Inspiration to the Interpretation of Scripture, CHAPTER III. AUTHORITY OF SCRIPTURE, Sec. I. Scripture and Human Reason, II. Scripture and the Office of the Holy Spir it, Ill. Sufficiency and Perfection of Scripture, Ae PE Ne Tex: I. Instinct, Reason, Faith, Il. Scepticism, Rationalism, Humanism, III. Pantheism, Materialistic and Idealistic, INDEX, PAGE 413 413 424 433 445 455 466 476 488 499 499 509 520 531 542 549 557 DIVISION L—NATURAL THEOLOGY. sac CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTION. fe ecrrauT us suppose the question to be asked by some | earnest and fair inquirer, “ What is Natural Theo- logy, and what are its uses?” and let us assume the position that it is our duty to answer that question, so far as that may be in our power. It will at once appear that, in order to obtain something like a clear and intelligible conception to begin with, we must define the compound term Natural Theology. The first half of that term—Natural— must mean, what is in accordance with Nature. But this is not enough ; for it may still be asked, What is Nature? term metaphysical thinking; while, on the other hand, he was profoundly conversant with physical science and its laws, and felt that he could produce the & posteriori argument for the being and attributes of God in full and irresistible strength. For that reason, he was rather more than willing'to abandon the & priori argument,—even to discountenance it,—that he might pursue his own course unembarrassed, with all his giant might. Yet there are minds as specially addicted to @ priort thought, to whom that line of argument will be more convincing than any argument based on the phenomena and the laws of physical nature could ever be; and we are therefore inclined to retain the & priori argument, and not only to retain it, but to clear away from it all the misstatements and misapprehensions which have been allowed to gather round it, and have abated its clearness and its power. We may add, that the transcen- eS — a a : CHAP. III.] THE ARGUMENT A PRIORI he dental thinking of Germany can neither be understood nor answered without some considerable attention to the department of & priori thought; and as it is from Germany that most of the recent insidious attacks on the Christian faith have come, we think it our duty to meet the enemy on his own ground, and to do what we can to foil him with his own weapons. We have already referred to the philosophy of Descartes, as giving direction to what is now generally designated sub- jective philosophy; and we are inclined to make a few passing remarks on that philosophy, because some have termed it the basis of all & priori reasoning. The primary position of Descartes was indeed the starting-point of modern metaphysics, making the consciousness of the human mind the primary ele- ment of all its knowledge. His position amounted to this: that the very moment there are phenomena of any kind within our consciousness, that moment the mind becomes cognizant of its own existence ; and that were there no consciousness, there would be no possible evidence of an intelligent principle. Thought, thus understood, includes both the thought itself and a thinking being—both a:subject and an ‘object. From this natural division there arises the possibility of analyzing: both mind and matter—psychology and perception. Our consciously conceived ideas are thus subject to examination, and it becomes of the utmost importance to obtain some criterion by which the true can be distinguished from the false. This criterion Descartes thought to consist in “clearness and distinctness.” This also is essentially an appeal to consciousness. But this criterion he applied also to the idea of God, in this manner: Clear ideas are always objectively true, that is, there is a reality to which they correspond : the idea of an all-perfect infinite Being is with- out controversy clearly in my mind: this conception could not have come from the finite and imperfect ; but I have that idea incontestably and clearly: therefore, since I have the clear idea of a God, a God must necessarily exist. Such is the argument given by Descartes; but it is evident that it is not the argument ~ of Dr. Clarke. Descartes gave, however, also an ontological argument inproof of the being of God, to the following effect : The existence of God is implied in the very nature of the idea we have of Him, as is the existence of a triangle in the con- ception of a triangle. Necessary existence is contained in the nature of the idea of God: therefore God necessarily exists. 5} a8 NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. I. That there is in this attempted ontological argument a falla- cious assumption of the point to be proved, is evident enough ; but it is not evident that this argument is identical with that which Dr. Clarke elaborated. The Cartesian ontological argu- ment, as it is called, is not, in our opinion, truly ontological ; for it is an attempt to reason from an idea, or concept, to a _ reality, which is necessarily impossible,—unless, indeed, the reasoner carry with him avowedly the consciousness of his own existence, and the appeal to that consciousness as the connecting link between the idea and the reality, which, however, Des- cartes did not attempt todo. For these reasons, and for others which might easily be stated, we do not admit the Cartesian argument asa true & priori argument; and in a subsequent part of our course we may take occasion to point out more definitely the manner and position in which it received that vitiating fallacy, by which it was perverted into an argument on behalf of materialistic Pantheism. Since the time of Descartes, the philosophical mind of the Continent has been marvellously developed in all directions, and has sought to explore every line of thought. In many departments its success has been very great; but not so in its use of a priori thinking to prove the existence and the attri- butes of God. By some of the great German thinkers the argument has been carried away into the regions of the ideal, to such a degree that all possible knowledge of the real is denied. By others, the subjective—the Igo, or the Me—has been produced till it. has become the final sum, “the bright consummate flower” of the universe,—the consciousness of the Ego being regarded as God become conscious of Himself in man. This is a strange Pantheism—a strange idolatry. It is a Pan- theism, for all is God, and God is all; yet this All-God is man. It is therefore an idolatry, yet a strange idolatry; for it is not man deified, but God humanized, and yet God still. It is not the ancient nature-worship or deified man-worship of earlier heathen ages; but it is the hero-worship of idealized humanity. To show how all this has sprung of extreme subjective philo- sophy, deprived by its modern cultivators of at least one most important element, and to point out why this all-important ele- ment was left out, or thrown designedly out, will engage our attention when we come to deal with some of the spurious forms of thinking which come into collision with Natural Theology. _ CHAP. TIL] THE ARGUMENT A PRIORI. 39 In England there has not been much done in the regions of philosophico-theological disquisition since the time of Bishop Butler, till of late. But that eminent man established some points in the world of high and true thought which can never be subverted, at least not in the British mind; and if not in the British mind, ultimately not in the mind of the thinking world. The recently departed great Scottish philosopher, Sir William Hamilton, not only maintained the renown of Scottish thought, but gave to Scottish philosophy such additional clear- ness, precision, and strength of thought and expression, as has raised it to a position of ascendancy in the philosophic mind throughout the world of thoughtful men. Yet even in his philosophy may be traced a vitiating blank, similar in nature to that which we hinted at with reference to nearly all conti- nental philosophy. To this point also we shall subsequently direct special attention. The profound study of mental philosophy cannot cease to engage the earnest attention of all meditative men. They will think; they must think; and they cannot think long and deeply without thinking of God—of that Supreme Being in whom they live, and move, and have their being. ‘Their philo- sophy must necessarily enter into the regions of Natural Theology; and in that region may work, as it has formerly wrought, wild havoc, unless it be calmly met, fairly encoun- tered, its errors detected and removed, and all its true thoughts received and dedicated to the service of revealed truth. ‘This, we believe, both may be done and will be done, and that, too, without much of the turmoil of controversy, or the noise of boastful shouts of victory. Long has the secular mind been in the habit of pluming itself on the calmness, serenity, and peace- fulness of its philosophical disquisitions on all manner of sub- jects, while it indulged in scornful complaint of the bitterness of theological polemics. With what truth these self-lauda- tions were employed, and these accusations uttered, we do not think it at all necessary to say. But we shall endeavour to avoid all unnecessary asperity of language, while with unhesi- tating fearlessness we confront every opponent of what we deem not only truth, but saving truth, and firmly prosecute our task of refuting error and maintaining sacred truth and faith, not merely on grounds that nature and sound reason furnish, but 40 NATURAL THEOLOGY. ; EpIVeED also on the higher and holier grounds that God has vouchsafed to reveal. Before we pass from this brief disquisition repecting & priori thought, and the various attempts that have been made to state a true and conclusive @ priort argument for the being and attributes of God, we think it right to say, that even though it should be found utterly impossible to produce a true & priori argument, our inquiries into subjects of such elevation and dignity cannot fail to be of great mental value;-and if we duly guard against the admission of any hostile and disturbing elements into our minds, we shall be the better prepared for the reception of the final and absolute a priori thinking contained in the Bible—the thinking which has come direct from God Himself. There is at the very least this peculiar value in & priort or axiomatic thinking, that if its primary positions cannot be proved, neither can they be refuted. It is impossible for any man, by prosecuting axiomatic thinking, to become an atheist, until he has succeeded in denying his own ewistence. He must first annihilate himself; and as in doing so, or saying he does so, he must also at the same time annihilate the thought with the thinker, he ceases in the moment to be an atheist—he is only a nothing, a nonentity: for axiomatic thinking enters into depths far more profound and true than the shallow superficialities of Atheism. In the heart of the human con- sciousness it fixes its deep and ineradicable root of primary investigation, and compels a man to stand face to face with his own moral soul and nature, in its reverential feeling of responsi- bility. ‘This is our impregnable position. Here we begin our inquiry. If we shall find enough to convince us that there is in man a spiritual essence united to a material body, which renders him the very synthesis of mind and matter, we may then think it no more strange that he cannot refuse to believe the highest intuitions of his mind, than that he cannot refuse to believe the plainest intimations of his senses, even though he should not be able to demonstrate their truth in either case ; and as he receives the evidence of his senses with most direct conviction of their truth when he is in contact with external nature, so he will receive the evidence of his mental intuitions with most direct conviction of their truth when he is engaged in spiritual converse with God. His true & priori demonstration will be, when reason stands reverentially face to face with CHAP. III.] THE ARGUMENT A PRIORI. 4} faith, when the soul kneels humbly in fervent adoration before its GoD. SEC. IV. THE VALUE OF THE A PRIORI ARGUMENT. < Various statements have been already made explanatory of the true nature of a true & priori argument; but as it may conduce to clearness, it seems expedient to bring together into one connected whole these explanatory remarks. _ No sooner has the element or principle of self-consciousness been aroused in the human being, than he is constrained not only to believe his own existence, but also to put certain im- portant and primary questions to himself, such as, What am I? Where am I? How came I to be, and to be here? These questions suggest inevitably the three great and primary elements of all our knowledge; viz., first, the idea of our own existence, or of finite mind in general; secondly, the idea of external nature ; and thirdly, the idea of the absolute and eternal, as manifested in the conceptions of pure reason. We begin to think when we begin consciously to observe; and in beginning to think, the earliest form of thought must contain in it the consciousness of self, and the perception of something which is not self. Many an error may take place in our early attempts to expand, apply, and understand these primary ideas, so as to form them not only into a true knowledge, but into a true philosophy of knowledge. We may puzzle ourselves long about the questions concerning the trustworthiness of our senses, and the value of our perceptions, in making us acquainted with external nature; and regarding these questions scepticism has long exercised its ingenious faculty for doubting, yet never really doubted the actual existence of external nature, all the time that it was arguing that no proof could be given of its existence. Not less dificult may be, and has been, the task to satisfy the doubter with proof of our own existence, although of course no man in his senses ever really doubted the actual existence both of him- self and of other men. Disputations on such points might be allowed, so'long as they amounted to little more than the intellectual amusements of idle men; but when they are em- ployed to sap the foundations of Borah and religion, they assume a dangerous character, and render it necessary to meet them and examine their real nature and tendency. ~ 42 _ NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. I. The greatest danger to morality and religion, however, has always resided in the application of the sceptic’s sophistry to man’s idea of the absolute and the eternal, as apprehended by the conceptions of pure reason. If scepticism cannot banish that great idea, it will try to transmute it into either an zdeal Pantheism or a material Pantheism; and in either case there can be no true foundation for morality and religion. And here let it be noted, that while scepticism about the real, or rather the proved, existence of man and nature cannot greatly affect common morality, because men will believe in their own existence and in that of external nature, despite all the sophistry of all the sceptics; yet scepticism regarding the existence of the absolute, the infinite, the eternal, has always been readily received by many, and has always proved to be a formidable foe to morality and religion, were it only by setting men loose from all restraints imposed by the indefinite dread of future retribution. Into the reason why scepticism so per- tinaciously tries to preserve this ground, we shall inquire subse- quently ; meanwhile we direct attention to the fact. Now, it is with regard to this last-mentioned department of man’s primary fountain of thought and knowledge, that the & priort argument claims to be of special value. ‘There is a necessary sequence in thought suggesting in every thought the question, whether that thought was an absolutely primitive thought, or whether it originated in a prior thought, prior state, or prior being. This impels the mind to engage in tracing every thought back, and back, and still further back, in search of an absolutely first thought ; nor can it be satisfied till it either ascertain that first thought, or become assured that it cannot be ascertained. Nay, let it be frankly stated, that should the inquiry be constrained to stop because the first thought cannot be ascertained, the inquiring mind is no satisfied with such a result; and while it stops, it does so with a feeling of disappoint- ment at a result so unsatisfactory. It seems, then, that the element of @ priori thinking is natural, and even necessary to the human mind—the ultimate form of thought which it seeks to attain. Man stands on the narrow isthmus of the present now, between the two eternities, the past and the future. His restless, indefatigable, wandering thoughts connect him with both. The future he imagines he can conceive and may inherit, because it seems easy to suppose that what now exists may CHAP. III.] THE ARGUMENT A PRIORI. 43 continue to exist for ever. But back into the past, the dark priority of an unbeginning eternity, from which his own begin- ning sprang,—into that mysterious region he cannot pierce; and yet he must attempt it, so fascinated is he with its unfathom- able grandeur. There is, there must be, he thinks, an unbe- ginning eternity: not an eternity of nothingness, for that affords no actual beginning, or cause of beginning, to existing things ; but an Eternal—a Being of whom eternity of existence is the essential characteristic. Of any other thing or being I can ask, ' What was before it? Of such a Being I can say, He always was, and always is, and always will be—Himself the First, the Present, the Last, the ETERNAL. This is & priori thinking; and while this kind of thinking is absolutely an inevitable necessity for the human mind, with its wonderful far-searching faculties and powers, the only ques- tion is, Can this necessity of & priort thinking be reduced to the form of an & priori argument? And if it can, how far can it carry the inquiry relative to the being and attributes of God? The chief objection which has been urged against the & priori argument is, that it cannot be so stated as to carry the conclusion of absolute being, without at least one assumption, or postulate, which may be refused, and therefore that it cannot prove absolute and necessary heines We have already cast the & priort argument into several syllogistic forms. Let us try another, as an illustration of our present reasoning on the subject; premising only, that we hold ourselves entitled, from the indubitable element of self-consciousness, to commence with the idea, not of being merely, but of personality. 1The one postulate, it will be remembered, is, ‘‘ There zs finite being.” When any man attempts to dispute or deny that postulate, he may be fairly asked to explain what he means, or thinks he means. Does he mean to dispute or deny his own existence, and yet think that he is thinking, and not an existent thinker,—a thought perhaps, but not a thinker? No man ever did, or ever could, either think or believe such an unintelligible ab- surdity ; no man therefore ever did, or ever can, intelligibly dispute our postulate, which accordingly takes the position of being itself a necessity rather than a postulate. I am really anxious to press this thought; both because many good thinkers, and fair and honest-minded men, shrink from venturing to use the & priori argument, because it has got a bad reputation from having been often misused, and still more often misunderstood ; and also because, when thus left by the friends of truth, it falls into the hands exclusively of the perverters of truth, by whom it is dexterously employed in their fallacious reasoning. Being essentially axiomatic, it cannot be met 44 . NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. I. Axiom: All persons must be either self-existent or not self- existent. First term: Since all persons’ not self-existent must derive their existence from a self-existent person, if there be a person not self-existent, there must be a person self- existent. Middle term: I am a person not self-existent. Conclusion: Therefore there is a self-existent person. Now the only part of this syllogistic argument that can be called an assumption, is the middle term, “I am a person not self-existent.” Is this an illegitimate assumption? Can any man that uses it deny it? Or can any one who hears it deny it? If a man were so to deny it, as to say, “I am not a person,” would any other man think it worth while to argue with him? Or if he were to say, “ You cannot prove that I am a person,” would any other man feel that his argument was invalid, till he had proved the personality of the objector ? The appeal to the principle of self-consciousness is direct and absolute, and its answer equally direct and absolute, in the case of every sane and honest mind; so that we are entitled to repel the objection as a mere cavil, and to hold the argument valid and conclusive. We thus pass immediately from the fact of our conscious personal existence to the admission of a self- existent person, as present to our reason, whenever we reflect, as our own personality is to our own consciousness. Such, in our opinion, is the conclusion to which a true & priori argument, rightly understood and rightly stated, ought inevitably to lead us, in the region of necessary thought and reason. by any reasoning which ig not axiomatic; and therefore no process of merely logical reasoning can be of the least avail against its lofty and im- posing pretensions. It can be answered only by piercing still deeper into the region of axiomatic thinking, reaching a basis more profoundly true, and from that primary position destroying its dark sophistry. It is not possible for any man honestly to doubt or deny his own existence, and on the strength of that dishonest denial to denounce what he ventures to call the unwarranted postulate of axiomatic thinking, ‘‘ There is finite being.” The man who will perseveringly venture to deny this inevitable thought may be demanded to state on what ground he does so. Does he presume to do so, on the monstrous assumption that he himself is-dnfinite being, and thence knows that finite being does not exist? Or does he deny that he himself exists? The one postulate, as they term it, is not a postulate; it is an absolute necessity of thought. eee eee CHAP. III.] THE ARGUMENT A PRIORI. a, Aaa We might proceed to trace the power which this inevitable & priort thinking and reasoning has displayed throughout the world, and in all ages, in constraining mankind to believe in the existence of a God, and to worship, in one way or other, the God in whose existence they could not but believe. Every man admits his own personality, nay asserts it,-and will not consent to be regarded only as a thing, an animal, or a slave. But what is personality? What is a person? ‘To be a person, there must not only be individual will, the power of acting from one’s own centre of being, with at least some measure of freedom; but there must also be the perception of right and wrong, good and evil,—that is, there must be a moral element. A person, then, must be a rational intelligence, possessing the high mental faculties of moral will and moral consciousness, Nothing short of this can give a right and adequate idea of a person. The idea of personality in its finite form implying necessarily Personality Finite, must also imply the responsi- bility of the derived and finite person to the Underived and Infinite Person—the responsibility of man to God. Thence must follow religion and religious worship. But while there must be religion and religious worship, by the necessity of con- sciousness and & priort thought, the kind of religion and religious worship will depend on the idea which man entertains of God. This, again, will depend on the mental and moral state, and consciousness of men and nations, in the absence of revelation. And as we are not at present in the region of revelation, so far as our argument is concerned, we are entitled to say that such as a nation is, such will be its religion and its gods. If we could know with precision and certainty the mental, moral, and social state of any people, we might tell what their religion must be; and conversely, if we knew with precision the cha- racter of the religion of any people, we might tell what must be the mental, moral, and social state of that people. We refer in passing to the Mohammedans, to the Hindus, to the Chinese, to the Africans; and in each instance we see the congruity of the religion with the character of the people: fierce and re- morseless cruelty in those whose religious creed is also their wild war-cry, “ The sword or the Koran ;” monstrous falsehood, perfidy, and revenge, in those who worship monstrous gods, and accept the huge fables of Hinduism; the despicable and atrocious mingling of folly, fraud, and disregard of life, in those who 46 NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. I. follow the baseless system of Buddh; and the deepest degrada- tion, crime, and misery, in those who place their religion in the unintelligible incantations addressed to some Fetish. But enough: the mere reference to such topics will serve to indi- cate the power of & priori thinking, so far as it is thinking, or superstitious instinct, so far as the principle acts, impulsively and without thought, on mankind in every age and country. It will readily be perceived that we attach more value to both the & priort argument and to what we term @ priori thinking, or axiomatic thinking, than is generally done. It will also be perceived that, in our method of at once stating and explaining this kind of reasoning, we are not exposed to the accusation of passing illegitimately from the region of abstract ideas into that of actual existence; because the true a priore line of thought and argument is never in our method one of abstract idea. It arises, we hold, necessarily out of the first form of finite thought, self-consciousness, or the consciousness of each person that he is a finite but a real existence; and it carries with it most legitimately the conception of being, of actual existence, into every other possible region of thought. It needs no assumption which could be refused, no postulate which might not be granted, in order to have a bridge from the abstract to the real; for it is tétself that bridge: it is its own assumption, its own postulate. And while we are not surprised that the earliest advocates of the a priort argument failed to span the chasm between the abstract idea and the actual reality, and thus failed to carry the conviction of their cautious readers, because the philosophy of mind was then but indefinite and immature,—we are at the same time decidedly of opinion that, by the addition of the modern improved and verified. philosophy of mind, the & prior: line of reasoning may not only be restored to Natural Theology, but may be made to afford one of its most impregnable defences. In connection with this view, we may state that, while carefully pursuing a recent very acute metaphysical treatise on the Theory of Knowing and Being,’ we felt gratified to notice not only the tone of sincere respect with which this very able and acute metaphysician always wrote of religion, but also, and especially, were we gratified to feel certain, that whatever havoc his reasoning might work among metaphysical writings, it actually tended to produce a 1 By the late Professor Ferrier of St. Andrews. CHAP. III.] THE ARGUMENT A PRIORI. AT basis for the @ priort argument, by introducing a necessary personality into all thought and all knowledge, thereby leaving no chasm between the abstract ideal and the existing real or concrete. We do not of course express any opinion relative to the metaphysical value or soundness of the purely metaphysical arguments and inferences contained in that work, though we may have occasion to refer to some of them again; but we regard it as at least an omen of good, when we find metaphy- sical research tending to confirm the a priort argument in proof of the being of the Infinite and Eternal Personal God. To this extent, then, we think a true & priori argument, regarded as the olution of a problem already believed, but requiring to be solved, so far as that can be done by haiien thought and reason, both can carry, and has carried, us in our attempt to solve that problem. As certainly as man is an existing, finite, self-conscious, moral, and personal being, so certainly there is an existing, mand, intelligent, ovaly and personal God, from whose eternal self-existence man derived his finite existence, from whose infinitely wise and holy moral being and character man obtained the finite, rational, and moral nature by which he is distinguished, on whose abound- ing and infinite goodness and protecting providence man is ever dependent, and to whom, as the Author of our existence, man is ever responsible. These, certainly, are vast and most important conclusions to which to be led by this line of argument, and they must be admitted to be contributions of inestimable value to the science of Natural Theology. They are also, as we hold, of adamantine strength, and furnish a firm basis, so far as they go, on which to erect that first and most important of all sciences,—the science of eternal truth,—the science of our knowledge of God, and of our relation to Him. But we find, also, that this course of argument is almost ex- clusively limited to the region of lofty thought, and has scarcely anything to do with the vast realms of positive material exist- ence which spread so universally around us. To the man whom God has gifted with the power of recondite thought, this argu- ment will always be peculiarly convincing; but to by far the greater part of mankind it will be found of so abstract a nature as to be absolutely beyond their powers of apprehension. The language which we are constrained to use in stating and illus- 4§ NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. I. trating it, will generally seem to such persons unintelligible ; and the thoughts which such language strives to embody, will seem to them to have no meaning at all. Even such people, however, may be able to perceive, that when the defender of Christianity finds it necessary, or thinks it expedient, to meet -the assailant in the regions of abstract thought, he is able to traverse these shadowy regions with as firm and fearless a step, and to use these abstract arguments with as much skill and power, as can any of his antagonists. This may be of great value to him, even though he should not be able to comprehend the reasoning; for he may feel all the more confidence in the plainer reasoning which he can comprehend. He may thus actually share in the victory, although unable to take any part in the conflict. And further, as the age in which it is our lot to live is one of deep research, of great inquisitiveness, and little characterized by reverence for anything that can plead little more than hereditary and long-existent claims to respect and credit, it is an age in which it is peculiarly neces- sary for every Christian man, especially for every Christian minister, to be able to take up every line of argument, and thus meet every opponent on that opponent’s own chosen ground. If continental theories about the Me and the not-Me must and will be brought forward as something very new and vastly profound, the defender of Christianity should be able to use intelligently the same language, explore the thoughts which it assumes to convey—perhaps means to conceal—take captive the philosophy, so far as it 1s true, and employ it in the service of true religion, not in the exposition of the gospel, which admits not such foreign phraseology, but -in the science of Natural Theology, where it may seem less unsuitable. There is yet one thought which, before concluding this section, we think it right to express. When we leave the sphere of & priori thought and argument, and enter into one less ab- stract, we have no intention to leave also behind us any of the truths that we have acquired in that high sphere. We mean to take them all along with us into every other region we may have occasion to enter. When the mental philosopher has, by means of his searching analysis, ascertained the true laws of thought, and the fundamental principles of knowledge and belief, he returns into more common regions of inquiry, and employs the principles, the laws, and the skill which he has ‘ . CHAP. III J THE ARGUMENT A PRIORI. 49 acquired in the pursuit of all other knowledge. This gives him immense power in every subsequent investigation, and en- ables him to make great and rapid progress with the use of his fine weapons and his well-trained mind. In like manner, it is our intention to carry with us the well-proved results and well- trained power of & priori thinking, and to make use of these acquisitions in our future argument. We may find, that though we have scarcely yet made any intelligent acquaintance with external nature, and not a very full acquaintance with even our own inner self-consciousness, we have nevertheless obtained some knowledge of those forms and laws of thought, into which all the intimations of external nature, and all that our own self-consciousness can teach, must necessarily be cast. We have felt ourselves placed in the dread presence of the one holy, infinite, eternal, personal God, in no dim abstraction, but in our own personality constrained to apprehend—not compre- hend—His personality. And in our deep adoring awe and reverential fear, we have been constrained to breathe the humble prayer that He would vouchsafe to make Himself more thoroughly known to us, and satisfy our already longing souls with the gracious treasures of that highest knowledge. Does not the reverential longing and adoring soul already seem to hear,—as only supplicating souls can hear,—in its deepest consciousness a solemn voice, which seems to say, “The volume of nature is open before you—the widespread volume of God’s works—go and peruse it: go, with the ideas of your own self-consciousness, and of God, which you have already partially acquired; go, with the light of those ascer- tained intuitions shining around you and on your path; go, with your perceptional faculties all awakened and enlightened, to receive what it may impart ;—go thus, because God is before you there, and because going thus you may expect that He will there reveal Himself to you more fully, and thereby pre- pare you for future revelations still more clear and glorious !” Such a result of a priori thinking is indeed of inestimable value. CHAPTER IV. THE ARGUMENT A POSTERIORI. 7 FEW preliminary sentences may be of advantage for enabling us distinctly to apprehend the position into which we have advanced, and the nature of the argument into the consideration of which we are now about to enter. The first position which we can possibly occupy, or even conceive ourselves to occupy, is that given by - self-consciousness. In this position a man may be rationally conceived of as saying to himself, or as thinking, “ J am, I east, and know that I exist,’ but nothing more. This would of itself be merely the consciousness of existence, but would indicate nothing as to the mode of existence. Considered in its most abstract form, it would give nothing more than thinking being. There is frequently a metaphysical fallacy admitted into this very early position ; it is admitted or assumed that thought may be conceived of without being. I do not mean without material being, but without being at all, even immaterial being; and from this follows the objection, that thought does not prove being. I answer, Try to imagine thought without a thinker—thought detached from all being, and in an illimitable void in which no being, not even spirit, exists. We cannot; for if we try, we find ourselves conceiving of thought as some invisible essence. floating in the otherwise universal vacuum, and therefore actual being even there, and rendering its own position not absolute vacuity. Thought, then, asserts thinking existence ; and this is primary and abstract consciousness. But this primary self-consciousness is essentially activity. ~ From its position it can move in either of two directions, or manifest or exert its activity in either of two directions. It can employ its activity in inquiring into its own existence— into its own forms of thought. It must do so, according to its potency as a thinker; and in doing so, it inevitably inquires into the nature and reason of its own existence: it asks whence CHAP. IV.] THE ARGUMENT A POSTERIORI. OH: and how that existence originated. It does not imagine itself the earliest of beings—the primal existence; and therefore it is anxious to inquire what was before it. Thus it plunges neces- sarily into the very essence of & priori thinking,—of thinking back, and asking what was before its own conscious existence, —what are the daws of thought which constituted the forms of thought. This necessary & priori thinking we have been already engaged in attempting briefly to explore, for the important purpose of ascertaining its intrinsic value, and the value of its results, The other region of thought, not less open to man, and much more open to many men, is that which arises from his sentient nature in contact with external nature, and calling into action the power of reflex thought. This conjoint sensation and reflection he calls perception, or, as some do, perception-of- matter, using a compound term to imply the conjunction of sensation and reflection, forming an irresistible conviction, that what is thus brought before his intelligent nature is the reality of existence external to himself. Having thus attained the belief that external things affecting his organs of sensation have given rise to these perceptions, and thus given him the know- ledge of an external world with which he exists in contact, meeting him at every point and pore of his sentient being, calling into action every capacity of his percipient being, and arousing every faculty of his intellectual being, he arranges all the knowledge thus acquired, and with it fills all the forms of thought of which he had previously become conscious. The question then arises, Is this external world merely a produc- tion of my own forms of thought, with which it so wonder- fully agrees? Or has it an actual existence of its own, in no respect dependent on me, though marvelously adapted to my sentient, percipient, and intelligent nature? A very little re- flection will suffice to convince every candid mind that it is not in any way dependent on himself, since he cannot prevent its existence making itself known to him often in conditions any- thing but agreeable, yet which he cannot annihilate when he pleases. It has, then, an existence of its own, quite indepen- dent of him, yet wonderfully qualified to fill all his forms of thought with correspondent realities. To what does it owe éts ewistence ? This is the inevitable inquiry. And what infor- mation can it suggest to me regarding the author of its exist- o2 *« NATURAL THEOLOGY. ‘ [DIV. I. ence? The question thus raised takes necessarily a different direction from that in which the inquirer was formerly engaged. He was then engaged among the laws of thought, in search of a solution of the problem of necessary being. He is now about to endeavour, by investigating existing nature, to ascertain the character of its Author, at once and intuitively held to be that Infinite Being in whose necessary existence he already believes. This new mode of inquiry 1s termed the & posterior argument 5 and its course and purpose is, “ From nature, or, the universe, viewed as effect, to reason back to the Author of the universe regarded as CAUSE.” It will easily be perceived, both that to many men the & posteriori argument will be more attractive and intelligible than the & priori can be, and also why this is and must be the case. There is no small amount of both the faculty of abstract thinking, and practice in the use of that faculty, required in order to form an adequate conception of the a priori argument. But the & posteriort method can be fol- lowed and understood by almost any man, without more recon- dite thinking than is required for the ordinary affairs of life. Many will feel a strong repugnance to task their minds with such arduous exercise of thought, but will attend with plea- sure and advantage to information brought to them from the fields of external nature. Yet these two forms of argument ought not to be viewed in any other light than as equally valu- able. One may be more available to one class of men, the other to another. The one is not therefore more valuable than the other in itself, but more suitable in its application to a peculiar mental condition. We do not therefore admit that the & posteriori argument is intrinsically better than that by the & priori method; but we readily admit that it may be under- stood by a greater number, and may relatively be of greater general advantage to the majority of inquirers. By the method which we have adopted, and are. pursuing, we avail ourselves of both. Those who have adequately understood the & priori course of thought and argument, will enter upon the new line of investigation, both with minds already furnished with forms of thought into which to receive the information now to be acquired, and also with minds trained to high and arduous inquiry. This may be a little further illustrated. In his first and introductory book, Dr. Chalmers dwells 9 CHAP. IV.] THE ARGUMENT A POSTERIORI. Bae pretty largely on what he denominates “the ethics of theo- logy, as distinct from the objects of theology.” This disquisi- tion is very valuable, chiefly as pointing out how the feeling of responsibility may be so forcibly aroused and directed, by means of the moral convictions and duties already existing in the human mind, as to lay on us an imperative obligation to direct our attention to the objects of theology. It shows, too, that the fact of the distant and recondite nature of the inquiry relative to the objects, does not in the least affect the obli- gation, or the ethics. Now this disquisition answers some- what to our discussion of the & priori argument, in its enforce- ment. of the duty to study the subject. But there is this advantage, as we think, in our method, that we not only have had the duty very strongly enforced by the very nature of the argument, but have also advanced far into the study itself. We have obtained not only the conviction of our duty to enter into a certain course of thought and investigation; but we have already obtained the power of thought, the apparatus of thinking, and some very important results of our prior inquiries, as a permanent acquisition of those inquiries, and a preparation for all that may yet be before us. We are quite as strongly attracted to the & posteriori argument as any & posteriori reasoner can be; but we do not come to that field of investigation to find there our first intimations of the Divine Being,—we come to seek further information relative to the attributes and character of that Gop in the reality of whose existence we already believe. Still further and higher does the value of our previous - acquisition reach. By our self-consciousness we obtain the idea of personality,—that is, of moral will and consctousness. By & priori thinking we legitimately carry the idea of per- sonality into the idea of Gop, and conclude that man—moral and conscious man—must stand in some personal relation to a moral, intelligent, personal God. This even awfully solemn and sacred idea we carry with us, as an ascertained certainty, into all our investigations of the realm of nature. Man already knows his own relation to God, so far, in the universe of mind; and he now seeks to know his relation to the universe of material being, with the further important inquiry, how both he and nature stand in relation to God. The unreasoned but also undisputed thought with which the mind usually com- 54 NATURAL THEOLOGY. . [DIV: I. mences its inquiries in the region of nature is, “ God is, and is everywhere. He made me, and He made also the world. I cannot see Him; but I can see everywhere in nature the manifestations of His power and wisdom. In every pheno- menon of nature I perceive some attribute of God; and from the character of these phenomena, I may infer to some extent the character of the attributes, and hence the character, of the Divine Being.” Entering on his inquiry, he may find in every portion of his knowledge of nature the inevitable concurrence of two elements,—the objective element, or fact, and the subjec- twwe element, or reasoning, as existing in himself,—with a won- derful harmony between them. He may therefore conclude that the same God who made nature, made also his reason; and thus he may regard himself as, what we have already termed him, the synthesis of mind and matter, created both to know — and to manifest God. But he may also miss his way to this true and happy conclusion, as every sceptic and every ma- terialist does. For as he began with the unreasoned though undisputed postulate, “ God is,” and as that may be disputed, and however reasonable cannot be proved by.& posteriort argu- ment alone, he may find it impossible to advance beyond such generalities as, the laws of nature—antecedence and sequence —jinvariable antecedence and sequence — invariable laws — fatalism. But if he has acquired and understood what the d priort argument can legitimately teach,—his own personality in moral will and consciousness, and the intelligent and moral personality of God,—he cannot fall into the fathomless abyss of fatalism, and may learn much in the & posteriori region relative to the attributes and character of God. There is another topic to which we wish to direct special attention. When we use the term Nature, we are liable to apply it only and exclusively to the external world—the material « universe around us. But this is both an arbitrary and an undue limitation of the term. In the term Nature we are fully entitled to include man himself. Man is as truly an object in nature as any naturally and materially existent object of observation can possibly be. Every one deems it quite legitimate to direct attention to the bee, for example, and to its exquisite workmanship and wonderful instinct,—its habits of consociation, and its social economy and government. But is it not as perfectly legitimate to direct attention to man,—to his CHAP. IV.] THE ARGUMENT A POSTERIORI. DOD productions in art, science, and literature,—to his marvellous mental faculties and powers,—to his social habits,—and to the whole structure and economy of human society, laws, and government? By doing so, we shall find that the sphere of the & posteriori argument has become almost boundless, has acquired an intensely increased degree of interest for us, and is fraught with instruction full of the most vital importance. Into this region Dr. Chalmers boldly entered, and from it drew not a little of his most valuable contributions to Natural Theology. Other authors have done the same, though with immeasurably less skill and power. It may, however, be ques- tioned, not whether this can be legitimately done,—for that we hold to be unquestionable,—but whether it can legitimately yield to Natural Theology, with ample certainty, the advantages which Dr. Chalmers and others drew from it to that science, unless it has been first impregnated with & priori thinking and its results. For example, there are no works in modern times, no works in any age, which contain and present so complete a digest of all human science, its laws, its reasonings, its necessary formal arrangement, and its results, as the writings of Auguste Comte ; and yet the conclusion at which he arrives is not a valuable contribution to Natural Theology, but to what he terms Positive Philosophy, or Positivism; in short, absolute Atheism. Yet, in perusing the writings of Comte, it is impossible to refrain from admiring the amount of knowledge which he displays of almost every subject to which the human mind has ever addressed itself, and very specially the deep acquaintance which he mani- fests with human society in all its laws and all its phases—at least as it exists in France—and even with regard to its religious aspects. For he not only takes cognizance of religion as a necessary element in the human mind, and a power in society, but also traces, as he thinks, its origin, its successive develop- ments, marks its present condition, and states what must be its final results. It is plain, therefore, that the introduction of the study of man and society into the & posteriort argument, how- ever valuable it may be in the hands of some, will not neces- sarily render it more pregnant with proofs of the being and attributes of God, but may render it liable to be used in support of Atheism, At a subsequent stage I shall attempt a statement and refutation of the Positivism of Comte; meantime I can but / 56 NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. I state, that to me it seems that the total absence of true a priori thinking, and the consequent want of the results thereby pro- duced, will sufficiently account for the fatal result of scientific and human philosophy in the hands of Comte, and, with deep regret we add, of his few followers in Britain—regret the most profound that in Britain he could have even one follower. But if the human mind begin its inquiries without any desire to find a God, all its researches may but intensify its wilful blindness. While we claim the right of carrying with us, and intro- ducing into the domains of & posteriori investigation, the powers and principles of thought already acquired and trained in the & priori region, there is also another law of thought not neces- sarily obtained alone in the & priori region, yet closely related to it, which we must mention and explain before we proceed to employ it. We can scarcely even begin our observation of nature without perceiving change in the objects that come under our observation. The first effect of this might only be to sur- prise us. But when we perceive that, although changes are incessant, they follow each other in accordance with some uni- form order or plan, so that when one kind of change is perceived we learn to expect it to be followed certainly by another of a corresponding kind, somehow correlated to it,—this gives rise to what is called our belief in the uniformity of nature. A great deal of metaphysical and unmetaphysical argumentation has been very unprofitably expended on this subject. Some explain our belief in the uniformity of nature, by asserting that we do so in consequence of an original law of the mind causing us instinctively to believe in the uniformity of nature. Others assert it to be the mere result of experience, and of course deny that our belief is entitled to go beyond our experience. Every one must feel that the latter cannot be the right explanation, because every one knows that his belief in the constant uni- formity of nature’s sequences far transcends his own experience. Further, every one feels that he brings to his investigation of the question, or to his observation of facts, an antecedent expectation that these sequences will be uniform,—that there is a constancy in nature’s operations,—and that he will seldom be disappointed by trusting in the constancy of nature. How has this antecedent expectation been formed? Is this one of the necessary forms of thought, without the use of which we cannot think orderly and rationally? Even if it were, how was it re CHAP. IV.] THE ARGUMENT A POSTERIORI. Ay called into action, so as to be the antecedent expectation that we always carry with us? This is no idle question, as we shall find ere long. Can our & priori thinking help us here? We have found that the primary element of our thinking is self- consciousness; and that this element is probably roused, and certainly kept in action, by the sensation of external resistance. To this external resistance we consciously offer a corresponding resistance, or employ it according to an internal and conscious act of willi—a volition. Our own volition has just so much uniformity as the experienced resistance has, so far at least as_ the external resistance elicits only an internal consciousness of resisting. There may arise the volition to use the external something in the way in which it seems to act. But this change is in the internal volition, not in the external and physical resistance. Such is the very earliest intimation which we can have of nature; and it may induce us to form and entertain the notion of a uniform constancy in the external world long before we have learned to reason about nature, and sensation, and perception. If this be so, then we bring from the very dawn of consciousness, and from our earliest contact with nature, so much of a dim perception of the constancy of nature’s posi- tion in regard to the conscious self, as to lead necessarily to the formation of a belief in the uniform constancy of nature. This seems to us a more probable explanation of this very important belief in the constancy of nature, existing and acting as an antecedent expectation, and leading us on in our investigations, than can otherwise be given. And when formed and in opera- tion, it guides the experimental philosopher in all his inquiries, and is itself strengthened and confirmed by every successful experiment and new acquisition. It may afford also to the mental philosopher, and to the student of Natural Theology, the ground of a valuable inference in a very early stage of their inquiries,—the inference, namely, that there is an inherent harmony between man and nature, suggesting the great proba- bility that the same God is the author of both man and nature. The value of this idea in the region of a posteriort argument cannot be over-estimated ; and it rescues us at the very outset from the entangling sophistries of the sceptic. We are here touching the border of the great vexed ques- tion respecting Cause and Effect; but previous to the discus- sion of this subject, we have already obtained so much acquaint- 58 | NATURAL THEOLOGY. | FI DIVEE ance with certain primary laws of thought, as to be prepared to enter upon it without much hazard of being led astray, or losing ourselves in misty obscurities. We bring to the investi- gation of the a posteriori argument nearly all the elements necessary for the successful prosecution of all its departments ; and that, too, without the necessity of spending much time in preliminary disquisitions of a metaphysical character. So far as these may yet meet us, and force themselves upon our notice, we are provided with laws of thought by which they can be mastered. Our self-consciousness is beyond the reach of dis- pute. In that self-consciousness we have the elements of moral will, and that, too, conscious moral will—a true personality. We have also the certainty that God exists, and that He is an intelligent and moral being. We have a considerably well established belief, also, that our constitution, mental and physi- cal, is in direct sympathetic and generally harmonious relation with the constitution of an actually existing external universe ; and as we know that our being is derived from God, we infer that the universe with which we are in such sympathetic relation is also derived from God, and that from our study of nature we may expect to receive much precious information concerning the attributes and character of that God who appears to be the author of both man and nature. Such is the state of mental preparation in which we pro- ceed to the study of the & posterior’ argument. SEC. I. DOCTRINE OF CAUSATION. The & posteriori argument, regarded as a problem, may be stated thus: “That the cause of nature and the cause of mind is one and the same.” It is an endeavour to prove this, by reasoning from the minor term of the proposition back to the major—from the minor, or the effect of the universe, to the major, or the Cause of the universe; or from nature, or the universe, viewed as effect, to reason back to the Author of the umiverse, viewed as cause. It proceeds, therefore, throughout on the universal principle of causation.. This principle is thus expressed in its axiomatic form, “Every change must have a cause ;” and this implies a further ex- planatory statement, that “every cause must be of such a nature as to account for the character of the change.” From CHAP. IV.] THE ARGUMENT A POSTERIORI. 59 x this arises the possibility of reasoning in either of two direc- tions, thus: “ From the character of the cause, we may infer the character of the change;” or, “ From the character of the change, we may infer the character of the cause.” The latter of these is the form of the @ posteriori argument—the term change being understood as implying effect, under the law of causation. The full statement of the problem, then, is: “F'rom the character of the effect to, ascertain, so far as the effect extends, the character of the cause.” It will be observed that we use the expression, so far as the effect extends, as cau- tiously guardine*the proposition ; because, while the cause must always be as great as the effect, it may be indefinitely greater ; and we are not entitled to limit the cause to the exact boundaries of the effect, as is fallaciously attempted by the opponents of the & posteriori argument, when they assert that from a finite effect we can legitimately infer no more than a finite cause,— that from a finite universe we can infer no more than a /inite God. We may admit that we cannot from a finite effect prove an infinite cause ; but we are not legitimately required to deny infinity, especially if from previous or other proof we have reason to admit infinity. But this proof we have already re- ceived from the & priori argument, according to which it appeared, that from the fact of finite existence, given to us in self-consciousness, we are entitled, or rather constrained, to infer infinite existence. We have no need, therefore, to infer more from the @ posteriori argument than its terms will warrant; but we are not, on that account, confined within a limited and defective conclusion. The principle of causation, then, is this: Every effect, or thing which begins to be, must have a cause. And as, under this principle, every change must be regarded as an effect, we feel that we are in a universe of cause and effect. By our relation to the world, we perceive the universe of matter exist- ing in space, and undergoing incessant changes. This is the aspect of external nature, and it suggests to us causation co- extensive with the universe. Internally, on the other hand, we are conscious of our own existence, and of internal changes of thought and emotion—of perception and of will. We long to know whether there be a connecting link, which might prove a common design between the external world and the internal world, or the self-conscious being that we term the Mz. But 60 NATURAL THEOLOGY. 7 [DIV, I. _the sophist attempts to arrest us even in this early stage, by asserting that we cannot prove the reality of causation,—that we never do, or can, know anything about cause,—that we neither have, nor can obtain, any idea of power,—and that all that we can ever know relative to change, either in the external world or in the internal self, is the sequence of changes. He further tells us that these sequences are invariable, both in what we call nature and in what we call thought; that they cannot spring from or be connected with any will, because will is necessarily variable; and that therefore we ought to con- clude that the universe of man and nature aré alike governed by some invariable necessity—some inexorable destiny—and that all is fatalism. We are not, however, left at the mercy of the sophist’s assertions. We turn to the self-consciousness within, to inquire what information that bearer of sure evidence can give. It has already given some information of great importance. Its very first information made us at least partially acquainted both with the world without us, and with our own internal self. We had the sensation of some external resistance, and the con- sciousness of a volition either to overcome, or to use it. We perceived also that this volition, though entirely mental, had the power of producing muscular action in our sentient bodily frame, and thereby either overcoming the external resistance, or seizing on it, and employing its action in obedience to the conscious will. We thus obtain direct and immediate know- ledge of one kind of causation; and we find that, so far from its being absolutely invariable, it varies in exact accordance with our own will. There is thus already formed so far within us, some idea of a sympathetic relation between mind and > matter, partly by the ready obedience which our own material structure yields to the volitions of our own minds, and partly by the equally ready obedience which external nature yields to the power put forth by our bodily organization.' ? When the sceptic uses the argument that “ will is necessarily vari- able,” we ought not at once to admit this assertion, but to try whether it be not asophism. Do we find that will is so necessarily variable as he assumes? Do we not, on the contrary, find that the variableness of will] depends upon other mental elements, and on mutable conditions? If the mind of any man be remarkable for wisdom and moral soundness of judg- ment, he will rarely see any reason to be variable in his will ; for will is, or Oe CHAP. IV. ] THE ARGUMENT A POSTERIORI. ; 61 We have now begun to reason as well as to observe; and as this combined action and reason has carried us out of the sceptic’s first. assertion, “that we cannot prove the reality of causation,”—inasmuch as we have acted causation, and know that we have done so,—we proceed into the region of external nature, to explore what may be learned in that wide sphere. Let it be observed, however, that in carrying our observed action and reason with us, we are now empowered to employ a very important mental faculty; we mean the faculty of framing analogies, and reasoning by analogy. This faculty is of more - value, and is actually more employed, than many are aware. It lies in the heart of all inductive reasoning, and is largely employed by every man of inventive genius, by every discoverer in any department of art or science. It consists essentially in this, that our sensations and perceptions take notice of all resemblances, both in single incidents or facts, and in com- bined events or changes, with the latent idea that there is some more comprehensive truth from which they both take their form, and in which they are primarily united and inhere ; and that, in perceiving these resemblances, we are led to con- clude that the resemblance may go further than we have yet perceived, and may produce events or changes analogous to other already perceived events or changes. This mental idea of analogy will require generally to be verified by experiment ; but it often suggests the experiment, and thereby aids largely ought to be, the mental volition put forth in accordance with the compre- hensive reason and wisdom which perceives what ought to be done, and under the direction of the moral faculty deciding what duty requires: therefore, to the extent that these are sound, must the will be almost in- variable. Add to this the thought, that the condition of a wise and good man may be little, if at. all, dependent on circumstances, so that he may be always free to act as reason and conscience dictate, and you will very readily see that in his case variableness is not a necessary attribute of his will. But carry this course of analysis to its ultimate point, and imagine the will of a being infinite in wisdom, power, goodness, and truth, and you will readily perceive, that so far from variableness being an essential cha- racteristic of His will, it must necessarily be ‘‘ without variableness or shadow of turning.” The sophism, then, is of a very common and puny kind: ‘‘ Some will is variable, therefore all will is variable.” The will of some ignorant, fickle, dependent man is variable ; therefore all will—not only that of a man of wise, upright, independent, and decided character, but also that of God—is variable. We need not surely further regard this sophism. 62 NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. I. in extending our knowledge. It is also an ever-increasing power, both in the extent and rapidity with which it prompts to investigation, and in the confidence with which it enables us to apprehend results, and very often. to anticipate them. All science is full of this mental power, and very greatly indebted to it; and in the case of some peculiarly gifted minds, it acts like a peculiar intuitional foresight. We may add, that it very readily lays hold of the idea of antecedent probability ; and thus past experience and observed resemblance, combined in the reasoning from analogy, aid man very greatly in acquir- ing knowledge of the external world. Let us employ this mental power a little, be way of example. When we think of causation at all closely, we feel ourselves inevitably impelled to regard it as capable of being viewed in two very different aspects. There is physical causation, and there is moral causation. The physical causation is analo- gous to moral causation, but cannot be identical with it, because physical causation cannot apply to mind, and moral causa- tion cannot apply to matter, though they may illustrate each other. Let us give them, then, distinctive names, and let us call physical causation force, and moral causation motive. Mark now how this division and the analogy enable us to explore and apprehend nature. . We begin with man, and with mind as we find it in man. By the aid of self-consciousness, we know that though man is sentient and percipient of force, he does not necessarily obey it, but resists or obeys according to the inward dictates of his own mind. You must reason with | him, or he must reason with himself, before he wills to act, and then he acts or suffers as he wills; that is, a rational and moral motive must be applied to his rational and moral mind before he will act, and this is his true cause or motive. But we look out on external nature, and on that depart- ment of it which we call animated nature—the sphere of sentient animal life. What is causation to that region of being? Not rational or moral causation, not motive, as that was cause to man, but something analogous to it—the application to its sentient life of some external force, which excites a low kind of volition or voluntary obedience to the force affecting its sentient life, and producing such pain or pleasure as is enough to elicit corresponding action. Further still we advance, carrying our analogy with us, and enter into the region of vegetable life. CHAP. IV.] THE ARGUMENT A POSTERIORI. 63 But this insentient life yet possesses what is termed rritability, susceptible of receiving impulses from light, air, water, earth, which it can absorb into its own organization. The only . causation which we can now employ is that of force—the invisible power which inorganic nature can exert on the irrita- bility or susceptibility of root, fibre, and leaf ;—all this we can so arrange and employ as to cultivate the vegetable world as we please. Still further our research, guided by analogy, or prompted by it and guided by experience, can extend. We can perceive that there resides some latent force im even inorganic nature, which not only acts on organic life, as we - perceived in the vegetable world, but which can act on itself, and that too with wonderful uniformity. Of this, crystallization is a remarkable instance. Every distinct inorganic substance in nature has its own specific crystal, which it will uniformly assume in suitable circumstances. This latent force is its own. We can neither give it, nor take it away. But we can put the substance in such circumstances as will allow it to put forth that latent force and assume its crystalline form. We can also mark the specific operation of electric. and magnetic forces; and we can so elicit and regulate them, as to render them subser- vient to our own use in several very wonderful ways. Nor do we suppose that we have yet ascertained all the forces or unknown elements of physical causation that exist in nature, or reached the limitation of their services to us in those that we already so far know. Very much of all these discoveries we owe to the almost intuitive faculty of reasoning from analogy; and this faculty originated in self-consciousness, and is related to 4 priori thinking, I have made this brief digression, not to place a higher value on & priori thought, but to show how a complete answer may be given to the cavils of a cold and intellectual—yet not very. mtellectual—scepticism. For you will observe that in all these instances we have traced causation and found power,—a causation which we could understand, and a power which we could employ ; not a fatalistic causation, but a causation which we could control, or neutralize, or vary, according to the dictates of our own reason and will ;—a causation, therefore, which, in its very susceptibility of being so used by reason and will, showed its own derivation from the Supreme Reason and Will. We find physical cause, as designated force, either active or 64 ‘ NATURAL THEOLOGY. ADIN latent in all material nature, and in every elementary sub- stance; and in these most latent conditions we still find it not only existing, though invisibly and unknown essentially, but also existing often in the greatest potency. We might well imagine that, in its most invisible condition, yet greatest potency, ++ must be most subservient to mind when that mind possesses adequate knowledge and power ; and thus we might believe the God of nature to be most absolutely present among the ‘nvisible forces of nature, with them wielding the universe. “Fe maketh the winds His messengers, and flaming fire His servant.” We find force stimulating and promoting the growth of insentient vegetable life; and we can guide and use it. We still find force, but now in a higher form, giving impulse to the sentient life of animals, and assuming somewhat of the aspect of motive, yet not involving reason; and by employing it as our reason directs, we can both impel and govern the animal world. We can perceive that, in every rational human being, there is an internal constitution similar to that of which self-consciousness renders us cognizant; and we can therefore know, that although in percipient rational life physical force can affect the sensational frame, it cannot with any certain or constant uniformity determine the conduct of the man; and that if we wish to exercise any guiding influence on his conduct, we must appeal to his reason,—we must use the only causation which can have power with him,—we must produce a motive. Even then we shall find that the motive sways him only when his own will adopts it, and not further or otherwise than it does so. Beyond this point we cannot at present legitimately pro- ceed; but we may indicate that there is yet a higher power that may be applied to man,—a purer and mightier causation : the power and causation of motives not merely rational and moral in the highest degree, but spiritual and divine, when the Holy Spirit brings the gospel to bear on his spiritually quickened and enlightened soul. We have been traversing the realm of science, although without making any special reference to it as science. But now we mean to use it in illustration of our argument. What, then, is science? Science is direct and spontaneous knowledge, systematically arranged. The human mind, when beginning to. observe, and think, and know, has as yet no science. But it has what can and will produce science; for it has first the CHAP. IV.] THE ARGUMENT. A POSTERIORI. 65 direct power of observing facts, and retaining the conceptions of them in its memory; and it has next the spontaneous laws of thought, by which it can classify and arrange them in accordance with its own systematizing tendency. The know- ledge thus obtained, classified and systematically arranged, is entitled science. There may be long and extensive observa- tion, commonly called induction,—much use of analogical reasoning,—many an attempted classification,—before it can become true science. And even when true, it may probably never become complete; for there may be continually coming into observation new facts that require to be added. But when it has been established so as to unite both the laws of thought, according to which men classify, and the observed coincident relations of facts, in accordance with which they require to be classified and arranged, then there is a true and exact science. And when it has been thus accurately elaborated, it is the same to all men by whom it is understood. There are sciences of different kinds, because there are dif- ferent objects in nature; but all sciences contain the laws of human thought on the one hand, and the classified and arranged objects of nature on the other. By means of sense we perceive, by means of reason we arrange, all the phenomena of nature; and the one link uniting the sense and reason of man to the phenomena of nature is Science.) This might be reasoned out and illustrated. to any length ; but we forbear, believing that it will be readily understood and admitted. We are, however, anxious to draw attention to the position in which we now stand. We have achieved science; and science is the union between man and nature— ‘ The application of this idea is shown in the happiest and most con- vincing manner in the first lecture of The Testimony of the Rocks, in which it is shown that man classifies all his knowledge, in consequence of his mind possessing a native tendency to classify, or a native principle of classification. But while this principle, implanted in him by his Creator, impels him to classify, he finds, as he advances in his pleasing task, that there already runs through all nature an aptness to be classified in certain all-pervading principles and analogies, which concur in combining all things under certain great leading principles, relations, and resemblances, —intimating very clearly that the Creator Himself made all His works in accordance with principles of classification,—that in this respect nature itself proves that the mind of man is an image of the mind of God, and that as Man is conscious of design, he cannot but gee design in creation, proving it to be the work of an Infinitely. Wise Designing Mind—of Gop. E 66 NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. I. between the subjective and the objective worlds. It unites the intuitions of reason with the perceived phenomena of nature. It contains portions of both elements, and thereby unites them. If there were not a universal harmony between man and nature, there could not be science. But there is science ; therefore there is a universal harmony between them. The objective universe of nature, and the subjective universe of mind, are in reality only the separate elements of one and the same universe: consequently, if we find the cause of the one, we find the cause of the other,—the cause of, external nature must be the cause of the moral world within us. This is the conclusion we are already entitled to form,—a conclusion very different from that to which sophistry tried to mislead us. We are no doubt greatly indebted to science for aiding us in reaching this conclusion by so direct and clear a path. We may, however, add that men of science themselves frequently miss this conclusion—not only in such instances as that of Comte, but in the case of many others from whom better things might have been expected. It may be worth while to specify what we apprehend to be the reason of their aberration. Some time since it was regarded as an indubitable philosophical truth, that nothing more was to be found in nature but ante- cedents and sequences, following each other with sufficient uniformity to furnish ground for science, but never yielding direct evidence of a real cause. The word nevertheless was very convenient, and they used it, but generally with a warn- ing to their readers that it was to be understood as meaning nothing more than invariable sequence, because real cause was not known in nature, and could not be known. They could not therefore find any real cause in nature, for they did not expect to find it—nay, denied that it could be found. It was not possible, from such a defective premiss, to arrive at an adequate conclusion. But they did use a term which implied all that they denied, though they did not fully define that term: they used the term force to indicate that unseen and unknown, but real power, which was found to pervade all nature, and to produce all its perceptible changes. . They ‘ estimated its power; they calculated the amount of that power; they marked the laws of its operations; they calculated with it; they used it as an absolute reality, and yet they would not admit it to be a true physical cause. Were they afraid that, OE EE CHAP. IV.] THE ARGUMENT A POSTERIORI. 67 if they admitted a cause in nature, they would not be able to deny a great First Cause—supernatural, supreme, divine? If this was not their secret reason,—and we will not assert that it was,—their conduct and reasoning were irrationally unscientific, and had the miserable effect of leaving them in the grasp of infidelity and fatalism—of that blind force which was to them the unconscious God of their unconscious universe—the strong inexorable destiny of unreasoning power, perhaps a material Pantheism, or an unintelligible Idealism. There has, however, of late a great and propitious change taken place among our men of highest science. Few of them would seek now to conceal the indications of nature that all is full of cause, and lead the thoughtful observer of nature up to the Cause of causes—to God. Many of them delight to make their profound knowledge of science, and science itself, instru- mental in illustrating the divine attributes—the power, the wisdom, and the goodness of God, as manifested in the universe. From all such right-minded scientific men we would confidently anticipate the ready admission, that the use which we have made of science in our argument is a correct and true one, and that they delight to trace, in their own manner, the clear and daily multiplying proofs that He who created the mind of man, and sent him forth to study and interpret nature, is also the Creator of the universe in which man has been placed, that he might lend it his reason and his voice, and fill it with the anthem of intelligent praise. Many eloquent passages precisely to this effect might be quoted from the writings of Sir John Herschell, Professor Whewell, Professor Sedgwick, Sir David Brewster, and other men pre-eminent in science, to whose able and learned works we gladly refer. But above them all in directness of purpose, in deep searching investigation, in vividness of descrip- tion, and in magnificent splendour of expression, would we place the various geological works of the late Hugh Miller, particularly in his latest work, The Testimony of the Rocks, in which, despite the small detailed criticisms of some small critics, we find what we venture to term the noblest and best contribu- tion to Natural Theology, in the argument from design, that has ever been produced. 68 NATURAL THEOLOGY. 7 [DIV. I SEC. II. DOCTRINE OF ADAPTATION—DESIGN. The most common mode of stating and prosecuting the @ posteriori argument is by means of what is termed design. By the word design is meant, in its most simple sense, the adap- tation of means to the accomplishment of some end. This, of course, assumes that there is some end in view which is sought to be obtained, and that the means likely to accomplish that end are chosen and employed. This, again, implies mind exercising thought and reason, with the deliberate intention and the forecasting plan of employing means such as may produce the desired result. It implies, further, the idea of power, and the use of that power by the thinking and forecasting mind. All this is contained in a full conception of what is meant by the term design. Mind using matter for the accomplishment of its own intentions, is what we mean when we speak of the operations of designing mind. The course commonly adopted by writers on the & posterior: argument, is to contemplate nature as purely objective, and from the observed arrangements to draw such inferences as may seem valid under the ordinary laws of causation. According to that method, we do not commence with the conception of mind, and judge of its wisdom by our perception of the skill with which the means have been chosen and applied; but we mark the existing arrangements, and endeavour to discover whether they are manifestly such as infer adaptation to an end —and therefore infer that such an end was in view, and led to that arranged adaptation—and that therefore there must be mind designing, that is, with an end in contemplation, and adapting suitable means for its accomplishment. This is the simplest and most common conception of the a posteriort argument. This is the method which has been adopted and employed by Paley with consummate ability and skill, so far as clear state- ment and convincing argument are concerned. In order that the real and absolute value of the & posteriora argument may be fairly tested, it must in the first instance be restricted rigidly to the sphere of external nature,—the objective world ; and all considerations drawn from the mental constitution of man must be carefully excluded. We do not mean to say that, in an earnest attempt to learn what we can from nature regarding the attributes and character of its CHAP. IV.] THE ARGUMENT A POSTERIORI. 69 Author, for the satisfaction of our own minds, we are not at liberty to make use of every element within our reach,—as men generally do; but we mean to say, that in order scientifi- cally to construct and produce an argument intended to con- vince possible gainsayers, we must keep strictly within the proper limits of that argument. How much, then, can nature actually teach us, under the ordinary laws of causation, even limiting the idea of physical causation to the notion of force, and excluding reflective thought drawn from self? This is our present question. By the very slightest observation of nature, we are con- strained to admit the adaptation of means to an end,—even the arrangement and use of forces to produce some result by their means. But when we thus rigidly keep within the region of nature alone, we are at once met by the specious objections of the sophist. “I grant,” he may say, “that all things are im conditions suitable to their nature; for otherwise they could not exist, or at least could not perform their functions; but while this manifests existing suitableness, it does not necessarily prove designed adaptation. There may be in nature some plastic power of prodigiously varied capacity for the produc- tion of form and function. That power might have gone on producing fishes, for example, on land, where they could not perform their functions, and therefore could not exist, and are not found existing. But when it produced them in the sea, although without any more design than before, they would then be in condition to perform their functions, and to exist. Their actual existence can thus be accounted for without inferring design ; and therefore I deny that their existence can prove design.” This is no caricature: it is a fair specimen of the reasonings of the school of the Positive Philosophy. But it is adequately met and refuted, when we take into consideration such complex facts as serial existences,—organisms which require numerous inter-related and co-related adaptations, not one of which could exist and perform its functions without the co-existent presence of all the others, and not one of which has the power to produce any other; or, the correlated groups of vegetables, combining to form classification and order, based upon their mutual relations, but none having the power to impart that common relation, and so form the ground-element of the group; or, the absolute and permanent mathematical 70 NATURAL THEOLOGY. ! "PA prvcre ratios which are found to exist in many departments of nature, regulating their constitution and action when so arranged, but which arrangement has no power to produce itself. All these observed facts in nature prove that there is more than the mere performance of a function,—that there is a long, elaborate, complex, and well-arranged preparation for the performance itself, without which it would not be possible; and this is ample and irresistible proof that there is in nature the adapta- tion of means to a designed end. We hold, therefore, that the argument is conclusive to that extent, and we set aside unhesitatingly the objection of the founder of Positivism. A different kind of objection is stated by those who seem too much afraid of what they term “the doctrine of final causes”? as very liable to encourage men to frame hasty con- jectures, instead of following the more laborious path of strict science. The “doctrine of final causes,’ rightly understood, is precisely the argument from design. The term “final cause’? means that there is some final object in view, the attainment of which has caused the adoption and employment of certain means for that purpose: it is termed jinal, because it is the end ultimately in view; and it is termed a cause, on account of the impulse which it gives to the mind, leading it to frame and employ means for its attainment. It is employed also in contradistinction to the term efficient cause, or that active power or immediate agency by the operation of which the result is directly produced. An efficient cause is true and direct causation; but a final cause is the end in view, or design, inducing the mind to choose, and also to employ, means adapted to that end. Now, in the process of investigating nature, and tracing the adaptation of means to an end, it is very possible that men of ardent and hasty minds may leap to a rash conclusion, assume an end before it has been proved to be manifestly the end, and may misinterpret nature in order to get something like proof of their own foregone conclusion. Something like this was the custom generally of ancient philosophy. ‘These ancient philosophers were much in the habit of thinking out a system of nature,—imagining a series of ends in view which nature had to accomplish,—and then attempting to obtain from nature proofs or indications that these were the very ends for the accomplishment of which nature was so constituted. It is obvious enough that this was —-i- ee CHAP. IV.] THE ARGUMENT A POSTERIORI. 71 not to interpret nature, but to force an interpretation upon nature; and that it might produce plenty of conjecture, but could not give rise to science. So far as the danger of such a process may be supposed still to exist, it is all right and well to warn against it. But it would be an enormous abuse of such a caution, to employ it against the legitimate use of tracing out the proof of design, and thereby proving that mind governs nature. Bacon expressed himself disparagingly regarding the “ doctrine of final causes.” But he had to contend against the misuse of that doctrine by the schoolmen of the middle ages ; and thus understood and applied, his disparaging language 1s neither too strong nor ill-directed. We are not, however, to regard this as intended to cast discredit on the process by which we may cautiously and correctly trace design in nature’s adaptations. The very same argument with which Paley begins his celebrated treatise, may be used with regard to any of what are called the productions of nature, from a leaf to a forest, from a drop of water to the ocean, from a ray of light to the starry heavens, from an insect to a man of the loftiest genius, a Milton or a Newton. The illustration may be illimitable, but the argument is one and the same. The direct conclusion must always be, that the Author of all this is a mind—an intelligent, designing mind—a mind possessing formative design, and form- ing power adequate to its accomplishment. It may be added, however, that though the argument, as Paley left it, is as complete and conclusive as it can be, con- sidered as argument ; yet the progress of science is continually adding to its sphere of application, and modifying some of its statements. For example, the finding of a stone on the heath would not now admit of such a summary dismissal with a care- less evasion of any answer, as it would have done in the time of Paley. It might be picked up, examined closely, and seen to be a specimen of some very remarkable geological formation. In the hands of a Hugh Miller it might be made to tell of a former world—of its strangely scaled and armed inhabitants— of its vast and finely-constructed flora—of the manifold proofs of design in the complicated structure of plant or animal therein embedded, and preserved in the dark period of time long gone by, as if for the very purpose of instructing future man, and teaching him that the God in whom he himself lived, and 72 NATURAL THEOLOGY. (DIV. L moved, and had his being, is the same “ Ancient of days” who framed and ruled the earlier world on whose relics he is gazing. This, however, would not be any real alteration of the argument, far less any invalidation of it; but it would be a new application of it, furnished by advancing science for, its confirmation. To resume and prosecute the argument itself, the inquiry now rises: Nature indeed throughout is manifestly constructed on a principle that shows adaptation of means to’ an end; but what does this prove? When considered objectively, and without any reference to our own self-consciousness and its intuitions, does it prove the existence of God? The adaptation of means to an end certainly proves mind, by proving design. But as. the existence of a watch proves only skill and power in the maker of it, out of previously existing materials, yet cannot prove that he could have made the materials themselves; so the adaptations in nature may prove amply the existence of mind with skill and power enough to produce these adaptations, but does not at least necessarily prove that this mind also gave existence to the material employed in the construction of nature. For anything that this argument has yet proved, or perhaps can prove, matter may have existed eternally, incapable of becoming a world of order and life by means of anything in itself, but capable of being arranged into a world by a mind possessing adequate intelligence and power. The existence of matter cannot, we apprehend, be proved either to have been eternal or not eternal; for there does not seem to be any element for the proof of either within our reach. But when we contemplate matter as it exists in the forms and adaptations of nature, each of these forms and adaptations can be proved to have had a beginning caused by a design. This may be proved most easily by attending to the region of life, where each living organism comes into being by reproduction, that is, by deriva- tion from a parent, also a living organism, and never merely from inorganic matter, showing the necessary existence of a power greater than nature—a creative Parent. It might be proved also by arguments drawn from the science of astronomy ; for it may be shown that the forces which, by their steady co- operation, keep the planetary bodies in their orbits, could not possibly have placed them in the positions where these forces produce at once motion and equipoise. CHAP. IV.] THE ARGUMENT A POSTERIORI. . 73 From the study of nature, then, by the & posteriori argu- ment alone, applied solely to the objective universe, we obtain with clear certainty the conclusion that there is a great First Cause, distinct from nature, and the cause of nature’s arrange- ments; and that the first attribute of this cause 1s power— absolute power over the physical creation. At this point we find ourselves again in contact and colli- sion with one of the kinds of scepticism. When we confine our attention solely to the objective physical world, we find power, both efficient and constructive: we find power adequate to employ such force as is sufficient to originate all the motions of all the universe, and this is efficient causation ; and we find also power of such a character as to originate all arrangement —designing and formative power. If we regard man’s physical structure merely as physical structure, we find the same argu- ment further illustrated, but nothing more. And as long as we exclude man’s mental and moral constitution, we cannot find more. Now this is precisely what: the sceptical reasoner does. He rigidly excludes the human mind, its moral consti- tution, and the constitution of human society, from his con- sideration, and then he frames his conclusion from what objective nature alone has furnished. Objective nature has furnished the perception of power, and that, too, of designing power, adapting means to an end. But it has not furnished the concept of moral power, so long as man’s inner nature is excluded from the consideration. The concept of mere design- ing power gives rise very readily to the complex concept, “ laws of nature,” by which an intelligible name is given to the mani- fold indications of design that have been observed. These “laws of nature” do well enough for physical science to reason from, or reason with; but they seem to enable the man of physical science to rest satisfied without rising to the idea of any higher power. Not only so, but, as we have already seen, he may employ them sophistically to neutralize or annihilate the idea of causation. “ Laws of nature there unquestionably are,” he says, “ for we can trace their uniform operation ; but cause we cannot find.” Yet what is a law of nature in uniform operation, but a uniformly operating cause ?? 1 The phrase ‘‘laws of nature” may seem to demand a few remarks. There are two different ways in which men are liable to misunderstand and misuse this very common expression. They may use it to convey the idea 74 NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. L The discussion with the sceptical man of science might take a somewhat different form. We might ask whether he regards these laws of nature as having each a distinct substantive existence of its own; or whether he regards them as somehow inherent in some one vast comprehensive law-power existing in nature. He will scarcely ascribe to each a substantive existence, lest he should glide into a multiplex mythology, full of innu- merable deities. But he may try to give some such explana- tion of a great general law pervading all nature, and manifesting its existence and power in special forms of law; and as these special laws all operate with unchanging constancy, he must conclude that the general law is also unchangingly constant. That is, nature acts under the uniform influence of some vast but unintelligent power—a destiny—a fate—a material Pantheism. He may, perhaps, turn boldly round and say, “ What other conclusion can even your views of man and society yield? You assume a God, and you worship Him; but what does that that the laws of nature are the direct operations of God,—that there is no power-in nature, and no causation, but the direct divine agency working always and everywhere, and uniformly in the same manner throughout the universe. This, which was the idea of Malebranche, has an aspect of great sublimity,—seems to ascribe all glory to God in everything, from the revo- lutions of suns and systems, to the attraction of atoms, and the twinkling of gnats in the sunshine,—and has imposed upon many. But it leads inevitably to a kind of grand-looking, idealistic Pantheism, and even then to an absolute Fatalism, if it adopt the notion of an impersonal God. On the other hand, if men give a physical meaning to the phrase, it must end in either a materialistic Pantheism or a material Fatalism, which is neces- sarily pure Atheism. But if men will earnestly analyze the phrase ‘laws of nature,” they may find two different conceptions appearing, each of great importance to a sincere inquirer. It may be possible to show, that when a merely physical meaning is given to the term law, it can imply nothing more than the ultimate fact to which an extensive induction may have led, —the aggregate designation given to that ultimate element in which all the subordinate elements of the wide induction seem to combine, as in their proper root. In this sense it is not a power at all, but an ultimate fact,— something like a mathematical axiom, with which or from which men may proceed to reason. Or if a metaphysical meaning be given to the term, it may be shown that in this sense all law resides in mind, must act in conformity with the nature of mind,—must be the expression of design in mind,—and may be the expression of an intelligent, conscious, moral, personal mind; and the operations which it directs may be as uniform as the will of that infinite mind, putting forth its agency in accordance with infinite wisdom and goodness. —— CHAP. IV. ] THE ARGUMENT A POSTERIORI. 75 avail you against the laws of nature? Does not one event happen equally to the righteous and the wicked—to the man who worships, and the man who worships not, when either of them violates these inexorable and unchanging laws? They are inevitable and unchanging; and they must be unintelligent and unconscious, otherwise they might be termed unjust, if not even malignant.” This is perhaps the worst form that Scepticism, or Ration- alism, or Secularism, or whatever name it bears, can take; and it derives all its plausibility from its exclusive reference to the objective material world. So long as it is allowed to keep itself strictly within that region, and so long as we allow it to do so by doing the same ourselves in our argument, it may be found very difficult to meet this objection. But we are not bound to do so. We have been using our reason all along, even in attending to the sceptic’s argument; and he has been using his reason in producing it. But reason, human reason, his and ours, has its essence in self-consciousness, and has an absolute and indestructible right to employ all the laws of thought that self-consciousness can yield. Objective nature has proved to us the existence of a designing power. But our own conscious- ness was engaged in helping us out with that great inference— even in giving the form of thought, without which the inference could neither have been conceived nor have found expres- sion. By the same consciousness, we know that design neces- sarily implies mind—conscious mind—intelligent mind—mind intending, willing, acting. We reject, therefore, the sceptic’s conclusion, as inconsistent with our own consciousness—incon- sistent with his own consciousness, if he will but attend to its intimations—inconsistent with human consciousness in its most comprehensive sense. This answer we can confidently give to the reasoner of sceptical tendency, and can appeal to a power within his own being which he cannot dispute; or if he do dispute his own consciousness, our argument ends—we cease to have common ground for further discussion. But while we can silence the sceptic, we may feel that his argument has raised an uneasy feeling within us which we cannot so readily silence. We can- not deny that there are constantly occurring in human life, events of the most painfully perplexing kind. We see around us the good man in a state of calamity and affliction, and the 4 76 NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. I. wicked man in a state of comfort and prosperity. We feel within us a moral power persuading us to what is righteous, and true, and just; but we do not readily and constantly comply with its dictates, and we are tortured by remorse, and haunted by the dread of punishment. We perceive that similar senti- ments are entertained by our fellow-men, and similar conduct pursued. We perceive, moreover, that there are no such irre- gularities in the arrangements and operations of the physical world ; that it is so constituted, that if we were always in ac- cordance with what men term its laws, we might be always in the enjoyment of welfare and happiness. This latter consider- ation agrees with our conviction, that the cause of this world is not a cause only, but a moral governor; yet still we feel that our condition is one of inexplicable mystery, so far at least as we have yet learned from nature. But this very objection, and the nature of the topics which it suggests, constrain us to direct our attention to the human element of the inquiry ; that is, into a consideration of the mental and moral nature of man, the constitution of society, and the addition which these con- siderations give to the & posteriori argument. This considera- tion both prompts and impels, nay, constrains us to have re- course to the region of man’s moral nature; which, however, is both legitimately within our present province, and has a right to demand from us a full and attentive investigation. CHAPTER V. ARGUMENT FORMED BY COMBINATION OF A PRIORI AND A POSTERIORI METHODS. st CALL HOUT entering into any lengthened or minute 4e| examination of the human mind, as is done in the study of Mental Philosophy, we may direct attention to some of its main aspects and general principles, so far as is necessary to introduce and apply the portion of our argument on which we are now about to enter. It is a very important fact-in our constitution, that in con- sequence of the addition to one class of human faculties of another of a higher order, even the lower class acquires both expansion and elevation, and becomes subject to laws not other- wise applicable to it. The merely intellectual or cognitive powers of the mind, for example, do not of themselves give rise to the sentiment or idea of right and wrong in any moral sense. But when we direct our attention to a higher class of human faculties, usually termed the active powers of the mind, we find them all pervaded by an element of a new character, which continually suggests the idea of rightness or wrongness, and gives rise to the sentiment of approbation or disapprobation, producing a result necessary to their beneficial existence and operation. All the active powers of the mind tend to bring man into contact with man; and that this contact may not be incessant hostility, there must be some means of making it con- cord. Hence it is apparent that we are entering another and a higher region, and have now to do with nobler elements. But if, before we explore this new region, we turn round and look back, and down, on any previous survey of the human mind that we have made, with regard to its sentient, percipient, and - intellectual faculties, we shall find that, in consequence of the union of intellectual and active powers in the same being, even the intellectual faculties become subject to the laws that regu- late the active powers, and can be regarded in this combined 78 NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. I. aspect with feelings of approbation or disapprobation. Ai here whole man is now lifted into a moral region, and must be viewed as a moral being. But we can scarcely even begin to explore this moral region of our nature without perceiving, that while the Desires and Affections, to use the common terms (the conative in Sir W. Hamilton’s language), prompt men to action, it is not to action unrestrained,—not to action irrespective of consequences to ourselves and others. Throughout their whole range they are characterized by the presence of something which leads us to regard their exercise as right or wrong in special circumstances, and to regulate it accordingly. This is peculiarly perceptible in the constant notion which we entertain respecting the pro- priety of their limitations. The unrestrained indulgence of any appetite, desire, or affection invariably calls forth the senti- ment of disapprobation. This is not the case with regard to the merely intellectual or cognitive faculties. The only limita- tion which they sustain is that arising from their own weakness; and though this may cause regret, it would never give rise to the idea of demerit,—or rather, it excludes that sentiment. But the idea of a limitation, to pass which excites the senti- ment of disapprobation, suggests of necessity the idea of a law fixing the limits which the indulgence of desires and affec- tions ought not to pass. Limitation, thus viewed as fixed by law, necessarily implies the existence of a faculty having authority to determine these limits, and to regulate the entire exercise of the active powers. Hence arise the ideas of duty, moral obligation, and responsibility. To act in obedience to these ideas is right; to violate them is wrong. This, however, does not exhaust the idea or sentiment; for while we can con- sider states of mind in themselves, apart from the actions to which they prompt, we can also regard those states with appro-_ bation or disapprobation, viewed in their very nature and essence, and without taking into consideration the idea of limitation. Further, in the exercise of the moral faculty we are conscious of a pleasurable or painful emotion, as we approve or disapprove. Thus we arrive at the full conception of the moral faculty, and we now perceive that its nature is to decide respecting the rightness or wrongness, the merit or demerit, of every appetite, desire, and affection; that it has Gathiiity to determine the limits within which they shall be exercised, and ae ee “eS CHAP. V.] THE TWO ARGUMENTS IN COMBINATION. 79 to regulate their whole course of order and action; and that all its decisions are inherently accompanied or pervaded by the emotion of pleasure when it pronounces the sentence of appro- bation, or pain when it expresses disapprobation, both with re- gard to our own conduct and that of others. There is yet one preliminary remark which must be made: Although the moral faculty takes cognizance of all states of mind, and passes its decisions upon them all, and upon the actions to which they impel, regarding them with very different and ever varying degrees of approbation or the reverse, yet in its own operations it must always be felt as one faculty,—not the combination of many faculties, each acting in its turn, but One Faculty, having a province of its own, taking cognizance of everything which enters that province, and asserting a rightful supremacy within that peculiar province. SEC. I. DIFFERENT THEORIES OF MORALS. It may be expedient to direct our attention very briefly to some of the prevalent theories of morals which have been promulgated by philosophers; keeping meanwhile in remem- brance as distinctly as possible, that conception of the moral faculty at which we have arrived. The moral faculty we conceive to be, that one active power of the mind whose nature it is to take cognizance of the distinction between right and wrong, good and evil in all other states of mind, and in all actions prompted by these states ; whose decisions have a neces- sary and inherent authority, prescribing limits to, and regulat- ing the actions of, all our appetites, desires, and affections, and giving rise to the moral sentiments of duty, moral obligation, and responsibility ; and in all whose actions there is inherent the pleasurable or painful emotions of approbation or disappro- bation. Let it be carefully marked, that the moral faculty does not create the distinction between right and wrong, but merely takes cognizance of it, discerns it, and declares it; and that therefore its decisions, however authoritative, do not and cannot form the ultimate standard of morality. That action, or mental state, may very confidently be said to be right, which the moral faculty approves; or still more confidently may be said to be wrong to the individual himself, whose moral faculty disapproves; but that action or mental state may be wrong, 80 NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. I, _which the moral faculty does not condemn. Any theory of morals, therefore, framed from the unaided decision of the moral faculty alone, may be both inaccurate and incomplete. Had this consideration been more clearly and constantly before the minds of moral philosophers, they might have avoided many errors; and indeed their whole speculations on ethical subjects must have borne a different aspect. Various theories of morals, or statements of such leading principle or principles as might be respectively the foundation of a theory of ethics, have been propounded from time to time, the chief of which are the following : 1. That Virtue, or moral rectitude, consists in living according to nature (Stoic). 2. That what produces the greatest amount of happiness 1s Virtue (Epicurean). 3. That the just medium between extremes is Virtue (the Aris- totelian). 4. The Eternal Fitnesses of things, or abstract ideal Truth (Cudworth and others). : 5. Utility, Prudence, Expediency, wisely adjusted Compro- mise (Paley and others). 6. The Moral Sense, percipient of moral relations (Hutcheson and others). 1. Right Reason, Judgment, Sympathy, Universal Benevolence (Smith and others). | 8. The Love of Being, elevated into the Love of God (Jonathan _ Edwards). 9, Conscience (Bishop Butler, Sir James Mackintosh, Dr. Chalmers, and others). It is not my intention to investigate and analyze these various theories of morals at any length; but a few remarks on the most important of them, and on the principles from which they spring, may be beneficial. The three leading theories of antiquity—the Stoic, Epicurean, and Aristotelian— accordance with nature, love of happiness, and the just medium —are all defective. The axiom that virtue is living in accord- ance with nature has in it a portion of truth, for it recognises constitutional principles as in themselves right and authori- tative; and every person must be aware that a life spent in CHAP. V.] THE TWO ARGUMENTS IN COMBINATION. 81 habitual violation of nature’s dictates must be wrong in itself, and is productive of misery. But we need a definition of nature. Does it mean the constitution of each several man ? —that is too varied. Or of mankind in general ?—that is both too vague and too limited. Or of the universe, including the Deity, its Creator? To the knowledge of that we cannot attain. We must therefore abandon that theory. We turn, then, to the Jove of happiness. But here we are at once met by the difficulty of finding any general harmony in the opinions of mankind respecting happiness, wherein it consists. The opinions of men respecting happiness are as varied as are their tastes and habits. All men instinctively desire happiness ;_ but their ideas of happiness are infinitely diversified, consequently this can furnish no sure standard of morals,—nay, it can fur- nish no criterion at all, nor any rule for the guidance of our conduct, since each man’s taste and wishes would be his own » peculiar rule. There may seem to be something more plausible in the theory which takes for its basis the just medium between extremes. But what are extremes? That may be the extreme to one man, which is the ordinary course of conduct to another; consequently there could be no correspondence and no medium between the views which such men. would take. There is needed for such a theory some mode of estimating extremes, or rather, perhaps, some mode of fixing a medium,—the very thing assumed,—the distance from which is the estimate of extremes. That is, the theory has itself no basis, and there- fore can never come into practical existence. The more modern theories already enumerated may be considerably reduced by being grouped together, and their examination thereby simplified. The theory which would make moral rectitude to consist in the Eternal Fitness of things, has for its origin the Platonic theory, that all creation was framed in conformity with ideas pre-existent in the Divine Mind. Among these archetypal ideas there necessarily existed a harmonious congruity, absolutely perfect. The perfection of creation would therefore consist in its embodiment of these ideas, and in the relations of existent or created things, corre- sponding to each other as completely as did the relations of the archetypal ideas in the Divine Mind. There is something exceedingly grand, even sublime, in this theory, and it has to some extent modified almost every modern system of morals. F 82 NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. I. It forms the basis of the systems of Cudworth, Clarke, and Price. It underlies and pervades the whole of the German theories, from Leibnitz to Kant. Its influence is perceptible in the systems of Malebranche, Butler, Paley, Hutcheson, Smith, and even of Jonathan Edwards. But it lies open to one insur- mountable objection—it cannot be so apprehended by man as to furnish him with a rule of duty. Let it be granted that there were in the Divine Mind from all eternity archetypal ideas, in accordance with which He framed the universe ; and let it be said that right and wrong implies the agreement or disagree- ment between the created universe and these ideas, or even between the relations of those created things which compose the universe ;—still it will be impossible for any mind but that of the Deity Himself to have a full and complete perception of all these relations and their agreement: consequently the eternal fitnesses of things, and abstract yet universal and immutable truth, can be the standard of moral rectitude to no being but the Creator. It might be added, that a misconception of this great theory, and misuse of it, lies at the root of idealistic Pantheism. Another class of moral systems places the standard of morality in what is variously termed The Good—The Summum Bonum—Good upon the whole—The Beneficial—The Useful, or Expedient. There is considerable plausibility and some truth in these theories, which are all pervaded by that master element which professes to have the production of good and happiness for its object. But they, too, require an extent of — knowledge of which a finite mind is not capable. There is nothing of which we obtain greater certainty by almost daily experience, than the fact that what at any given present time we regarded as good, we may soon have reason to regret, or even to condemn as evil. At no time are we able with certainty to say that a wider range of knowledge or a more prolonged view of future consequences may not change entirely our esti- mate of what, with our present knowledge, we consider good. What is right will always prove ultimately expedient ; but that may seem expedient which is not right, and will ultimately prove injurious. Further, let it be observed, that both the theories which assume for their basis the eternal jitnesses of things, and those that assume the good and the useful, are, after all, conceptions of the intedlect, rather than of the moral faculties CHAP. V.] THE TWO ARGUMENTS IN COMBINATION. 83 of the mind. Not only are they necessarily liable to error, as has been shown; but even though their certainty were far greater than it is or can be, they would not produce the distinctive characteristics of morality. An error in knowledge, or even an error in judgment, may call forth in a man’s mind the feeling of regret that he did not know more, or judge more correctly ; but it would not necessarily cause the painful emotion of self- condemnation, which forms the characteristic element in the consciousness of moral delinquency. From none of these theories, therefore, nor from the general principles which per- vade them all, can we derive the full idea of duty—of right and wrong—of responsibility. A careful perusal of the various works in which those theories are stated and advocated, might be instructive with regard to moral perceptions and moral sentiments, but could never enable us to frame a complete and satisfactory standard of morality. There is another class of moral theories which, in our opinion, approach much nearer the truth—such as the moral sense, sympathy, universal benevolence, the love of being. The most direct notion that we can form of the term moral sense is, that there is a faculty in the mind which has for its proper function the perception of morality. The word sense must be understood to be derived from the analogy of the bodily senses, and to mean a faculty of a distinct and separate nature im- planted in the mind, and thereby enabling us to perceive morality. ‘Thus understood, the term conveys important truth ; but it is necessary to guard against the perverse interpretation which the ideal theory gives to this term, and by which the primary meaning of the word sense, as implying a bodily capa- city, is attempted to be fixed on the term moral sense. There is another remark which must be made with regard to this term. It does not very directly suggest the idea, that the operations of the moral sense must be both emotional and authoritative ; yet, fairly understood, it implies, or at least it does not contradict, that idea. For if it be admitted to be an original faculty of the mind, then all its operations must be authoritative, and all its evidences and judgments intuitive, since, being original, its existence and operations cannot admit of any other proof than that of conscious existence ; and since its very nature is emo- tional, the existence of its proper emotions is their own and their only evidence. When we thus understand the moral 84 - NATURAL THEOLOGY. (DIV. I. sense, or, as we prefer to term it, the moral faculty, we are prepared to see in what manner sympathy, though not itself the moral faculty, is well fitted to act as its ready handmaid. | For the office of the moral faculty is to decide respecting the con- duct, not less of others than of ourselves. By sympathy, we are enabled to put ourselves in the condition of other men ; and we thereby obtain a better position for judging both truly and mercifully concerning their states of mind and actions, than would otherwise be -possible. Advancing in our investigation, the theory of universal benevolence appears. The origin of this theory of morals seems to have been the perception of the pleasurable emotion in acts of moral approbation, and the love which instinctively springs up in the heart towards those of whose conduct we approve. That love accompanies most acts of moral approbation, every one may ascertain from his own consciousness; but even here there may be perceived a distinction. When we pronounce any act to be just and right, we render it moral approbation ; but the emotional feeling which accompanies it is not neces- sarily Jove—it may be admiration merely. We may be correctly said to admire a just or right action, and to love a good action. The theory of universal benevolence does not therefore include the entire province of the moral faculty ; consequently it can- not furnish a true and adequate theory, far less a true standard of morals. Further, as has been previously stated, the theory of universal benevolence has never been found to have any prac- tical existence among mankind; nor can it give to its decisions the impress of authority. Even the philosophical writers who promulgate this theory, while they demand for the principle itself approbation, do not venture to brand the want of it with decided disapprobation ; and not one of them has himself ever attempted to exemplify its existence in his own conduct. Christians have done so, because they were actuated by a higher motive ; but no mere philosopher has ever realized that theory by acting on its principle. ‘The theory of Jonathan Edwards approximates to the truth in its consequences, but cannot possibly be operative, and to the greater part of mankind is unintelligible. The love of being, so far as any clear notion can be formed of such an expression, is not inconsistent with the authoritative dictates of revelation ; but could neither have been formed from the phi- losophy of mind itself, nor can be so distinctly apprehended by CHAP. V.] THE TWO ARGUMENTS IN COMBINATION. 85 the mind, as to become the basis of moral thought, or the rule of moral conduct. I am inclined to conjecture, that Edwards began by taking the Scripture standard, the love of God, and then attempted to translate that into the form of a philosophical principle, and to couch its statement in philosophical language. If we may regard this supposition as a correct one, we: are immediately put in possession of the explanation; but if we regard it merely as a philosophical theory, we are surprised that anything so vague could be produced by such a man, The last theory which I shall briefly examine, is that of Butler, who terms the moral faculty conscience. In explaining his view, Butler is at pains to relieve it from the charge of selfish- ness. The necessity for this will be at once apparent, when it is borne in mind, that even the theory of universal benevo- lence has been termed “ refined self-love.” Butler shows that the fact of pleasure being conjoined with many gratifications of appetite or desire, does not prove these appetites or desires to be inherently selfish. The appetite of hunger craves food; and there is gratification or pleasure in taking the food so craved. But it is possible to conceive of the hunger appeased without that peculiar, gratification; and it is certain that the simple sensation of hunger has no respect whatever to the gratification of the sense of taste. In like manner, every desire or affection seeks its own object for the sake simply of obtaining it. Plea- sure, no doubt, is experienced in the attainment; but that pleasure formed no necessary part of the result sought directly under the impulse of the desire. When we seek the gratifica- tion or the good of another person, the obtaining of that result gives us pleasure ; but the obtaining of that result was not the object we had in view: nay, in truth, the less we have any pleasurable result to ourselves in view, the more certain we are to gain it. Intense hunger or thirst pays no regard to the pleasure of the palate; but the hungry or thirsty man enjoys a degree of pleasure from even bread and water, such as the most thorough gourmand cannot even imagine. And the more en- tirely disinterested that any benevolent action is, the more exquisite is the gratification experienced by the generous bene- factor. All these views of human nature tend to show, that according to man’s original constitution, the mere desire of selfish gratification is not, the ruling element of his nature ; and although it were so, that no moral code or system could ‘be. 86 NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. I. deduced from these views, yet they tend to show, if not to prove, that there was a pre-arranged suitability in man for the super- addition of a moral faculty. That moral faculty is CONSCIENCE. Its function is to survey, and approve or disapprove, the several affections of our minds and actions of our lives. In its own nature it is supreme, and claims a rightful authority over all the faculties of mind and principles of action. It expresses approbation or disapproba- tion promptly and at once, without the lengthened inquiry which the theory of fitness, or of utility, or even of universal benevolence, would require. Its perceptions are intuitive, and its judgments intuitive. Emotion is in all its acts. When it condemns a man’s own deed, the painful feeling of remorse arises ; when it approves, a placid feeling of unutterable delight pervades the heart and mind. When it disapproves the mental state and actions of another person, he is regarded with feelings of aversion or indignation; when it approves, our emotions towards the man are those of esteem and love. When it de- clares respecting any contemplated action that it is might, we feel it to be our duty to do that action. If it regards any action with disapprobation, we are morally bound not to do that action. It tells us what duty is—we thence feel moral obligation ; and we further feel, that if we violate that duty, we shall be called to answer for doing so: thence arises what we term responst- bility. From this feeling of responsibility we cannot escape. I may conceal a wrong desire, or a malevolent affection, from every other human being; but I.cannot conceal it from myself ; and conscience will call me to account, if I cherish in the secrecy of my soul that wrong desire or malevolent affection. Whenever any desire arises in the mind, being an active faculty, it solicits the mind to act. But before the will can be put forth, the intuitive decision of conscience pronounces it right or wrong. If the will obey, and repel the promptings of desire, conscience approves it, and there is peace and delight. But if the will rebel against conscience, and comply with the desire, the sen- tence of disapprobation is pronounced, and the punishment of remorse is inflicted. Thus conscience asserts and indicates its supremacy, even when it is unable to control the promptings of desire and the rebellion of the wil. 1 There has been already allusion made to an important question which might be here investigated, but shall be little more than re-suggested. The CHAP. V.] THE TWO ARGUMENTS IN COMBINATION. 87 One reflection remains still to be made. Since conscience is thus proved to be the supreme ruler of man’s action, so far as anything in human nature can be a law to man, how comes it that its authoritative dictates are so frequently violated ? Does it not thus appear, that there exists in the mind of man a conception or idea of moral rectitude far higher, purer, and more true, than he can ever realize? Further, is it not matter of every day’s observation, that, from the judgments by conscience on the conduct of others, in cases where self-interest or passion does not bias or overbear its dictates, there is produced what may be termed a common conscience, which rules society with even greater supremacy than it can the individuals that con- stitute society? Again, we sometimes perceive a perverse resistance to the dictates of conscience in corporate bodies, of a kind and to a degree that no individual in those bodies would venture to display alone, because the feeling of respon- sibility has been lost or greatly weakened by its diffusion over the corporate body. All these views tend to the same point. All tend to prove that neither conscience itself, nor any system that can be framed from its general dictates, can be the standard of morality; and that conscience, though it claim supre- macy as its right, is not able to enforce that claim. The con- clusion is obvious. Man’s sovereign faculty has been dethroned. Man is a fallen and enslaved creature. This even philosophy might discern. This the word of God asserts and proves. It is not my present purpose to dwell on the conclusion to which we have thus come, either for the sake of explaining or of enforcing it; but it may be useful to state briefly, and in a succinct form, the results of our investigation respecting man’s moral nature. office of conscience, it is proved, is to distinguish between right and wrong ; but what is that quality common to all right actions, on account of which they are right,—and that opposite quality, on account of which wrong actions are wrong? I have said that conscience does not create the dis- tinction between right and wrong, but only discerns it, and then fervently and authoritatively declares it. It will not do to say that actions are right because conscience approves them ; for that would be reasoning in a circle, and saying that conscience is the faculty which approves what is right, and that that is right which conscience approves. Conscience itself, therefore, is not the ultimate standard of morality. That standard is the will, the law, the character of God; and conscience is the faculty which teaches the: duty of conformity to that law. 88 NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. I. The idea of morality appears to be this: when we behold, or mentally contemplate, any action performed by ourselves or others, we immediately perceive something in the action which we pronounce to be right or wrong. In this perception and decision we are conscious of an emotion of pleasure or of pain within our own inner being ; and we perceive the merit or de- merit of the agent, and feel towards him the sentiments either of love or of aversion. Neither the intimations which we re- ceive from our bodily senses, nor the ideas furnished, by our intellectual powers, call forth this idea of morality, or place the mind in this moral state. The active powers of the mind constantly tend to put man in positions in which there must be some controlling power to regulate their action, and prevent the incessant struggle which would otherwise arise between man and man. No considerations of fitness, or prudence, or utility, or even benevolence, can meet the necessity, because all such considerations require a range of knowledge and a compass of induction altogether unsuitable to the nature of the office to be discharged. But we are conscious of the existence within us of one high faculty which intuitively per- ceives, and promptly and authoritatively decides, every question that requires a moral decision, pronouncing this decision with authority, and giving to it the sanction of the pains or pleasures of emotional blame or approbation. This faculty we term the Moral Faculty, or Conscience. It claims an imperative supremacy; and “were its might equal to its right, it would rule the world.” But it often cannot enforce its dictates. Its decisions are liable to be overborne by impetuous passion or rebellious will. It is a dethroned sovereign ; but it still retains a sovereign’s character, and asserts a sovereign’s rights, almost always inflicting punishment even where it failed to prevent wrong. Were it utterly extinct, man would cease to be a moral creature ; were it always obeyed, he would always do right, and be happy. As it is, he is both moral and unhappy, his violations of conscience being the main cause of his un- happiness. Nothing can more clearly prove that man is a fallen creature; and in a merely philosophical point of view, the essence of his fall consists in conscience having lost its due and rightful supremacy. Besides, since conscience, even in its highest state, is not the standard of morality or the framer of moral laws, but the percipient of morality and the interpreter CHAP. V.] THE TWO ARGUMENTS IN COMBINATION. 89 of moral laws, it can be but a delegated sovereign, a vice- gerent of a Higher Power, in whose character eternal and immutable morality resides, and where will and law, embody- ing that character, form the ultimate standard of morals. To Him, therefore, must conscience apply for restoration to its lost supremacy, and for such aid as may remedy the disorder and misery of man’s fallen moral nature. Not otherwise can man be rescued from degradation,—not otherwise can man be re- stored and saved. SEC. Il. THE WILL, LIBERTY, AND NECESSITY. Our course of argument constrains us still to continue to direct our attention to man; because, as we have already found, it is impossible to prosecute our inquiry further into nature, without taking self, or self-consciousness, with us, modifying as it does all our inquiries, giving to nature its interpretation according to the laws of our own being, and often suggesting valuable topics of investigation into the cha- racter of those laws which we perceive to be in operation. We have already been led to make,some passing remarks on several of the topics which will come under discussion in this section ; but as they were then before us almost exclusively with refer- ence to external nature, we did not think that to be the proper place for anything like an adequate discussion of them. But as we are now intentionally combining what. self-consciousness tells us of man, with what we can learn from external nature, we regard ourselves as. fully at liberty, and even required, to make as much use of human nature as our limits will permit. But let it be still borne in mind, that we are viewing man as a part of objective nature, and placing him objectively before us, that we may have some competent conception of what the combined argument of nature and man, still an & posteriori argument, can give us in our study of Natural Theology, pre- paratory for the higher topic at which we shall in due time arrive. It is scarcely necessary to remark, that we retain our right to the free use of all that & priori or aaiomatic thinking has fairly given. While endeavouring to explain the moral faculty, we were led to direct our attention particularly to that which seems to be its essential element—its constant reference to actions, and 90 NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. L through them ultimately to those states of mind which prompt to action. This necessarily leads to the inquiry respecting the source of action in the mind itself, to what it is in any state of mind that produces action. When we reflect on the operations of our minds with regard to action, we are conscious of a pecu- liar forthputting of the mind’s own energy, in consequence of which a change is produced, either in the emotions of the mind or in the operations of the body, according to the internal energy so exerted. To this internal mental energy we give the name Will (or volition). Let us now look somewhat closely at the mental act which we thus designate. Some bodily appetite, or some desire or affection, arises in our complex frame and nature, and attracts our attention. We either follow the impulse or we reject it; but although the impulse arose from the natural appetite or desire in which the mind was passive, the mind is active in exerting its own energy, for the purpose of gratifying the appetite or desire, or refusing that gratification. Or we may take a higher view, in which the operations of mind are more directly contem- plated. Reason places before us two or more courses of action : we reject the one, and follow the other. We may have taken into consideration the qualities of these courses of action, as good or evil, beneficial or detrimental; but there is something more implied, when we positively determine to exert our powers in prosecuting the one rather than the other. In any and all of such cases, the mind puts forth a peculiar power, to which we give the distinctive appellation wiLL. This we regard as a primary faculty of the mind—the very faculty of action. But as it is the state of mind producing action of which the moral faculty takes direct cognizance, and on which it pro- nounces its sentence, we are thus brought to perceive that our moral responsibility has an essential relation to the wil/—that nothing can justly be called moral or immoral unless it be voluntary. Again, when we contemplate the idea of responsibility, we at once perceive that it implies the power to act or not to act, according to the dictates of the will. We invariably feel, that when we can truly say of any action that it was compulsory, that we could not possibly act otherwise, in consequence of some constraint or restraint, we feel ourselves relieved in that — instance from the feeling of responsibility. And the reason CHAP. V.] THE TWO ARGUMENTS IN COMBINATION. 91 plainly is, that in any such case our own will was not consulted or concerned, or was perhaps overborne by a power which it could not resist. Hence we are led to the conclusion, that to render any state of mind or action morally right or wrong, it must arise from the free dictates of our own will, not under any irresistible compulsion or restraint. And as the will is the primary principle of action, we thus conjoin the ideas of moral responsibility and free agency, which we regard as inseparable. | Other ideas speedily arise as we proceed in our investiga- tions. Perceiving that the decisions of the will were called forth by the appetites, desires, affections, reasons, prospects, hopes, and fears, which arose in the mind, we term these motives, regarding them as principles, or primary elements of mental motion, or calculated to excite the moving powers and faculties of the mind. Too the motives thus contemplated we ascribe some influence in eliciting the exercise of the will. Some even assert that the will is always determined by the strongest motive—an assertion which seems to me to be founded on a misconception of both motive and will, particularly the latter. Further, we perceive that when the will determines, action follows; and we put forth an energy which affects either the operations of our minds, or the position of external things by means of our bodily exertions willed into action, or both. Hence seems to arise the idea of power, and our conviction that we ourselves possess power, both over the states and operations of our own minds, and over the functions of our bodies, and thereby over things external to us. This idea of power gives rise also to the idea of causation, or of cause and effect; and from our consciousness of having the power of producing change, we conceive that every change which we observe must have been caused by some efficient power. It is true that in abstract metaphysical reasoning we are unable to detect power and causation, and find ourselves unable to pro- ceed beyond the perception of constant or invariable sequence. But while this may be all that mere metaphysical research can prove, it does not exhaust the intuitive conception of the mind produced by its own consciousness, which, notwithstanding all metaphysical arguments, and equally among all mankind, entertains the ideas of power and causation. The primary seat of this power is in the will, as mind is the jirst efficient cause. 92 NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. I. Still further, the moral faculty asserts our responsibility for our conduct. And in tracing out the conception of respon- sibility, we find it inseparably connected with the belief of our own free agency. But this leads ‘us to inquire in what free agency consists; or how man can be a free agent, and yet every event be foreseen and governed by God. This introduces one of the most dark and difficult questions which the human mind has ever attempted to investigate, and at the same time one of the most important in its bearing upon both morality and religion. The question is, How can man enjoy that. liberty necessary to a free and responsible agent, and yet all things that come to pass be predetermined and foreseen by God? Into anything like a full discussion of this great question I cannot here enter; but as I am convinced that some light may be thrown upon it, even from a brief explanation of the various ideas brought before us, and some arrangement of them when so explained, I shall proceed to the attempt, with great diffidence indeed, remembering by whom the question has been treated. The leading term to be used is the wiLu. In that term, I am persuaded, there is generally contained too much, from which no small portion of the confusion wherewith the subject is darkened has arisen. There are, as I conceive, two different though kindred states of mind indiscriminately designated by the term will. The one might be expressed by the word willingness (voluntas), the other by choice or determination (arbitrium) ; in Greek by 0cXw and Bovropa. The difference between the two is shown by attending to the difference between saying J am willing and I determine; the. one is — essentially passive, the other is essentially active. In the state of mind which I would express by the word willingness, the mind receives an impulse from some motive placed before it, applying to it and soliciting its consent. Should that consent be granted, a more active state would follow, and the mind would put forth its own inherent energies to realize the motive thus presented. But in this a new idea is evolved, and the mind directs its attention, not to the motive, but to its own act and power. Should it not consent, it would still put forth so much energy as might be required to repel the motive, and refuse to produce external action; or the same result might follow from the mere determination to withdraw attention from the motive. This is the more active state which I would CHAP. V.] THE TWO ARGUMENTS IN COMBINATION. 93 express by the word arbitrium, in which the mind exercises the faculty of choice between two or more motives, courses of con- duct, individual actions, desires, affections, or anything that requires choice, or implies choosing before acting. Motives act on the (voluntas) willingness, or percipient faculty, and tend to elicit a feeling which would say, “I consent, I am willing ;” but they can only solicit the arbitrium, the faculty of choice, the true WILL, which says, “I determine.” Motives must be carefully distinguished from efficient causes. All appetites, desires, and affections are motives, but can all be governed; all sensations are of the nature of motives, but can be conquered ; all ideas of reward and punishment, all antici- pations of advantage and disadvantage, of good and evil, are motives, but can all be resisted. When we use the expression, efficient causes, we ought continually to restrict its application either to physical nature, and to the mechanical forces which move and regulate it; or to those direct and spontaneous opera- tions which mind puts forth voluntarily. If we give the name cause to motives at all, we ought ever to remember that a motive is a final cause,—that is, its operation is produced by the end, or object to be accomplished, which it places before the mind. When a man places before his.mind some object which cannot be attained but after years of strenuous and steady exertion, that object is the motive, or final cause, or end in view, for which he chooses to make the necessary exertion; but mentally con- sidered, the choice is the efficient cause of his conduct. But when the action of a lever or a screw produces a change in some portion of physical matter, we regard.the lever or screw as the efficient cause. And here it may be of advantage to observe, that this dif- ference in these two great orders of causation arises out of the inherent and constitutional difference between mind and matter. The power, or efficient cause, which acts upon matter, requires, in order to the certainty of the result, that matter shall be abso- lutely inert, passive, without the power of motion in itself, and therefore capable of receiving any motion impressed on it. The power, or final cause, applied to mind, requires, in order to the certainty of the result, a being who proposes to himself an end, chooses means, and thus puts himself in motion. The action or influence of motives depends, therefore, on the faculty of choice in the mind of man. There cannot, therefore, be com- 94 NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. I. pulsion in any motive, because compulsion and choice are con- tradictions ; and we have already seen that compulsion destroys responsibility. We never apply moral judgment to any action resulting from compulsion,—or in other words, in which there is no choice: or were we to apply a moral judgment in such a case, it would be to the antecedent, and not to the immediate agency. So far our path seems to be clear :—The will is the faculty of choice ;—motives solicit but cannot compel it ;—moral causa- tion presupposes the faculty of choice, and has its power not on, but in that faculty. Hitherto we have found nothing in- consistent with man’s free agency, and consequent responsibility. This will also be found to be in perfect harmony with what every man is taught by his own consciousness,—that he is a free agent, and responsible. But does not this imply such uncertainty as to render the very idea of foreknowledge a moral impossibility? Not so, if we rightly understand the terms employed, and the nature of the inquiry. Mankind are so conversant with material exist- ences and material laws, that they almost constantly apply notions drawn from these to the nature and operations of mind, and thereby fall into innumerable fallacies in reasoning, and draw erroneous conclusions. The certainty of the results pro- duced by efficient causes arises out of the adequacy of the physi- cal force employed to produce these results, and the inertness of matter. But hence men fallaciously apply what seems a cor- responding course of reasoning respecting the certainty of the results produced by jinal causes, and ascribe that also to power, —and that, too, a kind of power similar to physical force, or rather identical with it. But it should be borne always in mind, that morality does not consist in power, but in will, or the faculty of choice. It is in vain, then, to say that the influence of motives is according to their power,—that the will always acts according to the strongest motive. If the will were not the faculty of choice, this might be the case; but since motives can only solicit the percipient element of willingness, and may be rejected by the faculty of choice, the true will, acting freely according to its true nature, the result must ever be, not according to the strength or value of the motive, but according to the character of the faculty itself (by the term character I here mean its relation to conscience). We daily see identical CHAP. V.] THE TWO ARGUMENTS IN COMBINATION. 93 motives followed by very different results, not only in the con- duct of different individuals, but in the conduct of the same person when a change has taken place in his moral character. This is easily explained when we look for the cause—the jinal cause—not in the motives, but in the moral character of the respective choosing faculties. It is altogether inexplicable otherwise. In order, then, that foreknowledge may be possible, we have only to conceive a Being to whom is known not only motives, but also and especially the character of the minds of moral agents. ‘To Him there can be no contingency, no chance, no unforeseen event, not only because He pre-arranges all mo- tives that solicit the willing and choosing mind, but because He knows its whole character, and so adapts each final cause to each mind that each man freely chooses what God had foreordained. _ Iam very far from venturing to say that this is a sufficient solution of the great difficulty, felt by all who have thought on these deep subjects. Many a man will feel that he acts most wisely when he contents himself with saying, that he cannot solve the difficulty ; that he can believe each term of the pro- position on its own evidence, and though he cannot reconcile them, is willing to believe them reconcilable, and to wait till in a higher stage of existence he shall receive more light. That is, when we try to conceive of the Divine Being, we can- not doubt that He foresees and pre-determines whatsoever comes to pass; and when we question our own consciousness, we feel that we are free agents, at liberty to act according to the dictates of the will, or faculty of choice: We believe each of those propositions to be true; and though we may not be able to reconcile them, we are content to leave their recon- ciliation to God and a future state of being. It might be added, that our finite faculties are necessarily in themselves unable to perceive at once both terms of any infinite truth, in any other way than as a seeming contradiction,—the two extremes of a circle meeting. In the various treatises written on this deep and difficult subject, there are other terms frequently employed,—such as liberty and necessity, sometimes without any qualification, some- times qualified as philosophical liberty and philosophical necessity. By these qualifications the terms liberty and necessity are dis- tinguished from their common use, and so restricted to the exactness required in close reasoning. In common language, 96 NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. I. liberty means freedom from external force, or from the obliga- tions and restraints imposed by unequal law, or mere caprice ; but philosophical liberty relates only to the spontaneous determi- nations of the will; and philosophical necessity implies that these determinations are the necessary consequences of the constitu- tion of the person and the circumstances in which he is placed, or the motives brought before him. The idea of philosophical necessity does not imply external constraint produced by effi- cient causes, but rather the certainty and regularity of the sequences of mind, in consequence of their nature and connec- tion, so that our states of mind follow one another according to certain mental laws, and arise with regularity in certain cir- cumstances, rendering it possible to say, that the antecedent state being known, there is a philosophical necessity (or certainty) that this consequent, and not that, or any other indiscriminately, will follow. With this explanation, I would not strongly con- demn the theory of philosophical necessity ; but I by no means regard it as giving an adequate view of the subject; or as meeting the requirements of Natural, far less of Revealed, Theology. It does not, and it cannot, account for the sudden and great changes that frequently manifest themselves in human character and conduct,—changes so decided as to render it impossible to consider them the mere sequences of any ante- cedent state of mind. Nor will philosophical liberty explain or account for such changes, although it offers nothing against their possibility. But they may all be satisfactorily explained by the idea of a power (a divine mind) acting zn the will, thereby enabling it to frame a new and unprecedented choice, and to put forth a new energy, of a higher and nobler character than it ever previously displayed. This remark would lead us to look back and reconsider a view already taken. When directing our attention to conscience, we perceived that its high office is to declare respecting right and wrong, and thence to tell us of duty, moral obligation, and responsibility. In this office it comes inevitably into immediate contact with the will. For, since the function of conscience is to decide respecting states of the mind that prompt to action, and since, before there can be voluntary action, there must be volition, conscience must pronounce its judgment, not only upon the motive, and upon the percipiency, but even the will, the choice, before it becomes an act. When, therefore, motives CHAP. V.] THE TWO ARGUMENTS IN COMBINATION. 9F of any kind whatever solicit the will, and while it is preparing to choose, conscience utters its approbation or disapprobation, and tells even that proud faculty, the will, what duty requires, what moral obligation enjoins, and what responsibility demands. The will, then, is not without law; the arbitrium may not de- termine arbitrarily ; the faculty of choice, however free, is not at liberty to choose good or evil according to mere caprice. Let the motives presented to it be as alluring or as urgent as they may, conscience pronounces whether they ought to be complied with or rejected ; and it is the duty of the will to obey the dictates of conscience, to comply with the requirements of duty, and not put itself under the power of motives. The full import of this will be seen by adverting to a distinction already drawn between voluntas and arbitriwm, Motives apply directly to the voluntas, or percipient part of the will: conscience ad- dresses itself ultimately to the arbitrium, or determining ele- ment of the will... The freedom of the will consists in its consenting to, or rejecting, the motives, according as they are approved or disapproved by conscience! In this manner it may be seen, that the freedom, rectitude, and power of the will, must be exactly proportionate to the enlightenment, purity, and truth of the conscience; and that the servitude, pravity, and rebelliousness of the will, must be exactly proportionate to the darkness, and corruption, and perversity of the conscience, Hence we conclude, that a darkened and depraved conscience, and a corrupt and rebellious will, form the great maladies of man’s moral nature. And were we to pursue this line of investigation, we might further prove, that, in this condition, man’s will is under the power of motives, which are external to himself and not under his own control; and that this renders him the very slave of motives, and not the free subject of the moral law of conscience, working within the will, and thereby securing the free action of the « royal law of liberty,”—perfect liberty, and perfect law. . If the preceding view be admitted to contain anything like The arrangement might be conceived of thus: 1. Desire, or emotion, or motives; 2. Voluntas, percipient willingness, algo merely emotional ; 3. Act of the moral faculty, intimating approbation or disapprobation ; 4. Act of the arbitrium, or true will, or choice and power ; 5. Ultimate act of conscience, in punishing if disobeyed, or rewarding if obeyed, by remorse, or happiness. G 98 NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. I. a true and intelligible account of the will, or faculty of choice in man, as in my opinion it does, it will furnish an explanation of some very obscure and difficult questions in moral philosophy. The free agency and consequent responsibility of man will be found to consist in the accordance between will and conscience. The influence of motives will not be regarded as determining the will, but as calling forth the moral action of both will and conscience in their conjoint determination whether these motives should be complied with or resisted. It will be seen also, that *n this is one of the distinctions between man and the lower orders of animated nature; for while they always obey motives, man can either obey or resist them according to the decisions of his higher nature. But it will likewise be seen, that the will, though essentially free from the control and dominion of motives,—of everything that can solicit its attention through man’s sentient and intellectual nature,—is not without law ; that conscience claims the right of directing the determinations of the choosing faculty; and that.yet, when it complies with the directions of conscience, it acts most freely, because it acts from no compulsion from without, but from a congenial impulse from within. And in the case of both conscience and will, there is a direct recognition of an authority entitled to prescribe law to both ;—law, to the supreme authority of which conscience her- self appeals, whenever will refuses to listen to her dictates,— this law to which conscience appeals, ought to dwell in the inner being of the will itself, and to be its own ultimate law. But what does this great thought suggest? Does it not suggest that this inner law of will and conscience must be conformity to the mind, and will, and character of the Supreme Author and Ruler of our whole being? In compliance with that, we must enjoy perfect liberty and perfect happiness. In our vain endeavour to escape from it, we subject ourselves to the thral- dom of motives, over the existence and the tendencies of which we have no power. This is not the doctrine of philosophical necessity ; yet it does not controvert the doctrine of divine foreknowledge. The Divine Being, by whom we were called into existence, cannot but know our inner nature. All motives are at His command. If we comply with His divine will, obey His law, and act in conformity to His character, the result is certain; but if we refuse so to comply, we fall under the power of motives, and the result is equally certain. When we CHAP. V.] THE TWO ARGUMENTS IN COMBINATION. 99 obey Him, we conquer motives, and His will is done. When we. disobey Him, motives conquer us, and yet His will is done. In either case the result is certain, and can therefore be foreseen : and yet our free agency is not otherwise impaired than as we impair it by our own act, which still involves our responsibility. It may be further seen, that in all this there is nothing different from what takes place with regard to the other de- partments of our complex nature. With regard to our sen- sations and perceptions, these follow the laws of physical being, and cannot be conceived of otherwise than as they are, being in complete and amply proved harmony with the external uni- verse, so far as we can become acquainted with it, as has been shown by one of the ablest and clearest of modern thinkers. Our intellectual nature is also equally obedient to the laws of intelligent thought, which all operate necessarily, and according to the constitution of our intellectual faculties. In like manner, there are moral laws, bearing upon our capacity of recognising right and wrong, good and evil, and of willing to choose the good and refuse the evil; but in this, the very highest department of our nature, these laws not only imply and recognise, but are expressly directed in accordance with, the principle of freedom to choose, and are therefore truly moral. Apart from the known laws of sensation, perception, intellection, and morality, we cannot conceive feeling, thought, and will; but these laws do not impede, they constitute, freedom of thought or intellection, and moral freedom, or the faculties of will and conscience, To feel, think, and act in accordance with these laws, is what con- stitutes our most perfect freedom, and our greatest happiness ; because it is to act in accordance not only with the will of our Creator, but also in accordance with our intuitive ideas of duty and rightness—with the character of God. There can be no action truly either moral or immoral, which is not voluntary; but this does not exhaust the idea of morality. It must not only be the voluntary act of the faculty of choice; it must have been chosen in compliance with the sense of duty—the conviction that it was good and right in itself, and therefore ought to be done, and was therefore chosen and done. Here, again, the harmonious and conjoint operations of will and con- science are seen composing the moral liberty of man. When the will chooses or rejects, not according to the solicitations of motives,—not even according to the promised rewards or threa- 100 NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. I. tened punishments of law,—but according to the decisions of conscience, then the action is morally right and good, and the agent morally free. But when will rejects the decisions of conscience, and follows the solicitations of motives, the action is morally wrong, and the agent is morally enslaved—enslaved by passion, prejudice, or crime.’ _ Liberty is not lawlessness ; it is the free exercise of the laws of being, in accordance with the constitution and nature of the agent. What we term the laws of sensation and per- ception, are the operations of our sentient and percipient material and mental being in connection with material nature, and the intimations which we thereby receive when undiseased and free. The free operation of our intellectual faculties is but their exercise within their own province, and according to their healthful constitutional capacities. This is their liberty, though it be also their law. By the addition of conscience, all these capacities and faculties become the subjects of another kind of government— a moral government. The acts of sense may be fallacious and hurtful, if the sense be diseased. The acts of intellect may be deranged, but their action, although insane, will be still intel- lectual. And the acts of our moral nature, though they may be in violation of its laws, are moral still, or, to use a more common term, perhaps more suitable, they are then immoral— vicious. The will may be solicited by any or by all the ~ departments of our lower nature, but its duty is to obey the dictates of conscience, controlling all their solicitations. In its liberty to obey conscience, consists its freedom, And conscience 1 All our natural faculties retain their primary nature, and act accord- ing to it: each is still itself, and not any other. But in consequence of the fall, they have all become misdirected, and have lost their due subor- dination. They must retain each its own functions, operations, and pro- vinees * the animal cannot think by feeding; the intellectual cannot feed the body by thinking ; the reasoning cannot produce even mental action by meditating ; the faculty that wills cannot produce deliberative judgment by the exercise of its voluntary choice ; the most determined choice cannot cause that to be morally right, which the moral faculty calls wrong ; and the moral faculty cannot constrain the will to choose the right, when that rebellious mental power has already denied it to be right, and is perversely bent on the opposite. From the lowest to the highest, each should main- tain its proper subordinate position, looking up to and obeying its superior; conscience, the last and highest of all, looking up to and obeying God. Thus would man at once glorify his Creator and be happy. CHAP. V.] THE TWO ARGUMENTS IN COMBINATION. 101 is bound to perceive intuitively the right, the good, the lovely, to decide accordingly, and to utter authoritative commands even to the faculty of choice. But the will has thrown off the due supremacy of conscience, and yet, in that rebellion against its rightful lord, has enslaved itself to the impulses of those motives which spring from lower sources. This is indeed lawlessness, but not liberty. In this condition man is the slave of nature, instead of wielding over it a free though delegated sovereignty, responsible in its exercise to Him alone who is the only Lord of the conscience. To this conclusion, then, we have come by a fair and legitimate investigation of the science of mind: That man is a moral and accountable being,—moral and accountable through- out all the range of all the faculties of his physical, intellectual, and moral nature; that in the conjoint and harmonious opera- tion of will and conscience consists his moral excellence,— conscience pronouncing authoritatively what is right and good, and will choosing and determining to act according to those decisions; but that some dire calamity has befallen the human race, in consequence of which conscience has lost its supremacy, and even its clearness of intuitive perception of the good and the evil, and will has rebelled against its dictates and put itself under the control of the appetites of our lower nature. All this we can perceive and prove without revelation; but any remedy for this we cannot find. We groan beneath our heavy moral bondage and degradation. We wished lawlessness, we have lost liberty. We cannot recover our lost freedom by any effort of our own: only by being born again can we again become free-born. Hz only can restore our freedom by whom we were at first created free. SEC. III. ETHICAL SCIENCE, OR THE SCIENCE OF DUTY ; VIEWED IN ITS APPLICATION TO MAN IN THE SOCIAL STATE. In a previous section I endeavoured to give some idea of what many philosophers term the moral faculty, while I prefer to give it the more common name of conscience. I may still use the term moral faculty, as perhaps its strictly scientific designation ; but I wish to be distinctly understood as attaching to that term the full meaning which is usually given to that 102 NATURAL THEOLOGY. (DIV. I. weighty word conscience. In the present section it is not so much my intention to treat of conscience as a mental faculty, or to inquire into its nature, as to view its operations and results in the constitution of human society, forming what I designate by the comprehensive name, T’he Science of Duty. Nor is it the science of duty as it relates merely to human society that I purpose to consider; but the science of duty and man’s social state, as connected with the science of Natural Theology, and as advancing our combined argument over the extended sphere of observation now spread out before us. For we cannot complete the investigation of our argument if we do not consider man in his social condition, as well as in his indi- vidual capacity ; in his relations to his fellow-man, as well as in his relation to nature. Nay, in reality, the social sphere is the more important of the two; because in it we see not only the highest mental and moral powers of man brought out into fullest and most developed action, but also we are constrained to mark, in that state of developed action, an element which we should not be able to trace with equal precision and certainty in the individual,—an element which indicates with fatal dis- tinctness and power the existence of some vast and disastrous calamity which has befallen the human race, or some fearful crime by which they have been involved in universal degrada- tion and misery; rendering the construction of a true Natural Theology either utterly impossible if omitted, or a matter of the most urgently imperative importance. If we retrace the survey we have already taken of human nature, and mark what man is, we shall at once perceive that in the very constitution of his mind there exists a necessity for moral rules, to govern his appetites, affections, and desires. But this appears most clearly when we view man as a member of society, and perpetually holding such intercourse with his fel- low-men, that without the guidance of moral rules he might be incessantly inflicting or sustaining injury. _ From the very con- stitution of man, therefore, as a rational and social being, he is and must be also moral; and one of his most important studies must necessarily be, the study of the science of duty,—a study clearly pertaining to the domain of Natural Theology. The question then arises, how man can learn the science of duty. His intellectual faculties are so constituted as to enable him to become acquainted with all around him. By their aid a CHAP. V.] THE TWO ARGUMENTS IN COMBINATION. 103 he can trace, to'a large extent, the relations of the whole of external nature. And by the kindred relations subsisting be- tween his own physical frame and external nature, he can avail himself of the boundless resources with which the material world is stored. The combined action of his intellectual facul- ties, which we may term speculative reason, might give him a very wide survey of what should be most conducive to his own comfort and advantage. Yet when we attempt to conceive how far the exercise of mere speculative reason could reach, we are extremely prone to deceive ourselves, by ascribing to the possible efforts of one mind what never has been produced except by the mutual stimulus of many minds. There appears to be no abstract impossibility in supposing, that the speculative reason of a man bred up in a perfect solitude might proceed to the in- vention of many of the arts of civilised life, and that at least a succession of generations from such a man might arrive at them all. Yet the fact is, that the tendency of man is not to evolve a civilisation of his own accord, but rather to sink from civilisation into barbarism, if left to himself. Leaving, how- ever, that subject, and supposing the speculative reason to be incessantly occupied in the investigation of the relations of nature for the purpose of directing them to his own advantage, what would be the result? There would be sedjishness, or the desire and pursuit by each of what was conducive to his own advantage ;—there might be what may be termed prudence, or the calculating and cautious respect to the interests and self- seeking desires of others which tended to warn him not to pass certain limits in his dealings with his fellow-men ;—but out of any possible amount of mere intellectual perceptions and speculations on such topics, there could not possibly arise the sense, the feeling, the principle of duty. There might be the expedient,—there could not be the right: there might be the perception of what would be certainly though remotely advan- tageous, and for the sake of which present privations might be endured, and present exertions made; but there could not be the supreme conviction of the essential rightness of action or endurance merely because-it was right, and from no prospect of future advantage to himself. We may also briefly inquire into the information furnished by the active powers of the mind, as they are commonly called, —the appetites, desires, and affections. It will be at once per- 104 NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. I. ceived that the very nature of these powers, or faculties, is to prompt men to action; hence their usual designation, active powers. The lowest class of these powers, the appetites, are not otherwise necessarily moral, than by the necessity arising out of their existence in connection with higher faculties, and in a creature otherwise moral. The stimulus of our natural appetites is necessary for securing the comfort and preservation of our physical being; but even from our possession of higher and intellectual faculties, we are called on to regulate our appetites, so that the indulgence of them shall not impair the exertions of the intellect. This consideration might lead to prudential self-restraint, self-government, and some measure of seli-denial, and might thereby produce at least the semblance of morality; yet it would be only the semblance, for the essence of all such procedure is still a regard to individual advantage, which men endeavour to secure by the sacrifice of a present for a future gratification, when convinced that we shall thereby secure a greater amount of gratification on the whole. Apply to such a course of conduct the idea of duty, and you will perceive that you cannot make them coincide. Duty com- mands to do what is right, because it is right, not because it is prudent,—because it is right now, not because it may be advantageous hereafter. The morality of self-restraint with regard to our appetites, does not, therefore, arise out of our possessing an intellectual nature, but out of our having a moral nature; and though there may be many prudential regu- lations based on intellectual considerations alone, they will be found unable to ascend into those higher regions in which reside the great principles of duty, moral obligation, and responsibility. It might easily be shown, that as man is a social being, our desires and affections do not and cannot terminate in self ; but bring us into contact with other human beings actuated by similar desires and affections, which the principle of sympathy enables us almost immediately to realize. Sympathy has a close relation to the moral faculty, though it is not itself that faculty, as Adam Smith assumed, but acts as its unselfish percipient element. We cannot, however, dwell on this topic, but must proceed to what is more direct and important. Our desires and affections pervade the. whole of our relations in society. The very earliest position in which the human being is placed, brings them into operation. ‘The family relation CHAP. V.] THE TWO ARGUMENTS IN COMBINATION. 105 requires fidelity to the conjugal bond uniting husband and wife, which is essentially a moral obligation. It requires, further, the exercise of the parental affections, which are necessary for the protection and the support of children. Thus it leads to the desire of personal liberty, personal safety, and the possession of property ; for without these the paternal affections cannot have free scope. If a man has not personal liberty, he cannot protect or support his household; if he has not personal safety, he cannot secure the safety of those dependent on him ; and if he has not security for the undisturbed possession of his pro- perty, he cannot make his exertions available for the supply of nature’s requirements.- Out of this primary relation there may, therefore, naturally arise the conception of correlative natural rights, which man claims to himself, and by parity of reason must allow to others. We say must allow,—not may allow ; because, without these, human society could not exist. 1. Out of these primary personal relations and natural rights are evolved certain great primary ideas, or conceptions of prin- ciples, which combine to form the social state. The first of these arises from our perception of the benefits and the pleasures of concord. ‘This has its earliest home in the household, where it shows itself in that mutual love, which leads every member of the family to seek the good of all the rest in preference to what might seem his individual advantage. All desires that centre and end in the individual have a dissociating tendency, and lead to strife, dissension, and disruptive conflicts. That society may be possible, therefore,—much more, that it may be happy,—its regulating principle must be that of concord, founded on mutual regard, or mutual love, or benevolence. 2. Further, as our intercourse with society increases, we find the necessity of such a common understanding between man and man as may enable us to depend upon each other’s words and actions. Falsehood and deceit tend to break up society, or to render its existence impossible. Hence we are constrained to make every effort to secure such a harmony between inten- tions and words, as to enable us, from a man’s words, to place full confidence in the inward intentions which those words: indicate. This coincident harmony between the mind and its external indices we term truth; and we naturally desire, for our own sakes and the welfare of society, that this moral principle should be maintained. ! 106 NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIVE 3. Again, out of these primary personal relations and natural rights there springs what we may term the idea of justice, the object of which is to secure to every man what is his own. This principle has for. its sphere to regulate the desire of property according to what we may term fairness and liberality, as contrasted with the ungenerous and grasping influence of selfishness and covetousness. 4. We might thus, beginning with the family relation and expanding that into the widening circle of society, elicit from the constitution of the human being at least three great moral principles—benevolence, truth, and justice; and we might regard these as primary elements of morality, affecting all mankind, and essential to the comfort and wellbeing of the human race. But if we look still more closely into the con- stitution of the mind, we shall find that we have not yet fully explored its moral elements. For, as we have already observed, though neither the bodily appetites nor the intellectual faculties are themselves essentially moral, yet, when connected with moral faculties in the same being, they acquire a moral charac- ter, and are susceptible of moral rules. The control of the natural appetites by the higher faculties of our nature may be designated by the terms Temperance and Chastity. And as we are conscious of the feelings of debasement and impurity when the lower faculties are indulged to excess, and wrongfully, we may give to the moral sentiment which demands their due subjection the name Moral Purity. We thus conceive another moral principle, having ‘for its domain the government of our entire lower, animal, or sentient nature, with all its appetites and desires. 5. Again, directing our attention to our intellectual nature, we perceive the necessity of having all our intellectual powers arranged and guided by such laws as shall regulate their operations in a steady and uniform consistency. Without such a systematic arrangement and uniformity of our intellectual perceptions and pursuits, we perceive that the human mind cannot make any truly valuable progress; nay, would be liable to sudden aberrations little short of insanity. Hence another general idea of fixed and regulating Jaw, as an indispensable condition essential to moral progress, which is itself an essential necessity and duty to man. And this general idea we may designate Order. CHAP. V.] THE TWO ARGUMENTS IN COMBINATION. 107 We thus obtain five primary principles of morality; viz. benevolence, truth, justice, purity, and order. All these may be deduced from the constitution of man, as an intelligent, rational, and social being, and may be regarded as the primary principles of natural and human morality. Let an appeal be made to conscience on any or all of these principles, whether they be necessary for its proper exercise, and we may confidently antici- pate its response—that they are, each and all, essentially related to it, included in its nature, necessary to its exercise, and implied in the science of duty and in the domain of Natural Theology. Admitting, then, that conscience approves of the five great moral principles thus enumerated, the next step is obvious : they must be regarded as the essential rules of moral action, or, in other words, as moral laws. They have all that is requisite for the formation of laws: there is the conception in the mind, the approbation of the conscience, and the consent of mankind in general. But when we conceive of them as becoming embodied in the form of law for the regulation of society, we are enabled to perceive the importance of pure and sound ethics to the welfare of the community. The law of any nation cannot possibly rise higher, practically, than its morality ; for it is in truth the embodiment of that nation’s morality, reduced to rules for the government of society. It may often happen that the law of a nation is morally defective ; and so far the public morality of the nation may also be defective: but should a juster view of moral obligation, and clearer con- ceptions of what is morally right and good, be promulgated and enlighten the public mind, the defective state of the law would be seen, and it would be soon improved according to the stan- dard of a higher and truer morality. Hence the duty of moral culture, for two great ends—the enlightenment of the legislature, and the enlightenment of the community. Either of these may precede the other. The lawgiver may have far more true and lofty conceptions of what is morally right and good than the community can appreciate; and if he attempt to frame laws in conformity with his own conceptions, he may find that the community will reject them as visionary and impracticable. Even Solon could say, “I have not given the Athenians the best laws possible, but I have given them the best that they can bear.” And an infinitely more wise Lawgiver could say, 108 NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. I. “Tt was because of the hardness of your hearts.” On the other hand, the public morality of the nation may become more enlightened and true than that of the legislature, in its admi- nistrative function especially, and may strive to procure some amendment of defective laws. This, too, may be for a time resisted by the ruling powers; but that resistance cannot very long continue to prevail against right, for morality must in the process of time mould and regulate Jaw. Moral principles, it appears, give rise to moral laws; and moral laws embody and confirm moral duties and moral rights. Our moral duties are thus rendered realities, which may be to some extent enforced by the rewards and punishments of law ; and our rights are realities, which may be protected in the same manner. ‘Thus by the sanctions of law there must be continu- ally going on a course of moral culture throughout the entire community, to the extent at least of the morality embodied in the laws of the country. The duties and rights thus realized and enforced may be comprised under the following heads: The Right of Personal Security, the Right of Property, the Right of Contract, and Family Rights. The infringement of any of these rights is a moral wrong, both against the individual and against the national law, by which the individual is pro- tected in their peaceful and secure enjoyment. Were we to enter into an examination of these rights in detail, we might easily show that they are all in perfect harmony with the dictates of a sound and enlightened conscience. And we cannot fail at once to perceive how much they are fitted to support the general welfare, and to secure the harmony, peace, and happi- ness of the social state of man. But our view will be defective indeed if we do not also perceive that there are thousands of minute particulars contained within the wide generalities of public law, public morality, and public rights, the protection and enforcement of which must of necessity depend on the strength, purity, and faithfulness of individual conscience. Law can but apply to the action, and cannot reach the state of mind from which that action proceeded, and in which its moral nature truly resides. Even though we were to regard national law as embodied national morality or national conscience, we must perceive that it can neither perform the functions nor supersede the authority of the individual conscience. Hence it must follow, that no reform of national laws, however important CHAP. V.] THE TWO ARGUMENTS IN COMBINATION. 109 or extensive, can ever of itself secure the moral welfare of the nation. That must be secured in the bosom of individuals and families—in the enlightenment and purification of conscience itself—in the infusion into the inner being of a law and a light to which even conscience must do homage, and must find free- dom and power in obeying. There is another view that may be taken of the moral prin- ciples already mentioned. We have pointed out their harmony with the dictates of conscience, as well as their indispensable necessity for the very existence of society. But when we look closely at their operation in the case of an individual, we be- come aware of a new and a very important aspect which they assume. Conscience pronounces its sentence of approbation or disapprobation upon any single principle, sentiment, or action. But human life, though composed of pulsations and breathings, is still a continuity ; and moral life, though composed of a suc- cession of moral states, is still a continuous moral existence. It is not the one action or sentiment, therefore, of which con- science takes cognisance, and on which it pronounces sentence, but the continuous moral existence of the man. And, to pro- secute the analogy, as by the power of habit we acquire a facility in the execution of any physical task, becoming expert and skilful, so by the power of habit the mind acquires both readiness and energy in the exercise of its faculties, and in the reproduction of those emotions that prompt to action. The habit of frequently contemplating and acting in accordance with moral principles will naturally secure to those principles easy access to the mind, and a calm, steady, and almost con- tinuous influence over it. Thus the mind may acquire moral habits and a moral character; and as these moral habits must, of course, have for their essence the leading moral principles, they may be designated by corresponding names. ‘There may be, therefore, the habit of benevolence, of justice, of truth, of purity, and of order; and these habits we would term Moral Virtues. And as it is evident that some one of these moral virtues may, and commonly will, predominate over the others in the general tenor of a man’s life, so that predominating virtue will give the distinctive name to his character, and he will be called peculiarly a benevolent, a just, or a truthful man. The very least consideration will show that a large proportion of practical morality is included within the region of habit,— 110 NATURAL THEOLOGY. (DIV. I. the region, that is, of the moral virtues, and their effect in forming and moulding character. The same subject might be investigated in the precisely opposite direction. We might mark the violation of the great principles of morality, which conscience condemns, and the law punishes as crimes; and we might then trace the power of habit in facilitating the recurrence of those states of mind which prompted to the immoral actions. We should then per- ceive, that habitual violations of moral principle were aptly designated vices, and that their prevalence formed vicious characters. But it is enough for our present purpose to have indicated a course of inquiry, which the aspect of society renders but too easy to prosecute. One inference, or rather field of inferential argument, we must, however, indicate. The power of habit in a moral point of view, and the formation of character, virtuous or vicious, according to prevalent habit, must be taken very largely into account, when we endeavour to form an idea of man’s future state. It even enters deeply into the argument to prove the immortality of the soul. No power of metaphysical reasoning or confusion will ever induce any man to believe that there is not an essential difference between mind and matter. But if mind, by its own operations, can contract habits and acquire a permanent character, its separation from the body will leave it with that character still; and not only so, but the same habit will continue to deepen that character continually in a future state, so that it must be terribly true, that “he who is filthy will be filthy still,’ and eternity itself will but eternally increase his wickedness and his punishment. A change of character must take place in that stage of being in which alone character is formed and matured, else it must never take place at all. And the more cheering aspect of the inference must be equally true and certain, and in the future state “he that is holy must be holy still.” It has been remarked, that the predominance of our prin- ciple, and the habitual prevalence of its exercise in the conduct, forms the character of the man. Let it be further observed, that this is not a merit, but a defect in human character. The man of benevolent character deserves and obtains moral appro- bation on account of his benevolence; but his character would be much more perfect were he equally distinguished by truth, CHAP. V.] THE TWO ARGUMENTS IN COMBINATION. 111 justice, purity, and order. It is praiseworthy to have one virtue ; but it would be more so to have every moral virtue in equal exercise. No such man, however, exists,—no such man ever did exist, except THE Man Curist Jesus. This excep- tion, which I have almost unconsciously specified, points to the manner in which one class of the evidences of Natural Theo- logy is deducible from the moral nature of man. For that argument proceeds upon the reality of moral principles in man, as implied in the very constitution of his mind; whence the in- ference appears inevitable, that these must be the attributes, in absolutely infinite perfection and perfect harmony, of the divine Creator Himself, otherwise they never could have been in man, the creature. We have briefly traced the leading elements and principles of the science of duty, as manifested in the social state of man, and essential to the very possibility of human society. But we must take yet another view of the subject, if we wish to see it fully. The moral principles already enumerated form the basis of moral character in the individual, and of the moral laws of society ; but they do not secure the moral conduct of the indi- vidual, and they are insufficient for the task of preserving the moral peace and welfare of society. All men recognise them as right and good in the abstract, but no man regulates his con- duct according to their dictates. All men wish others to be guided by them, because all are constrained to admit that they are right and good, and tend to promote the welfare and happi- ness of society; but self-interest, and passion, and vice inter- pose their pernicious influences, and all men, yielding more or less to these evil agencies, commit in their own cases what they condemn in the abstract, or in the case of others. And while all men perceive, with various degrees of clearness, the benefit of moral principles and virtues, and concur in passing laws in accordance with their requirements ; yet all feel it to be neces- sary to give to these the dread enforcement of the power of inflicting punishment. It is a melancholy view of human nature, but not more melancholy than true, that hwman law has far more power to punish than it has to reward,—that, in fact, its execution depends upon its power to punish, and not upon its power to reward. Men seem instinctively to know, and with tacit sullenness to admit, that it is much more likely that the best laws which they can devise and frame will be 112 NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. I. broken, than that they will be obeyed. May not this be regarded as the reluctant admission of man, that he is a fallen creature,—that his own conscience cannot now govern him,— and that law, instead of being merely the regulating influence of internal principles, keeping his whole being in harmonious action, is now an external power, employed to constrain or punish what it cannot otherwise govern? ‘This is a melan- choly conclusion; but it flows inevitably from the facts of the case. But even when taking this sad view of human nature, we may obtain some encouragement from a kindred topic which it suggests. The power of human law depends upon its punish- ‘ments more than its rewards. Yet the absolute power, the power to punish, depends upon an element of a moral nature, not mere physical force. This appears when we contemplate a highly complicated state of society, in which the extreme capabilities of life are explored, and often placed side by side. Rank, wealth, refinement, and luxury are found possessed by comparatively few, and almost in immediate contact with vice, degradation, and misery too deep and fearful to be described. If, in such a state of society, the enforcement of the laws that protect person and property depended, either alone or chiefly, on physical might, they could not be enforced an hour; but the moral power of conscience comes to their aid, and even those laws are generally obeyed against which all merely physical interests would prompt the poor and the degraded to rebel. It is thus that conscience continues to exercise its due supremacy to so great an extent as still to be the guardian and the ruler of society. Even statesmen and legislators are to some degree aware of this great moral power, striving in general to engage it on their side, and shrinking from anything that would seem openly to outrage it, or weaken its influence. The interests of society would be greatly promoted were legis- lators wise enough to advance a little further in this direc- tion, and to bend their energies to the incalculably important office of endeavouring to promote the cultivation of sound, pure, and elevated national morality. And how dark is the omen for any land, where its rulers rest their power to govern on their possession and employment of the means to deceive and corrupt! Yet, even such acondition is not hopeless. The general morality of the nation may be so much enlightened as | 7 . CHAP. V.] THE TWO ARGUMENTS IN COMBINATION. 113 to counteract the immoral agencies of rulers,—to improve both the framing and the administration of national laws,—and. ulti- mately to constrain governments to know that power must depend on integrity, and that truth and rectitude are stronger elements than deceit and corruption. But this can be the case only where the nation possesses the means of obtaining a true and pure moral culture, independent of the plans and arrange- ments of its civil rulers. The conclusion that ought to be drawn from the views which have been taken, seems abundantly obvious. Both the psychology of the individual human being, and the structure of society, contain the most clear and conclusive proofs. that man is a being of a moral nature,—that obedience to the dic- ' tates of his moral faculty is essential to his individual and social welfare and happiness,—that disobedience to those dictates involves him in misery, and exposes him to punishment: and yet, that his moral nature must have sustained some signal calamity, so great that he often cannot clearly distinguish what duty requires, and when he does clearly perceive these require- ments, he very often violates them, and exposes himself to the punishments which either social law, or the law within his own breast, sooner or later fails not to inflict. In vain do moralists and speculative or philosophical statesmen attempt to frame codes of law constructed on the idea of moral excellence which conscience and speculative reason may unite to form. Plato may imagine laws for the region of Atlantis, and Sir Thomas More may conceive the moral government of Utopia; but the enactment and execution of such laws must ever continue im- practicable, so long as it is a mournful truth, that the human mind is a fallen mind,—that the will is rebellious, the conscience dethroned, and even reason and intellect warped and darkened. Yet even such moral romances may subserve a higher argu- ment. ‘They seem to prove that the human mind is essentially moral; that even in its fallen and powerless condition, the moral faculty asserts its right to rule; and that, fallen and degraded as it is, it retains somewhat of its original majesty, and its’ aspirations after a purer and happier state than it now possesses, or can by its own efforts obtain. Like Milton’s description of the great fallen spirit,— ‘* His form had not yet lost All her original brightness, nor appeared H 114 NATURAL THEOLOGY. . 7 EDIV. TDIV. £ its wisdom and benevolence with regard to man. We may therefore, with the most implicit confidence, direct our inquiries into any of the channels presented to us by our bodily senses, whether with regard to the structure of those parts where such senses are peculiarly placed, or to the intimations respecting external nature which they give us. In every one of those channels the evidences of design abound, and on that evidence the most complete reliance may be placed. The language of all is the same: “ He who formed the eye, shall He not see? . And He who planted the ear, shall He not hear?” We are fearfully and wonderfully made.” From the bodily structure of man we ascend to his intel- lectual powers, or faculties. We shall not expend time in examining these psychologically, according to the manner in which they are commonly viewed in systems of mental philo- sophy, but may take a more comprehensive view of man’s intellectual constitution, and regard it as that department of man which elevates him to the rank of a rational creature. In addition to his bodily senses, he has intellectual faculties which enable him to take cognisance of his own sensations,—to form by their means an intelligent conception of the material world external to himself,—and by reflecting on the operations of those intellectual faculties, to become acquainted with himself, —to become a conscious and personal being, and not a. part of nature,—by comparing his own sensations and perceptions, to become conversant with the great harmony between man and nature, and thus to acquire a degree of elevation and dignity, and also a capability of crime, of which mere animal nature could not be capable. In this advancing view of man, it will be observed that the entire of his physical sensations are pre- supposed, together with the perceptions of those sensations of which his own consciousness makes him cognisant. These, however, are not in the intellectual being fleeting, one succeed- ing another like successive waves, each effacing the impression made by its predecessor. For the intellectual faculty of memory takes possession of them, stores them up, compares them with each other, and makes them the elements of knowledge. And the knowledge thus amassed is necessarily of two kinds ;— knowledge of external nature,—and knowledge of the operations, and ultimately of the laws, of the percipient and intelligent ‘mind itself. One direct form of this knowledge may be termed CHAP. V.] THE TWO ARGUMENTS IN COMBINATION. | 119 experience, being the collected results of previously observed facts and Hividents! but having in it little more, it may be, than the exercise of memory, and not capable of conveying any such idea as that of necessary certainty. We have already observed that the expectation of constancy in nature’s sequences is antecedent to experience. It is of importance further to remark, that when in any case experience seems to contradict our expectation of any natural sequence, we do not immediately reject the previous conviction of nature’s constancy which we had entertained, and conclude that there is no such constancy ; but we conjecture that our observation must have been defective, and we proceed to investigate nature more closely than before, that we may ascertain what is the true order of the sequences which are and will be constant. Hence arises arranged experiment, which is purely an intel- lectual operation. The intellectual faculty, commonly called Imagination, comes here to our aid; and we analyze and re- combine our past information collected in the stores of memory, —we suppose combinations, frame theories, generalize, deduce, and endeavour to arrive at certainty in our investigations re- specting nature. The knowledge thus acquired, ascertained, and matured, we can turn to valuable account. Having become acquainted with nature and with self, we can reproduce, re- combine, and modify the powers or forces of nature so as to render them immeasurably the more conducive to the supply of all our wants of every kind, and to the increase of all our comforts and enjoyments. In all this we cannot but be con- scious of design in our own mental operations ; and if we at all prosecute this line of thought, and consider the very manifest adaptation between natue,—whose laws and operations may be thus known, combined, and modified for our advantage,—and beings such as we are, constituted with intellectual faculties which enable us to acquire that knowledge and make that use of nature, we cannot fail to perceive the most marvellous per- fection of design in this harmonious adaptation of man to nature, and of nature to man. Does not this prove, beyond all dispute or cavil, the infinite wisdom of that Divine Being, and equally His infinite goodness, who is the Creator of both man and external nature, who formed the material world, and breathed into man’s nostrils the breath of life, and whose deszgn in their harmonious construction is so apparent and so gracious? 120 NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. I. It is not only not possible to trace the argument of design fully, but it is not possible to perceive the “most important element of even the intellectual aspect of human nature as connected with that comprehensive argument, if we do not take into careful consideration man’s relation to his fellow-man, because the largest portion of his intellectual existence is con- nected with the action of mind on mind. But this relation of man to man is more directly connected with what we consider the highest department of the ascending nature of man—his moral nature. From all that we have yet contemplated, we see the evidence of design signally apparent, and there has not yet arisen, necessarily, anything to disturb our pleasure in the inves- tigation. Even mistakes in man’s intellectual convictions would not necessarily prove anything more, than that his observation of nature and himself had not been sufficiently comprehensive and exact to enable him to make, in such cases, the most skilful application of the one to the uses of the other. By such mis- takes he cannot injure nature; and should he injure himself, as he very easily may, he would not incur the torment of remorse, or self-condemnation of a moral kind. So long as the intercourse of man is with things, not persons, his moral nature is not called into action. And although his intellectual nature may be, and often is, called into very strenuous and complicated action by his intercourse with persons, yet the moral is so greatly the predominating element in all personal transactions, that we think it necessary to regard man’s moral nature as the province into which we are now entering. The moral nature of man obtains its first development in the family condition or relation, as has been already shown. There the instinctive principle of parental love springs up, takes possession of the heart, and gives a new character to the whole man. There are now at least two or more comparatively help- less beings dependent upon him for everything that sustains and comforts life. He feels it to be equally his duty and his delight to bend all his intellectual powers, all his knowledge of nature and himself, to the pleasing task of protecting and cherishing them. Any neglect of these duties inflicts a pang, not of a physical or an intellectual, but of a moral nature, in his heart and conscience; and the adequate discharge of them is its own reward. He is now a moral being, and is thereby susceptible of a pure, and elevated, and disinterested kind of life CHAP. V.] THE TWO ARGUMENTS IN COMBINATION. Tt and happiness otherwise impossible. But we may contemplate all the various parts of the domestic condition and constitution, and we shall find them all productive of exactly similar results, —in the tender care and unwearied affection of the mother,— in the filial love, confidence, and generous respect of the child, —and in the mutual love and playful happiness of brothers and sisters. Can it be doubted that there is a deep, a wise, a benevolent design in the very nature of the family relations, and that the design is in that Creative Mind which so consti- tuted man as to render the domestic circle the first sphere of the moral life and moral happiness ? The family relation naturally and rapidly expands into that of social life, with all its complicated and various rights, duties, and enjoyments. The sphere of man’s being greatly enlarges. Innumerable wants, some natural, some artificial, spring into existence, and require the vigorous culture and exercise of his intellectual faculties, that he may understand his own position and that of others, may avail himself of the faculties offered to him, surmount the difficulties which oppose him, and perform aright the duties arising out of the relations and the interests of society, so as both to enjoy and to promote the common welfare. The full exercise of the jive primary principles of morality, benevolence, truth, justice, purity, and order, is thus called strenu- ously forth; and the constant and habitual exercise forms them into the social virtues, which are designated by the same names. The existence of these principles, and the operation of these virtues, give moral security to man’s social rights, even antecedent to the enactment of law sanctioning and enforcing such rights, as the recognised moral guardian of society. These rights may be comprised under the following heads :—the right of personal security, the right of property, the right of contract, and family rights. That all these rights are essential to the welfare of society, is too evident to require any proof or illus- tration ; and they all not less evidently spring from man’s moral nature, as drawn into full development by the.social relations. For it would be, not merely a narrow and incomplete view of the moral duties, virtues, and rights of society, to consider them, with some, as but the cautious compromise of cunning selfishness ; it would be a thoroughly erroneous view, drawn from some miserable misconception of the proper origin of human society. The social condition is not a balance of con- 122 NATURAL THEOLOGY. cit UL DIV flicting interests, sustained in equipoise by mutual antagonism ; the rights of society are not the aggregate of what man has won from man, and, by a species of suspended hostility or armed neutrality, manages to hold by the blended action of conceding and retaining. It is possible, doubtless, to frame a theory of man’s social condition resting on such an hypothesis,—for it has been done by Hobbes; and it can be so constructed as to account somewhat plausibly for all the phenomena which society presents. But it would be at once and for ever disclaimed by the primary element of man’s moral nature, and also by the primary position of man’s moral life. Conscience indignantly disclaims so mean and base a principle as that on which she rests her decisions. I do not concede to my fellow-men their social rights for no other reason than because I cannot other- Wise secure the possession of my own. Not thus does the pure and generous feeling of moral approbation arise in my mind, when I perform my duty by doing what I intuitively hold to be right and good ; or see another man perform his, for a similar reason. Nor is the selfish hypothesis less repugnant to the primary position of man’s moral life—the family relation. Is that essentially a scene of conflicting interests and armed neutrality? Is it the dread of otherwise losing his own rights that causes the husband and father to protect and cherish his affectionate wife and helpless children? Against so heartless a theory all the finest feelings of the bosom, all the holiest prin- ciples of the moral nature, start up in immediate hostility, and loudly proclaim it untrue. It is Jove, not fear, which forms the ruling element of the family relation, that primary position of man’s moral and social life. It is the same benevolent and gracious principle which, expanding into the widest circles of social existence, pervades and animates the whole. And the supreme arbiter of all is Conscience, pronouncing that principle right and good, and giving to it the reward of moral approbation. Following this view, we find, that all the moral virtues required for the peace and welfare of society are seated in the moral nature of man; that they obtain their first and loveliest sphere of action in the domestic circle, which they constitute, sweeten, and adorn; and that by their expansion they not only give rise to the social condition, with all its numerous and varied relations, but also constitute the primary principles of all its rights and laws. The result is obvious. We cannot CHAP. V.] THE TWO ARGUMENTS IN COMBINATION. 123 but conclude and believe, that the social condition was the end on account of which these principles were implanted in the human mind; and throughout all their operations we have evidences of design, and find ample proof that the whole is the effect produced by the pre-arrangements of the divine design- ing mind of the Creator. Equally evident is the final cause, or ultimate intention of, the Designer ; which is, that our Creator intended us to form ourselves into society, that we might thereby and therein most fully develop the moral principles which He had implanted in our nature, and the most fully secure the happiness of ourselves and others,—of the entire human family if all would alike so act. The social design, therefore, as we may well term it, proves that the Designing Mind,—or our Creator, to use a more definite and better expression,—is Himself infinitely wise, powerful, and benevolent, and has so constituted man, that the fullest development of his highest principles most securely lead to, and result in, equally the welfare of the individual and of the entire community. We cannot refrain from taking here one glance at the realities of the social state, as it at present exists. In the deli- berate view which we have taken of the original principles themselves from which it naturally springs, we see nothing but what tends to goodness, peace, and happiness ; and in this we trace the character of the design, and of our Creator; and should nothing jar it, we might expect to hear in the anthem of glad and grateful nature and man the echo of the Creator’s own declaration, that all is “ very good.” But what find we in the social circle, on closer scrutiny? Almost the exact reverse of what we ought to find. From the domestic circle to the extremest arrangements of the social system, we find moral principles disregarded, moral duties violated, moral virtues neglected, moral rights infringed, and moral laws broken. But we also find, that to what degree soever they are kept and obeyed, to that degree happiness is secured; while misery prevails to the exact proportion of their violation. The argu- ment of benevolent design is not, therefore, in the slightest degree weakened by the fact that the moral laws of man’s moral nature are often disobeyed ; for it is still perfectly obvious that their primary design is to promote welfare and happiness, and their secondary to punish vice. The moral character of the Designing Mind is equally apparent in both, while the direct 124 NATURAL THEOLOGY. . [DIV. I. and essential elements manifestly are wie) goodness, and benevolence. There is still one view of man which must be taken, before closing the evidence of design as perceivable in the human being. There is in the human mind an intuitive conviction of its own immortality. Scarcely even the most degraded of the human race have lost the idea of an existence after death. Vague, indefinite, and unsatisfactory as are all the opinions formed on the subject by unassisted nature, and inconclusive as are all the arguments employed by philosophy in the attempt to establish it, still it is so accordant with the intuitive convic- tions of man’s highest nature, that it finds a ready reception in almost every mind. And when we direct our attention to our moral nature, the idea of the spirit’s immortality seems to form the very basis, the axiomatic principle, or necessary postulate, of all possible morality. What means the voice of conscience, approving good, and disapproving evil,—irrespective even of the personal advantage or disadvantage of him to whom it so authoritatively speaks? What means the great idea of respon- sibility that hangs ever sublimely over and around the soul, like heaven’s own solemn dome? What mean the stings of keen remorse, fixed so deeply in the heart of the guilty man, de- stroying all delight in the selfish gratifications obtained by successful crime? What means the emotion of unutterable joy, too calm and holy to be expressed, which fills the soul when conscience warmly approves some action of disinterested generosity, of self-denial, or of self-sacrifice, good and right in itself, and beneficial to others, though involving, it may be, loss and suffering to him by whom the noble action was performed ? What means the dread of retribution, which poisons all the pleasures and enjoyments of the successful criminal, even in the midst of his completest triumphs? And why is it that the oppressed and injured sufferer is supported under all his wrongs and afflictions by something within him, incessantly whispering of a righteous retribution, when all his wrongs shall be redressed, and for all his sufferings he shall receive an overpayment of delight? All these, and many similar, moral problems can have no solution other than that which assumes the immortality of the spiritual in man, and its continuous existence in a future state, where all shall be for ever perfectly right, and good, and happy; or where the terrible doom of righteous retribution CHAP. V ] THE TWO ARGUMENTS IN COMBINATION. 125 shall overwhelm the wicked with everlasting woe. This view completes the argument of design, as exhibited in the nature and constitution of man; and as it has direct reference to futurity, and to the rectification and completion of the design by the agency of the Designing Mind, having as its two con- stituent elements, belief in the immortality of the soul, and belief in the existence and moral government of a Divine Being, it may be termed Religious Design: that is, it. goes to prove that our Creator designed us to be sentient, percipient, intellectual, rational, social, moral, and religious creatures, whose highest duty and greatest happiness should be found in knowing, loving, and obeying God, and in doing good to our fellow-men,—the two great rules of duty being, “ Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy streneth, and with all thy mind;” and, “ Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.” SEC. V. GENERAL VIEW OF DESIGN IN EXTERNAL NATURE AND IN MAN We shall now pass out of the region of details, and endeavour to present an abbreviated summary of the whole argument from effect to cause, or the & posteriori argument as it is called, in its simplest but most comprehensive aspect. We shall therefore take a general view of design as manifested both in external nature and in man,—in the adaptations of man to nature, and of nature to man.. The object in view is practical rather than argumentative. My meaning may be thus explained: A man might acquire a large amount of truly valuable knowledge by his careful and perhaps minute study of some department of science, or of cognate sciences; but the solitariness of his re- searches might have been the reason why there had not been developed in him any adequate ability to make use of the knowledge thus acquired. He might not be able to gather up into generalizations the results of his studious labours, nor to present them so generalized and grouped as to convey in a clear and matured form those results to others, who might have the desire but not the leisure to make the researches for them- selves. If so, his study might be very agreeable and of some advantage to himself, but of very little benefit to others. If, however, a man studies that he may teach, acquires knowledge 126 NATURAL THEOLOGY. . [DIV. lu that he may impart it to others, matures his own mind that he may nourish others with its ripe fruits, it must be of the utmost importance for him to learn how this may be most successfully done. With this view, then, it is my intention to give a specimen of the manner in which a considerable range of knowledge may be generalized and grouped, so as to present the results in a condensed form for the instruction of others. One preliminary point must be explained. , It would not be desirable to resume consideration of the much-agitated question respecting the grounds of our confident belief in the regular sequences of nature. But assuming that point to be settled, that we have such belief, and that it never deceives us, we come at once into contact with the phrase used to indicate these unvarying sequences, namely, “the laws of nature.” It will be observed that this phrase is in direct anta- gonism to the theory of ideal scepticism, since it assumes the real existence of external nature, and the steady operation of those observed sequences which are termed, even from their invari- ableness, the laws of nature. But if it be opposed to ideal scepticism, it 1s, on the other hand, liable to be employed as the basis of absolute materialism ; and indeed has been, and still is, very often so employed. I have no objection to the term, laws of nature, as a convenient and compendious mode of expressing the invariableness or regularity with which the phenomena of the external world are governed. But I am well aware that this phrase is often used as a cover for materialism, and for the very purpose of excluding the idea of a God. Such was the object of some of the sceptical philosophers of France in last century; and in our own country a similar attempt has been made, even within our own days. The materialism implied in the phrase, the laws of nature, may be met or set aside in various ways. One distinguished man‘ sets its force aside by showing, that the proper basis of the argument from design in nature is not the laws, strictly speaking, but the “ adaptations of nature.” And if we revert to the way in which we form the idea of design, we must perceive that there is great force in this answer. When, for example, we examine any piece of machinery, and infer the workman from the existence of the work, it is not from the inherent laws of the materials employed, be these what they may, that we infer design, but from the adaptation of the 1 Dr. Chalmers. CHAP. V.] THE TWO ARGUMENTS IN COMBINATION. 12% parts of the machine one to another, and of all to the end accomplished,—it is from this that we infer design. In like manner, even though it were granted that matter may have been eternal, and that certain great laws, such as that of gravi- tation, may be essential to it, and may have been eternally inherent in it, yet the manifold adaptations which we every- where perceive, would furnish an undiminished and an altogether irresistible argument in proof of design. Admitting the force of this answer, I still think it desirable to meet that plausible phrase more directly. The danger to be apprehended in its use arises from its vagueness. What is a law of nature? By nature, we mean generally the. material creation in its whole frame and in all its parts. If we view it collectively, we find a constant uniformity in its aspect, and in all its sequences. If we inspect it minutely, we find each part characterized by some permanent, and, as we might term it, constitutional peculiarity, distinguishing it from every other part ; and by no art or skill that can be used can we cause one natural object to assume permanently the chavacteristics of any other. There arise thus two kindred ideas in our minds, the one applicable to the great movements, the other to the indivi- dual characteristics of parts, in what we term external nature. The word law may be applied to each, and is so applied. We speak of the law of gravitation,—the laws of motion in fluids, —the laws of the transmission of sounds,—the laws of optics ; but we speak also of the laws of individual existences, of a class, or of a species,—as when we say of any thing, that it acts according to the laws of its own nature. The term law, then, as applied to nature, means either a mode of action, or a mode of being. But it neither does mean, nor can mean, any- thing more. It is merely a name given to a definite generaliza- tion. As we find it impossible to change the characteristics of individual objects, so we find it equally beyond our power to discover what the primary essences of these characteristics are. We cannot tell by what law of nature it is that gold is yellow, and not white, or that a rose is not a violet, and that neither can become the other. We can assign a name to its mode of being, and that is all. In like manner, with regard to the general laws that regulate the movements of nature, we cannot do any- thing more than assign names to their modes of action. If we seek to prosecute our inquiries, and ask the reason, or cause, of 128 . NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. I. modes of being and action, no other answer can be given than, that any object exists as it is and not otherwise, because the Creator has willed that such should be its distinctive mode of existence. The law of nature in any individual object is nothing but the will of God materially expressed in that object; and the great laws that regulate the movements of creation, are but the modes of acting which God has prescribed to Himself in His government of the material universe. ‘The laws of nature, then, are but the laws, or rather the will, of God; and what we term their stedfast uniformity of opera- tion, is but a manifestation of His unchangeable character and attributes. But men seek to evade this conclusion by saying, that “God has impressed certain laws on nature, in obedience to which it continues to exist, and to act with unchanging uniformity, be- cause these laws are invariable in their operation.” But what is the meaning of this phrase—“a law impressed on matter?” What, in this acceptation, does the word Jaw itself mean? A law is not a thing; it has not a substantive existence of its own. It cannot be traced in its own separate individuality, or per- sonality, moulding with powerful hand material things into accordance with its own sovereign pleasure. Law is merely mind willing the exercise of its own energies in some peculiar manner. Its essential residence, therefore, must be in mind alone, of which it is merely an energetic modification, or the uniform operation of some governing attribute or faculty. This may be illustrated by reference to human law. The laws of a nation are merely the mind of the nation, putting forth a governing power, according to the determination of its delibe- rate reason and sovereign conscience and will. Human laws have no actual existence, apart from the mind of the nation ; and should the mind of the nation change on any point, the law on that point would of necessity immediately change. A law cannot be impressed on a nation, and mould its conduct by external influence; but it may be infused into the mind of a nation, and mould its character and regulate its conduct by internal influence. Much less can a law be impressed on insen- sate matter. The simple truth is, that law is a term properly applicable to mind alone; it exists only where mind is ; in mind alone it has its essential being ; and by mind alone it acts and governs. Law is mind willing the exercise of its energies in CHAP. V.] THE TWO ARGUMENTS IN COMBINATION. 129 some peculiar manner: the laws of nature are the laws of God; their agency is the divine agency; their perceived agency is the felt presence of Him “in whom we live, and move, and have our being.” Let me add this explanatory remark: There is a fallacy hid in the use of the word law, in the phrase “ laws of nature.” Substitute the term forces, or physical forces, and the fallacy is removed. Nature is one vast assemblage of physical forces, one mass of physical force; but all the force, or Jorces, are silent, latent, inert, till thrown into new combinations, attrac- tive or repulsive, by will, the active energy of mind, and in that there is law. God’s sovereign will is the law of the universe ; and when He made man a free agent with mind and will, He ' gave him the power of producing causation by using physical forces, in such new combination as his reason can devise and his skill execute. The sovereign will and first cause is in the Divine and Creative Mind. The secondary yet free will, and secondary cause, is in the human mind. God wields supremely the physical force which He lodged in nature, and ‘it uniformly obeys Him: man acquires the knowledge of these physical forces, and uses them in conformity with their primitive nature, so far as his power may enable him. But in all cases the law resides in mind,—the supreme law in the Divine Mind that created, the subordinate law in the human mind that uses, these physical forces. The term law should never be applied to the forces, as it is liable to mislead and end in materialism. To resume: The adaptations of nature are either physical or moral. ‘The physical adaptations of nature may be sub- divided into two departments: (1.) The adaptations of the various parts of inanimate nature to each other; (2.) and the adaptations of nature inanimate to nature animate, and con- versely, the adaptations of animate nature to the positions in which classes and individuals are placed. I. In directing our attention to the jirst of these subdivi- sions, we feel ourselves overwhelmed with the extent and _ variety of the field of observation. We might raise our eyes to the sidereal heavens, and trace the adaptations in astronomy, —the rates of motion given to the planets and their relative distances,—their revolutions round the sun, and their rotations round their own axes, with their inclinations to the plane of the ecliptic, securing to them the vicissitudes of climate and season, I 130 NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. L.: —their mutual perturbations, or action upon each other, so arranged and balanced as to secure the stability of the whole solar system, which would have been doomed to ruin by the slightest deviation from these balanced irregularities. Can all this be contemplated without giving rise to the deepest emotions of adoring wonder, while the human mind is lost in endea- vouring to imagine the wisdom which devised, and the power which governs, these mighty wheeling worlds! We might turn from the contemplation of objects so vast, and enter into the regions of chemical research. ‘Take the atomic theory, and mark the fixed permanence of the ratio in which various elementary substances combine with each other, —a ratio which we may use in all our combinations, but which we cannot in the very slightest degree modify or change. It may be, that the stability of the frame of material nature depends on these fixed atomic relations and proportions; but though we cannot affirm this, we may at least perceive the presence of a designing mind in these minute, or rather infini- tesimal arrahgements, rendering it impossible for any created being to disturb the harmony of the universe where He reigns supreme and alone, alike over the vast far-sweeping revolutions of suns and systems, and over the relations to each other of invisible atoms. We might direct our attention to the vegetable productions around us, and try to trace the circulation of the sap in a blade of grass through the fine network of its microscopic vessels, or beneath the bark of the gnarled oak and rugged pine. We might mark the adaptation of the seasons to draw up these vegetable juices, to expand them into leaves and flowers, to ripen their reproductive fruits, and in some to cast them to the earth again to fertilize the soil with their clay, in others to con- solidate into a new ring of thickening timber. We might trace the very peculiar process of the lichen om stones and rocks; eating into their solid substance, depositing earthy matter, and gradually preparing fresh soil, wherewith to repair the waste produced by sun, and wind, and rain, and rivers, and the sea. And in what appear the rare convulsions of nature—the sub- sidings of large districts of country, or their upheavings—the encroachments or retiring of the ocean—the drying up of lakes in one place, and their formation in another,—in all seeming perturbations and changes in the external configuration of the CHAP. V.] THE TWO ARGUMENTS IN COMBINATION. 13s world, we might trace design to preserve the just proportions and permanent equilibrium of our terraqueous globe. Should we direct our attention to the air, so far as man has been able to analyse it, we should there also perceive the most perfect adaptation in its component portions, and also in the production of the various gases required to maintain its propor- tions and its consequent salubrity. Here also we might notice the effect of the earth’s motion, both annual and diurnal, in pro- ducing the vicissitudes of seasons, and in not only attempering, but also purifying, restoring, and maintaining all genial atmo- spheric influences. How comprehensive, how complex, yet how permanent the arrangement, how wise and wonderful the design, how passing wonder the Infinite Designing and Regulating Mixv! In that most subtle of all elements, light, we might also trace the evidence of design, not only as manifestly as in the more palpable existences of nature, but much more so than in any other, so far as we can follow the almost spirit-like indica- tions of its nature. So far as we can trace the operations of light, we mark in it the embodiment of elemental power and elemental beauty. In its marvellous modifications, called elec- tricity and magnetism, we seem to mark the material, yet scarcely material, agency by which worlds are poised and swept around their mighty orbits, and at the same time clothed in loveliness,; by the magnetic poles the stability of diurnal motion is pre- served; by the surcharged electricity of the clouds all meteoric and atmospheric changes are effected; by the prismatic sun- beams the rainbow is cast across the cloud, and the most delicate tints are painted on the bosom of the opening flower. How perfect the adaptation of this wonderful element to the whole and to every part of the material universe! How infinite the wisdom of the Designing Mind by whom these adaptations were arranged! And how infinite the goodness which still preserves them in all their comprehensive and minute perfections! But it is in vain to attempt even to indicate the innumerable proofs of design written on the entire structure of nature, and per- vading its every atom. Turn whithersoever we will, the uni- verse displays the power, wisdom, and goodness of its D1vINE. CREATOR. His presence pervades it throughout, displaying by the forces and dispositions of nature a visible revelation of what we may call its—His—own natural attributes of infinite power, wisdom, and goodness, which are the laws of which those physical 132 NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. I. phenomena are but the symbols or the finite embodiments re- vealing that presence. Before quitting this subdivision I would remark, that the intelligent study of what are termed the Jaws and adaptations of nature, whether in their common or special manifestations, constitutes natural science, and must ever form a very important part of human knowledge. But the study of natural science can never. be prosecuted wisely and well if it begin not by the admission of the great principles of natural religion, and end not in their elucidation,—if it begin not by the admission that nature is the work of God, and end not by tracing reverentially Gop working in and ruling nature. It is, indeed, scarcely possible to prosecute the study of natural science without a con- stant, though it may be an unacknowledged, use of the argument of design. When any natural phenomenon arrests attention, the scientific observer almost intuitively asks, or supposes the inquiry, “ What is its use?—-what function does it perform ?— what end does it subserve in the economy of nature ?”—setting himself accordingly to find out the answer. Now, what is this, but an assumption of the principle, that it was there by design, and not by accident? By whose design? Not that of its dis- coverer certainly. By that, therefore, of its CREATOR, whose design it indicates to the intelligent inquirer. II. The next subdivision relates to the adaptations of nature inanimate to nature animate; and conversely, the adaptations of animate nature to the position in which classes and individuals are placed. This subdivision of the evidence of design has attracted the attention of all intelligent observers, and is ex- tremely fertile in proofs of a designing mind. It admits of almost boundless illustration. We might resume our examina- tion of the air, and trace its adaptation to the use of animated creatures for breathing, and for the transmission of sounds. Or we might direct our attention to the structure of the lungs of man and animals, and mark their adaptation to the air. No one would seriously maintain that the air produced the lungs of an animal, or that the lungs of an animal produced the air ; but every one might see that the one was adapted to the other, and therefore designedly so, by the Creator of both. Or we might examine the structure of birds, the inhabitants of the air, and mark how perfectly their lightness of form, their slender reed-like bones, and their feathery covering, so close and strong, CHAP. V.] THE TWO ARGUMENTS IN COMBINATION. 133 yet so aerial, fitted them for gliding through the air,— proving that to have been the design of Him by whom they were so fashioned and attired. We might explore also the waters, and mark the structure of the fishy races. There, too, we should perceive thé manifest proofs of design, in the gills, the fins, the cartilaginous bones of some,—the hard and heavy shelly encrus- tations of others, and their almost immoveable position on rocks and sand-banks,—and the pulpy structure of others, floating loose on the billows, and almost destitute of sentient being, their organized existence a prepared food for others, its loss no perceptible privation to themselves. And in the compound structure of amphibious creatures, birds and beasts, we might see proofs of complicated design, rendering them equally adapted to land or water. If from these lower regions we turned to man, we should be still more struck with the comprehensiveness and the perfection of design, as shown in his physical structure. Almost the first thing that arrests attention points out man’s superior adapta- tion, though it might seem the reverse. Nearly all animals are peculiarly adapted to peculiar climates and regions of the world. Those that are clad in fur cannot inhabit the tropical climes, but find their appropriate abodes within the arctic and antarctic circles; while, on the other hand, the fine-skinned animals of the tropics cannot endure the rigorous severity of higher lati- tudes. But the very nakedness of man enables him to inhabit the entire world,—the frigid zones, when wrapped in the warm clothing which his mind enables him to fabricate,—the equa- torial regions, by casting them aside. Thus is he fitted to ‘multiply and replenish the earth,’ and to have universal “dominion over it,’ as its inheritor and delegated sovereign. These topics are, however, so clearly obvious that I do not think it necessary to dwell on them. It must be enough to direct attention to them, as furnishing manifold proofs of most wise and benevolent design in the Divine Creator. Ill. Leaving those lower, though very fascinating and in- structive regions of the great argument, we ascend to those of a moral character, in which man himself is more directly con- cerned. The adaptations of external nature to the intellectual and moral constitution of man, form a very important part of the argument from design. The two main entrances of know- ledge to the human mind are those of hearing and sight. Re- 134 NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. I; garding these as mere senses, they are common to man and the lower animals; but they assume an immeasurably important character when we view man in his higher aspect, as an intel- lectual and moral being. 1. fearing is then connected with speech ; and immediately the whole field of intelligent intercourse between one living and embodied mind and another is opened. Now we perceive the adaptation of air to man’s mental constitution, as we had _ previously done to his physical structure; with this difference, that its adaptations to the mind are far more varied and won- derful than to the body. How exquisite must be the adaptation between the faculty of speech and the undulations of the air to convey from one mind to another all the varieties of meaning that language can express,—and even by the delicate intona- tions of voice and accent to indicate shades of thought and feel- ing, will and emotion, which, but for these intonations, words could never utter! Attempt even to imagine how many thou- sands and millions of those airy undulations that propagate sounds are incessantly crossing each other in the all-embrac- ing air, and then think how marvellous it is that they convey: from mind to mind, by speech and hearing, the finest shades of thought and feeling. Surely in this there is design, “ excellent in counsel, and wonderful in working.” 2. Not less marvellously perfect is the adaptation of light, not merely to the eye, but to the mind that looks through the eye, perusing the handwriting of God on the heavens above and on the earth beneath. The almost instantaneous speed with which light communicates intelligence to the mind, needs but to be mentioned. The information which it conveys from mind to mind by looks, and attitudes, and gestures,—by the clouded or the sunny brow,—the flashing or the melting eye- glance,—the dejected countenance or the smiling cheek,— enables man to read the very thoughts of his fellow-man, without the utterance of a single word. And with what ex- - quisite adaptation to man’s mental constitution does light, with its modifications, impart to nature the power of exciting and gratifying all the purest, noblest, and most gentle ideas and feelings of our moral and _ intellectual nature,—in the soft reviving greenness of a spring dawn,—in the bright glories of a summer noon,—in the sublimity of the starry heavens,— in the majestic terrors of a thunder-storm,—in the stainless CHAP. V.] THE TWO ARGUMENTS IN COMBINATION. 135 whiteness of the new-fallen snow,—and in the mild loveliness of some gentle dewy evening calmly sinking into peaceful rest. 3. We further mark this adaptation in a peculiar harmony between our intuitive conviction of the certainty of nature's sequences, and the unsought law of association in the mind. These two topics may be separately considered. We may observe and reason about nature’s sequences; and we may also observe and reason concerning the law of association. By the one, we are led to anticipate the constancy of nature, and to frame the idea of cause and effect, of design and accomplish- ment: by the other, we trace the regularity of our own mental perceptions and operations, and thence both learn to frame designs ourselves, and to trace the design of Him by whom we were so constituted. ‘The adaptation of these independent laws to each other is a manifest proof of wise and benevolent design, establishing a perfect harmony between man and nature, and rendering man truly nature’s interpreter, as well as nature’s delegated lord. 4, Another adaptation between nature and man’s mental constitution demands attention. There are in nature certain primary laws, or principles, which contain many thousand subordinate modes of being and action. When we master an adequate knowledge of any of these great primary laws, we are able to command almost interminably all its subordinate modifications. In our study of nature we analyse, or follow the inductive method of investigation, till we reach some great primary principle ; we are then able to reverse the process, and to proceed synthetically, or by deduction, applying the master principle, and commanding its subordinate modifications. Ex- actly similar is the constitution of the mind itself. In all rea- soning, there are certain jirst principles on which all the rest depend. In mathematical reasoning, there must be the aviom and the postulate, before we can proceed with the demonstra- tion. And in logic, there must be the premiss, or major pro- position, before we can frame the argument. These first prin- ciples we ascertain either intuitively or by analytic investigation, and we then synthize or demonstrate. Now this peculiarity in our mental constitution is exactly adapted to the szmilar constitu- tion of nature, and enables us to search for and ascertain those jirst principles in nature which give us command of all the rest. Does not this most signally prove the wise and gracious design 136 NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. I. of Him who framed both man and nature, and gave to the recondite elements of their respective constitutions an adapta- tion so perfect, at once stimulating and rewarding human intelligence ? 9. In the preceding instances the adaptations are chiefly intellectual; but there are others of a moral character and tendency,—though the moral region of the human mind re- quires for its full development the intercourse of other minds, When we contemplate any natural scene, there springs up in the mind and heart the kind of feeling most congenial to that scene. This may be heightened greatly by imagination and association ; but it has a reality in itself independent of these. The mind can and does cast. the colouring of its own ideas and feelings over nature; but nature also suggests emotions to the mind without its choice, and through its mere susceptibility. The ideas and emotions of sublimity, and power, and majesty, and peace, and gentleness, and beauty, can all be thrown into the mind by scenes, of which we cannot avoid feeling that they display these characteristics, They spring up spontaneously, and take possession of the mind, as if by an inexplicable but most gentle and natural constraint. Many of our moral sen- timents are thus most graciously renewed and cultivated by nature, when they had been jarred and blunted by our inter- course with mankind. We gratefully recognise in this a proof of most wise and gracious design, in Him who so constructed both nature and the human heart. 6. There is another moral adaptation, little noticed, yet of a very beneficial tendency. When we gaze on a well-culti- vated district of country,—a flourishing and well-built town, —a well-constructed harbour filled with vessels from all parts of the world,—or a neat and sheltered cottage, wearing the aspect of peace and comfort,—we feel a glowing sympathetic delight. But, on the other hand, the sight of a bleak and barren upland,—a decayed and ill-built town,—a_ harbour choked with broken piers and mud,—a miserable and squalid hovel,—such sights fill our minds with painful and disturbing emotions. Does not this clearly indicate that God designed man to “keep and dress” the world which he inhabits ; and that in doing so he promotes not less his mental and moral, than his physical welfare ? 7. There is still one other instance of adaptation, of a CHAP. V.] THE TWO ARGUMENTS IN COMBINATION. I3t somewhat complex kind, that deserves attention. An accurate observation of nature will make us aware of what we may term a law of compensation. This is seen both in animate and in inanimate nature. It is seen in the trunk of the elephant,—in the long neck of the giraffe,—in the protruding eyes of short- necked and timid animals,—and in a multitude of instances which need not be enumerated. It is seen also in adaptations to climate, not only in animals, but also in plants; by means of which, some disadvantage is compensated by some counter- balancing advantage. It isseen in the poison and the panacea, —in the bane and the antidote. It is experienced more or less by all mankind, who, if they have peculiar trials to endure, enjoy also peculiar compensating gratifications, tending to equalize human happiness. This idea might be carried still further, and illustrated by the existence of remedial substances throughout nature,—by plants and minerals possessing medi- cinal virtues, and distributed all over the world, generally where they are most needed, but by means of commerce made available to all. Is not this a proof of moral design of a most wise and benevolent character, displaying the wisdom, goodness, and bounteous mercy of the CREATOR? SEC. VI. RESULTS OF THE COMBINED ARGUMENT. I do not intend at present to prosecute the combined argu- ment any further in detail, but mean to give a brief summary of its results. Our investigation of its jirst element,—the & priort as it is commonly called, or axiomatic thought as we would prefer to term it,—has been conducted further than is usual among writers on Natural Theology, for this direct and, as it seems to me, very important and urgent reason, viz.: That from the realm of & priori thought have come forth many of those subtle theories, which cannot be properly met and set aside otherwise than by the use of & priori thought, still more pro- found and true than these speculative theories can be. Still another reason influences me not a little: I am decidedly of opinion that several of the plausible objections which may be raised in the province of & posteriori investigation cannot be so satisfactorily answered on merely scientific ground as they ought to be, nor indeed on any other ground, or by any other kind of reasoning than that which belongs to the & priori province. 138 NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. L In this section I shall first state the conclusions fairly de- ducible from the combined argument—the axiomatic thought united with the evidence of design; and then I shall give a summary outline of the entire argument in support of Natural Theology and its conclusions. If we can form a clear and connected view of the results of Natural Theology, as deduced from its defensive arguments, we shall obtain an answer to such. an inquiry as the following :— What can man, constituted as he is, and placed where he is, know of duty? Or, What has God taught man respecting duty, by means of his own nature, and the structure and arrangements of creation? There are thus two distinct, yet closely related and corresponding departments of the inquiry: two kindred voices declare the results. Man’s own constitution gives him capacities of a threefold character—sentient, intellectual, and moral, ‘These are essentially inherent in man, and conjointly constitute what we term human nature. Without taking cog- nisance at presence of what external nature indicates respecting the character of its Author, we remark that it is fitted to call into action, first and necessarily, the sentient capacities of man. When further traced, we find that external nature calls into action and cultivates also man’s intellectual capacities, partly by means of the perceptions received into his mental being, and partly by means of the investigations to which it stimulates, and the reflex action of the mind, in tracing, remembering, analysing, comparing, recombining, and employing its own operations. Thus both the sentient and the intellectual depart- ments of the human being are immediately called into action by means of external nature. And when we advance to notice the arrangements of external nature, so perfectly, so bene- volently adapted to promote the comfort and happiness of all animated creatures, and indicating so clearly the benevolent design of the Creator, we find it suited also to the culture of man’s moral nature. Still it is man’s social position that most directly and constantly calls the moral faculties into action ; and therefore moral philosophy, or the science of ethics, has chiefly to do with man as a member of society, holding inter- course with his fellow-creatures. We might briefly direct our attention to man’s duty to him- self, as arising out of his own nature and constitution. Almost every man feels it to be his duty to keep the lower propensities 4 j my y CHAP. V_] THE TWO ARGUMENTS IN COMBINATION. 139 of his nature subject to the control of the higher. Appetite may stimulate; but the duty of cultivating his intellectual powers tells him that he must not indulge his appetites to such a degree as to enfeeble or impede his intellectual culture. Not merely the appetites, but also the desires and the affections, must submit to be governed in subjection to the dictates of duty. How often do men put strong constraint on the most urgent desires and the most tender affections, at what they regard as the call of higher duty! Thus man feels within him, interfused through- out the very constitution of his nature, the idea of duty; and though it be regarded as duty to himself, still it is the duty of the lower to obey the higher, of the physical to obey the imtel- lectual, and of both physical and intellectual to obey the moral, This might suffice to elicit, and to cultivate to some extent, the idea of duty, and also of subordination; but it could not, of course, go very far, for the feeling of responsibility could scarcely be thus called into action, though some faint notion of it might be furnished. But leaving this narrow, though interesting region, let us survey the more decidedly moral province of man’s duty to man as a social being. All that is within man tells him, that he was created for a state of social existence. Man, in some peculiarly melancholy mood, may long for solitude and call it sweet; but very soon will he long for some companion with whom he may converse of its sweetness. But even the most limited com- panionship involves duty; and the love which prompts to companionship is itself the spring and principle of duty so considered. It bids him prefer his companion’s welfare to his own, and it enables him to enjoy the most exquisite pleasure in promoting that companion’s happiness. This, which may be regarded as the very first principle of man’s moral duty as a social being, is in its own nature entirely unselfish,—so much so, indeed, that if the desire of self-gratification should obtain the ascendancy in his mind, all the real happiness instanta- neously disappears, never to return till the selfishness takes its flight. Thus we may clearly trace the rise, even in the simplest form of the social state, of the first principle of moral duty, that of benevolence. And it requires no lengthened argument to prove, that the same principle is fitted to promote the welfare and the happiness of the most extended social condition—of the entire human race, indeed, throughout the world. 140 NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. I. We might, in a similar manner, trace the origin of the primary principles of human morality; but as this has been already done in a former lecture, we content ourselves with their enumeration. These primary principles we consider to be the jive following :—benevolence, truth, justice, purity, and order. All these we hold to be directly deducible from man’s own nature, and they all tend directly to the welfare and happi- ness, alike of individuals, and of the entire community. Now when we employ this view of man as an important part of the argument of design, we come irresistibly to such conclusions as the following:—That God not only created man capable of happiness, but also implanted in his nature the primary principles of morality, so adjusted that in their exercise he should promote both his own happiness and that of society at large ; that there- fore these moral principles, when in full and regular operation, become social virtues, and give rise to social rights, indicating at the same time both the design and the character of the CREATOR HIMsetr ; and that it must be man’s duty to act in conformity with those principles of his own nature, and those indications of the character and the will of Gop. Human law, as has been already shown, can but embody and enforce those primary principles of morality. They have their first perceived origin in man’s own nature; they owe their sacred authority to the intimation which they convey of the Creator’s character; and the argument of design enables us to trace them up to Hr as their true and eternal source. And when, further, we direct our attention to the moral faculty itself, conscience, and mark that it never fails to express the most complacent, and warm approbation of every act done in conformity to those primary principles, we find the argument complete; we find that the supreme and ruling faculty in man always approves of what conduces to good, and acts ever in harmony with God’s wise and gracious design. From this department of Natural Theo- logy, then, we receive the most wise, gracious, and salutary instruction; and are taught to find our truest happiness in obedience to the God of our nature and our life. If we turn from the ethical province to that of external nature, we find that all the laws and dispositions of external nature teach lessons precisely similar. For while the laws and dispositions indicate in the Creator of the universe wisdom to devise and power to execute, infinitely beyond what we can CHAP. V.] THE TWO ARGUMENTS IN COMBINATION. 141 comprehend, they all tend also to good ;—they are all so ar- ranged and regulated as to produce the greatest amount of happiness and welfare to every sentient being, so far as our researches are able to extend. To the promotion of the wel- fare and happiness of man, in particular, they are most per- fectly adapted. They readily yield for the use of his bodily frame all that it requires ; their less obvious powers and adapta- tions are equally fitted to cultivate and to reward his intellec- tual application; and as he advances in his more recondite researches, they still display before him treasures absolutely inexhaustible. The argument of design becomes more and more apparent and convincing every step he takes. All nature is stamped with the manifest impress of its Creator; and every- where, in the heavens above, and in the earth beneath,—in the | viewless air, and in the mighty waters,—he hears the voice that proclaims, or reads the handwriting that records, the wisdom, power, and benevolence of God. The harmony subsisting be- tween man and nature, and their perfect adaptation to each other, furnishes its part, and that one of great importance, in the argument. It is too manifold and too entire to be for- tuitous: it is very evidently the result of the wise and gracious design of Him by whose almighty voice both man and nature were called into being, and all their relations and adaptations determined and maintained; and this perfect harmony pro- claims everywhere: There is but ONE Gop. But we stop not here. Resuming the reasoning already - employed, we conclude, that those /aws which we have been contemplating, whether those which are inherent in the constitu- tion of man, or those which are conceived of as governing ex- ternal nature, are not only independent of man and nature, but are manifest and irresistible proofs of a designing MIND, whose character and attributes they indicate,—that is, of Gop, the CREATOR of man and nature. It is absolutely impossible to form any conception of either design or law, without the previ- ous ideas of mind, and personality. Law implies a mind whose mode of action it is: Design implies an intelligent and designing or intending person. And the absolute unity of the design, in the harmoniously adapted constitutions of man and nature, as clearly implies the unity of the designing person. It would not help us in our attempt to form some conception of this great truth, were we to try to frame some such theory as those that 142 NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. T: have long been too prevalent in Germany. What would it avail us to say, “that man himself creates nature, and gives to it the laws of his own being?”—or to say, “that nature is God, and that God is but nature?” The laws of man and nature are, indeed, coincident and harmonious, so far as we are able to trace them ; but these laws are at the same time independent of both man and nature. Our daily experience teaches us, that we cannot alter, but must obey, the laws of our own constitu- tion. It is equally true, that we cannot alter the essential forces of nature, but must comply with them even when we wish to use them. The only sound conclusion, therefore, is this: That there is ONE INTELLIGENT ALMIGHTY Minp, by WHOM both man and nature were called into being, according ' to one wise and benevolent design. We have now reached a point in our disquisition when we are entitled to ask, reverentially, What are the attributes which the indications of Natural Theology, as collected and apprehended by a sound philosophy, enable us to trace, as inherent in that ONE INTELLIGENT, PERSONAL Minn, the Gop and Creator of the universe? In a humble and solem- nized endeavour to prosecute this holy inquiry, we may, without impiety, conceive of those attributes in a twofold sense, natural and moral. From the indications afforded so abundantly by the external world we may most distinctly perceive what we ven- ture to-term, the natural attributes of God. The natural attri- butes thus indicated are, omnipotence, omniscience, omnipresence, eternity, and spirituality. When we use these solemn and great words, we must not deceive ourselves by supposing that we are able to form any definite conception of the ideas thereby indi- cated. By the word omnipotence, we mean to indicate our belief that the God who formed and rules the mighty universe, can do all things,—that to His power we can conceive no possible limits. By ommniscience we mean, that divine attribute which we term i/inite wisdom,—not merely the knowledge of what is, but the wise foreknowledge and pre-arrangement of all that can be, and of all that shall be. Nature’s laws and adaptations indicate some portion of its boundless treasures; and from what we there learn, we feel warranted to term it infinite. By the word omnipresence, we express our belief, that as certainly as God’s wisdom has devised, and His power created, the uni- verse, so certainly His presence everywhere sustains it in being. CHAP. V.] THE TWO ARGUMENTS IN COMBINATION. - 143 What men so commonly term its laws, are in reality but His modes of action, residing in His mind alone; and as we perceive their operation . everywhere, so we believe that He is present evarpgmone,-—that “in Him we live, and move, and have our being.” By the term eternity we mean, His self-existence, un- caused, underived, without beginning, and without end. We mean 4s what is often termed His necessary existence,—an existence having its cause of being in itself, so that it is impossible for it not to be. Both these expressions, self-ewist- ence and necessary existence, I include in the one great word eternity, which seems to contain them both. And by the word spirituality I mean, that quality distinct from material existence, of which we conceive mind, or thought, or intelligence, will, and morality, to be the essence. Such is a brief statement of what Natural Theology may teach respecting what we may, call the natural attributes of Gov. The moral attributes of Gop, as apprehended by Natural Theology, are indicated to us chiefly by our observation of the moral nature of man; although from the gracious arrange- ments of external nature we may learn much respecting one of them, which might be called benevolence, but more fitly LOVE. They may be enumerated thus: injinite truth, infinite justice, infinite holiness, infinite love, and infinite sovereignty. In man’s moral nature we see the shadowy and faint image of these infinite attributes. Man did not give them to himself; neither can he divest himself of them: they exist in his nature, even when perverted and abused. They tend directly, by their proper action, to the good of the human race, individual and general. We cannot but believe that they must reside in infinite fulness and perfection in Him who called man into being, and impressed His own image on the human soul. The attribute of infinite truth is manifested in the pre-established and undeceiving harmony of man and nature,—the realization answering truly to the design. The attribute of infinite justice or righteousness reveals itself in the inward consciousness of every man, that rectitude is necessary to happiness,—in the instinctive and irresistible apprehension of retribution,—and in the many instances of it that pervade the world. The attribute of infinite holiness is dimly shown in the intuitive regard for purity, and delight in all things pure, which constitutes so large a portion of man’s moral happiness. The attribute of infinite 144 NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. I. love or benevolence is seen in the gracious arrangements of nature, is conspicuously displayed in the moral relations of society, and is felt in the deepest emotions of the heart and the loftiest aspirations of the soul. And the attribute of injinite sovereignty, while it is one that reason recognises as infinitely right, as belonging to God, is felt also in that intuitive percep- tion of the benefit of supreme order, which makes man morally willing freely to submit to a due and necessary supremacy, wherein shall reside wisdom to direct, justice to decide, good- ness to confer benefits, and power to govern. It is felt also in the intuitions of conscience, obligation, and responsibility, im- plying a lawgiver, a judge, and a sovereign. Such are the moral attributes which a well-directed study of Natural Theology may conceive as combining in infinite fulness and perfection to form the glorious and adorable character of Gop. We are thus taught, that man and nature are alike the workmanship of the ONE Gop, whose natural attributes are omnipotence, omniscience, omnipresence, eternity, and spirituality. And that in His moral nature, His attributes, or, if we may so speak, His character, unites infinite truth, justice, holiness, love, and sovereignty. ‘ Who shall not fear Thee, O Lord, and glorify Thy name!” How justly is worship due to Thee! Iam by no means of opinion, that the mind of man, since the fall, ever did from the evidences of Natural Theology, and by the exercise of its own faculties alone, form such a concep- tion of the Creator of the universe. But while aware that I am reading nature by the light of revelation, and consequently that I am able to perceive and understand its intimations immeasurably more clearly and fully than I could otherwise have done; yet as I have endeavoured to keep within the strict limits of what may be proved to be true in man and nature, I consider myself fully entitled to bring forward these intima- tions in their most complete development. By doing so, I may further observe, I am but acting in accordance with the rule suggested by the Apostle Paul: “The invisible things (or attributes) of Him are clearly seen from the creation of the world, being understood by the things that are made, even His eternal power and Godhead, so that they (mankind) are with- out excuse.” I may observe also, that though man “ cannot by searching find out God,” as the book of Job teaches, yet in that very book there is most ample and powerful use made of CHAP. V.] THE TWO ARGUMENTS IN COMBINATION. 145 the leading evidences and arguments of Natural Theology. If, then, it be but too true, awfully true, that man does not from the teaching of his own constitution, and of nature around him, acquire that knowledge of and veneration for his Creator which he ought and might, it is necessary to prove that the blame is his own. “Because, when they knew God, they glorified Him not as God, neither were thankful.” This introduces a very grave topic. Hitherto we have been contemplating man and nature according to what appeared to be the primary intention of their respective qualities, and as these qualities coincide and harmonize, and thereby indicate the primary design of their Creator. In this we have found the design to be invariably wise and beneficent, intimating, or rather manifesting, the character and attributes of the divine Creator Himself. But we have now another view to take; and it presents itself to us in the form of a startling contrast. Lxternal nature obeys its constitution and laws; and all is order, peace, and happiness. But hwman nature-disobeys its constitution and laws; and all is degradation, convulsion, and misery. Man violates his duty to himself; he gives, it may be, full indulgence to the appetites of his lower nature, and by that indulgence renders the due cultivation of his intellect impossible, while at the same time he is refusing to obey the dictates of his moral faculty—conscience. Intemperate passion of every kind takes possession of him, and he sinks into a degree of degradation of which the lower order of animals is incapable. There is nothing that can be called inherently base, if only it rightly occupies its station, and fulfils its duties and design; but there is both baseness and criminality in that which voluntarily sinks below its station, and becomes incapable of fulfilling its duties and accomplishing the design for which it was created. Yet man cannot thus violate even his duty to himself with impunity. His outraged higher faculties inflict vengeance on him for his guilt. Conscious de- gradation renders him miserable; remorse lacerates his bosom ; the wretched man becomes his-own destroyer, and the avenger of his own destruction. He creeps about from one haunt of vice to another; he shuns the light of day and the presence of the wise and virtuous; he perishes—the despairing victim of his own crimes. But even this dread scene furnishes evi- dence of the primary design for which man was created, telling K 146 NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. I. him that duty and happiness are identical, vice and misery the same. Man violates his duty to man; he disregards the claims of benevolence, truth, justice, purity, and order, as these ought to affect his intercourse with his fellow-creatures ; and imme- diately, the laws framed for the protection and enforcement of those moral duties are armed against him. Had he acted in conformity with those claims, even human law, based as it is on them, would have been his protector; and where it failed to secure adequate protection, the approval of his own conscience would have given the compensation of its irreversible approba- tion. _But while, by violating these duties, he exposes himself to the punishment which law inflicts, he further rouses within his own inner being the terrible powers of a wounded and self- torturing conscience. He has acted in a manner which proves him to be the enemy of social welfare ; social laws are put forth against him; and conscience tells him that he deserves to be thus punished or outlawed. And if, instead of thus contemplat- ing the case of an individual, we look abroad over the whole social condition of mankind, we shall be constrained to perceive that the case is universal. Everywhere the principles of social duty, social virtue, and social law are recognised ;—everywhere they are violated, with or without impunity ;—everywhere we observe an uneasy struggle between conscience, which tells of duty,—law, which seeks to enforce or protect it,—and culpable selfishness, which seeks to violate it. ‘The harmony of natural laws and adaptations is maintained in calm and peaceful ease ; but there is no such harmony in the laws of man’s nature and his course of conduct,—it is discord, strife, suffering, and uneasy constraint, almost universally. Yet this, too, proves the original nature and design of man. It proves that he was created for social good, by proving that he cannot violate it without becoming miserable. I might draw attention also.to the fact, that, under the influence of passion or selfishness, man perverts or abuses the laws of nature, attempting to employ them in a manner for which they were not intended, and suffers from retributive justice. But a higher thought arises. Man owes entire and con- stant homage to the Creator; yet that homage he refuses to render; and his wretchedness is complete, when his guilt thus ae ~~ 4 CHAP. V.] THE TWO ARGUMENTS IN COMBINATION. 147 reaches its dire consummation. All nature around him and within him calls to that first and chiefest duty. The heavens display the glorious wonders of the power and wisdom of Gon; —the earth is full of the goodness of Gop. The universe is Gop’s great temple;—the voice of nature is one universal hymn of praise to Gop. All creation tells of duty, obedience, and worship; displays it, and is happy. Man alone refuses, He does not, he will not, he cannot, because he will not obey ; and man alone is miserable. His own conscience tells of duty and responsibility, turns over its upward reverential eye to heaven, appeals to divine authority, proclaims divine right, bows humbly before divine justice, and worships divine sovereignty ;—but still man disobeys, and still the more feels within him the gnawings of the undying worm. Natural religion agrees with conscience, points out everywhere clear proofs of the wisdom, power, goodness, justice, truth, and sovereignty of God, utters its adoring anthem, and calls on man to join it and be happy. Still man disobeys,—feels him- self the only discord where all else is harmony—the only rebel where all else is willing and glad obedience—the criminal of the universe! His own conscience condemns him ; and he cannot escape from its sentence, nor can he devise any method of restoration to innocent obedience and peaceful happiness. Natural religion condemns the only violator of created duty, but cannot rescue, or help, the criminal. Why is this? Natural Theology can give no explanation, for the fact is non-natural; and can afford no remedy, for that would require to be supernatural. This only—this and no more—Natural Theology can do:—it can prove that the cause of this wide-spread human wretchedness is moral, and that it resides in man himself. It is moral, because throughout all its range it is a violation of duty, an insurrection and rebellion of the lower elements of being against the higher, of the sentient against the intellectual, of both against the moral, and of all against Gop. How it has arisen, Natural Theology cannot tell, ‘That it resides in man himself, Natural Theology can amply prove; for, turn to what quarter soever we will, and explore it as fully as we can, we nowhere else see any part of the universe disobeying the laws of its own constitution, and acting in a manner contrary to the evident design of the Creator. But this is what man perpetually does: he disobeys 148 NATURAL THEOLOGY. (DIV. I. the laws of his own constitution, and he acts in a manner directly contrary to the evident design of the Creator. This is an awful confirmation of the sentence which conscience pro- nownces ; and it cannot be evaded. Is there, then, no remedy for this dire malady under which human nature is perishing? In vain have philosophers and statesmen sought for some remedy in man himself. In vain have sages promulgated what seemed to them amendments of the moral code, for the regulation of social life; and equally in vain have statesmen sought a remedy by improvements in law, and in the arrangements of the body politic. The disease lies deeper far than such remedies can reach. It resides in the very inner being of man,—in the great facts of conscience dethroned and will rebellious,—in the depravity of a nature originally good and holy, but now evil and corrupt. From this dread condition there is nothing in man himself that can deliver him; and Natural Theology can point out no remedy. Yet there may be dimly descried in one department of the evidences of design on which Natural Theology is founded, something which at least seems to indicate that the Creator of the universe both can and will provide a remedy wherever there exists disease. For we find in the productions of nature not only the food needed for our subsistence, but substances possessing medicinal virtues fitted to alleviate suffering, to remove disease, and to promote restoration to health. Does not this indicate a gracious design in God to teach us, that though there is nothing in ourselves which can relieve us from our moral malady, yet analogy sug- gests that there may be an external aid, a mode of deliverance, provided by God Himself, which it is our duty to seek, if haply we may find it, and be saved? But if such a remedy there be, as it does not spring from man himself,—as it is only in the power of God to give,—as it must be a moral remedy,— as it must be revealed to us by Him who alone can provide it, —and ‘as we have most ample evidence of God’s benevolence and pity, may we not expect that He will reveal, or that He has revealed, to man this great moral ‘remedy? Surely there is abundant reason to expect this—not because man deserves it, but because he needs it; and because God ‘has so wonderfully proved His willingness,—we might rather say His desvre,—to anticipate all our wants, and to bestow upon us all that is necessary for our welfare and true happiness. ea ee CHAP. V.] THE TWO ARGUMENTS IN COMBINATION. 149 Here, then, Natural Theology ends. It can discover that there is something wrong in human nature, some disturbing influence by which its constitution has been vitiated, the current of its laws checked or turned away, so far as regards their designed and natural operation ; and that this disturbing and vitiating element affects first and chiefly the moral region of man’s nature, and then all the rest through it, and as a necessary consequence. It cannot provide a remedy for man’s dire and destructive moral disease, but it intimates to him enough, in the dim symbolical revelation of physical remedies for physical maladies, to preserve him from despair, to awaken and support hope, to arouse and encourage expectation, to stimulate inquiry, and to prepare for the reception of any remedy which may be proposed to him as provided by God, and proved to be so by suitable and sufficient evidence. This is much, but it is not all. If the inquiries, instituted by Natural Theology have been rightly conducted, they must have stated, explained, and employed those laws of thought which alone can guide to a right conclusion in any investiga- tion. By the practised use of these, the mind may very securely advance in its inquiry into those evidences which are adduced to prove the existence and the truth of the Christian revelation, For if Natural Theology has already trained us to reason validly, to investigate profoundly, and to produce such views of the existence and character of God, and of the character of man, as those which have been just stated, it will be found to be impossible to believe, or rest satisfied with, any false religion,— any pretended revelation; and equally impossible not to believe the Bible—the Holy Scriptures of the Old and New Testa- ments, and to rest there, as on the true and only divine revelation given by God to man, for His own glory and man’s salvation. It must have been observed, that I have not introduced any arguments direct from Scripture; but that was because our inquiries hitherto have lain in the province of the natural, not of the supernatural. But we have ascertained the existence of moral disease in man, though we have not called it si ; and we have found that Natural Theology cannot account for moral disease or sin, nor for death, nor can it point out a remedy. For satisfaction on these points we must look to Revelation. CHAPTER VI. GENERAL CONCLUSIONS TO WHICH NATURAL THEOLOGY LEADS: ITS EXTENT AND LIMITS. a tApau have now traversed rapidly the wide realms of 423} Natural Theology, and appear to have marked its nature and extent, and approached its limits. Let us, before quitting it, attempt to take a compre- hensive survey of the regions we have traversed, the instruction we have obtained, and the position which we now occupy. What information have we obtained from created nature re- lative to the CREATOR? Our investigations began necessarily by an inquiry into our own existence, and the laws and modes of that existence. We found ourselves constrained to admit and hold, that sel/- consciousness is the first element of man’s essential being—the essence of awakening human thought in awakening life and intelligence. In self-consciousness we found the synthesis of sensation and perception, awakening reflection, and this mental state and act, at once a state and an act, necessarily implying the anterior existence of an agent; and that, too, an agent who both perceives and reflects, that is, a conscious existing and thinking being, which we term Self, or the Ego, or the Me, according to the. language of modern philosophy. In this analysis we have traced our being back from its first sentient vitality to the life prior to the sensation and necessary to it— to the perception and the percipient intelligence anterior and necessary to the perception—to the conscious “me-self, neces- sarily anterior, in the order of nature, to the reflex acts of perception and thought; and thus we have travelled back in our analysis to the region of & priori thought, so far as that region is possible to man. But this inevitably suggests the indefinite and inquiring conviction, that there must be some agent anterior to the me, also essentially a Mk, possessing a self-consciousness, in some transcendent way related to our own CHAP. VI.] CONCLUSIONS TO WHICH NATURAL THEOLOGY LEADS. 151 recently discovered self-consciousness, not destroying it, but . including it, and giving it being. Here, however, we pause, for we are not yet prepared to prosecute an inquiry demanding such recondite thought. But there was a different, and apparently a plainer, course of inquiry awakened in self-consciousness. In the very state in which self-consciousness arose, there had previously been sensation—the feeling of a resisting something in contact with our body and its senses. This resisting something is im- mediately conceived of as something external to the percipient, reflecting conscious self. We find that its resistance can be overcome, or used, according as we put forth our own muscular powers, at the dictate of our own volition. This external world now begins to manifest itself through our sensations, and by our perceptions to the conscious me; but this only makes the me more and more self-conscious; and while it is thus con- tinually asserting itself, it is quite as continually declaring its convictions regarding the external not-self. The antagonism between the external and internal produces the rapid and balancing, development of the self-consciousness and man’s belief in his own mental and physical existence, on the one hand, and, on the other, of his perception and knowledge of the external world and his belief in its existence. He may now turn and look more closely and intelligently into his own inner being. In doing so, he will readily become aware that his conscious self does not act capriciously, but follows a well-defined and distinctly traceable course, both with regard to the perceptions which it receives, and to the reflections which it makes. Thence arises the idea of laws of thought, and the power which these laws of thought exercise even in perception, and in the arrangement of all our per- ceptions. When our consciousness has achieved these laws of thought, it finds that it has obtained the power of regulating all its future inquiries, both with regard to its own existence, and with regard to what it may perceive and know of what appears to be external existence. It is precisely in this stage of our mental development that the sophistries of scepticism are liable to arise; and they arise thus: We have arrived at the conviction that our own laws of thought give form and character to all our perceptions. A vague speculative notion may arise, that perhaps our imagined 152 NATURAL THEOLOGY. — (DIV. I. perceptions are nothing else than modifications of our own powers and laws of thought. It is not difficult to perceive that there is not necessarily anything in external nature identical with our sensations,—that all of which we are actually conscious is nothing more than sensations and perceptions,—and that, perhaps, after all, there may be no real external world. ‘This may puzzle or please the sceptical idealist for a time, and in his hours of speculative amusement; but it never disturbs him in his actual intercourse with man and nature, and he never believes his own scepticism. But even this practical refutation is not enough. A deeper scepticism arises, and tells him that he is just as unable to prove his own existence as he is to prove the existence of external nature. This he cannot answer, it may be, but neither can he admit it; for in its admission there is a self-contradiction: “ I know nothing but this, that I know nothing.” What! the Hgo denying and asserting itself in one breath !—denying and affirming its knowledge in one affirma- tion! This may be safely left without further answer. But if, instead of following this mere ignis fatuwus of scepti- cism, the mind, confident in the testimony of consciousness, which never deceives, prosecutes the inquiry further into its own state of being, it will find that, in a sphere of mental being, antecedent to those which were first called into action, there exists that element which wills its actions, and yet another and more regal element which expresses an authoritative judg- ment upon every volition and every action; and this, the ulti- mate state, or essence of mind, is both the true and absolute me, and has a dim reference to an underived Mn, its own AUTHOR and Sovererren. It thus attains the idea and con- sciousness of personality. Everything may be abstracted from the consciousness but the consciousness itself in its highest state—its moral and personal state; and in the conception of nature everything may be betrasted but necessary being, which consciousness recognises as necessary, self-existent, rite con- scious Being; that is, an infinite, self-existent, personal God. Thus it appears that our own moral will and consciousness in their mutual action reveal the highest & priori essential being of man—conscience—acting morally and authoritatively as a judge; for there must be an agent before there can be an act, —a judge before a judgment. And by analysis there must be an infinite Self, of whom the human self can be but an image. =a > Weer £99? -@gi oe ae CHAP. VL] CONCLUSIONS TO WHICH IT LEADS. 153 We have thus obtained from the region of & priori thought and argument some very grand and important truths, which we are entitled to retain and introduce into our subsequent proof, for its completion, at whatever stage of the argument may be found suitable or necessary. We next proceed to objective nature; and we inquire into the evidence which it can afford, if any, of its and our Creator, in the form of what is termed the & posteriori argument. In this form of argument we at first abstain from projecting our own being, or the results already obtained from the & prior argument, into it, that we may ascertain what it can itself yield. We must, however, apprehend it according to our own laws of thought, for we cannot otherwise form, any intelligent apprehen- sion at all. It spreads out before us as a world of sensible and perceptible phenomena; and it may appear at first bewilderingly vast and varied. But we soon begin to perceive that these multitudinous natural phenomena can be arranged and classified; and we are almost surprised to find that there is an astonishing analogy between the modes of classification into which they seem spontaneously to fall, and the modes of classification aceording to which our own minds act. Whether this may arise from our own laws of thought, unconsciously projected into nature, as our old antagonists the sceptics might suggest, we do not think it yet necessary to inquire, but proceed with quickened interest in our investigation. We observe a regular succession of phenomena so arranged and so uniform in their succession, that the appearance of either suggests the other; and we give to this uniformity the name causation, implying, that of any two phenomena seen in this unvarying succession, the one may be designated cause, and the other effect. This suggests that the connecting link in causation is power, or that the former of these phenomena has power to produce the other. Here, again, arises a great conflict. One class of men vehemently deny that anything can be traced but succession of events. It may be invariable, and it may be special, so that " in observed sequences only one can be the invariable antecedent of some one invariable sequent; still they will not admit that the one has power to produce the other, nor even that any such thing as power can be proved to exist. Some may be inclined to think this but an idle logomachy. But the sceptic is well aware that if he can set aside the idea of causation in nature, it 154 NATURAL THEOLOGY. ' (DIV. L will not be possible to bring any argument from nature in proof of a First Cause. Let it be well observed that we have already obtained the idea of cause in the region of & priori thinking, from consciousness, and that we can legitimately introduce it when we please, so that we can set aside the logo- machy without refutation, if we think proper. But we are not obliged to do so. It is only the man of some scientific acquire- ment who ventures to use this objection; for it meets no respect from men of plain and practical reason and action. But the man of science cannot prosecute his scientific investigations without reasoning from cause to effect, and estimating both quantity and quality in cause. He will not, perhaps, use the word cause, still less power; but he uses the word force, or physical force, so that he estimates, expresses in mathematical formule, and uses in every way as he would an absolute exist- ence. Physical force, as the man of science is compelled to use the phrase, is simply physical power, as we should use that term, and involves a forced concession, on his part, of all that we need care for with regard to causation in nature. Even the fact that the ultimate forces in nature, such as gravitation, elec- tricity, magnetism, etc., are all invisible, yet all capable of being expressed in precise ratios of operation, is entirely on our side of the argument. With causation thus amply proved, we proceed to mark order, adjustment, and adaptation, of all the means, the powers, the forces, the operations in nature,—all so fitted as to produce some definite end. But the adaptation of means, so as to pro- duce a definite end, is design. We thus arrive at the great and important conception of design; and we see on every side, around us and above us, that all nature is pervaded by proofs of design. We see it in the minutest forms of existence that the microscope can reveal, and in the adjustments of the mightiest masses that wheel on their majestic revolutions in the boundless fields of space. We trace it in the finest chemical analysis which that wonderful science can produce; and we mark its adaptations in the inscrutable realm of life, where it works with the highest energy, and produces the most mar- vellous effects, but where we cannot see it working. The very least conclusion that we can draw from even objective nature, objectively viewed, is, that it has all been arranged and adjusted, and is pervaded and sustained by a designing and formative ; é CHAP. VI.] CONCLUSIONS TO WHICH IT LEADS. Loa power, so mighty and so wise, that we can conceive no limits to that power and wisdom. Here, again, our old antagonist, scepticism, meets us, and seeks to renew the conflict. It will admit that we have proved design and power, but not, necessarily, wisdom. “ Might not matter, or atoms, and physical forces, be eternal? might there not have been an unbeginning series of attempts, more or less abortive, made by these forces to produce such arrangements and adaptations as could be permanent? might not some happy ‘fortuitous concourse of atoms’ have at length cast the frame of nature into its present form? might not, therefore, the whole be thus adequately accounted for, by the single assumption of a designing and formative power in nature, —itself merely a natural, formative, but unintelligent and unconscious power?” This is positivism and fatalism. But we are not restricted to the region of objective nature, in the mere material universe ; for man is also nature, and can be viewed and reasoned on objectively, as self-consciousness manifests him. We tell the sceptic that we are about to intro- duce the human world into the argument, and thus to combine into one the & priori with the & posteriori argument, and then to find what the conclusion must be. We assert that this course is perfectly legitimate, even rigidly scientific ; for we mean to keep within the objective sphere of argument. But let it be observed that this does not exclude the introduction of mind ; for though mind acting is subjective, yet, when it contem- plates its own thoughts and conceptions, the thoughts and con- ceptions become objective. We now, therefore, legitimately introduce the world of mind into the investigation, and con- template man in all his capacities,—as sentient, percipient, intellectual, moral, and, even in faint and dim foreshadowing anticipation, spiritual and immortal. Objective nature becomes immediately a scene of intelligible light, and beauty, and wis- dom, and power, when objective man is introduced. We had previously acquired the idea of causation, by employing our own bodily organization to produce effects. We had also acquired the notion of power, by putting forth our own muscular powers, and perceiving the consequences that resulted. The notion of invariable sequences does not appear strange to us, be- cause we perceive either the invariable sequence of the effect following our own act of power, or the obstruction which pre- 156 NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. I. vented it, by the removal of which the proper sequence is produced. Still further, we already understand the idea of design, by our own consciousness of intending to put forth our power for the production of some end in view, and the intended arrangement and adaptation of suitable means for the accom- plishment of that end. To all these important elements of knowledge, consciousness bears its indubitable, irresistible testi- mony, against which no sceptical cavils are of the slightest force. | We have not now the slightest difficulty or doubt in making the proper inferences from the phenomena of nature. Every- where around us we perceive causation, power, adaptation, and marks of design, and they are all to us perfectly intelligible. In many instances we can distinctly understand the design, and feel great delight in marking the exquisite skill and beauty of the adjusted arrangements; while both admiration and some- thing akin to love spring up in the heart when we perceive the benevolence of the design itself,—how much forecasting goodness it manifests, and how much happiness it produces. And all this we can now ascribe to mind, to mind alone, and to mind with certainty ; for our own consciousness has taught us that design resides in mind, and only in mind. It is not a mere formative power, we are now certain, that constructed and sus- tains the world, but a wise and benevolent Mind, who framed it in wisdom, according to the design of His goodness, and sustains it by the exercise of the same attributes of wisdom, goodness, and power, and rules it as a personal moral Governor. But we do not complete our-survey of man till we contem- plate man in society. A world of new wonders now opens out to view before us. We trace carefully man’s mental and moral constitution, so far as our own consciousness reveals to us our common nature. In the primary principles and laws of the human mind, we see innumerable proofs of the infinite wisdom that formed such a creature as man. We see how fitted and adapted he is to the world, and the world to him ; and we see also how certainly his constitution is adapted to the construction of a social world, from its germ in the family to its greatest development in the highly cultivated community of a mighty empire. The complicated conditions of society, and the adaptations of the human being both actively to frame CHAP. VI.] CONCLUSIONS TO WHICH IT LEADS. dt these and passively to comply with them, may almost be termed infinite. The manner, too, in which society is framed to draw forth and cultivate what are thence termed the “ social virtues,” is another source of very peculiar design and adapta- tion. ‘These social virtues are all moral in their nature; their right performance is accompanied with pleasure in ourselves, and rewarded by the approbation of others; while their neglect or violation is accompanied by a feeling of pain, akin to remorse, and punished by the disapprobation of others. Conscience is ever dealing with them ; either our own conscience in our per- sonal feelings, or the general conscience in the moral judgment formed and manifested by society at large. But this is the bright side of the picture, the sunny side of the prospect. Society is full of contradictions, and man him- self is full of similar contradictions. We know the right and good, and we approve them; but we do the wrong and the evil. We recognise the benefits of the social virtues and applaud them, but we perform them very imperfectly. We censure and condemn their neglect or violation ; and yet we live habi- tually as if their neglect and violation were almost a duty. We praise warmly ‘the precious and disinterested virtue of sed/- denial, and its ‘generous active aspect, benevolent kindness ; and yet our conduct is largely regulated by narrow-minded selfish- ness, and the mean vice of self-gratification. We render homage to justice as the very guardian of social life; but we practise deceit, fraud, treachery, and injustice of every kind, as if their practice were meritorious. We recognise in truth the very cement of confiding friendly intercourse ; and both in word and action the conduct of many is embodied falsehood. We are all fully conscious that the right observance of the social virtues would render this world :a scene of almost un- mingled happiness; but we so live in their habitual violation as to make it a scene of ‘almost incessant misery. It abounds with contradiction, confusion, errors, vices, crimes, degradation, remorse, and dread of impending punishment. Yet there is no such wild anarchy, or wilder misrule, in objective physical nature. Everything holds on its appointed course with calm, undeviating regularity. We war not with the elements, nor the elements with us, but we learn their laws, and rule them to serve us at our will. There is a steady and peaceful harmony in nature, and it acts harmoniously. Not so 158 NATURAL THEOLOGY. [DIV. I. with man. He makes society, for that is his nature; but he disturbs and embroils society, warring with it and with himself, doing and suffering wrong and violence; and that is at once his aim and his punishment. Nature is fitted to man, and nature’s laws obey and benefit him, when he lives and acts in accordance with their design. Society is fitted to man, and man to society; and so fitted as to secure happiness to man virtuous—to man acting according to consciousness and con- science. But the adaptations of nature and its laws act also like inexorable judges and avengers, inflicting unmitigable punishment on him by whom they are violated. And society itself, bearing witness to something in man better than his conduct, is also a judge and an avenger, casting from its bosom, or smiting to death, the man who persists in continued crime. All this conscience asserts to be the inevitable consequence of the evil which it condemns; and reminding man of his proper personality and the inevitable inference of an infinite Person- ality, the Author of both nature and man, utters with deep and awful whisper, or with loud, stern thunder, the anticipated here- after and its final judgment. Why is thisso? Nature is as it was designed, and all is well. Man’s harmony with nature tells him that he is the creature of the same designing Mind. But with him all is not well; he is not answering the design; yet there is enough in him to prove that the design was originally good. God did not then create man as he now is; but he has sustained some great and dire calamity,—has fallen from his original condition; and that fall is the cause of his present confusion and misery. The sum, then, of what we can conclude from Natural Theology is this, or may be thus stated: That There must exist a Powrr to which we can imagine no limits, either in space, in potence, or in constructive skill; and that this Powrnr is a Mora PeErson, the Governor of the universe—ONE Gop. While all nature obeys His government, and is in order and at peace, it is not so with the social world of man, but all is disorder and misery. Yet, from the consideration of the moral nature of man, we conclude with certainty, that the Creator of man is an all- perfect, omnipresent, omniscient, omnipotent, eternal, personal God; and that He could not, consistently with His own nature, ' ; ¢ be T CHAP, VI.J CONCLUSIONS TO WHICH IT LEADS. 159 create man other than innocent; that, therefore, man must have fallen from innocence into depravity and guilt. That inasmuch as perfect justice is not executed in this world, it is probable that man has a future, in which to meet reward or punishment. And since, even in this world, there are desires and restraints, it is also probable that man is at present in a state of probation, amidst counterbalancing influ- ences. | But as man feels and experiences that he cannot obey the moral law of even his own nature, while he is conscious that it is of absolute obligation, it is impossible for him to achieve a successful probation unaided. There is, therefore, a Gop of infinite holiness, goodness, righteousness, and justice, as certainly as man himself exists and has a conscience. Man has violated at once the law of his own moral nature and the law of God. Therefore there must be to man either endless punishment, or some method of re- storation, not arising from himself, but bestowed by God. But it is probable, since probation is allowed and judgment delayed, that God may have provided some means of restora- tion, which nature cannot indicate more than very darkly; and therefore probable that God has given a revelation to mankind. What sin is, or redemption may be, Natural Theology does not know, and cannot tell; it cannot, therefore, suffice for fallen and depraved man, cannot produce a true religion. The results to which we have been conducted by the course which we have pursued, may be thus stated. So far as we can trace the elements and laws of being in man and nature, they are all good, individually and relatively fitted to secure his own welfare and happiness, and to promote that of all around him, and to glorify his Creator by displaying His wisdom, power, and goodness. This might be the natural religion of man in innocence. But these beneficial results are not produced. Man’s sufferings constrain him to perceive that he is in a diseased condition ; that he neither feels nor acts in accordance with nature, and, consequently, cannot enjoy what nature provides and offers. Conscience tells him that the malady under which he suffers is a moral disease ; that his own criminal conduct is the cause of his suffering. Natural religion completely ratifies this dread conclusion ; but can neither explain the cause nor pro- 160 NATURAL THEOLOGY. | [DIV. L duce aremedy. Over this deplorable result the sad and weary soul may brood, exercising its high faculty of thought, looking before and after. But what avail all its most profound or most elevated musings? If its regards are directed backward and inward, it finds indications of a purity sullied, an imnocence lost, a dignity forfeited, an integrity violated, a sense of recti- tude aggrieved, and a degradation sustained,—all its pristine and natural glory and happiness darkened and destroyed. If upward and forward it desires to look, there rise upon the soul dim anticipations of, or rather anxious longings after, a higher, holier, and happier state of existence, but darkened and saddened all with the melancholy consciousness of that con- dition of moral disease from which it cannot rescue itself, and with which true happiness is incompatible. Thus trembling ever between these two conditions, the lost purity and hap- piness of the past, and the longed-for restoration of the future, the thoughtful spirit can find no repose, no peace, no satisfac- tion. All around the anxious and inquiring man there is peace, so far as regards external nature ; but so far as regards the conduct of his fellow-men, all is anarchy and misery,— anarchy and misery exactly the same as that which tortures his own inner being; and from nothing within himself can he obtain the slightest prospect of deliverance. But although nature can produce no remedy, and natural religion can neither explain ‘the disease, sim, nor provide a remedy, redemption ; yet there appear to be some suggestions in the evidence of design, and mm the delayed execution of judgment, which ought: at least to sustain hope, and prompt ° to inquiry. ‘There are not only compensations throughout nature, conveying some counterbalancing advantage where there is. some unavoidable disadvantage, but such other adjust- ments ‘also as might seem to indicate what might be regarded as a latent -prediction of some yet unannounced remedial * arrangement. This becomes still more apparent when we direct our attention to the fact, that nature is richly stored with substances possessing medicinal qualities, for the allevia- tion or removal of disease and the restoration of health. Does not this seem, at least, to suggest that there may be, in God’s moral government, the means of providing a remedy for the soul’s moral disease, if God would graciously please to reveal it? And when we further contemplate the infinite goodness CHAP. VI.] CONCLUSIONS TO WHICH IT LEADS. 161 which so characterizes the works of God, are we not en- couraged to hope, if not even to expect, that God will provide a remedy, and will also so reveal it to man as to place it within his reach, at least in a condition analogous to nature’s remedies ? Without ascribing much to such a mode of viewing the subject, it seems to us that there is in it enough to sustain some degree of hope, to prompt to inquiry, and to fix upon man the responsibility of giving his utmost attention to anything that purports to be the revelation of a remedial measure for the heal- ing of his consciously diseased soul, especially when considered along with the merciful fact, that the execution of the deserved sentence is still delayed. No man can be at liberty to neglect this inquiry. Indifference with regard to it is a great aggrava- tion of his crime, and consequently of his moral disease. It is now, and must always be, man’s most important duty to ascer- tain if there be any remedial revelation, and to institute the most earnest and conscientious investigation of its claims to possess that sacred character. Even Natural Theology, by its irresistible conclusions, lays us under an imperative obligation to undertake this urgent duty; and though it cannot conduct us further in the inquiry, it has rendered inestimable service in so far pointing out the path, removing some obstructions, and impelling us to the enterprise. . J A oe 7 7 SEpeMT NT reo ‘ : “% >; Fs “"s iy) ‘ Heed if me t } , , ' Pad. / ey OF fT te i? eal j . Ps aa e + “a“s ah . a ee . Ls, Ly a Hoe hy? - a): } th a : tt mi he a? is ; ; > vi aay : . 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Be ey N commencing our study of Natural Theology, we i, Were at some pains to show that our task was the solution of a problem, not the demonstration of a theorem; that the problem which we had to golve was one already universally believed; and that what we had to do, was to trace the processes of thought which entitle us rationally to hold that belief. The matter of belief, of which we had to give an account, is this: There is in the human mind an intuitive, irresistible, and universal conviction that there exists a Supreme Being—God; and that man himself stands in a relation of dependence, probably of duty, to that Supreme Being. This directly raises the question which forms the basis of all inquiries relative to Natural Theology, viz.: Can human reason, without any higher aid, by means of its own researches and discoveries alone, account for this universal conviction, and answer the great question thereby raised, and thus super- sede the necessity of any supernatural revelation? or does the highest achievement of reason accomplish no more than the supplying of a basis for such a revelation, rendering it intelligibly desirable that there should be, and probable that there has been, and still exists, a supernatural revelation 2 The general summary of what we have learned from Natu- ral Theology may be thus somewhat systematically stated :— That there must, and does, exist a Supreme Being, to whom we can imagine no limits, either in space, in power, or in con- \ 164 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. (DIV. IL structive skill; and that this Supreme Being is a moral Person, Creator and Governor of the universe. That while all physical nature obeys His government, and is in order and at peace, it is not so in the moral nature, and in the social world of man; but all is anarchy, disorder, crime, remorse, and misery. That we can, nevertheless, from the consideration of the moral nature of man, conclude with certainty that the Creator of man is an all-perfect, omnipresent, omniscient, eternal, personal God; and that He could not, consistently with His own nature, create man other than innocent; that, therefore, man must have fallen from innocence into depravity. That inasmuch as perfect justice is not executed in this world, it is probable that there is a future state for man, in which there shall be a complete retributive condition of rewards and punishments. And since, even in this world, there are desires and restraints, it is also probable that man is in a state of probation, placed amidst counterbalancing influences. But as man feels and experiences that he cannot obey the moral laws of even his own nature, while he is conscious that it is of absolute obligation, it is impossible for him to achieve a successful probation unaided; and his own violated conscience must be his accuser before God. This, then, is the dread alternative conclusion to which Natural Theology inevitably leads: As certainly as man knows that he himself exists, and has a conscience, so certainly does he know that there is a Gop of infinite holiness, goodness, righteousness, and justice; that man has violated at once the laws of his own moral nature, and the laws of God; and therefore, that there must be to man either endless punishment, or some method of restoration, not arising from himself, but bestowed by God. | Yet some dim hope may still be enterfained; for since probation is allowed and judgment delayed, God may have provided some method of restoration, which nature cannot indicate more than very darkly; and therefore it seems pro- bable that God has given to mankind a gracious revelation of some divine remedial means of their salvation. But what the nature of. man’s moral malady is,—what moral evil is, —what sin is, and how it entered into, corrupted, polluted, and still enslaves the soul of man,—or what redemp-~ * CHAP. L] INTRODUCTION. 165 tion may be, Natural Theology does not know, and cannot tell. It cannot, therefore, suffice for fallen and depraved man ; it cannot produce a right religion for fallen man. SEC. I. STATEMENT AND DEFENCE OF THE ARGUMENT. A REVELATION PROBABLE. We are now in the right position to ask the question which introduces the subject of revelation :—Have we sufficient evi- dence to prove that a supernatural revelation has actually been given? There has been enough already obtained from Natu- ral Theology to prompt to this inquiry, and to fix upon man the responsibility of giving his utmost attention to anything that purports to be the revelation of a-remedial measure for the healing of his consciously diseased soul, especially when considered along with the merciful fact that the execution of the deserved sentence is still delayed. No man can be at liberty to neglect this inquiry. Indifference with regard to it is _ a great aggravation of his crime, and consequently of his moral disease. It is now, and must always be, man’s most imperative duty to endeavour to ascertain whether there be any remedial revelation; and.to institute the most earnest and conscientious investigation of its claims to possess that sacred character. And though Natural Theology cannot conduct us further in this urgently important inquiry, it has rendered inestimable service in so far suggesting it, pointing out the path, removing some obstructions, and impelling us to the lofty and holy enter- prise. We may even anticipate, so far, what there must be in such a revelation as we need; for Natural Theology has suggested to us some all-important questions which it cannot answer. We need to know the real nature of our sore moral disease,— what moral evil is,—or, in one word, what sin is,—how it entered into our nature, corrupted, polluted, and still enslaves, degrades, and ruins the human soul. We have also already learned to know so much of the character of God,—that He is holy, righteous, and just, as well as good,—true, and merciful ; but we need to know how it can be consistent with the holy, righteous, and just God, to show mercy to sinners, and yet maintain these attributes in all necessary and infinite perfec- tion. This, viewed even from the human side, is the special 166 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. (DIV. II. point on which we most need a divine revelation. For while it could not but interest us very deeply to know how it was that sin entered into the human soul, it must interest us far more deeply to know whether there be in the infinite wisdom and goodness of God such a remedial measure as shall at once maintain, in all their infinite and eternal sacredness, the divine attributes to which sin stands in abhorrent contrast, and yet secure the pardon of the sinner, and his restoration to the favour of the just, righteous, and holy God. A divine revelation, therefore, suited to the awful necessities of the case, must of necessity maintain and vindicate God’s character in all its infi- nite holiness, justice, and sovereign majesty, even in and by the provided remedy, before it would be possible for the thoroughly awakened and enlightened conscience to believe that the sinner could be saved. Can God be just, and yet the justifier of the sinner? is a question to which none but God Himself could ever give a con- clusive answer; and yet this is the very question which not only the aroused guilty conscience, but which even Natural Theology, constrains man to ask. It will be seen at once that this is a question which no created reason could possibly answer, because it relates to what lies within the awful depths of the Divine Being’s own nature and character. Modern philosophy may boast loudly of its high intuitions; but it can- not, without daring impiety, pretend to see into and fathom the infinity of God’s own nature, and tell what is possible with Him. We may see that nothing inconsistent with His own nature is possible with Him, for that would be self-contradic- tory, and therefore impossible,—an imperfection, and therefore impossible; and we may not be able to see how the pardon of a sinner is consistent with infinite justice, but we are sure that if it can be consistent, God Himself can alone tell us how. No human intuition can avail us here; and, so far as we can mark the inflexibility of nature’s laws, and feel the incessant and immitigable agonies of remorse, we are constrained to believe that nothing can save us but the putting forth of some new restorative energy,—some new creative spiritual act by God Himself, from the inexhaustible fulness of His own Eternal Being. We wish to state this point strongly; because we wish, on the very threshold of our investigation, to meet and set aside CHAP. I.] INTRODUCTION. 167 the not less than impious pretensions of the intuitionalists. Let it be very closely and earnestly observed, then, that our inquiry, though prompted and urgently impelled by Natural Theology, does not lie within its domain, nor within the domain of & priort thinking, nor within the domain of created intelligence, but within the divine nature; and therefore, necessarily and for ever inaccessible, without a direct divine revelation. Let intuition soar as high as it may, it can never transcend the region of what is—of created existence and possibilities; it cannot approach what could be—what God Himself could think, design, and accomplish. But many of our men of intui- tion deceive at once themselves and their readers. They begin their upward flight with the light of revelation around them ; they ascend by means of its aid to heights which, without it, they could never have even approached; they gaze half blindly on eternal truths which it alone enabled them even dimly to perceive ; and then, denying the power that plumed their wing and unscaled their sight, they boast of their discoveries, and assert that to them, at least, revelation was not necessary. They stole fire from heaven: let them beware lest it consume them. Again we say, God Himself can alone answer the ques- tion, “ Can God be just, and yet a justifier of the sinner?” and that answer is revelation; for the answer lies hid in God’s essential nature and character, which He alone can reveal, and no created being can ever by searching find out. But is it contrary to reason to say that a divine revelation is possible? Surely no one who believes that there is a God, and that He is a Being of infinite power, wisdom, and goodness, can reasonably deny that He can, if it seem good to Him, make a revelation of Himself and of His will to men, in an extra- ordinary way, different from the discoveries made by men themselves, in the natural and ordinary use of their own rational faculties and powers. Not many years ago this statement would not have been thought to require any proof. But in our age men have become bolder, or, rather, more audacious, in their opposition to everything that tends to support revealed truth. Some assert at once that no supernatural communica- tion from God is possible, because the very idea of the super- natural, say they, eats away the possibility of any conceivable medium of communication between God and man. Has God, then, so locked Himself behind nature, and man in nature, that 168 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. (DIV. IL. He cannot open any new way of communication with man because of that tremendous thing, nature, which interposes be- tween the Creator and the creature? Why, this is to imagine nature more potent to hide God than God can be to reveal Himself. “But if He did,” say they, “that would be a miracle ; and no miracle is possible.’ Why? “ Because it is a viola- tion of the laws of nature, which are invariable.” This is the objection, and we shall examine its value after a little: mean- time, its very statement, as we have drawn it forth, shows that it is not very formidable. But another class of objectors assert, on what they deem philosophic grounds, that no external evidence, or what they call objective proof, of whatever kind, can be either sufficient, or even relevant, to establish a subjective belief in the mind. Every subjective belief, say they, must have evidence of its own kind, on which alone it can be established. It might, perhaps, seem as if this argument were meant to maintain the paramount im- portance of the internal evidences of Christianity ; but such is not the purpose for which it is employed by this class of per- sons. They hold that there is in the mind a native faculty of spiritual discernment, whose high prerogative it is to judge all evidence and argument of an internal nature, and to receive such only as approves itself to the lofty authority of that high faculty. This is to make the value of the internal evi- dence to depend, not on the fact of its being a communication from God, but on its being approved by the mind’s own inter- nal power of judgment; and in this we trace another instance of the power and deception of the prevalent and boastful sub- jective philosophy, the great aim of which seems to be the destruction of all belief in every kind of objective truth. The final result of this kind of philosophizing would be an inevitable plunge into the abyss of idealistic pantheism. Let us, however, examine the objection itself. Stated in its most compressed form, it is this: that no objective proof is relevant to establish a subjective belief ;—not even relevant, that is, has not the necessary relation in kind; and therefore the argument drawn from the one kind of being or knowledge cannot relate to, or pass into, the province of the other. But is this metaphysically true? Have not the most acute modern metaphysicians arrived, in their last analysis, at the conviction that there is a twofold co-efficient in all human knowledge, CHAP. I.] INTRODUCTION. 169 which they term subject-plus-object? So essentially true do they hold this to be, that they deny the existence of any knowledge that is not thus constituted, and assert that each of the single terms in this compound term is essentially neces- sary to the other, and equally so—that the object is just as necessary to the subject, as the subject is to the object. This, limited to created mind, especially to the embodied human mind, we believe to be true. But if so, it entirely removes the objec- tion’ under consideration ; for it proves that the objective is essentially related to the subjective, and that whatever belongs to the one department must have relevancy to the other, in all our knowledge. Or, to descend to more common ground, is it true in fact? Do we not believe innumerable things of which we have no other kind of evidence but objective? Are not all the physical facts relative to the human body, objective in their nature, and yet capable of establishing subjective belief? All our knowledge of physical laws is founded on objective proof, and yet that knowledge furnishes a large amount of our subjective belief. The truth is, we would be inclined to regard the objection itself as nothing more than a specimen of ingenious trifling, if it were not that the con- sequences to which it leads betray its deeper design. That design manifestly is, to place all belief within and under the government of the individual mind, so that every man may believe or disbelieve according to his own pleasure. There is in this objection the apparently plausible com- plaint, that those who produce external argument or evidence are attempting to invade the native freedom of the mind, which must be supreme within its own province. But does this supremacy necessarily imply any such disjunction from the objective world, and its facts and evidences, as that these cannot produce a subjective belief? That supremacy may be shown as clearly in sifting the evidence, as in rejecting it; and when the evidence is satisfactory, the belief of its testimony is not an abdication of its supremacy, or an abandonment of its liberty, by the mind. The human mind shows its high nature and wonderful constitution, when it takes equal and full cognisance of both the elements that compose the human being, and applies them as the Creator manifestly designed, in constituting man the synthesis of mind and matter. Man, this composite creature, takes cognisance of the states and 170 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. (DIV. I. laws of his own subjective being, and uses intelligently this kind of knowledge in observing, exploring, and using the ex- ternal world of objective being. And equally legitimate is it for him to take cognisance of the external and objective world, — its phenomena and their laws, and to treasure up the result in his own inner world of subjective belief. The abnegation of either of these high and legitimate functions would be the suicidal extinction of half his nature, and would consign to oblivion one half of his knowledge. But it would also be a wilful act of rebellion against his Creator, or, rather, an indi- cation that he is already in that state of rebellion, and is only attempting to devise a feeble vindication of that rebellious condition. What gives certainty to this “conclusion is, that those who use it do so only in the case of revelation, and not in other cases where objective proof is employed to establish sub- jective belief. If they were to use it in all such cases, it would end in absolute scepticism ; and they do not wish to be sceptics in any other region than in that of religion. But there is yet another answer to their objection. They cannot deny that they possess a moral nature—a moral faculty in their inner subjective being. As little is it possible for them to deny, that in the objective world of other men—the social world which is objective to every individual man—they do receive objective proof sufficient and also relevant to establish subjective belief. Their objection is therefore inconsistent with the facts, the laws, and the operations of their own minds, and must be rejected as an invalid and absurd objection. We set aside, then, the objection, “that a revelation is not possible, because no objective proof is relevant to establish a subjective belief.” We have also characterized this objection as an attempt to bring all belief under the government of subjectivity ; and this might suggest a view considerably different from that which we have been examining. It might suggest that this objec- tion was raised, not so much by the subjective philosophy, as by the mystical or fanatical element by which some minds are characterized. It might indeed so arise; and, arising in the present age, it would not be strange that it should use the language of modern philosophy, so far as to give plausibility to its argument. The student of Church History must be sufficiently acquainted with the pretensions which have been CHAP. I.] INTRODUCTION. 171 made by mystics and fanatics in every age, claiming a personal and divine spiritual illumination, which rendered them not only independent of anything of such a terrestrial nature as ex- ternal evidences, but independent of even the Gospel record itself. This view, however, comes more properly within the scope of our consideration when we come to deal with the subject of inspiration; and we shall reserve it till then. It is enough at present to direct attention to the fact, that those who use the above objection mystically are nevertheless, by their own mode of statement, believers in a certain kind of supernatural revelation, and to that extent are not among the assailants of our present position. When we state directly that a divine revelation is possible, we might almost expect that such a statement would be received at once as an axiomatic and self-evident truth. ‘The objections which we have been considering, however, seem at least to cast doubt on its character as self-evident. We have thought it right to examine the objections; but we do not admit that the statement has not truly the character of being self-evident, if rightly apprehended by a candid and sincere mind. Let us think solemnly and profoundly what is meant when we use the holy name, Gop. We think of a Being infinite in all His attributes,—omnipresent, omniscient, omnipotent. We think of Him as the Creator and Governor of man. Can we, when we thus think, entertain any doubt whether it be possible for Him to communicate to His rational creature, man, some know- ledge of Himself, of His character, and of His laws and will ? We cannot, thus thinking, rationally entertain any such doubt. We feel that He has already endowed our mind with the capacity of apprehending the great and glorious idea of Gop— an idea the very apprehending of which is itself a proof that He has communicated already to the human mind the first element of some knowledge of Himself, and in that communi- cation has elevated it, and given a capacity and a desire for more of that divine knowledge and communion. He who has deeply and solemnly pondered upon these great thoughts will never dispute the possibility of other and higher revelation, but will rather almost expect it, will certainly long for it, and will ne ready to give the utmost attention to whatever claims to be a revelation from God. Our previous study of Natural Theology has led us even 172 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. [DIV. IL beyond this point, that a supernatural revelation is possible, - for it has shown us that such a revelation is probable. We do not use this word in its strictly etymological sense, as meaning merely, capable of proof. We use it to mean, what is likely to be—what may be expected. . And when we reflect on the course of reasoning which we have pursued, and the pregnant thoughts with which we have been conversant, we can arrive at no other conclusion. We have found that the mind intuitively aspires to the region of & priori thinking, and restlessly endeavours to ascend into that lofty sphere; that it cannot be satisfied with any. present fact or present thought, but asks what was before it, what caused it, what was prior in existence and in power, what was the absolute first, uncaused, eternal. Is it not likely, is it not to be expected, that God, who gave to the mind of His rational creature, man, capacities and desires so high, so fitted to glorify and enjoy the Creator, will give him also such further and higher knowledge of Himself as shall secure the end to which these very capacities and desires seem to point, as the means designed by the Creator in calling man into existence ? We have also found that the mind of man inhabits and informs a sensational and percipient body in wonderful harmony with the external world, nay, with the whole universe,—enabling him not only to walk abroad among scenes of outward grandeur and beauty, surrounded by innumerable wonders and delights, and to apprehend their nature and meaning, reading in their lavish bounty and marvellous adaptations the goodness and the wisdom of their Creator, who in this harmony is perceived to be also His own Creator, the one God, but also to look up to the vast, high, boundless heavens, to gaze with strong eye on their great glory, to trace with expanding and brightening intelli- gence the adjustments and the laws that regulate the positions and the cyclical movements of these countless suns and systems, and, in their sublimely calm and majestic obedience to the divine power that created and rules them, to read the handwriting of God’s eternal power and glory, When we find that such is the nature, such the capacity, and such the tendency of man, this marvellous synthesis of mind and matter, holding in both de- partments converse with the Creator, can we refrain from hoping, desiring, and expecting some still higher and brighter revelations from the same God, the Creator of man and the universe ? CHAP. I.] * . INTRODUCTION. BES And, still further, we have found, that in the moral faculty of the human soul, and in the moral world of human society, there resides the great and awful power of perceiving the dis- tinction between good and evil, right and wrong; that this moral faculty claims the prerogative of absolute sovereignty over the will and actions of man, asserting its high authority by inflicting the dread penalty of remorse on every one who violates its law and rejects its authority—inflicting on even society at large, on whole communities and nations, the punish- ments of degradation and misery, of disgrace and ruin, when its commands are disobeyed; and that yet this great and awful, this grave and inexorable faculty, is almost universally disregarded, its authority set aside, its sovereignty disowned, and even its direct appeals to God apparently defied, in the midst of the anarchy, the degradation, the misery, and the madness of this wild moral mutiny and revolt of criminal and wretched human nature, while the dread of a future state of retribution clings to the guilty conscience, and whispers in its profoundest depths, “There is a righteous and just God, and a day of judgment.” All these solemn and awful truths we have already learned from Natural Theology, with the gentle blending of that element of hope, that since the execution of the sentence is delayed, man may still humbly venture to expect that the just, yet merciful, Judge will reveal a divine remedial measure, whereby His glory even in man shall be signally manifested, and man’s highest capacities of happiness eternally secured, by his restoration to holiness, and to the favour and enjoyment of God. SEC. II. FURTHER ARGUMENT THAT A REVELATION IS PRO- BABLE, FROM THE NATURE OF THE HUMAN MIND. The study of Natural Theology enabled us, legitimately as we think, to believe that a supernatural revelation is not only possible, but also probable,—to be hoped for, expected, and most earnestly to be desired. We accept the conclusion, feeling it all the more our urgent and imperative duty to inquire “ whether there be sufficient evidence that such a reve- lation has been given, and still actually exists.” But we may trace a different course of proving the probability of, and neces- sity for, a divine revelation, both because there is no reason why 174 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. [DIV. II. we should limit ourselves to one course of proof, and because some may be impressed more deeply by the one than by the other, and also because a more common and obvious line of proof may be useful to those who may have to deal with people who could not fully apprehend any argument drawn from Natural Theology, and might even distrust it. If we have already an adequate knowledge of the human mind and its emotions, desires, and thoughts, we may regard ourselves at liberty to conceive of man in his most simple con- dition and nature. Conceive, then, the idea of the first man. He is as yet alone in the world, and destitute of all the kinds of knowledge which men learn by experience. He is in a state of innocence, with his mental and moral being undarkened by the slightest shade of evil, and unbiassed by the mists of pre- judice. His sensations are all in finest harmony with the para- dise around him, and the cloudless heavens above him. He is in the very state and condition to receive, with most exquisite precision, all the intimations of itself which external nature pours into his entire sentient being at every receptive pore and thrilling nerve. How rapidly must his quick sensations and truly corresponding perceptions make him acquainted with all external nature, which owns him for its lord! He is necessarily at first what we would call ignorant as a new-born child, as well as innocent; but his powers and faculties are all mature, and only want exercise, of which he is maturely capable. In such a state we may call him ignorant, if we cautiously guard the term from even seeming to convey an offensive or disparaging’ meaning; but we cannot call him degraded, or a barbarian— we cannot call his state a savage state,—for there is no moral evil in him to degrade him, and he is not constrained to struggle with physical necessity as the savage is. Can you suppose, that in such a state, with his whole sen- tient, and percipient, and intelligent being, joyously drinking in the knowledge of beautiful and benignant nature, there would not arise in his mind the thought of something higher, and the desire to know that higher? He could not but feel that his own existence was new, and that he did not give that existence to himself. He could not but perceive differences in existent things around him—in plants and animals, and at the same time perceive that he was himself higher in nature than all else to which his inquiring attention was directed. This CHAP. I.] INTRODUCTION. 175 inevitable perception could not fail to quicken his desire to know whether there did not exist some wise, powerful, and benignant Being, who could explain to him all the wondrous mysteries of his own and nature’s existence. And can you suppose that the infinitely benevolent Creator, whose works were so fitted to teach those lower truths which man was so admirably constructed to acquire and know, would refrain from teaching him those higher truths which the highly endowed human mind was at once so eager to learn, and so qualified to receive? There had been given to him, in lavish profusion, everything necessary and beneficial to his sentient nature, and everything necessary and beneficial to elicit and instruct his intellectual nature. Physical nature around him, and in har- mony with him, amounted to little short of a revelation, in the indications which it gave of power, wisdom, and goodness, existing in something from which physical nature itself must have derived, at least, order, and organization, and life—yet only a physical revelation. But his high mental and moral being—his self-conscious soul—might itself be regarded as something supernatural, requiring for its true welfare super- natural communication, and finding no harmony with that, its highest requirement, in anything merely physical. In this condition, it seems impossible to doubt, that very soon after his conscious existence there must have been given to man a super- natural revelation, so necessary and beneficial to his moral and spiritual being. To doubt this, would seem equivalent to doubting the very goodness of God, which yet everything else in the world displayed. ‘To doubt this, would seem equivalent to such an admission as that in one department, and that the most important, there was a blank—an incompleted part—in God’s creation,—a portion where there should have been the grandest harmony, but in which there was only a dead and irresponsive silence. We hold it certain, therefore, that from perhaps the first hour—undoubtedly from the first day—of the first man’s existence, there was given to him a supernatural revelation, teaching him to know, love, and adore his Creator and God. This idea, which we have stated at some length, because it may be disputed, but cannot rationally be denied, is full of the most important consequences. It does not claim for the first man any kind or degree of supernatural endowment, not natu- 176 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. (DIV. II. ral to man as man, separating that first man from his descend- ants and their sympathies; on the contrary, it implies and maintains their identity of nature. This view cuts off the very first root of the Romish theory relative to sin, in which all their other apostasies have their origin, and from which they derive all their plausibility and seeming strength. For as they maintain that Adam, by the first sin and the fall, lost nothing but a certain supernatural grace, not essential to true human nature, which had been bestowed on him, he, and by conse- quence all his descendants, remained still in a condition of sufficient ability to keep God’s commandments, and so to secure eternal welfare by their own works. From this follows the theory, that the death of Christ removes the guilt of the fall from all the baptized, who by baptism are regenerated, restored to the sinless state of man before the fall, wanting only the supernatural grace; and that all such may, by their own good works, accomplish their own salvation. We cannot here trace out all the consequences of this primordial Romish fallacy; but we think it of importance to notice its position and its nature. Further, this idea, that the first man must have had in his earliest state of existence, while still innocent, a super- natural revelation, accounts for all the ancient traditions of man’s original intercourse with the gods, with which all ancient mythology abounds. We cannot trace back any ancient heathen religious system, or even historical tradition, without finding ourselves brought into the hazy regions of Cosmogonies, and even Theogonies, and Anthropogonies, in which man is repre- sented as in a state of innocence, of happiness, and of inter- course with the ancient divinities. The poets luxuriate in their descriptions of this primitive golden age. The philosophers deplore the loss of the primitive ideas and clear knowledge of that happy period. The sages and legislators conceive of it as the time of true law and right obedience, and peaceful social life; and either seek in it the ideal home of their ideally pure and happy social system, or seek from the gods an instructor for the restoration of such laws and such a state. Numa must have instruction from the nymph Egeria, that he may frame laws for Rome. Minos, Lycurgus, and Solon obtain similar, though, in the case of the two latter, somewhat less direct, assistance, in order to give laws to Crete, Sparta, and Athens. CHAP. I.] INTRODUCTION. 177 Plato must place the scene of his republic in the lost great island of Atlantis; and- Sir Thomas More has to construct and legislate for his own Utopia; while another philosopher finds the abode of primitive innocence and equal laws in some unknown region of central Africa. I need not spend time in tracing the fabulous legends of the Hindu mythology, or even of their human legislator Menu; or those of China, and their great sage Confucius ; or those of the Scandinavian nations, and their hero, semi- god, and lawgiver, Odin ;—still less those of remoter and more benighted nations and tribes, such as the Peruvians and the South Sea Islanders. But let this be distinctly noted, that in every nation and tribe of the human race, where there is intelligence enough to apprehend and retain ancient tradition, there is found the traditionary belief, that man originally enjoyed a happier state, and in it held intercourse with the gods; that is, throwing aside the fabulous garb of tradition, that man, in his primitive condition, was in the enjoyment of @ supernatural revelation. The only question, then, is, “Can this be accounted for except by the admission, that in the earliest state and stage of his existence a supernatural revela- tion was actually given to man, and the knowledge of that primordial fact transmitted to, and retained by, all his descend- ants?” We are fully convinced that it cannot be otherwise accounted for ;-and therefore, as for other reasons we think it likely, or rather necessary, that such a revelation would be given, so, by this line of reasoning, we think it actually proved that it was given, although it has been dimmed and partly lost. Again, by assuming and prosecuting a somewhat different line of investigation, a correspondingly different but corrobora- tive aspect of that primitive truth and principle may be shown. A primitive revelation, we have said, was actually given to primitive man, although it has been dimmed and partially lost. Of this great loss the human mind seems to be partially con- scious ; and to have also a kind of intuitive conviction that the loss will be recovered, or remedied, by the bestowment of another,—perhaps a more full and perfect supernatural revela- tion. This intuitive conviction, or, at the least, expectation, has been entertained in all ages and in all countries,—and that, too, alike by the wisest philosophers, and by the common mind. A few of the statements of the most eminent philosophers M e, 178 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. [DIV. II. may be quoted in illustration of this. Let us take the first from Socrates, as given in the second Alcibiades: “ It seems but to maintain a tranquil expectation ; indeed it is absolutely necessary for us to wait until we learn how we ought to con- duct ourselves both towards God, and towards men. When will that time come? And who is that teacher? for methinks I would gladly see this person who he is. From the eye of your mind must first be taken away that mist which now bedims it; then indeed will you be able to discriminate as you desire between good and evil. That time will come at no dis- tant date, if it be the pleasure of the gods.” In the Phaedo we find the following wise yet melancholy sentiment expressed : “We ought therefore by all means to do one of these things, —either to learn or find out in what manner essential truth exists; or, if that be impossible, taking the best and least impeachable of human reasonings, embark on that, as on a frail skiff, and so navigate the perilous ocean of life; unless, indeed, one could perform that voyage less exposed to diffi- culties and dangers, by means of some safer conveyance, such as a divine revelation would be.” In the Timwus, Plato says: “It is a difficult matter to find out the Maker and Parent of the universe; and when you have found Him out, to declare Him to all is impossible.’ Perhaps the most remarkable pas- sage in all the writings of the Greek philosophers is that in which Plato describes the imagined character of a just and virtuous person, supposes the trials he would have to undergo in proof of his sincerity, and states the result. “Taking, then, this (unjust) person thus described, let us place beside him in our reason, a just person, a man of simple yet generous cha- racter, exposed to contumely, and desirous rather to be good than to seem so. His good character, however, must be taken away ; because, if he have the reputation of being a just person, he may obtain honours and rewards on that account, and then it will not be clear that he cultivates virtue for its own sake, or not for its honours and rewards. He must be stript, therefore, of everything, except his integrity; and being regarded as prone to injustice, while his actions are guiltless, he shall bear the stigma of extreme wickedness. Thus he shall be severely tried for proof of his righteousness, unshaken by opprobrium and all its consequences, but remaining immovable till death. Finally, calumniated throughout a life of probity, this just CHAP. I.] INTRODUCTION. 179 person, thus situated, shall be scourged, tortured, bound, de- prived of his eyes, and at length, having suffered all manner of cruel treatment, he shall be crucified.” Too much has undoubtedly been made of this remarkable passage, when it was represented, as it has been, as almost a prophecy of our Lord; for it is obvious that Plato’s intention was merely to delineate the most disinterested virtue bearing unshaken the severest trials. The very supposition, however, that in this world the most perfect innocence might be exposed to the greatest sufferings, is of some value, as containing at least a tacit admission, that this life is a period of probation, and the world in general a scene of Injustice and wickedness. We thus obtain, both expressly and by implication, from the chief Grecian philosophers, a full acknowledgment of the ne- cessity and the value of a divine revelation,—even the expecta- tion that it would be granted,—to teach blind and guilty man his duty to himself, to his neighbour, and to his God. Similar and closely corresponding passages might be ex- tracted from the writings of Cicero, of Seneca, and of other Roman philosophers; but as Roman philosophy was in a great measure the repetition, almost the translation, of that of Greece, it does not appear necessary to do so. From the whole, how- ever, it is perfectly obvious, that the wisest and the best of the philosophers of both Greece and Rome not only held that a divine revelation had originally been given to man, but also éntertained the hope that another revelation would yet be given, both to dispel the darkening rhists of uncertainty that had gathered over the past, and to give a clearer light than had been afforded, even by the earliest. This intuitive expectation was strongly upheld by the fact, that the human mind, by its philosophical pursuits, was at one and the same time becoming able, both to refute many of its ancient errors and prevailing superstitions, and to apprehend more clearly a clearer revela- tion, if such should be granted. These philosophers con- ‘tinued to regard it as their duty to conform externally to the observances of their national religion, which nevertheless they despised ; because, while they felt that some religion was necessary, they felt also that they were utterly unable to make any religion that could deserve to be received. They continued their polytheism, or worship of many gods, while they were convinced that there could be only one God; but, like Plato, 180 REVELATION—-EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. (piv. If. admitted the difficulty of discovering that one God, and the impossibility of conveying clearly and authoritatively the know- ledge of that discovery to others. They felt that a gross and grovelling superstition had assumed the position due to true religion ; but they did not dare openly to assail that supersti- tion, lest they should become its victims ; and they were not in possession of any such true religion as renders men willing and able to become martyrs. : The common mind entertained a similar expectation, but manifested it in a different manner. How was it, we may ask, that pretenders to the possession of some revelation have been so readily believed and so eagerly followed, in the early ages, and in every age? We have already remarked, that when the great legislators, who really wished to institute as good laws as the people could receive, promulgated these laws, they inva- riably laid claim to supernatural instruction. This claim, as we have seen, was founded on the universally believed tradi- tion, that the gods had held intercourse with mankind in primitive times, and communicated to them the knowledge of good laws and useful arts ; and that this tradition had for its basis the literal truth of the first revelation to the first man. In like manner, when any cunning impostor wished to imtro- duce some new religion, or religious ceremony, or new super- stitious mode of worship, he always asserted that he had been honoured by some private communication with some deity, and been thus taught to introduce this new ritual observance, or new deity. But why were people so ready to believe these assertions? Because they already believed that their gods had, in the earliest ages, held similar converse with men, and given to them their religious tenets and forms of worship. In this traditionary belief all impostors, in all ages and countries, have found an element on which they could venture to rest their imposture, and by the influence of which they were enabled to obtain a superstitious evidence. The early heathen geographer Strabo, after recording the supposed intercourse between man- kind and their gods, which he had found to be a universal belief, says: “‘ Whatever becomes of the real truth of these re- lations, this, however, is certain, that men did believe and think them true; and for this reason prophets were held in such honour, as to be thought worthy sometimes of royal dignity, as being persons who delivered precepts and admonitions from CHAP. I.] INTRODUCTION. 181 the gods, both while they lived, and after their death. Such,” adds he, “ were Tiresias and Amphioraus—such were Moses and his successors.” This language of Strabo at least proves the prevalence of the belief, and the kind of respect rendered to those who were thought to have been honoured by these divine communications. But while it thus accounts both for the ready credence yielded to these pretenders, and explains the reason why they ventured to make such claims, it confirms also our argument, that such a tradition, so universally held, must have arisen from the actual fact of primitive revelation. The debasement of this primitive fact and early tradition, by its transmission in a continually increasing vagueness *of statements and rudeness of aspect and expression through the successive stages of an increasing barbarism among remote and wandering hordes, will also account for nearly all of the kinds of incantations, charms, magic spells, witchcrafts, fetiches, and such like dark superstitions as are found among savage tribes, or among the less civilised corners in which thick ignorance still broods, even in our own land, We are still shocked from time to time by accounts not only of the rude and wild beliefs of savage tribes in the centre of Africa, in the backwoods of America, among the Chinese, Tartars, Siberians, devil-wor- shippers in Kurdistan, and the inhabitants of newly discovered islands, but also of strangely dark and absurd superstitions still held by some of our own countrymen, over whose minds the thick clouds of ignorance and superstition still hang in undi- minished density. All these we regard as instances of degra- dation, not of invention. They are the wild and absurd forms which a misunderstood truth can assume, when it is unintelli- gently received into an ignorant mind. In an early and simple age mankind may have little culture of the mere intellect, but great power of imagination and emotion. They will express their quick and strong emotions in warm, glowing, metaphorical language. But as the emotions become less and less powerful under the pressure of physical necessity, the metaphors become, as it were, condensed into absolute realities, and men begin to believe the hardened figure. Thus religion can become idolatry. Thus the belief of the universal presence and power of God in nature can become nature-worship, or, when refined by a false philosophy, can become materialistic pantheism. ‘Thus idolatry and the worship of nature combined and degraded can become the 182 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. [DIV. IL. worship of brutes, as in ancient Egypt; or fetichism, as among some African tribes. Thus belief in the efficacy of prayer can be degraded into belief in the power of incantations, spells, and charms, when darkly held by the rude grasp of malignant and vindictive ignorance. } But we need not prosecute this line of investigation further. The main object we have had in view throughout these obser- vations, has been to show, first, that the calmest and most rational conception we can form of the nature and condition of the first man constrains us to believe that he must have received, and did actually receive, a divine revelation. This appears in the capacity and the tendency of his own nature, on the ground that it was such as ours, only without such know- ledge as we learn from experience, and also without such pre- judices and mental tendencies to error as now darken our perceptions, pervert our experience, prevent the formation of candid and honest judgments, and leave us often dark in the midst of surrounding light, because we love the darkness, Still more evidently does this appear to be the necessarily true view of the first man when we think of the character of God, and the gracious benevolence which pervades all His conduct towards man. It is impossible to believe that God, who established a harmony so wonderfully perfect between sentient and percipient man and external nature, and enabled man to apprehend, realize, and enjoy this harmony and adaptation,—and who has endowed man with the still higher faculties belonging to a rational and moral spirit, with the capacity inherent in this endowment of being the image of his Creator, or of apprehending in some measure the character, and entering into and enjoying the spiritual elevation and happiness of communion with God s—it is impossible to believe that God, who made this intercourse the highest happiness of man, and gave him the holy desire for it, would withhold such a revelation of Himself as was necessary to enable man actually to obtain and enjoy that happiness. It has been shown also, by a sufficiently wide induction, that there exists throughout all the world, and has always existed from the most remote antiquity, the traditionary belief that primitive man was originally in a state of innocence and happiness; that in that state and period he enjoyed frequent intercourse with the Deity; that by means of this intercourse he obtained the knowledge of wise and equitable laws and CHAP. I.] INTRODUCTION. . 183 useful arts; that from the same source he received religious truth and the institutions of religious worship; and that in every attempt to reform mankind, either by improved legisla- tion or by improved religion, recourse must again be had to converse with the Deity. And it has been argued that the absolutely universal prevalence of these beliefs, or of their per- versions, abuses, and corruptions, can be accounted for on no other ground than the actual fact of a primitive revelation—so primitive that it began with the first man, and necessarily became known to all his descendants. This is so perfectly coincident with what Natural Theology led us to expect—with what man’s constitution impels him intuitively to expect—with all that he has always believed,—that we feel warranted to hold it as an incontestable proof of a primitive divine revelation. On all these grounds, and on many corroborative proofs which might be stated, we think the subject has been brought to as complete a proof as ought to be either expected or desired, in a question of a moral and historical character, where demonstra- tion is, from the nature of the case, impossible; and, without further argument, we feel warranted in asserting, that we have shown a supernatural and divine revelation to be not only possible, but also probable, to be expected, and to have been already given, at least to this extent, that there are many in- contestable facts in human history which would have been impossible had there not been such a revelation. SEC. III. THE NECESSITY OF A DIVINE REVELATION. In the two preceding sections we have shown that a divine revelation was both possible and probable, partly by conclusions to which we were led by Natural Theology, and partly by the nature of man, and partly by the remains of ancient and uni- versal tradition, which can be adequately accounted for only by the admission that a divine revelation must actually have been given to the first man. But there is still one additional prelimi- nary point to which we must direct some attention, namely, the necessity of such a revelation. The reason why this point seems to deserve separate consideration, is our desire to meet every human requirement, and answer every fair and reasonable question,—even those questions that scarcely deserve to be called fair and reasonable. A somewhat captious opponent 184 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. [DIV IL. might say, “ You have no doubt proved a divine revelation to be possible, or even probable, that is, likely, or to be expected, by the arguments of Natural Theology ; and you have given a very plausible explanation of the condition of the first man, and the universal tradition of primitive intercourse with the gods, by the hypothesis of an actual primitive supernatural revelation : but let me recall your attention to your own argument. So far as that argument is convincing, it seems to me, that it goes near to prove, that a supernatural revelation is not, after all, so neces- sary as you assert, since Natural Theology can furnish so much information concerning an infinite, eternal, and personal God.” Such an objection we might term somewhat captious, and somewhat unfair; but we think it right to meet it fairly. It is somewhat captious and unfair, because it takes only a partial view of the deductions from Natural Theology, and uses that partial view, not only as if it were the whole, but for the pur- pose of setting aside the rest. It’ takes the information which Natural Theology gives concerning the necessary existence of one infinite, eternal, and personal God; but it leaves unnoticed the not less clear information, that man has violated the law of his own moral nature and of moral obligation and duty to God, and that, as all human social life shows, he must be amenable to righteous law and inflexible justice, manifested in all the moral government of the world. It leaves unnoticed also the faint yet gracious indications of a possible remedial measure, still to be revealed: and introduced into this state of probation, which have awakened, and keep alive a dim and trembling hope of, and anxious desire for, a supernatural revelation. We might regard this full statement of the inferences drawn from the region of Natural Theology, as enough to set aside the somewhat captious and unfair objection which we have mentioned ; but we think it more satisfactory to meet it by direct proofs of the necessity of a supernatural and divine revelation. — We have already directed attention to the existence of an ancient and universal tradition, implying a primitive revelation ; but we now turn to the fact, that this tradition had become so obscure as to do little more than prompt men to inquiry respect- ing the existence and the character of God, but gave them little aid in the inquiry. If, then, the results of that inquiry have in all ages and countries been unsatisfactory, the necessity of a further revelation will appear. Natural Theology, as we CHAP. I.] ' INTRODUCTION. 185 have seen, is a necessity of man’s nature. It appears to be impossible for man to refrain from asking such questions as, ‘“ What amI? Whence came I? How came I to be, and to be here? What is the first cause of this intelligible universe and my intelligent self?” Such questions must have forced themselves on the mind of the first man, as they have forced themselves on the mind of man in all ages. To some of them Natural Theology can give answers more or less satisfactory, as we have seen. But while we may readily believe that the Natural Theology of the first man must have been far more satisfactory to him than owrs can be to us, undimmed as his mind was by sin, and undarkened by prejudice; yet even in his case, while it could tell him of an infinite, eternal, and per- sonal God, whom it was his highest duty to love, honour, obey, and adore, yet it could not tell him anything about a rule of obedience, and it could not tell him how to worship. It follows that, even to the first man, Natural Theology could not furnish a religion; and that therefore, even to him, a revelation was necessary. But when sin entered into his soul, it rendered a further revelation necessary, to suit his altered condition, to give a stronger light, and to give information of a deliverance and a Deliverer. This revelation, however, had now a difficulty to encounter, greater than at first. It had to pierce the darkness, dispel the fears, and overcome the prejudices of moral guilt; — and this required that the soul should be made ready, humbly to acknowledge that guilt, and submit to the truths and require- ments of this new revelation. The /irs¢ revelation would natu- rally tell‘man of his Creator and God, prescribe the method of worship, and appoint a test of obedience, clear, simple, and easy. The second revelation would as naturally remind man of his guilt, and appoint a symbol of the predicted deliverance and Dekiverer ; but in this there must needs always be, on the part of man, the humbling acknowledgment of his sin, and of his need of a Saviour. But as the first sin was of the nature of a proud attempt to rise into an equality with, or at least inde- pendence of, God; the stain,—the very nature of its guilt, would render man extremely unwilling to make any such humiliating acknowledgment : consequently we might expect to find man cleaving to the /irst revelation, and rejecting the second. Now this is exactly what took place in the recorded case of Cain and 186 REVELATION—-EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. [DIV. IT. Abel. For Cain clung to Natural Theology, and to such homage of the fruits of the earth under his culture, as implied an acknowledgment of the sovereignty of God, but declined to present the symbol of expiation, which was an acknowledgment of sin; while Abel, rendering humbly that symbol, acknow-. ledged sin, and expressed trust in a promised Saviour. This remarkable event foreshadowed the great distinction about to take place’ between the natural man and the believer; and it explains why man is still so prone to trust in his own works,— in Natural Theology, or, rather, in natural religion and the first revelation, and its covenant of works,—because his natural inclination is prone to adhere to his natural primary position, and his pride renders him unwilling to acknowledge its loss by the fall. This may perhaps be deemed somewhat of a divergence from a strictly scientific course, since we have drawn an illus- tration from the Bible before we have proved its divine origin and truthful information. It points out, however, a principle embodied in a fact very clearly ; and we proceed to point out the same principle embodied in other facts, with which we are furnished by the history of the world. N othing can be more certain than that mankind have manifested in every age and nation their unwillingness to admit the idea of sin, and of their own depravity and need of a Saviour. Even the sacrificial institution, while it seems to acknowledge sin and the need of some propitiation, has been almost universally misunder- stood and perverted, not only by heathen nations, but even by the Hebrews, until its true moral signification was lost ; and ceasing to be regarded as a symbol, it came to be viewed as the cruel satisfaction enacted by an angry and cruel deity. If they had entertained any clear idea of sin, as moral evil, they must have seen that no sacrifice could remove guilt so long as they continued in the perpetration of moral evil; and that the violent and compulsory death of an animal, neither rational nor moral, could not possibly expiate the guilt of a rational and moral being, though it might symbolize and predict some future adequate expiation. | Nothing can be more crude, confused, imperfect, and dark, than the ideas of all ancient nations regarding the nature of God,—the Hebrews only excepted. It is not necessary to dwell at any great length on this topic. We might tran- CHAP. I.] INTRODUCTION. 187 scribe the Theogonies of Greek philosophers, antiquarians, and poets, and tell of Nox and Erebus, and Ouranos, and Saturn, and the Titans, and Jove; or we might record the Orphic legends; or we might produce the dark Phoenician fables of Sanchoniatho; or we might trace some portion of Egypt’s hoar ideas of Kueph, Khem, and Phre, their mythic Triads of the great powers of nature; or we might investi- gate the corresponding Hindu Triad of Brahma, Vishnu, and Siva; or we might direct attention to the illusive theory of Buddh in India and China; or we might turn to the Zabaism of the ancient Arian or Iranian nations, and its modification by Zoroaster, or Zardusht, with its twin eternals, Ormuzd and Ahriman, light and darkness, the source of the later Gnostic and Manichzan theories. But such a survey might be little more than an idle parade of curious lore; and the only con- clusion to which it could lead, would be, that man, either with- out a revelation, or turning away from the revelation which had been given, cannot form any true notion of the one only living and true God. It deserves to be carefully noted also, that the kind of worship which men render to their God will necessarily cor- respond to the ideas of God which they have formed and entertained. False ideas of God must always produce false worship; and as the character of the God is, such will be the character of the worship. But worship stamps its own character upon the worshipper, by repetition, by superstitious credence, by the sanction which it gives to the practices which it enjoins, and by the force of the instinctive tendency which man has to aim at resembling the object of his worship. I need not illustrate this at any length, or by any recondite instances. It is enough to suggest that the worship of the deities of Greece and Rome could not produce moral virtues, and to appeal to history in proof that it did not. The worship of the licentious Jupiter could not produce moral purity ;— of Mars might promote martial courage, energy, and enter- prise, but could not tend to produce gentle pity and mercy ; —of Mercury might countenance theft and cunning, but could not be favourable to honesty and truth ;—of Bacchus might stimulate festive extravagance and: debauchery, but could not tend to encourage sobriety, industry, and self-con- trol;—of Venus,—to what could that worship lead but to 188 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. [DIV. IT. scenes of gross pollution, such as shuddering humanity sickens even to imagine? Having suggested these undeniable conse- quences of even Greek and Roman idolatry, there is no need to touch, even in thought, the darker horrors of those wilder and more hideous systems of false worship to which allusion has been made; and of which more than enough will be found related in works that treat of the countries in which those systems have been, or still are, prevalent. Though mankind had lost all true revelation, retaining only such dim traditions as might have induced them to inquire into the deep truths and principles which’ these traditions still con- tained, but which only impelled them to frame and nourish superstitious fables, yet they were human; and they possessed that human morality, and its great principle, conscience, which renders society still possible. They could not but feel, and they did feel, that moral evil existed, and was the cause of the depravity and crime which produces human misery. But they had no idea whatever of the origin of evil in man; and no idea of any method by which it might be restrained. It is remarkable, that while many of the philosophers wrote beauti- fully and truly of the beauty of virtue, of moral duty, and of the excellence of truth, yet none of them attempted to control his own conduct by these rules, or to make his own life an example of the value of his own precepts. Not even Socrates, Plato, Zeno, Cicero, Seneca, can be cited as an example which any man would be warranted wholly to follow, but rather in many points to shun. And it is still more worthy of remark, that not one of them had any the least idea of any such super- naturally communicated aid from their deities, in the perform- ance of moral and religious duties, as is familiarly known to us by the hallowed term “grace,” to which every Christian attaches rightly so much importance. I should like to dwell on this thought, were this the proper opportunity for it. Such an opportunity will present itself afterwards; but even here I may offer a few suggestions. Among ancient nations it was not unusual for them to feign sudden interpositions of their various deities on behalf of favourite heroes ; but while great deliverances might be effected, or great deeds be achieved, by means of these interpositions, no permanent moral change was wrought in the hero himself by them, and they never amounted to a progressive moral change CHAP. 1] INTRODUCTION. 189 in his nature. In truth, no such idea; was ever entertained by the votaries of any false religion, is not yet, nor ever can be; because no such idea as the restoration to the divine favour by means of the restoration of the divine image to the soul was, or could be, entertained by them. The Christian, on the other liand, is spiritually conscious, that without this constantly in dwelling and even prevenient grace, he can neither endure trials, resist temptations, nor perform duties; and that an inex- haustible treasury of this grace resides in Christ for him, and is bestowed upon him, by the ministration of the Holy Spirit ; and that thus, having been redeemed and justified, he is also sanctified, and the divine image restored. This grace revelation alone can give, and no false religion could even imagine. Resuming our more direct. course, we notice further, that the notions of the ancients respecting the immortality of the human soul, and a future state of rewards and punishments, were very dark and indefinite. Socrates rather hoped than believed it, saying, that “though he should be mistaken, he at least gained this much, that the expectation of it made him less uneasy while he lived; and if he erred, his error would die with him.” Beyond this even Plato did not pass. And Cicero, after having brought forward a variety of arguments in support of the doctrine of the soul’s immortality, and referred to others on the opposite side of the question, says, “ Which of these is true, the Deity alone knows; and which is most. pro- bable, is a very great question.” Seneca, referring to the opinions of several philosophers in favour of this doctrine, says, “Immortality, however desirable, was rather promised than proved by these great men.” Even those of them who seemed most firmly to hold some kind of belief in some kind of an im- mortality, as the poets often did, or seemed to do, represented it as a vague, shadowy, dream-like existence, incapable of any- thing like real happiness; while they rejected the idea of the resurrection of the body as altogether incredible. It will very easily be perceived that such notions must have deprived the moral faculty of much of its power to hold evil passions in check, by cutting away the salutary dread of future retribution. One inevitable result was, the unimpeded progress of vice and immorality in all nations, and among all classes, to such a degree as is fearful to contemplate. Another result was, the utter disregard shown to human life in general, manifested in 190 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. [DIV. II. various ways. ‘The stern Stoic, when frustrated in his designs, felt no hesitation in committing suicide—even deemed it laud- able. Death was the common punishment for nearly all crimes, —with this distinction, that as the possibility of punishment then ended, it was often preceded by as much protracted tor- ture as possible. The proud Roman citizen, though perhaps valuing himself highly, and highly valued by others as a patriot, had no mercy to show to his antagonist, and was a remorseless tyrant to his slaves. These were the notions of ignorant men, in remote times, some may say; and though they show the value of clearer and better ideas than antiquity possessed, it does not follow that there is equal necessity for a supernatural revelation in modern and more enlightened days. Let us look at this objection for a little, and try to estimate its real value. It was in comparatively modern and enlightened days that what we term British Deism took its rise, and did its utmost to banish the Christian faith out of this country. This attempt was begun by Lord Herbert of Cherbury, who was perhaps the best, that is, the most moral and candid, man, as well as one of the ablest of the modern deistical philosophers ; and yet his writings are self-contradictory to a very remarkable degree, so that they could furnish no absolute basis of belief either for himself or for any other person. The self-contradictions of Hobbes are still more numerous and glaring,—such as, that the Scriptures are the voice of God, and yet that they have no authority but what they derive from the civil magistrate; that inspiration is the immediate gift of God, and yet that the claim to it is a sign of madness; that God exists, and yet that what is not matter, is nothing; that honour, worship, praise, and prayer, are due to God, and yet that all religion is ridiculous. Lhe accomplished and ingenious Earl of Shaftesbury was not behind even Hobbes in the art of contradicting himself, of which his eloquent writings furnish almost innumerable instances. One may be enough,—“ that he who denies a God, sets up an opinion against the very wellbeing of society; and yet that atheism has no direct natural tendency to take away a just sense of right and wrong.’ Collins and Woolston fol- low the same course, beginning with complimentary language and strong laudations of the facts recorded in the Gospels ; and yet declared the same Gospels “ full of incredibilities, im- CHAP. L] INTRODUCTION, 191 possibilities, and absurdities,’—“ more like the tales in Gul- liver’s Travels than anything else.” The writings of the elegant but fickle and changeable, Lord Bolingbroke (the great friend of Pope), exceeded probably all his predecessors in self-con- tradictions, so that it might almost be said that he bestowed on every known opinion in religion and morality equal praise and condemnation,—at one time averring that he was a sincere inquirer into the truth of Christianity, at another, avowing that he wrote expressly to subvert it. . The moral sentiments of these British deists not only abounded in self-contradictions, like their religious opinions, but were often so grossly abhorrent to all right moral prin- ciples, that they can scarcely be mentioned. Lord Herbert declared “that men are not hastily to be condemned who are led to sin by bodily constitution ; that the indulgence of licen- tiousness and anger is no more to be blamed than the thirst occasioned by dropsy.” Hobbes taught “that every man’s judgment is the only standard of right and wrong; that every man has a right to all things, and may lawfully get them if he can.” Lord Bolingbroke taught “that all our passions may be lawfully gratified, if they can be safely gratified; that man lives only in the present world, and is only a superior animal ; that the chief end of man is to gratify the passions and inclina- tions of the flesh.” Among David Hume’s writings, and especially in his private correspondence, the most immoral sen- timents are expressed. ‘To mention but one or two points: he maintained that there could be no evil in setting free a few ounces of a certain red fluid called blood, when the possessor of it stood in the way of one’s interest; that adultery must be practised, if men would obtain all the advantages of life; that, if generally practised, it would in time cease to be scandalous ; and that, if practised secretly and frequently, it would by degrees come to be thought no crime at all.” Such was the religion, and such the morality, of the deistical philosophers of enlightened Britain in modern times, even till near the end of last century,—religion and morality such as constrains us to say, that if even the ancient world needed a revelation to arrest its downward progress in immorality, vice, degradation, and misery, much more had a revelation become necessary for enlightened Britain and her philosophical deists in comparatively modern times,—if not a new revelation, at 192 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. (DIV. IL. least. a quickening and revival of that already given, and from which these men had first turned away, and then which they vainly as well as wickedly sought to subvert and destroy. One other proof and illustration of the necessity of revela- tion may be given. The writings of the British deists found their way to France, and were eagerly adopted by the philo- sophers, as they delighted to be thought, of that country. France was at that period in the height of prosperity, civilisation, and a spurious appearance of refined and voluptuous elegance. Learning was in its highest state of advancement; and .a species of extreme politeness, or politesse, gave an air of grace- fulness to the whole demeanour of that gay people, such as had never before been reached in any country. But the atheistical philosophers got the power into their hands; and what was the result? It was as if a volcano had suddenly burst upon the world, and disgorged its fiery flood over all Europe. Such a scene of cruelty, cold-blooded malignity, beastly impurity, insa- tiable rapacity, wild, heaven-defying, and blasphemous impiety, immediately displayed its hideous form as the world had never previously beheld. The only ray of hope which brightened the dismal prospect was, that this horrible system contained in itself the principles and elements of its own speedy destruction. Atheism had no bond of union to keep together those who entertained that pernicious no-belie/,—no basis of mutual confi- dence. By its very nature Atheism generates suspicion, and consequently hatred, in every breast; and it is actuated by a selfishness which utterly disregards all the ties of nature, of gratitude, and of friendship. To an atheist, fear becomes the ruling passion. Conscious of his own want of virtue, of honour, and of humanity, he naturally views his fellows in the same light, and is ready to put them out of the way as soon as they appear to be, in any degree, likely to become obstacles to any of his desires. Hence the bloody actors in this horrible scene, after glutting their fiend-like passions with the slaughter of all whom they counted their enemies, turned their murderous weapons against each other. It became the death-grapple of assassin with assassin, demon with demon, till carnage itself grew faint and weary, gorged and glutted to satiety. Enough, surely, has been said to confirm and illustrate the truth of our position, that a divine revelation is necessary for man. The ancient world turned away from it, in the pride of their CHAP. I.] INTRODUCTION. 193 denial of its need, lost its benignant influence and holy light by trusting in the dim light of their violated natural theology and impossible natural religion, and sunk deeper and deeper into darkness and degradation, out of which their wisest and best philosophers could not grope their way. The modern world abjured the clearer light around them, and strove to frame a new natural religion, all the best elements of which were borrowed from the Bible, but had to be contradicted, to make room for their own wayward and sinful fancies; but these self-contradictions of the British deists paralysed their efforts, and prevented them from obtaining any dangerous amount of influence in this land. In France, a Popish country, they had no Bible to treat with at least some respect ; consequently their deadly principles soon acquired full and paramount ascendancy, till they were swept away in the torrent of the bloody deluge which they had poured abroad. But all sin 1s destruction, and in its fullest development is self-destruc- twe. It was so in that instance; it will be so in every corre- sponding instance in which its sweltering venom attains to full malignity. And the time must and will come, when it will be universally admitted and known, by mournful or by happy experience, “that belief in the divine revelation by God of Himself, His character, and a remedial measure for man’s salvation, is absolutely necessary for man’s moral, social, and spiritual welfare, both in this world and the world to come; and that this divine revelation is fully contained in the Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments, the Bible.” CHAPTER “I. DIRECT AND POSITIVE EVIDENCE OF REVELATION. trust, with sufficient caution, have led us to these important conclusions: That a divine revelation is possible ; that it is probable, understanding by this term, likely to be expected, and capable of being proved; and that it is absolutely necessary for man’s moral, social, and spiritual welfare, both in this world and in the world to come. We are, then, at length in a right condition to ask, with all possible and earnest directness, the great question, ‘“ Have we sufficient evidence to prove that God has actually given to man a supernatural revelation?” And we are entitled to demand an equally earnest and direct answer to this great and solemn question. Tt will be borne in mind, that even in our preliminary remarks, while we have found universal traces of some primi- tive traditions, leading to the strong conviction that such a revelation was originally given to man, we yet found that uni- versal tradition so vague, obscure, and corrupt, that in no instance can it be received as adequate to effect the purpose, or serve the end for which revelation is required. We cannot find it in the Hindu Vedas and Shasters; or in the fabulous legends of China; or in the hoary superstitions of Egypt ; or in the Zabaism of the ancient Iranians; or in the mythic hero-gods of Chaldea. All these we have already seen to be equally void of rational credibility in themselves, and insuffi- cient for the purposes of a divine revelation. There is but one book in the world to which we can direct our attention, with the reasonable hope of finding in it the revelation of which we. stand so urgently in need, and to which that book itself lays claim. That book is the Breus, or the Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments,—claiming to be the revelation of Himself, His character, His laws, His will, His relation to man, the CHAP. II.] DIRECT AND POSITIVE EVIDENCE OF REVELATION. 195 cause of man’s moral misery, and the one remedial measure which God has been pleased to give. SEC. I. HISTORICAL VERACITY OF THE BIBLE. This revelation is essentially one, though it has been given in two distinct divisions, and in two distinct languages. We may term it Hebrew and Gentile, because its first division relates to the Hebrew race, and its second to all nations ; or Hebrew and Greek, from the two languages; or Mosaic and Christian, from its twofold dispensational aspect : but it is still essentially one, inasmuch as it all purports to come from the one God, to whose oneness it throughout bears record,—relates to the one remedial measure which it reveals,—and is singularly linked with the history of the one chosen race and people to whom, and through whom, it was communicated to the world. Even in this respect the Bible claims and takes a peculiar position. All other religions, religious traditions, and religious records, so far as these exist, allow and proclaim a plurality of gods, relate to special nations, and admit co-existent relations and duties to a variety of co-existent, and in many instances co-equal, deities. But while the Bible proclaims the unity of the one, only, supreme, and eternal God, and condemns severely the idolatrous worship of all other nominal deities as no gods, but dumb, insensate idols, it at the same time demands from all nations the worship of this one, only, supreme, and eternal God. On this account many among the ancient nations regarded the religion of the Hebrews with extreme dislike, as an unsocial and intolerant religion; and many among those who claim credit for enlightened and liberal notions, regard Christianity with similar aversion, on account of what they term its intolerance, and its claims of universal diffusion and supremacy. But as even Greek philosophers could arrive at the notion that there could be but one supreme God, though one only among them dared to encounter the deadly hatred of superstition, by making his conviction somewhat publicly known, no true Christian need hesitate to avow his conviction, that this very element in the religion of the Bible—this unaccommodating and uncom- promising claim to universal supremacy which it makes for the one, only God—is itself a strong proof of its divine origin, so different from the claims of every other religion and religious 196 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. [DIV. If. record in the world, It ought not, indeed, to be expected to be otherwise, if there be, as we have seen proved, even by Natural Theology, necessarily one infinite, eternal, personal God, and one deep moral malady affecting all mankind, for which there can be only the one remedy, provided and revealed by the one offended God. But, drawing closer to the subject, we crave attention to the particular view which we are now about to state. The revela- tion which is contained in the Bible is both essentially one in its nature and design, and throughout historical, both in its relation to the Hebrew race and nation, and in its relation to all other nations, particularly those with whom they came into contact, in various periods of their lengthened history. This deserves to be peculiarly noted, for various reasons. In the first place, it deserves to be noted that the Bible, by its his- torical character, demands a historical investigation and proof, and at the same time exposes itself freely to the most searching investigation and scrutiny on that ground. This no imposture would dare to do; yet this the Bible does with the utmost openness, even by its very structure, as a history,—and that, too, not merely the history of a nation, or a tribe separated, it might be, from nearly all other nations and tribes, whose records could not easily be either proved or their errors detected, but a history which has to do with the human race; and although keeping close to the records of the Hebrew people, treats also of every great and ruling nation by which the destinies of the world have been swayed. The Bible is, therefore, in a very decided sense, the history of the whole human family,—the history of the world,—espe- cially the history of the civilised and ruling nations of the world. If, then, in even its historical records there be any statements which can be refuted, or shown to be contrary to the well-authenticated records of great civilised nations, the detections of these merely historical errors would inevitably prove fatal to its claims to be a supernatural revelation. It commences by giving an account of the creation of the world and man; it records the primitive holiness and happiness of man’s original character and condition, and relates his rebellious sin, his fall, and the misery that ensued; and it continues its historical narrative till it has recorded the dreadful occurrence of a deluge in which the whole human race perished, with the CHAP. II.] DIRECT AND POSITIVE EVIDENCE OF REVELATION. 197 exception of one single family, miraculously preserved in an ark, which had been constructed for that purpose, in compliance with a divine warning and command. On the assumption that this whole record is a fable, there would be no probability of anything like it occurring among the most primitive tradition- ary annals of any other nation. But on the assumption that it is true, we may well expect that events of such infinite import- ance must have left their stamp and impress on the ancient annals or traditions of every nation. Now, in point of fact, we do find, in the most ancient traditionary records of every nation, possessing intelligence enough to have even traditions, very evident traces of some dim knowledge of these very events. Among the ancient Babylonians, as related by Berosus,— among the ancient Egyptians, among the Chinese, among the Persian, or, rather, Iranian nations of Bactria, Media, and Persia,—among the ancient Phcenicians, and even among the Mexicans and Peruvians, in the American Continent,—we find traditionary legends, all bearing a close resemblance to these statements of Bible history, as related in the book of Genesis. But we must direct attention to this point. In the Bible history every statement is made in the most plain, simple, and direct manner, as an unexaggerated narrative of facts ought to be made. In the ancient traditions to which we have referred, everything assumes a wild, distorted, fabulous, and legendary aspect, implying that these events had actually been once known to their ancestors as historical truths, but had acquired their fabulous aspect in the process of transmission through successive generations. This is exactly in accordance with what we find in cases with which we are more intimately acquainted. When some signal event takes place in a country, such as those that mould its condition and character, and therefore belong to its history, that event is recorded in its his- tory as a plain, unvarnished narrative of facts, and is histori- cally preserved in that condition. But the same event enters into the traditions of the country, arouses all its impassioned and imaginative feelings, receives embellishments and exagge- rations from each succeeding generation, and at length, while retaining the main historical facts, presents them all in a fabu- lous aspect,—all the heroes become demigods, all the villains are darkened into demons. The conclusion is obvious. In the Bible we have the true historical narrative; in the remote and- 198 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. [DIV. II. dim traditions of all ancient nations we have the fabulous and exaggerated legends of the same events. Advancing along the historical narrative of the Bible, we find the record of the confusion of tongues at Babel, the dis- persion of the great central body of mankind throughout the world, and their formation into races, nations, and tribes. We turn again to ancient profane history and tradition to ascertain if anything similar can be found. Here, again, we find, not history copied in its severe and dignified simplicity, but some dark legends of traditionary antiquity gathered up and recorded by the most ancient explorers of those dim realms; and here also we find the resemblance to be strong enough to vouch for the truth and reality of the historical narrative in the Bible. Still following the course of Bible history, we come to Moses,—to the inspired historian himself, whose historical nar- rative so boldly comes into contact with the fabulous legends of every country, explains them, constrains them to bear testi- mony to its truth, and maintains at the same time its high supremacy in all the characteristics of true and original history. I am quite aware that almost innumerable cavils and captious objections have been raised against the truthfulness and the trustworthiness of the Mosaic history, even as history, espe- cially by German philosophical sceptics, unphilosophical men of what they term “the higher criticism,” and irrational ration- alists ; and some of their objections I shall notice in the proper place. Meantime, there is one kind of objection which may fairly be noticed here.’ The question is asked, How did Moses obtain his historical knowledge? And forthwith the raiser of the question sets about to give such an answer as seems to him satisfactory. There had been, he assumes, two primitive religions, the one comprising the worship and the worshippers of Elohim, the other that of Jehovah, and each had preserved written records of their ancient beliefs. | Moses obtaining possession of these records, very dexterously combined them, and out of the two thus combined produced that earliest part of his historical narrative which is contained in the book of Genesis. And all this dexterous management of Moses remained undiscovered till within our own days, when the whole affair was brought to light by some learned German. How these two primitive records had been preserved till the CHAP. II.] DIRECT AND POSITIVE EVIDENCE OF REVELATION. 199 time of Moses he does not inform us; nor what became of them afterwards, so that their respective votaries never remembered them, never again found them, never manifested any suspicion of what had been done, but continued to re- ceive and hold the amalgamation as the sole primitive record,— how all this took place this same profound German does not inform us. Happily, however, we do not need any such information. | Other learned Germans have arisen and refuted the fabulous hypothesis,—as you will find in Hengstenberg and Hivernick, so far as any such refutation was necessary. We do not deny that it was so far necessary; for on whatever part of the sacred record an assault is made, that part must be defended; and it generally happens that the point thus assailed and defended becomes ever afterwards unassailably strong. But without further noticing this German hypothesis, we may examine the question which it raised and assumed to answer. We have no proof that writing was known and practised before the flood ; and as little that it was not. But in consequence of the pro- longed lives of the antediluvian patriarchs, the whole events between the creation and the deluge were contained within the compass of three lives,—or, rather, of two, for Methuselah was born more than 300 years before the death of Adam, and died only the year before the flood. Shem was 100 years old before the flood, and might have been personally acquainted with Methuselah, who was long a contemporary with Adam ; and as Shem lived till Isaac was 110 years old, and even till after Jacob’s return to Palestine from Padan-Aram, it is pos- sible that Jacob may have conversed with Shem, who had also conversed with Methuselah, who was long and intimately acquainted with Adam. And as all these patriarchs were God- fearing and truthful men, and had ample time and inducement to make themselves completely acquainted with these sacred narratives, and to transmit them in their pure simplicity as they received them; and as the living links in this chain of trans- mission were so few, there is no difficulty in believing that, even though not written, the narrative descended to Moses unimpaired. On the other hand, there is no reason to suppose that there existed no written records till the time of Moses. Recent dis- coveries haye proved that the ancient Babylonians and Assyrians 200 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. [DIV. II, were in possession of a written language, and written, or at least insculpted, records, at least as early as the time of Abraham. Egyptian discoveries have also proved that the Egyptians were acquainted with the art of making sculptured and engraved historical records at least as early as the period of the same patriarch. Were we inclined to adopt the extravagant chrono- logy of the German authors with regard to the antiquity of Egypt, we might assert that the Egyptians were well acquainted with the art of preserving historical records by means of hiero- glyphical inscriptions, and even absolute writings, long before the age of Abraham. But, without adopting their theories, we may fairly assert, what they will not deny, that previous to that period the art of preserving historical narratives by sacred writings was well known in ancient Egypt. If so, it is not an extravagant supposition that Abraham may have brought with him from Chaldea, where it was already well known, as buried sculptures testify, the art of preserving historical records by written or engraven narratives, or may have acquired that art in Egypt during his friendly residence there. In either case, he could have learned from Shem what he learned from Methuselah, and what he learned from Adam; and might then have inscribed or written that very directly transmitted record, which could have been easily preserved among his descendants, and thus reached Moses in all its primitive simplicity and integrity. : We by no means say that this was the case, for it has not been so recorded and transmitted to us; but we have indulged a little in the proofs of hypothesis-making; and we are per- suaded that our hypothesis is at least as plausible as any German hypothesis, and much more probable than the double-document theory. But we have no occasion to invent any hypothesis, or frame any theory, with regard to the supposed question, How Moses obtained his information. The sacred and ever-recurring for- mula, “ The Lorp spake unto Moses, saying,” gives us direct information on the point. It matters not to us whether there could be written records or not,—whether there were written records or not. Moses was directed in what he wrote by the immediate instruction of God, and therefore what he wrote was the direct, plain, impressive, and absolute truth,—truth in its clear simplicity, like the sun alone in the mid heavens of CHAP. II.] DIRECT AND POSITIVE EVIDENCE OF REVELATION. 201 noon. It is on this that we rest our faith unhesitatingly; and we dismiss our own hypothesis with as little compunction as we do those of the profoundest and most learned German. “The Lorp spake unto Moses,” and by Moses still speaks to us. This is to us ample assurance, that what Moses said and wrote is true. Before quitting this topic, however, it may be right to direct attention to one point. Ever since the time of Moses the record is not only historical, but is in constant contact with other his- tory, which began to be written not very long after that period. The Hebrew historical narratives are so intertwined with all their religious beliefs and observances, that whatever could shake the credibility of the history would equally affect the truthful- ness of the religion. For this reason infidelity has generally, and of late years particularly, striven to shake the credibility of the Hebrew historical narratives. But this attempt has been most signally and providentially defeated. The ‘key to the Egyptian hieroglyphic writings and inscriptions has been dis- covered, the huge mysterious pyramids have been opened and explored, the sphinx has given up her secret, the sarco- phagi have rendered back their dead, and departed Pharaohs and their priests have borne, and are still bearing, testimony to the truth of the Mosaic records. Nor is this all. The huge mounds that cumbered the banks of the Tigris, hiding the buried palaces and temples of proud Assyria, have recently been opened, and forced also to disclose their hitherto un- imagined wonders. ‘The fierce and haughty Sennacherib has himself been compelled to produce his sculptured and inscribed testimony to the truth of what the prophet Isaiah had recorded in the Hebrew Scriptures. And even the mighty and terrible Nebuchadnezzar, from amid the ruins of the great Babylon, which he built for the glory and majesty of his kingdom, re- appears, declaring that the prophet Daniel did indeed speak what was told to him by the God of heaven. No longer need the infidel venture to dispute the historical accuracy and truth of the Old Testament Scriptures, for that has been proved by Divine Providence itself. It will have been observed that the Mosaic history is not merely supernatural, as the early historical legends of all other ancient nations are: they have the supernatural element, but that element both keeps its own place and maintains its own 902 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. [DIV. IL character in every instance. There is none of the wild and monstrous intermingling of gods and demigods in the hot and bloody hurly-burly of fierce wars and battles, as we find in the early fabulous legends of Greece and Rome; and none of the still more wild and monstrous transformations which we find in Hindu mythology, and even in the less huge and grotesque fables of the Semitic nations. Throughout the Hebrew history there is a grave, simple, sober, and solemn propriety in all the records of the supernatural, which does not disturb the proper course of the natural, so that the history remains direct history still. The Bible truthfully, naturally, calmly relates what is at once solemnly supernatural in its proper element and cha- racter, and what is simply historical, whether nationally or in the domain of family and domestic events, in a manner as plain and direct as if the whole design had been to produce a familiar domestic narrative. Still another point demands attention. In the case of all other ancient nations, the records, even historical, were in the keeping of a separate class or caste—a priesthood. This was so much and so universally the case, that there cannot yet be found among the relics of ancient nations anything of even a historical character which was not prepared by the priesthood, and retained in their possession. It was not till the free and inquisitive spirit of Greece forced its way into these sacred enclosures, that history began to assume its true character as a natural record of national events. When the father of pro- fane history, as he is called, Herodotus, travelled into. remote countries, however civilised they might be, or pretend to be, it was to the priesthood that he was constrained to betake himself for information. And though it is plain enough, from many of his remarks, that he did not fully trust these priests, yet, as he could not obtain information from any other source, he was obliged to accept it as the only kind of historical information that was within his reach. Further, let it be borne in mind, that the priesthood formed the only class in those ancient nations that possessed any learning ; and that, being well aware of the power which this gave them, they retained it exclusively to themselves. This may account largely for the wild, absurd, and monstrous mingling of superstitious fables in all their ancient histories; but it suggests to us also the thought, that very little confidence deserves to be placed in those historic 9 CHAP. I.] DIRECT AND POSITIVE EVIDENCE OF REVELATION. 203 legends, framed by and kept carefully in the exclusive posses- sion of a selfish, superstitious, self-interested priesthood. In this respect, the Hebrew historical records were entirely different from those of every other ancient nation. Moses was not a priest, although of that tribe, the tribe of Levi, which afterwards became a priestly tribe. But neither the writings of Moses nor the sacred writings afterwards added to his, as continuing the sacred record, were ever exclusively in the possession of the priests. On the contrary, although the original copy of the law as delivered by Jehovah to Moses, was placed in the side of the ark, and placed in the keeping of the priests, the whole body of the people were strictly enjoined to know it, to write copies of it for themselves, and to teach it to their children; and even the king was required to write out a copy for his own personal use. Yet further, the additional scriptures which were from time to time produced were seldom the production of priests, but of kings, as in the instances of David and Solomon, and of prophets in almost all other instances. The Hebrew Scriptures, therefore, were neither the production of a priest-caste nor in the exclusive possession of a jealous priesthood; and cannot justly be accused of that priestcraft which casts doubt and discredit on all other ancient historical yet priestly records. We have thus briefly directed attention to the peculiarly direct and plain character of the Bible as a historical record, relating the history of the human race in general, and of one family and nation in particular, touching the history of all the ruling nations in the world in all their marked and special epochs; exposed, consequently, to detection everywhere and constantly, if detection had been possible, yet never detected in even a single inaccuracy, never exposed in one single instance of misrepresentation or falsehood. Even this view places the Bible far above all other books in the world, both with regard to the history which it relates, so plain, perspicuous, and devoid of fable; and with regard to the religious truths and principles which it teaches, so unapproachably sublime, and so infinitely important to every human being, and to the whole human race. 204 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. [DIV. It. SEC. II. GENERAL PRIN CIPLES OF HISTORICAL EVIDENCE. We have, in the previous section, directed attention to the fact, that the Bible has throughout, in a very special manner, the character of an. intentionally historical record; and that, too, relating not only to the history of a peculiar people, but to the history of the whole known world. It has been shown, that while this gives it special value, it also places it in the position where its credibility can be most easily and amply tested: it is in contact with all the world, it claims to be believed by all the world, and it can be tested in every point by all the world. It offers no compromise; it will accept no compromise; and it challenges investigation while it demands belief. Fixing, then, for a little, our attention upon the historical aspect of the Bible, let us inquire what are the general principles of historical evidence. A sufficiently extensive investigation of the general principles of historical evidence, enough to prove that any work by which they are characterized ought to be received as true history, may be obtained by tracing carefully the following topics :— 1. That documents containing these historical statements must be preserved in the public records of the nation whose history they relate; 2. That the chief elements of the principles and events thus recorded must be also found embodied and mani- fested in its laws, institutions, and character; 3. That there must be thus visibly displayed what may be termed a national life, bearing living testimony to the series of facts and principles historically recorded; and 4. That as these events were trans- acted in special localities, there must be found localities suited to them; and there may be expected to be found in these loca- lities some memorials of the events, such as monuments erected to commemorate them, or local traditions in which they have been transmitted, agreeing in the main with the historical records, 1. The first topic, then, which we have to investigate, or the first element of true historical evidence, is, That documents containing these historical statements must be preserved in the public records of the nation whose history they relate. The necessity and importance of this principle will be at once ad- mitted without much argument or illustration. Still it seems expedient to give it a little elucidation, and then to show how CHAP. II.] DIRECT AND POSITIVE EVIDENCE OF REVELATION. 205 it applies to the Bible. Among all ancient nations that had made any progress whatever, we find both the existence’ of historical statements preserved as public records, and frequent references to such documents. ‘The want of the art of printing, and the cumbrous and tedious process of committing such docu- ments to the preservation of sculptured or engraved pillars, rocks, slabs, or baked bricks, rendered such documents com- paratively rare in ancient tines. They are, nevertheless, found everywhere,—among the ruins of palaces, in tombs, on rock- monuments, or tablets smoothed for the purpose, on prepared stone pillars, and on baked bricks. It is now well known, since the discovery of the method of interpreting the Egyptian hiero- glyphics, and the oriental arrow-headed inscriptions, that in Egypt every king made his own tomb a historical record of his exploits, taking care to have the structure commenced at the beginning of his reign, and adding every year the leading events of that year, till the record closed by his death. In addition to this, the chief temples contained a continuous record of the names and titles of these kings in succession; so that, between the two places, tombs and temples, there was preserved as full a record of historical statements as the nature of the circumstances and the method admitted, and in the very places ’ where the public archives of the nation were kept. It was from these public records that Manetho, priest of Sebennytus, pro- duced what he gave to Herodotus as the basis of his Egyptian history. Again, in different parts of ancient Persia, at Hamadan (Ecbatana), Nakshi Rustam, Persepolis, and very recently at Shushan, there have been found and read inscriptions recording the chief events which took place during the reigns of the great Persian monarchs; and all these were public documents, and so placed that they could be read and known by all to whom they were matters of interest—so careful were they to preserve the knowledge and manifest the credibility of their history. And it is right to mention, that so far as these public historical documents extend, they confirm the truth of what we already knew from other sources, and very specially from the Bible, confirming the accuracy of that sacred record where it differs from the accounts given by the Greek historians. The recent excavations and discoveries at Nineveh have been peculiarly prolific in revealing the treasures of ancient history, and en- 206 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. (DIV. II. abling us to know how that history was recorded and preserved. The palace of the sovereign was itself the historical monument and record of his reign and achievements. Sculptured and inscribed slabs of gypsum, placed around the inner walls of state apartments and grand audience halls, displayed the like- ness of the monarch himself, pictures of his chief exploits, and outlines of his wars and victories. In some’ instances stone pillars were found, on which were engraved lives and successions of dynasties, as if for the very purpose of recording and pre- serving their proper history. In other instances there were found vast quantities of inscribed bricks and cylinders, pre- served in a separate apartment, which from that peculiarity has been called “the chamber of records.” Among these there have been found brief narratives of treaties, and in at least one instance the impression of the signet-ring and seal of the Assyrian king, as signing the treaty which had just been con- cluded with his Egyptian antagonist. It is scarcely necessary to mention, that among more modern nations, from the time of the Greeks and Romans till the pre- sent, all historical documents are carefully preserved as public records, in some place at once of publicity and of safety; and that no man would venture to produce a history, without referring not only to previous admitted historical statements, but also in important matters to state papers, kept in the state paper offices of the various countries whose transactions he has undertaken to record. The application of all this to the Bible is obvious. The Old Testament Scriptures were themselves the public historical records of the Hebrew nation. From the time of Moses they were publicly preserved, publicly employed, and additions publicly made to them from time to time by public persons, who were publicly recognised as qualified to undertake, and authoritatively employed by Jehovah, the theocratic King, to perform, that office. That the most extreme care would be taken. in the reception of these additional records may be assumed as certain, from this consideration, that what they recorded had to be received by the nation, not only as matter of historical veracity in which all were concerned, but also as matter of faith, which all were to believe. Nor was it only in tombs and temples, and by the imperfect and crude method of inscriptions on stone and brick, that the Hebrew CHAP. II.] DIRECT AND POSITIVE EVIDENCE OF REVELATION. 207 records were constructed and preserved ; but they were written fully, deliberately, and carefully on suitable and portable materials, copied by the learned tribe which was diffused throughout the nation for that among other purposes, and placed in the hands generally of the whole people, so that no improper tampering with, or perversion of, the public records could take place without instant detection, as they were uni- versally known. The universality of their knowledge of these historical and religious records appears very remarkably in the case of Jephthah, an exile and a freebooter, when he with such pointed precision proved from history the rights of the Jews against the claims of the invading Ammonites. We are fully warranted, we think, to conclude, that the Hebrew Scriptures possess this first and most important principle of historical evidence more completely than do the annals of any other ancient people, and even as highly as any historical record can do, with all the facilities and securities that modern times afford. | 2. The second principle of historical evidence is, that the chief elements of the principles and events thus recorded must be also found embodied and manifested in its laws, institu- tions, and character. The application of this principle to the Hebrew nation is so absolute, that it is almost wholly super- fluous to do more than state the principle. The writings of Moses actually are the code of the Hebrew laws and institu- tions, both civil and sacred; and this needs but to be stated, for it admits of no dispute. Even among other ancient nations, Moses was always regarded as the lawgiver of the Jews. ‘The Hebrew nation itself, therefore, in its very ex- istence as a nation, is a permanent proof of the reality and truth of the book which contains the record of its laws and institutions. And as all these laws and institutions were known to the whole nation, and in full operation from the time of Moses, it is impossible that they could have been framed and instituted at any subsequent time, in his name and as having his authority, without immediate detection of the imposture. The effect of these laws and institutions on their character as a people was very peculiar. Very frequently, almost inces- santly, were the Jews engaged in the attempt to alter their religious institutions, so as to bring them into greater con- 208 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. [DIV. Il. formity with those of the neighbouring nations, and as fre- quently did they suffer under the punishments denounced in their law against all such attempts; and in their suffering they repented, returned to their duty and obedience, and were restored to peace and prosperity. These alternations proved that the Mosaic laws and institutions were too lofty and pure for the people; yet that they were so revered and be- lieved as to constrain even a wayward and rebellious people to submit to them, and to receive gradually their impress on the national character. The peculiarities of national character produced by the permanent operation of these laws and in- stitutions were more perceptible to other nations than it was to themselves, and caused them to be regarded generally as a peculiarly obstinate and intolerant people. They did not deny their laws, though they could not keep them; they did not obey their laws, though they preserved with jealous care and vigilance the Mosaic and prophetic history, in which these laws were contained; and thus even the fluctuations and struggles of the national character bore very direct and ample testimony to the veracity of the historical and prophetic record, in which these laws and institutions were contained, and by which these very fluctuations, struggles, and vicissi- tudes of conduct, character, and condition had been predicted. This principle of historical evidence might be very easily and amply illustrated by reference to other nations, were that necessary. As one not very obvious, yet very remarkable instance, we may refer to the great confederacy of the several Greek kingdoms and states which enabled them to wage war against Troy. That event entered into the Grecian mind with the force of a law, and became the principle of numerous subsequent confederacies, enabling them in one memorable instance to confederate against, encounter, and bear back the whole force of the Persian empire. Individual liberty and combined confederacy in time of need became the leading element of the Grecian character, and gave to that wonder- ful people their high position in the world’s history. When we look to Rome, we find in its earliest condition the rival elements of patricians and plebeians, from the struggles and ultimate balanced combinations of which it derived all its laws, institutions, and character. No history of Greece could be true, which did not record its principles of individual liberty CHAP. Il] DIRECT AND POSITIVE EVIDENCE OF REVELATION. 209 and conjoint confederacy; nor any history of Rome, which left unnoticed its patrician and plebeian elements and their republican union. In the laws, institutions, and character of Britain we can trace clearly both the Norman and the Saxon elements; and no history of Britain could be a true history which did not include these elements, and trace their operation in the laws, institutions, and character of the British nation. Very inaccurate, inadequate, and incomplete would be the history of Scotland, which did not record how the mailed tide of feudal invasion was rolled back by the strong arm of the mighty Scottish commoner, Wallace; or how its. religious liberty was gained, in spite of sovereign and nobles, by the undaunted Knox; or how the base treachery and cruelty of a licentious monarch and his unprincipled courtiers were successfully resisted by the humble yet heroic martyrs of the covenant; and how all these contributed to form the laws, institutions, and character of the grave, earnest, and indefatigable Scottish people ;—while the history which shall truly record all these will find its confirmation in those laws and institutions, and in that noble character. 3. The third principle of historical evidence is,— That there must be thus visibly displayed what may be termed a National Life, bearing living testimony to the series of facts and principles historically recorded. This principle is so closely related to that which has just been examined and explained, that it cannot require much illustration. When we use the term, National Life, we of course mean the actual concrete existence of a people living under the laws, enjoying the institutions, and manifesting a character in accordance with these laws and insti- tutions, which we had previously found recorded in its history. The necessity of stating this as a principle of historical evi- dence will appear from this consideration, that a man of genius and speculatively philosophical character might produce an imaginary history of an imaginary people,—some Atlantis or Utopia,—with laws, institutions, and a character, all in beautiful harmony, but all fictitious. We test this work of philosophical genius by demanding its visible display in an actual national life; and if this cannot be shown, we reject it as a romance, how much soever we may admire: the genius of its author. Nor is it any valid objection to this testing principle, to say that the nation so described has ceased to exist, and therefore can- O 210 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. [DIV. II. not now be visibly displayed in its national life. For no nation has ever existed in a state of such full development as to possess laws, institutions, and a national character, without giving some stamp and impress of its existence to the neighbouring nations with whom it held intercourse, and thereby leaving a record of itself in their records. Babylon and Assyria exist now but in name; but the histories of all contiguous nations, at one time contemporaneous with them, and still surviving, attest the actual existence of those perished nations, and fur- nish a clear idea of their national life. Contemporaneous history, then, affords us the criterion that we require, in order to distinguish between a historico-philosophical romance and the surviving historical records of an extinct nation; and we thus obtain our third principle of historical evidence even in the case of a nation that has ceased to exist. The history of the Hebrew nation and people can stand the test of this principle of historical evidence in a very remarkable manner. For while we may consider its national existence as extinct, since it has not now any territorial position, any king- dom of its own, any being, rank, or power among the presently existing nations; yet all the histories of all the then existing nations bear ample evidence to the reality of its laws, institu- tions, character, and peculiar national life,—very much more, indeed, than they do to the contemporaneous national life of dead and buried Assyria, destroyed and desolate Babylon, or mute monumental Egypt. But although the Hebrews have long been extinct as a nation, they still exist as a people; and at this hour, throughout all the world, they continue visibly to display all the peculiar elements of their national life. Always and everywhere they cleave to their laws and institutions with desperate tenacity, and manifest the peculiar character which these were so fitted to embody and perpetuate; and as the pro- phetic element in their own ancient history had distinctly fore- told both their universal dispersion into all the world, and their continual preservation in this scattered and despised condition, they are themselves the living, indestructible, and incontestable evidence to the truth of their ancient history. To all still exist- ing nations with a continuous history and national life, this criterion very easily applies; to extinct ancient nations it can be applied by the testimony of contemporary history; but to the Hebrew nation and people it applies, and can be applied, in CHAP. Il.] DIRECT AND POSITIVE EVIDENCE OF REVELATION. 211 both forms; and in each the historical evidence is equally dis- tinct, satisfactory, and conclusive, as proving their history to be. true. 4, The fourth principle of historical evidence is,—That as these historical events were transacted in special localities, there must be found localities suited to them; and there may be expected to be found in these localities some memorials of the events, such as monuments erected to commemorate them, or local traditions in which they have been transmitted, agreeing in the main with the historical records. The value of this principle it is not difficult to perceive; and it is capable of very extensive illustration, both with regard to the Hebrew history, and to all other his- torical records. When we think of ancient history, we direct our attention inevitably to the scenes where great events were transacted; and in viewing carefully those localities, we often find that we can both verify the statements of history, and correct any erroneous particulars that may have been intro- duced. We visit, for example, the narrow mountain-pass of Thermopylae, and can at once perceive how possible it was that 300 determined Spartans, headed by a particular hero, could for a time hold at bay the whole innumerable horde of undisciplined and effeminate Persians. We view the wide, level plains of Lower Mesopotamia and Chaldea, traversed by the vast rivers of Tigris and Euphrates, or their confluent mighty ocean stream, and can at once perceive, that when the huge walls and towers of its great cities were cast down, and its numerous branching canals filled up, it would be changed into a vast, ruddy morass,—the haunt and “ abode of all doleful creatures ;” or, in dry Reroce iH ailcs wide, sandy desert, “swept with the besom of destruction.” We gaze tHonahttfully on Constantinople, and we understand its history; for, while we see how suitable it appeared to be for the eran ioks of an empire, half Asiatic, half European, such as the oriental portion of the Roman world was, when Constantine chose Byzantium for his imperial residence, we also see that it could not per- manently retain that imperial position; but that either the Asiatic element must obtain the ascendancy, as it did under the successors of Mohammed, or the European, as is taking place rapidly in our own times. Or we turn to Egypt and its wondrous river and river-valley, and there we see on every side scenes which verify ancient history; or read history, which 912 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. [DIV. If. directs us to and explains those scenes, and that with such mar- vellous distinctness that we can neither doubt the history, nor mistake the locality, so precisely do they correspond and confirm each other. There is a double interest attached to Egypt and its histories and traditions; for we may find in them either the confirmation of ancient Grecian history, in suitable localities, memorials, and traditions, or the confirmation of Scripture history, in suitable localities, memorials, and traditions. We can inquire for the hundred-gated Thebes of Homer, or the Sesostris of the historians; and when we are guided to the Thebes, and explore its vast ruins of temples, tombs, and gigantic sculptured kings, we find proof at once of the almost incredible magnitude of the city, and of the tremendous power of the conquering monarch, whose colossal rock-hewn statues attest his unrivalled greatness, even allowing for the exaggera- tions of courtly flatterers. | But it is when we take the Bible in our hand, and while we peruse its historical narratives, and direct our attention to the localities where these recorded events were transacted, that we perceive the full force of this principle of historical evidence. We read about the years of famine, for example, and then mark carefully how entirely the fertility of Egypt depends upon the periodical overflowings of the Nile; and it becomes at once manifest, that if any events should occur to diminish con- siderably that annual overflow, the harvest would fail throughout the entire valley of the Nile and its fertile Delta, and the com- munity would be smitten with famine. That such an event might be produced by a peculiar state of the weather in central Africa, near the sources of the Nile, is obvious and intelligible ; but the effect only, not the cause, could be felt and known in Egypt, while of course it could not be predicted, except by the instruction which God, the Ruler of all events, might be pleased to communicate. Again, we look on the Nile; and in its reedy, sedgy, and mud-encrusted banks, we see what exactly accords with the narrative concerning the exposure and pre- servation of Moses. The Red Sea attracts our attention, and we search for the spot where the Israelites might have passed. It has always seemed to us a peculiar proof of the historical accuracy of the relation of that miraculous event, that to some it seems quite easy to account for it by natural causes,—by a prolonged ridge or sandbank near its lower gulf, an ebb tide, CHAP. IL] DIRECT AND POSITIVE EVIDENCE OF REVELATION. 213 and a strong north-east wind; and to others quite impossible, because there is no such ridge, because the fluctuations of the tide are not great enough, and because the wind has never been observed to have such influence. The reason of this is, that the natural and the miraculous are so wonderfully blended in the narrative, that any person who shall attempt to explain it by attending to merely the one only of these two elements must necessarily fail, especially if he restrict his attention to the natural alone. It was not possible naturally, by means of any natural causes in their natural operation; but admit the mira- culous dividing of the waters, and then it was naturally or physically possible for the marching multitude of Israel to cross the narrow gulf through that miraculously constituted chasm between the night-fall and the dawn,—while Pharaoh's armed chariots and troops, entering at a later hour in their mad pur- suit, entangled in the oozy and slimy deep, and thrown into confusion by the terrors of the Almighty Jehovah, were over- whelmed by the refluent billows rolling back tumultuously to fill again the awful supernatural void, at the moment when the Hebrews had gained the stedfast shore. We might prosecute the inviting process of local and tradi- tionary proof throughout the entire Bible history, did our limits permit, or did it seem necessary ; and we should find in every instance the locality and the tradition combining to confirm the history. We might trace the journeyings of the Israelites through the wilderness to Sinai; and as we gazed on its awful battlement-like cliffs and spiry summit, and listened to the traditions of the wandering Arab, feel assured that we had indeed reached the very place where Moses received the law from God. We might visit the tomb of Aaron, or turn aside into the wild and wonderful ravines of Petra, and mark the desolate rocky temples and sepulchres of the doomed dwellers in the clefts. We might direct our steps to the Dead Sea, and view the proofs of that terrible judgment, which turned a fertile plain and flourishing cities into a stagnant lake of molten sulphur. We might trace the river Jordan, note its rapid and dangerous fords, and that deep and rocky channel, which rendered it a defensive trench between the Promised Land and the heathen nations on the east, constraining them always to cross near its sources on the skirts of ebanon,—confirming the prophetic language of foreign invasions from the north. 214 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES, [DIV. In We might visit the relics of Bethlehem or Nazareth, or the cities near the sea of Galilee; or we might stand on Mount Olivet, or go round Jerusalem, and mark its towers and bul- warks, and palaces and tombs. In all these instances, and, in short, throughout the whole of Palestine and all adjacent countries, from Damascus to Sidon, Tyre, and Ptolemais, we should find history, and locality, and tradition, and monuments, and ruins, written records, and the talk of Arab guides and toil- worn, humble peasants alike, all combining into one unbroken and harmonious evidence, and all bearing full testimony to the absolute truthfulness, in every particular, of the Bible history. We have thus stated, explained, and applied briefly, four principles of historical evidence, such as never were found, and never can be found, to unite in support of any fictitious narrative pretending to be history; and we have found them uniting in support of the truth of Bible history, even more completely than they do in support of any history which is more unhesitatingly and firmly believed. The inevitable conclusion is, that in its histo- rical character THE BIBLE is most certainly and absolutely true. SEC. III. APPLICATION OF GENERAL HISTORICAL PRINCIPLES TO THE BIBLE. In the preceding section, it was our main design to state and illustrate those general principles of historical evidence, by which all true and authentic history will be found to be more or less definitely characterized. And although, in illus- trating these general principles, we frequently, and in some instances even pointedly, made reference to Hebrew history, as contained in the Old Testament Scriptures, yet it seems due to the importance of the subject to make a more direct and full application of them to the records of the whole Chris- tian revelation, from the most ancient times to the present. We are all the more inclined, even impelled, to do this, by the kind of challenge which assailants of Christianity have given to meet them on this historic area, by their assuming that position on which to set their battle in array against revela- tion. Not only have they attempted to vitiate the first book of the Pentateuch by their hypothesis of the combined Elohistic and Jehovahistic documents; but they have further attempted, by their “ rationalism” and their “ higher criticism,” CHAP. Il.] DIRECT AND POSITIVE EVIDENCE OF REVELATION. 215 to resolve almost every recorded fact of Bible history into a myth ; by which they mean, an embodiment or representation of some religious or superstitious principle in a fictitious nar- rative. According to that “higher criticism,” as they term it, whenever anything of a supernatural character appears in the narrative, that portion of the record is not to be regarded as history, but as myth, and must be so interpreted as to be explained away. Now, as the Bible is at once throughout of an historical character, and throughout of a supernatural character, it is plain, that if its supernatural character can be made to destroy its credibility as history, it will be rendered self-contradictory, and its whole trustworthiness be thereby entirely overthrown. Such is the form and character of the recent and formidable assault on the historical credibility of the Bible made by the mythic theory of modern rationalists ; and it is for the purpose of meeting the assailants on their own chosen arena or battle-ground, that we now proceed to apply the general principles of historical evidence directly and specifically to Bible history. We shall not, however, follow our antagonists into the jungles of mere captious objec- tion, but keep to open ground, and establish manifest truth. The Bible both begins, and proceeds throughout, in the character of a historical narrative of such facts and events as concern the whole human race; relating those facts and events in connection with moral and religious principles, in such a manner as at once to record and explain the whole history of man. It is with this comprehensive character of the Bible kept continually in view, that we proceed. to trace some of its leading recorded facts in their related order. The first chapter of the book of Genesis relates in plain historical language the successive events of what has been called the creation week. It was certainly essential to a full and complete history of man, that he should be made acquainted with such great truths as the origin of the world which he inhabits, the process by which it was prepared for his abode, and the condition and character of his first human ancestor ; inasmuch as it was 1m- possible for him otherwise to have right ideas of God, the Creator of the world and himself, and of his duty to his and nature’s Creator and God. That this essential information was communicated to Adam in such a manner as to give him all the knowledge on these points that he needed, we 216 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES, [DIV. II. cannot doubt; and whether it was transmitted to Moses by a chain of not more than five links, or whether it was given to him directly by a new revelation, we are not careful to inquire. The plain narrative, as we now have it, contains all that it was then necessary for man to know in his sinless condition,—all that it is yet necessary for Natural Theology to know, if Natural Theology were now enough, or natural religion were still possible for man—for man fallen and sinful. It tells man that material being is not eternal, but had a beginning, and that the Eternal and Almighty God was its Creator; that this world was prepared to be a suitable abode for man, by passing through six successive conditions, each caused by the direct creative fiat of God ; and that, on the last of these creative periods, man was created, and to him exclusively was given a rational, moral, and personal mind, so endowed and qualified as to be capable of reflecting in its intellectual and moral principles the divine image ; and, finally, that the Sabbath was instituted, at once to commemorate and to preserve this revelation. All this, and not less than this, the jirst chapter of Genesis teaches ; more than this it was not necessary for new-created and sinless man to know ; and it is not only perfectly possible, but extremely probable, that it contains a brief statement of all that man did know before the fall, and has been recorded in its present axiomatic form for that very reason. Let this idea be calmly entertained and thoughtfully pondered, that however desirable and necessary it may be for ws—fallen and sinful men—to have now, in our present condition, a more full and definite revelation of God’s character and laws, we have no reason to Suppose that any- thing similarly ample and detailed was needed by man in his state of primitive innocence; and if the first chapter of Genesis contain, as it appears extremely probable it does, a brief state- ment of the primitive revelation given to new-created and sinless man, we are not warranted in expecting ‘in it anything specially needed by man fallen, sinful, rebellious, corrupt, depraved, and needing to be both redeemed and sanctified, Although we have no intention of plunging into the throng and confusion of combatants, striving fiercely about the mean- ing of the very brief narrative contained in the first chapter of Genesis, nor mean to make much use of the weapons employed on either side—philological, or geological ; yet we do mean to CHAP. II.] DIRECT AND POSITIVE EVIDENCE OF REVELATION. yA BE present an outline of the general meaning of that chapter, such as we hope may be somewhat satisfactory to the intelligent, earnest, and unprejudiced Christian inquirer and student of the sacred Scriptures, as a true historical record and revelation. We commence by assuming, as already stated, that there is nothing in the first and second chapters of Genesis beyond what might have been contained in the first revelation to Adam. This sets aside any discussion as to the meaning of the term “ day,” as it could not have any fixed and definite meaning to him, and could convey no other idea than that of the successive periods in which successive creations were called into being, without determining anything regarding the length or short- ness of their duration. We further state the now admitted principle, that revelation was not intended to teach science, and therefore uses no scientific terms, but is conveyed in such language as is adapted to express man’s common conceptions of common phenomena, as perceived by the senses,—such as all men ordinarily use, whether they be men of science or not. Now, if science may be rightly defined as “ the one link uniting the sense and reason of man to the observed phenomena of nature,” it will follow, that while science may correct our mode of expressing mental conceptions, it cannot affect our mode of expressing our sentient perceptions ; but both modes of expres- sion may continue to be used in their respective provinces, without any hazard of either contradiction or confusion, by every person of adequate intelligence. And as the Bible uses the language of our common sentient perceptions, there cannot properly arise any collision between its’ plain statements and the scientifically expressed results of science, unless there be not only a difference between the modes of expression, but also a contradiction between the ideas so expressed. Again, as the statements of Moses have been supposed to be irreconcilable with the discoveries of geology, it may be fairly required of every person who ventures to produce this as an objection against the Bible, that he make it clear, both to his own mind and to that of every other man, that he perfectly understands both the statements of Moses and the discoveries of geology. For, until he perfectly understands not the one only, but both, he cannot possibly tell whether they are irreconcilable or not, and ought not rashly to make an assertion which it is not in his power to prove. 218 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. [DIV. ID. There was a mode of apparently reconciling the statements of the Mosaic record with the discoveries of geology, suggested by Dr. Chalmers about the beginning of this century, on this ground: Moses seems to limit the time of creation to six natu- ral days; geology demands immense periods of time for the construction of its vast rock-system and fossil remains: may we not conceive the lapse of an immense period of time between the first and second verses of Genesis sufficient for the geologist ? and then the Mosaic days may be allowed to retain only their natural duration. The adequacy of this hypothesis was long received, but has lately been disputed, and the «“ days” have been assumed to be periods of indefinite duration, coincident with the vast geologic periods. We do not think it either necessary or prudent to bind ourselves to either of these hypo- thetical solutions of the apparent difficulty. A man need not be greatly ashamed to say that he is not yet perfectly sure that he absolutely understands either Moses or geology; while he is quite sure that no intelligent geologist will say that he is abso- lutely certain what that science will, or may, ultimately teach. That it may ultimately become the needed link connecting © man’s reason with the observed phenomena of nature, he may safely conclude; and that it will then reconcile and combine God’s creative acts, nature’s observed phenomena, and man’s scientific knowledge of them, he may feel perfectly assured ; and may therefore, unalarmed, watch the progress of geology, and continue to study his Bible, till the Author of both produce the reconciliation. In the meantime, however, there are already certain appa- rently approximating coincidences to which we wish to direct attention. The Mosaic record presents us with six successive “days.” For a time geology specified only three periods, or systems, which it termed primary, secondary, and tertiary ; but of late these have been so loosened and expanded as to assume the form of several systems, some say ten or twelve. We ven- ture to aflirm that all these may be reduced to precisely siz well-defined systems, neither fewer nor more. Let us present this remarkable coincidence in a tabular form, and arranged side by side in parallel columns. CHAP. II.] DIRECT AND POSITIVE EVIDENCE OF REVELATION. GEOLOGICAL SYSTEM. Central nucleus of the earth—Crystalline rocks— Unstratified— Without life— Depth unknown. Frrst GEOLOGICAL PERIOD OR SYSTEM. Unstratified and Non-fossiliferous Rocks. Metamorphic group—Gneiss, slate, etc. —Powerful and prolonged volcanic agency—The earth in a semi-fluid con- dition. Sreconp GEOLOGICAL PERIOD. Silurian and Devonian System. The rocks, sedimentary and stratified— Graptolites—Some crustaceans and molluscs—In the Devonian or old red sandstone, numerous invertebrated fishes—A few plants, chiefly marine— The earth generally submerged. THIRD GEOLOGICAL PERIOD. Carboniferous System. Enormous vegetation—Formation of the coal-measures by frequent elevations and subsidings— Molluses— Fishes— Reptiles—The atmosphere still thick and humid, suited chiefly to crypto- gamic plants and animals without lungs. FourTH GEOLOGICAL PERIOD. Permian and Triassic System. Almost universal submergence of land— Great paucity of animal life—Deposi- tion of rocks to roof the carboniferous system—New red sandstone—Magne- sian limestone—Marl slate—Close of what are called the palozoic periods, and deposit of rock roofs for the car- boniferous system. FirrH GEOLOGICAL PERIOD. Cretaceous System. Lias, oolite, Wealden clay, chalk—Alter- nate sub-aerial and sub-marine—Cha- racterized chiefly by fossil saurians, gigantic birds, etc. SrxtH GEOLOGICAL PERIOD. The Alluvial System. Ancient alluvium—Gigantic mammalia antecedent to man—Modern alluvium —Mammalia of the present races—Man —Diluvian sand-heaps—Raised banks —Unfossiliferous—Present aspect of the world. 219 Mosaic RECORD. The great general truth declared, that matter is not eternal—Had a beginning —That God created it. First Mosatc, oR GENETIC, Day. The Production of Light. Commencing action of the formative mate- rial forces —Heat— Electricity — Mag- netism— Polar rotation—Closes with the night of their unseen progressive operation. Seconp Mosaic, oR GENETIC, DAY. The Firmament, or Expanse. The constitution of the atmosphere and clouds—The world covered with water —Consequent disintegration of the primitive rocks— Volcanic agency — Metamorphic and sedimentary rocks— Stratification advancing beneath the waters. Tuirp Mosaic Day. Formation of Sea and ‘Land. Volcanic agency — Extensive elevations and subsidings—Vast, perhaps univer- sal, archipelago of at least tropical tem- perature—Enormous vegetation on ail elevations —The peculiar period of cryptogamic, or flowerless, and gigantic plants. FourtH Mosaic Day. Sun, Moon, and Stars. The heavenly bodies becoming visible, in consequence of an atmospheric change —Great preparation for the existence of animals with eyes and lungs to dwell on dry land, and for flowering plants _neéding clear light. FirtH Mosato Day. Production of Marine Reptiles and Birds. Huge marine and amphibious reptiles— True fishes—Gigantic birds—Sea, earth, and air now inhabited by new creatures and races. SrixtH Mosarc Day. Production of Land Animals of present Races. The great extinct but unfossilized pachy- dermatous mammalia—Types and con- geners of the present races of animals— Man—The scene terrestrial, and ending with the creation of man—No night mentioned, as in all the previous re- corded ‘‘ days.” 220 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. [DIV. II. It will be admitted that the preceding tabular and parallel arrangement presents a very remarkable coincidence through- out, and would completely harmonize the Mosaic record and the geological systems, if it could be adequately proved. Fur- ther, it will be observed that it does not require the rejection of the hypothesis produced by Dr. Chalmers, since it leaves the statement of the first verse in the region of time undefined, neither does it affirm that hypothesis; that it neither defines the geologic period, nor the Mosaic « day,” neither provoking any antagonism, nor seeking any forced reconciliation between them; that it neither requires the aid of what has been called the “ Mosaic Vision theory,” nor rejects that theory ; and that, nevertheless, it succeeds in exhibiting almost a perfect agreement between the plain Bible narrative and the most recent and matured results of geological science, as understood and stated by the ablest, best informed, and most accomplished geologists, —by such men as Professor Ansted, Professor Sedgwick, Sir Roderick Murchison, and Hugh Miller. I may be pardoned for adding, that the view here given is entirely my own; so that, although it may seem to have been borrowed from Hugh Miller’s last work, it was written at least two years before that work appeared, and even, I believe, before that great man had himself arrived at his ultimate opinion on the subject. The thought that the first chapter of Genesis may be actually the primitive Adamie revelation, unless I greatly mistake its real value, will be found to have the power of removing many diffi- culties more completely and satisfactorily than anything that has ever previously been produced relative to that chapter, by introducing a new interpretative idea. But let us now apply these views. It will be seen at once that no ancient cosmogony could for a moment withstand the application of modern geological science ;—that science would dissolve in an instant the huge and baseless cosmogony of Hin- duism, as, indeed, common sense may do; or the elaborate metaphysical cosmogonies and theogonies of the Pheenicians, the Zoroastrians, the Chinese, the Druids, the Scandinavians, the Kgyptians, and the Grecians. Nor would modern cosmo- gonies fare any better, such as those of Whiston, and Burnet, and Granville Penn; and a score, it may be, of other world- makers, such as we may meet with every day and anywhere. CHAP. II.] DIRECT AND POSITIVE EVIDENCE OF REVELATION. 221 But, while the Bible does not present us with any dexterously constructed and plausibly argued cosmogony, it gives us in brief and plain terms a statement of facts which are found to be arranged in the most exact scientific manner, before there existed any science so to arrange them. This could not have been done by Moses from his own knowledge, or from his acquaintance with all the learning of the Egyptians, for that contained no such knowledge; but it could have been commu- nicated to Moses or to Adam by revelation, as must have been done. For let it be observed, that the method of the Bible’s statement is purely scientific, though not as science discovers, but as it states its results. Geology must begin by examining the upper stratum first, then the next, then the next, and so on, till it reach the greatest depth to which it can extend its re- searches. It then, in stating its ascertained results, places the lowest stratum or unstratified nucleus first, as the proper basis of all the rest, and arranges them in due ascertained order, each above the other, till it comes to the surface. Now, this could not have been done till but a few years ago by all the most accomplished geologists in the world; yet this is exactly what is done in the Bible, and could not have been so done other- wise than by a revelation given to man from the Creator of the world Himself. We receive the Bible history of creation, therefore, both as true in itself, regarded as the revealed his- torical narrative of the creation of the world,—such a narrative as was needed by, and specially suited to, Adam in his state of innocence,—equally suitable to be repeated by Moses as the proper commencement of the history of mankind ;—and as so primarily and essentially true, that the nearest approaches which geological science shall ever be able to make to absolute geological truth, will only tend to explain and confirm the sublimely simple and profound Bible record. The narrative of the temptation and fall has often been termed a manifest mythical statement, suggesting merely that the fall of man from his original innocence originated in his listening to the insinuating desires of his animal nature, and thereby sinking into a state of comparative degradation, as men are still so prone to do. But the Bible states it in direct terms as the plain narrative of an actual event, and without the slightest indication of its having, or being intended to have, a 2292 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. [DIV. IL. mythical or allegorical meaning. We can expect no contem- poraneous and corroborating record of an event that occurred at so early a period. But we do find, among the dim tradi- tions of almost every ancient nation, certain statements about a serpent, and a guarded tree, and fatal consequences con- nected with, or resulting from, the serpent and the tree; and we also find some ancient sculptures representing a conflict between a serpent and a man, with the man treading upon the serpent’s head, and the venomous reptile fixing its fangs in his heel. The kind of serpent-worship also, common to many ancient and half barbarous tribes, employed to appease or avert the anger of a malignant being represented by a serpent, seems to indicate the existence of a corrupt traditionary account of the temptation and fall of Adam. It is not easy to account for such almost universal traditionary narratives, fables, and idolatries, otherwise than by assuming them to have had their origin in some event which affected the whole human race; and the form which they assume bears a strong testimony to the historical character of the narrative in the Bible. It is evidently far more consistent with reason to receive the Bible account as a plain historical narrative of a marvellous and terrible event, than to discard it as a myth, containing, however, a principle, and find ourselves surrounded by many similar though distorted myths containing no similar principle. We cannot pass by the significant intimations given of the early entrance of envy and murder into the human race; the separation of the race into two distinct classes,—one of them characterized by religious principles and conduct, the other by irreligion and devotedness to the arts and pleasures of life. That these intimations are historically true, we are in a manner constrained to admit, by their perfect agreement with what we see around us everywhere in human society still; so that, with- out any contemporaneous evidence, we cannot help saying, that if human nature was then the same as it is now, these events must have happened as they have been recorded. I may add, that some years ago, happening to engage in a some- what prolonged and careful study of Egyptian antiquities and chronology, I was considerably surprised to find that one of their fabulous and mythological statements, bearing in its CHAP. II.] DIRECT AND POSITIVE EVIDENCE OF REVELATION. 223 bosom the marks of its having some relation to a very ancient religious contention, not only closely resembled the statement of the Bible, that in the days of Seth men began to call upon the name of the Lord,—or that the worshippers of Jehovah began then to assume a distinctive designation,—but also, that the mythologically stated Egyptian event was of the same date with the historically recorded Bible event. Per- haps it ought to be added, by way of explanation, that the fabulous Egyptian history and chronology, though reaching back to an antiquity far beyond the date of the flood, or even of the creation of Adam, makes no mention of either of these events, except, perhaps, in the mythological form of certain contentions between certain of their great deities. As the mythological and historical records of Egypt were entirely constructed by, and remained in the exclusive possession of, the priesthood; and as they wished to represent the antiquity of Egypt as immensely greater that that of any other nation, they would have found the deluge a troublesome event, and therefore they did not admit it into their records at all, although there are evidently some dim allusions to it and to antediluvian history. , The deluge is another great event, detailed with even peculiar exactness and precision in the Bible history. It isa remarkable fact, that there is no ancient nation, except Egypt alone, which does not possess among its oldest traditions, or even in its oldest history, some account of the deluge. These traditions or histories bear also such a resemblance to the Bible account, as to prove incontestably that they all refer to one and the same event. They all mention the preservation of a single individual and his family by means of a floating vessel, while all the rest of mankind perished; and they all claim that single individual as their own great ancestor. They all relate the resting of the ship, canoe, or ark on the summit of some great mountain, generally one in their own country or its vicinity ; and the subsequent spread of mankind from that locality, as from a centre. Some of them mention the dove, as somehow connected with the ark; and some others connect the worship of a deity, half man, half fish, with the same event. These, or similar traditionary records, are found among the ancient Babylonians, the Assyrians; the Iranian race, or Bactrians, 224 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES, LDIV. IT. Medes, Persians, and Armenians; the Indo-Scythian race, or Hindus, Scythians of Northern Asia, Celts, Teutons or Germans, and Scandinavians ; and the Turanian race, or Mon- golians and Tartars; the Grecian tribes, the Romans, and even the Peruvians and Mexicans, if not also, as some say, among the South Sea Islanders. Such a widespread or, rather, universal tradition, could not possibly have existed, if such an event had not taken place, and if all these races and nations had not derived their existence from one common ancestral family, and their tradition from that one common centre. Whether the whole earth was then as generally inhabited as it is now, and the deluge actually covered the whole earth ; or whether only a portion of the earth, a large district in central Asia, was inhabited, and that district so submerged as that its local deluge covered the whole of the portion inhabited by man,—are questions on which we do not think it necessary to express any definite opinion. It is evident, from the universality of the tradition and belief, that but one family escaped from its overwhelming waters, and that their de- scendants carried with them into every country under heaven some record of the terrible catastrophe. This is sufficient confir- mation of the Bible history, as a true history of an event which really took place as recorded; and when we compare these tradi- tions with each other, and the whole with the Bible narrative, we cannot but perceive that they are all but imperfectly preserved traditions of that great event of which the Bible alone gives the true history. It would not be difficult to produce a very extensive and considerably minute confirmation of the account of the building of the tower of Babel, the confusion of tongues, and the dispersion and migration of nations throughout the chief known regions of the world; but our limits do not permit us to indulge in matters of subordinate importance. For the same reason, we must refrain from tracing the history of Abraham, further than to mention that some of the recent discoveries among the ruins in Babylonia give the name of Chedorlaomer, the leader of that army which defeated the kings of Sodom and Gomorrha, and was routed by Abraham’s night attack,—which is a new and unexpected corroboration of the Bible by contemporary monumental inscriptions; proving | also, at the same time, the existence of the art of making alpha- — Qt ee CHAP. If.] DIRECT AND POSITIVE EVIDENCE OF REVELATION. 225 betic and verbal inscriptions in the period of Abraham, with which he also was doubtless acquainted. In all these narratives we find the same direct and unex- aggerated statements of great public events, by which the Bible history is so peculiarly characterized; while we find that all contemporary records, even when they relate the same events, are full of wild, extravagant, and monstrous fictions, and ex- pressed in pompously inflated language, or obscure, mystical, metaphorical, and sometimes metaphysical, terms. Already, therefore, this conclusion is evident, that while all other ancient traditionary records give history and fable inextricably inter- twined, needing some simpler interpretation, the Bible alone gives us the clear and simple narrative of events expressed in the direct self-evident style of true history. SEC. IV. COMPARISON BETWEEN SACRED AND PROFANE RECORDS. We must prosecute a little further our examination of the historical character of the Bible, before stating a comparison between the sacred history and all other histories, usually termed profane, or, more properly, secular. The residence of Abraham’s descendants in Egypt, the tyrannical and cruel. treatment they underwent, and their final departure from that land, or exodus, constitutes a purely historical epoch, and would require very careful study in order fully to apprehend its importance. This great event was in itself so remarkable, and attended or followed by such consequences, that it could not be concealed, even by the Kgyptian priesthood, in their flattering national annals. Ac- cordingly, they have recorded it in their own way, disfigured and misrepresented in such a manner as to reflect as little dis- credit on their own nation as possible; and although Josephus, the Jewish historian, set himself to answer and refute their fabulous and distorted record, it may be said that they were fortunate in an antagonist, who was not accustomed to, nor skilled in, the rigid analysis of exaggerated and misrepresented statements, by which their account might have been so com- pletely set aside, and the Bible history confirmed. There is in the Bible history, /irs¢, a distinct enough intimation of a change g 226 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. [DIV. IL. of dynasty in Egypt, when “a king arose, who knew not Joseph;” then a conflict, in which the religious elements were strongly called into exercise; and, finally, a great catastrophe, by which the power of Egypt was overthrown and smitten to a degree of prostration from which it never entirely recovered, although it made one or two convulsive struggles of brief ifeatiae at a considerably later period: these leading elements appear mani- festly and prominently in the record itself, apart from all the miraculous statements which it contains. All these simply historical elements can be clearly proved by contemporaneous history; the main difference between them and the Bible con- sisting in this, that the narrative of the Bible is plain, per- spicuous, and direct, and entirely free from all extravagance and confusion, such as those that disfigure and embarrass the Egyptian records. Everything appears perfectly credible,. worthy of direct belief, in the Bible record, with the excep- tion of the miraculous, which, nevertheless, is essential to the record; and though transcending all ordinary events, is in no respect contrary to reason, and is therefore, in its own position, also perfectly credible. But as the subject of miracles must soon come under special consideration, we reserve it for discus- ' sion in its proper place. Returning to the history of the exodus, we wish to direct attention to this point, that there is a peculiar relation between that event and the earlier histories of Greece. Many of the Greek states avowedly derived their first germs of civilisation from either Phoenicia or Egypt, as we read of the Egyptian Danaus, and the Pheenician Cadmus; and the period to which all these migrations point is either identical, or almost identical, with that of the exodus. Now, we learn from the Mosaic narrative, that the Israelites did not leave Egypt alone, but that a “mixed multitude” accompanied them. This “mixed multi- tude” may be conjectured to have been composed very largely of those oppressed and injured Egyptians, and half enslaved natives of other countries, who took the opportunity of the breaking up of the tyrant’s power, and hastened to escape, some accompanying the Israelites for a time, and others directing their course to the sea-coast of Palestine, and ultimately to the isles of Greece. But this is more than conjecture, as we have called it, and can be proved in very many instances, though CHAP. II.] DIRECT AND POSITIVE EVIDENCE OF REVELATION. 227 neither our space nor our design will permit us to produce the proof. We are entitled confidently to conclude, that the period of the exodus was actually a great historical epoch, and has . left its stamp and impress both on Egypt itself, and on all countries contiguous to Heypt, and along the Mediterranean Sea. Even the conquest of Palestine by Joshua has a close historical relation to some of the migrations of the Canaanitish and Phoenician races along the African shores of the Mediter- ranean, as can be proved by certain monuments and inscriptions in those regions. Recently also have the disinterred records of the early Assyrian empire been found to give the name of that ancient monarch who brought the Israelites into a state of servitude, in the beginning of the times of the Judges. When we come to the times of David and Solomon, we find that we have entered the regions of known secular history, or at least into the dawn of the historic day. The chief event in Solomon’s reign—the building of his magnificent temple—was evidently well known to all the then civilised world, and seems to have set the example of temple-building on a vast scale to all oriental nations. The wisdom of Solomon attracted universal attention and admiration, and became even proverbial throughout the Kast, although greatly mixed up with fables. At a later period, when the Hebrew people had corrupted their ways, and become ripe for judgment, the fame of their splendid and wealthy temple tended to draw towards them the avaricious desires of ambitious conquerors; till at length the mighty ° Babylonian monarch, Nebuchadnezzar, carried away its treasures as a rich spoil, to ade in adorning his own proud and imperial city. But by that very act, and the deportation of the chiefs of the Jews, there was introduced a new spirit into the history of the world,—a spirit which produced a kind of religious reformation almost universally. A mere collocation of dates will suffice to show at least the extreme probability of the statement :— 7 The Destruction of the Temple took place in : 585 B.C. Reformation of Religion in China by Confucius, ih ousth : 550 #33 Religious ip Re in India by the second Buddh, _. S 40,15, sates and Bee ae Views introduced into Greece by teh iad, : ; 5 Great Religious. Rev olution in Pera Hy Movida ten’ bck . 520% ,, 228 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. [DIV. If.» These great changes in the religious systems of these great oriental nations, all of whom were more or less under the sway or influence of the almost universal Babylonian empire, can scarcely fail to suggest, that the deportation of the Jews to Babylon formed an epoch in the world’s history, and gave an impulse preparatory for still greater events. It was almost a necessary consequence of that impulse, that when the favour shown to the Jews by Alexander the Great, and his successors in Egypt, the Ptolemies, induced great numbers of Jews to settle in Alexandria, the Hebrew Scrip- tures were translated into Greek, and were thus introduced into the literature of the world. ‘This event took place about the year 277 B.c.; and it might easily be shown how deeply the leading elements of the Hebrew Scriptures, from that time forward, pervaded the thoughtful mind of the world, and can be traced in the writings of the later Grecian philosophers. The history of the world was then manifestly undergoing a preparation for some great crisis, towards which it had long tended, and for which it was now nearly ready, in connection with the history of the Hebrew people. That great crisis, “the fulness of the times,” came at length. The ancient prediction of special blessing to Shem from the lips of Noah, the world’s second father, was attached to Abraham the Hebrew, and to his promised seed; and he came into con- tact with Mesopotamians, Canaanites, and Egyptians. His race became dwellers in Egypt, but kept apart from the superstitious and haughty inhabitants, till the Egyptian monarch sought their destruction; they ‘were protected, Egypt overthrown, and the chosen race set free. At a later period the Assyrian empire spread abroad its dominion westward, and was employed as the rod of God’s displeasure, to chastise the rebellious and idolatrous Jews ; but they exceeded their commission, blas- phemed Israel’s God, and perished utterly in His vengeance, and their supremacy was transferred to Babylon. In this event, as in that of the conflict with Egypt, the history of the world and that of Israel blend, and instruction relative to the ° true God and His moral government are given to man, if he would but learn it. The Babylonian sovereignty introduced a new element, on a grand scale, into the history of the world. Previous to, that time all sovereignty was patriarchal, growing CHAP. I1.] DIRECT AND POSITIVE EVIDENCE OF REVELATION. 229 out of the head of a family, retaining his position when that family became a tribe, and even when the tribe expanded into a nation. But the mighty Nebuchadnezzar, or at least his father Nabopolassar, was not of the Babylonian race ; but seized on the ruins of the fallen Assyrian power, and, uniting it to the Babylonian, founded an empire whose very basis was strength and force, not patriarchal right. This new element of imperial sway was essentially a rebellion against the divine institution of patriarchal sovereignty; and the great world-power so established as a reign of violence, was symbolized by Nebu- chadnezzar’s dream of the great image, and by Daniel’s vision of the four beasts. Ever since that time has the ruling world- power stood contrasted with, and more or less distinctly opposed to, the rule of rightful dominion, and of religious principle, but has always been brought into contact and collision with it, forming one history. Babylon carried away the people of Israel into captivity, heard, and might have learned, the songs of Zion, and then was overthrown. Persia rose on its ruins, seemed to be favourable to Israel for a season, but only strove to insti- tute a rival religious system, as taught by Zoroaster, and fell before the might of the impetuous and intellectually energetic and far-seeing Macedonian. The successors of that greatest of conquerors repeatedly assailed the Jews, and one of them insolently profaned the temple, and persecuted the faithful of the Jews; and the stern, inflexible, iron will and power of republican Rome dashed their kingdoms to the earth, and trampled them beneath its feet. But Rome also came into contact with the Hebrew people, and established its proud dominion over them, It did so at a very peculiar juncture. The plain republican virtues of Rome had yielded under the influence of extreme prosperity, power, wealth, luxury, and corruption; and it had become a despotism, not essentially better than those which it had destroyed. ‘The Hebrew nation had been completely rescued from that tendency to adopt idolatry, which had so frequently been their snare and their crime, and drawn down their punishment; but they had sunk | into a state of balanced formalism and scepticism under the Pharisees and Sadducees, out of which all true religious prin- ciple had well-nigh been banished, and nothing but an empty name left behind—an unreal mockery of religious truth. It 230 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. (DIV. II. seemed as if the world could do no more, and the chosen race had been worn out. All things had been long converging towards a centre; the world’s history, and the history of the Jews had each been approaching their climax: they met, but each in an exhausted condition ; were paralysed, and stood still. - This was indeed the great crisis, “ the fulness of the times.” But at that hour began a new series of events, which is still proceeding onward, and cannot end but with the end of time. A babe was born in Bethlehem, the city of David, of the line of David, as had been foretold. The history of His life, actions, and teaching was recorded by four of His immediate companions and followers; and the more full explanation, and statement, and application of His doctrines was written by others of them at the time, and has been transmitted to us. This sacred history of the life and doctrine of the Lord Jesus Christ has been added to, and incorporated with, the sacred Hebrew history, constituting the one sacred record—the Scrip- tures of the Old and New Testaments—run Bistr. This New Testament portion of it is not less closely and indissolubly linked to and interwoven with profane or secular history than is the Hebrew portion; with this difference in its behalf, that when the Gospel record was produced, the world had reached a higher degree of intellectual culture than it had attained in any previous age, could both observe and record facts more clearly than before, and could easily both produce and preserve true history. The secular history of that period actually records the leading facts on which Christianity is based, and thereb gives its testimony in behalf of the historical truth of the Gospel history. The records of the early ages of Christianity abound with historical facts, and come into contact with the secular histories of those times in points innumerable. The two classes of records, the sacred and the secular, may take very different views of things, and may express very different opinions concerning them, and yet agree substantially as to the facts themselves. The early Christians may, for example, record with censure the cruelty of their idolatrous persecutors, and applaud the faith and fortitude of the martyrs ; while the heathens may write exultingly of their success in exterminating this new and perverse religious sect, this superstitio exitiabilis, and condemn, in severe terms, the wilful obstinacy of the i tint ein si ee CHAP. IL] DIRECT AND POSITIVE EVIDENCE OF REVELATION. 231 Christians; but, though strongly contrasted in their sentiments, they agree respecting the facts. Ever since that period, the Bible and the history of the world have been indissolubly blended together. The secular historian cannot give any intel- ligible account of the public affairs of any civilised country, without directing attention to the state of Christianity in that country. The writer of church history is equally constrained to record secular events, and show how these were either opposed to, or pervaded, by, religious principles. It necessarily is, and will for ever be, impossible to deny the fact that Chris- tianity ewists; and it will never be possible to account for its existence on any other supposition than its actual and absolute historical truth. | We might now institute a comparison between the two kinds of historical records,—those that constitute the Bible, and those that constitute secular history. This appears to us scarcely necessary, after the outline already given in tracing and explaining the leading principles of historical evidence. A rapid and brief sketch, however, may be given, before quitting this department. We turn to the history of Egypt, towards which so much attention has of late been directed, in conse- quence of the discovery of a method by which the hieroglyphical inscriptions can be read. The discovery was made by a British scholar; but French and German scholars soon took the lead in prosecuting the investigation of those remains of remote antiquity, as was perhaps to be expected. Europe is, however, a republic of letters ; and what is obtained by any one portion of it cannot long remain unknown to the rest. The investi- gation has been prosecuted with the utmost perseverance and learning by such almost universal scholars as Bunsen and Lepsius. And what has been the result of all their zealous and indefatigable labours? Little more than this: An abso- - lute and utter failure to construct a history with reliable his- torical dates, and with the corroboration of contemporaneous annals, except in those portions of it where it comes into con- tact with Bible history, and receives a clear light, which it cannot even reflect. Bunsen designates his great work, Egypt s Place in the World’s History; but in attempting to arrange Egyptian history into three great epochs, the middle one of these is of such a nature as to produce an impassable chasm 23? .REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. [DIV. IL between it and the first epoch, of which first epoch he is him- self constrained to say, that “it does not furnish even materials for a history.” Those who are acquainted with German lite- rature, and know out of what evanescent and unintelligible things a speculative German scholar can find materials for almost anything, may readily imagine how “ dark, dark, un- utterably dark” must be the region in which such an one can find no “ materials for a history.” But this learned and dis- tinguished man makes a history, nevertheless, though destitute of any other materials than a list of names ; and, while finding “Egypt's place in the world’s history,” encounters only this trifling difficulty, that in consequence of the extreme chrono- logical antiquity of these unhistoric ages, he can find no world to place it in! How different is all this from the Bible! The Bible does not give us any formally constructed chronology ; but it does give us a clear and simple narrative of events and men’s lives, following each other in regular succession, and each with its own date, so that it requires no very elaborate process of arrangement and calculation to frame a chronology, the clear stream. of historical truth having a sufficiency of marks along its margin to enable us to estimate jts progress. By this brief comparison, we find the Bible history as far superior to that of ancient Egypt as light is to darkness, even Egyptian “ darkness that might be felt.” Let us now betake ourselves to the histories of ancient Assyria and Babylon, to see whether their fulness, accuracy, and credibility may rival the Bible. F ragments, a few brief and obscure fragments, are all that remain to us in the form of historical and mythological legends, gathered up and pre- served by the curiosity of the inquisitive Greeks. These few brief and obscure fragments do not deserve the name of his- tory—scarcely even of “ materials for history ;” but they may be so used in connection with more complete and authentic history as to furnish some valuable hints, The fragments preserved by inquisitive Greeks give us some legends about Belus, and Ninus, and Semiramis 3 and then a silence of many centuries; and then a story about Sardanapalus, together with some legends about some very ancient changes in religion termed Scuthism, and Ionism, and Barbarism, with accom- panying wars and convulsions; but what these religious changes CHAP. II.] DIRECT AND POSITIVE EVIDENCE OF REVELATION. 233 essentially were they cannot tell. But Greek poets find it pos- sible to make some use of these ancient and obscure legends; and we obtain poetic records about Saturn and his three sons ; about the wars of the Titans; about the war of the Giants; and about the ultimate division of the universe, the heavens, the ocean, and the invisible world of the dead, between their three great deities, Zeus, Posidon, and Pluto. Yet, while in these legends we perceive fable, and fiction, and poetic embellishment, we can also trace dimly the basis of facts on which they ultimately rest, and may recognise the lineaments of persons with whom we are otherwise acquainted. We can perceive in these fabu- lous legends a resemblance to the narratives of the Bible, inti- mating an early contest among the descendants of Noah and his sons, and the rise of different forms of false or perverted religion; and in Saturn and his three sons we cannot fail to perceive Noah and his three sons, and the ultimate division of the world among their descendants. While, therefore, these brief and obscure fragments and poetic legends cannot them- selves form history, they can, and do to some extent, corrobo- rate the statements of Bible history, which, on the other hand, explains what these fabulous legends partly intimate and partly conceal under the folds of mythological garniture. Recent discoveries, indeed, in Mesopotamia and Babylonia have cast a flood of light on many of these ancient and hitherto dim and obscure historical legends; and we may hope that further researches and discoveries will render them still more clearly intelligible. We have now some monumental and reliable records of the ancient Assyrian and Babylonian monarchies, and a tolerably complete account of the more modern Assyrian monarchy, when it became the assailant of the Hebrew nation, as the Bible relates; and from these we obtain ample and unsuspected testimony to the truth of the Bible, as contemporaneous history. Yet after all, and with the advantage of these modern discoveries, the slightest con- sideration bestowed on the subject by an intelligent, fair, and candid mind will be amply sufficient to prove that the records of the Bible are immeasurably superior, as history, to all the legends that have been preserved, and all the monuments that have been discovered, relating to these ancient nations. We are quite willing to bring our comparison between the 234 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. [DIV. IT. Bible and secular history to the most searching and decisive test that can be imagined. Let us prove it against the best and most thoroughly authenticated histories of Greece, or Rome, or France, or Britain. In any one of these instances, if we try to trace back the history to its very origin, we shall find nothing but some vague intimations of a race emerging out of the gloom of the pre-historic period ; but we shall not find it possible to obtain anything on which we can confidently rely as to its actual origin, and the events that preceded that vague emerging appearance. Who, for example, can tell anything definite about the ancient Pelasgi,—whether they were actually the first inhabitants of Greece, or only a second or third immi- gration from some other country? One modern author would have us to believe that Greece received its first inhabitants from the mountainous regions of Hindu-Cush, or about Cash- mere, or somewhere near the sources of the Indus, and that these earliest settlers spoke Sanscrit, and left names to the mountains, rivers, bays, and capes of Greece, which have intelligible meanings in the Sanscrit language, but none in that of the subsequent Greek-speaking people, who must there- fore have been an entirely different race. How little do we know of Greece before the war of Troy,—nay, how little even then! We have not more than enough to enable us to be- lieve that there actually was such a war, and that it left the stamp and impress of itself on the character of the Greek people in the important idea of federal combination, along with the separate independence of the federate states,—the very idea by means of which Greece was enabled so long to main- tain her own freedom, and to teach the great lessons of liberty to all the world. Or, we may ask, who can tell us any- . thing very definite or intelligent about the ancient Ktrurians, Oscans, Sabines, and Umbrians, or even about the Romans themselves? Niebuhr has succeeded in dispelling the beau- tiful and romantic legends of which Livy and other historians make so much use, resolving them into ballad-poems, for which we can scarcely thank him, even though Macaulay | has reproduced them in stirring strains of English poetry. But, historically speaking, we have no such authentic account of the ancient inhabitants of Italy as can be properly termed history,—nothing that will bear any comparison with the his- coolly at CHAP. II.] DIRECT AND POSITIVE EVIDENCE OF REVELATION. 935. tory of the family and race of Abraham. Even in the later histories of Rome we find many discordant accounts, and such evident partiality in these accounts, that we cannot recelve them with implicit belief. But there is no such partiality or onesidedness in the Bible. The errors, faults, or even crimes, of prominent men, and even of the nation, are mentioned and condemned with as much impartiality and severity as are the evil deeds of the individuals or the nations with whom they came into contact. This alone. gives to the Bible history a character of truthfulness inestimably higher than belongs to any other history in the world. Perhaps, some may think, we may expect to find a great amount of credibility in the history of Britain. Of Britain! Why, its origin is a perfect mass, a tissue, of fables. Whence sprang the British race? Was it at first a race of giants, who were subdued and destroyed by a colony of Trojans led by a chief named Brutus, whose name, somewhat distorted, gave a name to the whole island? Are we to believe that Scotland was peopled by a colony from Egypt led by Scota, daughter of one of the ancient Pharaohs; and that she brought with her the stone on which Jacob rested his head when he slept in the desert, and had his marvellous dream ; and that it became the coronation stone of forty kings before the time of Fergus? Or must we content ourselves with being at first a race of Celts, who came to this country no one knows when, and from no one knows where ; and who, after a succession of invasions by Romans, Saxons, Danes, and Normans, became at length the fused and blended confluence of strong races, constituting the mighty British nation ? Were we inclined, or did we think it necessary, to prosecute this line of comparison between the Bible and other histories further, we could easily show, that not only in the more ancient elements all other histories are immeasurably inferior to it in trustworthiness, but that even, with reference to the histories of events that have occurred in Europe within the last 1000 or 500, or even 300 years, the Bible history, from the times of Moses downward, when it became and continued to be a national history, is, beyond all comparison, more worthy of credit than are any such histories, the general veracity of which, nevertheless, no sane person doubts. We do not, therefore, hesitate to say, that the person who may affect to 236 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. LDIV. II. doubt the truth of the Bible history, even as history, ought to begin by refusing to believe any and every history of any and every nation in the world, and of any and every period of time past ; for there never can be any history of past events more fully confirmed by all the principles of historical evidence, than is the history of the world and of the Hebrew people as recorded in the Bible. | We have, in this department, intentionally refrained from dealing with the accounts of miraculous events recorded in Scripture, because the argument from miracles requires special and separate discussion; and to that part of the subject we have next to direct our attention. CHAPTER III. MIRACLES. Seat importance of the subject on which we are Ys| about to enter demands a few preliminary obser- vations. Our deductions from Natural Theology seemed sufficient to enable us to hold that a super- natural revelation was both possible and probable, and to lay us under an imperative moral obligation to give all diligent and conscientious attention to the various kinds of evidence that might be produced by any moral and religious system that claimed to be a revelation. THe Bipir makes that claim with open and unhesitating boldness; and we have been en- gaged in the duty of investigating briefly whether its historical pretensions were in accordance with the principles of historical evidence. The result of this investigation has been, that we have arrived at the conclusion that the Bible, even as history, is more amply substantiated and proved by clear, full, circum- stantial, contemporaneous, and coherent historical evidence than any other historical record, ancient or modern, in the world, and has a right to demand not less than that belief which we readily give to documents far less amply proved. But if we admit, and cannot rationally deny, the historical truthfulness of the Bible, we must be aware that, as it claims to be, and to contain, a supernatural revelation, and states other evidence in proof of the supernatural character of that revelation, we are morally bound also to examine that preferred evidence, and have indeed already pledged ourselves to do so, by admitting its historical veracity. The value of establishing the historical veracity of the Bible will appear from this consideration, that we are thereby con- strained to pay attention to all the statements contained in it, and may not set them aside as mere fabulous accounts trans- mitted vaguely from a dark and superstitious age, which so many are inclined to do, but which our previous historical dis- 238 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. [DIV. IT. quisition has rendered impossible. We have a right to demand a fair and even a favourable consideration of every statement contained in the Bible, in virtue of its proved historical veracity, as we would of the statements of a witness of good character. The Bible contains and proclaims a revelation from God to man, and states the accompanying proofs that it is from God. In this it does as a sovereign would do, in sending an ambas- sador to a foreign court, or to a distant part of his own dominions: he would not only instruct the ambassador what message to deliver, but would also furnish him with such cre- dentials as should prove the right he had to bear the character of an ambassador from his sovereign,—he would impress on his commission, the broad seal of the state. Now, this is precisely the relation that miracles bear to the doctrinal statements of the Bible. Miracles are not intended to prove the truth of a doctrine, but to draw attention to and confirm the authority and credibility of the teachers,—they are his credentials, they are the broad seal of heaven's Eternal King. The value of this distinction will appear as we advance in our disquisition. SEC. I. MIRACLES : DEFINITION AND EXPLANATION. There are only éwo ways in which we can conceive of a revela- tion as given toman. The one of these would be the direct communication of that revelation to every individual by whom it was needed, that is, a separate revelation to every individual of the entire human race; the other would be a revelation given directly to a competent number of trustworthy persons, with a commission and command to them to communicate this revelation to others. The former of these methods God has not adopted, doubtless for wise and sufficient reasons, whether we may be able to apprehend them or not. One reason we think we can apprehend; and it seems sufficient. It is this: Such an individual revelation would have been inconsistent with the nature which God has given to man, weakening the repre- sentative character and social union of the human community. By such a revelation each individual would have been rendered independent of every other, and comparative dissociation would have taken place, so far as regards the highest element of human nature; while, in all other respects, relating to his inferior and merely hpysical nature, there would have remained, or seemed A CHAP. III.] MIRACLES. 239 to remain, the representative and consociating elements. There could not have been mutual instruction, mutual sympathy, mutual encouragement, or any of the innumerable tender and endearing forms of religious intercourse between believers, which now render Christianity the element of highest social union. But God adopted the latter method. He gave a direct revelation of Himself, of His character and laws, and of the divine remedial measure by means of which it was His good pleasure at once to vindicate His own character and laws, and to provide salvation for lost man; commanding them to communicate this revelation to others; and promising to prove their authority, as commissioned by Him, with adequate cre- dentials. Now, the idea of such credentials inevitably implies, that they should be such as to prove that:they were furnished by God Himself, and by God alone. ‘There must be some sign which could not be counterfeited—something by means of which God should manifest Himself, as attesting the character of His ambassadors. ‘The only ways in which we can conceive this to be done are these two,—by the manifestation of injinite power, or the manifestation of infinite knowledge; that is, by means of miracles, or by means of prophecy, or of both. Some are inclined to include these under the one term, miracles, as they would term the manifestation of infinite power a miracle of power, and the manifestation of infinite knowledge a miracle of knowledge. There is truth in this; but we prefer such an arrangement as may limit the application of the term miracle to the manifestation of infinite power, and leave the term prophecy to the manifestation of ijinite knowledge, for the sake of the clearness and simplicity of arrangement thereby obtained. Let it be remembered, that we have already proved that a supernatural revelation is both possible and probable ; and if so, there is necessarily as much possibility and proba- bility that miracles would be wrought to furnish the requisite credentials. We do not, it should be remarked, doubt or deny that a revelation from God may be expected to have internal evidence of its divine origin, and that this evidence will be sufiicient for the soul that is in a right state to receive it. But the vast majority of mankind are not in a right mental and moral condition to perceive the value of the internal evidence of revelation, from their ignorance or immorality, or both, and 240 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. (DIV. IL need to have their attention aroused and arrested by some appeal to their senses, something open to all, and level to the capacity of all. For this reason, doubtless, God has been pleased to grant miracles, as the needed external evidence and best proof for the establishment of a supernatural revelation. To this it may be added, that as God is Himself invisible, He must make Himself known by His visible works; and for a special purpose may be expected to make Himself known by a special external work, that is, by a miracle. | What is a miracle? A great deal may depend on the answer to this important question,—or the dejinition of a miracle. If the definition of a miracle contain too much, it may allow the introduction of a fallacy into the superfluous part of the definition, and a conclusion may be drawn from it injurious to the whole argument. If it contain too little, it may leave us unable to apply the argument where it ought to be applied. The definition should neither be redundant nor defective, in order to enable us to draw the right conclusion and obtain the full benefit of the argument from miracles. Various definitions of miracles have been given, some of the chief of which we may transcribe. “A miracle,” says Dr. Samuel Clarke, “is a work effected in a manner unusual, or different from the common and regular method of Provi- dence, by the interposition of God Himself, or of some in- telligent agent superior to man, for the proof or evidence of some particular doctrine, or in attestation of the authority of some particular person.” Hartwell Horne says, “A miracle is an effect or event contrary to the established constitution of things, or a sensible suspension or controlment of, or de- viation from, the known laws of nature, wrought either by the immediate act, or by the assistance, or by the permission, of God, and accompanied with a previous notice or declaration that it is performed according to the purpose and by the power of God, for the proof or evidence of some particular doctrine, or in attestation of the authority or divine mission of some particular person.” Dr. Wardlaw gives a much briefer de- finition, in these words: “A miracle is a work, a fact, or an event, involving a temporary suspension of the known laws of nature, or a deviation from the established institution and fixed order of the universe.” By many, miracles have been defined to be “acts contrary to the course of nature, violations CHAP. III.] MIRACLES. 241 or suspensions of nature’s laws.” David Hume, in producing his argument against the credibility of miracles, gives the flea very brief definition—very suitable to his purpose: Fak eae is a violation of the laws of nature.” Before proceeding further, it seems expedient, and may be found useful, to offer some remarks on these definitions ; which are only a selection from many more that might have been produced. The definitions given by Dr. Clarke and Hartwell Horne seem to me to include too much. They both imply that a miracle may be wrought by some power super- — human—perhaps supernatural eae be the word,—“ by some intelligent agent superior to man,’ says By aes “by the assistance or by the permission “ God,” says Horne, but not, necessarily, by God Himself. These definitions would eae room not only for the agency of unfallen angelic beings, but also for the agency of Satan and his eae, ; od would thus involve us in the difficult and dangerous necessity of seeking some criterion by which we might determine, in any given case, whether the miracle had been wrought by a devil, an unfallen angel, or God Himself; or it might involve us in the fallacy of reasoning in a aa and attempting to prove the reality of the miracle by the truth of the doctrine, and the truth of the doctrine by the reality of the miracle. But,’ as we shall attempt to show very soon, there is no need to embarrass ourselves by any such inquiry; for in the definition of a miracle there is no necessity of including the possibility of the agency of any merely superhuman beings, and, indeed, any such agency cannot properly be included. For since it cannot be imagined that God would leave the laws of His providential government of the world to be used by any subordinate beings —angels or demons—at their pleasure,—as that would Ke equivalent to His abdication of the direct government of the universe,—we must hold, that even if they should be employed as agents, it would be at His command; and their agency would still be His, and would be rightly ascribed to Him. Every true miracle, therefore, must be such that we can say of it, “God alone was its Author.’ In one point we regard these definitions as too limited. When they say, “ for the proof. or evidence of some particular doctrine, or in attestation of the authority of some particular person,” they exclude several scriptural miracles. No particular doctrine was proved, for Q 242 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. (DIV. ID example, when the sun stood still at Joshua’s command; nor was it necessary to attest his authority, which had been both amply attested and thoroughly recognised some time before. The miracles of judgment on the Egyptians, wrought by Moses in that country, had more in view evidently, than the proving of his doctrine and commission; for they so weakened the power of Egypt, while punishing its iniquity, as to procure deliverance to the children of Israel. There is a more pernicious element in the definition given by Hume, and not only given by him, but actually current, and generally received at the time. For if it be admitted that a miracle is a violation of the laws of nature, then not only is an opening given for the use of Hume’s sophistical objection to the fullest extent that he could desire, but every one instinc- tively feels that an unpleasant character has been given to miracles, by representing them as violations of the established and generally beneficial laws of nature. Such a definition may seem also to suggest, that there is something like self-contra- diction in the view thereby given of Himself by God to man. When we regard the laws of nature as the modes of action by which God at first constructed, and still guides and rules, the world, we are prepared to expect invariable uniformity in their operation ; both because they are the modes of action of the unchangeable God, and because, their operation being generally beneficial, we dread anything like change, as at once apparently contrary to God’s character, and threatening confusion or caprice, instead of steady, balanced, benevolent, invariable uniformity. For these'and other reasons, we strongly disap- prove of any such definition of miracles as would represent them as a “ violation of the laws of nature.” Even Dr. Wardlaw’s definition, though very guarded, seems to us some- what liable to the same kind of objection: “ A work, fact, or event, involving a temporary suspension of the known laws of nature, or a deviation from the established constitution and fixed order of the universe.” It is in the last clause that the danger seems to lie: “a deviation from the established con- stitution and fixed order of the universe.” These terms appear ta us to be much too comprehensive—to assume a knowledge of the “ established constitution and fixed order,” not only of our world, and what comes under our own observation, but “of the universe,” such as not only no man, but no created CHAP. III.] MIRACLES. ' 243 being, can possibly possess. Dr. Wardlaw’s own mode of, pro- secuting the investigation of the subject of miracles led him into a course of argument, which was at least a virtual contra- diction of his own definition, when he argued, that as the moral world was more important than the physical, if there should occur in the moral world any reason why there should be, for the advantage of the moral world, a temporary sus- pension of the known laws of nature, such a suspension would be only a higher conformity with the laws of the moral world; and therefore, we would add, no deviation from the constitu- tion and fixed order of the universe. The argument we regard as decidedly more in conformity with the truth of the matter than the definition. Let us now attempt to investigate the subject of miracles as Closely as we can, in the hope of obtaining such a view and conception of their true nature and design, as may enable us to give a definition of them, not liable to the preceding objec- tions. Let it be observed, then, first of all, that creation is necessarily the jirst miracle; and that, therefore, we may rightly term creation a miraculous manifestation of God. This is the view given by Scripture itself : “ The invisible things of Him, from the creation of the world, are clearly seen, being under- stood by the things that are made, even His eternal power and Godhead.” Creation, therefore, manifests God, not only in His power, but also in His wisdom and goodness. The laws of creation, as we term them, are manifestations of His attributes. In our study of the laws of nature, if our minds are duly intelli- gent and enlightened, we are studying the manifestations of the divine attributes. So far as we apprehend and understand this, we cannot be surprised at their uniformity, but might well be greatly surprised if they were not uniform in their wise and benevolent operation. The laws of nature are not liable to violation by the interposition of any created being, because they are the modes by means of which the unchangeable God governs the universe, and manifests His own unchangeableness. No created being can possibly suspend the laws of nature, or cause any deviation from their established constitution, far less cause a direct violation of them; because every created being is but a part of nature, and is itself subject to the laws which God appointed and maintains. All the laws and sequences of nature are what they are, because God, the sole Author and sovereign 244 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. [DIV. It. Ruler of nature, appointed and maintains them in steady uniformity, operating invariably according to His own supreme will. We cannot, therefore, admit any definition of a miracle which would even seem to leave the laws of nature subject to the temporary invasion and suspension of their uniformity by any created being whatever ; for that would be to admit that a creature can assume the prerogative of God. Does this seem to argue that no miracle is possible? By no means. It only argues that it is not possible for any being but God. Resuming our previous position in the inquiry, let us bear in mind, that creation is the first miracle, and that it is a manifestation of God, and that the laws of nature are mani- festations of the attributes of God, so far, that is, as His attri- butes can be manifested by a material universe. But we can readily apprehend that God can make new and further mani- festations of Himself, especially of His moral character. Such manifestations would be new miracles. Every true miracle would therefore be a new manifestation of God. And as God is essentially invisible, while His power and Godhead are mani- fested in the visible creation, we might expect that the visible creation would be required to bear testimony to the new mani- festation, in order to prove that its Creator was the Author of the new manifestation. Further, when we take man and his moral nature into consideration, we are warranted to conclude, that creation was designed for the manifestation of the glory of God, and for the welfare of His rational and moral creature, nan. Redemption, or the new creation, is the second great miracle, as creation was the first. This new creation does no violence to the first; but while it repairs its ruin caused by man’s sin, and does so by creating man anew “in righteousness and true holiness,” it introduces such new and moral manifestations of God, accompanied by such attestations from nature, as prove the Author of redemption to be also the Author of creation. For the sake of drawing attention to this new moral and spiritual creation, and to the messengers who proclaim it on God's authority, God IHimself interposes, anticipating, suspend- ang, or transcendently surpassing the ordinary and known laws of nature, but in no instance violating those wise, beneficial, and uniformly operating laws. We thus arrive at a conclusion from which it may be possible to construct a definition of CHAP. III.] MIRACLES. 945 miracles, which may include all that is necessary, and not be liable to the objections already stated, or open to the cavils of the sophist. Let us again ask the question, What ts a miracle? and now attempt to give a duly comprehensive and guarded answer. A miracle is a sudden effect produced without the operation of known causes, by the direct intervention of divine power, anticipating, suspending, or transcendently surpassing the ordinary and known laws and sequences of nature. The words of Nicodemus ad- dressed to Christ seem to us to imply all this, though he could not at that time have formed so full and absolute an idea of miraculous intervention: “ Rabbi, we know that Thou art a teacher come from God; for no man can do these miracles which Thou doest, except God be with him.” It was from God, and from God only, that Nicodemus thought the power of working miracles could come; and he thought rightly, as we venture also to think. Very evidently, he held that miracles did prove the intervention, and consequently the approbation, of God; and therefore he thought that the person who possessed such heavenly credentials, had authority to speak on heavenly sub- jects, and ought to be believed on the strength of that authority. According to his view, no direct and special miracle was needed for the purpose of establishing the truth of any particular doctrine; but as this divinely accredited messenger (Jesus) bore so manifestly the broad seal of God, He was to be believed in any heavenly message He might utter, on the strength of the general attestation of the miracles which He wrought. And let this be well noted: Christ admitted the argument and tts conclusion, as proving that He was a teacher come from God. Some explanation of our definition, however, may be of advantage; and we proceed to give it briefly. The term “sud- den effect” is necessary, in order to restrict our attention to the proper condition of a miracle. For, if we were to suppose that any lengthened period intervened between the word of power and the miraculous event, it would not be possible, in many instances, to prevent the suspicion arising, that some inter- mediate means might have been used, sufficient to account for the event. By the words, “without the operation of known causes,’ we cut off, as far as is necessary, all that is known of physical causation; but we do not mean to exclude the idea of { 246 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. [DIV. IL the invisible and unknown operation of the Great First Cause Limself. On the contrary, as we regard every true miracle as a new creation; and as creation was not the result of the operation of known causes, but the direct and immediate effect of which God was the direct and immediate cause; So we regard the miracle as produced without the operation of known causes. Further, as creation could not be in violation of the laws of nature—tfor there was previously no nature in existence to haye laws,—so a miracle cannot be a violation of the laws of nature, for it is a new creation; and though it takes place without the operation of nature's ordinary laws, it will be found to be in conformity with the first creation, and by anticipation with its laws. Again, when we say, “by the direct intervention of divine power,” we not only avoid the dangerous hypothetical admission that created powers may produce miracles, and thus impair the value of a miracle as a divine attestation, but we also keep our views regarding the manifestation of the divine attributes in the laws of nature free from the embarrassment which any other view would produce. And, still regarding a miracle as a new creation, we direct our attention all the more to. the Creator Himself in the miracle thus wrought ; and may be led to perceive, in its moral character, a manifestation of His moral character which the ordinary laws of physical nature had not so clearly given. And, finally, when we say, “ anticipating, suspending, or transcendently surpassing the ordinary and known laws and sequences of nature,” we state, or suggest, all that is necessary, and all that Scripture implies in the numerous miracles which it records. We have in our explana- tions repeatedly spoken of a true miracle as a new creation ; and we did so, in the use of the language which Scripture affords, and of the ideas which it suggests: “If any man be in Christ, he is a new creature.” Many similar expressions exist in Scripture, and will occur to every one. The great idea is this: Redemption is a new creation; but not by the actual production of something absolutely new,—rather by “the renewing of the whole man after the image of God”—by the Holy Spirit. A true miracle is a new creation in the same sense. The present creation is renewed and restored from its ruined state. Every miracle takes some portion of nature as it is, and anticipates what might be its slow production. Water can become wine, - > = an - Rosas CHAP. III.] MIRACLES. QA7 by the slow process of being elaborated through the sap-vessels, fruit, and fermentation of the wine; but the miracle anticipates the process, and changes suddenly, by divine power, the water into wine. Every defect’ in the human frame, and even death itself, will be removed by the resurrection, which, however, will be the last visible miracle; but all the anticipating miracles either suspend the destructive agencies, or transcendently sur- pass all beneficial agencies in such a manner as to manifest the creative power of God in the restorative miracle. The first creation, with the subsequently established laws of nature, was the primitive manifestation of the being, power, and attri- butes of God. Redemption, or the new creation, with its laws, or miracles, is the second manifestation of GoD, through the SON, and by the Sprrit, and chiefly of His moral character and attributes, as displayed in love, grace, mercy, and peace. This new creation calls on all the manifestations of the former to bear miraculous testimony to the presence of its Creator and God in this His finishing work. This definition of a miracle, rightly and fully understood as thus explained, will be found, we trust, not only to be free from the captious objections usually brought forward by sophistical opponents, but also to be in complete accordance with the moral and spiritual character of the divinely instituted gospel plan and creative work of redemption, and will even tend to explain, illustrate, and enforce some of its peculiar doctrines,—such as the doctrines of regeneration, sanctification, and eternal life. SEC. I. THE POSSIBILITY AND CREDIBILITY OF MIRACLES. The defender of revelation is, in every age, exposed to this disadvantage, that while the assailant may choose what point he may think it most prudent to assail, the defender has no such absolute freedom of choice, but must defend the point assailed. In former ages the conflict frequently raged round the outer bulwarks only. In our age the citadel itself is often the point attacked. For example, in the case of the argument from miracles, the opponent of the Bible is bold enough now to say : “You need not produce any such argument to me. I regard miracles as absolutely impossible; and therefore I can pay no attention to an argument which assumes an impossibility in its 248 REVELATION—EXTERNAL EVIDENCES. [DIV. It very premiss. Nay, to tell you the plain truth, I reject the Bible very much because it contains so much of the mira- culous; and at all events, I reject every part of it in which mention is made of miracles.” We are thus compelled, before we can proceed, to meet this bold objection, and to prove the possibility of miracles. , We have been constrained, in another part of our course, to direct our attention to some of the metaphysical speculations prevalent in Germany; and again we are constrained to revisit that region of something like Cimmerian gloom.