PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE. (continued 4)

But this destination he did not, however, fulfill, and consequently lost even this beginning and model of the first Paradise. The names of the four streams which watered it are indeed still preserved in those regions of Asia, which even to this day are the richest and most fruitful, and, according to history, were the earliest inhabited. But the one source out of which they all took their rise has disappeared, and no vestige of it remains. With the loss of Paradise all is changed, not only in man himself, but in the earth as his place of abode.

The way of return out of this bewildered nature, or, if men prefer so to speak, out of this sunk and degraded, not to say unsound and sickly, state of the earthly and sensible world (and this way of return is even the way of obedience to the course of the divine order in nature), is indicated even by these three grades of its inmost character, its tendency, and ultimate destination. And in these, and in the final cause of the whole constitution of things, is contained its true key and interpretation, as well as the answer to so many questions about nature, which engage not merely the curious intellect of man, but also attract the sympathies of his soul, sweeping across it either with dark doubts and fears, or with bright intimations of life and glorious anticipation.

I spoke deliberately when I said to many of these questioning feelings and perplexities of the human mind, and not all of them. For to expect a satisfactory answer to them all in the present state of science, or generally in this terrestrial life, brief as it is, and limited on all sides and short-sighted, would be agreeable neither with the course nor whole constitution of human affairs. A thoroughly complete and perfectly systematic demonstration of the wisdom in the divine order of nature, which should meet and explain every difficulty, would, even on account of such a pretension, command little respect, and be of slight influence. Much is there in nature which is to remain long hidden from man; much, too, which we shall see first of all in the other world, when death shall have opened our eyes and made us clear-sighted in one direction or another. But the beginning and the end are even here and now placed clearly and intelligibly before us, if only we are ready and willing to walk by the light that is so graciously given us, and here, as elsewhere, invariably to refer the first cause and the final consummation to the Creator and to God. Without such a reference, without thus, as it were, placing its two poles in God, the right understanding of nature is absolutely impossible, and every scientific attempt to attain it apart from and independently of God, must simply as such prove vain and involve itself in absurdities. Hence it is, however paradoxical it may sound, that we can recognize more distinctly, and better understand the end of nature, its meaning and significance as a whole, than we can the final cause of many a single object in it, which, however, as contrasted with the whole, appears inconsiderable and trifling. For the clear perception that we have of the final cause of nature comes immediately from the divine illumination, which therefore we can, so far as it is given to us, see and understand. But in the darker levels, in the subterranean shaft of the obscure sensible world, the prophetic candle of an antlike burrowing science, even though it be originally kindled at that higher light, can not reach to every quarter, can not illuminate every object in this mine of darkness.

But this final cause of creation, such as it is given to us clearly and intelligibly, will be rendered most clear by a comparison and contrast with the conceptions of the end of nature which human reason has put forth. If the proposition already quoted from one of the latest of German philosophers, that the essence of mind consists in the negation of the opposite, be now applied (which was the application I then had in my mind) to the Creator of the world and uncreated Intelligence, then the following must be the meaning involved in it. That which is the opposite of God or the Creator is nothing; and so far the proposition is quite true, since man can not but admit that the Almighty has created the world out of nothing. For if, with some of the ancient philosophers, we were to suppose a matter existing from all eternity, out of which God did not so much create as form the world, then in this case we should have two Gods, and both imperfect and finite, instead of the one all-perfect and self-sufficient Being. But if, on the other hand, the Deity be regarded as merely a not-nothing; if the final cause of creation be simply the negation of naught, then would such a view ascribe a sort of imaginary reality to the nothing, and it would seem that the world was created solely in order to get rid of the nothing, which comes pretty much to the same as saying—if we may allow ourselves so Lessing-like a boldness of expression—the Infinite made the world out of ennui. Thus, in every case do the skeptical views and empty negations of idealism lead to a contradictory nothing.

But, in reality and truth, it was out of love that God made the worlds; and, indeed, out of a superabundant love. This we may well venture to assert, and even to call it a fact; and that the divine love is also the final cause, as well as the beginning of creation. A superabundance of love in God we must, however, call the final cause-ground of creation, inasmuch as He stood in no need of it; no need of the love of the creature, nor absolutely of the world itself, or created things. For in His inmost essence, where one depth of eternal love responds fully and eternally to the other, He was perfectly sufficient for himself. And yet it is even so: there is in God the superabundance of love, for He has created the worlds, and it is the divine will to be loved by His creatures. For this end and purpose has He created them; and because He would have their love, He has created them free, and given both to the pure spirits and to men a free will. The whole secret in the relation subsisting between the creature, and man especially, and the Creator, lies even in this great fact, that He has created them out of love, and requires in return the service of their love. There is, perhaps, something awful in this requisition, and in the relation thus found to subsist between a weak and imperfect creature and the infinite and omnipotent Being. But it is even so: we are really free, and are really required by God to give him our love. But now a finite and created being can only be free so far as God leaves him free; and this is only conceivable in the light I have already set it in by the simile of a fond mother teaching her babe to walk, and in order to tempt it to make the first essay with its little limbs, stepping back from it a few steps, and leaving it a moment to itself. No creature could be free did not God, in a similar way, leave it to itself, and, after the first impulse of creation, withhold from it His controlling energy. But if He did not do so—were He, on the contrary, to act upon His creatures without reserve, and with the whole infinite extent of his might—then the liberty of the latter, overwhelmed in His omnipotence, must be destroyed, as being only possible through the spontaneous limitation of the divine power, which results from the superabundance of creative love.

Now we can, it is true, distinguish in the essence or energy of God, between His intelligence and His will—His omniscience and His omnipotence; but they can not be absolutely separated from and opposed to each other, for in Him and in His operations, they, as indeed all else in Him, are one. It would, therefore, be nothing but a foolish and unmeaning subtlety to demand, “Why, then, has the Omniscient created rational beings, of whom He must assuredly have known beforehand that they would fall and perish?” For it is but a logical illusion, when we transfer from the human to the divine mind a form of thought fluctuating between the conceivably possible and the apparently necessary. Man’s freedom undoubtedly consists in the choice between one possibility and another, or in that indefinite possibility which subsists half way between one necessity and another. But God’s freedom is not as man’s: in Him there is neither contingent possibility nor unconditional necessity. All in Him is truly actual, living, and positive. His freedom lies even in the superabundance of His essence—the fact, viz., that He is not bound by any law of necessity to remain contented with this His own internal fullness. For otherwise He were a Fate rather than a free God, and to that conclusion the doctrine of the Stoics consistently enough arrived at last. Extremely difficult must it ever be, in such a system and with such a conception of an intrinsically necessary God, and one bound by this necessity, consistently to account for the creation of the world, which, in appearance, is so irreconcilable with the idea of the self-sufficiency of the divine Being. On this account some of the similarly rationalizing systems of ancient times had recourse to the ingenious device of ascribing the work of creation to a spiritual being of an inferior order, and degrading this secondary deity far below the infinite perfections of the supreme and all-sufficient God. But by this expedient men did but fall, as is, alas! but too commonly the case, from one error into another still greater and even more monstrous. It is, in short, nothing but a mere logical delusion and an illegitimate transference from our limited faculty of thought to the divine intelligence, which gives rise to these pernicious doctrines of an absolute and unconditional predestination, which fundamentally amount and bring us back to a blind and heathenish fatalism.

Thus much, as connected with our subject, will be sufficient on the difficult subject both of the freedom of the pure created spirits and also of man’s will, as regarded solely from its philosophical aspect, and without any reference to the moral theory, and solely in relation to the system of the universe. Difficult, however, is this subject, merely on one account. The logical illusion, from which springs all error, strife, and confusion, and which we are too apt to transfer to the divine mind, is so far innate in the very form of man’s finite intellect, than even when we have recognized it for what it really is; yet, so long as we confine ourselves to mere logical reasoning, and are seduced by its seeming rigor of consequence, we are ever ready to fall anew into this dangerous error without even remarking it.

In the same way, now, that the existence of free beings follows naturally from the love of God, as the final cause of creation, so, on the other hand, the permission of moral evil is a mere result of that freedom in and through which these created beings have to run their appointed time. For this freedom, as considered with a reference to God and futurity, or to the immortality of the soul, is nothing else than the time of trial and the state of probation itself. But, perhaps it will be asked, “Why, then, does not God, by one nod of retributive justice, by one breath of His omnipotence, annihilate forever, as He so easily might, the whole company of evil and rebellious spirits, together with their leader, the Prince of this world, and so purify the whole visible creation, and release external nature from their desolating influence?” To this the answer is simple and at hand. Man is placed in this world on his trial and for a struggle with evil, and this warfare is not yet ended. But by such an annihilation of evil, the living development of nature would be precipitated in that course which God originally designed it to advance through, and cut short before the appointed time of final purification, when, according to His promise, He will, as Holy Writ expresses it, create new heavens and a new earth, and make perfect the whole creation.[33]

Man is free, but utterly unripe as yet; and thoroughly incomplete also is nature, or the sensible world, and material creation; consequently, the immortality of the soul is the corner-stone and key for understanding the whole. For the mere beginning of creation is perfectly unintelligible so long as we do not take into consideration the other extreme or end—its final completion and ultimate consummation. Just as the half of human life on this side the grave can not be understood unless we contemplate, at the same time with it, its second half on the other side of the tomb, as its complement, and as a necessary element toward the elucidation of the whole.

As, then, the permission of evil finds a satisfactory explanation in man’s probationary state, and in God’s love, as the final cause of the creation, so also the physical evils and sufferings to which the free being is liable are fully accounted for on that principle. This is the key of the enigma of their existence. None of the sufferings of the free being, on either side of the grave, are unprofitable and without a motive. They all serve, either in this preparatory state of earthly existence, for probation, for discipline, or for confirmation, or else, after it, for the perfect healing of the soul, and its purification from all the remaining dross and taints of earth.[34] Scarcely ever can the diseased matter be got rid of and expelled from the organic body with out a struggle, and very seldom without pain. Gold is purified by the fire, and pain is the fiery purification of the body. This belief is one which ought least of all to have been called into question, inasmuch as it is only consonant to the simple feelings of human nature. For otherwise, how narrowly must the hopes of the future be confined, if nothing that is unclean shall enter into heaven—the Holy of Holies—the immediate presence of the pure and holy God!

It is not, however, my intention to make this consolatory and blessed hope of a loving and longing heart the topic of dispute, especially since it lies altogether beyond my present limits. I will only allude to the words of the Savior, “In my Father’s house are many mansions.” By the “Father’s house” we must, it is clear, understand the future world. On other side, therefore, of the grave, as well as on this, many divisions, many degrees, and many different states, and also manifold transitions, are not merely conceivable and possible, but must of necessity be assumed as actually existent, even though we can not be too cautious in avoiding all hasty decisions as to what is going on in this hidden world. Only we must ever remember that any absolute line of demarcation which on one side has nothing but white, while all that lies on the other is black, is very rarely the line of truth. And this principle holds good, it is plain, in every relation and every possible application. For such a trenchant line of sharp and unmitigated contrast between black and white is even one of those intellectual deceptions connatural to man, which disposes him too hastily to transfer to all without him the limited form of his own finite intellect. All the pains, therefore, and all the sufferings of the creature, whether on this or the other side of the grave, serve either to exercise and strengthen, or to heal and purify, the yet imperfect being, with the single exception of that bitterest of all agonies—the pain of being left eternally to ourselves. But even here, although there is no hope of a salutary effect, a species of converse propriety seems to hold.

It is, we remarked, the problem of philosophy, leaving to physics the whole development of life that lies intermediate between the beginning and end, to explain the two extremes of nature. As, therefore, we have examined one of these extremes, and have discovered in the whole terrestrial creation a Paradise as the blessed state of the still innocent infancy of nature, before the revolt of the rebellious spirits and the fall of the first man, the present seems the place for a few words touching the opposite extreme—the regions of outer darkness. We can safely admit that the figurative representations, not merely of painters and poets, but occasionally also of the preacher, are so horrible, and heaped together with so little consistency—the dark colors laid on so thick, that the whole assumes to the feelings an appearance of improbability, and, on this account, makes, for the most part, no very deep impression. But the spiritual significance of these sufferings, and the sort of propriety and design which holds, even in this unnatural state, on the utmost borders of creation, may, perhaps, be made clear by a very simple illustration. Most reluctantly, and with a heavy heart assuredly, would an earthly parent resolve to turn out of his house, and formally to disinherit, his first-born and beloved son, even though he should have proved himself utterly worthless and hopelessly depraved. But even if an earthly parent might be too hasty in his anger, and actually be harsh and unjust, still we may boldly assume that the love of our Heavenly Father, in patience and gentleness, far transcends the truest parental love that is to be found on earth. But when it actually comes to this point of offended mercy and justice, then the disinherited, cast out into the regions of darkness, joins the band of robbers who in the night lurk about his father’s house, seeking where they may break into it. No other choice is left him than to become a robber, and, whether he will or no, he must obey the leader of the band. But better taught and as yet softer of heart than the rest, he must go through many hardships and sufferings ere he becomes quite like the others—as hard-hearted as the “murderers from the beginning,” who the while look down upon him with scorn and contempt.

What I would say is this: many degrees, and undoubtedly extreme degrees, of pain and torment, are necessary before the man cast out from the presence of God can be wholly and completely transformed into an evil spirit. And this is, perhaps, the proper meaning and essential character under which we are to think of these endless torments of spiritual death and ruin. If, moreover, this eternal death is often described as an unquenchable fire, then unquestionably there lies in this figure, even physically considered, a certain truth, inasmuch as even in this world and in visible nature, fire, when left to itself and to its true essential character, is the proper element of destruction. In the sun’s genial influence, indeed, and in the blood of the living soul, it is constrained and moderated into the wholesome warmth of life; but in itself, and working in its elementary state, it is destructive and opposed to all the other elements. To the light all that has life turns instinctively, and in the air it breathes and pulsates, and from water it draws a part at least of its nourishment. It is only incidentally that the air and water become destructive, but the fire is so in its proper nature. A perfectly organized animal that lived in fire would, in a greater or less degree, fill every mind with horror and alarm, as having no part in and wholly alien from that nature which is known to and friendly to man. On this account, many even of the ancient philosophers taught that the end of the present visible and the external and sensible world, would be brought about by a general conflagration.

The permission of evil is an immediate consequence of the creation of free beings. But although it may be regarded as a fact, that God has created free both the spirits and man, still we must be on our guard how we introduce into this matter any notion of necessity, and suppose that God must have made them free, and could not have created any other. For man is only too prone to transfer his own imaginary conceit of necessity to the Deity himself, and to feign to see it in Him. This, however, were a most grievous error; and yet it is one into which men almost inevitably fall when they adopt either a rigorously systematic or purely logical view of the matter. Could not God in his omnipotence have created powers and dominions which, even though they were living energies and ensouled principalities, should, nevertheless, be without the property of self-determination and a true liberty, and which would consequently require some other nature, but similar to themselves, to rule and direct them? In this sense we read of the spirits of nature, ensouled elementary powers and living forces, which are described as being seized and taken possession of by the power of evil, but as hereafter to be set free by the efficacy of redeeming love, and again subjected to and united to God. Now, as connected with this subject, it is deserving of consideration, that in all the declarations and allusions of the Eternal Truth this present earthly nature is spoken of as the battle-place of invisible powers, the debatable ground on which the two armies of good and evil spirits and elements are posted in hostile array against each other, and perpetually coming into collision.[35]

Could not God, had such been His pleasure, have created other beings, and by the fiat of His all-mighty will have raised them at once above all the dangers of liberty, and enduing them with perfect holiness, and exempt from all liability to fall, have drawn them to Himself in eternal love?

I have hitherto, wherever it has been my object to give a clearer and sharper characterization of the human consciousness by means of a comparison with the faculties of intellect and will possessed by superior but created spirits, confined myself to the idea of the pure spirits, genii or angels. But if it should have been the divine pleasure to create other spiritual beings with an organic body—one, perhaps, not like the human, but still of a very noble though animal form, endued of course with an immortal soul and with a knowledge of God—who is there in such a case to set limits to the omnipotent will? Now if, as already supposed, they were created in perfect holiness, and exempt from the liability to fall, it is easily conceivable how in this respect they would be higher than frail and imperfect man, and must be regarded as a part of the spiritual world, rather than as belonging to the human race or to the existing system of nature.

All these are not so much inappropriate and impertinent conjectures and idle fancies, as calmly mooted questions for explanation, which arise out of and are suggested by certain traditions and points of revelation.

Lastly, if the Almighty had resolved to create a perfect being, so far above and before all the other creatures of His will, as to stand next to Himself, and be, as it were, the mirror and reflection of His own infinite perfections—and many a word in Holy Writ seems to allude to something of the kind—then it is not difficult to see how the already-quoted expression of a soul of God would receive a better sense. This being, so superior to all other created spirits, must in any case be regarded as a soul, and for the most part of a passive essence, for otherwise it would stand too close and near to Deity itself. And it is manifest, that even here the ever-immeasurable interval which separates the Creator from the most perfect of creatures must be most carefully kept in view. And at all events this expression must in no case be applied to the second or third persons of the Godhead, nor be confounded therewith, otherwise this designation would not only be false, but altogether an abomination.

Revelation contains an inexhaustible mine of verities, and I have only wished, by the way, to call attention to these as yet unexplored treasures. But it is above all important, for the philosophical point of view, steadily to insist upon and enforce the truth, that in no respect can we form a notion adequately grand and lofty, or rich and manifold enough, of the Creation. The compactly-closed and orderly-arranged system is almost always the death of truth. So also is that line—which, however, seems to be a connatural fault in the very form of man’s faculty of judgment—that straight line between black and white, for even if it be not radically wrong, it yet leaves much on both sides unconsidered and ill understood.

With this impression, I shall allow myself to notice an opinion but little known, which, moreover, if I had not met with it in writers who, in this province of inquiry, are of the highest authority, I should scarcely have ventured to adduce. In this department of spiritual knowledge, a man would much rather confine himself to the simple primary truth than call attention to mere opinions. The opinion I allude to is to be found in St. Jerome, i.e., in that very Father who, for theological judgment, is acknowledged by all to be the first and the greatest. It was held also by St. Francis de Sales, that holy saint of spiritual love, and who, even on that account, is so superior to the many hundreds of the schoolmen before him, as also to so many ideologists after him. Lastly, it occurred to Leibnitz, who, of all philosophers, was most possessed of a true and fine intellectual tact to perceive and discover all the most secret, delicate traits of a great system, even though most remote in character from his own. But still, with this array of great authorities, it remains nothing more than a wholly problematical opinion, on which, as an article of positive faith, nothing is or ever can be decided. Now this opinion is, that in the revolt of the rebellious spirits, while those who remained in their state of innocence and in their allegiance rallied only the closer round their Creator, a considerable number, fearful and undecided, vacillated between good and evil, and, as we might justly say, with the weakness of the human character, remained neutral in the conflict, and thereby lost their original place in the hierarchy of the heavenly host, without, however, being counted among the utterly lost. As a fourth authority for this opinion, I might adduce Dante. He is indeed a poet, but still a theological poet, and deeply versed in theology, who would never have arbitrarily devised or invented, or even adopted such a notion, had he not found it existing among others before him, and had he not been able to adduce a good and valid authority for it. As a good Ghibelline, he was, moreover, no friend of neutral spirits, either in this world or the other; and he passes the most severe sentence upon those beings whom, as he says, heaven has cast out, and hell would not receive.[36]

But what—if we may propound the question with something more of philosophical indifference than the poet—what, according to the analogy of the divine economy and merciful justice, as elsewhere displayed, are we to suppose the doom of these undecided and wavering spirits? In the first place, we may well suppose that they would be submitted to a new probation: just as a general gives another opportunity to the troops, who in some evil moment have shown a want of spirit, to retrieve their honor. Now, if it be allowable to assume that this, or some similar idea, or some tradition of the kind, had an influence on and gave rise to the doctrine of the pre-existence of men, which is so generally diffused among the Hindoos, and which was also held by the Platonists, and even Christian Platonists, of the first centuries, we can then conceive how this otherwise so arbitrary assumption and groundless hypothesis could have arisen. Groundless, however, it may well be named, not only because no cause or explanation of it is adduced, but as being agreeable neither to the nature of the soul nor to the constitution of things; so that, regarded even in this light, it must be looked upon as a singular instance, and consequently as an exception from the laws of nature and as a miraculous intervention of divine power. But a mere pre-existence of spirits would, however, be no true pre-existence in the sense of the Hindoo theology, or of the Platonists, since, by its union with and by the accession of a soul, it becomes a wholly different and quite a new being. Moreover, in this hypothesis, as it is further worked out in the Hindoo and Platonic systems, the whole character and true destination of human life is entirely misunderstood, inasmuch as it is represented as a place and period of punishment; whereas, rightly conceived, and even philosophically contemplated, it appears rather as a battle-place, and the time of discipline and preparation for eternity.

It is the problem and vocation of philosophy not merely to set forth the truth clearly and simply, but also, whenever it can be done incidentally and easily, to account for and explain great and remarkable errors, especially such as were prevalent among the earliest nations and ages. Now, among those errors which are most remarkable in ancient history, this of the Hindoos and Platonists holds in my eyes a very prominent place. But philosophically to explain an error, means not to reject it at once as absurd and undeserving of notice, but requires rather that we should first of all really understand it, i.e., that we should study it, and, to a certain degree, enter into its spirit, and seek to discover its best significance, or, in other words, that interpretation which is nearest to the truth, and then in conclusion accurately to determine the point where error begins and truth is violated.

All this, however, may now be left to its own merits. In touching upon it, my only object has been to call attention to the wonderful variety of God’s creative power, even in the copious theme of the immortality of the soul. And in this view it appeared to me not unprofitable to notice even the most discrepant theories on the subject, as being nevertheless well calculated to throw a clear and steady light on the simple truth. In the last age, since the Hindoo metempsychosis, as it is now accurately and authentically known, appeared too serious and sad a doctrine to meet with the welcome and concurrence of the existent generation, a brighter and more fanciful theory was propounded. In it this life has been astronomically depicted in the brightest and most attractive colors as a walk among the stars, continually ascending from one sidereal existence to another. In the limited range of human knowledge, it is alike impossible to deny or to prove the possibility of such a migration among the stars. But it is evidently a wiser course, and one far more agreeable to the nature and limits of man’s powers of understanding, for him to confine his views to his own immediate home—the earth—investigating, sifting, and divining its mysteries, than to lose himself in airy dreams amid the whole starry universe. For, perhaps, that which man is seeking so far off he may find much closer to his own doors than he suspects. For it is not improbable that this planet of our earth contains in its interior many subterranean courses and secret chambers of death, together with the seeds of light which are to spring up into the future resurrection.

But this may be reserved for consideration in another place. Here I will only add, in conclusion, that opposite to that gradational scale, already so often mentioned, which the vast pyramid of nature forms in relation to God and its own living development, stands another scale for man, adapted to his needs and suited to his narrow position and limited intelligence. In this scale, nature, i.e., in this sense, the nature which most immediately surrounds and environs man, this planet of our earth which bears and nourishes the human race, is first of all man’s habitation, teeming, indeed, with life, and even itself a living thing, in which, however, he is ever meeting here and there with something that tells him it is not his proper home. In the second step of this view of nature, which contemplates it principally in its relation to man and man’s wants, the natural world in its present form appears as the battle-place and debatable ground of the still undecided, or, rather, not as yet terminated, struggle between the good and evil powers, and the fiercer the strife again begins to be, the more necessary is it not to overlook this aspect of the matter. The third gradation in this view of nature, considered relatively to the mind or spirit of man in his finite existence, is that which teaches him to look upon it as the visible veil of the invisible world, covered all over and richly ornamented with significant symbols and hieroglyphics. And even because nature itself is even a symbolical being, therefore, when we speak of its inmost life and its spirit, or its meaning as a whole, i.e., when we attempt to study and to understand it, not physically only, but even philosophically, we can only hope to convey our meaning symbolically, by employing scientific illustrations and living symbols.

LECTURE VII. OF THE DIVINE WISDOM AS MANIFESTED IN THE REALM OF TRUTH, AND OF THE CONFLICT OF THE AGE WITH ERROR.

GOD is a spirit of truth; and in the realm of truth, therefore, the divine order, and the law of wisdom which reigns therein, shines forth with an especial clearness—with a higher degree of evidence or greater perspicuity than even in the region of nature, which for us is for the most part half-dark, or at the very best but a chiaro-oscuro—a mixture of light and darkness. But man, formed out of the dust of the earth, placed, as it were, in the very center of nature, as its first-born son or its earthly lord, is in this respect himself a natural being. Even in his susceptibility for higher and divine truth, man is tied to and is dependent on a similar and collateral grade of development in the life of nature, which can in no case be violently broken, nor a step in it arbitrarily overleaped, without involving the most disastrous consequences as the penalty of so unnatural a course. Even in education there reigns a similar law of gradual development according to the natural progression of the different ages of life. With the boy of good and natural abilities, who shows an aptness and willingness to learn when knowledge is presented to his mind, and implanted in a true and living form, the teacher’s first care is to improve this disposition, and to strengthen and to foster it, and, by furnishing it with the due measure and the right quality of intellectual culture, gradually to develop its powers. At this age the moral part of education will wisely confine itself to laying a foundation of good habits, to the careful exclusion of all evil communication and the deadly contagion of wicked example. In the soft and yielding character of the child there can scarcely be as yet any question about principles or sentiments. But the case is very different with youth. If at this time of life the moral character be not carefully formed simultaneously with its scientific cultivation, then is the good season irreparably lost, and rarely, if ever, can the deficiency be afterward supplied. For when this stage of intellectual and moral culture is once passed, when the mind has begun at last to move with greater freedom and to mature itself, the young man is at once admitted to the full light of science, or enters into the busy course of active life, to be there brought to the touchstone of experience.

And a similar series of gradation may be observed on a larger scale in the historical succession and development of the ages of the world. For such is, in every case, the gradual expansion of man’s consciousness, as he is at present constituted. His senses must be first excited and expanded; then, and then only, with any good result, can the soul be led to the good and divine, which, however, not content to dismiss them after the first look of wonder and amazement, it must rather dwell upon with the full and deep feelings of admiration and reverence; until at last, being wholly filled with them, it derives from their inspiration a new stimulus and excitement, and thereby is forever and permanently directed to the true end and aim of existence. And now at last can the free spirit apprehend aright the divine truth, and, in the spirit of this knowledge, act with vital energy, conformably to that position in God’s great world which has been assigned and allotted to him.

And this order can not be transgressed with impunity. None of its intermediate steps can be overleaped without involving the most fearful consequences. If the senses be not first of all excited and expanded, then will it be lost labor to attempt to win and fortify the heart, or to turn the soul toward the never-setting sun of divine truth. And, accordingly, how many attempts, both on a large and a small scale, at the moral regeneration of mankind have totally failed even for want of the first step of a forerunning light and previous illumination, by which the observation should have been roused, the senses stimulated, and the eye opened. But when, on the contrary, the full light is imparted to or gained by the mind, while the soul still remains enveloped in darkness and fast wedded to its evil habits, without attaining to a higher exaltation, then, indeed, the result is equally grievous, though different from that which follows from the mistake of overleaping at the first step. It has an effect; it does not remain without an influence. So long as the moral part of man is wholly neglected, and is either left rude and barbarous, or suffered to become degenerate, then science works indeed, but only as a destroying element. In so bad a soil the true knowledge is ever transformed into false, and the more profoundly it is apprehended—the more vividly and vigorously it is pursued—the more fatally, perniciously, and destructively does it work. The examples and the proofs of the injurious consequences of too rapid and premature development of scientific enlightenment amid a general prevalence of moral depravity, and the subversion of those principles which are the foundation of national existence and prosperity, might easily be found at no great distance from our own age. And they admit also of being demonstrated as clearly and convincingly by earlier instances from the history of the Greeks and Romans. The production of these proofs, however, would carry us beyond our present limits, and the truth they would establish is not, moreover, the end to which our present disquisitions are directed. The theme of this Lecture is the course observed by eternal wisdom, or the divine order in the realm of truth. My object is to call your attention to the care with which Providence observes a gradual progression in its mental development of the human race, lovingly suiting and adapting itself to the weakness and finiteness of humanity, and to the imperfection of earthly creatures, according to that principle of divine condescension, so often mentioned already, which, throughout the divine operations in the world, and His influence on man, is distinctly visible.

Thus, then, in the knowledge immediately imparted to man by a higher providence we may discern a preliminary period—a previous illumination, in order to reopen the eye of man, which heathenism had blinded to the truth, that it might be able to see and discern God. This first step of revelation was little more than a preparation for the future; but the second was, or has been, an illumination of the soul—a vital renewal of it—a total conversion of it from the state of darkness to the Everlasting Light and the Sun of Righteousness. But in this living development of the highest life, which is even the divine light of the Spirit, the third and last step (which indeed commences in and is involved in the second, even as it also had its germ in the first) is the full enlightenment of the spirit or mind. And accordingly this full revelation is in Scripture itself, as being the close and completion of the whole, expressly described, and named the last time.

Before attempting, however, to point out the divine order in the education of the human race, by the gradual revelation of truth, two general and preliminary remarks seem called for. I observe, then, first of all, that when we speak of sense, soul, and spirit, as the successive terms in the growing capacity of the human consciousness for a higher knowledge and heavenly training, and for truth in general, but more especially for divine truth, then the general sense of truth, which such an hypothesis supposes, and which indeed is its essential foundation, must be understood as comprising all those other particular species, branches, or departments which we have already enumerated. I mean the common sense of sound reason. For that susceptibility for the impressions of nature, and the understanding, which, as I said before, constitute the sense for the revelation of spirit, or the spirit of revelation—whether written or historical—are alike comprised in that one and common sense for truth. Or perhaps we may rather say, that by their joint operations they form it; while, however, in its special application, now this now that constituent preponderates—or perhaps that this one and universal sense for truth is called into action, and made to co-operate now in this direction and now in that. Moreover, that internal concurrence and assent of the will, which I have endeavored to show is the proper sense in man for God and for divine things, belongs also, as an essential and element of its constitution, to this general sense for truth. For that the opposite fault of self-will and obstinacy is in the highest degree a hinderance of good, even in the acquisition of knowledge and the recognition of truth, is found by experience in the earliest essays of education. But not only in the elementary principles of learning, but even in the most highly-finished and elaborate systems of metaphysical ideas, constructed by the profoundest thinkers and philosophers, does this spirit of negation and contradiction show itself, and prove the greatest obstacle to truth and the most fruitful source of error.

The second remark which we have to make before entering upon the immediate subject of our Lecture refers to the natural progression of the living development of the human consciousness. This gradation, we would observe, holds good, and is applicable, not merely to the moral education of man, but also to the intellectual improvement of man’s capacity, as at present constituted, for all higher and divine verities. But, however true this may be, where the general sense for truth is not from the first open and full of light, where the soul is not already perfectly free and pure; yet on the other hand there is nothing against—on the contrary, every thing favors the supposition, that the earliest revelation imparted to mankind—the illumination which was given to the first man, and bestowed upon him as his heavenly inheritance on earth, was a full and perfect enlightenment of his mind [geist]. For his senses were open and clear, his soul as yet incorrupt, pure, and free. Both were directed to God, and being one with and at unison with nature, were keenly alive to and deeply impressed by every token of God’s glory and majesty in creation. It is quite an error to assume, or, rather, to fancy, that this state of purity and innocence was a state of ignorance like that of the child or of the wild man. The tree of life was given to him entirely and without reserve, as also dominion over the earth, whose first-made living creatures the Lord subjected to his dominion, bringing them before him to call and to name them. The knowledge of death was indeed designedly withheld from him, as also the existence of the evil spirits, even because it was exactly therein that his trial and probation were to consist. And so both are perfectly reconcilable: that height of knowledge in the clearest light of nature, which the sacred traditions of all primitive nations so positively and unanimously assign to the first man, is in nowise inconsistent with that ignorance of death which is no less expressly ascribed to him. Moreover, had man but preserved and kept alive in his heart this feeling of God, he would immediately have recognized his enemy, and even thereby have triumphed over him, and become the redeemer of nature, instead of requiring, now that he has failed in that his high destination, a Redeemer for his own fallen race. This first revelation, therefore, was, we may well assume, in the beginning as it will also be in the end, a full enlightenment of the spirit of man, but which, however, was soon darkened by his disobedience and fall. This, too, is the shape which the matter assumes in the legendary history of all the primeval nations of antiquity, and these are the threads of light which in the labyrinthine confusion of legends, symbols, and tongues of earliest heathendom, carry us safely out of its mazes and back to the clear starting-point of the pure and undefiled revelation of God. It were not difficult to show how, through the first two millenniums and a half, or five-and-twenty centuries, a higher providence and divine guidance was ever quietly carrying on these luminous threads of original truth, and from time to time renewing them. But this history of the human mind in the primeval world, however highly attractive, would take us out of our proper limits. Upon the eclipse of man’s soul, when spiritual darkness universally prevailed, the senses originally open to a higher light were closed against it. His better perceptions were overwhelmed or buried beneath a chaos of true and false or half-true images and symbols. Then it was that the natural law of spiritual development commenced in its full force. It followed the progression already described. In the first term the numbed and deadened sense had to be awakened and quickened again, and in its second the soul renewed, purified, and converted, before either could become susceptible of the full and perfect illumination of the Spirit. To trace this natural law in the human consciousness and in the divine education of mankind, and to ascertain the progressive steps in the divine revelations, expressly given and designed to effect that gradual development, is the object of the present Lecture.

The first step or term thereof was the selection of a single people to be the schoolmaster of the whole human race.[37] When the heathenish mass of legends or myths and symbols had reached the height of confusion, and the evil had become otherwise incurable, one nation was chosen and set apart by God as His instrument in opening the eyes of men to the abyss of error in which the whole world was plunged, and to direct their looks exclusively to the future. Many prophets were sent to the chosen people, and it was at first guided and ruled by none but prophets. And, perhaps, we can not form a more correct notion of the character and history of this people, so peculiarly distinguished from all the other nations of the ancient world, than by thinking of it absolutely and in its destination as the prophetic people exclusively intended to point to a distant future, and whose leading ideas and inmost feelings were to be attached to, and to look far into, a remote futurity. Three strokes or words, at most, comprise the highly-simple revelation of the first stage—the first ray of light at the beginning—in which, however, lies contained the hidden key and solution for the chaos of legends, and all the enigmas of the primitive world and of primeval history. But this brief and simple revelation was accompanied with a strict line of demarcation between the Gentiles and the chosen people, who were separated from all the heathen nations by customs and laws, while a long ray of hope reached far into the distant future. This point of light at the beginning was, however, but little considered and ill-understood; the line of demarcation, too, was often transgressed upon the slightest pretext and most ordinary temptations. And when at last it was more strictly kept, it was observed, not in its spirit, but in the letter; and, in consequence, even that high and lofty-hope which irradiated it was totally misunderstood, being interpreted, in a narrow spirit of national exclusiveness, of a temporal Redeemer, and a political redemption from the yoke of the Roman oppressor. This delusion, and the extreme ingratitude with which, consequently, the Light that came into the world was, on the whole, received by those to whom It was in the first place communicated, has been often painted in the darkest colors of indignant censure by the stern pen of history. The stiffneckedness of the Jews has been a fruitful theme for virtuous indignation. But, for my part, I hardly know whether, in this respect, a different and more favorable sentence can be passed on the generations which have witnessed the subsequent steps of divine revelation in its further development. Full time was allowed to the prophetic people to develop itself; and, after the lapse of twenty-fire centuries, which make up the first age of the world, a millennium and a half was allowed to this initiatory step of revelation. And now, at length, after forty centuries of preparation and hope, when the long, dark winter of the olden idolatry was over, the historical development of the human race reached its culminating point, and with the vernal solstice [Fruhling’s-Solstitium] of this new manifestation commenced the second term in this series of revelation or of the divine education of the human race. Even from its very first opening, every thing characterizes this second term of development as not intended for a complete and final revelation of spirit and knowledge. Promising, and reserving to the future that final manifestation, it forms, in this respect, a marked contrast to the highly-cultivated science of the Greeks, which, however, in spite of its high pretensions, did but become continually more and more sensuous in its character. The immediate object of this second enlightenment of the whole human race was to be a total conversion of the soul from its previous earthly darkness to the everlasting light and the one and only Sun of Truth, and thereby to effect a complete renewal of life, and a reformation of all its habits, customs, and institutions. This alone did God require; and glorious, and noble, and deeply-touching was the conflict in which this wholly new but heaven-descended sentiment had to engage with the opposing spirit of the old world.

But men soon relapsed into their former discord; and it is now our painful task to point out the rise and growth of this dissension through the succeeding eras of history. For thus only—by considering, in every period, man’s relation, or, rather, his opposition, to the divine revelation—is it possible, amid the rapid progress of the widening disagreement, to trace the divine order which rules amid the anarchy of mind, and to follow it along its path of light up to its appointed end, and to its close and conclusion.

In the first three or four centuries of Christianity, this spirit of opposition showed itself in two different forms. In the one, the new and simple faith was first of all perverted into a chaos of philosophical fictions of an old Asiatic character.[38] In the other, a secret and half infidelity hid itself behind a veil of words,[39] against which the faith must defend itself behind an outwork of words also; and in this period of history, a subtile and refined logomachy first of all attained to a great and lasting importance for mankind. In this dispute, the simple foundation of the faith was indeed maintained and defended, in its purity and integrity, against all hostile attacks; but the first-love lost much of its freshness and ardor. Consequently the new life, which sprung up with the new faith, was unable to fulfill the hopes which at its first rise men had reasonably entertained of it, and, by reforming the corrupt civilization of the old Roman world, to renew it entirely in God. Accordingly, an alien and purely physical element had to be associated with it. The northern nations were called in to infuse fresh energy into the worn-out races of England.

In this work of physical regeneration three centuries were again spent. But at the close of this first period, it was seen, on a sudden, how little the olden spirit of dissension had been really conquered, or even mollified. The faith, it was said, may, in all essential points, be perfectly identical, but a division may be, and still subsists, notwithstanding. But what does that mean, but that the God and Savior of the world worshiped by the East, is different from Him whom the West acknowledges? And thus the one God and the one faith was in the life of man again divided into two; and this singular schism, without any adequate cause, still subsists to the present day.[40] In the following great period a fresh life blossomed in rich and manifold expansion out of that revelation of love which, properly speaking, now first of all put forth its full vital energies, giving a new shape to all the institutions of human society, and impressing on art, as well as on moral and political science, a new character, totally different from that which they possessed among the most enlightened nations of antiquity. Viewed in its loving aspect, i.e., in its chivalry, there is much in this period to attract and engage our enthusiasm and sympathies, but for the fearful discord which broke out within it, and set one half of the world in hostile array against the other. The two powers which ought to work together for one divine end—the two swords of which the Lord had said, “It is enough,”[41]—the spiritual sword of the kingdom of faith and truth, and the civil sword of earthly justice, were drawn and held in threatening attitude against each other, by which, however, the minds of men were torn and distracted by the inward struggle of conflicting duties in a far greater degree than the external peace of society was disturbed. But it was not merely in such a collision that the strife alone showed itself; but it extended even to the confusion of the two domains, and a forgetfulness of their proper duties and respective positions.

In the instance, it is true, of the mailed ecclesiastic, however, at first sight, the union in one person of such opposite characters as the soldier and priest may startle the mind, the gallant and noble bearing of the spiritual knight soon reconciles us to the strange phenomenon. So, too, when he whose vocation it was to hold the pastoral staff began also to sway the scepter of a civil prince, the eminent skill and judgment with which the difficult task of discharging the double and often conflicting duties of so mixed a sovereignty was accomplished, silence every murmur of a protest. But when he who ought to carry the crosier of peace hoisted the pennon of war, such a sight naturally gave great offense, and sadly perplexed the minds of men.

Thus, then, passed seven centuries more, making, with the eight already described, fifteen altogether that have elapsed from that great center of the world’s history, when the spiritual sun reached its meridian altitude in this earthly life. These, added to the fifteen which had previously passed from the first shining of the light of revelation, make no less than three millenneums. And to these, again, three centuries more are to be added. Such is the extremely slow course of the divine guidance of the world, as regulated by the inexhaustible patience and long-suffering of God in the education of his human creatures.

In this last period, however, the spirit of discord has become still more general, and has broken out in all its violence, gradually attacking and drawing into the dispute every institution of society and every department of life. In the wonderful coincidence of many and great discoveries, simultaneously made in widely-distinct and independent branches of science, the spirit of man read the proclamation of his majority. Conscious of this intellectual ripeness, in the first use of its new powers it assumed toward the faith an attitude of estrangement and controversy, instead of calmly advancing along the assigned path toward perfection. Even at the very commencement of this period, the hostile relation between the new science and the ancient faith is perceptible enough. But it soon showed itself more distinctly, as the rupture became wider and more general, till at last the discord extended to the very faith itself, which was henceforth broken up into bitter and opposing parties. Still later, a newer and deeper animosity divided the faith in general from the whole civil and political life, from which in many places its religious foundation was altogether removed. And now that life was thus deprived of its higher and spiritual significance, the strife became universal and complete. Involving science and life into the discord, it set them also in deadly array against each other—for life thus unspiritualized could no longer reconcile itself to the dreamy ideal of a science which at most was but partially true, while life itself could not satisfy the requisitions of science. And fearful was the outbreak in which this last antagonism of principle openly displayed its animosity.

This fourfold schism, then—first, between science and faith; secondly, in the faith itself; thirdly, between life and faith; and lastly, between the new science (which usurped the place of the faith it had discarded) and life itself—this fourfold schism, with its several branches and ramifications, extending to every department of human existence, lies now before us, in the present age, as the still-unsolved problem of life.

And who but God alone shall or is able to solve it? As a question of dispute, this problem—and especially its inmost root, the schism in the faith—can be profitably discussed only in the spirit of love and mutual forbearance between cognate and kindred minds, who, while they think differently on a few points, yet agree in most. Many works might be adduced on both sides, composed in that conciliatory spirit of approximation which is most accordant with true philosophy, whose first effort is, in all cases, directed to reconciling and removing the deeply-rooted animosities of human nature. To a complete decision, however, of the whole matter in question, we shall never arrive on the road of disputation. Even though the dispute were maintained with the most valid reasoning, and were conducted with the most dignified forbearance and mildness, the attempt would only be lost labor. For there exists no supreme court of appeal to whose sentence both sides would be ready to submit. On the one side, the reason—which advances with unlimited freedom in its investigations—and faith on the other, with its assumed authority to decide in the last instance, would alike refuse to acknowledge its adversary as a competent tribunal.

Thus deeply piercing into the very marrow of humanity, and thus mortal is the conflict. Indeed, a man can scarcely touch upon it without being carried almost involuntarily into the very midst of the strife, and very fortunate may he account himself if he retires from it unscathed. And if it were only from a mere human point of view of a scientific dispute that I had to consider it, good reason should I have to be on my guard, lest on this matter my mind should be, as it were, forcibly rent and divided into two halves. I have, however, at present no anxiety of the kind. For my purpose is solely and entirely to trace out the divine order in the revelation progressively given to mankind, and following this luminous thread to lead reflection up to the finishing close of God’s education of the human race, where, in the full shining of the perfect day, there shall be no more controversy and no more doubt. Viewing the matter in this light, I see but little to attract my sympathies in the publicly-conducted controversy, however highly important and pre-eminent a place it may hold in the history of the world. Far more attractive to me are those isolated and retiring spirits on both sides who, taking but little, if any, part in the prevailing dispute, have their eyes directed rather to the future, in watchful expectation of that full and final illumination, with all its attendant promises—among which we must reckon, first and foremost, the peace and joy of believing—in the last revelation of divine mind. Of these calmer spirits, however, some have actually fallen, and others have been on the very brink of falling, into the plausible error of regarding this third step of enlightenment as an absolutely new revelation, whereas it is quite clear that it will be nothing more than the simple completion of the earlier steps. For a revelation which should give itself out as perfectly new, apart from and independent of that saving illumination of the soul which marks the second step, and which we are already in possession of—which should disavow this earlier divine revelation of the heart, of love and life in faith, which is withheld from no one, and which every one knows, would, even by such an announcement, proclaim its own falsity. New heavens and a new earth are indeed expressly promised among the blessings of this last age. Mention is also made of a Gospel that shall be preached “unto all them that dwell on the earth, and to every nation, and kindred, and tongue, and people.”[42] This Gospel, however, is nowhere called a new one; since in the old one there is enough for life, if only it be duly observed, and also for knowledge, if only it be rightly understood. But it is called the “everlasting” Gospel; and by this term it is plain that nothing is to be understood but this full light of divine knowledge now made perfect in God, and which has become one with faith, and, consequently, fully reconciled with life also. In this domain, and in this spiritual sense, it is not necessary that the fair morning-star of faith, which has guided us through the dark night, and lighted us to the day-spring, should become extinct when the sun ascends the heavens in his full meridian splendor. On the contrary, it shall burn the more brightly; or, rather, to speak more correctly—for here no such contrast finds a place—it is the morning-star itself that shall expand into the full sun, and illuminate the whole world with its light.

Waiting, therefore, for this manifestation, we must endure with the more patience the existing discord so long as our lot is placed amid it, and show greater moderation toward it, since we are subject to it in hope. Only let me not be thought of as recommending a spurious impartiality, which, in truth, is little better than a culpable indifference to questions the most important that can agitate our own generation and all humanity—or the indiscriminating contempt of an arrogated superiority, which is even still more offensive and baneful to truth than the most vehement adoption of either of the conflicting views, if associated with honesty of purpose and conviction. As little, too, would I be thought to favor the presumptuous decisions of individuals, which, adopting a peculiar principle, or, as it is styled, a higher point of view, even though occasionally it does justice to each in part, yet on the whole materially wrongs them both. In the first ages of this intellectual disease, great names were arrayed on either side; and that through all its variations brilliant talents and scientific attainments maintained the conflict, while there was much that was false and wrong in both parties, is equally unquestionable. But what avails the unrighteousness of man against the righteousness of the cause, when, as we must, we regard the latter as the cause of God?

The painful feature of the conflict is the fact that, in a certain measure, God Himself has become the object of man’s rancor and animosity. In sacred lore and tradition, but pre-eminently in revelation, God Himself became as it were a child; and in the childlike language of the heart, and in the most confiding manner, gave Himself into the hands of men. But now, even this marvelous child and the divine word is near being torn asunder by the disputants, like the child in the old story or parable. Two mothers, we are told, came and stood before the king, disputing violently whose was the child that had been overlaid, and whose was the living one. But the true mother, for both had fallen asleep in the night, was recognized by her prayer that the child might not be divided in two by the sword of justice, but preferred that her son should live, even though she must lose it by resigning it to the other. Whereupon the king ordered his officers in no wise to slay the living child, but to give it to her who by her love had proved herself its mother.[43]

But for us the great sentence which is to decide all controversies, and can alone put an end to this discord, is not yet pronounced. But, in truth, the more confirmed symptoms of the deepening intellectual strife which mark the present generation, furnish one proof the more of the near approach of the day of final decision. And then the perfect triumph of divine revelation and the fiery baptism of the Spirit, which in those last days shall be administered, shall bring with it the long-promised universal peace of the soul when under a divine leader—the invisible One now become visible—all that hope in Him, of all kindreds and families, shall be reunited in Him in one love and one fellowship. A universal and perfect peace like this, which, according to revealed truth, is the last that is to be imparted to the human race, and is even to continue for ever, must, it is natural to suppose, be preceded by a violent but closing conflict. And do we not in our own age see such a one developing itself in a manner unparalleled by all that have gone before in it? To this conflict of our age, then, I must now devote a few words, and consider pre-eminently the relations subsisting between it and science.

In many and various ways, unquestionably, was the spirit of man called upon in this beautiful era of the restoration of science to consider itself ripe and mature; its feelings, too, answered to the call, and, in some respects, perhaps it was even so. But let us examine the matter by the same law of sound reason that we should judge of a corresponding case in ordinary and social life. Let us suppose a youth to have attained his legal majority, or, perhaps, by his father’s will, declared of age at a still earlier period. Is it right for him, all at once, to forget the love wherewith his mother has nursed and reared him? Is it right in him, misinterpreting altogether the motive of his father’s dying wish, to cast off and trample under foot all the wise and useful lessons with which, according to the measure of his years, his mind was stored at school, merely because he has remarked or experienced that there is much in life which was not touched upon in his school-learning? If we saw this in private life, should we not form a very bad opinion of such a youth who so suddenly throws off all restraint, and take care that sooner or later he should fall under another and stricter oversight, since he has all at once outgrown parental control. Why, then, should we form a different judgment in the realm of science and truth? All eyes and universal expectation were directed to this restoration of science. And these hopes were right in so far as through the lapse of these last times which are hastening to a close, the course and trial of human nature are even to lie therein. But if, as already pointed out, they fell into a grave error, who, even while they kept within the bounds of faith, looked upon the promised completion and final triumph of the divine and eternal revelation in the light of a new manifestation of truth, and almost as a new religion; far greater was the aberration of those who formed the conception of, and hoped to attain to, an ever-advancing science altogether without God, or at least one which, proceeding side by side with Him, should never come into vital contact with Him! But men can not thus pass along by the side of Omnipotence, without coming into contact with him; and every effort to rise into the higher regions of truth, which is begun and intended to remain wholly without God, will, sooner or later, be directed against Him. And every branch of knowledge, and more especially the highest, if it be without God, is but a false light of the mind [geist], which will only too soon beguile it into the olden darkness of the soul. And so it came to pass then. For under this smooth surface of a seeming moral mildness, the lurking poison suddenly broke out, as it were, by a fearful conspiracy of the times, spreading its contagion far and wide, and corrupting every thing that came within its reach—even as it had been predicted of it in the second book of the future.[44]

For even out of the struggle of good against evil, the latter suddenly arose again in a new and unexpected shape, coming forth, as it were, out of the sea, and the moral world was transformed into a sea of blood. And so, indeed, in these prophetic pages, it is predicted of the enigmas of the last days. Now, throughout this great catastrophe of the world, so far as it can be regarded as a peculiar and especial, but historical warning from God, and a revelation of the divine will, we may trace, among the better disposed, the same gradation of illumination, advancing through the ascending series of sense, soul, and spirit, that we have already noticed, on a larger scale, in the course of the history of mankind. The senses of many individuals become, indeed, more and more open, the more clearly they recognized, by its historical characters, the fatal abyss to which the age of the world was drawing nigh. The epoch of the restoration was, moreover, followed by a general revolution in the sentiments, the moral principles, and prevailing pursuits of men. The third step, however, of a right and true knowledge which, from the position of a full scientific enlightenment of the mind or spirit, should penetrate into the profoundest depths of truth, is still wanting, or at any rate exists as yet only in a very imperfect degree. This property is the defective point in the problem of the age, and in all attempts hitherto made to solve it.

The false science, even that unhuman and godless science which has been already described, can only be overcome and conquered by the true. The mere method of negation—which, generally, indeed, is seldom the right one—is here, too, insufficient for the purpose. And so, in fact, when clouds of dust darken the air, or swarms of noxious insects fill it, it may suffice if the goodman of the house shuts to his casement, as he may lawfully do, even because it is his own; but when the fearful thunderstorm is lowering in the heavens, the closed window will but little insure the safety of his dwelling, unless he has more wisely provided against the danger, by a good lightning-conductor. But what is that? And how came man first to think of it? Why, by studying the electrical phenomena, and arriving at a full understanding of its nature, and so, in obedience to its laws, contriving a counteracting and diverting agent for the electric current, and converting the natural action of the threatening element into an instrument of protection. And just in the same way will a true wisdom proceed in the domain of science and truth. It is only by a good power, of a like kind and similar action to its own, that the supremacy of evil can be overcome. Even, therefore, and to this purport was the earnest warning uttered by the mouth of Truth Itself against those who, although they sat in Moses’s seat, neither went in themselves nor suffered others that were entering to go in.[45]

And what a different picture does Holy Writ set before us in the noble example of Moses! No doubt the preparation for the work to which he was to be called, of leading successfully the people intrusted to him by God out of their Egyptian darkness through the fearful Red Sea and all the wanderings in the wilderness, to the borders of the promised land, was even the forty years of solitude among the noble pastoral people with whom he spent the long period of his exile. But still it is not without a deep significance that it is written that the daughter of the Egyptian monarch, having adopted the foundling of the waters, brought him up and educated him as her own son. So, too, assuredly is it not without design that it is said so emphatically of him, that he “was learned in all the wisdom of the Egyptians.”[46] In the first place, we have good reason to rejoice at and to acknowledge the comprehensive spirit and wide standard of judgment which Holy Writ here sets up. For whereas it passes a severer sentence of reprobation on the Egyptians than on any other heathen nation or people, for their moral depravity, it yet acknowledges that they possessed a scientific wisdom, which amply rewarded the labor of its acquisition, while it proved the very errors wherewith in their extreme corruption they had overloaded it, to be only the more culpable and deserving of punishment. Shallow and superficial skeptics may, indeed, as many have already done, avail themselves of such an admission, and cry, “There! it is plain enough—Moses borrowed every thing from Egypt and the hieroglyphics.”

But this is not the case. No doubt both the first ten and the last twelve letters of the Hebrew alphabet are hieroglyphics, as their very names indicate; but in its primary natural roots, nevertheless, and, above all, in its whole spirit, and structure, and tone, this language differs widely from the hieroglyphical Egyptian. Certainly Moses did learn from Egypt all that there was for him to learn. And this learning enabled him the more easily to disperse the thick Egyptian darkness, and the less cause, consequently, had he to fear the false arts of the Egyptian magicians and serpent-charmers. He took from them all that was available for his purpose, but he made it quite new again, and gave it another nature by the end to which he employed it. He despoiled them of their “jewels of gold and jewels of silver,” by a theft permissible in the realm of science and truth. For it is lawful for man to wrest from the evil power all that may be converted into a means of honoring the things of God and His revealed truth, and which thereby is better employed, spiritualized, and invested with a higher and better significance. This is true even of our own days, as it was then, and, indeed, always has been.

Oh, that the many great men who, in our own generation, have deserved so well of mankind, by devoting themselves to the noble work of re-establishing right sentiments and principles, had, in this their good design, followed the great example set them by this man so highly preferred of God! But, with one or two exceptions, it is impossible to boast of them that, like Moses, they were “learned in all the wisdom of the Egyptians.” And hence the fact is at once explicable why, with such ardent and unbounded zeal, they should have effected comparatively so little against the modern Egyptians, and the new Egyptian darkness of our own days.

An intellectual conflict about truth, and, indeed, about divine truth, is the struggle of our age. This fact is already seen and admitted by a few, but, ere long, it will be still more generally acknowledged. God is a spirit of truth; and even on this account is His adversary, the spirit of contradiction, termed “a liar from the beginning;” and, of all the powerful instruments and wicked devices of that evil one, the lie is the first and chiefest. And this suggests to me to notice, in passing, a point in the moral systems of our day, notwithstanding that it does not properly lie within our prescribed limits. In most of our ethical treatises the question of falsehood and untruth is but carelessly treated, and seldom discussed with that prominence and gravity which its great importance demands. Overt transgressions of the laws belong rather to jurisprudence than to ethics, which properly treats of and analyzes the leading faults of human character as so many diseases of the soul. Now, the worst among these are usually denominated mortal, i.e., likely to bring the soul unto death; but the lie, in the full import of the term—the intrinsic proper lie of the soul, as the predominant fault in a character of untruth—a whole life become, as it were, one great lie, is far more than mortal—it is even death itself. And it is even of this sin—this secret revolting against and wounding of the Spirit, even the divine Spirit of Eternal Truth—that is said in Holy Writ, that it shall be forgiven neither in this world nor in the next.

On this point, then, I think that moral theory and teaching can never be stern and rigorous enough in its precepts, especially as regards individuals. It is not, indeed, a question about words, but about their interpretation, and what is meant by those who use them; and in this respect there may be, and often is a false and over-scrupulous delicacy of conscience. When, however, we remember how, in particular ages of history, oaths have been played with—millions of oaths lavishly proffered and shortly retaken in quite a different and opposite sense, and soon again abjured with as little difficulty; and when we consider the evil effects this trifling with the most solemn of obligations must have had on the moral character of a people, we can not but see some excuse in this monstrous fact for certain small communities of Christians who absolutely refuse to take an oath in any case. For when, in the important point of truth and falsehood, a grave error has been committed on one side, it is better to meet it on the other by too great strictness. A rigorous severity can never entail such fearful consequences in such a case, as the opposite fault of an over-indulgent laxity, or, what is even still more false and erroneous, the regarding the matter as trifling and indifferent. But the further prosecution of this topic would lead me out of my proper province, and I have only touched upon it in passing to that which lies more immediately before us.

If, then, there is nothing so dangerous to the character of an individual, both inwardly and outwardly—if there is nothing that works so insidiously, conveying its secret poison to the very lowest roots and extremities of the moral character, as untruth and the spirit of lying, how much more fearful must its malignant influence prove when it is become the universal and prevailing fault of an age which has not only wandered far from the truth, but is even animated with a deadly hatred of it!

It is to this spirit of lies, and the false splendor of his colossal empire, and to the final conflict which truth will have to wage with it on earth, that the most awful of the prophecies already alluded to refer. And the application is easily made, since a greater part of their warning denunciations have in our age already come to an actual fulfillment. If, then, this giant spirit of destruction and untruth was strong enough even in his cradle to throttle two quarters of the world,[47] what must it be now that the permitted interval of rest has passed away without being profitably employed to the cause of truth, and now that this same spirit of murder and lies, with a far greater body, and endued with far more magical powers, is let loose again to tread the earth for a while with iron feet, and to deceive the nations?

Those whose responsible position in public life, or comprehensive sphere of intellectual activity, enable them to take in at one glance all the various elements of evil and pernicious principles and destructive tendencies which are so actively at work in our days, will not, perhaps, be disposed to regard these remarks as groundless or exaggerated; others, perhaps, may make a mock at them—but they may go on in their delusion for a while.

In conclusion, I have but three observations to add. The first regards the divine permission of evil, and is intended to form a supplement to that Theodicée which I have attempted, in the only way that such a justification of the divine ways is permissible to man, by appealing, viz., to his feelings, rather than by attempting to force his conviction by the rigor of demonstration. The full justification of the ways of Providence is reserved for a future day, when all mouths shall be stopped, whether that awful crisis be near at hand or yet tarries for a while. If, now, the human race be actually sick and in a sickly state, as indeed can not well be denied, then must God’s overruling providence in the affairs of the world be judged of in the same light as, and be compared to, the wise treatment of a skillful physician. For as the latter, in the case of a patient whose death was to be apprehended from a total prostration of his bodily powers and energy, might wish for or even venture to super-induce a violent paroxysm, in the hope that in it he might perhaps be able to throw off his fatal lethargy; even so, in God’s government of the world, those predetermined counsels, which seem so singular, but, nevertheless, are so expressly foretold, may have a somewhat similar design. In the times of the last struggle the power of darkness will probably work itself to death on the earth; and while the remnant shall come out of the crisis and fiery trial purer and healthier, the divine truth is to gain a complete triumph over sin and death.

The second remark I have to make applies to ourselves and all the well-disposed among our cotemporaries, and refers to the disunion which subsists in these evil times even among the best of men. Were two nations threatened in common by a formidable enemy, would they not, however widely they might differ in, or perhaps be estranged from each other by their respective constitutions languages, and customs, forget in the moment of danger their characteristic differences, and, laying aside all previous feelings of jealousy or estrangement, unite for their mutual protection and safety? My heart’s wish, therefore, is that all the truly pious and well-wishers of truth, on whichever of the two sides of the now divided faith they may stand, would unite together without sacrificing those more intimate differences which can not at present be got rid of or reconciled, and, making a righteous peace of mutual forbearance, join together in a firm alliance against the common enemy of all truth and all faith. For that the dearest interests of religion are in our generation exposed to a violent assault, and menaced with great and immediate danger, will not be denied by any lover of truth, even though his conception of the truth may differ from mine.

Lastly, the third observation that I promised will not take the form of the utterance of a wish, as rather of the expression of the firmest conviction, that, however awful and severe this final conflict may prove, the good cause will not eventually be lost, but that the great battle will have a favorable issue in the complete victory of divine revelation, and the celestial wisdom in the government of this kingdom of truth will be fully manifest both to men and angels.

LECTURE VIII. OF THE DIVINE ORDER IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD AND THE RELATIONS OF STATES.

“THE history of the world is the world’s tribunal,”[48] says one of our most famous poets. If by these words he meant to convey an opinion that no other tribunal of judgment is to be expected than that which is even now set up in the history of the world, then such an opinion, implying that the human race is to live forever in its present state, and in this particular terrestrial life, would be even as groundless as that of the fanciful conceit that the human race had existed from all eternity, if, in sooth, any of the philosophical dreamers of antiquity had ever fallen on such a fancy, or, in modern times, any of the antipodes to the usual current mode of thinking should ever stumble upon it. The poet himself, as dramatist and artist, would but have taken it ill had any one laid before him a great drama, composed of several acts and scenes, from which, however, the beginning was torn off, and which, ever going on, untied the existing perplexities only to fall again into new and fresh complications; or like a poor journal ever referring to a continuation, had no true end, no conclusion or proper termination. But unquestionably a better sense is also contained in the poet’s words. He may have merely meant to say that the mind which rules the course of mundane affairs is a mind that inflicts retribution on the world; and that all the great epochs and incidents of history have a retributive character and vindicatory significance.[49] Such an interpretation of the words, which indeed suits well with the author’s serious mind and character, would bring them in perfect unison with my own sentiments, and adequately express the truth which forms the theme of our present consideration on the divine order in the history of the human race.

The human race, then, as it had a beginning, so also will it have an end; it will not continue forever in this present form, but must eventually come to a termination. But, to speak according to the measure of a divine chronology, where a thousand years are but as one day, who can say, who shall dare, off-hand, to decide whether six or seven of these great days of God are fixed for its duration? Enough to know that we stand on the borders of the fourth age, and on the passage from the third to the fourth. And not unimportant is it, on the other hand, for the clear understanding of the whole, to form a right conception of each of these, its great divisions and epochs. The first age is made up of the twenty-five centuries of obscure primeval history. The second, which we called the age of preparation, is formed by the fifteen hundred years which we reckon from the end of the first up to the center and turning-point of the history of the world as known to us, and from which modern history takes its commencement. Even in the oldest traditionary history of the Gentile nations of antiquity we do not meet with any statements that can be relied upon, or any tenable data beyond, if indeed so far back as, the fifteenth century before the epoch of the commencement of modern history. The fifteen centuries which follow this epoch form the third age, in which this principle of a new life in the spiritual, moral, and political world had to develop and completely to unfold itself. In the last Lecture I also reckoned in this period the sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth centuries of our era. But if it seems to any more advisable to consider these as the introductory portion of the fourth and subsisting age, there is nothing positively to condemn such a mode of reckoning; only, for my part, I can not but regard it as less correct and more inaccurate than the one which I have proposed. In one case as well as the other the same important consideration will be involved. Reckoning from some point or other within these last forty years, we have, it must be acknowledged by all, entered upon a grand and decisive epoch in the history of the world; and our attention can not be too often or too strongly directed to the fact, that we stand at the critical point of transition from one great period to another.

Now one of the most characteristic signs by which such important moments of general revolution in the history of the world are, for the most part, known and distinguished, is a number of great events pressed closely together and following each other in rapid succession; or, in other words, the accelerated course of time. It is no new remark, that, in the political history of our own age, modern Europe has, in the short space of two-and-twenty years, ran through all the epochs of the old Roman world, from the first party struggles of the republic, and its long wars with Carthage, that mistress of the seas, up to the imperial rule of the Cæsars, in the first reigns mild and indulgent, but at the last so fearfully oppressive and cruel; and even up to the final immigration of the northern nations. Such a simple remark is alone sufficient proof that another law now rules in the history of the world—a quicker life pulsates in its arteries than beat in the calmer days of old. Whether, however, this life be thoroughly sound, or, on the contrary, sickly and feverish, that is quite another question.

But not only in the political world, but also in the intellectual domain of science has the same accelerated course been noticeable. Only, as compared with that of antiquity, the course or direction pursued by modern science is altogether different. We have traveled with equal celerity, but in quite an opposite course to the ancients. Starting from the last term, we have reversed the series of their mental progression. First of all, in the last decades of the preceding century, the Epicurean cast of thought, or one very nearly resembling it, was the one chiefly predominant in the philosophical world. And then, together with but subordinate to it, came scholastic subtilties and hair-splitting distinctions, similar to those of the later Greek schools, not unaccompanied, perhaps, with the same patient industry of research and extensive erudition, and exercising altogether on the minds of men an influence no less wide, nor less pernicious, than did the most brilliant of the sophists of Greece. All the erroneous systems which it was possible for the human mind to embrace, and which are grounded in its essential qualities, or which could possibly originate in any (so to speak) of its inborn misconceptions, which it took the Greeks several centuries to evolve in slow succession, our age has rapidly, and almost simultaneously, run through in as many decades. And in this fact, if I do not greatly deceive myself, there is much ground of consolation. It encourages me to hope that this inverse progression is leading us back again to the truth—that in this ascending line we are gradually coming nearer to the better times of the first great philosophers of Greece—of a Plato, a Socrates, and a Pythagoras. It must be self-evident, that in this case, and still more so in that analogy of political history which I have so recently noticed, as generally, in all such historical parallels, nothing more is intended to be asserted than a general resemblance, which, however, as such, is eminently remarkable. It would not, perhaps, be difficult anxiously to work out the general resemblance into points of detail, but such an overwrought assimilation could only lead to false conclusions and results.

Now that the conflict which our age has to go through is eminently intellectual is implied simply in the prevailing notion of a public opinion and its influence. But, at the same time, we must observe, that in the very notion of opinion, and in the word itself, there is involved a certain character of extreme vagueness and uncertainty. No doubt that which man can properly be said to know is extremely limited and confined. Of very much all that we can have is merely an opinion, and with that must we be content to put up. Nay, inasmuch as all scientific certainty admits not of being imparted to all men, very much of that which we do properly and certainly know is best and most beneficially set forth to others merely as an opinion, in order that we may not seem to force their minds to the admission of this higher certainty. And what is there that the passions of a prejudiced or excited multitude can not be made to adopt as an opinion, which, if presented to them as a sober conviction of reason, would never make an impression? So devoid are they, generally, of that intelligence and accurate knowledge of men and things which are essential and necessary to the formation of a right judgment. If, instead of public opinion (which, unquestionably, is a great power, but which, if it takes a wrong direction, is also a very dangerous one), the appeal were to be made to a public conscience, this would be, to my mind, far more impressive and serious. To illustrate my meaning:—the impression which the events of 1793 made on the general feeling of all Europe, and the universal movement of discontent which, among all European nations, preceded the great political catastrophe of our own days, are instances to which the old maxim, vox populi vox Dei, may, without hesitation, be applied. Such feelings are founded on a true and higher judgment—often on a correct presentiment of evil and wrong—even though, as we must admit, that in their utterance more or less of passion and exaggeration reveals itself, and that individual prejudices are not unfrequently mixed up with them. But now seldom, in the ebbing and flooding tide, in the ever-changing course of the stream of public opinion, flows there aught that truly deserves to be called a public judgment. And yet public opinion is even that on which, in this respect, and relatively to the theme of our present Lecture, every thing mainly and principally turns.