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]