If men would be strong in the faith, and strong in its defence, they should accept nothing as part of their creed but what is strictly true.
There are passages which speak of the sun smiting men by day, and there is one at least which speaks of the moon smiting men by night, and both, for any thing I know, may be literally true. But suppose it were proved that neither the sun nor the moon ever smites men, would my faith in Christianity, or in the divine inspiration of the Bible, be shaken thereby? Not at all. Nor would it destroy or weaken the effect of the passages on my mind in which those allusions to the sun and moon occur. I should still believe in the substantial truth of the passages, namely, that, day and night, the good man is secure under the protection of God.
A man says that he has lately been under 'disastrous influences.' Literally, the words disastrous influences mean the influences of unfriendly stars. But there are no unfriendly stars. Then why does he use such an expression? Because, though it does not now in its current meaning refer to the stars at all, it means calamitous, unfavorable, influences. I do not believe that the sun like a strong man runs a race: I believe its motion is only apparent,—that the real motion is in the earth. But do I therefore question the divine inspiration of the Bible which uses that expression? Not at all; for the words are substantially true. And so in a hundred other cases.
And so in passages of other kinds. It does not matter to me whether the account of creation in Genesis answers literally to the real processes revealed by Geology, or whether the account of the flood answers exactly to past facts. Both accounts are perfect as lessons of divine truth and duty, and that is enough.
Those who undertake to prove that every passage of the Bible is literally true, must fail. If they were all literally true, they would never have done. There are more difficult passages, and more apparent little contradictions, than any man could go through in a life-time. I would no more undertake such a task than I would undertake to prove that every leaf, and every flower, and every seed, of every plant on earth is perfect, and that each is exactly like its fellows. God's honor and man's welfare are as much concerned in the one as in the other. They are concerned in neither. The leaves, the flowers, and the seeds of plants are right enough,—they are as perfect as they need to be,—and I ask no more. And the Bible is as perfect as it needs to be, and I am satisfied.
The following is abridged from a work entitled Christianity and our Era, by the Rev. G. Gilfillan of Scotland.
Mr. Gilfillan speaks of it as a 'Generally admitted fact, that there is a human, as well as a divine element in Scripture,' and adds, 'that this should modify our judgment in considering perplexing discrepancies and minor objections. There are spots in the sun; there are bogs on the earth; and why should the perplexities in a book, which is a multifarious collection of poetico-theological and historical tracts, written in various ages, and subject, in their history, to many human vicissitudes, bewilder and appal us? The candid inquirer will be satisfied if, from the unity of spirit, the truth and simplicity of manner, the majesty of thought, the heavenliness of tone, and the various collateral and external proofs, he gathers a general inspiration in the Bible, and the general truth of Christianity. Logical strictness, perfect historic accuracy, systematic arrangement, etc., could not be expected in a book of intuitions and bursts of inspiration; the authors of which seemed often the child-like organs of the power within. It seemed enough that there should be no wilful mis-statements, and no errors but those arising from the inevitable conditions to which all writings are liable. The skeptic who proceeds to peruse the Bible, expecting it everywhere to be conformable to the highest ideal standard—that there shall be nothing to perplex his understanding, to try his belief, or to offend his taste, will be disappointed, and will either give up his task, or go on in weariness and hesitation. On the other hand, if he be told to prepare for historical discrepancies, for staggering statements, for phrases more plain than elegant, and for sentences of inscrutable darkness, he will be far more likely to come to a satisfactory conclusion. And the apparent dark spots will only serve to increase the surrounding splendor. We therefore cry to the skeptic who purposes to explore the region of revelation; 'We promise you no pavement of gold; you will find your path an Alpine road, steep, rugged, with profound chasms below, and giddy precipices above, and thick mists often closing in around, but rewarding you by prospects of ineffable loveliness, by gleams of far-revealing light, and delighting you with a thousand unearthly pleasures. Try this pass, with a sincere desire to come at truth, and with hope and courage in your hearts, and you will be richly rewarded, and the toils of the ascent will seem to you afterwards only a portion of your triumph.'
One writer gives the following definition of inspiration. 'A supernatural, divine influence on the sacred writers, by which they were qualified to communicate moral and religious truth with authority.'
This is tolerable.
Another writer says, 'It is a miraculous influence, by which men are enabled to receive and communicate divine truth.'