Here there is no room for evasion—the issue is clear; the cause to be adjudged by combat is unmistakable. As the weapons on both sides must necessarily be literary—the pen, and not lance or spear, it is advisable to say a few words thereupon. In argument I do not recognize that style of logic which considers that the words "it may be" are equal to "it is."
I am induced to make this remark, because in theological works, the two forms are constantly used as if they were identical. Many years ago, a near relative, staying in my house, was preparing for ordination in the Church of England, and amongst other hooks, had a certain work of the late Cardinal Wiseman, for perusal—with the intention of collecting materials for refuting it. He told me that the Papal Archbishop was too strong for him, and requested my aid. As a result, I became familiar, not only with many dogmatic writings of the Roman, but also of the Anglican, Church. All of them had, in my estimation, the same logical fault. Their authors imagined that any given point is proved when it can be shown that the occurrence in question may have happened. At a subsequent period I discovered that this was the prevalent argument amongst writers in my own profession. It has, indeed, been supposed generally, that success in proving an opponent to be wrong, is the same as demonstrating your own propositions to be right.
The writers in the Speaker's Commentary upon the Bible have not advanced beyond this. A thousand such commonplaces as fill its pages, are worthless to the philosophical inquirer, and I no more regard them, than a knight would a targe and lance made of barley-sugar.
My challenge, however, is not confined to the subject of the Old Testament; I affirm that the New Testament is equally untrue—although not to the same degree. Yet, as in the latter, there are not so many asserted facts, there cannot be so many points for cavil. To be more specific: I assert that the history of Jesus was framed upon that of Sakya Muni, and very probably at Alexandria, long after the death of the son of Mary. I do not deny the existence of Jesus; but I assert that every miracle which is told respecting him—and the narrative of his miraculous conception, and of the marvels occurring at his birth, have no foundation in fact.
It is unnecessary to repeat what I have already said upon such points as "original sin," "the fall of man," and "the need of a Saviour."
In what I now say or write, I am perfectly honest. I have not been paid to preach a certain doctrine, whether my understanding assents to it or not I affirm, moreover, that the comfort in which I live, is wholly unbroken by any fears for the future; and that I look back upon the period when my days and nights were made wretched by superstition, and rejoice that I am emancipated from the shackles of Ecclesiastics. "The Church," and every sect of it, which is known in Christendom, is, in my opinion, unfit to be trusted by thoughtful human beings. Its votaries are only happy in proportion to their power of forgetting its doctrines, or explaining them away. Yet all, as I said in the first chapter of my second volume, agree "to make believe," and by dint of persistently doing so, end in persuading themselves that they are clothed with lovely garments—which have no existence, save in the opinion of the wearer.
My whole life has been passed amongst religionists of more or less piety. I have known them in public and in private, in their connection with the world, and their relations with wife, children, and servants. I am also familiar with some who are avowed free-thinkers. As an impartial judge, and certainly having the desire to be an honest one, I declare that the so-called irreligion or infidelity of the latter makes them better citizens of the world, better fathers of a family, and better priests to those who are struggling with misfortune, than the religion—orthodox or non-conformist—of the former induces them to become.
If there were in reality, as there was once in fable, a domain in which every one was constrained to speak the truth; and if, still farther, one could carry thereto every religionist, and inquire into his belief, I feel sure that those whom the professed Christians affect to despise as infidels, would be the only ones who would be found faithful in private, to the principles which they profess in public. If, for an example, the question were put to both "What is honesty?" the answer of the free-thinkers would be—"Doing to others, in every position of life, that which you would wish others to do to you;" the reply of the dogmatic would be the same, with the important addition—"Except in matters of faith."
My readers must not imagine that I am hasty or unscrupulous in what is passing from my mind to my pen. There never was a time in which I have felt more deeply that my duty, as an independent man, is to speak plainly. On the other hand, there is not one single religionist of my acquaintance, to whom the words—"Ye know not what manner of spirit ye are of" (Luke ix. 55)—do not apply.
On the shelves of my library are books written by almost all classes of authors, and in many different languages. It has been a self-enforced duty to compare their contents, and to endeavour, still further, to elicit from those who are not writers, information which may assist me in forming a correct idea upon any particular point. Up to the present time I have not found one single work, which has relation to the religion of opponents, and is written by a parson, thoroughly trustworthy or honest Everyone is guilty, either of the suppressio veri or suggestio falsi—generally of both. A book emanating from a priest is bad, that from a bishop is worse. Colenso, whom I regard as the only thoroughly truthful member of the episcopal hierarchy, is the one who is more foully treated by religionists than any other minister has ever been—"Tis true, 'tis pity, and pity 'tis, 'tis true."