If we now pause for a moment to compare one thing with another, we readily see that Hymen may fairly be described as the angel of the covenant of marriage, and that Mercury is identical with Raphael. The "genius loci," the "dryad" or "hamadryad," is the counterpart of the cherubim guarding the ark and the mercyseat of the Jewish temple. Apollo is the angel in the sun (Rev. xix. 17.) Neptune is "the angel of the waters" (Rev. xvi. 5.) Nay, we may—indeed we must go further, and affirm that either the angel Gabriel, or "the power of the Highest," which, we are told in Luke i. 26, 35, overshadowed Mary, the espoused wife of Joseph, is a perfect counterpart of the Hellenic Jupiter who overshadowed Alcmena.
Both produced a being equally celebrated—for we may fairly assert that Hercules was believed in by as many individuals as have faith in Jesus. For ourselves, we do not credit the myth of the Hellenists; of the very existence of a Hercules we are profoundly incredulous. Yet we do not doubt for a moment that Jesus of Nazareth lived as a man upon this earth, and founded, with the subsequent assistance of Paul, the religion which is called Christian. But of the supernatural conception of Mary and of her impregnation by a deity we are intensely sceptical.
Of the theology of the Romans in the times prior to, and somewhat subsequent to, our era, we need say little. It resembled both the Etruscan and the Greek at the first, and subsequently it was modified by the Egyptian and by the Persian. But it was in Rome, whilst pagan, that the present pictorial type of angels was perfected (see Plates ix. to xiii, Lajard's Culte de Venus), in which allegorical figures, from old Roman bas-reliefs, precisely like modern angels, are represented killing the Mithraic bull. I may also add, in passing, that the crozier borne by Romanist bishops is a reproduction of the Etruscan lituus, the augurs' or diviners' staff of office.
The Roman nation, like the Papist and Peruvian religions, was omnivorous, and not only venerated the old gods of the soil, but adopted new divinities eagerly. Whoever chose to import a new deity, and a novel style of worship was hailed, patronized and enriched, much in the same way as at London during recent times, Mesmerists, "spirit rappers," "cord-conjurors," clairvoyants, male and female, spiritualists like Home, very High Churchmen, and many other classes of a similar stamp have been encouraged. As in Athens, we are told that "the Athenians and strangers which were there spent their time in nothing else but either to tell or to hear some new thing" (Acts xvii), no matter whether the novelty was religious or otherwise, so it has been elsewhere. London really, and Rome metaphorically are constantly adopting new ideas, some highly commendable and philosophical, others quite the reverse. Amongst the latter, we may mention that which professes that a certain man can, like Jesus is said to have done, heal by a touch. This assertion, however, is only sparsely credited on the Thames. Far more general is the belief which professes, that an Ecumenical Council can by a vote make one man and his official successors "infallible."
We cannot pass by this subject without remarking that instability in religion is evidence of infidelity; and the adoption of new tenets is a proof of the low estimation in which old ones have been held. Even the new, or Christian dispensation, as it is called, is founded upon the insufficiency of the old or Jewish covenant, which, by those who adopt the one, is a confession that they believe the other was imperfect and therefore not of God. Consequently, when we find a "church," like the Roman, habitually patching its old clothes, we conclude that its leaders are dissatisfied with them and desire better. A lover who finds his mistress perfect neither seeks nor wishes to change her for another; nor endeavours to induce her to modify her attire until he is dissatisfied therewith. When he insists upon an alteration it is because his ardent love has faded. The philosopher may see clearly why certain prelates desire to have some infallible man to appeal to—for it is easier to find out the opinion of one individual than to harmonize the contradictory hypotheses of fifty dogmatical or authoritative writers. Yet the same man will not fail to see that such a proceeding, whilst it strengthens the hold of the church upon the weak-minded, cuts it adrift from the strong. The policy is not altogether bad, for it seeks to bind closer those who, whilst wearing the chains of captivity, regard them as ornaments. But all those who adopt such tactics ought, boldly and unequivocally, to withdraw from the rank of truth-seekers, and of envoys of that God who is not "the author of confusion but of peace."
We may now proceed to the consideration of the angelic mythology of the Old and New Testaments. In our inquiry we shall endeavour to arrive at the ideas contained in the words which are used, and not content ourselves with simple quotation. There is strong reason to believe that Christians in general rarely examine into the real signification of words which they are taught to use, or which, from some fancy or other, they commit to memory. They imagine—if they think on the subject at all—that to repeat a text or a creed is to perform an act of faith, which, in itself, is praiseworthy and a good work. Such do not, in any appreciable degree, differ from the Thibetans, described by the Abbé Hue, who perform their devotions by turning round upon their axles certain cylinders, upon which some prayers are engraved. Not only these Asiatics, but Europeans of large mental calibre are often contented with vague ideas; and when they are challenged to support "the faith which is in them," show that they have never yet examined it. If, for example, they are asked how they can believe in the truth of such passages, "I have seen God (Kohim) face to face" (Gen. xxxii. 30); "The Lord (Jehovah) spake unto Moses face to face as a man speaketh unto his friend" (Exod. xxxiii. 11); "Moses whom the Lord knew face to face" (Deut. xxxiv. 10), and the opposite one, "Thou canst not see my face, for there shall no man see me and live" (Exod. xxxiii. 20)—the sole reply rendered is that the first passages are figurative, passing by entirely the comparison in the second, which asserts that God talked with Moses as one friend with another.
As a farther illustration of my meaning, I may point to the glibness with which Christians talk, sing, and listen to discourses about blood. If people really gave heed to what they chant, and to the words of their ministers, they would really be puzzled to find a distinction between the god whom they worship and that idol deity of Mexico, which called constantly for the hearts and the blood of his worshippers. "Without shedding of blood is no remission" (Heb. ix. 22) is a dogma that puts the Europeans' God on the same level as the deities worshipped in pagan Africa, New Zealand, and by the Anthropophagi generally.
In like manner, if ordinary people are asked to reconcile such passages as the following—"Who maketh his angels spirits;" "A spirit hath not flesh and bones as ye see me have" (Luke xxiv. 39)—with a host of others, in which angels are said to have appeared, talked, and acted like men, they allege that "much of the phraseology of the Bible is metaphorical." But if it be granted that the language is metaphorical, must we not equally believe that the facts referred to are mythical; and if so, how much of the so-called inspired book can we trust? If metaphor and figure-imagery are cities of refuge for theologians, those who fly to them must remember, that there they must remain and live therein all their days; they cannot be citizens of the world, and yet never leave their asylum: if, for them, facts are fictions, by parity of reason fictions are facts.
If, when an individual, said to be a prophet, and, as such, the mouthpiece of the Holy Ghost or of Jehovah, tells us that he saw and talked with an angel, who imparted to him such and such information, we are bound either to believe the whole statement or to reject it as valueless, quoad revelation. If the man did see an angel, and that angel spoke, it must have been material; and if material, it could not be a spirit, and if not a spirit, it was not an angel.* If to this it be answered that individuals do see what they deem to be spirits—just as many a drunken man avers that he sees "blue devils," we grant it at once. We go still farther, and state that we know individuals in full possession, apparently, of all their senses, who see, occasionally, men, women, horses, dogs, and other things, which have no more existence than the figures which appear to us in dreams. Such men not only see imaginary beings, but they hear conversations or speeches which have no reality in them. But we cannot for a moment allow that such delusions of the senses are sterling, and such utterances, messages from the Almighty delivered by angels. To be logical, therefore, the theologian must either accept the stories told in the Bible about angelic beings as literally true, to the exclusion of all metaphor, or believe that every thing tainted by such celestial mythology is entirely of human invention.
* The authority for this is Ps. civ. 4; Heb. L 7, 14,—"Who
maketh his angels spirits;" "Are they not all ministering
spirits?"