This is a tract issued in the author's apprehension that our popular view of Christianity is false, our conception of the Hebrew and Greek Bible altogether hidebound and deadening, our notion of the Deity a picture that is doomed to destruction in the face of science. As it is a sincere scheme of individual opinion (though not of original opinion, being largely made up of graftings from a certain recognizable class of modern scholars), it could only be finally disposed of by following it up root and branch in nearly all its details, at the cost of writing a much larger book. No opponent will be likely to give it so much importance. For our part, we are quite content to exhibit a little tableau of the main theory advanced, and let this tableau speak for itself.
We should perhaps begin with Mr. Arnold's matter, but it is hard to represent him at all without doing some preliminary justice to his manner—his attitude toward the Christian public, his dogma of urbanity, and the value of his way of putting things as a likelihood of making converts. This is the more appropriate as he thinks the Founder of Christianity, and its chief promulgators, such as Peter and Paul, gained most of their successes through manner. "Mildness and sweet reasonableness" he believes to be the characteristic of Christ's teaching—a presentment of truths long afloat in the Jewish mind so winningly and persuasively that they became new and profound convictions in all minds; and he believes that when these characteristics were withdrawn or veiled the teaching was so far ineffectual; that when Christ, addressing the Pharisees, abandoned "the mild, uncontentious, winning, inward mode of working," there was no chance at all of His gaining the persons at whom His sayings were launched; and that Saint Paul certainly had no chance of convincing those whom he calls "dogs." Now, it is inevitable for us to ask ourselves what chance Mr. Arnold, undertaking the most delicate and critical crusade that can possibly be imagined against the dearest opinions of almost everybody, will have with his method. The hard hits which the Pharisees got, and which the early churches sometimes received from Paul, were direct, terrible blows, adapted to a primitive age: Mr. Arnold's hits, full of grace and sting, are adapted to our own age, and are rather worse. When he calls Pius IX. the amiable old pessimist in Saint Peter's chair, or when he calls Dr. Marsh, an Anglican divine who had hung in the railway stations some sets of biblical questions and answers which he does not approve, a "venerable and amiable Coryphaeus of our evangelical party," he uses expressions that will lash the ordinary Catholic and Churchman of his audience harder than the fisherwoman was lashed in being called an isosceles and a parallelopipedon. Not much more "sweetly reasonable" will he seem to the ordinary Cantab. when he says that the Cambridge addiction to muscularity would have sent the college, but for the Hebrew religion, "in procession, vice-chancellor, bedels, masters, scholars, and all, in spite of the professor of modern philosophy, to the temple of Aphrodite;" nor anymore "sweetly reasonable" will he seem to the ordinary innocent, conventional Churchman in asserting that the God of righteousness is displeased and disserved by men uttering such doggerel hymns as "Out of my stony griefs Bethel I'll raise," and "My Jesus to know, and feel His blood flow;" or in asserting that the modern preacher, who calls people infidels for false views of the Bible, should have the epithet returned upon him for his own false views; and that it would be just for us to say, "The bishop of So-and-so, the dean of So-and-so, and other infidel laborers of the present day;" or "That rampant infidel, the archdeacon of So-and-so, in his recent letter on the Athanasian creed;" or "The Rock, the Church Times, and the rest of the infidel press;" or "The torrent of infidelity which pours every Sunday from our pulpits! Just it would be," pursues the author, "and by no means inurbane; but hardly, perhaps, Christian." The question is not so much whether such allocutions are Christian—which they possibly may be in Mr. Arnold's clearer aether—as whether they are adapted to his purpose of winning. He manages here and there, indeed, in trying on his new conceptions of old truths, to be exquisitely offensive. It will seem like trifling, and it will keenly wound, for instance, the person of ordinary piety, to have his "Holy Ghost," his promised "Comforter," called "the Paraclete that Jesus promised, the Muse of righteousness, the Muse of humanity," and to have this solemn Mystery lightly offset against the literary Muse, "the same who no doubt visits the bishop of Gloucester when he sits in his palace meditating on Personality." But he becomes most elaborately and carefully outrageous when, combating this same idea of Personality in the Holy Trinity, he calls it "the fairy-tale of the three Lord Shaftesburys," in allusion to a parable which he is at the pains of constructing about a first Lord Shaftesbury, who is a judge with a crowd of vile offenders, and a second Lord Shaftesbury, who takes their punishment, and a third Lord Shaftesbury, "who keeps very much in the background and works in a very occult manner." This seems like the talk not of a man who wishes to convince, but who wishes to wound: it appears to be completely parallel with the method of those dissenters, whom Mr. Arnold is never tired of inveighing against, who use invective because Christ used it, and who hurl epithets at a state church or titles. As for the new light which Mr. Arnold has to shed on the Bible and religion, it is a recasting in his own way of the old interpretation. He deals with miracles as Renan deals with them, believing that credence in "thaumaturgy" will drop off from the human mind as credence in witchcraft has done—that Lazarus underwent resurrection, since, having found the Life, he had passed through the state of death. The Hebrew God he believes to have been a conception, not positive and pictorial as ours is apt to be (influenced, perhaps, though Mr. Arnold does not say so, by the efforts of Christian art), but a tendency to righteousness, a current of superior virtue, plain enough to the Oriental mind without mere personality; yet it may be objected to this that the Oriental mind made for a personal God, when Jesus came, as delightedly as our Aryan race could do. It is not, however, our purpose to expose much of Mr. Arnold's theory. It will be accepted by some as the last effectual mingling of literary grace and spiritual insight; but others, especially when they find him saying that conduct cannot be perfected except by culture, will think this work the sheep's head and shoulders covering the bust of a Voltaire.
Rhymes Atween Times. By Thomas MacKellar. Philadelphia: J.B. Lippincott &Co.
When we find actually embalmed in a book the simple and touching song, "Let me kiss him for his mother," our first inclination is to take all its merit for granted and hurry by, capping the matter as we pass with the inevitable quotation which also begins with a let me, and refers to making the songs of a people, with infinitive contempt for the adjustment of their laws. The people for whom Mr. MacKellar's ballad was made, being young women in ringlets who press the suburban piano, have, we may reasonably hope, small need of the law any how, and we may be pretty sure that the verses which have touched the great popular heart are made in a spirit which is better than any law, even the law of metre. On reading attentively the poem in question we find a touching theme handled with simplicity, and in a certain sense earning its popular place, though no poem could possibly be so good as the simple fact—an ancient woman in a hospital at New Orleans arresting the coffin-lid they were placing over a young fever-patient from the North with the natural impulse, "Stop! let me kiss him for his mother!" That little sunbeam of pure feeling, sent straight from the affections of the people, is the real poet in the affair, though Mr. MacKellar has succeeded in investing himself with its simplicity, supporting his subject with tenderness and directness. When a writer happens, with luck in his theme and luck in his mood, to strike such a keynote, he is astonished in a moment by a mighty and impressive diapason, a whole nation breaking into song at the bid of his whisper. Mr. MacKellar doubtless would think it strange, and a little hard to be told, that this trifle outweighs the whole bulk, body and sum of his collection. He is a writer of old acceptance and experience, who began to rhyme long ago in Neal's Gazette, with "occasional verses" about "no poetry in a hat"—a question which was bandied, in the fashion of the times, through half a dozen assertions and replies, assisted by voluntaries from the public. A stage-ride from New York to Singsing at that day was something of an adventure, affording a subject for six cantos, which Neal was doubtless very glad to get for his journal. Neal's death, and the parting with Henry Reed and Dr. Kane, with some other local changes, extracted short laments from the author, whose tone is nevertheless usually cheerful and canny; but his ballad is his best.
Books Received.
The Philosophy of Art. By H. Taine, Professor of Aesthetics and of History of Art in the École des Beaux-Arts, Paris. Translated by John Durand. Second edition. Thoroughly revised by the translator. New York: Holt & Williams.
Fleurange: A Novel. From the French of Madame Augustus Craven, author of "A Sister's Story," "Anne Severin," etc. Translated by M.M.R. New York: Holt & Williams.
Love is Enough; or, The Freeing of Pharamond. By William Morris. Boston: Roberts Brothers.