It is strange to find non-Christians arguing that the persistence of the Christian belief is a sign of its utility; it is no more so than it is of its truth. Christianity did not make good men what they are, but good men have made Christianity what it is. Besides, a false belief cannot possibly serve a good purpose after its real character has become known. Mr. Fielding urges[46] that whatever exists, whatever persists, does so because it fills a want, because it is of use. He points his argument by alluding to the fact that when anything is useless it atrophies, and he instances how the snake and the whale have lost their legs, human kind their hairy skin and keener sense of smell, and so on. In this simile he is making an assertion which begs the question. He assumes that supernatural belief is not an atrophied organ; the Rationalist contends that it is, and that it has been proved to be so. Belief, indeed, is strikingly analogous to an organ which, owing to its having no further useful purpose, has atrophied and become rudimentary. It may have served some purpose in bygone ages; but now, in its present state, it is a source of weakness, like the splint bone of a horse—or rather of danger, like the vermiform appendage of man. The analogy, fortunately, does not hold good in every respect, for a false belief is an appendage of human nature which can be safely, though perhaps not always painlessly, removed. Indeed, it is an open question whether all religion (in its theological sense) is not “an unessential quality which has been mechanically attached to it, and which, consequently, it may at any time throw off without experiencing any serious loss.”[47]
(h) IS A NEW RELIGION[48] REQUIRED?
If the latter be a correct estimate of the place religion occupies in man’s nature, it furnishes a reply to one of the objections to Agnostic propaganda—the objection that, before we discard an existing belief, we must be prepared to substitute a new belief in its place. It is this objection that has given rise to those speculative philosophies which the common sense of the vast majority has rightly decided are unsatisfactory; a decision that the Church has not unnaturally seized upon as a triumphant vindication of the truth of Christianity.
Against this objection to militant Rationalism, this plea for silence, I may be permitted to enter my protest in the weighty words of a well-known writer. “It is alleged,” says the author of Supernatural Religion, “that, before existing belief is disturbed, the iconoclast is bound to provide a substitute for the shattered idol. To this we may reply that speech or silence does not alter the reality of things. The recognition of truth cannot be made dependent on consequences, or be trammelled by considerations of spurious expediency. Its declaration in a serious and suitable manner to those who are capable of judging can never be premature. Its suppression cannot be effectual, and is only a humiliating compromise with conscious imposture. In so far as morality is concerned, belief in a system of future rewards and punishments, although of an intensely degraded character, may, to a certain extent, have promoted observance of the letter of the law in darker ages, and even in our own times; but it may, we think, be shown that education and civilisation have done infinitely more to enforce its spirit. How far Christianity has promoted education and civilisation we shall not here venture adequately to discuss. We may emphatically assert, however, that whatever beneficial effect Christianity has produced has been due, not to its supernatural dogmas, but to its simple morality. Dogmatic theology, on the contrary, has retarded education and impeded science.... Even now the friction of theological resistance is a constant waste of intellectual power.... The choice of a noble life is no longer a theological question, and ecclesiastical patents of truth and uprightness have finally expired. Morality, which has ever changed its complexion and modified its injunctions according to social requirements, will necessarily be enforced as part of human evolution, and is not dependent on religious terrorism or superstitious persuasion. If we are disposed to say: Cui bono? and only practise morality, or be ruled by right principles, to gain a heaven or escape a hell, there is nothing lost, for such a grudging and calculated morality is merely a spurious imitation which can as well be produced by social compulsion.”[49] “If,” as George Eliot once pithily remarked, “you feel no motive to common morality but a criminal bar in heaven, you are decidedly a man for the police on earth to keep their eye upon.”
(i) WHY BE SO IMPATIENT OF ERROR?
There is one more argument against militant Rationalism which demands our attention. “Why should we be so impatient of error?” asks Sir Leslie Stephen. “The enormous majority of the race has, on any hypothesis, been plunged in superstitions of various kinds, and, on the whole, it has found that it could thrive and be decently happy and contented in its ignorance. Science declines to accept catastrophes; and no catastrophe would be more startling than a sudden dispersal of the mists that have obscured the human intelligence for so many ages. If they grow a little thinner in our time, we may well be content; but is it not childish to be impatient about the rate of development of these vast secular [age-long] processes? Why be in such a hurry to ‘change the errors of the Church of Rome for those of the Church of the Future’?”[50] I hope I have already answered this question to the satisfaction of some at least of my readers. I have shown that there is a very real danger in further concealment—in keeping up the farce. But let this pass. The reason why we should be impatient of error—why the truth should be told—is that the elimination of error will usher in an era of greater happiness.
In order that we may the more clearly perceive this, I shall now conclude this book with a rapid survey of the arguments for Rationalism.
§ 4. The Outlook.
When Rationalism reigns supreme,—