by Joseph Parker (1867)

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Ch. XVIII: The Relation of the Cross to Practical Morals

Are men at liberty to live as though the cross of Jesus Christ had never been introduced into human history? Or does the very fact of the existence of that cross involve responsibility on the part of men? This inquiry leads to the consideration of the practical aspects of Christ’s work.

We have said that Christ’s morality was the active side of his theology—not something added to it, or made to be collateral with it, but essentially part of it, so essentially to as to have no existence without it. This position is amply sustained by the Sermon on the Mount. One expression in that sermon seems to govern the whole doctrine; the expression occurs again and again, with so much gravity that the hearers must have felt themselves in immediate contact with the divine mind: the words are—“Father which is in heaven.” It is interesting to mark with what ease Jesus Christ finds his way from the commonest subjects of his discourse to his Father, and how he varies the expression from my Father, to your Father, as if he were addressing his younger brothers. For example, when he teaches the love of enemies, he gives as the reason—“That ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven”—when he refers to the dispositions and courtesies of the Christian life, inculcating a deeper love and a wider salutation than the publicans exemplified, he says, “Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect”—when he teaches respecting alms, and fasting and prayer, he warns his disciples against so acting as to “have no reward of your Father which is in heaven”—and when he refers to the conditions of of entrance into the heavenly kingdom, he states explicitly that “not every one that saith, Lord Lord, shall enter, but he that does the will of my Father which is in heaven.” This lofty expression can alone interpret the morality of the Sermon on the Mount; it is a heavenly morality; the sources of its inspiration and the rewards of its practice are divine. There is nothing earthly in the tone; there is nothing earthly in the motive; there is nothing earthly in the result.

Look for a moment at the complete unselfishness of the manhood that would be trained by such doctrine. From beginning to end the discourse leads man away from himself: and to what does it lead him? It leads him to the cross: throughout we have discipline, self-denial, crucifixion. The cross of Christ was as truly, though not as visibly, set up on this mountain as on Calvary. Christ graduated the revelation of the cross so wisely that at first men did not see it; but, after the full revelation came, every introductory word acquired its true meaning, and was seen in its relation towards the great end. A few references will show how the cross was to be the agent in discipline, and how the whole life of man was to be constantly tried by the test of crucifixion. The offending right eye is to be plucked out; the offending hand is to be cut off; the man is to go to the offended brother, not to wait for the offended brother to come to him; the natural love of display is to be mortified, so that giving, fasting and praying may be done in secret; thought of life is to be given up; perishable treasures are not to be amassed; and men are to prepare for a strait gate and a narrow way. What is all this but the cross? What but the spirit of crucifixion can bring a man to unresisting suffering, to give his cloak as well as his coat, to go two miles instead of one, to give and lend to those who ask and borrow? These “sayings” cannot be understood until crucifixion has been endured. They were, therefore, hard words with which to open a mission among selfish men, and their utterance at an early period in his ministry instead of its close shows incidentally how Christ came to put the first last and the last first. It has been said that what is known as the evangelical element is absent from the Sermon on the Mount; but no misconception can be greater. Let any mere theorist attempt to “do these sayings of mine,” and he will find that through every step of the process he will require the help of Jesus Christ, and to feel that is to be conscious of the necessity of the evangelical element. At this point of consciousness the dominion of self is broken up; the theorist feels his weakness, and reaches the crisis when his destiny is determined—he must then build his house either on the rock or on the sand. It is to be observed that Jesus Christ does not offer his sermon as a theory of morals, but as a moral code which is to be embodied in actual life; so long as men look it as a theory, they will expose themselves to all the dangers of partial and misguided speculation. But when they attempt to do it, they will be driven to ask the speaker himself how it is to be done, for he only can show how a man can conquer his own nature, and set at defiance the bad influences of unchristian society. The first thing, therefore, that is done in any honest attempt to carry Christ’s doctrines into practice, is to fight a decisive battle with one’s own selfishness. We begin where Christ began; he began at the cross, and from that eminence of suffering love, taught that self-denial was the indispensable condition of membership in his society.

But is the motive suggested by Jesus Christ sufficient to enable a man to overcome opposing forces?—or is man called to an impracticable morality? Christ suggests one motive—the reproduction of the nature of God: “Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father in heaven is perfect; that ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven.” He thus says that the man who attempts to carry out his morality will be moving towards God, will be getting away from the earthly and advancing towards the heavenly; lest the man should fail as he thinks of his own ignorance and weakness, Jesus Christ tells him that all the resources of God are at his disposal; he has to but ask, that he may receive—but to seek, that he may find. And if any misgiving should arise as to the willingness of God to help him by heavenly gifts, he is chided by these words: “If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more  shall your heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to them that ask him?” Now is it worthwhile to be like God? The great issue which Jesus Christ puts before men is—Go higher, or go lower, be the children of your Father which is in heaven, or grow away from him into more and more hideous moral decrepitude; if you do these sayings of mine, you shall be like God; if you do them not, you shall be carried away by the floods and the storm.

In general terms, the case may be put thus: In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus Christ lays down the doctrine of complete unselfishness as the cardinal doctrine of his kingdom, and assures all who wish to learn that doctrine that they may look to God for every help they can ever require. The term unselfishness, as here employed, is used in the inclusive sense of mortifying bad personal instincts and extending to others the most magnanimous and beneficent consideration. Man comes to the latter through the former. God has no occasion to do the former; his nature is love, and every motion towards love is consequently a motion towards himself. This is a general view of the Sermon on the Mount; it may be useful to sustain it by going a little into detail.

The description of the “blessed” with which the sermon opens is a magnificent display of conquest over self. The “poor in spirit” are first blessed; they are empty of pride, of self-defense, of self-satisfaction; they see themselves in their precise relation to God, and before him they utter no boast: the mourners, the meek, and the merciful are entirely unoccupied with self. When a man is his own god, why should he mourn? When a man is sovereign, why should he be meek? When a man is self-enclosed, why should he be merciful? They who hunger and thirst after righteousness plainly declare that they drink not of their own well, but go out of themselves for spiritual satisfaction: the pure in heart and the peacemakers happily combine reverence for God with goodwill towards men, both of which are incompatible with self-idolatry; and “they which are persecuted for righteousness’ sake” are evidently superior to selfish indulgence and comfort. Meekness, mercy, purity, and peace; self-poverty, mourning, desire after righteousness, and uncomplaining suffering for Christ’s sake, all lie quite beyond the sphere of common attainment; yet Christ calls them, so to speak, and them alone, around him, to be crowned openly with his blessing. Is there a single stain of selfishness in any one of them? All the blessed men are good men; all the good men partake of the very nature of him who blesses them. The Beautitudes constitute a complete delineation of Jesus Christ himself: he was poor in spirit, he mourned; he was meek, merciful, pure in heart and peaceful: his meat and his drink were to do his Father’s will; he was preeminent among those who were persecuted for righteousness’ sake. His power was thus derived from his own enjoyment of blessing, so that he could, in the deepest sense, say, “The words that I speak unto you, they are spirit, and they are life.” The blessed man himself told how other men might be blessed. He preached, not a sermon that he had learned, but a sermon that he had lived. What would be the effect if society were composed of such men as are described in the Beatitudes? This is Christ’s aim, and its loftiness warrants his followers in claiming for Jesus Christ’s doctrine the most practical moral design. 

The manner in which he calls his disciples to the accomplishment of this design is marked by the highest wisdom. With what appears to us as a most startling abruptness, he tells them that they are the salt of the earth, and the light of the world; what more, then, could be required of them? Instead of abusing them, he told them what high things were expected of them, and by so much he gave them power to achieve them. He first recognized the dignity and force of manhood, and then with inimitable grace remarked upon the uses to which high powers might be put. He said, “Ye are the salt of the earth, but remember that salt may lose its savor; ye are the light of the world, but remember that a candle may be put under a bushel.” Here is a beautiful distinction between the essential and the accidental—between the capacities of human nature and the uses to which those capacities may be put. Men are first to be encouraged, then to be directed; their native dignity is to be saved from bad applications; and they are to feel the responsibility of possessing a great nature. Men are not to be trained by being scoffed at, nor are they to be stimulated by any attack confined merely to their practical abusers. Christ begins with the other word of honor, and then passes to the word of caution: he says, “You are great, don’t prostitute your greatness; you are influential, don’t lose your influence.” What would be the effect of such teaching upon the moral development of society? It would give men a right conception of their powers, and prepare them for diving counsels as to their occupation. This is what Jesus Christ himself proposes to do. He saves the savor of the salt, and puts the light where it can give light to all that are in the house. Do the non-Christian moralists purpose any higher work? It can only be for want of careful examination of his purposes and methods, that they hesitate to take their places in the school of Jesus Christ. It should be remembered, too, that Christ does not throw discredit upon the dispensations which he came to fulfill and supersede. He would not have it thought that he came to destroy the law or the prophets, nor would he have one of the least of these commandments set at nought. Still, the righteousness of the Scribes and Pharisees was to be exceeded, otherwise the kingdom of heaven could not be entered. In this twofold representation, Jesus Christ honored human nature, and honored the means of educating it, which had prevailed from the giving of the law and the ministry of the prophets. He did not accuse them of error; he pointed out their incompleteness. He would not allow men to start off on the plea that if the law had been better they would have been better too: the law was held in its integrity; it was good for the whole period in which God designed it to be operative; still it was only a schoolmaster to bring men to Christ, and now the higher teacher began the higher education.

The base of that education was intensely spiritual—uncaused anger he declared to be murder, lustful desires he set down as adultery. He gave, too, deeper interpretations of the maxims and laws on which human intercourse had hitherto proceeded; and the noticeable feature throughout is that elevation—nothing is relaxed, nothing diminished, the whole scheme of training is raised to the highest level; not only are the hands to be clean, but the heart is to be without a stain; not only must outward law be satisfied, but spiritual law must be honored. The stream must be cleansed by the purification of the fountain. The fruit was to be made good by first making the tree good. Can the non-Christian moralists excel this idea of reformation and advancement of human society and human interests? If men please, they may attempt to make a watch keep time by altering the hands, but the only wise plan is to correct the internal action. Jesus Christ went to the mainspring of human life: while the Pharisees washed their hands, he sought to cleanse men’s hearts; while others criticized the action, he pronounced upon the motive.

The results of this spiritual education were to be seen in the entire course of life; to be seen, for example, in the common use of language; words were to be the truthful expression of the heart. “Let your communication be Yea, yea: Nay, nay: for whosoever is more than those cometh of evil.” Men had so distrusted one another that only an oath could be accepted as a pledge of sincerity—“Kneel with me—swear it—’tis not in words I trust, Save when they’re fenced with an appeal to heaven,” was the rough creed of nearly every class of society. This was to be thrown away, and men were to hold frank, unselfish, and reliable intercourse with each other. No mental reservations or Jesuitical subtleties were allowed by Christ; words had a moral value assigned them, so that by his speech a man was to be justified or condemned. In perfect accordance with this simplicity of fellowship are the directions respecting secret almsgiving, secret fasting, and secret prayer. The processes are to be marked by the most sincerity, so much so that even God’s eye may not see wrinkle or flaw upon them. Can the non-Christian moralists excel this idea of purity and social honor—this test of homage, and service? These directions upset all that is false in speech, and all that is insincere in action, and set men in a right attitude towards each other and towards God. They are fundamental in spirit, and consequently universal to application, and by so much they prove themselves to have come from one who spake with “authority, and not as the Scribes.”

All the objections which have been urged against Christian morality proceed, apparently, upon a very partial collation or a strange misunderstanding of scriptural statements. An eminent political economist has expressed himself in terms of no ordinary stringency; and, if his indictment be valid, an instant revision of Christian ethics would take place. He says: “Christian morality (so-called) has all the characters of a reaction; it is, in great part, a protest against paganism. Its ideal is negative rather than positive; passive rather than active; innocence rather than nobleness, abstinence from evil rather than energetic pursuit of good. In its precepts (as has been well said), ‘Thou shall not’ predominates unduly over ‘Thou shalt.’ In its horror of sensuality it has made an idol of asceticism, which has been gradually compromised away into one of legality. It holds out the hope of heaven, and the threat of hell, as the appointed and appropriate motives to a virtuous life; in this falling far beyond the best of the ancients, and doing what lies in it to give to human morality an essentially selfish character, by disconnecting each man’s feelings of duty from the interest of his fellow creatures except so far as a self-interested inducement is offered to him for consulting them.” How much latitude may be claimed for the parenthetic “so-called” is not stated; but unless it saves the moral reputation of Jesus Christ and all the Christian writers who alone could teach Christian morality, the description is a caricature and a lie. If men persist in accepting as Christian morality what was never taught by Christ and his apostles, they simply prove themselves immoral. We submit, too, that it would be fair in impeaching Christian morality to cite the particular passages to which object is taken. A general exchange cannot be grappled with, and if a parenthesis be skillfully thrown into that general charge the difficulty is increased to an impossibility. In the quotation just given it is alleged that the ideal of Christian morality is “negative rather than positive, positive rather than active.” Then what is the meaning of words such as, “Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works;” “Whosoever shall do and teach these commandments, the same shall be called great in the kingdom of heaven”; “But be ye doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving your own selves”; “What doth it profit, my brethren, though a man say he hath faith, and have not works; Can faith save him? If a brother or sister be naked and destitute of daily food, and one of you say unto them, Depart in peace, be ye warmed and filled, notwithstanding ye give them not those things that are needful to the body; what doth it profit?” Is this negative rather than positive, positive rather than active? It is further charged that “its ideal is innocence rather than nobleness.” Is it true of the morality taught by Christ and his apostles? “Love your enemies, bless then that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you and persecute you;” “If thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink; for in so doing thou shalt heap coals of fire on his head.” Is this innocence rather than nobleness? Christian morality is further charged with inculcating “ abstinence from evil rather than energetic pursuit of good.” How do the Christian writings testify on this point? “Prove all things; hold fast that which is good;” “Believe not every spirit, but try the spirits whether they are of God;” “To the law and to the testimony; if they speak not according to this law, it is because there is no light in them,” “Abhor that which is evil; cleave to that which is good;” “Hold  that fast which thou hast, that no man may take thy crown.” Is this a “mere abstinence from evil?” It is further charged that, “ ‘Thou shalt not’ predominates unduly over ‘Thou shalt.’” This complaint is unjust. Christian morality legislates for society as it is, and not for society as it might have been—for real and not ideal man. Christian morality had not only to enlighten ignorance, but to restrain evil. We venture to say that, in family training, “Thou shalt not” occupies a large share of the daily instruction that “Thou shalt,” according to the age of the children. It should be remembered, too, that Almighty God himself pronounced the “shalt” and the “shalt not” of the Decalogue; and if he gave the one “undue” prominence over the other, he was unqualified to give any moral commandments. In connection with the moral legislation of the sacred Scriptures, it cannot be too clearly remembered that it was addressed to a fallen race, consequently there was a great negative work to be done; and if “Thou shalt not” was much required, the objector should blame the immorality which necessitated it, and not the morality it was intended to recover. This allegation against the negative aspect of Christian morality can be accounted for only on two grounds: first, upon an ignorance of human nature, which reflects not that legislation should be adapted to the age and capacity of those who need the law; and secondly, an ignorance of the fact that though the form of the legislation is negative, the reasons of the legislation are positive. The objector may forbid his child to enter a certain house; the child sees only the negative aspect of the command, not the positive reason of the commander; nor could he understand that reason, however the parent might attempt to explain it. The first thing to do is not to quarrel with the legislation, but to have faith in the Legislator; and then his word, no matter how difficult to explain, will be received with confidence and honor, and the time of interpretation be waited for with patience.

An objection has been taken to Christian morality from the purely political side. It has been said by the writer already quoted that “while in the morality of the best pagan nations, duty to the State holds a disproportionate place, infringing on the just liberty of the individual, in purely Christian ethics that grand department of duty is scarcely noticed or acknowledged.” If we mistake not—and we have read the purely Christian ethics with some care—this is a superficial and unjust opinion. It should be borne in mind that “the State” is an expression which means different things in different countries; or if it means the same thing substantially, there are endless modifications in the practical use of the term. Purely Christian ethics have a deeper application than the political codes of particular countries; and probably, while saying less about the State than Plato does, they are all the while affecting State life more powerfully than all the formal political treaties that could be written. The “purely Christian ethics” address themselves to man, and not to particular nationalities: when men reduce the purely Christian ethics to practice, their political relations will feel the advantage. Purely Christian ethics say, “Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself:” “Honor all men; love the brotherhood; fear God; honor the king”; “Husbands, love your wives; wives, be in subjection to your husbands”; ”Render unto all their dues, tribute to whom tribute is due, custom to whom custom, fear to whom fear, honor to whom honor”; Render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s, and unto God the things which are God’s.” The vital operation of these principles in the intelligence and conduct of any community, would inaugurate a healthier political era than could be introduced by the most exact statistical tables and the most elaborately detailed political creed. They leave all variations of the State just as the genius of statement may determine, but they go to the heart of the people, and give its impulses and resolutions the highest and purest tone. What if purely Christian ethics had been occupied in advocating one form of government against another, in putting monarchy against democracy, or despotism against constitutionalism? The influence of purely Christian ethics would have been limited, and limitation in moral advantage is essentially opposed to the bounty of the grace of God. We take this political objection to be rather a commendation than a reproach. Politics may be local, but ethics must be universal: a man may be a democrat or a king, a czar or a serf; he may follow Caesar or Brutus, without endangering his destiny by bad character; but the moment a man attempts to accommodate ethics to personal prejudice or passion, he is dangerous to any State. Jesus Christ commanded his disciples to preach the Gospel in “all nations,” a thing which would have been impossible had the Gospel embodied a special political creed; but wherever the Gospel is received, the less is comprehended in the greater; better men become better politicians; larger hearts conceive larger measures; holier consciences call for purer statues; and as kings and citizens are drawn toward the Great Ruler, a new vitality and wider freedom characterize statesmanship and all the relations of public life.

The same writer expresses himself in language more decisive still, if possible; he says, “I am as far as any come from pretending that these defects are necessarily inherent in the Christian ethics, in every manner in which it can be conceived, or that the many requisites of a complete moral doctrine, which it does not contain, do not admit of being reconciled with it. Far less would I insinuate this of the doctrines an precepts of Christ himself. . . . But it is quote consistent with this to believe that they contain, and were meant to contain, only a part of the truth; that many essential elements of the highest morality—[the italics are the transcriber’s]—are among the things which are not provided for in the recorded deliverances of the Founder of Christianity. . . . I believe that other ethics than any which can be evolved from exclusively Christian sources must exist side by side with Christian ethics, to produce the moral regeneration of mankind. . . . It can do no service to blink the fact, known to all who have the most ordinary acquaintance with human history, that a large portion of the noblest and most valuable moral teaching has been the work, not only of men who did not know, but of men who knew and rejected Christian faith.”* [*Mill, “On Liberty.”] A little more precision in the use of words would have been useful in enabling the reader to understand the doctrine. If, as the writer distinctly allows, “the many requisites of a complete moral doctrine” “admit of being reconciled with” the Christian ethics, it does not quite appear how “many of the essential elements of the highest morality” are not provided for by the Founder of Christianity. How can the “complete” be “reconciled” with the “not provided for”? When “many essential elements of the highest morality” are wanting, how can there be a “reconciliation” between such a deficiency and “the many requisites of a complete moral doctrine? At best, the reconciliation can only be partial; partialness is incompleteness; and incompleteness in moral teaching is a grave charge to bring against Jesus Christ; it is not incompleteness in merely theoretical or doctrinal teaching, but incompleteness in moral comprehension. Look at the possible consequences of such incompleteness. those who listened to Jesus Christ received from him an incomplete morality; by so much as their morality was incomplete their lives might be immoral; by so much as their lives were immoral, responsibility must be fastened on their teacher. If they had known better, they might have done better; Jesus Christ did not teach them better, and upon Jesus Christ the responsibility must rest. If it be contended that the incompleteness was merely in statement, not in principle, the plea cannot be accepted, because it is distinctly alleged by the objector that “many essential elements of the highest morality are not provided for in the recorded deliverances of the Founder of Christianity.” Suppose, then, to apply the case to the present time, that any man should accept Jesus Christ as his only moral teacher; that his whole life should be built upon the sayings of Jesus Christ; it must follow, since he has nothing but “the recorded deliverances of the Founder of Christianity” to go by, that his life will be destitute of “many of the essential elements of the highest morality”; yet Jesus Christ promises that those who “do” his “sayings” shall be saved, and declares that those who “do them not” shall be lost: but if “men who knew and rejected the Christian faith” have favored the world with “a large portion of the noblest and most valuable moral teaching,” where is the equity of saving men who are destitute of “many essential elements of the highest morality,” and condemning men who have given society “the noblest and most valuable moral teaching”? And if the equity be challenged, what does there remain in the teaching of Jesus Christ? The men who have rejected the Christian faith must 1) have had access to higher moral sources than were available to the Founder of the Christian faith; or 2) have had finer and larger moral capacity than Jesus Christ; or 3) must have been endowed with what for want of a better term may be called a more powerful faculty of moral statesmanship so as to enable them to legislate more comprehensively than the Founder. Under any of these assumptions it is clear, from the objector’s point of view, that Jesus Christ is superseded by a higher order of teachers, and that his morality must go down with other narrow dogmas which were adapted to semi-barbarous ages.

But is it true that “many essential elements of the highest morality are among the things which are not provided for in the recorded deliverances of the Founder of Christianity”? What are the essential elements of the highest morality? Would intelligent and loving reverence for God be admitted to be one of them? If so, it is provided for in the recorded deliverances of the Founder of Christianity. Is the highest veneration of human nature worthy to be ranked as one of them? If so, it is provided for in the recorded deliverances of the Founder of Christianity. Is the loftiest disinterestedness, or the most generous magnanimity, an essential element of the highest morality? If so, it is provided for in the recorded deliverances of the Founder of Christianity. Do justice, mercy, forgiveness and peace find any place among the essential elements of the highest morality? If so, it is provided for in the recorded deliverances of the Founder of Christianity. Is philanthropy, as shown in loving care for all men, alike as regards the body and the soul, in any way related to the highest morality? If so, it is provided for in the recorded deliverances of the Founder of Christianity. We have not been able to discover one essential element of the highest morality which is not provided for in those deliverances, and we have waited with unrequited patience for specific references on the part of the objector. In a general way the author says, “It is in many points incomplete and one-sided; and unless ideas and feelings not sanctioned by it had contributed to the formation of European life and character, human affairs would have been in a worse condition than they now are.” As not one of these “many points” is given, we have no case before us. We know not to what “ideas and feelings” not sanctioned by Christian morality European ideas are indebted for not being “in a worse condition than they now are”; but our conviction is strong that if Europeans had done unto others as they would that others should do unto them; if they had fed their hungering enemies, and overcome evil with good; if they had done justly, loved mercy, and walked humbly with God; if they had abhorred evil and cleaved to that which is good; if they had not believed every spirit, but tried the spirits whether they were of God—that their “affairs” would have been so much the less voluminous by the absence of every knavish intrigue and every unrighteous war. We cannot see what is meant by calling upon Christian morality to interfere in European affairs in any other manner than that in which it interferes with the affairs of the whole world. On this point we have already expressed an opinion. Christian morality is not elaborated like a table of statistics or an Act of Parliament; it gives the moral spirit, and in that it gives everything that can be required. The sun will not do any gardening, but without it no gardening could be done. The dew will sow no seed, but without it, seed would be sown in vain. The greater the agent, the less of detail will it attempt; the greater the spirit, the less of literal law will it dictate. So it will be found, that where the Spirit of Jesus Christ is, the morality of Jesus Christ will follow: that Spirit determines the whole course of life; and it should be remembered by all who represent the Christian ethics, that if any man have not the Spirit of Christ, he is not of his. It is, therefore, positively immoral on the part of the objectors to drag in Christ’s name as responsible for all moral systems which ignorant men may set up.

The author now under consideration can hardly escape this charge. He occasionally confounds the teaching of Jesus Christ with “religious education” and the “Calvinistic theory.” For example, he affirms that “in the morality of private life, whatever exists of magnanimity, high-mindedness, personal dignity, even the sense of honor, is derived from the purely human, not from the religious, part of an education, and never could have grown out of a standard of ethics in which the only worth professedly recognized is that of obedience.” This may be a serious charge against the “religious education” that was inflicted on the objector; but it is not therefore a true charge against Christian morality. We have no intention to be flippant when we say that we accept the objector’s own account of the “religious education” which he received, for most truly he has done his utmost to bring dishonor upon the morality which would have had a happier effect upon him than the dogmas which he has mistaken for Christian ethics. Does the objector know where “the purely human” part of education ends, and the “religious” part begins? Can he inform us what would have been the condition of mankind, not to speak merely of European affairs, if Jesus Christ had never appeared on the earth? Does “the purely human part of our education” itself owe nothing to the inspiring and expansive genius of Christianity? Has Christianity done nothing to promote the intellectual culture of mankind? Has the voice of Christianity never been heard pleading for liberty, defending weakness and assailing despotism? Is Christianity altogether a dumb morality? Is it mere declamation that has represented that her trumpet rang the clearest and loudest blast in every call to war for truth and virtue; that her hand was the strongest and steadiest in all conflicts; and that her white banner was never borne off the field in shame? Is there any truth in all this, or is it but a frenzied imagining on the part of Christ’s dupes? No wonder that the objector should have come to some such conclusion respecting Christian morality when we find him confounding it with “the Calvinistic theory,” which he thus describes: “According to that, the one great offense of man is self-will. All the good of which humanity is capable is comprised in obedience. You have no choice; thus you must do, and no otherwise; ‘whatever is not a duty is a sin.’ Human nature being radically corrupt, there is no redemption for any one until human nature is killed within him. To one holding this theory of life, crushing out any of the human faculties, capacities and capabilities is no evil: man needs no capacity but that of surrounding himself to the will of God; and if he uses any of his faculties for any other purpose but to do that supposed will more effectually, he is better without them.” We may leave Calvinists to deal with this passage, as we cannot profess to know their case so well as they know it themselves. We venture, however, to suggest that the term, “human nature,” as employed in this quotation, is probably used in a different sense from that in which Calvin employed it, and therefore the sanguinary [causing the shedding of blood] representation of “killing human nature” is by no means the murderous deed which the objector would have his readers suppose. We know not how weak may have been the Calvinists with whom the objector may have come in contact. All of this, however, is of comparatively small concern to us. We are more careful to point out the slanderous remarks which the author has inferentially, we hope not intentionally, made respecting the character of God. Even allowing the “Calvinistic theory” to be exactly as he puts it, his view of God is most degrading, not to say blasphemous. The author speaks of “the will of God” in a manner which shows that he entertains a doubtful opinion of that will. Practically he despises the idea of that will being the rule of human life. We can conceive of one ground only upon which such contempt can be sustained, and that is the ground of imperfection on the part of God. The writing of these words costs us no little feeling, yet they are not too strong to express the simple fact of the case. If God is an imperfect Being, submission to his will may be a profound mistake; but if he is infinite in wisdom, infinite in holiness, infinite in love, then submission to his will must be the brightest and noblest end of life. The decision turns wholly on the character of God, and that being determined, we shall have a correct interpretation of “obedience,” a term which is apparently an insurmountable stumbling block in the author’s way. What is obedience as viewed in the light of the true character of God? The objector clearly regards it as implying an affront to human reason, and indeed to all the attributes which are characteristic of manhood. He imagines obedience to be equivalent to a renunciation of personal thought and a surrendering of personal liberty. He would be right if the obedience were demanded to any being in the universe but God. The finite can never be humbled in accepting the will of the Infinite; indeed, all human life, if properly directed, is spent in one continued effort to reach a higher standard than it has yet attained; what if that effort be called obedience, and that standard be called God? It sounds very arbitrary to say, “You have no choice; thus you must do, and no otherwise”; but the fact is that every man has a choice; every man may walk in the light of his own wisdom; every man may shut out the sun and light his own torch; or any man recognizing the uncertain, the ever-changing conditions of human life, may seek the wisdom which is divine—a wisdom which rouses the intellect into fuller vitality, and leaves unimpaired every faculty of manhood.

Let us, however, suppose a state from which “the religious part of our education” is totally excluded. Great care must be taken in this supposition, for, to make the case effective, every trace of God and Jesus Christ must be entirely avoided. We cannot allow the objector to avail himself even to incidental obligations to the divine or Christian element, because his declarations upon the general question necessitate a choice between positive divine government and practical atheism. He has said that “many essential elements of the highest morality” are wanting in Christianity; that “a large portion of the noblest and most valuable moral teaching has been the work not only of men who did not know, but of men who knew and rejected, the Christian faith”; that “in the morality of private life, whatever exists of magnanimity, high-mindedness, personal dignity, even the sense of honor, is derived from the purely human, not from the religious, part of our education”; that, “while in the morality of the best pagan nations, duty to the State holds a disproportionate place . . . in purely Christian ethics that grand department of duty is scarcely noticed or acknowledged”; that “it is in the Koran, not in the New Testament, that we must read the maxim, ‘A ruler who appoints any man to an office, when there is in his dominions another man better qualified for it, sins against God and against the State’ and above all, he deprecates the idea of man surrendering himself entirely to the will of God.* [*Mill: On Liberty.] Let us, then, accepting these statements for the sake of argument, exclude the religious element entirely from the State. No God of any kind can be allowed; no authoritative standard of morals can be acknowledged; every man must be his own god and his own lawgiver; the sanctions of the future life must be ignored as fictions; the idea of a final and public judgement must be treated as a delusion; veneration, which we have been accustomed to recognize as lying at the base of all great character, must be annihilated; every instinct or recollection that relates to divine things must be destroyed or forgotten. All this being done, we have to fabricate a theory of statesmanship and to supply bonds of nationality; we have to establish bases of domestic and commercial relationship, and to start the whole machinery of confederated life and activity. We have no suggestion to offer as to how all this could be done in the proposed atheistic state; but we fear that, having got rid of “the religious part of his education,” the difficulties of the atheistic politician would be greater than he had anticipated. From one or two hints which we find in the work On Liberty we infer that even atheism itself could not quite escape some of the perils which attend society as it is now constituted—even utilitarianism would occasionally get entangled in the meshes of speculation. For example, Mr. Mill says, “I regard utility as the ultimate appeal on all ethical questions,” and yet a few pages afterwards says, “The usefulness of an opinion is itself matter of opinion: as disputable, as open to discussion, and requiring discussion as much as the opinion itself.” What, then, becomes of Mr. Mill’s “ultimate appeal”? Utility is the ultimate appeal, but utility itself is disputable. What then, is the value of a disputable ultimate appeal? Two combatants agree to remit the question in debate to the ultimate appeal of unity; but, on approaching the tribunal, they are informed that the controversy may be continued, because “the usefulness of an opinion is itself a matter of opinion.” The difficulty is not much relieved by another assertion of the utilitarian author; he says, “We can never be sure that the opinion we are endeavoring to stifle is a false opinion; and if we were sure, stifling it would be an evil still.” It would follow then, that if we can never be sure that an opinion is false, we can never be sure that an opinion is right, we can never be sure that an action is right (for all intelligent action must be founded upon opinion); and if we can never be sure that an action is either right or wrong, then law is a conjecture, and justice is an impossibility. We are forcibly reminded of the difficulties which Socrates felt in discussing with the Sophists. Inferring from their arguments that “it is neither possible to speak falsely, nor to entertain a false opinion, nor to be ignorant,” he half apologizes to Euthydemus for putting an “unpleasant question,” which is this: “For if we do not err, either acting, or speaking, or thinking—if this be the case, of what, by Jupiter, are ye come as the teachers?” Will it be answered that there are certain opinions and courses of action settled as good and useful, or useful and therefore good? We may ask, who settled them? Who had any right to settle them? It must be borne in mind that we are conducting the inquiry on the understanding that “the religious part of our education” has been strictly excluded from society; hence the necessity of asking, who settled that any opinion or any course of life is useful and good? Mr. Mill gives what is apparently intended as a solution of this difficulty; he says, “Complete liberty of contradicting and disapproving our opinion is the very condition which justifies us in assuming its truth for purposes of action; and on no other terms can a being with human faculties have any rational assurance of being right.” This is somewhat firm for a man who has just laid down the doctrine that we “can never be sure that the opinion we are endeavoring to stifle is a false opinion.” Even after it is “completely contradicted,” what then? Contradiction simply amounts to setting one opinion against another; and, if the appeal be made to “utility,” we are told by the author that “the usefulness of an opinion is itself matter of opinion.” The subject is not much illuminated by another deliverance: “The cessation, on one question after another, of serious controversy is one of the necessary incidents of the consolidation of opinion; a consolidation as salutary in the case of true opinions, as it is dangerous and noxious when the opinions are erroneous.” We use italics, because we are somewhat startled to find so broad a distinction drawn between opinions that are true and opinions that are erroneous, when we have just been told that “we can never be sure” that any opinion is false!

The practical difficulties in carrying out Mr. Mill’s ideas are hardly less than those of accepting his theories. When opinion is formed, it may, of course, become an active agent; Mr. Mill anticipates this, and lays down the following illustrated doctrine: “An opinion that corn dealers are starters of the poor, or that private property is robbery, ought to be unmolested when simply circulated through the press, but may justly incur punishment when delivered orally to an excited mob assembled before the house of a corn dealer, or when handed about among the same among the same mob in the form of a placard.” What is the object of an opinion being “simply circulated through the press”? Is it not to create a public opinion? Who is responsible for the excitement of a mob? Can those persons be held guiltless of the excitement (supposing it to take an revolutionary turn) who have simply circulated through the press the doctrine? Which are the more guilty, the men who taught the lesson or the men who carried the lesson into effect? If the opinion did not lead to action, the doctrine would be harmless; but opinions do lead to action, and the serious question is, who is responsible in cases of insurrection, the teachers or the taught? The teacher may be less inflammable than the man who achieves his instructions, but it seems, from our point of view, just as dangerous to teach the doctrine that private property is robbery as to throw a spark upon a powder magazine. Mr. Mill, as it appears to us, in constructing his atheistic, or, if he so please, utilitarian scheme of society, has overlooked the practical aspect of opinion. He apparently forgets that opinions express themselves in action, and that the mental life (except in cases of the grossest hypocrisy) determines social action and influence. Mr. Mill apprehends no more evil from the advocacy of any opinion than from the recitation of the letters of the alphabet or the enumeration of a list of adverbs, provided that advocacy be not associated with such a powerful temptation as that of speaking against corn dealers before the house of a corn dealer. If a “placard” against corn dealers be given away at the door of a blacksmith, the circumstances may not be criminal; but if at the door of a corn merchant, it becomes an indictable offense, though the blacksmith may live immediately opposite the corn merchant; so great a difference may ten yards of pavement make! 

Yet Mr. Mill does now and again turn to practical mutters; he says that “the liberty of the individual must be thus far limited: be must not make himself a nuisance to other people.” What is a nuisance? The man who “circulates through the press the doctrine that private property is robbery” may be making himself a nuisance to his honest neighbors; the man who sets up utility as the ultimate appeal on all ethical questions may be making himself a nuisance to other people; the man who “simply circulates through the press” the statement that Calvinism “kills human nature” may be making himself a nuisance to other people: it is necessary, consequently, to have a definition of a nuisances before we can limit the liberty of the individual who makes himself a nuisance to other people. The utilitarian must give his opinion of a nuisance, and when he has done so we may remind him that we “can never be sure” whether an opinion is either true or false.

These are some of the difficulties that we have found in the working of the Atheistic Constitution. In the absence of an absolute standard of morals, we have felt it impossible to decide anything. What one of the utilitarians said yesterday is contradicted by another today. That which was harmless on a placard has become treasonable in a speech. Utility itself has been pronounced useless, and every opinion has been charged with uncertainty. It may be an excellent constitution for atheists; it may be very satisfactory to men who wish to disclaim personal responsibility; but we confess to a consciousness of deep want which cannot be satisfied with the sophisms of utilitarianism. The quotations which we have made from one utilitarian would seem to justify the opinions which Lord Macaulay pronounced on utilitarians as a body: “We cannot say that we think the logic on which they pride themselves likely to improve their heads, or the scheme of morality which they have adopted likely to improve their hearts,” and again, “The utilitarians have sometimes been abused as intolerant, arrogant, irreligious; as enemies of literature, of the fine arts, and of the domestic charities . . . But scarcely anybody seems to have perceived that almost all their peculiar faults arise from the utter want both of comprehensiveness and precision in their mode of reasoning.”

From utilitarianism we turn to Christianity with a most grateful sense of relief. Whatever mysteries becloud some sides of it, we can at least comprehend its sublime morality founded upon a right idea of God. It descends into no such details as have just been discussed; it simply raises the whole nature of man to its proper elevation and gives human reason the advantage of divine guidance. Its teachings are enforced by the highest sanctions; the dignity of manhood is constantly recognized and the doctrine of responsibility constantly enforced. The greatest mind may reflect with satisfaction and delight to its great principles, while the simplest mind may comprehend its practical directions. Every heart knows the meaning of love, and Jesus Christ makes his appeal to love alike in the name of God and of man. Christianity is addressed to all that is fundamental in human nature; it needs no accommodations to accidental circumstances, any more than the sun needs to adapt himself to the various features of the landscape, or the atmosphere to the changing dialects of the nations.

The Ptolemaic theory of morals is superseded by the morality of Jesus Christ. The earth is not the center of the universe; self is not the center of life. “It may be truly affirmed that there never was any philosophy, religion, or other discipline, which did so plainly and highly exalt the good which is communicative, and depress the good which is private and particular, as the holy faith”* [*Bacon] God is the sun: around him life should constantly revolve, drawing from him light, warmth, beauty, and fruitfulness. A motion round its own axis alone would mean night, winter, death; but the revolution round the sun means day, summer, immortality. The utilitarian morality is to be classified with the Ptolemaic astronomy. Both have a wrong center, a center which necessitates a delusive survey and an incorrect calculation. It may seem a small thing to the hardly utilitarians that Christians should be passive, innocent and negative; but perhaps the utilitarians consider too little the severity of the process through which Christians have come into the character which is held in such philosophical contempt, and forget that what is now negative may be preparatory to what is affirmative. Jesus Christ himself, looked at on the cross, presents a spectacle of extreme weakness and humiliation; nothing could more effectually excite the scorn of strong-minded utilitarians; yet his weakness may be succeeded by strength; the ear of corn may be dying that it may bring forth a fuller life; so that judgment upon the case may be premature. Does it ever occur to the robust mind of the utilitarian that he may be reasoning upon an incomplete induction? We venture to think that he is never troubled with self-convictions upon this point. But is he not aware that self-restraint is a clearer proof of strength than self-gratification? Who is the strong man: he who seeing luxuries must sate his appetite, or he who can look at them and hold his desires in moderation—nay, further, who can deny himself of every one that he may dispose of them for the benefit of others? Who is the strong man: he who will live so as to gratify every lust, or he who says that, if eating flesh cause this brother to offend, he will eat no more while the world stands? At this point we see what the utilitarians may regard as the weakness of the cross; so far as they are partially right; it now remains to show them that crucifixion is to be succeeded by resurrection; that the man who has crucified himself may come to have a wide and lasting rulership.