Life Without and Life Within; or, Reviews, Narratives, Essays, and Poems.
want of a shield of reason and a heart of faith.
And this brings us to a more close consideration of the spirit of this
book, characterized by our contemporary as "diabolic." And we, also,
cannot excuse ourselves from marking it as, in this respect, one of the
worst books we have ever seen.
It is not merely bitter intolerance, arrogance, and want of spiritual
perception, which we have to condemn in these writers. It is a want of
fairness and honor, of which we think they must be conscious. We fear
they are of those who hold the opinion that the end sanctifies the
means, and who, by pretending to serve the God of truth by other means
than strict truth, have drawn upon the "ministers of religion" the
frequent obloquy of "priestcraft." How else are we to construe the
artful use of the words "dishonest" and "infidel," wherever they are
likely to awaken the fears and prejudices of the ignorant?
Of as bad a stamp as any is the part of this book headed "Spurious
Public Opinion." Here, as in the insinuations against Charles Burleigh,
we are unable to believe the writers to be sincere. Where we think they
are, however poor and narrow we may esteem their statement, we can
respect it, but here we cannot.
Who can believe that such passages as the following stand for any thing
real in the mind of the writer?
"Indeed, there is nothing that can possibly check the spirit of murder,
but the fear of death. That was all that Cain feared; he did not say,
People will put me in prison, but, They will put me to death; _and how
many other murders he may have committed, when released from that fear,
the sacred writer does not tell us_!"
Why does not the writer of this passage draw the inference, and accuse
God of mistake, as he says his opponents accuse Him, whenever they
attempt to get beyond the Jewish ideas of vengeance. He plainly thinks
death was the only safe penalty in this case of Cain.
"The reasoning from these drivellings of depravity in malefactors is to
the last degree wretched and absurd. Hard pushed indeed must he be in
argument who can consent to dive down into the polluted heart of a
Newgate criminal, in order to fish up, from the confessions of his
monstrous, unnatural obduracy, an argument in that very obduracy against
the fit punishment of his own crimes."
We can only wish for such a man, that the vicissitudes of life may break
through the crust of theological arrogance and Phariseeism, and force
him to "dive down" into the depths of his own nature. We should see
afterwards whether he would be so forward to throw stones at
malefactors, so eager to hurry souls to what he regards as a final
account.
But we have said enough as to the spirit and tendency of this book. We
shall only add a few words as to the unworthy use of the word "infidel,"
in the attempt to fix a stigma upon opponents. We feel still more
contempt than indignation at the desire to work in this way on the
unthinking and ignorant.
We ourselves are of the number stigmatized by these persons as sharing
an infidel tendency, as are all not enlisted under their own sectarian
banner. They, on their side, seem to us unbelievers in all that is most
pure and holy, and in the saving grace of love. They do not believe in
God, as we believe; they seem to us utterly deficient in the spirit of
Christ, and to be of the number of those who are always calling, "Lord,
Lord," yet never have known him. We find throughout these pages the
temper of "Lord, I thank thee that I am not as other men are"--hatred of
those whom they deem Gentiles, and a merciless spirit towards the
sinner; yet we do not take upon ourselves to give them the name of
infidels, and we solemnly call them to trial before the bar of the Only
Wise and Pure, the Searcher of hearts, to render an account of this
daring assumption. We ask them in that presence, if they are not of the
class threatened with "retribution" for saying to their brother, "Thou
fool;" and that not merely in the heat of anger, but coolly,
pertinaciously, and in a thousand ways.
We call to sit in council the spirits of our Puritan fathers, and ask if
such was the right of individual judgment, of private conscience, they
came here to vindicate. And we solicit the verdict of posterity as to
whether the spirit of mercy or of vengeance be the more divine, and
whether the denunciatory and personal mode chosen by these writers for
carrying on this inquiry be the true one.
We wish most sincerely this book had been a wise and noble one. To
ascertain just principles, it is necessary that the discussion should be
full and fair, and both sides ably argued. After this has been done, the
sense of the world can decide. It would be a happiness for which it
might seem that man at this time of day is ripe, that the opposing
parties should meet in open lists as brothers, believing each that the
other desired only that the truth should triumph, and able to clasp
hands as men of different structure and ways of thinking, but
fellow-students of the divine will. O, had we but found such an
adversary, above the use of artful abuse, or the feints of sophistry,
able to believe in the noble intention, of a foe as of a friend, how
cheerily would the trumpets ring out while the assembled world echoed
the signal words, "GOD SPEED THE RIGHT!" The tide of progress rolls
onward, swelling more and more with the lives of those who would fain
see all men called to repentance. It must be a strong arm, indeed, that
can build a dam to stay it even for a moment. None such do we see yet;
but we should rejoice in a noble and strong opponent, putting forth all
his power for conscience's sake. God speed the Right!
PART II.
MISCELLANIES.
FIRST OF JANUARY
The new year dawns, and its appearance is hailed by a flutter of
festivity. Men and women run from house to house, scattering gifts,
smiles, and congratulations. It is a custom that seems borrowed from a
better day, unless indeed it be a prophecy that such must come.
For why so much congratulation? A year has passed; we are nearer by a
twelvemonth to the term of this earthly probation. It is a solemn
thought; and though the consciousness of having hallowed the days by our
best endeavor, and of having much occasion to look to the Ruling Power
of all with grateful benediction, must, in cases where such feelings are
unalloyed, bring joy, one would think it must even then be a grave joy,
and one that would disincline to this loud gayety in welcoming a new
year; another year--in which we may, indeed, strive forward in a good
spirit, and find our strivings blest, but must surely expect trials,
temptations, and disappointments from without; frailty, short-coming, or
convulsion in ourselves.
If it be appropriate to a reflective habit of mind to ask with each
night-fall the Pythagorean questions, how much more so at the close of
the year!
"What hast thou done that's worth the doing?
And what pursued that's worth pursuing?
What sought thou knewest thou shouldst shun?
What done thou shouldst have left undone?"
The intellectual man will also ask, What new truths have been opened to
me, or what facts presented that will lead to the discovery of truths?
The poet and the lover,--What new forms of beauty have been presented
for my delight, and as memorable illustrations of the divine
presence--unceasing, but oftentimes unfelt by our sluggish natures.
Are there many men who fail sometimes to ask themselves questions to
this depth? who do not care to know whether they have done right, or
forborne to do wrong; whether their spirits have been enlightened by
truth, or kindled by beauty?
Yes, strange to say, there are many who, despite the natural aspirations
of the soul and the revelations showered upon the world, think only
whether they have made money; whether the world thinks more highly of
them than it did in bygone years; whether wife and children have been in
good bodily health, and what those who call to pay their respects and
drink the new year's coffee, will think of their carpets, new also.
How often is it that the rich man thinks even of that proposed by
Dickens as the noblest employment of the season, making the poor happy
in the way he likes best for himself, by distribution of turkey and
plum-pudding! Some, indeed, adorn the day with this much grace, though
we doubt whether it be oftenest those who could each, with ease, make
that one day a glimpse of comfort to a thousand who pass the other
winter days in shivering poverty. But some such there are who go about
to the dark and frosty dwellings, giving the "mite" where and when it is
most needed. We knew a lady, all whose riches consisted in her good head
and two hands. Widow of an eminent lawyer, but keeping boarders for a
livelihood; engaged in that hardest of occupations, with her house full
and her hands full, she yet found time to make and bake for new year's
day a hundred pies--and not the pie from which, being cut, issued the
famous four-and-twenty blackbirds, gave more cause for merriment, or was
a fitter "dish to set before the king."
God bless his majesty, the _good_ king, who on such a day cares for the
least as much as the greatest; and like Henry IV., proposes it as a
worthy aim of his endeavor that "every poor man shall have his chicken
in the pot." This does not seem, on superficial survey, such a wonderful
boon to crave for creatures made in God's own likeness, yet is it one
that no king could ever yet bestow on his subjects, if we except the
king of Cockaigne. Our maker of the hundred pies is the best prophet we
have seen, as yet, of such a blissful state.
But mostly to him who hath is given in material as well as in spiritual
things, and we fear the pleasures of this day are arranged almost wholly
in reference to the beautiful, the healthy, the wealthy, the witty, and
that but few banquets are prepared for the halt, the blind, and the
sorrowful. But where they are, of a surety water turns to wine by
inevitable Christ-power; no aid of miracle need be invoked. As for
thoughts which should make an epoch of the period, we suppose the number
of these to be in about the same proportion to the number of minds
capable of thought, that the pearls now existent bear to the oysters
still subsistent.
Can we make pearls from our oyster-bed? At least, let us open some of
the shells and try.
Dear public and friends! we wish you a happy new year. We trust that the
year past has given earnest of such a one in so far as having taught
you somewhat how to deserve and to appreciate it.
For ourselves, the months have brought much, though, perhaps,
superficial instruction. Its scope has been chiefly love and hope for
all human beings, and among others for thyself.
We have seen many fair poesies of human life, in which, however, the
tragic thread has not been wanting. We have beheld the exquisite
developments of childhood, and sunned the heart in its smiles. But also
have we discerned the evil star looming up that threatened cloud and
wreck to its future years. We have seen beings of some precious gifts
lost irrecoverably, as regards this present life, from inheritance of a
bad organization and unfortunate circumstances of early years. The
victims of vice we have observed lying in the gutter, companied by
vermin, trampled upon by sensuality and ignorance, and saw those who
wished not to rise, and those who strove so to do, but fell back through
weakness. Sadder and more ominous still, we have seen the good man--in
many impulses and acts of most pure, most liberal, and undoubted
goodness--yet have we noted a spot of base indulgence, a fibre of
brutality canker in a vital part this fine plant, and, while we could
not withdraw love and esteem for the good we could not doubt, have wept