every one who has turned over old volumes of sermons, adorned with the authors' portraits, must have been struck with the length of their faces. they seem to say—parodying the famous line of dante—"abandon jokes all ye who enter here." those men preached a solemnly absurd creed, and they looked absurdly solemn. their faces seemed as devoid of merriment as the faces of jackasses, and the heads above them were often as stupid. justice forbid that i should run down a hooker, a barrow, a taylor, or a south. they were men of genius, and all genius is of the blood royal. i read their writings with pleasure and profit, which is more than nine-tenths of the clergy can say with any approach to honesty. but a single swallow does not make a summer, and a few men of genius do not elevate a profession. i am perfectly convinced that the great bulk of the preaching fraternity have cultivated a solemn aspect—not perhaps deliberately, but at least instinctively—in order to impose on the ignorant and credulous multitude. the very tone of voice in which they pray, give out hymns, and preach, is artificial; in keeping with their artificial ideas and artificial sentiments; which, if they were expressed in natural tones, would excite universal contempt and derision.
now this solemnity is the best trick in the priest's game. gravity is always mistaken by the multitude for wisdom. a round-faced merry fellow shall make a bright, sensible speech, and he will be voted frivolous; but a long-faced, saturnine fellow shall utter a string of dull platitudes, and he will be voted a solon. this is well known to the clergy, who have developed a perfect art of dullness. they talk an infinite deal of nothing, use a multitude of solemn words to hide an absurdity or no meaning at all, and utter the inherited shibboleths of their craft like the august oracles of a recent revelation.
concede them the advantage of solemnity, or reverence, or whatever else it is called, and you give them the victory at the beginning of the battle. if you pull a long face over their nonsense, the spectators, after all your arguments, will say, "there must be something in it, though, for see how serious he is." whereas a light jest and a merry smile will show you are heart-free, and beyond the range of clerical artillery.
i do not pretend, however, that the efforts of free-thought critics should have no background of seriousness. wit without reason, says heine, is but a sneeze of the intelligence. but has not wit ever been the keenest weapon of the great emancipators of the human mind? not the mere plaything of an idle mind in an idle hour, but the coruscating blade to pierce the weak places of folly and imposture. aristophanes, lucian, rabelais, erasmus, and voltaire—to take a few great instances—were all serious in aim and intention. they valued truth, goodness, and beauty, as much as the dreariest preachers. but they felt, because of their temperament, that while the dry light of the intellect is suited to the study of science, it is inadequate in the realm of political, social, and religious debate, where everything is steeped in feeling, and hopes and fears strive together, and imagination kindles the very senses into keener play.
after all, perhaps, this word temperament is a solution in itself. when bishop south was taken to task by a brother bishop for his witticisms, he replied, "do you mean to say that if god had given you any wit you would not have used it?" thus is wisdom justified of her children.
my friendly though severe critic, dr. coit, who recently discoursed at south-place institute (or is it chapel?) on the national secular society in general and myself in particular, could hardly deny that voltaire was a master of wit, sarcasm, irony, and ridicule. well, now, let us see what some serious writers have said of this nimble spirit. robert browning, in the two poets of croisic thus salutes him:
ay, sharpest shrewdest steel that ever stabbed
to death imposture through the armor-joints!
carlyle says "he gave the death-stab to modern superstition," and "it was a most weighty service." buckle says he "used ridicule, not as the test of truth, but as the scourge of folly," and thus "produced more effect than the gravest arguments could have done." "nor can any one since the days of luther be named," says brougham, "to whom the spirit of free inquiry, nay, the emancipation of the human mind from spiritual tyranny, owes a more lasting debt of gratitude."
there is a story of the manuscript of harrington's oceana being filched and given to cromwell, and the sagacious "usurper" returned it saying, "my government is not to be overturned with paper pellets." but the ironical pamphlet, killing no murder, produced a different effect. nor did the royal and imperial despots, and their priestly abettors, in the eighteenth century, dread the solemn lovers of freedom. but the winged pen of voltaire was a different matter. "bigots and tyrants," says macaulay, "who had never been moved by the wailing and cursing of millions, turned pale at his name."
if dr. coit imagines that voltaire has lost his influence in france, i venture to say he is mistaken. the hand of voltaire is on renan, and on dozens of living soldiers in the french army of progress. and what man of letters in england—a country abounding in "the oxen of the gods," strong, slow, and stupid—is free from his influence? carlyle's early essay on voltaire is a mixture of hatred and admiration. but read the life of frederick, and see how the french snake fascinates the scotch puritan, until at last he flings every reservation aside, and hails with glowing panegyric the savior of calas.
let me refer dr. coit to the delightful preface of a delightful book—leland's introduction to his fine translation of heine's reisebilder. "woe to those who are standing near," says leland, "when a humorist of this stamp is turned loose upon the world. he knows nothing of your old laws,—like an azrael-napoleon he advances conscienceless, feeling nothing but an overpowering impulse, as of some higher power which bids him strike and spare not." but, after all, the main cause of progress is agitation, and though the agitation may be "eminently disagreeable to many, even friends, who are brought within its immediate action, it will be eminently beneficial in the end."
yes, the hard-bound human mind, like the hardbound soil, has to be ploughed up. let it shriek as it will, the work must be done, or the light and air will never penetrate, and an ocean of seeds will lie barren on the surface.
dr. coit need not fear that ridicule will excite apprehensions about the multiplication table. ridicule has a fine scent for its proper prey. it must detect the ridiculous before it couches and springs. truth, honor, consistency, disinterestedness, are invulnerable. what ridicule can kill deserves to die.
mr. george meredith writes of "that first-born of common-sense, the vigilant comic, which is the genius of thoughtful laughter." folly is the natural prey of this hunter, and folly is found in the churches as well as in the streets. some men, however, are non-laughers by birthright, and as men are apt to make a virtue of their deficiencies, it is not surprising if, as mr. meredith observes, the "laughter-hater soon learns to dignify this dislike as an objection in morality."
persons who have read the freethinker from the first do not need to be assured of the earnest spirit of its conductors. they fight no less sternly for the iridescent jewels in their swords. but dr. coit appears to object to fighting altogether. he seems to bid us rest content with what we have won. that is, he bids us leave superstition, with all its brood of lies and wrongs, in possession of the schools, the universities, the churches, the hospitals, the workhouses, and every other institution. he bids us leave it with its large grasp on the private and public life of the community, and go on with our constructive work in face of all this overwhelming frustration. no doubt he means well, but we are not foolish enough to take his advice. we tell dr. coit that he does not understand the obstructive power of theology, and that he is thus unable to appreciate the work of the national secular society.
but let us return to the point of ridicule, and the point of "blasphemy." dr. coit found two "lessons for the day" in my philosophy of secularism, and he spoke of my shadow of the sword as "a noble plea for peace." but he complained of my exposing the absurdities and immoralities of the bible—a book which is thrust into the hands of little children in our public schools. he also complained of my dragging to light the crimes of christianity. but his anger was most excited by one of my "bible romances"—a virgin mother. some fastidious persons even object to the title, thus showing their abysmal ignorance of christian literature. the phrase is common in catholic books of devotion, like the mother of god. it occurs in milton's ode on the nativity and in paradise lost. i have marked it a dozen times in professor palgrave's collection of sacred songs. but dr. coit objects to my comparison of the holy ghost's "overshadowing" of the virgin mary with the divine impregnations of earthly women by the gods of the greek pantheon. he regards the one as a "mystery" and the others as vulgar amours. but this depends on your point of view. lord bacon found a mine of hidden wisdom in some of these "amours," and mr. morris makes beautiful poetry of the loves of zeus and danae, which is more than any one has ever succeeded in doing with the relations between the holy ghost and mary. i admit, however, that taste is not disputable; and i refer dr. coit to the passage of my virgin mother in which i cite justin martyr as appealing to the pagan not to mock at the incarnation, on the express ground that they also taught the same doctrine in their stories-of the demi-gods who were born of women after the embraces of deities. surely, then, it is idle to complain of my disrespect of this christian dogma. nor is it just to say that my criticism of it cannot be read to a mixed audience. that is the fault of the doctrine. so far as my words go, there is not a syllable to shock any but a prurient modesty.
with respect to dr. coit's plea for bringing the kindness of social intercourse into the war of ideas, i have this to say—it is impossible. timid persons have always sighed for this policy, but when the fight began they have found themselves "between the fell incensed points of mighty opposites." religion should be treated as freely as other subjects. that is all i claim, and i will not be satisfied with less. i cannot consent to relinquish any weapon that is legitimate in other warfare. nor for the sake of temporary feeling will i be false to the permanent interests of my species. i will laugh at folly, scorn hypocrisy, expose falsehood, and bathe my sword in the heart's blood of imposture. but i will not descend to personalities. i do not war with persons, but with principles.
my object is to destroy the christian superstition and prepare the way for a more rational and humane condition of society. i shall adapt myself, as well as i can, to the shifting conditions of the struggle. my aim is to succeed. my policy, therefore, will never be determined by a personal preference. i shall follow the path that promises victory. but i do not, and will not, dictate to others. within the scope of our principles there is room for many policies. let each do his best, according to his light and opportunity. let dr. coit, too, go his way as i go mine. we travel by different routes, but perhaps we shall meet at the goal.
