TO ORIGEN BACHELER.

LETTER I.

June 18, 1831.

In all discussions some one must have the last word; and it is quite as fair that you should have it as I: nay, fairer; you having (in my view of the subject) a very hopeless case to make out. I shall therefore trust the argument regarding the existence of a God to the justice and sagacity of our readers, without any aid from a rejoinder which would clog this second part of our discussion with arguments appertaining exclusively to the first.*

There is one argument, however, which belongs equally to the discussion on which we are entering, as to that which we have just closed: I mean the moral influence of religion on mankind. Its importance, too, entitles it to further consideration; particularly as I observe that you disclaim the liberality of sentiment for which your silence had inconsiderately induced me to give you credit.

Has Revealed Religion a moral influence on mankind? This is the question. Let us carefully examine it.

I owe it to myself, to give chapter and verse (as I find them in a very handsome copy of the "Holy Bible," which was presented to me some years ago by an amiable Quaker) for the text I quoted and with which, it seems, you are unacquainted: 2d Esdras iv. 21. If, as some Christians I believe do, you hold Esdras to be insufficiently canonical, I might furnish you with similar texts enough from which to choose: such as Romans xi, 34; Jeremiah xxiii, 18; Job xi, 7, 8, 9; Ecclesiastes viii, 16, 17; and a host of others.

"It is the fashion of those who patronize an abuse" says some writer whose name has escaped me, "to ascribe to it all the good which exists in spite of it." Deeply does it concern us to examine whether this has not been the case with regard to religion.

We find individuals religious and amiable. If I had ever been disposed to doubt this, the recollection of one who watched over me in infancy and guided me in youth, would suffice to remove my scepticism. My own mother, (whose death I learn by the last arrivals from Europe) was a Christian of strictest sect and most conscientious practice: and (I speak from the faithfulness of memory, not from a partial impulse springing out of sorrow for the recent loss of a loved parent) she was the kindest and most affectionate of mothers. But, shall I outrage her memory by the supposition, that in her creed was the only source of her domestic virtue? that her goodness sprung, not from her heart but from her theology? that she cared for her children, cherished her husband, and fulfilled every social duty, because the fear of hell was before her eyes? Beautifully has the unworthy sentiment been exposed by an eloquent writer:

"Let us not mistake causes! Let us not misconceive of effects! Let us not so wrong the heart of man, as when we see the turbanned follower of Mohammed, invoking Allah, while he spreads the carpet for the weary traveller, and shares with him his bread-let us not, I say, so wrong the human heart, as to believe, that but for the written law of his Koran he would shut his door against the houseless, the friendless, and the hungry; or that when he opens it, he obeys not a law nobler and purer than that cried by his priest from the minaret--even that which is entwined and incorporated with his being,

and which teaches him to pity in others the want which he feels within himself!"*

So speaks the generous heart. So would every heart speak, if the lips were not taught to repeat that we are miserable sinners, until all noble self-respect sinks under the ordained repetition.

I put it to yourself, Sir. Is there nothing of virtue or kindliness within you that would survive your spiritual creed? Will you indeed endorse Robert Hall's opinion, that where there is no religious belief there is "nothing around us to awaken tenderness?" Have you friendship merely by faith? and do you love, at the bidding of theology? Or again, is it your catechism alone that deters you from joining the drunken revel, that warns you from the brothel, that bids you avoid the gambling table? Do you abstain from stealing, merely inasmuch as there is a hell, or from murder only because a God forbids it?

Who would defend his creed, at expense of a confession so degrading as this? Or who, if he heard the confession from the lips of his dearest friend, but would shrink in involuntary suspicion, from this catechetical virtue? For myself, I will trust my fortune and my life in the hands of him whose principles and affections I feel to be based on a generous and cultivated heart; I will not trust a sixpence of my property or a hair of my head, to the man, who has no other restraint but an enjoined decalogue!†

* Frances Wright's Lectures, p. 114.

+ Let me not be understood to argue, that a decalogue is not, in individual cases, an occasional restraint. The fear of hell on believers, as of the birch on schoolboys, has frequently, no doubt, a passing influence: but this is a poor argument in favor either of the old school or the old church discipline. The question is not, whether an abject fear of punishment has some effect; but whether the same, and far more than the same, effect, may not be produced by worthier and more rational means; whether boys may not be instructed

Human creeds may say what they please; human feelings are stronger than creeds. Those who have witnessed the stirring representation of Indian character by the talented Forrest, may recollect the spontaneous burst of applause with which the audience ever greets Metamora's noble reply, when tempted by imminent danger, to falsehood: "Metamora CANNOT lie!" The heart, even of the dullest, responds to the sentiment, and instinctively honors the source from whence it springs. How low, how grovelling, compared to this, is the so much vaunted restraint of orthodoxy! How would the generous enthusiasm of the audience have sunk, almost to contempt, had the child of the forest, fresh from some missionary sermon, have expressed it: "Metamora will tell the truth, for fear of hell fire !”

But far am I from resting the case here; far am I from contenting myself with the half-way argument, that the heart is a nobler and firmer basis of morality than the creed, and that the springs of virtue in man lie deeper than his belief. This is but trifling with the question. If revealed religion were useless only, its delusions might pass unchallenged by me. If its dreams were but related like other dreams, to kindle an innocuous, if an idle, imagination, it is not I, who would trouble myself about their refutation. But supernatural imaginations have ever been, and now are, far worse than superfluous-mischievous, frightfully mischievous. Unearthly dreams have been related in the thundering voice, and their reception enforced by the iron hand of tyranny. Religion's bitter jarrings have brought, not peace on earth but a sword. Its schisms have drenched

without being stripped for a flogging, and men be governed, without being threatened with a hell. The gentle and civilized spirit of modern improvement will soon decide, in both cases, that they can.

the world with innocent blood, and raised to the honor of its God thousands of human hecatombs.

Melancholy and ungrateful is the task, to utter truths like these; and this the rather, because the milder religion of our own times often leaves to its professor virtues and charities, which, because it fails to annihilate them, it obtains the credit of producing. Painful is it to me, rudely to touch one venerated opinion, or startle one honest prejudice. But venerated opinions must be touched, and prejudices must be startled, ere mankind can be induced, freely to "prove all things and hold fast that which is good."

I speak here of Revealed Religion; that is, of a belief in supernatural beings, one or many, to whom worship and obedience is rendered; and not of ethical codes or moral precepts. I speak of Religion, distinct from Morality. And I pray your attention, Sir, and our readers', to a condensed view of a few appalling facts, in illustration of religion's moral influence.*

I speak not of other religions than our own, because I am, in a measure, unacquainted with the details of their history. I know not how many thousands have perished under the wheels of the idol Juggernaut, nor how many inillions were put to the sword to establish the religion of Islam. But, thanks to theological research, we do know something positive and definite regarding the history of our own church.

Yet even here I am compelled by the limits of this discussion, to curtail my illustrations. I shall not, therefore,

* I invite our readers to peruse with attention "Mosheim's Ecclesiastical History," from which many of the following particulars are drawn. It is an orthodox account of the Church History through seventeen hundred years. And what an account! One would think that Credulity's self could hardly peruse the enormous catalogue of wars, murders, intrigues, persecutions and wholesale massacres that are crowded into its five volumes, without turning sceptic.