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Henry Sidgwick- Eye of the Universe

Page 17

by Bart Schultz


  Christianity is implicitly contained: but that the evolution of this conception was

  gradual, and was not completed at his death. The one thing important to Jesus

  in man was a principle so general that faith, love, and moral energy seem only

  different sides of it. It was the ultimate coincidence, or rather, if we may use a

  Coleridgean word, indifference of religion and morality. It was “the single eye,” the rightness, of a man’s heart before God. It was faith in the conflict with baser and narrower impulses, love when it became emotion, moral energy as it took effect

  on the will. It was that which living in a man filled his whole body with a light,

  purified him completely, so that nothing external could defile him. (MEA )

  This principle carries several further consequences. Jesus’ work “in-

  tensified or deepened all moral obligations,” for the “inner light could not

  produce right outward acts, except through the medium of right inward

  impulses,” and the man who had it “could acquiesce in no compromises,

  but must aim at perfection.” It is this inner rightness of heart that fixes

  one’s place in the Kingdom of God – not birth, wealth, etc. – and the

  Kingdom is thus open to all of Adam’s seed. With this development, “the

  ceremonial law must fall. This elaborate system of minute observances

  was needless, and if needless it was burdensome.” (MEA ) But not all

  of this work was done by Jesus; clearly, Saint Paul was crucial in explic-

  itly drawing out these implications, and indeed, the historical progress

  of ethics and civilization suggests how much was yet to come after Jesus,

  great as his ethical example was. Seeley’s account could not accommodate

  the growth, the progress, of doctrine, though such a view of history was

  an element common to Coleridge, Maurice, Whewell, Newman, Comte,

  Mill, and perhaps most of the notable moral theorists of Darwin’s century.

  “Here and there we feel that if Jesus planted, Jean Jacques and Comte have

  watered” (MEA ). Progress was real, whether or not it was the result of

  divine intervention.

  Thus, Sidgwick’s (rather ironic) appeal to Comte and Mill as repre-

  senting the best in the Christian tradition allowed that that tradition had

  grown and progressed, and that it contained various elements that were

  difficult to reconcile. To Noel, Sidgwick explained, with reference to his

  criticisms of Seeley and others,

  I have counted the cost, and am content to go on exciting the disgust of enthusiasts –

  that is, of the people whose sympathy I value most – in defence of (what seems

  to me) historic truth and sound criticism. It seems to me that ultimate religious

  agreement is ideally possible on my method, and not even ideally possible on

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  yours – as each sect and party will go on making a particular view of history a test

  of spirituality and thus feel itself at liberty to dispense . . . with other arguments.

  (M )

  One could scarcely hope for a plainer statement of Sidgwick’s own quest

  for unity, of how critical inquiry, for him, held out the hope of both truth

  and reconciliation. The Socratic search was a very personal business.

  And in this pursuit of truth, there is a profound sense in which Sidgwick

  took up directly the challenge, not of Seeley, but of Renan. One could not,

  with Seeley, deduce the miracles from the morality of Jesus – Renan was

  right. But perhaps Renan was wrong in too hastily assuming that modern

  science could not recognize the existence of ghosts. Although the gospels

  should not receive a special dispensation to ignore the laws of nature,

  perhaps the laws of nature might allow that the “miraculous” does occur,

  today as much as two thousand years ago. But that is not a question to be

  settled by books.

  III. Rational Faith

  I pass by a kind of eager impulse from one Drama or Heart-Tragedy or Comedy

  as the case may be to another: and when I begin to take stock as it were on my

  account, my prudential instincts being awakened, I wonder what it all means, and

  whether there is any higher or lower, better or worse in human life, except so far

  as sympathy and a kind of rude philosophy go.

  Sidgwick to Dakyns, April ,  (M )

  The sixties were undoubtedly some of Sidgwick’s most turbulent years,

  but in many respects, the overall direction of his thought during this time

  was a painfully consistent one:

  I want to earn my freedom from the Church of England. What a hideous compro-

  mise between baseness and heroism! Yet I do not see anything else in this strange

  age of transition for a man who feels bitterly the Drück of hypocrisy, yet cannot reconcile himself to cut the Gordian knot. My feeling is that emotional Theism will

  shine in more and more upon mankind through the veil of history and life; that all

  religions are good in so far as they approximate to it, and that formulae are neces-

  sary for the mass of mankind in their present state: and that the task of substituting a purer for a crasser formula is a grand one, but I must leave it to a man who has more belief in himself than I have. In short I feel with regard to the Church of England

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  Henry Sidgwick: Eye of the Universe

  ; ,

  , & I mean to put it if possible in my power. (M –)

  In , he had declared that “one ought to begin by being a Theist – to

  contemplate, I mean, a Heart and Mind behind phenomena” and allowed

  that if, at that point, he was “only a Theist,” it would not be “for want of

  profound and devoted study” if he did not “become a Christian” (M –

  ). No one could deny that he gave himself over to profound and devoted

  study, avoiding any open break with his church, but the effort never got him

  beyond the above formulation of historical theism, at least for any length

  of time. He was determined not to barter his “intellectual birthright for a

  mess of mystical pottage.” By , after much linguistic study, he could

  still complain that he had “discovered nothing and settled nothing. Is

  Theism to be the background or the light of the picture of life?” (M )

  And by , he is concluding,

  I do not feel called or able to preach religion except as far as it is involved in

  fidelity to one’s true self. I firmly believe that religion is normal to mankind, and therefore take part unhesitatingly in any social action to adapt and sustain it (as

  far as a layman may). I know also that my true self is a Theist, but I believe that

  many persons are really faithful to themselves in being irreligious, and I do not

  feel able to prophesy to them. (M )

  His complaint wi
th the irreligious is not their disbelief, but “that they

  are content with, happy in, a universe where there is no God ” (M ).

  Sidgwick could entertain the thought that there was no God; what he

  could not entertain was the thought of being happily content in such a

  cold, uncaring, unjust universe.

  The essence of Sidgwick’s position was nicely expressed in an 

  letter that he sent to the Times concerning “Clerical Engagements.” He

  delineated three different theological orientations: that of “Simple Scrip-

  turalism,” holding that the errors of the Bible are insignificant and that “all

  the more important historical statements, and absolutely all the statements

  on moral and theological subjects in the Bible, are true”; that of “Histor-

  ical Scripturalists,” who agree that the theology of the Bible is final, but

  who “hold that only its theological and moral statements have this peculiar

  claim on our acceptance, and that on all other subjects a Biblical writer is

  just as likely to err as any other equally honest and conscientious person,”

  and that even the theology of the Bible should be read historically; and

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  finally, that of the “Rationalist,” who holds that although the “most impor-

  tant part of religious truth (what may be fairly called the true religion) was

  discovered or revealed before the first century of Christianity was closed”

  and “no sound developments of later thought are likely to deviate from

  the main lines laid down in the Bible,” nevertheless, “no expression, even

  of these truths, by the Biblical writers is to be regarded as authoritative.”

  According to this last view, with which Sidgwick identifies himself, the

  theology of the Bible has, and always will have, a unique interest for mankind,

  but unique only as the interest of Greek philosophy is unique, because it is the

  fountain from which the main stream of thought upon the subject is derived; so

  that not only must it always be presupposed and referred to by religious thinkers,

  but must always possess for them what M. Renan calls the ‘charme des origines.’

  However, the Rationalist believes that

  the process of development which the historical scripturalist traces between the

  earlier and later of them has continued since, and will continue, and that we cannot

  forecast its limits; and that even where the doctrine of the Bible, taken as a whole, is clear, an appeal lies always open to the common sense, common reason, and

  combined experience of the religious portion of mankind. (CWC)

  It is, of course, the Rationalist view that Sidgwick takes to be the di-

  rection of history. He is confident “that the thought of civilised Europe

  is moving rapidly in its direction, and that it must inevitably spread and

  prevail,” but he also wishes “as heartily as any broad Churchman can, that

  it may spread with the least possible disruption and disorganization of

  existing institutions, the least possible disruption of old sympathies and

  associations.”

  Hence, the three-way current of Sidgwick’s storm and stress. He cannot,

  intellectually, ignore the possibility of atheism and materialism, though

  he cannot accept such a worldview as emotionally satisfying and does not

  think humanity at large capable of this either. Yet the crude superstition

  and ahistoricism of most orthodox Christianity is hardly something that he

  can accept intellectually, though he recognizes its sociological and political

  importance and is determined not to abandon orthodoxy lightly. He hopes

  to be able (eventually, at least) to vindicate a minimal, theistic conception

  of the universe and to work for gradual social reforms that will duly install

  this view in place of the older ones.

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  Henry Sidgwick: Eye of the Universe

  What was the precise content of Sidgwick’s critique of orthodox

  Christianity? How did it accord with or differ from the views of Renan,

  Noel, and Strauss?

  Sidgwick’s views on various points of doctrine certainly did fluctuate a

  great deal, but in retrospect, he was fairly consistent in singling out certain

  key difficulties. In the manuscript of the “Autobiographical Fragment,”

  the text breaks off into a number of scattered remarks that include his

  confession that of all the miracle tales in the Bible, the one that struck

  him as simply unbelievable was the doctrine of the Virgin Birth of Jesus.

  His testimony on this score must have struck his wife, Eleanor Mildred

  Sidgwick, as accurate and unsuspect, since she was taking the dictation

  and never in public or private registered any objection to this point. And

  in his  pamphlet on “The Ethics of Conformity and Subscription”

  (actually composed around ), he singled out the Virgin Birth as one of

  the most problematic issues dividing Anglicans, since a sincere Christian

  could certainly believe that Jesus was God and that miracles could occur,

  yet also hold that “legends may have been mixed up with the evangelical

  narrations, and that some probably have been. A man who holds this

  general view is very likely to reject the miraculous conception of Jesus,

  as the narrative of it has a very legendary aspect, and the evidence which

  supports it is exceptionally weak.” (CS )

  However, a later friend, Canon Charles Gore, would record that

  Sidgwick had confessed to him that his chief difficulty with orthodoxy

  had to do with Jesus’ apparent belief in his immediate return as the glo-

  rified Christ; this difficulty would have been especially hard to overcome,

  since it involved an error by Jesus on a matter of great theological and

  ethical significance, and the historical, textual evidence for attributing this

  false belief to him was overwhelming.

  Evident as it may be that such objections are bound up with the results

  of historical biblical criticism, Sidgwick could, in some humors, speak

  rather disparagingly of the additional value of such historical work. Thus,

  even in the midst of his “orientalist” studies, he could complain that

  I have the secret conviction that the great use of learning Hebrew is to ascertain

  how little depends on it, and, with regard to Biblical criticism, that it is impossible to demonstrate from themselves the non-infallibility of the Hebrew writings: just

  as it would be to demonstrate the non-infallibility of Livy if there was any desire

  to uphold it. It all depends on the scientific sense, and antiquarianism will never

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  overthrow superstition except in a few intellects who would probably have got rid

  of it anyway.

  In , he wrote to Dakyns: “My own views do not alter; you know I attach

  less and less value to criticism the more time I spend over it. How can a

  close knowledge of Hebrew help us to convince a man who after reading the

  English Version believes that God Almighty wrote the account of Noah’s

  flood?” (M ) The year  finds him sarcastically observing that it “was

  probably an erroneous idea of my relations to the infinite” to suppose that

  “it was all-important to have a view on the historical question. As if after

  dying I were likely to meet God and He to say, Well, are you a Christian?

  ‘No,’ I say, ‘but I have a theory on the origin of the Gospels which is really

  the best I could form on the evidence; and please, this ought to do as

  well.’” (M –) And at length, in , he complains “How I wish I

  had employed my leisure which I have so wasted, in studying philosophy

  and art!” (M )

  As the “Autobiographical Fragment” records:

  I began also to think that the comparative historical study which I had planned

  would not really give any important aid in answering the great questions raised by

  the orthodox Christianity from which my view of the Universe had been derived.

  Was Jesus incarnate God, miraculously brought into the world as a man? Were

  his utterances of divine authority? Did he actually rise from the grave with a

  human body glorified, and therewith ascend into heaven? Or if the answers to

  these questions could not strictly be affirmative in the ordinary sense of the term,

  what element of truth, vital for mankind, could be disengaged from the husk of

  legend, or symbolised by the legend, supposing the truth itself capable of being

  established by human reasoning? Study of Philosophy and Theology, which I had

  never abandoned, began again to occupy more of my time. (M –)

  Because Sidgwick’s somewhat exaggerated reaction against historical

  study in some ways carried over to the history of philosophy, and even

  to the teaching of such, it should be stressed that his considered com-

 

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