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that hour"—note the exact designation of time—"in that hour he [Jesus] cured many of diseases and plagues and evil spirits; and on many that were blind he bestowed sight." Such miracles, then and there notably multiplied, Jesus treated as a sufficient sign to John of His own unique office of Messiahship. This of course He could not have done either if John himself also had been believed to work miracles, or if miracles were freely imagined by the people of that time and place to be of frequent occurrence.

The total absence of miracle-working tradition in John the Baptist's case is of the highest historic and argumentative significance. It is alone sufficient to show that Arnold's assumption about Paul is an unwarranted one. But this is not all. Arnold occupies much space in reciting a case of alleged witchcraft in which Sir Matthew Hale was involved as judge. That enlightened jurist, that excellent man, avowed his full belief in the reality of witchcraft—he even sentenced to death certain women accused of being witches. The explanation offered is that Matthew Hale was not superior to the prevalent superstition of his age. The same, it is then inferred, was true of the apostle Paul. Such is the reasoning of Arnold, and such the way in which he attempts to save the sound-mindedness of the apostle and his moral integrity, at the same time that he discredits that apostle's testimony concerning a certain personal experience of his own. Paul believed in the miraculous, and therefore he mistakenly believed in the reality of something extraordinary that suddenly and unexpectedly happened to him—or rather that suddenly and unexpectedly seemed to happen to him—one day at midnoon as he journeyed to Damascus. Nothing at all really happened to him—to him, nothing; something probably happened in him, yes; but because he believed that miracles might sometimes occur, therefore he believed that on a certain occasion a certain miracle did occur in his own experience! That, in a nutshell, is Arnold's argument; and that, in a nutshell, is necessarily the argument of any one who undertakes to save Paul's character as a sane man and an honest, while he rejects Paul's testimony concerning the circumstances of his own conversion.

Arnold's labored parallel between the apostle Paul and Sir Matthew Hale is a fallacy in reasoning. The parallel assumed does not exist. The difference between the two cases is a vital difference. Sir Matthew Hale, in the case involving him, was not a witness, but a judge. He did not give testimony—he judged testimony. Sir Matthew Hale did not pretend to have had experience of his own in the matter of witchcraft. If he had affirmed that he himself was a wizard, and that he could, by collusion of the Evil One, exert a supernatural power of harm—or rather that in a particular case he had done so—then his case would be approximately parallel to that of the apostle Paul; for both men would then be witnesses, ostensibly testifying of personal experiences of their own. But had Sir Matthew Hale so testified I venture to say that Arnold would not, toward the close of the nineteenth century, have been found standing up for the balance and sound-mindedness of such a man; I venture to say, further, that such a man would not enjoy the reputation that, despite his error concerning witchcraft, Sir Matthew Hale does enjoy for sane judicial qualities. No, the alternative is absolutely rigorous and unescapable: If Paul did not tell the literal truth about his experience on the way to Damascus, he was either an impostor or a weak-minded victim of delusion. That it is impossible to regard him as either of these Arnold expressly confesses; and he emphasizes his confession by the desperate attempt that he makes to save the apostle's sound-mindedness while rejecting his testimony concerning a certain personal experience of his. There is nothing—nothing whatsoever, it may with all confidence be asserted —nothing dependent on human testimony better ascertained, more certainly true, than the story told in the Acts of the Pharisee Saul's conversion to Christianity and his call to the apostleship.

While some misjudging Christian thinkers are, as the watchword "Back to Christ!" means in their use of it, seeking to rid themselves of the authority of Paul (in order to escape the idea of a vicarious atonement and a suffering Savior, falsely supposed to be Paul's idea instead of Christ's), a different class of Christian thinkers unfriendly to Paul are seriously pointing out that it was Paul, not Jesus, who initiated the notion of giving the Gospel to the Gentiles at once and of dispensing the Gentiles from the necessity of becoming Jews. What if the watchword " Back to Christ!" in the sense of " Away from Paul!" should be insensibly leading the Christian world out from the liberty which, thanks to Paul, it has so long enjoyed, toward the old bondage of Judaism again? But, you will at once exclaim, there are Christ's own words, "Preach the gospel to every creature "! Yes; but what if those words were never uttered by Christ? What if they were indeed, as a critic of the class last alluded to suggests, simply "a magnificent afterthought" attributed to Jesus as exprest by Him on a certain "alleged occasion "? If criticism wants to make out a case, it is a pity that any text should inconveniently stand in the way. Perish the text —long live the case!

Meantime the obvious solution of all difficulties is to admit that the testimony of Paul stands. It ought to stand; it is buttrest by nineteen finisht centuries of Christian history. For all this history is in a manner an attestation of the truth of the testimony of Paul. That testimony, admitted true, explains the miracle of the history—a miracle unexplained, nay, a miracle impossible, on the supposition that the testimony was false. Such a history could not have started—such a history, once started, could not have continued and have accomplisht itself—on the basis of a lie so audacious as would be the story of that Christophany to Paul on his way to Damascus if the Christophany alleged did not occur. There are such things as historic impossibilities, and the career of Paul, together with the long sequel to that career brought forward to this living moment of time, is an historic impossibility if it be not true that Paul miraculously saw Jesus and heard His voice after Jesus had ascended to glory and power in the heavens.

And if Jesus did indeed ascend to glory and power in the heavens, and if He wisht to signify that fact to men beyond the possibility of reasonable doubt, what is there incredible, what is there that we might not naturally expect, in a manifestation of Himself such as that made to Paul? We must beware of the subtle and secret infidelity toward Christ that tempts us to doubt Paul's apostleship and authority. In such doubt we are doubting not so much Paul as Christ Himself. It is the leaven of unbelief. It is the disposition to deny the supernatural. Under the guise of paying homage to the earthly Christ we are in danger of doing a deadly dishonor to the Lord in heaven.

What I affirm is that as between the two—namely, Christ through the gospels and Christ through Paul's epistles—Christ through Paul's epistles is the Se«er-attested Christ. If we have reason for rejecting the Christ of Paul's epistles, we have more reason, rather than less, for rejecting the Christ of the gospels. And, further, I deliberately avow my belief that if so-styled and self-styled "scientific" study of the New Testament succeeds in setting aside Paul's representations of Christ and of Christ's teaching as simply one great man's individual and subjective way of conceiving things, and as therefore of no peculiar and binding authority—then the time is not far off when the Christ of the gospels -will, by the same rationalistic and naturalistic methods masking under the name and pretense of "scientific," be reduced to the quality and dimensions of a man not so very different from other men. That is the natural, the logical, the inevitable, issue to which tends the spirit that will not loyally receive the apostle Paul as the Lord Christ's attested and authoritative voice speaking from heaven. Already the miraculous birth of Jesus is brought into doubt by the effect of the teaching given to some of the candidates under instruction to prepare them for the pastorship of evangelical churches. The keystone fact of the resurrection of Christ will, in natural sequence, be volatilized away by "scientific" explanations; and, in short, we shall in due time have nothing left to us to take the place of a Divine Savior lost but the beautiful and pathetic legend of a life once fondly idealized as perfect, but found out at last to be flawed with many shortcomings—ignorances, petulances, errors of judgment, overweening assumptions, and selfassertions—sadly offsetting its laborious beneficence, its intuitions of wisdom, its willingness to suffer for the truth.

It is idle—it is worse than idle—to ignore fact; and the fact is that we are involved in an era of rationalism threatening to be as fatal to evangelical Christianity in America as was the rationalism that in the first half of this dying century swept like a wave of desolation over the Protestant churches of Germany. It is no less rationalism because it calls itself by another name. "Scientific" Bible-teaching is often rationalistic Bible-teaching pure and simple. When and where it is such, then and there let it confess itself such; at least let it be exposed and recognized as such. "Back to Christ!" is one of its favorite cries. That cry, fair-sounding as it is, is not seldom a suspicious cry. It sometimes means: "Give up the Christ that Paul reveals, and confine yourself to the Christ revealed in the gospels." In other words: "Give up the Christ that now reigns, and keep only the Christ that once served; give up the Christ declared to be the Son of God with power by the resurrection from the dead, and keep only the Christ that was humbled and that suffered as a man; give up the Christ that is eternally set down in glory at the right hand of the Father, and keep only the Christ that hung in shame between two robbers on the cross; give up the Savior and the Lord, and keep only the teacher and the example." That is what "Back to Christ!" may mean. We must beware lest it mislead us. Our option is not, "Christ or Paul." "God forbid!" I seem to hear Paul himself, after his manner, fervently saying. Our option is not, "The Christ of the gospels or the Christ of Paul's epistles." Our true option is, "The Christ partially revealed in the gospels, or the Christ far more fully revealed both in the gospels and in the epistles."

The watchword, then, "Back to Christ from Paul," I would replace with the watchword, "Back to Christ through Paul." One word, however, of explanation is necessary: It is not the Paul of the theologies and the creeds, it is the Paul of the epistles, that I mean.

Paul's claim for himself, I admit, is stupendous; but his credentials, I insist, quite fully correspond.


By W. S. Lilly, London, Eng., Author Of "on Right And Wrong," "on Shirroleths," "four English Humorists Of The Nineteenth Century," "the Great Enigma," Etc.

One of the most salient and most satisfactory characteristics of the present age is its humanitarianism. Writing recently in The Nineteenth Century, I adduced, as a striking example of it, the shuddering horror with which people now regard the employment of torture in judicial proceedings. And yet until well on in the last century it was commonly so employed throughout a great part of Europe. The improvement of our criminal jurisprudence is one instance, out of many, which might be mentioned of the more acute moral sensibility of our times. It is not too much to say that almost up to the eve of the French Revolution malefactors and suspected malefactors were very generally treated throughout the civilized world like wild beasts. They are now treated like humam beings. Behind the culprit we see the man.

I suppose that if any one writer may be credited with a principal share in bringing about this change that writer is Victor Hugo. His book "Claude Gueux" certainly exercised an enormous influence throughout the civilized world. The story is of the simplest. The problems which it raises are of the most difficult. Claude Gueux is a poor artisan in Paris, naturally intelligent, dexterous at his work, quite uneducated. He lives with a girl to whom he is not married, and has a child by her. One winter he finds himself out of work. There is no fire in the grate of his poor lodging, no food on the table; the man steals. His theft results in three days' nourishment and warmth for the woman and her baby, and in five years' imprisonment for himself. He is sent to Clairvaux, once a vast Cistercian monastery, illustrious as the home of St. Bernard, but now converted by modern "progress" into a central prison. In a short time Claude, by force of natural character, obtains an influence among the convicts much like that exercised by a prepositor at an English public school. The director of the prison workshop, "a curt, tyrannical man, blindly dominated by a few ideas, and always on the high horse about his authority," avails himself of that influence from time to time to .maintain order, but grows to detest Claude for possessing it. A friendtlhip springs up between Claude and another prisoner called Albin, a young man in feeble health, for whose small appetite the modest prison rations are more than sufficient. They are less than sufficient for Claude, who is robust, and who by a peculiarity of his organism is a great eater. Albin presses upon Claude part of his food. Claude accepts; and day after day his captivity is lightened by the generosity and affection of the younger convict. The director, noticing this, removes Albin to another quarter. Claude supplicates the official for the restoration of his friend.

"'Impossible; the matter is decided.' 'By whom?' 'Byme.' 'Monsieur D„' replied Claude,'it is a question of life or death for me, and it depends upon you.' 'I never reverse my decisions.' 'Sir, have I ever done you any harm?' 'No.' 'In that case, why do you separate me from Albin?' 'Because,' said the director."

And with that enigmatical explanation he passes on. Claude Gueux spends day after day hungry and sad. Again and again he begs the director to restore to him his friend. In vain. He merely obtains twenty-four hours' solitary confinement in reward of his importunity. He broods over his wrongs and resolves to kill the director. He manages to get possession of a small ax from the carpenter's workshop, and secretes it in his loose clothing. He puts his case against the director to the eighty-two convicts who are his work-comrades, tells them that he has judged the tyrant and condemned him to death, and asks them if they approve. Only one voice is raised to counsel

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