CHRISTIANITY AND REVIVAL " I F ever there was a divine
attempt made to shake religion free of its wrappings it was the preaching of Christ," says Mr. Benson in the most intimate, and perhaps the most interesting, of the eighteen essays which he has just published (" From a College Window," by A. C. Benson ; Smith, Elder, and Co., 7s. 6d. net). Christianity, he goes on, " is a message to individual hearts bewildered by the complexity of the world and the intricacy of religious observances." In these words Mr. Benson suggests the extraordinary power of resurrection which seems to be inherent in the faith of Christ. Again and again the light of the Gospel burns low. Again and again the thoughtful come to regard its teaching, not as good news, but as ancient history,—the tradition of "one Jesus which was dead" whom Paul "affirmed to be alive." It is as true of nations as of individuals that the sense of the supernatural is not at all times equally insistent. There are periods in the lives of most men when the mind seems to be suddenly disconnected—if a word of such secular associations may be used in a religious sense—from the source of spiritual life. Such an experience may come amid the cares or the pleasures of this life, in prosperity, or adversity, or even in the midst of moral struggle or spiritual anxiety. Call the experience what you will, a dispensation of Provi- dence or a snare of the Devil, it is a fact of the spiritual life. It comes to the souls of men and of communities, and is no certain sign of decadence in the character either of a man or of a people. An augmented sense of the actual, a vivid realisation of what is going on in the outside world, almost always accompanies it for good or for evil. A repugnance to the recognised forms of worship is one of its first signs. The symbols of faith lose their significance. They no longer create reverence. In the minds of the imaginative they retain an artistic value ; in the minds of the multitude they become contemptible. Who has not felt at moments, even in the most splendid of Cathedrals, that there is nothing there but what is of the earth earthy ? The church which was built for the glory of God and in memory of His saints, wherein many generations have seen by faith "the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up," while "His train filled the temple," becomes the scene of a performance. It is a strong convention which can keep a man in this mood within the building, and when a crowd is seized by the same emotion they either break down the altars and deface the fane, or they surge out determined never to re-enter. Thoughts of what we call the facts of life throng the mind in this mood. Men see the suffering of the world. They knew it was there before, but now they see it close and see its details, and their hearts are filled with pity and rebellion. Turning away from an unbearable sight, they fix their eyes upon the intoxicating vision of worldly success. Life is a great gamble, they say to themselves, a fearful adventure, but what prizes, what delights await the fortunate ! In this state of material exaltation they
become conscious as they never were conscious before of the fearful pace of time. The same end awaits the happy and the unhappy, and it is so very near to both. Restlessness takes bold of the soul of the people, with the love of pleasure and the fear of death. At such a time the mind of the intellectual man applies itself to investigation, and finds exercise in the tabulation of demonstrable certainties and their application to human convenience. The imagination of the more spiritually gifted confines itself to this world. Social problems take the place of polemical discussions. Heaven lies hidden behind Utopia. The metaphysical structures of elaborate dogma which embodied the devotional thought of the Middle Ages are treated by secular critics as Cromwell's soldiers treated the Churches.
Who can excuse or condemn P The difference between iconoclasm and blasphemy is very fine. The world is destroying religion, cry fearful believers and braggart sceptics in one breath ; yet both would hesitate to translate their thought into plain words, and to say that man is destroying God. The proposition is absurd. The Psalmist's fool dare not put it into words. All the while that the mass of the people seem most God-forsaken the awakened conscience of the community bears witness to a faithful Creator who has never yet "left all things to their course, And laid the reins upon the horse." A conviction of sin preludes every reformation, and gives rise to a sporadic enthusiasm for morality. Such enthusiasm is of the nature of a religion, though it is emphatically not Christianity. Yet it does seem to make men acknowledge that the Kingdom of Heaven is within, safe from the violence of those who storm the citadel of dogma with every new explosive that science can devise. Argue and split hairs as we may, the only basis of morality which ordinary men will ever acknowledge is conscience. Consciences differ, and so do eyes. One man is an artist, another is none ; but right and wrong, like red and green, have a definite meaning to normal minds. Belief in inspiration never dies out; it is burned in by the bitter- ness of remorse. Within the hearts of men sound the "lively oracles of God," and from the moment that men cease to argue and begin to listen the smouldering embers of Christianity again give light and heat. With every revival of religion men realise afresh that it is only the things of the Spirit which are eternal. The outward expressions of Christianity are temporal, and before they disappear they decay. What remains is the Personality of the Son of Man, which never ceases to attract the heart of the Western races. All the better instincts of man—his scruples, his compassions, his hopes, his sense of responsibility, his intuitive belief in prayer, his unreasoning faith in forgiveness—find an interpretation in the New Testament. Whether we regard it as a verbally inspired book, or, like Mr. Benson, as "records of obscure and mysterious origin, transcriptions, it would seem, of something oral and traditional," the Per- sonality of Christ stands out from its pages, and His words are not as those of the Scribes. Whatever waves of scepticism pass over the world, they seem unable wholly to quench the conviction of Christendom that Christianity is in its essence true; that its truth is independent of metaphysical argu- ments and ecclesiastical systems. It shines through both, and in the end burns them to ashes. The only witness to Christ which cannot be shaken is the witness of the Spirit,—the only witness, moreover, to which a world condemned to eat its bread in the sweat of its brow will ever have time to listen. The good news of the Gospel is a divine confirma- tion of the aspirations of men. "The Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us," said St. John, and in the human record of that divine sojourn lies an inherent power to revive the faith.
Therefore in very truth is Christianity the religion of resurrection. With her the power of rebirth is always present. Men may bury the Word and the Christ under mountains of casuistry, beneath vast Atlantics of symbolism and superstition, or under the quaking morasses of sloth and ignorance. But it is only for a time. He Who lies buried will once more become the Light of the World. When in Galilee two thousand years ago the priests and the lawyers set their seals upon His tomb, and seemed to have fast bound our Lord Himself, He burst His bonds in resurrection. So now, no sooner does Christianity become apparently petrified, materialised, and dead, than the eternal principle of resurrection reasserts itself, and once more the faith of Christ becomes alive, and shows itself not merely a creed or an institution, but a living and life-breathing spirit.
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