Jonathan and His Continent Part 22

His enemies call him Atheist, because he does not believe in _their_ G.o.d. Man has made unto himself a G.o.d in his own image, and is apt to treat as Atheists all who do not wors.h.i.+p him.

But Voltaire himself, who said that "if a G.o.d did not already exist, it would be necessary to invent Him," is still called an Atheist by many ignorant people.

I never heard Mr. Ingersoll say he did not believe in a G.o.d.

He will not acknowledge the existence of Jehovah, the G.o.d of the Jews: a G.o.d who commanded the people of His choice to exterminate their enemies, sparing neither old men, women, nor children. In his eyes Jehovah is a myth, the creation of a cowardly, ungrateful, and bloodthirsty race.

Mr. Ingersoll is not the only earnest seeker after truth who has been puzzled to reconcile the idea of this cruel, revengeful, implacable deity with that of the gentle, merciful Saviour who taught the doctrine of love and forgiveness in Palestine, and bade His disciples put up their swords in the presence of His persecutors.

"If G.o.d exists," said Mr. Ingersoll to a Presbyterian minister, who was engaged in a discussion with him upon religion, "he is certainly as good as you are." "_Your_ G.o.d," he says to the Presbyterians, "is a Torquemada who denies to his countless victims the mercy of death." And when he sees human miseries, the injustices of this world, war, pestilence, famines, and inundations, the Colonel reproaches Jehovah with pa.s.sing too much time in numbering the hairs of His creatures.

In the opinion of Robert Ingersoll, a religion is not moral which practically says to man: "Do not sin; but if you do sin, console yourself, come to me and I will forgive you." Such a theory is not calculated to improve mankind, who should be taught to do good, not in the hope of being one day rewarded for it, not in the fear of being punished for the neglect of it, but out of love and admiration for what is good, and with the aim of adding to the happiness of their fellow-creatures. Mr. Ingersoll's religion is the religion of humanity; he says: "Happiness is the only good; the time to be happy is now, and the way to be happy is to make others so." Live to do good, to love, and be beloved by those around, and then lie down and sleep with the consciousness of having done your duty to men. Do not ask pardon of G.o.d for an injury done to man. Ask pardon of the man, and make reparation to him for your offence.

"I rob Smith," exclaims Mr. Ingersoll in the ironical language he is such a master of, "G.o.d forgives me. How does that help Smith?"

He maintains that the Christian religion teaches less the love of an infinitely just and merciful G.o.d, than the fear of a demon thirsting for human victims. This charge is borne out by a proverb used by the Scot, who is a student of human nature:

"_If the deil were de'ed, G.o.d wad na be served so weel._"

The Colonel maintains that if man has had hands given him to feel, eyes to see, ears to hear, he has also a brain to think, a heart to love, and intelligence to reason with.

He does not attack so much the Catholic religion, which rests on faith; for a religion which rests purely on faith is not a matter for reasoning and argument. But he attacks rather a Protestantism which prides itself upon resting on reason as well as on faith.

The theories of Colonel Ingersoll are the natural outcome of the introduction of reasoning into religious matters.

Things which are felt only, cannot be discussed; things which are incomprehensible are not matter for explanation.

Protestantism is a mixture of faith and reason agreeing pretty badly together, it must be confessed. The Protestant takes the Bible for a book, every word of which is inspired of G.o.d. He interprets it in his own fas.h.i.+on, and proves out of it every doctrine he requires to found a new sect. The very drunkard is not at a loss to find an excuse for his drinking, and turning to Isaiah (lxv. 13), comforts himself with: "Behold, my servants shall drink."

As he looks on at the Protestants squabbling over the signification of biblical pa.s.sages, the Colonel laughingly says: "It is to be regretted that your deity did not express himself more clearly."

Needless to say that he looks upon the Bible, not as an inspired book, but as a collection of literature something akin to the _Arabian Nights_, and this is what makes discussion with him difficult, if not out of the question. How is it possible to imagine a discussion between Faith and Reason?

To Protestants, the practice of religion is an occupation for Sundays.

To Mr. Ingersoll, it is an occupation for every waking hour, and consists in accomplis.h.i.+ng your duty to your fellow-creatures.

George Sand says the fanatic loves G.o.d to the exclusion of man. The theories of Colonel Ingersoll, lofty and n.o.ble as most of them are, verge upon fanaticism in the sense that they teach the love of mankind to the exclusion of Him who so loved man. The Colonel robs the poor and sorrowing of that which helps them to endure their ills, a belief in a better world to come.

Son of a Protestant minister, Robert Ingersoll early showed special apt.i.tude for the discussion of theological questions. By the age of sixteen, he had thoroughly studied the Old Testament, and would reason upon it like a doctor of divinity. The father in vain drew Robert's attention to the beauties of the Bible, the son could see little in it but absurdities and inconsistencies. The old minister was heard to say: "It grieves me to hear my Robbie talk so, but I declare he is too much for me--I cannot answer him."

Who can answer Ingersoll? is a question often asked. Apparently, not the ministers of the hundreds of different Protestant sects that flourish in America; not Mr. Gladstone, student of the Bible and profound reasoner though he be.

For more than a year the President of the XIXth Century Club of New York was trying to get a Protestant clergyman to break a lance with this redoubtable agnostic in public, but without avail. Not one felt equal to the task.

That which makes this man so formidable is not so much his eloquence, his quick repartee, his sarcasm, his pathos, his humour; it is, above all, the life he leads, the example he sets of all the domestic virtues.

One must have had the privilege of knowing him intimately, of penetrating into that sanctuary of conjugal happiness, his home, before one can form an idea of the respect that he must inspire even in those who abhor his doctrines. His house is the home of the purest joys; it holds four hearts that beat as one.

Mr. Ingersoll lives in one of the handsome houses on Fifth Avenue. His family consists of his wife and two lovely daughters, Athens and Venice, as an American whom I met at Colonel Ingersoll's used to call them.

Indeed, one reminds you of the beautiful creations of t.i.tian. The other seems like a mythological vision, a nymph from the banks of Erymanthus.

As you look at her, while she speaks to you with her eyes modestly lowered, almost seeming to apologise for being so lovely, you involuntarily think of _Le Jeune malade_ of Andre Chenier, that last of the Greek poets, as Edmond About called him.

Authors, journalists, artists, members of the thinking world of New York may be met at the Colonel's charming Sunday evenings. About eleven at night, when all but the intimate friends of the family have left, these latter draw around their host, and entice him to talk upon one of his favourite subjects: poetry, music, or maybe the "mistakes of Moses,"

while they listen with avidity. He knows his Shakespeare as thoroughly as the Bible, only he speaks of him with far more respect and admiration. He adores Wagner, whom he sets even above Beethoven. I mention this to prove once more that we all have our little faults, and that Mr. Ingersoll, in common with his fellow-mortals, is not perfect.

Between midnight and one in the morning, the last visitors reluctantly depart. On the way home you think of all the witty things that have been said; the arrows of satire that have been shot at hypocrisy and humbug; the enn.o.bling humanitarian opinions that have been advanced; and though you may not feel converted, or diverted, or perverted to _Ingersollism_, you are sure to leave that house feeling fuller of goodwill towards all men, and saying to yourself, "What a delightful evening I have pa.s.sed!"

I was present one evening at a meeting of the XIXth Century Club, to hear a discussion on "The poetry of the future." Colonel Ingersoll was to have taken part in it, but, being retained professionally at Was.h.i.+ngton, he was obliged to excuse himself at the eleventh hour. The President immediately telegraphed to a well-known minister, asking him to take the Colonel's place.

"I distinctly decline to take Colonel Ingersoll's place in this world or the next," exclaimed the recipient of the telegram, as soon as he had read it. The reverend gentleman nevertheless took part in the evening's debate, and when he repeated his repartee to the audience, was greeted with hearty laughter and applause.

Now, the lot of Colonel Ingersoll in this world is very enviable, for his profession brings him in a most handsome income. As to refusing his place in the next, what an absurdity!

When Robert Ingersoll presents himself at the gates of Paradise, and St. Peter sees that good, open face, radiant with happiness, the doors will be thrown wide to let him pa.s.s, and the saint will say:

"Come, Robert, come in. Thy happy face pleases me. We have just let in a cargo of long-faced folk--Presbyterians, I'll be bound--and it does one good to look at thee. Thou hast done thy utmost to stifle the hydra-headed monster, Superst.i.tion, and to destroy the infamous calumnies which are in circulation on the subject of the Lord. Come in, friend; thou hast loved, thou hast been beloved; thou hast preached concord, mercy, love, happiness: come take thy place amongst the benefactors of the human race."

CHAPTER XXV.

_Justice.--Comparison Favourable to America.--Judicial Procedure.--The Accused was Paid Cash.--A Criminal Hunt.--The Juries and their Powers.--Slow Dealings of American Justice.--False Philanthropy.--Twelve or Sixteen Minutes at the Wrong End of a Rope.--A Savage Club Anecdote._

I have no intention of entertaining the reader on the subject of the judicial organisation in the United States. I refer him for that to the Tocquevilles of every country, to our own Tocqueville especially. I do not concern myself, in this volume, with American inst.i.tutions, but simply with the ways and manners of the Americans.

I had just returned from America, and was sitting in the smoking-room of the North-Western Hotel, Liverpool. I was chatting with an American, fellow-pa.s.senger on the Atlantic voyage, while admiring St. George's Hall, which stands opposite. This magnificent building, which serves as a Court of Justice, is the finest modern edifice of the English provinces.

All at once we heard a blast of trumpets. A crowd rushed towards the Hall, and lined the flight of steps leading to the grand entrance.

Heralds and lacqueys, all bedizened with scarlet and gold, presently descended the steps, followed by police officers. Several carriages then drew up.

From one of these, there alighted a man arrayed in a scarlet robe and ermine tippet, and wearing a powdered wig. The scarlet robe, followed by the _cortege_ which had formed, solemnly mounted the steps between the crowd, which stood gazing with open-mouthed and wide-eyed admiration.

"What show is there going on opposite?" asked the American, in the easy-going tone that so distinguishes the Yankee.

He was an "Innocent abroad."

"My dear sir," I said to him, "it is simply a judge going to try a thief or two. England honours her criminals with a great deal of parade, as you see."

My American was silent for a few minutes. He was probably adding up the salaries of the judge, the police officers, heralds and ushers, the lawyers' fees, the cost of the building, carriages, and show generally; and no doubt comparing the total with the pound or two stolen from his employer by a dishonest clerk, for whom all this grand representation was taking place.

Nothing is more simple than an American court of justice. Four walls innocent of decoration of any kind, a few plain chairs or benches. No uniforms, no robes, no wigs, no trumpets, no liveried ushers. The judge and the barristers are in black frock-coats. The ushers are not quite so well dressed as the barristers, and that is all.