Ancient Pagan and Modern Christian Symbolism. Thomas Inman
occurrence has taken place in religion. Heathendom died, and was buried; yet, after a brief interval, it rose again from its tomb. But, unlike the vampire, its garb was changed, and it was not recognised. It moved through Christendom in a seductive dress. If it were a devil, yet its clothing was that of a sheep; if a wolf, it wore broadcloth. If it ravened, the victims were not pitied. Heathenism, by which I mean the manners, morals and rites prevalent in pagan times or countries, like a resuscitated vampire, once bore rule throughout Christendom, in which term is included all those parts where Christian baptism is used by all the people, or the vast majority. In most parts it still reigns supreme.
When vampires were discovered by the acumen of any observer, they were, we are told, ignominiously killed, by a stake being driven through the body; but experience showed them to have such tenacity of life that they rose again, and again, notwithstanding renewed impalement, and were not ultimately laid to rest till wholly burnt. In like manner, the regenerated Heathendom, which dominates over the followers of Jesus of Nazareth, has risen again and again, after being transfixed. Still cherished by the many, it is denounced by the few. Amongst other accusers, I raise my voice against the Paganism which exists so extensively in ecclesiastical Christianity, and will do my utmost to expose the imposture.
In a vampire story, told in Thalaba, by Southey, the resuscitated being takes the form of a dearly beloved maiden, and the hero is obliged to kill her with his own hand. He does so; but, whilst he strikes the form of the loved one, he feels sure that he slays only a demon. In like manner, when I endeavour to destroy the current Heathenism, which has assumed the garb of Christianity, I do not attack real religion. Few would accuse a workman of malignancy who cleanses from filth the surface of a noble statue. There may be some who are too nice to touch a nasty subject; yet even they will rejoice when some one else removes the dirt. Such a scavenger is much wanted.
If I were to assert, as a general proposition, that religion does not require any symbolism, I should probably win assent from every true Scotch Presbyterian, every Wesleyan, and every Independent. Yet I should be opposed by every Papist, and by most Anglican Churchmen. But why? Is it not because their ecclesiastics have adopted symbolism into their churches and into their ritual? They have broken the second commandment of Jehovah, and refuse to see anything wrong in their practice or gross in their imagery. But they adopt Jehovah rather than Elohim, and break the commandments, said to be given upon Sinai, in good company.
The reader of the following pages will probably feel more interest therein if he has some clue whereby he may guide himself through their labyrinth.
From the earliest known times there seems to have been in every civilised nation the idea of an unseen power. In the speculations of thoughtful minds a necessity is recognised for the existence of a Being who made all things—who is at times beneficent, sending rain and warmth, and who at others sends storm, plague, famine, and war. After the crude idea has taken possession of the thoughts, there has been a desire to know something more of this Creator, and an examination into the works of Nature has been made with the view to ascertain the will and designs of the Supreme. In every country this great One has been supposed to inhabit the heaven above us, and consequently all celestial phenomena have been noticed carefully. But the mind soon got weary of contemplating about an essence, and, contenting itself with the belief that there was a Power, began to investigate the nature of His ministers. These, amongst the Aryans, were the sun, fire, storm, wind, the sky, the day, night, etc. An intoxicating drink, too, was regarded as an emanation from the Supreme. With this form of belief men lived as they had done ere it existed, and in their relations with each other may be compared to such high class animals as elephants. Men can live peaceably together without religion, just as do the bisons, buffaloes, antelopes, and even wolves. The assumption that some form of faith is absolutely a necessity for man is only founded on the fancies of some religious fanatics who know little of the world.*
* Whilst these sheets were passing through the press, there
appeared a work, published anonymously, but reported to be
by one of the most esteemed theologians who ever sat upon an
episcopal bench. It is entitled Supernatural Religion.
London: Longmans, 1874. From it we quote the following, vol.
ii., p. 489:—
"We gain infinitely more than we lose in abandoning belief
in the reality of Divine Revelation. Whilst we retain pure
and unimpaired the treasure of Christian Morality, we
relinquish nothing but the debasing elements added to it by
human superstition. We are no longer bound to believe a
theology which outrages reason and moral sense. We are freed
from base anthropomorphic views of God and His government of
the universe; and from Jewish Mythology we rise to higher
conceptions of an infinitely wise and beneficent Being,
hidden from our finite minds, it is true, in the
impenetrable glory of Divinity, but whose Laws of wondrous
comprehensiveness and perfection we ever perceive in
operation around us. We are no longer disturbed by visions
of fitful interference with the order of Nature, but we
recognise that the Being who regulates the universe is
without variableness or shadow of turning. It is singular
how little there is in the supposed Revelation of alleged
information, however incredible, regarding that which is
beyond the limits of human thought, but that little is of a
character which reason declares to be the wildest delusion.
Let no man whose belief in the reality of a Divine
Revelation may be destroyed by such an inquiry complain that
he has lost a precious possession, and that nothing is left
but a blank. The Revelation not being a reality, that which
he has lost was but an illusion, and that which is left is
the Truth. If he be content with illusions, he will speedily
be consoled; if he be a lover only of truth, instead of a
blank, he will recognise that the reality before him is full
of great peace.
"If we know less than we have supposed of man's destiny, we
may at least rejoice that we are no longer compelled to
believe that which is unworthy. The limits of thought once
attained, we may well be unmoved in the assurance that all
that we do know of the regulation of the universe being so
perfect and wise, all that we do not know must be equally
so. Here enters the true and noble Faith—which is the child
of reason. If we have believed a system, the details of
which must at one time or another have shocked the mind of
every intelligent man, and believed it simply because it was
supposed to be revealed, we may equally believe in the
wisdom and goodness of what is not revealed. The mere act of
communication to us is nothing: Faith in the perfect
ordering of all things is independent of Revelation.
"The argument so often employed by Theologians that Divine
Revelation is necessary for man, and that certain views
contained in that Revelation are required by our moral
consciousness, is purely imaginary, and derived from the
Revelation which it seeks to maintain. The only