August 13, 2014

A Layman’s Faith

By John Paine
Religio-Laici

Religio Laici, or A Layman’s Faith. John Dryden’s radical 1682 poem comprises a warrant for personal discipleship.

“For every man is building a several way; impotently conceited of his own model, and his own materials: reason is always striving, and always at a loss; and of necessity it must so come to pass, while it is exercised about that which is not its proper object. Let us be content at last, to know God, by his own methods; at least, so much of him, as he is pleased to reveal to us in the sacred Scriptures; to apprehend them to be the word of God, is all our reason has to do; for all beyond it is the work of faith, which is the seal of heaven impressed upon our human understanding.

“Yet to such as are grounded in the true belief, those explanatory Creeds, the Nicene and this of Athanasius, might perhaps be spared: for what is supernatural will always be a mystery in spite of exposition: and for my own part the plain Apostles Creed, is most suitable to my weak understanding; as the simplest diet is the most easy of digestion.

“But, by asserting the Scripture to be the canon of our faith, I have unavoidably created to myself two sorts of enemies: the papists indeed, more directly, because they have kept the Scripture from us, what they could; and have reserved to themselves a right of interpreting what they have delivered under the pretence of infallibility: and the fanatics more collaterally, because they have assumed what amounts to an infallibility in the private spirit: and have distorted those texts of Scripture, which are not necessary to salvation, to the damnable uses of sedition, disturbance, and destruction of the civil government.

“The florid, elevated, and figurative way is for the passions; for love and hatred, fear and anger, are begotten in the soul by showing their objects out of their true proportion; either greater than the life, or less; but instruction is to be given by showing them what they naturally are. A man is to be cheated into passion, but to be reasoned into Truth.”
John Dryden, Preface to Religio Laici, 1682

(Ed: One of our regular readers complained recently about the length of a typical Veracity post. His complaint was that they are too short. Well…far be it from us to ignore our readers.)

In How We Got the Bible (Part 1), Dick Woodward gave us an audio introduction to the “background of the Bible” from his Mini Bible College series. At 8:07 into the clip Dick said, “The poet Dryden puts it this way, as he considers this phenomenon of men writing the books of the Bible…Whence, but from Heaven, could men unskilled in arts, In several ages born, in several parts, Weave such agreeing truths? or how, or why Should all conspire to cheat us with a lie? Unasked their pains, ungrateful their advice, Starving their gain, and martyrdom their price.”

John Dryden

Portrait of John Dryden by Sir Godfrey Kneller, 1698

The quote is from lines 140-145 of John Dryden’s poem Religio Laici (or A Layman’s Faith). If you’re interested in personal discipleship, Dryden was way, way ahead of his time. I’ve read so many self-locating and off-the-mark commentaries about this poem that, in the interest of unfiltered and unbiased sharing, I’ll leave it for you to enjoy without my two cents worth of commentary. You don’t need to understand all the 17th century historical references and doctrinal nuances to get at what Dryden was writing about. Let’s just say the man was gifted and insightful. Seriously insightful. If you are interested in reading Dryden’s amazing preface to the poem, and some commentary and explanatory material, here’s a little gift—be sure to go backwards and forwards in this document to get all that it has to offer. The preface by Dryden is wonderfully written and so is the commentary, but try not to take the commentary too seriously. Dryden experienced what the apostle Paul was saying about personal discipleship in Philippians 2:12.

 

Religio Laici (or A Layman’s Faith)

John Dryden, 1682

     Dim as the borrow’d beams of moon and stars
To lonely, weary, wandering travellers,
Is reason to the soul: and as on high,
Those rolling fires discover but the sky,
Not light us here; so reason’s glimmering ray
Was lent, not to assure our doubtful way,
But guide us upward to a better day.
And as those nightly tapers disappear
When day’s bright lord ascends our hemisphere;
So pale grows reason at religion’s sight; 10
So dies, and so dissolves in supernatural light.
Some few, whose lamp shone brighter, have been led
From cause to cause, to nature’s secret head;
And found that one first principle must be:
But what, or who, that UNIVERSAL HE:
Whether some soul encompassing this ball,
Unmade, unmoved; yet making, moving all;
Or various atoms’ interfering dance
Leap’d into form, the noble work of chance;
Or this Great All was from eternity; 20
Not even the Stagyrite himself could see;
And Epicurus guess’d as well as he:
As blindly groped they for a future state;
As rashly judged of providence and fate:
But least of all could their endeavours find
What most concern’d the good of human kind:
For happiness was never to be found,
But vanish’d from them like enchanted ground.
One thought Content the good to be enjoy’d–
This every little accident destroy’d: 30
The wiser madmen did for Virtue toil–
A thorny, or at best a barren soil:
In Pleasure some their glutton souls would steep;
But found their line too short, the well too deep;
And leaky vessels which no bliss could keep.
Thus anxious thoughts in endless circles roll,
Without a centre where to fix the soul:
In this wild maze their vain endeavours end:
How can the less the greater comprehend?
Or finite reason reach Infinity? 40
For what could fathom God were more than He.
     The Deist thinks he stands on firmer ground;
Cries [Greek: eureka], the mighty secret’s found:
God is that spring of good; supreme and best;
We made to serve, and in that service blest;
If so, some rules of worship must be given,
Distributed alike to all by Heaven:
Else God were partial, and to some denied
The means his justice should for all provide.
This general worship is to praise and pray: 50
One part to borrow blessings, one to pay:
And when frail nature slides into offence,
The sacrifice for crimes is penitence.
Yet since the effects of Providence, we find,
Are variously dispensed to human kind;
That vice triumphs, and virtue suffers here–
A brand that sovereign justice cannot bear–
Our reason prompts us to a future state:
The last appeal from fortune and from fate;
Where God’s all-righteous ways will be declared– 60
The bad meet punishment, the good reward.
     Thus man by his own strength to heaven would soar,
And would not be obliged to God for more.
Vain, wretched creature, how art thou misled,
To think thy wit these God-like notions bred!
These truths are not the product of thy mind,
But dropp’d from heaven, and of a nobler kind.
Reveal’d religion first inform’d thy sight,
And reason saw not, till faith sprung the light.
Hence all thy natural worship takes the source: 70
‘Tis revelation what thou think’st discourse.
Else how com’st thou to see these truths so clear,
Which so obscure to heathens did appear?
Not Plato these, nor Aristotle found:
Nor he whose wisdom oracles renown’d.
Hast thou a wit so deep, or so sublime,
Or canst thou lower dive, or higher climb?
Canst thou by reason more of Godhead know
Than Plutarch, Seneca, or Cicero?
Those giant wits, in happier ages born, 80
When arms and arts did Greece and Rome adorn,
Knew no such system: no such piles could raise
Of natural worship, built on prayer and praise,
To one sole God.
Nor did remorse to expiate sin prescribe,
But slew their fellow-creatures for a bribe:
The guiltless victim groan’d for their offence;
And cruelty and blood was penitence.
If sheep and oxen could atone for men,
Ah! at how cheap a rate the rich might sin! 90
And great oppressors might Heaven’s wrath beguile,
By offering His own creatures for a spoil!
     Darest thou, poor worm, offend Infinity?
And must the terms of peace be given by thee?
Then thou art Justice in the last appeal;
Thy easy God instructs thee to rebel:
And, like a king remote, and weak, must take
What satisfaction thou art pleased to make.
     But if there be a Power too just and strong
To wink at crimes, and bear unpunish’d wrong, 100
Look humbly upward, see His will disclose
The forfeit first, and then the fine impose:
A mulct thy poverty could never pay,
Had not Eternal Wisdom found the way:
And with celestial wealth supplied thy store:
His justice makes the fine, His mercy quits the score.
See God descending in thy human frame;
The Offended suffering in the offender’s name:
All thy misdeeds to Him imputed see,
And all His righteousness devolved on thee. 110
For, granting we have sinn’d, and that the offence
Of man is made against Omnipotence,
Some price that bears proportion must be paid,
And infinite with infinite be weigh’d.
See then the Deist lost: remorse for vice
Not paid; or paid, inadequate in price:
What further means can reason now direct,
Or what relief from human wit expect?
That shows us sick; and sadly are we sure
Still to be sick, till Heaven reveal the cure: 120
If, then, Heaven’s will must needs be understood
(Which must, if we want cure, and Heaven be good),
Let all records of will reveal’d be shown;
With Scripure all in equal balance thrown,
And our one Sacred Book will be that one.
     Proof needs not here, for whether we compare
That impious, idle, superstitious ware
Of rites, lustrations, offerings, which before,
In various ages, various countries bore,
With Christian faith and virtues, we shall find 130
None answering the great ends of human kind,
But this one rule of life, that shows us best
How God may be appeased, and mortals blest.
Whether from length of time its worth we draw,
The word is scarce more ancient than the law:
Heaven’s early care prescribed for every age;
First, in the soul, and after, in the page.
Or, whether more abstractedly we look,
Or on the writers, or the written book,
Whence, but from Heaven, could men unskill’d in arts, 140
In several ages born, in several parts,
Weave such agreeing truths? or how, or why
Should all conspire to cheat us with a lie?
Unask’d their pains, ungrateful their advice,
Starving their gain, and martyrdom their price.
     If on the Book itself we cast our view,
Concurrent heathens prove the story true:
The doctrine, miracles; which must convince,
For Heaven in them appeals to human sense:
And though they prove not, they confirm the cause, 150
When what is taught agrees with Nature’s laws.
     Then for the style, majestic and divine,
It speaks no less than God in every line:
Commanding words; whose force is still the same
As the first fiat that produced our frame.
All faiths beside, or did by arms ascend;
Or, sense indulged, has made mankind their friend:
This only doctrine does our lusts oppose–
Unfed by Nature’s soil, in which it grows;
Cross to our interests, curbing sense, and sin; 160
Oppress’d without, and undermined within,
It thrives through pain; its own tormentors tires;
And with a stubborn patience still aspires.
To what can reason such effects assign,
Transcending nature, but to laws divine?
Which in that sacred volume are contain’d;
Sufficient, clear, and for that use ordain’d.
     But stay: the Deist here will urge anew,
No supernatural worship can be true:
Because a general law is that alone 170
Which must to all, and every where be known:
A style so large as not this Book can claim,
Nor aught that bears Reveal’d Religion’s name.
‘Tis said the sound of a Messiah’s birth
Is gone through all the habitable earth:
But still that text must be confined alone
To what was then inhabited, and known:
And what provision could from thence accrue
To Indian souls, and worlds discover’d new?
In other parts it helps, that ages past, 180
The Scriptures there were known, and were embraced,
Till sin spread once again the shades of night:
What’s that to these who never saw the light?
     Of all objections this indeed is chief
To startle reason, stagger frail belief:
We grant, ’tis true, that Heaven from human sense
Has hid the secret paths of Providence:
But boundless wisdom, boundless mercy may
Find even for those bewilder’d souls a way.
If from His nature foes may pity claim, 190
Much more may strangers who ne’er heard His name.
And though no name be for salvation known,
But that of his Eternal Son alone;
Who knows how far transcending goodness can
Extend the merits of that Son to man?
Who knows what reasons may His mercy lead;
Or ignorance invincible may plead?
Not only charity bids hope the best,
But more the great apostle has express’d:
That if the Gentiles, whom no law inspired, 200
By nature did what was by law required;
They, who the written rule had never known,
Were to themselves both rule and law alone:
To nature’s plain indictment they shall plead;
And by their conscience be condemn’d or freed.
Most righteous doom! because a rule reveal’d
Is none to those from whom it was conceal’d.
Then those who follow’d reason’s dictates right,
Lived up, and lifted high their natural light;
With Socrates may see their Maker’s face, 210
While thousand rubric-martyrs want a place.
Nor does it balk my charity to find
The Egyptian bishop of another mind:
For though his creed eternal truth contains,
‘Tis hard for man to doom to endless pains
All who believed not all his zeal required;
Unless he first could prove he was inspired.
Then let us either think he meant to say
This faith, where publish’d, was the only way;
Or else conclude that, Arius to confute, 220
The good old man, too eager in dispute,
Flew high; and as his Christian fury rose,
Damn’d all for heretics who durst oppose.
     Thus far my charity this path has tried,
(A much unskilful, but well meaning guide:)
Yet what they are, even these crude thoughts were bred
By reading that which better thou hast read,
Thy matchless author’s work: which thou, my friend,
By well translating better dost commend;
Those youthful hours which, of thy equals most 230
In toys have squander’d, or in vice have lost,
Those hours hast thou to nobler use employ’d;
And the severe delights of truth enjoy’d.
Witness this weighty book, in which appears
The crabbed toil of many thoughtful years,
Spent by thy author, in the sifting care
Of Rabbins’ old sophisticated ware
From gold divine; which he who well can sort
May afterwards make algebra a sport:
A treasure, which if country curates buy, 240
They Junius and Tremellius may defy;
Save pains in various readings, and translations;
And without Hebrew make most learn’d quotations.
A work so full with various learning fraught,
So nicely ponder’d, yet so strongly wrought,
As nature’s height and art’s last hand required:
As much as man could compass, uninspired.
Where we may see what errors have been made
Both in the copiers’ and translators’ trade;
How Jewish, Popish interests have prevail’d, 250
And where infallibility has fail’d.
     For some, who have his secret meaning guess’d,
Have found our author not too much a priest:
For fashion-sake he seems to have recourse
To Pope, and Councils, and Tradition’s force:
But he that old traditions could subdue,
Could not but find the weakness of the new:
If Scripture, though derived from heavenly birth,
Has been but carelessly preserved on earth;
If God’s own people, who of God before 260
Knew what we know, and had been promised more,
In fuller terms, of Heaven’s assisting care,
And who did neither time nor study spare,
To keep this Book untainted, unperplex’d,
Let in gross errors to corrupt the text,
Omitted paragraphs, embroil’d the sense,
With vain traditions stopp’d the gaping fence,
Which every common hand pull’d up with ease:
What safety from such brushwood-helps as these!
If written words from time are not secured, 270
How can we think have oral sounds endured?
Which thus transmitted, if one mouth has fail’d,
Immortal lies on ages are entail’d:
And that some such have been, is proved too plain,
If we consider interest, church, and gain.
     O but, says one, tradition set aside,
Where can we hope for an unerring guide?
For since the original Scripture has been lost,
All copies disagreeing, maim’d the most,
Or Christian faith can have no certain ground, 280
Or truth in Church Tradition must be found.
     Such an omniscient Church we wish indeed:
Twere worth both Testaments, cast in the Creed:
But if this mother be a guide so sure,
As can all doubts resolve, all truth secure,
Then her infallibility, as well
Where copies are corrupt or lame, can tell;
Restore lost canon with as little pains,
As truly explicate what still remains:
Which yet no Council dare pretend to do; 290
Unless, like Esdras, they could write it new:
Strange confidence still to interpret true,
Yet not be sure that all they have explain’d
Is in the blest original contain’d!
More safe, and much more modest ’tis to say,
God would not leave mankind without a way:
And that the Scriptures, though not every where
Free from corruption, or entire, or clear,
Are uncorrupt, sufficient, clear, entire,
In all things which our needful faith require. 300
If others in the same glass better see,
Tis for themselves they look, but not for me:
For my salvation must its doom receive,
Not from what others, but what I believe.
     Must all tradition then be set aside?
This to affirm were ignorance or pride.
Are there not many points, some needful sure
To saving faith, that Scripture leaves obscure?
Which every sect will wrest a several way,
For what one sect interprets, all sects may. 310
We hold, and say we prove from Scripture plain,
That Christ is God; the bold Socinian
From the same Scripture urges he’s but man.
Now, what appeal can end the important suit?
Both parts talk loudly, but the rule is mute.
     Shall I speak plain, and in a nation free
Assume an honest layman’s liberty?
I think, according to my little skill,
To my own Mother Church submitting still,
That many have been saved, and many may, 320
Who never heard this question brought in play.
Th’ unletter’d Christian, who believes in gross,
Plods on to heaven, and ne’er is at a loss;
For the strait gate would be made straiter yet,
Were none admitted there but men of wit.
The few by nature form’d, with learning fraught,
Born to instruct, as others to be taught,
Must study well the sacred page; and see
Which doctrine, this or that, does best agree
With the whole tenor of the work divine: 330
And plainliest points to Heaven’s reveal’d design:
Which exposition flows from genuine sense;
And which is forced by wit and eloquence.
Not that tradition’s parts are useless here,
When general, old, disinteress’d, and clear:
That ancient Fathers thus expound the page,
Gives Truth the reverend majesty of age:
Confirms its force, by biding every test;
For best authority’s next rules are best.
And still the nearer to the spring we go, 340
More limpid, more unsoil’d, the waters flow.
Thus first traditions were a proof alone,
Could we be certain such they were, so known:
But since some flaws in long descent may be,
They make not truth but probability.
Even Arius and Pelagius durst provoke
To what the centuries preceding spoke.
Such difference is there in an oft-told tale:
But Truth by its own sinews will prevail.
Tradition written, therefore, more commends 350
Authority, than what from voice descends:
And this, as perfect as its kind can be,
Rolls down to us the sacred history:
Which from the Universal Church received,
Is tried, and after for itself believed.
     The partial Papists would infer from hence,
Their Church, in last resort, should judge the sense.
But first they would assume, with wondrous art,
Themselves to be the whole, who are but part,
Of that vast frame the Church; yet grant they were 360
The handers down, can they from thence infer
A right to interpret? or would they alone
Who brought the present, claim it for their own?
The Book’s a common largess to mankind;
Not more for them than every man design’d:
The welcome news is in the letter found;
The carrier’s not commissioned to expound;
It speaks itself, and what it does contain
In all things needful to be known is plain.
     In times o’ergrown with rust and ignorance, 370
A gainful trade their clergy did advance:
When want of learning kept the laymen low,
And none but priests were authorised to know:
When what small knowledge was, in them did dwell;
And he a god, who could but read and spell:
Then Mother Church did mightily prevail;
She parcell’d out the Bible by retail:
But still expounded what she sold or gave;
To keep it in her power to damn and save.
Scripture was scarce, and as the market went, 380
Poor laymen took salvation on content;
As needy men take money, good or bad:
God’s Word they had not, but th’ priest’s they had.
Yet, whate’er false conveyances they made,
The lawyer still was certain to be paid.
In those dark times they learn’d their knack so well,
That by long use they grew infallible.
At last a knowing age began to inquire
If they the Book, or that did them inspire:
And making narrower search, they found, though late, 390
That what they thought the priest’s, was their estate;
Taught by the will produced, the written Word,
How long they had been cheated on record.
Then every man who saw the title fair,
Claim’d a child’s part, and put in for a share:
Consulted soberly his private good,
And saved himself as cheap as e’er he could.
     ‘Tis true, my friend, (and far be flattery hence),
This good had full as bad a consequence:
The Book thus put in every vulgar hand, 400
Which each presumed he best could understand,
The common rule was made the common prey;
And at the mercy of the rabble lay.
The tender page with horny fists was gall’d;
And he was gifted most that loudest bawl’d.
The spirit gave the doctoral degree:
And every member of a company
Was of his trade, and of the Bible free.
     Plain truths enough for needful use they found;
But men would still be itching to expound: 410
Each was ambitious of the obscurest place,
No measure ta’en from knowledge, all from grace.
Study and pains were now no more their care;
Texts were explain’d by fasting and by prayer:
This was the fruit the private spirit brought;
Occasion’d by great zeal and little thought.
While crowds unlearn’d, with rude devotion warm,
About the sacred viands buzz and swarm.
The fly-blown text creates a crawling brood,
And turns to maggots what was meant for food. 420
A thousand daily sects rise up and die;
A thousand more the perish’d race supply;
So all we make of Heaven’s discover’d will,
Is, not to have it, or to use it ill.
The danger’s much the same; on several shelves
If others wreck us, or we wreck ourselves.
     What then remains, but, waiving each extreme,
The tides of ignorance and pride to stem?
Neither so rich a treasure to forego;
Nor proudly seek beyond our power to know: 430
Faith is not built on disquisitions vain;
The things we must believe are few and plain:
But since men will believe more than they need,
And every man will make himself a creed;
In doubtful questions ’tis the safest way
To learn what unsuspected ancients say:
For ’tis not likely we should higher soar
In search of heaven, than all the Church before:
Nor can we be deceived, unless we see
The Scripture and the Fathers disagree. 440
If, after all, they stand suspected still,
(For no man’s faith depends upon his will):
Tis some relief, that points not clearly known,
Without much hazard may be let alone:
And after hearing what our Church can say,
If still our reason runs another way,
That private reason ’tis more just to curb,
Than by disputes the public peace disturb.
For points obscure are of small use to learn:
But common quiet is mankind’s concern. 450
     Thus have I made my own opinions clear;
Yet neither praise expect, nor censure fear:
And this unpolish’d, rugged verse I chose,
As fittest for discourse, and nearest prose:
For while from sacred truth I do not swerve,

Tom Sternhold’s or Tom Shadwell’s rhymes will serve.

 

HT: Dick Woodward

 

About John Paine

This blog is topical and devotional--we post whatever interests us, whenever. If you want to follow in an orderly fashion, please see our Kaqexeß page. View all posts by John Paine
This entry was posted on Wednesday, August 13th, 2014 at 12:08 am and tagged with , , , , and posted in Witnesses. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.

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