Mankind is in mortal peril, and fear now, as in the past, is inclining men to seek refuge in God.
Throughout the West there is a very general revival of religion. Nazis and Communists dismissed
Christianity and did things which we deplore. It is easy to conclude that the repudiation of
Christianity by Hitler and the Soviet Government is at least in part the cause of our troubles and
that if the world returned to Christianity, our international problems would be solved. I believe this
to be a complete delusion born of terror. And I think it is a dangerous delusion because it misleads
men whose thinking might otherwise be fruitful and thus stands in the way of a valid solution.
The question involved is not concerned only with the present state of the world. It is a much more
general question, and one which has been debated for many centuries. It is the question whether
societies can practise a sufficient modicum of morality if they are not helped by dogmatic religion. I
do not myself think that the dependence of morals upon religion is nearly as close as religious
people believe it to be. I even think that some very important virtues are more likely to be found
among those who reject religious dogmas than among those who accept them. I think this applies
especially to the virtue of truthfulness or intellectual integrity. I mean by intellectual integrity the
habit of deciding vexed questions in accordance with the evidence, or of leaving them undecided
where the evidence is inconclusive. This virtue, though it is underestimated by almost all adherents
of any system of dogma, is to my mind of the very greatest social importance and far more likely to
benefit the world than Christianity or any other system of organised beliefs.
Let us consider for a moment how moral rules have come to be accepted. Moral rules are broadly
of two kinds: there are those which have no basis except in a religious creed; and there are those
which have an obvious basis in social utility. In the Greek Orthodox Church, two godparents of the
same child must not marry. For this rule, clearly, there is only a theological basis; and, if you think
the rule important, you will be quite right in saying that the decay of religion is to he deprecated
because it will lead to the rule being infringed. But it is not this kind of moral rule that is in question.
The moral rules that are in question are those for which there is a social justification independently
of theology.
Let us take theft, for example. A community in which everybody steals is inconvenient for
everybody, and it is obvious that most people can get more of the sort of life they desire if they live
in a community where theft is rare. But in the absence of laws and morals and religion a difficulty
arises: for each individual, the ideal community would be one in which everybody else is honest and
he alone is a thief. It follows that a social institution is necessary if the interest of the individual is to
be reconciled with that of the community. This is effected more or less successfully by the criminal
law and the police. But criminals are not always caught, and. the police may be unduly lenient to
the powerful. If people can be persuaded that there is a God who will punish theft, even when the
police fail, it would seem likely that this belief would promote honesty. Given a population that already believes in God, it will readily believe that God has prohibited theft. The usefulness of
religion in this respect is illustrated by the story of Nahoth’s vineyard where the thief is the king,
who is above earthly justice.
I will not deny that among semi-civilised communities in the past such considerations may have
helped to promote socially desirable conduct. But in the present day such good as may be done by
imputing a theological origin to morals is inextricably hound up with such grave evils that the good
becomes insignificant in comparison. As civilisation progresses, the earthly sanctions become more
secure and the divine sanctions less so. People see more and more reason to think that if they steal
they will be caught and less and less reason to think that if they are not caught God will
nevertheless punish them. Even highly religious people in the present day hardly expect to go to
Hell for stealing. They reflect that they can repent in time, and that in any case Hell is neither so
certain nor so hot as it used to be. Most people in civilised communities do not steal, and I think the
usual motive is the great likelihood of punishment here on earth. This is borne out by the fact that
in a mining camp during a gold rush, or in any such disorderly community, almost everybody does
steal.
But, you may say, although the theological prohibition of theft may no longer be very necessary, it
at any rate does no harm since we all wish people not to steal. The trouble is, however, that as soon
as men incline to doubt received theology it comes to be supported by odious and harmful means.
If a theology is thought necessary to virtue and if candid inquirers see no reason to think the
theology true, the authorities will set to work to discourage candid inquiry. In former centuries, they
did so by burning the inquirers at the stake. In Russia they still have methods which are little better;
but in Western countries the authorities have perfected somewhat milder forms of persuasion. Of
these, schools are perhaps the most important: the young must be preserved from hearing the
arguments in favour of the opinions which the authorities dislike, and those who nevertheless
persist in showing an inquiring disposition will incur social displeasure and, if possible, be made to
feel morally reprehensible. In this way, any system of morals which has a theological basis becomes
one of the tools by which the holders of power preserve their authority and impair the intellectual
vigour of the young.
I find among many people at the present day an indifference to truth which I cannot but think
extremely dangerous. When people argue, for example, in defence of Christianity, they do not, like
Thomas Aquinas, give reasons for supposing that there is a God and that He has expressed His will
in the Scriptures. They argue instead that, if people think this, they will act better than if they do
not. We ought not therefore-so these people contend-to permit ourselves to speculate as to
whether God exists. If, in an unguarded moment, doubt rears its head, we must suppress it
vigorously. If candid thought is a cause of doubt, we must eschew candid thought. If the official
exponents of orthodoxy tell you that it is wicked to marry your deceased wife’s sister, you must
believe them lest morals collapse. If they tell you that birth control is sin, you must accept their
dictum however obvious it may be to you that without birth control disaster is certain. As soon as it
is held that any belief, no matter what, is important for some other reason than that it is true, a
whole host of evils is ready to spring up. Discouragement of inquiry, which I spoke of before, is the first of these, but others are pretty sure to follow. Positions of authority will be open to the
orthodox. Historical records must he falsified if they throw doubt on received opinions. Sooner or
later unorthodoxy will come to be considered a crime to be dealt with by the stake, the purge, or
the concentration camp. I can respect the men who argue that religion is true and therefore ought
to be believed, but I can only feel profound moral reprobation for those who say that religion ought
to be believed because it is useful, and that to ask whether it is true is a waste of time.
It is customary among Christian apologists to regard Communism as something very different from
Christianity and to contrast its evils with the supposed blessings enjoyed by Christian nations. This
seems to me a profound mistake. The evils of Communism are the same as those that existed in
Christianity during the Ages of Faith. The Ogpu differs only quantitatively from the Inquisition. Its
cruelties are of the same sort, and the damage that it does to the intellectual and moral life of
Russians is of the same sort as that which was done by the Inquisitors whenever they prevailed.
The Communists falsify history, and the Church did the same until the Renaissance. If the Church is
not now as bad as the Soviet Government, that is due to the influence of those who attacked the
Church: from the Council of Trent to the present day whatever improvements it has effected have
been due to its enemies. There are many who object to the Soviet Government because they dislike
the Communist economic doctrine, but this the Kremlin shares with the early Christians, the
Franciscans, and the majority of mediaeval Christian heretics. Nor was the Communist doctrine
confined to heretics: Sir Thomas More, an orthodox martyr, speaks of Christianity as Communistic
and says that this was the only aspect of the Christian religion which commended it to the
Utopians. It is not Soviet doctrine in itself that can be justly regarded as a danger. It is the way in
which the doctrine is held. It is held as sacred and inviolable truth, to doubt which is sin and
deserving of the severest punishment. The Communist, like the Christian, believes that his doctrine
is essential to salvation, and it is this belief which makes salvation possible for him. It is the
similarities between Christianity and Communism that makes them incompatible with each other.
When two men of science disagree, they do not invoke the secular arm; they wait for further
evidence to decide the issue, because, as men of science, they know that neither is infallible. But
when two theologians differ, since there are no criteria to which either can appeal, there is nothing
for it but mutual hatred and an open or covert appeal to force. Christianity, I will admit, does less
harm than it used to do; but this is because it is less fervently believed. Perhaps, in time, the same
change will come over Communism; and, if it does, that creed will lose much of what now makes it
obnoxious. But if in the West the view prevails that Christianity is essential to virtue and social
stability, Christianity will once again acquire the vices which it had in the Middle Ages; and, in
becoming more and more like Communism, will become more and more difficult to reconcile with
it. It is not along this road that the world can be saved from disaster.
II
In my first article I was concerned with the evils resulting from any system of dogmas presented for
acceptance, not on the ground of truth, but on the ground of social utility. What I had to say applies
equally to Christianity, Communism, Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism and all theological systems, except
in so far as they rely upon grounds making a universal appeal of the sort that is made by men of science. There are, however, special arguments which are advanced in favour of Christianity on
account of its supposed special merits. These have been set forth eloquently and with a show of
erudition by Herbert Butterfield, Professor of Modern History in the University of Cambridge,* and I
shall take him as spokesman of the large body of opinion to which he adheres.
Professor Butterfield seeks to secure certain controversial advantages by concessions that make
him seem more open-minded than in fact he is. He admits that the Christian Church had relied
upon persecution and that it is pressure from without that has led it to abandon this practice in so
far as it has been abandoned. He admits that the present tension between Russia and the West is a
result of power politics such as might have been expected even if the Government of Russia had
continued to adhere to the Greek Orthodox Church. He admits that some of the virtues which he
regards as distinctively Christian have been displayed by some Freethinkers and have been absent
in the behaviour of many Christians. But, in spite of these concessions, he still holds that the evils
from which the world is suffering are to be cured by adherence to Christian dogma, and he includes
in the necessary minimum of Christian dogma, not only belief in God and immortality, but also
belief in the Incarnation. He emphasises the connection of Christianity with certain historical
events, and he accepts these events as historical on evidence which would certainly not convince
him if it were not connected with his religion. I do not think the evidence for the Virgin Birth is such
as would convince any impartial inquirer if it were presented outside the circle of theological beliefs
he was accustomed to. There are innumerable such stories in Pagan mythology, but no one dreams
of taking them seriously. Professor Butterfield, however, in spite of being an historian, appears to
be quite uninterested in questions of historicity wherever the origins of Christianity are concerned.
His argument, robbed of his urbanity and his deceptive air of broad-mindedness, may be stated
crudely but accurately, as follows: ‘It is not worth while to inquire whether Christ really was born of
a Virgin and conceived of the Holy Ghost because, whether or not this was the case, the belief that
it was the case offers the best hope of escape from the present troubles of the world.’ Nowhere in
Professor Butterfield’s work is there the faintest attempt to prove the truth of any Christian dogma.
There is only the pragmatic argument that belief in Christian dogma is useful. There are many steps
in Professor Butterfield’s contention which are not stated with as much clarity and precision as one
could desire, and I fear the reason is that clarity and precision make them implausible. I think the
contention, stripped of inessentials, is as follows: it would be a good thing if people loved their
neighbours, but they do not show much inclination to do so; Christ said they ought to, and if they
believe that Christ was God, they are more likely to pay attention to His teachings on this point than
if they do not; therefore, men who wish people to love their neighbours will try to persuade them
that Christ was God.
The objections to this kind of argumentation are so many that it is difficult to know where to begin.
In the first place, Professor Butterfield and all who think as he does are persuaded that it is a good
thing to love your neighbour, and their reasons for holding this view are not derived from Christ’s
teaching. On the contrary, it is because they already hold this view that they regard Christ’s
teaching as evidence of His divinity. They have, that is to say, not an ethic based on theology, but a
theology based upon their ethic. They apparently hold, however, that the nontheological grounds
which make them think it a good thing to love your neighbour are not likely to make a wide appeal, and they therefore proceed to invent other arguments which they hope will he more effective. This
is a very dangerous procedure. Many Protestants used to think it as wicked to break the Sabbath as
to commit murder. If you persuaded them it was not wicked to break the Sabbath, they might infer
that it was not wicked to commit murder. Every theological ethic is in part such as can be defended
rationally, and in part a mere embodiment of superstitious taboos. The part which can be defended
rationally should be so defended, since otherwise those who discover the irrationality of the other
part may rashly reject the whole.
But has Christianity, in fact, stood for a better morality than that of its rivals and opponents? I do
not see how any honest student of history can maintain that this is the case. Christianity has been
distinguished from other religions by its greater readiness for persecution. Buddhism has never
been a persecuting religion. The Empire of the Caliphs was much kinder to Jews and Christians than
Christian States were to Jews and Mohammedans. It left Jews and Christians unmolested, provided
they paid tribute. Anti-Semitism was promoted by Christianity from the moment when the Roman
Empire became Christian. The religious fervour of the Crusades led to pogroms in Western Europe.
It was Christians who unjustly accused Dreyfus, and Freethinkers who secured his final
rehabilitation. Abominations have in modern times been defended by Christians not only when
Jews were the victims, but also in other connections. The abominations of King Leopold’s
government of the Congo were concealed or minimised by the Church and were ended only by an
agitation conducted mainly by Freethinkers. The whole contention that Christianity has had an
elevating moral influence can only be maintained by wholesale ignoring or falsification of the
historical evidence.
The habitual answer is that the Christians who did things which we deplore were not true Christians
in the sense that they did not follow the teachings of Christ. One might of course equally well argue
that the Soviet Government does not consist of true Marxists, for Marx taught that Slavs are inferior
to Germans and this doctrine is not accepted in the Kremlin. The followers of a teacher always
depart in some respects from the doctrine of the master. Those who aim at founding a Church
ought to remember this. Every Church develops an instinct of self-preservation and minimises
those parts of the founder’s doctrine which do not minister to that end. But in any case what
modern apologists call ‘true’ Christianity is something depending upon a very selective process. It
ignores much that is to be found in the Gospels: for example, the parable of the sheep and the
goats, and the doctrine that the wicked will suffer eternal torment in Hell fire. It picks out certain
parts of the Sermon on the Mount, though even these it often rejects in practice. It leaves the
doctrine of non-resistance, for example, to be practised only by non-Christians such as Gandhi. The
precepts that it particularly favours are held to embody such a lofty morality that they must have
had a divine origin. And yet Professor Butterfield must know that these precepts were uttered by
Jews before the time of Christ. They are to be found, for example, in the teaching of Hillel and in the
‘Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs’; concerning which the Rev. Dr R. H. Charles, a leading
authority in this matter, says: ‘The Sermon on the Mount reflects in several instances the spirit and
even reproduces the very phrases of our text: many passages in the Gospels exhibit traces of the
same, and St Paul seems to have used the book as a vade-mecum.’ Dr Charles is of the opinion that
Christ must have been acquainted with this work. If, as we are sometimes told, the loftiness of the ethical teaching proves the divinity of its author, it is the unknown writer of these Testaments who
must have been divine.
That the world is in a bad shape is undeniable, but there is not the faintest reason in history to
suppose that Christianity offers a way out. Our troubles have sprung, with the inexorability of Greek
tragedy, from the First World War, of which the Communists and the Nazis were products. The First
World War was wholly Christian in origin. The three Emperors were devout, and so were the more
warlike of the British Cabinet. Opposition to the war came, in Germany and Russia, from the
Socialists, who were anti-Christian; in France, from Jaures, whose assassin was applauded by
earnest Christians; in England, from John Morley, a noted atheist. The most dangerous features of
Communism are reminiscent of the mediaeval Church. They consist of fanatical acceptance of
doctrines embodied in a Sacred Book, unwillingness to examine these doctrines critically, and
savage persecution of those who reject them. It is not to a revival of fanaticism and bigotry in the
West that we must look for a happy issue. Such a revival, if it occurs, will only mean that the hateful
features of the Communist regime have become universal. What the world needs is
reasonableness, tolerance, and a realisation of the interdependence of the parts of the human
family. This interdependence has been enormously increased by modern inventions, and the purely
mundane arguments for a kindly attitude to one’s neighbour are very much stronger than they
were at any earlier time. It is to such considerations that we must look, and not to a return to
obscurantist myths. Intelligence, it might be said, has caused our troubles; but it is not
unintelligence that will cure them. Only more and wiser intelligence can make a happier world.
Christianity and History (London, 1950)
The two parts of this essay originally appeared as articles in the Stockholm newspaper, Dagens
Nyheter, on November 9 and 11, 1954.
