Nevin Light of Nature
James Dodson
ARGUMENT FROM THE LIGHT OF NATURE.
At the very outset the appeal is made to “the light of Nature” in a way that savours strongly of the Rationalistic. We are given to understand that there is no “essential distinction between the music of the voice and the music of an instrument;” that “the fingers which strike the keys of the organ, or which write the solemn rhythm of sacred song, and the tongue that sings, are alike organs of the same body—alike obedient to mind and will;” and further, that “the light of Nature does not recognise the mode of production as constituting such a ground of distinction as to render the music of the instrument morally unsuitable for any purpose to which the music of the voice may be fitly applied.” We have urged upon our attention analogies drawn from the telescope and microscope, and the arts of reading, writing, and printing, these, like musical instruments, being so many “contrivances for enlarging the sphere of
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action of our natural gifts and endowments, and for facilitating their exercise.” We have, indeed, a profusion of proofs and illustrations of the proposition that “Nature suggests no limitation of use or application in regard to the one (the instrument) rather than to the other (the natural power).”
On this we remark—1. After all this philosophizing it must be admitted that there is a difference, and the admitted difference in “the mode of production” is not one to be thrust aside by a mere dictum, as though it imported nothing in the argument. The organs of articulation are the organs, instinct with his life, of a living rational being, made part of his organization by his Creator, and by which thought and feeling are directly and immediately expressed. On the other hand, if an instrument of music be employed as the vehicle of expressing thought, and feeling, it is only to a very limited extent it can be so used, and neither directly nor articulately. It may be regarded as very scientific to tell us, as the Professor does, that both the music of the instrument and the music of the voice “are alike the product of nervous energy and muscular force, acting upon the surrounding atmosphere, causing it to move, in regulated waves of sound grateful to the ear”—just as the Frenchman’s definition of murder might be regarded as very scientific, when he described it as the directing of some red fluid out of its customary course. But neither the one statement nor the other gives us any information, or tells us anything we did not know before. It is just as easy to retort that the fingers are not the organs of articulation, and that a musical instrument is not a living and rational being. It is perfectly true that moral character is not predicable of mere sound in itself—neither is it of the red fluid. Moral character is only properly predicable of a moral, that is, of an intelligent rational being, and of his actions, and never even of such actions considered apart from the agent. Degree of rationality, state of mind, motive—many circumstances, indeed, relative to the agent, must be taken into account in estimating the moral character of an action—circumstances which men are so much in the habit of weighing that the consideration of them passes through the mind, often with such lightning rapidity that some are in danger of being overlooked, and it would take more time and pains than most would care to employ to analyse, detect, bring into full relief every one of them. The Professor tells us at page 5, that “the natural faculty, and the instrument of its extension, when in action together, are not separately regarded as if distinct agencies with distinct characters. The action is one, and the character of the action is one. It is the faculty using the auxiliary instrument.” All very well so far. But then it is immediately added, “and the whole action and the whole effect derive their character from the faculty, and no part from the instrument.” Be it observed that,
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while it is moral character that is here spoken of, it is not moral faculty, but physical, and not the musical faculty alone but physical faculty of any kind.* An act derives its moral character wholly from the physical faculty exercised in the doing of that act! Verily this is strange doctrine. Let us test it by applying it to a case of murder. The act in that case does not depend in any part for its moral character on the instrument—the blunderbuss, the dagger, or the poison-cup of the assassin. We scarcely need to be told that. But then the character is derived from the physical faculty employed, which in this case is simply “nervous energy and muscular force!” If this be the kind of moral philosophy taught in Belfast, it seems to us to amount to something more than “killing no murder”—it is murder itself no crime. Our author speaks better, and more like an orthodox Professor of Christian Ethics, when, on the next page, he says of music, “Its character and value are determined by its source and by its end, not by the channel through which it passes.” The word character is ambiguous, and it seems to us that the author in the discussion of this part of his subject, loses sight of the fact that it is only the idea of moral character that is relevant here, thereby mystifying somewhat both himself and his readers. The word source, again, from the connection in which it stands, might be taken to mean either “the musical faculty,” or the state of mind on the part of him who exercises it. Moral character is no more properly predicable of the mere “faculty” than it is of the mere organ of articulation or of the mere dead instrument. Let source be understood of the state of mind, and then let the above-quoted dictum be applied honestly to the use of instruments in Christian worship, so far as it is possible for mere man to apply it—we shall be contented to abide the issue. For what “end” or purpose are they introduced? Is it to please God, or is it to please the ear and the musical taste? If the former, then it is pertinent to ask, Is the Most High one like ourselves, to be pleased with sweet sounds? If the latter—and we fear that is the “end” with those who urge the use of instruments—then we have only to ask, Is that to praise God?
2. The argument from “the light of Nature would have more relevancy and force if the practice contended for were, that every one should bring his and her instrument with them to the assembly and use them as an accompaniment to “the service of song” in the worship of God—and, be it remembered, it is part of the theory of our author that it is a matter of “moral obligation” upon all who have the “faculty” to learn the use of an instrument and employ it in worship. We greatly fear that this is not practicable, and
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* It may not be unnecessary to note here, that we use the term physical in its wider sense, as distinguished simply from moral, not as distinguished from, but including the intellectual.
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that if an attempt were made to reduce to practice the theory, however delightful and plausible it may be as a theory, “the whole action and the whole effect” would not be good, even for the production of harmony, not to speak of the use of edifying. As it is, when it is only one man that manipulates the instrument, and all the rest of the congregation do not even use their “fingers,” but are restricted to the use of their ears, so far as the instrument is concerned—that alters the case considerably.
3. “The light of Nature” is not the supreme test and standard by which the worship of God is to be regulated. To man fallen and depraved as he is, it would be a most uncertain and erring guide. The history of the world shows that to heathens it has been a mere ignis fatuus. “To the law and to the testimony: if they speak not according to this word, it is because there is no light in them.” The Professor adduces the Westminster Confession of Faith as sanctioning his method of appeal to the “light of Nature.” This it is very far from doing. He quotes the latter part of ch. I. sec. vi., where it is laid down “there are some circumstances concerning the worship of God, and government of the Church, common to human actions and societies, which are to be ordered by the light of Nature and Christian prudence, according to the general rules of the Word, which are always to be observed.” This, however, is to be understood in a sense consistent with the first part of the same section, which says, “The whole counsel of God, necessary for his own glory, man’s salvation, faith, and life, is either expressly set down in scripture, or by good and necessary consequence may be deduced from scripture: unto which nothing at any time is to be added, whether by new revelations of the Spirit, or traditions of men.” Again, chap. xx. sect. II., “God alone is Lord of the conscience, and hath left it free from the doctrines and commandments of men which are in anything contrary to his word or beside it, in matters of faith or worship. So that to believe such doctrines or to obey such commandments out of conscience, is to betray true liberty of conscience.” The first section of chapter xxi., as quoted by the Professor himself, says—“The acceptable way of worshipping the true God is instituted by Himself, and so limited by His own revealed will, that He may not be worshipped according to the imaginations and devices of men, or the suggestion of Satan, under any visible representation, or any other way not prescribed in the Holy Scriptures.” And among the sins forbidden in the Second Commandment, according to the Larger Catechism, are—“All superstitious devices, corrupting the worship of God, adding to it, or taking from it, whether invented and taken up of ourselves, or received by tradition from others, though under the title of antiquity, custom, devotion, good intent, or any other pretence whatever.”
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Mr. Robb’s comment here is so very good, that we must transcribe it. He says—
“In this question there must be no appeal to the ‘imaginations and devices of men’—what else is the ‘light of Nature?’ There must be no ‘adding to or taking from’ the ways of God’s appointment, whether by the ‘inventions’ of the musical faculty; whether out of respect for the past (‘antiquity’)—though musical instruments had been centuries older than the time of Jubal; or regard for the present (‘custom’)—though instrumental music were even more fashionable than it is; whether in obedience to the feelings of ‘devotion’—though the musical faculty were even tenfold more ‘impatient of restraint’ than the highest effort of the brightest genius has ever shown it to be; whether with the ‘good intent’ of attracting thousands upon thousands more to the sacred services of the sanctuary; or ‘upon any other pretence whatsoever.’”
These quotations from the Westminster Standards make the grand principle—that which was the fundamental principle of the glorious Reformation itself—perfectly clear and unmistakeable. The advocates of the use of uninspired hymns in Christian worship take their stand—sometimes avowedly—on the principle that Christians are at perfect liberty to introduce in their worship any thing not forbidden in the Word of God. This most dangerous principle would open the door to all manner of corruption in worship, and is the very foundation on which the whole gigantic system of Romish superstition in practice has been gradually built up. We are persuaded our good friend the Professor would not endorse this un-Protestant sentiment, and yet it is really, though tacitly, one of the main pillars of his argumentative edifice. This is the very principle which the Westminster Standards distinctly and designedly repudiate. We are to keep free not only from what is “contrary” to God’s revealed will, but from all that is “beside it,” in matters of faith and worship. We must have Divine sanction for what we do, either by its being “expressly set down in Scripture,” or deduced “by good and necessary consequence” therefrom.
The question, then, simply arises, Has God sufficiently revealed His Will in His Word, in respect to the use of instruments of music in Christian worship, and what is the conclusion “by good and necessary consequence” to be deduced from it? We believe He has made known His will on the subject, so as to leave no room for rational doubt, and that the decision is adverse. It has been said that “one fact is worth a bushel of arguments,” and certainly one well authenticated and relevant fact is of more consequence than a thousand reams of paper filled with fanciful conjectures, metaphysical speculation, and appeals to the light of Nature. Well, then, it is the simple, indisputable, historical fact, that Christ and His apostles never used a musical instrument in the worship of God, and that such a thing was unknown for centuries in the Christian Church. This is enough for us. We take apostolic precedent and example, with that of the great
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Head of the Church Himself, to be of equal authority with explicit injunction or prohibition, and we can never be convinced by any process of a priori reasoning that what was never practised by Him who was absolutely holy, harmless, undefiled, and separate from sinners is a matter of “moral obligation” resting upon us. On the contrary, we believe it is the only safe course for us to separate ourselves from all that from which He kept Himself separate.