p. 1 | Articles Declined by E. Goodrich

The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Apr 17, 1866

Articles Declined.

By E. Goodrich

THAT it is both the right and duty of an editor to refuse to publish articles not in keeping with the cause he represents, no reasonable person will deny. To teach otherwise, would be the same as to argue that a parent has no right to watch over and guard the interests of his own children. But the object of the following thoughts, is to call attention to the reason assigned by the editor of the Review for not publishing a certain article containing objections against a position taken by Seventh-day Adventists. The province of this article is not to discuss the merits of the position assumed, viz., that the two-horned beast of Revelation is a symbol of our government, or to form any opinion concerning the writer or the objection offered; but to speak of the action itself, disconnected so far as it may be, from all personalities. The reason given for not publishing the article referred to (if the reason be understood) is because the writer did not, in connection with his objection, give his own positive view concerning the same matter. It seems hardly necessary to offer any argument or remark to show that the above reason is a good one, founded on principle and forming a worthy rule to govern us in our private as well as our public intercourse. All true religious toleration grants to every man the right to represent his own views, and "to make articles of faith for himself and faithful;" but it never acknowledges the right of one man to dictate for another, especially if the former has no theory of his own. The man that has some cherished, although ever so deformed a view of his own, has at least the excuse of real or supposed interest for wishing the destruction of all opposing opinions. But it is neither generous nor excusable for one who has nothing of his own, and can in no way be benefited by another's loss, to seek to overthrow the faith or hopes of another.

Again, all true criticism, while it is faithful in pointing out and reproving the wrong, as clearly defines, and as zealously urges the true and the right way. Hence a person who labors to show an error, without at the same time presenting the truth, is more properly called fault-finder than reformer. And again, all honorable warfare, controversy, or gaming, places the parties engaged on an equal footing, equally responsible, and in equal danger. But the man who has no expressed convictions of his own, is neither in danger of being attacked by others, nor is he amenable to any law or code of honor for the manner in which he assaults others. And not only are the foregoing remarks and arguments true, but it is also true that as judgment is the comparison which the mind is enabled to make between certain objects, no one can form a correct judgment concerning the errors which attach themselves to any system of doctrine, without understanding the truth also. How can any one talk about dross without knowing the relation that it sustains to the pure metal?

From the above considerations, which might have been expressed at much greater length, it is manifest that it is neither the right nor the duty of any man, not possessed of well defined views of his own, to attempt to right the wrongs of other people. It is hardly necessary to state that these thoughts most forcibly apply to infidelity, which, while it wages an unrelenting war against the light, the hope, and all the genial influences of Christianity, offers nothing in return but the very blackness of death and darkness forever.

And although perhaps quite enough has been said already, yet as we have many forcible and practical illustrations of the truth contained in the foregoing, it may be pardonable to refer briefly to a single instance which we find in the history of the settlement of our earlier frontiers.

"In an early day, among the few families that were scattered along the eastern bank of the Mississippi, there was one by the name of Lewis, composed of father, mother, three bright promising boys, and one lovely little sister—the pet of the family. One day as the father was away from home at work, the two elder boys (aged respectively thirteen and eleven) as they were a short distance from the house, engaged in sporting in the woods, they were immediately surprised by a couple of rudely painted Indians, and at once carried across the river. No sooner was this done, than they were compelled by threats and forcible measures, to march directly into those western wilds, inhabited only by Indian tribes. At first the despondency and stubbornness of the younger boy, had nearly cost him his life; but being encouraged by the older boy to appear cheerful, that they might the better hide their design, and if possible make their escape, he permitted himself to be led at a very rapid pace far away from home and all its dear ones. At noon they were permitted to stop and rest a little while beside a clear cool stream of water, and partake of some pounded meal, which they drank in a kind of raw porridge. Quite as soon as this was done, they were compelled at the same cruel rate as before, to march until the last rays of day-light had departed, leaving the earth shrouded in darkness, broken only, yet happily, by pale moon-light, when they were stopped. And having partaken of the same rude meal as at noon, with the addition of a few small pieces of 'jerked' venison, they all lay down around the fire they had made, the boys lying unbound close beside, and directly between their captors. And lying there in the stillness of the evening hour, with sore and stiffened limbs, and wakeful eyes, thinking of all the loved ones, and the many miles they were from home, thinking of the possibility of escape, yet dreading to stir lest they should be discovered and their fate sealed forever—in a word, all the interests of a lifetime crowding themselves into a single hour, who can paint the mingled interest and agony that pressed their heroic hearts! And waiting only for the heavy breathing and snoring of their captors, they stole slyly and noiselessly from their unwelcome bed, and with sorrowful hearts, palpitating between hope and fear, hand in hand they started for home.

But hardly had they passed a score of rods ere their hearts were made to sink within them, the whooping of their captors and the crackling of brushwood, telling as plainly as words could, that they were pursued. At first they were on the point of crying out in affright, but acting as much through weakness and instinct as fear, they crouched down in the dark shadow of a low clump of bushes, and hope soon revived on seeing their eager pursuers pass them, one on the right and the other on the left, without discovering them. And waiting only for the dying out of the sound of retreating footsteps, making a short circuit out of the course of their once and now would be

captors, they again started on their homeward journey. And making their way as best they could through the woods, over fallen trees, across streams of water, down into deep and dark ravines, and up steep and rugged hills, guided only by the light of the pale moon, and the general make of the country, which they had, so far as they could, particularly observed through the day, did these manly little fellows, through all the long weary hours of the night, travel, never once stopping to sleep or rest; but often stopping to listen, believing that they heard footsteps close behind them, or that they saw in the shadow of some tree the forms of those they so much dreaded, until morning, bright morning, dawned, when they stopped a few minutes to rest their aching bodies, and as far as possible learn their true course. Soon they started again, and notwithstanding they were tired, hungry, and sleepy, they dared not stop to rest, or sleep, for fear of being captured again; but kept bravely on through the livelong day, until when just as the sun was sinking behind the western hills, and shedding a flood of golden light on all the eastern bluffs, their hearts were made glad by beholding the broad beautiful river upon which they had so often looked with pleasure, knowing that they were nearly opposite their own home. And although they were quite as much dead as alive, hardly able to move a hand or a foot, fearing their disappointed captors had judged their design and lay in ambush to take and carry them back again, they dared not rest; but hastily gathered together pieces of poles, logs, and brushwood, and having constructed a kind of raft, and having provided themselves with poles by which to push and paddle, as well as they could they floated down and across the river, and were soon embraced by their fond yet almost distracted parents.

But in order that this picture should serve our purpose, it is necessary to go back in our minds and suppose that just as the boys had completed their rude raft, and were in the act of launching the same, some would-be, yet misguided reformer, had come along, and not approving the action of the boys, addressed them thus: "Oh worthless thing, if you cannot find some better way of crossing, you shall have none at all;" and suiting the action to the word, with one rude thrust, he had scattered the raft to pieces, and with it their last ray of hope. It is thus that infidelity seeks to deal with Christianity. And measurably so with every man who has no view of his own, yet endeavors to modify or destroy the views of others. Not that Christianity is fairly represented by a frail raft, but even if it was, it is certainly better than no hope.