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Whilst rejecting altogether any inspiration as attaching to the separate words and phrases of the Scriptures, Phil. insists (sect. 25, p. 49) upon such an inspiration as attaching to the spiritual truths and doctrines delivered in these Scriptures. And he places this theory in a striking light, equally for what it affirms and for what it denies, by these two arguments–first (in affirmation of the real spiritual inspiration), that a series of more than thirty writers, speaking in succession along a vast line of time, and absolutely without means of concert, yet all combine unconsciously to one end–lock like parts of a great machine into one system–conspire to the unity of a very elaborate scheme, without being at all aware of what was to come after. Here, for instance, is one, living nearly one thousand six hundred years before the last in the series, who lays a foundation (in reference to man’s ruin, to God’s promises and plan for human restoration), which is built upon and carried forward by all, without exception, that follow. Here come a multitude that prepare each for his successor–that unconsciously integrate each other–that, finally, when reviewed, make up a total drama, of which each writer’s separate share would have been utterly imperfect without corresponding parts that he could not have foreseen. At length all is finished. A profound piece of music, a vast oratorio, perfect and of elaborate unity, has resulted from a long succession of strains, each for itself fragmentary. On such a final creation resulting from such a distraction of parts, it is indispensable to suppose an overruling inspiration, in order at all to account for the final result of a most elaborate harmony. Besides, which would argue some inconceivable magic, if we did not assume a providential inspiration watching over the coherencies, tendencies, and intertessellations (to use a learned word) of the whole,–it happens that, in many instances, typical things are recorded–things ceremonial, that could have no meaning to the person recording–prospective words, that were reported and transmitted in a spirit of confiding faith, but that could have little meaning to the reporting parties for many hundreds of years. Briefly, a great mysterious word is spelt as it were by the whole sum of the scriptural books–every separate book forming a letter or syllable in that secret and that unfinished word, as it was for so many ages. This cooperation of ages, not able to communicate or concert arrangements with each other, is neither more nor less an argument of an overruling inspiration, than if the separation of the contributing parties were by space, and not by time. As if, for example, every island at the same moment were to send its contribution, without previous concert, to a sentence or chapter of a book; in which case the result, if full of meaning, much more if full of awful and profound meaning, could not be explained rationally without the assumption of a supernatural overruling of these unconscious co-operators to a common result. So far on behalf of inspiration. Yet, on the other hand, as an argument in denial of any blind mechanic inspiration cleaving to words and syllables, Phil. notices this consequence as resulting from such an assumption, viz., that if you adopt any one gospel, St. John’s suppose, or any one narrative of a particular transaction, as inspired in this minute and pedantic sense, then for every other report, which, adhering to the spiritual value of the circumstances, and virtually the same, should differ in the least of the details, there would instantly arise a solemn degradation. All parts of Scripture, in fact, would thus be made active and operative in degrading each other.

Such is Phil.‘s way of explaining Î�Î�Î�πÎ�Î��…στÎ�Î�[Footnote: I must point out to Phil. an oversight of his as to this word at p. 45; he there describes the doctrine of theopneustia as being that of ‘plenary and verbal inspiration,’ But this he cannot mean, for obviously this word theopneustia comprehends equally the verbal inspiration which he is denouncing, and the inspiration of power or spiritual virtue which he is substituting. Neither Phil., nor any one of his school, is to be understood as rejecting theopneustia, but as rejecting that particular mode of theopneustia which appeals to the eye by mouldering symbols, in favor of that other mode which appeals to the heart by incorruptible radiations of inner truth.] (theopneustia), or divine prompting, so as to reconcile the doctrine affirming a virtual inspiration, an inspiration as to the truths revealed, with a peremptory denial of any inspiration at all, as to the mere verbal vehicle of those revelations. He is evidently as sincere in regard to the inspiration which he upholds as in regard to that which he denies. Phil. is honest, and Phil. is able. Now comes my turn. I rise to support my leader, and shall attempt to wrench this notion of a verbal inspiration from the hands of its champions by a reductio ad absurdum, viz., by showing the monstrous consequences to which it leads–which form of logic Phil. also has employed briefly in the last paragraph of last month’s paper; but mine is different and more elaborate. Yet, first of all, let me frankly confess to the reader, that some people allege a point-blank assertion by Scripture itself of its own verbal inspiration; which assertion, if it really had any existence, would summarily put down all cavils of human dialectics. That makes it necessary to review this assertion. This famous passage of Scripture, this locus classicus, or prerogative text, pleaded for the verbatim et literatim inspiration of the Bible, is the following; and I will so exhibit its very words as that the reader, even if no Grecian, may understand the point in litigation. The passage is this: Î Î�σÎ� Î�ρÎ�φÎ� Î�Î�Î�πÎ�Î�Î�στÎ�ς χÎ�Î� ώφÎ�Î�Î�Î�Î�ς, etc., taken from St. Paul, (2 Tim. iii. 16.) Let us construe it literally, expressing the Greek by Latin characters: Pasa graphe, all written lore (or every writing)–theopneustos, God-breathed, or, God-prompted–kai, and (or, also)–ophelimos, serviceable–pros, towards, didaskalian, doctrinal truth. Now this sentence, when thus rendered into English according to the rigor of the Grecian letter, wants something to complete its sense–it wants an is. There is a subject, as the logicians say, and there is a predicate (or, something affirmed of that subject), but there is no copula to connect them–we miss the is. This omission is common in Greek, but cannot be allowed in English. The is must be supplied; but where must it be supplied? That’s the very question, for there is a choice between two places; and, according to the choice, will the word theopneustos become part of the subject, or part of the predicate; which will make a world of difference. Let us try it both ways:–