Testament--the "reporters of Jesus," as Arnold oddly calls them--is
admitted; but, if we are to read their narratives to any profit, we must
convince ourselves of their "liability to mistake." Excited,
impassioned, wonder-loving disciples surrounded the simplest acts and
words of Christ with a thaumaturgical atmosphere, and, when He merely
exercised His power of moral help and healing, the "reporters" declared
that He cured the sick and drove out evil spirits. In brief, when the
"reporters" narrated miracles wrought by Christ, they were deceived;
but, in spite of that, they were excellent men, and our obligations to
them are great. "Reverence for all who, in those first dubious days of
Christianity, chose the better part, and resolutely cast in their lot
with 'the despised and rejected of men'! Gratitude to all who, while the
tradition was yet fresh, helped by their writings to preserve and set
clear the precious record of the words and life of Jesus!"

And yet that record, as they wrote it, is, according to Arnold, brimful
of errors, both in fact and in interpretation; and the Church, which has
preserved their written tradition, and kept it concurrently with her
own oral tradition, has fallen into enormous and fundamental delusion
about those "words" and that "life." "Christianity is immortal; it has
eternal truth, inexhaustible value, a boundless future. But our popular
religion at present conceives the birth, ministry, and death of Christ
as altogether steeped in prodigy, brimful of miracles--and _miracles do
not happen_."

The fact that, in the preface to the popular edition of _Literature and
Dogma_, he italicized those last words would appear to show that he
attached some special, almost "thaumaturgical," value to them. _Miracles
do not happen._ It has been justly observed that any man, woman, or
child that ever lived might have said this, and have caused no startling
sensation. But when Arnold uttered these words, emphasized them, and
seemed to base his case against the Catholic creed upon them, it behoved
his disciples to ponder them, and to enquire if, and how far, they were
true.

As far as we know, there never was but one human being to whom they
proved overwhelming, and he is a character in a popular work of fiction.
"Miracles do not happen" broke the bruised reed of the Rev. Robert
Elsmere's faith. That long-legged weakling, with his auburn hair and
"boyish innocence of mood," and sweet ignorance of the