and the
descriptions of cases of healing among Christian {131} Scientists
should be subjected to rigorous, yet equitable, examination. The
nature of the sickness or injury should be diagnosed, and the
after-history kept under observation. And, unless these religious
bodies wish to incur the suspicion of abetting fraud, they should
welcome thorough inquiry. Until something of this kind is done, the
evidential value of the accounts is weaker than it must be to reach
proof. The more the adduced narratives conflict with the usual course
of experience, the more does this lack of ventilation weaken their
evidential worth. From the standpoint of logic, this attitude is
incontestable. Either we must maintain it or we must give up all
serious attempt to sift testimony.

The advances made by history and psychology during the nineteenth
century have put us in a far better position to handle the question of
past marvels than Hume was in. Yet this more concrete outlook has
simply reenforced Hume's method of criticism. Hume was, perhaps, a
little too generous. The burden of proof rests upon the believer in
marvels, rather than upon the critic, because the regularity of
experience has been increasingly established. Hence, the historical
evidence must be very strong, stronger than it has turned out to be.

When the canons of historical evidence are applied to the accounts of
marvelous events, it is surprising how quickly they lose their
impressiveness. Let us take, for example, the astounding series of
incidents told in Exodus. Were this book written by Moses, an actual
eye-witness and chief actor on the human side, we would be forced to
assert that he was self-deceived, or intended to deceive, or that the
events actually did {132} happen in some strange sort of way. But when
we discover that the Pentateuch was not written until long after the
establishment of the Kingdom, and that it contains various strands of
popular tradition and priestly construction, we realize that the
logical situation is very different. The eye-witness has disappeared.
In other words, we have to deal with legends instead of with history.
We are no longer reduced to the dilemma of either calling Moses a liar
or accepting events which strike us as mythical. We are not even
called upon to rationalize these legends and to appeal, say, to the
influence of a high wind, long continued, upon some shallow branch of
the Red Sea. Such ingenuity is now