{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_37744/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_37744","id":"gutenberg_37744","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/37744","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Biographies","Category: History - American","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Frothingham, Octavius Brooks, 1822-1895","Unitarians -- New England -- Biography"],"text":"Produced by Julia Miller, tallforasmurf and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This\nfile was produced from images generously made available\nby The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTRANSCRIBER'S NOTE\n\n\nThis etext differs from the original in the following ways. Three minor\ntypographical errors have been corrected that did not affect the sense\nof the text. The oe character is shown as [oe].\n\n\n\n\n               RECOLLECTIONS AND IMPRESSIONS\n\n                          1822-1890\n\n\n                OCTAVIUS BROOKS FROTHINGHAM\n\n  AUTHOR OF \"BOSTON UNITARIANISM, 1820-1850, A STUDY OF THE LIFE\n          AND WORK OF NATHANIEL LANGDON FROTHINGHAM,\"\n            \"THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY,\" ETC., ETC.\n\n                  G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS\n\n                  NEW YORK     LONDON\n\n  27 WEST TWENTY-THIRD ST. 27 KING WILLIAM ST., STRAND\n\n                The Knickerbocker Press\n\n                           1891\n\n\n\n                  COPYRIGHT, 1891 BY\n               OCTAVIUS BROOKS FROTHINGHAM\n\n            The Knickerbocker Press, New York\n\n  Electrotyped, Printed, and Bound by G. P. Putnam's Sons\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n                                                      PAGE\n     I PARENTAGE                                         1\n    II EDUCATION                                        19\n   III DIVINITY SCHOOL                                  25\n    IV SALEM                                            35\n     V THE CRISIS IN BELIEF                             53\n    VI JERSEY CITY                                      65\n   VII NEW YORK                                         76\n  VIII WAR                                             104\n    IX THE FREE RELIGIOUS ASSOCIATION                  115\n     X THE PROGRESS OF RELIGIOUS THOUGHT IN AMERICA    133\n    XI THE CLERICAL PROFESSION                         146\n   XII MY TEACHERS                                     165\n  XIII MY COMPANIONS                                   190\n   XIV MY FRIENDS                                      225\n    XV THE PRESENT SITUATION                           248\n   XVI THE RELIGIOUS FUTURE OF AMERICA                 272\n  XVII CONFESSIONS                                     289\n       INDEX                                           303\n\n\n\n\nRECOLLECTIONS AND IMPRESSIONS.\n\n\nI. PARENTAGE.\n\n\nMy father was, as I have said elsewhere, a clergyman in Boston,\nMassachusetts, a Unitarian minister to the First Church, standing in a\nlong line of men, of whom the earliest was severely orthodox, while he\nabhorred orthodoxy. Yet he was ordained without hesitation, was more\nthan acceptable to the best minds through a service of thirty-five\nyears, and continued more and more unorthodox to the end; so gradually\nand insensibly did the Puritan tenets disappear one by one until the\nshadow of them only remained. We are assured that by 1780 nearly all the\ncongregational pulpits were filled by Arminians. In 1815, the year of my\nfather's ordination, they were well domesticated in New England,\nCalvinism having lost its hold on the minds of thinking people, and none\nbut keen-eyed watchers on the tower seeing what course opinion was\ntaking. How far the tendency towards the moral and practical view of\nreligion as distinct from the speculative view had gone, is well\nillustrated in my father's case. He was a man of excellent education,\none of the best scholars in a distinguished class at Harvard, an\nenthusiast for intellectual cultivation, singularly refined in\nperception, an acute critic, a careful, precise, elegant writer. His\ntastes were pre-eminently literary. This is said in full view of the\nfact that he was a learned theologian, a pungent disputant, a zealous\nstudent of biblical researches, a faithful pastor.\n\nHe was essentially a man of letters. His passion was for the Latin\nclassics. The best edition of Cicero was on his shelves; the finest copy\nof Horace graced his book-case. His knowledge of the Greek literature\nand language was fair. He was fond of poetry of a stately and romantic\ndescription; was, himself, a poet of a gentle, meditative, spiritual\ncast, especially eminent as a composer of hymns written for church\noccasions, the dedication of meeting-houses, the consecration of\nministers, many of them of permanent and general value, as both\n\"liberal\" and \"orthodox\" collections attest; while he has done as much\nas any man in his generation to elevate, purify, and console delicate\nand serious natures.\n\nHis library of about three thousand volumes was exceedingly\nmiscellaneous, illustrating the breadth of his interests and the\nactivity of his mind. There were Bibles of choice editions and in every\ntongue. There were biblical commentaries, dictionaries, grammars. The\nChurch Fathers were well represented. Church history was presented by\nits best narrators. But the bulk of the collection was secular. It\ncontained copies of Addison, Johnson, Bayle, Carlyle, Milton, Bacon,\nDante, Dickens, Emerson, Grote, Shakespeare, Goethe, Schiller, Hugo,\nHeeren, Hume, Iriarte, Michelet, Lessing, Kingsley, Macaulay,\nLongfellow, Plutarch, Pindar, Pope, Scott, Rousseau, Racine, Rueckert,\nRabelais, Tasso, George Sand, Thucydides, Theocritus, Virgil, Voltaire,\nWieland, Pliny, Wordsworth, Wilkinson, Zschokke, Walt Whitman. They were\nvery various. They commanded all extremes: Augustine and Anacreon;\nAratus and _Annual Register_; AEschylus and Moliere; Aristotle and\nHerrick; Seneca and Horace; Antoninus and Almanacs; Burton and\nBoccaccio. There was no pure metaphysics--a compendium or two of\nphilosophy, a bit of Spinoza, of Kant, of Cousin, of Jouffroy, of\nMalebranche, the \"Dialogues\" of Plato--nothing of Schelling or Hegel. I\nfind Proclus, and Jamblicus, and Boehme, and dramatic literature in\nGreek, Latin, French, German. Here is Burlamaqui on Law, and Erasmus\nDarwin, and Godwin's \"Memoirs of Mary Wollstonecraft,\" and the\nHitopadesa, and the \"Hymns\" of Orpheus, and Palaephatus, together with\nmany a forgotten book.\n\nThe favorite language next to English was German, then came French,\nthen Latin, which was pretty well represented in its literature. Dr.\nFrothingham was a wide reader, but his finest gift was a power of\npenetrating to the heart of an author, a power that was akin to genius.\nHe called himself a _taster_. But every taster must take into his mouth\nsome things that are unpleasant, and he did. He nibbled at Heine, but\nHeine's philosophy disgusted him. He nibbled at Browning, but Browning's\nlack of sensuous music did not satisfy his idea of poetry. His mind,\ntrained in the old school, could not adapt itself to the new style of\nexpression.\n\nHe gladly turned his back on doctrines he did not like. He was\nspiritually minded, but soberly so, as if to be spiritually minded\nbelonged to a special temperament; a Christian theist in all respects,\nthough indifferent to many details of Christian doctrine; an optimist on\nprinciple as well as from instinct, inclined to put the most cheerful\nconstruction on the ways of divine Providence, and to look patiently on\nthe moral conditions of human life; an unquestioning believer in Christ,\nimmortality, the need of revelation, the supremacy of the religious and\nmoral nature, the demand for the steady influence of the spiritual world\nto enlighten mankind on the truths of conscience no less than on the\nmysteries of faith. He was no seer, gazing on things unseen with the\npenetrating, inward eye; no prophet possessed by an overwhelming\nconviction of the absolute law; no regenerator believing that men must\nbe lifted up from the earth by an interior renewal of soul; no reformer\nbent on changing the circumstances of society. He was an apostle of air,\nsunshine, and the mild, enticing summer shower which covered the wintry\nground with the smiling grass and the sweet-smelling flowers. Reformers,\nof whatever school, were not to his taste, partly because their methods\nseemed to him violent, but partly also because their primary assumption\nthat the world was out of joint did not command his sympathy. He could\nnot think that the established institutions of the age ought to be\nsubverted, even though they might be improved under enlightened\nteaching. Socially he was conservative, although by no means\nreactionary; disposed to see the soul of good in things evil, though not\nalways as studious as one must needs be to \"search it out.\" Rather he\ntook it for granted, and was often impatient with those who felt keenly\nthe evil but could not discover the good.\n\nHigh-minded he was rather than deep-souled; devout in sentiment,\nchivalrously moral in principle and in practice; ideal, poetic, delicate\nof sensibility, but not soaring of spirit; certainly not a spiritual\nenthusiast, as little a prosaic plodder; no mystic but no disciple of\n\"common-sense.\" For the dignity, decency, purity, propriety of the\nclerical profession he had great regard, but as much on account of its\nsocial position as on account of its sanctity. It indicated the highest\ntype of gentlemanliness, the finest style of personal character, a kind\nof exquisite courtliness of manhood, humanity of a finished stamp of\nelegance; and he resented everything like an admixture of ordinary\nphilanthropy. It was in his view a descent to enter the arena of strife\neven for the purpose of removing an evil. Thence his dislike of\nChanning; his disapproval of Pierpont, otherwise a particular favorite\nof his; his disagreement with Parker, of whom he was fond. When the\n\"Miscellanies\" were published the writer sent a copy to his friend, who\nacknowledged the volume by a letter in which expressions of personal\naffection were curiously blended with antipathy towards the class of\nspeculations with which Mr. Parker was identified. George Ripley and\nR. W. Emerson won and held his attachment to the end, but he never\nvisited Brook Farm, and was deaf to solicitations to join the\nTranscendental Club.\n\nHis friends were many and various--Emerson, Ripley, Francis, Hedge,\nBartol, Stetson, Parkman, Longfellow, Felton, Hillard,--the list is\nlong, for the sunny temper of the man drew all hearts to him and his\nwarm affectionateness of disposition made him tenacious of good-will. He\nwas interested in men as individuals not as members of a clique or\nparty, and was not repelled by differences of opinion where his heart\nwas engaged. On the whole, his sympathies were with conservatives like\nGeorge Ticknor and W. H. Prescott, and the literary spirit mainly kept\nhim in association with those. Where this spirit was wanting and there\nwas divergence of sentiment there was no attempt at intimacy.\n\nOf interest in the denomination, the sect, the party name, he was\nabsolutely devoid. He never attended the conventions or conferences of\nthe Unitarian body or spoke in their deliberations. On anniversary week\nit was for many years his custom to visit New York, where no\nprofessional responsibility rested upon him, and where he could find\nrecreations of a purely social kind. But at the \"Boston Association\"\nwhere he met friends one by one, and could talk half confidentially,\nwith perfect freedom, in a conversational tone, he delighted to be\npresent.\n\nFor the rest, he was a man universally respected, admired, and beloved,\nmirthful and sportive, more than tolerant of gaiety, as a rule in\nexcellent spirits, though subject, as such temperaments usually are, to\nmoods of depression. Without private ambition and utterly destitute of\nvanity, his uneventful days were spent among his friends and his books.\nThe round of clerical duties was even and monotonous; his calling had\nfew excitements; even poverty had limits, and social iniquity was\nmanageable in those times when relations were simple. The routine of\nparochial service was such as a friendly man of quick sympathies and\nready speech could easily discharge in a few hours of each week, nor was\nthe transition violent from it to the quiet library, the companionship\nof Cicero, Shakespeare, Milton, Walter Scott, Herder, Rueckert. The love\nof art, society, literature, was not inconsistent with a love of the\nSaviour; and though as a matter of taste he would not have spoken of a\nsonata of Beethoven in a sermon, there was nothing in his philosophy to\nrender secular allusions improper.\n\nHis literary predilections were somewhat at the mercy of his sense of\nbeauty, as if he had an eye to artistic effect quite as much as to\nintellectual justice, as if the firm lines of logical discernment were\nblurred by the passion for poetic or scenic grace. Of the two famous\nGerman writers about whom opinions were divided, he greatly preferred\nSchiller to Goethe, probably because the former was glorious, ardent,\ndeclamatory. Of the two eminent English novelists whom all the world was\nreading, Dickens was his choice far above Thackeray, perhaps for the\nreason that Dickens had color and warmth of sentiment, while Thackeray\nseemed to him cold, skeptical, and cynical. The flow of eloquence, the\ncharm of dramatic style made him relish authors as radically unlike as\nCarlyle, Ruskin, and Macaulay, rendering him unmindful of qualities in\ntheir cast of thought which he might have disapproved of if less\nseductively presented. When a lady objected to Macaulay on the score of\nhis material ethics, Dr. Frothingham was too much captivated by\nMacaulay's manner to criticise his philosophy, and he let the philosophy\ngo. It sometimes looked as if the way in which things were said was of\nmore importance in his view than the things themselves; but it was not\nso, for he could respond to ideal sentiments when they offered\nthemselves fairly to his mind, and his moral indignation against an act\nof flagrant turpitude was quick and hot.\n\nWith politics, whether speculative or practical, he gave himself small\nconcern, for in his day politics were hardly an honorable calling. He\nbelonged to the Whig party, as it was then called, because it comprised\nthe greater number of educated men--scholars, divines, lawyers,\nphysicians, judges, and people of consideration from their position in\nsociety. The Republican party in Massachusetts was not formed till his\npublic life was nearly ended, and we may doubt whether he would in any\ncase have connected himself with it, for its aims and purposes were\nhardly such as he could have gone along with. The well-known sentiment,\nascribed to Wendell Phillips, \"Peace if possible, Truth at any rate,\" he\nwould in all probability have reversed so as to read, \"Truth if\npossible, Peace at any rate\"; not because the search for truth was\ndifficult, and peace furnished the most promising conditions for finding\nit, but because peace was preferable in itself as being stable and\nquiet. He was not a fighter; he disliked the noise of battle; his horror\nof anti-slavery agitation, as of all other, was constitutional; and even\nif he had been convinced of the slave's degradation, no mode of redress\nthat was proposed commended itself to his gentle, apprehensive mind. To\nhim the chief interest of society was enlightenment associated with\nrefinement; the needed influence was that of education. He was a\ndelicately organized, sensitive man, fond of repose, happy in his\ntemperament, in his tastes, in his occupation, in his social position,\nin his relationships, in his home. He had his disappointments and\nsorrows like other men, but he did not repine. His latter years were\nafflicted with total blindness, accompanied by constant distress and\nsteadily increasing pain; but his friends never failed to find him\ncheerful; the companion who ministered to his daily necessities and\nculled from books and periodicals the materials for his entertainment,\nseldom had reason to complain of his petulance; the visitor could with\ndifficulty be brought to believe that the man was living in the presence\nof death, and was exposed to frightful phantoms due to a slowly\ndecomposing brain.\n\nHis aesthetic tastes were active, as may be supposed, and would have\nbeen keen if there had been opportunity for cultivating them, and\nleisure to pursue them. The pictures that adorned his parlor walls were\nnot distinguished as works of art, but they were pure in sentiment, they\nshowed a love of color, and of the highest truth. There was not much\nfine painting at that time in America, and what there was required for\nits fair appreciation more training and experience than was possessed by\none immersed in the cares of an exacting profession and interested also\nin literary pursuits. Mr. Frothingham's artistic taste was, besides, so\nmuch controlled by moral feeling that he could not be critical of form.\nOf art for its own sake he had no conception, and could have none, for\nthat cry which voices the demands of technical execution had not been\nraised; but even if it had been he would have felt no sympathy with any\nkind of excellence that was not directly associated with the moral\nsentiment.\n\nHis taste in music was much like his taste in painting,--that is to say,\nit was uneducated and unscientific. To the great music,--that of the\nintellect and the soul,--the compositions of the masters, of Bach,\nMozart, Beethoven, Mendelssohn, he was indifferent; but the music of the\nheart, of feeling, emotion, elevated passion,--the Scotch songs, the\nIrish melodies, the English lays, madrigals, glees, was his delight. He\nwas especially fond of religious airs. The oratorios of \"The Creation\"\nand \"The Messiah\" he was never tired of hearing. His voice was\nmelodious, and he was fond of using it. His organist taught him the\nprinciples of his own art, and hours were spent at a parlor-organ in\nplaying favorite hymn-tunes, the melody of which he sang as he played.\nHe amused his children by trilling nursery ditties, and joined his boys\nas they performed glees from the \"Orphean Lyre,\" sometimes singing with\nthe heart quite as much as with the understanding. His joyous nature\nexpressed itself instinctively in song. His whole nervous system\nresponded to it. He was transported out of himself by sweet strains, and\nfairly trembled under the influence of divine harmonies.\n\nMr. Frothingham's love of dramatic art amounted to a passion, but the\nart must be high as well as pure. Tragedy he did not like. All of the\nShakespearian plays he was critically familiar with, but he loved \"The\nTempest\" best, as uniting poetry with cheerfulness in fullest measure.\nThe lines he wrote on the restoration of the Federal Street Theatre\nexpressed the depth of his interest. A religious society, afterwards the\n\"Central Church\" in Winter Street, was gathered here. Of this kind of\nenterprise the poet says:\n\n    More reverence than befits us here to tell,\n    We yield to courts where sacred honors dwell.\n    But have not they their places? Have not we?\n    Has not each liberal province leave to be?\n\nThe \"Lecture-Room\" he had little respect for, none at all for the\n\"Variety Show.\" To every device he wishes a cordial farewell,\nexclaiming:\n\n    Restored! Restored! Well known so long a time,\n    These buried glories rise as in their prime.\n    Our tastes may change as fickle fashions-fly,\n    But art is safe: the Drama cannot die.\n    More than restored! Whate'er the pen since wrought\n    Of loftiest, sprightliest, here that wealth has brought.\n    Whate'er the progress of the age has lent\n    Of purer taste and comelier ornament,--\n    To this our temple it transfers its store,\n    And makes each point shine lovelier than before.\n\nBut the drama must be clean:\n\n    But more yet,--and how much! We claim a praise\n    The Playhouse knew not in the ancient days.\n    Own us, ye hearts with moral purpose warm!\n    Our word Renewal adds the word Reform.\n\n           *       *       *       *       *\n\n    Come, friends of Virtue! Share the feast we spread.\n    It loads no spirits, and it heats no head.\n    But rouses forth each power of mind and soul\n    With food ambrosial and its fairy bowl.\n\n           *       *       *       *       *\n\n    Hearts are improved by Feeling's play and strife;\n    Refined amusement humanizes life.\n    So wrote the Sages, whom the world admired;\n    So sang the Poets, who the world inspired;\n    Why in New England's Athens is decried\n    What old Athenian culture thought its pride?\n\nThus Righteousness and Peace are made to kiss each other. Art and\nVirtue walk hand in hand. The sole condition is that art shall be\nvirtuous and that virtue shall be artistic. There was a singular\nblending in his mind of the sacred and the secular. Perhaps Matthew\nArnold's definition of religion as \"morality touched with emotion\" comes\nas near expressing Dr. Frothingham's conception as any. There must be\nmorality; that is cardinal; that lies at the foundation of all systems;\nthat must be strict and high. But emotion is indispensable also. This\nruns into praise, the love of goodness, the worship of the highest. This\nimparts warmth, glow, passion, the upward lift that inspires. Morality\nalone is cold, emotion alone is apt to be visionary. But the two united\npropel the ship, one serving as ballast to keep it steady, and one as\nsails to catch the winds of heaven.\n\nMy mother was an example of pure character. She laid no claim whatever\nto literary talent. Indeed she had none. I cannot associate her with\nbooks of any special description, but I can always associate her with\ngoodness, with humility, sincerity, duty, kindness, pity, and\nsimplicity. Truthfulness was her great virtue, and was saved from\nbluntness only by her delicate feeling for others and her inborn\npoliteness. The severest rebuke I ever received from her was on account\nof a sharp arraignment of merchants in a youthful sermon, which to her\nseemed presumptuous. Her household cares, the nurture of her children\n(she had seven, five sons and two daughters, all of whom she trained\nmost carefully like a devoted mother), the family visitings, the parish\ncalls, missions among the poor, occupied the day. She would sit for\nhours knitting or sewing, or in an armchair before the coal fire\nsilently musing. She was quiet, reserved, old-fashioned in her\nsentiments, but with a great fund of inward strength, which came out on\nemergencies. I shall always remember her ceaseless solicitude for an\nunfortunate elder brother of mine who had for years been an anxiety and\na trouble. When he died in early manhood, after nursing him tenderly,\nshe softly closed his eyes, and preserved the memory of him in her\nheart. Her chamber window in the country looked upon his distant grave,\nthe little white stone over which kept him before her eye who was always\nin her thoughts.\n\nShe accepted the existing order of things because it was established,\ndisliking experiments, however humane, for the reason that they had not\nbeen tested; and if she had misgivings, she kept them to herself not\ndaring to set up her private feelings in opposition to the will of the\nSupreme, the question whether the existing order expressed the will of\nthe Supreme never being raised by her.\n\nShe was Unitarian, having so been taught, but speculative matters were\nout of her reach as well as uncongenial with her sphere. Her faith was\nof the heart, and all the reason for it she had to give was an uplifted\nlife, \"unspotted from the world.\" Of creeds she knew nothing, not that\nshe was deficient in mind, but because they seemed to her to be affairs\nof criticism, with which she had nothing to do. Her concern was with\npractical things, and conduct was, with her, more than seven eighths of\nlife. Even the very mild decoction of theology that was administered\nfrom Sunday to Sunday in Chauncy Place was sometimes too much for her.\nShe was a practical Christian, if there ever was one.\n\nHer love of nature was genuine. As a young woman she could distinguish\nthe colors of a flying bird. When she had a house of her own in the\ncountry, she preferred a spot remote from the world of society; went\nthere as early as possible in the spring, and stayed as late in the\nautumn as she could. She delighted in the place; loved the air, the\ntrees, the smell of the ground. She enjoyed her garden; liked to see\nplants grow. Every morning after breakfast she went out to inspect the\ngrounds, and came back laden with modest flowers; in the fall with pine\ncones, the flame of which she enjoyed. On her last evening, quite\nunaware of her coming end, she sat on the piazza, and looked at the\nsunset, wrapped in shawls, though it was midsummer, for she was weak and\nemaciated but patiently tranquil.\n\nHer habits were simple, not from parsimony but from taste. She cared\nnothing for decoration or display. She spent no more than was necessary\non dress or furniture. She was fond of old-fashioned, solid things. In\nthe midst of abundance, her appetite was for plain food, yet she was no\nascetic or prude, but a largehearted, sensible woman, sober and serious\nbut genial too.\n\nBrowning makes Paracelsus say:\n\n    'T is only when they spring to heaven that angels\n    Reveal themselves to you; they sit all day\n    Beside you, and lie down at night by you,--\n    Who care not for their presence,--muse or sleep,\n    And all at once they leave you and you know them.\n\nThis is in a measure true. Death is a great revealer. Unfortunately it\nis a great deceiver also, putting wings on very earthly bodies. But in\nthis instance, the qualities were all there in the living form, and all\nclearly visible to those who sat all day beside my mother. Death did but\nbrush away a little film that hung before distant eyes.\n\nUntil near middle life I had the example and advice of these dear\nspirits. It is my privilege to have their blood in my veins. That was my\nbest endowment, and kept me always hopeful of a better future in the\ntime to come. The dream of a nobler age for literature, art, science,\nhumanity, came directly from my father. The desire to do something to\nmake the dream an actual fact, to prove myself as of some service in the\nworld, came from my mother. His was the love of intellectual liberty.\nHers was the passion for practical accomplishments. He was a scholar.\nShe was a worker.\n\nBoth had thoughts deeper than they could express. Both were utterly\nsincere in their calling, and the limitations of their age alone\nconfined their advance. The times were quiet then; the world was small\nand disconnected; Boston was a little place and shut off even from\nAmerican cities by difficulties of travel and by exorbitant rates of\npostage. Thus responsibility was mainly confined to individuals. There\nwere no wearing duties; no perplexing cares; even railroad disturbances\ndid not worry, for there was no railroad speculation, and no railroad\nsystem. Hours were early, dinner was at two or half-past, tea at six or\nseven, the evening ended at ten, and was spent with books, melodious\nmusic, or playful games of amusement, not of instruction. There were few\nsocial gatherings; balls were very rare, seldom lasting later than\neleven o'clock. There was an occasional concert, and here and there a\ntheatre, but there were no great dinner parties. Social problems were\nexceedingly simple; the classes were divided by lines that nobody\nattempted to pass over. Socialism was unborn, and labor agitations were\nunknown. In a word, there was such a thing as leisure, and this was used\nchiefly for the cultivation of the mind.\n\nMy father was greatly interested in the education of his boys; watched\nall their attainments; taught them French; encouraged their learning how\nto box, and fence, and swim; while my mother shed an atmosphere of peace\nover the whole household. She made one joke only, as far as my memory\nserves me,--and I mention it here lest any one should suppose there was\na lack of sunshine in her nature. My father was very fond of \"voeslauer,\"\nan Austrian red wine. When the last bottle was produced my mother, said\narchly, \"your _face_ will _lower_ when it is all drunk up.\" It was not\nmuch of a joke, but a small jest will show the spirit of fun quite as\nwell as a large one.\n\nThere was a singular combination of aspiration with peace at that time.\nProbably there is as much aspiration now as there was then, perhaps\nmore; but it is associated with social reform rather than with personal\nperfection; there is peace, too, at the present day, but it is harder to\nget at and needs to be sought most often in private homes; the inward\npeace is found in all periods.\n\nHow the principles then formed would bear the strain of a later age or\na larger sphere remained to be proved. Fifty years ago the modern era\nwith its complications and perplexities could not even be suspected. The\nfoundations alone could then be laid.\n\n\n\n\nII. EDUCATION.\n\n\nOf the primary schools it is unnecessary to speak. They were of the same\nkind that were established in Boston at that period. Indeed I can\nrecollect but two, one, a child's school of boys and girls, kept by a\nMiss Scott, at the corner of Mt. Vernon Street and Hancock; the other a\nboys' school kept by a Mr. Capen, a poor hump-backed cripple who could\nnot get out of his chair, but wheeled himself about the room, and kept\non his table a cowhide, which was pretty generously exercised. The\nschool was on Bedford Street behind the \"Church of Church Green.\" A\nlittle alley-way ran along in the rear of the church through which I\nused to go to the school-house.\n\nThe Latin School was an old institution brought hither by Rev. John\nCotton, who remembered the Free Grammar School founded in Lincolnshire,\nEngland, by Queen Mary, in which Latin and Greek were taught. It was\nestablished here, in 1635, five years after the landing of Winthrop, two\nor three years before Harvard College. When I was there, it stood on\nSchool Street, opposite the Franklin statue. It had a granite front and\na cupola. The head-master was Charles K. Dillaway, an excellent scholar,\na faithful teacher, an agreeable man. He had to resign in consequence of\nill-health. The tutors were Henry W. Torrey and Francis Gardner, who\nafterwards became head-master. Both were pupils of the school. Mr.\nFrederick P. Leverett, author of the Latin Lexicon, was chosen to\nsucceed Mr. Dillaway, but died before assuming the office. The next\nhead-master, during my course, was Epes Sargent Dixwell, a most\naccomplished man, an elegant scholar, a gentleman of the world, very\nmuch interested, as I remember, in the plastic art of Greece. He is\nstill living, and amuses himself by writing Greek. Mr. Dixwell held\noffice till 1851, when he established a private school. The discipline\nof the Latin School was strict but mild. Corporal punishment was the\nunquestioned rule, but it was never harshly administered, though the\nknowledge that it might be undoubtedly did a good deal toward\nstimulating the ambition of the scholars. Here and there no doubt a boy\nexasperated the teacher by idleness or disorder; possibly at moments the\nteacher was nervous and irritable. I recollect a single instance in\nwhich he was over-sensitive, too prone to take offence, which fastened\nsuspiciously upon some individual scholar; but injustice was a very rare\noccurrence. We learned Greek and Latin, the rudiments of algebra,\nwriting and declamation; but the best part of the education I received\nin those days was an atmosphere of elegant literature, derived from\nfriends of my father. I used to see William H. Prescott taking his walk\non Beacon Street, in the sun, and have often sat in his study in his\ntranquil hours, and heard him talk. The beautiful library of George\nTicknor, at the head of Park Street, was open to me, and I can see his\nform now as he walked on the Common. George S. Hillard, the elegant man\nof letters, was a familiar figure on the street. Charles Sumner, then a\nyoung law student, strode vigorously along, his manner even then\nsuggesting the advent of a new era.\n\nIn 1846, I listened to his oration before the Phi Beta Kappa Society of\nHarvard University on the Scholar [Pickering]; the Jurist [Story]; the\nArtist [Allston]; the Philanthropist [Channing]; and his bold\ndeclamation was strangely in contrast with the academical gown that he\nwore. Daniel Webster used to stalk by our house, the embodiment of the\nConstitution, the incarnation of law, the black locomotive of the train\nof civilization. Ralph Waldo Emerson often sat at my father's table\ndiffusing the radiance of serene ideas, and heralding the diviner age\nthat was to come.\n\nFrom the Latin School to Harvard College was an easy transition. There\nexisted an impression that Latin-School boys might take their ease for\nthe first year at Cambridge, because they were so well prepared, but I\nfound enough to do; there was the great library, there were the advanced\nstudies, there was the more perfect training. The President was Josiah\nQuincy, the elder. Henry W. Longfellow was professor of modern\nlanguages; Cornelius C. Felton, the ardent philhellene, taught Greek;\nCharles Beck, a German, taught Latin; Benjamin Peirce was professor of\nmathematics; James Walker was an instructor in intellectual and moral\nphilosophy; Joseph Lovering, teacher in chemistry. Among the tutors were\nBernard Roelker, in German; Pietro Bachi, in Italian; Francisco Sales,\nin Spanish.\n\nThe new buildings now in the college yard were not erected; Holworthy\n(1812), Stoughton (1804-1805), Hollis (1763), Harvard (1766), Holden\n(1734), Massachusetts Hall (1720), University Hall (1812-1813) were in\nexistence. There were no athletics; there was no gymnasium; there was no\nboating; there was little base-ball. There were few literary societies;\nso that we were driven back mainly upon intellectual labor. The\nprofessors' houses were always open, and there was choice society in the\ntown. I recollect particularly well going to the house of John White\nWebster, who was executed later for the murder of Dr. Parkman. He was\nvery fond of music and had a daughter who sang finely, besides being\nhandsome. She afterwards married Mr. Dabney, of Fayal. The Doctor was a\nnervous man, high strung, but good-natured and polite. His fatal\nencounter with Dr. Parkman I always attributed to a sudden outbreak of\npassion.\n\nWithin the grounds of the college we were quite studious, companionable\namong ourselves. There was no rioting, no excess of any kind. Walking\nand swimming in the river Charles were our chief recreations. Connection\nwith Boston was infrequent and difficult, as there was no railroad. The\nSundays could be passed in the city if the student brought a certificate\nthat he went regularly to church; otherwise it was expected that the\nFirst Church, or one of the others, should be frequented. The\ninstruction was of a cordial, friendly, courteous, and humane kind; the\nprofessors were enthusiastic students in their departments. I well\nrecollect Professor Longfellow's kindness; Professor Felton's ardor (I\nvisited Pompeii with him in 1853). Charles Beck was a burning patriot in\nthe war. Pietro Bachi's great eyes lighted up and glowed as he talked\nabout Dante. Bernard Roelker afterwards became a lawyer in New York.\nCharles Wheeler and Robert Bartlett, tutors, both rare spirits, died\nyoung. On the whole, life at Harvard College was exceedingly pleasant,\nand a real love of learning was implanted in young men's bosoms.\n\nThe corner-stone of Gore Hall was laid in 1813. The books were moved\ninto the library in the summer vacation of 1814. There were forty-one\nthousand volumes at that time.\n\nIn the early part of my career, I took my meals in Commons, at an\nexpense of two dollars and a quarter a week, the highest price then\npaid. Commons was abolished for a time in 1849, it being found difficult\nto satisfy the students, who for some years had boarded in the houses in\nthe neighborhood.\n\nThere were excitements too. Though there was no gymnasium, or boating,\nand little foot-ball, base-ball, or cricket (these games were all very\nsimple and rudimentary), there were the clubs, the \"[Greek: Alpha Delta\nPhi],\" still a secret society, and occupying a back upper room, to which\nwe mounted by stealth,--the same room serving for initiations and\nsociables,--was exceedingly interesting in a literary point of view.\nThere were papers on Scott, Byron, Wordsworth, delightful conversations,\nanecdotes, songs.\n\nThe \"Institute of 1770\" taught us elocution, and readiness in debate;\nthe \"[Greek: Phi Beta Kappa],\" no longer a secret society, and no longer\nactively literary, hung over us like a star, stimulating ambition and\ninciting us to excellence in scholarship.\n\nAltogether it was a delightful life; a life between boyhood and\nmanhood; of purely literary ambition, of natural friendship. There was\nno distinction of persons, no affected pride. We found our own level,\nand kept our own place. Money did not distinguish or family, only\nbrains. There was no care but for intellectual work; there was no excess\nsave in study. Expenses were small, indulgences were few and simple. The\neducation was more suited to those times than to these, when culture\nmust be so much broader, and social expectations demand such varied\naccomplishments.\n\n\n\n\nIII. DIVINITY SCHOOL.\n\n\nTo enter at once the Divinity School was to start on a predestined\ncareer. From childhood I was marked out for a clergyman. This was taken\nfor granted in all places and conversations, and my own thoughts fell\nhabitually into that groove. There was nothing unattractive in the\nprofessional career as illustrated by my father. I was the only one of a\nlarge family of brothers who pursued the full course of studies at\nCambridge, or who showed a taste for the scholastic life. An appetite\nfor books rather than for affairs pointed first of all to a literary\ncalling, while a fondness for speculative questions, a leaning towards\nideal subjects, and a serious turn of mind naturally suggested at that\ntime the pulpit. An inward \"experience of religion,\" which in some other\ncommunions was regarded as essential to the character of a minister of\nthe gospel, was not demanded. Religion was rather moral and intellectual\nthan spiritual, a matter of mental conviction more than of emotional\nfeeling. The clerical profession stood very high, higher than any of the\nthree \"learned professions,\" by reason of its requiring in larger\nmeasure a tendency towards abstract thought, an interest in theological\ndiscussions, and a steady belief in doctrines that concerned the soul.\nLiterature was not at that period a profession; there was no Art to\nspeak of except for genius of the first order like that of Allston or\nGreenough. Men of the highest intellectual rank, whatever they may have\nbecome afterwards, tried the ministry at the start. The traditions of\nNew England favored the ministerial calling. The great names, with here\nand there an exception, were names of divines. The great books were on\nsubjects of religion; the popular interest centred in theological\ncontroversy; the general enthusiasm was aroused by preachers; the\ncurrent talk was about sermons. The clergy was a privileged class,\naristocratic, exalted.\n\nDivinity Hall had been dedicated in August, 1826. It was situated on an\navenue about a quarter of a mile from the college yard. It contained,\nbesides thirty-seven chambers for the accommodation of students, a\nchapel, a library, a lecture-room, and a reading-room; it stood opposite\nthe Zooelogical Museum. Before it was a vacant space used for games.\nBehind it was meadow land reaching all the way to Mr. Norton's. Just\nbeyond it was Dr. Palfrey's residence. George Rapall Noyes, D.D., was\nelected in May, 1840, with the title of \"Hancock Professor of Hebrew and\nOriental Languages, and Dexter Lecturer on Biblical Literature.\" He had\nalready translated the poetical books of the Old Testament, and it was\nhis eminence as a translator which had won him fame while a minister at\nPetersham. It was his duty also to explain the New Testament, and in\naddition to give lectures in systematic theology. Besides all this he\nwas to preach in the college chapel a fourth of the year. He steadily\ngrew in the respect and attachment of the young men; his authority in\nthe lecture-room was very great; his opinions were carefully formed and\nprecisely delivered; and his shrewd, practical wisdom was long\nremembered by his pupils. Convers Francis, D.D., appointed to the\n\"Parkman Professorship,\" after the resignation of Henry Ware, Jr., was\nhis associate. The branches assigned to him were ecclesiastical history,\nnatural theology, ethics, the composition of sermons, and instruction in\nthe duties of a pastor; besides all this he was to preach half of the\ntime in the college chapel. Dr. Francis was an accomplished scholar and\na faithful teacher. The best man, too, for his position, at a time when\nin an unsectarian school it was exceedingly desirable that the\nprofessors should harmonize all tendencies; for with a strong sympathy\nwith \"transcendentalism,\" as it was then called, he had been a most\nsuccessful parish minister, a very acceptable preacher, and a man in\nwhom all the churches had confidence.\n\nAt Cambridge, owing to the influence of Buckminster, Ware, and Norton,\nUnitarian opinion prevailed, though the controversial period had passed\nby when I was there. The clouds of warfare no longer discharged\nlightning; there was no roll of thunder; only a faint muttering betrayed\nthe former excitement; and the memory of old conflicts hovered round the\nspots where the fights had been hottest. Marks of strife were still\nvisible on texts, and chapters were scarred with wounds. Comment still\nlingered near the passages where polemics had raged, and the blood\nburned as we read the tracts or studied the essays of the champions we\nadmired.\n\nIt was impossible to forget the interpretations that had been given to\nwords or phrases. A strictly scientific study, either of the Bible or\nthe creed, was therefore out of the question. But the course of\nexercises was broad, generous, inclusive, as far as this was feasible.\nThe bias was decidedly unorthodox, yet without the bitter temper of\nopposition. The old system was rather set aside than attacked. It was\nassumed to have been vanquished in the fair field. The professors were\nliberal in their views. A small but serviceable library furnished the\nstudents with a certain amount of needed material, the college library\nwas freely opened to them, and the collections of the professors were\ngladly placed at their disposal. The days were fully occupied with\nlectures, recitations, discussions, exercises in writing out and taking\nof notes. Once a week there was a debate on some general theme not\nconnected with the topics of the class-room; and at the latter part of\nthe course there was special training in the composition and delivery of\nsermons, accompanied by a brief experience of extemporaneous speaking.\nThe Unitarian ministry was alone contemplated; no wide divergence from\nit was encouraged, and the conservative methods of interpretation were\nthe ones recommended. Some knowledge of Greek and Latin being\npresupposed, the study of Hebrew was made the one study of language, and\nthis was pursued with the best available helps. Biblical criticism\nnaturally took a prominent place in the current curriculum, under the\nguidance of the most distinguished authorities; books of every school\nwere recommended, whether old or new, Catholic or Protestant,\n\"conservative\" or \"liberal,\" Horne, Tholuck, De Wette being consulted in\nturn. The New Testament and \"Historical Christianity\" were taken for\ngranted; and these meant belief in miracles, which were defended against\nrising objections of the Strauss and Paulus schools, the former holding\nby the \"mythical\" theory, the latter favoring the notion of a natural\nexplanation of some sort. The hostility towards rationalism was decided.\nThis was forty years ago, before the \"historical method,\" as it was\ncalled, instituted by Baur, Schwegler, Zeller, Sneckenburger, and the\n_Theologische Jahrbuecher_, had any expositor in this country, long\nbefore the Dutch school, the later French school--Kuenen, Reville,\nReuss, Nicolas, Renan,--came out. The great issue was the credibility of\nthe miracles of the Old and New Testaments. The half-monastic life we\nled at Divinity Hall cut us off a good deal from social amenities,\nreform agitations, attempts to change institutions, and even from the\ndeeper currents of religious sentiment. None but the very observant took\nnote of Brook Farm, or heeded the movements in behalf of Association\nthat were going on in other communities. Whatever was outside of the\n\"Christian\" ministry concerned us but little. The professors did not\ndirect our eyes to the mountain tops or call attention to the bringers\nof good tidings from other quarters than the Christian Revelation, as\nexplained by its scholars and writers. Even such a phenomenon as Emerson\ndid not make a profound impression on the average mind.\n\nA tone of old-fashioned piety pervaded the establishment. A weekly\nprayer-meeting, always attended by one of the professors, though\nofficially rather than as a stimulator, was much in the manner and\nspirit of similar exercises at Andover. The students were cautioned\nagainst excessive intellectualism. Several of them spent their Sundays\nin teaching classes of the young in the neighboring towns, in\nministering to the sick in hospitals, or in carrying the monitions of\nconscience to the criminals in the prison at Charlestown. The aims of a\npractical ministry were thus kept in view as well as the circumstances\nof the time permitted. Of course the school could not be a philanthropic\ninstitution any more than it could be independent or scientific. It was\ncommitted to a special purpose, which was the supply of Christian\npulpits with instructed, earnest, devoted men. That they should be\nUnitarians was expected; that they should be Christians in belief was\ndemanded. There were two ever-present spectres, \"orthodoxy\" and\n\"rationalism,\" the one represented by Andover, the other by Germany.\nAudacity of speculation when unaccompanied by practical piety was\ndiscountenanced, and in flagrant instances rebuked.\n\nThe literal form of the orthodox creed, it need hardly be said, was made\nmore prominent than its imaginative aspect. This was inevitable, for the\nobject was to assail it rather than to understand it. To be perfectly\nfair to all sides was, under the circumstances, not to be expected at a\nperiod so near the era of controversy. An earnest, ingenuous youth could\nfind at Cambridge all the courage and impulse he needed, for the\natmosphere of the place was neither chilling nor depressing. The less\nemotional, more intellectual scholar was left to pursue his studies\nundisturbed, the wind of spiritual feeling not being strong enough to\ncarry him away.\n\nIn a word, the institution was all that could have been looked for in a\ntime when ecclesiastical and doctrinal traditions were fatally though\nnot confessedly broken, and naked individualism was not avowedly\nadopted. The task of the professors, conscientious, hard working,\nutterly faithful men, was laborious, difficult, and thankless. The\nUnitarian public, fearing a tendency to unbelief, gave them a grudging\nconfidence; the students, I am afraid, were not considerate of\nthem,--the zealous finding them lukewarm, the cold-blooded blaming them\nfor stopping short of the last consequences of their own theory. It is\nwonderful that the school went on at all. The single-minded devotion of\nthe teachers alone preserved it. Looking thoughtfully back across a wide\ngulf of years, the writer of these pages feels that he owes this tribute\nto Convers Francis and George R. Noyes. How often he has wished he could\ntake them by the hand and ask their forgiveness for his frequent\nmisjudgment of them, misjudgment the remembrance of which makes his\nheart bleed the more as he can only think of their generous forbearance.\nTheir influence was emancipating and stimulating. They were friendly to\nthought. Under their ministration the mind took a leap forward towards\nthe confines of the Christian system of faith. What the divinity school\nof the future may be able to accomplish it would be hazardous to\nconjecture. It could hardly then have done more than it did.\n\nThe study of comparative religions, so zealously prosecuted within a\nfew years, together with a desire to do perfect justice to orthodox\ndoctrines, may render practical a scientific review of theological\nsystems, but in this event a predilection in favor of a separate\n\"Christian\" ministry can be no longer characteristic of a divinity\nschool which proposes to prepare young men for the clerical calling.\n\nThe three years of secluded life passed quickly away. The trial sermon\nin the village church was delivered and criticised. The President of the\ncollege then was Edward Everett, my uncle. The next morning I went to\nhis office; he spoke warmly of my sermon, but advised me henceforth to\ncommit sermons to memory as he did. This I tried two or three times, but\nthe effort to write the sermons so fatigued me that the task of\ncommitting them to memory was too great, and for years I wrote my\ndiscourses, until for convenience' sake I learned to preach without\nnotes. The diploma was bestowed, the actual ministry was begun. The term\nof preaching as a candidate did not last long. By the advice of friends\nan invitation was accepted to an old established conservative parish in\nSalem, Mass. Ordination and marriage soon followed, and public life was\ninaugurated under the most promising conditions. I had the best wishes\nof the conservative portion of the community to which I was, properly,\nsupposed to belong, and the hopes of the radical portion who anticipated\na change of view as time went on, and I was brought into sharper\ncollision with prevailing habits of thought than was possible at\nCambridge, where the student was in a great measure cut off from\nintercourse with the world.\n\nAt the \"Divinity School\" I was known as a young man with conservative\nideas. I remember now discussions, essays, criticisms, in which the\nopinions in vogue among old-fashioned Unitarians were defended somewhat\npassionately against the more daring convictions of my companions. In\nespecial my faith was in direct opposition to the spiritual philosophy;\nStrauss was a horror; Parker was a bugbear; Furness seemed an innovator;\nEmerson was a \"Transcendentalist,\" a term of immeasurable reproach. All\nthis was soon to pass away, and I was to go a great deal beyond even\nParker. The word \"Transcendentalist\" ceased to be a synonym for\n\"enthusiast.\" The philosophy of intuition was first literally adopted,\nthen dismissed, and I came out where I least expected. But I well\nremember, one evening as I was walking out from Boston, presenting to\nmyself distinctly the alternative between the adoption of the old and\nthe new. I am afraid that the old commended itself by its venerableness,\nthe solidity of its traditions, and the authority of its great names,\nwhile the new was still vague and formless. I then and there decided to\nfollow in the footsteps of my fathers, a course more in sympathy with\nthe prevailing temper of the age and with the current of thought at\nDivinity Hall, though Emerson had delivered his address some years\nbefore, and the New Jerusalem was even then coming down from heaven.\n\n\n\n\nIV. SALEM.\n\n\nOld Salem was a city of the imagination. History does it no justice.\nThe \"Essex Institute,\" founded in 1848, by the union of the \"Essex\nCounty Historical Society\" and the \"Essex County Natural History\nSociety,\" has a very fine collection of books, pamphlets, manuscripts,\nan invaluable museum, relics, pictures, so that in no locality in the\ncountry has so much been accomplished in exhuming the treasures of\nmunicipal and civil history, and in bringing to light antiquities.\nHurd's \"History of Essex County,\" published in 1888, with its monographs\non commerce, religion, literature, newspapers, etc., written by\nthoroughly competent men, throws a flood of light on the past of the\nplace. Mr. Upham's \"Memoir of Francis Peabody,\" published in 1868, gives\nan admirable account of the literary eminence of the old town. Colonel\nHigginson's article in _Harper's Monthly_ on \"Old Salem's Sea Captains,\"\npublished in September, 1886, gives something of its romantic character.\nBut best of all as illustrating this feature are the articles written by\n\"Eleanor Putnam\" (Mrs. Arlo Bates), and republished after her death\nunder the title of \"Old Salem,\" in 1887. She was about thirty years old\nwhen she died; but if she had lived she would have presented the old\ncity in its quaintest aspect. Her love of antiquarian research, her\ntaste, her devotion to Salem qualified her in an eminent degree for her\nself-appointed task.\n\nThere can hardly be a doubt that the origins of the town were\nreligious; that a religious purpose, deep though undefined and\nundeclared, animated the emigrants before Winthrop. The very name,\nSalem, the Hebrew for peacefulness, instead of \"Naumkeag\" (the old\nIndian name), adopted in 1628, to commemorate the reconciliation between\nthe company of Roger Conant and that of John Endicott, was already\nsuggestive of spiritual qualities. Eminent forms loom up in the\ndistance: Francis Higginson, the first minister of Massachusetts Bay;\nRoger Williams, whose name is identified with \"soul freedom\"; Hugh\nPeters, his opponent. John Endicott was a most imposing figure; hasty,\nrash, choleric (as was shown by his striking a man in early life),\nimperious, but brave and bold. He was a stern Puritan, hating popery so\nmuch that he cut out the image of the king from the English banner,\nbecause it was an image, while at the same time he persecuted the\nQuakers, because they advocated obedience to the \"inner light\" and were\ndisturbers of the established peace. But he had sweeter\nqualities--gentleness, generosity, and kindness. An old scripture\n(Ecclesiasticus xi., 28) says: \"Judge none blessed before his death; for\na man shall be known in his children.\" The descendants of John Endicott\nare graceful, elegant, refined people, lovely in manners, gentle in\ndisposition. The root of these qualities must have been in the\nforefather two centuries and a half ago. The intellectual history of the\ncity is very illustrious and began early. A strong intellectual bent\ncharacterized the early settlers, who were persons of inquisitive minds,\naddicted to experiments and enterprises, exceedingly ingenious. Near the\nmiddle of the last century there was in existence in Salem a social\nevening club, composed of eminent cultivated and accomplished citizens.\nOn the evening of Monday, March 31, 1760, a meeting was held at the\nTavern House of a Mrs. Pratt for the purpose of \"founding in the town of\nSalem a handsome library of valuable books, apprehending the same may be\nof considerable use and benefit under proper regulations.\" The books\nimported, given, or bought, amounted to four hundred and fifteen\nvolumes. This society, which may be regarded as the foundation of all\nthe institutions and agencies established in this place to promote\nintellectual culture, was incorporated in 1797. In 1766, the famous\nCount Rumford was an apprentice here. In 1781, Richard Kirwan, LL.D., of\nDublin, an eminent philosopher of the period, had a valuable library in\na vessel which was captured by an American private armed ship and\nbrought into Beverly as a prize. The books were given by Dr. Kirwan, who\nwould accept no gratuity and was delighted that his volumes were put to\nso good a use. The books were sold to an association of gentlemen in\nSalem and its neighborhood, and formed the \"Philosophical Library.\" This\nand the \"Social Library\" were afterwards consolidated into the \"Salem\nAthenaeum,\" which was incorporated in March, 1810.\n\nAmong the distinguished men were William H. Prescott, Benjamin Peirce,\nNathaniel Hawthorne, John Lewis Russell, Charles Grafton Page, and Jones\nVery. Here lived Edward Augustus Holyoke, president of the Massachusetts\nMedical Society and the American Academy of Arts and Sciences; Timothy\nPickering, Rev. John Prince, Rev. William Bentley, Nathaniel Bowditch,\nauthor of the \"Practical Navigator\" and translator of the \"Mecanique\nCeleste\"; John Pickering, Joseph Story, of the Supreme Bench; Daniel\nAppleton White, Leverett Saltonstall, Benjamin Merrill, and many another\nman of accomplishments and learning. Even the uneducated, and those\nengaged in the common occupations of everyday life, gratified their love\nof knowledge, and followed up, for their private enjoyment, researches\nin intellectual and philosophical spheres; apothecaries and retail\nshopkeepers distinguished themselves as writers; one of them--Isaac\nNewhall by name--was reputed the author of the famous \"Junius Letters,\"\nthus enjoying companionship with Burke, Gibbon, Grattan, Camden,\nChatham, Chesterfield, and other distinguished writers.\n\nIts commercial history was exceedingly brilliant. In its palmy days it\nhad more trade with the East Indies than all the other American ports\nput together. Its situation by the sea encouraged maritime adventure.\nFrom its very infancy its inhabitants sent vessels across the Atlantic\nof forty to sixty tons, and followed up the trade with Spain, France,\nItaly, and the West India Islands. In the war of the Revolution it sent\nout one hundred and fifty-eight armed ships, mounting at least two\nthousand guns, and carrying not less than six thousand men. In 1785,\nSalem sent out the first vessel to the Isle of France, Calcutta, and\nChina; she began also the trade to the other ports of the East Indies\nand Japan; to Madagascar and Zanzibar, Brazil and Africa. In the south\nseas, Salem ships first visited the Fiji Islands; they first opened up\nto our commerce New Holland and New Zealand. In the war of 1812 she had\ntwo hundred and fifty privateers. When the war was over, these vessels\nwere engaged in the merchant service. Mr. E. H. Derby, one of the great\nmerchants, said to be the richest man in America, sent out thirty-seven\nvessels in fourteen years, making a hundred and twenty voyages. The\nnames of the great merchants, E. H. Derby, N. Silsbee, William Gray,\nPeabody, Crowningshield, Pickman, Cleveland, Cabot, Higginson, are of\nuniversal celebrity. Then Derby Street was alive with sea-captains, the\ncustom-house was active, the tall warehouses were full of treasures, the\ngreat East Indiamen fairly made the air fragrant as they unloaded their\nmerchandise. To quote the language of \"Eleanor Putnam\": \"There was\npoetry in the names of the vessels--the ship _Lotus_, the _Black\nWarrior_, the brig _Persia_, the _Light Horse_, the _Three Friends_, and\nthe great _Grand Turk_. There was, too, a charm about the cargoes. They\nwere no common-place bales of merchandise, but were suggestive in their\nvery names of the sweet, strange odors of the East, from which they\ncame. There was food for the imagination in the mention of those\nship-loads of gum copal from Madagascar and Zanzibar; of hemp and iron\nfrom Russia; of Bombay cotton; of ginger, pepper, coffee, and sugar from\nIndia; of teas, silks, and nankeens from China; salt from Cadiz; and\nfruits from the ports of the Mediterranean.\"\n\nMiss Putnam speaks of the gorgeous fans, the carved ivory, the blue\nCanton china, the generous tea-cups, the tureens, the heavy tankards,\nthe Delft jars, the ancient candle-sticks, the heavy punch bowls, the\nstrange beads, suggestive of the Hindoo rites, Nautch dances, and women\nwith dusky throats. Then the very air was weighty with romantic\nadventures. We read with awe of cashmere shawls hanging on clothes\nlines, of jars full of silver coin, of the gilded fishes on the side of\neach stair, of the grand staircase in the front hall of Mr. Pickman's\nhouse on Essex Street, of logs of sandal-wood. The museum of the East\nIndia Marine Society contains sceptres from the Fiji Islands; a musical\ninstrument from New South Wales, another from Borneo; a carved statue of\na rich Persian merchant of Bombay; an alabaster figure of a Chinese Jos;\na copper idol from Java; a mirror from Japan; fans from Maraba, the\nMarquesas Islands, Calcutta; cloth from Otaheite; an earthen patera from\nHerculaneum; two dresses of women from the Pelew Islands; sandal-wood\nfrom the Sandwich Islands; a parasol from Calcutta; nutmegs from\nCayenne; thirty-six specimens of Italian marble; cement from the palace\nof the Caesars at Rome; white marble from Carthage; porphyry from Italy;\nbeads worn by the Pundits and Fakirs in India; a glass cup from Owyhee;\nVerde Antico from Sicily; sandal-wood tapers from China; wood images of\nmummies from Thebes; a silver box from Soo-Soo; porphyry from\nMadagascar; a piece of mosaic from ancient Carthage; silk cocoons from\nIndia; marble from the temple of Minerva at Athens; piece of pavement\nfrom the site of ancient Troy; and polished jasper from Siberia.\n\nWhen I was in Salem, from 1847 to 1855, this splendor had departed.\nDerby Street was deserted, the great warehouses were tenements for\nlaborers. Hawthorne has described the custom-house in his famous preface\nto the \"Scarlet Letter.\" The sailors had disappeared; the commerce,\nowing mainly to the shallowness of the water in the harbor, had gone to\nBoston and New York. But traces of the old glory still lingered. Here\nand there a great merchant was seen on the streets. Some of the old\nhouses remained: the Pickering House on Broad Street, built in 1651; the\nTurner House; Roger Williams' house, at the corner of Essex and North\nStreets, built before 1634; and Mr. Forrester's house.\n\nAs the chairman of the Salem Lyceum, it was my privilege to entertain\nsuch men as R. W. Emerson, George W. Curtis and others. Thomas Starr\nKing, when he lectured in Danvers, drove over to my house, and spent the\nrest of the evening. Nathaniel Hawthorne I used to meet frequently on\nthe street. I often saw Mrs. Hawthorne leading her children by the hand.\nMr. Hawthorne, who was in Salem from 1846 to 1849, was remarkable for\nhis shyness. His favorite companions were some Democratic politicians,\nwho met weekly at the office of one of them, where he occupied himself\nin listening to their talk, but he avoided cultivated people. On one\noccasion a friend of mine asked us to meet him at dinner; twice he went\nto remind his guest of the engagement. The hour arrived, the dinner was\nkept waiting half an hour for Mr. Hawthorne to come. He said but little\nduring the dinner, and immediately afterward got up and went away; his\nreluctance to meet people overcoming his sense of propriety.\n\nMy church, the \"North Church,\" as it was called, was a handsome\nbuilding on the main street, a stone structure with a tower, and a green\nbefore it. It was founded in 1772 by people who had left the First\nParish by reason of great dissatisfaction. The first minister, called in\n1773, was Thomas Barnard. He was a broad-minded, liberal man, and left\nthe church substantially Unitarian. His successor was J. E. Abbot,\ncalled in 1815, whose ministry, from ill-health, was very short. My\npredecessor, John Brazer, a cultivated, scholarly, sensitive man, a good\npreacher, an excellent pastor, was settled in 1820. My ministry there\nwas exceedingly pleasant and tranquil for several years. There were long\nhours for studying; the parish work was not hard; the people were\nhonest, quiet, sober, some of them exceedingly refined and gentle; it\nwas as if the old Puritan spirit, modified by time, still lingered about\nthe old town. Family life was beautiful to see; the homes were charming;\nthere was luxury enough; there was great intelligence, singular activity\nof mind; and I remember well the bright conversations, the\nentertainments, the teas, the dinners, the receptions, the social\nmeetings. The women, especially, were distinguished for interest in\nliterary matters. Many interesting people still lived in the town,\nDaniel Appleton White, for instance, Dr. Treadwell, Benjamin Merrill,\nThomas Cole; some of these were my parishioners and all were my friends.\nBut the life was almost too quiet for me, as circumstances presently\nproved.\n\nAt the same time, as if to render impossible my further ministration in\nthis first place of service, the anti-slavery agitation was at its\nheight, dividing churches, breaking up sects, setting the members of\nfamilies against each other, detaching ministers from their\ncongregations, and arraying society in hostile camps. The noise of the\nconflict filled the air. It was impossible to evade the issue. Those who\nhad fixed positions in the community, were of a tranquil temperament, or\nof an easy conscience, might survey the battle calmly, or be vexed only\nby the confusion in the social world; but they who had the future still\nbefore them could not but feel the necessity of taking sides in the\nquarrel. When Garrison, the incarnate conscience, was enunciating the\nmoral law and illustrating it by flaming texts from the Old Testament;\nwhen the intrepid Phillips was throwing the light of history on\npolitics, and putting statesmanship in the face of humanity, judging all\nmen by the maxims of ethical philosophy; when Parker was proclaiming the\nabsolute justice, and Clarke was applying the truths of the eternal\nlove; and many others, men and women, were thundering forth the divine\nvengeance on iniquity; when facts were set out for everybody's reading,\nand tongues were unloosed, and fiery messages proceeded from all mouths,\nand conviction was deep, and eloquence was stirring, it was impossible\nto be still.\n\nNow the situation is changed; the evil is removed; the wound has\nhealed; the surgeon's knife has been put up in its case. A new\nphilosophy is disposed to blame the action of the anti-slavery\nchampions. Some critics have doubted whether the conduct of the\nabolitionists was wise; whether their primary assumption of the\npolitical equality of all men was correct; whether a race that had never\nfounded a government or contributed to the advance of civilization could\nadd any weight to the cause of liberty. But then such misgivings could\nnot be raised. The abolitionists seemed to have on their side the\nprecepts of the New Testament, the teachings of the Sermon on the Mount,\nthe character and example of Jesus, the burning language of prophecy,\nthe inspiring traditions of primitive Christianity, the humane instincts\nof the heart, the moral sentiments of equity, pity, compassion, all\nreinforced by the growing democratic opinion of the age, and by the\ntenets of the intuitive philosophy then coming to the front. The glowing\npassages from Isaiah and from Matthew: \"Let the oppressed go free; break\nevery yoke\"; \"Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of the least of these, ye\ndid it unto me,\" shone in our eyes. To the anti-slavery people belonged\nthe heroic virtues, courage, faithfulness, and sacrifice. Theirs was the\nmartyr spirit; the readiness to surrender ease, position, and success\nfor an idea. It would have been strange if, at such a time, a young man,\na clergyman, too, had been a champion of vested interests. The doctrine\nof a higher law than that of the State commended itself to his idealism,\nand pledged him to oppose what he regarded as legalized wrong. The\ndoctrine of legal rights for all men made him a firm enemy of organized\ninhumanity. It was a period of passionate war. In every department of\nthe Church and State the irrepressible conflict went on. It was no time\nfor the calm voice of the loving spirit of wisdom to be heard. It was no\ntime to propose that the local laws respecting slavery should be\nremodelled, and the relation between whites and blacks readjusted on\nmore equitable principles. The science of anthropology had no weight in\nAmerica or anywhere else. No exhaustive study of race peculiarities\ncould be entered on. The combatants had the whole field, and between the\ncombatants there seemed to be no room for choice by a minister of the\nGospel, an enthusiastic friend of humanity, a democrat, and a\ntranscendentalist.\n\nOn one occasion, after a brutal scene in Boston attending the return of\na slave to his master, feeling that the larger part of his congregation\nwere in sympathy with the government, and approved of the act of\nsurrender, the excited minister declined to give the ordinance of\ncommunion, thinking it would be a mockery. This action brought the\ngrowing disaffection to a head. The feeling of the parish was divided.\nBitter words were exchanged. The situation on both sides became\nuncomfortable, and he accepted an invitation to another city, where he\ncould exercise his independence without check or limit.\n\nThe position in regard to slavery which was taken thirty years ago\nthere is no room to regret. It was taken with perfect sincerity, and\nunder an uncontrollable pressure of conviction. The part performed by\nthe abolitionists was predestined. The conduct of their opponents looks\nnow as irrational as it did then. American slavery was so atrocious a\nsystem, so hideous a blot, that no terms were to be kept with it.\nProbably nothing but the surgeon's knife would have availed in dealing\nwith such a cancerous mass. The cord had become so fatally twisted that\nthe knot, too closely drawn to be untied, must be cut with the sword.\nThe abolition of slavery was inevitable; it came about through a great\nelemental upheaval. The situation had become intolerable and was past\nreforming. Long before the war, it had become impossible to get along\nwith the slaveholders, except on the most ignoble principles of trade or\nfashion. All manly acquiescence was out of the question. The Unitarians,\nas such, were indifferent or lukewarm; the leading classes were opposed\nto the agitation. Dr. Channing stood almost alone in lending countenance\nto the reform, though his hesitation between the dictates of natural\nfeeling and Christian charity towards the masters hampered his action,\nand rendered him obnoxious to both parties,--the radicals finding fault\nwith him for not going further, the conservatives blaming him because he\nwent so far. The transcendentalists were quite universally\nabolitionists, for their philosophy pointed directly towards the\nexaltation of every natural power. Wherever they touched the earth--as\nthey did not always, some of them soaring away beyond terrestrial\nthings--flowers of hope sprang up in their path. In France, Germany, and\nEngland, they were friends of intellectual and social progress, of the\nideal democracy. The spiritual philosophy was in the air; its ideas were\nunconsciously absorbed by the enthusiastic spirits. They constituted the\nlife of the period; they were a light to such as dwelt in darkness or\nsat under the shadow of death.\n\nIn this country Mr. Emerson led the dance of the hours. He was our\npoet, our philosopher, our sage, our priest. He was the eternal man. If\nwe could not go where he went, it was because we were weak and unworthy\nto follow the steps of such an emancipator. His singular genius, his\nwonderful serenity of disposition inherited from an exceptional ancestry\nand seldom ruffled by the ordinary passions of men, his curious felicity\nof speech, his wit, his practical wisdom, raised him above all his\ncontemporaries. His infrequent contact with the world of affairs, his\nseclusion in the country, his apparitions from time to time on lecture\nplatforms or in convention halls, gave a far-off sound to his voice as\nif it fell from the clouds. Some among his friends found fault with him\nfor being bloodless and ethereal, but this added to the effect of his\npresence and his word. The mixture of Theism and Pantheism in his\nthoughts, of the personal and the impersonal, of the mystical and the\npractical, fascinated the sentiment of the generation, while the lofty\nmoral strain of his teaching awakened to increased energy the wills of\nmen. His speech and example stimulated every desire for reform, turning\nall eyes that were opened to the land of promise that seemed fully in\nsight. How much the anti-slavery conviction of the time, along with\nevery other movement for the purification of society, owed to him we\nhave always been fond of saying with that indefiniteness of\nspecification which communicates so much more than it tells. This must\nbe said, that, in the exhilaration of the period, they that worked\nhardest felt no exhaustion, and they that sacrificed most were conscious\nof no self-abnegation, and they that threw their lives into this cause\nhad no sentiment but one of overflowing gratitude and joy. The\nanti-slavery agitation was felt to be something more than an attempt to\napply the Beatitudes and the Parables to a flagrant case of\ninhumanity--it was regarded as a new interpreter of religion, a fresh\ndeclaration of the meaning of the Gospel, a living sign of the purely\nhuman character of a divine faith, an education in brotherly love and\nsacrifice; it was a common saying that now, for the first time in many\ngenerations, the essence of belief was made visible and palpable to all\nmen; that Providence was teaching us in a most convincing way, and none\nbut deaf ears could fail to understand the message.\n\nIt was, indeed, a most suggestive and inspiring time. Never shall I\nforget, never shall I cease to be grateful for, the communion with noble\nminds that was brought about, the moral earnestness that was engendered,\nthe moral insight that was quickened. Then, if ever, we ascended the\nMount of Vision. I was brought into close communion with living men, the\nmost living of the time, the most under the influence of stimulating\nthoughts; and if they were intemperate in their speech, extravagant in\ntheir opinions, absolute in their moral judgments, that must be taken as\nproof of the depth of their conviction. They loved much, and therefore\ncould be forgiven, if forgiveness was necessary. They sacrificed a good\ndeal, too, some of them everything in the shape of worldly honor, and\nthis brought them apparently into line with the confessors and saints.\nThey made real the precepts of the New Testament. Their clients were the\npoor, the lowly, the disfranchised, the unprivileged, against whom the\ngrandeurs of the world lifted a heavy hand. They were champions of those\nwho sorrowed and prayed, and this was enough to win sympathy and disarm\ncriticism. It was a great experience; not only was religion brought face\nto face with ethics, but it was identified with ethics. It became a\nreligion of the heart: pity, sympathy, humanity, and brotherhood were\nits essential principles. At the anti-slavery fairs all sorts and\nconditions of men met together, without distinction of color or race or\nsex. There was really an education in the broadest faith, in which\ndogma, creed, form, and rite were secondary to love; and love was not\nonly universal, but was warm.\n\nSalem was the home of story and legend. There Puritanism showed its best\nand worst sides, for there Roger Williams preached, and there the\nwitches were persecuted. The house where they were tried and the hill\nwhere they were executed were objects of curiosity. There were the wild\npastures and the romantic shores, and broad streets shaded by elm trees,\nand gardens and greenhouses. There were spacious mansions and beautiful\ncountry-seats and pleasant walks. There was beauty and grace and\naccomplishment and wit. There were quaint old buildings, and ways once\ntrodden by pious and heroic feet. On the whole, this was the most\nidyllic period in my ministry. Thither came Emanuel Vitalis Scherb, the\nnative of Basel, an exile for opinion's sake, a man full of genius,\nlearning, enthusiasm. Young, handsome, hopeful, his lectures on German\nliterature and poetry attracted notice in Boston, whence he came to\nSalem to talk and be entertained. The best houses were open to him; the\nbest people went to hear him. Alas, poor Scherb! His day of popularity\nwas short. He sank from one stage of poverty to another; he was indebted\nto friends for aid, among the rest to H. W. Longfellow, who clung to him\ntill the last, and finally died from disease in a military hospital\nearly in our Civil War.\n\nI remember, in connection with Samuel Johnson, collecting an audience\nfor Mr. A. B. Alcott, the most adroit soliloquizer I ever listened to,\nwho delivered in a vestry-room a series of those remarkable\n\"conversations\"--versations with the _con_ left out--for which he was\ncelebrated. It was, in many respects, a happy time.\n\n\n\n\nV. THE CRISIS IN BELIEF.\n\n\nI was in Salem when this came. It happened in the following way: A woman\nin my choir, a melancholy, tearful, forlorn woman, asked me one day if I\nknew Theodore Parker. I said I did not, but then, seeing her\ndisappointment, I asked her why she put that question. She replied that\nher husband had abandoned her some months before and with another woman\nhad gone to Maine. There he had left the woman and was living in Boston,\nand was a member of Mr. Parker's Society; and she thought that if I knew\nMr. Parker I might find out something about him, and perhaps induce him\nto come back to Salem. I told her I was going to Boston in a day or two,\nand would see Mr. Parker.\n\nMy visit, again and again repeated, resulted in an intimacy with that\nextraordinary man which had a lasting effect on my career. His personal\nsympathy, his profound humanity, his quickness of feeling, his\nsincerity, his courage, his absolute fidelity of service, even more than\nhis astonishing vigor of intellect and his earnestness in pursuit of\ntruth, made a deep impression on my mind. To be in his society was to be\nimpelled in the direction of all nobleness. He talked with me, lent me\nbooks, stimulated the thirst for knowledge, opened new visions of\nusefulness. As I recall it now, his influence was mainly personal, the\npower that comes from a great character. He communicated a moral\nimpetus. Faith in man, love of liberty in thought, institution, law,\nbreathed in all his words and works. His theological ideas were somewhat\nmixed, as was inevitable then. His gift of spiritual vision, especially\nas shown in his interpretation of the Old-Testament narratives, may have\nbeen imperfect; his moral perspective may have been incomplete; his\nlearning was copious, rather than discerning. But his single-mindedness\nwas perfect, and his devotion to his fellow-men was almost superhuman.\nIt was a privilege to know such a man, so simple-hearted and brave. The\nslight disposition to put himself on his omniscience, to strike an\nattitude, was not strange considering his enormous force, his\nconsciousness of power, his singular influence over men, and his\nconviction (in large measure forced on him by his advocates) that he was\na religious reformer, a second Luther, the inaugurator of a new\nProtestantism. His three doctrines, to which he constantly appealed, and\nin proof of which he adduced the testimony of the human soul,--the\nexistence of a personal God, the immortality of the individual, and the\nabsoluteness of the \"moral law\" might have been untenable in the\npresence of modern knowledge under the form in which he stated them. His\nvast collection of materials in attestation of Theism may have been\nvaluable chiefly as a curiosity; but the man himself was all of one\npiece, genuine through and through. The mingling of fire and moderation\nin him was very remarkable, the blending of consuming radicalism with\nsaving conservatism puzzled his more vehement disciples; but his\ncharacter interested everybody; his firmness was visible from afar, and\nhis warmth of heart was felt through stone walls. There were no two\nministers in Boston who did as much for the inmates of hospitals and\nprisons as he did. His ministry ceased a quarter of a century ago, but\nthe effect is vital yet, and will last for years to come. At this\ndistance the heart leaps up to meet him. His chief work was done, for it\nconsisted mainly in the adoption of a type of character, and length of\ndays is not needed for this, while it is apt to be impaired by the\ninfirmities of age. His long, wearisome illness, full of weakness and\npain, tested the strength of his fortitude, patience, hopefulness, and\ntrust, and was interesting as showing the passive, acquiescent side of\nheroism, all the more impressive in view of his love of life, his desire\nto finish his course, his sense of accountability (stronger in him than\nin anybody I ever met), and his wish to serve his kind. It was my\nhappiness, more than ten years after he went away from men, to dwell for\nmonths in his atmosphere, while writing his biography, and all my old\nimpressions of him were confirmed. And five years later, reviewing his\nlife in the _Index_, I was again struck by his greatness. I may be\nexcused for quoting the closing passage from the _Index_, of July 5,\n1877, in which I stated the claims of Theodore Parker to the honor of\nposterity. The paragraph sums up the qualities that have been ascribed\nto him--integrity, catholicity, outspokenness; to these might have been\nadded warmth of heart, but this last attribute lay on the surface, and\ncould be easily appreciated by ordinary observers--in fact, was seen and\nacknowledged by his enemies, and by those who knew him least.\n\n     On the whole, then, I should say that _manliness_ was Theodore\n     Parker's crowning quality and supreme claim to distinction. That he\n     had other most remarkable gifts is conceded as a matter of course.\n     Everybody knows that he had. But this was his prime characteristic.\n     The other gifts he had in spite of himself--his thirst for\n     knowledge, his love of books, his all-devouring industry, his\n     unfailing memory, his natural eloquence or power of affluent\n     expression; but character men regard as less a gift than an\n     acquisition,--the fruit of aspiration, resolve, fidelity,--the\n     product of daily, nay, of hourly, endeavor. Hence it is that\n     intellectual greatness does not impress the multitude; even genius\n     has but a limited sway over the masses of mankind. But character\n     goes to the roots of life. In fact, Theodore Parker's eminence as a\n     man of thought and expression in words has concealed from the world\n     at large the intrinsic quality of the person. His reputation as\n     theologian, preacher, controversialist, has concealed the real\n     greatness which comes to light as the dust of controversy subsides.\n     The very causes in which the heroism of his manliness was\n     displayed--as, for example, the anti-slavery cause, to which he\n     devoted so much of his time and vitality--rendered inconspicuous\n     the contribution he made to the treasury of humane feeling. Now\n     that that great conflict is over, now that its agitations have\n     ceased and its heats have cooled, the character of which this\n     conflict revealed but a portion, the career in which this long\n     agony was but an episode, loom up into distinctness. The greatest\n     of all human achievements is a manly character--guileless, sincere,\n     and brave; that he by all admission possessed. He earned it; he\n     prayed for it; meditated for it; worked for it;--how hard, his\n     private journals show. And for this he will not be forgotten. For\n     this he will be remembered as one of the benefactors, one of the\n     emancipators, of his kind.\n\nFrom a shelf in his library, I took Schwegler's \"Nachapostolische\nZeitalter,\" a work which threw a flood of light on the problems of\nNew-Testament criticism. This led to a study of the writings of F. C.\nBaur, the founder of the so-called \"Tuebingen School.\" A complete set of\nthe _Theologische Jahrbuecher_, the organ of his ideas, was imported from\nGermany, and carefully perused. These volumes contained full and minute\nstudies on all the books of the New Testament--Gospels, Epistles, the\nwriting termed \"The Acts of the Apostles,\" with incidental glances at\nthe \"Apocalypse.\" The calm, consistent strength of these expositions\ncommended them to my mind. The author was a university professor, a man\nof practical piety, a Lutheran preacher of high repute, simple,\naffectionate, faithful to his duties, quite unconscious that he was\nundermining anybody's faith, so deeply rooted was the old Lutheran\nfreedom of criticism in regard to the Bible. In the German mind,\nreligion and literature, Christianity and the Scriptures, were entirely\ndistinct things. The scholar could sit in his library in one mood and\ncould enter his pulpit in another, preserving in both the\nsingle-mindedness that became a Christian and a student.\n\nOther theories have arisen since, but none that have taken hold of such\neminent minds have appeared. Theodore Parker accepted it; James\nMartineau adopted its main proposition in several remarkable papers\nwritten at various times, last in the Unitarian magazine _Old and New_.\nIn the brilliant lectures delivered in London, during the spring of\n1880, on the Hibbert Foundation, Ernest Renan's striking account of\nearly Christianity owed its force to the assumption of the fundamental\npostulate of the Tuebingen School. In the latter years of his life, Baur\nsummed up the results of his criticism in a pamphlet that was designed\nto meet objections; and in 1875-1877 his son-in-law, the learned Edward\nZeller, one of his ablest disciples, an eminent professor of history at\nBerlin, published an earnest, carefully considered, masterly report of\nthe writings of the now famous teacher, in the course of which he paid a\nmerited tribute to his character, vindicated his views from the charge\nof haste and partisanship, and predicted for them a triumphant\nfuture.[*]\n\n    [*] \"Vortraege und Abhandlungen,\" von E. Zeller, 2 vols., Leipzig.\n\nThe adoption of these opinions, so opposed to the views current in the\ncommunity, compelled the adoption of a new basis for religious\nconviction. Christianity, in so far as it depended on the New Testament\nor the doctrines of the early Church, was discarded. The cardinal tenets\nof the Creed--the Deity of the Christ, the atonement, everlasting\nperdition--had been dismissed already, and I was virtually beyond the\nlimits of the Confession. But Theism remained, and the spiritual nature\nof man with its craving for religious truth. Without going so far as\nTheodore Parker did, who maintained that the three primary beliefs of\nreligion--the existence of God, the assurance of individual immortality,\nthe reality of a moral law--were permanent, universal, and definite\nfacts of human nature, found wherever man was found; without going so\nfar as this, I contended that man had a spiritual nature; that this\nnature, on coming to consciousness of its powers and needs, gave\nexpression to exalted beliefs, clothing them with authority, building\nthem into temples, ordaining them in the form of ceremonies and\npriesthoods. In support of this opinion, appeal was made to the great\nreligions of the world, to the substantial agreement of all sacred\nbooks, to the spontaneous homage paid, in all ages, to saints and\nprophets; to the essential accord of moral precepts all over the globe,\nto the example of Jesus, to the Beatitudes and Parables, to the respect\ngiven by rude people to the noblest persons, to the credences that\ninspire multitudes, to the teachings of Schleiermacher, Fichte,\nConstant, Cousin, Carlyle, Goethe, Emerson, in fact, to every leading\nwriter of the last generation. All this was so beautiful, so consistent\nand convincing, so full of promise, so broad, plain, and inspiring that,\nwith a fresh but miscalculated enthusiasm, over-sanguine, thoughtless,\nthe young minister undertook to carry his congregation with him, but\nwithout success; so he went elsewhere. This action proceeded from the\nfaith that Parker instilled. Parker was pre-eminently, to those who\ncomprehended him, a believer.\n\nIn the words of D. A. Wasson, his successor in Music Hall:\n\n     Theodore Parker was one of the most energetic and religious\n     believers these later centuries have known. This was the prime\n     characteristic of the man. He did not agree in the details of his\n     unbelieving with the majority of those around him, because it was\n     part of his religion to think freely, part of their religion to\n     forbear thinking freely on the highest matters. But he was not only\n     a powerful believer in his own soul, but was the believing Hercules\n     who went forth in the name of divine law to cleanse the Augean\n     stables of the world.... This, I repeat, and can not repeat with\n     too much emphasis, was the characteristic of the man--sinewy,\n     stalwart, prophetic, fervid, aggressive, believing.... The Hercules\n     rather than the Apollo of belief, it was not his to charm rocks and\n     trees with immortal music, but to smite the hydra of publicity,\n     iniquity, and consecrated falsehood with the club or mace of\n     belief; if this might not suffice, then to burn out its foul life\n     with the fire of his sarcasms.\n\nTo quote my own words, written in 1873 (see \"Life.\" p. 566):\n\n    With him the religious sentiment was supreme. It had no roots in his\n    being wholly distinct from its mental or sensible forms of\n    expression. Never evaporating in mystical dreams nor entangled in\n    the meshes of cunning speculation, it preserved its freshness and\n    bloom and fragance in every passage of his life. His sense of the\n    reality of divine things was as strong as was ever felt by a man of\n    such clear intelligence. His feeling never lost its glow, never was\n    damped by misgiving, dimmed by doubt, or clouded by sorrow. Far from\n    dreading to submit his faith to test, he courted tests; was as eager\n    to hear the arguments against his belief as for it; was as fair in\n    weighing evidence on the opponent's side as on his own. \"Oh, that\n    mine enemy had written a book!\" he was ready to cry, not that he\n    might demolish it, but that he might read it. He knew the writings\n    of Moleschott, and talked with him personally; the books of Carl\n    Vogt were not strange to him. The philosophy of Ludwig Buechner, if\n    philosophy it can be called, was as familiar to him as to any of\n    Buechner's disciples. He was intimate with the thoughts of Feuerbach.\n    He drew into discussion every atheist and materialist he met, talked\n    with them closely and confidentially, and rose from the interview\n    more confident in the strength of his own positions than ever.\n    Science he counted his best friend; relied on it for confirmation of\n    his faith, and was only impatient because it moved no faster. All\n    the materialists in and out of Christendom had no power to shake his\n    conviction of the Infinite God and the immortal existence, nor would\n    have had had he lived till he was a century old, for, in his view,\n    the convictions were planted deep in human nature, and were demanded\n    by the exigencies of human life. Moleschott respected Parker; Dessor\n    was his confidential friend; Feuerbach would have taken him by the\n    hand as a brother.\n\nThere can be no greater mistake than to call Theodore Parker a Deist;\nthan to class Theodore Parker with the Deists. He was utterly unlike\nChubb or Shaftesbury, Herbert of Cherbury or Bolingbroke. Even the most\nphilosophical of them had nothing in common with him. Hume and Voltaire,\nfor instance, were utterly unlike him. They, it is true, believed in _a_\nGod, the \"First Cause,\" the \"Author of Nature,\" the \"Supreme Being,\" and\nin a future life. But their belief was merely logical and mechanical,\nhis was vital; he believed in the real, living, immanent Deity. They\nthought that religion was an imposition, a policy of the priests, who\nplayed upon the fears of mankind; he believed that religion was a\nworking power in the world, the origin of the highest achievement, the\nsoul of all aspiration. They had no faith in the direct communication of\nthe \"Supreme Mind\" with the soul of man; he believed in the infinite\ngenius of man, and in the direct communication of the absolute\nintelligence. They thought of justice as a contrivance for securing\nhappiness; he thought of it as the law of life. One of Mr. Parker's\nfriends ascribed to him a gorgeous imagination; if he had it, it is a\nsurprise that it should have been so completely suppressed as it was,\nfor his taste in pictures and in poetry was very questionable. His want\nof speculative talent probably helped him with the people. Whether he\nformulated his thoughts is uncertain. Such was not his genius. He was a\nconstructive, not a destructive. It was his faith that he criticised the\nBible in order that he might release its piety and righteousness; that\nhe tore in pieces the creeds in order to emancipate the secrets of\ndivinity.\n\nIt is useless to conjecture what Parker might have been had he lived.\nThat he would have held to his primary convictions is almost certain; it\nis quite certain that he would have loved mental liberty. He would have\nbeen a great power in our Civil War; he would probably have been a\nleader in the free religious movement. Parker, when I first knew him,\nwas in full life and vigor. He had gone to Boston a short time before my\nordination in 1847, and had before him a long future of usefulness. All\nthe exigencies in which he might have been conspicuous were distant.\nThat the effect of such a man on me and my connections was exceedingly\ngreat is not strange. It would have been strange had it been otherwise.\nIn sermon, prayer, private conversations my convictions came out. That\nthe people were disappointed may be assumed, but they were kind,\ngenerous, and patient. The congregations did not fall off; there was\nlittle violence or even vehement expostulation. But the position was not\ncomfortable, and when an invitation came from Jersey City to found a new\nSociety, I accepted it at once. It had been a dream of Dr. Bellows to\nestablish a Society at that place, and, learning that I was in search of\nanother sphere of activity, he asked me to undertake the work. This was\nseconded by a cordial representation from Jersey City itself, on the\npart of some who were Dr. Bellows' own parishioners. The uprooting was\nnot easy, for Salem had become endeared to me as the first scene of my\nministry, a place where I could be useful in many ways, and which\ncontained a delightful society; an established, well-furnished town,\nwith historic associations; a country centre, an agreeable situation.\nBut the waters were getting still there, and the sentiment of the past\nwas getting to over-weigh the promises of the future.\n\n\n\n\nVI. JERSEY CITY.\n\n\nJersey City, to which I went directly from Salem, was a very different\nplace from what it is now; smaller and perhaps pleasanter. Where now is\na large city, a few years ago was but a village. Now it is a\nmanufacturing place, with great establishments, foundries,\nmachine-shops, banks, insurance companies, newspapers, more than forty\nschools, and more than sixty churches. Then it was a large town, though\nit was nominally a city (incorporated in 1820), with a population of\nabout twenty thousand, the increase being chiefly due to the annexation\nof suburbs, not to its own vital growth. It was substantially rural in\ncharacter, with extensive meadows, broad avenues; a place of residence\nlargely, the gentlemen living there and doing business in New York.\nThere were a few Unitarians, a few Universalists, but there was no\norganized Unitarian society before I went there. A great many cultivated\npeople resided in this place. There was wealth, culture, and interest in\nsocial matters. A meeting-house was built for me and dedicated to a\nlarge, rational faith.\n\nThe chief peculiarity of my ministry there was the disuse of the\ncommunion service. This rite I had thought a great deal about in Salem.\nThere had been, then, a well-meant proposal on the part of the pastor to\nmake an alteration in the form of administering the communion service.\nThe custom had been (quite an incidental one, for the usage was by no\nmeans the same in all the churches of the denomination) to thrust the\nrite in once a month, between the morning worship and dinner time, and\nto offer it then to none but the church-members, who composed but a\nsmall part of the congregation. As a consequence of this arrangement,\nthe observance became formal, dry, short, and tiresome. To the majority\nof the Society it seemed a mystical ceremony with which they had no\nconcern, while those who stayed to take part in it, wearied already by\nthe preceding exercises, and hungry for their mid-day meal, gave to it\nbut half-hearted attention. The observance was thus worse than thrown\naway; for, in addition to the loss of an opportunity for spiritual\nimpression, a dangerous kind of self-righteousness was encouraged in the\nfew church-members, who regarded themselves as in some way set apart\nfrom their fellow-sinners, either as having made confession of faith or\nas being subjects of a peculiar experience. To impart freshness to the\nrite, and at the same time to extend its usefulness as a \"means of\ngrace,\" the minister proposed to celebrate it less frequently (once in\ntwo or three months), to substitute it in place of the usual afternoon\nmeeting, to make special preparation for it by the co-operation of the\nchoir, and to throw it open to as many as might choose to come, be they\nchurch members or not. The suggestion met with feeble response, and that\nchiefly from young people who had hitherto stayed away out of a laudable\nfeeling of modesty, not wishing to remain when their elders and betters\nwent out, and not thinking themselves good enough to partake of a\nspecial privilege. The \"communicants,\" as a rule, set their faces\nagainst the innovation, perhaps because they were secretly persuaded\nthat the change portended the secularizing of Christianity by a removal\nof the barrier that divided the church from the world, possibly because\nthey wished to retain an exclusive prerogative which had always marked\nthe \"elect.\"\n\nThe matter was not pressed; the routine went on as before; the\nminister did his best to render the service impressive and interesting.\nBut his studies and meditations led him to the conclusion that the\nobservance had no place in the Unitarian system; that it was a mere\nformality, without an excuse for being; that it contained no idea or\nsentiment that was not expressed in the ordinary worship; that it was a\nremnant of an otherwise discarded form of Christianity, where it had a\npeculiar significance; that it was the last attenuation of the Roman\nsacrament of transubstantiation; that it ought to be dropped from every\nscheme of liberal faith as an illogical adjunct, a harmful excrescence,\na hindrance, in short. No whisper of these doubts was breathed at the\ntime, but the pastor's silence allowed the scepticism to strike the\ndeeper root in his mind. Mr. Emerson's departure from his parish, on the\nground that he could no longer administer the communion rite according\nto the usage of the sect, had occurred many years before this, but was\nstill remembered in discussion and talk. Theodore Parker had no\ncommunion; but he was an established leader of heresy, and did not\nfurnish an example. Many, agreeing with Emerson's reasoning, disapproved\nof his course in resigning his pulpit rather than continue to administer\nthe bread and wine. He himself advised others to hold on to the\nobservance, if they could, hoping for the time when it might be\nuniversally vivified by faith. Some might do it as it was. The\ncongregations would, it is likely, without exception, have decided as\nhis did, to lose their minister sooner than their \"Supper.\" Some years\nlater, on passing through Boston on my way to another scene of labor, I\ncalled on a distinguished clergyman who had taken a part in my\nordination, and was asked by him what I intended to do in my new parish\nwith regard to the communion. I replied that it was not my purpose to\nhave it, \"You cannot give it up,\" he said; \"it is stronger than any of\nus. I should drop it if I dared, for there is nothing real in it that is\nnot in the general service, but I am afraid to try. I shall watch your\nexperiment with interest, but without expectation of its success.\" \"Very\nwell,\" I replied, \"we shall see.\" The experiment was tried and\nsucceeded. For four years I had no communion, and not a word was said\nabout it. On leaving for New York, several of my friends, who had been\naccustomed to the ceremony all their lives, were asked if they did not\nthink it would be wise to reinstate the rite. To my surprise, they with\none voice said that there was no need of it, that the Society got along\nperfectly well without it. It is needless to say that in New York the\nobservance was never celebrated.\n\nThe ceremony was justified among Unitarians by various reasons which,\nin the end, seemed apologies. With the old-fashioned, semi-orthodox\nmembers of the congregations it was a precious heirloom, prized for its\nantiquity; a link that still held them in the bond of fellowship with\nthe universal church; a last relic of the supernaturalism to which they\nclung without knowing why; the pledge of a mystical union with their\nChrist. Any change in the administration of it was regarded as a\ndesecration; the suggestion of its complete discontinuance could, they\nthought, arise in no mind that was not fatally poisoned by infidelity.\nIt was not, in their opinion, a symbol of doctrine, but a channel of\ndivine influence, which no intellectual doubts could touch, which\nspiritual deadness alone could dispense with. Tenets might be abandoned,\nforms of belief might be discredited, but this citadel of faith must not\nbe assailed or approached by irreverent feet. Mr. Emerson's example was\nnot followed by his contemporaries. His fellows did not so soon reach\nhis point of conviction. Even radicals, like George Ripley, did not. In\nmy own case it was the growth of time. At the moment there was no\ndisposition to abandon the observance, simply a desire to reanimate it.\nIt was not perceived till much later that the changes proposed implied a\nvirtual abandonment of the rite itself; that the communion is regarded\nas a sacrament, that as a sacrament it might be presumed to be\nsupernaturally instituted for the communication of the divine life;\nthat, when faith in the supernatural declines, the sacrament no longer\nhas a function as a medium, and must be omitted; that no attempts to\nrevive it as a sentimental practice could be justified to reason; that\nall endeavors to awaken interest in it by assuming some occult efficacy\nmust be futile because groundless. The \"memorial service\" can in no\nproper sense be called a sacrament. It may be a pleasing expression of\nsentiment, somewhat over-strained and fanciful, but capable of being\nmade attractive. The task of reproducing the emotions of the early\ndisciples as they sat at supper with their Master, nearly two thousand\nyears ago, is too severe for the ordinary imagination, and when\npersisted in from a sense of duty may become a dull, creaking\nperformance, against which the sensitive rebel and the witty are tempted\nto launch the shafts of their sarcasm. The only way of saving it from\ngibes is to ascribe to it some mystical efficacy for which there is no\nlogical excuse. The Roman Catholic doctrine of Transubstantiation had a\nfoundation in the philosophy of the Church. The Lutheran doctrine of\nConsubstantiation, which recognized the presence of Christ on the\noccasion, but not the literal change of the substance of his flesh, was\nlegitimate. But the Sabellian theory, which the Unitarians inherited,\nwas in no respect justified, save as a tradition.\n\nThe sole alternative at that time for me, when the Communion service\nwas made a test question between the \"conservative\" and the \"radical,\"\nwas to drop it. At present the situation is altered. It is no longer a\nceremony or a tradition, but a means of spiritual cultivation. It stands\nfor fellowship and aspiration, not for a communion of saints, but of all\nthose who desire to share the saintly mind, of all who aim at\nperfection. The rite is one in which all may unite who wish, however\nfitfully, for goodness; _all_, whether Romanist or Protestant, and\nProtestant of whatever name; _all_, in every religion under the sun,\nEastern or Western, Northern or Southern, old or new, every dividing\nline being erased. I once attended the Communion service of a Broad\nChurchman. The invitation was large and inclusive, comprehending\neverybody who, though far off, looked towards the light, everybody who\nhad the least glimmer of the divine radiance; and none but an absolute\ninfidel was shut out. There was a recognition of a divine nature in\nmen,--\n\n    Like plants in mines which never saw the sun,\n    But dream of him, and guess where he may be,\n    And do their best to climb and get to him.\n\nThe idea of spiritual communion is a grand one. It is universal too; it\nis human in the best sense. The symbols were ancient when Jesus used\nthem, the Bread signifying Truth, the Wine signifying Life. Originally\nthe symbols referred to the wealth of nature, as is evident from an\nancient prayer. It was the custom for the master of the Jewish feast to\nrepeat this form of words: \"Blessed be Thou, O Lord, our God, who givest\nus the fruits of the vine,\" and then he gave the cup to all.\n\nLeaving out the personal application which is purely incidental, and\ndiscarding the sacramental idea which is a corruption, throwing the\nservice open to the whole congregation as an opportunity, a great deal\nmay be accomplished in the way of spiritual advancement. True, the\nceremony contains no thought or sentiment that is not expressed in the\nsermon or the prayer, but it puts these in poetic form, it addresses\nthem directly to the imagination, it associates them with the holier\nsouls in their holiest hours, and brings people face to face with their\nbetter selves in the tenderest and most touching manner, teaching\ncharity, love, endeavor after the religious life. The rite is full of\nbeauty when confined within the bounds of Christianity, but when\nextended to the principles of other faiths, it is rich in meaning, and\nmay be used with effect by those who wish to educate the people in the\nhighest form of idealism, who desire comprehensiveness. A symbol often\ngoes further than an argument, and a symbol so ancient and so\nconsecrated ought to be preserved. A friend of mine included all\nreligious teachers in his commemoration. This was a step in the right\ndirection, but if the people are not ready for this yet, they may\nwelcome an extension of the reign of spiritual love among the disciples\nwhom theological hatred has kept apart. But this was not suspected then.\n\nIt will be remarked that my reasons were not those of Emerson. His\nargument was solid and sound, but his real reason was personal. He said\nin his sermon: \"If I believed it was enjoined by Jesus and his disciples\nthat he even contemplated making permanent this mode of commemoration,\nevery way agreeable to an Eastern mind, and yet on trial it was\ndisagreeable to my own feelings, I should not adopt it.... It is my\ndesire in the office of a Christian minister to do nothing which I\ncannot do with my whole heart. Having said this I have said all.... That\nis the end of my opposition, that I am not interested in it.\" My ground\nwas different; I had no objection to the symbol, none to an Oriental\nsymbol, and the mere fact that I was not interested in it seemed to me\nnot pertinent to the case. My objection was that it divided those who\nought to be united; that it encouraged a form of self-righteousness;\nthat it implied a \"grace\" that did not exist. For the rest, my form of\nreligion was of sentiment. It was scarcely Unitarian, not even Christian\nin a technical sense or in any other but a broad moral signification. It\nwas Theism founded on the Transcendental philosophy, a substitute for\nthe authority of Romanism and of Protestantism. This was an admirable\ncounterfeit of Inspiration, having the fire, the glow, the beauty of it.\nIt most successfully tided over the gulf between Protestantism and\nRationalism. Parker used it with great effect. It was the life of\nEmerson's teaching. It animated Thomas Carlyle. It was the fundamental\nassumption of the Abolitionists, and of all social reformers.\n\nI had perfect freedom of speech in Jersey City; there was no\nopposition to the doctrine announced. The Society there was large and\nflourishing, and its influence in the town was on the increase. But\nJersey City was, after all, a suburb only of New York. Some of my most\ndevoted hearers came from New York, and urged me to go there. Dr.\nBellows was anxious to found a third Society in the great city, and\nadded his word to their solicitations, so that in the spring of 1859 I\nwent thither. My church in Jersey City was continued for a short time,\nbut I had no settled successor; the congregation did not grow; some of\nmy most earnest supporters had either died or left the town. The war\nbroke out and was fatal to institutions that had not a deep root. The\nbuilding was sold soon after, for business purposes I think, and the\nsociety was never renewed. This may appear singular considering that\nthere are Unitarian churches elsewhere in New Jersey, at Camden, Orange,\nPlainfield, Vineland, and Woodbury. The changed condition of the town\nmay have had something to do with the failure to revive, after the war,\nthe Unitarian Society. The Catholic, Presbyterian, Orthodox\nCongregationalist communions were more suited to the new population than\nthe Unitarian was. Possibly, too, the \"radical\" complexion of the parish\nhad something to do with the disrepute that fell upon it. However this\nmay have been, the cause did not seem to prosper. Mr. Job Male, who died\nrecently at Plainfield, was one of my most zealous supporters and\nexerted himself to keep the enterprise alive, but in vain. It is\nunderstood that the flourishing Unitarian church in Plainfield was\nlargely due to his efforts.\n\n\n\n\nVII. NEW YORK.\n\n\nFor the first year in New York I lived with Dr. Bellows at his\nparsonage. Mrs. Bellows and the children were at Eagleswood, New Jersey,\nthe children being at school with Mr. Weld. And this is the place to say\nsomething about Henry Whitney Bellows. He was a very remarkable man,\nmost extraordinary in his way; an original man, a peculiar individual;\nof mercurial temper, various, quick, sympathetic, brave, whole-hearted,\ngenerous, but all in his own fashion. More Celtic than Saxon, more\nFrench than English, prone to generalize, something of a _doctrinaire_,\nindifferent to personalities, but of warm affections where he was\ninterested; loyal, as knights always are, where his honor was concerned,\nbut impatient of dictation, restless, nervous, impetuous, dashing from\nside to side, always consistent with himself, yet rarely consistent with\nordinary rules of conventional society. Such a man is best described in\ndetail.\n\nDr. Bellows, as we called him, had a singular gift of _expression_.\nThis was the soul of him, his most prominent feature, the trait that\nexplains every other. His appearance indicated as much. He had a mobile\nmouth, flexible features, a ringing voice, a cordial manner. He was fond\nof talking, brilliant in conversation, attractive in social intercourse,\na charming companion, full of wit, rapid in repartee, ready with\nanecdote, illustration, allusion. He was a great favorite at the\ndinner-table, at friendly gatherings, at the club, where a circle always\ncollected round him and were delighted with the endless versatility of\nhis discourse. In fact, he was a man of society rather than a clergyman,\nthough he occupied a pulpit from the beginning, and was faithful to all\nthe duties of his profession. Still they were not altogether to his\ntaste, and he got away from them whenever he conscientiously could. His\nbest deliverances were half-secular addresses on some theme of immediate\npopular interest, speeches, orations, ethical talks, ever on a high\nplane of sentiment, but looking towards the urgent preoccupations of the\ntime. He was not a student in any direction; not a deep, patient,\nexhaustive thinker; not a scholar in any school, but an immense reader\nof current literature, of magazines, papers, memoirs, and an eloquent\nreproducer of thoughts as he found them lying on the surface of the\nintellectual world. His brain was exceedingly active, and reached forth\nin all directions; his pen was fluent, facile, and busy; language exuded\nfrom all his pores. As a preacher he was conventional, restrained, and,\nit must be confessed, not engaging as a rule, but as a talker he was\ndelightful, copious, entertaining, kindling, attractive to old and\nyoung, and crowds thronged the house when he spoke about what he had\nseen or felt, while his pulpit discourses did not fill the pews. Like\nmany men of remarkable talents, he imagined his strong points to be\nthose in which he was most deficient, not being gifted with much power\nof self-knowledge, and perhaps aspiring after accomplishments he did not\npossess. He prided himself more than he should have done on his insight\nas a theologian, his depth as a philosopher, his skill as an\nadministrator, his practical success as an organizer; whereas his\nconsummate ability consisted in exposition, not in original discovery.\nHe was not a theologian, not a philosopher, not a builder, but a most\npersuasive advocate, perhaps the most adroit I ever met with. His range\nwas wide, his exuberance infinite, his sway over his listeners absolute.\nIt is no marvel that such a man was persuaded that he could achieve all\nthings.\n\nHe was the only speaker I ever knew who could talk himself into ideas.\nMany, by dint of talking, can work themselves into an implicit faith in\ndoctrines they were indifferent about at starting; but this man had the\ndangerous gift of being able, not merely to think on his feet, but to\nset his faculties in motion by the action of his tongue. Again and again\nhe has gone to a public meeting, at which he was expected to speak, with\nno preparation at all, or none but a very general one, depending upon\nsome impulse of the moment to set him a-going. A word dropped by a\nprevious speaker, the mere presence of the audience, a suggestion\nawakened in his mind as he sat awaiting his turn, would excite him\nsufficiently; and when he stood up one idea started another, an\nillustration opened a new field of thought, till the torrent, growing\ndeeper and more tumultuous as it flowed, carried the hearers away in\necstasy. One who did not know him found it hard to believe that he had\nnot meditated his address beforehand. He has gone into the pulpit with a\nwritten sermon, and being struck by a sentence in the Scripture he was\nreading, has laid his manuscript aside and delivered an extemporaneous\ndiscourse on an entirely different theme.\n\nThe reason why he did not preach habitually without notes was that this\nfatal facility of speech excited him too much, carried him too far,\nrendered him discursive, led him on to inordinate length, and wearied\nhis congregation. He needed the restraint of the paper, the calm dignity\nof the closet meditation; he needed also to spread his thoughts over a\nlarger expanse of time, and thus to secure quiet for his brain. At the\nrisk, therefore, of being dull, he spared himself, as well as his\nparishioners, the stimulating fervor of the extemporaneous address. He\nmay have felt, too, that his was not the quality of mind for this\nmethod. It required a less fluent talent, a less ready loquacity, a less\nmercurial temperament, a more reserved habit. There are those whose\nconstitutional reticence preserves them from aberration; who can see the\nend from the beginning; can cling closely to the matter in hand; can\nwalk a thin plank; and have too few ready ideas to be in any peril of\ngoing astray. Such are the most successful extemporaneous preachers. Dr.\nBellows' genius was better adapted to an address, therefore, than to a\nsermon.\n\nThe secular view of things was more attractive to him than the\nspiritual. His defence of the drama in 1857 (an oration delivered in the\nAcademy of Music, and which was very bold for that time); his vigorous\nconduct of the _Christian Inquirer_, a Unitarian paper, which he managed\nand for which he wrote constantly for four years, advocating an unwonted\nliberality of sympathy, maintaining, for example, the substantial\nidentity of the Unitarian and the Universalist confessions; his interest\nin questions of social and philanthropic concern; his lectures before\nthe Lowell Institute in 1857,--all attest his desire to effect a\nreconciliation between science and religion, between this world and the\nnext. His oration before the Phi Beta Kappa Society of Harvard, in 1853,\nis an admirable specimen of his treatment of similar themes. The subject\nof the oration was \"The Ledger and the Lexicon, or Business and\nLiterature in Account with American Education\"; and its purpose was to\nassert the claims of popular life against those of scholarship,--to\nstate the case of natural instincts and practical intelligence as the\ncontrolling force of our destiny. He says, most truly, at the outset,\n\"Speaking purely as a scholar, I should unaffectedly feel that I had\nnothing to offer worthy this audience or occasion,\" and then he goes on\nwith a full, earnest, eloquent plea for the intellectual character of\nour political and commercial activity. Here is an extract:\n\n     What History asks from us is not Literature and Art. The world is\n     full of what can never grow old in either. _American_ Literature,\n     _American_ Art! Heaven save us from them! Let us freely use what is\n     so much better than anything one nation can make, the Literature\n     and Art of the whole past and the whole world. History implores us,\n     first of all, to be true to humanity. She begs to see the\n     education, the taste, the sensibility of this great people turned\n     to the serious, vital, universal interest of thoroughly vindicating\n     _Man_ from the scorn of _men;_ of establishing man on his throne as\n     man,--free because man, happy because man, noble and religious\n     because man! Literature and Art will take care of themselves; high\n     education and scholarship will come in their own time; and so,\n     thank God, will everything humanity needs. But for ourselves and\n     the immediate generation, there is no work so worthy as confirming\n     the faith of our people in their own principles; encouraging\n     devotion to Liberty as the supreme interest of Man;--of man sacred\n     in his own eyes, with duties, rights, aims, that are bounded\n     neither by color, nationality, nor law. The love of the race, the\n     liberation of humanity from complexional, material, political, and\n     moral disfranchisements; the elevation of the individual and of\n     every individual; the prostration of all partition-walls that\n     separate our kind; the tumbling of the artificial pedestals that\n     elevate the few, into the unnatural pits that bury the rest; the\n     affiliation of the foreigner, and the emancipation of the slave;\n     the subjugation of rebellious matter and reluctant wealth to the\n     wants and desires of man; the establishment of beautiful and\n     independent homes, of high and free and noble lives;--this is\n     American scholarship, this American art. A country that sacrifices\n     even its nationality, that proudest of all prejudices, to its\n     humanity, will be the first to pay that tribute to man, which\n     Christ waits to welcome as the final triumph of his kingdom. And,\n     finally, here in America, where for the first time universal\n     comfort and general abundance reign, the race looks to us to\n     pronounce the banns between the spiritual and material interests\n     and pursuits of man,--his worldly well-being, and his heavenly\n     prosperity,--a union that shall not be a miserable compromise of\n     which both shall be ashamed and which neither shall keep, but an\n     honorable, hearty, and intelligible alliance, on the highest\n     grounds.\n\nThis is very fine and brave, and similar in tone was all he said\nabout American life and destiny. He tried to exalt common things, and in\nthis way he more than made amends for his lack of scholastic equipment.\nHis mission was to encourage and fortify and console actual men and\nwomen, not to solve deep problems of fate. A good but commonplace man\nspoke to me with tears in his eyes of his endless gratitude to Dr.\nBellows because on one New Year's Day he preached a doctrine of promise,\nand said that men did their best, and that the world was as good as\ncould be expected; not an extraordinary doctrine certainly, but one that\nis seldom announced with so much cordial, human sympathy. This same\nardor he threw into his ordinary lectures, carrying audiences away with\na flood of conviction. When our Civil War broke out and it became\nevident, as it soon did, that the conflict would be a long one,\nnecessitating large armies in a region of country unused to military\nneeds and ignorant of military exigencies, Dr. Bellows' attention was\ndrawn to the questions involved in the maintenance of a vast number of\nmen in the field, their protection, discipline, and comfort; the proper\nsupply of food, clothing, medicine; the best kind of tent, the best kind\nof hospital, the duty of keeping up the home associations by means of\ncorrespondence and missives. He talked over the situation with a few\nfriends; societies were formed, organizations instituted, the means of\nrelief set in motion. Out of this grew the Sanitary Commission, of which\nhe was the mouthpiece and the inspiring soul. The work was immense, but\nthe task of awakening the country to the necessity of endeavor was,\nbeyond all ordinary power of conception, arduous. Such was the blind\nfaith in the government,--a government inexperienced in similar\nmatters,--such was the indifference of multitudes who were far removed\nfrom actual danger, such the unconsciousness of the magnitude of the\nperil, such the insensibility to the demands of the hour, the serene\nconfidence that all was going well, the jaunty sense of complacency in\nhaving raised the regiments, that nothing less than a trumpet call was\nrequired to rouse the country to a feeling of obligation. Afterwards\nwhen the magnitude of the strife was self-evident, when the dangers of\ncamp-life were understood, and the temptations to infidelity of many\nkinds were painfully apparent, other forces came in to carry forward the\nwork; but at first prescience was needed, and zeal, and faith in\nprinciples, and a sense of the gravity of the situation. It is hardly\ntoo much to say that but for the energy shown by the Sanitary Commission\nin the early part of the war, the issue might have been indefinitely\npostponed. That the Commission itself flourished to the end was due in\nthe main to Henry Bellows. Of course he did not do everything, but he\ndid his part. The labor of organization was discharged by other orders\nof genius. The duties of treasurer devolved upon men differently\nconstituted still; there were many hands employed, many heads busy with\nplanning. But his was the potent voice. He sounded the clarion; East,\nWest, North, and as far South as he could go, he argued, remonstrated,\npleaded, exhorted, interpreted, inspired, and wherever he was heard he\nfilled veins with patriotic fire. He was never daunted, never\ndisheartened, never depressed. His tones always rang out clear, strong,\ndecisive. The bugle never gave an uncertain sound. In Washington he\naddressed the highest authorities and was so urgent, not to say so\nimperious, that President Lincoln asked him which of the two ran the\nmachine of government. He possessed in a singular degree the power of\nmaking people work, and work gladly,--all sorts of people, men and\nwomen, the sensible and the enthusiastic, the practical and the\nsentimental, the low-toned and the high-strung; and they toiled day\nafter day at scraping lint, packing garments, raising money, organizing\nfairs. In the meantime he travelled to and fro, lecturing, addressing\ncrowds in the meeting-houses, halls, theatres; writing letters to\ncommittees, visiting men of influence, inspecting hospitals and camps,\nmaking himself acquainted with the newest methods of dealing with\nsanitary problems, and imparting ideas as fast as they came to him. His\nactivity was prodigious. He was one of the most conspicuous figures in\nthe country. He brought the Commission into universal repute. Under his\nspell it lost its local character and became a national concern. He was\na Unitarian preacher; his immediate co-operators were Unitarians; yet so\nbroad and mundane was he that no savor of sectarianism mingled with his\nzeal, nor could it be suspected, except for his aims, that he was a\nclergyman. As long as the war lasted this energy continued, the\nenthusiasm did not abate, the outpouring did not slacken. It was not\ntill the struggle was over that the over-tasked brain craved repose.\nThen the reaction was purely nervous, not in the least moral or\nintellectual. He sprang up again and threw himself into new enterprises\nwith the old fervor and the old brilliancy of speech, striving to awaken\na desire for religious unity, as he had promoted national concord. The\nestablishment of the National Conference of Liberal Churches, which was\nto supplement the more local Unitarian Associations, was his suggestion.\nThe scheme did not entirely meet his expectations, but this shows how\nlarge his expectations were, and how comprehensive were his purposes of\ngood. As has been intimated already, his desires were in advance of his\npractical ability. He was a man of wishes rather than of expedients. His\nplans often failed, but his aspirations were always pure and lofty, and\nit was characteristic of him to impute the failure of the special plan\nto some stubbornness in the materials he attempted to manipulate, rather\nthan to any deficiency in his own faculty. Thus his confidence in\nhimself was sustained, and he went on trying experiments and believing\nin his talent to set anything, even communities and States, on their\nfeet.\n\nPeople used to say that his advocacy was very uncertain; that it was\nimpossible to tell in advance whether he would take a liberal or a\nconservative view of a party or dogma; in short, he had the reputation\nof being somewhat of a chameleon, of catching his line from the last\nperson he talked with. One of his parishioners remarked, jestingly, that\nthe hearers of Dr. Bellows were taught in perfection one lesson,--that\nof self-reliance. This was probably true, as it was a general\nimpression; and it illustrates the warmth of his sympathy, the\nimpressionableness of his temperament, the readiness of his adaptation,\nthe facility of his discourse, as well as the want of depth in his\nspeculative intellect and his lack of hold on fundamental principles. He\nwas an advocate by nature, not a theologian, a philosopher, or a critic;\nan adept in speech, not a subtle or profound thinker. He saw the\neffective points in either doctrine, and chose the one that was most\ncaptivating at the time. His eclecticism was simply ease of\ntransference, not a keen perception of the grounds of identity. His\nlogic was the skilful accommodation to circumstances, not absolute\nfidelity to the laws of reason. His affluence of diction and his\nprofusion of thoughts covered up his essential poverty of insight, and\npersuaded some that he looked farther than he did; but still it remains\ntrue that he was not a sure guide in matters of opinion. He was a most\nadroit, subtle, engaging talker, and as such was of incalculable value;\na fountain of entertainment, and a source of influence. A decided vein\nof Bohemianism ran through his character. He was light-hearted, gay,\nversatile, fond of fun, restless, addicted to society, abhorrent of\nsolitude, darkness, confinement; a friend of artists, musicians, wits; a\nclub-man; could smoke a cigar, and drink a glass of wine, and tell a\nmerry story; a man of quick emotions, volatile some would call him,\nthough of unquestioned and unquestionable loyalty when any principle was\nat stake, or any person he loved and trusted was in trouble. Otherwise\nhe forgot unpleasant things and went to something else, dropping the\nindividual, but holding fast to the elements of charity. This faculty of\nchanging rapidly from one interest to another saved him from a vast deal\nof fatigue, and enabled him to pursue his almost incredible labors with\nless wear and tear than would have been possible under other\ncircumstances. The formation of roots, and the necessity of pulling them\nup frequently with a feeling of loss and pain, is sadly weakening and\ndisabling. This fosters a disposition to stay at home, to form few ties,\nto remain quietly where one is placed by destiny, to expose one's self\nto no more disruptions than are appointed, to hide one's self in a\ncorner of existence, to avoid the wind. The scholar hugs his library,\nreads books, meditates, cultivates his mind, appears in public only when\nhe is prepared. The man of society dashes out and deems the time wasted\nthat is passed in the house. Dr. Bellows once expressed his wonder that\na friend should have no desire to go abroad, but should be content in\nhis study.\n\nHe was a knight-errant, a Norman gentleman, ever ready to succor the\noppressed, but satisfied when he had unhorsed the oppressor, though the\nvictim lay helpless on the ground. He derived his name from \"Belles\nEaux.\" He was not a democrat as implying one that had affinities with\nthe people. On the contrary, he was at bottom an aristocrat, looking\ndown on the people; but he was humane in idea, holding it to be the part\nof a gentleman to relieve the unfortunate. The motto, \"_Noblesse\noblige_\" applied to him exactly, with the understanding that he belonged\nto the _Noblesse_, and was privileged to patronize. This tendency was\nprominent in him. He would not allow a companion to pay his car fare,\nbecause he would not borrow so small a sum, but he confronted the man to\nwhom he had lent fifty dollars, and who had forgotten the payment, as\npeople often do. Meeting the defaulter in the street, he reminded him of\nthe transaction, taxed him with infidelity to his engagements, and had\nthe satisfaction of receiving his money and relieving his mind at the\nsame time. Magnanimous he was by nature. I will give a single instance\nof it, out of several I could detail if personalities did not forbid.\nWhen I first came to New York to found a parish, there was a woman in my\ncongregation,--an angular, brusque woman, not sunny or agreeable,--whose\nhusband, being unfortunate, had, to repair his fortune, gone to San\nFrancisco; she stayed in New York and kept school, for the purpose of\neducating her children, and of eking out the family expenses. One day,\ncomplaining to me of her lot and labor, she spoke of certain prejudices\nagainst her as interfering with her success, and accused Dr. Bellows of\nbeing one of her enemies. Having satisfied myself of the injustice of\nthe impression about her, and of her worthy deserving, I took occasion\nat once to speak to Dr. Bellows on the subject. Reminding him of the\ncircumstances in which the woman was placed, I asked him if he did not\nthink she ought to be helped instead of being hindered. He acknowledged\nthat he knew her, that he did not like her, that he had spoken harshly\nof her under the impression that she was not deserving of moral support.\nOn my presentation of her case, and conviction that he was wrong, he,\nbeing persuaded of his heedlessness, offered to do everything in his\npower to repair any mischief he might have caused. In my excitement, I\nbecame audacious and suggested the drawing up and signing of a\npaper,--about the most disagreeable thing that could be proposed. But he\nassented, prepared the paper, affixed his signature, and from that hour\ndid his utmost to befriend the woman whom he took no pleasure in\nthinking of. This was noble, even great. He could put his personal\ntastes aside when a principle was involved.\n\nIt used to be urged against him that he dropped people when he had done\nwith them, and felt no scruple in sacrificing them to his views of\npolicy. But it cannot be proved that he was false to anybody, and his\nnotion of the absolute unfitness of the individual for his place, or of\nthe man's unreliability, was probably the real cause of his opposition.\nProbably, in each instance of his withdrawal of confidence, there were\nexcellent reasons for his conduct, though it was natural that those who\nwere suddenly neglected or displaced should feel indignant and\naggrieved. Dr. Bellows was not one to act on a private prejudice or a\npersonal pique. His affections were strong and would have led him to\nmake any concession that was consistent with what he regarded as his\npublic duty. No doubt he was somewhat imperious in judging what his duty\nwas; he lacked the useful faculty of remaining in the background; he was\nimpetuous and forward; but he never was or could be insincere, and he\nalways had a sufficient explanation of the course he pursued,--an\nexplanation perfectly satisfactory to one who bore his temperament in\nmind and considered what he could do and what he could not.\n\nA most lovable, cordial, faithful man I always found him,--a man to be\ndepended on in difficult and trying times, high-minded, courageous,\ndaring, ready to enter the breach, happiest when leading a forlorn hope,\nstraight-forward, inspiring, easily lifted beyond himself, and imparting\nnervous vigor to his followers. Followers he must have, for he was not\ncontent to obey any behest; but then his leadership was so hearty and\nwholesome, so free from superciliousness, so abundant in expressions of\nloyalty, that it was a joy to go with him. He was more than willing to\ndo his share of hard work, and to indulge his servants. If one could\nforbear to cross him, he was friendliness itself; a warm advocate of\nliberty, only insisting that liberty and progress should march hand in\nhand; that private idiosyncrasies should not stand in the way of\npractical advance. He was a very different man from Dr. Dewey, yet he\nloved Dr. Dewey devotedly while life lasted. He was an entirely\ndifferent man from me in temperament and in gifts,--quite opposite in\nfact,--yet he was one of the best of my friends as long as he lived,\nseldom resenting my radicalism, never impatient of my slowness, but\nwarm, sunny, helpful to the end, the man to whom I instinctively\nresorted for sympathy in the most painful passages of my career.\n\nIn a word, the foundation of his character was impulse. He was a man of\nfiery zeal, of moral passion, of vast enthusiasm, and when a storm of\nspiritual power came sweeping down from some unseen height, he was\neasily carried away. This impulsive character explains his chivalry of\ndisposition, his magnanimity, his self-abnegation; for though he was\nself-asserting, he could at once forget himself, and sink his own\nindividuality entirely when some cause he had at heart strongly appealed\nto him. This impulsiveness explains, too, his theological inconsistency,\nfor when the popular feeling struck him, he was carried away in a\ndifferent direction from what he had first proposed. For instance,\nonce--I think it was at Buffalo--he gave a most eloquent plea for\nindividualism, having determined to speak in favor of institutions; and\nin Boston when he had been expected to uphold a creed, he was so borne\naway by the opposite sentiment that, when he ended, a creed seemed\nabsolutely impossible.\n\nA very different person from the foregoing was Dr. Samuel Osgood, the\nsuccessor of Dr. Dewey in the Church of the Messiah on Broadway, and the\nclose associate of the pastor of \"All Souls,\" which name he suggested\nwhen the new edifice on the corner of Fourth Avenue and Twentieth Street\nwas christened. He was a lover of ecclesiasticism, of forms, usages,\nceremonials, though he was not unmindful of the ideas that lay beneath\nthem, and too good a New Englander, too good a Unitarian, too staunch a\nfriend of free thought to be anything but a liberal Protestant; a man of\nnames and dates, and instituted observances, not \"electric,\" \"magnetic,\"\nor a leader either of thought or action; not a man of deep emotions, or\nmoving eloquence in or out of the pulpit; not a man of long reach or\nwide influence, but conspicuous in his way, unique, worth studying as a\nfigure in his generation.\n\nHe was devoted to books, of which he read and produced many, and might\nhave been called learned, yet he was not a closet man, not a recluse; on\nthe contrary, he knew about public affairs, talked about what was going\non in the world, attended political, social, and literary meetings, was\na member of the prominent clubs, like the \"Century\" and the \"Union\nLeague,\" was for years the Corresponding Secretary of the \"Historical\nSociety,\" rather prided himself, in fact, on the number and intimacy of\nhis outside relations. With all this, he was a diligent pastor, an\nexcellent denominationalist, a dependence on all church occasions within\nhis sect, a speaker at conventions, a worker of the ecclesiastical\nmachinery, a man much relied on for denominational work.\n\nHis writings were numerous. In fact he always seemed to have the pen\nin his hand. Besides the books which are known,--\"Studies in Christian\nBiography,\" \"The Hearthstone,\" \"God with Men,\" \"Milestones in Our Life\nJourney,\" \"Student Life,\"--all popular once,--he contributed frequently\nto the _Christian Examiner_, the _North American Review_, the\n_Bibliotheca Sacra_, and other important magazines; delivered orations,\nprinted theological discourses, especially a famous one before the\ntheological school at Meadville, Pennsylvania, on \"The Coming Church and\nits Clergy,\" and for several months, during Mr. Curtis' illness,\nprepared the essays in the \"Easy Chair\" for _Harper's Monthly Magazine_.\nHis interest in matters of education and literature was incessant,\nactive, and useful. He made speeches, served on committees, prepared\nreports, in every way tried to serve the cause of rational knowledge.\nYet with all his industry and all his ability--for he possessed ability\nof no mean order,--he had a mind singularly destitute of vitality. His\ningenuity, his pleasantry, his sententiousness, his versatility, could\nnot conceal this lack of organic power. His vivacity did not exhilarate,\nhis happy expressions did not create the sense of life in the mind, but\nwere like artificial flowers that had no perfume, and reminded one more\nof the perfection of art than of the involuntary sweetness of nature. He\nwas destitute of genius to inspire. It is the more wonderful that he\ncould persevere, as he did, without the popular recognition that his\ntalents merited, or the applause his endeavors deserved. He had praise,\nto be sure, but it was not hearty or effusive, and they who rendered it\nprobably wondered why they could not put more soul into their laudation.\nThe address was brilliant, but not warming. One must come within arm's\nlength of him to feel the beating of his heart, to be sensible of his\nforce. He was unable to project himself far, and relied upon incidental\nadvantages of occasion for effects which he could not produce by genius.\n\nHe was a most affectionate man, dependent, clinging, always ready to\nserve, obliging, docile, patient, without hardness and without guile. He\nwas devoted to his family, faithful to his friends, never allowing\ndifferences of opinion to interfere with his duty towards those who\nmight expect support from him, but fulfilling disagreeable offices when\nhe felt that loyalty made perfect truthfulness incumbent. There was\nsomething touching in his fidelity towards men who gave him nothing but\noutside recognition, and who were willing to abandon him when he could\nno longer be useful. There was something plaintive in his readiness to\nwork for men who accepted his labor as a matter of course, and allowed\nhim to throw away his love. He, for his part, asked no reward, but was\nquite satisfied if his service was accepted kindly by those to whom he\nrendered it. Not that he did not like recognition; he did, and the more\npublic it was the better he liked it. For he was fond of notoriety, had\na craving for publicity, and was happiest when a multitude applauded.\nThis may have grown out of his affectionateness, for he reached forth\nhis arms as widely as possible, and wanted to hear the sound of many\napproving voices, needing sympathy and the assurance that he was\nconferring pleasure, the noise of plaudits reassuring his heart. Still\nhe could do without this, if he was certain of the attachment of a\nsingle warm friend. Recognition of some sort was essential to his peace,\nfor he did not possess independence enough to stand alone, and he cared\ntoo much for individuals to be easy if they were displeased. He gave\nhimself a great deal of pain, worried, took infinite trouble about\nimaginary sorrows, not being able to feel or to affect indifference, and\nbeing destitute of the robustness of character necessary to throw off\nunpleasant things; for his ambition, not springing from vitality of\nmind, was no guard against griefs of the spirit. He that cannot lose\nhimself in his studies fails to derive from them their best\nsatisfaction,--that of consolation and refuge. He stands naked to the\nwind, and, if his skin is tender, suffers acutely.\n\nDr. Osgood was intensely self-conscious, self-regarding,\nself-referring. Not vain in the ordinary sense, though he seemed so from\nhis countenance, attitude, manner, for all of which, I am persuaded,\nnature was more responsible than disposition, his physical formation\nproducing a certain carriage that suggested superciliousness and\nconceit. If he were forth-putting, it was, in most instances at least,\nbecause he lacked self-reliance, and wished to be _seen_, knowing that\nhe could not be _felt_. In reality he was a modest, timid, shrinking\nman, with an inordinate desire for distinction, which impelled him\ncontinually to make a demonstration in public. Mere vanity--the love of\nappearances--he was destitute of, for he was too tender-hearted and too\nconscientious to make victims. One must be self-centred to be vain, as\nhe was not. I recollect his coming one day into the office of the\n_Christian Inquirer_, with his head up as usual, and calling out in a\nloud voice: \"Where do you think I went on my way down town?\" Of course\nnone of us knew or could guess. \"Well,\" he went on to say, with an air\nof complacency, \"I stopped at Fowler & Wells' and had my head examined.\"\n\"Ah!\" exclaimed one of the impudent, \"did they find anything, Sam?\"\n\"What they did _not_ find,\" he said, \"will interest you more. They\ndeclared that I was deficient in self-respect, and it is true.\" And it\n_was_ true. Samuel Osgood assumed a brave air, for the reason that he\ncould not trust himself in the open field. He needed the protection of a\nrampart. He wore a showy uniform, because he was not valiant. He had too\nmuch self-esteem to forget himself, and too little courage to assert\nhimself; the consequence was that he said and did numerous things that\nlooked vainglorious and were absurd, but which were intended to conceal\nhis impuissance. It was an innocent kind of bravado, like poor Oliver\nProudfute's, in Scott's romance, \"The Fair Maid of Perth.\" Nobody was\nhurt by it, though to him the passion for notoriety was fatal. He liked\nto see his name in a newspaper, coveting the kind of reputation that\ncame in that way, and comforting his heart with the thought of lying on\nthe broad bosom of the community. His restless desire for public notice\nbrought ridicule on him, for ordinary people ascribed it to his conceit,\nwhereas it rather indicated an absence of self-confidence. It was a\ncloak to hide his depreciation at the same time that it made him look\nlarger in the general eye. It was, therefore, more touching than\ndespicable, and if it excited mirth there was nothing bitter in the\nsmile which could not break into laughter. Selfish he could not be\ncalled, for he was always serving others, and disinterestedly too; but\non a charge of complacency he could hardly be acquitted. This was the\nmanner in which he took his reward, and, as I said, it cost nothing to\nanybody, while the public received a great deal of service very\nungrudgingly bestowed.\n\nThe change from Unitarianism to Episcopacy is very easily explained.\nHis craving for sympathy was boundless. He was necessarily isolated in\nNew York, nor had he the solace of a great popular success. In fact his\nfollowing was small; his church was dwindling; his reputation was\ncertainly not increasing; and he became persuaded, I think without\nsufficient reason, that he was the victim of adverse influences. In\nLondon, he was charmed with the blended freedom and sanctity of the\n\"Broad Church\" represented by Stanley, Kingsley, Jowett, and a host of\ncultivated men; by its unity amid diversity; its sympathy and fellowship\nand large scholarship. Here was a church indeed; wide, holy, liberal,\ndevout, with articles admitting of various interpretations, sacraments\ntender and elastic, forms that did not constrain, and usages that did\nnot bind, an unlimited range of speculation, and a spirit of reverence\nthat kept the most widely separated together. Here was something very\ndifferent from the sectarianism he had, all his life, been accustomed\nto, and, all his life, had loathed. He joined this Communion not so much\non account of its _creed_ as of its _creedlessness;_ not as another form\nof denominationalism, but as an escape from denominationalism; a real,\nliving, comprehensive church, where there was room for all Christian\nsouls, whatever their special mode of belief; a Protestant church with a\ntruly catholic temper, cordial, humane, courteous; with a respect for\nliterature, and a love for knowledge; with no jealousy or ill-will, or\nfear of thought. His heart was warmed, his fancy fired. Shortly after\nhis return, as he sat in my study, I asked him if he had materially\nchanged his theology. He replied that he had not, he had simply altered\nthe _emphasis;_ as much as to say that in substance it remained what it\nwas before, essentially Unitarian, as he understood that designation. In\nfact, his sermons were to all intents and purposes the same; they never\nabounded in doctrine, they did not now; they were always \"sentimental,\"\nin the sense of dealing with sentiment, they were so still. He was not a\nprime favorite with Episcopalians in America. He was not narrow or\nstrict enough for the orthodox; he was not \"sensational\" enough for the\nliberals; he was too ecclesiastical for the Low Churchmen; too\nrationalistic for the High Churchmen; and his failure to communicate\nwarmth was not favorable to his attractiveness. There were not many\nBroad Church ministers in New York, so that his circle of fellowship was\nsmall; and on the whole the reception was a disappointment. He longed\nfor recognition, which he found among many of his old associates, as he\ndid not find it among his new friends. He was always a churchman when he\nwas a Unitarian; he was no more of a churchman now, and the sympathy he\nsought he might have found in his former connection. Probably had he\nlived elsewhere than in New York, where the competition was sharp, and\nwhere individuality alone without distinguished power counted for\nnothing, he would have continued Unitarian, and been happy, but he was\nambitious of eminence; he wanted to live in a great city, to be minister\nof a metropolitan parish, to be a Doctor of Divinity, and for all this\nhe lacked the force. There was a perpetual conflict between his\naspirations and his vigor. He joined the Episcopal fraternity, hoping\nfor what none but those born into it attain without energy of an exalted\nkind. His ancient comrades fell away, as was natural; he could not win\nother comrades, and his later years became lonely. He cared more for\nChristian fellowship than for any other; and he had not the power to\nsecure this. Thus his affectionateness was against him. He was a loyal\nman, true to his convictions, faithful to the bent of his mind. He could\nnot be a deceiver or a renegade, and his heart was not strong enough or\nwide enough to push him forward.\n\nSome thought him deficient in common-sense, and this is, in a sense,\ntrue. He had not the force to carry projects through, nor had he the\nhearty accord with the people of his generation that would give him an\ninstinctive insight into their wishes and enable him to strike into the\ncurrent of their designs. His self-reference always stood in the way of\nhis sympathy with other men; yet he often took practical views of\nspeculative questions, and curbed a propensity to moral enthusiasm on\nthe part of some of his associates. This, however, was due to his\ntimidity, to his absence of vigor, to his want of vital conviction,\nrather than to any clearness of perception. He had no humor, no sense of\nthe incongruous, the incompatible, or the absurd. He named rocks,\ngroves, arbors, on his summer estate, after the famous poets, and used\nto sit in turn on the seats he had thus immortalized. He said things\nthat no man of taste would have uttered, and did things that no man of\njudgment would have been guilty of. But all this was owing to the\nabsence of sensible qualities rather than to the presence of visionary\nones. He was not perverse, stubborn, or wrong-headed, did not outrage\ncommon opinion, or fly in the face of established prejudice. His want of\ngood sense was negative, not positive; innocent, not harmful.\n\nSuch men have their uses and their place, and neither is small or low.\nHis love of learning, his devotion to duty, his friendliness, his\nfidelity, his kindliness, were rare gifts, particularly rare in\ncommunities like ours. His child-like conceit, very different from the\naggressive vanity that offends the sensitive soul, was not offensive or\nnoxious, and was a source of harmless amusement. His guilelessness was\nmore than touching; it was admirable as an example and as a lesson, in\nan age that honors knowledge of the world beyond its deserts; and his\nsimplicity of nature, his trustingness, his ingenuousness, rendered him\na confiding friend, dear to those whose hearts were sore. Few men living\nhave so small a number of enemies. He did not provoke the hostility he\nreceived. It was possible to be sorry for him; it was impossible to bear\nhim malice.\n\nAs I think of him, the vision arises of a complacent man, with a loud\ngreeting, a metallic voice, an outstretched hand, a consequential\nmanner. All this is dust and ashes, but his singleness of intention is\nnot dead. When everything else is forgotten, his faithfulness will be\nremembered.\n\nBoth these men gave me a warm welcome; in fact, my relations were most\nfriendly among the other Unitarian ministers in the neighborhood. It was\nanticipated, no doubt, that I would establish a third Unitarian Society\n\"up town,\" of a liberal type; but a wide departure from the existing\norder was not suspected. The expectation was that the usual doctrines\nwere to be proclaimed; that the sacraments were to be administered; that\nthe regular order was to be observed. Perhaps my willingness to\nundertake such an enterprise was regarded as a sign of concession on my\npart; perhaps it was supposed that the conservative tone of the city,\ntogether with the attitude of the other churches, would repress the\nradical tendencies of the young clergyman; perhaps the trials incident\nto a new society and the confusions of the time concealed somewhat the\nreal bearing of the undertaking. However this may be, there was no\nopposition, no criticism, no dictation, no proscription of radical\nleanings. My congregations were composed of all sorts of people. There\nwere Unitarians, Universalists, \"come-outers,\" spiritualists,\nunbelievers of all kinds, anti-slavery people, reformers generally. But\nthis, as being incidental to the formation of every liberal society, was\nnot objected to. It need not have been; for if there had been no\ninterruption, no check, everything might have gone smoothly, as in\nsimilar societies since.\n\n\n\n\nVIII. WAR.\n\n\nHardly had I got warm in my place when the mutterings of war were in\nthe air. During the autumn of 1859, on the 16th of October, John Brown\nplanned his attack on Harper's Ferry. His was a portentous figure. His\nposition in history--greater than his achievements would warrant--was\ndue partly to his position as herald of the coming strife, but mainly to\nhis personal qualities. These were colossal; however much one may\ncriticise his particular deeds, or the details of his motive, these\nqualities can not be exalted too highly. His courage, heroism, patience,\nfortitude, were most extraordinary. Even Governor Wise, the man whose\nduty it was to see him tried and executed as a felon, said of him; \"They\nare mistaken who take Brown to be a madman. He is a bundle of the best\nnerves I ever saw; cut and thrust and bleeding and in bonds. He is a man\nof clear head, of courage, fortitude, and simple ingenuousness. He is\ncool, collected, indomitable; and it is but just to him to say that he\nwas humane to his prisoners, and he inspired me with great trust in his\nintegrity as a man of truth.\" Colonel Washington, another Virginia\nwitness, testified to the extraordinary coolness with which Brown felt\nthe pulse of his dying son, while he held his own rifle in the other\nhand, and cheered on his men. His character made his prison cell a\nshrine. On the day of his execution, December 2, 1859, he stood under\nthe gallows with the noose round his neck for full ten minutes while\nmilitary evolutions were performed; he never wavered a moment, and died\nwith nerves still subject to his iron will. He was a Calvinistic\nbeliever in predestination; a real Covenanter, more like the Scotch\nCovenanters of two centuries ago than anything we know of to-day. He was\nan Old-Testament man, and like all fanatics was indifferent to death,\neither that of other men or his own. His anti-slavery zeal began in his\nyouth. He early took an oath to make war against slavery, and, it is\nsaid, called his older sons together on one occasion and made them\npledge themselves, kneeling in prayer, to the anti-slavery crusade. This\npurpose he always bore in mind, whatever else he was doing; he even\nchose the spot for his attempt--the mountains which Washington had\nselected as a final retreat should he be defeated by the English. Nearly\nnine years before his own death, he exhorted the members of the \"League\nof Gileadites\" to stand by one another and by their friends as long as a\ndrop of blood remained and be hanged, if they must, but to tell no tales\nout of school.\n\nThen came the war. Though its physical aspect,--the loss of treasure and\nof blood--was most affecting, I cannot but think that its mental and\nmoral aspect has been underrated. Its whole justification lay in its\nmoral character, and I must believe that full justice has never been\ndone to those who were obliged to stay at home and uphold this feature.\nThe preacher of the Gospel of Peace had as much as he could do to\novercome the horrors of war; and the preacher of Righteousness was\nengaged all the time in promoting the cause of justice. They who went to\nthe front had the excitement of battle, the pleasures of camp-life, the\nassistance of comradeship, the comfort of sympathy. The preacher had\nnone of these. Every day rumors were reaching his ears; \"extras\" were\nflying about in the silence; he had to comfort people under defeat, to\nhumble them in hours of victory; to interpret the conflict in accordance\nwith the principles of equity; to keep alive the moral issues of the\nstruggle. This was an incessant weariness and anxiety; to fight foes one\ncould not see, and to uphold a cause that was discredited, fell to his\nportion; it is no wonder that when the war was over he was spent and\naged.\n\nAn illustration of a part of what he had to contend with is found in\nthe riot of the summer of 1863. This was an anti-abolitionist riot, a\nfierce protest against the conscription, and at the same time an\nuprising against the government, which was supposed to maintain a war of\nthe blacks against the whites. The riot was directed against the negroes\nand the abolitionists, and was pitiless and ferocious in the extreme. It\nwas my lot to be in New York in that dreadful week in July. I was\nvisiting friends in the upper part of the town when the uproar began. As\nI walked home down Madison Avenue a group of rough men met me; one of\nthem snatched at my watch chain, and I should have been maltreated had\nnot more attractive game in the shape of people in a buggy drawn away\nthe attention of my assailants. I reached my home in safety. The next\nmorning, as I walked about the city, there were groups of men standing\nidle, or armed with missiles, in almost every street. Had the mob been\norganized then it might have done more mischief than it did, for the\ninhabitants of the city were unprepared and unprotected. As I stood at\nnight on my roof, I could see the fires in different parts of the town,\nand hear the shots. An arsenal stood on Seventh Avenue, near my house,\nfull of arms and ammunition which the insurgents wanted. When the United\nStates troops arrived, they defended this arsenal. Cannons were pointed\nup and down the street, guards were posted, officers with their clanking\nswords marched up and down before my door. The riot lasted three\ndays,--from the 13th to the 16th. On the following Sunday a sermon was\npreached which gives expression to the better thoughts of the wisest\npeople, and from which accordingly extracts are made:\n\n     Of all the dreadful and melancholy passages in the history of human\n     progress, none, to a thoughtful man, are more dreadful or\n     melancholy than those which tell how men have resisted, pushed\n     away, reviled, cursed, beaten, mobbed, crucified their benefactors.\n     It does seem, as we read them, as if the most dreaded thing on\n     earth had been the personal, the domestic, the social welfare; as\n     if the deepest anxiety on the part of men of all sorts was an\n     anxiety to escape from their health and salvation; as if the\n     profoundest dread was a dread of mending their estates, and their\n     utmost horror was a horror of heaven! It does seem, as we read, as\n     if happiness, prosperity, success, were the pet aversion of\n     mankind; as if the signs that were looked for with the most\n     agonized apprehension were the signs that the kingdom of heaven was\n     at hand.... We saw this conspicuously and dismally exemplified in\n     the events of the past week. The one man who, before and above all\n     others, was a mark for the rage of the populace, the one man whose\n     name was loud in the rabble's mouth, and always coupled with a\n     malediction, the one man who was hunted for his blood as by wolves,\n     who would have been torn in pieces had the opportunity been\n     afforded, and on whose account the dwelling of a friend was\n     literally torn in pieces, was a man who had been the steadfast\n     friend of these very people who hungered for his blood; their most\n     constant, uncompromising, and public friend; thinking for them,\n     speaking for them, writing for them; pleading their cause through\n     the press, in the legislature, from the platform; excusing their\n     mistakes and follies, asserting and reasserting their substantial\n     worth and honesty and rectitude, advocating their claims as working\n     people, vindicating their rights as men; proposing schemes for the\n     safety of their persons, the healthfulness of their houses, the\n     saving and increase of their earnings, the education of their\n     children, the exemption of their homesteads from seizure in cases\n     of debt, the enlargement of their sphere of labor, the transferring\n     of their families from the crowded city, where they could do little\n     more than keep themselves alive by arduous toil, to the fruitful\n     lands of the West, where they could become noble and\n     self-respecting men and women. This was the man whose blood was\n     hungered for. I need not speak his name,--you know whom I mean,\n     Horace Greeley,--a man whom some call visionary, but whose visions\n     are all of the redemption of the people; whom some call \"fool,\" but\n     who, if he seem a fool, is foolish that the people may be wise;\n     whom some call \"radical,\" but whose radicalism is simply a\n     determination that the popular existence shall have a sound, sure,\n     and deep root in natural law and moral principle; at all events, a\n     man who has lived for the people and suffered for the people, and\n     been laughed at when he suffered and because he suffered. _This_\n     was the man whose blood was hungered for. And yet the most\n     moderate, kind, considerate of all the papers, the last week, was\n     his paper. And I believe he, even had he fallen into the hands of\n     his enemies, would have said, \"Forgive them, they know not what\n     they do.\"\n\n     Indulge me in one more personality. I said that the dwelling of a\n     friend was pillaged by the mob, under the impression that Mr.\n     Greeley lived there. What was this dwelling? Who was this friend?\n     The dwelling was one the like of which is rare in any city, a\n     dwelling of happiness and peace, a home of the tenderest domestic\n     affections, a house of large friendliness and hospitality, a refuge\n     and abiding-place for the unfortunate and the outcast. There was no\n     display of wealth there--there was no wealth to display; yet the\n     house was full of things which no wealth could buy. It was crowded\n     with mementos. The pieces of furniture in the rooms had family\n     histories connected with them; chairs and tables were precious from\n     association with noble and rare people who had gone. Pictures on\n     the walls, busts in the parlor, engravings, photographs, books,\n     spoke of the gratitude or love of some dear giver. One room was\n     sacred to the memory of a noble boy, an only son, who had died some\n     years before. There was his bust in marble, there were his books,\n     there were the prints he liked, the little bits of art he was fond\n     of, and all the dear things that seemed to bring him back. The\n     whole house was a shrine and a sanctuary.\n\n     And who were the inmates? The master, a man whose sympathies were\n     always and completely with the working-people, a man of steady and\n     boundless humanity; the mistress, a woman whose name is familiar to\n     all doers of good deeds in the city of New York, and dear to\n     hundreds of the objects of good deeds. To the orphan and friendless\n     and poor, a mother; to the unfortunate, a sister; to the wretched,\n     the depraved, the sinful, more than a friend. In the city prison\n     her presence was the presence of an angel of pitying love; at\n     Blackwell's Island she was welcome as a spirit of peace and hope.\n     The boys at Randall's Island looked into her face as the face of an\n     angel. Again and again had she rescued from the life of shame the\n     countrywoman, and possibly the kindred of these very people who\n     plundered her house. For the better part of a year and more she has\n     been in camp and city hospitals, nursing their brothers and sons,\n     performing every menial office. At this moment she is at Point\n     Lookout, doing that work, amid discomforts and discouragements that\n     would daunt a less resolute humanity than hers, giving all she has\n     and is to the _people_, to the wounded, crippled, bleeding, and\n     broken people; giving it for the sake of the people--giving it that\n     the people may be raised to a higher social level! And she,\n     forsooth, must be selected to have her house pillaged! She must be\n     stabbed to her heart of hearts, stabbed through and through, in\n     every one of her affections, by these people for whom her life had\n     been a perpetual process of dying! Why, if they had but known this\n     that I have been telling you, or but a tenth part of it, those men\n     would have defended with their bodies every thread of carpet she\n     trod on. But so it was, and so it must be! Only the best names are\n     ever taken in vain on human lips, and they are so taken because\n     they are the best, and best is worst to those who cannot understand\n     it. Theodore Winthrop was shot by a negro. Did he know what he\n     did?... In thinking of it one's bosom is torn with distracting\n     emotions, and between feeling for the persecuted and feeling for\n     the persecutors, one almost loses the power of feeling. Could\n     anything be more pitiful? Yes, one thing more pitiful there\n     was--the savage hunting down and persecution of the negroes, as if\n     they, too, were the enemies of these working-people. The poor,\n     inoffensive negroes, most innocent part of the whole population!\n     Most quiet, harmless, docile people, who could not stand in the way\n     of the white people if they would, and who never thought of\n     anything but of keeping out of their way! These the enemies of\n     white labor! As if they had not, for these very white people, borne\n     the burden and heat of the tropical day, raising the cotton by\n     which we are clothed, and the rice by which we are fed! As if to\n     these and the like of these, the white people did not owe a large\n     share of the manufacturing towns where they get their bread! As if\n     the lowest foundation stones of this very New York of ours were not\n     cemented by their bloody sweat! As if there were too many of them\n     in the country now for the country's needs, supposing the country\n     ever to fall into a settled and civilized condition again! As if\n     all there are might not by and by be _required_ to do the work\n     which white labor can not for a long time, if it can ever, safely\n     undertake! Strange complications of things! Strange cross-purposes\n     of human nature! The Southern people would revive the slave trade,\n     because they have not black laborers enough, and their allies among\n     ourselves would banish or kill all the black people, because they\n     interfere with white labor! A mutual stabbing at each other's\n     hearts! And on each side a stabbing to its own heart!... It is a\n     very mysterious thing in history, this alliance between the most\n     turbulent and the most tyrannical, the most depraved and the most\n     despotic portions of society. The most undisciplined, barbarous,\n     savage members of a community are ever in a league with the most\n     overbearing, insolent, imperious, and domineering members of it.\n     They who are under the least self-control bow most deferentially\n     before those who rule others with the most cruel rod. The people\n     who were proudest of having turned out to a man, in London, for the\n     maintenance of law and order, on the day of the great Chartist\n     demonstration there, were the most immoral class in the\n     city--proved by the criminal returns to be nine times as dishonest,\n     five times as drunken, and nine times as savage as the rest of the\n     community. (See Spencer's \"Social Statics,\" p. 424.)\n\n     In Boston, on the occasion of the rendition of Anthony Burns, all\n     the thieves, burglars, cut-throats, swarmed from their dens and\n     volunteered with alacrity to enforce the fugitive-slave law. And\n     now the leaders of the Southern Confederacy count, and count\n     securely, on the Northern populace. The fiercest allies of the only\n     absolutely despotic class in the country are the outlaws of\n     society. The men who are fighting for the privileges of the\n     extremest tyranny, the privileges not of ruling merely, but\n     literally of owning the laboring class, these men have the\n     implicit, unquestioning, fanatical loyalty of the people who are at\n     the opposite end of the social scale--the people who own nothing\n     either of fortune, position, influence, or character, and whose\n     sole relation towards the despots they worship is that of mad,\n     savage slaves.\n\n     In Europe this alliance between the despotic and the lawless may\n     be fortunate for the peace of the community. In our Southern States\n     it is eminently conducive to the tranquillity they desire. But when\n     the lawless are here and the despotic are there, when the barbarism\n     is in New York and the tyranny in Richmond, when the elements of\n     discord and turbulence in our Northern cities fly to support their\n     iron-handed rulers in the seceded States, there ensues a state of\n     things, especially in time of war, that is calculated to shake\n     society to its foundations, and fill every loyal heart with dread.\n     The unruly, as if they felt instinctively their lack of\n     self-control, seek a ruler--fly to the strongest to save them from\n     themselves, worship the sternest, the most high-handed, the\n     cruellest, and by that natural sympathy with brutality are\n     maintained in subjection to law.\n\n     Heaven speed the time when these heedless, reckless, licentious\n     children of humanity may feel sensible of the weight of power\n     without its brutality, may reverence authority when it is neither\n     beastly nor cruel, may yield obedience to Order, whose symbol is\n     not the sword, and to Law, whose badge is not the bayonet. But till\n     that time comes, we, with thoughtful minds and sad hearts and sober\n     consciences, and souls full as we can make them of human charity\n     and good-will, must hold in our hands those terrible symbols, and\n     in the Christian spirit do the ruler's part.\n\nThe insurrection did not last long. As soon as the United States troops\nappeared the trouble was over and order was restored. There was\nfighting; there was pillage; but how many lives were lost and how much\nproperty was destroyed was never exactly known. On the whole, the riot\nstrengthened the hands of the government, increased pity for the victims\nof outrage, and excited sympathy for the negroes and the abolitionists.\nThe priests, as I well remember, helped in the work of pacification. On\nthe second day of the uprising, as I was visiting a friend in his studio\non Fifth Avenue, the mob came along, shouting, yelling, brandishing\nclubs, on their way to the archbishop's palace, to hear an address by\nhim. The prelate appeared on the balcony dressed in full canonicals, in\norder to impress the people, and delivered a most ingenious and\npersuasive address. Beginning \"Men of New York,\" he flattered their\nself-esteem, paid a tribute to their sense of power and exalted\ninfluence, and advised them against cruelty and anarchy. The effect of\nthis speech was surprising in soothing and quieting the crowd. They had\ncome there in a mood of tumult--they separated peacefully and went to\ntheir own homes, satisfied. From that hour the soul of the riot was\nbroken.\n\nThe incidents of the war cannot be detailed here. The story has been\ntold too often, and is altogether too long for my space. And after all\nthe moral issues of the war were the most interesting though not the\nmost pathetic. The sentiment of union, the establishment of the national\nsupremacy, the authority of the reign of law, the emancipation of a\ndegraded race, the new inspiration imparted to a great people, and the\nadvent of a universal republicanism were most significant. It is quite\nlikely that the modern uprising of labor and the urgent claims of women\nfor recognition and civil power were aided, if not suggested, by this\noverwhelming triumph of order and enlightenment. It is more than likely\nthat the position of the United States, as a power among the nations of\nthe earth, was due mainly to the victory that was achieved by the powers\nof liberty.\n\n\n\n\nIX. THE FREE RELIGIOUS ASSOCIATION.\n\n\nThe happy ending of the war stimulated, as has been said, the\nsentiment of Unity. The success of the government in putting down the\nrebellion filled the air with the spirit of union. The restoration of\npolitical harmony suggested a deeper harmony, when divisions should\ncease. At this moment, in April, 1865, the indefatigable Dr. Bellows,\nwho had been the soul of the Sanitary Commission, summoned all Christian\nbelievers of the liberal persuasions to a convention in his church for a\nmore complete organization. The invitation was most generously\ninterpreted, and was hailed by some who could be called Christians only\nunder the most elastic definition of the term. A prominent layman of the\nUnitarian body brought an elaborate creed which he wished the convention\nto adopt; and a distinguished minister of the West was of the opinion\nthat the work of perfect organization could best be done by the adoption\nof stringent articles of faith. But the minimum of belief was imposed.\nThe preamble of the constitution, the work of reconciling minds, reads\nthus: \"Whereas the great opportunities and demands for Christian labor\nand consecration, at this time, increase our sense of the obligations of\nall disciples of the Lord Jesus Christ to prove their faith by\nself-denial and by the devotion of their lives and possessions to the\nservice of God, and the building up of the kingdom of his son,\nTherefore.\" Then follow the articles. It was this phrase, \"Lord Jesus\nChrist,\" that provoked discussion. The struggle was renewed at Syracuse\non October 8th of the next year, 1866, and an attempt was made to\nexplain away the force of the declaration by announcing that while the\npreamble and articles of the constitution represented the opinions of\nthe majority, yet they were not to be considered an authoritative test\nof Unitarianism, or to exclude from fellowship any who though differing\nin belief \"are in general sympathy with our purpose and practical aims.\"\nBut this was not considered by the radicals as satisfactory. For in the\nfirst place the title of \"Lord\" seemed to contain by implication a\ndoctrine which could not be subscribed to, as the \"Lordship\" of Jesus\nwas supposed to be supernatural. Here seemed to be a fundamental\ndifference between those who held to the old world's idea of a spiritual\nkingdom, and those who proclaimed the new world's idea of a spiritual\ndemocracy. In fact, one of the leaders--Dr. Bellows--plainly said if\nthere was to be any change it must be made in the other direction; \"we\nare to consider not only the few on the one side, who may or may not\ncare to unite with us, but the great body of Christians of all\ndenominations, the Universal Church of Christ; I demand liberality to\nthem, the liberality which acknowledges their Lord and Leader, and\nwelcomes them to a household whose hearth glows with faith in and\nloyalty to the personal Saviour.\" It was plainly declared by him that\nUnitarians assumed the name of liberal Christians, because they allowed\nliberality of inquiry and opinion _within the pale of Christian\ndiscipleship_. This of itself was enough to create a palpable division,\nbut it was felt besides that freedom of interpretation did not imply\nfreedom of rejection. The phrase _Lordship of Jesus_, although as little\nof a creed as could be devised, was hostile to freedom, besides not\nbeing altogether true, as Jesus never claimed to be infallible. The\nradicals, under the lead of Francis E. Abbot, attempted to introduce a\nsubstitute for the original preamble, inculcating unity of spirit and of\nwork as the basis of the \"National Conference of Unitarian and\nIndependent Churches.\" This substitute was not carried, and a final\nbreach between the Independents and the Unitarians was thus established.\nThis was inevitable twenty-five years ago; it could not happen to-day,\nwhen both wings are united in one body.\n\nFor my part I did not go to Syracuse, having foreseen what eventually\noccurred, namely, the intended solidification of the Unitarian body by\nthe strengthening of the bonds of organization. My own personal\nexperience, which other radicals knew nothing of, led me to this\nconclusion. My church edifice on 40th Street was begun in the spring of\n1863. The two ministers in New York were present at the informal service\nof laying the corner-stone. The walls were going up during the summer;\non the week of the riot the mob called the workmen off, threatening to\ndestroy what was built if the masons did not leave. The building was\nfinished in the winter, and dedicated on Christmas Day. To the warm\npersonal invitation which was sent to all the Unitarian clergy in New\nYork and Brooklyn--there were but three then--no response was returned;\nand when my father and I went to the church there were no ministers on\nthe platform. We went through the service, my father offering the prayer\nand I preaching the sermon. No remark was made at the time beyond an\nexpression of surprise at the non-appearance of the \"brethren.\" The next\nday my father, who had come from Boston on purpose to attend the\ndedication, and whose blindness was approaching fast, went to make a\nfriendly visit on Dr. Bellows. On his return, when asked if any reason\nwas assigned for the failure to participate in the proceedings of the\nday before, he said that the duties of Christmas were alleged as the\ncause. I was sure there was another explanation behind; and as soon as I\nhad put my father in the train for home wrote to Dr. Bellows, taxing him\namong the rest with discourtesy. It was evident that such a charge was\nanticipated and prepared for; that the ministers had met and had agreed\non a course to be pursued in my case. For at once there came a reply to\nmy note, accusing me of studiously neglecting all the usual observances\nof the denomination. My invitation had not been official; there was no\n\"church\"; there had never been any sacrament; the allegiance to\nfundamental doctrines of the sect had been slack. All this was true, and\nno attempt at exculpation was made, but it was felt that a breach\nexisted. The excitements of the war overshadowed everything else at this\nperiod, and nothing more was said. My Society was duly represented at\nthe first conference; but as soon as our side was argued,--as it was by\nD. A. Wasson,--it was plain that the spirit of organization prevailed\nand was against us. A division was inevitable. The \"Independents\" must\nform a separate party.\n\nThis virtual exclusion occasioned the formation of the Free Religious\nAssociation. A meeting was held on the 5th of February, 1867, at\nDr. C. A. Bartol's, in Boston, to consider a plan for creating a new\nassociation on the basis of free thought. Very strong words were spoken\non that occasion. One man, I recollect, spoke of all churches, all\nministers, and all religion as being outgrown. But the majority were of\nthe opinion that religion was an eternal necessity, and the\nadministration of it an absolute demand. Dr. Bartol himself was always a\nwarm friend of the Association, appearing on the platform, speaking\nalways hopefully, one of the most welcome of its supporters. The\nAssociation was formed in the spring of that same year. In the plan of\norganization it was distinctly announced that the aim of the Association\nwas to \"promote the interest of pure religion, to encourage the\nscientific study of theology, and to increase fellowship in the spirit;\nand to this end all persons interested in these objects are cordially\ninvited to its membership.\" Thus the object of the Association was\nexceedingly broad. It proposed to remove all dividing lines and to unite\nall religious men in bonds of pure spirituality, each one being\nresponsible for his own opinion alone, and in no degree affected in his\nrelations with other associations. If the movement had been in the hands\nof orthodox and well-reputed people, it would have seemed not only large\nbut noble and beneficent. Being, as it was, in the hands of a few\nradical clergymen and laymen, it was supposed to be \"infidel\" in its\ncharacter; and was misrepresented and abused accordingly.\n\nAt first, the dissensions of the sects were rebuked. Afterwards, the\nscope of the idea was extended; all the religions of the world being put\non an equality of origin and purpose. The spiritual nature of man was\nassumed; the universality of religious feeling; the inherent tendency to\nworship, aspiration, prayer, being taken for granted as an element in\nthe best minds; all churches and confessions of faith being looked upon\nas achievements of the soul; Jesus being classed among the leaders of\nhumanity; the Bible being accepted as a record of spiritual and moral\ntruth; and the church being regarded as an organization to diffuse\nbelief. The foundation, therefore, was a pure Theism, and the effort\ncontemplated the elevation of all mankind to the dignity of children of\nthe Highest. That this aim was always borne in mind is not pretended.\nThe negative side was made too conspicuous. Now and then there was a\nlurch in the direction of denial. There was too much criticism, and it\nwas not always just. There was too much speculation, and it was not\nalways wise. The plan of letting each sect tell its own story was a\nlittle confusing at the start. Still, on the whole, the object was\npretty faithfully kept in view. Lucretia Mott suggested that the word\n\"religion\" should be substituted for the word \"theology,\" but the word\n\"religion\" was too vague to afford ground for discussion, and it was\nfelt that the phrase \"scientific\" sufficiently explained, through the\nsubstitution of the scientific for the theological method, the purpose\nof the association. Moreover, the purpose was to remove _theological_\ndifferences, the only differences that existed.\n\nThere were names of distinguished men and women on our list of\nofficers, members, speakers, and friends--Ralph Waldo Emerson, Amos\nBronson Alcott, Gerrit Smith, George William Curtis, Edward L. Youmans,\nNathaniel Holmes, William Lloyd Garrison, Wendell Phillips, Rowland G.\nHazard, Lucretia Mott, Lydia Maria Child, Ednah D. Cheney. Thomas W.\nHigginson was one of our most effective speakers; John Weiss read on our\nplatform his most brilliant paper on \"Science and Religion\"; David\nAtwood Wasson lent us the light of his countenance.\n\nOur greatest want was the want of a leader,--a man not only of competent\nlearning and spiritual enthusiasm, but of natural impulse and vigor; a\nman of the people, a man of rugged speech, a man of vivacity and humor.\nIf Theodore Parker had been alive he might have taken this position, and\ndistinguished himself as a leader in this movement; as it was, there was\nno one who could take his place, and the enterprise flagged accordingly,\nlacking the popular zeal which would give it currency. The speculative\ncharacter of the association was always against it and rendered it\nsomewhat dry; but this under the circumstances was inevitable, because\nwe were forced to deal with technicalities of credence, and had not\npower enough to get beyond them into the universalities of faith.\n\nThere was an expectation in many quarters that the association would\ndevote itself to beneficent projects; and this was natural, because it\nseemed as if those who gave up the bond of belief must adopt the bond of\nwork. Mr. Emerson seems to have had a similar desire. \"I wish,\" he said,\n\"that the various beneficent institutions which are springing up like\njoyful plants of wholesomeness all over this country, should all be\nremembered as within the sphere of this committee,--almost all of them\nare represented here,--and that within this little band that has\ngathered here to-day should grow friendship.\" But in the first place,\nours was not a philanthropic institution; its aim was religious\nentirely, as it attempted to substitute the universality of religion for\nthe one faith of Christendom. The chief workers in several forms of\ncharity presented their schemes for our consideration, and at one time\nit looked as if we must be borne away into some philanthropic\nenterprise. The current, however, which carried us towards \"religious\"\nunity was too strong.\n\nAnd then, at that time there was little scientific philanthropy. The\nword _charity_ was more or less associated with patronage and pity, the\nvery things that we wanted to avoid; they who were bent on wiping out\ndistinctions could not countenance these, and it was safer not to let\nour hearts get the better of our reason. But even if there had been a\nscientific treatment of humane questions, we were afraid of the danger\nof becoming too much absorbed in this kind of work, and so of losing\nsight of our chief end.\n\nAt present the idea of our Association is pretty well domesticated in\nChristendom. It was not, after all, entirely new. In 1845 and 1846\nFrederick Denison Maurice, lecturing on the Boyle Foundation in London\non \"The Religions of the World and their Relations to Christianity,\"\nattempted to do justice to the ancient faiths of India, Persia, Egypt,\nGreece, and Rome. In 1882, in Edinburgh, eminent men discussed the same\nproblems under the title of \"The Faiths of the World.\" In 1871 James\nFreeman Clarke published his \"Ten Great Religions.\" The study of\ncomparative religion has been going on for many years. When Mozoomdar\ncame to this country a few years ago, there was such a rush for him\namong American orthodox Christians that the Free Religious Association\ncould not get at him at all, though it had tried in vain to get a real\nBrahmin on its platform. True, there were differences of opinion among\nthe orthodox students of the old-world systems. Some regarded the\nancient religions as effete; some denied that Christianity touched them\nat more than one or two points; some treated them simply as preparations\nfor the crowning faith of Christ. Still, whatever their differences, all\nagreed that the religious instinct was universal; that there was a\nground for revelation in the human heart; since Carlyle's famous lecture\nin \"Heroes,\" delivered in 1840, it was impossible to regard Mahomet as\nan impostor, or to look upon religion as a fabrication of the priests,\nas an attempt to practise upon human ignorance and fear.\n\nAmong the Unitarians our conception is familiar. At the convention that\nwas held in Philadelphia, in October, 1889, both parties, the most\nconservative and the most radical, sat side by side. A manager of the\nFree Religious Association delivered one of the addresses, and said: \"I\nnever believed one tithe as much as I believe to-night. Never did I have\nsuch faith in God; never did I so believe in man; never did I see such a\nglorious outlook for the Church; never did I hold such a glad theory of\nhuman hope for the future.\" The secretary of the American Unitarian\nAssociation was full of joy. The secretary of the Western Unitarian\nConference quoted the opinion of the Western churches, assembled at\nChicago in May, 1887, and declared \"our fellowship to be conditioned on\nno doctrinal tests, and welcomes all who wish to join us to help\nestablish truth and righteousness and love in the world.\" A prominent\nleader of Unitarianism in Illinois uttered himself thus: \"Whatever its\ntraditions, whatever its present positions, or its prospects, this\nspiritual commonwealth is extra-Unitarian, extra-American,\nextra-Christian; it is human, and on that account it is universal, and\nit is divine.\" Another speaker at this convention declared that \"the\nhand that shall hold this master key is Christ, as the modern mind\nconceives him,--Christ healing the sick, raising the dead, cleansing the\nleper, casting out devils from society and business, from politics and\nreligion; Christ, the friend of Lazarus and of Mary Magdalen; Christ\nrobed in absolute justice and also in transcendant love, and embracing\nthe whole world.\"\n\nIt is not claimed that this extraordinary change in ecclesiastical\nfellowship and sympathy is due to the Free Religious Association. That\nwas one of the signs of the times, and is an effect rather than a cause;\nbut it is a sign of the grander unity. When the portrait of Theodore\nParker is hanging on the walls of Channing Hall; when a cordial welcome\nis extended to all seekers for the light; when the East and West are\nready to embrace in a fellowship of aspiration; when the young men are\nall alight with fresh hope and fresh endeavor, we may with confidence\nanticipate the time when there shall be but one fold, and the aim of the\nFree Religious Association be met.\n\nThe emancipation from denominational trammels was of great service to\nthe young minister. It is true that he was still in a \"church\" which\nkept him within ecclesiastical associations; but these fetters were not\nheavy, and they were soon to be thrown off. For in the spring of 1869,\nthe church was sold to another congregation. This was done partly\nbecause the acoustic properties of the building were not favorable, and\npartly because the place was not suited to the genius of the new\nsociety. \"There was no room in the inn,\" was the subject of the last\nsermon preached in that building. Lyric Hall, to which we removed, is\nsituated on Sixth Avenue, between 40th and 41st streets. It is a large\nroom fifty by one hundred feet. During the week it was used as a dancing\nhall, but on Sundays it was arranged for a religious service. A small\norgan was placed there, a platform was built, and seats were brought up\nfrom the cellar below. The first sermon preached there was on \"Secular\nReligion,\" and it indicated the whole character of the services. The\nmost remarkable thing, as regards myself, that happened in Lyric Hall,\nwas the adoption of the habit of speaking without notes. The light from\nthe avenue was too far off for reading, and the speaker was therefore\nobliged to dispense with a manuscript altogether. A theme was first\nchosen that admitted of subdivisions, so that as fast as the speaker\nexhausted one he could fall back on another. The habit soon became so\nfamiliar that no difficulty was experienced in handling the most\ncomplicated subject. Here we remained until the spring of 1875, when we\nremoved to Masonic Temple, on Sixth Avenue and 23d Street.\n\nThis building, which was very large and handsome, had just been erected\nby the Masons, who designed it for their own accommodation. The\nstructure having cost, however, more than was anticipated, the owners\nwere obliged, reluctantly, to let the large hall, which they did for\nliterary and religious purposes only. We were the first to occupy it.\nThe hall was spacious and stately, with fixed seats for about a thousand\npeople. A fine organ stood at one end of the platform; at the other end\nthere was a large reception room. The first sermon there was on\n\"Reasonable Religion.\" The audience was never large--never more than\neight or nine hundred, usually six or seven hundred. The form of service\nmuch resembled the form common in Unitarian churches, with the exception\nthat Mr. Conway's \"Sacred Anthology\" was substituted for the Bible, and\nthe other exercises were more universal in their character. It had long\nceased to be a Unitarian congregation. There were people of Catholic\ntraining, many of Protestant training, some of no religious training\nwhatever, materialists, atheists, secularists, positivists--always\nthinking people, with their minds uppermost. It was a church of the\nunchurched. George Ripley, the journalist, was always there; E. C.\nStedman, the man of letters; Calvert Vaux, the architect; Sanford R.\nGifford, the painter; Henry Peters Gray, the artist, was there until he\ndied; C. P. Cranch, the poet, was a member of the Society as long as he\nwas in the city. In the Lyric-Hall days, Judge Geo. C. Barrett had a\nseat in the audience. The secular character was always prominent. When\nwe had a church on 40th Street, the large basement was used for music,\ndramatic performances, readings, festivities, social gatherings. In\nLyric Hall, these were continued as far as they could be.\n\nThe \"Fraternity Club\" was organized in 1869 by a devoted member of the\nSociety for the entertainment and improvement of its members; and drew\ntogether very brilliant minds both within and without the immediate\nfellowship. The meetings were held once in two weeks, when an essay was\nread, a debate carried on, and a paper presented; all the performers\nbeing nominated in advance by the President. The work was mainly done by\na few young men, who have since become eminent in various fields--as\nteachers, lawyers, literary critics, publishers,--and by witty women not\na few. There were about seventy members, each one standing for some\npeculiar accomplishment. The subjects of the essays were such as these,\nillustrating the breadth of the intellectual interest: On \"Taste\"; on\n\"Expressions\"; on \"The Coming Man\"; on \"Wordsworth\"; on \"The Tree of\nLife\"; on \"Spencer's Britomart as the Type of Woman\"; on \"Light and\nLaughter\"; on \"Successful People\"; on \"Culture\"; on \"The Cultivation of\nthe Masses.\" The subjects for debate were equally varied: \"Ought the\nsexes to be educated apart?\"; \"Does a house burn up or burn down?\"; \"Is\nthe highest musical culture compatible with the highest intellectual\ndevelopment?\"; \"Is there a distinctly American literature as contrasted\nwith that of England?\"; \"Should matrimonial union be contracted early or\nlate?\"; \"Ought we to cultivate most those faculties in which we\nnaturally excel, or those in which we are naturally deficient?\"; \"Does\nincrease of culture involve decrease of amusement?\"; \"Is the existence\nof a 'Mute inglorious Milton' possible?\"; \"Will giving the franchise to\nwomen exert a beneficial influence on society?\"; \"Had you rather be more\nstupid than you seem, or seem more stupid than you are?\"\n\nThe \"papers,\" of which there are some nine volumes existing, were\nreceptacles for the fancy, imagination, sentiment, and humor of the\neditors or their co-editors; there were verses, stories, criticisms,\njokes, illustrations, in them; each had its name: \"The Bubble,\" \"The\nVenture,\" \"Bric-a-Brac,\" \"Stuff,\" \"The Rag-Bag.\" The club ceased soon\nafter the Society disbanded, in 1880.\n\nThe root idea of the Society, apart from its independence, was the\nmingling of the spiritual and the natural; the domestication of faith.\nWith a view of making the idea more prevailing and complete, a\nchildren's service in the afternoon was substituted for the regular\nSunday-school. A book was prepared, \"The Child's Book of Religion,\" by\nthe pastor, for this express purpose. There were responsive readings,\nrecitations in unison, songs, and an address, simple and anecdotical, by\nthe minister.\n\nThe Society was never fashionable, or even popular. At one period--that\nof the Richardson-McFarland matter--there was a vast deal of\nmisrepresentation, criticism, and abuse, but all this had no effect on\nthe constituency of the parish. There was the same loyalty, the same\ninterest, the same determination to sustain a thoroughly liberal\nministry, by which every form of conviction was made conducive to a\npurely spiritual faith.\n\nIt was never pretended that the Society was anything more than a\nbeginning. A small and feeble beginning, but of something that was to\ngrow and spread; the beginning of a faith that is as rational as it is\nwide. Its influence was more diffusive than concrete as an instituted\nthing. It is the pride and consolation of those who began it that they\nremoved some of the barriers that divided the great brotherhood of\nbelieving men.\n\nMy ministry in New York ended in the spring of 1879. Its close was due\nentirely to my ill-health. A year before the doctors had warned me not\nto continue longer than was necessary my rate of speed. They urged me to\ngo slower, to \"take in sail,\" and to withdraw as far as I could from all\npublic demonstrations. Measures were taken against every emergency, and\nI sailed away in the French steamer, with the hope that in six months I\nmight regain my nervous power, and return. There was first the\nexhilarating sea voyage; then the beautiful city hall of Rouen, the\nchurches and famous buildings, the square where Joan of Arc suffered;\nthen came Paris with its enchantments; after that Basel showed its great\nHolbeins, and its lovely promenade overlooking the river; this led to\nthe celebrated baths at Ragatz in Switzerland, the placid waters of\nPfeffers', the gorge, the hotel gardens, and the lovely walks; after\nthis came the pass of the Spluegen, the Via Mala, the hotel at the summit\nof the pass among the snows, the pastures, the wild goats; then came\nLake Como in Italy, Bellagio, the charming Villa Serbeloni, looking down\nupon the two lakes, Como and Lecco, the vineyards ripening in the sun,\nthe terraces, looking across upon the mountains; then Milan opened its\ngreat cathedral, the gallery of the Brera, the ancient church of Saint\nAmbrose. Afterwards came Florence and its heavenly environs, its\npictures and statues and public buildings, its groves and stately drives\nand lovely villas; Florence was followed by Siena, and there I saw the\ngreat cathedral, walked on the esplanade, enjoyed the public square, the\npalaces, the pictures of Sodoma. From there I went to Rome, in December.\n\nIt was all in vain; I became satisfied that the complaint was not of a\ntemporary nature, not owing to overwork or over-excitement, not easily\ncured--if curable at all,--but nervous and hereditary. Thereupon, I\nwrote a letter to my trustees absolutely resigning my office and\ndeclining to be a clergyman any longer, as I could not attempt to renew\nthe same kind of labor. An attempt was made to secure a successor;\nseveral names were mentioned, and among men greatly my superiors in\nlearning and eloquence, but none, it was thought, represented the\nprecise form of speculation, the exact view of religion which my friends\ndesired. The Society therefore was disbanded, and no attempt has been\nmade since to reorganize it. The members were scattered, some among\nother churches, some among other cities, while some never joined any\nreligious society whatever. Thus a thriving and growing organization is\nnow simply a memory.\n\n\n\n\nX. THE PROGRESS OF RELIGIOUS THOUGHT IN AMERICA.\n\n\nAn article in the _North American Review_ for April, 1885, on \"Free\nThought in America,\" is chiefly significant as showing how gradual and\ntentative the progress of thought in religion was. The comments on\nindividuals are often wide of the mark, but the general drift is quite\ncorrect. The course was shadowy, but the main point was unmistakable. At\nthis day, the wholesale abuse of religion is harmless, and can exert no\nwide influence. The friends of liberal thought are against it; and those\nwho seek the old grim conclusion do so in another way, striving to\nsubstitute a new faith in nature for the old faith in divine\ninspiration, and to prove the latter to have been a growth rather than\nan imposition. The study of comparative religions has put a new face on\nthe question, and the concern is now to discover the source of faith in\nthe supernatural and not to make it appear a creation of priestcraft. No\nsooner had serious investigations into antiquity become known, than the\nmethod pursued by Voltaire and Dupuis was abandoned, and each generation\nsince has confirmed the facts of historic development.\n\nThat my own immediate predecessors were Emerson and Parker is most true.\nWith the writings of the former I was familiar; the latter was my\nintimate friend. Perhaps my theological views are due to him more than\nto any other man, though the circumstances of his generation were\npeculiar, and determined, in a much greater degree than in my own case\nwas possible, the cast of his thought. The Unitarian controversy, in\nwhich he played so prominent a part, and by stress whereof he was driven\ninto some of his positions, is over. The anti-slavery struggle, into\nwhich he threw himself and as a result of which his religious\nantagonisms were sharpened, was ended many years ago.\n\nPoe said in the preface to \"Eureka,\" that perfect beauty was a guaranty\nof perfect truth; so I felt--felt rather than reasoned--that a great\ncharacter was sufficient proof of the truth of doctrine, and I accepted\nthe teaching on the strength of the nobleness which was before my eyes.\nLater researches confirmed my opinions, but while I was under Parker's\ninfluence, his theological views were accepted without much\nconsideration; his unique style of personality laying my heart as it\nwere under a spell.\n\nEmerson was a man of colder temperament, thinner of blood, more spare\nin frame; of finer intellectual fibre, of more commanding intellectual\nsupremacy; not a combatant on any field; a sweet, gracious, shadowy\npersonality; calm, lucid, imperturbable; pursuing knowledge along the\nspiritual path of pure thought, although he was also a student of books;\na regenerator of mind rather than a reformer of customs; a prophet,\ndistinguished for penetration rather than for will. His ideas were\nsubstantially the same as Parker's, but he did not arrive at them in the\nsame way, or hold them in the same spirit, or apply them with the same\ndirectness. He carried them out further, not being hindered, as his\ncontemporary was, by the immediate necessities of the hour. In short, he\nwas another sort of man entirely. Both were transcendentalists, but\nParker shaped his philosophy to the working exigencies of his\ngeneration, while Emerson let his stream freely in the air. The writer\nof the article in question accuses Emerson of want of pathos, and\ndeclares that this was the lack of the transcendentalists, as a school.\nBut he could hardly charge this on Parker, who was an ardent\ntranscendentalist, but whose very language was vascular, who affected\nmultitudes of men and women, and who held audiences by the heartstrings.\nDid Hopkins or Bellamy or Edwards melt people? Were the preachers of\nCalvinism priests of sorrow? This is a matter of temperament and not of\ncreed. Extreme rationalists leave their congregations in tears, and\nextreme churchmen dismiss theirs unmoved, the humors of the men deciding\nthe issues of their ministrations. The closer to the ground, the more\nabundant the sympathy. The question is whether one is more mundane or\nmore ethereal by native gift and endowment.\n\nThat transcendentalism was mainly speculative may be doubted, but if it\nwas so this may be accounted an incidental circumstance to be explained\nby the prevailing theological temper of the age, and the duty imposed on\nit of transferring the body of doctrine to an ideal realm; a task which\ndemands an intellectual effort of no common magnitude. And when with\nthis task was joined the endeavor to sift out the purely spiritual ideas\nfrom the mass of dogmatical and ecclesiastical error, it is no wonder\nthat it should have been speculative in its tendency. Certainly, Brook\nFarm was concrete enough, and the transcendentalists were, as a rule,\ninterested in social reconstruction, though not in a way to touch\npopular emotion. One cannot, even at this distance, think of the\nquickening radiance shed by the transcendentalists over the whole region\nof religious belief and duty, without gratitude. The hymns, the sermons,\nthe music, the Sunday-schools, the prayers, the charities, the social\nministrations, breathed forth a fresh spirit. If there were fewer tears\nof woe, there was more weeping for joy. There was too much gladness for\ncrying. Life was made sunny. Human nature was interpreted cheerfully.\nThere was an unlimited future for misery, ignorance, turpitude. Sin was\nremanded to the position of crudity, and was banished from the heavenly\ncourts. Violence was protested against in laws, customs, manners,\nspeech. Harsh doctrines were criticised. Austere views were discarded.\nIntellectual barriers were removed. Spiritual channels were deepened and\nwidened. Light was let into dark places. The brightest aspects of\ndivinity were presented. Immortality was rendered native to the soul.\nThe life below was regarded as the portal to the life above.\n\nIn my own case, whatever of enthusiasm I may have had, whatever\ntransports of feeling, whatever glow of hope for mankind, whatever ardor\nof anticipation for the future, whatever exhilaration of mind towards\nGod, whatever elation in the presence of disbelief in the popular\ntheology, may be fairly ascribed to this form of the ideal philosophy.\nIt was like a revelation of glory. Every good thought was encouraged.\nEvery noble impulse was heightened. It was balm and elixir to me. If\ntranscendentalism did not appear as a sun illuminating the entire mental\nuniverse it was the fault of my exposition alone. Absolute faith in that\nform of philosophy grew weak and passed away many years since, and the\nassurance it gave was shaken; but the sunset flush continued a long time\nafter the orb of day had disappeared and lighted up the earth. Gradually\nthe splendor faded, to be succeeded by a softer and more tranquil gleam,\nless stimulating but not less beautiful or glorious. The world looks\nlarger under the light of stars. I always loved Blanco White's\nmagnificent sonnet to Night, but never appreciated its full significance\nuntil the scientific view had succeeded to the transcendental, and I\nbegan to walk by knowledge, steadily and surely, but not buoyantly any\nmore. It would be a mistake to suppose that anything like pain, sadness,\nor sterility accompanies the departure of an old faith, when a new one\ntakes its place and soon opens fresh prospects of good. The universe but\ngrows larger: other methods are adopted, other hopes are entertained,\nother consolations are presented, and soon the mind adjusts itself to\nthe altered conditions. The downcast mood of George Eliot, of the author\nof \"Physicus,\" and of many another less distinguished unbeliever, may be\ndue in part to temperament, in part to the first feeling of chill that\nensues upon a transitional period, which brings in a different climate;\nbut the allegation of lasting coldness, gloom, discontent, is wholly\ngroundless. The old fable says that quails drop from the clouds, that\neven rocks quench the traveller's thirst. There is, in short, no\nwilderness.\n\nThat the creed was \"filmy,\" the foothold \"unsteady,\" is altogether\nlikely, for the ancient supports were removed, the pillars that replaced\nthem were shaking, and tradition alone remained to hold by. But religion\nwas still the Poetry of Life, and kept its place among the interests\nsingly represented by art, music, literature, philosophy, those fine\nintimations of a higher state, those splendid foreshadowings of the\nfuture, those noble efforts to solve problems that must be forever\ninsoluble. My creed did not pretend to be final or even definite. It was\nsimply a study, a preliminary sketch, an essay towards truth. A claim to\ncompleteness, to logical consistency, would have been fatal. Still less,\nif possible, did it pretend to meet popular wants. It resolutely turned\nin the opposite direction, and took up positions which, it was\nunderstood, the general public could not occupy without abandoning all\nits works and retiring to other ground. No effort was made to commend it\nto common opinion; on the contrary, everything like concession was\nshunned, and the slightest signal of agreement with current beliefs was\nregarded as a warning against a compromise of principle. Nothing was\nassumed except the validity of the human faculties, including, of\ncourse, the higher reason, the insight of genius, and such feelings as\nwere parts of the rational constitution, together with perfect liberty\nin their exercise. Every theological system was repudiated; even the\ndoctrines of a conscious Deity and the individual immortality of the\nsoul were left open to discussion, the atheist and the materialist being\nlistened to with as much deference as any. These doctrines were\naccepted, yet not on the ground of authority or tradition, but simply\nconsidered as faiths, hopes, sentiments of the spiritual being; the\nexistence of living mind, coupled with the demand for unity, seeming to\nguarantee the first, the fact of individual persistency appearing to\ndemonstrate the second. But all definition was carefully avoided,\nconviction being confined to the main idea, and being purely spiritual\nin its character, not in the least dogmatical, or exclusive of\nknowledge. Of doctrine in the usual sense there was none. There was\nmerely thought. The very teaching was more of the nature of suggestion\nthan of final conclusion. For this reason no account of the \"credo\" can\nbe given, all fixed expressions of views being discountenanced as\npremature, and therefore irrational. This should be distinctly\nunderstood by those interested in coming at the truth on this subject.\nThe object was to disintegrate, to pulverize, to enable mind to float\nfreely in the air of intellect, to the end that it might crystallize\nabout natural centres. All dogmatism, that of the infidel as well as\nthat of the believer, of the man of science as well as of the\ntheologian, of the sensualist as well as of the spiritualist, was\nobnoxious. There was no sympathy with those who regarded the case as\nclosed, either as the anti-Christian assailant or as the apologist did;\neither with the school of Paine or with the school of Calvin. Hereafter\nthere may be articles of belief, at present there can be none. This, it\nmay be said, was a temporary, incidental position, quite indeterminate\nand unsatisfactory. No doubt it was. That was all it pretended to be.\nThe sooner it disappeared and was succeeded by a more stable one, so it\nwas reasonable, the better, for that would indicate an advance in\nrational judgment.\n\nThis task--the complete emancipation of the human mind from every form\nof thraldom--will occupy liberal teachers for a long time to come. All\nthat can be said in defence of instituted religion, and all that can be\nurged on the other side, had been put forward again and again, but in a\nsectarian--that is, in a partisan--spirit. Now an even temper is\ndemanded. Unfortunately, impartiality is apt to degenerate into\nindifference. Breadth of view is, as a rule, inconsistent with rapidity\nof motion. The fact that the Free Religious Association had a small\nconstituency as compared with many an orthodox society is no evidence\nwhatever that the orthodox society is nearer the truth. The former was\nbroad enough to admit all religions, the latter shut out all save the\nChristians, thus making them a special community saved by their belief.\nThe problem is to preserve and, if possible, deepen intellectual\nenthusiasm while opposing fanatical adherence to dogmas; to associate\nbreadth with force, to unite freedom with earnestness, and to render the\nlove of truth more intense in proportion as the horizon recedes and\nideas multiply. Such ought to be the result of free thinking, and such\nit is when _thinking_ goes hand in hand with _freedom_.\n\nCritical studies must keep an even pace with philosophy, and both must\nconspire to push back the lines of credence as far as faith in the\nspiritual sentiment will permit. The latest investigations have\nsubstantiated liberal conclusions and carried them into regions which\nwere inaccessible to the authorities of an early day. A certain amount\nof denial was necessary of course, but this was made in view of a larger\naffirmation which had to be brought forward, and was, moreover, confined\nto matters incidental, not directed at the substance of faith. The\nassumption of a spiritual nature in man guaranteed the inherent\ngenuineness of all aspiration.\n\nNo doubt the assumption of a creative religious nature in man lent aid\nto the endeavor to glorify the pagan faiths, and predisposed the mind to\naccept criticisms on Christianity; but scientific investigation of the\nworld's bibles went on quite independently of this assumption. It was\npromoted by Catholics and Protestants, by Lutherans and Unitarians, by\nGermans, French, English, Americans. Certainly the alleged antiquity of\na system is not in its favor; for ignorance, credulity, superstition,\nare much older than this; older than the ancient books, than the ancient\nthinkers. The oldest things are errors, delusions, falsities. The\nallegiance of great minds simply proves the limitations of intellect.\nSir Thomas More believed in transubstantiation, and Samuel Johnson\nbelieved in ghosts. The wide reverence for the Scriptures is an\nimpressive fact, until it is seen that no writings have been so guarded,\nnor have such pains been taken in regard to any other literature to\ncreate for it a habit of docile veneration. Fidelity is praiseworthy,\nbut it is no pledge of wisdom. On the contrary it draws attention to the\nmerits or demerits of the creed to which it is consecrated. Is\nwitchcraft respectable? Yet it had its martyrs. Is demoniacal possession\ncredible? Yet saints attested it. The fury of the fighter cannot vouch\nfor the worthiness of the cause. If it could, the narrowest credence\nwould be the truest as the world goes, and they who adhere to the\n\"Christian\" tradition would be consigned to the darkest cells of it. The\nnewest thing is knowledge. This never paralyzes, and never is fanatical.\nIts heat is stimulating yet gracious. Its zeal does not scorch or\nconsume. It awakens every faculty, keeps inquiry on the stretch, excites\nthe noblest ambition, and at the same time rebukes the partisan temper\nin all its manifestations. Its reign is beneficent; its coming is full\nof hope. It is ever looking forward with sanguine anticipation, and if\nit is at times impatient, petulant, or imperious, it is because it is\nfretted by stubborn obstacles that prevent the full realization of its\npurpose to discover the truth. For a long time to come there will be\ncontroversy, but its violence will disappear, its acrimony will\ngradually cease, the passion for victory will yield to the love of\nknowledge, and all genuine seekers will unite in the search after light.\n\nIn the last generation the progress of intelligent examination into\nnature's secrets has been exceedingly rapid. During my active ministry I\nwas hardly aware of it, for though an assailant of the popular religion,\na champion of the freest thought, I was a defender of the current\nreligious ideas; since leaving the profession, the significance of the\nmental revolution that is taking place, has been more fully revealed to\nme. The advance has approached very near to the heart of the citadel.\nThe questions under discussion are fundamental ones, the existence of a\nself-conscious deity, the fact of personal continuance beyond the grave,\nthe line of distinction between \"material\" and \"spiritual\" things. The\ndispute hangs on invisible threads of logic. The conservatives occupy\npositions which radicals of thirty years back could not assume.\n\nThe next step in the development of free thought must be toward the\nrealization of all the ideal supports of mankind, the spiritualizing of\nthe secular, the lifting into heavenly places of this world's activity,\nthe transfiguration of our common life. If by religion is understood the\nstriving after perfection in intellectual things by the untrammelled\npursuit of knowledge, in social concerns by the exercise of fraternal\nkindness, in the spiritual world by aspiration towards a complete\nsurrender to natural law, every free thinker will encourage that and\nwill do what he can to promote it. That there is no final truth\ndiscoverable must be admitted, but such a confession need not trouble\nthose who look manfully forward to a future of new discoveries, and gird\nthemselves to remove all obstacles to the knowledge of the world they\nlive in.\n\nRobert Browning in his \"Paracelsus,\" published in 1835, anticipates the\ndoctrine of evolution.\n\n                Thus He dwells in all,\n    From life's minute beginnings, up at last\n    To man--the consummation of this scheme\n    Of being--the completion of this sphere\n    Of life; whose attributes had here and there\n    Been scattered o'er the visible world before,\n    Asking to be combined.\n\nIn 1836, Emerson in his \"Nature,\" reiterated this grand prophecy:\n\n    A subtle chain of countless rings,\n    The next unto the farthest brings,\n    The eye reads omens where it goes,\n    And speaks all languages, the rose;\n    And striving to be man, the worm\n    Mounts through all the spires of form.\n\nIn 1867, science had gone so far that it could announce the Unity of\nCreation; the absolute Order and Law; one continuous Force; Progress as\nthe end of life. The eternal beauty existed for those who had eyes to\nsee. On this foundation the human heart, with its qualities of mercy,\npity, peace, and love, its sentiments of justice and equity, its hunger\nfor advance, its idea of goodness, built up a very noble and benignant\nconception of deity and the sure hope of moral perfection.\n\n\n\n\nXI. THE CLERICAL PROFESSION.\n\n\nIt is natural that the clerical profession should be an order by\nitself. Every other calling is--the lawyer's, the physician's, the\nartist's and the merchant's. There is an absurd notion that the clerical\nprofession stands alone; that it has a supernatural origin, which takes\nit out of the circle of ordinary employments; that it is not to be\ncompared with other institutions of society. But the real dignity of the\nprofession consists in its filling its place among human arrangements. A\ncertain temperament too, seems to belong to all employments. There is\nthe legal temperament, the artistic, the dramatic, the mercantile. It is\nno disadvantage that one prefers solitude, likes abstract thoughts, has\nno taste for business enterprise, is fond of books and study. Indeed,\nthis is an advantage for one whose office it is to amass learning, to\nweigh opinions in fine scales, to follow the spiritual laws, and to peer\ninto the mystery that surrounds human life. The very misunderstandings,\nillusions, superstitions that gather around the calling may be\nrecommendations, inasmuch as they prevent the intrusion of rude minds,\nand draw their attention towards subjects they would not otherwise be\ninterested in.\n\nA certain amount of positiveness is necessary to ensure the worth of the\nprofession. The Catholic priest has no doubt whatever of the\nprovidential establishment of the church in which he is a servant. This\nmust be beyond question or misgiving. This is taken for granted by\nclergy and laity. All learning must be made to confirm it, all\nobservation is compelled to favor it. The laws of society must have\nnothing to do with the kingdom of God; for society is to be redeemed,\nnature is to be supplanted by grace, secular life must therefore be\nexcluded. The priest, such is the theory, dwells out of the world, and\nis encouraged to do so. He is poor, celibate, homeless, has no\nattachments, no affections, no terrestrial occupations. He must be to\nall intents and purposes dead to mortal affairs. One may find fault with\nearthly institutions; one is bound to find fault with them, but the\nchurch must be beyond criticism and must be accepted as a gift from\nheaven.\n\nThe Protestant clergyman holds fast by his doctrine of faith as by\ndivine appointment. His chief tenets must not be submitted to doubt.\nWhatever he may reject, there remains something he is not tempted to\nresign--namely, the presence of the Holy Spirit in his creed. Reason may\ncarry the outworks--ceremonies, ordinances, incidental points of\nbelief,--but the citadel is removed from assault. The world-spirit may\nhover around him, envious, expectant, watchful, applauding his boldness,\ncheering his progress towards negations, glad to see the gulf betwixt\nhim and the age gradually diminishing, and pressing into every vacant\nposition; society may claim interest in him more and more; but there are\npoints he must not yield, and which he merely wishes to bring into\nprominence in surrendering others which he regards as secondary. So much\nmay be necessary, but religion must practically take its place among the\nideal pursuits of men and be exposed, as they are, to the full\nexamination of the mind before any fair account of it can be given. And\nthis cannot be so long as a region, however small, is shut off from\ninvestigation by supernatural powers.\n\nMoreover, it is the common impression that the office of the ministry\nis detrimental to the best interest of humanity, because it establishes\nanother caste and thus destroys the unity that is so important in the\nintegrity of the world. By it the priest is a person set apart, hedged\nabout by the laws, held in peculiar reverence, habited in special\ngarments. Some kinds of entertainments, such as dancing, the drama, are\ncommonly forbidden to him. His presence on festive occasions used to be\nregarded as a gracious intrusion. He was not expected to take part in\ngayeties or to have any share in frivolities, which were much more\nhilarious when he was absent and the restraint of his presence was\nremoved. He was thought to be somehow at war with nature, and his\nlooking on at merrymaking was regarded by the polite as a piece of\ncondescension on his part, an evidence of unusual liberality of\nsentiment. It was but the other day that a young physician, belonging to\na Unitarian family, and himself an enthusiastic student of science,\npraised a minister for excusing his continual absence from church on the\nground of his being so well employed. This was regarded as a long step\nin the direction of indulgence towards natural inclination. Even among\nrationalists, a symptom of the old idea appears in an expression of the\nface, the manner of address, the walk, or the general bearing. It is\nthought a great stretch of charity if he is kind to the atheist, the\nmaterialist, the infidel; and to take in the tempted child of nature,\nthe drunkard, the victim of lust, avarice, is extreme good-will,\nbenevolence amounting to saintliness. To abolish from it the pretension\nof superiority in the form of pity, as the high look upon the low, the\ngood upon the bad, the moral upon the immoral, the virtuous upon the\nvicious, is, it is presumed, to overlook all recognized distinctions, to\nenthrone nature, to accept instinct as a safe guide, to renounce\nreligion altogether and reject the saying that \"the Christian church is\nimmortal because its fundamental dogma involves a doctrine of God in\nnature so ample and clear as to satisfy every profoundest want of the\nheart and every urgent demand of the head towards God forever.\"\n\nThere are distinctions enough among men at any rate, and to obliterate\nthem as far as possible is the office of true religion and all real\nhumanity; to increase love, to multiply the bonds of fraternity, to\nbring mankind to a social equality, to annihilate all that keeps mortals\napart. Of course the safety of society must be preserved by laws,\ncustoms, prejudices, but care should be taken to make these simply\nprotective in their function, and in no event should it be assumed that\nsuch distinctions, however radical, have any absolute value or go beyond\nthe limits of this outward world. Save men, if you can, from\nintemperance, violence, covetousness, lasciviousness, cowardice,\ngluttony, laziness, from every vice that brutalizes them, renders them\nobjects of hate, fear, suspicion, or jealousy; make their circumstances\nwholesome, their condition in life invigorating, but do it in the name\nof enlightenment, do it as members of the human brotherhood, not as\nmembers of a divine organization. Many ministers make great efforts to\nexorcise this demon of exclusiveness, but the effort is too severe for\nany but the few, and the success of it is of doubtful accomplishment.\n\nThe Christian minister is a representative of humanity, pure and\nsimple, without recognition of its division into classes. He is neither\nrich nor poor, high nor low, in society nor out of it, elevated nor\nobscure. He is democratic, the friend of everybody, the servant of all,\non terms of charity and sincerity with all men. Sectarianism, with its\nmanifold evils of violence, malignity, hatred, misrepresentation, is a\nstanding evidence of the harm done to society by a priesthood, whether\nCatholic or Protestant, and ministers who have labored to overthrow its\ninfluence as being fatal to charity have been obliged to fight against\nthe spirit of party, and to rely more upon their natural disposition\nthan upon their professional training. In this respect the laity have\nbeen in advance of their so-called leaders. The people have always been\nopposed to dogmatical exclusiveness, and have welcomed every sign of\ngenerosity towards unbelievers. They have followed their instinct of\nsympathy, they have read the New Testament by the light of their human\nfeeling, and setting common-sense against doctrinal narrowness, have\nrejoiced at every victory gained over intolerance. They have been\nfriends of brotherhood; they have adopted the cause of liberty; and I\nmust own with grief, the foes they have had to contend with have been,\nin too many instances, the ministers who would not see that charity was\nbefore faith.\n\nEverybody must have observed the unanimity and the persistency with\nwhich ministers of all denominations and of all ages have devoted\nthemselves to the rich. In fact the devotion is so conspicuous that it\nis one of the commonplace criticisms on the profession. People in\ngeneral assume that this kind of adulation, amounting often to toadyism,\nis characteristic of the clerical calling, so inseparable from it indeed\nthat the majority of men are incredulous as to any departure from it,\nand look with unfeigned admiration, when there are no reasons for\ndistrust, on the minister who knows no distinction of persons or\nconditions, but has regard to intellectual or spiritual considerations\nalone. Such a man is viewed as a wonder, an exception to all rules,\nsingularly constituted, either extraordinarily humane or extraordinarily\nobtuse, either more or less than a man. The worship of wealth is so\ncommon that some explanation of it must be given. The sufferings,\nmishaps, troubles of the rich are reputed to be more serious than they\nare in the ordinary run of cases; their disappointments are more\npitiable, their crosses heavier, their losses severer, their sorrows a\ngraver imputation on Providence. They are looked on as the favorites of\nheaven, and the cotton-wool in which they are wrapped is spoken of as\nthe provision that is made for them expressly by the Lord.\n\nThis may be accounted for on grounds of material convenience. They who\nhave money are of great importance, and that they should be interested\nin church affairs is of immense moment to all concerned, not to the\nministers alone, but to the entire congregation, nay, to the whole\ncommunity of believing men. There is always need of money, to build\nchurches, pay officials, hire singers, furnish ornaments, support\ncharities, maintain organizations for various ecclesiastical purposes;\nand it is much easier to get this in larger sums and with little\ntrouble, than to obtain it in little driblets, with much pain, great\nexpenditure of time, and constant vexation of spirit. The minister, from\nthe nature of the case, is chargeable with this concern, which obliges\nhim to visit frequently the wealthier members of his sect. To this end\nhe must keep on good terms with them, must sit at their tables, eat\ntheir dinners, drink their wine, praise their pictures, compliment their\ntastes, commend their performances, flatter their self-esteem, admire\ntheir surroundings, take their side in controversy; and all such conduct\nis set down by kindly, thoughtful people, to the account of prudence\nwhich is more than pardonable in one situated as he is.\n\nThis is quite true, but it is not the whole truth. By implication\nalready, the duty of cultivating the rich as donors involves the\nqualities of manhood to an indefinite extent. The line of necessary\ncourtesy is not decisively drawn; cannot be drawn by the rules of\netiquette. This must be the result of a trained experience, of a\ndelicacy and sensitiveness, of a pride of selfhood, of a loftiness or\ndignity of mind that are hardly to be looked for in any large class of\nhuman beings, however free from special temptation or particular\nseductions that may be. The influence of luxury, ease, comfort,\nelegance, is very insidious, so that even an unusual zeal for truth, an\nextraordinary passion for excellence, yields to the power of moral\nindifference, of intellectual superficialness, which is characteristic\nof those who do not do battle with circumstances. It is so much easier\nto do nothing than it is to do something; it is so charming to be\ndeferred to, to be looked up to, to be flattered, to have one's opinion\nsought without being involved in discussion, or vexed by opposition, or\nconfronted with scepticism; it is so delightful to the natural man to\nsit in an easy cushioned chair, and be treated with delicate courtesy\nand dainty refinement as an authority on matters theological,\nphilosophical, literary, instead of being put on the defensive by keen\nquestioners who submit awkward problems for immediate solution; it is so\ngratifying to one's self-esteem to be received as a superior being, that\nordinary human nature generally succumbs to the temptation and finds\nready excuse for acquiescence in the necessity of being on good terms\nwith one's wealthier parishioners, and so securing their all important\ngood-will. In short, a fastidious kind of flunkeyism is engendered that\nis quite inconsistent with the spiritual life. The rich become a refuge\nas well as a resource, and the inner man is weakened while the outer man\nis confirmed. A species of lethargy creeps over mind and conscience.\nEven the moral purpose faints and languishes, and charity ceases to be\nathletic, as elegance of form is substituted for pith of resolution. The\nprophet is induced to say smooth things, to announce easy principles, to\ngloze over hard interpretations, to keep out of sight unwelcomed truths;\nand extraordinary courage is required of those who would resist this\ntendency to complaisance. The rich are, from the nature of the case,\neasily persuaded of the excellence of existing institutions, ideas,\nobservances. I had been in the pulpit five years before I saw Henry\nJames' remarkable lecture on \"Property as a Symbol,\" and learned for the\nfirst time that \"Property symbolizes the perfect sovereignty which man\nis destined to exercise over nature\"; that \"Property as an institution\nof human society expresses or grows out of this instinct of sovereignty\nin man. While this instinct is as yet misunderstood or unrecognized by\nthe individual, while its full issues are as yet unimagined by him,\nsociety lends all her force to educate it under this form of an\naspiration after property, or a desire to appropriate to one's self,\nland, houses, money, precious stones, and whatsoever else evidences\none's power over nature.... Thus the moral law is nothing more or less\nthan an affirmation of the sacredness of private property. It virtually\nasserts an individuality in man superior to that conferred by his\nnature.... Such is the temper of mind which God begets in him, to subdue\nthe whole realm of the outward and finite to himself, to the service of\nhis proper individuality, and so vindicate the truth of his infinite\norigin.... The sole ground of our sovereignty over nature is inward,\nconsisting in a God-inspired selfhood, instinct with infinite power.\"\n\nIt would be comforting to believe that a felt consciousness of this\ninfinitude, however dim, animates the attachment of the clergyman to the\nopulent of any congregation; but I, for one, must make the confession\nthat the fact of property was taken literally, that the ideal,\nsymbolical character of it was concealed, that the instinct of\nsovereignty was unrecognized and unimaginable, and that the divine\nintent was unsought for, the institution being held quite sufficient to\nitself and needing no authentication beyond its existence. And such, I\napprehend, is the prevailing view among the clergy, whose worship of it\nis not identical with the adoration of the Infinite.\n\nOne cannot undertake to speak with knowledge on a subject so complicated\nas this is with private motives, personal temperaments, social\ncircumstances; but, as far as my memory goes, the clergy, as a class,\nhave been too much engaged with matters ecclesiastical to be deeply\ninterested in any cause of reform, and too timid to take the initiative\nin any matter involving disagreeable relations with controlling powers.\n\nWhile towards the rich the attitude of the clergy is one of allegiance,\ntowards the poor it has been one of patronage. This is a danger. \"The\npoor ye have always with you, and whenever ye will ye can do them good,\"\nexpresses their doctrine of charity. As if the poor were created in\norder that others might exercise beneficence; as if poverty was a\nprovidential institution, maintained in the interest of religion! It is\nhard in a so-called \"Christian\" community to get away from this view.\nThe modern scientific theory and the \"Christian\" theory are thus at war;\nthe former being intent on the well-being of society, the latter having\nin mind the cultivation of the individual in tenderness of sympathy; the\nformer educating intelligence, the latter educating feeling. Still there\nwas charity.\n\nThe Catholic Church, to say nothing here of any ecclesiastical purpose\nin keeping masses of men and women out of the world, gathered those who\ncould not help themselves into great buildings and took care of them. In\nthe Protestant Church the care of the poor has been held to be a\nreligious duty, and a large part of the efforts of Christian ministers\nis directed to the fostering of pity and generosity in the hearts of the\nwealthy. To give to those who had nothing was reckoned the chief of\ngraces, and \"charity\"--interpreted as love for those in want--was placed\nabove \"faith\" and \"hope,\" even when money alone was given. Not long ago\na Unitarian minister exhorted his congregation to set apart for the uses\nof the poor one tenth part of their annual income, and doubtless he had\nthe consciences of nearly all his hearers with him, for the monstrous\nproposition has been so often asserted as to seem by this time a\ncommonplace. Probably no man living does that or ever did, and the\npractice of it on a large scale would pauperize the community. Think of\nit! Five thousand dollars a year is not a great income, yet if every one\nwho had as much bestowed a tenth part of it on charitable objects what a\nfund for human demoralization would be raised! And when the income is\nten thousand, fifteen thousand, twenty thousand, the amount of\nimbecility created would be indescribable; inertia would be frightfully\nincreased, and multitudes would sit with folded hands who otherwise\nwould have lifted them to do some honest work. A moral lethargy would\nfall on the toiling masses; wealth-producing labor would shrink to\nnarrower and narrower limits, and a paralysis of energy would steal over\nthe will of those whose need of resolution is the sorest. Wealth would\nconsequently decrease, and the number of the givers get smaller and\nsmaller until accumulation, which is the life of the modern world as\ndistinguished from the ancient, would be blighted. The industrial\nclasses would be reduced to servitude, enormous fortunes would be\ngathered by fraud, speculation, cruelty, and progressive society would\nrelapse into sterility. Fortunately the minister could not persuade\npeople to adopt this fatal policy. Fortunately, in this particular,\nniggardliness went hand in hand with common-sense.\n\nThat the churches, under the lead of the ministers, have done a vast\ndeal in the direction of charity, so far from being denied or disputed,\nis cordially allowed and even maintained. Indeed, this has been their\nchief function, and they have discharged it with immense zeal and\nastonishing results.\n\nBut that it was an \"ideal\" profession is, as I said, a recommendation\nto the ministry. It is a broad foundation for spiritual-mindedness, for\nunworldliness. True, the habit of dealing with abstract topics, of\nholding commerce with purely speculative themes, of entertaining mere\ntheories which cannot be verified, of going back to what are called\n\"first principles,\" imparts a curiously vague, dreamy, impersonal,\nimpalpable character to the minister's intellect, rendering it unfit to\ntreat concrete questions of life or morals; for this reason he is not\noften successful as a man of business, a practical politician, a manager\nof affairs, his cast of mind disqualifying him for close consideration\nof details.\n\nThe duty of answering unanswerable questions, too, of solving problems\nthat are insoluble, of replying positively to what, from the nature of\nthings, he cannot know, gives him a kind of ingenuity which is not\ngenuine insight, but consists in subtle turnings, windings, in making\nfine distinctions and splitting hairs, and inventing ingenious\ninterpretations, rather than in keen insight or straightforward\nanalysis. He must seek ways of escape from his pursuers, and, when no\nother offers, hide in the thicket of mystery or run up the tree of\nfaith. He must, if possible, have an explanation ready, and, if he has\nnone, he must fall back on authority, and be impressive, addressing the\nsentiment of awe which is usually alive in every bosom, or, in the last\nresort, asseverating the truth of revelation, and thus silencing the\ndebate he cannot continue. If neither conscience is satisfied, his own\nor his interlocutor's, there is no remedy save in submission. He makes\nno attempt to clear up his conceptions, or, if he does, ends at last in\nvacuity or discontent. His neighbor, unconvinced, concludes that this is\na clerical subterfuge, and so far loses confidence in a profession he\ncannot understand. Probably he does not do it justice, but the effect is\nthe same,--a rooted depreciation such as would not be felt towards a\nlayman who simply said that he had no answer.\n\nThe minister, also, is generally committed to a conception of the\nuniverse as a product of the Supreme Will which, makes him an apologist.\nHe is, after a fashion, in the secret of God. He is supposed to deliver\nmessages and to utter oracles. His is the wisdom of the Eternal. His is\nthe Bible. His are the testimonies. He must follow the ways of the\nSpirit and defend the divine economy in the constitution of the world.\nBut in each case, every allowance being made for indefiniteness, for\nlargeness of statement and broadness of exposition, the minister must be\na champion of the Infinite Wisdom and Goodness, pledged to maintain it\nagainst all opponents; and however cordially he may choose that part,\nthe consciousness of being bound may act as a fretting annoyance, not to\nsay a galling restraint.\n\nA singular dogmatism often accompanies this claim to speak in the name\nof the Almighty; the minister must enunciate truths, not deliver\nopinions. An authoritative tone gets into his voice, pervades his\nmanner, affects his whole expression of face, is conveyed by his gait\nand walk, so that he is known at once from afar. Men hush their voices\nin his presence, ventilate thoughts not natural to them, conceal their\nactual sentiments, from a feeling that he is to be deferred to, not\nargued with like another man. The tone of the pulpit animates his\nconversation and works into the very structure of his thought. He is\nalways a preacher. The atmosphere of Sunday hangs about him. He carries\nthe New Testament into the parlor; unconsciously to himself he uses the\nlanguage of authority, and finds to his mortification that he is angered\nby dispute.\n\nThe duty of administering consolation to the afflicted adds to this\nvisionary frame of mind. Frequent intercourse with the suffering, sad,\nand bereaved, intimate commerce with sick-beds and graves, besides\ncreating ghostly dispositions, deepens his cast of thought. To comfort\npeople under disappointments, to smooth the rugged path, to quiet the\nperturbed heart, is a business to discharge which all the resources of\nfaith are called into requisition, and any means that will accomplish\nthe end in view are considered as justifiable. In the effort to find\ncomfortable things to say, the temptation to say pleasant things, easy\nthings, amiable things, to present the kindly aspect of Providence, and\nto indulge happy fancies in regard to human allotments and destiny, is\nexceedingly strong; so that one may come at last to believe himself what\ngives so much contentment to others in the severe crises of existence.\nThe loving heart is in perilous proximity to the thinking head. All the\nsweetest feelings of our nature, the wish to console people, to make\nthem patient, trusting, resigned, cheerful, are brought in to reinforce\nthe faith in a benignant purpose on the part of the Creator, and an\nunquestioning disposition is encouraged in the spiritual physician as\nwell as in the stricken patient.\n\nMr. Henry James says (\"Substance and Shadow,\" p. 214): \"Protestant men\nand women, those who have any official or social consequence in the\nchurch, are apt to exhibit a high-flown religious pride, a spiritual\nflatulence and sourness of stomach which you do not find under the\nCatholic administration.\" This is strong language, but not too strong\nconsidering the author's abhorrence of exclusiveness, separation,\nPharisaism, and his identification of this with official religion.\n\nIf humility is the base of all the virtues, as it is commonly reported,\nthen a profession that directly favors pride is not productive of the\nhighest type of character. And if love,--kindness, brotherhood,\nfellowship,--is the fulfilment of the law, then a calling that puts\ndesire in conflict with duty is not conducive to unity or peace, whether\nin the private mind or in the collective household. Character, as\n_naturally_ interpreted, consists of an innate superiority to one's\nfellow-men in the qualities that glorify humanity, purity,\nheavenly-mindedness, patience, earnestness, truthfulness, sincerity.\nCharacter, as _spiritually_ interpreted, consists of the cordial\naffiliation with one's fellow-men in the qualities that unite the atoms\nof humanity in love, compassion, humility, forgiveness, sympathy. But\nthe higher view has not prevailed in my experience; let me repeat, in\nthe most emphatic language at my command, my conviction that ministers\nas a body do not succumb to the temptations thus apparently incident to\ntheir profession.\n\nIt is commonly supposed that the intellectual part of the minister's\nlabor--the making of the sermons--is most severe. It is imagined that\nthe task of addressing the same audience every Sunday must be\nexceedingly arduous. This is a mistake. There is a facility of work in\nevery profession. The mind becomes accustomed to running in certain\ngrooves, to going through the same process of thinking, to applying the\nsame rules to many details of practice. The longer one's continuance in\nthe ministry, the easier this becomes. Experience accumulates. Themes\nmultiply. Novel suggestions occur. New thoughts arise. Fresh books are\nwritten. Singular questions are proposed. Problems present fresh\naspects. The old interests remain in all their force. Men never tire\nhearing about God, Immortality, Destiny. In truth, the intellectual\ndifficulties become less and less appalling until at last they\ndisappear. The real effort is to keep alive the feelings of humanity; to\novercome the inclination towards separation into classes; to avoid\ndistinguishing between persons; to keep love glowing; to maintain the\nsupremacy of soul; to identify spirituality with custom. The preaching\nis subordinate not to the private practice alone, but to the religious\nattitude towards mankind, which is conditioned on charity and the\nrecognition of human worth and sonship. The most beautiful trait in the\npastor is his universality, his simple, unaffected manhood.\n\nBut enough of criticism. It is a privilege to belong to a profession\noccupied with things ethereal; to be interested in the grandest themes;\nto hold intercourse with the loftiest minds; to live aloof from the\nworld; to put the happiest constructions on the events of human life; to\ninterpret Providence beneficently. And it is my firm persuasion that in\nproportion as the profession throws off the thraldom of ecclesiasticism\nand dogmatism, it increases in power and is sure to recover its ancient\nsuperiority.\n\n\n\n\nXII. MY TEACHERS.\n\n\nAmong Englishmen, I owe the most to James Martineau, at the time of my\nordination (1847), a Unitarian clergyman in Liverpool. His lectures in\nthe Unitarian controversy (1839) on \"Christianity without Priest and\nwithout Ritual,\" on \"The Christian View of Moral Evil,\" on \"The Bible:\nWhat It Is and What It is Not\"; his articles on \"Distinctive Types of\nChristianity,\" on \"Creeds and Heresies of Early Christianity,\" on \"The\nEthics of Christendom,\" on \"The Creed of Christendom,\" on \"St. Paul and\nHis Modern Students,\" made a profound impression on my mind. One passage\nin particular, at the close of the essay on \"The Ethics of Christendom,\"\nstill lingers in my memory:\n\n     The old antagonism between the world that now is and any other\n     that has been or is to come, has been modified, or has entirely\n     ceased.... _Here_ is the spot, _now_ is the time for the most\n     devoted service of God. No strains of heaven will wake man into\n     prayer, if the common music of humanity stirs him not. The\n     saintly company of spirits will throng around him in vain if he\n     finds no angels of duty and affection in his children, neighbors,\n     and friends. If no heavenly voices wander around him in the\n     present, the future will be but the dumb change of the shadow on\n     the dial. In short, higher stages of existence are not the refuge\n     of this, but the complement to it; and it is the proper wisdom of\n     the affections not to escape the one in order to seek the other,\n     but to flow forth in purifying copiousness on both.\n\nMartineau's intellectual fidelity, accurate learning, earnestness of\nfeeling, were exceedingly fascinating.\n\nIn this country Ralph Waldo Emerson was the great teacher. He gave an\natmosphere rather than a dogma. He was air and light. He is best\ndescribed, not as a philosopher, a man of letters, a poet, but as a\nseer. His gift was that of insight. This he tried to render\ncomprehensive, searching, intelligent, accurate, by reading, study,\nmeditation, the acquaintance of distinguished men; but he was never\nbeguiled into thinking that learning, eloquence, wit, constituted his\npeculiarity. He had a penetrating, eager, questioning look. His head was\nthrust out as if in quest of knowledge. His gaze was steady and intense.\nHis speech was laconic and to the purpose. His direct manner suggested a\nwish for closer acquaintance with the mind. His very courtesy, which was\ninvariable and exquisite in its way, had an air of inquiry about it.\nThere was no varnish, no studied grace of motion or demeanor, no\nmanifest desire to please, but a kind of wistfulness as of one who took\nyou at your best and wanted to draw it out. He accosted the soul, and\nwith the winning persuasiveness which befits friendliness on human\nterms. There was a certain shyness which indicated the modesty which is\nborn of the spirit.\n\nBut a commanding doer he certainly was not; that is, he was no man of\nexpedients, of practical resources, of merely executive will. He\nappreciated this kind of ability, as his lecture on Napoleon shows, but\nhe possessed little of it, his Yankee ingenuity being more confined in\nits range. The moral courage belonged to him, the earnestness, the\nfaith, but his ethereal qualities lacked driving force. His principles\nmade him interested in every movement of reform, for he had a boundless\nhope which led him sometimes into extravagant anticipations of truth and\nbenefit. Every sign of life, intellectual, moral, spiritual, caught his\neye, and so long as it promised new developments of power his eager\nsympathy went with it, but when the creative period ceased he turned\naway. He early enlisted in the anti-slavery cause, not because he had\nentire confidence in the negro, or specially liked the abolitionists,\nbut because he demanded the utmost liberty for all men in order that\nsubstantial advantages might be widely shared; but he was not prominent\namong the workers of that reform. His name stood foremost in the list of\nthose who claimed the emancipation of woman from social or political\ndisability, not that he was a worker in the woman's-rights phalanx, not\nthat he looked for any immediate benefit from that agitation, or felt\nany particular interest in the leaders or in the success of that\nindividual crusade, but that he was in favor of the largest opportunity\nfor all human beings, and wished every particle of power to be used.\nFrom the first he welcomed the Free Religious Association as giving\npromise of original light, greater breadth, fresh vigor, new revelations\nof knowledge in that most ideal, but most deplorably limited, of all\nspheres; but when in his view that promise was unfulfilled, though his\nname still stood with those of its vice-presidents, he ceased to take\nany part in its proceedings or to feel any personal concern in its\naffairs. There was something theoretical, speculative, in his attitude\nas a reformer. His philosophy pledged him to the utmost individualism,\nand this called for the utmost liberty, that each might receive all he\ncould of the divine fulness and be as much as his nature required. Hence\nhis own limited expectation; hence his enthusiasm in behalf of\nindividuals like Walt Whitman, John Brown, Henry Thoreau; hence the\nlight that came into his eyes when he sat in some reform convention\nwhere high thoughts were spoken. His word was given, and it was always\ninspiring, emancipating, uplifting, heard in the valleys from the\ndizziest heights of vision; but force was not his to give. Such words\nwere more than \"half battles,\" to be sure, so invigorating were they to\nall the champions of good causes, but they were _words_ still, and\nseemed to proceed from some upper region of impersonal mind. They\nexpressed convictions, feelings, desires, but there was lack of blood in\nthem. They seemed made of air; there was soul behind them, but not as\nmuch body as many wished. In a word, all the ideal elements were\npresent. He was a man who believed, felt, hoped, had vast resources of\nfaith, but was a thinker more than an actor. Thinking is indeed doing,\nyet not in the same sphere of achievement.\n\nEmerson recognized the limitations of genius. \"Life is a scale of\ndegrees,\" he says in the lecture on the \"Uses of Great Men.\"\n\n     Between rank and rank of our great men are wide intervals. Mankind\n     have in all ages attached themselves to a few persons who, either\n     by the quality of that idea they embodied, or by the largeness of\n     their reception, were entitled to the position of leaders and\n     lawgivers.... With each new mind a new secret of nature transpires;\n     nor can the Bible be closed until the last great man is born.... We\n     cloy of the honey of each peculiar greatness. Every hero becomes a\n     bore at last.... We balance one man with his opposite, and the\n     health of the state depends on the see-saw.\n\nEmerson looks forward to the time when all souls shall lie open to the\nheavenly influx, and he regards greatness as an earnest of that\npossibility. What disappointments he must have felt as he was forced to\nturn away from people who should have been saints and heroes, but were\nnone! What bitter moments he must have known when he stretched out his\narms to welcome a goddess and embraced only a cloud! But his\nexpectations continued eager; no feature betrayed evidence that these\npractical refutations of his theory had effect on his heart.\n\nWhether Emerson's constant belief in the Over-soul, his stubborn theism,\nhis persuasion of an immanent God, was an advantage or a disadvantage to\nhis philosophical view of the universe may be doubted. On the one hand,\nwe cannot question the fact that he owed to it his enthusiastic faith in\nthe substantial unity of creation, his optimism, his assurance of future\nprogress, his confidence in man, his moral earnestness, his elevation of\nsoul, his buoyancy of spirit, his forwardness in all endeavors after\nreform. On the other hand, it can hardly be denied that it led him to\ntake some things for granted, diverted his mind from the unprejudiced\nobservation of phenomena, prevented his rendering full justice to the\nscientific method, was the cause of wide aberrations in his estimates of\nhuman character, and of a curious onesidedness in his judgments on human\ncondition.\n\nEmerson was always profoundly religious, at heart a supernaturalist. The\nblood of centuries of pious ancestors was in his veins. His soul was\nuppermost, not his intellect nor his heart. He was a closet man, a\nminister at the altar. True, he rejected every form of the religious\nsentiment, and moved with entire freedom among dogmas however expressed\nin word or in rite. Every attempt at giving voice to spiritual emotion\nwas disagreeable to him.\n\n    I like a church; I like a cowl;\n    I like a prophet of the soul;\n    And on my heart monastic aisles\n    Fall like sweet strains or pensive smiles;\n    Yet not for all his faith can see\n    Would I that cowled churchman be.\n\nTheology had fallen from him like a shroud. He would not venture any\ndefinition of the spiritual laws. Doctrine had become faith; prayer was\nchanged into aspiration; the speechless utterance was the only one he\ncordially listened to. But faith he held fast; aspiration he cherished;\nthe inarticulate language of the eternal was ever in his ears.\n\nEver and anon would come a burst of conviction. \"Oh, my brothers, God\nexists!\" he cries in an ecstasy of emotion. Some years ago Emerson\nseemed fascinated by the inductive method, so that some of his admirers\nthought he would become a convert to physical science. But the bent of\nhis nature asserted itself, and he pursued the deductive system as\nbefore. His passion for \"First Truths,\" as they were called, was\nirresistible. He could not abandon the philosophy of intuition, and all\nhis studies--comprehensive, profound, and original as they were,--his\ninsatiable thirst for knowledge, his inordinate appetite for details of\nfact, incidents, anecdotes, gleanings from literature of every kind,\nwere subservient to this.\n\nEmerson's serenity is often spoken of as evidence of the power of his\nreligious faith. It may allow of this construction, but it may be\naccounted for on other and different grounds which lie nearer at hand\nand proceed immediately from more obvious sources. How far may a long\nancestral experience in devout meditations, practices, longings, worked\ninto the system and producing a sedate, calm, interior temperament, go\nin explaining that almost imperturbable tranquillity? The piety of his\nforefathers was so genuine that it drove him from the church of his\nadoption, and rendered another calling sacred. Their descendant\nexhibited the same saintliness which they possessed but in a different\nfashion. And he was probably saintlier than they were, because he was\ntheir child. His brothers had the same characteristic of equanimity by\nvirtue of the same parentage. His brother William, whom I knew\nintimately in New York, showed in his daily life a similar dignity, and\ntradition reports the same of Charles. It was the perfect fruitage of\ncenturies of heavenly-minded men, not the peculiarity of an individual\nsoul.\n\nThis predisposition to inwardness was favored by the long seclusion of\nConcord, which kept Emerson aloof from the world and prevented the\nfriction which is so damaging to serenity. He saw those only who\nrespected, loved, honored, and revered him. He came into collision with\nnone. Men of thought, unambitious men, students, farmers, were his\nfellow-townsmen. Several hours in each day he was alone with his books\nor his mind. When he visited the city it was for an intellectual or\nsocial purpose, as one who had dropped from a star and was soon to\nvanish. His contact was with men of letters, clergymen, publishers,\nfriends, gentlemen interested in mental pursuits who had left their\nbusiness in order to disport themselves in the fields of thought. These\nadded to his stores of wisdom, and sent him home replenished rather than\ndrained. The gains of his day were not dissipated either by business\noccupation or pleasure.\n\nThen, whether from disposition or philosophy we cannot tell, this man\navoided everything dark, evil, unwholesome, unpleasant. Sickness of all\nkinds, complaint, depression, melancholy, was an abomination to him. He\nturned away from ugly sights and sounds, thus evading conflict. He never\nargued, never discussed, but said his word as well as he could, and\nencouraged others to say theirs, in this way hoping to get at the truth.\nBy this course he escaped the usual provocations to ill-temper, and was\nforced upon an undisturbed equipoise of mind. Nothing helps serenity so\nmuch as avoidance of contest, and when one can thoroughly convince\nhimself that there is no rooted evil in the world to be fought against,\nan even condition of soul is not hard to maintain; optimism is\nproverbially cheerful, but an optimism that is grounded in principle\nmust be unconquerable by any force that circumstances can bring against\nit.\n\nIt must be remembered that Emerson was not a man of warm temperament,\nnot tropical in color or in heat; more like the morning, cool and\nbreezy, than like the sultry noon-day, or the glowing evening; more like\nthe dewy spring, than the effulgent summer or the fruit-bearing autumn;\nnot a child of the sun, rather suggesting the still, white, imaginative\nmoonlight. There was an air of remoteness about him. His remark to the\ninn-keeper,--\"heat me red-hot,\" tells the story. Simple habits kept his\nframe wiry, and a New England nurture saved his mind from luxuriant\nuncleanness. By nature he was passionless. The beautiful \"Threnody\" on\nthe death of his boy, reveals the sorrow of a soaring mind rather than\nthe grief of a crushed heart. To command one's self enough for such an\neffort evinces a rare power of rising above mortal conditions. Such a\nconstitution finds solitude congenial and is calm by force of\ninclination. Friendship seems an emotion better suited than love to that\nethereal soul, which was always radiant but seldom burning, benignant,\nseldom craving, always gracious in imparting, seldom hungry for\nreceiving. One might walk in his illumination, but one could hardly bask\nin his heat, or lie on his bosom, or nestle near his heart. They that\nknew him at home may speak more warmly of him, but thus he appeared to\npeople outside; thus he appeared to many who had admired him as I did\nand tried to get close to him.\n\nThe love of wild, untrimmed nature, the want of interest in cultivated\ngardens, was part of his theory of the universe as the expression of\nGod; the richer, the less it was interfered with. He would approach as\nnear to the Creator as possible, listening for the divine voice, which\nwas most clearly heard in the wilderness. To the same source must be\nascribed his partiality for wild, untrained men,--foresters, hunters,\npioneers, trappers, back-woodsmen. He sought everywhere after\noriginality, freshness, power, in individuals and in groups. He hailed a\ngenius, however rough. Unconventionality excited his enthusiasm to such\na degree that he could scarcely contain himself, but said the most\nextravagant things in the ecstasy of his hope. Men of polished outside\nhe did not care for; mechanical men, however successful, politicians,\nhowever popular and adroit, were his aversion. Accomplishments, however\ngreat, scholarship however finished, he did not respect. He wanted the\nrough, uncut gem. Genius of whatever description, in whatever class,\nwhatever its order or grade, was his joy. In him the love of truth\npredominated. He submitted to the inconvenience of imperfect opinion,\nbut respected the highest law of his being. He believed in the eternal\nlaws of mind, in the self-existence of right, in purity, veracity,\ngoodness. He was one of the most honest of men, one of the cleanest, and\nhe did his utmost to bring his life into correspondence with his best\nthought. That all created things must be imperfect was part of his\ncreed; that this imperfection ran through human character he was as much\nconvinced as any man; and his efforts were unceasing to turn men's eyes\ntowards the beauty \"ancient but ever new,\" which he in his moments of\ninsight beheld. No one lives up to his most exalted faith. No one ever\nendeavored to do so more sincerely and humbly than Ralph Waldo Emerson.\n\nIn my early ministry, the discourses of Dr. Orville Dewey on \"Human\nNature,\" \"Human Life,\" \"The Nature of Religion,\" seemed all-sufficing. I\nread them over and over again with increasing admiration, and his\nsolutions of spiritual problems were accepted as final.\n\nMiss Mary Dewey, in the admirable memoir of her father, lays great\nstress on his affectionate qualities. These cannot be too emphatically\nasserted; yet they probably had more scope than even she suspected.\nIndeed, unless I am much mistaken, they formed the basis of his\ncharacter. He was a most deep-feeling man. He loved his friends in and\nout of the profession, with a loyal, hearty, obliging, warm, and even\ntender emotion, expressing itself in word and deed. It was overflowing,\nnot in any sentimental manner, but in a manly, sincere way. He was a man\nof infinite good-will, of a quite boundless kindness. His voice, his\nexpression of face, his smile, the grasp of his hand,--all gave sign of\nit. He felt things keenly; his sensibilities were most acute; even his\nthoughts were suffused with emotion. He could not discuss speculative\nthemes as if they were cold or dry. Nothing was arid to his mind. In\nprayer it was not unusual for his audience to discern tears rolling down\nhis cheeks. One day, in his study, on speaking about the intellectual\nimplications of the \"Philosophie Positive,\" he dropped his head and\nseemed for a moment lost in reverie largely made up of devotion. In him,\nheart was uppermost; intellect, conscience, were of subordinate value\nwhen taken alone; in fact, they were incomplete by themselves, and\nwanted their proper substance. He said once that his skin was so\ndelicate that the least soil on his hands was felt all through his\nsystem and prevented him from working. This excessive sensibility, which\ncould not be understood by the world at large, was at the bottom of his\nlikes and dislikes, of his personal fears and hopes. Excitement drained\noff his strength. He exhausted himself physically, and fell into\nill-health by exertions that would not have taxed an ordinary\nconstitution. It cost him a great deal to write sermons, to visit the\nsick or sorrowing, to conduct public services. At the same time, he was\ndisqualified, by a certain want of steel in his blood, for any but the\nclerical profession, where qualities like his are of inestimable value,\nand of the rarest kind. He was a minister from the beginning, always\nprofoundly interested in questions of the interior life, and though he\nearly left the orthodox communion and became a preacher of Unitarian\nChristianity, making it his work to apply religious ideas to all the\nconcerns of the natural world and the secular life, he retained all the\nfervor of spirit that charaterized the most devout believer. A vein of\npassionate feeling ran through all his discourses, and while his themes\nwere taken from daily existence, his thoughts were fixed on eternity. He\nwas absorbed in the destiny of the human soul, of the _individual_ soul,\nbringing all discussions to that point, and trying to make lasting\nimpressions on the spiritual natures of men and women.\n\nWhen I first knew him he had the reputation of being a self-indulgent\nman. This was a great mistake. His way of life was exceedingly simple,\nand his habits were almost abstemious. In fact, neither his physical nor\nhis mental constitution allowed of any indulgence in eating or drinking.\nStill the impression was a natural one, for a certain amount of ease,\nexemption from care, gayety, was necessary to him. The society of\nelegant, accomplished people was indispensable to his recreation and\nrest. His motive for seeking such was not the love of luxury so much as\na demand for recreation and a craving for repose. He was not, in any\nsense, an earthy man or one who loved sensual delights. On the contrary,\nhe was always mindful of his calling, always intent on high subjects,\nalways ready to lead intercourse upwards, always, to the extent of his\npower, interested in the moral aspect of current discussions;\nover-anxious, if anything, to approach speculative themes. He possessed\nan eager, unresting, questioning mind. He was always thinking, and on\ngreat subjects of theology or philosophy, and he put into them an amount\nof feeling that is extraordinary with intellectual men.\n\nThat he should have been so sensitive as he was to the words and\nsuspicions of anti-slavery men who charged him with being an advocate of\na fugitive-slave law, an apologist for slavery, a ready tool of the\ninhuman, reactionary party of the country, is not surprising. His dread\nof pain, his hatred of falsehood, his horror of injustice, his love of\nfair play, will sufficiently account for this; while the impossibility\nof explaining himself kept the wound open. That for thirty years the\nsore should have bled, shows the delicacy of his temperament and the\nshrinking nature of his will. To speak of him as a friend of slavery is\nabsurd. No one can read his sermon on \"The Slavery Question,\" preached\nshortly after the annexation of Texas and at a moment of great\nexcitement at the North in regard to the advances of the slave-power,\nand not perceive that he was deeply moved.\n\n\"_Are these people_ MEN?\" he said; \"that is the question. If they\nare _men_, it will not do to make them instruments for mere\nconvenience,--for the mere tillage of the soil;--if they are _men_, it\nis not enough to say that they have a sort of animal freedom from care,\nand joyance of spirits. If they are _men_, they are to be cultivated;\ntheir faculties are to be regarded as precious; they are to be\nimproved.... If he is a _man_, then he is not only improvable and ought\nto be improved, but he _will improve_ in spite of all we can do.\" And a\ngreat deal more to the same effect. He indignantly protested against\ntreating \"an intelligent creature, a fellow-being, a brother-man, a\nbeing capable of indefinite expansion and immortal progress,\" as one\nwould treat a tree, a flower, an ox, or a horse. \"Grant that the African\nof the present generation cannot be raised to our stature; yet if in the\ncourse of ages he may be, and if it is our policy systematically to\narrest or to retard his growth, does the case materially differ from\nwhat I have supposed?\" Namely that of a child. Dr. Dewey visited\nslave-States and talked with slave-holders in order to make himself\nfully acquainted with the condition of opinion and of feeling about the\ncase, and he took occasion everywhere to argue the Northern side. This\nought to be enough in the way of vindication of his personal sentiments.\n\nAt the same time, he was a Unionist of the Webster school. His\nattachment to the Union was intense. Disunion in his judgment meant\nceaseless discord, the end of republican institutions, the arrest of\ncivilization, the indefinite postponement of progress, the hopelessness\nof education and uplifting for the slave, the withdrawal of Northern\ninfluence, the final overthrow of government by moral powers. A long\nreign of anarchy, in the course of which the lovers of the race must see\ntheir visions of good disappear, would supervene, and this he could not\ncontemplate with equanimity.\n\nThen he was an old-fashioned enemy of war, especially of civil war. He\nwas a sincere lover of peace, and a believer in the arts of peace, in\nindustry, education, the diffusion of intelligence, the weaving of the\nties of fraternity; and though he acknowledged the heroic mission of\nstrife, he recoiled instinctively from it. War, in his estimation, was\nan inevitable necessity in the order of the world, but it was an awful\nelement in the \"world problem\"; \"a fearful scourge,\" a condition to be\noutgrown along with vice, passion, injustice, selfishness, ambition, a\nsign that is destined to disappear as intelligence and Christianity come\nin. It must be submitted to as an ordination of Providence, but it\nshould never be precipitated by men, least of all should it be brought\non hastily, by unreasonableness, malignity, or hate. The evils of war\nwere precisely such as appealed most directly to his imagination; they\nwere so personal, they were so domestic, they were so pitiable, they\nwere so full of tears. He shrank from violence, from rage, from party\nambition, from curses and cries. He loved his countrymen, and, so long\nas any reason remained, he could not bear to think of fighting. So long\nas any oil was left in the can, the troubled waters were not to be\nabandoned by the peace-makers. It was much for him to have patience with\nthose who used angry words, even in a cause of righteousness. He, for\nhis part, could not scold or overstate, or do anything in a harsh\ntemper.\n\nDr. Dewey believed in colonization; not necessarily in Africa, but in a\nseparation between the white and black races, in the civilization of the\nnegro. In the tenth lecture of the course on \"The Problem of Human\nDestiny\" (1864), he takes occasion to welcome \"the great hope\" that thus\nwas opened \"for purging our American soil from the stain of slavery.\nMany of us have long been asking how this is to be done. Look at Africa,\nsurrounded by a wall of darkness, and filled with cruelty and blood,\nwith no civilizing influence in herself, as the story of ages has\nproved; what now do we see? Britain sends to her borders the\nman-stealer, to tear her children from her bosom and transport them to\nthe American colonies. It was a deed of unmingled atrocity, compared\nwith which capture in war was generous and honorable; the African King\nof Dahomey grows white by the side of the Saxon slave-trader. But what\nfollows? The African people in this country improve, and are now far\nadvanced beyond their kindred at home. And now they begin to return;\nthey are building a state on their native borders which promises to stop\nthe slave trade with Africa and to spread light and civilization through\nher dark solitudes.\" At the close of his discourse on the slavery\nquestion, he said:\n\n     If I were to propose a plan to meet the duties and perils of this\n     tremendous emergency that presses upon us, I would engage the whole\n     power of this nation, the willing co-operation of the North and the\n     South, if it were possible, to prepare this people for freedom; and\n     then I would give them a country beyond the mountains,--say the\n     Californias,--where they might be a nation by themselves. Ah! if\n     the millions upon millions spent upon a Mexican war could be\n     devoted to this purpose,--if all the energies of this country could\n     be employed for such an end,--what a noble spectacle were it for\n     all the world to behold, of help and redemption to an enslaved\n     people! What a purifying and ennobling ministration for ourselves!\n\nThe intimacy with Dr. Charming re-inforced the conclusions which were\nnative to Dr. Dewey's temperament. The moderate view, the dread of\noverstatement, the fear of fanaticism, the faith in reason, the love of\ntranquillity, the desire after truth, were rooted in his mind. His\nconstitutional conservatism was confirmed. Then he was a Unitarian, and\ntherefore rational in his methods, inclined to judge by arguments, to\nsift opinions by the understanding. The abolitionists were, for the most\npart, either Calvinists or transcendentalists, people who followed an\ninward voice, who placed interior conviction before ratiocination, and\nencouraged moral sentiment to take the lead in action, blowing coals\ninto a flame, and not content unless they saw a blaze. The Unitarians,\nas a class, were not ardent disciples of any moral cause, and took pride\nin being reasoners, believers in education, and in general social\ninfluence, in the progress of knowledge, and the uplifting of humanity\nby means of ideas. The habit of discountenancing passion may have been\nfostered in a school like this. Perhaps if young Dewey had continued in\nhis old belief he would have been a more vehement reformer than he was.\nHis natural glow was softened down into a mild effulgence, communicating\nwarmth to his convictions, but not producing a burning zeal for any\nsubstance of doctrine.\n\nHis power of emotion made him a powerful preacher but prevented his\nbeing a great philosopher. Dr. Bellows, who was his close friend for\nmany years, described him as a man of \"massive intellectual power,\" and\nthen went on to impute to him the gifts that belong to the pulpit\norator: \"poetic imagination,\" a \"rare dramatic faculty of\nrepresentation.\" Perhaps by \"massive\" Dr. Bellows meant the power to\nthrow thoughts in a mass, with cumulative effect. This power Dr. Dewey\ncertainly possessed in an extraordinary degree. But of philosophical\ntalent he had little. Indeed, he seemed to be conscious of this himself.\nAt the end of his first lecture before the Lowell Institute he said:\n\n     I am not sorry that the place and occasion require me to make this\n     a popular theme. I am not to speak for philosophers, but for the\n     people. I wish to meet the questions which arise in all minds that\n     have awaked to any degree of reflection upon their nature and\n     being, and upon the collective being of their race. I have hoped\n     that I should escape the charge of presumption by the humbleness of\n     my attempt--the attempt, that is to say, to popularize a theme\n     which has hitherto been the domain of scholars.\n\nThe lecture assumes the existence of a Personal God, the reality of a\nconscious soul, the freedom of the human will, the fact of a moral\npurpose in creation, the perfectibility of man, the idea of progress,\nthe evidence of design in the universe attesting a divine intelligence.\nThe treatment nowhere shows metaphysical acumen or speculative insight.\nOn every page is brilliancy, eloquence, skilful manipulation of\narguments, fervent appeal to conscience. Nowhere is subtilty or depth of\nintuition. Take for example the discourse on \"The Problem of Evil,\" the\nmost intellectually exacting of all subjects. It ends thus after a\nseries of pictures:\n\n     Give me freedom, give me knowledge, give me breadth of experience;\n     I would have it all. No memory is so hallowed, no memory is so\n     dear, as that of temptation nobly withstood, or of suffering nobly\n     endured. What is it that we gather and garner up from the solemn\n     story of the world, like its struggles, its sorrows, its\n     martyrdoms? Come to the great battle, thou wrestling, glorious,\n     marred nature! strong nature! weak nature! Come to the great\n     battle, and in this mortal strife strike for immortal victory! The\n     highest Son of God, the best beloved of Heaven that ever stood upon\n     earth, was \"made perfect through suffering.\" And sweeter shall be\n     the cup of immortal joy, for that it once was dashed with bitter\n     drops of pain and sorrow; and brighter shall roll the everlasting\n     ages, for the dark shadows that clouded the birth-time of our\n     being.\n\nThis is not argument, but preaching--- very fine, stimulating, powerful\npreaching, but preaching nevertheless; quite different from James\nMartineau's treatment of the same theme, in the course of the Liverpool\nlectures (delivered in 1839). Mr. Martineau, too, addressed a popular\nassembly, and closed his discourse in a strain of exhortation. Still,\nthe grave tone of the previous discussion sobered the rhetoric, and the\nbackground of the ancient debate made the moral lessons solemn.\nPhilosophy yielded to the necessities of ethics, much as the \"Kritik der\nReinen Vernunft\" gave place to the \"Kritik der Practischen Vernunft\" of\nKant--the preacher and the reasoner standing indeed on different ground,\nbut the moral instruction being tempered by the philosophical.\n\nOrville Dewey was a great preacher, perhaps the greatest that the\nUnitarian communion has produced; greater as a preacher than Dr.\nChanning, because more various and more sympathetic, nearer to the\npopular heart, less inspired by grand ideas, and for that reason more\nmoving. He was imbued with Channing's fundamental thought--the \"Dignity\nof Human Nature,\"--and illustrated it with a wealth of imagination,\nenforced it by an urgency of appeal, quickened it by an affluence of\ndramatic representation all his own. His function was to apply this\ndoctrine to every incident of life, to politics, business, art,\nliterature, society, amusement, and he did this with a boldness, a\nfreedom, a frankness unusual at any time, but without example when he\nwas in the ministry. I shall never forget, in one of his sermons, an\nallusion to a symphony of Beethoven which gave me a new conception of\nthe essential humanity of the pulpit's office, of the close association\nthat there was between religion and art. His conversational style,\nimpassioned but not stilted and never turgid, was exceedingly\nimpressive, while his constant employment of the forms of reasoning\nadded weight to his sentences. The discourse was plain, and yet from its\ncopiousness it was ornate; and the affectionate tone assumed an air of\ngrave remonstrance which was deepened in effect by the appearance of\nformal logic. The hearer seemed to be admitted to the secrets of a\nliving, earnest mind, and to be listening to something more than the\nusual enunciations of ethical principle. At the same time his own will\nwas consulted, he was taken into partnership with the orator and\nintroduced to the processes of conviction. His state of feeling was\nconsidered, his objections were met, his scruples answered, his\narguments confronted. He was, in short, treated like a rational being,\nto be reasoned with, not to be looked down upon.\n\nDr. Dewey was always a friend of liberal thought. There are no more\nsignificant pages in his daughter's memoir of him than those which\ncontain his correspondence with Mr. Chadwick, one of the most radical of\nUnitarian divines. He was himself a student of divinity at Andover,\nearly converted to Unitarianism, became an assistant and warm friend of\nDr. Channing, but instead of remaining stationary in dogmatic faith,\ntook a rational view of all religious questions, favored the largest\nliberality, and welcomed every effort to adapt spiritual ideas to actual\nknowledge. He had no dogmatic prepossessions, and no professional fears.\nWhat he asked for was sincerity coupled with earnestness. This being\ngiven, conclusions, within certain limits, of course, were of little\nmoment. Theodore Parker used to sadden and irritate him, but less on\naccount of his opinions than on account of his pugnacious manner in\nexpressing them. Parker rather despised him for what he regarded as his\ntime-serving disposition, and could not understand his mental delicacy;\nbut men who thought as Parker did were even then on the best terms with\nDr. Dewey, whose mellowness, on the whole, increased instead of\ndiminishing with age, and was greatest in his declining years.\n\nHe was a man fond of personalities; even in his addresses on the\ngreatest themes, he would if possible narrow the subject down to the\nmeasure of individual application. Thus when lecturing on \"The Problem\nof Evil,\" after submitting various considerations, he adds:\n\n     Broad and vast and immense as that problem may appear, it is after\n     all, in actual experience, purely individual.... The truth is,\n     nobody has experienced more of it than you or I have, or might\n     have, experienced. With regard to all the intrinsic difficulties of\n     the case, it is as if one life had been lived in the world; and\n     since no man has lived another's life, or any life but his own,\n     there _has been_ to actual individual consciousness _but one life_\n     of thirty, seventy, or a hundred years lived on earth. The problem\n     really comes within that compass.... If I can solve the problem of\n     existence for myself, I have solved it for everybody; I have solved\n     it for the human race.... Do you and I find anything in this our\n     life that makes us prize it, anything that makes us feel that we\n     had rather have it than have it not? Doubtless we do and other men\n     do; all men do.\n\nThis passage illustrates well the tendency to personal reference that\ndistinguished the man. In a discourse on war delivered before the Peace\nSociety he resolves its miseries into those of the individual, as if\nmass--affecting, as it does, nations, civilizations, humanity\nitself--counted for nothing. This tendency explains his fondness for his\nfriends, his strength of sympathy, his tenacity of attachment, his love\nfor people. It does not betoken a broad, deep, philosophic mind, but it\ndoes betoken a warm, clinging, affectionate nature.\n\nIt made him too a charming feature in society, a delightful talker, an\neasy, graceful, delectable companion, an interested adviser and\ncounsellor, a beloved person in his family, an excellent townsman.\n\nWe should be grateful for this, that one has lived to irradiate a\nsomewhat sad profession, to warm the bleak spaces of mortal existence,\nto throw a gleam of gladness upon the sunless problems of human destiny.\nIt is a great deal to be assured that a living heart has walked with us,\nand that a living voice has proclaimed the heart-side of man's lot.\n\n\n\n\nXIII. MY COMPANIONS.\n\n\nThese were many, but most of them are living and cannot, therefore, be\nspoken of. There is an advantage in writing about the dead, for they\ncannot protest against the handsome things you say, and they cannot\nremonstrate against the unhandsome things. I shall on this account\nchoose but two, with whom I was very intimate, and who are very near to\nmy heart. I shall give sketches of John Weiss and Samuel Johnson, and\nfirst of John Weiss.[*]\n\n    [*] Reprinted from the _Unitarian Review_ of May, 1888.\n\nThis man was a flame of fire. He was genius unalloyed by terrestrial\nconsiderations; a spirit lamp always burning. He had an overflow of\nnervous vitality, an excess of spiritual life that could not find vents\nenough for its discharge. As his figure comes before me it seems that of\none who is more than half transfigured. His large head; his ample brow;\nhis great, dark eyes; his \"sable-silvered\" beard and full moustache; his\ngray hair, thick and close on top, with the strange line of black\nbeneath it, like a fillet of jet; his thin, piping, penetrating, tenuous\nvoice, that trembled as it conveyed the torrent of thought; the rapid,\nsudden manner, suggesting sometimes the lark and sometimes the eagle;\nthe small but sinewy body; the delicate hands and feet; the sensitive\ntouch, feeling impalpable vibrations and detecting movements of\nintelligence within the folds of organization (they say he could tell\nthe character of a great writer by holding a sealed letter from his\nhand),--all indicated a half-disembodied soul. His spoken addresses and\nwritten discourses confirm the impression.\n\nI first met him at the meetings of the \"Hook-and-Ladder,\"[*] a\nministerial club of which we both were members. At the house of Thomas\nStarr King, in Boston, he read a sermon on the supremacy of the\nspiritual element in character, which impressed me as few pulpit\nutterances ever did, so fine was it, so subtle, yet so massive in\nconviction. Illustrations that he used stay by me now, after the lapse\nof more than forty years. I next heard him in New Bedford, at the\ninstallation of Charles Lowe, when, in ill-health and feeble, he gave,\nin substance, the discourse on Materialism, afterwards published in the\nvolume on \"Immortal Life.\" It struck me then as exceedingly able; and it\nderived force from the intense earnestness of its delivery, as by one\nwho could look into the invisible world, and could speak no light word\nor consult transient effects. Many years later, I listened, in New York,\nto his lectures on Greek ideas, the keenest interpretation of the\nancient myths, the most profound, luminous, sympathetic, I have met\nwith. He had the faculty of reading between the lines, of apprehending\nthe hidden meaning, of setting the old stories in the light of universal\nideas, of lighting up allusions. The lecture on Prometheus I remember as\nespecially radiant and inspiring; but they were all remarkable for\npositive suggestions of a very noble kind.\n\n    [*] We copy from a private letter the following account of the\n    origin of this club and of its grotesque name, which has lost, alas!\n    its significance to the younger generation. \"In the year 1844 (I\n    think it was) a few of us young ministers formed a club, including\n    Charles Brigham, Edward Hale, John Weiss, with one or two elders, as\n    Dr. Hedge and, later, O. B. Frothingham, Starr King, W. R. Alger,\n    William B. Greene, and others. We went long without a name, in spite\n    of my urgent appeals as Secretary, till one fine day, at George R.\n    Russell's house in West Roxbury, in an after-dinner frolic, Weiss\n    turned the garden-engine hose upon a fellow-member and drenched him\n    from head to foot; upon which escapade it was unanimously agreed to\n    call ourselves the 'Hook-and-Ladder,' by which name the memory of it\n    is fondly kept among us to this day. A similar older fraternity had\n    gone by the name of the 'Railroad Association,' and, in imitation,\n    when it was proposed to borrow a title from some like line of\n    industry we, on this sudden whim, chose the fire-department.\"\n\nHis genius was eminently religious. Not, indeed, in any customary\nfashion, nor after any usual way. He belonged to the Rationalists, was a\nProtestant of an extreme type, an avowed adherent of the most \"advanced\"\nviews, a speaker on the Free Religious platform, a writer for the\n_Massachusetts Quarterly_, and for the _Radical_. His was a purely\nnatural, scientific, spiritual faith, unorthodox to the last\ndegree,--logically, historically, critically, sentimentally so,--so on\nprinciple and with fixed purpose. The accepted theory of religion\nexcited his indignation, his scorn, his amazement, and his mirth. He\ncould brook no dogmatic limitations, even of the most liberal sect, but\nwent on and on, past all barriers, facing all adversaries, confronting\nevery difficulty, and resting only when there was nothing more to\ndiscover. He had an agonized impatience to know whatever was to be\nknown, to get at the ultimate data of assurance. Nothing less would\nsatisfy him. His cup of joy was not full till he could touch the bottom.\nThen it overflowed, and there was glee as of a strong swimmer who is\nsure of his tide. His exultation is almost painful, as he welcomes fact\nafter fact, feeling more and more positive, with each new demonstration\nof science, that the advent of certainty was by so much nearer. Evidence\nthat to most minds seemed fatal to belief was, in his sight,\nconfirmatory of it, as rendering its need more clear and more imperious.\n\"We need be afraid of nothing in heaven or earth, whether dreamt of or\nnot in our philosophy.\" \"The position of theistic naturalism entitles it\nnot to be afraid of all the scientific facts that can be produced.\"\n\"There is dignity in dust that reaches any form, because it eventually\nbetrays a forming power, and ceases to be dust by sharing it.\" \"It is a\nwonder to me that scholars and clergymen are so skittish about\nscientific facts.\" \"We owe a debt to the scientific man who can show how\nmany moral customs result from local and ethnic experiences, and how the\nconscience is everywhere capable of inheritance and education. He cannot\nbring us too many facts of this description, because we have one fact\ntoo much for him; namely, a latent tendency of conscience to repudiate\ninheritance and every experience of utility, to fly in its face with a\nforecast of a transcendental utility that supplies the world with its\nredeemers, and continually drags it out of the snug and accurate\nadjustment of selfishness to which it arrives.\" There is a great deal to\nthe same purpose. In fact, Mr. Weiss cannot say enough on this head. He\naccepts the doctrine of evolution in its whole length and breadth. \"Of\nwhat consequence is it whence the living matter is derived? We are not\nappalled at the possibility that organic matter may be made out of\nnon-living, or, more properly, inorganic matter. We are nerved for such\na result, whether it occur in the laboratory or in nature, by the\nconviction that the spiritual functions are no more imperilled by using\nmatter in any way, than that the Creator hazarded his existence by\noriginating matter in some way to be used by himself and by us.\"\n\"Science does me this inestimable benefit of providing a universe to\nsupport my personal identity, my moral sense, and my feeling that these\ntwo functions of mind cannot be killed. Its denials, no less than its\naffirmations, set free all the facts I need to make my body an\nexpression of mental independence. Hand-in-hand with science I go, by\nthe steps of development back to the dawn of creation; and, when there,\nwe review all the forces and their combinations that have helped us to\narrive, and both of us together break into a confession of a force of\nforces.\"\n\nThis cordial sympathy with science, this absence of all savor of a\npolemical spirit, this hearty welcoming of every fact of anatomy and\nchemistry, is very noble and inspiring. It is very wise, too, though the\nnoble, hearty side was alone attractive to him. He had in view no other,\nbeing a single-minded lover of truth. But, nevertheless, he could not\nhave adopted a more politic course. For thus he propitiated the\nscepticism of the age, struck in with the prevailing current, disarmed\nopposition, and erected his own principles on the eminence which\nscientific men have raised and which they cannot build too high for his\npurposes. He doubles on his pursuers, and fairly flanks his foes. This\nthrows the labor of refuting him on the idealists, who may not care to\nbecome responsible for his positions, and may demur to conclusions he\narrives at, while they cannot but applaud his general aims, and wish\nthey could give positive assent to all his specific doctrines. There was\nalways this discrepancy between his sentiment and his logic; but it came\nout most conspicuously in his elaborate arguments.\n\nThe burden of his exposition was the existence of an ideal sphere,\nquite distinct from visible phenomena; facts of consciousness attesting\npersonality, a moral law, an intelligent cause, an active conscience, a\nliving heart; order, beauty, harmony, humanity, self-forgetfulness,\nself-denial. As he states it:\n\n     I claim, against a strictly logical empirical method, three classes\n     of facts: first, the authentic facts of the Moral Sense, whenever\n     it appears as the transcender of the ripest average utility;\n     second, the facts of the Imagination, as the anticipator of mental\n     methods by pervading everything with personalty, by imputing life\n     to objects, or by occasional direct suggestion; third, the facts of\n     the Harmonic Sense, as the reconciler of discrete and apparently\n     sundered objects, as the prophet and artist of number and\n     mathematical ratio, as the unifier of all the contents of the soul\n     into the acclaim which rises when the law of unity fills the scene.\n     Upon these facts, I chiefly sustain myself against the theory\n     which, when it is consistently explained, derives all possible\n     mental functions from the impacts of objectivity.\n\nIf Mr. Weiss had stopped with this general thesis, he would\nprobably have carried most Rationalists, certainly the mass of\nTranscendentalists, with him. They would have been only too glad to\nwelcome so clear and brilliant a champion. But he insisted on gathering\nup these conceptions into two points of doctrine--God and Immortality.\nOn these points his arguments become strained, and too subtle for\nordinary minds. Indeed, many will be inclined to suspect his whole\nexposition, which would be a misfortune of a very grave character. Mr.\nEmerson avoided all definite assertion of personality carried beyond the\nlimits of individuality in the present state of existence. Mr. Weiss is\nmore daring, and proclaims a God who arranges creation _as it is_, and\nan immortality that drops what to most people constitutes their highly\nvalued possessions--namely, their \"animalities\" of various kinds. What\nwill most men think of a God who \"takes his chances,\" who \"in\nplanet-scenery and animal life is at his play,\" who puts up in his\ndivine laboratory \"curare and strychnine,\" and cannot \"recognize the\nword _disaster_,\" though he makes the thing? To how many will an\nimmortality be conceivable that can \"belong only to immutable ideas,\"\nthat only \"springs from the vital necessity of their own souls,\" that is\na clinging \"to the breast of everlasting law\"?\n\nTo tell the truth, the arguments themselves for this rather questionable\nresult of idealism are somewhat unconvincing, not to say fanciful. They\nare chiefly of a dogmatic kind, that may be met with counter\naffirmations, equally valid. Many of them are stated in a symbolical or\npoetical or illustrative manner, the most dangerous of all methods.\nExamples of this might be multiplied indefinitely. I had marked several\nfor confirmation, but they were too long for quotation. One instance of\nhis mode of reasoning may be given[*]:\n\n     It is objected that no thought and feeling have ever yet been\n     displayed independently of cerebral condition; they must have\n     brain, either to originate or to announce them. If brain be source\n     or instrument of human consciousness, what preserves it when the\n     brain is dead? But there would have been no universe on such terms\n     as that. What supplied infinite mind with its preliminary _sine qua\n     non_ of brain matter?\n\n    [*] It occurs in \"American Religion,\" p. 149.\n\nBut, surely, if this is an argument at all, if it does not beg the very\nquestion in debate--namely, whether there is an infinite mind,--is it\nnot an argument for atheism? For either the existing universe fully\nexpresses Deity, in which case Deity is something less than infinite; or\nDeity must be conceived as very imperfect, and a progressive, tentative\nDivinity is no better than none.\n\nTo be sure, he says: \"We attribute Personality to the divine Being,\nbecause we cannot otherwise refer to any source the phenomena that show\nWill and Intellect.\" That is to say, we yield to a logical necessity. To\nargue that materialism \"reeks with immortality\" because \"the baldest\nnegation is not merely a verbal contradiction of an affirmation, but a\ncontribution to its probability,--for it testifies that there was\nsomething previously taken for granted,\"--is really a play upon words,\ninasmuch as the denial is simply an affirmation of certain facts, and by\nno means a categorical declaration involving all the facts at issue. By\nclaiming none but relative knowledge, the antithesis is removed.\n\nOne is conscious of a suspicion that the author's tremendous overflow\nof nervous vitality had much to do with the vehemence of his\npersuasions. He himself countenances such a suspicion. \"I confess,\" he\ndeclares, \"to an all-pervading instinct of personal continuance, coupled\nwith a latent, haunting feeling that there is a point somewhere in human\nexistence, as there has been in the past, where animality controls the\nfate of men. Where is that point? We recoil from every effort to draw\nthe line.\" He had a very strong sense of personality, with its\ninevitable reference of persistency. \"To us, perhaps,\" he cries, in a\nkind of anguish, \"no thought could be so dreadful, no surmise so\nharrowing, as that we might slip into nonentity. We impetuously repel\nthe haunting doubt. We shut the eyes, and cower before the goblin in\nabject dread until it is gone. With the beauty-loving and full-blooded\nClaudio, we cry,--\n\n    Oh, but to die, and go we know not where.\"\n\nand he quotes the rest of the famous passage in \"Measure for Measure,\"\nadding for himself: \"Put us anywhere, but only let us live; and we could\nfeel with Lear, when he says to Cordelia,--\n\n            Come, let's away to prison.\n        We two alone will sing like birds i' the cage.\"\n\n     Then, too, there come to us the tender and overpowering moments\n     when we can no longer put up with being separated from beloved\n     objects, who tore at the grain of our life when they went away\n     elsewhere, with portions of it clinging to them. We must have them\n     again. Shall life be stabbed and no justice compensate these\n     sickening drippings of the soul in her secret faintness? The old\n     familiar faces have registered in our hearts a contempt for graves\n     and burials. Not so cheaply can we be taken in, when the lost life\n     lies quick in memory still, and cries against the insults which\n     mortality wreaks on love.\n\nIs not this an exclamation of temperament?\n\nJohn Weiss was essentially a poet. His pages are saturated with poetry.\nHis very arguments are expressed in poetic imagery. To take two or three\nexamples:\n\n     One who rides from South-west Harbor to Bar Harbor in Mt. Desert\n     will see a grove in which the pines stand so close that all the\n     branches have withered two-thirds of the way up the trunks, and are\n     nothing but dead sticks, broken and dangling. But every tree bears\n     close, each to each, its evergreen crown; and they seem to make a\n     floor for the day to walk on. This pavement for the feet of heaven,\n     more precious than the fancied one of the New Jerusalem, stretches\n     all round the world, above the thickets of our spiny egotism, where\n     people run up into the only coherence upon which it is safe for\n     Deity to tread.\n\nOr this about the poet's inspired hour:\n\n     Through flat and unprofitable moments, a poet is waiting for the\n     next consent of his imagination. The bed of every gift, that lately\n     sparkled or thundered as the freshet of the hills sent its\n     surprises down, lies empty, waiting for the master passion to open\n     the sluice when it hears the steps of coming waves. The poet's\n     nature strains against the dumb gates of his body and his mood.\n     With power and longing he hears them open, and is brim full again\n     with the rhythm that collects from the whole face of Nature,--the\n     hillside, the ravine, the drifting cloud, the vapors just arrived\n     from the ocean, the drops that flowers nod with to flavor the\n     stream, the human smiles that colonize both banks of it. All\n     passions, all delights hurry to possess his thought, crowd into the\n     precincts of his person, pain him with the tumult in which they\n     offer him obedience, remind him of his last joy in their\n     companionship, and will not let him go till he ennobles them by\n     bursting into expression. Relief flows down with every perfect\n     word; the congested soul bleeds into the lyric and the canto; the\n     poet's burden becomes light-hearted, and the supreme moment of his\n     travail, when it breaks in showers of his emotion, cools and\n     comforts him; he must die or express himself. All the blood in the\n     earth's arteries is running through his heart; all the stars in the\n     sky are set in his brain's dome. This light and life must be\n     discharged into a word, and the poet restored to health and peace\n     again.\n\nOr the following rhapsody about health:\n\n     What a religious ecstasy is health! Its free step claims every\n     meadow that is glad with flowers; its bubbling spirits fill the cup\n     of wide horizons and drip down their brims; its thankfulness is the\n     prayer that takes possession of the sun by day and the stars by\n     night. Every dancing member of the body whirls off the soul to\n     tread the measures of great feelings, and God hears people saying:\n     \"How precious also are thy thoughts, how great is the sum of them!\n     When I awake, I am still with thee.\" Yes,--when I awake, but not\n     before; not while the brain is saturated with nervous blood, till\n     it falls into comatose doctrines, and goes maundering with its\n     attack of mediatorial piety and grace; not while a stomach depraved\n     by fried food, apothecary's drugs, and iron-clad pastry (that\n     target impenetrable by digestion) supplies the constitution with\n     its vale of tears, ruin of mankind, and better luck hereafter. When\n     all my veins flow unobstructed, and lift to the level of my eyes\n     the daily gladness that finds a gate at every pore; when the\n     roaming gifts come home from Nature to turn the brain into a hive\n     of cells full of yellow sunshine, the spoil of all the chalices of\n     the earth beneath and the heavens above,--then I am the subject of\n     a Revival of Religion.\n\nOr these passages about music, of which he was always a devoted lover,\na passionate admirer, an excellent critic. My first extract is used to\nillustrate the doctrine of evolution, and suggests Browning's poem of\n\"Abt Vogler.\" It should be said, by the way, that Weiss was a great\nstudent of Browning, whose lines in \"Paracelsus,\" prophetic of the\nevolution doctrine, was often on his lips. He even understood\n\"Sordello.\"\n\n     The divine composer, summoning instrument after instrument into his\n     harmony, climbed with his theme from those which offered but a\n     single note to those that exhaust the complexity of thought and\n     feeling, to combine them into expression, kindling through hints,\n     phrases, sudden concords, mustering consents of many wills,\n     releases of each one's felicity into comradeship, till the sweet\n     tumult becomes his champion, and bursts into an acclaim of a whole\n     world. \"I ought--so then I will.\" The toppling instruments concur,\n     become the wave that touches that high moment, lifts the whole\n     deep, and holds it there.\n\n     When perfect music drives its golden scythe-chariot up the fine\n     nerves, across the bridge of association, through the stern\n     portcullis of care, and alights in the heart of man, there is\n     adoration, whether he faints with excess of recognition of one long\n     absent, and lies prostrate in the arms of rhythm, feeling that he\n     is not worthy it should come under his roof, or whether he mounts\n     the seat and grasps the thrilling reins; God's unity is riding\n     through his distraction, brought by that team of all the\n     instruments which shake their manes across the pavement of his\n     bosom, and strike out the sparks of longing.\n\nIn calling Mr. Weiss essentially a poet, I am far from implying that\nhe was not a thinker. Perhaps he was more subtle and more brilliant a\nthinker for being also a poet--that is, for seeing truth through the\nmedium of the imagination, for following the path of analogy. At any\nrate, his being a poet did not in the least interfere with the acuteness\nor the precision of his thinking, as any one can see who reads his\nchapters--those, for example, which compose the volume entitled\n\"American Religion.\" I had marked for citation so many passages that it\nwould be necessary to quote half the book to illustrate my thesis. When\nI first knew him, he was a strict Transcendentalist. Dr. Orestes\nBrownson, no mean judge on such matters, spoke of him as the most\npromising philosophical mind in the country. To a native talent for\nmetaphysics, his early studies at Heidelberg probably contributed\ncongenial training. His knowledge of German philosophy may well have\nbeen stimulated and matured by his residence in that centre of active\nthought; while his intimacy, on his return, with the keenest intellects\nin this country may well have sharpened his original predilection for\nabstract speculation. However this may have been, the tendency of his\ngenius was decidedly toward metaphysical problems and the interpretation\nof the human consciousness. This he erected as a barrier against\nmaterialism; and this he probed with a depth and a fearlessness which\nwere truly extraordinary, and would have been remarkable in any disciple\nof the school to which he belonged. No one that I can think of was so\nfine, so profound, so analytical. His volume on \"American Religion\" was\nfull of nice discriminations; so was his volume on the \"Immortal Life\";\nso were his articles and lectures. His \"Life of Theodore Parker\"\nabounded in curious learning as well as in vigorous thinking. He could\nfollow, step by step, the great leader of reformatory ideas, and went\nfar beyond him in subtlety and accuracy of mental delineation. He could\nnot rest in sentiment, must have demonstration, and never stopped till\nhe reached the ultimate ground of truth as he regarded it. Ideas, when\nhe found them, were usually, not always, expressed in symbolical forms.\nHis alert fancy detected likenesses that would have been concealed from\ncommon eyes; and often the splendor of the exposition hid the keenness\nof the logical temper, as a sword wreathed with roses lies unperceived.\nBut the tempered steel was there and they who examined closely felt its\nedge.\n\nHe was a man of undaunted courage, being an idealist who lived out of\nthe world, and a living soul animated by overwhelming convictions, which\nhe was anxious to convey to others as of immense importance. He\nbelieved, with all his heart, in the doctrines he had arrived at, and,\nlike a soldier in battle, was unconscious of the danger he incurred or\nof the wounds he received, being unaware of his own daring or fortitude.\nHe was an anti-slavery man from the beginning. At a large meeting held\nin Waltham in 1845, to protest against the admission of Texas as a slave\nState, Mr. Weiss, then a minister at Watertown, Mass., delivered a\nspeech in which he said: \"Our Northern apathy heated the iron, forged\nthe manacles, and built the pillory,\" declared that man was more than\nconstitutions (borrowing a phrase from James Russell Lowell), and that\nChrist was greater than Hancock and Adams. To his unflinching devotion\nto free thought in religion, he owed something of his unpopularity with\nthe masses of the people, who were orthodox in opinion, though his\nfailure to touch the general mind was probably due to other causes. The\nclass of disbelievers was pretty large in his day and very\nself-asserting. Boldness never fails to attract; and brilliancy, if it\nbe on the plane of ordinary vision, draws the eyes of the multitude, who\nare on the watch for a sensation.\n\nThe chief trouble was that his brilliancy was not on the plane of\nordinary vision, but was recondite, ingenious, fanciful. He was too\nlearned, too fond of allusions--literary, scientific, historical,--too\nswift in his mental processes. His addresses were delivered to an\naudience of his friends, not to a miscellaneous company. They were of\nthe nature of soliloquies spoken out of his own mind, instead of being\nspeeches intended to meet the needs of others. His lectures and sermons\nwere not easy to follow, even if the listener was more than usually\ncultivated. Shall it be added that his sincerity of speech, running into\nbrusqueness, startled a good many? He was theological and philosophical,\nand he could not keep his hands off when what he considered as errors in\ntheology or philosophy came into view. His wit was sharper than he\nthought, while the laugh it raised was frequently overbalanced by the\nsting it left behind in some breasts. It was too often a \"wicked wit,\"\nbarbed and poisoned, which one must be in league with to enjoy. They who\nwere in sympathy with the speaker were delighted with it, but they who\nwere not went off aggrieved. No doubt this attested the earnestness of\nthe man, who scorned to cloak his convictions; but it wounded the\nself-love of such as were in search of pleasure or instruction, and\ninterfered with his general acceptableness. A broad, genial,\ngood-natured, truculent style of ventilating even heresies may not be\nrepulsive to people of a conventional, believing turn; in fact, it is\nnot, as we know. But the thrusts of a rapier, especially when\nunexpected, are not forgiven. Mr. Weiss drew larger audiences as a\npreacher on religious themes than he did as a lecturer on secular\nsubjects, where one hardly knew what to look for, because he was known\nto be outspoken and capable of introducing heresies on the platform.\n\nThen he was in all respects unconventional. His spontaneous exuberance\nof animal spirits, which led him to roll on the grass, join in\nfrolicsome games, play all sorts of antics, indulge in jokes, mimicry,\nboisterous mirthfulness, was inconsistent with the staid, proper\ndemeanor required by social usage. How he kept himself within limits as\nhe did was a surprise to his friends. Ordinary natures can form no\nconception of the weight such a man must have put upon his temperament\nto press it down to the level of common experience. Temptations to which\nhe was liable every day do not visit average minds in their whole\nlifetime, and cannot by such minds be comprehended. The stiff, upright,\ncareful old man cannot understand the jocund pliability of the boy, who,\nnevertheless, simply expends the superfluity of his natural vigor, and\nrelieves his excess of nervous excitability. On thinking it all over,\nremembering his appetite for life, his joy in existence, his nervous\nexhilaration, his love of beauty, his passionate ardor of temperament, I\nam surprised that he preserved, as he did, so much dignity and soberness\nof character. I have seen him in his wildest mood, yet I never saw him\nthrown off his balance. With as much brilliancy as Sydney Smith, he had,\nas Sydney Smith had not, a breadth of knowledge, a depth of feeling, a\nsoaring energy of soul that kept him above vulgar seductions, and did\nfor him, in a nobler way, what ambition, love of place, conventional\nassociations did for the famous Englishman.\n\nThe difficulty was that he was too far removed from the common ground\nof sympathy. He could not endure routine, or behave as other people\nbehaved, and as it was generally fancied he should. If Sydney Smith's\njocularity interfered with his promotion, how much more did he have to\ncontend with who to the jocularity added an enthusiastic devotion to\nheresy, a partiality for metaphysical speculation, and a poetic glow\nthat removed him from ordinary comprehension! With an unworldliness\nworthy of all praise, but fatal to the provision of daily bread, he left\nthe ministry, a fixed income, a confirmed social position, ample leisure\nfor study and for literary pursuits, and launched forth on the uncertain\ncareer of lecturer. He was not the first who failed in attempting to\nharness Pegasus to a cart, in the hope of making him useful in mundane\nways. Neither discharged his full function. The cart would not run\nsmoothly, and the steed was not happy. The old profession has this\nadvantage: that to all practical purposes, the wagon goes over the\ncelestial pavement where there is no mud nor clangor, and Pegasus can\nseem to be harnessed to a chariot of the sun.\n\nWeiss simply disappeared from view. His books were scattered; his\nlectures and sermons were worked over and over, the best of them being\npublished in his several volumes. A few relics of the author remain in\nthe hands of his widow, who is grateful for any recognition of his\ngenius, any help to diffuse his writings, and tribute to his memory.\nThey who knew him can never forget him. Perhaps the very vividness of\ntheir recollection makes them indifferent to the possession of visible\nmemorials of their friend.\n\nSamuel Johnson should be known as the apostle of individualism. The\napostle I say, for this with him was a religion, and the preaching of\nindividualism was a gospel message. He would not belong to any church,\nor subscribe to any creed, or connect himself with any sect, or be a\nmember of any organization whatever, however wide or elastic, however\nconsonant with convictions that he held, with beliefs that he\nentertained, with purposes that he cherished, with plans that were dear\nto him. He never joined the \"Anti-Slavery Society,\" though he was an\nAbolitionist; or the \"Free Religious Association,\" though its aims were\nessentially his own, and he spoke on its platform. He made it a\nprinciple to act alone, herein being a true disciple of Emerson, whose\nmission was to individual minds. He wrote a long letter to me on the\noccasion of establishing the \"Free Religious Association,\" of which I\nwished him to become a member, that recalls the letter written by Mr.\nEmerson in reply to George Ripley when asked to join the community of\nBrook Farm, and whereof the following is an extract:\n\n     My feeling is that the community is not good for me, that it has\n     little to offer me which with resolution I cannot procure for\n     myself.... It seems to me a circuitous and operose way of relieving\n     myself to put upon your community the emancipation which I ought to\n     take on myself. I must assume my own vows.... I ought to say that I\n     do not put much trust in any arrangements or combinations, only in\n     the spirit which dictates them. Is that benevolent and divine, they\n     will answer their end. Is there any alloy in that, it will\n     certainly appear in the result.... Nor can I insist with any heat\n     on new methods when I am at work in my study on any literary\n     composition.... The result of our secretest attempts will certainly\n     have as much renown as shall be due to it.\n\nJohnson ended by discarding the church entirely. In 1881 he wrote:\n\n     For my part, every day I live the name _Christian_ seems less and\n     less to express my thought and tendency. I suspect it will be so\n     with the Free-thinking world generally.\n\nIn a sermon, \"Living by Faith,\" he says:\n\n     There is no irony so great as to call this \"flight out of nature\"\n     and the creeds that come of it, \"faith.\" The purity of heart that\n     really sees God will have a mighty idealization of humanity at the\n     very basis of its creed, and act on it in all its treatment of the\n     vicious, the morally incapable and diseased. It is time Christendom\n     was on the search for it.\n\nIn the paper on \"Transcendentalism,\" he says:\n\n     Christianity inherited the monarchical idea of a God separate from\n     man, and a contempt for natural law and human faculty which\n     crippled its faith in the spiritual and moral ideal. It became more\n     and more a materialism of miracle, Bible, church. Even its essay to\n     realize immanent Deity yielded a more or less exclusive,\n     mediatorial God-man; and it treated personality as the mere\n     consequence of one prescriptive, historical force, just as\n     philosophical materialism treats it as mere product of sensations.\n\nMr. Johnson abhorred the monarchical principle. It was his endeavor to\ntrack it from its origin, through all its forms of institution,\nceremonial, dogma, symbol, from the earliest times to the latest,\nthrough the whole East to the farthest West. This was the burden of his\nstudies in Oriental religions, the sum of his criticism, the aim of his\npublic teaching. He was profoundly, intensely, absorbingly religious,\nbut the form of his religion was not \"Christian\" in any recognized\nsense, Romanist, Protestant, or Unitarian. The most radical thought did\nnot altogether please him. His was a worship of Law, Order, Cause,\nHarmony, impersonal, living, natural; a recognition of mind as the\nsupreme power in the universe; a cosmic, eternal, absolute faith in\nintellectual principles as the substance and soul of the world. God was,\nto him, a spiritual being, alive, vital, flowing in every mode.\n\n     All power of growth and service depends, know it or not as we may,\n     on an ideal faith in somewhat all-sufficient, unerring, infinitely\n     wise and tender, inseparable from the inmost of life, bent on our\n     good as we are not, set against our failures as we cannot be. It\n     means that there can in fact be no philosophy of life, no law of\n     good, no belief in duty, no aspiration, but must have such\n     in-dwelling perfection, as being alone reliable to guarantee its\n     word. This only is my God; infinite ground of all finite being;\n     essence of reason and good.... When you see a function of memory,\n     or a law of perfection, let your natural piety recognize it as wise\n     and just and good and fair. Be loyal to the moral authority that\n     affirms it ought to be, and somehow must be. Let your _soul_ bring\n     in the leap of your mind to grasp it. Then, if you cannot see God\n     in perfect, absolute essence, you will know the Infinite and\n     Eternal in their relation to real and positive existence; feel\n     their freedom in your own; know their inseparableness from every\n     movement of your spiritual being.... The love we feel, the truth we\n     pursue, the honor we cherish, the moral beauty we revere, blend in\n     with the eternity of the principles they flow from, and then, glad\n     as in the baptism of a harvest morning, expanding towards human\n     need and the universal life of man, our souls walk free, breathing\n     immortal air. That is God,--not an object but an experience. Words\n     are but symbols, they do not define. We say \"Him,\" \"It\" were as\n     well, if thereby we mean life, wisdom, love.... Must we bind our\n     communion with the just, the good, the true, the humanly adequate\n     and becoming to some personal life, some special body of social\n     circumstances, some individual's work in human progress and upon\n     human idealism? How should that be, when the principles into which\n     the moral sense flowers out in its maturity as spiritual liberty,\n     essentially involve a freely advancing ideal at every new stage\n     revealing more of God, whom nothing but such universal energy can\n     adequately reveal?... If then, we cannot see the eternal substance\n     and life of the universe, it is not because Deity is too far, but\n     because it is too near. We can measure a statue or a star, and look\n     round and beyond it; but the Life, Light, Liberty, Love, Peace,\n     whereby we live and know, and are helpful and calm and free, which\n     measures and surrounds and even animates us, is itself the very\n     mystery of our being, and known only as felt and lived. God stands\n     in all ideal thought, conviction, aim, which ever reach into the\n     infinite; and thence, as if an angel should stand in the sun, come\n     attractions that draw forth the divine capabilities within us, as\n     the sun the life and beauty of the earth. God is the inmost motive,\n     the common path, the infinite import of all work we respect, honor,\n     purely rejoice in, and fulfil; of art, science, philosophy,\n     intercourse,--whatsoever function befits the soul and the day.\n\nThese quotations, which might be multiplied indefinitely, in fact,\nwhich it is difficult not to multiply, are probably enough to satisfy\nany who really wish to know that here was a truly religious man, a\nreally devout man, the possessor of a living faith; one who held fast to\nmore Deity than the multitude cherished, and welcomed him in a much more\ncordial, comprehensive, natural manner; one who fairly drenched the\nworld and man with a divine spirit, but who was all the more spiritual\non this account, as a man attests his vigor by his ability to lay aside\nhis crutches, and put the medicine-chest, bottles, and boxes on the\nshelf, to walk in cold weather without an overcoat, or lie naked on the\nice and melt it through.\n\nOf course, the only justification of a pretension of this kind is the\nactual vitality necessary for such a feat, the sanity demanded by one\nwho would stand or go alone. In Samuel Johnson's case there was no\nquestion of this. Spiritually, he was a whole man, self-poised,\nself-contained, strong, clear, alert, a hero and a saint. His\nconversation, his bearing, conduct, entire attitude and manner indicated\nthe most jubilant faith. He never faltered in his confidence, never\nwavered in his conviction, never abated a jot of hope that in the order\nof Providence all good things would come. There was something staggering\nto the ordinary mind, in his assurance of the divine wisdom and love.\nThere was something altogether admirable in the elevation of his\ncharacter above the trials and vexations that are incident to the human\nlot, and that seemed heaped upon him. For his own was not a smooth or\nfortunate life, as men estimate felicity. His health was far from\nsatisfactory. He was not rich or famous or popular or sought after. He\nlived a life of labor, in some respects, of denial and sacrifice. Not\nuntil after his death was the full amount of his renunciation apparent\neven to those who thought they knew him well.\n\nHe was a Transcendentalist--that is to say, he believed in the intuitive\npowers of the mind; he was sure that all primary truths, such ideas as\nthose of unity, universe, law, cause, substance, will, duty, obligation,\npermanence, were perceived directly, and are not to be accounted for by\nany data of observation or inference, but must be ascribed at once to an\norganic or constitutional relation of the mind with truth.\n\n     That the name \"Transcendentalism\" was given, a century ago, to a\n     method in philosophy opposed to the theory of Locke--that all\n     knowledge comes from the senses,--is more widely known than the\n     fact that what this method affirmed or involved is of profound\n     import for all generations. It emphasized Mind as a formative force\n     behind all definable contents or acts of consciousness--as that\n     which makes it possible to speak of anything as _known_. It\n     recognized, as primal condition of knowing, the transmutation of\n     sense-impressions by original laws of mind, whose constructive\n     power is not to be explained or measured by the data of sensation;\n     just as they use the eye or ear to transform unknown spatial\n     notions into the obviously human conceptions which we call color\n     and sound. All this the Lockian system overlooked--a very serious\n     omission, as regards both science and common-sense.\n\nAnd again, in the same article--that on \"Transcendentalism,\" first\nprinted in the _Radical Review_ for November, 1877, and afterwards\nincluded in the volume of \"Lectures, Sermons, and Essays\":\n\n     What we conceive these schools to have misprized is the living\n     substance and function of mind itself, conscious of its own energy,\n     productive of its own processes, active even in receiving, giving\n     its own construction to its incomes from the unknown through sense,\n     thus involved in those very contents of time and space which, as\n     historical antecedents, _appear_ to create it; mind is obviously\n     the exponent of forces more spontaneous and original than any\n     special product of its own experience. Behind all these products\n     must be that substance in and through which they are produced.\n\nAnd again, for we cannot be too explicit on this point:\n\n     It is certain that knowledge involves not only a sense of union\n     with the nature of that which we know, but a real participation of\n     the knowing faculty therein. When, therefore, I have learned to\n     conceive truths, principles, ideas, or aims which transcend\n     life-times and own no physical limits to their endurance, the\n     aforesaid law of mind associates me with their immortal nature. And\n     this is the indubitable perception or intuition of permanent mind\n     which no experience of impermanence can nullify and no Nirvana\n     excludes.\n\nIt will be observed that Mr. Johnson does not make himself answerable\nfor specific articles of belief on God or immortality, but confines his\nfaith to the persuasion of indwelling mind, sovereign, eternal,\nimperial. \"Immortality,\" he says, \"is immeasurable chance for all. In\nits light, all strong, blameless, heroic lives--divine plants by the\nwayside--tell for the nature they express. God has made no blunder in\nour spiritual constitution. Power is in faith.\" This intense belief in\nthe soul, in all the native capacities of our spiritual constitution, in\nthe supremacy of organic feelings, ideas, expectations over merely\nprivate desires, this burning confidence in divinely implanted\ninstincts, this absolute certainty that every promise made by God will\nbe fulfilled, explains the tone of exulting hope in which he writes to\nbereaved friends.\n\n     I wish I could tell you how firmly I believe that feelings like\n     these (that the absent one cannot be dead), so often treated as\n     illusion, are _true_, are of God's own tender giving; that in them\n     is the very heart of his teaching through the mystery that we call\n     death. Our affections are _forbidden by their maker_ to doubt their\n     own immortality.... Immortal years, beside which our little lives\n     are but an hour--what possibilities of full satisfaction they open!\n     And we sit in patience, knowing that they must bring us back our\n     holiest possessions--those which have ever stood under the shield\n     of our noblest love and conscience and so are under God's blessing\n     forever.\n\nHow far such a declaration as this comports with the demand for general\nimmortality made in behalf of those who are conscious of no noble love,\nwho have attained to no conscience, and have no holy possessions, we are\nnot told. Perhaps Mr. Johnson would seize on the faintest intimations of\nmind as evidencing the presence of moral being, as Mr. Weiss does. But\nhe did not dwell on that side of the problem. Plainly he ascribed little\nvalue to mere personality, viewed abstractly and apart from its\nspiritual development. He wrote to those whom he knew and loved, to\nremarkable people.\n\nYet it would not be fair to conclude that immortality was denied to the\nbasest. If immortality is \"opportunity,\" a \"chance for all,\" it is for\nthose who can profit by it or enjoy it. If any are debarred, the cause\nmust be their own incompetence. They simply decease. There is no torment\nin store for them; no hell is possible.\n\nSamuel Johnson was an enthusiastic evolutionist, but of mind itself, not\nof matter as ripening into mind. The ordinary conception of\nevolution,--that the higher came from the lower,--was exceedingly\nrepugnant to him. Every kind of materialism he abhorred as illogical and\nirrational. The theories of Comte,--that \"mind is cerebration;\" of\nHaeckel,--that it is a \"function of brain and nerve;\" of Strauss,--that\n\"one's self is his body;\" of Taine,--that a man is \"a series of\nsensations,\" were to him as absurd, in science or philosophy, as they\nwere fatal to aspiration and progress.\n\n     The crude definition of evolution as production of the highest by\n     inherent force of the lowest is here supplanted by one which\n     recognizes material parentage as itself involving, even in its\n     lowest stages, the entire cosmic _consensus_, of whose unknown\n     force mind is the highest known exponent.\n\nHe is alluding to Tyndall's statement that mind is evolved from the\nuniverse as a whole, not from inorganic matter. For himself, he says:\n\n     Ideas were not demonstrated, are not demonstrable. No data of\n     observation can express their universal meaning.... What else can\n     we say of ideas than that they are wondrous intimacies of the soul\n     with the Infinite and Eternal, its contacts with universal forces,\n     its prophetic ventures and master steps beyond any past!... The\n     grand words, \"I ought\" refuse to be explained by dissolving the\n     notion of right into individual calculation of consequences, or by\n     expounding the sense of duty as the cumulative product of observed\n     relation of succession.... How explain as a \"greater happiness\n     principle,\" or an inherited product of observed consequences, that\n     sovereign and eternal law of mind whose imperial edict lifts all\n     calculations and measures into functions of an infinite meaning?\n     And how vain to accredit or ascribe to revelation, institution, or\n     redemption, this necessary allegiance to the law of our being,\n     which is liberty and loyalty in one?\n\nThis is absolute enough. It is plain that to this writer the notion of\nextracting intellect from form is ridiculous.\n\nAt the same time the method of evolution is the one adopted by the\nsupreme Mind in its endeavor to awaken in man religious ideas. The\nexposition of the original faiths--Indian, Chinese, Persian--is a long\nand eloquent argument for this thesis. All criticism, all thinking, all\nanalysis, all study of history, all investigation of phenomena, point in\nthis direction. This is the rule of creation; this is the solution of\nthe problem of the universe. The successive degrees of this divine\nascent, he maintains, are distinctly traceable in the records left for\nour reading. The threads are fine, of course, but what have we eyes for?\nIt is not necessary that everybody should see them, and the few who can\nare amply rewarded for the trouble they take in putting their fingers\nupon the very lines of the heavenly procedure. His peculiar strain of\ngenius admirably qualified him for this delicate task. It was serious,\ncritical, earnest, and aspiring. At one period of his life he was a\nmystic, wholly absorbed in God, and he always had that tendency towards\nthe more passionate forms of idealism which led him to mystical\nspeculations. The search for God was ever the animating purpose of his\nendeavor. The law of the blessed life was never absent from his thought.\nHe, all the time, lived by faith, and was naturally disposed to see the\ngain in all losses. His mind had that penetrating quality which loved to\nfollow hidden trails, and appreciated the subtlest kinds of influence.\nIn a striking passage he speaks of the\n\n     great mystery in these influences which thoughtless people little\n     dream of, and which common-sense, so called, cares nothing about.\n     In the wonderful manner in which, through books, the spirits of\n     other men, long since dead, enter into and inspire ours; in the\n     eloquent language of eye and lip which without words, merely by\n     expression, conveys deepest feelings; in the presence in our souls\n     of strange presentiments, intuitions of higher knowledge than\n     science or learning can give, voices which seem the presence of\n     other spirits in ours, which make us feel often that death, so far\n     from removing our dear friends from us, brings them nearer to our\n     souls so that they _cannot_ be lost;--in all these wonderful ways\n     we see dimly the unveiling of holy mysteries which the future is to\n     fully open to us, mysteries which we can even now, in our sublimer\n     and holier secret moments, feel trying to disclose themselves to\n     us.\n\nThis was written in a letter to his sister, on the occasion of a visit\nto the menagerie to see Herr Driesbach, the horse-tamer. A man who could\nspring into the empyrean from such ground may be trusted to behold Deity\nwhere others behold nothing but dirt; and they who submit to his\nguidance are pretty certain to come out full believers in the spiritual\npowers.\n\nJohnson absolutely subordinated dogma to practice, holding fast to the\nidea involved in the declaration that he who doeth the will shall know\nthe doctrine. He began with the ethics of the individual, the family,\nthe social circle, seeing every principle incarnated there. How faithful\nhe was in all domestic relations the world will never know, for there\nare details that cannot be divulged. But in all public affairs his\nconstancy was perfect. Dr. Furness of Philadelphia used to say that the\nanti-slavery struggle in this country taught him more about the\nessential nature of the Gospel than he had learned in any other way.\nSamuel Johnson had the same conviction. In a private letter written in\n1857 he says:\n\n     Everything in this crisis of American growth centres in the great\n     conflict about this gigantic sin of slavery. That is the\n     battle-field on which the questions are all to be fought out, of\n     moral and spiritual and intellectual Freedom against the Absolutism\n     of sect and party; of Love against Mammon; of Conscience against\n     the State; of Man against Majorities; of Truth against Policy; of\n     God against the Devil. It is really astonishing how everything that\n     happens with us works directly into this fermenting conflict.\n\nThey who remember his addresses during the war will not need any\nconfirmation of this announcement, and they who heard or have read his\nsermon on the character and services of Charles Sumner will have the\nfullest assurance of the cordial appreciation with which every phase of\nthe struggle was entered into.\n\nBut though so ardent a follower of the doctrine that ideas lead the\nworld, Johnson was not induced to go all lengths with the\nsentimentalists. While warmly espousing the cause of the workingman his\npapers on \"Labor Reform\" show how keenly critical he could be of\nmeasures proposed for his benefit. No one will accuse him of\nindifference to the claims of woman, but he spoke of \"Woman's\nOpportunity\" rather than of \"Woman's Rights\"; is inclined to think that\nit is not true that she is left out of political life from the present\nwish to do her injustice; that \"on the whole, the feeling, if it were\nanalyzed, would be found to be rather that of defending her right of\nexemption, relieving her from tasks she does not desire.... Among\nintelligent men at least, actual delay to wipe out the anomaly of the\nvoting rule is not so much owing to a spirit of domination or contempt\nas is too apt to be assumed, as it is to a respect for what woman has\nmade of the functions she has hitherto filled, and the belief that she\nholds herself entitled to be left free to work through them alone.\" He\nhas nothing to say regarding the superiority of woman's nature; ventures\nno definition of her sphere; is not unconscious of feminine infirmities;\ndoubts the efficacy of the ballot; confesses that the level of womanhood\nwould be, at least temporarily, depressed by the larger area of\npractical diffusion; is by no means certain that women would necessarily\nact for their own good, and is deeply persuaded of the inferiority of\noutward to inward influence. This is the one thing he is sure of; this\nand the principle that \"liberty knows--like faith and charity--neither\nmale nor female.\" In the war between Russia and Turkey he took the part\nof Turkey, not only because he respected the rights of individual genius\nand resented invasion, but for the reason that he distrusted the\ncivilizing tendencies of Russia, and thought the interests of Europe\nmight be trusted to the Ottoman as confidently as to the Russian. In a\ndiscourse entitled \"A Ministry in Free Religion,\" delivered on the\noccasion of his resigning the relation of pastor to the \"Free Church at\nLynn,\" June 26, 1870, he said:\n\n     The pulpit has no function more essential than an independent\n     criticism of well-meaning people in the light of larger justice and\n     remoter consequences than most popular measures recognize. The\n     truest service is, perhaps, to help correct the blunders and the\n     intolerances of blind good-will and narrow zeal for a good cause;\n     to speak in the interest of an idea where popular or organized\n     impulse threatens to swamp its higher morality in passionate\n     instincts and absolute masterships, to maintain that freedom of\n     private judgment which cannot be outraged, even in the best moral\n     intent, without mischievous reaction on the good cause itself.\n\nIn this connection he speaks of temperance, the amelioration of the\ncondition of the \"perishing\" or \"dangerous\" classes, the various schemes\nfor benefiting the laboring men, plans for adjusting the relations of\nlabor and capital, arrangements for diffusing the profits of\nproduction,--causes which he had at heart, but which should be discussed\nin view of the principle of individual freedom, which must be upheld at\nall hazards. He was a close reasoner as well as a warm feeler, and would\nnot allow his sympathies to get the upper hand of his ideas. He hoped\nfor the best; he had faith in the highest; he anticipated the brightest;\nbut he tried to see things as they were. He was a student, not a\nsentimentalist, and while he was ready to follow the most advanced in\nthe direction of spiritual progress, he was not prepared to take for\ngranted issues that still hung in the balance of debate, or to prejudge\nquestions that had not been answered, and could not be as yet.\n\nSuch moderation and patience are not common with reformers, and few are\nindependent enough to confess misgivings which are more familiar to\ntheir opponents than to their friends. Candor like this shows a genuine\nunconsciousness of fear, a sincere love of truth, an earnest\npostponement of personal tastes, ambitions, and connections to the\naxioms of universal wisdom and goodness; a loyalty to conviction that is\nvery rare, that never can exist among the indifferent, because they do\nnot care, and which is usually put aside by those who _do_ care as an\nimpediment if not as a snare. In courage of this noble kind, Johnson\nexcelled all men I ever knew, for they who had it, as some did, had not\nhis genius, and were spared the necessity of curbing ardor by so much as\ntheir temperament was more passive and their eagerness less importunate.\nOf course of the lower sort,--the courage to bear pain, loss, the\nmisunderstanding of the vulgar, to face danger, to encounter peril, none\nwho knew him can question his possession. In fact, he did not seem to\nsuffer at all, so jocund was he, so much in the habit of keeping his\ndeprivations from the outside world; even his intimates could but\nsuspect his sorrows of heart.\n\nSamuel Johnson was an extraordinary person to look at. He had large\ndark eyes; black, straight, long hair; an Oriental complexion, sallow,\nolive-colored; an impetuous manner; a beaming expression. His voice was\nrich, deep, musical; his gait eager, rapid, swinging; his style of\naddress glowing; his aspect in public speech that of one inspired. He\nwas fond of natural beauty, of art, literature, music; full of fun,\nwitty, mirthful, social. He was attractive to young people, delightful\nin conversation, ready to enter into innocent amusements. His eye for\nscenery was fine and quick, his interest in practical science sincere\nand hearty, his concern for whatever advanced humanity cordial, and his\nfreshness of spirit increased if anything with years.\n\n\n\n\nXIV. MY FRIENDS.\n\n\nIt is impossible to mention them all, and to single out a few from a\nmultitude must not be done. I should like to commemorate those who came\nnearest to me by their earnest work and faithful allegiance, but these\ncannot be spoken of, and I prefer to enumerate some of those with whom I\nwas less intimate.\n\nAlice and Ph[oe]be Cary came to New York in 1852, and were prominent\nwhen I was there; their famous Sunday evenings, which were frequented by\nthe brightest minds and were sought by a large class of people, being\nthen well established. These were altogether informal and gave but\nlittle satisfaction to the merely fashionable folks who now and then\nattended them. The sisters were in striking contrast. Ph[oe]be, the\nyounger, was a jocund, hearty, vivacious, witty, merry young woman,\nshort and round; her older sister, Alice, was taller and more slender,\nwith large, dark eyes; she was meditative, thoughtful, pensive, and\nrather grave in temperament; but the two were most heartily in sympathy\nin every opinion and in all their literary and social aims. Horace\nGreeley, one of their earliest and warmest friends, was a frequent\nvisitor at their house. There I met Robert Dale Owen, Oliver Johnson,\nDr. E. H. Chapin, Rev. Charles F. Deems, Justin McCarthy and his wife,\nMrs. Mary E. Dodge, Madame Le Vert, and several others.\n\nAmong my friends was President Barnard, of Columbia College, the only\nman I ever knew whose long ear-trumpet was never an annoyance; Ogden N.\nRood, the Professor of Physics at Columbia, a man of real genius, whose\nstudies in light and color were a great assistance to artists, himself\nan artist of no mean order and an ardent student of photography; Charles\nJoy, Professor of Chemistry, a most active-minded man, who received\nhonors at Goettingen and at Paris, and contributed largely to the\nscientific journals; a man greatly interested in the union of charitable\nsocieties in New York; Robert Carter, then a co-worker in the making of\nAppleton's Cyclopedia; Bayard Taylor, novelist, poet, translator of\nGoethe, traveller; Richard Grant White, the Shakesperian scholar;\nCharles L. Brace, the philanthropist; E. L. Youmans a man fairly\ntingling with ideas, and peculiarly gifted in making popular, as a\nlecturer, the most abstruse scientific discoveries. The breadth of my\nrange of acquaintances is illustrated by such men as Roswell D.\nHitchcock, of Union Seminary, the learned student, the impressive\nspeaker; Isaac T. Hecker, the founder of the Congregation of the\nPaulists; Dr. Washburn, the model churchman of \"Calvary\"; Henry M.\nField, editor of the _Evangelist_, a most warm-hearted man, so large in\nhis sympathies that he could say to Robert G. Ingersoll, \"I am glad that\nI know you, even though some of my brethren look upon you as a monster\nbecause of your unbelief,\" and welcomed as an example of \"constructive\nthought,\" Dr. Charles A. Briggs' Inaugural Address as Professor of\nBiblical Theology at Union College; John G. Holland (Timothy Titcomb), a\ncopious author. The _Tribune_ company was most distinguished: There was,\nfirst of all, the founder, Horace Greeley, a unique personality, simple,\nunaffected, earnest, an immense believer in American institutions, a\nstanch friend of the working-man, and a brave lover of impartial\njustice; Whitelaw Reid, who was, according to George Ripley, the ablest\nnewspaper manager he ever saw; and Mrs. Lucia Calhoun (afterward Mrs.\nRunkle), one of the most brilliant contributors to the _Tribune_. Of\nGeorge Ripley I may speak more at length, as he was my parishioner and\nclose friend. In my biography of him, written for the \"American Men of\nLetters\" series, I spoke of him as a \"remarkable\" man. One of my critics\nfound fault with the appellation, and said it was not justified by\nanything in the book, as perhaps it was not, though intellectual vigor,\nrange, and taste like his must be called \"remarkable\"; such industry is\n\"remarkable\"; no common man could have instituted \"Brook Farm\" and\nadministered it for six or seven years; could have maintained its\ndignity through ridicule, misunderstanding, and fanaticism; could have\ncleared off its liabilities; could have turned his face away from it on\nits failure, with such patience, or in his later age, could have alluded\nto it so sweetly; no ordinary person could have adopted a new and\ndespised career so bravely as he did. No journalist has raised\nliterature to so high a distinction, or derived such large rewards for\nthat mental labor. He deserves to be called \"remarkable,\" who can do all\nthis or but a part of it, and, all the time, preserve the sunny serenity\nof his disposition. If the biography failed to present these traits it\nwas, indeed, unsuccessful. Yes, Mr. Ripley was an extraordinary man. It\nis seldom that one carries such qualities to such a degree of\nperfection, and it may be worth while to look more closely at his\ncharacter.\n\nGeorge Ripley had a passion for literary excellence. From his boyhood\nhe possessed a singularly bright intelligence, a clear appreciation of\nthe rational aspect of questions. He was not an ardent, passionate,\nenthusiastic man, of warm convictions, vehement emotions, burning ideas.\nHis feelings, though amiable and correct, were of an intellectual cast.\nThey sprang from a naturally affectionate heart, rather than from a\ndeeply stirred conscience, or an enchanted soul. If he had been less\nhealthy, eupeptic, he would scarcely have been so gay; a vehement\nreformer he was not; a leader of men he could not be. He had not the\nstuff in him for either. The element of giving was not strong in him. He\nwas not an originator in the sphere of thought; not a discoverer of\ntheories or facts; not an innovator on established customs. But mentally\nhe was so quick, eager, receptive, that he seemed a pioneer, an\nenthusiast, a saint; his quickness passing for insight, his eagerness\nfor a passionate love of progress, his receptivity for charitableness.\nHe appeared to be more of an image-breaker than he really was. In fact,\nthe propensity to iconoclasm was not part of his constitution. But his\nmind was wonderfully alert. He had his antipathies, and they were strong\nones, his likes and dislikes, his tastes and distastes, but these were\ninstinctive rather than the expression of rational principle or a\ndeliberate conclusion of his judgment. In one instance that I know of,\nhe threw off a man with whom he had been associated for many years, and\nin connection with whom he labored daily for a time, a very accomplished\nand agreeable person to whom he was indebted for some services, because\nhe thought that the individual in question had been unjust to some of\nhis friends; but that this was not entirely a matter of conscience would\nseem to be indicated by the fact that he sent a message of affection to\nthis man, as he neared the grave. In the main, so far as he was under\ncontrol, intellectual considerations determined his course. He was\nprevailingly under the influence of mind; he acted in view, a large\nview, of all the circumstances; as one who takes in the whole situation,\nand has himself under command. This is not said in the least tone of\ndisparagement, but entirely in his praise, for the supremacy of reason\nis more steady, even, reliable than the supremacy of feeling however\nexalted in its mood. He that is under the control of mind is at all\ntimes _under control_, which cannot be said of one who is borne along by\nthe sway of even devout emotion. I have in memory cases where passion\nmight have betrayed Mr. Ripley into conduct he would have regretted, had\nit not been for the restraining power of purely rational considerations.\nHis early religious training may have produced some effect on his\ncharacter, but this is more likely to have operated at first than at the\nlater stages of his career. The love of old hymns, the habit of\nattending sacred services, the fondness for Watts' poems, a copy of\nwhose holy songs always lay on his table, showed a lingering attachment\nto this kind of sentiment up to the end of his life; but it existed in\nan attenuated form, and at no period after his youth exerted much sway\nover him. His predominating bent was intellectual, and this caused a\ncertain delicacy, fastidiousness, aloofness, which kept him in the\natmosphere of love as well as of light.\n\nFrom his youth this was his leading characteristic. As a boy he was\nambitious of making a dictionary, a sign of his carefulness in the use\nof words, and an omen of the value he was to set on definitions and on\nexactness in the employment of language. At school he was an excellent\nscholar, at college he stood second, but was graduated first owing to\nthe \"suspension\" of a brilliant classmate who might have excelled him\nbut for the mishap of a college \"riot\" in which he took part. In the\nlanguages and in literature he was unusually proficient, while in\nmathematics,--that most abstract, severe, precise of pursuits,--his\nsuccess was distinguished. In later-life his devotion to philosophy\nmarked the man of speculative tastes. His early letters to his father,\nmother, sister, reveal a consciousness of his own peculiarities. Here\nare extracts:\n\n     The course of studies adopted here [Cambridge], in the opinion of\n     competent judges, is singularly calculated to form scholars, and\n     moreover, correct and accurate scholars; to inure the mind to\n     profound thought and habits of investigation and reasoning.\n\n     The prospect of devoting my days to the acquisition and\n     communication of knowledge is bright and cheering. This employment\n     I would not exchange for the most elevated situation of wealth or\n     power. One of the happiest steps, I think, that I have ever taken\n     was the commencement of a course of study, and it is my wish and\n     effort that my future progress may give substantial evidence of it.\n\n     I know that my peculiar habits of mind, imperfect as they are,\n     strongly impel me to the path of active intellectual effort; and if\n     I am to be at any time of any use to society, or a satisfaction to\n     myself or my friends, it will be in the way of some retired\n     literary situation, where a fondness for study and a knowledge of\n     books will be more requisite than the busy, calculating mind of a\n     man in the business part of the community. I do not mean by this\n     that any profession is desired but the one to which I have been\n     long looking. My wish is only to enter that profession with all the\n     enlargement of mind and extent of information which the best\n     institutions can afford.\n\nThese quotations are enough to show what was the prevailing impulse of\nthe man. An intellectual nature like this, calm, studious, accomplished,\neager, is subject to few surprises and experiences rarely, if ever,\nmarked by crises, cataclysms, eruptions, in passing from one condition\nof thought to another at the opposite extreme of the spiritual universe.\nA process of growth, gradual, easy, motionless, takes the place of\ncommotion and violent uproar such as passionate temperaments are exposed\nto. In 1821 he writes to his sister from Harvard College: \"We are now\nstudying Locke, an author who has done more to form the mind to habits\nof accurate reasoning and sound thought than almost any other.\" On the\n19th of September, 1836, the first meeting of the Transcendental Club\nwas held at his house in Boston. In 1838 he replied to Andrews Norton's\ncriticism of Mr. Emerson's Address before the Alumni of the Cambridge\nDivinity School. In 1840 he said to his congregation in Purchase Street:\n\n     There is a faculty in all--the most degraded, the most ignorant,\n     the most obscure--to perceive spiritual truth when distinctly\n     presented; and the ultimate appeal on all moral questions is not to\n     a jury of scholars, a conclave of divines, or the prescriptions of\n     a creed, but to the common-sense of the human race.\n\nBut this substitution of the intuitive for the sensational philosophy--a\nchange which affected all the processes of his thought and actually\ncaused a revolution in his mind--was made silently, quietly, without\nagitation, without triumph, in a sober, conservative manner, very\ndifferent from that of his friend Theodore Parker, who carried the same\ndoctrines a good deal further, and advocated them with more heat like\nthe burly reformer he was.\n\nIn religion, Mr. Ripley's position was the same that it was in\nphilosophy. In fact the intellectual side of religion interested him\nmore than the spiritual or experimental side. It was mainly a\nspeculative matter, where it was not speculative it was practical; in\neach event it concerned the head rather than the heart, as being an\nopinion rather than a feeling. He was instructed in the school of\northodoxy, and, as a youth, was strict in his allegiance to the old\nsystem of belief; but he became a disciple of Dr. Channing, and later a\nrationalist of the order of Theodore Parker, a friend of Emerson, an\nadherent of what was newest in theology. Yet, in this extreme departure\nfrom the views of his early years, he betrayed no sign of agitation, no\ntrace of internal suffering. He wished to go to Yale instead of Harvard,\nbecause \"the temptations incident to a college, we have reason to think,\nare less at Yale than at Cambridge.\" He preferred Andover to Cambridge,\nbeing \"convinced that the opportunities for close investigation of the\nScriptures are superior to those at Cambridge, and the spirit of the\nplace, much relaxed from its former severe and gloomy bigotry is more\nfavorable to a tone of decided piety.\" Still, he goes to Cambridge, is\n\"much disappointed in what he had learned of the religious character of\nthe school,\" and, on more intimate acquaintance is impressed by \"the\ndepth and purity of their religious feeling and the holy simplicity of\ntheir lives\"; \"enough to humble and shame those who had been long\nprofessors of Christianity, and had pretended to superior sanctity.\" In\n1824 a bold article in the _Christian Disciple_, a Unitarian journal,\nthe precursor of the _Christian Examiner_, excited a good deal of\ncomment, not to say apprehension. He writes to his sister about it as\nfollows:\n\n     You asked me to say something about the article in the _Disciple_.\n     For myself, I freely confess that I think it a useful thing and\n     correct. The vigor of my orthodoxy, which is commonly pretty\n     susceptible, was not offended. Now, if you have any objections\n     which you can accurately and definitely state, no doubt there is\n     something in it which had escaped my notice. If your dislike is\n     only a misty, uncertain feeling about something, you know not what,\n     it were well to get fairly rid of it by the best means.\n\nThe same year he writes to his mother:\n\n     I am no partisan of any sect, but I must rejoice in seeing any\n     progress towards the conviction that Christianity is indeed \"_glad\n     tidings of great joy_,\" and that in its original purity it was a\n     very different thing from the system that is popularly preached,\n     and which is still received as reasonable and scriptural by men and\n     women, who in other respects are sensible and correct in their\n     judgments. When shall we learn that without the spirit of Christ we\n     are none of us His? I trust I am not becoming a partisan or a\n     bigot. I have suffered enough, and too much, in sustaining those\n     characters, in earlier, more inexperienced, and more ignorant\n     years; but I have no prospects of earthly happiness more inviting\n     than that of preaching the truth, with the humble hope of\n     impressing it on the mind with greater force, purity, and effect\n     than I could do with any other than my present conviction.\n\nIn 1840 the ministry was abandoned forever, for more secular pursuits.\nAfter 1849 his activities were wholly literary; he had no connection\nwith theology, and none who did not know his past suspected that he had\nonce been a clergyman.\n\nThe same cast of thought, not \"pale\" in his case, suffused his action\nat Brook Farm and made a Utopia quiet, calm, dignified, pervaded by the\nradiance of mind, the gentle enthusiasm of the intellect. The heat came\nin the main from other sources. He was receptive rather than original,\ninflammable rather than fiery, brilliant rather than warm. The heat was\nsupplied by those near him, by those he trusted, and by those he loved.\nNot that he was deficient in concern for society; far from it; but his\ninterest was more philosophical than philanthropic. The subject of an\nassociation that should combine intellectual and mechanical labor and\nshould diminish the distance between the tiller of the ground and the\neducator was agitated among the thinkers he was intimate with. Dr.\nChanning had such a project at heart. Mrs. Ripley burned with humane\nanticipations. Plans for social regeneration were in the air. It was\nimpossible for one who lived in the midst of ardent spirits, or was\nsensitive to fine impressions, or was cultivated in an ideal wisdom that\nwas not of this world, to escape the contagion of this kind of optimism;\nEmerson was saved by his belief in individual growth; Parker by his\nsteady common-sense; others were protected by their conservatism of\ntemperament or of association, by their want of courage, or their want\nof faith; but men and women of ideal propensities, like Nathaniel\nHawthorne, W. H. Channing, J. S. Dwight, joined the community, which\npromised a new era for Humanity. Mr. Ripley would probably have left the\nministry at any rate, for it had become distasteful to him, but it is\nnot likely that he would have undertaken the management of Brook Farm\nunless he had been assured of its success; for he was a New England\nyouth by birth and by disposition, prudent, careful, thrifty; his very\nenthusiasm was of the New England type, the product of theological\nideas, a creation of the gospels, a desire to introduce the \"Kingdom of\nHeaven,\" a continuance of the prophetic calling. New England is as noted\nfor its fanaticism as it is for its theology. Its fanaticism is the\noffspring of its theology, and in proportion as its theology disappears\nits fanaticism decreases. In Mr. Ripley's case the theology had reached\nvery near to its last attenuation and the fanaticism had tapered off\ninto a gentle enthusiasm. He undertook to establish a kingdom of heaven\non earth because he had given up the expectation of a kingdom of heaven\nin the skies; and he undertook to establish a kingdom of heaven on earth\nby rational, economic means, not by religious interventions. He was\nsubject to that peculiar kind of excitement that comes to a few people\nin connection with the keen exercise of their intellectual powers, when\nthey have laid hold of what seems to them a principle--an excitement\nthat is easily mistaken for moral earnestness even by one who is under\nits influence, which, indeed, lies so close to moral earnestness as to\nfeel quickly the effect of moral earnestness in others, notwithstanding\nthe checks applied by practical wisdom. Mr. Ripley had struck on a\ntheory of society, which at that time was passing from the phase of\nfeeling into the phase of philosophy. The theory was in the air; the\nmost susceptible spirits were full of it; all noble impulses were in its\nfavor, it belonged to the order of thought he had attained; it was\nnative to the aspirations that inflamed the men and women with whom he\nwas most intimate; their feelings awoke his intellect, and he was\ncarried away by a stream whereof he appeared to himself to be a\ntributary and whereof he appeared to others as the main current, on\naccount of his impetuosity, and the vigor with which he proceeded to put\nthe idea into practice. In his own mind he was realizing the dream of\nthe New Testament, but, in fact, he was testing a principle of which the\nNew Testament was quite unconscious, the modern principle of the equal\ndestinies of all men. He had abandoned the New Testament ground of\nallegiance to Jehovah, and had adopted the human ground of fidelity to\nsocial law. He was still under the spell of religious emotions, but they\nhad become merged in the abstractions of rationalism and merely lent an\nadded glow to his ideas, so that he could readily imagine that he was\nactuated by spiritual convictions when, in fact, he was doing duty as a\ndisciple of socialist philosophers. His own interest in Brook Farm was\nin the main speculative, though through his personal sympathies he was\nmoved toward an enterprise that had moral ends in view.\n\nOnce embarked in it, he gave his whole mind to its\naccomplishment,--all his industry, all his organizing talent, all his\nhigh sense of duty. He worked day and night; he wrote letters; he\nanswered inquiries; he mastered the science of agriculture; he did the\nlabor of a practical farmer; he maintained the supervision of the\nstrange family that gathered about him. Very remarkable was his success\nin keeping the intellectual side uppermost, in keeping clear of the\ntemptations to give way to instinctive leanings. His associations were\nwith books and study and bright people. He brought the most brilliant\nmen and women of the day to the place. He awakened the interest of the\ngeneral community. He diffused an atmosphere of cheerful hope around the\nexperiment. It is easy to make sport of Brook Farm; to laugh at the odd\nfolks who came there; to ridicule their motives and actions; to repeat\nstories of extravagant conduct; to tell of the eccentric behavior of men\nand maidens who were right-minded but impulsive; to follow\nspontaneousness to its results; to trace the course of unrestricted\nliberty. But it is not fair to remember these things as peculiarities of\nBrook Farm, as incidents of its conception, or as incidents that were\nagreeable to Mr. Ripley. He exerted the whole weight of his character\nagainst them. He watched and guarded. We do not hear of him in\nconnection with the scandals, the laxities, or the frolics. His efforts\nwere directed to the supremacy of ideas over instinct, the idea of a\nregenerated society, something very different from joyousness, or\nmerriment, or the fun of having a good time. He, too, was gay; he felt\nthe delight of freedom; but his gayety was born of happy confidence in\nthe principle at stake, his delight was connected with the advent of a\nnew method of intercourse among men. I remember hearing him once deliver\na speech in Boston. In it he spoke of the \"foolishness of preaching,\"\nand avowed his willingness to be a pioneer in the task of breaking out a\nnew future for humanity, a ditcher and delver in the work of\nconstructing the new building of God. He had the coming time continually\nin view. Others might enjoy themselves, others might grow tired of\nwaiting, but he held smiling on his way, determined to carry out the\nidea to the end. There was something grand in the steady intellectual\nforce with which he did his best to carry through a principle that\ncommanded more and more the assent of his reason. When the demonstration\nof Charles Fourier was laid before him, no argument was required to\npersuade him to adopt it. He took it up with all his energy; his\nenthusiasm rose to a higher pitch than ever; the rationale of the\nmovement was revealed to him, and apparently he saw for the first time\nthe full significance of the scheme he had been conducting. The\nimpelling power of an intellectual conviction was never more splendidly\nillustrated. Nobody discerned so clearly as he did the financial\nhopelessness of the experiment. Nobody felt the burden of responsibility\nas he felt it. Yet he did not flinch for a moment, and his patient\nassumption of the indebtedness at last had the stamp of real heroism\nupon it. His renewal of the most painful traditions of \"Grub Street\"\nuntil the liabilities of Brook Farm were cleared off is one of the noble\nhistories, a history that cannot be told in detail because of the\nmodesty which has left no record of toil undergone or duty done. The old\nsimile of the sun struggling with clouds, and gradually clearing itself\nas the day wears on, best illustrates my view of this man's\naccomplishment. There were the clouds of orthodoxy which were burned\naway at Cambridge. Then came the clouds of Unitarian divinity, which\nwere dispelled by the transcendental philosophy. These were succeeded by\nthe dark vapors of the ministry, and these by the sentimental\nphilanthropy of New England rationalism. At length his intellect broke\nthrough these obscurations and showed what it truly was.\n\nOn the failure of Brook Farm and the final dismissal of all plans for\ncreating society anew, Mr. Ripley's faculties emerged in their full\nstrength. The New England element was withdrawn. There was no longer\nthought for theology or reform, but solely for knowledge and literature.\nIn Boston he had taken on himself every opprobrious epithet. In his\nfinal letter to his congregation he avows his interest in temperance,\nanti-slavery, peace, the projects for breaking down social distinctions;\nsimply, it would seem, because his philosophy, falling in with popular\nsentiment, pointed that way; for he was never publicly identified with\nany of these causes, or ranked by reformers in the order of innovators.\nIndeed, one of the old Abolitionists told me that she had never\nassociated him with the anti-slavery people, though her family went to\nhis church. In New York there was no pretence of this kind. The devotion\nto literature absorbed his attention. His democratic concern for the\nworkingmen continued, but in a theoretical manner, if we may judge from\nthe fact that he took no part in domestic or foreign demonstrations,\nthat he made no speech, attended no meeting, consorted with no social\nreformers, did not even keep up his intimacy with the original leaders\nof socialism in this country. When the sadness of his first wife's death\nwas over, and the drudgery of toil was ended, he was happier than he had\never been. No time was wasted; no talent was misused. Mental labor was\nincessant, but in performing it there was pure delight. It is usual to\nthink of his early life as his best, and there were some who regarded\nhim as an extinct volcano; but I am of the opinion that his latter years\nwere his most characteristic, and that he was most entirely himself when\nhis intellectual nature came to its full play. In proportion as the\n\"olden thoughts, the spirit's pall,\" fell off, he became peaceful and\nsweet; his view backward and forward became clear, his purpose steady,\nhis will serene. The past was distasteful to him and he seldom alluded\nto it; but as one puts his childhood and his age together, a steady\ndevelopment is seen to run through both. His could not be a cloudless\nday, but he went on from glory to glory. His age more than justified the\npromise of his youth. In his latter years he befriended aspiring young\nmen; he made literature a power in America; he threw a dignity around\ntoil; he associated knowledge with happiness, and rendered light and\nlove harmonious. His favorite author was Goethe, the apostle of culture.\nHis familiarity with Sainte-Beuve, the master of literary criticism, was\nso great, that on occasion of that writer's decease, he sat down and\nwrote an account of him without recourse to books. Though without\nknowledge of art, destitute of taste for music, and deficient in\naesthetic appreciation, his sympathy was so large and true that these\ndeficiencies were not felt. The intellectual sunshine was shed over the\nentire nature, and the book was so universal that it seemed to embrace\neverything.\n\nThis is the property of pure mind, rarely seen in such perfection of\nlucidity. Such a mind is at once conservative and radical; conservative\nas treasuring the past, radical as anticipating improvement in the\nfuture. There is nothing like fanaticism, but a bright look in every\ndirection, a place for all sorts of accomplishments, hospitality to each\nnew invention, a radiant acceptance of all temperaments. The mind cannot\nbe superstitious, for it cannot believe that divine powers are\nidentified with material objects or occasional accidents; it cannot be\never sanguine as those are who indulge in abstract visions of good, for\nit knows that progress is very slow and gradual, and that the welfare of\nmankind is advanced by the process of civilization, by cultivation,\nacquirement, refinement, the gains of wealth, elegance, and delicacy of\ntaste. It judges by rational standards, not by sentimental feelings,\naccepting imperfection as the inevitable condition of human affairs and\nbounded characters. It is not exposed to the convulsions that accompany\neven the most exalted moods, but calmly labors and quietly hopes for the\nfuture.\n\nI do not say that George Ripley was such a mind, merely that his\ntendency was in that direction. He was limited by traditions; he had too\nmany prejudices. The axioms of the transcendental philosophy clung to\nhim. The shreds of religion hung about him. He could not divest himself\nof the ancient clerical memories and ways, nor wholly throw off the\nmantle of personal sympathy he had so long worn. He was not completely\nsecular.\n\nThat he was a perfect man is less evident still. His sunny quality was\ndue in some degree to a happy temperament, and was subject to the\neclipses that darken the blandest natures, and render sombre the most\nhilarious spirits. He lacked the steadfast courage of conviction, was\nsomewhat over-prudent and timid, afraid of pain, of popular disapproval,\nof criticism and opposition. This may have been due in part to his\nfrequent disappointments and the carefulness they forced upon him, to\nthe distrust in his own judgment which he had occasion to learn, and the\nnecessity of confining his action to the point immediately before him.\nBut I am inclined to think that this apprehensiveness was\nconstitutional. If it is suggested by way of objection that the bold\nexperiment of Brook Farm, made in the face of obloquy and derision,\nindicated moral courage of a high stamp, I would remind the critic of\nthe warm approbation of his friends, and the confident expectation of\nsuccess on the part of those he was intimate with. His wife not merely\ngave him her countenance but stimulated his zeal, and surrounded him\nevery day with an atmosphere of faith. He had the applause of Dr.\nChanning, and the support of his brilliant nephew. Men like Hawthorne,\nEllis Gray Loring, George Stearns, not to mention others, urged him on.\nHis own well-beloved sister was one of his ardent coadjutors. He had\nhopes of Emerson. In short, so far from being alone, he stood in an\ninfluential company, and instead of his being altogether unpopular was\nencompassed by the good-will of those he prized most. It would have\nrequired courage to resist such influences. Besides, he was inflated by\na momentary enthusiasm which carried him along in spite of himself and\nwould not allow his judgment to work. A sudden storm struck him, lifted\nunusual waves, caused unexampled spurts of foam, made the ordinarily\nquiet water boisterous and dangerous, and threw long lines of breakers\non the coast, so that what was a still lake became of a sudden a\ntempestuous sea. One must not hastily imagine that the water had become\nan ocean, or that it was really an Atlantic formerly supposed to be a\npool.\n\nThen it must be said he loved money too well. This infirmity was not\nnative to him, but must probably be imputed to early poverty, the\nnecessity of working hard in order to pay debts not altogether of his\nown contracting, thus pledging the meagre income of the first sixty\nyears of his life. His final income was large, but it was earned by\nincessant literary toil, which naturally rendered him avaricious of the\nrewards that might come to him. His generosity did not have a fair\nchance to show itself outside of his family. There it was lavish, but\nthere it was too much mixed up with affection, duty, and pride to be\ncredited to his manhood. He did not live long enough, either, to attain\ncomplete superiority over his accidents. He was already an old man\nbefore he had money for his wants. I remember meeting him on Broadway in\n1861, the year of his wife's death, and he said: \"My grief is embittered\nby the thought that she died just as I was getting able to obtain for\nher what she needed.\" He was then fifty-nine years of age. It cannot be\nexpected that any impulse of generosity will overcome the habits of a\nlife-time at so advanced a period as this. That they showed themselves\nat all is remarkable, and establishes as well their power as their\nexistence.\n\nIn a word, this man was too heavily weighted by circumstances to do his\ngenius full justice. He seemed to be two individuals, with little in\ncommon between them. As one looked at his past or at his present, his\nreal character was differently judged. The most plausible account of him\nwas that which supposed the experiences to be buried in a deep grave,\nwhich was seldom uncovered even by the man himself, who lived in the day\nbefore him, and rarely glanced back save to mourn over or to make sport\nof his former career. The only way of establishing a unity in his\nhistory is to concede the supremacy of the intellectual quality over the\nmoral in his first endeavors. The prejudice in favor of the moral was\nand is so strong that to maintain this supremacy will seem like a\ncondemnation of him, though meant in his praise. He probably would so\nhave considered it, especially when carried away by the flood of\nmemories. It was easy for him to be mistaken. His merit consists in the\nenergy of the reason which made headway against a host of disadvantages\nand achieved something resembling a victory in the end. Some time hence,\nwhen the homage paid to sentiment shall have yielded to the worship of\nknowledge, George Ripley will be regarded as one of the earliest\napostles of the light.\n\nAll these greatly enriched my life in New York, opened new spheres of\nactivity, and enlarged my whole horizon, both intellectually and\nsocially. Their variety, elasticity, and vigor in many fields of\nintellectual force added much to the extension of my view, and acted,\nnot merely as a refreshment, but also as a stimulus.\n\n\n\n\nXV. THE PRESENT SITUATION.\n\n\nThe progress of mind is continuous. Strictly speaking, there are no\nperiods of transition, no crises in thought. The history of ideas\npresents no gap. Every stage begins and ends an epoch. One is often\nreminded of the common notion that the year begins and ends at a\nparticular moment. Every day begins and ends a year; every hour is\nequally sacred. Yet solemn thought, worship, self-examination, are\nprecious, and these can be secured only by the observance of times and\nseasons; so that we fall on our knees and pray when the old year ends\nand the new one begins.\n\nSo, as a point of time must be fixed upon, we will begin with Thomas\nPaine. It is not easy to speak fully and justly of Paine, because in so\ndoing we must speak of the misapprehensions and mis-statements of which\nhe has been the victim; and even if we refute these, the bare mention of\nthem leaves a stain on his fame. No doubt his method--application of\ncommon-sense to religion--was essentially vicious. Common-sense is an\nadmirable quality in practical affairs, quite indispensable in the\nmanagement of business of all kinds, but it has no place in the\ndiscussion of works of the higher imagination--of poetry, art, music, or\nfaith. But such was the man's genius, such was the demand of his age. It\nis easy to speak of his ignorance, his coarseness, his impudence, his\nvanity; but it must be remembered that his education was very imperfect,\nfor he was utterly ignorant of any language but his own, and he did not,\napparently, read even the English deists; that he was a man of the\npeople; that he lived in an age of revolutions; that he stood for the\nrights of common humanity. It must be remembered also that, in the first\nplace, he brought the human mind face to face with problems which had\nbeen appropriated by a special class that considered itself exempt from\ncriticism. In the next place he was in dead earnest; not attacking the\nBible or religion out of flippancy or brutality, but because he really\nhated the interpretations that were usually given of sacred things; his\nattack was against orthodoxy, not against faith. \"His blasphemy,\" says\nLeslie Stephen, \"was not against the Supreme God, but against Jehovah.\nHe was vindicating the ruler of the universe from the imputations which\nbelievers in literal inspiration and dogmatical theology had heaped upon\nhim under the disguise of homage. He was denying that the God before\nwhom reasonable creatures should bow in reverence could be the\nsupernatural tyrant of priestly imagination, who was responsible for\nJewish massacres, who favored a petty clan at the expense of his other\ncreatures, who punished the innocent for the guilty, who lighted the\nfires of everlasting torment for the masses of mankind, and who gave a\nmonopoly of his favor to priests or a few favored enthusiasts. Paine, in\nshort, with all his brutality, had the conscience of his hearers on his\nside, and we must prefer his rough exposure of popular errors to the\nunconscious blasphemy of his supporters.\" Then Paine _did love his\nkind;_ he abhorred cruelty, and desired, after his fashion, to elevate\nhis race.\n\nExamples of this are numerous. At the time when the \"Common Sense\" and\n\"Crisis\" were having an enormous sale, the demand for the former\nreaching not less than one hundred thousand copies, and both together\noffering to the author profits that would have made him rich, Paine\nfreely gave the copyright to every State in the Union. In his period of\npublic favor and of intimate friendship with the founders of the\ngovernment, Paine declined to accept any place or office of emolument,\nsaying: \"I must be in everything, as I have ever been, a disinterested\nvolunteer. My proper sphere of action is on the common floor of\ncitizenship, and to honest men I give my hand and heart freely.\" The\nState of Virginia made a large claim on the general government for\nlands. Thomas Paine opposed the claim as unreasonable and unjust, though\nat that very time there was a resolution before the legislature of\nVirginia to appropriate to him a handsome sum of money for services\nrendered. In 1797, Paine was the chief promoter of the society of\n\"Theophilanthropists,\" whose object was the extinction of religious\nprejudices, the maintenance of morality, and the diffusion of faith in\none God. \"It is want of feeling,\" says this _heartless blasphemer_, \"to\ntalk of priests and bells, while infants are perishing in hospitals, and\nthe aged and infirm poor are dying in the streets.\" In 1774, Paine\npublished in the _Pennsylvania Journal_, a strong, anti-slavery essay.\nWhile clerk in the Pennsylvania Legislature he made an appeal in behalf\nof the army, then in extreme distress, and subscribed his entire salary\nfor the year to the fund that was raised. Towards the close of his life,\nhe devised a plan for imposing a special tax on all deceased persons'\nestates, to create a fund from which all, on reaching twenty-one years,\nshould receive a sum to establish them in business, and in order that\nall who were in the decline of life should be saved from destitution. It\nis not generally known that Paine often preached on Sunday afternoons at\nNew Rochelle. In England he spoke in early life from Dissenting pulpits,\nand to him we owe this exquisite definition of religion: \"It is man\nbringing to his Maker the fruits of his heart.\" All this is evidence\nthat honorable considerations were at the bottom of his own belief. He\nwas, according to his view, the friend of man, and in this interest\nwrote his books. He introduced kindness into religion.\n\nHe certainly repeated the ideas of Collins and Toland, and the\nconceptions that were floating in the air, breathed by Voltaire and\nDiderot; but he did give them voice. The English deists were dead, and\nwould have continued so but for him. He was essentially a pamphleteer,\nthe master of a very rich, simple style that went directly to the hearts\nof the people. His best performances were unquestionably political, but\nall his works were marked by the same peculiarities. His mistake was in\nsupposing that the power that could animate an army could pull down a\nchurch.\n\nPaine was no saint, but he was no sinner above all that dwelt in\nJerusalem. He drank too much; he took too much snuff; he was vulgar; he\nwas a vehement man in a vehement age; he went to dinner in his\ndressing-gown; and he certainly did not bring his best convictions to\nbear on his private character; but he did wake up minds that had been\ndumb or oppressed before. The \"Age of Reason\" went everywhere, into\nholes and corners, among back-woodsmen and pioneers, and did more\nexecution among plain moral men than many a book that was more worthy of\nacceptance. It is a pity that his disciples should be content with\nrepeating his denials, instead of building on the rational foundations\nwhich he laid. For instance, they might, while adding to his criticism\nof the Scriptures, have shown their high moral bearing and their\nspiritual glow. They might have carried out further his \"enthusiasm for\nhumanity,\" showing that man had more in him than Paine suspected. They\nmight have justified by more scientific reasons his belief in God and in\nimmortality. They might have been truly rationalists as he wanted to be,\nbut could not be at that period. But they were satisfied with saying\nover and over again what he said as well as he could, but not as well as\nthey can. He was simply a precursor, but he was a precursor of such men\nas Colenso and Robertson Smith, and a large host of scholars beside.\n\nPaine's best exponent in America is perhaps Robert G. Ingersoll. He is a\nsort of transfigured Paine. He has all Paine's power over the masses,\nbeing perhaps the most eloquent man in America; more than Paine's wit;\nmore than Paine's earnestness; more than Paine's love of humanity; more\nthan Paine's scorn of deceit and harshness,--for he extends his\nabhorrence of cruelty even to dumb beasts. He has great power of\nsympathy, a tender feeling for misery of all kinds. He is a poet, as is\nevident from these words:\n\n     We do not know whether the grave is the end of this life or the\n     door of another, or whether the night here is somewhere else a\n     dawn. The idea of Immortality, that like a sea has ebbed and flowed\n     into the human heart with its countless waves beating against the\n     shores and rocks of time and faith, was not born of any book or of\n     any creed or of any religion. It was born of human affection, and\n     it will continue to ebb and flow beneath the mists and clouds of\n     doubt and darkness as long as love kisses the lips of death. It is\n     the rainbow, Hope, shining upon the tears of grief.\n\nPaine's simple childlike belief in God and Immortality, Ingersoll\nremands to the cloudy sphere of agnosticism, as Paine probably would\nnow; but it is my opinion that if evidence which he regarded as\nsatisfactory--that is, legal evidence--could be given, he, too, would\naccept these articles; for he has none of the elements of the bigot\nabout him. His detestation is simply of hell and a priesthood; for pure,\nspiritual religion, he has only respect. Like Paine, he attacks the\necclesiasticism and theology of the day, and is satisfied with doing\nthat; and, like Paine, he has convictions instead of opinions, and his\ncharacter is all aflame with his ideas.\n\nIn his private life, in his family relations, in his public career,\nthere is no reproach on his name--nothing that he need be ashamed of.\n\nMr. Ingersoll does not worship the Infinite under any recognized form or\nname, but that he adores the _substance of deity_ is beyond all doubt;\nhe worships truth and purity and sincerity and love,--everything that is\nhighest and noblest in human life. One word more I must say,--that his\nmotive is essentially religious. It is his aim to lift off the burden of\nsuperstition and priestcraft; to elevate the soul of manhood and\nwomanhood; to promote rational progress in goodness; to emancipate every\npossibility of power in the race; and this is the aim of every pure\nreligion,--to open new spheres of hope and accomplishment.\n\nThe disintegration of the popular orthodoxy goes on very fast, and\nalways under the influence of the moral sentiment. This is very prettily\nput by Miss Jewett, in one of her short stories, entitled \"The Town\nPoor.\" Two ladies, jogging along a country road, fall to talking about\nan old meeting-house which is being _improved_ after the modern fashion.\nOne of them laments the loss of the ancient pews and pulpit, and the\nsubstitution of a modern platform and slips. The other says:\n\n     When I think of them old sermons that used to be preached in that\n     old meeting-house, I am glad it is altered over so as not to remind\n     folks. Them old brimstone discourses! you know preachers is far\n     more reasonable now-a-days. Why, I sat an' thought last Sabbath as\n     I listened, that if old Mr. Longbrother and Deacon Bray could hear\n     the difference, they'd crack the ground over 'em like pole beans,\n     and come right up 'long side their headstones.\n\nIn Chicago, some years ago, orthodox preachers begged a pronounced\nradical to stay and help them fight the matter out on the inside; and a\nminister of one of the principal churches there distinctly said that he\ndid not believe in the infallibility of the Bible or an everlasting\npunishment. A Congregational minister in Connecticut expressed himself\nas thoroughly in sympathy with the advanced party in theology. An\northodox clergyman in New England declared that he did not know of an\northodox minister in the whole range of his acquaintance who believed in\nthe old doctrine. A minister in Rhode Island, who occupied a high\nposition in the orthodox church, while declining to make an open\nstatement on account of social and political reasons, avowed his\nwillingness to write a private letter disclaiming all belief in the\naccepted views. The Rev. Howard MacQueary, the Episcopal rector of\nCanton, Ohio, who has recently published a book, entitled the \"Evolution\nof Man and Christianity,\" has been convicted of heresy against his own\nprotest and the popular sentiment. The successor of Henry Ward Beecher,\nin Brooklyn, N. Y., recently published the essentials of his creed.\nThere is no fall in it, no trinity, no miracle in the old sense, no\neternal punishment. He declares, frankly, that there is no difference\n_in kind_ between man, Jesus, and God, but only a difference _in\ndegree_. The same man recently preached in King's Chapel, and lectured\nin Channing Hall. The Andover controversy distinctly reveals the decay\nof the ancient theology. In England dissent has gone very far, as is\nevident from a book called \"The Kernel and the Husk,\" written by the\nRev. Dr. E. A. Abbott, the author of the article on \"The Gospels,\" in\nthe last edition of the \"Encyclopaedia Britannica.\" In this article the\nfall is repudiated, the trinity, miracles, the virgin birth, the\nphysical resurrection of Jesus, and eternal punishment; yet even his\nbishop has not rebuked him. Yes, the moral sentiment is certainly coming\nto its rights.\n\nOf Unitarianism, after what has been said, it is unnecessary to speak.\nThat there should be a difference between the East and the West is\nnatural. The East holds fast, in large sense, to the ancient theological\ntraditions. The West never had them, and can therefore declare that its\nfellowship is conditioned on no doctrinal tests, and can welcome all who\nwish to establish truth and righteousness and love in the world. The\nWest will ultimately prevail; the temper of the East is rapidly wasting\naway, and the breach will soon be closed up. The new Unitarian churches\nwill be founded on a practical basis, the only requirement being that\nthe minister should be deeply in earnest about religious things. The\ncharacteristic of all churches, of whatever name, is an urgent interest\nin social reform, a deep concern for the disfranchised and oppressed,\nand a warm feeling towards the elevation of mankind. The universal\nprayer is, to borrow the pithy language of Dr. F. H. Hedge: \"May Thy\nkingdom come on earth!\" not \"May we come into Thy kingdom.\"\n\nIf it was hard to do full justice to Thomas Paine, it is harder to do\nfull justice to the Broad Churchman. There is no authoritative account\nof his position to which appeal can be made, and the great variety of\nopinion on incidental points makes it difficult to frame any description\nwhich the leaders would accept. A great deal depends on the change of\ncircumstances, the ruling spirit of the time, the prevailing tendencies\nof thought in the period,--whether scientific, critical, or social,--and\na great deal depends, too, on the peculiarities of individual\ntemperament, but the fundamental doctrines are the same. The ordinary\nobserver can see the largeness, sympathy, inclusiveness, devotion to\nactual needs. But the ordinary observer cannot see the real basis of\nfaith in human nature; the manifestation of the Divine Being in the\nhighest possibilities of man; the trust in a living, active,\ncommunicating God.\n\nThese are cardinal points, and must be insisted on. The inherent\ndepravity of man; his essential corruption; his absolute inability to\nreceive any portion of the divine life, is naturally repudiated. But his\nfeebleness, crudeness, imperfection, his dearth and deficiency, his\nsensuality, hardness, love of material things, is insisted on, and\ncannot be exaggerated. Still there is a germ of the divine nature in\nhim, a spark of the divine flame which can be kindled. The familiar\nlanguage of Longfellow expresses this idea exactly:\n\n    \"Ye whose hearts are fresh and simple,\n    Who have faith in God and Nature,\n    Who believe that in all ages\n    Every human heart is human,\n    That in even savage bosoms\n    There are longings, yearnings, strivings\n    For the good they comprehend not,\n    That the feeble hands and helpless,\n    Groping blindly in the darkness,\n    Touch God's right hand in that darkness\n    And are lifted up and strengthened:--\n    Listen to this simple story.\"\n\nTo this nature, thus receptive, God addresses Himself. He is the\nFather, the absolute Love, and his desire is to lead men upward towards\nthe height of divine perfection. In all ages, in every way, he has been\ntrying to do this; and all nature, all art, all literature is full of\nthis affection for his child. Even the Pagan myths express this striving\nof God with man. The existence of what we call evil is assumed, but\nthere is no attempt to explain it or theorize about it or reconcile it\nwith any mode of philosophy. To us it may be simply the divine effort to\nstartle the soul into a consciousness of itself. Even the worst forms of\ndoubt, of denial, of atheism may be parts of this divine effort; even\nmen like Strauss and Feuerbach may be witnesses for truth, because they\ndrive men back in horror from the pit of disbelief, and compel them to\ntake refuge through tears and prayers in the supreme love. Of absolute\nevil we cannot be sure that there is any; so many ways must the infinite\nspirit have to awaken men to a sense of their own destiny.\n\nI cannot better convey my thought than by recounting the essence of two\nsermons that I heard some years ago from eminent preachers in different\nAmerican cities; the first was on the death of Charles Darwin. After a\nvery ornate service, the minister dwelt enthusiastically on the merits\nof Darwin as a philosopher, described his system, and declared that his\nown belief in the Deity of Christ, was confirmed in large measure by\nDarwin's theory of the Selection of the Fittest. The statement was\nstartling at first, for the two doctrines seemed to point in opposite\ndirections, but the speaker probably meant that the Christ expressed all\nthe potentialities of human nature; that he was the Fittest; not a\nmiracle, not an exception to humanity, but the perfection of man; in\nother words, a divine person. The other sermon turned on the murder of\nSisera (Judges iv, 18), as contrasted with a statement in the first\nepistle of John (iv, 8), \"God is love.\" The rector spoke of the\nassassination of Sisera in terms of extreme abhorrence; called it\ntreacherous, cruel, base, and then said: \"See what progress the human\nmind has made from this period to that when John was written.\" The\ncommon impression is that the _human_ mind had nothing to do with it, it\nbeing the _divine_ mind that was alone in question. But what the\npreacher meant was evidently this,--either that the divine mind dropped\nthoughts into the human mind as fast as they could be appreciated, or\nthat the human mind, imperfect in development, apprehended all that it\ncould of the perfect mind. Whichever case we assume, the integrity of\nthe divine mind is secured, and at the same time the growth of the\nhuman.\n\nAt this point, the conception of the Broad Churchman's idea of the\ninspiration of the Scripture must be dwelt upon, for the doctrine is\nvery remarkable, and throws a flood of light upon his whole conception\nof the aim and purpose of Christianity. According to the common notion,\nthe Bible is literally the word of God, and men have nothing to do but\nto submit themselves to its authority. They must suppress all natural\ndesires, all dictates of their moral sense, to this supreme standard of\ntruth and rectitude. According to this notion, the whole of man, as a\nthoroughly corrupted being, is _subject_, in obedience to this law. The\nsecond theory, adopted by the American Broad Churchman, holds that the\nBible _contains_ the word of God; and this implies that there may be a\npart of the Bible that is not the word of God, and opens the way to an\nindefinite amount of criticism, speculation, and doubt. The English\nBroad Churchman holds, as I understand it, the common doctrine, but with\nthis immense difference. That whereas, according to the common notion,\nthe Bible is the word of God, he maintains that the whole object of the\nBible is to educate and uplift man. The word is a minister to human\nneeds. Through it, God is trying in various ways, by history, biography,\ntale, and song, to warn, persuade, teach, inspire the human soul.\nSometimes he can do nothing but startle, shame, provoke; and the very\nthings we find fault with may be designed for moral education. The\nBible, itself, encourages this idea. Does not Paul preach\nreconciliation? Does not John speak of God as love? God hardened the\nheart of Pharaoh in order that he might show that He was stronger than\nPharaoh. Jacob was not altogether a lovely character, but the Lord\nwrestled with him and lamed him, thus showing his own disapproval of the\npatriarch's temper. David was a seducer, adulterer, and murderer, but he\n_repented_, was ashamed, was sorrowful, and this repentance made him a\nman after God's own heart. It was not that God _approved_ of his\nconduct, but that he wanted to make us _disapprove_ of it. In like\nmanner Luther based his faith on the Bible, because it convicted him of\nsin, and drove him to seek refuge for himself in Christ. The Church as\nan organization has always this one purpose in view--to minister to the\nsoul of man. The \"Articles\" fairly throbbed with this conception. The\noutrage committed by the \"Evangelicals,\" men who insist upon everlasting\npunishment and talk of doom, consists in their overlooking this divine\npurpose towards humanity.\n\nThe _doctrines_ of the Church--the Deity of Christ, the Incarnation, the\nResurrection, the Ascension--bear this testimony, and are inexplicable\nwithout it. But these doctrines simply convey one thought. The Christ\nmust be God, otherwise he could not exemplify the perfect love; he must\nbe Incarnate, otherwise he could not mingle with men. His Resurrection\nteaches his absolute triumph over death; his Ascension is a pledge of\nhis union with God and his perpetual intercourse with God's children.\n\nThe two _rites_, Baptism and Communion, give the same idea. Baptism\nimports a recognition of the duty to lead a Christian life; and\nCommunion imports a wish, on the part of all who partake of it, to enter\ninto the privilege of a perfect harmony with Christ. None of these\npoints are reached by criticism, or any array of texts, though passages\nmay be cited in confirmation of them. But the proof is derived from\nexperience, from the felt need of enlightenment and inspiration, from\nprayer and the yearning after eternal life. No doubt it is taken for\ngranted that neither the Bible nor the Church expresses the _whole_ word\nof God. The word is as large as the divine love, and this is infinite.\nThe complete word of God includes all nature, all history, and all life.\n\nIt will be understood that the Broad Church notion is only a theory and\nrests entirely on its reasonableness. It is simply a modification of\nEpiscopalianism, and none but an Episcopalian would be likely to adopt\nit. Its interest for us consists in its _human_ character, in its\nearnestness for social reform, in its passionate desire to make\nconscience and justice and freedom of the Spirit supreme in all human\naffairs. It is essentially an ethical system with an ecclesiastical\naddition and a heavenly purpose.\n\nThere is certainly a great difference between the Broad Church in\nAmerica and the Broad Church in England; there are no Thirty-Nine\nArticles in this country; there is no National Church. The Broad\nChurchman here is still a Churchman, but the system is much more elastic\nand much more intellectual. The Church is to him also a divine\ninstitution, but not a final establishment; and it becomes divine by\nvirtue of its helpfulness in imparting the divine life and its power of\nhuman service. The sacraments have become symbols, venerable from their\nantiquity, but more venerable from their use. The Broad Churchman is an\northodox believer, but he accepts only the simplest creeds, and he\ninterprets them in accordance with the rational principles of thought,\nand with his fundamental conception of Christianity, holding not to the\nwritten letter, but to the real meaning of the Confession. This meaning\nis, he maintains, easily reconcilable with the idea that all revelation\nis made to a living mind,--whether that of a race or an individual,--and\nthat the Bible is merely the record of it. No _book_, in his estimation,\ncan be inspired. This, coupled with a belief in the unlimited progress\nof the natural conscience, brings the system within the category of\nmodern arrangements.\n\nThe idea that man is _developed_ into the divine life, not _converted_\nto it, seems to be the heart of the system. The writings of F. D.\nMaurice are full of it. He said that he did not know what the Broad\nChurch was, and disclaimed any position in it; yet he is its reputed\nfather, and certainly held its cardinal doctrine. This was the soul of\nhis teaching; this dictated his likes and his dislikes; this animated\nhis dissent from the Evangelicals on the one hand and the Rationalists\non the other; this made him cling to the \"Articles\"; this made him love\nthe Church. I cannot better convey my notion of the Broad Churchman's\ncredence than by quoting some passages from Maurice:\n\n     I think that the _ground-work of this thought_ and this humanity\n     _is laid bare_ in the Thirty-nine Articles; _that for that\n     ground-work_ [namely, the living God, the living Word] all our\n     different schools are trying to produce feeble and crumbling\n     substitutes; that we must recur to it if we would pass the narrow\n     dimensions of Calvinism, Anglicanism, Romanism; if we would learn\n     what a message we have for Jews, Mahometans, Brahmins, Buddhists,\n     for all the nations of the earth, as well as our poor people at\n     home.\n\n     I cannot doubt that this belief [the confession of a God, who was,\n     and is, and is to come] is latent in every man now; that we are all\n     living, moving, having our being in this God, and that He does\n     reveal Himself to His creatures gradually, before He is revealed in\n     His fulness of glory.\n\n     I do perceive that if I have any work in the world, it is to bear\n     witness of this name [the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy\n     Ghost], not as expressing certain relations, however profound, in\n     the divine nature, but as the underground of all fellowship among\n     men and angels, as that which will at last bind all into one,\n     satisfying all the craving of the reason as well as of the heart,\n     meeting the desires and intuitions that are scattered through all\n     the religions of the world.\n\n     The Church must either fulfil its witness of the redemption for\n     mankind or be cut off. And I cannot help thinking that a time is at\n     hand when we shall awaken to this conviction, and when we shall\n     perceive that what we call our individual salvation means nothing,\n     and that our faith in it becomes untenable when we separate it from\n     the salvation which Christ wrought out for the world by His\n     incarnation and sacrifice, resurrection and ascension.\n\n     He has been pleased to reveal to me in His Son the brightness of\n     His glory, His absolute love. On that point I have a right to be\n     certain; he who says I have not, rejects the Bible and disbelieves\n     the incarnation of the Lord. I will not give up an inch of this\n     ground; it is a matter of life and death.\n\n     By baptism we claim the position which Christ has claimed for all\n     mankind.... More and more I am led to ask myself what a Gospel to\n     mankind must be, whether it must not have some other ground than\n     the fall of Adam and the sinful nature of man.... No doctrine can\n     be so at variance as this, with the notion that it is a Gospel\n     which men have need of, and in their inmost hearts are craving for.\n\nWhy is not this system sufficient? Simply because the claim that Christ\nis God, does not seem made out to severely critical minds. Such as these\nmust hold even the Broad Church to be a mythology, beautiful and\ninnocent, but still a mythology. The word \"mythology\" implies no\ndisparagement. A mythology is simply the poetical form of an idea, and\ntakes its character from the nature of the ideas it represents. The\npagan mythology is on this account very different from the Christian,\nand a mythology that has universal love as its basis may well be called\ninnocent and beautiful. To the doctrine of trinity, philosophically\nconsidered, even Unitarian scholars make no objection. What they cannot\naccept is the deity of Jesus as an historical person. The Christ is not,\nin their opinion, an historical person, but a doctrine, not identical\nwith the man of the New Testament. The Divine Being has never, in their\nestimation, appeared on earth. They only who can put aside criticism,\ncan suppress it, can regard it but as one of many manifestations of\nmind, can fix their eyes on a church for society at large and not for\nindividuals, will be likely to accept it, and they will on the ground\nthat it is altogether human, a church for mankind.\n\nThe last phase in the development of the moral sentiment is represented\nby the \"Ethical Societies.\" It is natural that the origin of these\nshould be Jewish, for the Jews are unencumbered by the mysteries of the\nChristian theology; their genius is for social organization, and the\nmoral element is very large in their religion. It is natural, too, that\nthe system should be purer here than in England. Some of the members of\nthe \"Cambridge Ethical Society\" are members of the Church of England,\nand have to be warned not to set themselves needlessly in opposition to\nthe work of the Christian churches. The \"Edinburgh Ethical Club\" is\nmainly a debating society. In America it is usual to have a lecturer,\nand stated services on Sunday. But these services are very simple, nay,\neven bare; there is no prayer, and no scripture, no architecture or art\nor poetry; but there is an intense earnestness, nay, enthusiasm, for\nsocial reform. There are kindergartens for the poor children of the\nstreets, there are classes for the untaught, libraries for the\nworkingmen, plans for better lodging and employment for the families of\nartisans. There is no fixed doctrine in regard to the origin of the\nmoral sentiments, lest any should be alienated; the object being to\ncombine all who have at heart the moral interests of mankind. The\npeculiarity of these societies is not so much that they lay emphasis on\nthe moral as distinct from the spiritual interests, or aim to break down\nthe dividing line between Religion and Ethics, as it is that they rest\nupon conscience as the supreme authority, that they assume its practical\nfunction, build upon it as the one and only thing absolutely known.\nThere is no pretence of following, even at a distance, the charities of\nthe old churches with their vast funds, their immense organizations,\ntheir heaps of tracts, their legions of missionaries, all employed in\ncalling unbelievers into the fold. The object is to elevate all mankind\nby appealing to their moral instincts, on the ground of their inherent\nability to rise in the scale of being.\n\nTo make their position clear let me quote the words of the founder of\nthese societies, contained in an article entitled \"The Freedom of\nEthical Fellowship,\" in the first number of the _International Journal\nof Ethics_:\n\n     It is the aim of the Ethical Societies to extend the area of moral\n     co-operation so as to include a part, at least, of the inner moral\n     life; to unite men of divers opinions and beliefs in the common\n     endeavor to explore the field of duty; to gain clearer perceptions\n     of right and wrong; to study with thoroughgoing zeal the practical\n     problems of social, political, and individual ethics, and to embody\n     the new insight in manners and institutions....\n\n     It would be a wrong and a hindrance to the further extension of\n     truth to raise above our opinions the superstructure of a social\n     institution. For institutions in their nature are conservative;\n     they dare not, without imperilling their stability, permit a too\n     frequent inspection or alteration of their foundations.... The\n     subject part of mankind, in most places, might, with Egyptian\n     bondage expect Egyptian darkness, were not the candle of the Lord\n     set up by himself in men's minds, which it is impossible for the\n     breath or power of man wholly to extinguish. It is to this \"candle\n     of the Lord set up in men's minds\" that we look for illumination.\n     It is in the light which it sheds that we would read the problems\n     of conduct and teach others to read them. We appeal directly to the\n     conscience of the present age, and of the civilized portion of\n     mankind. There remains as a residue a common deposit of moral\n     truth, a common stock of moral judgments, which we may call the\n     common conscience. It is upon this common conscience that we\n     build.... The contents of the common conscience we would clarify\n     and classify, to the end that they may become the conscious\n     possession of all classes; and in order to enrich and enlarge the\n     conscience, the method we would follow is to begin with cases in\n     which the moral judgment is already clear, the moral rule already\n     accepted; and to show that the same rule, the same judgment,\n     applies to other cases, which, because of their greater complexity,\n     are less transparent to the mental eye....\n\n     And here it may be appropriate to introduce a few reflections on\n     the relations of moral practice to ethical theory in religious\n     belief. To many it will appear that the logic of our position must\n     lead us to underestimate the value of philosophical and religious\n     doctrines in connection with morality, and that, having excluded\n     this from our basis of fellowship, we shall inevitably drift into a\n     crude empiricism. I may be permitted to say that precisely the\n     opposite is at least our aim, and that among the objects we propose\n     to ourselves, none are dearer than the advancement of ethical\n     theory and the upbuilding of religious conviction. The Ethical\n     Society is a society of persons who are bent on being taught\n     clearer perceptions of right and wrong, and being shown how to\n     improve conduct. At least, let us hasten to add, the ideal of the\n     society is that of a body of men who shall have this bent. Is it\n     vain to hope that there will in time arise those who will render\n     them the service they require....\n\n     It is safe to say that every step forward in religion was due to a\n     quickening of the moral impulses; that moral progress is the\n     condition of religious progress; that the good life is the soil out\n     of which the religious life grows. The truths of religion are\n     chiefly two,--that there is a reality other than that of the\n     senses, and that the ultimate reality in things is, in a sense\n     transcending our comprehension, akin to the moral nature of men.\n     But how shall we acquaint ourselves with this super-sensible? The\n     ladder of science does not reach so far. And the utmost stretch of\n     the speculative reason cannot attain to more than the abstract\n     postulate of an infinite, which, however, is void of the essential\n     attributes of divinity. Only the testimony of the moral life can\n     support a vital conviction of this sort....\n\n     The Ethical Society is friendly to genuine religion anywhere and\n     everywhere, because it vitalizes religious doctrines by pouring\n     into them the contents of spiritual meaning.... A new moral\n     earnestness must precede the rise of larger religious ideals; for\n     the new religious synthesis which many long for, will not be a\n     fabrication, but a growth. It will not steal upon us as a thief in\n     the night, or burst upon us as lightning from the sky, but will\n     come in time as a result of the gradual, moral evolution of modern\n     society, as the expression of higher moral aspirations, and a\n     response to deeper moral needs.\n\nIn his famous essay on \"Worship,\" Emerson says:\n\n     There will be a new church founded on moral science, at first cold\n     and naked, a babe in a manger again, the algebra and mathematics of\n     ethical law, the church of men to come, without shawm or psaltery\n     or sackbut; but it will have heaven and earth for its beams and\n     rafters; science for symbol and illustration; it will fast enough\n     gather beauty, music, picture, poetry.\n\nIs this the church that Emerson predicted? It looks like it. Already we\nseem to hear the shawms and sackbuts. Already there are desires after a\nmore rich and melodious administration.\n\nThe last number of the _International Journal of Ethics_ contains two\narticles: one on \"The Inner Life in Relation to Morality,\" the other on\n\"The Ethics of Doubt,\" which suggest a transcendental ground for moral\nbeliefs; and they who dissent from this position surround _action_ with\nan ideal solemnity. At all events it is something to see, even at a\ndistance, a city that hath foundations.\n\n\n\n\nXVI. THE RELIGIOUS FUTURE OF AMERICA.\n\n\nIn the _Revue des Deux Mondes_ of October 15, 1860, M. Renan wrote a\nremarkable article on the \"Future of Religion in Modern Society.\" This\npaper of course dealt largely with questions that were interesting at\nthat time, but it also contains very acute observations on the whole\nsubject, which are of universal concern. His conclusions are that\nneither Judaism nor Romanism nor the established forms of Protestantism\nwill constitute the coming faith, which must be spiritual (that is, free\nof space and time), undogmatical, and enfranchised. \"The religious\nquestion,\" he says, \"finds its solution in liberty.... The liberal\nprinciple pre-eminently is that man has a soul, that he is to be reached\nonly through the soul, that nothing is of value save as it effects a\nchange in the soul. An inflexible justice, granting with inexorable\nfirmness liberty to all, even to those who, were they masters, would\nrefuse it to their adversaries, is the only issue that reason discovers\nfor the grave problems raised in our time.\" This essay, along with that\nof Emile de Laveleye of Liege in Belgium, on the \"Religious Future of\nCivilized Communities,\" written in 1876, sums up the whole question. It\nonly remains to apply their principles to America.\n\nMany dread the prevalence of Roman Catholicism. I confess I never could\nshare in that apprehension. For if there is anything certain it is the\nunchangeableness of the lines of division that separate the three great\nregions of the earth, each having its own faith. There is the Greek\nChurch, which rules in Asia; the Latin Church, which is confined to the\nLatin races, and is strongest in Southern Italy, where the people are\nmost ignorant and supine; and the Protestant Church, which prevails in\nNorthern Europe among the Germanic nations. As Renan says:\n\n     Nothing will come of the mutual struggle of the three Christian\n     families; their equilibrium is as well assured as that of the three\n     great races which share between them the world; their separation\n     will secure the future against the excessive predominance of a\n     single religious power, just as the division of Europe must forever\n     prevent the return of that _orbis romanus_, that closed circle,\n     which allowed no possible escape from the tyranny that unity has\n     engendered.\n\nMoreover, the Roman Catholic faith is essentially _Italian_, and as\nsuch can have no permanent influence in Germany, England, or America.\nThe great popes of the Middle Ages, whose genius raised the papacy to\npower and splendor, were Italians. Italy, until a few years ago, was\nisolated; not a great political power, as it is now, among other powers\nof Europe, nor drawn by political affiliations into the schemes of other\ndominions. Besides, the Catholic Church had the advantages of the\nItalian genius for organization, command, wisdom in practical affairs.\nThen, too, it had the immense benefit of the old Roman treasures of art,\nwhich gave a glory to the system. These considerations alone would make\nit impossible that Romanism, in its foreign form, should ever become the\nreligion of the United States. There may be another kind of\necclesiasticism, but without the ancient authority; an ecclesiasticism\nwhich stands for pomp, ornament, display, beauty, but not for anything\nmore. There is evidence that every form of religion here is disposed to\ntake on elements of decoration,--architecture, music, stained glass,\ndrapery, pictures, and monuments; but this is only a sign of increasing\nwealth, not of increasing subjection.\n\nIn addition to all this, the _genius_ of the American people is\nstrongly against anything like submission to authority. The love of\nliberty is exceedingly powerful. It is claimed that Romanism is not\ncommitted to any form of government, that it is as favorable to\nrepublican institutions as to monarchical; but this is not the opinion\nof Renan, who was born and trained in the church, and who is therefore\nentitled to speak with knowledge; nor is it the opinion of other\nscholars, Martineau for instance, who says in his article on the \"Battle\nof the Churches\" (_Westminster Review_, January, 1851):\n\n     We are convinced it cannot occupy the scope which English\n     traditions and English usage have secured; that every step it may\n     make is an encroachment upon wholesome liberty; that it is innocent\n     only where it is insignificant, and where it is ascendant will\n     neither part with power nor use it well, and that it must needs\n     raise to the highest pitch the common vice of tyranny and\n     democracy,--the relentless crushing of minorities.\n\nBut whether this charge of absolutism be just or not, Romanism has been\nso long associated as a polity with monarchical governments that it has\ncontracted a habit of domineering, and the people can never be persuaded\nthat the papacy is democratic in its constitution.\n\nAmericans are very suspicious, too, of any interference on the part of\nthe government. If a system demands an army, a palace, lands, it must\npay for them out of its own private means. A generation or more ago it\nwas possible for an administration to give for a merely nominal sum, in\nthe very heart of a large city, great estates to one denomination. This\nis possible no longer. Every sect must vindicate itself, and stand on\nits own feet; this alone would make it impossible for a church so poor\nas the Catholic to establish itself in this country on any terms of\nsupremacy.\n\nThe desire for change which is inherent in the American mind must also\nprove fatal in the end to any claim of absolute stability. Protestantism\nis therefore better for Americans than Romanism is, because it is more\nportable, more various, more accommodating to popular tastes and\ninclinations.\n\nThere is no disposition to undervalue the work of the Catholic Church.\nIts great saints, its heroic martyrs, its stupendous missions, its\nenormous philanthropy, its influence in educating and controlling masses\nof people, cannot be exaggerated; and still it is destined to wield an\nimmense influence as a spiritual power over the human race; but it never\nagain can be the absolute system it once was. However it may commend\nitself to certain classes in our population, it must always be simply\none department in the universal church.\n\nBut it will be said that the Catholic Church may _accommodate_ itself to\nrepublican institutions. M. Renan doubts whether any radical change can\nbe made. He says:\n\n     Catholicism, persuaded that it works for the truth, will always\n     endeavor to enlist the state in its defence or its spread....\n     Catholicism is, in fact, the believer's country, far more than is\n     the land of his birth. The stronger a religion is, the more\n     effective it is in this way.... More and more have Catholics been\n     brought to think that they derive life and salvation from Rome. It\n     is especially worth remarking that the new Catholic conquests\n     exhibit the most sensitiveness on this point. The old provincial\n     Catholic, whose faith belonged to the soil, has less need of the\n     Pope, and is much less alarmed at the storms that menace him, than\n     the new Catholics, who are coming fresh to Catholicism, and regard\n     the Pope, after the new system, as the author and defender of their\n     faith.... Catholicism has been seduced into becoming a religion\n     essentially political. The Pope becomes the actual sovereign of the\n     church.\n\nBut supposing that such an alteration is possible, that the church can\nabase its pretensions to supremacy over all other sects, that Romanism\nsimply melts into our society,--in this case, the papacy, as usually\nunderstood, becomes simply a form of church government like\nPresbyterianism or Congregationalism or Episcopacy; Catholicism becomes\na purely spiritual faith, and, as such, is not only harmless but\nbeneficent.\n\nThe religion, therefore, of America cannot be ecclesiastical; neither\ncan it be dogmatic. I was on the point of saying _theological_; but\nthere is a great difference between theological and dogmatical.\nDogmatism is theology raised to power. Theology there always must be;\nsome account of the Supreme Power in the world; some report of the\ncontents of the Divine Mind. The present indifference to theology is\nhardly a good sign, unless it be an indifference to theology as usually\nregarded--that is, to the old systems of theology. The future religion,\nfor this reason, cannot be Protestantism. For Protestantism is\nessentially dogmatical. It claims superiority to Romanism on the one\nhand and to infidelity on the other. Furthermore, it is identified with\nthe Bible. Now, modern scientific criticism has so riddled the Bible,\nthat it no longer can serve as a foundation. And this foundation being\ntaken away, Protestantism must lose its corner-stone, and rest entirely\non a rational basis. Likewise, Protestantism encourages sectarianism. It\nexists, in fact, only in numerous parties, each jealous of the rest and\nseeking to build up its own establishment without regard to the\nwell-being of opposing bodies. There is a dream of unity amid all this\ndiversity. But such unity can be gained only by the sacrifice of the\nvery peculiarity of division, and the admission of certain things which\nall have in common; and such a reconciliation, besides the tyranny it\nengenders, cannot be desired, as it would be fatal to all activity.\nSectarianism itself, apart from the \"hatred, malice, and\nuncharitableness\" which accompany it, may not of necessity be an evil;\nbut sectarianism as it exists now is an evil of very great moment, and\nyet, without something of this alienation between sects Protestantism\nwould decline.\n\nIs Unitarianism then to be the coming religion? I cannot think so.\nUnitarianism is but a form of Protestantism; the most attenuated form.\nIt is committed to the Bible; held to it indeed by a very fine thread,\nbut still held to it. No doubt it has gained greatly in the last years.\nThe annual circulation of its tracts has risen in twenty-five or thirty\nyears from fifteen thousand to three hundred thousand copies. A quarter\nof a century ago there was but one Unitarian church on the Pacific\ncoast, now there are eighteen. A generation since it had, in the whole\nregion from the Alleghanies to the Rocky Mountains, only fourteen\nchurches, now there are ninety; and in the same period, sixty-three new\nsocieties have come into being in the New England and Middle States.\nStill, as compared with the great sects, it is very small, and never can\nbe their rival. And this because, however interesting and precious it\nmay be to some people, it lacks, and must ever lack, owing to its\ncritical character, the elements of a great religion, the passionateness\nthat charms the people, and the moral enthusiasm that catches up the few\nmen of genius. The period of \"pale negations\" is past; but in proportion\nas the system becomes positive it tends more and more towards the\nprinciple that animates the ethical societies, namely, its supreme\ndevotion to the moral law. Thus it stands at the beginning, not at the\nend, of the line of advance, and has all the work of building up to do,\nbefore it can grow in general influence.\n\nNo, the religion of the future in America must be of the spirit; not\nmerely as being independent of form and dogma, but as cherishing a great\nhope for the soul, and a great aspiration after perfection. No doubt\nevery spirit must have a form of some kind, but it need not be a fixed,\nestablished, dominant imposition. M. Renan touched the matter exactly\nwhen commenting on the interview of Jesus with the woman of Samaria:\n\"Woman, the hour is coming and now is, when men shall worship neither on\nthis mountain nor at Jerusalem, but when the true worshippers shall\nworship the Father in spirit and in truth.\" Renan says:\n\n     When the Christ pronounced this word, he became really a Son of\n     God, and for the first time spoke the word upon which eternal\n     religion shall repose. He founded the worship without date, without\n     country, which shall endure to the end of time. He created a heaven\n     of pure souls, where one finds what one asks in vain for on the\n     earth, the perfect nobleness of the children of God, absolute\n     purity, total abstraction from the impurities of the world, the\n     liberty which has its complete amplitude only in the world of\n     thought.... The love of God conceived as the type of all\n     perfection, the love of man, charity, his whole doctrine is reduced\n     to this; nothing can be less theological, less sacerdotal, nothing\n     more philosophical, more profound, or more simple.\n\nThe coming religion must also be humane and social. Intellectual it must\ncertainly be, but it must, too, be emotional and adoring. There are\nthree implications in it--a spiritual nature in man, a living power in\nthe universe, an eternal life of progress and attainment, and these are\nassured only by reason.\n\nThe coming religion, we may add, must be Christian in name, because\nChristianity as an ideal faith has worked itself into our common life.\nIt is the soul of our laws, of our customs, of our institutions. All\nassume its authority; all respect its sanction. The great thinkers of\nthe world conspire in thinking so. Thus Goethe says:\n\n     Let intellectual culture progress; let natural science extend our\n     knowledge; let the human mind grow; it will never outstrip the\n     grandeur of Christianity, nor its moral culture.\n\nStrauss, in his essay on \"The Transient and Permanent in Christianity,\"\ndeclares that humanity never will be without religion; and Laveleye\nsays:\n\n     It is Christianity which has shed abroad in the world the idea of\n     fellowship, from which issue the aspirations after equality which\n     threaten the actual social order; it is also the influence of\n     Christianity which arrests the explosion of this subversive force,\n     and its principles, better comprised and better applied, will bring\n     back by degrees peace in society.\n\nOurs is a scientific age. There is a general demand for knowledge, a\ndesire for demonstrated truth. Many will believe nothing that they\ncannot see with their eyes. In this sense, and in this sense alone, it\nis true that facts count for nothing in the domain of religion. But\nthere are facts of the inner world that are quite as important as any\nfacts in the outer world,--facts of the imagination; facts of love;\nfacts of faith. Nothing is truer than that we are saved by hope. Science\nhas enlarged the world; has beautified it; has made it look orderly,\nharmonious, poetic; but the realm of the known is very small indeed as\ncompared with the realm of the unknown, and the more we discover, the\nmore we find that there is to discover. The realm of the inner world is\nimmensely large; and thousands of years must elapse before we discover\nits contents, if we ever do. The language of James Martineau is as true\nto-day as it was when the words were spoken, more than fifty years ago:\n\n     Until we touch upon the mysterious, we are not in contact with\n     religion; nor are any objects reverently regarded by us, except\n     such as, from their nature or their vastness, are felt to transcend\n     our comprehension.... The station which the soul occupies when its\n     devout affections are awakened, is always this; on the twilight\n     between immeasurable darkness and refreshing light; on the confines\n     between the seen and the unseen; where a little is discerned and an\n     infinitude concealed; where a few distinct conceptions stand in\n     confessed inadequacy, as symbols of ineffable realities.... And if\n     this be true, the sense of what we do not know is as essential to\n     our religion as the impression of what we do know: the thought of\n     the boundless, the incomprehensible, must blend in our mind with\n     the perception of the clear and true: the little knowledge we have\n     must be clung to as the margin of an invisible immensity; and all\n     our positive ideas be regarded as the mere float to show the\n     surface of the infinite deep.\n\nShall I say that some form of theism will be the religion of America in\nthe future? Not the literal theism of a generation or more ago, with its\nindividual God, its contriving Providence, its supplicatory prayer, its\nfuture of retribution; nor yet the theism of Theodore Parker, of an\ninfinite God revealed in consciousness, \"the Being, infinitely powerful,\ninfinitely wise, infinitely just, infinitely loving, and infinitely\nholy.\" It well may resemble the system described by Francis W. Newman in\nhis book called \"Theism,\" published in London in 1858. In this work he\ndescribes a religion based on conscience, without regard to any form of\nprofessed faith, yet covering in its theory and practice the whole\nregion of ideal ethics. Different minds approach the problem from\ndifferent directions. Mr. F. E. Abbot (\"Scientific Theism,\" 1885)\nappeals to science; Josiah Royce printed a volume in 1885 entitled \"The\nReligious Aspect of Philosophy,\" wherein he pursues the line of\nsympathetic thought; James Martineau in his \"Study of Religion\" (1888),\nbases his system on the moral sense; but all three arrive at the same\npoint--a supreme mind in creation.\n\nWe must be careful not to confound Theism with Deism, for though both\nare the same word--one Greek and one Latin--and mean the same thing, yet\nthey stand for entirely different conceptions. Deism is a purely\nnegative system, weighed down with denials. It is content when it has\nrejected what it calls all supernatural adjuncts--miracles, revelations,\nan inspired Scripture. Its face is set towards the past, not toward the\nfuture, and it is simply what is left of the old systems of belief,\nhaving no positive philosophy of its own. But Theism is a positive,\nfresh, original faith. It gazes forward, and builds on the natural\nconsciousness of man, making no criticism on previous modes of belief.\nIt is full of hope and enthusiasm, looking towards something that is\nbefore it, not scorning but believing. All that it needs in order to\nbecome a popular faith is a poetical element, something imaginative,\nsymbolical, picturesque. The intellectual requirements it already\npossesses. It is affirmative; it is universal.\n\nNeither must this kind of theism be identified with natural religion,\nunless natural religion be made to comprehend facts of the inner as well\nas the outer world--facts of psychology as well as of physiology; facts\nof mind as well as of body. Such a theism is not a mere reminiscence,\neither, of an ancient faith; for every form of mediatorial religion,\nhowever modified, simplified, \"enlightened,\" as it is called, leaves\nsomething of its temper behind it. The intellect is haunted by old modes\nof truth; the heart lingers around the ancient places of reverence; the\nconscience refers to some antique authority; the soul cannot pray except\nin the language of a pater-noster or a psalm. A scent as of roses may\nhang round the human mind; but the roses will be grown in some garden of\nthe East, not in ours. Such a theism as I am thinking of will be\ngrounded in Ethical Law. You may call it \"Christian,\" if you will,\nbecause the word _Christian_ expresses the highest form of the moral\nsentiment, and carries a supreme authority to the human conscience; but\non the _human conscience_ it must rest. It will be a noble, pure faith,\ngiving a welcome to all knowledge, bright with anticipation, warm with\nenthusiasm. As John Weiss has said so much better than I can what I\nmean, I will quote a passage from him. It occurs in \"American Religion\"\n(page 67):\n\n     Cannot the power which sustains, without budging from the spot, my\n     personal vitality, sustain and nourish the immediate conscience of\n     which that vitality makes me aware? I cannot hurt my health, nor\n     tell a lie, nor commit a fraud, nor strike my brother, nor leave\n     the beggar in the ditch, nor parade my superiorities, without\n     knowing it by direct intimation. My pains are its rebukes, my\n     delights its sympathies, my hopes its suggestions, my sacrifices\n     its impost, my heavenly longings its apology for haunting me\n     forever. There is a power in which I live and move and have my\n     being, in which I eat, drink, breathe, sleep, wake, love and hate,\n     marry, and protect a home. Is it incapable of sustaining all my\n     functions of true religion on the spot as well as these? Do I have\n     these without a mediator, and must I travel for the rest? When I\n     undertake to breathe by tradition it will be time for me to get a\n     sense of God in the same way.\n\nThe Dignity of Human Nature must be our watchword; of human _nature_,\nnot of human _character_. For human _nature_ denotes the _capacities_ of\nman, what he _ought_ to be and _shall_ be, not what he _is_. Human\ncharacter expresses only the undeveloped condition of man, and is\ntherefore not to be taken as a final stand. This doctrine does not\nbelong to a sect or a church, but to all mankind. It assumes an entirely\nnew conception of the basis of religious faith; it makes a new\nbeginning; it starts a new system; it exactly reverses the ancient order\nof thought, and builds up from a completely original foundation.\n\nThe weightiest objections proceed from the undeveloped character of\nman. For example, the common saying that conscience is crude, confused,\neither does not exist at all, or erects inconsistent standards of right\nand wrong. But if a high criterion of morality is established, as it is,\nit has an educating and sustaining power. Every saint attests it; all\nthe bibles of the world voice it; revelation owes to it its authority.\nGreat souls do but raise the common level on which common souls tread;\nas the discovery of the ancient pavements in the Forum at Rome opens to\nordinary feet the way that statesmen and heroes went. When I was in\nSalem, a young man who was very much addicted to drink, being\nremonstrated with, urged that he could not help it, that he was born so,\njust as another was born to praise and pray. His appetite for ardent\nspirits was just as natural to him as the preacher's appetite for\nspiritual things. His argument could not be refuted, but I always\nthought that in his hours of reflection, if he had any, he must have\ndespised himself. At all events, the outside observer would class him\nwith a lower order of humanity; the fixed rule of conscience being a\nuniversal judge.\n\nAgain, the slowness of moral advance is flung in our teeth; the\nstubbornness of vice and evil. But we must give time for improvement and\ncultivation. All good things must wait--coal, petroleum, gas,\nelectricity; the fertilizing qualities of guano were known and announced\na full generation before the industrial world acted on the discovery;\nnow millions of dollars are made by its importation. We are so used to\nthinking of the globe as round, and of men as living at the antipodes\njust as we live here, that we cannot believe that once it was deemed\nimpossible for human creatures to live with their heads downward and\ntheir feet upward, and to walk like flies upon a ceiling. None but\nhopelessly crazy or foolish people were supposed to entertain such a\nnotion. So the time will come when it shall be as natural for men to do\nright as to breathe; when all kinds of injustice, cruelty, and tyranny\nwill be instinctively abandoned. When that time does come, men will be\nunable to believe that the ages ever were when men could make brutes of\nthemselves or brutally treat each other. An eminent divine, commenting\non a passage in Matthew, xviii., 15--\"Moreover, if thy brother shall\ntrespass against thee, go and tell him his fault between him and thee\nalone; if he shall hear thee, thou hast gained thy brother. But if he\nwill not hear thee, then take with thee one or two more, that in the\nmouth of two or three witnesses every word may be established. And if he\nshall neglect to hear them, tell it unto the church: but if he neglect\nto hear the church, let him be unto thee as a heathen man and a\npublican,\"--said: \"This is equivalent to saying, 'You must begin all\nover again; must start fresh from the beginning.'\" This was very bad\nexegesis, but it was excellent morality; even the \"heathen man and the\npublican\" holds in his bosom all the possibilities of human nature; and\nwe are bound to believe that in time the like of him may be saintly.\n\nThe decline of faith in religion, the passion for material\nthings--money, fame, luxury,--is often cited as a proof that man is\ngoing downward; but may not this be a simple return to honesty and a\nrudimental integrity; a disposition to depend on one's self, and not on\nany mediator or redeemer? Let us build then in hope and faith, for,\nafter all, these are the great architects. A listener to an eminent\ndivine once said that when he got up to speak a radiance seemed to grow\nround his head; the great walls of a temple seemed to rise above him;\nthe audience was composed of all nations, all sorts and conditions of\nmen, and a choir of seraphs made the music; and yet this man spoke in a\nsmall, low-browed hall to a scanty audience, and the hymns were badly\nsung by a voluntary company. Such power has a great conviction; and when\na deep conviction like that is extended and confirmed, the visible\nchurch will match the invisible, and shepherds will again hear the songs\nof angels.\n\n\n\n\nXVII. CONFESSIONS.\n\n\nThe course of spiritual advance is traced with difficulty and\nhesitation. It is the most obscure phase of the general problem of\nprogress, which is almost insoluble. There are so many currents and\ncounter-currents; so many tributaries; so many swift torrents and still\nbays; so many times the stream seems moving in the opposite\ndirection--it is not surprising if some have concluded that there was no\nprogress at all, that we only moved in a circle, went over the same\nground again and again, and even marched backwards; what some counted\ngain others counted loss. A keen examination suggests that on the whole\nadvance has been made, allowance being conceded for many a turn and\nvariation.\n\nThe law of evolution may be considered established, but the method of\nevolution is hidden. The law of hereditary descent may be admitted, and\nyet the lines of hereditary descent are by no means obvious. Tendencies\nmay even run in parallel lines, may aid each other, may confuse each\nother, may neutralize each other, may go very far or lie close at hand,\nand in any individual instance it is almost impossible to find how they\nwork.\n\nIn my own case the inferences of temperament followed each other. During\nthe first fifty years of my life I was mainly under the influence of my\nfather's temperament. I sang, wrote hymns and poems, sent pieces to the\npapers, was sanguine, inclined to take a happy view of all experiences;\nbut at the same time I was conscious of another train of thought which\nstruggled fitfully with the first, acquiring more and more power until\nat last it gained the ascendency, and I found myself more inclined to\nconservatism, as it is called, to a grave, sober, serious regard for\nexisting institutions and modes of opinion. It is said that this might\nhave been the effect of years, inasmuch as after middle life one is very\napt to experience a change of sentiment. But in my own case time will\nhardly explain the phenomenon, for long before I came to middle age I\nwas aware of this less hopeful tendency in my constitution. It was my\nmother's influence succeeding my father's. And though it never entirely\nprevailed, I can see how it may have shadowed my visions of the future.\nAnd it makes me somewhat distrustful of the entire sanity of my\ncriticism. I am afraid of not being hopeful enough.\n\nI have sometimes suspected myself of a too critical disposition, a\npropensity to discover defects in men and opinion, to look at the dark\nside of systems that were repudiated; and in the effort to correct the\naberrations of a literal estimate I may have gone too far in the\nopposite direction, rendering more than justice to antagonistic\ndoctrines. But this, if it was an error, was certainly not an error to\nbe ashamed of. For say what we will, the partial man is not the whole\nman, nor is cold perception true perception. There must be sympathy in\nevery act of judgment, as Dr. Diman wisely wrote (\"The Theistic\nArgument,\" p. 32): \"In the pursuit of the highest truth not one faculty\nbut all faculties need to be enlisted.\" Every system, however formal or\ndogmatical it may have become, had in the beginning its spiritual\naspect; it was piously, if not humanely, meant; and in order to be\nrightly comprehended, should be surveyed from the inside. The most\nrepulsive doctrine has something to urge in its favor, and it is the\nduty of the true rationalist to find out what it may be.\n\nIf the inclination to take a common-sense view of opinions was derived\nfrom my mother's side, a strong democratic bent was primarily due to\nher. My grandfather was a poor boy who earned his fortune by the simple\nqualities of industry, integrity, perseverance, independence,\nfaithfulness, honesty,--virtues which he bequeathed to his children.\nThese inherited dispositions were encouraged by the social influences of\nthe public school, which, in spite of its laborious method of imparting\na knowledge of Latin and Greek, threw the lads together, thus breaking\ndown artificial distinctions; and also by my experience at Harvard\nCollege, where scholarship was associated with mere manhood, and was\ncultivated by youth of all conditions. The anti-slavery agitation was a\npractical instructor in humanity, indicating as it did the widest\nsympathy of race. An assumption of the essential identity of all sorts\nof mind was a cardinal principle of transcendentalism, while my later\nexperiences confirmed these early tendencies. My societies in Jersey\nCity and New York were popular in their composition. The \"Free Religious\nAssociation\" was based on universal sentiments. The clerical profession\nwas, in my day, broadly human, so that aristocratic proclivities had\nsmall hope of prevailing. In fact, the lessons which I learned from\nR. W. Emerson and Wendell Phillips sank deeply in, and became clearer as\nyears went on.\n\nOne can hardly say that learning is retrogressive when one thinks of Dr.\nDoellinger, of Germany; Ernest Renan, of France; Benjamin Jowett, Arthur\nP. Stanley, James Martineau, of England; but erudition must, as a rule,\nbe conservative; for it associates the mind directly with the past,\nbinds one down to facts of history, and lays great stress on the\ntestimony of evidence. It still is true that abundance of luggage is a\nsign that one is far from home. And they who can move quickly with all\nthis weight upon them must have extraordinary genius.\n\nAn indifference to dogma is also characteristic of a speculative\nreformer; and I cannot recollect the time when I cared much for\ndoctrinal differences. All questions were to me open questions. I had\ndoubts about everything, and never suffered acute pain from such doubts.\nThe influence of Jesus, the immortality of the soul, the existence of\nGod, were always exposed to misgivings. Everything active was\ninteresting to me, whether it looked toward \"radicalism\" or not. This\nwas an advantage, not merely because it saved me from suffering, but\nbecause it enabled me to face all emergencies.\n\nBut some one will say: Does not the love of truth count for anything?\nYes, undoubtedly it does. But lovers of truth do not by any means belong\nto the same school, or look for light from the same quarter; some are\nRomanists, some Protestants; some have no religion at all. Lovers of\ntruth are found in all denominations, from Calvinist to Unitarian, from\nChristian to Buddhist. Truth exists for us in layers. There are truths\nof the letter and truths of the spirit; there is truth to fact, and\ntruth to fancy; there is truth to the individual soul, and truth to the\npublic conscience; there is truth to the heart, to the moral sense, to\nthe spiritual intuition: but it will not do to charge lack of\ntruthfulness upon anybody simply because he does not hold the same\nopinion with ourselves. M. Renan somewhere says that in order to judge a\nsystem one must have been in it as a disciple, and outside of it as a\ncritic. But then only a very extraordinary person can do this. As a\ndisciple he must be earnest, intelligent, devoted; as a critic he must\nbe without prejudice, without animosity, and without guile. Thus the\npoint of view must of necessity be individual. There can be no general\nor absolute standard of judgment. One thing only is certain: the fact of\nspiritual progress; but what constitutes this progress nobody can tell.\nSince 1822 till now the change in _Unitarianism_ has been immense, and\nit has consisted in the gradual supremacy of reason over tradition, but\nit has been almost too sudden and too swift. Progress had better be\nslow, in order that it may be sure. One step at a time, for the reason\nthat only one step at a time can be taken safely. We must not jump at\nconclusions. There must be unbounded catholicity of thought, but it must\nnot be made up of indifference, concession, and idle compliance.\n\nExperience has taught me many things--this among others, that there is\nno final criterion of truth, not criticism, or \"science,\" or philosophy,\nor liberty. There is no question any more of \"destructive\" and\n\"constructive.\" The Supreme Power is always constructive, and the\nSupreme Power is sure at last to prevail. There is an old Greek fable,\nthat Apollo once challenged Jupiter to shoot. The sun-god shot an arrow\nto the very confines of the earth; then Jupiter, at one stride, reached\nthe limits of creation, and said, \"Where shall I shoot?\" We are not\nJupiters; we are not Apollos; but we can take our stand and shoot our\narrows a little way into the dark. The utmost we can do is to be\nsteadfast in our own places; be faithful to our own calling; draw our\nown shaft to the head. Father Hecker said a brave thing to me when, on\ndeclining my request that he would speak before the Free Religious\nAssociation, he took the ground that in a few weeks Catholicism would\nenter Boston in triumph. I honored the Broad Churchman, who said to me\nonce that he always preached Christ as an historical person, and wished\nhe had a church big enough to hold all humanity; and I admired the\nPresbyterian clergyman who commended the sincerity of Dr. Briggs, whom\nsome regarded as a heretic. Fidelity to one's own word and gift is the\none thing needful here.\n\nWhether it be the tendency of modern thought, or whether it be not, to\nabandon the Christian religion and cast discredit on every kind of faith\nheld by the churches and professors throughout the world, cannot, in\nthis generation, be decided. In any event, we shall not be left\ndesolate. For nature will remain, with its unfathomable resources of use\nand beauty. The mind will remain, with its infinite faculties of reason\nand imagination. The heart will remain, with its insatiable affections\nand desires. Conscience will remain, with its sense of duty. The\nsentiments of awe, wonder, admiration, worship, will not expire. The\nreconstructive powers will still be active, and every creative quality\nwill continue in full operation. Knowledge, literature, art, will live\nand flourish in new manifestations; and no original capacity will lie\nunemployed.\n\nWe should have learned by this time that nothing dies before its hour\nhas come; that processes of recuperation keep even pace with processes\nof decay; that forms alone perish while principles endure; that living\nthings become more mighty and glorious as they throw off encumbrances;\nthat strength always in the end accompanies simplicity.\n\nThe idea of God has passed through several phases, and each new phase\nhas been a gain. The deity who was an individual has become a person;\nthe attributes of personality, as commonly understood, have disappeared,\nso that pantheism has succeeded to a mechanical theism; God has become a\nname for our most exalted feelings, so that instead of saying \"God is\nSpirit,\" some read \"Spirit is God\"; yet the ancient reverence more than\npersists, is on the increase. And if the course of disintegration of the\nold clumsy conception should go on, there need be no apprehension that\nloving veneration will decline.\n\nThe future life is no longer associated with retribution, and\nimmortality means opportunity instead of doom. Should the doctrine of\nmoral influence follow upon the doctrine of spiritual progression, the\nessential significance of the tenet would be preserved, for that is\nethical not individual.\n\nPrayer, too, is no more a begging for favors, or an act of\nintercession. Supplication for outward benefits has given place to\npetition for spiritual gifts, and this to pure aspiration, the desire\nfor excellence; still the soul's passion is as deep as ever, perhaps\ndeeper.\n\nIf Mr. Tyndall's prophecy should be fulfilled, and we should come to\n\"discover in that matter which we, in our ignorance, and notwithstanding\nour professed reverence for its Creator, have hitherto covered with\nopprobrium, the promise and potency of every form and quality of life,\"\nthen what we call matter would simply assume new properties commensurate\nwith novel tasks. The properties themselves will remain as they were,\nand will in nowise change their peculiarity. The ancient attributes of\nmind will persist, whatever theory of their origin be adopted. The old\nsanctities will endure, and the burden of responsibility will fall upon\nanother pair of shoulders.\n\nThus every virtue will be maintained in complete vigor,--reverence,\naspiration, trust, submission, confidence, serenity, patience,\nfortitude,--and nothing will be lost.\n\nThen there is the social world, in which we \"live and move and have our\nbeing.\" This \"encompasses us behind and before, and lays its hand upon\nus.\" There is not an hour in the day, hardly a moment of the hour, when\nthe call of duty is not made upon us. None but the rarest spirits\ndischarge the claims of mercy and brotherhood; people generally do not\nknow what they are; repudiate them when presented. The preachers have\nmore than they can do to induce practice of even the commonest virtues\nof good will. Humanity, in its grand aspects, is left to the writers of\nUtopias. Not a day passes that conscience is not over-worked, even when\nit is not perplexed by misgivings in regard to the amount or the kind of\nservice it ought to render. Some have sought an escape in the immortal\nlife from the demands of this; and some have denied the doctrine of\nanother world because it drew attention away from this, and made the\nills of the present seem light in view of some coming beatitude. In\ntruth, the friends of that great hope will do well to remember that it\nis identical with moral attainment; that it is for great souls; that\n\n    The life of heaven above,\n    Springs from the life below.\n\nIt is, to say the least, doubtful whether any future life can do more\nthan ripen seeds that are sowed here, or whether spiritual perfection\nwill owe anything essential to other events of time, while it is certain\nthat nothing is sure to abide but what is born of love.\n\nUnless the doctrine of a future life can be used to reinforce the\ndoctrine of moral attainment in the present state of existence, its\npower must depart. The cords of personal affection are not strong enough\nto hold the belief. The true inference from disbelief is not expressed\nin the words, \"Let us eat and drink for tomorrow we die\"; but in these,\n\"I must work while it is day.\" This idea is a very old one. The air was\nfull of it when I was a youth. It was the soul of all liberal faith. The\n_Westminster Review_, which was in full force in my early manhood,\nhaving begun in 1824, two years after my birth, was animated by it. The\n_Prospective Review_, the organ of the spiritual Unitarians, and edited\nby such men as James Martineau, John James Taylor, John Hamilton Thom,\nand Charles Wicksteed, a magazine aiming to \"interpret and represent\nSpiritual Christianity in its character of the Universal Religion,\" was\nstarted about 1845. In its pages \"spirituality\" was intimately\nassociated with \"humanity.\" The books of F. W. Newman, \"The Soul\"\n(1849); \"Phases of Faith\" (1850); \"Catholic Union\" (1854), teemed with\nthis conception. The charming verses of William Blake, published in his\n\"Songs of Innocence,\" had somehow came to my knowledge.\n\n    To mercy, pity, peace, and love,\n    All pray in their distress;\n    And to these virtues of delight\n    Return their thankfulness.\n\n    For mercy, pity, peace, and love\n    Is God, our Father dear;\n    And mercy, pity, peace, and love\n    Is man, His child and care.\n\n    For mercy has a human heart;\n    Pity, a human face;\n    And love, the human form divine\n    And peace, the human dress.\n\n    Then every man of every clime\n    That prays, in his distress,\n    Prays to the human form divine\n    Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace.\n\n    And all must love the human form\n    In Heathen, Turk, or Jew;\n    Where mercy, love, and pity dwell,\n    There God is dwelling too.\n\nIn this country the same idea prevailed in the early period of\ntranscendentalism, and gradually worked its way into the common heart.\nChanning lent it an impulse. His brilliant nephew, William Henry\nChanning, exemplified it. The transcendental preachers all insisted on\nit. The \"Dial\" was charged with it. The most kindling literature of my\ngrowing days drew inspiration from it. Brook Farm, Fruitlands, and every\nother attempt at association was built upon it. Modern socialism owes to\nit the fascination it has for the heart; and we cannot listen to a\nsermon now that does not throb with the emotion it excites.\n\nFor myself I must confess that I have no interest in another life, save\nas it encourages the endeavor after this human excellence. My mental\nconstitution makes me insensible to sentimental considerations, to\narguments addressed to private affections. As my first sermon was about\nthe brotherhood of man, so my present hope is that love may increase,\nand that the reign of theology may be succeeded by that of charity.\n\nThis was the dream of Abbot Joachim, in the twelfth century, the\nCistercian monk, founder of the monastery of Floris, author of \"The\nEverlasting Gospel.\" It was his notion that the existing era of\nChristianity was passing away. According to him, there were three\ndispensations, corresponding to the three persons in the Trinity--that\nof the Father, that of the Son, that of the Spirit,--the dispensation of\nAwe, the dispensation of Wisdom, and the dispensation of Love. The first\nwas represented by Peter, the organizer, the patron saint of Romanism;\nthe second, by Paul, the preacher of the Word, the bulwark of\nProtestantism; the third by John, the seer, the beloved disciple, the\napostle of love. How much the pious man meant by this we cannot tell.\nHis own contemporaries were divided in opinion; but a pretty fair\ncommentary is furnished, in the fact that his writing was condemned by\ntwo Councils--that of the Lateran in 1215, and of Arles in 1260,--and\nthat he has ever since been classed among the mystics--that is, the\nunintelligible and the unbalanced in mind.\n\nTrue the prophecy has not been literally fulfilled, inasmuch as the\nfirst two dispositions are still in force, and are likely to be for many\na day, but the essence of it has come to pass. Romanism has been\ndeprived of its temporal authority, and is reduced to a picturesque form\nof faith; its disciples easily throw off its bondage, while its new\nprofessors never put it on. Protestantism is decomposing under the\ninfluence of doubt and criticism. The thought of brotherhood is\nextending. I have small faith that the time will ever come when all\npeople will worship under one form, or will accept the same mode of\nbelieving. I cannot think that at the name of Jesus every knee will bow,\nor that every tongue will make confession of his Lordship; but I do\nbelieve that the reign of justice and good-will shall be established. It\nis a great deal to hope for a time when the many will submit to the law\nof reason, becoming strong enough to withstand the force of authority in\nchurch or creed, and content with charity.\n\nWe have gained much since Joachim's day. We have acquired knowledge,\nindustry, civilization, freedom, enterprise, intelligence, the sense of\nmutual dependence. The bars of prejudice are being taken down. Class\ndistinctions are being abolished. Newly discovered arts are bringing men\nnearer together, and weaving the ties of fraternity. All this is\nopportunity--opportunity that immediately precedes performance. When we\nsee the road prepared for the Spirit, we may be sure that the Spirit\nitself is not far off.\n\n\n\n\nINDEX.\n\n\n  A\n\n  Abbot, F. E., 117, 282\n  Abbott, E. A., 256\n  Abolitionists, 45, 183\n  Adler, Felix, quoted, 268\n  Alcott, A. B., 52\n  Anti-slavery, 44, 46, 49\n  Arminians, 1\n  Arnold, M., 13\n\n\n  B\n\n  Barnard, F. A. P., 226\n  Barnard, T., 43\n  Bartol, C. A., 119\n  Baur, F. C., 57\n  Beecher, H. W., 256\n  Bellows, H. W., 63, 74, 76, 115, 116, 118, 184\n  Blake, Wm., quoted, 299\n  Boston, 17\n  Brace, C. L., 226\n  Brazer, John, 43\n  Broad Church, 71, 257, etc.\n  Brook Farm, 136, 227, 235, 236, 239, 240, 241, 244\n  Brown, John, 104\n  Browning, R., 4, 16, 145, 201\n  Brownson, Orestes, 203\n\n\n  C\n\n  Calvinism, 1\n  Carlyle, 7, 124\n  Carter, R., 226\n  Cary, Alice, 225\n  Cary, Phoebe, 225\n  Chadwick, J. W., 187\n  Channing, W. E., 47, 183, 186, 235, 300\n  Channing, W. H., 236, 300\n  Clarke, J. F., 44, 124\n  Clerical Profession, The, 146, etc.\n  Colonization, 181\n  Communion Service, 66, etc.\n  Comte, A., 217\n  Conference, Unitarian, 115-117\n  Curtis, G. W., 42\n\n\n  D\n\n  Darwin, C., 259\n  Deists, 61, 62\n  Dewey, Mary, 176\n  Dewey, Orville, 176, etc.\n  Dillaway, C. K., 20\n  Diman, J. L., quoted, 291\n  Divinity Hall, 26\n  Divinity School, 25-34\n  Dixwell, E. S., 20\n  Dwight, J. S., 236\n\n\n  E\n\n  Eliot, George, 138\n  Emerson, R. W., 21, 34, 42, 48, 68, 75, 122, 134, 135, 145, 166, etc.,\n      196, 209, 245, 270, 292\n  Endicott, John, 36\n  Ethical Religion, 267, etc.\n  Europe, 131\n  Evolution, 145, 194, 217\n\n\n  F\n\n  Field, H. M., 227\n  Fourier, C., 240\n  Francis, Convers, 27\n  Fraternity Club, 128, 129\n  Free Religious Association, 119, etc., 124-126, 209, 292\n  Free Thought in America, 133, etc.\n  Frothingham, Ann G., 14-17\n  Frothingham, N. L., 2-14\n\n\n  G\n\n  Gardner, F., 20\n  Garrison, W. L., 44\n  Greeley, H., 109, 226, 227\n  Goethe, J. W. von, quoted, 280\n\n\n  H\n\n  Haeckel, E., 217\n  Harvard College, 21\n  Hawthorne, N., 42, 236, 246\n  Heath, 131\n  Hecker, I. T., 226, 295\n  Hedge, F. H., 257\n  Higginson, T. W., 35, 122\n  Hillard, G. S., 21\n  Hitchcock, R. D., 226\n  Holland, J. G., 227\n\n\n  I\n\n  Independent Society, 126-131, 132, 138, 139\n  Ingersoll, R. G., 227, 253, etc.\n\n\n  J\n\n  James, H., quoted, 155\n  Jersey City, 63, 65\n  Jewett, Sarah O., quoted, 255\n  Joachim (Abbot), 301\n  Johnson, S., 50, 210, etc.\n  Joy, Charles, 226\n\n\n  K\n\n  King, T. S., 42, 191, note.\n  Kirwan, R., 38\n\n\n  L\n\n  Latin School, 19\n  Laveleye, E. de, quoted, 272, 281\n  Leverett, F. P., 20\n  Longfellow, H. W., 51, 258, quoted\n  Loring, E. G., 245\n  Lyric Hall, 125, 128\n\n\n  M\n\n  Mahomet, 124\n  Martineau, J., 58, 165, 185, quoted, 275, 281, 282\n  Masonic Temple, 127\n  Maurice, F. D., 123, 264\n  McQueary, Rev. H., 256\n  Minister, Office of, in War Time, 106\n  Ministry in New York, 131\n  Mott, Lucretia, 121\n\n\n  N\n\n  National Conference, 85\n  Negroes, 111, 179\n  Newman, F. W., 282, 299\n  New York, 76\n  \"North Church,\" 42\n  Noyes, G. R., 26\n\n\n  O\n\n  Osgood, S., 92, etc.\n\n\n  P\n\n  Paine, T., 248, etc.\n  Parker, T., 44, 54, etc., 70, 122, 134, 135, 203, 233, 282\n  Phillips, W., 9, 44, 292\n  Poe, E. A., quoted, 134\n  Prescott, W. H., 6, 21\n  Priests in the Riot, 113\n  _Prospective Review_, 299\n  Protestantism, 275, 277\n  Putnam, Eleanor, 36\n\n\n  R\n\n  Reid, Whitelaw, 227\n  Renan, J. Ernest, 58, 272-274, 276, 279, 293\n  Riot in New York, 107, etc.\n  Ripley, George, 227\n  Romanism, 273, etc.\n  Rood, O. N., 226\n  Royce, J., 282\n  Runkle, Mrs. Lucia, 227\n\n\n  S\n\n  Salem, 35, etc., 51\n  Sanitary Commission, 83\n  Scherb, E. V., 51\n  Schwegler, A., 57\n  Slavery, 47\n  Smith, S., 207\n  Stearns, G., 245\n  Stephen, Leslie, quoted, 249\n  Strauss, D. F., 217, 280\n  Sumner, C., 21, 221\n\n\n  T\n\n  Taine, H. A., 217\n  Taylor, Bayard, 226\n  Thackeray, W. M., 8\n  Ticknor, G., 6, 21\n  Torrey, H. W., 20\n  Transcendentalism, 47, 135-137, 214\n  Tuebingen School, 57\n  Tyndall, J., 217, 297\n\n\n  U\n\n  Unitarianism, 256, 278\n  Unitarians, 47, 69, 102, 115, 117, 124, 183, 266\n\n\n  V\n\n  Voltaire, 62\n\n\n  W\n\n  War, Civil, The, 114\n  Washburn, E. A., 227\n  Washington, George (Gen.), 105\n  Washington, L. W., (Col.), 105\n  Wasson, D. A., 60, 119, 122\n  Webster, D., 21, 180\n  Webster, J. W., 22\n  Weiss, J., 122, 190, etc., 284, quoted\n  _Westminster Review_, 299\n  White, R. G. 226\n  Williams, R., 36\n  Winthrop, T., 110\n  Wise, H. A. (Gov.), 104\n  Woman, Rights of, 221\n\n\n  Y\n\n  Youmans, E. L., 226\n\n\n  Z\n\n  Zeller, E., 58\n\n\n\n\n\nWORKS BY OCTAVIUS BROOKS FROTHINGHAM.\n\n\nTHE RELIGION OF HUMANITY. 4th edition, 12mo, pp. 338. $1.50\n\n  \"A profoundly sincere book, the work of one who has read largely,\n  studied thoroughly, reflected patiently.\"--_Boston Globe._\n\nSTORIES FROM THE LIPS OF THE TEACHER. Retold by a Disciple. Sixth\nedition, 16mo, pp. 193. $1.00\n\n  \"It is in style and thought a superior book, that will interest young\n  and old.\"--_Zion Herald_ (Methodist).\n\nSTORIES OF THE PATRIARCHS. 3d edition. 16mo, pp. 232. $1.00\n\n  \"The sublimest lessons of manhood in the simple language of a\n  child.\"--_Springfield Republican._\n\nTHE CHILD'S BOOK OF RELIGION. For Sunday-Schools and Homes. New edition,\nrevised. 16mo, pp. xii. 273. $1.00\n\nTRANSCENDENTALISM IN NEW ENGLAND. A History. Second edition. 8vo, pp.\niv. + 394. $1.75\n\n  \"The book is masterly and satisfying.\"--_Appleton's Journal._\n\nTHE CRADLE OF THE CHRIST. A Study in Primitive Christianity. 8vo, pp.\nx. + 234. $1.50\n\n  \"Scholarly, acute, and vigorous.\"--_N. Y. Tribune._\n\nTHEODORE PARKER. A Biography. 8vo, pp. viii. + 588. $2.00\n\nGERRIT SMITH. A Biography. 8vo, pp. 371. $2.00\n\n  \"A good biography, it is faithful, sufficiently full, written with\n  vigor, grace, and good taste.\"--_N. Y. Evening Post._\n\nBELIEF OF THE UNBELIEVERS. 12mo, sewed $0.25\n\n  Speaking of Mr. Frothingham's Sermons, the _Springfield Republican_\n  says: \"No one of serious intellectual character can fail to be\n  interested and taught by these most thoughtful discourses.\"\n\nBOSTON UNITARIANISM. 1820-1840. A Study of the Life and Work of\nNathaniel Langdon Frothingham. 8vo, pp. 272. $1.75\n\n  \"The book, to a thoughtful reader, cannot fail to be elevating and\n  suggestive of high ideals, high thinking, and noble living.\"--_Newark\n  Advertiser._\n\nRECOLLECTIONS AND IMPRESSIONS. 1822-1890. 8vo. $1.50\n\n\nG. P. PUTNAM'S SONS, NEW YORK AND LONDON","title":"Recollections and Impressions, 1822-1890","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":76886}