1 10 22 https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/aa9034fb802a67f4f71e5c5df082a6ae.pdf?Expires=1779926400&Signature=VP6rPg6OpDRUhdQ0-n4GrmX5xLp8Ox10t56ekN1l8xDEoW07BlvTiTZoegRSd2mBYx6A12JiUt1oSAQQzouSxJXwcuL0v4JKqH6Xh30aa40wxfyJxBT1o-4sfyjuvec2SmauitpokPTO96QwBfryuUfXTvEo%7E2uJKzP12gXossjC9jXnpvxNa5%7EkaS8kXMvWXlatfzUJXsyRtOkXh5oPPPMkagJeCSK5FsEhtswlzgwzJ39LaDnObYlty28Y895l4GISGGdNjhV%7EBIw7jpAcsbLaGXVMBPbp7gVoVhm9Owj-exe39%7EjEAeHrWRDxgtNKhtc9WRZMaWIZomS64JBq3g__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM f10602be0024af9d0f5626730070fd08 PDF Text Text THOMAS CARLYLE: DELIVERED BEFORE THE SOUTH PLACE RELIGIOUS SOCIETY, FEBRUARY 13th, 1881, BY MONCURE D. CONWAY, M.A. LONDON : SOUTH PLACE CHAPEL, FINSBURY. Price 2d. �LONDON FREDEEICK G. HICKSON AND CO. 257, HIGH HOLBOEN, W.C. �o ANTHEM. The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,. The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve ; And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind : We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep. HYMN. Though wandering in a strange land, Though on the waste no altar stand, Take comfort thou art not alone While Faith hath marked thee for her own. Would’st thou a temple ? Look above, The heavens stretch over all in love : A book ? For thine evangile scan The wondrous history of man. The holy band of saints renowned Embrace thee, brother-like, around ; Their sufferings and their triumphs rise In hymns immortal to the skies. And though no organ-peal be heard, In harmony the winds are stirred; And there the morning stars upraise Their ancient songs of deathless praise. After Carlyle. �4 READINGS. FROM “ ECCLESIASTICUS.” Let us now praise famous men, and our fathers that begat us. God hath wrought great glory by them through his great power from the beginning. Such as did hear rule in their kingdoms, men renowned for their power, giving counsel by their understanding, and declaring prophecies : Leaders of the people by their counsels, and by their knowledge of learning meet for the people, wise and eloquent in their instructions : Such as found out musical tunes, and recited verses in writing : Rich men furnished with ability, living peaceably in their habitations : All these were honoured in their generations and were the glory of their times. There be of them, that have left a name behind them, that their praises might be reported. And some there be, which have no memorial. . . But these were merciful men, whose righteousness hath not been forgotten. With their seed shall continually remain a good inhen'tance. . . . Their seed shall remain for ever, and their glory shall not be blotted out. Their bodies are buried in peace ; but their name liveth for evermore. The people will tell of their wisdom, and the congregation will show forth their praise. �FROM THE WORKS OF THOMAS CARLYLE. I. How, when. I look back, it was a strange isolation I then lived in. The men and women around me, even speaking with me were but figures; I had practically forgotten that they were alive, that they were not automatic. In the midst ■of their crowded streets and assemblages, I walked solitary ; and (except as it was my own heart, not another’s, that I kept devouring) savage also, as is the tiger in his jungle. Some comfort it would have been, could I, like a Faust, have fancied myself tempted and tormented of a Devil; for a Hell, as I imagine, without Life, though only diabolic Life, were more frightful: but in our age of Down-pulling and Disbelief, the very Devil has been pulled down. You cannot so much as believe in a Devil. To me the Universe was all void of Life, of Purpose, of Volition, even of Hostility; it was one huge, dead, immeasurable Steam-engine, rolling ■on, in its dead indifference, to grind me limb from limb. Oh, the vast gloomy, solitary Golgotha, and Mill of Death ! Why was the Living banished thither, companionless, conscious ? Why, if there is no Devil; nay, unless the Devil is your ■God ? . . . From suicide a certain aftershine of Christianity withheld me. . . . So had it lasted, as in bitter protracted Death-agony, through long years. The heart within me, unvisited by any heavenly dewdrop, was smouldering in sulphurous, slow­ consuming fire. Almost since earliest memory I had shed no tear; or once only when I, murmuring half-audibly, recited Faust’s Death song, that wild Selig der den er im Siegesglanze findet (Happy whom he finds in Battle’s splendour), and thought that of this last friend even I was not forsaken, �6 that Destiny itself could not doom me not to die. Havingno hope, neither had I any definite fear, were it of Man or of Devil; nay, I often felt as if it might be solacing could the Arch-Devil himself, though in Tartarian terrors, rise to me that I might tell him a little of mind. And yet, strangely enough, I lived in a continual indefinite, pining fear; tremulous, pusillanimous, apprehensive of I knew not what: it seemed as if all things in the Heavens above and the Earth beneath would hurt me ; as if the Heavens and the Earth were but boundless jaws of a devouring monster, wherein I, palpitating, waited to be devoured. Full of such humour, and perhaps the miserablest man in the whole French Capital or Suburbs, was I, one sultry Dogday, after much perambulation, toiling along the dirty little • Rue Sainte-Thomas de TEnfer, among civic rubbish enough, in a close atmosphere, and over pavements hot as Nebuchad­ nezzar’s Furnace, whereby ^doubtless my spirits were little cheered ; when all at once there rose a Thought in me, and I asked myself, 1 What art thou afraid of ? Wherefore, like a coward, dost thou for ever pip and whimper, and go cowering and trembling ? Despicable biped ! what is the sum-total of' the worst that lies before thee ? Death ? Well, Death ; and say the pangs of Tophet too, and all that the Devil or Man may, will, or can do against thee ! Hast thou not a heart; can’st thou not suffer whatsoever it be; and, as a Child of Freedom, though outcast, trample Tophet itself under thy feet, while it consumes thee ! Let it come, then ; I will meet it and defy it! ’ And as I so thought, there rushed like a stream of fire over my whole soul; and I shook base Fear away from me for ever. I was strong, of unknown strength,, a spirit, almost a god. Ever from that time the temper of my misery was changed ; not fear or whining Sorrow was it, but Indignation and grim fire-eyed Defiance. �Thus had. the JSverlasting JVo pealed, authoritatively through •all the recesses of my Being, of my Me ; and then was it that my whole Me stood up, in native God-created majesty, and with emphasis recorded its protest. Such a Protest, the most important transaction in Life, may that same Indignation and Defiance, in a psychological point of view, be fitly called. The Everlasting No, had said, “ Behold, thou art fatherless, outcast, and the Universe is mine (the Devil’s) ; ” to which my whole Me now made answer, “ I am not thine, but free, and for ever hate thee ! ” It is from this hour that I incline to date my spiritual NewBirth, or Baphometic fire-baptism perhaps I directly there­ upon began to be a Man. II. Sterling returned to England ; took orders,—‘ ordained deacon at Chichester on Trinity Sunday, in 1834 ’ (he never technically became priest.) .... The bereaved young lady has taken the vail, then ! Even so. “ Life is growing all so dark and brutal; must be re­ deemed into human, if it will continue life. Some pious heroism, to give a human colour to life again, on any terms, — even on impossible ones ! To such length can transcendental moonshine, cast by some morbidly radiating Coleridge into the chaos of a fermenting life, act magically there and produce divulsions and convul­ sions and diseased developments. So dark and abstruse, ■without lamp or authentic finger-post, is the course of pious ■genius towards the Eternal Kingdoms grown. No fixed highway more; the old spiritual highways and recognized paths to the Eternal, now all torn up and flung in heaps, sub­ merged in unutterable boiling mud-oceans of Hypocrisy and Unbelievability, of brutal living Atheism and damnable dead �8 putrescent Cant : surely a tragic pilgrimage for all mortals; Darkness, and. the mere shadow of Death, enveloping all things from pole to pole ; and in the raging gulf-currents, offering us will-o’-wisps for loadstars,—intimating that there are no stars, nor ever were, except certain Old-Jew ones which have now gone out. Once more, a tragic pilgrimage for all mortals ; and for the young pious soul, winged with genius, and passionately seeking land, and passionately abhorrent of floating carrion withal, more tragical than for any !—A pil­ grimage we must all undertake nevertheless, and make the best of with our respective means. Some arrive ; a glorious few : many must be lost,—go down upon the floating wreck which they took for land. Nay, courage ! These also, so far as there was any heroism in them, have bequeathed their life as a contribution to us, have valiantly laid their bodies in the chasm for us ; of these also there is no ray of heroism lost,— and, on the whole, what else of them could or should be‘ saved ’ at any time ? Courage, and ever Forward ! Concerning this attempt of Sterling’s to find sanctuary in the old. Church, and desperately grasp the hem of her garment in such manner, there will at present be many opinions : and mine must be recorded here in flat reproval of it, in mere pitying condemnation of it, as a rash, false, unwise and unpermitted step. Nay, among the evil lessons of his Time to poor Sterling I cannot but account this the worst; properly indeed, as we may say, the apotheosis, the solemn apology and consecration, of all the evil lessons that were in it to him. Alas, if we did remember the divine and awful nature of God’s Truth, and had not so forgotten it as poor doomed creatures never did before—should we, durst we in our most audacious moments, think of wedding it to the world’s Untruth, which is also, like all untruths, the Devil’s ?' Only in the world’s last lethargy can such things be done,. �and accounted safe and pious ! Fools ! “ Do you think the Living God is a buzzard idol,” sternly asks Milton, that you dare address Him in this manner ?—Such darkness, thick sluggish clouds of cowardice and oblivious baseness, have accumulated on us; thickening as if towards the eternal sleep ! It is not now known, what never needed proof or statement before, that Religion is not a doubt; that it is a certainty,—-or else a mockery and horror. That none or all of the many things we are in doubt about, and need to have demonstrated and rendered probable, can by any alchemy be made a “ Religion ” for us; but are and must continue a baleful, quiet or unquiet, Hypocrisy for us ; and bring— salvation, do we fancy ? I think, it is another thing they will bring ; and are, on all hands, visibly bringing, this good while I . . . No man of Sterling’s veracity, had he clearly consulted his own heart, or had his own heart been capable of clearly responding, and not been dazzled and bewildered by transient fantasies and theosophic moonshine, could have undertaken this function. His heart would have answered : 11 No, thou canst not. What is incredible to thee, thou shalt not, at thy soul’s peril, attempt to believe ! Elsewhither for a refuge, or die here. Go to Perdition if thou must,—but not with a lie in thy mouth-; by the Eternal Maker, no ! ” III. There is a perenninal nobleness, and even sacredness in Work. Were he never so benighted, forgetful of his high calling, there is always hope in a man that actually and earnestly works ; in Idleness alone there is perpetual despair. Work, never so Mammonish, mean, is in communication with Nature ; the real desire to get Work done will itself lead one more and more to truth, to Nature’s appointments and regu­ lations, which are truth. �20 Consider how, even in the meanest sorts of Labour, thewhole soul of a man is composed into a kind of real harmony, the instant he sets himself to work. Doubt, Desire, Sorrow. Remorse, Indignation, Despair itself, all these like hell-dogs, lie beleaguering the soul of the poor day worker, as of every man ; but he bends himself with free valour against his task, and all these are stilled, all these shrink murmuring far off into their caves. Blessed is he who has found his work ; let him ask no other blessedness. He has a work, a Life-purpose ; he has found it and will follow it. Labour is Life ; from the innocent heart of the Worker rises his god-given Force, the sacred celestial Life-essence breathed into him by Almighty God ; from his inmost heart awakens him to all nobleness—to all knowledge, ‘ self-knowledge ’ and much else, so soon as Work fitly begins. And again, hast thou valued Patience, Courage, Persever­ ance, Openness to light; readiness to own thyself mistaken, to do better next time ? All these, all virtues, in wrestling with the dim brute powers of Fact, in ordering of thy fellows in such wrestle, there and elsewhere not at all, thou wilt continually learn. Work is of a religious nature :—work is of a brave nature ; which it is the aim of all religion to be. All work of man is as the swimmer’s : a waste ocean threatens to devour him ; if he front it not bravely, it will keep its word. By incessant wise defiances of it, lusty rebuke and buffet of it, behold how loyally it supports him, bears him as its conqueror along. ‘ Religion,’ I said, for properly speaking all true Work is Religion ; and whatsoever religion is not work may go and dwell among the Brahmins, Antinomians, Spinning Dervishes, and where it will; with me it shall have no harbour. Admi­ rable was that of the old monks, ‘ Larborare est orare, Work is Worship.’ �11 Older than all preached Gospels was this unpreached, inar­ ticulate, but ineradicable, forever enduring Gospel : Work, and therein have well being. Man, Son of Earth and of Heaven, lies there not, in the innermost heart of thee, a spirit of active Method, a Force for work:—and burns like a painfullysmouldering fire, giving thee no rest till thou unfold it, till thou write it down in benificent Facts around thee ! What is immethodic, waste, thou shall make methodic, regulated, arable ; obedient and productive to thee. Wheresover thou findest Disorder, there is thy eternal enemy ; attack him swiftly, subdue him, make Order of him, the subject not of Chaos, but of Intelligence, Divinity and Thee ! But above all, where thou findest Ignorance, Stupidity, Brute-mindedness, attack it, I say, smite it wisely, unweariedly, and rest not while thou livest, and it lives, but smite, smite, in the name of God! . . . “ As to the Wages of work, there might innumerable things be said. . . . Nay, at bottom, dost thou need any reward ? “ My brother, the brave man has to give his life away. Give it, I advise thee ; thou dost not expect to sell thy Life in an adequate manner ? What price, for example, would content thee ? The just price of thy Life to thee—why, God’s entire Creation to thyself, the whole Universe of Space, the whole Eternity of Time, and what they hold : that is the price which would content thee : that, and if thou wilt be candid, nothing short of that! It is thy all; and for it thou would’st have all. Thou art an unreasonable mortal;—or rather thou art a poor infinite mortal, who, in thy narrow clay­ prison here, seemest so unreasonable ! Thou wilt never sell thy Life, or any part of thy Life, in a satisfactory manner. Give it, like a royal heart ; let the price be Nothing ; thou hast then in a certain sense got all for it ! ” �12 HYMN. So here hath been dawning Another blue day : Think, wilt thou let it Slip useless away ? Out of eternity This new day is born ; Into eternity At night will return. Behold it aforetime No eye ever did ; So soon it for ever From all eyes is hid. Here hath been dawning Another blue day : Think, wilt thou let it Slip useless away ? Carlyle. �13 ANTHEM. The future hides in it Gladness and sorrow; We press still thorow, Nought that abides in it Daunting us,—Onward. And solemn before us, Veiled the dark Portal ; Goal of all mortal :— Stars silent rest o’er us, Graves under us silent. While earnest thou gazest. Comes boding of terror, Comes phantasm and error ; Perplexes the bravest With doubt and misgiving. But heard are the Voices, Heard are the sages, The Worlds, and the Ages : “ Choose well; your choice is Brief, and yet endless. “ Here eyes do regard you In Eternity’s stillness ; Here is all fulness, Ye brave to reward you. Work, and despair not 1 ” Goethe, th. by Carlyle. ��THOMAS CARLYLE. Thomas Carlyle was buried, on Thursday last, in the village of Ecclefechan, long ago raised from obscurity by being his birthplace, now consecrated by holding his dust. The public eye had turned rather to that spot near Edinburgh, where, amid the mouldering walls of Haddington Cathedral, among her kindred, lies the wife who so long shared the toils and furthered the aims of his life. How strong were the ties that bound him to that spot is shown in the tribute on her tomb. It may, in a sense, be unim­ portant where one is buried; yet when a man rests from his labours, his works do follow him. If he have lived for a high aim, his life is a testimony; and, be it great or small, that testimony should be faithful to the facts, and its influence continue in the direction of the life. There was a genuine instinct beneath the desire of the patriarchs to be gathered to their people. Of Jacob it is written—“ These are �16 the twelve tribes of Israel: and this is it that their father spake unto them, and blessed them: every­ one according to his blessing he blessed them. And he charged them, and said unto them, I am to be gathered unto my people : bury me with my fathers in the cave that is in the field of Ephron the Hittite. In the grave that is in the field of Macpelah, which is before Mamre, in the land of Canaan, which Abraham bought with the field of Ephron the Hittite, fbr a possession of a burying-place. (There they buried Abraham and Sarah his wife; there they buried Isaac and his wife ; and there I buried Leah.) The purchase of the field and of the cave that is therein was from the children of Heth. And when Jacob had made an end of commanding his sons, he gathered up his feet into the bed and yielded up the ghost.” The patriarch died in an Egyptian palace : his son had become Prime Minister of Pharaoh: his body might have rested in a pyramid. But whatever lesson or lustre his name possessed must be reflected on the humble people of whom he had come. If Egypt wished to honour him it must go, as it did, with its “ chariots and horsemen,” to the lonely field in a distant land. Not in accordance with the spirit of Carlyle’s life, or his last charge to those around him, could he be laid in any proud pyramid; not in Westminster Abbey; not in Haddington Cathedral ; not even in �17 such Arimathean sepulchre as the Scotch kirk would have given him. Carlyle is gathered to his people, not to their creed, but to their heart; to those who, amid whatever ignorance, did their best for him, and succeeded in nourishing in him the moral strength which exerted a unique influence on the world. Thomas Carlyle was a glorified peasant. Some little time ago one of his aristocratic friends set about showing that he was descended from a great family which lived in a castle; but the sage smiled at the attempt which for the rest came to nothing. He was, indeed, the last of the family so lowly born. From the first that sturdy and sensible stonemason, his father, and his wise wife, steadily climbed towards that height which their son reached, and their descendants sustain. Nevertheless, they were at his birth very poor. Within a hundred yards of the spot where he now rests stands the small house of which his parents occupied but two rooms. The room in which this great man was born is humble enough, lit by one little window. It is now occupied by the village sexton who dug his grave. And as he was thus born among the poor, so amid peasants chiefly he was laid to rest. There was sufficient manifestation of feeling throughout the country to have made the funeral one of vast dimen­ sions ; to avoid all appearance of an ostentation always odious to him the place and day of the burial �18 were kept private. Few even in Ecclefechan knew them. Many were off installing a new minister in a neighbouring village church. A red-coated fox hunt was going on in fields near by. Only when the bell began tolling did the inhabitants know of the hour. With, exception of a few intimate friends who had gone from London, and his relatives now far removed in position from the circumstances amid which the author was born, they who gathered around the grave of Carlyle were mainly peasants. The public school children gathered around the gates and on the walls; the workpeople, chiefly youths, clung to the iron railing of the enclosure. There was a profound interest pictured on every face. An intense feeling hushed the lowly groups who, amid the snow, with heads uncovered, looked upon the wreath of flowers, read the name and date, and perhaps realised that here was one who with opportunities no better than their own had won a high place in the heart and honour of the world. Nay, with fewer advantages than theirs, as they might be reminded by the bell tolling from a School Board tower. There was no such school in the days of Carlyle’s childhood. And there they read the great man’s tribute to his parents on their tomb—the words “gratefully reverent of such a father and such a mother ”—and learned that a man may depart from the creed of his people, may leave behind their condition and their �Wys, yet preserve the true heart of his early life, its simplicity and humility. That grave will speak more eloquently than the Kirk pulpit which could pronounce HO benediction over it. An old peasant along the road was heard to say to another, “ What a pity yon man was an infidel! ” The two shook their heads over their greatest countryman. Alas, how little they knew of fidelity who could think of that life as infidelity ! But their children will learn more from that profound silence amid which the thinker was laid to rest. They will know that the greatest man that ever grew up there was one who had no part nor lot in the dogmas taught them. No dogmatic tree ever produced such fruits ! The lowly conditions of Carlyle’s early life,—the pedestal that raises him in honour,—did also, as I think, influence his teachings. He knew too much of the poor, their ignorance and superstition, to believe that their suffrage should be trusted in government. At the same time he knew too much of the nobility, gentry and parsons round about to believe that their suffrage was much better. So he came to his passionate worship of heroes, and pursued his life-long dream of a time when they Would take the place of nobles without nobility, and of kings whose crowns were baubles. The milen­ nial prophecy which the lad heard at Kirk—Christ on the throne, Satan chained in the pit—became to �20 the man a vision of the latter day, when the wisest man should be king, and the worst man bound down. But this thinker, who so resisted democracy, has shown his faith m the fundamental worth of the common people by the enthusiasm with which he paid homage to the heroes sprung from them. He wrote the life of Schiller, whose mother was a baker s daughter ; he admired Richter, whose father was a poor under-schoolmaster, and his mother a weaver’s daughter; Paul Heyne in that “poor Chemnitz hovel, with its unresting loom and cheerless hearth, its squalor and devotion, its affection and repining; and the fire of natural genius struggling into flame amid such incumbrances, in an atmosphere so damp and close.” Luther, the worker in iron; Dr. Johnson, whom he calls “ the born king, likewise a born slave ;” Robert Burns, in whom he saw “ the noblest and ablest man in all the British lands,” holding the* plough with hand worthy to sway the sceptre; these were his heroes,—these his kings. Their high authority lay not in lineage, but in that divine right of genius which had raised a lowly Nazareue to be lord over kings. Very few of his worshipful heroes were men of what is called high birth. Such was this anti-democrat’s tribute to the masses. He sometimes idealised men emerged from them; and seemed hardly to do justice to the happier conditions of life. Many men have utilised early advantages �for great service to the common people,—John Knox, for instance, and Cromwell, Voltaire, Washington. Nevertheless, there is no nobler sight than the steady victory of intellect, character, energy over the obstacles which paralyse so many, and no epic Carlyle wrote is grander than the epic that he lived. Between that small room where Carlyle first saw the light, and that smaller grave which hides bim from the light, it is hardly a hundred steps: yet what a Life-pilgrimage lies between those terms ! what stretches of noble years, of immense labours, of invincible days rising from weary nights, mark the fourscore years and five that led from the stone­ mason’s threshold to a hero’s tomb 1 What could his parents give him ? An ever present sense of an invisible world, of which this life is the threshold,—a world of transcendant joys marking the crown which the universe prepares for virtue, with an underside of unspeakable pains which mark the eternal brand fixed on evil-doing. Of this world they could teach him little, only that it was a place of brief probation by suffering and self-denial. For the rest they can only send him to a poor little school hard by. It, and Ecclefechan influences generally, are travestied in the experiences of Herr Teufelsdrockh in his native “Entepfuhl.” “ Of the insignificant portion of my education which depended on schools,” he says, “there need almost no notice �22 be taken. I learned what others learn; and kept it stored by in a corner of my head, seeing as yet no manner of use in it. My schoolmaster, a downbent, brokenhearted, underfoot martyr, as others of that guild are, did little for me, except discover that he could do little.” This poor schoolmaster pronounced his pupil fit for one of the learned professions. That meant the ministry. So the father must toil more, and the mother save more, that Thomas may go to the University and become a preacher. But, meanwhile, there is another university than that at Edinboro’, and little Thomas is already studying in it more deeply than pedagogue or parent suspects. That university is the universe itself, and little by little he finds that Ecclefechan is a centre of it. The little burn runs before the door ; as he wades in it the brook whispers of its course as it passes on to the river, on to the sea, out into the universe. The swallows come from afar—from Africa and other regions—to nestle in the eaves of the house. The stage coach, as it comes and departs, becomes mystical to the lad when he learns that it connects the village with distant cities, and is weaving human habitations together like a shuttle. The village road leads to the end of the world. But he is yet a little boy when he thus begins to learn the alphabet and primer of nature and of this world. With the invisible universe he is supposed �to be familiar: the most ignorant Ecclefechan peasant has explored God, Heaven and Hell; and the cleverest lad among them is yet too young at fourteen to make the discovery that such familiarity with the invisible world is only another name for total ignorance of that and this too. So the boy takes his first step towards the pulpit: he is sent at fourteen to the university. But there every step he takes is away from the pulpit; unconsciously for a long time, but with painful consciousness in the end. To him, as to so many, that tragical experience had to come of parting from the faith of father and mother, and with it smiting the hearts he most loved. It was the darkest day of that man’s life when the hour came, so proudly anticipated by his parents, when, with the high reputation he had already gained, he should enter upon that ministerial work which to them represented all that was glorious on earth; and when, as that hour came, he confessed to himself that he had no belief in what he was expected to preach ; that he could never, with any honesty of mind, enter the pulpit. This, then, was the blighting end of all the hopes that had glorified that little village home! This, then, was the only payment he could make to his dear ones for the toils, sacrifices, stintings his education had cost them! And with what prospect to himself? What work and what fate was there for a young heretic in �24 Scotland seventy years ago ? He had no means ; he certainly conld not depend on others. He tries school teaching, bnt that is not his vocation, so is not an honest one. He studies law, but finds that even less to be his true work. He longs for action ; but there is no post he can occupy, no work that summons him, save only to be a writer of books. But even for that he is hardly prepared. His ideal of a book is very high. Only “ once in the two centuries or often er there is a man gifted ” to write a real book, he somewhere says. The true book is ever the Word made flesh to dwell among us and reflect a divine glory on rhe world. Carlyle’s youth had passed and left the strong man still struggling with cares and doubts—the great mind filled with those “blank misgivings of a creature moving about in worlds unrealised.” The eagle poises long ere it swoops down, like swift lightning, on its prize. This eye sun-kindled is also sun-dazzled as its search first turns earthward to find that which shall nourish the mighty heart winged for daring flight. From that painful suspense and long pause, when,—supporting himself by writing cyclopaedic articles, mathematical treatises, and the like,—Carlyle was more really eating his heart and awaiting the opportunity of his genius,—there came a sorrowful poem. It is one of the two or three rhymed pieces he ever wrote, though the poetic �25 faculty was supreme in him, transfering all his work; the prophet’s burden on him was too painful for his genius to rise into song. It is the ‘ Tragedy of the Night-Moth,’ As the lonely scholar, daring great things, reads Goethe’s mystic page, a bright-winged moth flits in from the darkness: the tiny fire-worship­ per circles around the candle, then darts into the flame, and—puff!—the moth is dead! “ Poor moth ! near weeping I lament thee, Thy glossy form, thy instant woe ; ’Twas zeal for things too high that sent thee From cheery earth to shades below. “ Short speck of boundless space was needed For home, for kingdom, world to thee ! Where passed unheeding as unheeded, Thy slender life from sorrow free. “ But syren hopes from out thy dwelling, Enticed thee, bade thee earth explore,— Thy frame, so late with rapture swelling, Is swept from earth for evermore ! “ Poor moth ! thy fate my own resembles : Me, too, a restless asking mind, Hath sent on far and weary rambles To seek the good I ne’er shall find. “ Like thee, with common lot contented, With humble joys and vulgar fate, I might have lived and ne’er lamented, Moth of a larger size, a longer date ! �26 “ But Nature’s majesty unveiling. What seemed her wildest, grandest charms, Eternal Truth and Beauty hailing, Like thee I rushed into her arms. “ What gained we, little moth ? thy ashes, Thy one brief parting pang may show : And withering thoughts for soul that dashes From deep to deep, are but a death more slow.” Hither, then, that village road which leads to the end of the world had brought this pilgrim. When he started out that world-end seemed to be ministry in the Scotch Church. He toiled to that height and found it a mere hillock,—many summits rising beyond that. Other seeming mountains also turned to hills beneath his ascending steps, until at last he came to the highest, the ruggedest of all,—the soaring summit of his own ideal. But as he was climbing that stony mountain path, with feet lacerated at every step, lo, a new light shines around, a warm glow beneath which the path is fringed with flowers. Woman’s love has come to his side, taken his hand, looked deeply into his eye : thenceforward no more is he to journey alone, or un­ sustained, until that dark day, forty years later, when she who had irradiated his home expired, and he wrote on her grave that the light of his life was gone out. Bright and beautiful was that presence which was �21 with the scholar when, amid as bleak and lonely a region as eye can rest on, he undertook his life-task. Along the fifteen miles of country road leading to that solitude called Craigenputtock, their first home, one passes a few spots which recall the influences under which the Scottish child is brought up. One may pass from the monument of Burns, at Dumfries, showing the muse touching the youth on the shoulder as he holds the plough; a few miles further, one may pause at the grave of “ Old Mortality,” who passed his time deciphering mossy inscriptions on tombs; and near by may read the inscription which Walter Scott wrote on the tomb he raised over Helen Walker, whom he immortalised under the name of Jeannie Deans—the girl who would not tell an untruth to save her sister’s life, but did journey on foot to Lon­ don, and saved her at last. The inscription says— “ Respect the grave of poverty when combined with love of truth and dear affection.” And that admoni­ tion the pilgrim may well bear with him to the far home amid the moors, where the same unswerving veracity, combined with dear affection, took root and sent their rich fruitage through the world of litera­ ture. For a long time there was poverty. His ideal was too high for the world to care for it just then; yet as he said, “ Experience charges dreadfully high wages, but she teaches as none other.” He gathered �28 richest invisible harvests from those dreary moors. There was plain living and high thinking, and gradu­ ally health came back. Here, at Craigenputtock, Carlyle wrote “ Sartor Eesartus.” He had written the “Life of Schiller,’’ but in “ Sartor Eesartus” he wrote his own spiritual biography. It seemed at first a thankless task. Publishers refused it. It lay silent for seven years, and when it appeared by instalments in a magazine the subscribers grumbled at it; but it found in America one able to read in it the history of his own spirit—the prophecy of a new life coming on all souls. Ealph Waldo Emerson, who first collected those papers, journeyed across the ocean that he might grasp the hand and converse with the heart of his intellectual brother. The last thing I ever heard Carlyle say was, “ Give my love to Emerson. I still think of his visit to me at Craigenputtock as the most beautiful thing in my experience there.” Carlyle was a great man to America before he was known to his own country. He had even felt at one time as if his destiny might lead to a residence in America. He said to Edward Irving, “ I have the ends of my thoughts to bring together, which no one can do in this thoughtless scene. I have my views of life to reform, and the whole plan of my conduct to remodel; and withal I have my health to recover. And then once more I shall venture my bark upon �29 the waters of this wide realm, and if she cannot weather it, I shall steer west and try the waters of another world.” So he said when he was 25 years of age. But he presently recognised the meaning of what Goethe said to a youth who talked of going to the New World,—-“Your America is here, or nowhere.” London summoned him from his lonely hills. He fixed his home here, and for more than a generation lived and taught in a way that left London no need to envy Athens with her Socrates. Socrates never more resolutely exposed the shams of Athens. They gave him poison. They began giving Carlyle critical poison; but he outlived it and his critics; and finally the throne offered him its Grand Cross of Bath. He had not worked for such wages, however, and Majesty’s gift was declined with thanks. It is a pity he did not at least visit America, as he had intended. He would have understood better the depth and significance of that long struggle, culmi­ nating in civil war, by which the Republic emanci­ pated itself by setting free those enslaved within its borders. During that struggle his voice was heard on the wrong side ; but some years ago a lady whose son had fallen in that war, sent him the Harvard Memorial: he read the book containing the record of those young men who saved and liberated their country, carefully; and when that lady came to see �30 him personally, he took her hand and said, even with tears, “ I was mistaken.” Carlyle’s name, through this mistake, could be quoted by the slaveholder, but never justly. The man was never really on that side. The servitude in which he believed was entirely ideal. To him the ideal Society would be one in which the ignorance should be directed by knowledge, unwisdom controlled by wisdom, and the indolent find their truer happi­ ness in obedience to the order of true and good leaders. There was something of sweet old Scotch simplicity in this dream of the patriarchal life he had read of in the Bible, but it never existed in any modern community. In his eagerness to believe that such a Utopia of perfect subordination between the higher and lower might be realised, he lent a too ready ear to the fanciful pictures which southerners personally drew for him of their pastoral life. I have often heard him talk of that southern Arcadia, which I, who was born there, knew to be a chaos. But no man was more opposed to injustice and ■oppression where he recognised them ; and no man would more have overwhelmed the actual vices and brutalities of negro slavery, had he lived amid them, than he who detested the last French empire, and whose latest protest was against placing a memorial of its fallen heir in Westminster Abbey. Carlyle has been called a Worshipper of Force,— �31 of physical force. That is a superficial judgment. It was moral force that he reverenced in Cromwell, and in other heroes. He sometimes found that he had misjudged his man, and confessed it. He was severe on Sir Robert Peel when that Minister was -most powerful, but when he saw in him the courage to redress a wrong he revoked his sentences. He idealised Frederick the Great,—-the freethinking king, the friend of Voltaire,—but as his biography of that monarch proceeded he discovered that he was no hero in a moral sense, and at the close of the labours which gave the world that great historical work, he said to Varnhagen von Euse,—“I have had no satisfaction in it at all, only labour and sorrow. What had I to do with your Frederick ? ” Carlyle respected physical force as the means of moral force. As he bowed reverently before the hard hand of the labourer who was changing a bit of chaos, a clod intofruit,-—saw in it a sceptre nobler than that of sham kings,—so did he see in an army fighting for a right cause a great implement bringing order out of dis­ order. But he never respected mere brute force. The purest force worked in silence. He who poured, scorn upon Louis Napoleon when he was the strongest ruler in Europe, was prompt to defend Mazzini when a powerless exile in England. I have heard an anecdote that, in a circle where the Duke of Wellington was severely criticised, some �32 one ended all censures by saying—“ Wellington was so great a man that I have forgotten his faults.” The same may be trulier said of Carlyle. Whatever faults he may have had will be speedily forgotten in the memory of his great services and grand life. It was natural that he should be misjudged, because of his unique character, and the powerful individuality which held him aloof from all parties and all move­ ments. Popular movements no sooner make roads than they begin to wear ruts, and then settle down into the ruts hopelessly. The popular notion, for example, of what a Republic is, has become as much a formula as the monarchial form of government. But that kind of political conventionalism may prove as ham­ pering as any older system. When Carlyle had theoretically melted all the chains of the Past in the fires of his just heart and brain, the popular leaders expected him to pour their molten strength into this or that democratic mould. They who hailed his iconoclasm were bitterly disappointed at his rejection of their new schemes. But the thinker believed that the universe had a scheme of its own—a scheme far vaster than any shaped by chartist or democrat; and he preserved a true freedom when he bade men work at what was before them, trust that each further day would bring the light and strength for that day, and the fairer order eventually appear. Of the like character was his religious position and �influence. He was one of the most religious men that ever lived. His life was a long self-sacrifice, a never-failing charity, an unceasing worship. There­ fore, it could not be contained in any creed. 11 To what religion do I belong ? ” wrote Schiller; “ To none thou could’st name. And wherefore to none ? Because of my religion.” It was only the fervour of Carlyle’s religion which led him to turn from the Scotch Church with a breaking heart: it was that which ignored each hallowed dome which shut out the vault of heaven, and the higher vault of reason, beneath which, to his last day, he knelt with wonder and aspiration. He could not see in the Church Articles thirty-nine pillars supporting the universe, and each sect was to him only some umbrella which its devotees mistook for the sky. Fifty-six years ago Carlyle reminded the world that while super­ stition might degrade the world freethought could never harm religion. He then paid his homage to the man whose memory was a red-spectre to Chris­ tendom,—even to Voltaire; and, chiefly, as he said, because Voltaire “gave the death-stab to modern superstition.” “ That, with superstition, Religion is also passing away, seems,” he continued, “ a still more ungrounded fear. Religion cannot pass away. The burning of a little straw may hide the stars of the sky ; but the stars are there, and will re-appear. . . . . Old Ludovicus Vives has a story of a �34 down that killed his ass because it had drunk up the moon, and he thought the world could ill spare that luminary. Let us not imitate him ; let us not slay a faithful servant who has carried us far. He has not drunk the moon ; but only the reflection of the moon in his own poor water-pail.” The doctrines which Carlyle learned at his mother’s knee, though outgrown, survive in slight expressions of his later years; just as the dialect of Dumfries­ shire has a scholarly survival in that style which so puzzled his critics. An afterglow of Calvinism is in his necessitarian philosophy, and he uses the meta­ phors of Gehenna to burn up the incredible cant about Hell. In the same way his far-reaching humanity is sometimes expressed in phrases that belong to a past age of conservatism. M. Taine, in his “ History of English Literature,” says that in reading Carlyle’s volumes “ we discover, at last, that we are in the presence of a most extraordinary animal, relic of a lost family, a sort of mastodon fallen on a world not made for him; ” and we “ dissect him with minute curiosity, telling ourselves that we shall probably never find another like him.” There is some truth in this, too. There are some men whose greatness is largely in their adequacy to shove the world on beyond even themselves. 'Wordsworth was such a man: he renewed in man that love and feeling for nature which gave a poetic �35 soul to science ; and science went on with that impulse, leaving the poet still with his ritual in Grasmere Church. Another Wordsworth, or any great man of kindred genius, can hardly he produced again. Another Carlyle has been rendered as improbable' by the momentum with which thought speeds on the rpad where his own spur started it. That, how­ ever, is true only of what is most casual in the man, most on the surface. The heart of Carlyle still beats in all the best aspirations of our time. It will be a longer time than we shall live to see ere mankind approaches the banner of this leader, much less passes it. If any one will read attentively his essay entitled “ Characteristics,” written fifty-six years ago, he will find there a spiritual prophecy which every thinker risen since has confirmed either by failure or fulfilment, and which still remains a prophecy, nay, a pillar of fire for all faithful men and women to follow. That great essay, which, flashing across the sea, kindled a new beacon in New Eng­ land, gathering about it a fraternity of the free, was but half understood then, is not fully comprehended now. It is the first statement of the Religion of Humanity. When Byron and many another were filling the air with wailings, or curses, this inspired peasant announced the faith that would move on unhasting, unresting as the stars undisturbed in in their eternal calm by the rise or fall of empires,. �36 or of temples, or of deities made by man in his own image. “The doom of the Old,” he declared, “has long been pronounced and irrevocable; the Old has passed away ; but, alas ! the New appears not in its stead ; the Time is still in pangs of travail with the New. Man has walked by the light of conflagrations, and amid the sound of falling cities; and now there is darkness and long watching till it be morning. . . . Deep and sad as is our feeling that we stand in bodeful Night; equally deep, indestructible is our assurance that the Morning also will not fail. Nay, already, as we look round, streaks of a dayspring are in the east; it is dawning ; when the time shall be fulfilled it will be day. The progress of man towards higher and nobler Developments of whatever is highest and noblest in him, lies not only prophesied to Faith, but now written to the eye of Observation, so that he who runs may read.” “Everywhere the eternal fact begins again to be recognised, that there is godlike in human affairs. In all dialects, though but half articulately, this high Gospel begins to be preached; 'Man is still Man.’ ” “ He that has an eye and a heart can even now say : why should I falter ? Light has come into the world; to such as love Light, so as Light must be loved, with a boundless all-doing, all-enduring love. For the rest let that vain struggle to read �the mystery of the Infinite cease to harass us . . . 4 Whatever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might ’ . . Behind us, behind each one of us lie six thousand years of human effort, human conquest; before us is the boundless Time, with its uncreated and unconquered Continents and Eldorados, which we, even we, have to conquer and create : and from the bosom of Eternity shine for us celestial guiding stars. My inheritance, how wide and fair ! Time is my fair seedfield, of Time I’m heir.” More than fifty years of brave life, of unswerving fidelity, of unfaltering pursuit of truth, on the part of him who so wrote, followed that first sign of a religion for time, for this world,—a religion turned from metaphysics about the Infinite to seek and save man from the evils that afflict and degrade him. And we may say of him who awakened the generation of which we are spiritual offspring, that he is indeed the heir of Time. What he sowed in that unbounded seedfield, Time will not suffer to perish. That high influence,—raised by death above all that transiently enveloped it,—that Spirit which as it came from deeps of experience shall call to every Deep,—will remain to do its work for evermore. Farewell, great and faithful father ! We, thy children, born of the light that lived in thine eyes, �38 offspring of the fire in thy heart which burnt all fetters, bid thee farewell, now that thy hands are folded on thy breast. But we know thou wilt remain still with uswe shall see thy strong hand at work wherever shams and falsities are falling; and when the night is upon us we will remember thy long watch and look for the morning-star ; and when the dawn comes it will reveal thy face, no more in pain, trans­ figured in the triumph of thy truth; and thy name enshrined in every heart that shall live to reap in joy the harvest thou in tears didst sow 1 ��� Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Victorian Blogging Description An account of the resource A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library &amp; Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span> Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway Hall Library & Archives Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2018 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Conway Hall Ethical Society Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Pamphlet Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Thomas Carlyle: a memorial discourse delivered before the South Place Religious Society, February 13th 1881 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway, Moncure Daniel, 1832-1907 Description An account of the resource Place of publication: London Collation: 38 p. ; 15 cm. Notes: Printed by F.G. Hickson & Co., London. Includes following texts: reading from Ecclesiasticus, works of Thomas Carlyle, and two hymns. Part of Morris Miscellaneous Tracts 2. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available [South Place Chapel] Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource [1881] Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context G3350 Subject The topic of the resource Sermons Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /><br /><span>This work (Thomas Carlyle: a memorial discourse delivered before the South Place Religious Society, February 13th 1881), identified by </span><span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk">Humanist Library and Archives</a></span><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span> Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Language A language of the resource English Morris Tracts Thomas Carlyle https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/1fe6f205102ed15dc98c0eac57b0d82b.pdf?Expires=1779926400&Signature=DBIeEqD7TD0-DEZZGp0b0rNI%7EJu5beDczKsZTorbNCAUkJgDk3QOBAZzU-JDHwXrmgo6yHwTe-ecU%7EHNA7HxDQPA8MAOuwTW0tm76916hh7zwrsvqqloxBQlgShb6AbhqFdCjrm1bnDVcLsjfhh0xTC9d8l-lSHQaRf6oDT6e768OjniBZSjsD-jvPFZBnp0WdSBLiGAb4dpuXEAaexSd3HnhCDFdDHujwkySRMMXNahOT8tbsaoMGlBiaSTZGpT6wy9A4k%7EBSAIizmRxI7FcHhrjxmEwSUb0OuDmtnTnlVFk52E8tgcby6JZ78F5zQSZlMazWts8VAhH51rP8PE1w__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM 004eecc208cd2f8702028280aa69aacd PDF Text Text THE CONDUCT OF LIFE. Two thoroughly opposed -interpretations of Life and Destiny are at the present moment striving for ex­ clusive sway over the European mind—the one old | and familiar, the other new and strange in western j lands. The creed of Jesus, accepted in essentials by our ancestors, still remains the purest expression of what may be called the sunshine view of existence— the belief that all things are ruled by a power of i i transcendent love, that a benign Father in heaven watches with never-failing care over the smallest concerns of this terrestrial scene. Unable altogether Ito disregard the signs of misery and disorder which I even the most superficial glance cannot fail to observe, those brought up in this creed declare that the evil is only transitory, the good abiding; the dark hours are few, the bright ones many; if to-day be sad, to-morrow �4 will be full of joy; good alone is positive, evil mere negation; a future life will satisfy the strictest senti­ ment of justice. This is the preaching in every Christian church, this is the staple of religious poetry, the burden of the song of our great laureate, the stereotyped answer to “ infidel ” doubts, the delicious opiate wherewith we soothe our souls in the hours of deepest anguish. Things are not what they seem 1 There is a better life to come ! With such potent solvents how readily the common metals of earth are transmuted into gold! How can our faces ever betray a “ rooted sorrow ” ? Let the joyful music resound ! A sphere of beauty! A banquet of delight! The best of all possible worlds, indeed, dear friends. In other climes than ours, and in our own comer of the globe in these latter days, when thought has grown more fearless, and the picture of an offended Deity has somewhat lost its terrors, there have been those who have looked upon the scene with other eyes; and who, instead of finding all so bright and beautiful, have noted the hopeless poverty, the life short and pitiful, the unsparing track of the destroyer; and met by the happiness and beauty they could not miss, have treated it but as an incident of a history in the main a tale of sorrow. Not the warmth of summer, but the chilling blasts of winter, symbolize to them the meaning of the universe. To the averment that all things will be’ set right in a better world they �5 answer that that better world is only a mirage of affection—to the magic formula that things are not what they seem they reply that no conjuring can convert a pain into a pleasure—that in the last resort things are but as they are felt—that to the wretched prisoner a world of happy souls outside his dungeon-bars does but make his doom more horrible. And in place of the jubilant strains, and the thank-gods that we have been so favoured as to have been summoned into being, there arise from these worshippers the melan­ choly note of resignation to an inevitable misery, the longing to pass into the final rest—the Nirvana of the favoured, where every ray of consciousness is quenched for ever. Between Optimism and Pessimism a war d Voutrance must be fought. Neither can persuade the other to abandon its pretensions. They have chosen to con­ vert a half truth into'a whole one. That in the con­ struction of the universe either good or ill prepon­ derates it is incompetent for either to show. All we must allow is (it is not to be rationally re­ fused) that both good and evil are realities. Pain is real as pleasure: and if there be a beneficent God there must also be a maleficent devil. Human thought cannot transcend consciousness, and consciousness is for ever shut up within the iron barriers of a relative dualism, and only rises to the Absolute by self-annihilation. Evil is no more (but just as much) �6 a “mystery” than good. To attempt to “explain” either is like asking “why” we think? Now the Optimist, unable to deny at least the appearance of evil, affirms this life to furnish the preparatory discipline for another; the Pessimist, aware that all is not gloom, affirms happiness to be a psychological impossibility; man- being supposed to live a sort of a Tantalus existence, the cup of joy gliding from his grasp the instant he is about to raise it to his lips—conscious life the sum of unsatisfied longings. That man’s nature is often strengthened and deepened by the contest with hardship and disap­ pointment, is a truth which the querulous temper may well lay to heart. Unalloyed prosperity is often ac­ companied by a hardness of heart, or superficiality of feeling, which moderates our first judgment as to the wide differences in human lots. And the fact that man is never satisfied, that take him at whatever height of success you please, he will be found still pining for a good he does not yet possess, shows us that the Pessimist is not altogether wrong when he affirms that the worth of life consists in the expectation of a bliss never realised. Rejecting the Optimist’s explana­ tion of the course of affairs that evil is but good in disguise (which I hold to be a meaningless phrase) we take this as the ground-assumption of our reflection on the conduct of Life, that often a higher good may be attained by the sacrifice of a l-ower; and denying �7 the Pessimist’s assertion that Pain is the substance and Pleasure the shadow, we believe that the key to attain­ able happiness is the refusal to rest contented with present enjoyment, and the rating at its full value the possession of a pure Ideal. No gain without loss; but increasing susceptibility to stimuli which before left the soul unaffected, a finer faculty of discrimina­ tion, limitation of the power of evil to the fatality of nature through the growth of human knowledge and good will—such I take to be the significance of progress. Born into a world already far on the path of its development, with physical constitution and mental powers fixed by use and wont, it might seem as if the range of possibility open to human action must be continually diminishing. But although in one sense we are greater slaves than our forefathers, in another our sphere of action is vastly enlarged. To the early man the world indeed was all before him where to choose, but his capacity of choosing was reduced to the lowest terms. The great source of physical sus tenance was as yet unappropriated. He might have acres to his heart’s desire; but with no conception of the way to utilize his landed property, what mattered the possession of miles of earth to him? With no body of traditional law, no vested interests to respect, no social power backed- by vast material resources to curb their wills, had not the first human beings �8 the rights of freemen? Free they would have been had their ill-trained imaginations not conjured up spectres in every dark corner, had not their slight capacity of drawing inferences made them see an arbitrary will in every storm or flash of lightning. In­ capable of tracing consequences to their causes, too impatient to unravel the mazes of the inner and outer worlds, with insufficient faculty of mental representa­ tion to hold at once -in their minds the past and present with a view to the future; notwithstanding the dimensions of their unexplored theatre of action, they were slaves by nature when not by man. The con­ verse of all this holds with regard to us now. The world has become somewhat too small in comparison with our needs, but our capacity of using it is im­ measurably increased. Innumerable checks and counterchecks hinder our advance on every hand; but if we are fortunate enough to gain the co-operation of our fellows, we may attempt and solve problems, and realize ideals in symbol or in life, which the wisest of the ancients could not conceive or imagine. This is the answer to the sentimentalists who point us back to the Age of Nature, to the melancholy prophet deploring that the Ages of Beauty and of Goodness are slipping away for ever. To a Rousseau, dreaming of a savage Paradise when man walked clad only in the grace of nature and in the simplicity of an unspoiled heart, we have �9 but to turn the obverse of the picture; and show the entangled jungle which composed that Eden, and the absence of all thirst for higher ends. For a Ruskin, lamenting the loss of his Italy of the Middle Ages with­ out the blemish of steam-ploughs and railway-engines, and sublimely scorning the Shylocks who decline to lend out money gratis ; there need only be depicted the squalid hovels of the mediaeval peasantry, the utmost possible toil with the smallest possible fruit, the mass of hoarded wealth, which it was not safe to show nor honourable to lend for gain, the common labourer being stinted of his wage in the name of morality and religion. To the transcendentalists and poetic visionaries whom it is needless to particularize, who deem “might” and “force” the divinest words in the human vocabulary; or who bewail the steady advance of science which dissipates so many illusions of the world’s infancy, and trains up men to the irreverence of knowledge; we have but to narrate a few ugly episodes of the rule of heaven-descended kings, and the cruelties, too revolting to recite, perpetrated by pious souls in the full sincerity of an unenlightened conscience. No: although in the brightest scene the dark background is always visible, it is certain that more eyes can have a vision of the glory; that, while conceived quantitatively good and ill cannot but be constant, consciousness is always being raised to a higher plane—in other words, that �IO there is a compensation for the vices of civilization in the pleasures that flow from participation in the struggles and triumphs of a many-sided world. The old avenues to action are closing up, but fresh entrances to the unexhausted field of possible action are ever being disclosed. The mass of effete custom which blocks the way to progress is often difficult enough to move, the fixity of habit is a fatality against which we often dash ourselves in vain; but, although the strength of inheritance is great, the pliability of mind which a wider range of experience brings is a sufficient counterpoise; and, with all the dead-weight of habit, there is a readiness to form new conceptions of life and duty at which our ancestors would have stared aghast. Let me review a few of our privileges. Who in that distant golden age, for which the poets sigh, dared to let his mind work freely upon the material it obtained from study of the world without, and reflection on the processes within? Few or none ; for did not a God invisible frown jealously upon the slightest stir of independent effort? Who in the Middle Ages dared put his thought into words ? If he so ventured, let him beware of the fate of Galileo and Jordano Bruno, and publish his researches on the rack, or discourse philosophy to the flames. Who dared, even in the Age of Reason, act out his thought ? Nay; hardly in our own day may a man wear the cap he will, or have a coat cut to a pattern different from his �II neighbour. That things are on the move,though slowly, any one may convince himself who observes the grow­ ing tolerance for opinions which not long ago excited alarm and hate. Geology was for a time the child of the devil, because it pushed back the origin of the globe to some undetermined past. As if it required a less exertion of power to make a world in six million years than in six days ! What shrieks of agony when a German professor undertook to sift the chaff from the wheat in the biography of a man who perished nearly two thousand years ago; and whose influence for good or ill not all the professors in Christendom could add to or diminish 1 I suppose in a few quarters there is still some awful peril seen in the hypothesis of the development of mankind from a tribe of African monkeys; as if human nature were in the least degree the better or the worse for such affinity, These are matters upon which we are now permitted to talk openly, need not under our breath mutter our assents or dissents in locked chambers. There are still some subjects however upon which it is even yet not quite so safe to proclaim our opinions upon the house­ tops. I am not quite sure whether an anthropomorphic deity be one of these reserved points. The efficacy of prayer has certainly been questioned in most respect­ able quarters; but elsewhere it is still considered the height of impiety to omit the request, “ Give us this day our daily bread,” in the people’s schools; yet the �12 farmer is not blamed for consulting his weather-glass, though the preacher read to him with the impressiveness befitting a heavenly message, “ Take no thought for the morrow.” Perhaps the most forbidden of all topics is that which touches us most nearly—the order of social life which we have so long possessed un­ changed. Whoever would venture to suggest a large amount of imperfection there would probably do so at considerable cost. While elsewhere the logic of reason and common-sense makes way, the logic of prejudice thrives here in pristine vigour; and men, who are accounted liberals in every thing else, and who would go away indignant if you suggested that one thing yet lacked to their justification, would think it meritorious to crucify the prophet who declared that the social temple must be built anew. The battle of human liberty is however clearly not won until every subject within the range of the think­ able is open to serious discussion; until we can hear with the utmost calmness, and indeed are eager to hear, how the code of duty may be well revised, not­ withstanding the deprecating voice of authority, and the verdict of long-tried action. It is not possible, indeed, to take a profitable estimate of the conduct of life, until mankind is willing to recognize at least as much imperfection in all the institutions of society as it recognizes in the domains of art and science. Why, indeed, should it be supposed that �*3 man’s moral and social lights were heaven-sent when we freely allow his intellectual flame to be of earthly origin? Rather, indeed, should we be in­ clined to suspect, that there, where the methods of experiment are the most difficult to apply, where the factors concerned are the most delicate and compli­ cated, the rudest state of things would persist exceptionally long. There is a mistaken assumption that does much to retard progress. It is frequently supposed that the recognition of imperfection carries with it the necessity of immediate improvement. The conclusion does not follow. Long after a disease is seen and known as such the knowledge of the remedy may be wanting. We may see the evil and deplore it long before the least ray of light appears to show the way to its removal. But it is a great gain to see the evil and to know it for such. Nor does it make it a whit less an evil to be aware that any conceivable change would probably cause an equal or even greater evil. When an injustice is pointed out it is common for conservatives to reply, “ The world always must be imperfect,” as if that were anything but an evasion of the difficulty! None but the irrational Utopist would affirm that the world will ever be other than imperfect. But whatever else may be, social institutions are no part of the unalterable; since what man has set up man can destroy. I wonder what reforms ever would have been carried out if this �14 plea of the world’s imperfection had been recognized as a settlement of queltipns. Assuredly the measure of our freedom, which to-day we treat as if it were a part of the order of nalure, would never have been won with so much blood and sweat. There are two most dangerous foes to social progress—the man whose life has gone to his satisfaction, and he whose career has been an unmitigated disappointment. I reckon these as even greater enemies than the traditionalist of every type. The man wholiimself has not felt pain, has not had the experience necessary to give him sympathy with the sufferings of others. Accordingly, evils generally become very widespread before they are re­ moved. On the other hand, the man who has drunk to the dregs the cup of misery, who has striven hard against soul-crushing convention, and been only met with persecution and derision; as life draws on, not seldom comes to take the forces arrayed against him as a part of the inevitable; and, soured by repeated disappointment, in the spirit of the churl throws his weight into the scale to prevent others from having the joy he himself appeared too soon to possess. These are the foes with which the social reformer has to con­ tend—the mind too little pliable to conceive more than that of his fellows before him; the self-satisfied temper engendered by unchecked prosperity, and the cynicism of baffled desire. When these forces have been counted, it may readily be supposed that the odds are terribly �i5 against any man who would strive to procure an order of things more just, more true. The conduct of life has a two-fold object—the culture of self and the elevation of mankind. In the first respect the weightest word that can be said is—spare no pains'to appreciate the real needs of human nature. Notbysuppression of any spontaneous stirrings, but by admitting every voice to the soul’s audience­ chamber, is the ripest word of wisdom to be gained. We should not bar the door against a single counsellor. Old-established customs, rules of different nations, desires of the heart, visions of a world which gratifies the feelings of the beautiful—all must have a place, and the rule of culture be drawn up from the widest range of obtainable experience. It has been an error of revolutionists to disregard the hived experience of the past; it is an equal error to ignore the strong im­ pulses of actual feeling. Our present needs are but results of the conditions of our existence, which the past has prepared. Having learnt our lesson, we have to apply it in a maze of complication. But a mind already trained in estimating the value of conflicting influences will have no difficulty in understanding the limits of practical action. The heightened force of imagination, acquired by an enlarged faculty of representation, aids the de­ velopment of feeling by making us more able to under­ stand the state of mind of others; the deepest emotion �i6 being implicated with the widest intelligence. When we come then to apply our creed in action we shall instantaneously recognise the rights of others, shall most sacredly respect conclusions obtained by similar processes of weighed experience. Noone, who claims the humblest place in the ranks of the; just, can be otherwise than scrupulous of the sphere of action ap­ propriate to his fellow-men. But, according these rights, and claiming the same measure for ourselves, there is no proper limit to the scope of our exerted influence but the resources of our minds and the capacities of our affections. A double duty indeed is imposed upon us—never to consider our self-education complete., and to enlarge to the utmost the sphere of legitimate influence. Although lying closer to us, the former is perhaps the more neglected. But there is no more sacred duty. In this moving world whoever stands still is lost. We may seem to have advanced somewhat further than many of our fellows; what is that progress but an insignificant step towards the faroff goal ? And beware of being beguiled by the plausible dissuasion, “You are going too fast on the road; see how the main army lags behind you; rest and be thankful for past success.” A fatal counsel, believe me. The measure of our conception is the measure ofour duty. And from that standard we dare not, save at soul’s peril, budge. And finally—if we think we see a better way than the one our fellows tread, modestly �i7 but without reserve we should state our belief, animated by the sole desire of saving them a painful march. And not alone to us the delight of service, for man is never so far apart from his neighbour as that friendly offices are impossible from each to all. As the world moves on, I have a firm trust that it will grow in love and good-will; that, casting to the winds all its baseless fears, and obeying the impulses which now it dares not trust, it will obtain first liberty, then liberty’s fruits; until the largest measure of happi­ ness, which the constitution of our globe permits, becomes the common possession of earth’s “ crowning race.” �� Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Victorian Blogging Description An account of the resource A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library &amp; Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span> Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway Hall Library & Archives Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2018 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Conway Hall Ethical Society Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Pamphlet Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The conduct of life: a discourse ... delivered at South Place Chapel, Finsbury, Sunday, December 26th, 1875 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource W.C. Coupland Description An account of the resource Place of publication: [London]. Collation: 17 p. ; 16 cm. 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Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Language A language of the resource English Subject The topic of the resource Free thought Conduct of life https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/544b89ffc78f1ff96fca1dbe7ee2f2f0.pdf?Expires=1779926400&Signature=eWUNUND9Q-n3vEP8tOKfbg8wLSeLUbDE0mbcEJ6skQEV%7EYosnqVb2NT62mww6wvqfZ9QQoGKKmKd0GLI5vEvomGtsiNYBfzv89p8IiQY0EKByjpU8xGa8dZkSx8xYLRq%7EgnxgGMV8yYDUssXBE5pXnwsryXWe7pZcv-8T6GswDDENx8PZmj4bXeoxSeTx5S%7E7z-9iAcm99S%7EF2Sdw3bFGLZkwVcnMmh3ReV944IxTmU3IMXGzutzoGLgRvgqVCOZglULbkOymIZ20iEYqUMS3U0G7igNkyX%7EgXjdIEWNi71OgnNGxcFVSd4L5ASwuObBZLbsreceIsP3GXk9UfNaPg__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM 5e12217bdce0fa14a3a980a93fc8b894 PDF Text Text ��rc /^,library V South Place Ethical Society Rec’d... ...... 1994............ Ack’d.................... T- ( T Source.........^as.^lprris_ ciass R... .WR...tr....fol^ cat. in detail^ 1970 .................................. ,/} / I �* GOING THROUGH AND GETTING OVER. A DISCOURSE BY Rev. PHILIP H. WICKSTEED, M.A., DELIVERED AT I South Place H C AP EL, Finsbury, SUNDAY, JANUARY 30TH, 1876. Price 2d. �k: t:. �READINGS I. Passages from the Third and Fourth Books of the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius Antoninus. If thou workest at that which is before thee, following right reason seriously, vigorously, calmly, without allowing anything else to distract thee, but keeping thy divine part pure, as if thou should st be bound to give it back immediately ; if thou holdest to this, expecting nothing, fearing nothing, but satisfied with thy present activity, according to nature, and with heroic truth in every word and sound which thou utterest, thou wilt live happy; and there is no man who is able to prevent this. As physicians have always their instruments and knives ready for cases which suddenly require their skill, so do thou have principles ready for the understanding of things divine and human, and for doing everything, even the smallest, with a recollection of the bond which unites the divine and human to one another ; for neither wilt thou do anything well which pertains to man without at the same time having a reference to things divine, nor the contrary. That which rules within, when it is according to nature, is so affected with respect to the events which happen, that it always easily adapts itself to that which is possible and is presented to it For it requires no definite material, but it moves towards its purpose—under certain conditions, however—and it makes a material for itself out of that which opposes it, as fire lays hold of what falls into it, by which a small light would have been ex­ tinguished ; but when the fire is strong, it soon appropriates to itself the matter which is heaped on it, and consumes it, and rises higher by means of this very material. Take away thy opinion, and then there is taken away the complaint, “ I have been harmed.” Take away the complaint, “ I have been harmed,” and the harm is taken away. �4 That which does not make a man worse than be was, also does not make his life worse, nor does it harm him either from within or from without. Do not have such an opinion of things as he has who does the wrong, or such as he wishes thee to have, but look at them as they are in truth. Within ten days thou wilt seem a god to those to whom thou art now a beast and an ape, if thou wilt return to thy principles and the worship of reason. How much trouble he avoids who does not look to see what his neighbour says, or does, or thinks, but only to what he does himself, that it may be just and pure; or, as Agathon says, “ look not round at the depraved morals of others, but run straight along the line without deviating from it. ” Do not disturb thyself. Make thyself all simplicity. Does anyone do wrong ? It is to himself that he does the wrong. Has anything happened to thee ? Well, out of the universe, from the beginning, everything which happens has been apportioned and spun out to thee. In a word, thy life is short. Thou must turn to profit the present by the aid of justice and reason. Be sober in thy relaxation. Love the art, poor as it may be, which thou hast learned, and be content with it; and pass through the rest of lifelike one who has entrusted to the gods, with his whole soul, all that he has, making thyself neither the tyrant nor the slave of any man. Thou will soon die, and thou art not yet simple, nor free from perturbations, nor without suspicion of being hurt by external things, nor kindly diposed towards all, nor dost thou yet place wisdom only in acting justly. *** N.B.—The translation used is that of Mr. George Long. Bell and Daldy, 1862. II. Job, Chaps. I—II: 10. �“GOING THROUGH AND GETTING OVER.” Some difficulties have to be gone through, others have to be got over, and sometimes it seems as if almost all the waste and deterioration of lives that have real good in them were caused by the attempt to get through what must be got over and to get over what must be got through. Some people seem to fret away their whole strength in struggling against the thousand small vexations and annoyances of life. They are never without a griev­ ance, never without a worry. Some one has always been insulting or slighting them, or treating them un­ fairly or misrepresenting or misunderstanding them; or some most unlucky chance has thwarted their pro­ jects and stood between them and their lawful prize; or in some way they are the victims of men or things, and must be set right. One man must be exposed, another must make an apology; one must listen to explanation, or another must make one 1 This provoking regulation or practice must be removed, and the little details �6 which appear to confuse and harass life so much must all be set in order. And if the tangled mass of com­ plication and annoyances is at last reduced to order, in a fortnight it is all confusion again 1 There are more misunderstandings, more annoyances, more slights, more worries and vexations, and all is as bad as ever! Is not the secret weakness of such a life as this due to the attempt to get through what ought to be got overt A life may easily be spent in trying to set right things that never can be set right and might just as well be left wrong. In attempting to solve problems that ought not to be recognised as problems at all; in attempting to arrange according to our own ideas things about which we ought to care enough to have any ideas at all concerning them. And again, it has become a commonplace with all satirists that the high aspirations of youth die away in manhood, that the generous and impulsive boy becomes the grasping, cautious man, and the romantic, disinterested girl, becomes the worldly and selfish woman, and when all allowance has been made for exaggeration and misrepresentation there remains only too much truth in the sneer. Who can say how many generous aspirations and lofty hopes, how many resolves to right some wrong or relieve some suffering, have died between sixteen and thirty ? How many who had resolved to do something to make the world better than they found it, have ended by striving only to make themselves as comfortable as possible in the world as it is. How familiar in our ears are the words—which always seem to me to ring the knell �7 of a dead soul—“ Oh yes ! I began life with very romantic ideas on such and such a subject. But when you are a little older you will find—” and so on 1 How is it that with growing strength this weakening of the higher life so often goes hand-inhand? Is it not because people are so apt to get over what they ought to go through. Religious doubts and difficulties trouble them—they get over them in­ stead of through them; deep sorrows come over their lives, again they get over instead of through them; problems of social and domestic duty present them­ selves to them, they get over them instead of going through them ! To shirk all the real problems of life as if they needed no solving, to work at the miserable little problems of life as if they were soluble or worth solving—this is to make the great mistake between through and over, and to waste the true power of our lives. With this key in our hands, then, let us once more consider the small and great problems of life and the spirit in which we should meet them. Every mechanician knows the importance of diminishing friction in working his machines, and the small annoyances, personal or other, of our daily lot, are the friction of life, which may become so intoler­ able as first to work us to fever heat of impatience and fretfulness, and then make us burst into flames of passion in which our whole strength is consumed ! No life is free from this friction. We all stand in numerous and complicated relations with both persons and things; and neither persons nor �things conduct themselves solely with a view of saving us annoyance. The harmony of these relations, therefore, is constantly liable to be disturbed. In the first place, those thousand unre­ cognised sequences of cause and effect, which make up the material background and framework of our lives, and which we quaintly but expressively speak of as “ things,” are, as we all know, apt to “ go wrong.” There is nothing for it but to go on and not mind it. “ Fret not thyself,” said an old Greek dramatist, “ Fret not thyself because of things, for they care naught about it 1” Many a life is fretted to pieces, is kept in a constant state of heat and soreness from the inability to get over the wrongness of things, from a constant effort, destined from its very nature to be a constant failure, to get through the minute problems of daily life, which are not really problems to be solved at all, but simply incidents to be accepted. If we get through one set, we are simply involved in another, for they grow in rank luxuriance in the soil of human life, and there is no greater delusion than to suppose that if “ things ” are once put straight, after our conception of straightness, they will remain so ever after. The one and only way of dealing with these difficulties is to get above them, to establish ourselves permanently in a region to which they cannot reach. There is as much philosophy as there is wit in the poet’s description of his friends: “Should aught annoy them they refuse to be annoyed.” And when we have once succeeded in lifting ourselves out of these vexations, we discover how largely they were due to our own chafed and �9 heated tempers, and how the very determination to go over them has removed them out of our way. But all this is still more true of that large number of vexations and annoyances which rise more directly from our relations with each other. The whole life of some people seems entirely to consist of misunder­ standings and explanations, and giving and taking offence; and as every explanation gives rise to fresh misunderstandings, the weary round goes on for ever. Some one is always slighting us, or trying to make use of us, or neglecting us, or refusing us our dues, or treating us disrespectfully. So and so might have done this, and need not have done that; and really we have a right to claim this, and ought not to be exposed to that; and we are always trying to put things straight. But as long as we remain in the same state of mind things cannot be put straight. We are trying to get through these personal vexations, but we cannot. We are cutting our way through an infinite jungle, and it is vain to suppose that if we could struggle through a little further, we should come to the open country. As long as we are open to vexation from these things we shall be vexed by them ! Our only chance is to get above them, into quite another stratum of life, where they do not affect us. Really, it is no matter whether we are appreciated or not. It is no matter whether we are treated with due respect; no matter whether our feelings are considered; no matter whether we are fairly treated. If we have any love of our work, if we have any true self-respect, we shall not fight for petty points of precedence, but shall go on our way �IO heedless of misunderstanding and misrepresentation, shall live down all unworthy reports or suspicions, and shall be taken in the long run pretty much for what we are worth. Let the men of Belial refuse Saul the honour he so well deserves, but let not the flashing blade of Saul soil itself with their craven blood I Let Shimei cast dirt at David, but let not David’s royal hand pollute itself by casting it back 1 All these small and personal vexations, all this fric­ tion of daily life we must get over, for we cannot get through them. And we shall get over them best by living a real life and grappling with the real problems of life—those which we ought to work through, which we often try to get over. Let us take one or two examples—resembling each other only in this, that all belong to the deeper currents of life, that all are real problems, without the solution of which the meaning of life is lost. First let us speak of those sorrows of life which spring from disappointed or wounded affection, or from the loss, in whatever form it may occur, of those who are dear to us. These sorrows we may try to get over, or we may try to go through ! To get over them is to forget them, or to give up thinking about them, or to cease regarding them as really sorrowful; to go through them is to learn what they have to teach us, what they mean to us, to throw the light of God’s consolation and strength upon them, and then take them up and weave them into the tissue of our lives. Common-place consolation urges us to turn our thoughts to other things, to go away and try what �II change of scene and of occupation will do, to get away from our sorrow, to push it aside, keep our thoughts off it and forget it. Is not this advising us to kill a part of our life ? To lock up and desert one of the chambers of our heart, hang a curtain over the door of it, try to forget that it exists ? It is against such advice that Miss Procter so nobly protests in her beautiful poem:— “ Do not cheat thy heart, and tell her * Grief will pass away; Hope for fairer times in future, And forget to-day.’ ” Tell her, if you will, that sorrow Need not come in vain ; Tell her that the lesson taught her F ar outweighs the pain. Cheat her not with the old comfort, “ Soon she will forget ”— Bitter truth, alas—but matter Rather for regret; Bid her not “ Seek other pleasures, Turn to other things — Rather nurse her caged sorrow Till the captive sings. Rather bid her go forth bravely, And the stranger greet; Not as foe, with spear and buckler, But as dear friends meet; Bid her with a strong clasp hold her, By her dusky wings— Listening to the murmured blessing Sorrow always brings.” �12 Doubtless there is a danger here also, especially in the lines— “ Rather nurse her caged sorrow Till the captive sings.” It is a grievous and unrighteous thing to brood over a sorrow, to dwell upon it in the very luxury of grief until it absorbs our lives, and this is the truth that lies at the bottom of the usual advice—turn to other things. It is sound enough if it only means to stimulate the smitten soul to fresh action and revive the stagnant currents of its life, but the very strength thus gained must be used in living through, not in getting over, the sorrow. If a portion of our life has been smitten by a sorrow, and we try to forget it, to put it away, we are then hewing off one of our limbs, we are paralyzing one of the powers of our soul. He that thinks he has got over a real sorrow, has but withdrawn the life-blood from a part of himself and is so far dead to the higher life. He that has lived through a sorrow has purified in the fire a part of himself, has found out what is temporal and what eternal in it, has passed behind the veil and stood face to face with the reality, has had all the dross burned and purged away and God’s precious and pure metal saved to him from the purifying fire ! There is another life-problem which it seems must, in some form or another, be presented to most earnest men, though the form under which it meets us differs from age to age, and now demands a greater now a less degree of persevering effort and courage for its �13 solution. To each of us there comes a period when religion can no longer be authoritative or traditional, but must become individual and personal. It is for the most part a gloomy, lonely struggle 1 What once was certain, now becomes doubtful; what we had been taught to lean upon as the staff of life, proves to be a mere broken reed, or pierces into our flesh I It is the time of the awakening of our religious life, but some­ times we think it is the hour of its death. When this season of religious doubt and difficulty meets us, we stand face to face with one of the most solemn and mysterious of all life-problems ! Here again the ad­ vice often given is, in effect, “ Shut your eyes to it! Refuse to recognise it I Put it aside and think of other things 1 ” The story is well known of the clergy­ man who had difficulties as to the truth of the Thirtynine Articles, and asked the advice of an eminent and pious friend. He was urged to devote himself to his parish work, as that was the best way of settling all theological doubts! This is a type of the kind advice often given in these cases, and it has a certain amount of truth and value in it. If it simply means to urge men not to allow themselves to drop into a morbid and self-centred way of looking at things apart from the healthy realities life and work, the advice is good, but if it means that all these theological or religious doubts should be simply set aside and neglected, that we should turn our thoughts away from them and try to get over them, then, surely, it is utterly miserable and fruitless. We must face all our doubts and difficulties, we must question them and �14 examine them to the utmost, we must go right through with them, like Abraham going forth in faith, we know not whither, and then whatever may be the final outcome our beliefs will be our own, we shall have fought for them and won them; as princes having wrestled and overcome, we shall have power with God and with men. It often happens that at the end of this mental conflict we are in many points of actual belief, pretty much where we were at the beginning, but there is all the difference between having worked the problem through and solved it ourselves, and having accepted the conclusions of another without examination, just because we feared they might turn out to be incorrect. The man who has put away his religious life-problem can never have a faith on which to rest as upon a rock, for this is the privilege of him who has gone through and not passed by the dark valley of religious doubt. I will only refer very briefly to one more life-problem, which one would think must present itself to every earnest and thoughtful man. The social condition of the world in which we live, even when we set aside the pauperism and the crime which disfigure modern society, can not appear to anyone satisfactorily. The immense inequalities in the share of enjoyment, ease, culture, above all moral and religious advantages, which fall to the different classes of society must be a source of grief to every right-minded man. What can I individually do towards restricting and modifying this evil ? This is a very practical life-problem for each of us. We may shirk it by saying that we cannot help �15 these things, that they are ordained of God, and that if we are born amongst the privileged ones so much the better—we must be thankful; if not, we must be content in the position in which God has placed us. On the other hand, we may work through this problem, and find, according to our station, some clear way in a wider or narrower circle of spreading happi­ ness, goodness, and culture amongst those around us, and doing something towards compensating the less favoured of mankind. In time, in thought, in money, in sympathy we can find some way of sacrificing ourselves to those who need our help, and according to our light and in our degree bringing a contribution to the solution of the social problem. Even if it were our hard fate to spend all our life in striving to understand some sorrow and to learn its lesson, and yet failing to do so, in manfully striving to gain some real faith of our own, and yet failing ever to reach it, in earnestly seeking some means of helping our fellow-men, and yet finding none, yet surely even this sad lot would be nobler and more worthy of our emulation than the peace which is the fruit of the spiritual death, the contentment, which simply means that we have ceased to care for the great problems of life. But for almost all of us, if we meet the problems of life like men, after a longer or shorter time of dark I wrestling of the spirit, the light dawns, and each day, I almost each hour, our faith becomes clearer and | stronger and more joyously triumphant over doubt, | our purposes for good become more settled and firm, I our love becomes purer and more exalted, we have �16 met as messengers from God, and have not shunned, as devil-born, the problems of life, and “ like as the rain cometh down and the snow from heaven and returneth not thither, but watereth the earth and maketh it bring forth and bud, that it may give seed to the sower and bread to the eater: so has God’s word been that has come forth to us from His mouth : it has not returned unto Him void, but it has accomplished in us that which He pleased, and it has prospered in us in the thing whereto He sent it.” We have been raised out of the small vexations and worries of life, have got over what some fret away their lives in trying to get through, and have got through what some get over at the cost of all the better possibilities of their lives. � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Victorian Blogging Description An account of the resource A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library &amp; Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span> Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway Hall Library & Archives Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2018 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Conway Hall Ethical Society Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Pamphlet Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Going through and getting over: a discourse by Rev. Philip H. Wicksteed delivered at South Place Chapel, Finsbury, Sunday, January 30th, 1876 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Wicksteed, Philip Henry Description An account of the resource Place of publication: [London]. Collation: 16 p. ; 16 cm. Spine title of bound volume: Morris Misc. Tracts 3. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available [South Place Chapel] Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource [1876] Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context G3364 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <a href="http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/"><img style="border-style:none;" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /></a> <br /> This work (Going through and getting over: a discourse by Rev. Philip H. Wicksteed delivered at South Place Chapel, Finsbury, Sunday, January 30th, 1876), identified by <a href="www.conwayhall.org.uk"><span>Humanist Library and Archives</span></a>, is free of known copyright restrictions. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Language A language of the resource English Conduct of life https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/59027e9239504aa355bafd3d5e43b8e0.pdf?Expires=1779926400&Signature=X7diLz1f-OQbJh0FecvlJlC66oVWaHQQmXp0CUzWDz6I9u9OKvRFwu8BIQYC4GoH7uvI474v9mLCk5p8Jf0rEbdgNI1nVkwJNXJLgiA9%7ERalYpnHrlVNazCYOrSEqb4DyBPSC0JG2zkPMugPExUYXsDTwMDzFpAjBthIbE-rCSuv38s-JIugoEDpj%7EylDCv-s0yp8jFEPAETINa8BXeBAfFHFyxJ5Sn4RgeqOBuYy4oL%7EkZEvFCDhbSUY2EiTqqfcAbXrKp44dR-K-jC7okYx1H2jzFpj8zexBY-P4xK830lI97KgCHJ1YLFKPR8HoHwHWx6hT9iKVCElpucYULZYw__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM e5fd20ec709e7833aff570aa90e0ed38 PDF Text Text WHAT 18 RELIGION? (F. Max Midler's First Hibbert Lecture) A DISCOURSE GIVEN AT ^OUTH j-’LACE J^HAFEIz, MAY $th, 1878, BY MONCURE D. CONWAY, M.A. LONDON : SOUTH PLACE, FINSBURY, PRICE TWOPENCE. �LONDON: PRINTED BY WATERLOW AND SONS LIMITHD, LONDON WALL. �WHAT IS RELIGION? The community may congratulate itself upon the fact that the bequest of an advanced liberal man for the promotion of free religious inquiry, should find its fulfilment in the ancient chapter-house of Westminster Abbey. It is probable that if the dogmas which founded that Abbey still reigned, the first Hibbert lecturer would have been sooner burnt than listened to. But now, amid those historic walls are repre­ sented ideas of religion which have been raised quite out of the region of authority, and worthily claim only to stand or fall along with the reason and knowledge of man,—acknowledging no revelation but the history of man. On Thursday last, in his second lecture, the Pro­ fessor remarked that even if the theory of human pro­ gression could be proved m all other affaiis of mankind, that would not prove the same theory true of religion. �4 This remark applied to the far past; and it is true that what is called religion was for ages the unpro­ gressive, the stationary institution of the world. And this because the religious sentiment was confused with theology,—identified with alleged revelations,—thus removed from the normal current of human interests. But the scene- in the chapter-house marks a great change. The Hibbert Trust is, I believe, outcome of money earned by toiling negroes on West Indian plantations. The House of Commons freed those slaves. The wealth they coined comes back to the room in «which the House of Commons first sat. There African degradation is turning to English cul■ ture. The progress in civilisation represented in that fact is not greater than the religious progress it implies. The leading Unitarian (Martineau) and the . Dean of Westminster have united to bring a German liberal there to raise the standard of a human religion. It is now a religious House of Commons. Four centuries ago an old monk frescoed the walls of it with the visions of the Apocalypse. The angels and dragons are now fading around a wider apocalypse. The Isle of Patmos sinks beneath the horizon. The ■ Isle of England rises from the night, its awakened eye ■ holding the Apocalypse of Man. The eminence of Max Muller is the work he has . done in recovering the vast fields of human experi­ �5 ence represented by the Aryan race. No West Indian slave was more bound under his master than our: English brains under thraldom to ancient Semitic notions. Hebraism waved its sceptre over European culture, and excluded two-thirds of the world and of history as heathenism and devil’s work. Many have been our deliverers from that prison, but no one of them has done more than our first Hibbert lecturer to carry this liberation from the scholar’s study to the layman’s home. It was because of this that he was called to expound the religion of humanity amid walls built to fortify the dogmas of one tribe against the rest of mankind, and against universal progress.Westminster Abbey has survived to hear sentence passed upon every creed for which it stood. And so at last even tardy religion is caught up into the great loom of the world to be woven in with general civili­ sation. That is, so far as it is a sound thread. But is it sound ? Is it real ? Some say it is rotten, some say unreal: man’s childish awe of phantoms, conjured up by his own ignorance. But Max Muller detaches re­ ligion from all its special forms or accidents; maintains its reality and vitality; rests it upon the universal human sense and feeling of the Infinite. He appeals to the broad facts common to the civilized man and the barbarian, to East, West, North, South; and he thus, �6 in laying his foundation, leaves out of sight those facts not universal; such as the special and narrow theories of which a Christian may feel conscious here and a Buddhist there. His question relates not to this so-called religion or that, but to religion itself. All religions might perish, and this essential religion still stand. That he declares to be a natural thing, which has had natural evolutions comprehensible by science. Supernaturalism may, therefore, so far as the present atmosphere of Westminster Abbey is con­ cerned, be regarded as a small way one religion] has of saying to another “ Stand aside, I am holier than thou.” The interest of the human intellect has passed beyond that pious egotism. It is now pro­ foundly concerned to know, not whether Christianity is true, but whether religion itself is real; or whether our spiritual emotion is merely surviving emotion of waves after the blasts of superstition have so long swept over them. The main principle affirmed is, that religion is man’s apprehension of the Infinite. In searching the largest and the smallest, man reaches an end of his com­ prehension, the limit of the heavens he can see, the limit of the atom he can divide; but where compre­ hension ends, apprehension continues; imagination, wonder, admiration, faith, hope, soar on into an immea­ surable expanse; and the emotion awakened within �7 for that transcendent immensity is the religious emo­ tion. Now there are certain inferences from this principle which it hardly lay in the way of the lecturer to un­ fold. It was intimated, however, in what he said about the progressive development of conceptions of colour, and I will use that to illustrate my own point. In arguing that the ancient races of men apprehended the Infinite vaguely, though they had no word for it, he said, 11 We divide colour by seven rough degrees. Even those seven degrees are of late date in the evolu­ tion of our sensuous knowledge. In common Arabic, as Palgrave tells us, the names for green, black and brown are constantly confounded. In the Edda the rainbow is called a three-coloured bridge. Xenophanes says that what people call Iris is a cloud, purple, red and yellow. Even Aristotle still speaks of the tricoloured rainbow, red, yellow and green. Blue, which seems to us so definite a Colour, was worked out of the infinity of colours at a comparatively late time. There is hardly a book now in which we do not read of the blue sky. But in the ancient hymns of the Veda, so full of the dawn, the sun and the sky, the blue sky is never men­ tioned in the Zendavesta the blue sky is never men­ tioned ; in Homer the blue sky is never mentioned; in the Old, and even in the New, Testament, the blue sky is never mentioned. In the Teutonic languages �S' blue comes from a.root which originally meant bleak and black. The Romance languages found no useful word for blue in Latin and "borrowed their word from the Germans.’7 The Hibbert lecturer believes those ancients saw the blue sky as we do, but they had no word for it because they had not detached it mentally from dark or bright. But whether the outer eye has un­ folded or the inner eye,—visual power or the analytic mind behind it,—it is equally shown that the full phenomena were not revealed; and we are again reminded that in going back to the ancient world for his beliefs man suffers a relapse from the height he has attained. In the matter of blue sky the Bible is as much a blank as the Vedas. So far neither was a revelation—or unveiling—of phenomena. That know­ ledge, by natural means and scientific culture, we have reached, and see seven colours where our ancestors saw three or four. Are we to suppose their spiritual senses were finer, while their other senses were duller, than ours? Are we to suppose that their religious analysis was more perfect than ours ? If so, it would be a miracle; but where is the evidence of any such miracle? Compare the God of the Vedas or of the Bible—Indra or Jehovah—with the God of Theodore Parker, nay, of any living Theist, and only a blindness worse than blue-blindness can declare those thunder-- �9 gods equal to the Divine Love adored by the en­ lightened heart to-day. That conclusion is inevitable from the moment it is admitted that religion is a subject for scientific treatment. Once let it be admitted that religion is to be dealt with by unbiassed reason,—by such calm sifting of facts as if the subject were electricity,—and from that instant every particular system of religion must take its place in the natural history of mankind. Be it Brahminism, be it Christianity, it comes down from the bench and goes into the witness-box. Each testifies what it knows, but it cannot coerce the judg­ ment of Reason, Christianity may testify that it saw miracles; Confucianism that it saw none; Islamism that it was revealed from Allah ; but it is no longer the sword which determines their credibility; it is Reason. So their testimony goes for precisely what it is worth. If they saw only three colours where there were seven, possibly they also saw miracle where there was only natural fact. The world cannot go back to the year One for its ideas of the Infinite any more than for its optics. It may recognise in Christ a great religious teacher, just as it recognises in Aristotle a great scientific teacher; but as it cannot diminish the known colours because Aristotle knew only three, so it cannot deny religious facts because unknown to Christ. But it may find fresh �IO reason for faith in science and religion in that, with grand vitality, they far outgrow both Aristotle and Christ, and all the systems that would confine them. Now, as to this apprehension of the Infinite in which the Hibbert lecturer finds the religious faculty; it sounds at first rather metaphysical. It is tolerably clear that no abstract notions of the Infinite can have any commanding power over the nature and passions of mankind. We must, therefore, in considering historic religions, think rather of the forms with which human imagination has peopled the Infinite. The Infinite in itself is metaphysical; but its vault, popu­ lous with gods, becomes practical. The creed which has. swayed the world has been in an Infinite just transcending man s finite in power or excellence ; while it is finite enough to deal with him and feel with him. The god or personality which man asso­ ciates with infinitude may be of unknown strength, so separate from finite man; but he may be angry» loving, ambitious, so-linked on to the finite? It is just in this twofold aspect of these images of the Infinite that we may discover the reality and meaning of religion. To which side of the god does it belong—his finite or his infinite side ? his likeness to man or his transcendency of man? his compre­ hensibility or incomprehensibility. Religion,—whether it be a sense of dependence, or �II awe, of emotion, or aspiration—whatever its aspect, •refers to that in which the object of worship passes beyond the worshipper. In this it differs from theology, which concerns itself with that side of the god which is within the knowledge of man. The Theology of one period may describe the gods, as the Greeks did, even to the colour of their hair; the Theology of another period may disprove such gods’ existence, substituting invisible Beings, as that of Paul ‘did. One Theology may build up a Trinity; another may supersede it with a Quatemity or Unity. ‘ But it would be an error to suppose that Religion is either directly making those images, or directly replacing them. These personifications are the successive inventions of a changing science; they are utilised by priests who support theologians to maintain them, or, when they become discredited, to modify or replace them. But, although the religious condition of man may be har­ monious with such images at one time, discordant with them at another, what human worship adores is the unknown, the eternal, the vast, the perfect, all expanding beyond its conception, but yet believed to be powerfully existent. ' Thus Religion is different 'from Fear. Man would never fear the Infinite. It is only when to its vastness Theology adds a smallness like man’s own that men begin to tremble. It is not J ove, the incomprehensible �12 Heaven, man fears; but Jove, the comprehensible Chieftain, going about with a thunderclub to kill him. That Jove men fear, because they understand him; they go about themselves with clubs less big but equally murderous. That is not Religion—it is Theology; a primitive speculative science of gods. But we have reached now a Science of Religion, and understand that its reverence, its devoutness, emotion, love, so far as really awakened in man, were for what rose above his own weakness, his passions, and his sorrows. What, then, does this apprehension (which must be distinguished from comprehension) this feeling about the Iniinite amount to ? Simply to man’s belief in something better than himself. Man believes in a Wisdom greater than his own. Theology may per­ sonify it in Minerva, or in the Holy Ghost; but the worship is not for the work of man’s wisdom—it is for the wisdom ascending beyond man. So the forms perish : the worship of wisdom perishes not. Man adores a power beyond his own: theology may identify it with mountain and lightning, sea and whirl­ wind, and these may overawe his heart so long as he knows nothing of them : but when the mountain is climbed, and the sea voyaged over, the cloud seen as vapour, the wind weighed, the lightning bottled and sealed up, the ever-kneeling spirit of Religion passes �i3 onward, and amid innumerable forms and names that come and go, seeks still the better, the wiser, the > more powerful and happy,—ever leading on from the finite to the Infinite. And this high seeking, born of each heart’s faith in a better than, it knows, is the religious force, because it is the controlling and creative force. It is idle to' tell us, in face of the moral progress of the world, that the life of man has been the result of correct metaphysics, theological definitions, abstractions about the Absolute and co-eternal Persons. The force that is moving the world onward is the longing in each human being for somewhat more perfect than what they have or are. It is Maya in India praying her babe Siddartba (Buddha) may be wise beyond all men she ever knew; or Mary in Palestine praying the same as she watches her baby Jesus ; or any mother that hears- me, whose tender breast feels stirring within hope that the new nature she has started on its career may ascend till she can kneel in homage before it. It may be the humblest workman dreaming of a more perfect skill; the young artisan feeling after an inven­ tion pregnant with results incalculable. Wherever and however manifested it is the great vision of a glory transcending our own; and though such ideals are always being reached and passed by—infinites becoming finites—so, endlessly the spirit grows, so �14 immortal is its nature, so unceasing the work of creation, the outline is never filled up. Over crumbled gods and goddesses, religion ascends for ever, burning, disintegrating, generating, regenerating,—Humanity’s passion for the Perfect. There is a danger in the method of the historian and archseologist of religion. Because he must trace the evolution of religion through its visible and definable effects—fetish, shrine, dogma, temple— there is danger that these may be regarded as types and forms of religion itself. When a geologist walks over hills, cliffs, rocks, he traces the path of drifting glaciers scratched on rock; he finds sea-shells on the hill-tops, boulders dropped in meadows, pebbles rounded by waves long ebbed away to channels many miles distant: he says, seas and rivers have smoothed and deposited these shells and sands, and shaped these undulations of hill and vale. Yet these are not the sea,—they are but fringes and accidents in the history of the sea. But in religion men still have the habit of seeing the shards and shells of theory—the pebbles of theology worn from crumbled temples—as forms of Religion itself. They are but things which Religion influenced, they report its ancient tides and currents, but they are not—never were — religion itself. Having now detached the religious sentiment from �i5 the forms which have borrowed its consecration; having identified it as man’s impulse towards the Perfect—which philosophy calls the Infinite—let us ask whether we are genuine and true in calling this religion. Or is our use of that word only a piece of conventionality ? Does Religion mean anything diffe­ rent from morality, or different from conscience ? If not, then our use of it is mystification, conformity, cowardice. I believe Religion to be a different thing from Morality. I understand by morality rules and stan­ dards of conduct relating to recognised social duties. But there is something in man which leads him to defy the rules and standards around him. A bad man violates moral rules for the sake of self: but another man breaks them at the cost of self. What leads Jesus to break the Sabbath, or Buddha to refuse offerings to the gods ? Or what leads the reformer of to-day to challenge the social and political order ? Are such men seeking the benefit of the majority ? The majority are against them. The majority is made uncomfortable by them. Are they seeking general advantages ? They are often plunging everything into revolution, and doing it consciously. You might per­ suade a freethinker that to disestablish the Church would leave the majority poorer than now; or that innumerable advantages to millions would be lost if �t6 the Athanasian Creed were exploded. But would any consideration of majorities make him support the Church: would any advantages make him advocate the Creed ? It may be said he is obeying the voice of conscience. That explains nothing. Conscience is an organ of forces beyond itself. It dictates war to one tribe, peace to another. Conscience is a majestic throne, but we search for the power behind the throne. Now, here we have a force in man which often confronts customs, moralities, the social and political order, which disregards majorities and their interests, disregards self-interest also; and this force with passion, enthusiasm and martyrdom, seeks something it never saw, something that never existed. It is manifested in all history, and is known in universal experience; it actuates theists and non-theists; it is especially visible in the overthrow of popular idols and dogmas claiming its worship. Is that morality ? Not a whit more than it is politics, or trade, or art, or any one of the manifold human interests which slowly but steadily follow the lead of that pillar of cloud and fire. I call it Religion, because that is a universal name which no sect or nation has ever tried to monopolise : but I do. not care for that name if any one has a better. I do care that it shall not be confused with �'1'7 wholly different things, with either morality, politics or science. Much less, with Theology. For Theology is the great enemy of religion. Morality, Society, Science, are its ministers, but Theology is its rival,— the Opposer that would arrest the current of its life, and nail man down to bestow upon a fragment of his universe and himself the passion born for aspiration to the perfect whole. To call it ideality, poetry, harmony, love of humanity, is to name the fruits by which this religious life is known. To name it Religion may, indeed, be very inadequate ; neither etymologically or practically can that word do more than preserve the distinction and witness the existence of that which language cannot define; but as in­ accuracy of words like “ sunrise ” and “ sunset ” cannot now mar the glories they suggest, so no etymologic fault can disparage that only catholic name we have (Religion) so long as it is left us by Sectarianism and Superstition to • designate the universal aspirations of mankind. Christianity can only claim to be a religion; it cannot claim to be Religion. No sect can claim to be Religion itself. That is an older banner than any existing nation or church; under its broad folds and heaven-born tints thousands of sects have perished; it widens with the ages, blends with all grandeurs without and within, leads onward the steady march of �i8 man with his world to that supreme beauty which enchains his senses and enchants his heart. For essential religion no adequate word or definition has ever been discovered, or is likely to be discovered. If the lecturer’s statement there halts, it is because the Infinite, the Perfect, cannot be defined. To call it the Infinite leaves the moral sentiment unexpressed. To call it “ morality touched with enthusiasm,” leaves the progressive life untold. The philosophers of Germany and America in the beginning of this generation called it Transcendentalism;—but that white light wanted fire, and faded. Some have called it absolute Being. Jesus called it Love; and no fairer emblem of it was ever named than that supreme glory which quickens the world, from the marriage of flower with flower which to-day clothes the earth with blossoms, to the mother and her babe, and all the manifestations of that unselfish joy which alone can transfigure human passions. But man needs Light as well as Love. And so it is that the highest in us is as ineffable as that which it seeks. When we have dwelt on its varied intimations ; when we have thought of Ideality and Poetry, perfect Being, the Infinite, the Immortal, Supreme Reason, pure Beauty, universal Love—even then the wise heart is conscious that it has touched but a few chords of the harp with a thousand strings ; and when the thousand strings have all been swept, �when human language has rehearsed all its concepts and its dreams to the last accent, yet in the silent heart the still small voice will go on sweetly singing of a dawn fairer thap. all the rest. Waterlow & Sons Limited, Printers, London Wall, London. '• �•■9 • WORKS TO BE OBTAINED IN THE LIBRARY. BY M. 0. CONWAY, M.A. PRICES. The Sacred Anthology: A Book of Ethnical Scriptures .. The Earthward Pilgrimage Do, do. Republican Superstitions.. Christianity Human Sacrifices in England David Frederick Strauss .. Sterling and Maurice Intellectual Suicide The First Love again Our Cause and its Accusers Alcestis in England Unbelief: Its nature, cause, and cure Entering Society .. The Religion of Children The Peri! of War 10 5 2 2 1 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 d. 0 0 6 6 6 0 3 2 2 2 1 2 2 2 2 2 Idols and Ideals (including the Essay on Christianity), 350 pp............................ 7 6 s. NEW WORK BY M. D. CONWAY, M.A. Members of the Congregation'can obtain this work in the Library at 5/-. BY A. J. ELLIS, B.A., F.R.S., &c., &c. Salvation .......... 0 Truth ....................................................... 0 Speculation ... 0 Duty ....................................................... 0 The Dyer’s Hand ........ 0 2 2 2 2 2 BY REV. P. H. WICKSTEED, M.A. Going Through and Getting Over .. 0 2 BY REV. T. W. FRECKELTON. The Modern Analogue of the Ancient Prophet .......... 02 BY W. C. COUPLAND, M.A. The Conduct of Life Hymns and Anthems ......................... 0 2 1h 2h 3/- � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Victorian Blogging Description An account of the resource A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library &amp; Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span> Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway Hall Library & Archives Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2018 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Conway Hall Ethical Society Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Pamphlet Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource What is religion?: a discourse given at South Place Chapel, May 5th, 1878 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway, Moncure Daniel [1832-1907.] Description An account of the resource Place of publication: [London] Collation: 19, [1] ; 15 cm. Notes: Morris Miscellaneous Tracts 2. 'F. Max Muller's First Hibbert Lecture' [From title page]. Publisher's list on back page. Printed by Waterlow & Sons, London Wall. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available [South Place Chapel] Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource [1870] Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context G4885 Subject The topic of the resource Religion Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /><br /><span>This work (What is religion?: a discourse given at South Place Chapel, May 5th, 1878), identified by </span><span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk">Humanist Library and Archives</a></span><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span> Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Language A language of the resource English God (Christianity) Moral Philosophy Morality Morris Tracts Religion and science Science and Religion https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/fd0e2cf77cdfe99084980e1f532bf371.pdf?Expires=1779926400&Signature=jV5MWZRS7CNG2YTnMPK8rpDvzZjxTThgqz0x7UJ-bd1mO21gYMGCCi1UjODYGwT3n5WjxTUvT2tWtdRSPfQXSRVYPy52Vto7uKWHmiES3sp9YAYaYGB750GzQUXq5zHygCF%7E4sMx1G8BTjum90-OJvAyEWcr0qDDzyvXZHGNf98pg4Uh93zJ1ei%7EZRVixanvz%7EDQfhs7fMaa9X26zwHbQMrRsDbmEJG6PpuClgIh%7EBpwAopWtveFYwz39RXo6NZk9-gWULe87Z76etULrZv553zm7rsXSJK2N9Vc2uqdSxZQKsNWoPg3ZmO%7E4qyNG5snv2bm5ZnrerXxwdpyQaDmWw__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM 8205244fb458048d1f26cff52539c4fc PDF Text Text 216 * UNBELIEF: ITS NATURE, CAUSE, AND CURE. A DISCOURSE GIVEN AT SOUTH PLACE CHAPEL. APRIL Zth, 1877. BY MONCURE PRICE D. CONWAY. TWOPENCE. ��UNBELIEF. In the new magazine, the 11 Nineteenth Century, ’ a new kind of article has been introduced. It is called a modern “ Symposium.” A group of eminent men Of various schools of belief set themselves to consider whether, or how far, human -morality depends upon religious belief. Most of the statements appear to me remarkable for the elaboration with which they beat about the heart of the problem without touching it. The simple question is, whether the religious belief is a revelation from without, or an evolution from within, human nature. If Christianity, for instance, is a super­ natural revelation it must have been given to make the world better, and of course the world would lose morally if belief in it should fail. On the other hand, if Christianity be an evolution, a historic product of human nature, the same force which created it will work on as it disappears and bear us above it. As to the plain proposition whether a man’s morality is related to his belief, there is no question at all. �2 The experience of mankind in every age and place is that recorded in the Bible, “As a man thinketh in his heart so is he.” But he must think it in his heart. It must be a genuine conviction. The “ Symposium ” would never have been written if this genuineness had not departed from the popular faith in the theology whose forms stand around us. “All that we are is founded in our thought,” said Buddha. Our moral systems are so because man so thought. He once thought hanging the right punishment for theft, and then men were hung for stealing. That once moral law has become immoral because the underlying belief has changed. Men still think hanging necessary to prevent murder, and so long as they think so men will be hung for murder. Man once thought men could be made moral by threats of hell and promises of heaven; he has found out that these threats and promises easily disconnected themselves from morality, and even encouraged immorality by persuading men that by priestly conjuration they could pass from the worst life, from the very scaffold, straight to the arms of Jesus. Supernatural religion was of old the rival of morality. Its wrath was poured out on those who trusted in morality and good works. We have among us two totally different and discordant religions. One is for the glory and pacification of God; the other is for the improvement of man and the culture of this �3 world. One is a religion whose legitimate embodi­ ment is in sacraments, ceremonies, mysterious creeds, all related to man’s estate in another world. The embodiment of the other is in social duties, charities, law and order, equal justice, and the pursuit of happi­ ness. If belief in either of these religions were to fail, the institutions growing out of it would fail. If the root of belief in the other-world religion were cut, its foliage and fruit would wither—that is, sacraments, supplications, mysterious dogmas, priests, bishops, and a vast number of litigations and quarrels, whose •cessation would hardly demoralise society however deplored by the lawyers. If belief in the religion of morality were uprooted, then the corresponding growths would decay—love and truth, charity and sympathy, justice and purity, all the social and civic duties. Because the branches of these two trees mingle in society they must not be supposed to have one root. The priest and the moralist are both interested in the preservation of peace and social order. The priest cannot carry on his temple amid social chaos, and he borrows the ethical system. The moralist finds man­ kind selfish and passionate, so he borrows some of the menaces of the priest to frighten people into obedi­ ence. By this alliance our Society has been formed in which morality is labelled Christian, and Christianity is warranted moral. �4 Nevertheless, it was never an alliance of equals. Christianity at an early period gained the upper hand, because it was believed to command the more terrible sanctions of reward and punishment. Morality could threaten or bribe a man for only the few years of life ; but the binding and loosing of the priest extended through endless ages. He could always look down on kings and laws, and say to the people “ Fear not them that at most can only kill the body; but fear us who have power to cast both soul and body into hell for ever.” So Christianity became a throned ecclesiasticism : the priest became supreme. He denied that morality was any religion at all ; it was only a. policeman. He would not deny it might be valuable if it supported his ceremonies and authority, but if it claimed to be the main thing, he made war against it. So poor Morality had to make the best terms it could; and it has gone on until now conceding that Christianity was the main thing, itself a dependent; prayer it agreed was more important than justice, belief in the Trinity more essential to life than kind­ ness, and theft a mere peccadillo compared with confounding the substance or dividing the persons of the godhead. By this subordination the two as master and servant managed to get on peaceably until now. But now— �5 even in our own day—a tremendous break has oc­ curred between them. And it came about in this way. The progress of knowledge discovered and proved that the fundamental dogmas of supernatural religion are untrue,—the speculations and dreams of ancient, ignorant tribes. This discovery has brought on a new set of moral questions altogether. The servant has been called suddenly to judge the character of his master. Does his master speak the truth ? Certainly he has not in the past. Will he in the future ? What' and admit all his divine knowledge to have been a pretence 1 Impossible. Then, says Morality, can I re­ main moral and still support untruth ? Theology suggests, Why not shut your eyes to this discovery of untruth in your old master, or at least wink at it ? But is that moral ? asks Morality, anxiously. Is there not a morality beside that of conduct,—a morality for the intellect ? If there are mental duties, then to assent to a fiction is as immoral as adultery. To believe a proposition aside from its truth, to believe it merely because of some advantage, becomes intellectual pros­ titution. The purity of the mind is bargained away. It is vain now to claim the old authority of religion over morality : it is a part of the new discovery that there can be no authority but truth. So the system which sits in the seat of a religion, but finds itself opposed in the name of morality, has be$n compelled �6 to try and save itself by claiming to be the very soul and self of popular morality. Disbelieve, it says, if you must, but keep quiet about it; for if the masses come to disbelieve with you, they will break all restraints. They hold what morality they have, only because the priest has adopted morality, and told them it is part of their means of escaping hell; but if you take away all their prseternatural terrors, they will not be restrained by mere considerations of public good, or the beauty of virtue. To this Morality, merely as a prudential thing, con­ fidently replies : Admitting your old hopes and fears still bind the ignorant, it is only the ignorant. You leave the educated world suspended between the old and the new; what is to keep the keepers—to lead the leaders—to prevent the cultivated class from sinking into mere hypocrisy, luxury, selfishness ? Nay, the obli­ gations your superstition imposes on the ignorant must become ever weaker even for them. The spread of knowledge, which is inevitable, will mean the spread of lawlessness. Every new schoolhouse we are build­ ing must prove a centre to radiate recklessness. As a mere practical policy your attempt to keep up the delusions is itself a delusion. But Morality has a higher answer than that. As superstitious religion crumbles, Morality itself has ascended to be a religion. From being servant it �7 assumes to be master; it claims to be itself a faith, a belief, and affirms that truth is to be maintained on principle and apart from any possible overt acts. It is not mere outward rule and law, but contains an inward life which inspires it to believe in what it affirms, and to religiously trust that the fruit of right will never be wrong, whatever may be the appear­ ances to the contrary. This is the living faith of the present; it will be the commanding faith of the future. Theologians call it unbelief, but in no sense is it that. Its attitude to­ wards the superstition which sometime superseded it is that of disbelief; but there is a vast difference between disbelief and unbelief. The unbeliever is one who has not accepted a thing; the disbeliever has positively rejected it. The unbeliever may not believe a thing because he never heard of, or never examined it, or does not wish to admit it; the disbeliever has considered and denied. Consequently unbelief does not imply that there is any belief at all in the mind. Disbelief implies that a proposition has been rejected because there is something already in the mind which excludes it. Consequently a man cannot be a dis­ believer of one thing without being a believer in some other thing. But unbelief is a mere blank, passive state of mind ; and it deserves some of the evil accent it bears to the religious mind, because it is generally �8. the counterpart of a torpid indifference. He who dfebelieves in science, he who believes in morality, he who worships humanity, or adores reason, cannot be called an unbeliever. He is a great believer. As to the rest, no intelligent mind exists which does not disbelieve something. The Christian calls the man of science an infidel, or unbeliever; the Mussulman calls the Christian an infidel. Every religion is infidelity to other religions; and while sectarians thus call each other by hard names, all victims of idle words, the real enemy of all religion, unbelief,—systematic indifference, cynical con­ tempt for all high principles,—is sapping the strength of every civilisation. No student of history can view without concern the moral dangers which attend the crumbling of any religion. We have before us the fearful scenes which followed the decline of the gods and goddesses of Rome in universal contempt and unbelief: amid the fragments of their statues and the blackened ruins of their temples stands Caligula knocking off the head of Jupiter and setting his own in its place, and Nero lighting up his orgies with burning Christians for his torches. When Vespasian came to rebuild the temples, repair the altars, and set the gods back in their shrines, what he could not bring back was belief in them. Titus tried the same. Titus was strong enough to carry to the temple of �9 Jerusalem the same desolation that Nero had brought on Rome, but Titus was not strong enough to carry into any mind the faith that had become a mythology. And amid those ruins Belief never sprang up again until called from its grave by the voice of a great soul, whom the old moral world crucified because he an­ nounced a new moral world——setting the religion of simple purity and love against established superstition and proud sacerdotalism. There are not wanting prophets who remembering these things—remembering too the terrors amid which Romanism went down in France, Germany and England—predict that the decay of dogmas m the popular mind will be followed here too by the carni­ val of rapine and lust. I hope not. But if we are. saved it will be because the real believers of our time —the disbelievers in superstition—have grown wise enough to anticipate and forestall the danger. The evil in those historic examples was" that moral princi­ ples had not been cultivated in and for themselves. The light suddenly blazed on a long bandaged eye nnd inflamed it. The whole order of society had been made to rest on gods and goddesses, and when belief in them gave way the superstructure tumbled down. Undoubtedly the like fate would befall us if the people were still taught that the only motive to be honest is to get to heaven; that self-restraint is �IO only a prudent investment in paradise; that any crime may be outweighed by accepting the blood of Christ. If popular morality has no root of its own, if it is a mere graft on the decaying limb of a dying trunk, then when the dead tree falls, down goes all that was grafted on it. But I would fain believe that such is not the case with our public morality. It has crept into our courts that a man may testify the truth without kissing the Bible, and may minister justice without believing in hell or heaven. It has made its way even into the admissions of the priest that his church presents no higher morality than the societies of those who reject his morality. The noble lives of the great disbelievers, who were yet the martyrs of their belief,—the Lyells and Grotes, Mills and Channings, Mazzinis, Strausses, Parkers, who sleep in honourable graves j the Emersons, Huxleys, Darwins, Carlyles, Spencers, at whose feet this living generation sits and learns not so much any theory as the great moral lesson of courage and fidelity, —these have not spoken to the world in vain. How far it has penetrated into the popular mind that virtue, kindness, truth and honesty, are independent of religious phantasms—good and essential in themselves —rooted in the honour of humanity;—this cannot be estimated. Our sanguine hopes that we shall escape the political Nemesis which has heretofore �II pursued legally established falsehood may be dis­ appointed. Assuredly we cannot escape the moral Nemesis. Even now one phase of the decay of superstition is., upon us,—a phase which in previous ages was repre­ sented in social ruin. It is the phase of mere unbelief., the general dropping out of belief of the old orthodoxy, accompanied by an indifference to all religion, chiefly shown in a pretence to believe what is not believed. One hundred years ago when Soame Jenyns wrotehis hard dogmatic defence of Christianity, a certaim clergyman wrote on it: “ Almost thou persuadest me not to be a Christian.” Since then the dismal theology of Soame Jenyns has run its course; it has sought m nature signs of the vindictiveness of God; in heredi­ tary disease proofs of God’s hatred of man for Adams, sin; it has paraded human misery on earth as a happy augury of endless misery hereafter. It so completed in the real mind of this country the work Soame Jenyns began in that old clergyman,—it has quite persuaded men not to be Christians. Nobody can see the gay, smiling, money-getting, eating and drinking multitudes around us, from the merry-makers of Good Friday—once funereal—to the clergyman with his old port, and imagine that they believe in hell, or the devil, that riches hinder heaven, and the world is all accursed. But, alas, the departure of belief has left �12 them in mere unbelief. One thing untrue as another, they stick to that which is most convenient. They make religion a mere minister to their social, political, or even pecuniary advantages. Now, because this phase of no-faith does not break out in blood and riot, let us not imagine that it can •exist without serious harm. A reign of terror were hardly worse than a reign of chronic hypocrisy and ■selfishness. Real unbelief means heartlessness, and it must lower the whole character of both individual and national life. Maybe society can get along in that way ; a colony of ants gets along ; but there can be no grandeur in a country which has no faith, there •can be no ascent of national genius where there is no moral earnestness. Also a man may get along in one way by cauterising conscience and burying enthusiasm. When a shrewd fellow once defended his base occu­ pation by saying, “I must live,” a wit replied, “ I don’t see the necessity.” A man has indeed to justify his right to consume and occupy a part of nature. A weed has no right to soil and sunshine that might turn to corn and wine. But what good thing can grow in barren soil under a sunless roof? Under no such murky atmosphere, shrouding every star of ideality, can we raise our own minds and hearts, or those of our children, to any high aims, or ■.secure beautiful characters. It can not be done by a �i3 spurious devotionalism, the hectic spot of a dying­ faith ; it can as little be done by cold-hearted absorp­ tion in pleasures of life, which should be only its. fringe. It is no true belief to have faith in the senses and their satisfactions. Belief is that which trusts in principles, recognises laws and obeys them, and what­ soever it finds to be true, raises that to be the pole-star of its progress. The man of unbelief is the mere or­ ganism of external influences. When you have found what is respectable in his neighbourhood—what is strongest—the biggest church, the successful party, you have found all there is of him. There is nothing in him to build on. In the far West, among rough adventurers, along the Mississippi, with all their oathsand vices, one often finds that after all they have some principle j deep down there’s something they’ll fight for, some point of honour they’ll die for. The half-savage pilot who swears and drinks, and then sinks with his boat to save the passengers; thatjnoted gambler who at the late St. Louis’ fire lost his life in saving others,—you can build that man into your social wall. But you can do nothing with your smooth polished gentleman who believes in nothing, and holds himself ready to affirm or deny anything you please so long as the mellifluous flow of his self-seeking existence is undisturbed. It should be recognised that the great ages have �14 «always been ages of Belief, and though they have uttered their mighty disbelief, they have never sunk to the sunless gulf of Unbelief. There are two etymologies of the word Belief,— some derive it from the old German belieben to belove; others making it be-leben,—to live by. But in either ■case it marks the height from which the ordinary use ■of the word has descended. Whether belief was of old that which a man lives by, or whether that a man loves, or beloves,—such indeed must a true belief be to any man if it is to :serve him or others. Eight hundred years ago two great French theologians were teaching the world. One Abelard, the other Anselm. Abelard said, Inteldige ut credas; Anselm replied, Crede ut iiitelligas. The world turned from Abelard, who said “ Under­ stand, that you may believe,” to follow Anselm, who said “ Believe, that you may understand.” So putting •out their eyes that they might see better, they groped their way until, mad with disappointment in the thick­ ening darkness, like blind Samson, they pulled down ■pillars of throne and temple in revolutionary wrath. It is time now to remember the long-forgotten motto of Abelard,—“ Understand, that you may be­ lieve ! ” He only reaches his aim to whom his aim is clear. You can only live by a belief when it has ■entered profoundly into both brain and heart. It is �i5 something you are to believe, belove, live by. 1 ou shall fall in love with it. Where that faith goes there will you go, its people shall be your people, its God your God. And if amid all the great events and causes of our time you can find nothing that can so kindle your enthusiasm, it is because you are the victim of that organised Unreason which has set up a tyrant for men to worship, and made the merit of belief consist in the absurdity of the thing believed. Wonderful, indeed, it would have been if after ages of monster-worship and compulsory belief of the incredible, the very organ of faith should not have suffered atrophy in many. But let none rest content with that mere despair—the suicide of faith—Unbelief. Let every mind know that it is its nature to believe. If a mind will only ascend from unbelief to disbelief, if it will face the fact that the dogmas do not fill it with conviction and joy, and ask itself why not; if it will consider and think, it will intelligently disbelieve, and that disbelief will be the other side of a belief. An aged authoress once told me—“ I do not believe in miracles because I believe in God.” If you do not believe in jealous Jehovah it is because you believe in supreme Love. If not in depravity, it is because you believe in Man. Follow that earnest scepticism, and it shall fall like a blossom before the fair fruitage of a. larger faith. �� Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Victorian Blogging Description An account of the resource A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library &amp; Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span> Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway Hall Library & Archives Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2018 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Conway Hall Ethical Society Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Pamphlet Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Unbelief : its nature, cause and cure : a discourse given at South Place Chapel, April 8th 1877 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway, Moncure Daniel [1832-1907.] Description An account of the resource Place of publication: [London] Collation: 15 p. ; 15 cm. Notes: Part of Morris Miscellaneous Tracts 1. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available [South Place Chapel] Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource [1877] Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context G3335 Subject The topic of the resource Free thought Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /><br /><span>This work (Unbelief : its nature, cause and cure : a discourse given at South Place Chapel, April 8th 1877), identified by </span><span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk">Humanist Library and Archives</a></span><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span> Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Language A language of the resource English Belief and Doubt Free Thought Moral Philosophy Morality Morris Tracts https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/23e4027c7721fd3f9d1ad96ccef1c18e.pdf?Expires=1779926400&Signature=fCjRK0amMh7HoqnvzIubxxN15HITSx3IhiFCu%7ENZkHn6%7EXatKl5penRwgbjyurb6b424EkqXBuHEI8oW0lRXvo5i1032zl-ByzkG1yiPUwzE9I%7EtBmL5adAbpnAlPq9KH9OMrN3I86c4CdWUeLdkHcCYPjMDEEgAk7sqUfukJKPhNbkOhJOc1HHqZMtovCqwQtBJvy7svf%7Eefym3Ne72XdXDNXzzb0fky2kxP%7EOp7CekwSnrFhXOfxOkq8x8KoE9pjYoW17fpeGUKN-yaODPGS37iXje0lf1t1bAePinWvXPAzM42zcAOnRNG9jkFP1cSmk1OtvGU9nrKR5xzXgCWw__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM 54a42b229694fb3839cb6da643adf560 PDF Text Text “TWO OR THREE BERRIES,” AN AUTUMN SUBJECT, BY THE Rev. FRANK E. MILLSON, OF HALIFAX, DELIVERED AT Jjouth J^LACE Chapel, piNSBURY, OCTOBER 31 st, 1875. ��“TWO OR THREE BERRIES.” In that day it shall come to pass that the glory of Jacob shall be made thin I And it shall be as when the harvest man gathereth the com and reapeth the ears with his arm ; And it shall be as he that gathereth ears in the valley of Rephaim. Yet gleaning, grapes shall be left in it, as the shaking of an olive tree. Two or three berries in the top of the uppermost bough. Four or five in the outmost fruitful branches thereof, saith the Lord God of Israel.—Isaiah xvii., 4-6. “ Two or three berries in the top of the upper­ most bough. Four or five in the outmost fruitful branches.” It is strange to note the enduring value of a true image. Here is a sight, which we may see now in every hedge-row, on the skirts of the woods, in the thickets of our gardens, and we find that it was seen and mused upon in the far-off ages, when the Jewish prophet lived, and that it seemed to him to be the very best illustration of his thought. His �4 message was that with the downfall of Damascus should come ruin to Israel. Drawing an illustration from the bareness of the land after the harvest, the prophet says—“ It shall be as when the harvest man gathereth the corn, and reapeth the ears with his arm ; as when they have gleaned after the reaper in the valley of Rephaim,” till the land is stripped of its last show of fertility. But the very image that he has used calls to his mind another, the recollection of what he has seen in the time of the latter harvest; and, when that flashes on his mind, he adds some words of consolation—all shall not be taken away, and the land made utterly deso­ late. There shall be a gleaning of grapes in it, the shaking of an olive tree; two or three berries in the top of the uppermost bough—four or five in the utmost fruitful branches thereof. In the general bareness of the land, these, “the things that remain,” have a peculiar beauty, and a value which we should never think of giving them, when we are in the full enjoyment of the luxurious abundance, the full clusters and many fruits of summer. It is the true autumn lesson—as new and as valuable now as it was in those old days, taught to us quite as impres­ sively as ever it was. Value the things that are left to you, they are worth more because they are left �5 and have survived; and, if the crop is but small, it - is, at any rate, all that there is. We have the sug­ gestive imagery about us now, meeting us in our rambles, speaking to us in the shining berries which have taken the place of the richly coloured foliage, most of all, perhaps, in the shy, solitary rose, mounted almost out of sight to the very topmost twig—more beautiful than the somewhat rampant glories of the summer roses, for it has to contrast and to set out its perfection, the damp and decay, the blackening leaves and naked stems, dripping and sodden with the showers. It has the beauty and the value of the things that are left, and the sugges­ tiveness to thought of all these later autumn beauties is just this, that they seem to say to us, “ We are all that are left to you, make of us all that you can. Yet, in spite of the general ruin and decay, earth is not left without some beauty; pale, scentless, it is true, but prized perhaps more than the common beauties of the summer and the spring.” Make the most of the things that remain. We may very usefully apply the lesson to our circumstances of life. How seldom is it given to any one to enjoy full summer all his days, to live a prosperous life quite to the end. Circumstances are but surroundings. They are not ourselves; and often it is well for us that �6 we should be taught by sharp experience that this is so. They drop away from us and leave us, even as the summer glories fade away from the earth; and the man who was rich and influential, who seemed to be secure in the possession of all that he could wish, finds that he can be separated from it, and that sometimes it leaves him little more than a late autumn crop, of property and possession, two or three berries only, and those on the uppermost bough, four or five in the outmost fruiting branches of his life. It is the part of a true wisdom to make the most of them—from all that is left to seek for the greatest gain, surely not to despair and to re­ fuse to see any beauty of advantage or use in the wrecks and shattered remains of what was once so fair a show. It is so, because the law of our life is like that scientific law of evolution in this, that the things which remain to us are usually those which deserved to remain, the fruits of our life. Success may have gone and failure come, but the failure may bring with it patience and endurance, earned by the qualities which once ensured success; now ornamenting the career which has no longer any other fruits of its success to show. “Not what they have failed in, not what they have suffered, but what they have done, ought to occupy the survivors,” �7 says Goethe. And it is a true saying, the man who has lived a true life, always obeying the demands of conscience, is released from the tyranny of cir­ cumstance, and if but little is left him of the things, riches, honour, wealth, which seemed so essential to his condition whilst he had them, he can do without them, having in himself the well-ordered mind which can find good in little. Such was Jeremy Taylor, who, when his house had been plundered and his family driven out of doors and his worldly estate sequestrated, wrote, “ I am fallen into the hands of publicans and sequestrators, and they have taken all from me. What now? Let me look about me. They have left me the sun and the moon, much to see, many friends to pity me and some to relieve me; and I can discourse still, and, unless I list, they have not taken away my merry countenance and my cheerful spirit and a good con­ science ; they have still left me the providence of God and all the hopes of the gospel and my reli­ gion, and my hopes of heaven and my charity to them too; and he that hath so many causes of joy and so great, is very much in love with sorrow and peevishness, who loves all these pleasures and chooses to sit down upon his little handful of thorns.” �8 This seems to me to be in the right, cheerful spirit of contentment, which is not by any means the abstract virtue that it is supposed to be, but may be easily acquired by those who know its secret, which is only to make the most of the things that remain, admiring the two or three berries which cling to the uppermost bough of life. As you look at them you find that they are not merely “two or three,” there are “ four or five,” and to the wintry landscape with its bareness they impart some of the beauty and colour of summer. Discontent always remains dis­ content so long as it is occupied with itself; but, if once we look outside ourselves, nature makes the present things, the claims of the day, of paramount interest to us, and we are gradually coaxed back again into activity and hope. As we have often found—have we not ?—some sorrow or change has come upon us, and for a time all the interests of life seemed to be carried into the past and life itself to be turned into stagnancy; but sorrow generally brings with it its occupancies and duties, and they win back the mind to calm and resignation. You may note this in any sorrow of your own or of your friends. There is a little history of it in those suc­ cessive Christmas-days in “ In Memoriam.” The poet has lost his friend, and Christmas brings him only �9 sadness and a quick feeling of his loss. It is merely for use and wont, in obedience to old custom, that Christmas is kept at all. “ They gambol, making vain pretence” of gladness, and “sadly falls the Christmas eve.” Another Christmas has the “quiet sense of something lost; ” but now the game and dance and song have place, none “shows a token of distress,” and the poet asks almost self-accusingly; Can grief be changed to less ? and answers his own thought— “ O, last regret; regret can die ! No—mix’t with all this mystic frame, Her deep relations are the same But with long use her tears are dry.” This is the lesson, then of the season. Look for the few beauties that it has. They may, perhaps, prove to be as suggestive, almost as satisfying, as the summer glories or the hopefulness of spring. And, learning a lesson from nature, practise it in life. Do not allow sorrow or discontent to master the soul. They will if you are always thinking about them, but fix your attention on present duties. Make life happier for those about you, be helpful and useful so far as you can. Now and then “ take stock” of the pleasures that remain to you, and, as Jeremy Taylor did in his deprivation, you will find �IO that life is still endurable—nay, that it has some pleasures, which, like the late berries on the trees, are, if not very sweet to the taste, at least cheerful to the eye. There is a similar wisdom which may be shown in our judgments of and dealing with our characters. Many a man reaches the autumn of his days only to find that of the seeds of endeavour which he has sown there have come up but a very poor crop. He has conscientiously striven and has often failed. Many good resolutions, much earnest effort, a great deal of self-denial, and many very seeming successes, have ended in little real gain. The besetting sin, whatever it may be, has proved too strong for the resisting will; and I have noticed that it is characteristic of such a life to grow bitter against itself at the end. It is as if a husbandman had ploughed, and sown, and weeded, and found but in the end a very scanty crop—ground nearly as bare as if it had been reaped already; and in such a case it is cold comfort, I know, to point out a few ears, or, if his crop is of the vineyard, some straggling grapes; but there is some comfort in it too, for a vine that will grow some grapes has the possibility, under more favourable circumstances, of growing more, and there is the chance of a full harvest another year. �II Much of the shameless sin that marks the end of some lives that have never been quite free from very conscientious efforts at self-improvement come, I am convinced, of hopelessness. A man is weary of trying- to overcome some temptation. He has tried for years, perhaps, and some strong- innertendency, some weakness, which it seems as if he could not help, has got the better of him again and again. So he gives up all effort, loses all self-respect, and resigns himself up to sin. It is a weakness which none of us can greatly blame, which he certainly who knows how hardly he preserves the balance of his own soul, will look at with a very pitying eye, and perhaps the wisest word that can be spoken in such a case is this—don’t say that you are altogether bad. You have still the preference for what is right—the wish to do well. It is but a poor crop of a life to have only that, but it is much better than no crop at all, infinitely superior to the luxuriance of wilful sin, for it means that, so long as we feel this dissatisfaction with ourselves—so long as we keep a clear notion of the right which we ought to do, we are not left quite to ourselves, are not, there­ fore, in an altogether hopeless condition. I suppose that most of us can remember that when we were children the hardest punishment to bear,— �12 the most effectual, too, I believe,—was that of being- left to ourselves—forbidden nothing— restrained in nothing—treated as if we were nothing. God never so treats us, He never leaves us to our own devices, never lets us put ourselves outside his suggestions of right and wrong, and to these we ought to cling, when they are all that we have left to us. When will is weakness and good examples fail us, and respect even for the opinion of our friends is not a strong enough compulsion, then do not let us be blind to this last chance, and, re­ fusing to see it, rush into sin. “ At that day a man shall look to his Maker,” says the prophet, speaking of Israel in its utmost need, and as with the nation so with the man—the last glimmer of a sense of right, the poorest gleanings of a crop of good reso­ lutions, even the wish to do right, may avail to save us from the utter despair which strives no more, and is led away helpless by temptation. How I wish that any words of mine could make this a real truth to those who are in such danger as I have described! But words are very powerless in such a case as this. Only I would suggest the thought. One other thought the picture which is my text suggests to me. It is that which is contained in the �13 practical conclusion of the passage which I have read to you. “ At that day shall man look to his bM Maker, and his eye shall have respect to the Holy hO| One of Israel.” The religious attitude of mind for­ gotten in the midst of plenty is recovered when few| want is felt. And is it not so, that there is a moral gel J lesson for us in the scantiness and rarity of natural sdl beauty in the wintry landscape? Two or three 9<I berries then, when we see them on the mountain 2J5 ash making a scarlet glow amidst the bare W woods or on the long-swinging rose-tendrils where rf) the clusters of flowers have been, or on the & thorn, which has lost its delicate texture of flowers and the dense green of its foliage, even two or three catch the eye and fix the atten­ tion, and stimulate the thought which the wealth and luxuriance of summer had only distracted. Meditation is the autumnal mood, for then the mind rf finds enough of beauty to suggest, and not enough to oppress reflection. Autumn is for this reason J the poet’s fruitful season. Fancy is not over­ 1 weighted with imagery; and of natural beauty there is enough to suggest and to quicken thought. So Milton, and Wordsworth, and Coleridge all found late autumn and early winter their most fruitful and productive time of the year. The things that fjnq �remain, few as they are, may suggest, will very likely, in consequence of their fewness, suggest, religious reflection, for we seek God in our needs more readily than when we abound in all things, and a few objects of beauty amidst a world of bareness and sterility may lead the thoughts, which are troubled at the loss of summer wealth and spring suggestiveness, to seek, in reflection, the meaning and lesson of it all. These are the thoughts, a little far-fetched it seems to me as I write them, which the image of my text suggests. They are thoughts of cheer­ fulness under disappointments, and courage to persevere when the sense of repeated failure oppresses the mind, and suggestions of the thought­ fulness that comes to the mind which is compelled to concentrate itself on a few objects; and if we can find these in them, the “ two or three berries,” our autumn picture may teach us more than we can learn from summer flowers. �i5 Leaf by leaf the roses fall, Drop by drop the springs run dry, One by one, beyond recall, Summer beauties fade and die. But the roses bloom again, And the springs will gush anew, In the pleasant April rain And the summer sun and dew. So in hours of deepest gloom, When the springs of gladness fail, And the roses in their bloom Droop like maidens wan and pale ; We shall find some hope that lies, Like a silent germ apart, Hidden far from careless eyes In the garden of the heart : Some sweet hope to gladness wed, That will spring afresh and new, When grief’s winter shall have fled, Giving place to sun and dew : Some sweet hope that breathes of spring Through the weaiy, weary time, Budding forth its blossoming In the spirit’s silent clime. Howe. �3 � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Victorian Blogging Description An account of the resource A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library &amp; Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span> Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway Hall Library & Archives Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2018 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Conway Hall Ethical Society Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Pamphlet Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Two or three berries,: an autumn subject ... delivered at South Place Chapel, Finsbury, October 31st, 1875 Description An account of the resource Place of publication: [London] Collation: 15 p. ; 16 cm Series number: 5 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available [South Place Chapel] Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource [1875] Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context G3366 Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Unknown. Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <a href="http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/"><img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /></a><span> </span><br /><span>This work (Two or three berries,: an autumn subject ... delivered at South Place Chapel, Finsbury, October 31st, 1875), identified by </span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/admin/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk"><span>Humanist Library and Archives</span></a><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span> Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Language A language of the resource English Subject The topic of the resource Sermons Autumn Sermons https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/b6f152012e7be291ba2c6f3579138703.pdf?Expires=1779926400&Signature=KUIFnsDfZ-5aTrUbCvNh4fji7DrAKMzQjxL8kbjdhA2x8WDr9PZ4SJqNym9XQgg%7EGJeZ9tKl6AwzT9bduPQXY0RBNI1u1OuuUt52W-d7zDdpuB22JhIEUybXT8rKrpmyA6AC9CzRVQeCYA9w5aU66GvlpgPe3EWKGT4mTHqTxKzWJWgIFEl0aLhZF9UPfrDknhhBYw0KzJuhB9%7E0CQd7xzrFigZl8eaHMXNXjPskyQ44HvmL%7E0Ola-tAH8opvJ5a-%7E%7Epf6dVHZ04MQNs-s%7ELN0PnPJDAbblEk%7EVuycflpWQIoMHuQPjtetxN2OGerZ%7E9KTWGynxyNDiuvuIX7OoypA__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM 8d914a9f2fe84a97522f22289d1f7fa2 PDF Text Text WHAT 18 RELIGION? {F. Max Muller's First Hibbert Lecture) A DISCOURSE GIVEN AT JSOUTH J^LACE JThAFEL, MAY $th, 1878, by' MONCURE D. CONWAY, M.A. LONDON : SOUTH PLACE, FINSBURY. PRICE TWOPENCE. �LONDON: PRINTED BY WATERLOW AND SONS LIMITED, LONDON WALL. �WHAT IS RELIGION? The community may congratulate itself upon the fact that the bequest of an advanced liberal man for the promotion of free religious inquiry, should find its fulfilment in the ancient chapter-house of Westminster Abbey. It is probable that if the dogmas which founded that Abbey still reigned, the first Hibbert lecturer would have been sooner burnt than listened to. But now, amid those historic walls are repre­ sented ideas of religion which have been raised quite out of the region of authority, and worthily claim only to stand or fall along with the reason and knowledge , of man,—acknowledging no revelation but the history of man. On Thursday last, in his second lecture, the Pro­ fessor remarked that, even if the theory of human pro­ gression could be proved in all other affairs of mankind, that would not prove the same theory true of religion. �4 This remark applied to the far past; and it is true that what is called religion was for ages the unpro­ gressive, the stationary institution of the world. And this because the religious sentiment was confused with theology,—identified with alleged revelations,—thus removed from the normal current of human interests. But the scene in the chapter-house marks a great change. The Hibbert Trust is, I believe, outcome of money earned by toiling negroes on West Indian plantations. The House of Commons freed those slaves. The wealth they coined comes back to the room in which the House of Commons first sat. There African degradation is turning to English cul­ ture. The progress in civilisation represented in that fact is not greater than ,the religious progress it implies. The leading Unitarian (Martineau) and the Dean of Westminster have united to bring a German • liberal there to raise the standard of a human religion. It is now a religious House of Commons. Four centuries ago an old monk frescoed the walls of it with the visions of the Apocalypse. The angels and dragons are now fading around a wider apocalypse. The Isle of Patmos sinks beneath the horizon. The Isle of England rises from the night, its awakened eye ■ holding the Apocalypse of Man. The eminence of Max Muller is the work he has done in recovering the vast fields of human experi­ �5 ence represented by the Aryan race. No West Indian slave was more bound under his master than our English brains under thraldom to ancient Semitic notions. Hebraism waved its sceptre over European culture, and excluded two-thirds of the world and of history as heathenism and devil’s work. Many have been our deliverers from that prison, but no one of them has done more than our first Hibbert lecturer to carry this liberation from the scholar’s study to the layman’s home. It was because of this that he was called to expound the religion of humanity amid walls built to fortify the dogmas of one tribe against the rest of mankind, and against universal progress. Westminster Abbey has survived to hear sentence passed upon every creed for which it stood. And so at last even tardy religion is caught up into the great loom of the world to be woven in with general civili­ sation. That is, so far as it is a sound thread. But is it sound ? Is it real ? Some say it is rotten, some say unreal: man’s childish awe of phantoms, conjured up by his own ignorance. But Max Muller detaches re­ ligion from all its special forms or accidents; maintains its reality and vitality; rests it upon the universal human sense and feeling of the Infinite. He appeals to the broad facts common to the civilized man and the barbarian, to East, West, North, South; and he thus, �6 in laying his foundation, leaves out of sight those facts not universal; such as the special and narrow theories of which a Christian may feel conscious here and a Buddhist there. His question relates not to this so-called religion or that, but to religion itself. All religions might perish, and this essential religion still stand. That he declares to be a natural thing, which has had natural evolutions comprehensible by science. Supernaturalism may, therefore, so far as the present atmosphere of Westminster Abbey is con­ cerned, be regarded as a small way one religion’ has of saying to another “ Stand aside, I am holier than thou.” The interest of the human intellect has passed beyond that pious egotism. It is now pro­ foundly concerned to know, not whether Christianity is true, but whether religion itself is real; or whether our spiritual emotion is merely surviving emotion of waves after the blasts of superstition have so long swept over them. The main principle affirmed is, that religion is man’s apprehension of the Infinite. In searching the largest and the smallest, man reaches an end of his com­ prehension, the limit of the heavens he can see, the limit of the atom he can divide; but where compre­ hension ends, apprehension continues; imagination, wonder, admiration, faith, hope, soar on into an immea­ surable expanse; and the emotion awakened within �7 for that transcendent immensity is the religious emo­ tion. Now there are certain inferences from this principle which it hardly lay in the way of the lecturer to un­ fold. It was intimated, however, in what he said about the progressive development of conceptions of colour, and I will use that to illustrate my own point. In arguing that the ancient races of men apprehended the Infinite vaguely, though they had no word for it, he said, 11 We divide colour by seven rough degrees. Even those seven degrees are of late date in the evolu­ tion of our sensuous knowledge. In common Arabic, as Palgrave tells us, the names for green, black and brown are constantly confounded. In the Edda the rainbow is called a three-coloured bridge. Xenophanes says that what people call Iris is a cloud, purple, red and yellow. Even Aristotle still speaks of the tricoloured rainbow, red, yellow and green. Blue, which seems to us so definite a colour, was worked out of the infinity of colours at a comparatively late time. There is hardly a book now in which we do not read of the blue sky. But in the ancient hymns of the Veda, so full of the dawn, the sun and the sky, the blue sky is never men­ tioned in the Zendavesta the blue sky is never men­ tioned ; in Homer the blue sky is never mentioned ; in the Old, and even in the New, Testament, the blue sky is never mentioned. In the Teutonic languages �§ blue comes from a root which originally meant bleak and black. The Romance languages found no useful word for blue in Latin and 'borrowed their word from the Germans.” The Hibbert lecturer believes those ancients saw the blue sky as we do, but they had no word for it because they had not detached it mentally from dark or bright. But whether the outer eye has un­ folded or the inner eye,—visual power or the analytic mind behind it,—-it is equally shown that the full phenomena were not revealed j and we are again reminded that in going back to the ancient world for his beliefs man suffers a relapse from the height he has attained. In the matter of blue sky the Bible is as much a blank as the Vedas. So far neither was a revelation—or unveiling—of phenomena. That know­ ledge, by natural means and scientific culture, we have reached, and see seven colours where our ancestors saw three or four. Are we to suppose their spiritual senses were finer, while their other senses were duller, than ours ? Are we to suppose that their religious analysis was more perfect than ours ? If so, it would be a miracle; but where is the evidence of any such miracle ? Compare the God of the Vedas or of the Bible—Indra or Jehovah—with the God of Theodore Parker, nay, of any living Theist, and only a blindness worse than blue-blindness can declare those thunder-; �9 gods equal to the Divine Love adored by the en­ lightened heart to-day. That conclusion is inevitable from the moment it is admitted that religion is a subject for scientific treatment. Once let it be admitted that religion is to be dealt with by unbiassed reason,—by such calm sifting of facts as if the subject were electricity,—and from that instant every particular system of religion must take its place in the natural history of mankind. Be it Brahminism, be it Christianity, it comes down from the bench and goes into the witness-box. Each testifies what it knows, but it cannot coerce the judg­ ment of Reason. Christianity may testify that it saw miracles; Confucianism that it saw none; Islamism that it was revealed from Allah; but it is no longer the sword which determines their credibility; it is Reason. So their testimony goes for precisely what it is worth. If they saw only three colours where there were seven, possibly they also saw miracle where there was only natural fact. The world cannot go back to the year One for its ideas of the Infinite any more than for its optics. It may recognise in Christ a great religious teacher, just as it recognises in Aristotle a great scientific teacher; but as it cannot diminish the known colours because Aristotle knew only three, so it cannot deny religious facts because unknown to Christ. But it may find fresh �IO reason for faith in science and religion in that, with grand vitality, they far outgrow both Aristotle and Christ, and all the systems that would confine them. Now, as to this apprehension of the Infinite in which the Hibbert lecturer finds the religious faculty ; it souhds at first rather metaphysical. It is tolerably clear that no abstract notions of the Infinite can have any commanding power over the nature and passions of mankind. We must, therefore, in considering historic religions, think rather of the forms with which human imagination has peopled the Infinite. The Infinite in itself is metaphysical ; but its vault, popu­ lous with gods, becomes practical. The creed which has swayed the world has been in an Infinite just transcending man’s finite in power or excellence ; while it is finite enough to deal with him and feel with him. The god or personality which man asso­ ciates with infinitude may be of unknown strength, so separate from finite man ; but he may be angry, loving, ambitious, so linked on to the finite? It is just in this twofold aspect of these images of the Infinite that we may discover the reality and meaning of religion. To which side of the god does it belong—his finite or his infinite side ? his likeness to man or his transcendency of man? his compre­ hensibility or incomprehensibility. Religion,—whether it be a sense of dependence, or �II awe, of emotion, or aspiration—whatever its aspect, refers to that in which the object of worship passes beyond the worshipper. In this it differs from theology, which concerns itself with that side of the god which is within the knowledge of man. The Theology of one period may describe the gods, as the Greeks did, even to the colour of their hair; the Theology of another period may disprove such gods’ 'existence, substituting invisible Beings, as that of Paul ‘did. One Theology may build up a Trinity; another may supersede it with a Quaternity or Unity. But it would be an error to suppose that Religion is either 'directly making those images,or directly replacing them. These personifications are the successive inventions of a changing science; they are utilised by priests who support theologians to maintain them, or, when they become discredited, to modify or replace them. But, although the religious condition of man may be har­ monious with such images at one time, discordant with them at another, what human worship adores is the unknown, the eternal, the vast, the perfect,—all expanding beyond its conception, but yet believed to ■be powerfully existent. Thus Religion is different from Fear. Man would hover fear the Infinite. It is only when to its vastness Theology adds a smallness like man’s own that men beginto tremble. It is not Jove, the incomprehensible �.12 Heaven, man fears; but Jove, the comprehensible Chieftain, going about with a thunderclub to kill him. That Jove men fear, because they understand him;, they go about themselves with clubs less big but equally murderous. That is not Religion—it is Theology; a primitive speculative science of gods. But we have reached now a Science of Religion, and understand that its reverence, its devoutness, emotion, love, so far as really awakened in man, were for what rose above his own weakness, his passions, and his sorrows. What, then, does this apprehension (which must be distinguished from comprehension) this feeling about the Infinite amount to ? Simply to man’s belief in something better than himself. Man believes in a Wisdom greater than his own. Theology may per­ sonify it in Minerva, or in the Holy Ghost; but the worship is not. for the work of man’s wisdom—it is for the wisdom ascending beyond man. So the forms perish : the worship of wisdom perishes not. Man adores a power beyond his own: theology may identify it with mountain and lightning, sea and whirl­ wind, and these may overawe his heart so long as he knows nothing of them : but when the mountain is climbed, and the sea voyaged over, the cloud seen as vapour, the wind weighed, the lightning bottled and sealed up, the ever-kneeling spirit of Religion passes �T3 onward, and amid innumerable forms and names that come and go, seeks still the better, the wiser, the, more powerful and happy,—ever leading on from the finite to the Infinite. And this high seeking, born of each heart’s faith in a better than it knows, is the religious force, because it is the controlling and creative force. It is idle to tell us, in face of the moral progress of the world, that the life of man has been the result of correct metaphysics, theological definitions, abstractions about the Absolute and co-eternal Persons. The force that is moving the world onward 'is the longing in each human being for somewhat more perfect than what they have or are. It is Maya in India praying her babe Siddartha (Buddha) may be wise beyond all men she ever knew; or Mary in Palestine praying the same as she watches her baby Jesus ; or any mother that hears me, whose tender breast feels stirring within hope that the new nature she has started on its career may ascend till she can kneel in homage before it. It may be the humblest workman dreaming of a more perfect skill; the young artisan feeling after an inven­ tion pregnant with results incalculable. Wherever and however manifested it is the great vision of a glory transcending our own; and though such ideals are always being reached and passed by—infinites becoming Unites—so endlessly the spirit grows, so �14 immortal is its nature, so unceasing the work of creation, the outline is never filled up. Over crumbled gods and goddesses, religion ascends for ever, burning, disintegrating, generating, regenerating,—Humanity’s passion for the Perfect. There is a danger in the method of the historian and archaeologist of religion. Because he must trace the evolution of religion through its visible and definable effects—fetish, shrine, dogma, temple— there is danger that these may be regarded as types and forms of religion itself. When a geologist walks over hills, cliffs, rocks, he traces the path of drifting glaciers scratched on rock; he finds sea-shells on the hill-tops, boulders dropped in meadows, pebbles rounded by waves long ebbed away to channels many miles distant: he says, seas and rivers have smoothed and deposited these shells and sands, and shaped these undulations of hill and vale. Yet these are not the sea,—they are but fringes and accidents in the history of the sea. But in religion men still have the habit of seeing the shards and shells of theory—the pebbles of theology worn from crumbled temples—as forms of Religion itself. They are but things which Religion influenced, they report its ancient tides and currents, but they are not—never were—religion itself. Having now detached the religious sentiment from �i5 the forms which have borrowed its consecration; having identified it as man’s impulse towards the Perfect—which philosophy calls the Infinite—let us ask whether we are genuine and true in calling this religion. Or is our use of that word only a piece of conventionality ? Does Religion mean anything diffe­ rent from morality, or different from conscience ? If not, then our use of it is mystification, conformity, cowardice. I believe Religion to be a different thing from Morality. I understand by morality rules and stan­ dards of conduct relating to recognised social duties. But there is something in man which leads him to defy the rules and standards around him. A bad man violates moral rules for the sake of self: but another man breaks them at the cost of self. What leads Jesus to break the Sabbath, or Buddha to refuse offerings to the gods ? Or what leads the reformer of to-day to challenge the social and political order ? Are such men seeking the benefit of the majority ? The majority are against them. The majority is made uncomfortable by them. Are they seeking general advantages ? They are often plunging everything into revolution, and doing it consciously. You might per­ suade a freethinker that to disestablish the Church would leave the majority poorer than now; or that innumerable advantages to millions would be lost if �the Athanasian Creed were exploded. But would any consideration of majorities make him support the Church: would any advantages make him advocate the Creed ? It may be said he is obeying the voice of conscience. That explains nothing. Conscience is an organ of forces beyond itself. It dictates war to one tribe, peace to another. Conscience is a majestic throne, but we search for the power behind the throne. Now, here we have a force in man which often confronts customs, moralities, the social and political order, which disregards majorities and their interests, disregards self-interest also; and this force with passion, enthusiasm and martyrdom, seeks something it never saw, something that never existed. It is manifested in all history, and is known in universal experience; it actuates theists and non-theists; it is especially visible in the overthrow of popular idols and dogmas claiming its worship. Is that morality? Not a whit more than it is politics, or trade, or art, or any one of the manifold human interests which slowly but steadily follow the lead of that pillar of cloud and fire. I call it Religion, because that is a universal name which no sect or nation has ever tried to monopolise : but I do not care for that name if any one has a better. I do care that it shall not be confused with �i7 wholly different things, with either morality, politics or science. Much less, with Theology. For Theology is the great enemy of religion. Morality, Society, Science, are its ministers, but Theology is its rival,— the Opposer that would arrest the current of its life, and nail man down to bestow upon a fragment of his universe and himself the passion born for aspiration to the perfect whole. To call it ideality, poetry, harmony, love of humanity, is to name the fruits by which this religious life is known. To name it Religion may, indeed, be very inadequate ; neither etymologically or practically can that word do more than preserve the distinction and witness the existence of that which language cannot define; but as in­ accuracy of words like “ sunrise ” and “ sunset ” cannot now mar the glories they suggest, so no etymologic fault can disparage that only catholic name we have (Religion) so long as it is left us by Sectarianism and Superstition to designate the universal aspirations of mankind. Christianity can only claim to be a religion; it cannot claim to be Religion. No sect can claim to be Religion itself. That is an older banner than any existing nation or church; under its broad folds and heaven-born tints thousands of sects have perished; it widens with the ages, blends with all grandeurs without and within, leads onward the steady march of �i8 man with his world to that supreme beauty which enchains his senses and enchants his heart. For essential religion no adequate word or definition has ever been discovered, or is likely to be discovered. If the lecturer’s statement there halts, it is because the Infinite, the Perfect, cannot be defined. To call it the Infinite leaves the moral sentiment unexpressed. To call it “ morality touched with enthusiasm,” leaves the progressive life untold. The philosophers of Germany and America in the beginning of this generation called it Transcendentalism;—but that white light wanted fire, and faded. Some have called it absolute Being. Jesus called it Love; and no fairer emblem of it was ever named than that supreme glory which quickens the world, from the marriage of flower with flower which to-day clothes the earth with blossoms, to the mother and her babe, and all the manifestations of that unselfish joy which alone can transfigure human passions. But man needs Light as well as Love. And so it is that the highest in us is as ineffable as that which it seeks. When we have dwelt on its varied intimations ; when we have thought of Ideality and Poetry, perfect Being, the Infinite, the Immortal, Supreme Reason, pure Beauty, universal Love—even then the wise heart is conscious that it has touched but a few chords of the harp with a thousand strings ; and when the thousand strings have all been swept, �i9 when human language has rehearsed all its concepts and its dreams to the last accent, yet in the silent heart the still small voice will go on sweetly singing of a dawn fairer than all the rest. Waterldw & Sons Limited, Printers, London Wall, London. �WORKS TO BE OBTAINED IN THE LIBRARY. BY M. D. CONWAY, M.A. PRICES, s. The Sacred Anthology: A Book of Ethnical Scriptures .. The Earthward Pilgrimage Do. do. Republican Superstitions.. Christianity ......................... Human Sacrifices in England .. David Frederick Strauss .. Sterling and Maurice Intellectual Suicide The First Love again Our Cause and its Accusers Alcestis in England Unbelief: its nature, cause, and cure Entering Society......................... The Religion of Children The Peri! of War 10 5 2 2 1 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 d. 0 0 6 6 6 0 3 2 2 2 1 2 2 2 2 2 Idols and Ideals fincluding the Essay on Christianity^, 350 pp............................ 7 6 NEW WORK BY M. D. CONWAY, M.A. Members of the Congregation, can obtain this work in the Library at 5/-. BY A. J. ELLIS, B.A., F.R.8., &c., &c. Salvation .......... 0 Truth .......................................................0 Speculation ........................ ; .. 0 Duty .......... 0 The Dyer's Hand ........ 0 2 2 2 2 2 BY REV. P. H. WICKSTEED, M.A. Going Through and Getting Over .. 0 2 BY REV. T. W. FRECKELTON. The Modern Analogue of the Ancient Prophet .......... 02 BY W. C. COUPLAND, M.A. The Conduct of Life Hymns and Anthems .. .. .. 0 2 V; 2f: 3/. � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Victorian Blogging Description An account of the resource A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library &amp; Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span> Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway Hall Library & Archives Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2018 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Conway Hall Ethical Society Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Pamphlet Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource What is religion? : a discourse given at South Place Chapel, May 5th 1878 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway, Moncure Daniel [1832-1907.] Description An account of the resource Place of publication: London Collation: 19, [1] p. ; 15 cm. Notes: Part of Morris Miscellaneous Tracts 1. List of works to be obtained from the Library of South Place Chapel at end of pamphlet. Printed by Waterlow and Sons, London Wall. About F. Max Muller's First Hibbert Lecture on 'The Perception of the Infinite' given at Westminster Abbey in April 1878. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available [South Place Chapel] Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource [1878] Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context G3338 Subject The topic of the resource Religion Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /><br /><span>This work (What is religion? : a discourse given at South Place Chapel, May 5th 1878), identified by </span><span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk">Humanist Library and Archives</a></span><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span> Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Language A language of the resource English God (Christianity) Moral Philosophy Morality Morris Tracts Religion and science Science and Religion https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/1a3379a67456ce799ec3a5d34cef88d0.pdf?Expires=1779926400&Signature=MwJdjnOLEYa6DNN9DuE3cgcoWvHvqxzeErW89451lFgqTIx2ZgrVMSNO4N3Al1o31PKuEqkHcDh49q-dCzV7y0Kk%7EDX8p5SYk5Quk0hCLZ3Gi%7Eh37TJwqd97G%7EikRSUh4hsZOydTWkx%7EmS-eFzUeLkvdcEu7H0BzY6O8KuohDkBkJ74Ihpsfe-u4A1jGS6hrPICuwYVj%7En2u-BlKn%7Eqxch5jokTuz7Hytev9QZs8-XrRj5FbqhuEudwDj8RR%7E9-VMlPm-V-c4dQTXnjPTX3TEBUUL-x-J%7EEadS2W6hq4f2ipN9ExKLMHODrB-SNXUXIrHq7fcKakEipxJG6UFAjgng__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM ff6705ead4bf8c3486057cbc76cb34c9 PDF Text Text 252,1 ATHEISM A SPECTRE. WITH READING FROM MAX MULLER'S SIXTH HIBBERT LECTURE. SOUTH PLACE CHAPEL, JUNE 23, 1878. BY MONCURE D. CONWAY, M.A. PRICE TWOPENCE, �LONDON 5 PRINTED BY WATERLOW AND SONS LIMITED LONDON WALL. �READING. (From Max Müller's Sixth Hibbert Lecture?) In the bright sky they (the ancient Aryans) perceived an Illumi­ nator ; in the all-encircling firmament an Embracer ; in the roar of thunder and in the violence of the storm they felt the pre­ sence of a Shouter and ®f furious Strikers, and out of rain they created an Indra, or giver of rain. With this last step, however, came also the first re-action, the first doubt So long as the thoughts of the ancient Aryan worshippers had something mani­ fest or tangible to rest on, they might, no doubt, in their religious aspirations, far exceed the limits of actual observation ; still no one could ever question the existence of what they chose to call their Devas or their gods. The mountains and rivers were always there to speak for themselves, and if the praises bestowed upon them seemed to be excessive, they might be toned down, without calling in question the existence of these gods. The same applied to the sky, the sun, and'the dawn. They also were always there, and though they might be called mere visions and appearances, yet the human mind is so made that it admits of no appearance without admitting at the same time something that appears, some reality or substance. But when we come to the third class of gods, not only intangible, but invisible, the case is different. Indra, as the giver of rain, Rudra, as the thunderer, were com­ pletely creations of the human mind. All that was given was ' the rain, and the thunder ; but there was nothing in nature that �4 could be called an appearance of the god himself, who thundered or who sent the rain. Man saw their work, but that was all: no one could point to the sky or the sun or the dawn or anything else visible, to attest the existence of Indra and Rudra. We saw before that Indra, for the very reason that there was nothing in nature to which he cluDg, nothing visible that could arrest his growth, developed more than all the other gods into a personal, dramatic, and mythological being. More battles are recorded, more stories are told of Indra than of any other Vedic god, and this helps us to understand how it was that he seemed even to the ancient poets to have ousted Dyaus, the Indian Zeus, from his supremacy. But a Nemesis was to come. The very god who seemed for a time to have thrown all the others into the shade, whom many would call, if not the supreme, at least the most popular deity of the Veda, was the first god whose very exist­ ence was called in question. . . Thus we read, “Offer praise to Indra if you desire booty, true praise, if he truly exists. Some one says : There is no Indra ! Who has seen him ? Whom shall we praise ? ” In this hymn the poet turns round, and, intro­ ducing Indra himself, makes him say : “ Here I am O worship­ per ! Behold me here ! In might I overcome all creatures.” But we read again in another hymn : ‘ ‘ The terrible one of whom they ask where he is, and of whom they say that he is not: he takes away the riches of his enemies like the stakes at a game ; Believe in him, ye men, for he is indeed Indra.” When we thus see the old god Dyaus antiquated by Indra, Indra himself denied, and Prajapati falling to pieces, and when another poet declares in so many words that all the gods are but names, we might imagine that the stream of religious thought, which sprang from a trust in mountains and rivers, then proceeded to an adoration of the sky and the sun, then grew into a worship of invisible gods, such as the sender of thunderstorms and the giver of rain had well nigh �5 finished its course. We might expect in India the same catas­ trophe which in Iceland the poets of the Edda always predicted, the Twilight of the gods, preceding the destruction of the world. We seem to have reached the stage when Henotheism, after try­ ing in vain to grow into polytheism on the one side, or mono­ theism on the other, would by necessity end in Atheism, or a denial of all the gods or Devas. So it did. Yet Atheism is not the last word of Indian reli­ gion, though it seemed to be so for a time in the triumph of Buddhism. The word itself—Atheism—is out of place as applied to the religion of India. The ancient Hindus had neither the 0eos of the Homeric singers, nor the of the Eclectic philo­ sophers. Their Atheism, such as it was, would more correctly be called Adevism, or a denial of the old Devas. Such a denial, however, of what was once believed, but could be believed no longer, so far from being the destruction, is in reality the vital principle of all religion. The ancient Aryans felt from the beginning—aye, it may be more in the beginning than afterwards —the presence of a Beyond, of an Infinite, of a Divine, or what­ ever else we may call it now ; and they tried to grasp and com­ prehend it, as we all do, by giving it name after name. They thought they had found it in the Mountains or Rivers, in the Dawn, in the Sun, in the Sky, in the Heaven, and the Heaven-Father. But after every name there came the No! What they looked for was like the Mountains, like the Rivers, like the Dawn, like the Sky, like theFather : but it was not the Mountains, «¿/the Rivers» not the Dawn, not the Sky, it was not the Father. It was some­ thing of all that, but it was also more, it was beyond all that. Even such general names as Asura or Deva could no longer satisfy them. There may be Devas and Asuras, they said, but we want more, we want a higher word, a purer thought. They denied the bright Devas, not because they believed or desired �6 less, but because they believed and desired more than the bright Devas. There was a conception working in their mind: and the cries of despair were but the harbingers of a new birth. So it has been, so it always will be. There is an Atheism which is unto death, there is another Atheism which is the very life­ blood of all true faith. It is the power of giving up what in our best, our most honest moments, we know to be no longer true; it is the readiness to replace the less perfect, however dear it may have been to us, by the more perfect, however much it may be detested, as yet, by others. It is the true self­ surrender, the true self-sacrifice, the truest trust in truth, the truest faith. Without that Atheism no new religion, no reform, no reformation, no resuscitation, would ever have been possible; without that Atheism no new life is possible for any one of us. In the eyes of the Brahmans, Buddha was an Atheist; in the eyes of the Athenian Judges, Socrates was an Atheist; in the eyes of the Pharisees, St. Paul was an Atheist; in the eyes of Swiss Judges, Servetus was an Atheist; and why? Because every one of them was yearning for a higher and purer conception of God than what he had learnt as a child. Let no one touch religion, be he clergyman or layman, who is afraid of being called an Infidel or an Atheist—aye, who is afraid of asking himself, Do I believe in a God, or do I not ? Let me quote the words of a great divine, lately deceased, whose honesty and piety have never been questioned: “God,” he says,'“is a great word. He who feels and understands that will judge more mildly and more justly of those who confess that they dare not say that they believe in God.” Now, I know perfectly well that what I have said just now will be misunderstood, will possibly be misinterpreted. I know I shall be accused of having defended and glorified Atheism, and of having represented it as the last and highest point which man can reach in an evolution of �7 fc! t2 9 < , •. religious thought. Let it be so. If there are but a few here present who understand what I mean by honest Atheism, and who know how it differs from vulgar Atheism, I shall feel satisfied, for I know that to understand this distinction will often help us in the hour of our sorest need. It will teach us that, while the old leaves, the leaves of a bright and happy spring, are falling, and all seems wintry, frozen and dead within and around us, there is and there must be a new spring in store for every warm and honest heart. It will teach us that honest doubt is the deepest spring of honest faith; and that he only who has lost can find. �I �ATHEISM. The boldness of Max Muller’s defence of a faith ful Atheism which I have read you, does not consist in its thought so much as in the word he adopts. The thought is that which sad experience has revealed to many a reverential thinker in the past as well as the present. William Penn, the Quaker, said that he who speaks worthily of God is very like to be called an Atheist. We owe high honour to the man who has courage to proclaim in Westminster Abbey the truth which hitherto has been uttered by the despised and rejected. But it remains doubtful whether even the independence and fidelity of the Hibbert lecturer, and his learning, will be able to recover a word so fraught with misunderstandings as the word “Atheism.” If mankind used such words etymologically, “Atheism ” might be restored ; but they do not; and it is to be feared that as the name of Jesus could not save “Jesuitism,” and the name of Christ cannot save “Christian,” so in another direction the fact that “ Atheist ” means one who denies the gods of common �IO belief, and is without any theory of God, cannot out­ weigh the popular meaning of the word. To the masses Atheist means a godless man, and a godless man means a bad man. Because of that acquired accent of immorality Theologians seem fond of using the word. It is, therefore, a bit of debased currency, and, as I think, will one day drop out of use. Yet many excellent people, like Max Müller, see that while theologically the word carries a vulgar mean­ ing, morally it represents the right of man to grow. In this sense it represents the freedom of man to deny any and every god which others set up. If that right had not been exercised we should still be worshipping Siva or Odin, or the Virgin Mary. The same authority which w’ould to day silence the Atheist before Jehovah, would have silenced Paul before Diana of Ephesus. “ Atheism ” is a flag that means unlimited right of denial, and that involves the right of progress and the pursuit of truth. Many liberal thinkers accept the epithet, not as dogma—not as antitheism—but because they mean to stand by their freedom, and will not cower before popular clamour. Trelawney asked the poet Shelley why, with his high pantheism, he called himself “ Atheist.” Shelley replied that he did not choose it. That name was the gauntlet they threw down, and he picked it up. In that heroic spirit, some still call �themselvesil Atheists,” even at risk of being misunder­ stood. And it must be acknowledged that the epithet will carry with it a certain accent of moral honesty and courage, so long as intellectual liberty is met with menace. When that lingering struggle is over and past, and the victory of free thought is completely won, as won it must be, it will no longer be any sur­ render of their colours if such brave men and women consult with their allies to find whether there may not be a broader, a more universal, banner to represent our common liberty than that marked “Atheism.” But, before that time can arrive, earnest and thinking people must give up their horror of “ Atheism.” That name now means to most people what devil meant to our ancestors, and it is equally mythical, unreal, fantastic. Even many so-called liberal people have not sufficiently thrown off their theological training to be released from terror of this latest phantom. Stat nominis umbra. It is the shadow of a name. That I propose to prove to you. The laws of nature have been sufficiently explored to turn the devil into a grotesque superstition; the laws of mental and moral nature are sufficiently known to lay this spectre of “ Atheism ” which has followed him. The so-called “Atheist” is no more outside psychological laws than he is bodily outside physical laws. Moral and mental facts hold him as much as gravitation holds him. �12 Those facts he may name one way and you another, but where the reality is the same shall we be tricked by names ? There are cases in which the reality is not the same. A man may believe in a three-headed deity, in a tri-personal deity, in Jove, Jupiter, Adonai, or some other celestial thunderer; such belief is not of thought but authority, it does not pretend to rest upon fact and evidence, but on tradition or revelation. We must at present leave all that out of the question. What we are now concerned with is the difference between those who, exercising the same reason, in the same method, upon the same facts, in them and outside them, state their conclusions differently. One calls himself 11 Theist,” the other calls himself “ Atheist.” These words are opposite. But are the realities under them opposite ? To find out that we must ask what is in the con­ sciousness of each when he so names his conclusion— assuming that conclusion to be divested of all tradition in the one case, and of all mere pluck in the other in each case a genuine product of reason resting on evidence. What then is in the mind of the intentionally rational Theist when he says: “ I believe there is a God ” ? There is in his consciousness a concept of law and order in the universe; there is a recognition �i3 of facts in himself, reason, love, the sense of right, the ideal, the beautiful; he reasons that because these things are in him they must be in nature, for he is in nature, and of nature ; and combining these inward realities with the law and order of the universe, and with the tendency of the world to his ideals, the Theist generalises them all in the word “ God.” But here many a Theist would break in and say: “Your statement is incomplete. I believe much more than that. I believe that God is a personal Being; I believe that He created the universe; I believe that He hears and answers prayer.” To which I reply: “ No doubt you believe these other things ; but the question is not what you believe, but what you think, what is purely the product of your reason acting on evidence. A Catholic believes in his Madonna as strongly as any Theist in the personality of God. But what evidence does either give us for such belief? None at all. What facts show that the world ever was created? Nobody pretends any. What evidence that God hears and answers prayer? Absolutely none.” But then this believing Theist answers : “ It is true I cannot actually prove the truth of my belief in these particulars. It may be sentiment, but must sentiment count for nothing ? What would life be if everything depended on cold logic ? I feel that I have a Heavenly Father with whom I can hold communion.” �14 Very well; but now comes along our man who has not that feeling at all. He says he feels sure that the world was never created; that if there were a God who answered prayer the world would know less misery; and that he can imagine no personality of God that would not make him a huge man. “ Then you are an Atheist! ” cries our believing Theist. “ If to disbelieve your private god be Atheism, I am.” 11 Then I will have nothing to do with you,” the Theist may say. “ I am much obliged to you,” the Atheist may reply. “ In old times they used to have a good deal to do with us ; it is something to be let alone.” But now let us cross-examine this Atheist, in his turn. li Do you believe in the laws of nature ? ” “I do.” 11 Do you believe in reason? ” “ I do.” “ Do you possess the sense of right, acknowledge the sacredness of love, reverence your ideal of truth, goodness, and beauty ? ” “ These make my moral and intellectual nature; I can not help believing in them.” “ Do you believe in the progress of mankind ? ” “ My life is devoted to it.” Now, another question—“ Taking all these things together, what do they sum up in your mind ? ” “A universe, or nature.” �15 “Would you mind calling it God?” “Yes; I object.” “ And why ? ” “ Because most persons when they say ‘ God ’ mean something very different, and they would understand me as believing what I do not believe, and what cannot be proved true. In India they would understand me as believing in Vishnu on his Serpent; in Turkey they would think I meant Allah of the Koran; here some would think I meant Jehovah, others that I believed in the Trinity, and yet others that I believed in an omnipotent sovereign Man reigning over the world.” “ Then what our Theist calls your ‘ Atheism ’ means only that you disbelieve all those particular personifi­ cations which men have imagined reigning over the universe, while you do accept all the facts they can show for their theories ? ” “ That is what it amounts to. I travel harmoniously with the Theist so long as he speaks of reason, love, truth, law, conscience, for these things I know. I still journey with him when he talks of the vast realm of the unknown, and of truths and realities that may be there beyond my grasp ; but when he sets up his own theory about what is in that unknown, and de­ mands that I shall believe that all the same as if it were proved fact, I am compelled to say I am not convinced. Then he calls me an Atheist and leaves me—probably hates me.” �i6 Now, it is perfectly certain that there is no actuality in the mind of one of these men that is not in that of the other. As their eyes see by the same sunshine, and their lungs breathe the same air, their reason and rectitude are the same. Yet are they widely sundered— separated as by an abyss—so that we have the anomaly of an army of former comrades winning their common liberty only to use it in fighting each other. Assuredly there is a serious fault here, perhaps more faults than one. One is the slowness with which liberal thinkers raise their hearts to the standard of their intelligence. In asserting the liberty of reason it would appear that many of them did not mean to be taken at their word. That was much the way with some of the Fathers of the Reformation. Luther affirmed the right of private judgment, but was aghast when he found people carrying it a line farther than himself, and said human nature was like a drunken man on a horse who, when set up straight on one side, toppled over on the other. John Calvin too asserted the right of private judgment. His idea seems to have been that men -were perfectly free to think as they pleased, and he was perfectly free to burn them if their opinions did not please him. After what happened to Servetus thinkers became prudent; they followed Erasmus who compared himself to Peter following his Lord afar oft. But at last the cock crew. Thinkers took up their cross. �i7 After many martyrdoms of the best men our laws have largely, though not fully, proclaimed the freedom of reason and conscience. But Orthodoxy has never conceded it. Dogma has been reluctantly compelled to transfer the faggot and stake by which free opinion was punished from this world to the next; and in this world still treats disbelievers as people who ought to be burned, and will be burned. But those who call themselves liberal—liberal Chris­ tians and Theists—are persons who have avowed the conditions of freedom in good faith, and if they now recoil from the inevitable results of those conditions it is but natural that freethinkers should say they have not the courage of their principles. I do not think that explains the whole case ; but it is natural that it should be so said, and that the anta­ gonism of freethinkers should be thereby intensified. The reserve or hostility of Unitarians and Theists towards Atheists, so called, is not altogether result of timidity. They themselves have a severe conflict with the orthodox, one largely involving their social rela­ tions, and they do not wish to be compromised by being supposed to hold views they do not hold. They know that men are apt to be judged by the company they keep, and so they keep aloof from those whose opinions seem to them extreme and untrue. Yet are they wrong in this. They are throwing �i8 their weight in favour of the discredited method of intolerance, and against the high principle they have espoused—intellectual liberty. They cannot serve two masters. They cannot claim freedom for them­ selves against the orthodox, then turn and deny it as against the Atheists. And it is a denial of freedom when we concede it verbally but treat it when exercised with aversion or contempt. The moderate liberal should beware lest in his care not to compromise himself he does compromise that great and wide prin­ ciple of freedom on which he and the Atheist alike depend. Let him know too that his god is debased when set against mental independence ; and so long as any Theism excommunicates any honest thinker it not only renders Atheism necessary, but lowers itself beneath that Atheism. For surely that god is only an idol not yet mouldered, who is supposed to care more for recognition of his personal existence than for charity and the independence of the human mind. Fundamentally, all alienations in the ranks of liberal people result from the survival in half of them of the ancient error, that some moral character inheres in mere opinion. There is a sense in which a man is responsible for his opinions; he is responsible for the pains he takes to find the truth, and responsible for honest utterance of the thing he holds true. But it is a great and grievous error to suppose that a man can �19 be morally bound to accept any belief whether he has reason to believe it or not. For example, to tell a man he ought to believe in God is like telling a woman she ought to love her husband. If she has a husband, and if that husband is worthy of love, and wins her love, the exhortation to love him is superflu­ ous; if otherwise, all the exhortation in the world cannot enable here to love one who is unloveable. Or, we may say, to tell a man it is his duty to believe in God is like lecturing oxygen on its duty to combine with hydrogen at the moment when galvanism has decomposed the two. The liberty of reason being introduced among the old creeds its effects must be accepted. It can no more be scolded than any other force in nature. The thinker must follow his thought, the reasoner must believe what he finds reason to believe, as the lover must love what he or she is impelled to love. If the thinking Theist would convince the thinking Atheist of a personalised Deity, he must introduce a force adapted to combine his proposition with the mind to be convinced. It must be a rational force if it is to affect the reason. Contempt is not a rational force —rather it is a confession that there is no rational force. It is falling back on the old dogmatic and coercive principle which, if it prevailed, would suppress all liberty and restore the faggot and the Inquisition. �20 The unity which I believe possible among the sons of freedom lies in the spirit of freedom and the spirit of truth. The position of the simple Theist is not even yet so popular as to require no sacrifices to maintain it shall he not respect the still greater sacrifices made by the man who is denounced as Atheist ? He may not like the word Atheist; I do not; for I believe that wherever there is such self-sacrifice, such fidelity rising above selfishness, there is a spirit essentially divine. But shall men be blinded by a name—a word ? Can they not see beyond all phrases that the spirit in which a man, even an Atheist, earnestly seeks truth, and bravely stands by what he believes truth— the spirit which for right, for freedom and justice, casts away all interests and all ease, toiling, living, suffering for his ideal right—O can they not see that such bear in their bleeding hands the very stigmata of Truth’s own martyrs ? Can we not all see how far above our doctrines and definitions rises this fidelity of our time, though it be called infidelity now as it was called im­ morality in Socrates and Beelzebub in (Jhrist—while it was then, is now, the spirit which in all history has been leading mankind from thraldom to liberty, from dark­ ness to light ? If our Theism does not see that spirit, if our Theism cannot clasp to its heart all hearts animated by that spirit, be sure it is a mere relic of the past— some fragment not yet crumbled of ancient supersti­ �tion; be sure that the only true God is the God of the living—and they are the living whose lives are con­ secrated to truth and right, however they may be named, or be they nameless. Theistic friend, your special theory will pass away. The highest mind of the past was not able to frame a god which you can worship unmodified, and you cannot frame—none living can conceive—an image which will not be fossil in a few centuries. Nay, your Theos may be even fortunate if it can be quietly dismissed before higher light without being degraded by its efforts to resist that light, sounding war-cries against earnest thinkers, and gradually taking on the base insignia of the many Idols, once Ideals, that kept not their first estate. I was lately examining a devil carved on Notre Dame—a hideous creature crushing human beings beneath his feet. I thought, how hast thou fallen, O Lucifer, son of the morning ! Thou too wert once a light-bringer and a god ! But even so must fall all personifications which try to crush and menace the reason and nature of man. Just upon the head of this horrid Notre Dame devil—exactly between his horns—a little bird has built its nest, and laid its eggs, with the sky’s soft blue upon them : and as I write it is probably gathering its young under its wing, and feeding them, and on the head of that personified �22 wrath of a god, fearless and free goes on the work of nature, the divine mystery of life and love. The Theos of the Theist may wear a halo to-day, but it depends on his worshippers what that halo shall be when the personification passes away before another, or before the eternal Love which vaults above all per­ sonifications. That halo may become an immortal ideal if it mean love to all • but such haloes have generally turned to horns, and the god of the Theist to-day need only denounce reason and hate freethinkers to become quite as grotesque a figure as that Notre Dame and take the place of that Atheism which now makes a devil for so many. But above all such tyrannous forms on their heads, between their finally powerless horns—the ancient mystery and beauty of Life will go on. Love will still gather its young under its wings. Mothers will feed their babes with tenderer thoughts and purer ideals. Reason will work on; men and women will think and aspire, will save and be saved from actual hells regardless of fictitious ones; the unnamed, uncomprehended, eternal spirit of nature and the heart will suffer no decay—but ascend for­ evermore. � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Victorian Blogging Description An account of the resource A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library &amp; Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span> Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway Hall Library & Archives Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2018 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Conway Hall Ethical Society Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Pamphlet Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Atheism : a spectre : with a reading from Max Muller's sixth Hibbert Lecture, South Place Chapel, June 23, 1878 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway, Moncure Daniel [1832-1907.] Description An account of the resource Place of publication: [London] Collation: 22 p. ; 15 cm. Notes: Printed by Waterlow and Sons, London Wall. Part of Morris Misc. Tracts 1. With a reading from F. Max Muller's sixth Hibbert Lecture 'On henotheism, polytheism, monotheism and atheism' given at Westminster Abbey in June 1878. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available [South Place Chapel] Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource [1878] Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context G3339 Subject The topic of the resource Atheism Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /><br /><span>This work (Atheism : a spectre : with a reading from Max Muller's sixth Hibbert Lecture, South Place Chapel, June 23, 1878), identified by </span><span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk">Humanist Library and Archives</a></span><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span> Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Language A language of the resource English Atheism Belief and Doubt Free Thought Morris Tracts Reason Theism https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/a2725553db7c7bbbc7b66b9319caa041.pdf?Expires=1779926400&Signature=MMwswfxYmQxD6zj0ElgskoC70PEPAAtBN58Ui%7ExAv2rZdQbPm69dHZSkbqYxIxGCdYeiexy-P13ICAffxkHu3LqqpNYYhuOzSreSBqe5auxcGRoRmyLA0IiBk97pCYNLCY4uTnw4HYMV%7Eff7JAnUsSxjH4LnAnoTEx01YBKGUvFYImS4TWWtdjOtXKB85-Ms43U1wju4vDIKJtSZTNZOvK6TvD7cUt9qa6xoBJCruG3beueRm6cwQT3CHnv4WeIx9Y6zOT5DvMW0Y9ehTYOkYDG1xZiZniEiDFmHbkP1pDV85xexU6PIgNaiH%7Esae3bnVz4AWwOYOKHvSlrrGc1YXw__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM c69d760ade5847fab5fea89fed4228db PDF Text Text % REPORT OF THE COMMITTEE OF SOUTH PLACE CHAPEL FOR THE YEAR 1877. �SOUTH PLACE CHAPEL 1877. JMinistcr. MONCURE D. CONWAY, M.A., Hamlet House, Hammersmith Committer. Mrs. ANDERSON Mr. E. K. BLYTH „ W. BURR „ G. W. COOKE „ E. DALLOW „ R. G. HEMBER „ G. HICKSON „ P. HICKSON „ R. S. JOHNSON „ J. KNIGHT „ E. R. LEVEY Mrs. McMORRAN Mr. W. J. REYNOLDS „ C. H. SEYLER ,, J. SHAW „ W. SHURY „ J. STOUT Mrs. THOS. TAYLOR Mr. W. D. THOMSON ,, A. J. WATERLOW Miss WILLIAMS. treasurer anti (^airman. Mr. GEORGE HICKSON, 35, Highbury New Park, N. Swretarp. Mr. E. R. LEVEY, 162, The Grove, Camberwell, S.E. Secretarp Soiree Committee. Mr. CORRIE B. GRANT, 8, Fig Tree Court, Temple, E.C. ®^o(r=j|¥Iaater. Mr. J. TROUSSELLE, 7, Blandford Place, N.W. �REPORT OF THE COMMITTEE OF SOUTH PLACE CHAPEL FOB THE TEAR 1877. Your Committee are glad, while submitting their Annual Report, to be able to express their assurance of the growing appreciation of the cause promoted at South Place, shown in the rapidlyincreasing numbers that attend the services, and listen with rapt attention to Mr. Conway’s interesting discourses. Satisfactory evidence of this is to be found in tho amount received for seat­ rents, which from £431 in 1875, rose to £478 in 1876, and £586 in the year just concluded. In consequence of this increaso in the attendance, your Committee deemed it necessary, for the purpose of providing additional accommodation in the body of the hall, to re-arrange the sittings, and by so doing they have obtained 52 more seats, many of which are already let. It will be within the recollection of the majority of the Members of this Society that last year a guarantee-fund, amounting to £1,700, was formed; and it is with much satisfac­ tion that your Committee refer to the accompanying Balance Sheet to show that the current expenses of the year have again, notwithstanding the additional demands made upon the resources of the Chapel, been fully met without calling upon the Guarantors. �4 One of the first duties your Committee had to consider, was the preparation of the Hymn Book for a reprint, the first impression of 1,500 copies having been exhausted; and it was a great satisfaction to them to be able, by printing 4,500 copies, to produce an edition, a part of which, printed on cheaper paper,, might be sold at Is. a copy. About 500 copies of this re-issue have already been disposed of. Typographical and other errors in the previous issue have been corrected, and the work now takes its place as one of the best of the kind for the use of free religious Societies. It is gratifying to know that one other Congregation, viz., that of the Rev. Gr. Dale, of Burton-on-Trent, has already adopted it, and it may confidently be expected that other Societies will do the same. Your Committee regret that they have been unable to carry out the resolution, passed at the last annual general meeting, “ that the whole question of the music be referred to arbitra­ tion.” Mr. H. K. Moore, acting under the advice of his friends, declined to submit to arbitration the only point really at issue, viz.: the right of the congregation to the continued use of the music composed and arranged by him, during his tenure of the office of Musical Director, for the use of the Congregation in connexion with their hymn book. Your Committee therefore took steps for the preparation of new tune books, and are pleased to express their acknowledgment of the valuable as­ sistance rendered by the choir-master, Mr. J. Trousselle, in the composition and selection of music, and of the general efficiency of the choir under his able and energetic management. The amount received for letting the chapel is in excess of the previous year, although the Sunday League have not engaged it for their “ Sunday Evenings for the People,” and a growing item of revenue may be looked for from this source. The Committee congratulate the League in being able to carry on their good work in a larger and more commodious building. The Annual Soiree was held at the Cannon Street Hotel with unprecedented success; and the Monthly Soirees have taken place in the Chapel, affording pleasant opportunities for the �5 members of the Society to become better acquainted. The Com­ mittee cannot sufficiently thank the ladies and gentlemen who arrange these evenings in so satisfactory a manner. The Chapel was closed during the month of August. On the other Sundays of the year, Mr. Conway has delivered discourses noticeable for those distinctive charms and qualities, always iden­ tified in our minds with his name. Several of these discourses have been printed during the year, and Mr. Conway has pub­ lished his “Idols and Ideals,” a work embodying much of the thought contained in discourses previously delivered at South Place. These publications have been received by the congrega­ tion with evident satisfaction. A meeting was held in the Chapel on Sunday, the 6th of May, to support the policy indicated in the resolutions which the Eight Hon. W. E. Gladstone proposed moving in the House of Commons on the following day. Eesolutions to that effect were passed by the meeting, and a petition signed by the chairman was presented to the House of Commons. It is hoped that the deplorable war which has during the past year raged in Turkey, may shortly be terminated by an enduring peace, under which freedom and good government may be secured for the oppressed populations of Eastern Europe, A collection was made in the Chapel on Sunday, the 28th October, in aid of the funds of the Normal College for the Blind, when the sum of <£33 Is. 8cL was contributed. In April last a bust of the late W. J. Fox, by the late eminent sculptor Mr. T. Earle, was presented to the Congregation by his widow, and the Committee took it upon themselves, to tender to her, the best thanks of the congregation for her acceptable present. The members of South Place Chapel will be glad to hear that the kindred Society meeting at the Atheneeum, Camden Eoad, con­ tinues to attract those who are beginning to face the religious problems of the day; and in this way many who might never reach South Place are brought into sympathy with its views and objects. �6 In conclusion, your Committee believe that the progress of freedom and the growth of intellectual activity, both of which this Society has so warmly at heart, are evidenced by the move­ ments which have taken place in the religious and smentific world, and especially in the cordial reception which has been recently accorded to Mr. Darwin, and the honour awarded to him by one of our most ancient Universities ; in the overwhelming majority, by which Convocation has now admitted Women to the degrees of the University of London, and by the important, events which have taken place in France and other parts of the world during the past year. ��� Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Victorian Blogging Description An account of the resource A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library &amp; Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span> Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway Hall Library & Archives Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2018 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Conway Hall Ethical Society Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Pamphlet Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Report of the committee of South Place Chapel for the year 1877 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource South Place Chapel Description An account of the resource Place of publication: London Collation: 6, [1] p, ; 22 cm. Notes: From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available [South Place Chapel] Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource [1878] Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context G5577 Subject The topic of the resource Conway Hall Ethical Society Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <a href="http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/"><img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /></a><span> </span><br /><span>This work (Report of the committee of South Place Chapel for the year 1877), identified by </span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk"><span>Humanist Library and Archives</span></a><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span> Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Language A language of the resource English Conway Tracts South Place Chapel South Place Committee https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/3520f2e24f026fa93e23993cbf2cedbf.pdf?Expires=1779926400&Signature=MyQZD9-3xmUFJpalaz1o1Lk25yVTi11vEeOZPEqb7-yKDESf84fkISq0Nq6ymTM9xNckH7Reo9aHIhM0whfKQjkYyQ9YLdJbHmuFw1%7Euf45NrBgebqzwBIoYSI6JtA-SznEAkNZ8naB81NyIE8mqOFjPNzou3yyMbYtphEuc7y%7EnwVzh3ZwYfqvRV-bmGHYMDMhCpG6lXUkt09d0lUvGBdgeCaRIZwlYHGQdDKuW%7EgXbCDivqdcWOj1gA4JLDmwu5ksxJMQHTgNd4RCDmBjMgwnnVxlG9vEaFBdP-Oo-E1Hv3gd0eli-8LNydRHarEClQZv7zYmniuC88JMcoVCJQQ__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM 69ecd7171316326bb9591050ef50c40c PDF Text Text "O «2 c* ' J- TTW DAVID FRIEDRICH STRAUSS. COMMEMORATIVE SERVICES AT SOUTH PLACE CHAPEL, FINSBURY, February 22, 1874. WITH JA DISCOUHSE BY MONCURE D. CONWAY. 11, SOUTH PLACE, FINSBURY. 1874. PRICE THREEPENCE« �I �I. I CANNOT plainly see the way, So dark the grave is; but I know If I do truly work my day Some good will brighten out of woe. For the same hand that doth unbind The winter winds, sends sweetest showers, And the poor rustic laughs to find His April meadows full of flowers. I said I could not see the way, And yet what need is there to see, More than to do what good I may, And trust the great strength over me ? Why should I vainly seek to solve Free-will, necessity, the pall ? I feel, I know that God is love, And knowing this I know it all. Alice Carey. II. READINGS. Whoso seeketh wisdom shall have no great travail; for he shall find her sitting at his door. She goeth about seeking such as are worthy of her, showeth herself favourably to them in the highways, and meeteth them in every thought. Love is the keeping of her laws. The multitude of the wise is the welfare of the world. �4 Wisdom is the worker of all things: for in her is an under­ standing spirit, holy, one only, manifold, subtile, lively, clear, undefiled, simple, not subject to hurt, loving the thing that is good, quick, which cannot be letted, ready to do good ; kind to man, steadfast, sure, free from care, having all power, overseeing all things; and going through all understanding, pure and most subtle spirits. Wisdom is more moving than any motion: she passeth through all things by reason of her pureness. For she is the breath of the power of God, and a pure influence flowing from the glory of the Almighty? therefore can no defiled thing fall into her. For she is the brightness of the everlasting light, the unspotted mirror of the power ©f God, and the image of his goodness. And being but one, she can do all things; and remaining in herself, she maketh all things new: and in all ages entering into holy souls, she maketh them friends of God and prophets. She is more beautiful than the sun, and above all the order of the stars: being compared with the light, she is found before it; for after day cometh night, but vice shall not prevail against wisdom. Wisdom of Solomon. The Duke Gae asked about the altars of the gods of the land. Tsae-Wo replied, “The Hea sovereign used the pine-tree, the man of the Yin used the cypress, and the man of the Chow used the chestnut,—to cause the people to be in awe.” Confucius, hearing this, said, “ Things that are done, it is needless to speak about; things that have had their course, it is needless to remonstrate with; things that are past, it is needless to blame. ” Kee-Loo asked about serving the gods. The Master said, “While you are not able to serve men, how can you serve the gods ?” �5 Kee-Loo said, “ I venture to ask about death. ” The Master said, “While you do not comprehend life, how can you comprehend death ? “ If a man in the morning hear of the right way, he may in the evening die without regret “Yew, shall I teach you what knowledge is ? When you know a thing, consider that you know it; and when you do not know a thing, understand that you do not know it This is knowledge. “ For a man to worship a deity not his own is mere flattery. “To give one’s-self earnestly to the duties due to men, and while respecting the gods, to respect also their distance, may be called Wisdom.” Confucius. Mahomet said, Instruct in knowledge ! He who instructs, fears God ; he who speaks of knowledge, praises the Lord; who disputes about it, engages in holy warfare ; who seeks it, adores the Most High; who spreads it, dispenses alms to the ignorant; and who possesses it, attains the veneration and goodwill of all. Knowledge enables its possessor to distinguish what is forbidden from what is not; it lights the way to heaven; it is our friend in the desert, our society in solitude ; our companion when far away from our homes ; it guides us to happiness ; it sustains us in misery ; it raises us in the estimation of friends ; it serves as an armour against our enemies. With knowledge, the servant of God rises to the heights of excellence. The ink of the scholar is more sacred than the blood of the martyr. God created Reason, and it was the most beautiful being in his creation: and God said to it, “I have not created anything better or more perfect or more beautiful than thou: blessings will come down on mankind on thy account, and they will be judged according to the use they make of thee. ” Mohammed. �6 If Morality is the relation of man to the idea of his kind, which in part he endeavours to realise in himself, in part recognises and seeks to promote in others, Religion, on the other hand, is his relation to the idea of the universe, the ultimate source of all life and being. So far, it may be said that Religion is above Morality; as it springs from a still profounder source, reaches back into a still more primitive ground. Ever remember that thou art human, not merely a natural production ; ever remember that all others are human also, and, with all individual differences, the same as thou, having the same needs and claims as thyself: this is the sum and substance of Morality. Ever remember that thou, and everything thou beholdest within and around thee, all that befals thee and others, is no dis­ jointed fragment, no wild chaos of atoms or casualties, but that it all springs, according to eternal laws, from the one primal source of all life, all reason, all good : this is the essence of Religion. Strauss : “ The Old Faith and the New." III. Fall, fall ye mighty temples to the ground ! Not in your sculptured rise Is the real exercise Of human nature’s brightest power found. ’Tis in the lofty hope, the daily toil, ’Tis in the gifted line, In each far thought divine That brings down heaven to light our common soil. �7 ’Tis in the great, the lovely, and the true, ’Tis in the generous thought Of all that man has wrought, Of all that yet remains for man, to do. Fall, fall, ye ancient litanies and creeds : Not prayers or curses deep' The power can longer keep, That once ye held by filling human needs. The quickening worship of our God survives In every noble grief, In every high belief, In each resolve and act that light our lives. IV. MEDITATION. V. The future hides in it Gladness and sorrow ; We press still thorow, Nought that abides in it Daunting us, —Onward. And solemn before us, Veiled the dark Portal ; Goal of all mortal:— Stars silent rest o’er us, Graves under us silent. �While earnest thou gazest, Comes boding of terror, Comes phantasm and error; Perplexes the bravest With doubt and misgiving. But heard are the Voices, Heard are the Sages, The Worlds, and the Ages : “ Choose well; your choice is Brief, and yet endless. “ Here eyes do regard you In Eternity’s stillness; Here is all fulness, Ye brave, to reward you. Work, and despair not! ” (Gckthk, ir. Carlyl. �DAVID FRIEDRICH STRAUSS. Towards the close of the last century a young German student was climbing amid the Swiss Alps—alpenstock in hand—gazing with wonder on glaciers, scaling the dizziest peaks. His Alpine wanderings were preliminary to the climbing of nobler summits, commanding vaster prospects. For this was Friedrich Hegel, destined to create an epoch in the history of the human mind. Amid those barren heights and weird chasms of Switzerland there was born in his mind a doubt which has influenced the world. Before those wild desolations he asked himself whether it could be possible that this chaos of rock and glacier had been specially created for man’s enjoyment ? It was a problem which required for its solution not only his own long, laborious life, but many lives ; yet, to the philosophical statement of that one man we owe a new order of religious thought. If I may borrow an expression from geology, it may be said that we are all living in the Hegelian formation; and this whether we understand that philosophy or not, and even if we reject its terms. �IO For Hegel was as a great vitalising breath wafted from afar, beneath which, as under a tropical glow,’ latent seeds of thought were developed to most various results. From afar; for really Hegel’s philosophy was an Avatar for cultivated .Europe of the most ancient faith of our race. Its essence is the conception of an absolute Idea which has represented itself in Nature, in order that by a progressive development through Nature it may gain consciousness in man, and return as mind to a deeper union with itself. It is really the ancient Hindu conception of a universal soul of Nature, a vast spiritual sea in which each animal instinct, each human intellect, is a wave. Or, in another similitude, every organic form, however great or small, represents some scattered spark of a central fire of intelligence, on the way back to its source, bearing thither. the accumu­ lated knowledge gathered on its pilgrimage through many forms in external Nature. Briefly, the Hegelian philosophy means a soul in Nature corresponding to the soul of Man. Of ■ course—I have already stated it—it did not originate with Hegel. It maybe traced from the Vedic Hymn to the cry of Kepler, when, looking up to the stars, he said, “ Great God, I think thy thought aftei' thee !” But with Hegel it gained �II an adaptation to the thought of Europe, and passed into the various forms of belief and feeling. It inspired all the poetry of Wordsworth. It is reflected in the materialism no less than in the idealism of our age, and may be felt in the philosophy of Huxley no less than in that of its best exponent, Emerson. Among the many German thinkers who sat at the feet of Hegel there was but one who compre­ hended its tremendous bearings upon the theology of Europe ; but one through whom it was able to grow to logical fruitage ; and that one was the great man whose life has just closed—David Friedrich Strauss. Strauss proved himself the truest pupil of Hegel by throwing off the mere form of his forerunner’s doctrine, just as that philosopher had thrown off the formulas of his forerunners. The literal Hegelians, of course, regarded Strauss as a renegade ; on the surface it would so appear: Hegel called himself a Christian, Strauss renounced Christianity; Hegel was designated an idealist, Strauss a materialist. But we must not be victims of the letter. Fruit is different from blossom ; but it is, for all that, blossom in another form. I need, not dwell on the outward biography of Friedrich Strauss. The greatest men live in �12 their intellectual works. The sixty-five years of this man were not marked by many salient or picturesque incidents. As a student of theology at Tübingen, and as a professor, he travelled an old and beaten path,—poverty, hard study, hard work. At the age of twenty-seven he publishes his great work, the Leben Jesu ; is driven from his professorship ; offered another at Zurich Uni­ versity, he is prevented by persecution from holding it; and finally settles himself down to a life of plain living and high thinking. He is elected by his native town Ludwigsburg to the Wurtemburg Legislature, but surprises them by his “ conservatism,” as it was called, and answers their dissatisfaction by resigning. He marries, and, alas ! unhappily. Agnes Schebert was an actress, and she was also a clever authoress; but when she was married to Strauss there was shown to be an incompatibility of disposition which led to a quiet separation without recriminations on either side. The lady once wrote a parody on the writing of Hegel, which is amusing, but suggests that she could hardly have been fortunately united with a philosopher who had sat at the feet of Hegel. She left with him a daughter and a son, who were devoted to their father through life, and for whom he wrote a tender and touch- �ing account of their mother that they might think of her with affection. He lived a busy life, and wrote a large number of admirable works, the absence of most of which from English libraries is a reproach to our literature. His biographies are among the most felicitous that have been written, and have brought before Germans noble figures which are for most English readers mere names,—Ulrich von Hutten, the brilliant radical of the Refor­ mation ; the discoverer of lost books of Livy, Quintilian, and other classic authors ; the fellow­ fugitive of Erasmus before the wrath of the Pope ; the lonely scholar who has made classic the islet of Lake Zurich where he died :—the Biography of Hermann Reimarus, who one hun­ dred years ago was the leading prophet of Natural Religion : —the Life of Friedrich Daniel * Schubart, poet and publicist, who, beginning as an organist in Ludwigsburg, lost his place for writing a parody on the Litany; who in later life was invited by the Duke of Wurtemburg to dinner, on his arrival seized and imprisoned in Asberg Castle for ten years, because of an epi­ * His chief works are “ The Wolfenbuttel Fragments,” edited by Lessing; “The Principles of Natural Religion,” and “The Instincts of Animals. ” �14 gram written by the poet,—who, for the rest, has left songs which the Germans still love to sing. * The work of Strauss on Voltaire consists of a series of lectures prepared by request of the Princess of Hesse-Darmstadt (daughter of Queen Victoria), who listened to them ; and the work is written in a spirit of high admiration of the great French heretic. If, as I doubt not, the two biographies which he has left—“ Lessing ” and “ Beethoven ”—are of equal value to those I have mentioned, Strauss will have left six works at least, apart from his contributions to theology, of a character which must write his name very high among the literary workers of this century. When the life of Strauss is written, no doubt the details of it will be found of great interest ; but nothing relating to his private and personal history will ever be so impressive as the unfold­ ing of his intellectual and religious nature. Fully told, even as traceable in his works, this repre­ sents the pilgrimage of a Soul from the crumbling shrines of Superstition across long deserts of doubt, and the rugged passes of adversity, even * The principal is one entitled “Caplied” (Cape Song), sup­ posed to be sung by soldiers, sold to the Dutch, on their way to the Cape of Good Hope. Another celebrated poem of his is, “Die Fiirstengruft ” (The Tomb of Princes). �to the beautiful temple of Truth, where his last hymn of joy ended in the gentle sigh of death. Of this, his mental biography, I can give here but a slight outline. I have already taken up the thread of his life at the point where he was learning the secret of Hegel. That implied a foreground with which many of us are familiar; for he was born to orthodoxy, and. had to'flee that City of Destruction. So much he had accom­ plished in his youth, and was ready to set him­ self to the real task of his life. The philosophy of Hegel left room for mysticism, but none for miracle. Paulus, Schelling, Schleiermacher, and others, each endeavoured in their several ways tobridge over the gulf between supernaturalism and reason ; they wanted reason, they must have Christianity, and so held on to the miracles without believing them miraculous. But Strauss had already placed before his mind Truth as the one attainable thing worthy of worship ; and he set himself to the task of studying the life of Christ, with all its investiture of fable, as a historical phenomenon. The fables he knew were not true, but he would know how they arose, and he would know what form they would leave were they detached from the New Testament narra­ tives. In reaching his sure result he was aided �i6 by the veracity of his mind no less than by his learning. He had but to apply to a miracle found in the Bible the same test which everyone applied to a miracle when found in Livy or Ovid. He had but to take the method which Christians used when dealing with the wonders of Buddhism, and apply it honestly to the marvels of Christianity. The result was that he tracked all the New Testament marvels back to their pagan or Judaic origin; he found that they were the same stories that had been told about Moses, Elijah, David, about Isis and Osiris, Apollo, and Bacchus. In a word he proved that they were myths, such as in unscientific ages—when the laws of Nature and the nature of laws were unknown— had arisen and gathered about every teacher who had become an object of popular reverence. In denying the value of miracles as historical events in the life of a particular man, Strauss was impressed by the perception that these myths which had come from every human race to invest Christ represented something more im­ portant than the career of any individual; they represented humanity. They were born out of the human heart in every part of the world, and were types of its aspirations, hopes, and spiritual experiences. That which could not be respected �¡7 as history could be reverenced as a reflection of the religious sentiment. He would place an idea where the church set an individual. “ Humanity,” he wrote, “ is the union of the two natures—God become man, the infinite manifesting itself in the finite, and the finite spirit remembering its infinitude; it is the child of the visible Mother and the invisible Father, Nature and Spirit; it is the worker of miracles, in so far as in the course of human history, the spirit more and more completely subjugates nature, both within and around man, until it lies before him as the inert matter on which he exercises his active power; it is the sinless existence, for the course of its development is a blameless one, pollution cleaves to the individual only, and does not touch the race and its history. It is Humanity that dies, rises, and ascends to heaven, for from the negation of its phenomenal life there ever proceeds a higher spiritual life.” When this lofty faith in Humanity as the true Christ, which had unconsciously symbolized itself as the life of one man, shone out upon the mind of Strauss, all interest in the individual Jesus paled under it. Since his great work was pub­ lished—near forty years ago—we have, by stand­ ing on the shoulders of such men as he, been �iS able, no doubt/ to see somewhat further. The rational study of the New Testament has disclosed certain fragments of real history, and by piecing these together we can shape out the figure of a great man,—great enough to show why it was that the human heart brought all its finest dreams and marvels to entwine them around that single brow. But the grand generalization of this scientific thinker, who pierced the veil of fable and recognised beyond it the face of humanity transfigured with divine light, is one which can hardly be parallelled by any utterance since the brave words of Paul: “ We henceforth know no one according to the flesh ; and if we have ever known Christ according to the flesh, yet now we no longer know him.” “ The Lord is a Spirit 1” Having disposed of the old Christology, Strauss proceeded to apply his method—the method of Science—to all the theories of Nature and of human life which were intertwined with it What the results of his inquiries were are summed up in his last work, “ The Old Faith and the New.” And at the outset I must say that the whole purport of that book has been falsely interpreted for English readers by the blundering exposition of it given by Mr. Glad­ stone in a speech delivered in Liverpool. The �late Prime Minister, it will be remembered, held up Dr. Strauss before the school-children as an awful example of what they would come to if they once began exercising their own faculties. He admitted his own incompetence to answer the arguments of Strauss ; it would have been well if he had also acknowledged his inability to trans­ late his words correctly. In describing that “Universum” wdiich Strauss had declared to be the highest and divinest conception of human in­ telligence, the Cosmos which man should adore in place of the old deity of dogma, Mr. Gladstone said that the author represented it—the adorable Universe—as without reason. The word which Strauss really uses is “ Vernunftvoll ”—full of reason ! This inexcusable error makes all the difference between Theism and Atheism. “ Our highest idea,” says Strauss, “ is the law-governed Cosmos, full of life and reason and he censures Schopenhauer, who declares Nature to be hope­ lessly evil. “We consider it,” he says, “ arrogant and profane on the part of a single individual to oppose himself with such audacious levity to the Cosmos whence he springs, from which, also, he derives that spark of reason which he misuses. We recognise in this a repudiation of the senti­ ment of dependence which we expect from every �20 man. We demand the same piety for our Cosmos that the devout of old demanded for his God.” In this his last work, “ The Old Faith and the New ”—the translation of which we owe to a woman as we do that of his first work—Strauss embraces with enthusiasm the theory of Evo­ lution. Thereby his old Hegelian idealism is transmuted to Darwinian Materialism. Of course, many people fancy that Materialism is something which is inconsistent with belief in a deity or even in religion. But really, with regard to divine existence and religion there is no differ­ ence between Idealism and Materialism. Strauss justly pronounces the religious issue between the two a quarrel about words. They both and alike “ endeavour to derive the totality of phenomena from a single principle—to construct the universe and life from the same blockin this equally opposing the Christian dualism which divides man into body and soul, and severs God from Nature. In their common endeavour after unity Idealism starts from above, Materialism starts from below ; “ the latter constructs the universe from atoms and atomic forces, the former from ideas and idealistic forces. But if they would fulfil their tasks, the one must lead from its heights down to the very lowest circles of �21 1 Nature, and to this end place itself under the I control of careful observation ; while the other i must take into account the higher intellectual I and ethical problems.” In short, all that the j Idealist says of soul the Materialist says of I brain; all that any worshipper can say of his | God, Strauss says of Nature. I What the creed of this thinker was may be I found in this last work, wherein it is expressed with an exaltation which becomes more impressive f now that we know that even while he was so ! uttering his perfect faith in the fair universe, the i terrible cancer was destroying him. These are his words: “We perceive in Nature tremendous I contrasts, awful struggles; but we discover that i these do not disturb the stability and harmony of the whole,—that they, on the contrary, pre­ serve it. We further perceive a gradation, a development of the higher from the lower, of the refined from the coarse, of the gentle from the rude. And in ourselves we make the experience that we are advanced in our personal as well as our social life ; the more we succeed in regula­ ting the element of capricious change within and around us, and in developing the higher from the lower, the delicate from the rugged. This, when we meet with it within the circle of human life, �22 we call good and reasonable. What is analogous to it in the world around us, we cannot avoid calling so likewise. The Cosmos is simulta­ neously both cause and effect, the outward and the inward together. We stand here at the limits of our knowledge ; we gaze into an abyss we can fathom no' farther. But this much at least is certain,—that the personal image which meets our gaze there is but the reflection of the wondering spectator himself. At any rate, that on which we feel ourselves entirely dependent, is by no means merely a rude power to which we bow in mute resignation, but is at the same time both order and law, reason and goodness, to which we surrender ourselves in loving trust.” In one very important matter many of the admirers of Strauss have felt distress at his position and influence. Politically, he has the reputation of being a reactionist and conserva­ tive. This reputation—obtained when he resigned his seat in the legislature because of disagree­ ment with his radical constituency—has been confirmed by his treatment of political subjects in his latest work. My own belief is that the views of Strauss on these matters are very seriously misunderstood by reason of the fact that they are altogether conceived from the �ft o% Hegelian standpoint. Those who study Hegeln know that his apparent conservatism was the IE crust outside a fiery radicalism. The political philosophy of Hegel is contained in the followfi| ing extract from his writings :—“ Moral liberation and political freedom must advance together. The process must demand some vast J space of time for its full realisation; but it is the d law of the world’s progress, and the Teutonic 9 nations are destined to carry it into effect. The ■i Reformation was an indispensable preparation J ¡4 for this great work. The history of the world * is a record of the endeavours made to realise the idea of freedom and of a progress surely made, but not without many intervals of apparent failure and retrogression. Among all modern failures the French revolution of the eighteenth century is the most remarkable. It was an ! endeavour to realise a boundless external liberaj tion without the indispensable condition of moral ] freedom. Abstract notions based merely on the understanding, and having no power to control wills of men, assumed the functions of morality and religion, and so led to the dissolution of society, and to the social and political difficulties under which we are now labouring. The proI gress of freedom can never be aided by a �24 revolution which has not been preceded by a religious reformation.”* That a similar conviction was rooted in the mind of Strauss I became aware by personal, intercourse with him. Some years ago, as I walked with him on the banks of the Neckar, he declared to me that the motives he had in pub­ lishing his “ Life of Christ ” were hardly less political than religious. “ I felt oppressed,” he said, “ at seeing nearly every nation in Europe chained down by allied despotism of prince and priest. I studied long the nature of this oppres­ sion, and came to the conclusion that the chain which fettered mankind was rather inward than outward, and that without the inward thraldom the outward would soon rust away. The inward chain I perceived to be superstition, and the form in which it binds the people of Europe is Christian Supernaturalism. So long as men accept religious control not based on reason they will accept political control not based on reason. The man who gives up the whole of his moral nature to an unquestioned authority has suffered a paralysis of his mind, and all the changes of *SeeGostwick and Harrison’s “Outlines of German Litera­ ture,” p. 481. �25 f® outward circumstances in the world cannot make iiihim a free man. For this reason our European revolutions have been, even when successful, merely transfers from one tyranny to another. I believed when I wrote that book that, in striking •J at supernaturalism, I was striking at the root of tj the whole evil tree of political and social degrada­ ci tion.” 1 At another time, when speaking of Renan, whose portrait was the most prominent in his a study, he said : “ Renan has done for France d what I had hoped to do for Germany. He has vj written a book which the common people read ; r > the influence of my ‘ Life of Christ ’ has been 21 confined to scholars more than I like, and I mean to put it into a more popular shape. Germany i| must be made to realise that the decay of it Christianity means the growth of national life, J and the progress of humanity.” J After this it was very plain to me what 1 Strauss’s conversatism amounted to. It means » only that he had no faith in the abolition of an ; abuse here and there when the conditions which i produce every abuse remain unaltered,—no faith in sweeping away a few snow-drifts when winter is still in the air, the whole sky charged with snow. We may wish that he had felt more — �26 sympathy with some of the popular movements around him ; but we must remember that as a philosophical radical he regarded the ever­ recurring enthusiasms of the people,—believing that they would reach the millennium by abolish­ ing capital punishment, or abolishing a throne,— as so much waste energy. He saw hopes born in revolutions only to perish in disaster and reac­ tion. He came to rest his hope for Humanity, which he loved, on his faith in the omnipotence of that Truth which he sought to enthrone above it. Such was the faith, such the work, of the great man, to whose memory we pay this day our heartfelt homage. In his writings- I have met with but one allusion to himself. It is in the last pages that he ever wrote, and is as follows : —“ It is now close upon forty years that as a man of letters I have laboured, that I have fought on and on for that which appeared to me as truth, and still more perhaps against that 1 which has appeared to me as untruth ; and in th‘e pursuit of this object I have attained, nay, over­ stepped the threshold of old age.” Then it is that every earnest-minded man hears the whisper ' of an inner voice: “ Give an account of thy stewardship, for thou may’st be no longer steward.” Now, I am not conscious of having �27 been an uujust steward. An unskilful one at times, too probably also a negligent one, I may, heaven knows, have been; but on the whole I have done what the strength and impulse within prompted me to do, and have done it without looking to the right or the left, without seeking the favour or shunning the displeasure of any.” These few words represent the benediction of Conscience upon a faithful man, felt by him as life was ebbing away, and the dark portal grow­ ing more distinct before him. His bitterest enemy need not impugn that approving smile of his own heart. It was all the wage of his work. Others have toiled in full view of heavenly reward. He laboured on with hope of no recom­ pense for devotion and self-sacrifice beyond the consciousness of having made his life an unfalter­ ing testimony to truth. Even those who believe that they see gleams of light irradiating the dark valley may count his honour not less but more that he gave his service uncheered by such visions. In Heilbronn, where he was residing, he onct pointed out to me, near an ancient church, the trace of the old and sacred fountain which gave the town its name, which signifies “ healing foun­ tain.” He said, with his gentle smile : “ The �28 theory of the priests is that the fountain ceased to flow when I came here to reside.” When I looked up to his magnificent eyes, and the grand dome of his forehead, I could but marvel at the depth of that superstition which could permit this man to live as a hermit in communities which will one day cherish each place of his dwelling as a shrine. Holy wells may dry up, and the churches beside them crumble, but men will repair to the spots where the lonely scholar sat at his task, and tell their children—here it was that in the wildernesses of superstition living waters broke out, and streams in the desert. �29 V. Everlasting ! changing never! Of one strength, no more, no less ; Thine almightiness for ever, Ever one thy holiness : Thee eternal, Thee all glorious we possess. Shall things withered, fashions olden, Keep us from life’s flowing spring ? Waits for us the promise golden, Waits each new diviner thing. Onward ! onward ! Why this hopeless tarrying ? Nearer to thee would we venture, Of thy truth more largely take, Upon life diviner enter, Into day more glorious break ; To the ages Fair bequests and costly make. By the old aspirants glorious ; By each soul heroical; By the strivers, half victorious ; By thy Jesus and thy Paul, Truth’s own martyrs,— We are summoned, one and alL By each saving word unspoken ; By thy truth as yet half won ; By each idol still unbroken ; By thy will yet poorly done ; O Almighty ! We are borne resistless on. Adaptedfrom Gill, �M � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Victorian Blogging Description An account of the resource A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library &amp; Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span> Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway Hall Library & Archives Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2018 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Conway Hall Ethical Society Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Pamphlet Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource David Friedrich Strauss: commemorative services at South Place Chapel, Finsbury, February 22,1874, with a discourse by Moncure D. Conway Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway, Moncure Daniel [1832-1907.] Description An account of the resource Place of publication: [London] Collation: 29, [1] p. ; 15 cm. Notes: Morris Miscellaneous Tracts 1. Includes bibliographical references. A list of the author's works available from South Place Chapel on unnumbered back page. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available [South Place Chapel] Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource [1874] Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context G3330 Subject The topic of the resource Sermons Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /><br /><span>This work (David Friedrich Strauss: commemorative services at South Place Chapel, Finsbury, February 22,1874, with a discourse by Moncure D. Conway), identified by </span><span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk">Humanist Library and Archives</a></span><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span> Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Language A language of the resource English David Friedrich Strauss Memorial Addresses Morris Tracts