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PREFACE.
rjTTE second of these Sermons is printed in
compliance with requests which have reached
me from various quarters since it was preached.
The earlier Sermon has been added, as com
pleting, from another side, the general view,
common to both, of the privileges and duties of
Academical life, and the rewards and difficulties
of the study of Theology.
��Ubc Jrrcboin of fbc (!5ospcL
PREACHED ON
THE ACT SUNDAY,
(THE SECOND SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY,) JULY 5, 1859.
�Mi
�JUDGES iv. 4, 5.
Deborah, a prophetess, . . . she judged Israel at that time. And
she dwelt under the palm-tree of Deborah between Ramah and
Bethel in Mount Ephraim: and the children of Israel came
up to her for judgment.
TUHO is there so dull as not to be stirred by the
’ T event which, in narrative and in song, occupies
the first Lessons of the morning and evening of this
day ? Manifold indeed are its interests. We have
the rare advantage of a history, illustrated in its
minutest details by a contemporary poem, of which
the antiquity, the genuine, absolute, contemporary
antiquity, has never been doubted. We see in that
poem a picture of the whole state of the Jewish
Church and nation, vivid and complete in all its
parts, though but shewn to us for a moment. We
see in the deed of Jael and the blessing pronounced
upon it, a remarkable illustration of the double
truth, first, that the spirit of those who lived in
old time was different from the spirit of Ilim who
bade us bless our enemies, and forbade us to call
down fire from heaven ; but, secondly, that there
was, even in the midst of their imperfect morality,
a zeal and a self-devotion through which “ God in
sundry times and divers manners” spake to our
fathers, and through them still speaks even to us,
who know Him in His Son.
Yet there is something of more enduring instruc
tion than any of these points. The main interest
gathers round the central figure of the story. It
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was not Jael, though she dealt the final blow,—it
was not the thunder and rain, and the swelling of
the river Kishon, though all these causes helped,—
it was not Barak, nor Issachar, nor Zebulun,—that
first raised the sinking hearts of the people. Every
thing remained silent, sluggish, panic-struck, until
(to use her own words) that “ she, Deborah, arose,
that she arose a mother in Israel.”
Under the solitary palm-tree on the rocky heights
between Ramah and Bethel, as Saul beneath his
pomegranate-tree, as kings and chiefs in later ages
beneath their ancient oaks, “ Deborah dwelt and
judged Israel.” We may remember the repre
sentations in which, many centuries later, when
the Jews had fallen under the Roman yoke,
Judaea is drawn under the figure of a woman in
chains, seated weeping beneath a palm-tree. It
is the contrast of that figure which best places
before us the character and call of Deborah. It
is the same Judaean palm under whose shadow
she sits, — not with downcast eyes and folded
hands and in the last decline of her people, but
with all the fire of faith and hope, with all a
mother’s burning love for her children, eager for
the battle, confident of victory, rejoicing in the
triumph, meeting the returning conquerors with
the hymn of praise which still sounds like the
voice of a trumpet, rousing herself and rousing
them, “Awake, awake, Deborah: awake, awake,
utter a song! Arise, Barak, and lead thy captivity
captive, thou son of Abinoam.” That one spark
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of devotion was enough to light up the whole dor
mant mass : that one voice was enough to break the
chain which kept a thousand hearts in unworthy
bondage, a thousand tongues in unworthy silence.
And in this her mission of national deliverance
she was not merely a ruler and a leader of the
hosts, she was a prophetess. She was the first,
the only representative (in the earlier history of
the chosen people, in that dark interval between
Moses and Samuel,) of the divine, life-giving ele
ment of religious enthusiasm, of religious instruc
tion, which afterwards grew up into the long suc
cession of the Schools of the Prophets. On her,
through the troubled period of ignorance and
anarchy, as the harbinger of better times and more
settled institutions, the Jewish nation must have
looked back, as we from this day may look back to
the dim figures of the pure saint, or the wise king,
or the good prince, who first consecrated this place
to piety and learning. Her palm-tree, or the spot
where her palm-tree grew7, must have been cherished
as the revered relic, as the beloved sanctuary, where
first in Palestine the sons of Israel went up to
gather wisdom and strength from the oracle, as of
their mother and guide.
And what was the lesson, the doctrine, that they
learned from her lips, and which still sounds to us
through her song of victory ? It is, in one word,
Freedom. The love of freedom, indivisibly united
with zeal for God.
The note which Deborah sounded rang on through
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all the nobler portion of the Jewish story: it rang
on in wild and desperate cries even into their last
days of ruin and decay.
And did it expire in the new dispensation which
arose on the fall of the old ? Has Freedom become
a less sacred deposit under the Gospel than under
the Law? Is it less closely bound up with the
sacred studies, with the prophetic schools of Chris
tian education, than it was “ under the palm-tree
of Deborah, between Ramah and Bethel ?”
This is the doctrine which I propose to consider
this morning,—the freedom of true Religion, the
freedom, the independence, the energy of Chris
tianity and of Christian Theology. A union dear
alike to those who love freedom, and to those who
love the Gospel,—a union of which the possibility
has been sometimes called in question, but which
must be maintained, if the cause of freedom is to
be saved from excess and wrong, if the cause of
religion is to retain its hold on the best sympathies
of the human soul and the human race.
In this question we have a direct interest. Un
derneath the shade of our sacred groves has sate
from age to age the venerable mother in Israel, “the
Mother” (as we call her in the old familiar lan
guage of other days) to whom the sons of England
resort for judgment and for knowledge. And her
voice, like that of the ancient Prophetess, if not
always nor in tones equally sustained, yet in its
usual and its more elevated strains, speaks to us
of Freedom.
�11
Freedom and independence we boast in this place
to be our very breath of life. Of all the charac
teristics of our education and our institutions, it is
the one which most rivets the attention and excites
the wonder of strangers. It is an inheritance of our
earlier ages, it is the aim of our latest aspirations.
A society where spontaneous and contagious
energy should take the place of rigid rules, where
the generous devotion of the teachers should en
kindle the zeal of the taught, where the no less
generous zeal of the taught should rekindle in turn
the self-denying zeal of .the teacher, where free
activity of body and mind should leave no place for
languid indifference or for brutal self-indulgence.—
Or, again, a society where an independent spirit
of honest inquiry and ardent research should dwell
as in its natural home; as when Wycliffe found in
Oxford a refuge which elsewhere he sought in vain ;
or when, at Cambridge, Cud worth, and More, and
Isaac Barrow led the foremost van of English philo
sophical thought.—These are no imaginary pictures
of what a College and a University may become.
The freedom is, or ought to be, ours; it is for us
to make it a freedom worthy of the Christian name.
All freedom needs restraint, lest it become either
tyranny or licence. But the best restraint is the re
cognition of it as a Christian grace. The true limit
of human thought and speculation is its absorp
tion into a wholesome Christian atmosphere, where
it may find that the Gospel is not its jealous enemy,
nor its hard taskmaster, but its cordial ally. Here
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also the great argument of Butler extends. There
is an analogy, and not an antagonism, between the
best parts of the constitution of our human nature
and the highest doctrines of revealed religion. Chris
tianity is a law, but is a “ royal law of libertya.”
It is founded on the past, but it is founded on those
elements of the past which are most free, most
universal, most eternal.
With these objects in view, and passing over the
various points, political or social, in which Chris
tianity may, in some sense, be considered the parent
of European freedom, I select out of the many illus
trations which offer themselves, three general topics
specially suggested by the occasion and the services
of this day.
I. Let me take first that characteristic of Evan
gelical Freedom which is brought out expressly in
the Gospel itself, as rising above the mere out
ward and local liberty of which the Jewish nation
boasted; the best text and motto, it has been well
said, of a Christian place of education,—“ Ye shall
know the truth, and the truth shall make you ffeeb.”
In “the truth,” no less than in “the mercy” of
God, Psalmists and Prophets had trusted of old. “By
truth” as well as “ by mercy” in man, we are told,
in the strong language of the older Scripturesc,
“ iniquity and sin is purged away.” “ Through the
truth,” our Saviour tells us, “we are sanctifiedd.”
a James ii. 8.
c Prov. xvi. 6.
b John viii. 32.
John xvii. 19.
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‘‘ To this end He came, and to this end He was
born into the world,” (and to this end also, in our
humble measure, we each of us have come into the
world, and come to this place,) “ to bear witness to
the truth'.” By the truth, by the knowledge and
the practice of the truth, the Gospel and our own
best experience tell us, we are set free.
1. What a freedom is given to all our intercourse
one with another, by frank, open, straightforward,
manly dealing, it needs not one word to prove.
And what a fearlessness, what an innocence, what a
calmness is given to us in thought and study, as
soon as we fairly embrace the doctrine that what
Christ requires of us is to ask not whether this
opinion or fact is dangerous or safe, or pious or
useful, but whether it is true. Truth will take
care of herself. “We can do nothing against the
truth,” says the Apostle, “ but only for the truthf.”
How clear is the field, how light the task, even of
controversy against others, if we feel and can make
them feel that our object is not to blast their cha
racter, or to make capital out of our attacks upon
them, but simply to set forth what is true. How
freely can we pass*by all the insinuations and in
jurious epithets against ourselves, if once we are
satisfied that what we have said is simply the truth,
—sincere in intention, true in fact.
2. Again, there is the immense relief afforded
when we are able to distinguish between the sub
stance and the shadow, the things and the words, the
c John xviii. 37.
f 2 Cor. xiii. 8.
�14
truth itself and the various forms in which it is
expressed. “Not in word and in tongue, but in
deed and in truthg,” is a rule which clears up
Christian speculation, no less than Christian prac
tice. It is because we “ know the truth,” because
we appreciate, understand, embrace it fully, that
we are able to dispense with false and artificial sup
ports. He who knows the form, and lineaments,
and proportions of truth,—who knows that, as in
nature so in grace, as in science so in theology,
there are lights and shades, foregrounds and dis
tances, means and ends, signs and things signi
fied, shallows where a child can wade, and depths
where an elephant must swim,—he who has so
learned “ the truth as it is in Jesus h,” according to
the absolute truthfulness, the deep reality of Christ,
—he “will not be afraid of any evil tidings,” “be
cause his heart standeth fast, and believeth in the
Lord1.” He will sleep with an easy mind, because
he knows that he has “ laid up his treasure there,
“where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and
“ where thieves do not break through nor steal
where no research need be feared, where change
of place and time have no effect.'
3. So with human characters, nothing places more
restraint on our intercourse one with another, as
nations, as churches, as students, as companions,
as teachers, and pupils, than concealment and affec
tation and crooked dealing. We know what it is
g 1 John iii. 18.
h Eph. iv. 21.
1 Ps. cxii. 7.
�15
amongst ourselves. We know also how it needs
but one single man to keep the world in bondage to
its fears, if it so happen that from elevation of sta
tion, or inscrutable reserve, or unfathomable fancy,
or tortuous policy, his character and designs remain
a mystery. But, if once we “ know the truth,” we
are set free from alarm, set free from anxiety; we
know how to act, how to think, how to speak. So
also, as long as we approach men of former ages
in ignorant awe, they are to us a succession of
phantoms ; we dare not mention their names above
a whisper, or without a eulogy, or, if so be, without
an apology. But our knowledge of the truth, of
the exact fact and reality of their lives, sets us free,
disenchants our minds, exorcises our studies, lets
us move amongst them without restraint, makes us
feel that they are of our race, of our kindred, flesh
of our flesh and bone of our bone.
4. So, above all, it is with the facts and with the
characters of the Bible. Here the Bible itself sets
us the example. “ Freely it speaks to us of the
Patriarch David k
freely of the Prophets and Apo
stles. It is not afraid to tell us the truth. It is
not afraid to call even the most hallowed objects
by their proper names. That false reverence, that
strange illusion of modern days, which will only
venture to look at sacred events and persons
through a vague, shadowy haze, was unknown in
ancient, Apostolic times; or, rather, was known
only as a dangerous form of heresy, the heresy of
the “ Docette,” or “worshippers of phantoms.”
k Acts ii. 29.
�16
The Apostle Paul was not ashamed to speak of
“ Christ crucified” and of “the Cross of Christ,” al
though to the sensitive Jew and the fastidious Greek
the homely fact which those words expressed was
the great stumbling-block of the age. He knew
that this homely fact, however humble in form, was
the salvation of the world. He determined, there
fore, to know and to preach this only. He teaches
us, by this one instance, nor yet by this instance
only, that the truth, the actual, original facts and
words of our faith, have power beyond anything
else to make us free from the idols alike of the
market-place and the temple.
It may be that “ the offence of the cross” has not
ceased, that the offence of calling Scriptural persons
and doctrines by their right names, of looking at
them as they really were, has not ceased, and perhaps
never will cease. But not the less in justice to them,
and for our own profit, we must “ know the truth”
respecting them, the “ truth will make us free.”
They will bear to be examined and sifted to the
bottom, through the most searching microscope of
critical research ; the fibres of every true Scriptural
fact and word will bear to be seen, will gain as
they are seen. Whatever narrowness and servitude
there may be, is not in the Scriptures, but in our
selves and our own groundless theories concerning
them. To us the Apostles and Prophets may well
say,—“Our mouth is opened to you, our heart is
enlarged. Ye are not straitened in us, but ye are
straitened in your own selves1.”
1 2 Cor. vi. 11.
�17
II. There is another element of liberty, indispens
able to its vital power in the world, but endangered
by the present tendencies of modern civilization,
(so it has been recently urged in a well-known
work of great ability"1,) namely, the element of in
dependence, originality, variety of mind and cha
racter. Does the Gospel furnish any guarantee
for this liberty, any opposition to this contract
ing, monotonous tendency of our age ?
1. Yes, in a most remarkable form this sanction
was involved in the first appearance of Christianity,
and in all its genuine teaching. The very charm
by which the appearance and character of Christ
Himself first riveted the attention of men, was
(if it may be said with reverence) its newness, its
originality, its unlikeness to anything which had ap
peared before, or which existed then. He thwarted
the course of the world and of the Church of His
time. The religion and the kingdom which He
founded were “a new creation.” Whenever a gleam
of loftier genius strikes across our path and opens
to us a new world of thought, whenever a brighter
vision of justice, or generosity, or devotion passes
before us, fear it not, turn not from it. The
advent of the second Adam warns us that it is a
likeness, however faint, of that Divine Light which
“ shined in the darkness, though the darkness com
prehend it notit is the salt of the surrounding
mass, which, without some such Christlike invigor
ating influence, would sink into mere deadness and
m Mill’s Essay “On Liberty.”
C
�18
putrefaction; it is the very gift of God to prevent
our dull senses from falling asleep, and to stir the
sluggish blood of our indolent, corrupt, apathetic
race.
2. And, further, look at the Parable of the Great
Supper in this morning’s Gospel“. How exactly
does that story represent the one peculiarity of the
Christian religion, which to many minds (at least I
may speak for myself) is one of the most striking
proofs of its divine origin, its heaven-born inspira
tion ; namely, the unexhausted and inexhaustible
character of the words and works of Scripture.
At that “ great supper” there are indeed many
seats. “ In our Father’s house there are indeed
many mansions0.” “ Lord, we have done as Thou
hast commanded us, and yet there is room.” The
feast might seem to have been filled when the
Chosen People first were called. The exclusive
devotion to one great truth, the fervour, the faith
of the Jewish nation, might seem to have met all
the needs of the Divine call. But not so. There
were many truths, many feelings, many aspirations
in the ancient Scriptures, and yet more in the
manifestation of Christ, to which the Jewish people,
to which the Semitic race had no response. The
house grew around and above them ; they filled but
a corner of its vast dimensions ; from “ the streets
and lanes” of the great city of the Greek and Roman
world, a new people were called in; Greek and
Roman found themselves at home, where the earlier
n Luke xiv. 16.
0 John xiv. 2.
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inmates were beginning to feel themselves strangers;
and the Church of the Fathers sprang up within the
wide walls of the expanding structure. But “ still
there was room.” And again “ from the high
ways and hedges” of the German tribes, another in
flux of unexpected guests broke in ; and the poetry,
and the tenderness, and the chivalry of Christianity
fed the Middle Ages, as its divine philosophy had
already fed the age of Athanasius and Augustine.
The Middle Ages came to an end, and again it
seemed as if the feast was empty. The feeling of
the age of the Reformation, exaggerated no doubt,
yet still bearing witness to the fact of which I am
speaking, was as though the Bible had never been
read before, as though St. Paul’s Epistles were then
for the first time understood; as though the Chris
tian faith had taken a new start in the race of
life. “ Lord, we have done as Thou hast com
manded, and yet there is room.”
After all that had been done, after all the
volumes that had been written by Fathers and
Schoolmen, there was still room for Erasmus, for
the long succession of translators and critics, who
have revealed to us a new world in the Sacred
Records, unthought-of before ; there was still room
for the Reformers, who have at least shewn us how
full of interest that new world was to them, how
full of life and interest it may still be to us, in
each succeeding age of Christendom. We see it in
the words, in the truths, in the characters, which
still lie in the sacred volume, almost unoccupied,
c 2
�20
Each one, we may say, is the key to a new chamber
which has hardly yet been explored. Everywhere,
as you look in for a moment, a long vista opens before
you. “ dpparet domus intus et atria tonga patescunt.” Study the full meaning even of single words,
(“Spirit,” “Gospel,” “Love,” “Faith,” “Righte
ousness,” “Redemption,” “Sacrifice,” “Grace”);
what treasures does each contain which the succes
sive generations of theology have but skimmed as they
passed I Take whole chapters of St. Paul’s Epistles,
take most of the discourses and the parables of the
Gospels, take the closing chapters of the Apocalypse ;
where were many of these during whole centuries of
the Christian Church ? How entirely have some of
them waited for their fulfilment and understanding
till now ; how entirely do some of them wait for their
fulfilment and understanding in times yet to come.
Take, too, large classes of characters as we
see them in the world, and as they are reflected,
as they are anticipated in Scripture; can it be said
that these are exhausted for the service of Christ ?
Is it only the orderly, the so-called religious world,
which the Gospel owns or claims as its own ? Nay,
may we not almost say that the very reverse is the
case ? Is it not to the streets and lanes, to the
highways and hedges, that the divine messengers
are sent forth with the announcement that “ yet
there is room?” Not the correct elder brother
only, who has been in his father’s house always,
but the wild young prodigal can, if he will, have a
share in that feast with music and merriment. Not
�21
the Priest and Levite only, but the outcast Sama
ritan, will be our welcome neighbours in that vast
assembly. Not the staid and dignified Pharisee only,
but the humble, penitent Publican of few wTords
and no professions; not the son who said that he
would do his father’s will, but the sturdy youth
who, in spite of his stubborn defiance, went and did
it without saying a word. From these outlying,
dangerous, difficult, wayward classes, the Master of
the feast is still willing that His guests and friends
should be drawn. You, if there be any such, who
despise yourselves, and think yourselves good for
nothing,—who think that there is no occasion, no
place, no room for you to be religious,—to you, the
Gospel in its freedom especially turns; out of the
like of you have been hewn some of the wisest and
bravest of the servants of God; Christ has respect
for you, even though you have none for yourselves;
He entreats, He compels, He constrains you to
come in. You have a work to do, which none can
do so well; to you it is given to speak with autho
rity which cannot be gainsaid, to deal with those
who will listen to none besides.
III. This brings me to a third point in which the
liberty of Christianity makes itself felt. It is in
the peculiar aspect in which it regards its one great
enemy—Sin. This aspect is represented to us by
two familiar phrases,—so familiar, that they have
almost lost their meaning for us,—“ Redemption,”
and the “Freeness of the Gospel.”
“ Redemption.”—For more than a thousand years
�22
this was the chief image used throughout Christen
dom to denote the work of Christ. We think of
sin as a transgression to be forgiven, as a guilt re
quiring punishment ; do we sufficiently regard it,
with the Apostles, with the long succession of their
first followers, as a bondage from which we hope to
be set free ? We regard Christ as our Teacher, as
our Lord, as our Priest ; do we sufficiently regard
Him, as He was regarded in old time, as our De
liverer, our “ Redeemer?”
Look at the matter for a moment in this light. It
may seem but a mere figure of speech ; but, indeed,
it is full of significance. Look at any one who is
under the influence of some strong passion or pre
judice, or who has done some wrong, or who has
fallen into some temptation : what word so well
expresses his state as to say that “he is a slave to
it ?” It drags him against his will : the remembrance
of it haunts him : it weaves a chain of difficulties
round him. Self-indulgence engenders extrava
gance, and extravagance engenders falsehood, and
falsehood destroys self-respect, or unfaithfulness with
our consciences engenders superstition, and super
stition engenders injustice,—and the man is no
longer what he was or what he would be. His
time, faculties, conscience, cease to be his own.
And now, what is the weapon by which the Re
deemer “ smites asunder these bars of iron and lets
the oppressed go free ?” There are many. I name
but one, in accordance with the subject of this
discourse. It is what used^to be called in old time
�23
“the free grace” of God. It is that grand appeal
which, in the original Gospel of Jesus Christ, is
made by the majesty and grace of God to the help
lessness and gratitude of men. It is that announce
ment which runs through all the words and works
of Christ, but nowhere more forcibly than in the
Parable (which we have just heard) of the Prodigal
Son. The Prodigal has but to turn and repent;
no long remorse or penitence is needed ; when he
is still a long way off, the Father runs to meet
him; “God in Christ” has come down even to
this world of ours to meet him half-way, to assure
him of forgiveness, of love, of restoration.
These are words, perhaps, that we have often
heard without heed or thought. May I, on this
the last Sunday of the academical year, give them
a homely application which they may well bear for
all of us.
We have heard it said in the troubles, and toils,
and temptations of the world,—“ Oh that I could
“ begin life over again ! Oh that I could fall asleep,
“ and wake up twelve, six, three months hence, and
“ find my difficulties solved ’.” That which we may
vainly wish elsewhere, by a happy Providence is
furnished to us by the natural divisions of meeting
and parting in this place. To every one of us, old
and young, the Long Vacation, on which we are
now entering, gives us a breathing space and time
to break the bonds which place and circumstance
have woven round us during the year that is
past. From all our petty cares, and confusions,
�24
and intrigues ; from the dust and clatter of this
huge machinery amidst which we labour and toil;
from whatever cynical contempt of what is ge
nerous and devout ; from whatever fanciful dis
regard of what is just and wise; from whatever
gall of bitterness is secreted in our best mo
tives ; from whatever bonds of unequal dealing
in which we have entangled ourselves or others,—
we are now for a time set free. We stand on the
edge of the river which shall, for a time at least,
sweep them away; that ancient river, the river
Kishon, the river of fresh thoughts, and fresh
scenes, and fresh feelings, and fresh hopes : one
surely amongst the blessed means whereby God’s
free and loving grace works out our deliverance,
our redemption from evil, and renews the strength
of each succeeding year, so that “we may mount
up again as eagles, and not be weary or faint.”
And, if turning to the younger part of my hear
ers, I may still more directly apply this general les
son to them,—Is there no one who, in some shape
or other, does not feel the bondage of which I have
been speaking ? He has something on his con
science ; he has something on his mind; extrava
gance, sin, debt, falsehood. Every morning, in the
first few minutes after waking, it is the first thought
that occurs to him : he drives it away in the day ;
he drives it off by recklessness, which only binds it
more and more closely round him. Is there any
one who has ever felt, who is at this moment feel
ing, this grievous burden ? What is the deliver
�25
ance ? How shall he set himself free ? In what
special way does the Redemption of Christ, the free
grace of God, present itself to him ? There is at
least one way, clear and simple. He knows it
better than any one can tell him. It is those same
words which I used before with another purpose,—
“ The truth shall make him free.” It is to tell the
truth to his friend, to his parents, to any one, who
soever it be, from whom he is concealing that which
he ought to make known. One word of open, frank
disclosure,—one resolution to act sincerely, honestly
by himself and by others,—one ray of truth let
into that dark corner will indeed set the whole
man free.
Liberavi animam meam,—“ I have delivered my
soul.” What a faithful expression is this of the
relief, the deliverance effected by one strong effort
of will in one moment of time I “I will arise and
“go to my father, and will say unto him, Father,
“ I have sinned against heaven and before thee,
“ and am no more worthy to be called thy son.”
So we heard the prodigal’s confession this morn
ing. So may the thought well spring up in the
minds of any who in the course of this last year
have wandered into sin, have found themselves
beset with evil habits of wicked idleness, of
wretched self-indulgence. Now that you are indeed,
in the literal sense of the word, about “ to rise and
go to your father,” now that you will be able to
shake off the bondage of bad companionship, now
that the whole length of this long absence will roll
�26
between you and the past,—take a long breath;
break off the yoke of your sin, of your fault, of
your wrongdoing, of your folly, of your perverse
ness, of your pride, of your vanity, of your weak
ness ■ break it off by truth; break it off by one
stout effort in one stedfast prayer ; break it off
by innocent and free enjoyment; break it off by
honest work. Put your “hand to the nail,” and
“your right hand to the workman’s hammer1*:”
strike through the enemy which has ensnared you ;
pierce and strike him through and through. How
ever powerful he seems, “ at your feet he will bow,
he will fall, he will lie down ; at your feet he will
bow and fall, and where he bows, there will he rise
up no more.”
“ So let all Thine enemies perishq, O Lord ; but
‘ let them that love Thee be as the sun when he
“ goeth forth in his might.”
p
Judges v. 26.
q Judges v. 31.
�(Lije iatrrrurirs in
(linen ari).
PREACHED ON
SEPTUAGESIMA SUNDAY, FEB. 5, 1860.
��ST. MATTHEW xx. 6, 16.
Why stand ye here all the day idle? . . . The last shall be first,
and the first last.
TF this great Parable teems with difficulties, it
also teems with instruction. Dismissing the diffi
culties, which were amply discussed from this place
on this day last yeara, let us gather up its instruc
tions in the two practical doctrines which, under
the shadow of the one great truth of the absolute
sovereignty of God, it proclaims to the world.
I. The first is that which, in conjunction with the
other Scriptures of this day, we cannot doubt that
the Church intended to urge upon us in selecting
this passage for the Gospel of Septuagésima. It is
the call to energy, to labour, to work. Whatever
theories we may frame of merit or demerit, of justi
fication or of predestination, this one fundamental
truth runs underneath them all, and through the
whole texture of Scripture from end to end. “ By
the sweat of his face shall man eat bread,” is the
opening doctrine of Genesis b. “ I come quickly,”
so we read in the last page of the Apocalypse,
“ and My reward is with Me to give to every man
according to his wTorkc.” “He that doeth that
which is lawful and right, shall save his soul alive,”
is the voice of the ancient Prophet4. “He that
a By the Regius Professor of Divinity.
b Gen. iii. 19.
c Rev. xxii. 12.
d Ezek. xviii. 27.
�30
doeth righteousness is righteous,” is the voice of the
beloved Disciple®. “He only that runs shall win
the prize,” is the burden not only of the Epistle of
this day, but of all the Epistles of St. Paul. “He
only that labours shall receive the labourer’s re
ward,” is the burden not only of this, but of all the
Parables of Christ.
Doubtless the Gospel recognises the sacredness
of repose, as well as the sacredness of labour.
Mary may choose the better part by sitting at the
feet of Jesus, whilst Martha is cumbered with much
serving. But still the prevailing call of God and of
nature is that “ man must go forth to his work
and to his labour until the evening1.” If the great
Puritan poet has beautifully expressed the excep
tional case in that most touching and consoling
line,—
“They too may serve who only stand and wait,”—
the wider and more general principle is laid down
in the ancient medieval distich,—
Qui laborat,
Orat.
‘ Why stand ye idle?’ ‘ Why standest thou idle ?’
is still the first, paramount call which the Lord
of the vineyard addresses to all His innumerable
labourers.
II. The other practical truth of this Parable is that
brought out by the Church in selecting the context
of the passage for the festival of the Conversion of
e 1 John iii. 7.
(Serm. i. and xxvi.)
f Compare Newman’s Sermons, vol. viii.
�31
St. Paulg. Every generation, every age, every station
and circumstance of man has its own peculiar work
to do, which none other can do as well. The day of
the world, the day of life, is long and various. At
each successive hour,—at the first, at the third, at
the ninth, at the eleventh hour,—the call comes, in
different tones, to different plots of the vineyard, each
equally needing to be worked, each work equally de
serving its reward. In the pale dawn of the Patriarchal
age, in the bright sunrise of the Law, in the noon
day clearness of the Prophets, in the evening shades
of the close of the Jewish Church,—or again, in the
Christian Church, as the finger of the great dial of
time has marked the onward progress of events
from the first early age to the fifth, to the thir
teenth, to the sixteenth, to the nineteenth century,
the call has been again and again repeated,—in each
the same, yet in each different. We must not de
spise or impede the call or the work of any. The
latest labourers must acknowledge that their pre
decessors “ have borne the burden and heat of the
day,” must not grudge them their thrones11, exalted
high, “ in the regeneration” of mankind. But the
first must no less be ever ready to receive the last.
The twelve elder Apostles must not murmur at the
unexpected intrusion of the younger Paul. The
work that each can furnish is not more than is needed
for climbing the successive terraces of that vine-clad
hill1; for “ fencing it ” round about; for “ gather
ing out the stores thereof;” for “digging a deep
g Matt. xix. 27—30.
h Matt. xix. 28.
‘ Isa. v. 1—7.
�32
winepress therein, and building a high tower in
the midst of itk;” for “preparing a wide room for
the choice vine,” and “ causing it to take deep root
so that it shall fill the land, that its boughs shall
spread far and wide like the goodly cedar, that the
hills shall be covered with the shadow of it1.”
For works so various we must welcome all assist
ance ; here, as elsewhere in the Divine dispensa
tions, we must be prepared for sudden surprises,
unexpected combinations, unwelcome disturbances :
“ The first shall be last, and the last first.”
These are the two truths, each sustaining the
other, each blending with the other, which I pro
pose to set before you,—The necessity, the sacred
ness of work. The necessity, the sacredness of
the peculiar work of each successive age. Homely
and universal as these Evangelical doctrines are,
overlaid as they have been by human traditions,
trampled upon by carnal or spiritual pride, they are
the words of Divine Truth, not the less true be
cause they are so homely, not the less divine be
cause they are so universal.
And to us this double call comes home with
peculiar force on this, as it may in some sense
be called (with its new beginning of Lessons and
Services), our second New-year’s day.
There are years marked in the history of man
kind by such unusual destructiveness amongst the
gifted men of the earth, as to call our attention
with unusual force to the void which has to be
k Matt. xxi. 33.
1 Ps. lxxx. 9.
�filled up by those who remain. Such a year, be
yond any perhaps within the memory of any here
present, has been the one which has just passed
awaym. From Germany, we have lost the poet,
the scholar, the geographer, the master of universal
knowledge; the statesman-philosopher of France ;
the two chiefs of practical science amongst our
selves ; from those who speak the English language,
seven names, at least, great in historical literature,
two of them to be remembered as long as that
language endures, as having told the story of our
country’s greatness, the one with unexampled judg
ment, the other with unexampled skill, to the whole
civilized world. Such men are the gifts of God.
They go and come at His good pleasure. But when
they go, their departure gives a keener edge to the
question, What is there in the coming generation
that shall supply their place ? In the day “ when
the towers fall,” who is there that shall “ bind up
the breaches” of time, “and heal the stroke of
the wound11 ?”
It is a question which concerns not a few only,
but all. For it is out of the whole atmosphere of
a generation that such characters are born and
bred. A thousand men, it is said, go to make up
m The obituary of the last twelve months includes amongst its
celebrated names, connected with science and literature, Hum
boldt, Ritter, Wilhelm Grimm, Arndt, Tocqueville, Brunel,
Stephenson, Prescott, Washington Irving, Hallam, Lord Ma
caulay, Sir James Stephen, De Quincey, Mountstuart Elphinstone, Col. Leake, and I may add, since this Sermon was
preached, Sir William Napier.
n Isa. xxx. 25, 26.
�34
one hero. It is the collective energy, industry,
honesty of all, that renders the appearance of any
one such possible or probable. It is the idleness,
stupidity, commonplace indifference of the whole
mass that weighs down the hopes and aims even
of the firmest and grandest minds. “ One gene
ration, O Lord, shall praise Thy Name unto
another.” Each one of us will succeed into some
one else’s place. Each one of us is treading in
some one else’s footsteps. Behind each one of us
another is treading, whose progress we may ad
vance or retard. Behind us all, with ever lengthen
ing shadows, comes the Dark Night “when no
man can work.”
Let me, then, to the various stages of life, ad
dress, in their various senses, the warning and the
encouragement of the text.
I. “Why stand ye here all the day idle?” So,
in the simplest and most literal sense, we hear the
complaining question asked of many amongst you,
my younger hearers, “ Why stand ye here, idle, all
the day, all the year long ?” Why stand ye idle in
the market-place, idle in the street, idle in the quad
rangle ? idling, lounging, loitering, from room to
room, from one listless pleasure to another; list
less in work, listless even in amusement? “ Why
stand ye here at all ? For what use or purpose are
ye here, if ye thus stand all the day idle ?”
It may be that this question, as put in these
words from this place, is fired into the air. It
may be that those whom it most concerns are far
�35
away, standing and loitering in a still deeper idle
ness on this day—I cannot say “of rest” for “ rest”
has no meaning for those who know not what it
is to work. But if in the minds of any who hear
me the words find an echo, the answer will per
haps come back almost in the words of the Para
ble, “No man has hired us‘ the life of this place
‘ is against us ; its studies do not suit us ; we have
‘ worked elsewhere; we have worked at school,
‘ but we cannot work here.’ No, not so. There
is no fatal charm of indolence and apathy in col
lege life. To labour here is indeed your special
call. As the preacher stands Sunday after Sunday
in this place, and doubts what is the special duty
which he shall lay before you, there is one of which
he can feel no doubt whatever; and that is, to work.
In after life you may be in doubt what your calling
is, but here it cannot be mistaken. Here, in the
natural studies of this place, it lies straight before
you. Now is the golden time which will never
come back to you. The field of study may be
narrower than you would wish ; narrower, perhaps,
than with advantage it might be. But it is wider
by many degrees than once it was; it is wide
enough for almost every one to find his sphere. At
any rate, do something; if not within the prescribed
limits of study, then do something outside of them ;
do something to justify your existence here; do
something which will enable you in after years to
say, “ This at least I then learned so as to re
member still.” “This idea, this book, this chad 2
�36
racter then first broke upon my mind.” “This
habit, this principle got hold of me in such a
year, in such a term, and by God’s grace it has
stood me in good stead until now.”
II. But is it too much to ask you all to look for
ward to those years to which some among us have
already attained ? the years of those future profes
sions and callings which are indeed the “callings,”
the “calls” of God, and which derive their very name
from this Parable. I am not going to dwell on so
obvious a truth as that which bids us be diligent in
our several spheres. But there is one object, one
mode of diligence which perhaps hardly occurs to
us with sufficient clearness, but which is worth
many precepts, which presents a fitting object of
ambition, not too high to be unattainable by any,
not too low to be unworthy of any, namely, to
make the most of your position; not merely to do
your duty in that station to which God has called
you, but to make that station all that it ought to
be; not merely to be yourself an example to those
around you, but to make your station an example
and proof of the dormant capacities for good which
such a station contains. We speak of a man “ fill
ing his situation,” “filling his post.” How much is
there in that word, and how few endeavour to carry
it out ! Look round your situation; look round
and round it on every side; look round it in pros
pect now; look round it when you are in it; ob
serve its dimensions, its opportunities, its associa
tions, its idea, its intention, and then “fill” it, fill it
�37
out with your own exertions; put on all the sail
that it will bear; let them catch every breath of
wind that is stirring; trust yourself to it, and then,
like a gallant ship, it will of itself bear you to
the haven where you would be. That was a noble
saying which is recorded of a well-known modern
Sovereign, who on the day of his accession sud
denly encountered a conspiracy, which at once
threatened his life and his throne,—“ If I am to be
Emperor only for half-an-hour, in that half-hour
I will be every inch an Emperor.” What he thus
said of the loftiest and widest of all the spheres in
the Divine Vineyard, may be said no less of almost
all below it. Whatever you are, be every inch that
which you undertake to be. Animate, inspire,
strengthen yourself with the whole spirit of your
profession, of your office, and it will make you
twice the man that you are in yourself, and you
in return will make it twice what it is in itself.
Take the case of the future lot of so many amongst
you,—that of a country pastor. He may go through
the routine of his office respectably, he may be a
popular preacher, he may observe the rubrics ex
actly, and yet, as regards the real call made to him,
he may be “ standing all the day idle.” But let
him throw himself into his parish ; let him live for
it and in it; let him gather its society round him ;
let him treasure up when he is absent from it
whatever may instruct, or amuse, or console, or
elevate its inhabitants; let him draw from their
experiences, from their conversation, from their
�38
sorrows, the life, and language, and consolations
of his own sermons and ministrations to them; let
him be remembered not only as their minister,
but as their friend and representative,—and then
he will be transfigured through his office, and his
office will be transfigured through him.
Or take any one who is engaged in teaching.
Who is it that really succeeds in leaving a deep
impression on his school or his college ? Not he
who “ stands idle in the market-place” as soon as
his necessary work is finished; not he who makes it
a mere stepping-stone to something beyond ■ but
he who enjoys his work ; who makes it his own ; who
makes his pupils feel that his interest is theirs and
theirs is his ; who drinks in strength from the rising
generation and pours back his own strength into
them ; who feels that his calling is to him in itself
sufficient for serving God and for saving human
souls.
Or take yet another case,—a country gentleman.
How easy it is for such an one to stand idle all the
day long, and say that no man has hired him; to
shut himself up from his neighbours; to leave his
home and its concerns to be looked after by others;
to be himself, his better self, away and abroad, but
at home, in his own place, to be nobody, to be no
thing ; nobody in his own eyes, nothing in the eyes
of any one else. How easy, how natural, yet how
ruinous to himself, how ruinous to his generation,
how ruinous, we may almost say, to his country.
On the other hand, how ennobling, how inspiriting,
�39
how sanctifying is the influence of such a position
thoroughly used, thoroughly appreciated, thoroughly
mastered. It needs no splendid abilities to be thus,
in the full sense, a labourer in the vineyard of God.
For such an one to be a support instead of a hind
rance to the good works of his property and parish ;
to look with his own eyes after the comforts, the
health, the decencies of the cottages of the poor;
to bind together in social intercourse the various
classes around him ; to take part in the beneficent
institutions of the neighbourhood; to render his
wealth, his domain, his house available for the
pleasure and profit of others,—this call can surely
be heard and obeyed by all whom it concerns.
Many there are, I doubt not, who will at once
recal living examples of what is better seen than
described, more easily learned than taught. It is
not the romantic mission of the Hengists and
Horsas, who bore the burden and heat of the first
sunrise of civilization. But it is to work the work
of the nineteenth century. It is to leave a name
honoured in life and mourned in death. It is to
be doing in our measure for England, as many
doubtless are doing, what even in the eleventh
hour might have saved the aristocracy and the
clergy of France.
The “Eleventh Hour.” It is one of those pro
verbial sayings, charged with a thousand meanings,
which this Parable has bequeathed to us.
“The Eleventh Hour.” How the very sound of
the word deepens every warning, at every stage
�40
of our probation ! How much it says to us of the
coming and final twelfth hour, which has not yet
struck ! how much of the golden hours which have
already struck and passed away! how much of the
present hour which is still striking! Late, late
indeed, but not too late; too late to undo all
the evil that ought to be undone, but not too late
to do all the good that ought to be done ; not too
late for any of us, even in the eleventh hour of
their stay in this place, to start afresh in the race
of life, to be as energetic as they once were in
dolent, as pure as they once were dissolute, as
devoted as they once were indifferent. Not too late
to see the disappearance of evil fashions and cus
toms of whole societies of men, especially in the
fleeting generations of a place like this. “ I my
self,” (many of us may say this,) “ have seen ° an un
godly,” an idle, a frivolous, custom “flourishing like
a green bay-tree in a few years “ I passed by, and
its place could nowhere be found.” A new genera
tion has swept it out; the idlers are gone from
their accustomed haunt ; a fresh interest has sprung
up; an active work is begun ; the reproach that
rested upon us has been wiped clean away.
So, in the most hopeful sense, we may close up
the ranks that are thinned and succeed to those
who are gone. The evil is driven out by the good,
and the waste places in the vineyard are repaired,
and the former things give way to the new, and
the last takes the place of the first.
0 Ps. xxxvii. 36, 37
�41
III. This leads me to yet one further application
of the lessons of the Parable. Of the more special
work needed in the other high callings of life, let
those of other callings think and learn for them
selves. But I may be forgiven if I say a word of
my own sacred profession, my own sacred study,—
the profession and the study of Theology.
To us too, in this eleventh hour of Christendom,
there is a call, clear and shrill as the voice of a
trumpet, bidding us hear, and listen, and obey.
It is, as I have observed on a former occasion, a
striking testimony to the truth and the greatness of
Christianity, that after all that has been done, so
much still remains to be done in each successive age.
‘ Truth is always green p.’ The Scriptures are always
fresh. The relations of Science and Theology ever
require new adjustments. The words and works of
Christ are a mine of unexhausted wealth. Many
books of Scripture still need a faithful, wise, and
honest interpreter. Many chapters of the history
of the Church need to be told. False supports of
the faith ever need to be removed, and true sup
ports to be put in their place. We need every help
that learning and intellect, courage and faith can
render, to search out the manifold problems and
treasures of the Gospel.
And now, why is it that, in the full view of these
divine studies, so many stand idle on the threshold ?
Why is it that, when the harvest is so plenteous,
the labourers specially needed for the work are so
p La verdad sempre verde.—(Spanish Proverb.)
�42
few ? Why is it that the number of gifted minds
and loftier characters,—those who from their know
ledge, their power, and their love of truth, are
most fitted, and would naturally be most attracted,
to the study of theology or to the ranks of the
clergy of our Church,—are in this sphere so few,
so very few, within the last ten years, compared
with what they were in former days ?
The fact, as regards the present time and this
place, is, I fear, undoubted. If it be, (as I trust
that it is not,) more than a mere local or transient
phenomenon, it would be, of all the clouds on the
future horizon of the Church of England, the dark
est and the most portentous. Why is it,—why stand
they aloof, apart, in this extremity of our want, as
though no man had called them ?
Many answers, more or less true, may be given.
I shall confine myself to one, because it suggests,
in connexion with the close of this Parable, a lesson
of general and serious import.
What if it be that, here or elsewhere, we, the
elder, the fellow-labourers in the vineyard, instead
of eagerly welcoming the consecration of such gifts,
are careless or unwilling to receive them ? that
we gaze at them with fear or indifference ; make
them ‘ stand idle and silent, as the very condition
‘ of our bearing with them ; bid them begone where
‘ they will be more welcome; sell them for nought
‘ to the stranger that passes by ?’ What if it be that,
when genius and learning and devotion have of
fered themselves for this sacred but perilous service,
�43
we turn away from them, we try to set the world
against them, we distrust their arguments, we mag
nify their errors, we overlook their excellences ?
O, my brethren, if this charge be brought against
us of thus casting stumbling-blocks in our bro
ther’s path, of thus narrowing the entrance to
God’s vineyard, of thus grudging the reward of
God’s labourers, what shall we say of the mode
too common everywhere and on all sides, of car
rying on theological warfare? “Are not God’s
ways equal, are not your ways unequal, O ye house
of Israel ?” Are we not guided too often by a blind
caprice, which bids us swallow the hugest camels
of those who belong to us, and strain at the smallest
gnats of those who do not ? which refuses to hear
from the living what we gladly or patiently hear
from the dead ? which quietly receives from a lay
man what we condemn in a clergyman ? which re
ceives without murmur from the lips of the great
or the successful what we endeavour to crush in the
friendless or the suspected ? which endures gladly
the most fantastic novelties, in accordance with the
popular opinions of the day, but cannot endure the
least variation from those opinions, even though it
be in accordance with the teaching of many an
honoured name in theology, with twelve centuries
of Christendom, with the Creeds of the universal
Church ?
It is an infirmity, I well know, of some of the
best and purest; it is the ‘ original fault and cor
ruption’ of the old carnal Adam of theological fear
�44
and hatred, of which ‘the natural infection remains’
even in the most enlightened and the most generous.
It is, perhaps, in God’s wise providence turned
into good by becoming a clog on changes else too
rapid, on speculations else too aspiring.
But not the less is it a grave and mournful evil,—
an evil against which, I humbly but firmly believe, it
■was one special purpose of Christ our Saviour to raise
His continual and awful protest,—an evil, which in
its more remote effects does as much to undermine
the faith of mankind, to “ strengthen the hands of
the wicked and make sad the hearts of the right
eous,” as any heresy or any superstition of which
we have the keenest dread.
Yet this habit of discouraging and disparaging
the highest gifts of God in the Christian Church
and ministry has not always prevailed in other
Churches, nor at all times in our own. True, in
this way we lost Calamy and Baxter,—we lost
Miltonq,—we lost the apostolical Ken. But, in
spite of their vast latitude, we succeeded in retaining
the “ evcr-mcmorable” Hales and the “ immortal”
Chillingworth. In spite of the torrent of theological
abuse that burst upon them, we retained the pas
toral beneficence of Burnet and the persuasive
holiness of Tillotson. In spite of their far-reaching
speculation and singular moderation, we exalted
Berkeley and Butler. In spite of himself, we almost
(would that it had been altogether!) retained John
Wesley.
•J See Masson’s Life of Milton, vol. i. pp. 288, 292, 369.
�45
What was possible in the Church then, may be
and has been achieved from time to time since.
Here, if anywhere, we may be expected to breathe
a serener atmosphere, to recognise the truth of
ancient days re-appearing in modern forms, to bear
patiently with the struggles after light, with the
weaknesses of noble natures, with the troubles of
tender consciences. Here we know that there have
been—we may trust that there always will be—
those who shrink from breaking the bruised reed
and quenching the smoking flax ; whose wise, and
just, and silent endeavours to smooth the entrance
into a new and trying career need never be re
pented of by themselves, and will never be forgotten
by those whose difficulties they removed, or with
whose doubts they sympathized.
Above all, let none measure the truth and the
grace of God by the faithless murmurs or grudging
complaints of men. Though “ our eye be evil,” con
tracted, distorted, darkened, the eye of God and
God’s Word is “ good,” gracious, long-suffering, see
ing not as man seeth, judging not as man judgeth.
Though individuals are narrow and small, institu
tions are high and wide. Individuals and genera
tions last but for an hour ; the loving-kindness, the
loftiness of the Ancient of Days, the richness of the
vineyard to which He calls us, last for ages. Those
gifted souls whom the caprice or hardness of men
may have driven into wayward courses, are yet, as
a great historian1’ well reminds us, not forgotten by
r See Niebuhr, Hist, of Rome, ii. 603.
�46
God. ‘ God will judge their faults more mercifully
than those which have ruined His noblest work?
Jerusalem, of the Christian no less than of the
Jewish Church, is surrounded by the tombs of
the Prophets, which have been built by the children
of those who slew them, nay, built by the slayers
themselves. God knows His own ; “He can do
what He will with His own.” “ Many that are
first shall be last, and the Last shall be First.”
�Note on pp. 10—12, 42—44.
The principles insisted upon in the earlier pages of the
first and the later pages of the second Sermon, of course
admit of a very general application, which ought to be
extended to the utmost length that justice and truth may
require in any of the opposite difficulties which divide and
perplex the theological world. But as it will probably
have occurred to most of my hearers that a recent case
was particularly in my thoughts, I wish to take this
opportunity of adding a few words to explain and to
strengthen what I have already said.
It is not my intention here to dwell on the well-known
fact that the distinguished person who now occupies
with signal efficiency the Regius Professorship of Greek
in this University has for the last four years been ex
cluded, on theological grounds, from the just endow
ment which has been awarded to all the other important
Academical Chairs. The condemnation of this singular
anomaly by almost the whole body of Professors, by
nearly all the most eminent of the Heads of Colleges,
and by the educational staff of all the most flourishing
.Colleges, is, I would hope, a guarantee that the Univer
sity will not much longer suffer from the continuance of
so great a scandal.
The demands of justice, however, require me to go a
step further than this, and to point out (so far as it is
possible without entering into personal or theological con
troversy) the precedents and arguments that must be set
aside before we can presume to treat, as many of us have
treated, the particular statements of the Greek Pro
fessor, which have exposed him to so much obloquy. I
allude of course to those3 which have reference to mo
dern theories respecting the Divine Redemption. How far
• Professor Jowett’s Essays, 2nd ed., vol. ii. p. 537—546, p. 547—595.
�48
those statements are correct, and whether they are well
or ill expressed, is not here the question. But it is
certain that they are entitled, if not to respectful con
sideration, at least to dispassionate toleration from all
faithful sons of the Church of England, on the following,
if on no other, grounds :—
1. They are founded on a serious, reverent, careful study
of the words of Holy Scripture.
2. They are justified by the general language of the
Church of England in the most solemn expressions of
its faith, particularly in those which on Good Friday com
memorate the event and the doctrine in question.
3. They are not condemned by the Apostles’, the Nicene,
or the Athanasian Creed, or by the four first General
Councilsb. The silence of the Creeds on this subject has,
in fact, exposed those venerable Confessions to the most
violent attacks from partisans of the modern popular
theologyc.
4. They are substantially in agreement with the general
(though, it may be, not exclusive) teaching of the Church
for twelve hundred years. That teaching has been, ac
cordingly, assailed on this very account by many modern
divines. But even as late as Anselm, his peculiar view of
b At the close of a volume of University Sermons issued in 1856 against
the Greek Professor, is printed, as if decisive of the question at issue, the
following passage from the Enchiridion Theologicum:—“ Every minister
ought to be careful that he never expound Scriptures in public contrary to
the known uses of the Catholic Church, particularly of the Churches of
England and Ireland, nor introduce any doctrine against ang of the four
first General Councils; for these, as they are measures of faith, so also of
necessity; that is. as they are safe, so are they sufficient; and beside what
is taught by these no matter of belief is necessary to salvation.” It is the
necessary cousequenee of a study of the Canons of the four Councils, that
not the Essay of the Greek Professor, but the volume of Sermons by which
that Essay is assailed, falls under the censure of the rule which has been
thus set up as the standard of the controversy. For as, on the one hand,
none of these Canons condemn the doctrines whieh the Essay contains,
neither, on the other hand, do they contain the doctrines which the Ser
mons declare to be “ matter of belief necessary to salvation,”
* Eiland. On Church Reform, pp. 159, 160, 166, 167.
�49
a part of the question did not prevent the complete accord
ance of that great theologian with the general doctrine
held alike by the early Fathers and by the Greek Pro
fessor, on a point to which, in our own day, the most
ardent opposition has been raised.
5. Since the time of Thomas Aquinas, and, still more,
since the time of Calvin and of Grotius, another theory
has gradually gained ground, and there is no doubt that
between the ancient and simpler view, and those which
are now popularly preached, there is sometimes a wide
variance. But that simpler view, as maintained by the
Greek Professor, has, even in modern times, been supported
by names of great and acknowledged authority. Even in
the last century it was protected, though not adopted, by
Bishop Butler in his famous condemnation d of all conjec
tures on this subject, as being “if not evidently absurd, yet
at least uncertain and by Professor Hey’s summary of the
doctrine in his celebrated Lectures on the Articles e. It
is substantially that of William Lawf, the author of the
“ Serious Call,” and of Alexander Knox, the distinguished
friend of Bishop Jebbg. It is identical with the doctrine of
Coleridge’s “Aids to Reflection11,” once used almost as a
text-book by students of theology and philosophy in this
place. It is, in its most vital points, the same that has
received the sanction of the late Mr. Robertson1, who
is regarded by not a few excellent persons as a model
preacher of the Church of England —the present Dean
of Ely, who is well known as one of the most esteemed
divines of the sister Universitykthe present Dean of
d Butler’s Works, vol. i. p. 212.
e Hey’s Lectures, vol. iii. pp. 295, 320.
f Law’s Letters, pp. 70, 93, 97, 99, 100,104.
g Knox’s Remains, vol. iv. pp. 363, 372, 468, 511.
h Coleridge’s Aids to Reflection, vol. i. pp. 257—270.
■ Robertson’s Sermons, vol. i. pp. 154—157, 162.
j “ Oh! that a hundred like men were given us by God, and placed in
prominent stations throughout our land.”—Appendix to Consecration Ser
mon of the present Bishop of Gloucester, by the Rev. J. H. Gurney.
k Harvey Goodwin’s Hulsean Lectures, pp. 27—37, 221, 223.
E
�50
Canterbury, in the most widely circulated of all English
editions of the Greek Testament1; — and my lamented
predecessor, the late Professor Hussey, who has guardedly
but decidedly expressed this view in an Ordination Sermon
on this subject “published at the desire” of the present
Bishop of Oxford m.
It would have been easy to multiply names and facts in
the same direction. It will be easy, if necessary, to give
at length the passages which I have here cited only in the
briefest form. But I was unwilling to encumber these
pages with a controversy which, I trust, is now all but
extinct. What I have said will be, to any who are ready
to be convinced, a sufficient proof that in my Sermon I
spoke, not without ground, of the “unequal ways” of
modern Theological warfare, and that the liberty which
is there claimed for English Churchmen is not more than
has been, in many instances, already conceded, without
peril to the interests of true Religion or of the Church
of England.
1 Alford’s Greek Test., vol. iv. p. 54.
m Professor Hussey’s Ordination Sermon, preached in Christ Church
Cathedral, December 23, 1855, pp. 9—14, 17, 19—21, 23, 24, 29—32.
]9rinteb bn Jttcssrs. pai’her, (fornmarlwt, ©iforb.
�
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The freedom of the gospel [and] The labourers in the vineyard
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Notes: From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. The freedom of the Gospel preached on the Act Sunday (the second Sunday after Trinity) July 5, 1859 -- The Labourers in the Vineyard preached on septuagesima Sunday, Feb. 5, 1860. Printed by Messrs. Parker, Oxford. Preached at Christ Church College, Oxford. The author identifies himself as the successor to Robert Hussey, Regias Professor of Ecclestical History which would identify him as Arthur Penrhyn Stanley. Includes bibliographical references.
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“WHAT IS CHRISTIANITY?”
A SERMON,
.
JI •
■
PREACHED AT THE REV. C. VOYSEY’S SERVICE, ATj
ST. GEORGE’S HALL, LANGHAM PLACE,
* '
AUGUST |3rd, 1873, by an
M.A.,
OF
OXFORD.
[From the Eastern Post, August 9th, 1873.]
Summary :—The Question and the Answer. Not the Answer
of the Churches. Two objections anticipated. Religious wars and
hostile Churches are proofs that the Church has not answered the
question correctly. The position further illustrated by two
instances in which Christianity apparently breaks down. True
Christianity not easy.
Father—ff indeed to Thee we owe our longing to raise the veil
that hides Thee from our understandings, pardon our imperfect
service. .We speak of righteousness, striving against sin—help us
Father. We speak of truth, struggling in the toils of our ignor
ance—teach us Father. May that which is untrue perish in the
speaking; may that which is true be preserved for the use of Thy
children until, perchance, the veil is removed, and this our hour
of darkness gives place to Eternal Light.
What is Christianity? A strange question to ask, perhaps,
after eighteen centuries of experience.
“Have I been so
long time with you, and yet hast thou not known me Christen
dom ?” It would almost appear so. For there is no Church that
tells us truly and distinctly what is Christianity. If we go by
what Churches sec forth in their Confessions of Faith, and by what
the members of those Churches are most vehement about, we must
suppose that Christianity means believing something, having some
clear and strong convictions about God and Jesus Christ. If we
go by what Churches set forth in their formularies, and by what
their members are most particular about, we must suppose that
Christianity means observing some religious rite or ceremony,
�2
adhering to some one form of worship rather than another—but
this is not Christianity. Believing and worshiping are very
secondary aspects of the Christian religion. Christianity is not
believing something, but being something; not worshipping in a
particular way, but living in a particular way. Christianity is
not a Creed but a Life, the Life of Love.
And when I say Life, of course I do not mean anything so
superficial and imperfect as a mere external life. You may tie good
fruit and beautiful flowers to a dead tree, but that fruit will soon
perish, and those flowers will soon fade. You may be constantly
taking the chair at public meetings on behalf of the distressed, you
may build schools and endow churches, or, as St Paul puts it, you
may give all your goods to feed the poor, and even give your body
to be burned, and yet know nothing of the Life of Love. By Life
of Love I mean the inner life of heart-kindness from which
beneficent acts proceed as a matter of course and necessity, even as
from the living tree there grow the leaves and fruit. That is
Christianity. Christianity in its most essential aspect is a Life of
heart-kindness.
This is mere assertion. It requires proof, but I shall not have
time to go into the proofs to-day. I must be satisfied with trying
to explain in a few simple words what I mean by saying that
Christianity is before all things a Life of Love, but that the
Churches do not set it forth to us as such.
We must give all their due. Churches would agree in admitting
that the Life of Love is an important feature in Christianity; but
the Christianity that remains to be tried is not a Christianity of
which Love is an important feature, but a Christianity which is
Love. You see the difference, I am sure. It is what we are in
the habit of calling 1 all the difference in the world.’ I will try to
illustrate it. You have a dear friend to whom your heart is knit,
but from whom you have to part for a time. You do not take
with you, photographed, the fold of the dress, the hands, or the
hair, but you take the face, and why ? Because that is herself, she
speaks to you in that—and in a like sort of way Love is not an
adjunct of Christianity, not an accident of Christianity, not even
an important feature of Christianity, Love is the sweet face of
Christianity—her own blessed self.
�3
It might occur to you to object that this is no new aspect of
Christianity. That numbers of believers in all ages have cherished
it and lived in its sunshine. Quite so, and thank God for it.
Marvellous would be the presumption and ignorance of any one
who supposed that he could reveal a new aspect of a religion which
has bee n before the world so long. God be thanked that thousands
of saintly men and women, whose shoe’s latchet I should be un
worthy to unloose, have known that Christianity is Love, and in
the power of that conviction have led lives which we can but con
template with tears of mingled shame, veneration, and joy. But
they drew their knowledge from the words of Jesus, not from the
declarations of their Church. Churches have been very silent
about the Life of Love, very eloquent about their beliefs, their rites
their ceremonies, and the consequence ha3 been that whilst
individuals here and there have risen to higher things, the masses
have been content to suppose that what the Church took most
care of and made most fuss about, was the most important element
in their religion, and so zeal has been hot and love has been cold.
Again you might be inclined to say that the love aspect of
Christianity has been very well known to the Churches, but that
being of one mind with regard to it they have not cared to talk much
about it. To some extent this is true. In her earliest years the
Church kept love in her proper place, that is the first place, and
by that she conquered. But before long, and more because of the
infirmity of our nature than for any other reason, love was put
in the background, and other things were brought to the front. In
any case it is a misiake not to talk much on a point that is vitally
important. If we agree not to speak of anything we generally
come not to think about it. It is not easy to keep up a strong and
perpetual interest in an idea to which we seldom give expression
and of which we are seldom visibly reminded. But, however,
without, going now into the question as to how it came about, the
fact encounters us on nearly every page of history, that the Church
lost sight to a great extent of the truth that Christirnity is love.
Religious wars and persecutions are a proof that she did lose sight
of it. Religious wars! Curious collocation of incompatible ideas!
A war in behalf of the Christian religion is an absurdity. It
proves at once that the Christianity in question is not the real
�thing. Am I to fight with my brother to make him love me 1 It
is true we are weak and inconsistent creatures, but men would
scarcely have been so irrational and obtuse as to engage in religious
wars if they had been alive to the truth that Christianity is love.
Again the very fact of Christendom breaking up into hostile
Churches is a proof that the Church- whatever we mean by that
much debated word—had come to forget or to deny that religion
is essentially a Life,—Christianity essentially a Love.
National Churches may be a practical necessity, but there is no
necessity for their being hostile, hostile even in the extremely
mitigated sense that a minister of one may not regard himself as
the minister of another j much less hostile in the sense that half
the energy of one is spent in trying to neutralise the efforts of
another. It surely is a great mistake that there should exist
Churches hostile in this sense ! It leads to waste of power, and
worse than waste, to misuse and abuse of time, energy, money, and
all our talents, until the devil’s own work, which is strife, is done,
as is profanely said, for the Glory of God. If the test of disciple
ship is love for one another, as was once stated on the highest
authority, we don’t want many Churches. One would be
sufficient. The flocks indeed might, be many, but the fold could
be one. When the heart of this city is stirred on some great
question, and the people hold a meeting in the Park, they may form
into separate gatherings, guided by the necessities of the ground,
or drawn towards a favourite speaker, but it is still one meeting,
having one object, animated by a common purpose. So might it be,
so should it be, with all who profess and call themselves Christians.
But suppose those scattered crowds, forgetful of their great
object, their common purpose, should take to fighting about matters
of secondary importance, and when they had fought themselves
tired, should build barriers, and dig trenches to keep themselves
away from their neighbours and their neighbours away from
themselves—what a melancholy spectacle ! Melancholy at least for
the friends of the cause. This is the spectacle presented by the
Christian wor.d.
Yes ! I repeat, the fact that Christendom broke up into hostile
Churches, the fact that parties hostile to each other, jealous of each
other, exist in the same Church, are proofs that we have not
�5
sufficiently taken in the idea that Christianity is love. And what
about the oure? Is there a remedy for all this ? Is there a solvent
before which these hapless barriers will melt away ? Can » “ Peace,
be still I” be uttered to the broken waters of the world ? There
is ! There can ! And they will be—the solvent will be applied, the
word will be spoken when a Church has the brave simplicity to
declare.
Creeds matter little, Forms matter little, we priests and our
functions matter little—little, aye nothing!—nothing by the side of
that which is the essence, and sweetness, and glory, and treasure of
Christianity, the Life of Love.
It is sometimes said that Christianity has fai'ed, and no doubt
there are some facts which look like failure, 1 ub they need not
really frighten us ; you cannot truly say of anything that it has
failed before it has been tried, and I do not doubt that Christianity
will succeed, will establish its place in the hearts of men, will get
the better of human weakness and human selfishness when it is
fairly tried. But a man cannot reasonably complain of losing a
race if he ride3 the wrong horse. Let us consider two cases in
which it would look as if Christianity had failed ; it will help us
to see still further what the real thing is, and also what comes of
not trying it. .
One illustration shall be taken from the individual life, the
other from social life in one of its broade;t manifestations. And
bear in mind that I am net now contemplating those departures
from the Christian life which result either from indifference to it
or from great empba ion. To do so would be beside our present
purpose, for they might co-exist with any Development of Christi
anity. The phenomena we are now concerned with are the c trious
anomalies that arise—not from wilful divergence from Christianity
but from the cultivation of a wrong or secondary form of it.
How often this is seen. An earnest, well-intentioned, mtn is
appointed to a parish where the people are fairly intelligent, re
spectable, and well-affected. He might have it all his own wav with
them, for a new parson is generally looked at with a sort of kindly
interest; we have the prospect of listening t> him for some years
perhaps, and it is well to think the best of him. In a short time,
to use a familiar expression, parson and people are at loggerheads
with each other; confusion and strife take the place of order and
goodwill, a Samaria is established in the parish, and a new
temple is probably built on Gerizim. And why? Because the
clergyman is a bad man, or especially silly, or unkind ? Not at
all—but he has probably introduced something new, something
new in his service, or in the arrangement of the Church furniture,
or in his own personal get up. The people don’t like it and obj ict.
�He, instead of saying—“friends, this doesnot matter, the Christian
life is what we are concerned about, loving hearts are the crown of
my ministry,” he insists upon his crotchet, and excuses himself by
calling it a, principle. And this is just where Church Christianity
breaks down, that it permits men to call those things principles
which are no principles, and to lose sight of the principle of
Christianity, which is love. What should we say of a scheme for
increasing our sense of the sanctity of human life if it encouraged
us to cut off each others heads whenever we objected to the colour
of each others hair ?
Some will try to excuse themselves on the ground that all this
sort of difference and opposition may go on without loss of love.
Vain delusion ! In human strife he alone may fancy he loves his
brother who gets the better of him. If we could be sure of a
candid answer, I should not mind bringing the master to this test.
I would say to the controversialists ‘ do you love your brother when
you find he is too much for you ?’ When there is motion
without heat we may have theological strife without ill-will.
Did John love Cerinthus when (accoraing to the legend) he would
not stay in the same baths with him. Do we love our brother
when we will not go under his roof, will not take him by the hand,
will not bid him God-speed, and pass him when we meet him, on
the other side. If you suspect this to be an exaggerated view
turn to “Phases of Faith” and see the treatment experienced by
Mr Newman when he began to question the doctrines of the Church.
There probably has been no delusion more fatal to Christian life
and to the happiness of men than that which has permitted our
poor hearts to hide their rottenness from themselves, and to
indulge in ill-will, grudging, envy, pride, and all uncharity, under
cover of the pretence that it is zeal for the Lord. We may hold
it to be a certain truth that the pearl of Christianity, which is
Love, will get mislaid when men take to squabbling about the
shell.
Another point at which Church Christianity has broken down
is exposed in the condition of our poor. Individuals here and
there are kind-hearted and self-sacrificing, but where is that thought
of class for class which could not but be generated in a truly
Christian society. The facility with which we bear the distresses
of the poor, the reluctance of the powerful to legislate in the
interests of the weak, of the rich to legislate in the interests of the
poor, I attribute, not so much to the selfishness of our nature as
to the fact that the Church does not keep steadily before our
faces and close to our eyes the love aspect of Christianity.
Look at the dwellings of the poor in our large cities. The
desire for a good investment will cover the country with
�7
a network of railways, for which land is taken and money found,
but Christianity has not induced our rich and influential classes
to insist that the homes of the poor shall be made a State
question, to go to Parliament for power to take land and find
money, so that our poor may live decently in the presence of
their brethern. Call ourselves Christians ! Do you thiuk that
Jesus would call it a Christian land if he walked about the.
West-end in the morning and about the East-end in the aftere
noon. Do you think he would accept the trumpery excuses w>
make for letting our brothers and sisters starve, and rot, and sin K
into abysses of degradation, or at the best live lives of mono
tonous toil, in wretched homes, with scarce a motive to industry
their future being without hope ? I know the wretched objections
which Dives makes to getting up from his table when his servants
tell him that Lazarus is really in a bad way. “I cannot help
him ; Political economy forbids.” Christianity says, “ So much
the worse for political economy.” “The poor shali never cease out
of the land.” “No Reason for not doing our best for them, there need
not be such poor, and scripture you know can be quoted by the
most disreputable people.” “They must help themselves.” “True
in some things, but in some they depend on you.” “ Charity
demoralises.” “Notall charity.” The fact is, it is easy to see why
Dives is slow to go out to Lazarus. The mothers here would tell
me. Your child is ill, he has brought it on himself, he will get
better if he does what he is told; but you do not like to leave
him to himself, you do not neglect him, you take every care of him,
and if you scold, you scold him gently, and why? Ah ! you know.
And Dives, whose name now is Legion, whose habitations in this
city are stree’S of palaces, would Dives leave his brothers and
sisters to themselves and their sufferings if he loved them ? Yet
to love them is Christianity.
If he loved them, how could he bear the luxuries of his home,
the ample board, the cheerful fire, the sunshine of the presence he
loves, the music of the laughter of his little ones, remembering
those outside, cold, and hungry, and ignorant, and degraded, sick,
and in misery, and unloved ? May God forgive us—we cannot
forgive ourselves.
Yet, as I said at starting, those to whom Christianity is dear need
not be cast down. The real thing has not failed because it has not
been fairly tried. The Church has fought her battle against the
world with the scabbard, she has yet to try the sword. We have
yet to see what Christianity might do for us in our conflicts with
temptation, in all our warfare with evil within and without, if from
the dawn of understanding we were taught to feel that Christianity
was love. We have yet to see the mighty effects that might be
�produced upon society if the religion of love and love only were
preached from every pulpit in the land. Then should we see the
rich and influential amongst us, those who have time on their hands,
and balances at their bankers, forming themsel es into societies to
consider what they could do for their poor brothers and sisters ; then
should we see Parliament overwhelmed with petitions from leisured
men. Take counsel ye that are wise and prudent, ye Bezaleels and
Aholiabs of the State, what can ye do for this congregation ? Here
we are ready for the work, and here are witling offerings,—our
bracelets and earrings, and any amount of income tax, our rings
and tablets, and heavy succession duties; only find ye the
knowledge and understanding to devise and do for these our
brethren. For how can we enjoy the sweetness and light of life,
whilst they are in bitterness and gloom 1 our purple and fine linen
are robes of shame to us whilst they are naked and cold, our bread
is turned to ashes in our teeth when we think of them that perish
for lack of food.
Ah ! my friends, when Christianity is tried we shall stand in
no fear of Socialism or revolution. We shall indeed have agita
tion, there may be monster processions in the streets and mass
meetings in the parks, but it will not be the agitation of them that
toil, bent on wrenching some measure of power, or some crumbs of
comfort, from the superfluities of privilege and wealth—it will be
the agitation of the powerful and rich, yearning to diminish some
thing from the sadnesses of the poor.
One last thought, Christianity is Love. Does any one feel
inclined to say “ Is that all 1”—It is enough my brother—more
than enough for most of us. There is much to learn in that school.
In fact, down here, I suspect we may be always learning, and still
have to look for the completion of the course in the upper school.
For all that it sounds so simple the life is very hard. The spirit
I spe*k of is coy to win, and difficult to keep. If it is to abide
with us for ever it must be cherished with no transient courtship,
but with the devotion of a life. To seek each others good, to shun
each others harm, to wrestle with the temptarions that are breaches
of love, to keep under and stamp out all the unloving thoughts
that are so easily engendered in the friction and turmoil of life, to
nuture in the place of them feelings of forbearance, gentleness,
ami good-will—this is not easy. Yet our religion requires no less.
For the creed of Christianity begins with these words, “ Whoso
ever will be saved before all things it is necessary that he live the
Life of Love.
Eastern Post Steam Printing Works, 89, Worship Street, Finsbury E.C.
�
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Title
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Victorian Blogging
Description
An account of the resource
A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library & 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>
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Conway Hall Library & Archives
Date
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2018
Publisher
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Conway Hall Ethical Society
Text
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Original Format
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Pamphlet
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"What is Christianity?": a sermon, preached at the Rev. C. Voysey's service, at St. George's Hall, Langham Place August 3rd, 1873 by an M.A. of Oxford
Description
An account of the resource
Place of publication: London
Collation: 8 p. ; 22 cm.
Notes: From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. Two corrections, in ink, to typos. From the Eastern Post, August 9th, 1873
Publisher
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[Eastern Post]
Date
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[1873]
Identifier
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G5372
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[Unknown]
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<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 ("What is Christianity?": a sermon, preached at the Rev. C. Voysey's service, at St. George's Hall, Langham Place August 3rd, 1873 by an M.A. of Oxford), 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>
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application/pdf
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Text
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English
Subject
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Sermons
Conway Tracts
Sermons
-
https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/0939765c9caa2a47c2f959f89840f4f4.pdf?Expires=1712793600&Signature=AXZnMi4EVFgIM3ktEeyzZmjTSQg%7EKdD3oghwRAELxUsEAwPHafKKSZha0gVA7I6qHGip36L5iVk9RThnNdM89%7EzIEKXnQrStXKAOvHkLcHdAnXfEjnWkWfvnLn%7EN3r93A4Q2sTtPn%7EWcIpOFPzDhZPmGrcA2iD%7EkwC0lM%7E4WjmG75HHq7XuFNFGYipBkvdSGYUb0Cdf7jrdyzfOPfUYWniZOw0us9PThbfuPT%7EQFV4BPqxf15Q8z17thtcOleXg9YWbWlx-Dz96j3WT1L6pZ1f1i%7EFBsU7vFLaLP1jsyn3yFSBjd11o7R6c3SlznjWXsLC7qzXfj76r5x-OY1sGqvQ__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM
64554358d2538f524e6f285ac17fc5a2
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Text
A SERMON,
PREACHED AT ST. GEORGE’S HALL, LANGHAM PLACE,
MAY 11th, 1873, by the
REV. CHARLES VOYSEY.
[From the Eastern Post, May 17th, 1873.]
On Sunday (May 11), at St. George’s Hall, the Rev. C.
Voysey took his text from John i., 9., “ That was the true light,
which lighteth every man that cometh into the world.”
The religious differences which have made, and are yet making,
such fierce discord in the world lie far deeper down than the mere
surface of various doctrine. The real root of these differences is
to be found in the method of enquiry into religious truth, in the
means by which it is believed to be discoverable. So long as men
keep on trying to substitute one set of dogmas for another, and to
impose, as dogma, any new doctrine because it is less false or more
true than its predecessor, so long shall we have the strife oftongues
and the endless confusion of conflicting sects. Not until we have
perceived the only true basis of unity, shall we cease to fight with
one another for the ascendancy of our own particular beliefs.
The votaries of all religions in turn claim that in their own creeds
lies the only pathway to God, and it stands on the face of it, that
when these creeds are opposed to each other, they cannot all be
true, though they may be all false. If one be true, who can test
its truth ? What witness could we have that would be infallible
to make the choice for us out of so many claimants ? Moreover,
if only one be true, and only one lead to God, what a frightful
injustice is done to the millions on millions who have no access to
it, who by the accidents of birth and education, have been not
only shut out from hearing of it, but have had their minds pre
occupied from childhood by false beliefs, and have been prejudiced
�2
against all other beliefs, (and among them, of course, the true
belief) by the most solemn sanctions ! Then again, supposing that
the truest belief were discoverable to day, and enforced upon a
growing and advancing posterity in consequence, posterity would
be hampered by our decrees, fettered and enslaved by our creeds
and articles, kept tied and bound in swaddling clothes instead of
having the freedom of men. What to us had served all the pur
poses of truth, because it was the truest we could discover, would
inflict all the hardship and hindrance of falsehood upon our child
ren’s children. Look at it how w’e will, in dogma and creed we
find no sure resting place for our anxious souls, no safe road to lead
us heavenward, no sure light to bring us to God. But we have
not therefore been left in darkness because errors and falsehoods
have clouded our sky. God hath not left himself without witness,
because we have neither infallible Bible, nor infallible Pope, nor
infallible heresy. Still brightly shines over us, still leads us ever
onward and upward, the true light which lighteth every man that
cometh into the world. For all purposes of a true redemption—or
to speak more correctly—of a true progress towards God, men have
now as ever the light of life, the steady burning gleam that draws
us ever onwards, and guards our wayward and storm-tost souls from
wreck and ruin.
But I should be sailing under false colours were I to use the
text which I have chosen without disowning the sense in which it
is generally understood. I quite agree with the writer in this,
that that only is the true light which is universal—•“ which lighteth
every man that cometh into the world.” Any light which fails
thus to illumine all hearts is not the true light, and cannot safely
be trusted. A partial light may serve its purpose for a while, just as
we use a lantern in the darkness while the wanton earth turns her
face from the sun, but its weak and slender rays can only lighten
a narrow circle, and by its flickering may even add to our error
and perplexity.
As the rush-light to the sun, so are the various systems of belief
to that true light which God has sent to lighten every man that
cometh into the world. But some will tell us that the author of
this text meant that Christ was that true light; and I do not see
how we can deny this to have been his meaning. In the opening
�verses of this gospel the author unmistakeably refers to the Alexan
drine doctrine of the Logos which some one has aptly termed “Pla
tonism spoilt.” He speaks of the true light as “ he” and “ him;
as “ coming into the world,” as “being received,” and being rejected
as having the glory of the Great Father, and yet as being made
flesh and dwelling visibly among men. Now we unhesitatingly
refuse to accept Christ as the true light, on the simple ground that
he does not answer to the definition, he certainly does not lighten
every man that cometh into the world. He did not lighten a
single soul of the countless generations before him, nor many
millions of his fellow-creatures in his own generation. Whatever
liaht they wanted down in Judea that Christ could give (and we
do not hesitate in saying that that light was great and glorious)
they wanted also in the uttermost parts of the, earth and in the
Antipodes to Galilee, of the very existence of which Christ had no
conception. No one who is not a theologian would attempt the
folly of making-believe that Christ was the light that was
lighting every man all over the world at the very time that he was
wandering over the hills of Capernaum or disputing with Pharisees
in the streets of Jerusalem. That the soul of Jesus, and in like
manner, the souls of the rest of the world’s greatest men shed a
glorious light over humanity, wherever their names and histories
have travelled, is undeniably true; but it is not at all the same
thing as being a universal light, or even an infallible one. For
whether Christ could help it or not, there was more than one dark
band on his spectrum, and some have been led into darkness, and
even despair by sayings attributed to him by his friends. No one
human being, no one human life, has ever been bright enough to
lighten all mankind, nor sufficiently clear and unclouded never to
lead them astray. If there is one thing that God has stamped
upon all his works, and especially upon his noblest work—man, it
is the stamp of imperfection. Nothing is absolutely perfect—
though He may behold everything which He has made and say
“ It is very good. It is exactly what I intended it then and there
to be and so far very good,” He can never say “ It is perfect, “ It
is finished,” “ It is incapable of improvement.” This must ever be
the difference between the Creator and the created. While He
alone is absolutely perfect and incapable of change or progress—
�4
the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever—all we his creatures are
in the very infancy of our existence, and have an eternity oi
change and growth before us. So the “ brightest and best of the
sons of the morning ” are each in turn displaced by a brighter and
better successor. However vast the interval between their rising
over the world’s darkness, the glory that has set is eclipsed by the
glory that has arisen anew. However, long and glad may have
been the zenith of such a star, its turn for fading lustre will surely
come, and a more brilliant orb shall take its place.
With the deepest reverence for the excellency of Jesus of
Nazareth, and with sincere gratitude for what light he brought
into the world, we, nevertheless, deliberately say of him as the
Evangelist said of John the Baptist. “ He was not that light,
but was sent to bear witness of that light.” Christ was not the
true light which lighteth every man that cometh into the world,
but was only one among the great cloud of witnesses on whom the
true light shone, and by whom it was most splendidly reflected.
It that light was not Moses, nor Menu, nor Christ, nor Paul, nor
Confucius, nor Sakya Mouni, nor Odin, nor Zoroaster, nor Socrates,
nor Mahommed, nor any one, nor all of the great world teachers,
because none of them were universal, what is the true light ? It
is not far to seek if the definition be accepted. If the true light
really lightens every man that cometh into the world—
ever did, ever does, and ever will give him all the light he
can ever get—then it must be found in man, in men universally,
and neither outside of them, nor in only a few rare specimens
of the race. And this is easy to find j for as in water face
answereth to face, so the heart of man to man.
We
know humanity by knowing ourselves—know it very imper
fectly, but what we do know is truth' and fact. And in
human nature we find an universal principle, instinct or affection,
call it what you will, which is the love of truth and right. In spite
of all the texts and Confessions and Catechisms, I affirm that the
heart of man is not “ desperately wicked above all things,” but,
on the contrary, is almost the only thing about him that is
thoroughly sound and good. Man, at heart, is good, because he
loves goodness, and true because he loves truth. As soon as ever
he discovers that there is such a distinction as good and evil, or
�5
truth and falsehood, his inmost heart turns with desire towards
goodness and truth. Of the idiotic and insane I here say nothing
because I know nothing; they are not only beyond the reach of
adequate tests, but they are so exceptional, and abnormal, as to
form no solid objection to the universality of the statement that
all men love goodness and truth. Of the great bulk of humanity,
from the best to the worst, from the most cultured to the most
ignorant, from the holiest saint to the most depraved sinner, it is
only the honest truth to say that they all at heart love goodness
and truth. They may love them in varying degrees, for the more
goodness and truth are known by practice, the more they are
loved, the less men know of goodnesss and truth, the less they
care for them. But at heart every sane man has some love for
goodness and truth. No man ever yet believed a lie knowing or
even suspecting it to be a lie. It is a contradiction in terms.
However false may be a man’s conviction, it is his conviction only
because it seems to him to be true. All he cares to get hold of
is truth and fact j and though he should seem to us to hold the
most absurd fancies, or cherish, even unto dying for them, beliefs
which we cannot but scorn, yet to him they are sacred, because
they seem true and because he has not begun to question or sus
pect their accuracy. From the darkest days of Fetichism, through
all the corrupt fables of Polytheism, and down the turbid stream
of Christendom to this hour, men have been ever loyal to truth—
loyal to such truth as they could discover. They have toiled to
find it; and when found, as they think, they would fight for it
and die for it, giving up all this world below and risking all that
world above for the sake of it. They might have been happy
together as one family, but no ; they loved the truth better than
peace; and they welcomed the fire and sword which laid waste
their lands and made their streets run blood rather than sacrifice
the sacred treasure which they believed God had entrusted to their
keeping. Could they have done this, could they have suffered
what was far worse than the crusader’s steel, the cruel rupture of
their domestic love, for what they thought to be a lie 1 Impossible 2
a thousand times No ! They bore it all for truth, for what they
believed to be true. But what of the persecutors ? Greater still
was the sacrifice for truth which some of these men made. The
�6
persecutors forced themselves to trample on their holiest affections
and tenderest instincts before they could put their fellow-men to
torture and cruel death. They had to stiflle every relenting sigh,
to crush their pitying breasts against the stone walls of misguided
conscience, and to train themselves to the maddening sport of
witnessing horrors of torment without a flinching eye or a quiver
ing lip. They had to lay down their manhood for the time, and
clothe themselves in the fury—not of beasts, never was wild beast
so cruel as man—but in the fury of fiends, and all for truth !
What will not men do for truth ? In spite of all counterfeits
which claim our regard, in spite of all usurpers of her rightful
throne, men are loyally, though blindly, bent on serving truth ' on
finding it if they can, and on believing it, and living and dying,
and becoming devils for it, when found.
.And as of truth so of goodness, it is true that men at heart love
goodness. It is no answer to point to the enormous crimes that
have been done and are still being done; at the vices which infest
our fields and markets and towns, our highways and byways alike;
it is no answer to take me to the prisons and galleys, and to the
dark places of the earth, where evil reigns unchecked by such
means of restraint and discipline. I still tell you these men are
not lovers of evil for evil’s sake, as you suppose, but they are
mistaken utterly mistaken—lovers of goodness. Do you suppose
God has made man such a fool as to prefer evil to good if he knows
it ? Why, even the most fiendish of all human passions—revenge__
is a thirst for gratification, for something which seems to him
exquisitely desirable in itself, or the man would not seek it. It
is at the very root of it an excessive love of justice, an exaggerated
and therefore mistaken desire for what is right. I know that men
do wrong, knowing it to be wrong, and liking it for the passing
pleasure that it may afford; but I never knew one such who
loving it called it evil, or hating it called it good. Men hate the
evil in themselves, and think that they would be better if they
could. Men’s ideas of what is good or evil may be as numerous as
the stars. Some condemning what others approve ; but they are
all alike in condemning wrong as wrong, and upholding goodness
as goodness. If a man approves what I condemn, the difference is
not a moral one, but one of judgment. To him it seems right, and
�7
he can call it by no other name. To me it is evil and I cannot call
it good. Every man in one respect is a law unto himself, however
deficient he may be in what is called ethical science, however,
outwardly indifferent he may be to the well-being of otheis, he is
nevertheless, at heart, convinced that goodness is right and evil is
wrong, and up to the dim intelligence of his feeble mind would
bear his modicum of testimony on the side of goodness.
Now what have not these instincts for goodness and truth done
for man ? They are the very foundations of all civilization, the very
root of all religion. All the progress of the world, from the first
dawn of humanity, is due to the desire after goodness and truth.
Only try to realise the changes through which our race has passed
and you can come to only one conclusion, that 11 the true light
which lighteth every man that cometh into the world,” is this love
of right and truth by which we have ever been led onwards. Have
not we been mending since the world of man began ? Have not
we often and often learnt to change our moral code according as
experience or circumstance showed that it was good and right so
to do ? Do we not condemn what our forefathers deemed innocent,
and add to the number or cogency of pre-existing rules? We
could only do this, because our aim was goodness, and not mere
reverence for past law-givers. Is not the standard of virtue for
ever rising, not merely by improving on the models of the past, but
by leading us to think with greater reverence of their noblest
traits ? It is only because we love goodness, and carry with us the
true light which sheds light on that which has gone as well as on
that which is to come. Religious beliefs have come and gone in
like manner, perpetually but imperceptibly being modified by our
love of truth. The love of truth ever remains, no matter what the
creed with which it is associated. The false is hugged so long
as it is thought to be true j but [once exposed as falsehood, its
day is over. Down, down, it must go ; first into lower strata of
humanity who catch it and clutch at it as it falls, and then at last
to the very lowest ground on which human feet can tread and be
trampled into dust. A new or unfamiliar truth dawns on the
horizon, and straightway the foremost lovers of truth lift their
thirsting eyes to greet its advent, and welcome it with shouts of
joy. But some will shut their eyes, and hide themselves in their
�§
inner chambers, lest it should make them dissatisfied with the old
truths which they have loved so long; and so the world becomes
divided into foes and factions, each partizan forgetting the tie that
really binds them all—their common love of truth. Let them rail
at each other’s notions as much as they please. We are barbarians
still, and know no better mode of pressing on progress, or of
keeping it within a safe rate of movement; but while we do this,
let us not forget that we are both alike loyal 'to the truth which
neither of us has really found; that we, with our more con
spicuous sacrifices for the new truth, are not alone in our costly
virtue, but they, too, have much to bear and much to lose in the
perilous and somewhat ignoble task of fighting for a mummy, and
exposing their names to the ridicule of posterity for a mere shadow.
Let it be understood on both sides that both alike love truth and
goodness, and our contests of opinion will soon lose all their bitter
ness, and our controversies their sting.
But best of all is the assurance that however wicked and erring
men have been and are, God has made them to love goodness and
truth. The time will come when that deep seated love of goodness
will assert its mastery over the whole man, and present us fault
less before the Eternal Throne, just as that radical love of truth
will bring every one at last into that glorious region where
falsehood and error are unknown.
Then shall be fulfilled that grand old prophecy, “ After those
days, saith the Lord, I will put my law into their inward parts, and
write it in their hearts, and I will be their God, and they shall be
my people. And they shall teach no more, every man his neigh
bour, and every man his brother, saying, Know the Lord : for they
shall all know me from the least of them even unto the greatest.”
EASTERN POST Steam Printing Works, 89, Worship Street Finsbury, E.C.
�
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 & 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 true light: a sermon, preached at St. George's Hall, Langham Place, May 11th, 1873
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Voysey, Charles [1828-1912]
Description
An account of the resource
Place of publication: [London]
Collation: 8 p. ; 19 cm.
Notes: Printed by Eastern Post May 17th, 1873. Part of Morris Miscellaneous Tracts 6.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
[Eastern Post]
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
[1873]
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
G3417
Subject
The topic of the resource
Religion
Sermons
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 (The true light: a sermon, preached at St. George's Hall, Langham Place, May 11th, 1873), 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
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application/pdf
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Language
A language of the resource
English
Morris Tracts
Religion
Sermons
-
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5e10d2029c3891fab7ea4838b210c045
PDF Text
Text
DISCOURSE
Believe olgrnE
and thou shat.t
be saved.—JLcis xvi, 31.
Such was the burden of the first teaching of the Re
ligion upon wh^M^^^^^fe/bjMMisten d om is based.
Its first mi|^H^ appeared, declaring to all men, both
small
thajMMjtedoe^^S. in one Jesus of
Nazareth they would be saved.
What precisely was in
when they thus
talked of being saved, I do not undertake to say. But the
fact that, believing in Jesus, a man was delivered from evil
inclin%tiffl|n^Bb'e|^faB^^^Eel|i|hioned after a new
and high
jSp^ind humane, became conscious!
not only of a sense of safety, but of an ineffable peace of
mind, such as he had never known before,—this fact, I
do venture to say, was a salvation in the fullest meaning
of the word. If
teachySwhad any other mean
ing than thislfflcmM not possibly have been anything
better, nor so good. E®was a salvation worth giving
one’s life for.
It was strikingly illustrated in those first teachers them
selves. From being private, obscure persons, they became
�4
FAITH IN CHRIST
through their faith in Christ men of extraordinary mark,
of indomitable energy, stirring the world with their speech,
Fforming everywhere associations of men that gradually
■’evolutionized empires, and, notwithstanding manifold
(sufferings, conscious all the while of a joy that made the
prisons into which they were thrown ring with their glad
hymns.
The same thing wag shown also in great numbers of
their followers, both men and women, in old men and
tender girls, who, for their faith in Christ, with perfect
composure, nay, with an air of triumph, confronted the
horrors of the Roman theatrAl where they were flung to
be consumed in flames or torn in pieces by wild beasts.
Is it not, then, a matter of great interest to ascertain
how and why it was thatlwith faith in Christ, there came
so vital a change, so great a gaBation ?
And it is the more, interesting because there is still in
these days what bears the same name, Faith in Christ.
Whole nations are professing it. But it is not attended
by anything like the same Effects. Thousands signify
their profession of it bwolemn forms, but, between them
and others, what difference is there to see to, unless it be
that of the two, the latter are oftentimes the more agree
able in their manners^ and the more trustworthy in affairs,
while the former are noted chieflv for a punctilious oblervance of certain forms and a Scrupulous abstinence from
certain social amusements^ Beyond this, what now passes
for Christian Faith shows no remarkable force. It does
not keep the heart pure, nor save it from being eaten out
by pride, and intolerance, and a greed for money, that
�FAITH IN CHRIST
5
leads men to do the meanest things and the hardest. It
is no salvation from an abject deference to the way of the
world, or from the fanatical ambition which is driving so
many to sacrifices self-resp@cteihonor, and conscience to a
brilliant appearance and to social position. Does our
modern faith in Christ inspire any special enthusiasm for
Humanity, or what efforts in that behalf does it prompt,
save in fashionable ways, and- by popular methods, sub
scribing money and the liH3| It neither renders people
more amiable, nor gives them the cheerful air of a great
peace and joy in their believing.
Surely if our faith Md that ancient faith are one and
the same thing, it has undergone in this respect a mighty
change. It no longer saves men in the old-fashioned way.
It is claimed for it that it saves them from future and
eternal torments. I do not know about that. It certainly
does not, what it once did, save them now. Whence this
great difference ? What made the old faith such a power ?
The first thingEl J)
as Helping us to an
answer to thiMueswonT is this : in those early times faith
in Christ was n(ai)O|uSE safe, but very unpopular
and very unsafe. Indeed it was as much as a man’s life!
was worth, so much as to whisper the name of Christ with
respect in the car of his b(j§rm friend. It instantly ex
posed him to be shunned, pointed at, informed against
by his nearest of kin, put in peril of being hooted atJ
mobbed, stoned to death in the street.
What then is the conclusive presumption ? Why that
no one in his senses could then have been found believing
in Christ, unless he had been so mightily moved thereto
�6
FAITH IN CHRIST
that he could not for his life help it, unless there had
entered into him a power sharper than any two-edged
sword, piercing to the marrow. Understanding, heart,
conscience, all that was within him, must have wrought
to create in him faith in Christ. What else was there to
induce a man to believe in Christ? Everything else,
every interest in life, wen directly and most powerfully
*
the other way, to drive men off, as they valued their lives,
from so much as looking at his alleged claims. His
bare name was odious in the extreme, a great deal worse
than the name of Abolitionists some few years ago, and
that was bad enough, as you all know. It stood for
everything hateful, for the rankest Atheism, for the turn
ing of the world upside down, for deadly hatred of gods
and men.
The Christian Faith of those days, therefore, must have
been a most intimate personal conviction. It could have
been nothing else. It was not a hearsay, a tradition, nor
a phrase. It was no fancy. There was nothing to catch
the fancy about a man who had suffered the vilest of
deaths, but everything to shock and repel the fancy. It
was not a mere opinion. . Neither was it a faith which a
man might assert that he had, but did not know for cer
tain. It was the genuine thing, Faith, nothing less or
other.
Now we all know that Faith, properly so called, is one
of the greatest forces, if not the very greatest force, in all
known nature. It is the support which upholds the com
merce and prosperity of nations. Steam, electricity, mag
netism, powerful as they are, are its household servants,
�FAITH IN CHRIST
Mountains sink and valleys rise at its bidding.
7
It is
annihilating time and space. It is the men who believe
in the things which they aim at, who turn stumbling
blocks into stepping stones. They are the born rulers
upon whom all things and all men wait. They discover
and conquer new worlds. |gH|was the quality of Faith
in Christ at the first. It was faith ad no mistake.
Being thus a true, ISSg conviction, it could not be
concealed. It could no more be kept to itself, as you
now keeg your sceptical doubts to yourselves, than fire
can be kept to itself in the midst of dry straw. I have
no doubt that most, if not all, of those who, in those
early daysyvi|re ^‘Oju>g^^^^elieve InyTesus were brought
to it, at th e first, with great reluctance. The instant
there flashed upon them
of a favorable
leaning towards him, ^haW gKdEr must have gone
through them! It madp their hearts beat quick, you may
depend, and their cheeks flush and turn white, and the
sweat to stand in great beads upon their foreheads, as
there glared upon them the awful doom to be met, if they
dared to yield to this new and dangerous influence. Thus
they must have shrunk from it with affright, even while,
and even because, they felt themselves drawn towards it.
The inevitable effect oOtheESggfe to keep it off was
to make them think, no| tlfegM but the more, of the
perilous subject that was draSg them to itself with a
force not their own, as .with the clutch of Fate. Was
there anything that could drive it deeper and deeper into
their hearts, like trying to keep it out, trying to forget it ?
The arrow that had pierced them was barbed. The effort
�8
FAITH IN CHRIST
to get away from the object of their faith, forced them
into closer acquaintance with it. And the nearer they ap
proached it, the more powerful grew its attraction, and
the more their interest in it increased, until they were
so helpless to resist it that they had to speak out or die.
They might keep it secret for awhile, so long as their
dread of turning friends into'ifoes and of suffering perse
cution was stronger than their new conviction. But this
conviction, being alive, was sure to grow, as we have just
seen, and to keep growing. The spring of a new life,
opened within them steadily rising, would, sooner or
*
later, float them over all their fears, and bear them right
onward into the very thick of th dangers that menaced
*
them. In fine, the cl^mge%taking place in them, would
be sure to betray itself, if not in one way then in another;
most probably in the first place, by their lukewarmness
in the observance of their old religious customs and by
their neglect of the altars of the gods. A word spoken,
nay, a word unspoked silence, might blab it. Accord
ingly they would be forced,^sooner or later, to confess the
faith that they had embraced, or, rather, that had em
braced them.
Here we see another reason why the primitive faith
had such extraordinary power. The open profession of
it instantly summoned into active service one’s whole man
hood. The best that was in a man had to come right to
the front. There was an immediate necessity for all his
courage and fortitude. Hesitation, fear, had to be trampled
under foot. Do you wonder,—does it seem hard to under
stand,—how a simple faith in Christ, now so easy, should
�FAITH IN CHRIST
3
have had such power, power to work the most difficult km
changes, rarely witnessed,., the change of the persoiSd
character, the salvation of the soul ? The wonder ceases,
the fact is in great part explained, when we consider the
circumstances in which this^aith wiiconceived and con
fessed. It was in the immediate presence of danger, and
of death in the frightfullest shapes, and at the cost of the
tendere&i ties.
So that, wf|»ut>Twference to the person of him in whom
this faith was reposed, or to the power there was in him,
we may readily perceive that the circumstances attending
the public confession of it must have rendered it very
powerful. An occasion, in fact a most urgent necessity,
*
was created for the instant exertion of the utmost reso
lution. Those^mfhj, aunties were put in immediate re
quisition, the possession of which is equivalent to a regen
eration of Ee whole wan.
with salvation.
A man was at once made brave and true; and this he
could ngMfe and be the same man that he was before,
with his low worldly habits and his sins cleaving to him
still. He was shaken all out of them, an'd translated into
a higher co *fSl, wfeer<gieEtfeME^S-e had the ascen
d
dency over the lower, the s#^iltfhver the flesh. Thus he
had at once, on the spot, searching experience of salvation
in the profoundest sense of the word.
Now, in thesf times, it is entirely different. There is
nothing of this kind connected with IS profession of faith
in Christ. It long ago ceased to be dangerous and un
popular. So far from its demanding any strength of
mind now, the weakest man may proclaim it aloud at the
�10
FAITH IN CHRIST
' Street corners, without exerting anymore force than is re
quired to open his lips. Instead of calling for courage, it
appeals to cowardice, to the most worldly motives. To
profess it, we are under the necessity, not of reforming,
but of conforming, a necessity very easily complied with.
Thousands there are who, by upholding certain institu
tions, virtually profess to be Christian believers, when
they have no intelligent personal faith whatever. And
so it has come about that there has been generated the
monstrous delusion that the most superficial, unthinking
formalism of thought and observance is a religion, a
Religion unto salvation!
There are no two things in naturegmore opposite, the
one to the other, than the faith of these our days and the
faith of the first Christians, the modern Profession and the
ancient Confession. The formers is a garment woven by
the world, having no more vital Hinection with the man
himself than his clothes have, nor .so much, for his clothes
keep him warm, while his faith Fworn, not for comfort,
*
but for fashion’s sake, that he may do as everybody else
is doing. But the ancient! Faith !—it was mingled with
the heart’s blood. Every nerve was thrilled by it. It
was a flaming fire, blazing at the very centre of life.
And it was thus vital, because it was no faith of man’s
making. It was kindled by Nature, by God himself.
Faith came to men in those days, attended, not by the
acclamations of their fellow-men, but by their curses, loud
and deep. It came, through fire and blood, girt with
lightnings and thunders, breaking in upon them, not by
their will, but in the first instance, without their will,
�* FAITH IN CHRIST
11
and against their will. They did not choose it. It chose
them, and made them all its own through struggles am
agonies almost breaking their hearts.
Consequently, as they could no more shake their faith
off than they could ‘unesseaace’ themselves, it was imposJ
sible for them to hold it ligh||ys, as a superficial appendag J
worn JnlvJ^rlsnow. Why, it was nothing less than their
very liffl What else had they on earth or in heaven to
sustain them ami^w ho^ror^bhal surrounded them |
What deeper interei^gadHIBy thanjffknow what it was
that they were putting their faith in at the cost of all that
they h elewdear
They could not impose upon
themselves, as we do now-a-days, with mere forms and
phrases. They could not feed upon articulate wind.
With the fierce flaml^ of persecution darting right at
them, they had to plunge in to the very heart of their
faith and wring all the life out of it they could. Once
committed|^thei^iSSBW' aQ face to face with a ter
rible opposition!thSthalO ma!fefy>od to themselves the
fearful position which they had taken. They had to for
tify themseivclj the uttermost. As they could look for
no reinforcement to eom^^ their aid from without, as
the world around them was all iigrms against them, they
were forced back, driven in, into the very citadel, where
sat enthroned the Obj e^| d^heir faith, there to obtain the
strength which wja||needed^ make their resistance effec
tual and to secure the victory. Accordingly they knew
the person in whom they believed.
And here, friends, we come to the last and main source
whence the early Christian Faith derived its power. But
�IS
FAITH IN CHRIST
let me repeat briefly what I have said. It is worth while.
Our subject is of great moment.
The first reason that I have given why Faith in Christ
was so strong at the outset is, that it really was faith, a
genuine conviction of the mind. Such it was of necessity.
There was no earthly inducement to move any sane man
to believe in Jesus, unless his understanding, his consci
ence, his whole soul compelled I aim to believe in him.
There was nothing to lead him to imagine that he believed
when he did not believe. Gfeete was not a loophole for
any self-deception. There was e wry thing to frighten
people away from the thought of Christ, to deter them
jfijpm so much as glancing i# that direction, save with
speechless dread. The faith ithfn of those days was a
real conviction. And a true, conviction is never without
Bower. Indeed, we see e<ery^here that personal faith is
the power of the world.
I In the next place, that earljy faith, being of the true
■quality, could not be hidden, kept to itself, although,
doubtless, they who had it were prompted by the fear of
the alienation of friends and the violence of foes to keep
it as long as they could to themselves. You may rely
Ripon it, they were in no hurry to publish what was sure
to bring swift dishonor and death. The Christian faith
could not, therefore, be confessed without the exertion of
the utmost moral force. Thus the salvation of the be
liever took place, incidentally, undesignedly on his part,
without his being aware of the great change begun in
him. Forced to depend upon himself, he had to dispense
with what is as the breath of our nostrils: human coun-
�FAITH IN CHRIST
13
tenance and sympathy. When that can be done, ther^Q
a new birth. Self-trust is the indispensable condition
of spiritual growth. In relying upon ourselves, we emerge
from our minority. We cease to be children. We standi
upon our feet. We go alone, leaning upon no crutches
of authority, listening to no hutward voice for our law,
but becoming every one a law to himself, or, which is the
same min^ffle sacred Jaw-. |Bfe&>ed to in the heart, ass^^
its supremacy over
power comes to us
from ®iS,in, from the immaterial, (ftifathomable, im
mortal soul within. Thence it w,a| thatWFaith at the firsl
drew its extraordinary strength. There, within, the great
Idea of Christ met tth^aiwi believers and communicate<l
to them such power that one of them exclaimed: “ I can
do allTthings through Christ strengthening me.”
I haveBras indicated two things which made Faith in
Christ, a faith unt^' salvation. The third and the foun
tainhead of its p)w6- wwhida EMey who believed drank
deep, and from which they drew a life, exuberant and
immortal, was, the object of their faith, in one word,
Christ.
Now in order to see #na^SweMthere was in him to
move men so mightily, we must endeavor to conceit
what a wonder, what apurpassin^mirade that phenom-1
enon was Tthe appearancirli^flthe world of such a man as
Jesus of Nazareth, considered simply as a man. I have
no idea that he himself e’verdrearned of claiming to be
anything more.
His name now is representative only of creeds, of
churches, of doctrines, which so far from commanding
; ‘•.'Gr' jA-K
.v. £. 1 • X <.J ’’
�14
FAITH IN CHRIST
the respect of the understanding, fetter and gag the under
standing, and shock the heart and pervert the conscience;
Or, if the name of Christ still represents a person, it is
a person of the Godhead, a vague fiction of the theological
imagination;
Or, if a human person, still only a person of so shadowy
an existence that he is hardly to be descried through the
legends and fables, of which the accounts that we have of
him are supposed to be made up.
It requires no slight effort, therefore, to put out of mind
these present modes of thought and to consider what a
new, strange, wonderful thing the Story of Jesus,—told
so humanly as it is told in swstaifce when the record is
head aright,—must have been in that distant age, long
before our creeds and churches and doctrines of Trinities
and Double Natures, and our critical and sceptical notions
were dreamed of, and when men were everywhere wor
shipping military power, and when^too, with huge tem
ples of stone and thousands of idols, and altars smoking
with the blood of slaughtered animals, and long glittering
processions of priests and countless imposing ceremonies,
—when with such things all that is sacred was identified,
and men hardly knew that there was anything holier or
more venerable.
Just think, friends, what a new thing under the sun
was the story that was told, told in the all-subduing
accents of the sincerest conviction, in the voluptuous cities
of Greece, and in the old warlike Roman empire, of a
lyoung man, of stainless purity, in the bloom of life, only
thirty years of age, of humble origin, put to a most shame-
�FAITH IN CHRIST
15
ful and cruel death for his simple truth’s sake, who, while
living, had gone about doing good, knowing not in t.lW
morning where he should rest his head at night, speaking
such words of wisdom that people came to him in crowds
from far and near, and followed him till they were ready
to drop from hunger and fatigue. He told them stor™
(so went the fervid 'report)-, breathing fraternal love and
the deepest human tenderness. He gave his blessing to
the poor, the sorrowing, the-gentle^tEe merciful, the pure
in heart, the lovers of peace; and so fearless was he withal,
as free as a child, as simple as the light and the air, amidst
savage passions ragfegO^gst- him, going his perilotB
way straight to a foreseen, violent death just as he walked,
just as he breathed, doing and saying the greatest thin J
as the merest m^grlTof course, fef-ppssessed, self-forget-J
ting, with heart open^^^thje while as the day to the
neglected and the outcast, transferring his own claims,
whatever they - werok thef Bwest of his brother-men. JI
malice of foes, no treachery of friends, so it appeared,
could exhaust or embitter the sweetness of his spirit. He
took little
hi^arms^«figessed them. The
wretched flocked »to him ias to a wide open temple of
Mercy. The poor woman, sin-defiled, from whose ton J
the pioujshranj as from ir a, leper, he addressed in words
of brothers kindness. rWhath a^ftene was that! The
poor heart-broken creature bowing fown and kissing his
very feet over and over again, and, as her hot tears fell
upon them like rain, wiping them away with her hair!
Such are only some of the many things which were told
of him, and which gave the world assurance of this new
�16
FAITH IN CHRIST
and most original Man. Could we only read the narra
tive of his last few hours, as we should, if we read it now
[for the first time, Roman Triumphs, Royal Progresses,
Coronation pomps, the Te Deums and Misereres of cathefdrals would all vanish away before the mingled pathos
and majesty of those scenes.
What a story, I reiteratflwas that to be told to a world,
‘[shining all o’er with naked Swords!’ What a sensa
tion must it have made!
What attention, what interest
must it have arrested! What Sympathy ! What adoring
admiration!
Furthermore, and borers the fact of supreme interest,
me Story of the Life and Death of Jesus was a wonder,
the like of which had never before been witnessed on
Earth, why? For what -rcasorif Even because it was
[perfectly simple, thoroughly natural, essentially human.
Being thus natural and human, it went straight into every
open heart as its native homfft, and Jesus was welcomed
there as the nearest of kin, the most intimate relative of
mankind. In fact, that Story, although its apparently
preternatural incidents affecte'd the imagination greatly
and made the world ring again, still was the most deeply
touching in this: that it silently breathed a thoroughly
human spirit, a spirit which was in far closer kinship
to the deepest and best in human nature than any mere
bniracles or any affinity of blood could possibly claim.
On this account it was that men took it in as naturally as
their eyes received the light or their lungs the air.
And all the more deeply did it interest them because
there was scarcely anything then to interest the popular
�FAITH IN CHRIST
mind, that went beyond the eye and the passion of fear and
the love of the marvellous. It was these only that were ad
dressed and excited, nothing deeper. Consequently, when
there went ahroaMan® from lips touched by the fire of
personal faith in its truth, the Story of one, whose whole!
being throbbed with ® »irit^St struck to the very heart,
quickening into full activity its noblest sentiments, people
leaped to embrace him, the most formidable obstructions
notwithslandinglby a sympathy as instinctive as that
which makes the ®hild cling to its mWier’s bosom.
By the way, we^^^-|jQM'St»ied! to speak of Jesus as the
Founded of ferisip^fefc/ Butf as I conceive of him, he
had no Sought of ®O»ly
a religion. He
was and is the foundation of Christianity, but not the
founder. . It had no founder. It founded itself. And it
was for this ver^^eason,he had no scheme of his
own, because, in th^e_ freedom and simplicity of Nature,
there went forth from him an effluence which was one
with the deepest and best in the soul of man,—for this
reason it gagthat a religion sprang from him which has
lasted now »r cBituMeSand fcwillBlfi^ for centuries
come.
But to return. When once we fully apprehend this
fact th® H was a simple human life, as natural as it was
original, the fbaa^ where^il^^O aSo^ on the wings of
faith, we begin to un(figtandFvhv,it was that, notwith
standing the fearful circumstance attending the confes
sion of belief in it, it at once took captive such a host of
men and women. The increase of the first believers was
amazingly rapid. Immediately after the death of Christ
�18
FAITH IN CHRIST
they were numbered, according to the Book of Acts, by
thousands. Thirty years afterwards, in the capital of the
Roman Empire, and Rome was then a great way off from
Judea, there was, as Tacitus informs us, a mighty multi
tude of them, ‘multitude ingens' The Catacombs of
*
Rome are filled with the ashes of the early Christians, and
their number is well nigh incredible.
The fact was, as I have said, the would was occupied
with superficial formalities, altars, and statues, splendid
rituals, sacrificial offerings, and holidays; things that
engrossed attention, and so Sased the conscience with
petty scruples, that, as Plutarch states, on one occasion, a
religious procession to propitiate some god, owing to some
trifling deviation from the prescribed forms, started from
the temple thirty-six times. Hardly,.anything deeper was
appealed to than the love of sight-seeing, and the super
stitious passion for thei marvellous.
And yet, consider, friend^ -those ancient generations
of Jews and Greeks and.4 Romans,—they were human
beings like ourselves, far more like than different. They
had this same human heart bleating all the while in their
bosoms. They were brothers, sisters, sons, daughters,
fathers, mothers, and on daily occasions were perforce
following the kindly dictates of our common humanity.
In the midst of all that externality and child’s play,
there came, in a man, in a young man, the living, breath
ing power of sacred human affection, showing the true
life to be, not a gilded ritual, but one ceaseless office of
self-forgetting human love. Of course it came like the
rain, like the former and the latter rain to the thirsty
�FAITH IN CHRIST
19
earth. It went down, swift and straight, down to the
central core of our human nature, whence it came, melt
ing the hardness which had grown over it, setting its
deepest springs flowing, and causing it to flower out
noble and saintly deeds.
Thus it is apparentnthe one wbduing charm was not
any new truth or doctrine, addressed only to the specula
tive faculty. Far enough Was it from being any system
of theology. Neither was it any miracle, which, at the
utmost, could excite only surprise and wonder. It is no
image of Jesus as a wonder-worker; it is Jesus in the
weakest condition of human nature, as a little child in his
mother’^ arms, or as hagBg dead on the Cross, that has
for ages since takBplgpM^ajl commanded the homage
of Christendom. It is no bewildering Tri-une God, but a
mother, exalted above God, a human mother, to whom the
tenderest worship has been
and widely rendered.
The Madonna andgn^^Kfl^—to what myriads of suf
fering andTlying men have these most human of symbols
spoken of the InfingjBove fl This iff was, the purely
human and humane spirit of Jesus, which through those
who at the first believed in him, ran like quicksilveS
from heart to heart by the irresistible power of the inde
structible syiflpathies of human nature.
So was it at the first. How is it now ? Now that Faith
in Christ is no longer persecuted, no longer unpopular,—
now that all is so changed in this respect, has the object
of Faith lost its vitality ? Can we no longer be saved by
Christ as the men and women of old were saved by him ?
2
�20
FAITH IN CHRIST
Was the saving power of this Man of men exhausted in
those early days ?
It would argue but very feeble sensibility to the great
ness of Jesus, it would indeed be doing him great dishonor,
to forget that it is not possible in such a world as this of
ours that so bright a light should arise and shine without
gradually spreading itself far and wide, and, notwithstand
ing whatever clouds of ignorance and superstition may
arise, should be reflected from unnumbered points, and, in
the course of time, render the whole atmosphere of Life
luminous and impregnate that with its saving efficacy, thus
consecrating all Life to the ministry of human Salvation.
This it is that has taken place in the case of Christ.
His spirit was caught by thos^ in attendance upon him,
and through them by a great host of confessors and mar
tyrs,—a cloud of witnesses; and so there started into ac
tivity countless saving agencies, Christ-like lives and
deaths, inspiring memories, humane institutions, revolu
tions, reformations, emancipations of multitudinous races;
and through these, and through all the freedom and
civilization which have followed' upon his appearance in
the world, Jesus is still carrying on the work of Salva
tion, of the blessings whereof all are, consciously or un
consciously, more or less partakers, even those who deny
his influence, and question his very existence. The his
tory of Europe, for now nearly two thousand years, is the
history of Christ, still far from being finished. At this
hour, as a philosophical writer has remarked, Europe is
struggling onward to realize the Christian ideal.
Is it only, however, in this indirect way, by the spirit
�FAITH IN CHRIST
21
which these reflections of his personal influence propagate,
that he is still the Saviour of men ? Has the full, rich
spring of his personal power, which at the first so flooded
human hearts, run dry, so that he is no longer able to
comman^j faith in himself that shall be unto salvation ?
Ah! dear friends, could he only be seen as he was, in
his natiyg greatness, jhtW earts would .burn with something
of the fire o^sa^tguaMi which
kindled in theirs of
old. But he is
longer visible. His person has been
for longlages hidden in th ^Storting mists generated by
the imaginatio®, wHRJth^unprecedented novelty of such
a life most jywrMBQt^^d. The extravagant and ir
rational representations thal hf^gbeen made of him could |
not reach in to the cenwal springs of our nature. They
can only play u
surface, and noisily agitate that.
To the still de^^^S csgnotfj^getrate.
And now, whf^t^^^tagjysicaljsions that have so
long veiled the human person of Jesus are fading away,
the case is Tiardly
to the blinding mists
of SuperstWon ^a^^iUd^ed^i^h di mists as blinding of
Scepticism • and to nuOW^s p^Bflonly a myth. He is
not known.
I should not presume to mah^ this assertion, were not
the reason plain wny he is not known. The ignorance,
the superstition, the monstrous dogmas, for which his
name has been cWmed, gjaavfl driven even intelligent,
learned, and conscientious men to the extreme of regard
ing with distrust,, one might almost say with contempt,
those artless accounts of Jesus, which have come down to
us, and from which alone we obtain any knowledge of him
�B2
FAITH IN CHRIST
personally. Accordingly, while, on the one hand, these
accounts are studied to find authority for some established
creed, on the other, they are read only to feed the scepti
cism with which they are looked upon. Jesus must needs,
therefore, be unknown when we seek, not for him, but for
the confirmation of some system of faith, or of no faith.
Murmur not, complain not, that you cannot see him.
4 No man,’ he himself is recorded to have said, ‘no man
can come to me unless He who sent me draw him’
Where is the single, earnest eye, to which alone, bent full
and searchingly on the record, its meaning will open, and,
emerging from the dimness of centuries, Jesus will stand
in sunlight clearness befor.e us with arms outstretched to
save us ?
Of all the great personages of History, there is no one
of whom so individual and living an idea may be had as
of Jesus. Such is my conviction. And for this reason,
not only because the accounts of him, as I have found, are
impressed all over and all through .with inimitable marks
of truth, but because, brief and imperfect as they are, they
are, to a singular degree, made.ujTof just such particulars
as always afford the most satisfactory insight into the stuff
and quality of the persons of whom they are related.
Thus persuaded, I believe the time will come when it
will be understood what manner of man Jesus was. As
we learn to know him, and to appreciate his exalted char
acter ; as we thus draw near to him, his spirit will breathe
upon us, and we shall receive the Holy Ghost. We shall
be learning Veneration and Love. Thus will he quicken
into a. new life those best sentiments of our nature by which
�FAITH IN CHRIST
23
it will be delivered from whatever now hardens or depraves
it. In this way, Faith in Christ personally will again
put forth its saving power. ‘The idolatry of dogma!’
says Mr Lecky, ‘will pass away. Christianity, being
rescued from the gitarianism and intolerance that have
defaced it, will shine Mg own Iplgpdor, and, sublimate®
above all the sphere of controversy, will assume its right
ful position as an ideat and not a system, as a person cmd
not a creed.’*
There is, in these times, in one great respect, a special
need of such a Saviour. The grasp of human authorities
and hereditary faiths upon the minds of men is loosened I
they cannot hold the world forever. In the free and pro
gressive M^Mytejd^^o;uishes Christendom, Science
is advancing as never before. Theories of Life, of its
origin and development, are becoming popular, which put
to naught our E&^Hfiogms, anlBtoevolutionizing our
modes ofjFhSght.
there who
earnest men of Science are
me mni^me. and can find no
God. Startled
listen and hear
everything attempted to be accounted for by blind law
and brute Enatter, f we ^ni to be in a boundless desert,
where is no SaOed Presence, where consummate order
reigns, but~nd Infinite Love Ipreathe
.
*
In this state of things, what tongue can tell the worth
of such a Person as Jesus ? When the things told of him
are established as historically true,—when he ceases to be
* History of the Rise and Influence of the Spirit of Rationalism
Europe, p. 191. American edition, 1866.
in
�24
FAITH IN CHRIST
a myth, and becomes a Reality, and we accept him as a
Fact in Nature as truly as any fact that Science has dis
covered, or may discover, and in as perfect accord with
Nature, then, as plants spring up under the air and the
light, there will be created in us spontaneously an im
pregnable Trust, and an inextinguishable Hope, which,
to all purposes of guidance and consolation, will be equiva
lent to Faith in God. The Idea of Jesus, enshrined within
us, by the aspirations it will kindle for the Highest, will
be a witness in our inmost consciousness of the Invisible
and Everlasting. Beholding Jesus, we shall behold God
and Immortality. And, moreover, what a testimony shall
we have to the truth of our great Christian Ideas in the
fact, that it was in them that he, in whom the highest
condition of humanity lias Peen shown, lived, and moved,
and had his being! These1 rit was thaQreated him after
so Godlike a fashion.
The great and the good of every age and country have
ministered, and are forever ministering, by the inspiration
which they breathe, to IK salvation of mankind, as well
from the gloom of unbelief, as from the darkness of super
stition. But Jesus stands high, high above them all; not,
it may be granted, in the abstract wisdom of his teachings,
although it may be questioned whether, even in this re
spect alone, any other of the great leaders of the world
have approached him,—have uttered so much of the high
est truth as he; but in the overflowing fulness of his spir
itual being, in the fact that he impresses us with the con
viction that there was a great deal more in him than his
words or even his acts expressed, an unfathomed reserve
�FAITH IN CHRIST
25
of personal power. Who has ever moved the world
like him ? Who is there that, like him, has challenged
centuries to define his position,—to take his measure?
He so stirred the imagination alone, that for ages, poor
peasant as he was, he has heen held to be nothing less
than the Infinite God himself; and this, too, not in
the absence of information concerning him, inviting the
imagination to so extravagant a flight, but in the face
of explicit facts showing him to have been a man, a
tempted,4suffering, dying, all-conquering man. ‘Two
things,’ said the philosopher Kant, 1 fill me with awe I
the starry heavens and the sense of moral responsibility
in man.’ To these two I add a third, filling the soul
with faith and love and hope, as well as awe, the Per
son of
To the Spirit, in him made Flesh of our
flesh, be this fair Church, risen from its ruins, every stone
of it, and th4 living Church within, its pastor, my friend,]
brother,..son, and his flock, dedicated now and forever!
�DEDICATORY HYMN
BY ROBERT COLLYER
0 Lord our God, when storm and flame
Hurled homes and temples into dust,
We gathered here to bless thy name
And on our ruin wrote our trust.
Thy tender pity met ourapain,
Swift through the world the angel ran
And then thy Christ appeared again
Incarnate, in the heart of man.
Thy lightning lent its fuming wing j
To bear his tear-blent sympathy,
And fiery chariots rusIHfflto bring
The offerings of humaniw.
Thy tender pity met our pain,
Thy love has raised us from the dust.
We meet to bless thee, Lord, again,
And in our temple sing our trust.
�
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Victorian Blogging
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A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library & 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>
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Conway Hall Library & Archives
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2018
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Conway Hall Ethical Society
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Discourse: faith in Christ
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Place of publication: [s.l.]
Collation: 25, [1] p. ; 24 cm.
Notes: From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. Text of discourse from Acts xvi, 31 - "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved". Final unnumbered page is a dedicatory hymn by Robert Collyer. Includes bibliographical reference.
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[s.n.]
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[187-?]
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G5368
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<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 (Discourse: faith in Christ), 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>
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English
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Sermons
Conway Tracts
Faith
Sermons
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Text
DISCOURSE
UPON
CAUSES FOR THANKSGIVING:
PREACHED AT
WATERTOWN, NOV. 30, 1862.
By JOHN WEISS.
BOSTON:
WRIGHT & POTTER, PRINTERS, 4 SPRING LANE.
1 8 6 2.
�J
�DISCOURSE.
Make: iv: 28.
FIRST THE BLADE, THEN THE EAR, AFTER THAT- THE FULL CORN IN THE EAR.
The content and thankfulness of New England are committed
every spring to her soil by fee hand! oft farmers, who find it
again spreading the color of California gold over their autumn
fields. And what an alchemist is a former, to get that color out
of land so poor and climate so harshgwhefe, what with the
prices of labor, the expense of implements;,;' of draining, manur
ing, keeping of stock and buildings,; and a comfortable life
through a tedious winter not a great deal of feat color finds its
way into his pockety however much he may store in his bins
or send to market. And W;herever.,a ploughmans, from the
Kennebec to the Mississippi, turniiig^fat or meagre soils to the
sun of a temperate summer^ there springs the beautiful thanks
giving harvest of New England# and of the North. Manufac
tures, shoe and leather dealing, all. the trades and inventions,
eat the pumpkins and the corn of fee farmer. And the pursuits
which are closely allied to^agideulture,such as, the breeding
of cattle and the growing of wool, foelp the farmer to create
and feed a North. Lawrence# and Lowell can consume all the
cotton they get, when the farmer of the East and West dumps
his potatoes at the ^factory door. ■ When the great arm of the
engine vibrates, and a million spindles and the hearts of those
who tend them sing, see how fee sJendentferead goes up from
the ball, carrying all the. crops of the year wife it to spin them
into Wamsutta or Merrimac, or other famous brands. The morn
ing tattoo which the Lynn shoemakers beat on their lap-stones
is the echo of flails in a thousand barns. Genesis says, that the
Lord God took a little earth to make the first man ; now man
�4
breathes his own breath of life into the earth again, and it
makes him and sustains him every day.
There is not much land, even among the rich river-bottoms
and prairies of the West, so genial that man has “ only to tickle
it with a hoe to make it laugh with a harvest.” What would
our farmers think of that great tract of black earth in the
empire of Russia, “ lying between the fifty-first and fifty-seventh
parallels of latitude, comprising about 247,000,000 acres, so rich
that if manured the first years of culture, the crops often prove
abortive from excessive vegetation. The thickness of this deposit
varies from three to six feet, and in many places it runs to an
unknown depth.”* But how hard it is to evoke civilization and
knowledge out of that depth, because neither of them cultivate
it. Yet it is in that great temperate plateau of Russia, called
“ The Industrial Region,” that freedom and religion when
planted may be expected to subdue the rankness of the soil.
Here freedom and religion coax and flatter sterility till it fairly
forgets itself and smiles.
In a still autumn morning, when the brown roads have
drift-heaps of red and yellow leaves, and the air seems to be
nothing but a mingling of shine and warmth, what a ride
it is to take up and down the valleys here, through the north
part of Watertown, where the first farmers of New England
sowed their English grass, and across Beaver brook through
the uplands of Waltham, and behind Prospect-hill, where
the farms and wood-lots stretch pleasantly away. Perhaps you
turn off towards Lexington, and cross the famous turnpike
down which the farmers “fired the first shot heard round
the world,” when, as minute-men, they top-dressed their
fields with English blood, and were not chary of their own.
Religion and liberty have grown well ever since. You ride past
their manifest tokens; you pause at their memorial when you
hitch your horse at a farmer’s door, and ask the price of his
potatoes and pumpkins which lie there, great heaps of plenty,
before barns bursting with corn-shucks and upland grass, the
sinews of war and of peace. No sharp-shooting behind the stone
fences now, nor irregular firing up and down the road. The
cricket chirps from the door-step a tranquil song, whose burden
Patent Office Report, 1861. Agricultural.
�5
’seems to be that Nature is laying in sunshine, with good hus
bandry, for another spring. The children break out of the little
primary school-house, where New England planting is carried
on too,—boys and girls trained to grow straight and sturdy, to
handle some day the plough, the loom, or the musket, as the
country needs. Now they are the finest of all the crops on the
slopes which they shall one day inherit. What a ride you can
take through the country lanes, bordered with nothing finer
than the pendent barberry and the purpling sumach, unless you
have an eye for the comfort, and thanksgiving, and popular
Liberty, whose stateliness lines all the road, and stretches far
away between the hills.
When a people own the land, wd own themselves, and conse
quently do not depend upon oiid product and one employment
for their means of intelligence and happiness, they are superior
to bad luck, and know little of the discomforts of a crisis. In
this respect what a different sight meets the traveller who is
passing to-day through the cotton districts of Lancashire,
England, where a population offl nearly three millions have
their welfare entangled in the will-machinery, and cease to
hope as the factory ©fiimnies Q,ease to smoke. They are as
piuch the slaves of thll cotton-plant as the negroes who hoe it
and gin its blossoms. They belong to a style of civilization
*
which thinks little of man, but a great deal of trade ; which
dooms a man all his life, and his? children after him, to make
the head of a pin, to pick under grouffl. at a stratum of coal, to
pull and ripple flaxjfe1 tend a machine in a mill. Take away
his pin-head, his pick-axe, or fail to. feed his machine with
cotton, and he is a p^w^ef| he,,comes upon the parish for his
daily support, or has a^frowl of soup ladled out to him at the
door of some charity. In Manchester, which has a population
of 357,604, the pauperism is-Bow 10f per cent., and out-door
relief is distributed to 16,334 persons at the rate of Is. 4d. per
head per week—about two shillings of ©Mr money. Out of
eighty-four cotton mills, twenty-two
are
**
stopped, and thirty are
working short time. But Manchester is comparatively well off.
The town of Stockport, about six miles from Manchester, has,
out of a population of 54,681, 18,000 engaged in the factories,
in good times; but now there are only 4,000 working on full
�6
time, 7,283 are wholly unemployed, and 7,000 are working on
short time. Then 1,000 people belonging to other trades
depend upon the staple trade, thrown out of work. 30,000
people in Stockport receive relief. But what an amount of
misery do those figures represent. The more able-bodied men
go tramping over the country to seek work, but spinners and
weavers are not able-bodied, and a day’s march often lays them
up. Some of them who can sing form a little company, and
go singing glees, “ with nobody minding,” and few farthings for
their half-starved music. The women also try to win a’bitter
meal with the sweetness of their voice. A spectator describes
a scene of this kind : “ One young woman, about thirty years of
age, with a child in her arms, was standing in a by-street,
singing in a sweet, plaintive voice, a Lancashire song. It was
her first song in public ; and the tremulous voice and downcast
look, as she hugged with nervous grasp her little one, was very
touching. When the song was over, the poor creature looked
round with a timid air to the bystanders ; but she had miscalcu
lated her strength—the occasion was beyond her power of
endurance—and she burst into a passionate flood of tears.”*
I see m that womaU, the patient England held in slavery by a
selfish Toryism, which would be. glad to-morrow to recognize
another slavery in order to keep its own fed and quiet. A
relieving officer in Stockport, says : “ I have gone into the
rooms of the English operatives when they have not had a
mouthful of bread under the roof, and perhaps not had what
you may call a meal the whole $ay, and nothing but shavings to
sleep on through the night, yet they talked as cheerfully and
resignedly as if there was every prospect of employment on the
morrow.” These are subjects of a government which has
trained their bodies and souls to do only one thing, to mind the
brutifying monotony of one machine, and is now exulting over
what it calls the failure of a Democracy, as it lets arms and
steamers for a Southern aristocracy slip through one hand, and
a little soup for its starving poor through the other. This,
then, is the largess of a constitutional monarchy,—piratical
cannon and comfort for slave-drivers abroad, and the great
institution of Soup for slaves at home I
* A Visit to the Cotton Districts, 1862, p. 4.
�7
Even this latter is grudgingly bestowed. Many of the richest
mill-owners have not yet subscribed a farthing to the relief
funds, so that it is a difficult matter to secure a shilling a head
per week to the poor applicants. Yet who subscribed to the
“Alabama?” Whose money fits out steamer after steamer with
munitions to keep the life in Southern slavery ? What capital
is it that buys Confederate bonds at eighty-four cents, and that
is willing to take the risks of sea and a blockade to help in
undermining the great Republic whose manifold prosperity it
dreads ? Thank God, the elements of an American Thanks
giving, material and spiritual, are, and forever will be, beyond
the reach of open levy dr secret m^lfe'e of itsjiearty haters.
In Ashton-under-eLyne, whose population is 36,791, there are
10,933 hands employed tdfi^^MH^^^iting a population of
nearly 22,000. The existing means Of relief reach only 9,000
of these; that is, there are moi^thanb 10,000 dependent on
private charity, or their own eesoffm^ The 9,000 cost <£480
per week. The mill-owners in this place have been disposed to
help the operativestfff'Someof thdm have allowed their unem
ployed hands as much as two^and^shipen'c’e a week, some lend
them money, others maintain a daily distribution of food.
In Preston the progress of the distress is shown by the fol
lowing figures : in August of this year fehe number of poor
relieved by the rates was fe,2'0l| and by' the Public Relief
Committee, 21,616 ; but in September the number had swelled
to 14,289 relieved by the rates, and 23,932 by the Committee.
“ During the week ending September 13, the Relief Committee
distributed 16,832 loaves, weighing;, 601:6 lbs.; 11,301 quarts
of soup, and 4,820 qaaafts' of coffee.” There are seventy-one
firms owning mills imPr^stbff ^ ofthese,. forty-eight contributed
the pitiful sum of :£l,9f8
a re^ifwd of £12,000. Yet
there are 27,600 factory operatives; whose actual financial loss
per week amounts to mop® than £11,00'0. This happens every
week, and one in every seveii and a half of the entire popula
*
tion of Preston become entirely pauperized. To counterbalance
this, forty-eight rich mill-owners contributed less than £2,000,
not per week, but their definitive subscription for the year !
See how these poor men were obliged to take their money
out of the savings banks. In the single town of Blackburn
�8
the annual deposits, from 1855 to 1861, “ had risen from
£18,118 to £49,943, or more than £30,000.” But what was
that sum to the working classes who had lost since August,
1861, at least £350,000 in wages, “ and that amount is now
being increased at the rate of £12,000 per week.” During six
months, down to last May, the withdrawals from the banks were
£10,000 in excess of the usual amount. These savings have
been all swallowed up by this time. “ A lass, thinly clad, but
bearing evidence of better days, saw a dog with a bone. She
tried to take it away. The dog snarled—would not give it up ;
and she stood foiled, in hungry attitude. A tradesman seeing
her said, £ What did you want with that bone ? ’ c I could have
swapped it for salt,’ she replied, £ and the salt I might have
swapped for a bit of bread.’ As she said this she burst into
tears.”
In the midst of this distress, the painful and touching
instances of which need not be repeated, the Boards of Guard
ians in many places have established what is called the ££ Labor
Test,” to protect the parish funds from the poaching of profes
sional paupers and vagabonds. They commence an excavation,
or provide work in stone-yards and on the roads, where every
unemployed man must do his choice in order to draw his relief.
These honest and unfortunate operatives are reduced to labor
at these aimless tasks by the side of vagrants, ragamuffins, gam
blers, “ and corrupt old hucksters,” to get a miserable dole of
parish bread. Whiat a poisoned mess is this which the proud old
monarchy tosses jealously to her plain, straightforward children,
who have woven, spun, carded,, drawn and pieced her million
bales of goods, which stock the markets of the world !
The resort to Indian cotton, which is carelessly gathered and
imperfectly cleaned, appears only to have aggravated the pre
vailing wretchedness. Overseers and ££ managers report the
most harrowing scenes in the factories,
o
*wing
to the exhaustion
of the patience of the men and the women who £ cannot go on
with their work, owing to constant breakages.’ The machines
which they tend stand idle, whilst innumerable threads break
rom sheer rottenness, and almost before the wheels are again
in motion the work is again required to be suspended, from a
cause which had but the moment before been remedied. The
�9
worry of such work is exhausting; it depresses the physical
energies and wears the heart. Some give up in despair, and
leave the factory to beg or work on the moor or in the stone
yard ; others grow haggard or pale under the trial; the strong
men grow weak,—the weak, ill. The men curse, and the
women sit down and cry bitterly. A manufacturer resident in
Manchester, who is by no means a tender-hearted gentleman,
said, that instances of the kind were of daily occurrence in his
factory, and that he had ceased to go into most of the rooms,
4 for the women were all crying over their work.’ ”*
The London 44 Times” informs jks, tl«from the first of Sep
tember to the twenty-fifth of October, the number of persons
receiving parochial relief in all the cotton districts had increased
by 68,456, and that there <ere in ^11
^
*08,621.
In addition to
this, there are 143,870 persons who receive their aid from local
committees. Total, 352,491. jfTJie weekly loss of wages is
estimated at ^136,094,- and th^amou^at^to <^7,000,000 a year.
44 Nor does this prodigious sunu| says the 44 Times,” 44 represent
the whole loss incurred by, these districts, for the ordinary
*
receipts of a manufacturer mutst be such as to cover not only
wages, but the expense of machine^, and the interest of capital
sunk in buildings and land, besides a^handsome^ofit.” It is the
loss of this handsome, profit wshich, more than all the suffering of
the men and women who used to egtrn it, inspires the 44Times”
to unroll its columns of appalling figures in the interest of inter
vention and Southern slavery. The l$ss5..of this profit, and the
discomfort of having- 40.0.,000 gjesh (paupers added in one year
to its list of vagabonds, isthe on® .d^w^ack to English satisfac
tion at seeing the great Republic ,shrivelling from loss of blood,
and sinking from the menace of^its, former estate to insignifi
cance beneath debt, dismembermenti. ^nd national disgrace.
But it reminds me of. .the. principaL.cause for thanksgiving
which we have to-day. J>i;^rea.dmgt;.b,efQye you a few facts in
relation to the distress o%ihe^ng^jwofci^n, my object was
not only to contrast it with the suhgtap^al comfort which the
institutions of a Democracy sustain, at the same time that it
can wage war at the rate of $2,000,000 a day, and deaths and
* Visit to the Cotton Districts, p. 75.
2
�10
wounds incomputable, but to bring that rebellious aristocracy,
to whose bad cause this distress is incidental, before the tribunal
of our grateful thoughts.
Men of New England never had such a reason for returning
thanks as to-day, when they can perceive so clearly that the
whole history of their country has inevitably led to this death
struggle between two ideas as incompatible in the same civil
society as deceit and sincerity in the same heart; an Aristocracy
founded upon depriving men of natural rights, and a Democracy
founded upon securing them to men. We are thankful that
the issue is honestly and squarely made at last, and lurks no
longer behind politics and compromises, and that every measure
of the past which expected to stifle it has distinctly led, by the
logic of a God who cannot bear iniquity, to a great historical
situation, which tears the mask from the evil tendency, and bids
a good tendency assume its grand proportions. The first Revo
lution of ’76 was only a graft upon the rugged American stock,
which blossomed in these latter years, and is now maturing
its fruit. It will be the task of some future pen to show how
the divine thought has picked its way through the political
confusion and disgraces of a generation, to finish its work of
founding a Republic.
How premature were all our notions that we were citizens
of an America. We have been in our minority all the time
—a lusty, passionate and unsettled one, out of which we are
stepping now, to the rights and privileges of an honest demo
cratic manhood. To show how we grew to this, will one
day be the task of some man who will devote to it the flower
and prudence of his life. He will have to divide it into three
epochs—the first comprising the establishment of the Constitu
tion, and the subsequent years to the abolition of the slavetrade. This was the epoch when the rights of man were the
accepted theory of the country, slavery was supposed to be a
self-limited disease, and the Revolution slumbered after resisting
one aristocracy, till it was awakened by another. The second
epoch will tell the great material and political story of the
growth of slavery, in a generation which forgot the feeling of
the fathers from interest and ambition. It will show how
adroitly the new aristocratic ideas helped themselves to power
�11
witir the country’s great watchword—Democracy—by relating
the successive encroachments of an unconstitutional tendency
1 in the name of the Constitution, in each of which free-labor
voted to extend and protect slave-labor, and our mother, with
the Revolution’s blood yet hallowing her starry garments, was
scorned and almost turned out of her own children’s house.
This epoch, with its three sub-divisions of nullification, the
territorial questions, and the reaction of Republicanism, will
extend to the election of Abraham Lincoln. The third epoch
will open with secession, and tell the story of the reappearance
of the rights of man in the reawakening of the Revolution, *
1
when the Democrat and the Aristocrat see each other clearly at
last, only a bayonet’s length
as they did at Bunker’s
Hill and Yorktown. And as-it 4s •jushjis impossible to write
history without idea® as it iatqinake nations and epochs without
them, so the idea of thist, history will be to show how provi
dential and inevitable was the -rise of thisparistocracy and the
resistance of this democracy, with all the triumphs, disgraces,
defeats and miseries qf their irrepressible conflict, with all the
accidents, treasons, indecisions and weaknesses of the people’s
war ; and that these things were for the sake of having a People
at last to illustrate, uphold, and organize.the rights of mankind,
first for America, but no less for th©wo$id^ It will be a history
of two necessities born^of ,£ws> incompatible tendencies: the
necessity of aristocracy, born of slavery, and the necessity of
democracy born of freqdqm. Those, two necessities not only
account for all that ha$ happened, but show how nothing could
*
have happened otherwise^ not eyen military disappointments,
delays and imbecilities;, how, in short, slavery would never
have been destroyed by freedom in any other way, or upon other
terms, or at any other period.
We never believed thi®, and yet we see that it comes true,
and every fresh bulletin ‘^nfirms it; for if, out of all the
crowd of events which makes the history of a country, a few
of them happened by chance alone, the whole series of events
would be vitiated, and the divine intentions, if there are any
such, would be spoiled. If even one event occurred by chance,
that is, illogically, shoved in, on slovenly, like the dropping
of a stitch, the splendid web which we call history would
.1
�12
be shoddy. All the great forces of the world make all their
slightest movements in obedience to law. The only mistake
which slavery makes is in being slavery; that will destroy it,
but in the meantime it is consistent and fatal as consumption.
And God means that it shall be, for consistency’s sake, to
show the necessity of health and freedom. Therefore, we
shall find that there was never a moment previous to the war
when slavery could have been overcome by freedom, and never
a moment during the war. We return thanks for the presence
of God in every disappointment of our history.
Let us look at this point a little closer. When the Constitu
tion became the charter of a Federal Union, slavery had just
strength enough to prevent freedom from destroying it, and not
strength enough to pique freedom in making the attempt. The
two tendencies were neutral, but it was because one tendency
was felt to be evil and unrepublican, and short-lived. In 1790,
’91 and ’92, only 733,044 pounds of cotton were exported from
the United States, a great deal of which was foreign cotton which
had been previously imported.
*
The total value of this export
was only $137,737 ; an amount that would not keep an aristoc
racy in tobacco. But the development of the cotton-crop has
been unchecked and regular ever since, excepting in the year
of the embargo, 1808, and the three years of war, 1812, ’13 and
’14. In 1805, the value of the export was $32,004,005; in
1821, it was $64,638,062; and in 1850, it was $118,393,952.
The “ cotton zone ” extended from the Atlantic to the Rio del
Norte, including the States and portions of States lying between
the 27th and 35th parallels of latitude, “and all of the State
of Texas between the Gulf of Mexico, and the 34th parallel of
* Before the Revolution, hemp and silk competed with cotton for preponder
ance. In a copy of Nathaniel Ames’s Almanac for 1765, I find the following
item : “March 14; above 20,000 cwt. of|iemp has been exported from South
Carolina since Nov. 1. Several stalks measured 17 feet long and 2 inches
diameter at the base.” Thus hemp was exported while foreign cotton was
imported, and more pounds of hemp were raised than of cotton. In a copy of
the Almanac for 1766, is another item: “June 30. Last Triday voted by ye
House of Commons of ye Province (S. Carolina) £1,000 towards establishing a
Silk Filature in this town under the direction of Rev’d Mr. Gilbert. Mrs.
Pinckney of Belmont Plantation, within four miles of Charleston, has made
near 50 bushels of Cocoons this season, which are esteemed of the best kind.”
�13
North latitude.” In this vast area of upwards of 450,000 square
miles, nearly a third is adapted to the growing of cotton.
*
Here,
if any where, was the development of a geographical party with
sectional politics. But at the same period, in 1850, the value
of the crop of Indian corn was $456,091,491; of wheat, $156,786,068 ; and of hay, $254,334,316.f Cotton was smaller than
each of these great staples, being only one hundred and eighteen
millions. Why did no aristocracy spring from those enormous
figures, whose growth is maifilylNorthern ? Because the men
who owned the crops raised them^ and therein lies the difference
between a sectional party and tw national life.
At what period during tliS’ great development of the cotton
staple would yoUr-haw expected ’slavery to come to an end by
the operation of natural laws ?' Wei
®
* sbd
to hear a good deal
about letting slavery alone Mhat it might die out. Why, the
operation of natural laws-was faWrafole ‘to slavery—to the
protection both of slaves and cotton. We might have expected
to see Northern agriculture die out as soon.
The abolition of the slave-trade, in 1808, which the South
regarded at the timAas' a hostile mewurwhas proved immensely
favorable to slavery. It was indeed the first act of positive
legislation with a tendency to ncMrish and protect that institu
tion. For when artohial cargoes of half-barbarous Africans are
introduced into a eoiaAffy, local ' disturbances occur more
frequently, the- mortalitynin'ong' the sWbi W greater, and their
increase comparativelyTeebl'S. t The abolition of the trade gave
•t «
* Andrews’ Report on Colonial, and Lake Trade... 1852.
f These figures, taken from the Agricultural Report, 1861, vary from those
which had been previously given in the Census for 1850. Of wheat alone, the
two States of Pennsylvania! and New York, raised of course more bushels than
the aggregate of all the Southern and Middle Slave States.
t In 1714, the number of slaves; was 55,850; and 30,000 of these had been
brought from Africa,
Between 1715 and 1750 there were imported 90,000 slaves.
cc
6t
■ CC
1751
1760 CC
35,000 11
Cl
Ct
1761 “ 1770 CC
74,000 “
CC
CC
CC 1
1771 “ 1790 CC
34,000 “
CC
CC
1790 “ 1808 CC
70,000 “
These amount to 303,000; but the total number of native and imported slaves
in 1808, was only 1,100,000, showing a feeble increase for a century. But from
1808 to 1850 the number leaped to 3,204,373. The slave-ships always landed
more men than women.
�14
to Southern slavery all those peculiarities which the masters
are pleased to call patriarchal. Plantation life has reared two
generations of American slaves, in a climate comparatively
temperate, where they have preserved and propagated all
their native excellencies undisturbed by the annual relays
of native vices which the slave-ship brought. A good many
savage habits have dropped away from them. Fetichism
and serpent-worship lingers only in a few places in Mississippi,
and perhaps in Louisiana, where the slave-trade lasted longer.
The natural religiousness of the negro is more healthily devel
oped by Methodism aiid the Baptist sects, as in Jamaica, than
by Catholicism, as in Hayti, or by the half-savage rites of
Africa. When the “ Wanderer,” in 1858, landed a cargo of
native negroes on the coast of 'Georgia, the better portion of the
Southern press and people were alarmed and indignant; many
disliked the violation of law; the rest felt that it was an infrac
tion of law which brought harm instead of benefit to the insti
tution. A few papers were clamorous with approbation, but the
more influential recorded their disgust at the sight of the sickly
and savage cargo.
*
In 1850 it was calculated that not more
than eight or ten thousand of originally imported Africans were
yet alive.
It was not long before the polities of the South represented
its controlling interest, in the doctrine of State rights, the
interpretation of the Constitution, the jealous safeguards thrown
around the property in man, the absolute necessity to encroach
and domineer, to invent new compromises, to abolish old ones,
to thrust the fatal tendency into the courts and every depart
ment of government. The South never did a single act that
was not strictly in harmony with the exigencies of its position.
It had recovered from the amiable expectation of the fathers,
that slavery would disappear. Figures, which are said to never
lie, began to prove slavery a divine institution. It was the
cotton crop which sent Southerners to the Old Testament after
a divine sanction for slavery, and to the New, to applaud Paul
for remanding Onesimus to his master. Washington, Jefferson,
Lee, and Lowndes and Mason never cared to build a hedge of
* See Charleston and Savannah papers of that date.
�15
texts around the institution. If they thought there was no
attribute of God that could take the part of the slaveholder, they
would not dare to search their Bibles for slaveholding texts.
But their sons of the next generation saw an undoubted law of
God whitening all their fields with the cotton-bloom. Then the
Bible texts became pods that burst with the doctrines of Cal
houn and his descendants ; for men search the Scriptures to
justify their interest as often as to control their passions *
There was an anti-slavery party in Virginia as late as 1832.
Worn out tobacco-fields helped it to chew the cud of bitter
fancy, as it revolved the sentiments of Jefferson and Mason. An
act of emancipation narrowly escaped passing the legislature of
that State. Why did it not pass,
the prosecution of slave
labor was hostile to the interest of Virginia? We have heard
that the efforts of anti-slavery men in that State were paralyzed
by the commencement, of an anti-slavery agitation at the North.
Slavery was just on the point of dying out, when the publica
tion of the “Liberator,” infused a new and antagonistic life into
its decrepit frame. How farmen have to go for nothing, when
their prejudices, drive! That publication heralded a great
awakening of the republican. tendency, but the Southern
tendency was already pledge^ to its own laws and obedient to
their direction; a “ Liberator < in ^verytown and village of the
North could have neither accelerated nor retarded the march of
natural laws. Just look at ..the facts. In 1832, while the legis
lature of Virginia was discussing, laws relative to emancipation,
the slaves rose immensely ^.pripe- They should have fallen.
The discussion itself was in conseqpence ,of their being worth so
little. Why did they rise ? Did slaveholders give three or four
times as much for able-bodied negroes,- against their own
interest, and to spite the “ Liberatoy
It was the increasing
demand for slaves, the growing activity of the internal slavetrade, the imperious necessity of slave labor, the prospect of new
territory and an expansion of the cottorf zone, that caused the
* Descourtilz, a French. Naturalist, was in Charleston in 1798, and heard a
Quaker declaiming in the square, to quite a gathering of people, against the
enormity of separating and selling some slaves who were exposed there on a
platform. The sale went on, and so did the Quaker. But the snake had a full
equipment of rattles by the time of Mr. Hoar’s mission.
�16
price to rise and emancipation to be shelved as a Virginia
abstraction. It was found to be against nature, and against the
dreadful fatality of Southern wants. An act of emancipation
would have been as much waste paper in Virginia, as if it had
been passed in Massachusetts. The “ corner-stone ” would have
fallen upon it and ground it to powder. It was not the aboli
tionist alone who was antagonistic to slavery, but the spirit of
the age itself.
*
The savage instinct of slavery divined this
enmity which pervaded the air; steadily but resolutely, because
pushed on by the necessity of self-defence, and the necessity of
working out its bitter problem, it sought for guarantees and
for expansion, and stuck at nothing to attain its end. Only
revolution can bleed and pacify such passion ; its logic will not
come to the ground until i bipod does. The whole long story of
*
Southern aggression is a story of Southern self-defence, from the
expulsion of Mr. Hoar, through the annexation of Texas, Fugitive
Slave bills, Kansas-Nebraska, bills, border and senatorial ruffian
ism, Ostend conferences, Illlibusterfsm, to the secret treason
which armed and comforted" secessabSa.
Slavery gradually dying out! Slavery was a system which
decreed its own expansion. It was mightier than 350,000 slave
holders. Do we suppose1 it is that insignificant body of men
which has controlled the politics of this country for fifty years,
and is now dashing its arahed' columns against the bosses of the
shield of Liberty ? It ds a naturafl»8brce hidden in slave-labor,
and enslaving the slaveholder. It ensnared him through his
lust, his pride, his political ambition, his tocal prejudices, and
his pocket. It invigorates his arm, and employs all his gifts to
enforce the extremity of its passion against the vigor of liberty.
The moment when slavery can Jbe artestecl is the moment when
it bleeds to death, and not before.
*How clearly this is shown 'by the scorn and contempt with which for
twenty years the prominent men and journals of the South met the most con
servative advice which its own Northern friends ventured to offer. The vitriol
dashed into the face of the abolitionist was not diluted before being used to
asperse the genteelest remonstrants. The Southern exigency was long ago
betrayed by the passionate tone of able editors. For specimens of rhetoric
hitherto unequalled at the North, see the Richmond “Examiner,” 1853, “The
Paramount Question; ” March 7 and 31, 1854; May 19, “ Every Northern Man
a Swindler;” July 4, 1854; October 16, 1855, etc.
�What moment of the past would you select now, upon delibe
rate afterthought, when, if things had turned out differently,
you can imagine that the Southern tendency would have been
checked ? When great natural elements are at their work of
making history, things happen naturally, and could never
happen differently ; they express with mathematical accuracy
the state of the elements. To suppose a change in the circum
stances you must previously suppose a change in the forces that
are at work, including the mental and spiritual condition of the
people. Sometimes men speculate that if the events of a period
had been different the results would have been different.”*
There is but little virtu© in that “ If,” for an event, by occur
ring, shows that it could not have been different. Events are
always the products of all the forces at the period of their occur
rence. While one force checks, and another force propels, still
another must lie dormant? and others do little but appear upon
the field. And masses of men are butw®§ embodiments of the
forces, which they help at every moment to create, and which
illustrate their period. It is as absurd to wonder what would
have happened if William the Conqueror had not invaded
England, or Washington had not organized the spirit of ’76, or if
Daniel Webster had made a different speech on the 7th of March,
1850, or if Fremont had been elected'President six years ago, or if
Buchanan had garrisoned the Southern forts, as to wonder what
*
the movements of the solar system would have been if the
planets had no moons, or if the sun were half its present bulk.
The good and ill of history combine to repeat the wondrous tale
of the divine necessities. England was invaded, Washington
arose, Webster fell back before advancing slavery, Fremont
lacked three hundred thousand votes, and Buchanan loaded the
first gun and trained it on Fort Sumter, from combinations and
foregoing influences and momentary moods that expressed
themselves thus, in scorn of all ifs and buts, and leaving the
future to explain them. Even the disgraceful things which men
do at critical moments are nice expressions of an evil tendency,
show how far it is disposed to go at every point where a good
tendency does not yet suflice, and are the unconscious menials
* See, for instance, Niebuhr’s Lectures, ii. 59.
�18
of goodness. The vices of men finish up a great deal of
scavenger-work in the housekeeping of God.
Examine any political moment of the past thirty years, when,
if there had been a united and indignant North, you think that
the career of slavery would have been checked, and you will
find nothing out of which to make your supposition. Such a
North was an impossibility. Examine the same period of time
for the moment when the natural decay of slavery might have
commenced, and you will find that the natural growth of slavery
forbade that supposition also. When the Republican party
triumphed in 1860, its leaders thought that slavery was hemmed
in. by a permanent change in Northern sentiment, expressed by
a majority of votes, and that the time had at last arrived when
we should see slavery commencing its decline. This shallow
expectation was soon corrected, because it underrated the logical
necessities of slavery, and overrated the vitality of republicanism.
The triumph of the latter was a moment most dangerous for
real democracy, because the North proposed to be content with
the election of a president. The danger was that republicanism
would have burnt itself out in four years with making a Cabinet
pot to boil. Any Secretary of State might keep that fire well
fed with old speeches that were once plump with generous
abstractions, but served at last only for a crackling of thorns.
After the pot had boiled itself dry, and republicanism had
shrivelled all up inside and scorched sadly to the bottom, it
would have been lifted off the political crane, and a new demo
cratic pot hung in its place, with the South to blow up a fresh
fire of cotton-waste and bagasse, and the North to watch and
stir the new pottage of compromise for the the homely Esau of
liberty. It was a dangerous and almost fatal moment, not only
because the North was disposed to be content, but because a
large portion of the South was disposed to wait for the reaction
in its favor which would have certainly taken place. But
slavery is stronger than the -South, just as liberty is stronger
than the North. And there is always one place where a tendency
comes to its focus of white heat which shrivels up reserve, pru
dential consideration, and all respect: a moment and a place
where a domineering passion breaks through every restraint to
ravish its object. The focus of slavery was in South Carolina.
�19
FEvery channel in her body sent the black blood rushing to her
brain, and congested it with fatal suggestions. How plain it is
now that the temporizing policy, which was always the trait of
half-living republicanism, was the instrument in the hands of
Mr. Buchanan to conjure liberty out of republicanism, decision
out of uncertainty, and draw the bolt out of the gates of the
great North-wind. History will return thanks that the Southern
forts were left without their garrisons, seeing that God meant to
garrison them with liberty. At first it seems clear that there
was a moment when the whole Revolution was in the power of a
few hundred men to be judiciously posted where slavery under
stood itself the best, and was thwbbing with evil purposes. No,
we do wrong to say there was iSBCh a moment. If such a
moment had been essential or possible, it would have become
actual. But the strength of slavery appeared just as much in
the weakness of Mr. Buchanan as in the determination of
Jefferson Davis; it was , against the divine logic that a few
hundred men should tear a glorious page of history.
Seeds are not ready to germinate in April, but after the first
thunder how they swell and burst their flinty husks and send
up shoots like sword-blades over all -the . soil I Liberty was
waiting for the thunder. The awful-looking cloud that blotted
out half her sky and the stars whieh ought to shine there,
gathered and gloomed continually, rolling in upon itself as if
to concentrate and fiercely hearten,
till!
*
the passion that red
dened its great edges could not, bide there another moment, and
forth it sprung. The lightning, Was. neither premature nor
disastrous. It sub^yed the needs/.of liberty, which had lain
frost-bound through a long northern winter, waiting for a genial
hour.
But green shoots do not make a.harvest. There is never a
moment in the summer when the corn might stop growing, with
the delusion that it was ready to furnish food for man. What
moment would you select to break off your corn-tops, expecting
to leave full ears upon the stumps.to ripen in the sun,—when the
joints send forth their ribands, or when the mealy tassels come,
or when the first silk is spun out of the future husk ? Sum
mer’s sun is a growing sun, fierce and almost intolerable.
Autumn points with long shadows to the ripening hours.
�20
Was the corn ripe in the early July sun of the first Manassas;
was it ripe at New Orleans, or ready to be picked at Shiloh ?
Was it mildewed at Ball’s Bluff, or blasted on the Peninsula, or
did the husbandry of God come to nought in the sunless and
chilly days of the second Manassas ?
You cannot mention a single moment in this thunderous
war-summer when liberty could have found her crop. If the
war had closed with early successes, the cause of the war would
have been preserved. Every mistake that we have made,
especially the mistake of underrating the power of slavery,
every lukewarm general who has been commissioned for the
field, every traitor in the cabinet or the camp, every check
experienced by our arms, every example of mediocrity holding
critical command, has precisely represented our immature and
growing condition, and was its logical necessity.
Beauregard hammering at Sumter nailed a flag to the mast
in every village of the North. But though a Republic ran up
all its bunting and had none to spare, it was not till summer
and winter had weather-stained those brave flags and almost
fretted them from the poles, that they began to signalize the
rights of man to every portion of the country, and to stream
like a torn aurora with true American influence from the lakes
to the gulf. Death and sorrow pry up the lids of the heaviest
sleepers; we are all awake now; but when General Banks said
to the North, “ Rais® fl©0,000 men and hold the South as a
conquered province till she is regenerated,” we were astonished
at his exaggeration. And when, still later, General Fremont
said, “ The strength of slavery is in slave-labor, and the sinews
of war are concealed beneath black skins,” the North shuddered
at the bold invasion of property in man, and was not prepared
to see the country itself th© sole owner of its men and women.
So that if a Wellington had gained a complete and subjugating
victory at any of the points where we fondly expected one, he
would have subjugated liberty, and clapped the North again into
the harness of compromises and adjustments. The dreariest
moments have seemed to me the lightest, because I heard the
corn filling with milk under the shadow of the cloud. The
bloodiest days have yielded the finest growing weather to
liberty.
�21
“ Then,” you say to me, “ you do not care for the loss of men
and the anguish of women ? Your liberty is a hyena which
snatches a loathsome feast from lost fields of battle ? ” No
more than she was when Washington seized her hand as he
retreated, and nourished her in his winter-tent upon the gloom
and foreboding of America. No—I am so little careless about
the bloQd which has been shed, that I want to see for what use •
it has gone forever out of the dear hearts of Northern homes.
It is not enough for me that you repeat the hackneyed senti
ment that it is beautiful to die for one’s country. There must
be use as well as beauty, or there is no such thing as a country
to die for. Things that are useful lay the corner-stones of a
great Commonwealth, and build the shafts around which beauties
cluster. If you wish to see thernen who care nothing for the
blood of your kindred, look at those who shout how beautiful it
is to die to keep the cause of death alive, the men who could
stretch a hand to slavery across; three hundred thousand graves,
with a welcome back into a country full of the widows and
orphans she has made. We thank God that His thoughts are
not as such thoughts. A balance in His hand has held a scale
weighted with the glorious truths of this Republic; into it He
has thrown free-labor, knowledge, art and beauty, the common
school, the pulpit and. the plough^ all of these moulded into
liberty in the shape of a winged victory. Into the other scale
the lacerated days of two campaigns! have dripped with blood ;
every precious drop has been marked by that unslumbering
eye to be heavy with New England and Western homes, and
rich with privileges dearly bought y the scale sinks slowly—they
are almost even—the winged victory rises to its equivalent of
blood.
And what thought of the most.ardent worshipper of the liberty
that costs so much can embrace the future which waits at the
outposts of this emancipating "war! After every field-battery
has rolled away into the distance of peace, and the bayonet
hides a strange blush within its sheath, and the last tent is
folded, that future shall step from grave to grave, bringing new
life, new duties, great trials and appropriate joys into the heart
of America. Nations who have been astonished to see how a
free people can organize war by sea and land, will admire its
�22
greater victories over the embarrassments and trials which must
still dispute its path to the highest glory.
When peace returns, it will prove to be a heavy assessor of
our common sense and patience. The problem of self-govern
ment will include the governing and rearing of four millions of
people, richly endowed with affection, veneration and docility,
• but ignorant and awkward, superstitious, full of childish tricks,
and unconscious of the duties of a freeman. Their feeble
ambition has been hitherto one of the advantages of the slave
holder in perpetuating their servile state. But it is also
fostered by the tone of religious instruction among their own
preachers, who represent and confirm the gentle tendencies of
the African. Mr. Pierce describes, in his first report to Secre
tary Chase, a sermon which he hea^d at Port Royal, from the
text, “ Blessed are the meek.” The slaveholder may well
tremble for his acres when he recalls the promise of that text.
It was characteristic of the American slave that the preacher
urged upon his hearers not to try to be “ stout-minded.” How
congenial this advice is to the average negro is shown by the
infrequency and feebleness of all insurrectionary movements. It
was not possible for the slave to organize a formidable insurrection
while the South was in full strength, nor will he ever be disposed
to hazard the attempt, except, perhaps, in case the Proclama
tion of Emancipation is recalled, or hampered with gradualism,
or local efforts are made to reestablish or continue the status
of slavery. Then their scattered condition and the geography
of the country would be less unfavorable to a successful rising
than the slave’s inborn predisposition for bloodless and pacific
ways. Not that the negro dreads death: his mobile and flutter
ing imagination becomes fixed in the presence of a real danger.
He is impassive or frenzied^ and will charge up to the very
mouths of cannon and coil about them. He is singularly cool
to meet what he cannot avoid, but night-fears and fancied
terrors make a child of him. The threat of a novel mode of
torture is too much for him. It is imagination only that makes
a coward of a negro.
If the Proclamation wins, we shall find among the slaves a
general deference to the plans of Government for confirming
their freedom, to make it useful to themselves and to the
country.
�23
And mixed with these four millions of children are the poor
whites, a great horde of immature and stupid boys instead
of men, who never sat at the forms of liberty nor worked out
one of her sums. The North must call its master-builders
together, and those whose business it is to raise and trans
port habitations, for the primary school-house must be shifted
South, and in the little wake which it creates the people’s
chapels must follow, till along that highway of our God, the
court and the jury, the ballot-box and printing-press can safely
pass to disinfect all half-civilized neighborhoods. And wherever
a plough can run, the power-wheel shall follow, and its band
shall turn new wants and enterprises, and hum worthy ambi
tions into ears that have been tuned only to slavery’s lash. And
the great turbine shall go down to put to perpetual labor the
streams that have carried so much of our blood into the sea.
Everywhere the North shall take its revenge, deep, thorough, to
the uttermost farthingJby imposing all the firm and gentle arts
of liberty, with the uplifted ferule of the school-master, at the
edges of reaping-blades, and beneath the weight of every
material and mental instrument that can crush clods, pulverize
a soil, And scatter seed.
There will be a new meaning for. the phrase “ a geographical
party,” for the new Union will circulate by all the great chan
nels of internal navigation, arteries which God opened for
distributing the red blood of an undivided heart. Geography
itself, with mountains, streams, lakes, prairies and defiles, shall
write a people’s creed; and all platforms, whether made at
Buffalo, Chicago, Baltimore or Charleston, shall be supplanted
by the square miles of the national domain. And it seems as if
nature, foreseeing that not cotton but man would be king of this
domain, had sealed up craters, cleared out earthquakes, warned
off the hurricane, and spread a firm soil for every product, from
kitchen comforts to sovereign luxuries—a zone for the orange
and the fig, a zone for cotton, rice and sugar, for flax, for wool,
for wheat, for cattle ; districts for grapes, for the silk-worm and
the cochineal, so that the democrat can dress for dinner and
dine in his own house, if he will; and when he wants to ship his
surplus to feed and clothe the English pauper, every spar that
the wind can stretch without breaking grows, from the live oak
�24
to the mountain pine. Florida and Georgia will lay the ribs
and knees, North Carolina will careen and caulk the democrat’s
vessel, Lake Superior mines will bolt and sheathe it, Maine will
send its suit of spars, and Kentucky strain them with her hemp.
Pennsylvania shall build the boiler and feed the fires beneath it,
and the Great West shall victual New England sailors as they
go floating round the world with a cargo of Rights, Intelligence
and Freedom, samples of the failure of a Democracy.
What a house this is to build, furnish and stock with com
forts, to set wide open to starving spinners and weavers, colliers,
peat-burners, all the landless and the hopeless, where they can
come to hear our mother’s daily lessors of thrift, usefulness and
the true dignity of man, as she goes in and out of all her rooms,
cleanly, cheerily, helpfully, with fends whose touch is order,
with a shape whose noble lines are full of grace, with a counte
nance that can leap from serenity to power, and unchain pure
lightnings at those eyes. She is the mother of us all, Thanks
giving America, divorced from hideous wedlock with slavery, all
her beauty coming back to her, all her gifts enhanced, and with
a deeper meaning in her I-ace than ever when she bids all her
children again to the glittering board which she spreads between
the Atlantic and Pacific seas..
�
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Victorian Blogging
Description
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A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library & 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>
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Conway Hall Library & Archives
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2018
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Conway Hall Ethical Society
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A discourse upon causes for Thanksgiving: preached at Watertown, Nov. 30, 1862
Creator
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Weiss, John [1832-1907.]
Description
An account of the resource
Place of publication: Boston
Collation: 24 p. ; 24 cm.
Notes: From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. Includes bibliographical references. Sermon taken from the Bible. Mark, IV,28
Publisher
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Wright & Potter, printers
Date
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1862
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G5352
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<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 (A discourse upon causes for Thanksgiving: preached at Watertown, Nov. 30, 1862), 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>
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application/pdf
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English
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Sermons
Slavery
USA
Conway Tracts
Sermons
Slavery-United States
Thanksgiving Day
United States-History
-
https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/ba717514708438544e2ae82accc94728.pdf?Expires=1712793600&Signature=L7WO09R6Lz4ORm2a1QYrJedJWjlsVag3zyKlr7cP6njnWtGUPK54ugSUF-rDvLLsrcRQbNtgocAYK%7EoeP0JA2tFJTDGfz9-m8R%7EHUJAhDFhuHZv-YYlC5%7Ee0uqh9yqsZLKsZYMU8rLNu4ET1u5ZLUIabfkEJr0FH7MzH9%7EsfPnn4yTKrcUGYqoriSm-msl7FTJFAaXeuMsen98qsOsEtptRi4ts5gwhIy3fImKad9n2DL4A7A%7EId8Yv94Pb1R1hqmLk5fvekGvQjgiMrUNLsQdrMyNCwizadwiDNxXw8QnE5Wdlsuu6hbY%7E7Zbu6%7ER1-CSFCINCT1LZhvNv2VVdlQw__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM
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Text
��M !■ ETI N Ci; O F
■ JoCRETY
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January 12, 1876,
1E
F'MlRTHSft VfSM VMM BISCOVRstt DKLITKRKI) fJY
REV
W. IL EURNES^ D.D
Sunday, Jan. 1O, 1876,
i*M the ^tension el %
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January 12, 1823.
it Pi XHELPHIA:
■^■i ' 4<J
A 0O„ PRINTERS.
£
��AT THE
MEETING
OF
THE
CoDgregat/w
(Unitarian Society,
January 12, 1875,
TOGETHER WITH THE DISCOURSE DELIVERED BY
REV. W. H. FURNESS, B.D.,
Sunday, Jan. IO, 1875,
©n I Ije ©tension of fIje ^iftieflj ^rniifrersnrg of |jis ©rbinntion,
January 12, 1825.
PHILADELPHIA:
SHERMAN & CO., PRINTERS.
1875.
��On November 3d, 1874, the Trusted of the First Congiegational Unitarian Church of Philadelphia issued the
following notice to the members of the parish :
First Congregational Society of Unitarian Christians.
Philadelphia, November 3d, 1874.
A meeting of the members of this Society will be held at the
Church on Monday, the 9th inst., at 8 p. m., to devise an appro
priate plan for celebrating the completion of the fiftieth year of
Dr. Furness’ pastorate.
As his half century of faithful and distinguished service calls
for fitting commemoration, and as the members of this Church
must rejoice at an opportunity of giving expression to their
love, admiration, and respect for him, a meeting that concerns
such an object will commend itself, and prove of interest to
every one, so that the bare announcement of it, it is deemed,
will be sufficient to insure a full attendance of the parishioners.
By direction of the Trustees,
, Charles H. Coxe,
'
Secretary.
�4
In pursuance of this notice, the members of the Societyheld a meeting in the Church on the evening of Novem
ber 9th, 1874, to consider the subject proposed.
The meeting was organized with Mr. B. H. Bartol as
Chairman, and Mr. Charles H. Coxe as Secretary.
After stating the object of the meeting, the Chairman
called for the opinion of the Society. It was voted that
a committee of nine be appointed, who should, together
with the Trustees of the Church, constitute a committee
to take entire charge of the celebration of Dr. Furness’
Fiftieth Anniversary as Pastor of the Church; should
have full power to add to their number, and make such
arrangements as might seem to them suitable to the
occasion.
The Chair appointed on this Committee,
Mrs. R. S. Sturgis,
Mrs. J. E. Raymond.
Miss Clark,
Miss Roberts,
Miss Duhring,
Mr. John Sartain,
Mr. B. H. Moore,
Mr. David Brewer,
And at the request of the meeting, Mr. B. H. Bartol, the
Chairman, was added.
On November 14th, 1874, at 8 o’clock p. m., the Com
mittee appointed by the Society held a meeting at the
residence of Mr. B. H. Bartol, to make arrangements for
the fiftieth anniversary of Dr. Furness’ pastorate.
The Committee consisted of the following persons :
Trustees.
Mr. Henry Winsor,
Mr. John Sellers, Jr.,
Mr. Enoch Lewis,
Mr. Charles
Mr. Lucius H. Warren,
Mr. Joseph E. Raymond,
Mr. D. E. Eurness,
H. Coxe.
/
�5
Appointed by the Society.
Mbs.
Mrs.
Miss
Miss
R. S. Sturgis,
J. E. Raymond,
Miss Duhring,
Mr. John Sartain,
Clark,
Mr. B. H. Moore,
Roberts,
Mr. David Brewer,
Mr. B. H. Bartol.
Mr. Winsor was chosen Chairman, and Mr. Charles
H. Coxe, Secretary.
It was voted, that on the evening of January 12th,
1875, there should be a commemorative service in the
Church, and ministers from other cities should be invited
to be present.
The Chair appointed as the Committee on Invitations,
Mr. L. H. Warren,
Mr. Enoch Lewis,
Mr. B. H. Bartol,
Mr. David Brewer,
Mr. B. H. Moore,
And at the request of the Committee
Mr. Henry Winsor.
It was also voted, that the Church should be hand
somely and appropriately decorated on that occasion.
The Chair appointed as the Committee on Decora
tions,
Mr. Joseph E. Raymond,
Mr. L. H. Warren,
Miss Roberts,
Mrs. R. S. Sturgis,
Miss Clark,
Miss Duhring.
It was also voted, that the Choir on that occasion
should be increased, if it should be deemed expedient
by the Musical Committee of the Church.
It was further voted, that a marble bust of Dr. Furness
should be obtained, and placed in the Church.
�6
Also, that gold and bronze medals should be struck
off, commemorative of the fiftieth anniversary of the
pastorate of Dr. Furness,
And also, that a suitable and handsome present should
be given to Dr. Furness, in the name of the Society, as
a token of their affection and gratitude.
Also, that photographs of the Church should be taken
as it appeared on the day of the anniversary.
The Chair appointed as the Committee on Fine Arts,
Mr. John Sartain,
Mr. B. H. Moore,
Mr. Henry Winsor.
It was also voted, that the exercises at the ordination
of Dr. Furness should be reprinted, and that the anni
versary sermon and the exercises at the commemorative
service should be printed in pamphlet form.
The Chair appointed as the Committee on Publication,
Mr. Dawes E. Furness.
And as the Committee on Finance,
Mr. B. H. Bartol,
Mr. Enoch Lewis,
Mr. Charles H. Coxe.
�7
On Sunday, January 10th„ 1875, Rev. Dr. Furness
preached his fiftieth anniversary sermon.
The following account is taken from the Christian
Register of that week:
“Yesterday was as perfect a winter day as can he
imagined, cool, clear, and bright. The Unitarian church
was filled before the hour of worship with an eager and
deeply interested throng. All the pews were occupied,
and the aisles and the space around the pulpit were filled
with chairs. The church was beautifully decorated with
laurel wreaths, and in front of the pulpit the floral array
was very rich yet very chaste. On the wall in the rear
of the pulpit was an exquisite ivy cross. Among the
festoons which overhung the pulpit were the figures
‘ 1825 ’ and ‘ 1875 ’ in white and red flowers.
“ Dr. Furness seemed to be in excellent health, and
took his part in the rare and touching semi-centennial
service without any apparent ^jh^mSoiM After a brief
recital and paraph rase^^tpprtWiate passages of Scrip
ture, he read with great beauty and tenderness the hymn
beginning, ‘While Thee I seek, protecting Power,’ and
after a prayer full of love, trust, and gratitude, he read
from the twentieth chapter of the Book of Acts, begin
ning at the seventeenth verse. Then the congregation
sang Lyte’s beautiful hymn, ‘Abide with me! fast falls
the eventide,’ etc. The discourse had no text, excepting
the impressive occasion itself. There was less of narra
tion of interesting incidents than in previous anniversary
sermons, yet the half century was reviewed in a simple
and masterly way. The preacheil mannfi was quite
subdued until he reached his studies of the life of Jesus,
�8
when his face became radiant, his tones fuller and
firmer, and his gestures frequent. The allusions to
other denominations and to the anti-slavery struggle
were exceedingly fair and magnanimous. The people
gave rapt attention, and there was evident regret when
the sermon closed.
“ The singing by a double quartette choir was highly
creditable. Mr. Ames’ church at Germantown was closed,
and pastor and people came to express their sympathy
with Dr. Furness’ society, and to enjoy the uplifting
service. Dr. Martineau’s new hymn-book was used, Dr.
Furness having presented his parishioners with a suffi
cient number of copies to supply all the pews.”
�4
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�J
��DISCOURSE
DELIVERED
SUNDAY JANUARY io, ^875,
ON THE OCCASION OF THE
FIFTIETH ANNIVERSARY
OF HIS
ORDINATION, JANUARY 12, 1825, AS THE PASTOR
OF THE
-frirst Congregational Mnitarian Cljnrct)
BY
W. H. FURNESS D.D.
��DISCOURSE
It is in vain, dear friends, that I have tried to set in
order the thoughts that come crowding upon me as the
fiftieth year of my service in this place draws to a close.
I cannot tell what direction they will take. But for the
uncertainty of life, I might have reserved for this occa
sion the Recollections in which I indulged on the last two
anniversaries of my Ordination. All I told you then and
countless other memories come vividly to mind and heart
now. They almost hush me into silence, so hopeless is
the endeavor to give them utterance. I must needs talk
about myself. How can it be avoided on an occasion like
this ? I trust in the kind indulgence on your part which
has never failed me in all these years. If I should prove
only garrulous, you will not forget that I have passed the
allotted boundary and am now one of the borrowers from
eternity; although it hardly becomes me to make claim
to the privileges of age in a community where dwells
one, known and revered of all, who has entered his ninety
sixth year, and is not yet old.
First of all, most humbly and heartily do I acknowledge
and adore the good Providence that, for no deserving of
mine, has blest me so bountifully and so long, and given
me such a dear home among you. What friends, kith
and kin to me, have always surrounded me! At the first
here were my fathers—I have followed them all to the
grave. And now, behold! my brothers, my sisters, my
�12
children. What a gift of God the filial, the fraternal,
the parental trust which I have been encouraged to
cherish! It has been my chiefest treasure, the dearest
sign of Heaven’s grace, my support, my well-spring of life.
During my ministry I have received from you, from
time to time, not a few unlooked-for, substantial tokens
of your kind thoughts for me. They shall never be for
gotten. But it is not the remembrance of any special
proofs of your regard that now moves me, but the hearty
faith in your good-will upon which you have always given
me reason to rely. This has been my crowning privilege.
Even when differences have arisen between us, my trust
in your personal regard has never been allowed to be
shaken. Were there exceptions, they are as good as for
gotten now. Even those who have taken such offence at
my words that they withdrew from the church, still gave
me assurance of their friendship. There used to be times
of painful excitement among us, you remember, when I
was helpless to resist the impulse to plead for the op
pressed. I can never forget how cheered I was by one
friend, still living, but not now dwelling in this city, who
came to me and said that he had at the first disapproved
of my course, but that he was then in full sympathy with
me, and that, as to the church’s being broken up, as was
predicted, if I persisted in speaking for the slave, that
should not be, if a contribution to its support from him
(and he named a most liberal sum), could prevent it. Of
course I never thought of availing myself of his generous
aid, or of permitting the contingency to occur that would
make it needful. If it had come to that pass I should
have felt myself bound to withdraw.
You will not think that I offend against propriety in
mentioning such a private experience when you consider
what an encouragement it was, what a joy to know that
I had such friends.
�13
Indeed, I would not refer now to those painful times at
all, could I not in all honesty say that I look back upon
them with pride, not on my own account, oh no! but on
yours, dear friends, on yours. How I feared and trembled,
and with what a faltering voice did I deliver the mes
sages of truth that came to me! You resisted them too.
I tried to hold my tongue and you to shut your ears. I
would fain have run away and hid myself from the sum
mons of Humanity* But I could not do that. I could
not resign my position without putting you in a false one,
in a position which I did not believe you were willing to
take. And you were not willing. This church, I say it
proudly, never committed itself to the WrongB You never
took any action on Sat side. On the contrary, when, in
the midst of that agitation, I was honored with an invi
tation elsewhere, and you had the opportunity of relief
by my being transferred to another church, you asserted,
at a very full meeting, wW decisive unanimity, your
fidelity to the freedom of the pulpit. And now it may
be written in the annals of this Church that in that try
ing time, it stood fast on the ground of Christian Liberty,
and its minister had the honor of being its representative.
While I gratefullS^.cknowledge the friendship which
has been my special blessing for half a century, I gladly
repeat what I have said on former anniversaries of my
ministry, that the kindness I have received has not come
from you alone. How little has there been in all this
time to remind me that we of this Church bear an obnox
ious name! How many are there who are not of this
little fold, but of other denominations, who have made
me feel that they belonged to me! O friends, it is not all
bearing the same religious name, but all bearing different
religious names and yet each respecting in others the
right of every one to think for himself,—this it is that
�14
illustrates most impressively the broad spirit of our com
mon Christianity. I had rather see this fact manifest
than a hundred churches agreeing exactly with me in
opinion.
I preached my first sermon in the fall of 1823, in Water
town, Massachusetts. And then, for a few months, I
preached as a candidate for settlement in Churches in
Boston and its vicinity needing pastors. Kind and flat
tering things were said to me of my ministrations, but I
put little faith in them, as they came from the many rela
tives and friends that I and mine had in that quarter, and
their judgment was biased by regard for me and mine.
I was strengthened in my distrust when friends, fellow
students, and fellow-candidates, were preferred before me.
I never envied them their success. I felt not the slightest
mortification, such a hearty dread had I of being settled
in Boston, whose church-goers had in those days the repu
tation of being terribly critical, and rhetoric then and
there was almost a religion. I felt myself utterly unequal
to that position. All my day-dreams had been of the
country, of some village church.
In May, 1824, I gladly availed myself of the oppor
tunity that was offered me of spending three months in
Baltimore as an assistant of Mr Greenwood, afterwards
pastor of the Stone Chapel, Boston. Before I left Bal
timore, the last of July of that year, I received a letter
from this city, inviting me to stop on my way home
and preach a few Sundays in the little church here. I
accepted the invitation as in duty bound, but rather re
luctantly, as I had never before been so long and so far
away from home, and I was homesick. I spent the
month of August here. I do not recollect that I had any
thought of being a candidate for this pulpit. Such had
been my experience, my ill success,—I do not wonder at
�15
it now,—that I was surprised and gratified when, upon the
eve of my departure, I was waited upon by a committee of
four or five,—I have had a suspicion since, so few were
the members of this Church then, that this committee
comprised nearly the whole Church meeting from which
they came,—and they cordially invited me to return and
become their pastor. As I had come here a perfect
stranger, and there were no prepossessions in my favor, I
could not but have at the very first a gratifying confi
dence in this invitation. Although I asked time for con
sideration, I responded at once in my heart to the kind
ness shown to me. Thus the aspirant to a country parish
was led to this great city.
The three hundred miles and more that separate Phila
delphia from my native Boston were a great deal longer
then than they are now. It took then at least two days
and a half to go from one to the other. A minister of our
denomination in Boston and its neighborhood had then a
great help in the custom then and there prevalent of a
frequent exchange of pulpits. One seldom occupied his
own pulpit more than half of the time. But this church
in Philadelphia was an outpost, and the lightening of
the labor by exchanges was not to be looked for. There
was no one to exchange with nearer than William Ware,
pastor of the church in New York. The place to be
filled here looked lonely and formidable. I accepted,
however, the lead of circumstances, moved by the confi
dence with which the hospitable members of this church
inspired me. I was drawn to this part of the vineyard
by their readiness to welcome me.
My ordination was delayed some months by the diffi
culty of obtaining ministers to come and take part in it.
It was a journey then. The days had only just gone by
when our pious New England fathers who made it had
prayers offered up in their churches for the protection of
�16
Heaven (or rather in their meeting-houses, as all places
of worship except the Catholic and Episcopal were called;
we never talked of going to church, we went to meeting).
Ordinations have ceased to be the solemn occasions they
were then. Then they were sacramental in their signifi
cation, like marriage. As our liberal faith was then
everywhere spoken against, it was thought necessary that
my ordination should be conducted as impressively as
possible. It is pleasant now to remember that with the
two Wares, Henry Ware, Jr, and William, and Dr
Gannett, came one of the fathers, far advanced in years,
the venerable Dr Bancroft, of Worcester, Mass., the
honored father of a distinguished son, to partake in the
exercises of the occasion. They are all gone now.
This Church had its beginning in 1796, when seven
persons, nearly all from the old country, shortly increased
to fourteen, with their families, agreed, at the suggestion
of Dr Priestley, who came to this country in 1794, to
meet every Sunday and take turns as readers of printed
sermons and prayers of the Liberal Faith. These meet
ings were occasionally interrupted by the yellow fever,
by which Philadelphia was then visited almost every
year, but they were never wholly given up.
In 1813 the small brick building was built in which I
first preached, and which stood on the southwest corner
of the present lot? directly on the street. A charter was
then obtained under the title of “ The First Society of
Unitarian Christians.” So obnoxious then was the Uni
tarian name that the most advanced men of our faith in
Boston, the fountain-head of American Unitarianism,
remonstrated with the fathers of this church, and coun
selled them to abstain from the use of so unpopular a des
ignation. But our founders, being Unitarians from Old
England and not from New, and consequently warm ad
�17
mirers, and some of them personal friends, of Dr Priestley,
whose autograph was on their records as one of their
members, felt themselves only honored in bearing with
him the opprobrium of the Unitarian name. The title
of our Church was afterwards changed to its present de
nomination, to bring it nominally into accord with our
brethren in New England. In 1828 this building took
the place of the first.
It was about ten years before I came here that the
Trinitarian and Unitarian controversy began. One of its
earliest forms appeared in published letters in 1815 be
tween Dr Channing, the pastor of the Federal Street
Church in Boston,- and Dr Samuel Worcester,! An able
orthodox minister of Salem, Mass. In 1819 Dr Chan
ning preached a sermon at the ordination of Mr Sparks
in Baltimore, which was then and ever will be regarded
as an eloquent and felicitous statemenwof the views of
the liberally disposed of that day. It commanded great
attention far and wide, and gave occasion ma very able,
learned, and courteous controversy between Dr Woods
and Mr Stuart, professors in the Orthodox Theological
School in Andover, Mass., on the one side, and Pro
fessors Henry Ware, Sr, and Andrews Norton, of the Cam
bridge Theological School on the other. The controversy
spread mostly in Massachusetts. In the^mall towns
where there had been only one church, there speedily ap
peared two. Families were divided, not without heats
and coolnesses, to the hurt of Christian fellowship. As
a general rule, fathers took the liberal side, mothers the
orthodox.
When I came here in 1825, the first excitement of the
controversy had somewhat subsided. It had lost its first
keen interest. It was growing rather wearisome. It had
snowed tracts, Trinitarian and Unitarian, over the land.
Accordingly, although I was a warm partisan, full of con3
�18
fidence in the rational and scriptural superiority of the
Unitarian faith, I did not feel moved to preach doctrinal
sermons. And, furthermore, as I was on my way hither
in the mail coach, in company with my friends, ministers
and delegates from Boston and New York, I was greatly
impressed by a remark made by one of my elders to the
effect that people were bound to their several churches,
not by the force of reason and the results of religious in
quiry, but by mere use and wont and affection.
Of the truth of this remark, by the way, I had a
striking instance some years ago. One of our fellow
citizens, now deceased, an intelligent, respectable man, a
devoted member of one of our Presbyterian churches,
used to come to me to borrow Theodore Parker’s writings,
in which he took great pleasure. But he said he never
dreamed of withdrawing from his Church. As Richter
says, his Church was his mother. You could not have
weaned him from her by telling him how many better
mothers there were in the world. This truth impressed
me greatly, and was a comfort to me in my younger days.
Although I have rarely preached an outright doctrinal
discourse, yet I had many interesting experiences in ref
erence to the spread of liberal ideas. I regret that I
have not done in my small way what that eminent man,
John Quincy Adams, as his Memoirs now in course of
publication show he did in his wonderfully thorough way,
—kept a diary. Very frequently has it occurred that per
sons have come to me who had chanced to hear a Unita
rian sermon, or read a Unitarian book for the first time,
and they declared that it expressed their views precisely,
and they did not know before that there was anybody in
the world of that way of thinking.
Once, many years ago, I received a letter from a
stranger in Virginia, bearing a well-known Virginia
name. She wrote to tell me that a year before, she was
�19
in Philadelphia, and, much against her conscience, had
been induced by her husband to enter this church. Although there was nothing of a doctrinal character in the
sermon, the effect was to move her when she returned
home to study the Scriptures for herself with new care.
The result was that she now believed upon their au
thority that there was only one God, the Father, and
that Jesus Christ was a dependent being. There were
some texts, however, that she wished to have explained,
and therefore she wrote to me. The texts she specified
showed that she could not have met with any of our
publications, for, had she done so, she would certainly
have found the explanations she desired. Of course I
did what I could to supply her wants.
I think this incident would have passed away from
my mind or been only dimly remembered if, twenty-five
years afterwards, and after the war of the Rebellion, I
had not received another letter from the same person.
In it she referred to our Correspondence of five-andtwenty years before, and said that she wrote now in be
half of some suffering people, formerly her servants
(slaves, I presume). Through the kindness of Mr John
Welsh, chairman of a committee that had been chosen
by our fellow-citizens for the relief of the Southern people,
I was enabled to send her a sum of money. A quantity
of clothing was also procured for her from the Freed
men’s Relief Association. My Southern friend returned,
with her thanks, a very minute account of the disposi
tion she had made of the supplies sent to her. She ap
peared to have accepted with a Christian grace the
changed condition of things in the South. May we not
give something of the credit of this gracious behavior to
the liberal faith which she had learned to cherish?
It was cases like this that caused me to feel less and
less interest in doctrines and religious controversies. I
�20
have been learning every day that, much as men differ
in religion and numberless other things, they are, after
all, more alike than different, and that in our intercourse
with our fellow-men it is best to ignore those differences
as much as possible, and take for granted that we and
they are all of one kind.
And furthermore, in free conversation with educated
and intelligent persons of this city, with whom I have
become acquainted, I long ago found out that it was not
orthodoxy that prevailed; it was not the doctrines of
Calvin and the Thirty-nine Articles that were rampant,
but that there was a wide-spread scepticism as to the
simplest facts of historical Christianity. To persons of
this class, numerous, years ago, and not less numerous
now, it mattered little whether the Bible taught the
Trinity or the Unity of the Divine Nature. The ques
tion with them is, whether it be not all a fable.
It was this state of mind that I was continually meet
ing with that qarly gave to my humble studies a very
definite and positive direction. It was high time, I
thought, to look to the very foundations of Christianity,
and see to it, not whether the Christian Records, upon
which we are all resting^, favor the Trinitarian or the
Unitarian interpretation of their contents, but whether
they have any basis in Fact, and to what that basis
amounts. As this feemed to be the fundamental inquiry,
so, of all inquiries, it became to me the most interesting.
In studying this question I could not satisfy myself
that any external, historical argument, however power
ful, in favor of the genuineness and authenticity of the
Christian Records, could prove decisive. For even if it
were thus proved to demonstration that we have in the
Four Gospels the very works, word for word, of the
writers whose names they bear, there would still remain
untouched the question: How, after all, do we know
�21
that these writers, honest and intelligent as they may
have been, were not mistaken?
There was only one thing to be done: To examine these
writings themselves, and to find out what they really are.
With the one single desire to ascertain their true char
acter, that is, whether they be narratives of facts or of
fables, or a mingle of both, they were to be studied, and
the principles of reason, truth, and probability were to be
applied to them just as if they were anonymous frag
ments recently discovered in some monaster^ of the East,
or dug up from under some ancient ruins.
On the face of them, they are very artlessly constructed.
Here was one good reason for believing that, though it
might be difficult, it could not be impossible to determine
what they are. Since Science can discoveife^T^inv com
pound the simples of which it is composed, although
present in infinitesimal quantities, surely then it can be
ascertained of what these artless works of human hands
are made: whether they be the creations of fancy or the
productions of truth.
Then, again, as obviously, these primitive Records
abound in allusions to times, places, and persons. Here
was another ground of hope that the inquiry into their
real character would not be in vain. When one is tell
ing a story not founded in fact, he takes good care how
he refers to times, and persons, and places, since every
such reference is virtually summoning a witness to testify
to his credibility.
Encouraged by these considerations, I have now, for
forty years and^wre, given myselr to this fundamental
inquiry. It has been said that only scholars, far more
learned men than I pretend to be, can settle the his
torical claims of the Four Gospels. But the fact is, the
theologians in Germany and elsewhere, profound as their
learning is, have busied themselves about the external
�22
historical arguments for the truth of the Gospels. They
have been given, it has seemed to me, to a quibbling
sort of criticism about jots and tittles. But it is not
microscopes, but an eye to see with, that is the one thing
needed for the elucidation of these Writings.
When we first occupied this building, I read courses
of Expository Lectures every Tuesday evening, in a
room which was fitted up as a vestry, under the church,
for some four or five months in the year, for five seasons.
The attendance was never large; some thirty persons
perhaps gave me their presence. But my interest in the
study came not from my hearers, but from the subject,
in which, from that time to this, I have found an in
creasing delight. Continually new and inimitable marks
of truth have been disclosed. Unable to keep to myself
what I found so convincing, I have from time to time
published the discoveries, or what appeared to me dis
coveries, that I made. The editions of my little pub
lished volumes have never been large. Many persons
tell me they have read them. I can reconcile the fact
that they have been so much read with their very limited
sale only by supposing that the few copies sold have been
loaned very extensively s Do not think, friends, that I
am making any complaint. As I have just said, my in
terest in the subject has not depended upon others, either
hearers or readers. The subject itself has been my abun
dant compensation.
To many of my brothers in the ministry I have ap
peared, I suppose,*4o be the dupe of my own fancies.
What I have offered as sparkling gems of fact have been
regarded as made, not found. Some time ago I came
across an old letter from my venerated friend, the late
Henry Ware, Jr, in which he expostulated with me for
wasting myself upon such a barren study as he appears to
have regarded the endeavor to ascertain whether this
�23
great Christendom be founded on a fable or on the ada
mant of Fact.
So dependent are we all upon the sympathy of others,
that I believe my interest in this pursuit would have
abated long ago had it not been that the subject had an
overpowering charm in itself, and that one great result
of the inquiry, becoming more and more significant at
every step, was to bring out in ever clearer light the
Godlike Character of the Man of Nazareth. As he
has gradually emerged from the thick mists of super
stition and theological speculation in which he had so
long been hidden from my sight, his Person, as profoundly
natural as it was profoundly original, has broken upon
me at times as “ the light of the knowledge of the glory
of God.” Not in any alleged miracle, not in any nor
in all His works, wonderful and unprecedented as some
of them were, not in His words, immortal as is the wis
dom that he uttered, but in that reserved fulness of per
sonal power of which His works and words,—His whole
overt life gives only a hint, significant, indeed, but only
a hint—there, in himself, in what He was, in the native,
original power of the Man, the secret of His mighty in
fluence has been laid bare to me. That it is that ex
plains the existence of the wondrous stories of His life.
They had to be, and to be just what they are, with all
their discrepancies, mistakes, and somewhat of the fabu
lous that is found in them, born as they were of the irre
sistible force of His personal truth. And that it is, also,
which is the inexhaustible fountain of Inspiration, of
Faith, and Love, and Hope, which the Infinite Mercy has
opened in the world, and of which men, fainting and per
ishing in their sins, shall drink, and from within them
shall flow rivers of healing and of health.
As I have intimated, friends, there have been times
when I have felt somewhat lonely in this study. But
�24
some ten years ago a marked change came over the
course of religious thought occasioned by the appearance
of a Life of Jesus, by an eloquent and learned man in
France, who, belonging to the sceptical school, scarcely
believing that such a person as Jesus ever had an exist
ence, went to Syria upon a scientific errand, and when
there was struck by the evidences that he beheld of the
geographical truth of the New Testament. So strong a
conviction was born in him of the reality of Jesus that
he was moved to write his life. It is true there is little
else in the book of Ernest Renan recognized as fact, be
yond the actual existence and the great sayings of Jesus.
This was something, coming from the quarter it did.
And, moreover, with all the doubts which it suggests as
to particular incidents in the Gospel histories, its publi
cation has been justified by the effect it had in turning
attention to the human side of that great life. It has
created a new interest in the Man.
And further, Science, becoming popular, is impressing
the general mind so deeply with the idea of the inviolable
order of Nature, that it is not to be believed that men
will look much longer for the credentials of any person,
or of any fact, in his or its departure from that order.
Nothing can be recognized as truth that violates the laws
of Nature, or rather that does not harmonize with them
fully. Deeply impressed with the entire naturalness of
Jesus, I believe that the time is at hand when the evi
dences of His truth, of His divinity, will be sought, not
in any preternatural events or theories, but in His full
accord with the natural truth of things. As the one Fact,
or Person, in whom the highest or deepest in Nature is
revealed, He is the central fact, harmonizing all nature.
Never, never, from the first, has it been more important
that the personality of Jesus should be appreciated than
at the present time. The Darwinian law of Natural
�25
Selection and the Survival of the Fittest is in all men’s
minds, and in the material, organized world of plants and
animals, we are all coming to consider it demonstrated.
As an animal, man must be concluded under that law.
In the physical world, as Professor Tyndall tells us, “ the
weakest must go to the wall.”
But man is something, a great deal more than an ani
mal. He has an immaterial, moral, intellectual being,
for which he has the irresistible testimony of his own
consciousness; and as an immaterial being, it is not at
the cost of the weak, but it is by helping the weak to
live that any individual becomes strong. This, this is
the great law of our spiritual nature^ The highest, the
elect, they whom Nature selects, the fittest to live, are
those who are ready to die for others, sacrificing their
mortal existence, if need be, to lift up the weakest to
their immortal fellowship. In the unchangeable order
of things, not only is it not possible for a moral and in
tellectual being to become great by sacrificing others to
his own advancement, his greatness can be secured only
by giving himself for them.
Let Science, then, go on pouring light upon the laws
and order of the material Universe. But let it stand by
its admission that the connection between that and the
immaterial world, however intimate, is not only inscru
table, but unthinkable; and reverently recognize, stand
ing there on the threshold of the immaterial world, one
Godlike Figure, surrounded by the patriots and martyrs,
the great and good of every age and country, holy angels,
but high above them all in the perfectness of his Selfabnegation. No one took His life from him; He gave it
up freely of himself. And thus is He a special revelation
of the law that reigns in the moral world, as surely as
the law of natural selection reigns in the physical.
4
�26
What renders the character of Jesus of still greater
interest at this present time is the fact that there are
thoughtful and enlightened men who aver that they
would fain be rid of Him, since He has been and still is
the occasion of so much enslaving error. They might
as well, for the same reason, join with Porson and “damn
the nature of things,” for what has occasioned greater
error than the nature of things? It can be got rid of
as easily as the Person of Jesus.
For some twenty years or more before the war of the
Rebellion, the question which that war settled interested
me deeply. But on the last anniversary of my ministry
I dwelt chiefly upon the experiences of that period. I
need not repeat what I said then. It was a season of
severe discipline to us all, to the whole people of our
country.
I will only say here, that so far from diverting my
interest from the great subject of which I have been
speaking, it harmonized with it and increased it. As I
read the events and signs of that trying time, they be
came to me a living commentary upon the words of the
Lord Jesus. Precepts of His, that had before seemed
trite, began glowing and burning like revelations fresh
from the Invisible. The parable of the Good Samaritan
seemed to be made expressly for that hour. That scene
in the synagogue at Nazareth, when all there were filled
with wrath at what Jesus said,—how real was it, read by
the light of the flames that consumed Pennsylvania Hall I
As the truths of the New Testament, simple and divine,
rose like suns and poured their light upon that long
conflict, so did those days in return disclose a new and
pointed significance in those simple pages, giving life to
our Christian faith.
�27
What a time, friends, has this been, the latter half of
our first national century! It was a great day in history
which gave the world the Printing-Press and the Protest
ant Reformation. But does not the last half century
rival it? The railroad and the telegraph, mountains
levelled, oceans and continents united, time and space
vanishing, the huge sun made our submissive artist,
the establishment of universal liberty over this broad
land,—are not these things responding with literal obedi
ence to the command of the ancient prophet: “ Prepare
ye the way of the Lord; make his path straight?”
It is a wonderful day, a great day of the Lord. We
are stocks and stones if we do not catch the spirit, the
generous spirit, of the Almighty breathif^and brooding
in countless unacknowledged ways over this mysterious
human race. All things, like a host of prophets, are point
ing us to an unimaginable destiny. The authority of the
human soul over the visible Universe is becoming every
hour more assured. We are not here to walk in a vain
show, to live only for the lust of the eye, so soon to be
quenched in dust, or for the pride which feeds on what
withers almost at the touch. Our nature bears the in
eradicable likeness of the Highest. The mystery of it is
hidden in the mystery of
being, and the laws of oui’
minds are revealed in the laws which hold the whole Cre
ation together. We are not servants, we are sons, heirs
of God; joint heirs with Jesus and all the good and
great. And all is ours, ours to raise and enlarge our
thoughts, to set us free from the corrupting bondage of the
senses, to deepen our hunger and thirst for the only Liv
ing and the True, for the beauty of Holiness, the im
mortal life of God. And all our private experience; all
our conflicts, our victories and our defeats; all the joys
and sorrows which we have shared together,—the sacred
�28
memories that come to us to-day of parents, sons, daugh
ters, and dear ones departed,—do they not throng around
us now, and kindle our hearts with unutterable prayers
for ourselves, for our children, and for one another ?
NOTE
On the last anniversary of my ordination (the forty
ninth) I was led to dwell upon the Anti-slavery period
of thirty years before the war of the rebellion. It was a
period of intense interest, a great chapter in the history
of our country.
There was one incident of those times to which I par
ticularly referred a year ago, which I wish to recoid here,
not on account of any great part that I had in it, but for
the interesting character of the whole affair; and be
cause, thinking it of some historical value, I am not
aware that it has ever been recorded save in the daily
press of the time. From a MS. record made some time
ago of “ Reminiscences,” the following extract is tran
scribed :
�29
“ The most memorable occasion in my Anti-slavery ex
perience was the annual meeting of the American Anti
slavery Society held in the ‘ Tabernacle,’ as it was called,
in New York, in May, 1850,1 believe it was. I accepted
an invitation to speak on that occasion, holding myself
greatly honored thereby.
Having no gift of extemporaneous speech, I prepared
myself with the utmost pains. I went to New York
the day before the meeting; saw Mr Garrison and Wendell Phillips. Mr Garrison said there would be a riot,
as the Press had been doing its utmost to inflame the
public mind against the Abolitionists.
“ When the meeting was opened, the large hall, said
to be the largest then in New York, capable of holding
some thousands, was apparently full. The vast majority
of the audience were doubtless friendly to the object of
the meeting.
“Mr Garrison, Wendell Phillips, Edmund Quincy,
Isaac Hopper, Francis Jackson, Frederick Douglass, and
other faithful servants of the cause, were present on the
platform.
“ I saw friends here and there among the audience. I
was surprised to recognize there a son of Judge Kane of
this city (afterwards Col. T. Kane). I had some previous
acquaintance with him, and knew him to be a young man
of ardent temperament, open to generous ideas. I sup
posed then, and still suppose, that he was drawn there
accidentally by curiosity. After a prayer by the Bev.
Henry Grew, Mr Garrison made the opening speech,
strong, bold, and characteristic.
“ He had spoken only a few moments when he was in
terrupted by what sounded like a burst of applause; but
as there was nothing special to call it forth, and as it
proceeded from one little portion of the audience, I asked
Wendell Phillips, who sat next to me, what it meant.
�30
1 It means/ he said, ‘ that there is to he a row.’ The
interruption was repeated again and again. A voice
shouted some rude questions to Mr Garrison.
“Mr Garrison bore himself with the serenity of a
summer’s evening, answering: ‘ My friend, if you will
wait till I get through, I will give you the information
you ask for.’ He succeeded in finishing his speech. I
was to speak next. But the instant Mr Garrison ended,
there came down upon the platform from the gallery
which was connected with it, an individual, with a com
pany of roughs at his back, who proved to be no less a
person than the then well-known Isaiah Rynders. He
began shouting and raving.
“ I was not aware of being under any apprehension of
personal violence. We were all like General Jackson’s
cotton-bales at New Orleans. Our demeanor made it
impossible for the rioters to use any physical force against
us. Young Kane, however, leaped upon the platform,
and, pressing through to me, in a tone of great excite
ment, exclaimed » ‘ They shall not touch a hair of your
head!’ Mr Garrison said to Rynders in the quietest
manner conceivable, | You ought not to interrupt us. We
go upon th^principle of hearing everybody. If you wish
to speak, I will keep ordei|and you shall be heard.’ But
Rynders was not in a state of mind to listen to reason. He
had not come there for that, but to break up the meeting.
“ The Hutchinsons, who were wont to sing at the Anti
slavery meetings, were in the gallery, and they attempted
to raise a song, to soothe the savages with music. But it
was of no avail. Rynders drowned their fine voices with
noise and shouting. The chief of the police came upon
the platform, and asked Mr Garrison whether he desired
him to arrest and remove Rynders & Co. Mr Garrison
answered: ‘We desire nothing of you. We can take
care of ourselves. You probably know your duty.’ The
�31
officer did' nothing. In this scene of confusion, young
Kane became intensely excited. He rushed up to
Rynders, and shook his fist in his face. He said to me
with the deepest emphasis : f If he touches Mr Garrison,
I’ll kill him!’ But Mr Garrison’s composure was more
than a coat of mail. Rynders, indisposed to speak him
self, brought forward a man to speak for him and. his
party. Mr Francis Jacksonjiand I were, the while, hold
ing young Kane down in his seat to keep him from
breaking out into some act of violence. He was the most
dangerous element on our side. Rynders’s substitute
professed a willingness that I should speak first (I was
down on the placards to follow Mr Garrison), provided
I did not make a long speech.
“ Accordingly, I spoke iM little, anxiously prepared
word. I never recall that hour without blessing myself
that I was called to speak precisely at that moment. At
any other stage of the proceedings, it would have been
wretchedly out of place.
“ As it was, my speech fitted in almost ttWell as if it
had been impromptu, although a shamm^e might easily
have discovered that I was speaking mewm’ier. Rynders
interrupted me again and again, exclaiming that I lied,
that I was personal, but he ended with applauding me!
Rynders’s man then came forward, rath® dull and tire
some in speech. It was his own friends who interrupted
him occasionally, Mr Garrison calling them to order.
“ His argument was^hat the blacks are not human
beings. Mr Garrison whispered to me while he was
speaking, that the speaker had formerly been a com
positor in the office of the Liberator.
“ He ended at last, and then Frederick Douglass was
loudly called for. Mr Douglass came forward, exqui
sitely neat in his dress.
“ ‘ The gentleman who has just spoken,’ he began, ‘ has
�32
undertaken to prove that the blacks are n'ot human
beings. He has examined our whole conformation, from
top to toe. I cannot follow him in his argument. I will
assist him in it, however. I offer myself for your exami
nation. Am I a man ? ’ To this interrogatory instantly
there came from the audience a thunderous affirma
tive. Rynders was standing right by the side of Mr
Douglass, and when the response died away, he exclaimed
in a hesitating way: ‘But you’re not a black man!’
‘ Then,’ retorted Douglass, ‘ I’m your brother.’ ‘ Ah,—
ah,’ said Rynders, hesitatingly, ‘ only half brother.’ The
effect upon the audience need not be described; it may
readily be imagined. Mr Douglass then went on, com
plaining of Horace Greeley, who had recently said in his
paper that the blacks did nothing for themselves. ‘ When
I first came North,’ said Mr Douglass, ‘ I went to the
most decided Anti-slavery merchant in the North, and
sought employment on a ship he was building, and he told
me that if he were to give me work, every white opera
tive would quit, and yet Mr Greeley finds fault with us
that we do not help ourselves!’ This criticism of Greeley
pleased Rynders, who bore that gentleman no good will,
and he added a word to Douglass’s against Greeley. ‘ I
am happy,’ said Douglass, ‘ to have the assent of my half
brother here,’ pointing to Rynders, and convulsing the
audience with laughter. After this, Rynders, finding how
he was played with, took care to hold his peace; but some
one of Rynders’s company in the gallery undertook to in
terrupt the speaker. ‘ It’s of no use,’ said Mr Douglass ;
‘ I’ve Captain Rynders here to back me.’ ‘ We were born
here,’ he went on to say, ‘ we have made the clothes that
you wear, and the sugar that you put into your tea, and we
mean to stay here and do all we can for you.’ ‘ Yes!’ cried
a voice from the gallery, ‘ and you’ll cut our throats!’
‘ No,’ said the speaker, ‘ we’ll only cut your hair.’ When
�33
the laughter ceased, Mr Douglass proceeded to say:
‘ We mean to stay here, and do all we can for every one,
be he a man, or be he a monkey,’ accompanying these
last words with a wave of his hand towards the quarter
whence the interruption had come. He concluded with
saying that he saw his friend, Samuel Ward, present, and
he would ask him to step forward. All eyes were instantly
turned to the back of the platform, or stage rather, so
dramatic was the scene, and there, amidst a group, stood
a large man, so black that, as Wendell Phillips said,
when he shut his eyes, you could not see him. Had I
observed him before, I should have wondered what
brought him there, accounting him as fresh from Africa.
He belonged to the political wing of the Abolition party
(Gerritt Smith’s), * and had wandered into the meeting,
never expecting to be called upon to speak. At the call
of Frederick Douglass, he came to the front, and, as he
approached, Rynders exclaimed: ‘ Well, this is the origi
nal nigger!’ ‘ I’ve heard of the magnanimity of Captain
Rynders,’ said Ward, ‘ but the half has not been told me I’
And then he went on with a noble voice, and his speech
was such a strain of eloquence as I never heard excelled
before or since.
“‘There are more than fifty people here,’ said he,
‘ who may remember me as a little black boy running
about the streets of New York. I have always been
called nigger, and the only consolation that has been
offered me for being called nigger was, that, when I die
and go to heaven, I shall be white. If’—and here, with
an earnestness of tone and manner that thrilled one to
the very marrow, he continued—‘ If I cannot go to heav
en as black as God made me, let me go down to hell, and
dwell with the devils forever!’
“ The effect was beyond description.
“ ‘ This gentleman,’ he said, ‘ who denies our humanity,
5
�34
has examined us scientifically, but I know something of
anatomy. I have kept school, and I have had pupils,
from the jet black up to the soft dissolving views, and
I’ve seen white boys with retreating foreheads and pro
jecting jaws, and, as Dickens says, in Nicholas Nickleby,
of Smike, you might knock here all day,’ tapping his
forehead, ‘ and find nobody at home.’ In this strain, he
went on, ruling the large audience with Napoleonic power.
Coal-black as he was, he was an emperor, pro tempore.
“ When he ceased speaking, the time had expired for
which the Tabernacle was engaged, and we had to ad
journ. Never was there a grander triumph of intelli
gence, of mind, over brute force. Two colored men, whose
claim to be considered human was denied, had, by mere
force of intellect, overwhelmed their maligners with con
fusion. As the audience was thinning out, I went down
on the floor to see some friends there. Rynders came
by. I could not help saying to him, ‘How shall we
thank you for what you have done for us to-day ? ’ ‘ Well,’
said he, ‘ I do not like to hear my country abused, but
that last thing that you said, that’s the truth.’ That last
thing was, I believe, a simple assertion of the right of the
people to think and speak freely.
“Judging by his physiognomy and his scriptural name
Isaiah, I took Captain Rynders to be of Yankee descent.
Notwithstanding his violent behavior, he yet seemed to
be a man accessible to the force of truth. I found that
Lucretia Mott had the same impressions of him. She
saw him a day or two afterwards in a restaurant on
Broadway, and she sat down at his table, and entered
into conversation with him. As he passed out of the
restaurant, h^ asked Mr McKim, who was standing there,
waiting for Mrs Mott, whether Mrs Mott were his mother.
Mr McKim replied in the negative. ‘ She’s a good sen
sible woman,’ said Rynders.
�35
“Never before or since have I been so deeply moved
as on that occasion. Depths were stirred in me never
before reached. For days afterwards, when I under
took to tell the story, my head instantly began to ache.
Mr Garrison said, if the papers would only faithfully
report the scene, it would revolutionize public senti
ment. As it was, they heaped all sorts of ridicule upon
us. I cheerfully accepted my share, entirely willing to
pass for a fool in the eyes of the world. It was a cheap
price to pay for the privilege of witnessing such a triumph.
I was taken quite out of myself. I came home, stepping
like Malvolio. I had shared in the smile of Freedom,
the belle and beauty of the world.
“ A day or two after my return home, I met one of my
parishioners in the street, and stopped and told him all
about my New York visitJ He listened to me with a
forced smile, and told me that there had been some
thought of calling an indignation meeting of the church
to express the mortification felt at my going and mixing
myself up with such people. I had hardly given a
thought to the effect at home, so full was I of the interest
and glory of the occasion. I ought to have preached on
the Sunday following from the words: ‘ He has gone to be
a guest with a man who is a sinner !’ ”
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�MEETING
OF THE
Staig M fflmtmn CJ^nstians,
IN PHILADELPHIA,
HELD IN THE CHURCH, TENTH AND LOCUST STREETS,
JANUARY 1 2, 187 5,
IN commemoration' on the
FIFTIETH
ANNIVERSARY
OF
Rev. W. H. FURNESS, D.D.,
AS PASTOR OF THEIR CHURCH.
��39
On the evening of January 12th, 1875, the meeting
of the First Unitarian Society, in commemoration of the
fiftieth anniversary of the pastorate of the Rev. Dr. Fur
ness, was held in the church.
The following ministers were present:
Rev. Dr. John H. Morison,
Rev. R. R. Shippen,
Rev. Dr. S. K. Lothrop,
Rev. Wm. O. White,
Rev Dr. James Freeman Clarke,Rev. J. F. W. Ware,
Rev. Dr. James T. Thompson,
Rev. Wm. C. Gannett,
Rev. Dr. C. A. Bartol,
Rev. E. H. Hall,
Rev. Dr. H. W. Bellows,
Rev. J. W. Chadwick,
Rev. Dr. A. P. Putnam,
Rev. Thos. J. Mumford,
Rev. F. Israel,
RevMBS G. Ames.
The church was profusely but tastefully hung with
festoons of evergreen; on the wall, behind the pulpit,
was a large cross; among the festoons which overhung it
were the figures “ 1825 ” and ‘L{1875” in white and green
flowers; while in front of the pulpit, covering the com
munion table and all the approaches to it, were growing
tropical plants, amid which was a profusion of vases,
baskets, and bouquets of natural flowers, with smilax
distributed here and there in delicate fringes or festoons.
�40
The regular quartette choir of the church, consisting
of
Mrs. W. D. Dutton,
Mrs. Isaac Ashmead,
Mr. E. Dillingham,
Mr. F. G-. Caupeman,
....
Jr., .
.
.
....
....
Soprano,
Contralto,
Tenor,
Bass,
was on this occasion assisted by
Miss Cassidy,
Miss Cooper,
Mr. A. H. Eosewig,
Miss Jennie Cassidy,
Mrs. Roberts,
Mr. W. W. Gilchrist.
under the direction of Mr. W. D. Dutton, organist of the
church.
�PROCEEDINGS.
At half-past seven o’clock the exercises of the evening
commenced, as follows:
Music.
Tenor solo and chorus, ....
. Mendelssohn.
“ Oh, come, let us worship,” from 95th Psalm.
Mr. Henry Winsor, Chairman of the Committee of
Arrangements, in opening the meeting made the follow
ing remarks:
The occasion of our meeting here this evening is so
well known to all present that there is no need of any
formal announcement of it. We thought some time ago
that this anniversary of our pastor’s ordination, when
the half century of his ministration here is complete,
ought to be in some way marked and commemorated;
and as one of the things for that purpose,—as the best
means perhaps to that end, we invited friends in New
England and elsewhere to be with us here, to-night^ and
I am glad to say that some of them have come; as many
perhaps as we had reason to expect at this inclement
season.
6
�42
And now, speaking for this Society, I want to say to
them that their presence is a special joy to us ; a greater
joy than it could be on a similar occasion to any society
in New England; for there Unitarians are at home, and
each society has many neighbors with whom it can com
mune, and to whom it can look for sympathy, and, if
need be, for assistance. But this Society of Unitarian
Christians has long been alone in this great city, having
no connection with any religious society here and com
muning with none. And so, as I said, your presence on
this occasion is a real joy to us, and, on behalf of the
Society, I heartily thank you for it. But we are here—
we of the congregation are here—not to speak but to
listen; and I will now ask Dr. Morison, of Massachusetts,
to pray for us.
Prayer by Rev. Dr. John H. Morison.
Almighty and most merciful Father, we beseech Thee
to open our hearts to all the gracious and hallowed asso
ciations of this hour. Help us so to enter into the spirit
of this hour, that all holy influences may be around us, that
our hearts may be touched anew, that we may be brought
together more tenderly, and lifted up, with a deeper grati
tude and reverence, to Thee, the Fountain of all good, the
Giver of every good and perfect gift. We thank Thee,
most merciful Father; for the ministry which has been mod
estly carrying on its beneficent work here through these
fifty years. We thank Thee for all the lives which have
been helped by it to see and to do Thy will, and which
have been made more beautiful and holy by being brought
into quicker sympathies with whatever is beautiful in the
world without, and whatever is lovely in the world within.
We thank Thee for the inspiring words which have been
here spoken, brought home to the consciences of this con
�43
gregation by the life which stood behind them, to make
men more earnest to search after what is true and to do
what is right. We thank Thee, our Father in heaven, for
all the sweet and tender and far-reaching hopes, too vast
for this world, which have been opening here, begun upon
the earth and fulfilled in other worlds, in more imme
diate union with the spirits of the just made perfect; and
we thank Thee for all the solemn memories here, through
which the dear and honored forms of those to whom we
who are aged now looked up once as to our fathers and
teachers rise again transfigured and alive before us. We
thank Thee for all those who have been with us in the
ministry of Christ, and under the ministry of Christ,
gracious souls, rejoicing with us in the work which they
and we have been permitted to do, and now, as our trust
is, numbered among Thy saints in glory gverlasting. And
while we here render thanks to Thee for the ministry so
long and so faithfully fulfilled in this place, so allying
itself to all that is sweet in our human affections, to all
that is beautiful in the world of nature and of art, to all
that is holy in the domestic relations, to all that is strong
and true in the defence of human rights, to the deepest
human interests and to thy love, uniting in grateful rev
erence for the past, we would also ask Thy holy Spirit to
dwell with Thy servant, to inspire him still with thoughts
which shall keep his soul always young, his spirit always
fresh, for long years yet to come, with increasing ripe
ness and increasing devotedness; and that he may long
continue to walk in and out here amid the silent benedic
tions of those who have learned to love and honor him.
Our Father in heaven, help us that whatever may be
said at this time may be in harmony with the occasion.
While we here rise up in prayer and thanksgiving to
Thee, grant that Thy heavenly benediction may rest on
pastor and people, that Thy loving spirit may turn our
�44
human wishes into heavenly blessings, and that the words
and example of Him who came into the world, not to
do his own will but the will of Him that sent him, may
comfort and strengthen us; and that the life which has
been such an inspiration and joy and quickening power
to our friend may be to all of us still an incentive to
holiness, and an inspiration to all pure and heavenly
thoughts.
And now, most merciful Father, grant to us all, that
it may be good for us to be here—so gracious and so
hallowed is the time—and Thine, through Jesus Christ
our Lord, be the kingdom and the power and the glory
forever and ever. Amen.’":
Music.
Soprano solo and chorus, .... Spohk.
“ How lovely are thy dwellings fair !”
Mr. Winsor then spoke as follows:
At the ordination of Dr. Furness, fifty years ago, the
sermon was delivered by one eminent among Unitarian
Christians, ^^gtom&is memory will be long cherished
and honored, Henry Ware, Jr., and for this reason I ask
to speak first of all here to-night his son, Rev. John F.
W. Ware, of Boston, Mass.
Address of Rev. John F. W. Ware.
Friends of this Christian Society: I have no
other claim to be standing here to-night and participating
in your service than the one just mentioned—that I am
the son of the man who, fifty years ago this day, preached
the sermon at the ordination of his friend, William
�45
Henry Furness, and what may seem to you my fitness is
indeed my unfitness. Proud as I am in being the son of
a man so much honored, loved, and remembered, I never
feel it quite right in any way to try to represent him, and
had I known that this was to be a part of the conse
quences of my journey I think I should have stayed at
home.
But during the hours that I have been on the way my
thoughts have been busy with that fifty yea® ago, think
ing of the goodly company who, “in the winter wild,”
came down here from New England that they might
plant this vine in the vineyard of the Lord. And none
of them who came at that time to plant are permitted
to be here to-night to help us gather the rich and Opened
clusters. It showed, I thinaMwe love that these men
had for, and the confidence that they had in, their young
friend, that they should have come, in that inclement
time, this long journey by stage, taking them days and
nights of discomfort as it did. IBSik that there was
no sweeter household word in that dear old home of mine
than “ Brother Furness ”—the old-fashioned way in which
ministers used to talk of one anotheAwhich we of to
day have forgotten. In those times it meant something;
to-day we don’t feel as if it did, so we have dropped it.
I think there was no‘name so sweet outside of the closest
family ties as that name, and we children grew—my sis
ter and myself—to have always the deepest love for the
man that our father loved; and as time went by, and
young manhood came, I looked forward to the hearing
of the tones of that voice, and the seeing of that smile,
and the touching of that hand, as among the bright and
pleasant things—a sort of condescending, it always seemed
to me to be, of one who was in a sphere higher up than I
ever hoped to climb to. Then, as I grew older, I re
member the audacity with which I offered him “a labor
�46
of love ” in this church, and I remember I trembled after
I had done it; and I remember how he thanked me, and
how he criticized me, and the criticizing was a great deal
better than the thanking. It was very deep; it meant a
good deal, and it has not been forgotten.
Fortunate man! he who came into this city fifty years
ago; fortunate in the place, and the time of his birth :
fortunate in the education he had had and the faith he had
imbibed; fortunate in the place he had gone to, not to be
coddled among friends, emasculated by being surrounded
by those who thought just as he did, but thrown out by
God’s will into this outpost, where he could grow, as we
cannot where we are surrounded by those of our own
preference and method of thinking; fortunate in the
bent of his study, iii the opportunity to unfold the beau
tiful life of Jesus; fortunate in being of those who
stood up for the slave; fortunate in having lived to see
the issue of the work that his heart was engaged in; for
tunate in being now crowned by the love and benediction
of his people, and retiring calmly and sweetly from the
work of life, still to dwell among those who have loved
him these years long. Oh, fortunate man! God bless
him, and continue him here many years yet, your joy,
your companion, your guide, and your friend.
Not many of us shall see our fiftieth anniversary, for
more and more this profession of ours becomes a thing
of yesterday, to-day, and to-morrow alone. Very few oc
casions there will be again to meet together to celebrate
the fiftieth anniversary of a minister’s settlement.
Let us treasure the memory of this occasion. Let it
go with us who are here to our homes and our works,
and may it remain here with you a thought and memory
and a help; and as, in the beginning, this church drew
its life and its first impulse through a little band of
sturdy and steady and upright laymen, so in the time
�4
47
that lies before you, lay friends of this Society, remem
ber that it is not the past upon which you can lean—the
work that has been done by the servant who retires. It
is the future in which you are to hope, and the charac
ter of that future must be largely your work. With
this simple word, knowing that there are many gentle
men here who are to speak, and will speak more wisely
and properly than I, I ask Mr. Gannett to follow me.
Rev. Dr. Furness then came forward, and said:
My dear Friends : I am very doubtful about the
propriety of my being present on this occasion, not be
cause any deserts of mine would call forth any extrava
gant eulogium, but because I know the kind hearts of my
friends. They would say things which would make me
very uncomfortable! But just before I came from home
I got a letter from our friend, Mr. Weld, minister of the
church in Baltimore. He has sent us from the church in
Baltimore two communion cups—silver cups—as a token
of kind fellowship and recognition of this anniversary
from the church in Baltimore. They wished to have an
inscription placed on them, but they had no time; in
dicating that they were gifts from the church in Balti
more. So I thought I would bring them down without
delay, and put them upon the table, if there was any room
for them.
In all the kind words which my brethren say about
me, I think there is a good deal put in. Just like the old
man who took notes of his minister’s sermons, and when
he read them over to the minister, the ministei said,
“ Stop ! stop ! I did not say that.” “ I know you didn’t,”
he said; “ but I put it in to make sense of it.
So, I
think, on this occasion, there will be a good deal put
�1
48
in. If you will allow me, I will go and sit down at
the other end of the room, and if they get a little too
strong I can run out. I was entreated to come here
and show myself. I am very grateful to you for your
kind attention.
Address
of
William C. Gannett.
Like Mr. Ware, I only speak as the son of the right
man. The right man stood by Dr. Furness’ side fifty
years ago, and gave him the right hand of fellowship. I
know not whether there are any here that saw the sight
or heard the words; perhaps of all he only. The air
seems full, to me, at least, of the memories of the other
one. And to you who sit and listen, the air must seem
full of the very spirit of communion that these cups just
given symbolize. There ought to have been a white head
here; there ought to have been dark eyes; there ought
to have been a ringing voice; there ought to have been
a voice that would have been full of tenderness as he
stood at this side of the fifty years,—as he then stood at
the other side,—and said the words of an old man’s fel
lowship. He would to-day, as then, have been just six
months Dr. Furness’ senior in the work. I suppose
one can imagine anybody, any old person, as young,
easier than he can his own father or his own mother. I
cannot conceive the one whom I call father standing here,
or in the place which this church represents, as a young
man of twenty-four speaking to a young man of twentythree, and bidding him welcome into the work which he
called partaking in the work of heaven; bidding him
welcome into its pleasures; bidding him welcome into
its pains,—for he had been six months a minister, and
in those first six months of a minister’s life he knows a
<
�49
great deal of the pains that accompany it. It so hap
pened that just after I got your kind invitation to come,
I happened to lay my hand upon the manuscript of that
right hand of fellowship, and not having time to read it
then, I brought it with me in the cars; and only three or
four hours ago I was reading the very words, and read
ing from the very paper which, fifty years ago, was held
and read from, and to which Dr. Furness listened. It
does seem to me as if the reader were here now to say,
“ God bless you, old friend, for having stood ever faithful
to the end.” I almost think he is saying it; and if he
is, I know it comes with just that feeling: “God bless
you, old friend, for having stood faithful to the end ; for
having fulfilled all and more than all the words that then
I said to you.” And that is all I have to say. I was
asked to pass the word along to another boy of the old
men. Your father and my father and Dr. Hall were
classmates. Will Edward Hall speak for his father ?
Address of Rev. Edward H. Hall, of
Worcester, Mass.
I hardly know to what I owe this pleasure, for it is a
great one to me, of joining my thoughts with others to
night, at so early a point of our gathering. I believe
my claim is a double one, and I am willing and anxious
to make it as large as possible, both as the successor of
one who, fifty years ago, was present to give the charge
to the people, and, still tenderer to me, the claim which
has just been presented by the friend who preceded me.
In that class, which I suppose stands eminent among the
graduating classes of Cambridge for the number of men
it has sent into our ministry, to say nothing of their
quality, were the three whose names have just been
7
�50
brought together, who had no greater pride, I believe,
than to have their names in common. And it is for me
one of the pleasantest memories which this hour brings
that they were not only classmates—my father and our
father to-night—but that for so long a time, through their
college course, they were in closest intimacy as room
mates. And yet I should be sorry to think that this was
my only connection with this occasion. It was said, I
remember, of one of the finest and noblest of our officers
killed in the war, that of the many who had met him,
each one seemed to feel that he had made a special dis
covery of that man’s noble character and fine traits, so
did the discovery overpower him, and so sure was he that
to no one else had it come as it did to him; and I am in
clined to think that there is no one of these ministers
here to-night who does not feel as if his connection with
him whom we meet to-night to honor was something
special, as if the inspiration which he had drawn from
that source was one which no one but himself had got.
No qualification for our profession, I suppose, is higher
than the power of historic intuition; the power of seeing
things as they were; of reading the words and seeing be
hind them; the power that reproduces the past. Our
great historians are those who read the past in that way;
our great theologians are those who read the past as if
it were present, and feel a personal intercourse with those
who walked and fspoke in those early days. They are
the holy men and apostles of to-day; they will always
be the apostles to the end of time, and I am glad to feel
that out of our numbers has come one whose power of
divining the past has shown itself so fine and true.
I can hardly help speaking about another feeling.
I am impressed to-night by the difference, the vast dif
ference, between our fathers of a generation ago and
us who are upon the stage to-day. We look back rev
�51
erently to them; perhaps children always do to their
fathers. It is barely possible that our children may look
upon us in the same way. We look upon them as a
group of men set apart by themselves—a kind of priest
hood, conscious of the sanctity of their work. A sort of
moral halo encircles their heads as we think of them, and
we group them in just that affectionate way to which our
friend before me has alluded, as a band of brothers. Will
this generation of ministers ever look to their successors
as they appear to us ? I cannot believe it. That will not
be our claim upon their honor or their regard. Happy
for us if we can have any claim upon it; if men shall
see that the second generation of ministers took bravely
up the work that was half done, uttered the words that
were still unspoken, continued in the path which the
fathers cannot longer tread, and proved that it takes
more than one generation to do the work which Unitarianism is born to accomplish.
But I have no more claim upon your time, and close
by introducing to you, as I have been asked, the Rev.
Dr. Lothrop, of Boston.
• .
Rev. Dr. S. K. Lothrop spoke as follows:
My Christian Friends : I have but a few words to
say, and I rise to say these simply that I may more
fully express what my presence here implies, my deep
sympathy and interest in this occasion.
There are scenes and events in life which, from their
simplicity and beauty, and the moral grandeur which
always mingles more or less with everything simple and
beautiful, can gain nothing from human lips. Eloquence
can coin no words that shall impress them upon the heart
and conscience more deeply than they impress themselves.
This occasion is one of these events. We meet here to-
*
�52
5
night—this company, the members of this church, these
brethren from distant and different parts of the country
—to commemorate fifty years of faithful and devoted ser
vice in the Christian ministry, and rhetoric can add
nothing to the moral dignity and grandeur of this fact,
that is not contained in the simplest statement or expres
sion of it. We meet to do honor and reverence to one,
who, from the earliest aspirations of his youth to the later
aspirations and ever enlarging service of his manhood,
has known no object but truth, no law but duty, no
master but conscience, and who, under the inspiration and
guidance of these has wrought a noble work in this city,
made full proof of his ministry, and given a glorious
illustration of the power of that faith, “ which is the vic
tory that overcometh the world.”
The Unitarian Congregationalists recognize a large
personal freedom and individuality. Among the brethren
present and all called by our name who are absent, there
are wide differences of theological thought and opinion;
and some of us may not entirely concur in all the con
clusions—the result of Christian thought and study—
which our honored brother, the pastor of this church, in
his fifty years of noble service, may have presented in
this pulpit or given to the public through the press. But
however he may differ from him on some points, no one
who has read what he has published, can fail to perceive
or refuse to acknowledge the spirit of devout reverence,
love, faith, the large and glorious humanity that every
where breathe in his words; while every one familiar
with his long life-work in this city, every one who has
known him intimately, had opportunity to study and ob
serve his character, to mark its mingled firmness and
gentleness, sweetness and strength, its martyr spirit ad
hering to conscientious convictions and carrying them
out at whatever cost or sacrifice, its loyal spirit, faithful
�53
to Christ and truth according to honest and sincere con
viction, every one who knows and has witnessed how
these things have pervaded and animated his life, char
acter, work, cannot fail to cherish toward him a senti
ment of reverence and honor; and amid all differences of
opinion there may be between us, I yield to no one in
the strength and sincerity with which I cherish this sen
timent in my own heart. When I visited him at his
house to-day, I could not but feel that while years had
not abated one jot of the vigor of his intellect or the
warmth of his heart, they had added largely to that
something, I know not what to call it, that indescribable
charm, which has given him a place in every heart that
has ever known him, and made us his brethren (I am
only uttering what they will all acknowledge) always
disposed to sit at his feet in love and admiration.
I am oue of the oldest, probably the oldest of our min
isters present. Dr. Furness’ ordination antedates mine,
which occurred in February, 1829, only by four years
and a month. As regards term of service my name is
close to his on our list of living clergymen, and I remem
ber, as if it were but yesterday, his ordination fifty years
ago to-day, and can distinctly recall the deep interest
with which it was spoken of that evening in the family
circle of the late Dr. Kirkland at Cambridge, of which I
was then a member. I had but slight personal acquaint
ance with Dr. Furness, however, till thirteen years after
this, in 1838, when suffering from ill health he was unable
for several months to discharge his duties. His pulpit
was supplied by clergymen from Boston and the neigh
borhood, and as he had many loving friends and warm
admirers in Brattle Square Society, they were very will
ing to release me for six weeks, that I might come to
Philadelphia and preach for him. This visit and service
brought me into more intimate acquaintance with him and
�54
this Society. The pleasant memories of that period, fresh
in my heart to this day, were prominent among the mani
fold recollections that prompted, nay, constrained me to
come and unite my sympathies with yours on this occasion.
It is a glad occasion, yet there is something solemn and
sad about it. Like all anniversaries, it has a double
meaning, makes a double appeal to us. It gives a tongue
to memory, calls up the shadows of the past, brings be
fore us the forms of those we have loved and lost; we see
their smiles; we hear their voices; and as I stand here
to-night, and look back upon those fifty years, and call
to mind the venerable fathers of our faith, whom I knew
and loved and honored in the early days of my profes
sional life, Drs. Bancroft, Ripley, Thayer, Harris, Pierce,
Nichols of Portland, Parker of Portsmouth, Flint of
Salem, and bring before me the Boston Association when
it numbered among its members Channing, Lowell, Parkman, Ware, Greenwood, Frothingham, Pierpont, Young,
and last, though not least, that great apostle who has
just departed, Dr. Walker, I feel as if I had lived a
century, and was a very old man. I feel, however, that
life is not to be measured by years, and I hope, mean al
ways to try to keep as young, bright, joyous, and buoyant
as Dr. Furness seemed this morning when I greeted him
in his own house.
I sympathize in all that has been said here this even
ing, especially in all that has been said in relation to the
future of this Society and its honored and beloved pas
tor. It is no longer a secret, I believe, that he intends
to ask a release from further service. I am sure, my
friends, that all the brethren present will leave with you
their loving benediction, and the hope that something of
his mantle may fall upon whoever comes to try to fill his
place. The whole of that mantle, in all its beauty,
grandeur, and simplicity, you cannot expect any man to
�55
have or wear; if you find a successor wearing a goodly
portion of it you will have great reason to rejoice, to
thank God and be of good courage. As for Dr. Furness
himself, we leave with him our gratitude and reverence,
and our devout wish that the sweetest serenity and peace
and moral glory may mark his remaining years; and for
ourselves, who have come from far and near to hold this
jubilee with him, we all hope to gather here to-night
and carry away with us on the morrow memories, in
spirations, influences that shall quicken us to fresh zeal
and effort in our several spheres of work, determined to
be faithful and persevere unto the end, whether that end
cover twenty, thirty or forty, or, as may be the case with
some of us, fifty years of professional service.
Rev. Dr. James Freeman Clarke, of Boston, being
called upon to read a poem written for the occasion,
spoke as follows:
A great many years ago I was journeying from Ken
tucky to Boston, and passing through Philadelphia, I
could not deny myself the pleasure of going to see our
dear friend, Mr. Furness, and he was then full of the
thoughts which were afterward published in his first
book, concerning Jesus of Nazareth. I spent the whole
morning talking with him, and when the morning was
through, said he, “ Stay a little longerand I said, “ I
will wait till night before I go;” and I spent the after
noon talking with him, and when the night came, he had
not finished speaking, and I had not finished listening.
So I spent another day. We talked in the morning, we
talked in the afternoon, and we talked in the evening. I
still had not heard all I wanted to, and so I stayed the
third day, and, of course, Brother Furness is very much
associated in my mind with his studies on this subject,
�56
which has led me to take the tone which you will find in
these lines:
Where is the man to comprehend the Master,
The living human Jesus—He who came
To follow truth through triumph or disaster,
And glorify the gallows and its shame?
No passive Christ, yielding and soft as water ;
Sweet, but not strong; with languid lip and eye ;
A patient lamb, led silent to the slaughter;
A monkish Saviour, only sent to die.
Nor that result of Metaphysic Ages;
Christ claiming to be God, yet man indeed—
Christ dried to dust in theologic pages;
Our human brother frozen in a creed !
But that all-loving one, whose heart befriended
The humblest sufferer under God’s great throne ;
While, in his life, humanity ascended
To loftier heights than earth had ever known.
All whose great gifts were natural and human ;
Loving and helping all; the great, the mean ;
The friend of rich and poor, of man and woman ;
And calling no one common or unclean.
Most lofty truth in household stories telling,
Which to the souls of wise and simple go ;
Forever in the Father’s bosom dwelling—
Forever one with human hearts below.
Not in the cloister, or professor’s study
God sets the teacher for this work apart,—
But where the life-drops, vigorous and ruddy,
Flow from the heart to hand, from hand to heart.
�57
He only rightly understands this Saviour,
Who walks himself the same highway of truth ;
Unfolding, with like frank and bold behavior,
Such earnest manhood from such spotless youth.
■ ' -«
Whose widening sympathy avoids extremes,
Who loves all lovely things, afar, anear—
Who still respects in age his youthful dreams,
Untouched by skeptic-doubt or cynic-sneer.
Who, growing older, yet grows young again,
Keeping his youth of heart;—whose spirit brave
Follows with Jesus, breaking every chain,
And bringing liberty to every slave.
To him, to-night, who, during fifty years,
For truths unrecognized has dared the strife,
In spite of fashion’s law or wisdom’s fears,
We come to thank him for a noble life.
He needs no thanks, but will accept that love,
The grateful love, inevitably given
To those who waken faith in things above,
And mingle with our days a light from heaven.
And most of all, who shows us how to find
The Great Physician for all earthly ill—
The true Reformer, calm and bold and kind,
Who came not to destroy but to fulfil.
And thus this church grows into holy ground
So full of Jesus that our souls infer
That we, like Bunyan’s Pilgrim, must have found
At last “ The House of the Interpreter.”
Dr. Clarke called upon Rev. Dr. Bartol to speak, who
said:
My Friends : I certainly ought in all sincerity, and I
certainly do in all humility, thank the committee for in8
�58
viting one, so devoid of all conventional virtue, with no
place in any conference, standing for the desert—yet not
quite, I think, belonging to the tribe of Ishmael, for my
hand is against no man, and no man’s hand, I think, is
against me,—to say even one word. But let me tell you
there is good ecclesiastical blood in the family. I throw
myself on one who is worthy, I am sure, and popular in
this church, a cousin by blood. I think there is a good
deal of vicarious atonement in him; and I hope his
righteousness will be imputed to me, though I do not
mean to make him a scapegoat for my sins.
Notwithstanding what my brother has said, I shall call
him not only brother but John Ware; and because of what
he said we shall all be convinced that this is a real
brotherhood in spirit as in name after all. I call it a
very goodly fellowship, not only of the prophets but of
the people to-night. And that is the thought that comes
into my mind in regard to it. Here our brother and
father Furness, your minister, has brought all these
brethren together who stand in thought so wide apart.
Is it not a real fellowship? I need not mention the
names to show you how wide a space of thought they
measure, and the beauty and power of a man’s fellow
ship. It is not to be determined by the number of his
disciples or followers, by the largeness of the congrega
tion he can gather, or the crowds that hang on his lips;
but by the measure which all those men, be they more or
fewer, make in the world of ideas, which is also the world
of love; for a man’s parallax, that twenty friends may
make for him, is a larger parallax than a million friends
may make. And I think it is, in spite of our dear friend’s
utter modesty, an occasion of joy with him. It should
be an occasion of joy that he reaches so far out on either
hand, and gathers such a company together. It is a real
fellowship, a real brotherhood, a real fatherhood; and while
�59
these young men have been speaking—and we have not
begun with the eldest, even to the last, but have begun
the other way—it seemed to me as if the almond blossoms
from the old heads which we remember, as well as see,
have been dropping upon some of our heads, and that
they have shed them upon us. We are glad for that fel
lowship. It is rich beyond measure.
I had a letter from our dear Brother Dewey. He says
in this letter, speaking of the death of Dr. Walker, “ He
seems to say to me, ‘ Your turn next.’ ” Ah, “ sad !” Did
I hear that word? No, not sadtj Death is not sad;
departure is not sad; ascending is not sad. Death is
nothing. But what is meant by our thought? I said to
my dear friend, Dr. Bellows, last night as we were talking,
“ How strange it would be, when we came each one of us
to die, to find that death, which we have thought so much
of, is nothing to think of! Death at last and for the
first time takes everlasting leave of us. Death will just
so surely depart from us as we come to die. And in the
article of dying, it will depart.”
It is well that I should close with this single thought
of fellowship. Providence has been working very won
derfully and very mightily, with all these great causes
which have had great sway in the modern world, through
this gospel of free thought. I call it a gospel,—a gospel
of humanity, this loving gospel to bring people together.
I do not like the word fellowship as an active verb. I
never could speak of fellowshipping one. Fellowship is
the result of being true to our own conviction one to
another; coming and sitting in the circle that takes in
the heaven as well as the earth,—and I will finish my
little talk with what perhaps is as yet an unedited fact
or story, of one of those other elders, not so very old, who
have gone to the majority. Samuel Joseph May illus
trated this bond of fellowship ; how God will have it, that
�60
we must be brethren and fellows, whether we will or not.
He told me that one day, a great many years ago, it must
now be between thirty or forty years, he was returning
from an anti-slavery meeting, on a steamer, when a theo
logical conversation arose between some parties, and one
man was pleased to denounce Unitarians very severely;
and perhaps some of you remember what that denuncia
tion was of the Unitarian Doctrine. It was infidel, it
was atheistic, it was all that was bad. Mr. May listened
quietly until the man got through, who had the sym
pathy of others, and then frankly, like himself, said, “ I
must tell you, sir, that I am myself one of those dreadful
Unitarians.” “ Indeed, indeed,” said the man. “ I have
listened to you with great pleasure at the anti-slavery
meeting; would you allow me to have a little conversa
tion with you at the other end of the boat, privately?”
“ With the utmost pleasure,” said Mr. May. They took
their departure from the little circle to the bow of the
boat. As the man was about to open his converting
speech, Mr. May said : “ Now before we proceed to our
little controversygl wish to ask you one question. Do
you believe it is possible in this matter of theology, I
after all may be right and you may be wrong ?” “ No,
I don’t believe it^s possible,^* said the man. “Then,
then,” said Mr. May, “ I think there is no advantage in
our having any further conversation.” Mr. May had
his place nevertheless in that man’s heart: for we do not
choose our fellows. God chooses our fellows for us. A
man said one day: “ I heard that transcendental lecturer
speak. He got his thought into my mind, and the worst
of it is, I can’t get it out.” Be true to your conviction;
for that is the charm, the beauty, the holiness! And
then—I must say it, yes, I must say it in spite of Dr.
Furness’ presence—not your thought alone, but you will
get into the heart of every man or woman who has the
�61
slightest knowledge of you. And the man and the woman
will love you, and the time will come when they will
not want to get you out of their mind.
Rev. Dr. Thompson, of Jamaica Plain, Mass., then
addressed the meeting as follows:
My Friends : I feel a good deal of embarrassment in
taking my place on the platform, having received no
hint that any word would be expected of me.
If I were as old and gray as some of the brethren who
have preceded me, I might perhaps follow in their
severely sober strain, but you will have to take me as I
am. Before touching on what more immediately con
cerns the occasion, let me frankly confess to having
brought with me a slight pique againsttithe venerated
pastor of this church, and you shall know how it hap
pened. About ten years ago—it will be ten in April—the
Sunday after the first National Conference in New York,
I was seated in this church. Three or four of us ministers
had come on to attend the worship ; by what attraction
you can well imagine. Robert Collyer preached the
sermon, one of the best he ever preached, that on “Hurting
and Healing Shadows.” Now you all know Dr. Furness’
great fondness for conferences and such like, only he
never goes to them ! Well, I think he must have been
a little uneasy while Collyer was preaching from having
heard of the great enthusiasm which prevailed in the
recent conference, and from regretting, though he did
not say so, that circumstances, or something, had pre
vented his being there to share it. While he sat in the
pulpit under this “hurting shadow” he was thinking very
likely—but I do not assert it as a fact—how he could
extemporize something here that would bear a resemblance
to what we had been doing and enjoying in New York;
and he hit on a plan. So, immediately after Brother
�62
Collyer had finished, our excellent friend arose, looking
exactly as he does to-night, and, with that peculiar
twinkle under his spectacles and expression about the
mouth which none of you will ever forget, said, that it
had occurred to him that, as a number of ministers were
present who had attended the New York conference, it
might be interesting to the congregation to hear an ac
count of it from their lips ; and without further ceremony
he would call upon them. When it came my turn he
introduced me in this fashion; (and here comes in the
pique of which I am going to free my mind). “ This
gentleman,” said he (giving my name), “some of the
older members of the society may perhaps remember to
have heard preach here, I will not undertake to say
precisely when, but it was some time within the present
centuryI” Do you wonder that I have had a feeling
about this insinuation ? It was true that I had preached
for him while yet a young man, and he about as old to
my appreciation as he is now. It is also true that in the
abundance of his kindness he wanted to say a pleasant
thing about the sermon ; and he did say it. And what
do you think it was ? I hope it is not too flattering for
me to repeat after having carried it so long in my memory.
He said : “ Thompson, there was one capital word in your
sermon, a capital word.” “ What was it ?” I asked,
surprised. “ It was the word intenerated; where did
you get it ?” “ From the dictionary,” I meekly replied ;
“ and you will find it there.” And now I wish to say
that if at any time within the last forty years you have
heard that word “intenerated” from the lips of your
minister you may know where it came from.
Dr. Furness: I have never used it once. (Laughter.)
What delightful reminiscences of my connection with
this church!
And now let me come to the matter of the jubilee.
�63
It happened to me less than a week ago to walk into the
sanctum of our Brother Mumford, the accomplished
editor of the Christian Register. I entered expecting to
see my welcome in the generous smile with which he
usually meets his friends. But instead of this, his face
wore a most solemn expression, and he seemed to find it
hard even to look at me. “ What now ?” thought I;
“ what have I been doing ?” After a minute or two of
suspense, I was relieved by his lifting his eyes pleas
antly and saying: “ I am doing up Dr. Furness,” or
words to that effect. I instantly remonstrated, say
ing it would spoil every man’s speech who goes to
Philadelphia, for they are all doing just what you are.
They are all searching the volumes of the Christian
Register and Christian Examiner, and other newspapers
and periodicals to find out all they can in relation to the
man and the ordination fifty years ago. But he was in
flexible, saying that - he didn’t mean that the Christian
Register should be behind any of them.” So he went on,
and the result was the excellent notice of our friend which
appeared last Saturday.
However, he did not give quite all the facts that link
themselves in my mind with the ordination of Dr. Fur
ness. It was a very remarkable year of ordinations in
our Unitarian body, remarkable as to the number of
them, and as to the character and future eminence of the
men ordained, and the reputation of the ministers who
ordained them. Let me refer to a few of them. Six
months before the ordination here, June 30th, 1824, our
beloved Brother Gannett had been ordained as the col
league of Dr. Channing; and, on the same day, his lifelong
friend in the closest intimacy, the Rev. Calvin Lincoln,
was ordained at Fitchburg. Then came this ordination ;
and in just a week after, January 19th, followed that of
the Rev. Alexander Young, over the New South Church
�64
in Boston. Such highly distinguished ministers as Pier
pont, Palfrey, Ware Sr., Channing, Upham, and Harris,
took the several parts. Of these, two only survive, Dr.
Palfrey, whom several of us here remember as our teacher
in the Theological School, and, remembering, have be
fore us the image of a man as remarkable for method,
industry, learning, and accuracy as a teacher, as he was
for a conscientious fidelity in the discharge of every duty,
the least as well as the greatest; and Charles W. Upham,
who had been ordained but a month before, over the First
Church in Salem. Mr. Upham, after twenty years in the
ministry, retired and became for a time a servant of the
country in the National House of Representatives. In
his advanced age he has pursued his favorite historical
studies, and has, as you know, recently published a Life
of Timothy Pickering in four volumes, which has been
received with great favor by the public.
The week following the ordination of Dr. Young, came
that of the Rev. Edmund Q. Sewall, at Amherst, New
Hampshire, a man of rare abilities and virtues; no longer
living. At this ordination we find our friend Palfrey
taking part with Pierpont, Lowell, and Thayer of
Lancaster. This was followed the next week, February
2d, by the ordination of Rev. John Flagg, of West
Roxbury, in the exercises of which we find the names of
Palfrey again, the lately deceased Dr. Walker, and Drs.
Pierce, Lowell, Gray, and Lamson, all well known by
those of us who are far advanced in the journey of life,
and all, but the first, now gone on out of sight but not
beyond the reach of our affections. The week following
Mr. Flagg’s, came the ordination of that true man and
faithful servant of the Lord Jesus Christ, the Rev.
Samuel Barrett over the Chambers Street Church in
Boston; a man of clear, strong mind, devoted to his
work, exercising his ministry in great patience, in great
I
�65
cheerfulness, with great joy in God and great love for the
brotherhood. Then followed in the very next week,
February 16th, the installation of the Rev. Henry Cole
man in the Barton Square Church, of Salem, at which,
among others, Messrs. Frothingham, Pierpont, and Brazer
officiated. I ought to mention that at the beginning of
the same year, 1825, if not a little earlier, our eminent
brother, the Rev. E. B. Hall, a particular friend of Dr.
Furness, received a call to the then new parish in North
hampton, which the state of his health did not permit
him at once to accept. But tima parish would not give
him up; and in the August ensuing, his health being
partially restored, he became their minister; the venerable
Dr. Ware preaching the sermon, and Pierpont! Willard,
Lincoln, and Brazer, assisting in otl^P exercises.
Said I not truly that the year which gave Dr. Fur
ness to Philadelphia, was memorablafor its*rdinations
in our denomination ? Certainly no other has been so
fruitful. And all these eminent brothers ordained, with
two or three exceptions, were the coevals and intimate
personal friends of him whom we have come here to
night to honor with the outpourings of our respect,
gratitude, and affection.
Now there is one other event relating to our good
friend, which I hope it will not seem improper for me to
refer to, having been for twenty-seven years of my life a
minister in the city where it occurred ; a very important
event in the history of his singularly happy life. It
occurred in the year following his ordination; and it has
probably had quite as much to do with his comfort and
happiness here as your unfailing kindness and sympathy.
The event was of so much importance that it was chron
icled in the Salem Gazette in this wise:
“ In Salem, August 29th, 1825, by Rev. Mr. Emerson,
Rev. William Henry Furness, Philadelphia, to Miss
9
�66
Annis Pulling Jenks, daughter of the late Mr. John
Jenks.”
I don’t dare to tell all I have heard about the bride,
though I think from what you now see, you would find
no difficulty in believing it. I refer to the event because
of its influence and its long-continued charm ; and I hope
the few lines from Rogers’ “ Human Life,” with which I
close, if I can join them to what I have been saying, will
not inappropriately relieve your attention.
“ Across the threshold led,
And every tear kissed off as soon as shed,
His house she enters there to he a light
Shining within when all without is night;
A guardian angel o’er his life presiding,
Doubling his pleasures and his cares dividing;
Winning him back when mingling with the throng,
Back from a world we love, alas, too long,
To fireside happiness, to hours of ease,
Blest with that charm—the certainty to please.”
I am requested to introduce our Brother Chadwick, of
Brooklyn.
Rev. John W. Chadwick, of Brooklyn, N. Y., spoke
as follows:
Dear Friends : It seems to be the order of the
evening for each speaker to justify in some way his
presence on this sacred and beautiful occasion, and I,
knowing that my turn was coming, have been not a little
troubled as to what I should say for myself. But Dr.
Thompson has helped me out. In the accounts of
various ordinations which he has read to you, you
must have noticed how few old men had anything to do
with them, from which it would appear that, whether
there is or is not less respect for age now than formerly,
there was formerly much more respect for young men
than at present. Nowadays we never take up with any
�67
young men at ordinations and such times, till there are
no more old men to be had. I suspect, therefore, that I
have been invited to speak here this evening as a sign
that respect for young men has not entirely died out.
Dear friends, I saw this occasion while it was yet a
great way off. When Robert Collyer said to me up at
Saratoga last September, “John, we must all go to
Philadelphia next January,” I answered, I have been
meaning to this three years.” After your invitation
came, thinking it might possibly mean that I should say
something, I began to think what I would say, and all at
once I found my thought was going to a sort of tune. I
couldn’t account for it except by the fancy that my
thought was sympathizing with the music of Dr. Furness’
life, which has been a sort of symphony—a “Pastoral
Symphony ”—for has not the thought of the Good Shep
herd been the central thought and inspiration of it all
from the beginning until now ?
Here is what came to me.
W. H. F.
January 12th, 1825. January \2th, 1875.
Standing upon the summit of thy years,
Dear elder brother, what dost thou behold,
Along the way thy tireless feet have come
From that far day, when young and fresh and bold,
Hearing a voice that called thee from on high,
Thou answeredst, quickly, “ Father, here am I.”
Fain would we see all that thine eyes behold,
And yet not all, for there is secret store
Of joy and sorrow in each private heart,
To which no stranger openeth the door.
But thou can st speak of many things beside,
While we a little space with thee abide.
�68
Tell us of those who fifty years ago
Started thee forth upon thy sacred quest,
Who all have gone before thee, each alone,
To seek and find the Islands of the Blest.
To-day, methinks that there as well as here
Is kept all-tenderly thy golden year.
Tell us, for thou didst know and love him well,
Of Channing’s face,—of those dilating eyes
That seemed to^eatch, while he was with us here,
Glimpses of things beyond the upper skies.
Tell us of th®t weak voice, which was so strong
To cleave asunder every form of wrong.
Thou hast had good companions on thy way ;
Gannett was ®rith thee in his ardent prime,
And with thee still when outward feebleness
But made his spirit seem the more sublime,
Till, like another prophetj&mmoned higher,
He found, like him, a chariot of fire.
And that beloved disciple was thy friend,
Whose heart was blither than the name he bore,
Who yet could hide the tenderness of May,
And bleaker than December, downward pour
The tempest of his’Wrath on slavery’s lie,
And all that takes from man’s humanity.
And thou hast walked with our Saint Theodore,
Our warrior-saint, well-named the gift of God,
Whose manful hate of every hateful thing,
Blossomed with pity, e’en as Aaron’s rod,
And lips that cursed the priest and Pharisee
Gathered more honey than the wilding bee.
All these are gone, and Sumner’s heart beneath
Should make more pure the yet untainted snow ;
Our one great statesman of these latter days,
Happy wert thou his other side to know,
To call him friend, whom ages yet unborn
Shall love tenfold for every breath of scorn.
�69
All these are gone, but one is with us still,
So frail that half we deem she will not die,
But slow exhale her earthly part away,
And wear e’en here the vesture of the sky.
Lucretia, blessed among women she,
Dear friend of Truth, and Peace, and Liberty.
And one, whose form is as the Son of man,
Has been with thee through all these busy years,
Holden our eyes, and He to us has seemed
As one seen dimly through a mist of tears Bl
But thou hast seen him clearly face to face,
And told us of his sweetness and his grace.
Standing upon the summit of thy years,
Dear elder brother, tbou canst see the day
When slavery’s curse had sway in all the land,
And thou art here, and that has passed away.
We give thee joy that in its hour of pride,
Thy voice and hand were on the weak® side.
But from thy clear and lofty eminence
Let not thine eyes be ever backward turned,
For thou canst see before as cannot we
Who have'^ot yet thy point of ’vantage earned.
Tell us of what thou seest in the years
That look so strange, seen through our hopes and fears.
Nothing we know to shake thy steadfast mind
Nothing to quench thy heart with doubt or fear ;
But higher truth and holier love revealed,
And justice growing to man’s heart more dear.
And everywhere beneath high heaven’®3ope,
A deeper trust, a larger, better hope.
There are some here that shall not taste of death
Till they have seen the kingdom come, with power.
O brave forerunner, wheresoe’®| thou art,
Thou wilt be glad with us in that glad hour.
Farewell! Until we somewhere meet again.
We know in whom we have believed. Amen.
�70
Rev. Mr. Chadwick, in turn, introduced the Rev.
R. R. Shippen, of Boston, Mass., who said:
My dear Friends : Amid these memorials of your
Christmas rejoicing, and these fresh flowers and ever
greens of tropical luxuriance with which you would
symbolize the fragrance of the memories that cluster
round this aniversary, and your desire to keep them
green, it is my pleasant privilege to speak for the
Unitarian Association a word of greeting, giving you
congratulations on this your golden wedding, with best
wishes for the coming years. Yet as I speak for the
Association, I remember that some of our noblest and
best, from Channing through the list, have been some
what fearful of ecclesiastical entanglements, and of
hard, dry machinery, and have deemed the truest and
best work in life that wrought by character and personal
influence; even as Jesus himself did his work, not by
organizations, but by his own personality. Permit me
then to touch two or three lines of personal influence
flowing forth from this pulpit, that are but representatives
of many more. Let me speak for one in your city, now
in her ninety-third year, kept from this meeting only by
the feebleness of old age, who this afternoon told me of
her fresh remembrance of the occasion of fifty years ago,
vivid as if but yesterday, who has been a lifelong friend
of our cause, a generous worker in this church and bene
factor of the Meadville Church and. Theological School,
who recognizes this pulpit as the source of some of the
choicest inspirations of her life. Shall I speak for one
who in a large home-circle of many brothers has been a
loving, sisterly influence of sweetness and light ? who in
her youth was here a worshiper, and caught the inspira
tion of this place, and in her greeting sent me to-day
writes that she is with us here in spirit to-night; that no
one present can join in these services with a more deep
�71
and tender gratitude, and no human thought can fully
know what her life owes to the ministry we now com
memorate ? Shall I speak for another, a younger
brother, the brightest of the seven, whose youth and
early manhood were spent in this city in study and
practice of law ? who Sunday by Sunday learned here
that blessed faith that, when in the full promise of his
manly prime his last hour came, enabled him to go
bravely to death full of a cheerful hope of immortality ?
As to-night he makes heaven more real and more attrac
tive to my thought, in his name I-pay the tribute of
thanks for the inspirations of this pulpit. Shall I speak
for myself ? In my early home I remember your pastor’s
familiar volume of “Family Prayer” as a household
word. At the outset of my ministryf at the Portland
Convention, just twenty-five years ago, I first heard the
genial, charming, gracious word of your minister in his
prime. And as in Boston one may, day by day, correct
his own timepiece by Cambridge observations of the sky,
whose electric communications give us every passing hour
the celestial time true to the second, so in my young
ministry at Chicago,—a lonelier frontier post then than
now,—when the barbarous Fugitive Slave Law passed
through Congress, and the Northwest Territories were
opened for slavery, and the dark days came upon the
nation, if, as I tried, I bore any worthy testimony for
freedom, I rejoice that I was aided in setting my con
science true to the celestial time by this observatory in
Philadelphia. The blessed influences of your pulpit have
run their lines through our land and through the world.
And, friends, what does our Association seek but to
extend and multiply these lines of personal influence, to
enable Boston and Philadelphia to join hands in the
same noble work ? When I asked your pastor for the
last book of Whittier, that I might quote a forgotten
�72
line, he replied, “ All good books have feet and wings
and will find their way at last.” But our Association
only desires to quicken their speed, and by the people’s
generosity to enlarge their wings; that as we are now
sending Channing through the land, we should gladly
send the noble words of Dewey and Furness flying on
the wings of the wind.
And what do our Association and Conferences stand
for but for fellowship ? for the good-will and helpfulness
of brotherly greetings ? Pennsylvanian as I am by birth
and ancestry, with you I rejoice that these Boston
brethren have been brought to Philadelphia. It will do
us all good to know more of each other. This meeting
to-night is just like our Conferences, where our hearts
are warmed by words of brotherly kindness. As I recall
your minister’s inspiring word at the Portland Conven
tion, it has been one of the regrets of my life that we have
not heard him oftener among us. But it is never too late
to mend. On behalf of the Association and the Confer
ence I invite our Brother Furness and all of you to at
tend our meetings henceforth every time.
And now, my friends, when Brother Mumford wrote
that editorial last week, I said, “You are a generous
fellow; why didn’tl^ou keep that to make a speech
from ?” I am sure I don’t know what he is going to say.
I am requested to ask him to speak.
Rev. Thomas J. Mumford. Dear Friends: On account
of the lateness of the hour I will only say that that was
my speech. The next speaker will be Brother White,
and when I say Brother White, I mean brother just as
much as they did in the days of Henry Ware.
Rev. William O. White, of Keene, N. H., then ad
dressed the meeting as follows:
�73
There is one comfort, dear friends, as I thank you at
this late hour, for giving me the pleasure of being with
you, and that is, that Philadelphia time is a little more
generous than the time which I carry in my pocket; but
I will not abuse even Philadelphia time. The word that
Brother Mumford just mentioned brings up very dear
and tender associations with men so closely united in my
memory with our friend and brother, Dr. Furness. But
I will not carry out the thought that comes to me. I
would gladly help along one or two strains that vibrate
in our hearts, as the words are spoken, that “the time
will come when we shall take a last farewell of death,”
and that other word of a younger speaker who almost
felt, and almost knew that one of the long-departed
friends of our Brother Furness was here./'
I am glad to feel that I am here, just as some of my
younger friends were, because I am the son of a friend
of Dr. Furness, a layman whose tastes led him to the
study of theology, and who, I think, was more attached
to the studies of the ministry than many of us ministers
are. I say this, because as soon as I saw Dr. Furness
this morning I was greeted as my father’s son.
And I would not hava spoken here at all at this late
hour, but to try to fasten to those one Im two sweet
thoughts that have been uttered to-night, to which I
have alluded, a line of the poet-sculptor “Michael
Angelo.’^ He is contemplating theyvasting block of
marble upon which he is working; the block lessens ;
lessens, lessens, continually in size; and so the years of
our friend’s sweet, earnest ministry here, are fast pass
ing away before our eyes. But the great lesson that I
have found, as I go back to the time when I remember
to have heard Dr. Furness’ voice in my father’s house,
and in the old pulpit in Salem, and as I remember the
week that I spent with him more than a score of years
10
�74
ago, and as I recall the tenderness of his voice, in his
supplications and his preaching, only last October, the
great lesson I have taken with me about him fastens
itself to the line which I am now to quote of “ Michael
Angelo.” As the poet and sculptor contemplated the
wasting marble, he said:
“ The more the marble wastes, the more the statue grows.”
So, with our friend, the years are passing away ; pass
ing away, soon they must be gone; but the statue grows
with tenderness of heart deeper than ever; that sweet
voice, rich with varied experience of the joys and sorrows
of those friends of his in his flock, year after year, has
acquired an added tenderness; and we feel
“The more the marble wastes, the more the statue grows,”
and we can welcome the time when he, or any of us, who
try to live in a like spirit of devotion to the Master, shall
“take an everlasting farewell of death.”
I am requested to call on our friend Brother Putnam,
of Brooklyn, New York.
Rev. Dr. A. P. Putnam made the following address:
My dear Friends : I think it must have been for a
larger number of years than Brother Chadwick said for
himself, that I have been looking forward to this occasion,
meaning to be here not with a set speech, as you will very
soon see, but because I wished to come and to say from
my heart, I thank you, Dr. Furness.
I remember when I was a bookkeeper in Boston, how
my elder brother, who was in the divinity school at that
time, used to bring me the volumes of Channing, Buck
minster, and Ware, and also various pamphlet sermons of
Dr. Furness. I recollect well the delight with which I read
Dr. Furness’ pages, and the gospel of liberty they taught
me, and the new revelation they seemed to give me of
�75
the Christ. I have been a disciple following far off. Yet
I know I have not lost during all these years the strong
conviction I had then. It has deepened and deepened
from that time until now. I have gathered his pamphlets
wherever I could find them, and with not a little zeal
I have searched for all his books, many of which are out
of print and are not easily to be found, until, some years
ago, I completed the whole list, and I cherish them as
among the most precious treasures in my library. The
argument which he draws from the naturalness, the
simplicity and artlessness of the gospel records for their
truth, and the uplifting of the curtain so that the Christ
may be seen in his higher spiritual beauty! what a
debt do we owe him for that. Does he know ? can he
know ? can we tell him how much the members of our
churches feel of gratitude and love to him for all that
he has done for us in this way ? Perhaps in some far off
time he may know it more fully; but it is right, dear
friends, that we should come together thus and say these
words which are uttered here to-night, and before he
has gone away tell him how much we do love and
honor him, and why it is we do love and honor him, and
why it is that yve shall always revere and bless him.
When I have thought what words have gone forth from
that desk in behalf of liberty and right in this land, I
have wished that the church might remain just as it is
to-night, and that pulpit just as it is for years and
generations to come. It speaks a lesson for all; those
words abide with us still; they have come home to our
hearts, and kindled in our souls new zeal for the truth
as it is in Jesus. How many chains they have broken,
and oh ! what a welcome, in comparison with which these
congratulations of the hour are small indeed, is reserved
for our venerable father and friend, from the spirits of
�76
the ransomed freedmen who have ascended to heaven,
and who will greet him there.
Let me say that forty years ago it was, that Dr.
Furness preached the installation sermon of the first
minister of the church which I represent here ; the first
society of our faith in Brooklyn. It seems a long, long
while indeed. I have been over ten years there myself.
Dr. Farley preceded me, and he was there twenty years
or more. Mr. Holland was there several years before
him; Mr. Barlow several years before Mr. Holland. Dr.
Furness preached the installation sermon of Rev. Mr.
Barlow, who was the first minister of our faith in
Brooklyn, forty years ago the 17th of last September.
Of the ministersjwho took part in the services of that
occasion, all except your pastor and my immediate pre
decessor, who was then of Providence, R. I., have passed
away,—William Ware, John Pierpont, Caleb Stetson,
E. B. Hall, and others^ Nearly ten years later, Dr.
Furness was present at a| convention held there at the
time of the dedication of our church, and preached the
closing communion sermon. His is a familiar name with
my people, who are all with you here in the spirit, and
would join me, I know, in heartily saying, “God bless
him and you, and the cause of humanity and righteous
ness, which is so dear to you.”
I am requested to call upon Rev. Mr. Ames to address
you.
Rev. C. G. Ames, of Germantown, Pa., said:
As I am one of the younger brethren, and very much
at home, I feel that I should deny myself, and take up
my cross, and introduce a brother from a distance, espe
cially as you have met to hear from these patriarchal
ministers who can offer things which I cannot. But I
may boast one advantage; they cannot see Dr. Furness
�77
every day. Nor can I speak freely of what I feel; it is
too much like being one of the family. I live too near,
and can easily be excused. My voice is very frequently
heard in this house. With a heart brimming full, I
have the painful pleasure, therefore, of holding it down,
knowing it will keep.
I will introduce Rev. Dr. Bellows, of New York.
Rev. Dr. Bellows made the following remarks:
I am sure both modesty and discretion would suggest
the wisdom of my being taught by my junior and friend,
and in releasing you from any further attendance on this
interesting service. As for myself, I feel tired as a child
with the pleasures of the evening; and I can conceive that
you all must be so tired that you would welcome as your best
friend him who would permit you to go home and think
over all the kind things you have heard here. And yet
I think it is a kind of duty to say 1 word in behalf of my
own people and city, and all that great community which
I am privileged to represent here. New York speaks
to Philadelphia; and to a good many of us in New York,
Brother Furness is more than half of Philadelphia.
When we think of Philadelphia we think rather of him
than of anything else, and it is not for anything he has done
either; not for all that great service to freedom, not for
all that valuable contribution to theological speculation
or criticism, but for being what he cannot possibly help,
and that is, himself. It is so much more to be than to
say, or even to do, that I have not always a great deal
of praise for the bright things he does, or the bright
things he says,—only because he is what he is and can’t
help it, and deserves very little thanks for it; for God is
the being we must thank, not him. It is, therefore, that
I am by force compelled to thank God for him, and not
thank him.
�78
Good fellow! he has had it all himself. God gave
him all his precious gifts; he gave him his broad and
generous humanity; made him a harp for all the winds
of heaven and earth to play on, not a fife, to be stopped ;
gave him that benignant smile which he doesn’t know
anything about himself; and gave him that delicious
voice which is in itself a harmony of all his sweetest
powers, an expression of the depth and clearness of his
spirit.
Poor fellow! he cannot help it; he has carried it with
him all these seventy-two years. And, surely, the first
time I ever saw him his voice was the thing that spoke
to me. I didn’t care what it said; there it was, and I
have often thought if a soft voice be an excellent thing
in woman, such a voice as his is, is one of the most
magnificent and significant gifts that God ever gives to
man. Well, let us thank God for him, and then let us
thank him for using those talents so well. Now let me
thank you in behalf of the denomination, dear brethren,
for not being able to be otherwise than so generous, so
kind and faithful to a man who, for all I know, never
used one particle of machinery to keep you together, has
taken no particular pains to keep you together, but just
stood like a kind of magnet, and drawn you to his
heart. We don’t understand it all, but God does; and
we see how with a witchery he has done more than most
of us are able to do by getting every sort of instru
mentality at work that we can possibly use to supple
ment the defects of our natural constitution. I wish I
could work just as Dr. Furness does, and have that same
influence and power, without seeking any. If I could
stand up in naked simplicity and majesty, and then win
the people without using all this painful labor, this
fatiguing desperately drudging machinery, I should be
very glad indeed ; but for most of us poor fellows, it is a
�79
necessity to resort to these matters, to supplement the
defects of our natural constitution and faculties; but I
think Brother Furness can do without it. One thing
further I will say of Dr. Furness. It is a subject of
special congratulation that he has been always himself;
that no theological or critical studies have given an
ecclesiastical tinge or twist to his character, or prevented
the people from seeing him in his native outline. He
has been a preacher and minister, but still more, a man,
and although no man less deserves, in the depreciating
sense, the name of a man of the world, yet in a noble
sense he has been a man of the world; for he has made
the world tributary to his growth; drawn in its widest
culture, enjoyed its largest freedom, entered into its every
day feelings and joys, and made it his own by his great
enjoyment of it, and insight into its meaning. Neither
ecclesiasticism nor dogmatism has been able to quench
his native originality, and that is one of his chief charms
to-day.
Dear brethren, let me congratulate you at the close of
this half century of your minister’s labors, upon what we
n ow behold in the magnificent development of th e theologi
cal ideas and religious temper for which our branch of the
church has meanwhile stood. We expected great things,
but we have seen larger ones, although of a different
kind. We looked for a multiplication of our churches,
which we have not seen, but how vast has been the spread
of our ideas and principles? We expected to be the
chief instruments in the work of liberalizing Christian
thought and feeling, but Divine providence took up the
work with larger methods and new agencies, and made
us rather sharers than leaders in theological reform. We
happened to be the first wave of what turned out to be
an incoming tide, which has swept the whole church on.
I think Luther did not see in his day a greater, a more
�80
important reformation in theological ideas than we have
realized in the last half century.
Whether there be one Unitarian church in Phila
delphia or more, or whether our churches in New York
and Brooklyn, Baltimore and Washington, New Eng
land and the West have multiplied as fast as we hoped or
not, there is more liberal Christianity preached in this
country to-day, than the boldest prophets could have
foreseen when our enterprise started. It has advanced,
and it has triumphed, by whatever way. God has taken
it up, and brought the aid of a broad science, a broad
philosophy, a broad reformatory influence in society,
during all these last years, to bear powerfully upon it.
We have seen results which may cause many of us to
say, “Mine eyes have seen thy salvation; let now thy
servant depart in peace.” I feel no further anxiety
about the spread of liberal Christianity. It now spreads
by a necessity. It is a glorious privilege to work in it
and for it. But the business is essentially done. The
leaven is at work, and it is working everywhere, just as
much in the orthodox churches, so-called, as in our own.
And very little free thinking is done in our denomination
which is not just as fully represented in the old ortho
doxy. We are no longer the sole officers in that great
army. I thank God that the business of fighting is
pretty much over’, and that we are now beginning to
think more of cultivating religiously the area which has
been left for us specially to take care of. Let us now
look to it, as churches and ministers and parishes, and
see that we produce workmen, and, finally, spiritual
fruit, in the particular area over which we are set as
husbandmen and gardeners. That you may succeed
in cultivating your own soil, and in making the vine
yard a nobler and grander one, and in bringing forth
more clusters of grapes of the particular vine from which
�81
you are set, is my earnest prayer. And that we may all
return from these services bearing your blessings and
Brother Furness’ blessing with us into our own several
fields of labor, and that we may be abler and nobler and
more careful shepherds, and more faithful husbandmen,
is the best thing I can ask, that we may be permitted to
carry away from this hour and this blessed assembly of
Unitarian Christians and friends.
Music.
Duet for Two Sopranos and Chorus,
.
. Mendelssohn.
“I waited for the Lord,” from “Hymn of Praise.”
Chorus, .
..........................................................Spohr.
“ Happy who in Thy House Reside.”
Dr. Furness then addressed the meeting.
Dear Friends : While I am very glad to meet here
my brothers in the ministry, and am not at all insensible
to their kind words, I call you all to witness that they
are not here by my invitation. I never invited them
to come here and talk about me. But as long as they
have done so, I congratulate you all, and all who are in
terested in the success of the good cause. It is, you see,
in the hands of young men. Although some of your
guests here show gray on their heads, they are very
young men evidently, fond, especially brother Bellows,
of romancing. I use the words that Dr. Bancroft used
at my ordination: “ It was a comfort to him to feel that
as he was going away the cause would be left in hands
that would carry it on a great deal better than he could.”
Some of my friends told me I had better not come here
to-night; but brother Bellows intimated to me that by
staying away I might seem to be bidding for praise. So
I thought I would come and see whether some restraint
11
�82
could not be put upon the speakers by my presence. But
I don’t think I have availed much.
The day that I was ordained—but I am not going to
tire you with old time stories,—when an old minister
begins telling his experiences we never know when he
will stop—we were all invited,—the gentlemen of the
clergy, and the delegates from Boston and New York,—
to dine at Mr. Thomas Astley’s, who lived at the corner
of Ninth and Walnut Streets, a wealthy Englishman of
our persuasion. While we were sitting waiting for dinnoy,
the report came that the kitchen chimney was on fire!
One of the gentlemen suggested that the fire could be
put out very readily by putting a blanket before the
chimney, and throwing some sulphur into the fire-place.
After dinner, when the wine was passed around and the
toasts were given, one of the gentlemen proposed “ the
Furnace that had been kindled in Philadelphia.” And
another added, “May it never be put out with brim
stone.”
The meeting was closed by a benediction pronounced
by Dr. FurnessJfc
�*
LETTERS.
�THE FOLLOWING LETTERS WERE RECEIVED BY
THE COMMITTEE FROM PERSONS WHO
WERE UNABLE TO BE PRESENT.
�Sheffield, January 4th, 1875.
To the Committee of the First Congregational Society
of Unitarians.
Gentlemen : I am obliged and gratified by the invitation.
I wish that I could comply with it. It would have been a
great pleasure to me, to join the friends of your honored pastor,
in commemorating a ministry, not only so long, but otherwise
equally remarkable. I should like to be in your church on
that interesting evening of the 12th, to hear the pleasant things
that will be said, and to say some, perhaps, myself.
But I cannot, that is, I cannot take so long a winter journey.
I am not sure enough of my health and strength to venture
upon it. Will you give my love to Dr. Furness and his family,
and accept for yourselves and the society, the congratulations
with which I am,
Very truly yours,
Orville Dewey.
Hazelwood, Cambridge, January 6th, 1875.
Gentlemen : I feel very much honored and gratified by
your invitation to be present at the commemoration of Dr.
Furness’ settlement in the ministry in Philadelphia, but the
state of my health forbids me to accept the invitation. My
interest in your society dates from a still earlier period.
I have listened in your old Octagon Church to the preaching
of Mr. Taylor, and I believe of Mr. Vaughan, as well as
preached there repeatedly myself. For more than fifty years
I have been your pastor’s admirer and warm friend.
I heartily wish him future happy years of earthly life, and I
pray God that after his retirement from your service another
pastor may serve you with an ability and zeal not too inferior
to his.
I am, gentlemen,
Very respectfully,
Your obedient servant,
John G. Palfrey.
�86
Cambridge, January 1st, 1875.
Gentlemen : I regret very sincerely that college duties
render it impossible for me to accept your invitation. Regard
ing your pastor with equal reverence and affection, I should
deem it a great privilege to he present at the commemorative
services, from which imperative necessity alone would detain
me.
I am, gentlemen,
Very truly yours,
A. P. Peabody.
Hingham, January 4th, 1875.
Gentlemen : I thank my dear friend, Dr. Furness, and the
committee for thinking of me at this time. I should he so very
happy to be with you, and join in all the expressions of respect
and love for one whose long and faithful ministry has earned
the esteem and confidence of all who know him. Beside this,
Dr. Furness and I alone continue in the ministry, of those who
were classmates in th® Divinity School and, I think, in College.
Give my love to your pastor. I need not wish him a happy
old age. That blessing is assured to him by his fidelity to his
convictions of truth and duty through life.
Very respectfully,
Calvin Lincoln.
Cambridge, January 5th, 1875.
Gentlemen : I received your invitation to be present at the
observance of •the fiftieth anniversary of the settlement of your
pastor, Dr. Furness* It would give me great pleasure to attend.
But I do not feel at liberty to be absent from my regular duty
so long as would be required.
No occasion of the kind so significant has occurred for many
years. For fifty years Dr. Furness has stood at his post, and
manfully defended the cause of what he deemed Divine Truth
and Divine Right. He has never failed to hold up the highest
standard of private and public duty. He has made no abate
ment from the truth in his utterance of it, nor deformed it by
an immoral spirit. For fifty years he has been an untiring
student of the life of Jesus Christ in the four gospels, seeking
�87
to bring to light the reality of that life, the internal evidence
of the truthfulness of the original record of it, and the moral
grandeur and spiritual beauty of the life itself. He has followed
in no servile spirit, but with original force of thought, his great
teacher, Mr. Norton, from whom, differing in many things, he
caught the impulse to this line of inquiry, this work of love, in
which his merit has been unique, his service one never to be
forgotten. To this it may be added, with Bini versal consent,
that his living example has been in harmony with the great
subject of his studies, and has done as much as that of any
minister to show the worth of the officwaf spiritual instructor
to a generation too ready to distrust those whoMbxercise it.
Though not many years younger, I have the habit of looking
up to him, and he is one of tho^ntjrgn whom inspiration and
strength have flowed into my soul
needed.
I am, brethren, yours in Christian fellowships with thanks
for your kind invitation, and MilEannatMbwith you in all
that belongs to a most memorable occasion.
Oliver Stearns.
Roxbur^j Mass., January 7th, 1875.
Dear Sirs : I very much regret that the state of my health
forbids my being pres e® at the commemoration, not of the
close, thank God! but of the close of the first fifty years of the
ministry of Dr. Durness. I regret it not only on account of my
personal affection for the minister, but because it has been a
ministry eminently after my own heart, one th®I admire ex
ceedingly. What I know of it is derived onlv from glimpses
and intuitions, and will be filled out and corrected by the fuller
face-to-face knowledge of the
It has looked to me
at this distance as a ministry of a mild and quiet type, as of one
that doth not strive nor cry, neither doth any man hear his
voice in the streets. Other ministries have been more effective
as the multitude measures efficiency, dealing with larger crowds,
using more complex agencies, and touching society at more
numerous points of interest and with intenser action; but within
its own sphere St has dealt with a profoundness, and fidelity not
elsewhere surpassed with the soul’s greatest interests, uncom
promising in its absolute loyalty to truth and right, always
taking the highest ground, always elevated and elevating,
�88
always searching, quickening, soothing, sanctifying to heart
and conscience, a lifelong dispensary of Sermons from the
Mount.
The specialty of this ministry, it seems to me, has been the
unfolding of the personality and character of Jesus of Nazareth.
I do not believe there is a pulpit in Christendom that has done
so much to penetrate the heart and life of the Master to its
inmost depths, and open its riches to the sympathies and ac
ceptance of men, as that Philadelphia pulpit for the last fifty'
years. Every shade and turn of thought, every gleam of
emotion heavenward and earthward, all the sweet humanity
and grand divinity of that wonderful soul, have been discerned
and delineated there as never elsewhere, I think, and dwelt on
with all the earnest zeal and affectionate faith of a disciple, and
all the enthusiastic appreciation of an artist—dwelt on almost
too exclusively one might think, were it not done by one who
knew how to draw all living waters from that one well, and
bring up all the gold and gems of the moral and spiritual uni
verse from that one mine. I have no doubt this has been done
in this case, so far as any single mind can be comprehensive
and all-sided enough to do it.
The ministry which you commemorate has been singularly
self-conta^ed, that is, has been carried on apart from all official
and organic connection with other ministries, without denomina
tional bonds, with no outside ties except those of a fraternal and
genial spirit. I sympathize with the characteristics of Dr.
Furness’ ministry; my own has been conducted on a similar
plan, though I fear with less fixedness of principle, and less
consistency»©f action. Most of our brethren will call this our
fault, our limitation. Well, they are the majority, and must
decide that point; only I am sure they will have the charity to
own that we, being such as we are, could do no otherwise.
You of Philadelphia do not need reminding; but I want to
express my own appreciation of the manner in which the ministry
you celebrate has all along been adorned, refined, deepened, and
broadened by literary studies and artistic taste and culture,
bringing to that ministry contributions, or rather an aroma
and innumerable subtle and sweet influences from all realms of
spiritual beauty and fragrance and sunshine.
Shall I dare in such a letter as this to make allusion to the
way that looks to me so felicitous, in which the church in the
�89
sanctuary has been supplemented by “the church in the house?”
To my eye and my remembrance the home in Pine Street, and
the church on Locust and Tenth, in the hospitable, genial, cheer
ful, affectionate, and ever gracious spirit that pervaded them
both, were always the counterparts and archetypes of one an
other, each reflecting what was best and brightest and holiest
in the other.
Though this long ministry has been characteristically so quiet
and even and suave, it has had epochs and aspects, or one at
least, of the kind, in presence of which the earth is shaken, and
principalities and powers are prostrated. We may have doubted
the wisdom and necessity of the course taken by our brother;
but we cannot fail to recognize the sublime moral grandeur of
clear and strong conviction® adhered to and acted on, with im
movable persistence, at all risks and at all cost, and though the
heavens fall. We should be blind B>t to discern there the stuff
of which martyrs were made, and the spirit that bore the meek
and gentle Jesus to his cross.
Perhaps my mind has dwelt more on the jubilee from the
fact that if all had gone well with me, I should have been the
next among the liberal ministers, so far as I know, to have been
entitled to such an occasion for myself. I have had my nine
lustra, and if the tenth fail why should I complain ? I can still
rejoice with all my heart in the well-earned honors and happi
ness of my well-beloved friend and brother in Philadelphia.
Very truly yours,
George Putnam.
106 Marlborough Street,
Boston, January 4th, 1875.
Dear Sirs : I am deeply indebted to you for the very kind
invitation to be present at the fiftieth anniversary of Dr. Fur
ness’ settlement. I regret to say that I cannot leave my work
at that time.
I am sure that you have reason to thank God and take courage
as you look back upon the half century. Dr. Furness has served
nobly both in Church and State, and has done much to show
that the two are indeed one.^ My warmest wishes accompany
him as he enters upon his green old age, which surely lacks
nothing that should go along with it. May he have the out12
�90
ward strength, as he is sure to have the inward desire, to speak
to you and for you these many years.
Gratefully and sincerely yours,
Rufus Ellis.
Portland, Maine, January 4th, 1875.
It is with great regret that I find myself unable to accept
your kind invitation to be present at the fiftieth anniversary of
the settlement of the Rev. Dr. Furness.
During the whole of that fifty years, and it embraces all my
life excepting the seven years of infancy, I have had near rela
tions and friends among the parishioners and lovers of Dr. Fur
ness, so that my interest in the occasion is almost personal.
But I am obliged to be in Philadelphia a fortnight later, and
cannot possibly spare the time for both journeys.
With the most cordial congratulations for both pastor and
people, and the hope of many happy returns of the season, I
remain,
Very respectfully and truly yours,
Thomas Hill.
Cambridge, Mass., January 2d, 1875.
Gentlemen : I am very sorry that I cannot accept your kind
invitation to be present at the fiftieth anniversary of the settle
ment of Dr. Furness as your minister.
The fact of so long a pastorship is itself noteworthy in these
days of change; but, in this case, we have all a special right to
be sharers in your joy, since we have received our part in the
fruit of your minister’s labors during these fifty years. Dr.
Furness has set an example, rare in these days of divided and
superficial work, not only by his devotion to a single parish
during so long a period, but also by his consecration to one
chosen line of thought. He selected the noblest theme and
gave his life to it, and made us all his debtors. With thanks
for your kind invitation, and congratulations for minister and
people,
I am, yours very truly,
C. C. Everett.
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Boston, January 9th, 1875.
Gentlemen : Since I heard that your jubilee was proposed I
have hoped to be able to be present, but I am, at the last moment,
disappointed. I think our friends in Philadelphia must under
stand that they are only a very small part of the multitude of
people who are grateful to Dr. Furness for the labors and the
love of his wonderful life. So soon as we who were then
youngsters found out how he preached, we used to say we would
walk fifty miles barefoot to hear him, if there were no other
way to enjoy that privilege. But even more than the preaching,
it was the reading of the books, and the living picture which
they gave us of the Saviour’s life, that set us on a track of
preaching and of thought wholly new.
Let me congratulate the congregation on his health and
strength, and pray express for a multitude of us our love and
gratitude to him.
' Truly yours,
Edward E. Hale.
Dorchester, Mass., January 10th, 1875.
Gentlemen : I have delayed replying to your letter of in
vitation to be present with you on the 12th instant, because,
while my very earnest desire was to accept it, and my heart
spontaneously said “yes,” there were circumstances making it
questionable whether I could. Those circumstances, I am sorry
to have now to say, have decided for me that I must deny my
self the hoped-for pleasure.
I can do no less, gentlemen, than express to you, and those
for whom you act, my sincere thanks for this thought of me in
such connection, and for including me among the friends of
your minister who were considered worthy to be gathered
around him on such an occasion.
Though I can hardly believe that my presence would add
anything to the enjoyment of it, I think no one will enter more
heartily than I should into all that belongs to it for memory
and sentiment and affection and benediction.
Your minister seems very near to me as he is very dear. My
acquaintance with him dates back to his boyhood. He is most
intimately associated in memory, as he was in fact, with those
nearest to me of my early home, whose love for him I shared;
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a love joined with admiration for his dispositions and gifts.
They are all gone to whom I allude; and the more tenderly for
that does my heart, as if hearing their love with its own, em
brace him and this occasion.
And the feelings inspired by those earlier memories towards
him whom in this occasion you so deservedly honor have been,
I hardly need say, continually deepening, as I have followed
him through his life since, and seen the promise our hearts
cherished in him unfold towards a-fulfilment so beautiful and
rich.
Most heartily do I congratulate the members of his society in
the privilege they have enjoyed in him whose very presence has
been a benediction, and whose life, in its simplicity and sanctity
and humble heroism and self-devoting fidelity, has given such
empowerment to his words, and won for them such place in
many hearts beyond those who have been the immediate re
cipients of them.
Much more is in my heart to say; less I could not, in justice
to myself, and as a fitting response (the most so in my power to
make) to your very kind invitation.
If I may be allowed to add what is so wholly personal to my
self, I would say that the memories which connect myself with
your church as being the first I ever preached in, forty-one
years ago, and the memories of those of it who so kindly re
ceived me (so many of whom have passed away), have deepened
my desire towards an occasion of such varied and touching
interest. With the prayer that heaven’s blessing may rest upon
minister and people,
I am, respectfully yours,
Nathaniel Hall.
Baltimore, Md., January 5th, 1875.
Very many thanks for your kind invitation. I havea wedding
on the night of January 12th, which I fear, as I have not, so far,
been able to postpone or advance, will prevent my going to Phila
delphia. I have not given up all hope yet. I wish to assure
you of the great pleasure I would take in witnessing the celebra
tion of an event, so marked in our common history, and so full
of inspiration to a young man like myself, and I hope that
beautiful life which has so blessed you through these years,
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may be spared to repeat, in your midst, that old story, which
he has made so living, of God’s great mercy and love made real
in the divine life on earth. With greetings and congratulations,
I am most truly,
C. R. Weld.
St. Louis, January 4th, 1875.
Dear Sirs : Your kind invitation to be present at the com
memoration of the fiftieth anniversary of Dr. Furness’ settle
ment in Philadelphia was to-day received, and I wish for my
own sake that I could accept it. But my engagements here
are such as to make it impossible for me to leave St. Louis, and
I must be content to stay at home. Dr. Furness was one of my
earliest friends and guides, to whom I have always looked up
with sincere affection and respect. He officiated at my mar
riage with the best woman that ever lived, and I associate him
with all the purest happiness and success of my own life.
William Henry Furness : For fifty years of faithful service,
the brave and consistent advocate, in good report and evil re
port, of Freedom, Truth, and Righteousness : May his last days
still be his best days.
I remain, very truly yours,
W. G. Eliot.
Chicago, January 26th, 1875.
Gentlemen : When you sent me an invitation to be present
at the fiftieth anniversary of the settlement of my dear friend
and yours, I felt sure I should be able to come. My youngest
boy had been sick then for some weeks, so that I could only
leave him a few hours at a time, and for the most imperious
reasons. But on the Saturday he was so much worse that I
had to telegraph I feared I could not leave him at that time.
There can be but few reasons in a man’s whole lifetime so
strong as mine was then for coming to Philadelphia, but the
poor little fellow begged I would be with him through a very
dangerous operation the surgeons had to perform on the day I
should have been with you, from which we were not sure he
could rally.
Pardon me for touching with this private sorrow your ex
�94
ceeding joy, and accept this for my reason why I have not
written sooner.
I did not want to intrude these things at all even into the
blessed after-taste of your festival. But as it seems to me no
man on the earth could be so strongly drawn to that festival as
I was, from any distance, I cannot say another word until you
know the whole reason why I was not with you.
For my debt of gratitude to Dr. Furness takes precedence of
my love for him asone of the truest friends a man ever had,
and as my peerless preacher of “ the truth as it is in Jesus,”
some years before I emigrated to America, my soul clove to
him as I sat one day in a little thatched cottage in the heart of
Yorkshire and read “ The Journal of a Poor Vicar.”
I never expected to see him in the flesh then, but I remember
how I cherished that exquisite little thing among my choicest
treasures ; read it over and over again; spoke of it to other lads
of a like mind with my own, and got a worth out of it I had
not then begun to get out of sermons.
I knew also, when I got to Philadelphia, that I could hear
my man preach if I wanted to, and made out where the church
was; but I had been taught from my childhood to give such
churches a wide berth, and had not the sense to see that the
well, out of which I had drawn such sweet waters in England,
must still be flowing with some such blessing in America. So
that mighty movement that ended in breaking the fetters from
the slave, had to break mine, and then it was not very long before
I stole into theltdjhurch one dismal Sunday night, when being
good Unitarians, all but about a dozen of you, you had your
feet in slippers on the fender.
It was not a sermon, but a talk about Jesus; and how he
washed their feet, and what they saw, and what he said, and
how it all came home to the preacher; but as I went home I
thought, as so many have done time and time again, if that is
Unitarianism I am a Unitarian.
When again I met my author and preacher at the house of my
friend, Edward M. Davis, it did not take long for my gratitude
to grow into love. He was positively the first minister of the
sort we call “ ministers in good standing,” except Mrs. Lu
cretia Mott, who had not tried to patronize me, and put up the
bars of a superior social station.
If I had been his younger brother, he could not have been
�95
more frank and tender and free of heart and hand. I suppose
he never thought of it for an instant, and that was where he
had me, or I should have put up my bars. For, in those days,
I guess I was about as proud as Lucifer. So, it was a great
pride and joy in 1857, to be invited to preach in his pulpit,
while he went off to marry another son in the faith, Moncure
D. Conway, to be the guest, for that day, of your minister’s
family, to have Mrs. Furness and the children treat me like
a prince and a preacher all in one, and to have a glorious good
time altogether, as any man ever had in this world.
Being good Unitarians again in those days, at least half of
you ran off to hear Brother Chapin in the morning, who was
preaching somewhere round the corner, just as my people run
now to hear Brother Swing when I am away, and have to sup
ply with some man they never heard of. I have never quite
forgiven Chapin for preaching there that Sunday.
But Annie Morrison was there, and the very elect, who are
always there, and on the next Sunday, when I preached again,
the rest were there, and the glory of the Lord seemed to me to
fill the house, and so your church is to me one of the most
precious places on earth. I came to it as the men of Israel
went to Zion, and all these years have but deepened and purified
my love for the good old place. Where I first heard the truth
which met at once my reason and my faith, and where, within
a church, for the first time I felt I was perfectly free.
And so it is, that I dare not write down the sum of my love
for my friend and his family, as 1 could not have told it if I
had come down. I feel I am under bonds not to do it; I can
only hint at it.
He got used to blame in the old sad days, when he could not
count such hosts of lovers and friends outside his own church
as he can now, but he will never get used to praise. Some men
don’t. I must say, however, that I do not see how I should
ever have made my way into our blessed faith, had he not opened
the door for me; or found my way to Chicago but for his faith
that I was the man they wanted here ; or done anything I have
ever been able to do half so well, but for his generous encour
agement, or found my life at all so full of sunshine, as it has
been so many years, had he not given me of his store.
Now and then, the ways of God do visibly strike great har
monies in life and history, and this perfecting of the circle of
�96
fifty years in the ministry of my dear friend, is one of the har
monies of life. He has seen the travail of his soul for the slave,
and is satisfied.
He has lived through the days when the majority of Uni
tarians were content with being not very unlike the Orthodox,
into the days when the Orthodox are not content, if they are
not very like Unitarians, and he has done one of the heaviest
strokes of work in bringing this resolution about.
And he has lived to prove to those of us who may wonder
sometimes, what is coming when we have preached to our
people a few more years; and it gets to be an old story, how a
man may preach right along, just as long as he can stand, and
then sit down to it as Jesus did on the Mount; grow better all
the time; win a wider and truer hearing at the end of fifty
years than he has at the end of twenty-five ; and then, when he
is “ quite worn out with age,” may cry, “ Lord, now lettest thy
servant depart in peace according to thy word, for mine eyes
have seen thy salvation.”
Surely yours,
Robert Collyer.
�97
The following extracts are taken from the Liberal
Christian and Christian Register :
“ On Tuesday of next week, January 12th, there will be a
very simple celebration of a deeply interesting occasion. It
will then be fifty years since Rev. Dr. Furness was installed as
pastor of the First Congregational Unitarian Church in Phila
delphia. Next Sunday the venerable pastor will deliver an
appropriate discourse. Tuesday he will receive callers at his
house, and in the evening therecwill be a meeting at the church.
Brief addresses are expected from friends, whose homes are in
Missouri, Illinois, Maryland, NeiB, Yor^j, and New England.
“ At the installation^^; the 12th of January, 1825, Rev. Wil
liam Ware, of New Yo^, aged tflfent^fevayyears, offered the
introductory prayer and read from the Scriptures ; Rev. Henry
Ware, Jr., of Boston, aged thirty years, prfegghed the sermon,
mostofwhich we intend torepringpext week; Rev. Dr. Bancroft,
of Worcester, in his seventieth year, offered the ordaining prayer
and gave the charge ; and Rev^Ezra’jj'. Gannett, aged twentythree years, gave the fellowship of the chUBches and offered the
concluding prayer. Dr. Furness himself wasBisiffigaty-two years
old, having been graduated at Harvard College when he was
only eighteen. None of those who took the prominent parts in
the service are now living pH^Kirth. Dr. Gannett and the
Wares, though then in all the strength and promise of their
early manhood, have followed good old Dr. Bancroft to the
heavenly home.
“ Dr. Furness was installed a few weeks before the ordinations
of Rev. Drs. Alexander Young and Samuel Barrett. Th<aservices were reported in the first numb^ of thdjpecond volume of
the Christian Examiner, and in the fourth volume of the Chris
tian Register. It was four months before the organization of
the American Unitarian Association. James Monroe was Pres
ident of the United States. Boston had been a city only three
years, and had about fifty thousand inhabitants ; New York had
about a hundred and sixty thousand, and Philadelphia about a
hundred and forty thousand. It was the same year in which
the first public railway in England was opened, the passengers
being drawn by horse-power, although locomotives were soon
introduced. It was five years before Dr. Putnam’s settlement
13
�98
in Roxbury, nine years before Dr. Lothropwas called to Brattle
Square, ten years before Rev. N. Hall became junior pastor of
the Dorchester First Parish, and twelve years before Dr. Bartol
became Dr. Lowell’s colleague. Dr. Bellows, aged ten years,
and James Beeman Clarke, fourteen, were school-boys. Rev.
E. E. Hale was scarcely old enough to go to school, and Prof.
C. C. Everett had not been born. It was less than half a century
since the battles Lexington and Concord, and Thomas Jeffer
son and John Adams did not die until eighteen months after
wards. President Grant was then two years old.
“ During the whole of the last half century Dr. Furness has
remained faithfully at his lonely post. He has had no colleague
and no very long vacation, we believe. In addition to his pul
pit work he has written some admirable books, besides trans
lating others. Great changes have occurred in public opinion.
Eight years after the beginning of his ministry in Philadelphia
the American Antislavery Society was formed in that city.
He did not join it immediately, but before long he enlisted in
the ranks of the abolitionists, and neither blandishments nor
threats ever caused him to desert from the forlorn hope of free
dom. For many years, when almost every other pulpit of that
great town., so near the borders of Slave States, was dumb
concerning the national sin, Dr. Furness’ silver trumpet gave
no uncertain sound. Whoever might come, and whoever might
go, he was resolved to be |aithful to the slave. The despised
and rejected champion®of liberty were always sure of his sup
port. When Charles Sumner, struck down by the bludgeon of
the slave power, needed rest and healing, he sought them in the
neighborhood and society of Dr. Furness. Together they visited
the hill country, and mingled their congenial spirits in high
discourse of truth and righteousness. We are glad that at last,
with grateful ears, our venerated brother heard liberty pro
claimed throughout all the land to all the inhabitants thereof.
To know that he contributed to this blessed result must be the
grand satisfaction of his life, more precious than any pride of
authorship or professional success. His whole soul must respond
to Whittier’s declaration that he set a higher value to his name
as appended to an early antislavery declaration than on the
title-page of any book. ‘ I cannot be sufficiently thankful to
the Divine Providence which turned me so early away from
�99
what Roger Williams calls “ the world’s great trinity, pleasure,
profit and honor,” to take side with the poor and oppressed.
Looking over a life marked by many errors and shortcomings,
I rejoice that
“ ‘ My voice, though not the loudest, has been heard
Wherever Freedom raised her cry of pain?
“ But while Dr. Furness must look back with profoundest
gratitude upon the great triumph of justice which he helped to
secure, he cannot be indifferent to the theological progress which
has led to wide and cordial acceptance of many of his dearest
opinions. Once he was one of a small number of Humanitarians
associated with a great majority of Arians. Now the Arians
are nearly extinct, and the divine humanity of Jesus is almost
orthodox Unitarianism. No other individual has done more
to bring this about than the Philadelphia pastor who has made
it the study of his life to understand the spirit and to portray,
in glowing yet truthful tints, the matchless character of the Son
of man. He has been well entitled ‘the Fifth Evangelist.’
None of the ancient narrators ever lingered so fondly over
every trait of him who was touched with a feeling of our in
firmities, and made perfect through suffering. He has rendered
the sympathy of Christ so actual and available that it is a
familiar help to thousands of tried and lonely human souls, to
whom traditional dogmas could give no comfort or strength.
“ We have heard that Dr. Furness is about to retire from the
professional responsibilities which he has borne so long and so
well. It will be a richly earned repose, and yet we cannot
endure the thought that he is to desist wholly from preaching
while his eye is undimmed and his natural vigor scarcely
abated. We heard him last summer with rare satisfaction and
delight, and we wish he could be induced to speak oftener at
our general gatherings. We have thought a great many times,
and perhaps we have said so before, in these columns, that,
owing largely to force of circumstances, Dr. Furness has borne
too close a resemblance to Wordsworth’s Milton whose ‘soul
was like a star, and dwelt apart.’ It is too late now for him
to be in the slightest danger of becoming too social or gregarious.
We wish, most heartily, that he would sometimes meet with
the thousands of our laymen and the hundreds of our ministers
�100
to whom he is personally a stranger, never seen, and never
heard, and yet they regard him with affectionate gratitude and
veneration which it would do them good to express, and not
harm him in the least to receive. Let us fondly hope, then, that
at the semi-centennial celebration of the American Unitarian
Association, or at the next National Conference, we may hear
from this beloved father in our Israel some of those words of
wisdom, truth, and beauty which it is still his mission to speak.”
—Christian Register.
'
“ Philadelphia, January 12th, 1875.
“ It is safe to predict that not even the powerful attractions
of the National Centennial Exposition will call to this city as
many of our UnitaSwn clergy as gathered here to-night to cele
brate the semi-centennial of the settlement of Dr. William H.
Furness. It is an went to which for some time past many of
his absent friends have looked eagerly forward in anticipation
of its peculiar interestA«gnifi<^nce. Pastorates of fifty years
can never be common, and have rarely furnished the necessary materials for the heartiest and sincerest sort of congratulation.
But here was an occasion of which the anticipations were all of
the pleasantest and most unclouded kind, where everybody felt
that it would be a personal privilege to say a congratulatory
Amen with everybody else, and to say it heartily and sincerely.
Dr. Furness' quiet but intensely individual ministry in
this city of Brotherly Love is too widely known among Uni
tarians to m®ke any merq mention of the fact at all necessary,
but to speak of
and justly would be to write a vol
ume; ample materials Hr which, however, are, we are glad to
say, not wanting. But our word must be only of the event of
to-day.
“ The celebration began, we hear, early in the morning at the
pastor’s house, where he^g® delightwlly surprised by the sweet
carols of children’s voices. In the afternoon a large concourse
of friends went to greet him at his home, where beautiful flow
ers scented the air and smiling faces vied with each other in the
expression of sincere respect and love.
“ This evening the old church is beautifully and richly dressed
with evergreens. Below the pulpit is a solid mass of rare trop
ical plants most tastefully arranged, the whole surmounted by
�101
baskets of the choicest flowers. The most conspicuous features
of the decorations are the significant numbers 1825-1875, worked
in small white flowers on either side of the pulpit.
“The old church is full of the Doctor’s parishioners and
friends, the front seats beingpccupied by the invited guests from
abroad. Among the clergy present we Noticed Drs. Lothrop,
Morison, Clarke, Bartol, Bellows, Thompson, A. P. Putnam,
and Rev. Messrs. White, E. H. Hall, Shippen, Ware, Ames,
Israel, Mumford, Gannett, Chadwick, a®t’.®®s®ral others.
“ Dr. Furness had protested against hispersfljnal participation
in this elaborate and deliberate feasit of Prai,s^,. bisfrl the timely
suggestion that his absence might be^|nterprS$ed as a quiet ‘ bid ’
for unlimited adulation proved too atiMSging lferthe equanimity
of even his modesty, so he came and occupied a retired seat near
the door.
“The proceedings were of the^^^^>lesit'^ttd most informal
kind—a genuine love-feast, with more fullness of heart than of
utterance. Yet there was nrf ladfflaf pleasant, hearty words.
After an anthem, with soloi by the accomplished ^hoir, which
seemed to have been augmented and specially drilled for the
occasion, the Chairman of the C®amittee of Arrangements wel
comed the guests and assembled company, and asked Dr. Mor
ison to offer prayer. After a sopfafto solo, the first speech of
the evening was made by Rev. J. F. W. Ware|(whose father,
Henry Ware, had preached Dr. Fu3FBessM®rdination Sermon.
Dr. Furness then came forward^ bearing two communion cups
which had just been recededasa token .^•'remembrance from
our church in Baltimore. He expressed his pleasure at this
expression of affectionate sym|fet'hy, psfetring, incidentally, to
the peculiar method of celebrating the communioffifin his church,
bread and wine not being partaken of, but being placed on the
table only as symbols of the preci«0&things they stand for.
“ William Gannett, whose father gave the right hand of fel
lowship at Dr. Furness’ ordination, said that this was the
principal reason for his presence here to-night. His modest,
cordial words were followed by others, from Rev. E. H. Hall
and Dr. Lothrop. Dr. J. F. Clarfe thqnWead an original
poem, in which, in strong and eloquent words, he commended
Dr. Furness’ earnest and persistent efforts to present more
clearly to the world the living Jesus as distinguished from the
�102
theological or sentimental Christ. Dr. Bartol and Dr. Thomp
son then added their cordial testimony of appreciation. Mr.
Chadwick read a lovely original poem, full of appreciative
references to some of Dr. Durness’ more distinguished cotem
poraries. Messrs. Shippen, Mumford, White, and Ames, each
said a few words, and Dr. Bellows finished the sweet symphony
of praise with a genial portraiture of Dr. Furness, thanking
the Lord that no amount of culture had in any respect weak
ened the vigorous manhood of his friend, and that God made
him just what he is.
“ After music, and a benediction by Dr. Furness, the large
company separated, evidently deeply pleased by the many
hearty testimonies of the evening.”—Liberal Christian.
“Yesterday morning, at seven o’clock, the pupils of Madame
Seiler, an accomplished teacher of music, and author of several
excellent text-books '(gave a serenade to Dr. Furness and his
household. It must have been a delightful surprise to the
awakened family when the sweet sounds began to ascend from
the hall below, where the singers, according to the RwWe&n,
stood 1 candle in hand,’ and paid this delicate and welcome
complimenMin the good old German style. Between the hours
of twelve and six, hundreds of parishioners and friends called
to congratulate the honored pastor upon the successful comple
tion of his half century of service. Most of the time the rooms
were thronged, and such an array of bright and happy faces is
seldom seen. Anfc®fi?he guests who were present during our
brief stay we noticed the Doctor’s children and grandchildren,
Prof. Goodwin, of Harvard University, and Mrs. Eustis,
daughter of Rev. Dr. W. E. Channing.
“ Last evening there was a driving storm of sleet and rain, hut
the church was packed again. The floral display was equal to
that of Sunday. Among the changes we observed that the
large figures ‘1825’ and ‘1875,’ above the pulpit, were made
of pure white flowers instead of white and red as before. After
prayer by Rev. Dr. Morison, Mr. Henry Winsor, Chairman of
the Committee of Arrangements, made a felicitous welcoming
and introductory speech.
“The first clerical speaker was Rev. J. F. W. Ware, son and
nephew of the young Wares who, fifty years before, had taken
�103
prominent parts at the installation service. His remarks were
full of the warmest affection for Dr. Furness, and the tenderest
allusions to the love cherished for his Philadelphia ‘ brother ’
by Henry Ware, Jr. Agreeably to the request of the com
mittee, Mr. Ware asked Rev. W. C. Gannett to follow him.
Mr. Gannett’s father gave Dr. Furness the right hand of fellow
ship, and Mr. Gannett had just been reading the manuscript
copy of that earnest address, on his way to Philadelphia in the
'cars. His speech was eminently appropriate and impressive.
He was followed by Rev. E. H. Hallflof Worcester, suc
cessor of Rev. Dr. Bancroft, who gave the charge at the in
stallation half a century before, and son of Rev. Dr. E. B. Hall,
who was Dr. Furness’ townsman friend, classmate, and room
mate. After most appreciative mention of the noble labors of
our fathers, Mr. Hall spoke eloquently*<of the peculiar work
which each generation has to do for ’jtSelf and the world. Rev.
Drs. Lothrop, Clarke, Bartolj Thompson, A. P. Putnam, and
Bellows, and Messrs. ChaAwick, ShippenMWhite, Mumford,
and Ames were called upon, and the most of them responded;
but we have no space w*tl®H remarks this week. Next week
wTe hope to find rooni for a report, but now we must content
ourselves with copying from the Bulletin the poems which
were read.
“ Before quoting them, however, we must not forget to say
that Dr. Furness spoke twice in the course of the evening, the
first time acknowledging the gift ®f some communion cups
from the church in Baltimore to the church in Philadelphia.
It was hard to believe that thif graceful and happy speaker,
with as fresh a voice as that of the youngest man heard that
evening, and saying the brightest and merriest things of the
hour, could be the venerMfflpastog whose semi-centennial we
were celebrating ; but we presume that there is not the slightest
doubt of the fact. And we must also remember to state that
among the gifts from parishioners and friends were some elegant
mantel ornaments, and the complete and original manuscript
of Charles Lamb’s 1 Dissertation on Roast Pig.* The Bulletin
says that this unique and interesting present was ‘ secured as a
Christmas gift at a recent sale in London, and handsomely
mounted and bound in large folio form.’
Christian Register.
�104
W. H. F.
“ THE FIFTIETH ANNIVERSARY.”
BY WM. C. GANNETT.
Fifty times the years have turned
Since the heart within him burned,
With its wistfulness to be
An apostle sent of Thee.
Closely in his Master’s tread
Still to follow, till he read,
Tone of voice and look of face,
Print of wound and sign of grace.
Beading there for fifty years,
Pressing after, till the tears
And the smiles would come and go
At the self-same joy and woe-^
Sharing with him shouts of Mad ! ”
When the bold front to the bad
Bent to pluck the “ little ones ”
From the feet of fellow-sons—
Sharing in his inner peace,
But not sharing the release,
He is with us while thglchimes
Ring his “ Well done” fifty times.
Listening boys across the field
Pledge a hope they may not yield :
Are they listening from the air —
Boys who started with him there ?
�REV. DR. FURNESS’ RESIGNATION.
14
�On Thursday, January. 14th, 1875, Dr. Furness sent the fol
lowing letter/<to the Society, resigning the charge of the pulpit
into their hands—
�107
TO THE MEMBERS OF THE FIRST CONGREGA
TIONAL CHURCH.
My very dear Friends : While the measure of health and
strength still granted me demands my most thankful acknowl
edgments, and while I ^jgaMinexpressib wwat.efnl for the re
cent manifestations of your affectionate regMkll
admon
ished by the ending of fifty years of service as your minister,
and by the time of life that I have
only a little
while remains to me at the longest. I am moved, therefore,
to resign the charge of the pulpit into your hands. How could
I have borne it Mog bwM|r your fetjj^^^ManidBsteadfast
friendship ? I recogniz® a salutary discipline in the necessity
which I have been^nde® al 1 EgSaSpars of ^^MjmBIpsaat.ion
for the Sunday sHg|age. It is good, as I have learned, for a
man to bear the yoJke in
and even in middle age ;
but now, when only a fragment of lim^remafes.^jte^^pyould
fain be released from thl^fe Jwhwi neither timp^or custom
has rendered any ligMbdpnan Mm v
With the surrender of the pulpit you will understand of
course that I decline all farther pecuniary support. I beg leave
respectfully to suggest thatjiMsome time«ome the pulpit be
supplied by settled ministers, so that nothing shall be done
hastily in the matter of deciding upon my successor. More
over, for all other pastoral offices, I shall be at your service,
remaining always your devoted friend, and in undying affec
tion,
Your pastor, :
W. H. ^Furness.
January 14th, 1875.
�108
At a meeting of the Society held in the church Saturday
evening®January 23dSjl871Wt was voted that the following
letter should be sent to Dr. Furness, accepting his resignation,
andiffigBthe Trustees should sign the same oh behalf of the
Society.
�109
FIRST CONGREGATIONAL UNITARIAN CHURCH.
Philadelphia, January 25th, 1875.
Dear Dr. Furness : The members of this Society have re
ceived with sorrow your letter of the 14th inst., in which you
resign the charge of the pulpit which you have filled so long,
with so much ability and so much to their satisfaction.
Although we deeply regret the existence of the circumstances,
which in your opinion have made the step necessary, we ac
knowledge the justice of permitting you to judge freely of the
force of the reasons in its favor, which have governed you in
coming to your decision; and though we feel it would be a
great privilege to us to have the pastoral relation continued
through the coming years, during which we fondly hope you
may be spared to us, yet we acquiesce in the propriety of promptly
acceding to the wish for relief which you have so decidedly ex
pressed both in your letter and verbally to the committee ap
pointed at our meeting on the 19th inst., to ask you to recon
sider your action and to withdraw your resignation. It would
he ungrateful for us to do otherwise, and would show on our
part a want of proper appreciation of the value of your longcontinued labors thus to make what must be to you in itself a
painful act still more painful.
We cannot fully express in words our thankfulness that the
relation between us has remained unbroken through so many
years, and that, though the formal tie may now be severed,
we are yet permitted to see you face to face, to hear your voice,
to press your hand, and to know that you are among us.
For the reasons which you have presented, and because you
so earnestly desire it, because it is our wish to do, at whatever
loss to ourselves, that which will bo most grateful to you, and
thus to manifest in the strongest way wo can our appreciation
of our privileges in the past, and with the hope that for years
�110
to come you may be with us and of us, we regretfully accept
your resignation, and remain, on behalf of the Society,
Your affectionate friends,
Henry Winsor,
Lucius H. Warren,
Dawes E. Furness,
Joseph E. Raymond,
John Sellers, Jr.,
Enoch Lewis,
Charles H. Coxe,
Trustees.
This letter was read at the meeting of the congregation, held
on Saturday evening, January 23d, 1875, was approved, and
the Trustees were instructed to sign it on behalf of the Society
and forward it to Dr. Furness.
Charles H. Coxe,
Secretary.
�INDEX.
PAGE
Preliminary Meetings, .
Dr. Furness’ Fiftieth Anniversary Discourse,
Extract from Forty-ninth Anniversary Discourse,
Commemorative Meeting,....................................... .
Prayer of Rev. John H. Morison, D.D.,
Remarks of Rev. J. F. W. WarM
“
“ Rev. W. C. Gannett,
.
“ Rev. E. H. Hall, flHH
“
“ Rev. S. K. Lothrop, D.D.,
“
“ Rev. J. F. Charlie, D.D.,
“
“ Rev. C. A. Bartol, D.D.,
“
“ Rev. J. F. Thompson, D.D.,
“
“ Rev. J. W. Chadwick, .
“
“ Rev. R. R. Shippen,
.
“
“ Rev. T. J. Mumfor^^JI
“
“ Rev. W. O. Whitey .
“
11 Rev. A. P. Putnam, D.D.,
“ Rev. C. G. Ames, .
.
“
“ Rev. H. W. Bellows, D.D.I
“
“ Rev. W. H. Furness, D.D.,
Letters,
Extracts from the “ Liberal Christian ”
“ Christian Register,” .
.
Poem, by W. C. Gannett,
Resignation of Rev. W. H. Furness, D.D.,
Letter of the Trustees,
,
3
9
28
41
42
44
48
49
51
55
57
61
66
70
72
72
74
76
77
81
83
AND
97
104
105
109
�I
�
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A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library & 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>
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Exercises at the meeting of the First Congregational Unitarian Society, January 12,1875, together with the discourse delivered by Rev. W.H. Furness, Sunday, Jan. 10, 1875 on the occasion of the fiftieth anniversary of his ordination, January 12, 1825
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Furness, W.H.
First Congregational Society of Unitarian Christians in the City of Philadelphia
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Place of publication: Philadelphia
Collation: 110, [1] p. : ill. (with tissue guards) ; 23 cm.
Notes: From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. Contains index. Includes poem by W.C. Gannett and resignation of Rev. W.H. Furness.
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Sherman & Co., printers
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1875
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Unitarianism
Sermons
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<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 (Exercises at the meeting of the First Congregational Unitarian Society, January 12,1875, together with the discourse delivered by Rev. W.H. Furness, Sunday, Jan. 10, 1875 on the occasion of the fiftieth anniversary of his ordination, January 12, 1825), 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>
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Conway Tracts
First Congregational Society of Unitarian Christians in the City of Philadelphia
Sermons
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^nnibrmrg <Simbag, 1874.
I
-A- szeie^zveozlst;
PREACHED
AT
ST. GEORGE’S HALL, LANGHAM
PLACE, OCTOBER 11, 1874,
REV.
CHARLES
BY THE
VOYSEY.
The text was taken from Psalm cxxiv., 7, “ Our help
standeth in the Name of the Lord.”
He said—With these hopeful words we concluded our
three years ago. We began, as all good
and great works must begin, in the face of many obstacles and
discouragements. Beyond the earnestness and zeal of the
little band of men and women who had pledged themselves
to the work, there was not much ground for the hope of per
manence or success. The whole thing was an experiment;
the country, as it were, was unexplored, the invaders were
unfamiliar with its aspects, their weapons of attack and
Het). C. Voysey’s sermons are to be obtained at St. George’s
Hall, every Sunday morning, or from the Author (by post), Camden
Hottse^ Dulwich^ S.H Price one penny, postage a halfpenny.
�2
defence as yet untried. Among the earliest recruits were
some who did not quite know their own minds, who hardlyrecognized in these eccentric efforts the real object in view.
Some joined our forces for the mere pleasure of witnessing
assaults on orthodox belief, and were disappointed to find
that these assaults were only preliminary to the building up
of a rational faith. Others helped us in the hope of seeing
established a new church, or a new sect, with banners of new
dogma around which they might rally, and thus form a
society which would replace the social losses they had for
their heresy incurred. There were, too, those who came
armed to the teeth with their own peculiar prejudices, who
Jiad built up an adamantine barrier beyond which they would
not advance, and who resented our refusal of their shibboleths
with quite orthodox indignation.
Custom, also, had its obstacles to throw in our path. Some
could not endure a religious worship held in a j/wasz-theatre,
nor patiently bear the necessary discomforts of a building
not our own. Others objected to the form of prayer which
had been adopted; others to the minister continuing to use
the raiment to which all his life he had been accustomed;
others found fault with the music that it was not congrega
tional, while nearly all were found to be unwilling to repeat
responses in an audible voice, thus rendering a choral service
an absolute necessity.
Well do I remember the anxiety and misery of those early
days in our undertaking, and hdw much patience and perse
verance and kindly feeling were requisite from every member
of our congregation in order to tide-over the period of
unsettlement.
To-day I have no thoughts but those of satisfaction and
�3
gratitude in the retrospect. It is almost marvellous how
these difficulties were one by one cleared away, how members
one after another laid aside or smothered their prejudices in
order to promote good-will, and to secure the final triumph
of our endeavours. Compared with the large number oftliose
who worship here whenever they can, the seceders are com
paratively few. Not more than a score do I know of, who
having given these services a fair trial have deserted them
from dislike or on principle.
I see some before me now, and I know of many more who
are only temporarily absent from us to-day, who, at the sacri
fice of their own prejudices and tastes, have held on to our
society for the sake of those aims which in importance are ’
far above the trifling details of our worship or the
idiosyncrasies of the preacher with which they have no
sympathy. I honour them, and I thank them publicly with
my whole heart, not only for their manly and faithful support
of an unpopular cause, but also for setting before us all the
beautiful example of self-denial and devotion in not permitting
any private sentiments to interfere with their well-chosen
duty. Believe me, they will discover that they have lost
nothing by their generous concessions, which would beget
on my part, were it ever wanting, a desire to adapt both
service and discourse to their tastes, so far as can be
done consistently with honour and with the common good.
There remain with us to this day, some who look upon
our prayers and praises as idle words, some who dislike our
music, some who prefer a methodistical to an ecclesiastical
form and accessories, some who never can feel contented with
our present place of worship. More gratifying still is the
fact that some are still with us, rendering most valuable aid
�4
with a regularity that passes praise, who object to the dis
courses, some alleging that not enough is made of Christ
and Christianity, others saying that there is too much
religious sentiment and not enough of polemic. Many, too,
are here with patient constancy, who are far better fitted than
I to occupy this part.
Now all this is to us a source of comfort and encourage
ment beyond that which we find even in closer agreement and
sympathy. It leads us to ask once more, what is it that binds
us together? What is that noble aim which acts like a
spell upon such apparently incongruous and unruly
elements ?
My friends, I believe I shall speak only your own thoughts
when I say that the bond of union between us is our common
aim—to endeavour to solve what Professor Tyndall has
called “ that problem of problems, the reasonable satisfaction
of the religious emotions.” It is for this we have in various
ways and degrees sacrificed earthly comfort and advantage,
have stifled our own petty and private crotchets, have been
willing to put up with this, that, or the other thing which has
been distasteful. You are as sure of my loyalty to this grand
aim, as I am of yours; and it is to this loyalty alone that we
owe our assembling here to day, keeping our anniversary and
inaugurating the fourth year of our history as one of the
most remarkable religious movements in this century. This
is also why, in distant parts of Great Britain, and in north,
south, east, and west of the whole earth, thoughts of joyous
sympathy with us are throbbing, hands of generous help are
being held out to us, blessings are invoked, and prayers are
being uttered for the success of our enterprise.
With all its faults, and not one of them incurable, our
�5
service is as yet as reasonable as any service in existence, if
not the most reasonable of all; and whatever be the faults
and short-comings of the discourses added to it, the principle
on which they are delivered, and on which it is known they
are received, is that of perfect reasonableness;—the right on
the one hand of the absolutely unfettered speech of honest
thought, and the equal right, on the other, of accepting or
rejecting what is said, at will.
We have a great deal of faith, but we have no formu
lated creed; we have very strong opinions, and tena
ciously cling to certain doctrines; but we have not a
syllable of dogma; not an opinion which may not be chal
lenged, nor a doctrine not open to question. We are tied to
no Scripture, ancient or modern ; we are beholden to no
prophet, old or new, that we should obey his voice as Divine;
we lean on no Christ, Galileean or British, that we must bend
our thoughts to his thoughts, or take him for our master or
guide.
The best and the worst, the truest and the most false must
bring their doctrines to the same test in each of us. The
Reason, the Conscience, and the Affections.
Whatever
harmonizes with these we will accept, because of the harmony,
and not for the speaker’s renown. Whatever jars upon them,
we reject, for its intrinsic falsehood, regardless of the speaker’s
authority.
And still we leave ourselves open to correction. We are
not going to deify, and to worship as infallible, our Reason,
our Conscience, or our Affections, We expect our reason to
err sometimes; but we listen to it because it is better than
the authority of another man’s reason. We expect our con
sciences to be warped or stunted sometimes; but we do better
�6
in walking by our own conscience than by that of the priest.
We expect even our affections to err through deficiency
sometimes, perhaps even through excess, but it is better to be
guided through them to the light of love Divine than to
search for it in external nature or metaphysics, and worse
still to stifle our affections as unholy.
Moreover, we aim at the proper and harmonious action of
all the three, that none may be unduly exalted at the expense
of the other two. Were a man all reason, he would only
think rightly without right action. Were he to be all'con
science, he could nut perceive the reasonableness or the beauty
of right conduct. Were he all love, he would be foolish and
extravagant, though, perhaps, more likely to go right by
instinct than in the other two cases.
As religious enquirers, and even as religious believers, the
chief field of our enquiry, and the chief ground of our belief
is man. By the study and cultivation of our best human
faculties we are on the road to the discovery of Him to whom
our common human instinct points as the Ruler and Friend
of the universe.
But in doing this we absolutely forswear that very certainty
and infallibility, which at present are the life of all dogmatic
churches. We have such unbounded confidence in man, and
in Natural Religion, that we will not encumber ourselves with
those expedients which have hitherto proved so successful
in the machinations of priestcraft. We prefer our uncer
tainty and consciousness of the possibility of error, to a
certainty which has no solid foundation, to the claims of an
infallibility, which we can prove to be false. We are quite
as much in earnest to be right as the Christians are; but we
are not so much afraid to be mistaken. As believers, we
�■{
w ffg> o*d
'■:'
7
trust God’s entire justice to visit upon us no calamity which,
we do not deserve, to punish us with no penalty for what we
could not help, still less to inflict permanent misery and
disappointment in returu for our most loyal endeavours to
gain the truth. We are not afraid to be mistaken, in the
old sense of that awful fear of Hell-fire which is the
threatened doom of the Churches against any intellectual
error.
We are afraid of error only so far as we
may do mischief to other people, or fail of our own
proper improvement; and our worst errors, we believe,
will one day be thoroughly corrected, and we shall know
all the truth. A dear friend of mine, a convert to Roman
ism, confessed that he could not possibly understand this
perfect calm in a mind wide-awake to the possibility, and
even probability, of being in error. My reply was “ It is
because I believe in a God as good as myself—not to say
better ; that is enough to make me sure that, so long as I
honestly desire to go right, I shall be certain to know the
truth at last. He will not damn me for rejecting what seems
to me unreasonable and even blasphemous.
This, my friends, is where we stand; and more unfettered
than this, no man, or body of men can be; this is the secret
of our firm bond of union, and let me add the secret of our
past and future success. All will depend on keeping clear of
dogmatism, or the attempt to tie down each other, or the
future generation, to special modes of thought which may
suit ourselves.
In the Inaugural Discourse to which I have referred, I
took pains to shew what lines our several efforts ought to
take. 1st. That we should do all we could to expose the
falseness and absurdity and impiety of the orthodox doctrines..
i
I
�8
'2nd. That we should let the world know what religious
beliefs and hopes we had to put in their place. 3rd. That,
-at all events, we might hope in this generation to wean the
people from their insane dread of damnation for opinion. 4th.
That we should help those who had no faith at all towards
a reasonable trust in the goodness of G-od. And 5th. I dwelt
upon the necessity, on every ground, of the cultivation of
personal beauty of character and conduct, as the only condi
tion in which religious emotions could thrive.
From careful observation, I have come to the conclusion
that we are not held together by a common hatred and
rejection of orthodox Creeds, so much as by our mutual
agreement in the main on the subjects of G-od and immor
tality. I mean that there is far more sympathy between us
as to what we believe than as to what we deny. This sympathy
is not only deeper than the other but more general. It is but
a small minority who only enjoy discourses of attack upon
prevailing beliefs. With very few exceptions, we all like
best those subjects which help to clear our own insight and
to add to the foundation of a reasonable faith. To me this
fact is more than any other significant of progress and
^endurance. Had it been the reverse we could not have lasted
long. People not only weary in time of polemics, but the
function of polemics dies with the perishing superstition at
which they are aimed, and then the controversialist has
nothing more to do ; his mission is soon done and over. But
when people are united in the pursuit of that knowledge or
belief, which by its very nature cannot be exhausted, the
interest in it cannot die, its investigators become more eager
-and fascinated the longer they search. I am inclined to
think not only with Theodore Parker but with Tyndall, that
�9
the interest in religious enquiry is inexhaustible, and of such
a nature as to engage and engross the highest faculties of
the best of our race. And therefore if, as is the case, we are
linked together in sympathy, not merely to uproot hoary and
decaying superstitions, but above all things to find out all
that is true about the vast mystery of Grod and man, and to
strengthen each other in our faith and hope whenever they
rest on reasonable foundations, then indeed my heart leaps
up with renewed courage to feel sure that this our work will
prosper, that in time it will leaven the whole world, that what
is true and sound in our principles will prevail, and that in
ages to come we shall have made it an easier task for
posterity to correct our errors, than it has been for us to
uproot the errors of our forefathers.
Fifteen years ago, Francis William Newman said these
words, or words of the same meaning, “For the truly religious
in this age, there is no Temple.” We cannot yet ask that
this most just and severe sentence be withdrawn; but we may
ask the venerable professor, and the world of lofty minds and
souls like his who sigh for such a temple, to recognize, at all
events, our most earnest endeavours to erect such a Temple,
to mould such a form of worship. Ours at least has the
germs of self-improvement, ours is designed to be severely
subject to the dictates of reason and yet open to the embellish
ments which poetry and the highest aesthetic taste can provide.
To be worship at all, it must be emotional, and emotion is a
subtle thing very variable and transitory, soon satisfied
and soon repelled. The whole of the Service cannot then in
the nature of things be equally tasteful to every worshipper
alike. But we have entire liberty to make it what we please;
as the changes in, and additions to, it during the past three
�10
years will shew. We know it to be the envy of many clergy
men and others who are tied to old forms; and it has been
adopted in whole or in part by some who are free.
Is it not then somewhat of a reproach to us—or rather to
those who are one at heart with us, but who are afraid or un
willing to confess it—is it not a reproach, I ask, that such a
service should have as yet no local habitation, should be
relegated to a Music Hall, and be performed with all the
drawbacks of a small- theatre ? Is it not a reproach that
while Mr. Spurgeon (whom I personally greatly respect)
could get a Tabernacle built to hold 6,000 persons on purpose
to hear the Gospel of Hell Fire, the Religious Free-thinkers
of this Country cannot raise enough money even to buy a
bit of land for such a building as our Service and our
cause deserve ?
While his sermons are circulated by the million, we are
thankful to get ours sold by the thousand. While a little
book which in all good-nature I call a “wicked book” by a
Scotch Minister, entitled Grace and Truth, but which ought
to be entitled Disgrace and Falsehood, has been sold to the
amount of 70,000 copies since November last, we have still
on hand volumes which have never passed into a second
edition.
A Ritualistic Church in the suburbs which can scarcely
scrape together £20 for the London Hospitals, can raise
£300 at any time for a new set of vestments.
Again, as an instance of hearty earnestness, a handful of
Jews agree to build a new synagogue, and they raise
amongst themselves the sum of £80,000 for its erection.
For once I must reproach my countrymen, and say that,
although considering the agency at work, to have held on for
�three years is more than one could have expected : yet con
sidering the cause in question and its bearing on the interests
of humanity all over the world, such neglect is a discredit.
And it is a reproach to this wealthy country that we have
not in possession, this day, the finest Temple that could
be built in all London.
We are quite sure that there are at least 50 persons in this
country (probably ten times as many) who are in entire sym
pathy with our work and who could afford to put down
£1,000 each, as easily as we shall contribute our sovereigns
to the offertory to-day. We are bound to ask them why they
any longer hesitate to give the world such a pledge and
token of their honest belief? The moral value of their con
tribution will be lost, if it be.delayed till the cause becomes
a fashion. On the other hand, it is earnestness which wins
men’s confidence and does more to make converts than years
of talking and preaching.
While, however, this main ultimate object be kept in view,
the current expenses must not be forgotten; nor must it be
imagined that the sum of £100 a month can be defrayed out
of the ordinary receipts. Our weekly collection, as is well
known, is to enable non seat-holders and visitors to contribute
what they please towards the expenses ; and we need there
fore two or three special offertories in the course of the year
to make up deficiencies.
This is the first time in three years that I have made any
appeal to yourselves or to our country friends for greater
exertion. I am the worst pleader for money that ever spoke,
but I can refrain no longer from asking everyone, who at heart
wishes us well, to do his or her utmost to carry those kind
wishes promptly into effect. Let us endeavour to earn what
�12
Dr. Davies said of us in the Daily Telegraphy “ These people
are terribly in earnest.”
Still we must be patient; for we have even greater cause
for rejoicing and hope than if we had at command the wealth
of the country. The leaven is working more rapidly than we
could have expected. On every side, in every church and sect,
our denials and our beliefs are spreading with a speed that
must strike dismay into the very hearts of the champions of
orthodoxy. Truly this is all we want, a fruition more welcome
than any amount of worldly success. With the most modest
and truthful estimate of our own small powers to work so
mighty a change, we yet thankfully recognize that we have
had some share in it, and that it is the truth and the reason
ableness of what we proclaim, and not the mode of its
proclamation, which is working so mightily upon this
generation.
To conclude in the key-note with which we began, while
doing our best to ensure progress let us remember Him whose
truth we are patiently and honestly seeking to discover and
to declare ; whose Divine call first awakened our souls to this
holy service and has all along fortified'us . to encounter the
perils and to.conquer the obstacles which opposed our march;
whose assurances of final enlightenment and whose words of
Heavenly peace have led us on calm and unflinching in our
darkest hours ; and whose Love, bountifully shed over all his
creatures, has set us on the Rock of Haith and Trust, and
filled our hearts with songs of Praise.
“ Our help standeth in the Name of the Lord.”
CABTEB&WnllAMS, General Steam Printers, 14, Bishopsgate Avenue, Camomile-street,E.O
�
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Victorian Blogging
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A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library & 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>
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Conway Hall Library & Archives
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2018
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Conway Hall Ethical Society
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Anniversary Sunday, 1874: a sermon preached at St. George's Hall, Langham Place, October 11, 1874
Creator
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Voysey, Charles [1828-1912.]
Description
An account of the resource
Place of publication: [London]
Collation: 13 p. ; 19 cm.
Notes: Part of Morris Miscellaneous Tracts 6.
Publisher
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[Carter & Williams]
Date
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[1874]
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G4828
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Sermons
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<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 (Anniversary Sunday, 1874: a sermon preached at St. George's Hall, Langham Place, October 11, 1874), 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>
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English
Morris Tracts
Religion
Sermons
-
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ANNIVERSARY SUNDAY.
A SERMON,
PREACHED AT ST. GEORGE’S HALL, LANGHAM PLACE,
OCTOBER 5th, 1873, by the
REV. CHARLES VOYSEY.
[From the Eastern Post, October Wth, 1873.]
On Sunday (October 5 th) at St. George’s Hall, Langham-place,
the Rev. C. Voysey took his text from Nehemiah ii., 20, “ The
God of Heaven, he will prosper us; therefore we, his servants,
will arise and build.”
He said—Readers of the Bible must be familiar with the
interesting book from which my text is taken, which tells the
simple story of the re-building of the walls of Jerusalem after it
had been almost destroyed by the Babylonian armies. The hero
of this great event seems to have been singularly well fitted for his
patriotic work ; for he had three great gifts. He had rare tact,
very high moral principle, and what we might call a desperate
determination. With the first he conciliated the conquerors of his
nation; with the second he kept in order and elevated the half
trained fellow-countrymen on whose exertions he depended; and
with the third he fought hi# way over every obstacle and finished
the work which God had given him to do.
But although these great gifts were natural endowments and
might, have rendered their possessor eminently successful in any under
taking, I believe they were heightened and enlarged by his equally
remarkable faith. Though a captive in the Court of Artaxerxes, to
whom he was cup-bearer, he could not forget the God of his fathers;
while he was surrounded by the luxuries of a King’s palace, he
still remembered with shame and sorrow the daughter of Zion clad
in sackcloth and sitting in ashes. As long as Jerusalem lay in
ruins, there was no joy for him. As long as his countrymen were
captives in a foreign land, there could be no charm for him in
courtly dignity. Identifying Jerusalem with the honour of his God^
�knd regarding its temple as the witness of the Divine presence and
rule, it was a matter of religion with him to seek its restoration, and
to rebuild its ruined walls. Strong in mind and will though he was,
he was not ashamed to lay his cause at the footstool of the most
High, he scrupled not to pray for heavenly strength, for divine
wisdom and for the success of his undertaking, but went as a little
child to his Father’s knee, and besought His blessing and help :—
“ O Lord, I beseech thee, let now thine ear be attentive to the
prayer of thy servant, and to the prayer of thy servants, who desire
to fear thy name, and prosper, I pray thee, thy servant this day.”
Having sought God’s blessing and favour upon his work, he
roused the enthusiasm of the Jews who still dwelt in the ruined
city, and they said, “ Let us rise up and build.” “ So they
strengthened their hands for this good work.” Nehemiah then
goes on to describe his first encounter with opposition and how he
met it. “ When Sanballat the Horonite, and Tobiah, the servant,
the Ammonite, and Geshem the Arabian, heard it, they laughed
us to scorn, and despised us, and said What is this thing that ye
do? Will ye rebel against the King? Then answered I and
said unto to them, ‘The God of heaven, he will prosper us, there
fore, we his servants will arise and build.’” We will not pursue
the narrative further into details. It is enough to see how this
brave and strong-minded man, who was the burning sun of
enthusiasm to the hundreds of colder spirits around him, drew
all his courage, and zeal, and hope, from his conscious dependence
upon God, from his intense desire to do His will, and above all,
from the aasurance that “God’s thoughts towards him were
thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give him an expected end.”
I cannot help feeling that this same spirit of dependence on God
is the secret of whatever courage and determination have been
manifested by those who are working in this age to build again the
walls of a mined Faith, and to combat the opponents on all sides
who would have us rather remain in the shackles of a spiritual
slavery or in the lonely wilderness of infidelity.
The gift of tact, which implies a quick discernment of other
men’s moods and wants, and a ready and versatile adaptation of our
conduct and speech in order to win rather than to repel the un
settled inquirer, is no doubt a most needful auxiliary to such work
�3
as ours. But tact is not everything; and this age shows, I think, a
tendency to exalt this happy facility into a virtue, and to prefer
its exercise to that of .the less polished but more serviceable weapon
of plain speech.
The high principle which was so conspicuous in Nehemiah is
the very alpha and omega of success in work like ours. Absolutely,
and before all things else, it is necessary to maintain an
unimpeachable honesty of word or deed, if we would hope to do
the slightest good in the way of emancipating the minds of others.
But this weapon of our warfare is wielded also by many of our
adversaries. Let us say it thankfully, we are well-matched in this
matter of integrity, and the battle would have to be drawn, if the
truer views were to be decided by the greater virtue. As yet,
the struggle cannot be finished on such terms alone, and our
enthusiasm would perish if it were not fed from other streams.
• Of all three, perhaps, a desperate determination is the most
powerful human aid to success in such an enterprise as ours.
Force of will we know can emove mountains, can defy and
dethrone the most ancient of dynasties, «an uproot the most wide
spread of traditions. All the great deeds for good or for evil have
been done by determination, by individual energy of purpose;
men once committed to a cause, holy or unholy, are rendered, by
their self-consecration, dangerous to those things which they oppose.
Half-hearted, luke-warm people are good for nothing but impedi
ment ; never succeed in anything but in getting in the way of the
earnest, and causing an obstruction.
The Nehemiahs of the world are none of these. To have simple
aims like his, to let neither himself nor friend, nor foe, ever come
between h’m and his duty; to win and defy by turns ; to slay
opponents who will take no other warning, and to rebuke and
chastise unfaithful or sleepy allies; to make every event, calculated
or unforeseen, further the sacred end in view; to live in the hottest
toil of the work, yet all a-glow with delight in it; and to be ready
to suffer and die for it when necessary, quite as willingly as to live
and to fight for it; this is to have power—power not easily defeated
not soon exhausted—power that grows by exercise and gathers
force, like the descending avalanche, from the irresistible attraction
which it exercises over surrounding souls.
�4
But not even this, mighty as it is, can always conquer. Some
times “ the weak things of the world confound the things that are
mighty, and things that are not will bring to naught things that
are.” All depends ultimately on the cause itself and not on the
brave men who fight for it. It must be a cause of light, or right,
or truth, or it will surely fail. It must be for the ultimate good
of mankind, or it will surely come to naught. In the language of
religion it must be the cause of God, and not merely a caprice of
man. If this thing be of man, i.e., of man’s ignorance or selfish
ness, it will surely come to naught; but if it be of God, i.e.,
accoding to His most holy and loving will; then who can overthrow
it 1 Nay, who would be so mad as to fight against God 1
Unman gifts, however well-fitted, then, will not by themselves
always accomplish the work on which they are expended. And
those who are wise enough to perceive this fact will not rush hastily
or wildly into any great undertaking relying solely on their own
powers and qualifications; but they will turn it about first in their
own minds to see whether it be a cause likely to benefit mankind
the increase of knowledge, of virtue, or of general happiness;
to discover through these enquiries whether the great will of
Heaven is for them or against them; whether, in the language of
Nehemiah, God will prosper the work of their hands. I feel sure
that it was with this manly deference to God’s Holy Will, and
reliance on His blessing, that we began our united work in this
place two years ago. Not one of ns would have put our hands to
it, had we thought it was against God’s will or to the detriment of
man. Not one of us would have had the heart to begin, as we
did, under such discouragements without the assurance that God
approved our undertaking, and would cause it to prosper. I
honestly say that I don’t know what would have become of me,
under the peculiar pressure of obligations upon most feeble powers,
but for this constant and refreshing comfort of believing that eur
work was a little portion of God’s wosk, and that He would make
good to me those words of peace, “ As thy day, so shall thy
strength be.”
As a society, necessarily compelled to raise funds, we have had
our dark days and gloomy anticipations —not that any one of us
feared for a moment that the cause of pure Theism even in this
�5
city, not to say in the wide world, depended upon the success of
this particular and comparatively insignificant movement—but we
naturally contemplated, with no little sorrow, the possibility of
our share in the great work passing away from us after all we had
gone through to maintain it. In such hours of anxiety, and they
are real though few, we know the blessedness of referring it all
back to God’s blessed will, and of knowing that it must prosper if
it be in harmony with the eternal laws; and if it be in discord with
them, well, the sooner it perish the better. Faith, then gives
fresh courage and determination, as well as keeps the mind in its
original integrity bent not on self-will, but supremely and entirely
given to the will of God.
And observe how entirely different this is from that spirit of
dogmatism which is merely faith in our own opinions. Of course
we must first believe that a thing is true before we can proclaim
it; and we must be persuaded of its essential value to mankind
before we can incur any suffering or odium as a penalty for its
proclamation. But we can feel' this perfect confidence in the
rectitude and value of our opinions, and yet consciously put God’s
will and wisdom above them all; and at the very bottom of our
hearts only wish to serve Him faithfully and to declare His truth,
whatever it be.
Skill, self-reliance, courage and determination are all to be
elevated by the inspiration of faith, and to be refreshed and
re-invigorated by it when wearied and discouraged.
Some, however, may say, How can you be sure that you are
right? In one sense we are not sure, i.e., we are not so arrogant as to
be sure that God has imparted all His truth to us, and to us only;
neither would we dare to say that even if God prospers our work
therefore, the work of other men is wrong and against His will.
But while we are thus decently modest, and confess further the
impossibility of proving that we are right, we feel very very sure
that we are right; so far from holding these opinions for gain, we
are in many cases going against all the predilections of the past,
aud flying in the face of an army of hostile and cruel prejudices.
Our convictions have been forced upon us. The soil of our minds
has been under the tillage of a husbandman mightier than ourselves.
Its rank foliage has been eleared and burnt, the roots of early
�6
culture have been dug up and the sweetly seasoned ground has
been sown with seeds of holy and life-giving fruit—not of our
choosing. The field with its golden harvest is our own, not so the
labour to which we owe its wealth. But once planted with this
precious seed, we cannot reap an alien grain; nor sow again the
tares which the great husbandman has burnt. Whatever grain we
have to give it must be our own or none; we will not lend a borrowed
word; or steal a neighbour’s thought, and say, “ The Lord hath
spoken it.” We speak only that that we do know or firmly believe,
and our surety is not of ourselves; it is the gift of God. Less than
this assurance will not work. Less than this degree of confidence
that we are right would disqualify us for the duties we have assumed.
For any one to speak of God as an hypothesis or probable theory may
be justifiable in itself; but it becomes absolutely misplaced on the
lips of any professed advocate of religion ; the rostrum of a place of
worship is not the suitable place from which to express grave
doubts as to the Being and character of God. Such doubts may,
of course, arise, and Ought not to be suppressed; nothing honest
ought to labour under disabilities of any kind ; but the office of a
religious teacher on religious subjects to an audience whose prayers
and praises to God are just silenced, demands some degree of
certainty and conviction as the raison d’etre of the function. But
there are two ways of doing everything ; and it is quite possible
to avoid dogmatic or dictatorial language while expressing to the
full one’s own earnest convictions.
It is my fervent hope that the truly religious spirit in which
this work of ours was begun may never cease to animate it; if
we are bearing witness in a world darkened by superstition, and
likely to be still more darkened by Atheism, bearing witness of
the love and friendliness of a perfect God, it becomes us both
individually and collectively to live and walk by that faith which
we profess, not to be ashamed of the core and kernel of those
principles which we all hold so dear, and for which so many are
suffering. We stand mid-way between those who have made the
very name of religion a by vord and a reproach by their fables and
dogmas, and those whose aversion to all religion is, therefore,
insurmounta’ le. We must neither fall into the old blunder of
dogmatism, nor timidly comply with the crude and bigoted denials
of a hasty Atheism. While God is to us the greatest reality of
our existence, let us honestly say so, in spite of the Church’s curses
on the one hand, and of the world’s ridicule on the other.
Finally, bear with me if I say a few words of more personal
reference to ourselves. To congratulate ourselves on beginning the
third year of our organization as a congregation, and to flatter one
another upon our success and oui- prospects would be an easy and
pleasant, but not very profitable occupation. To summon you and
�«W!IPW5’WW?'
.»-,•^4'vW^/i Aj’X/ 5 ■7<V
*^>.
T
all other friends to some heroic action which should excite the
public admiration—always ready enough to fall before the feet of
success—would be to go against the very roots of my nature, and
to wither up the beauty of an action only beautiful when spon
taneous. There are plenty of people agreeing with us who are
able to contribute £10,000 a piece, if the time were come for it.
But I have better things to say than that such a thing had been
done ; better thoughts of congratulation than any degree of personal
success.
We have lived and worshipped together long enough to prove
what is infinitely more cheering than our own permanence and
establishment. We have lived to learn that that pure Theism—that
pure natural religion which is so dear to our hearts—that Faith
which is the life of our souls, and the inspirer of our hope and
enthusiasm, is perfectly safe now from extinction and oblivion. I can
honestly say now that I don t care—speakingas your chosen minister
_ I don’t care now whether the Voysey Establishment Fund sinks
or swims. I do not, except as it would involve the inconvenience
of seeking a new source of maintenance, care one straw whether we
continue to prosper or not. Myself, aye, a hundred more like me,
■might go to the wall and be trodden down, as far greater men have
been ere now, by the tramp of adverse circumstances; but it is too
late to affect the growth and progress of that religion which was
safely planted in men’s hearts before I was born, and had been
loudly proclaimed in this generation—yes, by some under this
very roof, when I was but a boy. The little circle of workers
with which we are identified as a congregation and society, thank
God, is but a drop in a vast ocean of kindred souls. For every
one of us, there are a hundred thousand known, and myriads
unknown* who are on our side and against the falsehoods and
follies of Christianity. •
It is no figure of speech when I say that all over the world are
bn man beings to whom we telegraph, as it were, our loving thoughts
about God; our words fly hither and thither; are read in remotest
regions, far and near ; and wherever they go they do more, far
more, than convert—they awake the echoes of grateful and believing
hearts who have their own joyous tale to tell of God’s loving kind
ness, and of their birth into life. Nor is it only in distant lands,
but more strange still, in churches and sects most foreign to our
si m pip. creed; on one hand the Bomanist and members of all the
Orthodox churches and sects, and on the other, the Unitarian, are
leaving the territory of tradition, and opening their eyes to see ■
not what this, that, or the other man can shew them—but what
God Himself has to show them. Notmerely the Christian but the
Hindoo also is coming under the same leaven and heaving afresh
his quivering breast, always so sensitive to the Divine afflatus. Is
�I
hot tke same spirit stirring also the Jew—the Jew whose ancestor,
amid perils and difficulties a thousand times greater than our own,
looked in the face of God and left incomparable record of their
bliss 1 The Jew is fettered a little still, but the chains chafe his
limbs, and he, too, is pressing on “ into the glorious liberty of the
children of God.”
When I think of what was the state of things more than twenty one
years ago, when I began my clerical life, and glance at the successive
periods of eleven, five, three, and now two years, and contrast the
world’s state, and its rate of progress, to-day with what these were
when I first knew it, I am so abounding in hope and certainty as to the
ultimate conquest of the Church’s Creeds by Theism, that I could
lay down my life to-day, not murmuring that I had seen so little,
but thankful to overflowing that I had seen so much, of God’s
glorious work with the souls of men.
Once more, I say, if your hearts, like mine, are set upon this
noble work, you will surely do as much as you can, and work as
long as you can to help forward the little share which has been
entrusted to us; but for Heaven’s sake do not be afraid of the
consequences, were all of us to be swept into oblivion to-morrow.
Pure and natural religion has struck its roots into the hearts of
men, so that no rude axes can hew it down, nor fiercest storms can
root it up.
Young as I am, and dearly as I love life and its exquisit e
pleasures, one thought have I this day in looking back upon the
past. If God were to call me home or drive me by some mischance
into the wilderness once more; I should still say with old Simeon
in the temple, “ Lord, lettest thou thy servant depart in peace,
for mine eyes have seen thy salvation, which thou hast prepared
before the face of all people. A Light to lighten the Gentiles and
to be the glory of thy people Israel.”
EASTERN
Post
steam Printing Works, 89 Worship Street, Finsbury E.C,
�
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 & 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
Anniversary Sunday: a sermon, preached at St. George's Hall, Langham Place, October 6th 1873
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Voysey, Charles [1828-1912.]
Description
An account of the resource
Place of publication: [London]
Collation: 8 p. ; 19 cm.
Notes: Part of Morris Miscellaneous Tracts 6.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
Evening Post
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
[1873]
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
G4829
Subject
The topic of the resource
Sermons
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 (Anniversary Sunday: a sermon, preached at St. George's Hall, Langham Place, October 6th 1873), 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
Morris Tracts
Religion
Sermons
-
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06a93aeef1990e72b80816a07219bda5
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Text
ROBERT COLLYER AND HIS CHURCH
'* " ’'
'
A
DISCOURSE
DELIVERED IN THE
FIRST CONGREGATIONAL UNITARIAN CHURCH
IN PHILADELPHIA
if 0 V E M B ER 12 1 8 71
BY
■wliHI. ZFTTZRzJSTZESS
MINISTER
King & Baird,
[printed
not published.]
Printers.
��DISCOURSE
I take for my text what thJ3|g|.h elders said to
Jesus when they went, to him in behalf of the Roman
centurion.
He
is worthy for, whom thou shouldst do this.
.
Luke vii. 4.
My Friends:
The religious societies of our denomination have all »
been invited tel aid flniBBflwQBv Church in
Chicago for our dearly ^»veMm?iend and brother?
Robert Collyer, whose' ^^utiSlOlle^ of worship was
burned down in the grS^o^i^gBOH
It is proposed to
fifty thousand dollars for the
purpose. I have no doubt this sum will be raised.
Apart from Robert Collyer’s peculiar personal claims,
there is in the Unitarian E»omirH®n as in all reli
gious denominations, as irf :all»EM^gociated for com
mon objects, what the French call, a spirit of the body,
which prompts the members of the body to liberal
giving, and causes every proposal n^e in its name to
be greeted with favor for the mere |pme’s|sake, letting
alone the intrinsic merit^jof the proposal.
Political
parties as well as religious sects illustrate this spirit.
�4
Even the greatest outrages upon liberty and common
honesty are more than pardoned—they are accounted
honorable and sacred, when perpetrated in the name
of the party or the church.
But, thank Heaven ! we have as striking instances,
and most cheewig instances are they, of the same
spirit in the interest of good 'objects. Witness the
great Rebellion, when, in the name of Our Country,
which makes this multitudinous and diversified popu
lation one body, acts of the noblest heroism were
done, and self-sacrifice became a luxury. Witness
also the generoutftutpOuring >f effective sympathy in
behalf of thejiffering hosts of the West, in the name
of the common humility which makes all mankind
one.
Seeing that this spirit is so strong, I have no doubt,
I say, that attachment to the name, loyalty to the
denomination, will be powerful enough among liberal
Christians to rebuild Robert Collyer’s church in Chi
cago.
I am very ^BrnlSBi desirous, friends and brothers,
that we of this church should take a prompt and
generous share in thi^mgost worthy enterprise. But
for the fulfilment of my ardent desire, I do not rely
upon your zeal for the denomination.
If there is any one Church in our denomination in
which there is less of a denominational spirit than in
�5
others, it is this Church. I do not believe there is
any associated numb® of Unitarian Christians less
disposed than we are (to use a vulgar but expressive
phrase), toBgdJm a? merely denominational
object. I ha^^^H attempted—I should most cer
tainly have wle|H||Oj^Epo use the Unitarian name
to conjure money out of your pockets. I regard it as
a very good thing that it is st^na^tn^^ ^among you
so little of
IWm onoBteMSRnil^^MII whatever
solicits youriw^^^^Mw must stand or fall upon its
merits.
For thB state of things amongst us of this Church,
there are* tb< best of reasons. For a feflg^ime we
were, and we are still, gecBaph^m^fpe|jkihg, on the
outskirtsW^ifffwitfe’^Uni^^^a coSSmrWB n nl in the
closest and most vital connection with it. When I first
became the pastor of this church, nearly half a century
ago, scarcely a si^^^^Orbassfed *ffiaB some one of my
brothers in the ministry from Boston or its vicinity—
the headquarters of the T^taWay
—did
not stand in this pulpit, and thus keep up a living con
nection with the Ka' ’lbfawners and
brothers have, one after aiWthe^ nearly all disap
peared. Their voices are heard B^WwrlM A new
generationJdfel sprung up. W:JWfcKfee^^bft more
and more alone.
Then again the advocacy of the caute of the slave,
�6
which I was “ driven of the spirit ” some thirty years
ago, in a humble way to undertake, tended still further
to isolate us. I was regarded as endangering the
interests of Unitarian Christianity, which it was
pleaded, had as much as it could do to bear the odium
of the Unitarian name without having the added bur
then of Abolitionism. It was impossible that this plea
should increase our zeal for nominal Unitarianism.
What churchlwhat religious wganization on earth
was not bound to go
members could not
feel and speak for the4 oppressed as oppressed with
them 1 What? doctrines,. howeve^pure and simple,
were of any galue if they could not Sustain the cause
of Humanity, howeveilobnoxious that cause might
be'?
Is it any twonder that we grew lukewarm in
the interest of .mere 3Jnitarian Christianity ? Dr.
Channing said a little while before his death that
he cared little for Unitarianism, and this it was that
gave occasion to a re^rt ^abat he had become a
Trinitarian. The’ truth was that he cared less and
less for a denomination, as he was growing to care
more and more for Justice and Humanity.
In addition to the subject once so dangerous and
hateful, the so-wled theological opinions in which I
have been interested, my views of the nature and
miracles of Jesus, have also helped, perhaps, to set our
little church here in Philadelphia apart by itself. We
�7
live to see' both of the great bugbears shorn of their
terrors.
Once more. We hav^feeifl 1S| to wsjtand by our
selves by the origin of ouSSoiwty and by the materials
of which it is composed. Almost all the Unitarian
churches out of New England, with the solitary excep
tion of ours, were, and, I suspect, still are, almost exclu
sively, madeiup of people of New England birth, New
England colonists. Long after two Unitarian churches
had been gathered a^icp^^ro'New York, I was told
by a leading member of one of them, that he did not
believe that they had had a- single accession from
among the nathW of that city. O ur ’ehurch, on the
other hand, had its beginning, gnl five and seventy
years ago, with ^rs@ns exclusively from Old England,
followers and admirers of Dr. Priesfcy, when the name
of that eminent man was regwddd with distrust by
some of the most advanced mS9 in New England.
In fact the autographed f Dr. Prwtley appears on the
records of ou^fcMurch, enaBWi with the names of our
earliest members.
And furthermore, while, from time to time, individ
uals and families from New England have joined us,
many of thos^whom we have had thl happiness of
welcoming to our commfion have come from the'
denomination of Friends|| and if dhey wereQiot here,
they would be, if any where, in Quaker Meeting.
�8
*
All their associations are with Quaker ways, and they
have been moulded by the influence of that eminently
Christian denomination. It is not any attraction of
Unitarian formularies; whether of doctrine or observ
ance, but the liberal spirit of our mode of faith that
has drawn them to us. The Friends are not a prose
lytizing people. According!yu those of you who have
come to us fromghem have no special interest in the
methods adopted for the diffusion of liberal views, in
spreading L»tarianisgfi popularly so termed. You
put faith rath® in the spirit than in collecting
money and building churches, Rooking for moral and
religious results, not to be manufactured by costly
machinery, but to flow from iwlivictual effort prompted
by the inner light, He spirit of Tteuth.
On all these account^* frien®, there is no strong
denominational feeling among us, no burning zeal for
what are termed Unitarian movements, such as, for
instance, the plan recegjly proposed by our Unitarian
brethren of building a so-styled Rational Unitarian
Church in Washington &
We are all learning, I trust, to put less and less faith
in mere organizational and the mechanism of sects, in
measures rather than in men, in making religion by
'the collection of money and the distribution of the
written word; not that money and tracts may not be
serviceable to the good cause, but the man-made letter
�9
is not the God-inspired spirit, although it is constantly
mistaken for it.
In soliciting, therefore, y^ur pecuniary aid to the
rebuilding of Robert Collyer’s churchjC am not dis
posed to lay any stress upofflthe^adwiitage it will be
to Unitarian Christianity. The object proposed stands
before you upon grourgl Inroad and strong of its own.
lie is most
we should do this, most ,
worthy of the specialmMmfi church. This was
the first liberal churcMI^^^B^^E Robert Collyer
ever entered. It was the first certainly in which he
preached. As a minister of a liberal faith, here was
where he first* drew breath. ’ Here was he born into
our sphere, our son, our brother.
Somewhere about fourteen years ago, I met one
evening at the house of a friend, some seven or eight
miles from the city, a young ^Englishman, W workman
in a neighboring hammotfactory, and a Methodist class
leader, accustomed to exhort in the HRigapus meetings
of his denomination. |^*was imprip^M b^hiljthought-
ful air and by his acquaintance with the litellectual
topics of the day. "He- was - evidently a man who was subsisting on food which his fellow-workmen knew
not of, constantly growing, taking into his blood what
ever nourishment books afforded him. He was a
reader, they said, of the Encyclopaedia Brittannica.
Through the influence of Lucretia Mott he had
•
�10
become interested in the Anti-slavery cause; and, as
was almost always the case with orthodox men in
those days, when they touched that great living Cause,
Robert Collyer’s orthodoxy began to slough off like
a dead skin, and he became interested in liberal
religious views.
It was not long after, that he came one evening to
, this church. The weather was .stormy, and there were
so few present that, contrary to my wont, for the first
and only tim% I spoke that evening entirely without
notes. I sujg)oseithis being in accordance with the
custom of the Methodist church may have increased
whatever of interest the services of that evening had
for him.
Shortly afte^fards I went to| Cincinnati to the
marriage of my brilliant friend, Moncure Conway, now
and for some year? settled in London. He too had
been a few yearlW^fore at,<ihe early age of nineteen a
Methodist preacher, in Virginia, his native State, and
although we were then personally strangers to each
other, he had at that time communicated to me the
story of the painful douhtl through which he was
gasping for a freer air. The letter which I received
from him then, -appealing to me for spiritual help,
breathed great distress of mind, and touched me very
deeply. When, after withdrawing from the Methodist
communion, he took charge of the Unitarian church
�11
in Cincinnati, I accepted his urgent invitation to go
thither, and take what part in marrying him the laws
of Ohio might permitti Of ^course this pulpit was to
be provide(|fcfo^g I invited Robert Collyer to take my
place for theh@®e Sunday I was to be absent. Upon
arriving in Cincinnati I desired to prolong my visit
another week. I telegraphed home in reference to a
supply for the second Sunday, and received for answer
that you weii^wellK.onjtwitlaiiilCT mml than satisfied
with my substitute. It is now more than. thirteen
years ago, and Iuloi|®rnot that many of you remem
ber with pleasui^Rqfc^^jOollyer’sfctr^^&ig at that
time. It wannd^gM^^o^mMblfeten.
Upon my return home^v^hing to sh^re in- your
pleasure, I iagited ot® friend to preach for me. He
came again from hisw|l>aG©,oh wm^|to give me a labor
of love. I wait takenjill, and sW'ar fom being able
to come to chuwh, I was^not ajfele todleay mv room.
I had a day or two before received a letter from
Chicago, where van^aitarian Church ^as already es
tablished (now uaafet the charge of Robert Laird
Collyer), inquiring about a remarkable blacksmith, of
whose rare gift^ m,yjE)rre*(|hdeighl understood that I
had had much to tell, and asking whether he would
not make, what they greatly needed in Chicago, a
good “ minister at large,’[/to go among the poor, and
preach to them.
i
The* letter, if I thought him the
�12
right man, invited him to that city, offering him
twelve hundred dollars a year. Of course there could
be but one answer. When Robert Collyer came up
into my room on that Sunday morning, before going
to Church, I handed him the letter, merely hinting at
its purport. He refused to read it then, and put it in
his pocket. In the afternoon he came up into my
room again to see me, and handed me back the letter.
I told him to take it home with him and let me know
his decision. He replied that he had already decided.
He should go to Chicago. He had mentioned to me in
the morning that he had received the evening before
his month’s wages, thirty-nine dollars and some cents.
In a few daysfhe quitted the hammer factory forever,
and moved with ^s little family to Chicago.
There he ministered to the poor, rising so rapidly in
the respect of the community that when the terrible
Iowa tornado occurred, Robert Collyer was chosen by
acclamation at a publid meeting of his fellow citizens
to go to the scene of that calamity and distribute their
benefactions there. He soon gathered so flourishing
a church in Chicago that a few years ago a large edifice
was built for him and his congregation. I suppose
it was quite impossible for our friends in Chicago
to resist the genius of the place which could tolerate
only the big and the costly. A city, whose growth
was hardly outdone by the most extravagant stories of
�13
California vegetation, expanding so rapidly to giant
dimensions, must have a Unitarian Church in propor
tion. Consequently; Robert Collyer’s Church, Unity
Church as it wajHBOTjfed, was buiB- at ancost of nearly
two hundred thoi&n^ OyLlars. including an organ
that cost ten thousand dollars.
Although o® the day of its Dedication,
members
of the Church subscribed with a graadtiliberality to
wards the payment offiHffif,|jgft.
perched, what
the flames could not consume, a debt of sixty-five
thousand dollars. So
was the at
traction of the pa^chwLi that people flocked to the
church, so lo^hpis
sioutlv bore the
burthen.
But the terrible Fire came. And ltrwhen,B writes
Robert Collyer, in his account of the burning of
his church we®!® fought rifefairly as it came on us
from below, and beaten the infernal beasifcso that it
could never burn^s^umbli^Bw^mdltliat it had set its
fiery teeth away up in the roof out of our reach, and
I knew that all was over, I crept up stairs alone to my
pulpit, where I had
K»igW before and spoken
to nearly a th^gfffiid men ancwvK^W^; I took one last
long look at iijphe church and the dea^ sweeji noble
organ, then Xstook the Bible as it lay when| I had left
it, got out at last and-flocked the door and put the
key in my pocket and went away, for by that time the
�I
14
roof was ablaze, and I thought my heart was broken.
That Unity has gone up, like Elijah, in a chariot of
fire, she is not dead to me,—she never will be dead,—
or to those who loved her as I did, my hope and joy and
crown of rejoicing, for I held her for God and Christ,
God knows.”
The church was insured. And it is expected that
the insurance will cover the whole or nearly the whole
debt. Whatever ofWthe debt shall remain, Robert
Collyer says muf t be paid, if they all have to go to
work and earn the money. Not a dollar of debt is to
rest upon the church that is to be built. Taught by
this most severe experience, our friends in Chicago
have no desire now but for “ a plain, simple build
ing,”—not a dollar for ornament, except, as Robert
Collyer writes, where use is ornament.
Now, dear friends, in praying l^ou, as T do most
earnestly, to unite with all the churches of our faith
in building a Church for our rarely gifted friend and
brother, I do not introduce him to you as a mendi
cant who must perish miserably if we do not give him
this assistance. Do I need to tell you of his rich gifts,
his winning graces ? Is not his praise in all our
churches, nay, is it not sounded everywhere at home
and abroad? Can he preach anywhere where the
English language is spoken, where people do not flock
�15
to hear him, whether he speak from the pulpit or
in the lecture room 1
How well, by the way, does he tffend the trial of
his great popularity ! It is no feeblejfest to be put to,
to be so suddenly raised from the anvil to the pulpit,
to pass from the MM®e drudgery of hard manual
labor to a position, commanding the admiring attention
of multitudes, and^Hong them
mostBnlightened in
the land. It has been finely said that, wrhile “ the
prospect of the applause of ^ostgri^ is like the sound
of the distant diSnl which elevates the mini present
applause, flung] <M^etly in one’s face, is W® the spray
of the same ocean wluppn th^^E^rand^geq uiring
a rock to bear it.” > jKat RoberWCollyeruhas been
animated, elatHM iBjVom will, by his great and well
merited success, I do not d®E| It would argue an
insensibility in him if he were not. He is no rock in
this respect.. But notwithstanding the seductive trial,
he stands like a rock by his flock and his work in
Chicago.
Shortly aftelf the great calamity, I wrote to him and
told him that, he, Roberlr Collar, could rebuild the
city, to say nothing of his church. And is it not by
“the Orpheus-like musa^of the wisdom” to which such
as he give utterance that cities are built end nations
led up the loftiest heights of humanity'll You have all
read the words which he spoke the Sunday after the
�16
fire, standing upon the ruins of his clear church. A
Chicago paper tells us that his voice had cheered not
only his own flock, but all the people of the city, thus
justifying my assurance to him.
He has not, he cannot have, any anxiety on his own
account. As he himself says—and I suppose he is
prouder of the fact than of any sermon he ever
preached—that, if the worst come to the worst, he can
make as good a horseshoe as any blacksmith in Chi
cago. I do not know about his horseshoes. I am
no judge of the article. But I do know what
good hammers the young blacksmith was wont to
make by scores every week. They sent the nail
home, even as their maker sends home the truth,
only he does not, like a hammer, break in pieces the
hard and stony heart; by his rare pathetic power he
melts it into smiles of hope, into tears of penitence,
and sympathy and aspiration. But the worst will not
come to the worst with him. There is no likelihood
that he will ever be reduced to the necessity of manual
labor,-although it is no wonder if amidst that wide
ruin he felt for a moment that it might come to that.
What church is there, what community, that would
not gladly welcome him'? He has not the slightest
concern for his bread.
This then must command for him our warmest ap
probation and respect, and insure our bountiful aid,
�37
*
that while he may choose his place, sure of a lucrative
position wherever he may go, the thought of leaving
his flock and the desolated city, heems never to have
occurred to him. After the death of Theodore Par
ker, he was invited^o be the successor of that able
man, and preach in the Music Hall in Boston. But,
while, for obvious reasons,the invitation was very
tempting, he chose <o remain in Chicago. And now
he has no though^utjbf devoting himself and all that
he is to the building up again of all good interests in
that most afflicted ciwl
Believe me, dear friends, I am not using the empty
language of eulogy, nor ong| giving utterance to the
promptings .of personal g'iendship. You all know
that Robert Collyer is a man of peculiar gifts. Cole
ridge seems to be describing just such a man as our
friend, when he says that “ to find no contradiction in
the union of old and new, to contemplate the Ancient
of Days with feelings as fresh as if they then sprung
forth at his own fiat—this characterizes the minds that
feel the riddle of the world, and may help to unravel
it. To carry on jhe feelings of childhood into the
powers of manhood, to combine the child’s sense of
wonder and novelty with the appearances which every
day, for perhaps forty years, has rendered familiar,
With Sun, and Moon, and Stars, throughout the year
And Man and Woman—
�this is the character and privilege of genius. And so
to present familiar objects as to awaken the minds of
others to a like freshness of sensation concerning
them—this is the prime merit of genius and its most
unequivocal mode of manifestation.”
When a man thus endowed with “ the vision and 1
the faculty divine ” gives’ all that he is with generous
ardor to the service of the highest truth, shall we not
give of what we have, and uphold him with our hearts
and hands ? Shall any loss befal him that we are not
eager to repair ? You are sending food and clothing
and money in boundless quantities to the devastated
West. But, believe me, you can render the people
there no more solid and enduring service than to do
and to give allfthat you are able, even to the stinting
of yourselves, for such a creaM^fl centre of beneficent
influence as our friend/ that* he may have a place
where he may stand, and, with the arm of the spirit
stronger than the arm of flesh, which made the
anvil ring again, lift the thoughts and aims of men
above the material interests to which they cling
as all in all—lift them up into communion with the
Invisible and Everlasting, and with the blessed spirit
of the Lord Jesus. For his oWn dear sake, for the
sake of the gracious influence which he has, and for
the sake of Religion, pure and undefiled, of which he is
so powerful an advocate, I pray you, dear friends, let
�19
us all help, and help generously this good object,—to
build him a church.
It has been proposed by the American Unitarian
Association, which has its centre in Boston, that col
lections be taken up in all our churches for this purpose
on this the second Sunday in November. I do not,
however, suggest a collection to-day. There is no
pressing need of haste. I wish to commend the mat
ter to your-most thoughtful Consideration. You may
think it advisable to take up a collection shortly. In
the meanwhile, I shall be happy and proud, as I
always am, to receive for my friend whatever you may
be prompted to give. The appeals, recently made to
you, first in behalf of our brother from Paris, and then
for the sufferers of the West, to whom there are few
who have not given more than once, have been so
cheerfully and liberally met that they create the faith
that, so far from accounting it a burthen, you regard
it as a privilege, as it assuredly is, to give for a good
purpose, and that you are grateful to the Bountiful
Giver for the means that he has blest you with, and
for every new opportunity. By giving, you receive
more and better things than you give, and thus become
rich before God.
In conclusion, let me say that I trust I have not
offended against propriety in speaking so freely in
�I
A.
.20
praise of our friend, as is customary to speak only of
the dead. But I have spoken thus not to flatter him,
but for the simple truth’s sake. And if I have failed
in regard to the truth, it is not in going beyond it, but
in falling short of it. If there is any alloy in the
sense of truth which moves me to speak of him as I
have done, it comes from the fact that he has, more
than once, as I have been told, allowed the kindness of
his heart and the warmth of his friendship to carry
him away and alluded in his pulpit to his old friend,
the pastor of this church, in such terms as have been, I
confess, not without weight among the reasons moving
me to decline his repeated and most urgent invitations
to visit him and preach for him in Chicago. I own to
the weakness of not caring that his people should find
out, as they surely would if I went there, how far
beyond the truth their minister had been carried in the
ardor of his personal regard. Let me confess to you,
dear friends, between ourselves, that I am not without
a feeling of satisfaction in having this opportunity of
speaking of him in a way that necessarily squares a
private account of mine with him.
�
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Victorian Blogging
Description
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A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library & 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>
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Conway Hall Library & Archives
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2018
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Conway Hall Ethical Society
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Pamphlet
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Title
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Robert Collyer and his church: a discourse delivered at the First Congregational Unitarian Church in Philadelphia November 12, 1871
Creator
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Furness, W.H.
Description
An account of the resource
Place of publication: Philadelphia
Collation: 20 p. ; 22 cm.
Notes: From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. Text taken from Lukje Vii. 4 "He is worthy for whom thou shouldest do this".
Publisher
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King & Baird, printers
Date
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[1871]
Identifier
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G5367
Subject
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Unitarianism
Sermons
Rights
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<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 (Robert Collyer and his church: a discourse delivered at the First Congregational Unitarian Church in Philadelphia November 12, 1871), 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>
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application/pdf
Type
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Text
Language
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English
Conway Tracts
Robert Collyer
Sermons
Unitarianism
United States-Religion
-
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February 17, 1864.
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**The Committee of South-Place Chapel beg respect-
fully to inform you that Mr. M. D. Conway, of Boston,
United States, has undertaken to conduct the Morning
Services for/ihe next six months continuously, and they
invite your Renewed cooperation with them in maintain-
A.
ing these Services.
South-Place Chapel having been ori
ginally constituted as a place where the freest Religious
Thought then* reached might have unrestrained utterance,
a majority of the members have, from time to time, suc
cessfully combated every attempt to reduce them to a
merb sect; and the Committee cannot doubt but that
their success hitherto is a guarantee for their future suc
cess, especially at the present moment, when the test of
unshrinking | criticism is applied to every dogma and
every doctrine, however venerable, and when only what
is True has |ny chance of permanent endurance*.
ours truly,
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1**% M. E? MARSDEN,
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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 & 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
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Conway Hall Library & Archives
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2018
Publisher
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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
[Letter giving notice of M.D. Conway's agreement to conduct South Place Chapel Morning Services]
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Marsden, Mark Eagles
Description
An account of the resource
Place of publication: [London]
Collation: I folded leaf.
Notes: A notice of M.D. Conway's appointment signed M.E. Marsden, Treasurer, on behalf of the Committee of South Place Chapel dated February 17 1864. The blank side is a handwritten passage by Conway which is the beginning of his first sermon on his predecessor, W.J. Fox. From the library of Dr Moncure Conway.
Publisher
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South Place Chapel
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1864
Identifier
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G5576
Subject
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Conway Hall Ethical Society
Rights
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<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 ([Letter giving notice of M.D. Conway's agreement to conduct South Place Chapel Morning Services]), 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
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application/pdf
Type
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Text
Language
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English
Conway Tracts
Moncure Conway
Sermons
South Place Chapel