BY FREDERIC HARRISON.

The opening of a new year again assembles us together to look back on

the work of the year that is gone, to look faithfully into our present

state, and to take forecast of all that yet awaits us in the visible

life on earth, under the inspiring sense of the Great Power which makes

us what we are, and who will be as great when we are not.

In the light of this duty to Humanity as a whole, how feeble is our

work, how poor the result! And yet, looking back on the year that

is just departed, we need not be down-hearted. Surely and firmly we

advance. Not as the spiritualist movements advance, by leaps and

bounds, as the tares spring up, as the stubble blazes forth, but by

conviction, with system, with slow consolidation of belief resting on

proof and tested by experience. If at the beginning of last year we

could point to the formation of a new centre in North London, this year

we can point to its maintenance with steady vigor, and to the opening

of a more important new centre in the city of Manchester. Year by year

sees the addition to our cause of a group in the great towns of the

kingdom. Liverpool, Manchester, Birmingham, Newcastle, already have

their weekly meetings and their organised societies.

I make no great store of all this. The religious confidence in Humanity

will not come about, I think, like the belief in the Gospel, or in

the Church, or in any of the countless Protestant persuasions, by

the formation of a small sect of believers, gradually inducing men

to join some exclusive congregation. The trust in Humanity is an

ineradicable part of modern civilisation: nay, it is the very motive

power and saving quality of modern civilisation, and that even where

it is encumbered by a conscious belief in God and Christ, in Gospel

and salvation, or where it is disguised by an atheistical rejection

of all religious reverence whatever. Positivists are not a sect.

Positivism is not merely a new mode of worship. It is of small moment

to us how numerous are the congregations who meet to-day to acknowledge

Humanity in words. The best men and women of all creeds and all races

acknowledge Humanity in their lives. For the full realisation of our

hopes we must look to the improvement of civilisation; not to the

extension of a sect. Let us shun all sects and everything belonging to

them.

I shall say but little, therefore, of the growth of Positivist

congregations. Where they are perfectly spontaneous and natural; where

they are doing a real work in education; where they give solid comfort

and support to the lives of those who form them, they are useful and

living things, giving hope and sign of something better. But I see

evil in them if they are artificial and premature; if they spring out

of the incurable tendency of our age toward sects; if they are mere

imitations of Christian congregations; and, above all, if their members

look upon them as adequate types of a regenerated society. The religion

of Humanity, by its nature, is incapable of being narrowed down to

the limits of a few hundreds of scattered believers and to casual

gatherings of men and women divided in life and activity. And that for

the same reason that civilisation or patriotism could not possibly be

the privilege of a few scattered individuals. Where two or three are

gathered together, there the Gospel may be duly presented, and God and

Christ adequately worshipped. It is not so with Humanity. The service

of Humanity needs Humanity. The only Church of Humanity is a healthy

and cultured human society. It is the very business of Humanity to free

us from all individualist religion, from all self-contained worship

of the isolated believer. And though the idea of Humanity is able to

strengthen the individual soul as profoundly as the idea of Christ,

yet the idea of Humanity, the service of Humanity, the honoring of

Humanity, are only fully realised in the living organism of a humane

society of men.

For this reason I look on a Positivist community rather as a germ of

what is to come, one which may easily degenerate into a hindrance to

true life in Humanity. The utmost that we can do now as an isolated

knot of scattered believers is so immeasurably short of what may

be done by a united nation, familiar from generation to generation

with the sense of duty to Humanity, saturated from infancy with the

consciousness of Humanity, and with all the resources of an organised

public opinion, and a disciplined body of teachers, poets, and artists,

to secure its convictions and express its emotions, that I am always

dreading lest our puny attempts in the movement be stereotyped as

adequate. Our English, Protestant habits are continually prompting us

to look for salvation to sects, societies, self-sufficing congregations

of zealous, but possibly self-righteous reformers. The egotistic spirit

of the Gospel is constantly inclining us to look for a healthier

religious ideal to some new religious exercises, to be performed in

secret by the individual believer, in the silence of his chamber or in

some little congregation of fellow-believers. Positivism comes, not

to add another to these congregations, but to free us from the temper

of mind which creates them. It comes to show us that religion is not

to be found within any four walls, or in the secret yearnings of any

heart, but in the right systematic development of an entire human

society. Until there is a profound diffusion of the spirit of Humanity

throughout the mass of some entire human society, some definite section

of modern civilisation, there can be no religion of Humanity in any

adequate degree; there can be no full worship of Humanity; there can be

no true Positivist life till there be an organic Positivist community

to live such a life. Let us beware how we imagine, that where two or

three are gathered together there is a Positivist Church. There may be

a synagogue of Positivist pharisees, it may be; but the sense of our

vast human fellowship—which lies at the root of Positivist morality;

the reality of Positivist religion, which means a high and humane life

in the world; the glory of Positivist worship, which means the noblest

expression of human feeling in art—all these things are _not_ possible

in any exclusive and meagre synagogue whatever, and are very much

retarded by the premature formation of synagogues.

I look, as I say always, to the leavening of opinion generally; to the

attitude of mind with which the world around us confronts Positivism

and understands, or feels interest in Positivism. And here, and not in

the formation of new congregations, I find the grounds for unbounded

hope. Within a very few years, and notably within the year just ended,

there has been a striking change of tone in the way in which the

thoughtful public looks at Positivism. It has entirely passed out of

the stage of silence and contempt. It occupies a place in the public

interest, not equal yet to its importance in the future; but far in

excess, I fear, of anything which its living exponents can justify

in the present. The thoughtful public and the religious spirits

acknowledge in it a genuine religious force. Candid Christians see that

it has much which calls out their sympathy. But apart from that, the

period of misunderstanding and of ridicule is passed for Positivism for

ever. Serious people are beginning now to say that there is nothing

in Positivism so extravagant, nothing so mischievous as they used to

think. Many of them are beginning to see that it bears witness to

valuable truths which have been hitherto neglected. They are coming to

feel that in certain central problems of the modern world, such as the

possibility of preserving the religious sentiment, in defending the

bases of spiritual and temporal authority, in explaining the science

of history, in the institution of property, in the future relations

of men and women, employers and employed, government and people,

teachers and learners, in all of these, Positivism holds up a ray of

steady light in the chaos of opinion. They are asking themselves, the

truly conservative and truly religious natures, if, after all, society

may not be destined to be regenerated in some such ideal lines as

Positivism shadows forth:—

“Via prima salutis,

Quod minimè reris, Graia pandetur ab urbe.”

Here, then, is the great gain of the past year. It has for some time

been felt that we have hold of a profound religious truth; that

Positivism, as Mr. Mill says, does realise the essential conditions of

religion. But we have now made it clear that we have hold of a profound

philosophical truth as well; and a living and prolific social truth.

The cool, instructed, practical intellect is now prepared to admit that

it is quite a reasonable hope to look for the cultivation of a purely

human duty towards our fellow beings and our race collectively as a

solid basis of moral and practical life—nay, further, that so far as

it goes, and without excluding other bases of life, this is a sound,

and indeed, a very common, spring to right action. It is an immense

step gained that the cool, instructed, practical intellect of our day

goes with us up to this point. It is a minor matter, that in conceding

so much, this same intelligent man-of-the-world is ready to say, “You

must throw over, however, all the mummery and priestcraft with which

Positivism began its career.” Positivism has no mummery or priestcraft

to throw over. The whole idea of such things arose out of labored

epigrams manufactured about the utopias of Comte when exaggerated into

a formalism by some of his more excitable followers.

In the history of any great truth we generally find three stages of

public opinion regarding it. The first, of unthinking hostility; the

second, of minimising its novelty; the third, of adopting it as an

obvious truism. Men say first, “Nothing more grotesque and mischievous

was ever propounded!” Then they say, “Now that it has entirely changed

its front, there is nothing to be afraid of, and not much that is new!”

And in the third stage they say, “We have held this all our lives, and

it is a mere commonplace of modern thought.” Positivism has now passed

out of the first stage. Men have ceased to think of it as grotesque or

mischievous. They have now passed into the second stage, and say, “Now

that it is showing itself as mere common-sense, it is little more than

a re-statement of what reasonable men have long thought, and what good

men have long aimed at.” Quite so, only there has been no change of

front, no abandoning of anything, and no modification of any essential

principle. We have only made it clear that the original prejudices we

had to meet were founded in haste, misconception, and mere caricature.

We have shown that Positivism is just as truly scientific as it is

religious; that it has as much aversion to priestcraft, ritualism,

and ceremony, as any Protestant sectary: and as deep an aversion to

sects as the Pope of Rome or the President of the Royal Society.

Positivism itself is as loyal to every genuine result of modern science

as the Royal Society itself. The idea that any reasonable Positivist

undervalues the real triumphs of science, or could dream of minimising

any solid conclusion of science, or of limiting the progress of

science, or would pit any unproven assertion of any man, be he Comte,

or an entire Ecumenical Council of Comtists, so to speak, against

any single proven conclusion of human research, this, I say, is too

laughable to be seriously imputed to any Positivist.

If Auguste Comte had ever used language which could fairly be so

understood, I will not stop to inquire. I do not believe he has. But

if I were shown fifty such passages, they would not weigh with me a

grain against the entire basis and genius of Positivism itself; which

is that human life shall henceforward be based on a footing of solid

demonstration alone. If enthusiastic Positivists, more Comtist than

Comte, ever gave countenance to such an extravagance, I can only say

that they no more represent Positivism than General Booth’s brass

band represents Christianity. If words of Auguste Comte have been

understood to mean that the religion of Humanity can be summed up in

the repetition of phrases, or can be summed up in anything less than

a moral and scientific education of man’s complex nature, I can only

treat it as a caricature unworthy of notice. This hall is the centre in

this country where the Positivist scheme is presented in its entirety,

under the immediate direction of Comte’s successor. And speaking in

his name and in the name of our English committee, I claim it as an

essential purpose of our existence as an organised body, to promote

a sound scientific education, so as to abolish the barrier which now

separates school and Church; to cultivate individual training in all

true knowledge, and the assertion of individual energy of character

and brain; to promote independence quite as much as association;

personal responsibility, quite as much as social discipline; and free

public opinion, in all things spiritual and material alike, quite as

much as organised guidance by trained leaders. Whatever makes light

of these, whatever is indifferent to scientific education, whatever

tends to blind and slavish surrender of the judgment and the will,

whatever clings to mysticism, formalism, and priestcraft, such belongs

not to Positivism, to Auguste Comte, or to humanity rightly regarded

and honored. The first condition of the religion of Humanity is human

nature and common sense.

Whilst Positivism has been making good its ground within the area of

scientific philosophy, scientific metaphysics has been exhibiting the

signal weakness of its position on the side of religion. To those who

have once entered into the scientific world of belief in positive

knowledge there is no choice between a belief in nothing at all and

a belief in the future of human civilisation, between Agnosticism

and Humanity. Agnosticism is therefore for the present the rival and

antagonist of Positivism outside the orthodox fold. I say for the

present, because by the nature of the case Agnosticism is a mere raft

or jurymast for shipwrecked believers, a halting-place, and temporary

passage from one belief to another belief. The idea that the deepest

issues of life and of thought can be permanently referred to any

negation; that cultivated beings can feel proud of summing up their

religious belief in the formula, that they “know nothing” this is too

absurd to endure. Agnosticism is a milder form of the Voltairean hatred

of religion that was current in the last century; but it is quite as

passing a phase. For the moment, it is the fashion of the emancipated

Christian to save all trouble by professing himself an Agnostic. But he

is more or less ashamed of it. He knows it is a subterfuge. It is no

real answer. It is only an excuse for refusing to answer a troublesome

question. The Agnostic knows that he will have to give a better

answer some day; he finds earnest men clamoring for an answer. He is

getting uneasy that they will not take “Don’t know” for an answer. He

is himself too full still of theology and metaphysics to follow our

practice, which is to leave the theological conundrum alone, and to

proclaim _regard for the human race as an adequate solution of the

human problem_. And in the meantime he staves off questions by making

his own ignorance—his own ignorance!—the foundation of a creed.

We have just seen the failure of one, of these attempts. The void

caused by the silent crumbling of all the spiritual creeds has to be

filled in some way. The indomitable passion of mankind towards an

object to revere and work for, has to be met. And the latest device has

been, as we have seen, to erect the “Unknowable” itself into the sole

reality, and to assure us that an indescribable heap of abstract terms

is the true foundation of life. So that, after all its protestations

against any superstitious belief, Agnosticism floats back into a

cloud of contradictions and negations as unthinkable as those of the

Athanasian creed, and which are merely our old theological attributes

again, dressed up in the language of Esoteric Buddhism.

Eclectic Magazine of Foreign Literature, Science, and Art, April 1885 · 第 7 / 59 题