I AM aware that there exists a deep seated prejudice in the minds of
many of my hearers against what are called the forms of religion. We
have too long experienced their limitations and restraints, not to be
jealous now of our hard won liberties. But let us ask ourselves what
it is that alienates our sympathies from the ritual and ceremonial
observances of the dominant creeds? Is it the forms as such? Is it not
rather the fact that to us they have become dead forms: that they no
longer appeal to our sentiments, that they fail to stir, to invigorate,
to ennoble us? We have not cast them aside lightly. Often have we
entered the house of worship, prepared to be drawn back into the
influence of its once familiar surroundings: we beheld again the great
assembly, we heard the solemn music, we listened to the preacher as he
strove to impress upon a silent multitude, the lessons of the higher
life. But in the prayers we could not join, and the words to which
the music moved we could not sing, and the maxims of the preacher were
couched in language, and enforced with doctrinal arguments that touched
no chord in our hearts. We left disappointed, we had received no help:
if this were religion, we felt ourselves more distant from religion than
ever before.
On the banks of the Euphrates there flourished of old an extensive
colony of Jews. A "Prince of the Captivity" revived the memory of the
vanished glory of King David's house. High schools were erected that
afforded a common centre to the scattered members of the Jewish Faith.
In these the people beheld at once their bond of connection with the
past, and the pledge of future restoration to their patrimony. In the
early part of the middle ages, a prayer for the health and prosperity of
the presidents of the high schools was inserted into the liturgy. Well
nigh eight hundred years have elapsed since these dignitaries, and
the schools themselves, have ceased to exist, yet the prayer is still
retained, and may be heard repeated on any Sabbath in the synagogues of
the orthodox--a prayer for the health of the Prince and the high schools
on the Euphrates that vanished from the face of the earth eight hundred
years ago. Thus do religious forms continue to maintain themselves long
after their vitality is perished and their very meaning is forgotten.
But if the prevalent forms have ceased to satisfy us, can we therefore
dispense with form altogether? If the house that has given us shelter is
in ruins, shall we therefore live in the woods and fields, or shall we
not rather erect a new mansion on a broader foundation, and with firmer
walls? It has been the bane of liberalism, that it was simply critical
and not constructive. Your thought must have not wings only, but hands
and feet to walk and work, to form and reform. Liberalism must have its
organs, must enter the race with its rivals; must not criticise only,
but do better. Liberalism must pass the stage of individualism, must
become the soul of great combinations. What then shall be the form
adequate to express the new Ideal?
The form of any religion is the image of its ideal. To illustrate what
this means, let us consider for a moment the origin of the synagogue and
the church.
The orthodox opinion that Judaism was revealed to Moses fourteen hundred
years B. C. is condemned by modern critics of the Bible. The following
are some of the considerations that have influenced their verdict.
First, we read in scripture that so late as the reign of David, idolatry
was still rampant among the Hebrews, and the attempt to explain this
fact upon the theory of a relapse, is contrary to the testimony of the
Bible itself.
Secondly: The name of Moses is unknown to the prophets, his ostensible
successors, a circumstance which would remain inexplicable if Moses had
indeed been the founder of monotheism.
Thirdly: Large portions of the Pentateuch were probably not composed
before the sixth or fifth century B. C, that is to say about a thousand
years after the time of Moses. The account they give of the early
history of the people is therefore open to serious and just doubt. The
prophets were the real authors of monotheism. The priestly code of the
Pentateuch does not represent the form of Judaism which they taught.
They are not chargeable with the technicalities and dry formalism of the
"Books of Moses." They were the avowed enemies of the priesthood and for
a long time engaged in fierce struggles with the ruling hierarchy. Their
doctrines were in the essence these: That there is a Creator, that he
is just and merciful, that the same qualities in man are the most
acceptable species of divine service, that God directs all events,
whether great or small; and that it is the duty of man to accept the
guidance of the Deity, and to follow with tireless diligence the clews
of the Divine Will. Jehovah is to be reverenced not only as a spiritual,
but also as a temporal sovereign, and the prophets are his ministers
commissioned to transmit his decrees to men. Thus Monotheism found
expression in the form of Theocratic government. It is true the heathen
world was not yet prepared to enter into so near a relationship with the
Creator. On this account the Jews were selected to be a typical people,
and the Kingdom of God was for the time being confined to them. It
is evident from the above that the order of the prophets was the very
mainstay of the Theocratic fabric. When these inspired messengers
ceased to appear, the conclusion was drawn that the Will of God had been
fully revealed. The writings of the prophets were then collected into
sacred books, and were regarded as the constitution of the divine
empire. When Jerusalem was destroyed, the sacrifices were discontinued
and Judaism was purged of many heathenish elements which had been
allowed to mar the simplicity of the prophetic religion. The synagogue
took the place of the Temple, and an intricate code of ceremonies was
gradually elaborated, intended to remind the pious Jew at all hours and
seasons of his duties toward God, and the peculiar mission accorded to
his people. The synagogue was a single prominent peak in the range
of the religious life, a rallying point for the members of the Jewish
community, a meeting house where they assembled to confirm their
allegiance to their heavenly King.
Now the cardinal point of difference between primitive Christianity and
Judaism related to the alleged abrogation of the ancient constitution
set forth in the old Testament. Christianity said: The Messiah has come;
the law of Moses is fulfilled; the King has issued a new constitution,
and sent his own Son to put it in force. The time has arrived when the
Kingdom of God need no longer be restricted to a single people. Jesus
who perished on the cross will presently return, and the universal
theocracy will then be proclaimed. But Jesus did not return, his
followers waited long and patiently, but they waited in vain. As time
rolled on, they learned to dwell less upon the expected Millennium on
earth, and to defer the fulfilment of their hopes to the life beyond the
grave. In the interval they perfected the organization of the church.
The Christian Ideal of the Kingdom of Heaven is that of a communion of
all saints under the sovereignty of God through Christ. The Christian
Church is designed to be an image of this Ideal, a communion of saintly
men on earth, accepting Christ as their Master. Christianity aspired to
be the universal religion; there should be no barriers any more between
man and man; the exclusiveness of ancient Judaism should be broken down;
yet withal the barriers of a new creed soon arose in place of the old;
the portals of the Kingdom of Heaven were rigidly closed against all who
refused to bow to the despotism of dogma; and the virtues of pagans were
declared to be shining vices. The moral teachings of Christ are gentle
and kindly, but in the doctrinal contentions of the Christians the
spirit of the Master was forgotten, and the earth was deluged with
blood. And now the new Ideal differs from Christianity in this, that it
seeks to approach the goal of a Kingdom of Heaven upon earth, not by the
miraculous interference of the Deity, but by the laborious exertions
of men, and the slow but certain progress of successive generations. We
have named the form of religion an image of the Ideal, yet an image poor
and incomplete at best, rather a symbol, a suggestion of what can never
be realized. In the realm of art we do not find the soul of beauty in
the colored canvas or the marble statue; these are helpful hieroglyphics
only, teaching those that can read their mute language to create anew
the ideal as it lived in the artist's soul, in the divine hour of
conception. Thus all form has its value only in what it suggests. Our
Ideal is that of the fellowship of humanity in highest wisdom, highest
truth and highest love. The form of this ideal therefore can be none
other than a new fellowship united by the higher truths and purer love
that make its bond to be a symbol of the highest! We are weary of the
unreal and untrue existence we are forced to lead; we are weary of the
emptiness of routine, weary of the false coin of reputation that passes
current in the market of vanity fair; we are weary of the low standards
by which actions are judged, and to which, to our dismay, we perceive
our actions insensibly conform. But the pressure of social influences
about us is enormous, and no single arm can resist it. We must needs
band together then, if we would achieve a higher life; we must create
for ourselves a purer atmosphere, if any rarer virtues are to flourish
in our midst; we must make our own public opinion, to buoy us up in
every loftier aspiration. Unions we want that will hold, not religion
as a duty, but duty as a religion; union to achieve a larger morality.
Three things morality demands of us as interpreted in the light of our
present social conditions: greater simplicity in manners, greater purity
in the passions, greater charity. The habit of luxurious living
is eating into the vitals of society, is defiling the family, and
corrupting the state. Let me not be falsely understood. All that is
luxury which political economists are wont to class as unproductive
consumption. In this sense, books, music and pictures are luxuries, and
who would be willing to forego them. It becomes us to the utmost of our
powers to satisfy the thirst for knowledge, and to educate the sense of
harmony: it is wise to expend generously upon every means of culture and
refinement. But this we must bear in mind, that there should be a rank
and a proper subordination among our tastes and desires. Now that is
luxury in the evil, in the debasing sense of the term, that we subvert
the natural order of our tastes, that we make the mere gratification of
the animal passions, the mere pursuit of wealth, the mere adornment of
our clay, main objects, while the graces of intellect perish, and the
adornment of the soul is neglected. Say not, we will do the one, and not
leave undone the other; for the inordinate degree to which the meaner
passions are developed, dulls our sense of loftier needs. We cannot
serve these two masters. Frivolous in prosperity, we become helpless in
adversity and perish inwardly, our growth stunted, our nobler sympathies
blunted, long before we are bedded in our graves. What single effort can
achieve a change? Fellowship, friends are needed, and a public opinion
on behalf of simplicity.
And purity in the passions is needed. An ugly sore is here concealed,
a skeleton in the closet of which men speak with bated breath. Is there
not such a thing as sanctity of the person! Did you not rebel against
human slavery because you said it was wrong that any being born in
the image of man should be the tool of another? And no arguments could
deceive you--not if the slave offered himself willingly to the yoke, and
rejoiced in his bondage. You dared not so sin against human nature, and
accept that offer. And yet New York has its slaves, Boston its slaves,
and every large town on the face of the wide earth has this sinful,
outcast army of slaves--tools, whom we have robbed of that which no
human being has a right to barter, the right to virtue at least, if not
to happiness. Call not that a law of nature, which is the lawlessness of
nature! Say not, it has ever been thus, and ever shall be! From depths
of vice which the imagination dare not recall, humanity has slowly risen
to its present level, and higher and higher will it take its course when
the conscience is quickened and true love expands. Fellowship is needed
to support this difficult virtue and a public opinion on behalf of
purity.
And charity, friends; not that which we commonly called charity; but
charity that prevents rather than cures. You pass through the lower
quarters of our city, you see the misery, the filth, the gaunt, grim
poverty, the careworn faces, the candidates for starvation. Starvation!
whoever hears of it? The newspapers rarely speak of it; here or there an
exceptional case. Nay truly, these people do not starve; they die of a
cold perhaps; the small-pox came and carried them off: diphtheria
makes its ravage among them. Ah, but was it not want that sapped their
strength, and made them powerless to resist disease? Was it not their
life of pinched pauperism that ripened them for the reaper's scythe?
Then pass from these sorrowful sights to our stately Avenue. Behold
the gay world of fashion, its painted pomp, its gilded sinfulness, its
heartless extravagance. Is not this an intolerable contrast? Shall we
rest quiet under the talk of irremediable evils? Is it not true
that something must be done, and can be done because it must? The
distribution of wealth they say, is governed by economic laws, and
sentiment has no right to be considered in affairs of business. But
where I pray you is the sentiment of brotherly love considered as it
should be? Educate the masses! But do we educate them? Stimulate their
self-respect and teach them self-help! But what large or effective
measures are we taking to this most desirable end? You cannot help,
good friend, nor I. But a dozen might aid somewhat, and a thousand brave
unselfish hearts knit together for such a purpose, who shall say what
mighty changes they could work. Surely fellowship is needed here, and a
public opinion on behalf of charity.
The "fine phrase," humanity has pregnant meanings. They stand for the
grandest, the sternest realities of the times. Purity, charity and
simplicity, these shall be the watchwords of a new fellowship, which
shall practice the teachings of humanity, that are vain as the empty
wind, if heard only and approved, but not made actual in our deeds.
And yet some will smile incredulously and ask, where are the men and
women prepared to undertake such a task? It is true, we must begin at
the beginning. From earliest childhood the young must be trained on
a nobler method, and in the ethical school lies the main work of
preparation. There every step in the course of development must be
carefully considered, vigilantly watched and wisely directed, to the
one crowning purpose of ripening the young minds and hearts for that
fellowship of love and hope.
A new fellowship, a new order, I say boldly, whose members shall not be
bound by any vows, which shall have no convents, no mysteries, but shall
make itself an exemplar of the virtues it preaches, a form of the ideal.
The perils that attend such organizations are great; we will not attempt
to underrate their gravity, but we believe they can be overcome. The
spirit of co-operation lends mighty momentum to every cause; it depends
upon the cause itself whether the influence exerted shall be for good or
evil. And there has been in history a single order at least of the kind
which I describe: "The brotherhood of the common life," it was called;
an order composed of earnest, studious men, to whom the upheaval of
Europe in the sixteenth century was largely due; a noble brotherhood
that prepared the way for the great Reformation. The Catholic orders are
dedicated to the world to come; the order of the Ideal will be dedicated
to the world of the living: to deepen and broaden the conscience of men
will be its mission.
The propaganda of Liberalism in the past has been weak and barren of
great results. Strong personalities it has brought forth; around these
societies have clustered and fallen asunder when the personal magnet was
withdrawn. What we need is institutions of which persons shall be merely
the exponents; institutions that must be grounded on the needs of the
present, and that shall last by their own vitality, to future ages and
to the increase of future good.
It is the opening of the spring.* After its long winter sleep, the earth
reawakens, and amid the fierce storms of the Equinox nature ushers in
the season of flowers and of summer's golden plenty. It is the day of
Easter. Loudly the bells are pealing and joyous songs celebrate in the
legend of "Christ risen from the grave," the marvel of the Resurrection.
What we cannot credit of an individual, is true of the nations. After
long periods of seeming torpor and death, humanity ever arises anew from
the dust, shakes off its slumbers, and clothes itself with fresher vigor
and diviner powers.
* The above discourse was delivered on Easter Sunday, April
1st.
Let the hope of the season animate us. Let it fill our souls with
confidence in our greater destinies; let it teach us to trust in them
and to labor for them, that a new Ideal may vivify the palsied hearts
and a new spring tide come, and a new Easter dawn arise over all
mankind.