Jersey City, to which I went directly from Salem, was a very different
place from what it is now; smaller and perhaps pleasanter. Where now is
a large city, a few years ago was but a village. Now it is a
manufacturing place, with great establishments, foundries,
machine-shops, banks, insurance companies, newspapers, more than forty
schools, and more than sixty churches. Then it was a large town, though
it was nominally a city (incorporated in 1820), with a population of
about twenty thousand, the increase being chiefly due to the annexation
of suburbs, not to its own vital growth. It was substantially rural in
character, with extensive meadows, broad avenues; a place of residence
largely, the gentlemen living there and doing business in New York.
There were a few Unitarians, a few Universalists, but there was no
organized Unitarian society before I went there. A great many cultivated
people resided in this place. There was wealth, culture, and interest in
social matters. A meeting-house was built for me and dedicated to a
large, rational faith.
The chief peculiarity of my ministry there was the disuse of the
communion service. This rite I had thought a great deal about in Salem.
There had been, then, a well-meant proposal on the part of the pastor to
make an alteration in the form of administering the communion service.
The custom had been (quite an incidental one, for the usage was by no
means the same in all the churches of the denomination) to thrust the
rite in once a month, between the morning worship and dinner time, and
to offer it then to none but the church-members, who composed but a
small part of the congregation. As a consequence of this arrangement,
the observance became formal, dry, short, and tiresome. To the majority
of the Society it seemed a mystical ceremony with which they had no
concern, while those who stayed to take part in it, wearied already by
the preceding exercises, and hungry for their mid-day meal, gave to it
but half-hearted attention. The observance was thus worse than thrown
away; for, in addition to the loss of an opportunity for spiritual
impression, a dangerous kind of self-righteousness was encouraged in the
few church-members, who regarded themselves as in some way set apart
from their fellow-sinners, either as having made confession of faith or
as being subjects of a peculiar experience. To impart freshness to the
rite, and at the same time to extend its usefulness as a "means of
grace," the minister proposed to celebrate it less frequently (once in
two or three months), to substitute it in place of the usual afternoon
meeting, to make special preparation for it by the co-operation of the
choir, and to throw it open to as many as might choose to come, be they
church members or not. The suggestion met with feeble response, and that
chiefly from young people who had hitherto stayed away out of a laudable
feeling of modesty, not wishing to remain when their elders and betters
went out, and not thinking themselves good enough to partake of a
special privilege. The "communicants," as a rule, set their faces
against the innovation, perhaps because they were secretly persuaded
that the change portended the secularizing of Christianity by a removal
of the barrier that divided the church from the world, possibly because
they wished to retain an exclusive prerogative which had always marked
the "elect."
The matter was not pressed; the routine went on as before; the
minister did his best to render the service impressive and interesting.
But his studies and meditations led him to the conclusion that the
observance had no place in the Unitarian system; that it was a mere
formality, without an excuse for being; that it contained no idea or
sentiment that was not expressed in the ordinary worship; that it was a
remnant of an otherwise discarded form of Christianity, where it had a
peculiar significance; that it was the last attenuation of the Roman
sacrament of transubstantiation; that it ought to be dropped from every
scheme of liberal faith as an illogical adjunct, a harmful excrescence,
a hindrance, in short. No whisper of these doubts was breathed at the
time, but the pastor's silence allowed the scepticism to strike the
deeper root in his mind. Mr. Emerson's departure from his parish, on the
ground that he could no longer administer the communion rite according
to the usage of the sect, had occurred many years before this, but was
still remembered in discussion and talk. Theodore Parker had no
communion; but he was an established leader of heresy, and did not
furnish an example. Many, agreeing with Emerson's reasoning, disapproved
of his course in resigning his pulpit rather than continue to administer
the bread and wine. He himself advised others to hold on to the
observance, if they could, hoping for the time when it might be
universally vivified by faith. Some might do it as it was. The
congregations would, it is likely, without exception, have decided as
his did, to lose their minister sooner than their "Supper." Some years
later, on passing through Boston on my way to another scene of labor, I
called on a distinguished clergyman who had taken a part in my
ordination, and was asked by him what I intended to do in my new parish
with regard to the communion. I replied that it was not my purpose to
have it, "You cannot give it up," he said; "it is stronger than any of
us. I should drop it if I dared, for there is nothing real in it that is
not in the general service, but I am afraid to try. I shall watch your
experiment with interest, but without expectation of its success." "Very
well," I replied, "we shall see." The experiment was tried and
succeeded. For four years I had no communion, and not a word was said
about it. On leaving for New York, several of my friends, who had been
accustomed to the ceremony all their lives, were asked if they did not
think it would be wise to reinstate the rite. To my surprise, they with
one voice said that there was no need of it, that the Society got along
perfectly well without it. It is needless to say that in New York the
observance was never celebrated.
The ceremony was justified among Unitarians by various reasons which,
in the end, seemed apologies. With the old-fashioned, semi-orthodox
members of the congregations it was a precious heirloom, prized for its
antiquity; a link that still held them in the bond of fellowship with
the universal church; a last relic of the supernaturalism to which they
clung without knowing why; the pledge of a mystical union with their
Christ. Any change in the administration of it was regarded as a
desecration; the suggestion of its complete discontinuance could, they
thought, arise in no mind that was not fatally poisoned by infidelity.
It was not, in their opinion, a symbol of doctrine, but a channel of
divine influence, which no intellectual doubts could touch, which
spiritual deadness alone could dispense with. Tenets might be abandoned,
forms of belief might be discredited, but this citadel of faith must not
be assailed or approached by irreverent feet. Mr. Emerson's example was
not followed by his contemporaries. His fellows did not so soon reach
his point of conviction. Even radicals, like George Ripley, did not. In
my own case it was the growth of time. At the moment there was no
disposition to abandon the observance, simply a desire to reanimate it.
It was not perceived till much later that the changes proposed implied a
virtual abandonment of the rite itself; that the communion is regarded
as a sacrament, that as a sacrament it might be presumed to be
supernaturally instituted for the communication of the divine life;
that, when faith in the supernatural declines, the sacrament no longer
has a function as a medium, and must be omitted; that no attempts to
revive it as a sentimental practice could be justified to reason; that
all endeavors to awaken interest in it by assuming some occult efficacy
must be futile because groundless. The "memorial service" can in no
proper sense be called a sacrament. It may be a pleasing expression of
sentiment, somewhat over-strained and fanciful, but capable of being
made attractive. The task of reproducing the emotions of the early
disciples as they sat at supper with their Master, nearly two thousand
years ago, is too severe for the ordinary imagination, and when
persisted in from a sense of duty may become a dull, creaking
performance, against which the sensitive rebel and the witty are tempted
to launch the shafts of their sarcasm. The only way of saving it from
gibes is to ascribe to it some mystical efficacy for which there is no
logical excuse. The Roman Catholic doctrine of Transubstantiation had a
foundation in the philosophy of the Church. The Lutheran doctrine of
Consubstantiation, which recognized the presence of Christ on the
occasion, but not the literal change of the substance of his flesh, was
legitimate. But the Sabellian theory, which the Unitarians inherited,
was in no respect justified, save as a tradition.
The sole alternative at that time for me, when the Communion service
was made a test question between the "conservative" and the "radical,"
was to drop it. At present the situation is altered. It is no longer a
ceremony or a tradition, but a means of spiritual cultivation. It stands
for fellowship and aspiration, not for a communion of saints, but of all
those who desire to share the saintly mind, of all who aim at
perfection. The rite is one in which all may unite who wish, however
fitfully, for goodness; _all_, whether Romanist or Protestant, and
Protestant of whatever name; _all_, in every religion under the sun,
Eastern or Western, Northern or Southern, old or new, every dividing
line being erased. I once attended the Communion service of a Broad
Churchman. The invitation was large and inclusive, comprehending
everybody who, though far off, looked towards the light, everybody who
had the least glimmer of the divine radiance; and none but an absolute
infidel was shut out. There was a recognition of a divine nature in
men,--
Like plants in mines which never saw the sun,
But dream of him, and guess where he may be,
And do their best to climb and get to him.
The idea of spiritual communion is a grand one. It is universal too; it
is human in the best sense. The symbols were ancient when Jesus used
them, the Bread signifying Truth, the Wine signifying Life. Originally
the symbols referred to the wealth of nature, as is evident from an
ancient prayer. It was the custom for the master of the Jewish feast to
repeat this form of words: "Blessed be Thou, O Lord, our God, who givest
us the fruits of the vine," and then he gave the cup to all.
Leaving out the personal application which is purely incidental, and
discarding the sacramental idea which is a corruption, throwing the
service open to the whole congregation as an opportunity, a great deal
may be accomplished in the way of spiritual advancement. True, the
ceremony contains no thought or sentiment that is not expressed in the
sermon or the prayer, but it puts these in poetic form, it addresses
them directly to the imagination, it associates them with the holier
souls in their holiest hours, and brings people face to face with their
better selves in the tenderest and most touching manner, teaching
charity, love, endeavor after the religious life. The rite is full of
beauty when confined within the bounds of Christianity, but when
extended to the principles of other faiths, it is rich in meaning, and
may be used with effect by those who wish to educate the people in the
highest form of idealism, who desire comprehensiveness. A symbol often
goes further than an argument, and a symbol so ancient and so
consecrated ought to be preserved. A friend of mine included all
religious teachers in his commemoration. This was a step in the right
direction, but if the people are not ready for this yet, they may
welcome an extension of the reign of spiritual love among the disciples
whom theological hatred has kept apart. But this was not suspected then.
It will be remarked that my reasons were not those of Emerson. His
argument was solid and sound, but his real reason was personal. He said
in his sermon: "If I believed it was enjoined by Jesus and his disciples
that he even contemplated making permanent this mode of commemoration,
every way agreeable to an Eastern mind, and yet on trial it was
disagreeable to my own feelings, I should not adopt it.... It is my
desire in the office of a Christian minister to do nothing which I
cannot do with my whole heart. Having said this I have said all.... That
is the end of my opposition, that I am not interested in it." My ground
was different; I had no objection to the symbol, none to an Oriental
symbol, and the mere fact that I was not interested in it seemed to me
not pertinent to the case. My objection was that it divided those who
ought to be united; that it encouraged a form of self-righteousness;
that it implied a "grace" that did not exist. For the rest, my form of
religion was of sentiment. It was scarcely Unitarian, not even Christian
in a technical sense or in any other but a broad moral signification. It
was Theism founded on the Transcendental philosophy, a substitute for
the authority of Romanism and of Protestantism. This was an admirable
counterfeit of Inspiration, having the fire, the glow, the beauty of it.
It most successfully tided over the gulf between Protestantism and
Rationalism. Parker used it with great effect. It was the life of
Emerson's teaching. It animated Thomas Carlyle. It was the fundamental
assumption of the Abolitionists, and of all social reformers.
I had perfect freedom of speech in Jersey City; there was no
opposition to the doctrine announced. The Society there was large and
flourishing, and its influence in the town was on the increase. But
Jersey City was, after all, a suburb only of New York. Some of my most
devoted hearers came from New York, and urged me to go there. Dr.
Bellows was anxious to found a third Society in the great city, and
added his word to their solicitations, so that in the spring of 1859 I
went thither. My church in Jersey City was continued for a short time,
but I had no settled successor; the congregation did not grow; some of
my most earnest supporters had either died or left the town. The war
broke out and was fatal to institutions that had not a deep root. The
building was sold soon after, for business purposes I think, and the
society was never renewed. This may appear singular considering that
there are Unitarian churches elsewhere in New Jersey, at Camden, Orange,
Plainfield, Vineland, and Woodbury. The changed condition of the town
may have had something to do with the failure to revive, after the war,
the Unitarian Society. The Catholic, Presbyterian, Orthodox
Congregationalist communions were more suited to the new population than
the Unitarian was. Possibly, too, the "radical" complexion of the parish
had something to do with the disrepute that fell upon it. However this
may have been, the cause did not seem to prosper. Mr. Job Male, who died
recently at Plainfield, was one of my most zealous supporters and
exerted himself to keep the enterprise alive, but in vain. It is
understood that the flourishing Unitarian church in Plainfield was
largely due to his efforts.