Recollections and Impressions, 1822-1890

And then, at that time there was little scientific philanthropy. The word charity was more or less associated with patronage and pity, the very things that we wanted to avoid; they who were bent on wiping out distinctions could not countenance these, and it was safer not to let our hearts get the better of our reason. But even if there had been a scientific treatment of humane questions, we were afraid of the danger of becoming too much absorbed in this kind of work, and so of losing sight of our chief end.

At present the idea of our Association is pretty well domesticated in Christendom. It was not, after all, entirely new. In 1845 and 1846 Frederick Denison Maurice, lecturing on the Boyle Foundation in London on "The Religions of the World and their Relations to Christianity," attempted to do justice to the ancient faiths of India, Persia, Egypt, Greece, and Rome. In 1882, in Edinburgh, eminent men discussed the same problems under the title of "The Faiths of the World." In 1871 James Freeman Clarke published his "Ten Great Religions." The study of comparative religion has been going on for many years. When Mozoomdar came to this country a few years ago, there was such a rush for him among American orthodox Christians that the Free Religious Association could not get at him at all, though it had tried in vain to get a real Brahmin on its platform. True, there were differences of opinion among the orthodox students of the old-world systems. Some regarded the ancient religions as effete; some denied that Christianity touched them at more than one or two points; some treated them simply as preparations for the crowning faith of Christ. Still, whatever their differences, all agreed that the religious instinct was universal; that there was a ground for revelation in the human heart; since Carlyle's famous lecture in "Heroes," delivered in 1840, it was impossible to regard Mahomet as an impostor, or to look upon religion as a fabrication of the priests, as an attempt to practise upon human ignorance and fear.

Among the Unitarians our conception is familiar. At the convention that was held in Philadelphia, in October, 1889, both parties, the most conservative and the most radical, sat side by side. A manager of the Free Religious Association delivered one of the addresses, and said: "I never believed one tithe as much as I believe to-night. Never did I have such faith in God; never did I so believe in man; never did I see such a glorious outlook for the Church; never did I hold such a glad theory of human hope for the future." The secretary of the American Unitarian Association was full of joy. The secretary of the Western Unitarian Conference quoted the opinion of the Western churches, assembled at Chicago in May, 1887, and declared "our fellowship to be conditioned on no doctrinal tests, and welcomes all who wish to join us to help establish truth and righteousness and love in the world." A prominent leader of Unitarianism in Illinois uttered himself thus: "Whatever its traditions, whatever its present positions, or its prospects, this spiritual commonwealth is extra-Unitarian, extra-American, extra-Christian; it is human, and on that account it is universal, and it is divine." Another speaker at this convention declared that "the hand that shall hold this master key is Christ, as the modern mind conceives him, – Christ healing the sick, raising the dead, cleansing the leper, casting out devils from society and business, from politics and religion; Christ, the friend of Lazarus and of Mary Magdalen; Christ robed in absolute justice and also in transcendant love, and embracing the whole world."

It is not claimed that this extraordinary change in ecclesiastical fellowship and sympathy is due to the Free Religious Association. That was one of the signs of the times, and is an effect rather than a cause; but it is a sign of the grander unity. When the portrait of Theodore Parker is hanging on the walls of Channing Hall; when a cordial welcome is extended to all seekers for the light; when the East and West are ready to embrace in a fellowship of aspiration; when the young men are all alight with fresh hope and fresh endeavor, we may with confidence anticipate the time when there shall be but one fold, and the aim of the Free Religious Association be met.

The emancipation from denominational trammels was of great service to the young minister. It is true that he was still in a "church" which kept him within ecclesiastical associations; but these fetters were not heavy, and they were soon to be thrown off. For in the spring of 1869, the church was sold to another congregation. This was done partly because the acoustic properties of the building were not favorable, and partly because the place was not suited to the genius of the new society. "There was no room in the inn," was the subject of the last sermon preached in that building. Lyric Hall, to which we removed, is situated on Sixth Avenue, between 40th and 41st streets. It is a large room fifty by one hundred feet. During the week it was used as a dancing hall, but on Sundays it was arranged for a religious service. A small organ was placed there, a platform was built, and seats were brought up from the cellar below. The first sermon preached there was on "Secular Religion," and it indicated the whole character of the services. The most remarkable thing, as regards myself, that happened in Lyric Hall, was the adoption of the habit of speaking without notes. The light from the avenue was too far off for reading, and the speaker was therefore obliged to dispense with a manuscript altogether. A theme was first chosen that admitted of subdivisions, so that as fast as the speaker exhausted one he could fall back on another. The habit soon became so familiar that no difficulty was experienced in handling the most complicated subject. Here we remained until the spring of 1875, when we removed to Masonic Temple, on Sixth Avenue and 23d Street.

This building, which was very large and handsome, had just been erected by the Masons, who designed it for their own accommodation. The structure having cost, however, more than was anticipated, the owners were obliged, reluctantly, to let the large hall, which they did for literary and religious purposes only. We were the first to occupy it. The hall was spacious and stately, with fixed seats for about a thousand people. A fine organ stood at one end of the platform; at the other end there was a large reception room. The first sermon there was on "Reasonable Religion." The audience was never large – never more than eight or nine hundred, usually six or seven hundred. The form of service much resembled the form common in Unitarian churches, with the exception that Mr. Conway's "Sacred Anthology" was substituted for the Bible, and the other exercises were more universal in their character. It had long ceased to be a Unitarian congregation. There were people of Catholic training, many of Protestant training, some of no religious training whatever, materialists, atheists, secularists, positivists – always thinking people, with their minds uppermost. It was a church of the unchurched. George Ripley, the journalist, was always there; E. C. Stedman, the man of letters; Calvert Vaux, the architect; Sanford R. Gifford, the painter; Henry Peters Gray, the artist, was there until he died; C. P. Cranch, the poet, was a member of the Society as long as he was in the city. In the Lyric-Hall days, Judge Geo. C. Barrett had a seat in the audience. The secular character was always prominent. When we had a church on 40th Street, the large basement was used for music, dramatic performances, readings, festivities, social gatherings. In Lyric Hall, these were continued as far as they could be.

The "Fraternity Club" was organized in 1869 by a devoted member of the Society for the entertainment and improvement of its members; and drew together very brilliant minds both within and without the immediate fellowship. The meetings were held once in two weeks, when an essay was read, a debate carried on, and a paper presented; all the performers being nominated in advance by the President. The work was mainly done by a few young men, who have since become eminent in various fields – as teachers, lawyers, literary critics, publishers, – and by witty women not a few. There were about seventy members, each one standing for some peculiar accomplishment. The subjects of the essays were such as these, illustrating the breadth of the intellectual interest: On "Taste"; on "Expressions"; on "The Coming Man"; on "Wordsworth"; on "The Tree of Life"; on "Spencer's Britomart as the Type of Woman"; on "Light and Laughter"; on "Successful People"; on "Culture"; on "The Cultivation of the Masses." The subjects for debate were equally varied: "Ought the sexes to be educated apart?"; "Does a house burn up or burn down?"; "Is the highest musical culture compatible with the highest intellectual development?"; "Is there a distinctly American literature as contrasted with that of England?"; "Should matrimonial union be contracted early or late?"; "Ought we to cultivate most those faculties in which we naturally excel, or those in which we are naturally deficient?"; "Does increase of culture involve decrease of amusement?"; "Is the existence of a 'Mute inglorious Milton' possible?"; "Will giving the franchise to women exert a beneficial influence on society?"; "Had you rather be more stupid than you seem, or seem more stupid than you are?"

The "papers," of which there are some nine volumes existing, were receptacles for the fancy, imagination, sentiment, and humor of the editors or their co-editors; there were verses, stories, criticisms, jokes, illustrations, in them; each had its name: "The Bubble," "The Venture," "Bric-a-Brac," "Stuff," "The Rag-Bag." The club ceased soon after the Society disbanded, in 1880.

The root idea of the Society, apart from its independence, was the mingling of the spiritual and the natural; the domestication of faith. With a view of making the idea more prevailing and complete, a children's service in the afternoon was substituted for the regular Sunday-school. A book was prepared, "The Child's Book of Religion," by the pastor, for this express purpose. There were responsive readings, recitations in unison, songs, and an address, simple and anecdotical, by the minister.

The Society was never fashionable, or even popular. At one period – that of the Richardson-McFarland matter – there was a vast deal of misrepresentation, criticism, and abuse, but all this had no effect on the constituency of the parish. There was the same loyalty, the same interest, the same determination to sustain a thoroughly liberal ministry, by which every form of conviction was made conducive to a purely spiritual faith.

It was never pretended that the Society was anything more than a beginning. A small and feeble beginning, but of something that was to grow and spread; the beginning of a faith that is as rational as it is wide. Its influence was more diffusive than concrete as an instituted thing. It is the pride and consolation of those who began it that they removed some of the barriers that divided the great brotherhood of believing men.

My ministry in New York ended in the spring of 1879. Its close was due entirely to my ill-health. A year before the doctors had warned me not to continue longer than was necessary my rate of speed. They urged me to go slower, to "take in sail," and to withdraw as far as I could from all public demonstrations. Measures were taken against every emergency, and I sailed away in the French steamer, with the hope that in six months I might regain my nervous power, and return. There was first the exhilarating sea voyage; then the beautiful city hall of Rouen, the churches and famous buildings, the square where Joan of Arc suffered; then came Paris with its enchantments; after that Basel showed its great Holbeins, and its lovely promenade overlooking the river; this led to the celebrated baths at Ragatz in Switzerland, the placid waters of Pfeffers', the gorge, the hotel gardens, and the lovely walks; after this came the pass of the Splügen, the Via Mala, the hotel at the summit of the pass among the snows, the pastures, the wild goats; then came Lake Como in Italy, Bellagio, the charming Villa Serbeloni, looking down upon the two lakes, Como and Lecco, the vineyards ripening in the sun, the terraces, looking across upon the mountains; then Milan opened its great cathedral, the gallery of the Brera, the ancient church of Saint Ambrose. Afterwards came Florence and its heavenly environs, its pictures and statues and public buildings, its groves and stately drives and lovely villas; Florence was followed by Siena, and there I saw the great cathedral, walked on the esplanade, enjoyed the public square, the palaces, the pictures of Sodoma. From there I went to Rome, in December.

It was all in vain; I became satisfied that the complaint was not of a temporary nature, not owing to overwork or over-excitement, not easily cured – if curable at all, – but nervous and hereditary. Thereupon, I wrote a letter to my trustees absolutely resigning my office and declining to be a clergyman any longer, as I could not attempt to renew the same kind of labor. An attempt was made to secure a successor; several names were mentioned, and among men greatly my superiors in learning and eloquence, but none, it was thought, represented the precise form of speculation, the exact view of religion which my friends desired. The Society therefore was disbanded, and no attempt has been made since to reorganize it. The members were scattered, some among other churches, some among other cities, while some never joined any religious society whatever. Thus a thriving and growing organization is now simply a memory.