Recollections and Impressions, 1822-1890

Of all the dreadful and melancholy passages in the history of human progress, none, to a thoughtful man, are more dreadful or melancholy than those which tell how men have resisted, pushed away, reviled, cursed, beaten, mobbed, crucified their benefactors. It does seem, as we read them, as if the most dreaded thing on earth had been the personal, the domestic, the social welfare; as if the deepest anxiety on the part of men of all sorts was an anxiety to escape from their health and salvation; as if the profoundest dread was a dread of mending their estates, and their utmost horror was a horror of heaven! It does seem, as we read, as if happiness, prosperity, success, were the pet aversion of mankind; as if the signs that were looked for with the most agonized apprehension were the signs that the kingdom of heaven was at hand… We saw this conspicuously and dismally exemplified in the events of the past week. The one man who, before and above all others, was a mark for the rage of the populace, the one man whose name was loud in the rabble's mouth, and always coupled with a malediction, the one man who was hunted for his blood as by wolves, who would have been torn in pieces had the opportunity been afforded, and on whose account the dwelling of a friend was literally torn in pieces, was a man who had been the steadfast friend of these very people who hungered for his blood; their most constant, uncompromising, and public friend; thinking for them, speaking for them, writing for them; pleading their cause through the press, in the legislature, from the platform; excusing their mistakes and follies, asserting and reasserting their substantial worth and honesty and rectitude, advocating their claims as working people, vindicating their rights as men; proposing schemes for the safety of their persons, the healthfulness of their houses, the saving and increase of their earnings, the education of their children, the exemption of their homesteads from seizure in cases of debt, the enlargement of their sphere of labor, the transferring of their families from the crowded city, where they could do little more than keep themselves alive by arduous toil, to the fruitful lands of the West, where they could become noble and self-respecting men and women. This was the man whose blood was hungered for. I need not speak his name, – you know whom I mean, Horace Greeley, – a man whom some call visionary, but whose visions are all of the redemption of the people; whom some call "fool," but who, if he seem a fool, is foolish that the people may be wise; whom some call "radical," but whose radicalism is simply a determination that the popular existence shall have a sound, sure, and deep root in natural law and moral principle; at all events, a man who has lived for the people and suffered for the people, and been laughed at when he suffered and because he suffered. This was the man whose blood was hungered for. And yet the most moderate, kind, considerate of all the papers, the last week, was his paper. And I believe he, even had he fallen into the hands of his enemies, would have said, "Forgive them, they know not what they do."

Indulge me in one more personality. I said that the dwelling of a friend was pillaged by the mob, under the impression that Mr. Greeley lived there. What was this dwelling? Who was this friend? The dwelling was one the like of which is rare in any city, a dwelling of happiness and peace, a home of the tenderest domestic affections, a house of large friendliness and hospitality, a refuge and abiding-place for the unfortunate and the outcast. There was no display of wealth there – there was no wealth to display; yet the house was full of things which no wealth could buy. It was crowded with mementos. The pieces of furniture in the rooms had family histories connected with them; chairs and tables were precious from association with noble and rare people who had gone. Pictures on the walls, busts in the parlor, engravings, photographs, books, spoke of the gratitude or love of some dear giver. One room was sacred to the memory of a noble boy, an only son, who had died some years before. There was his bust in marble, there were his books, there were the prints he liked, the little bits of art he was fond of, and all the dear things that seemed to bring him back. The whole house was a shrine and a sanctuary.

And who were the inmates? The master, a man whose sympathies were always and completely with the working-people, a man of steady and boundless humanity; the mistress, a woman whose name is familiar to all doers of good deeds in the city of New York, and dear to hundreds of the objects of good deeds. To the orphan and friendless and poor, a mother; to the unfortunate, a sister; to the wretched, the depraved, the sinful, more than a friend. In the city prison her presence was the presence of an angel of pitying love; at Blackwell's Island she was welcome as a spirit of peace and hope. The boys at Randall's Island looked into her face as the face of an angel. Again and again had she rescued from the life of shame the countrywoman, and possibly the kindred of these very people who plundered her house. For the better part of a year and more she has been in camp and city hospitals, nursing their brothers and sons, performing every menial office. At this moment she is at Point Lookout, doing that work, amid discomforts and discouragements that would daunt a less resolute humanity than hers, giving all she has and is to the people, to the wounded, crippled, bleeding, and broken people; giving it for the sake of the people – giving it that the people may be raised to a higher social level! And she, forsooth, must be selected to have her house pillaged! She must be stabbed to her heart of hearts, stabbed through and through, in every one of her affections, by these people for whom her life had been a perpetual process of dying! Why, if they had but known this that I have been telling you, or but a tenth part of it, those men would have defended with their bodies every thread of carpet she trod on. But so it was, and so it must be! Only the best names are ever taken in vain on human lips, and they are so taken because they are the best, and best is worst to those who cannot understand it. Theodore Winthrop was shot by a negro. Did he know what he did?.. In thinking of it one's bosom is torn with distracting emotions, and between feeling for the persecuted and feeling for the persecutors, one almost loses the power of feeling. Could anything be more pitiful? Yes, one thing more pitiful there was – the savage hunting down and persecution of the negroes, as if they, too, were the enemies of these working-people. The poor, inoffensive negroes, most innocent part of the whole population! Most quiet, harmless, docile people, who could not stand in the way of the white people if they would, and who never thought of anything but of keeping out of their way! These the enemies of white labor! As if they had not, for these very white people, borne the burden and heat of the tropical day, raising the cotton by which we are clothed, and the rice by which we are fed! As if to these and the like of these, the white people did not owe a large share of the manufacturing towns where they get their bread! As if the lowest foundation stones of this very New York of ours were not cemented by their bloody sweat! As if there were too many of them in the country now for the country's needs, supposing the country ever to fall into a settled and civilized condition again! As if all there are might not by and by be required to do the work which white labor can not for a long time, if it can ever, safely undertake! Strange complications of things! Strange cross-purposes of human nature! The Southern people would revive the slave trade, because they have not black laborers enough, and their allies among ourselves would banish or kill all the black people, because they interfere with white labor! A mutual stabbing at each other's hearts! And on each side a stabbing to its own heart!.. It is a very mysterious thing in history, this alliance between the most turbulent and the most tyrannical, the most depraved and the most despotic portions of society. The most undisciplined, barbarous, savage members of a community are ever in a league with the most overbearing, insolent, imperious, and domineering members of it. They who are under the least self-control bow most deferentially before those who rule others with the most cruel rod. The people who were proudest of having turned out to a man, in London, for the maintenance of law and order, on the day of the great Chartist demonstration there, were the most immoral class in the city – proved by the criminal returns to be nine times as dishonest, five times as drunken, and nine times as savage as the rest of the community. (See Spencer's "Social Statics," p. 424.)

In Boston, on the occasion of the rendition of Anthony Burns, all the thieves, burglars, cut-throats, swarmed from their dens and volunteered with alacrity to enforce the fugitive-slave law. And now the leaders of the Southern Confederacy count, and count securely, on the Northern populace. The fiercest allies of the only absolutely despotic class in the country are the outlaws of society. The men who are fighting for the privileges of the extremest tyranny, the privileges not of ruling merely, but literally of owning the laboring class, these men have the implicit, unquestioning, fanatical loyalty of the people who are at the opposite end of the social scale – the people who own nothing either of fortune, position, influence, or character, and whose sole relation towards the despots they worship is that of mad, savage slaves.

In Europe this alliance between the despotic and the lawless may be fortunate for the peace of the community. In our Southern States it is eminently conducive to the tranquillity they desire. But when the lawless are here and the despotic are there, when the barbarism is in New York and the tyranny in Richmond, when the elements of discord and turbulence in our Northern cities fly to support their iron-handed rulers in the seceded States, there ensues a state of things, especially in time of war, that is calculated to shake society to its foundations, and fill every loyal heart with dread. The unruly, as if they felt instinctively their lack of self-control, seek a ruler – fly to the strongest to save them from themselves, worship the sternest, the most high-handed, the cruellest, and by that natural sympathy with brutality are maintained in subjection to law.

Heaven speed the time when these heedless, reckless, licentious children of humanity may feel sensible of the weight of power without its brutality, may reverence authority when it is neither beastly nor cruel, may yield obedience to Order, whose symbol is not the sword, and to Law, whose badge is not the bayonet. But till that time comes, we, with thoughtful minds and sad hearts and sober consciences, and souls full as we can make them of human charity and good-will, must hold in our hands those terrible symbols, and in the Christian spirit do the ruler's part.

The insurrection did not last long. As soon as the United States troops appeared the trouble was over and order was restored. There was fighting; there was pillage; but how many lives were lost and how much property was destroyed was never exactly known. On the whole, the riot strengthened the hands of the government, increased pity for the victims of outrage, and excited sympathy for the negroes and the abolitionists. The priests, as I well remember, helped in the work of pacification. On the second day of the uprising, as I was visiting a friend in his studio on Fifth Avenue, the mob came along, shouting, yelling, brandishing clubs, on their way to the archbishop's palace, to hear an address by him. The prelate appeared on the balcony dressed in full canonicals, in order to impress the people, and delivered a most ingenious and persuasive address. Beginning "Men of New York," he flattered their self-esteem, paid a tribute to their sense of power and exalted influence, and advised them against cruelty and anarchy. The effect of this speech was surprising in soothing and quieting the crowd. They had come there in a mood of tumult – they separated peacefully and went to their own homes, satisfied. From that hour the soul of the riot was broken.

The incidents of the war cannot be detailed here. The story has been told too often, and is altogether too long for my space. And after all the moral issues of the war were the most interesting though not the most pathetic. The sentiment of union, the establishment of the national supremacy, the authority of the reign of law, the emancipation of a degraded race, the new inspiration imparted to a great people, and the advent of a universal republicanism were most significant. It is quite likely that the modern uprising of labor and the urgent claims of women for recognition and civil power were aided, if not suggested, by this overwhelming triumph of order and enlightenment. It is more than likely that the position of the United States, as a power among the nations of the earth, was due mainly to the victory that was achieved by the powers of liberty.

IX.

THE FREE RELIGIOUS ASSOCIATION

The happy ending of the war stimulated, as has been said, the sentiment of Unity. The success of the government in putting down the rebellion filled the air with the spirit of union. The restoration of political harmony suggested a deeper harmony, when divisions should cease. At this moment, in April, 1865, the indefatigable Dr. Bellows, who had been the soul of the Sanitary Commission, summoned all Christian believers of the liberal persuasions to a convention in his church for a more complete organization. The invitation was most generously interpreted, and was hailed by some who could be called Christians only under the most elastic definition of the term. A prominent layman of the Unitarian body brought an elaborate creed which he wished the convention to adopt; and a distinguished minister of the West was of the opinion that the work of perfect organization could best be done by the adoption of stringent articles of faith. But the minimum of belief was imposed. The preamble of the constitution, the work of reconciling minds, reads thus: "Whereas the great opportunities and demands for Christian labor and consecration, at this time, increase our sense of the obligations of all disciples of the Lord Jesus Christ to prove their faith by self-denial and by the devotion of their lives and possessions to the service of God, and the building up of the kingdom of his son, Therefore." Then follow the articles. It was this phrase, "Lord Jesus Christ," that provoked discussion. The struggle was renewed at Syracuse on October 8th of the next year, 1866, and an attempt was made to explain away the force of the declaration by announcing that while the preamble and articles of the constitution represented the opinions of the majority, yet they were not to be considered an authoritative test of Unitarianism, or to exclude from fellowship any who though differing in belief "are in general sympathy with our purpose and practical aims." But this was not considered by the radicals as satisfactory. For in the first place the title of "Lord" seemed to contain by implication a doctrine which could not be subscribed to, as the "Lordship" of Jesus was supposed to be supernatural. Here seemed to be a fundamental difference between those who held to the old world's idea of a spiritual kingdom, and those who proclaimed the new world's idea of a spiritual democracy. In fact, one of the leaders – Dr. Bellows – plainly said if there was to be any change it must be made in the other direction; "we are to consider not only the few on the one side, who may or may not care to unite with us, but the great body of Christians of all denominations, the Universal Church of Christ; I demand liberality to them, the liberality which acknowledges their Lord and Leader, and welcomes them to a household whose hearth glows with faith in and loyalty to the personal Saviour." It was plainly declared by him that Unitarians assumed the name of liberal Christians, because they allowed liberality of inquiry and opinion within the pale of Christian discipleship. This of itself was enough to create a palpable division, but it was felt besides that freedom of interpretation did not imply freedom of rejection. The phrase Lordship of Jesus, although as little of a creed as could be devised, was hostile to freedom, besides not being altogether true, as Jesus never claimed to be infallible. The radicals, under the lead of Francis E. Abbot, attempted to introduce a substitute for the original preamble, inculcating unity of spirit and of work as the basis of the "National Conference of Unitarian and Independent Churches." This substitute was not carried, and a final breach between the Independents and the Unitarians was thus established. This was inevitable twenty-five years ago; it could not happen to-day, when both wings are united in one body.

For my part I did not go to Syracuse, having foreseen what eventually occurred, namely, the intended solidification of the Unitarian body by the strengthening of the bonds of organization. My own personal experience, which other radicals knew nothing of, led me to this conclusion. My church edifice on 40th Street was begun in the spring of 1863. The two ministers in New York were present at the informal service of laying the corner-stone. The walls were going up during the summer; on the week of the riot the mob called the workmen off, threatening to destroy what was built if the masons did not leave. The building was finished in the winter, and dedicated on Christmas Day. To the warm personal invitation which was sent to all the Unitarian clergy in New York and Brooklyn – there were but three then – no response was returned; and when my father and I went to the church there were no ministers on the platform. We went through the service, my father offering the prayer and I preaching the sermon. No remark was made at the time beyond an expression of surprise at the non-appearance of the "brethren." The next day my father, who had come from Boston on purpose to attend the dedication, and whose blindness was approaching fast, went to make a friendly visit on Dr. Bellows. On his return, when asked if any reason was assigned for the failure to participate in the proceedings of the day before, he said that the duties of Christmas were alleged as the cause. I was sure there was another explanation behind; and as soon as I had put my father in the train for home wrote to Dr. Bellows, taxing him among the rest with discourtesy. It was evident that such a charge was anticipated and prepared for; that the ministers had met and had agreed on a course to be pursued in my case. For at once there came a reply to my note, accusing me of studiously neglecting all the usual observances of the denomination. My invitation had not been official; there was no "church"; there had never been any sacrament; the allegiance to fundamental doctrines of the sect had been slack. All this was true, and no attempt at exculpation was made, but it was felt that a breach existed. The excitements of the war overshadowed everything else at this period, and nothing more was said. My Society was duly represented at the first conference; but as soon as our side was argued, – as it was by D. A. Wasson, – it was plain that the spirit of organization prevailed and was against us. A division was inevitable. The "Independents" must form a separate party.

This virtual exclusion occasioned the formation of the Free Religious Association. A meeting was held on the 5th of February, 1867, at Dr. C. A. Bartol's, in Boston, to consider a plan for creating a new association on the basis of free thought. Very strong words were spoken on that occasion. One man, I recollect, spoke of all churches, all ministers, and all religion as being outgrown. But the majority were of the opinion that religion was an eternal necessity, and the administration of it an absolute demand. Dr. Bartol himself was always a warm friend of the Association, appearing on the platform, speaking always hopefully, one of the most welcome of its supporters. The Association was formed in the spring of that same year. In the plan of organization it was distinctly announced that the aim of the Association was to "promote the interest of pure religion, to encourage the scientific study of theology, and to increase fellowship in the spirit; and to this end all persons interested in these objects are cordially invited to its membership." Thus the object of the Association was exceedingly broad. It proposed to remove all dividing lines and to unite all religious men in bonds of pure spirituality, each one being responsible for his own opinion alone, and in no degree affected in his relations with other associations. If the movement had been in the hands of orthodox and well-reputed people, it would have seemed not only large but noble and beneficent. Being, as it was, in the hands of a few radical clergymen and laymen, it was supposed to be "infidel" in its character; and was misrepresented and abused accordingly.

At first, the dissensions of the sects were rebuked. Afterwards, the scope of the idea was extended; all the religions of the world being put on an equality of origin and purpose. The spiritual nature of man was assumed; the universality of religious feeling; the inherent tendency to worship, aspiration, prayer, being taken for granted as an element in the best minds; all churches and confessions of faith being looked upon as achievements of the soul; Jesus being classed among the leaders of humanity; the Bible being accepted as a record of spiritual and moral truth; and the church being regarded as an organization to diffuse belief. The foundation, therefore, was a pure Theism, and the effort contemplated the elevation of all mankind to the dignity of children of the Highest. That this aim was always borne in mind is not pretended. The negative side was made too conspicuous. Now and then there was a lurch in the direction of denial. There was too much criticism, and it was not always just. There was too much speculation, and it was not always wise. The plan of letting each sect tell its own story was a little confusing at the start. Still, on the whole, the object was pretty faithfully kept in view. Lucretia Mott suggested that the word "religion" should be substituted for the word "theology," but the word "religion" was too vague to afford ground for discussion, and it was felt that the phrase "scientific" sufficiently explained, through the substitution of the scientific for the theological method, the purpose of the association. Moreover, the purpose was to remove theological differences, the only differences that existed.

There were names of distinguished men and women on our list of officers, members, speakers, and friends – Ralph Waldo Emerson, Amos Bronson Alcott, Gerrit Smith, George William Curtis, Edward L. Youmans, Nathaniel Holmes, William Lloyd Garrison, Wendell Phillips, Rowland G. Hazard, Lucretia Mott, Lydia Maria Child, Ednah D. Cheney. Thomas W. Higginson was one of our most effective speakers; John Weiss read on our platform his most brilliant paper on "Science and Religion"; David Atwood Wasson lent us the light of his countenance.

Our greatest want was the want of a leader, – a man not only of competent learning and spiritual enthusiasm, but of natural impulse and vigor; a man of the people, a man of rugged speech, a man of vivacity and humor. If Theodore Parker had been alive he might have taken this position, and distinguished himself as a leader in this movement; as it was, there was no one who could take his place, and the enterprise flagged accordingly, lacking the popular zeal which would give it currency. The speculative character of the association was always against it and rendered it somewhat dry; but this under the circumstances was inevitable, because we were forced to deal with technicalities of credence, and had not power enough to get beyond them into the universalities of faith.

There was an expectation in many quarters that the association would devote itself to beneficent projects; and this was natural, because it seemed as if those who gave up the bond of belief must adopt the bond of work. Mr. Emerson seems to have had a similar desire. "I wish," he said, "that the various beneficent institutions which are springing up like joyful plants of wholesomeness all over this country, should all be remembered as within the sphere of this committee, – almost all of them are represented here, – and that within this little band that has gathered here to-day should grow friendship." But in the first place, ours was not a philanthropic institution; its aim was religious entirely, as it attempted to substitute the universality of religion for the one faith of Christendom. The chief workers in several forms of charity presented their schemes for our consideration, and at one time it looked as if we must be borne away into some philanthropic enterprise. The current, however, which carried us towards "religious" unity was too strong.