'If error werecunningly interspersedwith truth in the Bible, the case would be different. But it isnotso. The Book, as a whole, and as it stands, is wholesome and useful; each portion of it has its proper place, and is adequate to fulfil its appointed end. But everything in the Book does not take hold alike on the heart and conscience. It may be very interesting, as indeed it is, to trace on the map the various journeyings of St. Paul, or the wanderings of the children of Israel in the wilderness; to note a hundred designed coincidences, etc. Yet all this may be done without the slightest moral or spiritual benefit to the man who does it. And, of course, all this may be left undone by others without the slightest spiritual loss or disadvantage.'
The following may be our own.
The great thing is to use the Scriptures as a means of instruction in religious truth and Christian duty, and as a means of improvement in all moral excellence and Christian usefulness.
Set the doctrine of Scripture inspiration too high, and people, finding that the Scriptures do not come up to it, will conclude that the doctrine is false,—that the Scripturesare not inspired,—that they do not differ from other books,—that divine revelation is a fiction,—that religion is a delusion,—and that the true philosophy of life and of the universe is infidelity. And the Scriptures donotcome up to the doctrine of inspiration held by many. It is impossible they should.Nobook written in human languagecancome up to it. What they say an inspired bookmustbe, no book on earth ever was, and no book ever will be. And infidels see it, and are confirmed in their infidelity. And others see it and become infidels. And Christians argue with them and are overcome. And others are perplexed and bewildered, and obliged to close their eyes to facts, and though they cling to their belief, they are troubled with fears and misgivings as long as they live.
If men would be strong in the faith, and strong in its defence, they should accept nothing as part of their creed but what is strictly true.
There are passages which speak of the sun smiting men by day, and there is one at least which speaks of the moon smiting men by night, and both, for any thing I know, may be literally true. But suppose it were proved that neither the sun nor the moon ever smites men, would my faith in Christianity, or in the divine inspiration of the Bible, be shaken thereby? Not at all. Nor would it destroy or weaken the effect of the passages on my mind in which those allusions to the sun and moon occur. I should still believe in the substantial truth of the passages, namely, that, day and night, the good man is secure under the protection of God.
A man says that he has lately been under 'disastrous influences.' Literally, the words disastrous influences mean the influences of unfriendly stars. But there are no unfriendly stars. Then why does he use such an expression? Because, though it does not now in its current meaning refer to the stars at all, it means calamitous, unfavorable, influences. I do not believe that the sun like a strong man runs a race: I believe its motion is only apparent,—that therealmotion is in the earth. But do I therefore question the divine inspiration of the Bible which uses that expression? Not at all; for the words are substantially true. And so in a hundred other cases.
And so in passages of other kinds. It does not matter to me whether the account of creation in Genesis answers literally to the real processes revealed by Geology, or whether the account of the flood answers exactly to past facts. Both accounts are perfect as lessons of divine truth and duty, and that is enough.
Those who undertake to prove that every passage of the Bible is literally true, must fail. If theywereall literally true, they would never have done. There are more difficult passages, and more apparent little contradictions, than any man could go through in a life-time. I would no more undertake such a task than I would undertake to prove that every leaf, and every flower, and every seed, of every plant on earth is perfect, and that each is exactly like its fellows. God's honor and man's welfare are as much concerned in the one as in the other. They are concerned in neither. The leaves, the flowers, and the seeds of plants are right enough,—they are as perfect as they need to be,—and I ask no more. And the Bible is as perfect as it needs to be, and I am satisfied.
The following is abridged from a work entitledChristianity and our Era, by the Rev. G. Gilfillan of Scotland.
Mr. Gilfillan speaks of it as a 'Generally admitted fact, that there is a human, as well as a divine element in Scripture,' and adds, 'that this should modify our judgment in considering perplexing discrepancies and minor objections. There are spots in the sun; there are bogs on the earth; and why should the perplexities in a book, which is a multifarious collection of poetico-theological and historical tracts, written in various ages, and subject, in their history, to many human vicissitudes, bewilder and appal us? The candid inquirer will be satisfied if, from the unity of spirit, the truth and simplicity of manner, the majesty of thought, the heavenliness of tone, and the various collateral and external proofs, he gathers ageneralinspiration in the Bible, and the general truth of Christianity. Logical strictness, perfect historic accuracy, systematic arrangement, etc., could not be expected in a book of intuitions and bursts of inspiration; the authors of which seemed often the child-like organs of the power within. It seemed enough that there should be no wilful mis-statements, and no errors butthose arising from the inevitable conditions to which all writings are liable. The skeptic who proceeds to peruse the Bible, expecting it everywhere to be conformable to the highest ideal standard—that there shall be nothing to perplex his understanding, to try his belief, or to offend his taste, will be disappointed, and will either give up his task, or go on in weariness and hesitation. On the other hand, if he be told to prepare for historical discrepancies, for staggering statements, for phrases more plain than elegant, and for sentences of inscrutable darkness, he will be far more likely to come to a satisfactory conclusion. And the apparent dark spots will only serve to increase the surrounding splendor. We therefore cry to the skeptic who purposes to explore the region of revelation; 'We promise you no pavement of gold; you will find your path an Alpine road, steep, rugged, with profound chasms below, and giddy precipices above, and thick mists often closing in around, but rewarding you by prospects of ineffable loveliness, by gleams of far-revealing light, and delighting you with a thousand unearthly pleasures.Trythis pass, with a sincere desire to come at truth, and with hope and courage in your hearts, and you will be richly rewarded, and the toils of the ascent will seem to you afterwards only a portion of your triumph.'
One writer gives the following definition of inspiration. 'A supernatural, divine influence on the sacred writers, by which they were qualified to communicate moral and religious truth with authority.'
This is tolerable.
Another writer says, 'It is a miraculous influence, by which men are enabled to receive and communicate divine truth.'
This too is tolerable, notwithstanding the word miraculous.
Another writer says, 'There has been a great diversity of opinions among the best men of all ages, as to the nature and extent of Bible inspiration.'
He might have added, that these opinions have generally been nothing more than opinions,—mere fancies, theories, framed without regard to facts.
Another writer says, 'It should be remembered, thatthe inspiration which breathes through the Book is not of a scientific, critical, or historical character, but exclusively religious.'
He means, that while inspiration makes the Bible all that is desirable as a teacher on religious matters, it does not, on other subjects, raise it above the views of the ages and places in which it was written. For he adds, 'The sacred record is not in every respect faultless. It is not free from literary, typographical, and other defects. Nature herself, where no one can deny the finger of God, has imperfections. The Book presents the same characteristics as the best and highest of God's other gifts, namely, not the outward symmetry of a finite and mechanical perfection, but the inward, elastic, and reproductive power of a divine life!'
The meaning of this latter vague and wordy sentence seems to be, that the inspiration of the Bible is such as to make it a powerful means of producing spiritual life,—real religion; but not such as to preserve it from little ordinary human errors and imperfections.
This writer represents Dr. Stowe as saying, 'Inspiration, according to the Bible, is just that measure of extraordinary Divine influence afforded to the sacred speakers and writers, which was necessary to secure the purpose intended, and no more.'
This too we can accept. It does not authorize us to expect of the Bible, or require us to prove with regard to it, any thing more, than that it is adapted to be the religious and moral instructor of mankind.
This same writer represents Dr. Robinson as saying, 'Whenever, and as far as, divine assistance was necessary, it was always afforded.' This too is tolerable.
One writer says, 'Divine inspiration cannot be claimed for the transcribers or translators of the original Scriptures.'
We think it can. We see no reason to doubt, but that many of the transcribers and translators of the Scriptures were as much under the influence of the Holy Spirit,—the spirit of love, and truth, and all goodness,—as the original writers. Our impression is, that the common version is as truly the work of divine inspiration, as any book on earth.
One writer says, 'The language of the whole Bible isthat of appearances. In drawing illustrations from nature, the writers could not have been understood, unless they had used figures and forms of speech based on nature as popularly understood. Hence the heavenly bodies are spoken of as revolving round the earth, the ant as storing up food in summer, and the earth as being immovable, all of which are now known to be contrary to [strict] truth.'
This writer, like some others, feeling as if he had gone too far in uttering words so true, contradicts them a few pages after, and makes a number of statements which remind one of what the Apostle says, about handling the word of God deceitfully. One would be tempted to charge him with 'cunning craftiness,' only his craft is not very cunning. When religious teachers act so unfaithfully, they have no right to complain if people lose all confidence in their honesty.
We grant, however, that the temptation to keep back the truth on this point is very strong, and we must not be hard on the timid ones. It is not always a fear of personal loss or suffering that keeps men from speaking freely on religious subjects, but a dread of lessening their usefulness, of hurting the minds of good though mistaken people, or of disturbing and injuring the Church.
But it is no use trying to cheat unbelievers. You cannot do it. They will find you out, and be all the more suspicious and skeptical in consequence. We must deal with them honestly; tell them nothing but what is true, and use no arguments but what are sound and unanswerable. Advocates of Christianity have made numberless unbelievers by teaching erroneous doctrines, and by using weak and vicious arguments. The Christian should so speak and act, that it shall be impossible for any one ever to find him in the wrong.
The following is probably our own.
The historical difficulties of the Bible amount to little. They do not affect its scope and tendency, as a moral and spiritual teacher. Nor are they inconsistent with the doctrine that the Scriptures were given by inspiration of God, as that doctrine is presented in the Scriptures themselves. They may be inconsistent with the views of Scripture inspiration taught by certain Theologians; but all we haveto do is to set the views of these Theologians aside, and content ourselves with the simple teachings of Scripture.
Now the doctrine of Scripture inspiration as taught by the Scriptures themselves, gives me no authority to expect the Scriptures to be free from historical and scientific errors, or from any of those so-called imperfections which are inseparable from human language or from human nature. It authorizes me to expect that the Scriptures shall aim at my moral and spiritual instruction and salvation, and that they shall be adapted to answer that great end. It authorizes me to expect that the body and substance of the Book shall be true and good, and that a spirit of wisdom and purity and love shall pervade the Book, giving it a rousing and a sanctifying power. It authorizes me to expect in it all that is necessary to bring me into harmony and fellowship with Christ, to fill me with His spirit, to change me into His likeness, to enable me to live as He lived, and to labor as He labored. It authorizes me to expect in the Bible all that is necessary to comfort me in affliction, to give me patience, to sustain my hopes, and to support and cheer me in the hour of death. And all this I find in infinite abundance. I find it in a multitude of forms,—forms the most touching and impressive. I find it presented in the plainest, simplest style. I find in the Bible an infinite treasury of all that is holy, just and good,—of all that is beautiful, sublime, and glorious,—of all that is quickening, renovating, strengthening,—of all that is cheering, exhilarating, transporting,—of all that I can wish for or enjoy,—of all that my powers can comprehend,—of all that my soul can appropriate and use. I find in it, in short, riches unsearchable, beyond all that I could ever have asked, or thought. And what can I wish for more?
God has given us no perfect teachers, no perfect preachers, no perfect churches; why should we suppose it necessary that He should give us a perfect book? He has not given us any perfect books on medicine, on diet, on trades, on politics, on farming, on gardening, on education, or on poetry. Why should we expect Him to give us one on religion? As a matter of fact, He has not done so. Our common Bible is a translation. So are all the common Bibles in the world. And all translations are imperfect.The translations are made from Greek and Hebrew Bibles, and those are all imperfect. The Greek and Hebrew Bibles are compiled or formed from Greek and Hebrew manuscripts. But these also are imperfect. They all differ from each other. And no one can tell which is nearest to the originals, for the originals are lost. So that whether there was an absolutely perfect Bible at first or not, there is no such Bible now. God Himself has so ordered things, that all the Bibles in the world, like all the preachers, churches, and teachers, share the innocent imperfections of our common humanity.
Suppose the original Bible to have been perfect, and to have been preserved from destruction, only one person could have possessed it. The rest would have had to be content with imperfect human copies. God might Himself have written perfect Bibles for all mankind, but He did not choose to do it. Or He might have made perfect copies of the original Bible, but He did not choose to do even that. He might have employed a few legions of angels in making copies of the Bible; butthatHe did not do. He left the work to be done by men, and men have done it, as they do all their work, imperfectly.
Still, they have done it well enough. The poorest manuscript Bible in the world is good enough. The most imperfect Greek and Hebrew Bible is good enough. The poorest translation is good enough. It is so good, we mean, that those who are able to read it, may learn from it all that is necessary to make them good, and useful, and happy on earth, and to fit them for the blessedness of eternal life in heaven.
There is a sense in which no translation of the Scriptures is good enough, if we can make it better; and we have no desire to prevent men from doing their best to improve the translations in all languages as much as possible. But do not let them make the impression that a perfect translation is necessary or even possible; for it is not. God has caused the Bible to be written in such a way, He has put all important matters of truth and duty in such a variety of forms, that any translation, made with a reasonable amount of learning and honesty, is sure to make things intelligible enough in some of the forms in which they are presented in the Book.
The Bible, like the Church and the Ministry, is a great mixture of the human and the divine. There is not a single book, nor a single passage perhaps, in the whole volume, in which the weaknesses of man and the perfections of God are not blended. Everywhere we have revelations of the divine glory, and everywhere we have manifestations of human imperfection. We have human errors side by side with divine truths. We have neither a perfect teacher nor a perfect example in the whole Book, but one; and of that one we have not a perfect record, either of His teachings or His life. We have nothing but brief, imperfect, fragmentary records of either. They are perfect enough; but they are very imperfect. And Moses, and the Prophets, and the Apostles, are perfect enough; but they are all imperfect. The Bible is perfect enough; but it is, according to the ordinary meaning of the word, still imperfect.
We do not need perfection, we do not need infallibility, in anything; and we have it not. Imperfection is better, and that we have in everything.
And all this is in keeping with God's doings in other cases, 'The inspiration of the Holy One giveth man understanding;' but does not make his mind infallible. Christians 'have an unction, an inspiration, from the Holy One, and know all things:' and yet they do not know all things; but only those things which pertain to God and Christ: and even their knowledge of these is acquired not all at once, or without the use of means; but by degrees only, and by the faithful use of their natural powers.
The Apostles were not machines. Their inspiration did not take away their liberty, or suspend the use of their natural powers. Nor did it teach them natural science, or history; or lift them above ordinary, innocent errors. Nor did it cause them to learn all Christian truth at once. They gained their knowledge by degrees. Some imagine, that the moment the Apostles received the Spirit on the day of Pentecost, they were perfect and infallible; whereas it took them nearly ten years to learn that they were to preach the Gospel to the Gentiles. They had the words of Christ, 'Go ye intoall the world, and preach the Gospel toevery creature;' yet it required nearly ten years, and aspecial vision, to make them understand thatevery creatureincluded the Gentiles.
Nor have we any proof that the Spirit ever made the Apostles infallible in every little matter. Paul says, when speaking of the resurrection, 'That which thou sowest is not quickened, except it die.' Now the truth is, that the seed from which the harvest springs, does not die. It simply expands and unfolds. His doctrine was right, but the notion on which he grounded his illustration of it was an error. But it answered his purpose. And there is a sense in which seed dies. It ceases to be a seed in becoming a plant.
Bishop Watson says, 'a grain of wheat must becomerottenbefore it can sprout;' but that is not the case. It ceases to be a mere grain to become a plant; but it does not become rotten; it remains alive and sound.
The Apostle is an able minister, a glorious interpreter of Christ and His doctrine; and there is nothing seriously amiss in his illustrations; but several of them are based on prevailing misconceptions.
Some say, 'If the Apostles were not infallible in everything, their writings would be of no use to us. If they might err in one thing, they might err in others, and we could have no certainty of the truth of anything.' But that is not true. On one occasion, Paul says, 'I knew not that it was God's high-priest.' And on another, he says, 'I baptized none of you but Crispus and Gaius.' Afterwards he says 'I baptized also the house of Stephanas:' and he finishes by saying, 'I know not whether I baptized any other.' Will you say, 'If Paul could be ignorant or mistaken about the high-priest, or the number of persons he had baptized; he might be ignorant or mistaken on every subject?' The truth is, a man who was so much taken up with great things, would be sure to think but little of small things. His determination to know nothing but Christ; would be sure to keep him from wasting his time or strength on trifles. A man's ignorance on some points is often proportioned to his knowledge on others. And Paul is all the more trustworthy on great matters of Christian truth and duty, because of his indifference to matters of little or no importance. And say what we will, theApostles were not infallible on every point, and they never professed to be so. They professed to be inspired, and inspired they were, but they did not profess to be wholly infallible, and it is certain they were not so.
And the admission of the truth on this point, willnotdestroy our confidence in them on others. We may believe that the Apostles were fallible on matters of little moment, and have the fullest assurance possible that they were right on matters of great importance.
The Apostles themselves were sufficiently assured of the truth of those impressions which they had received about Christ through their eyes and ears; yet neither the eyes nor the ears of man are always or absolutely infallible. I have myself mistaken blue for green, and yellow for white; and I recollect two occasions on which coal or jet, seemed, at a distance, in the sunlight, as white as snow. And I have often thought things to be moving, which were at rest; and things to be at rest, which were moving. Yet I have the fullest confidence in my eyes. I have sometimes been mistaken with regard to sounds. I have thought a sound to be near, when it was far off; and I have thought a sound to be far off, when it was near. And I have often mistaken one sound for another. Yet I have all the confidence I need to have in my ears. Both eyes and ears may need the help of the mind at times; but the mind is always at hand with its help. In short, I know that all my senses are fallible; yet on every point of moment I have all the assurance, with regard to things sensible, that is needful to my welfare.
And so with regard to religious matters. There is nothing like omniscience,—nothing like infinite or absolutely perfect knowledge or infallibility in any man: yet every one may have all the information and all the assurance on things moral and spiritual needful to his comfort and salvation.
Our assurance of the truth and excellency of Christian doctrine rests on something better, surer, than theological and metaphysical niceties. You who fancy that your strong and heart-cheering faith rests on theological theories, and that if those theories were exploded, it would perish, are, happily, under a great mistake. Your faith, and hope,and joy, rest on the harmony between Christianity and your souls. My faith and trust in the outward world, and my infinite appreciation of its arrangements, rest, not on any philosophical theory; but on the wonderful, the perfect adaptation of every thing to my nature, to my wants, to my comfort and welfare. Nature answers to me, fits into me, at every point. I am just the kind of being nature was made for; and nature is just the kind of world my being requires. They match. They answer to each other exactly, all round, and make one glorious and blessed whole. And this is the secret of my trust in nature.
And so it is with regard to Christianity and my soul. They are made for each other. They fit each other. My soul just wants what Christianity brings; and Christianity just brings what my soul requires. It answers to my soul, as light and beauty answer to the eye, and as sound and music answer to the ear, and the whole of nature to the whole of man. There is neither want, nor superfluity, nor disagreement. Christianity and my soul, like nature and my physical being, are a glorious match. They are one: as I and my life are one. Christ is my life. Christ is my all. And He is all that my soul requires or desires.
And this is the ground of the good Christian's faith. It is not external or historical evidence; it is not metaphysical niceties or theories; it is not the endless mass of jarring evidences of any kind which lie in misty, musty, dusty volumes on the shelves of dreamy, doting divines, that makes you feel at rest in Jesus; but Jesus Himself, whose fulness just answers to your wants, and whose life and love just make your heaven. It is just that, and nothing more.
There is a story of a judge who was celebrated for the wisdom and justice of his judgments, but often censured for the weakness or folly of the reasons which he gave for them. Many Christians resemble this judge. They make a wise and worthy profession of faith; but when they attempt to give reasons for their belief, they betray the most lamentable ignorance. Theyhavegood reasons, but they cannot put them into words. They do not always know what their reasons for believing are. The reasons they assign are not their real reasons. They believed, andbelieved on good grounds, for sufficient reasons, years before they heard of the reasons they give for their belief to those who question them on the subject. The reasons they assign did not at first convince them, and they are not the kind of reasons likely to convince others. And it would be better if, instead of assigning them, they were to say: 'Well; I do not know that I can tell you the reasons why I believe the Bible; but I have reasons. I am satisfied my belief is right. I am satisfied the Bible is the right thing for me. I meet with things in it that make me feel very happy. I meet with things in it that will not let me do wrong; that will keep impelling me to do right, to do good. I meet with things in it that support me in trouble; that make me thankful in prosperity; that fill me with good thoughts, good feelings, good purposes, good hopes, great peace, sweet rest, strong confidence, and a blessed prospect of a better life. I like the Bible God: He is a great protector, and a blessed comforter. I like the Bible story about Jesus, and all the glorious things it says about His love and salvation. In short, the Bible is a great part of my life, my soul, my joy, my strength, my being, and I don't know what I could do without it. I cannot argue. I don't know the reasons why I believe. But the Bible just suits my soul, and I am inclined to believe that the world would be a dark place, and life a poor affair, without its blessed revelations and precious promises.'
Now in speaking thus, most men would really, without knowing it, be giving the reasons or grounds of their faith. The great reason really is, the perfect adaptation of the Bible to their nature and wants. They believe unconsciously and unthinkingly in the divinity of nature, on account of the wonderful adaptation of its provisions to their natural wants. They believe in virtuous love, and honorable marriage, and family life, and natural affections, and friendship, and society, and government, and law, on similar grounds. The reasons of their faith are real, and good, and strong; but like the roots of a tree, they are low down, out of sight, under the ground. They do not reflect on them, dig them up, bring them to the light, and give them a critical examination.
This internal evidence is gaining favor day by day. Itis preferred by the ablest modern writers to all others. It was the evidence that vanquished the infidel socialists of five and thirty years ago. It is the evidence that makes our modern infidel advocates wince and waver. They hardly think it necessary to notice the historical evidences. They know that they seldom get hold of men's hearts. But they cannot afford to despise the internal evidences. They are a real power. Thousands are touched by a sight of Jesus as presented in the Gospels, for one that is moved by arguments from miracles or prophecies. Even the miracles of Jesus owe their chief power to their benevolent character.
The ablest American writer on the Evidences of Christianity, Rev. Mark Hopkins, makes the moral and internal evidence almost everything, and the external ones next to nothing.
The Rev. F. C. Cooke, Canon of Exeter, in his lecture before the Christian Evidence Society of London, says, 'The one great evidence, the master evidence, the evidence with which all other evidences will stand or fall, is Christ Himself speaking by His own word. It is the character of Jesus that makes men feel that He and His religion are divine. It is this that warms men's hearts, and wins their love, and produces a faith full of life and power. Other evidences apart from this leave men cold, and indifferent, or opposed to Christ.' But more on this point hereafter.
In 1846, I began to dabble in politics. And my views of political subjects were as much out of the ordinary way as my views on matters pertaining to religion. I was a republican. I would have no King, no Queen, no House of Lords, and no State Church. I would abolish the lawsof entail and primogeniture, and reduce land to a level with other kinds of property. The sale of land should be as untrammelled as that of common merchandise, and it should be as liable to be taken for debt. I broached startling views with regard to the right of property in land, and urged that as it was naturally common property, it should be considered as belonging, in part, to the nation, or Government, and made to bear the principal burden of taxation. I recommended that the property of the church should be used for the promotion of education. I proposed to divide the country into equal electoral districts, and give to every man who was not a criminal, a vote for members of Parliament. As a rule, I held up America as an example in matters of government, but objected to a Senate and a four years' President, preferring to place all power in the hands of one Body, the direct representatives of the people. A committee of that Body should be theministry, and the chairman of that committee the President.
I really believed that this would be the perfection of Government. And if all men were naturally good, as Unitarianism taught, what could be wiser or better calculated to secure the happiness of a nation, than to give every one an equal share of the power? I believed with Paine, that a pure and unqualified democracy would secure the strictest economy, the greatest purity, the best laws, and the most perfect administration of the laws. I also believed that a pure unmixed democracy would prevent insurrections, rebellions, and civil war, and that it would promote peace with all the world. True, I believed the people would require education, but I also believed that an ultra democracy would see to it that the peoplewereeducated, and educated in the best possible way. Were not the people educated in America? And were we not taught that the educational system of America was the result of its democratic form of Government? And were not Price and Priestley democrats? And were not Channing and Parker, the two great lights of Unitarianism in America, democrats? Democracy then was the remedy for the evils of the world; the one thing needful to the salvation of our race.
More extravagant or groundless notions have seldom entered the mind of man. Yet I accepted them as the truepolitical gospel, and exerted myself to the utmost to propagate them among the masses of my countrymen. The Irish reformers demanded a repeal of the Union and the right of self-government. I advocated both repeal for Ireland and Republicanism for England. And in all my speeches and publications I gave utterance to the bitterest reproaches against the aristocracy, and against all who took their part. I had suffered grievously in my early days. I had been subjected to all the hardships and miseries of extreme poverty. I had spent three years on the verge of starvation, never knowing, more than twice or thrice during the whole of that dreadful period, what it was to have the gnawings of hunger appeased by a plentiful meal. I had seen one near and dear to me perish for want of food, and had escaped the same sad fate myself by a kind of miracle only. And all these sufferings I believed to have been caused by the corn and provision laws, enacted and maintained by the selfishness of the aristocracy. I regarded the aristocracy therefore, and all who took their part, as my personal enemies; as men who had robbed me of my daily bread, and all but sent me to an untimely grave. I regarded them as the greatest of criminals, as the enemies of the human race. I considered them answerable for the horrors of the first great French Revolution, and for the miseries of the Irish famine. I gave them credit for nothing good. True, they had allowed the Reform Bill of 1831 to pass, but not till they saw that a refusal would cause a revolution. They had accepted free trade, but not till they saw that to reject it would be their ruin. I had not then learnt that in legislating with an eye to their own interests they had done no more than other classes are accustomed to do when they get possession of power. I had not yet discovered that the germs of selfish legislation and tyranny are sown in the hearts of all, and that the faults of the higher classes prevail among all classes under different forms. I saw the misdoings of the parties in power, and looked no further, and I heaped on them the bitterest invectives. My passionate hatred of the privileged classes, expressed in the plainest English, and justified, apparently, by so much that was bad in the history of their doings, roused the indignation of my hearers and readers to the highest pitch. Icommenced a periodical, which at once became a favorite with the ultra democrats, and speedily gained an extensive circulation.
In 1847, in myCompanion to the Almanacs, I foretold the French Revolution of 1848. How it happened I do not exactly know; but I have, at times, made remarkable guesses, and this perhaps was one of them. When the Revolution took place it caused a tremendous excitement in every nation in Europe. Kings and emperors found it necessary to promise their subjects constitutional governments. It turned the heads of many people in England. Numbers who had never been politicians before, became politicians then. And many politicians who had previously been moderate in their views, became wild and revolutionary. The Chartists clamored for "the Charter, the whole Charter, and nothing but the Charter." Meetings were held in almost every part of the country, and speeches were delivered, and publications were circulated, of a most inflammatory character. Monster demonstrations were got up, and many who did not take part in them encouraged them, in hopes that they would frighten the Government into large concessions to the party of reform. A meeting of the leading reformers was called in London, and I was present. Young Stansfield, now member of Parliament, was there, and Sergeant Parry, and Edward Miall, and Henry Vincent, and a number of others. The Chartists arranged for a convention in London, and I was sent as a member. The meeting cut but a pitiful figure. It soon got into unspeakable disorder. The second day the question was, "What means should we recommend our constituents to use in order to obtain the reforms they desired?" I, extravagant as I had shown myself on many points, had always set myself against resort to violence. My counsel therefore was for peaceful, legal measures. Ernest Jones and several others clamored for organization, with a view to an armed insurrection. By and by we got into confusion again. Some one hinted that agents of the Government were present, and that we were venturing on dangerous ground. Ernest Jones replied, "It is not for us to be afraid of the Government, but for the Government to be afraid of us." Confusion got worse confounded. I began to be ashamed of my position. Madas I was, I was not insane enough for the leaders of the convention, so I started home.
On Good Friday there was an immense meeting on Skircoat Moor, near Halifax, and I was one of the speakers. It was the largest assembly I ever saw. The Speakers that preceded me talked about the uselessness of talk, and called for action. I talked about the usefulness of talk, and contended that resort to violence would be both folly and wickedness. While I was speaking, a man in the crowd on my left fired a pistol, as if to intimidate me, and encourage the party favorable to insurrection. I at once denounced him as a traitor, who had come to hurry the people into crime, or a madman, whom no one ought for a moment to think of imitating. The physical force men were terribly vexed at my remarks, but the mass of the meeting applauded my counsels, and the immense concourse dispersed and went home, without either perpetrating a crime, or meeting with an accident.
My advocacy of peace was duly appreciated by some even of those who lamented the extravagance of my views on other subjects. Others looked on me with unmitigated horror. And the feelings of the richer classes generally against me rose to such a pitch at length, that it was hardly safe for me to go abroad after dark. My religious and political opponents joined their forces, and seemed bent on my destruction. They believed I was undermining the foundations of society, and throwing all things into confusion. They looked on me as little better than a madman, scattering abroad firebrands, arrows, and death. And many treated me as a kind of outlaw, as a man who had no rights that anybody was bound to respect; and rude boys and reckless men took liberties with my property, and even threatened me with death. Insurance companies would not insure my property. Schoolmasters would not admit my sons into their schools, lest others should take their children away. Mothers would not allow their daughters to play with my little daughter, lest she should infect them with her father's heresies.
After the Summer Assizes in 1848, the judge at Liverpool issued Bench warrants for the arrest of a number of political agitators, and in the list of the names of those parties, published in the newspapers, mine was included.As I had always kept within the limits of the law, and as I had received no visit from the police, I supposed that my name had been inserted in the list by mistake. And as I was allowed to remain at large for six weeks, I felt confident that it was either some other Joseph Barker that was wanted, or that my name had been mentioned as one of the parties to be arrested, in jest, or to frighten me into silence.
And the probability is, that if I had kept at home and remained quiet, I should have been permitted to go on with my business undisturbed. But I had an engagement at the end of six weeks, to give two political lectures at Bolton. Just about that time a vacancy occurred in the representation of that Borough, and my friends there, without consulting me, put me forward as a candidate for the vacant seat, and announced my lectures as a statement of my political views, urging the people to come and hear me, and judge for themselves, whether I was not the fittest man to represent them in the National Legislature.
I gave my first lecture on a Friday night, to a crowded and excited audience in the Town Hall, and when I had done, the people passed a resolution by acclamation, to the effect that I was just the man for them, and that they would have no other.
On the Saturday I went on into Wales, to fulfil an engagement which I had for the Sunday, and returned on Monday to give my second lecture. When I got near to Bolton, some friends met me, and told me that the police from Manchester were in the town looking for me, and that I had better go right home. I said, "Nay, I never broke an engagement yet, and I won't do so now;" so I went on. As soon as I had rested myself a little I went direct to the head of the Manchester police, and asked him if he would not allow me to deliver my lecture, promising, if he wished it, to go with him quietly afterwards. He said, No, I could not be allowed to deliver my lecture, and added, that I must consider myself his prisoner. I, of course, offered no resistance, but at his request went with him at once to the railway station. The people had already collected in the streets as I passed along, and there was soon an excited crowd at the station, but I and my friends urged them to be peaceful, and peaceful they were. We were soon atManchester, and I was taken at once to the City Jail, where lodgings had been procured for me at the public expense. I passed the night in an underground cell, of the kind provided for criminals of the baser sort. It was anything but clean and sweet, and the conduct of the authorities in placing me in such a hole, when I was not even charged with any gross offence, was neither wise nor just. There were some raised boards on one side, but no bed, no sheets, no blankets.
It was not long before a number of friends who had heard of my arrest, called to see me, and were admitted to my dungeon. They brought some food, some candles, and as they had been informed that I had not been permitted to wash myself before being locked up, one of them, a lady, brought me a moistened towel with which to wipe my face. While these kind friends were trying to make things comfortable for me in my prison, others were running to and fro in search of bail, with a view to my speedy release. One dear, good soul, Mr. Travers Madge, when he heard that I was in jail, started at once for Mossley, a distance of ten or eleven miles, to see Mr. Robinson, a faithful friend, to request him to come to my help. It was two o'clock in the morning when, weary and full of anxiety, he knocked at Mr. Robinson's door. Mr. Robinson rose as soon as he heard his voice, and took him into the house, and requested him to take something to eat, and go to rest till daylight, promising to start with him back to Manchester by the earliest conveyance. But poor Mr. Madge could neither eat nor sleep till his friend was out of prison.
Early in the morning I was brought into court. Bail was offered at once, but the magistrates would not accept bail so early, though offered by well-known and thoroughly respectable parties. The reason was, the election was to take place at Bolton that day, and the magistrates were afraid that if I were allowed to be present, there might be more excitement than would be consistent with the peace and safety of the Borough. So they kept me in prison till four o'clock, when they received intelligence that the election was over, and that all was peaceful. They then set me at liberty. I went at once to Bolton, and found, sure enough, that I had been elected, and that by an immense majority,of more than eight to one. And as no one else was elected at that time, either by show of hands or a poll, I was, in truth, the only legal representative, though I never sat in Parliament. Explanations after.
I was soon surrounded by a vast multitude of people, to whom I gave a short address. As soon as I could get away from the excited crowd, I hastened home. A friend had started for Wortley as soon as I was out of prison, to inform my wife and children that I was safe and at liberty, and he was there when I arrived. It fortunately happened that my family heard of my imprisonment and of my liberation at the same time, and from the same lips, so that the shock they received was not so severe as it might have been. But they were terribly tried. It would be vain to attempt to describe their feelings when they saw me enter the house. I did my best to comfort them, and assured them that I should take no hurt.
I was bound over to appear to take my trial at the Winter Assizes on a charge of sedition and conspiracy, and I set to work to prepare for the event. A good kind friend residing at Barnard Castle, George Brown, Esq., who had helped me in my contests with my theological opponents, helped me in this new trial. He had studied the law all his life, and was a most faithful and trustworthy adviser. He directed me what steps to take, and all his instructions proved wise and good.
My friends set on foot a subscription, to procure for me the ablest defence, and raised, in the course of a few weeks, from two to three hundred pounds. I am amazed when I look back to those days, at the number and ardor of my friends, and at the eagerness with which they hastened to my aid.
Some friends from Holbeck, in the Borough of Leeds, requested me to allow myself to be put forward as a candidate for the Town Council at the approaching election. Not thinking that I should have any chance of being elected, I hesitated; but as they expressed a contrary opinion, and seemed exceedingly anxious that I should place myself in their hands, I complied with their request. They elected me by the largest number of votes that had ever been given for a town councillor in any borough in thekingdom up to that time. My neighbors chose this method of testifying their regard for me, and of protesting against the conduct of the Government in interfering with my liberty.
At length the Assizes came. I made my appearance in court at the time appointed, with more than thirty voluntary witnesses by my side, all prepared to testify, that in my lectures and public speeches I had uniformly advocated peaceful measures, and denounced everything in the shape of conspiracy, violence, or insurrection. I waited ten days for my trial, attending in court all the time. I watched the trials of other political prisoners, and was not a little discouraged to find that they were all convicted, and sentenced, generally, to lengthy terms of imprisonment. The charge against one of the prisoners was, that he had sold and circulated seditious publications. Copies of the works which he was charged with circulating were brought into court. What were my feelings when I found that the publications were my ownCompanion to the Almanacs, and my weekly periodicalThe People. These works were handed about the court, and placed in the hands of the judge. The man was convicted, and sentenced to two years' imprisonment. What chance was there now for me? My solicitor advised me to plead guilty, telling me I should thus get off with a lighter punishment; but I refused. Somedidplead guilty, anddidget off with lighter punishments than those who stood their trial; but I was determined to have a public trial, or else be honorably discharged.
It was alarming enough to see a man convicted for selling my publications: but something still more alarming happened the following day. A most unprincipled and lying witness was brought forward by the Attorney-General. During the trial of one of the Chartist leaders he swore that he had himself formed one of a band of conspirators in Manchester, who pledged themselves to burn the city, and who had prepared the most destructive combustibles to secure the success of their horrible plot. When asked to name the parties composing the meeting at which he said he had been present, he named me as one. I was horrified. I had never seen the man before in all my life, and the ideathat I should be a party to such a plot as he had described, was monstrous; but what was to hinder a prejudiced or a frightened jury from believing his testimony? Fortunately for me, the Judge asked him if he saw in court, and could point out, any of the persons he had named as parties to the conspiracy. I stood within two or three yards of him, and looked him full in the face. It was plain from the way in which his wandering eyes passed by me, that whatever other parties he might know, he did not know me. At length he pointed out a person that he said was present at the secret meeting. 'What is his name?' said the Judge. The fellow gave a name. It was not the right one. He pointed out another. 'What is his name?' said the Judge again. The fellow gave a name. He was wrong again. The court got out of patience with the villain, and the Judge ordered him into custody to await his trial on a charge of perjury. This was an unspeakable relief both to me and to my anxious wife and friends, who had witnessed the dreadful affair with the most intense anxiety and alarm.
Some time after this horrible exhibition of baseness, my solicitor came to me and told me that he had had an interview with the Attorney-General, and that he had authorized him to say, that if I would enter into bonds and give securities to keep the peace, he would not ask me to plead guilty, but set me at liberty without more to do. He even offered, at last, to accept my own recognizances to the small amount of fifty pounds, without any other security. I refused the offer. To give bonds to keep the peace seemed like an acknowledgment that I had attempted or threatened to break it; and I had done no such thing. My solicitor said the offer was a very generous one, and pressed me very earnestly to accept it: my counsel did the same; but without effect. A number of friends came round me and tried to remove my objections to the measure: but all was vain. I was sorry to go against their advice, but my feeling was, that to agree to the compromise proposed would be a sacrifice of principle, and would entail dishonor on me, and be followed by self-reproach and shame. At last, to obtain a little respite, and to get out of the way of my importunate friends for a time, I told my solicitor that I would lay the matter before my wife, and that whatever she mightadvise, I would do. He agreed to this. He was satisfied that there was not a woman in the country that would not advise her husband to make a concession like that required of me, rather than see him run the risk of two or three years' imprisonment.
My wife was at Southport just then, some eighteen miles away, and it was too late for me to get to her that evening, so I had to spend the night alone in Liverpool. I went to bed, but found it impossible to sleep. My anxious mind kept turning over and over the proposal of the Attorney-General, and trying to find some good reason for accepting it; but all in vain. I had promised to be guided by my wife; but suppose she should counsel me to give the required security, could I do so and be happy? It seemed impossible. It struck twelve,—it struck one—two—three, and I was still unsettled. At last I said, 'I will explain my misgivings to my wife,—I will tell her that I feel as if I should never be happy to consent to the compromise,—that I cannot get rid of the feeling that it would be dishonorable. And I know she will never advise me to do anything that I regard as dishonorable.' As soon as I had fairly decided what to do, I fell asleep.
I was at Southport in the morning by the earliest conveyance, and laid the matter before my wife. 'Do nothing,' said she, 'that you regard as a sacrifice of principle, or an act of dishonor. Whatever you believe to be your duty, do it; I am willing to take the consequences.' I answered, 'I believe it my duty to insist on a trial, or on an honorable discharge,' 'Then insist on it,' said she. That was enough. I returned to Liverpool at once, and told my solicitor the result of my interview with my wife, and he communicated the intelligence to the Attorney-General. The Attorney-General was very much vexed, and, using an expression which we cannot with propriety repeat, declared that he would 'make me squeak.'
The result of my refusal was that the Attorney-General put off my case to the very last. On the eleventh day of the Assizes I was placed in the dock with a number of prisoners who had agreed to plead guilty, and enter into bonds. My name was called at length, and I refused either to plead guilty, or to be bound to keep the peace. 'Canthere be any man so foolish as not to accept the mercy of her Majesty?' said the Judge. My answer was, that I had committed no crime, and that it was justice that I wanted, and not mercy. 'I demand a trial,' said I, 'or an honorable discharge. I have been arrested on a charge of sedition and conspiracy, and held up before the world as a criminal, and I claim the right of justifying myself before the public, unless I am honorably discharged.' The Judge said I had no need to concern myself about the public,—that the public did not concern itself about me. I answered that the publicdidconcern itself about me; and that I was right in concerning myself about the public. At this point my Counsel rose, and spoke of my character and position, with a view to justify my demand for a trial, or an honorable discharge. The Attorney-General then applied for a postponement of my trial to the following Assizes, alleging that I was the author of a seditious and blasphemous publication. I said the statement was false, and that the Attorney-General had no right to make such a charge against me, and added that to ask a postponement after I and my witnesses had been waiting there eleven days, was most unreasonable. The Judge then asked on what grounds a postponement was desired. When the Attorney-General stated his grounds, the Judge pronounced them insufficient. The Attorney-General then said he should enter anolle prosequi. Some of my friends, when they heard this, were greatly alarmed. They supposed it to be a threat of something very terrible, and expected to see me carried away at once to prison. And some of the bystanders began to reproach me, and say I was rightly served for not accepting the generous offer of the Attorney-General. I, of course, knew that the Attorney-General'snolle prosequimeant that he would have nothing more to do with me, and that I was now free. While therefore my friends were fearing and trembling, I stood calm and comfortable. After a few moments the Judge said 'You are at liberty, and may retire.'
When my friends found that I was free, they were wild with delight, and flocked round me, eager to shake me by the hand, and give me their congratulations. They were now satisfied that in rejecting the proposal of the Attorney-General,I had done no more than my duty. One gentleman, who had been bail for me, was extravagant enough to declare that I occupied the proudest position of any man in the country. 'You have withstood the tyranny of the Government,' said he, 'and have triumphed.' I hurried home as fast as I could with my happy wife and my exulting friends. When we got there the cannon were roaring and the bands playing. My workmen and neighbors had heard of my triumph, and were celebrating it in the noisiest way they could. Then followed feasting and public congratulations, both at home and in distant parts of the country, and for a time I was quite a hero.
The interference of the authorities with my liberty, and the needless annoyances to which they had subjected me, had roused my indignation to a high pitch, and after my liberation, I wrote and spoke more violently against the Government than I had done before. At length the great excitement in which I had so long lived, and the excessive labors in which I had been so long engaged, exhausted my strength; my health began to fail; I thought my constitution was giving way, so I resolved on some change of position and occupation.
I had long suffered from dyspepsia. For twenty years I had spent so much nervous energy in mental work, that I had not sufficient left to digest my food. And I had suffered in consequence, not only from violent heart-burn, but from a more distressing pain at the pit of my stomach. I had continually, or almost continually, for months together, a feeling as if a red-hot bullet lay burning in my stomach, or as if some living creature was eating a hole through the bottom of it. I took medicine, but it gave me no relief. The disuse of intoxicating drinks had once cured me for a time,—cured me for some years in fact,—but the torturing, depressing sensation came again at last, and seemed more obstinate than ever.
In 1847, as I was leaving home one day in the train, I was seized with a pain of a much more dreadful description. It seemed as if it would burst my stomach, or tear it in pieces, and destroy my life at once. It continued for nearly an hour. It returned repeatedly, and remained sometimes for several hours. In some cases it tortured me allnight. Vomiting took it away, so I frequently took warm water to produce vomiting. I was advised to take more exercise in the open air, so I bought a gun and went out shooting. I purchased a horse and carriage too, and went out riding. These did me good. But I found that when I took certain kinds of food, such as rich cakes, rich pies, or rich puddings, the pain returned. So I began to deny myself of those luxuries. But even spare living seemed to lose its effect after a time, and first the gnawing, and then the stretching, tearing, rending pain returned.
In 1849, I took a voyage to America. Vast numbers of my readers wanted to emigrate to America, and they looked to me for information respecting the country. I had given them the best I could get, but they wanted more and better. They wanted me to visit the country, and give them the result of my observations and inquiries. I did so. To fit myself the better for giving them counsel, I crossed the ocean in a common emigrant sailing vessel, and saw how the poor creatures fared. We were nearly eight weeks on the water. For much of the time the winds were idle. They refused to blow. They might have struck for shorter hours or better pay. When they did blow, they blew with all their might, but almost always in the wrong direction; as if they regarded us as their enemies, and were bent on giving us all the annoyance they could. Many were sick; more were discontented; and all longed wearily for land. These eight weeks were the longest ones I ever lived. They looked like years. At length we got a sight of land, and rejoiced exceedingly. For myself, I had other feelings as well as joy, when I first got sight of the great New World of which I had heard, and read, and thought so much, and so long, and of which I had dreamt so often. For America had lived in my thoughts from my early days; and the first faint glimpse of her wooded shores thrilled my whole soul with unspeakable emotions.
We landed. I examined the emigrant boarding houses. I sought information about work and wages, and about means of transport to the West. I called on Horace Greeley and others, to whom I had letters of recommendation, who helped me to books about the West. I made my way through New York, and across Lake Erie to Cleveland. Ihad three brothers who were settled in different parts of Ohio, and a number of old friends. I visited them. I explored Ohio. I went into Western Virginia, and examined some lands there that had been advertised for sale in England. I passed on to Michigan, Indiana, Illinois, and Wisconsin. I spent some days in Chicago. The city was awfully dull. The people were despondent. I almost think I could have bought the whole city for fifty thousand pounds. I had a farm offered me for seven dollars and a half an acre, on which now a great part of the city I suppose is built. I went to Milwaukie. There the people seemed more hopeful; though several were leaving for warmer climes. It was autumn, and I treated myself freely to the peaches and other rich fruits of the country. About the end of October I started for England, in one of the Cunard Steamers, crossing the ocean in nine days, about one-sixth of the time I spent in the voyage out.
I gave to my readers an account of all I had seen, and heard, and read, and thousands of them left the land of their birth in search of homes in the domains of the Great Republic. Some got home-sick, and cursed me. Some got profitable work, or promising farms, and blessed me. And I learned two lessons; first, that a man must not look to men for the reward of his beneficent services, but to God and a good conscience; and, second, that some will be miserable, and that some will be happy, go where they may:—that it is not the land they live in, but the dispositions they cherish, and the life they live, that makes their heaven or hell.
I had already made up my mind to settle in America myself, and early in 1851 I disposed of my business, and prepared to transport myself and my family to Central Ohio. I had suffered so long from pain, and weakness, and depression, and I was so utterly wearied with continual over-work, and so disgusted too with the government and institutions of the country, and with some of its inhabitants, that I felt it an infinite relief to be freed from all further care and concern about business, and in the first rush of my new wild joy, I took my gun and blew off part of the top of the chimney of my printing establishment. No child could be wilder in his delight, when escapingfrom long confinement in a weary school, and starting for the longed-for society and pleasures of his home.
But preparing for a journey of four thousand miles, with wife and children, was itself work enough for a time. There were a hundred things to be bought, which you would need in your new and far off home. And there were a thousand things which you already had, to be packed, and as many more to be set aside, to be destroyed, or sold, or given away. And there were a thousand letters and papers to be examined, and a judgment formed, as to which should be preserved, and which should perish in the flames. And there were visits to be paid and repaid, and there were partings, and regrets, and tears. But all was over at length, and we were on our way to the world beyond the flood.
It was pleasant to get away from one's religious and political opponents, but painful to part with so many devoted friends, who had proved their affection for me and for my family by so many sacrifices, and their steadfastness in times of so much trial. But I had hopes of keeping up my intercourse with them through the Press, and of ministering to their gratification and improvement by sending them accounts of all I saw or learnt of an interesting character in the land to which I was going. I had also hopes that a quiet home, in a retired and peaceful part of a new country, might prove conducive to my own improvement and happiness.
One of the objects I had in view in going to America was to obtain a little quiet for calm reflection on the course I had so long been pursuing, and a sober consideration of the position which I had reached. I was not satisfied that the changes which had taken place in my views and way of life, since my separation from the Church and the ministry, had all been changes for the better. I had had suspicions for some time, that amidst the whirl of perpetual excitement in which I had lived, and the continual succession of angry contests in which I had been engaged, I had probably missed my way on some points, and I wished for a favorable opportunity of ascertaining whether these suspicions were well grounded or not.
But when I got to America I found myself in a condition less friendly to calm reflection and to a just andimpartial review of my past history, than the one from which I had fled. The very day we landed in New York we fell in with the Hutchinson family. I had become acquainted with them in England, and had spent some time in their company, and had attended some of their concerts at Leeds. They were to sing that night in New York, and we attended the performance, and were delighted with their sweet wild music, and with their wisdom and their wit. They were all reformers of the radical school, and though their songs and conversation were not immoral or profane, they were advanced beyond the bounds of religion, into the neutral ground of Latitudinarianism.
When we got to Akron, Ohio, we found a Woman's Rights Convention in session; and there we got introduced to a number of advanced spirits, both male and female, and in their society became acquainted with quite a multitude of strange and lawless speculations, of which, till then, we had lived in happy or in woful ignorance. We reached at length the region where we were to make our home, and now other matters engrossed my mind. I had, in the first place, a farm to select, and then the purchase to make. I had then my goods to look after, my house to arrange, and my food to provide. Then work wanted doing on the farm—a hundred kinds of work, all new, and many of them hard and very perplexing. We wanted men to aid us; and men were not to be got; or, when got, were difficult to manage, and hard to please. And horses, and cows, and sheep, were wanted; and poultry, and pigs; and ploughs, and harrows, and wagons, and harness. And stoves and fuel were required. And the house had to be enlarged, and the barns rebuilt, and the gardens cultivated, and the orchard replanted. And a hundred lessons on farming had to be learnt, and a hundred more to be unlearnt. And we were always making mistakes, and sustaining losses. And our neighbors were not all that we could wish; and we were not all that they could wish. It was impossible to avoid impositions, and difficult to take injustice quietly; so we remonstrated, and resisted, and made things worse.
Before we had got ourselves fairly settled we began to be visited by a number of friends. And many of thosefriends were wilder and more extravagant, in their views on religion and politics, than myself; and instead of helping me to quiet reflection, did much to render such a thing impossible. They were mostly Garrisonian Abolitionists, with whom I had become acquainted while in England, or through the medium of anti-slavery publications. Many of them had had an experience a good deal like my own. They had been members and ministers of churches, and had got into trouble in consequence of their reforming tendencies, and had at length been cast out, or obliged to withdraw. They had waged a long and bitter war against the churches and ministers of their land, and had become skeptics and unbelievers of a somewhat extravagant kind. Henry C. Wright was an Atheist. So were some others of the party. My own descent to skepticism was attributable in some measure to my intercourse with them, and to a perusal of their works, while in England. The first deadly blow was struck at my belief in the supernatural inspiration of the Scriptures by Henry C. Wright. It was in conversation with him too that my belief in the necessity of church organization was undermined, and that the way was smoothed to that state of utter lawlessness which so naturally tends to infidelity and all ungodliness. My respect for the talents of the abolitionists, and the interest I felt in the cause to which they had devoted their lives, and the sympathy arising from the similar way in which we had all been treated by the churches and priesthoods with which we had come in contact, disposed me, first, to regard their skeptical views with favor, and then to accept them as true.
And now they welcomed me to their native land, and embraced the earliest opportunity of visiting me in my new home. And all that passed between us tended to confirm us in our common unbelief. I afterwards found that in some of the abolitionists, in nearly all, I fear, anti-christian views had led to immoral habits, which rendered their antipathy to Christianity all the more bitter. In almost all of them infidelity had produced a lawlessness of speculation on moral matters, which could hardly fail to produce in the end, if it had not already produced, great licentiousness of life.
I had no sooner got things comfortably fixed at home,than I received an invitation from the American Anti-slavery Society, to attend their Annual Meeting, which was to be held in Rochester, New York. I went, and there I met with S. S. Foster, Abby Kelly Foster, Parker Pillsbury, C. L. Remond, Henry C. Wright, Wendell Phillips, W. L. Garrison, Lucy Stone, Lucretia and Lydia Mott, and a number of other leading Abolitionists. Here too I met with Frederick Douglas, the celebrated fugitive slave, who had settled in Rochester, and was publishing his paper there. Some of the Anti-Slavery Leaders I had seen before in England, and had had the pleasure of having them as my guests, and of enjoying their conversation. Henry C. Wright, W. L. Garrison, Frederick Douglas, and C. L. Remond, were old acquaintances. The rest I knew only by report: but I had read the story of their labors and sufferings in behalf of the negro slave, and had longed for years to make their acquaintance. They were, in my estimation, among the best and bravest of their race. I had read of them a thousand times with the greatest interest, and a thousand times I had wished for the honor of co-operating with them in their generous labors. And now I was in their midst, on American soil. And all seemed glad to make my acquaintance, and eager to testify their regard for me, and to welcome me to a share in their benevolent labors. I was soon at home with them all, for they were a free and hearty people. I attended both their public and their private meetings. The anniversary lasted several days, and the time was one continued Festival. There were people from almost every part of the country, and the house of every Anti-Slavery person in the city was placed at the service of the visitors. They were as one family, and had all things in common. The public meetings were largely attended, and the audiences seemed favorably impressed. In the intervals I visited the Falls on the Genesee River. More beautiful and enchanting scenes I never beheld. In all but terrible grandeur they equal, if they do not surpass, the Falls of Niagara.
And there was an infinite abundance of strange and exciting conversation in many of the circles, not only on Slavery, but on the Bible and Religion, on the Church and the Priesthood, and on Woman's Rights, and the BloomerCostume, and Marriage Laws, and Free-love, and Education, and Solomon's Rod, and Non-resistance, and Human Government, and Communism, and Individualism, and Unitarianism, and Theodore Parkerism, and Spiritualism, and Vegetarianism, and Teetotalism, and Deism, and Atheism, and Clairvoyance, and Andrew Jackson Davis, and the American Congress, and Quakerism, and William Henry Channing, and his journey to England, and Free-soil, and the Public Lands, and the Common Right to the Soil, and Rent, and Interest, and Capital, and Labor, and Fourierism, and Congeniality of Spirit, and Natural Affinities, and Domestic Difficulties, and—the Good time Coming. All were full of reform, and most were wild and fanatical. Some regarded marriage as unnatural, and pleaded for Free-love as the law of life. Some were for Communism, but differed as to the form which it ought to assume. One contended that all should be perfectly free,—that each should be a law unto himself, and should work, and rest, and eat, and drink, as his own free spirit should prompt him. Another said that the principle had been tried, and had failed,—that some were anxious to do all the eating, and sleeping, and loving, and left others to do all the working. Joseph Treat was there, advocating Atheism, and defending the right of men and women, married or single, to give free play to native tendencies and sexual affinities. But Treat was indifferently clad, and not well washed, and he was evidently no great favorite. * * * Most were in favor of non-resistance, and full individual freedom. To acknowledge the right of human government and of human laws, was treason to humanity. Man is a law to himself. He is his own governor. The Protestant principle of the right of private judgment and liberty of conscience strikes at the root of all the governments on earth. Each one's nature is his own sole law. The one principle of duty is, for every one to do that which is right in his own eyes. The principle of the Anti-Slavery Society means that, and neither more nor less. And the Anti-Slavery Society will, after emancipating the negro, destroy all the governments, remodel all the laws and institutions, and emancipate all the nations of the earth. Of course the laws of marriage will fall to the ground. Why not?They originated only with men,—with men who lived in darker times, and who were less developed, than we. It would be strange if children could make laws fit to govern men. And with the laws of marriage will go the laws of property in land. Land was common property at first, and what right had any one to make it private? The first man who appropriated land was a thief. And those who inherited it from him were receivers of stolen goods. And the title that was vicious at first could never be made valid by time. The continuance of a wrong can never make it right. Allow that men have a right to the land in consequence of long possession and inheritance, and you must allow that men may have a right to their slaves. The right to land, and the right to slaves, are not so different as some would suppose. What is man's right to his own body worth, if he is deprived of his right to the land? Man lives from the land, and unless he has a right to the land, he can have no right to life. A right to life implies a right to the land. Men liveonthe land as well asfromit; and if they have not a right to the land, they can have no right to live. And man has a right to perfect freedom. Life without freedom is slavery; and slavery is the extinction of all rights, the right to life included. And woman has equal rights with man. And children have equal rights with either. The idea that human beings have no rights till they are twenty-one, is monstrous. What mighty change is it that takes place at the moment a person reaches the age of twenty-one, that he should be a slave a moment before, and a free man a moment after? No change at all takes place. The rights of a human being are the gift of Nature, and not the gift of the law. Who authorized men to make laws for one another? In making men different from each other, Nature has made it impossible for one man to legislate wisely for another. The majority have a right to rule themselves, but they have no fight to rule the minority. All rights are the rights of individuals, and the rights of individuals composing a minority, are the same as the rights of individuals composing a majority. A man may elect a representative; but he cannot be bound by a representative elected by others. Children should be educated, not by force or authority, but by attraction. Theassumption of authority over a child by a parent is usurpation; the use of authority over a child is tyranny. The individuality of a child is its life, and life is sacred. To destroy individuality is murder. We have no right to take Nature's place, and make a human being something different from what she has formed him. Solomon's rod and Paul's authority are alike immoral. All should be governed by their attractions, like the orbs of heaven, and the constituents of the earth. The law of Nature is one, both for living men and dead matter. Our sympathies and affinities are our only rulers. They are ourselves,—our best selves,—and to allow either law or ruler to interfere with them, is self-destruction. We are no longer ourselves when we allow ourselves to be controlled by the will or power of another. Animals have equal rights with man. The poet was right when he said,