Is it all dark cloud-land when we have done with this fever we call life? Religion is man’s attempt to answer this question. A church is an attempt to answer it in a certain way. The true church is the church which gives the true answer. But who is to decide? ‘The Catholic and Apostolic Church,’ says one; ‘the Bible,’ says another. But, then, who is to decide as to which is the Catholic and Apostolic Church, or as to
what the Bible says? In all these cases the final appeal must be made to the intellect of man. But man’s intellect grows with his growth, and strengthens with his strength. I am not to-day, either in body or in mind, what I was yesterday. To-morrow I shall be a different man again. Changing myself, how can I subscribe an unchanging creed? ‘Excelsior’ is my motto. I believe that
‘through the ages one increasing purpose runs,
And the thoughts of men are widened by the process of the suns.’
And it is vain, therefore, that you seek to tie me to a creed, or to stereotype what should be a growing faith. My aim is loyalty to my conscience and God. Where they lead I follow.
In some such way, I imagine, has Mr. Forster, late pastor of the Congregational chapel, Kentish Town, reasoned. Originally a minister in Jersey, he was invited to the metropolis about twelve years since. At that time he was an ardent Calvinist. The investigation which led him to abandon unconditional election, the final perseverance of the saints, and the special influence of the Holy Spirit, shattered the whole system of opinions in which he had been educated, and
which he had hitherto faithfully upheld. Other changes followed. His views of the Trinity were modified. The consequence was, when a new chapel was built for him, in Kentish Town, it was agreed that all definition of God, Christ, and the Holy Spirit, should be avoided, and that the clause, ‘This place is erected for the worship of God, as the Father, through the Son, and by the Holy Spirit,’ should be placed at the head of the deed.
After further investigation, Mr. Forster found that he could not even subscribe to that—that he had ceased to regard Christ as a mediator at all—and, consequently, he resigned the charge of a church, which, owing to his labours, had become flourishing and great. Now his banner bears the motto of ‘Free Inquiry.’ He preaches in a handsome chapel in Camden Town. His church calls itself a Free Church. It promises to be a successful one. It is well attended, though it has much to contend against. The orthodox will not forgive Mr. Forster his desertion of their camp; and the Unitarians, who, in their way, are often as narrow-minded and dogmatic as the most orthodox themselves, cannot exactly hold out the right hand of fellowship to
a man who professes to be free—who claims to know no master—whose appeal is to the law and to the testimony, rather than to the doctrines and opinions of men.
Thus Mr. Forster gravitates, like Mahomet’s coffin, between heaven and earth. Yet his condition is by no means a rare one. That a large number sympathise with him, the attendance at his chapel is convincing proof. Coming out from the orthodox, he bears testimony against them. In his farewell sermon to his Kentish Town congregation he says: ‘How little have the contents of the Bible to do with men’s personal belief! How seldom are men taught to rely on their own powers in the investigation of the truth! How few are the Christians who sit at the feet of Jesus, or frequent the apostolic college! If Dissenters have renounced the infallibility of the Pope, have they not bowed their necks to a yoke almost as heavy and galling? If they have given up the Thirty-nine Articles, have they on that account conceded to each other the right of judging all things for themselves? If the Trentine pandects are not retained as the law of their religious faith and life, are they not bound by the Institutes
of Calvin, the Westminster Confession of Faith, the Assembly’s Catechism, the Minutes of Conference, and the Sermons of Wesley—the creeds of chapel trust-deeds, the Congregational Union Confession of Faith, or by the writings of Howe, Watts, Doddridge, Gill, Fuller, Hall, Priestly, Watson, Channing, and of other great men, who ought to be dear to their hearts, but not lords of their faith? Are we not all of us more or less guilty of this servility? Have we not yet to learn that there is no via media—no middle way between Reason and Rome? There is, unhappily, floating over us an invisible and unexpressed opinion, to which all, in the main, must agree. It hovers over the pulpit and the pew; over the church and congregation; over the professor’s chair and the students’ form; over the family and the school; over the Bible and the Commentary. All thought, all sentiment, all investigation, all conclusions, all teachings, are controlled by it. It is this which checks free inquiry; shuts the mouths of those who have convictions which fit not the Procrustes’ bed, according to which all opinions are to be shortened or stretched; makes hypocrites of those who cannot afford to keep a conscience,