But Mr. Holyoake shifts the question from this broad general ground, which is common to all earnest inquirers after truth, and seeks to entangle us in a collateral, but subordinate, discussion respecting the relation between Morality and Scripture. He proposes to show that "there exist, independently of Scriptural Religion, guarantees of morality in human nature," and that "morals may be established independently of scriptural authority." But this is not the question: the question is a wider and more comprehensive one, namely, whether a system of morals can be established apart from the recognition of God, and independently of any expression, natural or supernatural, of His supreme and authoritative will? Mr. Holyoake is bound to return and defend an affirmative to this question, and is not at liberty to take refuge in the mere denial of the absolute dependence of morals on "scriptural authority." The idea of duty may be involved in the principles of Natural Religion, and these may be presupposed and assumed in Revelation; but to make out his case, he must attempt to show that neither Natural nor Revealed Religion is necessary to establish and sanction a code of ethics, and that the natural consequences of our actions are sufficient of themselves, and without reference to the law of a Supreme Will, to awaken and sustain a sense of moral obligation. In point of fact, Christianity does not represent the duties of morality as dependent on its own sole authority. It sanctions these duties, it illustrates their nature, it enforces their observance by new and powerful motives; but it presupposes the existence of Conscience, as God's vicegerent in the heart, and appeals to "a law" by which every man is "a law to himself." The law revealed in Scripture is binding by reason of the authority of the Lawgiver; but not more binding than the law written on the heart, without which we should be incapable alike of moral instruction and of moral government. The question, then, is not whether morality be entirely dependent on the authority of Scripture, but whether it be so independent of Religion as to be equally authoritative and binding with or without the recognition of God?
And if this be the real question at issue, few will be bold enough to affirm either that the nature of moral duty is in no wise affected, or that its foundation is in no degree weakened, by the non-recognition of God and His supreme will. The will of God may not be the ultimate ground of duty, but it is the expression of the essential holiness of His nature, which is the unchangeable standard of rectitude. The supposition of His non-existence, therefore, or even the skeptical Atheism which doubts, without venturing to deny, the reality of His being, deprives morality of its only absolute support, and leaves it to depend on the fluctuating opinions or the capricious tastes of individual minds. It affects both the nature and the extent of moral duty, by resolving it into a mere regard to utility, and excluding a large class of duties which Religion sanctions, while it deprives every other class of their sacred character as acts of obedience to God. It shuts out some of the most powerful and impressive motives to virtuous conduct, by relieving men from a sense of responsibility to a higher Power, by excluding the idea of a future retribution, and still more by keeping out of sight the attributes, alike august and amiable, of a living personal God, everywhere present, beholding the evil and the good, an omniscient Witness and an impartial Judge. Christianity leaves all the secular motives to morality intact and entire, and only superadds to these certain spiritual motives of far higher power. It neither supersedes the lessons of experience nor abjures all regard to utility; but by revealing our relation to God, it extends, and elevates, and purifies our sense of duty. In vain does Mr. Holyoake pretend that by basing morals on secular considerations, he attains a signal benefit, and that he "holds the thinker by the thousand relations of Natural Affection, Utility, and Intelligence, which the Christian distrusts;" for not one of these "relations" is excluded by the scheme of Revealed Religion, not one of them is denied by the Christian; and if he may be said to distrust them, it is only because he holds them to be insufficient, without a belief in God, to maintain a pure morality in the world. But he can say, with at least as much earnestness as any Secularism can feel, "Whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think of these things;" and he feels that far from weakening, he greatly enhances, the force of that appeal, when he adds, "and perfect holiness in the fear of the Lord."
6. Secularism professes to be "the positive side of Atheism," and to be better than Religion at least for this world, because it pays a preëminent, if not an exclusive, regard to the duties of the present life.
This is, perhaps, the most dangerous aspect of the doctrine. It prescribes a course of systematic ungodliness, a practical disregard of the future, and an engrossing attention to things seen and temporal, as if these were virtues in which mankind are greatly deficient, and as if their general prevalence would be a prelude to a secular millennium, or the commencement of an atheistic paradise. But the purely negative part of the system, however accordant with the natural tendencies of men, is felt to be in itself somewhat unattractive; it must be associated, therefore, with some positive element, some practical aims, such as may give it a hold on the interest and a claim on the zealous support of its adherents. "Under this conviction," says Mr. Holyoake, "the Secularist applied himself to the reinspection of the general field of controversy, and the adoption of the following rules, among others, has been the consequence: 1. To disuse the term Atheist, since the public understand by that word one who is without God and also without morality, and who wishes to be without both. 2. To disuse the term Infidel, since Christians understand by that term one who is unfaithful or treacherous to the truth.... 3. To recognize, not as a matter of policy merely, but as a matter of fact, the sincerity of the clergy and the good intentions of Christians generally.... 4. To seek the maxims of duty in the relations of man to society and nature, and, as the Christian Spectator did us the honor to admit, 'to preach nature and science, morality and art: nature, the only subject of knowledge; science, the providence of life; morality, the harmony of action; art, the culture of the individual and of society.'" "We therefore resolved to choose a new name (Secularism), which should express the practical and moral element always concealed in the word Atheism.... Secularism seeks the personal Law of duty, the Sphere of duty, and the Power by which duty may work independently. The Law is found in natural, utilitarian, and artistic morals. The Sphere is this, to work with our first energies in this life, for this life,—for its growth, culture, development, and progress. The Power is discovered in Science, the providence of life, and intelligence."[309] "By 'Secularism' is meant giving the precedence to the duties of this life over those which pertain to another life;—attention to temporal things should take precedence of considerations relating to a future existence." "The positive side of our views is a more recent development of our own." "We seek the coöperation of all who can agree to promote present human improvement by present human means."[310] ... "If there are other worlds to be inhabited after this life, those persons will best be fitted for the enjoyment of them who have made the welfare of humanity their business in this. But if there are not other worlds, men are essentially losers by neglecting the enjoyment of this. Hence Aristippus was truly wise, who agreed with Socrates in dismissing, as wholly unprofitable, all those speculations which have no connection with the business of life." "This life being the first in certainty, we give it the first place in importance; and by giving human duties in relation to men the precedence, we secure that all interpretations of spiritual duty shall be in harmony with human progress." "Secularism is the philosophy of the things of time. A Secularist is one who gives primary attention to those subjects, the issues of which can be tested by the experience of this life. The Secularist principle requires that precedence should be given to the duties of this life over those which pertain to another world."[311]
Secularism, then, professes to be the positive or practical side of Atheism, and it claims to be better than Religion at least for this world, because it pays a preëminent, if not exclusive, regard to the duties of the present life. We cannot consider this "new development" of an old system, in connection with its recent change of name, and the reasons that are assigned for it, without seeing that the force of public opinion, whether well or ill founded, has compelled its advocates to alter their tactics at least in two respects: they are anxious to withdraw from offensive prominence the negative articles of their creed, and to put forward the positive elements of truth which may still survive after the ruin of Religion; and they evince a disposition, somewhat new, to conciliate the Christian community, by admitting the sincerity of the clergy and the good intentions of believers generally, and inviting their coöperation in plans of secular improvement. But Atheism still lurks under the disguise of Secularism; and men of earnest religion are not likely to be tempted to any close alliance or active coöperation with those who misrepresent the character of that God in whom they believe, and of that Saviour in whom they trust. There may be some nominal Christians, however, already as unconcerned about the future and devoted to the present life, as Mr. Holyoake himself could wish them to be, who will eagerly grasp at this "new development," as a plausible pretext for continuing in their present course; for "with the exception of those who compose the real Church of Christ, whose faith is not a mere name and an unthinking assent to Christianity, but a real, living, constant power over their life, the whole world is practically secularist, and is living solely by the light of the present, and under the impulse of the motives which it supplies."[312] For "Secularism is only the Latin term for the old Saxon worldliness: Secularism has more elements of union than perhaps any other phase of infidelity; it has the worldliness of mere nominal Christians, as well as of real infidels."[313] They are really Secularists, but as yet they may not be at ease in their Secularism. There may be a secret monitor within, which reminds them occasionally of death, and judgment, and eternity; and the rapid flight of time, or the incipient sense of disease, or the ever-recurring instances of mortality, may awaken them to transient thoughts of another life for which it were well to be better prepared. What they want is a theory,—of plausible aspect and easy application,—which might serve to quell these rising thoughts, and allay their foreboding fears; and just such a theory they may seem to find in the proverbial maxim of Secularism, "Work in this life, for this life." We are not sure, however, that even with such men the zeal of the new propaganda will be altogether successful. It may seem to some to be out of place, and may even excite a sense of the ludicrous. "Just fancy for a moment," says the author already quoted, "some missionary of this principle going into the Royal Exchange at London, or the Stock Exchange at Leeds or Bradford, or the Cloth-halls of any of our manufacturing towns, summoning around him the merchants and the brokers, and then beginning with much earnestness and point to urge them not to live for eternity, but to be very careful about the present life: insisting that it was very, very doubtful if earth were not all,—the present existence the whole of human existence; and that therefore until there was more certainty they had better make the most of this; be industrious and prudent, and make themselves as comfortable as possible; get as much money as they could honestly, and by no means let any dread of retribution hereafter fetter them in any of their actions here. Why, these merchants would turn away laughing and saying, 'Either the man is mocking us, or he is mad: that is just what we are doing with all our might.' They would see at least that Mr. Holyoake's teaching is very different from that of Him who said, 'Take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on. Is not the life more than meat, and the body than raiment? But seek ye first the kingdom of God and His righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.' 'For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his soul? or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?' And marking that vast difference, they will feel, at least, that no man is entitled to address them as rational beings in the style of Secularism, unless he can give them an absolute assurance that there is and can be no future state of existence,—that the present is man's only life, and that death is an eternal sleep."
But does Mr. Holyoake give, or pretend to give, any such assurance? "We do not say," he tells us, "that every man ought to give an exclusive attention to this world, because that would be to commit the old sin of dogmatism, and exclude the possibility of another world, and of walking by a different light from that by which alone we are able to walk. But as our knowledge is confined to this life, and testimony, and conjecture, and probability are all that can be set forth with respect to another life, we think we are justified in giving precedence to the duties of this state, and of attaching primary importance to the morality of man to man." It is not certain, then, that there is no future life; it is even possible that there may be one; the supposition is not in itself incredible, it may even have "testimony, conjecture, and probability" in its favor:—some attention to it, therefore, cannot be forbidden without "committing the old sin of dogmatism, and excluding the possibility of another world;" but its comparative uncertainty is urged as a reason for "giving precedence to the duties of this state, and attaching primary importance to the morality of man to man." The question would seem to be, not whether any attention should be bestowed on a future life, but whether it should be less or more than the attention which we bestow on the present world. It is a question of degree; and the settlement of that question is made to hinge entirely on the comparative uncertainty of our prospect after death. Suppose it were more uncertain, might not the magnitude of the interests that must be involved in a new and untried existence hereafter, and which must be measured on the scale of eternity, be more than sufficient to counterbalance the difference? "Let us be only fully convinced that our present life is (or may be) the beginning of an eternal duration, and how irresistibly are we urged to a mode of conduct answerable to that accession of importance which our present condition in the world derives from the peculiar point of view in which we then contemplate it!"[314] But, in point of fact, can it be reasonably said that the future of our present life is in any respect more certain than our prospects after death: "What is our life? is it not like a vapor, which appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away?" And yet, in spite of its proverbial uncertainty, is it not a fundamental principle of Secularism that "true life begins in renunciation," and that "the future must rule the present?" Extend these maxims, which are of unquestionable authority with reference to the present life, to our prospects beyond the grave, whether they be regarded as certain, or probable, or possible only, and they will abundantly vindicate the position that our conduct now and here should be regulated to some extent by a regard to what may be before us. In both cases alike, present gratification must give place to future safety, and self-denial, according to the shrewd remark of Franklin, is neither more nor less in the case of a prudent man than self-owning, the recognition of his own dignity, and the preference of a greater and more permanent to a smaller and transitory good. It might still, therefore, be alike our interest and our duty to have some regard to a possible future in the scheme of our present life. And aware of this Mr. Holyoake solaces himself, and attempts to sustain the spirits of his friends with the assurance, "Whatever is likely to secure your best interests here will procure for you the same hereafter,"—a strange inversion of the scriptural maxim, for it practically amounts to this, "Seek first the things of this world, and the kingdom of heaven shall be added unto you." And he states the ground or reason of his confidence in this respect: "If there be other worlds to be inhabited after this life, those persons will best be fitted for the enjoyment of them who have made the welfare of humanity their business in this." To make "the welfare of humanity their business in this life," is a duty which may be discharged by the Christian not less than the Secularist, and perhaps with all the greater zeal in proportion to his estimate of men as responsible and immortal beings, all passing on, like himself, to an interminable future. But if there be another state of being after death, will he be best prepared for it who lives "without God" in this world, without serious forethought in regard to his eternal prospects, without any deliberate preparation for his certain and solemn change? Or will it be a consolation to him then to reflect that he disbelieved or doubted now, and that he exerted his talents and spent his life on earth in undermining the faith of his fellow-men, and weakening their impressions of things unseen and eternal?
Mr. Holyoake seems to imagine that whether there be or be not a future state after death, Secularism is the "safest side," and he puts the alternative thus: "If there are other worlds to be inhabited after this life, those persons will best be fitted for the enjoyment of them who have made the welfare of humanity their business in this. But if there are not other worlds, men are essentially losers by neglecting the enjoyment of this." On either supposition, it would seem, the Secularist has the advantage of the Christian: on the one, because he and not the Christian, "makes the welfare of humanity his business;" on the other, because he, and not the Christian, has the true "enjoyment" of the present life. It might be difficult to prove either of these convenient assumptions, or to show that there is anything in Christianity to prevent, anything in Atheism to promote, the care of humanity on the one hand, or the enjoyment of life on the other. On the contrary, all experience testifies that Religion is the only sure spring of philanthropy, and that, on the whole, none have a sweeter enjoyment of the present life than those who can look abroad on the works of Nature and say, "My Father made them all," and who can look forward to death itself with "a hope full of immortality." It is true, that the serious expectation of a future state must impose a certain restraint on the indulgence of our appetites and passions; but is it such a restraint as is injurious even to our temporal welfare? is it not the dictate of enlightened prudence, were we to look no further than to the present life? Mr. Holyoake himself repudiates the language which the apostle puts into the mouth of the unbeliever, "Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die,"—language which is expressive of what would be the natural tendency of men, were they assured of non-existence hereafter, but which Mr. Holyoake rejects, with something like virtuous indignation, saying, "That is the sentiment of the sensualist: it is not the sentiment of a man who is at all conscious that right and wrong are inherent in human nature, that there are wide distinctions between virtue and vice." This is not the sentiment of the man who comprehends that if we do well, it will be well with us, that if we do harm, the evil influence will follow us; who sees distinctly that "our acts, if good, our angels are," and "if ill, our fatal shadows that walk by us still."[315] It is not the apostle's sentiment nor the sentiment of any believer; it is, as Mr. Holyoake says, "the sentiment of the sensualist;" but it is represented as the natural offspring of unbelief in regard to a future state, just as sensualism is naturally generated and fostered by unbelief in regard to those moral principles which have respect to the present life; and if these principles may and should exert a controlling influence over our conduct, even to the extent of imposing restraint and self-denial with a view to our welfare in time, may they not be expected to be all the more powerful when we include also our welfare in eternity? and may it not thus become manifest that "godliness hath the promise of the life that now is, as well as of that which is to come?" It would be difficult to say in what respect believers "neglect the enjoyment of this life," or are "essentially losers" by their religion. They will gratefully ascribe to it their highest and purest happiness; and rather than part with it they will cheerfully submit to "the loss of all other things," and even to persecution and martyrdom itself. But it is asked, "If Christianity be false, is it nothing that you are troubled with a thousand anxieties and cares about what shall become of you after death? If Christianity be false, is it nothing that day after day you have the fear of death before your eyes? If Christianity be false, it makes you slaves while you live, and cowards in death."[316] We might answer, If Christianity be true, what then? but we prefer a different course: we say that the reality of a future state is in nowise dependent on the truth of Christianity, however much we may be indebted to Christianity for our certain knowledge of it; that even on the principles of Atheism there is no security against the everlasting continuance of self-consciousness, any more than there is against the inevitable stroke of death; that Christianity in either case assumes the fact, and addresses men as dying yet immortal creatures, while it reveals a way in which those "who through fear of death were all their lifetime subject to bondage" may be delivered from that fear, and raised to "a hope full of immortality." As death is not created or called into being by Christianity, so neither is the awful future which lies beyond it: the Secularist not less than the Christian has to do with it. Mr. Holyoake seems, at least occasionally, to be sensible of this solemn truth. "I am as much concerned," he says, "as this reverend gentleman can be, as to what shall be the issue of my own condition in the future; I am as much concerned in the solution of this question as he is himself; and I believe that the view I entertain, or that any of us may entertain, conscientiously, will be our justification in that issue, if we should come to want justification. When we pass through the inexorable gates of the future; when we pass through that vestibule where death stands opening his everlasting gates as widely to the pauper as to the king; when we pass out here into the dim mysteries of the future, to confront, it may be, the interrogations of the Eternal,—I apprehend every man's responsibility will go with him, and no second-hand opinions will answer for us."[317] Is there not something here that should arrest the attention and awaken the anxiety even of the Secularist himself? He sees before him the inevitable event of death, and beyond it "the dim mysteries of the future;" he may be called to "confront the interrogations of the Eternal," and then "every man's responsibility will go with him." Surely there is enough in the bare possibility of such a prospect to justify more than all the interest which has ever been expended upon it even by the most "anxious inquirer." But, haunted by these solemn thoughts, Mr. Holyoake takes refuge in the other alternative of his dilemma: "If there are other worlds, those will best be fitted for the enjoyment of them who have made the welfare of humanity their business in this." Secular philanthropy is the best, and only needful, preparation. With this any belief in regard to the future is unnecessary, without it no belief will be of any avail: for "the view which any of us may entertain, conscientiously, will be our justification in that issue, if we should come to want justification;" "No second-hand opinions will answer for us. Nothing can justify us, nothing can give us confidence, but the conscientious nature of our own conclusions; nothing can give us courage but innocence; nothing can serve our turn but having believed according to the best of our judgment, and having followed those principles which seem to us to be the truth." He takes refuge, then, first in his good works, and secondly in the sincerity of his convictions, as the sole grounds of his confidence in the prospect of "confronting the interrogations of the Eternal!"
Is it wonderful,—such being his only hope in death,—that when cholera appeared in London, and multitudes were suddenly removed by that appalling visitation, he should have felt it necessary to deliver a series of Lectures,—now reprinted as "The Logic of Death,"—"with a view to the assurance of his friends?" Might there not be some among them who would shrink from a future judgment on the ground of their "innocence" or "good works," and many more who would feel that they were making an awful venture in leaving their eternity to depend on the mere sincerity of their convictions, in whatever way these convictions may have been formed, and whether they were true or false? And could they be reassured or comforted by any other article of the Secular Creed? They might be told, as Mr. Holyoake tells them, "I am not an unbeliever, if that implies the rejection of Christian truth, since all I reject is Christian error:" I reject "the fall of man, the atonement, the sin of unbelief, the doctrine of future punishment; a disbeliever in all these doctrines, why should I fear to die?" But the more thoughtful among them, all who were really in earnest, might desiderate something more; they might see that disbelief, however dogmatic, does not amount to disproof, and that the real ground of fear is not in the least removed by it. Does his question imply, that if these doctrines were true, he would have just reason to fear death? or does it mean merely, that whether they be true or false, he can have no reason to fear death, simply because he disbelieves them? On the former supposition, how vast the difference between the Secularist and the Christian? The one would have reason to fear because these doctrines are or may be true; the other believes them to be true, and finds in that very belief a deliverance from the fear of death, and a firm ground of confidence and hope! On the latter supposition,—which we believe to be the correct one,—what an amazing confidence must that man possess in the sincerity of his convictions, the conscientiousness of his judgment, and the rigid impartiality of his inquiries after truth, who can peril his eternal prospects on the mere fact that he disbelieves these doctrines, whether they be true or false! Suppose that disbelief may diminish the intensity of his fears, can it alter the real state of the case, or remove the only just ground of apprehension and anxiety in regard to the future? The truth of these doctrines is not dependent either on our belief or disbelief; and in the way of natural consequence, even were there no additional penal infliction, they may vindicate themselves hereafter in the case of those who neglect or disbelieve them here, by leaving them destitute of all the advantages which flow only from the cordial reception of the truth. Thus much at least would be in entire accordance with the analogy of our experience with reference to the interests of the present life; for we do suffer, even now and here, in consequence of our ignorance, or neglect, or practical disbelief of truth,—and it may be so hereafter, in the way simply of inevitable natural consequence, but much more in the way of righteous penal retribution, if there be any truth in that philosophy of unbelief, so true to nature and so solemnly proclaimed, "This is the condemnation, that light is come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil; for every one that doeth evil hateth the light, neither cometh to the light, lest his deeds should be reproved."[318]
We have endeavored to estimate the claims of Secularism, and to examine the foundations on which it rests. In doing so, we have not denied either the right or the duty of any man to inquire and to decide for himself on his own solemn responsibility. We admit as fully as Mr. Holyoake himself, that personal responsibility implies the right, or rather the duty, of inquiry. He has our entire sympathy when he says, "It is my business to take care, if I walk from time to eternity, that I walk by that light which satisfies my own understanding. If it were true that any of you would take my place, if we should eventually find ourselves at the bar of God, and I should find myself to be made answerable for the opinions which I entertain, or for beliefs which I had in time, if any of you, or all of you, would take my place, and answer for me, then I might be content to take your opinions, then I might stand on the side of the world: but what does it matter to me what Newton believed, what Locke believed, or what the world believes, unless the world will answer for me if I believe as the world believes?" But while the right of inquiry is frankly admitted, it can scarcely be denied that the mind may be biased by prejudice and involved in error; and the ultimate question is, not, what are your opinions? but, what are the grounds on which they rest?—not, what is your belief? but, what is the truth? Mr. Holyoake is the Coryphæus of his party. As a popular writer and speaker, his talents and zeal, devoted to a better cause, might have fitted him for extensive usefulness, and rendered him a benefactor to his country. As it is, no man in England rests under a heavier load of responsibility. He has placed himself at the head of the propaganda of popular infidelity. Is it yet too late for him to reconsider his opinions, and retrace his steps? For his own sake, for the sake of those who are near and dear to him, for the sake of the multitudes who must be influenced, for good or evil, by his speeches and writings, let him lay to heart the solemn words of Sir Humphrey Davy;—"I envy no quality of mind or intellect in others,—not genius, power, wit, or fancy: but if I could choose what would be most delightful, and I believe most useful to me, I should prefer a firm religious belief to every other blessing; for it makes life a discipline of goodness, creates new hopes when all earthly hopes vanish, and throws over the decay, the destruction of existence, the most gorgeous of all lights, calling up the most delightful visions, where the sensualist and skeptic view only gloom, decay, and annihilation."