Recollections and Impressions, 1822-1890

by Octavius Brooks Frothingham

One cannot undertake to speak with knowledge on a subject so complicated as this is with private motives, personal temperaments, social circumstances; but, as far as my memory goes, the clergy, as a class, have been too much engaged with matters ecclesiastical to be deeply interested in any cause of reform, and too timid to take the initiative in any matter involving disagreeable relations with controlling powers.

While towards the rich the attitude of the clergy is one of allegiance, towards the poor it has been one of patronage. This is a danger. "The poor ye have always with you, and whenever ye will ye can do them good," expresses their doctrine of charity. As if the poor were created in order that others might exercise beneficence; as if poverty was a providential institution, maintained in the interest of religion! It is hard in a so-called "Christian" community to get away from this view. The modern scientific theory and the "Christian" theory are thus at war; the former being intent on the well-being of society, the latter having in mind the cultivation of the individual in tenderness of sympathy; the former educating intelligence, the latter educating feeling. Still there was charity.

The Catholic Church, to say nothing here of any ecclesiastical purpose in keeping masses of men and women out of the world, gathered those who could not help themselves into great buildings and took care of them. In the Protestant Church the care of the poor has been held to be a religious duty, and a large part of the efforts of Christian ministers is directed to the fostering of pity and generosity in the hearts of the wealthy. To give to those who had nothing was reckoned the chief of graces, and "charity"—interpreted as love for those in want—was placed above "faith" and "hope," even when money alone was given. Not long ago a Unitarian minister exhorted his congregation to set apart for the uses of the poor one tenth part of their annual income, and doubtless he had the consciences of nearly all his hearers with him, for the monstrous proposition has been so often asserted as to seem by this time a commonplace. Probably no man living does that or ever did, and the practice of it on a large scale would pauperize the community. Think of it! Five thousand dollars a year is not a great income, yet if every one who had as much bestowed a tenth part of it on charitable objects what a fund for human demoralization would be raised! And when the income is ten thousand, fifteen thousand, twenty thousand, the amount of imbecility created would be indescribable; inertia would be frightfully increased, and multitudes would sit with folded hands who otherwise would have lifted them to do some honest work. A moral lethargy would fall on the toiling masses; wealth-producing labor would shrink to narrower and narrower limits, and a paralysis of energy would steal over the will of those whose need of resolution is the sorest. Wealth would consequently decrease, and the number of the givers get smaller and smaller until accumulation, which is the life of the modern world as distinguished from the ancient, would be blighted. The industrial classes would be reduced to servitude, enormous fortunes would be gathered by fraud, speculation, cruelty, and progressive society would relapse into sterility. Fortunately the minister could not persuade people to adopt this fatal policy. Fortunately, in this particular, niggardliness went hand in hand with common-sense.

That the churches, under the lead of the ministers, have done a vast deal in the direction of charity, so far from being denied or disputed, is cordially allowed and even maintained. Indeed, this has been their chief function, and they have discharged it with immense zeal and astonishing results.

But that it was an "ideal" profession is, as I said, a recommendation to the ministry. It is a broad foundation for spiritual-mindedness, for unworldliness. True, the habit of dealing with abstract topics, of holding commerce with purely speculative themes, of entertaining mere theories which cannot be verified, of going back to what are called "first principles," imparts a curiously vague, dreamy, impersonal, impalpable character to the minister's intellect, rendering it unfit to treat concrete questions of life or morals; for this reason he is not often successful as a man of business, a practical politician, a manager of affairs, his cast of mind disqualifying him for close consideration of details.

The duty of answering unanswerable questions, too, of solving problems that are insoluble, of replying positively to what, from the nature of things, he cannot know, gives him a kind of ingenuity which is not genuine insight, but consists in subtle turnings, windings, in making fine distinctions and splitting hairs, and inventing ingenious interpretations, rather than in keen insight or straightforward analysis. He must seek ways of escape from his pursuers, and, when no other offers, hide in the thicket of mystery or run up the tree of faith. He must, if possible, have an explanation ready, and, if he has none, he must fall back on authority, and be impressive, addressing the sentiment of awe which is usually alive in every bosom, or, in the last resort, asseverating the truth of revelation, and thus silencing the debate he cannot continue. If neither conscience is satisfied, his own or his interlocutor's, there is no remedy save in submission. He makes no attempt to clear up his conceptions, or, if he does, ends at last in vacuity or discontent. His neighbor, unconvinced, concludes that this is a clerical subterfuge, and so far loses confidence in a profession he cannot understand. Probably he does not do it justice, but the effect is the same,—a rooted depreciation such as would not be felt towards a layman who simply said that he had no answer.

The minister, also, is generally committed to a conception of the universe as a product of the Supreme Will which, makes him an apologist. He is, after a fashion, in the secret of God. He is supposed to deliver messages and to utter oracles. His is the wisdom of the Eternal. His is the Bible. His are the testimonies. He must follow the ways of the Spirit and defend the divine economy in the constitution of the world. But in each case, every allowance being made for indefiniteness, for largeness of statement and broadness of exposition, the minister must be a champion of the Infinite Wisdom and Goodness, pledged to maintain it against all opponents; and however cordially he may choose that part, the consciousness of being bound may act as a fretting annoyance, not to say a galling restraint.

A singular dogmatism often accompanies this claim to speak in the name of the Almighty; the minister must enunciate truths, not deliver opinions. An authoritative tone gets into his voice, pervades his manner, affects his whole expression of face, is conveyed by his gait and walk, so that he is known at once from afar. Men hush their voices in his presence, ventilate thoughts not natural to them, conceal their actual sentiments, from a feeling that he is to be deferred to, not argued with like another man. The tone of the pulpit animates his conversation and works into the very structure of his thought. He is always a preacher. The atmosphere of Sunday hangs about him. He carries the New Testament into the parlor; unconsciously to himself he uses the language of authority, and finds to his mortification that he is angered by dispute.

The duty of administering consolation to the afflicted adds to this visionary frame of mind. Frequent intercourse with the suffering, sad, and bereaved, intimate commerce with sick-beds and graves, besides creating ghostly dispositions, deepens his cast of thought. To comfort people under disappointments, to smooth the rugged path, to quiet the perturbed heart, is a business to discharge which all the resources of faith are called into requisition, and any means that will accomplish the end in view are considered as justifiable. In the effort to find comfortable things to say, the temptation to say pleasant things, easy things, amiable things, to present the kindly aspect of Providence, and to indulge happy fancies in regard to human allotments and destiny, is exceedingly strong; so that one may come at last to believe himself what gives so much contentment to others in the severe crises of existence. The loving heart is in perilous proximity to the thinking head. All the sweetest feelings of our nature, the wish to console people, to make them patient, trusting, resigned, cheerful, are brought in to reinforce the faith in a benignant purpose on the part of the Creator, and an unquestioning disposition is encouraged in the spiritual physician as well as in the stricken patient.

Mr. Henry James says ("Substance and Shadow," p. 214): "Protestant men and women, those who have any official or social consequence in the church, are apt to exhibit a high-flown religious pride, a spiritual flatulence and sourness of stomach which you do not find under the Catholic administration." This is strong language, but not too strong considering the author's abhorrence of exclusiveness, separation, Pharisaism, and his identification of this with official religion.