Part 2

Briefly to recapitulate the foregoing facts and arguments:—The Crystal Palace Company is a private speculation, not a public institution. They propose to open _only_ their grounds and winter-garden on Sunday, and that but for half the day. This place of recreation, therefore, stands on much the same footing as Richmond or any other public park—being accessible to the masses by no other means than a conveyance—differing only in providing refreshment (exclusive of spirituous liquors) to its frequenters. It is untrue to assert that a Royal Charter will enable the Company to open their grounds—for the right exists independent of the Charter. Government, therefore, cannot be said to sanction “the desecration of the Sabbath”—being unable to prevent it. The State has no right to refuse a privilege on religious grounds, seeing that it is a purely civil institution, and bound to secure entire liberty of conscience; which is inconsistent with partiality to the views of any sect. To spend the Sabbath as a day of recreation does not clash with its definition as “a civil institution.” In exacting the shutting-up of the Sydenham grounds, Government would be acting inequitably, for other and worse pleasure-gardens are open on Sunday—inconsistently, for the grounds of Hampton Court Palace, which are national property, have been for some years accessible to the people with their express sanction. It would not, therefore, be a precedent for “the desecration of the Sabbath.” If the Crystal Palace is closed on that day by authority, all other places of recreation must be closed also—for you cannot have partial legislation on the subject. Such a general measure would be highly unjust and injurious, besides being impracticable. The much-deprecated event would not be likely to increase the irreligion or immorality of the people; for, although some few might be led to desert places of worship and neglect Sabbath privileges, by the superior attractions of the Sydenham Palace, many more would substitute its pleasures for those of a less elevating character, offered without restriction elsewhere; while the bulk of those who frequented it would not, in all probability, if it were entirely closed, “keep the Sabbath” in the sense of these alarmists. The day of rest can only be a period of spiritual profit to those who value it for that purpose. To impose its religious observances upon those who do not, is to promote hypocrisy, not piety. For the religious world, confessedly a minority, to seek to impose, by State interference, their notions of what constitutes a day of rest upon the bulk of their fellow-countrymen, is intolerant—an act of coercion at variance with the first principles of Christianity. There is good reason for believing that the cause of morality, and therefore of religion, will, with the present tendencies of the metropolitan working-classes, decidedly _gain_ by the opening of the Sydenham pleasure-grounds. It will be no more harmful than free access to the Parks. It will not rob the poor of their “day of rest,” because it is quite optional with them to go there; and, while they act as free agents, it may be presumed, that they spend the day as best suits their inclinations.

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The Crystal Palace Company are well able to take care of themselves, nor does it form part of the plan of these pages to defend their cause. But the wholesale abuse which is heaped upon them is positively nauseating to the impartial observer, considering how far they have gone in attempting to meet religious scruples and prejudices. {15} The mingled rant and cant issuing from these professedly religious newspapers is extremely injurious to that Christianity in whose name they profess to speak. Sad would it be for religion if its holy claims were really associated with the untruthfulness these organs have uttered—and the more reason why those, who are jealous for the honour of their faith, should protest against its name being mixed up with the effusions of intemperate alarmists. From their spirit it might be thought that the Company had set the religious world at defiance, instead of shutting up for half the Sunday, closing the manufacturing and commercial portions of the building, and forbidding the sale of intoxicating drinks. If they _are_ to blame, it is for conceding too much to prejudice. Nothing is gained by closing the grounds up to one o’clock—not even the good will of opponents. The principle which would allow them to be thrown open for half, would be equally valid to keep them open all, the day. At present, the arrangement is a mischievous compromise between devotion and recreation, and stamps the Sabbath on high authority with a continental character. It gives a wrong notion of godliness, bringing it into apparent antagonism to secular enjoyment—making one portion of the day a counterpoise to the other—fostering the delusion that religion is simply the observances of certain duties and attendance in a place of worship.

If there be any truth in this plain statement of facts and arguments, it follows that the agitation, being got up professedly to prevent the Crown from sanctioning the opening of the Crystal Palace on Sunday, is really directed against all places of recreation accessible to the public on that day. This, indeed, is the main drift of the declamatory appeals of its promoters. They are either agitating on false pretences, or covertly aiming at an object injurious to the liberties and welfare of the country. If that object were openly avowed, many timid friends of religious freedom who indulge certain vague fears of the increase of “Sabbath desecration,” would shrink from supporting it. In either case, the leaders prove their unfitness to be the guides of opinion. Want of candour, fairness, and truthfulness, are doubly worthy of exposure and condemnation when exhibited in connexion with the name of Christianity. Religion suffers enough from open foes, without the need for injuries from professed friends. Hence, _because_ they are jealous of its true character, _because_ anxious to vindicate its purity and self-sustaining efficiency, it becomes the followers of Christ to protest against this movement. The very fact that they agree to a great extent in the religious views of the agitators in question, and sincerely desire to see the Sabbath valued by all men as an opportunity for spiritual culture and enjoyment, is an additional reason why they should repudiate the sentiments uttered, and the course pursued, under the banner of their faith. The alarmists may rely upon it, that there are many more followers of Christian truth than the writer of these pages, who have no sympathy with that intolerance which would coerce others into their convictions and their method of “keeping” the Sabbath, and who observe, with pain and indignation, the attempt of misguided, though perhaps conscientious, men, to originate a crusade against the Sunday recreations of the people.

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It is scarcely possible to discuss this particular topic without the mind being directed to the general question—of which it is only an offshoot—_the position assumed by religious men in relation to the world at large_, _especially to the masses_. A few considerations on this momentous subject may appropriately and usefully be thrown out in connexion with the foregoing arguments.

It may be at once stated, that there is no intention of entering into any argument with the believers in the efficacy of a State-appointed religion and priesthood. Those who encourage this practical infidelity to the truths of Christianity—whose principles would have obliged Christ to exclaim, “My kingdom _is_ of this world”—are, doubtless, doing no violence to their views in calling upon Government to insist upon “the bitter observance of the Sabbath,” and to enforce upon Jews, Infidels, and Mahomedans, outward conformity to the State religion.

But it does so happen that many who are in bondage to this intolerant principle, do, nevertheless, somehow or other, acknowledge the transforming influence of Christian truth upon the individual heart, and are at one, in their religious convictions, with the open adherents of the voluntary principle. To this united body of what are usually designated “Evangelical Christians,” the question may fairly be put—whether they are pursuing that line of policy towards the world which is best adapted to bring the world over to their views?

Their object, next to their own spiritual improvement—for that _seems_ the great aim of modern Christianity—is to commend the Gospel to those who have it not—to win over to hearts of men to the authority of Christ—to induce them to accept to the free offers of reconciliation with God made through to Saviour, and evermore live in His likeness. They will readily acknowledge that religion is founded upon love, and adapted to call forth to willing homage of grateful souls; and that the spontaneous, cheerful surrender of self to God, the preference of His will to ours, the cordial reliance upon Him for “every good and every perfect gift,” is the very essence of Christianity. Institutions, forms, and ceremonies, are but the media for expressing this truth, and are worse than useless without it. Sympathy between man and his Creator is religion—to awaken that sympathy in others, will be the aim of all who have felt it for themselves.

How, then, do Evangelical Christians commend this living truth to those who do not profess allegiance to it? To a great extent they conceal its benign character. They build a wall around it, and make it appear to be an exclusive property. Oftentimes they refuse to acknowledge it in others unless associated with certain forms, symbols, and institutions. They overlay it with the claims of this and that interest, or make it speak in the language of this or the other ism. They proclaim that the Gospel is omnipotent to save—that Christ’s kingdom is a spiritual kingdom, and His reign in the heart of man—but, alas! practice and belief do not correspond. They are, to a great extent, afraid to trust Christianity to its inherent power. For the propagation of the truth, or the extinction of unbelief, they will often have recourse to means not in harmony with their convictions. “The end sanctifies the means”—often, unconsciously, forms their rule of conduct, and quiets their scruples in trying to make men religious by irreligious means, in claiming the aid of the magistrate’s sword in putting down error, in demanding that the incitements to sin be removed by the strong arm of compulsion, yea, sometimes, in attempting to _coerce_ the indifferent into the reception of to truth. How greatly does this want of confidence in the power of the Gospel contrast with that scriptural faith which is able “to remove mountains!”

A State religion is, no doubt, the greatest obstacle to a proper appreciation of Christianity by the working classes—for through that medium it is reflected as simply an elaborate machinery to provide comfortable incomes for an army of priests—a gigantic establishment based upon selfishness. But even this dead weight upon the progress of religion would be greatly lightened if Evangelical Christians rightly commended it to the affections of the people—if, instead of bowing down to the great imposture, and drinking into its spirit, they unceasingly displayed the benign and disinterested character of the Gospel. Whatever the religious organizations of the present day accomplish—and it is not denied that they do something—they do not seem to be capable of evangelizing the masses. To this objection it is no reply to urge that they never have, except to a small extent, effected that purpose. If true religion be what the religious world say it is, there must be, irrespective of all former experience, some lamentable deficiency in the mode of presenting its great and omnipotent truths to the people. For it is a notorious fact that the bulk of our working population do not care for religion, scarcely come within range of its teachings, and, for the most part, dislike its professional representatives. Is there not here something more than the natural aversion to superior goodness, and the preference for self-gratification?

Every one will have fresh in recollection a touching episode in that eminently religious book, “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” in which are detailed the successive steps in the training of a little outcast negro. Miss Ophelia undertook the benevolent task, and performed it only too conscientiously. No pains, no sacrifices, were spared in educating the benighted Topsy. The system of the Northern lady was perfect in its mechanism. Instruction, exhortation, reproof, punishment, followed in due order. The young mind exhibited unusual quickness and aptitude in the acquisition of knowledge. One element alone was wanting—the moral influence of the teacher. That being absent, all the rest seemed comparatively valueless. Between the upright New Englander, with her unflinching sense of duty and her prejudice against colour, and the hardened negro girl, there was no connecting link—an entire absence of affection and sympathy. Yet that moral waste on which the lady of strong sense and set rules could make no impression, was reclaimed by the kindness of a child. Topsy’s heart, steeled to Miss Ophelia’s exhortations, melted at Eva’s sympathy. {18}

This story fitly illustrates the present relationship of the Church and the world. Organised religious communities may establish their societies, may erect their places of worship, may give their lectures with the object of reclaiming the masses from vice and irreligion, may proclaim the sinfulness and the duties of men—and yet their labours may achieve only partial success. The means may be admirable, but the spirit that breathes through them may be defective. There may be a great show of concern, the conscientious performance of a duty, but an absence of that cordial, hearty interest which is requisite to kindle sympathy. Surely there is a philosophy in the use of religious agencies as in ordinary affairs. In our efforts to evangelize the poor—to whom originally the Gospel was preached, and amongst whom, it should never be forgotten, were its greatest triumphs—we are bound to consider the probable results of the _means_ put in operation, as well as the _end_ sought, unless we expect God to work a miracle. Otherwise, with all the elements of success, we may make no progress; and, perchance, pull down with one hand while we are building up with the other.

Is it reasonable, or at all in accordance with experience, to suppose that the way to reach the hearts of the people is to put ourselves into direct antagonism to their rights, habits, or wishes? Do we commend the Gospel to them by fostering the notion that men may be made religious by Act of Parliament, or the fiat of the Crown—by insisting that they shall “keep” the Sabbath according to our notions, not their own—by clamouring to curtail the means of obtaining pure air and recreation one day out of seven, because we consider it “sinful?” The religious world is absorbed with its “causes” and “interests,” “enjoyments” and “privileges;” and, while thus systematically turning its attention _inwards_, and calculating every pulsation of the great world around in relation to itself, is too apt to forget that there is a moral law whose foundations lie deep in the principles of revealed truth—and that any violation of the precepts of that law, whether by abrogating natural rights, dictating the actions and occupations of others, or coercing them into an apparent piety of heart and life, is altogether foreign to the genius of Christianity. Our Lord has given his followers an injunction to preach the Gospel—the power of which over the heart none who have felt it can mistrust. If by this agency, and this alone, the affections of man are to be changed and a new life created within him—if, in a word, the world is to be _won_ over to the cause of truth, by the exhibition of God’s love—surely it indicates a want of worldly wisdom as well as distrust of the Divine power and promises, for the disciples of Christ to be calling to their aid extraneous help;—at one time relying upon the sword of the civil magistrates—at another on Parliamentary legislation. If its professors are to be believed, Christianity is _ever_ in imminent danger. Between the encroachments of Popery and the progress of Infidelity, we are always in a state of chronic alarm for organized religion. Really it would seem, that if it were not for the frequent exercise of a little authority—that is, physical force, an occasional crusade against Popery, a persecution _by society_ of free inquiry, the religious world would lose all confidence—Samson must inevitably be overcome by the seductions of Delilah or the hosts of the Philistines. It may safely be concluded that, where this faithlessness obtains, the power of the Gospel is deficient. Christianity is essentially aggressive, but, according to the experience of its degenerate disciples, it is hard work to act upon the defensive. Does not the outside world take note of these things? What more natural than that the sceptic and indifferent should doubt the alleged power of religion when such are its apparent manifestations—when, positively, any particular discovery of great advantage to mankind, such as the application of steam to locomotion, or any special event promising social benefit, such as the opening of the new Crystal Palace, fills its adherents with apprehension, because it seems to disturb their particular interests?

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How is the great gulph that separates the masses of the people from religious institutions to be bridged over? Here is a problem worthy of the anxious consideration of the religious world. To treat so great a subject would require the compass of a volume instead of a pamphlet. Indeed, it has already been discussed _in extenso_ by others; so that it is superfluous to do more in these pages, than refer to one or two points directly bearing on the question in hand. It may then be remarked, that to secure the required end it is needful not only _to do_, but that much _must be left undone_—especially in the direction of the poor man’s pleasures. If the Gospel be not taken to them they were better left alone; for interference with their rights only irritates them, and widens the gulph. The two forces will, as things go, move on like parallel lines, but never unite. The bulk of the people are far beyond the reach of such delusive palliatives as stopping Sunday trains, and shutting up tea-gardens and public-houses. The preacher’s voice rarely reaches them, and Christianity itself wears, in their eyes, the stigma of being a middle-class religion, not adapted to the poor, to whom originally it was “glad tidings of salvation.” They are, besides, almost ostracised from our religious assemblies. Talk of Sabbath desecration! Suppose working-men—say, for example, the 10,000 pleasure-seekers on the Croydon line—were to flock to our places of worship? What is to be done with them? There is at present no room for them _in the system_. It requires time and money to erect and consecrate steepled buildings, fashion pews, make cushions, choose a professional minister, and organize collections, &c. And _when_ done, how does it suit the tastes and sympathies of the poor? Do they not feel themselves out of place, and suspect the means are made of importance disproportionate to, and even obstructive of, the end? Christianity appears to them entrenched behind a barricade of forms and creeds, and genteel requirements, which its followers have erected. The world without catches but a distant and imperfect glimpse of its benign features. Religious men prefer standing behind their entrenchments to an aggressive movement in front, or if they do advance it is with incumbrances great as those which impede an English army marching over the plains of India. Costly temples, with elegant spires, are becoming increasingly necessary to the proclamation of Divine truth, and, in not a few cases, pious men half sink under the sacrifices thus incurred, or the load of debt contracted. There is something quite affecting in the fact, that while the masses of the people are getting farther and farther off from the agency of religious institutions, Christians who are ever denouncing the external pomp and show of Popery are, as it were, _concentrating_ their attention on genteel and elegant places of worship, and in all their arrangements for the celebration of religion approximating to the Romanist standard. And this—when a portion of such superfluous expenditure would provide means for carrying the Gospel into the ranks of the poor—is boasted of as a mark of taste—of Christian earnestness—of religious progress! Fatal delusion! {21}

Men’s susceptibilities are the same as ever they were—but how to awaken them? The religious world will find it in the career and directions of their great Exemplar, _not_ in the bearing of the Pharisees. The grand truth embodied in the aphorism of our great dramatist—

“One touch of Nature Makes the whole world kin,”

has a spiritual as well as a social meaning. To recur to our former illustration. A child with love in her heart and sympathy in her eye, may subdue the will when reason and authority utterly fail. By approaching the masses in this spirit, the religious world may gain access to their affections, and will, no doubt, find that the Gospel retains its pristine omnipotence. But if they are to be treated as the patrimony of organized religious societies and institutions, to be “cribbed, cabined, and confined” at their pleasure, and admonished from afar off on the sinfulness of Sunday recreation—if the enormities of Popery are more zealously denounced, and hair-splitting differences agitated, by ministers and their flocks, than THE TRUTH preached “_in the love of it_”—farewell to all hopes of making any substantial progress in evangelizing the great bulk of the working classes! {22}

By such movements as that we have objected to, the poor are being driven _farther off_ from Christianity. Suppose this particular Sabbatarian agitation to be successful, where is the gain to religion? Will it not be associated in the minds of those already out of reach of the preaching of the Gospel, with a dog-in-the-manger meddlesomeness, with the claims of rival systems, and the designs of interested priests? What an encouragement would it be to that party represented by the “Lord’s Day Society,” who would avowedly use their triumph as a stepping-stone to further demands—who would stop all trains and conveyances on the Sabbath, except, perhaps, the carriage of the rich—who would ruthlessly sacrifice the health of the working-man by confining him to the filth and closeness of this wilderness of bricks and mortar, and who would erect over the remains of pure and gentle Christianity, a gigantic system of hypocrisy and formalism which would ill conceal the hatred and disgust of all classes for a religion without heart or sincerity!