Be true to yourselves as men. Defraud not your reason of its exercise and prerogative, your conscience of its claims, your love of its delight; and as men you shall be illumined by that light which is your heavenly birth-right, and make glad the souls among whom you dwell. God made man to hunger and thirst after Him only so that he might at length find Him; but every step of the long journey, man must take for himself; the living walk while the dead are carried. Live then and walk! "Be not afraid, for I am with thee. Be not dismayed for I am Thy God. I will keep thee, I will help thee, yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness."

Religious Enthusiasm.

A SERMON,

PREACHED AT ST. GEORGE'S HALL, LANGHAM

PLACE, FEBRUARY 7, 1875, BY THE

REV. CHARLES

VOYSEY.

ECCLESIASTES, IX. 10., "Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might."

T must be admitted, though with mingled regret and

shame, that the great body of Free-thinkers-those

who have gained the priceless privilege of thinking for themselves without fear of Hell-fire, or the reproaches of conscience—are at present deficient in that enthusiasm which has been both the power and glory of the Christian Churches and Sects.

I have not the slightest doubt that this want of enthusiasm is but temporary, and that zeal and energy of the highest order will be forthcoming when the convictions which inspire them shall have taken deeper root.

It may be useful to enquire into the causes of this lamentable coldness and to discover if possible how it may be made to yield to a warmer interest. We shall find, I believe, that it is perfectly natural, and incidental to the trying period of transition through which we are now passing; and that true wisdom will lead us to watch quietly the natural process of the mind's working and to wait patiently for those good fruits which can only reach perfection after a needful delay. First, let us see what we have lost in the religion we have abandoned. Looking now merely at the lowest worldly

Rev. C. Voysey's sermons are to be obtained at St. George's Hall, every Sunday morning, or from the Author (by post), Camden House, Dulwich, S.E. Price one penny, postage a halfpenny.

motives which tend to keep up an outward interest in religious duties, we see that the Churches of orthodoxy wield a power which we do not possess and would not use if we could. The pressure of social opinion is such as to compel people above a certain rank in life to attend some place of worship. They must be seen in their pew at Church or Chapel in order to maintain the friendship of their neighbours, or the patronage of their customers. Not only so but they are in like manner forced by the public opinion of the little world in which they live to contribute to the parochial or Chapel funds, to support the schools, and to subscribe to the missionary societies. In all such "good works," as they are called, they must have a share, or they will have to suffer reproaches and loss from their immediate circle.

Only last week I was told of a man who confided to his free-thinking friend that he had gone to his Chapel one Sunday evening and passed a miserable two hours there.; for as he had not seen any one there who knew him, his trouble had been thrown away.

Contrast the influence of this social pressure with the utter absence of it among ourselves. We may come, or stay away from our place of worship as we please in perfect security from either reproach or loss. If any one has been missed for an unusually long period, the only enquiry is a friendly one respecting his health or his movements. No social pressure is ever so much as contemplated, much less would it be endured. Perfect freedom to do absolutely as we like in such matters, without even being thought neglectful of a duty or privilege, is the rule amongst free-thinkers; and this ought to be taken into account in comparing our congregations with those of the orthodox. The wonder is not that so few, but that so many should be found who manifest a perfectly voluntary desire to worship God after a reasonable manner; when moreover so far from their attendance being enforced by public opinion, it is in many cases visited with social penalties.

Considering, however, the vast number in and around London to whom our service would be an unspeakable relief in exchange for what they have hitherto attended, the number here is absurdly small* and is an instance of that

The average number in the season is over 600 at other times about 400.

want of zeal which may be traced to the absence of social pressure. This may be set down then as one of our "losses," from a purely worldly point of view. Whether it is not an infinite gain from a higher point of view I will not now stay

to discuss.

I pass on to notice the "loss" sustained by us in the withdrawal of those deeper motives by which orthodoxy has held its power and inspired enthusiasm.

The main-spring of most of the religion we have abandoned was, as you know, personal dread of damnation and anxiety to be saved. The orthodox believer was led by inference, if not taught in brazen speech, to regard his attendance at his Church or Chapel as an act by which he cemented, if he did not establish, friendly relations with his God. It was to him the means of re-assurance that he was safe for eternity; whatever sins he had committed during the week would be wiped away by hearing again about the precious Blood. Whatever dulness or doubt had darkened his faith or weakened his sense of reconciliation with God, would be removed by the mere exercise of prayer and listening to the persuasive tones of his favourite preacher. Imperceptibly, he grew into the habit of thinking himself to be a good man because he went to Church or Chapel, and despite all his loud protestations of his own spiritual uncleanness and his claim to be a vile sinner, he nevertheless rose in his own estimation because of his regular devotions; and would have really thought himself wicked had he stayed away. The central thought around which all this paganism clustered was the dread of eternal woe, and the hope of Heavenly bliss. While these twin motives lay at the root of his religious life, activity and zeal were its natural fruits. Overcoming his natural love of pleasure and greed of gain, he would deny much enjoyment to his body and give up much of his hardly-gotten money to make his safety secure, and to purchase his freehold in the mansions above.

A power like this, wielded by honest and noble-hearted men, such as Mr. Spurgeon, is vast indeed; and we need not marvel at the practical results which follow its exercise.

Fortunately, in such a case as I have mentioned, the work done by the zeal and enthusiasm of orthodox believers is to a great degree valuable and good. As a test of earnestness, witness the enormous and costly and crowded Tabernacle, the large and flourishing schools, the semi-charitable and entirely

provident institutions for the elevation of the poor, and the well-endowed college for the education of a staff of ministers to carry on the work in the next generation. I ask, what will not good people do, however mistaken in their religious belief, when they are thoroughly in earnest? And earnestness in this case is begotten by the intense anxiety "to be saved." I believe many will say they do these things out of love for and gratitude to Christ, and not to try to secure their own salvation; and this may be perfectly true. But as they are grateful to Christ for having procured their salvation, fear of hell is after all at the bottom of their religion and it is only placed further back as a spring of religious enthusiasm.

In another but not nearly so admirable a form we trace religious enthusiasm in the splendid Cathedrals which adorn the cities of Europe. A wealthy man lies dying, and is perhaps overloaded with the burden of an accusing conscience; his priest attends him, hears his confession, and reminds him of the awful terrors which await the unforgiven sinner. On his lips hangs the irrevocable sentence. One word from the priest may usher the dying man's soul into everlasting security, may promise speedy release from purgatory, or doom it to everlasting torment. As the mind grows weaker and the hold on earthly treasure is relaxed, the dying man becomes every moment more fascinated by the priestly spell, and he sees now that his one chance of salvation is to obey. The priest-not to enrich himself, nor to add to his own grandeur, but-to serve the Church who is All in all to him, demands from the dying man the wealth which he has gathered, as the ransom of his immortal soul. A quiver of mental anguish passes over his face as the final conflict between the flesh and the spirit is closed; he smiles consent, and receives the viaticum while the last whisper of absolution and peace and heavenly rest is breathed into his fainting ear. Thus he dies; and anon the glorious pile of carved stone grows toward the sky; and for ages afterwards men and women who love beauty and grandeur and sublime symbolism gaze at it with trembling pulse and enter its vast portals with swimming eyes. But they heed not that it stands there a monument of the fear of Hell; an imperishable record that priests lied for God till they came to believe the lies they told in His name ; and that even false fears and hopes

adorn Christian lands and to

have done more to adorn