Rest and renewed Activity—Lecturing Tours—Resignation from the Congregational Association—Boston Criticisms.

Very shortly after Mr. Beecher settled in Brooklyn he began working in a somewhat different and larger parish than the one included in his church. At first in the more immediate vicinity of New York, then gradually widening and enlarging his circuit, he spent no small portion of the week, during the winter months, in lecturing. He sought to elevate the public morals, to educate public sentiment along the line of integrity and morality. While his lectures were full of the humorous, alive with bright poetic thoughts, there was always a purpose sought in each and this always seemed essential to the development of his best efforts. No lecture was ever delivered by him that some of his audience did not go home strengthened and encouraged in their purposes of right living, or awakened to begin a better life. They were week-day sermons on practical morals. His field had gradually broadened, until by 1870 it included all of the Northern States east of the Mississippi River. From these lectures he derived no inconsiderable income, which was expended with no mean hand for charity, on friends, and the gratification of his artistic and literary tastes.

With the outbreak of the Tilton conspiracy, and the various vexatious proceedings incidental to and in aid thereof, he naturally found too much employment at home, and too great a strain on mind and body, to leave either strength, leisure, or inclination for lecturing. With the close of the Great Council came comparative peace, and in the winter following he resumed his regular lecturing. For this there were several reasons.

The mental and nervous wear and tear of the past five or six years had been terrible. As we have seen, he had many times been brought to the verge of complete prostration, which he feared might end in death or paralysis.

It was imperative that he should get some relief from this strain. With him rest did not mean idleness, but rather activity in a different direction, often greater than the work which had fatigued him. Such a remedy he found in lecturing.

Then it was necessary to make good the great expenditure of money entailed upon him. The “trial year” alone had cost him over $118,000, and, notwithstanding the loving generosity of his people had raised his salary for that year to $100,000, he found himself heavily in debt. Lecturing afforded the means of remedying this difficulty.

Another reason strenuously urged by friends, was that, to meet and talk with the many thousands scattered over the land, who had so long loved and trusted him, would greatly aid in scattering the clouds that had been so long lowering; that it would be a source of strength and comfort to them, and greatly benefit him. A series of lecture-tours followed during the next two or three years, extending through the New England States, West, Southwest, and South, the results of which fully justified every reason for this undertaking.

Then for the first time he realized how many friends he had. It is true that when the sky was darkest he received many hundreds of letters from friends and strangers expressing unabated confidence and sympathy. Grateful and comforting as these were to him, they did not so fully reveal to him the hold that he had on the hearts of the American people as the demonstrations that greeted him on these lecture-trips.

What these demonstrations were we can gain some idea from his letters home, brief and hasty sketches, written at odd intervals:

“Next Boston. Temple full. Received me with prolonged clapping.... Preached Sunday A.M. for ———. Had great liberty, and, as he says, swept everything.... At night in Boston for ———. Ten thousand people couldn’t get in. Shook hands with whole audiences. Papers next morning with kind notices. Went to Congregational ministers’ meeting on Monday morning. Cheered and clapped when I entered. After paper for day was finished it was moved that I address the meeting. I did so, and closed with prayer. All wept, and it broke up like a revival meeting. D———, S———, A———,^[16] etc., present; did not shake hands, but scores of others did.... I learn that the Andover students have come back three to one against S———. They intend asking me over to-morrow morning to talk to them....”

“I preached yesterday in St. Paul (Minn.) I returned early this morning to meet the clergy of this city in Stimpson’s study, about twenty-five, of all churches, Episcopal, Presbyterian, Congregational, Baptist, Lutheran, Free-Will Baptist, etc. Two hours, in which they questioned me about my views on doctrines, sermon-making, preaching, etc., etc., and at close I prayed with them. Royal time. They were more than cordial. Excitement for to-night’s lecture even greater than for that of Friday. Dr. Post, of St. Louis, writes to me to fill his pulpit, also the other Congregational minister; while the very papers that used, a year or two ago, to abuse me, are demanding that the largest hall or theatre shall be taken, so that the common people can get in.”

“The sense of spring has accompanied me all the way. I am now in the middle of my third week—nearly half through. Laus Deo. Everywhere the same kindness, affection, and enthusiasm. Madison is the capital of this State, and the Speaker and members of the Legislature have just sent a committee requesting me to open the house with prayer.... In short, the whole slander is burned over out here, like a prairie or an old corn-field, and will never lift itself again.”

“I had not expected a large audience, but I had it. I expected but few of the upper class of people, but I had the best of the city; even Watterson, of the Courier-Journal, that had always vilely blackguarded me, sent for tickets for himself, family, and his father. I was in good trim, and for nearly two hours I avenged myself upon that audience. The enthusiasm was complete. Every one said that I had conquered Louisville, and so I am enjoying the fruits of revenge! I had an uncommonly successful trip. In Pittsburgh there was a grand audience—all the ministers from far and near. It was said that there were a hundred in the audience.”

“All my life long I have had good, warm friends, but I never knew until recently what friendship was outside of those of my own immediate circle. The unmistakable enthusiasm, the love and eagerness, the lingering and the longing, have been such as to fill my cup full.

“I have felt, time and again, that that which I have had of trouble I have bought at a cheap rate; the trouble has been but a small price to pay for a lodgment in the hearts of the best men, the best women, and the children. I have found that those whose love is deepest and warmest represent families who look at everything in the world from the standpoint of the household—who judge of preaching, of ethics, and of methods by the relation which they bear to the bringing up of the young, and to the founding and maintaining of Christian homes. That part of the community who live in the household, and honor it, I had almost said, were universally my most dear and cordial friends.”

From this time on until his death he was more or less in the lecture-field every year.

Another period of restful calm sets in, during which he devoted himself, comparatively undisturbed, to his duties in the pulpit, the editorial chair of the Christian Union, and the lecture-field.

During this period of quiet he made those definite announcements of his beliefs that so much disturbed many of his theological brethren, notably his sermon on the “Background of Mystery,” in which he discussed that mysterious question of future punishment; and a little later the series since published under the title of “Evolution and Religion,” discussing the application of the theory of evolution to religious beliefs.^[17] Notwithstanding many of the most eminent of the American and English clergy had both entertained and expressed similar views, their exposition by Mr. Beecher, as usual, called forth much criticism, more or less severe according to the theological bent of the critic, but also much friendly comment.

He was at this time a member of “The Congregational Association,” composed of Congregational clergymen of New York and Brooklyn. Feeling that many of his brethren did not agree with his views, and that yet they might be held to some extent responsible for his beliefs, he determined to resign from the Association.

At the meeting October 13, 1882, he had been assigned for discussion the topic of “Spiritual Barbarism.” After discussing the theological beliefs which he regarded as appropriately coming under that expression, he went on to give a full declaration of his personal beliefs, and then at the close stated:

“I have reason to believe that a great many of the brethren of the Congregational faith would speak more than disapproval, and that many even in the Association to which I belong feel as though they could not bear the burden of responsibility of being supposed to tolerate the views I have held and taught; and it is on this account that I, as a man of honor and a Christian gentleman, cannot afford to lay on anybody the responsibility of my views. I cannot afford especially to put them in such a position that they are obliged to defend me. I cannot make them responsible in any way, and therefore I now here, and in the greatest love and sympathy, lay down my membership of this Association and go forth—not to be separated from you. I shall be nearer to you than if I should be in ecclesiastical relation. I will work for you, I will lecture for you, I will personally do everything I can for you. I will even attend these meetings as a spectator with you. I will devote my whole life to the Congregational churches and their interests, as well as to all other churches of Christ Jesus. I am not going out into the cold. I am not going out into another sect. I am not going away from you in any spirit of disgust. I never was in warmer personal sympathy with every one of you than I am now; but I lay down the responsibility that you have borne for me—I take it off from you and put it on myself. And now you can say, ‘He is a member of the Congregational Church, but he has relieved his brethren of all responsibility whatever for his teachings.’ That you are perfectly free to do. With thanks for your great kindness, and with thanks to God for the life which we have had here together, I am now no longer a member of the Congregational Association of New York and Brooklyn, but with you a member of the body of Christ Jesus, in full fellowship with you in the matter of faith and love and hope.”

He was earnestly urged to reconsider his resignation. He felt it to be his duty to adhere to the determination expressed. The Association unanimously passed the following resolution expressive of their feelings:

“Resolved, That the members of the New York and Brooklyn Association receive the Rev. Henry Ward Beecher’s resignation of his membership in this body with very deep pain and regret. We cannot fail to recognize the generous magnanimity which has led him to volunteer this action, lest he should seem even indirectly to make his brethren responsible before the public for the support of philosophical and theological doctrines wherein he is popularly supposed to differ essentially with those who hold the established and current evangelical faith. His full and proffered exposition of doctrinal views that he has made at this meeting indicates the propriety of his continued membership in this or any other Congregational Association. We hereby declare our desire that he may see his way clear to reconsider and withdraw it. We desire to place on record as the result of a long and intimate acquaintance with Mr. Beecher, and a familiar observation of the results of his life, as well as his preaching and pastoral work, that we cherish for him an ever-growing personal attachment as a brother beloved, and a deepening sense of his worth as a Christian minister. We cannot now contemplate the possibility of his future absence from our meetings without a depressing sense of the loss we are to suffer, and unitedly pledge the hearts of the Association to him, and express the hope that the day for his return may soon come.”

Of course much comment followed this step—perhaps more marked among some of the Boston clergy than elsewhere—and in its turn drew from Mr. Beecher several characteristic letters. One to a near friend:

“Don’t be scared because Boston has boiled over; it has not put the fire out.

“It is amusing to see the pains taken to prove that I am of no account, dead, useless, a castaway. I know that I am dead. I knew it twenty years ago; I have been certified of the fact every year since. I have no influence—I never had, cannot have; a hundred fluttering ministers are eager to say so before the world! Well, what of it? The wild-fowl return from the north as usual, winter comes on, the spring will come in its season, birds and flowers—indeed, it does seem to me that Nature cares nothing at all for all this squabbling of men! I am astonished at Nature!...”

Another in reply to an invitation to answer his critics through the columns of the Boston Traveller:

“I thank you for the letter and paper. I have read the somewhat large expressions of these many and excellent men in regard to my orthodoxy, consistency, influence, and general merit, without wishing for a moment to reply, as you kindly request me.

“When a dead man is lying on the dissecting-table under the hands of experts, it would be unbecoming in him to rise up suddenly and discuss with his surgeons the propriety of their methods and the truth of results. It is not often that one can see himself as others see him, and especially as Boston sees him, and, more than all, as Boston clergymen see him. I am reduced to pulp, but, thank Heaven! not to ashes. When you suggest a reply to these, I am sure you can have no conception of the subdued and enlightened state of my mind. I am bent on improvement. Laying aside all my old notions of my beliefs and of my standing, I am carefully putting together the real man that I now am taught that I am. When I get my new personal identity together and in working shape, I intend to study theology somewhere, though in my present confusion I cannot yet say whether I shall study at Andover or Boston; New Haven is nearer, but Dr. Smythe has been settled there, and I fear laxity of doctrine in his neighborhood. Princeton is not far to the south of me, but Dr. McCosh is a Christian evolutionist, and it would be folly, after what I have suffered, to come under the malarial influence of that philosophy. On the whole, I incline to study at Park Street. But wherever I may go I am determined before I die to find a theology which will pass muster at Bangor, at Andover, at Cambridge, at New Haven, at Princeton, at Alleghany, at Oberlin, at Chicago, and at Park Street.

“Then I shall willingly die.”