Daily News (London) – Saturday 16 January 1897
BY MR. MONCURE D. CONWAY
It was observed by Dean Swift, early in the last century, that considering our religion is based on the union of divinity with humanity, it was wonderful how little of either there was in it. The end of the century witnessed an effort to realise the ancient ideal in spirit and in truth. Not merely the love of God and the love of man were expressed in the word Theophilanthropy, but there was an effort to fuse these two loves in one essence. The Society of Theophilanthropists, whose first public meeting was held in Paris, January 16, 1797, was of purely religious origin. It had been, indeed, the closing months of 1796, a domestic movement—a few families gathering in each other’s houses on Sundays. The revolutionary tempest had rent the mount on which they had once reposed, the foundations of belief were shaken, and old authority consumed; but after the terror had consumed still, small voice was heard, the imperishable hopes and aspirations lived on, however unsheltered. The families who met together had no wish to enlarge their numbers, but multitudes around them were similarly uneasied, and the assemblies outgrew their homes. The taking of some public hall became a necessity, but this step was taken with evident timidity. It was avenged that they should meet at an hour that did not conflict with other religious gatherings, and the utmost care was taken that nothing should be said or done against the tenets of any sect, or in any spirit of propagandism. A committee was appointed to scrutinize every lecture before its delivery, and insure its inoffensiveness. In a Manual, drawn up by M. Chemin-Depontès (1796) it is said that the parents had associated themselves to preserve in their children the restraints and consolations of religion.
They have considered that mysterious forms of worship have many adversaries; that most young people, educated in such forms are unable, when launched into the world, to resist the numerous arguments by which they are attacked; and that in renouncing the mysteries they often forget both religion and morality. These parents have considered it the surest way to instruct their children in the principles of natural religion, which no man can assail, unless he be insane or corrupt; and that their children, after being accustomed to conduct themselves on the principles of this religion, which all respect, and which is the basis of all worship on earth, would probably never renounce it, and would continue uncorrupted through life.
So simple, even to childlikeness, was this little Society, which presently had greatness thrust upon it, because the object of furious controversy, and the chosen victim offered on the altar of a re-established Church. The lowliness of its cradle is sufficiently picturesque in the perspective of a century. On the corner of St. Denis and Lombard streets stood an ancient hospital of St. Catherine, one part of which had been set apart, early in the Revolution, as an asylum for “fallen women,” and another part for the blind. The teacher of the blind was a Catholic of Russian extraction named Haüy, whose philanthropy opened for the Theophilanthropists the chapel of St. Catherine in the hospital.
Here then, amid the physically blind and the socially ostracised, this religion of blended love and reverence was cradled in a home of its own, and to it some very able names brought their gifts—Thomas Paine, Bernards in St. Pierre, Dupuis, Nicolas de Bonneville, Mercier, and others. These old Radicals, who, amid the Reign of Terror, had suffered for their humanity, like survivors from some foundered ship wherein most of their comrades were lost, used to gather in their café and witness with sorrow the crumbling of the Republic to which their all had been devoted. Here, however, in old St. Catherine’s Chapel, one star of hope seemed to be rising over the darkness. Paine especially greeted it with enthusiasm, as may be seen by his “Letter to Erskine,” and by his “Discourse at the Society of Theophilanthropists”—probably delivered at their first public meeting.
I have seen an old picture of the assembled Theophilanthropists, in which the ancient chapel is shown to have had considerable beauty. The lecturer is speaking from a high and antique little pulpit; he is robed in pure white. The Revolution had cleared away all the symbols from the altar, but there still was the altar, awaiting the new symbols. Every worshipper brought flowers to be laid on the altar. This was their only sacrament, though they had a simple form of marriage, and the birth of a child was celebrated. There was no minister, and each lecturer wore the white gown only while speaking. Earnest warnings were given in the printed rules against ceremonies. The temple must not have any ornaments representing the Deity, or any figure representing a virtue, or any human being, “because the most virtuous men have their weaknesses, and the image of no mortal is worthy of being placed in the temple of the Divinity.” Above the flower-laden altar were five inscriptions, all, of course, in French:
- We believe in the existence of God, in the immortality of the soul.
- Worship God, cherish your kind, render yourselves useful to the country.
- Good is everything which tends to the preservation or the perfection of man. Evil is everything that tends to destroy or deteriorate man.
- Children, honour your fathers and mothers. Obey them with affection, comfort their old age. Fathers and mothers, instruct your children.
- Wives, recognise in your husbands the heads of your houses. Husbands, love your wives. Render yourselves reciprocally happy.
Ethical and religious lessons were read from the Bible, and from Greek, Chinese, Hindu, and Persian authors. Great care was taken with their canticles and hymns, the tunes being printed with them. One canticle begins, “Descend from the Heavens, Divine Tolerance.” The closing lines are:
Never hate, for hatred is grievous,
It poisons and withers our spirit.
If the terrible tongue of a wicked man
Serve thy days with thorns and vexations,
Lower not thy generous soul,
Though reason permits thy scorn.
In an original copy in the British Museum, this last line permitting scorn is cancelled by a pen, and it is written in French a line nearer to the maxim of Jesus:
Show a good heart even to thy enemies.
No doubt this copy was used in the Society.