neglect, or
practical disbelief of truth,--and it may be so hereafter, in the way
simply of inevitable natural consequence, but much more in the way of
righteous penal retribution, if there be any truth in that _philosophy
of unbelief_, so true to nature and so solemnly proclaimed, "This is the
condemnation, that light is come into the world, and men loved darkness
rather than light, because their deeds were evil; for every one that
doeth evil hateth the light, neither cometh to the light, _lest his
deeds should be reproved_."[318]

* * * * *

We have endeavored to estimate the claims of Secularism, and to examine
the foundations on which it rests. In doing so, we have not denied
either the right or the duty of any man to inquire and to decide for
himself on his own solemn responsibility. We admit as fully as Mr.
Holyoake himself, that personal responsibility implies the right, or
rather the duty, of inquiry. He has our entire sympathy when he says,
"It is my business to take care, if I walk _from time to eternity_, that
I walk by that light which satisfies my own understanding. If it were
true that any of you would take my place, _if we should eventually find
ourselves at the bar of God_, and I should find myself to be made
answerable for the opinions which I entertain, or for beliefs which I
had in time, if any of you, or all of you, would take my place, and
answer for me, then I might be content to take your opinions, then I
might stand on the side of the world: but what does it matter to me what
Newton believed, what Locke believed, or what the world believes, unless
the world will answer for me if I believe as the world believes?" But
while the right of inquiry is frankly admitted, it can scarcely be
denied that the mind may be biased by prejudice and involved in error;
and the ultimate question is, not, what are your opinions? but, what are
the grounds on which they rest?--not, what is your belief? but, what is
the truth? Mr. Holyoake is the Coryphaeus of his party. As a popular
writer and speaker, his talents and zeal, devoted to a better cause,
might have fitted him for extensive usefulness, and rendered him a
benefactor to his country. As it is, no man in England rests under a
heavier load of responsibility. He has placed himself at the head of the
_propaganda_ of popular infidelity. Is it yet too late for him to
reconsider his opinions, and retrace his steps? For his own sake, f