Christian Literature: a sermon delivered May 8th, 1870, in Kensington Chapel, at the seventy-first anniversary of the Religious Tract Society

In Short

This book preserves a formal address delivered at the seventy-first anniversary of the Religious Tract Society in 1870. It explores the relationship between the Bible as a primary, foundational text and the secondary importance of human literature written in a Christian spirit. By detailing the massive scale of the Society’s output and its international operations, the text provides a vivid snapshot of how nineteenth-century religious institutions leveraged the printing press to influence global culture and individual character. It remains a significant historical document of Victorian religious life and evangelical communication.

The Story

The narrative begins with a meditation on the final verse of the Gospel of John, which acknowledges the vast, unrecorded life of Jesus. By drawing a parallel between the "supplementary" nature of this biblical passage and the efforts of human authors to capture divine truth, the argument establishes the inherent incompleteness of all religious writing. This humble admission of limitation becomes the foundation for the author’s primary claim: that while the Bible stands alone as an inspired source, human literature—when written with a conscientious, devout spirit—serves as an essential, subordinate companion.

The discussion then moves to the transformative role of the printing press. Rather than viewing the press as a threat to the pulpit, the argument frames it as an indispensable "helper." While the preacher’s living voice remains uniquely powerful for immediate spiritual exhortation, the press allows for the dissemination of wisdom to places and populations that a missionary could never reach. This shift in the landscape of instruction means that Christian influence must now extend beyond doctrinal sermons to include history, science, poetry, and biography—all "beautified" by the influence of Gospel truth.

The argument then shifts from the theoretical to the practical, focusing on the specific work of the Religious Tract Society. The text emphasizes that while the conversion of souls remains the primary goal, the Society also seeks the "general benefit of all classes" by purifying the wider currents of literature. Through the lens of an Old Testament vision—Ezekiel’s river flowing from the temple to heal the world—the author illustrates the intended impact of these publications. The prose concludes with a detailed, data-heavy summary of the Society’s activities for the year 1870. This section provides a sweeping, almost startling account of the organization’s reach, detailing thousands of pounds in grants, millions of tracts printed, and the complex logistical web connecting London to Paris, St. Petersburg, India, and China. By closing with this empirical evidence, the text moves from the spiritual realm of theology to the concrete reality of a global, industrial-age mission, painting a picture of a world where religious literature is as ubiquitously distributed as any other commodity.

How It Unfolds

The divine supplement The argument opens with a reflection on the Gospel of John, positing that human efforts to write about the divine are always partial and incomplete. This creates an intellectual space where secondary religious literature can exist without competing with the Bible.

The mission of the press The narrative shifts to the invention of printing, framing it as a providential tool that gives "immortal wisdom" a visible and palpable presence. The author argues that the press does not replace the pulpit, but instead takes over the discussion of broader cultural and moral topics.

The sanctification of secular fields The text details how Christianity can stamp its influence on science, history, and poetry without resorting to clumsy, irrelevant patches of scripture. This section advocates for a "sweet spirit" in writing that naturally permeates secular subjects.

The practical duty of reading The author addresses the reader directly, urging the cultivation of a disciplined, thoughtful habit of reading. He stresses that different minds require different types of edification, rejecting a one-size-fits-all approach to religious study.

The global machinery of distribution The final movement presents the concrete operations of the Religious Tract Society. It lists the staggering volume of output—tens of millions of items annually—and describes the vast network of international agents and foreign language publications.

The People

The central figure is the "aged Evangelist" John, who serves as the archetype for every subsequent writer of Christian literature. John is depicted as a man who, late in life, reads his own work with a sense of "adoring love and wonder," realizing that his words are merely a modest instrument for conveying a truth far greater than his own capacity to record it. He represents the humility that the author believes should characterize all religious writers.

The "preacher" is the second key figure, representing the traditional authority of the pulpit. The preacher is not replaced by the rise of the press; rather, he is a man of "human countenance" and "living voice" whose influence is uniquely capable of stirring the heart and calling forth human sympathies. He is a tether to the personal and emotional aspects of faith.

Finally, the "subscriber" or the "agent" of the Religious Tract Society emerges as a collective character. These individuals are portrayed as pragmatic, globally-minded, and industrious. They are not merely pious; they are figures who manage logistics, oversee printing presses, and allocate funds. They stand in the gap between the lofty theological goals of the Church and the vast, often indifferent world. Each of these figures is changed by their relation to the "river" of literature: the Evangelist finds peace in the incompleteness of his work, the preacher learns to share his authority with the printed page, and the agent becomes a custodian of a worldwide intellectual and spiritual legacy.

In Its Own Voice

“And there are also many other things which Jesus did, the which, if they should be written every one, I suppose that even the world itself could not contain the books that should be written.”

This verse from the Gospel of John is used to illustrate the impossibility of fully recording the depth and breadth of the life of Christ.

“It is not unusual for an author to return to the perusal and examination of a work composed by him in bygone years with a deepened belief of the truth of its contents, accompanied by an overwhelming conviction of its want of completeness.”

The author uses this common experience of writers to explain why the Apostle John likely wrote his final chapter as a supplement to his previous history.

“A great deal of money now injudiciously but benevolently frittered away with the hope of some immediate brilliant spiritual results, would, I am satisfied, be invested far more wisely, and, in the end, with a deeper and wider return of advantage, if devoted to the less imposing object of leavening our current literature more and more with the sentiments and principles of genuine Christianity.”

The author argues for a shift in strategy, favoring long-term, subtle cultural influence over the expectation of quick, explosive conversions.

What It's Really About

The book is centrally concerned with the tension between the "supreme gift" of the Bible and the necessary, but secondary, role of human-authored religious literature. It explores the question of how a religious institution should respond to the rapid expansion of literacy and mass communication in the nineteenth century. At its core, the work argues that the influence of faith should not be confined to the church or the pulpit, but must act as a "leaven" throughout all of human knowledge—history, science, and literature alike. It poses the question of how to reconcile the finite limits of human writing with the infinite nature of its subject, ultimately concluding that the purpose of all such literature is to direct the reader back to the "Divine Original."

Why Read It Today

Readers interested in the history of communication or the Victorian era’s moral and intellectual climate will find this a fascinating study in institutional ambition. It provides an honest look at a time when the printed word was seen as the primary vehicle for global transformation. The text can feel dense, reflecting the formal, sermon-like cadence of the 1870s, and its theological assumptions are entirely rooted in the specific evangelical outlook of that period. For a modern reader, the most striking aspect is the sheer scale of the organization’s operations—a nineteenth-century version of a global media conglomerate, fueled by paper and zeal rather than pixels. While the specific debates about tract distribution may feel distant, the underlying question—how to maintain a coherent moral and spiritual identity in an age of information overload—is surprisingly relevant. If you can move past the archaic organizational reporting, the book offers a poignant reflection on the power of literature to shape individual character and the persistent, human desire to capture the transcendent in a permanent form. It is a dense, historical artifact that captures the fervor and the optimism of a pre-digital era determined to fill the world with its ideas.