It is not alone the first beginnings of religion that are full of fear. So long as love is imperfect, there is room for torment. That love only which fills the heart—and nothing but love can fill any heart—is able to cast out fear. The thing that is unknown, yet known to be, will always be more or less formidable. When it is known as immeasurably greater than we, and as having claims and making demands upon us, the more vaguely they are apprehended, the more room is there for anxiety; and when the conscience is not clear, this anxiety may well mount to terror. Those fear him most who most imagine him like their own evil selves, only beyond them in power. Power without love, dependence where is no righteousness, wake a worship without devotion. Neither, where the notion of God is better, but the conscience is troubled, will his goodness do much to exclude apprehension. The same consciousness of evil and of offence which gave rise to the bloody sacrifice is still at work in the minds of most who call themselves Christians. Naturally, the first emotion of man towards the being he calls God, but of whom he knows so little, is fear.
Where it is possible that fear should exist, it is well it should exist, cause continual uneasiness, and be cast out by nothing less than love.