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MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS 
 
 ON 
 
 CHRISTIAN MORALS 
 
miscellajmeous essays ^^&) 
 
 ^ 
 
 ULL- 
 
 
 CHRISTIAN morals; 
 
 EXPERIMENTAL AND PRACTICAL. 
 
 Originally delivered as Lectui-ea in tlie Broadmead Chapel 
 Bristol. England. 
 
 JOHN FOSTER, 
 
 llJTHOR OF THE ESSAYS ON DECISION OF CHARACTER, AND POPULAR 
 IGNORANCE. 
 
 " If the language of sermons be vague and general ; if it do not applj 
 clearly and directly to our own times, our own ways of life, and habits 
 of thought and action, men elude its hold upon their consciences with a 
 wonderful dexterity." — Arnold. 
 
 NEW-YORK: 
 D. APPLETON & CO. 200 BROADWAY 
 
 PHILADELPHIA : 
 GEORGE S. APPLETON, 148 CHESNUT-ST. 
 
 MDCCCXLIV, 
 
P R EJP A C E 
 
 In the year 1822, Mr. Foster, in compliance 
 with the earnest request of some intimate friends, 
 commenced the delivery of the lectures from which 
 the following are selected, and continued them till 
 the close of 1825. His auditory consisted of per- 
 sons belonging to various religious communities in 
 Bristol, most of whom had long known and appre- 
 ciated his writings. With such a class of hearers, 
 Mr. Foster felt himself warranted to take a wide 
 range of subjects, and to adopt a varied and elabo- 
 rate style of illustration. All the leading ideas of 
 each discourse were committed to paper, with oc- 
 casional hints for amplification, filling generally 
 twelve or fourteen quarto pages, 
 
 Though it is to be regretted that the volume was 
 not prepared for the press by Mr. Foster, yet the 
 above statement will show that its contents are far 
 from being hasty sketches or meagre outlines. — 
 What these invaluable memorials of his revered 
 friend might have been, after being subjected to the 
 Author's revision, the Editor has in some mea- 
 
Tl PREFACE. 
 
 sure been able to ascertain from comparing the 
 original manuscript of a lecture on Hebrews xi. 6, 
 with the same as published by the Religious Tract 
 Society under the title, ** How to find access to 
 God." The bulk of the paragraphs are nearly 
 identical, and the additional matter is chiefly by 
 way of amplification. 
 
 The present volume has been printed from cop- 
 ies of the lectures which have been carefully col- 
 lated with the original manuscripts. The Editor's 
 chief attention has been directed to arranging the 
 sentences in paragraphs, with the appropriate 
 punctuation. It has also been found necessary to 
 supply here and there a word or two, or a connec- 
 tive particle, such as in many instances must have 
 been used in the delivery ; but which for brevity's 
 sake in writing were omitted. 
 
 J. E. RYLAND. 
 
 Northampton, April 8, 1844. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Pas.- 
 
 L— The New Year , .9 
 
 II. — Spring, and its Moral Analogies 18 
 
 III. — Autumn, and ita Moral Analogies 28 
 
 IV. — Winter, and its Moral Analogies 39 
 
 v.— Supreme Attachment due to Spiritual Objects 47 
 
 VI. — Spiritual Freedom produced by knowledge of the Truth. . . .55 
 VII. — Christ, though invisible, the Object of Devout Affection. 63 
 
 VIII. — Fallacies operating against Earnestness in Religion 73 
 
 IX. — Earnestness in Religion Enforced 82 
 
 X. — Comprehensiveness of the Divine Law 92 
 
 XI. — Self-Discipline suitable to certain Mental States 100 
 
 XII.— Characteristics of Vain Thoughts 110 
 
 XIII.— Correctives of Vain Thoughts 118 
 
 XIV.— Necessity and Right Method of Self-Examination 127 
 
 XV. — Uses and Perversions of Conscience 136 
 
 XVI. — Formality and Remissness in Prayer 145 
 
 XVII. — Watchfulness and Prayer 154 
 
 XVIII.— Sober-Mindedness 161 
 
 XIX. — False Grounds of Superiority in Holiness 173 
 
 XX.— Right Mode of Giving and Receiving Reproof. 185 
 
 XXI,— Noah and the Deluge 195. 
 
 XXII. — Destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah 206 
 
 XXIII.— Elijah's Sacrifice, and the Priests of Baal 216 
 
 XXI v.— Ignorance of our Future Mode of Existence .226 
 
 XXV.— Christian Doctrine of the Perfectibility of Man 236 
 
 XXVI.— End of the Year ...245 
 
ESSAYS. 
 
 THE NEW YEAR. 
 
 " Better is the end of a thing than the beginning?'' — 
 Lest this should seem rather a strange sentence to 
 be taken as the foundation of a religious discourse, 
 it may be proper to say, that the intended application 
 of it is to the particular season to which the course of 
 nature and the care of divine Providence have brouo-ht 
 us, — the beginning of another year. 
 
 At the same time, this sentence should be true of 
 many things that might be specified; and it will, if 
 those things succeed well. For instance : — any train 
 of serious thoughts and exercises in the mind, having a 
 reference to practical good, and beginning on one sug- 
 gestion, one conviction, but at last attaining the ulti- 
 mate effect, or result ; .... a course of inquiry con- 
 cerning any important truth ; the beginning is igno- 
 rance, doubt, anxiety, dread of the labour, misty and 
 dubious twilight, and daybreak ; but the end, know- 
 ledge, certainty, satisfaction, &c. ; . . . any practical 
 undertaking for social good, as the present one ; . . . . 
 Christian profession ; examples of the contrary are 
 justly accounted among the most melancholy sights 
 on earth ; . . . . lile itself; in the beginning are the 
 charms of infancy ; but the end, may be far better; — 
 as in the case of a withered, trembling, sinking old 
 man, whose soul is ripe for eternity ; — and it should 
 be so, and must be so, or life is an awful calamity ! 
 
 The text expresses the general principle or doctrine, j 
 that by the condition of our existence here, if things I 
 go right, a conclusion is better than a beginning. It \ 
 is in the condition of our existence in this world, that I 
 tliis principle is founded. That condition is, that every ' 
 thing is passing on toward something else, in order to 
 2 
 
10 TUB NEW YEAR. 
 
 and for the sake of that gomething further on ; so that 
 its chief importance or value is in that something to be 
 attained further on. Chihihood is regarded in relation 
 to manhood; in tliat view its importance is estimated. 
 But in the view of true wisdom, this more advanced 
 stage itself is considered in reference to a final maturity 
 for another state. So, in all our progressive schemes, 
 measures, exercises, pursuits — where is the main point 
 of the interest? In something beyond them. Thus 
 what we are, what we have, or eflect, or attain, is still 
 relative to something further on. And if that ulterior 
 object be attained, and be worth all this preceding 
 course of things, then' "the end is better than the be- 
 ginning." This IS the doctrine of the text;— "the end," 
 when it is the accomplishment of the desirable pur- 
 pose, " is better than the beginning." The fruit is bet- 
 ter than the blossom :— the reaping is better than the 
 sowing ; — the enjoyment than the reaping : — the sec- 
 ond stage of a journey to the happy home is better 
 than the first ; — the home itself than all : — the victory 
 is better than the march and the battle :— the reward 
 is better than the course of service : — the ending in the 
 highest improvement of means is better than being put 
 atlirst in possession of them. In all this we see it is 
 conditionally, and not absolutely, that " the end is bet- 
 ter than the beginning." 
 
 To come now to our intended subject, the new year. 
 We have to consider it on the supposition of our liv- 
 ing through it. And it is most exceedingly desirable 
 that in the noblest sense, " the end" should be "bet- 
 ter than the beginning." We may previously suggest, 
 that in some respects, independently of our will, the 
 end may be worse than the beginning, and in all prob- 
 ability will be so with some of us. It may be, that be- 
 fore the end of the year, the Sovereign Disposer will 
 have withdrawn or diminished some of our means and 
 advantages for turning it to account; — that some of 
 our associates and helpers will be taken aw^ay ; — that 
 our health and vigour will be diminished. As to those 
 who are feeling the infirmities of declining life, it may 
 
THE NEW YEAR. 11 
 
 be accounted certain that a year will sensibly increase 
 these evils. 11". notwithstanding any thing that shall 
 be thus experienced, it shall nevertheless be true at the 
 end of the year that " better is the end of a thing than 
 the beginning," it will be a delightful thing. 
 
 Now let us consider in a short series of plain partic- 
 ulars, what state of the case would authorize us at the 
 end of the year to pronounce this sentence upon il. 
 
 And in the first place, it will easily occur as a gen- 
 eral rule of judgment on the matter, that the sentence 
 may be pronounced if. at the end of the year, we shall 
 be able, after deliberate conscientious reflection, to 
 affirm that the year has been in the most important 
 respects, better than the preceding. It is possible to a 
 reflective spirit to recall several preceding years, as 
 the countenances of several d. parted acquaintance, to 
 compare and estimate them one with another. This 
 has sometimes been one of the serious employments 
 of thought of persons sensible of their approaching 
 end — to see how the evil or the good influences have 
 acted on them ; where has been the most cause for self- 
 abasement, and where for gratitude. And well may 
 we take the rules by which they have judged, while 
 we review and compare, for instance, the last two 
 years of our life. We can make some judgment of 
 these kist two in comparison, — and what is the sen- 
 tence? Is it, — " The latter has been more of what in 
 my best moments I have wished?" — "it has not left 
 me where I was before ?" — " through the divine grace 
 1 do stand on a somewhat different ground towards 
 my God and my fellow-mortals ?" — " my conscience 
 and I are somewhat more at peace ?" — " it is not quite 
 so painful a review ?" — " I can deplore that the former 
 was not like the latter?" — "a devout friend solicitous 
 for my welfare, who died in the former year, would 
 have left me with more complacency in the latter? 
 I have almost ventured to hope that that affectionate 
 saint might in heaven itself be apprized of my improve- 
 ment?"— Let us not shrink from so salutary an exer- 
 cise of review and comparison. Now i^j at the end o{ 
 
12 THE NEW YEAR. 
 
 the year, on repeating such an exercise we shall be 
 able to pronounce such a judgment, then, " Better is 
 the end of a thing than the beginning." 
 
 This leads to another observation. The sentence 
 will be true if, during the progress of the year, we shajl 
 effectually avail ourselves of the lessons suggested by 
 a review of the preceding year. What those lessons 
 are, is the concern of each one's conscience in the sight 
 of God. If there be persons to whom the lessons so de- 
 rived are little more than simply this, '''Just persevere P^ 
 — how happy ! But to most of us there will be more 
 accusing and painful ones ; the purport of them may 
 be, " Reform !" If the solemn reflections which arose 
 at the end of former years, have not had their due 
 weight during the last, what an emphatic lesson they 
 become now! — gathering aggravation through all the 
 last year ! and now at the end of it, and in the review, 
 are there decided censures of the judgment, enforced 
 by strong remonstrances of conscience ? Is there some- 
 thing which we should dread to think should remain 
 just the same for another year ? which we should have 
 deemed a most happy thing had it been altered by the 
 end of last year? and which has troubled the soul with 
 deep disquietude ? Has an important interest been 
 trifled with? an urgent duty still delayed and delay- 
 ed? and, consequently, a state of mind far from happy 
 as towards God : so that the close of the past year has 
 lefl us with admonitions pointed and aggravated by 
 reproach ? Who then would not exclaim, " Let it not 
 be thus at the end of another year !" — i\ow if these 
 reflections and admonitions shall have their proper 
 effect in the ensuing year, — "Better" will be '-the end 
 of a thing than the beginning." Maya gracious God 
 grant that it may be so I that lessons given us at such 
 a cost may not be unavailing; — the cost of so much 
 peace and happiness withheld, to tell us how it cannot 
 be enjoyed ! the cost of so much time, and means, and 
 knowledge, and mercy lost to enforce upon us a sense 
 of the guilt of losing them ! — Amidst such reflections 
 on the past year, the first thing to be desired is, the 
 
THE NEW YEAR. 13 
 
 pardoning mercy of God through Christ. But surely 
 not less desirable is it, that every admonition, every 
 instructive lesson, enforced upon us by reflecrion on 
 the past year, should go into practical effeci during 
 this we have entered on. 
 
 At the close of this year, should life be protracted so 
 far, the motto will be applicable, if we can then say, 
 "My lessons from reflection on the departed year are 
 much less painful, and much more cheering, than at the 
 close of the former ;" it' we can say this without any 
 delusion from insensibihty, for the painfuiness of re- 
 flection may lessen from a wrong cause ; but to say 
 it with an enlightened conscience to witness, how de- 
 lightful ! To be then able to recall each particular, 
 and to dwell on it a few moments, — '• that was, be- 
 fore, a very painful consideration — now, " 
 
 " This, again, made me sad, and justly so, — now. 
 '....!" " What shall I render to God for the mer- 
 cy of his granting my prayer for all-sufficient aid ? 
 I will render to him, by his help, a still better year 
 next." 
 
 The chief test of the true application of the proverb, 
 that it will be a true sentence, is this, if then we shall 
 have good evidence that we are become really more 
 devoted to God. We, and our life, Q.vefor Him, or all 
 is utterly cast away ! In detachment from Him, think 
 li^w all is reduced to vanity and Avretchedness ! The 
 sense of this has often inflicted anguish on a reflective 
 spirit sensible of a sad deficiency of this devotedness. 
 " Here am I, with faculties, and an infinite longing — 
 to be happy. Why am I not ? I have an oppressive 
 sense of evil, from which there is no escape. I have 
 intense dissatisfaction, in myself and all thinirs. Oh! 
 it would not be so if I ' dwelt in God, and God in me.' 
 My life, my time, each year, spite of all I do and en- 
 joy, seem a gloomy scene of emptiness and vanity. It 
 would not be felt so, if it were/or God that I liv^ed ; if 
 my affections, my activities, my years, my months, 
 ivere devoted to HimP Without this, no year is good, 
 hi its progress or its end. A high degree of tiiis 
 
14 THE NEW YEAR. 
 
 would have made our former years end nobly; would 
 have made the last do so. 
 
 It is little more ■than putting the same thing in more 
 general terms to say — the end will be better than the 
 beginning, if we shall by then have practicully learnt 
 to live more stricily and earnestly for the greatest pur- 
 poses of life. If we can say of it, — '• It has been more 
 redeemed from trifling and inferior uses. It has been 
 more employed to purposes which always present 
 their claims to me the more conspicuously the more 
 seriously and religiously I think — more to the pur- 
 poses of which I am the most secure against all repent- 
 ance — the purposes which I can the most perfectly 
 feel place me in a right element, — and concerning 
 which I can the most confidently look to God for both 
 approbation and assistance." 
 
 To this may be added, tliat if we shall have ac-^ 
 quired a more effectual sense of the worth of time, the 
 sentence. "Better is the end of a thing than the begin- 
 ning," will be true. Being intent on the noblest pur- 
 poses of life, will itself, in a great degree, create this 
 " effectual sense." But there may require, too, a spe- 
 cial thought of time itself— a habit of noting it — be- 
 cause it is so transient, silent, and invisible a thing. 
 There may be a want of faith to "see this invisible," 
 and of a sense of its flight. For want of this, and the 
 sense too of its vast worth, what quantities reflecticyi 
 may tell us we have wasted in past years — in the last 
 year ! And, at the very times when we were heed- 
 lessly letting it pass by, throwing it away, — there 
 w«re, h ere and there, men passionately imploring a 
 day — an hour — a few moments — more. And at those 
 same seasons some men, here and there, were most 
 diligently and earnestly redeeming and improving the 
 very moments we lost ! — the identical moments, — for 
 we had the same, and of the same length and value. 
 Some of them are. in heaven itself, now enjoying the 
 consequences. Where do we promise ourselves the 
 consequences of those portions of time lost ? The re- 
 flection on our waste and losses, in the past year, from 
 
THE NEW YEAR. 15 
 
 our little allotment of this most precious material, 
 should powerfully come in, &c. The rule of its value 
 is, the consideration of what might be done in it. 
 Think of its separate portions in this light. How im- 
 portant to have a powerful habitual impression of all 
 this! And if, this year, we shall acquire much more 
 of this strong habitual sense, — if we become more cov- 
 etous of time, — if we cannot waste it without much 
 greater pain, — if we shall, therefore, lose and misspend 
 much less, — then the text is true. 
 
 It will again be true, if, with regard to fellow-mor- 
 tals, we can conscientiously feel thai we have been to 
 them more what Christians ought — than in the preced- 
 ing year. They must be, in a measure, admitted 
 into the judgment on the case, at least as evidence. 
 There cannot be a very material improvement quite 
 independently of their experience. It will therefore 
 be happy to be able to call them to witness, at the term 
 we are referring to, while a man shall say ; — 
 
 " I am become more solicitous to act toward you in 
 the fear of God. — I am become more conscientiously 
 regardful of what is due to you, and set a higher im- 
 portance on your welfare. — I have exerted myself 
 more for your good. — On the whole, therefore, I stand 
 more acquitted towards you than I have at the conclu- 
 sion of any former season." 
 
 Another point of superiority we should hope the 
 end may have over the beginning of the year is, that 
 of our being in a better slate of preparation for all that 
 is to follow. Is it not the case, sometimes, that cer- 
 tain things presented to our thoughts, as what may 
 take place, excite a consciousness that we are not well 
 prepared for them ? What then ? — Should we be 
 content carelessly to stand the hazard ? Or trust in 
 the vain refuge of a hope that we may never be so 
 tried? — Stupid self-beguilement ! the' folly of child- 
 hood, without its innocence. — A mortal is to look with 
 certainty for a number of things which will put his 
 best preparation to the trial. — Who was ever too well 
 prepared for sudden emergencies of trial ? — too well 
 
16 THE NEW YEAR. 
 
 prepared for duty, temptation, or affliction ? — too well 
 prepared for the last thing that is to be encountered 
 on earth ? Now, did we close the last'year quite as 
 competently prepared as we would desire, for what- 
 ever may ensue? So that here at the beginning we 
 can say, '- Here now are a wisdom, a fliith, a con- 
 science, a vigilance, a fortitude, to venture boldly on." 
 The answer, in most instances at least, would be, 
 " No ; I wish I were frir better disciplined for the greai 
 Master's service. — I wish that I could say — I am quite 
 willing to leave, in perfect uncertainty, all events to 
 him, being. I hope, by his grace, in a habit of mind 
 fitted to meet them, whatever they may be ; but it is 
 not yet so with me." — Here, then, is a most important 
 improvement to be aimed at during this year. 
 
 It will be a great advantage and advancement to 
 end the year with, if we shall then have accquired 
 more of a rational and Christian indifference to life 
 itself But indeed there is no distinction between 
 "rational" and •• Christian," in this case. An ear- 
 nest cliniring to life is rational, except under tlie fa- 
 vour of Christianity, and there it is not. But notwith- 
 standing this sovereign and only remedy for the fear 
 of losing life, what an excessive attachment to it re- 
 mains ! It were well that this were less. — and that it 
 lessened with the lessening of the object ; so that 
 each year expended should have reduced the passion 
 at least as much as it has diminished the object. Has 
 this been so the past year? '-My property in life is 
 now less by almost 400 days; so much less to culti- 
 vate and reap from. If they were of value, the value 
 of the remainder is less after they are withdrawn. 
 As to temporal good, I have but learnt the more ex- 
 perimentally that that cannot make me happy. I 
 have therefore less of a delusive hope on this ground, 
 as to the future. The spiritual good of so much time 
 expended, I regard as transferred to eternity ; so 
 much, therefore, thrown inio the scale of another life 
 against this. And in addition, some of ray valued 
 friends are transferred thither also : so that another 
 
THE NEW YEAR. 17 
 
 scene has been growing rich by the losses of this. 
 Besides, the remaining portion will probably be, in a 
 na,tural sense, of a much worse quality. Therefore., 
 as the effect of all this, my attachment to this life is 
 loosening, and the attraction of another is augment- 
 ing." 
 
 If it was desirble that we should be able to say this 
 at the recent close of the last year, is it not still more 
 desirable we should, at the close of the present? 
 Then we shall be able to say, in addition, "/am glad 
 the year is g-o?ie." 
 
 Now it must be seen, by a considerate mind, that 
 such as these are tfle conditions on which the sen- 
 tence will be true, " Better is the end of a thing than 
 the begining." And how exceedingly desirable that 
 such might be the case with us, if we close this year 
 on eanh ! But this will not be by the mere passing 
 of the time. It is important to consider that this state 
 of things at the end cannot be expected, unless it is 
 realized in a due degree in the successive parts. 
 
 Are we beginning the year in such a spirit and 
 plan ? If there has been a melancholy failure in past 
 years, how has it happened ? All this cannot be, 
 without our maintaining an habitual serious reference 
 to the end of life itself It cannot be, without an earnest 
 religious discipline of our souls. It cannot be without 
 the Divine Power working in us, and for us. And 
 what shall impel us to desire and seek that blessed 
 influence, if not such considerations as the preceding? 
 The concluding admonition is,^ — that we may not 
 in this world attain the end of the year. Hence the 
 necessity, that each small portion of life should close 
 under the same circumstances, as the entire year. 
 
 The sublime of the sentence will be in the case of 
 those who, beginning this year on earth, will at the 
 end of it be in heaven ! 
 
II. 
 
 SPRING, AND ITS MORAL ANALOGIES. 
 
 " Thou renewest the face of the earth.'''' — The sea- 
 sons of external nature, in the course of the j^ear, are a 
 considerably interesting part of what makes up our 
 condition during our sojourn on this earth ; and good 
 men, from the Psalmist downward, have not been con- 
 tent that the effect of these seasons upon them should 
 be confined to .the mere externid material condition, 
 but have been desirous that the ^cissitudes of nature 
 should minister to the welfare of the mind. 
 
 The spring season especially has been regarded as 
 fertile of what might afford salutary instruction in a 
 pleasing vehicle. We are now in the very midst of 
 this genial season ; and before its flowers and bloom 
 are past, we might do well to endeavour to draw from 
 it something not quite so transient. 
 
 The vast importance to us, that this season should 
 regularly and infallibly return in its time, is obvious 
 the instant it is mentioned. But it is not so instantly 
 recollected how entirely we are at the mercy of the 
 God of nature for its return. We are in our places 
 here on the surface of the earth, to wait in total de- 
 pendence for Him to cause the seasons to visit our 
 abode, as iielpless and impotent as particles of dust. 
 If the Power that brings them on, were to hold them 
 back, we could only submit, or repine — and perish ! 
 His will could strike with an instant paralysis the 
 whole moving system of nature. Let there be a sus- 
 pension of liis agency, and all would stop ; or a change 
 of it, and things would take a new and tearful course 1 
 Yet we are apt to think of the certainty of the return 
 of the desired season, in some other light than that of 
 the certainty that God will cause it to come. With a 
 sort of passive irreligion we allow a something, con- 
 ceived as an established order of nature, to take the 
 place of the Author and Ruler of nature, forgetful that 
 
SPRING, ATD ITS MORAL ANALOGIES. 19 
 
 all this is nothing but the continually acting power 
 and will of God ; and that nothing can be more ab- 
 surd than the notion of God's having constituted a sys- 
 tem to be, one moment, independent of himself. 
 
 Consider, next, this beautiful vernal season ;— what 
 a gloomy and unpromising scene and season it arises 
 out of! It is almost like creation from chaos ; like life 
 from a state of death. If we might be allowed in a 
 supposition so wide from probability, as that a person 
 should not know what season is to follow, while con- 
 templating the scene, and feeling the rigours of win- 
 ter, how difficult it would be for him to comprehend or 
 believe that the dafkness, dreariness, bleakness, and 
 cold — the bare, desolate, and dead aspect of nature 
 could be so changed. If he could then in some kind 
 of vision behold such a scene as that now spread over 
 the earth — he would be disposed to say, '• It cannot 
 be;" "this is absolutely a new creation, or another 
 world !" 
 
 Might we not take an instruction from this, to cor- 
 rect the judgments we are prone to form of the divine 
 government? We are placed within one limited 
 scene and period of the great succession of the divine 
 dispensations — a dark and gloomy one — a prevalence 
 of evil. We do not see how it can be, that so much 
 that is offensive and grievous, should be introductory 
 to something delightful and glorious. "Look, how 
 fixed ! how inveterate ! how absolute ! how unchang- 
 ing ! is not this a character of perpetuity ?" If a bet- 
 ter, nobler scene to follow is intimated by the spirit of 
 prophecy, in figures analogous to the beauties of 
 spring, it is regarded with a kind of despondency, as 
 if prophecy were but a kind of sacred poetry ; and is 
 beheld as something to aggravate the gloom of the 
 present, rather than to draw the mind forward in de- 
 lightful hope. So we allow our judgments of the 
 divine government, — of the mighty field of it, and of 
 its progressive periods, — to be formed very much upon 
 an exclusive view of the limited, dark portion of his 
 dispensations which is immediately present to us ! 
 
20 SPRING, AND ITS MORAL ANALOGIES. 
 
 But such judgments should be corrected by the spring 
 blooming around us, so soon after the gloomy desola- 
 tion of winter. The man that we were supposing so 
 ignorant and incredulous, what would he now think of 
 what he had thought thenl 
 
 How welcome are the early signs, and precursory 
 appearances of the spring; the earlier dawn of day; 
 — a certain cheerful cast in the light, even though still 
 shining over an expanse of desolation, — it has the ap- 
 pearance of a smile ; — a softer breathing of the air, at 
 intervals ; — the bursting of the buds ; the vivacity of 
 the animal tribes; the first flowers of the season; — 
 and, by degrees, a delicate dubious tint of green. It 
 needs not that a man should be a poet, or a sentimen- 
 tal worshipper of nature, to be delighted with all. 
 
 May we suggest one analogy lo this ? The opera- 
 tion of the Divhie Spirit in renovating the human soul, 
 effecting its conversion from the natural state, is some- 
 times displayed in this gentle and gradual manner, 
 especially in youth. In many cases, certainly, it 
 seems violent and sudden, resembling the transition 
 from winter to spring in the northern climates ; but, in 
 the more gradual instances, whether in youth or fur- 
 ther on in life, it is most gratifying to perceive the first 
 indications, — serious thoughts and emotions — grow- 
 ing sensibility of conscience — distaste for vanity and 
 folly — deep solicitude for the welfare of the soul — a 
 disposition to exercises of piety — a progressively 
 clearer, more grateful, and more believing apprehen- 
 sion of the necessity and sufficiency of the work and 
 sacrifice of Christ for human redemption. To a pious 
 friend, or parent, this is more delightful than if he 
 could have a vision of Eden, as it bloomed on the first 
 day that Adam beheld it. 
 
 But we may carry the analogy into a wider applica- 
 tion. It is most gratifying to perceive the signs of 
 change on the great field of society. How like the 
 early flowers, — the more benignant light — the incipi- 
 ent verdure, are the new desire of knowledge, and the 
 schemes and efforts to impart it — the rising, zealoue, 
 
21 
 
 and rapidly enlarging activity to promote true reli- 
 gion; and the development of the principles and spirit 
 of liberty. In this moral spring, we hope we are ad- 
 vanced a little way beyond the season of the earliest 
 flowers. 
 
 The next observation on the spring season is, how 
 reluctantly the worse gives place to the better ! While 
 the winter is forced to retire, it is yet very tenacious of 
 its reign; it seems to make many efforts to return; it 
 seems to hate the beauty and fertility that are sup- 
 planting it. For months we are liable to cold, chill- 
 ing, pestilential blasts, and sometimes biting frosts. A 
 f)ortion of the malignant power lingers or returns to 
 urk, as it were, under the most cheerful sunshine ; so 
 that the vegetable beauty remains in hazard, and the 
 luxury of enjoying the spring is attended with danger 
 to persons not in firm health. It is too obvious to 
 need pointing oat, how much resembling this there is 
 in the moral state of things; — in the hopeful advance 
 and improvement of the youthful mind, — in the early 
 and indeed the more advanced stages of the Christian 
 character — and in all the commencing improvements 
 of human society. 
 
 We may contemplate, next, the lavish, boundless dif- 
 fusion, riches, and variety of beauty in the spring. 
 Survey a single confined spot, or pass over leagues, or 
 look from a hill ; infinite affluence every where ! and 
 flo you know, too, that it is over a wide portion of the 
 globe at the same time ; it is under your feet, spreads 
 out to the horizon, meets every sense. And all this 
 created within a few weeks ! To every observer the 
 immensity, variety, and beauty are obvious. But to 
 the perceptions of the skilful naturalist all this is in- 
 definitely multipled. Reflect, what a display is here of 
 the boundless resources of the great Author. He 
 flings forth, as it were, an unlimited wealth — a deluge 
 of beauty, immeasurably beyond all that is strictly 
 necessary ; an immense quantity that man never sees, 
 not even in the mass. It is true, that man is not the 
 only creature for which the gratification is designed. 
 3 
 
22 SPRING, AND ITS MORAL ANALOGIES. 
 
 But it is man alone, of the earth's inhabitants, that can 
 take any account of it as beauty, or as wisdom, and 
 power, and goodness. Such unhmited profusion may- 
 well assure us that He who can afford thus to lavish 
 treasures so ftir beyond what is simply necessary, can 
 never fliil of resources for all that is or ever shall be 
 necessary. 
 
 May we not venture to think that this vast super- 
 fluity of pleasing objects, conferred on this temporary 
 abode of our feeble and sinful existence, may be taken 
 as one of the intimations of a grand enlargement of 
 faculties in another state? We may assume that 
 in any world to which good men shall be assigned, 
 there will be an immense affluence of the wonderful 
 works of the Almighty, and shall there not be such an 
 enlargement of capacity and perception that there 
 shall be a less waste of those admirable works ? We 
 would be willing to suppose that there may be a less 
 proportion of them placed beyond the power of atten- 
 tion ; less that should seem to answer no end to the 
 devout contemplator. 
 
 We may observe, again, on this profusion and diver- 
 sity of beauty, — what an ample provision it is for those 
 faculties in our nature, which are not to be accounted 
 the highest and noblest. The mere organs of 
 sense receive immediately their pleasing influences. 
 Through those combined susceptibilities of our blend- 
 ed constitution of body and mind, which we call taste, 
 we have pleasurable perceptions of beauty, grace, 
 harmony, grandeur. And the imagination has a large 
 share of the enjoyment. All this is most evidently an 
 intended adaptation. It is good, therefore, that man 
 should have the exercise, the cultivation, and the plea- 
 sure of these faculties. What the proper regulaiion and 
 limits may be— and how to adjust the proportion and 
 the balance between these and higher interests and 
 pleasures — is a matter for conscientious judgment. 
 But the general fact is most obvious tliat the Creator 
 intended the exercise and gratification of faculties for 
 which he has made such copious provision. 
 
SPRING, AND ITS MORAL ANALOGIES. 23 
 
 But it is a most serious consideration here, that the 
 value and the final object of this exercise and pleasure 
 are lost, if they do not tend to and combine with reli- 
 gion ; if a man observes, and admires — and enjoys, 
 and is enchanted with the fine feeling, and all the 
 while forgets the adorable and beneficent Author, or 
 feels no veneration or grateful aspiring of soul toward 
 Him. Our relation to Him is our supreme and most 
 vital interest, and the interest of every other relation 
 is meant to be coincident, subordinate, and contribu- 
 tory. The disregard of this great law comes under 
 the condemnation of "loving the creature more than 
 the Creator, who is blessed for ever." Much of this 
 impiety there is, among the admirers of the beauties 
 of nature and of the spring. It were no mere shape 
 of imagination, if we were to represent such a lamenta- 
 ble spectacle as this, namely, — a man of cultivated 
 mind, vividly perceptive faculties, refined taste and 
 poetic fancy, straying among the vernal fields and 
 groves with a fond enchantment, with a sentiment for 
 each flower and blooming shrub, and singing bird, 
 and gay insect ; — diffusing his soul in fine sympathy 
 with all that smiles around him, but with no recogni- 
 tion of Him that creates and animates the scene ! All 
 that scene is no more than a reflection of a few rays of 
 the divine glory. But this admirer looks not toward 
 the bright Reality. He takes this faint reflection as if 
 it were itself the essential beauty and glory, and can- 
 not see how it fades and perishes when impiety like 
 this comes between it and heaven. In some instances, 
 as by a judicial retribution, the man is permitted to 
 consummate his impiety by making nature his god ; — 
 fancying some kind of mysterious, all-pervading, yet 
 not intelligent spirit, which ejects the Divinity and 
 takes his place. 
 
 The spring has always been regarded as obviously 
 presenting an image of youthful life. The newness, 
 liveliness, -fair appearance, exuberance of the vital 
 principle, rapid growth — such are the flattering points 
 of likeness. But there are also less pleasing circum- 
 
24 SPRING, AND ITS MORAL ANALOGIES. 
 
 stances of resemblance, the frailty and susceptibility, 
 so peculiarly liable to fatal injury from inauspicious 
 influences, blights, and diseases. Those who have to 
 watch over infancy, childhood, and early youth, can 
 often see, in smitten plants and flowers, the emblems of 
 what they have to fear for their charge. There is the 
 circumstance, that the evil in the human disposition 
 can grow even faster than the good. As in spring, the 
 weeds, the useless and noxious vegetables, the offen- 
 sive or venomous animals, thrive as well as the useful 
 and salutary productions ; and that too. not only with- 
 out attention to assist them, but in spite of efforts to 
 repress or extirpate them. There is the circumstance, 
 that is yet to be proved, whether the early season will 
 have its full value ultimately; whether fair and hope- 
 ful appearances and beginnings will not end in a mor- 
 tifying disappointment. How many a rich bloom of 
 the trees comes to nothing ! How many a field of corn 
 promising in the blade, disappoints in the harvest! 
 Under this point of the analogy, the vernal human 
 beings are a subject for pensive, for almost melancholy 
 contemplation. There is one specially instructive 
 point of resemblance. Spring is the season for dili- 
 gent cultivation ; so is youth. What if the spring were 
 suffered to go past without any cares and labours of 
 husbandry ! But see how the parallel season of 
 human life is, in numberless instances, consumed away 
 under a destitution of the discipline requisite to form 
 a rational being to wisdom, goodness, and happiness ; 
 through the criminal neglect of those who have the 
 charge and the accountableness, and the almost infal- 
 libly consequent carelessness of the undisciplined crea- 
 tures themselves. One shall not seldom be struck 
 with the disparity between these two provinces of cul- 
 tivation. The garden shall be put in neat order, the 
 fruit-tree trimmed and trained; the corn-field exhibit- 
 ing a clean shining breadth of green ; the children and 
 youth bearing every mark of mental and moral rude- 
 ness. On the contrary, it is delightful to see the spring 
 season of life advancing under such a cultivation, of 
 
SPRING, AND ITS MORAL ANALOGIES. "Zo 
 
 the instructor's care, of conscientious self-tuition, and 
 of divine influence, as to give good hope of rich ensu- 
 ing seasons. A part of the pleasure imparted by the 
 beauty of the spring is, whether we are exactly aware 
 of it or not, in an anticipation of what it is to result in. 
 Though as we have said, there is much for uncompla- 
 cent presentiment in beholding the bloom, animation, 
 and unfolding faculties of early life, yet they who are 
 affectionately interested in the sight, are insensibly 
 carried forward in imagination to the virtues and ac- 
 complishments which they are willing to foresee in the 
 mature and advanced states. It maybe added, as one 
 more point in this parallel, that the rapid passing away 
 of the peculiar beauty of spring, gives an emblem of 
 the transient continuance of the lively and joyous period 
 of human life. 
 
 They are not all pleasing ideas that arise in the 
 contemplation of the vernal season. There is one of 
 a profoundly gloomy character, that of the portentous 
 general contrast between the beauty of the natural^ 
 and the deformity of the moral world. A correspond- 
 ence seems to be required in things which are asso- 
 ciated together. Survey then the fair scene and think 
 what kind of beings, to correspond to it, the rational 
 inhabitants ought to be ; not a few, a small intermin- 
 gled portion, but the general race. Would not the con- 
 ception be, — innocence, ingenuousness, all the kind 
 and sweet affections, bright refined thought, sponta- 
 neous advancement in all good, piety to heaven ? But 
 now look on the actual fact— and that, without going 
 so far off as those fine tracts of the earth where man 
 is the most cruel and ferocious of the wild beasts that 
 infest them. See in these more civilized regions, the 
 coarse debasement — the selfishness — the hostile arti- 
 fices — the ill tempers andmalignantpassions — theprac- 
 tices of injustice — the obstinacyin evil habits — the irre- 
 ligion, both negative and daringly positive ! Within 
 the memory of many of us, how much of the vernal 
 beauty of Europe, every year, has been trodden down 
 under the feet, or blasted by the ravages of hostile 
 3* 
 
26 SPRING, AND ITS MORAL ANALOGIES. 
 
 armies ! how many a blooming bower has given out 
 its odours mingled with tJie putrid effluvia of human 
 creatures killed by one another ! Such is the corres- 
 pondence of the inhabitants to the beautiful scenery 
 of their dwelling-place! The fair luxury of spring 
 serves to bring out, more prominently, the hideous fea- 
 tures of the moral condition ! 
 
 But even if we could keep out of view this directly 
 moral contrast, there are still other circumstances of a 
 gloomy colour. Amidst this glowing life of the vernal 
 season, there are languor, an j sickness, and infirm old 
 age, and death ! While nature smiles, there arc many 
 pale countenances that do not. Sometimes you have 
 met, slowly pacing the green meadow or the garden, a 
 figure emaciated by illness, or feeble with age ; and 
 were the more forcibly struck by the spectacle as seen 
 amidst a luxuriance of life. For a moment, you have 
 felt as if h11 the living beauty faded or receded from 
 around, in the shock of the contrast. You may have 
 gone into a house beset with roses and all the pride of 
 spring, to see a person lingering and sinking in the 
 last feebleness of mortality. You may have seen a 
 funeral train passing through a flowery avenue. The 
 ground Avhich is the depository of the dead, bears, not 
 the less for that, its share of the beauty of spring. The 
 great course of nature pays no regard totlie particular 
 circumstances of man, — no suspension, no sympathy ! 
 
 To a person in the latter stages of life, if destitute of 
 the sentiments and expectations o^ Religion., this world 
 of beauty must lose its captivations ; it must even take 
 a melancholy aspect ; for what should strike him so 
 directly and forcibly as the thought, that he is soon to 
 leave it? It may even appear too probable that this 
 is the last spring season he shall behold ; while he 
 looks upon it, he may feel an intimation that he is bid- 
 ding it adieu ; his paradise is retiring behind him, and 
 what but a dreary immeasurable desert is before him? 
 This will blast the fair scene while he surveys it, how- 
 ever rich its hues and the sunshine that gilds it! 
 
 On the contrary, and by the same rule, this fair dis- 
 
SPRING, AND ITS MORAL ANALOGIES. 27 
 
 play of the Creator's works and resources will be grat- 
 ifying, the most and the latest, to the soul animated 
 with the love of God, and the confidence of soon en- 
 tering on a nobler scene. " Let me," he may say, 
 " look once more at what my Divine Father has dif- 
 fused even hither as a faint intimation of what he has 
 somewhere else. I am pleased with this as a distant 
 outskirt, as it were, of the paradise toward which I am 
 going." Though we are not informed of the exact 
 manner of a happy existence in another state, assur- 
 edly, there will be an ample and eternal exercise of 
 the faculties on the wondrous works of ihe Almighty, 
 and therefore a mode of perception adapted to appre- 
 hend their beauty, harmony, and magnificence. It is 
 not for us to conjecture whether good spirits corpore- 
 ally detached from this world, are therefore withdrawn 
 from all such relation to it, or knowledge of it, as 
 would admit of their retaining still some perception of 
 the material beauty and sublimity displayed upon it by 
 the Creator. But it may well be presumed that in 
 one region or other of his dominions, the intellectual 
 being will be empowered with a faculty to perceive 
 every order of phenomena in which his glory is mani- 
 fested. If we think of an angel traversing this earth, 
 though he has not oicr mode of apprehending this fair 
 vision of spring, it were absurd to suppose that there- 
 fore all this material grace and splendour is to him ob- 
 literated, blank, and indifferent. We shall not then 
 believe that any change which shall elevate the hu- 
 man spirit, will by that very fact destroy, as to its per- 
 ception, admiration, and enjoyment, any of the char- 
 acters on the works of God. 
 
 We close the contemplation by observing, what an 
 immensity of attainable interest and delight, of one 
 class only, besides the sublimer, there is, that may be 
 lost, — and all is lost, if the soul be lost 1 
 
III. 
 
 AUTUMN, AND ITS MORAL ANALOGIES. 
 
 " IVe all do fade as a leaf.'''' — Our lives have been 
 prolonged once more to witness the wide progress of 
 decay over the field of nature. The infinite masses of 
 foliage, which unfolded so beautifully in vegetable life, 
 in the spring, and have adorned our landscape during 
 the summer, have faded, fallen, and perished. We 
 have beheld the "grace of the fashion" of them dis- 
 closed, continuing awhile bright in the sunshine, and 
 gone for ever. Now we are admonished not to see 
 the very leaves fade, without being reminded that 
 something else is also fading; this is a fact more inti- 
 mately realized to us than any thing in the external 
 world can be, but of which we have a most marvel- 
 lous faculty, if we may so call it, of being insensible. 
 Is it not so ■? How many of us can — or can any of iis 
 — say, they have had during the recent season, as dis- 
 tinct and prolonged a reflection on the fact, that our 
 own mortnl existence is fading, as we have had a per 
 ception of the fading and extinction of vegetable life 
 It would seem as if the continued pressure of ill health, 
 or the habitual spectacle of sickness and decline in 
 our friends, were necessary in order to keep us remind- 
 ed of the truth which is expressed in the text. 
 
 We should do well to fix our attention awhile on 
 this very pernicious fact, of our inaptitude to feel and 
 reflect that our mortal condition is fading; and then to 
 note and urge a few of those monitory circumstances 
 which verify this our declining state. Let us look a 
 little at the habits of our feehng, in regard to this matter. 
 
 We are very unapt to recognize the common lot and 
 destiny of all human life — that it is to fade, and is fading. 
 The vast world of the departed is out of our sight, — 
 even what was the material and visible part. What 
 is constantly in our sight is the world of the living ; and 
 we are unapt to think of them as all appointed not to 
 be living. Perhaps it was but very few times in the life 
 
AUTUMN, AND ITS MORAL ANALOGIES. 29 
 
 of the Persian monarch that he was in so refleclive and 
 moral a mood, as when, looking on his innumerable 
 army, he thought, and wept to think, that in less than a 
 century they would all be dead. In our own case, while 
 we see the countless population, in all the passions and 
 actions of life, it is but now and then, perhaps rather 
 unfrequently, that the reflection, like a solemn shade, 
 comes over us, — " these are all hastening out of sight, 
 tending to dissolution and dust ! Such a living scene 
 our ancestors beheld ; but where are now both those 
 they looKed on and themselves ?" — Man as he is, fills 
 the attention, and precludes the thought of man as he 
 is appointed and going to be. 
 
 We note a circumstance which aids the deception, 
 that the most decayed and faded portion of the living 
 world is much less in sight than the fresh and vigorous. 
 Think how many infirm, sick, debilitated, languishing, 
 and almost dying persons there are, that are rarely or 
 never out in public view, — not met in our streets, roads, 
 or places of resort, — not in our religious assemblies! 
 And then "outof sight out of mind " in a great degree! 
 Thus we look at the living world so as not to read the 
 destiny written on every forehead, and in this thought- 
 lessness are the more apt to forget our own. 
 
 But we are very prone to forget our own destiny, 
 even while we do recognize the general appointment 
 to fade and vanish. The great general appointment 
 is brought in our view, by many things which we can- 
 not help perceiving. There is no avoiding to observe 
 something of the process of fading. It is obvious that 
 many of our fellow mortals are dying ; — that many are 
 pining in sickness, and consuming away under incura- 
 ble distempers; — that many are changing in appear- 
 ance, withering down, gradually declirung in strength, 
 and smking into infirmity and feebleness. But never- 
 theless, we have some unaccountable power and in- 
 stinct to dissociate ourselves from the general condi- 
 tion and relationship of humanity. "All men think 
 all men mortal but themselves." — " /am not hopelessly 
 sick. — / am not sinking into feebleness. — / am not 
 witherint; within an inch of the dust." This is thought- 
 
30 AUTUMN, AND ITS MORAL ANALOGIES. 
 
 lessly suffered to become, in the feeling, or rather in- 
 sensibiHty, of the mind, much the same tiling as if / 
 had no such thing to apprehend ; — as if that general 
 lot were not mine ! 
 
 Have you not been sometimes struck or amazed at 
 this, in observing others, or in self-reflection ? How is 
 it, you have said — How comes it to be possible, that 
 men can see the partakers of their own nature and des- 
 tiny, withering and falHng from the tree of life, and 
 calmly look at them in their fall and in the dust, with 
 hardly one pointed reflection turned on themselves ! 
 As if the careless spectator should say, " Well, they 
 must go : — there is no help for them ! unfortunate lot ! 
 but it is nothing to me, except to pity them for a mo- 
 ment, and be glad that I am vmder no such disastrous 
 decree !" So little is there of ominous sympathy felt, 
 while men see neighbours, acquaintance, friends, rela- 
 tives, one by one, fading, falling, and vanishing ! It 
 might seem as if they were not considered as having 
 belonged to the great human fraternity ; as if they had 
 not been exem])lijicaticms of what man is. and is ap- 
 pointed to, to admonish and alarm those who continue 
 to live, — but ill-fated exceptions to the cominon lot, to 
 give the rest an occasion of triumph, that they exist 
 under quite a different law! " They were not of us. 
 for if they had been q/"us, they would not have gone 
 ft om us." Or as if each survivor, especially if in health, 
 and not old, believed the antediluvian privilege of 
 longevity had devolved to him, regarding those who 
 had departed as of the frail race of seventy years ! If 
 the actual vanishing of individuals from the grand 
 community is taken so lightly by those who remain, it 
 is no wonder that seeing persons decline and fade into 
 old age and infirmity should have little sympathetic 
 power to remind others of their own frail mortality ; at 
 least those who are a stage or two less advanced in 
 life, even though it were but a difl'crence of ten or fif- 
 teen j'^ears. Thus men are under some kind of spell 
 and beguilement on their feeling which denies them 
 the sense of being involved in the conmion lot. 
 
 It is true, it were absurd to imagine there should on 
 
AUTUMN, AND ITS MORAL ANALOGIES. 31 
 
 the supposition of the most perfectly rectified and ex- 
 panded state of human feehng, be such a kind of com- 
 munity-sentiment as if they were almost to feel their 
 own infirmity and decUne, in mere sympathy with that 
 of others. But still this self-defensive unconcern, this 
 not being forcibly admonished that our lot is of apiece 
 with the common lot, is an unnatural, pernicious, and 
 irrational state of mind. Are not, for example, young 
 persons all the worse, in point of wisdom, and the 
 right purpose and use of life, from allowing themselves 
 to regard their condition as so entirely disconnected 
 with old age, — so unrelated to it, — as if centuries and 
 centuries had to pass away, before they should become 
 old ? Are not those who are in strong health as if they 
 were on a different planet from those who are feeble 
 or sick? Are not the living, as if it never could be, 
 that they should come to be in the state of the dead? 
 
 We are apt to regard life much more as a thing that 
 we positively possess than as a thing that we are losing; 
 and in a train to cease possessing. We are consider- 
 ing life in the sense of the duration of living. We 
 thoughtlessly permit an imposition on our feelings, as 
 if life were a substantive property, which we possessed 
 years since and equally now possess. To be alive is 
 the same consciousness 7igio as then ; and so we for- 
 get the essentially different condition we are in. Life 
 in the case of a being that should be certainly immor- 
 tal might be considered as an absolute possession. But 
 with us, life is expenditure : we have ii but as continu- 
 ally losing it ; we have no use of it, but as continually 
 wasting it. Suppose a maif confined in some fortress, 
 under the doom to stay there till his death ; and sup- 
 pose there is there for his use, a dark reservoir of 
 water, to which it is certain none can ever be added. 
 He knows, suppose, that the quantity is not very great ; 
 he cannot penetrate to ascertain how much, but it may 
 be very little. He has drawn from it by means of a 
 fountain a good while already, and draws from it every 
 day ; — but how would he feel each time of drawing, 
 and each time of thinking of it ? not as if he had ape- 
 
32 
 
 AUTTTMN, AND ITS MORAL ANALOGIES. 
 
 rennial spring to go to; not, "I have a reservoir, — I 
 may be at ease." No ! but, " I had water yesterday; 
 — 1 have water to-day; — but my having had it, and my 
 having it to-dny. is tht^ very cause that I shall 7?o/ have 
 it on some day that is approaching. At the same time 
 I am con)pelled to this fatal expenditure !" So ol* our 
 mortal, transient life! And yet men are very indis- 
 posed to admit the plain truth that life is a thing which 
 they are in no other way possessing, than as neces- 
 sarily consuming; and that even in this imperfect 
 sense of possession, it becomes every day less a pos- 
 session ! We sometimes see that the longer a man 
 has been in the expenditure of it, the more securely he 
 seems to feel it a property positive, entire, and his 
 own. 
 
 With many, the plain testimony of time comes 
 home with fir too little force, — time had, and spent, 
 and gone, since their recorded nativity. They have 
 attained the age of forty, fifty, fifty-five, sixty, or more, 
 and yet will not lay it to heart, that they have en- 
 tered, or gone a great way forward in the latter part 
 of any probable length of life. 
 
 It may be observed that some persons, after arriv- 
 ing at the part of life which we call " middle age." re- 
 main a good while but little altered in their feeling of 
 health, in their power of activity, or even in their ap- 
 pearance, — a great privilege ! — but if they be not per- 
 sons of serious reflection, it may be very pernicious to 
 their highest interests. They will allow themselves 
 to feel as if they still belonged to a much earlier stage. 
 They can associate still 'With the youthful, on some- 
 what like equal terms. They will consolidate all 
 their worldly habits, and give themselves up to 
 schemes formed for a long time to come. They feel 
 as if they had a fine. long, protracted summer season, 
 to make the most of life and the world. '1 hey reckon, 
 probably, on the utmost term of mortal life, and with 
 great self-complacency, pass by the graves of their 
 departed sickly coevals. Some of these persons re- 
 tain so much spirit, vivacity, activity, and good ap- 
 
AUTUMN, AND ITS MORAL ANALOGIES. 33 
 
 pearance, that they are not as yet much haunted with 
 the aversion and dread of being accounted old. 
 
 But it is obvious to remark, that many persons fad- 
 ing into the dechne of hfe, betray a sohcitous reluc- 
 tance to being considered and classed with the elderly 
 and the old. They discover, perhaps in spite of some 
 effort, a sensation of chagrin at hearing expressions 
 which directly, or by implication, assign them to the 
 aged class ; prematurely assign them they think, or 
 would have it thought; so that it becomes a point of 
 complaisance to beware of using any such expressions 
 in their presence. Some such persons have recourse 
 to expedients, undignified, and at the same time una- 
 vailing, for the purpose of keeping their former 
 ground, — as, an ill-judged labour of personal decora- 
 tion, a style of dress and ornaments perhaps little 
 worthy of intelligence and piety at any age ; but at 
 any rate inappropriate to any but the more lightsome 
 form and unfaded countenance ; — a forced, over-acted 
 vivacity, even an attempted rivalry, with not the gay- 
 ety only, but the very levity of youth, as if they posi- 
 tively would not be old enough to be grave on any 
 subject; — a resolute addiction to amusements, and 
 what is called company. 
 
 Such are some of the characteristics of men's insen- 
 sibility to the solemn fact that "we all do fade as a leaf" 
 Now this insensibility is partly wilful ; for it is partly 
 owing to our indulging a reluctance to perceive and 
 think of the signs and proofs which remind us of the 
 fact that we are fading. Therefore it is highly pro- 
 per there should be a solemn remonstrance against 
 this perverse indisposition, and an endeavour to press 
 on the attention those circumstances and reflections 
 which are adapted to remind us of the fading, vanish- 
 ing condition of our mortal existence. They are 
 mighty in number ! If the soul would expand itself, and 
 with a lively sensibility to receive upon it the signifi- 
 cance, the glancing intimation, the whispered moni- 
 tion of all things that are adapted to remind it of the 
 fact, — what a host of ideas would strike it ! Then we 
 4 
 
34 AUTUMN, AND ITS MORAL ANALOGIES. 
 
 should hardly see a shadow pass, — or a vapour rise, 
 — or a flower fade, — or a leaf iall, — still less a human 
 visage withered in age, — hut we should have a thought 
 of the transient continuance of our life. 
 
 It would not be foreign to the purpose to reflect how 
 many successive generations of men have faded and 
 vanished since the text itself was written ; as many as 
 there have been falls of the leaf since the first autumn 
 which the oldest person among us can remember, at 
 the average duration. Let such a person glance on 
 the long repetition of this great change over the face 
 of the earth, — and think of Man ! And imagine some 
 great spirit to have been an observer of the human 
 race through all this series of ages I — within his view 
 the entire multitude gone — once, — and once again, — 
 and still again ! 
 
 To our view, however, there is a grand circumstance 
 of deception, with respect to the removal and the re- 
 newal of the race. Human beings are continually 
 going and coming, so that, though all die, Man in his 
 vast assemblage, is always here. If there were not an 
 essential absurdity in making the supposition that a 
 great majority of the whole race were, at successive 
 periods, to sink in dissolution at once, or such a portion 
 as inhabited any one country, that might be imagined 
 an amazingly striking phenomenon to those that re- 
 mained, to grow into another population. But the 
 order of the world is that men be withdrawn one by 
 one, one here and one there, leaving the mighty mass, 
 to general appearance, still entire. Exceptin the case 
 of vast and desolating calamities. Thus we see no- 
 thing parallel to the general autumnal fiiding of the 
 leaf More like the evergreens, which lose their leaves 
 by individuals, and still maintain their living fohage, 
 — to the thoughtless spectator, the human race is pre- 
 sented under such a fallacious appearance, as if it 
 always lived. 
 
 But a man should have serious consideration enough 
 to look through this deception. An aged person, es- 
 pecially if he has always continued chiefly in one 
 
AUTUMN, AND ITS MORAL ANALOGIES. 35 
 
 neighbourhood, can verify to himself that he has actu- 
 ally seen one whole distinguishable generation fade 
 and disappear ; — can recollect who his early acquaint- 
 ances were around the district, and has seen them 
 gradually go ; and now sees that they are nearly all 
 gone, — only himself and a very few others remaining, 
 like the last few faded leaves, lingering and fluttering 
 on a tree. Indeed, if a very old man, he has seen the 
 main substance of two generations vanish. But let 
 those even in very early life consider, that they have 
 seen one and another near them fade and fall ; and 
 how many before what we regard as the proper sea- 
 son for fading ! 
 
 Here another warning suggestion arises ; that we 
 allow ourselves to miscalculate the appropriate season 
 for fading. Our imagination places that "season in old 
 age. Most delusively !* for surely that cannot be 
 taken as the appropriate season, long previously to 
 which the grand majority actually do fade into disso- 
 lution. Those who live to quite an advanced old age 
 are so vastly smaller a proportion, that it were most 
 absurd to take them as representative of the human 
 lot, in respect to length of life. The period to be ac- 
 counted in a general collective calculation, as the 
 proper term of mortality, cannot rightly be placed be- 
 yond such a stage in life as a large proportion of men 
 do attain, but not exceed. The comparison with the 
 leaves here again fails. The main mass of the foliage 
 of the forest does continue on to the late period which 
 none of it can survive. Not so in the case of human 
 beings. The great majority of them are not appoint- 
 ed to reach what we are accustomed to regard as the 
 late autumn of life. Therefore young persons are to 
 be earnestly warned against calculating on that as 
 even a probability. They are apt to overlook, in their 
 calculation, all causes of decay and dissolution but that 
 of mere protracted time. But do let them consider 
 how few comparatively are left to the mere wearing 
 out by time ! On the field of life there are a thousand 
 things in operation to anticipate time. These are to 
 
36 AUTUMN, AND ITS MORAL ANALOGIES. 
 
 be taken into the account, and as forming the far 
 greater part of it, in conjecturing at any probable 
 term for the duration of life. If these be taken into 
 the account, liovv very limited is the term of probabili- 
 ty! Then let no young persons amuse themselves 
 with flattering lies, and say, " We may probabhj live 
 to the far off term of eighty !" But some of them may 
 perhaps truly say, " We do not much think about such 
 calculations in any way. It is enough that for the 
 present we are youthful and bloominiz; there is no 
 fading, nor sign of its approach." So have many felt, 
 and perhaps said, in ansvver to grave admonitions, who, 
 before the next fall of the leaf, have withered and 
 died ! So before the fading of next autumn will many, 
 many more, now gay and blooming. 
 
 But without insisting on these threatening possibili- 
 ties of premature decline, consider that, to a reflective 
 mind, the constant, inevitable progress toicard fading 
 would appear very much related to it; to have daily, 
 less and less of that intermediate space which is all 
 that there can be between. One has looked sometimes 
 on the flowers of a meadow which the mower's scythe 
 was to invade the next day ; — perfect life and beauty as 
 yet, — but to the mind they have seemed already fading, 
 through the anticipation. If we turn to those who are 
 a good way, or quite far advanced in life, they can tell 
 how rapidly that vernal season has passed away; — 
 how much it looks in the review like an absolutely 
 preternatural fleetness of time. As to their now more 
 advanced period, there are many palpable intimations 
 in their experience to remind them of the truth in the 
 text. Even those who are ranked as the middle aged, 
 have much that speaks to them in a serious and warn- 
 ing voice. They are most of them sensible by iheir 
 consciousness, as well as by the record of years, that 
 one grand season of their terrestrial existence is gone 
 by. Let them think what ihey feel to be gone; — 
 freshness of life ; — vernal prime ; — overflowing spirits; 
 — elastic, bounding vigour ; — insuppressible activity ; 
 — quick, ever varying emotion; — delightful unfolding 
 
AUTUMN, AND ITS MORAL ANALOGIES. 37 
 
 of the faculties; — the sense of more and more power 
 of both body and spirit; — the prospect as if hfe were 
 entire before them;— and all overspread witli bright- 
 nesss and fmr colours ! This is gone ! and this 
 change is not a little toward the fading. Those poig- 
 nantly feel it to be so who look back with sadness, or 
 with vain fretfulness, to think it cannot be recalled. 
 
 But there are still more decided indications of decay. 
 Some indeed remain considerably stationary : but as 
 to the majority, there are circumstances that will not 
 let them forget whereabouts they are in life ; feelings 
 of positive infirmity;— diminished power of exertion ; — 
 gray hairs; — failure of sight ; besetting pains ; appre- 
 hensive caution against harm and inconvenience ; — 
 often what are called nervous affections; — shght inju- 
 ries to the body far less easily repaired. All this is a 
 great progress in the fading. The appearance par- 
 takes of and indicates the decline ; not so perceptible 
 to the person himself, or to constant associates, but 
 often strikes acquaintance who see one another after 
 long absence. 
 
 From this stage there is a very rapid descent toward 
 complete old age, with its accumulated privations and 
 oppressions ; general prostration of strength ; — often 
 settled disorders operating with habitual grievance ; — 
 loss of memory ; — furrows marking the countenance ; — 
 great suffering by little inconveniences; — confinement 
 in a great measure to a spot ; — a strange and mighty 
 dissevcrment, as it were, from the man's own earthly 
 youthful self In some instances there is a last decline 
 into an utterly withered state of existence ; — imbeciHty 
 wholly of body and mind. The final point is that of 
 the fallen leaves, to be reduced to dust. 
 
 It will, perhaps, be said, " This is a most gloomy 
 view of human life. Why exhibit it at such width, 
 and darken it with so many aggravations of shade, as if 
 to cloud the little sunshine that glimmers on our lot ?" 
 We answer, nolhmg worth is that sunshine that will 
 not pierce radiantly through this cloud. No compla- 
 cency, no cheerfulness, no delight, is worth having 
 5 
 
33 
 
 AUTUMN, AND ITS MORAL ANALOGIES. 
 
 that cannot be enjoyed to^refher with the contemplation' 
 of this view ot^our nnortal condition. SucJi an exhibi- 
 tion — is it truth? is it fact? and is it truth and fact ir- 
 resistibly bearing on our own concern ? Then the en- 
 deavour to be escaping from the view and thought of 
 it would be a thing incomparably more gloomy to be- 
 hold than all that this exhibition presents ! because 
 that would betray the want, the neglect, the rejection 
 of the grand resource against the gloom of our mortal 
 ■tate and destiny. 
 
 To an enlightened beholder of mankind, it is?io^ their 
 being all under the doom to fade, be dissolved, and 
 vanish. — it is not that that strikes him as the deepest 
 gloom of the scene; no! — but their being thoughtless 
 of this their condition, — their not see^king the true and 
 all-powerful consolation under it ; — their not earnestly 
 looking and aiming toward that glorious state into 
 which they may emerge from this fading and perish- 
 ing existence. The melancholy thing, by emphasis, 
 is, that beings under such a doom should disregard 
 that grand countervailing economy of the divine benefi- 
 cence in which " life and immortality are brought to 
 light," — in which the Lord of life has himself submit- 
 ted to the lot of mortals in order to redeem them to the 
 prospect of another life, where there is no fading, de- 
 cline, or dissolution ! 
 
 Let us not then absurdly turn from the view because 
 it is grave and gloomy, but dwell upon it, often and 
 intensely, for the great purpose of exciting our spirits 
 to a victory over the vani;y of our presentcondition; — 
 to gain from it, through the aid of the Divine Spirit, a 
 mighty impulse toward a state of ever-living, ever- 
 blooming existence beyond the sky. A man who feels 
 this would accept no substitute consolation against 
 the gloomy character of this mortal life ; not the high- 
 est health, not the most exuberant spirits. — nor early 
 youth itself, if it were possible for that to be renewed. 
 '•No, rather let me fade — let me languish — let me feel 
 that mortality is upon me, and that the terrestrial 
 scene is darkening around me, but with this inspiration 
 
WINTER, AND ITS MORAL ANALOGIES. 39 
 
 of faith and hope — this rising energy — which is already- 
 carrying me out of an existence which is all frailty, into 
 one of vigour, and power, and perpetuity !' ' 
 
 IV. 
 
 WINTER, AND ITS MORAL ANALOGIES. 
 
 " Thou hast made — Winter !" — It is our own fault, 
 if any very marked part of the great vicissitudes of the 
 natural world in which we are sojourning, shall pass 
 by us without yielding instruction of a special kind, as 
 well as that which we should be reaping from all our 
 time. There is some peculiar inscription by the " fin- 
 ger of God " on each presented view of his works. 
 
 The winter is generally felt as an unpleasing and 
 gloomy season of the year ; the more desirable is it to 
 make it yield us some special good, by way of compen- 
 sation. The practicability of doing this, displays the 
 excellence of mind above matter, and the advantage 
 of religion. The sky is gloomy; — the light brief and 
 faint; — the earth torpid, sterile, and deprived of beau- 
 ty; — the whole system of the elements ungenial, like 
 a general refusal of nature to please us. or aflford us any 
 thing. Well, but mind, with the aid of wisdom and 
 religion, may not only flourish within itself, but may 
 compel the very winter to afford assistance to its doing 
 so. It may raise a richer produce than what the ag- 
 riculturist can in spring and summer. And perhaps the 
 truth is, that wisdom and piety might find or make all 
 seasons and scenes nearly equal, in point of yielding 
 the most valuable advantage. There are gratifying 
 examples to this purpose. 
 
 Let us consider what the winter season might offer 
 In aid of instructive reflection. We may revert to the 
 expression, '• Thou hast made — winter." God's Vv'^ork 
 and wisdom in it are to be regarded. The Almighty 
 Maker has fixed in the order of the world that which 
 ie the natural cause of the winter ; a most remarkable 
 
40 WINTER, AND ITS MORAL ANALOGIES. 
 
 adjustment of supreme wisdom and power, appearing 
 at first view, something like irregularity and disorder, 
 — that is, the inclination of the earth's axis. We may 
 note the signal benefits of this adjustment to the whole 
 earth, stated by Dr. Keill, as contrasted with what the 
 consequences would have been of a position which 
 would have made the seasons always the same. Af- 
 ter this, we may observe that the winter illustrates to 
 us the beneficent principle of distribution acted on by 
 the Divine Providence. We must have our uinter, in 
 order that the inhabitants of another part of the world 
 may have their summer. Not but that even we, sep- 
 arately considered, are the better for this order ; but 
 set that out of view, and even suppose it were not so, 
 — the people of the southern hemisphere need to have 
 their season of light and warmth, to make their allot- 
 ted ground productive, and ripen its produce. The 
 sun and the fine season, leave us to go to them. The 
 winter, therefore, seems to inculcate upon us a great 
 lesson of equity and charity, — that we should be will- 
 ing to share the benefits of the system with the distant 
 portions of our great wide-spread family, — willing to 
 part with a pleasing possession for a season, for their 
 sakes, even if we could retain it. The lesson might 
 be brought down to matters within a narrower circle. 
 The winter should, by the very circumstance of its 
 unproductiveness, remind us of the care and bounty of 
 divine Providence, in that other seasons are granted 
 us Avhich furnish supplies for this, and for the whole 
 year. There is to be a season producing nothing, but 
 therefore there are seasons producing more than their 
 share. The winter may admonish ?a?, of these colder 
 climates, how entirely we are at the mercy of the Sov- 
 ereign Lord of nature, — how wholly dependent on the 
 order which he has established. This is less obvious 
 in those regions where they hare no winter, in our 
 sense of the word. But here^ look at the earth, speak- 
 ing generall}' ! look at the trees ! an obdurate nega- 
 tion ; — an appearance of having ceased to be for us ; — 
 undera mighty interdict of heaven! We mightnearlyas 
 
WINTER, ATD ITS MORAL ANALOGIES. 41 
 
 well go to the graves of the dead to ask for sympathy 
 and aid. The ground seems not willing to yield us 
 any thing but a grave ; and that it is yielding every 
 day to numbers to whom it would have yielded noth- 
 ing else! Striking consideration ! that for this service 
 the earth is always ready. How many graves for the 
 dying it will aflbrd during these months, in which it 
 will afford no sustenance to the living! Would it not 
 be a most solemn manifestation, if, in the living crowd, 
 we could discern those to whom the earth, the ground, 
 has but one thing more to supply? 
 
 The winter has a character of inclemency and rig- 
 our, — has ideas and feelings associated with it of hard- 
 ship, infelicity, suffering. In this, it should be adapted 
 to excite thoughtful and compassionate sentiments re- 
 specting the distress and suffering that are in the 
 world; the distresses attendant in a special manner on 
 the season itself; but, also, hardships, distresses, op- 
 pressive situations, considered generally. Such con- 
 sideration should naturally be promoted by the grave 
 character of the season, in which nature seems clad in 
 mourning. The fair and cheerful aspect of the world 
 is veiled, as if, that our thoughts may take another di- 
 rection. 
 
 Winter discovers, in a somewhat special manner, 
 the dispositions of mankind thiis : — men are in that 
 season reduced more to their own resources, — are de- 
 prived of a delightful scene of varieties, liberties, and en- 
 tertaining circumstances and occupations ; — are much 
 more driven home, as it were, to themselves, and their 
 own means; — and their dispositions are shown in what 
 they will now choose to do ; — we mean in such part of 
 their time as is really at their disposal. How pleasing 
 it would be, to see generally a recourse to such expe- 
 dients ior spending that time, as should tend to individ- 
 ual and social improvement. It is so, we trust, in many 
 instances. It is generally so in some countries, at 
 least one, Iceland. But look at a large portion of 
 our community, occupied in vain and dissipating 
 amusements. Some in revels of excessive festivity, 
 
42 
 
 WINTER, AND ITS MORAL ANALOGIES. 
 
 — in convivial assemblies for utter trifling and levity 
 — card parties — theatres. Winter thus sliows what 
 persons will choose by preference, when the dreary 
 state of the natural world throws them upon their 
 own means. But what will the vain and thoughtless 
 do, when the world, with aJl its seasons, finally ex- 
 cludes them ? 
 
 " Say, dreamers of gay dreams ! 
 How will you weather an eternal night 
 Where such expedients fail V 
 
 As to winter, — though it is the darker portion of 
 time, it may possibly not be the darker portion of the 
 history of mankind. Some of the most dreadful oftheir 
 courses of crime have generally been considerably 
 suspended during that season. We allude especially 
 to their horrid slaughters under the name of icar. 
 Though indeed the unrelenting fury of late wars has 
 made exceptions to this. 
 
 Another thing observable of winter is, — how strik- 
 ingly it shows the transitory quality of the beauty, 
 variety, magnificence, and riches, which had been 
 spread over the natural world. Recall to your imag- 
 ination what you so lately beheld and admired. — 
 Brief description of the scene as in spring and summer. 
 — All vanished like a dream ! gone into air, into the 
 dust, and into dead masses ! It is amazing to think 
 what an infinity of pleasing objects have perished ; so 
 soon perished and gone ! Just as yesterday the fair 
 profusion was here ; now it is no more to us than the 
 earHest beauty of Eden. It is for ever gone ! never 
 to be that beauty again, that is, identically. The 
 change is as if some celestial countenance had for a 
 while beamed in smiles on the earth, but were now 
 averted to some other world ; and then the earth had 
 no power to retain the glory and beauty; they dis- 
 owned and left it ; and left us on the bare ground over 
 which the vision of enchantment had been spread. 
 
 May we not here find an instructive emblem of an- 
 other order of things? Think of the bloom and vig- 
 our, and animated action and expression of the human 
 
WINTER, AND ITS MORAL ANALOGIES. 43 
 
 person, destroyed by sickness or disease ! Think of 
 delightful hopes, shedding spring and summer on the 
 heart, suddenly extinguished ! Think of a state of ex- 
 uberant prosperity changed by a rapid reverse to one 
 of difficulty, calamity, or desolation! Job! Examples 
 are occurring in all times. You have seen men dis- 
 playing themselves in splendour and pomp, as if they 
 thought themselves mirrors to reflect the sun, — put- 
 ting all sorts of men, and things, and arts in requisition 
 — assembling around them the wealthy, the gay, the 
 fashionable, and the tribe of self-interested fiatierers. 
 They have had a briUiant and envied career for a 
 while, but the effect of public calamity, or of individual 
 disaster has suddenly come upon them, and they have 
 passed from the glare and sunshine of a summer state 
 to a dreary winter of condition, almost without an in- 
 terval ! Or there has been a more moderate and mod- 
 est state ; ease, plenty, and comfort, — but this changed 
 to loss, ruin, and indigence, — a winter indeed ! Or 
 there is r^^collected some instance of a man who has 
 seen his family grown up, or nearly so, and entering 
 on life under the most promising appearances. But 
 several of them, within a short space of time, have 
 been smitten by death, — another, through ill-judged 
 or unfortunate connexions, has been plunged in misery 
 for life: — and another perverted irreclaimably to a 
 reprobate course. Alas ! it is gloomy and oppressive 
 winter with him ! The sight of the graves of those 
 who are gone makes winter, though all the bloom and 
 verdure of spring were smiling round ; — or a visit to 
 his unfortunate child ; — or the very name of the de- 
 praved one ! The consideration of the transitoriness 
 of the beauty and glory of the year, as forced upon us 
 by the winter, easily carries our thoughts to these par- 
 allel things in the condition of human life. 
 
 There is another thing which the winter may sug- 
 gest to our thoughts, that resemblance to it which 
 there may be in the state of the mind, in respect to its 
 best interests. The dreary season and scene may 
 thus impress a salutary admonition. Indeed, the con- 
 
44 
 
 WINTER, AND ITS MORAL ANALOGIES. 
 
 trary season might do it, ihou2h it were in the way of 
 CGntrast. But let not the adinomtlon hy rcse7nbla?2ce 
 be lost upon us. Is a man afraid to turn from the 
 ffloom and cold without to see what there is within ? 
 Would he even rather contemplate and endure the 
 greater rigours of a still more northern climate awhile, 
 than to take a sojourn in his own soul? Yes; there 
 are persons who would rather be wherever our adven- 
 turers in search of the north-west passage may prob- 
 ably now be, than " make diligent search" into the 
 state of their own spirits. Truly the winter in the 
 soul is far worse than any season and aspect of ex- 
 ternal nature. Suppose a contrary state to be fully 
 prevalent in the soul, how small an evil, compara- 
 tively, then, would be all that is inclement and gloomy 
 in the seasons and scenes of nature ! Suppose com- 
 munion with heaven, — animated aflection^, ardent de- 
 votion to God and our Redeemer, — a strong exercise 
 of improving faith, a dwelling with delight among the 
 truths, promises, and aniicipaiive visions, which God 
 has revealed, like walking and regaling among the 
 trees of paradise, — a vigorous prosecution of holiness, 
 — and the joys of a good conscience ! Why, if such a 
 man were placed in the frozen zone, and could live 
 there, he would be happy ! He would have a triumph 
 over the rigours of nature ! There would be feeble 
 and oblique rays of the sun, or for a while, none at all, 
 but direct beams from the throne of heaven ! Or place 
 him in our region, and the light of his soul, the ever- 
 burning lamp, blazing wiih element from the em| yreal 
 sky, would overpower the darkness of our gloomiest 
 season ; the vernal spirit within would to him transform 
 the desolate aspect ! But let all this be reversed, and 
 what a desolation ! With such a state within, the 
 most delicious scene on earth would be blasted. Eden 
 itself was so to our first parents when they had sinned I 
 Oh ! what an intense winter men may carry within 
 their own breasts, whatever be the season in external 
 nature ! 
 
 We have spoken of resemblance^ — but observe ore 
 striking point of difference^ — namely, the natural win- 
 
WINTER, AND ITS MORAL AXALOGIES, 45 
 
 ier will certainly and necessarily, from a regular and 
 absolute cause, pass away, after a vvliile ; not so, the 
 spiritual winter. It is in the established nature of the 
 thing, that the brighter, warmer season should return, 
 with all its appropriate phenomena; we have only to 
 wait and do nothing, and there is nothing we can do. 
 It does not belong to the constitution of the human 
 nature that the spiritual warmth and animation must 
 come, must have a season. Look at dull apprehen- 
 sion, — coldaifections, — torpid conscience, — unactuated 
 will — these may continue so, through the ensuing 
 spring and summer, forward to the next winter, and 
 may resemble that winter more completely even than 
 they resemble this ; analogous to material naiure in 
 this one point, that the longer the cold continues, tlie 
 more intense it will become. It v\"ould be a melan- 
 choly kind of observation and comparison for a man to 
 make, as the spring commences and advances, to com- 
 pare the brightening and lengthening days with his 
 spiritual viev>"s and intelligence ; — the evident progress, 
 with his fixed and obdurate sameness; — the opening 
 blossoms with his religious emotions, desires, aspira- 
 tions, resolutions; the prevailing warmth at length, 
 and full character of life, with the habitual temper of 
 his heart; — or finally, to observe the precious and 
 ripened produce,' but the case with himself ansAvering 
 to those words^ "the harvest is past, the summer is 
 ended, and we — / — not saved !" All this may be ; 
 in numberless cases it icill be. Shall it be so with us ? 
 But how else should it be with the man that carelessly 
 lets it ail alone? What a glorious thing on the otiier 
 hand, if we should escape from our winter of the soul 
 by an equal progress with that by which external na- 
 ture will certainly escape ! 
 
 We might follow out the analogy to a wider extent, 
 applying it to the state of a religious society ; — of the 
 great community of a nation, of the general human 
 race. How glorious, when the probable import of that 
 prophecy shall be realized, ^Hhe desert shall rejoice 
 and blossom as the rose P 5 
 
46 WINTER, AND ITS MORAL ANALOGIES. 
 
 We note one more point of analotry, the resemblance 
 of winter to old aire. The direct resemblances are too 
 obvious to need ilkistraiion. Those in the earher sea- 
 sons of hfe, are sensible that they look on the aged as 
 in life's winter. But w^hether thej- are disposed^to en- 
 tertain a wicked contempt, or a benevolent respect, let 
 them never forget that they too are to come to that 
 winter, unless prematurely cut off. Those who are 
 now aged, were so admonished in their earlier seasons. 
 The old age of the wise and good resembles the win- 
 ter in one of its most favourable circumstances, that the 
 former seasons improved have laid in a valuable store ; 
 and they have to bless God that disposed and enabled 
 them to do so. But the most striking point in the com- 
 parison, after all, is one of unlikeness. Their winter 
 has no spring to follow it — in this world. It is to close, 
 not by an insensible progression into another season, 
 but by a termination, absolute, abrupt, and final; a 
 consideration which should shake and rouse the most 
 inveterate insensibility of thoughtless old age. But the 
 servants of God say, " That is well !" They would 
 not make such a gradation into a spring of mortal ex- 
 istence, if it could be put in their choice. Their winter, 
 they say, is quite the right time for a great transition. 
 It was in nature's winter, or towards that season, that 
 their Lord came to the earth ; it was in the winter that 
 he died for their redemption ; and the winter of their 
 life is the right time tor them to die. that the redemp- 
 tion may be finished. And there is eternal spring 
 before them ! What will they not be contemplating of 
 beauty and glory, while those who have yet many 
 years on earth are seeing returning springs and sum- 
 mers ! 
 
 The gloomy circumstance of winter on our globe, 
 points to the desirableness of an abode where there 
 shall be nothing like winter; or of a mode of existence 
 quite superior to all elemental evils. The theory of 
 such a condition of existence we cannot distinctly form 
 in our minds; but so much the better; tor that would 
 imply such a resemblance to the present economy, as ' 
 
SUPRE3IE ATTACHMENT, ETC. 47 
 
 one should be reluctant to admit. So much the better 
 that "eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart, 
 been able to conceive the things that God hath pre- 
 pared." 
 
 V. 
 
 SUPREME ATTACH3IENT DUE TO SPIRITUAL 
 OBJECTS. 
 
 " Set Tjour affection on things above, not on things 
 on the earth.^^ — How momentous a charge is it that 
 is imposed in the injunction to dispose rightly of the 
 affection of a human soul! A charge which we cannot 
 at our choice take upon us. or dechne, since v/e have 
 the soul, and the charge is inseparable. 
 
 Sometimes we may have looked at some affair of a 
 merely worldly nature, with self-gratuiation that we 
 were not obliged to undertake it. " It involves so 
 much skill — such continual attention — such hazard — 
 euch sad consequences in the event of failure! happily 
 the business is not mine." It were well that in such 
 a case, the thought should occur ; " But there may be 
 a business of mine ! Where have my affections been 
 to-day? Where are they at this hour ? V/here have 
 they been all my life ? Where will they be if I let 
 them alone ? " 
 
 Affection is the going out of tlie soul in sentiments 
 of interest, complacency, and desire, toward objects 
 within its view. Love to self, indeed, is always said to 
 be the primary and strongest affection of our nature ; 
 and truly. But then what is the manner of action ol 
 this self-love ? It is not that the affection stays en 
 closed, acting in and upon our very self The affection 
 then is the going out of the soul. 
 
 Now, how happy were it if the case were thus with 
 us; that the affection of the soul might go out just at 
 its own pleasure^ and oil be right and safe. This is 
 
48 SUPREME ATTACHMENT 
 
 supposing that a comprehensive, discriminating, and 
 indeed iiiiaUible perception, accompanied necessarily 
 all the iroings out ofaflection ; and also, that the moral 
 taste of the soul always strictly agreed with its intel- 
 lectual discernment ; in short, that the soul possessed 
 a grand moral instinct. The consequence would be, 
 that all things affecting the soul, in the way of attract- 
 ing it, would affect it right. Nothing would attract it 
 which ought not ; it. would be in repulsion to all evil ; 
 and those things which did attract, and justly might, 
 would do so in the right degrees and })roportion so 
 far, and no further; with so much force, and no more; 
 and with an unlimited force that alone which is the 
 supreme good. What a glorious condition this ! And 
 this must be the state of good men in a future world, 
 else there would be temptation, trial, hazard, and the 
 possibility of falling. 
 
 But what a dreadful contrast to all this is our pres- 
 ent state ! As one great circumstance, our nature, 
 composed of two kinds of being, places us in strict re- 
 lation to two quite different economies. It is true, the 
 combination — the union of the two — does, in many 
 respects, make them, to a T.vonderful degree, feel and 
 act as one ; but still it is no such union of the two kinds 
 of being, as to combine perfectly into one harmonious 
 interest the relations to the two economies. The man 
 is not so one, his combined nature does not so act as 
 one, as to reduce the two diverse classes of interests 
 to one blended, inseparable order, so that each move- 
 ment of the soul, with respect to either, should neces- 
 sarily have due respect to both. I\'o ! the relations 
 stand distinct, separate, and in a very great degree, 
 foreign to each other. Therefore, there is great diiti- 
 culty and hazard as to the apportioning of the regards 
 to these classes respectively ; — great difficulty of main- 
 taining such a state and exercise of the affections, as 
 should comprehend, in due order and proportion, both 
 these great classes. 
 
 Another obvious and most important circumstance 
 isj that by the one part of our nature, our relation to 
 
DUE TO SPIRITUAL OBJECTS. 49 
 
 the one class of interests is immediate and sensible ; 
 while our other grand relation, being to things far less 
 palpable — lo things spiritual, invisible, and as it were 
 remote — is to be apprehended only through the me- 
 dium of serious thought and faith. This is a circum- 
 stance of formidable omen, even under the best sup- 
 posable conditio'n of our nature thus compounded and 
 situated. Even in that case, there would seem to be 
 required a special unremitted divine influence to pre- 
 serve it right. How should there not be a constant 
 mighty tendency to a v/rong preponderance ! 
 
 But this is not all. Our nature is immeasurably far 
 from being in that "best supposable state," Our 
 nature is sunk into such a state, that it has a most 
 mighty and obstinate tendency to give itself wholly to 
 the inferior temporal class of its interests. In one act 
 of its affection, and in the next, and in a hundred suc- 
 cessively, its preference will go the inferior ; and the 
 effect of this tendency uncounteracted, is to throw the 
 supreme interests, and the soul itself, away. This is 
 a fearful predicament I One should imagine it could 
 not be thouirht of without terror. One would imagine 
 that the terror of it^ if any reason or right feeling were 
 left in man, would make the docrine of divine, trans- 
 forming, assisting grace, to be welcomed with enthu- 
 siasm. Except in reliance on this, we should hear 
 with utter despair the injunction, - Set your affection 
 on things abov^e, not on things on the earth." 
 
 This remains the sovereign duty, the comprehen- 
 sive precept, to us sojourners on earih. Let us attend 
 a few moments to the subject and application of this 
 command — 
 
 In the first place ; — an indiscreet language may 
 havesom.etimes been used by pious men and teachers, 
 not maintaining exactly a due regard to the limita- 
 t ions on the latter part of the precept; a language to 
 the effect almost, of requiring an absolute entire in- 
 difference or contempt to all terrestrial things; inso- 
 much, that the considerate reader or hearer has been 
 saying v/ithin himself, -'Nov/ that is strictly impossi- 
 5* 
 
50 SUPREME ATTACHMENT 
 
 ble," or "absurd." According to ihis, there is an 
 essential, insupei-able inconsistency between our duty 
 and the very condition in which God has placed us. 
 Sometimes this language of excess has been a rather 
 unthinking repetition of a kind of common-place ; but 
 often it has had a better origin, such as the retired^ 
 contemplative, devout life of some good men. The 
 language of religion has had a particular advantage 
 in this respect, when it has come from enlightened 
 and pious men, who have had much to do in the 
 world — for example. Matthew Hale. Or it may have 
 had its origin in short occasional seasons of peculiarly 
 elevated feeling ; or in the state of feeling produced 
 in good men by affliction, calamity, and persecution. 
 
 But it is disserviceable to religion thus to preach, 
 as it were, an annihilation of our interests in this 
 w-orld. They have claims, and they will make them 
 good in defiance, vdiether allowed or not. But these 
 claims must be allow^ed. Think in how many ways 
 we are made susceptible of pleasure and pain from 
 " the things on the earth ;" and to what an amount, in 
 passing fitly, sixty, or seventy years upon it. Now 
 we may surely believe that, fallen and guilty as we 
 are, our Creator does not will the pleasure denied, or 
 the pain endured, more than is inevitable to our mor- 
 tal condition, or disciplinary toward our future life. 
 And therefore we may, in regulated measure, desire 
 the pleasing, and be anxious to avoid the painful. 
 
 But think how much interest, and attention, and 
 care, are necessary to avoid the ills of this mortal life ! 
 How m.uch concern and study must be applied direct- 
 ly to temporal things, in order that, on the vrhole, we 
 may have the most benefit of our relations to this ter- 
 restrial scene. Theparticulars that might be specified 
 will occur to every one. Health is deservedly an 
 object of great interest and care. '• Affection " is in- 
 evitably and justly "5e^"onit — and a person's near 
 relatives in life — and then, as a matter concerning 
 both himself and them, his temporal condition, in the 
 plainest sense of that epithet; no small interest, that 
 
DUE TO SPIRITUAL OBJECTS. 51 
 
 is to say, '■^affection'''' is necessarily "sei" on compe- 
 tence, especially in times when this is very difficult and 
 precarious. As we have referred to the " times, " we 
 may add, that a man that looks on the conduct of 
 public atTairs, by which his own and his family's and 
 his fellow citizens' welfare are deeply affected, will 
 necessarily feel very considerable interest in that 
 direction. He must "se^" some '•affection'''' on what 
 he is convinced would be the best, or at least a better 
 state of things. Again, if he is a man of cultivated 
 intellect and taste, then he cannot avoid being inter- 
 ested in the beauties and wonders of nature, tJie great 
 works of human intellect and genius, or the discover- 
 ies of science. Now in such points it is seen how 
 intimate is our relation to this world. And in some 
 proportion to the intimacy and the number of our 
 relations to this world, will it inevitably be that '■'■ affec- 
 tion'" must be " set on things on the earth. " 
 
 But, how striking and how sad it is here to consider 
 that the relations to this present world are the only 
 ones practically recognised by the far greater num- 
 ber of mankind !* Think, if any religious instructor 
 were to exhort them to such an utter disregard of 
 their temporal interests, as they actually indulge 
 respecting their eternal ones, — what madness would 
 be charged ! A fortiori^ then, is not theirs an awful 
 madness ? 
 
 Let us turn to the other view of the subject ; the 
 higher class of our relations. By the nobler part of 
 our nature we are placed in the most solemn relations 
 to another economy. Not to have a deep sense of 
 this fact, implies that something is enormously wrong. 
 This immortal spirit was appointed but for a few 
 years to this earth ; but eternally to another state. 
 And it is placed in relations comporting with its eter- 
 nity of existence ; — to God, the one infinite Being — 
 the one sole, perfect, and independent Essence 3 — to 
 the Redeemer, the Lord, and the life of the new econ- 
 omy; — to an unseen state; — to an order of exalted, 
 holy, and happy beings in that state ; to a pure, ex- 
 
52 SUPREME ATTACHMENT 
 
 alted, and endloss felicity in that state. And do I 
 give, in conformity to one law of my nature, a great 
 measure of my affection to the things to which I have 
 a subordinate temporary relation, and refuse affection 
 towards those to which I have an eternal relation? 
 How marvellous and how lamentable, that the soul 
 can consent to stay in the dust, when invited above 
 the stars ; having in its own experience the demon- 
 stration tliat this is not its world ; knowing that even 
 if it were, the possession will soon cease ; and having 
 a glorious revelation and a continual loud call from 
 above ! 
 
 But it is on the duty as considered not absolutely, 
 but comparatively, of setting the affection " above, " 
 that we would insist. What should be the compara- 
 tive state of the affections, as towards tlie one and 
 the other ? And what can the answer be but, plainly 
 and briefly, that there must be at the lowest account a 
 decided preponderance in favour of spiritual and eter- 
 nal things? At the lowest state of the case, we 
 repeat, for alas ! this is but little to say for the feeling 
 towards things so contrasted, so immensely different 
 in value ! This is the lowest ground on which a man 
 can justly deem himself a Christian. For how is the 
 great object of Christ at all accomplished in a man 
 whose preference is not gained to those things to 
 which Christ came to redeem men? And consider ! 
 if no more thnn barely this is attained, how often this 
 itself is likely to be put in doubt. On all accounts, 
 therefore, how clearly it is a duty and an interest to 
 aspire to every attainable degree beyond a mere posi- 
 tive preponderance. We may even assert that this 
 aspiration is an indispensable sign or symptom. 
 
 This may lead to the question, — What may be 
 safely taken as indications, or proofs, that there is 
 the required preponderance ? Now in most cases of 
 comparison and preference, a man has no need to 
 seek or think about the evidence of his preference ; 
 it is a matter of prompt and unequivocal conscious- 
 ness. And if in any case in the universe, it should be 
 
DUE TO SPIRITUAL OBJECTS. 53 
 
 SO here ! How happy to have it thus ! But, even 
 with good men, the case is not always such, far from 
 it ! as to make a reference to tests and proofs unne- 
 cessary or useless. There is to be nothing mysteri- 
 ous in the matter and operation of these tests ; — 
 nothing hke the Urim and Thummim ; — nothing like 
 the ordeals; — it is an affair of plain, serious, faithful 
 thought. 
 
 For example, let a man take the occasion to exam- 
 ine, wdien he is very strongly interested by some one 
 temporal object or concern, whether he can say, more 
 than all this is the interest I feel in " the things that 
 are above." When he is greatly pleased with some 
 temporal possession, or success, or prospect, and his 
 thoughts suddenly turn to the higher objects, is he then 
 decidedly more pleased? or does he feel a deep and 
 earnest solicitude that this temporal good may not in- 
 jure him in his higher interests? If he suffers or 
 apprehends something very grievous as to his tempo- 
 ral interests, does he deliberately feel that he would 
 far rather suffer so than in his spiritual interests ? Or 
 again, in such a case, does he feel a strong overbal- 
 ancing consolation from " things above ?" Is he more 
 pleased to give the earnest application of his mind to 
 the higher objects and interests than to any inferior 
 ones ? Asa man digging in the confidence he should 
 find gold, would labour with more soul and spirit than 
 one raising stones or planting trees. Does he feel 
 that, on the whole, he would do more, or sacrifice 
 more, for the one than for the other? While greatly 
 interested in a temporal pursuit, does he habitually 
 charge it upon his soul, and actually endeavour, that 
 he do with still greater intenseness prosecute a higher 
 object ? If he perceives that his pursuit of a temporal 
 object is beginning to outrun his pursuit of the nobler, 
 does he solemnly intermit in order that this may not 
 be the case ? "How vigorously I am pursuing this 
 — but what is that which I am leaving behind ?^ If I 
 leave that behind, it will stay 1 It will run no race 
 with a worldly spirit. Let me instantly draw in. I" 
 
54 SUPREME ATTACHMENT, ETC. 
 
 Is he constantly, or very often, impelled to the olivine 
 throne to implore grace and strength that there may 
 be a decided preponderance ? the witness for him 
 "above" that there is that proof at least ofhis affec- 
 tions there? If by the advance of life, he is sensible 
 that he is fast going out of the " things on the earth," 
 does he rise above all regret at this, in the view of the 
 sublimer objects? "Do you compassionate me be- 
 cause I am growing old — because I cannot stay long 
 here? You mistake ! Yonder is the scene to which 
 I am animated in approaching." We will only add, 
 — in his occupation and transactions with the '• things 
 on the earth," has he acquired the habit of imparting 
 even to those concerns a principle and a reference still 
 bearing toward the higher objects? — Such questions 
 as these would be the points for placing and keeping 
 the subject in a state of trial and proof; would be an 
 admonition, too, of the necessity of applying all the 
 force in the higher direction. 
 
 Now, how happy to be in such a state of decided 
 preference in the devotement of the affections ! 
 Happy ! considermg that to those higher things we 
 are in a constant, permanent relation ; whereas our re- 
 lation to the terrestrial is varying and transient. 
 Reflect, how many things on the earth we have been 
 in relation to, but are no longer, and shall be no more. 
 Happy! because a right state of the affections toward 
 the superior objects, is the sole security for our having 
 the greatest benefit of those on earth. For that which 
 is the best in the inferior, is exactly that which may 
 contribute to the higher ; and that will never be found 
 but by him who is intent on the higher. Happy ! 
 because every step of the progress which we must 
 make in leaving the one, is an advance toward a bles- 
 sed and eternal conjunction with the other. Then, 
 that circumstance of transcendent happiness, that in 
 the superior state of good men there will be no con- 
 trary attractions, no diverse and opposed relations to 
 put their choice and their souls in difficulty or peril ! 
 
55 
 
 VI. 
 
 SPIRITUAL FREEDOM PRODUCED BY KNOW- 
 LEDGE OF THE TRUTH. 
 
 " The truth shall make you free?^ — You recollect 
 the reception given to this declaration of our Lord, and 
 the reply, " We were never in bondage to any man." 
 The Jews did not take his words in the sense he meant; 
 • — but let the sentence be taken in their own sense, and 
 a more absurd reaction of pride is not easy to be im- 
 agined — " Were never in bondage to any man !" 
 What! had they not the Roman governor, with a di- 
 vision of the imperial guards in their metropolis? 
 They retained, indeed, a little of the show of a mon- 
 archy, — a king by sufferance, over a people tributary 
 to a foreign power; but of so little account was this 
 government of their own, that in the arraignment of 
 our Lord, his claim to be " King of the Jews," was 
 alleged, not as in contravention to the rights of Herod, 
 but of Csesar. 
 
 But our Lord was speaking of a far different kind of 
 bondage and emancipation; a matter affecting all 
 mankind, after all the Ca?sars are dead, and the Ro- 
 man empire is fallen. And in this far more important 
 view of men's condition, it is striking to observe how 
 much pride of freedom there may be amidst the pro- 
 loundest slavery. This is exemplified in multitudes 
 of the citizens of any state politically free; they shall 
 be seen exhibiting a proud consciousness of this priv- 
 ilege, each one is lord of himself, with the utmost con- 
 tempt and scorn of the people of those nations where 
 all are subject to the will of one or a few. Now very 
 far be it ti-om us to undervalue political liberty — a 
 right of human nature, a thing without which no peo- 
 ple can ever rise high in wisdom, virtue, and happiness. 
 But at the same time, contemplate in another light, any 
 such free nation existing, or that ever did exist, — how 
 many of the people elated with this proud distinction, 
 
56 SPIRITUAL FREEDOM PRODUCED 
 
 Stand exposed to your view as slaves, in a sense they 
 little think of! Many in subjection to their appetites; 
 many to the most foolish, many to the most vicious 
 passions. Now to them, what an inconsiderable good 
 is their political liberty, as compared with the evil of 
 this slavery ! and yet, amidst it all, there is the self- 
 complacency, the pride, the boasting of freedom ! 
 
 Take anotherexemplification. A high-spirited man 
 in very independent circumstances, with confidence 
 and self-sufficiency conspicuous on his front; in num- 
 berless cases he can and will do as he pleases ; he has 
 the means of commanding del'erence and obsequious- 
 ness, defies and spurns interference and opposition; 
 and says •' I am free !" For all this, perhaps, he is but 
 the stronger slave. All the while, his whole mind and 
 moral being may be utterly servile to some evil pas- 
 sion, some corrupt purpose, some vain interest, some 
 tyrannic habit. 
 
 We might specify one more exemplification, the 
 pride of free-thinking, carried to the extent of reject- 
 ing revealed religion. Here, indeed, the man will per- 
 haps say that he verifies the text ; the truth has made 
 him free ; he has quite impartially and in the soundest 
 exercise of reason, satisfied himself that there is no 
 divine revelation, and that there wanted none ; that 
 that which claims to be acknowledged such, and the 
 whole history concerning it, are a most wicked impo- 
 sition on mankind; that the recorded miracles are a 
 fabrication of lies ; that the little good there is mixed 
 upin the imposture, was well-known or attainable with- 
 out it; that the judgment to come, and heaven and 
 hell, are idle fictions ; that immortality, and indeed a 
 future state at all, are matters of such mere conjecture 
 and so like poetical fancies, as not to be worth serious- 
 ly taking into calculation in the scheme of this short 
 life ; and a hundred other things his reason has achiev- 
 ed. And upon this, he has a proud sense of freedom 
 from vulgar delusion ! Now a Christian judges all 
 this to be a most signal prostration and slavery of the 
 man's reason. Allow him to say, " I am free j" yet we 
 
BY KNOWLEDGE OP THE TRUTH. 57 
 
 might turn upon him and say, " Nay, but are you real- 
 ly free, in your own sense ? have you never any dread 
 of being left alone to your own reflections ? Jiave you 
 never any dark and terrifying intimations speaking to 
 your soul ? if you happened to be reminded of the 
 solemn dying expressions of a parent or friend are you 
 ' free V If you hear of or witness the last scene of 
 one of the same class oi" freemen dying with inexpres- 
 sible horror, are you 'free?' If any illness should 
 attack yourself, and suggest the alarming idea of 
 death, are you ' free V No ; you are in reality not 
 ' made free ;' even in your own sense. But even sup- 
 posing that you were, it would in another sense be but 
 slavery. You would be surrendered, as if bound hand 
 and foot, to all that is most pernicious to man. You 
 would be just so much the more at the command of 
 every temptation to sin ; just so much the more com- 
 pletely a slave to any favorite vice ; perpaps most de- 
 structive of present welfare. You w^ould be just so 
 much more at the mercy and the sport of the frivolous 
 and profligate. This is your proud freedom !" Thus 
 the most wretched of slaves are beguiled by the self- 
 assurance of being free ! 
 
 A grand primary thing that truth has to do in this 
 world is, to expose to men their real situations as en- 
 slaved. If both for this preliminary work, and for the 
 whole great process of breaking up the bondage of 
 the human spirit, truth, or " the truth," be the proper 
 agent or instrument, what an immense work there is 
 for it to do ! For are we not surrounded by a world 
 of slaves ? applying the term in the intellectual, moral, 
 and religious sense. If we asked it in. the political 
 sense, the question w^ould be its own obvious answer; 
 but we are using it in the sense in which it expresses 
 a much greater calamity. 
 
 The mass of mankind are enslaved. The cool, 
 sagacious, philosophic observer thinks so. — ^The devout 
 Christian observer thinks so. — The illuminated dying 
 estimator thinks so. And all the real friends of our 
 race would unite to implore that the truth might come 
 6 
 
68 SPIRITUAL FREEDOM PRODUCED 
 
 to perform its mighty work ; or, in other words, that the 
 glorious Agent ol'human deliverance, the Son of God 
 would come and accomplish that work by means of 
 " ihe truth." 
 
 But why is truth so peculiarly the thing to work 
 the deliverance from that tyranny by which the spirits 
 of men are held enslaved? Evidently because a very 
 material part of the strength of that which enslaves 
 them, consists in ignorance and error, to which truth 
 is the opposite. If we would form a notion quite com- 
 prehensive of what may be regarded as placing and 
 keeping men's minds in an enslaved state, we should 
 include ignorance and all error through w^hich they 
 receive injury, together with all perversion in the pas- 
 sions, and all that perverts them. Now against all 
 this in its full breadth, truth, universal truth, is op- 
 posed ; and the etfectual application of truth would 
 counteract and reverse it ah. 
 
 Our Lord was speaking of what divine truth would 
 do ; and especially the evangelic part of it. It would 
 make them free in those points wherein their bondage 
 is their greatest calamity. 
 
 Previously to adverting to a few of those most im- 
 portant points, we observe, that there are some things 
 wherein the truth merely, the truth simply admitted in 
 the understanding, goes far towards effecting the 
 emancipation ; things where the chief strength of the 
 enslavement is in a delusion on the judgment. Some 
 such things have happily left us, as a nation, in a 
 great measure free. It would not be impertinent to 
 specify here, for it was an evil bearing mischievously 
 on religion, that faith in judicial astrology^ which 
 bound and oppressed the minds of many of our ances- 
 tors. It interfered fatally with the right notions and 
 feelings respecting the government of divine provi- 
 dence, yet held a strong and gloomy dominion in mul- 
 titudes of minds, in ages not far remote ; and not the 
 vulgar only, but some of the thinking and learned, and 
 even some that professed to revere the true religion. 
 Now this gloomy tyranny had nearly its whole 
 
BY KNOWLEDGE OF THE TRUTH. 59 
 
 strength in the belief of its slaves, and therefore could 
 not survive the belief, that the heavenly bodies had a 
 power of good and evil over human atfairs ; and there- 
 fore, under the operation of increasing general know- 
 ledgre, and of direct science, it has been annihilated. 
 
 We may add another example in idolatry, in its 
 grosser forms. Let men simply admit into their un- 
 derstandings the truth that the objects in surrounding 
 nature, or the figures themselves have made of metal, 
 stone, wood, or clay, are no gods, and there is an end 
 of the idolatry ! It may at the same time be the fact, 
 that even this simple intellectual conviction has sel- 
 dom been effected but through the intervention of the 
 true religion. In the case again of the popish super- 
 stitions, let the mere truth become apparent to men's 
 understanding, let them become convinced in opinion 
 that such an(l such practices are erroneous, and they 
 will so far be " made free." 
 
 It is very true with respect to such things as have 
 been here specified, that it was a matter of very great 
 and tedious difficulty to obtain the admission of the 
 truth into men's understandings. So implicated and 
 combined had the delusions become with their pas- 
 sions, habits, interests, and institutions. But still, as 
 soon as the truth really was admitted, the thing was 
 done. It is true enough that these forms of tyranny 
 under which men's minds have been enslaved, came 
 to attain their dominion over the understanding 
 through an operation on the passions, interests, or 
 fancy, while the reason was dark, feeble, and submis- 
 sive. But they could never have established their do- 
 minion without beguiling the judgment, without pos- 
 sessing themselves of the reason of man, such as it 
 was. and after it was unbeguiled, these things had 
 not in them that which could still and, by another 
 power, hold the mind a slave. 
 
 But though men's minds should, through the power 
 of truth, enjoy a full freedom from all such modes of 
 slavery as these, there are other ways in which it may 
 be most deplorably held in chains. What is it but a 
 
60 SPIRITUAL FREEDOM PRODUCED 
 
 sad captivity, if there be something that fixes the soul 
 ill aheiiatioii from God ? And even thus it is, by the 
 corrupt state of our nature. The Bible says so, a 
 hundred times over ; but if it did not, there is the evi- 
 dent matter of fact. The mind naturally does not 
 love God. It does not love to think of him ; it turns 
 away from the unwelcome subject ; it does not love to 
 perceive and acknowledge his presence in all places 
 and times. It does not seek communication with him. 
 Ii does not find nor seek its happiness in pleasing him. 
 It revolts from his will and commands. It has not the 
 least wish to go to a world, where it might have a 
 fuller manifestation of him, and be more intimately in 
 communion with him. But all this would be the glo- 
 rious going out. if we may so express it, of the soul 
 toward its supreme good ; toward its perfection ; its 
 noblest exercise, its divinest felicity, the verification of 
 its hberty ! But then there is something that malig- 
 nantly holds it back, and presses and degrades it 
 down. What a dreadful bondage is that ! How inex- 
 pressibly desirable is something to '• make it free !" 
 It is " the truth" that must " make it free." 
 
 But here the case is not as in those forms of mental 
 bondage we specified before. The truth merely ad- 
 mitted in the understanding, however distinctly and 
 decidedly, will not suffice. Without it, certainly, 
 nothing can be done, but alone it will leave the great 
 work uneffected. The truth appropriate to the pur- 
 pose must be that God is transcendent^y worthy of all 
 love and devotion — the infinite perfection of all excel- 
 lencies united — and that it is the happiness, as well as 
 duty of his rational creatures, to be devoted to him in 
 adoration, affection, and willing obedience. Well ! 
 these truths may be presented to the understanding 
 with luminous evidence ; it may see that the evidence 
 is decisive, and that is to admit conviction. But still, 
 the moral part of the soul, the affections, the will, may 
 not come into the assent; the moral part is held still 
 under a malignant and adverse dominion ; the soul 
 therefore is not '-'made free." Here is the grand and 
 
BY KNOWLEDGE OF THE TRUTH. Gl 
 
 urgent occasion for the Spirit of God to work, — to 
 transfuse a new and redeeming principle through the 
 moral being, and then the man is free ! The freed 
 spirit feels that a hateful, direful enchantment is bro- 
 ken, and flies to its God. 
 
 The love of sin is a miserable and dreadful enslave- 
 ment. Suppose a man bound by some strong coer- 
 cion in a servile connection with a malignant but spe- 
 cious lord who sets him to one occupation and ano- 
 ther, with a mockery of making it delightful at first, 
 but still turning it into painful drudgery : showing 
 him dainties, letting him taste and then snatching 
 them away, or mingling something bitter and nau- 
 seous ; smiling and acting the villain ; overruling and 
 frustrating him in any design or attempt at escape ; 
 subjecting him to still greater grievances the longer 
 he remains ; and at length reducing him to utter 
 degradation and contempt ! This is but a faint simile 
 for the slavery of sin. It is a wretched bondage. It 
 lets not the man have any command of himself It 
 pleases him, but as by way of holding him fast to 
 plague him. And after it pleases him less, through 
 loss of novelty and a less lively relish, it seems to re- 
 tain a still firmer hold of him. How much of " the 
 truth" is forced on him by his own wretched experi- 
 ence, in vain! Still "the truth" is the grand mean 
 for his rescue. But not the mere dry admission of it 
 in his understanding ; for that may be, and his chains 
 be on him still. He may, in this sense, " hold the 
 truth in unrighteousness." There must be the agency 
 of the Spirit of God, making an irresistible application 
 of the truth, making it go through all his moral being ; 
 creating an aversion to the very nature of sin, as well 
 as a horror of its consequences ; and then what a glo- 
 rious emancipation ! To behold the legion of the 
 former tyrants prostrate, and the chief monster, the 
 great besetting sin, as if struck with heaven's light- 
 ning! 
 
 We might name the predominant love of this world. 
 It were endless to dilate on this, regarded in the light 
 6* 
 
62 SPIRITUAL FREEDOM, ETC. 
 
 of a sad slavery ; and why so, but tliat the proofs and 
 modes are endless ? But take the plain comprelien- 
 sive idea, an immortal spirit so set upon that which 
 can be nothing to it longer than the lapse of a [ew 
 fleeting years, as to disregard and lose the happiness 
 of eternity! In this there is so much truth habitually 
 trifled with, that the liberation is a most mighty work 
 for the truth to accomplish. It is for the Divine Spirit 
 to present and keep the two objects manifest before 
 the mind in their stupendous contrast, and at the same 
 time to impart a new principle of preference ; without 
 this latter, the mind would only be overpowered by 
 that contrast; its real taste might remain the same. 
 
 One other form of bondage for the truth to deliver 
 from, is often spoken of in the New Testament, namely, 
 that which some thoughtful, conscientious, anxious 
 minds suffer, in not having come clearly off' fi-om the 
 ground of the divine law as that of their acceptance 
 with God. They attribute great iniportance and 
 value, and some undefined degree of efficacy, to both 
 the sacrifice and the righteousness of Christ. But 
 still as God's government and judgment are consti- 
 tuted upon his perfect and eternal law, that continu- 
 ally comes in upon them, and presents its menaces 
 and its terrors — and well might they be terrified, even 
 to utter despair, if this were the ground of their ac- 
 ceptance with God. But here comes in the evangelic 
 truth which declares us totally removed off" this ground 
 for justification and salvation, because on it salvation is 
 plainly and absolutely impossible. " The truth " de- 
 clares a new and extraordinary economy, in which it 
 is appointed that the Mediator's merit is all-sufficient 
 and alone. And this is to be laid hold of, and relied 
 upon by faith ; thus a glorious freedom will be effected. 
 
 There is the bondage of the fear of death. This 
 bondage needs no illustration. Look at the general 
 feelings of mankind ; let each reflect on his own ! 
 But imagine these feelings substantially reversed. Is 
 not that a sublime freedom? The Christian truth 
 and He that brought it from heaven, came to confer 
 
CHRIST, THOUGH IiNVISIBLE, ETC. 63 
 
 this freedom. Combine in thought all these kinds of 
 freedom, and think whether Ave shall be content to 
 liv^e in miserable captivity ! Think whether it be pos- 
 sible for our being to be thrown more completely 
 away, than by a stupid indifference or a protracted 
 delay in regard to the attainment of so divine a deliv- 
 erance ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 CHRIST, THOUGH INVISIBLE, THE OBJECT OF 
 DEVOUT AFFECTION. 
 
 ^^ Wko ill having- not seen 7/ e love; in whom, though 
 now ye see him not., yet believing, ye rejoice, with joy 
 unspeakable and full of glory.'''' — It is familiar to all 
 experience and observation how much the action of 
 our spiritual nature is dependent on the senses ; es- 
 pecially how much the power of objects to interest the 
 affections, depends on their being objects of sight. The 
 affections often seem reluctant to admit objects to their 
 internal communion, except through the avenues of 
 the senses. The objects must be, as it were, authenti- 
 cated by the senses, must first occupy and please them, 
 — or they are regarded by the inner f iculties as some- 
 thing strange, foreign, out of our sympathies, — or un- 
 real. 
 
 Sometimes a philosophic spirit, proudly aspiring to 
 a refined power of abstraction and speculation, is in- 
 dignant that it should be so dependent for its objects 
 of interest, and its emotions, on the senses. It ear- 
 nestly essays to create, as it were, within itself, an order 
 of realities of its own. A Christian mind also, from a 
 far better principle, is often grieved and indignant that 
 the objects of the senses so much more readily obtain 
 favour and power within it, than the objects of its in- 
 
64 CHRIST, THOUGH INVISIBLE, 
 
 tellcctual apprehension ; — that it is so much more easy 
 to walk by sight than by ftxith. It is a worthy and no- 
 ble strife of a Christian spirit to attain a more vital and 
 affecting communion with things invisible. 
 
 At the same time, it is of necessity that we must 
 yield in a measure to the effect of the constitution of 
 our nature. By that constitution, the objects of sense, 
 — the things especially that are seen, have some evi- 
 dent and important advantages for engaging our affec- 
 tions, over the other class of objects. Let us specify a 
 few. The objects which we can see, give a more posi- 
 tive and direct impression of reality; there can be no 
 dubious surmise whether they exist or not. The 
 sense of their presence is more absolute. When an 
 object is seen before me, or beside me, I am instantly 
 in all the relations of being present; I cannot feel and 
 act as if no sucli object were there; I cannot by an 
 act of my mind put it away from me. Objects seen, — 
 may have very striking qualities simply as objects of 
 sight ; they may have visible splendour, or beauty, 
 which strike and please independently of any thinking. 
 Here therelbre is a class of qualities of great power to 
 interest us, vv'hich the objects of mere belief, of faith, 
 have nothing to set against. 
 
 The good or evil, pleasure or grievance, which the 
 visible objects cause to us, are often immediate ; they 
 are now ; without any anticipation I am pleased, bene- 
 fitted, — or perhaps distressed. Whereas the objects of 
 faith can be regarded as to have their etfect upon us 
 in futurity. They have really very much of this pro- 
 spective character; but we thoughtlessly make it much 
 more exclusively such than it is. 
 
 Visible objects, when they have been seen, can be 
 clearly kept in mind in absence ; — during long periods 
 — at the greatest distance. We can revert to the 
 time when they were seen. We can have a lively 
 image ; seem to be looking at it still. But the great 
 objects of faith having never been seen, the mind has 
 no express type to revert to. The idea of them is to be 
 still again and again formed anew; fluctuates and 
 
TIIE OBJECT OF DEVOUT AFFECTION Oo 
 
 varies; — is brighter and dimmer; — alternates as be- 
 tween substance and shadow. 
 
 With visible objects, speaking of intelligent beings, 
 we can have a sensible and definite communication. 
 We are evidently in one another's society ; look and 
 are looked upon ; speak and are heard and answered ; 
 it is a positive reciprocation, and each feels that it is 
 so. Invisible beings do not afford us this perfect 
 sense of communication. We may think that we are 
 seen and heard, but there are no signs of recognition. 
 
 With visible beings, that is, with human beings, we 
 have the sense of equality, of one kind ; we are of the 
 same nature and economy ; in the same general con- 
 dition of humanity and mortality. But as to the un- 
 seen existences, we are altogether out of their order. 
 There is an unlikeness and a disparity immeasurable 
 and unknown. We know not the manner of their 
 dwelling in the creation; in what manner they may 
 be near us ; what their perceptions and estimates of 
 us may be ; what intelligence, what powers they pos- 
 sess ; and we have no power tliat can affect them ; we 
 cannot benefit or hurt them ; they are totally separate, 
 and infinitely independent. 
 
 With tiie visible beings, t\^e can have a certain sense 
 of appropriation ; can obtain an interest in themwhich 
 they will acknowledge. What they are is partly for 
 me, partly mine, " this is my relative ; this is my friend, 
 my benefactor ;" or, " this has a kind regard for me, 
 as being his friend, benefactor," &c. But the invisible 
 beings I they have a high relationship of their own ! — 
 They stand aloof, and far outside of the circle within 
 which we could comprehend what we can call ours. 
 What could we do to arrest their sympathies ? We 
 have nothing to offer to draw them into the bands of 
 friendship. Tiiey are not to be for our sakes imprison- 
 ed in this dark, and mortal, and sinful corner of the 
 creation. 
 
 We want some good from objects, whether seen or 
 invisible. The object, — the person — seen, is present- 
 ed to us under this advantage, while we are looking 
 
66 CHRIST, THOUGH invisible, 
 
 for the benefit from him, tliat we can perceive him per- 
 forming or preparing the good for us. We hear him 
 promise; see him take measures; observe him active. 
 We see that he aims, devises, exerts his power, — see 
 how there is a process to accomphsh the good we wish. 
 But if an invisible agent is to cmployhimself for our 
 welfare, it is by an unseen process and means. We 
 must wait and expect, receiving no palpable intima- 
 tion ; perceiving no distinct action, no reply to inquiry, 
 no assurance as to time, no ceriification, — except 
 through faith — that the unseen benefactor has not 
 turned all his attention away to another part of the 
 universe. 
 
 Such are some of the advantages of converse v/iih 
 objects that are seen, over that with the invisible. In 
 this view taken exclusively, it was a high privilege 
 that was enjoyed by those who saw and conversed 
 with our Lord on earth. " Behold the Lamb of God !" 
 '•We have seen with our eyes, and our hands have 
 handled of the Word of life." It may have often oc- 
 curred to most persons to imagine what a signal ad- 
 vantage that must have been ; especially in tlie point 
 of feeling the affections irresistibly drawn and de- 
 voted to him. To have been personally in the pres- 
 ence, the society of a being believed to be the Saviour 
 of the world; to have reflected, "here in this visible 
 form, are embodied the mercy, the sanctity, the wis- 
 dom, and the power, of heaven !" To have looked on 
 his countenance to descry some mystic characters, in- 
 timating the indwelling glory ! To have met the rays 
 of divine benignity in his look, and have felt as if they 
 shed light and life into the very soul ! To have heard 
 him pronounce revelations of truth which the reason 
 of mortals could never reach, intermingled with every 
 sign of gentleness, compassion, and yet authority ! 
 To have been present at many of his mighty opera- 
 tions of power and mercy ! To have witnessed the 
 last aflecting and amazing scenes of his presence on 
 earth ! The persuasion is, that there must have 
 been irresistible captivation ; that every source of af- 
 
THE OBJECT OF DEVOUT AFFECTION. G7 
 
 fection in the soul would have opened, and the heart 
 devoted to such an object for ever! In a manner 
 parallel, though so inferior in degree, a powerful in- 
 fluence on tlie affections and passions may be ima- 
 gined as inevitable, if we could have beheld the most 
 illustrious of the prophets or apostles, as Moses, 
 Elijah, Daniel, Paul. On the view of the matter thus 
 far, we might be apt to feel, as if an immense advan- 
 tage had been lost to us, for the means of command- 
 ing our affections to the best object, in our not having 
 seen, and not being permitted to see, the personal 
 manifestations of Christ. 
 
 But this is only one side of the subject. Look a 
 moment at the other — and we need not fear to assert, 
 — that on the whole it is a high advantage not to have 
 seen Jesus Christ ; an advantage in favour of the 
 affections claimed to be devoted to him. 
 
 We need not dwell on the possibihty of feeling a 
 great interest in objects we have never beheld. Re- 
 collect what a measure of sentiment, of affection in its 
 various modes, has been given to the illustrious per- 
 sonages of history ; the glowing admira.tion in con- 
 templating, as there displayed, heroes, deliverers of 
 their country, avengers of oppression, and men of 
 transcendent intellectual power. A softer emotion, 
 but a warm one, has been excited at the view, — the 
 imaginary sight, — of the examples of consummate vir- 
 tue, such as was not displayed in tumult and conflict ; 
 philanthropists, who exhausted their lives in alleviat- 
 ing distress ; men of inflexible conscience and integ- 
 rity, even to the death ; examples of suffering inno- 
 cence, persons of signal piety, who lived as on the 
 verge of heaven, — and had not in spirit far to go 
 when they died. Think ! what a captivation you have 
 felt in beholding them, in thought ; how the spirit has 
 struggled, as it were, to place itself in their company ! 
 The mere imaginary beings of poetry and fiction have 
 often laid mighty hold of the heart. It has accepted 
 them as affecting realities, despite of the understand- 
 ing, which knev/ they never existed, which liardly be- 
 
68 CHRIST, THOUGH invisible, 
 
 lievcd that such tilings conld exist ; and some of them 
 will retain their place and lavour in the mind as long 
 as we live. All this shows the possibility of giving an 
 animated affection to objects that never appeared to 
 us in visible reality. 
 
 But there is a nobler manifestation of this possibility. 
 Think of all the ati'ection of human hearts that haa 
 been given to the Saviour of the world, since he with- 
 drew his visible presence from it ! He has appeared 
 to no eye of man since the apostles ; but millions have 
 loved him with a fervency which nothing could ex- 
 tinguish, in life or death. Think ol'the great '• army" 
 of diose who have suffered death lor this love, and 
 have cherished it in death ! A mightier number still 
 would have died for it, and with it, if summoned to do 
 so. Think of all those who, in the excitement and in- 
 spiration of this love, have indefatigably laboured to 
 promote the glory of its great object ! — and the innu- 
 merable mulitude of those who, though less promi- 
 nently distinguished, have felt this sacred sentiment 
 living in the soul, as the principle of its best lilc. and 
 the source of all its immortal hopes ! This is a splen- 
 . did fact in the history of our race, a glorious exception 
 to the vast and fatal expenditure of human affection 
 on unworthy and merely visible things. So grand a 
 tribute of the soul has been redeemed to be given to 
 the Redeemer, though an object unseen ! 
 
 It is to the advantage of the affection of his disciples 
 toward him, that they see him not. It may be recol- 
 lected that a special benediction is pronounced by our 
 Lord himself, on the faith that operates to produce this 
 love. '"Blessed are they that have not seen and yet 
 believed." But more than this; revert in thought to 
 the personal manifestation of our Lord on earth,— and 
 consider how it would act on the believing spectator's 
 mind. Sublime greatness would, must, by an inevi- 
 table law of human feeling, be reduced, shaded, dimin- 
 ished, as to its impression on the m.ind, by being 
 shrouded and presented in a mere human form. Even 
 when the intellect recognized a superhuman glory 
 
THE OBJECT OF DEVOUT AFFECTION. 69 
 
 (l\vc]ling there "the fulness of the Godhead bodily" 
 there is yet such an obstinate control of the senses 
 over the mind's apprehension, that the sight of a mere 
 common human form would, absolutely, in a degree, 
 contract, depress, and prostrate that apprehension. 
 Has it not struck your thoughts, that, to observe the 
 shape, features, limbs, and ordinary action of that, 
 must have made an impression which would be in 
 counter-action to the impressions of majesty? 
 
 Consider also, that, in beholding a glorious and di- 
 vine nature in such a manifestation, the affection of 
 those devoted to him would fix very much, often 
 chiefly, on the mere human quality of the being be- 
 fore them, and therefore, would be famiiliarized, shall 
 we say vulgarized, down to that proportion ; it might 
 be most warm and cordial, but not elevated and awful. 
 In fact, our Lord had sometimes to admonish and 
 deter his affectionate friends from an assumption in- 
 considerately ventured by them on the ground of his 
 humiliated appearance. They appear sometimes in 
 a perplexity of feeling between his plain, humble hu- 
 manity, and that mysterious glory which at intervals 
 lightened upon them from within. Perhaps the chief 
 design of the transfiguration was to correct and raise 
 their low ideas of him. 
 
 Consider besides, that, under the full direct impres- 
 sion of sight, there would be a great restriction on faith, 
 acting in the way of imagination. The mind does 
 not know how to expand into splendid ideal con- 
 ception upon an object presented close, and plain, 
 and familiar, to sight. 
 
 Should not such considerations make it evident, 
 that to see the Messiah in his personal manifestation, 
 was a mode of contemplating him very inferior, for the 
 excitement of the sublimer kind of affiection, to that 
 which we have to exercise by faith ? . It is true, that 
 to those who regard him as nothing more than a man, 
 all this will appear impertinent and fantastic. But 
 those who solemnly believe their salvation to depend 
 on his being infinitely more, will feel the importance 
 7 
 
70 CHRIST. THOUGH INVISIBLE, 
 
 of all that gives scope to their faculties for magnifying 
 the idea of their liedecmer. This scope is the greater 
 for our "not having seen;" since, — our conceptions 
 are not reduced and confined down to a precise image 
 of human personality, — a particular, individual, graph- 
 ical form, which would be always present to the 
 mind's eye, in every meditation on the exalted Re- 
 deemer. 
 
 We have no exact and invariable image, placing 
 him before us as a person that we know ; exhibiting 
 him in the mere ordinary predicament of humanity. 
 It does invincibly appear to me, that this would be a 
 depressive circumstance in solemn and elevated con- 
 templations. We are not informed how this circum- 
 stance did operate in the minds of the apostles, who 
 had seen him. It would have been interesting to 
 know in what manner, and with what effect, the pre- 
 cise and familiar image mingled with their their lofty 
 and magnificent thoughts of him. But it is clearly 
 better to be left, as we are, to an indistinct and sha- 
 dowy conception of the person of our Saviour as seen 
 on earth. For thus we can with somewhat the more 
 facility give our thoughts an unlimited enlargement 
 in contemplating his sublime character and nature. 
 Thus also we are left at greater freedom in the effort 
 to form some grand, though glimmering, idea of him 
 as possessing a glorious body, assumed after his vic- 
 tory over death. Our freedom of thought is the more 
 entire for arraying the exalted Mediator in every glory 
 which speculation, imagination, devotion, can com- 
 bine, to shadow forth the magnificence of such an 
 adored object. 
 
 Do not let it seem as if such a train of thought were 
 like being ashamed of the humiliation of our Lord2 
 We cannot be ashamed to see our humble nature so' 
 honoured as by his assuming even its inferior part. 
 We cannot be ashamed to see such an illustration of 
 the value set on our souls, as that he, the Judge of 
 their value, would descend from heaven to assume a 
 body to redeem them. 
 
THE OBJECT OF DEVOUT AFFECTION. /I 
 
 Bat it is important that our conceptions of him 
 should but Httle rest on the level, if we may so speak, 
 of his state of humiliation. In the Scriptures, besides 
 the doctrine of his divinity, there is much in the char- 
 acter of the imagery by which he is represented, to 
 demand an elevation in our ideas of his personal 
 glory. For example, the manner in which he appears 
 in the visions of Daniel ; the fact of the transfigura- 
 tion ; the overpowering lustre in his manifestation to 
 Paul ; and the transcendent images in the visions of 
 John. It is clearly intended that our predominant 
 idea should not be humble and familiar. "We must 
 think that, in this respect, there is a very serious fault, 
 — an unintentional impiety, — in many of our popular 
 devotional writings, even in such as are designed and 
 used for public worship. Such, we think, is the ad- 
 vantage, to later Christians, of not having seen their 
 Lord in a mortal form. 
 
 We not only have not seen him, but we live very 
 long after the time in which he could be seen ; we, 
 therefore, in endeavouring to form a sublime concep- 
 tion of him, can add, and accumulate upon the idea, 
 .all the glory that has arisen to him from the progress 
 of his cause in the world ever since. So many mighty 
 interpositions ; — conquests gained ; — strongliolds of 
 darkness demolished ; — such a multitude of sinful im- 
 mortal spirits redeemed, — devoted to him on earth, 
 and now triumphing with him in heaven; — all this is 
 become an added radiance around the idea of him ! 
 
 Such is the object of Christian faith. As such an 
 exalted being, he is to be believed on unseen. " In 
 whom, though now ye see him not, yet believing," — 
 that is, holding a most firm assurance that such he is, 
 and regarding him with an earnest interest as such a 
 Redeemer. Then an inseparable result or associate 
 of that faith, is to "love" him, though unseen; to give 
 the soul's affection to him; lo think of him with com- 
 placency and gratitude ; to think of him as what it 
 w^ere death to want; to devote the soul to him as pos- 
 sessing the supreme excellence that deserves this de- 
 votement, and as having done that for us that demands it. 
 
rZ CIIRTST, THOUGH INVISIBLE, ETC. 
 
 Tlien, tlirongrh tlii.-^ faith and love, there will be ''joy." 
 "Ye rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of glory." 
 ?>Iost rationally such believers rejoice, because so be- 
 lisviniT and loving, they have a present, direct access 
 to where he maintains, though unseen, the exercise of 
 his mediatorial power. They believe all that is prom- 
 ised by him, and in his name. They have the sense, 
 the assurance, of a sacred union with him. which in- 
 volves an ultimate participation of his glory and joy. 
 They consider him as actually preparing for them the 
 felicity of another state, — and as conducting and train- 
 ing them toward it. They can sometimes imagine 
 somewhat of that felicity — and how can they imagine 
 it as to be theirs, and not rejoice ? — And inasmuch as 
 these anticipations are of something unseen, unrealiz- 
 ed, and indefinitely great, the '"joy" is corespondent; 
 it is "unspeakable," in this sense, that it is not restrict- 
 ed, not limited to a precise measure, but expansive, — 
 mingled with the sense of mystery. It aspires to be 
 commensurate with unknown possibilities, and so is 
 " unspeakable," as well as in its emphasis. The soul 
 of man, if not sunk and stupified in the earth, aspires 
 for ever to a joy having this quality, that is, undefina- 
 ble, not reducible to exact and competent expression, 
 that goes beyond all assigned limits and calculation. 
 
 See in all this, how the joy of Christians — the only 
 persons entitled to rejoice on earth — is both in its sen- 
 timent and its causes, combined with, founded upon, a 
 recognition of Christ. 
 
 On the supposition of oCir Lord's being merely a hu- 
 man person, however exalted in prophetic office, no 
 language expressive of the sentiments and emotions 
 regarding him could be more absurdly extravagant, 
 more unworthy of apostolic seriousness and wisdom, 
 than such expressions as those of the text ; to which, 
 nevertheless, there are very many throughout the New 
 Testament that correspond. On this hypothesis, nd 
 men ever wrote or spoke in a strain of more inflated 
 fanaticism, than they who were commissioned to illu- 
 minate the world ! 
 
73 
 
 VIII 
 
 FALLACIES OPERATING AGAINST EARNEST- 
 NESS IN RELIGION. 
 
 " / wj'i^d tho'c wert cold oj^ hot. " — These wor(]s oc- 
 cur in the austere and warning address to the church 
 at Laodicea. The sentence which comes after is equal- 
 ly well remembered. "Because thou art lukewarm, 
 and neither cold nor hot, I will spue thee out of my 
 mouth ;" which may suggest this observation. — that 
 the Supreme Teacher, in the sacred Scriptures, did not 
 subject himself to consult any niceties of literary re- 
 finement. The Bible shows numerous instances of 
 metaphors and illustrations, of a character very home- 
 ly, unpolished, and sometimes even repulsive. If we 
 should say that in part this was a mere conformity to 
 the manner of the ages and places in which tlie di- 
 vine oracles were uttered, — it would still not the less 
 be true, — that it was not for the divine Dictator of truth 
 and law to recognize the claim of any artificial order 
 of human feelings and modes ; or any rules but that of 
 plain truth, because God was to speak to man in his 
 own absolute character of Creator and Sovereign Dic- 
 tator 3 — and to man in man's psrmament substantial 
 character of creature and subject, with an understand- 
 ing and a conscience to bs spoken toj — and this was a 
 relation superior to all artificial rules of men's conmiu- 
 nications with one another. God therefore would speak 
 to man directly as a creature standing before Him, and 
 not as if he were regarding man as a creature placed 
 in refined society, and to be addressed in a language 
 modified according to its rules; and as if he were con- 
 siderate of the creature's diirnity and taste. Some of 
 the more trivial of the infidel tribe hav^e attempted on 
 this account to detract from the venerableness and 
 sanctity of the Bible, talking about its dealing in coarse 
 language and images. As well might the vain spirits 
 ■7* 
 
74 FALLACIES OPERATIXG AGAINST 
 
 in tho prophets' times have affected to be shocked that 
 Elijah would not put on a court dress when he had to 
 appear in the name of the Ahniirhty before kings, and 
 queens, and princes; or that John the Baptist came in 
 so coarse a garb to preach repentance, and announce 
 the kingdom of God. Yet after all this, it is a perfect- 
 ly obvious fact, that the Scriptures do abound with 
 every kind of beauty and sublimity in sentiments, im- 
 ages, and language. As in the case of Elijah, there 
 was his rough mantle, but also the chariot and horses 
 of fire. But then it is most remarkably cliaracleristic 
 of the sacred writings, that these beauties seem to 
 come with no manner of design to please the taste and 
 fancy; they appear as most simply spontaneous from 
 the subject. 
 
 " I would thou wert cold or hot." This is a condem- 
 nation of carelessness and indifference. The terms do 
 not exactly imply an entire absence of every feeling 
 excited by the religion of v/hich they had taken the 
 name. But then woul(] it have been better than hav- 
 ing so little, to have had absolutely none ? In two 
 respects it would. There would have been less of the 
 means of self-deception. " Thou sayest I am rich anl 
 increased in goods, and have need of nothing." All 
 semblance and pretension to Christianity being abjur- 
 ed, there would have been less injury done to it in the 
 opinions and feelings of the irreligious world. 
 
 Without wishing to adjust any special question, we 
 take the expression simply as a most impressive and 
 menacing condemnation of insensibility, and indiffer- 
 ence, and neglect respecting the one most important 
 matter in existence, and as coming directly from our 
 merciful Lord and Redeemer. The subject, therefore, 
 on which we invite you to think a few moments, is the 
 most common, and plain, and beaten of all subjects 
 almost that we can speak or hear of; the absoJuie ne- 
 cessity of being in earnest about our highest inter- 
 ests. 
 
 Considerations to enforce this great point, may be 
 inculcated on those who are quite unconcerned ; but 
 
EARNESTNESS IN RELIGION. iD 
 
 especially on tliose wlio feel in some, but an ineiTiclent 
 degree, its importance. Such a topic has great ditli- 
 cuhy to lay any hold on the mind — almost even to en- 
 gage the attention. We all know the effect of perfect 
 familiarity and endless reiteration. But more ; this 
 great familiar truth seems to suffer in its pov.'er of in- 
 teresting men by the very fulness of its evidence, and 
 of the conviction with which it is admitted. With the 
 greatest number of the moderately instructed and so- 
 ber part of society, this great practical truth has a set- 
 tled admission and establishment in the judgment. It 
 is instantly acknowledged, almost before the sentence 
 can be finished. " Certainly — certainly ; we know all 
 that ; it is an undeniable truth." It has its place there, 
 without opposition, question, or doubt. Is it not a most 
 momentous, and mighty, and urgent truth? But by 
 this ready, assenting, unresisting admission, its power 
 seems to be destroyed. So that it is like a giant war- 
 rior, with his arms, conveyed dead into a cem.etery, in- 
 stead of being introduced living into a field of battle. 
 Think of this fact ! The evidence and admission so 
 full, that the mind has nothing to do vvith it as a ques- 
 tion, and therefore feels as if it had little to do with it 
 as an interest ! While its being a matter of the 
 mightiest interest, is the very thing that is affirmed and 
 acknowledged ! Just as if for the irresistible occupancy 
 of the judgment by a solemn truth, the perverse soul 
 would take its revenge, by withdrawing away the af^ 
 fections and passions from all conjunction or communi- 
 cation with it. Like the policy of clearing away all 
 the sustenance of life and action from the neighbour- 
 hood of a position which is impregnably occupied by 
 an unwelcome power, to debilitate him by famine. 
 Whatever be the explanation, the fact is evident that 
 the actual power of this great principle or truth, the 
 absolute necessity of being in earnest a/jozi^ our high- 
 est interest, seems to be repressed and quelled, in coh- 
 equence of^ the ready and complete acknowledgement 
 it obtains in the mind. It seems to go to sleep there, 
 because it holds its place certainly, — is not contradic- 
 
76 FALLACIES OPERATING AGAINST 
 
 ted. — and cannot be expelled. If some serious doubts 
 could be raised upon it, they might make tlic matter 
 interesting, — they might turn and fix thought upon it. 
 But there is no question about it. and therefore men 
 never think of it. AVe might compare this listless ad- 
 mission of truth to the kind of inanimate aspect of the 
 scene under the full meridian sunshine, in summer, as 
 contrasted vvith the shadows and other effects of dawn, 
 evening, &c. The monition applied is frustrated ; the 
 mind giving a dull reply from within, that '• all that is 
 perfectly true and ticknowledged." But should not the 
 mind sometimes turn upon itself and say with wonder, 
 '• Is it really a fact that 1 do admit and acknowledge 
 all this?" " 
 
 Perhaps another thing that causes this general 
 solemn admonition to be in earnest about our liighest 
 interests, to come with less force, is the circumstance 
 that it is applicable and pertinent to all. It concerns 
 ??ie, not more than all these millions. Its absolute im- 
 portance, as applicable to any one, seems dissipated 
 in the idea how many it is applicable to. There is 
 some unthinking feeling, as ii" the authority and im- 
 portance of the one great admonition were divided 
 into innumerable diminutive shares, with but incon- 
 siderable force in each, at least in mine. How kindly 
 and humbly each is willing not to account his soul 
 more important than that of anj^ of his fellow mortals ! 
 Yet not so benevolent, in another view of the matter; 
 for in a certain indistinct way, he is laying the blame 
 on the rest of mankind, if he is indifferent about his 
 ou'-n highest interest. " They are under the same 
 great obligation ; — in their manner of practically ac- 
 knowledging it, they are my pattern ; — they keep me 
 to their level. If their shares of the grand concern 
 were more w^orthily attended to, probably mine would 
 also. One has fancied sometimes what might have 
 been theefTect, in the selected instances, if the case had 
 been that the Sovereign Creator had appointed but a 
 few men, here and there one, to an immortal existence, 
 or at least declared it only v/ith respect to them. One 
 
EARNESTNESS IN RELIGION. 4 4 
 
 cannot help imagining them to feel, every hour, the 
 impression of their sublime and awlul predicament : 
 But why — why is it less felt a sublime and solemn 
 one, because the rest of our race are in it too ? Does 
 not each as a perfectly distinct one, stand in the whole 
 magnitude of the concern, and the responsibility, and 
 the danger, as absolutely if there were no other one ? 
 How is it less to him than if he thus stood alone ? Their 
 losing the happy interest of eternity will not be, that he 
 shall not liave lost it for himself If he shall have lost it, 
 he will feel that they have not lost it for him. He should 
 therefore now feel that upon him is concentrated, even 
 individually upon him, the entire importance of this 
 chief concern. 
 
 There is far too little of the serious practice of 
 bringing as near together in view as thought can do 
 it, the two orders of things which both belong to us — 
 so belong to us that they must both be taken into our 
 practical adjustment. Our thinking and talking abound 
 with comparisons and comparative estimates. We are 
 often placing one kind of property, — one condition in 
 life, — one career of action, — one measure of talent. — 
 one model of character, — respectively, in comparison 
 against another. We put one tract and climate of 
 the earth, our own frequently, in comparison against a 
 remote and very different one ; and with what interest 
 this is done when a migration is contemplated as 
 probable ! Nov/ there are two classes of things, the 
 subjects of an unspeakably more striking compari- 
 son ; and with this circumstance, that they and the 
 comparison, immediately, and essentially, and pro- 
 foundly concern us. There is a condition good or evil 
 of this living but dying form of matter, our body ; — 
 and the condition of the spirit which inhabits, but is to 
 leave it. There is the world v/e are in, the object of 
 our senses ; — and a world to vdiich we are to go, the 
 object of our faith. There is this short life ; — and an 
 endless one. There are the pains and delights of 
 mortality ; — and the joys or woes of eternity. Nov/ 
 unless a man really will set himself, in serious thought, 
 
78 FALLACIES OPERATING AGAINST 
 
 to the comparative estimate of these, and that too as 
 an estimate to be made on his own account, how pow- 
 erless on him must be the call that lells him he must 
 be "in earnest !" 
 
 In this particular, of inattention to comparison and 
 proportion, an admonition in terms of reproach might 
 be directed to some persons of large thought and sci- 
 ence. They arc gratified in contemplating things in 
 their proportions to one another — in calculations of 
 quantities, magnitudes, distances. They will go in 
 this process into the very profound of number; — go to 
 the verge of the solar system, and thence to the fixed 
 stars. They will indulge in all the pleasure and pride 
 of such an intellectual operation, and yet never think 
 of any such thing as an estimate between the things 
 respective!}^, of a momentary and an eternal existence ; 
 — while this the most vitally concerns them, which all 
 the other ascertainments of proportion do not I 
 
 Another thing may be added to this account of causes 
 tending to frustrate the injunction to be in earnest 
 about our highest concerns ; that the mind willingly 
 takes a perverse advantage of the obscurity ot the 
 objects of our faith, and for the incompetence of our 
 faculties for apprehending them. What is it that we 
 shall pass through death to see ? What can be the 
 manner of a separate spirit's active existence ? What 
 is the economy of the other world ? How can our 
 mode of existence be formed and adapted to a widely 
 different state ! Only glimmering intimations are 
 given through the darkness ; if general ideas are given, 
 they are very indefinite ones, if special, they are only 
 similitudes and metaphorical shadows. How thick a 
 veil! And what then? A devout spirit would not 
 indeed ask for that veil to be prematurely undrawn, — 
 would not, with an urgency approaching to profane- 
 ness, seek to pierce or rend it. But such a spirit would 
 look intently, — feels a pious inquisitiveness, — make 
 efforts to realize, — "enter into that within the veil." — 
 and would constantly endeavor to magnify, as earnestly 
 wishing to feel, the power of the unseen workl. But, 
 
EARNESTNESS IN RELIGION. 79 
 
 as the contrary of all this, how much is there of the 
 disposition to take — from the obscnrily, the indefinite- 
 ness, the impossibility, of distinctly realizing. — a plea 
 for not thinking on the subject, and for not being deeply 
 interested by it ! There is a willingness even to make 
 the veil still more thick, and reduce the glimmering to 
 utter darkness, as strengthening the excuse. ■' AVe do 
 not know how to carry our thoughts from this scene 
 into tliat. It is like entering a mysterious and vision- 
 ary wilderness. It is evidently implied to us, by the 
 iact as it stands, that the opening of that scene upon 
 us now would confound us in all our business here. 
 Were it not best to be content to mind chiefly our duty 
 here ; and when it shall be God's will and time, he 
 will shov'/ us what there is yonder I" Partial truth 
 thus perversely applied, tends to cherish and excuse an 
 indisposition to look forward in contemplations of here- 
 after ; and this indisposition, excused or protected by 
 this allegation, defeats the force of the call, the sum- 
 mons, to be in earnest about our highest interests. 
 
 There is another pernicious practical deception, 
 through which the force of this call to earnestness is 
 defeaFed, and the strong 'necessity which it urges, is 
 evaded; that is, the not recognizing in ihe parts of 
 life, the grand duty and interest which yet is acknow- 
 ledged to belong to it as a ichole. " It belongs to this 
 life," a man shall say, " to make an earnest and effect- 
 ual business of the supreme concern." Flow belongs 
 to it? to what part? to the last year or hours of it? 
 or to a time of sickness ? or to any season or stage of 
 it in particular ? " No ; the concern is combined 
 with it as a whole ; it all belongs to it all." Well, but 
 then this grand interest is to be felt clinging as it were 
 to each part, and all the parts. Do you let it be so ? 
 Do you feel it so ? No ; you spend one part, and use 
 another part, as an exempt thing ; you do not acknow- 
 ledge the great interest as enforced upon that. Still 
 " life," you say, " as a ichole, is for the grand con- 
 cern." But what is the ichole, if part, and part, pass- 
 es free of the practical claim ? If every spot you are 
 
so FALLACIES OrERATING AGAIXST 
 
 successively upon is as a little unclaimed island, wlicrc 
 at last is the continent for the kingdom of God to be 
 established over I And yet, through a fatal fallacy, 
 life is still regarded as the r,omelliing altogtihcr. in 
 which is to be accomplished the purpose in question ! 
 •• This day is not much," a man thinks, " nor this week, 
 — a particle only in so ample a thing as all life ;" and 
 he is not distinctly sensible that he is doing all he can, 
 in each separate part, to throw the whole of the grand 
 affair on a narrowing breadth, — on the last part, — or 
 quite off the whole. He may not perceive, that while 
 this delusion, like a mighty evil spirit, is still clearing 
 and driving off, space after space, the momentous con- 
 cern, — it is thickening and darkening, if we may so 
 speak, and becoming charged with awful thunders, to 
 fall upon him in his last hour or in eternity ! 
 
 We add one more description of delusive feeling 
 tending to frustrate the admonitions to an earnest in- 
 tentness on the great object, — a soothing self-assur- 
 ance, founded, the man can hardly explain on what, 
 that some way or other, a thing which is so essentially 
 important, -will be effected, surely must be effected, 
 because it is so indispensable. Very few, we may 
 presume, except those who are dying in despair, really 
 give up themselves for lost. A man says, '■'■I am not 
 mad. I surely shall not lose my soul." As if there 
 must be something in the very order of nature, to pre- 
 vent any thing going so far wrong as that. So that 
 the full sense of danger presses home on very few ; — 
 on very few even of those who are forced to suspect 
 themselves to be, if taken as just now, in a situation 
 obnoxious to danger. They trust that the deciding 
 moment is not to find them thus, however it is to be 
 that this confidence is to be verified. It is indeed 
 partly in themselves, that they trust for this. They 
 have reason and conscience, and a settled conviction 
 of the most important truth in the world. '-These 
 cannot fail to answer, at length, their proper end. 
 Adequate causes must and will have their effects." 
 But these have failed hitherto, and are even now in- 
 
EARNESTNESS IN RELIGION. SI 
 
 efficacious. How is that? They cannot tell liow or 
 why, but they will not always fail. There will be 
 more thought, perhaps — more resolution — and less to 
 cause these powers and forces to fail. 
 
 Sometimes particular circumstances in a man's his- 
 tory are sutfered to excite in him a kind of supersti- 
 tious hope. Perhaps, for instance, in his childhood or 
 since, he was saved Ir-om peril or death in some very 
 remarkable manner. His friends thought that this must 
 surely be a propitious omen ; and he too is vv^illing to 
 persuade himself so. Perhaps very pious persons have 
 taken a particular interest about him ; he knows he 
 has been the subject of many prayers. I recollect the 
 instance of a man, and not at all a weak man in point 
 of general sense, who was surrendered to the vanities 
 of life; but retaining constantly and fully the right 
 conviction as to the absolute necessity of religion, and 
 the final consequence of the neglect of it. A kind 
 friend said to him, "How long is this to continue? 
 you know perfectly to what end this is going." He 
 answered, that he had great hope that a better state 
 of things would come sometime : for he had great con- 
 fidence tha,t the prayers of his pious departed mother 
 could not have been in vain ! 
 
 A man may encourage this soothing confidence that 
 he shall not fatally neglect, — that he shall yet become 
 in earnest — from recollection of moments and occa- 
 sions when he thinks he was so. There may have 
 been times of affecting, though transient interest. He 
 is willing to persuade himself they were genuine 
 emotions, excited by a principle imparted from above ; 
 which principle he believes, if really imparted, will 
 not be wholly and finally withdrawn, though its ope- 
 ration may be long intermitted. On this he rests 
 some kind of confidence ; instead of soberly judging, 
 that emotions so transient, and subsequently useless, 
 could be no more than superficial effects on his pas- 
 sions. 
 
 So many deceptive notions may contribute to a 
 vague sort of assurance that a man will not always 
 8 
 
82 EARNESTNESS IN RELIGION ENFORCED. 
 
 neglect religion, though he is doing so now, and is in 
 no serious disposition to do otherwise. In addition to 
 all, there is that unthinking and unscriptural manner 
 of considering and carelessly throwing ourselves upon 
 the infinite goodness of God. 
 
 Thus we have attempted to di?criminate and de- 
 scribe some of the causes that it is so ditlicult to im- 
 part any interest, or even draw any steady attention, 
 to a topic so plain, and trite, and general, as the ne- 
 cessity of being quite in earnest, though about con- 
 cerns confessedly the most momentous. 
 
 IX. 
 
 EARNESTNESS IN RELIGION ENFORCED. 
 
 I uoidd thou wert cold or hot. — This short passage 
 was taken for the use of enforcing an exhortation even 
 still more general and common, though still less par- 
 ticular and specific than that which would fairly arise 
 from the import and connection of the words. Its 
 most proper application had been to insist on the 
 criminality, the peculiarly absurd inconsistency, and 
 the consequences of indifierence in the professed serv- 
 ants of Christ; its dishonour to their profession; its 
 offensiveness to their Lord ; its danger to themselves ; 
 — a reference to their profession being constantly 
 made. 
 
 But we were content to go on the wide general 
 ground, where all men may be met with, the plain, 
 serious admonition of the absolute necessity of being in 
 earnest about their highest concerns. Our time was 
 chiefly employed in attempting to distinguish and ex- 
 emplity a number of things which contribute to render 
 inefficacious this constantly repeated general inculca- 
 
EARNESTNESS IN RELIGION ENFORCED. 83 
 
 tion of so plain a matter; — and not only inefficacious, 
 but even dull and uninteresting, insomuch that mere 
 attention is with difficulty gained for it, except by aid 
 of some special and subsidiary topic. 
 
 But still it would be very strange, if this plain con- 
 sideration, or fact, of the absolute necessity of earn- 
 estness IN RELIGION, even in the most general and 
 accustomed form in which it can present itself, should 
 be reduced to take its rank with the things which have 
 been repeated till we mind them no longer ! It would 
 be very strange if the renewed mention of such a mat- 
 ter should be exactly that which may be made with 
 the fullest assurance of not disturbing the soul into 
 thought or emotion ; so that you may mention one 
 thing and another, and you will rouse the spirit ; — 
 mention this, and it will sleep ! Very strange, again, 
 if the compelled attention to the fact that I am indiffer- 
 ent and careless, should be quite unavailing to disturb 
 and alarm that indifference ! A strong application of 
 the terms that charge and reprove indifference will 
 sometimes force a man to verify his own conscious- 
 ness that he is indifferent, — that it is not a vague re- 
 proach which may perhaps strike there or yonder ; 
 but that here — at home — in his own soul, is the very 
 thing which the oracles of Heaven pronounce to be so 
 fatal. Yet even this shall not break, but for a moment, 
 the dull tranquillity ! So that neither the things 
 themselves that should excite to earnestness can avail, 
 — nor the solemn charge and consciousness that they 
 do not. But what a depth of depravity, that can thus 
 receive and swallow up such masses of alarming truth 
 and fact, and then be as if all this were nothing ! 
 How sad, that for men to be awfully wrong, and to be 
 admonished, and to be aware that they are so, should 
 leave them still at ease ! 
 
 It is not that men are constituted creatures without 
 feeling. No : they are warm through their whole 
 being with affections and passions ; and an infinite 
 multiplicity of objects acting on them. Think of the 
 movements of the heart, in the inhabitants of a great 
 
84 EARNESTNESS IN RELIGION ENFORCED. 
 
 city, during a single day, — loving, desiring, hoping, 
 hating, fearing, regretting ! What an infinity of emo- 
 tions ! What a stupenduous measure of active vital- 
 ity ! Now consider, — to these souls are presented, 
 among the other objects of interest, the things most 
 important, desirable, and terrible in the universe ; 
 these things are placed before them, and pressed on 
 them, as evidently and as closely and palpably, as 
 reason and revelation can. We know what should be 
 the effect of these. We can think what it should be 
 on any individual whom the eye happens to fix upon, 
 known or a stranger. We can look on the passing 
 traiU; or the collected crowd, and think what it should 
 be on each, and all. What a measure therefore this 
 would be of a good spirit in such an assemblage f 
 What is the effect on the far greater number? There 
 are abundant indications to inform you what it is, or 
 rather what it is not. And if the case be so, in an en- 
 lightened and Christian community, what is Man! 
 " What is Man !" might be the compassionate senti- 
 ment of an angelic beholder, or of a saint in heaven, 
 supposing him in view of this object on earth ; — ob- 
 serving a rational and immortal being, involved in a 
 relation the most perfect, vital, and inseparable with 
 all that is most important ; — the reality of that rela- 
 tion manifested to him, enforced upon him ; — and yet, he 
 generally as insensible to it almost as a statue of stone is 
 to the objects surrounding it ! But might not the com- 
 passion become mingled with indignation, when it 
 should be observed how unlike an insensible figure he is 
 toward other objects with which his relation is sepa- 
 rable and transient ? Nevertheless the great interest is 
 still the same ; — bears all the importance of eternity up- 
 on it ; — remains as that sky above us, with its lumina- 
 ries and its solemn and infinite depth, whether we look 
 at it or not. The effects must be continually renewed 
 for breaking up this wretched and pernicious indiffer- 
 ence, both in others and in ourselves. And the con- 
 siderations applicable to this purpose are innumerable, 
 and have been all repeated, times without number. 
 
EARNESTNESS IN RELIGION ENFORCED. 85 
 
 A more proper admonition cannot be suggested in 
 the first place, than, — to beware that the indiflerence 
 of the feehngs does not infect and pervert the judg- 
 ment. In conjunction with such a state of the heart, 
 it is in great danger of losing its firmness and correct- 
 ness. How much more ready the judgment is to take 
 its character from the feelings, than they theirs from it ! 
 Without any reproach to any thing like a formal de- 
 nial of the supreme importance of the spiritual and fu- 
 ture interests, there may be an influence insidiously 
 stealing through the estimatesof the judgment, so that 
 they shall be modified insensibly — less decisively mark 
 ed, less positively pronounced. This may bebya gradu- 
 al effect, without special thoughts and reasonings. Or 
 with the occasional intervention of thoughts such as 
 this ; — " Surely man is not placed in a scene that he be- 
 holds, for the purpose chiefly of looking toward one that 
 he cannot see. Can it be that I am sent into this busy 
 and interesting world, that my main business maybe to 
 think about going out of it. What ! am I here to make 
 nothing of all this ? Under a reversed economy, have 
 I most to do with what is furthest off? — There is so 
 much that I must attend to here ; — must in duty occu- 
 py my thoughts, cares, and time with, that it were 
 hard there should be another great exaction and bur- 
 den continually upon me. I acknowledge the great 
 importance of that other concern ; but may I not hope 
 that the merciful Creator will take care of that for me ?" 
 So the judgment may be partly perverted to excuse 
 the indifference. Let us beware of this seduction. As 
 far as the judgment falls into conformity with wrong 
 feelings, it is in vain to appeal to conscience ; it retires 
 under the protection of the judgment. Thus the soul 
 is left deserted to the power of its perverse and irreli- 
 gous dispositions. 
 
 But let there be a settled conviction on the mind) 
 not equivocated with, though unhappily too dormant 
 and inoperative, that the spiritual and immortal inter- 
 ests really do demand earnest attention, and then a 
 train of remonstrances aorainst indifference and care- 
 §♦ 
 
86 
 
 EARNESTNESi IN RELIGION ENFORCED. 
 
 lessness may be urijed on that mind. It may be urg-ed 
 on such a man, — Will you not, can you not resolve to 
 converse with your own spirit sometimes? You can 
 speak freely, and hear patiently, there. If it be a mor- 
 tifying converse, there is none to overhear it, but One 1 
 and your self-love will be sure to survive unhurt. You 
 can say to yourself, " It is really thus and thus that I 
 firmly believe, — and shall believe, in life, death, and to 
 all eternity. But then here in my soul is the most as- 
 tonishing inconsistency and contradiction — not a more 
 dreadthl one in the creation; — dreadful, for it is a prac- 
 tical one, in the very highest concern of a created be- 
 ing. The consequences of its continuance are plain 
 before me, inevitable and terrible. And am I quietly 
 to go on thus, thinking as little as I can about it ? Do 
 I coolly consent that it shall be so, for the present at 
 least, and for I know not how long?" 
 
 Let him consider, and say — " There they stand be- 
 fore me, not in a deceptive vision, but in an absolute 
 reality, the most important things that can be in the 
 view of any being on this globe, or that has left it — 
 the Redeemer of man — sal cation — pei^dilion — death — 
 judgment — eternity ! They stand confronting me, that 
 there may be in me something corresponding to them. 
 It is in the presence of God that I thus stand with 
 these most awful objects before me; it is by his light 
 that I see them ; it is his authority, in its utmost ful- 
 ness, that insists on their demand of a corresponding 
 state of my mind ; it is his voice that pronounces me 
 lost, if that answerable state be not here. And yet, la 
 it the fact, that I am indifferent still ? Here is the 
 soul that can acknowledge all this, and still not trem- 
 ble, nor care, nor strive, nor pray ! can be at liberty 
 for any pursuit, or gayety, or amusement!" — One 
 could almost imagine, that realizing such a state of 
 things in a man's own soul, might produce an amaze- 
 ment enough to suspend for a while even the sense of 
 personal interest ; that a man might be absorbed 
 awhile before he came again to the consciousness of 
 being himself the subject; as we should look at some 
 
EARNESTNESS IN RELIGION ENFORCED. 87 
 
 strange and dreadful phenomenon in the natural world. 
 In truth, there is no phenomenon in that world so por- 
 tentous ! 
 
 In such a condition, sensibly so, in a measure, men 
 can give their attention and activity to all manner of 
 interests and pursuits, — many very trifling ones. But 
 the remonstrance should follow them still. Recollect 
 what it is that you are warmly pursuing this^ to the 
 neglect of, and in preference to ! Cannot you rise to 
 the resolution of saying deliberately, " Why should 
 this take the precedence, ichy 7 Is there one moment 
 in which I seriously approve its doing so ? Will there 
 ever be such a moment? and if there should ! — Is not 
 this my preference made on the very principle that 
 creates all the evil and misery in the universe ! Is it not 
 a perversity of will inclined to the worse ? Do I not 
 know that I am giving this the preference by the neg- 
 lect of an interest infinite millions of times more impor- 
 tant ? Am I then an immortal, under some dreadful 
 charm and curse, that dooms me to live but Ibr the 
 hour, or the day, or the few uncertain days of this my 
 abode, in the dust, — unable to go forth in a capacious 
 apprehension of the great hereafter ? Or when shall 
 the case cease to be thus ?" If his mind answer eva- 
 sively, "Not always will it be thus, I hope — not long — 
 perhaps not to-morrow." Have you then, it might be 
 said to him, such easy faith ? Do you adhere for the 
 present^ to your preference, on a calculation o^ disgust- 
 ing yourself at length with what you prefer ? that at 
 the next turn, the right preference may be the easier? 
 But why has the preceding train of your wrong pre- 
 ferences done so little to disgust, or satiate, or change 
 you? 
 
 Or if we shall suppose that there is often a certain 
 degree jof disgust and recoil ; — that a sense of the vani- 
 ty and insufficiency of things is forced on the soul ; — 
 that the heart cannot find the living element it longs 
 for, in any of these terrestrial things ; so that the ac- 
 tive spirit, for a while, remits, in disappointment, and is 
 reduced to stand detached and retired. This should 
 
88 EARNESTNESS IN RELIGION ENFORCED. 
 
 be well ; but what is the consequence ? Alas I loo 
 often, it but reverts awhile in a gloomy mood to recover 
 and look out to sec where it may try again ! There is no 
 look toward heaven, except perhaps, for a moment, in 
 something like an emotion of revenge upon the earth ; 
 let another delusive gleam of the world's sunshine 
 come, and that emotion passes away ! 
 
 But these seasons of dissatisfaction and recoil, this 
 sickness of the heart, experienced in the exclusive pur- 
 suit of inferior interests, might be seized upon by the 
 Christian admonisher. He would say, — "Acknow- 
 ledge that at these seasons you are in truth struck and 
 troubled by a power from the other world, whether 
 distinctly recognized or not ; — an obscure and suppres- 
 sed sympathy with the true cause of happiness. There 
 is a certain sense of an infinitely greater interest neg- 
 lected. Consider those who are earnestly intent on 
 the higher object, are they subject to these seasons of 
 mortifying recoil from them ? Have they a forced per- 
 ception of their vanity ? Are they almost ashamed of 
 them? Does there not come upon you sometimes an 
 irresistible conviction that if you had long suice become 
 animated with the spirit of the religion of Christ, 
 it would have been infinitely the best and happiest 
 thing that could have befallen you ? Has not this con- 
 viction prompted you to exclaim, ' What a course of 
 happy feeling and estimable life it would have been, 
 as compared with my past existence ! One little stage 
 of it would have been of more worth than all these 
 long vain years have been. I should have walked 
 with God thus far, and with his saints and angels.' " 
 There are at least some who are visited by such reflec- 
 tions. But, we say, — What, then, now ? Will you 
 make this past^ which you are compelled to condemn 
 and deplore, the very precedent and pattern for what 
 is to come ? Would it not be the very worst eff'ect of 
 all, from this misapplied past, if it make you careless 
 of the present and future? if it chain you to a fatal 
 consistency ? It is enough for you that that past has 
 lost itself! When this present too shall have become 
 
EARNESTNESS IN RELIGION ENFORCED. 89 
 
 past, and lost, will it appear a good reason, that the 
 preceding periods of life were so? This time that is 
 here, and that is coming on, lies between on the one 
 
 hand, a trifled-away portion of your existence, and 
 
 the most grand and awful portion of it on the other ! 
 Now think and choose in the presence of God, shall it 
 be conformed to the character of the former or of the 
 latter ? Consider, wherein would it have been so good, 
 so happy a thing, that through preceding life you had 
 been in earnest about the one thing needful ? wherein, 
 but chiefly in the manner in which it would have been 
 carrying you forward towards the Great Futurity ! 
 But you are going toward that same Futurity ! it is 
 the one constant inevitable action of life ; — your pro- 
 gress is not turning another way than in the former 
 stages ; it has no reversed or circuitous movement ; — 
 it is direct, and think how rapid ! Every step seems to 
 belong more to that awful futurity and its realities, 
 than the preceding ; by the same rule that the last 
 step, which is to be into eternity, appears to have a 
 transcendent importance, — so in proportion all that are 
 approximating to it. Now if you allow that in regard 
 to that Futurity, it would have been so happy, that the 
 progress hitherto had been in the earnest spirit of a 
 Christian, what do you think of the remaining pro- 
 gress from this point, with the realities in prospect ris- 
 ing higher and larger, and more majestic above the 
 horizon of your view ? Consider too, that whatever 
 the world and time could have given you from the first, 
 they can at all events give you much less now, and 
 what is sooner to be taken away. 
 
 When, and hy what, shall this sad indiSerence be 
 broken up and leave you? Would you quietly wait 
 for some alarming dispensation of Providence to do 
 it? to be admonished as Pharaoh was in vain? 
 Would you wait till some heavy affliction ? till some 
 disaster in your worldly affairs ? till another dear rela- 
 tive or friend shall die ? till a severe sickness, with im- 
 minent threatenings of death ? Can you be content to 
 wait for such visitations ? and with the perfect cer- 
 
90 EARNESTNESS IN RELIGION ENFORCED. 
 
 tainiy that, if they should come, and should eflfectually 
 alarm you out of this indifference, that alarm will be 
 mingled with an aggravated remorse, and indeed will 
 very much consist of it? remorse especially to think 
 that " the goodness of God " has not " led to repent- 
 ance ?" 
 
 But have no such visitations come to you already ? 
 What was their efi'ect? Are you to be so much more 
 sensible to the impressions of the next ? or do you wish 
 them to be ten-fold more severe ? If you can wish so, 
 the interest for which you wish so, must be most ur- 
 gent ! But if it be so urgent, why neglected now 7 
 Consider besides, that the next severe visitation may 
 be the last of life ; — may be a fatal disaster ; — may be 
 a mortal illness ! Or would you wait for old age ? 
 What! because it is confessedly a great moral miracle 
 for a man careless till old age, to be awakened then ! 
 Or will a man profane a Christian doctrine, and say, 
 the Spirit of God alone can be efficacious, and he must 
 quietly wait for that? This is saying in etfect, that 
 he will make a trial with Omnipotence, and resist as 
 long as he can! How can he anticipate any other 
 than a destructive energy from that Spirit upon him, 
 while he is trifling with, and frustrating truth — convic- 
 tion-i-warnings — and emotions of conscience ! while 
 he is repelling all these minor operations of that Spirit, 
 instead of earnestly praying for the greater ! It were 
 most wicked thus to pretend a reverence for the ulti- 
 mate powers of the Divine Spirit, and at the same 
 time make light of what comes from that Spirit already. 
 
 How dreadfully obstinate a state is this careless 
 indifference ! But nevertheless we can imagine situa- 
 tions under the force of which it must give way! 
 Imagine them ! but that is not all : — we are certain to 
 be in one or other of them, sometime! Happy will it 
 be, if the love of Christ shall effectually constrain us; 
 — if there be a prevailing impression that our affec- 
 tions and powers are due to him ; that we must do 
 something for him, and his great cause, while we are 
 on earth. Happy ! if an ardent desire of heaven ; — 
 
EARNESTNESS IN RELIGION ENFORCED. 91 
 
 happy ! even if the thought of the ''terrors of the Lord," 
 should contribute to persuade us ! But though all 
 these should fail, and leave us indifferent still, there 
 will be in reserve, that which cannot fail, — situations 
 and circumstances of irresistible power! Can a man 
 calmly refer himself to these ! Can a man say, "I 
 know I must awake from this indifference at last — I 
 
 will indulge it till then /" "Here is a dull, stupid 
 
 state of soul, but there will be blows upon it so mighty 
 
 as to make it c[uiver with the intensest feeling !" "I 
 
 am making light o^ anticipations ;— well, the realities 
 w^ill come !" '■'■'■ Here I am, easily soothing my con- 
 science ; — it is but that it may rise upon me wiih tre- 
 mendous strength!" "Now I am lightly dismiss- 
 ing, or evading a solemn and alarming reflection ; — 
 it goes away but to come back as if transformed into 
 
 an avenging spirit !" "I am dissipating my mind 
 
 among trifles, — be it so, — a tempest will arise which 
 
 will blast them all away ! " ''I am now but in order 
 
 to what I shall be then; what I shall be then will 
 remind me of what I am now /" — Such a man can now 
 put in words some of the sentiments, the reflections, 
 the emotions which his earnestness may breathe itself 
 in. in the hour of death. Let him do it; and then say 
 whether there be any thing possible or conceiveable 
 in this world that he should be so anxious for, as that 
 he may not so be in earnest at that hour. This is the 
 appeal io^ Fear ^ a just and salutary appeal ; but think 
 how strange it is, that it should be necessary to lay 
 the emphasis here ; when that which the soul is called 
 and excited to be in earnest for, is an injinite good ! — 
 deliverence from all evil — salvation — eternal blessed- 
 ness ! Here are objects of mightiest attraction for the 
 better passions, and yet it is necessary to work by 
 fear ! as if mere escape, and impunity, and safety, were 
 all ! as if it were no good for ourselves, and only to 
 please or pacify a power to which we are in subjection ! 
 What a manifestation of the fallen state of our nature ! 
 Let us beware of the delusive feeling as if indiffer- 
 ence, however prolonged, had still nothing in it of the 
 
92 COMPREHENSIVENESS OF THE DIVINE LAW. 
 
 nature of a decision; as if it were but remaining in a 
 kind of suspension and protracted equipoise. Are we 
 insensible tliat an additional weight is falling all the 
 while on the other side, by mere time itself which is 
 going, particle by particle, to the wrong ; — by irreli- 
 gious habit, which is growing stronger and stronger ; 
 — and by negation, refusal, all the while, of what is 
 claimed by the higher interest ! We decide against 
 that which we refuse to adopt. So that prolonged 
 indifference is decision so far ; and indifference to the 
 <end will but he decision completed ! 
 
 COMPREHENSIVENESS OF THE DIVINE LAW. 
 
 " Thy commandment is exceeding hroadP — The 
 first view of the relation between God and all other be- 
 ings, is that of His being their Creator. The next view 
 of the relation is that which manifests him as a Law- 
 giver. By the very nature of the case, this must be an 
 essential part of the relation. No right so absolute, to 
 give laws, can be conceived, as that of the Creator. 
 For he is nesessarily the Supreme being. He has a 
 perfect and exclusive properly in what he has created. 
 All created being is entirely dependent on him, for be- 
 ing and well-being. He alone can have a perfect un- 
 derstanding of what is the right state, and the riglit 
 procedure of created beings ; they cannot understand 
 themselves, and therefore could not, if they would, de- 
 vise competent laws. He alone has the power to en- 
 force a system of laws over the whole creation. The 
 mention of the "whole creation " may suggest one ap- 
 plication of the terms, — the amazing extent of the 
 scene of his legislation ! In all probability there are 
 
COMPREHENSIVENESS OF THE DIVINE LAW. 93 
 
 worlds, with intelligent inhabitants, extending beyond 
 all conceivable number, and dimension of space ; and 
 One Dictator of laws, — of commands, — to them all ! 
 But, think of one world, only, — our own, in this sense 
 of " exceeding broad." 
 
 But doubtless, not the wide compass of the scene and 
 subjects, is meant, but the quality of the law, as imper- 
 ative on man ; its authority and requirement applied 
 to so many points ; the comprehensiveness, the univer- 
 sality of its jurisdiction. It reaches and comprehende 
 the whole extent of all things, in which there is the 
 distinction of right and wrong — good and evil. Now 
 then think' of the almost infinite multiplicity of things 
 in which this distinction has a place ; the grand total 
 of what is passing, — in men's minds, converse, and ac- 
 tion — is passing at this hour — has been in the course 
 of the day — during the whole course of life of each and 
 all. Think how much — how little — of all this can justly 
 be considered as withdrawn from the jurisdiction of the 
 divine authority and law. A wide rain, or the beams 
 of the sun, hardly fall on a greater multitude and di- 
 versity of things. 
 
 Now, an intelligent creature in a right state, — that 
 is, a holy state, in harmony with God, would be deeply 
 pleased, that all things should be thus marked with a 
 signification of his will. For how happy to be in all 
 things at the direction of the Supreme Wisdom ! — in 
 all things made clearly aware what is conformity to the 
 Divine Excellence; insomuch that, — if the case could 
 be supposed, of any thing of material interest being 
 left without this mark of the divine will, under an 
 echpse of the fight from God, that would, to such a 
 spirit, appear as something distressing, and fearful and 
 portentous, — would be felt as threatening some inde- 
 finable hazard. To a being possessed and filled with 
 the reverential love of God, it would be a most ac- 
 ceptable and welcome thing that thus it should be 
 made manifest in all things what is his pleasure ; — 
 that the whole field of existence and action should bear, 
 all over it, the decided and precise delineations, as on 
 9 
 
94 COMPREHENSIVENESS OF THE DIVINE LAW. 
 
 a map, of the ways which his creatures are to take. 
 Should it not be so ?— Must it not be so to an uncor- 
 rupted and holy creature of God 1 But is it so to the 
 general spirit of mankind? is it so naturally to any of 
 3iem ? No, — it is not a welcome thing that the '• com- 
 mandment," the law of God is so " exceeding broad." 
 Accordingly, its breadth is, in every imaginable way, 
 endeavoured to be narrowed. It is true, that even the 
 very apprehension of it is very limited and faint. If 
 the dulness and contractedness of apprehension could 
 be set aside for an interval, and a palpable, luminous 
 manifestation made of the vast compass, and the whole 
 order of distinctions of this divine law, it would strike 
 as ten times, — a hundred times, beyond all that had 
 been suspected. Yet still, in multitudes of minds, 
 there is apprehension enough of such a widely-ex- 
 tended law, to cause disquietude, to excite reaction, and 
 a recourse to any thing that will seem to narrow that 
 law. 
 
 We might notice several expedients and aiding 
 causes, for this effect of contracting and reducing the 
 extent and magnitude of the divine law. The bold, 
 direct, decisive one, is— infidelity ; to deny the exist- 
 ence of the Supreme Lawgiver himself. Then the 
 Sovereign Voice is silent. Then the destruction of the 
 divine law takes place, as it were, from the centre in- 
 stead of by a contraction of its wide extension. Then 
 all things are right which men wish, and can, and dare 
 do ; right, as to any concern of conscience, — the prac- 
 tical regulations which atheists would feel the neces-' 
 sity for, would be only a matter of pohcy and mutual 
 self-defence. 
 
 To reject a revelation is an expedient little less sum 
 mary and effectual for the purpose. A God believed, 
 or supposed, — but making no declaration of his will, 
 and the retribution, would give very little disturbance 
 to sinners. For as to what has been termed natural 
 religion, — though a fine systematic theory may be 
 framed, it is, for any thing like practical effect, no more 
 ^an a dream. It was so among the bulk of the cuiti- 
 
COMPREHENSIVENESS OF THE DIVINE LAW. 95 
 
 vated heathens ; and now the rejecters of revelation 
 would be sure not to allow themselves to be defrauded 
 of their advantage, by admitting any thing more than 
 they liked of the rules or authority of natural religion. 
 Bui not to dwell on the express and formal rejection 
 of the divine law, but suppose it admitted in the 
 ordinary way as among the generality in a Christian 
 nation, there are many things to frustrate its quality of 
 "exceeding broad." 
 
 We hardly need say how effectually this is done by 
 the indulgence of sin, in action, or though but in the 
 heart It is by the understanding and the conscience 
 that the divine law is to be apprehended in its ampli- 
 tude. Now nothing is more notorious than the bane- 
 ful effect which indulged and practised sin has on both 
 these. It inflicts a grossness on the understanding, 
 which renders it totally unadapted to take cognizance 
 of any thing that is to be " spiritually discerned ;" as 
 unadapted as our bodily senses are to perceive spirits. 
 It throws a thick obscurity over the whole vision of the 
 divine law, so that nothing of it is distinctly perceived, 
 except when sometimes some part of it breaks out in 
 thunder. The conscience partakes the stupefaction ; 
 is insensible to a thousand accusations and menaces of 
 the divine law, every one of which ought to have been 
 pungent and painful. 
 
 The general operation of self-love in a corrupted be- 
 ing, is adverse to any clear and effectual acknowledg- 
 ment of "the exceeding breadth" of the divine law. The 
 being has a certain sense of not being in a state of peace 
 and harmony with God, but of alienation, opposition, 
 and in a degree, hostility; but still devotedly loves itself. 
 It has therefore a set of self-defensive feelings against 
 him. But since it could not defend itself against his 
 power, it endeavors to defend itself against his law. It 
 ventures to question the necessity or propriety of one 
 point of his law ;— refuses to admit the plain interpreta- 
 tion of another — or to admit the clear inferences from 
 undeniable rules. It makes large portions of the divine 
 laws refer to other men and times ; to special and tran- 
 
96 COMPREHENSIVEiNESS OF THE DIVINE LAW. 
 
 sient occasions and circumstances ; is ingenious in in- 
 venting exemptions for itself; weakens the force of 
 both the meaning and the authority of the divine dic- 
 tates, which it cannot avert from their apphcation to 
 itself. Thus it " renders void " much of both the spirit 
 and the letter ; and thus places itselfamidst a dwindled 
 and falsified system of the divine legislation. 
 
 Add to this the influence of the customs and maxims 
 of the world. For a moment, suppose these admitted 
 to constitute the supreme law and standard. Let all 
 tiiat these adjudge superfluous, be left out and reject- 
 ed ; all that these account indifferent, be set down so ; — 
 all that these warrant by practice, be formally sanc- 
 tioned; all that these pronounce honourable and ad- 
 mirable, be inscribed in golden letters ; all that these 
 have settled as true wisdom, be adopted as principles 
 and oracles. Especially, let what the customs and 
 notions of the world have mainly satisfied themselves 
 with in respect to religion be admitted, as the true 
 scheme of our relations and duties to God. This sys- 
 tem now ! — Let it be placed opposite to the divine 
 law ! Would it not be like Baal's prophets confront- 
 ing Elijah? like Satan propounding doctrine to our 
 Lord ? like a holy angel and a devil looking in each 
 other's face ? But, think ! — this is actually the system 
 on which the notions and habits of the multitude are 
 formed ! Thus the divine law, in its exceeding breadth, 
 is made, as it is said of the heavens, to '-depart as a 
 scroll that is rolled together." 
 
 But short of BO decidedly antichristian a standard, 
 there is among us a great deal of an accommodating 
 way of thinking of ihe divine law; an unsound and 
 treacherous casuistry ; a sort of middle principles, by 
 which those of divine authority are altered, and quali- 
 fied, and shaped, to suit better to the habits of the world, 
 and the temper of the times ; — a defective faith in our 
 Lord's declaration — " no man can serve two masters." 
 
 Another thing by which the " exceeding breadth " 
 of the divine law is narrowed, as to its acknowledg- 
 ment and application, is a notion and a feeling as if— 
 
COMPREHENSIVENESS OF THE DIVINE LAW. 97 
 
 man being so very imperfect a creature, it cannot be 
 that there is an absolutely perfect law in authority 
 over him. It is impossible for him to meet such a law 
 in full conformity, and therefore it is a moderate and 
 more indulgent one that he is responsible to. But 
 where is there any declaration of such a law? What 
 can the idea really mean, but a tolerance and approval 
 of something that is evil? Something different from 
 that which is perfect — less than — what can this be but 
 evil ? Shall there be a law from the holy God to 
 sanction evil, because man is evil ? 
 
 Worse, if possible, than all these modes of making 
 void the law, is that which attempts to do it on the plea 
 of grace; which pretends to absolve Christians from 
 the claims of the sovereign rule, because their justifi- 
 cation is on an entirely different ground. So that 
 they stand as independent of the law, as he is who ap- 
 pointed it. There are different degrees in which this 
 odious heresy is made a practical principle. A spirit 
 truly renewed through divine grace, becomes an em- 
 phatic approver of the law. It is a reflection of the 
 character of him whom he adores, and wishes to re- 
 semble. 
 
 Such are the expedients, and modes, and operations 
 of depravity to frustrate " the commandment." But 
 let us solemnly consider, that all the while, and after 
 all, that divine law remains in its exceeding breadth. 
 Then what should a man gain, though he could keep 
 it out of sight — delude and please himself with a di- 
 minished conception of it, — through his whole life on 
 earth? Since he must go out of the world to meet 
 him that has appointed it, and never abrogated or 
 changed it, " not one jot or tittle." There too he will 
 meet it, this law itself, resplendent in eternity. 
 
 " Exceeding broad." It is so, by the comprehen- 
 sive applicableness of its grand simple rules. '' Thou 
 shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and 
 soul, and strength, and thy neighbour as thyself." It 
 is so by the ample order of its special injunctions. 
 Where is there a spot without a signal of the divine 
 9* 
 
98 COMPREHENSIVENESS OF THE DIVINE LAW. 
 
 will ? It is so, by laying an authoritative hand on 
 the first principles and origin from which any thing 
 can proceed, in human spirit and action ; tlien it 
 reaches to all things that do or can proceed thence. 
 It asserts a jurisdiction over all thought and inward 
 affection. AH language is uttered under this same 
 jurisdiction. All that the world and each man are in 
 action about. Even over what is not done, it main- 
 tains its authority, and pronounces its dictates and 
 judgments. It is a positive thing with respect to what 
 is negative, omission, non-existence. Like the divine 
 government in the material world, over the wastes, 
 deserts, and barren sands. From these spaces of 
 nothing, it can raise up substantial tbrms of evil, of 
 ein, in evidence against men. As at the resurrection 
 men will rise from empty wastes, where it would not 
 have been suspected that any were concealed. Let a 
 man look back on all his omissions, and think what the 
 divine law can raise from them against him. Thus 
 the law, in its exceeding breadth, is vacant nowhere ; 
 it is not stretched to this wide extent by chasms and 
 void spaces. If a man could find one such, he might 
 there take his position for sin with impunity, if not 
 with innocence. 
 
 But to realize all this to the heart and conscience, 
 what seriousness of thought is necessary ! What of 
 all this will be visible to a careless, thoughtless spirit ? 
 How necessary spiritual discernment imparted, main- 
 tained, and increased, by divine instruction and influ- 
 ence ! This brings, as it were, a new element into the 
 creation around us. When this is given to one that 
 had been a stupid, insensible sinner, what a manifesta- 
 tion, what a vision there becomes apparent to him of 
 the divine law ! 
 
 An inference -from such representations plainly is, 
 that great self-complacency is a treacherous, deluded, 
 and dangerous state. 
 
 If such be the law, how impossible is human salva- 
 tion by it ! Let man be brought before it in judgment, 
 under the conditionj " cursed is every one that continu- 
 
SELF-DISCIPLINE SUITABLE, ETC. 99 
 
 eth not in all things which are written in the book of 
 the law, to do them." He must not shrink from this 
 view, who is really in earnest to be saved. One more 
 just and natural consequence will be, — a perfect hor- 
 ror of taking any ground at all hke this for acceptance 
 before God. We need not fear to assert, that, with 
 such a view of the law, and man being such as he is, it 
 would have been very difficult to believe even a revela- 
 tion of divine mercy, which should profess to take 
 effect on the ground of the law or not on any other 
 ground. A strong doubt and question would have 
 arisen : " How can the holy God so set aside his law ? 
 Why did he appoint it? Is it not absolutely just and 
 good ? Will it comport with holiness to suffer a vast 
 and general violation of it, defiance of it, by our race, 
 and no dreadful and penal consequences follow — pro- 
 vided men should be willing to be pardoned by him, — 
 and be somewhat sorry for their having set his law 
 at nought?" 
 
 Therefore, the rational theory w^ould be. — that if 
 God would extend mercy and salvation to so guilty a 
 race, it would much more probably be on the ground 
 of some quite different economy. And therefore, — a 
 revelation of something purporting to be such a quite 
 different economy, would beforehand have every prob- 
 abihty in its favour, as compared with any plan which 
 should retain the law as the foundation. The plan by 
 the law was evidently an utterly ruined plan ; it could 
 not save one ; it could only condemn to perish. If men 
 were to be saved, and still upon the original economy, 
 it was to be independently of the law, and in opposi- 
 tion to it. But, independently, and in opposition ! ! — 
 Who would make them independent? Who would 
 bear them harmless in that opposition ? If the divine 
 goodness in the form of mercy would do it, — what 
 became of the divine goodness in the form of right- 
 eousness ? Should the rebellious creatures utterly vio- 
 late and demolish the economy of justice, and come 
 triumphant out of its ruin as having forced the supreme 
 Governor to the bare expedient of mercy ? 
 
100 SELF-DISCIPLINE SUITABLE 
 
 All this gives beforehand a high and rational prob- 
 abability to the new economy, constituted in the Medi- 
 ator; acceptance, justification, salvation — solely and 
 entirely through the work and sacrifice of Jesu.-? Christ. 
 The believing, grateful accepters of this economy will 
 see the more of its inestimable value, the more they 
 apprehend of the "exceeding breadth" of the divine 
 law. The rejecters of it may be exhorted to turn their 
 solemn attention on that law — to study it long — and 
 see whether they dare finally venture to stand on that 
 orround. 
 
 XI. 
 
 SELF-DISCIPLINE SUITABLE TO CERTAIN MEN- 
 TAL STATES. 
 
 " Be wise, and guide thine heart in the way?^ — In 
 our course through life, our minds are liable to be, they 
 actually are in succession and change, placed in certain 
 states of feeling, strongly marked, and for the time, 
 strongly prevailing ; by causes by influences and cir- 
 cumstances, independent of our will. We might call 
 them moods ; by many serious persons they are denom- 
 inated frames. They are produced by facts and events 
 that we witness or hear of; by views of the state of the 
 world; — by particular subjects of thought, forcibly im- 
 pressed on our minds ; — by circumstances in our own 
 immediate condition; — by the state of our health; — 
 by even the seasons of the year. And they form a 
 state of feeling, distinguished by a stronger character, 
 from the quiet, ordinary tone. Now the lesson we 
 would wish to inculcate is this : that these states of 
 feeling, thus involuntarily produced, should be care- 
 fully turned to a profitable account ; that we should 
 
TO CERTAIN MENTAL STATES. 101 
 
 avail ourselves of what there is in them specially 
 adapted to afford improvement 
 
 It is hardly necessary to make the previous observa- 
 tion, that there are many strong feelings to which we 
 are liable which we are not to talk of turning to ac- 
 count, they being absolutely evil, such as should be 
 resisted, repressed, and crushed altogether. For in- 
 stance, envy, — malice, — revenge, — a rebellious feeling 
 against God ; such as these can be turned to no pro- 
 fitable account; they are not like some 7iatural evils, 
 which may, as poisons may, be made medicinal ; not 
 so these moral and spiritual poisons ; at least by mail 
 they cannot be turned to beneficial use ; doubtless they 
 can by God, else, infinite power and goodness would 
 not have permitted their existence in his creation. 
 
 But the states of feeling to which we refer are such 
 as are 7iot essentially and necessarily evil. They may 
 be called a kind of natural seasons in the soul ; some- 
 what parallel to the seasons and the climates o[ the 
 natural world ; only not having their regularity and 
 fixed order. They have their evils, and may be suf- 
 fered to become great evils ; but still are available to 
 good, by a wise and religious care. In other terms, 
 they may be described as elements, having in them 
 what may be applied to the very best and most advan- 
 tageous uses. These varied states of feeling are of 
 the two great classes, the pleasing, and the unpleas- 
 ing ; the latter being felt oftener and more sensibly. 
 ^ But we will begin with an illustration of the more 
 pleasing order. You can easily represent to your- 
 selves the example of a person quite in the sunshine 
 of feehng; a person perhaps constitutionally cheerful, 
 — in excellent health, — in the prime of life, — and a 
 great number of circumstances around him very much 
 according to his wishes. And in addition to all this, 
 there may be, at some particular season, some more 
 than ordinary cause to animate the pleasurable state 
 of his mind; — some bright smiles of what we call 
 " good fortune," beaming out upon him ; some impor- 
 tant matter that was depending, decided in his favour ; 
 
102 SELF-DISCIPLINE SUITABLE TO 
 
 some new delightful confidence or acquisition, in 
 regard to the interests of friendship and aiiection ; — 
 some gratifying circumstances in the affairs of his 
 family. Now you have the image before you of the 
 person in this high exhilaration ; his soul overrunning 
 with delight, his countenance lighted up with anima- 
 tion ! 
 
 But do you gravely consider the case ? How will 
 it be with him, what will be the benefit of all this, if he 
 do not exercise reflection ? if he do not " guide his 
 heart ?" It is far too probable that all this will might- 
 ily tend and lead to direct evil ; — to forgetfulness of 
 God, — to unbounded love of the world, — to banish- 
 ment of all thought of death and hereafter ; perhaps 
 to levity, frivolity, and a revelling in amusement and 
 luxury. 
 
 But at the very best it will be this ; he will indulge 
 himself in the fulness of his satisfaction. He will have 
 no use of his delight but to enjoy it, — to devour it. 
 And all he will think will be, " To-morrow shall be as 
 this day, and much more abundant.'' 
 
 Now, what would you wish to say to him? "Can 
 you be content to have no good but this, of all this ani- 
 mation and glow, and expansion of heart? Just to 
 give yourself up to be delighted, — to bound and dance 
 in thoughtless felicity, like an animal of the spring, or 
 an insect of the sunshine ? You are suffering to con- 
 sume away, in mere useless sparkle and blaze, a pre- 
 cious element of mind, which might, while it burns, be 
 applied to some noble purposes." 
 
 Here is the lesson which we are desiring to incul- 
 cate ; that is, the consideration of the valuable uses to 
 which a bright season of the soul should be employed. 
 It should not be forgotten, that one point of wisdom in 
 such a case, may be, somewhat to repress and sober 
 such an exhilaration of the heart. There might be 
 such an intoxication of joyous sentiment as should be 
 fit for nothing but wild mirth. But in truth, it will 
 seldom be long before there shall be something or 
 other to damp this, even without seeking it. And the 
 
CERTAIN MENTAL STATES. 103 
 
 consideration that the fine pleasurable season of the 
 spirits may not last long, but is liable to become chill- 
 ed and overcast, should be a strong admonition for 
 losing no time in turning it to the best account. And 
 to what account might we suppose a wise man to turn 
 it? 
 
 In the first place, — it would surely be a wise appli- 
 cation of this pleasurable state of feeling, to seek most 
 seriously, that some of it may be directed into the 
 channel of gratitude to God. Consider ! •' Why am I 
 not, at this hour, overwhelmed with distress, instead of 
 these feelings of delight ? I deserve to be so, and 
 many of my fellow-mortals are so, who probably de- 
 serve it less. Is it not because God is exceedingly 
 good to me ? To constitute this state which I am now 
 enjoying, how many cares and gifts of that beneficent 
 Father, — how many collective rays of mercy from that 
 open heaven ! And does my heart absorb all, and 
 reflect nothing ? All this that tells me of the Supreme 
 Benefactor, does it really but make me, or prove me, 
 an Atheist? In what manner — by what means — am 
 I expecting ever to be reminded of God — ever to be 
 drawn toward him, \^ hiB goodness has no such eflfect? 
 If my heart has absolutely no will to send upward any 
 of its gratifying emotions, as incense to him, what 
 must be its condition ? Is not this a reflection calcu- 
 lated instantly to chill all this delight ? If, in these 
 pleasurable emotions, there is nothing of a nature that 
 admits of being sent up in grateful devotion, what esti- 
 mate should I form of my pleasure, my happiness? 
 Content! dehghted ! with a happiness which by its 
 very nature estranges me from God !" 
 
 From which we may observe, — that it will be a wise 
 and valuable use of any season of unusual gladness, to 
 watch narrowly the effect which earthly felicity has 
 upon our minds, in order that the happy, the self-com- 
 placent man may see what kind of nature he has to be 
 acted upon j — a sad nature truly, if he sees the fact to 
 be, that the more its wishes are gratified the w^orse it 
 becomes, if left to itself! Thus should we watch in 
 
104 SELF-DISCIPLINE SUITABLE TO 
 
 order to seethe practical proof of the manner in which 
 earthly dehght acts on the heart, unless combined with 
 a sanctifying religion. 
 
 There may have been a great deal of unthinking 
 declamation about the dangers of prosperity, the per- 
 verting guile of earthly pleasure, and topics of this 
 kind. And how often have the gay, the young, the pros- 
 perous smiled contemptuously at such discourse ! But 
 let us admonish them, that they have no business to 
 deride declamation who will not attend to proof ; and 
 when that proof is in their own souls, at their own 
 most serious cost ! A man that shall in a right man- 
 ner make the kind of observation we are describing, 
 will certainly — not desire to have distress and pain in- 
 stead of his gladness and gratification — but he will be 
 alarmed into earnestness and prayer that God may 
 never let him fancy himself happy, independently of 
 the divine sources of felicity. 
 
 But we might pertinently have applied the admoni- 
 tion to this lively, delighted state of the spirits as owing 
 to certain particular causes or occasions ; — as for in- 
 stance, the recovery of health, from great suffering and 
 peril, or protracted languishing. This is generally a 
 season of extremely pleasurable feeling ; but often suf- 
 fered to be mere pleasure, tending to no use ; — the 
 mere joy of having escaped ; — the gladness of a priso- 
 ner got loose, before he is sober enough to think what 
 he shall do with his liberty. But to what purpose then, 
 has the man been disciplined by suffering, and been 
 rescued by a merciful hand % He should be anxious 
 to " guide his heart" to those purposes which affliction 
 should have taught him. In this animation of feeling 
 he has, in a sense, a double life, that which was lost 
 to him during illness being virtually restored to him by 
 this extra animation. 
 
 We might have specified that delighted state of 
 feeling — that fine climate or weather of the soul — 
 which some persons experience from the beautiful 
 seasons and scenes of nature. Amid such feelings 
 the thought should never be long absent ; " How can 
 
CERTAIN MENTAL STATES. 105 
 
 I, as a wise man and a Christian, take the best advan- 
 tage of this awakening of my sensibility?" No man 
 ever seems to have felt more of this influence than 
 the poetic and inspired Hebrew; and no reader of 
 the Psalms needs to be informed to what use he di- 
 rected these feelings. 
 
 We shall not specify any more of the particular 
 modes and occasions of these bright and warm states 
 of feeling. But considering them generally, we can- 
 not too strongly urge the duty which accompanies 
 them. They should be regarded as cultivators re- 
 gard the important weeks of the spring; — as mariners 
 regard the blowing of favourable winds ; — as mer- 
 chants seize a transient and valuable opportunity of 
 gain ; — as men, overlaboured and almost overmatched 
 in warfare, regard a strong reinforcement of fresh 
 combatants. The spring and energy of spirit felt in 
 these pleasurable seasons of the heart should ' be ap- 
 plied to the use of a more spirited performance of the 
 Christian duties in general, but especially to those 
 which are the most congenial : such as the exercises 
 and services most directly expressive of gratitude to 
 God ; — the study and exertions for promoting the 
 happiness of men. 
 
 It is more than time to turn to a darker side of our 
 subject. We cannot have been dreaming that these 
 seasons of pleasure are prevailing through the gene- 
 ral experience of our race ; or with frequency or long 
 duration in the experience of almost any one. The 
 Christian admonisher to ^^ guide the heart,'''' will find 
 the occasions but few for exhorting men to turn their 
 joy to a wise account, compared with the cases of a 
 far different kind. It were indeed a gloomy calcula- 
 tion, if it could be made, what proportion of time is 
 passed by mankind collectively in a state of feeling 
 decidedly infelicitous, as compared with their experi- 
 ence of animated pleasure. But a still far worse view 
 of the case is this ; how small a portion of their pain- 
 ful feeling turns to any good account. 
 
 We do not mean to take a condition of Bevere and 
 10 
 
106 SELF-DISCIPLINE SUITABLE 
 
 overwhelming distress, as the subject of the present 
 admonition. Greatly short of this, there are occa- 
 sional states of darkened, gloomy feeling, continuing 
 for a while, in which sensibihty becomes pensiveuess, 
 and gravity sadness ; in which there is a strong ten- 
 dency, for the time, to serious ideas and musings of 
 the more melancholy class. It is as if an accustomed 
 barrier had been thrown down on one side of the 
 mind, to admit an invasion of austere thoughts, and 
 unwelcome and threatening images. The immediate 
 cause may have been some untoward turn of events ; — 
 some painful disappointment; — or the death of relatives 
 or friends; — and constitutional tendency or defective 
 health may contribute. 
 
 Now, this infelicitous season of the soul — shall it 
 not be turned, by wisely " guiding the heart," to last- 
 ing advantage ? And how may it be so ? In many 
 instances all this possible benefit is refused and lost. 
 It is a bad sign when we see a person in this state of 
 feeling just merely anxious and endeavouring to es- 
 cape from it ; when there is a horror of solitude ; — a 
 recourse to any thing that will help to banish reflec- 
 tion ; such as change of place ; — making excursions ; 
 — contriving visits and parties ; endeavouring to force 
 the spirits up to the pitch of lively society; — even try- 
 ing amusements, wiien really little in the mood lor 
 amusement. This is a wretched and self- defrauding 
 management. 
 
 Certainly, the censure must have some terms of 
 quahfication. It is to be acknowledged that in some 
 cases, a gloomy state of the mind is very directly 
 caused by a disordered or debilitated condition of the 
 body. And when we speak too of a constitutional 
 melancholy temperament in some persons, we are but 
 expressing probably some mysterious sympathy of 
 the mind with its corporeal tenement. Now, in cases 
 decidedly of this kind, expedients of allcvation will, to 
 a certain extent, be very properly sought in move- 
 ment — change of scene— or communication with more 
 cheerful spirits. 
 
TO CERTAIN MENTAL STATES. 107 
 
 But for the far greater number of perssons experi- 
 encing these occasional graver, darker seasons of the 
 mind, there is no such concession to be made. This 
 state of mind should be regarded not as a kind of dis- 
 order to be relieved and escaped, but as a visitation 
 to be improved. 
 
 One might address such a person thus: — "Now, it 
 is too probable that during your past life, there has 
 been far too little of the voluntary exercise of grave, 
 deep thought, of choosing serious and solemn subjects 
 of reflection, and with an appropriate temper of feel- 
 ing ;' that is to say, what a gay spirit would deem a 
 gloomy feeling, and what you may have averted or 
 evaded as such. Now that causes, independent of 
 your will, have placed you, as it were, in the very ele- 
 ment for such thought and feeling, let not your chief 
 aim and effort be to escape from it ! You had not 
 seriousness enough to go into a solemn temple ; but 
 now that a hand not to be resisted has led you into it, 
 is your sole attention to be fixed on the door? — while 
 the oracles of God are inscribed there I the images ol 
 the dead are standing there ! visions of futurity are 
 disclosed there ! Now that light thoughts, and brisk 
 spirits, and worldly pleasures and hopes, are aloof for 
 a while, do take the opportunity for serious considera- 
 tion. Reflect ! — are there no great and solemn ques- 
 tions hitherto, most unwisely, left undecided ? When 
 will you be willing to bring them to a decision ? Is 
 it to be when you shall have recovered the easy or 
 gay tone of feeling which always averts you from 
 such subjects ? Have you yet come to a determinate 
 judgment on the state of your mind, in reference to its 
 greatest interests? If not, is a season of unusually 
 grave feeling, of all times the wrong one for such a 
 purpose? Have you yet come to a full consent of 
 the soul to take death and eternity into the system of 
 your interests ; into an intimate combination with all 
 that you are wishing, projecting, and pursuing? If 
 scarcely so, — when is this grand point to be effected ? 
 Will these solemn objects come to your view with 
 
108 SELF-DISCIPLINE SUITABLE 
 
 more gracious aspect ? will they be welcomed nearer 
 to you, when you shall have again become more satis- 
 fied or delighted \vith the gratifications of this life ? 
 Shall you call them to meet you in the flowery gar- 
 den of pleasure ? — in your circles of gayety ? — among 
 your treasures of acquired gain? Reflect 1 — have 
 you yet come absolutely to meet God, in your capa- 
 city of a sinner condemned, — and to be pardoned and 
 saved? And have you come really and effectually 
 to a believing and grateful reception of the offered re- 
 demption by Jesus Christ? If there be anything 
 dubious as to this great matter, are you impatient to 
 hasten away into a state of feeling in which you may 
 slumber over such a question, and such a doubt ?•' 
 Or supposing these great interests not to be in doubt 
 and hazard, — if there is any duty, or any temptation 
 with respect to which the darker season of feeling 
 would aid him to prepare his mind, is it wise to reject 
 that aid ? 
 
 Now is not this a reasonable pleading? It is but 
 requiring that a man should not be willing to come out 
 from a temporary and special state of feehng, without 
 having availed himself of that advantage which it has 
 specially oflfered him ? 
 
 But very briefly we will apply the admonition to 
 only one more particular state of feeling which not sel- 
 dom visits an observer of mankind ; namely, an indig- 
 nant excitPMent of wind asrainst human conduct. It 
 will noi be pretended that this is one of those feelings 
 thai ought to be extinguished as absolutely evil. It is 
 what the best men have made no scruple of indulging 
 and avowing; the worthiest teachers, protesters, and 
 reformers. But to make the best advantage of it, a 
 man must very wisely " guide his heart." He looks 
 abroad and sees an infinity of things as he knows they 
 ought not to be; — every kind of perversity, depravity, 
 and wrong; — and in many instances iniquity triumph- 
 ing in power and success. And at times the flame of 
 indignation is made to burn with violence by some 
 particular occurring instance of great iniquity. Now, 
 
TO CERTAIN MENTAL STATES. 109 
 
 he cannot but be sure that, within certain limitations, 
 he '• does well to be angry." But then the admonition , 
 "Take care that you manage this fire to answer a 
 good purpose, and that you do not burn yourself. What 
 purpose? It may enforce on you the necessity of a 
 most carefully disciplined judgment. It may surely 
 contribute to aggravate your permanent impression of 
 the extreme evil of sin, let every indignant emotion go 
 thither; — and therefore, to =' justify" the Almighty in 
 that part of his economy which is directed in hostility 
 against it ; to impress upon you that what is so much 
 to be hated, is no less to be dreaded. Therefore be- 
 ware yintrself. The indignant thoughts and emotions 
 thus going outward, may surely admonish you against 
 leaving all to an indulgent judgment within. Amidst 
 these indignant feelings there should be suggested a 
 warning against a deceptive manner of comparing 
 yourself with others. This state of feeling may ad- 
 monish you of the sovereignty of God. You look at all 
 this ; you are impotent and cannot put an end to it. 
 God sees it all ; he is omnipotent, and could end it in 
 a moment. There is a reason why he does not. You 
 must submit in mystery and humility to his supreme 
 wisdom. And finally, should it not contribute to the 
 desire of a better world ? and to a more earnest appli- 
 cation to all that which may prepare you for it ?" 
 
 Here we close these observations. These few ex- 
 emplifications may contribute to show, how those in- 
 voluntary states of feeling, which come upon us for a 
 time, may be turned to a valuable use ; that so we may 
 carry out of the world with us benefits acquired by the 
 divine aid, from all the mental seasons through which 
 we shall have passed. 
 
 10* 
 
XI. 
 
 CHARACTERISTICS OF VAIX THOUGHTS. 
 
 " How long shall thy vain thoughts lodge within 
 theeV — There are some of our duties which are oc- 
 casional and temporary ; — there is in a strict sense, a 
 " time for them," a time marked out from other time. 
 But there are some which are habitual and continual ; 
 so that when they are thought of, it is always, '• now is 
 the time.'' 
 
 Now it is not implied that any duty is unimportant, 
 any precept insignificant, when we say that there is a 
 peculiarly great importance in those duties which are 
 habitual and continual. Yet it would appear that ac- 
 tually less importance is attached, in general apprehen- 
 sion, to the continual than to what may be called the 
 temporary duties. 
 
 b^^ a case of this latter class, the temporary duties, a 
 great deal of importance may seem to be collected into 
 one particular time, and one particular portion of con- 
 duct. This particular matter of duty may be such, that 
 there is an extremely obvious good or evil involved in 
 performing or neglecting it; in doing it well or ill; in 
 doing it or the reverse. There is the immediate threat- 
 ening of bad consequences ; — the divine displeasure 
 and a weight of guilt; — perhaps disgrace in society. 
 
 Whereas, in a matter of the other class, the contin- 
 ual duties, the duty seems to be thinly diffused over a 
 very wide space, and to be of great and special im- 
 portance nowhei-e. The obUgation is not peculiarly 
 strong here, nor there, this hour or the next. The 
 guilt of neglecting it at any one time is but as a parti- 
 cle. Therelbre the accumulation of guilt is insensible 
 and- unalarming; each little portion passes and van- 
 ishes away, and is too slight to leave a legible trace 
 on the conscience ; so that the innumerable small por- 
 tions are never felt as collected into the great sum. 
 
 The kind of evil reproached in our text comes too 
 much under this latter description. The habit of vani- 
 
CHARACTERISTICS OP VAir* THOUGHTS. Ill 
 
 tij in the thoughts m ly prevail in many persons who 
 would be appalled at the aspect of one great substan- 
 tial sin, and are not found neglecting the chief, obvioua, 
 practical duties of external life. They may little sus- 
 pect how much duty they are neglecting, or how much 
 guilt they are contracting. They go quietly to repose 
 each night, and hardly recollect to ask for its pardon. 
 Yet a month, a year, or many years, of vain thoughts ! 
 in a being preparmg for an eternity of seriousbess and 
 thought ! — 'it is truly an awful account ! Yet with many 
 this stands for little, in comparison with some one or 
 two very wrong external actions. It were, it is true, too 
 vague and fanciful a kind of calculation to pretend to 
 assign the proportion between any given measure of 
 sin in external action, and a long succession of vain 
 thoughts ; but it is quite certain that we are all liable 
 to underrate the guilt of the latter. 
 
 What a mighty amount of thinking there is in hu- 
 man spirits that does not come under the censure of 
 the Prophet!- And do we say this in congratulation 
 of our race? No! It is little cause for satisfaction 
 that a criminal stands unaccused of one degree of 
 guilt because it is a deeper guilt that is imputed. 
 The epithet " wti;i," in its strict acceptation, implies 
 something trifling — light — insignificant — empty. It 
 is therefore not the proper description of wicked 
 thoughts. For example, impious thoughts respecting 
 the divine Being; — thoughts formed in the spirit of 
 disapproval, aversion, and rebellion ; — thoughts of 
 malignity; — thinking, in order to indulge malevolent 
 dispositions, rancour, revenge ;— thinking how to give 
 effect to these dispositions, purpose;}, devices, schemes, 
 expedients ; thoughts intent on wickedness of any 
 kind ; dwelling on it with complacency and preference ; 
 pursuing it in desire, intention, and project. Such 
 thoughts are of too aggravated evil to be called " vain" 
 thoughts. They are not trivial, idle actions of the 
 mind, but often strong and grave ones: tending pow- 
 erfully to an effect. 
 
 But consider, how much of this order of thinking 
 
112 CH\RACTERISTICS OF VAIN THOUGHTS. 
 
 there is in human mintls ! So that it looks like a quite 
 minor vision of evils when we turn to the view of the 
 mere vanities of the mind. How striking the reflec- 
 tion, that it looks so only by comparison with some- 
 thing so much worse that there is in human spirits ! 
 
 Thus, if a good man had been compelled to sojourn 
 awhile among the most atrocious of mankind, cruel 
 savages rioting in blood and the infliction of tortures, 
 as in Dahomey, ^Mexico, Ashantee: or pirates, des- 
 peradoes, and murderers, and at last escaped into the 
 society ot frivolous, vain triflrrs ; by force of compar- 
 ison this miglit seem almost like innocence and good- 
 ness ; till he recollected his rules of judgment arid 
 said, " But this, too, is bad." 
 
 So we see how the case is with the moral state of 
 man ! You may fix upon an evil, and by the applica- 
 tion of rules rational and divine,seethat it is absolutely 
 a great one. But going deeper, you may reduce it to 
 geem as if it were but a slight one, by comparison with 
 something else which you find in man. Thus vain 
 thoughts, compared with vicious, polluted thoughts, 
 malignant thoughts, and blasphemous thoughts. O, 
 the depth to which the investigation and the censure 
 may descend ! 
 
 We can easily picture to our minds some large ne- 
 glected mansion in a foreign wilderness; the upper 
 apartments in possession of swarms of disgusting 
 insects ; — the lower ones the haunt of savage beasts ; 
 — but the low^est, the subterraneous ones, the retreat 
 of serpents, and every loathsome living form of the 
 most deadly venom. 
 
 With respect to the jurisdiction of the thoughts, it is 
 an unfavorable circumstance that the man is commit- 
 ted wholly to himself, without external restraint or in- 
 terference — putting out of view the divine inspection. — 
 His thoughts are his own ; they are Avithin a protecting 
 xjover ; for them he is not exposed to be censured and 
 made ashamed by the inspectors of his outward con- 
 duct; often he would be so ashamed, if such a thing 
 could happen as a sudden mental transparency. Un- 
 
CHARACTERISTICS OF VAIN THOUGHTS. 113 
 
 der this proiection and exemption, it is quite certain 
 that if he shall not exercise a careful government over 
 his thoughts in the fear of God, they will ran to vanity, 
 at the least. It is their easiest operation ; it is their 
 mere animal play; they hate to carry a weight, except 
 when the passions lay it on. A man may too well 
 verify this by a very little reflective attention. 
 
 Observe next, that if the thoughts are left unre- 
 strained to commit folly, they will commit an immensity 
 of it. In this kind of activity, the thinking power is 
 never tired nor exhausted. Think of the rapidity of 
 the train 1 how sure it is that another, and still.another, 
 will instantly come 1 Think of the endless evolutions, 
 the never-ceasing sport, the confused multiplicity ! 
 Never stagnant pool was more prolific ol flies, nor the 
 swarm about it more wild and worthless ! But what a 
 wretched running to waste of the thinking principle 1 
 " How long shall thy vain thoughts lodge within thte .?'' 
 
 I. These thoughts are " vain" from which we do 
 not, and cannot reap any good ; supposing them not 
 of the directly noxious kind. If there be any kind of 
 action by which we should get some good, it is that of 
 our thinking spirit. Well, let a man take a survey 
 over the course of his thoughts for a certain time past ; 
 we will say his thoughts in those parts of his time in 
 which his thinking has not been intently and neces- 
 sarily employed on his indispensable worldly affairs. 
 Let him by a strong act ol mind collect the long de- 
 parted train into one view, not by detail and enumera- 
 tion — no indeed ! but by a comprehensive estimate ; 
 and then say "What good? Have they given and 
 left me any thing worth having? what? Have they 
 made me any wiser? wherein? What portion of 
 previous ignorance have tliey cleared away ? In 
 what point is my judgment rectified ? What good 
 purpose have they fixed or forwarded ? What one 
 thing that was wrong has been corrected? or even 
 more clearly seen how to be corrected? Is it, can it 
 be the fact, that all that succession passed me but as 
 the lights and shadows of an April day ? or as the 
 
114 CHARACTERISTICS OF VAIN THOUGHTS. 
 
 insects that have flown past me in the air ? While 
 ten thousand or a hundred thousand ideas have passed 
 my mind, might I really as well have liad none '?" To 
 use a humhle plu-ase, what has he got to show for it 
 all ? He has kept his mind open to entertain all these 
 passing visitants ; they have occupied his faculties, 
 and consumed his time. What ! have they all gone 
 away and paid him nothing? Let him see how many, 
 or whether any of that vast number are now retained 
 by him, as valuable additions to the mental store. 
 Whether there be any grains of gold-dust deposited 
 by the stream that has carried down so many millions 
 of particles of mud ? Does he even think there were 
 many of the train that he could wish could be brought 
 back and permanently retained ? But what should he 
 think of his thoughts, and of the mind that has sutTered 
 itself to be so employed, if the case be such that he 
 can be content the myriads of them are gone into obli- 
 vion! 
 
 II. Those thoughts are likely to be of the " vain" 
 character, which cannot associate in any agreement, 
 with useful and valuable ones. Does a man perceive 
 in himself that if serious useful thoughts happen to be 
 suggested, there is a great tribe within and in possess- 
 ion, that know nothing of these uncouth intruders, ex- 
 cept that they are enemies; that can do nothing in 
 conjunction with them, but, on the contrary, resist and 
 overpower them, and divert him away from attending 
 to them ? What manner of thoughts can these be ? 
 It were a good experiment if a person in the midst of 
 a heedless course of thoughts would suddenly turn to 
 some serious important subject. See what sensation 
 is produced among them ! Is it that which would be 
 produced by the sudden entrance of a wise and vener- 
 able man among a compan}^ of frothy triflers? Then 
 what kind of thoughts are they ? 
 
 III. Those are "vain thoughts" which it is found 
 absolutely necessary to drive and keep out in order to 
 attend to any serious matter. to good purpose: and 
 unhappily often as difficult as it is necessary, Have 
 
CHARACTERISTICS OF VAIN THOUGHTS 115 
 
 you never experienced this necessity and this difficuUy? 
 You have perhaps deternnined and attempted to apply 
 the whole mind's attention to some important matter. 
 But you found yourself like a man sitting down to 
 study in a rooni filled with a moving, talking, laugh- 
 ing crowd. Is it any better to have such a crowd and 
 confusion within the mind itself, than outside? But 
 you resolutely and indignantly tried again. But again 
 this mental mob has forced its way in ; surrounded you ; 
 baffled you ; mocked you ; distracted you ! A per- 
 son in such plight might be told ; " You should not so 
 long have suffered ' vain thoughts' to 'lodge' within 
 you, that they made the mind, as it were, their own 
 proper abode !" 
 
 IV. An obvious description of vain thoughts is. 
 thoughts dwelling largely and habitually on trifling 
 things. Many persons are in a measure saved from 
 this, no thanks to their better will, by the pressure of 
 indispensable business in practical life. But so far as 
 the mind is left to its freedom, there is a sad propensity 
 to waste itself on trifles; and what an infinity of them 
 to waste itself among! All the frivolous cares about 
 personal display ! all the idle nothings of fashion and 
 routine! all ihe vanities of amusement! all the bubble 
 incidents on the stream of society! the endless dance 
 of atoms through the whole air of the moral world ! 
 The mind that will give its thoughts away to these, 
 alas for its destiny ! Would that some stern alarming 
 voice might often break in upon such thoughts with, 
 '• What is all this to thee ? hast thou nothing else to 
 think of before thou shalt die and appear before God ?" 
 
 V. "Vain" are the thoughts that are habitually 
 dwelling on trifling subjects, but still more so, if possi- 
 ble, those that trifle with important ones. Great things 
 may be thought of in a light, careless way, with no 
 sense of their importance; or merely as matters of 
 curiosity and speculation; or merely tO throw them 
 into forms of amusing or ludicrous fancy. You have 
 seen sometimes on the surface of water, when rippled 
 by the breeze — you have seen the sun or the stars 
 
116 CHARACTERISTICS OF VAIN THOUGHTS 
 
 reflected in a play of shivered, distorted, fantaetic 
 liglits. it is so that some vain minds receive the grand- 
 est and even most solemn subjects. But let them be 
 warned that there is no transition more tremendous, 
 tlian that Irom being amused with the most important 
 objects to the state of feeling that insulted importance 
 avenged. 
 
 VI. Another characteristic of vanity in the thoughts 
 is, their not remaining with any continuance on a 
 subject; their fickleness. If sutlered, they will start 
 from point to point, with very many removes within a 
 few moments ; as if they were airaid of growing to a 
 subject, and remaining fast for ever; or as if afraid of 
 finding any good in a thing to make it worth while to 
 remain a few moments in the contemplation of it. It 
 is infinitely beyond all calculation or prophecy where 
 the thought shall be five minutes hence, unless there 
 be some very lavourite topic ; and then from the re- 
 motest subject it shall in the twinkling of an eye dart 
 upon that. With this exception, there is no tenacity 
 of an object. In this ungoverned state, any thing can 
 take away the thought from any thing. There Is no- 
 thing so great that it might touch upon, that there is 
 anything too little to draw it away. One thought 
 therefore is of no use for leading profitably to another. 
 There is no regulated connexion and dependence in 
 the trains no rational links ; no progres.sive steps ; no 
 leading to an ultimate object. All this vanity there 
 will be in the thoughts, v/hen the course of them is left 
 quite open and free to casualty ; when nothing is avoid- 
 ed, repelled, or selected. 
 
 VII. But there are vanities of thought of a less fickle 
 character. As when the mind has some specially 
 favourite trifle ; some cherished idolized toy ; some 
 enchanting particle of this world's dust ; some little 
 purpose to be eftected, which has grown interesting 
 only by the kabit of thinking of it. There is many a 
 mind thus seized upon, and fascinated by some one 
 trifling object — trifling in all but its power of thus pos- 
 seesing itself of a human soul ! That captivated soul 
 
CHARACTERISTICS OF VAIN THOUGHTS. 117 
 
 has gradually magnified it into a thing of commanding 
 interest ; and constantly makes its way to it, in 
 thought, through whatever multitude of other things, 
 small or great. Insomuch that at length all things 
 strangely seem to lead or point to it. If the man could 
 suddenly become a clear-sighted self-observer, he 
 would be amazed to perceive the almost irresistible 
 tendency of his thoughts. Wherefore? Let him 
 soberly make out to himself, what mine of wealth, 
 what reservoir of felicity, what principle of divinity, 
 there can be enclosed within that irifle ! And suppose 
 divine wisdom to come in upon him, and he would 
 execrate this vanity of his thoughts — the principle, the 
 spell of this captivatioa what should he call it but the 
 magnetism of Satan 7 
 
 VIII. Partly like this is that vanity of which many 
 have to accuse their thoughts, in relation to things per- 
 haps not exactly of the frivolous class, and that justly 
 claim a measure of thought ; namely, the tendency to 
 return to them continually, when it is sensibly evident 
 that the thinking more of them can be of no advantage. 
 The thought goes again just in the very same track, 
 and the same length ; nor expects to do any more. It 
 makes the same enumeration of things, the same com- 
 parison, the same calculation. A person perhaps re- 
 peats within himself twenty times over what he has 
 said in some particular case, or heard, or done ; he 
 measures fifty times over the probable distance of 
 time to some wished for future event, when he knows 
 that nothing on earth is more useless. 
 
 IX. This will often be accompanied by another mode 
 of vain thought, that of allowing the mind to dwell on 
 fancies of how things might be or might have been; 
 when the plain reality of how they are and must he, is 
 before us. 
 
 X. A wide and aggravated charge of vain thought 
 falls upon men's notions and schemings of worldly 
 felicity. The evil attending and resulting from all 
 this might be exposed as a distinct additional topic of 
 
 11 
 
J 18 CORRECTIVES OF VAIN THOUGHTS. 
 
 illustration ; but it must in a measure be evident in the 
 mere description of these vanities of the thoughts. 
 
 Some suiigestions of a corrective disciphne might be 
 made on a^ubject asacceptabJe, as it is plainly impor- 
 tant. But the great point is, that we be desirous in 
 good earnest, to have so pernicious an evil corrected; 
 that our thinking and immortal spirits, which should be 
 temples of the Most High, may not be the degraded re- 
 cesses of every vanity with which his Spirit cannot 
 dwell. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 CORRECTIVES OF VAIN THOUGHTS. 
 
 "JZbir long shall thy vain thoughts lodge uithin 
 thee ?" — The former essay was chiefly a representation 
 of matter of fact. — An attempt to describe the plague of 
 vain thoughts, a mental grievance bearing really no 
 small analogy to one or two of the plagues of Egypt. 
 The description was in too many particulars to allow 
 ot any attempt at recapitulation. With all their vari- 
 eties, however, and compass, and mischief, they stand 
 as but one class of the evil thoughts by which the hu- 
 man mind is infested, that of the trifling, empty, im- 
 pertinent, volatile, useless — as distinguishable from 
 vicious or polluted thoughts, malignant thoughts, and 
 thoughts directly impious. 
 
 The evil, the sin and perniciousness of vain thoughts, 
 could not but be manifest in a mere description ol* 
 them, if at all adequately given. Such a description 
 would necessarily display, as a miserable thing, the 
 waste of the activity of the thinking principle. Con- 
 gider, that we have need of a profitable use of all thie, 
 
CORRECTIVES OF VAIN THOUGHTS. 119 
 
 and are kept poor by the waste ; we cannot afford it. 
 The sun may waste an immense proportion of his 
 beams — the clouds of their showers — but these can be 
 spared ; there is an infinite opulence still, for all the 
 indispensable purposes of nature. It is not so with 
 our thinking faculty. The most saving use of our 
 thinking power will but imperfectly suffice for the 
 knowledge, sound judgment, and wisdom, which are 
 SO very necessary for us, It is wretched, then, that 
 this precious thing, the activity of our thinking spirit, 
 should run to utter waste. It is as if the fine element, 
 GAS, by means of w^hich your city is now lighted, 
 should be suffered to expire into the air without being 
 kindled into light. 
 
 This vanity of the thoughts puts us practically out 
 of the relation we are placed in to the highest objects 
 and interests. We are placed in a relation to God — 
 Christ — a future world — to an infinite interest. Now 
 how is this relation to be recognized, to be practically 
 realized to our minds ? how can it be, but by thought 
 of an appropriate kind ? The sensible connection of 
 the mind with those great objects, its contact with 
 them, must be by means of there being in it ideas of 
 those objects, ideas in a degree corresponding to their 
 greatness. Certainly, not ideas alone, when we are 
 speaking of a saving and happy connection with 
 divine objects, but at all events, ideas. Now how are 
 these important and solemn ideas to have any occu- 
 pancy and hold of the mind when it is filled and dissi- 
 pated with all the vanities of thought ? they cannot 
 abide on the mind, nor come to it in such a state. It 
 is as when, in some regions, a swarm of locusts fills 
 the air, so as to exclude the sun, at once intercepting 
 the light of heaven, and devouring what it should 
 shine on. Thus by ill-regulated thought we are de- 
 frauded of what is the supreme value of thought. We 
 amuse ourselves with the flying chaff, careless of the 
 precious grain. 
 
 Then if we advert to the important matters of prac- 
 tical duty, it is instantly seen how ill vain thoughts 
 
120 CORRECTIVES OF VAIN THOUGHTS. 
 
 Will serve us tMre. To note but one, tlie duty of im- 
 parting instruction, the social promotion of wisdom. 
 What will ten thousand of these trifling volatile 
 thoughts come to, for explaining any subject, disen- 
 tangling any perplexity, rectifying any false notion, 
 enforcing any argument, mantaining any truth ? It 
 is in vain that the man glances, in recollection and 
 research, through all the idle crowd of his ideas for 
 any thing to avail him. It were like bringing straws, 
 and leaves, and feathers to meet an accompt where sil- 
 ver and gold are required. Such a person feels an ina- 
 bility to concentrate his thoughts to a purpose of social 
 wisdom, when there is a particular occasion to do so, 
 and an extreme repugnance to make the attempt. In 
 consequence, the communications of social life will con- 
 tribute little to improvement ; they will be dissipated 
 among trifling topics ; they will be shallow and un- 
 profitable on important ones; they will tend to run 
 quite into levity and folly. 
 
 Now if we endeavour to survey in one collective 
 view the modes and characters of this evil habit, and 
 its effects, we behold something utterly unsuited to 
 the condition of the immortal spirit on earth, and fa- 
 tally at variance with its high destiny. It is here 
 under a great and solemn appointment, advancing 
 into a life of the same duration as that of its Creator. 
 And a prevailing vanity of thought is a flagrant in- 
 consistency with the nature and obligations of this 
 awful predicament. Here is a destination to the mag- 
 nitude of which the greatest thoughts of the highest 
 created being are inadequate — and a prevailing man- 
 ner of thinking hardly worthy of a creature whose ut- 
 most scope of interest should be to amuse away a few 
 years on earth, and then sink in the dust wholly and 
 for ever ! 
 
 Now if we are conscious that this vanity of the 
 thoughts is an evil besetting us, shall we not be earn- 
 estly desirous that it may be counteracted ? If we 
 are, we shall be well disposed to the consideration of 
 any thing that may contribute to the remedy of so 
 
CORRECTIVES OF VAIN THOUGHTS. \2\ 
 
 great an evil. Our present business is to offer a few 
 suggestions to this purpose. 
 
 But we are to beware of imagining, that for such an 
 evil, there can be any discipline exckisiveiy specific 
 and peculiar ; any discipline that should treat the mal- 
 ady as a circumstance only of the state of the mind, 
 separable from its general condition ; as in the heal- 
 ing art there are what they call topical complaints, 
 and their appropriate applications. 
 
 It is indeed seif-evident that the habitual quality of 
 the thoughts will correspond to the general state of 
 the mind. Just left to themselves, to arise and act 
 spontaneously, they would express the very state of the 
 soul, its inclinations, perversions, ignorance, or any 
 better quality there may be in it. So that if the in- 
 voluntary thoughts could but strike against a mirror, 
 a man might see his mental image. 
 
 Therefore no corrective discipline for the thoughts 
 can be effectual that does not apply to the substantial, 
 habitual state of the mind. If there were a spot of 
 marshy ground, which exhaled offensive vapours, it 
 would be ridiculous to think of expedients to be used 
 in the air above it, fumigations, or any such thing ; 
 the ground itself must be drained and reclaimed. As 
 to the correction of the mental vice in question, how 
 evident it is that it is not to be a thing to operate sole- 
 ly on the thoughts themselves, rejecting, repelling, 
 substituting, &.C., but to operate primarily on that in 
 the mind which causes their prevalence. The pas- 
 sions and affections are grand sources of thoughts, — 
 they therefore are to be in a rectified state not tending 
 to produce vain thoughts. The subjects most largely 
 occupying the mind, most effectually "lodged" in it 
 — the measure of valuable knowledge — will have a 
 great effect on even the involuntary thoughts. It is 
 requisite the mind be in a settled state, not essentially 
 tending to vain thoughts ; and that there be strong 
 fixed principles adverse to them, so that the case 
 shall be, "I hate vain thoughts." Psalm cxix. 113. 
 11* 
 
122 CORRECTIVES OF VAIN THOUGHTS 
 
 We should here mark a distinction. The evil in 
 question m.ay be seen reversed in a special and partial 
 sense. In some one capacity a man may be in a 
 great measure Creed or exempted from the trifling, 
 empty, volatile class of ideas. For instance, a man 
 of science, vigorously disciplined to think, so that few 
 of his ideas absolutely run to waste ; or a man of 
 learning; or a man of arduous worldly enterprise. 
 Now this is great and admirable regarded simply in 
 an intellectual view ; viewed apart from moral and re- 
 ligious references. The delect may be that his object 
 is iatally limited and exclusive ; that he leaves out 
 the most important of all duties and interests of an 
 immortal being, and trifles with them. 
 
 In our exhortation against the vanities of thought, 
 we are regarding a man in his general whole capa- 
 city, as related to this world and the next, and we want 
 him to acquire some measure of such a well-ordered 
 habit of thought as directed to all his concerns. In 
 other words, that as a Christian, he should be such, in 
 the discipline of his thinking, as some men are in ca- 
 pacity of worldly schemers, or scholars, or philoso- 
 phers. 
 
 Now, having insisted on it as the primary point 
 that the substantial state of the mind must be cured of 
 vanity, in order to the radical correction of vain 
 thoughts, and always keeping this in remembrance, 
 can we suggest any particular expedients of a disci- 
 pline ag;ainst vain thoughts ? We must ndt for a mo- 
 ment fancy there are any expedients that can avail in- 
 dependently of resolute exertion. There is no dexter- 
 ous device to obviate an evil arising from a habitual 
 propensity of the mind : especially when it is added 
 that a habitual propensity will have been in some de- 
 gree habitually indulged. There is no mental wand 
 of enchantment at the waving of which the infesting 
 swarm shall suddenly die, and the grievance cease. 
 They will but make sport of any single act or signal 
 for scaring them away, that is not part of a regular, 
 
CORRECTIVES OF VAIN THOUGHTS. 123 
 
 determined, systematic hostility. But as parts and 
 expedients in such a regular persevering discipline, 
 we might suggest a few things serviceable to the 
 purpose. 
 
 For instance, it might be a beneficial thing to have 
 certain specified subjects, of serious interest, to turn 
 to when thought is beginning to be dissipated into 
 these vanities; certain subjects might be selected and 
 fixed expressly for this purpose. This might be 
 something nearer^ as it were, to serve to the purpose, 
 than the merely being sensible that there are many 
 important subjects to w]|ich I might turn my attention. 
 There is a grand assemblage to select from. What a 
 reflection here on the folly and guilt of an indulged 
 vanity of thought ! General important truth ofl'ers 
 many : choose any one. The memory of matters of 
 fact. Suppose the recollection of a perilous situation 
 and providential interposition. Or the remembrance 
 of a dying scene. There is possibly in the room, the 
 picture of a dead friend. Conscience offers subjects of 
 thought; for example, the record of what a man 
 judges to have been his greatest sin ! If turning his 
 mind to meet this dark aspect, will not check and sus- 
 pend the vain career, should he not be alarmed at such 
 a power as the vanity has over his mind? Should 
 not even this very alarm be strong enough to produce 
 the desired eflfect? 
 
 Another very simple and obvious expedient would 
 be, for the person to make a sudden charge ol" guilt 
 on his mind, when the vain thoughts are prevailing ; 
 that is, the guilt of being so surrendered to them, and 
 let that charge be accompanied and enforced by the 
 tliought " God sees .'" Just as one has seen some- 
 times the levity of talk interrupted by an unexpected 
 flash of lightning and clap of thunder. If a man has 
 not left him enough of conscience and right will to do 
 so simple a thing as this, what a pernicious effect he 
 may perceive that his vanity of thought has had ! that 
 it has subdued him, reconciled him to its indulgence ! 
 If to do this is of no avail, what should he think then ? 
 
121 CORRECTIVES OF VAIN THOUGHTS. 
 
 When it is in solitude that a man feels this plague 
 inrestin<j his mind, and it is then that he is especially 
 liable to it, it were well to have recourse to a direct 
 act of devotion. "A very unfit material," it may be 
 said " are such thoughts for an offering to the Al- 
 mighty." True, but the sincere petition to be rid of 
 them is a very fit offering. And that presence should 
 be peculiarly the situation in which their vanity and 
 their evil should become most apparent. Especially 
 if they are made the express subject of terms of de- 
 scription and imprecation addressed to Him. How 
 will they appear when we co%irerse with God concern- 
 ing them ? That converse besides may infuse ideas 
 of a better order, adapted to repel or consume the 
 frivolous ones. For we want ideas of a mightier or- 
 der that may be set against the vanities. As if eagles 
 should drive away the lighter tribes of the air. And 
 where should we obtain these mightier ideas, if not in 
 the divine presence ? 
 
 The course of vain thoughts might sometimes be in- 
 terrupted and stopped, by the question, brought to 
 strike, as it were, suddenly on the mind. What is, just 
 now^ my most pressing duty 7 " Why it ?'s" — ^judgment 
 and conscience can often tell in one word — what it is. 
 " Bat here now, I am neglecting it, and for the sake of 
 what?" 
 
 Sometimes a good temporary resource would be to 
 go directly to some practical occupation ; some useful 
 manual operation ; the adjustment of some point in a 
 matter of business ; or if leisure permits, a short visit 
 to some house of mourning. The mind may thus, in 
 a degree, and for the time, be diverted from vain 
 thoughts ; iimay baffle and evade the worthless train 
 that was beginning its race. And in the last supposed 
 resource, the visit, a stronger perception might be ac- 
 quired of the impertinence and folly of such mental 
 vanities. Some of them may be recalled, to be placed 
 in comparison with what is there seen^ind heard. 
 
 As a general and habitual expedient of correction, 
 it will be of the very highest use and importance, to 
 
CORRECTIVES OF VAIN THOUGHTS. 125 
 
 exercise and constrain our thinking to go along with 
 the thoughts of those who have thought the best. Of 
 course this means attentively reading the most valu- 
 able books ; reading so as to take hold of the meaning, 
 connexion, and design. How forcible the contrary will 
 be felt to be, and the reproach, to the idle nothings of 
 thought ! We shall be made to perceive to what ad- 
 mirable purpose the thinking faculty can be worked, 
 and made to perceive what rubbish, and dust, and 
 nuisance is the sort of thinking into which an ungov- 
 erened idle spirit will trifle and rove ! — Here animad- 
 vert on the prevailing light reading of the times. — 
 Speaking of such vigorous exercise on a book, we may 
 ask, how much without it will you gain from the 
 Bible? 
 
 We are naturally led to another suggestion, for the 
 reform in question, namely, the importance of thinking 
 to a certain purpose, towards a proposed end. It is a 
 chief characteristic of vain thoughts, that they are not 
 in pursuit and progress toward any assigned object ; 
 they aim at nothing and come to nothing. A good 
 question to arrest them will be, " What does all this 
 tend to?'^ But reflect, what a number of things there 
 are which we had need to aim at by the course of 
 thought, in those portions of time in which the mind is 
 left free to think. Then the rule is, — have a marked 
 purpose for the thoughts to be directed towards, and 
 let their direction be in a progress, a regulated advance 
 by steps, in a connected train. A double advantage in 
 this: both that one point will be attained, and the 
 habit of vain thoughts will be corrected. Be intent, 
 in such a progress, on the reason, the why and where- 
 fore. 
 
 We have just said that there are many important 
 things which we should aim at, by ihe course and 
 exercise of thought. Now it will tend to check and 
 shame these vanities, to reflect seriously and pointedly, 
 in the very midst of them, how utterly worthless they 
 are for those desirable purposes ; how many things we 
 have to do that these will not enable us, but the direct 
 
126 CORRECTIVES OF VAIN THOUGHTS. 
 
 contrary. Then the mortifyingreflection, which cannot 
 be too often repeated and aggravated : " What they 
 have done for us !" There have been milUons of them 
 in my mind — and what result ? We have reiterated 
 the words "atoms" and " dust," as types of their worth- 
 lessness; but atoms and dust willin length of time form 
 a fruitful soil ; lava has been so covered. Worse then 
 is the case with these mental vanities. The infinity of 
 them never deposits a material of fertility ; and they 
 impoverish and blast the ground, besides. 
 
 Reflect also what would have been the present result 
 of so many good and pertinent thoughts, instead of so 
 many "vain thoughts.." — If a tenth, a fiftieth part of 
 the number ; if there had been but comparatively a few 
 grains of gold deposited by the stream that has carried 
 BO many particles of mud into the ocean! "Good 
 and pertinent thoughts;" we might try sometimes and 
 verify the difference between such and the vain ones. 
 For we may interrupt those vain ones to consider what 
 would be the best thoughts on the very same subject. 
 What would have been, on this very matter, the ideas 
 of this or the other wise and well-exercised spirit? 
 Sometimes we may perhaps recollect what they actu- 
 ally have been. It were a good expedient to repeat 
 some of the ideas they have so expressed ; and then 
 put in words a certain portion of our vain thoughts ! 
 But even without such a comparison, think how a por- 
 tion of such thoughts would sound put in words and 
 spoken aloud. If one hour's train of them had been all 
 spoken aloud, just in the form and order in which they 
 were suffered to run ! And if a small company were 
 each to do this, what a community of wisdom it would 
 make ! 
 
 The mention of "company" reminds us that, for the 
 discipline of the thoughts, a great deal may depend on 
 the company a man keeps. " He that walketh with 
 wise men shall be wise." Proverbs xiii. 20. Society 
 can easily be found in which every vanity of the soul 
 may be indulged and confirmed ; and the choosing of 
 it by preference is practically saying, that all this con- 
 
NECESSITY AND RIGHT METHOD, ETC. 127 
 
 cern of correction and improvement may go to the 
 winds. 
 
 If it is objected or complained that such a represent- 
 ation of disciphnary duty involves much that seems 
 hard and difficult, we have but to answer, '' Yes, it is 
 just as hard as to justice to a rational and immortal 
 spirit, that is placed here a little while for its improve- 
 ment, and then must go, where God says it is to go." 
 But if it be so hard and yet so indispensable, how wel- 
 come must be that doctrine which promises the help 
 of an almighty Spirit, and invites us to pray for it! 
 What man in the exercise^ of reason, nay in but the 
 very twilight or moonshine of reason, will not exult to 
 embrace such a doctrine, if he really cares about the 
 progress of his spirit through this short lii'e, and its ap- 
 pointment and employments in another world '? 
 
 NECESSITY AND RIGHT METHOD OF SELF- 
 EXAMINATION. 
 
 " Examine yourselves whether ye be in the faith ; 
 prove your own selves. Know ye not your own selves, 
 how that Jesus Christ is in you, except ye be repro- 
 bates?" — When the necessity and value of knowledge 
 are thought of, it is readily admitted that self-know- 
 ledge is about the most necessary of all. From of 
 old it has been accounted a precept of the highest 
 wisdom, " Know thyself." 
 
 Might we not then wonder a little, that there should 
 not be more of this knowledge among men, and more 
 assiduity to acquire it ? That attention should be so 
 much averted from this concern'? For our general 
 belief is, — that there is but little. Is not this the no- 
 lion ? In a numerons assembly, or in the crowd of a 
 
128 NECESSITY AND RIGHT METHOD 
 
 city, it is presumed, by any one that happens to think 
 of it, that very few, among the numbers round him, 
 have a deep, comprehensive, well-rectified, steady, 
 estimate of themselves, — a true insight. The presump- 
 tion, or surmise, is understood to go even as far as 
 this ; that suppose any number of persons, acquainted 
 with one another, — the judgments they form of one 
 another would, in the whole account, be nearer the 
 truth than those which they entertain of their own 
 selves, notwithstanding the great advantage men 
 have for knowing themselves better than others can. 
 
 But if the case be so, how comes it? Can it be, 
 that they do not think it worth while to apply a seri- 
 ous attention to so near and interesting an object? 
 or that they have arbitrary and unsound rules in 
 making the judgment? or, that no rules, nor force of 
 understanding, can preserve their rectitude in the 
 
 f)resence of self-love, as if they softened, melted, and 
 ost their edge, in making their way through that 
 warm, investing, protective passion ? Or there may 
 be a reluctance to making a rigorous scrutiny, from 
 fear, and thus men remain in ignorance. There may 
 be some apprehension of finding the state of the cas« 
 less satisfactory than the man is allowing himself to 
 assume it. This may seem like expressing an incon- 
 sistency — that a man will not know what lie does 
 know. But it is too real and common a case ; intima- 
 tions of something not right are unwillingly perceived ; 
 apprehension of Avhat there maybe beneath is felt; 
 a man would rather not be sure of the whole truth ; 
 would wilfully hope for the best, and so pass off from 
 the doubtful subject, afraid to go too far inward 
 
 But here is a most remarkable and strange specta- 
 cle ! A soul afraid of itself! — afraid of being deeply 
 intimate with itself; of knowing itself; of seeing itseli'. 
 It is easily apprehended how a human spirit might be 
 afraid of another being, — of another spirit in a human 
 body ; apprehensive in being near it, — within reach of 
 its disposition, qualities, and action, — afraid to see and 
 meet the corporeal person it is in ; alarmed at what 
 
OF SELF-EXAMINATION. 129 
 
 there may be, or is suspected to be, in that spirit; 
 shrink from approach, communication, or any lure to 
 confidence. " 1 have a perception of evil omen ; a silent 
 warning of danger ; there is possible ruin to me in 
 that spirit." 
 
 It is easy to apprehend that a human soul might be 
 afraid of a disembodied spirit, evincing its presence 
 by voice or appearance ; if it seemed to attend a man 
 in his solitary walk, or to be a temporary visitant in 
 his apartment. It would be an awful companionship ! 
 — the revealed proximit}^ of the other world ; dark 
 mystery personified — a being presented as if in an 
 equivocal conjunction of life and death; with powers 
 unknown, — and which the mortal can meet with no 
 similar powers ! All this, on the supposition that it 
 were a departed human spirit. More than this, if it 
 were deemed a spirit of mightier order. 
 
 Such fear of other beings would seem natural 
 enough. But think of a human soul in dread of itself ! 
 having had some glimpses of itself, afraid to meet its. 
 own full visage — afraid to stay wiih itself, alone, still, 
 and attentive — afraid of intimate communication, lest 
 the soul should speak out from its inmost recesses ! 
 All the while, what it is afraid of is its own very self, 
 from which it is every where and for ever inseparable ! 
 A man uneasy and apprehensive in a local situation, 
 or in the presence of other men, may think of escape ; 
 but in his own soul ! there he is, and is to be perpetually. 
 Then what a predicament, when a man, directly and 
 immediately as being in himself, feels the apprehension 
 of evil and danger I — feels in the presence of some- 
 thing he dreads to abide with, and would fly from ; 
 would be glad to separate by a partition — or veil. So 
 that be where he may, with other persons or alone, he 
 has still the inevitable presence, with him and in him, 
 of something with which he cannot be at ease in trust- 
 ing himself 
 
 We were led into this digression by observing, that 
 one cause of the deficiency of self-knowledge is a fear 
 12 
 
130 NECESSITY AND RIGHT METHOD 
 
 of having the full truth disclosed. But now think a 
 moment ot the absurd and pernicious operation of such 
 fear. To fear that there may be or is something 
 incompatible with safety, and therefore decline ascer- 
 taining it ! To fear that the suspected evil may reach 
 furtheT and deeper than the signs distinctly betray, — 
 tlierefore be careful to keep tha alarm less than the 
 evil may be! To fear the suspected evil in reference 
 to its ultimate effects and consequences ; and rather to 
 venture those consequences than firmly look to see 
 whether we are approaching them ! Not to be willing 
 to see how near is the precipice ! In short, to resign 
 and abandon ourselves to be all that we fear, — rather 
 than encounter the self-manifestation and the discipline 
 necessary for a happy change ! 
 But let us still enforce the necessity ofself-examination. 
 Let us consider that every one actually stands placed 
 against a standard unseen, but real — that by which 
 God judges, — and marks the spiritual state of every 
 one — the eternal law — the rule of Christian character. 
 Every one stands in some certain, precise, discrimi- 
 nated, relation to this grand rule of judgment. That 
 is his true and exact condition. Think of all our assem- 
 bly thus placed, ascertained, and judged ! If the fact 
 could be an object of sight ! or signified by some paral- 
 lel manifestation to sight! If it were so, — whatever 
 inquisitiveness each might feel respecting the rest, 
 surely his own marked state would be the chief object 
 of his eager attention. Well, but should it be less so 
 when he considers and knows it is so discriminated, 
 marked, signed,— in the sight of God ?— that there is 
 the standard, — and some certain degree upon it is his 
 degree ? Is there any thing in the world so important 
 for him to know ; not with the infallible precision 
 which belongs to the judgment of God alone, but 
 with a substantial conformity to truth? There is a 
 manifestation of the divine rule— and there is hirnself 
 to bring, with all his consciousness, into comparison 
 with it. The state he is in, by the decision of that 
 
OF SELF-EXAMINATION. 131 
 
 rule, is the state of his relations with all that is the 
 most solemn, in heaven and earth, in time and eternity 
 Therefore, "know your own selves." 
 
 Let lis briefly notice the objects of self-examination. 
 We might ask a man, " What are you most concerned 
 to know of yourself? Is it your leading point to as- 
 certain something in which you hope for a gratifica- 
 tion of your vanity or pride ? the measure of your 
 talent, your qualifications to shine ? your merits as 
 contrasted with the unworthiness, or even the excel- 
 lence, of other men ? your ability and claims to main- 
 tain competition with ihem ?" Instead of this, we 
 would advise — Examine in that as to which you are 
 naturally the least inclined to examine yourselves ; — 
 that respecting which you are the most afraid to exam- 
 ine ; — that which you find self-love constantly endea- 
 vouring to draw a veil over; — that which, whenever 
 you do turn the inspection that way, — begins to throw 
 reproach and humihation; that which you most feel you 
 need to know when you approach the throne of God ; — 
 that, any uncertainty about which awakens the most 
 solicitude and apprehension whenever you think of 
 death , — that which forces itself on your attention when 
 you think what the inhabitants of heaven must be. 
 
 The earnest force of this examination should fix on 
 the points named by the apostle — " whether ye be in 
 the faith" — whether "Jesus Chirist be in you." He 
 was indeed aiming at a particular point in these ques- 
 tions : Had they not proof of his being a true apostle 
 of Christ ; and his having brought to them the real 
 rehgion of Christ ; had they not proof in their own 
 personal Christianity? But his appeal equally en- 
 forced the question, whether they had a personal ex- 
 perience of Christianity. Let then the self-examiner's 
 earnest inquisition be directed to this great point — 
 " whether " he " be in the faith ;" whether he is de- 
 cidedly more than a cold assenting believer in the 
 Christian doctrines. That a man may be, and yet 
 at the same time be in — may be vitally and actively 
 in— a spirit opposite to all these heavenly truths. But 
 
132 NECESSITY AND RIGHT METHOD 
 
 — in the faith? so in it as to be powerfully withdrawn 
 and withheld from the spirit and dominion of the 
 world? — encircled— separated — guarded ? So in it — 
 as to have an habitual prevailing order of views, feel- 
 ings, motives, preferences, purposes, created and 
 animated by it ? So in it, as to be in a cordial and 
 zealous league with its faithful adherents ? 
 
 The other form of expression for the same thing is, 
 " that Jesus Christ is in you." He may be in the 
 thoughts as a commanding object of contemplation. 
 The question for examination will be, — Is he so 1 He 
 may be in the affections — the object of love, and of 
 awful reverence. Is he so? He may be in the con- 
 science, as an authority. He may be in the soul, in 
 the sense that somewhat of his likeness, his image, is 
 impressed upon it. He may, in short, be established 
 in the soul — in theory, in vital interest, in exclusive 
 reliance, and in hope — as its sole, and all-sufficient, 
 and almighty Redeemer. Thus he shall be in the 
 goul as an indwelling presence, without which it were 
 lifeless and hopeless ; by which, it is alive to God, 
 and looks forward to eternal felicity. Now, whether 
 this 6e, in some good measure the case, is matter pre- 
 eminently for self-examination. In all such important 
 points, let men beware of assuming, without the pro- 
 cess of " proving." 
 
 It should be superfluous to name the necessity of a 
 distinct, strong, steady, apprehension of the pure stand- 
 ard fixed by the divine authority. But how little is 
 this recognized among the multitude amenable to it! 
 It is as if the tables written on Sinai had been subject- 
 ed to be passed through the camp, for the people to 
 revise, interpolate, erase, or wholly substitute, at their 
 pleasure. Never Jesuit's commentary on the Bible 
 falsified it more, than the world's system of principles 
 perverts or supplants that of the Almighty. This 
 operation began even in Eden, through " the wisdom 
 that is from beneath," and has continued ever since. 
 
 Nor would we dwell on the necessity of a habit of 
 reflection. There does seem to be a great defect in 
 
OF SELF-EXAMINATION. 133 
 
 this point, even in the religious community. Is it not too 
 evident, that people's attention and thought mainly go 
 outward? insomuch that retiring micard would belike 
 retreating into a narrow, dark, desolate, comfortless 
 apartment of a house, or into a prison or a cavern. 
 But there can be no effective self-examination without 
 a resolute and often repeated effort to retire inward, 
 and stay awhile, and pointedly inspect what is there. 
 
 Self-examination should not expend its chief exer- 
 cise on the mere external conduct; for if that alone, in 
 its simple gross sense, were to be taken account of, a 
 well regulated formalist or Pharisee, nay possibly a 
 hypocrite, might go off with considerable self-compla- 
 cency. However bad the state of the world is in prac- 
 tical morality, it is unquestionable that if we could for 
 a moment suppose the Sovereign Judge to pronounce, 
 separately and exclusively, on the external moral state 
 collectively, and on the internal state, — the latter sen- 
 tence would be far, very far, the graver and the dark- 
 er. There are persons innumerable who, if they might 
 be allowed to separate and choose, would instantly and 
 eagerly prefer standing their reward on the ground of 
 their external conduct, to that of their internal state ; 
 supposing them to see that state in its true light. You 
 can imagine that often a man has been frightened out of 
 his soul to take refuge in the apparently better quality of 
 his conduct. Any impulse the examiner feels to do so, 
 should warn him to stay awhile longer there — in the 
 interior. It is especially there that the great substance 
 lies of what is wrong, or right, as towards God. All 
 this however does not mean that the external itself can 
 be essentially right, though formally and technically 
 so, any further than the state of the mind is right. 
 
 Self-examination should be exercised on a principle 
 of independence, in a considerable degree, on the 
 opinions, the estimates, of others. It is true, that good 
 use may be made of those opinions, whether favoura- 
 ble or hostile — and others' opinions of us may some- 
 times be more just than our own. But consider never- 
 theless how those opinions may have a wrong effect, 
 12* 
 
134 NECESSITY AND RIGHT METHOD 
 
 — in two ways. Suppose they are partial and favoura- 
 ble, to a highly flattering degree. What then ? The 
 testimonies of partiality and approbation, — the praise, 
 the flattery, — perhaps the admiration, — will not the 
 man be mightily inclined to take all this for just, even 
 to the utmost point? Will his self-love sound a less 
 musical strain in his ear ? If even he had doubted 
 before, to assume so much in his own favour, will he 
 not confidently assume it now ? His faults will shrivel, 
 his excellencies will expand, to the dimensions of so 
 flattering an estimate. He will willingly forget to con- 
 sider, how much of circumstance or fancy there may 
 be in this partiality; and how much there is in him 
 that the partial judges cannot know. But suppose the 
 contrary case, — unfavourable opinion — suspicion — cen- 
 sure — depreciation, — What then ? Then, an excite- 
 ment of all the defensive feelings ! Then, all these 
 censures are from ignorance, perverseness, or perhaps 
 even from jealousy and envy ! He cherishes the more 
 his beloved self, thus suffering injustice ; with an ex- 
 tenuation of what cannot be altogether denied, and a 
 forced magnifying of supposed worthier characteris- 
 tics. There is, therefore, a necessity for cool, deliber- 
 ate independence of judgment. This will be promoted 
 by a solemn sense of standing before the judgment of 
 God, — the grand requisite in all self-examination. 
 What does that all-searching infallible Intelligence see 
 and detect? — In that presence, repute, pretensions, 
 semblances, presumptions, excuses, clear away. There 
 the self-examiner — if he will stay there long enough 
 in seriousness and simplicity — is reduced to the very 
 truth. And that this is the case is one cause of the 
 too prevaihng reluctance to frequent that presence. 
 This reluctance must be overcome ; that is, at least, 
 practically so. Amidst all his slighter judgments of 
 himself, or others' opinions of him, he should still be 
 remembering and saying, " 1 have to take myself un- 
 der another inspection," and should often do so. 
 
 The self-examiner should avail himself of the circum- 
 stances, incidents, occasions, and seasons, which may 
 
OF SELF-EXAMINATION. 135 
 
 aid to reveal him to himself. These things throw tran- 
 sient lights on his internal principles; they come upon 
 his soul by a kind of surprise, and take it unprepared 
 with its undefensive fallacies. His mind comes out 
 simply and unawares for a moment. Let him observe 
 how he is affecied, for instance, by some sudden cause 
 of fear ; — by some seizure of bodily distemper ; by 
 some instance of death near him ; — by some flagrant 
 display of irrehgion ;— by some signal fall and dis- 
 grace in a professor of religion; — by some one's ac- 
 knowledging, with grief and terror, perhaps in a last 
 illness that he had been but deceiving himself with a 
 vain form of religion. At the occurrence of such 
 things, the soul will sometimes give a sudden, involun- 
 tary intimation of its state. Such emotions should be 
 recorded and remembered, as well as observed — and 
 such hints and signs should be followed up, — should 
 lead to investigation. 
 
 It is a proper admonition, that slight symptoms, 
 what may seem so, should not be disregarded. Say, 
 "How happens that? what may it indicate?" In 
 medical science, what seem slight symptoms are some- 
 times regarded as of great significance ; the skilful 
 judge is struck by their recurrence as indications of 
 something serious, and as deciding what it is. 
 
 But the self-examiner should take a comprehensive 
 account, combining Ihe many matters of indication and 
 proof. For if he shall content himself with selecting 
 only some particular points, his self-partiality will al- 
 most be certain to choose those which seem the most- 
 favourable ; and he may be betrayed to make these 
 the interpreters of all the rest, or the substitutes. 
 
 Let him especially beware of making some mere 
 doctrinal point the great test and assurance, in self-de- 
 fence under the absence of immediate experimental 
 and practical evidence. — Conversation between Crom- 
 well and Dr. Goodwin. 
 
 It should be strongly enforced that doubt, that un- 
 certainty, ought to be a powerful incentive to self-ex- 
 amination. For surely, the chief questions in the con- 
 
136 USES AND PERVERSIONS OF CONSCIENCE. 
 
 cern cannot be decided too soon. Indeed, to be con- 
 tent to remain in doubt would itself be one of the most 
 ominous signs. If the true state of the case be unhap- 
 py and unsafe, it should be distinctly seen, that the soul 
 may be instantly in action. If the state be on the 
 whole such as the Supreme Judge approves, and safe 
 for time and eternity, — who would not in this evil 
 world desire to possess the joy of knowing it to be so ? 
 
 XV. 
 
 USES AND PERVERSIONS OF CONSCIENCE. 
 
 " The gentiles having not the law are a law un- 
 to themselves : which show the work of the law wjitten 
 in their hearts, their conscience also bearing witness 
 and their thoughts the meanwhile accusing or else ex^ 
 cusing one another.'''^ — " Having not the law," that is- 
 without a positive law revealed from God : yet there 
 is " a law written in their hearts." The apostle 
 therefore asserts, that man is essentially, by his very 
 nature, a moral being ; naturally has some sense of 
 right and wrong ; which moral sense operates to two 
 effects ; opinions, judgments which men form of one 
 another ; and judgments, under the name of " con- 
 science," which they are compelled to form of them- 
 selves. 
 
 This natural sense of difference between good and 
 evil is made an inseparable companion and supple- 
 ment to the endowment of reason. If there had not 
 been this principle in the very constitution of man, it is 
 not conceivable how any positive dictates from the 
 Creator and Governor could have sufficed to impart 
 it ; that is, in the form of conscience. This natural 
 principle has certain perceptions and powers antece- 
 
USES AND PERVERSIONS OF CONSCIENCE. 137 
 
 dently to the revealed will of God. But, the dictates 
 of that Supreme Authority having been given, this 
 conscience ought to be indefinitely stronger, truer, and 
 more decisive. 
 
 A most important principle in our nature, is this 
 conscience, which places us in a sensible connexion 
 with the government of the world. The whole world 
 is under a solemn economy of government and judg- 
 ment. A mighty spirit of judgment is in sovereign ex- 
 ercise over all, discerning, estimating, approving, or 
 condemning. Now it was requisite there should be 
 something in the soul to recognize this ; that it should 
 not be as some vague unperceived element around 
 us ; and something more and deeper than the imere 
 simple understanding that such is the fact ; a faculty 
 to be impressed, to feel obligation, and awe, and sol- 
 emn apprehension; something by which the mind 
 shall be compelled to admit the indwelling of what 
 represents a greater power. Conscience is to com- 
 municate with something mysteriously great, which is 
 without the soul, and above it, and every where. It is 
 the sense, more explicit or obscure, of standing in 
 judgment before the Almighty. That which makes a 
 man feel so, is a part of himself ; so that the struggle 
 against God becomes a struggle with man's own soul. 
 Therefore conscience has often been denominated 
 "the God in man." 
 
 This internal judge has not been in the world alto- 
 gether in vain. Let it but be imagined how many 
 men have wished they could be rid of it. Let it be 
 imagined with how many men it has interfered to dis- 
 turb and oppose them. Now in most of that vast mul- 
 titude of cases it maybe presumed that conscience has 
 had some restraining effect. It maintained a contro- 
 versy with them ; arrested them ; followed them ; 
 warned them ; threatened them ; rose up in them sud- 
 denly, at times, to protest or condemn in the name of 
 a higher power. Perhaps in no case this could be 
 wholly without effect. The infinite multitude of crim- 
 inals would have been still more criminal but for this. 
 
138 USES A^D PERVERSIONS OF CONSCIENCE. 
 
 It has often struck an irresolution, a timidity, into the 
 sinner, by which his intention has been frustrated. Its 
 bitter and vindictive reproaches after sin, have pre- 
 vented so speedy or frequent repetitions of the sin. It 
 has prevented the whole man from being gratified by 
 sin ; it has been one dissentient power among his fac- 
 ulties, as if, among a company of gay revellers, there 
 should appear one dark and frowning intruder, whom 
 they could neither conciliate nor expel. It has been 
 at hand to approve, attest, apply, the divine declara- 
 tions, commands, reproofs, and warnings, when sin- 
 ners have heard them. It has struck on the soul, and 
 
 said " Listen to that ! ^/lai belongs to thee .'" An 
 
 ally, therefore, in men's own minds, to co-operate wnth 
 those who have faithfully spoken in the name of God. 
 It has served as an interpreter of divine judgments 
 with which men have been visited ; not allowed them 
 to be taken as mere natural incidents and phenomena, 
 but judicial and retributive. In many ways, there- 
 fore, it has been the justifier of God to men's own 
 minds; the justifier also of the genuine people of God. 
 It has often compelled confessions and disclosures of 
 great importance to truth and justice. Very generally, 
 in the last scene of life, it has constrained men, even 
 bad and irreligious men, to give explicit solemn testi- 
 mony to the reality of religion, and the guilt and 
 wretchedness of trifling with it. 
 
 But better than all this ; the force of conscience has 
 often been made effectual to urge men lo a persever- 
 ing application to divine mercy ; with a grateful ac- 
 cordance to the method of that mercy, as acting 
 through the mediation of Christ. The guilt is too 
 deep for divine justice to pardon. — There must be some 
 grand expedient as a medium of mercy — and here it 
 is. The virtue, and value, and glory of conscience 
 have also been manifested in its habitual predomi- 
 nance in the spirit and conduct of good men. A good 
 conscience has been the source of unspeakable com- 
 placency and delight ; it has been mighty in trial and 
 temptation ; consolatory under injustice, reproach, and 
 
USES AND PERVERSIONS OF CONSCIENCE. 139 
 
 undeserved ignominy ; a sublime energy under perse- 
 cution for fidelity to God. 
 
 Thus far we have the more favourable view of the 
 office and efficacy of conscience. But there is a dark- 
 er side of the subject; — the view of its perversions and 
 frustration. One most disastrous circumstance is in- 
 stantly presented to our thoughts, namely, that with 
 by far the greatest number of men that have lived, 
 conscience has been separated from all true know- 
 ledge of God. All heathens, of all ages and countries ; 
 with but little limitation the same may be said of the 
 Mohammedans ; and to a very great extent it is true 
 of the papists. Now, God is both the essential author- 
 ity of conscience, and the model for its rectitude. 
 What is its condition then, where the One True God 
 is lost from human knowledge? and instead, — an 
 infinite tribe of deities, beheved or fancied, and wor- 
 shipped ; their characters exemplifying all varieties of 
 iniquity ; their wills dictating a contusion of all ab- 
 surdities and abominations, blended, indeed, with 
 some better things, which are spoiled and defeated in 
 such combination. Or paganism being disclaimed, 
 there is an essentially falsified notion of the Divine 
 Being, and a perverted apprehension of his will. 
 Think what an authority for conscience to acknow- 
 ledge and represent, and to be strong and just in vir- 
 tue of! What will be its allowances, — its dictates, its 
 sanctions ? What should it do but correspond to its 
 authorities ? With a firm belief in the true God, but 
 with a wrong apprehension of some great principle 
 relative to him, conscience may become the abettor, 
 and even prompter, of the most flagrant iniquities ; as 
 in the instance of Paul, and some of the persecutions 
 and exterminations by the papists. " He that killeth 
 you shall think he doeth God service." A perpetra- 
 tor in the Bartholomew massacre said, " God was 
 obliged to me that day." We need do no more than 
 just name the immense account of idle superstitions, in 
 rites of worship, on which conscience has fixed its 
 most peremptory injunction. Whole days would not 
 
140 USES AND PERVERSIONS OP CONSCIENCE. 
 
 suffice to enumerate even those within the " Christian 
 world." Conscience has often been beguiled to admit 
 trifling ceremonies as an expiation ol" great sins, — or 
 of a whole life of iniquity ; when,— had it been in its 
 riglit state, it would have shaken the whole soul, aa 
 with an earthquake. 
 
 If such notices be httle applicable to us, there are 
 however many that are most seriously so. One impor- 
 tant admonition is, — that conscience may suft'er itself 
 to be very much conformed to prevailing customs and 
 notions. That which has the concurrence of so many 
 to think, and say, and practise, is easily allowed to 
 become a standard ; not it is acknowledged a rigid and 
 perfectly justifying one, but one that may excuse. In 
 spreading and becoming attenuated over the multitude, 
 a censure becomes as nothing. Conscience, that ought 
 ever to be looking to the throne and law of God, may 
 be degraded to this most irreligious homage to man. 
 It has glimpses sometimes indeed, and menacing inti- 
 mations of a higher authority and law; but sutlers a 
 willing relapse, a habitual acquiescence. So that the 
 superior and eternal order of principles is nearly out 
 of sight, as in some countries they rarely see the sun 
 or the stars. When at moments, conscience does 
 attempt to resume a little of the genuine spirit and 
 principles of its office, it is solicited to look out on the 
 world, not the most wicked part of the world, but what 
 may be esteemed a decorous and somewhat respect- 
 able part of it, and see whether the common notions, 
 estimates, and practices, do not warrant in me, that 
 which it is disposed to accuse. Le me be tried by my 
 peers ! The consequence is as if conscience grew 
 ashamed, and became silent — felt itself convicted of 
 being a Puritan ! 
 
 Observe the next consequence, when this false sys- 
 tem is settled in the mind, as right or nearly so, — it is 
 only thence, only beyond that which general custom 
 warrants, that conscience has to begin its jurisdiction 
 and operations, that is, it will have nothing or little to 
 take account of, short of positive vices and crimes. 
 
USES AND PERVERSIONS OF CONSCIENCE. 141 
 
 Therefore it will begin with slight censures at a point 
 where very grave ones ought to have been pronounced. 
 Supposing the whole of what the divine law condemns, 
 and therefore conscience ought to be measured by a 
 scale of one hundred degrees of aggravation, — then the 
 censure beginning atone, will become extremely severe 
 by the time of rising to fifty. — But let this first fifty be 
 struck off, as harmless, in accommodation to the gen- 
 eral notions and customs, — what then ? Why then, — 
 conscience will but begin, and in slight terms, its cen- 
 sures at the fifty-first degree, and so, at the very top of 
 the scale, will pronounce with but just that emphasis 
 which was due at the point where it began. An ex- 
 emplification of the effect of taking common notions 
 and prevailing custom as the standard, is given in Bo- 
 naparte's estimate of himself. 
 
 Conscience is extremely liable to be accommodated 
 to each man's own interests, passions, and tastes. 
 These are the constant favourites of the man's heart; 
 while his conscience is often an unwelcome indweller 
 there. What will he not do to reconcile it or make it 
 submit to them? For them he will not part with, — 
 and it perhaps he finds he cannot^ — at least not speed- 
 ily. He has great advantages against his conscience. 
 The favourite interest or inclination he sets in the 
 fairest light ; in excuse, he recalls the circumstances 
 that contributed to make it ascendant in him , pallia- 
 tions of what is wrong in it multiply ; it is far less cul- 
 pable than many things in others which they think very 
 venial. He has this and the other good thing to make 
 a great overbalance. But also the thing excepted to by 
 his conscience is far from being wholly wrong. The 
 degree in which it is right is easily magnified to appear 
 the much greater proportion j there is such and such 
 good to which it will turn to account. Now it is not 
 strange if, by this time, his conscience has come to 
 speak in a much more submissive voice. And melan- 
 choly as the fact is, there are few things that gratify 
 a corrupt mind more than to have gained a victory 
 over conscience. 
 
 13 
 
142 USES AND PBRVERSIONS OF CONSCIENCE. 
 
 Conscience in a great degree may be turned, by 
 effort and art, from the scrutiny of internal principles, 
 to a judgment on bare external actions. Tlie actions, 
 taken simply as such, may have far less to be con- 
 demned than the internal principles; perhaps are 
 laudable. Now conscience, by having its dwelling 
 deep within, has a great advantage as a judge, in com- 
 parison of outward observers. It is seated with its 
 kmp, down in the hidden world, among the vital sen- 
 timents and movements, at the radical depth of the 
 dispositions, at the very springs of action, among the 
 thoughts, motives, intentions, and wishes. The greater 
 the grievance '.—But how to obviate it? Expedients 
 are not wanting. Labour to think, that what is prac- 
 tical is of far greater importance than what exists mere- 
 ly in feelings and thoughts. Say, feelings and thoughts 
 are varying and transient; actions are of much more 
 substantial and permanent account. Say, these prin- 
 ciples within do injury to none ; the right actions do 
 much good. These thoughts and movements within 
 are much involuntary; the outward conduct is the 
 result of will and effort. Look so much on the best 
 parts of the right conduct, as to become emboldened 
 to make the inference — "the case is not so wrong 
 within as conscience had attempted to charge," for 
 " by their fruits shall men be known." Thus in a 
 measure may conscience be beguiled out of its inward 
 watching place, to be content to look only at the out- 
 side. 
 
 When conscience is seriously alarmed, — it may be 
 quieted by delusive applications. There are painful 
 emotions of guilt ; the dreadful sound of the maledic- 
 tions of the divine law; dread of the righteous inflic- 
 tions of the Almighty. O that faithful truth, and an 
 invincible power of impression, might come on con- 
 science at such a time !— But how often all this is ren- 
 dered in vain \—thus: " there will be time enough yet 
 for repentance, reformation, and final escape." Or 
 sometimes sophistical reasonings to invahdate every 
 formidable idea of the divine justice. Sometimea these 
 
USES AND PERVERSIONS OF CONSCIENCE. 143 
 
 alarms are calmed and frustrated by treacherous pre- 
 sumptions as to the way of propitiating the Divine 
 Justice; men may reconcile God by repentance, "I 
 have only to be sorry, and all will be set right ;" satisfy 
 his demands by a reformed conduct ; secure final safety 
 by a careful obedience, instead of a humble recourse 
 exclusively to the all-sufficient work of the Redeemer. 
 This last is a deadly treachery practised on conscience, 
 — for it is quieting its alarms exactly by inducing it to 
 abjure that very law which is its appointed standard, 
 and of which it is its very office to be the representa- 
 tive and sanction. 
 
 We have spoken of alarms of conscience ; but ano- 
 ther melancholy fact respecting conscience is, that it 
 can be reduced to a state of habitual insensibility. 
 There are men in the full vigour of life and activity, 
 body and soul, in whom this sense is in a deep sleep, 
 like death. If this appear desirable, it may be attain- 
 ed ! — By means of a practice of tampering and equivo- 
 cating with it ; by a careful avoidance of all that might 
 alarm it ; continual neglect of its admonitions ; a de- 
 termined resistance and repression; and habits of sin. 
 The result of this will be a deep torpor and stupefac- 
 tion of the conscience, so that the whole system that 
 should be under its cognizance is left fatally free ; a 
 thousand things that ought to excite it, pass, and it 
 hears not, sees not ; the man might go into its retired 
 apartment and look upon it as an enemy dead! — 
 Think of his advantage and triumph, in looking at 
 other men who are troubled by a wakeful, interfering 
 conscience ! But does this dead stillness of conscience 
 appear an awful situation ? Why does it so ? — Be- 
 cause we foresee that it will awake ! and with an in- 
 tensity of life and power proportioned to this long 
 sleep, as if it had been growing gigantic during its 
 slumber. It will rise up with all that superiority of 
 vigour with which the body will rise at the resurrec- 
 tion. It will awake ! — probably in the last hours of 
 life. But if not, — it will nevertheless awake ! — In the 
 other world there is something which will certainly 
 
144 VSES AND PERVERSIONS OF CONSCIENCE. 
 
 awake it, — at the last day ! — If a man feels it going to 
 slumber, he should just listen to it while it warns him 
 that it will awake ! Its last emotions that disturb him 
 he should interpret as such a prediction. And let him 
 consider that during its slumber, there will have been 
 the more rapid accumulation of what it is to take ac- 
 count of 
 
 We close with a word respecting the right treatment 
 of conscience. It should be regarded with deep re- 
 s pect, — even its least intimations attended to — not 
 slighted as scrupulous impertinencies — blown away, 
 &c. — We should diligently aim at a true judgment of 
 things, because our judgment is the rule by which con- 
 science will proceed. There must be much reflection, 
 in the proper sense of the word, and retirement. We 
 should recollect always that, on the whole, the most 
 judicial conscience is less rigid and comprehensive 
 than the divine law ; less so than the judgment of God. 
 — " If our heart condemn us, God is greater than our 
 heart." Therefore in consulting conscience, we should 
 endeavour to reahze to ourselves the Divine presence. 
 We should seek and implore, that our consciences 
 may ever be in the Divine keeping rather than our 
 own. 
 
 We often speak ol'the improvements in the Christian 
 life, — improvements indispensable as evidence that any 
 real progress is made, — be it remembered, that one of 
 them is, an improvement in the discerning sensibility, 
 and extent of jurisdiction of conscience. If this very 
 improvement will have its evils, — as involving an in- 
 crease of solicitudes, pains, penitential emotions, so 
 much the more desirable will appear that better world 
 where there is no possibility of sin, where the continu- 
 ed improvment of spiritual perception will be a contin- 
 ually augmented exquisiteness of the felicity. 
 
145 
 
 XVI. 
 
 FORMALITY AND REMISSNESS IN PRAYER. 
 
 ^^Thou resirainest prayer before God." — This is one 
 of the many censures that Job's friends passed upon 
 him, — and it was not a just charge in the instance to 
 which it was appUed. But, if it had been true as a 
 fact, it surely would have fixed on Job a sentence of 
 guilt. He could not be convicted of the fact without 
 being convicted of sm. For, we do not expect to hear 
 it asserted that prayer is not a duty. Whatever the 
 practice may seem to say, there will seldom be an 
 avowal in words of this opinion. Nevertheless, such 
 an assertion has been ventured, and by persons not 
 formally and absolutely avowing rejection and con- 
 tempt of religion ; but even pretending perhaps to 
 render the greater honour to the divine Majesty, — to 
 acknowledge in a more enlightened manner his sove- 
 reignty, wisdom, and goodness. They have said, 
 " It were idle and impious to imagine that representa- 
 tions made from its should direct the divine wisdom, 
 or have any influence on the divine determinations; 
 therefore to petition is at least absurd." 
 
 Now even though no valid answer could be made 
 to this, one would be irresistibly persuaded that per- 
 sons dwelling with complacency on such an argument, 
 cared for the most part very little about the divine 
 mercy. Those that did so care, in spite of the argu- 
 ment would be continually prompted to pray, and 
 would regret to think it should be improper, or be in 
 vain. 
 
 To a believer in revelation, it is answer enough that 
 prayer is most positively enjoined, as a primary duty 
 of religion ; a duly strictly in itself, as the proper man- 
 ner of acknowledging the supremacy of God, and our 
 dependence. Let it be added, that it has been the 
 universal practice of devout men from the earliest time 
 13* 
 
146 FORMALITY AND REMISSNESS IN PRAYER. 
 
 till the present hour ; and practised the most by the 
 men incontestabiy the most pious and holy. But if 
 there were any force in the supposed objection, we do 
 not see how these good men could be acquitted of 
 gross impiety. 
 
 Independently of these considerations, the divine in- 
 junctions, and the constant practice of the best men, 
 we might take the matter on more general grounds, 
 and observe that — prayer cannot be discountenanced 
 on any principle which would not repress and condemn 
 all earnest religious desires. Consider the exercise of 
 thought and affection in a mind deeply concerned 
 about religion. It dwells upon the thought of the di- 
 vine favour, " how glorious a felicity to enjoy that !" 
 But then an earnest desire arises, "Oh let it be mine!" 
 It dwells upon the redeeming work of Christ ; and the 
 desire is, " Let me be interested in it, to its whole glo- 
 rious extent!" Or upon the pardon of sin ; the purifi- 
 cation of a corrupt nature ; divine guidance, illumina- 
 tion, and protection ; and the desire is, " Let these be 
 granted to me !" Now consider these desires ; they 
 are indulged under the direct sense of the presence 
 and observance of God, and are the more fervently in- 
 dulged, the more impressive is that sense, and indulg- 
 ed with a complacency in the thought that he knows 
 them. But would it not be absurd to indulge them, if 
 it be absurd to express them ? And worse than absurd, 
 for what are they less, according to the objection, than 
 impulses to control the divine determinations and con- 
 duct ? For these desires will absolutely ascend toward 
 Him. But we all know that these desires are good, 
 that they are vital and essential to religion, insomuch 
 that the degree in which they prevail in the soul, is the 
 degree in which religion prevails there. But if these 
 feelings be the essential spirit of religion, it is consist- 
 ent that they be carried into a direct act of religion, 
 namely prayer. 
 
 It is the grand object to augment these desires. 
 Well then here too is evidence in favour of prayer. 
 For it must operate to make them more strong, more 
 
FORMALITY AND REMISSNESS IN PRAYER. 147 
 
 vivid, more solemn, more prolonged, and more definite 
 as to their objects. Forming them into expressions to 
 God will concentrate the soul in them, and upon these 
 objects. Soliciting to them by an express act, the im- 
 mediate attention of the Almighty Intelligence, must 
 combine them with the feeling regarding Him ; it must 
 partly have the same effect as if we were expecting to 
 be soon placed in his presence by death. 
 
 As to the objection that we cannot alter the divine 
 determinations, and, that if the things desired are prop- 
 er to be given to us, he will give them, and if not so, 
 he will not J — it may well be supposed, that it is accord- 
 ing to the divine determinations that good things 
 shall not be given to those that will not petition for 
 them ; that there shall be this expression of depend- 
 ence, and acknowledgment of the divine supremacy ; 
 that those that will not petition are, by this proof, in 
 no proper state of mind to receive the good gifts; that 
 he has made it an indispensable circumstance, a condi- 
 tion, that they shall pray for them, in order to obtain. 
 On general grounds of reason this may well be sup- 
 posed to be the case ; but, the moment w^e turn to rev- 
 elation we find that it actually is so. " I will yet for 
 this be inquired of by the house of Israel to do it for 
 them ;" and doubtless experience and fact would bring 
 a full testimony to the same effect. Suppose two 
 men to pass through life, both acknowledging that all 
 good must come from God. But the one acts on the 
 sort of philosophic principle that disowns prayer; the 
 other habitually and fervently petitions the Almighty, 
 in the name of Jesus Christ. We may refer it to any 
 man to judge of the comparative account of what these 
 two respectively will have obtained by the time they 
 come to the end of life. We might also refer it to any 
 man, which of the situations he would prefer to be in, 
 in looking forward to that period. 
 
 But we need not have enlarged on such a matter 
 as the assertion of the propriety of prayer ! It may 
 be presumed we are under ihe full and irresistible 
 conviction that men ought to implore the mercies of 
 
148 FORMALITY AND REMISSNESS IN PRAYER. 
 
 " the God of heaven ;'' that this is an homage abso- 
 lutely due to Him; and that for ourselves it is indis- 
 pensable, and infinitely beneficial. If we could go 
 deep enough in thought, it would strike us as an 
 amazing and inexpressibly delightful circumstance, in 
 the economy of the Almighty Being, that there is an 
 assigned ground, and a perfectly accessible one, for 
 meeting immediately the Supreme Being; that there 
 is a permission and appointed duty, to such creatures 
 as we are, to speak directly to him, at any time, on 
 any subject. Men speak to one another ; some of 
 them may not speak to some others of them ; but the 
 least, the humblest, the meanest, may speak to Him 
 that made and commands all things ! 
 
 Now then for the manner in which men avail them- 
 selves of this most sublime circumstance in their con- 
 dition. Let us for one moment suppose that we could 
 be quite uninformed of the actual state of our race, in 
 this particular respect ; knowing only just the general 
 facts that they are rational, accountable, immortal, 
 wholly dependent on the Almighty, and every mo- 
 ment experiencing his beneficence; and knowing also 
 that they have the grand privilege we have described. 
 What might we expect in conformity to this their con- 
 dition ? Evidently, an universal prevalence of a de- 
 votional spirit ; a grateful habitual recourse to their 
 most glorious privilege ! Now then let us by all 
 means deny the doctrine, and the fact, of the radical 
 depravity of human nature, when w^e come to contem- 
 plate the actual state and practice of mankind in 
 respect to the matter in question ; — I repeat, let us 
 boldly and firmly deny it if we can in front of the facts 
 of the case. 
 
 Hundreds of millions are paying homage to insensi- 
 ble substances, phantasms, or devils. Many millions 
 are literally making to themselves an amusement and 
 a sport of shows and vain ceremonies of a religion 
 pretended to be in homage to the true God. But 
 come to what is accounted the most privileged, 
 instructed, and Christianized portion of mankind, our 
 
FORMALITY AND REMISSNESS IN PRAYER. 149 
 
 own nation. There are millions of them that prac- 
 tise no worship, no prayer at all, in any manner ; they 
 are entirely " without God in the world." Assemble 
 them in imagination, and look upon them I To say 
 to but one of these, in the full and entire sense, " Thou 
 restrainest prayer I" is pronouncing upon him an 
 awful charge, is predicting an awful doom. Consider 
 that to pronounce deliberately but this one short sen- 
 tence upon each one in our land to whom it is applica- 
 ble, would take many years ! But then reflect, what 
 it is that you would be pronouncing in each single 
 instance. Think what it includes when said of a 
 being standing in such relations as he does to God ; 
 and with death, judgment, and eternity before him ! 
 You are pronouncing that, — he habitually scorns the 
 Almighty — his soul, and the happiness of eternity; 
 that, — he deliberately keeps himself detached from all 
 that could save him from plunging into perdition ! 
 
 If we could cast an all-penetrating look through 
 what is performed under a semblance and name of 
 prayer ; the slight formalities of it in private ; the pub- 
 lic ceremonial performances. Would it not be the 
 mere affectation of charity to doubt whether it be the 
 fact, that a vast majority of the performers never pray 
 at all ? If it might, by Him that knows, be revealed 
 to you in how many instances, a vital earnest breath- 
 ing of soul goes out to Him, w^ould you not, in terror 
 and pity, decline such knowledge? "Let me not see 
 the proofs against my fellow-mortals, of what I already 
 too sadly believe." 
 
 But it was not so much our purpose to animadvert 
 on the entire absence of real prayer, as to make a few 
 admonitory observations on the great defectiveness of 
 it in those who do feel its importance, and are not 
 wholly strangers to its genuine exercise. Which of 
 us can assume to stand clearly out of the reach of 
 such admonition ? " Thou restrainest prayer before 
 God." 
 
 It may well come upon our thoughts to reflect, how 
 much of this exercise, in its genuine quality, there is 
 
150 FORMALITY AND REMISSNESS IN PRAYER. 
 
 or has been in the course of our life habitually. How 
 much do we see marked and distinguished by this 
 sacred colour? How much, as compared with our 
 other exercises of mind and speech? There should 
 be some proportion in things. A matter of pre-emi- 
 nent importance should not be reduced to occupy some 
 diminutive interstices and corners of the active sys- 
 tem. A mere worldly-wise man is seen acting on this 
 principle of proportion in things. Then, as Chris- 
 tians, how is it with us in this important matter? 
 
 That which is confessedly the most powerful of all 
 our means and resources for good should not be left; 
 nearly out of use, for us to extol the while its great 
 power, and be miserable through a dependence on 
 other means. If the people on the parched tracts 
 along the Nile had a mighty engine for raising the 
 water to irrigate, what would be thought of them for 
 toilirfg with little earthen vessels, from which the ele- 
 ment would almost evaporate while they were carry- 
 ing it? Now look at our means for good. There is 
 one pre-eminent; just that one that lies nearly unem- 
 ployed? One image of this sort suggests another. 
 The poor, superstitious multitudes of India believe 
 that their adored river comes from heaven, and they 
 are consistent. They pant to go to it ; they have re- 
 course to it with eager devotion ; they purify their 
 vessels with it, and themselves ; they consider it a 
 precious element in their food ; they are happy to be 
 carried to its banks when dying. Now we know that 
 our grand resource of prayer is a blessed privilege 
 granted from heaven, of a peculiarly heavenly qual- 
 ity ; where is our consistency, if we are indifferent and 
 sparing in the use of it? 
 
 " Thou restrainest prayer before God." Is there a 
 very frequent, or even a prevailing reluctance to it, so 
 that the chief feeling regarding it is but a haunting 
 sense of duty, and of guilt in the neglect? This were 
 a serious cause for alarm, lest all be wrong within. 
 A consciousness like this is a stronger summons to the 
 very exercise itself, than if a host of the dead were to 
 
FORMALITY AND REMISSNESS IN PRAYER. 151 
 
 arise to command it. That man is infatuated if he 
 withholds prayer. What thing more urgent can mor- 
 tal have to crave than this, — that he should not have 
 to make out the safety of his state under so fearful a 
 sign ? 
 
 Is it in the course of our days, left to uncertainties 
 whether the exercise shall be attended to or not? Is 
 it considered not a positive, fixed thing, no more to be 
 dispensed with than the daily bread, or the common 
 recurring offices of life ? Is the case so that a man 
 might be supposed to say to himself, " I intend to 
 pray to-day, or this morning, or evening ; I hope I 
 shall, but I am not certain, I may fail." May you 
 fail ? It is, then, too probable that you will ! ^'- May 
 you " — ? then that may befall you which will teach 
 you what it is to fail of such a duly ! — '• May you " — ? 
 then you may lose the very last opportunity that will 
 be granted to you ! 
 
 Is there a habit of letting come first to be attended 
 to, any inferior thing that may offer itself? A man 
 may judge when is the fair and proper time for this 
 exercise. When that time is come shall he wait, as 
 if to see whether any thing else will occur to put in its 
 claim, so that the claim of God should be admitted but 
 on the condition that nothing else shall make a claim ? 
 He will not have waited long before something will 
 come in beiween, and that will bring something else, 
 and that again some other thing. This great duty is 
 then set aside for an indefinite time, and the disposi- 
 tion lessening at every step, and perhaps the conscience 
 too ; and when he reflects, what reproach and shame 
 may he not often feel to think what he has suffered to 
 set it aside ! The weight of the reproach should fall, 
 not on the fact merely of the neglect, but on the dispo- 
 sition of mind which could permit it. 
 
 " Thou restrainest prayer before God." " Another 
 time, a later hour, will be much more convenient." 
 How many prayers this deception has precluded ! " I 
 shall be in a better tone of feeling j my thoughts more 
 composed j there will be less liability to interruption ; 
 
152 FORMALITY AND REMISSNESS IN PRAYER. 
 
 such an affair I shall have disposed of, and discharged 
 from my mind. It were even irreverent to approach 
 the divine Majesty just as I now feel." As if that 
 commanded serious effort, required in such approach, 
 were not one of the best expedients for putting the 
 mind in order. Then what does experience say, as to 
 the actual occurrence and improvement of that expect- 
 ed better season ? How soon commonly does the 
 seasonable hour come, when the first is easily let to 
 slide by as unseasonable? Is there a disposition to 
 give a ready allowance to pleas for deferring or cut- 
 ting very short ? " That Avill be a fair excuse." 
 " That must be attended to immediately." " To de- 
 lay that will be a serious evil." " That is a matter of 
 practical duty, for which God will excuse the mental." 
 When in the exercise, a person may detect himself 
 readily recollecting and allowing a call away. What 
 a test of the habitude of the heart is there in all this ! 
 
 " Thou restrainest prayer before God." In the in- 
 terval appropriate to this exercise, a man may defer it 
 till very near what he knows must be the end of the 
 allowed time. He may be under obligatory regula- 
 tions requiring him to meet certain business or engage- 
 ments at nearly a precise time. Now having this 
 known measured time before him, does he allow him- 
 self to pass away the moments that belong to devotion 
 till very near the appointed moment, so that there is 
 time for only a few hurried sentences ? 
 
 An inconvenient situation for devotional exercise, 
 will often be one of the real evils of life. But here let 
 the question be, Is this circumstance readily seized as 
 a plea to conscience for but little practising the solemn 
 exercise? The man is almost pleased that there is 
 such a ground of excuse, and yet laying the whole 
 blame of the omission or slightness on this cause. 
 
 This lamentably defective state of mind maybe ver- 
 ified again in a mode like this, namely; "I did not 
 very long since employ some monvents in prayer ; ii 
 will not be necessary so very soon again. For a while 
 I am free Irom the pressure of duty." As if the chief 
 
FORMALITY AND REMISSNESS IN PRAYER. 153 
 
 Tjse of the preceding prayer were its clearing the 
 time for war cL 
 
 The having engaged in a social act of religion may- 
 be assumed as a partial excuse for omitting the pri- 
 vate exercise, a kind of acquittance^, the share of a 
 social exercise is reckoned enough for the whole trib- 
 ute from the individual. As if a social tribute were 
 for the purpose oi'gaining an exemption for each indi- 
 vidual. 
 
 Sometimes the exercise is made very brief from 
 real unqualified want of interest. Or prayer is delay- 
 ed from the sense of recent guilt. No wonder there 
 should be an indisposition then. But will mere time 
 w^ear the guilt away ? What will be the best secu- 
 rity against renewed sin ? Do not defer praying till 
 more guilt come between ! Do not, lest death come 
 between-^. 
 
 The charge in the text falls upon the state of feel- 
 ing which forgets to recognize the value of prayer as 
 an important instrument in the transactions of life. 
 There may be an acknowledgment, in a general way, 
 of its value, but in practice things are left to ordinary 
 resources. 
 
 The charge falls too on the indulgence of cares, 
 anxieties, and griefs, with little recourse to this great 
 expedient. We may put the evil charged under the 
 final general description, praying but so that there is a 
 consciousness, " This will not do always^ 
 
 This is more than enough for enumeration and de- 
 scription. The few admonitory considerations whicJi 
 we might have added, to enforce a reform, can be lit- 
 tle necessary, when the evil is so plainly evident. — It 
 Is a privation of whatever state and happiness it is 
 that is imported b)^ "communion with God." — Hovv 
 mi3ch it foregoes the benefits of the intercession of 
 Christ ! — It precludes the disposition to refer to the 
 Divine Being in social communications. — It saps a 
 man's moral and Christian courage. — It raises a for- 
 midable difficulty in the way of recourse to God on 
 'argent occasions and emergencies. 
 14 
 
XVII. 
 
 WATCHFULNESS AND PRAYER. 
 
 " Watch and pray, thai ye enter not into tempta- 
 iion^ — This is one of the last sentences uttered by 
 our Lord to his disciples before his death. All he ap- 
 pears to have said to them llie remainder of that 
 dreadful night would fill but very few moments. And 
 this circumstance of being nearly the last would seem 
 to give it a peculiar and solenm emphasis. The last, 
 — the end of any prolonged series, if at all important, 
 has some peculiar relation to our most serious feel- 
 ings ; how it finds them out. moves them into exercise, 
 — even men of mirth are somewhat graver ! 
 
 If the last in an important scries is considered with 
 respect to prospect, it is regarded like coming to the 
 brink of a gulf; — if with regard to retrospect, it seems 
 as it were to collect, and stand representative of the 
 importance of all the preceding, as if it had a voice 
 and said, " They all speak this once more by me, that 
 speak the last.'' In the case of a revered friend and 
 instructor, speaking nearly for the last time, it would 
 seem as if his spirit, before it departed, went back to 
 reanimate, repeat, re-apply all his preceding instruc- 
 tions. It is as if he said, " My spirit cannot come 
 to yours in any new words, any more words ; let it 
 henceforward be frit as coming to you in those I have 
 spoken before." And the sentences which he deliber- 
 ately cliose to utter last, would be felt as being in- 
 stead of, and in some sense having the virtue of, all 
 the other valuable things that he cannot now say. 
 
 But in the instance of our Lord, there were other 
 most solemn and aflecting circumstances to give em- 
 phasis to his last expressions to his disciples. They 
 were uttered under the pressure of a mental agony 
 unparalleled in nature and degree in all time ; — in the 
 near anticipation of a corporeal anguish the severest 
 that malignity could devise to inflict; and all this in- 
 
WATCHFULNESS AND PRAYER. 155 
 
 flicted on perfect g-oodness, and as far as men were 
 concerned inflicted because of that goodness ; because 
 he was in perfect antipathy to that moral evil which 
 reigned triumphant, and raged at his interference. 
 All this was voluntarily encountered, not only by an 
 original act of determination, but by an act of deter- 
 mination at each step renewed, and at each step in one 
 sense revocable, if it had been morally possible for 
 him to abandon the object. He said the case was 
 such, and the whole grand design still so depending 
 on his present determination, that myriads, of angels 
 would instantly have come at his requisition — and 
 then with a sublime, and awful, and justly vindictive 
 triumph, he could have left the world to destruction ! 
 But what had then become of the great purpose on 
 which he came to redeem it? Now all this would 
 afterwards in the minds of his disciples, and should in 
 ours, be associated with his last admonitions. To 
 think how he watched, and prayed, and suffered, and 
 cared for his disciples and mankind, in the hour in 
 which he said it ! 
 
 The first word of the admonition was pointed at that 
 immediate circumstance that they slept; even those 
 three whom he had selected to go further with him in 
 the melancholy garden for the purpose of their watch- 
 ing with him, even they fell asleep, once and again, — 
 notwithstanding the awful character of the crisis. As 
 if through an overruling appointment to show how com- 
 pletely he was placed, by his nature and his work, out 
 of sympathy and co-operation; — to show that he was 
 a person, and that his was a part — exclusive and alone. 
 How true was it that he " trod the wine-press alone !" 
 Often would his disciples, in their subsequent career 
 of apostles, reflect how totally inadequate they had 
 been in all senses, to be in communication with him in 
 that awful hour ! But every renewed recollection of 
 the admonition to watch and pray in defence against 
 temptation, would be enforced by powerful and affect- 
 ing associations. 
 
 We leave the strict and literal import of the term 
 
156 WATCHFULNESS AND PRAYER. 
 
 watching in the text for that larger sense in which it is 
 so often used for exhortation in the New Testament. 
 
 Yet it were not at all impertinent to dwell one mo- 
 ment on the admonition in that literal sense in which 
 our Lord spoke it. It may surely be takea as a re- 
 proof of wasting- in unnecessary slumber the time 
 which should be employed in praying against tempta- 
 tion. It is at their own cost that any shall regard this 
 as too trivial a thing for admonition and for conscience. 
 Let it be honestly estimated what portion is really ne- 
 cessary for refreshment and health. Then let the com- 
 parison be imagined between a person who shall 
 habitually thus consume one hour in the twenty-four, 
 more than this necessary measure, and another who 
 shall save and employ that one hour each day in pray- 
 ing, and especially in praying against temptation. 
 What would the sum of the ditlerence be in a whole 
 life ! Think how many temptations that have been 
 yielded to, would have been escaped or overcome had 
 that last hour been so employed I Will any one say, 
 that he has quite time enough still, for this good use, 
 though one of his hours each day be so thrown away? 
 One answer would be, that it may well be doubted 
 whether a person so undervaluing his time will actu- 
 ally employ much of it in this best use. The next ob- 
 servation would be, that it is a signal novelty, and an 
 excepted case, no very honourable exception neither, 
 if there be a man who has decidedly more than enough 
 time for all his duties ; he need not be envied by those 
 to whom the Great Master has assigned as much ser- 
 vice as they can perform by the improvement of alt 
 their time. 
 
 But now let us consider the precept in its genera! 
 and comprehensive application. " Watch and pray 
 that ye enter not into temptation." There is enjoined 
 here a feeling of apprehension and alarm. It is equiva- 
 lent to saying — '• Do not suffer yourself to be at ease.'* 
 "Beware of quietly enjoying your life. You are lost 
 if you live without fear." But there is an emotion of 
 the heart against entertaining this state of feeling. 
 
WATCHFULNESS AND PRAYER, 157 
 
 '■ How grievous is it never to be secure ; never to be 
 indulged in the happiness of an easy, unheeding con- 
 fidence !" It suggests the idea of a place where a man 
 can hardl}'- go to sleep, lest the plunderer or assassin 
 be watching, or hovering near unseen; or of a place 
 where the people can walk out no whither, without sus- 
 picion of some lurking danger or enemy not far off; 
 and are to be constantly looking vigilantly and fear- 
 fully round; a place where they cannot ascend an 
 eminence, nor wander through a sequestered valley, 
 nor enter a blooming grove, nor even a garden of 
 flowers, without having the image of the serpent, the 
 wild beast, or a more deadly mischief in human shape, 
 as vividly present to the imagination as the visible 
 enemy is to the eye ; a place where they would hesi- 
 tate to enter in at a gate or a door though a friendly 
 countenance, apparently such, were shown there to 
 invite them in. It would be said, who could endure 
 to live in such a place ? Then, who can endure to live 
 in this world ? for these are but emblems of the condi- 
 tion of danger in which the soul sojourns on earth. 
 Such a picture represents the danger, but fails in the 
 other respect, the apprehensive caution ofthe sojourners! 
 
 For as to moral and spiritual dangers, the greater 
 number seem to have determined to indulge in a care- 
 less and almost unlimited confidence. What an amaz- 
 ing account of things, if it were possible to calculate 
 the amount of suspioion, apprehension, vigilance, pre- 
 caution, and preventive expedient among mankind, 
 and then distinguish that proportion of these which 
 has reference to moral and spiritual dangers ! Would 
 it not be as if the race thought themselves threatened 
 on the one side by more than all the plagues of Egypt, 
 and on the other, where their most important interests 
 lie, by merely some clouds of dust ? As a natural con- 
 sequence, they are overrun, and spoiled, and ruined, 
 by what they so little dread and guard against, that is 
 to say, by temptations. 
 
 For consider, in obedience to what, in agreement 
 and conformity to what but temptation is it^ that the 
 14* 
 
158 WATCHFULNESS AND PRAYER, 
 
 far greater part of what men are about, is clone ? Af- 
 ter what is done simply for the support of our mortal 
 existence. Look around and see how it is because 
 temptation is acting upon men that they are such, and 
 act so ! See how it despotically commands that man ;. 
 how it beguiles that other ; surprises a third ; mingles 
 with the better influences acting on a fourth I What 
 but prevailing temptation should make the state of 
 things throughout tlie moral scene be thus ? that is, 
 contrary to the divine laws. 
 
 Whence is it that temptation is so generally prevail- 
 ing, so mightily prosperous in its operation ? Why 
 does not the soul meet it, as water meets fire? The 
 fearful cause is, that it acts on a nature congenial and 
 accordant to what it offers. It is fuel that meets fire I 
 What says our own experience ? Experience at what 
 a cost ! That long and most costly lesson has been 
 thrown away upon us, if we can any longer with a 
 heedless confidence trust our natural disposition in 
 such a world. Yes ! if we can carelessly trust it, even 
 though the Spirit of God have imparted that infinite 
 blessing — a principle of renovation, a pure principle 
 from heaven, that abhors and fights against the evil 
 as dwelling within or invading from without. But in- 
 deed, the indispensable evidence of such a divine prin- 
 ciple will be an urgent and effectual sense of the ne- 
 cessity of watching and praying against temptation. 
 
 " That ye enter not into temptation." The words 
 seem to say very pointedly — Bewan-e of the beginning ! 
 for it is in fatal connexion with the next ensuing, and 
 yet conceals what is behind. Since temptation is sure 
 to be early with its beginnings, so too should watching 
 and praying; early in life; early in the day; early in 
 every undertaking! What haste the man must make^ 
 that will be beforehand with temptation I 
 
 " That ye enter not ;" that we do not inattentively 
 admit the first actions of temptation upon us. How 
 important in this reference is self-observation ! For 
 want of this, a succession of pernicious impressions- 
 shall have been made before the man is aware^ 
 
 " Enter not ;" that is, that we be cautious of ventur- 
 
WATCHFULNESS AND PRAYER, lo9 
 
 insr into any thing which we have reason to beheve 
 or suspect may soon become temptation. It may be 
 fair and harmless at the outset, but how far on ? Can 
 no one be led into sin but by rushing at the very first 
 into what is flagrantly such? "Enter not," that is, 
 that we be considerate how any thing may become 
 temptation. How may it by a natural progress affect 
 the passions after a while ? What may very proba- 
 bly fall in and mingle with it? This demands an 
 exercise of discerning foresight. 
 
 "That ye enter not;" that is, that we may be 
 quickly alarmed at the indications that a thing is be- 
 coming temptation. "Here a questionable effect is 
 beginning upon me ; nay, but it is a bad effect." 
 " Certain principles of truth and duty are beginning 
 to slacken their hold on me." Beware of becoming 
 so partial to a thing that this circumstance shall ap- 
 pear a trifling matter. You may have seen such 
 examples ; uneasiness has been felt for a while ; 
 there may have been a questioning whether to relin- 
 quish the object ; but the heart grew faster to it. Be 
 cautious of pursuing an evident good in a way in 
 which there must be temptation. Be specially fear- 
 ful of that where, if there be any good to be obtained, 
 the good is to come afterwards, but the temptation 
 first. If the temptation coming first shall blind my 
 discernment of the good — cool my zeal or destroy 
 my relish of it — if I should stop with the temptation 
 and abandon the good ! — and be fearful of that where 
 the temptation is certain and the good only possi- 
 ble, or at best only probable. A dangerous problem 
 this, how much good possible is worth how much 
 temptation certain ? Beware of being beguiled in 
 this manner, that a positive unquestionable good can 
 be alleged. In truth it is not this that is the real in- 
 ducement, but that something connected with that 
 good olTers a pleasing temptation which can be enter- 
 tained under the plea of the good. Be peculiarly 
 suspicious in any case, where all appears pleasing 
 and attractive, and there is nothing for mortification 
 
160 WATCHFULNESS AND PRAYER. 
 
 • 
 
 and self-denial. Let suspicion and alarm be awak- 
 ened, when we find our minds at work to make out 
 any thing to be innocent against doubt and uneasy- 
 conscience. Be careful that when unquestionable 
 duty leads into the way of temptation, we stay not 
 longer near the temptation than we are honestly 
 about the duty. Beware of the kind of companionship 
 that directly leads into temptation. But let no man 
 be beguiled to think he is safe against temptation 
 at the times when his only companion is himself. 
 The whole tempting world may then come to him 
 through the medium of the imagination. The great 
 deep of his own evil heart may then be broken up. 
 In this solitude may come that tempter that came to 
 our Lord in the desert. In truth, unhappily there is 
 no situation or employment in which temptation is not 
 to be apprehended. 
 
 What vigilance and prayer are necessary against 
 the sudden violent surprises of temptation ! These 
 may come with as little warning almost as the dread- 
 ful accidents that befall men's persons. A sudden flash 
 of infernal fire kindles the passions, and prostrates the 
 judgment and conscience. Divine aid can come as 
 suddenly as these assaults. But who may confidently 
 rely that it shall 7 
 
 Now think of all this ; and then of a heedless, self- 
 trusting, and prayerless habit of mind ! What must 
 be the consequence ? Serious persons amidst their 
 self- reproachful reflections may be amazed at the pre- 
 venting goodness of God that still worse has not be- 
 fallen them. To think how many days and weeks 
 they have begun, how many scenes and occupations^ 
 passed through, with little of real earnest prayer, little 
 of solicitous conscientious vigilance. How grateful 
 should they be to think how many temptations they 
 have been mercifully kept out of the way of, which 
 they probably would not have resisted ! But let them 
 consider whether the proper testimony of that grati- 
 tude will be, that hencelbrward they little care or ap- 
 ply to his heavenly protection. They would have 
 
WATCHFULNESS AND PRAYER. 161 
 
 cause to dread that even if they should not be at 
 length fully and finally given up to evil, they will be 
 suffered to fall into some great iniquity, in order to 
 ronse them by the horrors of guilt. Think solemnly 
 of the frightful extent of the possibilities of falling into 
 sin. And that it is an insult to God to calculate on 
 escaping without the means he has enjoined. " Watch 
 and pray." These must be combined ; for watching 
 without prayer were but an impious homage to our- 
 selves. Praj^er without watching were but an im- 
 pious and also absurd homage to God. 
 
 What emphatic importance is in the point of being 
 saved from entering into temptation; since when a 
 man is fully in it, and under the strength of its influ- 
 ence, there is an end of watching, and an indisposi- 
 tion to pray ! 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 SOBER-MINDEDNESS. 
 
 " Young men likewise exhort to be soher-mindedP 
 — Tt is plain that the exhortation was meant expressly 
 for young men ; but when we take the precept in the 
 most general sense which the word in our version, 
 '■ sober-minded," allows, — it may be presumed that 
 young persons of the other sex will consider themselves 
 as quite within the scope of such counsel. 
 
 But, — ^' sober-minded !" — methinks this, at the first 
 sound, is likely to be one of the least pleasing words 
 in the whole language, to many young persons. To 
 them it will seem as i^ such a word could come only 
 from old, time-worn people, whose feelings are dried 
 up into a cold, stiffened prudence, which they wish ta 
 have reputed as wisdom ; persons who, having suf^ 
 
162 SOBER-MINDEDNESS. » 
 
 fered the extinction of all vivacity in themselves, envy 
 the young tor possessing what they have lost. 
 
 The word may have suggested ideas of something 
 heavy, spiritless, formal, and calculating; almost 
 mechanical in all pursuits and interests ; the image 
 of a person narrow in his notions, plodding in his opera- 
 tions, placed wholly out of sympathy with everything 
 partaking of ardour, sensibility, adventure, or enthusi- 
 asm; and at the same time taking to himself great merit 
 for all this. Are such the ideas that the word "sober- 
 minded" has conveyed to any of the young persons 
 present? What then do you think of him that wrote 
 this injunction, Paul ? Was he such a sample of hu- 
 man character ? We may then be perfectly sure that 
 Paul's "sober-minded young men" were not to be 
 examples of a sapient formality, of a creeping pru- 
 dence, of extinguished passions, of a cold aversion to 
 animated interests ; — in short, not examples of the ne- 
 gation of any thing that is really graceful and excel- 
 lent in youth. 
 
 A few admonitory observations on such a topic will 
 not be unacceptable. We shall attempt to show, what 
 is the right notion of" sober-mindeilness;" — then apply 
 its principles or rules to some of the circumstances of 
 youth; — and suggest a few considerations for the en- 
 forcement of thai application. 
 
 What is it that may properly be called " sober-mind- 
 edness ?" This is to ask, in other words. What is it 
 that we are all charging the want of upon our fellow- 
 mortals, while we are all censuring, reproaching, or 
 ridiculing them, for folly, absurdity, extravagance, for 
 running into all extremes, for being the sport of fan- 
 cies, tempers, and passions? Is there any justice in 
 these invectives, which almost every one is uttering 
 every day ? What is all this the contrary to ? we an- 
 swer, " Sober-mindedness." But what is the princi- 
 ple and the cause of the difference? What is it that 
 would reduce men from all this to sober-mindedness ? 
 Plainly, the effectual predominance of sound reason. 
 That then is the general description of sober-minded- 
 
SOBER-MINDEDNESS. 1G3 
 
 ness, — that there be in habitual exercise a just judg- 
 ment of things, and lliat this judgment be in real efiec- 
 tive authority. 
 
 There cannot be the required state of mind, unless 
 there be some great master principles, decidedly fixed 
 in the very habit of thinking and feeling — principles 
 applicable to almost all things in our interests and 
 practice — principles so general that many special ones 
 will grow out of them for particular application. So 
 that, whether in youth, or any other age, the man 
 shall be a determined and prej.ared being, — has cer- 
 tain positive principles combined of judgment and con- 
 science, which are to keep him to a certain state and 
 character, under all circumstances. 
 
 We need not attempt to specify many of these prin- 
 ciples. One is, — that in all things, and at all events, 
 God is to be obeyed. Another, — that there is the 
 essential distinction of hohness and sin in all conduct, 
 both wnthin the mind, and in external action, and that 
 sin is absolutely a dreadlul evil. Another, — that that 
 cannot be right long in which there is no self-denial. 
 Another, — that must not be done which must be re- 
 pented of Another, — the future should predominate 
 over the present. 
 
 Such things must be established firmly and opera- 
 tively in the mind. But then how can this be without 
 much and frequent exercise of serious thought? Do 
 such principles grow" and establish themselves sponta- 
 neously? Alas! let any young person look into his 
 own mind and see ! Without much of serious thought, 
 therefore, there cannot be "sober-mindedness.^' — 
 Therefore there cannot be this required state of mind, 
 if principles are admitted, or practical determinations 
 adopted, from mere impressions of fancy and feeling, 
 perhaps from some casual situation into wiiich a per- 
 son is thrown ; perhaps from the pleasing impression 
 made by some new acquaintance, or a friend, while no 
 account is taken of the whole comprehensive view of 
 the matter; nay, perliaps, the judgment actually with- 
 held from attempting this. Thus we can imagine a 
 
164 SOBEtt-MINDEDNESS. 
 
 Protestant falling into communication with a manlike 
 Fenelon — charmed witli such piety and intelligence — 
 carried by this feeling back into the popi§h church ; — 
 no comprehensive view taken of the real character and 
 operations of that church ; — no account taken of its 
 essential connection with secularity and ambition, — of 
 its general hostility to true religion, — of the prevailing 
 worthlessness of its priesthood, — of its wicked assump- 
 tions, maxims, and impostures, — of its infernal persecu- 
 tions ; — and of all this being the natural result of its 
 very constitution. 
 
 ]\o principles can suffice for true "sober-mindedness" 
 in young persons or any others, unless as consciously 
 held as under the sanction and as having the authority 
 of the Supreme Power. Even supposing them intrin- 
 sically right, what will that — merely that — avail,— 
 amidst the commotion of the passions, the beguile- 
 ments of immediate interest, the endless besetment of 
 temptations 7 Man is not a being to be governed by 
 principles, detached from an overawing power. Set 
 them in the best array that you can in his mind, to 
 fight the evil powers within, and from without, but 
 refuse them weapons from the armoury of heaven ; — 
 let no lightning of the divine eye, no thunder of the 
 divine voice, come in testimony and in aid of their 
 operation — and how soon they will be overwhelmed 
 and trampled down ! Like the Israelites when deserted 
 oi" God in their battles, the very ark of God surrendered 
 to the pagans! Always, therefore, it is the earnest 
 solicitude and endeavour of wise men, that the good 
 principles in their minds may be in full communication 
 with the Almighty. Without this fortification and 
 power of the principles, there cannot be that constancy 
 and composed firmness which are the essence of sober- 
 mindedness. For the term must imply a steady tenor 
 of feeling and proceeding, not fluctuating, confused, 
 alternatnig — and a calm independence of spirit and 
 conduct, not at the mercy of the winds and circumstan- 
 ces, — the opinions and wills, — of the surrounding 
 world J which holds one certain plan and aim, right 
 
SOBER»MINDEDNESS. 165 
 
 onward through all the causes of interference and per- 
 version. But how can this be but by the vital connex- 
 ion of our governing principles with the unchangeable 
 Spirit? We must feel in them that His finger is upon 
 us, who is '-the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever.'' 
 
 There cannot be a high degree of that well-ordered 
 state, " sober-mindedness," without the person's form- 
 ing a sound judgment of his own mind. Because that 
 state imphes a strong regulation and government, and 
 how can that be exercised without much insight into 
 the mind that is to be governed ? If there be an insen- 
 sibility to the general corruption of the soul, through- 
 out its very nature, how little to the purpose will any 
 scheme of self-government be ! 
 
 Then there are the special and peculiar circum- 
 stances and tendencies ; the particular weaknesses or 
 wrong propensities ; the liability to some one evil in a 
 strong and dangerous degree. Without an attentive 
 and deep cognizance of things so important, the per- 
 son enjoined to maintain sober-mindedness will not at 
 all know what he has to do ; not know against what 
 he has to maintain it. As if a man should undertake 
 to legislate and govern in a country, in ignorance of 
 the quality of the people ; should take it as an easy, 
 straightforward concern, with a community of well- 
 disposed beings ; not know that they were partly 
 pagans, partly Mohammedans, and the Christians not 
 much better ! 
 
 We add a most self-evident thing ; that it is of the 
 essence of sober-mindedness to maintain a systematic 
 strong restraint on the passions, fancy, temper, appe- 
 tites. This was probably the most direct object of the 
 apostle's exhortation to young men. In these respects, 
 it is the very first point of sober-mindedness for youth 
 to be aware how perilous their condition is. They are 
 pleased that they are in this animated season ; but it 
 were very strange, if they should not sometimes reflect 
 on its circumstances with a degree of alarm. It would 
 be a fine position, doubtless, tor a man to stand on a 
 spot where there was a powerful action of all the ele- 
 15 
 
166 SOBER-MINDEDNESS. 
 
 mcnts almost close around him ; — the cartli he stood 
 on blooming with flowers — water thrown in impetuous 
 tails and torrents on the one side — some superb fire 
 near at hand on the other — and the winds wiiirling, as 
 if to exasperate them both; but he would need look 
 carefully to his movements, especially if informed that 
 others carelessly standing there had been whirled into 
 destruction ; or if he saw the fact. 
 
 Let young persons observe what is actually becom- 
 ing of those who surrender themselves to their pas- 
 sions and wild propensities. What numbers ! Tiien 
 in themselves observe seriously whither these inw^ard 
 traitors and tempters really tend; and then think 
 whether soberness of mind be not a pearl of great 
 price, and whether there can be any such thing with- 
 out a systematic self-government. 
 
 " Whither things lend;'^ for it is an essential princi- 
 ple of sober-mindedness to judge of things viewed in 
 their consequences. Every thing tends and leads to 
 something else, which later thing is caused, or at least 
 affected, by the preceding. Our whole progressive 
 existence is drawn out, so to speak, upon this succes- 
 sion of consequences. The consequence foreseen will 
 determine, or help to determine, the quality of the 
 thing present. The consequences in the matters of 
 human spirit and conduct, can be foreseen. They are 
 both natural, and divinely declared. In the view of a 
 thoughtful mind, the series stretches away into remote 
 prospect. How far does it stretch on? through all 
 life, to death, to judgment, into eternity! The mad- 
 ness, then, of taking a thing just as what it is this hour, 
 day, or even year! This is a thoughtless folly, not 
 to be excused even in early youth. If youth have been 
 but tolerably instructed in their education, they can 
 understand enough to make it their own fault and their 
 sin, to be insensible or unbelieving when consequen- 
 ces are pointed out to them. 
 
 It is to young persons that all we have been repre- 
 senting, is to be- considered as especially addressed. 
 Now, will the inculcation of sober-mindedness, in so 
 
SOBER-MINDEDNESS. 1G7 
 
 many grave particulars, be deemed by them a hard and 
 austere statement of their duty? Then let them hon- 
 estly consider which of these principles they can do 
 without, and yet be safe and happy. Which of them 
 may be safely spared and neglected ? Can they do 
 without a prevalence of sound reason in their minds? 
 Some settled, fixed, master-principles to determine 
 judgment, choice, and conduct? Serious considera- 
 tion, for fixing those principles and applying ihem 7 A 
 care not to be misled and carried away by accidental 
 impressions, occasional feelings, and slight partial 
 views of a matter? A sense of the Almighty's sanc- 
 tion and authority in the principles that are to govern 
 them ? An attentive observation of the condition of 
 their own minds ? An habitual restraint on passions 
 and propensities ? A consideration of the consequen- 
 ces of things? — These constitute soberness of mind. 
 Now which of these can they safely do without? Let 
 them consider which they would reject, and then con- 
 sider what will follow. Shall it be. the solemn acknow 
 iedgment of the divine authority? or the necessity of 
 established principles, tlioughtfully adopted and firmly 
 held ? or the necessity of a careful government of the 
 passions ? or the looking forward to consequences ? 
 But in truth, it is idle to talk of sparing or rejecting 
 one. For oo one of these can be rejected without 
 rejecting them all. They will be all adopted by those 
 young persons who are aware what important use 
 they have for them. 
 
 Young persons of any hopefulness will often have 
 serious thoughts about what is to be the main grand 
 purpose of their life. They will be perfectly aware 
 that there is for the object of (heir existence, some- 
 thing greater, and higher, and ampler, than any mere 
 pleasures of the youthful season ; and then the particu- 
 lar pursuits in life to which they may be looking for- 
 ward. Immense interests are exhibited before them, 
 as immortal natures. It is for them to consider, wheth- 
 er they will be consigned down just merely to this, to 
 be gay and joyous creatures for a few years, and busy 
 
168 SOBER-MINDEDNESS. 
 
 ones the rest? Or whether they shall early in life 
 have a greater purpose and concern, rising ahove the 
 world, and extending beyond time. J\ow here is to 
 be the application of those principles we were endeav- 
 ouring to ilhistrate ; and without them we have ample 
 and deplorable manifestation what the notion and pur- 
 pose of life in young persons will be. 
 
 But this sober-mindedness is necessary for the sub- 
 ordinate schemes and pursuits of life. In the want of 
 it, a young person may form schemes ill adapted to 
 his character, his qualifications, and abilities — or his 
 circumstances. For want of it, many have rushed into 
 wild ill-concerted projects, which have ended disas- 
 trously, or frustrated the most laudable designs. "What 
 important affair in life can that be, what pursuit, what 
 business, that does not require, or will not be the bet- 
 ter for sound reason, solid principles, consideration of 
 consequences, acknowledgment of the divine will? 
 
 Companionship and friendly connexions are among 
 the most favourite interests of young persons. Sober- 
 mindedness is eminently important here. Wisdom 
 and goodness are probably not so superabundant 
 throughout the youthful tribe, that a young person 
 may think he can be in no danger. Let young per- 
 sons consider, that they put themselves, with respect 
 to very important interests, at the command, in no 
 small degree, of their associates. They yield to the 
 effect of sympathy and conformity. They will he ren- 
 dered more favourably disposed to some things, and 
 more averse to others. Now if it should be that what 
 they are rendered more averse to is, seriousness, piety, 
 the service of God, seeking the good offered by the 
 Redeen\er ! Let young persons confess to conscience, 
 whether they nev^er feel this effect. But. that is pur- 
 chasing the pleasure at a fearful cost! What is to 
 prevent so disastrous a commerce, but soberness of 
 mind ? This would keep them clearly aware that the 
 mere pleasure of friendly association is a trifle as com- 
 pared with the influence and effect. 
 
 Soberness of mind would be of high value to voung 
 
SOBER-MINDEDNESS. 169 
 
 people, as to the terms on which they shall stand with 
 what is called the world. That is the denomination 
 for a sort of system of maxims, customs, modes, and 
 fashions. It takes upon itself a high and tyrannic au- 
 thority, if we may judge from the number oi" submis- 
 sive slaves. Young people appear early to recognize 
 a kind of conscience and religious reverence tov/ards 
 this authority. They must do as the icorkl does — dare 
 not presume to be out of the mode — anxiously study 
 the dictate and watch the movement of this '■^ dread 
 sovereign.''^ If there were but half as much attention 
 and submissive feeling toward the Lord of heaven 
 and earth! But think of a person, young or old, rever- 
 ing this stupid idol, and disregarding Him ! • Now the 
 quality enjoined by the apostle would set a young 
 person above this arrogated authority. He would per- 
 ceive an infinite quantity of vanity, absurdity, and 
 something still worse, in this domineering system, and 
 assume a dignified independence. Not that such a 
 young person would exhibit himself in a laboured and 
 ostentatious singularity. There is a vast distance 
 between this, and a sedulous, obsequious, and punc- 
 tilious conformity. The firmly sober-minded young 
 person would, in numerous instances and considerable 
 degrees, set at nought the prescriptions of the despot ; 
 w^ould act just as he thought proper ; and would have 
 his reason to assign: "I really have something else 
 io do with my time and thoughts, than to study and 
 follow your caprices, modes, and vanities." So much 
 for the situation of young persons in the world. For 
 what concerns their preparation to go oid of it, there 
 is the utmost necessity for every thing implied in so- 
 ber-mindedness. 
 
 Let it not be forgotten, that youth will soon be pass- 
 ed away. Nay, there is even the wish, in its possess- 
 ors, for the larger portion of it to haste away ! A 
 most striking illustration of the vanity of our state on 
 earth 1 It rapidly runs on to the longed-for age of 
 twenty. But then it retains its impetus of motion, and 
 runs beyond that point as fast as it ran thither. With 
 15* 
 
170 SOBER-MINDEDNESS. 
 
 what magical fleetncss it passes away, till'it loses its 
 quality, and life is youth no more ! But in the case of 
 not a "few young persons, their youth is appointed to 
 be the whole of their life. Now supposing that, in any 
 / particular instance, this were certain and known: in 
 that instance all opinions would agree as to the pro- 
 priety and necessity of sober-mindedness. The vain- 
 est, the giddiest, unless totally ignorant or unbelieving 
 of hereafter, say, " Yes, certainly he or she should be 
 sober-minded." But now judge soberly whether the 
 propriety is reversed by the circumstance o{ uncertain- 
 ty ; that a young person may only have his youth for 
 the whole of his life. When this may be the case, 
 were it n6t infatuation to live as if it most certainly 
 would not? But assuming that life will be prolonged 
 into the more advanced stages, consider, that then a 
 great change of feeling from that of youth will cer- 
 tainly take place. There will be an altered estimate 
 of many things, and altered feeling ; a somewhat 
 changed colour over the scene of life. Experience, dis- 
 appointment, difficulty, will have begun their process. 
 Now consider ; is it not a most ungracious thing, that 
 the altered state of feeling in more advanced life, should 
 come just wholly as disappointment, as mortifying ex- 
 perience, as sober sense forced upon reluclant folly 1 
 Whereas, sober-mindedness in youth might have an- 
 ticipated a great deal ; might, through wisdom, hav§ 
 made the change much more smooth; might have 
 caused it to be much less, and less mortifying, and 
 made it less reproachful in reflection on the sanguine 
 delusion of early life. It is a bad sign in youth to be 
 utterly heedless of the dictates of the experience of 
 persons more advanced in life. It is indeed impossible 
 for youth to enter JuIIy into the spirit of such experi- 
 ence. But to despise it, to fancy it proceeds entirely 
 from disappointment, mortified feeling, moroseness, or 
 the mere coldness of age, augurs ill — and so these 
 young persons themselves will ihihk, when they, in 
 their Turn, come to inculcate the lessons of their more 
 aged experience. 
 
SOBER-MINDEDNESS. 171 
 
 We would enforce one more consideration ; things 
 will have their consequences. If there be a vain, gid- 
 dy, thoughtless, ill-improved youth, the effects of it will 
 infallibly come in after life. Tf there be a neglected 
 understanding, a conscience feebly and rudely consti- 
 tuted, good principles but slightly fixed or even appre- 
 hended, an habitual levity of spirit, a chase of frivolities, 
 a surrender to the passions ; the natural consequences 
 of these will follow. What will they be, when a man 
 is advanced into the field of important and difficult 
 duties ? when he shall himself be required to be a 
 counsellor of youth ? when he shall be put upon strong 
 trials of both his judgment and conscience; when he 
 shall have to sustain afflictions; when advancing age 
 shall force him to see that he shall ere long have to 
 leave life itself behind? Sometimes happily, even in 
 the advanced life of such a person, the power of reli- 
 gion, the converting Spirit of Christ comes on him, and 
 in a partial measure suspends and reverses these natu- 
 ral consequences of his unhappy youth. But then his 
 bitterest regret is, that it was through such a youth 
 that he advanced into life. 
 
 We add one consideration more, which we would 
 press on young minds with peculiar force. They love 
 cheerfulness, spiritedness, vivacity ; and they are right- 
 But then ! on the supposition of life being prolonged, 
 would they be content to expend away the greatest 
 portion of this animation in the beginning ol' life ? 
 Would they drink out the precious wine of life in the 
 morning, and leave but the dregs for the evening of 
 life's day? If there be any possible way of throwing 
 a large portion of this vital element, this animation, 
 into the latter, the latest part of life, were not that the 
 highest wisdom ? Will there be young persons ready 
 to answer gaily and carelessly to this, "Never fear ! 
 doubtless there will be spirit and animation enough 
 for the whole length of life, how much soever we riot 
 now." We answer them, " Look whether the fact be 
 so. You know many persons far advanced in age. 
 As to some of them, you happen to know, that in their 
 
172 SOBER-MINDEDNESS. 
 
 youth they were gay and vivacious in a high degree; 
 their spirits blazed away in mirth and amusement; 
 they expended their vivacity without hmit or care. 
 'Never fear !' they said. They have passed through 
 many stages since ; but, very naturally, have never 
 applied themselves in earnest to their highest concerns ; 
 they have done their best to keep up their spirits as a 
 substitute for that. But how do you behold them nou- ? 
 It is true there are instances of great natural animal 
 spirits, where a considerable measure remains even in 
 a late period of an ill-improved life. When it is mereli/ 
 this, however, you feel little complacency in seeing it; 
 when you are a little reflective, you rev^olt from sym- 
 pathy. But how often you see in the oM persons 
 who spent so gay a youth, an extinction of all the fire 1 
 Sometimes they try to brighten up for a moment ; but 
 they betray an exhaustion and desertion. They are 
 sensible that life is nearly gone by. But its close they 
 cannot bear to think of, no more than when they were 
 young ; but have no longer the youthful means of 
 driving away the thought. They are sometimes pen- 
 sively gloomy ; often peevishly and morosely so. Oh ! 
 had they but in early liie consecrated the animation of 
 their spirits, by giving a larger share of it to God. to 
 reserve it for them ! Had they often tempered and 
 repressed the vivacity of their hearts, by solemn 
 thoughts of hereafter, by a vigorous application to wis- 
 dom ! they might have been fired with spirit and ani- 
 mation now, which not the approach of death could 
 chill or quench ! nay, would have burnt the brighter in 
 that formidable atmosphere ! Look at this delightful 
 animation in the end of life ! Happily there are such 
 examples. Some signal instance wilhin ih-^se waUs 
 may occur to your thoughts. Very advanced life, as 
 full of spirit, and animated sentiment, and ardour, and 
 indefatigable activity, as ever that person's youth could 
 have been, and religion the life of it all I"* 
 
 * Mr. Foster referred to Dr. Ryland, Tutor of die Theologi- 
 cal Seminary, Bristol ; the immediate predecessor of Robert 
 
FALSE GROU|s'DS OF SUPERIORITY, ETC. 173 
 
 But to attain this in age. the spirit must be temper- 
 ed and consecrated in youth. And that wise and hap- 
 py youth may answer the thoughtless, volatile, gay 
 ones, when they ask, "Why do you thus restrain and 
 repress your lively spirit with grave thoughts and hard 
 exercises ?" he may answer, '■ Because I hope to have 
 vivacity at a period of life, it^ I reach it, when I fear?/ow 
 will be oppressed with gloom." 
 
 XIX. 
 
 FALSE GROUNDS OF SUPERIORITY IN HOLINESS. 
 
 " Stand by thyself, come tmt near to me ; for I am 
 Jwlier than thou.'''' — We are all perfectly well acquaint- 
 ed with the principle, that self-love is the first law of 
 nature, — acquainted with it as a maxim ; and as a 
 matter of experimental feeling. No one ever w^aited 
 to be tausrht it as a point of moral truth. 
 
 It would be a task requiring very great labour and 
 discrimination, to determine the just extent of this prin- 
 ciple ; how far, and on what conditions, consistently 
 with eternal rectitude, the one human being may pre- 
 fer himself, and: his own interests, to his fellow-crea- 
 tures and their interests. In some manner and degree 
 he inevitably must do so. His own being is his only 
 being, and therefore all the interests of existence must 
 centre there. In the midst of a universe of beings, it 
 is still himself that is the most interesting object to 
 himself. 
 
 , But then there immediately meets him the solemn 
 law, from the Author of his being, the Perfection and 
 
 Hall, as Pastor of the Church, in whose " house of prayer " these 
 Lectures were delivered. 
 
174 FALSE GROUNDS 
 
 the Judge of all righteousness, — -'Thou shalt love thy 
 neighbour as thyself." This cannot be intended in 
 the absolutely and rigorously literal sense ; but it 
 owist be dictated in a meaning which presses severely, 
 all round, on the sphere of exclusive self-love; so 
 severely, as to compress and crush that affection into a 
 grievous narrowness of space; unless it can escape 
 into liberty and action some other way, — in some 
 modified quality. There ?,s a way in which it can ex- 
 pand and indulge itself without violating the solemn 
 law imposed, namely, that self-love, or self-interest, 
 should be exalted to such a temper, that its gratifica- 
 tion, its gratification of ?7.'?e//— should actually very 
 much consist in promoting the welfare of others. This 
 is benevolence, or charity ; and perfect benevolence 
 would so combine, as almost to identify, the interest a 
 man would feel concerning his own good, with that 
 which he would feel concerning the good of others. 
 Thus self-love, though vitally centering in self, would 
 be continually going out in beneficent exercise on the 
 happiness of others — as self-love ; maintaining still 
 that nature^ it would be going out in this exercise. 
 Self-love and social becoming thus in a very great de- 
 gree the same, the great law would be fulfilled with- 
 out repressing and crushing self-love in order to fulfil 
 it. This is a combining, uniting spirit, which makes 
 it my happiness that th^y should be happy. But look 
 on mankind, and see whether the self-inierest. the self- 
 love, is not generally a dissociating and hostile princi- 
 ple, which is intent on my good as dissevered from 
 theirs, and often in contrast to theirs, and at the ex- 
 pense of it. 
 
 The hostile quality of self-love is eminently con- 
 spicuous in men's self- estimation^ as in comparison 
 with other men. The very pleasure of feelf-estimation 
 consists generall}'- — in what? not in the sense of being, 
 conformed to a certain rule and standard, but of being 
 in assumption superior to certain other persons, invidi- 
 ously brought into contrast ; insomuch that could it 
 be that they should suddenly rise to an equality or su- 
 
OF SUPERIORITY IN HOLINESS. 175 
 
 periority, it would cause a feeling of mortification as to 
 myself, and bitterness against ^/ie?J2. Think how often 
 men are pleased the most with the faults of those 
 with whom they compare themselves. Those are the 
 delectable points which the eager glance fixes upon ! 
 Those are the flowers where the honey is found ! and 
 what pleasure to detect new ones during the compari- 
 son ! and what a disposition to detract from the unde- 
 niable, better properties in them, — that our own may 
 appear the brighter ! What jealousy, mortification, 
 and even hatred, when evident superiority, in worthi- 
 ness or abilities, may happen to come into compari- 
 son ! In all manner of departments and professions 
 you see the prevalence of this hostile, malevolent self- 
 estimation. 
 
 Even in the advantage of personal appearance, with 
 what internal exultation the aclmowledged or self-re- 
 puted beauty looks on objects less favoured by the cas- 
 ualty of nature; does not, however, say, "Come not 
 near me " — rather, " come," for the sake of contrast ! 
 Even in such a thing as the raiment and adorning of 
 the body. In every accomplishment, attainment, tal- 
 ent, art, profession. In property, and all that is de- 
 nominated the favours of fortune. On the strength of 
 such things, what millions of proud emotions there are 
 every day in the hearts of human creatures ! This is 
 the kind sympathetic fraternity of our depraved race ! 
 and in the greatest number of the instances, the point 
 of complacency is, that the good which / possess, or 
 think 1 do, my fellow-mortals do not — those of them 
 that I am comparing myself with. I feel not, perhaps, 
 a pleasure that simply and abstractedly they do not 
 possess the good in question ; but a pleasure that they 
 are put helow me in not possessing it ; so that it would 
 be a grievance to me that they should possess it, since 
 they then would not be Ibelow me; the gratification of 
 my pride being a thing far dearer to me than their 
 happiness. So intensely base in principle is this 
 pride ! 
 
 But it may also be mistaken and self-deluded in its 
 
176 FALSE GROUNDS 
 
 presumption, as to the fact cf euperioriiy. In many 
 instances, the man who is elated in this pride of supe- 
 riority may really not possess that which he assumes 
 as his just ground for pride — and in the most impor- 
 tant case of all, the verij pride itself is a proof ihni he 
 does not possess the supposed good; that is, in the 
 case of the pride of "holiness," the pride of religious 
 virtue, if we may so express it. The language and 
 spirit of the Prophet's words expose a man as a stran- 
 ger to true holiness, whatever may be the compara- 
 tive state between him and the person to whom he 
 thus speaks ; and on whatever he may found his arro- 
 gant pretensions. 
 
 But to think, how a man's ruhng vice may befool 
 him to make an ostentation of himself in a certain 
 character which the very ostentation itself is the proof 
 that he does not possess ! The person addressed in 
 such spirit and terms — '' I am holier than thou," might 
 have replied, " That might easily be ; — I d© not wish 
 to make comparisons, but this manner of announcing 
 the fact appears to me a bad sign. Because, holiness 
 implies much communication with God, and I have 
 always understood that that tended to abase and hum- 
 ble a man in his own esteem." He might have re- 
 plied — " What, then, is it a cause of pleasure to you 
 that 1 saould be less holy than yourself? Is holiness 
 something else than goodness ? or does goodness ex- 
 clude benevolence ? Would you rather have cause to 
 condemn me than approve? to despise me than love and 
 respect ?" Or again — " Stand olf," you say ; '• why, I 
 should have thought that a holy temper of the soul 
 would rather have wished to invite and attract, in 
 order to assimilate ; in order to exert a benign and 
 purifying influence. — That was the spirit of the most 
 illustrious saints, — and will be of their Lord, when he 
 shall be revealed on the earth. Is it then the aim and 
 use of your holiness to n^ake a kind of god of your- 
 self, for me to stand in awe of, rather than to draw me 
 with you to adore the true God ? Do you want to 
 divide the honour with the Supreme Holiness? If 
 
OF SUPERIORITY IN HOLINESS, 177 
 
 you were an angel the case would not be so. Is not 
 holiness a resemblance, as far as it exists, to God ? 
 But he does not say to me, ' Stand at a distance, come 
 not near to me.' " 
 
 The disposition to arrogate the dignity of holiness, 
 — in other words, of religious worth and excellence, 
 has never become extinct among men, nor the quite 
 consistent disposition to turn it to the use of pride. 
 We specify a few of the many grounds of pretension, 
 on which this assumption of holiness sustains itself, 
 and takes authority for its pride of comparison with 
 other men. 
 
 In some instances, an assumption of superior holi- 
 ness has been made upon the ground of belonging ta 
 a certain division, or class, of mankind ; a class having 
 its distinction in the circumstance of descent and na- 
 tivity, or, in some artificial constitution of societ)% 
 Thus the ancient Jews, — in virtue merely of being 
 JeAvs. Imagine the worst Jew comparing himself with 
 Aristides, Phocion, or Socrates. The Brahmins, m. 
 virtue of a pretended pre-eminently holy descent ; an 
 emanation from the head of their creating god. In 
 popish countries, the numerous ecclesiastical class. 
 Something of this even in Protestant England, within 
 a period not altogether gone beyond remembrance. 
 In these instances there has been an assumption of 
 holiness independently of individual personal chara'c- 
 ter. Think of such things as here recounted! What 
 an infamy to perverted human reason, that any thing 
 which might leave the individual evidently bad, in 
 heart and hfe, could yet be taken as constituting him 
 the reverse of had, that is, holy ! An absurdity paral- 
 lel to transubstantiation. Happily, among us, such a 
 pernicious delusion, in a good measure, is done away. 
 We dare not assert that no one takes any credit to 
 himself, for example, on the circumstance of belong- 
 ing to a consecrated profession ; or, on the circum- 
 stance of descent from an eminently pious ancestry; 
 or of relationship, or friendly connexion, with persons 
 and families of distinguished excellence. But as to 
 16 
 
178 FALSE GROUNDS 
 
 the benefit of this kindred or connexion witli the " ex- 
 cellent of the eartli,-' let it be remembered that even 
 " Noah, Daniel, and Job," could not " have saved sona 
 or daughters." In fact, the absence of personal holi- 
 ness is even still more fatal in such a case. It were a 
 worthy ground of pride — " 1 am connected or related 
 to persons whose excellence, which I value myself 
 upon, is mj^ condemnation !" 
 
 In many periods and places men have reputed them- 
 selves "holy" on the ground of a punctilious observ- 
 ance of religious forms and ceremonies, whether of 
 divine appointment or human invention. This took 
 the place of the true religious sanctity among the 
 Jews. It is a grand characteristic of paganism. It 
 actually stands instead of religion and morality among 
 the far greater part of the people under the dominion 
 of the Romish church. Superstitious and ceremonial 
 observances have their strong hold on human being in 
 this very delusion, that they will do instead of real 
 piety and morality. A remainder of this sanctioned 
 delusion has continued too apparent among our own 
 people. There has been a great deficiency of decided 
 exertion to explode it. The ignorant people have 
 been allowed, and in many instances expressly war- 
 ranted, to repose an undue confidence in some rites 
 and external observances. An intrinsic and, as it 
 were, magical virtue in them has been allowed and 
 warranted by many who should have regarded such a 
 delusion with horror, and been zealous to teach them 
 better. But to come to a less superstitious form of 
 the evih It is to be feared there are some among us 
 who venture a delusive assumption on the ground of a 
 regular attention to the external services of religion ; 
 they habitually attend on public worship ; are gene- 
 rally seen in the more occasional services of a reli- 
 gious nature ; and even maintain some regular forms of 
 religion in the family. On the strength of this, they 
 deem themselves placed at an immeasurable distance 
 from the plainly careless and irreligious part of the 
 community. They know that men ought to have re- 
 
OF SUPERIORITY IN HOLINESS. 179 
 
 lic^ion, and ihey deem this to be sufficiently such. 
 They are therefore on Ihe right side of the essential 
 distinction between o-odly and ungodly. But we have 
 cause to know that all this may be, — and yet no vital 
 transforming prevalence of religion in the heart; no 
 communion with the Father of spirits and of lii>-hts ; 
 no penitential, self-abased, affectionate application of 
 the soul to its Redeemer; no tendency to go forth in 
 contemplation of the grand objects of Aiith. Yet such 
 persons may often indulge in a self-complacent com- 
 parison of themselves with other classes of human 
 character. When they are beginning to do so. let 
 them turn to the serious consideration, whether this be 
 a state of mind adapted to harmonize with what we 
 are taught to conceive of the spirit and emploj^menls 
 of saints in heaven — and while so little prepared to be 
 associated with that higher order, they may withhold 
 their contempt from a class they see below them. 
 
 Another ground of such assumption and pride is 
 general rectitude of practical conduct, separate from 
 the true religious principle of moral exceUence. We 
 need not particularize, in the description of such a 
 conduct. Let it be that which shall pass with honour 
 through society, and on the whole, be able to chal- 
 lenge and defy censure. Such a man may behold 
 with proud contempt the paltry sinners around him. 
 This now is the honourable exterior, the practical 
 man ; and certainly, in some views, he is a valuable 
 member of society. But, are we to look no deeper ? 
 Will God look no deeper ? All this while, there may 
 be no genuine piety. No real love, and little fear, of 
 God ; little of deeply-principled sensibihty of con- 
 science. The man, perhaps, idolizes himself, and is 
 determined that his idol shall have respectable attri- 
 butes. A flagrant blemish would damp his worship. 
 He scorns to do a base, unjust, dishonourable thing, 
 because it is unworthy of him — beneath his dignity. 
 He is resolved, perhaps, to command the respect of 
 mankind ; perhaps has resolution enough to act on 
 the sound wisdom that virtue is the besf policy. He 
 
180 
 
 FALSE GROUNDS 
 
 has acquired a character for worth, — and is resolved 
 to maintain it. Amidst all this, there is no humilia- 
 tion before his Sovereign Judge ; — no affecting and 
 atllicting consciousness of the perversities of his 
 heart; — no faithful investigation of his motives and 
 principles ; — no perception of the numberless practical 
 defects in even his actions ; — no profound conviction 
 of his need of the divine mercy and the merits of 
 Christ — and because he has not these, he can freely 
 indulge his pride in comparing himself with his fel- 
 low-mortals. But is really this " the holiness without 
 which no man shall see the Lord ?" 
 
 The pride of self-estimation for goodness or holiness, 
 is apt to be betrayed by persons who have preserved 
 a character substantially free from reproach, against 
 those who have, in some known instance, fallen into 
 great sin. It might have been a case in which they 
 were encountered by sudden, or complicated, or very 
 extraordinary temptation, such as all should pray 
 earnestly to be sav^ed from. The delinquent may 
 have penitently deplored the transgression through 
 many subsequent years. It may hav* e contributed to 
 render him cautious and self-diffident ever since ; 
 and the subsequent course of conduct may have been 
 exemplary ; the painful recollection has often served 
 to repress his temper and restrain his language when 
 he has had to reprehend w^ong conduct in others. 
 But it has been often enough seen, that another person 
 who has been happy enough, from whatever cause, 
 not to incur any such marked blemish on his charac- 
 ter, will assume atone of high superiority against him, 
 especially if provoked in any case of competition, 
 though ke may never have had the same strength of 
 temptation to combat with ; — may never think of as- 
 cribing his exemption to any higher cause than his 
 own good principles ; — and may be quite destitute of 
 some valuable qualities the other possesses. The 
 whole life of this self-applauder may. have been little 
 better than a series of negatives. His faulty, peni- 
 tent brother may have done much good. If a man of 
 
OF SUPERIORITY IN HOLINESS. 181 
 
 ordinary rate had boasted against Peter, that he liad 
 never dishonoured himseU" by any crime comparable 
 to denying Christ, — Peter would have answered more 
 in sorrow than in anger ; but what would have been 
 thought of such a boaster, telling Peter, "I am holier 
 thanlhou ?" 
 
 We notice a very different mode of this proud self- 
 estimation and comparison. A man may have had liis 
 mind by some means directed to a speculative know- 
 ledge of religious doctrine ; may have been drawn 
 into a train of reading, thinking, disputing ; may have 
 acquired a large command of topics and arguments. 
 We will suppose that it is valuable knowledge that 
 he has gained ; that his opinions are right, and his 
 arguments for them sound. Now we have seen too 
 many unhappy instances, in evidence that all this 
 may be, and yet the man feel little or nothing of the 
 divine and sanctifying power of rehgious truth. Yet 
 so ready is the speculatist and advocate to take to him- 
 self all "the dignity and excellence of his subject and 
 his cause, that this man may take up a lofty preten- 
 sion — if not strictly and formally to "holiness," yet to 
 some meritorious relation to truth and religion ; some- 
 thing which authorizes him in a high contempt, — not 
 only of those who know nothing about religion, but 
 also of those wdio feel iis genuine influence and power, 
 when they are feeble in the speculative intelligence 
 of it. He accounts himself to be in the confidence of 
 religion, and that he must be invested with something 
 of its venerable character, when he can so authenti- 
 cally declare its mind. 
 
 There is such a thing as a factitious zeal in the 
 active service of religion ; and that forms a ground of 
 high pretension. You may have seen examples. 
 Men in restless activity ; full of scheme, and expe- 
 dient, and experiment , and ostentatious enterprise, 
 to promote, apparently, the work of God, the Chris- 
 tian cause ; seeming ready to compass sea and land 
 for the purpose. But an attentive observer could 
 easily descry, that the cause of God was a very sec- 
 16* 
 
182 FALSE GROUNDS 
 
 ondary concern with them, even at the best interpre- 
 tation. Their grand object, whether they were con- 
 scious of it or not, was iheir own notoriety ; and the 
 cause of rehgion happened to be that which would 
 effectually serve this purpose. " Come see my zeal 
 for llie Lord of hosts." The successes and progress, 
 real or pretended, of a good cause, were recounted 
 and proclaimed by them in no other form of story, 
 than that of their own exploits for it. Yet even such 
 men could allow themselves in arrogance and pride. 
 There are a number of persons among professing 
 Christians whose minds are almost ever dwelling on 
 certain high points of doctrine, sought chiefly in the 
 book of God's eternal decrees. And it is on these 
 doctrines that they found, in some manner, an abso- 
 lute assurance of their being in Christ, in the divine 
 favour, children of God, and therefore as sure of 
 heaven as if they were there. Now God forbid that, 
 with the New Testament before us, and a multitude 
 of pious examples, we should deny, or for an instant 
 doubt, that there is a firm and rational assurance of 
 salvation attainable in this life ; or that any one of us 
 should not earnestly seek to attain it. But how at- 
 tained ? whereon founded ? Do the Scriptures and 
 reason authorize any other principle or process than 
 this : that a man do most carefully ascertain what it 
 is that, according to the divine word, constitutes a 
 Christian; and then make a most faithful investiga- 
 tion into the state of his soul and his life, to ascertain 
 whether that which constitutes a Christian be act- 
 ually there ; and if it be, to take the assurance, — and 
 bless God for the evidence ; and bless him for having 
 wrought in them this preternatural character ? But 
 the persons we speak of refuse to have the matter 
 placed on this ground. Not wholly indeed perhaps, 
 for they will somewhat equivocate -, but in substance 
 they refuse it ; and will maintain their assurance in- 
 dependently of it. They describe ft nearly as if it 
 had come to them by a distinct, positive, and formal 
 revelation from heaven ; setting aside all need of any 
 
OF SUPERIORITY IN HOLINESS. 183 
 
 such rule of evidence as we have spoken of. We are 
 not ignorant, that men of eminent piety and hoKness 
 have often received a kind oi" blissful illapses and irra- 
 diations into their souls, bearing to them a mystical 
 testimony, to confirm, and animate into trium.ph, the 
 assurance founded on evidence. And questionless, 
 elevated and humble piety, in communion with God, 
 will often receive such rays from his countenance. 
 But these devout spirits have been careful not to sub- 
 stitute such confirmatory impressions for the tangible 
 basis of evidence on which the question rested. They 
 recurred to this in their repeated self-examinations 
 and self judgments; and earnestly insisted on it in their 
 religious instructions. As to the practical influence of 
 this tlieir happy assurance, it has both served to rectify 
 still more highly their conscience and moral prin- 
 ciples, and to repress any disposition to a self-right- 
 eous arrogance towards persons less favoured in point 
 of religious confidence. Whereas, — some such per- 
 sons as we are referring to, betray that their assur- 
 ance, which takes its stand on so lofty a position, in- 
 dependent of a faithful estimate of the heart and life, 
 has an unsanctifying effect; it slackens and narrows 
 the force and compass of the jurisdiction of conscience ; 
 and especially, cherishes in them the spirit of self-right- 
 eousness. They can look wiih pride, not with pious 
 gratitude, from a high and privileged condition, on 
 those who are suffering doubts and solicitude respect- 
 ing their state towards God and a future world. 
 
 We also name as one of the things made a ground 
 of pretension and pride, — the experience of elafed, ar- 
 dent, enthusiastic feelings, in some semblance of con- 
 nexion with religion, — but not really of its genuine in- 
 spiration. It is a noble advantage for religion, and 
 for its living subject, when it lights upon a mind of 
 great excitability, and vigorous passions, provided 
 there also be there a solid strength of reason. Even 
 though there be not strong reason, in this mind of 
 strong passions, when it is a genuine, and therefore a 
 
184 
 
 sanctifjMng, influence of religion that acts upon it. tlie 
 etiects maybe most happy, sometimes most admirable. 
 So salutary, so true to its heavenly origin, is the in- 
 fluence oi^ real pietfj, that it does in a measure supply 
 the place and the want of strong reason. It puts the 
 feelings which it actuates in coincidence with correct 
 reason. — even without the standard being distinctly 
 recognized. The passions may be trusted with it, 
 v/hen they could not with any other guardian or tutelar 
 genius: even more safely than with that same reason 
 itself alone. As if a band of agents were put under 
 the direction of an angel instead of a philosopher. 
 But unhappily there are many instances in which the 
 passions are excited to ardour and vehemence, in some 
 sort of relation to the truths of religion, but not under 
 its genuine operation. The passions were w^aiting in 
 readiness for some stimulus, for any stimulu;?, for any 
 match, to set them on fire. The grand ideas and im- 
 ages of religion have in them something naturally 
 adapted to produce great excitement. Those ideas 
 have perhaps also been presented to the mind under 
 very particular circumstances and associations, fitted 
 to strike and inflame. So there has been caused a 
 natural, a sort of rudely poetical excitement of the 
 fancy and passions, in connexion with religious ideas, 
 but not under the real sanctifying influence of religion. 
 The want of this holy principle has been betrayed, by 
 an utter dereliction, and rout, and expulsion of sound 
 notions, the while : — by perhaps a most grotesque 
 mixture of low andludicrous fancies; — by a promptitude 
 of these inflamed passions to turn suddenly to some 
 mischief; — and in the result, by the predominance of a 
 proud contempt in self-comparison with persons of a 
 slow, and grave, and thoughtful, and humble tempera- 
 ment in religion. The proper rebuke to such deluded 
 minds, whenever they may be cool enough to listen to 
 it, is, — •' You may be sure that is not a truly pioifs 
 ardour, which does not result in humility towards God, 
 — in charity towards your brethren, — and in a fitness 
 
OF givIng and receiving reproof. 185 
 
 and disposition to prosecute the steady labours and du- 
 ties of Christian life ; in other words, which does not 
 make you the better practical Christian." 
 
 It was intended to enforce a few of the general con- 
 siderations corrective of the delusion and the vice de- 
 scribed — but they could be only such as will suggest 
 themselves to every thoughtful mind. For example : 
 a consideration of the holiness of God, and the depth 
 and breadth of his law ; — the necessity of a deep know- 
 ledge of the heart, and its corruption: — of the grand 
 purpose and end of religion; — the special and peculiar 
 adaptation of the plan of redemption by Jesus Christ to 
 abase men in their own view ; — of the manner in 
 which true "holiness" has evinced and displayed it- 
 self in the most eminent human examples of it; and 
 the effect which the last judgment will have, refleci- 
 ively. on all men's previous estimates of themselves, 
 and comparisons with one another. 
 
 XX. 
 
 RIGHT MODE OF GIVING AXD RECEIVING RE- 
 PROOF. 
 
 '• Am I therefore become your enemy, because I tell 
 you the truth ?" — Men commonly assign a number of 
 the persons and things witliin their sphere to the 
 classes, respectively, of friends and enemies. There 
 are beings that have in them an evil spirit toward us, 
 and there are those that have a good one. It is of 
 very great importance that men rightly account of 
 what are such, friends and enemies, because very 
 much of what men are, and what they do, depends on 
 what they account friends and enemies. Many ihings 
 
186 RIGHT MODE OF GIVING 
 
 in our rotions, lastcp, habits, practices, if traced back 
 to the cause, are what they are, because such and 
 such men were regarded by us as friends or as ene- 
 mies. 
 
 How disastrous, tlierefore. tliat perversity of appre- 
 hension through which enemies have so often been 
 accounted friends, and friends enemies! And espe- 
 cially conspicuous has this perversity been in regard 
 to the point suggested by Paul, wlietlier it should be 
 esteemed the part of a friend faithfully to tell men the 
 truth; — and whether the suppression of truth, and the 
 substitution of its opposite, should not be held to 
 mark the character of an enemy. 
 
 Advert in your thoughts, to the first temptation in 
 the world. — the fii^t communication to man of opin- 
 ion and advice, after God had finished speaking. 
 The most gross, and impious, and pernicious false- 
 hood was pronounced; what there was the most abso- 
 lute evidence must be such. And it was taken for the 
 language of a friend ! For what plainer proof can 
 there be that the speaker is regarded as a friend, than 
 that his advice is practically taken, when the taking of 
 it involves the most momentous inierests ? 
 
 How much into the dark this fa'^t plunges us, in re- 
 spect to the question, " What really w^as, in kind and 
 degree, the original rectitude of man ?" The bare 
 fact proves irresistibly, that too much of what many 
 systematic divines have inconsiderately wTitten, can 
 be no better than poetry. 
 
 In exemplification of how men have judged of friends. 
 — how did the world become covered with a deluge of 
 error, but because those were accounted friends who 
 spoke the reverse of truth? Ask again, where and 
 when has it been that flatterers were not admitted and 
 welcomed as friends ? What a prodigious singularity 
 in history were it, if there were recorded any nation, or 
 tribe, or city, in which these were generally and practi- 
 cally discouraged and silenced, and honest truth was 
 the way to iavour ! When ever was it, that honest truth 
 was the obvious expedient of self-interest ? Self-inter- 
 
AND RECEIVING REPROOF. 1S7 
 
 est with men is to be promoted by giving them the per- 
 suasion that we are their friends. WeU.lhen, lias their 
 faithtulness been the way in which menhave gone about 
 to make their fehow-mortals esteem them for friends ? 
 How often has the amicable state of feehng been bro- 
 ken up by telhng the truth, even when done in a proper 
 spirit and manner ! The great apostle himself seems 
 not without apprehension of such an etiect, sincere 
 as he was, and atfectionate, and venerable, and even 
 speaking to them with the authority of God. And still, 
 and always, is not this honest expression of truth one 
 of the most difficult and hazardous things a friend has 
 to do ? All which is but one more example to show 
 that, in this world, whatever is the best in a thing, is 
 the most difficult to be had, and to be kept in that thing. 
 
 But now, in a general theoretical judgment, meli 
 would approve, by implication at least, what is so un- 
 welcome when it comes to the practice. 
 
 '= What iDould you wish your friend to &e?"— " What- 
 ever else, I would wish him to be sincere." Sincere ! 
 and what then ? What is his sincerity ? Not a thing 
 simply and silently within himself. ^ 
 
 '• What would you wish your friend to he ?" — " That 
 he should take a very genuine interest in my welfare, 
 and be desirous to promote it." Well, and is his sole 
 and sovereign rule for consulting and promoting your 
 welfare to be, that he should always please you ? If 
 he deliberately thinks that certain things are true, and 
 that though the representation of them will not sound 
 quite graciously in your ears, it is important to your 
 welfare that they should be pressed on your attention, 
 what is he to do ? what will he truly seeking to pro- 
 mote your welfare ? 
 
 '• What would you wish yoitr friend to he V — " A per- 
 son of a clear, sound, discriminating judgment, and a de- 
 cided preference, in all things, for what is right." Well, 
 but he will exercise this judgment on you ; and would 
 you not wish to have the benefit of it. so exercised ? 
 And his strong, discerning, conscientious preference of 
 what is right,— must he take care never to signify it in 
 
188 RIGHT MODE OF GIVING 
 
 any way that should convey an admonition or reproach 
 to you ? 
 
 " IHiat u-mild you wish your friend to he ?"— " That 
 he should not be a man lull of self-complEcency, a s^ell- 
 idolater, but observant and severe toward his oun er- 
 rors and defects.-' Indeed ! and is this the man that is 
 to be quite insensible to your defects and faults ? is he 
 not to apply the same law ? Or if he does perceive and 
 judge, is it his duty to judge, is it his duty to cherish in 
 you that very self-complacency which you require he 
 should not have in himself? Is he to be content that 
 you should be that which you could not tolerate him to 
 be? 
 
 " miat u'oidd you wish your friend to 6e?" — "I 
 should wish he were a man that would include me ex- 
 pressly in his petitions to the God of all grace, praying 
 that, among other things, I might be corrected, im- 
 proved, and delivered from those evils which he per- 
 ceives in me, and God tar more clearly." 
 
 Well now, are these evils too sacred for any finger 
 but that of God to touch ? Are you, with your faults, 
 like the holy ark ? — if Uzzah apply a hand he must be 
 smitten ! May not the friend venture to say thus to 
 you — " I have prayed for you against such and such 
 things ?" Would you be displeased that he would thus 
 gently and seriously excite you to make the same re- 
 quests yourself? Or at least excite you to think, 
 whether they are not such as you would do well to 
 make, and do well to adopt a corresponding self-disci- 
 pline'? We will but suppose one more answer to the 
 question, 
 
 " What woidd you wish your friend to be ?" — " I 
 would wish him to be such that, as the last result of my 
 communications with him, a great deal of whatever 
 may be defective and wrong in me shall have been dis- 
 ciplined away." But by what manner of operation, if 
 he is never to hint at such a thing ? Is it to be by some 
 moral magic 7 Or is he to presume no farther than to 
 admonish by example ? What ! not even if he per- 
 ceives that that admonition does not tedie effect ? How 
 
AND RECEIVING REPROOF. 189 
 
 many pointed suggestions of his mind is he to withhold 
 from putting into words, in waiting to see whether they 
 will arise in your own thoughts ? May he not justly 
 despair of accomplishing niuch beneficial correction, so 
 long as he must not say that he intends or wishes to do 
 it ? so long, in short, as he leels himself in hazard of 
 becoming, in your regard, an " enemy " by telling you 
 the truth ? 
 
 Thus men will profess, and perhaps unthinkingly be- 
 lieve, that they derive the most essential benefits deriv- 
 able ifrom a true friend ; but if he shall offer to impart 
 them, he becomes an "enemy!" But consider, what 
 an invitation, the while, this temper of mind gives to 
 real enemies ; — to the flatterer ; — to the designing hyp- 
 ocrite ; — to every imposition the mind can put upon 
 itself: — and to the great deceiver of souls ; to any thing 
 but salutary truth ! 
 
 The great cause of this perversity and repugnance 
 is, that it cannot be but that plain truth, by whatever 
 voice, must say many things that are unpleasing. All 
 censure is so, as it hurts that most quick, and delicate, 
 and constant of all feelings, self-love. Who dares to 
 say in how many points the full unmitigated applica- 
 tion of truth to him would not be censure ? Who dares 
 to say how many of these points might not be struck 
 upon by a clear-sighted friend, that should unreserv- 
 edly express " the Truth?" Hence the disposition to re- 
 gard him as an " enemy." 
 
 Another thing greatly contributing to this feeling 
 toward him is, a want of the real earnest desire to be in 
 all things set right ; a kind of hollow truce which is kept 
 up with conscience, with great difficulty, easily dis- 
 turbed, and the disturbance painful ; therefore, " do not, 
 do not come to provoke the enemy within !" 
 
 Then, again, there is pride, reacting against a fellow- 
 mortal and fellow-sinner. The man who expresses 
 corrective truth, seems, for the time, to assume a cer- 
 tain klRd of superiority. Theadmonisher, the reprover, 
 seems to assume a capacity partaking of both law- 
 giver and judge, — and this appearance will not be per- 
 17 
 
190 RIGHT METHOD OF GIVING 
 
 fectly qualified away by any disavowal of all such as- 
 sumption ; nor even by the man's declaring that he is 
 sensible he is at the same time censuring also himself, 
 and is desirous to take to himself the admonition he 
 gives. Still the sentiment of pride is, " What right 
 has a fellow-sinner, with his own defects to be correct- 
 ed, thus to summon and arraign me before him as hi 
 judgment?" 
 
 Here how obviously is the consideration suggested, 
 of the importance of a practical se//-correction, in order 
 to be able to admonish and correct others with dignity 
 and effect. 
 
 Another thing against a man's amicable reception 
 in the character of a corrective instructor is, not sel- 
 dom, a real difference of judgnient on the matters in 
 question. When the " friend " ventures to express 
 some accusatory '' truth," as he deems it, the answer 
 may be, " I do not admit it to be truth," and, of course, 
 it is possible the respondent may be right. But if he 
 only thinks so, he is inclined to take double offence. 
 The corrector both has taken upon him to be a judge 
 and censurer, and has judged and censured wrong. 
 The spirit of defensive hostility rises at once in the 
 accused, and both are prompted to rush into " a just 
 and necessary war P In this case, if it were possible 
 for them to have friendly and Christian temper enough 
 to argue the matter calmly, they might both receive 
 advantage. The one or the other might be convinced 
 of error, and ingenuously acknowledge it, glad to be 
 just so much a gainer. Or more probably, each might 
 eome to see reason to admit the other's representation 
 in part, so that they should nearly coincide. The per- 
 son reprehended might acknowledge the truth and jus- 
 tice to a certain extent, and at the same time succeed 
 in showing the other that there are circumstances and 
 considerations greatly modifying the attributed fault. 
 Is it not mortifying to think how seldom such amicable 
 discussion is permitted by temper and pride to take 
 place, even among good men ! 
 
 We note only one thing more as tending tc excite in 
 
AND RECEIVING REPROOF. 191 
 
 a person hearing unpleasant truth a feeling as toward 
 an '•enemy,'" that is, an unfavourable opinion or sur- 
 mise, as to the motives of the teller of this truth. If it 
 is truth, and useful truth, the motives of him that says 
 it should make no material difference. Even from 
 an enemy real instruction has an undiminished value. 
 As we are constituted, this consideration does make a 
 great difference. But the person reprehended should 
 reflect, how strongly the nature of the case tempts him 
 to think unfavourably of the motives. Let him con- 
 sider how slowly such surmises are entertained by him 
 when he receives approbation or applause. Such com- 
 placent expressions may have been repeatedly receiv- 
 ed from the person who now for once ventures to utter 
 blame. Was he then accounted or suspected for an 
 " enemy ?" But is all the assurance and evidence of 
 his being a friend to be annihilated by a few sentences 
 in a different kind of language? 
 
 Here, however, it is to be acknowledged that truth 
 may sometimes be spoken in the spirit of an enemy, 
 and for an enemy's purpose ; far from any intention to 
 do good, or real love of truth. In many an instance it 
 has been spoken and urged home,fortheverypurposeof 
 mortifying and tormenting. Sometimes it has been 
 spoken in triumphant revenge for admonitions and re- 
 proofs formerly received ; for the purpose of preclud- 
 ing a repetition of such unwelcome admonitions, and 
 silencing the monitory voice. It has been uttered in 
 the pure delight of being able to fix the reproach of 
 something wrong on even the best men. It has been 
 deliberatfly considered and kept back in readiness to 
 be uttered when too late to do any good. It has even 
 been digested and reserved in the mind to be uttered 
 with infernal exultation, to inflict a pang on a person 
 sinking in distress or in death. Let no speaker of 
 truth then, actuated by evil motives, content or acquit 
 himself by being able to say, " It was truth, and noth- 
 ing but truth, that I expressed." 
 
 But setting out of view all such depravity as this. 
 
192 RIGHT METHOD OF GIVING 
 
 we shall do well, to insist on a circumstance or two of 
 propriety, in respect to the telling of unpleasant truth. 
 
 For one thing, it is self-evident that those who have 
 to do this, should well exercise themselves to under- 
 stand what they speak of. If this be a rule of propri- 
 ety generally, in the utterance of thoughts and judg- 
 ments, it is especially so in respect to those which are 
 to be ejfpressed as reprehensions, directly applied to 
 persons and to friends ; where some pain and displeas- 
 ure may be expected to be caused, and opposition pro- 
 voked. On such occasions how needful a knowledge 
 of the subject, well-considered opinion, clear represen- 
 tation, pertinent sound argument. 
 
 It hardly needs be said, that a real and evident 
 friendly intention is of great avail. It may be added, 
 that there should not be the same stress laid on every 
 thing, that may not be exactly as the corrective in- 
 structor thinks it ought. Indeed, many minor things 
 may wisely be altogether passed over. 
 
 In presenting admonitory or accusatory truth, it 
 should be the instructor's aim tliat the authority may 
 be conveyed in the truth itself, and not seem to be as- 
 sumed by him, as the speaker of it ; that he may be the 
 mere conveyer of the force of the subject. You have 
 seen this difference exemplified no doubt. One man, 
 a discreet and modest one, shall keep himself as much 
 as he can out of the pleading, and press the essential 
 virtue and argument of the subject. Another makes 
 himself prominent in it. so that yielding to the argument 
 shall seem to be yielding to him. His style, expressly 
 or in effect, is this : "I think my opinion should have 
 some weight in this case." " These arguments are 
 what have satisfied ???e." " If you have any respect 
 for my judgment," &c. &c. So that the great point 
 with him is not so much that you should be co7ivinced, 
 as that he should have the credit of convincing you. 
 
 Once more, — the teller of unpleasing truths should 
 watch to select favourable times and occasions, " ?»o/- 
 lia tcmpora fmidi f~whenixn inquisitive or docile 
 
AND RECEIVING REPROOF, 193 
 
 disposition is most apparent ; — when some circum- 
 stance or topic naturally leads, without formality or 
 abruptness ; — when there appears to be in the way the 
 least to put the person reproved in the attitude of 
 pride and hostile self-defence. 
 
 It is an unhappy fact, that even among friends, the 
 very reverse of this discreet and benevolent policy 
 very generally prevails. Of all times, it is just in thai 
 when something has made them angry, — when the 
 state of amicable feeling is for the time broken up, that 
 they speak out the most of the ungracious truth which 
 they have thought at other times. They have thought 
 of it, and wished to say it, but did not know how : 
 they have waited for a favourable occasion, but it 
 never seemed to come; the subject has therefore been 
 brooded over in silence, and perhaps created many an 
 unansicable and unaraiable mood, which was not ex- 
 plained. Till at length ! So that " the truth," for we 
 
 v/ill suppose that there is much truth uttered in this ex- 
 plosion, instead of doing any of the good which it might 
 in a certain manner of communication, records itself, as 
 it were, in deep and lasting mischief What might, by 
 wisdom and benevolence, have been made to fall as a 
 salutary shower, is gradually collected and darkened 
 till it bursts forth in a violent and destructive tempesto 
 One great mischief of ^/jws •' telling the truth " is, that it 
 can hardly ever afterwards be said in a conciliating and 
 persuasive manner. That subject is thenceforward to 
 be avoided, or but reserved for another storm. 
 
 How much it is to be wished that all this could be 
 mended ; among friends especially. One thinks that 
 among them it should be pos- ible that the system of 
 social communication might be constituted on such 
 high principles, that it should be understood as their 
 mutual wish and claim to have the advantage of one 
 anoiher's faithful friendly animadversions. Or that at 
 least, more particular friends might expressly recog- 
 nize this as a right and obligation. Think, if this 
 were practicable, what a benefit it might be! Con- 
 sider, how many thoughts there are, in their sepai-ate 
 17* 
 
194 RIGHT MODE OF GIVING REPROOF. 
 
 minds, concerning one anotlier, which would be bene- 
 ficially corrective, if they could come by some intuition 
 into the other's mind respectively. How^ often it has 
 occurred to you — '• This that is in wy thoughts when 
 I think oniiin — I do wish it could be in his — for I am 
 sure it would have some good etiect; that is to say, if 
 it could be in his mind, without being suggested from 
 mine ; but as so suggested, 1 cannot be sure it would 
 be at all efficacious," The fear of what our text ex- 
 presses, still hangs over the mind, and shuts it up from 
 the desired communication. And no wonder, when 
 this has so often been the experience of the most genu- 
 ine friends, in presenting salutary truth ; so often the 
 experience of the w^ortliiest instructors, parents, minis- 
 ters, philanthropists ; of prophets and apostles, of 
 Moses and Paul ; nay, of our divine Lord, and JNIaster, 
 and Redeemer himself! 
 
 But still, let not the sincere friend suffer himself al- 
 together to despond. And that this task and service 
 o'i telling the truth may not be in vain, and worse, we 
 cannot, in conclusion, too strongly insist on the duly 
 with respect to hearing it. Men should be aware, that 
 it is an unfavourable symptom of the state of the mind, 
 when there is an excessive and irritable delicacy as to 
 hearing things which are the contrary of flattery. Is 
 it a wise self-love that would thus draw a protective 
 and inviolable line round every thing that is ours ; 
 round all the defects and faults wc may have, which 
 are our closest and most mischievous enemies? As 
 if a garrison should make a point of most sacredly pro- 
 tecting the very traitors it knows or suspects it has 
 within, because they belong to their town ! 
 
 The right disposition of mind is, that which desires 
 earnestly '^ the truth !" — " the truth 1" in whatever 
 manner it may come to us. Not that the manner of its 
 being conveyed is quite indifferent; far from it; but 
 '• the truth," howsoever it come, has its owv\ intrinsic 
 eternal value. And what a fool I am, if I will not 
 take it, and apply it to its use, just because the man- 
 ner of iis coming to me has not pleased niel Even 
 
NOAH AND THE DFLUGE. 195 
 
 from an avowed enemy, as il has often been said, we 
 ouQ:ht to be willing to learn ; but surely then, w^hen it 
 is from a friend, a Christian friend ! 
 
 Recollect the disposition of the psalmist: "Let the 
 rigliteous smite me, it shall be a kindness; let him re- 
 prove me, it shall be an excellent oil, which shall not 
 break my head." Let it be remembered, that there 
 have been many instances in which a friend, silent 
 when he shoulti have spoken, has himself afterwards 
 received the reproof, in serious and pathetic terms, for 
 not having done so, from the person whom he declined 
 to admonish. 
 
 If there be those who are of a temperament so pain- 
 fully and irritably susceptible, that they really can no 
 way bring themselves to be w^illing to hear corrective 
 truth from others, how strong is the obligation that they 
 should look so much the more severely to themselves. 
 
 XXL 
 
 NOAH AND THE DELUGE. 
 
 '■ By faith Noah, being VKirned of God of things not 
 seen as yet, moved with fear, prepared an ark to the 
 saving of his house ; by which he condemned, the world, 
 and, became heir of the righteousness which is byfaith.''^ 
 — The Apostle was to inculcate the importance and 
 necessity of faith, that is, the assured and efficacious 
 belief of things on the divine testimony, these things 
 not being themselves present, in their own evidence, 
 either to the senses or to reason. 
 
 Things unseen ; some of them unseen because they 
 are of a spiritual nature ; some, because far otiin past 
 time : some, because yet in futurity. So wide a sphere 
 must that faith extend to, which is yet absolutely es- 
 sential to relisrion. These things. — of so srand a com- 
 
196 NOAH AND THE DELUOE. 
 
 pass and variety. — are 1o be firmly believed, in the 
 simple intellectual sense ; — and more than so. tliey 
 mn.st be "believed with the heart;" so believed that 
 they shall have their due and commanding influence 
 on the active powers of the soul. This is the required 
 faith ; this, from the beginning of the world to tlie end, 
 is e.ssential to the character of the children of God ; a 
 most noble, a sublime power in the human soul, — if it 
 can exist there. 
 
 But if there were not examples, it would seem diffi- 
 cult to conceive that such a power can be there, con- 
 sidering how the soul is enclosed in matter, within the 
 bodily senses, and thickly and closely surrounded by 
 material objects ; continually occupied and aflected by 
 present object.^ and interests; pressed upon bj' a thou- 
 sand matters oC present good and evil ; and in addition, 
 a fatal contentment for it to be so ; a perverse, a de- 
 plorable indisposition to go out from and beyond this 
 enclosing sphere of present objects, to converse with 
 God, and an unseen world; and to go forward in 
 solemn thought into hereafter. All this considered, — 
 it would seem as if such a faith as that required were 
 something quite beyond the capacity of our nature, and 
 so it is utterly, except by a divine change wrought 
 upon that nature. Great indeed would the difficulty 
 of such a thing appear. It was well therefore for the 
 apostle to bring in view a splendid assemblage of ex- 
 amples of this fiiith ; real instances, in which faith has 
 been embodied as a living spectacle ; showing its pos- 
 sibility, its power, its manner of operation, ifs worthi- 
 ness, and its great reward. This assemblage con- 
 tains, with some exceptions of inferior character, the 
 prime of the ancient world. — Comparison between 
 them and the heroes and demigods of mythology ; the 
 heroes, the sa<i:es. and the men celebrated for virtue, 
 in the ancient heathen history. — 
 
 Very early in the series appears the patriarch Noah, 
 the second grand progenitor of the human race, a pre- 
 eminently conspicuous object, — inasmuch as the whole 
 human world is seen reduced and contracted down to 
 
NOAH AND THE DELUGE. 197 
 
 him and his small family; a very narrow isthmus be- 
 tween a world of men before, and a world after. If 
 but there a fatal breach had been made ! — If the dart 
 of death had fallen on that one family, in the only in- 
 habited tenement in the world ! The frailty of mortal- 
 ity, and its surrounding dangers, were there I — A fire 
 might have kindled there ; lightning mighthave struck ; 
 a malignant fever might have seized that little house- 
 hold ; one of the formidable beasts there might have 
 broken loose, and the supernatural restraint and 
 spell on its fierce temperament might have been for a 
 moment suspended 1 There, and thus liable, but for 
 special divine intervention, was all that existed of man 
 on the earth ! but for ichich intervention, the vast 
 scheme of Providence for the subsequent ages had 
 been set aside ; the appointment of a Redeemer had 
 been frustrated ! There, as in a cradle surrounded 
 with perils, was the infancy of the imme'ftse population 
 that has spread over the world. 
 
 In this great crisis man was preserved. Our com- 
 placency in contemplating this great preservation 
 would have been much greater, if man, in the transi- 
 tion, had left his depravity behind, with the ancient 
 and extinguished race. But that was a radical quality 
 — it faithfully and fatally inhered and accompanied! 
 Millions of deaths, and deaths expressly and specially 
 on its account, could not cause it to die. It lurked in 
 the ark itself, infinitely the most fell and direful ser- 
 pent that was there. Yet the wickedness of man ap- 
 pears to have been more universal and unmingled in 
 the times before the flood. It seems an exclusive ex- 
 pression when the Lord said to Noah, " Thee have I 
 seen righteous before me in this generation." A nearly 
 solitary individual of determined piety and holiness in 
 such a generation, would be in circumstances to need 
 habitual direct communications from heaven. 
 
 Among these communications was one which could 
 not reasonably surprise the patriot, — though it would 
 make a most awful impression. He was '• warned of 
 God !" The time of the catastrophe was signified to 
 
198 
 
 NOAH AND THE DELUGE 
 
 him — one hundred and twenty years beforehand. 
 This however would seem to place the event far off, 
 according to men's calculations of time. There was 
 now the trial of the patriarch's fiiith. Would the Al- 
 mighty really make a vast blank in his creation ? Was 
 the declaration meant for more than a mere general 
 expression of his wrath, a menace to alarm and intimi- 
 date ? No event the most remotely like this, had ever 
 yet been known in the world. How, by any possibil- 
 ity, was it to take place ? As to constructing an enor- 
 mous vessel, to save himself and all the terrestrial ani- 
 mals, by what means was he to etfect any such unpar- 
 alleled work?— A vessel of burden equal to nearly 
 twenty ships of the line. — While attempting it, would 
 not he be assailed by the universal scorn, and at length 
 by the destructive violence, of the wicked multitude? 
 How were al^the various animals to be brought to the 
 receptacle, and kept in order there? And even sup- 
 posing all this were done, what safety still could there 
 be amidst such a dreadful commotion and confusion 
 of the elements? in such a breaking up of the whole 
 order of nature ? Then, is not this apparent revelation 
 from God a visionary fancy, a gloomy delusion? 
 
 So might he have mused and queslioneci with him- 
 self And certninly a case so strange and astonishing 
 did require that he'should make sure he had the clear- 
 est evidence of a divine communication. He did 
 make sure of this. It was evident to him that it was 
 God that had spoken to him. and he believed the decla- 
 ration. The proper consequence followed ; he was 
 "moved with fear." and he set about the work that 
 was commanded him. Believino-. simply believing, is 
 the basis of vital fiiih ; but if this be all, it comes to 
 nothing. It avails and suffices no more than if Noah 
 had contented himself with drawing a plan, or shap- 
 ing a model of the prescribed ark, and perhaps mark- 
 ing the trees that would serve for the timber. To 
 each belief, relative to important concerns, there is 
 some appropriate affection or passion ; and the belief 
 must bring that into exercise. Noah's belief excited 
 
NOAH AND THE DELUGE. 
 
 199 
 
 his " fear." And, in concerns involving practice, 
 there is an action appropriate to each belief and cor- 
 responding emotion — he " prepared an ark." With 
 this mechanical employment, we are told he combined 
 the " preaching of righteousness" to that wicked^and 
 abandoned generation. 
 
 " While the ark was preparing." And this mere 
 glimpse of information is all that is given us, of more 
 than a century preceding the most memorable event, 
 except one, of all time ; an interval too, during which, 
 doubtless, everything was inuncleviating, unsuspend- 
 ed progress toward the catastrophe. It will often oc- 
 cur to us, in reading of the great events in the sacred 
 history, — how little the divine wisdom judged it neces- 
 sary for us to know of things w^iich it would have 
 been inexpressibly interesting to know. For instance. 
 — in what manner Noah's announcement of the divine 
 prediction was received ; in wiiat measure and man- 
 ner he was assisted in his mighty labour by the peo- 
 ple, — and with what feeling, on their part. Think of 
 the persons employed asking and receiving from him 
 precise directions, about one part and another, with 
 explanations respecting the purpose of it — and all this 
 in the mere temper of workmen ! Whether the ark, 
 in its construction, was regarded with absolute indif- 
 ference, except as an object of scorn, or whether it did 
 strike any of them as an ominous spectacle. To the 
 generality no doubt it afforded endless amusement in 
 their conversations. Whether there were not designs 
 formed and attempted to destroy it, and if so, — wheth- 
 er they were frustrated by sadden strokes of divine 
 vengeance. — A fire from heaven on some profane and 
 daring incendiary. — What might be the strain of 
 Noah's addresses to the people ; whether, in rebuking 
 their wickedness, he was authorized to enlarge on 
 offers and promises of mercy to repentance ; whether 
 the denunciations of the Almighty were by any means 
 made known to the entire population of the earth ; 
 whether his admonitions ceased, or changed their lan- 
 guage, when the ark was coming very near its com- 
 
200 
 
 NOAH AND THE DELUGE. 
 
 pletion. Onr imagination will represent his mingled 
 and profound en)otions at seeing thus combined in the 
 same fact the assurance of his safety and of their de- 
 struct.on ; — his feelings in placing the last timbers on 
 the structure, and in being perhaps assisted to do it by 
 some of these doomed hands ; and looking down from 
 the elevation on numbers gazing with idle curiosity and 
 impious mockery, anticipating witii what other feelings 
 and language, ere long, surrounding multitudes would 
 look at this structure, closed and inaccessible ! 
 
 In looking abroad over the region, while the last 
 beams and planks were in adjusting, he would feel 
 that, in effect, he was preparing the whole earth for 
 one grave of all its inhabiiants ; — that heaven w^as ar- 
 raying him as to be the mournful high priest at a stu- 
 pendous sacrifice, in which all that had the breath of 
 life was to be offered — at once ; — that the time was at 
 hand when, at every breathing of his own, he should 
 be sensible that countless numbers were in the agony 
 of suflibcation; — and that yet a little while, and he 
 would find himself in the midst of a silent and solitary 
 world ! 
 
 But, all this while, perhaps nothing unusual was 
 taking place, — there were no portentous signs, or ex- 
 traordinary movements. When all was completed, 
 in the structure and the stores, there might be a short 
 interval of inconceivable suspense and expectation. 
 Imagine the emotion at the first decisive indication ! 
 Suppose this to be, the voluntary approach and en- 
 trance into the ark of a pair of animals, of a species 
 timidly averse, or destructively hostile to man, — com- 
 ing without the least appearance of fear or ferocity. 
 The shock of an earthquake would not have produced 
 a more powerful sensation than such a first circum- 
 stance. Infallible sign that the decree of heaven had 
 not been revoked, and was on the very point of being 
 executed ! — This would be followed rapidly, no 
 doubt, by the various animals crowding to the grand 
 receptacle, moved to do so by a supernatural impulse. 
 " They shall come to thee into the ark." This must 
 
NOAH AND THE DELUGE. 201 
 
 have been, to the most hardened unbelievers and scof- 
 I'er.-s, a portentous sight. 
 
 But still, all the land continued dry as usual. When 
 and whence was the water to come? This would be 
 a matter of most fearful inquisitiveness and expecta- 
 tion to the inhabitants of the ark. The intensity of 
 this inquiring expectation would prepare them to be- 
 hold, at length, with an awful emotion, the heavens 
 blackening over the world, and a rain, — preternatural, 
 perhaps, in its quantity, — and evidently so, after 
 a while, by its unremitting continuance. 
 
 Then was the time tor all mankind to be " moved 
 with fear," — but for Noah to fear no ' longer. Fear, 
 entertained effectually at the earlier season, prevents 
 it at the later. The salutary fear of God, of his dis- 
 pleasure, of his future judgment, seriously admitted, 
 and acted upon, at his first " warnings," — and espe- 
 cially in early life, — what is its consequence, at later 
 seasons, when calamities come, when the end of life 
 approaches ? On the contrary, what is the conse- 
 quence at last of the early and persevering rejection 
 of that fear, in thoughtlessness or scorn? How many 
 examples are there at all times, that are analogous to 
 those of Noah and the impious multitude, especially 
 analogous to the latter ! 
 
 " The waters prevailed upon the earth ;" overwhelm- 
 ed all the lower tracts — with all the inhabitants that 
 could not escape thence, and gradually rose upon the 
 eminences. But as to the question, in what manner 
 this w^as accomplished, we are lost in the profoundest 
 mystery. " Whence could this stupendous accession 
 of water come, and whither return?" is a question 
 which philosophy has in vain tried to at .swer : — to an- 
 swer, that is to say, by any thing more than mere con- 
 jectural speculation. The only probable conjecture 
 seems to be, that " the great deep" spoken of, the 
 fountains of which were " broken up," is to be under- 
 stood as a vast reservoir within the globe, — and that 
 this water was made to gush out, in mighty eruptions, 
 through the surface, either by an immediate efficacy 
 18 
 
202 NOAII AND THE DELUGE. 
 
 of the divine will, or, much more probably, by the ef- 
 fect of some law of nature extraordinarily applied by 
 Him. This seems the only conjecture that affords 
 any rational, or even conceivable notion, of whence 
 such an enormous mass of water could come, and 
 whither retire. 
 
 Any actual proof on the Eubject must be utterly be- 
 yond the reach of science ; and He that knows the 
 whole cause and process has not chosen to inform us. 
 But at the same time, besides universal tradition, — 
 there is demonstrative proof of the fact of such a del- 
 uge, confirmatory of the sacred history. This evi- 
 dence is becoming more palpable every year, through 
 the researches and inferences of science. There are 
 found throughout Europe, in Asia and America, and 
 in all parts of the world where the contents of the 
 earth have been explored, both in lower grounds and 
 far up toward the highest, innumerable animal re- 
 mains, bones, whole skeletons, &c., in such circum- 
 stances as to prove, most evidently, that they were de- 
 posited and covered there by an overwhelming flood 
 — with a striking similarity to show that it must have 
 been the same flood, and circumstances indicating 
 there had been but one such flood. We are to set 
 out of view here those animal remains that are found 
 far in the solid depths of the earth, in the state of 
 stones, or in the substance of rocks. These our Chris- 
 tian naturalists are now feeling themselves compelled 
 to refer to some far more ancient period, probably 
 long ages before the globe was made the habitation of 
 man. 
 
 But return to Noah — and think how solemn a mo- 
 ment that would be, when the ark was perceived to 
 have left the ground ! the decided rending of his tie 
 with the w^orld, with all humanity, with the old accus- 
 tomed economy under which he had lived more than 
 half a thousand years ! The world, and all that was 
 on its ample surface, was gone — for him ; the dwell- 
 ings, the plantations, the people, he would see no 
 more ! He was committed wholly to a Sovereign 
 
NOAH AND THE DELUGE. 
 
 203 
 
 Providence. Ideas of various, altogether new, and 
 almost infinite hazards, would occur to his mind. But 
 it was enough that he had obeyed the Almighty, and 
 was sure of his care. And, — if we may be allowed 
 such an expression — there was a concentration of the 
 cares of Providence on the inhabitants of the ark, 
 since all the other inhabitants of the earth were sur- 
 rendered to destruction. There converged thither, at 
 that crisis, the providential care which was again to 
 expand with the extension of the human and other 
 races over the now desolated earth. 
 
 But think of the awful scene from which Noah was 
 thus borne aloft! For a while, ai the beginning, he 
 would hear the sound of it; the cries of terror and 
 despair from the multitude; his own name loudly called 
 upon by voices imploring to be admitted. How ardently 
 desirous then to share the lot of the man whom they Nf 
 had scorned, and whose God they had defied ! — But 
 the door was not his to open ; God had closed it. 
 " God shut him in." On some tracts of the earth it is 
 probable that the destruction was comparatively sud- 
 den. For on the supposition of the impetuous break- 
 ing forth, through wide openings, from an abyss below, 
 there would be most tremendous torrents which would 
 drive and sweep with inconceivable violence. It has 
 recently been shown and illustrated, in a most striking 
 manner, that there were such torrents, — streams of 
 such amazing force as to tear mountain ridges asunder, 
 and drive rocks a vast distance along with them. All 
 would soon be over, as to living existence, in the tracts 
 within the immediate power of such tremendous erup- 
 tions and torrents. But many of the great elevations 
 would remain many weeks, and some of them even 
 months, high above the flood, and so would aflTord 
 ground to multitudes of the doomed and despairing 
 people who could escape thither. But think of them ! 
 seeing, day after day, the dire enemy still rising, — still 
 approaching, — and the while, many of them perishing 
 with famine ! And it were not in the least an improb- 
 able imaginatipn, that in many instances there might 
 
 ', " / * J ^ jf- %•* 
 
204 NOAH AND THE DELUGE. 
 
 break out ainongr tlicm a deadly and internal frenzy, 
 in wliioh they set upon and destroyed one another, — 
 and the survivors devoured the dead. There is not 
 the least extravagance in it; it is true to the nature of 
 man, — social man, when wicked and reduced to extre- 
 mity. Recently there has been published an account 
 from Para of a horrible example. The antediluvian 
 world had been "filled with violence," we are told; and 
 there was nothing to extinguish that spirit on the last 
 summits on which men continued alive. We may well 
 believe, that depravity so extreme as to bring an uni- 
 versal destruction from the righteous Governor, would 
 continue depravity to the last; and that the final spark 
 of life might go out in fury! 
 
 At length there was the entire surface of the solid 
 globe without sin! — But to think that it could not be 
 so but by being icithout ineji ! When all was accom- 
 plished, the sovereign dictate repressed the flood, and 
 gradually sent its tunuiltuous waters to the dark hiding 
 place from which he had called them. The ark. in a 
 place probably far otf from where it had been built, 
 touched the ground once more, and Noah and his 
 family had to reflect what had been done since it had 
 last touched the ground ! — After a confinement of a 
 complete year, he was summoned to come forth, with 
 all the beings of which he had been made the guard- 
 ian so long. When he was delivered Irom the inces- 
 sant complicated cares and toils of this great charge, 
 his thoughts would be more free to expatiate in solemn 
 meditation. 
 
 Where was all he had been accustomed to behold, 
 for six hundred years, and that was around him the 
 last year at this time ? The numbers of men — the 
 towns — the camps — the arts, the works, the revels, the 
 crimes, the very face of nature itself? — All swept from 
 the creation! A deserted, desolate planet that had 
 been populous in God's creation ! Nothing short of 
 having gone to another world could be so strange. 
 
 For SIN this mighty destruction had passed over the 
 world ! How he would deprecate the return of this 
 
NOAH AND THE DELUGE. 205 
 
 dreadful cause with the renewed population, on the 
 new face of the earth ! " As man has expired, oh that 
 sin also might be dead !" 
 
 What an awful sentiment he would feel toward the 
 righteous Governor, — at such a demonstration that He 
 will be righteous, at whatever cost to any rebellious 
 and unholy part of his creation, — that there shall be 
 holiness, or there must be vengeance ! Noah might 
 feel a grateful wonder why he, with his family should 
 have been the one to be divinely preserved from the 
 wickedness of mankind, in order to be saved llom their 
 destruction, and to be made the origin of a new race. 
 Would he assume it as a ground of pride? — He did 
 well to begin by " building an altar to the Lord," and 
 offering devout sacrifices. But the ark — would not 
 that be to him, as long as it remained undecayed, a 
 favourite and peculiarly solemn temple in which to 
 adore the Almighty? It had been built in holy "fear ;" 
 it had been built in "faith;" it had answered to his 
 faith ; had fulfilled the promise ; had been the effectual 
 medium of his temporal salvation. Every sight of it 
 would renew the admonition and conviction that God 
 is true, — both in his threatenings and his promises. 
 Since his was not a faith of merely temporal reference, 
 but extended to the concern of an infinitely greater 
 salvation, the ark would be a most striking emblem to 
 him of that grand and sole appointed expedient for 
 the exemption of the soul from a more awful destruc- 
 tion — the " manifestation of the Son of God in the 
 flesh." 
 
 To this sovereign refuge was he also " moved by 
 fear ;" fear of a danger transcendently more dreadful 
 than any that could fall from the tempestuous skies, or 
 ascend from " the fountains of the great deep." Our 
 only effectual faith is that in which, " moved by fear," 
 we hasten to him that is all-sufficient to save, with all 
 the solemn earnestness with which the patriarch ap- 
 plied himself to prepare the ark. 
 18* 
 
XXII. 
 
 DESTRUCTION OF SODOM AND GOMORRAH. 
 
 " The Lord appeared to Abraham in the plains of 
 Mawre ; and he sat in the tent door in the heat of the 
 day." — The nineteenth chapter of Genesis contains the 
 narrative of the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, 
 and other cities of the vale of Siddim. We have made 
 some reflections on the beaufy spread over the earth, 
 especially in the season of vSpring — and the sad con- 
 trast between the beauty of nature, and the moral 
 quality mingled through the scene. There is no need 
 of ancient and foreign illustrations; but a very strik- 
 ing one is that vale of Siddim. Lot had beheld it " as 
 the garden of the Lord," and was so captivated, that 
 he chose it for his sojourn, even with the certainty that 
 " his righteous soul " must be " vexed." 
 
 Think of a region blooming and smiling in all the 
 riches of nature ; — on every hand something to raise 
 the contemplative thought to the glorious Creator; — 
 something, it might be supposed, to refine and har- 
 monize the sentiments; — and a copious fertility of sup- 
 ply, to make every tract speak the bounty of provi- 
 dence. 
 
 But amidst all this, what was man ? A hideous as- 
 semblage of beings, "sensual — devilish," — such as 
 might almost be conceived to have been thrown up 
 from the infernal realms, to go dowm again in an earth- 
 quake and tempest of fire! The wickedness was so 
 aggravated and extreme, that the region itself was 
 doomed to perish with the inhabitants. As if divine 
 justice could not permit to remain under the face of 
 heaven, the very ground which had been polluted by 
 such a race ! Beautiful scenery remained, spread 
 over the world ; but one portion was sunk and vanish- 
 ed for ever. The natural beauty, and the human 
 
DESTRUCTION OF SODOM AND GOMORRAH. 207 
 
 wickedness were both struck out of the world at one 
 trenriendous blow. At that one spot it is nearly four 
 thousand years since nature bloomed and man sinned, 
 — for the last time ! 
 
 So terrible a judgment and warning, however, has 
 not prevented sin from infecting ever since the fair 
 field of nature; and it is this which spoils the beauty 
 of the scene. This thing that spoils it so, is incompara- 
 bly stronger and more intense in its quality of deform- 
 ity, than the other in its quality of beauty. That 
 there is a luxuriant verdure, — that there are flowers — 
 rich fields — fruitful trees — pleasing sounds, and tastes, 
 and odours — streams — soft gales — picturesque land- 
 scapes — what is all this as set against the other fact, 
 that there are — in almost infinite mass, and number, 
 and variety — bad dispositions and passions — bad prin- 
 ciples — wicked thoughts — vile language — impieties 
 and crimes of all possible kinds? We are not forget- 
 ting that there are also better things than these in the 
 moral world; but oC these there is enough to form an 
 overwhelming contrast to all that which could make 
 the world look " as the garden of the Lord." So that 
 on the supposition, if we might be allowed such an idea, 
 that all the sin could become a visible thing, a thing 
 palpable to the senses, in forms and characteristics 
 duly representing its odious and dreadful quality, it 
 would blast and overpower in our view all the beauty 
 of nature. 
 
 It may be that " the angels of the Lord," so much 
 spoken of in this early part of the Bible, and through- 
 out it, may have such a power and mode of apprehen - 
 sion, as to behold sin in as palpable a manifestation, 
 here on earth, as the face and forms of the materi- 
 al world itself; except perhaps sin as latent within 
 the soul. But they would hardly need the exquisite 
 intuition, and the capacity of angehc faculty, to appre- 
 hend the character of a scene Hke that of Sodom and 
 Gomorrah. Wicked as all the nations of those lands 
 were, the people of this one tract appear to have sur- 
 passed the rest in atrocity. " The Lord said, the cry 
 
208 DESTRUCTION OF 
 
 of Sodom and Gomorrah is great, and their sin is very 
 grievou,^." The insults to heaven had come up with 
 a strength, and loudness, and outrage, greater than 
 from other parts of the earth. It was time for the 
 righteous Governor to manifest himself 
 
 As the first circumstance, three persons came as on 
 a friendly visit to Abraham. Both at this point of the 
 relation, and afterwards, it is impossible not to be struck 
 with the calmness and quietness of the proceeding. 
 There were no terrible portents — no magnificent 
 phenomena — no thundering menaces — nor formida- 
 ble preparations — nor effulgence of Divine Majesty. 
 The patriarch's hospitality was accepted. The first 
 thing unusual was a matter of complacent interest, — a 
 renewed assurance of posterity to Abraham. But 
 think what this friendly converse was the introduction 
 to! 
 
 It was not for heavenly beings to stay long in direct 
 intercourse with mortals — besides, there was some- 
 thing else to be done ! " The men rose up from thence 
 and looked toward Sodom," Genesis xviii. 16, that is, 
 set out that way, Abraham accompanying them some 
 distance from liis tent. By this time it was signified 
 to him, that there was an awful and immediate design 
 against those cities ; and this led to that memorable 
 intercessory conversation in which the patriarch plead- 
 ed for Sodom. It was not solely on Lot's account, for 
 he might have pleaded for his exemption. 
 
 We are left in the dark as to one circumstance. Only 
 two of the persons went on to Sodom, leaving Abra- 
 ham to converse with the Almighty. The third dis- 
 appears from our view; unless he was a manifestation 
 of the divine Being himself, and the same that Abra- 
 ham conversed with in that solemn character. This 
 is left entirely in uncertainty. But evidently it was 
 with God himself that Abraham held the conversation. 
 That conversation may suggest some points of instruc- 
 tion. For example; we ought not to be gratified with 
 the sufferings and punishments of the wicked. There 
 is sometimes a temptation to this ; especially when the 
 
SODOM AND GOMORRAH. 209 
 
 wicked are seen in great pride, and wealth, and power 
 — arrogating all things to themselves. — riotincr in the 
 spoils of" their fellow mortals. — tramplincr with scorn 
 on the weak or the jnst; — and at the sanie time diffus- 
 ing moral corruption Avidely around. We are tempt- 
 ed to look forward with somcthino" like complacency to 
 the awaiting vengeance. Bin this is not the spirit of 
 Christ, nor the spirit of Abraham. The very best 
 men will exceed all others in benevolent concern for 
 the worst. 
 
 Abraham ventured an appeal to the divine equity. 
 " Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right !" Ob- 
 serve, it is impossible to contemplate the divine attri- 
 butes without forming some idea of what it is that is 
 right for such a Being. We must nece?sarily form 
 our conceptions of what is justice and goodness in the 
 Supreme Being, upon the principles which he has de- 
 clared to us, as the essence of those qualities in his 
 creatures. So that our judgments of his proceedings 
 will be in analogy to those we form of the actions of 
 men. But in doing this, there is need of great caution 
 and reverential humility, for the plain reason, that his 
 proceedings have reference to an immense scale ; 
 they are to be " right" as in an infinitely extended and 
 multiplied relation of things ; in the midst of which 
 our intellect can compass but an inexpressibly diminu- 
 tive point. How limited, then, our power of judging 
 of his justice in action ! Then if we think of the divine 
 justice, as an attribute to be appealed to in behalf of 
 man, that is a formidable idea ! Abraham did it, and 
 was not rebuked ; but how many times must any man, 
 speaking to the Most High, appeal to his wercy^ for 
 once that he can appeal to his justice ! In his praying 
 for himself, the case is so ; and if interceding (or the 
 community, the nation, how little dare he rest his plea 
 on the numbers and virtues of good men ! 
 
 Observe the divine indulgence to the narrow, weak 
 apprehensions of good men. Abraham beiran his in- 
 tercession as if he had been bespeaking the benevo- 
 lence of only some exalted human being, with a kind 
 
210 DESTRUCTION OF 
 
 of pious artifice, namely, wiih a greater number when 
 he knew he must descend to a less ; and intending it 
 as a device to smooth the way. and ])revent a sudden, 
 decided, indignant negative. God has to pardon in 
 his servants a great deal of such leeling as attributes 
 human qualities and dispositions to him. 
 
 For the sake of " fifty," or of '-ten righteous," the 
 Lord would have spared Sodom. What value then 
 he must set on the few righteous in the earth ! •' For 
 ten's sake ;" one perhaps in a thousand, or possibly in 
 several thousands. For such a proportion of holy fear, 
 love, prayer, and practical purity, he would have 
 spared Sodom. Such a ten would have been barely 
 tolerated in the place — would have been scorned and 
 wronged. Yet for their sake the wicked thousands 
 would for a while longer have enjoyed the light of the 
 sun, and ihe fertility of the plain. But even had there 
 been the ten. what a melancholy spectacle ! The. 
 raass and multitude not fit to live even on earth, and only 
 ten fit to be transferred to heaven ! What a distribu- 
 tion in the assignment to the infernal and to the celes- 
 tial world ! and how deplorable to find the populous- 
 ness of the earth giving a calculation of the compara- 
 tive solitude of heaven ! 
 
 Abraham w^as come to the last permitted term in 
 the gradation of his pleading. Perhaps he felt an inti- 
 mation from the awful Being that he must stop here. 
 But even if not, a good man will feel that he must not 
 pray in total contravention to the divine justice. He 
 dare not seek wholly to avxrt from exercise one grand 
 attribute of the Governor of the world. " A God all 
 mercy is a God unjust;" under such a Governor the 
 human race would go to the very last possibility of 
 wickedness. Abraham was to conclude here, and wait 
 the event. We may observe what a perfect certainty 
 he felt that there could not be ten, and the Judge not 
 discern them everyone. 
 
 "Abraham returned to his place," and it was now 
 the afternoon. The people of Sodom little knew what 
 a conversation they had been the subject of. The vain 
 
SODOM AND GOMORRAH. 211 
 
 and wicked little know, or think, or care, what fear the 
 devout and righteous may be entertaining for them, 
 or what intercessory supplications they may be making 
 — and if they did know, many of them would but scorn 
 such fears and prayers. 
 
 One righteous man dwelt in Sodom. We never 
 think his conduct wise in going thither. It had one 
 afflictive consequence, namely, that some branches 
 of his family were involved in the destruction. Yet 
 there was an overruhng Providence in the case, There 
 was to be in Sodom something that was to be saved 
 in the hour of vengeance, to mark in a signal manner 
 the contrast ; to show how infallibly the righteous Gov- 
 ernor distinguishes ; — and what value he sets on the 
 fidelity that will not conform to the surrounding wick- 
 edness. He would have there "a pearl of great price," 
 to be selected out when the mighty mass should sink 
 into a gulf 
 
 Lot was sitting in the gate of the city, in the even- 
 ing; on purpose, it is presumed, to receive any re- 
 spectable stranger who would else be cast away 
 among wicked barbarians. It is not improbable the 
 evening was serene and beautiful. We can imagine the 
 setting sun, for the last time, throwing a mild and soft- 
 ened radiance on the cities and across the plain ; and 
 numbers of the people gayly sporting in so gentle a 
 light and air ; and no warning by ominous signs and 
 elemental disorder. Nature keeps the secret -of her 
 great Governor. If conscience will not alarm the sin- 
 ners, nothing else shall. But what was there latent 
 in that soft tranquillity ? There was there the hover- 
 ing power of divine justice — the spirit of reti^'ibution, 
 just growing to the intensity to reveal itself in resist- 
 less flame. 
 
 Two strangers arrived at the gate, carelessly re- 
 garded, except by Lot, who " entertained angels una- 
 wares." There was no indication who they were, or 
 why they came : there was nothing in their appear- 
 ance to intimidate, — nothing to repress a profligate in- 
 solence. Some of the people saw them, but knew not 
 
21; 
 
 DESTRUCTION OF 
 
 what lliey saw. No mysterious and apprehensive sen- 
 timent was irilused by their coming. All was as usual 
 in Sodom, and even Lot knew of nothing that was to 
 follow. 
 
 But the commencement of the tragedy was at hand. 
 The first movement was the tumult before Lots house; 
 — the assault actuated by the vilest wickedness. When 
 nations or individuals are ready for ruin, they general- 
 ly are prompt to provoke it, — to do that one thing more, 
 which is all that remains wanting. When the train 
 comes to the point, that there is but one more, they are 
 ready for that also. The last sin of a wicked career 
 seems to have in it a peculiar awfulness. The dread- 
 ful efiect of all the preceding seemed suspended; it 
 even seemed as if that effect might be averted 
 if the completing sin were not added ; if the sinner 
 could have stopped short of that ! The former sins 
 seemed, as it were, to wait, to throw all their deadly 
 efficacy into the last, to be there converged in destruc- 
 tion. The concluding sin comes immediately to the 
 dread consequence ; it is the one that breaks through 
 into eternity, with all the past sins rushing after it ! It 
 belongs to hardened sin, not to be aware of its own 
 atrocity and danger. These men of Sodom, on the 
 last evening of their lives, challenged the angels of the 
 Lord to battle ! " Unawares " they assaulted mighty 
 celestial spirits ; as " unawares " Lot had entertained 
 them. It i.« but a just judgment on persisting, hardened 
 iniquity, that it should be permitted at last to do things 
 of which it is not apprised of the aggravation and the 
 peril. 
 
 Lot wpnt out to appease the vicious and furious as- 
 sailants with an offer which he had no right to make, 
 to expose to them his daughters ; it showed indeed 
 how sacred he held the rites of hospitality ; but all 
 duties are consistent and compatible. Rather than do 
 one great evil to prevent another, a good man must 
 commit the event to all-powerful Providence. But the 
 matter was to be decided after another manner. "The 
 two men " drew Lot safe into the house, and smote the 
 
SODOM AND GOMORRAH. 213 
 
 people with blindness. Lot would be exceedingly sur- 
 prised at this ; perhaps now for the first time he began 
 to perceive they were' something more than they ap- 
 peared. Whether it was a total blindness we cannot 
 know ; more likely perhaps a bewildered baffling affec- 
 tion of their sight. However, it did not repress the 
 courage and fierceness of wickedness. " Small and 
 great" persisted in aiming at the door. If "small" 
 mean youth, it may warrant us to observe, that wicked 
 education very rarely fails to be successful. 
 
 The house and family were quite secure ; but the 
 two visitants were not come to take or give repose. 
 They declared their commission and purpose; and that 
 one thing only was first to be done; Lot must go to 
 his sons-in-law and their families, and warn them in- 
 stantly to quit the city. He did so in vain! No won- 
 der the sons-in-law should despise his w^arning; but 
 their wives, his daughters, were of the same mind. 
 They by this time probably had lost his God ; and 
 therefore he must lose them. It would be with a sad 
 adieu that he left the house of each. He returned to 
 receive the peremptory command to take his own family 
 and instantly be gone. The angels had calmly waited 
 while he had gone to do his part ; now they were to 
 do theirs. The morning was beginning to appear. 
 
 '• He hngered;" whether from some degree of unbe- 
 lief, or from being confused and stupified with amaze- 
 ment and horror. But there was calmness and deci- 
 sion there, though he had none. The angels laid hold 
 on the hands of Lot and his family, " the Lord being 
 merciful unto him." Such a situation displays the con- 
 trast between the "immortals " and the feeble spirits 
 clothed in flesh; — on the part of the tbrmer the seren- 
 ity, — the entireness of determination, — the fulness of 
 might and will for the most tremendous agency, — and 
 yet the indulgent kindness. The angels led them out 
 of the devoted city. " Escape for thy life ; look not 
 behind thee ; flee to the mountain, neither tarry thou 
 in all the plain." All this might well be named vis- 
 ible providence. It was the protection of the Almighty, 
 19 
 
214 
 
 DESTRUCTION OF 
 
 and the guardian cares of his angels displayed in exer- 
 cise. — in the visible personal agency of these powerful 
 spirits. But though there be now no such palpable 
 manifestations, how often may there be in a good man's 
 life, interpositions as critical, and cares no less patient 
 and kind, if the agency were made visible in any one 
 of many conjunctures. Then for his soul there is a 
 series of agenc}'- of a still far nobler kind ! A greater 
 Spirit is employed there ! 
 
 Lot was departing ; and it is strange he should not 
 have been willing to remove as far as possible from 
 such a scene as this devoted place was going to be. 
 But he ventured to entreat he might make his asylum 
 in Zoar, implying in the petition that it might for that 
 purpose be spared. This does look like weakness ac- 
 tually becoming presumption,but the wonderfully indul- 
 gent reply was, " See, I have accepted thee in this 
 thing also ;" and with the addition, "I cannot do any 
 thing till thou be come thither." But the command to 
 hasten forward is finally repeated with a most peremp- 
 tory urgency. It was but for his sake, it had been sig- 
 nified, that the catastrophe was delayed ; and not for 
 his sake would it be delayed long. The divine ven- 
 geance was suspended a little while for the piety and 
 the necessity of a favoured mortal ; but it was not to be 
 suspended lor his trifling or unbelief. The last mo- 
 ments of Sodom were measuring out by the steps of 
 the fugitives across the plain. During these moments 
 and this flight, the thoughts of Lot would w^ork in un- 
 speakable amazement. Only a few short hours before, 
 he was sitting at the gate and two men approached, 
 who were invited into his house ; — an outrage was 
 committed, and then they were angels ! A few min- 
 utes more, and he was commanded away, with the 
 declaration of a direful immediate doom impending 
 over all the region. The last impression of their visages, 
 their hands, and their voices, was still on his senses ; — 
 and he was now impelled on by the dreadful appre- 
 hension of hearing or seeing some tremendous sign of 
 commencing destruction. 
 
SODOM AND GOMORRAH. 215 
 
 It is quite possible, that in such amazement of spirit 
 he might not even be sensible of the fate of his wife, 
 till he found her wanting at the entrance of Zoar ; es- 
 pecially as he did not look back, and she was in Ihe 
 disposition rather to fall behind his steps than to ad- 
 vance before or beside him. For we cannot doubt, 
 that it was her mind that looked back, as well as her 
 eyes. Though very possibly, the mere literal disobe- 
 dience to the injunction would have been fatal. But 
 to lose her so, perhaps much more than midway to the 
 place of refuge, was most mournful. What an admo- 
 nition to the relatives of a pious person, to go the 
 whole way with him to the eternal refuge ! 
 
 The reduced family entered Zoar and the sun had 
 risen on the earth. But the two men who had come to 
 Sodom were left there to await this destined moment; 
 to witness, in inaction and contemplation, how a wicked 
 multitude began a day of w^hich they were not to see 
 the evening. But could nothing beguile or tempt 
 them away, before the moment for action should ar- 
 rive ? And will nothing be done to send them away ? 
 One word from their great Master, and they would 
 have fled like the shades of the night ! And shall not 
 one word be sent up to him to implore it? Not one 
 word for this, after the cry of their wickedness had so 
 long ascended to heaven ? He " repented " over Nin- 
 eveh when it listened to the warning voice. But here 
 all was over ! — and '-the Lord rained fire and brim- 
 stone," and "an horrible tempest !" 
 
 What was the precise manner of this fearful catas- 
 trophe is beyond our conjecture. From the conse- 
 quence, as remaining to this hour, it would seem that 
 an earthquake either accompanied or followed ; but 
 " the fire from heaven " is decidedly indicated as the 
 grand chief agent of the destruction. What descent 
 of fire, however, and how such an efiect on the earth, 
 none can tell. But we repel that philosophizing spirit, 
 as it would be called, which insists on resolving all the 
 extraordinary phenomena, recorded in the Old Testa- 
 ment, into the effect of merely natural causes. Noth- 
 
216 Elijah's sacrifice, 
 
 ing can be more contemptible than such presumption 
 of philojsophy ; jnst as if the order of nature had been 
 constituled by some other and greater Being, and in- 
 tru^'ted to the Almighty to be administered, under an 
 obligation, never to suspend for a moment, tiie fixed 
 laws ! Just as if it could not consist with infinite Wis- 
 dom to order a system so that in particular cases a 
 greater advantage should arise from a momentary de- 
 viation than from an invariable procedure ! 
 
 The people of Sodom had no time for speculations ; 
 — there was but just time for terror, and conscience, 
 and despair! The images of that hour of destructfon 
 we leave to contemplative thought, — and only add ; 
 that our Lord says, there is a still greater guilt, and a 
 more awful destruction, even than theirs ! They will 
 see greater criminals than themselves at the last day ; 
 and from lands where the fire of heaven did not fall ! 
 The man that lives and dies rejecting him had better 
 have been exposed to the rain of fire and brimstone, and 
 gone down in the horrid gulf of the Vale of Siddim! 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 ELLTAH'S SACRIFICE, AND THE PRIESTS OF 
 BAAL. 
 
 The sacred history, 1 Kings xviii., so wonderful it- 
 self, is surrounded by wonders, in the preceding and 
 following portions ; something like a volcanic tract, 
 where the marks of a stupendous agency remain con- 
 spicuous on every side. The preceding chapter re- 
 lates the prophet's denunciation to Ahab, '• There shall 
 not be dew nor rain these years, but according to my 
 word." The expression is indeterminate, as to the 
 length of time. It imparts thus much ; " there will be 
 
AND THE PRIESTS OF BAAL. 217 
 
 no rain till I shall say that there will, — and that will 
 not be for several years." It was, in the event, three 
 years and a half. The apostle James says that •• Eli- 
 jah prayed earnestly that it might not rain," on the 
 principle that the severest chastisement is better than 
 unchecked progressive wickedness and utler ruin. He 
 was then commanded to disappear ; and retired into 
 the profoundest solitude, except that the ravens found 
 him out, and were made to act like ministering spirhs 
 to him. They brought him food; his countrymen 
 would have administered poison. How they were 
 supplied with what they brought to him^ it is in vain 
 to conjecture. Possibly by depredation on the stores 
 of some wealthy idolater ; if they were sent to levy 
 such a contribution, it would be in vain to attempt to 
 prevent them. 
 
 He must have stayed a good while in this solitary 
 retreat, — for it was " till the brook dried up." It is evi- 
 dent that by the time he went to the widow of Zare- 
 phath, the land was in a calamitous condition, for she 
 had resigned all hope of any further means of life. — 
 The miracle of the meal and oil, and the restoration of 
 the widow's son. — It would seem that he remained at 
 Zarephath till the end of the three years and six 
 months ; he abode " in a loit," we are told, 1 Kings 
 xvii. 19, a most humble apartment! There were spa- 
 cious, and sumptuous, and magnificent abodes in the 
 land, but hither was sent to dwell — the person that was 
 to go off from the earth in " a chariot of fire " — and here 
 doubtless he received visits which well comported with 
 such a destiny. Our imagination can easily represent 
 the nature of his thoughts and exercises, but cannot 
 rise to their devotional exaltation and solemnity. The 
 utmost efforts to find him out were made by the king of 
 Israel. Was it in pure hatred and revenge, — and in 
 order to destroy him ? Much more probably it was as 
 believing that in some way or other, the continuance 
 or removal of the dreadful calamity materially depend- 
 ed on Elijah. Ahab regarded him as having pro- 
 nounced a sentence which no one else could set aside ; 
 19* 
 
218 
 
 ELIJAH S SACRIFICE, 
 
 as a being who had absconded with tl\e great key of 
 the storehouse ofnature. But what should Ahabhave 
 thought of all his prophets, when thfnj could give him 
 no assistance toward discovering Elijah? while nei- 
 ther could they bring down one shower, — one drop, of 
 rain ! 
 
 The state of the land and its inhabitants was by 
 this time extremely dreadful. What a picture might 
 have been exhibited, if the sacred historian, like other 
 historians, had been disposed to amplify for the pur- 
 pose of a striking effect ! Great numbers must have 
 perished ; the rest were in a deplorable state. Itf is 
 doubtful whether much assistance could be obtained 
 from the neighbouring regions ; for the country of 
 Tyre and Sidon was equally afflicted, for Zarephath 
 was there. The cattle were nearly all destroyed, — 
 as appears from Ahab's orders to Obadiah. The 
 king himself went out. to survey a part of his desolate, 
 miserable realm, and dying population. At every 
 step he saw the effects of his abominable idolatries. 
 It was, in truth, one vast sacrifice which he had made, 
 and was making, to Moloch ; a nation of human vic- 
 tims offered with all the brute tribes in addition. For 
 since they perished expressly on account of the false 
 gods, they, might justly and strictly be accounted as 
 sacriifices ; and himself was the royal high-priest. But 
 no indication appears of repentance or remorse. 
 
 Obadiah would behold the scene with very different 
 emotions. He ^'- feared the Lord greatly;" had res- 
 cued one hundred of the prophets, probably pupils of 
 the prophets, from Jezebel's massacre. No doubt, it 
 was just for the purpose of such beneficent services to 
 the faithful, that a man like this was preserved, by a 
 very special providence, safe in such a station. We 
 may be sure he vv^as proved to be of high worth and 
 integrity in his office ; but he had what would be ac- 
 counted the most odious of all qualities in that court — 
 JideUtij to God. 
 
 This man was suddenly encountered by the very 
 last person he could expect to see. Elijah had been 
 
AND THE PRIESTS OF BAAL. 219 
 
 commanded away from his obscure retreat. And he 
 was coming again into action in a manner that was 
 worth having remained in devout contemplation so 
 long. Obadiah's plea to excuse liimself is overruled. 
 But why was not the prophet's course directed to meet 
 the king himself, in the first instance? No doubt it 
 was that the monarch might be compelled to go to 
 meet him^ as an homage to the prophetic character, 
 and the divine authority. They met; — knew each 
 other wxll. — Ahab attempted a di.^play of spirit by 
 beginning with a reproachful salutation; but this was 
 not the time. Elijah's aspect and manner overbore 
 him. The reproach was returned, not in the way of 
 altercation, — but of dignified authority, and with a 
 truth that smote on conscience; followed by a crm- 
 mand to the king, to call together his subjects and 
 his prophets. It does not appear that he even ex- 
 plained for what purpose. He was not sent to talk to 
 one man alone, even though a king. 
 
 As to the prophet's deportment in this interview, 
 — his solemn direct commission from the Almighty 
 placed him on a ground above the minor relations of 
 governor and subject. In ordinary circumstances, 
 he would have been sensible of whatever respect was 
 due to the ruler of the people, if any respect icos due 
 to a man who exercised that very office for the most 
 wicked and pernicious purposes ; who promoted, and 
 shared, and surpassed, the depravity and impiety of 
 his people. But here the prophet had a high inde- 
 pendent capacity to maintain; he was commissioned 
 to speak and act in character of judge and dictator — 
 and we may believe, was far above the meanness of 
 any miserable pride in doing so. That which he v/as 
 invested with, in the special capacity of a prophet, 
 was in no sense liis own. It was not a talent, nor a 
 merit. It was an, official capacity^ of which the digni- 
 ty, or virtue, belonged most simply and entirely to 
 him that conferred it. It was something extraneous 
 to the man himself; might be conferred, or taken 
 away, in a moment, and at any moment. Of all this. 
 
220 Elijah's sacrifick, 
 
 the prophets appear to have been kept perfectly sen- 
 sible; accordingly, it was not personal arrogance. 
 when they assumed a commanding manner and lan- 
 guage. 
 
 Ahab felt it to be something more than a mere com- 
 mand of Elijah that he should assemble the people 
 at Mount Carmel. Therefore he instantly complied, 
 though doubtless not without internal mortification 
 and refractory feeling. " All Israel," it is said, mean- 
 ing of course a good proportion of them from all parts, 
 so as to represent the whole. But literally all the 
 avowed priests of idolatry, eight hundred and fifty. 
 Their patroness, the queen, would concur in ordering 
 them thither. It was coming to a question whether 
 she should maintain her dominion, with respect to re- 
 ligion, in the kinfidom. The whole assembling multi- 
 tude, as soon as Elijah was heard of, may be supposed 
 to have surmised that it was to be some grand ques- 
 tion concerning religion — and it would be a matter of 
 most lively interest to all, — if they believed that the 
 dreadful visitation of the famine was implicated with it. 
 
 Could the idolatrous part of the multitude expect 
 rain, and bread, from gods that for so long a time 
 could not, or would not, give them any ? There is 
 indeed no indication that they had at all repented of 
 their idolatry, but this experience would surely make 
 them less attached to it. The seven thousand faithful 
 would hope that something would be done to shake 
 the horrid and cruel domination of false religion. 
 This might be the wish also of numbers who had 
 through fear yielded to practise its rites — with inward 
 shame and self reproach. But think of the eight 
 hundred and filty priests of idolatry, conspicuously 
 prominent on the appointed ground, in the garbs, and 
 with the ensigns of their deities, bearing evidence of 
 being loell fed "at Jezebel's table !" Many of them 
 might be rial devotees, with heart and soul ; some, 
 mere professional officiators. not much thinking or 
 caring about the religion itself Some might be, as in 
 the Romish church, little better than atheists^ con- 
 
AND THE PRIESTS OF BAAL. 2*21 
 
 Bcious deceivers of the people, but delighting in both 
 the domination and the emolument. On the wliole. 
 there might be great confidence among them that 
 they could not have much to apprehend from a ren- 
 counter with the single, proscribed prophet Elijah. 
 Presumption is a characteristic attendant on false re- 
 ligion, and on a falsification of the true, for it inspires 
 a high self-valuation. But these men really had a 
 great deal to sustain their presumption. 
 
 The trial however was now at hand. " How long 
 halt ye between two opinions? If the Lord be God. 
 follow him ; but if Baal, follow him." "And the people 
 answered him not a word." Was this silence right, 
 on the part of the faithtul adherents ? We think not ; 
 for Elijah's address was plainly an appeal to their 
 present convictfbns, — antecedently lo any proof Avhich 
 he might be about to give. Where was Obadiah in 
 this juncture ? Did they think it would be an ill-timed 
 ostentation, an irreverent disturbance of the solemnity 
 of the scene ? — They would plead so afterwards, no 
 doubt; would say, "they had been quite certain of the 
 result of the prophet's proceedings. — and therefore it 
 would have been but an affectation of zeal and 
 courage to have declared themselves previously." All 
 expressed approbation of the grand test which he pro- 
 posed. The proposal was too sudden, and too imme- 
 diately to be executed, to allow those wicked men any 
 time for artful contriv^ance ; else certainly it would 
 have been attempted, though in that case frustrated. 
 
 It was proper that the idolaters should make the 
 experiment first, and most ample time was given 
 them. Some delay of their success might even have 
 been of service to their cause. Contemplate this im- 
 mense legion of priests calling on Baal, before the 
 waiting, gazing multitude ! — Behold a sample of that 
 human reason which has itself been idolized, — sol- 
 emnly, perseveringly, furiously, invoking — a nonentity 
 — a vain creation of fancy — and fashioned by that 
 fancy in the most hateful character ! Baal and Baahm 
 are very indefinite denominations, being* given to a 
 
2i2 Elijah's sacrifice, 
 
 great diversity of pagan deitiee. It is supposed that 
 the chief Baal of Palestine was nearly the same as 
 the Jupiter of the Greeks and Romans ; but with a 
 confused participation of the attributes of divers di- 
 vinities. In the instance before us he seems to have 
 been worshipped without an image. This assemblage 
 of priests most Hkely adored a variety of gods in this 
 one comprehensive service. The priests of " the 
 groves" united, though named as a distinct class. 
 '• They called, from morning till noon ;" but no an- 
 swer ; no sign ; no flash of electric fire ; no demon's 
 invisible torch permitted ! For though there was no 
 Baal there, to hear the conjuration, we can easily 
 imagine there were hovering there unseen, agents 
 who would soon have lighted the flame, if not re- 
 strained by superior power. Such aid' would not have 
 been wanting as that which was permitted for a while 
 to the magicians of Egypt. But this time, those 
 agents were to look on, and forbear ! The people 
 also looked on, — with intense interest ! There were 
 Israelites waiting to see who was their God ! Some 
 of those beguiled sinners would wonder at Baal's de- 
 lay. Some would feel doubt coming on their minds, 
 and some would begin to feel scorn. Elijah too long 
 looked on ; he could give them time. He knew he 
 should want little himself Let all their gods be in- 
 voked, by all their names and titles ! Let all their 
 incantations be expended I Let their last tribute of 
 idolatrous zeal be tully paid ! Let the deluded mis- 
 erable populace see how tenacious their spiritual ty- 
 rants were of their enslaved souls ! 
 
 It was in silence that the prophet had thus long 
 looked on. When he did speak, what would you 
 have him to have said ? a gentle dissuasion ? — that 
 would have been no fit language to the insulters of 
 the Almighty, — and the destroyers of the people ! a 
 loud denunciation of vengeance ? — that was to be 
 executed, and needed not be spoken. "It came to 
 pass that Elijah mocked." We are not to imagine 
 this as said" in a light, bantering tone of pleasantry ; 
 
AND THE PRIESTS OF BAAL. 223 
 
 as if the prophet would amuse himself with their un- 
 successful impiety ; but as an austere and bitter 
 rebuke in the form of sarcasm, and it had in it a pro- 
 priety and truth, without which sarcasm and ridicule 
 have no point. Some such thing as he in mockery 
 suggests, was to be supposed by them to account for 
 their failure. " He is a god," '' as you assume, — and 
 favourable to you. There must therefore be some 
 occasional cause of this his inattention. Is he not 
 talking, pursuing, in a journey, or asleep ?" Now this 
 was quite pertinent, because the heathens did sup- 
 pose such things might happen, to prevent the gods 
 hearing them. Le Clerc illustrates from Homer — 
 Jupiter had a bed, and sometimes went to sleep — 
 Thetis could not obtain a desired boon from Jupiter, 
 because he was gone on a journey to Ethiopia, and 
 was not to return for twelve days. Baal's worship- 
 pers were not less gross in their notions; and there- 
 fore such things were justly thrown in their teeth. 
 Will any one say this was too harsh, and almost cruel, 
 when Elijah saw the wretched men thus labouring in 
 vain ? What! in the land of Israel? — among a peo- 
 ple perishing under the effects of the abominations 
 which these men had promoted among them ] What I 
 after these wicked men had doubtless abetted Jezebel 
 in killing all the teachers of the true religion that 
 could be found ? 
 
 After hours of vain invocation, they had recourse to 
 their most wild and barbarous rites ; leapt upon the 
 altar — cut themselves. Now, this was no newly in- 
 vented expedient of theirs, prompted by despair. 
 These were customary rites in the worship of several 
 heathen deities. It was like a judicial doom, that 
 those who would worship false gods, should do it at 
 the cost of plaguing and torturing themselves. Mis- 
 erably exhausted many of these priests must have be- 
 come, but the will was resolute, inflexible, and invin- 
 cible ; they went on till near the time of the Jewish 
 "evening sacrifice." Still no voice, — no auspicious 
 sign,— no fire. The great assembly that witnessed 
 this long process, had to make their reflections. The 
 
224 Elijah's sacrifice, 
 
 great majority had to reflect that these were the per- 
 sonages to whom they had long surrendered their 
 judgments, their consciences, and the rehgion of the 
 God ol" Israel; that these had been their accepted' 
 intercessors with invisible power. They had to con- 
 sider in what degree themselves might be involved 
 in the consequences which now would seem to im- 
 pend. It was too much to hope that justice would 
 entirely dissever the retribution. 
 
 Elijah knew his appointed moment. Think what a 
 mighty tide of feeling would rush toward him when 
 he summoned the people to a new ground, and a dif- 
 ferent altar ! A ruined altar which he had to rebuild ; 
 it was left undone till then. — that there might be no 
 air of previous assumption, " I will wait to see wheth- 
 er an altar will be wanted ;" nor of careful prepara- 
 tion; the stones had remained out of their place, that 
 every one of them might be laid under the inspection 
 of so many observers. Then the water was poured 
 three times. See how rigorously the Governor of the 
 world w^ould authenticate a miraculous interposition. 
 This " water " would be a most formidable circum- 
 stance in the view of the idolatrous priests. It was 
 truly a strange preparation for a burnt sacrifice in the 
 presence of those to whom not one spark had been 
 afforded by heaven, or earth, or hell ; w^hen the active 
 spirit of that element seemed as profoundly asleep as 
 Baal himself. No sign of it — no blue sulphureous ele- 
 ment had begun to appear round this new altar — no 
 meteors to hiss and glare. But there was to be a fire, 
 under which the water, and the very stones, w^ere in 
 a moment to vanish ! An emblem, — may we not con- 
 sider it ? — or rather a precursory sparkle, and beam, 
 and specimen, of that fire to which, one day, the 
 globe shall be a sacrifice, in contempt of all its oceans ! 
 But that fire will leave no more controversies to be 
 decided between God and false divinities. That will 
 be a ufneral flame, as to the dominion of the powers 
 of evil, in this world ; but it will not be lighted till all 
 is ready for the sacrifice, as Elijah's fire was not. 
 Nothing is more solemn than a short delay in an aw- 
 
AND THE PRIESTS OF BAAL. 225 
 
 lul crisis ! It did not come till he had distinctly in- 
 voked hi?ri, to whose sole divinity it was lo testify. 
 The whole assembly were clearly to undersiand 
 what being it was on whom he called for the de- 
 monstrative sign, which had irradiated the cloud 
 before the camp of Israel. The fire was to second that 
 which had flamed on Sinai, and which had descended 
 on Sodom, it was to be a fire of intelligence, as well as 
 power. It was to be Elijah's prayer converted and 
 returned in flame. The prophet's prayer was, that 
 the very TRurn might lighten on the scene, — and 
 consume all question, doubt, and subterfuge. The 
 Invisible Presence was there; the thunderbolt was 
 ready; and as soon as he had ended, " it fell." Neither 
 sacrifice, nor altar, nor water, remained ! The whole 
 materials of the testimony were consumed ; as the 
 book of divine revelation will perish in the last fire 
 that fulfils its prediciions. 
 
 The effect was irresistible on the multitude. 
 •• When all the people saw it they fell on their faces : 
 and they said, Tlie Lord, he is the God ; the Lord, 
 he is the God." As to the priests of idolatry, it was 
 in literal obedience to the divine law, given to the 
 Israelites, that they were all put to death. Deuter- 
 onomy xiii. 5. The heap that was probably raised 
 over their dead bodies, ought to have been to the 
 people a monument, as conspicuous to thought as Car ■ 
 mel was to their view. 
 
 The whole transaction should be conspicuous and 
 monumental. We think — how powerlial and how holy 
 a being then was manifested. Let us not forget to 
 consider, that it was the same being in whose pres- 
 ence we are every moment; and under whose gov- 
 ernment we shall be for ever. Let us reflect how all 
 idolatry, that of which we may be guilty, is to be 
 dreaded in such a presence — and let us ihmk how the 
 adoration is to by performed, — and how the meicy 
 is to be propitiated, of a God whose ju&tice is a 
 •' consuming tire." 
 
 20 
 
XXIV. 
 
 IGNORANCE OF OUR FUTURE MODE OF EXIST- 
 ENCE. 
 
 " It doth not yet appear vhat ive shall be." — It is the 
 familiar experience olour thinking, that the mind is ol ten 
 led into questions, the pursuit of something not clearly 
 known, and desired to be known. Many of these ques- 
 tions are such as, being pursued, soon lead the thinking 
 spirit to the brink, as it were, ofa vast unfathomable gulf. 
 It is arrested, and becomes powerless at the limit; there 
 it stands, looking on a dark immensity; the little light of 
 intellect and knowledge which it brings or kindles. 
 can dart no ray into the mysterious obscurity. Some- 
 times there seems to be seen, at some unmeasured dis- 
 tance, a glimmering spot of light, but it makes no- 
 thing around it visible, and itself vanishes. 
 
 But often it is one unbounded, unvaried, starless, 
 midnight darkness. — without one luminous point 
 through infinite space. To this obscurity we are 
 brought in pursuing any one of very many questions of 
 mere speculation and curiosity. But there is one ques- 
 tion which combines with the interest of speculation 
 and curiosity an interest incomparably greater, nearer, 
 more affecting, more solemn. It is the simple question 
 — " What shall we ee ?" How soon it is spoken ! — 
 but who shall reply? Think, how profoupdly this 
 question, this mystery, concerns us, — and in compari- 
 son with this, what are to us all questions of all sci- 
 ences ? What to us all researches into the constitu- 
 tion and laws of material nature? What — all inves- 
 tigations into the history of past ages ? What to us 
 — the future career of events in the progress of states 
 and empires? What to us — what shall become of 
 this globe itself, or all the mundane system ? What 
 WE shall be, we ourselves, is the matter of surpassing 
 and infinite interest ! 
 
 There is in the contemplation a magnitude, a so- 
 lemnity, which transcends and overwhelms our utmost 
 
 i 
 
OUR FITTDRE MODE OF EXISTENCE. 2*27 
 
 faculty of thought. To think that we, who are here, 
 and are thus in possession of an existence which is 
 but as of yesterday, — shall continue to be in some 
 mode, and in some scene, of existence, for milhons of 
 ages, and that that will still be as nothing, in compar- 
 ison with what is still to follow! that a duration pass- 
 ing away beyond all reach of the stupendous power 
 ot numbers, will still be as nothing! That it will still 
 be we ourselves, the very same beings. That it will 
 be a perfectly specific manner of being — with a full 
 consciousness of what it is — an internal world of 
 thought and emotion — a perfect sense of relations to 
 the system in which we shall find ourselves placed ; 
 — and this a continual succession of distinct sentiments 
 and experiences, and with the constant certainty of 
 the train going on for ever ! 
 
 Reflect again, that it is we, ourselves, of whom we 
 are saying this. How overpowered are we in the at- 
 tempt to realize, to thought, what nevertheless will be 
 so ! — " I, that am now, that am here, that am thus ; — 
 what shall I be, and where, and how, when this vast 
 system of nature shall have passed away ?" What, — 
 after ages more than there are leaves, or blades of 
 grass, on the whole surface of this globe, or atoms in its 
 enormous mass, shall have expired? What — after 
 another such stupendous lapse of duration shall be 
 gone? Those terms, of amazing remoteness, will ar- 
 rive ; yes, those periods, the very thought of which 
 ensrulfs our faculties, will he come, will be past ! 
 
 Through every step and advance, in the incalculable 
 succession, on through those periods, the fact of what 
 we then are, will be in mighty evidence pressing on 
 all our perceptions, and then still onward, infinitely, 
 eternally beyond ; and will be definable, in certain 
 terms of a language in which we shall then form or 
 expref?^ our conceptions. " I am" — but what will follow? 
 — what \v\\\ thedescription be? what constitution, v^^hat 
 manner of existence ? what faculties ? how exerted ? 
 what feelings? what employments ? what relations ? 
 what communications ? what place ? There will be the 
 fact, the actual reality, answering to all these ques 
 
228 IGNORANCE OF OUR 
 
 tions. But what it will be, there is but One Intel- 
 ligenoe tliat porfecUy knows. But here, even in our 
 own breasts, are the intelligences that will know, and 
 know in their own experience — the incomparably most 
 interesting manner of knowing. 
 
 Is not this, beyond all others, the subject for deep 
 and solemn musing — for intense inquisitiveness — for 
 awful wonder? 
 
 Think again, of what diminutive concern, in com- 
 parison, are many of those ambitious inquiries to 
 reach the Unknown, which have been the most in- 
 tense excitement to investigating minds. To ascer- 
 tain, for instance, the yet unknown course of a great 
 river, has excited the invincible ardour of some of 
 the most enterprising of mortals — who, in long succes- 
 sion, have dared all perils, and sacrificed their lives. 
 To force a passage among unknown seas and coasts, 
 in the most frowning and dreadful regions and cli- 
 mates; to penetrate to the discovery of the hidden 
 laws, and powers, and relations of nature ; to ascertain 
 the laws, the courses, the magnitudes, the distances, 
 of the heavenly bodies ; — something — is the truth, in 
 all these subjects of ambitious and intent inquisition. 
 But what if all this could be known ? — If we could 
 have the entire structure of this globe disclosed, to its 
 very centre, to our sio-ht or intelligence ; — if, through 
 some miraculous intervention of divine power, we 
 could have a vision of the whole economy of one of the 
 remotest stars; — or if our intelligt^nce could pass 
 down, under a prophetic illumination, to the end of 
 time in this world, beholding, in continued series, the 
 grand course of the world's affairs and events; — what 
 would any or all of these things he, in comparison 
 with the mighty prospect of our own eternal exist- 
 ence? — with what is to be revealed upon us, and to 
 be realized in our very being, and experience, through 
 everlasting duration? 
 
 When we think of such a comparison we may justly 
 indulge some regret and wonder, that very many 
 inquisitive minds, — perhaps the far greater number 
 of suchj — should feel an immeasurably greater degree 
 
FUTURE MODE OF EXISTENCE. 229 
 
 of curiosity, interest, and even solicitude, in directing 
 their thoughts to the unknown and the future of the 
 inferior subjects of conjecture and anticipation, than to 
 this superhitively important unicnovvn. Not that we 
 would wish to throw any disparagement on the con- 
 jectural inquisitive excursions of mind on any sub- 
 ject of inquiry. But surely it is a proof of strange 
 perversion in the soul of man, that these eager ex- 
 cursions to penetrate i;.to the remote and obscure, 
 should go on every track rather than on the grand 
 line of its own future existence! 
 
 It would not be an adequate nor an honest plea, to 
 allege that the knowledge is beyond our reach. In 
 any matter where we teel a profound prospective in- 
 lerest, the thoughts, the imagination, will go that way, 
 by an irresistible attraction. When certain that there is 
 to be something great, and immensely important to 
 ourselves — the spirit goes forth towards it, earnestly 
 tries to look into the distance — eagerly seizes all 
 glimpses, intimations, prognostics — revolves the prob- 
 abilities, the possibilities— exerts its utmost power ol 
 reason, conjecture, invention — to form to itself an im- 
 age of what the fact may be. How prodigiously, how 
 monstrously strange it were, that there should not be 
 the very utmost of this ardent excitement in the anti- 
 cipation of what we shall be hereafter and for ever. 
 This earnest tendency to look forward is natural and 
 rational, notwithstanding that such darkness rests over 
 the immense in terminable scene of our future existence. 
 
 But still, the question will arise. Why is it so over- 
 shadowed \vith darkness, — since it concerns us so 
 deeply,— since it is ours? There is something that is 
 ours, which is to be a thousand years hence, a million 
 of years hence, a million of ages hence, a million 
 times that,— and so forward ; it is ours, for it is certain 
 to be, and certain to be inseparable from us. It is to 
 be even ourselves, as absolutely ours as the state we 
 are to be in to-morrow is so ; — nay, as much as the 
 state we are in this moment belongs to us. But then, 
 the case being so, — why are we so precluded from a 
 20* 
 
230 IGNORANCE OF OUR 
 
 foresight which vvoulil in some measure enable us to 
 reaUze, lo our apprehenf^ion. that lliiure Plate of our- 
 selves? — One obvious thing in answer is, the essential 
 impossibility. ReHect. how very impertVctly we com- 
 prehend even our prer^ent existence, — after al! manner 
 of experience of it. and intimacy with it. Diminutive 
 as wt are, we involve a w-orld of mystery. The acut- 
 est, the profoundest investigators have been baffled. 
 What is life ? What is soul ? What is even body ? 
 How combined ? — and if we had the means of pur- 
 suir^g the inquiry into our future state, it may be pre- 
 sumed that every mystery would be aggravated upon 
 us. It is true, that the great '• Revealer of secrets"' 
 could have told us, by revelation, some things respect- 
 ing the future state which we might, in some super- 
 ficial general manner, have understood. For exam- 
 ple; — whether the disembodied spirit will have a ma- 
 terial vehicle? Whether there will be a distinct for- 
 mal process of judgment on it at death? In what 
 place it shall dwell till the resurrection ? Whether it 
 will, during that interval, be apprized of the transac- 
 tions on this earth ? Whether it will have sensible, 
 intimate communications with superior spirits? 
 Whether it will have a clearer, vaster manifestation 
 of the grand scene of the creation ? Whether it will 
 Iiave a luminous foresight of what it will become at 
 the resurrection ? When, and of what kind, will be 
 the local habitations thereafter ? What the employ- 
 ments will chiefly consist of? 
 
 All this, hovvever. would have reached but a little 
 way into the eternal progression ! — even if so lar it 
 gave us light. But what we would insist on is, that 
 all disclosures given of the future state would have 
 been, to us, faint and inefficient information. For if it 
 had been given in terms merely general, it would 
 have left our conceptions in a state nearly as vague 
 and unsatislactory as ever, no definite substance ; and. 
 in particular and specific terms it could not have been 
 given, without becoming either unintelligible or de- 
 graded ; for it must have been given either in terms 
 
FUTURE MODE OF EXISTENCE. 23J 
 
 of very close analogy with our present state, — or in 
 terms, if any such could Jiave been found, fitted and 
 true to the nature of a vastly different economy. Sup- 
 pose the former ; that is, terms and images belonging 
 to our present state. — then the descriptive information 
 would have been degraded. For then, the whole vis- 
 ion that should have been so grand, would have been 
 brought down towards the level, though not quite to 
 it, ot^our present notions and state.— our modes of life, 
 — of habitation, of narrow limited activity, of imperfect 
 social communication. There would be a servile 
 analogy or resemblance to our manner of relation to 
 place, to surrounding elements, to the modes and 
 sources of pleasure — and to our means and instru- 
 ments of knowledge and power. In short, the whole 
 revealed description must have been conformed to the 
 apprehensions of beings living in these gross bodies, 
 and having all their ideas modified by their bodily 
 senses. But this would be to humiliate, to degrade 
 the description and theory of a superior state ; and 
 not oily would the description be degraded, — but it 
 would not be true. On such accounts, a thinking and 
 aspiring mind feels little satisfaction or complacency 
 in any of those imaginary particular representations 
 of what the economy of a superior world may be sup- 
 posed to be. There is a recoiling feeling, — " that is 
 far too like things as they might be here — that is 
 making only a superior terrestrial state." 
 
 We supposed, on the other hand, the revealed speci- 
 fic description ol"a future state to be given in terms truly 
 appropriate to a quite different and higher economy, 
 —and then it would have been unintelligible. But in 
 truth the supposition itself is unintelligible and absurd. 
 That would be the language of another world. No 
 terms could convey to us a totally diri'erent order of 
 ideas; no human language could do it,— and any 
 other would be but the mysterious emblems of eter- 
 nity — bright, indeed, on yonder side, loward heaven, 
 but dark on this, toward us. Such a revelalioa 
 would be a sun in total and perpetual eclipse, 
 
232 IGNORAxNCE OF OUR 
 
 We say, then, that it does not " yet appear what wc 
 shall be," plainly because it is impossible. 
 
 Ifwe went no farther in the inquiry than merely the 
 state immediately after death, the separate state, — 
 we can instantly conceive, that when the soul is taken 
 out of this body with all its senses, and therefore out 
 of the whole system of relations with the senses, and 
 all the modes of perception belonging to the senses, it 
 must be in a state of wHich no specific idea* can be 
 conveyed to us. 
 
 Even supposing, contrary to all this, ihat some spe- 
 cific conceptions of the future state could be and were 
 conveyed to us. the effect would not be what we are 
 ready to imagifte. We are apt to fancy how mightily 
 and permanently striking and commanding such ideas 
 would be. But no — they v/ould become gradually fa- 
 miliarized among our ideas, and lose their extraordi- 
 nary and, so to speak, extra-mundane qualify and 
 power of impression. They must be mingled with 
 our ordinary conceptions, be adverted to in our 
 ordinary language, and would soon cease to be like 
 messengers sent to us from the dead and the world of 
 spirits. 
 
 A lar stronger impression is made on thinking spir- 
 its, and on others nothing makes an impression, by an 
 undefined magnificence, by a grand and awful myste- 
 ry, — when we are absolutely certain that there is a 
 stupendous reality veiled in that mystery ; when 
 quite certain too, that it rt-lates to ourselves — and that 
 it will at length be disclosed. 
 
 Such a grand reality, thus mysteriously veiled, at- 
 tracts thinking spirits most mightily — like the mystic 
 and awful recess in the inmost part of the temple. It 
 keeps in action the inquisitiveness, conjectures, expec- 
 tation. It sets the mind on imagining the utmost that 
 it can of grandeur and importance ; and the idea still 
 is, after the utmost efforts, "It is far greater than 
 even ail that .'" 
 
 Thus, if we will think, thisgrandeur veiled in darkness 
 has a more powerful effect on the mind, than any dis- 
 tinct particulars made palpable to our apprehension 
 
FUTURE MODE OF EXISTENCE. 233 
 
 — and brought down to our level in order to be made 
 eo. So far then it is better that it should not " yet ap- 
 pear what we shall be." 
 
 In this life men are placed in this world's relations, 
 a system of relations corresponding to our inhabitincr 
 a gross, frail, mortal body, with all its wants and cir- 
 cumstances — and That we have to perform all the va- 
 rious business of this world. That there are innumer- 
 able thoughts, cares, employments, belonging insepa- 
 rably to this our state ; and that therefore there must 
 not be such a manifestation of the future state as 
 would confound, stop, and breakup, this system. It is 
 true, that what we have been saying, nearly amounts 
 to this — that no revelation in words, such as we 
 could clearly understand, would so take hold on our 
 minds as to produce any such effect. To produce 
 such an effect, there must then be mighty and por- 
 tentous circumstances and appearances, extraordina- 
 ry interferences, things to astonish and shake the con- 
 stitution of our nature ; or else, perfectly extraordinary 
 impressions forced on our minds to give ns intimations 
 and specimens of another state of existence, and 
 produce overpowering emotions concerning it. This 
 could be, if God so willed — but this must not be, be- 
 cause it w^ould unfit men for the regular performance 
 of the business of this life. 
 
 We add that other plain reason for our being kept 
 in such ignorance of the exact nature of the future 
 state ; that faith is to be the grand principle of our 
 feelings and conduct respecting hereafter. We are to 
 believe, to be persuaded, and to act conformably to 
 that persuasion, — the whole present system must be 
 consonant with this. This appointment of faith to be 
 the actuating principle, is partly, as we see, because it 
 cannot be otherwise ; and partly because, to be gov- 
 erned by the declaration and will of God, is the vital 
 essence of all the obligations of his creatures. 
 
 But now, will it not be said, that the latter part of 
 these representations does in effect contradict the 
 former ; that we first make it a reproach to men that 
 they so little direct their thoughts and imaginatio-^ ^-^ 
 
234 IGNORANCE OF OUR 
 
 a fature state, — and that next we acquit them, by 
 showing the impos.sibiHty of forming any clear concep- 
 tions of it, if they did so direct their minds? What is 
 the use, it may be said, of indulging our musings and 
 inquisitive conjectures on the unknown? We an- 
 swer, it is necessary, when there is such a stupendous 
 reahty for certain before us, it is evidently a primary 
 duty io think of it, and with deepest interest: — and we 
 cannot think of it as one simple, single, invariable idea. 
 The mind must go, or attempt to go, in some degree, 
 into special modes of conception respecting it. 
 
 It is an elevating and spiritualizing exercise of the 
 mind. It tends to carry the soul a little way toward 
 its proper region, and to lessen the false importance 
 of the things of this world, and to slacken their hold. 
 It contributes to obviate that unnatural and pernicious 
 estrangement and dissociation between our present 
 and fuiure state. It lends to habituate the spirit to 
 seek and find the grand importance of its existence in 
 its hereafter, and to awake a lively and a sacred curios- 
 ity — which is surely a right and a worthy state of 
 feeling with which to go toward another world, and to 
 go into it. It may help to turn to valuable account 
 the varieties in the present system of our existence — 
 the facts in surrounding nature — the immediate cir- 
 cumstances of our own being, by, — promptinor, on 
 each particular, the thought and the question, " What 
 corresponding to this, — what in contrariety to this, — 
 what instead of this, may there be in that other world?" 
 It may aid to keep us associated with those who are 
 gone thither. It may give new emphasis to our im- 
 pression of the evil of sin, and the excellence of all 
 wisdom, holiness, and piety, by the thought, '• What 
 manner of effect is this — or this — adapted to result in, 
 in that future state ?" 
 
 By this exercise of contemplative anticipation, we 
 may make excellent use of those fitrures and emblems 
 in which revelation has shadowed out the future state, 
 carrying the thoughts as far as we can from the mere 
 figure, to what would in a higher sense best corre- 
 spond to it. In such an exercise, the particular charac- 
 
FUTURE MODE OF ElISTENCE. 235 
 
 ter of the individual's mind, his taste, his less or greater 
 abstraction in thinking, will, and very properly may 
 have a leading influence. Many pious minds may 
 love to imagine something very considerably in anal- 
 ogy with the present order of existence, — only greatly 
 raised and refined, but never losing sight of the par- 
 allel ; and this will no doubt greatly contribute to a 
 distinctness of ideas; an analogous order of senses — 
 and as adapted to them, beautiful and sublime scenes — 
 enchanting music of sounds, &c. 
 
 With others the wish will be to go as far away from 
 resemblance as is possible without going into absolute 
 and impalpable abstraction, into an unrealizable vacu- 
 ity, — and this we think is strongly warranted by what 
 is said of the nature of the body which shall be consti- 
 tuted at the resurrection, and by the consideration of 
 its immortality. Something widely, immensely differ- 
 ent from all that belongs to it now, is surely implied 
 by the assertion that it is to be like " the glorious body" 
 of the Mediator. What can we imagine of that body ? 
 Very lar, surely, from any close analogy with this 
 earthly structure. Consider it too, as capable of rising 
 to " meet the Lord in the air." Consider that pointed 
 contrast, rather than any parallel, which the apostle 
 exhibits in his account of it, a body raised in " glory," 
 in "power," in "incorruption," — and to crown all, a 
 "spiritual" body. He displays this body in lofty tri- 
 umph over the present body. The description gives 
 the full impression of something not only immensely 
 difierent, but specifically and essentially different. — 
 Then consider the strange, the mysterious circum- 
 stance of its immortality. A bodily structure immor- 
 tal ! — adapted to live ibr ever and ever. Here we are 
 carried away out of all conceivable analogy, as by the 
 whirlwind that took Elijah away. 
 
 In this its immortality, we are not to suppose the 
 operation of a perpetual miracle, — but that it will be 
 naturally immortal, by the same essential law as the 
 soul is so ; that it will not have, either in its material 
 consistence or its vital organization, any inherent prin- 
 ciple of decay. But how confounded is all intellect or 
 
236 CHRISTIAN DOCTRINE OF THE 
 
 created and fixed within the feeling itself; — simply a 
 fancy, in the attempt to conceive of such a body, — or of 
 its senses, parts, or vital action ! If we attempt to im- 
 agine a material scener}^, and order of elements, cor- 
 responding in quality to such a body, how lost are we 
 again ! Yet such a representation calls upon us, not 
 to forbear thinking on the mysterious subject, — but to 
 aim at thinking sublimely. 
 
 After all, and amid all our efforts to conceive of the 
 mode of the future existence, it will be well to occupy 
 our contemplations much upon the grand general ele- 
 ments of the future felicity : holiness — charity — wisdom 
 — power — immortality — enjoyment ol the divine pres- 
 ence and benignity. 
 
 Let no curiosity of high speculation beguile us for a 
 moment out of recollection of the one mighty differ- 
 ence, — of the two grand opposites, — in the future state, 
 the condition of the redeemed and purified, and the un- 
 believing and unrighteous ! 
 
 XXV. 
 
 CHRISTIAN DOCTRINE OF THE PERFECTIBILITY 
 
 OF MAN. 
 
 " When that which is perfect is come, then that 
 which is in part shall he done a^oay.'''' — One of the 
 general ideas naturally arising at the repetition of 
 such words would be, that Futurity is the greatness 
 of man, and that hereafter is the grand scene for the 
 attainment of the fulness of his existence. When de- 
 pressed and mortified by a conscious littleness of 
 being, yet feeling emotions and intimations which seem 
 to signify that he should not be little, he may look to 
 futurity and exclaim, " / shall he great yonder ! " 
 When feehng how little belongs to him, how diminutive 
 and poor his sphere of possession here, he may say. 
 " The immense futurity is mine ! I may be content to 
 be poor awhile in the prospect of that!" If here ob- 
 
PERFECTIBILITY OF MAN. 237 
 
 scure and even despised, he may reflect, " Well, it is 
 not here that I expect or want to verify my import- 
 ance." If forcibly admonished of the brevity of life, 
 the thought may arise, " "Well, the sooner my entrance 
 upon a life that shall have no end." 
 
 It is most gratifying to see the divine revelation con- 
 necting the attribute, the condition of perfection, on 
 any terms, in any sense, at any future period, with 
 human nature. It would be gratifying if this were but 
 intimated as a mere possibility; — it is most emphati- 
 cally so, to see it expressed as an assurance — a promise. 
 Think of man, the combination of all defects ! Let any 
 conceivable excellence be named, and the very men- 
 tion of it is, in effect, a reproach to him, as not having 
 it, or having it in but a very deficient measure. Who- 
 ever does possess the most of any one of them, is deeply 
 lamenting to perceive how partial, how miserably little, 
 the amount is, compared with even far less than perfec- 
 tion. Looking at man, we seem to see a vast collection 
 of little beginnings, — attempts, — failures; like a planta- 
 tion on a bleak and blasted heath. And the progress in 
 whatever is valuable and noble, whether in individuals 
 or communities, is so miserably difficult and slow. So 
 that " the perfectibility of man" in the sense in which 
 that phrase has been employed, stands justly ridiculed 
 as one of the follies of philosophic romance. Then 
 how delightful it is to see revelation itself, pronouncing 
 as possible, and predicting as to come, something 
 " perfect" in the condition of man ! 
 
 This prediction of something "perfect" to come, re- 
 lates to knowledge. This is somewhat surprising. It 
 seems much more easy to conceive of perfection in 
 another state attained or conferred, in any of what may 
 be called the moral attributes, than inknowledge, even 
 in any moderate and comparative sense. For in- 
 stance ; — perfect rectitude of the actuating principle, 
 the motives; — perfect reverence of the Supreme Be- 
 ing; — a perfectspirit of obedience ; — perfect "charity;" 
 or to say all in one, perfect holiness. These are things 
 of a more simple and absolute nature ; — qualities to be 
 21 
 
'238 CHRISTIAN DOCTRINE OF THE 
 
 rectification of its own constitution and habitude, which 
 we can conceive effected by a sin^de act of the Divine 
 Power. But knowledge is not a state of the disposi- 
 tions of the inteUigcnt being, — not an intrinsic quahty 
 of its nature ; but an intellectual relation which it has 
 with other things, witli any thing, with all things, which 
 can come within the sphere of its apprehension. The 
 scope of this relation has no necessary limit ; — but is 
 quite indefinite ; and may be amplified through every 
 successive period of duration. All things in the stu- 
 pendous totality of existence, and even in possibility, 
 are subjects for knowledge. To hear then from the 
 voice of divine truth, a prediction for men, of perfec- 
 tion in knowledge, in any, the most hmited, accom- 
 modated sense, is very marvellous. It is a subhme 
 prospect, contemplated under the most limited sense of 
 the terms which display it to us. 
 
 Let us attempt, for a few moments, to reahze to our 
 imagination such a state of knowledge as the Apostle's 
 text would imply. 
 
 The lowest point we can take, in the first place, is 
 the exclusion of error ; — or in other words, that all 
 opinion will be truth. The intellect must be perfectly 
 rectified in its mode of perception and action; and the 
 objects on which it is employed undeceptively present- 
 ed to it. So that if the manner of apprehending be tn- 
 tuition, the objects will be made clearly self-evident. 
 Or if there be an exercise like reasoning, the evidence 
 will be explicit, and the reasoning process infallible j 
 so that every thing admitted as knowledge shall be 
 absolutely such. It could not but be in the heavenly 
 state, a painful, a melancholy thing, for the spirit, after 
 exulting in the reception of a portion of knowledge, to 
 find out that it had been imposed on and deluded ; — 
 to be beset at each progressive stage, with the suspi- 
 cion that the apparent advance is perhaps to be trod- 
 den back again, as just so far wrong. So far then the 
 knowledge will be "perfect," that nothing delusive 
 and erroneous will be included in what is taken for 
 knowledge. 
 
 We may conceive its perfection in this sense— that 
 
PERFECTIBILITY OF MAN. '^-^'J 
 
 it will be perfectl}^ adequate to the infallible direction 
 of all the activities of the superior state. Those activi- 
 ties we may well believe to be of vast extent and end- 
 less v^ariety. But suppose a knowledge competent to 
 them all ; — an infallible knowledge, what to do, and 
 when., and by what means ; — a perfect knowledge what 
 power the agent has for accomplishing the objects ;— a 
 certain foresight of theresuh; — a perfect judgment 
 what is right, what is the best ; — a perfect understand- 
 ing of what is the Divine Will. So that the whole sys- 
 tem of action of the immortal beings shall proceed un- 
 der a luminous intelligence which permits no doubt, or 
 apprehension, or mistake,or fliilure. 
 
 The knov\7ledge of the inhabitants of the better world 
 will doubtless be perfect in this sense — that they will 
 possess as much of it as is indispensable to their happi- 
 ness, and will be sensible that they do so. They will 
 not feel that some of the essential means of their felici- 
 ty are concealed in the shade v/hich lies beyond the 
 great and illuminated field of their vision. They will 
 not be in the condition of the apostle John, who looked 
 on the sealed book, and "wept" because there was 
 none to open it. On the contrary, each one will be 
 able to say, '• I am happy in this liyht, — happy, till the 
 Father of li^h^s shall see good to make me still more 
 so, by opening to me another book yet sealed — to ex- 
 pand still further this wide and glorious vision." 
 
 These happy beings will possess always as much 
 knowledge, as lor the time their faculties are actually 
 capable of admitting — there will be " no craving void." 
 So that, as to what they cannot then know, it will not 
 be that it is arbitrarily withheld — causing them to say, 
 '•If it were but told me — if it were but disclosed, I 
 could understand it." This is our case here, — there 
 doubtless are a vast number of things kept in the dark 
 from us, which we could understand if they were but 
 declared ; and there is sometimes a most restless wish 
 to know them. That knowledge may be called perfect, 
 which shall be so, relatively to the capacity of the intel- 
 ligent being. Imagine this, and then imagine a con- 
 tinual sensible enlargement of the capacity itself, and 
 
240 CHRISTIAN DOCTRINE OF THE 
 
 as it enlarges, a continual influx of new knowledge to 
 fill it! 
 
 We ehould take some advantage of the apostle's 
 mode ofillustrating, by a contrast between "that which 
 is in part," and that " perfect " which is to come. 
 
 We may advert to the imperfect, partial nature of 
 our means of knowledge. It is a mysterious thing in 
 the all-wise Creator's economy, that intellectual be- 
 ings, spirits^ should be inclosed in gross matter, and 
 made dependent for their action on its organization. 
 The senses contained in this material frame, the grand 
 inlets of our knowledge, must and do convey it in a 
 most imperfect manner. These, while they are the 
 medium of knowledge, yet keep up an insuperable 
 separation between the mind, the spirit, and the objects 
 desired to be known. Through them it can receive 
 only reports and images of the things. It cannot itself 
 come at the things themselves. How it wishes some- 
 times that it could ! It longs to know what things are 
 in their own reality. 
 
 Language again is a most imperfect medium for the 
 conveyance of knowledge ; — it is mAeeA. framed upon 
 our imperfect knowledge, and partaking of all its de- 
 fects. It is contrived by men to express what they 
 very imperfectly conceive and know, and is full of in- 
 distinctness, uncertainty, perplexity, confusion. But 
 '•when that which is perfect is come I" — it may be said, 
 " What then ? What will then be the mode, the medi- 
 um, the instruments of our receiving and conveying 
 knowledge ?" We cannot even conjecture, till it do 
 come. — but it must be something immensely different, 
 whether or not in analogy with the present means. 
 
 One almost dislikes to suppose, in that more perfect 
 slate, even a resemblance to such feeble things as 
 hearing, seeing, feeling, language. But the sove- 
 reign and beneficent Creator, in forming his creature 
 anew in a far nobler condition, will infallibly do it for 
 the best — and if there be to be senses, and any arti- 
 ficial instruments, of knowledge analogous to the 
 present, let them be but as much superior to these as a 
 " spiritual body," made like the glorified body of 
 
PERFECTIBILITY OF MAN. 241 
 
 Christ, will be superior to this " earthy," mortal one. 
 and it will suffice. 
 
 But whatever shall be the means and manner of ap- 
 prehending. — ihe apprehension must be incomparably 
 more immediate and intimate than in this world, to 
 satisfy the exalted intelligence. That there will be 
 this pervading intelligence, this intimacy of know- 
 ledge, seems to be implied by what the apostle says, 
 " I shall know even as also I am known," that is, by the 
 divine Spirit. So " when that which is in part shall be 
 done away, and that which is perfect is come." the 
 manner of knowing shall be an entire, a complete 
 one, as to the means and instrumenls. — Here note^the 
 imperfection of the other great mean of knowledge, 
 reasoning. 
 
 How emphatically our present knowledge is but 
 " in part," if we advert to the number and extent of the 
 things to be known. It is but a diminutive portion of 
 the grand whole of things, that we can even be so ap- 
 prised of as to be aware that we are ignorant of them. 
 We can think no question at all about them. But 
 take even so much as we are apprised of enough to 
 make subjects of inquiry; and just ihink, how many 
 can be answered of all the questions we can ask? To 
 a vast proportion of them, there is no possible answer 
 at all. To a great majority of the rest, that do not 
 go entirely beyond our sphere, the answer is extremely 
 doubtful. As to the comparatively few that we seem 
 to think we can reply to, we find, when we try, that 
 the answer is that of but a very partial knowledge. 
 
 "When that which is perf^-ct is come," it will not 
 bring an answer to all possible inquiries ; — that were 
 to extend our knowledge beyond an archangel's com- 
 pass; but it may well be believed that it will be amaz- 
 ing and delightful to see what a multitude of things, 
 of which w^e had but the faintest glimpses beibre, are 
 brought into perfect manifestation. What a revela- 
 tion there may be in two senses; — in the vast enlarge- 
 ment of the mind's own proper pou-er of knowing, 
 while it looks from a higher eminence over a wider 
 21* 
 
242 CHRISTIAN DOCTRINE OF THE 
 
 field ; — and in the direct disclosures and communica- 
 tions which the Divine Being may beneficently make. 
 His present revelation is the greatest blessing confer- 
 red on human intelligence on earth. But how obvi- 
 ously that is but " in part." How many things are 
 not mentioned ! — how many with but a particle of in- 
 formation ! — some are presented with an obscure and 
 half-revealed aspect, like the moon sometimes seen 
 with a narrow line of light, and the disc opaque and 
 dimly perceptible. It would not be a wild imagina- 
 tion, that then there will be a still further new revela- 
 tion, strictly such, to impart information of what will 
 still.be beyond the sphere of knowledge by any other 
 means — and that also to become ultimately an imme- 
 diate knowledge ; and then a still further and further 
 rev^elation ; and so forward, interminably and for ever ! 
 
 But all these anticipations remind us but the more 
 forcibly, how we here " know but in part." So " in 
 part," that just the part, the portion which we want to 
 attain, is divided off from our reach. It seems as if a 
 dissevering principle, or a dark veil, fell down exactly 
 at the point where we think we are near upon the 
 knowledge we are pursuing. We reach the essen- 
 tial question of the inquiry ; — let that be surpassed and 
 we should arrive at the truth — exult in the knowledge. 
 But just there we are stopped by something insuper- 
 able ; and there we stand, like prisoners looking at 
 their impregnable wall. 
 
 So " in part" our knowledge is, that an exceeding 
 weight, we sometimes feel as if a disproportionate one, 
 is thrown upon our faith. We cannot understand the 
 case, and yet we must approvingly submit to Him 
 who is the Master of all things ; and our obedience 
 must be as ready and unreserved as if we could. 
 But this is a hard exercise for faith. In our partial 
 view, appearances may seem against what we never- 
 theless are required most firmly to believe. It is dif- 
 ficult to maintain this faith, but is happily aided by the 
 divine assurance, that one day we shall know ''when 
 that which is perfect is come." 
 
PERFECTIBILITY OF MAN. 243 
 
 So " in pan" our knowledge is, that in many things 
 we see lar more of the evil than of the good, in the 
 whole state of things, as far as within our comprehen- 
 sion. But we are sure that on the great view, to 
 which we cannot yet attain, there must be a decided 
 predominance of good, in the empire of Him who is 
 infinite in wisdom, power, and goodness. The antici- 
 pation of clearly seeing it so, is a delightful radiance 
 from heaven on our present dark abode. 
 
 So "in part," our knowledge is, that we cannot 
 agree one with another. The " part" itself is not 
 clear, bright, and infallible, as far as it goes. It con- 
 tains those shades, perplexities, and equivocal appear- 
 ances, among which men must greatly difl'er. It 
 would have been a fine thing if good men, and wise 
 men, could have been unanimous on to the limited ex- 
 tent of this early stage and immaturity of our know- 
 ledge, and had not filled the twilight of the great ap- 
 proaching day of wisdom with their controversies and 
 their quarrels. But when the "perfect comes," the 
 grand illumination of each spirit will be rendered in- 
 conceivably more delightful by the coincidence of judg- 
 ment which will create a happy sympathy and harmo- 
 ny of the affections. 
 
 These general ideas might be illustrated in appli- 
 cation to our imperfect knowledge of even our own 
 nature, as in the essential principle of life; — the mys- 
 terious connexion of the soul with the body ; — the na- 
 ture and operations of that soul itself How striking 
 to reflect, that we can as yet just as much comprehend 
 the whole universe as our own liitle selves, our own 
 selves who are thinking and talking on these subjects. 
 These ideas might also be viewed in their application 
 to the theory of the condition and destination of our 
 race; — the system of divine Providence; — the doc- 
 trines of religion ; — the manner of our future exist- 
 ence ;— the inquiry, what rational beings, and under 
 what economy, in other realms of the universe ; and 
 the universe itself 
 
 After such views contemplatedj think of the pride 
 
244 CHRISTIAN DOCTRINE, ETC. 
 
 ofpresent knowledge! with a little glimmering on 
 their spirits, there are men that walk the earth wiih an 
 elation as if they should be gods ; — and destitute too, 
 as this very pride would show, of that which is the 
 best of the knowledge attainable here ! 
 
 Consider what a high advantage over us is now at- 
 tained by our pious friends that are gone — even in that 
 less perfect state which intervenes between the de- 
 parture hence and the resurrection! 
 
 " Then that which is in part shall be done away." 
 Imagine the emerging from this dark world into light ! 
 what a dismissal from our spirits, what a vanishing 
 away of the whole systems of our little notions, our 
 -childish conceptions! If they will be sufficiently re- 
 collected to be compared with the grand manifestation 
 of truth and reality then unveiled, what a contrast! 
 Yet there will not be an entire contempt thrown upon 
 the retrospect ; for it will be understood how those 
 little notions, that feeble light, that partial revelation, 
 were the right training for the infancy and childhood 
 of the human soul. 
 
 Let us then be thankful that we do know, though 
 but in part, and earnestly apply and improve what we 
 are permitted to know. Let us be thankful, too, that 
 one point of that very knowledge is, that its imperfec- 
 tion will be left behind. 
 
 If there will be, as none can doubt, in the heavenly 
 state, different degrees in the felicity of the redeemed 
 spirits, and if knowledge will be one great mean of 
 felicity there, xoho may be expected to possess the high- 
 est attainments of it ? Not necessarily those, even 
 good men, who possessed the most of it here, but rath- 
 er those who have excelled the most in piety^ — in de- 
 votion to God and Christ, and the cause of heaven in 
 this world. God crm, by one great act of his reward- 
 ing power, make them the highest in intelligence, and 
 it is reasonable to believe that he ?r«7/. 
 
XXVI. 
 
 END OF THE YEAR. 
 
 '■ We spend our years as a tale that is told" — The 
 ninetieth psalm being ascribed to Moses, its pensive 
 strain may be deemed to have a particular reference 
 to the condition of the Israelites in the sojourn in the 
 wilderness, under the doom of consuming away their 
 lives there. Nevertheless, this pensive strain is in 
 harmony with the sentiments ofthe most thoughtful per- 
 sons ever since. No part of the ancient scriptures is 
 less obsolete than this. It is a picture still true to na- 
 ture. Human life, viewed generally, has not since 
 brightened up into a scene ol joy and trium.ph. The 
 brief description of the state in paradise belongs to a 
 departed and remote economy ; and that given in this 
 psalm is instantly felt to be appropriate to the present 
 condition of man. This representation applies itself 
 and fastens close upon the real subject. The beautiful 
 and splendid images brought from the beginning of 
 our history, or shaped since by fine imagination, 
 stand off into the air, from the reality ; a fair vision, 
 but no more attached to the actual substance than 
 the beautitul clouds or the rainbow will descend or 
 permanently rest on the surface ofthe ground. 
 
 One circumstance ofthe description is,—" We spend 
 our years as a tale that is told." This seems to ex- 
 press both a necessary fact, and a censure. The 
 rapid consumption of our years, — their speedy pass- 
 ing away, is inevitable. But they may be spent also 
 in a trifling manner, to little valuable purpose, which 
 would complete the disconsolate reflection on them, by 
 the addition of guilt and censure. 
 
 We have been consuming our years; we have very 
 nearly expended another; — think how nearly it is 
 gone from us ! Yonder as it were behind is the long 
 lapse of it. As if we stood by a stream bearing va- 
 rious things upon it away. We can look back to its 
 successive times and incidents, as what we were pres- 
 ent to. But Omnipotence cannot take us back to meet 
 
246 END OF THE YEAR. 
 
 again its commencement, or any portion or circum- 
 stance of it. We are present now to one of its latest 
 diminutive portions, which Omnipotence cannot with- 
 hold from following the departed. We are occupying 
 it, breathing in it, thinking in it, for nearly the last 
 time ; little more of it is remaining than time enough 
 for bidding it a solemn and reflective farewell ! A 
 few hours more, and the year can never be of the 
 smallest further use to us, except in the way of re- 
 Jlection. It is a serious thing to say that of any val- 
 uable thing included in our portion on earth ; — a thing 
 that antecedently was of great direct value, — value 
 for actual use, — now of none but for thought. For 
 there is a great difference between the possible good 
 from a valuable thing in possession, or that is to be in 
 possession, — and the good that afterwards might be 
 gained by merely thinking of it when it is gone. Sup- 
 pose the case of a considerable amount of property 
 that wa^ possessed, or in a man's power, but is so no 
 longer, — spent, — perhaps Avasted or lost. Now, a 
 man who can think wisely may derive some good from 
 it even after it is gone. But how different his situa- 
 tion from that o'i having it in his power, and with wis- 
 dom to use it well. So in the case of having lost by 
 death, a highly valuable and useful friend. Apply 
 this to our case with respect to the departed year. 
 
 In having had this whole year, w^e have had more 
 of valuable time, than we had any right, at the begin- 
 ning of it, to assure ourselves of AlUhat we could say 
 the beginning was — " Such and such things may be 
 effected for ourselves — for others. — for God. — if our 
 lives are prolonged." But we did not know that we 
 should have so much riches of time to spend. The 
 event has proved that we were to have the whole year, 
 with all those possibilities of good. 
 
 We may yet gain some good from the past year, 
 by wise reflection. But there is a vast difference be- 
 tween the measure of any good that can now so be 
 gained, — and the measure of that good which was 
 possible to be gained during the possessions and ex- 
 penditure of the year. Place yourselves in thought 
 
END OF THE YEAR. 247 
 
 back at the beginning of it, and remember that there 
 you actually did stand, — that it was no imaginary 
 point of history. Then you might, say, " What is 
 possible to me in the whole length of this commenc- 
 ing year, if the Divine Will shall prolong my life 
 throughout it, in moderate health ? — what is pos^sible 
 in a space of nearly four hundred days ? My ordi- 
 nary worldly business and cares absolutely must fill a 
 main share of the time. But even in this^ by aid irom 
 above, there may be perhaps a purer conscience main- 
 tained, and a more habitual sense of the divine pres- 
 ence. There may be, in almost four hundred days, a 
 vast number of — most serious thoughts — pointed re- 
 flections of self-examination, and self-judgment, — dis- 
 tinct references to God and eternity,— earnest desires 
 after an assured and unquestionable interest in Jesus 
 Christ, — petitions deliberately conceived and aiklress- 
 ed to the Almighty, — efforts at a clearer apprehension 
 of divine truth, — efforts to recall and reapply import- 
 ant admonitions, — efforts for practical sell-correction. 
 — efforts to make something that we think, or that we 
 can do, useful to fellow-mortals." Compute now the 
 sum of all these invaluable things, — if effected, what a 
 happy enrichment of our spirits and our life ! What 
 a value at the time, and forward through life, and into 
 eternity ! Now when the year began, all this was 
 possible. The coming year contained all these possi- 
 bilities ; like a mine in which it is certain there is a 
 mass of precious treasure, which may be dug for, and 
 will be found, if the labour is applied; like a field of 
 great and certain fertility. The circumstance that 
 we were not sure of the whole year, made only this 
 difference, that the duty was siill the more urgent to 
 improve it, part by part, as it might be given to us. 
 Why should not all this that was possible, have been 
 reahzed ? Reflections on the then past year enforced 
 an earnest endeavour, regret, and perhaps remorse 
 came in to reinforce it. Time was evidently acquir- 
 ing an aggravated value and iinportance in our hands 
 by diminution. We had perhaps known of unhappy 
 
248 
 
 END OF THE YEAR. 
 
 instances of that being the last year to persons who 
 had lailed of making the wisest use of their former 
 ones. There were perhaps brouglit to our view, the 
 most grave and forcible considerations applicable to 
 the case, and corresponding resolutions were most de- 
 liberately formed. Then, if we have failed greatly, 
 WHY have we failed ? It were desirable the cause 
 should be well understood. 
 
 One of the points, if there was a neglect of that^ 
 may account for a failure in all the rest; — constant 
 earnest petitioning for divine influence and assistance. 
 For the instruction supplied by all our years has been 
 to little purpose, if we are not become fully aware of 
 one plain fact, that which was expressed in our Lord's 
 sentence — " Without me ye can do nothing." In 
 other words, that it is only through the medium of 
 God that we can effectually attempt any of the most 
 important things, because we have a nature that is 
 unadapted to them — repugnant to them, — revolts 
 from them. Recollect such things as we were nam- 
 ing as what might have been in the past year. Could 
 the impulse of these intentions, — these aims, — these 
 attempts, be effective by the mere force of the boiU 
 itself? No, the case would be like that of the man 
 who stretched out his hand to a sacred object, "and 
 behold it was withered !" Or as if some implement 
 requiring to be kept in a high temperature for some 
 critical operation, were held forth to be applied, but 
 became frozen in this winter atmosphere. But it is 
 from the heart that the frost proceeds ! O ! that fatal 
 source and cause of disability and failure ! It is there- 
 fore only through an agency, and, shall we say, an 
 element of divinity, pervading and surrounding us, 
 that we can reach forth with an effectual effort. 
 Therefore, if during the past year we failed in the es- 
 sential point of imploring that Divine Spirit to ani- 
 mate us, — well might we fail in the rest ! 
 
 But we will not assume so gloomy a fact as that 
 the case has been wholly thus. It is the concern of 
 each one's conscience ; but we will hope that in 
 
END OF THE YEAR. 249 
 
 more than a few instances, some ^ood measure has 
 been effected of what was the grand purpose for 
 w^hich the departed year was given. Whoever be 
 the persons of whom this is true in the greatest de- 
 gree, they are the happiest that the year has left aHve, 
 — supremely happ)^ in this, that they do not need the 
 year that is coming on. How happy I as compared 
 with what the thoughtless or the worldly may envy 
 the most. There are men who have within the past 
 year come into possession of great wealth. They 
 will want another year ! Ask them whether it be so 
 or not? There are men who have brought a great 
 worldly scheme to a point of signal success ; w^ho have 
 come back in safety and triumph from a long and 
 hazardous adventure. There are men who have 
 reached the arduous summit of intellectual attainment 
 and honour. But show us the man for whom, as a 
 Christian^ ^{\\G past .year has done the most! and 
 then, if he might take all these fine things instead^ — 
 let a sober voice, let any voice say, whether he should I 
 if he could and did, what should he do with them, if 
 Avithin a few months hence he were summoned to die ? 
 and then whatshould he dowithout the things he would 
 have surrendered in exchange ? 
 
 But however the case has really been with us, we 
 return to the observation, that the year has now gone 
 beyond our making any advantage of it, except in the 
 way of reflection. It is like a seed-time gone, and the 
 tract of ground sunk under the sea. It is as a trea- 
 sure-house burnt; but of which, nevertheless, we 
 may find some little of the gold melted into a differ- 
 ent form in the ashes, Let us then, in parting with 
 the year, try to gain from it the last and only thing it 
 can give us, — some profit by means of our thoughts 
 reaching back to what is gone. Each serious mind 
 will have its own kind of reflections. 
 
 Sentiments of a grateful kind should be among the 
 
 first to arise in every one's meditation on the past 
 
 year. It should be so if the fact be, that in the whole 
 
 year there has not been an hour — a moment, in which 
 
 22 
 
•250 END OF THE YEAR. 
 
 we did not owe gratitude. What then must be the 
 gum ? There has been an exercise in the most per- 
 fect sense, incessant^ of a beneficent Providence, 
 maintained, while an infinity of things have been in 
 operation, and among them a legion of evils. Think 
 a moment what might have been ! A tremendous 
 vision of possible evils arises at the thought ! Think, 
 too, what can we say that we could claim by desert 
 from the righteous Governor of the world! Then 
 think where we are left, in point of obligation, at the 
 close of the year ! and whether we are lit to enter on 
 another year without gratitude ! If we have no right 
 estimate and feeling for the past mercies of God, how 
 are we to receive present and future ones with a right 
 feeling ? For future duty we shall want to have mo- 
 tives ; think, if all the force that should be motive 
 could be drawn in the form of gratitude, from one 
 year's mercies of God, and as it were converged to a 
 point, what a potent motive that would be ! We 
 have to look back over the year to collect this force — 
 and not to do so, is to forego one of the benefits which 
 might be derived from it even after it is gone. 
 
 Our last year has been added to an irrevocable ac- 
 count. It has passed into the record of heaven, — into 
 the memory of God ! The seal of eternity has been 
 put upon it ; so that it stands irreversible for ever ; — 
 stands an unalterable portion of our everlasting exist- 
 ence. The awful force of this consideration comes 
 pecuharly upon the moments and feelings when we 
 could wish some parts of it altered. Think with what 
 force it would come if it were under a mere economy 
 of divine jMs^ice. But then, what a glorious appoint- 
 ment of the divine mercy is that which can reverse the 
 effect — the actual consequence, of the guilty por- 
 tion of the past year; — reverse it as to the appro- 
 priate and deserved retribution. But this doctrine of 
 mercy must not be abused, and therefore, — another 
 thing in our review of the past year should be to ob- 
 serve what there has been in it which ought not to be 
 in another. Let a careful and even severe account be 
 taken of those things ; and then say whether it be not 
 
END OF THE YEAR. 251 
 
 enough that the past year bears on its character sucli 
 things for ever. Let them be strongly marked as 
 what ought not to pass the dividing Hne between this 
 year and the next ; and let them be earnestly opposed 
 when they shall come to do so. Would that an angel, 
 as with a flaming sword, might stand on the border to 
 repel them ! The Almighty Spirit can do this for us. 
 
 What w^ould have been our situation, if the whole of 
 the year had not been given us ? Would less have 
 sufficed us as to the supreme purpose of life ? Can 
 we go back in thought, to points and periods of it and 
 say, — there, in its earlier months, — or there, at the 
 middle, our time might have closed, and all would 
 have been well? or ii^ near the end. or yesterday, or 
 to-day, our time had closed, all had been well? But 
 if there be not ground for a humble confidence that all 
 would have been well, the year closes ill. Can there 
 be a mightier admonition for the commencement of 
 another year ? 
 
 Our year has been parallel to that of those persons 
 who have made the noblest use of it. We can repre- 
 sent to ourselves the course of the most devoted ser- 
 vants of God through this past year, in various states, 
 and modes of employment. Now ice had just the same 
 hours, days, and months, as they. Let the comparison 
 be made. Why was the day, the w^eek, the month, of 
 less value in our hands than in theirs ? Do we stand 
 for ever dissociated from them upon this year? Hov/ 
 desirable that we maybe associated with them during 
 the next, if God prolong our life I 
 
 Our further experience of mortal life, and the world. 
 We have seen it, — tried it, — judged it, thus much 
 longer. Has the estimate brightened upon us by ex- 
 perience ? Have we obtained a practical refutation 
 of the sacred oracles that have pronounced " Vanity-- 
 upon it? Now the results of experience should really 
 stand for something in our views of this mortal state, — 
 and in the degree of our attachment to it. Besides, 
 what should be the effect of this further knowledge of 
 the nature and quality of this mortal state ? There 
 should be some effect from the mere circumstance cf 
 
'252 END OF THE YEAR. 
 
 one year's diminution of our occupancy of this state. 
 Our interest upon it is contracted to so much narrower 
 a breadth. At first we may be said to have had vital 
 ties to the whole extent of this mortal Hfe ;— an inter- 
 est in each portion of it as it was coming to be ours. 
 We held to life by each year of the whole allotment. 
 But each year withdrawn cut that tie, like the cutting 
 in succession of each of the spreading roots of a tree. 
 The consumption of this last year has cut away ano- 
 ther of these holds on life, these ties of connexion and 
 interest. Now there should in spirit and feeling be a 
 degree of detachment in proportion. 
 
 Fn whatever way we consider the subtraction of one 
 year from our whole allotment, it is an important cir- 
 cumstance. It reduces to a narrower space the un- 
 certainty of life's continuance. At the beginning we 
 mio-ht, for any thing that could be known, live bufone 
 or "a few years ; — yet we might live fifty, sixty, or 
 seventy years. But now, as to many of us, there is no 
 such wude range of life. It brings us nearer to see 
 what we are likely to be at the end and after the end \ 
 It has increased the religious danger, if there be 
 danger. It tells us of too much that now can never be 
 done. It has added very greatly to the weight of 
 every consideration that ought to impel us to make the 
 utmost of what may remain. 
 
 j The year departed may admonish us of the strange 
 ' deceptive ness. the stealthiness of the flight of time. 
 There have been a prodigious number of minutes and 
 hours to look forward to, and each hour at the time 
 did not seem to go so wonderfully fast; and yet how 
 short a while they now seem to have been, in all van- 
 ishing away I It wnll be so in what is to come. Each 
 day will beguile us with this deception, if we are not 
 vigilant ; and will leave us, still to be done, that which 
 it should have done. Therefore every period and por- 
 tion of it,— the ensuing year, and each part of it,— 
 should be entered on with emphatically imploring our 
 God to save us from spending it in vain ! 
 
 THE END. 
 
BOOKS 
 
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 THE Ai^ERICAN IN EGYPT. 
 
 With Rambles thrcagh Arabia-Fetrsea and the Holy Land, during tlie 
 
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 THE FLAG SHIP ; 
 
 OR A VOYAGE ROUND THE \VORLD, 
 
 In the United States Frigate Columbia, attended by her consort, the Sloop of 
 
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 TOUR THROUGH TURKEY AND PERSIA. 
 
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 SCOTLAND AND THE SCOTCH; 
 
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 HANDY ANDY. — a tale of irish life. 
 
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 WITH TWENTY-THREE ILLUSTRATIONS BY DICK KITCAT, 
 
 THE FORTUNES OF HECTOR O'HALLORAN, 
 
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D. Appleion ^ Co. 5 CatuJbguc of Valvalle W^/r::9. Id 
 
 A DICTIONARY OF ARTS, MANUFACTURES AND MINES, 
 
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 In eTery point of vi«w a work like ihc present can but be re§arH»-i m, a Benefit done to tbeo 
 
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 «es of literature the exclusive production of tl.e present cennry, and tlie present state o< 
 
 Iteace and civilization. Critir;snis in lavour of iu intrinsic value to all classes of tiie commo 
 
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 )oumais in Europe ai.a luis country. 
 
 " This useful and most excellent work, whirli has been issuing in M-rntlily Numbers, fm 
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 the scientific principles and processes c . vhanics, and the history of all improvements ia 
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 w:tU upwards of twelve Hundred engravings."— >. Y. Tribune. 
 
 HYDRAULICS AND MECHANICS. 
 
 ▲ Descriptive and Historical Account of Hydraulic and other Machines foj 
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 Bellows of various People. Magic Goblets, Steani Idols, and other Ma» 
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 ing and Spouting Tubes, and other original Devices, Nature's modes ami 
 Machinery for Raising Water. Historical notices respecting Siphons, 
 Fountains, Water Organs. Clopsydrs:, Pipes, Valves, Cocks, Arc. In five 
 books. Illustrated by nearly Three Hundred Engravings. By Thomas 
 Ewbank. One handsomely printed vomme of six hundred pages. $3 50. 
 
 HODGE ON THE STEAM-ENGINE, 
 
 Tlie Steam-Engine, its Origin and Gradual Improvement, from the time of 
 Hero to the present day, as adapted to Manufactures, Locomotion an I 
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 letter-press in 8vo. $10 00. 
 
 LAFEVER'S MODERN ARCHITECTURE, 
 
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 of Technical Terms ; the whole formii;? a complete Manual for the Prac 
 lical Builder. Bj" M- Lafever, Architect. 1 vol. large Svo half bound. 
 t6 00. 
 
 LAFEVER'S STAIR-CASE AND HAND-RAIL 
 CONSTRUCTION. 
 
 The Modern Practice of Slair-casc and Hand-rail Cor'struction. practically 
 explained, in a series of Designs. By M. Lafevoi. Architect. Witb 
 Plans and Elevations for Ornamental Villas. Fifte<?n Plates. I vui. 
 large gvo. $3 00, 
 Tk« work* of Lafever are pronounced by practical men to be the most useful evor prito 
 
 THE •PRINCIPLES OF DIAGNOSIS. 
 
 ■ly Marshall Hall, N J. F.R S., Ac. Second Edition, with many improvii 
 
 inents. By Dr. John A- Sweet. I vol. Svo. $i 00 
 
A LIBRARY FOR MY YOUNG COLNTRYMEX. 
 
 This Library is confided to the editorial care of one of the mostsao 
 cessful writers of the day, and commends itself as presenting to 
 the readers of this country a collection of books, chiefly confined 
 to American subjects of historical interests. 
 
 Volumes already Published, uniform in style. Price 37 1-2 cents, each. 
 
 I.— ADVENTURES OF HENRY HUDSON. 
 
 By the author of " Uncle Philip's Conversations." 
 This little volume furnishes us, from authentic sources, the most 
 important facts in this celebrated adventurer's life, and in a style 
 that possesses more than ordinary interest. — Evening Post. 
 
 II.— ADVENl'URES OF CAPT. JOHN SMITH, 
 
 The Founder of the Colony of Virginia. By the author 
 
 of *"' Uncle Philip's Conversations." 
 
 It will be read by youth with all the interest of a novel, and cer- 
 tainly with much more profit.— iS''. Y. American. 
 
 III.— D AWNINGS OF GENIUS; 
 
 Or, the Early Lives of some Eminent Persons of the last 
 
 Centurj'. By Anne Pratt. 
 
 Contents.— Sir Kumplirey Davy— Rev. George Crabbe— Baroa 
 Cuvier — Sir Joshua Reynolds — Lindley Murray — Sir James Macin 
 tosh — Dr. Adam Clarke. „ 
 
 IV.— ADVENTURES OF HERNAN CORTES, 
 
 The Conqueror of Mexico. By the author of " Uncle 
 
 Philip's Conversations." 
 
 The story is full of interest, and is told in a captivating style. 
 Such books add all the charms of Romance to the value of his- 
 tory. — Prov. Journal. 
 
 v.— ADVENTURES OF DANIEL BOONE, 
 
 ' The Kentucky Rifleman. By the author of " Uncle 
 Philip's Conversations." 
 
 It is an excellent narrative, written in a plain, familiar style, and 
 sets forth the character and wild adventures of the hero of the 
 Kentucky wilderness in a very attractive light. The boys will all 
 be in agony to read it." — Com. Adv. 
 
 VI.— LIFE OF OLIVER CROMWELL. 
 
 By Robert Southey, LL.D. 
 This is by far the ablest written Life of this extraordinary mait 
 It exhibits some striking passages of his career in a true light. 
 
 VII.— riz:i.:r ::a:;dolph. 
 
 A Tale of Virginia. By Mary Gertrude. 
 An exceedingly interesting work relating to the Early History of 
 the Colony of Virginia. 
 
 Vm.-IX.— HISTORY OF THE FRENCH REVQl 
 LUTION, 
 
 Ita Causes and Consequences. By F. Maclean Rowaiu ■ 
 A work written in the best spirit, and adapted for universal cir» 
 eolation. 
 
 %* Other works of equal value will be added to the series. 
 
D. Appleton ^ Co.'s Catalogue, of ValuaLlf Works. 
 
 FnSTORY OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE 
 Translated from tlie French of M. Laurent Dc L'Ardcchc, Mem. 
 ber of the Institute of France. Illustrated with Five Hundred 
 Spirited Plaics, after dcsii^ns by Horace Vcrnet, and twenty 
 Original Portraits of the most distinguished Generals of France, 
 2 vols. 8vo. $4 00. 
 
 All the leading journals have spoken in the most unqualified 
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 •♦ Af a chaste, condensed, failhfi-.l, and accurate meoioii of the (ircat Captain, U li wonfty at 
 mach attention. The autlior liiu mniiily drawn the n^ce^-sary Tart* of hit hiamry frcm llie letlen, 
 i|>eechet, n^anifcEtocsi bulletins, aud other slate papera of Nnpoleun, and lioi givuu a coiuiderabU 
 ■ amber of these in hu text. 
 
 ** The work ia superior to the long verbose rrreluctiona of Scott and Bonniejine — not Id »tTl» 
 •lone, but iu uruih— r«ing written to please ne:tlier CLarlea X nor the Knshfih ariaiocracy— bat 
 fer Uie caiue of Ireetlom. U baa advantagei over every other memoir extaul." 
 
 THE BOOK OF THE NAVY; 
 
 Comprising a General History of the Americaa Marine, and parti 
 cular Accounts of all the most Celebrated Naval Baf lies, from the 
 Declaration of Independence to the present time, compiled from 
 the best authorities. By John Frost, Professor of Belles Lcttrea 
 in the High School of Philadelphia. AVith an Appendix, con- 
 taining Naval Songs, Anecdotes, &c. Einbcllislicd with nume- 
 reus original Engravings and Portraits of distinguished Naval 
 Commanders. Complete in one handsome volume, 8vo. $100. 
 
 "Thii elecant volume Is dedicated to the present Secretary of the Navr, and ii alto»ether a very 
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 an appendix of tei'enty pages, including tliirly-lwo very interesting characlerialic anealotes, niii». 
 teen ly^C"! Poenis, and a minute chronological table ot event* in American Naval History. It U 
 appropriately adorned wivti steel engraved portraits, numetoua vienetics, and full page represent*. 
 tloiu of various conHicti The Book of the Navy dctervei, auJ will doubtless have, a very exteoil* 
 •d circulation." — National InteUigencer. 
 
 INCIDENTS OF A WHALING VOYAGE.* 
 
 To which is added Observations on the Scenery, Manners, and 
 Customs, and Missionary Stations of the Sandwich and Society 
 Islands, accompanied by numerous plates. By Francis Allyn 
 Olmsted. One handsome volume, 12mo. $1 50. 
 PICTORIAL VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. 
 
 The Vicar of Wakefield. By Oliver Goldsmith. Elegantly illus. 
 trated with nearly 200 Engravings, making a beautiful vokime, 
 octavo, of about 350 pages. $1 25. 
 
 " We love to luni back over these ricli old claisios of o>ir own language, and rejuvinate onrselvet 
 
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 raad thi* iirunortal tale for fifteen or twenty yLors, try the experiniei.i, and we will warrant, that h« 
 daetap from the task — itic pleasure we should have said— a happier and a hettcr man."— 6a«. Rqt. 
 
 PICTORIAL ROBINSON CRUSOE. 
 
 The Life and Adventures of Robinson Crusoe. Uy Daniel De 
 Foe. With a Memoir of the Author, and an £ssay on hii 
 Writings, illustrated with nearly 500 spirited Engravings, by 
 the celebrated French artist, Grandvdie, forming one elegant 
 Tolume, octavo, of 500 pages. $1 75. 
 
 • Wa» there e*cr anything written by mere man that the reader wished longer, eicep* RoUaioa 
 Qtmoc. I'on Uuixolte, and the fil^riiii's Progress l"~Or. JnfitiMin. 
 
 - U2w krvBv thai Ous Die ajo»< uiural of lomaiicia, i* not ouly Uw aMf ebanainf of tookl M 
 toiM«iSii*rk>ri've. — -^ unaaatx^ 
 
4 D. Appleton ^- Co Catalogue of Valuable Works. 
 SCRIPTUR k AND GEOLOGY. 
 
 Ob the Relation between the Holy Scriptures and some parts of Geolcgic«I 
 Science. By John P i'E Smith, D.D., author of the " Scripture Testimony 
 of the Messiah," &c. &c, 1 vol. 12mo. $1 25. 
 
 "The volume consists of eight lectures, to which are appended seventy 
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 third includes a research into the creation of our globe ; the fouith and fifth 
 lectures comprise an examination of the deluge ; the sixth discusses the appa- 
 rent dissonance between the decisions of geologists, and the hitherto re- 
 aived interpretation of Scripture, with an additional exposition of the diluvial 
 heory ; the seventh is devoted to illustration of the method to interpret the 
 Scriptures, so that they may harmonize with the discoveries of geology ; the 
 eighth is the peroration of the whole disquisition. 
 
 WORKS BY THE REV. DR. SPRAGUE. 
 
 TRUE AKD FALSE RELIGION. 
 
 Lectares illustr iting the Contrast between True Christianity and varieiii 
 < thcr rystems. By William B. Spkaque, D.D 1 vol. 12mo. $100. 
 
 LECTURES ON REVIVALS IN RELIGION. 
 
 Bf W. B. Spkague, D.D. With an Introductory Essay by Leorabd 
 Woods, D.D. 1 vol. 12mo. 87i cents. 
 
 LETTERS TO A DAUGHTER 
 
 ta Ii ♦ cal Subjects. By W. B. Sprague, D.D. Fourth edition, revised 
 and enlarged. 1 vol. 12mo. 75 cents. 
 
 LECTURES TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 
 
 By W. B. Spkaque, D.D. With an Introductory Address. By Sahuel 
 Miller, D.D. Fourth edition. 1 vol. 12mo. 87i cents. 
 The writings of Dr. Sprague are too well known, and too highly estimated 
 by the Christian community generally, to require any other encomium thaa 
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 mbjoin the favourable testimonies borne to their utility and excellence by the 
 whole circle of the periodical press of this country, and the fact, that they 
 have each passed through several editions in England, sufficiently attests the 
 vstimation in which they are held abroad. 
 
 SPIRITUAL CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 Lectures on Spiritual Christianity. By Isaac Taylor, author of " Spiritual 
 Despotism," &c. &c. 1 vol 12mo. 75 cents. 
 "This work is the production of one of tne most gifted and accomplished 
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 think, in no degree lialjle to this objection. It is indeed distinguished for deep 
 thought and accurate discrimination: and whoever would read it to advantage 
 must task his faculties in a much higher degree, than in reading ordinary 
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 and apphcation may not readily comprehend. The view which it gives ol 
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 faculties, than to direct and elevate the moral sensibilities. We have no douht 
 that it will be read with great interest by those who read to find materials 
 for thought, and that it is destined to exert a most important influence, espe- 
 cially on the more intellectual classes in the advancement of the interests ol 
 Uath and piety." — Albany Evening Jotcmml 
 
D. Applcton tj- Co 'e Catalogue of Valuable Works. 
 
 Works by the Rev. John Angell James. 
 
 THE TRUE CHEISTIAN. 
 Bj the Rev. John Angei.i. James With au Introduction by tho Rav. Wm. 
 Adams. 1 vol. JSi.io $0 50, 
 
 " Wo opine llint the publishers or this volume made an accurate caltulation when thor 
 labelled these ' AJiU vines'— ttfreo(;/pefl; fcT they are :>mong llin choice ert"uB:on9 whicl 
 idready have so In^hly beuelileJ Clnistiau anciety from the nob'e liRnr t and richly- 
 andowed iiiiiid oriMr. James. They .ire iniiiisleriitt counsels to the memlieid o{ uis conEFS 
 (Stion, and are oll'ered as monlUly epistles tor a ypar, being twelve in number, and are thu» 
 eatiUeJ: 'Increased Holiness of the Cliurcli ; Spirituahty of Mind: lletvenly Minded- 
 ■test; Aasurince of Mope; l'ra<'tical Religion s<fen in every thing: A Prolitable Sabbath.} 
 Cliristiaa Ubhg.ilions; Life of Faith ; Inlluence of eider Christians; Spirit of Prayer; Pd' 
 ra.tm Pra>er, and SeifJixaminntion.' "—Chritlian IntelUgenctr. 
 
 THE YOUNG- MAN FROM HOME. 
 Itt a scries of Letters, especially directed for the Moral Advancement nf Youth 
 By the Kev John Angell James. Tenth edition. 1 vol. 18nio. 37i cts 
 "TUia work, from the able and prolific pen of Mr. James, is not inferior, we think, to an* 
 
 «f its oredecessors. It cnitemplales a youni; man at the most critical period of life, an 
 *B«ets oim at every point as a guide in the paths of virtue, as a guard fium the coata{ioM 
 ■Uluaoce of vice."— Albany AUcer titer. 
 
 THE CHRISTIAN PROFESSOR, 
 Addressed in a series of Counsels and Cautions to the Members of Christian 
 Churches. By the Rer. John Angell James. 1 vol. 18nio. 62i^ centa. 
 "Th« author remarks in this excellent volume; 'When I look into the New Testament 
 «m1 read what a Christian t/iould be, and then look into the Church of (iod, and see what 
 Christians are, I am painfully afl'ected by observing the dissimilarity, and in my jealousy Cot 
 lh« honour of the ChrisUan profession, h.ive made this elfort, perhaps a feeble one, and cer 
 taialy an anxious one, to remove its blemishes, to restore its impaired beauty, and thus niis* 
 to reputation.' " 
 
 THE ANXIOUS ENQUIRER AFTER SALVATION 
 
 Directed and Encouraged, iiy the Rev. John Angell James. 1 vok 
 
 18nio. 37i cents. 
 
 Twenty thousand copies of this excellent little volume havo already beea 
 
 •old, which fully attests the high estimation the work has attained with tha 
 
 religious comnmnity. 
 
 HAPPINESS, ITS NATURE AND SOURCES. 
 
 By the Rev. J. A. James. 1 vol. 32ino. 25 cents. 
 
 " This is written in the excellent author's best vein. He has, witli a searching fidelity, 
 
 exposed the various ansaiisfymg expedients by which the natural heart seeks to attain tbtt 
 
 (reatend and aim of all— happiness, and wiili powerful and touching exhoitations directad it 
 
 to tlie oever-faihnj source oi all good." — Euange'isl. 
 
 THE WIDOW DIRECTED 
 To the Widow's G-od. By the Rev. John A. James. 1 vol. ISmo. 37| cents, 
 
 "The book l« worthy to be read by others besides the cUjs for which it is especially d*- 
 npted ; a'ld we doubt not th.-it it de.-tined to come as a friendly visitor to many a house cl 
 Sioarning, and as a healing balm to many a wounded heart."— iV V. Observer. 
 
 CRUDEN'S CONCORDANCE. 
 
 OonUining all t)i« Wonls to be found in the large Work relating to the New 
 Testameut. 1 vol. ISmo. 50 cents. 
 
 THE POLYMIORIAN NEW TESTAMENT. 
 Kuincious References, Maps, &c. 1 vol. 18ino. 50 centa 
 
 THE SACRED CHOIR: 
 
 A COLLECTION OF CHURCH MUSIC: 
 Conristing of Selections fnun the most dislmyuislied auilmrs, among whoa 
 are the numcs of IIavdn, Mozaut, Beethoven, Peugoi.essi, <fec. &c. 
 wilh several pieces of Music by the aulhnr ; also a Progressive Elementary 
 8}-stem of Instruction for I'lipils. By Georoe Kingmlby, author of the So- 
 vt(C Caju ikc A* Fourth edition $0 75 
 
Z). ^vpleton ^ Co.' 8 Catalogue of Valuable Publications, 
 THE YOUNG STUDENT; 
 
 Or, Ralph and Victor. By Madame Guizot. From the French, by Samoel 
 Jackson. One elegant volume of 500 pages, with illustrations. Price 73 
 cents." 
 
 "This volume of biograpliical incidents is a striking picture of javenila 
 life. To all that numberless class of youth who are passing through theii 
 literary education, whetiier in boarding-schools or academies, in the colle- 
 giate course, or the preparatory studies connected with them, we know 
 cothing more precisely fitted to" meliorate their character, and direct their 
 course, subordinate to the higher authority of Christian ethics, than thi« 
 excellent delineation of ' The Young Student,' by Madame Guizot. It is a 
 perfect reflecting mirror, in which tlie whole race may behold the resolution, 
 the impetuosity, and the disobedient tendencies of their own hearts, as ex- 
 amplified in the liistory of Kalph ; and the moral daring, dignify, and triumph, 
 exhibited by Victor. But it is not tJie son alone who is taught by Madame 
 Guizot — every father, also, who has children still under tlie age ot manhood, 
 and even ' grandpas,' can derive rich edification from the example of Ralph'a 
 fether and' Victor's guardianship. The French Academy were correct in 
 their judgment when ihey pronounced Madame Guizot'i Student the best 
 book of the year." — JV. Y, Courier 4' Enquirer. 
 
 THE CHILD'S OWN STORY BOOK; 
 
 Or, Tales and Dialogues for the Nursery. By Mrs. Jerram, (late Jixt» 
 Elizabeth Holmes.) Illustrated with numerous Engravings. Elegantlj 
 bound, v?ith gold stamp on side. Price 50 cents 
 
 Author's Preface.— In writing the following pages, my most earnest 
 desire has been to awaken in the hearts of little children, ktndly and aifeo- 
 tiouate feelings towards each other, submission and loving confidence to- 
 vards their parents, and reverence and love towards God. This I have 
 Bttempted in describing scenes and objects most of which must be familial 
 to every child. The language I have used is the easiest I could command, 
 •o that a child of three years old may understand it. 
 
 VERY LITTLE TALES, 
 
 For rery Little Children. In single syllables of three and four letters. 
 
 From the sixth London edition ; illustrated with numercus engiavinga^ 
 
 Elegantly bound in cloth. Price 37 1-2 cents. 
 
 The type of this little volume is quite a curiosity, it is so large. 
 
 "The suitableness of this little work to its object, is proved by the faet 
 that the first edition went off within three weeks from the day of its publica- 
 tion, and that a fourth was required in a few months. It is designed for 
 children who have just acquired the knowledge of their alphabet j a period 
 in juvenile education which has been hitherto left without any provision of 
 the kind " — Extract from Preface. 
 
 LUCY AND ARTHUR; 
 
 A Book for Children. Illustrated with numerous engravings, elegtntfy 
 
 bound in cloth. Price 50 cents. 
 
 Contents.— I. The Nursery. II. The Little Black Pony. IIL The 
 Little Gardens. IV. The Day's Work. V. The Walk. VI. Mamma'i 
 Stories. VII. Papa's Stories. VIII. Sunday. 
 
 " This is a book in advance of the " Very Little Ta»es," and intended for 
 eider lads and misses, to whom it will doubtless prove at aoceptati/d giA.' 
 
D. Appleion ^ Co.^s Catalogue of Valuable Worh$. 
 
 PALMER'S 
 
 TREATISE ON THE CHURCH. 
 
 \ Treatise on the Church of Christ. Designed chiefly for the 
 use of Students in Theoloj^y. By the Rev. William Palmer, 
 M.A., of Worcester College, Oxford. Edited, with Notes, by 
 the Right Rev. W. R. Wliittingham, D.D., Bishop of the Pro. 
 testant Episcopal Church in the Diocese of Maryland. Two 
 vols. 8vo., handsomely printed on fine paper. $5 00. 
 
 " The treatise of nir. Palmer is the best exposition and vindication of Cluirch Principlm 
 that we have ever read ; excelling contemfioraneous treatises in depth of learning and soli- 
 dity of Judgment, as much as itexcels older treatises on the like tubjects, m adaptation to 
 tb« wants and habits of the age. Of its influence in Knghnd, where it lias passed through 
 two editions, we have not the means to form an opinion ; but we believe that in this country 
 it has already, even before its reprint, done more to restore the sound tone of Cathohc prin- 
 eiplea and feeline than any oUier one work of the age. The author's learning aud powers oi 
 combination and arrangement, great as they obviously are, are less remarkable than the stert 
 ing good sense, the vigorous and solid judgment, which, is everywhere manifest in the treiv 
 tiue, and confers on it its distinctive excellence. Tbe style of the author is distinguished for 
 dignity and masculine energy, whiie his tone is everywhere natural; on proper occasions, 
 reverential; and always, so far as we remember, sufficiently conciliatory. 
 
 " To our clergy and intelligent laity, who desire to see the Church justly discriminated 
 firom Romanists on the one hand, and dissenting denominations on the other, we earnestly 
 coamend Palmer's Treatise on the Church."— iV. Y. ChurcJtman. 
 
 PAROCHIAL SERMONS, 
 
 BY JOHN HENRY NEWMAN, B.D., 
 
 Fellow of the Oriel College and Vicar of St. Mary the Virgin'^ 
 Oxford. The six volumes of the London edition complete ia 
 twoelegantSvo.volumesof upwards of 600 pages each. $5 00. 
 95" Mr. Newman's Sermons have probably attained a higher character 
 than any others ever published in this country. The following recom- 
 mendatory letter (is one of the many) received by the publishers during 
 their progress through the press. 
 
 From the Bishop of North Carolina. 
 
 Raleigh, Nov. 28, 1848. 
 Yoar letter announcing your intention to republish the Parochial Sermons of the Rev. Join 
 Henry Newman, B.U., Oxford, has given me sincere pleasure. In complying with yoor 
 request for my opinion of them, I do not hesitate to say,— after a con.stant use of therom my 
 closet, and an ob.^ervation of their effect upon some of my friends, for the last six years,— that 
 they are among the very best practical sermons in the English language ; that while they ars 
 free from those extravagances of opinion usually ascribed to the author of the 90th Tract, 
 they assert in the strongest manner the true doctrines of the Reformation in England, and ea 
 force with peculiar solemnity and efl'ect that holiness of life, with the means thereto, so char- 
 acteristic of the Fathers of that trying age. With high respect and esteem, your friend and 
 •ervaat, L. S. IVES. 
 
 HARE'S PAROCHIAL SERMONS. 
 
 Sermons to a Country Congregation. By Augustus William 
 Hare, A.M., late Fellow of New College, and Rector of Alton 
 Barneii. One volume, royal 8vo. $2 25. 
 
 *• Anyone who can Se pleased with delicacy of thought expressed in t^ . most simple Ian 
 ruage — any one who ean feci the charm of linding practical duties ehicioated and enforce* 
 Bjr apt and raritL. il!ustration3--will be delighted with this volume, which presents ua with titt 
 
 ATKingg of a piuuk and highly gifted miafi.'^—Quar. Kevieta. 
 
D Appleton ^ Co 's Catalogue of Valuable Worltt. 
 
 Cabinet Edition of the Poets. 
 
 COWPER'S COMPLETE POEtTcAL 
 WORKS. 
 
 Tlie complete Poetical Works of William Cowper, Esq., including 
 the Hymns and Translations from Mad. Guion, Milton, dec, ana 
 Adam, a Sacred Drama, from the Italian of Battista Aadreini, 
 with a Memoir of the Author, by the Rev. Henry Stebbing, A.M. 
 Two elegantly printed volumes, 400 pages each, l6mo., witi* 
 beautiful frontispieces. $1 75. 
 
 This is the only complete American edition. 
 Morality never found in genius a more devoted advocate than Cowper, not 
 has moral wisdom, in its plain and severe precepts, been evermore succeM 
 fully combined ^v1th the delicate spirit of poetry, than in his works. Hb 
 was endowed with all the powers which a poet could want who was to be the 
 moralist of tlie world — the reprover, but not the satirist, of men— the teacher 
 c»f simple tniths, which were to be rendered gracious without endangering 
 Sbeir simplicity. 
 
 BURNS' COMPLETE POETICAL 
 WORKS. 
 
 Tlie complete Poetical Works of Robert Bums, with Explanatory 
 and Glossarial Notes, and a Life of the Author, by James Cut- 
 tie, M.D. 1 vol. 16mo. U 25.^ 
 
 This is the most complete edition which has been published, and coirtains 
 the whole of the poetry comprised in the edition lately editei by Cunningham, 
 is well as some additional pieces ; and such notes have been added as arecai' 
 GOlated to illustrate the manners and customs of Scotland, so as to reader thJo 
 «hole more intelligible to the English reader. 
 
 " No poet, with the exception of Shakspeare, ever possessed t'he power of 
 eixciting the most varied and discordant emotions with such rapid transitions." 
 —Sir W. Scott. 
 
 MILTON'S COMPLETE POETICAL 
 WORKS. 
 
 llic complete Poetical Works of John Milton, with Explanatory 
 Notes and a Life of the Author, by the Rev. Henry Stabbing, 
 A.M. Beautifully illustrated. 1 vol. IGmo. $125. 
 The Latin and Italian Poems are included in this edition. 
 Mr. Stebbing's notes will be found very useful in elucidating the learned 
 
 tfUusions with which the text abounds, and they are also valuable for tba 
 
 correct appreciation with which the writer directs attention to the b6«i> 
 
 ties of the author. 
 
 SCOTT'S POETICAL NA^ORKS. 
 
 The Poetical Works of Sir Walter Scott, Bart.— Containii:|, Lay 
 of the Last Minstrel, Marmion, Lady of the Lake, Don Rode- 
 rick, Rokeby, Ballads, Lyrics, and Songs, with a Life of the 
 Author. Uniform with Cowper, Bums, &c. 1 vol. 16mo $1 25. 
 ** Waker Scott is the most popular of all the poets of the present day, and d»- 
 wnredly so. He describes that which is most easily and generally understood 
 with more vivacity and effect than any other writer. His style is cle»r, {lowicj 
 «nd transparent ; his sentiments, of which his style is an easy and uaturai Vta 
 Sim, u-e common to him with his roadora."— HaaW^. 
 
D. Appleton ^- Co.*8 Catalogue oj Valuable WoTki 
 
 GENERAL HISTORY OF CIVILIZAtTo T 
 
 n Europe, from the fall of tli" Roman Empire, to the French Revolutior. 
 
 Oy M. Guizot, Professor o\ History to the Faculty des Leltres of Paris 
 
 Printed from the second English edition, v.-ith Occasional Notes, bv C. S 
 
 Henry, D.D., of Now York. One handsome volume, 12mo. $100. 
 
 The third edition of this valuable work has just appeared, with numet 
 
 OILS and useful notes, by Professor Henry, of the University of New-York 
 
 M. Guizot, in his instructive lectures has given an epitome of Modern His 
 
 tory. distinguished by all the merits wliich in anollier department, render* 
 
 Slackstone a subject of such peculiar and unbounded praise ; a work close 
 
 I7 condensed, including nohing useless and omitting nothing essential 
 
 written with grace, and conceived and arranged with consummate abihty, 
 
 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF SOCIETY 
 
 IN THE EARBAEOUS AND CIVILIZED STATE. 
 An Essay towards Discovering the Origin and Course of Human Improve 
 ment. By W. Cooke Taylor, LL.D., &c., of Trinity College, Dublin 
 Handsomely printed on fine paper. 2 vols. 12mo $2 25. 
 "The design of this work is to determine, from an examination of the 
 various forms in wliich society has been found, what was the origin ol 
 civilization ; and under what circumstances those attributes of humanity 
 which in one country become the foundation of social happiness, are in an- 
 other perverted to the production of general misery.' 
 
 CARLYLE ON HISTORY So HEROES. 
 
 On Heroes, Hero-Worship, and the Heroic in History. Six Lectures, re 
 ported with Emendations and Additions, by Thomas Carlyle, author of 
 the French Revolution, Sartor Resartus, &c. Elegantly printed in 1 
 vol. 12mo. Second edition. $1 (JO. 
 
 " And here we must close a work — such as we have seldom seen the 
 fike ef, and one which redeems the literature of our superficial and manu 
 facturing period. It is one to purify our nature, expand our ideas, and ex- 
 alt our souls. Let no library or book-room be without it ; the more it is 
 studied the more it will be esteemed."— izicrary Gazette. 
 
 SOUTHEY'S POETICAL NA^ORKS. 
 
 rhe Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey, Esq., LL.D. The ten 
 volume London edition in one elegant royal 8vo. volume, with a fine por 
 trait and vignette, $3 50. 
 *,* This edition, which the author has arranged and revised with the 
 
 jame care as if it v.eie intended for posthumous publication, includes many 
 
 pieces which either have never before been collected, or have liilherto ra 
 
 mained unpublished. 
 
 SCHLEGEL'S PHILOSOPHY OF 
 HISTORY. 
 
 Tje Philosophy of Ilistor}', in a course of Lectures delivered at Vienna, by 
 Frederick von Schlegel, translated from the German, with a Memoir of 
 the Author, by J. B Robertson. Handsomely printed on fine paper. 3 
 vols. 12mo. $2 50. 
 
 THE LIFE OF ALEXANDER HAMILTON. 
 
 Edited by his son, John C. Hamilton. 2 vols. 8vo. $5 00. 
 '♦ We cordiar.) recommend the perusal and diligent study of these vot 
 uiT»es, exhibitiner, as they do, much valuable matter relative to the Revo- 
 ution, the ee'ab isliment of the Federal Constitution, and other importani 
 •"ventfc ' Ann ils of our country."— iVeio- York Review. 
 
3 D. Appleton ^ CoJ's Catalogue of Valuable Works. 
 
 BURNET ON THE XXXIX. ARTICLES. 
 
 An Exposition of the Thirty-nine Arncicb ot the Ch'^rch of Eng- 
 land. By Gilbert Burnet, U.T>., late Bishop of Salisbury. 
 With an Appendix, containing the Augsburg Confession — Creed 
 of Pope Pias IV , &c. Revised and corrected, with copious 
 Notes and additional References, by the Kev. James R. Page, 
 A.M., of Queen's College, Camorldge. In one handaome 8vo 
 volume. ^2 00. 
 
 " No Churchman, no Theologian, can stand in need of information as to 
 the character or viilue of Bishoo BiirneVa ZxposiMon, wnicii long since tooli 
 its fitting place as one of me acknowledged and admired standaHs of liie 
 Uhurch. It IS only needful that we speak of the labon<-« of uie editor of '.tte 
 present eaiuor., and these aooear to blsr.d a nuing modesty wiui eminent 
 Industry and judgment. Thus, while Mr. rage nas carei'iiiy vennea, and 
 hi many instances corrected ana enlarged the references to the FatherBj 
 Councils and other authorities, and greaily multipli?jdthe Scripture citations 
 —for the Bishop seems in many cases to have 'orgotlen that his readers 
 would not all be as familiar with the 5>aored Text as himself, and might no; 
 es readily find a passage even when they Knew u esislea— .le 'Mr. P.) haa 
 ^rupulously leift the text untouched, and added whatever illustrauve maU 
 ler he has been able to gather in the form of Notes and an Appendix. 
 Tl« documents collected in the latter are of great and abiding value." 
 
 PEARSON ON THE CREED. 
 
 An Exposition of the Creed. By John Pearson, D.D., late 
 
 Bishop of Chester. With an Appendix, containing the Principal 
 
 Greek and Latin Creeds. Revised and corrected by the Rev. 
 
 W. S. Dobson, M. A., Peterhouse, CamLridge. In one hanasoine 
 
 8vo. volume. $2 00. 
 The foUovjing may be stated as the advantages of this edition over all others 
 
 First— Great care has been taken to correct the numerous errors in the 
 references to the texts of Scripture which had crept in by reason of the re- 
 peated editions through which this admirable work has passed ; and many 
 references, as will be seen on turning to the Index of Texts, have been added, 
 
 Secondly— The Quotations in the Notes have been almost universally 
 identified and the references to them adjoined. 
 
 Lastly— The principal Symbola or Creeds, of which the particular Article* 
 have been cited by the author, have been annexed ; and wherever the orl* 
 glnal writers have given the Symbola in a scattered and disjointed manner, 
 wio detached parts have been brought into a successive and connected point 
 ef view. These have been added in chronological order in the form of an 
 Appendix.— Vide Editor. 
 
 Jfla^ee on Jlionemcnt and Sacrifice* 
 
 Discourses and Dissertations on the Scriptural Doctrines of Atone- 
 mpnt and Sacrifice, and on the Principal Arguments advanced, 
 and the Mode of Reasoning employed by the Opponents of 
 those Doctrines, as held by the EstabUshed Church. By the 
 late most Rev. Wm. M'Gee, D.D., Archbishop of Dublin. 
 Two vols, royal 8vo. beautifully printed. ^5 00. 
 
 "'lliisisone of the nlilest critical and pole:/iical works of rnotlern times. Archbisliep Miigeel 
 nUy a tnaleus hereticolum. H» 'i an exielleiit scholar, an acme reasoiier, and is po&sessol of a 
 Biosl extensive acquaimance witn llie wide field of argument lo which his volumes are devoted— It* 
 Drofound liiblical hilornuiiioii on a variety of topics wlii*!*! Uie Arcliljisliop urings forwanl, BVUtC- 
 OMX .tu uaii.e to al lloveis ol Clirisaaiiiur.'' — O'ine 
 
i D. AppletOA ^ Co:* Catalogue of Valuable WorJf, 
 
 THE KINGDOM OF CHRIST; 
 
 Or, Hints rcspcctincr the Principles, Constitution, nnd Oidinancc* 
 of the Catholic Church. By Frederick Denison Mauricb, 
 M. A. Chaplain of Guy's Hospital, Professor of English Litera 
 ture and History, King's College, London. In one elegant oo 
 tavo voliune of 600 pages, uniform in style with Newman'* 
 Sermons, Palmer on the Church, &c. $2 50. 
 
 " Nr. Maurice's work is eminently fitted to engage tlie attention and meet the wantsi of al 
 hnerejted in tlie several movements lliat are now taking place in tlie religious community ; il 
 takes up the pietensions generally of tlie several rn.tustant denominations and of tlie Ro- 
 manistd, so as to commend itself in the growing interest in the controversy between the lat- 
 Vtt and their opponents. The political poilion of the work contains much that is attractive 
 to a thoughtful man'^qf any or of no religious persuasion, ia refereace to the existing and p«M 
 ■ihi* future Ktate of our country." 
 
 A MANUAL FOR COMM U N ICANTS j 
 
 Oi the Order for Administering the Holy Communion ; conveniently ar- 
 ranged with Meditations and Prayers from Old English Divine^, being 
 the Eucharistica of Samuel Wilberforce, M.A., Archdeacon of Surry, 
 (adapted to the American service.) Convenient size for the pocke* 
 37J cents— gilt edges 50 cents. 
 
 " These meditations, prayeis, and expositions, are given in the very words of the illjstr> 
 <»• divines, martyrs, confessors, and doctors of the Church; and tli»y form altogether 
 such a body of instr-ictive matter as is nownere else to be found in the same oonv 
 yas*. Though collected from various authors, the whole is pervaded by a unity of spirit and 
 purpose; and we most earnestly commend tlie work as better lilted than any other whie^ 
 we know, to subserve tlie ends of sound edification and fervent and substantial devctioo. 
 The American rejirint has been edited by a deacon of great promise in the Church, and is a»- 
 fropriately dedicated to the Bishop of this diocese."— CAure/»>n<zn. 
 
 OGILBY ON LAY-BAPTISM: 
 
 An Outline on the Argument against the Validity of Lay-Baptism. By the 
 Rev. John D. Ogilby, A.M., Professor of Ecclesiastical History. One 
 Tolume 12mo., 75 cents. 
 
 "We have benn favoured with a copy of the above work, and lose no time in annoonchfc 
 its pablication. Krom a cursory inspection of it, we take it to baa thorough, fearless, ana 
 very able discus'ion of the subject which it proposes, aiiniag less to excite inquiry, than to 
 Mtts^, by iea/ited andingenious argument, inquiries already excited." — C/tui-cn.nan. 
 
 THE PRIMITIVE DOCTRINE OP 
 ELECTI O N : 
 
 Or, an Ilistorical Inquiry into the Ideality and Causation of Scriptural 
 Election, as received and maintamed in the Primitive Cnurcn ol Christ 
 By Geoige Stanley Fabcr, B.D., author of " Difficulties of Romanism,* 
 "Difitcultics of Infidelity," <tc. Complete m one volume octavo. $1 75. 
 
 " Mr. Faber verifies bis opinion by demonstration. AVe cannot p!>y a higher reepect to Ul 
 track than by recomiueBdin.' it U^ ali "— C'tiwcA o/' England Quarurty licvitta. 
 
Date Due 
 
 
 
 
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